#and i refuse to get *another* whole set of clothing just for housework

[zeawesomebirdie]

The moment I get my sewing machine serviced, I'm making a housecoat

#i cant do any sewing on my machine until its serviced #whats that saying - schedule system maintenance or your system will schedule it for you #my machine is whistling and that is *not* a sound a machine should be making #and i need to make a few aprons and *def* some housecoats #ive got two sets of clothes: my day to day everyday clothing and my gardening/outdoor work clothing #im getting a little fed up of doing housework and getting my everyday clothing dirty #esp bc most of the time my gardening clothing is too dirty for housework *unless* its fresh from the laundry #and i refuse to get *another* whole set of clothing just for housework #i dont have that kind of money (even from the thrift store) #nevermind not having the energy to change my clothes that many times a day #its bad enough that i need to change before i do gardening or farm work #but a housecoat - now THATS a solution! #i get to wear cute dresses *and* not worry about getting my everyday clothing dirty #(plus sewing dresses is My Thing) #(i was only a womens tailor for a decade nbd) #anyway #gotta figure out how to afford servicing my machine #might have to make a fb post about offering alterations and mending or smth #(might have to finish my current list of mending....)

[nichoskittycorner]

Ok I got another one then:

Your stereotypical demon/spirit/whatever... but it just... instead of being violent because it wants you gone and to just hurt you...it does the polar opposite... refusing to let you leave let alone take even the slightest damage... getting violent only when you try and leave...or when... someone/something tries to take/... honestly just inconvenience you in any way...

Yes I know what a yandere is.

You have amazing ideas omg:

I can definitely see this as something like a ghost/spirit would do. Like you move into a pretty cheap property because theres rumors that a ghost that lives there keeps harassing everyone that sets foot onto the property. As a result its fallen into a bit of a state of disrepair.

You decide to brave the ghost and move in (also it was hella cheap). Getting to cleaning up and redecorating before move in day. Of course the ghost wasnt happy to see you at first and is instantly trying to scare you off.

But once they notice your beauty, they kinda freeze up and just watch you curiously. Watching as you clean up and repair the home. Unknowingly fixing up their grave site, pleasing the ghost greatly. And so, they decide you're a good one to keep around.

After moving in, you still notice things move around but not in a malicious way. Like putting your lost keys in an obvious place or having your umbrella ready by the door on rainy days.

You know it's the ghost and appreciate their kindness, thanking them. Eventually you just start talking out loud knowing they're around. You can always tell they're close when a cold breeze tickles your skin.

The ghost starts to respond more openly and reveal themselves to you after several months, nearly making you scream but you quickly calm down. Greeting them like an old friend and making casual conversation.

You start to see them as a legitimate friend! But to them, you were more than a friend. You were their whole world. They just had to be beside you. Watching you, making sure you were safe and in view.

They watched you eat, sleep, do housework, and remorsefully watched every time you left the house. It broke them that they couldnt be by your side.

Clearly you were meant for them, you came here after all. Practically delivered by whatever deity or god you believe in. You were meant to stay here.

It started out small but you caught on quickly. Every time you tried to leave, theyd beg you to stay. Whining, dropping the temperature and even making sure your clothes got caught on the door as you left.

At some point, they just started to say no. "No you arent leaving." But they couldnt stop you and you'd leave anyway. But they couldnt have you do that- no the next time you tried, you realized the door wouldnt budge.

After several attempts you realized it was your friend and had to beg to be let out. But they refused to relent. You couldve tried another door but you're sure they locked them all at this point.

For the first time, you were scared of them. Scared you would be trapped here with a ghost who never let you out and youd starve to death or something. They hugged you close, chilling you more than you already were. A sad attempt at comfort.

Professing their love and how they were the only one you needed and they could protect and care for you here. No one else needed to see or touch you, they werent important.

You tried fighting back but it only angered them. The walls shook as bruises started to appear on your skin from the pressure of their hold. You wailed and begged to be freed but your cries fell on deaf ears.

Accepting defeat for now, you nodded. Staying home and withering away. You were afraid you would die like this.

Begging your 'friend' you asked if someone could at least bring you food since you ran out a few days ago. You needed food to live. Pulling on their heartstrings managed to work as you were allowed to invite a friend over to bring you something to eat.

You played it cool once they arrived. Opening the door to the concerned face of a friend who hadnt heard from you in days. And just as you grabbed the food, you ran into their arms and fled the home, dragging them along.

It broke your heart to hear the painful wails of your once friend pleading for you to come back. You couldve sworn you felt an ice pick dig into your heart but you couldnt turn back in case they trapped you again.

Your stuff was quickly moved out- breaking the lease didnt matter and even if you exorcised the home, youd still have nightmares about that door not opening. But even when you tried to move on, you could still hear their voice or panic when your clothes got caught on a doorknob.

#corner thoughts #monster x human #yandere #yandere x reader #monster lover

[queen-ofsunflowers]

I want to see what you can come up with for WitchNight for domestic bliss: 3, 4, 6, 9, 11, 14, 23, 27, 39, 40

OTP Asks - Domestic Bliss Edition!

so that's why you asked about the ship name...

for those who don't recall, WitchNight is My Hero's Midnight and RWBY's Glynda Goodwitch! As such, these answers will be set in the RWBY in My Hero-verse since that's where the pair originated from. Also please note that I use Midnight's real name as opposed to her hero one here. so let's go!

3. What’s one book/DVD/CD they both owned a copy of before meeting each other?

This is gonna sound a bit cheesy, but both of them owned the same book, and this is what actually got them to become friends before becoming more than that. It was the first in a whole series, so the pair started talking about the books before talking about other topics and finding they had more in common than they thought. As for the book series, it was a copy of Howl's Moving Castle, something that had been recommended to both of them. They got a little too into it, though Gylnda refuses to admit it. go read the books if you haven't, they're really good.

4. Do they wash their clothes in the same load or separately?

Separately, mostly because the fabrics of their clothing are different materials that need to be treated differently. Found that out the hard way when they tried to wash their clothes together in one load shortly after moving in together.

6. Who picks what colour bed linen they buy? What does it look like?

Nemuri does! She knows which sheets are the good kind, so Glynda left it to her. Their bedsheets are durable and soft. Nemuri buys them in two separate colors: a dark, satiny purple and an off-white color that has a purple tint to it. She feels that it matches both their aesthetics perfectly. They usually switch them out depending on which ones are currently being washed.

9. Who will buy Girl Scout Cookies when they knock on the door?

This is once again, Nemuri's thing. She usually only does it when Gylnda isn't home, though. Girl Scout Cookies are definitely some of her guilty pleasures, and she gets a bit embarrassed by how many she stocks up on when cookie-selling season comes around.

11. Do they play music in the background while they’re just hanging out at home?

Usually not while hanging out around the house. It's some low, jazz, a classic piece or a random song that one of Nemuri's students recommended she listen to. It will be playing while the pair are working -- either doing housework or paperwork (or in Nemuri's case, also grading papers and setting up lesson plans). When the students' recommendations pop up, it always catches Glynda off-guard.

14. Which partner snores more loudly? How does the other person cope?

She doesn't look like it, but it's Nemuri. It's not often, but there are moments when she does. It's usually when her nose is clogged -- either by allergies or because she's under the weather. Glynda will usually cope by going into another room and sleep on the couch or in the guest room until Nemuri can breathe properly again.

23. Which partner writes love notes in the steam on the mirror?

This is surprisingly a thing that both of them do. Primarily because they know that the other has a rough time with work, so whoever gets home first will usually leave a message in the mirror when they know it's going to be a long day for the other. It's just a sweet little pick-me-up. Nemuri's notes are usually longer (and depending on her mood, more explicit) that Gylnda's short and sweet ones. Nemuri takes pictures of all of Gylnda's notes for when she needs a little encouragement to get through the day.

27. How do they organize their books/DVDs/CDs? Are they kept separate, or together? Alphabetically? By genre?

The moment that they moved in together, Gylnda took charge of that whole thing. She is very meticulous in the way things are organized. Dishes by size and color, soap bottles in the bathroom by whose is whose and when they're used -- same thing for any other hair product or skin care product that they have. Makeup is by type, color and owner. So, their books, DVDs and CDs (if the latter two are still a thing in the future that this takes place in) are organized by her. All are sorted by genre. Book series are usually kept together because it would drive her crazy otherwise.

39. Who’s more likely to lock themselves out?

Nemuri has forgotten her keys more than once, simply because a lot of her clothes do not have pockets. This is the reason that they had to put a spare key kept under the mat.

40. Who’s more likely to invite other people over?

Once again, this is Nemuri's doing. Though, it's usually just Mic or Aizawa crashing on their couch because their apartment is too far away and they're too tired. Ozpin, Qrow and Winter Schnee have all done this, too. There is also instances where Jaune has spent the night, and that was because he had been too overwhelmed at home, couldn't get his schoolwork done there and his grades had begun to slip. As his homeroom teacher, Nemuri did what she could to help him by letting her use her own place to study and get work done peacefully. He's only stayed when he's missed the last train home. Gylnda thought this was odd at first, but over time came to accept it when she realized how much her partner cares about her students.

#rwby #my hero academia #rwby in bnha au #witchnight #glynda goodwitch #midnight #nemuri kayama #queen answers #queen plays ask games #ladyofthebluelight

[shuuenmei]

partner

TWST OC Week Day 7: AU

BEFORE WE BEGIN:

For the last day of TWST OC Week, I picked AU and after some brainstorming, I decided to pick a Pokémon AU.

Or rather, a Pokémon crossover AU where Yuu (Rei) comes from the Pokémon universe instead.

This was a personal AU I had in mind for some while but placed on a backburner since I wanted to focus on the main fic first.

But with TWST OC Week, I thought it’s a good chance to revisit the AU again.

Without further ado, here we go!

I’m glad to be doing this event and it’s been fun!

Yuu doesn’t know what to expect when a seemingly mutated, talking, Shiny Zorua threatened to burn her if she didn’t hand over her clothes.

She only realized that she wore a whole robe and new attire, but internally panicked when her bag wasn't around, nor the fact that she has no Pokéball at hand.

So she had to trap the unknown monster back in the coffin she initially awoke to before escaping.

By luck, she met a petite, but older than he seemed student who healed her burns but the monster chased after her before being stopped by a man who claimed to be the Headmaster of this strange academy she was brought to.

“Ah, I found this bag and belt with peculiar looking metallic balls attached to it earlier, they must be yours, yes?”

The Headmaster waved his hand to show her belt with six Pokéballs intact and sling bag.

She hastily took the items and thanked the man. “Thank you sir... it seems my things were separated from me when that monster attacked me.”

“Attacked?”

He turned to the monster and frowned. “So it comes down to the fault of your Familiar.”

What, he’s not-

The headmaster didn’t listen, but the boy...student, with her, Lilia, listened and they talked along the way.

Checking the things inside her bag and her Party on hand as they did so.

________________________________________________________________

The mutated talking Zorua burned the whole room just shortly after the talking magical mirror declared that she had no magic.

The experiences and senses she honed as a trainer being the saving grace that lets her avoid the flames.

As the whole room set into a panic, she took a Pokéball that held her longtime friend, family, and partner.

Gazing at the ball for a moment, she murmured.

“Let’s go, partner. You ready?”

The Pokémon inside it nodded at her with a resolute gaze.

With a nod, she threw the Pokéball to the air.

“Gabriel! Sparkling Aria!”

Her long trusted Primarina landed gracefully on the ground and sang, large water bubbles formed all around them, appearing out from the air and the bubbles burst.

Water spreads all over and extinguishes the flames that appeared.

“Fnah!? My flames!” The mutated Zorua exclaimed but she paid no heed to what was going on behind or around her.

She’s only focused on seeing the flames gone and snuffed out.

In spite of the chaotic situation she found herself into, she’s glad that she’s not alone.

________________________________________________________________

Gabriel made quick work on the flames and the flames are gone by seconds.

The mutated Zorua was caught and she observed a red-haired student chant. “Off With Your Head!”

A large lock shaped collar was magically put in place at the monster.

After some words were exchanged, the boy turned to her. “This is your familiar, is it not?”

The Headmaster chimed in. “Yes! Do something about him! This is your familiar is it-”

Water was blasted on his face before the man could finish.

Turning to her furious partner, she chided. “Hey! I know you’re offended that he assumed that the mutated Zorua who threatened me to go naked is part of the team but you can’t just shoot a Water Gun at anybody!”

“Eh...? He isn’t yours?” The man repeated.

“Gabriel wouldn’t have been offended enough to blast water on your face otherwise.”

“I, I see...” The man looked at her Primarina, who only gave him an angry look in return, readying another blast of water.

“Come on Gab, calm down.” She held and stroked her partner’s hair.

“Pardon me,” The red haired boy called for her, “... you said he threatened you to what?” The red haired boy questioned.

“I woke up from the coffin because that monster,” She pointed to it, “burned the coffin, and then told me to strip naked from these clothes or he’ll burn me to death.”

Silence followed.

“...If that’s the case,” A lavender haired student with the red haired boy spoke. “it’s no wonder your partner is upset enough to attack the headmaster for his wrong assumption.”

She nodded at him. “Gabriel’s my longtime partner, I’d never replace Gabriel over some mutated talking Zorua.”

“Mutated what?”

“A Zorua.” She spoke. She had some suspicion about what kind of world she got brought into but she had to ask. “Do you not have Pokémon here?”

“...What’s a Pokémon?”

Oh boy.

________________________________________________________________

With the monster who called himself as Grim sent away, her status as coming from another world where, in their words, people tame magical monsters on a daily basis, being open news to the students present, but unable to return back to where she once came from, the Headmaster lets her stay around as he finds a way to bring her back to her original world, added onto his own surprise that she is a girl, and that the academy is actually an all-boys school.

She isn’t too worried about being trapped here for the while.

If anything, once the news of her going missing goes around, the Ultra Recon Squad and those from Aether Foundation would likely go and find her via the Ultra Wormhole.

They would have gotten in touch with Selene too by then.

Meanwhile, she was brought to an unused dorm that was planned to be repurposed on a later date.

She is now looking at her PC Box via the Portable PC, a new technology from Galar that lets you open your PC anywhere and anytime that is just recently applied in Sinnoh PC’s.

Speaking of Sinnoh... she was last walking around Route 214 back home, wasn’t she?

How did she get here-

Gabriel’s nudging brought her out of her thoughts.

“...Yeah, we should make the best of things for the time being.” She nodded.

At least the Pokémon in her PC Box are safe and the PC can still be used, even in another world.

Though she had to think of how she can manage to bring some of her Pokémon out and not get them stuck in the PC Box for too long.

She got enough berries, over a hundred, she last counted, obtained from renovating her Poké Pelago for years, so food for her Pokémon and her own person wouldn’t be a problem.

She knows the basic housework and the like at least, and can cook things decently.

She also got enough clothes, be it undergarments and others.

But first…

“We got a lot to clean up, don’t we?”

Gabriel nodded at her.

Time to get started.

________________________________________________________________

She would have gotten started if not for the monster she mistook as a mutated Shiny Zorua sneaking back in, only behaving once she threatened to have Gabriel shoot water at him if he didn’t, and dealing with the resident ghosts who were bothering her, thinking she’d be easy to play around with if it weren’t for Gabriel being way powerful for the ghosts to handle.

She had to convince the Headmaster to let the monster, Grim, stay if not for the fact that he’d do more harm if he is kicked out again.

“Ah, speaking of, would you like to register Grim-kun together with you as a student?”

“...What?”

The Headmaster explained. “We have some cases where students register as a 2-in-1 student due to circumstances. Considering that of yours and Grim-kun’s desire to enter the school, wouldn’t it have worked out?”

“...No, I’d rather register with Gabriel and my Pokémon than to register together with Grim.”

“Fnah!? Why!?”

She shook her head and reasoned, staring at the Headmaster. “You’re implying as if you want to replace my longtime friend, partner and family over a stranger. I refuse to have my partners be replaced by anybody.”

She looked down at Grim next. “And honestly, you still need a lot of work to do and understand what’s appropriate and inappropriate for people. Telling people to strip naked and burn them if things don’t go your way is not it.”

“...That’s true.” The Headmaster agreed.

“...I shall register you and… who would be your main partner?”

“Gabriel.” She spoke without hesitation.

“Alright, Gabriel-kun and Yuu-san. You two will be students from tomorrow on, while Grim-kun will be on probation until he is deemed ready to be a student.”

She nodded.

Sounds good to her.

________________________________________________________________

“So you’re choosing Popplio, young Yuu?”

Yuu nodded at Hala.

She is only twelve this year.

Her parents advised her to move with her cousins to Hau’Oli city, Alola, from Sinnoh last year and she still needs some time to get used to Alola weather.

It’s too hot, and she personally missed the cold, chilly air of Sinnoh.

