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Bathing during the Middle Ages (yes people did bathe regularly during the middle ages)

Medieval people were filthy dirty stinky people who didn't bathe. At least that's would the modern film industry has led people to believe. However this is far from the truth as Medieval people, like people today, did not enjoy being stinky and dirty. While people in the Middle Ages may not have the same standards of cleanliness as we do today as they lacked modern technologies such as running water with hot water heaters and showers. Well there were many towns and cities with plumbing and running water in the Middle Ages but not anywhere near on par with modern water technology (a post I shall do in the future). Regardless, bodily hygiene was important to stay clean, not get infested with lice, and prevent disease (while they didn't have any notion of germ theory, people did have a basic understanding that filth can cause disease).

For people who lacked running water, which would have been most people, the most common way to stay clean was by simple "sponge bathing" using a basin of water or wooden tub. This was done on a daily basis, often twice a day if you worked in a trade that would cause you to get dirty, such as a farm laborer. In addition, etiquette required that people wash their hands and face before meals.

When it came to having a real bath, any local water source such as a river, lake, or pond might do but one had to be careful as such water sources could be contaminated. A good, proper hot water bath was typically done around once a week. If you were a noble most likely you would have your own private bath with servants to draw up hot water and attend your every need. For everyone else you had two options; the public bathhouses and the charity bathhouses. Public bathhouses were for profit businesses. They could be old Roman baths that were still in operation or perhaps restored into operation with heated pools, they could be newly built buildings constructed for that purpose with heated pools, they could be simple buildings with small individual tubs, and in small towns and villages they could be something as simple as a set of large tents by a river. For Medieval people's bathing at a public bathhouse was more than just an act of hygiene, it was a social event where one went to catch up on the latest gossip, play games, and socialize with the community.

Public bath's also offered more services than just hot water, soap (which was common in the Middle Ages), and a tub, but would also serve beverages, food, possibly even entertainment. It was not uncommon for bakers to contract with the bathhouses, using the furnaces which heated bathwater to also bake yummy treats to sell to the bathers. In the late Middle Ages prostitution also became common in the public baths, and while illegal, bathhouses owners often skirted the rules, resulting in a reputation of bathhouses being houses of sin and debauchery.

BTW, soap did exist then, originally brought to Europe from Asia. It was mentioned in the Roman Empire in the 2nd century, and by the 6th century guilds were established in Italy for soup producers. By 9th-10th century soap was all over Europe. The most popular soaps were from Spain and Italy, especially Castile soap. Soap is easy to make and the materials were very common at the time, so if you couldn't afford it, often it could be made at home. Seriously soap is really easy to make, I did it back in 7th grade science class. There are numerous recipes online. In addition to soap, various herbs and spices could be used to ad fragrance to water and bathing oils. If you didn't have soap, for everyday use wood ash could be used to wash hands of heavy duty grease, as demonstrated by Modern History TV.

Charity bathhouses were often operated by the Church and were attached to monasteries or the local church building. While they served the monks or nuns of a monastery, they were open to the public free of charge so that even the poorest had the ability to bathe and keep clean. Church run bathhouses lacked the amenities of public bathhouses, but had everything needed to get the job done. In addition, church bathhouses were segregated by sex so that people would not, you know...

The Church also tended to operate baths at pilgrimage sites, since after traveling many miles, probably on foot unless you were a noble, across a dusty or muddy highway, you will probably need a good bath.

In the late Middle Ages into the 16th century bathing declined for a few reasons. First, medical theory began to shift claiming that bathing was bad for health, causing the skin's pores to open which let in disease. Second, remember when I mentioned the prostitutes? By the 16th century many public bathhouses had essentially become full blown brothels, resulting in respectable people avoiding them and many towns and cities banning them outright. Finally, after the Great Plague the populations of towns and cities began to skyrocket to the point that in the 16th century municipal sewage and water systems were over-stressed. This resulted in local water supplies becoming contaminated, and as a result fresh water became a precious commodity. Instead of bathing, people found water free ways to bathe such as smoke baths, sweat baths, and frequent changing of undergarments. Bathing wouldn't come back into popularity until the 18th century and especially the 19th century with the development of modern plumbing.

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I have a bad memory, what’s the convention between wicked villains hades and dark olympus hades?

