#master shite

[themuslimsquad]

Denver Master Bath Bathroom Large beach style master white tile and ceramic tile porcelain tile and beige floor bathroom photo with recessed-panel cabinets, beige cabinets, a two-piece toilet, white walls, an undermount sink, quartz countertops, a hinged shower door and white countertops

[intothewordless]

Beach Style Bathroom in Denver With recessed-panel cabinets, beige cabinets, a two-piece toilet, white walls, an undermount sink, quartz countertops, a hinged shower door, and white countertops, this large beach-style bathroom has ceramic tile, porcelain tile, and white walls.

[ellipsis-ultima]

Omg they do match lmao

[spiribia]

you have no idea how long ive had very clear vision of hermes/amon/fandaniel animatic. look at my crude storyboard for the intro part.

[lestcat-de-lioncourt]

With titles as long as this who even needs to read the comic anymore as it’s all on the front cover~ 😂

[sixbucks]

The terms of my parole prohibit me from doing any of that shit.

[dtwof]

Omg I need to work

[irisbaggins]

Can y'all tell I'm stressed as hell and want nothing more than to keel over screaming? Fuck this fucking exam, man! What the fuck is this shit? Part one is completely fine, it's part two that makes me want to scream my head off! What do you mean lady?!

[indecisivekitty]

“lass?”

you hummed in response, “yes?”

he frowned. “the hell is all this?”

“face masks.”

johnny furrowed his brows. “fuck are they fer?”

“well, for your skin—they’re suppose to help with it. for example, the one that i’m using right now is for hydrating the skin specifically.”

he blinked. “can i try one, bon?”

grinning, you immediately agreed. “of course, johnny. go and pick one.”

looking down at all the different types of face masks in front of him, johnny didn’t know which one to pick. clay? sheets? mud? what the hell is the difference?

“lass, which one did ye use? i’ll just do tha’ one.”

picking out the mask you’re using, you also pointed out one with a print, “this is the one i’m using or you can use this one too—they’re the same except that one has an animal print.”

“animal print?”

you nodded. “yeah like you’ll look like a cat when you wear it.”

he immediately lit up. “oh yeah i want tha’ one then.”

your eyes crinkle happily before picking up the face mask with the cat print and ripping open the packaging. taking the mask out carefully, you unfold it and place it onto johnny’s face, taking care to try and smooth out the mask.

“fuck, this shite is cold.”

laughing lightly, you get your phone to show johnny how he looks. “what do you think, my love?”

“jesus, this looks nothin’ like a fuckin’ cat. sure this ain’t some sort of alien mask, lass?”

amused, you bite your lip to keep from laughing. “you look absolutely lovely, johnny.” he narrowed his eyes at you, making you let out a snort. “it’s true!”

his shook his head. “gotta tell the lads ‘bout this cat-alien-shite.”

you nodded in agreement. “already sent them a picture of you.”

johnny snapped his head to you. “wha?????”

a/n: hi did not edit very sleepy tired cannot think need to sleep after putting this in master list okahrhabkt thwbks tou heart

[whitefeathers]

Anon because I’m shy as hell lol but big fan of how you write daddy!butcher because YOU KNOW he gets off on the idea of being like a protector/knight in shining armor. Like he’s gonna be damn sure that you’re safe, even if he gets a wee bit banged up.

dont be shy sweetheart i will NEVER judge u !

also THANK YOU you get it … daddy!butcher is a very very specific guy and honestly? I think he’s pretty much canon, we know he’s got major daddy issues and we know he’s a protector (in his own fucked up way)… it just makes SENSE for him to be a daddy dom !!

more thoughts below the cut - tw for pseudocest/ddlg , daddy!butcher, and daddy issues

he wants so desperately to protect. that’s all he’s ever wanted deep down, even if he thinks he wants revenge or violence or whatever. He’s a rough bastard so all that soppy shite comes out as aggression, but deep deep down he is a protector at his core, and needs to be someone’s knight in shining armor.

When you walk into his life you’re so pure, untainted by the violence and aggression he’s so used to. There’s no greater agenda, no malice to you - you’re just a normal girl, a good girl. That’s not to say you have no personality to you - Billy loves how cheeky you can get, and how sassy you are - but you’re just a good little sweetheart at your core, wanting to be happy and make others happy. That’s part of why Billy’s obsessed with you. You’re just so sweet.

He naturally takes on a parental role in your life, being many years your senior and the leader of his group. Don’t stare at ya phone so much, gonna give yaself a headache. Don’t stay up too late, need a good night’s kip or you’ll be a grumpy cunt tomorrow.

Little things, inconsequential things, that show he cares enough about you to order you around.

He’s sweeter on you than anyone else in his life, letting you hog the hot water in the shower every morning and pretending to be full so you can finish his dessert. He always covers up his kindness with some sort of quip - “ya need the hot water, you smell diabolical,” - but you know it’s because he likes you. The thought alone makes you blush.

He finds out about all the terrible shit your father put you through one night when you’re sharing a bottle of cheap vodka together, just the two of you.

He tells you about his own sperm donor, and laments about how he’s always wanted to be someone’s father figure, their knight in shining armor. He doesn’t mention how it gets him off to have that much control, but not in a clinical way like being a master or a sir. Being a daddy is different. It’s warm, caring, corrupted. It’s a complete control and a complete care that would prove Butcher as the capable, fucked up hero he’s always been.

“That generational trauma bollocks, innit? Want to right the wrongs of me old man. Somethin’ so nice about bein’ a daddy. I’d be fucked though,” he takes a swig from the bottle straight, only wincing slightly before putting it back down on the table and letting his eyes flicker to you. He speaks with drunken candour.

“Always wanted a little girl to take care of, little girlfriend to be mine. Same soft tone of voice when she begs for more cock as when she begs for more sappy fuckin’ cuddles.”

Your heart thuds in your chest. This is all you have ever wanted, all you have ever needed. And Butcher, the hottest older man you’ve ever met, his beard greying and his eyes stern, is basically offering it to you if you’re brave enough to read into the subtext of his words.

“I’ve always wanted to be that,” you whisper. There’s words unspoken in your sentence - always wanted to be that, for you, with you - but the subconscious way you lean closer to Butcher tells him the words you aren’t brave enough to speak.

“That so?” He hums, opening his thick arms for you. An opening, an opportunity for you to take, to cuddle into his chest and let him take control. You look up at him, scared as a deer in headlights but as excited as a puppy in heat, needing the extra guidance, the approval.

“Don’t be shy. Come to daddy.”

When your head meets his chest and your ass meets his lap, all the constant noise in your head dulls into a peaceful silence. His arms wrap around you and he pets your hair, shushing you gently, promising he’s going to keep you out of danger no matter how bloody his knuckles have to get in the process.

This is how it’s always meant to be between the pair of you.

[project-sekai-facts]

Is there any other songs with combos that have hidden meaning? I only know the mizu5 one

There's 909 for the hard/expert/master charts of Kirapipi★Kirapika (Emu's birthday)

404 for the hard chart of ECHO (computer error code)

1112 for Utsuro wo Aogu (Akito's birthday & Akito and Toya's character numbers)

707 for TONDEMO-WONDERZ hard (computer error code for memory cannot be freed)

413 for Daughter of Evil and Servant of Evil on hard (4 is unlucky in the east, 13 is unlucky in the west)

123 for Ichi Ni no San de on easy (translation of the title)

All combos on 88☆彡 end in 88

All combos on 39 Music!, Miku Miku ni Shite Ageru♪ (Shite Yan Yo), 39, Hajimete no Oto, and Antenna 39 end in 39

All combos on Blackjack end in 21 (the winning number in the game)

ULTRA C has an identical master FC to Machi (as part of a series of references in the chart)

All combos on 25-ji no Jounetsu end in 25

That's all i can think of

[pikahlua]

MHA Chapter 413 spoilers translations

This week’s initial tentative super rough/literal translations under the cut.

tagline AFOとOFA精神の共鳴が見せるものとは⁉︎ オール・フォー・ワンとワン・フォー・オールせいしんのきょうめいがみせるものとは⁉︎ OORU FOO WAN to WAN FOO OORU seishin no kyoumei ga misero mono to wa!? The resonance between the spirit of One For All and All For One reveals [what]!?