Then her uncle suggested she try and take the island challenge and see if she can dethrone the first ever champion of Alola, Selene, who took charge three years ago.

With little to do beyond hanging around Iki Town and wandering around Hau’Oli, with her cousins off to their own adventures, she decided she might as well take it.

The Popplio clapped in glee and hopped towards her.

She held her first… rather, second, Pokémon, smiling. “Nice to meet you, Gabriel.”

Popplio welcomed the nickname with a cheerful bark. Followed by another cry of triumph.

Gabriel stared at the newcomer.

She noticed it’s gaze and introduced Gabriel to her technically first Pokémon she befriended.

“Oh, this stardust looking little guy? The name’s Aster. Aster’s not really someone I want to use in battles since Aster doesn’t seem like the kind to like fights right now, but Aster’s a friend.”

Aster the Cosmog smiled at Gabriel, excited at the thought of having a new friend.

#black or white (fanfic) #Twisted Wonderland #Twst X Pokemon #Yuu (Rei) #Shiina Yuu (black or white) #twst grim #dire crowley #Shuu's fics #Shuu Art #even from an alternate universe yuu (rei) has zero mercy for grim #pokemon #pokemon x twisted wonderland #Twst OC Week

[long-cosmos-overhead]

Hi! 😊 Do you have any birthday headcanons/stories? Cause I just turned 19! 😄 And Im in the mood for some B-Day content 💛

Happy Birthday 🥳🥳🥳🥳. I hope you have/had an amazing day sadly I don’t but I’ll make a preference of a few of the characters you’ve requested as a birthday present 💝

(I do not own any of these characters/gif not mine)

Draco Malfoy

Draco treats you like a Queen anyways but your birthday is another story. He treats you like a goddess. He reminds everyone that it’s your birthday weeks in advance around the time he starts making plans. Draco is entirely sweet he takes you on a lavish date despite telling him he doesn’t need to spend money on you and refuses to let you pay for anything. You get dozens and dozens of gifts a fair few from friends and fellow Slytherins but at least a roomful from Draco. Honestly he can’t help it he loves seeing you smile so much he just has to rope you in and kiss you to the point that you get dizzy. His parents send you gifts too. How do they know? Draco won’t stop talking about it. At the end of the day he scoops you up laying down with you in his arms planting kisses on your skin until you fall asleep. Best birthday you’ve ever had.

John Watson

The first thing John will do is tell Sherlock to be nice to you for the day and then do all the housework, chores or work you have to do so you can relax for the day. He will make you breakfast in the morning telling you to get dressed in something warm only to smile when you opt for one of his jumpers. He takes you for a nice walk though the park and around town going into every shop and refusing to let you pay for anything. John sneaks his hand around your waist when you walk he wants you to feel special and beautiful especially on your birthday. He smothers you in compliments and love cuddling you on the sofa, watching whatever you want and plenty of kisses. His gifts are usually meaningful like the thing you’ve had your eye on for ages or something that made him think of you regardless of the price.

Thranduil

You’re awoken by the deepest kiss any elf could ever give followed by Thranduil rapidly scattering a few of the many gifts he got you around your bed. He spoils you on your birthday so much it’s overwhelming. To Thranduil your birthday is luxury and affectionate day where he can drown you in his love. He’s super clingy as well never dropping his hand from your side, sitting you in his lap on the throne, deep breathtaking kisses and you being locked in his arms. He will throw a formal sophisticated party for his Queen only for his jaw to drop when he sees you looking ethereal. Needless to say no one but him was allowed to touch you that night. You get hundreds upon hundreds of expensive gifts from the party and deep meaningful ones from Thranduil. He will take the entire week off to spend with you just so your birthday is the best one you’ve ever had

Credence Barebone

Possibly the cutest thing you’ve ever endured. Credence doesn’t have money nor time to look for anything for you so he took it upon himself to make you a birthday present. He individually found pretty beads and silver string to bind together a bracelet for you. It wasn’t the best and he knew it but your reaction made him want to cry. You adored it bringing him into a long hug which he never wanted to end whispering thank you’s and praises in his ear. He stays at yours for the night and cuddles up to you uttering a small happy birthday. You never took the bracelet off other than to do things that could damage it. Whenever you sensed Credence was panicked or upset handing out flyers you would ask for all of them showing the bracelet as a sign of comfort while Mary Lou was none the wiser

Newt Scamander

Very bashful when it comes to your birthday he’s planned out an entire day for you but he’s nervous. What if you don’t like his gift or you don’t want to go out? Everything went accordingly and you loved every minute of it. The pair of you went out rescuing and finding fantastic beasts for the whole day. One particularly loved you that you begged Newt to keep it and he complied without hesitation, he was too focused on how stunning you were and how lucky he was to have gotten you. He really hoped you loved his gift. Newt asks Jacob for a few of his baked goods whilst you go out with Queenie and Tina for some ladies time. You’re sat down beside Newt and Jacob, Queenie and Tina opposite you as you open the gifts they got you before Newt clears his throat ready to come out with what your gift stumbling over his words. It takes a few words of encouragement from Queenie until he nervously hands you over your own baby Niffler. You cried of happiness.

Loki Laufeyson

Loki is so sweet on your birthday he manages to get you off work so you can be all his for the day. Assuming you work for the avengers he knows you’ll want a nice relaxing day. He runs you a nice bath telling you to take your time then starts the plan. He covers the room in rose petals, does all the washing up, cleaning, work, sets up fairy lights, lays out some of his clothes for you and gets out the gifts he got you then waits patiently. You didn’t think it were possible to love Loki more but yet here you were your heart brimming with love as he held his arms out softly saying ‘come here darling.’ He’s definitely the best gift giver he spoils you but not to the point of being overwhelming. He gives you an enchanted crystal rose, a few books, a beautiful necklace woven with gold and diamond and hands you a box. You hear a little meow and immediately look at Loki. He got you a tiny black kitten so you wouldn’t get lonely by yourself. The rest of the night is spent with in Loki’s arms while he reads to you gently kissing you every so often with your new kitten asleep sprawled over you both.

#HAPPY BIRTHDAY #Newt scamander x reader #john watson x reader #draco malfoy x reader #thranduil x reader #credence x reader #loki x reader #preference #fluff #fluff preference

[s-aned]

Dark Paradise - Chapter 1 - “I killed her”

“I killed her”

Her voice whips through the air. The older man turns his head towards the young woman, a frown twisting his face. Did he understood what she meant?

It’s been a few minutes since he arrived on the back porch. The lights were out, but she was there, sitting with her gaze fixed on the mountains or in the void, softly humming to herself a tune he didn't know.

“It’s 2 a.m., why aren’t you sleeping?

- What about you?”

Fair enough. He let out a small sigh before sitting down next to the young woman. He rubbed the back of his neck, his body still tense after a long day of work. Silence had settled in. Not a tense or embarrassed one. If she could be talkative and teasing, she also knew how to savor the comfort of a shared silence. That’s one thing he surely appreciated.

It had been a few weeks since she moved into his home, about one year after he settled in Jackson. At first glance, she seemed like a strange roommate for this fifty-year-old man, as she must have barely left her twenties. But she couldn't stay with Tommy and Maria forever and he had a spare room. Everyone seemed satisfied with the arrangement.

Joel was beginning to enjoy this company, and the good meals that accompanied it. He found it amazing how someone who struggles to eat anything other than soup can enjoy cooking so much. Gradually, a relationship of trust began to take hold. That's why he doesn’t hesitate long before breaking the silence.

“I heard what you said earlier to the girls. Your mom. Tommy and I… We also lost our mom to sickness. She... She got cancer. Before the outbreak. Nasty business.”

She nods but doesn’t add anything. She knows that the man isn’t one to spill about his past. She knows about Sarah, and some bits of his past in Boston QZ. Oh, she doesn’t know much, but enough to understand that he had seen and done things that morality could disapprove of.

And yet, she doesn’t dare to tell him what is on her heart. She’s afraid of his reaction. She’s trying to resist but the words are making their way to her mouth and she’s unable to hold them back, like a sour, uncontrollable bile. It’s too late. It must come out, regardless of his reaction.

“I killed her.”

She hears a rustle, and feel his incomprehension’s look on her. She resumes, turning her head towards him without daring to meet his gaze.

“My… My mom. I killed her.”

She bits her lip, wanting to prevent the tears from falling. She has started now, there is no going back. Might as well tell him everything.

“She… She was sick, real sick. But she kept dying. Most of the time when she was awake, she wasn’t even conscious, her open eyes and her mouth only let out a few inconsistent messages. And she was in pain, she was in excruciating pain. Day and night, she moaned. It was just the two of us. The neighbors would drop me food sometimes. But most of the time, I was alone with her suffering. I would stay day and night by her side, with no more hope of seeing her emerge. But her body was refusing to give up.”

She pauses for a moment, taking a breath before starting again.

“One night, she was finally sleeping. I wasn’t. She seemed so peaceful, so quiet. I thought, this is it. This is how she should be. Just in peace. No more pain. It was dark in the room, there was no moon that night. So I gave her a kiss before taking a pillow and… I put it on her head. As strong as I could. She didn’t react. I stayed like that for minutes but it felt like hours. I stayed until I felt it… Her last breath.”

Tears are now streaming down her cheeks. She stares into void, pursed lips adding nothing more. She doesn’t know why she told him about it. What would he think of her now?

“How old were you?

-14.”

He lets out an overwhelmed sigh. He already knew she had been through hard times. Heck, who hasn’t in this crazy world? But putting her own mother out of pain, that was something else. He tries to find something to say to ease her.

“You relieved her. QZ life wasn’t easy, she might have suffered for weeks, months even, if you hadn’t done that. You did that out of love. You’re brave.

-No, I’m not. After I did it, I just grabbed my stuff and left. I abandoned her there. God knows how much time it took before someone noticed. It’s probably the smell that alerted the neighbors. I didn’t give her a decent burial, and we both know that FEDRA probably tossed her bodies with all the others, infected or not.

-Why did you leave?”

She doesn’t answer right away. She knows that she will have to tell the full story if she keeps going. But now looks as bad as any other time. The night offers some protection. She lets it go.

“Hmm, I was an orphan. They would have put me in one of those FEDRA institutions. I heard what happened there. All this stories about girls being abused by soldiers or other boarders. I thought I was better to try it on my own.

-How did you survive without being caught?

-My dad. He had a sister in that QZ. We barely knew her, she had fallen out with him and when he died, we cut ties completely. I showed up at her place, and she was kind enough to take me. Oh sure, she treated me like a dog, making me do all the thankless jobs. But at least I had a roof over my head. After a few months she started dating this guy, scumbag but it kept her from being alone, I guess. There was only one room, so most of the time I had to stay in the hallway. But slowly, he started to look at me. Once, she was gone god knows where, he cornered me and told me a whole bunch of stuff a 15-year-old shouldn't hear from a grown-up man. My aunt walked in as he began to slide his hand under my shirt, and of course she got it on me. She beat the crap out of me, before tossing me out of her place. Obviously, she kept all my stuff, ID included. Probably sold it to black market, the bitch. I was left with only the clothes on my back."

She finally looks up at the man, unable to read the expression on his face. Sadness, anger, pity? She had only seen this face once. The day Tommy and he found her, after she killed her captors. It was Joel, she believes, who put a bullet in the head of the last of them. The one who had caught her and was standing over her, his knife stuck in her lower abdomen.

Joel had the same expression than today when, in Jackson's infirmary, she told them that she had been sold to these men, after being forcibly prostituted for months, years maybe, in her previous QZ. She didn't know where they were taking her, but she knew full well that her function would remain the same.

“Is that when?” He leaves his question hanging, but she understands what he means. She shakes her head.

“No. There was this guy I saw from time to time, we flirted with each other. He had managed to set up a junk studio in a building in the slum quarters of the QZ. He let me settle there. Of course, he didn’t ask for a kiss on the cheek in return. I won’t teach you how a 16-year-old boy is like.” She says sarcastically, a slight smirk appearing on her lips. Joel chuckles lightly. Touched. It’s around that age he got his girlfriend pregnant, and with that, got in adulthood prematurely. She goes back to her story.

“He got tired of me eventually, and I felt that soon I would find myself again in the cold streets, at the mercy of the first predator lurking around. But Heaven proved merciful, and I met Talia. She was in her fifties and had quite a temper. She saw me hanging out on the street in the rain and pulled me into a building that looked completely abandoned. She asked me questions, listened to my story without commenting, before opening another door. I discovered that there was a whole other life in this city. Rare alcohol, red armchairs and above all, a stage in the middle of which sat a bar.”

She grins at the surprised look of man.

“Yep Joel. There was a strip club in my QZ. She made me sit, gave me a towel to dry myself and began to explain what was happening there. There was no resistance group like your fireflies in my area. There were small local gang, who greased the military tab to do their little business.

At first, she didn't even want me in the room when the club was open. I was way too young for her liking, she couldn't tolerate me being exposed to men. So I did the housework, some services for the girls, all the little chores behind the scenes. From there I watched them dance and drive all the spectators crazy. Soldiers, small strikes, or average guy, they all drooled and get rid of everything they owned for a look, a caress.

After a year, I was entitled to serve at the bar. But just at the bar, I was forbidden to pass in the aisles. It was the girls' work. Talia was tough but she took good care of all of us. We were like family. When the club was closed, we laughed a lot. It was a good time.”

She ends her story with a sigh, before taking a sip of her infusion, now cold. She grimaces. She would have liked it to be whiskey. She still has plenty to talk about, but she's not sure she has the strength for it. The older man must feel it, because he doesn't ask any more questions.

She's already released a big chunk tonight. And what is yet to come is not the happiest. Above all, she is afraid of his reaction. For the moment, he believes she was an innocent victim, captured by ill-intentioned men. But she's not quite sure. She often wondered if she hadn't been responsible for all of this. So she keeps quiet and lets the silence of the night engulf her.

There is nothing more to say, and yet none of them moves. It’s only when a gust of wind makes her shiver that Joel straightens up and speaks in a firm but gentle tone she now knows by heart.

“Let’s go inside. You have to try to sleep.”

-------

Chapter 2

#TLOU #TLOU2 #TLOU fic #TLOU fanfic #Joel Miller #The last of Us

[mysaldate]

(UM seduction methods anon here) Im in awe over how much you write for so many character, every day! Do you have any hc on how they live? (where they live? living conditions?) BUT please dont push yourself or anything either!

Thank you so much for worrying about me! I’m simply trying to do my very best for all of you! And thank you also for such wonderful and original requests!

The living conditions of the Upper Moons headcanons

Daki&Gyuutaro

This one will be short since we know quite a lot about them. They’ve lived in the red lights district for their whole lives. In the streets and usually with little more than just their clothes on but they had each other.

They stayed in even after they became a demons. No surprise, there’s plenty of food and nobody will really care if a couple girls disappears.

They don’t have separate rooms of course. These two are literally inseparable so of course they wouldn’t bother with something like that. There’s nobody to tease them about it either since people are not aware of there even being two of them and as for their fellow demons, those just don’t care. Except maybe for Douma but he wouldn’t tease them about it.

We got to see their room so there’s not much to be said about the decorations either. Daki is a stylish girl and she likes to show it off even in the way she sets up their room – even if nobody much gets to see it.

Kaigaku

He never really had much of a home per say. He became an orphan at a young age (if he wasn’t abandoned as a baby already) and then was chased out of Gyomei’s temple as well. Jigoro took him in but unfortunately enough, that relationship didn’t really work out either. Strangely enough, he felt most at home when he was outside, travelling from one mission to another.

After he became a demon, he stayed with Kokushibou for a short period of time but that was just before Muzan approved of his existence. After that, he had to find his own territory – which wasn’t really too hard anyway. He picked a run-down old house as his shelter from the sun for the day but he didn’t really care much how it looked, at least not at first.

It’s not that he wouldn’t like company but there’s not really anyone to share his place with. Humans wouldn’t hang out with him, other demons literally can’t. Other Upper Moons won’t.

He first didn’t care at all how the place looked but after some time, he decided that since he didn’t have anything to do during the day anyway, he could at least try to decorate the place a bit. So while the sun is up, he does little things inside, like sweeping the floors or painting the walls. He even learnt to sew to make curtains. And at night, when he’s not out hunting, he does other reparations. Even he is surprised by how much fun he can have, giving the place a personal touch.

Gyokko

Being an artist, it’s not unlikely that he lived in an open, arid room before he became a demon. Lots of sunlight too. And occassionally, a companion or two but those never really stuck around for long. His place was filled with various unfinished art pieces.

Now that he’s a demon, he can’t have the luxury of a sunny appartment. His pots, however, work as a little pocket dimension so that’s an upgrade? Of sorts? It doesn’t really have a set shape either, it’s a little bit like Nakime’s Infinity Fortress but shapeless, like the walls are made of water or another liquid and constantly change form.

