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alectology-archive · 5 years ago

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SJ/M’s unacceptable and lazy usages of real world places/cultures

I’m aiming to make this the most comprehensive list of SJ/M stealing bits and pieces of world history and pretending like she came up with them. Feel free to comment down below or send an ask if you can think of anything.

The addition of adaptation of names from some real-world places is included either because of insensitivity (Hybern and Prythian) or mostly because SJ/M doesn’t try to represent any of the cultures she takes from.

Note that this post will keep getting updated as I discover more evidences of unacceptable usages of cultures. Also note that there is every possibility that some resemblances are purely accidental and/or unintentional. So take it with a grain of salt.

T/HRONE OF GLASS

- Most of the cultural activities mentioned in Tower of Dawn are rip-offs of Mongolian culture and seem to resemble the Dothraki from Game of Thrones very closely.

- Pagan holidays mentioned in the books:

Yulemas* is celebrated in Erilea despite there already existing an established religion consisting of 12 gods and goddesses.

Samhain* is a festival celebrated by Irish and Scottish people.

Beltane* is a festival celebrated historically in Ireland and Scotland.

- Nehemia is probably derived from the Jewish leader Nehemiah who helped rebuild Jerusalem. Instead of trying to work that into Nehemia’s narrative, SJ/M killed off Nehemia to serve a white woman’s narrative.

- Mycenae is a historical site in Greece.

- Illium is an actual Greek city as well.

- Ravi in KoA is named after a Hindi word which means “sun”.

- Strangely enough Ravi’s brother is named Sol after the Roman god of the sun.

- Suria, where Ravi is from, is also a synonym for sun in Hindi.

- Mab is from the story of “Queen Mab”.

- Maeve is a sexual goddess in Irish mythology who was actually raped. So making Maeve a rapist in the books was hurtful.

A/COTAR

- Nagas belong to Hindu/Indian mythology included in a book that’s clearly a very western fantasy and has little to no PoC representation.

- Illyrians were an actual indo-european tribe with close relations to modern day Albanians. S/JM is not the first person to feature them in her work but other authors have used versions of the name like “Illyria” by Shakespeare, “Ilirea” by Paolini, “Valyria” by GRRM etc. which are acceptable.

- Calan Mai is actually a celebration of spring in Welsh culture. As @gemorsedd put it so eloquently, SJ/M turned it into a festival about Tamlin being unable to control his hormones.

- Hybern is derived from the classic latin name of Ireland which is “Hibernia”.

- Prythian is a modified version of the ancient name of Britain “Prydain”. COINCIDENTALLY, Prythian VERY closely resembles the UK. It’s also possible that she plagiarised the name from Anne Bishop’s Daughter of Blood.

Note for further reading: Read @blakeseptember’s about why SJ/M was especially insensitive in including Prythia and Hybern in the ways she did: https://blakeseptember.tumblr.com/post/187088853587/hybern-as-ireland

- Bharat is actually the Hindi name for India which is mentioned in ACO/TAR. Not only is it mentioned that Feyre’s father was sailing to Bharat to trade in cloth and spices (which was exactly what British colonialists and traders did when they sailed to India), it’s also said, quite clearly, that Feyre’s mother died of Typhus while her cousin died of Malaria (IN BHARAT). By doing so SJ/M is blatantly promoting a very colonialist view of India.

The Malaria mention: “My mind was void, a blank mess of uselessness. Could it be some sort of disease? My mother had died of typhus and her cousin had died of malaria after going to Bharat. But none of those symptoms seemed to match a riddle. Was it a person?”

The Trade of cloth and spices: “I swallowed. ‘Eight years ago he amassed our wealth on three ships to sail to Bharat for invaluable spices and cloth.’”

- Myrmidons feature in A/COWAR. The Myrmidons is actually a nation from Ancient Greek mythology (led by Achilles in the siege of Troy).

- Harem pants which are worn in parts of South and Middle-east Asia feature in the books where they’re introduced into a court consisting of white people only.

- F/eyre’s floral tattoos are very reminiscent of mehendis which are very important to Indian, Arabic and North African cultures but it’s a trait given to a white woman here. Read this post.

C/RESCENT CITY

- Danaan is from Tuatha de Danaan (celtic mythology) / Danaans is another name for Greece in the Iliad, used interchangeably with “Argives” and “Achaeans”.

- Avallen is Avalon (the legend of King Arthur). Ruhn’s story also bears a very close resemblance to the legend.

- 6 point star = Star of David

- Lehabah = a word in Hebrew meaning "a flame" (להבה)

- Mount Hermon = an actual mountain place in the northern part of Israel. In Hebrew: הר החרמון.

- SPQM’s full form is Senatus Populusque Midgard. Which is awfully close to the SPQR of the ancient Roman empire which is Senatus Populusque Romanus

- The river Tiber mentioned in CC is actually a Roman river.

- Midgard, in Norse mythology, is the home of mankind. In Norse mythology.

- Sandriel: Comes from the angel Sadriel, the angel of order. S/JM added an “n.”

- Orion “Hunt” A/thalar: First name is pretty obvious, Orion as in the hunter which is where his name “Hunt” comes from. Probably from the god Attar called Athtar in Southern Arabia. Attar is sometimes considered a storm god explaining his lightning powers, but also linked to the Morningstar aka Lucifer. No explanations are given regarding as to how the constellations of our world are the same as that of SJ/M’s fantasy AU.

- Shahar Daystar: From the dawn deity Shahar. Also linked to Lucifer.

- Jesiba Roga: A Croatian respelling of Baba Yaga. Jesiba Roga, is quite literally just a combination of Ježibaba (a figure closely related to Baba Yaga in West Slavic folklore) and Baba Roga (the Croatian version of of Baba Yaga).

- Danika Fendyr: Danika is a Slavic dawn deity. Fendyr comes from Fenrir a wolf in Norse mythology.

- Isaiah: Taken from Isaiah 14:12-15 which details the fall of Lucifer. It’s also easily accessible from Shahar’s Wikipedia page (which may imply that SJ/M uses Wikipedia for research and just steals/lazily incorporates whatever she finds along the way.)

12 “How you are fallen from heaven,

O [a]Lucifer, son of the morning!

How you are cut down to the ground,

You who weakened the nations!

13 For you have said in your heart:

‘I will ascend into heaven,

I will exalt my throne above the stars of God;

I will also sit on the mount of the congregation

On the farthest sides of the north;

14 I will ascend above the heights of the clouds,

I will be like the Most High.’

15 Yet you shall be brought down to Sheol,

To the [b]lowest depths of the Pit.

- Fury Axtar: Hunt is likely related to Attar or maybe even Ishtar or Ashtaroth. It’s unclear right now. Ishtar is sometimes linked to Lucifer as well. It’s possible that she’s named after the Furies in Greek mythology, deities of vengeance.

- Micah Domitus: Micah is a prophet in Judaism.

- Syrinx: A chimera in this book, a nymph known for her devotion to Artemis.

- Urd: The god of flame and shadow possibly the name comes from Urðr one of the three Norns in Norse mythology.

- Luna: A Roman moon goddess

- Cthona: “Chthonic”, in English, describes deities or spirits of the underworld, especially in Ancient Greek religion.

- Vanir: The Vanir are actually group of Norse gods.