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Did rqg ever address the fact that there’s a lot of ableism early on in the podcast? Especially from James Ross. Like I get that Ben made zolf have a peg leg for diversity reasons but I feel that given how often they make fun of zolf for it, it isn’t great. I also get that the biggest chunk of it that bothers me came out in 2015 but just curious

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I finally managed to write a korean drama recommendation list!! Under the cut below, I added a description of the dramas along with a short comment on what I thought about it. If you like my recommendation list, please like and/or reblog. it means a lot ♡

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Hi have you read any good Joe/Nicky fics? Could you rec me something good?? Thank you

Hi anon, I have read MANY good Joe/Nicky fics, or at least fics I have enjoyed! I am not entirely certain why you have come to me with this, I am after all just a humble fanartist who rambles a lot, BUT I am nothing if not opinionated so I will happily provide :D

While We're Young 

by Hyb @h-yb,(pretty sure this is the correct tumblr, let me know if not) 2k words

He knows what Genoa does to Nicky. M rated

Nicky and Joe visit Genoa in the modern-day, post-canon. This one is one of my favourites. It is sweet and introspective and beautifully, poetically written. When I’m looking for a fic of these two, unless it’s an AU of some sort I just really want something that makes me feel their age, the depth of their love, how incredible and breathtaking it all is and this one definitely does all of that. I don’t have smarter words here, just read and bask in the beauty of it all. Mild sexual content but it’s not very explicit. 

Salt and Harvest

by hollybennett123, 3k words, M rated

The making and the breaking of bread, throughout the centuries.

The first time Nicky bakes bread for them to share — thick, rounded puffs of aish baladi, prepared with the utmost concentration and care — the sun has begun to set in Cairo, staining the sky the same vivid colour as the tangerines that grow ripe and heavy on the trees outside their door.

A very fun and sweet look at how Joe and Nicky live through the centuries, as demonstrated by different moments of Nicky baking bread. I think the characterization is spot on and I think again you really feel how long they have lived and loved and just the act of baking bread for someone you love... I love that as a concept. Has some sexual content also, again not super explicit, but just a heads up. 

As an Ancient City

stonecarved (figure8) or @lgbtmazight, 2k words, M rated

This is a language no one else in the world is fluent in: the glint in Nicky’s eye, the unbearable gentleness with which he pushes Yusuf flat against the bed.

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Joe and Nicky, from 1099 to 2019, through continents and dialects.

This one again is a collection of different moments through the centuries, but this time the angle is the languages they speak. yes, I might have a favourite type of fic for them lol. This one is very good however just both as writing in general and as fic of them specifically.  I feel like this too captures the characters and their dynamic as well as their age and complexity really well. And this one also has implied sexual content.  

When The Cherries White With Blossoms, Be Ready & Be Brave

by chapstickaddict, 17,5k words, E rated

“What are you doing?” he mouthed into Nicky’s thigh.

“Watching you sleep.”

“What else are you doing?”

“Rewriting King Lear,” Nicky said. His voice was plagued with distraction. Joe pulled himself up enough to see the page; Act II ran red with slashed words. His lover’s eyes were the color of the sky just before a tornado touched down.

This one is post canon and deals directly with the aftermath of the movie. Nicky is troubled by bookers betrayal and worried his and Joe’s intimacy is going to push Nile away like it did with Booker. Joe is worried about Nicky worrying about that and Joe is worried about Andy being mortal but not dealing with it very well. This fic is Joe’s pov and I think it explores his relationship with Andy in a really interesting way as well as how Nile fits into their lives and into the team post-movie. I like how their chemistry is written and I really like the Joe worrying about Andy angle, I feel like there isn’t enough of that in the fandom so far. This one has multiple explicit sex scenes however so that’s something to be aware of, kids don’t click on it. 

Brother of My Heart

by, AphroditesTummyRolls, 6k, Not rated

Joe didn’t think about the World Cup or Lord of the Rings as they pulled up the long gravel path to their destination. He didn’t even register his first sighting of the windswept cottage in Scarborough. He didn’t remember parking the car. He barely acknowledged anything outside of Nicky, opening the door, wrapping a warm, grounding hand around his and leading them up to the house. Joe was more tired than he had ever been, he was convinced of it. All 953 years, he’d never been this exhausted, this broken, this hurt.

The weathered old door closed behind the lot of them, and Joe heard Andy’s long, tired sigh as she flicked on the light. Nile dragged her feet to the kitchen counter and leaned heavily against it, running her bloody hands down her face. Nicky had done his best to pick the glass out of her braids, but she still looked… well, she looked like she’d jumped out of a penthouse window.

She was going to be good for the team. She wouldn’t be like…

Booker hovered halfway between Andy and the door, as if he didn’t know if he was supposed to be there. Joe watched him, his brother, standing there with that haunted look in his eye, and it lanced through him like a blade.

