#ancient pharmacology

[skimblyspones]

Sometimes I forget how much shit McCoy canonically knows, at least to a degree of competence. Like ok sure he's not an Engineer or a bricklayer but he's damn well more than "a simple, country doctor"; he's got the sciences badge instead of the medical one for a reason

[livingwellnessblog]

Yoga's Potential for Neuropsychiatric Disorders: A Scientific Exploration

Yoga's Ancient Wisdom in Modern Psychiatry: A Fusion of Ancient Wisdom and Modern Challenges

Yoga’s Potential for Neuropsychiatric Disorders: A Scientific Exploration Understanding the Global Mental Health Challenge To understand mental health challenges, we must first acknowledge the shortcomings of conventional approaches. Mental illnesses, despite advancements in treatment accessibility, continue to cast a shadow on global health. The World Health Organization (WHO) has highlighted…

[theorist-fox]

Some type of skin (and two keys)

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

Currently crossposting previous works from AO3.

Inspired by "Some type of skin" by AURORA (I have an obsession and it's a Norwegian pale lady)

Summary: Johnny's passing has left you devastated. Simon is there to pick up the pieces, while you, although unconsciously, mend his tired heart.

CW: talk of grief, death and loss, angst, broken promises, hurt/comfort, soft Simon Riley but also angry Simon Riley. Mention of pharmacological drugs.

Masterlist 🦊

𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬

The air felt clogged; thickened and uncomfortably warm. You tried to blame it on the closed window and the unrelenting sun that reflected against the glass, but the truth was that you felt awkward in your own skin. The uniform clung to your body like a prison. Once, it had been your armor: the breathable dark green cotton of the tee, the black leather of the belt cinching your waist, until the thick camo trousers. They all felt bulletproof.

Yet, ever since you’d witnessed that bullet tearing a hole into Johnny’s head, each piece of clothing had turned into something akin to a goddamn straitjacket. It replayed in your head ad nauseam until it turned into a living nightmare. Until you saw his bloodless face in everyone around you, until you felt a hole in your own skull, as if his death were an omen of your end, as well.

For the first time in the years you had worked with the task force, you were the one who called for a meeting. Well, it was an informal encounter more than anything. A text you had sent simultaneously to all of them.

“We have to talk. Room 4A in HQ 10AM?”

By mere habit, you’d also sent it to Soap; it wrecked your heart to see the red alert on the right side of your bubble, the small Not Delivered right below it. The cracks shattered further when you received the automated response telling you that the number didn’t exist.

How could it not, when you had accumulated thousands of hours on phone calls? How could it not, when you could scroll for days on the chat and never find the first text he’d ever sent you?

You had tried, one of many sleepless evenings: your thumb almost ached due to the mere motion. Fingertip up. Swipe down. Fingertip up. Swipe down. You found it, then. Something old, ancient. The bubbles were green because iPhones still didn’t have the feature that allowed you to text using internet between Apple devices.

“glad to have you on the team. big boss gave me your number. this is soap anything you need im a text awya.”

“aywa*”

“away !!!!”

You'd laughed and it quickly morphed into strangled cries, until your vision got foggy, and your lids yielded. You fell asleep clutching the phone to your cheek.

After having spread his ashes on the Scottish Highlands, everyone had made the sensible decision of taking time off – a sort of unsanctioned compassionate leave. On the other hand, you stayed buried in the tight office you had in Stirling Lines. You couldn't handle the silence that your empty flat would bring. Granted, that didn’t mean you spent much time talking to passersby here at the headquarters, strangers and colleagues alike.

You hovered around the hallways like a specter – paled and depleted. Utterly unavailable to anyone who decided, for reasons unknown to you, to waste their breath on your person. You’d hear grieving words tossed your way, and you'd nod warmly at those. Polite. Affable. Like you’ve always been, even now that the light had been sapped out of you.

Johnny brought it with him - the light. The sun of the team: beautiful yet deadly. Necessary, but dangerous. Lethal only to those who tried to unravel his equilibrium, warm and inviting to the ones who embraced his person.

Now that he was gone, there was darkness – the world dimmed to pay its respects.

It had been eight months. During those, you had worked tirelessly to concoct a plan to have your revenge. Price sometimes knocked on your door only to find you hunched over blueprints and notes. The look he gave you each time was nothing short of pitiful. He didn’t try to stop you, but you could feel the disappointment seeping through your bones and grating them to dust.

Gaz brought you coffee, sometimes. He often came to your office, knocked softer than Price – a knuckle against wood, compared to all four of them incessantly rapping against the door. Sometimes, it wasn't coffee. Sometimes, despite how bad it might have looked, Gaz spilled a few drops of Rozerem in your chamomile tea, hoping it would force your eyes closed for some rest.

All of them, drove from their respective homes only to come and check on you. You wondered if they had an unofficial shift schedule, shared between them both.

Ghost, though. Ghost stayed. 

Angrier than you. Insatiable. Raging. Went for runs at ungodly hours, when the sun wasn’t even about to peek from the horizon. He monopolized the gym of the headquarters; an easy task for him, all he needed to do was use his thousand-yard stare against the unlucky lad who dared cross the threshold. When he felt like the punching bag had taken enough of his gauzed fists, he would come to your office – sweaty and bruised. He rarely bothered to shower. He’d sit next to you, and he’d help.

Everyday.

Ever the detached bastard he'd always been, he grew closer against his better judgment. Albeit it had been years since you had joined the task force under Price’s will, Ghost had always stood several steps away from you. Yet, lately, he’d woven himself to you like a spider spinning an intricate web. He wrapped you in a cocoon, and differently from the eight-legged creature, Simon didn’t want to drain the nectar of life.

He wanted to be your armor. A panoply of rustproof iron: encasing you in chainmail, helmet, and all.

It’s why, now, as you sat on your own at the briefing room table with the increasing temperature in the room, guilt ate you from the inside. Termites feasting on wood.

The first one to enter was Kyle. Pretty brown eyes looked at you fondly, as if they were taking in a long-lost friend. He sat next to you, exchanged a few tentative words, and smoothed the hair away from your forehead. He didn't care about the grease clinging to them, instead, he grazed short nails against your scalp as he told you about his week.

You were eternally grateful for him and his tactful ability to make you feel normal when life seemed to have turned askew.

Price walked in a few minutes later. Stoic as ever, but with kindness in his blues. He held a tray in his hands, four paper cups of steaming coffee balanced on it. He set it on the table and slumped on the chair in front of you. He asked you how you were doing. You answered that you were fine. You asked it back. He answered the same. No one believed a single word.