- Asphodel Meadows: A section of the ancient Greek underworld where ordinary souls were sent to live after death.

- Hel: Hel is a goddess but also a location in Norse Mythology for the dead. Depictions of Hel depend on the source of the information. It’s strange that Hel and Asphodel Meadows belong in the same place, translating to lazy world building on SJ/M’s part.

- Midgard: In Norse Mythology basically the plane of existence of humans.

- Laconic Mountains: Named after Laconia the administrative capital of Sparta.

- Nidaros: Where Bryce grew up. It’s the ancient name of Norway’s capital when the Christian kings ruled. It’s now called Trondheim.

- Istros River: Taken from Istros of Ancient Greece

- Valbara: Taken from the super continent Vaalbara

- Pangera: probably Pangea, the huge supercontinent on which dinosaurs lived

- Crown of Thorns: In reality it’s a symbol of Jesus but in the book it’s branded onto the foreheads of angels who rebelled in a war some decades ago.

- Keres: Phillip Briggs’s terrorist gang is named after the Keres who are “goddesses who personified violent death and who were drawn to bloody deaths on battle fields.”

- Sailing: A Norse funeral custom for Vikings as seen in movies like How To Train Your Dragon 2 and Thor: The Dark World. Here’s more information on it, but it seems SJ/M got it wrong. Most Vikings were usually cremated and it was mostly used for Kings and Chieftains (Danika might fall into the Chieftain category).

- 33rd Imperial Legion: Could be a reference again to Jesus who was 33 at his death.

- The Ophian rebels (of which the the Keres rebels are a subgroup of) are named after Ophian, and elder Titan in Greek mythology.

Sources I’ve derived some facts from so far:

- Sapir Englard on Goodreads via @spaceshipkat’s tumblr post using Hebrew in CCity.

- @bittenwrath for basically everything in crescent city.

- @blakeseptember’s tumblr about Hybern’s origins.

- An anon dropped by with “Hel”

- @chenmighty and @tavithelibrarian pointed out the Illyrians.

- @sylphene and @omourningstar for Prydain

- @ok-boomer pointed out that Yulemas, Samhain and Beltain are all pagan holidays.

- @gemorsedd For pointing out Calan Mai

- An anon pointed out the Norns, Danaan and Avalon.

- @mimiofthemalfoys for the Bharat, malaria, typhus, spices and cloth mention.

- @kryingkardashianz for Danaans being another name of Greece and Myrmidions.

- an anon pointed out Nidaros

- @shurislut for mehendi and harem pants

- @sanktaalinaa for Jesiba Roga

- @croissantcitysucks for the Ophian Rebels

#anti sjm #anti tog #anti throne of glass #anti ccity #anti acotar #anti sarah j maas #compilation

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cooltrainererika · 5 years ago

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Alt-talia Compilation: Mystical Creatures

Getting some short Alt-talia one-shots out now.

So these are still for 10/21: Mystical Creatures. And it’s a compilation! …Yes, six days overdue now. Please go easy on me, time zones are a b*tch and Hetalia Emblem part 2 took up almost my entire day off. But I’ll have today’s fic uploaded by the end of today too, and hopefully other short ones for the days I missed.

Here’s what I could come up with now. I might add more in reblogs later, because man oh man, there’s tons of potential with this prompt, and I want to write more on it because, hey, it’s part of culture too (though not sure if hetaween will reblog it. After all, I don’t want to write something no one would read…).

Though the latter two ended up using basically the same premise, I liked them both, so bear with me. Also, the first one ended up way longer than intended. And I wrote about Japanese folklore again. It’s what I know most about (though it’s not much), so yeah, sorry about that. Not to mention it’s the easiest to find these types of creatures in our folklore.

Also, since I forgot to note in the past Alt-talia fic, I’ll say this here; the characters in my Alt-talia AU can act very differently from their canon counterparts. Particularly the latter two main characters in this compilation. They’re meant to be more accurate to the actual cultures and what is considered stereotypical. Though since I can’t afford to think much now, they’ll probably act more like their modern selves instead of how they might have acted in these eras. Or in one case, what I’m thinking would be the case in this era; this one character acts more brash and energetic here than he would in canon or in modern Alt-talia (where he isn’t too different from canon). Also one of the main characters probably isn’t characterized enough for this to be noticeable. Also, Alt-talia in general is a darker AU, though it won’t show up much here.

And, though I’ve been vague about the characters here, I’ll just say this, and this is important; “Rome” here, A.K.A. Nikephoros, is NOT the same Rome as the one who is Italy’s grandfather. He is the Byzantine/Eastern Roman Empire, and he and Greece are father and son in Alt-talia. I’ll describe other relationships as they come along. Ancient Greece is mentioned, but while Byzantine is her son, and by extension indeed she’s Greece’s grandmother, the main actors during the Classical era were the city-states, and at least one will be mentioned here by name, though they won’t actually appear in-story (Ancient Greece’s existence is… a bit of a weird one. She shouldn’t exist, since Ancient Greece was never a single country, at least during the eras most people consider to be “Ancient Greece”, but I kind of have to make do with her existing now). His grandfather will also be mentioned… though I think his father being Eastern Rome should make his identity obvious.

Greece is what I call an “egg”/“proto-nation/realm” at this point (basically, a nation/realm in-waiting, who may appear to a pre-existing country (uncommon) or be born to a male and female pair just like a normal human (extremely rare) to raise as their child and replace them in event of death, or eventually represent a realm that splinters off from the parent realm), as such he will be referred to exclusively as “Irakles” (spelled that way because that’s closer to the Greek spelling) and is physically about 6 years old at most, if not younger, as I’m thinking Egg Nations don’t age past early childhood, though I may move that to 12 or 10 or something.

Though I wasn’t sure which names I should use here in the first place, so I may flip-flop a bit. As a general rule, I use country names when describing them as countries, and human names when describing them as individuals (or in romantic contexts) and for Egg/Proto-nations. So when describing cultural things instead of political things, the lines can especially blur, unfortunately. I’ll still try to make them symbolic though.

…And that should be that! Sorry for making this so long! Without further ado, now, for our feature presentation…

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(Also… people who read my fics, please reblog? I’ve spent so much time on them, I want more people to see them.)

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Child of The Soil

Young Kiku loved exploring the mountains outside Asuka.

Here, the gods lived. It was the spirits’ domain, where they allowed the young boy to use as his playground; while he was already centuries old, he still explored it with innocent wonder befitting his eight-year-old appearance, but with a hint of familiarity. After all, this island’s forests were, in a way, his element as well.

They knew who he really was; the young personification of Yamato. Even without telling them, they knew. The spirits and gods themselves rarely, if ever, presented themselves directly to him, but he could feel their presence in the air among the familiar cries of insects, sometimes even their whispers to him.

He made his way to a less wooded, grassy clearing; the longest grasses, the types used by the people of Asuka to thatch roofs, were long enough for the little boy to disappear into.

It was then he noticed what seemed to be a slender, scaly tail poking out of the grasses.

Then, something started... rolling? Yes, rolling, and disappeared into the grass.

“Huh?”

Curious, the young boy trailed the mysterious creature as it made its way through the overgrown grass, trying not to rustle the grass too loudly or lose track of it.

