#there were no utensils IN medieval times

[thatsbelievable]

[eyecosahedron]

I love the implications of the seven birds being from a more technologically advanced world than faerun (knowledge of TV, understanding of machine guns "count the shells", using microphones ect) because how many things was Lucretia not able to erase? Across 99 planes, it's impossible that she managed to get everything. And how well was she really able to introduce the more medieval concepts of faerun into their memories?

What did the THB think everyone was doing just waving swords around rather than pulling out guns; did they just accept it and move on? Imagine Lucretia trying to explain them to a weapons development department of the BoB to equip her employees. Lucretia, a records keeper, who cannot have a great understanding of the inner workings of firearms. Vaguely describing rectangles that explode to a reception of horrified looks.

Or Taako repeatedly asking Sazed to supply him with various kitchen utensils he insists are vital for the recipe that just Do Not Exist. Magnus, complaining that he can't play little games on his stone of farspeech, while everyone around is completely baffled at the concept. Everyone around them not only not getting their pop culture references, but being fundamentally incapable of understanding them.

I just think there is something so funny about them functionally time travelling and then promptly forgetting they were from a different era at all. And just. Having to get on with it.

[blueiskewl]

A 2100-Year-Old Medallion of Goddess Aphrodite and a Warrior Tomb Found in Russia

Archaeologists have unearthed a silver medallion depicting the Greek goddess Aphrodite (Roma Venüs) in a 2100-year-old grave of a priestess on the northeast coast of the Black Sea.

The unique medallion depicts ten rather than the known twelve signs of the zodiac and provides insight into religious practices at the time of its creation.

The discovery, in the opinion of archaeologists, raises the possibility that the buried woman was an Aphrodite priestess, the goddess of beauty and love. The rings, silver earrings, and other grave goods that were dedicated to the goddess led to these conclusions.

The grave is among a number of striking finds unearthed this summer at a site near the shore of the Taman Peninsula in southern Russia, east of the Crimean Peninsula and between the Black Sea and the Sea of Azov.

According to the Oleg Deripaska Volnoe Delo Foundation’s spokesman Ruben Bunyatyan, archaeologists Nikolay Sudarev and Mikhail Treister discovered the woman’s grave during the Phanagoria archaeological expedition’s 2022 summer season.

The large medallion is made of silver and shows the goddess Aphrodite in the center, surrounded by symbols portraying 10 signs of the zodiac. 

Greek historian, Hecataeus of Miletus, said that Phanagoria was founded in the sixth century B.C. by refugees from Teos, a Greek city on the coast of Anatolia now part of modern-day Turkey.

The Aphrodite medallion is surrounded by 10 embossed symbols that correspond to signs of the zodiac, including a lion for Leo, a bull for Taurus, and a scorpion for Scorpio. But the symbols for the zodiac signs Aquarius and Libra are missing, and the researchers don’t know why.

According to archaeologists, the inclusion of the zodiac indicates the medallion is a portrayal of “Aphrodite Urania” — the heavenly aspect of the goddess, as distinct from her Earthly aspect, “Aphrodite Pandemos.”

It also suggests a belief in astrology, the idea that the positions of celestial bodies can influence events on Earth, which was widespread throughout the ancient world.

The silver medallion found in the early first century B.C. grave shows the embossed head, shoulders, and hands of Aphrodite, based on other contemporary iconographic portrayals.

Such medallions were common in the territory of the Bosporan Kingdom as early as 2,300 years ago, said Maria Chashuk, senior research associate of the Phanagoria archaeological expedition.

The medallion is about 7 centimeters (2.75 inches) in diameter and 15 millimeters thick.

Medallions of the sort were used in many ways: as brooches, as headgear accessories, and as pendants.

Another intriguing find at the Black Sea site was a warrior’s tomb featuring a sword that had been made in early medieval Iran.

The large iron sword was found in the style of swords from the Sassanid, or the second Persian Empire, which ruled the areas of modern-day Iran, Iraq, Turkmenistan, and much of Afghanistan. The researchers think that the sword may have been a diplomatic gift or that it may have been taken as a military trophy.

According to the statement from the Volnoe Delo Foundation, “this massive, expensive and prestigious sword was part of the equipment of the horsemen of the era of the Great Migration,” a period when much of Europe and Western Asia was threatened by invasions of peoples from Central Asia, such as the Huns. The unique find not only reflects the tastes of the late antique warriors of the Taman Peninsula, but also suggests that in the middle of the first millennium Phanagoria had close political and cultural ties with the [Sassanid] Empire,”

The warrior’s tomb (first century B.C.) also contained fragments of a horse’s harness, buckles, belt tips, glass jugs, utensils, and wooden boxes, as well as a pottery jug, beads, a brass mirror, and a pair of iron scissors.

By Leman Altuntaş.

[artistocrazy]

List of feral/wild/bullyable HWS Austria HCs because you can’t stop me

When he popped up into existence he was found spider crawling on the alps and local villagers would nearly have a heart attack trying to catch him. He would do that speedy toddler crawl, except imagine it along mountain ranges

Would eat plants and mushrooms in a hit-or-miss fashion and would not learn his lesson after reviving from eating something poisonous

Also ate bugs in the same way - no lessons were learned in the pursuit of experiencing taste

Wouldn’t go as far to say he was a pyromaniac upon discovering how to harness fire, but you can’t tell me he hasn’t accidentally risked burning village lodging trying to cook with it as a child

Soup changed his life, mainly because it was around the time he was introduced to eating utensils - tried eating it with his hands when he was a Duchy. Not his brightest moment.

Legitimately believed he could speak to his own wildlife, and not like how he would speak with humans. He would squeak and caw and groan in a way that he believed resembled languages where he achieved fluency. He’s about 70% sure he can commune with them; however, if you find out about this and ask him to demonstrate it he’ll claim it’d be like speaking a Medieval language and the animals would look at him like he has three heads

Actually, didn’t speak with humans for a very long time upon being discovered/socialized. Singing in choirs is what made him want to learn how to speak (and apparently was an insanely good male soprano, so that helped)

Sweet stealer - little thief. Made many an enemy out of unsuspecting patisseries before one decided to try apprenticing him.

Hid out in belfries like a little gargoyle to hear the chant music during masses - nearly killed the bell ringers when they spotted him sitting up in the rafters

He refuses to let anyone - not even his spouses or diplomats - believe he ever poops. It’s one of his strange ways of asserting he is “built different” and is “superior” to not only humans but his nation counterparts. He has actively claimed he didn’t for centuries; however, his former servant staff all know the truth, and laugh at why he insists on keeping a gramophone or radio near the restroom

Has gotten lost often enough to the point of having to rely on his survival skills for a time. Catch him randomly showing back up to his property in Vienna after being missing for half a year with a bad farmer’s tan like “yes, I wished to go for a picnic due to the weather warming up, but it seems now that autumn is nearly through and I seem to have forgotten how to find arrowheads to go along with this bow I fashioned. Ah, naja 🤷🏼‍♂️“

Will actually cook and eat fish if he has to, but he’ll do so with a vindictive energy. Like he will taunt the fish if he’s been forced to catch one for a meal, like “you thought you were clever and beastly, didn’t you? Not so clever or beastly now that you’re dead. Who’s afraid now?”

Would put the absolute weirdest shit in his hair to have it give off “that look” - man’s hair lays too flat naturally, so he’s probably pushed the envelope of some beauty trends in the name of aesthetics

Freud once diagnosed him with an oral fixation based on all the random shit he’s absentmindedly chewed on, at which he got offended

In the aftermath of WWI when he was wheelchair-bound, he went through a depressive phase where he didn’t shave, drank, had casual sex, and hardly spoke. The first time Rod rolled his own chair was to wheel himself into the local brothel 💀

During that time, he once drunkenly rolled himself into a manhole where everyone at the brothel thought he was dead, and were shocked to see him roll up a couple days later. When they admit they thought he was dead or at least hospitalized, he laughed and said “what, in this economy?”

Has tried to eat paint out of curiosity - it didn’t end well

[masterwords]

Ok, so I’m so hyped for May and all the domestic Hotchgan! And you said blow up your ask box, so….

I would love a fic about Derek and Aaron taking a cooking (or baking) class together! I just think it could be so funny and sweet. (And probably more messy than they think it is. Maybe a little competitive 😅)

Turns out...I am not good at writing cooking classes. LOL This idea was one of my absolute favorites and I found it to be incredibly challenging. I had three different drafts, none of which were good, so I set myself a 30 minute timer this morning and just went to town...landed here. It's better than the others, but not great. At least it's coherent! I didn't edit it, just skimmed...so if there are horrific embarrassing errors. I'm sorry please forgive me. We're in the thick of baseball and getting ready for tournament season and end of the school year stuff so my time isn't as plentiful as I'd like but we're getting there! Doing the thing! (Not on AO3 yet...I'm being lazy.)

Words: 1.7k

Warnings: food, it's all food based.

** hey shorty **

“You should take Penelope,” Derek muttered, one last attempt at salvaging his Saturday afternoon. “She would love this.”

“She bought the gift for us, Derek. To do together.”

He’d forgotten that part. Maybe not entirely, but he was clinging to some thread of hope that maybe she had wanted to go to the classes too. And if she did, he wouldn’t have to.

“It’s just gonna be a bunch of nerds…” Now he was whining. He wasn’t proud of it.

“It’s an hour, Derek.”

“An hour I’ll never get back.”