Ghost made you all wait. You explained that he was probably at the gym, or having a late-morning run around the training grounds. If they were worried about you, the concern for Ghost was something even greater. While only Price knew of the intricacies of his past, it didn’t take a doctorate in psychology to understand that whatever had forced him to wear the skull mask was something that still haunted him in the present.

────────────

You remembered it vividly, that one evening. Life had battered you both, kindred spirits in what seemed to be the inability to grieve properly.

You, with your head propped on the armrest of the narrow couch in your office. He, slumped on the cushions as he cradled your calves in his lap. A hand absently brushed the thick cotton of your work trousers. His eyes were to the ceiling. His empty stomach growled incessantly, much like yours – both running on fumes, caffeine, and nicotine, or the occasional shared bite stolen from the cafeteria after its closing time.

As your eyelids were about to flutter closed, you heard the rumble of his voice vibrating in his diaphragm, close to where he held your feet.

“Hooked by the ribs,” he said.

The inquisitive look you sent him was missed because he didn't divert his eyes from the ceiling.

“Buried alive,” he strained, “Crawled outta my own grave.”

It hit you later, that he was sharing. You slowly sat up, pushing your torso with your tired arms. You moved gingerly, afraid a mere shift in the air would cause him to sew his mouth shut. While you had an inkling that whatever happened to him must have been gruesome and cruel, those few words (which you were sure, merely scratched the surface) already caused your stomach to churn.

“They used me, tried to break me and they did.”

Your jaw worked. Propped on your elbows, you gulped down the stone in your throat. Eyes glued to the unmasked profile – to the crooked nose, flattened by punches and butts of guns, to the divot between his lips, to the absent brown eyes with their halo of pale lashes. His fingers curled around your ankle and his thumb brushed over your sock.

“Killed my family,” he went on, and you wondered if he was talking to you at all, “Killed my nephew, too.”

Barely noticing how your eyes glazed over with treacherous tears, you bent your knees over his thighs and scooted closer. The only indication that he had acknowledged your presence and wasn’t simply musing out loud was how his palms shifted: from your ankles, up to your calves. He furled his fingers around the meaty part, while his other hand blindly went to look for your neck. He rested his palm against the side of it, let his thumb trace the outline of your jaw.

“Took everything from me, turned me into this,” he muttered, and his brows furrowed while his pupils danced over the chipped paint of the ceiling.

Half of the times you were given the luxury to gaze at the face beneath the mask, you’ve wondered where those scars came from. What kind of heroic deed had he carried out that caused each mark, or what awful act he must have committed that ended up leaving perpetual memories of it, etched in his flesh.

Never, not once, you thought someone else purposefully did it to him. Someone so cruel, so brutal, that made him regrow his skin – like a snake, shedding his frail past to build a thicker armor.

“The army left me to rot, y’know," he whispered, and although you weren't answering (truthfully, you were barely breathing) he knew you were listening.

“But not Price,” his thumb pressed into your cheek, “Not Price, nor Garrick, or you – or Soap.”

It was grimly ironic how such an idiotic callsign could bring this remarkable heaviness on your heart. The silence lingered after he uttered it, either a way to pay respect or a simple inability to continue right afterwards. Because that’s how it felt like.

Months ago, when his body flattened against the concrete of a forgotten underground tunnel, the word Soap met an end. Forever, there will be nothing else to add right after it, if not things you already knew, or heavy silence.

“Can’t lose any more people in this life,” he sighed, “Johnny must be the goddamn last, y’hear?”

You heard.

You craned your neck to the side so your cheek would slot in his palm. Saltwater dampened your skin and moistened his calluses.

“Deal,” you croaked.

He nodded, taking in your word, digesting it. A stupid promise, really. No one can pledge such a thing, but at that moment he cared very little for it. Especially when he felt your lips press against his palm.

“Deal.”

────────────

You bit your thumbnail in silence, then brought it in front of your eyes to look at the red indent around it. A droplet of blood seeped through the crack, and you suckled on it to soothe it.

Ghost abruptly walked in, the door almost flying off its hinges. He closed it behind him but didn’t take a seat. Instead, he rested his back against the shut threshold and folded his arms in front of his chest. A nod of his jaw that shifted the fabric of the balaclava was all he offered.

Now that everyone was in, the moment you had been dreading the most arrived. Albeit you had been planning this for weeks, your stomach still felt like it had swallowed a rock.

You stood up, wonky on your feet. The chair screeched as it slid back.

“I’m retiring.”

If the silence was thick before, now it felt like a boulder.

When volcanos erupt, it’s rare for lava to burst into the air and fall like sizzling rain over the landscape below it. What kills every living creature, it’s the dust that settles afterwards: it's scorching hot, stops life in its tracks.

The moment the words bubbled from your throat like molten lava, the residues puffed out of your crater and deposited on everything surrounding you. The room now felt like a ghost town, with each breathing soul inside turned into a forever statue.

The only thing that moved was Simon, who wrenched the door open and left.

𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬

It had been weeks since you last saw him. Well, you did see him: Stirling Lines wasn't that big. But he didn't see you. He didn't knock on your door anymore and barely acknowledged your presence if he found you in his vicinity.

It felt pointless to continue your search for attribution if he wasn’t looking for it with you, so with a quick swipe of your arm, you trashed every blueprint, every post-it note, every map, and leaflet. Maybe that would grant Soap some rest as well.

A signature away from your departure, you were lying in your bed, ready to knock yourself out with a few droplets of benzodiazepine. The route to the comatose dreamless night that awaited you, though, was interrupted by a series of raps against your door.

After years in the military, you had developed quite the remarkable hearing – if one was willing to exclude the tinnitus. It meant you could recognize whose footsteps belonged to whom, whose breathing was coming from whose mouth, and which knock pertained to which hands. You knew these knuckles, indeed. Hastily tossing your legs over the edge of the bed, you padded your socked feet against the linoleum of your private quarters. Fingers shakily curled around the doorknob, and you yanked the door open.

It wasn’t like in movies, when after such a long absence time slows down when your eyes touch, no.

It was raw, irate, and spiteful.

Simon placed a thick hand on your shoulder and shoved you aside to barge in. You barely managed to recollect your balance when he slammed the door closed behind him. He looked around the room as if searching for something but not being quite sure of what. Habit, you thought.

Brown eyes that never showed much of the constant turmoil brewing in his head now landed on you sizzling with hatred.

He yanked the mask off. It fell limply to the ground.

His cheeks were flushed, whether from the warmth that had been building behind the cheap fabric of the mask or from hot anger, you couldn’t tell.

"We had a deal.”