Finally, the creature rolled towards a meadow where the grass was shorter in front of raised ground, and unfurled itself. From behind the grass, he observed it; it was a shaku* long… snake? But not just any snake; one with a strangely broad, almost flat midsection, its thin neck sticking out from one side and its tail out the other.

It was somewhat dopey-looking, yet he felt drawn to the strange creature, though he didn’t know why. It seemed strangely… familiar.

“Hello there?”

Kiku made a few small steps out of the tall grass, and just when he was over it, the snake bunched up like an inchworm, and…

It jumped.

The snake jumped up, several times his height, over the ledge.

His jaw dropped, aghast, stumbling back, almost falling back into the tall grass.

Then, it briefly stopped, looking back at him. It let out a high pitched “Chiii!” before crawling into the tall grass above.

“…Nozuchi?”

That was all he could whisper.

Was that…

That day, among the ringing melodies of Suzumushi crickets, Yamato thought he had met the grass spirit.

———-

Kiku didn’t know if he had imagined what happened that day.

Since that day, it - maybe goddess, maybe spirit, maybe mundane creature - and how it had looked back at him, as if asking him to find it, remained at the back of his mind. Its name changed over the years, as did what he believed its identity to be. However, eventually, only a few villagers shared his knowledge of the snake anymore.

Until, over a millennia later, a certain children’s book featured a hunt for that same creature, and as unreliable as his distant childhood memories could be, the memory returned to him clear as day.

And today, in his new Third-Generation Nissan Datsun Sunny as kayōkyoku and New Music played on the radio, his spirits moderately high from fresh economic growth, he had returned to that same place where he thought he had that encounter over a millennia before.

A small crowd had gathered there, mainly families, mothers and fathers holding lunches and cages, children with butterfly nets bragging about how they would be the first to catch the coveted snake. Some people looked at him in puzzlement, his lack of any children, girlfriend, or even friends making him very conspicuous among the gathering.

The place had changed quite a lot, but in some ways, it was still as it had always been. However, while it, of course, was of more significance to him than any other random mountain, forest, or village would be, he had far moved past these mountains, or Asuka, a long time ago, ultimately just one past home out of many. And it wasn’t even his first at that, though his earliest memories were almost entirely lost to the ether. Childhood to nations was, unlike for humans, not necessarily worth any more, nor any more notable than any other era they had been alive. And to him, Nara, his other childhood home two more moves later, was a much more important factor in who he was now than Asuka; even today, Nara remained a major city, and its name had come to encompass the entire prefecture. Yet here he was, back after all these years.

The group dispersed, and Kiku set off on his own as well.

He didn’t remember much about the place, and even if he did, physically every tree back then was no longer here; so he searched without direction, making sure as to minimize the sound of his steps as they met the ground.

Looking at his watch to see it was noon and feeling he could use a bite at the moment, he sat down on a tree stump in a small clearing for lunch.

It was then he saw a thin, familiar scaly tail poking out of the brush. One that seemed to suddenly widen.

Immediately, a small head popped out of the grass, biting its tail. And rolled.

He immediately put down his rice ball, almost choking on it, and immediately ran.

But there was no rustling, even if Kiku was too intent on following its apparent path to notice.

Soon, he found himself almost crashing into the face of a ledge, just higher than his height.

He looked around, up at the ledge, and sighed frustratedly.

It seemed the Tsuchinoko had evaded Japan again.

In a small clearing in a forest in Nara prefecture, a faint “Chiii!” mixed in with the ringing melodies of Suzumushi crickets.

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On Grandmother’s Wings

“And thus, Perseus saddleth himself atop Pegasus, and set fortheth…”

Nikephoros closed the book.

Iraklis looked up from his bed where he sat.

“Pateroulis?”

“That is it for today. Now, time to go to sleep for you.”

He started pulling the silk tapestry over his son.

“Pateroulis, does Pegasus exist?”

The man known as Rome seemed perplexed, as if he should know otherwise. He appeared to briefly ponder what to say to his son before shaking his head.

“…No. Just like the heathen Gods of your giagiá’s, or rather, Athens and Sparta’s prime, or your namesake hero, it is a mere story. Born from the blood of Medusa with the blessing of Poseidon… how do you think that is possible if neither are true? They are important resources, as they are the legacy of our heritage, but they are fiction. Now, go to sleep.”

“But I’m not tire-“

“Yes you are. Now go to sleep.”

A servant blew his bedside lamp out, leaving the moonlight that shone through Irakles’ bedside window and onto his face as the only source of illumination.

“Good night, Irakles.”

“Good night, Pateroulis.”

The young boy continued to look out the window, at the gentle, soft glow of the moon, until sleep finally came over him.

———-

The boy woke up with what seemed to be the moonlight shining further than usual.

He woke up with a start…

And he came face-to-face with a snow-white horse.

He yelped.

The horse stuck its snout into his window, nuzzling the young boy gently.

Behind the horse, Irakles gasped at the sight of two large, pristine, pure, angel-like wings.

“You’re-“

The horse whinnied as Irakles’ hands touched it, poking the boy’s face like any normal horse that knew its rider well.

Excited, he tried to make his way out of his window, before getting a harsh reminder that his bedroom was on the second floor of the palace.

The horse snatched him by the back of his tunic before he could fall, hoisting him onto its back.

He found that, suddenly, he had a bridle and bit in his hand. The horse whinnied to him, as if beckoning him to put in on, and thus, he did.

The horse took flight with Irakles on its back, the silvery moonlight casting its mystical glow onto the snow-white hide of the steed.

Over Constantinople they took flight, Irakles hanging on tightly to the reins, sitting tightly on the delicately embroidered saddle cloth. Over the Cinnabar-colored roofs and domes, over houses, palaces, churches, cathedrals, and remnants from his giagiá and pappous’s time they flew; the moon bathing them in milky light, the mighty walls of the great city surrounding them, the wind and mild autumn air rushing through his hair and tunic, constellations in the shape of heroes and monsters of yore looking down upon them.

Outside the impenetrable walls that protected him while his father fought, farmlands sprawled, olives and grapes and fields of grain, just like the lands where his family nourished themselves when they were still mere humble towns, barely appearing older than he, as did the same fields of deep blue, calm seas where they too had once traded and fought.

The boy could only look upon the city he called home with awe. From so high in the sky, one could see why so many invaders wished to take it; other than it’s perfect location, it was a beauty and wonder to behold.

Under the autumn, Mediterranean night sky of Constantinople, a young boy and winged steed flew without a care.

—————-

The sun shined brightly from outside his window.

Irakles’ eyes fluttered open, and he looked out.

“Young Master Irakles, it is time for your morning meal!”

He looked to his bedside table, to his giagiá’s amulet she had left him, taking it into his hand, looking it over, and back outside, into the morning sky.

Today, too, was a peaceful morning in Constantinople.

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Dances With Elves

“So, Iceland, what’s it with the wongh fashe?”

Lukas, a boy just old enough that his voice was starting to break, bit into a lamb leg as he spoke, some of the juices flowing down his chin.

“Mmm! You make some good lamb!”

Emil, or as he was also known, Iceland, a boy appearing about ten or so from the outside, sat observing the sea, his feet hanging over the cliff dangerously.

“Sturlung Wars still hurting you?”

