#curative

[sciencesolutions]

[agreenroad]

Jesus Healed Using Cannabis - God Provided Use Of All Plants And Herbs For Curative Care

GERMANS CELEBRATE LEGALIZATION OF MARIJUANA The growing of an herb called marijuana should be legal in all states, with no restrictions on whether it is cannabis or marijuana. Why? Because God provided this and all other herbs in the Garden Of Eden, as part of Heaven on Earth. GOD PROVIDED ALL HERBS AND PLANTS FOR CURATIVE CARE In addition, God gives us the use of plants and herbs for curative…

[isfjmel-phleg]

#Oh my gosh. Simultaneously so warm and dreadful. Talfrin - I get that this feels like a moment of connection with your son and that #you're living in an era where you don't fully understand the dangers of this prescription #BUT - good sir - don't. Don't. Please don't. Even removing the stramonium cigarettes from the equation there's something very unsettling #about this however much good intention there might be. #Very much getting the sense that Talfrin is just delighted that his ten-year-old son can be his smoking buddy (and possibly drinking buddy) #whenever the whim takes him. Even more so he wants him to get over what he perceives as an imaginary illness born of coddling and #fussing. And the way he talks about it is poisoning Elystan's future ability to come to terms with his condition - not just by telling him #it's not real but because Elystan is quickly going to realize that it's not just a matter of cigarettes and deciding to live like an #'ordinary' boy. This idea is going to be quickly dashed to pieces when his body can't handle what's being proposed. But the damage #in how he thinks about himself and his illness would have been done - all this scoffing talk of 'Some people like being invalids' #and 'just getting over it' and suggesting his mother prefers him weak and idle - the impression of those words won't magically disappear #You're just setting him up not to be able to grapple with it because of shame and tying it up in fraught relationships sir. #I am honestly so angry at you right now Talfrin even if you mean well. You're trying to be one of the lads with him but you're #literally having him smoke hallucinogens and even when you see the effect on your son and it spooks you - you obviously don't put an #end to the whole thing. AND THAT MANY CIGARETTES? The 'under the influence' aspect is so subtle here it's frightening. #Elystan - he's so small here. Recognizably himself but so very young. That crocodile bit. This kid. He needs stable and fearless love #from his family so very very badly. #And there really is something warm about this scene - and seeing Elystan all full of hope - how much his dad wants to cheer him up #So much potential for goodness here. So very very messed up. #Excellent scene. (via @siena-sevenwits)

Oh goodness, this is an old one. I've been meaning to redo this one. My research was shoddy and I don't think that the depiction of stramonium is accurate, so I think I would instead have Talfrin follow up Elystan's stramonium cigarette by offering him one of his cigarettes, as a treat. Instead of hallucinating, Elystan of course has a bad reaction to the tobacco, which incurs his father's disgust. I've also considered retelling it from Talfrin's perspective, emphasizing his desire for connection with his son, tied to his troubled relationship with his own father. (Talfrin's father promised him something, maybe a gold watch, if he didn't smoke until he was twenty-one, and Talfrin of course took it up in secret pretty young but managed to hide it well enough that his frequently absent father never noticed. Still, he was looking forward to turning twenty-one and his father officially teaching him to smoke--but the birthday rolled around and all he got was the watch and a note left in his room. No opportunity for bonding.) Talfrin is determined to be different from his father but struggles with his disappointment that Elystan isn't the son he had hoped to have. Accepting Elystan as he is is more than Talfrin's prepared to do, and it's just easier to blame it all on Bethira.

Anyway, even with everything that I would change about the story, I'm thrilled that you pinpointed what I was trying to get at in the scene: the warmth between father and son, tainted by how Talfrin is (unintentionally) teaching Elystan to hate himself for his physical limitations. It's typical rhetoric for the era. Asthma at this time was thought to be a "nervous" illness, psychosomatic, so Elystan's "failure" to "conquer" it is, as far as Talfrin is concerned, a character flaw. And as much as Talfrin does love his son, there's a part of him that can't forgive Elystan for not willing himself to be the vigorous little athlete he had intended to raise. Elystan will internalize this and blame himself, because his beloved father--the good, fun parent! the one that really loves him!--couldn't possibly be wrong, and I don't know what it would take for this core belief to be uprooted, if it ever could be.

