#chicken steward

[thestudentfarmer]

Garden update July 21, 2024

Time for a garden update:) I managed to get out before it was over 95*f lol

Cucumbers are doing mighty fine, there is a small carrot batch up towards the front

Top left, a sunflower, towards us. Was supposed to be beans. Unknown pest and sun done em in.

Top right. Squash, only 1 fruit sp far. I am trying to I get seed from it. Towards us. Eggplant that needs a desperate trim.

Don't mind the mess of the next 2 photos. It's a work in slow progress.

Tomatoes. Peppers and was sunflowers

Very slow progress lol

The sweet potatoes update too :)

Also, small chicken update

We might have a roo??

🌱🐣Happy Homesteading and Gardening 🐣🌱

[birdthatisbored]

There's been a delay in my calculations about which fandom uses the "sexual dysfunction" tag most on ao3 because I made edward little in stardew valley and now every time I open my computer I think about farmer ned and then go and play stardew valley instead of work on my spreadsheet

[barbiewritesstuff]

Love is Patience, love is kind

---

AN: I'm back! And this time it's a Benedict Bridgerton fic! Don't know if it's good or how long it'll be but I'm hoping it's a slow burn. As always, this isn't proofread.

Also this is soooo long, I'm not sorry :)

The title is still a work in progress.

TW. None I don't think but shoot me a message if you think one applies.

--

The servants quarters at the Bridgerton house are never quiet in the morning. It’s a miracle it doesn’t wake the household, Kit thinks, serving tea to everyone crowded at the kitchen table.

Because there are so many servants and maids, they usually do the morning food service in two goes. The Lower servants get first service, because they’re up earlier than the rest, and an hour later, the upper servants come down for their breakfast. Dinner is the opposite, with the upper servants eating first, and the lower servants eating afterwards. It’s only at lunch that everyone eats together while the Bridgertons luncheon upstairs. It’s short and rushed, especially for the Footmen who have to eat between food courses but cook is practised at her art and makes meals the boys can scoff down as they run plates upstairs. Mr Graves, the steward, doesn’t mind, so long as the boys aren’t still chewing on their food when they’re within eyesight of the family.

It’s rare that the staff finds a moment to converse around the kitchen table as a group outside of their respective mealtimes, but everyone tries for birthdays, Christmas and Easter, and, like today, for employment anniversaries.

Despite being the one rushing around, serving tea, it’s Kit’s employment anniversary. She’s been employed by the Bridgertons for seven years today, and it’s gone by in a blur. She started off as a scullery maid and two years ago, moved to kitchen maid. She’ll likely stay there until Cook retires, which might be some years yet. Cook’s no spring chicken, but behind her facade of cute little old lady hides a strength and energy she only allows to be seen when something isn’t to her liking in her kitchen. The kitchen is Cook’s domain. Her kingdom. And she rules it with an iron fist and all the mercy of a dictator.

That being said, Cook really is a kind and caring woman. Which is why, unbeknownst to Kit, she’s been up for hours preparing a treat. She’s had to clear it with Mrs Wilson, the housekeeper, weeks in advance and then hide it before Kit could discover her surprise, but as she finishes pouring tea and passing around the milk, Cook pulls out the plate of hot scones, cream and raspberry jam. It’s still steaming when she sets it out on the table with a satisfied grin at Kit’s surprised face.

The staff cheers but waits patiently for Kit to have the first one, watching with hungry eyes as she smears the jam on first and then drops a measured dollop of clotted cream to finish it off. They even hold off long enough for her to take a bite. As if waiting for her approval, as soon as she smiles, they all throw themselves on the plate to grab their own scone. In the hubbub, the jam spoon flies off, hitting a wall by the staircase that leads upstairs but no one notices.

Then, in less than five minutes, everything has been eaten, and the lower servants down their boiling hot teas as fast as they can before the shift starts. Soon, the merry conversations of the kitchen tables turn into orders and task lists and only the upper servants remain seated. Next to Kit, Cook pulls out her notebook and begins planning the day, and meals.

“Isn’t the new scullery maid supposed to start today,” Mrs Wilson remarks, tapping Mr Graves’ arm in order to get his attention.

He looks at his watch, a present from Edmund Bridgerton some years before, “She should be here in time for the Lunch service,” he replies, turning back to his tea, drinking the last mouthful and then shaking his cup at Kit to signal for a refill.

“Patience, you’ll be showing her the ropes,” he tells Kit, who he simply refuses to call by her nickname, stating that “Your parents put such thought in your first name, I will not show such disrespect as you call you by anything else,” and ignoring her when she tries to tell him that even her parents call her Kit. Only her brother Michael calls her Patience, or Patsy, when he’s cross with her.

Kit nods, until two years ago she’d been a scullery maid herself, and since her promotion, she had been juggling both jobs herself. It was a relief that Mr Graves had finally hired someone else, she’d be able to sleep more, and it would give her skin and lungs some needed reprieve. The cleaning chemicals she used to scrub everything clean were effective, but they were quite harsh on her. Graves’ reluctance to fill the scullery position was a mystery to everyone else too, the Bridgertons’ were more than rich enough to pay another member of staff, and even Mrs Wilson, who usually followed Mr. Graves’ instruction to the letter, had been on his case about hiring someone else.

“You should have --” Mrs Wilson starts

“I will not hear of it,” Mr Graves says, cutting her off, “I have now, there’s no need to harp on about it.”

The housekeeper throws him a look. If Kit didn’t know them as well as she did, she might be tempted to say the two were secretly courting, but as it stood, Mrs Wilson made her opinion of Graves perfectly clear. He was her superior and therefore worthy of respect and blind obedience, but privately, she thought him a self-important little man.

Before Graves could reprimand the housekeeper for the glare, the bells began ringing. Lady’s maids and valet stand up from their chairs, climbing up the stairs to the main house to assist their family member, then, the footmen stand up, finishing their tea to set the table and bring breakfast. Eventually, Humboldt and Mrs Wilson leave their place at the tables too.

After another cup of tea and a specially made jam on toast, Mr Graves bids Cook and Kit goodbye and retreats to his office, a small room to the side of the kitchen.

“I do not wish to spoil the fun of your special day, Kit dear, but we must get on,” Cook says. Springing to action, she tidies the kitchen table, neatly stacking plates, cups and cutlery by the kitchen sink and then, almost automatically, peeling vegetables.

For lunch, the Bridgertons will have asparagus soup, cold meat, cake and fruit. The soup is a special request of Violet Bridgerton herself and Cook wishes to make the Viscountess' soup of her own hands, while she busies herself with that, Kit moves on to the rest.

Then, as they finish up, the new scullery maid is announced by one of the Grooms as he walks in, traipsing mud and horse manure all over Kit’s perfectly polished floor.

Amused by the death glare she throws his way, the Groom introduces the girl, “This is Elaine,” he says, “And this is Cook,” he tells the girl, “And the Kitchen Maid,” he adds, winking at Kit, “Her name is Patience, everyone calls her Kit,” he adds.

“Except you,” Cook says, trying not to giggle

“That’s right,” The Groom smiles broadly, “My name is also Kit, short for Christopher,” he explains, “So to keep things clear, I call her ‘the lesser Kit’. So there’s no confusion,” he adds, winking at the girl. She giggles.

“I suggest you do not try to call me that,” Kit warns the girl.

“I’ll leave you lovely ladies to your work then,” Christopher says, “Happy anniversary. It’s been a pleasure to tease you for so long,” he adds over his shoulder as he walks out. Despite her best efforts, it does force a smile out of Kit.

“I’ll leave you to clean. I must go to market, and Mrs Wilson has asked me to inventory the pantry,” Cook says, taking off her apron and hanging it by the back door, she picks up her basket and then shakes the tea tin she keeps by her prized cookery books over the table and picks up the few coins that fell out. With a wave, she exits the kitchen, leaving the scullery maid and Kit by themselves.

Knowing that the dinner service needs to be prepared in less than two hours, and that the staff will descend upon the kitchen in roundabout an hour, Kit wastes no time showing Elaine where the cleaning supplies are kept and what must be done, how and when. The girl takes it in, asking any question she can think of as soon as she can. By the time Cook is back, Kit is suitably impressed by the girl.

The rest of the day goes by without a hitch, Elaine watching all she does very closely.

“I’ll do the end of day cleaning with you for a week,” Kit says, “And then you’re on your own. You managed the cleaning fine after lunch, so I don’t think you’ll need me much,” she sighs, “Right, let’s get on with it. We start with the counters, obviously, then dusting and we finish with the floor,” Kit says, handing Elaine a brush, nodding towards the chopping block where Cook butchered the pheasant the Bridgertons ate for dinner. As the scullery maid got to scrubbing, Kit worked at the other end of the kitchen, cleaning the remnants of the staff lunch. She then moved on to the fireplace, picking up the sand they had spread to catch the grease and spills of whatever Cook had boiling in her cauldron, and then spreading new sand.

Elaine worked valiantly at the stove, braving the leftover heat of the coals to get everything clean without a word of complaint. And then, right as Kit started the yawn, the two girls set about cleaning the floor. It was the least pleasant job, in Kit’s opinion, worse than cleaning bloody chopping blocks, or sticking your arm in the warm stove. Cook despised mops and insisted that a scrubbing cloth be worked around the floor with bare feet, and that the water must be ice cold, as she thought any temperature above simply wasn’t as effective. By the end of it, Kit and Elaine’s toes were numb, but the floor sparkled, and painful feet were worth avoiding Cook’s wrath.

“Tea before bed?” Kit offers. Elaine happily agreed, taking a seat at the table while Kit pulled out a teapot and two cups.

“If your name is Patience, why are you called Kit?” Elaine asks, halfway through her cup, “If it’s alright to ask.”

Kit grinned, “My mother named me Patience Katherine Byrd,” she says, “I don’t like being called Patsy, so Kit was the next best thing.”

Elaine nods. She’s about to say something else when the door opens and someone starts down the stairs. Kit expects it to be Hyacinth on her weekly trip to the kitchen to wrestle some leftover cake out of Kit with puppy eyes and pretty pleases, but the footsteps seem too heavy.

The person stumbles, missing a step, and catches themselves on the railing with a groan and a mumbled swear. A few steps later, shoes and trousers come into view.

It’s a man. It cannot be Colin Bridgerton, for he is out of town, and it cannot be the Viscount, as he left for his own bachelor house earlier in the evening, taking his valet with him. Sure enough, Benedict Bridgerton soon steps into view. He’s white as a sheet, and barely able to walk.

“I was hoping someone would still be awake,” he says, swaying as he stands two steps away from the bottom of the stairs. Kit and Elaine stand up, remembering themselves.

“Would it be possible to have some warm milk?” He asks.

Kit always liked Benedict best of all the male Bridgerton’s. They’ve crossed paths twice in seven years but he’s always been polite to her, despite her status and in spite of his.

“Please,” he adds

“Perhaps you would like to sit,” Kit offers, pulling out the chair closest to where he’s standing. He nods, holding his hand against the wall for dear life as he walks down the last two steps. He stumbled down onto the chair, crash landing haphazardly onto the seat with a pained moan.

“You can go,” Kit tells Elaine, “Go to bed, we wake at dawn tomorrow.”

She then turns towards the stove, lighting it under Benedict Bridgerton’s watchful gaze. She warms up a pitcher of milk and pours it into a cup for him. Unsure of what to do with herself, she stands by as he sips it.

Kit’s never heard the kitchen so quiet. She could hear a pin drop from miles away but despite the awkwardness, she struggles to keep a yawn from surfacing.

“I’m sorry,” Benedict eventually says, “I am keeping you up.”

“It’s alright, sir,”

“It’s not. I’m sorry. I’m sure you have plenty of work to be done tomorrow and I am keeping you from sleeping. I’m sorry I’ll be the cause of your tiredness,” he says, looking genuinely sorry, “I couldn’t sleep,” he eventually adds after finishing his milk, “I have such a headache, and Andrew couldn’t find the laudanum. I thought I would be okay but it’s too much.”

“If you wait here, I shall fetch you some of mine,” Kit offers, unsure of what the alternative could be. She knows just how painful headaches can get, and because she has no choice but to work through them, she keeps her side of the wardrobe well stocked with homemade laudanum.

Kit opens her bedroom door as quietly as she can so as not to wake Dorothy, one of the lower housemaids, with whom she shares the room. She steps around the bed and opens the wardrobe door, fumbling the keys and almost dropping it. She feels around for a glass flask until her fingers close around its neck. Once the medicine is in her possession, she leaves the room again. Walking to the opposite side of the corridor, passing through the door announcing the male servant’s rooms, Kit makes her way towards Andrew’s quarters. His room is all the way towards the end, as close to the main house as it can get, in case his gentleman were to have an emergency. Kit’s been here before, but never unchaperoned, and the distance between Andrew’s room and the safety of the communal corridor is a curse.