In the end, it turned out to be two hours...but two hours Derek was glad to have been present for. The instructor, an old woman with a thick Scottish accent and a frown that could rival Hotch’s any day of the week got right to business. No jokes, no wasted time.

She started by explaining the history of shortbread, and Derek breathed an audible sigh of relief. His ultimate fear was that they were going to be making something awful...it was described by Penelope as a “historical cooking class” and she gave him no more information. Hotch knew but refused to divulge – so he’d looked it up, and it turned out there were three possible classes it could have been given the time and day. One of them was making something called a medieval beef pie and something about the thought of that made him feel ill. Shortbread he could do.

Or so he thought.

“Pilcaithly Bannock,” she said and Derek couldn’t help glancing around the room to see if anyone else was as lost as he was. Turned out, he was not alone. “It’s a traditional shortbread made with the addition of almonds and a few flavors you may find intriguing. The recipe we’ll be using comes from a cookbook written in 1861.”

At her direction, everyone filed up toward the front of the classroom where she handed them a bin full of ingredients and cooking utensils with a photocopy of a recipe taped to the top. Hotch and Derek glanced at one another thoughtfully, both impressed by the instructor’s organization. Suddenly Derek, who had never considered himself much in the kitchen, felt like he might actually be able to do this.

Hotch baked. He loved to do it. His insomnia sometimes led to incredible pastries, flaky dough and sweet treats that helped him ease his troubled mind in the wee hours of the night. He would come back to bed around 3am with the house smelling like a bakery and a little flour in his hair and Derek would wake up starving and salivating. But him? No. He could grill, and he could do that with the best of them...and he could eat, boy could he eat...but baking required so much precision, measurement, time and patience. It wasn’t that he couldn’t do it, it was that he didn’t want to. Nothing about it was appealing except eating the end result.

They were not supposed to talk while they worked, but everyone seemed to want to chatter a little. The instructor poured herself a mug of coffee and stood in a corner observing for a long while. Surrounding them was the chaos and clatter of a kitchen, mixing bowls and whisks and spoons and running water.

“What does it mean when it says to beat the butter to a cream?” Derek whispered, leaning over close to Hotch. “Isn’t that already what it is?”

Hotch tipped his bowl in Derek’s direction and showed him the thick peaks of creamed butter with a smirk. “Just use your whisk and whip it.”

“Too bad we don’t have stand mixers in here.”

“Seems like a good time to put those muscles you work so hard on to good use…” Hotch muttered and Derek, under his breath, called him a shithead.

“Mine’s gonna be so much better than yours.”

“Keep dreaming,” Hotch replied so quietly, so sure of himself that it became Derek’s entire mission in life to do this one thing as perfectly as he could. So, stepping back, he read the entire recipe top to bottom and then again, closer, before he set to whipping the butter. He was a little behind the rest of the class, they all looked like they were adding in the flour and sugar and almonds, but he wasn’t concerned. He could take his damn time.

And he did. He chopped his almonds into fine little bits, he made sure there were no clumps in his dough that he would definitely classify as a “paste” in accordance with the recipe, and when he scored his final product before taking it up to the oven he was...well, he was proud.

Until he saw Hotch’s, which looked borderline professional. His heart sank. The students all piled their trays into the waiting preheated ovens and set to their next task...cleaning up while the shortbread did its thing.

“If mine is better,” Hotch said while he scrubbed his countertop, “you take me out to lunch at Shake Shack.”

Derek scowled. It wasnt’t that he didn’t like Shake Shack, but he wasn’t in the mood for greasy burgers and milkshakes. “And if I win, you take me down to Così.”

When the timers began going off, the instructor pulled them out of the oven one by one. She inspected each tray before handing them off to their owners to begin cooling. The look she gave Derek was impossible for him to read, but he could see the admiration on her face when she looked at Hotch’s perfect little slab of shortbread. He began mentally preparing himself to eat at Shake Shack, to watch Hotch with his mushroom burger and frozen custard quietly gloating over his perfect performance. He realized in that moment that while he loved Hotch, he probably would have hated him had they met in high school. That smug look on his face was getting Derek all sorts of riled up and he couldn’t decide if he wanted to kiss him or smack him. Maybe both.

“How are they?” he asked when Hotch broke off a corner to try. He just shrugged and looked...disappointed.

“I could have done better. They’re a little tough.”

Derek stared at him agape. “They look professional, man.”

“I over-mixed the flour. They’re not bad but they don’t crumble the way they’re supposed to.”

Derek, horrified by what his own creation must be like in order for Hotch to be disappointed in his own turnout, stared down at his slab. They were darker than Hotch’s by at least one full shade, and a little extra even on the edges. Slowly, he reached out and broke off a corner of his to try and it crumbled in his fingers.

Hotch was watching him closely with a sweet smile on his face. “That’s perfect, Derek.”

“What are you talking about? It fell apart.”

The instructor made her way to their counter and peered at both of their creations. First she looked at Hotch’s, broke off a corner, and Derek saw the same look of disappointment on her face that Hotch had.

“They taste incredible,” she started with a smile. “But you’ve overmixed a bit, haven’t ye?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Give it another try at home.” Hotch smiled and nodded at her encouragement, proceeding to clean up the rest of his station and package up his failed attempt at shortbread. He could turn it into ice cream topping or something else at home at least. It was salvageable. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched the instructor inspecting Derek’s.

“Nice color,” she began before grabbing a bit and watching it crumble in her hands. Her smile, once somewhat timid, widened. “Ahhh. That’s perfect.” She snapped off one whole cookie and held it in her hands reverently before snatching a chair, dragging it over to where Derek stood and stepped up on top of the seat. She stood now beside a very confused Derek, her hands still cradling the cookie.

“An old Scottish tradition is to break a slab of shortbread over a bride’s head. If it crumbles, the marriage will be good and fruitful. Shall we give this young man’s shortbread a try?”

The class erupted in laughter and applause, so she held her hands now over Derek’s head and snapped the cookie. It barely took a second before it crumbled to bits and fell over Derek’s head and shoulders in cookie dust. He shut his eyes and laughed along with everyone.

“Ahhh. Well, if that’s any indicator of the strength of your marriage…” she said, doing her best to get safely down off of the chair with Derek’s help. “Job well done.” Derek glanced at Hotch and shrugged, thinking he would find the man looking jealous or disappointed in himself...but all he found was Hotch with tears in his damn eyes and a smile on his face. The big softy.

In the car afterward, Hotch sitting in the passenger seat with two takeaway containers of shortbread on his lap, Derek poked the bear. “Did you hear her say mine was perfect?”

“I did.”

“She used the word perfect. Not good or great...perfect.”

“I heard.”

“Just makin’ sure. I know your ears don’t work so good, shorty.”

"Derek..." Hotch mumbled, giving him the side-eye. Derek just smiled broad and pulled out of the parking lot.

"Whassup shorty?"

Hotch had no response, but he couldn't help the ghost of a smile that ticked up at the corner of his mouth. Being called shorty was probably the least of his concerns. Derek was about to be insufferable over this shortbread ordeal for the remainder of the weekend and he would just have to suck it up and deal with it.

Derek, with a wicked little grin on his face, drove them straight to Shake Shack, bypassing Così on the way. He won the competition in class fair and square, but the instructor was right. He did have a pretty damn good marriage, and part of what made it so good was knowing when his partner might need a little pick-me-up...even if he did make the superior treat. He won cooking class.

But Hotch needed that frozen vanilla custard for his wounded pride and Derek was going to make sure he got it. (But if he crumbled a little of his perfect shortbread on top...well, could he really be blamed? It was perfect.)

[luinlothana]

Fic Throwback Thursday

Fanfic writers: if there’s an old story of yours that never made it to tumblr, or got buried, or just hasn’t gotten much attention in a while, consider this an invitation to promote it! I would love to see my dash filled with fic recs I missed the first time around. You wrote the words, and you should be proud of them no matter how much time has passed. Add this note to your post, and let’s see how many writers we can get to self-promote!

Inspired by @ineffable-kelpie

Practical Plumage Application Rating: G Words: 2012

Summary: For ages feathered quills were the primary writing utensils. A new addition to Aziraphale’s library brings up a story about a pretty unique one. or Aziraphale's newly acquired medieval Bible doesn't feel holy. It's probably Crowley's fault.

[jakegooglyeyes]

Emblem or Roses - 2

Prev > Part 2 > Next

Pairings: Jake Gyllenhaal x reader, Maggie Gyllenhaal x reader (Medieval AU)

Summary: You were content with your quiet life as an illegitimate daughter of the King, hanging out with the maids and learning your craft. All that ended when your father married you to Lord Gyllenhaal, the Usurper, as a peace offering and a hostage.

Word count: 5,200  

Warnings: 18+ MINOR DNI , RPF, DUBCON, angst, hurt/comfort, enemies to lovers, hate to pining, polyamory, slow burn with smut, political marriage, mean!Jake to pining!Jake, cunning!Maggie, kind!reader.

Chapter warnings: mean!Jake, minor angst, inaccurate descriptions of a medieval fortress.

A/N: this is a breather chapter. Geography lesson: the region is called Goldenhall, the fortress is also, confusingly, named Goldenhall.

