#Joinery Work

[dorianbracht]

Oh yeah, I wrote a book on Japanese Joinery for anyone who's interested :)

In English:

In German:

[shirtlessworking]

shirt off, shorts and sneakers on, build wooden house

[elusivegreen]

There is a second drawer

[wikirobot]

Spent some time working on the frame for a mortise and tenon based chest. The design is loosely based off of a medieval chest/grain larder I saw in an episode of Secrets of the Castle. A random show about a group of archeologists working at a site in France where people were building a castle.

I realized I still have 26 mortises left to cut for the sides and top, I think I may have made a bad design decision. Ah well.

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[woodmines]

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[interiorergonomics]

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[laylaheartphilia]

Large elegant family room library photo

[hautevisage]

Sydney Home Office Home studio idea with a large contemporary freestanding desk, a medium tone wood floor, white walls, and no fireplace

[amritokumar-seo-expert]

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[elusivegreen]

Oh right, it's my page and I can post whatever I want. Here's a wip. For some reason I keep telling myself people only wanna see finished stuff.

I'm practicing joinery again with a little set of drawers for hot drink stuff. Still, very far from being a master of it, but at least it's holding together well this time.

[shini--chan]

How would yandere Austria react to their spouse divorcing them?

Yandere Austria - Cleave a Joinery

Roderich would have worked hard to get into a relationship with him, to shield you and keep you and bind you to him. He wouldn't appreciate you trampling all over the fruits of his labour. Though, he would try to be understanding at first, to be empathetic and work through the problems you'd have with him. It wouldn't be easy for him, with how annoyed and arrogant he'd be about the whole affair. Usually he would be skilled enough to hide his negative emotions, yet you'd know too well and for too long to be tricked. Not to mention that he would find it difficult to take this seriously to begin with, since he would find your attempts of separation to be childish. 

Should it actually proceed to bureaucratic measures, then he would let documents disappear. Officials would be paid to throw away filled forms and ignore payments and meetings. Bit difficult to get divorced if nobody is willing to execute it, eh? He would gaslight you into believing that you never initiated a divorce and that it had all been in your head. If he can persuade you to drop the issue in that manner, then he'll jump at the chance, damn the cruelty of his actions. 

At some point he would try to drown his sorrow and anger in alcohol and then matters would get nasty. Sober, Roderich would carry himself with pride and resolution. He would strive to come over as the pinnacle of culturedness and elegance, and hide his more coarser sides. Being drunk would bring those coarser sides out, and he would remind you that he isn't really some high-struck city-slicker that has spent his life swamped in luxury and idleness. It could just be a fight where he'd unleash such insults and swears that you'd lock yourself in a closet to cry. It could be him chasing you through the house with a whip or a sharp sword. 

Or, you could try to initiate a divorce only to discover that the marriage contract doesn’t even allow you to be separated from him. Planning ahead for such a possibility, Roderich might write additional clauses in the marriage contract that would forbid you from divorcing him and remarrying; even death wouldn’t be able to break the union. If anything, you would discover that you owe him a lot for all the missteps that you’ve taken over the years. From you, he would then demand a pound of flesh and now that all the smoke and mirrors would have been cast aside, he wouldn’t have to put on masks in front of you.

If you should successfully manage to divorce him, then there would be hell to pay. Of course he would prefer to be married officially to you, alone for all the pomp and ceremony and symbols, but he would also settle for a void marriage if only for the drama and adventure that it would evoke. Whether you like it or not, you would spend the rest of your life tied to him. You could either go along with the flow, or have him chain you to him forcibly

[kayr0ss]

Rosewood

[Dungeon Meshi / Delicious in Dungeon, Farcille, Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Proposal Fic, Woodworking / Furniture Making, Fluff and Humor, Touden Siblingisms] AO3 Link

Summary: Falin gets into woodworking, is kind of a (loveable) idiot, and Marcille loves every second of it

I.

“I believe us tall-men call it a quarter-life crisis.”

“How is it a crisis?” Marcille glared at Kabru. “Now that the kingdom’s relatively stable, she’s probably just looking for something new to do with her free time.”

Marcille ran into him at the tradesman’s courtyard—a rectangular wing of the castle with an open garden in the center. This wing housed wide rooms with high ceilings and windows facing the garden to flood them with natural light. Some were used for textiles and tailoring, others for working metal. Another section—Marcille’s intended destination—was for putting together and repairing furniture. She had stopped herself at the room’s threshold at the sight of ash-blonde hair, leaning against the doorway to allow herself a minute to just… look.

And that’s when Kabru found her—such terrible timing. She was trying to enjoy herself!

“That’s what a quarter-life crisis is,” he insisted.

Marcille scoffed. “Why can’t we just call it a hobby?”

“I mean we can.” Kabru hummed thoughtfully. “Those aren’t mutually exclusive.”