Eventually, she knocks on his door but he doesn’t respond. The Valets have been asleep for hours now, and she imagines Andrew is much the same. Wishing she didn’t have to, she pushes the door open and steps in. She walks closer to the bed, putting a hand on Andrew’s sleeping shoulder and gently shakes him. He wakes with a start.

“Say, Kit, I’ve always wanted you in my bed,” he mumbles groggily, grinning at her, “But I wasn’t expecting it to happen today.”

“Very funny, you incorrigible rake,” Kit grins back, “Your gentlemen is looking white as a sheet in my kitchen, you might want to come with in case we need to fetch a doctor,” she explains. Andrew sighs, picking his trousers off the end of his bed.

“I cannot be seen in my sleepwear, you go first, I’ll join you in a moment,” he adds, shooing her away with a wave of his hand.

Benedict Bridgerton seems to only have gotten worse by the time she is back. In the flickering light of the fireplace, his palour has turned to colouring his face a strange shade of green. Seeing this, and perhaps selfishly afraid for her clean floors, Kit hurriedly pours the second eldest Bridgerton a bit of laudanum. He downs it in one go and coughs.

“Christ, that’s strong!” he says, looking surprised.

“Well, it’s homemade,” Kit explains, “It’s alcohol and opium. The doses might be different to what you’re used to but I promise it will work.”

“Yes,” he coughs, “I daresay I needn’t more than a few sips for this to knock me right out.”

“Well, you did say you had trouble sleeping,” Kit mumbles to herself, not expecting Benedict to hear her but a laugh soon bubbles up from his mouth. It’s delightful but short lived, for merely a second later he coughs again, bends over, and spills the contents of his stomach all over the hardwood floor.

Kit’s fury is immediate, and Benedict knows it. He stands here, green and ill, looking like a deer in the headlights.

“I did not -- I’m awfully sorry --” he sputters.

Her anger doesn’t last, there’s something about Benedict that softens Kit’s heart, much to her dismay, and as much as she would have liked to send him away with a scolding and a glare -- as she would have done with anyone else -- she steps forward instead, placing a hand over his shoulder to place his back against the chair. As she would with her own brothers, she then places the back of her hand against his forehead.

“You have a temperature,” she states, just in time for Andrew to swing the door open, dressed but dishevelled, a cowlick lifting all but one tuft of hair on the left side of his head.

“I see I’m too late,” he comments, ignoring how close his gentleman and Kit are, “I’ll take you back up to bed, sir, and I’ll ask one of the footmen to fetch a doctor.”

“I’m awfully sorry for your floor,” Benedict apologises again, looking greener than ever and as though he might be sick again.

“It’s nothing Kit’s not seen before,” Andrew says, placing one of Benedict’s over his shoulders and lifting him up to a standing position. Gingerly, Andrew walks Benedict back up the stairs and into the main house, leaving Kit to clean the floor all over again.

By the time she’s finished, the sun is shining low on the horizon, the roosters in the courtyard are crowing and Cook opens the door to start her day. She stands on the threshold, surprised.

“Don’t ask,” Kit says, throwing her cloth in the kitchen’s laundry basket, “It’s been a night.”

“I can see that,” Cook says, “Has it been a fun night?” She asks, mischievously.

Aside from cooking, Cook’s only interests are gossip and matchmaking. She has been on Kit’s case about finding her a nice young man since the second month of her employment.

“Andrew’s been up all night too,” she adds with a wink, “He’s a handsome lad.”

“Don’t let him hear you,” Kit groans, “Master Benedict came down for hot milk last night. He was taken ill. I had to fetch Andrew.”

Cook sighs, disappointed, “Well, I was certainly hoping for something else.”

“That makes both of us,” Kit sighed

“Oh does it now?” Cook grins, turning Kit as red as her hair, unaware of how her words could have sounded.

---

Everyone else is already fast asleep by the time Elaine and Kit finish cleaning the kitchen and sit down for their last cup of tea. Swearing her young scullery maid to secrecy, Kit shaves off two thin slices of cake to have next to their drink. They eat it slowly, savouring every mouthful, but much like the day before, right as they finish, the door to the main house opens, and footsteps descend the stairs.

They’re steady today, and confident, but Kit recognises Benedict’s shoes before much of him comes into view.

“Pardon my interruption,” he says, “I merely wanted to apologise again for yesterday.”

Kit can feel Elaine looking to her for an answer. She throws her a look promising explanations later. As a maid, an apology like that can have a range of reasons, from the innocent to the rakish. With the reputation the Bridgerton boys have, it isn’t hard to imagine that Elaine is thinking more on the scandalous side of things.

“I hope you feel better,” Kit says, avoiding any words of forgiveness towards her soiled floor -- after all, she hasn’t forgiven him. She’s been up since the day before at dawn and the sheer exhaustion she has felt all day is nothing she has ever experienced -- and it seems Benedict has noticed. He grins at her.

The three of them stay quiet for a moment until the silence becomes more than Kit can bear, “Well, if it’s all, sir, I think we’ll go to bed.”

“Right,” he says, looking down at the floor, “Of course… Yes. Good night, Miss. Goodnight Kit,” he says.

“Miss Byrd,” Kit corrects him before she can stop the words from leaving her throat. While calling her by her first name is a disrespect, correcting her employer so rudely is a greater offence than anything he could have done. If word of this reacher Mr Graves, Kit is in for a telling off she has never experienced before.

“Pardon me, Miss Byrd. I meant no offence,” he says, “I seem to forget my manners.”

“Well, goodnight,” she says, hoping it will make him leave. Surprisingly, Benedict seems rather unwilling to leave her kitchen despite the awkwardness making her want to run away.

He takes the hint and with a nod in either direction, walks back up the stairs.

Kit stands there, unsure of what to say for a moment, “He vomited on our floor last night. I’m rather surprised he was brave enough to face me, I thought my glare had scared him off,” she eventually says.

Elaine stays quiet.

“You don’t believe me?” Kit sighs

“No, I do,” she eventually says, “It’s just…” Elaine hesitates, “You ought to be careful.”

“How so?” Kit asks, feeling herself blush at the situation. A sixteen year old scullery maid giving her lessons, Kit should like the floor to swallow her whole.

“I have heard things about the masters. Other maids think they’re rakes,” she says, then, casting her eyes on the floor, she adds, “At my last household, one of the Masters charmed a maid. He got her in the family way and it left her ruined.”

Kit remains there speechless.

“I don’t know what I have done to give you such a poor opinion of me, Elaine, but rest assured that I am not that kind of girl. I have no desire to run around with a master of the house and ruin myself,” Kit says, furious, “I think it’s best you go to bed. I’ll finish up here.”

“I did not mean --” she sputters, “It’s just --”

“Leave.”

Elaine nods, leaving her cup on the table. She vanishes through the service door seconds later.

Kit sits there for a while, stewing in her own anger. Partly at Elaine, and partly at Benedict. If anything were to come of this, be it rumour or inappropriate behaviour, she would be ruined and destitute. No household in London would ever employ her, and she could kiss the position of Cook, and its high salary, goodbye.

Still fuming, Kit stands up, washes the teapot and cups and climbs up to bed.

“You’re angry,” Dorothy says, sleepily, “You always stomp around when you’re angry.”

“I can’t believe the little --” Kit starts, “First that spoiled ass sicks up all over my pristine floor, then the new maid suggests he might try to ruin me!”

“Seems like a jump,”

“He came back to apologise,”

“Right,” Dorothy says, “She’s just looking out for you, I’m sure.”

“She’s sixteen!” Kit whispers back, “She’s a child!”

Dorothy sighs.

“Do you know what would happen to me if Graves hears what she said?”

“Kit, that’s enough,” Dorothy says firmly, “Nothing will happen because nothing untowards has happened. Now go to bed, I don’t want to deal with your moods in the morning.”

Kit glares at her.

“You can look at me like that all you want. It won’t change anything,” Dorothy says, tucking herself back into her duvet, “Sleep tight.”

Kit climbs into bed, huffing and puffing.

“I’ll vouch for you if Graves asks,” Dorothy eventually says, on the verge of sleep.

“Good night,” Kit replies, falling asleep as soon as her eyes close.

It seems like only a second has passed before the bell rings in the corridor and Kit must rise again. She shaked Dorothy awake and gets dressed, quickly brushing her hair and pinning it up in a tight bun. Downstairs, Cook had boiled water and made tea. She serves Kit a cup, and then Elaine when she appears a moment later. Wanting to avoid Elaine as much as she can, Kit throws herself in the day’s work, speaking as little as possible.

“Out with it,” Cook orders as soon as they step out to the courtyard after the lunch service. The scullery maid is inside, cleaning up.

“Something’s bothering you,” she adds, “I could taste it in your soup.”

“What?!” Kit asks, confused and wondering what kind of cookery witchcraft Cook knows of.

“You salt too much when you’re cross,” Cook shrugs.

“Oh,” Kit sighs, “It’s nothing. Elaine gave me advice yesterday, I didn’t appreciate it.”

Cook laughs but says nothing.

“Do you think Benedict Bridgerton is a rake?” Kit asks.

“I think he likes ladies, yes,” she responds, “I don’t think he likes maids.”

Kit sighs in relief, “Elaine seems to think --”

“Elaine was previously employed by Lord Berbrooke,” Cook cuts her off, “Give her some leeway, she’s only working off of her own experiences. The Bridgertons are different, they’re a good family with kind hearts. The Viscountess and her late husband raised them right.”

“They seem nice,” Kit replies, “I didn’t like that she was implying that I would be such a… Well, you know. That I would go above my station.”

“I don’t think that’s what she was implying, Kit dear,” Cook says, patting her arm. They stay quiet for a moment while Kit ruminates on what she said.

She’s not completely naive. She knows about these things. Maybe not everything, but she’s been working a while, and before the Bridgertons she worked with another family. She saw things she hadn’t been prepared for, then. But since working for the Bridgertons, she hadn’t thought back on it. She hadn’t felt unsafe, worried or scared that a moment alone or spent with a man might result in something she could never erase from her mind.

She’d taken Elaine’s advice so personally, like an attack on her own character. She hadn’t even thought it might have been a reflection of her own experiences. She hadn’t even thought it might be a warning on Benedict’s character. And strangely, she hadn’t thought, although it felt a little true, that the attack felt so offensive because Benedict had an effect on her Kit didn’t want him to have.

Benedict Bridgerton is undoubtedly a handsome man, but more than that, it was the boyish grin and big blue eyes that charmed her. She wasn’t in love, obviously, but he did have a certain effect on her.

“I think it’s time we go back,” Cook says, grabbing Kit by the arm and gently leading her back in to see Elaine finishing up the kitchen. Just as she throws the cloth into the laundry, they start messing up the kitchen, pulling out flour, vegetables, to start on dinner. As the sauces simmer and vegetables cook, Mr Kingman walks into the kitchen holding a couple of partridges and a hare.

“For dinner tonight,” he says, smacking the birds down on the table so violently it scares Elaine, who looks on dejected at the mess they so quickly created, “And for the family, I have a nice deer coming in. The boys are a little slow with it though,” he says, looking over his shoulder. Three voices argue loudly behind him, trying to wade through the muddy courtyard. Kit leans to see what the commotion is behind him. Carrying the biggest deer she has ever laid eyes upon, she can just about see Edmund, Francis and Frederic, the three gardener’s assistants Mr Kingman has borrowed to bring his prize.

Somehow, they negotiate the doorway and manage to fit the deer inside the kitchen. Elaine and Kit spring into action, removing chairs from the kitchen table so the boys can put it down.

Cook looks on, satisfied, “That’ll do nicely, I daresay,” she says. Then, she picks up one of her best knives and hands it to Kit, “We’ll need the bones for stock, and I’ll make a nice stew out of the organs, so be gentle with it.”

“If you keep the pelt in one piece, I’ll make a nice coat out of it,” Mr Kingman says.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, Kit braced herself. She’d only done this a handful of times, but it never got any more pleasant. Still, under the watchful eyes of the game warden, the three boys, Elaine and Cook, Kit begins to skin and quarter the animal.

Glancing back at her audience, she saw she had gathered a few more spectators. Mr Graves looked on from his office window, arms crossed over his chest with all the concentration of a man trying to keep his lunch inside while being entirely unable to look away.

Turning back to her work, she continues her cuts. She keeps going, asking the boys to roll the animal halfway through so she could replicate her butchering. Then, once she had finished cutting off the skin and quartering the animal, she and Cook moved all the meat to the cold room for safekeeping.

As much as Kit would have liked to take a shower to wash off the grime and blood, there was no time to waste. The leg would take a while to roast, even over the fire, and the kitchen needed to be cleaned, a job which, in light of the deer, Elaine could not complete by herself.

