#Theory thyme

[rolfe-dewolfe-fan-page]

I'm not Religious, I just know about this through media, but tbh The Villain Rolfe Au reminds me SO much of the tale of Cain And Abel

Cause like, in Cain and Abel, God favored Abel's offering over Cain's. This lead Cain to kill Abel in a violent Rage. He was then Banished.

In @rolfedewolfefan16 's Villain Rolfe Au, The Manager Favored Billy Bob as a mascot for the Brand. This lead Rolfe into killing the Rockafire members in a violent Rage. He was then Locked into the closet for years

This hits different with my headcanon that Rolfe has Religious trauma. Idk Why, it's just both related to religion I guess...

Cain And Abel:

Bottom Art Belongs to @rolfedewolfefan16. It's not Mine :3

[rolfe-dewolfe-fan-page]

This video was made by the Leezards

I fucking hate freaky attractions from YouTube

[one-real-wrimonkey]

RWBY Atlas/Mantle name theory:

I have a theory that you can work out if a character was born/raised/had a parent from the Kingdom of Atlas based on their names. (For the purposes of this post when I say Atlas I will be referring to the Kingdom not the city.)

So we know most people in Remnant have names based on colours or stories or nature, a key thing since the Great War, which came out of an idea from Atlas (then Mantle) that freedom of expression led to strong emotions and therefor grimm and led to the leaders of the time trying to ban art and culture.

This is probably why Atlas, more than anywhere else we see in Remnant, has characters with names outside of this tradition:

James, Arthur, Tyrian, Pietro, Joanna, Fiona, Caroline, Harriet, Jacques, Whitley, Nicholas, Camilla, Will (Scarlatina), Klein, Stephanie (Ironwoods assistant) etc etc etc.

There are a lot of characters in Atlas with this style of name compared to everywhere else. As time has gone on the tradition of themed names has clearly entered into Atlesian culture but none the less, it’s still far common than anywhere else. We also know that global travel within the four kingdoms in this time of peace isn’t uncommon at all.

My theory is that characters with non-colour/nature names outside of Atlas may have Atlas heritage/origins.

Glynda Goodwitch may have been from Atlas before she studied and taught at Beacon. Oscar Pine may have had an Atlesian parent or parents before living with his aunt in Mistral. Nora Valkyrie, before living on the streets of a rural town in Mistral, may have come from or had family in Atlas. Characters like Leonardo Lionheart, Bartholomew Ooblek, Peter Port, Maria Calavera, they all may have family and origins that go back to Atlas.

Obviously we don’t know any of this for sure, but it’s my theory and I find it fascinating.

[justkillingthyme]

If I was you I would’ve killed myself a long time ago. I wouldn’t be able to live with being so fucking pathetic.

Sometimes I wonder to myself if you’re a happy person. Are you satisfied with your life? Do you get a kick from telling a 17 year old girl online to kill herself?

[starlikesyuri]

lilium ramble

played through the bad endings today and have been thinking abt lilium alot, shes so strange and i love it

looking at her throughout lonely wolf treat she seems crazy powerful given that she;

breaks the fourth wall

manages to confuse literal goddesses (sure they r cosplayers/reborn whatever wahtever STILL!!! you know what i mean close enough...)

oh and also admits to writing the games script (or at least the script for the bad endings)

which had me.. personally... thinking like

oh maybe shes also some kind of goddess like spice and thyme

only to then find out she canonically could get beaten by fucking timber

GIRL. PLS. i have a few rationalities for this

shes just some regular witch girl whose crazy overpowered, somehow

she IS some weird godlike otherworldly mf who let herself get beaten bc it was a bad ending for her or smth...

timber can canonically kill god

threes my favorite

someones gonna show up and be like "well actually nami confirmed this and balblabla" thats gonna invalidate my whole point/joke here I JUST THINK ITS INTERESTING OK, im not fully caught up on her or the lore leave me be

[purgatorypicnic]

HEADCANNON THYME

Charlie was born in North Jersey. His parents were murdered by an unknown individual when he was 4. After this, Charlie was raised by his uncle in Bangor, Pennsylvania.

[jackalsraised]

i'm at 3/4 so lemme take this to the drenches

feel free to rb

[moonstruckme]

Hi! I hope you’re doing well! Your account has been such a comfort for me these past few months and I’m so grateful for you! I was wondering if I could request a poly!marauders drabble where one of them calls the reader a pet name but they’re still really new to the relationship so they don’t realize that he’s talking to them?

Thanks for requesting!

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 598 words

You take quiet, giddy pleasure in the chaos of all four of you in the boys’ kitchen. It’s not the tiniest of kitchens, but small enough yet that you can’t move about without brushing or bumping various body parts into each other’s. Honestly, you wouldn’t want to. 

You find yourself deeply enamored by the sound of your knife hitting the cutting board in time with James’, by the way Remus touches your back to reach into the cabinet above your head and Sirius sneaks little bites of your unfinished dinner and slips you some too. Your voices overlap and intertwine, making requests or directions while you dice potatoes at a steady pace. 

“Would you call these finely chopped?” 