1 師 マスター MASUTAA (kanji: shi) Master,

2 悲しそうな子が かなしそうなこが kanashisou na ko ga a child who seems sad

3 いたよ ita yo was there.

1 ーーィト！ --ITO! "--ight!"

2 オールマイト‼︎ OORU MAITO!! "All Might!!"

3 寝たら死ぬぞ‼︎意識を保て‼︎ ねたらしぬぞ‼︎いしきをたもて‼︎ netara shinu zo!! ishiki wo tamote!! "If you sleep, you're die!! Keep conscious!!"

4 …！ "...!"

5 通信機がなくて状況がわからんが つうしんきがなくてじょうきょうがわからんが tsuushinki ga nakute joukyou ga wakaran ga "I don't have a communication device so I don't know what's going on, but"

6 恐らく緑谷がまだ戦っている！ おそらくみどりやがまだたたかっている！ osoraku Midoriya ga mada tatakatte iru! "Midoriya is probably still fighting!"

7 夢…？ ゆめ…？ yume...? A dream...?

8 いや…この感覚は… いや…このかんかくは… iya...kono kankaku wa... No...this sensation...

9 あの時と同じー…‼︎ あのときとおなじー…‼︎ ano toki to onaji-...!! It's the same at that time-...!!

10 遠く離れている筈なのに とおくはなれているはずなのに tooku hanarete iru hazu nanoni Even though it should be far away,

11 OFAを感じる ワン・フォー・オールをかんじる WAN FOO OORU wo kanjiru I feel One For All.

12 "意志"が流れ込んでくる "いし"がながれこんでくる "ishi" ga nagarekonde kuru Its "will" is flowing back [into me].

1 紡がれてきた力が… つむがれてきたちからが… tsumugarete kita chikara ga... The power that has been spun...

2 解れる ほつれる hotsureru will be unraveled.

tagline No.413　鉛の塊　堀越耕平 ナンバー413　なまりのかたまり　ほりこしこうへい NANBAA 413  namari no katamari   Horikoshi Kouhei No. 413 A Lump of Lead  Kouhei Horikoshi

1 何だ今のは なんだいまのは nanda ima no wa What was the just now?

2 何故今アレが脳裏に過った なぜいまアレがのうりによぎった naze ima ARE ga nouri ni yogitta Why did that pass through my mind just now?

3-4 おまえは完全に消滅した筈だ おまえはかんぜんにしょうめつしたはずだ omae wa kanzen ni shoumetsu shita hazu da You must have been completely extinguished.

5 人が人を助ける限り ひとがひとをたすけるかぎり hito ga hito wo tasukeru kagiri So long as people help people,

6 英雄の意志を継いだ誰かがー えいゆうのいしをついだだれかがー eiyuu no ishi wo tsuida dareka ga- someone who inherits the will of heroes-

7 消滅して尚 しょうめつしてなお shoumetsu shite nao Even though it was extinguished,

8 残り火の如く…！ のこりびのごとく…！ nokoribi no gotoku...! [it lingers] like an ember...!

1 づ dzu "Dgh"

2 ハッ HA "Hah"

3 ーーッ "--"

4 …！ "...!"

5 君は きみは kimi wa You

6 ヒーローになれる HIIROO ni nareru can become a hero.

7 どういう…ことですか… dou iu...koto desu ka... "What do...you mean..."

8 ワン・フォー・オールを手放せって…なんですか⁉︎ ワン・フォー・オールをてばなせって…なんですか⁉︎ WAN FOO OORU wo tebanase tte...nan desu ka!? "Let go of One For All...what [does that mean]!?"

9 二代目…‼︎ にだいめ…‼︎ nidaime...!! "Second...!!"

10 心を荒げるな奴に聞かれる こころをあらげるなやつにきかれる kokoro wo arageruna yatsu ni kikareru "Don't worry yourself [or] he'll question [us]." (Note: I think Kudou is basically saying "Play it cool or else Tomura will catch on.")

1 死柄木の中にあった鉛のような黒い塊…あれは しがらきのなかにあったなまりのようなくろいかたまり…あれは Shigaraki no naka ni atta namari no you na kuroi katamari...are wa Inside Shigaraki [is a] lead-like black lump...that is

2 奴の中にあった幾つもの小さな怒りや不満……記憶… やつのなかにあったいくつものちいさないかりやふまん……きおく… yatsu no naka ni atta ikutsumo no chiisa na ikari ya fuman......kioku... the many small angers inside him......memories...

3 それらが引き寄せられ一つに集約されたものだ それらがひきよせられひとつにしゅうやくされたものだ sorera ga hikiyoserare hitotsu ni shouyaku sareta mono da Those are all drawn together and consolidated into [that] one thing.

4 いわば奴の決意そのもの憎悪で固められた精神 いわばやつのけついそのものぞうおでかためられたせいしん iwaba yatsu no ketsui sono mono zouo de katamerareta seishin So to speak, his determination itself is a spirit fortified with hatred.

5 だが dagaBut,

6-7 八木が隙を見つけた やぎがすきをみつけた Yagi ga suki wo mitsuketa Yagi found an opening.

1 あれは恐らく あれはおそらく are wa osoraku That is probably

2 スターアンドストライプとの戦闘でついた残り傷 スターアンドストライプとのせんとうでついたのこりきず SUTAA ANDO SUTORAIPU to no sentou de tsuita nokori kizu a gash left over from the battle with Star and Stripe.

3 再生の"個性"でも癒し切れぬ肉体ではなく精神の傷 さいせいの"こせい"でもいやしきれぬにくたいではなくせいしんのきず saisei no "kosei" demo iyashi kirenu nikutai de wa naku seishin no kizu Even the Regeneration quirk cannot heal the wounds of the spirit as it's not the body.

4 それと sore to "And then"

5 ワン・フォー・オールが… WAN FOO OORU ga... "One For All..."

6 どういう…… dou iu...... "what do you mean......"

7 AFOを飲み込んだ死柄木は強くなりすぎだ……このまま力比べを続けても勝ち目はない オール・フォー・ワンをのみこんだしがらきはつよくなりすぎだ……このままちからくらべをつづけてもかちめはない OORU FOO WAN wo nomikonda Shigaraki wa tsuyoku nari sugi da......kono mama chikara kurabe wo tsudzuketemo kachime wa nai "[By] swallowing All For One, Shigaraki has become too strong...... At this rate, if we continute to compete by strength, there will be no chance of winning."

8 だから裡から攻める だからうちからせめる dakara uchi kara semeru "So we'll attack from the inside."

9-10 ワン・フォー・オールを譲渡という形で傷にぶつける ワン・フォー・オールをじょうとというかたちできずにぶつける WAN FOO OORU wo jouto to iu katachi de kizu ni butsukeru "[We'll] strike* the gash in the form of transfering One For All." (*Note: This particular word for "strike" evokes imagery almost like "bust through," "smash through.")

11 傷をこじ開け きずをこじあけ kizu wo kojiake "[We'll] pry open the gash

12 奴の精神を直接叩く やつのせいしんをちょくせつたたく yatsu no seishin wo chokusetsu tataku "and strike his spirit directly."

1 "譲渡"して… "じょうと"して… "jouto" shite... "Transfer it..."

2 "ぶつける"……？ "butsukeru"......? "and strike......?"

3 待って言ってる事がよくわかんない！ まっていってることがよくわかんない！ matte itteru koto ga yoku wakannai! "Wait, I don't really understand what you're saying!"