@gyllenhaalstories I made it through. 😭

*** Your online experience is your responsibility. You have been warned. If any of these content upsets you, DO NOT READ!!! ***

Divider credit: @/firefly-graphics

Suffice to say the entire image of an honorable, benevolent Lord has been shattered into pieces. The burn in your throat is evidence of that. Also, you wake up earlier than usual because you can't sleep well. It's unclear whether it was the unacquainted bed, the ordeal last night, or perhaps a little bit of both. A basin of clean water has been left for you, but the water turned cold long ago. You add another log into a nearly extinguished fireplace to keep the room warm.

Looking around the room, you assess it more carefully now that your mind is a little clearer than last night. If you're going to stay here from now on, the least you can do is make this place livable.

Aside from the canopy bed in the center and an old end table next to it, there's a small dining table with two creaky stools, a closet with a few title-appropriate dresses, a cabinet with an assortment of dinnerware inside, and a desk that comes with an upholstered chair. The room is actually quite decent compared to your place back in the castle. The only complaint is it has too little greenery for your liking, but that can be fixed.

You treat the wound on your hand with the salve you brought. Good thing the Lord didn't cut that deep and only on your non-dominant hand. After bandaging your hand, you clean yourself with the freezing water before putting on a dress from the closet and dabbing a layer of makeup on your face. You'd rather wear your own clothes, but they are not suitable for an early morning in the North. You will have to find thicker fabric or fur to line your garments. While doing your hair, you notice the metal accessory on the end table. This belongs to Lady Gyllenhaal. You should give it back to her as soon as you get the chance.

You hear your stomach growling again. You must find something to eat. You cannot live off dried fruit and meat forever. You're pretty sure the Lord and Lady don't want to have meals with you, just like back in the castle. You don't mind that. And after yesterday, you don't think you want to face them either, especially the younger brother. You wonder if you can request a few pots and cooking utensils. You can make your own food here and stay out of their sight.

You sigh. The plants, the clothes, and the food are just little things you fill your head with, so you can forget your current situation. Your time in the infirmary witnessing all kinds of suffering has made you this way. You'll always find the best way to distract yourself from negative thoughts by putting your mind on mundane items.

Just as you're taking mental notes of things you need, you hear several knocks on the door. The middle-aged woman from yesterday, who introduces herself as Lady Gyllenhaal's steward, politely greets you and asks you to follow her. You nervously walk behind the stern woman through multiple stairs and hallways until you reach a large, beautifully crafted mahogany door. The steward gives it a few knocks before a melodic voice from inside invites you in.

Your eyes are drawn to the woman sitting in the sunlit room. Lady Gyllenhaal gives you a slight smile as you enter. Her red lips are even more enchanting in the light of day. She waves her hand and asks you to sit opposite her on a warm, fur-covered chair, then signals the steward to leave.

"How did you sleep last night?"

"Thank you, Lady Gyllenhaal. I slept well."

"Maggie is fine, dear."

No way you could call her by her given name.

The Lady can see through your lie by the dark circles around your eyes. But, of course, whether you slept well or not is none of her concern. She has a more important thing she needs to take care of. Lady Maggie places in front of you a small teacup containing a dark brown liquid not too different from black tea. Your nose catches a muted earthly scent. Then, as a habit, your brain starts to analyze the content. This is not regular tea. Or, more precisely, it's not even tea at all.

"Don't worry, princess. I'm not going to poison you." Lady Maggie's soft laugh tickles your ears.

"This is for your sake. It must be hard to be married off to your father's enemy. Pardon my crassness, but I assume you might not entertain the idea of carrying my brother's seed. After all, it would be unjust for the royal princess to shoulder this burden."

You pretend you didn't pick up on her implication that you are unworthy of having her brother's child. You don't know why they suddenly no longer need you to provide them a claim to the crown, which you can't anyway, being a bastard and all. But, more importantly, you now remember what this concoction is. You've seen your mother giving it to maids forced against their will or noble ladies with secret lovers, simple ingredients but intricate to brew.

"I know it's not poison... I just, I don't think I will need this." You try your best to suppress unpleasant memories. "The Lord did not bed me, My Lady."

Lady Maggie raises an eyebrow before looking down at your bandaged hand. She gently takes your hand and flips it around to see your covered palm. A little blood soaks through the bandage because you clench your fist out of apprehension. The corner of her mouth curves into a downward bow, indicating she's displeased by this. Her eyes squint with intrigue when she notices something, but she quickly corrects her expression. There is also a herbal aroma she cannot quite discern. The Lady studies your injuries and the bandage for some time before releasing it.

"You know how to treat wounds?"

That isn't a question, just a confirmation. Your body tenses up. What if Lady Maggie's suspicious of something? You swallow dry. Even you know that a royal princess knowing this kind of thing is too weird. Not to mention, House Gyllenhaal already has an impression that you're a spoiled, sheltered princess. So anything out of the ordinary will raise questions. You don't dare to think what might happen if they find out you're a substitute. You also can't say a maid helps you because you know the Lady can easily verify if you're lying.

"Yes, a little bit. The royal healers taught me."

"Oh? That's rare for a princess... Anyway, please be careful not to fall and hurt yourself again."

Fall and hurt myself?

When did you say that? You never said you hurt yourself. But you soon understand Lady Maggie probably knows the Lord caused this and was politely telling you to keep your mouth shut. It is not a good look for the Lord to deliberately injure his wife on his wedding day.

"You should go back and rest now. I've taken enough of your time."

With that, lady Maggie has no more business with you. She then asks the servants to bring breakfast to your room and her middle-aged steward to show you around the fortress.

The breakfast is decent, with freshly baked rye bread, a piece of goat cheese, and a tankard of ale. At least the Gyllenhaals are nice enough to treat you like a guest. But you barely have time to savor your food because the steward is waiting for you. After your meal, the woman leads you to areas within the fortified walls of Goldenhall.

The fortress differs from the castle because the Lord lives close to his people. And most places are built for practical use rather than a display of wealth. Of course, there are still places for leisure, but they are cozier and less extravagant than one may find in the capital.

The Stone Keep, the strongest structure in the fortress, is where the Lord and Lady reside and where you stay. Although your room is pretty far from the Keep's owners. Surrounding the Keep is the Bailey, protected by the first layer of stone walls, consisting of the training yard, the rose garden, the stable, the kitchen, and the Great Hall that held your wedding last night. Then there is the Outer Ward, where most of the Lord's people and livestock live, as well as his soldiers. There is also an orchard and a marketplace, among other necessities. The outermost defense is the curtain walls, and almost half of the fortress faces a large river, providing Goldenhall’s habitants the much needed water source. The towns, farmlands, and pine woods outside the walls are under the Lord's protection and provide the fort with grains and lumber.

You take notes of places you can go and where you cannot, which consist of areas the Lord is often present. The woman only shows you the Bailey. She explains that you're not allowed to leave the inner walls unless the Lord or Lady permits. Apart from that, you can go wherever you wish.

"Meals will be served to you three times a day. The maids will collect your used garments in the morning. If you need anything else, speak to me or the maids. Do not disturb the Lady or the Lord. I must remind you our standards are much lower for someone of your status. So be mindful that not all your needs will be met."

Honestly, you have exceeded my needs.

You can only scream in your head. This is much better than you could have during your time in the castle. You don't mind the steward's apparent dislike toward you. You will be fine as long as she doesn't try to make your life harder.

"Thank you."

The middle-aged steward is a little stunned by your answer. She didn't expect you to express your gratitude to a servant, even if she has more power over you within these walls. You know she must be surprised. And you know you should commit to your role as the real princess. But it feels wrong for you not to thank someone who takes their time to show you the rope. Plus, you don't want to antagonize yourself any further.

As expected of Lady Maggie's trusted steward, the woman narrows her eyes and gives no response, judging you with her sharp eyes to see if you're being pretentious to lower her guard. You just smile slightly, ignoring her predictable skepticism. For you, only words and actions can hurt others; thoughts will only hurt their owner.

By the time you return to your room, the sun is already moving to the West. You take a deep breath, feeling like you have been unshackled. Your water basin has been changed, presumably by one of the maids while you were gone. You splash the water on your face, allowing the cold to refresh your mind and ease your tension as you recount what has happened today. You can't get used to the fact that you're now married to a man who only sees you as his enemy.

Mother said your spirit is strong. You can only hope it is strong enough to get you through this.

When Lady Maggie walks into the Great Hall, the muted discussions and the concerned looks on people's faces irritate her. Her brother's manners at his own wedding last night gave her enough headache. Loyal as they may be, the people of House Gyllenhaal need a rational leader who doesn't act on his whims. Now, the bigger issue, the Lady glances at the sheet hung under the Gyllenhaal insignia... What in oblivion is this mess?

"My Lady. Does the princess require any assistance?"

An elderly man with a long, gray beard asks Lady Gyllenhaal. He is House Gyllenhaal's chief physician who has served the House for decades and even delivered both the Lady and Lord from their mother's womb. To the siblings, he is part of the family and can be trusted with more sensitive issues. He has been worried about the bloodstained sheet since the maids brought it to the Great Hall.

By the House's ancient traditions, when the Lord consummates his marriage with his new wife, the bedsheet on which they make love must be presented to his family and loyal subjects in the morning. On the one hand, it ensures that his wife is a maiden. On the other, it proves that the Lord is competent... down there. But, to be honest, traditions are just traditions. The House has long since treated this as a formality only, or at most, a chance to playfully tease the newlyweds. People typically won't care much if there's nothing on the sheet. The brides don't always bleed, and the lords may or may not perform well. Too little is acceptable. Too much, on the other hand, is always a problem.