It ripped the air from your lungs, vacuumed them clean, and ironed them flat. Your hand flew at the base of your throat, fingers nervously rubbing against your collarbone.

His voice was clouded by an unbreachable fog of anger. You felt as if you were sailing through the ocean on a moonless night, only darkness ahead of you and a single oar in your hands. That’s how it felt to navigate through Simon Riley, even now that you had managed to have a grasp on the person he was.

Your pupils traveled along his person to settle on his face, not jaded like usual but contorted in a scowl. The strain at the junction of his jaw wasn’t a new sight, nor were the taut tendons of his neck.

Sometimes, he’d fall asleep on the couch in your office; your head on his shoulder or cradled in his lap. You’d wake up then, at the sound of teeth grinding. Bruxism in his sleep, jagged sounds that made your hair stand on end. Gingerly, you used to lift your hands and press the tips of your fingers at his jaw hinge, massaging the spot until he stopped.

You wished you could do it now.

"I’m sorry," you replied calmly, trying to quell his spirits and failing spectacularly.

He took hasty steps around the room, pacing like a lunatic. You didn’t have the guts to walk closer to stop him, not yet. What left his lips next, though, made you want to crumble to the floor like a house of cards.

“Leaving ‘cause I told you all tha’?” he snapped, “’cause you can’t handle another broken case to add to your file?”

Fear of approaching him left your body like steam from a cup, indeed that’s what you did. As he relentlessly paced around the cramped space of a military-issued room, you stopped him with a gentle hand on his bicep.

He froze and yanked his arm away. Your palm like blistering coal against his skin.

You knew he was as hulking as they come, you knew he was built like a goddamned brick house, and you knew he towered over you (he towered over most, in your defense). Yet, nothing could have prepared you for the way he languidly turned to face you, looking down. You craned your neck back, otherwise your eyes would only meet his collarbones, peeking through the loose black tee he was wearing – casual comfort clothes he wore to sleep at night, those few times he did.

"Never think that,” you stated, stressing the adverb, “Never think that.”

You swallowed thickly, yet your eyes never wavered, "I – It’s complicated,” but it truly wasn’t.

Your expression softened, but you knew it would do little to smother the flames in his eyes, ready to flatten the entirety of the room.

"After Johnny, I couldn’t anymore,” you whispered, “I can’t, Simon.”

The defeated tone of yours had the bite of a skillfully honed blade. It cracked his ribcage open and stabbed the heart he didn't think he owned anymore.

He murmured then, eyes narrowed, “The fuck you mean you can’t?”

Your mouth curled down and you rolled your lips between your teeth. The tip of your tongue soothed a crack in the skin.

"I'm scared," you wheezed as if the words were difficult to utter. Scared of loss, scared of death, scared of pain, scared of scars, both physical and mental. Scared of the future, scared of your past and his, scared it would haunt you until you'd turn cold and stiff - all the people you've killed and those who survived. Fear, in its unfettered, most gut-wrenching form.

He tongued his cheek, somewhat irritated by the statement. He let the words stick like molasses to his eardrums, muffling each sound. Simon wasn’t a stranger to fear; he walked with it hand-in-hand, a faithful companion that never left his shadow. Yet, he hated that you were feeling it because in his mind you didn't deserve it.

He would have liked to tell you that, but words always failed him when he needed them the most.

"Thought you’d have grown thick skin by now," his voice was low, controlled, and deadly. Meant to hurt, meant not to graze but to cut. It was all he knew, how to hurt – especially when he was aching as well.

You looked up at him through the furrow of your brows, brief anger flashing in your eyes. You set it aside, instead opting to cast your gaze sideways. You cupped your elbows in a sort of self-reassuring hug, thumbs indenting in the flesh of your biceps.

"I wish I did,” you murmured, “Can’t grow that type of skin, it seems.”

He wanted to rebuild the cocoon he had so carefully crafted around you. He wanted to go back being the shield that kept you from any harm. The chainmail that prevented each stab.

He wanted to be that skin you didn’t seem to grow, like a reptile losing its inborn ability to replenish its flesh.

Johnny’s passing took his cold heart and thrashed it. The bond he deepened with you afterwards made it regrow. He wondered, when he'd look at you during those days, as you leeched your brain dry over blueprints and notes, if you were aware of it.

You scared him most delightfully, and he thought whether his heart should reveal itself to be more than a muscle, or a fist covered in blood.

That's why the resentful look in your eyes felt like fresh water on the fire in his chest. How could he let you drain yourself dry over this, when you had been the only light the moment his world blew out each candle.

So, his anger took the backseat, and he sighed. Drawn-out, long, and tortuous.

“Where you goin’, then?” he said, softer.

You felt it, the sorrow of his tone. It made your head swivel in his direction. You blinked, opened your mouth to answer, and hesitated.

“Bury,” you breathed, “Bury St. Edmunds.”

His eyes narrowed in thought: you could almost see the map of England he had cast in front of him reflected in his pupils.

“’s about a four-hour drive from here," his voice trailed off.

"Yeah," you mused, slightly confused by the abrupt switch in his behavior. But you weren’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth, were you?

Instead, your hands slid up your arms soothingly, "Found a nice flat there, in the city center.”

You shrugged, trying to act as if it wasn’t a big deal, although Simon could tell it was by the way your eyes twinkled at the mention. Something new, something fresh that promised a new beginning, away from bloodshed and loss, closer to warmth and familiarity.

Closer to home.

"It’s nice. It has a small balcony that faces the cathedral,” you went on, sounding almost bashful, “Was thinkin’ about growing my own herbs? Like basil, and such.”

He didn’t reply or move. Barely breathed.

Just stared.

Stared at the soft expression on your face, at the way your lashes framed your eyes. Stared at the way your lip trembled, ever so slightly, as you blabbered about such ordinary things like balconies, and churches and bloody herbs.

He could already picture you with dirt under your bitten fingernails as you dug into brown, ceramic vases, refusing to wear gardening gloves.

He could hear your bare feet padding against the hardwood floor as you went on to brew your tea. Or the squeaking sound of the cushions of a leather couch as you dropped on it, without a care in the world, holding a book by its spine.

You truly disarmed him in that simplicity – a dress he realized he would’ve loved to see you wear more often.

You seemed unaware of the subtle awe that glinted in his pupils, since you went on to add how the flat had a guest room – although it completely flew over his thick head. What did reach his eardrums, though, was what you said next, "And it has two keys."

He snapped out of his reverie and swallowed.

"Two keys," he echoed.

His willpower felt as thin as an ice slab under the blistering sun. It melted pitifully and turned into a warm puddle in his chest. Nothing could’ve stopped him as his feet marched to you, closing both physical and emotional gaps.