The young boy winced.

“Why’d you have to mention that?”

“Sorry, sorry-“

“That was sort of your fault, you know-“

“I’m sorry! Just tell me what the problem is!”

“I don’t wanna be a Good Christian.”

Lukas almost spit out the lamb he had just taken another bite into.

“It’s been a century already, you’re still-“

“It’s boring! Right, Lundi?”

The puffin let out a low cry.

“…You seriously named the thing just ‘Puffin’?”

“He likes it!”

The young boy puffed his cheeks out, annoyed.

“…Did something happen?”

Iceland threw a rock into the waves, the briny wind tossing his hair.

“One of the killjoys got mad at me again for dancing. They say it promotes drunkenness and promiscuity or whatever.”

Lukas snorted.

“In church? Of course, who dances in-“

“Outside of church.”

The older boy stared at his brother, baffled.

“What? Seriously? You’re serious?”

Iceland looked at him, confused.

“You mean that isn’t normal?”

“Wow. Your bishops just have sticks up their asses.”

Iceland’s face lit up.

“Hæ! Then could your king tell them to stop?”

“Don’t think so.”

His face fell.

“Why not?!”

Lukas shrugged.

“We’re occupied with our own business. It was hard enough just visiting you. And we know how stubborn clergy can be. Plus… we don’t really control them. Ultimately, the Pope’s the only one who can do that. And the Pope has more important concerns than some bishops on some island banning dancing. You’ll just have to bear with it.”

Iceland sighed loudly.

“They’ve always been bad about this. They can’t even let us have fun after the Wars. I don’t know what their problem is.”

“Maybe that is God’s plan for you…”

The brothers stared out into the ocean, into the setting sun.

“That’s not fair…”

“Life isn’t fair. What can you do?“

Oh well, perhaps it would sort itself out eventually.

————

“Now, think about what you have done.”

“But-“

“The Lord is ashamed of you.”

“I-“

“Back home, boy. Everyone, go back to your home, this party is over. Go! Move along!”

———-

The boy returned to his turf-covered dwelling, saying a token greeting to his horse, making his way to his warm chambers, and throwing himself across his woolen blankets atop his grass-filled mattress on his small, child-sized bed.

His nightly dip in the nearby hot spring had helped calm him, but he was still frustrated despite this.

He let out a loud sigh.

“Lundi, is dancing really immoral?”

The puffin tilted its head.

“Does God really hate me for it?”

The bird flew to him, nudging him with his beak.

“I can’t sleep. I don’t feel tired! Augh! Might as well try to, I guess…”

The boy pulled on his nightclothes, propping his back up the headboard and pulling his covers up to his chest.

“And… maybe they’re right. Maybe it is a sacrifice I have to make to be good in the eyes of the Lord…”

He made a small prayer, as he had finally gotten in the habit of doing each night before he slept, and took a piece of parchment from a stack by his bed.

“Might as well reread my work until I‘m tired… Lundi, put out the lamp for me if I doze off, will you?”

A growl in confirmation.

Eventually, he didn’t know when, he did indeed drift off, slipping gently into the realm of dreams.

———-

The boy woke up again, feeling a poke on his shoulder, and a flicker of light in front of him.

“What’s it, Lundi, it’s late-“

When he opened his eyes, standing there were figures holding small, glowing lanterns, soft and warm in the night.

Almost human, but yet not. But he knew exactly who they were.

“Huldufólk?”

They beckoned him towards them, one gently taking his hand.

As if drawn by magic, he found himself following them, out of his house, and under the darkness of the new moon, the stars and lamps the only source of light, the crisp air nipping at his face. Yet, he didn’t lose his way.

Then, his feet left the ground.

The huldufólk left the ground, and he followed, walking on air, effortless, weightless.

His puffin followed, and his horse ran after him, it too stepping in the air.

A small group of them was waiting, the stars making their faces visible, ranging from bizarre to otherworldly beautiful, but yet familiar.

Then, a female, the fairest of them all, began her song.

The first few notes of plucked string instruments quickened, as the singing became quick and joyous.

A young girl who appeared to be his physical age, if not younger, the one who had taken his hand, tugged at him again.

“Dance? Do you want me to dance?”

As the huldufòlk got into place, the young boy felt a sense of familiar joy within him. It soon overrode any resistance, any inhibitions, and Iceland ran with the girl, joining the magical folk as a víkivaki was about to start, the music surrounding his senses, filling his thoughts.

The Norðurljós had decided to show itself as well, setting the dance floor alight with sheets of ethereal light.

There, for one night, Emil indulged in all the laughter and leaping, dancing and so-called foolishness his heart yearned for.

Even if it was sinful, on this one clear, moonless midnight, he didn’t care.

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Shaku - an old Japanese unit of measurement. Coincidentally, barely just short of a foot in Imperial measurements. Also, fun fact, inchworms are called “Shakutorimushi” here.

#hetaween #hetaween 19/20 #hetalia #alt-talia #folklore #hws japan #hws greece #hws iceland #hws norway #tsuchinoko #pegasus #huldufolk #historical Hetalia #bringbackhetalia2k19

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garyofrivia · 6 years ago

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a few Modern!Gang college AU headcanons!!!!!

not that anyone asked!!! and this has probably been done already!! but i’m bored at work so :/ i’m so sorry

Arthur:

graphic design major, creative writing minor

took a photography class to impress that cute albert boy from down the hall and worked extra hard all semester just to end up accidentally telling his advisor that he wanted to double minor in photography as well

Tired™

he’s def one of those students that can fall asleep a n y w h e r e on campus

has a sleeve tattoo and is working on a second ;;;)))

he doesn’t party often, but when he does, the entire fire department and 7 cop cars show up by the end of the night to break it up

there was a rumor his sophomore year that he beat up 5 frat dudes at once during rush week for harassing girls and no one has heard of any issues from that frat since

is banned from the local chili’s for dining and dashing

shoplifts chef boyardee, microwavable ramen, and snickers bars from the student center convenience store to Survive

Charles:

environmental studies major

is in 50000000 activist clubs

regularly punches racist white boys w/ maga merch in the dorm common rooms and when the RA saw one time he didn’t do jack shit bc…. he right

he’s never procrastinated an assignment in his life

studies until 5 am every night but? still wakes up at the crack of dawn to go to the gym????

works part time as a barista at a hole in the wall coffee shop/bookstore and is 100% a coffee snob

doesn’t smoke but knows every weed dealer on campus, mostly bc they’re all enviro studies majors

his roommate thinks he’s a myth bc he’s never there or is just super quiet, but rly he just Minds His Damn Business

can be seen reading for leisure on the quad when it’s sunny and warm

Dutch:

political science major, philosophy minor

arthur and hosea are his friends from high school and they’re the only ones that can tolerate his mood when he goes on Insane procrastination benders where he’s trying to write 4 essays in a single night on a fuck ton of adderall and energy drinks

frequently goes on rants while studying in the student center about capitalism and it somehow always results in him on top of a table, yelling about ronald reagan

it gets Annoying when he talks about ancient greece, which is… constantly..

has 4 girlfriends and 3 boyfriends but still has time to participate in debate team every saturday

accidentally incited a student labor strike on campus one time and the cafeteria wasn’t functional for a week

started 6 clubs, but never goes to meetings and can’t remember what literally any of them are for

doesn’t work at all but somehow? always has money??? like he pays for his friends’ dinners all the time?? how??????