"The Lord might have been..." The old physician clears his throat, trying to be tactful, "too passionate. I'm afraid the princess might be feeling unwell."

After the aggressive display yesterday, everyone saw the Lord raid the wine cellar. Who doesn't look at the giant red blot and think the Lord must have killed his wife in a fit of rage? It does not matter if the girl is the enemy's daughter. She's still the Lord's newly wedded wife. Not only is this reckless and unacceptable for a respectable leader, but if his seed has taken hold in her womb, harm to the wife might also endanger the Lord's heir. And people are rightfully worried because Lord Gyllenhaal has not secured himself a successor.

Lady Maggie feels her forehead twitch painfully at the physician's inquiry. She must give the people an answer that will satisfy them and save her brother's reputation.

"The princess visited me this morning. I assure you she's doing very well. As for the blood, she has just started her monthly bleeding."

"Ah, that would explain. Please remind the Lord to be more considerate during this time. I will prescribe the princess some tonics to ease the discomfort."

"Please do. I'll send the maids to deliver them to her." Lady Maggie nods with approval.

"What's all the ruckus?"

Speaking of the devil, the Lord's voice makes everyone's head turns. First, they look at him, then Lady Maggie. The Lady is the only person they can trust to talk to her brother. If Lady Maggie is going to speak to him, this problem is considered resolved.

"My Lord, may I speak to you in private?"

The Lady almost grits her teeth as she requests. And before he can respond, she sways her heels and goes to a more secluded room. The Lord sighs and follows, knowing his sister is upset. The Lady asks her maids to relay the story she told the physician, so everyone can be reassured that the Lord did not, in fact, kill his wife on the wedding night. Once everyone is out of earshot, the formalities evaporate.

"You asked me for proof, and I gave you the proof."

"I asked you to give me evidence of the girl being deflowered. Not murdered."

"My dear sister. She is still alive and intact, isn't she? What more could you and those old folks want? Do I need to drag the royal whore to the Great Hall and fuck her in front of everyone?"

"Watch your tongue, Jacob. You are the Lord of our House."

"And your damned puppet!"

"Jacob!"

Knowing he has slipped his tongue, the Lord looks down to his feet before deflating on an armchair. Lady Maggie feels a sting in her chest. She cannot blame her brother for feeling the way he does. The war wears them out. There are too many things to take care of: the fortress, the Keep, the refugees, and the vassal lords who are only loyal to the victor. Yet, both she and her brother want the best for the family and their people. They've come too far to give up now. The only way is forward.

"I apologize." The Lord speaks softly. Lady Maggie nods, accepting his apology. Her brother has many flaws, but he always admits to his faults.

"But I have to say, this marriage is probably your worst idea." The Lord scoffs.

"You're not wrong, brother."

Lady Maggie laughs bitterly. They have too much to lose in this bargain. And the way the King accepted the proposal without opposing makes her uneasy. Despite her courteous manners, she despises the royal family just as much as her brothers. It makes her want to vomit, breathing the same air with a royal spawn, let alone allowing that wretched thing to bear the Gyllenhaal heir. The plan never includes letting the princess have her brother's child. Of course, a child is needed, but it doesn't have to be hers. And it seems the Lord thinks the same, even if his reason might be a little more... personal.

Only one problem is troubling the Lady, that girl, the princess... Lady Maggie reminisces about this morning and feels your bandaged hand on her slender fingers. The princess feels like a puzzle piece that doesn't quite fit on the board. Her keen sense of a strategist tells her there is something more to meet the eyes.

"Jacob, are you sure she's real? The King didn't send an impostor?"

"Dead sure. She bears the King's Mark."

The King's Mark they are talking about is a finger-long scar below your navel. This scar is given to each and every King's child as proof that they are King's blood. When a royal baby is born, regardless of its mother's status, the midwife uses a small needle to carefully carve the royal family's symbol into its belly. As the child grows, the scar also expands. The technique is so complicated that it is nearly impossible to replicate. 

Lord Gyllenhaal has spent weeks studying the piece of skin taken from the crown prince to ensure he doesn't make a mistake. The Lady is still doubtful as she thinks about the morning. She tells her brother about your skill with the bandage and how you knew what the potion was for. The Lord's eyes glint with an inexplicable interest.

"Could the old pig send a fake?" Lady Maggie inquires.

"No chance. The royal family cannot risk an outsider carrying the mark of royal blood. Is there something wrong?"

"Not quite. Keep an eye on the princess. The old pig can't be trusted... But do not harm her. We still have use for her."

The Lord responds with a guttural sound. He's visibly disgruntled when the Lady mentions you, but he must admit his sister has a point. His mind wanders to last night. How you stood naked and vulnerable in front of him. How your mouth wrapped around his rigid manhood. How you look so pitiful afterward.

The Lord curses silently, feeling his blood boil and rush downward. The Lord is not a prude. He can appreciate a lovely maiden like any warm-blooded man. But he has never felt this scorching yet captivating heat. It makes him want to destroy you, choke the light out of you with his bare hands.

"Just so you know, sister. If she has even just one thought of undermining the House, I will have her pretty head immediately."

"Do as you see fit, brother."

The Lady stands up from her seat and prepares to leave. "Oh, one last thing. Please be more considerate during your wife's monthly burden."

"What in oblivion are you talking about?"

The windows cast a purplish hue in the room as the sun sets. The drop in the temperature reminds you that you have yet to ask for the fabric you need. You open the door and peek outside but see no one around. Thinking they may be in the servant's room at the far end of the hallway, you head there. And then, you regret it. You wonder how bad your luck is to immediately run into Lord Gyllenhaal.

He isn't wearing his armor today. Instead, he's clad in a dark, layered shirt and trousers in the same austere, modest style as his sister. The tight-fit clothes hug him perfectly, showing off his remarkable form. You step aside and lower your head, praying he will just ignore you. When the Lord seemingly walks past you, you exhale, thinking you've avoided a storm. But before you can celebrate, he turns around and grabs your arm.

"You."

"My Lord-"

"My sister said you've been taught healing craft. Do you know any healer that would smell like burned sage all the time?"

Uh... All of them?

You are dumbfounded by his sudden question, not knowing how to process it. But you're not the only confused party. The Lord is also quite baffled by his own impulse. This is purposeless, but the talk with Lady Maggie has resurfaced old memories. The ones that he holds on to very dearly.

"I'm afraid most healers work with herbs, so naturally, they would smell like that."

It's definitely not the answer he wants, but he cannot fault you because you're correct. Nevertheless, this feeling keeps crawling on his chest, driving him insane. He just needs one thing, anything.

"A woman. Someone who is very talkative and gets grouchy if you do not heed her words carefully."

Uh... My mother?

You become more cautious with the Lord's questions. You wonder if this is a test. Your eyes dart nervously as you look for an adequate answer that won't blow your cover or piss off the Lord.

"I... I do not know anyone like that, My Lord. I hardly ever mingle with the servants."

His heart sinks into the bottom of an icy lake, hearing your evasive answer. He curses himself repeatedly for being foolish and thinking you could give him any hope. The royal family could have taught you just about any skill to win his family's favor. Finally, with a forlorn smile, he sneers, even though he is unsure whether he's ridiculing you or himself.

"Of course, you don't." He gives you one last resentful glare. "Stay out of my sight, royal whore."

Not realizing you are holding back your breath, you exhale in relief when the Lord finally lets go of your arm and walks away. You discard the idea of asking for fabric or whatever and decide you'll ask the maids when they bring your food. You cannot count on your shitty luck to roam this long hallway without another misfortune descending on you.

It has been a week. The perpetual days and the lack of activities make you feel like it's been months already. You wake up, eat, read books, eat more, wash, and sleep. And then wake up the next day to do the exact same. You tried to take a walk outside for fresh air, but people's disdain looks dissuaded you. Your embroidered dress is no different than a branding iron's scar on your face, telling everyone you're the Lord's wife... the royal princess.

You sit quietly on the upholstered chair, watching the sun come down. You wonder what mother is doing right at this moment. The trip here took months, but you could at least distract yourself by observing the scenery you've never had the chance to see. But now you've barely been in the fortress for a week, and you already miss the senior healer.

On evenings like these, she would nag you about cleaning the infirmary or running errands for her before the last merchants closed their stall. Mother made you work your fingers to the bone, but those days were the peaceful time when you didn't have to face your step-siblings or their disrespectful servants.

You find out that apart from the occasional footsteps of servants passing by, this place is entirely ignored by pretty much everyone. The Gyllenhaals seem content with placing you in some decrepit corner and leaving you to your own devices. Apart from the blood-chilling loneliness, this is not such a bad thing. But sitting around idly makes you feel like you're physically and mentally dying, a useless doll waiting for its owner to take it off the shelf and play with it. That said, the Lord could have done much worse to you. You've seen how your step-brothers treated their maids.

Thinking of the maids, a bold idea crosses your mind, and you jump from your seat. You open your chest and rummage through your humble belongings. All of your clothes look like they are worn by servants. If you put these on, combined with a linen bonnet, most people won't be able to tell you're the Lord's wife. And you can put on multiple layers for warmth.

Moreover, you have done this before. You often pretended to be a maid to steal food back at the castle... until the head maid caught you and publicly shamed you in front of everyone. Most servants haven't actually seen your face, so you should blend in here as long as you don't draw attention. There must be plenty of things needing to be done around this place. You just have to ask the right people. Perhaps you can even sneak some soil into your room to plant your herbs.