Falin’s interest in woodworking hadn’t come up out of the blue. Marcille remembers her having a small collection of books on it—as early as their school days. She’d read about Izgandan tools and scribble notes on the margins of her book on Eastern joinery. Marcille fondly remembers how she’d complain about neck pains—too much reading did her no favors—how she’d sigh to Falin about wanting a bookstand.

Oh, Falin had said back then. I’ll just make you one.

And she did—even if it took her a few years to get around to it.

It sat at the center of Marcille’s desk—Falin’s first ever project, imperfect and a little funny-looking but Marcille would never have it any other way. In a few short months, Falin had graduated from making cutting boards to specialized barstools for Chilchuck. Her most recent completion was a knife block for Senshi.

Today, she was starting on something new.

The most beautiful slab of rosewood was laid out on Falin’s work bench, and it seemed like she was working on flattening it. Falin worked with a large hand-planer, running it across the wood at an angle from its grain. Back and forth she went, spilling sawdust and shavings across the floor. Marcille couldn’t help but watch—she watched the way Falin’s arms moved with each pass, her brows knit together in a look of concentration. She watched the way Falin paused to fold up the sleeves of her loose, cotton shirt—further up to her elbows until Marcille could see tufts of soft, beautiful feathers. Marcille kept watching. Even as Falin wiped the sweat off her brow, running a towel across the side of her neck while she steadied her breathing. Still, Marcille kept watching—until finally, Falin gripped the handles of the planer again—her hands strong and steady, placing the tool back into position on the rosewood—

Kabru cleared his throat and Marcille quickly wondered if she could get away with murder.

“Wha—!” Marcille felt her blood pressure pitch into the high heavens. She burned, red, sputtering. “What are you even still doing here! I thought you were working?!”

“I am. It’s my job to remind the Royal Court Mage,” Kabru smiled diplomatically. “To stop ogling Lady Falin so openly in public.”

Kabru ducked—expertly dodging Ambrosia’s arc towards the back of his head.

--

II.

“What kind of wood is it?”

Marcille ran her hand along the scabbard Falin had crafted for Laios. She didn’t cover it with leather or paint, instead opting to stain it with a mild oil. Marcille had never seen wood with such odd grain patterns and color before. They curved almost anatomically, swirling into knots and unraveling like blood vessels.

“Uhm—It’s—” Falin looked to the corner of the room, nervously scratching at her check.

Marcille raised an eyebrow—then Laios excitedly barreled into the room.

“Falin!” He ran towards them, towering over his sister’s back and ruffling her hair.

“Get off!” Falin pouted, swatting him away. “Don’t ruffle my hair!”

“Did you finish it?” Laios blinked. Then he gasped, grabbing the scabbard excitedly from Marcille’s hands. “You did! My barometz scabbard!”

Marcille shrieked. “Barometz?!”

“Look, Marcille!” Laios held the scabbard right at her face—Marcille recoiled, pressing backwards against Falin who held wrapped her arms around her waist. “Do you see how the pattern branches out? It looks like wood grain but it’s actually a network of capillaries designed to provide nourishment to the creatures a baromtez grows—”

“Like a placenta!” Falin added softly.

“Exactly!” Laios laughed. “I have a sheath made out of—"

Marcille, exasperated, shoved her hands onto the two siblings’ faces to push them apart. “Barometz!?”

Falin flashed her sheepish grin.

“I just—you two!”

--

III.

Marcille was surprised to find Falin at Laios’ office—she had made a mess of the guest table at the center of the room, littering it with ribbons and decorative parchment. There were leathers laid out by the couch nearby, and Falin scrambled about, inspecting each one before coming back to a small box placed at the center of the table.

It was a beautiful jewelry box—another one of Falin’s projects. It had a body made from walnut and a checkered line that ran along its lid, made of cherry and pine. The colors reminded Marcille of the trees around her home. The lock was capped with a crest—one that surprised Marcille. Falin never cared for the posturing and ceremony that she and her brother now had to suffer, so why was her royal crest set in gold on this box?

“Oh—hi, Marcille.”

“Hey,” Marcille smiled, tugging on the front of Falin’s shirt to pull her closer. She got up on her tip toes, wrapping her arms around Falin’s shoulders to steal a small kiss.

“You found me,” Falin mumbled into their kiss, holding her by the waist.

“Mhm,” Marcille finally pulled back. “What are you doing here?”

“Sending a package. It’s going all the way up North so I needed good wrapping.”

“Is it this a jewelry box you made?”

“Mhmm.”

“It looks beautiful,” Marcille walked towards the table to inspect it. “Though I’m surprised that you used such an official symbol. That’s unlike you.”

“W—Well I heard jewelry boxes were a good gift for mothers.” Falin scratched at the back of her head. “And I wanted this one to be kinda… official looking?”

“Oh!” Marcille blinked. “Well, I’m sure your mother would love it!”

“Ah, no.” Falin’s natural flush deepened. “Not for my mom—”

“Hm?”

“It’s… for yours.”

Oh.

Marcille—stunned at first—smiled. Then she laughed, pulling Falin into a hug—her wonderful, loving, thoughtful Falin.