Talfrin is one of the closest things to a villain that I have. He's a pretty awful person who treats his family horribly. But he could have been better, and chose not to be, and I'd like to explore him in a more complex way if I ever get back to this story.

Curative

I don’t remember when I decided that today (October 31) was Elystan’s birthday, but it always seemed like a good fit for this dreadful child. (I think I also had in mind that it was the same birthday as John Keats. Not that there’s any connection. Or is there?)

When a.) you’re heir to the throne, b.) everyone’s at least lowkey worried about you all the time, and c.) your parents have a lot of guilt toward you for various reasons, your birthdays are awesome. Until things happen, and then they’re…but that’s another story for another time.

Let’s flash back to ten-year-old Elystan, while his father is still king, and witness an extremely questionable, not-in-any-way-condoned-or-recommended-by-the-author (but historically accurate) medical treatment and some father-son interaction.

Keep reading

[conquerhermind]

Spend the night with me <3

[pebblegalaxy]

The Curative and Addictive Nature of Religion and Drugs: Exploring the Parallels

The Parallels Between Religion and Drugs: The Curative and Addictive Nature Explored Religion and drugs have long been subjects of fascination and study due to their profound impact on individuals and societies. This article delves into the intriguing analogy between religion and drugs, exploring how they can be curative in small doses but potentially addictive when taken to extremes. We will…

[reputayswift]

“I want a new sound for TS12” you guys couldn’t even handle It’s Nice To Have a Friend 😔

[dvchvnde]

EXCERPT: alpha Soap x omega Reader

The call comes at quarter to six.

This deep in the mountains, poor reception makes the air crackle with static when it blooms to life. He answers with fingers numbed from the cold outside, offering little more than a grunt of his acknowledgement.

Spotted somethin' on the edge a'town. Person.

"Person?" He echoes, tapping his finger against the worn, shiny leather of the steering wheel.

It jars him. The idea of a person being out there is strange. Tourist season is over. And now the sky glooms with an encroaching winterstorm—murky brush strokes peppering along the horizon, taken from a washed out easel of a once bountiful autumn palette now muddy and blurred with use, blanketing harsh, dense clouds over the granite skyline. He can't imagine anyone wanting to be out there right now.

"Why?"

Not sure... Local spotted 'em runnin' barefoot through the forest. Ain't dressed for the winter. Omega, too—

Johnny sucks in a sharp breath, fingers tightening around the receiver. Everything sifts through his head, catagorically organised—snow on the ground, barefoot; underdressed—but it skips, snagging over that single word:

Omega.

He scrapes his tongue over his sharpened canines. The pain is grounding for a handful of seconds. Enough time for him to weigh his options: let someone else take it over—Kyle (unmated), Simon (mated with a territorial omega but one he liked to rile up), Price (divorced, unmated)—or taking care of it himself.

A bad idea.

But they all are, really.

His rut is there. Equinoctial. On the edge, the precipice. He can feel it crawling up his spine, tarlike tentacles curling around each vertebrae, jowls gnashing at the sight of his vulnerable stem in sight. Eager to sink it's teeth in.

(him, too, eager to sink his teeth in—)

The wolf that unmakes him each axial precession—vernal, estival, autumnal, and hibernal—prowls in the prison it's kept inside, waiting. Winter is always the worst rut for him. For most alphas, really. The urge to fuck and eat and sleep is a near constant pull in their hindbrain. And without the ability to swallow down tablets to dull the ache in his teeth, and sweat out the fever by running around the forest until he could think beyond the throbbing swell at the base of his cock, it eats him alive every winter.