“Yeah, I’d say so.” 

“Give that a stir for me please, love.” 

“Where do you guys keep the spices?” 

“Jamie, I’d say that’s more than enough cheese.” 

“Spices are right in that cabinet above you. See? Yeah, there you go.” 

“If, in theory, I forgot to get paprika at the store, would cayenne be a decent substitute?” 

“Do we have chili powder?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Use that.” 

“Would you pass me the thyme, sweetheart?” 

“Sweetheart?” 

You turn only when the kitchen is silent. Remus is looking at you, kind eyes kindly prompting. He nods to just above you. 

“It’s in the spice cabinet there,” he says. “The dried thyme.” 

“Oh.” You blink, reaching for it. “Sorry, I didn’t think you were talking to me.” 

“That’s alright,” says Remus. He takes it from you, a bemused smile playing on the edges of his mouth. “Thank you.” 

“Why wouldn’t he be talking to you?” Sirius asks. 

“I don’t know.” You return to your potatoes, knife thunking against the wooden cutting board. “There are four of us in here, so.” 

Sirius makes a humming sound you know means trouble, and then his arms are needling underneath yours, winding around your middle. His voice is saccharine beside your ear. “Do you not think you have a sweet heart, my love?” 

You laugh. “Don’t,” you say, though you let some of your weight lean backwards into him. Sirius takes it happily. 

“You know you’re our sweetheart.” You may never get used to this, how Sirius can go from teasing to earnest in a second. You can’t always tell which is which, either. He seems to find something worth notice in the crook of your neck, resting his lips there in a long, funny kiss. “Don’t you?” 

You roll your eyes. James shoots you a grin. “I just thought,” you say, “that he might be talking to one of you.” 

Buried beneath your jaw, Sirius makes a noise of disapproval. 

“What?”

“You knew he could be talking to you too, though, right?” James prompts. 

You shrug, moving your eyes back to your work. “I guess.” 

“You guess?” Sirius sets his chin on your shoulder. 

“It just didn’t occur to me in the moment,” you admit. Your potato pieces are getting smaller and smaller. 

Remus laughs. “That won’t do, dove.” 

“See,” you point, smiling, “that one I know.” 

James laughs, too, bumping your hip. “I’d hope so! We’re going to need to start calling you things more often, get you used to it.” 

“I just wasn’t expecting it.” You’re shrinking in on yourself a tiny bit now. Sirius only holds you closer, cooing. 

“Start expecting it,” Remus advises you. 

“Let’s practice.” James raises his eyebrows at you pointedly. “Angel, would you pass me the salt?” 

You huff a laugh, grabbing it for him. “Sure.” 

“Such a quick study!” Sirius praises, mushing another kiss to your cheek. “That’s our girl.” 

[rolfe-dewolfe-fan-page]

Crack Theory Thyme

Soooo, the Rockafire was Replaced by Chuck E Cheese. MMBB was replaced by the giant Ipad screens. The Band on the video wall are puppets. One member of the rock-afire is a Ventriloquist.

I think I'm Getting somewhere.

(Rolfe's taking MMBB down from the inside)

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

take her under your wing 101

an intro to the au

here is a comprehensive little breakdown of this AU and its main characters. 

au masterlist | pinterest board

masterlist | join my taglist 

THE CHARACTERS:

KAPPA ALPHA NU FRATERNITY

THUYW!READER & DELTA PHI SORORITY

GAMMA SIGMA ZETA FRATERNITY

HIGHRIDGE UNIVERSITY FACULTY MEMBERS

RANDOM HIGHRIDGE UNIVERSITY FACTS:

the school mascot is a hawk

it was founded back in 1730

there is a legendary rivalry between the Kappa Alpha Nu fraternity and the Gamma Sigma Zeta fraternity. it began back in the 60's and though no one today really remembers what happened to spark it, many scandalous theories have popped up throughout the years. 

© 2025 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[guzhufuren]

The message that P'Sammon, the writer of 4 Minutes, shared on her twitter (heads up it's google translated)

[Great Tyme]

Many people have understood correctly. In the real dimension, how could Great and Tyme love each other? One is a loveless child who looks at the other with lust. The other is a young doctor who is stuck in resentment. If Great and Thyme had never entered the four-minute dimension, there is no way they could have loved each other.

But both of them had the opportunity to enter the four-minute dimension, which is not an imaginary world, but a parallel universe connected by a bridge called NDE (Near-Death Experience).

[What if]

The four-minute dimension is a world where...

What if… Great is brave enough to stand up for what is right.

What if… Tyme can put down his resentment.

Therefore, their relationship develops properly and gradually. Love can then arise in that dimension.

Fortunately, Great and Tyme have the opportunity to return to a new life in a world where time moves forward normally. The brave Great and Tyme who put down their resentment have remembered the love that they had for each other in the four-minute dimension and continue to love each other in the real dimension. Even though Great still has to take responsibility for the consequences of his own actions, Great is no longer alone. Tyme will be the one who will be by Great’s side from now on.

