#Master Inheritance

[jaroeducations]

What are the Types of Inheritance in Java? Examples and Tips to Master Inheritance

In Java, inheritance is a fundamental concept of object-oriented programming that allows one class to acquire the properties and behaviors of another. This promotes code reusability and establishes a hierarchical relationship between classes Read More...

[illegally-blind-and-deaf]

my favourite LOTR thought at the moment is how absolutely confused Samwise Gamgee must have been when he truly met Peregrin Took for the first time. Of course he'd seen Pippin before, but he'd never actually interacted with him because Sam is just a humble gardener, while Pippin is the heir to the richest and most influential family in the whole Shire.

Poor Sam was most probably expecting a well-mannered young hobbit with very nice clothing (and perhaps a snobbish attitude), someone like Mr Frodo, or perhaps even quiet, calm Meriadoc Brandybuck. While both have a mischievous streak, they're still well-to-do and obviously so in how they act and dress and interact with one another.

There is absolutely no way he was expecting an absolutely feral hobbit-child with far too much energy and a mouth that prattles on a-mile-a-minute about absolutely everything his mind comes across. Or Pippin's favourite hobby of singing loudly in every possible scenario, or vanishing off to climb a tree or catch a fish in a nearby brook. Bare-handed.

This concept is absolutely hilarious to me and I honestly need more Sam and Pippin interactions, especially at the start of the journey when they're walking to Buckland.

[markscherz]

Fun fact: before we understood inheritance, some academics literally thought it was some kind of vibrations picked up by the nervous system.

They literally thought evolution happened through vibes alone.

[mirensiart]

Crying screaming and throwing up thinking about Sky telling the other links the ONE iconic line from fire emblem awakening 🫠💔

"You deserved better from me than one sword and a world of troubles. I'm sorry."

[goldensunset]

i looooove pokémon npcs whose team members subtly imply something about them that's never touched upon in the story or at least never outright said. i love villains having friendship evos. i love trainers who commit hard to one aesthetic or vibe with their team (beyond simply sharing a type) and i love it even better when there's one random exception especially if that's their ace. i love when later down the line someone boxes the cute fun soft baby pokémon they used to have in favor of a seemingly stronger or scarier one to show that they're getting serious. i love when they have a pokémon that's difficult to get and raises lots of questions about them. i love it when the lore behind a pokémon fits the character to a T and i love it even better when it appears to contradict them. give me the story-gameplay harmony but better yet give me what appears to be story-gameplay dissonance but might actually have implications if we're willing to dive deep into it

[dailydegurechaff]

Maid day part three idea: Vooren Grantz is the young master of the house and covers Tanya's mistake. (The reason why he was in the maid outfit in the first part is because he knew it would had made her happy.) [P.S. As always, your art is amazing and beautiful. Lots of love from one friend to another.]

Today’s Daily Degurechaff is… maid tanya, who's NOT getting fired !!

[soumuchforthat]

you've got a way with destruction

alt version (cw blood)

[fauvester]

xuejiao and his secretary/attack dog/fiancee/2nd cousin

[comfy-whumpee]

The Box

@bloodybrambles, @wildfaewhump, @lektric-whump, @that-one-thespian, @raigash, @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi, @rosesareviolentlyread, @castielamigos-whump-side-blog, @burtlederp, @mylifeisonthebookshelf

Josephina Engels sits with the box.

When she is at her kitchen table, eating cold pasta from Saturday night’s batch cooking session, she sits with the box. Its cardboard is slightly bent around the corners, the brown colouring uneven where it must have spent time in the sunlight. The lid fits snugly on, unadorned. It’s an odd box. It must be the kind that was bought just to be a box, not repurposed and reused as most boxes are. It has no personality except a little wear and tear.

When she is at her desk, messaging friends and working on her heritage research, she sits with the box. It is buried at the base of the family tree she sketches out, neat lines tracking siblings and marriages, dates written in pencil as she discovers them. The story of her family opens out with her at the centre, the middle child of three. B. 1849, she writes, after scrolling through handwritten records scanned two decades ago. B for born. M for married. D for death.

When she is half-curled across her sofa with a book open in her hands, she sits with the box. The stories she likes are historical romances, where the steps towards courtship are subtle and mild, and the barriers are antiquated and unrelatable. She turns the pages with a finger, slow over the paper. She loses herself in another time and another country, but the box is always in her mind.

When she is out with friends, the box is there. When she goes to work, the box is there. It’s under her seat on the train. It’s tucked amongst the street furniture when she walks. She feels like she should be carrying it around with her, never once letting it out of her sight. A little shoebox like that, and one that hasn’t even held shoes, should be unremarkable. But it won’t let go of her.