4 渡したら…使われるだけだ！ わたしたら…つかわれるだけだ！ watashitara...tsukawareru dake da! "If you hand [us] over...[we'll] just be used!"

5 四ノ森さんのように取り込まれるだけだ！ しのもりさんのようにとりこまれるだけだ！ Shinomori-san no you ni torikomareru dake da! "We'll just be captured like Mr. Shinomori!"

6 "譲渡"の解釈を拡げるんだ "じょうと"のかいしゃくをひろげるんだ "jouto" no kaishaku wo hirogerunda "Expand your interpretation of 'transfer.'"

7 わからんか wakaran ka "Don't you understand?"

8 イメージで修練？ イメージでしゅうれん？ IMEEJI de shuuren? "Training through visualiation?"

9 ーーーああ… ---aa... "---Yes..."

10 なら…わかりやすいのがいるだろう nara...wakari yasui no ga iru darou "In that case...there's one [person] who'll make it easy to understand."

11 あの幼馴染はおまえにどうやってものを渡すかな あのおさななじみはおまえにどうやってものをわたすかな ano osananajimi wa omae ni dou yatte mono wo watasu ka na "How does that childhood friend [of yours] hand over things to you?"

small text 信じ難いや しんじがたいや shinji gatai ya "It's difficult to believe."

12 渡し方によっては怪我もするし わたしかたによってはけがもするし watashikata ni yotte wa kega mo suru shi "Depending on how you hand it over, you may get injured,"

13 物自体が壊れもする ものじたいがこわれもする mono jitai ga koware mo suru "or the item itself may be broken."

14 これをOFAで実行するだが… これをワン・フォー・オールでじっこうするだが… kore wo WAN FOO OORU de jikkou suru daga... "You'll implement this with One For All, but..."

1 確証はないだからまず俺で試す かくしょうはないだからまずおれでためす kakushou wa nai dakara mazu ore de tamesu "I'm not certain [about it], so I'll test it with myself first."

2 さっきは四ノ森さんだけが奪われた さっきはしのもりさんだけがうばわれた sakki wa Shinomori-san dake ga ubawareta "Earlier, only Mr. Shinomori was stolen."

3 一部だけ奪われるなら…一部だけの譲渡もシステムとして可能な筈だ いちぶだけうばわれるなら…いちぶだけのじょうともシステムとしてかのうなはずだ ichibu dake ubawareru nara...ichibu dake no jouto mo SHISUTEMU to shite kanou na hazu da "If only one portion was stolen...it should also be possible to transfer only one portion as a system."

4 俺たちはOFAに取り込まれた因子 おれたちはワン・フォー・オールにとりこまれたいんし ore-tachi wa WAN FOO OORU ni torikomareta inshi "We are factors taken into One For All."

5 OFAの一部……そして ワン・フォー・オールのいちぶ……そして WAN FOO OORU no ichibu......soshite "[Individual] parts of One For All...and"

6 強化された特別な因子 きょうかされたとくべつないんし kyouka sareta tokubetsu na inshi "strengthened special factors."

7 俺が砕け散る程に強く"渡せ"ば おれがくだけちるほどにつよく"わたせ"ば ore ga kudake chiru hodo ni tsuyoku "watase"ba "If you hand me over so strongly that I shatter to pieces,"

8 力が渡ることなく攻撃ができる ちからがわたることなくこうげきができる chikara ga wataru koto naku kougeki ga dekiru "I can attack without the power passing over [to him]." (Note: I believe Kudou is saying "If you send me over strongly enough to break me as a factor, I can attack Tomura without him being able to use my quirk.")

9 試すって…！なら「煙幕」を！ ためすって…！なら「おれ」を！ tamesu tte...! nara 「ore (kanji: enmaku)」 wo! "Test it, you say...! Then [send] me (read as: Smokescreen)!"

10 俺が今一番使い所ないでしょ おれがいまいちばんつかいどころないでしょ ore ga ima ichiban tsukai dokoro nai desho "I'm the one who has the least use, right?"

11 いや iya "No,"

12 俺からだ おれからだ ore kara da "it's from me." (Note: I think Kudou is saying "No, it was my suggestion, so I should be the one we test this on.")

1 でも"変速"はこの戦いの要だ！失敗したら死柄木に"変速"が でも"へんそく"はこのたたかいのかなめだ！しっぱいしたらしがらきに"へんそく"が demo "hensoku" wa kono tatakai no kaname da! shippai shitara Shigaraki ni "hensoku" ga "But Gear Shift is key in this battle! If it fails, Shigaraki will [have]Gear Shift!"

2 今 いま ima "Right now,"

3 動けなければ死ぬ うごけなければしぬ ugokenakereba shinu "[whoever] can't move will die."

4 "変速"を手放せば反動も手放せる "おれ"をてばなせばはんどうもてばなせる "ore (kanji: hensoku)" wo tebanaseba handou mo tebanaseru "If he can let go of me (read as: Gear Shift), he can let go of the recoil."

5 そして万が一奴が使ったとしても今の反動状態がそのまま渡ることになる そしてまんがいちやつがつかったとしてもいまのはんどうじょうたいがそのままわたることになる soshite man ga ichi yatsu ga tsukatta to shitemo ima no handou joutai ga sono mama wataru koto ni naru "And even if by any chance that guy used it, the current state of the recoil would pass over [to him] as it is now."

6 リーダー…俺はずっとあなたに従ってきた…けれど今回はリスクが高すぎる リーダー…おれはずっとあなたにしたがってきた…けれどこんかいはリスクがたかすぎる RIIDAA...ore wa zutto anata ni shitagatte kita...keredo konkai wa RISUKU ga taka sugiru "Leader...I've always followed you...but this time the risk is too high."

7 だから賭けだよ だからかけだよ dakara kake da yo "That's why it's a bet."

8 俺たちは過酷な時代を生きた おれたちはかこくなじだいをいきた ore-tachi wa kakoku na jidai wo ikita "We lived in a harsh era."

9 仕方がないと…無情な決断も重ねてきた しかたがないと…むじょうなけつだんもかさねてきた shikata ga nai to...mujou na ketsudan mo kasanete kita Literal. "[I thought] there was no choice... I piled up heartless decisions." Contextual. "[I thought] there was no choice... I made decision after heartless decision."

1 今　最も過酷な状況にあって いま　もっともかこくなじょうきょうにあって ima motto mo kakoku na joukyou ni atte Right now, [he is] is in the harshest situation,

2 それでも尚心を諦めないこの少年が それでもなおこころをあきらめないこのしょうねんが sore demo nao kokoro wo akiramenai kono shounen ga yet still, this boy will not give up on [his] heart. (Note: The "his" is ambiguous. This phrase literally reads as "this boy will not give up on heart.")

3 正しいのだと信じたい ただしいのだとしんじたい tadashii no da to shinjitai I want to believe that he is right*. (*Note: This word "right" can mean both "correct" and "righteous, just.")

4 オールマイトにここまでして貰えて オールマイトにここまでしてもらえて OORU MAITO ni koko made shite moraete For All Might to do all of this for me,

5 恵まれすぎてる… めぐまれすぎてる… megumare sugiteru... I'm too blessed...

6 づ… dzu... "Ddh..."

7 ふぐ…！ fugu...! "Ngh...!"

8 …この期に及んで… …このごにおよんで… ...kono go ni oyonde... "...Up to this phase..."

9 力が惜しいとか…死の恐怖じゃない… ちからがおしいとか…しのきょうふじゃない… chikara ga oshii toka...shi no kyoufu ja nai... "it's not that the power is precious [to him]...and it's not the fear of death."

10 どれだけ強大な使命を帯びてても… どれだけきょうだいなしめいをおびてても… dore dake kyoudai na shimei wo obitetemo... "No matter how powerful the mission with which he is entrusted..."

11 俊典…！ としのり…！ Toshinori...! "Toshinori...!"