Drives him mad.

"ahm oan it," he slurs into the plastic voicebox, pawing urgently at the keys in the ignition. He feels hot under his collar. Sweat gathering along his hairline. Condensation blooms over the windows as his fever thrums through his veins, warring with the frigid temperatures outside. Minus ten degrees celsius, his gauge reads.

He clucks his tongue in agitation. No one, much less an omega, should be out in that sort of weather unprepared. Mated or not, whoever's looking out for your safety is going to get the brunt of apologetic, rut-fueled anger.

(Price'd be proud, he thinks, huffing through the heat in his throat—)

The dispatch officer hesitates. The line filling with static briefly as if they, too, are thinking the same thing—

An unmated alpha running after an omega. Potentially unmated as well if they're barefoot and barely dressed in this weather. It feels potentially cataclysmic. Watching the tide recede on the beach and knowing that danger is quickly approaching but being unable to do anything to prevent it.

Natural devastation.

Still. Who else is out here right now that can reach them in time?

The line crackles with their last known location as he puts the truck in drive, and navigates the winding gravel path. An address follows—the omega centre in town, he knows—and it snaps through the truck like a warning.

Be good.

And he will be.

He'll find you, bring you to the shelter before the storm hits, and then find a pretty little thing to fuck the fever out on for the next week. The centre has willing omegas he can pick from. A win-win situation.

He gets to be a hero for a few hours, and then sink his knot into something sweet.

Sit tight, little omega, he thinks, tongue pressed flat to his aching canines. Rescue is coming.

[trans-axolotl]

my gendered experience growing up as an intersex person was overwhelmingly defined by my responses and resistance to everything that got me labeled as a failure: failure to quickly get a gender assigned at birth, failure to go through a normal puberty and grow up into a woman, failure at meeting the standards for "complete womanhood" because of my intersex sex traits, and yet simultaneously failing to ever be acknowledged as a "real man" and being treated as a threat when I expressed I wanted to transition.

before i realized i was a man and came out as trans, the ways that girlhood was denied to me was very often humiliating and painful. locker rooms filled with other girls were a frequent source of shame. there were many big and small ways that i was told that my intersex body made me insufficient, incomplete, broken. i was forced onto estrogen, forced into shaving my body hair, and was constantly being told to change myself to better fit this mystical idea of a "normal woman." and even though I ultimately ended up becoming a man, the denial of girlhood was painful.

but i think that these things would have been even more difficult to navigate as an intersex girl if on top of everything I already said, i was having to cope with the denial of my girlhood while i was forced into boys locker rooms. if my doctors were forcing me onto testosterone hrt and refusing to even discuss estrogen, if all my legal paperwork had "M" on it and was a logistical nightmare to change, if every support group for my intersex variation labeled it as a "men's support group," if the LGBTQ community spaces i tried to join were misogynistic towards me often to the point of exile, if my self determination as an intersex girl was denied in most spaces of my life, and on and on and on. while listing all these things out i also don't want to make it seem like it's all about suffering and pain--so much of transition for me has been about joy in my self determination and how much it feels like a reclamation of autonomy to decide what I want my body and self to be like--i know this is an experience i share with so many of my trans intersex friends.

as an person who was AFAB, although there were many ways that trying to grow up as an intersex girl were a painful, logistical nightmare, many times and places that i was excluded from woman's spaces, etc. however, there was a simultaneous affirmation that i was right to strive for that in the first place. which is logic rooted in some fucked up compulsory dyadism, but also which would have made some things slightly easier or even possible at all if i had wanted to embrace being an intersex girl within this fucked up system.

pretty much every time i've seen people on tumblr talking about "afab transfems" in an intersex context, people seem happy to collapse these experiences and act like there's no meaningful distinction or point in distinguishing between different types of intersex embodiment. it seems incredibly extractive, to be perfectly honest with you--taking terms already used by a community to make meaning of their experiences and to expand and dilute that term enough that it means something pretty different than the original.