After a long day at work, where spreadsheet grids are burned into her eyes and her head throbs with each glare from each passing pair of headlights, she comes home to it. She drinks a glass of wine with dinner. She reads. She researches. She returns to it.

It makes her feel sick just by existing. Pulling it out is worse. Opening the lid is enough to make her feverish, her heart running wild and her blood rising to he surface. She glances at the curtains, closed. She resists the urge to check over her shoulder.

Her vision blurs as she reaches in. Her fingers flinch from the soft plastic of the toothbrush grip, as if its slight yield is cold flesh. Her fingers skim over the splintering wood of a roughly-sharpened pencil. Then they slide over paper.

She closes her eyes tightly enough to worsen her headache. She swallows each breath, fighting back a sob or a scream. She pulls out a random piece of paper from the pile. Some sheets are whole. Some are scraps, torn into halves or quarters. Some are folded, sharper corners pricking her fingertips. If they draw blood, she could sleep for a thousand years. She could wake up when all of this, and whatever it becomes, is ancient history.

She unfolds the paper. Her thumbs find the tiny indents of the writing, and feel the smooth, dusty graphite. She can feel her stomach pushing up against her ribs in rebellion.

She owes it to him to look.

Through swimming eyes, she can see it.

1. I must always obey Master.

She huffs out a lurching breath. It doesn’t get easier. It doesn’t ever, ever change. The grief twists and spasms and writhes, but some days the leech of it is weak and placid, clawless. This is what never fades.

Her stomach rebels against the words.

2. I must never question Master.

She’s sweating, or shivering, hot and cold. She should ask someone over to take care of her, but who could she ask? This is a whole other world to her colleagues and friends. Her parents don’t deserve this burden. Her sister has already faced too much.

Josie is the one who has to hold the box.

3. I must kneel and submit to Master.

God. She knows what it sounds like, when she reads that.

4. I must always address you as Master.

She tries to breathe. The words are true, and real, and held between her hands. No matter how badly they jar and splinter against the memories in her head, this is her reminder of how wrong she was. How wrong they all were.

5. I must make no noise unless invited to by Master.

She lets the paper fall, her legs pushing her back from the box. She needs a break. She needs to stop getting sucked into this endless, eternal spiral. Every time she opens the box, if she even thinks too hard about it, she ends up here.

She rubs her wet cheeks with the palms of her hands. Why did this have to happen? Why did it have to be so close to her, and hurt so much?

There is nobody who can know. Nobody. Her brother’s memory depends on it, this secret she keeps in his shoebox. She can’t imagine ever saying it aloud. My brother was a monster. The details are too lurid, a horror story she lives inside. He banned his captive from making noise, so even when we were there outside, he didn’t call for help.

Marcie doesn’t talk about it anymore. Mum refuses to believe it. Dad clings to excuses. None of them want to know about the box. Josie was the only one who looked inside it, and she took it home to hide it, and the truth it held. She thought she was protecting them.

Even so, she can’t stop herself opening it, grasping the weapon to hurt herself over and over. Her eyes are drawn back to the paper. She can see the numbers continue down the page. Every piece of paper in the box has the same message.

She doesn’t need to read them anymore to know. She can remember the key parts. I must ask Master for permission. I must treasure Master’s touch. I must always thank Master for punishment.

Sometimes, she thinks that she should destroy it. It doesn’t make any difference, of course. The evidence was burned into his skin. She could, maybe, protect his memory from the world. She could let these details go unknown. The nauseating everydayness of the toothbrush, a reminder that he was there for years. The confessional pages of these rules, transcribed on repeat.

Why him? Why her brother? How could he do that to them? And how could he do that to someone? Josie has looked him up online, has read his missing person reports, and has watched the statement from his mother that she gave on his birthday. Ellis was a gentle, kind boy, who never hurt anyone.

She could still remember his smile, when Marcie had found him in the cupboard. She remembered his words. She hadn’t known his name until much later, because he didn’t give it.

12. I am Master’s pet and I need to be kept.

She puts the lid back on the box and crawls into bed.

[hanakihan]

listen

I know FGO has young master as MC but like consider

old man/woman as a FGO MC where they legitimately ended up in this mess by literal pure accident, maybe being someone from staff

like the idea of absolute humiliation to enemies to learn that their ass was kicked not even by a master candidate but a fucking old ass staff member who accidentally happened to have small aptitude for magic

[moonstonecanyon]

(07/21/2024.)

I wanted to make a MetalCrash fanchild !! This is Handy Man (yes, pun intended), he's based off of a swiss army knife. :) Despite being the child of two Wilybots, he's surprisingly very kind and chatty <3 (He only has one hand but he's quite adept at using his corkscrew to pick up things.)

