thunder rush

4

The Explosive Power of Dr. Benjamin Rush’s Thunderpills,

While today Dr. Benjamin Rush is considered the “Founder of American Medicine” and the “Father of American Psychiatry”, it is important to remember that the Dr. Rush was a man of his time, limited to the misconceptions and lack of scientific knowledge that were common during that age.  Dr. Rush believed that most illness was caused by an imbalance in bodily fluids (humors) and that to restore health balance must likewise be restored.  One common method of restoring balance was bloodletting, however another method was through purging, either through emesis (vomiting) or with laxatives.  One drug that was an invention of the good doctor was “Dr. Rush’s Bilious Pills”, a drug in pill form that was a strong laxative designed to purge the body of excess humors or unwanted toxins.  Each pill contained 10 grains of calomel (mercury chloride), 10-15 grains of jalap resin, and 1.5 grains of gamboge resin.  All three of these ingredients were powerful laxatives that would quickly induce a violent and massive bowel movement.  Hence, Dr. Rush’s Bilious Pills were often nicknamed “thunderbolts”, “thunderclappers”, and “thunderpills”. 

Dr. Rush’s thunderpills became a popular remedy and cure-all for any ailment; from arthritis to yellow fever, apoplexy to syphilis.  Respiratory student peashooter85 is curious as to how Dr. Rush thought giving a patient explosive diarrhea was supposed to cure pleurisy as he advertised, a swelling of the membrane covering the lungs.  The main ingredient of Dr. Rush’s thunderclappers was calomel, a compound of chlorine and mercury. At the time, the poisonous properties of mercury were not yet fully understood. Ancient Chinese emperors were known to ingest similar compounds to prolong life.  By the 18th century calomel was the most popular drug in Europe and the Americas.  One noted patient who dosed himself with calomel was George Washington.  Of course today we know that mercury is a deadly poison, causing the death of the first Emperor of China, and causing George Washington to lose all of his teeth.

While popular all over the newly formed United States, Dr. Rush’s thunderbolts go down in history for one particular group of users; Lewis and Clark, and the men of the Corps of Discovery.  For their journey, Dr. Rush gave the Corps of Discovery a large supply of thunderpills.  Throughout the expedition, disease was common, as was constipation due to the high protein, low fiber diet of the corps.  The result was that the Corps of Discovery was literally pooping their way across America.  Amazingly today, historians and archaeologists are able to precisely retrace the steps of the Corps of Discovery by detecting higher than normal mercury levels in the soil, a result of the many massive collective bowel movements the men had made over 200 years earlier.

@stefans-little-sister

It was a rather lukewarm day; the skies were a beautiful mixture of deep blue and gray, clouds looming above, warning of coming storms. People could hear the distant thunder, rushing through the streets to get home before the rain started to fall. 

Lafayette was walking along the road, leisurely, not worried about the rain. He nods at a few carriages that pass by, aside from that, he doesn’t see many people. He smiles up at the sky, sighing softly. He felt as though the storm hid positive things to come; most people saw storms as negative. Lafayette, on the other hand, saw them as a sign of good things on their way. There was always good, after storms. 

As he walks, he pauses, glancing around, seeing no one. He wondered why people were so fearful of storms. Shrugging, he glances back up at the sky, turning a corner; and bumping right into someone. 

Wingman (Steve/Clint x reader) (Part 2)

Part One

Yeah, I’m not really sure if I like this… 

word count: 2316

“I know you’re awake,” you heard a deep voice ring out through the darkness as you laid flat against your bed, staring up into the ceiling. You didn’t bother to get up or investigate, knowing fully well who it was. “(Y/N)?” the voice sang again, breaking the silence you tried to cherish as it slowly slipped away through your fingers.

Groaning, you threw the thick comforter over your head as you attempted to block out the annoying cry of your friend from above. You lied to yourself. Winning a bet from Steve did nothing to help your sleeping habits. In fact, if anything, it only worsened your chances of falling asleep as your heart thumped loudly against your chest like a drum. The thundering sound rushed through your body, making it nearly impossible to fall asleep peacefully. Despite the heavy blanket between you and the noisy person above, you still managed to hear the dull tone of his voice as he actively annoyed you throughout the night. “What the hell, Clint?”

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                          || @etfuturus​ ||

Waking.

It had never been so painful. 

Lancelot tried to cry out, to protest as he felt his consciousness stirring from the darkness, the churning wash of white-hot pain searing through every part of him as life called upon him once again. It burned him and then it left him cold, gasping a sudden thundering rush of midnight air, the fresh coolness settling heavy in his lungs.

He pushed up, not recognizing his surroundings but feeling a strange peace descend upon himself as the clutches of death faded into the recesses of distant memory. Below him the earth was disturbed as though he had crawled unrelenting from it’s depths, although he held no recollection.

Standing, he staggered forward a step, and then another, bracing his weight against a trunk. A forest, somewhere, but his thoughts were still muddled, confused and he could not remember how he had come to be in such a place. He shook his head, barely having time to look up as footsteps approached his position. He had no weapon, no armor, barely enough strength to shift into the defensive.

Deep eyes glanced up and with a soft sigh he recognised the face that met his gaze.

“Sire…”

If these wings could fly.