The love of this couple originated in a different way because these are Great and Tyme. Two young men whose hearts stopped beating at the same time at 11:00 am and had the opportunity to enter a special time together, both of them learned not only about love and relationships but also about making decisions in life.

[Regret]

The author's mother always made this joke that "knowing something is not as good as knowing if I should have", which made the author think carefully before deciding to do or say anything. If I had known, I would have been able to change it while I was still alive, but if I had known, when I was 'about to die', I would not have been able to do anything. The experience of caring for terminally ill patients taught the author that we should not live our lives as if the end would never come. This idea reduces impulsiveness, spontaneity, and ignorance. Every decision is under our control.

[Timeless]

Does a timeless land really exist? From an author's perspective, I believe it does. But with the potential of humans who can only control the dimensions of width, length, and height, and perceive the time dimension that flows forward and does not reverse, life is determined by lifespan. But if we can bring ourselves to experience the fifth dimension, for whatever reason, we may escape from the rules of time or even control time ourselves.

The author would like to ask permission not to reveal all the theories of science, physics, medicine, research, or philosophy used to create this story. In fact, there are visual symbols, additional interpretations from the production team and actors that the author must analyze himself as well. Therefore, it is open for discussion. There is no right or wrong. You can throw theories around as much as you want. I really like to read everyone's analysis.

Thank you to all viewers who have been following 4MINUTES all along. Me and the team will accept all criticism to improve and develop future works. 🥰

[badguyswin]

how about a guy caught the attention of a conversative cop, The cop forces to consume a red pill then let him go, later on at home with his boyfriend the changes are kicking in, he is progressivly acting like a MAGA Douche and his clothe are progressivly looking like a cop uniform, when he finally turns into a fully converted MAGA cop he shoves tons of red pills on his boyfriend's mouth, making his changes alot faster and alot more agressive and loud

The rain-slicked street glistened under the sodium glow of streetlights as Harry hurried home, his sneakers splashing through shallow puddles. His rainbow tee clung to his slim frame, damp from the drizzle, and his messy undercut dripped water into his eyes. The encounter with the cop still gnawed at him, a splinter in his mind. Officer Ken Bradley—his name etched on the badge—had cornered him outside the bookstore, his towering presence radiating menace. Ken’s cold blue eyes had bored into Harry, dissecting his liberal ideals with a single glance.

“You’re lost, kid,” Ken had said, his voice a low growl that sent shivers down Harry’s spine. He’d pressed a small red pill into Harry’s trembling hand, the capsule’s scarlet sheen catching the light like a drop of blood. “Swallow it. Or I’ll make sure you regret it.”

Harry had hesitated, his heart pounding, but Ken’s grip on his shoulder tightened, a silent promise of consequences. He noticed in horror that Ken's other hand was resting on his gun holster. Aware that he really had no choice, Harry choked down the pill, its bitter taste lingering on his tongue. Ken’s lips curled into a smirk, and he released Harry with a dismissive shove. “See you around, princess.”

Now, hours later, Harry sat on the couch in the apartment he shared with Greg, his boyfriend of three years. The living room was a cozy testament to their life together: pride flags draped over the windows, a shelf of books on intersectionality and queer theory, and a photo of them kissing at a protest rally, framed in bright blue. Greg was in the kitchen, singing off-key to a pop song as he chopped vegetables, the scent of garlic and thyme wafting through the air. Normally, Harry would’ve joined him, teasing Greg about his terrible pitch. But tonight, he felt… off.

A faint warmth spread through his chest, like embers smoldering beneath his skin. He shifted, tugging at his t-shirt, which suddenly felt too soft, too loose. His fingers brushed his arm, and he froze. His skin, usually smooth and pale, felt firmer, the faint outline of muscle pulsing beneath. He stood, unsteady, and caught his reflection in the mirror across the room. His undercut was sharper, the sides inexplicably tighter, as if someone had taken clippers to it while he slept. His eyes, normally a soft hazel, glinted with a harder edge.

“Harry, you okay?” Greg called from the kitchen, his voice warm with concern.

“Yeah,” Harry lied, his voice catching. He sat back down, trying to shake the unease. But the warmth grew, curling through his limbs, slow and deliberate, like a lover’s touch. His thoughts wandered, unbidden, to Ken Bradley. The cop’s broad shoulders, his commanding presence, the way his uniform hugged his powerful frame. Harry’s cheeks flushed, and he shook his head, horrified. Why am I thinking about him?

Over the next few days, the changes crept in, insidious and relentless. Harry woke each morning to find his body subtly altered. His slim arms thickened, veins snaking across his forearms like rivers on a map. His chest broadened, straining the seams of his graphic tees. One morning, he caught himself flexing in the bathroom mirror, admiring the new definition in his biceps. The sight thrilled him, even as a voice in his head screamed that this wasn’t him.

His clothes began to shift, too, in ways that defied logic. His favorite flannel softened into a stiffer, more structured fabric, the plaid morphing into the deep navy of a police uniform shirt. His skinny jeans grew heavier, reshaping into tailored pants that clung to his increasingly muscular legs. Each change felt like a violation, yet there was an undeniable allure to it—the way the fabric caressed his skin, the weight of the badge that appeared on his chest, gleaming with authority. He’d rip the uniform off, only to find it back in his closet the next day, pristine and waiting.