By the time it was time to return to her quarters, Kit could only think of a nice long bath. She drew the water and brought it upstairs, careful not to spill any on the stairs. Then, she undressed and gingerly lowered herself in the copper tub.

Kit closed her eyes, letting herself relax. She breathed deeply in and out a few times, then slipped under the water. Holding her breath, she opened her eyes. From underneath the water she could see almost nothing, just the flickering light of the candle at the side of the tub. She exhaled gently, watching the bubbles rise til they hit the surface, and then pop.

She resurfaced again a moment later, wiping her hair from her face. Water in her eyes having temporarily blinded her, Kit felt around the side of the tub for the little table she had put the soap and cloth on. After a minute, she felt the soft bar underneath her fingers.

One of the perks of working for the Bridgertons was without a doubt the soap. While other households often stocked soap for their servants, it was rarely of a good enough quality that it was worth using, but the Bridgertons’ or Mrs Wilson, anyway, regarded the staff’s overall appearance as highly important and hygiene most of all. They had therefore stocked each room with decent, scented soap. A treat Kit appreciated greatly.

She rubbed the soap over the cloth to make it bubble and then washed herself with it, breathing in the smell of jasmine on her skin. Then, with the same soapy cloth, Kit washed the top of her head til it bubbled up enough to clean the rest of her long hair. Once rinsed and ready, she stepped out of the bath and dried herself off and blew the candle out. Feeling more human than she had in days, she made her way back to her room.

To her surprise, Dorothy was still up, reading a long letter by candle light.

“From your Pa?” Kit asked, eliciting a humm of agreement from her friend, “How is the family?”

“My sister’s getting married in the spring,” she replied, “She’s marrying our vicar’s son. Ma says it’s a nice match but I get the feeling Pa’s not so happy about it. I don’t see why not though,” she says, “It’s not like she can do any better. He seems nice, and he’ll provide for her.”

“That’s nice!” Kit says, excited. She’s always loved weddings, and while she’s never hoped for a love match herself, finding someone willing to provide and care for her has always seemed just as good. In her books, Dotty’s sister isn’t doing half bad.

“Do you think if I ask Graves he’ll let me go for the wedding?” Dotty asks

“I don’t see why not,” Kit replies, “He’s a pain but not a monster, you know.”

“That’s only because he likes you, Patience,” she replies, emphasising her legal name.

Kit laughs, “Say, have you ever noticed how funny his name actually is?”

Dotty shakes her head.

“His name is Robert Graves. Rob Graves.”

Dorothy grins, “Leave it to you to find that out,” then, she sighs and without a word, goes back to reading. Suddenly exhausted, Kit climbs into bed and falls asleep almost immediately.

She wakes up late for the first time in seven years. By the time she makes it downstairs, Cook is already starting with breakfast. Without a word, but with a disapproving look, she hands Kit a bag of flour, some yeast and a little water.

---

Kit’s outside for a tea break when Michael, her ten year old brother, walks into the courtyard, newspaper in hand. 

“Any good news?” Kit asks, pressing a coin in his hand.

Michael shrugs, “I dunno, I don’t read it, I just sell it.”

Kit grins. She takes off Michael’s cap and ruffles the hair underneath it. It’s almost as red as hers, only much shorter and curlier. It suits him, she thinks, and paired with the freckles covering his face, it makes him look younger than he is.

He leans against her in a not-quite-hug. Michael likes to pretend to be older than he is, and very much resists any of his sister’s babying, but occasionally, especially when he’s tired, he’ll still hug her. She holds him there for a moment, savouring it. 

“Have you eaten anything?” She asks him

Michael shakes his head. He doesn’t need to say anything, Kit already knows. Their father’s out of work again, and despite all of the children working, money is stretched thin. Kit hates to speak badly of her father, but she hates that he’ll let his children go hungry if it means he never has to go thirsty. For every shilling that goes into food, three go into alcohol.

“Stay there,” Kit tells him. Michael watches her disappear inside, and then reappear a moment later, holding an apple and some bread. She watches him eat it all, and then fetches him some milk to wash it all down. Once she’s satisfied that he won’t drop from hunger, she lets him finish his route.

Once she steps back inside, it’s back to work. The staff having soup for dinner and the family is divided with the eldest going to a ball, and the younger ones staying behind. 

Seeing as it’s only the children having dinner, Cook has been bribed by Hyacinth to make tea sandwiches and cakes, and so, Kit spends the better part of her afternoon making cakes and breads. 

After dinner, it’s time to clean. The end of her evening clean with Elaine is upon them and after tonight Kit will be able to retire to bed alongside Dorothy. She’s been looking forward to it, she’s even asked Andrew to borrow a book from upstairs for her. 

There’s been very little chatting since Elaine gave her advice, and as much as Kit wants to apologise for her reaction, she can’t really seem to find the right words, and by the time she thinks she might be brave enough to try, the cleaning is done and it’s time to go home. 

Tonight, though, Kit is determined to do it. She’s been talking herself into it since she woke up this morning and her chance finally appears as they remove their shoes to work the scrubbing cloth around the floor.

“I wanted to apologise,” she says, staring firmly at the floor, “I misunderstood your intentions earlier in the week and I was awfully rude.”

Elaine seems surprised, “I shouldn’t have said anything. It wasn’t my place, I’m sorry.”

“You were looking out for me,” Kit says, “I appreciate it. Thank you,” she smiles at the scullery maid, “I’ll be careful.”

Elaine smiles at her, moving as fast as she can on the cloth before her feet become numb. They’ve done most of it now and the end can’t come soon enough. 

“Tea?” Elaine asks, already reaching for the teapot and mugs. Kit smiles and nods, turning around to rummage through the cupboards for jam and a few slices of fresh bread. 

She spreads jam on the slices as Elaine pours the tea. They eat in comfortable silence, all awkwardness dissipated by their apologies. Right as they bite into their bread, the front door of the main house opens upstairs announcing the elder Bridgertons’ return home from the ball. They hear them climb up the main stairs, and minutes later, the bells ring for the valets and lady’s maids. 

Quick as a flash, Kit hides the teapot, cups, bread and jam on one of the empty chairs. She shoves whatever toast she still had in her hand into her mouth, making sure Elaine does the same, before the upper servants enter the kitchen and file up the stairs to the main house. 

As soon as they’re gone, the contraband is placed back up on the table and their chatting continues. By the time the upper servants come back down, the tea is finished, the food is eaten and Kit has washed away any evidence of their midnight snack. Elaine soon bids her goodnight and climbs up to her quarters while Kit stays to chat and gossip with the Lady’s maids. 

“I say Master Colin will wed by the end of next season,” Rose says, “And I wager a shilling, he will marry Miss Featherington.”

Kit laughs, “I wager he will not. I hear Miss Featherington’s dowry has already been gambled away by her father. I doubt Master Colin would marry without a dowry.”

“Kit, you sadden me,” Andrew says, “True love will vanquish all. I say he will marry her regardless of the dowry,” he adds, earning oohs and aahs from an appreciative Rose, “But,” he says, raising his index finger in warning, “I say it takes him two more seasons.”

“And when do you plan to wed, Andrew?” Bernard, Colin’s Valet, asks with a grin

“As soon as Kit gives me the time of day,” Andrew replies, shooting her a wink. It earns him a laugh from Bernard and Nicholas, Anthony’s Valet, as they clap him on the back.

“A bachelor forever, then!” Nicholas guffaws 

“I’m going back to bed,” Andrew announced, faking grumpiness, “Goodnight!”

Soon after his departure, the rest of them climb up, leaving Kit alone in a quiet kitchen. She’s about to go up when the door above the kitchen opens once more. 

Hyacinth chats loudly as she comes down, leaving no wonder as to who is disturbing Kit now, but she’s not alone. Trailing not far behind is Benedict Bridgerton, wearing only sleepwear.

“Hello Miss Byrd,” he says, sheepishly smiling, “We were rather hoping --”

“Is there any cake left?” Hyacinth cuts him off.

Kit rolls her eyes at the girl, earning herself a toothy smile, “I made you three different cakes for dinner and you still haven’t had enough?”

“Please?” Hyacinth begs, putting on her best puppy eyes, knowing very well it’s Kit’s one weakness.

But she holds strong, largely because Benedict is standing right behind, and she feels that if she does not stay stern, he’d get ideas. 

“Please Miss Byrd,” he eventually says, “We’re awfully hungry,” he adds, joining in on the relentless beating down. 

Kit lasts only a minute longer before giving in with a sigh. 

“This cannot happen again,” she says, as sternly as she can. Benedict smiles at her and much to her surprise, Kit’s knees go weak. She lets go of the plate she was holding, and it shatters all over the floor, sending bits of ceramic flying everywhere. 

She immediately bends down, grabbing all the pieces she can see. Shuffling around on her knees, she doesn’t see where she’s going. Soon enough, she bumps her head against something hard and yelps in pain. Expecting to see a table leg, she raises her head only to come inches away from Benedict Bridgerton. She stands up as fast as she can, taking as many steps back as she can as he does the same. They look at each other across the room, both trying to catch their breath. 

Trying to get a grip on herself, Kit slices two bits of cake and places them on two new plates. She hands them to each Bridgerton, expecting them to take it up to their rooms, but only Hyacinth does. As soon as the kitchen door closes, Benedict puts his plate down and reaches for the broom Kit had left leaning on the door.

Half expecting him to hand it to her, Kit is surprised when he starts sweeping.

“Oh you don’t -- I’ll --”

“Am I not doing it right?” he asks

“No, it’s -- Sir, I’ll take care of it,” she eventually says, “You may go up, you must be tired.”

“I am awake enough to sweep, Miss Byrd,” he smiles

“Perhaps, but you really oughtn’t,” she replies, gently taking the broom from his hands, “Go up, go to sleep. If Andrew finds out you missed out on sleep because of me, he’ll have my head.”

“Goodnight,” he says eventually, seeming unsure of what to do, before turning around and following his sister. His slice of cake forgotten.

“Goodnight, sir,” Kit replies.

---

The morning has been everything but calm from the moment Kit steps out of bed. All the late nights she’s been doing have started to take their toll and she’s starting to make mistakes, from burning the toast to cutting herself chopping vegetables, Kit is visibly perturbed, but Cook doesn’t ask and doesn’t comment. The servants live in close enough quarters that soon enough, she’ll know without needing to pry.

Kit doesn’t appreciate the looks though, and she’s grateful when tea break comes around. Cook’s made it for her, a rare treat, as she’s usually in charge of it. It’s piping hot and very sweet, the kind of cup of tea that fixes everything. They take it out in the courtyard, on a little rickety wooden table soaked through by the previous night’s rain, instead of standing by the back door like they usually do.

Cook takes out her pipe and lights it, alternating blowing big puffs of smoke and sipping her tea. The women stay silent, looking around at the Bridgerton’s garden through a small gap in the gate while a duck and two chickens circle them for crumbs.

Mr Colpher and his boys have done a wonderful job. The grass, the trees, the flowers all look as beautiful as they could be in the autumn colours.

Kit cranes her neck to see more, attracted by voices out in the garden. It’s the Viscount and Daphne, running around with their younger siblings, playing a game Kit doesn’t know. She looks on for a few more minutes until she’s rudely interrupted by the duck. Kit catches him, beak in her pocket, pulling out her handkerchief which she had wrapped around a leftover piece of bread.

“Oh go on, leave me be!” She tells him, “I'll turn you into a roast if you don’t mind your manners!”

Cook chuckles but Kit, unamused, bends down to pick her handkerchief out of a muddy puddle. She picks up the bread too, but throws it away as far as she can to spite the duck.

A few minutes later, Cook stands up, signalling that the break is over and they must return to work. Kit follows suit, energised by the tea and sugar.

When they walk in, Andrew is waiting for them.

“Ladies,” he says, with a dashing smile, sitting back on a chair, his boots on the dinner table, “Looking wonderful, as always.”

“Are you pestering the scullery maid, Mr Fitzwilliam?” Kit asks with a grin, “Feet off, I don’t want to eat whatever you traipsed on here.”

Andrew puts on a look of shock, ignoring her remark about his boots but sitting properly all the same, “Now Kit darling, you know my heart only beats for you,” he says, dramatically placing a hand over his heart, “Say, Cook, mind if I borrow your kitchen maid for just a flash?”

“Only for a flash, Andrew,” Cook says, sternly shaking a finger at him. Andrew stands, knowing that Cook’s soft spot for him means he’ll face absolutely no repercussions for not keeping his word.

Andrew leads Kit back outside and leans against the wall, fishing a pack of cigarettes out of his coat jacket. He lights one, then offers it to Kit, who refuses.

“Bridgerton asked about you,” he says, meaning Benedict, “Asked if I knew you. If you had a special someone,” he continues with a grin, “If you were always so stern.”

“And what did you say?” Kit asks, stomach in a knot for reasons she can’t quite place a finger on.

“I said you had a fiancé,” Andrew shrugs.