You recount your plan once more. The few times you did leave the room, the maids who brought you food didn't even question your absence. And the Lord not visiting you aside from the wedding night makes you even more confident that your plan may work. So, you decide to test your luck.

You change into your old dress and an off-white bonnet you often wear to prevent your hair from touching the brewing potions. For a more convincing look, you take a fistful of soot from the fireplace and put some on your face to make yourself look like a kitchen worker. You take a deep breath, praying to the gods before peeking out from the door. It's not mealtime yet, so not a single soul is around. You carefully step out and close the door, heading outside. You pass by some guards at the building's entrance, but they don't seem to recognize you. One of them makes a crude joke, thinking you're a new maid. The remark doesn't bother you one bit. In fact, you're even elated to hear it. It is a sign that your plan works!

You skip along the stone paths around the Bailey, inhaling the crisp cold air. If you want to look for work, the kitchen and the stable are the best places. The Great Hall is probably also very busy, but the chance of running into the Lord is way too high, so you must avoid that area.

As you thought, the kitchen is bustling with people running around, preparing tomorrow's food for the whole Keep. You look around, searching for the person in charge of the place. A sturdy woman catches your attention as she yells at a servant who's spilled an ale casket. She has to be the head cook. Not only do you guess right, but the woman is also one step ahead. You're almost caught off guard by her thundering voice.

"You there. Are you new here, girl?"

"Y- Yes, ma'am. I've been told to work here."

What a perfect response, you think to yourself. The head cook is free to fill in the information however she wants. Who told you? The Lord? The Lady? The steward? It doesn't matter. If she asks to confirm it, you just have to say yes. Whether your answer is believable or just sheer luck, the head cook doesn't question you any further. Instead, she hands you a big silver tray with food and wine.

"Just in time, bring this to the Lord. He's in the Great Hall. Hurry up!"

You wish you could faint right on the spot. The head cook shoves the tray into your hands, and there's no way you can refuse. You pray to the gods to ask for strength and for your disguise to be convincing enough as your feet sluggishly take you to the Great Hall.

The gods may have heard your prayers. Because you don't know how you find the strength to essentially haul the heavy tray at your face's level in the most awkward manner anyone can carry a tray of food.

Lord Gyllenhaal is sitting with a few of his men, discussing the current situation regarding the war. Several servants go in and out, doing their own things. The Lord catches sight of you bringing his meal, but he doesn't break his eyes away from the talking men. Instead, he knocks on the table a few times, letting you know where to put the tray. Your knees are shaking, and your palms start to get clammy. Once the food and wine are placed where they are supposed to be, you quickly retreat.

"Girl."

If one more person calls you "hey," "you," or "girl," you believe you will drop dead from a heart attack. You turn around to face him, keeping your head down, hoping the soot on your face, the darkness of an evening, combined with the flickering light of the fireplace, are enough to conceal you.

"Why are you wearing these clothes?"

Oh, gods. This is it. This is my end.

"It is almost the first snow. Go ask the steward for winter attire. Do not freeze to death in my Keep."

Not waiting for you to reply, the Lord signals you to leave before shifting his focus back to his men. If one of them doesn't clear their throat to warn you, you may have stood there like a scarecrow, awestruck by the Lord's concern. You run back to the kitchen with haste. Your heart is pounding like it's about to leap out of your chest. Then, a sudden bump in your shoulder drags you back to reality. You see a few young girls looking at you with admiring gazes. One of them gives you a playful wink.

"New girl, you got to see the Lord up close, right? Gods, you're so lucky."

The young servants begin to gossip about the Lord, mostly about his good look and benevolence. Naturally, you can't help but be curious. You've heard many great things about him from the castle's servants. But your first encounter with the Lord left quite a dreadful impression on you. For his people, though, he is truly a different person. He is loved and respected by the common folks and does seem to care a great deal about them. You find it laughable that pretending to be a servant is the only time he extends that kindness to you.

But you, as his lawful wife, are inferior to even a whore.

[elvendara]

Tododeku week 2022

OK, so, this is not my normal fic fandom to write for...obviously. And this is my first Fic for My Hero Academia. But I really do love this ship so I tried. And...it was longer than I had anticipated it to be, not to mention I just left it hanging there, lol. Who knows, maybe I'll finish it at some point. Also, not sure how accurately I captured their characterization. I don't have them down the way I have Yooran, 🤣.

For @tododeku-week

Day 1: Magic

Deku gathered the flowers, herbs, and moss he needed for his spells. The woods were full of everything he needed. He debated on whether to grab some bark as well but decided against it. He hadn’t brought his gloves and didn’t want to scrape up his hands. He stood, placing the fragrant greens into his pouch. Ahead of him and to the right something, no, someone, blinked into existence about ten feet above the ground. The body fell hard, a soft whump sounded as it hit the underbrush.

He rushed forward, green eyes wide. As he knelt next to the body, he noticed a pool of blood forming beneath it. The man was still alive. The wound was on the right side of his abdomen. Deku pulled the strange fabric of his shirt up, thinking it was a stab from a sharp weapon, what he saw baffled him. It was a small round puncture, blood pouring out. There was no time to wonder about the strange wound. He began to call for the aid of his god to heal the man before he lost too much blood. First, he made sure to cast Spare the Dying, so the man would lose no more blood. Then he cast his largest healing spell. He watched in fascination as something began to protrude and fall out of the wound. A small irregular metal object. He picked it up from the ground and shoved it into his pocket before he picked up the man and took him back to his home.

…

Todoroki woke with a start, the bullets rushing past him, sure one had hit him. As he sat up he screamed. Someone was grasping at him, his eyes blurred and the cleared into an image of a man with large green eyes and crazy green hair. Green? He pushed away, his back hitting something behind him.

“Who are you? Where…where am I…what is this place?” His heterochromia eyes, left blue, right grey, scanned the rustic room. It looked like something from medieval times.

“Calm down, you are safe.” The man brought Todoroki’s focus back to him. His green eyes were soft and caring, it helped Todoroki relax. Relax enough to realize that although he was tired, there was no pain. There should be pain. He glanced down at his naked torso and was astounded that it was smooth, no wound at all, as if he’d never been shot.

“How?” he asked, running a hand over where the bullet had gone in.

“I healed you.” The man said, as if that was the only explanation needed.

“Hea…how?” he asked again, eyebrows wrinkled in confusion. “How is this possible? How long have I been out?” he once again glanced around, this was definitely not a hospital. It was little more than a cabin. Drying herbs and flowers hung along the beams on the ceiling. Pulpy paper was scattered across a large table along with many bowls, cups, utensils, and a mortar and pestle. The windows had glass but was thick and bubbled.

“Almost a day now. You lost a lot of blood, you needed time to recover.” He sat back and bent towards the floor picking up a bowl of steaming soup. “Here, you should eat, replenish your energy.”

Todoroki took the bowl, all thoughts of the strangeness of the situation flying out of his head as the smell hit his nose. He was starving. He didn’t even use the spoon, just scarfed down the meal. It was simple fare, meat, potatoes, vegetables and broth, but it was heavenly. It felt as if he hadn’t eaten in days.

“My name is Midoriya Izuku, but you can call me Deku, everyone does.” The green haired man said with a soft chuckle.

“Mm…Todoroki…Todoroki Shoto.” He volunteered once his bowl was empty.

“Pleasure to meet you, would you like more?” His eyebrow went up questioningly. Todoroki nodded.

“May I ask about…uh…” Deku gestured towards Todoroki’s head. The man was used to people asking him about the burn on the left side of his face, but not really about his hair.

“My hair?” he asked, taking the proffered refilled bowl of soup. He grasped the spoon and used it this time, eating a lot slower.

“Yes, it is very distinctive.”

“More distinctive than green hair?” he asked.

“This is a natural color, it might be a bit rare, but not unheard of. However, I have never heard of anyone with half red hair and half white hair. It appears to be parted exactly down the middle of your head.”

“Well, yes, but, where I come from, even though it isn’t exactly common, a lot of things like that happen regularly. Just like my eyes.”

“Oh yes, I noticed that when I was checking your pupils, you do seem to be a…peculiarity. Not to mention your strange clothes and even stranger, items. This came out of your wound, I suppose you know what it is?” Deku stood to retrieve the smashed up metal, holding it out to the man.

Taking it in his hands, he nodded. “It’s a bullet.”

“Bullet?”

“From a gun.” He dropped the bullet back into Deku’s hand and resumed eating.

“What is a…gun?”

Todoroki stopped eating and stared at the man. “You don’t know what a gun is?”

“No.” he shook his head as he took a seat on the cot again.

“Where are my things?” Todoroki glanced around, suddenly fearful of what this man might have done with his equipment.

“There.” He pointed to a corner of the room where his backpack leaned, his clothes on a stool next to it and boots in front.

“Even though I have never seen fabric such as yours, I was able to mend your shirt.”

“Mend it? You mean you sewed the hole?”

“No, I fixed it. See for yourself.” Deku retrieved the shirt and handed it to Todoroki. The man held it, checking it but finding no imperfection.

“How?” he found himself asking once more.

“It was a simple spell, one of the first I ever learned. It is wonderful for mending just about anything.” He grinned.

“I…spell? I don’t understand, are you saying you used magic?”

“Of course.”

“But, that’s not possible, magic isn’t real.”