it's making me think about the concept of epistemic injustice, which is a term coined by Miranda Fricker to describe oppression related to knowledge, communication, and making meaning of the world. There's two subtypes of epistemic injustice: testimonial injustice and hermeneutical injustice. Testimonial injustice refers to the dynamic where marginalized people are labeled as not credible, excluded from conversations, and their testimony and knowledge is labeled as unreliable, even when they're the ones who are experts and have first hand experience of what people are talking about. (this is why i probably won't make this post rebloggable--i've noticed this pattern on tumblr many times where trans men speaking about transmisogyny get lots of notes and are given a lot of grace, where trans women are silenced, attacked for not having perfect wording, and otherwise delegitimized.)

the second type is called hermeneutical injustice. it describes how marginalized people are denied the right to make sense of the experiences in their own lives. this can look like preventing people from building community, terminology, a political understanding of themselves, and the interpretive resources needed to process how you live in the world.

this is a form of injustice that I think almost all intersex people are very familiar with--we are denied community and interpretive resources to the point that we're told we don't even exist, that intersex isn't a real word, and so many more examples that leave us isolated and with very few options for understanding what we're collectively experiencing. as an intersex person i really intimately understand how frustrating, confusing, and painful it is to not have words for your experiences, your identity, your life.

so it makes me really sad and pissed off when it seems like intersex people seem to be replicating this exact same type of epistemic injustice towards transfems and specifically towards intersex transfems. pretty much every time recently i see people talking about "afab transfems" they're doing so in a way that seems to deny that trans women even have the right to make sense of their own experiences in the world. there seems to be this mindset that these political frameworks, these interpretive resources that transfems have built up are just up for grabs for anyone. and then on top of that has come with it a lot of cruel, hateful language and direct attacks towards many intersex transfems who are facing so much harassment right now.

an important value to me is this idea of reciprocity as a foundation for solidarity. to me reciprocity means that we're prioritizing the ways we care for each other, we're thinking about how we can uplift each other, and we're watching out for extractive or exploitative patterns where one group is constantly expected to be in "solidarity" with another group without getting the same respect and care back toward them. i think that there could be so many ways that intersex people of all genders could share our overlapping experiences and actually be in true, meaningful solidarity with each other, but i barely ever actually see that happen on tumblr. and that pisses me off, because i do think that there's so much we have in common that we could celebrate and support each other with. i feel so much kinship with so, so many of my trans intersex friends, and ways where i see our lives converge. but i don't think that can happen in an environment where there's no acknowledgment of the ways that our experiences will sometimes (often) differ from each other, and the ways that we have unique needs.

another frustration i've had based on this most recent couple months of transmisogynistic intersex posting on tumblr is how intersex people have been mostly ignoring intersex community resources and devaluing the existing intersex terminology that people created to try to meet our needs. so much of what i've seen people describing on tumblr seems to really line up with the term ipsogender. Ipsogender is a term coined by an intersex sociologist Cary Gabriel Costello, and is used to describe intersex people whose gender matches the gender they were medically assigned at birth, but who might not feel like cis or trans fits them, might experience dysphoria, and who might feel like they've ended up transitioning medically or socially in some ways. this is a word that exists that an intersex person put time into coining because they wanted other intersex people to feel seen, embraced, and have ways of understanding themselves and communicating to others, and that's something that's super meaningful to me! and yet, i've rarely seen anyone reference it, and also seen multiple people making fun of it in other spaces online.

there's also intergender, which is another intersex specific gender term used to describe when your gender is inseparable from your intersex traits, and that your intersex identity is intertwined with your gender identity in some way. some people just identify as intergender, others use it as an adjective and exist as an intergender man or woman. intersex terminology like this is really important to me, especially because we're so often denied the right to make sense of our own experiences.

i think ultimately what i wanted to say with this post is just that when i think about intersex community, some of the most important values of intersex community for me are solidarity, care for each other, and affirming our right to define our own existence. and i don't think that can happen in a community where people are acting in extractive ways, harassing and attacking their fellow community members, and being dismissive of the realities of other intersex people's lives.