“Whyever would you say that?”

“What? Wanted me to tell him you were single?” Andrew laughs, “I thought you’d appreciate me shutting the questioning down.”

Kit sighs, “I suppose I should thank you.”

“Kit,” Andrew says, pushing himself off the wall, “He’s charming and he’s nice, I’ll give you that. But he’s looking to marry well so he can sustain the art career he desperately wants. I don’t want to see you hurt,” he says, putting both hands on her shoulders, “Besides, if Graves finds out, he’ll let you go and I don’t need to warn you of the trouble you’ll have finding somewhere else to work.”

Kit shakes him off, pulling the cigarette out of his mouth and dropping it on the floor. She stomps on it with her foot until it’s thoroughly covered in mud and animal waste.

Andrew grins, “I don’t want to lose my best girl,” he says, “No one makes a cake quite like she does.”

Kit smiles, “Flattery will get you everywhere.”

“Will it get me a date?”

“Sure,” Kit grinned, “Why not, since you asked so sweetly. Where are you taking me?”

Andrew stands there, dumbfounded for a moment, “I thought you would refuse me. I hadn’t thought that far ahead.”

She laughs, and he smiles, a blush spreading over his cheeks, “You better take me somewhere nice, Mr Fitzwilliam. After all, you are competing with a Bridgerton. Apparently…”

[ghostsslutss]

🌊 } at peace. for once. 18+

"Isn't this incredible, love? Just like racing, it's all about balance. Cheers to our endless adventures." - fernando alonso

1/2

f! user x fernando alonso impiled smut

The sillage of the briny air revitalises my senses. It was a golden day, the sun was shining peacefully and Fernando was finally free stewards and Mike Krack. However, Fernando had to do a photoshoot for some random brand at a seaside resort on Spain's Costa Tropical. Then, we can finally relax, without any worries.

For once. There were five people managing Fernando while I sat on the second floor of the yacht. I was reading a book, while I heard multiple shutter clicks. Photographer telling Alonso how to pose in the beacon of light. Fernando was wearing a white Ralph Lauren shirt, white shorts and a black belt with plain shoes to match it.

“Okay Fernando, we have finished everything. We’ll get back to you soon. Okay?”

One of the members of the photoshoot team told him as they slowly walked off the yacht. Taking a final glance at him and waving goodbye.

"¡Perfecto! Gracias a todos por su trabajo. Can't wait to see the photos. Vamos a terminar y prepararnos para el próximo desafío."

He flashed his pearly whites and waved goodbye to the rest. Quickly he rushed to you, tackling you from behind. Hugging you softly. You felt his stubble rubbing against your silky hair.

“Hello, Princesa.”

He chimed.

“Hiya Fernando.”

You replied.

“Why don’t I make you something, come down to the first floor, Querida.”

He offered, holding his hand to you, taking it he gently lead you downstairs to the lower floor. Watching your every move so you don’t slip. He silently told you to sit down, signalling you by nodding his head. He was like your guarddog, protecting you from everyone and everything. That would do anything, even die for you. His love couldn’t be written by songs, poetry or anything else. Except for cooking.

He kissed you on your forehead, slowly drifting away to the kitchen while you stared at the beautiful ocean. The sun highlighted all of your beautiful curves. In a cosy kitchen, he stands over a wide pan, sizzling with olive oil. They toss in onions, garlic, and colourful bell peppers, filling the air with a savoury fragrance. Saffron threads follow, turning the oil a sunny gold.

With practised hands, Alonso adds chicken and a medley of seafood—shrimp, mussels, and squid—each piece searing to perfection. A sprinkle of rice spreads out, soaking up the flavours. Fragrant broth joins in, bubbling gently as it melds with the ingredients.

A few stirs and adjustments later, fresh peas and tomatoes add bursts of color. The kitchen fills with the enticing aroma of the simmering paella. Finally, Fernando plates up the vibrant dish, a masterpiece of flavours and love, ready to share with their wife.

“Here you go, my love.”

I’d smile at him, pleased with my meal. Every bite felt like a new heaven, and tasted so good. I felt like Remmy from ratatouille.

Hours pass by, we would take in the sea and moonlight. Talking about the Media and other silly things. But there was a tension, a barrier that needed to be broken. Something to be snapped. Fernando ran through my hair, sitting next to me. I knew he needed something, his fingers trailed against my thin clothing to my thighs. Slowly rubbing it in circles.

“Cariño..Please.. Can I.?”

He’d squeeze your thigh for extra attention. He needed you, so fucking badly. The submissiveness finally gleamed in his eyes. He wanted you.

“Go on, I know you want it.”

[charles-leclerc-official]

As a non rich person, Charles' penalty sounds worse lol but for them I understand Max's penalty is actually the worse one.

But seriously, I'm just more pissed that the FIA are so inconsistent. I'd be less mad (maybe) if they consistently gave everyone a bad penalty.

It's like they want to show they have authority but are too chicken shit to follow through the second they get backlash. They need some actual good, impartial and fair stewards who also have a spine.

I wish they'd just care about any of the actual issues in the sport that could use some attention half as much as they care about this.

[kineticpenguin]

I've been poking away a bit more at Frostpunk 2, and I think my real problem with it is that, okay, fine, ultimately politics is a messy business, but as the Steward, you have to be completely passive in it. You have to take each faction as-is. You cannot build your own faction. You're just one guy in an office. You can make deals to pass laws, but these deals are always giving a faction what they want in exchange for their vote.

Your policies don't even seem to shape society much. Early on if you decide that children will attend school, and subsequently that they will focus on science, this has no bearing ten years later on the size and number of factions that think science is a bunch of nonsense and we need Ice Eating Training and Varsity Dick-Punching if we're going to have any education at all.

So for the best possible outcome, being a "shrewd negotiator" means keeping an Excel spreadsheet open and balancing all the kinds of buildings and policies that piss the different factions off, and finding a balance. I guess.

And ultimately the Story has one major problem: The Pilgrims are objectively correct. If you side with the Stalwarts and decide to "defeat the Frost", your lack of access to outposts with infinite resources to draw from will be the city's doom (if you don't beat the story before that particular chicken comes home to roost). The Stalwart technology allowing you to drill the meager infinite deposits in New London territory will not be enough.

Maybe they should, uh. Do something about that.

[lullaebies]

any headcanons about Dearon being son of Alicole? I know it’s not everyone’s cup of tea but us Alicole shippers literally have crumbs to live off of and need some content 😂

Well, it might not be something I believe in specifically, but I can cook some stuff for you. Though most would pass for adoptive papa Criston too I guess, too! Daeron and Alicole Headcanoons ৹ To start of with an actual biological son of Alicole hc: at that point, Daeron probably looks a lot like Alicent; brown eyed with auburn hair. This is Alicent first kid that looks like her, and the one she had at a more proper age. She had an easier time to connect to Daeron. For Criston, he would be the cutest baby he had ever seen, both because he looks like Alicent and because well; his baby, that he never thought he will have. ৹ Baby Daeron would sleep in Alicent's room for the first months of his life. As Criston is stationed by Alicent, when the baby cried, he used to enter faster than the maids. Sometimes he would hold him for Alicent who is tired and lull him to sleep. It's been made evident Daeron sleeps easiest in Criston's arms. ৹ Daeron doesn't like to cry to his mother because he heard from Aemond before it makes her stressed. As a child, he sometimes went just by her rooms when he's sad, and then chickened out, but Criston still saw him teary. He ends up being the one to console him very often. ৹ Sending him over to Oldtown is a rough patch for both of them. Daeron is sad about leaving too, but tries to be optimistic, telling Criston and his mother that he is going to be a proper knight under lord Ormund and come back to be a white cloak under Criston and as a protector of his mother and siblings too. He also tells Criston that he plans visit the Dornish Marches and Blackhaven, to meet Criston's steward father and tell him that the Lord Commander told him all about him, as well as show appreciation to House Cole.

[smilingformoney]

Rickmas 2023: Day 9. Missing Star | Alexander/Reader

Read now on Ao3 or below the cut:

The knocking on the door was incessant, and Alexander rolled his eyes when he heard a voice calling through the door.

“Sir Alexander! The panel started five minutes ago, they’re waiting for you —“

With a huff, he picked himself up from the couch and stomped over to the door, opening it so suddenly he caught the poor event steward on the other side by surprise.

“I’m not bloody coming, clearly,” he hissed.

“But, Mr Dane, the fans are expecting you —“

“I. Don’t. Care. Tell them I’m sick or dying, I don’t care, just piss off and leave me alone!”

He slammed the door closed on the shocked steward’s face, and you peered up at him over the back of the couch.

“That poor steward was only doing his job, Alex.”

Alexander waved his hand dismissively and pulled his robe tighter around his torso.

“If his job’s to disturb me when I’m with you, he needs a new career.”

He returned to the couch where you had previously been cuddling and watching TV, and you slipped easily back into his arms.

“You’ll have to show your face at some point. They didn’t pay for this hotel room so you could sit in it all day.”

“Trying to get rid of me?” Alexander snarked, and you shoved him playfully.

“You know I’m not. You can get away with skipping the group panel, but you’ll have to make it to your solo panel. Else they might send Jason to drag you out.”

Alexander scoffed. “I’d like to see him try. He acts like he’s so tough, but I can tell you, his fight scenes are almost entirely done by stunt doubles.”

“And yours aren’t?”

“Of course not,” Alexander said proudly. “I’m a real actor. I do all my own scenes.”

“Well, good thing you do all your own sex scenes too, else we’d never have met,” you said, grinning up at him cheekily.

He smirked and held you in tighter, remembering the day you’d met on set for a film of his, he the lead actor and you the intimacy coordinator for the sex scene he’d filmed. Somehow, with a stunning Hollywood actress nude on the bed with him, it had been plain old you the acting legend had had eyes for.

“Really, I just don’t want to put that bloody thing on my head today,” Alexander admitted. “Honestly, do they think people won’t recognise me without it? I do have other roles I’m known for without the stupid chicken head.”

You laughed, knowing full well that your boyfriend would set fire to that key part of his costume if he could, yet he’d chosen to participate in the Galaxy Quest reboot. Secretly, he liked the role and even the people he worked with, but he’d never admit it.

“Oh, but think of the applause you’ll get when you step out onto the stage! All those people there to see you. I know you love it, Alex.”

He scoffed, but he didn’t correct you. You leaned in closer to him, resting your head on his chest, and he placed a kiss to the top of your head (which had fortunately never been the victim of chicken head, although he had threatened you with it a few times).

“I’ll go to the solo panel, I suppose,” he sighed. “Only so I can talk about Death to Secrets coming out next month.”

You scoffed. “Yeah, good luck getting a bunch of sci-fi nerds to care about a depressing drama about a dying old man. Hey, kids, come see my exciting new film where I spend two hours staring out a window dramatically - ow!”

It hadn’t hurt, but you were more surprised than anything when he reached around and slapped your arse.

“Disrespect my art and you disrespect me, you know that, [Y/n].”

“Oh, sorry, sir,” you said teasingly. You sat up slightly and kissed him, which immediately softened the hard stare he was giving you.

“Hmm… good thing I love you, isn’t it?” he said.

Even after so long together, it still made your heart leap when you heard those words from him. He was such a grumpy old man, yet for you he was soft.

“Yes,” you agreed. “It is a very good thing.”

[herearedragons]

every word you shouldn't say (will come bubbling out of your throat)

Read on AO3

Summary: Something about sisters, wanting your loved ones to be happy, and admitting the truth to others - and to yourself. (two Watchers + hanahaki disease AU)

Content warning: emetophobia, hanahaki-related body horror

Spoiler warning: spoilers for two of Aloth's and Edér's possible epilogues, as well as for the Dyrford section of the game and the ending of The Master Below.

Additional notes: Helaine belongs to @curiouslavellan. Selene and Edér's situation is the same as in Cold Water; all the context needed for this fic is that because of something that happened during the events of POE1 she believes that if she starts a relationship, Ondra will use it to hurt her.

"Do you think there's something wrong with us?" Selene asks one day as they're having dinner.

They're having it in Helaine's room; not that there's something wrong with the dining hall of Caed Nua, but sometimes it's nice to have a more private atmosphere - and, besides, for some reason the Steward wasn't a fan of the Watchers eating their meal sitting on the floor where everyone could see.

"Nuh-uh," Helaine says with her mouth full of chicken. "I think everyone should have indoor picnics. It's fun."

It comes out more like "I fink erryon shoo hae indoo pikns, is faa", but that's fine, Selene's in her brain anyway.

"I'm not talking about the picnics," Selene says.

Helaine swallows.

"Then what? Being godlike? Watchers?"

Selene sighs and lowers her eyes, picking at her own plate. Helaine notes that she'd barely eaten anything.

At this point, she's starting to get an idea of what this might be.

Selene looks up at her again.

