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triflesandparsnips · 10 months

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This is (still) not the OFMD medical horror essay

...but there I was, minding my own business and looking up recipes in apothecary manuals, and I accidentally opened up the 1653 edition of John French's The Art of Distillation.

Figure 1. AND I FOUND A THING.

(...although this printing is from 1667 -- maybe there's an even earlier edition, who knows, 17th century publishing was weird what can I say.)

SO TELL ME JOHN FRENCH, what should we know about baths -- by which I mean, what did Stede know?

Or better yet-- based on these publication dates (and for maximum angst)...

What did Stede's dad know?

Maybe I am doing medical horror here, WHOOPS OH WELL.

Ahem:

Seeing [that] by bathing and sweating most diseases are cured, especially such as proceed from wind, hot, and distempered humours, or cold and congealed humors; because all these are rarified, and evaporated by transpiration in sweating, or bathing, I thought it a thing much conducing to man's health, to set down such a way of bathing and sweating that might be very effectual, and appropriated to any particular disease or distemper.

So what I like about this paragraph is that, leaving aside the "new and cool" way of bathing that our man French here is about to describe, it tells us what the reading audience may already know about the Wonders of Bathing-- specifically, that:

bathing and sweating? serve a similar purpose

and that purpose is to evaporate (or "rarify", which may mean... make less dense? OKAY, MERRIAM-WEBSTER) the humors

which humors, you may ask? why, the hot and distempered ones (what might make a young lad sass his father), or the cold and congealed ones (what might make a young lad pick flowers and cry a lot)

French then goes on to give us a rundown of his awesome new inventions for bathing, all of which come down to DIFFERENT TUB-TYPES connected to a STILL:

A, Signifies a hot Still with two pipes going into two wooden vessels; In this Still you may put either [herbs], or spices, with water, or with Spirits, and distil them by which means, they that are in the vessels will presently be forced into a sweat, by vertue of the subtlety of the vapours. And this indeed is as a good and effectual a way for sweating as any can be invented: You may by this means appropriate your ingredients to the nature of the diseases.

Figure 2. Well, technically figure A for French, but essentially the primary mechanism for creating enough heat to make the patient sweat in their bath, plus a bunch of medicinal bits and bobs (and... alcohol?) to aid in said pickling sweating.

B, A vessell wherein a man fits in the bath. Now this vessel hath in it a door, for the easier going into it, which fashion is far better, and more convenient, than to be open only at the top.

Figure 3. (or B.) BEHOLD THE BATH BOX. Lock ur boy in until he sweats the gay out.

C, A long vessel where a man that is weak, and not able to sit up, lies and is bathed.

Figure 4. OH LOOK. IT IS. A FULL-SIZED BATHTUB. For the ~weak.

Figure 5. Stede Bonnet's entirely impractical tub (plus or minus one extraneous Blackbeard). Compare and contrast.

INTERESTING.

So... what else can you tell us, John French. What else could Stede, with historical accuracy, been subjected to?

Let's start with:

Whatever temperature of steam his medical professionals (...or father) thought he could "bear" before it got diverted away.

Now you must note, that these vapours must not be hotter than the Patient can bear: also if the vapour come forth too hot upon the body of the Patient, he may by putting a pipe, upon the end of the pipe that comes into the vessel, divert the hot vapour from his body, and so it will not offend him that way.

He could have been forced to stay in the heat until he fainted...

Note, that the Patient, as soon as he begins to be faint, must come forth, or else he will suffer more prejudice than good by his bathing;

...but otoh maybe he got given booze to prevent that. GIVE THAT KID A LAGER I GUESS.

and also to prevent him from fainting, let him take some Cordial, or cold Beer, which will much revive him, and make him endure his bathing longer, as also make him sweat the more.

When he was All Done sweating in the bath, he could've been bundled into his nice comfy bed... to sweat until he could no longer "bear it" again...

As soon as the Patient comes forth, let him go into a warm bed, and sweat as he is able to bear it,

...and yup, still possibly fainting all over the place, not at all a concern...

and take some Posset-drink, or Broth, or such like warm suppings, as also some good Cordial if he be very faint.

...and definitely not something that could happen to him over and over again, until he was "better" by whatever metric someone might decide to judge him.