Deku laughed and shook his head. “Of course it’s real.”

“Not where I come from. Just how did I get here?” Todoroki set the bowl and shirt down, standing unsteadily, Deku helping him until he got his balance. “Where did you find me?”

“In the woods. I was harvesting when you appeared about ten feet above the ground and fell. I just assumed it was a Dimension Door or Teleport gone wrong.”

Magic? Had he been transported to a different world? This was too much for him, tactics he understood. How to kill he understood, but this, this was incomprehensible, and he didn’t like it. Maybe he was dead, and this wasn’t real. Maybe he was almost dead, and he was hallucinating. But even he knew his mind wasn’t smart enough to conjure this up, or…Deku? Where had he come from? He had to get back to what he knew. Grabbing the rest of his clothes he began to dress, taking the backpack and placing it on the cot. He checked to make sure nothing was missing. His gun was still in the holster on his belt, he hadn’t even had time to pull it out when he'd been shot.

“What is that?” Deku asked.

“This is a gun.” He dropped the mag. “And these are bullets.” He shoved the mag back in and pulled the slide to chamber a bullet. “Pulling this trigger fires the gun.” He demonstrated but didn’t actually pull on it. Hitting the safety he put it back into the holster before putting the belt on.

“I do not understand. That bullet does not look like the one that came out of your body.”

“The bullet that leaves the gun isn’t intact, the casing falls away. But that’s not important right now, I need to get back. Can you take me to where you found me?”

“Certainly, but…you should rest more.”

“I don’t have time to rest, my friends are dying, they need me.”

“You are a soldier.” Deku asked, green eyes wide.

“Yes, something like that. Will you help me?”

“I…I can take you back, but, I am not sure you will find anything there. Any magic that brought you here is most likely gone and undetectable at this point.” He said.

“You said something about a dimension door? Can you do that?”

“No, my spells are divine and mostly for healing and enhancement. Few clerics have access to anything like that. What you need is a Wizard, or maybe a Warlock, although, I believe some Druids have the ability as well.”

Todoroki’s eyes glazed over, wishing the words coming out of the other man’s mouth made any kind of sense.

“Oh, but I know someone that might be able to help. Except…in order to teleport you usually have to have been there, or know where you want to go in detail, or you could end up somewhere you do not want to be.”

“I know where I need to go.”

“Yes, but it is the spellcaster who must see it in their mind’s eye.”

“So, they need a picture?”

“That could work if you can draw your destination. But it would have to be extremely detailed.”

“Like this?” Todoroki pulled out his phone and opened a picture of the place he wanted to go. Again, Deku’s eyes widened, as if he’d never seen anything like it.

“Incredible magic!” he exclaimed. He tried to take hold of it but Todoroki shut it off and stuck it back in his pocket.

“Except it has to be fast. I’m guessing you don’t have electricity here and I have no way of recharging my phone. Once it’s dead, it’s dead.”

“It’s alive?” Deku was mortified.

“No. It just means that it will turn off if it’s drained of power.”

“Ah, I see, well, if you are up to it, we can walk down the hill. I know a Wizard that might help you. His name is Toshinori.”

[gregorykratz]

An Overview of Woodworking and its Benefits

Woodworking is the craft of making decorative products from wood, including cabinets, stools, and tables. Wood has been a popular material for making tools and utensils since medieval times. Idols, chairs, and vessels in early civilizations were made from wood, and technological advancements kept redefining the dynamic uses of this material.

The earliest forms of woodworking are traceable to ancient Chinese and Egyptian civilizations. Numerous old Egyptian drawings showcase wooden products. Various pieces of furniture, including beds, tables, and chests, have also been preserved in tombs. Moreover, these tombs preserve Egyptian coffins and boat hulls from 3000 BC as further evidence to support the popularity of wood in ancient times.

Besides the financial benefits of selling finished products, woodworking is a viable hobby with psychological and social benefits. This activity helps improve concentration. Successful completion of projects requires paying close attention to dimensions and techniques.

Experts claim this activity can help undo stimulants, depressants, hallucinogenics, and opioids' adverse effects on cognitive functions. Woodworking operations exercise the mind and improve the attention span of these people and other enthusiasts.

Woodworking also improves fitness and body strength. This activity stretches muscles as enthusiasts operate tools and handle wood. Moreover, woodworking optimizes joint movements and enhances agility.

Moreover, there are many clubs and organizations that maintain professional societies for enthusiasts. Together with formalized blogs and online forums, these entities help develop networks among people with this interest for social and business purposes.

Woodworking clubs can also foster creativity. Enthusiasts showcase their work and can encourage beginners to express themselves to create unique projects. Information on new tools and techniques is available on these forums to encourage hobbyists to transform their imagination into finished products.

Routing, drilling, gluing, sanding, and finishing are popular woodworking activities. Routing involves creating finished edges and patterns by trimming and shaping wood. Hobbyists can draw designs on the surface and cut the wood to create unique edges.

Drilling involves using a drill and bit to bore holes in wood. Gluing, on the other hand, entails joining wooden pieces to create large projects. If done correctly, glued pieces form more solid and dense joints than the original wood.

In sanding, woodwork enthusiasts use sandpaper to smoothen wooden surfaces. It is advisable to start with medium grit and gradually advance to a finer grit to produce uniquely smooth projects. Lastly, finishing involves applying finishes to refine and protect wooden surfaces. This final woodworking operation gives projects eye-catching aesthetics while protecting wooden products from water.

Woodworking tools fall under two categories; hand and powered resources. Hand tools require hobbyists to hold and operate them. These include clamps, chisels, claw hammers, hand planes, and a tape measure. On the other hand, power tools use power from external sources such as batteries and electricity. They include drills, jointers, table saws, palm sanders, and thickness planers.

Woodwork enthusiasts can choose between hardwood and softwood for their projects. Hardwood comes from deciduous trees that grow slowly and require lengthy drying times. Experts consider hardwood the ultimate material for building exquisite projects, including flooring, musical equipment, and boats because they are strong and durable. Popular hardwood types include teak, oak, maple, and mahogany.

Softwoods come from evergreen trees that mature and dry faster than hardwood trees. For this reason, they are cheaper than hardwood and are popular in interior moldings, including windows and plywood. Cedar, fir, and pine are familiar sources of softwood.

[interactiveterm1bk]

Pie Facts

1. Pie is an ancient dish invented by the Romans They gave us roads and running water and the Romans are also credited with giving us pie – the first example of a meat filling enclosed in a basic pastry made of flour and oil can be traced back to ancient Rome.

It's fascinating how the Romans contributed not only to infrastructure but also to culinary history with the invention of pie. Their innovation in combining meat filling and basic pastry showcases the diverse impact of ancient civilizations.

2. Pie crust was originally used as tupperware  The crusty top/lid of a pie actually served to preserve the food as a sort of container – in fact the shells were tough and basically inedible but they served well as a sort of utensil to eat the filling before being discarded.

The historical use of pie crust as a makeshift container adds a practical and resourceful dimension to its culinary evolution. It highlights how ingenious solutions to food preservation emerged in different cultures, turning what was once functional into a delicious and integral part of the pie-eating experience.

3. The theatre of pie Medieval chefs were often tasked with outdoing one another for their masters entertainment. Birds are said to have flown out of pies and it’s even rumoured that dwarves came out of pies at feasts.

The notion of medieval chefs creating elaborate "theatre of pie" adds a whimsical and creative touch to culinary history. It reflects a time when culinary arts were not only about sustenance but also a form of entertainment, showcasing the imaginative lengths chefs went to in order to astonish and amuse their audiences.

4. Fruit pies and the Tudor connection  Called ‘pyes’ in medieval England and filled with meat, fruit pies first appeared in the 1500s, but British tradition says that the first cherry pie was served to Queen Elizabeth I in the late 16th century.

The evolution of pies from meat-filled 'pyes' to the introduction of fruit pies in the Tudor era adds a layer of historical charm to British culinary traditions. The story of Queen Elizabeth I being served the first cherry pie adds a regal touch, emphasizing how food history often intertwines with royal events, shaping cultural tastes over time.

5. Mince pies were once banned Legend has it that in the 17th century Oliver Cromwell (Lord Protector of the Commonwealth) banned eating mince pies at Christmas as he saw it as a sign of gluttony. Luckily the ban didn’t last long and we are able to enjoy the delicious pies once more

The historical ban on mince pies by Oliver Cromwell adds a curious twist to the culinary legacy. It's a reminder of how food choices can be intertwined with cultural and political shifts. The fact that the ban didn't endure allows us to savor these pies today, appreciating the resilience of culinary traditions.

6. To eat humble pie ‘Umble pie’, a pie made from the innards of deer, was said to be a dish for the lower classes as venison was reserved for the wealthy. But while it might be fun to put ‘humble’ and ‘umble’ together, there’s no real evidence to link this saying with the dish. 

The connection between "humble pie" and 'umble pie' might lack concrete evidence, but it adds a touch of linguistic charm to the culinary history. The idea that a dish once associated with the lower classes inspired an expression reflecting humility offers an intriguing glimpse into how language and food can intertwine in cultural narratives.