He lives with plenty of goldfish. The entire place is nearly filled with aquariums of various shapes and forms. You know how people make mazes for hamsters, guinea pigs or even cats? Well, those are nothing when compared to the lengths Gyokko goes to for his fishies. It’s not just glass, coloured or plain, either. Sometimes he would use the nichirin blades or pretty hairpieces of his victims’ to decorate the elaborate fishtanks as well. If a human ever strays in, it’s the last thing they say.

Gyokko LOVES decoration. Aside from his fishtanks, he has numerous statues, paintings and just about everything else you can think of. Both handmade and stolen. For his handmade art, he usually uses bodies or bodyparts of his victims, possibly their blood too. It serves both as an artpiece and a food reserve just in case he ever gets to a position where he’s forced to starve. Surprisingly enough, his pots are great at preserving things. Oh, and let’s not forget about the amount of detail he puts to the exterior of his pots! 

Hantengu

Back when he was a human, he didn’t really have a home, naturally. He couldn’t afford it. And most people wouldn’t let him stay more than one night, chasing him out often with sticks and stones. He had to travel all the time and preferably somewhere far away where the rumors about him didn’t reach yet. Due to this, he becomes restless when he has to spend a long time in one place.

Now, as a demon, he also doesn’t stay in one place all the time. He usually sneaks in a house, kills the family and stays there for a few days before moving on to the next one. Some of his other personalities, namely Sekido and Karaku, find this a little useless and bothersome but they wouldn’t really fight him on it.

Speaking of whom, his other personalities split when they have time to be alone as well, taking care of him and the house. It’s a great way to keep him safe as well since at least one of them is always on guard for possible intruders. They get along... somewhat well. There are the usual conflicts between Sekido and the others. Karaku is careless about their cover, Yoroko likes to make pranks on them and Aizetsu tends to lock himself in his room for hours on end. Poor Sekido is left with the task of housework, making sure they don’t get discovered too soon, acting as the voice of reason... and he still has to go out hunting and stay on guard when it’s his turn.

Yoroko likes decorating stuff and Karaku loves to watch him but their taste is strange to everyone but them. Surprisingly enough, Hantengu as well as Aizetsu both can actually create rather beautiful tapestries and Zohakuten sometimes paints when Sekido is just too done with the three useless dorks.

Nakime

She used to be your typical hikikomori. Nakime spent all her time in her room, with nothing but a pile of books and her biwa. It wasn’t a big room either. While her room did have windows, she prefered them covered and read in the light of an oil lamp. As expected, it wasn’t too good for her eyes...

She lives in the Dimensional Infinity Fortress now. A place she can fully control and knows everything about, one that bends to her will and where she can transport anyone anywhere at any time, just as she wants. The only exception seems to be Muzan who comes and goes as he sees fit (at least until the current arc but y’all already know how I feel about that). It’s not that she minds it, she still knows where and when he enters and leaves and even if she didn’t, it’s not like he would ambush and kill her for no reason (right?).

Despite providing rooms specifically suited for the Upper Moons, she much enjoys her solitude. Even when they’re in and she has to keep an eye on them (I’m sorry, I’ll stop with the puns now), she keeps her distance. Try to annoy her, or even just seek her company, and you will mercilessly get thrown out. An exception, again, is Muzan. He doesn’t live there with  her though and only seeks her out when he has work for her to do.

Decoration of the rooms varies greatly, mostly based on what are they used for. Most of the Fortress is not decorated since Nakime sees no reason to waste time and effort on that. However, there are special parts that deserve special attention. Just as an example, there’s Muzan’s upside-down lab, Douma’s lotus pond, that traditional japanese area Kokushibou first appeared in... And of course, the execution platform that’s now decorated with the red of the Lower Moons’ blood.

Akaza

Again, we have a very good canon idea about his life as a human. First living with his father and then spending some time in the streets, he eventually ended up staying at Keizo’s house, taking care of Koyuki. He had his own room there too but it didn’t really matter because he spent most of his time by Koyuki’s side anyway. Rumor has it he dragged his futon to her once when she was having a nightmare and never moved out until she got all better.

He’s pretty much a street rat as of now, looking for challenges and new foes to fight for the most part. During the days, he usually stays still outside, in dense forests or deep caves. He’s not particularly picky. Sometimes he stays there during the night too, setting up a campfire and waiting for someone to wander close. For some reason, he doesn’t really like cities, especially during the festival season.

So yeah, he lives alone. At least usually he does. It’s not all that rare for Douma to find and bother visit him. He doesn’t want company. Getting attached would make him weak. The more people you care about, the easier it is to take advantage of you.

The only thing he cultivates in his surroundings is his own body. No, I’m not talking about the tattoos, though those certainly are a decoration as well. Rather, it’s his muscles and strength. However, he still prefers to have some manners over raw power, hence why he keeps refusing Douma’s more than generous offers to hunt down some girls together even if that could make him stronger.

Douma

Grew up in the temple in the forest. High up on a mountain overlooking a small town, it’s not a place with the most access to society. But cults are usually like that. When he was about three years old, his father planted two magnolia trees in the courtyard so that the place is a little more lively and the trees can grow tall to provide lots of shade in summer since the sun could be quite annoying. If only he knew...

Loyal as he is, Douma stays at the temple even now. He had it expanded a little and even had a lotus pond build right behind his room so he can calm his thoughts at least a bit after every session. He used to need it more than he does now, especially since he now also has the one made by Nakime that is way better and more spacious.

Canonically, there is at least one temple servant staying with Douma at the temple. But honestly, it wouldn’t be quite like him to satisfy himself with a single person. There’s probably a number of people taking care of the place, both temple servants and maidens. They also serve as a source of entertainment and possibly even as a last-resort snack just in case. There also used to be Kotoha and Inosuke for a short period of time but well...

While he is quite childish and it might sound just like him to go overboard with decorating stuff, that’s not entirely true. Really, the most he has is the skull closet with engraved golden door. That and the pot in which he planted Kotoha’s head but that one is a gift from Gyokko so it doesn’t really count.

Kokushibou

As with most of them, we were blessed with enough info on Kokushibou’s, or rather Michikatsu’s, homes. Growing up a samurai, he never had time to spare, little to no friends and a bride who was most likely found for him without him having any say in it, it’s really not that much of a surprise he would elect to leave it all behind and become a demon slayer since it gave him significantly more freedom.

Even as a demon, not much have changed. During the day, he stays at a mansion like the samurai lord he is, and at night, he goes out to hunt down the pests in the area, more often than not treating himself with a bountiful feast while he’s at it. He also has a room in the Infinity Fortress but like the majority of the Upper Moon demons (actually everyone but Douma), he enjoys his solitude way more.

He has a few servants at the mansion. Ones that get replaced every once in a while when they mysteriously disappear. But the salary is high enough to let any major rumors die out in a blink (I know, I promised, I’m sorry) so the most he has to deal with are whispers about him overworking his servants to the point where they rather abandon the money and run away under the cloak of the night.

You would probably find the house eerily plain but he’s used to it. The backyard is where he spends most of his time aside from his room and those two are the only actually decorated places in the house. And they’re still kept neat and practical for the most part. He rarely has anything that wouldn’t serve a purpose, both when it comes to items and people.

#kny #kimetsu no yaiba #kny imagines #kny headcanons #upper moons #upper demon moons #daki #kny daki #gyuutarou #kny gyuutarou #kaigaku #gyokko #hantengu #sekido #aizetsu #karaku #yoroko #zohakuten #nakime #akaza #kny akaza #douma #kny douma #kokushibou #michikatsu tsugikuni

[lifeofresulullah]

The Life of The Prophet Muhammad: Exemplary Ethics of The Prophet: The Leader

THE OBLIGATORY MARCH

The army sets off against the tribe of Sons of Mustaliq. Victory is easily captured… However, something happens during the way back, which heralds a grave danger.

At a resting place, a dispute takes place out of a trivial cause between a Muslim from Medina and another who migrated from Mecca. Afterwards, the incident swells up fast and starts to turn into a clash between the Meccans and the Medinans. If no precaution is taken, solidarity and brotherhood among Muslims, which until then constituted the greatest pillars of their material power, is about to vanish.

Prophet Muhammad (PBUH) intervenes and gives commands; the army starts to march. In fact, these are the hottest hours of the day which are always spent resting. That day a rapid march is carried on up to the evening and during the night. The next day at about noon, the permission to rest is finally given, but nobody in the army, which has been marching for nearly twenty four hours, has the power to continue yesterday’s fight. The whole army falls asleep in a faint-like state. In the meantime, Prophet Muhammad (PBUH) has made initiatives to eliminate the emerging danger and the most dangerous hours for the fight to grow have passed.

THE MAN WAS RIGHT

He borrows a certain amount of dates from one of his friends. When the time to pay back comes, as he does not have the means to pay himself, he asks a Muslim from Medina to pay off his debt for him. However, the dates the Muslim from Medina gives are lower in quality. The creditor does not consent. The Muslim from Medina gets angry and says:

         “Do you turn down the dates that Allah’s Messenger gives?”

The creditor humbly asks:                                                                              

         “If even Allah’s Messenger does not behave justly, from whom shall we expect justice?”

Prophet Muhammad (PBUH) is not informed about this situation. When notified, he gets sad and, with tear-filled eyes, says:

         “The man is right!..”

With his command, the dates are changed. 

VENDETTA

While giving a sermon in the mosque, a recently converted Muslim who was seeking a vendetta stood up. He interrupted the speech of the Prophet Muhammad (PBUH);

-“O apostle of Allah!” By pointing a group who was sitting in the mosque, he says, “Their ancestors killed a person from our family. Therefore, we demand killing someone from them in response” The prophet Muhammad (PBUH) answered calmly but in a decisive manner:

“Father’s revenge cannot be taken over the son” 

WHEN HE EXTENDS THE STICK

He is distributing the spoils of the war among his friends. He is pressured by the crowd. Someone leans on the Prophet with his weight. He wants to push away the man with the small stick in his hand and to ease the crowd around him. However, the stick accidentally scratches the side of the man’s mouth and it bleeds a little. When Prophet Muhammad sees this, he (PBUH) immediately stops distribution. He extends the stick to the man and asks him to do the same to him and to settle. He is serious. Everybody is in bewilderment. His friend hesitates a while but then pushes the stick away with his hand and says:

         “O Allah’s Messenger! I forgive you.” 

YOU HAVE NEVER TOLD A LIE

It was the first and most difficult years of his prophethood. Of the hundred doors he went in order to explain his religion, perhaps only one was opened. One day, he gathered his close relatives in the foot of a hill near Mecca. He was going to show his personality and previous life as a proof of the truthiness of His claim as a prophethood. He asked his relatives:

“If I say there is an army of enemy behind this hill and preparing for a raid, will you believe me without asking any proof?”

They said, “Yes” because up to now no one has witnessed any lie of you. We swear that you are “Al-Amin” (the Trustworthy)”.

During the rest of the conversation, perhaps the same people there refused his invitation to the Islam and his prophethood, but in fact they had approved him without being aware of it… 

THE SUN IN ONE OF MY HANDS, AND THE MOON IN THE OTHER…

The fear Quraysh’s notables have is growing more and more. In spite of all the precautions they have taken, the grouping around Prophet Muhammad (PBUH) is ever widening. They gather and decide to “try it the sweeter way”. They choose a deputy whom they believe will be influential on him. The deputy starts speaking to the Prophet (PBUH):

“O Muhammad, you hurt our gods, sowed seeds of dispute and enmity among us, destroyed our solidarity and unity, brought us all sorrow and suffering. If you want wealth, let us make you the richest person of our land. If you want strength, power, and leadership, let us make you our leader. If you want a beautiful woman, tell us, she will be yours. If you are ill and this claim of prophethood stems from that, let us find the best doctors and get you treated.”

With the confidence that a human being cannot possibly resist such offers, the deputy finishes his speech and waits for his answer. Now Prophet Muhammad (PBUH) has the word:

         “I do not want property. Neither do I have a wish for rulership. And I do not have any desire for anyone other than Khadijah (his wife). I am not ill. I am only a weak slave of Allah. It is He who sent me as a messenger to you. If you accept this, follow me. Otherwise, do not ever forget this: if you put the sun in one of my hands, and the moon in the other, I shall not turn back from this cause.” 

FIFTEEN DAYS LATER

One of his friends comes near him and begs. He is not pleased with that; he thinks that everyone should cater for themselves and not be a burden to others. Instead of giving something and sending him away, he asks:

         “Do you have something worth money in your house?”

“There is a sack I use as a sheet and bed and a cup I drink water from.”

“Go and bring them here.”

When the things are brought to the mosque, they are auctioned. They are sold for two silver coins. Prophet Muhammad (PBUH) hands him the money and says: With one silver coin, buy food. And with the other, buy an axe and bring it to me.

His friend carries out what is said. When he comes with the axe, Prophet Muhammad is preparing a handle for the axe himself. He puts the axe on the handle and gives it to his friend. He says:

“Now go to the forest, cut wood and sell it. Let us meet fifteen days later.”

His friend comes back fifteen days later. He is beaming with happiness. He says:

         “O Allah’s Messenger! I saved up ten silver coins.”

And he shows the money. Now the Prophet is also smiling:

         “Buy some food and clothes with the money. Get what you need and do not forget that it is more honorable for someone to stand on his own feet than begging. Begging is only for the ill and the disabled.” 

WHEN YOU ARE LOST

A nomad Arab comes with the intention of becoming a Muslim, but his decision is not certain yet. In order to make it clear, he asks Prophet Muhammad (PBUH):

         “What are you calling people to?

         “To worship only Allah. It is He whom you call in trouble; He saves you. It is He whom you call in drought; He makes the ground green. It is He whom you call when you are lost in a desert; He causes you to find your way.”

The man’s all questions are answered because Prophet Muhammad (PBUH) explained the religion he is calling into in a way that the man would understand. 

IT SOMETIMES HAPPENS

One of his friends shares a big distress, which he cannot mention to anybody, with Prophet Muhammad (PBUH):

         “O Allah’s Messenger! My wife gave birth to a child; its skin is dark. But I am white.”

Prophet Muhammad (PBUH) understands the problem. Tactfully, he handles the matter in another way. He asks a question without waiting for him to finish:

“Do you have camels?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Then, what are their colors?”

“Generally red.”

“Are there grey ones, too?”

“Yes, sometimes.”

“Where does this grey color come from?”

“Probably, they take after one of their ancestors.”

“The child your wife gave birth to maybe takes after one of its ancestors.”

His friend leaves with a satisfied conscience and a happy face. 

A SERVANT FOR FATIMA

His daughter, Fatima (May Allah be Pleased with er), is leading an extremely troubled marriage life. With the words of her husband, Ali (May Allah be Pleased with Him):

“We did not have a servant at home. Fatima carried out all the work herself. We were staying in a house consisting of only one room. In this room, Fatima would light the stove and try to cook. Many times, while blowing the fire, sparks would make holes in her clothes. Therefore, her clothes were full of holes. This was not the only thing she did. Among her chores were making bread, and carrying water needed in the house. Moreover, her hands were calloused because of turning the mill wheel and her back was calloused because of carrying water.”

Those days captives of war are brought to Medina. They are distributed among needy Muslims to help with the housework. Ali says to his wife:

         “Go and ask one for us from your father.”

Fatima does. However, her father’s, the Prophet’s, answer is negative:

         “My daughter, the needs of my poor friends who are sleeping in the mosque and are busy with learning come before yours. Sorry, but before providing for them, I cannot do anything for you.” 

EVEN IF SHE WERE MUHAMMAD'S DAUGHTER, FATIMA

Mecca had just been conquered. The daughter of the chief of the tribe Sons of Mahzum commits theft. The name of the thief is Fatima. She is brought to Prophet Muhammad (PBUH) to be punished. However, the political state of affairs of the time necessitates that the relations with the Sons of Mahzum should not be upset. Having evaluated the delicacy of the situation, some of his friends appoint someone as a mediator whom they think Prophet Muhammad (PBUH) cannot turn down. This is the son of the Prophet’s adopted child Zayd; namely, young Usama. In other words, his grandson in a way.

Usama says:

“O Allah’s Messenger! Will you forgave this woman for the sake of her father…”

         However, Prophet Muhammad (PBUH) experiences one of the angriest moments of his life. His answer is stern:

“What you are asking now is the reason why other peoples before you were eradicated. Among them, too, when someone respected and powerful committed a crime, s/he was forgiven; but when someone from the public did, s/he was punished. By God I swear, if the one who committed this crime were not the daughter of the chief of the tribe Sons of Mahzum, rather if she were the daughter of Allah’s Messenger, Fatima, I would decree the same punishment.”

He gives the command and the thief’s punishment is carried out. 