12 この子はいつまで経っても…… このこはいつまでたっても…… kono ko wa itsu made tattemo...... "For this child, no matter how much time passes......"

13 この子にとってOFAは… このこにとってワン・フォー・オールは… kono ko ni totte WAN FOO OORU wa... "to this child, One For All is..."

14 肝に銘じておきな きもにめいじておきな kimo ni meijite oki na Keep this in mind:

15 これは君自身が勝ち取った力だ これはきみじしんがかちとったちからだ kore wa kimi jishin ga kachitotta chikara da this is a power you have won yourself.

1 憧れのヒーローがくれた宝物なんだよ あこがれのヒーローがくれたたからものなんだよ akogare no HIIROO ga kureta takaramono nanda yo ...a treasure given to him by the hero he admires.

3 何をごちゃごちゃと話してる なにをごちゃごちゃとはなしてる nani wo gochagocha to hanashiteru "What gripes are you talking about?"

4 万縄あんたはなるべく小僧の側に ばんじょうあんたはなるべくこぞうのそばに Banjou anta wa narubeku kozou no soba ni "Banjou, you [stay] by the boy's side as much as possible."

5 黒鞭が生命線だ くろむちがせいめいせんだ kuro muchi ga seimeisen da "Black Whip is the lifeline."

6 頼んだ たのんだ tanonda "[I'm] counting on you."

7 ああ aa "Right,"

8 マイヒーロー MAI HIIROO "my hero."

9 あとはお前だどうする緑谷出久‼︎ あとはおまえだどうするみどりやいずく‼︎ ato wa omae da dou suru Midoriya Izuku!! "The rest is up to you, Izuku Midoriya!!"

10 ……やります‼︎ ......yarimasu!! "......I'll do it!!"

1 …とても ...totemo "...You don't really"

2 腱や筋肉を内から直接補強… けんやきんにくをうちからちょくせつほきょう… ken ya kinniku wo uchi kara chokusetsu hokyou… Direct reinforcement of your tendons and muscles from within…

3 肌から透けて見える黒鞭が物語ってる はだからすけてみえるそれがものがたってる hada kara sukete mieru sore (kanji: kuro muchi) ga monogatatteru That (read as: Black Whip) that’s transparently visible through your skin tells the story.

4 ヒーローには見えねえな ヒーローにはみえねえな HIIROO ni wa mienee na "look like a hero."

tagline 動かぬ身体に黒鞭を打つ‼︎ うごかぬからだにくろむちをうつ‼︎ ugokanu karada ni kuro muchi wo utsu!! With a body that won't move, strike with Black Whip!!

[em-writes-stuff-sometimes]

gevivys (beauty) │ Chapter 5: Resolve

terms of endearment ‘verse: see my Masterlist for the correct series order!

Chapter 1 │Chapter 2 │Chapter 3 │Chapter 4 │Chapter 5 │Chapter 6 │Chapter 7 │Chapter 8 │Chapter 9 │Chapter 10 (COMPLETE!)

Synopsis: Daemon returns to King's Landing after ten years in exile, intent on rekindling his affair with Rhaenyra. He wasn't expecting you - the revelation changes everything.

Hello, all! I know, it’s so soon! But this one is a cobbled-together piece of stuff you’ve already seen, just padded out a bit more. I figured I might as well push it on out now, so here ya go! Featuring Jason Lannister for the very first time, to finally bring all this shit together a bit more cohesively. As always, thank you to my boobear @ewanmitchellcrumbs​ for reading though this and reassuring me it isn’t total shite!

TRIGGERS: incest, purity culture, age gap, general Daemon grottiness, allusions to non-consensual sexual situations.

According to most, Daemon Targaryen is a man in possession of little capacity for feeling beyond what is required to partake in lechery and barbarism. He knows himself; his disparagers are not entirely wrong. Except for one important, essential truth—he would die for his family. He loves his family.

Love, as he understands it, is what he has always felt when looking upon his brother, upon Rhaenyra. No matter the strife that has torn him from his kin time and time again, he can freely acknowledge that such sentiments will remain everlasting.

A kicked hound is one most loyal, he thinks with no small degree of bitterness. Or perhaps the meanest hound is more loyal. Either way, I am the hound—and my master, the king.

Love is what has wrenched harsh and twisting in his heart whenever he laid eyes on you, a toddling girl-child eternally eager for the cossetting attentions of your uncle, your kepa—and he had always been kepa, never Viserys, no, your father had never received an honour beyond being called ‘papa’ like any common pauper—now a stranger in so many ways.

The garden and the morning repast had served to ignite the wellspring of all his wildest desires, delivering to him seemingly all he had ever wanted in a prospective bride—young and beautiful, obedient and good-tempered, Valyrian of colouring and of status. But you had seemed smaller than your younger self, trapped in a prison of your own making, hidden beneath layers and layers of chaste courtesy and painstaking banality. And then, accompanying you to the Dragonpit had given him a curious glimpse into the power you kept hidden, the ancient strength of your lineage slipping through the cracks in your genteel veneer.

Regal. Arcane. These are the words that had come to mind watching you interact with your mount, none other than the famed Cannibal himself. Something of the majesty of the Conqueror lay within you, waiting for the necessary spark to kindle the flame. Your exchange with Athfiezar—your silent fearlessness, your devotion to your savage beast, your unassuming poise—reminds him that, for all your equally meek and mild-mannered nature, you are still Targaryen. You are still his sweetling.

It is this that elicits a consuming curiosity to know more.

You are an interesting puzzle, a strange contradiction, one whose buttermilk skin and pert teats and spit-shine lips should herald as a welcome to sample the delights hidden by the fabric of your darling little gowns. Yet, you act not as a silly young thing learning of her sway over men—teasing with fluttering lashes and bit lip and lilting tone as Rhaenyra had—but as a docile girl disinclined to press the limits of propriety as all maidens do. You ride the most savage dragon in the known world, and yet there is no such quality in you that echoes your mount’s disposition; instead, a loveliness that is near to cloying, pure and unadulterated and surely too good to be true. You are a fucking princess, and yet you are perfectly content to fade into the periphery, drawing little notice to yourself and seeking none from those around you, not even your own blood. A scholar, quick-witted and erudite, but somehow still so sweetly unknowing of the depravities that rule the minds of men who lay eyes on you.

You fascinate him. And his newfound realisation does not lessen his temptation to fuck you—to ply you with praise and charm and no small hint of avuncular affection (the reminder of your shared blood thrills him to the bone as always) so that, over time, you might be swayed to give your maidenhead to him—but, rather, that it results in a metamorphosis, a muddling, his longing mingling the base needs of the flesh with a rekindling of his fondness for you.

Which is why he cannot stand the presence of Jason Lannister.

“Why are you entertaining this farce?” Daemon asks, fists clenched at his sides. “A pompous fuck like him has no business anywhere near her.”

“Whatever is the problem, brother?” Viserys says distractedly, hunching over his miniature of Old Valyria and studying the replica of the Targaryen manse on the outskirts with intent. “Jason Lannister is Lord Paramount of the Westerlands. By any standard, I would think he is the best contender for her hand.”

That fucking model of his. Daemon resists the urge to smash the king’s stone city into rubble, though doing so might grant him the attentiveness he is sorely lacking from the man. “Are you not hearing me? He’s an arrogant cunt. He’d bore her in a sennight, let alone whatever hellish span of time an entire marriage would last.”

Viserys hums noncommittally. “She will make do”—he waves Daemon off—“as all noblewomen must when their fathers command them to marry. That is her lot in life. Besides, Lord Jason is one of the wealthiest men in the realm, and I am told he is rather pleasing to a lady’s eye. She could do worse than he.”

His brother’s remark is a fair one—of the trio, Jason is the preferable choice. And what a fucking miserable choice it would be.

He rolls his eyes. This is going nowhere. “And Tyrell? Your idiot son? Are they the ‘worse’ you speak of?”