His mind was changing, too, and that was the worst part. At a coffee shop with Greg, Harry found himself sneering at a barista with a they/them pin. “Pick a side,” he muttered under his breath, then froze, horrified. Greg raised an eyebrow, but Harry brushed it off, his heart racing. Later, scrolling through his phone, he lingered on a news article about a Trump rally. The former president’s brash confidence, his unapologetic swagger, stirred something in Harry. He gets it. He knows how to take control. The thought felt foreign, yet it rooted itself deeper with each passing day.

Greg noticed the changes, too. “Harry, you’re acting weird,” he said one evening, his voice trembling as they sat on the couch. “You snapped at our neighbor for their BLM sign. You’ve been… distant. What’s going on?”

Harry wanted to confess—about the pill, the cop, the creeping transformation—but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, he felt a surge of irritation. Why’s he so needy? Always whining. He stood abruptly, towering over Greg in a way he never had before. “Maybe I’m just tired of all this,” he snapped, gesturing at the pride flags, the books, their life. Greg’s face crumpled, and Harry’s stomach twisted with guilt. But the warmth in his chest flared, drowning it out, and he stormed out into the night.

Outside, the city hummed with chaos—honking cars, shouting protesters, the pulse of a world spiraling out of control. Harry’s eyes landed on a campaign poster plastered to a lamppost: Trump’s face, bold and defiant, with the words Make America Great Again in stark red. His lips curled into a smile, and for the first time, he didn’t fight it. The warmth in his body surged, sensual and intoxicating, as if the pill were whispering to him, reshaping him from the inside out. He ran a hand over his chest, feeling the hard planes of muscle beneath his half-formed uniform, and a low chuckle escaped his throat. This is power.

Days turned into weeks, and Harry’s transformation deepened. His voice grew richer, more commanding, each word laced with a confidence he’d never known. He spent hours at the gym, reveling in the burn of his muscles, the way his body responded to the weight of the barbell. His apartment, once a sanctuary of progressive ideals, became a battleground. He tore down the pride flags, their colors now garish and offensive to his new sensibilities. He tossed the books into the trash, their pages meaningless compared to the clarity he now felt.

Greg tried to reach him, his pleas growing desperate. “Harry, this isn’t you. We can fix this—please!” But Harry—now calling himself Harrison in his mind—felt only pity for Greg’s weakness. The old Harry was a ghost, a pathetic shadow he was eager to erase. One night, as Greg slept, Harrison stood over him, his new uniform gleaming in the moonlight. He felt a pang of something—love, maybe, or its memory—but it was fleeting. He’s holding me back.

The final piece clicked into place when Harrison ran into Ken Bradley again. He was patrolling the neighborhood, his squad car idling by the curb, when Ken stepped out, his grin as sharp as a blade. “Looking good, Harrison,” Ken said, his eyes raking over the younger man’s transformed physique. The uniform fit Harrison perfectly now, every seam accentuating his powerful build. The badge on his chest bore his new name: Officer Harrison.

“Thanks to you,” Harrison replied, his voice low and warm. He extended a hand, and Ken clasped it, their grip lingering a moment too long. The air between them crackled, charged with a shared purpose. Ken wasn’t just the cop who’d forced the pill on him—he was a brother, a mentor, the one who’d opened his eyes. “You’re my best friend, man,” Harrison said, the words slipping out naturally. Ken’s grin widened, and he clapped Harrison on the shoulder.

“Welcome to the team,” Ken said. “Now, what are we gonna do about that boyfriend of yours?”

Harrison’s jaw tightened. Greg was the last thread tying him to his old life, a life he now viewed with visceral disgust. The thought of their kisses, their shared dreams, made his skin crawl. He wanted it gone—all of it. “I’ll handle it,” he said, his tone cold.

That night, Harrison returned to the apartment. Greg was waiting, his eyes red from crying. “Harry, please,” he whispered. “I love you.”

The words were a knife, but Harrison’s resolve was iron. “My name’s Harrison,” he said, his voice dripping with authority. Before Greg could react, Harrison grabbed him, his strength overwhelming. He forced a handful of red pills into Greg’s mouth, far more than Ken had given him. “Swallow,” he growled, holding Greg’s jaw shut until he complied. Greg choked, tears streaming down his face, but the pills went down.

The transformation was brutal, accelerated by the overdose. Greg’s body convulsed, his lean frame swelling with unnatural speed. Muscles tore through his t-shirt, his shoulders broadening until the fabric shredded. His face hardened, his jaw squaring, his eyes burning with a feral intensity. The soft curls Harrison had once loved straightened into a much tighter cut, and a cop uniform materialized, tighter and more imposing than Harrison’s own. Within minutes, Greg was gone, replaced by Officer Gregory—a hulking, aggressive figure who radiated raw power.