[thatsbelievable]

[mysticdragon3md3]

What Our Utensil Designs Say About Our Culture by Design Theory

When I was little, I got sick of my dad subtly making fun of us every time we went to a Chinese restaurant. He'd ask for chopsticks for himself, then always make sure to chat up with the waiter about how the rest of us didn't know how to use chopsticks or were just not very good at it. -.-;;;;; So after we hosted a big anniversary party for my grandparents, we had an entire freezer full of orange chicken, and I swore I'd use chopsticks everyday, until it ran out. But by then, I had gotten used to using the chopsticks, that I started using them every day, at every meal, every snack, for everything. I told myself I wouldn't stop until I got good at it. That was YEARS ago.

By now, a year or so ago, I finally realized that I don't need to practice anymore. I'm pretty competent at chopsticks, so I should just use whatever utensils I like the best. And I determined that I prefer using a spoon and fork together, in the Filipino style. You know how Westerners chase food around a plate with a fork OR a spoon? Filipinos use the fork to push the food into the spoon. Filipino food has a lot of sauce/broth, and I love getting some sauce/broth with every bite. But also, I eat so much food that isn't always cut into small pieces. And when whole pieces of meats or fish have been in the frig for a day or 2, they don't exactly come out of the microwave, soft enough to separate with chopsticks. With those foods, trying to separate it into smaller chunks with chopsticks, is just asking to fling food around the room, with the forces applied. Sometimes, it's just safer to cut everything up with a spoon and fork, Filipino style, then I bring back out my chopsticks. lol So despite how much I love using chopsticks, I decided, I prefer best, spoon in conjunction with fork, Filipino style.

Otherwise, I still use chopsticks. I love using chopsticks for snacks and finger food. I've used chopsticks for everything from potato chips and popcorn, to yogurt and ice cream. But that was more about my dedication to practicing with chopsticks until I got good. I'd prefer to eat cream desserts with spoons. But unless my hands are slippery from lotion (Curse this pandemic causing me skin problems!), I still find myself eating cakes, pastries, and ANYTHING else with chopsticks. It's just so much more convenient for people like me, who are particular about tempering the flavors of EACH bite of food. I love customizing each bite, very consciously. And if I'm too lazy to use both hands for even the Filipino style of using a spoon and fork, chopsticks are still better.

The video mentioned eating with hands. And I know that Filipinos traditionally eat with hands too---I remember my grandmother eating that way. But I don't think I could eat with my hands. I'm too germaphobic. I'm too uncomfortable with sticky fingers. Oil or cheese dust under my fingernails? Going to drive me up the wall. lol Maybe I'm too hypersensitive, but feeling all that food residue on my fingers, my skin, my fingernails...? Ugh, I don't think I could do it. And I don't think I could ever FEEL my hands would be clean enough. I'd have to wash my hands between each touch of a glass or condiment bottle, before I returned to eating with my hands again. And even then, the stickiness would just feel too gross to me. That's why I use chopsticks for snacks. When people start talking about the joy of licking cheese dust or sauces off their fingers, I just can't relate. lol I don't care if it's called "finger food", I want my chopsticks! ^o^

Kind of surprised this video essay didn't mention forks and spoons replacing personal knives. I can't remember where I heard it, but I remember something about how Medieval(?) people used to always have personal daggers on them, for self defense and whatever utilitarian tasks needed cutting, and those daggers were also used for eating. But people realized that hosting a dinner party was equivalent to inviting a bunch of armed people to your house. So they thought it safer to start having eating utensils. That's why table knives are also blunt. Maybe it was a history video? I remember it mentioning a Byzantine princess marrying into a more westward country and she was kind of looked down on for bringing a set of eating utensils with her, instead of eating with her hands, like everyone else. What was that video...?

[maciek-jozefowicz]

Episode 1: “Out of the Womb”

[The draft of the first chapter of my novel “Potter, Harriet. Proletariat.” It may be the only chapter I write, or it may not, but writing a narrative is a nice change of pace from poems, puzzles and thoughts.]

Harriet Potter was marked for death. Her life was going to be ended before it was officially began. That is because she was not meant to be. She was one of the Unwanted. There have been millions of them already. There will be millions more. She was not alone. Though knowing that was not comforting her. After all, she was going to die alone. Each Unwanted dies alone, unloved, and is forever forgotten. Its existence deleted from memory.

The date and the approximate time of her demise was determined by an appointment which was punctually adhered to by She-Who-Shall-Not-be-Named. (A rather uncharacteristic punctuality.) After a check-in and a short 10 minute wait, filled-up by a tense perusal of the latest issue of “Glamour” magazine, She-Who-Shall-Not-be-Named was told to follow a nurse. She did. Quietly. Like someone who wants to make herself invisible. To a midsize room in the middle of which was a throne-like metal armchair with metal footrests spread out like the skeletal wings of some large predatory bird…

The Throne looked like a medieval torture device; a modern, slick and shiny, ergonomic version of a medieval torture device. Beautifully and efficiently engineered, but no less intimidating for that. The seat was warm and relatively comfortable.

She-Who-Shall-Not-be-Named, already undressed, and in her clean, white patient garb that made her look like a lonesome angel without wings, not exactly naked, but feeling that way, sat down on the Throne, guided her feet onto its footrests (knowing the procedure well enough already) and nervously stared at the medical utensils lying on the table.

The nurse exited the room, closed the door, and left silence behind her. Almost. The clock on the wall tick-tocked loudly. It sounded like the ticking down of a time bomb. Time did not stand still. It never does. She-Who-Shall-Not-be-Named wished it did. At least, sometimes. A Pause button would come in handy. A Fast Forward button, too. And the Rewind button. The Rewind button would be the most useful.

The clean tools sparkled. They looked poised and ready. There was a variety of them, a team in which each member has its own specialty—sharp things that cut through flesh with terrifying ease; plier-like things that gripped and crushed; mean-looking hooks that grabbed and pulled; a cute little vacuum-like thing that sucked out the remains.

Suddenly, the door opened and the doctor walked in, holding a syringe filled, presumably, with some kind of poison. Harriet Potter was snuggly squeezed in complete darkness and warmth. She couldn’t see, but she could hear—the belly is not sound-proofed—and she could feel. She heard the doctor talking softly, with quiet confidence and reassurance. But Harriet didn’t feel reassured. She felt anxious, but didn’t know why. It couldn’t have been her anxiety, but it affected her nevertheless.

And the anxiety grew greater. Her heartbeat quickened, but, again, she didn’t know why. It just did in response to the other heartbeat. The one that wasn’t hers. The two heartbeats were painfully in synch now, rising louder, like a pair of large Native American war drums—ka-BOOM ka-BOOM ka-BOOM—faster and faster and louder and louder. The noise was disorienting.

And then something happened, a kind of explosion— >>POP-poof<< —and Harriet Potter disappeared from the warm womb that she’s been unwelcomed in for the past few months…

…and reappeared inside an empty crib inside a small room inside a small house some ten miles away. And promptly fell asleep with her thumb in her mouth. The anxious feeling gone; her heartbeat peacefully, and reassuringly, ticking.

Harriet Potter missed her appointment with Death.

[joyvideos]

Dubrovnik Revealed - Unraveling the Charms of the Pearl of the Adriatic

The pristine streets of Dubrovnik, its stunning architecture and landmarks exhibit the artistry of a city that has endured decades of civil war, earthquakes and invasions. Explore this UNESCO recognized city on your own or with an expert guide. All roads lead to Stradun the marble-paved central main street in Old Town. The entrance to the eastern part is via Ploce Gate with a bridge similar to the one at Pile Gate, built in the 14th century. 1. The Old Town The Old Town is a treasure trove of artistry and history. Explore the city walls, and take in breathtaking views of red-tiled rooftops as well as pine and cypress-shaded hills as well as the blue Adriatic Sea. In the 11th through the 17th centuries These walls were built in order to safeguard Dubrovnik from attack. The walls are today a UNESCO World Heritage Site, and are a must-see tourist attraction. 2. The City Walls Dubrovnik's Old Town will transport you back in time first time you walk through its gates. UNESCO World Heritage Site. The city's architecture blends baroque, medieval, as well as Renaissance influences. You can take an excursion with a guide along the city walls that divide Old Ragusa and the Adriatic Sea. Stradun is a limestone pathway which is brimming with historic structures, religious sites and secret courtyards. It could look like a conga line during rush hours, but it's worth it. 3. Sponza Palace is the Sponza Palace Sponza Palace, one of the few structures that survived the earthquake in 1667, was once the capital of the Republic's mint and treasury, and the armoury. The elaborate structure was designed by the protomagister Paskoje Milicevic. It has a mixture of Gothic and Renaissance styles. This massive gate, which is the busiest entry point to the Old Town was built by connecting two gates. You approach it across a wooden bridge that was raised every at night. The pillars are adorned with intricate medieval designs. 4. The Dominican Monastery It's no exaggeration to say that Dubrovnik is stunning. This beautiful medieval town featuring its famed ramparts, and its imposing old town is perhaps most famous for its role as King's Landing in Game of Thrones. The city is a fairytale that is brought to life when your guide guides you through Luza Square. It houses the largest monuments and palaces. It also passes through the Ploce Gate, which is identical to Pile Gate. 5. The Bell Tower The City Bell Tower is one of Dubrovnik's most famous landmarks. It's situated over Luza Square, and houses the main bell. The tower's stone structure overlooks prominent attractions, such as Sponza Palace and Orlando's Column. For centuries two bronze statues ring the hourly bell in order to symbolize the passage of the clock. They are known as Zelenci (meaning greenish) and are still in use today. 6. The City Market If you're looking for unique souvenirs, head to Gunduliceva in Poljana. You'll find everything here including embroidered tableware, olive oil and lavender bags to homemade soap. This little shop on the square in the city specializes in local olive oils, and also sells a variety of products related to it such as spreads and olive wooden Utensils. The Brachia oil is produced by their olive trees on Brac Island, is their best-selling item. 7. The Cable Car Dubrovnik's beauty is displayed in full splendor thanks to walls made of rough stone and marble floors. UNESCO World Heritage Site, the Old Town of Dubrovnik is an exhibit of human skill. Wealth in the Republic of Ragusa was derived from expert diplomacy and maritime trade. The wealth of Ragusa resulted from trade at sea and diplomacy that was skilled. Take the cable car to Mount Srd for jaw-dropping views across the city. You can enjoy the panoramic views and a relaxing ride while you learn about the city's rich history from your guide. 8. The Fort of St. Lawrence The city's walls from the past are a must to see on any trip. The guide will inform you of the city-state's history of attacks, earthquakes and Unesco-approved reconstructions. Fort of St. Lawrence is visible in the cove it is also known as Lovrijenac. The fort's vantage point offers amazing views of the Old Town. Fort Ragusa was built in honor of the dedication of Ragusa to Sigismund of Luxembourg Prince-Elector of Brandenburg. It also was a symbol of the city's independence and freedom. 9. War Photo Ltd This gallery that is well-curated was established in 1990 by New Zealand photographer Wade Goddard. He has expertise of war zones, conflict zones, and has a wealth of information on the Croatian Serbian War of 1992 from Yugoslavia. The goal of this site is to bring the realities of wars and conflicts to the public, while dispelling the myths associated with these conflicts. The images that are shown could be disturbing to certain viewers. Source: YouTube