Peeping out from between his fingers, Yuuri couldn’t hear a thing over the thunderous rushing of blood through his ears, heart pumping furiously in his chest. Viktor was so good at expressing himself, through his voice and his actions, it was part of his tremendous talent. Yuuri on the other hand was still quite awful at telling others how he felt, even after all the time he’d spent with Viktor, he was still having a hard time communicating with the other. It was even worse when they were alone like this, sat so close together. 

“Is there something wrong Yuuri?” Viktor’s voice ghosted toward Yuuri and slipped into his ear, possessing him like an ethereal spirit. 

“Um, no, nothing’s wrong,” Yuuri stammered leaning further into his corner of the couch as Viktor crowded him. 

“Then why are you hiding and running away from me again?” Viktor asked, fingers curled around Yuuri’s hands as he pulled them away from the other’s face. 

“It’s all because of you,” Yuuri muttered, face glowing red as he tried his best to look anywhere but at Viktor. 

“What?” Viktor blinked innocently down at Yuuri as he loomed over the other, one hand brace on the arm of the couch effectively caging Yuuri in with his body. 

“I’m like this because you’re here,” Yuuri murmured, softly sounding out the words as he pursed his lips, he couldn’t decide if he’d been more mortified in his entire life. 

“Yuuri,” Viktor’s voice twisted like smoke between them, finger curled under Yuuri’s chin, he tipped it back forcing Yuuri to meet his eyes, “is it so hard to be around your idol, you know, you’re a champion yourself now. We’re equals,” Viktor breathed, smiling that endlessly endearing smile down at Yuuri. 

“Um,” there was a lump in Yuuri’s throat and he wouldn’t have been surprised to see steam rising off of his face, his cheeks were so warm. “Okay?” Yuuri said dumbly, feeling as though his brain had slipped out through his ear and was dribbling down onto his shoulder. 

“Okay,” Viktor beamed and pecked Yuuri on the lips before moving back to his seat, acting as though nothing had happened. 

Yuuri couldn’t process it, he felt as though he were short circuiting.

“Actually, you’ve got a few more championship wins before we’re truly equals, but you’re on your way,” Viktor added needlessly, almost smirking as he winked at Yuuri. 

Yuuri couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d fallen for a dangerous man. 

FOUR WAYS TO WRITE A POEM:

i.
from under your nightstand, it’s the ones that you’re afraid to call, afraid to think about more than twice. it’s the pen crushed under the palm of your hand. he tells you that spilled ink is good for the skin. he tells you that you are meant for something great and you can’t help but wonder if legends shake when they are reminded of their size too.
ii.
from above the roof, farther then heavens and something untouchable. you take the wind from the deathless sky and let it take you, overcome you. a liar, that’s what we are, words full of dust from last months war, and a face cleaned from the fight. I still have blood from the battle between fists and dirt, from stars to fingers: do they believe in bad luck?
iii.
sorry people with silk skin and scabby hands. that’s what we all are. fools with nothing but the sound of thunder rushing through muscle and heart. take the hallow drum that beats as long as it sings, let it sink in saturated love and come out holy, mercy. she tells me she loves me and I can’t help but laugh, why do I laugh?
iv.
we are all heartless heathens with no sleeves to tuck our faces in. we dance to no one, breath for no one, write for no one: we are the inescapable faults of cracks and crinkled memories that those before us left. I call us unlovers, the ones who can’t keep their head above sea-level, the ones with the words they do not speak, but live under instead. the unloveable lovers who drown instead of sleep.

—  four ways to write a poem /// hotaliens
Found Farewell |THE House|
  • Thunder:
  • I rush to the lower level and knock on the door (this time hoping its the right one)
  • I try not to look as panicked and unkempt as I was. I turn around and wander if I saw was real or if i was just loosing it like those Nero spawns back there.
  • But what just appeared...out of nowhere was rather... unexpected. Maybe an figment created by the house!?
  • Surely whatever is haunting wants me to get eaten alive for bothering the Empress like this but..if its not a trick..then..
  • I knock louder even though I feared too. I feared not knowing more
  • "Empress Francine!? Its urgent!"

FOUR WAYS TO WRITE A POEM:


i.
from under your nightstand, it’s the ones that you’re afraid to call, afraid to think about more than twice. it’s the pen crushed under the palm of your hand. he tells you that spilled ink is good for the skin. he tells you that you are meant for something great and you can’t help but wonder if legends shake when they are reminded of their size too.

ii.
from above the roof, farther then heavens and something untouchable. you take the wind from the deathless sky and let it take you, overcome you. a liar, that’s what we are, words full of dust from last months war, and a face cleaned from the fight. I still have blood from the battle between fists and dirt, from stars to fingers: do they believe in bad luck?

iii.
sorry bastards with silk skin and scabby hands. that’s what we all are. fools with nothing but the sound of thunder rushing through muscle and heart. take the hallow drum that beats as long as it sings, let it sink in saturated love and come out holy, mercy. she tells me she loves me and I can’t help but laugh, why do I laugh?

iv.
we are all heartless heathens with no sleeves to tuck our faces in. we dance to no one, breath for no one, write for no one: we are the inescapable faults of cracks and crinkled memories that those before us left. I call us unlovers, the ones who can’t keep their head above sea-level, the ones with the words they do not speak, but live under instead. the unloveable lovers who drown instead of sleep.

—  FOUR WAYS TO WRITE A POEM