#they really keeep wining and wining at all

[daydreamrry]

I swear this is the last ask for today but i really wish tumblr had a groupchat you know? Like all of us getting together and just talking about random things. It'd be so cooool 😭

Anyway, i have literally so much time on my hands (which i shouldn't considering I'm in my last semester of university and have a ton of reading to do but oh well) and i was scrolling, looking through anons and is it weird that their claimed emojis remind me of certain taylor's songs? For example

For you lovely 🦦- it's nice to have a friend (because of the lyric 'stay in bed the whole weekend' and well the title itself and is so underrated. We should have blue hats made saying 'gossiprry is our friend' xD )

For 🍷- no body no crime or august (it's the wine, I'm telling you)

🌞- daylight (the sunshineeeee (: )

🌺- cornelia Street (such a pretty one gives off such sweet vibes (":)

🐸- paper rings (the pascal comparison xD)

💄- style (do i really need to say why? xD)

🥦- end game for sure (seems as if the nonnie is just simply living their life and is unbothered no matter who comes after them which is greattt)

Sorryyy if i forgot someone tho. I don't have a very good memory but I'm trying to keeep up with everyone (:

Okay, bye now xD

-🧣

STOP THIS IS SO CUTE 😩😩 YOU ARE THE SWEETEST <33333 i love thisssss so much, we should do this with harry songs too!!! i wish tumblr had a gc, we would be talking nonstoppppp.

#🧣

[peridot-gladioli]

2, 11, 21, 36 for the writer ask meme!

2. Where is your favorite place to write?

Lying on my sofa, a V-shaped pillow supporting my back/head against the arm, a notebook on my lap.

11. What are you planning to work on next?

All the The Witcher stuff has got me really interested in my original fantasy novel again, but that’s kind of “currently”... *Next* might be actual Witcher Geraskier fan-fiction.

21. What aspect of your writing are you most proud of?

I’m not, really. Maybe, like Computer Studies at school, persistance in the face of lack of talent? (Every time I turned the school computer on it informed me, “You have made a fatal error”. I got given the class award for somehow managing to complete my project anyway.) Although, otoh, I actually finished that project and I can’t remember the last time I finished a work of fiction. I get bored.

I do want to write the Evander story, but I also still care about the SGA story where a Pegasus-nation clone Sheppard for his gene and Mckay ends up rescuing a kid!Sheppard he doesn’t know is a clone, or the BBC Sherlock AU where Moriarty “burns the heart out of” Sherlock by blinding him---and they’ve both been stalled for over a decade.

36. Post a snippet (Evander’s Story b/c (a) you’ve shown interest and (b) my orig fic I’ve scrapped back to development notes.)

Matt tugged the couch blanket around himself and curled up. Elektra. He hugged himself against the feelings--too many of them, too complicated, too tangled for him to parse and label--filling his torso, pushing against his lungs and his stomach, forcing out the air, as he curled over a pain as real as a punch to the solar plexus. His throat and sinuses and the back of his nose burned with pressure, but his eyes stayed dry.

He could not cry: not for Elektra, not for himself, not even for this kid who was dealing with the death--murder--of the only parent they had ever known. He felt it all, but could do nothing for it, nothing about it, nothing with it. Elektra.

His memory conjured her: that time, only weeks earlier, when he had sat on this couch with her, tending her wounds, comparing scars. He could still feel her fingertips ghosting over the scars Nobu had left on him, her skin under his hands. He could remember the scent of her--exertion sweat and blood and adrenalin and excitement and the lingering base notes of her perfume, body lotion, shampoo, and soap--he thought could still detect a trace from his bedsheets, unchanged ever since, even from out here.

The sound of her living beating heart, the rush of her blood, the gusts of her breath. Her voice.

Why had he held off? Why had he not kissed her, tasted her, made love with her once more? Why had he rejected the miraculous second chance she had offered him? Why had he let his own arbitrary rules keep them apart; alternated in drawing her to him and pushing her away again? Was it Stick’s insidious teaching about the need of a warrior to have no emotional ties? Was it the teaching of the Church? His nascent relationship with Karen? Or was it his fear of himself, of the devil within, the denial of the darkness?

She had said he had a light within.

He had told her they corrupted each other, feared they brought out the worst in each other--the anger, the aggression--hoped that thy could save each other.

She knew the worst of him and not only accepted it but loved him for it. She freed him rather than limited him.

She had always seen more than Matt Murdock, blind guy, lawyer, safe guy, good Catholic boy; she had recognised that Matt Murdock was the mask forced on him by society and religion and other people’s expectations. She had seen all of him. He had been known, but still loved.

Unlike...

He realised he was keening, the tears which burned his eyes still not falling.

God, it hurt. And he clung to the agony, even while it felt like physical torture, cutting deeper than Nobu’s blades.