[taxi-davis]

From 2012 to 2022, Zhemao (Chinese: 折毛; pinyin: Zhémáo), an editor of the Chinese Wikipedia, created over 200 interconnected articles about falsified aspects of medieval Russian history in one of Wikipedia's largest hoaxes. Combining research and fantasy, the articles were fictive embellishments on real entities, as Zhemao used machine translation to understand Russian-language sources and invented elaborate detail to fill gaps in the translation. She started this practice as early as 2010 on Chinese history topics, but turned to Russian history in 2012, and the political interactions of medieval Slavic states in particular. Many of her hoax articles were created to fill detail in her initial fabrications. Zhemao eluded detection for over a decade by obtaining the community's trust: faking a persona as a Russian history scholar, using sockpuppet accounts to feign support, and exploiting the community's good faith that her obscure sources matched the article content. A Chinese novelist unraveled the web of hoax articles in a June 2022 online post, having initially been intrigued by a narrative about a Kashin silver mine before finding its sources to not pass verification. Zhemao posted an apology the same month and revealed herself to have neither an advanced degree nor fluency in English or Russian. She attributed her use of sockpuppet accounts to her loneliness and absence of other social relationships. Volunteer editors blocked her accounts and quickly deleted her hoax articles, though cleanup continued a month later. The incident renewed doubt about Wikipedia's reputation for reliability.

Between 2012 and 2022, a user known as Zhemao created over 200 interconnected articles on the Chinese Wikipedia about fabricated events in medieval Russian history. While combining elements of research with fantasy, her work was comprehensive and cited, though some references were fake. For example, she cited Sergey Solovyov's 29-volume History of Russia from the Earliest Times, which exists, but the Chinese translation she cited does not. The web of articles centered around a "Kashin silver mine" and political ties between "princes of Tver" and "dukes of Moscow". The longest of Zhemao's hoax articles, close to a novel in length, overviewed three fabricated, 17th-century Tartar uprisings and their impact on Russia, replete with a custom map drawn by the user. Another article featured images of rare coins that she attributed to Russian archaeologists. Her work on Soviet deportations of Chinese people was vetted as a "featured article" on the Chinese Wikipedia and translated into the English, Arabic, and Russian Wikipedias. Her articles included elaborate detail on currency and eating utensils.

Zhemao's alternative histories started in 2010, with fictive embellishments about the Qing dynasty official Heshen. Two years later, she turned to Russian history topics with the biography of Alexander I before expanding to general Russian history, mainly around medieval Slavic states. Zhemao later said that her invented articles were meant to complete gaps in her initial fabrications.

Zhemao gained the community's confidence by posing as a scholar. She described herself as a Ph.D. in world history from Moscow State University, the progeny of a Chinese diplomat in Russia, married to a Russian man. Her profile included a petition by her fictional husband related to the 2022 Russian invasion of Ukraine. One veteran editor of the Chinese Wikipedia, John Yip, recognized Zhemao with an award in early 2022 to honor her work. But Zhemao used at least four "sockpuppet" accounts to give her edits the appearance of outside support. In at least one instance, she conversed directly with another account she controlled. Another account presented as a Peking University doctoral student with expertise in Russian history and claimed an off-site relationship with Zhemao. Yet another account had editing history back to 2010 but entered Zhemao's control in 2019. These sockpuppet accounts also contributed false histories about the Qing dynasty and Russia under Vladimir Putin.

Chinese web novel author Yifan (Chinese: 伊凡; pinyin: Yīfán) came upon Zhemao's Chinese Wikipedia article on a "Kashin silver mine" during research for a book and was intrigued by its detail, which included background on its social history, soil composition, and refining processes. He noticed, however, that the Russian Wikipedia equivalents of these articles either were much shorter or did not exist. The Chinese articles included people and embellishments not found in other language Wikipedia articles. A citation about medieval mining technique led to an article about modern, automated mining. Kashin existed but its silver mine did not. When Yifan asked Russian speakers to verify details, some references did not check out, with either the pages or editions of the books nonexistent. Further investigation into Zhemao's long articles on Slavic battles also did not appear in the Russian historical record. Yifan posted his findings on the Chinese question-and-answer website Zhihu in June 2022.

Zhemao posted an apology the same month on the English Wikipedia that explained how her actions, initially innocuous, grew out of control. She explained her background as a housewife with neither an advanced degree nor fluency in English or Russian. Unable to read source material, she augmented the output of translation software with her own imagination, which grew into extended works of fiction. Zhemao attributed the sockpuppet accounts to loneliness, as imaginary friends or cosplay as parasocial relationships in the absence of other social relationships and circumstances of her husband's frequent business travel. She apologized to the Russian scholars she befriended and portrayed, and pledged to take up a craft instead of continuing with her project. A cadre of Wikipedia volunteers reviewed Zhemao's edits to over 300 articles. Some consulted topical expertise to separate fact from fiction. Most of her articles were deleted by June 17. Her multiple accounts were permanently blocked. Volunteers continued to review her edits a month later. The Zhemao hoaxes were among Wikipedia's largest, having exploited a gap in standard Wikipedia good faith practices in which editors check for proper sources and obvious plagiarism, but not necessarily whether obscure sources verify the article content. Chinese Wikipedia editors described regret in having been deceived, abetted Zhemao, and participated in damaging the encyclopedia's already delicate reputation for reliability. Engadget likened the Zhemao hoaxes to the 2007 Essjay controversy, in which a Wikipedia editor similarly faked their stated expertise. Multiple publications remarked on the missed opportunity of Zhemao not publishing her writing as standalone fiction, based on editor remarks on the quality and rigor of its prose. Some publications dubbed Zhemao a "Chinese Borges".

[aohendo]

Is there anything you researched or learned that you hoped to use in Prince for Hire but hasn’t made it in?

Also how much research do you do for writing and at what parts of the processes?

Hello, hello!

TBH, I think the only thing I actively researched before starting the first draft of Prince was what kind of biomes there likely would be in that area, and also the population numbers that region could support. None of that made it in other than as vague references, such as this place is really cold, and that place down there has much more reliable crops and therefore more people than the really cold place. I did a smidgeon of research on clothing and textiles in the first draft, but that was mostly so I had a clearer picture of what they were all wearing and how they could go about distinguishing their statuses from one another, and also to highlight the differences in dress between the princes Vgorvel and the Turre.

I should… I should probably do a little more research before starting these sorts of things, but more often than not any research becomes a second draft issue. The only research items which are reliably not left to later drafts are character related, such as if I realize a character has ptsd, depression, anxiety, etc. If it’s not character related, I’ll often leave myself my triangle notes within the first draft, detailing points of worldbuilding to research, elaborate on, and incorporate throughout the text. The big ticket non-character research items so far have been: pottery and glassware in Kievan Rus; common food in Kievan Rus; materials used to make medieval ink; and principals of stoicism.

Pottery/dishware has only made one mention in chapter one (other than the occasional mention of an individual’s dining utensils being kept on their belt); common food during that time period is slowly replacing my little “and then they ate their soup” bits—this does nothing for the plot, but it does at a lot of specificity to the environment, which makes things clearer to picture; medieval ink has appeared once in chapter two to establish Kiris as something of an expert in copying, forgery, and illumination, and will return in the later half of the manuscript; and stoicism tenants have been loosely weeded through and combined with the Marine Corps’ ye olde classic JJDIDTIEBUCKLE as the foundation of the Tri-Life, the major religion of the Novgor Plateau and another item Kiris is extremely well-versed in.

I’m fortunate in that anything sci-fi I write, I’ve got a good friend who’s getting his phd in astrophysics, so at least for those types of projects or anything math/physics I can shoot him a what if text to get myself on the right research path.

Gonna turn this question right back at you, @on-noon!