"Why haven't you told Aloth?" she asks.

Wha? - 

"Told him what?"

"You know. How you feel about him. Why?"

Why does she want to talk about Aloth all of a sudden?

Helaine shrugs, maybe a little too quickly, and says:

"Well, he was going away to fight the Leaden Key. It wasn't the right time, and he wasn't ready, and... and I wasn't ready. You can't rush these things!"

She tries to keep her tone nice and light, but somehow the pitch of her voice keeps climbing higher and higher as she speaks, until the last phrase comes out squeaky.

She can feel her cheeks getting hot.

Alright, enough's enough.

"Selene, what's this about?"

"You're nervous," Selene notes.

"Well yeah I am, we were having an indoor picnic and then you just started questioning me!"

"...I asked one question." Selene sees her open her mouth again and continues, before Helaine has a chance to speak, "I was just wondering. When you said it wasn't the right time back then, I believed you, but... Is it ever going to be the right time?"

Helaine inhales, preparing a retort - and then bites down on it.

Nope. If a year of traveling with Durance has taught her anything, it's to know when she's being baited.

Time to take a page out of Selene's book. 

Why is she talking about this? What's wrong with her?

She's sad, that much is obvious. And she asked about Aloth.

...Oh, of course it's that.

Helaine sighs in relief; she feels the fire in her hair surge and then dim down, pacified.

"Selene," she says, "Are you pining again?"

Selene grimaces and twirls her fork in her hand. 

"...Yes."

"You should talk to him."

"No."

It doesn't even feel upsetting to hear that anymore. The words are rote, part of a ritual; that's what Helaine says every time, and that's what Selene answers every time. The real conversation hasn't even started yet.

Helaine sets her plate aside on the floor and leans forward, elbows on her knees, face propped up on the palms of her hands. 

Will she get to Selene this time? She hasn't managed to, so far, but Selene has ceded the advantage by starting the conversation herself. She wants to hear what Helaine has to say.

Helaine feels a little thrill somewhere in her stomach that's suspiciously similar to what she feels when a fight is about to start. She can't help but compare these talks to combat; poking and prodding, dancing around her sister as she tries to find a gap in her defense.

Is it bad that she feels that way? She kind of doesn't want to think about that.

It's because she wants to help. She wants Selene to be happy, and Selene just - won't let herself be.

"But you miss him," Helaine says.

"Of course I do, but it doesn't matter."

"You miss him and it's bad enough that you're talking to me about this with words."

"Well, this isn't what I wanted to talk about," Selene says, "You're making this be about me; I asked you about a choice you made."

Helaine raises her eyebrows, smiling just a little:

"Oh and why are you suddenly interested in my love life? It's because you're thin-king about someone."

The "thinking" comes out almost singsong, teasing, but not in a cruel way - at least she hopes it doesn't come off cruel.

Selene shakes her head, sets her plate aside too, and covers her face with her hands.

"Yes. Yes, I am, and I shouldn't be, and it's torture. Is that what you wanted to hear? Well, you're right. You won. And I just wanted to ask..." She takes her hands away, and looks Helaine in the eye. "...Why aren't you doing what I can't? If I didn't have to keep quiet - if it wasn't about saving his life - I would have said something. I would have said it a hundred times by now. Why aren't you doing that?"

Her voice gets louder and sharper as she speaks; Helaine knows Selene's probably not really mad at her, but it's still kind of scary.

But, once she stops speaking, all that goes away; her shoulders slump, her head bows in defeat, and now she's just staring at her own hands instead of facing Helaine again.

She's not defending herself anymore. In the analogy of a fight, Selene has just thrown her weapon aside and then turned her back to Helaine, letting her do whatever the Hel she wants.

That's... not fun. And wrong. Selene doesn't do that. 

Whatever's happening to her, it is bad, and it's worse than usual.

But she also just asked Helaine a question that's really hard to answer. She threw her sword away without looking, but somehow, it has wedged itself in the cracks of Helaine's armor, and now she's going to have to leave it in or pull it out.

Her stomach feels a little funny now. Does she know why she hasn't told Aloth yet? Is there a good reason not to?

Well… Yes, there is. They're so far apart right now; they trade the occasional letter whenever the circumstances allow, but those letters are rarer than Helaine hoped they’d be.

Not - not that she hoped for, or expected, anything from him. That wouldn't be fair. Aloth has a duty, and so does she, and that comes first. That makes sense.

She's been over this many times by now, in her own head; usually around this point she'd force herself to stop thinking about it and go hit some dummies with a sword.

But she can't bail on Selene.

Damn. She really did get her with this one.

"I don't know," Helaine says. "It just hasn't felt right to say it."

It feels a little scary to admit that; she's exposing a vulnerability, and a part of her feels like maybe all of this was a fakeout, like maybe Selene is going to turn around and lunge at her and force her to admit defeat.

But it’s relieving, too. Honesty feels right; it's the most her thing she can do, and it centers her after Selene's question has thrown her off balance.

Selene doesn't lunge.

She sighs again, and nods, and says:

"Alright. I trust you."

It's a relief, but Helaine realizes that she's too worried to really savor it.

"Listen, I know you've been saying no to this, but if it's really bad... You could just talk to him? You don't have to tell him, just talk to him. See if it makes you feel better."

Selene shakes her head.

"I don't even know where he is."

Helaine rolls her eyes:

"Alright, Miss Spymaster. You have a whole cipher network working for you; it’s not like you can't find him."

"I guess." Selene shrugs noncommittally. "...I don't think I should, though. I'm not really feeling that bad, and tracking him down would defeat the purpose of him going away in the first place."

"Remind me what that was?"

"...Letting him figure out a life that isn’t about gods or Watchers?"

"Riiight. Well, what do you think he'd say if he knew you were like this?" Helaine asks, pointing at Selene with the blunt end of the fork she hasn’t put down. “Do you think Edér would want you to hurt yourself?”

"Helaine, I'm fine," Selene says, a tinge of irritation creeping into her voice. "Well - not completely fine, maybe, but I've been not fine before. I know the difference."

Well, that's one thing Helaine can't argue with: Selene has more experience with not fine than anyone else she knows.

"...You're sure it's not that bad yet?"

"I'm sure."

Helaine doesn't really want to do this, but it's only fair. Selene just did that for her.

"Alright," she says. "I trust you."

"Thanks," Selene says, and then she coughs a little, and swallows.

"...You good?"

"Yeah. I need some water."

Selene sounds fine. She sounds... genuine. Her voice isn't weird or strained or anything like that.

Helaine still gets a bad feeling about it.

She pushes it down.

She just said that she trusts her sister.

*

Some say that the flower sickness comes from Hylea; that it's a benevolent curse meant to patch up quarrels between lovers and family members, so that joy and prosperity may blossom forth. Some claim that the sickness is brought on by Eothas; that it's a sign to give a second chance to the thoughts and dreams you have buried deep within yourself.

In Helaine's experience, though, you can get it over pretty much anything.

In her travels, she'd come across kith who got the flower sickness over unrequited love, unconfessed crimes, even religious doubt; there never seemed to be any rhyme or reason to it besides the fact that it was always cured by saying something you really didn't want to say.

In a way, it almost felt Magranite; not that Helaine ever thought the flower sickness was Magran's doing - if it was up to her, the goddess probably would have made the poor kith spit out burning coals - but there was an element of trial to it. Confront your weakness, or die.

And people would die, eventually; the truly stubborn ones would have their lungs fill up with petals until they could no longer breathe.

Still, eerie as it is, the flower sickness has always been something that happened to other people. That was the good part about an oath of honesty: if you tell no lies, they'll never weigh on you and fill your lungs with flowers.

Selene does a really good job of hiding her flowers, at first.

Sometimes there's the occasional stifled cough, or she leaves the room all of a sudden and comes back a minute later, but those slip-ups are few and far between, and give Helaine nothing to point a finger at.

Then, it gets worse.

They're in the main hall, listening to a visitor; some merchant from the newly rebuilt Gilded Vale, offering a business partnership. Helaine, as always, is in the Steward's chair, presiding as Lady of Caed Nua; Selene is standing over her left shoulder, silent, reading minds and relaying the information to her sister.

Except, as the merchant speaks, Helaine begins hearing a strange noise above her left ear.

Selene's breath becomes sharp, ragged; not loud enough for everyone in the room to hear, but upsettingly loud from where Helaine is sitting. There's a gurgle to it that sounds really bad.

Helaine is halfway through the motion of turning around to check on her when Selene's voice comes through in her mind:

...I have to step away for a second. Keep going without me.

And Helaine finishes turning around just in time to see the swish of Selene's cloak as she leaves, disappearing behind a door leading to the storage rooms.

Helaine cuts the meeting short.

She finds Selene doubled over behind a shelf stocked full of blank scrolls, wheezing out violent coughs. At her feet is a growing pile of tiny golden blooms; just as Helaine arrives, Selene takes a hand away from her mouth, full of the same flowers, and lets them tumble down into the pile.

They're Pilgrim's Crown flowers. Pretty common, reasonably edible, and - as Helaine has learned recently from one of her trainees - a common gift for lovers.

"Selene," Helaine says, "What the fuck."

Selene looks at her like she's about to say something, and then crumples into another coughing fit.

It's horrible to look at. It's horrible to listen to. Not because the flower sickness is repulsive to her - it is creepy, but Helaine has seen worse - but because every nerve in her body wants to help Selene, and she can't. Not now. Not here.

But there is something else she can do.

"Tell the Steward I'll be gone for a couple of days,” she says. “I'm getting Edér."

No!

Selene's voice in her mind, sharp, clear, nothing like the noises that are actually coming out of her mouth.

"Yeah, no, I'm not listening to you," Helaine says. "You're killing yourself. I'm not gonna just stand around and watch that happen."

Helaine, WAIT. 

"What?"

Selene finally manages to take a breath that doesn't sound like it's being dragged through gravel, and says, out loud:

"We don't need to get him - let me finish - because there's another way to fix this. I'm working on it."

Helaine hesitates for a second.

Selene has lied to her once about this, already; she lied about being fine. She could just be lying again. If she got it into her head that she needs to die over a stupid crush - 

"...What's that other way?" she asks.

"Flower sickness isn't actually lethal," Selene says. "There are ways to minimize it. There's medicine. You can live with it, and it won’t be much worse than a cold."

Helaine crosses her arms, guarding. If it's a trick, she's not going to fall for it. She's not.

"That sounds made up."

"It's not."

"Proof?"

"I've had flower sickness before."

Helaine blinks.

"You... have?"

"Back at the temple. People would get it all the time; kind of an occupational hazard for a Giftbearer."

"But... If it's curable, why don't people just - "

"Take the medicine?" Selene shrugs. "I don't know. Maybe we were the first to figure out the recipe. But honestly, it's kind of gross; if I could choose between confessing and drinking that, I'd just confess."

Helaine throws her hands up in frustration:

"Then do that! "

"What part of Ondra tried to kill him once and she'll do it again do you not understand?" Selene snaps.

Countered and forced to defend again, Helaine scowls, but doesn't manage to scrape together a good enough retort.

"...What do we need for the medicine?" she asks finally.

"I've already bought most of the ingredients; it's just taking a while for them to be delivered. The last one is one of your own flowers; you soak it in the solution for a day, then it's good to drink. It dissolves the flowers before you have to cough them out." 

Selene looks down at the pile of Pilgrim's Crown at her feet.

"...I should probably save these ones."

*

Helaine doubts the medicine at first, but months go by, and Selene isn’t any worse for wear.

She doesn’t stop coughing completely, but she doesn’t look sick all the time anymore. She gets maybe a handful of flowers once a week, and sometimes weeks go by without a single petal.

Turns out, it is possible to outsmart the flower sickness. Sometimes, Helaine wonders what the god that came up with it thinks about that.

Still, overall, things are fine. 

That’s what she keeps telling herself: things are fine. Selene isn’t dying; her Pilgrim’s Crown blooms are a minor annoyance at worst. She’s got it under control.

But Selene is unhappy, and she won’t let Helaine do anything about that.

Helaine pretends not to notice. She pretends not to see the look that comes across her sister’s face when something reminds her of what she’s given up. She pretends to approve when Selene dives headfirst into her Dunryd Row work, absent from Caed Nua for weeks on end.

It’s not really lying, she tells herself. It’s just making life easier for someone she cares about.

Eventually it starts to feel like she’s learned to live with it, but the knowledge that Helaine could be helping and isn’t weighs heavy on her still.

One morning, she wakes up with a cough, and tastes ash in her mouth once it passes.

Turns out, when you’re a fire godlike, the flowers will burn up before you can get them out. At least that’s what happens when there aren't a lot of them; as their number grows, eventually bits and pieces begin to make it through unscathed.

Helaine stares at a charred bloom in the palm of her hand. It’s not a flower she knows; it’s small and light blue, with five petals and a yellow center.