This one is also post-movie and dealing with the fallout, though this is much more about Booker and his actions. Definitely not very kind to Booker this one but it’s justified. I liked that Nicky gets the furious anger moment with Booker for hurting Yusuf and I like that Yusuf gets to cry and also be comforted by his loving husband who would fight the world to keep him safe. Everyone hug joe 2020. No sexual themes in this one so everyone go ahead freely lol. 

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There are a lot more recs I could have put here and can share further if you or anyone else still interested! I don’t think I’ve ever actually written a ficred list before, feels good! If any of the authors who are here and not tagged are on tumblr and want to be tagged please message me i don’t know who you are! Also if I did something wrong let me know and there are some genres of fics that I purposefully did not add here like pwp stuff or aus but I guess drop me a line if you’re interested in those also

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All-in-all, a pretty unfair competition. My website – My Instagram – See me on Webtoon!

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Here’s the short comic project I did as my college final! There were some bumps due to everything, but I’m glad it’s done! Please enjoy!

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Again I love to talk shit on Catholicism but the lore.... the specificity.....

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The Twilight Saga: Eclipse (2010) dir. David Slade

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One detail you could always expect to see in Queen albums was the “no synthesizers” thing but in Roger’s Fun in Space album you can find “157 synthesizers” in the notes

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Yozora’s significance

Yozora isn’t a product of spite, he’s a big fat hint. His appearance strongly resembles Riku’s but he also has qualities reminiscent of Sora (“night sky”, blue and red heterochromia iridium, wields a crossbow, Sora wearing his clothes and being mistaken for him in Toy Box). He’s a fuckin enigma.

When Yozora is first shown, it’s in the commercial. It’s short, but we can gather from it that he, with the help of 2 party members, is desperately trying to rescue a female character, who must be his love interest.

Verum Rex means true king, and let’s assume this refers to Yozora. His resemblance to Riku is a clue to Riku’s destiny, and he was introduced for the purpose of drawing parallels. I believe Riku’s scenario in the secret ending is happening within Sora’s dreams, like DDD, and Sora is dreaming of Yozora. An indirect way of saying that Sora is dreaming about Riku.

I think Sora being mistaken for Yozora is evidence of my theory that Sora’s heart was made directly from Riku’s (making them something akin to soul mates), and their connection is something fundamental and fated.

“That’s the story of the King of Truth. Reclaim your heart."—Verum Rex Tagline

I’ve mentioned previously that I believe the crown does not really represent Sora. The only reason we instinctively tie them together is because Sora was wearing that crown necklace when we played KH1. I believe the crown represents Riku. The true symbol that represents Sora is the heart we see in the game logo and loading screens.

So when the tagline says reclaim your heart, this is referencing Riku going after Sora in the secret ending after he is dragged to the abyss. I think this will go pretty much identically to the commercial. I think basically all of Toy Box was foreshadowing to the secret ending. Yozora being there at all links the two already, so you can bet there are more connections.

I said this before, and I might be crazy. But I find Yozora’s female love interest looks identical to Sora, just like, animated more realistically.

Those lips tho.

This woman is clearly Yozora’s "important person”, just as Sora is Riku’s. This was meant to be seen in the context of Riku and Sora but is obscured by the fact that, since she is a woman, you wouldn’t immediately link the two. I know I didn’t, I figured she must have represented Kairi. But following the patterns of the games as a whole I don’t think this is the case. Plus its pretty obvious who Riku wanted to protect the most.

The tagline refers to Yozora as the King of Truth. Riku’s combined keyblade Reality Shift is called Mirage Split, and a mirage is something false, a lie (so, cutting through lies).

When Aqua meets Sora and Riku in DDD she compares Riku to Terra, specifically saying about Riku:

sincere - free from pretense or deceit; proceeding from genuine feelings.

Riku is the King of Truth, and the true king of Sora’s heart. Which is why every single game logo has included the image of the heart topped with a crown.

Because KH is the story of the true king reclaiming his heart, and vice versa. It’s Sora and Riku’s story.

Yozora means night sky, and right after night comes the Dawn.

No matter the time –We’ll always be together

No matter when –You’re always by my side

A light called “you” finds me, in the middle of the night

The light called “you” reflects my scenario

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I am genuinely sorry to bother you with this, but I am hoping you can help settle what is becoming a very unpleasant multi-fandom argument-is Crowley canonically gay? Some people feel he is, some people feel he may be bi/pan, but there is quite a lot of nastiness floating around Tumblr aimed at people who wish to write fan fic about Crowley having romantic interest in people other than Aziraphale. Any insight you could offer into these characters would be much appreciated. You're a treasure.