Gregory stood, his massive frame filling the room. “Those freaks,” he snarled, his voice a thunderous growl. “They’re a plague. I’ll wipe ‘em out.” His eyes locked onto the few remaining pride flags still hanging limply on the wall, and he ripped them down, tearing them to pieces with a ferocity that made Harrison’s pulse quicken.

Together, they destroyed the apartment. Gregory smashed the photo frame, glass exploding across the floor. Harrison burned the books, their pages curling into ash. When they were done, the room was a husk, every trace of their former lives obliterated. They were a pair of brutes now, hiding their fragile toxic masculinity behind violence. Gregory turned to Harrison, his grin savage. “Let’s clean up this city, brother.”

Harrison nodded, a fire burning in his chest. He thought of Trump—his strength, his vision—and felt a surge of loyalty. He thought of Ken, his best friend, who’d shown him the truth. And he thought of the world they’d build, one where weakness had no place. The two officers stepped into the night, their squad cars waiting. As they roared into the darkness, Harrison glanced at Gregory, his new partner, and felt a twisted pride. The red pills had taken everything, but they’d given him something better: purpose, power, and a cause worth fighting for.

[rottenpumpkin13]

So A/G/S and Zack try to deep fry a turkey even though it's more dangerous to make than oven baked turkey, how bad does it go?

*In the background, Sephiroth and Zack are standing over the sizzling oil pot holding the raw turkey*

Angeal: Alright, so the key is to heat the oil to 350 degrees, and make sure the turkey's completely thawed. If you don't, the oil will splatter all over—

Genesis: Yes, yes, we know the theory, but you're ignoring the artistry of the technique. Look at the ingredients. A touch of rosemary, thyme, and perhaps a drizzle of honey glaze—

*Zack hands the turkey to Sephiroth and bends down to tie his shoes*

Angeal: Doesn't matter. The turkey's already marinated, and Sephiroth and Zack are taking care of it.

*Sephiroth, with the confidence of a man who has never deep-fried anything in his life, dunks the entire turkey into the bubbling pot*

Zack: !

Genesis: Angeal, the real issue is that you're approaching this like an assignment. Tell me, did you even consider basting the turkey in white wine beforehand?

*The oil immediately erupts, Zack scrambles to grab a pair of tongs, panicking as the oil begins to bubble over the sides. Sephiroth simply crosses his arms and watches the flames*

Angeal: Genesis, this is deep-frying. All we need is heat and discipline.

*The flames grow larger. Zack is now sobbing and trying to splash water on the flames, which only makes things worse*

Genesis: Heat and discipline? Angeal, please. That's like saying materia mastery is all about casting the same spell over and over. Where's the finesse? The vision? The soul?

Angeal: Soul? It's fried turkey, Genesis! It's not that complicated!

Genesis: Spoken like a man who thinks caramelizing onions takes 20 minutes.

*Sephiroth gazes into the fire with admiration. Zack is now on his knees with his hands clasped in prayer*

Angeal: You know what? This is stupid. We should just bake it. No oil, no mess. Just the oven and heat and WHY IS EVERYTHING ON FIRE?

Sephiroth: Much like this turkey, humanity too will one day be devoured by its own hubris.

Angeal: WHAT THE FUCK

[whysperingwoods]

Fear-mongering and herbalism

Herbalism is a crucial element for many practitioners of witchcraft, and lately I've seen a lot of fear-mongering in the #baby-witch and #witchblr tags that it's raising some serious red flags. Caution is necessary, yes, but over-simplified warnings against herbs that have a very long history and tradition of safe and effective use can rob people of accessible, beneficial ways to take an active role in their own health and wellbeing.

True: People absolutely need to be cautious about what they are putting in their bodies. True: "Natural" does not equate to "good" or "healthy". True: You need to speak to a medical professional regarding medical issues.

All these things being true do not mean that you cannot find plants that are safe to ingest, and that can benefit your health and support you. You can use herbs safely and you do have the power and ability to find information about them.

I've literally seen posts that say not to ingest any kind of herb because "you don't know what's in them" and "you don't know dosage, so it might harm you".

This lack of nuance is precisely the type of thinking that breeds misinformation and unnecessary fear, as if there is not enough of that to go around! It seems like because MAGA and anti-vaxx folks have been using the line "do your own research!!" so much, people are associating research with... right wing conspiracy theory? Somehow? Don't forget that being capable of doing good research also means being capable of evaluating your sources, and thinking critically about what you're reading.

Here are some of the misconceptions I've come across in the last couple days:

Laypeople can't safely use herbs

Fear of toxicity in herbs is common and rational, but herbs that you can find in your kitchen are food-grade and widely available. You don't need to eat them in enormous quantities to experience their benefits.

For example, thyme can help support the lungs during cold and flu season. Ginger tea is great for minor digestive upsets. These are things you have access to and can provide a safe means of relief.

Local apothecaries are very knowledgeable about where they source their herbs and what dosages are safe. They are also able to tell you if their herbs are pesticide-free, organic, etc.

Where you want to be cautious is ordering herbs online, especially places like Amazon or Etsy where there is no control whatsoever. Even supplements have been found to frequently not contain what they are said to contain, and you really have to do research about the company you're buying from beforehand.