Selene notices before Helaine ever tells her. She doesn’t say anything, just gives her a sympathetic look and leaves a bottle of the medicine on her bedside table.

Helaine is pretty sure that she thinks the flowers are for Aloth, which just makes her want to grab Selene by the shoulders and shake her like a straw doll, because for some reason her mind-reader sister doesn’t understand that the flowers are for her.

You’re doing this to me, Helaine wants to yell at her. You’re causing this because you won’t let me help you!

But all that would do is make Selene feel worse, so Helaine doesn’t say it.

She drinks her medicine. 

Funnily enough, the potion seems to help her more than it helps Selene; maybe it’s the furnace in Helaine’s throat, or maybe she just doesn’t have it as bad.

Either way, as long as she keeps drinking it, she doesn’t get flowers at all. Which is why, when she wakes up one night to a coughing fit so bad she can’t breathe, Helaine has no idea what’s happening.

She freaks out. Her brain flashes through several thought in the matter of seconds: the medicine has stopped working - the medicine hasn’t stopped working but the flowers are trying to get out - she’s been poisoned - she’s dying -

Then, suddenly, she can breathe again, and her mouth is stuffed full of flowers. She can already tell that something has changed, because these blooms are larger, with thick, velvety petals.

Helaine spits them out into her hand and examines them in the flickering light of her own hair.

She’s seen these before, she’s sure of that. But where - 

Oh gods damn it.

She knows what these are, and she knows where she’s seen them.

Admeth’s Wyrt flowers. Aloth would press them in his grimoire, to use for scroll components.

Helaine sits in her bed and stares at the gross spit-covered flowers in her hand, and for some reason there’s a lump in her throat like she’s about to cry.

Is it even possible to get flower sickness for two different things at once? Is she the first person in the universe this has ever happened to?

Would she even get these flowers if she didn’t get Selene’s first?

It’s not fair. She’s not even the troubled one - that’s Selene - so why does she have to deal with two kinds of flowers now?

No, Helaine decides. She’s not going to suffer through this.

She gets up. Rummages through her drawers for paper and ink and a quill, sits down at her desk, and starts writing.

It’s easy, she tells herself. Just think about what you’d say to Aloth if he was here right now.

She writes and writes and writes. By the time she’s done, there’s a heap of discarded drafts on the far end of her desk, and the letter she ended up with is five pages long, crammed full of words.

The words “I love you” are not in there.

She tried. Gods, she tried, but it just… it wouldn’t come out.

Is it because it’s a lie? Does she not love him, after all? Then what in Hel are the new flowers for?

As she sits there with her head in her hands, with half a mind to let a strand of her hair fall onto the letter and turn it all into ash, Helaine remembers a conversation from months ago.

Do you think something’s wrong with us?

“I don’t know,” she mutters to herself sleepily. “Maybe there is.”

She burns the drafts. She does keep the five-page letter.

The next time she prepares a dose of the medicine for herself, she drops two flowers into the clear liquid: a small blue one, and a red Admeth’s Wyrt bloom.

*

“I think it’s going to be fine,” Selene says.

She’s saying it for the second or third time, maybe; it’s kind of hard to keep track of the words coming out of her own mouth, and, really, she’s trying to convince herself more than she’s trying to convince Helaine.

In her hands is a letter: a single page filled with slightly uneven handwriting.

Hey, Watchers.

I know it’s been a while. Case you don’t remember: I’m the guy you almost fed to the dragon under your keep two years ago. It worked out though, so don’t worry about it.

Honestly I was gonna write to you sooner, but then there just wasn’t much to write about. I was just kind of on the road for a while. Figuring stuff out.

Anyway, remember Dyrford? The cult village? Turns out, we didn’t clear out all of the Skaenites from there. Was one left still. Tried to get even with me when I was passing through, but I got him first, so you’ll be happy to hear I’ve got no stones in my eyes as I write this.

That guy also happened to be the mayor though, and apparently by Dyrford rules beheading the mayor means you’re in charge of the town now. Didn’t know what to think about this for a while, but now that I’ve settled in I don’t think I mind it much.

Seems like I won’t be coming by Caed Nua for a while, so come visit if you ever get the chance. It’s been a couple months and no one else tried to kill me yet, so I’m pretty sure it’s safe now.

Hope you girls are doing alright.

Edér

“...Yeah. No. It’s - ”

“Fine?” Helaine finishes the sentence for her.

“Yeah.”

It is probably fine. The medicine is working. It shouldn’t be any different in close proximity to the person she’s keeping the secret from - it’s - 

Gods, but the way her heart jumped to her throat just from realizing who the letter was from makes her worry. The medicine is going to prevent her from choking on unsaid words, but what if she slips up and ends up saying them?

No, no, that’s not going to happen. She never felt like that when they all traveled together. Maybe seeing him again is all it takes for things to finally go back to normal.

Maybe the flowers are just because she misses him.

“So, we’re going tomorrow?” Helaine asks.

Selene blinks.

“...Already?”

Helaine shrugs:

“I mean, why wait? It’s not like we’ve got other plans.”

“I… guess that’s true.”

“Great!” Helaine grins and slaps a hand on her shoulder. “Then start packing.”

And her sister walks away, leaving Selene standing alone in her study, holding the letter still.

She glances through the written lines one more time, as if reading them again without Helaine there might reveal something new. it doesn’t.

Selene sighs, wincing a little as the air she breathes swirls leftover petals around in her lungs.

She carefully folds the letter and tucks it away in the same drawer of her desk where she keeps her medicine.

*

The first visit to Dyrford has both of them just a little on edge. Selene has her flower thing to worry about, of course, but also it’s just weird coming back when their last memory of the place is fighting through blood-splattered ruins to rescue a kidnapped woman.

The town has changed, though. The buildings look nicer; there are more people out and about than Helaine remembers, and the looks they get are mostly ones of curiosity or excitement, rather than suspicious glares.

And it is good to see Edér again. It’s not until they’re standing at his door that Helaine realizes she was so busy worrying about Selene’s condition, she forgot how much she missed her friend.

Then, the door opens. Even without looking, she can feel Selene tense up at her side.

Before her sister’s anxiety becomes her own, Helaine grins as wide as she can, and, putting on her best posh Aedyran accent (which isn’t good by any standard there is, but that’s kind of the point), proclaims:

“Greetings, good sir; we are here to see Mr. Mayor Edér Teylecg, do you perhaps know where we can find him?”

His eyes narrow a little, and by the familiar twinkle in them Helaine knows that the bit has been picked up.

“That guy? Nah, you don’t wanna talk to him. He’s probably running around doing boring stuff, like breaking up fights between farmers, or taxes. Pretending he knows how to run a town.”

Helaine decides to ham it up a little more.

“Excuse me, sir! I’ll have you know that we are the Ladies of Caed Nua, and we have traveled for days to discuss important people business with your very important mayor.”

She’s definitely starting to lose the accent, but that seems to work in her favor, because her delivery does crack him up.

“Damn,” Edér says, trying and failing to keep a straight face as a smirk begins to creep out. “Well, I can’t say no to a lady. Guess you two should come in.”

At which point Helaine’s patience runs out, and, with a delighted shriek that feels almost like a battle cry, she rushes in to hug him.

The next few days are the most fun she’s had in a while. They trade stories, catch up on everything that’s happened since they’ve last seen each other; Selene starts out quiet, but Helaine sees her ease into the familiar atmosphere as the hours go by. Eventually, she’s laughing with the two of them, and talking about her Dunryd Row work with the same pride as Edér when he tells them about the latest changes in his town.

The only way it could have been better is if the others were there also. Pallegina, Sagani, Durance - yes, even Durance - and, well… Aloth.

Some months ago, she would have tried to avoid thinking about him like that - but, since she’s already getting flowers for him, there’s not really a point to it anymore. 

After that first time, they go back to Dyrford every once in a while.

On their second visit, Selene spots a familiar face in the village square, and they spend some time catching up with Grieving Mother, who - still faceless to everyone but the two of them - has decided to return to her duties as a midwife.

On their fourth visit, Edér mentions weird movements and sounds near the ruins where the Skaenites used to hide out; a quick investigation reveals it to be an infestation of shadows, and they begin to plot out an extermination plan together. A party of three (four, if Grieving Mother feels adventurous, Helaine thinks) seems too small, but there are some Kind Wayfarers in training waiting for her back at Caed Nua, and Helaine decides that they would benefit from this kind of field trip.

Then there’s a fifth visit, a sixth, a seventh.

Months pass.

Helaine knows that Selene goes to visit by herself, every now and then; usually when she has some business in Defiance Bay, since that’s halfway to Dyrford anyway.

Every time that happens, there’s a tiny whisper of hope in the back of her mind that maybe this time it’ll happen, but then Selene comes back, and she’s still coughing up flowers.

But she seems… better. Not happy, maybe, but content - and that’s enough to make Helaine feel a little better, too.

The flowers keep coming for both of them, but overall, it’s definitely an improvement.

*

Edér catches her just as they’re about to head back to the Dracogen for the night.

He’d offered for them to stay in his house, of course, but they had to refuse; mostly for Selene’s sake. It would have been much harder for her to hide her flowers if they were all staying together.

“...Hey, Helaine?”

“Yeah?”

“I, uh, I wanna ask you something. Kind of a personal matter.”

Selene’s voice in her mind, immediately, almost overlapping with Edér’s last phrase.

Helaine? You coming?

Helaine takes a good look at her friend; he seems genuinely concerned. Whatever it is, she should definitely hear him out.

You go ahead, she thinks at Selene. I’ll catch up.

Alright. See you there.

And with that, her sister’s presence is gone.

“...Is there a lost soul floating behind me or did I say something weird?”

Right. Edér couldn’t hear their conversation.

“No, I was just letting Selene know she can leave without me,” Helaine says. “...Unless you want her here too?”

“No, there’s - there’s no need to trouble her.”

He says that almost too quickly.

That’s… Is something happening here?

“...Alright. Well, what’s the matter?” Helaine asks.

“Well, I was just wondering.” She can hear the effort in his voice as he tries to keep his tone casual. “You two have been getting up to all kinds of things in these last two years. You have your Kind Wayfarers, and you said you’ve been writing to Aloth, and Selene has her Dunryd Row people…”

“...Yeah?”

“I guess I was just wondering, uh. Do you know if she’s been… seeing... anyone?”

The second the meaning of his question gets through to her, she feels her eyes widen.

No. Way.

“Hey, what’s that look? I’m just asking.”

It takes all of her willpower not to grin, and even then, she can’t help but smile just a little.

“Nope,” Helaine says. “She hasn’t been seeing anyone. She’s as available as it gets.”

“Wait, I didn’t say - ”

“How long?” she asks.

Edér stares at her for a second.

“How long what?”

“How long have you been gearing up to ask me about this?”

It’s getting dark, but they’re both standing in the halo of light created by her hair, which gives her a great view of color rushing to his face.

“...Couple of weeks. Since last time she came by. But if I’m honest, I’ve been thinking about it longer.”

“Awww!”

“Helaine.”

“Sorry.” She’s definitely not sorry. “...Did something happen with you two?”

“No? Yeah? Not really. I was just thinking - ” he huffs out a breath and runs a hand over his face, shaking his head like he’s trying to chase something away. “Actually, I don’t know what I was thinking. I just wanted to ask.”

There’s something very familiar about the apprehension, the slight tremble of his voice even as he tries to sound confident.

It’s hope. And fear of losing that hope. Helaine knows this, because it’s the same feeling she gets from reading some of Aloth’s letters.

For a moment, she’s torn; her first thought is that she should let him figure this out on his own time.

But the memory of Selene’s rasping breaths as she coughs out more and more golden flowers is burned too firmly into her mind.

“You should tell her,” Helaine says.

Edér blinks.

“You… think so?”

“Do you trust me?” she asks.

He nods; there’s not even a second of hesitation to it.

“Then go tell her right now.”

*

There’s a knock on the door.

Selene knows that it’s not Helaine.

For one, Helaine wouldn’t knock because it’s her room too; and then there’s also the fact that she can’t hear Helaine’s mind anywhere nearby, but she can faintly hear Edér’s.

His voice comes from behind the door:

“Hey. It’s me.”

The noise of his thoughts is louder than usual, agitated by anxiety. From a quick glance - she hasn’t dared to look deeper for a while, fearing to agitate the flower sickness - it seems that nothing horrible has happened, but whatever he came to discuss is important.

Selene lets him in.

“What happened?” she asks.

The question catches him off guard for some reason; he hesitates before saying:

“Nothing. I just wanted to talk to you, is all.”

“...Oh.”

So maybe this isn’t related to what he was telling Helaine. Probably nothing dangerous happening, then.

“Well, sure,” Selene says. “Go ahead.”

It’s annoying, to have to fight her own instincts. With every word, her mind is trying to reach for his, to complete the picture by listening to whatever he’s not saying out loud, and she has to remind herself again and again not to do that.