The patient may according as his strength will bear, and his disease require, bathe more seldom or oftener.

And so with all this in mind--

--if someone wants to write up some deliciously heart-wrenching hurt/comfort around all this--

--let's just say it wouldn't be unrealistic.

Figure 6. Oh Stede. You are potentially so conflicted about the hot pirate who just wants to find comfort in your nice big symbol of your medical trauma bathtub.

#I should also mention that possets and cordials could contain opium #so like #ADD THAT TO HIS POTENTIAL TROUBLES #oh man #welp #might as well label this #medical horror #our flag means death #trifles the amateur history enthusiast strikes again

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flexcides · 4 months

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#opium aesthetic #opiumcore #death note #edgy grunge #gif anime

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bingqiv · 2 years

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are we all in agreement that thomas had an opiods relapse and now he's spending his ghost life kinda high?

#bbc ghosts #bbc ghosts spoilers #thomas thorne #i am just saying we know how he didn't suceed going cold turkey with alison so it's very likely it was the same with opiods #it would also make hia character and death make more sense #tw drugs #tw opium #tw opiod #tw relapse

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somkeandmirror · 4 months

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Today I offer to all of you, two assholes ! 🥰😊

In more seriousness i wanted to draw my favorit vilain oc's that i didn't draw for a big TIME so i present to you, Nut-Cracker (But more in "Casse-Noix" in french and her real name is Cassandra) a killer who work for a demon and Bird, an angel of death (they're asshole, like really)

I really love how they both look now, they're both beautifull 🥺❤

Bye !

Cassandra (Horror Project/Silent Plague)

Bird (Dead Garden)

#opium talking #oc's #original universe #original oc #white hair #vilain #Vilain oc's #angel of death

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deathshadowed · 1 year

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Tags

#💀 ooc ⚡| out of bullets #💀 musings⚡| one bullet in the chamber is just enough #💀 wardrobe⚡| dressed to kill #💀 memes⚡| a different kind of russian roulette #💀 promo⚡| yet again an another wanted poster #💀 self promo⚡| killer for hire; or personal problem solver; however you fancy #💀 personality⚡| so empty yet wishing to be overfilled with emotion; keep chasing the adrenaline high #💀 crack⚡| .....was that cotton eye joe?#💀 stories⚡| when listening to others'; l already set my mind on becoming one of them #💀 dash commentary⚡| loud; drunk and horny; just like l expected #💀 aesthethic⚡| scorching desert sun; crawling scorpions; death lingering in the air #💀 skills⚡| l make it look easy #💀 about⚡| l wanted my name to be known. so l made myself one.#💀 answered⚡| nothing is certain except my bullet 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 hitting its target #💀 music⚡| dance with death #💀 suggestive⚡| loosened corset strings #💀 alright/encouraged to like and reblog⚡| don't let my myth fade #💀 nsfw⚡| shoot for the thrill #💀 desires ⚡| hint: not opium.#💀 shitpost⚡ | it's high noon motherfucker #🪦 hazbin/helluva verse ☠️ | l fear no evil; the shadows are mine. so is your life.#🐎horseman of the apocalypse verse ☠️ | oh death; the final note of the crescendo; after thy sisters ravaged grant mercy at last #⚡raia 🗡 | the duelist #⚔ rozália 🔥 | the general #🔥 cindy 🌌 | the phoenix #💀 headcanon⚡| keep your sins; no need to confess

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metalshockfinland · 1 month

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OPIUM DEATH Confront the Passage of Time with 'Ozymandias' from Debut Album, Out Now

Photo Credit: Michael Gonzalez Opium Death is a brutal concoction of extreme metal, sent forth from the suburbs of Chicago, USA to lay waste to metalheads around the world with their first full-length album “Genocidal Nemesis”, which is being unleashed on April 19th. The band comments on the connection between the music and the lyrics: “Lyrics and music go hand in hand. So far we noticed that…

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#OPIUM DEATH

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sedatedisdead · 4 months

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4G0T 2 P0ST D!S ON NYE BUT RAGEHEART 0UT N0W EVERYWHERE ❤️‍🔥🩸⚠️

songwhip.com/sedated/rageheart

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call-sign-shark · 5 months

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Of Bending and Breaking || Tommy Shelby x Reader

Summary: Always being the one who cares for others comes with a price: you break down, but the most unexpected person is here for you: Tommy, the man you were forced to marry.