Between that foppish peacock, his spiteful little twit of a nephew and the prancing lion, the latter just barely scrapes by as the best of the bunch.

“Enough, Daemon.” The king sighs, finally deigning to look up from his pile of rock. “These are the suitors she herself has chosen. I care not for the particulars, only that the girl should be wed before her eighteenth name day. Each of them possesses some quality I am sure she finds worthwhile…” At that, he pauses, brow furrowing. He squints up at Daemon. “What is your interest in the matter, anyway? It has naught to do with you.”

Shit. Daemon makes an evasive comment—something about sullying the purity of their noble lineage—and departs as quickly as he can, eager to escape the risk of Viserys’s suspicion falling on him. It would not do for the man to suspect his intentions toward yet another of his daughters.

He does not intend to seek you and the lord out, truly, but it nonetheless does not surprise him to realise that, upon freeing himself from the wrathful spiral of his own musings, his feet have taken him to the very same garden where he had first laid eyes upon you again after so many years, where you are now enduring the attentions of the insufferable Lannister patriarch. On this occasion, Cole is nowhere to be seen, and the entry is instead guarded by one of the Cargyll twins.

Daemon spies you on the path just inside, a careful distance placed between you and Jason. Though he cannot make out your expression from his vantage point, he observes well enough the flourishing bow the lord proffers in your direction, the polite curtsey you extend in return, his smug prancing step as he leaves your company. He sees the manner in which your shoulders droop, your head bowing as you turn to wander past the great tree and out of sight. My poor girl.

And then his view is blocked by a garish wash of red and gold.

“Prince Daemon,” Jason says with a haughty simper. With a curt nod, Daemon wordlessly returns the salutation. His lack of warmth is noticed. The Lannister lord hesitates for a moment before returning to his condescending civilities, forcing a relaxed stance. “I was most glad to hear of your return.”

He doubts that. There is little love lost between him and the lord. Jerking his chin toward the garden, he asks, “Leaving so soon, are we? I had thought the entire afternoon was devoted to this little outing.”

Jason chuckles awkwardly. “Well.” He scratches his beard. “The princess has another engagement to attend to. Something about a tutor.”

Thank the gods for that Lysan fellow. They had never met, but Daemon is certain he’d like the man well enough.

“Doesn’t concern you?” he asks, scarcely bothering to conceal the scepticism from his tone. At the confusion on Lannister’s face, he clarifies. “That she’d rather spend time with her tutor than with you?”

“Why would it, my prince?” is the answer, self-assured as ever. “He is old, and frail. Best for her to spend as much time with him as she can before she leaves for Lannisport.”

That genuinely irritates him, and not simply the notion of you being shipped off to the lurid monstrosity that is Casterly Rock. Even he knows that your meetings with your tutor are less obligations and more gatherings of friendship—your spirit would surely crumble if you were denied your dearest companion after being coerced to marry.

Daemon suppresses a sneer. “Your confidence is… admirable.” If misplaced, he wants to add.

“There is little competition to be found,” Jason says with a toss of the head. His tawny hair rustles in the gentle breeze, giving him the appearance of the sigil his house has claimed. Fucking ridiculous. Then, the man has the audacity to clap a palm against his arm. “Never fear—I shall take utmost care of her. She’ll want for nothing as my lady wife.”

He shrugs off the over-familiarity, stepping out of reach. “For a time, perhaps. And in a decade? Two? A princess of the realm has no business playing nursemaid to her husband in his dotage.”

He is older than I, he thinks. And if she is truly considering him above the others, then…

“I might be the eldest of her suitors, yes,” the man says, a tense smile disguising his offense poorly. “But I have a rather substantial inheritance, unlike the Prince Aegon, and my constitution is more… pleasing than the Lord Tyrell, I’m sure.” His mouth curves into a knowing smirk at that, leaving Daemon with no uncertainty as to what he really means. That little— “I would not dismiss Jason Lannister from the competition just yet. She will choose me. I suggest you accustom yourself to reality, Prince Daemon.”

He grunts dismissively, incensed. There is no reply he can give in this moment that won’t incite the Lannisters to break faith with House Targaryen; and so, he chooses to remove himself from the odious man’s presence entirely, stalking past with nary a word of farewell.

You sit where your younger half-sister had a scarce moon’s turn ago, eyes fixed toward your lap, turning an ornament about with your small fingers. As he nears, the lion salient glimmers in the sun, gold against gold in dazzling vulgarity. Of course, he’d gifted her something with his own fucking sigil on it. What a worthless bequest.

When he calls your name, you hardly react. Your gaze flickers up to him for a mere moment before falling once more, resuming your surveyance of the item in your grasp. There is a pensive expression lingering in your frown, the crease in your brow. It tells him all he needs to know of your true feelings for the Lannister lord, regardless of the man’s own delusions.

“Why—you look positively miserable, sweetling,” he says, settling himself beside you. You glance up at him again, sullen pout puffing out your lower lip. Though your disposition is so downtrodden, it is tempting to press his thumb to that lip, to push inside and feel the wet warmth of your tongue pulse against his flesh in a coquettish tease. “Not enjoying being courted? The gifts, the attention, the romance…”

You take the bait beautifully. Starting at his reference to the pendant in your hold, your nostrils flare exasperatedly. “No. No. I—I just—” You stop, shaking your head. “Never mind.”

“Go on,” he cajoles gently, lowly. “Tell Uncle Daemon.”

It is all the encouragement you need. “There is little romance to be found in this—this charade.” You sigh, eyes fixed on some minute detail past his head. He’s struck by the melancholy in your voice. “These men—Lord Jason, Lord Denys, Aegon—they do not want me. They want an idea of me. A Targaryen bride with pale hair and Valyrian blood. One who will give them children they shall make little effort to raise, a silent doll to clasp onto and show off at feasts and balls… as though possessing me is somehow meaningful. They do not—they do not see me.”

It’s here your voice cuts off strangely. He wishes it hadn’t, for he finds himself enthralled by the mournful monologue that paints a picture of the loneliest girl in King’s Landing. There is something yearning and haunted in that saccharine stare of hers, he thinks. A babe with her arms held out, wailing at the world as it leaves her abandoned in the crib. It’s an eerie echo of a conversation that took place a decade prior, though the lead role lacks the infantile petulance of the previous star.

He finds himself retracing those steps almost without realising.

“Idīnnon dēmalio syt verdilla mērī issa. Dīnakson toliot, gaoso gaomagon kostas.” He is testing, prodding, waiting for what might result from his efforts. Marriage is only a political arrangement. Once you are wed, you can do as you like.

The words make your cheeks flush fetchingly and your brow wrinkle once more, glancing back at him apprehensively. Pretty pink girl with a pretty pink blush; how far down does it spread? You swallow—pause—look away, wrestling with a thought. You peep back up at him.

“Se skorverdon jessivo aōt kesrȳsi jiōrtas?” you ask with surprising cynicism. You exhale loudly, staring at some fixed point in the distance. “Ābrazȳri buttā, riñar daor, mērpāves… Tolī jaelan.”

And how much joy did this bring you? you say. A wife you hated, no children, loneliness… I want more. The quiet longing in your voice is palpable.

He grimaces at the mention of his bronze bitch—he’d rather not know how widespread the knowledge of the circumstances around her… accident… had been in the wake of his departure.

“What is it you want, then?” he asks, switching back to the Common Tongue, the corner of his mouth already contorting in anticipation of the naïve response. True love, a happily ever after… We don’t get to have happy endings, he thinks to himself.

“I want someone who loves me,” you say, pressing on crossly at the huff of laughter that escapes him. “I never said I would love him!”

The pessimistic elucidation takes him aback. Again, it is not exactly what he had been expecting. Full of surprises today. He tips his head consideringly at you, inviting you to continue.

You hesitate for a moment.