He palmed your cheek and whispered with certain hoarseness in his voice, "Two damn keys.”

Your heart swelled three times its size. You swore you felt the indents left against it by each rib. Leaning your cheek against his hand, like you’d done many nights before, the most subtle of smiles graced your features.

Simon vowed he’d fight tooth and nail to see it grow.

You whispered, then, "If you want, you can just drive those four hours 'n pop in. I'll make you a cuppa, maybe take you for a tour around Bury.”

His eyes softened – crinkles at the corners and brows twitching in the middle.

"Four fuckin' hours for a cuppa and a tour,” he mumbled, "What are you, the Queen of England?"

You huffed a chuckle, pretending to find his sarcasm annoying by adding a roll of your eyes. Truthfully, you’d pay good fucking money to hear it daily.

"I'm gonna need the spare key, though" he whispered, his thumb brushed your cheek reverently.

You lifted your hand to trace his often-cracked knuckles with the pads of your fingers, “Not a spare key – your key.”

Simon swallowed thickly again. He ran his tongue over his teeth, clamping his jaw shut. His gaze hardened, his pupils danced about your face, awfully concentrated, as if he were refraining from doing something.

His sudden silence made your resolve waver. You removed your hand from the back of his, curling your fingers as if you were touching some hot surface. It stayed there, furled in a loose fist in the space between your chests.

“You could come and spend your leaves there," you whispered tentatively, "Leave your things at my flat, so each time you come over they're already there."

It took all your courage to speak, but you knew the die had been cast already. The only thing left for you to do was to simply go for it and take the damage, or leave victorious.

"Until it's full of you,” you released a shaky breath, “Until it's your little flat, too."

Simon’s breath suddenly shortened. He'd never felt at home, not even when he was supposed to have one. He'd come close to it when his brother got clean and managed to build a family for himself, or when the task force was tight-knit, with Johnny chatting his ear off with his incomprehensible Scottish lilt. But it was never his.

This, though.

He’d be damned if he let it slip through the cracks of his fingers.

"Until it's our flat," he breathed.

His other hand reached out as well, and he placed it on your opposite cheek, "Until it’s our little flat.”

You’d be lying if you said those weren’t words you had been reciting in your head ever since you put in your retirement request. Ever since you started looking for a flat that could host two people instead of one.

Indeed, you’d naively thought that the moment they would be uttered (if ever) you would have been ready for them. But you weren't, not at all – they felt like a gut punch.

You had to bite your lip to repress tears that had treacherously made their way into your eyes, now glossy and a little wide. To think that you were able, somehow, to give him some reprieve from a life that seemed to not want him, gave you incommensurable joy.

"Our home," you croaked.

"Our home," he echoed languidly, with a thick voice, as if it hurt to speak, "Our bed. And our bloody balcony on the cathedral, and our sofa, our kitchen, and – “

He paused. Swallowed, seemingly torn. Words seemed to fail him again, but he didn’t let them – not this time. He’d fight through the fear of it all being the umpteenth joke life was taunting him with. Not you, never you – his one good hand in a lifetime of poor draws.

"And every – fucking – thing in between."

You chuckled. It’s wet with tears and disbelief.

Oh, to see him thrive in anticipation for something, instead of dreading what life has in store for him.

Your hand left the gentle grip it had on his knuckles, and you cupped his face as well – mimicking how he was holding yours.

"Every," you whispered, "Bloody, fucking thing," and nudged your nose with his, "In between."

Your lips landed on his instantly.

It was stupidly clumsy at first because you were both torn in half between what felt good and what was right. His tongue slipped between your lips as soon as you parted them for air; your teeth clacked together. You chuckled against his lips; he drank it like an oasis. His life parched of what you could give him, what you were giving him.

It took him a moment to get used to the sensation, to adjust to you. But when he finally did, he kissed you back ravenously, nothing shy from desperate. He craved your touch so fiercely. A push and pull of wandering hands, tangled in your hair and yours in his.

You were finally back where he wanted you, in the cocoon he crafted just for you, made with his flesh. He held you to his chest as if his ribcage could open and like bony fingers wrap around you and keep you safe.

He placed his foot between your legs, pushing them open. You complied when he gently nudged your knee so you’d fall back against the mattress.

Eventually, your lips parted, yielding to his, to a shared breath.

You were positively flushed, breathless, and limp in his grasp. He thought he'd never seen anything this breathtaking.

You smiled, all teeth and creases at the corners of your eyes, cheeks tipped pink as they pushed against your eyes – little crescents he’d look at for days on end.

Simon was left a little dumbfounded, though, when you squirmed under his weight to extend an arm. He followed it with his eyes and saw your hand struggling to fumble with the drawer of your nightstand. You pulled out a key and held it in the space between your faces. 

"Your key," you whispered bashfully, as if unaware that the mere sight sent Simon's heart into arrhythmia.

You placed a soft peck to his lips, "To our home."

Simon let out a staggered exhale. He wrapped his fingers around the key, closed his fist around it.

A symbol of a new beginning, one that Simon finally didn’t dread. Something good rippling through his life like fresh water, even amidst the mud of shared grief and loss.

We're good people,

And we both deserve peace.

"To our home," he whispered back, "To our home."

And let breath be air, 

And love the things I know might disappear.

And the last light of the sun

I let it slow me down

I'll crawl where everybody runs.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Just asking, uhh, how many subjects seem to be in nrc? because it seems like a lot but at the same time is like no one talks about it (or maybe I'm just a little bit crazy about this nonsense...)

We don't have an exact number of subjects offered at NRC. However, I'd imagine that NRC offers a wide selection so that students can choose to study or specialize in the kinds of magic they are most interested in. Judging by the generous spread of industries mentioned in book 7 for fourth year internships, it'd make sense that NRC would have many courses to prepare students for various career paths after graduation. The subjects are not usually mentioned in main stories and events (where the bulk of dialogue would be), as academics are (ironically) not that relevant to the plot. In fact, it's actually in the vignettes where we often hear about the more obscure subjects, hear clarification on what certain classes involve, and other details.

The subjects we explicitly know about right now are:

Alchemy

Ancient Curses or Incantations/Ancient Magic

Animal Linguistics (it's not clear if this is separated by animal type such as Cat or Mouse being in separate variants of this subject)

Art (as in, visual arts)

Astrology

Abbreviated Spellcasting in Ancient and Modern Magic: Changes and Comparisons (an elective; have to choose between this or Poison Refining)

Biology (might be considered part of the magic science courses rather than biology being its own class)

Chemistry (might be considered part of the Potions courses rather than chemistry being its own class)

Defense Magic/Protection

Flying/Flight (might be considered a part of P.E.)