WHOEVER DECEIVES US

He is inspecting the market. He plunges his hand into the wheat sack on the counter of one of the shops. The grains on the surface are large, shiny, and of high quality whereas from the inside he takes out wet and lower quality grains. Frowning, he asks the shopkeeper for the reason and the shopkeeper says:

         “I cannot sell otherwise…” upon which the Prophet says:

         “Whoever deceives us is not one of us.”

He gives the command and the wet grains are brought up to the surface and they are sold that way. 

MY OWN PRECAUTION

On the plains of Badr, the first serious and decisive war of Islam is about to start. Prophet Muhammad (PBUH) has stationed his small army in war po

sition and waits for the enemy to start, which is three times larger than his army. In the meantime, one of his friends, Hubab son of Mundhir, who is regarded as an expert in war positions, comes to him and asks:

“O Allah’s Messenger! Did Allah command you to position the army this way?”

         “No, it is my own precaution.”

         “Then, O Allah’s Messenger, the army is positioned in the wrong way.”

And he explains the correct way of positioning in accordance with the discipline of military. Without showing a hint of contradiction and caprice, Prophet Muhammad (PBUH) follows his friend’s advice. The army’s position of war is changed. A couple of hours later Islam wins its first victory. 

Prophet Muhammad (PBUH) would pay attention to competence and worthiness in appointing authorities to different ranks in administration and he would appoint the deserving people even if they were young or not from noble families. In the rightful matters, he would want obedience to himself and to his authorities, but would state that in the matters contrary to justice and truth, the community did not have the responsibility to obey. Thus, seeing it necessary to obey the ruler within the realm of justice, he would not see the public as compelled to serve himself and would not regard himself above them. On the contrary, he was one of them.

#allah #god #islam #muslim #revert #reverthelp #reverthelp team #convert #new revert #new convert #new muslim #muslim revert #muslim convert #welcome to islam #revert to islam #convert to islam #how to convert islam #prophet #muhammad #quran #sunnah #hadith #help #dua #pray #prayer #salah #muslimah #religion

[saoirsha-blog1]

The Necklace by Guy de Maupassant

The girl was one of those pretty and charming young creatures who sometimes are born, as if by a slip of fate, into a family of clerks. She had no dowry, no expectations, no way of being known, understood, loved, married by any rich and distinguished man; so she let herself be married to a little clerk of the Ministry of Public Instruction.

She dressed plainly because she could not dress well, but she was unhappy as if she had really fallen from a higher station; since with women there is neither caste nor rank, for beauty, grace and charm take the place of family and birth. Natural ingenuity, instinct for what is elegant, a supple mind are their sole hierarchy, and often make of women of the people the equals of the very greatest ladies.

Mathilde suffered ceaselessly, feeling herself born to enjoy all delicacies and all luxuries. She was distressed at the poverty of her dwelling, at the bareness of the walls, at the shabby chairs, the ugliness of the curtains. All those things, of which another woman of her rank would never even have been conscious, tortured her and made her angry. The sight of the little Breton peasant who did her humble housework aroused in her despairing regrets and bewildering dreams. She thought of silent antechambers hung with Oriental tapestry, illumined by tall bronze candelabra, and of two great footmen in knee breeches who sleep in the big armchairs, made drowsy by the oppressive heat of the stove. She thought of long reception halls hung with ancient silk, of the dainty cabinets containing priceless curiosities and of the little coquettish perfumed reception rooms made for chatting at five o'clock with intimate friends, with men famous and sought after, whom all women envy and whose attention they all desire.

When she sat down to dinner, before the round table covered with a tablecloth in use three days, opposite her husband, who uncovered the soup tureen and declared with a delighted air, "Ah, the good soup! I don't know anything better than that," she thought of dainty dinners, of shining silverware, of tapestry that peopled the walls with ancient personages and with strange birds flying in the midst of a fairy forest; and she thought of delicious dishes served on marvellous plates and of the whispered gallantries to which you listen with a sphinxlike smile while you are eating the pink meat of a trout or the wings of a quail.

She had no gowns, no jewels, nothing. And she loved nothing but that. She felt made for that. She would have liked so much to please, to be envied, to be charming, to be sought after.

She had a friend, a former schoolmate at the convent, who was rich, and whom she did not like to go to see any more because she felt so sad when she came home.

But one evening her husband reached home with a triumphant air and holding a large envelope in his hand.

"There," said he, "there is something for you."

She tore the paper quickly and drew out a printed card which bore these words:

The Minister of Public Instruction and Madame Georges Ramponneau request the honor of M. and Madame Loisel's company at the palace of the Ministry on Monday evening, January 18th.

Instead of being delighted, as her husband had hoped, she threw the invitation on the table crossly, muttering:

"What do you wish me to do with that?"

"Why, my dear, I thought you would be glad. You never go out, and this is such a fine opportunity. I had great trouble to get it. Every one wants to go; it is very select, and they are not giving many invitations to clerks. The whole official world will be there."

She looked at him with an irritated glance and said impatiently:

"And what do you wish me to put on my back?"

He had not thought of that. He stammered:

"Why, the gown you go to the theatre in. It looks very well to me."

He stopped, distracted, seeing that his wife was weeping. Two great tears ran slowly from the corners of her eyes toward the corners of her mouth.

"What's the matter? What's the matter?" he answered.

By a violent effort she conquered her grief and replied in a calm voice, while she wiped her wet cheeks:

"Nothing. Only I have no gown, and, therefore, I can't go to this ball. Give your card to some colleague whose wife is better equipped than I am."

He was in despair. He resumed:

"Come, let us see, Mathilde. How much would it cost, a suitable gown, which you could use on other occasions--something very simple?"

She reflected several seconds, making her calculations and wondering also what sum she could ask without drawing on herself an immediate refusal and a frightened exclamation from the economical clerk.

Finally she replied hesitating:

"I don't know exactly, but I think I could manage it with four hundred francs."

He grew a little pale, because he was laying aside just that amount to buy a gun and treat himself to a little shooting next summer on the plain of Nanterre, with several friends who went to shoot larks there of a Sunday.

But he said:

"Very well. I will give you four hundred francs. And try to have a pretty gown."

The day of the ball drew near and Madame Loisel seemed sad, uneasy, anxious. Her frock was ready, however. Her husband said to her one evening:

"What is the matter? Come, you have seemed very queer these last three days."

And she answered:

"It annoys me not to have a single piece of jewelry, not a single ornament, nothing to put on. I shall look poverty-stricken. I would almost rather not go at all."

"You might wear natural flowers," said her husband. "They're very stylish at this time of year. For ten francs you can get two or three magnificent roses."

She was not convinced.

"No; there's nothing more humiliating than to look poor among other women who are rich."

"How stupid you are!" her husband cried. "Go look up your friend, Madame Forestier, and ask her to lend you some jewels. You're intimate enough with her to do that."

She uttered a cry of joy:

"True! I never thought of it."

The next day she went to her friend and told her of her distress.

Madame Forestier went to a wardrobe with a mirror, took out a large jewel box, brought it back, opened it and said to Madame Loisel:

"Choose, my dear."

She saw first some bracelets, then a pearl necklace, then a Venetian gold cross set with precious stones, of admirable workmanship. She tried on the ornaments before the mirror, hesitated and could not make up her mind to part with them, to give them back. She kept asking:

"Haven't you any more?"

"Why, yes. Look further; I don't know what you like."

Suddenly she discovered, in a black satin box, a superb diamond necklace, and her heart throbbed with an immoderate desire. Her hands trembled as she took it. She fastened it round her throat, outside her high-necked waist, and was lost in ecstasy at her reflection in the mirror.

Then she asked, hesitating, filled with anxious doubt:

"Will you lend me this, only this?"

"Why, yes, certainly."

She threw her arms round her friend's neck, kissed her passionately, then fled with her treasure.

The night of the ball arrived. Madame Loisel was a great success. She was prettier than any other woman present, elegant, graceful, smiling and wild with joy. All the men looked at her, asked her name, sought to be introduced. All the attaches of the Cabinet wished to waltz with her. She was remarked by the minister himself.

She danced with rapture, with passion, intoxicated by pleasure, forgetting all in the triumph of her beauty, in the glory of her success, in a sort of cloud of happiness comprised of all this homage, admiration, these awakened desires and of that sense of triumph which is so sweet to woman's heart.

She left the ball about four o'clock in the morning. Her husband had been sleeping since midnight in a little deserted anteroom with three other gentlemen whose wives were enjoying the ball.

He threw over her shoulders the wraps he had brought, the modest wraps of common life, the poverty of which contrasted with the elegance of the ball dress. She felt this and wished to escape so as not to be remarked by the other women, who were enveloping themselves in costly furs.

Loisel held her back, saying: "Wait a bit. You will catch cold outside. I will call a cab."

But she did not listen to him and rapidly descended the stairs. When they reached the street they could not find a carriage and began to look for one, shouting after the cabmen passing at a distance.

They went toward the Seine in despair, shivering with cold. At last they found on the quay one of those ancient night cabs which, as though they were ashamed to show their shabbiness during the day, are never seen round Paris until after dark.

It took them to their dwelling in the Rue des Martyrs, and sadly they mounted the stairs to their flat. All was ended for her. As to him, he reflected that he must be at the ministry at ten o'clock that morning.

She removed her wraps before the glass so as to see herself once more in all her glory. But suddenly she uttered a cry. She no longer had the necklace around her neck!

"What is the matter with you?" demanded her husband, already half undressed.

She turned distractedly toward him.

"I have--I have--I've lost Madame Forestier's necklace," she cried.

He stood up, bewildered.

"What!--how? Impossible!"

They looked among the folds of her skirt, of her cloak, in her pockets, everywhere, but did not find it.

"You're sure you had it on when you left the ball?" he asked.

"Yes, I felt it in the vestibule of the minister's house."

"But if you had lost it in the street we should have heard it fall. It must be in the cab."

"Yes, probably. Did you take his number?"

"No. And you--didn't you notice it?"

"No."

They looked, thunderstruck, at each other. At last Loisel put on his clothes.

"I shall go back on foot," said he, "over the whole route, to see whether I can find it."

He went out. She sat waiting on a chair in her ball dress, without strength to go to bed, overwhelmed, without any fire, without a thought.

Her husband returned about seven o'clock. He had found nothing.

He went to police headquarters, to the newspaper offices to offer a reward; he went to the cab companies--everywhere, in fact, whither he was urged by the least spark of hope.

She waited all day, in the same condition of mad fear before this terrible calamity.

Loisel returned at night with a hollow, pale face. He had discovered nothing.

"You must write to your friend," said he, "that you have broken the clasp of her necklace and that you are having it mended. That will give us time to turn round."

She wrote at his dictation.

At the end of a week they had lost all hope. Loisel, who had aged five years, declared:

"We must consider how to replace that ornament."

The next day they took the box that had contained it and went to the jeweler whose name was found within. He consulted his books.

"It was not I, madame, who sold that necklace; I must simply have furnished the case."

Then they went from jeweler to jeweler, searching for a necklace like the other, trying to recall it, both sick with chagrin and grief.

They found, in a shop at the Palais Royal, a string of diamonds that seemed to them exactly like the one they had lost. It was worth forty thousand francs. They could have it for thirty-six.

So they begged the jeweler not to sell it for three days yet. And they made a bargain that he should buy it back for thirty-four thousand francs, in case they should find the lost necklace before the end of February.

Loisel possessed eighteen thousand francs which his father had left him. He would borrow the rest.

He did borrow, asking a thousand francs of one, five hundred of another, five louis here, three louis there. He gave notes, took up ruinous obligations, dealt with usurers and all the race of lenders. He compromised all the rest of his life, risked signing a note without even knowing whether he could meet it; and, frightened by the trouble yet to come, by the black misery that was about to fall upon him, by the prospect of all the physical privations and moral tortures that he was to suffer, he went to get the new necklace, laying upon the jeweler's counter thirty-six thousand francs.

When Madame Loisel took back the necklace Madame Forestier said to her with a chilly manner:

"You should have returned it sooner; I might have needed it."

She did not open the case, as her friend had so much feared. If she had detected the substitution, what would she have thought, what would she have said? Would she not have taken Madame Loisel for a thief?

Thereafter Madame Loisel knew the horrible existence of the needy. She bore her part, however, with sudden heroism. That dreadful debt must be paid. She would pay it. They dismissed their servant; they changed their lodgings; they rented a garret under the roof.

She came to know what heavy housework meant and the odious cares of the kitchen. She washed the dishes, using her dainty fingers and rosy nails on greasy pots and pans. She washed the soiled linen, the shirts and the dishcloths, which she dried upon a line; she carried the slops down to the street every morning and carried up the water, stopping for breath at every landing. And dressed like a woman of the people, she went to the fruiterer, the grocer, the butcher, a basket on her arm, bargaining, meeting with impertinence, defending her miserable money, sou by sou.

Every month they had to meet some notes, renew others, obtain more time.

Her husband worked evenings, making up a tradesman's accounts, and late at night he often copied manuscript for five sous a page.

This life lasted ten years.

At the end of ten years they had paid everything, everything, with the rates of usury and the accumulations of the compound interest.

Madame Loisel looked old now. She had become the woman of impoverished households--strong and hard and rough. With frowsy hair, skirts askew and red hands, she talked loud while washing the floor with great swishes of water. But sometimes, when her husband was at the office, she sat down near the window and she thought of that gay evening of long ago, of that ball where she had been so beautiful and so admired.

What would have happened if she had not lost that necklace? Who knows? who knows? How strange and changeful is life! How small a thing is needed to make or ruin us!

But one Sunday, having gone to take a walk in the Champs Elysees to refresh herself after the labors of the week, she suddenly perceived a woman who was leading a child. It was Madame Forestier, still young, still beautiful, still charming.

Madame Loisel felt moved. Should she speak to her? Yes, certainly. And now that she had paid, she would tell her all about it. Why not?

She went up.

"Good-day, Jeanne."

The other, astonished to be familiarly addressed by this plain good-wife, did not recognize her at all and stammered:

"But--madame!--I do not know---- You must have mistaken."

"No. I am Mathilde Loisel."

Her friend uttered a cry.

"Oh, my poor Mathilde! How you are changed!"

"Yes, I have had a pretty hard life, since I last saw you, and great poverty--and that because of you!"

"Of me! How so?"

"Do you remember that diamond necklace you lent me to wear at the ministerial ball?"

"Yes. Well?"

"Well, I lost it."

"What do you mean? You brought it back."

"I brought you back another exactly like it. And it has taken us ten years to pay for it. You can understand that it was not easy for us, for us who had nothing. At last it is ended, and I am very glad."

Madame Forestier had stopped.

"You say that you bought a necklace of diamonds to replace mine?"

"Yes. You never noticed it, then! They were very similar."

And she smiled with a joy that was at once proud and ingenuous.

Madame Forestier, deeply moved, took her hands.

"Oh, my poor Mathilde! Why, my necklace was paste! It was worth at most only five hundred francs!"

#story time #source: Americanliterature.com

[anonymazgirl]

The necklace

Important: I do not own this, it’s original writer is Guy de Maupassant, I just found this story really worth sharing and I found an accurate english translation online so here it is. Warning:LONG!!!

She was one of those pretty and charming girls born, as if by an error of fate, into a family of clerks. She had no dowry, no expectations, no means of becoming known, understood, loved or wedded by a man of wealth and distinction; and so she let herself be married to a minor official at the Ministry of Education.

She dressed plainly because she had never been able to afford anything better, but she was as unhappy as if she had once been wealthy. Women don’t belong to a caste or class; their beauty, grace, and natural charm take the place of birth and family. Natural delicacy, instinctive elegance and a quick wit determine their place in society, and make the daughters of commoners the equals of the very finest ladies.

She suffered endlessly, feeling she was entitled to all the delicacies and luxuries of life. She suffered because of the poorness of her house as she looked at the dirty walls, the worn-out chairs and the ugly curtains. All these things that another woman of her class would not even have noticed, tormented her and made her resentful. The sight of the little Brenton girl who did her housework filled her with terrible regrets and hopeless fantasies. She dreamed of silent antechambers hung with Oriental tapestries, lit from above by torches in bronze holders, while two tall footmen in knee-length breeches napped in huge armchairs, sleepy from the stove’s oppressive warmth. She dreamed of vast living rooms furnished in rare old silks, elegant furniture loaded with priceless ornaments, and inviting smaller rooms, perfumed, made for afternoon chats with close friends - famous, sought after men, who all women envy and desire.

When she sat down to dinner at a round table covered with a three-day-old cloth opposite her husband who, lifting the lid off the soup, shouted excitedly, “Ah! Beef stew! What could be better,” she dreamed of fine dinners, of shining silverware, of tapestries which peopled the walls with figures from another time and strange birds in fairy forests; she dreamed of delicious dishes served on wonderful plates, of whispered gallantries listened to with an inscrutable smile as one ate the pink flesh of a trout or the wings of a quail.