I suspect that I’m about to step into something I would be wisest to keep well away from. But what the hell, it’s that time between Christmas and New Year’s. And nobody’s yelled at me over the internet since I said that the TV Aziraphale doesn’t use a cell phone. *

Canonically, which is to say using the text in the book, you don’t get any description of Crowley’s sex life. The only thing the book says is “angels are sexless unless they specifically make an effort”.  You can infer, and (more to the point) you can imagine, and lots of people have chosen, not unreasonably, to ship him with Aziraphale, but you are still Making Stuff Up. It could be Making Stuff Up that happens between paragraphs, or Making Stuff Up that isn’t mentioned at all, but it’s still Making Stuff Up.** (And using the kind of eagle-eyed textual analysis that Bible scholars used to decide exactly what a piece of four thousand year old verse definitely meant also counts here as Making Stuff Up.)

Which is the fun of fanfiction, and part of the tradition of fanfiction. As is, I’m afraid, grumbling at people who do not see that your ship is the only true ship, and choose to ship anyone else with anyone else.

If anyone decides that The Relationships in Their Fanfiction Are the Only True Fanfiction, it seems to me they are missing the point. The point is Fanfiction exists so that you can imagine, enjoy and fill in the gaps. The point is that you can change things and have fun with them. And the stories are absolutely true… for you.

The TV series gets deeper into Crowley and Aziraphale’s relationship. It’ll be canonical for the TV series, and not canonical for the book.*** 

If I were to Pronounce on things that are not explicitly stated in the book, I still wouldn’t be telling you if Crowley was Canonically Gay. I would be telling you what I think, because it’s not canon unless it’s in the book. It won’t be TV canon unless it’s on the screen.

So, do not worry what other people think, and do not worry about what they say. These are not things on which people can be right or wrong, or on which anything can be “settled”. 

Make fun fanfiction. Enjoy yourself. Make things up. Share them. That’s the point.

*People would only bother him on it. And if anyone gave him one as a present, it would be still be in its box, on the same shelf as the still-unboxed Kindle.

**Which was what Terry and I did when we wrote the book. And what I had to do for the TV scripts when I needed to take the story into places the book hadn’t covered.

***They don’t contradict each other, but there is territory covered by the TV series that isn’t covered by the book, particularly about Crowley and Aziraphale in bygone years. Also the Present Day in the book is probably the early 1990s, and the Present Day in the TV series is 2019ish, although 11 years ago in the book wasn’t particularly 1978, and 11 years ago on TV is post-ubiquitous cellphones but pre-smartphones.

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catch me outside with another trc fanvid…

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Netflix Stars React to Dancing Birds, posted by Netflix on Youtube.

Includes Robert Sheehan, Ellen Page, Cameron Britton, and others.

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My girl spoke nothing but fucking TRUTH. Now that’s this kind of Women we need our girls to look up too.

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Specific and incredible prompt from Sam that goes: 

Andreil in a rock band setting – tattoos, harsh lighting, calloused fingers, Andrew’s sweaty arms, Neil’s striking blue eyes, someone’s excellent voice, an uncomfortable undercurrent of drug abuse.

Neil meets the monsters two years after he sinks his mother’s bones into the sea, when his life is finally drooping in its stranglehold.

They roll onto the stage like a thundercloud, like a giant turning in its sleep, and they don’t banter before they play, they drink with one hand and play with the other. The drummer taps on the bass drum pedal constantly, an unerring heartbeat. His blond hair is green under the stage lights. 

There are two mediocre guitarists and a wicked bass player with the fingers taped up on his left hand, and they pass the vocal line between everyone like they’re trying to find its rightful owner. They handle the melody like its hurting them.

When Neil peers up at them from rock bottom, hands searching strangers’ pockets and mind jammed at the foot of the stage, he feels like he’s seen them before.

He had graduated from Millport and never showed up to collect his diploma, walked out into the stadium and practiced on his own until his hands chapped bloody and the rainwater ate through his t-shirt. He’d bared his teeth at the dark open goal and known he’d never play again.

He started to split between states and people, surfacing for air less and less. He didn’t have school or exy anymore so he started looking for something else to distract him. 

He bleached his hair raw and pierced his septum and painted his face into different shapes and felt the farthest away from his father that he’d ever felt. Everything was easy and blind in the bathrooms of clubs and in the middle of storms of smoke and ghoulish bleached light in parking lots.