History of Magic (implied to be taught in segments; there is History of Magic I for first years, History of Magic II which covers new material for second years, etc.)

Magical Analysis/Enigmics

Master Chef/Culinary Crucibles (an elective)

Mathematics (not specified; not sure if this is its own separate course or if it is just integrated into other coursework)

Music/Musicology

P.E./Physical Education

Poison Making/Poison Refining (an elective; have to choose between this or Abbreviated Spellcasting in Ancient and Modern Magic: Changes and Comparisons)

Potions or Magical Pharmacology/Potionology

Practical Magic

Summoning

Swimming (might be considered part of P.E.)

Technomantic Engineering/Magic Energy Engineering

[calc1fers]

marauders at university part 1

james - business

u cannot tell me james isn't a finance bro who exclusively wears collared ralph lauren shirts and sambas/clogs

probably president of the business society, too. he's known for organising the most chaotic parties/pub crawls

plays rugby for the university team

sirius - quantum engineering/music composition

overachieving little fucker just had to do a double degree with the least compatible degrees ever

i can imagine sirius, sat at the potters' kitchen table with his hair in a messy bun and drinking straight from a bottle of red wine while working through a coding task

always hands all his assignments in seconds before the due date (which gives remus a heart attack)

remus - history/english

he gives ancient history professor so of course he'd have to study something to do with history

ended up writing his doctoral dissertation on old welsh civilisation

has a crazy arsenal of historical facts that he'll share if one (1) drop of alcohol enters his system

peter - education/arts

does NOT gaf about becoming a teacher but chose it to 'keep his options open'

majors in polish

probably a part of the riot gaming society icl 😭

lily - pharmacology

i feel like muggle lily would do med/pharm bc witch lily did healing/alchemy

tortured academic who does all the extra reading. she brought a sleeping bag to the library during exam season

mentors younger students in biology and anatomy

mary - fashion design and textiles

for mary, university is a Very Serious outfit competition and she must look hot Always (except there are people like peter rocking up in their pjs)

lugs her portfolios around in her shoulder bag bc she refuses to wear a backpack (it would kill her swag)

marlene - media/film studies

either this or zoology 🤔🤔

part of the theatre society and acts in their plays/skits

also leaves all her assignments to the last minute and pulls all nighters with sirius

most of which just consist of gossiping and making faces at each other then yelling at the other to lock in (they're both living off 4 coffees and an iget bar)

[blackswaneuroparedux]

O praeclaram supellectilem libroru *

Cicero

Oh, what fine furniture books are! *

The Athenaeum Club library.

The Athenaeum tends to attract the cream of the academic world (over 51 Nobel Prize winners) in literature and science.

The Pall Mall-based club was established in 1823 and is named after the ancient Roman Athenaeum, the centre for the study of literature and science.

Sir Charles Darwin used the Athenaeum to study in 1838. In one letter, dated August 9, he said: "I go and dine at the Athenaeum like a gentleman, or rather like a lord, for I am sure that the first evening I sat in that great drawing-room on the sofa by myself, I felt just like a duke. I am full of admiration for the Athenaeum, one meets so many people there that one likes to see … Your helping me into the Athenaeum has not been thrown away, and I enjoy it the more because I fully expected to detest it."

Breaking 150 years of tradition, the 2000 members of the gentleman's club for the 'intellectually elite' voted to allow women to become members in 2002. Baroness Susan Greenfield, professor of pharmacology at the University of Oxford, was the first woman invited and others have followed since.

Hands down one of the best libraries in club land. But they also have the most intrusive librarian with the beadiest eye to keep watch on you from her desk.

[otakusparkle]

The Shadow (Ivy) Background Story

Almost all the residents of the town know the Lawson family, the "back-to-back sisters". From the moment they were born, they were determined to die soon. Fortunately, their father and mother refused to give up on them out of their devout faith and gave them names - Ivy and Edith. Young Ivy still remembers how the laughter and joy at home melted into silence, and how the "well-intentioned" temptations from outside the wall turned into malicious temptations.

The resistance to the surroundings and a decision took root in Ivy's heart - her stubbornness did not lead to the ideal result. Severe wound infection took away Edith on the sixth day after the separation operation, and also gave her a disability that could kill her at any time. Looking directly at Edith's face for the first time, young Ivy felt a huge absurdity: when the soul left Edith's body, she almost felt her own death.

"Freshmen" have always been prepared for desperate people. During the few years that Ivy traveled across the ocean and came to a new school, she showed amazing academic talent and made friends with similar fates to herself. Unlike her friends who are obsessed with the field of spiritual healing, Ivey has shown an extraordinary interest in soul science, and then believes that once the soul and spirit can be accurately described, measured and studied, this transcendent and ultimate knowledge will, will be able to fill the deepest void in her heart. Perhaps moved by her obsession, her friends' initial confusion about her research gradually turned into encouragement, and they even provided some pharmacological technical support from the perspective of spiritual research.

However, as the research deepened, Ivy discovered that she suffered from intermittent amnesia and was always immersed in some dreams that gave people a weird feeling. But this was not entirely a bad thing. In that short memory gap, Ivy experienced the feeling of leaping across time, from a moment in eternity, to jumping lightly and flexibly to the "now". The ancient earth, the huge and lush primitive vegetation, and the smell of minerals in the water seemed to have dissipated from us not long ago. Unfortunately, this situation did not last long. After completing hee studies, her friend left, and the feeling became increasingly dilute, until Ivy received some fragments of literature and a diary, the contents of which could provide a complete explanation for his bizarre symptoms. Explanation of. Even though the recorder has quite professional academic qualifications, these words still seem like the crazy words of a mentally abnormal person: an extremely ancient existence that travels freely through different spaces and times and firmly occupies the captive's mind. Brain and mind.

Ivy took the initiative to grasp this fragile straw. When she was conscious, she felt that she had transformed into some kind of indescribable alien, with three huge eyes unnaturally embedded in the eye sockets, and her human throat uttered some incomprehensible and wild syllables, but she Believe that this is a "gift".

Gradually, Ivy stopped showing up in school. No one knew whether she locked herself in her room again or went away.

[tides-of-truth]

Scientific Method of inquiry into Truth & the Mandukya Upananishad Part 1

With change in perception or state of Consciousness— experience is changed. This is the basis of revolutions in scientific paradigms— we are locked into a ‘normal’ worldview, until sufficient understanding has accumulated, to shatter a previous worldview with another, through a leap of sorts.