Words: 2,3k

TW: Hurt/Comfort, very tiny mention of past sexual assault, no proofreading 'cause it comes from clearing my drafts.

Notes: Aunt Isabella's is a tribute to my own aunt Isabelle who, unfortunately, died because of cancer a few years ago.

It all started with Polly shaking Tommy like a tree, her thin hands firmly grabbing his nephew’s broad shoulders: “You can’t keep sabotaging yourself like this, Tom.” These were the words that left her quivering lips as she dragged his staggering frame to the bathroom and pushed his face into the bathtub right under the tap. When the freezing water splashed all over his neck, Tommy opened his blank eyes wide and inhaled sharply, as if he had suddenly come back to life. Since Grace’s awful death, the gangster was the shadow of his former self. When he wasn’t waging a senseless war with Father Hughes and the Italian, or when he wasn’t keeping his buzzing mind busy with work, Tommy usually numbed himself with a deadly combination of whisky and opium until his deep-seated pain became bearable. It was the night he almost overdosed that Polly decided to take charge of his nephew and found him a new wife, in the hope of soothing his nephew’s mind and finding a mother figure for poor little Charlie. The idea had obviously sent Tommy in a fit of anger but Polly Gray couldn’t care less.

Regarding your own situation, it was not the opium nor the loss of a dear lover that had led you to Birmingham’s most dangerous man but rather the bump in your belly. Aunt Isabella had understood what you were suffering from the moment you had stormed out of the vardo to throw up your breakfast in the nearest bush. The tall and lean woman, whose light brown and curly mane danced in the cold autumn wind, had looked at you right in the eyes and raised one of her thin eyebrows. If there was something pleasant with her, it was that words weren’t necessary.

Yet, later she encountered Polly, with whom she had been a great friend since childhood, and explained that a powerful American man had forced his seeds in you during his stay in England. Not willing to go through the traumatic experience of aborting, Isabella only saw one solution to your problem: you needed a husband who could protect you and your future baby from the evil man with his scarred lip. A wedding would be your salvation. At the realization of what Aunt Isabella had planned for you, you tried to run away from the camp in the middle of the night but she knew you too well and soon caught you, her sly hand firmly grabbing your wrist: “Y/N! It’s for your sake! He’s rich, he needs a wife and he is feared! You’ll be safe with him, don’t you understand?” She explained, cupping your face with her long fingers adorned with claws painted in red and far too many rings. “I don’t need a man to protect me! I don’t need anyone. He’s older and he’s a criminal! Who’s going to protect me from him eh? Have you think ‘bout that?” You cried, the soft light of the sunrise turning your tears into liquid gold.

But still, you wedded him and what was supposed to be the happiest day of your life turned out to be a dull event during which you dissociated the whole time. The only memories you had in mind were two piercing and frightening turquoise eyes staring right at your soul and soft whiskey-tasting lips stealing a quick peck from your cherry lips. A kiss devoid of any form of affection. And then, the groom left.

From what Aunt Isabella told you, your husband had spent most of the celebrations with his brothers, drinking and taking bets outside of Arrow House. Months had passed and still, you felt estranged to this place and its staff. The only moments your heart lightened were when Aunt Isabella visited you, or when Charlie spent time with you, otherwise you remained emotionally closed, trapped in your own mind. Overall you could not complain: You had a house far too big for you with plenty of workers willing to exhaust every one of your wishes. Charlie was a sweet boy, who loved you with all his heart even if you were well aware that you’ll never replace his mother. As for the Shelby clan, they were cordial with you without being really friendly either. And there was Tommy…

Cold and distant Tommy, who you only saw late at night when he discretely slipped under the bedsheet and turned his back to you without uttering a single word. Busy Tommy, whose replies remained concise and spoken with a quiet husky voice each time you asked him something — at least he talked to you a little bit. Trapped in a loveless marriage, that was what you were: Tommy was more a stranger, a mere gust of wind in your life, than the love of your life.