I also made a doodle of Handy Man with his two dads. Unfortunately, he is also an enjoyer of Metal's terrible puns :)

[figtreegif]

Gyakuten Kenji 2 (2011)

Ace Attorney Investigations: Miles Edgeworth - Prosecutor's Path

Turnabout Target The Imprisoned Turnabout The Inherited Turnabout The Forgotten Turnabout The Grand Turnabout

[clarissaweasley-10]

Dancing In The Rain

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Pairings:Lyra Kane x Grayson Hawthorne

Taglist:non-existent(idk if l will post more fics,but in case l do,comment or dm me if you wanna be in the taglist<33)

Genre-romance/fluff.Nothing 18+.

A/N-This is my first ever fanfic so pls don't cancel me if it is shite.Also english is not my first language so pls pardon any mistakes..

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔ 　　　.   　　˚　　 　　*　　 　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　　　　 ˚　.˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.

Lyra looked up at the sky,raindrops falling on her skin,her clothes soaked tight to her body outlining her figure.She twirled around with her arms outstretched,her mind going back to her younger days when she would dance her heart out in the rains,all alone.Water always helped her calm down,it relaxed her mind and soothed her soul.And since the last two-three days her mind was in need of desperate relaxation thanks to annoying men in suits and-

"you are going to get sick Miss.Kane"the voice of Grayson Hawthrone rang out almost as if he was possessed by some dark magic,appearing straight from her thoughts.For some reason it annoyed Lyra to no end,why the hell does she keep thinking about this guy all the freaking time?Swallowing her irritation with herself and with him Lyra turned towards the man of the hour with her classic over-sweet smile."And since when have you been so concerned about my health,Mr.Hawthorne.And why are you without an umbrella yourself?"she asked regarding him briefly,he was wearing his usual suit but without the coat,the first button of his shirt unbuttoned,his hair looked a little tousled and not sleek like always."Well you can't play as well as you should if you are unwell and you yourself should know that.And as for the second question l am not afraid to get wet"Grayson replied,looking at her with his head cocked to one side,the rain was rapidly soaking his shirt,giving Lyra a clear view of his physique and-oh,gods.Lyra quickly,slapped herself internally she didn't have to think about Grayson Hawthorne or his stupid muscles so damn much,so instead Lyra being the absolute genius she is blurted out "so why don't you dance with me?."For a second Grayson looked like he was going to fall head first into the mud and while Lyra would have payed to see that,the horror of the situation hit her like a fast-moving train on the same instant."W-well l.. certainly don't have a background in dance as comparable to yours.But if you insist"Grayson stammered being the first to recover.He moved towards Lyra in a daze putting one hand on her waist and taking her hand in his other.He was out of his mind for sure,and neither did he have the smallest clue why he was doing this.But Grayson Hawthorne had been raised to make use of opportunities,so he should have realised that this would have come as second nature to him.Lyra blinked up at the man who was standing right in front of her.Deep brown eyes collided with sharp gray ones and without thinking she put her other hand on his shoulder.Together they moved to the beat of the rain,to the music of water hitting the ground.And while their bodies moved,their eyes remained transfixed on each others,millions of thoughts were going through both of their minds,but they were barely aware of the direction of their thoughts.Nothing mattered.Just this.Them.

Suddenly Grayson smiled,"you better hope that Gigi doesn't come or look this way." "l have my means to keep her quiet."Lyra murmured.Grayson frowned "and you are not going to tell me what your "means" are.Are you?."Lyra smiled a soft mischievous smile"nope.""Hmmm well l will find out on my own then"Grayson murmured his eyes suddenly moving to her lips,he stepped the smallest inch forward.Lyra noticed the position of his eyes and felt the sudden change in the atmosphere in every cell of her body.She stepped forward,her body brushing with his and an electric spark seemed to go off between them.Grayson brought his head low,low enough that she could feel his breath on her face.If Grayson Davenport Hawthorne looked like a sculpture of a Greek God from far then he looked like he was a Greek God from up close.Lyra parted her lips slightly and turned her face up at him,her eyes spoke all that he needed to hear and slowly Grayson took her face in his hands and lowered his lips to hers.After that everything was a blur of just pure bliss.Lyra brought her hands to his hair kissing him back,softly at first and later as if her life depended on it.It was perfect.Her hands entangled in his wet hair,their bodies completely soaked.Lyra was the first to step back,"you really are as good as you claim uh Davenport?"Grayson smirked(Xander would have had a heart attack if he saw this)"you bet"he murmured.They both were wet and dripping now.But Lyra didn't mind and surprisingly neither did Grayson.For the first time Grayson Hawthorne didn't let the Emily or the Tobias in his head stop him from doing what he wanted.And right now he just wanted to stay in the moment with the beautiful girl in his arms.And they did.