She had no dresses, no jewels, nothing; and these were the only things she loved. She felt she was made for them alone. She wanted so much to charm, to be envied, to be desired and sought after.

She had a rich friend, a former schoolmate at the convent, whom she no longer wanted to visit because she suffered so much when she came home. For whole days afterwards she would weep with sorrow, regret, despair and misery.

*

One evening her husband came home with an air of triumph, holding a large envelope in his hand.

“Look,” he said, “here’s something for you.”

She tore open the paper and drew out a card, on which was printed the words:

“The Minister of Education and Mme. Georges Rampouneau request the pleasure of M. and Mme. Loisel’s company at the Ministry, on the evening of Monday January 18th.”

Instead of being delighted, as her husband had hoped, she threw the invitation on the table resentfully, and muttered:

“What do you want me to do with that?”

“But, my dear, I thought you would be pleased. You never go out, and it will be such a lovely occasion! I had awful trouble getting it. Every one wants to go; it is very exclusive, and they’re not giving many invitations to clerks. The whole ministry will be there.”

She stared at him angrily, and said, impatiently:

“And what do you expect me to wear if I go?”

He hadn’t thought of that. He stammered:

“Why, the dress you go to the theatre in. It seems very nice to me …”

He stopped, stunned, distressed to see his wife crying. Two large tears ran slowly from the corners of her eyes towards the corners of her mouth. He stuttered:

“What’s the matter? What’s the matter?”

With great effort she overcame her grief and replied in a calm voice, as she wiped her wet cheeks:

“Nothing. Only I have no dress and so I can’t go to this party. Give your invitation to a friend whose wife has better clothes than I do.”

He was distraught, but tried again:

“Let’s see, Mathilde. How much would a suitable dress cost, one which you could use again on other occasions, something very simple?”

She thought for a moment, computing the cost, and also wondering what amount she could ask for without an immediate refusal and an alarmed exclamation from the thrifty clerk.

At last she answered hesitantly:

“I don’t know exactly, but I think I could do it with four hundred francs.”

He turned a little pale, because he had been saving that exact amount to buy a gun and treat himself to a hunting trip the following summer, in the country near Nanterre, with a few friends who went lark-shooting there on Sundays.

However, he said:

“Very well, I can give you four hundred francs. But try and get a really beautiful dress.”

*

The day of the party drew near, and Madame Loisel seemed sad, restless, anxious. Her dress was ready, however. One evening her husband said to her:

“What’s the matter? You’ve been acting strange these last three days.”

She replied: “I’m upset that I have no jewels, not a single stone to wear. I will look cheap. I would almost rather not go to the party.”

“You could wear flowers, ” he said, “They are very fashionable at this time of year. For ten francs you could get two or three magnificent roses.”

She was not convinced.

“No; there is nothing more humiliating than looking poor in the middle of a lot of rich women.”

“How stupid you are!” her husband cried. “Go and see your friend Madame Forestier and ask her to lend you some jewels. You know her well enough for that.”

She uttered a cry of joy.

“Of course. I had not thought of that.”

The next day she went to her friend’s house and told her of her distress.

Madame Forestier went to her mirrored wardrobe, took out a large box, brought it back, opened it, and said to Madame Loisel:

“Choose, my dear.”

First she saw some bracelets, then a pearl necklace, then a gold Venetian cross set with precious stones, of exquisite craftsmanship. She tried on the jewelry in the mirror, hesitated, could not bear to part with them, to give them back. She kept asking:

“You have nothing else?”

“Why, yes. But I don’t know what you like.”

Suddenly she discovered, in a black satin box, a superb diamond necklace, and her heart began to beat with uncontrolled desire. Her hands trembled as she took it. She fastened it around her neck, over her high-necked dress, and stood lost in ecstasy as she looked at herself.

Then she asked anxiously, hesitating:

“Would you lend me this, just this?”

“Why, yes, of course.”

She threw her arms around her friend’s neck, embraced her rapturously, then fled with her treasure.

*

The day of the party arrived. Madame Loisel was a success. She was prettier than all the other women, elegant, gracious, smiling, and full of joy. All the men stared at her, asked her name, tried to be introduced. All the cabinet officials wanted to waltz with her. The minister noticed her. She danced wildly, with passion, drunk on pleasure, forgetting everything in the triumph of her beauty, in the glory of her success, in a sort of cloud of happiness, made up of all this respect, all this admiration, all these awakened desires, of that sense of triumph that is so sweet to a woman’s heart.

She left at about four o'clock in the morning. Her husband had been dozing since midnight in a little deserted anteroom with three other gentlemen whose wives were having a good time.

He threw over her shoulders the clothes he had brought for her to go outside in, the modest clothes of an ordinary life, whose poverty contrasted sharply with the elegance of the ball dress. She felt this and wanted to run away, so she wouldn’t be noticed by the other women who were wrapping themselves in expensive furs.

Loisel held her back.

“Wait a moment, you’ll catch a cold outside. I’ll go and find a cab.”

But she would not listen to him, and ran down the stairs. When they were finally in the street, they could not find a cab, and began to look for one, shouting at the cabmen they saw passing in the distance.

They walked down toward the Seine in despair, shivering with cold. At last they found on the quay one of those old night cabs that one sees in Paris only after dark, as if they were ashamed to show their shabbiness during the day.

They were dropped off at their door in the Rue des Martyrs, and sadly walked up the steps to their apartment. It was all over, for her. And he was remembering that he had to be back at his office at ten o'clock.

In front of the mirror, she took off the clothes around her shoulders, taking a final look at herself in all her glory. But suddenly she uttered a cry. She no longer had the necklace round her neck!

“What is the matter?” asked her husband, already half undressed.

She turned towards him, panic-stricken.

“I have … I have … I no longer have Madame Forestier’s necklace.”

He stood up, distraught.

“What! … how! … That’s impossible!”

They looked in the folds of her dress, in the folds of her cloak, in her pockets, everywhere. But they could not find it.

“Are you sure you still had it on when you left the ball?” he asked.

“Yes. I touched it in the hall at the Ministry.”

“But if you had lost it in the street we would have heard it fall. It must be in the cab.”

“Yes. That’s probably it. Did you take his number?”

“No. And you, didn’t you notice it?”

“No.”

They stared at each other, stunned. At last Loisel put his clothes on again.

“I’m going back,” he said, “over the whole route we walked, see if I can find it.”

He left. She remained in her ball dress all evening, without the strength to go to bed, sitting on a chair, with no fire, her mind blank.

Her husband returned at about seven o'clock. He had found nothing.

He went to the police, to the newspapers to offer a reward, to the cab companies, everywhere the tiniest glimmer of hope led him.

She waited all day, in the same state of blank despair from before this frightful disaster.

Loisel returned in the evening, a hollow, pale figure; he had found nothing.

“You must write to your friend,” he said, “tell her you have broken the clasp of her necklace and that you are having it mended. It will give us time to look some more.” She wrote as he dictated.

*

At the end of one week they had lost all hope.

And Loisel, who had aged five years, declared:

“We must consider how to replace the jewel.”

The next day they took the box which had held it, and went to the jeweler whose name they found inside. He consulted his books.

“It was not I, madame, who sold the necklace; I must simply have supplied the case.”

And so they went from jeweler to jeweler, looking for an necklace like the other one, consulting their memories, both sick with grief and anguish.

In a shop at the Palais Royal, they found a string of diamonds which seemed to be exactly what they were looking for. It was worth forty thousand francs. They could have it for thirty-six thousand.

So they begged the jeweler not to sell it for three days. And they made an arrangement that he would take it back for thirty-four thousand francs if the other necklace was found before the end of February.

Loisel had eighteen thousand francs which his father had left him. He would borrow the rest.

And he did borrow, asking for a thousand francs from one man, five hundred from another, five louis here, three louis there. He gave notes, made ruinous agreements, dealt with usurers, with every type of money-lender. He compromised the rest of his life, risked signing notes without knowing if he could ever honor them, and, terrified by the anguish still to come, by the black misery about to fall on him, by the prospect of every physical privation and every moral torture he was about to suffer, he went to get the new necklace, and laid down on the jeweler’s counter thirty-six thousand francs.

When Madame Loisel took the necklace back, Madame Forestier said coldly:

“You should have returned it sooner, I might have needed it.”

To the relief of her friend, she did not open the case. If she had detected the substitution, what would she have thought? What would she have said? Would she have taken her friend for a thief?

*

From then on, Madame Loisel knew the horrible life of the very poor. But she played her part heroically. The dreadful debt must be paid. She would pay it. They dismissed their maid; they changed their lodgings; they rented a garret under the roof.

She came to know the drudgery of housework, the odious labors of the kitchen. She washed the dishes, staining her rosy nails on greasy pots and the bottoms of pans. She washed the dirty linen, the shirts and the dishcloths, which she hung to dry on a line; she carried the garbage down to the street every morning, and carried up the water, stopping at each landing to catch her breath. And, dressed like a commoner, she went to the fruiterer’s, the grocer’s, the butcher’s, her basket on her arm, bargaining, insulted, fighting over every miserable sou.

Each month they had to pay some notes, renew others, get more time.

Her husband worked every evening, doing accounts for a tradesman, and often, late into the night, he sat copying a manuscript at five sous a page.

And this life lasted ten years.

At the end of ten years they had paid off everything, everything, at usurer’s rates and with the accumulations of compound interest.

Madame Loisel looked old now. She had become strong, hard and rough like all women of impoverished households. With hair half combed, with skirts awry, and reddened hands, she talked loudly as she washed the floor with great swishes of water. But sometimes, when her husband was at the office, she sat down near the window and thought of that evening at the ball so long ago, when she had been so beautiful and so admired.

What would have happened if she had not lost that necklace? Who knows, who knows? How strange life is, how fickle! How little is needed for one to be ruined or saved!

One Sunday, as she was walking in the Champs Élysées to refresh herself after the week’s work, suddenly she saw a woman walking with a child. It was Madame Forestier, still young, still beautiful, still charming.

Madame Loisel felt emotional. Should she speak to her? Yes, of course. And now that she had paid, she would tell her all. Why not?

She went up to her.

“Good morning, Jeanne.”

The other, astonished to be addressed so familiarly by this common woman, did not recognize her. She stammered:

“But - madame - I don’t know. You must have made a mistake.”

“No, I am Mathilde Loisel.”

Her friend uttered a cry.

“Oh! … my poor Mathilde, how you’ve changed! …”

“Yes, I have had some hard times since I last saw you, and many miseries … and all because of you! …”

“Me? How can that be?”

“You remember that diamond necklace that you lent me to wear to the Ministry party?”

“Yes. Well?”

“Well, I lost it.”

“What do you mean? You brought it back.”

“I brought you back another exactly like it. And it has taken us ten years to pay for it. It wasn’t easy for us, we had very little. But at last it is over, and I am very glad.”

Madame Forestier was stunned.

“You say that you bought a diamond necklace to replace mine?”

“Yes; you didn’t notice then? They were very similar.”

And she smiled with proud and innocent pleasure.

Madame Forestier, deeply moved, took both her hands.

“Oh, my poor Mathilde! Mine was an imitation! It was worth five hundred francsat most! …”

#suspense #thriller #plotwist #mystery #unexpected #necklace #long story #ssd

[taetaesource]

Coming Home

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

Taehyung as a single parent. He was looking for a babysitter to help him raise his kid and then he met you.

The next morning, you appeared at Taehyung’s house again. You expected him to give you some instructions on what you should be doing everyday, some ground rules, some touring around the house to let you know where things were and how things should be done, but all he said was, “do you think I should wake Tae oh up?” 

The rest of the morning was spent watching Taehyung heat up the food, dig for more snacks and throwing random remarks or questions at you such as, “do you think it’s better to eat apples in the morning or banana?” 

When sounds of Tae oh’s cries came from the room, Taehyung dropped what he was doing and said, “oh he’s up!” He wiped his hands with the kitchen towel roughly and carried his child out from the room. The sleepy baby that was in Taehyung’s arms stared at you briefly with his puffy eyes and messy bed hair. Taehyung took Tae oh’s small hands, lifted it up for a wave and said in a baby voice, “good morning!” 

Taehyung placed the baby on the baby chair at the dining table and went behind the counter to continue preparing breakfast. He would occasionally look up from what he was doing and smile at his child. Taehyung’s actions made you smile too. He was a tall figure hovering around the kitchen counter, picking and placing things down with his large hands that seemed too clumsy and unfamiliar with kitchen work. He would bend over the sink to wash the cutlery and fruits and look closely at the packet of paste for the instructions of how much to add with a slight pout of his lips. Some moments he looked frustrated and annoyed with the chores, some moments he looked hesitant and confused. But your favourite was moments when he looked up and interacted with Tae oh. You could see the drastic change in his expression, he was so full of love and his smiles had a tinge of childlike purity and genuine happiness. 

For the next few days, you helped Taehyung around. Taehyung was not good in the kitchen and in fact, not good at housework. You would usually take over what he was doing and tell him to go keep an eye on Tae oh instead. So for the first few days at work, you were scrambling around Taehyung, looking for things to do and setting up a kind of routine for yourself since Taehyung was not clear in what exactly he needed you to do. Then you will go home at 6pm after dinner was prepared. 

Your babysitting job slowly became a housekeeping job as you saw that Taehyung did not seem to have any intentions of cleaning the house as long as it still looked clean. He seemed to have no clue about maintaining a home that had a small kid. He only cleaned the areas that were dirtied such as the dining table and picking up the food crumbs that fell when Tae oh snacked on his baby biscuits in the living room. Perhaps he had never thought about how important it was to clean the house everyday even though it looked clean. 

Although your main job was centred around taking care of Tae oh, you felt that you needed to do something in order to create a better environment for Tae oh. So you began asking if you could help to vacuum the house and mop the floor. Taehyung was slightly surprised by your offer. He looked like a child who knew nothing about household duties. He also did not know where the cleaning tools were kept. You laughed it off and told him not to worry, you will look for them yourself and so cleaning up the house became part of your daily routine. Seeing that Taehyung really did not have much idea, you decided to step up a little and take charge. You explored the house on your own to see where things were and took note of what was necessary yet missing in the house. You made a list and went out to buy the necessary items and groceries over the next few days. Your daily routine now includes cleaning, washing and tidying things that were related to Tae oh such as his laundry, bedsheets, toys, water bottles, pacifiers, everything that he touched or played with everyday, and also ensuring that the child was washed, fed and sleeping well. 

With Taehyung around, he took most of the responsibilities of playing and feeding the child, while you assisted with preparing the food and washing or changing the baby when Taehyung could not cope. There were days when Taehyung would receive calls from his company and couldn’t be home, and you would take Tae oh out with you to the convenient store or to the playground. You enjoyed the freedom of being able to take complete charge around Tae oh and the house, part of you also felt that Taehyung’s presence intimidated you, mainly because you still don't know him and he was so perfect and too handsome to get close to. Soon, your routine slowly included maintaining the house including paying the bills, washing and ironing Taehyung’s clothes and preparing his food for him when he comes home. 

Taehyung would usually try to be home before 6pm so that you could knock off on time, but nowadays he would be later, arriving home at around 8pm when you were feeding Tae oh his last milk before he goes to bed. Taehyung would always apologise for taking up your time and send you off almost immediately so that you won’t have to stay longer. But tonight, he was even later than usual. 

When Taehyung returned, Tae oh was already asleep a long time ago and Taehyung looked solemn. He did not say much when he entered through the doors and he looked tired. In a soft and low voice, he said “is he asleep?” 

“Yes, he is especially talkative today. It took awhile to get him to go to bed”, you answered, trying to sound a little more positive to cheer Taehyung up. 

The man dragged his feet to the first bedroom and opened the door. He did not go in but he looked at his child for awhile and closed the door. He shuffled to where you were, on the floor in front of the television, and let out a deep sigh as he sat next to you. 

You did not know what to say. In fact, you were slightly nervous as you could smell a whiff of him as he plopped himself down next to you. He smelled like cotton and cologne that had lingered on his skin for the whole day. He must have had a long day. You lifted your apple juice up and drank nervously. You wanted to say something to lighten up his mood but you did not know how. 

“I am so sorry for making you stay this late, but I think you might need to stay later for the next few days. My company wants me back and I might not be able to come home for quite awhile....” His voice was low and it trailed off towards the end. 

You paused and repeated what was said to you in your mind, “might not be able to come home.” 

“I am trying to get my mother to come and take care of Tae oh so don’t worry you won’t have to be doing this 24/7, you can still have your own life. It’s just that in the meantime, please help me to stay with Tae oh. I will pay you extra.”

“Don’t worry too much about it. I will stay with him until you make the arrangements. Just let me know so that I can prepare my own things and bring them here”, you hoped to reassure Taehyung that you were not one of his reason to worry and more deeply, you wished to share the burdens and responsibilities that he had, and be someone who could help him with his plate that was too full. 