Hosea:

graduate economics student

he’s that cool TA in a super hard class that sends the prof’s tests from previous semesters to all the students so they can study for the final

Constantly in the library reading/studying/tutoring

still lives on campus for some reason and pirates textbook pdfs out of his dorm room

has a 4.2 gpa, but acts like he’s never been to a single class in his life

gets high all the time and talks about moving to europe on a whim and is *THIS* close to just fuckign doin it

makes his own kombucha

when he can’t sleep bc of test anxiety he rambles to arthur and dutch until the wee hours of the morn about existentialism and how great the beatles were

is responsible for multiple people discovering they have a daddy kink despite not having one himself

John:

undecided major (communications maybe, but he hasn’t found his “passion” yet)

failed freshman english twice for just not showing up to class

drives one of those old subarus from the 90’s and does donuts in the student lot when it snows

has a CD collection from his Emo™ days in the glove box and pops one in every now and then when he’s alone and feelin’ nostalgic/sad

skateboards to class and usually almost runs over a bunch of people since he always has headphones on

death note is his favorite anime

that One Room on your hall that is ALWAYS playing loud ass music until 3am

is surprisingly really good at math and tries to help tutor his friends but gets frustrated when they don’t understand “basic” calculus on the first try

his favorite hobby is harassing the ducks on campus and has made enemies of multiple geese

Sadie:

criminology major

plays intramural sports, probably volleyball and softball

everyone’s Jock Girlfriend they wished they had but are too afraid to talk to bc she might snap someone’s neck if they look at her wrong

wears leather jackets and aviators for every occasion

one time gave a monologue about sexism in her political theory class after not saying anything for the entire semester and her professor was moved to tears

has a lot of friends but only a few are ride or die babey!!!!!!!! (it’s arthur, charles, and abigail and they bully john together)

knows a lot about cars and ppl pay her to fix theirs since college kids usually can’t afford to go to a garage

speaks german because she got bored one summer and taught herself a fucking language i guess

Sean:

french major (????why is he like that???)

he says he’s studying a different language because the thinks it’ll make him hotter, but really it’s because he fantasises about moving away one day to start a new life

always says how college isn’t really for him and is .2 seconds away from dropping out

hangs out with john a little too much for his own good and once broke his wrist while trying his skateboard

“hey, have you heard of [insert incredibly obscure punk rock band name here]?”

gets blackout drunk every weekend and keeps a journal for the sole purpose of documenting the various places he’s woken up

wears stupid beanies and owns one (1) hoodie that he wears year round

quotes memes out loud to be able to communicate his emotions effectively

a ~Film Hoe~

also………. he vapes

Javier:

international studies major, finance minor

studied abroad in spain and almost didn’t come back bc he loved it so much

plans to get mega rich so he can travel Everywhere

um,,, he loves classic lit and owns an entire library full of it

took a gap year after high school to tour with his band and kinda became a lil famous so that’s cool

runs a thirst trap instagram acct and models part time ;)

every single person that encounters him has been attracted to him in one way or another and they truly don’t even question it

he’s a major mama’s boy and she visits him all the time

he rooms with sean who drives him insane but they have similar music tastes and were able to bond over that

they get rowdy on saturdays but has his (few) friends over on sundays for a “family dinner”

Bill:

computer science major

used to play COD competitively and wants to get into videya game development

seems like kind of an idiot when he asks questions in class but his grades show that he’s smarter than he looks

did ROTC for the tuition money but dropped as soon as he found out that you have to enlist after you graduate lmao

southern angery boi that drives a pickup truck and hosts tailgates every single football game

has a bunch of dudebro friends that he hangs out with due to societal pressure, but all he wants to do is bake some cookies

his roommate was scared of him at first but when he bought him a lil gift for christmas before break, he realized that he was a big ole softie

is late to class bc he spends 65943598 years on his hair in the morning even though it literally never looks different

Lenny:

english major, applying to the education masters degree program

he wants to be a high school english teacher fuck me up!!!!!!

was super homesick when he first moved away :(

writes his friends papers for them sometimes even though he’s killing himself with his own schoolwork

netflix binges and video game benders are regular weekend activities and he’s been known to not move from his chair for 15 hours at a time

runs an avengers stan blog and cried at comic con when he met robert downey jr

begged the manager at the local comic book store for a job and the guy was just like “yeah, kid literally just apply online idc”

has lots of friends that rope him into doing hooligan shit instead of study

is a giant ball of anxiety for the majority of the semester and is just,, Trying His Best

Micah:

he was the maga kid that charles knocked out the first week of classes

#rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #rdr headcanons #rdr2 HCs #modern rdr2 #jedmdjskjdkd jk about micah i cant do him out of pure bias so feel free to add him or anyone else!!!!!#this is EXTREMELY self indulgent wow #pls dont drag me

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silverlightqueen · 6 years ago

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Olympus masterlist

(greekgod!au, ot7) - fluff, angst, smut

High up in the clouds of Mount Olympus, the tallest of its kind in the ancient country of Greece, live a community of the most powerful beings to exist on this Earth. Their communities are not unlike those that they watch over, those of the humans. A clear political, economic and social hierarchy exists between the beings, some ruling over the others, some more wealthy than the others, some more powerful than the others. Their lives are much like those of humans, all of them working and living in homes with their families, normal names, normal jobs, normal lives. Some could even be considered ordinary. But those that are considered ordinary… our stories do not focus on those. Our stories focus on those that are positively extraordinary, to say the least. Our stories focus on seven Gods and seven Goddesses, powerful and strong, learning the most basic and human thing to exist; love.

a/n: basically this is an ot7 au series. the parts probably won’t be too long bc this is kind of a drabble. each member will be uploaded every few days (but I’m unpredictable so it could be every hours/weeks between each part lol)

Character List:

Kim Seokjin - Dionysus

Min Yoongi - Hades

Jung Hoseok - Hephaestus

Kim Namjoon - Apollo

Park Jimin - Poseidon

Kim Taehyung - Ares

Jeon Jungkook - Hermes

Parts:

part 1 - Dionysus and Hestia

part 2 - Hermes and Hemera

part 3 - Hephaestus and Nyx (Coming soon...)

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slusheeduck · 7 years ago

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The Way You Keep Me Guessing: Coco Teacher!AU

Part 2 of my endless crying over @scribblrhob‘s Teacher!AU and part 3 of me and @im-fairly-whitty‘s collab!. This time with more school shenanigans, because I love me some shenanigans.

[Part 1: Unexpected Responsibility] [Part 2: La Directora]

Part 3: Skipping Class

“…and so if you look way back at music, even from ancient Greece and Egypt, you’ll see that particular songs have a set tempo that go with them, to help fit the sound with the emotion and…”

Héctor, halfway through drawing up a complicated diagram about the relation between tempo and songs, trails off as he glances up at the clock, then back at his class. He raises his eyebrows as he catches the glazed-over looks of nearly two dozen thirteen-year-olds, then caps his marker and sticks it in his pocket with a shrug.