If she does, she might hear something she’s better off not knowing.

Edér takes a deep breath; she can hear him gathering his thoughts.

“...Well, I was gonna do this differently, but… I’ve got a question for you.”

“What is it?”

Even without looking deeper, something strange is happening in his mind. There’s a feeling - a loud one - like fear, but not the kind of fear she’s used to. It’s not painful; just overwhelming, and almost impossible to parse.

For some reason, just catching the faintest trace of it makes her chest tighten with a sickening awareness of the petals scratching against the inside of her lungs.

She should take her medicine soon. But she should be fine for now; she’s been fine for this long.

Relax. Take even, shallow breaths. Try not to stir the flowers around too much.

Then, Edér asks:

“Do you think we could - do you think we would… work, together? If… If we tried.”

He’s stumbling over his own words; his thoughts are getting lost inside that all-consuming feeling, and Selene feels it, too. For a moment, they stand together in silence, both swallowed by it.

She knows what he’s asking. It’s just - it’s just that she can’t bring herself to believe he’s really saying it. This doesn’t feel like a part of reality; this feels like a manifestation of her own mind. She doesn’t know what to do with this. She doesn’t know how to check if this is real.

Somehow, their eyes meet, and she sees him do his best to smile.

“...I know this is kinda like Ondra shooting her shot at the moon, but I really do fancy you, I think. Things just feel… calmer, with you around. Like I’m right where I’m supposed to be.”

And then, all at once, it crashes down on her; the dreamlike feeling disappears, reality rushes back in, filling her ears with noise and her chest with pain.

He’s asking her. He’s asking her to - and she’ll have to say no - she has to say no, because of Ondra, because of what she’s done to them once, because of what she might do to them again - but, gods, it’s not fair - it’s not what she wants to do - but she has to - 

And then she can no longer breathe, because her lungs and throat are stuffed full of soft petals, and they pour right out when she opens her mouth but there’s so much more of them inside, and every function of her body and mind is instantly relegated to getting them out. 

Edér staring at her becomes irrelevant; everything he just said becomes irrelevant; all she can think about is breathing, as her chest spasms violently, trying to get rid of the foreign bodies inside. She coughs and retches, and barely anything comes out, and her mind fills with terror, realizing that this is it.

The medicine has run its course. There was only so much it could do. She doesn’t have enough strength left to push them out.

Then, there’s a sudden, sharp pressure over her sternum, and something moves; the flowers come up her throat, pouring out, down, and she coughs and coughs and coughs until her chest hurts and then she coughs more, until she’s on her knees dry heaving over a pile of golden flowers on the floor, and, finally, nothing more comes out.

Her entire body is shaking; her vision is blurry with tears. This is a strong contender for the worst she’s felt in her entire life.

She’s been drinking the medicine. Without it… Without it, this probably would have killed her. Even with it, it nearly did.

Oh, gods.

It’s then that she becomes aware of an arm wrapped around her waist, and a hand holding her hair back from her face. Edér is there on the floor with her, holding her.

She draws a shaky breath in, bracing herself for more flowers.

Nothing. For now.

“...Got it all out?”

She nods, and wipes her mouth with a trembling hand.

“Good.”

He lets go of her hair, then of her waist, and moves away. She kind of wishes he’d stay, but she’s not sure how to tell him.

Edér sits down next to her and gives a low whistle, nodding over to the heap of flowers. Looking at it now, it seems impossible for all of it to have fit inside of an aumaua’s body, let alone her own.

“Never took you for a gardener,” he says. “Nice flowers you’ve got there. But you know there are ways to grow them without killing yourself, right? Whoever you need to come clean to, I’d suggest you do it fast.”

He sounds the same way he did years ago, when he’d wake her and Helaine from their nightmares and jokingly threaten to dump a bucket of water on them the next time around.

And he’s right. Selene isn’t sure she can take another bout of this; she doesn’t want to find out if she can.

She tried. Gods, she tried to keep him out of this. But she doesn’t want to die for it any more than she wants to lose him.

This is the worst time and place possible, but it’s not like she has any choice left in the matter.

Selene breathes in, savoring the relief of having her lungs be truly empty for once, and says:

“I love you. I’ve loved you for a long time.”

She can feel it happen the second she finishes the sentence. Some kind of weight disappears from her chest; something she’s gotten so used to, she forgot that it was there in the first place.

She breathes out.

Before even looking, she can feel Edér’s mind stir; there’s surprise, and then there’s joy, and then dread, and then joy again, and then again dread.

“...And you’ve been getting flowers about it?”

His voice is soft, and warm, and horrified.

She nods. She can feel her hands shaking still.

“...How long?”

“It doesn’t matter,” she says.

And then she turns to him and buries her face in his shoulder and wraps her arms around him, the way she’s wanted to do for a long time.

It feels just as good as she had imagined. It feels even better when he hugs her back.

It takes her a second to realize that she’s started to cry.

The hug tightens around her, and, after a moment, she feels him bring a hand up to gently stroke her hair.

“Shhh. It’s gonna be okay. I’ve got you.”

She reaches for his thoughts, and meets no resistance. There’s nothing there that he hasn’t said out loud.

I love you, she says again, with her mind this time.

He presses a kiss to her temple.

“I love you too,” he says softly. “But you’ve got to promise me something.”

…What?

“Don’t ever go hacking up flowers about me again. I don’t care what you’re hiding, it ain’t worth it.”

Wrapped up in the warmth and comfort of someone she’s yearned for for so long, it almost feels easy to agree with this.

Almost.

I promise, she says.

*

A week after her return to Caed Nua (just hers - Selene said she’d stay in Dyrford for a little longer, and Helaine was all too happy to let her), Helaine opens her medicine drawer and finds it empty.

Selene’s flowers are gone now - there’s nothing left for Helaine to worry about, in that regard - but she’s been taking it for the Admeth’s Wyrt flowers, still.

She’d run out of the potion now, though, and she’ll only be able to make more once she coughs up more flowers to use for ingredients.

The only thing that’s left is to wait.

The same day, a new letter arrives. It’s the first one in a while; Helaine doesn’t want to admit this to herself, but she was starting to worry that something had happened.

Aloth’s and Iselmyr’s alternating handwriting is long familiar and comforting by now.

Helaine,

I apologize for the long silence. The last time I wrote to you, I was journeying through the Old Vailian countryside, certain that I had tracked down a rogue cell of the Leaden Key.

However, I was unfortunately mistaken. Not in thinking that I had uncovered the machinations of an old and secretive order - that much was true - but merely in attributing those machination to the Leaden Key.

The Darcozzi Paladini are nothing like what you told me of the Kind Wayfarers; perhaps Pallegina’s description of her order matches them better, but even that does not account for the thousands of years of scheming and manipulation this order is laced with. They are not my quarry, but by the time I realized that, I had become closer acquainted with their affairs than both myself and the Darcozzi family would have liked.

Nearly got our head lopped clean off, ye dimwit

I was successful in escaping from them - not in the least thanks to Iselmyr, I must say -

Aye to that!

however, I was then forced to lay low and withhold my letters for some time. My sincere apologies for that.

The letter goes on for much longer, but Helaine has to pause there and laugh.

…This sounds like fun. Well. It sounds like mortal peril, but gods, she would have loved to be there getting up in the Darcozzi’s face with Aloth and Iselmyr.

Then, her eyes fall onto the next words.

It is in times like this that I truly miss our adventures together.

“Aw, Aloth, I just said that!”

There’s no one there to hear her, but that’s probably for the best, because it means that there’s also no one there to see her smile like an idiot as she talks to a piece of paper.

When I begin to doubt myself, I remember the things we have accomplished, and know that I must have something to show for myself the next time we cross paths - whenever that may be.

When I meet your Kind Wayfarer apprentices, in a way, I feel as though I meet you again. They carry your conviction, your skill of survival and your compassion - the same compassion you have shown me, and I am certain you show to others every day.

I do hope that you are well and your affairs are successful.

“Aww,” Helaine says to the letter again, softly this time. “...I love you too.”

And by the time she realizes what just happened, it’s too late: the words have already left her mouth.

Her throat catches, but, at the same time, there is a heaviness dissipating in her chest, like a knot coming untangled.

“I - ”

She tries to say it again, and can’t. But it doesn’t matter.

She doesn’t cough up any more flowers after that.

[ltwilliammowett]

Division of space on a mid 17th century East Indiaman

A. Hold:

A1. Small locker at stern post (helletje achterin): storeroom for ship's ammunition (cannon balls and musket shot).

A2. Powder room and bread rooms: the powder room provided storage for the gunpowder, packed in small barrels. It was located in a safe place between the bread rooms, below the waterline. Bread was not stored with other provisions in the hold, but in a special dry room. This space was lined with tin-plates. The bread rooms on either side of the powder room offered extra protection.

A3. Main hold: the primary place for storage of cargo and equipment. Special planking and enclosures were constructed for vulnerable items or goods with a strong smell which could affect other products. Dunnage was used to secure chests and barrels in the hold. In the bow and stern, areas were allocated for special storage and workshops. Ballast was placed on the bottom of the hold, and separated from the cargo and provisions by planking. In a 17th century East Indiaman, water barrels were placed amidships.

A4. Cable locker & sail room: anchor-cable comes through a hatch in the orlop deck, and is coiled on a cable tier in the cable locker. Storerooms for spare sails with wide sliding-doors are located to either side of the cable locker. Spare sails and stocks of sail-cloth were stored here. This space could also be used for housing soldiers.

A5. Locker in the bow at stem post (the hell): the confined space in the bow of the ship was called the hell. It was uncomfortable, due to extreme movements in this part of the ship and the noise of breaking water on the bow. The boatswain and his mate used this space as a maintenance workshop. Spare parts and spare rope for the rigging were stored here.

B. Orlop deck: main work platform and accommodation for most of the crew. Most of the gun ports were on this deck. Ventilation and light also came through grates to the deck above.

B1. constable's room: the constable took care of the guns, weapons and related equipment, and tools. This room was quarters and workshop for the constable and his assistant, and also a weapons store.

B2. orlop behind the main mast: quarters and workplace for the petty officers.

B3. surgeon/barber's cabin.

B4. sick-bay (sick-berth).

B5. steward's room: on the starboard side, where the steward managed the meals. Food was given to the cook and beverage distributed to the mess boys, according to strict rules.

B6. galley: a brick fire place with an installation to hold cooking pots and to grill food.

B7. orlop in front of the main mast: accommodation for sailors and soldiers.

B8. carpenter's cabin.

B9. boatswain's room.

C. Upper deck: the upper deck had an open section in the middle - the waist.

C1. cabin: a spacious room for people of high rank, divided into meeting/eating and sleeping space. Comfort was similar to that of a house ashore, and the decoration and ornaments were impressive.

C2. steering place: for the helmsman at the whipstaff.

C3. room under half deck: various functions - eg workshops, or temporary cabins for passengers.

C4. waist: recreation place for the crew, and storage space when at sea; the smith and cooper also worked in this area.

C5. room under the forecastle: shelter and recreation area for crew.

C6. beak head: work platform and crew latrines.

D. Superstructure: officers' cabins were on this deck. From the open deck, 'behind the mast', they could supervise the crew.

D1. upper cabins.

D2. quarter deck.

D3. forecastle deck: work platform and recreation area for the crew (smoking allowed here)

E. Poop deck:

E1. small upper cabin or hen coop: for the trumpeter and drummer or used for chickens.

E2. poop deck.

[thestudentfarmer]

Repost with a pic from this mornings feeding

They are loving the lentil sprouts!

Have a great day:)

Hello and Good day!

Today I got to move the chicks from the grow out pen into the run 🐣🐥🐔 thought I'd share their journey so far :)

We chose to purchase chicks, rather than hatch as we don't currently have a rooster. To be perfectly honest, I'd like to test out with eggs from another source to be sure I know how to incubate properly before getting into that venture. (Though selling or trading chicks with the neighbours would be fun someday!)

They get put in a large tub, with a chick waterer on stone and wood shaving bedding. I leave the box they came home in the tub for shade from the heat lamp. They are so stinking small at this time and cuuute!

Later when they got bigger we upgraded to what we call the grow out pen. It used to be a trellis for one of the raised bed but got repurposed along with a few other things. No sense in wasting perfectly good material.

I started switching to grain and seed feed around 6 weeks of age. Mixing 50/50 chicken feed grain till the last bagw as empty. I also started sharing kitchen and garden scraps around this time. Mostly leafy greens and occasional bread slices.