“What are you working as? You seem to be really busy with work,” you tried to divert his attention to something lighter and also to get to know him slightly better. 

“I’m.... errrr... I'm working in a bank..” the man sounded nervous all of a sudden and he took quite an unnaturally long time to answer a simple question. 

The television played the chorus of Not Today, it was a commercial ad that was promoting the final stop of the WINGS concert in Seoul. The ad ended with a short video clip of the group calling out to their fans, “2! 3! Annyeonghaseyo Bangtan Sonyeondan imnida,” followed by more footages of their concert and  a final screen with the concert date and location. 

“Bang. Tan. So. Nyeon. Tan.” your eyes were still glued to the television screen and you took another sip of your apple juice while nodding continuously to yourself. You could hear Taehyung swallowing hard in embarrassment. You found this extremely amusing and instead of feeling angry that he lied to you, you found yourself wanting to laugh. Since he did not tell you the truth about his job, you did not want to confront him about it either. So you did not talk about his job whenever you were around him and treated him the same as before- as an ordinary person, except that you felt a lot more relaxed around him now, probably because you had seen him embarrassed himself. Because of this, Taehyung trusted you a bit more. 

Taehyung would always try his best to rush home after his schedule but even then, he would usually be home around 10pm or later. His mother was busy with her shop in Daegu and could not make it here to take care of Tae oh for a prolonged period of time. His mother suggested many times to bring Tae oh back to Daegu with her so that it would be easier for everyone, but for some reason, Taehyung refused. He would rather rush around and stress himself out with making the best arrangements for his child care. 

For some reason, you did not mind the prospect of having to take care of someone else’s kid 24/7. After all, you lived on your own and spent most of your free time surfing the net, online shopping and watching videos anyway. So on days when Taehyung could not make it back home, you would stay over and sleep with Tae oh. Tae oh was not the easiest child to manage but you quite enjoy the challenge of it. Most importantly, Taehyung was easy to work with. Even on days that he could not make it home, he would briefly give you a call or text you to apologise and inform you about it. He would briefly ask if there was anything wrong or if you had enough money for the house or Tae oh, and then he would leave you to take care of everything and did not question much. You felt trusted and to some extent, you wished that Taehyung could have one less thing to worry about and focus on his career which was what was truly worrying and taking too much of his time and energy. Taehyung was always worrying that he was not doing enough for Tae oh, and that made you want to raise Tae oh well so that Taehyung could stop feeling guilty and see how well Tae oh was growing up.  

Whenever Taehyung was able to come home, he would first take a look at Tae oh who was sleeping and then take a shower while you heat up some food for him to eat. Taehyung disliked eating alone so he would usually make you sit down and eat with him. It then became a habit for you to wait for Taehyung to come home and have dinner with him in the small cozy dining area. You would usually tell him about the day and funny moments of Tae oh and he would laugh out loud, raising his eyebrows and saying, “really? Wah, this rascal!” You would ask him about his day and he would usually talk about how busy his upcoming schedule was and how tired he was. He never gave out too much details about his work and you understood this was just how the entertainment industry worked. Taehyung would usually ask you to stay over since it was late and it gave you many butterflies in your stomach to hear him ask you to stay. 

That night when Taehyung was back home, you were wearing a large cotton tee and sleeping shorts, sitting on the couch with your laptop. Taehyung was sitting on the other side of the couch in his sleeping clothes and his hair wet from his shower. You were staying over for the night. Taehyung was leaning against the arm rest and scrolling on his phone. You moved closer to him showed him what you have found on the internet. Taehyung leaned closer as you shared with him about the kinds of health check ups and vaccinations that were good and necessary for children around Tae oh’s age. He would nod and listen to you intently as you showed him the online articles and the clinics that you have researched. You could see how focused you were when the screen went black momentarily when the pages switched and you were surprised as you did not realise how close Taehyung’s face was next to yours. You became self-conscious as you realised that you could feel the warmth of Taehyung’s body next to yours and the touch of his skin against your arms and thighs. You tried to keep it in as Taehyung did not seem to be conscious about it and you did not want to appear to be blushing or overthinking like a teenager. But your heart was beating faster and you craved the slight brushes of his skin against yours. 

“Mmm alright, go for it. I think they will be good for Tae oh,” Taehyung said in an assertive and manly tone that reaffirmed his position as the head of the house. Taehyung would sign on the parent’s consent form and pass you the original documentations that were necessary without further questions. 

You called the clinic the next day to make an appointment for Tae oh and clarified with the staff on the research that you have done on the different vaccinations that he would be receiving. The staff was polite and answered your questions though not as satisfactory and you were still feeling anxious about Tae oh’s first vaccination. 

You kept Tae oh’s health documents properly and felt good that you cared about Tae oh’s well-being and was excited to be the one taking Tae oh through this new milestone of his growth. You couldn’t wait to tell Taehyung how it went and hear him praise you for doing this for his child. 

Little did you know that this turned out to be a stressful episode that left you crying with guilt and anxiety... 

#bts taehyung #bts fluff #bts fanfic #bts smut #single dad taehyung #writing chapter 5 now cos I am on the ball #coming home

[decadentenemyturtle]

It was an accident!

This is a fic for What if...? -challenge by awsome @sdavid09 

Summary: What if the first time Dwalin met little Kili and Fili he inadvertently intimidated them and scared them?

Pairing: Dwalin x Reader

Words: 1333

You were sitting on the sofa, holding a little dwarfling in your arms. He was few months old. This was the first time you met him and he had stole your heart at first glance, making you both want and not want a child yourself. But you knew your husband wasn't that eager to get one. Not yet.

"Aaaaggaaa.... Ammamaa" child on your arms babbled. He was babbling all he could, seeming to be happy to "talk" to somebody else than he's parents.

"Ooh, really, Fili? Then what happened?" you asked from the child. He looked at you, his blue eyes shining and smile growing even bigger. You heard giggling from the kitchen and turned just in time to see Vili hugging Dis and kissing her all over her face. You smiled a little and focused then again to Fili, who was ruffling his lips. Oh how you wished you had this, a whole family. But then again, you didn't want to be selfish. You knew that your husband wasn't ready to have children. He said so himself.

"Oh, hello there, (Y/n)" Vili said as he noticed you. You turned to look at him and greeted him, as Fili started to wiggle in your arms. Vili chuckled and bent a little to get Fili in his arms, hugging him close.

"Well hello there, Fili. How is my little boy doin'?" Vili was babbling to Fili, while the boy was giggling and hugging his father back. You got up from the sofa, turning to go in the kitchen to see if Dis needed any help. Just then you noticed your husband standing quietly near the door, looking at everywhere else but you. You smiled a little and went to give in a kiss on his nose.

"Something wrong, love?" you asked. He shook his head and turned then to look at Vili and his son. You gave him one last peck on his cheek before going to help Dis. While helping Dis to make supper, you heard Vili and Dwalin talking and Fili babbling in his fathers arms. At some point you stopped listening what they were talking about and continued on your task, while Dis started to talk to you.

Some minutes went on when you suddenly heard how Fili started to cry. You and Dis turned to look at each other.

"Is OK, Fili, Dwalin didn' mean any bad" you heard Vili comforting his son. You riced your eyebrow and took few steps to see how Fili was sitting on Vili's arms while Dwalin was sitting on armchair and was glaring his hands. Dis stopped next to you and exchanged looks with you. Then Dis went to behind the sofa and Fili reached for her.

"What happen?" Dis asked, looking between her son, husband and Dwalin. Dwalin lifted his eyes to Dis and saw you behind him, a little smile on your lips.

"Lad got scare of me..." Dwalin murmured, turning back down to his hands. Dis raised her brow and looked down at her husband, confused.

"He was trying to take Fili on his lap, but lad got scared of 'im" Vili explained to her, while Fili started to calm down and Dwalin was still sulking. How Vili ever got Dwalin to try and hold the little baby in his arms, you didn't know. But Dwalin surely didn't touch him since that. Well, not until you once hoist Fili to him. You had been watching over Fili, who had been in your arms when Dwalin came home. You had to go to the toilet, so you simply hoisted Fili to him, said you'll be back soon and almost ran to the toilet.

And when you came back, Dwalin had put his weapons away, changes his clothes and was playing with the little rascal. And Fili wasn't crying or wasn't scared of Dwalin, instead he seemed to like the old dwarf. Your heart, oh your heart....

Dis and Vili had gotten another baby boy. A few weeks after he was born, you and Dwalin went to meet them. Yes, you wanted to meet their second son, but you also wanted to make sure if Dis needed any help with housekeeping or if they needed any help with Fili. Or any help really. You surely could take Fili for your home for a few days. The lad had stayed over few nights in yours and Dwalin's house before. You two were like an auntie and uncle to him, beside Thorin.

You were sitting on the couch, Dis sitting beside you and a little baby sleeping in your arms. Fili was playing on the floor after he got bored to watch you and his little brother. Dwalin and Vili were sitting beside the table, drinking ale and talking about work. Dis had refused your help, saying she didn't want to add you anymore work. You had your own housework back in your home + your garden, yet you felt that you still could do some more. But still, you accepted that Dis didn't want or need any help.

"Ye still know where to ask, if ye need anything" you said softly to your best friend, turning to look at her. Dis smiled to you and nodded. Kili yawned and moved a little. You turned down to look at him, a little smile growing again in your lips.

"You know... Vili wondered whenever you and Dwalin are going to get little ones..." Dis murmured, caressing his second son's feet. A bitter smile rose to your lips. Children.... Over the past five years you and Dwalin had known Fili, your husband had warmed a little to the idea of having children. Yet he said that he wasn't ready. And you started to wonder, if he never was. If you two never would be blessed with children.

"Dwalin doesn't want to have children" you murmured, your face set on hard poker face. You heard Dis sighing beside you. She could easily see your discomfort and your own wanting for children. Well, you had said few times how you yourself wanted to have little ones. But you didn't want to be selfish.

"Yes, but Dwalin can't be selfish neither. You have your wants, too. He knows it" said Dis, softly. You turned to look at her, tears in your eyes. This wasn't how this visit had to be like. You were suppose to be smiling, laughing, hovering over the little Kili... Not crying for you not being a mother. Dis wrapped her hands around your shoulders, hugging you.

"Dis, you know this is something where neither one of us has to be selfish. And now it is Dwalin who gets to be the selfish one" you said, your voice cracking. Dis nodded slowly and set her head on your shoulder, while you leaned your temple on her forehead. You sat there few minutes, just looking down at the sleeping prince, while silent tears ran down your cheeks. Then, a sudden and one of the loudest sneezest you ever heard echoed in the room. Dis rose her head quickly and looked behind you to the table where Dwalin and Vili were sitting, while Kili had jumped in your arms for being scared at the sound. And then he started to cry. Dis turned to look at him and then to you. You rocked the baby in your arms, hushing him and saying it was OK.Then you heard Vili murmuring something, your husband sighing and cursing behind you.

"I SWAER it was an accident. Both times" he murmured, sounding like he would lunge to now laughing Vili's throat at any time. You turned to look at Dis, smiling a little to her while tears were still falling.

"I guess... I guess this is why he doesn't want to have children. Because he isn't good whit 'em" you said, still smiling. Dis snorted and leaned to her hand.

"I know, right..." she said, glancing over the two male over the table.

#What if-challenge #what if #dwalin #dwalin x reader #dwalin/reader

[missandrogyny]

okay so her first day of school they all refuse to tear up but get a little weepy as soon as they come back home and they all have a group huddle about how shes all grown up. them changing her diapers when shes a kid, taking turns and louis protesting when it's a smelly one and harry baking her cookies and dressing her up in cute little dresses and onesies. niall teaching her how to play the guitar and liam working out with her on his back, zayn falling asleep with rose on his chest :'))

“You got everything?” Liam asks worriedly, double-checking Rose’s bag. “Pencils, papers, snacks, water bottle, an extra change of clothes?”

“Mhm,” Rose says happily, hopping from one foot to another. It’s her first day of kindergarten and she’s ridiculously excited about it, having heard nothing but great things about school. Liam would be proud of his daughter being so brave and excited, if not for the fact that this means she’s going to be away from them for five whole hours–the longest she’s been away from them since she was born.

“You sure?” He asks skeptically. “Scissors, coloured paper, glue?”

“Mhm.”

“Allergy medicine?”

Rose blinks at him. “What?”

Oh no. Oh no. Liam knew she forgot something. “Lads,” he says gravely, tears springing into his eyes. “she doesn’t have her allergy medicine. We can’t send her to school without allergy medicine.”

Liam feels a hand on his shoulder. “Liam,” Zayn says, his voice monotone. “She doesn’t even have any allergies.”

“You never know,” Liam all-but-wails, hugging Rose close to his chest. He can’t let her go now. “What if she’s allergic to pencils, or the white board, or her desk, or her classmates–”

“To her classmates?” Harry interrupts, tapping his fingers to his chin. “Can people even be allergic to other people?”

“It’s possible,” Niall volunteers helpfully from the side. “Maybe when they’re super stinky.”

“Ooh,” Harry says. “Louis, I think I’m allergic to you.”

“Fuck off, Harold,” Louis answers. Beside him, a mother gasps, scandalized, covering her kids’ ears with her hands. Liam does the same to Rose.

“Louis,” he says, “what have we said about swearing in front of Rose?”

“But I wasn’t in front of her!” Louis shoots back, stomping his foot. “I’m like, to her left.”

“Whatever,” Liam says sternly. “Ten pence in the swear jar for you.” 

In front of him, Rose manages to pry his hands off her little head. “Daddy, can I go now?” She demands, stomping her foot the same way Louis did. She’s growing up so fast.

“Not yet, Bud,” he says, holding her still with his hands on her shoulder. He meets her gaze as sternly as he can. “Now, what do we not do in school?”

Rose sighs. “Start fights,” she says, ticking off a finger. “Pull pranks. Say bad words and mean things. Start fires.”

“But what do we do do in school?” Harry chimes in

Rose brightens a bit at that question. “Share your food, be nice to your classmates, be good in class, be yourself.

“And?”

“Make sure you dress to impress,” She steps away from Liam and does a little twirl, her baby pink dress billowing behind her. She looks so cute. Liam’s about to tuck her under her arm, and run back to the house, where she can stay at home and be cute and never grow up.

“That’s my girl,” Harry says, nodding approvingly.

“What the fuck have you been teaching her,” Niall asks Harry. Liam sighs.

“Ten pence in the swear jar for you, Niall.” He pauses. “I think we have enough to buy Rose ice cream.”

“Nah, not yet,” Zayn says. He pauses. “Fuck. Okay, now we have enough to buy Rose ice cream.”

“Yay, ice cream!” Rose says, clapping her hands. “I want chocolate please!”

“You can get any flavour you want, Bud,” Liam promises, putting his hands on her shoulders. “Now, tell me, what do we do if there’s an emergency?”

“Call 999,” Rose answers obediently.

Louis snorts. “Shouldn’t she like, inform the teacher first before she goes around calling 999?”

“Shut up, Tommo,” Niall says. “Don’t listen to Dada; teachers don’t know anything. Call 999 if your little heart desires it.”

“But where will she get the phone?” Louis asks “She’ll steal it from the teacher?”

Niall shrugs. “Why not?”

“Lads, no,” Zayn interrupts monotonously. See, this is why Zayn is Liam’s favourite. He’s the best.

Zayn crouches down, meets Rose in the eye. “Make sure you steal the phone from the teacher you hate the most.”

Liam takes it back. “O-kay,” he says loudly, shoving Zayn aside, who’s now laughing with Niall and Louis. Liam thinks he better send her inside, before this entire thing escalates even further. “You sure you’ll be alright?”

“I’ll be fine, Daddy,” she nods. She looks at him with big, blue eyes, holding out a pinky. “Pinky swear.”

She’s just so–how is it, that his own fucking child seems to be braver and so much more mature than him? She’s the one starting an incredible milestone in her life, and yet she’s still the one reassuring him, telling him that she’ll be alright. 

The thing is, Liam doesn’t want to let her go at all–if he could, he’d just teach him herself, keep her by his side where she’ll always be his baby. But he only knows so much–what with dropping out of school for One Direction–and soon, there’ll come a point in time where none of them can teach her. She needs space to learn and grow, and Liam needs to give her that space, let her try out her wings.

He sighs, locking his pinky with hers. “Alright,” he says, then sweeps Rose into a hug, holding her close to his chest. “Love you Bud, have fun on your first day.”

“Love you too, Daddy,” she says into his shoulder, before pulling away. She goes to hug Louis next, Louis whispering a sweet bye, darling into her ear. If Liam spots a few tears rolling down Louis’ face, he doesn’t mention it at all.

Harry is next, and he picks her up, rests her on his hip to give her a little kiss on the nose. “Love you, Baby,” he says, his voice fond. “Be nice to everyone, okay?”