Still, the gangster stayed true to his words and he provided for everything, never refusing to give you money when you asked, and protecting you from the man who had taken your innocence. He even gifted you a wonderful stallion because he knew how much you missed riding. In exchange for his protection and riches, all you had to do was take care of Charlie and do your best to be there for your husband when his darkness threatened to swallow him whole.

You found out about the nightmares shortly after your wedding and quickly decided to do something about it. When he woke up screaming and drenched in sweat after tasting the tunnels’ dirt and Grace’s crimson blood in his troubled sleep, you always cradle him, your fingers losing themselves in his wet dark hair to pet his head gently. At first, you feared his reaction, expecting the infamous Tommy Shelby to push you and not-so-kindly ask you to keep your distance but, to your greatest surprise, he never did. Instead, he would bury his face in your cleavage, panting and trembling, and let you reassure him. Just like he let you bring dinner to him each time he drowned himself in paperwork and forgot to eat. He never commented on your cooking skills though, even if he always handed back empty plates.

The blood on his skin? You cleaned it.

The wounds of his flesh? You never failed to patched them up.

The hole in his heart? You tried to seal it off with caresses, soft kisses, and shoulder massages. Maybe one day he would slowly turn his iciness into affection. Little did you know that he needed it. And by it he needed you. Just like the whole family. How many times did you walk the streets of Birmingham at night, seeking for Arthur and then bringing him home to take care of a wasted and high him? Far too many to keep track. Similarly, you had spent countless evenings helping Ada when she felt overwhelmed, either nursing Karl or cleaning her house when, just like her brother, she overworked herself. And finally, Polly could never thank you enough for everything you did to soothe her mind after the gallows, still haunted by the bite of the hanging rope on her throat.

“Thanks Poppy.” Arthur muttered, the gravel in his voice coated with shame now that you were down clearing and disinfecting his split knuckles. The oldest brother had started to affectionately call you so for the sole reason that, according to him, you must probably grow better when blood was considering how much you had seen when patching the Shelby siblings. “Sorry for errr… For the mess.” He went on, his steel blue eyes fleeing yours.

“That’s okay.” You replied in Romani, “You, sweet idiot.” Endeared by how surprisingly soft Arthur’s harsh complexions could turn, you couldn’t help but gently put your hand on one of his cheeks. And during this tender display of affection, Arthur was convinced he had caught sight of a smile — a scarce event barely happening on your beautiful but resigned face. Comforted by the warmth of your palm, he leaned into your touch and looked at you through dark lashes, his lids half-closed.

“Tommy’s one lucky bastard to have ya for himself, eh."

"Let's both flee together then." You teased, the familiar tone of Romani language rendered even more melodious by your siren-like voice.

"Don't tempt me, little one." Arthur replied, softer than intended and probably only half-joking.

The oldest Shelby brother had barely closed the door when your smile disappeared and tears flooded your eyes. Admittedly, spending months of repressing your own anguish didn’t do any good to you despite thinking that focusing on others would have helped. Quite the contrary, all those negative emotions you had left on the back burner turned into a silent and deadly parasite that was eating you up. Dragging your tired frame to the cold and empty marital bedroom, you curled up in a ball in a corner of the room, your bruised knees pressed against your chest, “Positive. You gotta stay positive and push forwards y’see Y/N? Do the right things for the family…” You whispered to yourself as your breath started to quicken for the ball of sorrow in your throat was growing more and more. Yes, you had to smile and say that all was just fine because you knew you were lucky to be here and that you hadn’t any real reason to complain now according to the rest of the world. And yet, the truth was you were tired. So tired and overwhelmed by everything around you. With your wild soul trapped here in the mighty walls of Arrow House, you could not help but drown in an excruciating feeling of worthlessness.

You were lost in a world too difficult for you to understand. Lost and unprepared for a life that asked for too much. When you were living in the vardo with Aunt Isabella life seemed so much easier despite the lack of money and, sometimes, food. Prior to your wedding, she used to tell you that everything would become clear once you’d be a wife and a mother. You’d be an adult adult, you see? But she lied. They all lied. Even with a husband and kids, you still felt like a scared and confused child, who wanted to hide under the blanket of her warm bed and never face the world ever again. These concerns of yours? You never shared because you wanted the Shelby to keep seeing you as a reassuring presence— moreover, God knew how much their broken hearts needed your silent care.