“You know, this can wait for Monday. Let’s call it a day.” He nods to the door as several students let out delighted gasps. “Gather up your things and go on to lunch early.” As every student quickly began gathering their books and pencils, he added, “And remember! You need to bring in examples of adagio, moderato, and allegro next class! And López, you came in late, so be sure to leave your homework on my desk before you go.”

“Gracias, profe!” came one girl’s reply as the students started pouring out of the room with the odd “Adiós, profe! Have a good weekend!” being called as they left. Then, at last, he’s left with silence.

Héctor sucks in a breath and lets it out before he stretches out his back. There’s still one more class before the day’s over, and heaps of homework to be graded, but still. It’s Friday. Tomorrow he could sleep in as late as he wanted and try and figure out that new song he’d been playing with and give Miguel his guitar lesson and…

He freezes as he hears a shifting in the instrument closet. That was never good. Either it was some sort of animal—typically, though, those kind of pranks happened later in the year—or students up to something strictly forbidden in the school handbook. He sighs, not looking forward to the conversation he’s about to have with whoever’s in there, then puts on his best teacher face before walking up to the door. He reaches for the handle, and then he hears it: a tiny, little sneeze. One he hears nearly everyday.

Ayyyy, ave María pur. ís. ma. Don’t let it be who he thinks it is.

He opens the door quickly, and is immediately met by big brown eyes and an awkward, one-dimpled smile.

“Hola, Tío Héctor.”

Héctor stares at Miguel for a long moment, then promptly shuts the door on him. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, then opens it again. Miguel’s still there.

Ohhh, this was bad.

“Why aren’t you in class?” He tries to use a good Teacher Voice, but that’s never been his forte, so it comes out more panicked than anything.

“Well, I—”

“How did you get here without me knowing? Why are you here?!”

“You…forgot your keys!” Miguel digs in his pocket and holds up Héctor’s key ring. “I saw them before we left, and then I…forgot about them but then I remembered and I…brought them here…to give them to you?” As Héctor stares at him, he looks away before glancing up with wide brown eyes. “And I just…I really missed my tío and…” Héctor shakes his head.

“No, no no. You can’t do puppy-dog eyes at me, I perfected that.”

Miguel’s eyes widen. “So you’re the ‘him’ Abuelita’s talking about whenever she said, ‘Ayyy, you’re just like him!’”

“Don’t change the subject!” He pinches the bridge of his nose, then holds up his hands. “Okay. Okay okayokay. We’re gonna start from the beginning, chamaco, and you’re gonna tell me the truth. Okay?” He sets his hands on Miguel’s shoulders and pulls him out from the closet, sinking down to meet him eye-to-eye. “So start.”

Miguel looks away, squirming a bit. “Well, you did forget your keys. And I did forget to give them to you until recess…”

“Mm-hm.”

“And it’s not like the primaria’s far away! They’re connected! So I…I thought I’d come over and…I mean, you weren’t here when I got here and I had the keys, so I…just came in and…” Miguel plays with the little guitar charm on the keychain.

“Miguel.” For the first time in his life, Héctor actually manages to use the Teacher Voice successfully.

Miguel presses his lips together, then looks up at Héctor with wide eyes as the truth bursts out of him. “Our music class is so boring! We’re just learning what rests are and we have these dumb recorders we have to play and it’s…I hate it!” As Héctor’s eyebrows raise, he continues fervently, “But I knew you teach actual music stuff and I…I wanted to hear about that instead! And it was so, so much better!”

Héctor presses his lips together hard, then sets a hand against his forehead with a long sigh. On one hand, Miguel really did love music—he’d known that before, but this really clinched it—and he was willing to hide out in a closet to learn basic music theory. At eight years old! In any other situation, Héctor would be extremely proud.

On the other hand, his job is at stake and Miguel is about to be slapped with a truancy and explaining that to Tía Elena is something that he does not want to do.

Finally, he drags his hand down his face with a groan. “Okay. Okay. You just missed your music class?”

Miguel nods.

“Mmmokay. I’ll talk to Señora Hernandez. We’ll say you…I don’t know, panicked about being in a new school…”

“But I’ve been here for three weeks.”

“Sometimes it hits late, chamaco.” He rubs his eyes. “And if Imelda asks, I can say…”

He’s cut off by a quick knock on the door, followed by the voice that, for once, he does not want to hear. “Señor Rivera? I need to talk to you.”

Héctor bites off a yelp and, before he can think any better of it, pushes Miguel back into the closet. He hears a crash inside—oops—but shuts the door before leaning against it easily just as Imelda opens the door. He puts on his widest smile, dimples on full display.

“Hola, directora. Is it already time for performance reports?” he asks, knocking his heel against the closet door as a wordless “Stay put” to Miguel before he walks over to her. His smile fades, however, as he notices the worried look on her face. “Is…something wrong?”

She shakes her head with a puff. “I was going to call you, but I didn’t want to worry you in front of your class. I just got a call from Hernandez, and she says Miguel didn’t show up for her class.”

“Oh-h…?”

“And none of the other teachers at the primaria are having any luck finding him.” Imelda chews on her lip—her one tell that she isn’t completely cool and collected, he’d learned—then looks up at him. “It…this sort of thing isn’t uncommon with children in his situation, and usually it’s resolved without much incident but…ay, dios mio, it doesn’t make it any easier. Does he have anywhere he likes to go? Maybe when he gets overwhelmed?”

All at once, Héctor feels terrible. He’d known Miguel had grown on Imelda—he’d grown on just about everyone—but he’d never seen her so actively worried. He swallows.

“I…well, he might have headed back to the apartment?” he says slowly. “He likes to go to the roof and play his guitar whenever things get…bad.” He reaches forward and tentatively pats her shoulder. “You know what, you head back to the primaria and check in one last time, and I’ll go check home. He has to be either here or there; he’s not that much of a troublemaker.”

Imelda nods, then lets out a breath and looks up at him with a small, curious smile. “It’s…I’m impressed,” she says after a moment. “If I were you, I’d be completely panicked. How are you so calm?”

Héctor puts on a strained smile. “I’m not.” He really, really is not. “But I know the chamaco pretty well, and that helps.” He once again sets a hand on her shoulder and starts guiding her back to the door. “So like I said, I’ll go check the apartment, you go check the—”

He’s cut off by a terrific racket coming from the instrument closet—he can pick out crashing cymbals, a falling bass, three brass instruments of some sort hitting the ground, and, above all the other noises, a young boy letting out a yelp of surprise. Imelda’s head whips around, and her face goes from concerned to suspicious in less than half a second.

“What was that?”

“Ah…those band students! They never put their instruments back right—I really ought to have a talk with them.” He’s practically tripping over his feet as he backtracks to the closet, Imelda following close. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll take care of it after I—no no no!”

Before he can stop her, Imelda throws open the door. Inside, Miguel—a trombone and clarinet in his arms, shoulder propping up a bass case—looks up at her with wide eyes. He puts on his widest smile, dimple on full display.

“Hola, directora.”

Imelda stares at him silently for a full ten seconds. Then, she sucks in a breath and sets her hands on her hips.

“What are you doing here, Miguel?” she asks, voice even and cool. Miguel looks up to Héctor, smile fading. He needs help. Héctor looks over to Imelda.

“He was bringing me my keys—”

“I got really nervous and—”

Both Riveras stop at the same time. They look at each other, then back to Imelda.