They are always up and going! Even around 2 am lol

Today's moving day! Their a little skittish still when I snapped this photo and I expect they will continue to be for a few days yet as I try to remain fairly hands free for them. I'll probably move the lamp in tonight, but after awhile more, ill be removing it entirely. Tomorrow I'll be giving them a half tray of fresh lentil sprouts as a treat and they'll be getting some garden clean up too :)

That's it for now :)

🐣🐔Happy Homesteading!🐔🐣

12 29 2023

[libertyreads]

October 2024 TBR--

We are getting so into spooky season this year with some spooky reads. I'm super excited about a couple of these books, but, also, the last book that I've had on my physical TBR since before January 1st of this year will be read this month. Everything else on my physical TBR is something I've purchased this year which is amazing to me. Let's get to the spooky reads.

Graveyard Shift by M.L. Rio (New Release)-- This might be the book I'm most excited to read. We follow five people who cross paths as they work the late shift: a bartender, a rideshare driver, a hotel receptionist, the steward of the derelict church that looms over them, and the editor-in-chief of the college paper. One night they discover a hole in the churchyard that wasn't there before. Who dug this fresh, open grave? And for whom? These five people try to get the answer to this mystery.

The Enforcer by Avery Keelan (Kindle)-- My next hockey romance! This one follows Lakeside U hockey superstar Nash Richards and the girl whose heart he broke. She's forced to work with him all semester long and has to work not to fall for his charms a second time.

Dreadful by Caitlin Rozakis-- From GoodReads: "It's bad enough waking up in a half-destroyed evil wizard's workshop with no eyebrows, no memories, and no idea how long you have before the Dread Lord Whomever shows up to murder you horribly and then turn your skull into a goblet or something. It's a lot worse when you realize that Dread Lord Whomever is...you." When I was standing in the middle of a bookstore reading this synopsis, I had so much hope that this would give me Assistant to the Villain Vibes. Let's hope it does.

Midnight at the Houdini by Delilah S. Dawson-- Anna, a diligent stage manager, has grown up in glitzy Las Vegas with her older sister Emily, but when Emily reveals a startling betrayal, Anna flees in the middle of a raging storm. She takes shelter in a boutique establishment she's never seen before: The Houdini. She discovers a magic hotel and a magical boy. When the clock strikes midnight, Anna will be trapped in the Houdini forever unless she can make an impossible escape.

The Dare by Natasha Preston-- Senior pranks are just beginning for Marley and her friends who egg houses, set chickens free on the quad, and fill the principal's office with glitter-filled balloons. But Marley's friend Jesse accepts a dare to drive a ten-mile stretch of winding road that's notorious for car wrecks called danger alley with no headlights. Now four friends are bound by a tragic accident and a dark secret that threatens their bright futures.

Mockingjay by Suzanne Collins-- The final book of my Hunger Games reread. In this one, Katniss has become the heart of the rebellion, but being a hero is hard when you also have PTSD. Things between the President and the Mockingjay come to a head in this finale.

Nightmares! by Jason Segel and Kirsten Miller-- Charlie Laird has several problems: his dad married a woman he's sure is a witch, he had to move into a purple mansion, and he can't remember the last time sleeping wasn't a nightmarish prospect. Nightmares can ruin a good night's sleep, but them slipping out of your dreams and into the waking world is worse.

Certain Dark Things by Silvia Moreno-Garcia-- Domingo, a lonely garbage-collecting street kid, is just trying to survive in the heavily policed streets of Mexico City when a jaded vampire on the run swoops into his life. Atl, is smart, beautiful, and dangerous. Domingo is mesmerized. Atl needs to quickly escape the city, but her plan doesn't include Domingo. Little by little, Atl finds herself warming up to the scrappy young man and his undeniable charm.

I'm so excited about so many of my reads for the month of October. My Christmas love will get put on hold while we dive into all things creepy and scary.

[idontshitpostbuttheolympicpark]

a game of don't-get-out-of-your-car-we're-petitioning-to-the-stewards chicken

[townsenddecades]

1320 – Day 1 – Townsend Farm

The weather is brightening, which for the Townsends means that the third decade of the 14th century starts with work on the field. They have lost enough time to adverse weather; if they want to have a crop at the end of the season, they will really need to work for it.

And they do. Benjamin and the older set of twins all throw themselves into exertions on the field the moment the sun rises, while Benedict does his carpentry and Gregory helps out with tending to the beehives.

They will have to wait until harvesttime to see if their efforts on the field will pay off, but in the meantime, Benedict’s work continues to bring in enough money to tide them over – and even more than that, enough to rebuild a bit. They re-construct one of their chicken coops and buy some new chickens, now that they aren’t so horrendously expensive as they had been for the past few years.

Amye immediately takes a liking to the new feathered residents of the farm and could spend hours watching them and talking at them – or to them, as she’d put it. It’s quite funny to see for the adults. Malcolm, meanwhile, finds he enjoys working the field, backbreaking as it is.

Slowly but surely, things are getting better. Not just for them, but for their neighbours, too.

While the menfolk and her older children are busy tending to the farm, Malika is looking after the younger set of twins. Frank and Adeline both continue to be healthy, which is a huge relief for her after the fates of her previous two infants. Sleepless nights are a small price to pay for that.

On the rare occasions that they have time to sit down and eat together, Benjamin, Benedict and Malika convene to discuss their plans, still a bit wary lest some new disaster might strike, but hopeful.

WATCHER’S NEWS:

For the Dudleys, the year begins with a marriage as Lady Gwendolen, youngest sister of the earl, marries Arnulf Penrith, the young Earl of Windermere. She has thus become the Countess of Windermere.

For the Pelhams, it begins with death. Lord Elbenhawke has unexpectedly died in his sleep, only a few years after the death of his son, which leaves his grandson, Richard, as the new Baron Elbenhawke at only six. Until he is of age, the lands will be administered by a steward.

Prev: Recap 1310 - 1319 <--> Next: 1320, Day 1, Part 2/2

[nathaniacolver]

need to live tweet my playing of totk but don't wanna be annoying on my irl so i'll just do it here. this is the first bit:

BEWARE: TOTK SPOILERS BELOW

"i know i'll be ok with you link" okay they are IN LOVE

WHERE IS LINK IN THE CUTSCENE. THEY HAVE TO SHOW HIM IN THE NEXT 10 SECONDS OR I WILL FRET

ZONAI????!!?!!?!??!?!?! (Listen i forgot the gameplay trailer)

me walking at a respectable pace as to not leave zelda's side

BABE THERE'S TOO MUCH MALICE HERE WHY ARE WE STILL GOING

just talked to zelda and she was like "i'm so excited!!!!" GIRL DO YOU NOT HAVE AN OUNCE OF SELF-PRESERVATION

swinging the sword swinging the sword

WAIT WHY DO I HAVE 30 HEARTS WHYYYYYYY DO I HAVE 30 HEARTS

THEY JUST ADDED AN INSTRUMENT OR TWO OH FRICK AND IT'S GETTING LOUDER oh i already love the sound engineering

GLOWY SPIRAL????

DON'T PICK UP THE TEAR BABY oh frick oh frick

OH THAT'S WHY I HAD 30. FOR THE DRAMA

CAN'T LOOK AT MY TYPING I'M WATCHING THE CHTSCENE

OH FRICK IT JUST SHATTERED OH FRICK

gamer lean on x games mode rn

mans said screw it i'm out. fly you fools

BRO I WAS TYPING THE ABOVE WHEN HE LUNGED AND I GOT SO NERVOUS THAT I'D HAVE TO FIGHT FJSKDKJSJDAHHDLADG THE JOYCONS ARE FLOPPING AROUNS ON MY ARMS

THAT TEAR BETTER PROTECT HER I HOPE THAT'S WHAT THAT GLOWY YELLOW WAS

BRO WHAT. THE BLUE GLOWING IS GOOD. this is so anakin skywalker of him btw

baby don't you worry i'm gonna make link level up so fast so he can come and get you

oop naked link again AND HIS SHORTS ARE SHORTER????

nice mani link

A MAN'S VOICE???????? WHO IS IT WHY DOES EVERYONE KNOW THEIR NAMES

okay so The Voice just gives him an arm. okay

the malice or whatever stopping just at the triforce is Symbolic, i think

is it really a master sword or is it a master Dagger

i rly be taking screenshots of everything like i'm a tourist

okay green hand thing go off!!! oop give it a high five and it turns blue and goes behind you as a save point

*taking notes* okay cogs are cogging.......gears are gearing..........

now why the frick did it have me dive like that. what was The Reason

i Forgor that link can tread water indefinitely. swimming king

not me searching every nook and cranny like there's gonna be secrets in this Cave

PANTS!!!!!!!!!!!!!! ARCHAIC PANTS!!!!!!!!!!!!!

wait i put them on and now he looks like a gladiator.......cardboard skirt & Jesus sandals........ok shirtless king

oop just noticed his hair animations & the layers are CRAZY but it lookin good

wait so they was underground......and now in the sky...................i have Theories

they said aerial view shot once again but i mean AERIAL

ope no climbing, you're already too high in the sky

the lighting looks SO GOOD!

it's so silent up here i love it.

the MUSIC AHHHH

WAIT EVERYTHING'S AN ISLAND???? OH WE WAY THE FRICK UP IN THE SKY LINK. HOW CAN YOU BREATHE THAT THIN AIR

this game is making me fall In Love. with Silence

TREE BRANCH YES THE WORLD IS HEALING

apples. i could Cry

is that a broom?????

wait so the soldiers are bad and the stewards are good. it's just like real life!

why do i have the feeling that this is a /different/ princess zelda that left this to him.......oh nvm it's just the purah pad. what happened to the sheikah slate???

is link gonna look at pics on it and get emo

wait so. garden of time (ok Christianity reference). so zelda has lived through some trash already and is like poor link in the past. let's give him this

aw it's lonely :(

YES WE'RE GETTING ZELDA RIGHT AWAY I COULD CRY

ooh the purah pad looks slick (i'm so sorry but why does that sound like a tampon brand LIKEEEEE)

high five!!! oh wait high fives have OTHER FUNCTIONS???!?!

now why did the bridge have to do all that fancy stuff. (ik it's for stability or whatever don't @ me engineers)l

just smashed some pots. link's Primeval Urge

ok so linear path for Diving. got it.

that's a hot-footed frog.......................i could cry. i AM crying

picked up a rock. now i just have to see some Chickens

there are Grates in the ground and you can peek below. idk why i like that so much.

i am hunting these ostriches like i might die

THAT GUY SNUCK UP ON ME SO SILENTLY. I DECIDED I HATE FLOATING MACHINE ENEMIES (don't worry i was fine)

why did i try to light a frog on fire

[alexiusgoesrogue]

Status Update: Saying Goodbye, Wellington Airport and sitting behind Business Class

I already knew Wellington had grown on me for the short time I had been there. I knew leaving the city and Bee would be hard for me. I expected to cry when we said our goodbyes a few metres away from his bus.

I didn’t expect to be crying a second time during takeoff. I guess I have no choice but to return to New Zealand someday, but for a much longer time.

Putting the emotional part aside now though, things are going well so far. Our extremely early arrival at the airport had me waiting at the gate for quite a while. Which gave me some time to try something new, Bluebird Chips in chicken flavour (review at the bottom).

My ticket said my gate would be 48. But due to technical difficulties with the plane headed for Melbourne, my gate was switched literally last minute to the gate right next to it. And although boarding went by pretty smoothly, we had to wait for a handful more passengers (pilots and stewardesses from the Melbourne flight), which led to a total delay of 45 minutes until we finally rolled off onto the runway. Takeoff was 5:09pm, so almost exactly an hour later than originally planned. If I didn’t have such a long layover in Sydney, this would’ve stressed me. And again, I was served a warm meal during the flight.

It was also an interesting experience to sit right behind the business class section. I got to see the extravagant meals and drinks they were served, and also for the first time, a steward in their own seat during takeoff. It wasn’t much, but interesting nonetheless.

Sydney airport seems like a very pleasant place so far. The vast emptiness I was subjected to at first confused me, but I found the TSA zone very quickly. Also a very pleasant thing I noted was the presence of a gender neutral bathroom. It was not hidden, in fact it’s the first bathroom you see when going down the hallway. And it wasn’t a single room either, such as with the disabled bathrooms. No, it was a proper washroom with several stalls and sinks. Never did I think I’d find encounter something like this myself. It made me feel safe and seen, despite literally nobody even giving a single shit (pun not intended).

(Picture below for proof as well as a very happy Alex because why not.)

Food Ranking:

Bluebird chicken chips: 5/5, it’s exactly the flavour I’ve been craving as a kid when I ate the chicken broth powder

Bolognese: 4/5, not overly spiced, but also not as boring as the horrible white people chicken from those TikTok memes. Generally just a decent warm meal for a (comparatively) short flight

Crackers and Cheese: 4/5, at first I thought the cheese slices would be too thick for the size of the crackers. But oh was I wrong. I felt as if the balance of the (deliciously salted) cracker and cheese worked almost perfectly. The cheese does trump in flavour by the end though, therefore not a perfect score for me