Bringing your trembling fingers to your mouth, you muffled a first sob, convinced it would be enough to keep you from crying. What you didn’t expect was to burst into tears, uncontrollably weeping. After all this time forcing yourself to be strong, your mind had enough. As your heart-wrenching cries echoed in the room they muffled Tommy’s footsteps that were coming closer and closer. When the door flung open, you did not even move, lost in a spiral of pain and psychological exhaustion.

“Y/N?!” Tommy called you, his usual coldness swept away by a surge of panic. He closed the distance between you and him with hastened steps, and put one of his knees on the floor to be at your level, “What’s wrong, ay?” His husky voice asked, worries thickening his Brummie accent even more. You hiccuped and raised your flooded eyes towards him, parting your lips to answer. Yet, as soon as your gaze met his turquoise iris you started weeping again, louder this time. Words were at a loss by dint of never having the chance to express what you felt throughout your life. “Bloody Hell, Y/N! Speak!” Tommy hissed, his heart now drumming in his chest at the sight of his young and always-so-strong wife crumbling in bits in front of him. Never in his life, he had felt so powerless, not even in the tunnels… And, God, he hated it.

“N-nothing. I don’t… I don’t even know it’s just that— I’m so fucking tired, and lost, and confused, and afraid!” You spoke with a very fast pace, spitting years and years of repressed emotions flowing from you all the while feeling deeply ashamed of your mental breakdown. When you were done venting, you simply turned your head and waved off the topic, tears still rolling down your reddened cheeks “Anyway! You’ve got — more important things to do.”

“Stop it, Y/N,” He scolded, low voice rumbling in his chest. His strong and calloused hands, damaged by the war and hard work, cupped your face with a softness you didn’t know he possessed. For the first time in your life, his grip felt utterly reassuring as if you knew these scarred palms were not going to let you fall apart. Never. “You’re what’s important right now.” With that being said, Tommy leaned his forehead against yours and his enchanting eyes soon met yours to force you to focus on nothing else but the vast blue oceans which composed them. “I want you to calm down.”

“I can’t, I can’t—“ You tried to speak but you couldn’t, struggling to breathe under the crushing weight of your panic attack. Your mouth gaped, looking for the oxygen it couldn’t find.

“Oi!” Tommy said louder. So loud that his voice managed to overcome the cacophony of your beating heart and the buzzing sound of your anxiety that filled your head, “I want you to breathe with me, Y/N. Alright? You can do that for me, ay?” He asked, his eyebrows slightly frowned and charming crowfeet appearing at the corner of his eyes — how odd it was to see Tommy’s face veiled with something else than unsettling placidity. Caught off guard by the sudden realization of how close he was, you quieted down a little bit and soon followed the pattern of his breathing.

One long inhale through the nose, one longer exhale through the mouth, and a short pose.

Do it again.

Your shaky hands slowly grabbed his wrists in a desperate attempt to anchor you to reality. This, as well as the focus you had on his mesmerizing complexions.

His long dark lashes — you inhaled slowly.

His cat-like turquoise iris — you exhaled.

His salient cheekbones — You stopped breathing for a very short while.

The myriad of freckles — “Breathe with me, Y/N.”

The soft, hoarse lilt guided you through the dark and thick fog of your own brain, just like a lighthouse. Coming back to clearer waters, your body finally relaxed and fell almost limp in his arms. And once again he caught you, keeping you all safe against his chest. Tommy’s voice, low and steady, resonated one last time in the bedroom with a reassuring warmth as he uttered the simple yet powerful phrase, "I'm here." Each word carefully enunciated, carrying a quiet strength that soothed and reassured, like a comforting anchor in a stormy sea.

Keep your writers motivated: Reblog and/or comment if you liked it, you filthy animal! o/ English is not my first language btw.