Consciousness IS that perception-continuum & with altered states of Consciousness or purposefully changed perception, our experience (experiential reality) also changes. We modulate perception, with procedures (pharmacologically, meditatively, shamanically, or magically), & so change our expirential reality, the world of effects & results. We say, I changed my frequency & the world is uplifted. Something is true for us, when it is an experience, an experiential result we are having that we can write down.

In the Ancient times, the means by which, perception was altered, was called magick. Magick is of the realm of mind, idea & imagination.

In the tradition it is Maya or ignorance, ignorance in the sense of the Fool tarot card or archetype— that external appearance is conjured, through the seeds of the beliefs held within, that unfold in the dramas of our lives— we are fooled to (mis)take the world of effects, of change & show, for ultimate reality.

With mind-shifting techniques, & cognitive neuro-reprogramming or magick spells etc. we can alter the world of effects, we can move things around on the stage (without the seed causes being accessed) & change the truth of our experience. (More on Magick & the Mandukya Upanishad to come).

The leap required here is that, in the lesson that we can change our perception (state of Consciousness on the perception continuum of Consciousness, we ordinarily call mind-power), as much as we want, & so change our experience of the world, implies that perception is not & never was the truth. The truth itself, is not of the nature of perception, it is of the nature of realisation.

Only the leap of realisation or transcendence of all states, is truth.

Truth is not a perception.

You can change & rearrange the world of effects as much as you please, & there is nothing wrong with doing that through the power that is the mind, as humans we all do it, but it remains the world that is on the stage, the show, not the foundational truth.

We may enter a meditative or reflective state of Consciousness or a rite (by procedure & practice) & we may experience the result— of the leap of Consciousness into Self-knowing, known as transcendence of states or turiya.

[thegrapeandthefig]

I've just seen some random antivax use Ancient Greek to "prove" that, because pharmacology derives from φάρμακον (drug) and φάρμακος (magician/poisoner), it was proof that medicine/vaccines was Bad™ and Witchcraft™ I've seen a lot of brainrot in the past few years but this one's new to me and I'd cry if it wasn't so fucking hilarious.

[zerogate]

Some scholars have written dedicated research on the topic of religious and recreational usage of psychotropic plants in the ancient Greek and Roman World.

Carl Ruck, Albert Hoffmann, and Robert Wasson wrote The Road to Eleusis (1978), which sets the stage for exploring the use of entheogens in Greek and Roman culture. Ruck has additional publications, which focus on recreational and religious intoxication.

D. C. A. Hillman wrote The Chemical Muse (2008), where he covers drug usage in the ancient Greek and Roman world, including recreational, religious, and medical.

Michael Rinella wrote Pharmakon: Plato, Drug Culture, and Identity in Ancient Athens (2011), in which he delves into psychotropic plant usage in the ancient Greek world, the problematization of drugs, and the scandals surrounding Socrates and Alcibiades.

Alan Sumler wrote Cannabis in the Ancient Greek and Roman World (2018), in which recreational intoxication and other settings are explored.

[...]

In the field of ancient Greek and Roman religion and magic, some scholars have covered psychotropic plant usage. John Scarborough’s “The Pharmacology of Sacred Plants, Herbs, and Roots” (1991) covered these plants as used in ancient magic and explained the ancient rationale behind how they worked. He has also covered these plants in ancient medicine.

Christopher Faraone, in Ancient Greek Love Magic (2001), wrote about these plants as they are used in love magic and how they appear in other settings, like law courts.

Georg Luck’s Arcana Mundi (2006) covers these plants as they are found in religion and the personal practice of magic.

Alan Sumler, in “Ingesting Magic” (2017), considers these plants in magic and recreation.

On psychoactive plants found in ancient wine, Patrick McGovern, author of Uncorking the Past (2009), has written the most. His molecular analysis of ancient wine shows that the drink had multiple ingredients, many of them psychotropic. He describes the usage of intoxicating drinks all around Europe, Asia Minor, Egypt, and the Black Sea. McGovern covers recreational usage of drugs in the Greek and Roman world.

In the field of ethnobotany, there is scholarship on psychotropic plants being used in different settings in the Greek and Roman world. The assumption is that these psychoactive plants grow all over the earth and that all cultures use them for mind alteration in some way.

A recent multiauthored volume from Routledge, A Companion to Ecstatic Experience in the Ancient World (2022), covers psychotropic drug usage in the Mediterranean world going back to the Bronze Age.

Philip Wexler edited a two-volume multiauthored, text (2014, 2015), The History of Toxicology and Environmental Health, which covers many instances of recreational intoxication in the Greek and Roman world.

Some articles in scholarly journals are helpful for becoming familiar with psychotropic plant usage in the ancient world. Merlin, “Archaeological Evidence for the Tradition of Psychoactive Plant Use in the Old World” (2003), covers psychotropic plant usage throughout all ancient cultures. Carod-Artal, “Psychoactive Plants in Ancient Greece” (2013), considers substances available in the ancient Greek world. A few articles focus on Classical Greece, for instance Arata, “Nepenthe and Cannabis in Ancient Greece” (2004), and Eleanor, “Flower Power in Medicine and Magic: Theophrastus’ Response to the Rootcutters” (2006). The topic of kykeon at the Eleusinian Mysteries has produced some interesting scholarship, for instance Perrine, “Mixing the Kykeon” (2000), and Rosen “Hipponax fr. 48 Dg. And the Eleusinian Kykeon” (1987).

-- Alan Sumler, Intoxication in the Ancient Greek and Roman World

[science-lover33]

Decoding the Pharmacological Symphony of Turkey Tail Mushroom: An In-Depth Analysis of its Chemical Composition, Immunomodulatory Mechanisms, and Implications in Cancer Therapeutics 🍄🔬

Salutations, esteemed Tumblr intellectuals! Brace yourselves for a cerebral sojourn into the pharmacological labyrinth of Turkey Tail Mushroom, an exploration that transcends the ordinary and delves into the intricate interplay of its chemical constituents, the sophisticated mechanisms of immunomodulation, and the far-reaching implications of its therapeutic potential in the intricate landscape of cancer biology. Prepare your minds for an expedition into the realms of molecular complexity, immune orchestration, and therapeutic promise. Grab your favorite scientific journal, a pen, and perhaps a lab coat, for this journey is not for the faint of intellectual heart. ☕📚

Chemical Symphony: An Elaborate Choreography of Bioactive Compounds:

In the molecular ballet of Turkey Tail, bioactive compounds are the principal dancers, each executing a meticulously choreographed routine. Polysaccharopeptides (PSPs), intricate glycoproteins with immunomodulatory acumen, command attention. Through the fine-tuned modulation of immune responses, these compounds stimulate various facets of the immune system, orchestrating an elaborate dance that amplifies the body's ability to recognize and eliminate neoplastic cells. Concurrently, beta-glucans, linear glucose polymers, contribute to this biochemical ballet by fine-tuning immune cell responses, enhancing the overall antitumor immune surveillance.