If you don't have a local apothecary, you can still buy herbs online! Just make sure you are using a reputable website such as Mountain Rose Herbs where you can get bulk herbs.

Lesser known herbs require more caution, but there are fantastic books about herbalism and they provide information on dosage and various ways the herbs can be used responsibly. Your local library is almost guaranteed to have several books about herbalism, and if you aren't sure about a particular herb, look it up in multiple other resources to see if their information matches up. You can even find information about many commonly used herbs on WebMD.

Also, don't forage herbs that you plan to ingest if you are not experienced. This is a recipe for disaster, and incredibly dangerous. I'm not going to go into super huge detail about this, because it would merit its own post, but seriously, just don't do it until you have experience. Plant identification apps are not sufficient to identify herbs you plan to ingest.

Herbal remedies cure major illnesses

Herbs can play a supportive role, but it's crucial to recognise their limits. Herbal medicine should complement, not replace, medical treatment for severe chronic conditions. Clinical herbalists are trained to assess what's appropriate for herb-based support and when a situation requires immediate medical attention.

Herbs are not a panacea that will cure every ailment. Every person is unique and any single herb can have wildly different effects on the body. Some people might find incredible relief, while another person may find no effect at all, or may even find an herb doesn't agree with them.

Herbalists think they are medical practitioners

Because there is no federally regulated body for herbalists, people sometimes think it's the wild west out there and anyone can do anything, but that's not the case. Herbalists are not exempt from the law, and no one is legally allowed to practice medicine if they are not licensed to do so. Period. No amount of traditional knowledge changes that.

While the herbalist profession is not regulated federally, there are regulating bodies that are run by herbalists and that set standards for what is expected and permitted. If you search for "herbalism guild Canada" you will find the Canadian Council of Herbalist Associations which has tons of information, and some provinces also have their own guilds. Most guilds will have a list of reputable herbalists that you can access and they have strict requirements for being added to those lists. You can find these requirements on their websites and gauge them for yourself.

Part of training to become a clinical herbalist is knowing you are not a medical practitioner. You are taught not to diagnose people, and how to recognise when something is outside of your scope of practice.

From the CCHA:

9. A registered herbal practitioner will  offer interdisciplinary collaboration with other health professionals

Herbalists focus on holistic, complementary care, rather than taking on the role of medical practitioners. A qualified herbalist works alongside them to support the body's systems, rather than attempting to independently treat or diagnose medical systems. For example, they might work with clients to ease side-effects from medication, but they won't independently treat serious conditions like infections.

Herbalists are anti-vaxx and anti-science

The vast majority of clinical herbalists are not anti-vaxx or anti-modern medicine at all, and focus on combining traditional knowledge about plants with modern science. Are there herbalists out there who are anti-vaxx? Absolutely, just like any demographic you can find people who are spouting nonsense, but that is not the norm.

Thankfully, herbalism schools and herbalists are pretty up front with their beliefs. The CCHA has these requirements for herbalists in the guild:

3. Herbalists have an extensive knowledge base combining traditional wisdom and modern scientific perspective       [...] 7. A registered herbal practitioner is trained in herbal safety, drug interactions, and possible contraindications [...] 10. A registered herbal practitioner is accountable  to a professional organization, must maintain annual continuing education and must abide by professional standards 

When I was looking for a clinical herbalist myself, I always checked their website information and whether they were registered with a guild, and what the requirements for that guild were. The herbalist I chose also had a clear section on her website where she stated that she had experience working with people on psychiatric medications.

You can also often find their stance on other things such as LGBTQIA+ issues (such as statements on their website regarding their approach to HRT).

The school I ultimately selected for my education was one that had explicit information about how they integrated new science into their curriculum, and how frequently it was updated.

If you are not finding the information you're looking for, just ask! It's completely acceptable and not rude to contact an herbalist and ask them what their approach is on the things you are concerned about. They will be happy to answer these questions and give you any information they can to help you decide if they are a good fit for you.

Conclusion

Herbalism is not about replacing medical care or promising miracle cures. It's about tapping into centuries-old knowledge and combining it with modern insights. Embrace herbs with curiosity, responsibility, and respect, and you can have an incredible and beneficial relationship with them.

I'm sure there are plenty of points here that I have omitted or not sufficiently covered. I hope readers will take this as an indictment of the author, me, rather than one against herbalism as a whole.