“He was having a rough time with—”

“Tío Héctor left them on the table when—”

This time, Imelda holds up her hands, stopping the two of them. She sends a pointed glare at Héctor, half-shutting the door to block them from Miguel’s view.

“You threw your nephew in a closet?!” she hisses.

“Primo, actually, but my tía insis…”

“Why is he in the closet, Héctor?!”

Héctor throws his arms up in a shrug. “He hid in there! I was about to get him out when you came in and—”

“And then you lied to me about where he was.”

“I did say he could be at the apartment. It wasn’t a lie, exac—” He stumbles back as Imelda shoves a finger right in his face.

“You are so, so lucky that these schools are on the same grounds. That is the only thing saving you from being fired right now. But believe me, Rivera, we are having a talk in your off-period on Monday.” She lets out a breath, puts on a much more neutral face, then opens the door to look at Miguel. He’s managed to get the instruments back where they belong, and he wastes no time in sending Imelda the biggest puppy-dog eyes Héctor has ever seen.

“I-I’m sorry, directora. I just…I missed my Tío and…” He stops as Imelda gives him a cool smile and bends slightly to meet him eye-to-eye.

“Miguel,” she says in her calmest directora voice. “I have to deal with this—” She points to Héctor. “—almost every day. So I can tell you that what you’re trying to do now? It isn’t going to work.” Her smile drops. “I should give you detention. But…I understand that moving and going to a new school can be stressful. So, after school, you’re going to come straight to my office and we’re having a talk about why you can’t run off to hide in the instrument closet. Claro?”

“Sí, claro.”

Imelda gives a short nod, then stands up straight. She gives Héctor a withering look. “Well, believe it or not, I have other things to take care of besides your nonsense. You’re going to take Miguel back to class. Claro?”

“Sí, claro.”

She sends him one last glare for good measure, then makes her way out of the music room. Once the door shuts, Héctor collapses against the wall, covering his face.

“Ayyy, dios mio, that could have been so much worse.” He peeks between his fingers at Miguel, who gives a smile and a shrug.

“I mean…we didn’t get in too much trouble. So…things are good, right? We can…just forget this happened?”

Miguel’s smile grows hesitantly as Héctor starts to laugh. Still laughing, he shakes his head and bends down to Miguel’s level.

“Ah, Miguelito. You are so, so, soooo, sososo…”

“Lucky?”

“Grounded.”

Once Miguel’s finished talking with Imelda after school, Héctor lays down the rules of the grounding. No television, no guitar outside of his lesson and daily practice, and no record player. It’s strange, being the one disciplining instead of being disciplined, and he doesn’t really like it all that much. But he also can’t let Miguel think that putting them both at risk of being killed by Imelda and Tía Elena is something he can get away with.

Miguel, for what it’s worth, takes the grounding in stride; Héctor suspects it’s not the first time the kid’s gotten in this amount of trouble. He doesn’t complain and quietly works on his homework (as well as an essay about why skipping class was bad for Imelda, due that Monday).

Héctor, meanwhile, works on grading homework (as well as an apology for Imelda that will be slipped under her door on Monday.) It’s not terrible, grading in silence, but…no, no, it is really terrible. So he gets to his feet and starts sorting through the record collection.

“Hey, you said no record player!” Miguel immediately argues, looking up from his workbook. Héctor glances back at him.

“You’re the one who’s grounded, not me. I’ll make sure to pick stuff you hate.” He finally settles on a record and visibly relaxes once the music starts to play. Ah, much better.

“I don’t hate this, though.”

“You don’t? Ay, I’m the worst at punishments, then.” That said, he doesn’t change the record.

He flops back down on the sofa, taking up his pen and stack of ungraded homework, then pauses and glances up at Miguel. The boy’s foot is tapping against the floor as he works, marking the beat easily. Hm.

“So you really thought it was worth skipping class to hear me talk about tempo?” he asks casually.

Miguel turns and nods eagerly, a big grin on his face. “Absolutely!”

“Did you pay attention?” His eyebrows raise as Miguel nods, and he nods to the record player. “Tell me what this song’s tempo is.”

Miguel’s head tilts as he listens. “Um…moderato? That’s the one that’s not too fast or slow…” He taps his foot to the beat again. “Yeah, it’s right in the middle. It’s like the second song you played in class.”

Huh. He did listen.

Héctor sits up and lets out a breath, then sets the papers aside and reaches into his school bag to pull out the teacher’s guide to his curriculum. He looks at Miguel, then nods for him to join him on the sofa. Once he pulls himself up, Héctor opens up the book.

“You still need to go to Señora Hernandez’s class. I don’t care how much you hate her dumb recorders. Buuut…” He smiles as he gestures at the book. “I think I can give you some lessons here at home. That should make things a little easier.”

Miguel’s face lights up. “Really?”

“Sure.” Héctor puts on a serious face. “But you’re still in trouble this week, so I’m making this lesson really, really boring.”

Miguel laughs. “Okay, Tío Héctor,” he says, clearly not believing him (and, really, he shouldn’t). He nestles himself next to Héctor, looking down at the book with bright eyes.

“All right, chamaco, let’s catch you up with the rest of the class. First lesson is learning what rests are.”

“But I know what rests are!”

“I said I was gonna make this boring, didn’t I? But if you pay attention, we can get through it pretty quick and get to the fun stuff. Suena bien?”

“Sí!”

(Not pictured: Imelda spending ten minutes in her office cracking up because good lord, Miguel is just as ridiculous his Tío Héctor.)

[Part 4: An Unexpected Visit] [Part 5: The Roommate][Part 6: Día de Muertos (Pt. 1)] [Part 6: Día de Muertos (Pt. 2)][Part 7: A Birthday Livestream]

#coco spoilers #coco fic #Teacher AU #I LOVE THESE TWO AND I LOVE WRITING ABOUT THEIR ANTICS

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autodidact-adventures · 7 years ago

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Culinary History (Part 24): History of Measuring

During Anglo-Saxon times, the Winchester measure was established in England (Winchester was the capital at the time). It was based on the Winchester bushel, which was 64lb (29kg) of wheat. It was better to use wheat than flour, because the density varies less. The Winchester measure was the volume that a Winchester bushel took up. It was then subdivided down into:

bushel = 4 pecks

peck = 2 gallons

gallon = 4 quarts

quart = 4 pints

So, there were 128 pints in a bushel. A pint is 473ml, and a bushel is 35.24 litres.

There is a old saying, “A pint's a pound the world around”. A pint of wheat is actually half a pound (as there are 128 pints in a bushel, and a bushel of wheat is 64 pounds). But a pint of water weighs a pound (i.e. twice as much as wheat). Hence the saying.

The Winchester gallon was also called the corn gallon. And it wasn't the only type of volumetric measurement! There was also the wine gallon (about 3.79 litres) and the ale gallon (about 4.63 litres). The difference between them may have been because ale was drunk in larger volumes than wine.

The lack of standardization was a problem, both for customers and for the state, because it mucked around with the duty charged on goods. In 1215, the Magna Carta tried to fix it: “Let there be one measure of wine throughout our whole realm; and one measure of ale; and one measure of corn.” It didn't work. From 1066 to the end of the 1600's, there were over twelve different gallon measurements, some for liquids and some for solids.