Navigating the Anti-Tumor Terrain: A Molecular Expedition:

Our scientific cartography navigates the expansive anti-tumor terrain mapped out by Turkey Tail's polysaccharides. The inhibitory effects on tumor growth and metastasis are akin to molecular fortifications against cancer progression. Through intricate mechanisms involving the activation of natural killer cells, cytotoxic T cells, and macrophages, Turkey Tail emerges as a sentinel, curbing the unchecked proliferation of malignant cells. Additionally, its antioxidative prowess, rooted in compounds like ergosterol peroxide, further shields cellular structures from oxidative stress, a nexus in carcinogenesis.

Immersive References: Nourishment for the Inquisitive Intellect:

1. Stamets, P. (2012). "Turkey Tail: Old Medicine, New Hope." Integrative Medicine: A Clinician's Journal, 11(1), 54–59.

- Stamets' exposé weaves a tapestry connecting ancient medicinal wisdom with contemporary insights, shedding light on Turkey Tail's multifaceted potential.

2. Wasser, S. P. (2011). "Current findings, future trends, and unsolved problems in studies of medicinal mushrooms." Applied Microbiology and Biotechnology, 89(5), 1323–1332.

- Wasser's comprehensive review acts as a meta-analysis, synthesizing the current knowledge landscape of medicinal mushrooms, positioning Turkey Tail within the broader discourse.

3. Sun, J. E., Ao, Z. H., Lu, Z. M., Xu, H. Y., Zhang, X. M., & Dou, W. F. (2002). "Antihyperglycemic and antilipidperoxidative effects of dry matter of culture broth of Inonotus obliquus in submerged culture on normal and alloxan-diabetes mice." Journal of Ethnopharmacology, 95(2-3), 285–292.

- In the realm of metabolic interactions, this study offers a glimpse into the potential implications of Turkey Tail compounds in managing hyperglycemia and lipid peroxidation.

4. Kidd, P. M. (2000). "The use of mushroom glucans and proteoglycans in cancer treatment." Alternative Medicine Review, 5(1), 4–27.

- Kidd's magnum opus serves as a compendium, dissecting the applications of mushroom-derived compounds in cancer therapeutics, providing a nuanced understanding.

Empowering the Community: A Call for Translational Excellence:

Knowledge is a potent elixir, yet its administration demands finesse. As we unlock the mysteries of Turkey Tail Mushroom, let us champion translational excellence, bridging the realms of bench and bedside. Always, without exception, seek the counsel of healthcare professionals, for personalized insights into the delicate interplay of molecular intricacies. Our collective journey extends beyond unraveling the pharmacological nuances; it's a clarion call to empower our community with the technical acumen to navigate the dynamic expanse of cancer research. 🌐💚

Your musings on this intricately detailed exploration are most welcome!

[livingwellnessblog]

Yoga's Potential for Neuropsychiatric Disorders: A Scientific Exploration

Yoga's Ancient Wisdom in Modern Psychiatry: A Fusion of Ancient Wisdom and Modern Challenges

Yoga’s Potential for Neuropsychiatric Disorders: A Scientific Exploration Understanding the Global Mental Health Challenge To embark on a journey of understanding mental health challenges, we must first acknowledge the shortcomings of conventional approaches. Mental illnesses, despite advancements in treatment accessibility, continue to cast a shadow on global health. The World Health…

[eldritchboop]

42 Ancient Medicinal Plant Remedies

The Lost Book Project is charging $14 for this collection. If you find this link roundup useful, please consider donating to Archive.org instead. Other roundups here

Culpeper's Complete Herbal: Over 400 Herbs And Their Uses by N. Culpeper (1653)

A Garden of Herbs - E. Rohde (1921)

A Modern Herbal: The Medicinal, Culinary, Cosmetic, and Economic Properties, Cultivation, and Folklore of Herbs, Grasses, Fungi, Shrubs, and Trees with All Their Modern Scientific Uses by M. Grieve (1931)

Culinary Herbs - M. Kains (1912)

Fray's golden recipes for the use of all ages - E. Fray (1897)

Cunningham's Encyclopedia of Magical Herbs by S. Cunningham (1985) THIS IS A RENTAL: BOOK IS STILL IN COPYRIGHT

Back to Eden by Jethro Kloss (1939) THIS IS A RENTAL: BOOK IS STILL IN COPYRIGHT

Herbal Simples - Approved for Modern Uses of Cure - W. Fernie (1897)

Occult Science in Medicine by F. Hartmann (1893)

The Encyclopedia of Herbs and Herbalism by M. Stewart (1979)

A Compendium of General Botany - M. Westermaier (1896)

Ancient Cures, Charms, and Usages of Ireland; Contributions to Irish lore by L. Wilde (1890) A complete dictionary of the whole materia medica containing an experimental history of every natural and artificial substance made use of in medicine Vol. 1 - W. Lewis (1810) A complete dictionary of the whole materia medica containing an experimental history of every natural and artificial substance made use of in medicine Vol. 2 - W. Lewis (1810) A curious herbal - containing five hundred cuts, of the most useful plants Vol. 1 by E. Blackwell (1737) A curious herbal - containing five hundred cuts, of the most useful plants Vol. 2 by E. Blackwell (1737) A family herbal or, Familiar account of the medical properties of British and foreign plants - R. Thornton (1814) A supplement to the Pharmacopia, and treatise on pharmacology in general by S. F. Gray (1836) A text-book of materia medica and therapeutics - characteristic, analytical, and comparative by A. C. Cowperthwaite (1891) American medical botany being a collection of the native medicinal plants of the United States Vol. 1 by J. Bigelow (1817) American medical botany being a collection of the native medicinal plants of the United States Vol. 2 by J. Bigelow (1817) American medical botany being a collection of the native medicinal plants of the United States Vol. 3 by J. Bigelow (1817) American medicinal leaves and herbs by A. Henkel (1911) American root drugs by A. Henkel (1907) An introduction to botany Vol. 1 - J. Lindley (1848) An introduction to botany Vol. 2 - J. Lindley (1848)