“I… They say my father loved my mother. I believe it, but—” You swallow, the corners of your mouth turning down as you mull over your words. “They say he had a choice when baby Baelon was born. That he could cut her open to get the babe out, but that it would mean her certain death.”

Gods above. Where in the seven hells had you learned that piece of information? Viserys had kept the circumstances of Aemma’s death under tight wraps, never even deigning to mention it to his own brother. It was pure happenstance that one of the maids he enjoyed fucking at the time had been present on the unfortunate day.

Your eyes glisten as you speak, limpid pools of lilac glowing like fire in the light. “I do not think I could ever choose my own life over my child’s—but they say he did not even ask her, that he just… held her down while they—How could I ever trust a man to raise the babe I bore him if he would be willing to butcher his own wife in her childbed?”

He watches as you clench your eyes tight, set your jaw and exhale a few shuddery breaths. When they blink open, they are no longer so tear-bright. Daemon suddenly admires you for it, for the way you so ruthlessly suppress weakness. He wonders how often you’ve been made to force back your pain for the good of your family.

“What happened to your mother was a terrible tragedy, sweetling.” He reaches forward to finally grip your small, pale hand in his. It is cold and dwarfed entirely by his own. “But you cannot live in fear forever.”

You make to pull your hand away. He closes his grip tighter upon it, coercing you to look up at him properly.

“When hope is gone, what choice left is there but fear?” It is a whisper, carried on the breeze, and the thinly veiled misery pains him in the chest, right in his heart.

I thought that beating thing was black and dead by now, he thinks to himself.

You shake your head, smile. The picture of the melancholy maiden fades from view as you affect an appearance of energy once more, gentle and muted as it is. “I know my father loved my mother, and so love is no guarantee of loyalty. But it would be helpful, I think.”

“You see love and loyalty as intertwined, then?” he cannot help but ask. He is intrigued by this rare showing of spirit, of vitality, a resurrection of his baby niece from long ago. It is you, finally—his little girl, only now you possess the curves of a gold-gilded whore and the thousand-year gaze of an ancient, arcane being.

“Do you not?” Your head is tilted like an inquisitive bird’s, artlessly assessing. “You cannot have one without the other. Loyalty without love makes for an easy traitor, and love without loyalty makes for an unhappy marriage.”

He laughs again at the latter part of your pronouncement. A sweet, trusting little filly waiting to be broken in.

“There are many ways to love someone, princess.” He ogles you shamelessly, savouring the affectation of outraged bewilderment painting your countenance. “I imagine you’ll find few of them in the marriage bed.”

He waits for you to question him—to ask him what he means, to ask him to explain, to teach you, show you—but instead, you pull back, taking all the warmth from his palm with you.

“I dislike your implication, Uncle,” you say stiffly, returning your hand to your lap and nestling it between your thighs to retain the heat.

Fuck.

He backtracks raising his hands in a jesting show of defeat. “I meant nothing by it, gevivys.”

Beauty. It is an apt title. An underwhelming one, even. Surely there is little else more beautiful than the sight you make here, now, a rich blush spreading along the unblemished expanse of your chest—regrettably enclosed by pale damask just above the protrusion of your tits—the planes of your throat, not quite travelling up to decorate your cheeks.

You sigh. “You never do.”

Daemon lets the conversation lull, deciding to instead look upon the little revelation before him. You are an interesting puzzle, one whose decorum in the face of his gentle compulsion—that same persuasion he had so often utilised to get fetching girls to strip bare for him and show off their equally-as-fetching cunts—had instead left him lacking. The body of a slut and the mind of a scholar, all wrapped up in wide eyes and honey-sweet words and wild hair the shade of Old Valyria. Of home.

A wild thought seizes him. If he leans forward, he could do it. He could grip you by the back of the neck and pull you to him, press his lips to yours and coax you past your panic and fear and into a hot, sweeping rhythm, a push and pull of tongue and teeth that would set you both alight. And from there, how simple would it be to murmur pretty praise as he lowers you down, raises your skirts up, cleaves you open until your blood wets his cock with the proof of his claim, incontestable, not even by the king himself? The deed would be messy, perhaps distressing and no doubt painful, but it would solve several issues at once. He would be free to do as he likes with his lascivious desires after you are made to wed him, and you would be free from your pitiful suitors and given a husband worthy of you. In time, the hurt and shock and fright would fade, he knows it.

He could. He could. He—

The spell is broken. Your attention is diverted by the yells of a dark-haired boy as he bowls his way to you, throwing himself across your lap with a cry of your name. Daemon tries not to glare at young Lucerys as he tries to roughhouse with you. Having somewhat learned the schedules of his family, it baffles him somewhat that the child is not at his daily lessons. Should Laenor not have him now?

The thought must conjure the man himself, the Velaryon scion appearing seemingly out of nowhere. Laenor’s expression is forbidding as he strides over to you and his son, silver locs swinging with the velocity of each step. With his glare affixed to his face, he reaches a hand down to you in silent command, staring daggers at Daemon all the while.

What the hells is his problem?

You take hold of your goodbrother, bewildered, and allow him to tug you gently from the bench beside Daemon. Lucerys slides from beside you with a rustle, easily revolving around to dart toward the grass. You are already grabbing at the boy’s wrist to stop him running off.

Daemon watches Laenor attempt to rearrange his countenance into something less violent. “Would you take Luke off to the training yards, sister?”

A look of vague incomprehension crosses your face at the question. At least she senses the oddity, too, he acknowledges.

Laenor’s head turns down to where he sits, and it is then that it dawns on him that his nephew-by-marriage has very possibly been watching him stare at his baby niece’s tits for longer than he can claim plausible deniability of.

Ah, shit. The darting, mistrustful gaze suddenly makes sense.

“Of course, Laenor,” you say sweetly, biddably.

Daemon cannot help but wonder what else you might comply with if gently persuaded. He glances up at you from where he sits, smirking as you turn to him.

“It seems we must part for now, sweetling,” he tells you. He ignores Laenor’s grimace from behind you.

“It does.” You shift lightly. It is clear to see that there is something about your shared conversation that has unnerved you. The notion sends a trail of perverse excitement through him. He wonders what other reactions he might prompt out of you with gentle teasing. “I—thank you, Uncle. For listening.”

The words are honest, free of artifice. It is surprisingly warming to hear. When you make to depart, he calls you back.

“What—no goodbye kiss for your beloved uncle this time?” he asks, hoping he’ll bait you into action. He determinedly disregards Laenor’s huff, eyes trained on you as you swallow with trepidation before quickly making the short few steps back to him.

Your knee settles on the seat beside him, clearly meant to be no more than a brief resting place so that you may carry out his implicit request and leave—if not for the way in which your skirts gather around your leg in a manner assured to result in your toppling over should you attempt to rise without fixing them. Daemon turns his head to yours as you free yourself from the tangle. Up close, closer than he would ever dare get usually, he can see each lash that frames your eyes, the hairs that sprout from your brows, the slick cherry bloom of your mouth—a whisper-sweet gather of plump, plush fruit he wants, needs, to take a bite from.

Would you let me, little girl? he wonders.

You gasp, a short little breath of surprise, and lurch away lightly at the closeness. A brave little thing, you return to him, pressing those precious petal-soft lips to the skin of his cheek. Your covered breasts press involuntarily against his arm.

Fucking hells.

“Sȳz bantis, kepus.” Good evening, Uncle, you say in that light little accent of yours, an unintended provocation of his basest yearnings.

With that, you bundle the boy up in your capable little hands and make for your destination, the Cargyll knight falling into formation behind you.

“Care to explain—well, all of that?” Laenor asks.

Oh—yes. Daemon pushes himself from his seat, deliberately stalling while he thinks of a response that isn’t what the fuck how the fuck when the fuck and why.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” he says idly, slyly, glancing over at him.