A/N:SOOOO HOW IS ITT??IK THE ENDING COULD HAVE BEEN BETTER BUT I DON'T HAVE ANY OTHER IDEAS..COMMENT YOUR FEEDBACKS PLEASE

[hawthornesbiggestfan]

had a dream abt alisa and nash but in the version of taylor swift and joe alwyn, wtf am i supposed to do now?

[quietwingsinthesky]

the last unicorn post from earlier has me thinking about the master. that yana is still in there, you know? is still someone he was, if even for a brief flash across the life of a time lord. there’s no way to unlive that life. there are ways to twist it later, sure, to make utopia into hell on earth. but the life was lived. in much the same way that the doctor can remember, can feel, the love he held onto as john smith even as that life is ripped out of his hands. the doctor choose denial and then grief and then to shutter it all away. and so john smith died, and so professor yana died, and the doctor and the master live on. the doctor has done this before, and he lives in orbit around humanity, trying to keep the best parts of them and hold them deep enough to take root (which he can pretend he gets to choose, as a time lord. as a human, it all floods in and can’t be dug back out.) but what about the master, right?

to borrow a turn of phrase: i think there are two time lords left in the universe, and they both learned how to regret.

[xoxo-g0ssipgir1]

◞ ྀི◟ ͜ ◞ ྀི◟ ͜ ◞ ྀི◟⠀ ◞ ྀི◟ ͜ ◞ ྀི◟ ͜ ◞ ྀི◟ ◞ ྀི◟ ͜ ◞ ྀི◟ ͜ ◞ ྀི◟⠀

౨ৎ 𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐞𝐲, She/her, I write sometimes, mostly rant abt percabeth, warnette, averyjameson,and more! I’m a folklore and evermore girlie at heart 🫶🏻

My inbox and messages are always open so feel free to flood them with messages <3

◞ ྀི◟ ͜ ◞ ྀི◟ ͜ ◞ ྀི◟⠀ ◞ ྀི◟ ͜ ◞ ྀི◟ ͜ ◞ ྀི◟ ◞ ྀི◟ ͜ ◞ ྀི◟ ͜ ◞ ྀི◟⠀

• 𝐎𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬

@theaaacalligaris -rp blog

@the-only-annabeth-chase rp blog

@a-single-thread-of-gold -writing blog

@summer-sunsets-and-daydreams -writing blog

◞ ྀི◟ ͜ ◞ ྀི◟ ͜ ◞ ྀི◟⠀ ◞ ྀི◟ ͜ ◞ ྀི◟ ͜ ◞ ྀི◟ ◞ ྀི◟ ͜ ◞ ྀི◟ ͜ ◞ ྀི◟

𝐁𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐬 ౨ৎ pjo, hoo, (riordionverse in general) aggtm, tig, the naturals, tfota, the darkest minds, hp, twilight, fourth wing, caraval, ouabh, better than the movies, betting on you,

𝐌𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐜 ౨ৎ taylor swift, artic monkeys, benson Boone, Sabrina carpenter, Olivia Rodrigo, chappel roan, Gracie Abrams, tv girl, Billie eilish, the smiths, etc

𝐓𝐯 ౨ৎ Gilmore girls, vampire diaries, gossip girl, the summer I turned pretty, Percy Jackson, mha, jjk

◞ ྀི◟ ͜ ◞ ྀི◟ ͜ ◞ ྀི◟⠀ ◞ ྀི◟ ͜ ◞ ྀི◟ ͜ ◞ ྀི◟ ◞ ྀི◟ ͜ ◞ ྀི◟ ͜ ◞ ྀི◟

𝐌𝐲 𝐚𝐨𝟑

𝐈𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐜𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐦𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐫𝐦

𝐒𝐨 𝐢 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐝 𝐮𝐩 𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲 (𝐰𝐢𝐩)

(Currently it won’t let me paste any links so they aren’t linked on here)

◞ ྀི◟ ͜ ◞ ྀི◟ ͜ ◞ ྀི◟⠀ ◞ ྀི◟ ͜ ◞ ྀི◟ ͜ ◞ ྀི◟ ◞ ྀི◟ ͜ ◞ ྀི◟ ͜ ◞ ྀི◟

𝐒𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐨𝐨𝐭𝐬 ౨ৎ

@flowers-for-em -> em<3 @the0nlyallison -> Allison<3 @doyoujustnotwantto ->mihane <3 @i-must-confess-i-am-an-idiot @a-beautiful-fool -> Lou<3 @sophiesonlinediary ->soph<3 @squeliy -> Annie<3 @helpimhopelesslyinlove -> fifi<3 @mqstermindswift -> Nicky <3 @riordanness -> emmma<3 @reminiscentreader -> jasss @missedyour21st -> fayyy @lost-in-reveriie ->addyyy @elysianwayy77 -> jadee <3

(I havnt been active in so long so I also havnt talked to my moots in a while so if you’d like to be taken off or added just lmk :)))