kitchen-serving

When Pakistani/Indian women complain about why they need feminism their brothers mock them ‘then maybe you should go out and buy the rotiyan’ ‘you should carry the furniture upstairs FEMINIST’ as if we don’t do physical labour worse than the shit they do, as if we don’t get cramps so bad we can’t move, as if their mothers aren’t sweating in the unbearable heat in the kitchen cooking for them serving them and picking everything up and washing the dishes themselves, as if them going out to buy something or being able to lift heavy things makes us their slaves, as if we were born to be judged by them and then serve them. We are at the bottom in the Gender Equality ranking and these assholes have the nerve of saying we don’t need feminism.

reshopgoufa  asked:

would adtt alicia ever have to drag her brother out of a London opium den? or, nick bringing back herbal drugs from the far East, laying in the candlelight dark and tripping balls with his head in Alicia's lap while she frets over him?

ooof lord nicky pull yourself together goodness gracious.

someone recognizes him, i’m sure. he’s well known and, sometimes, well liked and people take notice of young men that only seem to be half there.

a chain of lady’s maids and house maids spread the news through london. passing the tasty morsel as their employers change venues for luncheon and tea and dinner.

hushed, lilting whispers in corners of kitchens and service stairwells. serves-him-right snickers slip through their lips. they don’t wish him ill. no, he’s one of the good ones. but season’s over and they’re terribly low on material.

it’s some time before someone has the good sense to ring for alicia’s lady’s maid, elsie. pulled from bed and drug down to the butler’s office to take the call, barely waiting to hang up before she spins and tears from the room.

from what the girl on the other end said, lord nicholas wasn’t well at all.

by the time they’re out of the car and at the station, only having left a note for nanny so the woman won’t expect her to look in after her child in the morning, the only train running is the milk train. alicia doesn’t even think, pays their way and they’re off, heading for london. any other occasion and she would have balked at the prospect.

“he’ll be okay, milady,” elsie’s voice comes as a comfort, one of her mistresses’ longest and dearest companions.

“i’m just worried about what will be left of him when we get there,” the lady’s tone is strained, as if she has to force it from her throat.

the building is fairly unassuming. if she was passing on any other night, not that she’d ever be out this late or in this part of town, she’d think a solicitor or some equally boring person rented the space. from the appearance of the women loitering outside, though, she assumes she’s in the right place.

“stay with the car, i won’t be a moment,” alicia pats elsie’s knee before climbing from the car.

“milady i must insist—,” the lady’s maid begins before being cut off.

“no he’s my responsibility,” she heaves a heavy sigh, “there’s no need to tarnish both of our reputations.”

she looks quite out of place as she pushes through the front door. no one opened it for her, honestly… her skin’s covered and her hair’s combed and pinned back, certainly not what the men that turn her way seem to expect. their vulgar words send her scurrying forward towards a woman she hopes is a waitress.

“pardon me,” she frets, “would you be able to point me towards nicholas clark?”

“hmm maybe so,” the woman replies, a cocky smile toying at her heavily painted lips, “but i must’ve forgotten where he’s gone to.”

alicia rolls her eyes but opens her purse none the less. she’d pay her entire inheritance to get her brother home. the woman must find her offer because she pockets the bribe and nods towards a closed door, muttering about high-handed folks as she waddled away.

the door opens into a dark room lined with cushions, at the center two rather underdressed women dance. it takes but a moment to spot nick, propped up against the wall, a pipe discarded beside him. she rushes over to him and crouches, a hand rising to card through his oil slick hair.

“nicky,” she coos, “wake up. it’s time to go home.”

“but i’m havin’ fun leeshy,” nick whines, voice cracking on every other syllable, though clearly fine in the grand scheme. 

“no, we’re going,” alica’s voice is sterner this time, “from what i was told you were supposed to be crossing through to heaven. you seem perfectly normal to me.”

the elder clark whimpers and creases his brow as he considers his sister’s words. what they truly mean. that his current state is how she usually sees him.

“no,” he raises his voice as much as he can, “s’not normal. just miss you because you’re with that dumb andrew.”

his face crinkles into a childish pout, one that worked wonders on their nanny when they were younger but had begun to lose its charm as he’d gotten older. his words shock alicia. she can’t believe he’d be so cruel as to say something like that. to bring up andrew.

“andrew’s gone, nick,” alicia reminds him as she removes her hands from his face, eliciting a complaining puff of air from her brother.

“no he’s not,” nick exclaims. “you went off with him and left me all alone. he’s so dull too. i don’t know what you see in him. can- can’t be much. i wish he’d just leave us alone.”

alica’s skin has gone as cold as ice though nick looks rather pleased with himself. he’ll certainly regret his words in the morning when his sense returns, if he remembers any of this.

“he died six months ago, you arse. you were at his funeral,” she shakes her head to clear it and huffs out a humorless laugh, “get up nicholas, we’re leaving.”

with that she turns and strides from the horrid establishment, chin high, eyes glazing over. nick watches her back and moans to himself, now he’d done it. he stumbles out into the street several minutes after her, looking as if he may topple over at any moment.

Little anxious autistic things
  • Me:wants to get ice cream
  • Me:walks into the kitchen to get my serving of icecream
  • Me:sees 10 people hovering over ice cream and my little brother touching the inside of the gallon with his infection ridden hands and everyone looks at u and u can't make eyecontact
  • Me:spins around and screams :)))