He passes her on to Niall, who sets her on the floor again. “You got this, Lil Craic,” Niall tells her, and normally, Niall’s nickname for her would make Liam roll his eyes, but today he finds himself tearing up slightly. 

God, why does he keep crying? It’s like he’s turning into his mum.

It’s Zayn’s turn last, and she takes a few steps towards him, throws her tiny arms around his neck. “Bye, Baba,” Liam hears her say. “We can still paint in your graffiti room right? Even if I’m going to school?”

“Of course,” Zayn answers quietly. “We can paint whenever you like.” He gives her a gentle smile, his brown eyes crinkling at the sides, before whispering something in Urdu to her. She whispers something back, and the two of them share a secret smile before Zayn is letting her go, pointing her towards the school doors.

She hurries to the door, where a teacher is waiting with a pleasant smile. “Bye!” She calls, looking back for only the briefest moment. “I’ll miss you!”

Then she’s gone, disappearing through the school doors. Liam stares at the doors for a while, worried there might be an emergency, that she might pop back out, crying that she doesn’t want to go to school anymore, but nothing of the sort happens.

—

“Do you remember when we first saw her,” Liam says, looking forlornly down at his tea. The five of them were too wired to go home, so here they are, camping out at the nearest Costa, waiting until Rose gets out of school. “Like, when she was first born?”

“She was all wrinkled and covered in goo,” Harry says lovingly. “The most beautiful baby on earth.”

“She was bald too,” Louis says. “So bald.” He pauses. “Why are babies so bald?”

“Remember when she was only three days old and Niall almost dropped her,” Zayn says, ignoring Louis’ question.

“Niall didn’t know how to hold a baby,” Harry says. “Still doesn’t, actually.”

Niall shrugs. “Guilty.” He grins, his blue eyes shining with fond memories. “But, I was the only one who could make her fall asleep.”

Liam laughs, remembering the struggle the five of them had trying to put Rose to bed. “She wouldn’t sleep unless you played the guitar for her, Niall.”

“A smart girl, that one,” Niall says approvingly.

“Then when she was a bit older, she liked to fall asleep on Zayn’s chest,” Harry points out, smiling fondly. Zayn’s face is stoic, but Liam can see a touch of emotion in his brown eyes.

“She used to fit right here,” Zayn says, touching his chest, right where his heart is. “It’s hard to believe that she doesn’t anymore. In my eyes, she’s still such a baby.”

“Remember when Louis would have her for the whole day, and when we’d come home, Louis would drop stink bombs on our heads?” Niall asks.

Louis cackles, his blue eyes lighting up. “Shit, I forgot about the stink bombs!” He says.

“Yeah, well, we can never forget it,” Harry says, making a face. “I think one of my shirts smells perpetually of poo. Rose made the stinkiest poo ever.”

“She did,” Louis says fondly. “That was so fun. I remember she’d laugh every time I’d drop one. When she got older, she started clapping her hands and saying poo poo poo.”

“Worst thing you ever taught her,” Liam grumbles, but he’s smiling at the memory anyway.

“I think poo was her first word,” Zayn muses, scratching at the scruff under his chin.

“It wasn’t,” Harry says quietly. He looks a bit nostalgic. “It was Papa.”

As much as they bicker and fight over what Rose’s first word was, they all know, deep inside, that the first, clear thing that she ever said was Papa. Harry had been the one to stay home with her the most, after all; she was practically attached to Harry’s hip that first year, accompanying him when he had to run errands or do housework. 

Liam still remembers the day she first said it–he’d been trying to give her a bottle, but she’d been wailing, shaking her head and pushing it away. In a fit of desperation, he asked her what she wanted, and she yelled Papa! at the top of her lungs. She’d only calmed down when Harry gave her the bottle and sang her a song.

“I still don’t think it was Papa,” Louis argues, pouting. “I bet it was poopoo.”

Harry shakes his head sagely. “Whatever, Lou,” he says. “Liam was there, Liam heard her.”

“Speaking of Liam,” Niall says, leaning forward. “One of my favourite memories of her was when Liam was running around in the yard, trying to exercise, while she was just clinging like a limpet on his back.”

Liam laughs at that. “Yeah, that was always fun. She’d just keep laughing in my ear.”

They fall silent after that, drinking their tea. It’s hard to believe that Rose is already five, when in Liam–and the other lads’–minds, she’s still their baby, someone they need to protect from the outside world. 

But they all know that protecting her is more harm than good, and they all agreed that they wanted her to experience new things, to learn more about the world. So, kindergarten it is.

Despite how immature they can be sometimes, Liam believes they make a damn good parenting unit.

Harry sighs, breaking Liam’s train of thought. “I miss her already,” he says quietly.

“Me too, Haz,” Louis answers, sounding slightly teary. There’s a pause.

“I’m not really allergic to you, Lou.”

“Ugh, you just want a hug don’t you? Fine, bring it in.”

When Liam turns around to look, he finds Harry and Louis hugging, still seated on the chair. A few seconds later, Niall gets up from his own chair, throws his arms around both Harry and Louis. Zayn follows after, and Louis and Harry stand up from their chairs to properly form a group hug.

All four heads turn to look at Liam. “Well?” Niall demands, his arms outstretched towards Liam.

Liam looks at Niall, to Louis, to Harry, to Zayn, and then stands up from his chair, throwing his arms around them.

God, he really loves his boys.

#my writing #Anonymous #asks

[unsettlingshortstories]

The Diamond Necklace

Guy de Maupassant (1884)

The girl was one of those pretty and charming young creatures who sometimes are born, as if by a slip of fate, into a family of clerks. She had no dowry, no expectations, no way of being known, understood, loved, married by any rich and distinguished man; so she let herself be married to a little clerk of the Ministry of Public Instruction.

She dressed plainly because she could not dress well, but she was unhappy as if she had really fallen from a higher station; since with women there is neither caste nor rank, for beauty, grace and charm take the place of family and birth. Natural ingenuity, instinct for what is elegant, a supple mind are their sole hierarchy, and often make of women of the people the equals of the very greatest ladies.

Mathilde suffered ceaselessly, feeling herself born to enjoy all delicacies and all luxuries. She was distressed at the poverty of her dwelling, at the bareness of the walls, at the shabby chairs, the ugliness of the curtains. All those things, of which another woman of her rank would never even have been conscious, tortured her and made her angry. The sight of the little Breton peasant who did her humble housework aroused in her despairing regrets and bewildering dreams. She thought of silent antechambers hung with Oriental tapestry, illumined by tall bronze candelabra, and of two great footmen in knee breeches who sleep in the big armchairs, made drowsy by the oppressive heat of the stove. She thought of long reception halls hung with ancient silk, of the dainty cabinets containing priceless curiosities and of the little coquettish perfumed reception rooms made for chatting at five o’clock with intimate friends, with men famous and sought after, whom all women envy and whose attention they all desire.

When she sat down to dinner, before the round table covered with a tablecloth in use three days, opposite her husband, who uncovered the soup tureen and declared with a delighted air, “Ah, the good soup! I don’t know anything better than that,” she thought of dainty dinners, of shining silverware, of tapestry that peopled the walls with ancient personages and with strange birds flying in the midst of a fairy forest; and she thought of delicious dishes served on marvelous plates and of the whispered gallantries to which you listen with a sphinxlike smile while you are eating the pink meat of a trout or the wings of a quail.

She had no gowns, no jewels, nothing. And she loved nothing but that. She felt made for that. She would have liked so much to please, to be envied, to be charming, to be sought after.

She had a friend, a former schoolmate at the convent, who was rich, and whom she did not like to go to see any more because she felt so sad when she came home.

But one evening her husband reached home with a triumphant air and holding a large envelope in his hand.

“There,” said he, “there is something for you.”

She tore the paper quickly and drew out a printed card which bore these words:

The Minister of Public Instruction and Madame Georges Ramponneau

request the honor of M. and Madame Loisel’s company at the palace of

the Ministry on Monday evening, January 18th.

Instead of being delighted, as her husband had hoped, she threw the invitation on the table crossly, muttering:

“What do you wish me to do with that?”

“Why, my dear, I thought you would be glad. You never go out, and this is such a fine opportunity. I had great trouble to get it. Everyone wants to go; it is very select, and they are not giving many invitations to clerks. The whole official world will be there.”

She looked at him with an irritated glance and said impatiently:

“And what do you wish me to put on my back?”

He had not thought of that. He stammered:

“Why, the gown you go to the theatre in. It looks very well to me.”

He stopped, distracted, seeing that his wife was weeping. Two great tears ran slowly from the corners of her eyes toward the corners of her mouth.

“What’s the matter? What’s the matter?” he answered.

By a violent effort she conquered her grief and replied in a calm voice, while she wiped her wet cheeks:

“Nothing. Only I have no gown, and, therefore, I can’t go to this ball. Give your card to some colleague whose wife is better equipped than I am.”

He was in despair. He resumed:

“Come, let us see, Mathilde. How much would it cost, a suitable gown, which you could use on other occasions—something very simple?”

She reflected several seconds, making her calculations and wondering also what sum she could ask without drawing on herself an immediate refusal and a frightened exclamation from the economical clerk.

Finally she replied hesitating:

“I don’t know exactly, but I think I could manage it with four hundred francs.”

He grew a little pale, because he was laying aside just that amount to buy a gun and treat himself to a little shooting next summer on the plain of Nanterre, with several friends who went to shoot larks there of a Sunday.

But he said:

“Very well. I will give you four hundred francs. And try to have a pretty gown.”

The day of the ball drew near and Madame Loisel seemed sad, uneasy, anxious. Her frock was ready, however. Her husband said to her one evening:

“What is the matter? Come, you have seemed very queer these last three days.”

And she answered:

“It annoys me not to have a single piece of jewelry, not a single ornament, nothing to put on. I shall look poverty-stricken. I would almost rather not go at all.”

“You might wear natural flowers,” said her husband. “They’re very stylish at this time of year. For ten francs you can get two or three magnificent roses.”

She was not convinced.

“No; there’s nothing more humiliating than to look poor among other women who are rich.”

“How stupid you are!” her husband cried. “Go look up your friend, Madame Forestier, and ask her to lend you some jewels. You’re intimate enough with her to do that.”

She uttered a cry of joy:

“True! I never thought of it.”

The next day she went to her friend and told her of her distress.

Madame Forestier went to a wardrobe with a mirror, took out a large jewel box, brought it back, opened it and said to Madame Loisel:

“Choose, my dear.”

She saw first some bracelets, then a pearl necklace, then a Venetian gold cross set with precious stones, of admirable workmanship. She tried on the ornaments before the mirror, hesitated and could not make up her mind to part with them, to give them back. She kept asking:

“Haven’t you any more?”

“Why, yes. Look further; I don’t know what you like.”

Suddenly she discovered, in a black satin box, a superb diamond necklace, and her heart throbbed with an immoderate desire. Her hands trembled as she took it. She fastened it round her throat, outside her high-necked waist, and was lost in ecstasy at her reflection in the mirror.

Then she asked, hesitating, filled with anxious doubt:

“Will you lend me this, only this?”

“Why, yes, certainly.”

She threw her arms round her friend’s neck, kissed her passionately, then fled with her treasure.

The night of the ball arrived. Madame Loisel was a great success. She was prettier than any other woman present, elegant, graceful, smiling and wild with joy. All the men looked at her, asked her name, sought to be introduced. All the attaches of the Cabinet wished to waltz with her. She was remarked by the minister himself.

She danced with rapture, with passion, intoxicated by pleasure, forgetting all in the triumph of her beauty, in the glory of her success, in a sort of cloud of happiness comprised of all this homage, admiration, these awakened desires and of that sense of triumph which is so sweet to woman’s heart.

She left the ball about four o’clock in the morning. Her husband had been sleeping since midnight in a little deserted anteroom with three other gentlemen whose wives were enjoying the ball.

He threw over her shoulders the wraps he had brought, the modest wraps of common life, the poverty of which contrasted with the elegance of the ball dress. She felt this and wished to escape so as not to be remarked by the other women, who were enveloping themselves in costly furs.

Loisel held her back, saying: “Wait a bit. You will catch cold outside. I will call a cab.”

But she did not listen to him and rapidly descended the stairs. When they reached the street they could not find a carriage and began to look for one, shouting after the cabmen passing at a distance.

They went toward the Seine in despair, shivering with cold. At last they found on the quay one of those ancient night cabs which, as though they were ashamed to show their shabbiness during the day, are never seen round Paris until after dark.

It took them to their dwelling in the Rue des Martyrs, and sadly they mounted the stairs to their flat. All was ended for her. As to him, he reflected that he must be at the ministry at ten o’clock that morning.

She removed her wraps before the glass so as to see herself once more in all her glory. But suddenly she uttered a cry. She no longer had the necklace around her neck!

“What is the matter with you?” demanded her husband, already half undressed.

She turned distractedly toward him.

“I have—I have—I’ve lost Madame Forestier’s necklace,” she cried.

He stood up, bewildered.

“What!—how? Impossible!”

They looked among the folds of her skirt, of her cloak, in her pockets, everywhere, but did not find it.

“You’re sure you had it on when you left the ball?” he asked.

“Yes, I felt it in the vestibule of the minister’s house.”

“But if you had lost it in the street we should have heard it fall. It must be in the cab.”

“Yes, probably. Did you take his number?”

“No. And you—didn’t you notice it?”

“No.”

They looked, thunderstruck, at each other. At last Loisel put on his clothes.

“I shall go back on foot,” said he, “over the whole route, to see whether I can find it.”

He went out. She sat waiting on a chair in her ball dress, without strength to go to bed, overwhelmed, without any fire, without a thought.

Her husband returned about seven o’clock. He had found nothing.

He went to police headquarters, to the newspaper offices to offer a reward; he went to the cab companies—everywhere, in fact, whither he was urged by the least spark of hope.

She waited all day, in the same condition of mad fear before this terrible calamity.

Loisel returned at night with a hollow, pale face. He had discovered nothing.

“You must write to your friend,” said he, “that you have broken the clasp of her necklace and that you are having it mended. That will give us time to turn round.”

She wrote at his dictation.

At the end of a week they had lost all hope. Loisel, who had aged five years, declared:

“We must consider how to replace that ornament.”

The next day they took the box that had contained it and went to the jeweler whose name was found within. He consulted his books.

“It was not I, Madame, who sold that necklace; I must simply have furnished the case.”

Then they went from jeweler to jeweler, searching for a necklace like the other, trying to recall it, both sick with chagrin and grief.

They found, in a shop at the Palais Royal, a string of diamonds that seemed to them exactly like the one they had lost. It was worth forty thousand francs. They could have it for thirty-six.

So they begged the jeweler not to sell it for three days yet. And they made a bargain that he should buy it back for thirty-four thousand francs, in case they should find the lost necklace before the end of February.

Loisel possessed eighteen thousand francs which his father had left him. He would borrow the rest.

He did borrow, asking a thousand francs of one, five hundred of another, five louis here, three louis there. He gave notes, took up ruinous obligations, dealt with usurers and all the race of lenders. He compromised all the rest of his life, risked signing a note without even knowing whether he could meet it; and, frightened by the trouble yet to come, by the black misery that was about to fall upon him, by the prospect of all the physical privations and moral tortures that he was to suffer, he went to get the new necklace, laying upon the jeweler’s counter thirty-six thousand francs.

When Madame Loisel took back the necklace Madame Forestier said to her with a chilly manner:

“You should have returned it sooner; I might have needed it.”

She did not open the case, as her friend had so much feared. If she had detected the substitution, what would she have thought, what would she have said? Would she not have taken Madame Loisel for a thief?

Thereafter Madame Loisel knew the horrible existence of the needy. She bore her part, however, with sudden heroism. That dreadful debt must be paid. She would pay it. They dismissed their servant; they changed their lodgings; they rented a garret under the roof.

She came to know what heavy housework meant and the odious cares of the kitchen. She washed the dishes, using her dainty fingers and rosy nails on greasy pots and pans. She washed the soiled linen, the shirts and the dishcloths, which she dried upon a line; she carried the slops down to the street every morning and carried up the water, stopping for breath at every landing. And dressed like a woman of the people, she went to the fruiterer, the grocer, the butcher, a basket on her arm, bargaining, meeting with impertinence, defending her miserable money, sou by sou.

Every month they had to meet some notes, renew others, obtain more time.

Her husband worked evenings, making up a tradesman’s accounts, and late at night he often copied manuscript for five sous a page.

This life lasted ten years.

At the end of ten years they had paid everything, everything, with the rates of usury and the accumulations of the compound interest.

Madame Loisel looked old now. She had become the woman of impoverished households—strong and hard and rough. With frowsy hair, skirts askew and red hands, she talked loud while washing the floor with great swishes of water. But sometimes, when her husband was at the office, she sat down near the window and she thought of that gay evening of long ago, of that ball where she had been so beautiful and so admired.