When he stopped following his mother’s rules and still went un-caught, his old fear pulled away from his bones. He stopped feeling like he belonged to anything at all. He ripped away the armour his mother had put on him, her nails pricking his chin to force it up, sanding his edges off so that he was smooth and mangled and disguised in blood and war paint.

He stops running and starts feeling like the bleary, shimmering heat a jet leaves behind, like he’s had a fever for as long as he can remember but his pulse is too tired to race. 

He starts to fight through bars, a dark, uneasy hangover of a presence, stealing tips and wallets and the expensive equipment that they leave on stage between sets. His disguise is self-made now, but he doesn’t trust his own hands. He doesn’t trust his voice and the ugly things it can do.

The MC introduces a band called Ausreißer and butchers their name into pieces. They’re opening for some shitty indie rock solo artist, and they’re so loud and so good for an opener that Neil stops moving, one ear towards the stage, fingers clenched in the cash in his jacket pockets. They slash through a set of eery instrumentals and fast-paced lyrics, and the air blisters. It’s almost rap, percussive and impersonal in the mouth of the bassist and the grinning, glowing drummer.

Neil catches his eye, dark and blown apart, and the drummer winks, so over the top that it makes Neil’s stomach sink, though he can’t pin down why.

He makes himself turn around and move through the crowd, heavier this time, somehow guiltier for stopping and listening than for stealing and lying.

He tucks his head down and smiles at the waitress so that she smiles instinctively before she slides back into indifference. He’s polite like a performer, not charming so much as he is slick and insubstantial, one of many nodding strangers in a house of mirrors crowd.

He starts to move quickly like a hassled stage manager as soon as he’s close to the front of the throng, shouldering easily through the plain black door beyond the stage where the opening band is performing. He finds a makeshift backstage in the hallway, full of beer bottles and open guitar cases, a scribbled set list sitting on top of some jackets.

He passes them by, looking for storage rooms or dressing rooms, anything with expensive booze or instruments. Sometimes he doesn’t find anything at all back here in the lush horizon between art and debauchery, but it’s so laughably easy to look. Back rooms and storage and cases and kitchens, topped up with pills and folds of bills and secrets on tap.

He catches the telltale glint of a bottle out of the corner of his eye, its sleek neck sticking out of a jacket sleeve. Neil stoops to fish it out, fingers sliding against cool, veined leather, and he finds a single malt whiskey, mostly full. He could top it up with water and sell it in the parking lot, it wouldn’t even take finesse.

He starts to stand up, but something hits him hard in the gut, with the discordant church-bell clang of a guitar being struck. He sprawls back into crinkling coats and sharp edges, and looks up, disbelieving, at the drummer from before, a guitar held at his side like a smoking gun.

Now that he’s paying attention he can hear that music isn’t wading in under the doors anymore, and the drumming heartbeat has stopped poking holes in the walls. He holds his own chest, winded and bruising.

“What is your problem?”

“Thought I smelled a thief,” the drummer says. Neil can tell that his pupils are wide open even in the thin, yellow overhead light.

Neil makes a split second decision, and tightens his grip on the bottle, loosens his grip on everything else. “There was no lock on the door,” he slurs, affecting the righteous certainty of the wasted. “And I found this.”

The guy makes a sound like a buzzer and says, “you think you’re entitled to something because the door is unlocked? Try again.”

Neil pushes up onto his hands but the drummer jams the headstock of the guitar between his ribs, with the steady pressure and precision of a scalpel.

“I don’t think I’m the one who owes someone an explanation,” Neil says viciously, dropping the act, “when you’re assaulting me with a stringed instrument.”

The drummer cocks his head, looking amused. “You take something from me, your wrist gets slapped.” He pulls the guitar back and slams the headstock home in Neil’s gut, nearly hard enough to break skin. He sputters, grabbing the neck in an attempt to ease up some of the pressure. The drummer only twists it deeper, then drops into a crouch. “If you lie to me about it, maybe I break the bottle over your head.”

“You’re deranged,” Neil says. Up close, he can see a slender tattoo of a hydra winding up his neck, a crop of dark snakes forking out of his collar, fangs bared towards his ear. It suits him, deadly, simple lines, impossible to ignore.

He makes a reproving sound, tossing the guitar noisily aside and reaching for the whiskey instead. Neil seizes the opportunity and swings his arm up hard, aiming to crack the bottle against his skull, but his wrist gets caught up in the snare of the drummer’s grip, un-slippable as a sailor’s knot.

“Uh oh,” he says. “He’s a fighter and a liar. That’s interesting.”

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