“No!” His goodnephew leans forward into his space. He is taken aback by the vehemence in his tone, uncharacteristic of the bumbling, affable man. “You don’t get to do this to her. Not this one. Not this time.”

“Whatever do you think I plan to do to her?” Daemon laughs, wondering at the answer himself.

Whatever would she let me do to her?

Laenor sighs, steps back.

“Look.” He nudges him to walk alongside as they make for the garden’s entry. “She’s not one of your whores, Daemon. She’s just a girl. She’s not the type to play your twisted little games, so leave her be—please.”

He is warmed by the defence of your goodbrother, an admission of familiarity and care that is sure to have flourished since the man’s entrance into the family some years ago.

“What makes you think I have any intention of—how did you put it—playing games with her?” If he were a little less honest with himself, he would be affronted by the manner in which Laenor has jumped straight to an accusation. But Lord Flea Bottom’s reputation is inescapable, even after so many years. “Perhaps my objective is pure and wholesome.”

“Right.” Laenor snorts, shaking his head as he folds his hands behind his back. “You’re far more likely to fall in with her horde of suitors than to believably claim familial interest.”

True. And yet… why not? He’s conceived all manner of plots to satiate his wants, from drunken fumbles in the dark to his half-baked impulse from but a moment ago. Unlike his previous conquests, though, he doubts the need will dissipate after a single fuck. You are too important to him—his precious girl turned darkest desire, the only woman he could ever deign to carry on his line with.

Viserys has been pressuring him to seek out a bride. He mightn’t be happy with the prospect of his brother asking for his daughter’s hand, exactly, but there is surely no debate that he is the best contender. Not Jason. Not Denys. Not fucking Aegon. Daemon. And, well, if the asking should go poorly—how simple would it be to whisk you away to Dragonstone, to speak the vows and seal the deed before it can be undone? There is no risk this time, no Iron Throne to lose, no treaty or agreement that cannot be broken…

He can see it now. Your sweet little face peering up at him, marked with his blood, lip dripping red with the pledge of entangling your souls together in savage Valyrian custom. Your pretty little eyes wide with maidenly shock as he breaches your untried cunt, tight and pulsing and hotwetwarm, binding you to him irrevocably. The slow waddling of your gait as you round with child, his child, his sweetest babe bringing forth life of her own, belly ripe with seed and leaking his spend—

“Laenor,” he says slowly, eyes glinting as his lips upturn in a wide grin, “I do believe you have the best ideas.”

Read the story on AO3 here:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/42100623/chapters/120880855

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[dragons-bones]

FFXIV Write Entry #9: Matters of the Heart

Prompt: lend an ear || Master Post || On AO3

---

A soft knock on the door jolted Dulia-Chai back into full awareness and she jerked her head up, decades of practice and composure the only thing that kept her from knocking her ink bottle over.

“Dulia-Chai? Do you have a moment?”

The door to her office was open, and she could see a familiar head of soft red hair just over the accounting books stacked in haphazard piles all over her desk. Dulia-Chai beamed. “Of course, Ryne! Come in, come in, have a seat on the settee.”

The door opened wider so Ryne could slip inside fully, and while she did so, Dulia-Chai quickly checked over her current work. Eulmore’s finances had, well, gone to utter shite long before Vauthry’s rule, or even that of his father, and she and the other municipal accountants were having a devil of a time straightening out the records. She had reached a good stopping point, however, and she had been at this for most of the morning already. Ryne had chosen an excellent time to visit.

Dulia-Chai made sure the blue ink of her own notations was dry, closed the book, and pushed away from her desk to stand. She took a moment to stretch out her poor back before she bustled towards the settee.

Ryne was fretting with her hair ribbon, head ducked low, and Dulia-Chai eyed her thoughtfully.

Tea, she decided. They definitely needed tea.

Her Nuzz had installed a small stove for her here in her office, to make it easier to brew tea or even coffee on the days when the finances proved most troublesome. It took only a moment to fill the kettle from the water pitcher one of the pages always made certain was refreshed throughout the day, set it on the stove to heat, and began laying out a tea tray from the cupboard and cold box. Bowl of sugar, small jug of cream, two cups, and of course: a tin of coffee biscuits.

Once the kettle was off the stove and the leaves steeping, Dulia-Chai brought the tray over to the settee, placing it on the low table, and perched on the settee next to Ryne. She poured a cup, added two sugar cubes and a dash of cream, and passed the cup to Ryne, who took it automatically and raised the cup from the saucer to gently blow at the hot liquid before sipping carefully. Dulia-Chai made her own cup—no sugar, healthy glug of cream—and wedged a biscuit onto the saucer before finally settling back.

The drank and nibbled in mostly comfortable silence for a few minutes. While Ryne’s nerves had calmed, she still seemed disinclined to proffer what had brought her here today. Well, then!

“How may I help you today, Ryne?” Dulia-Chai said gently.

Ryne sighed quietly, stuffed the remaining half of her own coffee biscuit into her mouth to keep from answering for a few more moments as she set down her teacup. She chewed, swallowed, and finally said, shy as a lamb: “Were you ever scared your relationship with Chai-Nuzz wouldn’t work out?”

Ahhhh, there it was. Dulia-Chai finished draining her own tea as she best thought how to answer, before deciding the most straightforward way was best, as always. “Certainly!” she said. “We were both young, and the young aren’t always so wise, and it’s common for people of all ages to realize they aren’t a good fit for one another. But here’s the thing: relationships take work.”

Ryne finally looked up, meeting her eyes for the first time today, puzzlement clear on her features.

Dulia-Chai nodded. “It’s something that gets left out of the romances, something even we adults often forget to pass along, because it isn’t glamorous. I adored my Nuzz from the first, but adoration does not make for stability. Of course, I had to convince Chai-Nuzz of my adoration first…”

She took a moment to grumble as Ryne giggled. Stubborn, ridiculous man and his low self-esteem! Even today it was still a struggle.

“How do you do it? Making it work?” Ryne said.

“Talking,” Dulia-Chai said with a firm nod. “If you’re upset, say so, and why. If you don’t know why, say that, too! Sometimes we just feel poorly for no good reason, and it’s important to communicate that so that no one feels as if they’ve done something wrong. If you’d like to do something together, ask. It sounds very simple, but often people expect their loved ones to just know, and that is neither fair to yourself or to them! Though, it’s not impossible to become well attuned to your loved one after long years together; my Nuzz always knows when I need a biscuit or when I need to take a walk if I’m grumpy, but he didn’t know that when we first courted.”

Ryne nodded slowly, nibbling at her lower lip as she absorbed Dulia-Chai’s words. “And…what about just wanting to be alone for a bit?”

“Oh, my dear Ryne, that is perfectly normal, and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise,” Dulia-Chai said. “You are your own person, as Gaia is her own person, as I’m my own, as Chai-Nuzz is his. We all have different needs and desires; sometimes that means we want to spend our time with our beloveds, sometimes with friends, sometimes by ourselves.”

Ryne seemed to sag with relief, the tension that had been thrumming through her finally released. “Oh, thank you, Dulia-Chai,” she said. “Some days it doesn’t feel any different with Gaia than before we began dating, and I’ve also been having this awful itch to just…go camping in Lakeland for a sennight like in the old days with Thancred, and Gaia hates that sort of camping.”

Dulia-Chai reached out and gently patted Ryne’s knee. “You and Gaia have a strong foundation, being friends first,” she said, “and that’s good. One’s beloved should also be one’s friend, and some days you will feel that friendship more strongly than your romantic feelings. And your friend knows the two of you don’t need to be bound at the hip at all times! I have no doubt Gaia will understand, and she can enjoy some time to herself and her own hobbies, and then once you’re back, you’ll both be mentally recharged and feeling better. But you have to talk to one another, hm?”

“Yes, Dulia-Chai, I will,” Ryne said, smiling at last. “Thank you again.”