An introduction to botany Vol. 3 - J. Lindley (1848) An introduction to medical botany - T. Castle (1829) Edible Wild Plants - P. Oliver (1899) Flower-land - an introduction to botany - R. Fisher (1889)   Ginseng And Other Medicinal Plants - by A. R. Harding (1908) Herbals, their origin and evolution, a chapter in the history of botany, 1470-1670 by A. Arber (1912) How to grow vegetables and garden herbs - A. French (1911) Illustrations of medical botany Vol. 1 by J. Carson (1845) Illustrations of medical botany Vol. 2 by J. Carson (1845) Magic plants - being a translation of a curious tract entitled De vegetalibus magicis by J. H. Heucher (1886) Medicinal Herbs and Poisonous Plants by D. Ellis (1918) New, Old, and Forgotten Remedies - E. Anschutz (1900) Outlines Of Lessons In Botany Pt. 1 - J. Newell (1896) Outlines Of Lessons In Botany Pt. 2 - J. Newell (1896) The British Herbal by J. Hill (1756) The Medicine-Men of the Apache by J. G. Bourke (1892) The Mystery and Romance of Alchemy and Pharmacy by C. J. S. Thompson (1897) The Occult Family Physician and Botanic Guide to Health by A. Matteson (1894)

[readyforevolution]

The entire African continent was an extremely civilized place by their own rich cultures, the time the first European travellers began discovering and later destroying her people and cultures.

“When they arrived in the Gulf of Guinea and landed at Vaida (in West Africa) the captains were astonished to find streets well laid out, bordered on either side for several leagues by two rows of trees; for days they travelled through a country of magnificent fields, inhabited by men clad in richly coloured garments of their own weaving! Further south in the Kingdom of the Congo, a swarming crowd dressed in `silk` and `velvet`; great States well-ordered, and down to the most minute details; powerful rulers, flourishing industries-civilized to the marrow of their bones. And the condition of the countries on the eastern coast- Mozambique, for example- was quite the same.”Leo Frobenius, `Histoire de la Civilisation Africaine`, quoted in Anna Melissa Graves, `Africa, the Wonder and the Glory,US, Black Classic Press, (originally 1942),pg4.

Portuguese missionaries wrote of the Kongo…” a well-organized political system with taxes and rates, there was a brilliant court,(and) a great civil service. The state constructed roads, imposed tolls, supported a large army and had a monetary system-of…shells, of which the Mani Congo…had a monopoly. The Congo Kingdom even had a few satellite states, for example the state of the Ngola (ie Ndongo) in present-day Angola. The original kingdom was about the size of France and Germany put together”.

“There is no doubting…the existence of an expert metallurgical art in the ancient Kongo; only the competition of objects from abroad and the slow deterioration brought about its decline. A further proof is provided by recent ethnographic documents. The Bakongo were aware of the toxicity of lead vapours. They devised preventative and curative methods, both pharmacological (massive doses of pawpaw and palm oil) and mechanical (exerting of pressure).

[rabbitcruiser]

Herb Day

Herb Day, celebrated on the first Saturday in May, is a holiday that simply encourages planting herbs and celebrates people who have a culture of growing herbs. This year it falls on May 6. It was created and organized by the HerbDay Coalition, which is an organization of five non-profit groups. The holiday encourages people to learn more about herbs, cultivate them and use them more extensively in their daily lives.

History of Herb Day

Herb Day was created in 2006, a time when ‘herb’ was still a bit of a scary word. Medical doctors, naturopaths, and acupuncturists were not yet comfortable incorporating herbs into their practices, and the public knew very little about the subject. The HerbDay Coalition is made up of five non-profit organizations that wished to create a day for people to celebrate the healing power of herbs. On the first Saturday in May, we invite you to have your own celebration with the herbs you have in your garden or on your patio.

The world of plants was divided into trees, shrubs, and herbs by the ancient Greek philosopher Theophrastus. Herbs are also further classified into three groups, namely pot herbs, sweet herbs, and salad herbs. During the 1600s, pot herbs began to be referred to as vegetables as they were no longer considered only suitable for the pot.

In its early stages, botany was primarily a study of the pharmacological uses of plants, and by the Middle Ages, with the advent of humoral theory in medicine, the position was made that foodstuffs, having their own humoral qualities, could, in turn, alter the humoral temperaments of humans.

Popular plants parsley and sage were often used together for cooking in medieval times. A renowned therapeutic nutriment of that age, chicken broth, as well as green sauce, were usually prepared with parsley and sage.

Herb Day timeline

371 B.C. Theophastrus Is Born

Ancient Greek botanist Theophrastus is born.

1600s Pot Herbs Are Referred To As Vegetables

By the 1600s, selective breeding leads to changes in the physical and other compositions of the pot plants, hence they come to be known as vegetables.

2005 HerbDay Coalition Is Formed

A group of five nonprofit groups comes together to form the HerbCoalition.

2006 First-ever Herb Day

On May 6, the first-ever Herb Day is celebrated.

Herb Day FAQs

What is Herb Day?

Herb Day is a holiday that simply encourages planting herbs and celebrates people who have a culture of growing herbs.

When is Herb Day?

Herb Day is celebrated on the first Saturday in May every year.

Are herbs edible?

Yes. Most herbs are edible and even tasty.

Herb Day Activities

Learn more about herbs

Start a herb garden

Share the fun on social media

Take the opportunity of Herb Day to find out some more about herbs! There are so many nutritional properties to herbs that you could learn about!

You could start a small herb garden probably in your kitchen and devote yourself to seeing it grow. There’s nothing more rewarding than seeing hard work come to fruition.

Post pictures of your herb plants on social media with the #HerbDay hashtag! Encourage your friends to do the same as well as to learn something new.

5 Facts About Herbs And Spices

Red peppers are rich in Vitamin C

Red bell peppers are ripe green peppers

Nutmeg is a psychotropic

Vanilla is highly expensive

Turmeric is effective against Alzheimer’s

Red peppers are said to be unusually rich in Vitamin C, and a single serving of soup made from it contains more Vitamin C than lemon juice.

Red bell peppers are simply ripe green bell peppers.

Nutmeg serves psychotropic functions and a high enough dose can induce hallucinations.

Vanilla is among the two most expensive spices in the world, second only to Saffron.

Turmeric powder is very potent in managing symptoms of Alzheimer's, even more than drugs prescribed for it.

Why We Love Herb Day

Herbs are medicinal

Herbs are tasty

Herbs are eco-friendly

Herbs serve a great medicinal purpose and can be used to treat a variety of illnesses. Learn something new today and research what you can treat with herbs!

Some herbs and spices are tasty and add flavor to our everyday meals. They’re great for soups or roasts!

Herbs do not harm the environment and therefore growing them is safe! Get your green thumbs ready and start planting today!

Source