[rosie-posie1313]

Spencer Reid Fic Recs pt. 2 II 🚔

Link to Part 1

Masterlists 

Masterlist  By @Ddejavvu 

Masterlist  By @alyswritings

CRIMINAL MINDS MASTERLIST By @writer-in-theory

SPENCER REID SFW MASTERLIST By @sinfulspencer

Masterlist  By @haarrrys

Masterlist  By @isthisthingeven0n

Spencer Reid Masterlist By @haileygarciasunshine

Masterlist  By @letarasstuff

Spencer Reid Master List By @reidscanehand

Spencer Reid Masterlist By @moon-light-jukebox

Masterlist  By @spookydrreid

Masterlist  By @reids-rendering-reality

Masterlist  By @bensonsbobblehead

Masterlist  By @reidslibrarybook

Masterlist  By @spencexreidimagine

Masterlist By @hercleverboy

Spencer Reid fic Recs! By @amazingmaeve

Fic Library/Rec By @staplernpaper

Oneshots 

Last Calls By @ofstarsandvibranium

boxers and a sports bra By @taintedandloved

Secret Life By @radiant-reid

Worry-Free By ^

Baby By @wave0fg00dvibes

hard case  By @storiesforallfandoms

Investigation By @tweedlydumbtweedlydoo

Easy Work By @gubler-me-up

The Sight of You  By @ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff

The Sight of You  By ^

Little Lessons By @bleufrost

a cute domestic life fluff By @randomoutsiders

𝐦𝐞 & 𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐮𝐬𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝  By @ddaz3d-and-cc0nfused

The Love Hypothesis Masterlist By @goldentournesol

Extra Credit By @lyrelyretheresmeninthathorse

Fit for Purpose By ^

Crushing By @mrsmaybank

library hours [reimagined]  By @cacoetheswriting

Teach me something  By @homoose

Milburn By @aperrywilliams

She is mine By @cruxiohp

Make It Forever  By @bensonsbobblehead

Professor Reid By @reidandwrite

Guest Lecturer By ^

Professor Reid By @r-is-typing

Spencer’s Secret By @thatgirlstrawberry

Co-workers in Love  By @sakuraxxharu

never leaving home By @kirascottage

just kissed you out of the blue By @thyme-in-a-bubble

Childhood Friends,  By @michelle-is-writing

physical contact By @rxreid

Moral of the Story (Pt. 1 ) By @imagining-in-the-margins

the bau bet  By @soft-for-them

A Piece of You  By @nerdyfangirl67

Fixing the Collar of their Shirt. By @jkoningen

quick change By @softdoctorreid

Promise By @dingusfreakhxrrington

Books and Notes By @galaxy-siren

A Bundle of surprises By @ssavanessa22

hotches daughter By @alwayschoppedtaco

Smarter Than He Realize By @tinygreybearpaws-blog

Platonic

Anthrax By @alyswritings

Nathan Harris By @rachaelswrites

A Genius’ Baby By @letarasstuff

ceiling watching By @kj-1130

[rumbelleshowdown]

⭐️

Author: DancingFey

Group C: secret admirer; let’s get away; bees, honey

⭐️

The Bee's a Bookworm

“Snakeweed for the base, fennel for strength, garlic for protection…” Rumplestilkin hummed as he dropped each ingredient into a pot of boiling water. “Three out of four is not complete! Tell me, which ingredient do I seek?” 

His question was answered by his uninvited guest buzzing in his ear.

When they first arrived at the Dark Castle, he refused to break their curse without a deal. The fact that they couldn’t communicate was not his problem. He expected them to leave, but the little bug stayed even after multiple threats of shoe stomping. 

He took a moment to replace his spinner’s smile with an impish smirk before turning around to face the Apis Mellifera that had been haunting his castle. 

The bee hovered inches from his face. 

“Well! Li’l bee, since you refuse to leave, you may as well make yourself useful.” 

The honeybee flew in his face, ruffling his bangs before flying off towards his cabinet of herbs, landing on a jar. 

“Testy today, dearie?” He grumbled before fluffing his hair back into place and walking over. 

“Ah-ha! Thyme, of course!” He grabbed the jar and returned to the brewing potion. “How could I forget the herb for bravery in a Bravery Potion!”

Rumple extended his index finger, and the honeybee jumped from the jar onto his scaly hand without hesitation. He set the bee on his shoulder, where they would sit and observe as he worked. Not that it stopped them from flying down anytime he brought out a book.

At first, he had considered killing them, but on the fourth day, the honeybee found a passage that he had spent weeks searching for in an old botanist’s journal containing theories of how feyberry and dreamweave vines may react when dissolved with unicorn blood. Then, the bloody thing had to go and wiggle their butt high in the air, hop side to side, spin around, and perform an aerial backflip in what Bae would have called a victory dance. It reminded him so much of his son that his heart clenched at the sight. 

That was the moment he knew he couldn’t kill the damn bee. 

It became routine for the cursed bee to assist him in his research. They would point to paragraphs that contained the information he was looking for. And if he missed something from a previous passage, they directed him to the chapter by nestling their body between the pages, wiggling their black-striped backside to push their body underneath. 

He refused to acknowledge how cute they were or that he was rapidly lowering his defenses around them.

As he finished the Bravery Potion, a white dove tapped on his window. “Dove! Good, you're back! I have a use for you.” 

Rumple opened the window, and the shapeshifter transformed with a plume of grey smoke into a bald, scarred, muscular man.

“I did not expect you to take in another pet, master.” 

“Ha! One pet is more than enough work for me. No, you can give me your report on your mission later. For now, I need you to translate. You see, this poor, helpless creature is cursed! And only I can break it. But alas, a deal must be struck!” 