The wine gallon was also called the Queen Anne gallon (from the 1700′s).

In the 1790's, after the French Revolution, the French began to establish the metric system. The metre was meant to be one ten-millionth of the Earth's meridian (an imaginary line between the North & South Poles), but it's actually a bit smaller, because of a miscalculation.

The French were now measuring everything in tens. (There was even an attempt at a ten-day week, the décade). The new measures were laid out in a law of the 18th Germinal. They would use litres, grams and metres, and throw out the old chaotic measurements. This was to show how rational and scientific France now was.

In 1790, George Washington asked Thomas Jefferson (Secretary of State) to work out a plan for reforming weights and measures. They already had decimal coinage. But Congress couldn't agree on either of Jefferson's reform proposals, and for the next several decades they couldn't decide on a solution.

In 1824, the British Parliament voted to use a single imperial gallon, for both dry and liquid measurements. This was defined as “the volume occupied by ten pounds of water at specified temperature and pressure”, which ended up as 277.42 cubic inches, or 4.55 litres. This was close to the old ale gallon (and bigger than the corn gallon). The other measurements (peck, etc) were shuffled to fit. Now the saying was:

A pint's a pound the world round

Except in Britain where

A pint of water's a pound and a quarter.

The imperial gallon was in place for the whole British Empire.

In 1836, America finally reformed their measurements (somewhat). But they weren't going to follow Britain. Instead, they used the old corn gallon for dry goods, and the old wine gallon for liquids.

Because of the two different systems, Britain and America have had problems with understanding each other's cookbooks. In 1969, Britain officially adopted the metric system, and this just made things harder. Nowadays, only America, Liberia and Myanmar still use the imperial system.

Measurements of size, as well as of volume, were non-standardized for a very long time. Since the middle ages, recipe-writers would write things like “finger-breadths of water”, “butter the size of a pea”. Of course, medieval cooks had no rulers, digital scales or measuring jugs. So they had to rely on comparisons that other people would understand.

The also left out things that they assumed the reader would already know. Hannah Wolley wrote The Queen-Like Closet, or Rich Cabinet in 1672. In it, she gives a recipe to make “pancakes so crisp as you may set them upright.” The recipe goes:

Make a dozen or a score of them in a Frying-pan, no bigger than a Sawcer, then boil them in Lard, and they will look as yellow as Gold, and eat very well.

This is barely a recipe at all. It gives no details on how long to cook them, how much lard to use, or how hot they should be cooked at. It wasn't intended for a beginner cook, but rather for someone who already knew how – more of a memory aid.

Frontispiece of The Queen-Like Closet.

Back further, in the time of Ancient Rome, the situation was the same. It's very difficult to reconstruct old recipes because of this. A recipe by Apicius for “another mashed vegetable” goes:

Cook the lettuce leaves with onion in sode water, squeeze, chop very fine; in the mortar crush pepper, lovage, celery seed, dry mint, onion; add stock, oil and wine.

Measurements have often been based on the body, because so long as one person is doing the measuring, the ratio works out just fine. The Sumerians used the width of the pinky and of the hand; and the distance between the pinky-tip and thumb-tip on an stretched hand. The basic Greek measurement was the daktylos (width of a finger), and 24 of them made a cubit. The Romans used the daktylos but called it a digit.

The finger was a common kitchen measurement. Martino de Rossi (1400's Italian culinary expert) said, “take four fingers of marzipan”. Pellegrino Artusi (late 1800's cookbook writer) began one of his recipes with, “Take long, slender, finger-length zucchini”.

Handfuls were also used. Many Irish cooks still use handfuls of flour to make soda bread.

Moving away from the body – the walnut was a very common measurement, from France, Italy and England to Russia and Afghanistan. It's been used at least since the Middle Ages. This is because walnuts tend to be about the same size, and they were seen often enough to remember how big they were. There are some small varieties, such as the French noix noisette (about hazelnut size). But the common walnut is what the comparison is for. It is usually 2.5-3.5 in diameter.

The walnut (Juglans regia) was imported from Persia to Ancient Greece, and reached China by 400 AD. It was an important crop in medieval France, but didn't reach Britain until the 1400's.

Butter was often measured walnut-size. In 1823, Mary Eaton used a piece of butter “the size of a walnut” to stew spinach. In 1861, Mrs. Beeton said to use a walnut-sized butter for grilling rumpsteaks.

There were many other objects used for measurements. Peas were common, and so was the nutmeg (about a modern teaspoon). In the 1600's, bullets and tennis balls were used. Various coins were a reference too, which is how you have the silver-dollar pancakes in America.

Nutmeg.

Yelena Molokhovets (b.1831) was a Russian cook. She wrote the famous A Gift to Young Housewives, which had over 20 editions and sold over 295,000 copies. She cut ginger the size of a thimble, and dough the size of a wild apple. Butter was, again, walnut-sized.

The modern kitchen term “dice” come from when cooks like Robert May (1558-c.1664) cut beef marrow into “great dice” and “small dice”.

The clock began to be used in the kitchen by the 1700's. But before that, recipes usually gave cooking times in prayers.

For example, a medieval French recipe for preserved walnuts says to boil them for the time it takes to say a Miserere (which is about 2min). The shortest measurement of time was the Ave Maria (about 20sec). Everyone knew how long these prayers took, because they chanted them together in church, at the same speed.

The usual way to test the heat of an oven was by simply sticking your hand in it. You'd tell from the level of pain how hot it was, and if the oven was ready for baking loaves, which needed the fiercest heat.

The paper test was used often by confectioners in the 1800's. The purpose of this test was to follow the decreasing levels of heat as the oven cooled down. Cakes and pastries, because of their high butter & sugar content, could catch fire if they were put in at a too-high temperature.

A piece of white kitchen paper was put on the oven floor, and the door was shut. If it caught fire, it was too hot. 10min later, another piece of paper was put in, and if it charred, it was still too hot. 10min more, and if the paper turned dark brown (without catching fire), then it was “dark brown paper heat”, suitable for glazing small pastries, which needed a high heat.

Then there was “light brown paper heat”, a few degrees lower, for vol-au-vents, hot pie crusts, timbales, etc. “Dark yellow heat” was a moderate temperature, for larger pastries. And finally there was “light yellow paper heat”, a gentle temperature, for meringues, manqués and génoises.

The flour test was similar. A handful of flour was thrown onto the oven floor, and you waited for 40sec. If the flour slowly browned, then it was the right temperature for bread.

The earliest thermometers were invented in the 1500's, mostly for measuring air temperature. The Fahrenheit scale was invented in 1724, and the Celsius scale in 1742. But even in the late 1800's, measuring heat in the kitchen was done with the old methods.

Thermometers (mid-1600′s) that go up to 50°. Black dots mark each degree, and white dots mark each 10°.

Around the turn of the century, cooks began realizing the usefulness of thermometers. A new American oven called the “new White House” had an oven thermometer included, “in order to keep...strictly up to the minute.”

In 1915, the first gas oven with a fully-integrated thermometer appeared on the market. By the 1920's, electric stoves with electromechanical thermostats were being produced. However, it was easier to just buy a separate thermometer and get it fitted to the oven, if you didn't want to go out and buy a new one.

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