“You are always welcome, my dear. Now…” She held out her arms and winked. “Big squeeze or little squeeze?”

“Big, please!”

As Dulia-Chai gave Ryne a bone-crushing hug that had the girl squeaking in delight, she wondered if a certain black-haired young lady would be visiting her before Ryne had the chance to talk with her.

[yamy-brett]

Happy 91st Birthday, Jeremy. You are sorely missed.

From JEREMY BRETT PLAYING A PART by Maureen Whittaker. Quotes by Jeremy Brett.

"It all started for me on 3rd November 1933. I began life with everything a child could wish for. We had a huge, glorious, country house on the outskirts of Berkswell, near Coventry, with tennis courts, squash courts, horses and dogs and a wonderful, terraced garden created by my artistic mother, Elizabeth. The family was spoiled rotten, for we had three live-in staff, plus four other people who came in to help. We always seemed to be entertaining a houseful of fascinating people; the door was always open.”

The Grange, where Peter William Jeremy, was born, is a beautiful house with sweet smelling flowering wisteria on the front elevation and nestled in a magical vista of gardens, landscaped by Elizabeth, known as “Bunny”, who was the centre of this loving family.

The Huggins family was a significant part of the delightful Berkswell village in Warwickshire. William and Elizabeth had decided to move to the rambling, attractive Berkswell Grange in 1929 to accommodate a growing family. The three boys, John, Michael and Patrick, needed somewhere to play and to ride, so a large, impressive house was chosen in nearby Truggist Lane. The house featured seventeenth century timber framing, and nineteenth century additions, including a tiled roof.

Due to its grandeur and welcoming hostess, the Grange was the centre of village events, of Christmas parties, of afternoon teas and of music and entertainment.

William and Elizabeth were both keen archers, so it is no surprise that Jeremy took this seriously and belonged to the Woodmen of Arden, a notable club for the sport. “The whole family were taxophilites. Actually, my mother was a brilliant archer, won many awards. She had a special lightweight bow, and when I was growing up, I used her hand-me-downs. Looking back, I must have been about four or five when my father gave me my first lesson. The outfit is really glamorous – Lincoln green cut-away tailcoat, buff waistcoat with gold buttons, shite slacks, shite shoes and a New Zealand style hat that turns up at the side…”

Archery Week was hosted by the Huggins family at the beginning of August each year and to accompany the competitions on the extensive grounds at the Grange, they featured special balls for about 30 or 40 people for dinner, followed by dancing in the ballroom. “The dancing finished so late that breakfast was often served to the guests before they left for home the following day.”

“Naturally, I’d been practising like mad for the occasion. Firing at 100 yards I nervously let the arrow go. It wobbled in the air and my astonishment landed smack in the middle of the target. I was made Master Forester on my first day – a title which carries with it sitting at the High Table. Socially, archery can be pretty heaving going. That day the lunch ran to 12 toasts and I remember staggering out afterwards full of venison and summer pudding, cheeks pink from the port and nose still twitching from my first pinch of snuff…”

He told one interviewer that he had “a marvellous youth with every kind of animal under the sun, from ferrets to rabbits to mice to horses, to monkeys even. It was like a paradise, and a gorgeous home.”

Jeremy had a very special relationship with all animals. He welcomed dogs as earnestly as he welcomed his friends and often on his knees to greet them, face to face. His own dog, Mr. Binks, was a Jack Russell terrier that he affectionately called his “hound of heaven”.

Elizabeth’s reputation was always one of kindness to others, especially towards the homeless in the community. Gypsies and vagrants were frequent visitors expecting to be fed, have a wash or receive fresh clothing, and Williams shirts or trousers, could often be seen on these visitors leaving the Grange. Mrs. Huggins would go out and find Gypsies, taking them back to the Grange – the Colonel would come home from work to find a “Gypsy encampment with great cauldron in the walled courtyard, and clothes being dried in the saddle-room.”

During the Coventry bombing on 14th November 1940, in which more than four thousand homes were destroyed, including the 14th century cathedral, Jeremy’s mother, alerted by the sirens, the noise of exploding bombs and the sight of leaping flames across the open countryside, left her family to drive to the nearby town to what she could to help those who were caught up in the devastation. “The whole city was ringed with leaping flames, bathed in brilliant moonlight and a few searchlights were sweeping the smoke-filled sky.” Consequently, one family was taken into the Grange and 42 members of the extended family lived there until alternative accommodations could be found. There was no question in her mind about the decision; it was simply her first and characteristic response to suffering. “She was a dazzling woman, half Irish and fully Quaker, and ran our home, a large country house deep in the Black Country outside Coventry, in a sort of Flower Power way, always filling it with people that she’d picked up. I remember her bringing home a whole family called Weston during the war, and all of them stayed in our stables.”

Elizabeth Huggins had an enormous effect on the growing Jeremy and some would say that he was very like her in his response to others. “My mother had this extraordinary way of making us flower, and she had open doors and windows in her soul – that’s the only way I can put it. Everybody came to my mother. She was like a light of great warmth.”

What an amazing beginning to a brilliant gentleman.

This is just the very beginning of JEREMY BRETT PLAYING A PART by Maureen Whittaker.

[daisey14]

now mega. before i chop you up into my carry on luggage, im going to torture the living shite outta you<3 i've been waiting for this moment for such a long time! and wouldn't you know it you're finally mine if you're hurting please show it don't be fraid to cry, and just for my enjoyment you will suffer! suffer!! suffer!!! until you die. so sit back relax and enjoy the show! ive quite the evening plaannnedd ive cleared up your schedule nowhere else to go, trust me you're in good haaaaaaaands!! why don't you just kill me already? can't you see⠀⠀how much i enjoy this, id never avoid this, cause buddy im a different breed! this is my calling and though its appalling i love making people bleeeeeeeeeed! im a master of torture it gets me igh to show you the horror of staying alive ! ill prod ya and poke ya and bleed you dry! and just for my enjoyment you will suffer! suffer!! suffer!!! until you die. i once was a spyyy but i won't be a spy agaainnn!!!! at least i tried tried to fight till the end!!! but i cant deny that im gonna diiiieeeee (SUFFER SUFFER UNTIL YOU DIE) ABANDONED BETRAYED ME THAT BASTARD LIED THAT NAZI HE PLAYED ME I TRUSTED HIM WHYYYYY IS MEGA MY ENEMY DO I LET HIM DIIIIEEEE IVE GOT TO THINK ABOUT MY FAMILY CAUSE NO ONES LOOKING OUT FOR ME NO MATTER WHAT I GUESS WE'LL SEE IF ONCE A SPY ALWAYS A SPY FOREVER!!! FOREVER!!!!! (SUFFER! SUFFER!) THE WARMEST HELLO TO THE COLDEST GOODBYE REMEMBER (SURRENDER!) REMEMBER (NEVER!) SPIES NEVER DIE............ (ITS TIME TO DIE) (I ONCE WAS A SPY!!!) SPIES ARE FOREVEVEEEEEERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR ive been waiting for this moment for such a long time / a spy is a spy and i once was a spy, FOREVEEEEERRRRRRRRRRR and wouldn't you know it you're finally mine / im gonna be a spy again OOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOH if you're hurting please show it don't be fraid to cry / thought i could say goodbye but i won't lie and just for my enjoyment you will suffer, suffer / i wanna be a spy again im a master of torture it gets me high / spy again its who i am!! to show you the horror of staying alive / doesn't even matter if i killed my best friend!! try again try NOT TO DIE (TIME TO DIE!!!) ive been waiting so damn long for this!! it's not supposed to go like this!! so this is how the story ENNNDDDSSSS take THIS what are you doing! saving you! i don't need your help! i don't need anyone's help! WHATS YOUR DAMAGE MAN????? come on curt let's get goiingg ...owen? SPIES ARE FOREVER FOREVEVRR SPIES ARE FOREVER!! FOREEEVVEERRRRR !!!