--

IV.

“Don’t you want to go tell her yourself?” Laios asked over dinner.

“I can’t.” Falin squirmed. “I’m too nervous.”

“She can’t be that strict!”

“Do you remember how Marcille was when we first met her in the tavern?”

Laios paled. “Yes. Is she even stricter?”

“I think so, yeah.”

“Understandable.

--

V.

“It’s so pretty!” Marcille swooned, hands clasped as she admired Falin’s hard work.

The rosewood desk that Falin had been working on was finally finished after weeks of work. It was polished impeccably, sealed with the finest wax to finish. It had all the drawers Marcille needed – shallow ones for her inks and pens, deeper ones for parchment and scrolls, and even a little platform towards the back where she could set her feet—Falin knew that sometimes the chair was too high for Marcille to be able to reach the ground.

“Oh, it’s perfect!” Marcille hugged Falin, who looked delightfully smug.

“No fair!” Laios pointed at his sister. “Falin—I want one too!”

“I already gave you a scabbard,” she shook her head.

“My desk is so big and boring though,” he slumped.

“It’s also a thousand-year hold antique,” Kabru supplied dryly. “It would do well for appearances to keep it.”

The new desk was heavy. Really, really heavy. It had taken nearly all of them to carry it up to Marcille’s office with how heavy and set it was. This was apparently by design, according to Falin, who can be so much like her brother and not know when to not say things, because—

“I made sure to use joinery instead of nails and angle irons,” Falin gave herself a self-satisfied nod. “I know that it bothers you how it creaks when w—”

Marcille turned so red they thought she might faint, hooking Ambrosia around Falin’s head and yanking her backwards hard enough to knock the air out of her lungs.

--

VI.

By the time winter started that year, all the furniture in Marcille’s room and office had been replaced by Falin��s handiwork: new shelves for her books and trinkets, an extension for her windowsill where she could keep plants and little felt toys.

Today, Marcille came into her office to a brand-new chair. It perfectly matched her desk, coming up a little higher than her old one to make writing and reading more comfortable.

“I asked the tailors for help with the upholstery,” Falin said, still in her apron and smelling of sawdust. “I’ve never been very good with sewing and leatherwork.”

“It’s amazing,” Marcille whispered as she traced along Falin’s simple engravings—she had started experimenting more artistically with her work. Beautiful, Marcille thought to herself. How wonderful it was to see Falin’s efforts engraved into something tangible—something permanent. “Thank you.”

Falin simply smiled back.

“You’ve gotten so good at this!”

“You think?”

“Yeah!” Marcille stood up to clasp their hands. “The gift you sent mom left such an impression on her that she’s planning to visit.”

Falin gasped. And then grinned, “I’m so glad!”

“Me too,” Marcille leaned forward, smiling against Falin’s shoulder and the feathers of her neck. “I’m happy you found a hobby you like so much. Between dungeons and politics, it seems like such a good break for you.”

“Mm, yeah.” Falin gently ran her fingers along Marcille’s hair. “I’ve always wanted to be able to build furniture for my wife one day.”

Marcille froze.

What?

She pushed herself backwards, looking up in surprise at Falin while still staying in their embrace. “Wife—? Wh—”

Falin was blinking, almost in a panic. Then she grew redder, and redder, and redder—like a kettle about to whistle. “I, uh—!” She stammered. She had that look on her face, the adorable expression of confusion as if she had just forgotten something very important. It reminded Marcille of their younger days. “You see—”

Marcille’s thoughts were running a hundred paces at a time—her mother visiting? Falin—wife?

“Marcille,” Falin looked at her resolutely. Lovingly. “Will you marry me?”

--

VII.

“You forgot to propose?” Chilchuck had his face in his hands.

“Well, technically I was still able to…” Falin said meekly.

“After all the time I put into helping you plan it!”

--

VIII.

By the next summer, Marcille found herself at the tradesman’s courtyard again. She had a tray of refreshments in her hands—one for herself and another for Falin. The condensation on the glass formed droplets of dew that ran along its side, mirroring the droplets on Falin’s brow. Her hair was tied up in a ponytail—messy with stray locks escaping this way and that. Her shirt was loose and bunched around her forearms and she was wearing a brand-new work apron that Senshi had made for her—with hooks and pockets and all.

Marcille, like so many times before, leaned against the woodshop’s doorframe to watch and wonder.

“Marcille,” Kabru cleared his throat, standing next to her with an arm full of scrolls.

“Kabru.”  

He nudged her shoulder. “May I remind the Royal Court Mage—”

“I can ogle my wife whenever I want!”

“I don’t wanna hear it!” Marcille scoffed, petulant yet still smiling.

She watched as Falin gripped the handles of her planer, firm and strong, her left hand glittering with new jewelry.

-

fin

-

A/N:

extremely self indulgent thanks i love these two, this was not beta read so sorry *throws it to AO3 and posts it* hope that you enjoyed!

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