What would have happened if she had not lost that necklace? Who knows? Who knows? How strange and changeful is life! How small a thing is needed to make or ruin us!

But one Sunday, having gone to take a walk in the Champs Elysees to refresh herself after the labors of the week, she suddenly perceived a woman who was leading a child. It was Madame Forestier, still young, still beautiful, still charming.

Madame Loisel felt moved. Should she speak to her? Yes, certainly. And now that she had paid, she would tell her all about it. Why not?

She went up.

“Good-day, Jeanne.”

The other, astonished to be familiarly addressed by this plain good-wife, did not recognize her at all and stammered:

“But—Madame!—I do not know—you must have mistaken.”

“No. I am Mathilde Loisel.”

Her friend uttered a cry.

“Oh, my poor Mathilde! How you are changed!”

“Yes, I have had a pretty hard life, since I last saw you, and great poverty—and that because of you!”

“Of me! How so?”

“Do you remember that diamond necklace you lent me to wear at the ministerial ball?”

“Yes. Well?”

“Well, I lost it.”

“What do you mean? You brought it back.”

“I brought you back another exactly like it. And it has taken us ten years to pay for it. You can understand that it was not easy for us, for us who had nothing. At last it is ended, and I am very glad.”

Madame Forestier had stopped.

“You say that you bought a necklace of diamonds to replace mine?”

“Yes. You never noticed it, then! They were very similar.”

And she smiled with a joy that was at once proud and ingenuous.

Madame Forestier, deeply moved, took her hands.

“Oh, my poor Mathilde! Why, my necklace was paste! It was worth at most only five hundred francs!”

[barinacraft]

Sherry Flip Is Yachtmans Early Morn Cocktail

No Schooner Had I Tasted, Than I Flipped For This Sherry Drink

The Sherry Flip a.k.a the Yachtman's Early Morn made with sherry, egg yolks, sugar and nutmeg is basically a spiced Zabaglione mixed with sherry instead of Marsala wine. Add some milk or cream as well and it becomes Eggnog.

Behind The Bar - How To Make A Sherry Flip At Home

Sherry Flip Drink Recipe:

1 glass sherry

1 beaten egg yolk

½ tsp sugar

1 pinch nutmeg

Mix together with fine ice and strain into a small wine glass. Alternately, use unbeaten eggs along with the other ingredients shaken together with large ice cubes and strained.

History Of The Sherry Flip

Definition

Flips in general are a class of mixed drinks that originally contained beer, rum and sugar which were warmed with a fire heated iron loggerhead known as a ‘flip-dog.’ When inserted into the liquid, this red-hot poker would cause frothing or ‘flipping.’ Thus the name.

Later flip recipes were thickened with eggs; beer and ale was eliminated, spirits other than rum were used as well, and they became more commonly served cold than hot. See below.

First Mention

The term itself was first used in the Restoration era comedy Love for Love written by British playwright William Congreve which premiered on April 30, 1695 at Betterton's Co., Lincoln's Inn Fields, the largest public square in London. Act III Scene XV includes characters Benjamin Legend, his friend Scandal, Mrs. Foresight and her sister Mrs. Frail. During a discussion about marriage Ben sings the song of a sailor written by his boatswain about his wife known prior as the buxom Joan of Deptford and then says:

We're merry folks, we sailors: we han't much to care for. Thus we live at sea; eat biscuit, and drink flip, put on a clean shirt once a quarter; come home and lie with our landladies once a year, get rid of a little money, and then put off with the next fair wind. How d'ye like us?

Its Getting Chilly In Here

The first iced flip recipe may have been the one in 1874 which listed a whole egg beaten very thin with sugar; brandy, whiskey, gin or sherry; mixed with fine ice; strained into a small glass; and sprinkled with nutmeg on top.* However, a frigid flip formula specific to sherry and minus the egg whites was actually published a few years earlier under a different name, the Yachtman's Early Morn.†

Yachtman's Early Morn Drink Recipe:

2 glasses sherry

2 egg yolks

1 tsp powdered sugar

a little grated nutmeg

small knobs of block ice

Shake well in a jug till well mixed.

The Sherry Flip In Popular Culture

Art

This drawing by pop artist Andy Warhol said to be circa 1959 is labeled ‘cancer’ in small lettering and depicts an angel holding up a wine glass filled with an orange-yellow drink of Sherry Flip inside a rectangular border of solid five pointed stars. Off to the side is a cocktail recipe calling for 1 egg, 1 teaspoon sugar and 1 jigger sherry. Shake well with ice. Strain into wine glass. Sprinkle with nutmeg.

It certainly looks like an Andy Warhol creation and is similar to other works like the dust jacket design he drew for The Summer Dancers by Clyde Miller. However, if you compare the angel in this larger image to the right angel of the two holding a flower on another book cover of his, it appears to be an exact copy and paste with different coloring, minus the rear cummerbund bow. Hmmm?

Books

Little Dorrit

In Charles Dickens' novel Little Dorrit, Chapter XXI, Mr. Merdle's Complaint (published in May 1856), Mr. Merdle once again finds himself the unwilling host of a society party he doesn't really want to attend. After a famous physician finds him alone in a corner drinking tea and asking him if he's "any better to-day?" his friend Bishop said that when he was a young man, and had fallen for a brief space into the habit of writing sermons on Saturdays, a habit which all young sons of the church should sedulously avoid, he had frequently been sensible of a depression, arising as he supposed from an over-taxed intellect, upon which...

the yolk of a new-laid egg, beaten up by the good woman in whose house he at that time lodged, with a glass of sound sherry, nutmeg, and powdered sugar acted like a charm.

He, of course, was describing a Sherry Flip.

Movies

Chained

Clark Gable and Joan Crawford team up for their fifth of eight total film collaborations in this 1934 romantic comedy drama. The movie Chained is a story of young secretary Diane Lovering (Joan Crawford) who takes a cruise to Argentina to decide whether or not to continue an affair with her shipping magnate boss Richard Field (Otto Kruger) whose wife Louise (Marjorie Gateson) refuses to give up her social position and grant him a divorce.

After boarding, designated wingman Mike Bradley (Clark Gable) double-crosses his best friend Johnnie Smith (Stuart Erwin) at the ship's bar to win Diane's affections for himself and they end up having a shipboard romance. Their steamy fling turned serious culminates in a visit to Mike's ranch in Buenos Aires before she returns home to New York and has to make a decision about who to continue having a relationship with.

Without revealing the plot's ending, the following partial transcript of several of the scenes in the movie documents Diane Lovering's love of Sherry Flips which she and the other cast members order and talk about throughout the film.

At The Manhattan Office

RF: What are you doing here. You're supposed to be out in the air.

DL: I was out in the air for two hours.

RF: What's the matter? Don't you like the boat?

DL: Oh, its a little slow.

RF: Like Man-of-war huh?

DL: Like Man-of-war is scared or something. I made West Point in forty minutes.

RF: Well try it again. Go on, see if you can make Albany.

DL: I'm not used to leisure. I want to go back to work.

RF: Here, now you keep away from that desk. You're not coming back to work yet.

DL: Richard I'm bursting with health.

RF: Well, I don't want you around here anyway.

DL: Why?

RF: A very important reason.

DL: What?

RF: Never mind. You go down to Brunos at one o'clock, get a little booth...

Yes and order two Sherry Flips.

~ Diane Lovering (Joan Crawford) in Chained

RF: Yes and I'll tell you then.

DL: Sorry, can't wait. You've got to tell me now.

RF: [pauses] My wife's back. Her boat got in last night. We're going to have a talk today.

DL: Oh. Well, I do hope everything is going to be alright.

RF: Well of course it is. [hugs Diane]

Divorce Denied

DL: Oh darling, I can't bear to see you this way.

RF: That's the end of everything. Everything that we'd planned. There just doesn't seem to be any point going on without you.

DL: You don't have to.

RF: You don't realize what you're saying.

DL: Yes I do.

RF: But it isn't fair to you. I couldn't ask you...

DL: I wouldn't care.

RF: No. I can't accept a decision made on the spur of the moment. I tell you. You go away first and think it over.

DL: But Richard.

RF: The Amercentral sets sails tomorrow. You're going to board her and take a nice little trip. The whole thing is two mirrors now and when you come back if you still feel...

DL: I shan't change.

Bon Voyage

RF: You will come back won't you?

DL: I promise Richard.

RF: I need you always darling. You know I think I'd crack without you now. [they kiss and ship's whistle sounds]

DL: Oh dear now we won't have time for our cocktail.

RF: As soon as the ship sails you order one from the bar.

Only a sherry flip remember.

~ Richard Field (Otto Kruger) in Chained

DL: Always a sherry flip.

RF: And I'll have mine ashore.

DL: Everyday?

RF: Six o'clock.

First Visit To The Ship's Bar

DL: [sits down on a stool at the bar and says to the bartender] Sherry flip please.

JS: [sitting next to her] Sherry flip twice. The name is John Smith. Honest, John L. Smith. Not much in the social register, but kicked around in the hotels. Who are you and how are you?

DL: No really. [shakes her head]

JS: Yes, please.

DL: Please, no.

JS: Aw, pretty please with sugar on top.

DL: Listen, didn't you ever want to be left alone? Not be bothered by anybody?

JS: Well, didn't you ever get hot and bothered and couldn't help it?

Bar Tab

Bartender brings them both their drinks and hands the bar tab for two sherry flips to John. Diane grabs the receipt and crosses out the quantity ‘2’ and total of ‘$1.00’ changing them to ‘1’ and ‘$0.50’ respectively. Then she signs her name to accept the single drink charge from the S.S. Amercentral Bar.

JS: Miss or Mrs? [Diane walks away from him and the bar to drink her sherry flip at a table in the lounge nearby. He raises a toast, takes a sip and signs his share of the bar tab, and says to the bartender] Looks like I'll have to go tell the master.

Ship's Cabin

JS: [his friend is unpacking his suitcase and hanging clothes in the closet] Michael, Michael drop the housework and come see what little girls are made of.

MB: Yeah? Where are they being made?

JS: In the bar.

MB: Congratulations Mr. Smith.

JS: They're not in order Mr. Bradley.

MB: She's a little distant I take it.

JS: She's a little Antarctica.

MB: Is she worth an expedition?

JS: Michael my boy, you came to New York for relaxation.

MB: Yes, and I'm thoroughly relaxed.

JS: No, you don't know how tired and overworked you are until you've seen this one.

MB: Alright, let's go have a look at her. I could go for another Scotch anyway.

JS: She came into the bar and stomped on a hool. I mean hopped on a stool beside me and right then I knew what father meant when he told me about the bee going from flower to flower.

MB: Oh, shut the door.

JS: Yes, sir.

Back To The Ship's Bar

MB: [the two of them walk up to bar and look over at Diane] I have faith in you again.

JS: There's a look in your eyes that careful mothers fear.

MB: Not at all. I'm going to prove that I'm a friend with some good advice. You ought to go over there and apologize.

JS: Nah, I don't think so. It would make me look weak.

MB: You're a tactician. It'll clear the decks for future action. Go ahead.

JS: Well maybe you're right. From the hips right? [bows forward to demonstrate]

MB: Yeah, but don't look as though you have gas pains.

JS: [approaches Diane's table and leans over to apologize] Charming lady, after contemplating my rudeness I've come to... [Diane gets up and walks away] Oh, I haven't finished.

MB: [nods to him] Go ahead.

JS: [chases after her] Dear lady, please don't disappear until you've...

DL: Listen, haven't I convinced you that I...

JS: It was the shipboard atmosphere. The freedom of the seas.

MB: [walks over and puts his hand on his shoulder to push him away from her] I've watched you my friend. You've been annoying women long enough.

JS: Why you...

MB: No backtalk now. Steward come here. A half hour out and you want to play Jack the Ripper hey? I don't know who you my friend but I don't want to see your face on deck again until you can act like a gentleman. You understand? Find out where this octopus bunks and lock him up until he's sober.

MB: I'll sorry but just couldn't help but notice.

DL: Thank you. I suppose he really was harmless.

MB: Allow me. An Irish uncle named me Mike Bradley.

DL: Well good for him. Thank you very much Mr. Bradley.

MB: Hey look here. Your nerves are probably all unstrung from the attack. How about another cocktail?

DL: No thanks. I've had my one cocktail for the evening.

MB: Oh, well I'll see you at dinner then?

DL: I'm dining in my room and turning in early.

MB: Then I'll see you around tomorrow?

DL: Yes. Yes of course. [Diane walks away and Mike returns to the bar ordering a scotch and soda]

JS: [walks up beside Mike as he is being served and grabs his order] That deserves a drink you corn fed Judas.

Bartender: Same?

MB: [laughs] Yeah, the same. [turns to Johnnie] What's the matter? Did the big rough sailor man hurt little Johnnie?

JS: Trying to put my head in a letter press. Cost me five slugs to get out. [Diane returns to the bar and walks up unnoticed behind them]

MB: Don't be narrow minded. You were slated to be the villain right from the start. Now she thinks I'm the hero.

JS: Uh, hmm.

MB: Well one of us has to make the grade you see... [starts to take a drink and sees Diane standing behind him from the reflection in the mirror behind the bar. His jaw drops and they both turn around. Diane picks up her purse that she left behind earlier and walks out in a huff knowing she was played.]

JS: So you're the hero? [both start laughing]

In The Lounge

MB: [Diane is sitting a table swirling her drink and in walks Mike] Well, what's the idea. 6:30 you said. You're fifteen minutes early.

DL: Am I? Then I'm an extraordinary woman.

MB: Yes. Ahead of time. Ahead of everything huh? [Mike sits down across the table.]

DL: What are you having?

MB: I don't know. What's yours?

DL: Sherry flip.

MB: Sherry flip? What's the matter? You ill, seasick?

DL: No. Not in the least.

Sherry flip. They give that to people with stomach trouble and the gout. Yeah, they serve it in old people's homes on Christmas.

~ Mike Bradley (Clark Gable) in Chained

DL: But you see I happen to like it.

MB: Doesn't fit in with the rest of you at at.

Its the nicest cocktail I know.

~ Diane Lovering (Joan Crawford) in Chained

MB: Well I'm going to appoint myself a committee of one to show you a cocktail that is a cocktail. [looks at the waiter] Two Daiquiris. You know the way you fixed them last night. Jamaican rum and go easy with that syrup.

DL: No, none for me really.

Oh, but I insist. That's soap and water. There's no tang, no feeling, no ecstasy, no ummph to it.

~ Mike Bradley (Clark Gable) in Chained

DL: Where's our good friend Johnny Smith.

MB: I don't know. I left him tying his tie. Looked like he was trying to lynch himself.

DL: What are you and Johnny going to Buenos Aires for?

MB: He's in with me in a ranch down there.

DL: Oh, frontiersmen huh?

MB: Am I that much of a hick?

DL: I guess these trips north take pretty good care of that.

MB: They help. [grabs two daiquiris from waiter, handing one to Diane] Here. A couple of these and you'll find yourself up in the crows nest. Well?

DL: Very nice, but...

MB: But what?

DL: May I please have another sherry flip?

MB: Sure. Steward, Miss Lovering wants a sherry flip. That's a flop. [pointing to the daiquiri]

Back In New York

Waiter: You wish to lunch in the bar Mr. Bradley?

MB: No, we want to go someplace where we can hear ourselves talk.

Waiter: But first, a cocktail no?

MB: Alright. Why not. Say, what was that pale anemic concoction you use to... [referring to a sherry flip]

DL: Well, I'll have what you have Mike.

MB: Alright. Two daiquiris.

Similar Cocktails

Cupid Cocktail - Sherry, cayenne pepper, egg and sugar.

Golden Bunny - lime juice, blended Scotch, cocktail Sherry, Galliano and egg white.

McGregor's Egg Nog - manzanilla Sherry, egg, Cognac, white rum, sugar, milk and cream.

Sherry & Egg - as stated, the name describes the ingredients.

Velo de Flor Cocktail - fino sherry, simple syrup, lemon juice, egg white, and salt named after the flower veil or layer of yeast that forms on the surface of the wine during aging.

Other drinks starting with ‘S’ and cocktails that begin with the letter ‘Y.’

References

* - H. L. W., The American Bar-Tender; or the Art and Mystery of Mixing Drinks (New York: Hurst, 1874) via David Wondrich, Imbibe! From Absinthe Cocktail to Whiskey Smash, a Salute in Stories and Drinks to ‘Professor’ Jerry Thomas, Pioneer of the American Bar (New York: Penguin, 2015), 169. Print.

† - E. Ricket and C. Thomas, The Gentleman's Table Guide. Being Practical Recipes For Wine Cups, American Drinks, Punches, Cordials, Summer & Winter Beverages. (London: H. Born, 1871), 30. Print.

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