Dove stared at his master’s antics and sighed. “And what are your terms of the contract, master Rumpelstiltskin?” 

“Hmm, well the little bugger has been surprisingly…helpful. I will break their curse, returning them to their human form. In return, they will stay in the Dark Castle with me, and work as my research assistant for…oh, say five years.” 

A contract appeared on the table at the wave of his hand, and the bee instantly flew down to read it. Once finished, Dove translated their response. 

“They will agree to your terms if you make an amendment. They want to be allowed to write home with the concession that you can read and approve the letters beforehand.”

“Fine, but remember dearie, no one breaks a deal with me.” 

He swore the bee rolled their eyes at him before dipping their forelegs in ink and signing the contract. 

“It’s a deal!” He giggled before black, purple-tinted magic consumed the bee, leaving a beautiful young woman sitting on his desk with chestnut curls and eyes so blue they were like the reflection of light on the ocean.

“Did it work?” She frantically patted down her blue dress, “It worked! Oh, thank you. Thank You!” 

She jumped off the table and wrapped her arms around his neck. Rumple glanced at Dove for assistance, but he only raised an eyebrow and smirked—the bastard. 

“Yes, yes, dearie.” He awkwardly patted her back, “We made a deal…and now…” His voice trilled, “The monster has you in its clutches!” 

“You’re not a monster. You’re a scholar. The amount of knowledge you have is incredible! And your books! Some of those records have been lost for centuries. And you don’t keep them in some ostentatious display to collect dust. You use them. You’re…you’re a genius! I’ve seen you create potions and spells that no one has ever thought of!”

This woman was either a miracle or a hallucination. Rumplestiltskin was leaning more towards the drugs.

“Sounds like you have a secret admirer,” Dove nudged his shoulder. Rumple stared at him as if he’d also lost his mind, but the cretin only shrugged…and then left!

“I-Is it so hard to believe? For all your threats of squashing me, you never harmed me, and you’re so passionate about your work. How could I not admire someone so dedicated to their craft? I…I confess I have always dreamed of being a scholar. Perhaps this is not how I imagined it happening, but I am honored to be your research assistant.”

She took a deep breath and reached out her hand. “I never got the chance to introduce myself. My name is Belle.”

Rumple stared at her hand, confounded, but shook it, “I don’t believe I need any introductions, dearie?”

She laughed, “No, but now I can finally get you out of this room.”

“W-What?”

“You haven’t left this workshop at all since I got here! Not to eat, drink, or sleep. Heavens forbid, you step outside! Rumple, you need to take a break. Breathe fresh air. Feel the sun’s warmth on your skin. Come on, let’s get away from this lab.”

She grabbed his hand and led him outside. Stunned and still half convinced Belle was a hallucination, he followed. They walked until they passed through a thicket of trees that opened into a grove filled with wildflowers. 

“Isn’t it beautiful?” She let go of his hand and twirled around the flowers as if she belonged among them. 

Yes, you are. Rumple shook his head to stop such nonsensical thoughts. 

“When I was a bee, I was drawn here by the flowers' scent. They smelled so sweet and rich, unlike anything I had ever experienced as a human, and the flowers had so many vibrant colors, some of which I had never seen before! I thought this would be a great place to get away and have a picnic.”

“Picnic?”

“Yes, you need to eat, and I haven’t had human food since my ex-fiancé’s mother cursed me.” 

He would be asking her questions about that later. 

“A picnic, my lady wants. A picnic she shall get.” He gave her a mock bow before a picnic blanket with various dishes appeared. 

Belle looked to see what foods he had conjured, when her eyes widened, “Oh! Honey cakes…” She started laughing and looked at him expectantly, to which he only raised an eyebrow and tilted his head in a silent question. “Get it? ‘Bees, honey.’ Remember?” 

His face lit up at the memory, and he sang in a high-pitched voice, “Bees, honey. Oh, how lovely! A guest has arrived! A guest has arrived! Oh, what scheme has she contrived for this bee…is surely a spy!” 

“And then you caught me in a jar.”

“It’s not every day a cursed maiden flies into my workshop, honey. Odds were the Evil Queen sent you to spy on me.”

Wait, honey?! Where did that come from?!

“Yes, you were insistent in your interrogation, even though we couldn’t communicate,” Belle smiled. 

“You won’t be smiling at me for long.” He pointed a clawed finger at her, “I plan to work you to the bone.” 

“I’m looking forward to it.” 

Who was this woman? She wasn’t afraid of him, which already made her part of a small minority, but then she dared to not only make a demand from him but physically make him obey! Not Dove, Regina, or even Jefferson would be that bold! They would at least worry he might take revenge, but she treated him like a normal man, not a monster. She acted as if she saw him as a…friend. 

Hallucination or not, Rumpelstiltskin was never letting Belle go.  

He smiled back, and with a flick of his wrist, a red rose appeared in his hand. 

“A flower for my li’l bee.” 

Belle took the rose with a bright smile and mischief sparkling in her eyes. “I’m not a bee anymore.” She leaned across the blanket and kissed his cheek, “I’m your little bookworm.”