He could regret his decisions and actions, regret keeeping them apart, regret how little time they had been granted, regret her death and how it ended. He could not regret this pain. He paid the price gladly for having known a taste of earthly paradise. It had been worth whatever price God now extracted for the bliss, to keep the balance. She was worth it. God forgive him. God forgive him. He adored her when adoration belonged to God alone. He had given her his bodily worship. He had sinned with her: sin of the body, sin of the mind, sin of the heart. And punishment followed sin.

But God was Love and to know Love was to know God. He thanked God that once in his life he had known what it was to love and be love; to know the joy of Solomon: kisses sweeter than wine, love strong as death, two human souls as twin halves. How many people ever got that?

#answered ask #daredevil #matt x elektra #i write stuff sometimes

[dannidixon-harkness]

Hi I haven’t posted anything in a while so I’m gonna do it now. Beware this is going to be a long bitch.

I am also kinda drunk due to the 2/3 bottle of wine and can of hard cider I finished earlier. And I don’t feel good but that could be because I’ve had more dairy today then I should’ve and I’m lactose intolerant.

Anywho down to the good shit.

I am an anxiety ridden depressed overachieving college student working on her third degree. Should I be on meds for that. Hell yes. But I’m not. Because of reasons.

I also know that we are in uncertain times and having an rough adjustment period from in class lessons to online, and that everyone is having a hard time during this.

HOWEVER.

I have this one professor. I have had issues with this man all semester. Something goes wrong? Not his fault. The entire class does bad on a quiz or test? Not his fault. The online conference won’t connect? Not my fault and no, I don’t have a back up in place like zoom to use just in case.

(Please note my sarcasm)

Anywhose, last night I had it. Not only does he have the habit of emailing us important shit just after midnight, he can’t keeep his shit straight anymore. When is the homework due? I don’t fucking know and neither does anyone else. Where is the lecture recording he did because he couldn’t connect the conference? I don’t fucking know either but it ain’t in the announcements where he said it was.

Side note: my momma raised a nice polite southern girl. I say “Yes ma’am” and “No sir” when I really want to say fuck you and no dude. One might even call me a ducking push over from how I act, even a suck up and tucking teachers pet. I. Am. Ducking. Polite. See even autocorrect helps me be polite.

Back to the story. He sends these confusing ass emails about the homework with conflicting due times in them. I don’t get them until like 10 am because I slept in, fuck that shit it was Saturday. And I was done. I went and ranted to the fam, and decided: this was it, this was the day I email him and tell him the truth. While being polite of course.

In the following 1000 plus word essay I wrote I dropped the word hell once and maybe a damn? Definitely mentioned “only you and God knows when” at one point. There might have been bullet points. Some underlining, bolding, and italicization of words and sentences. Maybe even all at once to emphasize a word. I told him what major problems there were and some solutions he could do. I told him his flaws, and how he made me feel. I wanted to cuss this man out so bad I almost used fuck at one point, but the little polite southerner in me wouldn’t let me.

But Goddamit I was fucking polite.

His response e-mail? This bitch called me impolite. And that he disagreed with most of the criticism I wrote. And that he would like to discuss this over a conference call later today.

One: just writing the first email put me in tears, made me dissociate, and tune out from everything and make fucking sun catchers for fours straight.

Two: his response email? Destroyed me. I have never. NEVER. Been called impolite in my 23 years on this fucking planet. I literally bawled, full nine yards, to my mother while she critiqued my first email to see if I was too harsh in what I said. It made me sick to my stomach. I know I’m already fucking failing this mans class, now what is he going to do to me? It was this fear that kept my mouth shut until this moment. I need this class for my upper level physics classes I need next semester! (Side note again: the class in question is Differential Equations and Linear Algebra, and my third degree is in Physics.) ((here is his response actually, duck it I’m posting it))

He can’t teach. I was going to give him the benefit of the doubt because this was the first time he taught this class but not at the sake of my passing this class and my gpa. And he won’t admit to doing anything Wrong, it has to be someone else’s fault this didn’t work out. Was I polite? Fuck yea I was, if he thought that wasn’t polite I should have gone off on him. Could I have been nicer? Yes. Maybe I should have dropped a nice “oh bless your heart”’for trying your best in these trying times. But damn son you are literally the youngest professor I have this semester and you are having the hardest time adjusting to online teaching. JFC.

Now I’m trying to schedule this damn meeting with him to talk this out. I’m thinking of dropping. I’ve brought up some of my issues with the math department, and told this new addition of this saga to my advisor (she knows I’ve been having issues with him).

I have the damn class on my side (as well as anime and God) since they agree with me. They are praying for me as well since I told them I snapped at him. One positive thing is now he figured out how to publish shit on Canvas... after I told him how in my long email. Now he just needs to create the fuckingn homework turn in or he is getting 60 fucking emails on Tuesday with our homework attached.

Also I found out that I shouldn’t drink as much as I did after a huge crying jag. I was only able to be in nice drunk land for the entirety of Knives Out (good movie I recommend it) before the hangover headache kicked in. My eyeballs have felt like sandpaper the entire time I’ve typed this up. Fuck me. If I remember I’ll take picture of the sun catchers I made and post them tomorrow.