Taglist: @adaydreamaway08 @theshelbyclan @jomarch-wannabe @esposadomd @zablife @woofgocows @anathemasworld @anastasia000 @kate654 @kxnnxy @babayaga67 @meowtastick @shelbyssins @sarai-ibn-la-ahad @bluevenus19 @raincoffeeandfandoms @kishie8 @zablife @alexandra-001 @dearshelby @alexizodd @helen06dreamer @kmc1989 @emotionalcadaver @peakyswritings @peakyltd @chaosinkest1996 @vanhelsingsbigtoe @red-riding-wood

#Tommy Shelby #Tommy Shelby x reader #Tommy Shelby imagine #Peaky blinders imagine #Peaky blinders x reader #Peaky blinders #tommy shelby x you #tommy shelby x y/n #Tommy Shelby smut #Thomas Shelby #Thomas Shelby x reader #Cillian Murphy #peaky blinders x y/n

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aashi-heartfilia · 6 months

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What MaoMao feels for Jinshi...

(Vol 5 epilogue discussion)

Love, duh. She wouldn't let just anyone choke her to death. Isn't it obvious? She just doesn't realise it yet because of her repressed emotions. I've seen a lot of bad takes and people hating on the Vol 5 epilogue, saying it's one heck of a disaster but honestly, it's not. Here's why:

I think it does a very good job of humanizing Jinshi, the imperial brother. Before this point, we were always given a picture perfect image of Jinshi, in his most angelic form...but after seeing this, it looks like he's very much capable of murder, lol. No seriously!

Previously, Jinshi was always all sunshine and roses and this is the first time we see a pinnacle of his anger and frustration taking a form.

Honestly, anyone would be angry. Jinshi has done so much for MaoMao and almost everyone close to him knows that he has eyes on her and only her from pretty early on in the series and only MaoMao is the one person who seems to be in the dark. Or more precisely pretending to be in the dark.

She is literally running away from her own feelings and that's what made Jinshi so frustrated.

It was the same thing in the 'Frogging chapter' (yeah, that's what we're calling it). She was "playing the role of an ignorant maid who's in the dark as to what her supiriors are upto". Jinshi was trying to tell MaoMao that he is the imperial brother and he does in fact like her but that never happened because MaoMao kept pretending that it was a frog.

Same here, even if he didn't say it outright, he was dropping so many hints! Who else could have gifted MaoMao a Moon hairpin? Who would have given her beautiful dresses to wear in the banquet?

Jinshi is called the Moon Prince for a reason and that hairpin had a moon and opium poppy. even other people recognised that it was given by him to MaoMao like Rishu's half sister, so a smartass person like Mao should be able to guess that this was all from Jinshi.

The same person who's busy day and night made preparations for her, only to see some unknown random person dancing with her and kissing her hand.

He was jealous and it's only human.

In fact, I'm glad that he's not a complete saint.

He was mad at MaoMao for pretending to be in the dark when he has gone to great lengths to take care of her, and he was hurt that the same person would even suggest him to marry someone else, i.e. consort Rishu.

He was trying to tell her how he feels, and she wasn't even willing to acknowledge anything that is between them.

Adding to the fact, she knew the thing between Basen and Rishu and yet she chose to turn a blind eye, to the love that could blossom between them and suggested her name to Jinshi. It was wrong on so many levels because MaoMao knew everything and yet chose to give the most political suggestion she could think of.

Maybe because of her repressed emotions, she herself has become heartless while making decisions but just like a double edged sword, it has consequences.

So it was a mixture of anger, hurt and jealousy for Jinshi.

And he wanted MaoMao to feel the same.

The same amount of frustration he has felt as MaoMao keeps running away, just because it would be a little troublesome.

Yeah, he's shitty just like that, and so is she.

(and we love them for it ❤️)

Does it justify what he did? No. But it seems like MaoMao herself doesn't even mind it that much. She looked like well within her comfort zone. Otherwise, we know how capable she is of defending herself. But she was there, pretty much sitting with Jinshi until she dominated him completely and made her escape.

Guess they're both far from the vanilla couple that are usually expected in these kinds of series and I absolutely love it.

She was just mad he didn't poison her instead, like he promised her, to which he replied he would NEVER let her poison herself (because he also loves her a lot too, duh)

This entire scene looks more like a battle for sexual dominance, which MaoMao won.

She always has, since the very first day he saw the real her ❤️

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