[romanticatheartt]

I die for these soft, domestic moments...

I laughed in earnest, and squeezed his face as I pressed a swift kiss to his mouth. “Shameless flirt.” The warmth returned to his eyes at last. ₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊ I kissed his bare neck, and he reached back to drag a finger down my cheek. ₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊ Rhys came over and handed me a hairpin. We worked in unison, pinning my hair into place. Rhys pinned a hard-to-reach section of my hair. ₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊ He leaned down, nuzzling my throat. “Don’t you want to comfort your mate, who has missed you terribly these weeks?” I planted a hand on his face and pushed him back, scowling. “I want my mate to tell me where the hell he was. Then he can get his comfort.” Rhys nipped at my fingers, teeth snapping playfully. “Cruel, beautiful female.” ₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊ I studied the hand, the ravaged face. Such pain lingered there—and exhaustion. The face he never let anyone see. I pushed up onto my knees and kissed his cheek, his skin warm and soft beneath my mouth. ₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊ So I wrote back, At least you make up for your shameless flirting by being one hell of a High Lord. He’d returned that evening, smirking like a cat, and had merely said “One hell of a High Lord?” by way of greeting. I’d sent a bucket’s worth of water splashing into his face. Rhys hadn’t bothered to shield against it. And instead shook his wet hair like a dog, spraying me until I yelped and darted away. His laughter had chased me up the stairs. ₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊ A half smile that had me walking toward him, stopping between his legs. He braced his hands idly on my hips. He rested his brow against my chest, right between my breasts, and wrapped his arms around my waist. For a long minute, he only breathed in the scent of me, as if taking it deep into his lungs. ₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊ “You look exhausted, that’s why.” He put a dramatic hand over his heart. “Your concern warms me more than any winter fire, my love.” I rolled my eyes and sat up. “Did you at least eat?” He shrugged, his dark shirt straining across his broad shoulders. “I’m fine.” His gaze slid over my bare legs as I pushed back the covers. Heat bloomed in me, but I shoved my feet into slippers. “I’ll get you food.” “I don’t want—” “When did you last eat?” A sullen silence. “I thought so.” I hauled a fleece-lined robe around my shoulders... “You don’t need to—” “I want to, and I’m going to.”... “Did you eat at all today?” “I had an apple this morning.” “Rhys.” He set down his fork, his mouth twitching toward a smile. “Feyre.” I crossed my arms. “No one is too busy to eat.” “You’re fussing.” “It’s my job to fuss. And besides, you fuss plenty. Over far more trivial things.” ₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊ “You look beautiful tonight.” His words were low, rough. I stroked a hand down the lap of my gown, the fabric shimmering beneath my fingers. “You say that every night.” “And mean it.” ₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊ His fingers threaded through my hair, tilting my face up. That wicked smile grew, and my toes curled in their boots. “There’s my darling Feyre.”

[georgeromeros]

The Three Stooges - Calling All Curs (1939)

[zimtlees]

Gay and Oral looking happy❤️ Booberta is missing🙏🏻

[alibinashes]

NANCY DREW 11.  CURSE OF BLACKMOOR MANOR.

"dear ned, greetings from jolly old england! although now i'm not too sure about the jolly part. [...] i can't tell whether the butterflies in my stomach are because i'm excited, or just a tad creeped out."

[just-a-madrigal]

Brigitte with her eyes so bright

Looks toward heaven at midnight

On the longest night of year

That’s the one she holds most dear

“Starry friends,” she’s often heard to say

“How I wish that I could make you stay”

She knows though they can’t remain

Time will bring them round again

[ndconceptarchive]

Nigel Mookerjee & Jane Penvellyn

Featured Artist: Anton Bogaty