quarters and eighths

Sunshine Potion

I was inspired by a Bigelow tea called citrus chamomile. I looked at the back for the ingredients and saw I had most them, plus I could easily witch-ify this to make a sunshine potion! I found this is a wonderful tea to bring the happiness and sunshine into a warm and soothing beverage. Definitely improved my mood and helped me look forward to the rest of the day! 

So you will need:

  • 1 lemon
  • 4 teaspoons of dried chamomile
  • 2 teaspoons of lemongrass
  • a touch of honey (optional)

Heat about 16oz of water to 212F or 100C or until simmering if you can’t measure the temperature. This will make about two cups of tea or one if you have a huge Spiderman mug like I do. You may want to halve the ingredients though if you have a smaller mug and only want one cup of tea. While the water heats, squeeze all the juice from the lemon and add that, about a quarter or eighth of the rind of the lemon, and all the other ingredients. Steep them for at least 5 minutes. You can leave it steeping for up to 10 minutes though if you have more patience than me. This has a very lemony taste, like warm lemonade if you’ve ever tried that. If you don’t like the taste of lemons so much, I suggest using only half the juice.   

I Love to draw the astrology sign for the sun (a circle with a dot inside) with honey for extra happiness, warmth, and sunshine! You could instead make a sigil of your own for this purpose as well.

Sending lots of sunshine your way :) Cheers!

anonymous asked:

"If you want, we could go together?" Teddy and Harry to Remus and Tonks's graves?

A/N: I combined this with a prompt I got like a year and a half ago I’m pretty sure, which was a request for some kind of Father’s Day fic. It’s kinda sad but sweet too I think.  Maybe I’ll write a cute and funny father’s day thing someday. ha.

Also available on FF and Ao3!


Linger

Harry went nearly a quarter of a century without really thinking too deeply about Father’s Day. It was just some abstract concept that children with living fathers celebrated and usually meant he got shunted off to Mrs. Figg’s house for dry cake and cat photos.

Not to say that he didn’t consider it at all.  He knew there was a hole in his life where a father should be.  It became a little more glaring after he saw physical proof that his father wasn’t just some hero he dreamed up late at night with only the spiders for company – pictures, memories, even Sirius and Remus. Confirmation that his father had been real and alive and had loved him, if the letter penned by his own mother’s hand was to be believed.  And of all the things that he questioned in his life, that scrap of paper with curving letters and the faint smell of spring was never something he could fathom distrusting.

Still, he never felt the need to celebrate his father on some randomly selected date with absolutely no personal significance.  There were other days he felt his father’s echo through the years, days where he got that heady feeling of belonging because of someone he barely remembered.  Some days are more obvious – Hallowe’en, his birthday – and others were one-time experiences that he’ll never forget – the forest where he’d gazed into those ghostly hazel eyes, the day he rescued himself and Sirius with the ripple of his father.

So he’s never given much thought to Father’s Day.  Until he’s months away from being a father himself and he finds himself planning an afternoon trip to Godric’s Hollow before he can think about it.  He doesn’t remember Teddy’s coming over until he’s stumbling clumsily from the fireplace and brushing soot off his freckled cheeks. “Wotcher, Harry.”

Harry pauses, stepping back out of his trainers and dusting Teddy’s shoulders.  “Hey Ted.  How’s Gran?”

Teddy shrugs his lanky shoulders.  “She’s alright.  Bit sad I guess.”

They wander into the kitchen side by side and Harry slides a glass of pumpkin juice across the counter while Teddy scrambles up onto a barstool.  Harry watches with a small smile, barely comprehending this is the same little bundle he juggled awkwardly that first summer of freedom.  “How are you?”

Another shrug.  Harry knows by now Teddy likes to puzzle things out a bit before he speaks his mind, so he lets silence fall and slices an apple into quarters, then eighths, and crunches into a wedge.  Teddy does the same, his uneven baby teeth pearly against the fruit slice.  “D’you know what Sunday is?”

Harry sips his juice slowly. “Father’s Day?”

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Ya know…not all mixed people are half white and half black. Sometimes white isn’t a part of it at all. Sometimes mixed people can’t/don’t want their race quantified in distinct boxes and terms (half, quarter, eighth, etc.) sometimes mixed people are Hispanic and black. Sometimes they’re Asian and Native American. Sometimes they’re not ‘half and half’ sometimes they’re a makeup of three or more different races. Sometimes they’re more one race than another. Sometimes they look like a 'perfect blend’ of races and have corkscrew curls and tan skin and light eyes and sometimes they’re whitepassing and sometimes they look nonwhite and monoracial but none of this changes the fact that they’re mixed. Like, it’s good that we’re talking about mixed race people and problems but a lot of the time it feels like people forget that we don’t all come from a cookie cutter mold or that people think our appearance somehow changes the fact that we’re mixed, know what I’m saying??

9

BATMANRPH FANCASTS : DC COMICS

  • BORIS KODJOE  —  half ghanaian, half white / 44 years old
  • DANIEL HENNEY  —  half korean, half white / 37 years old
  • ELYAS M’BAREK —  half tunisian, half white / 35 years old
  • HAL OZSAN  —  turkish / 40 years old
  • MANU BENNETT  —  between half and one quarter maori, between half and three quarters white / 47 years old
  • OSCAR ISAAC  —  half cuban, one quarter white, one eighth guatemalan, one eighth israeli / 38 years old
  • SENDHIL RAMAMURTHY  —  half kannadiga indian, half tamil indian / 43 years old
  • TYLER CHRISTOPHER —  parts choctaw and seneca native american, part white / 44 years old

Temple of the God Horus at Behdet (Edfou),
west Girdle Wall, inner face, lower register.
Scene from the second part of the “Sacred Drama” called “The Vindication of Horus against His enemies” celebrated during the “Feast of the Victory of Horus over Seth”: the VIII battle (IV scene).

The Second part of the “Sacred Drama” is the “Ritual of the ten harpoons”. It consists of five scenes, and each scene contains two battles, for a total of ten battles: in each battle Horus (always falcon-headed and with the Double Crown) is represented standing on His barque together with one of His Divine Harpooners (“Daimones”, “Divine Spirits” of Horus) and smiting Seth (represented as an hippo) with one of His sacred harpoons.
The “Ritual of the ten harpoons” celebrates the ten victories of Horus against Seth on Earth, in ten battles that took place in Egypt, from Upper Egypt (the South) to Lower Egypt (the North): in the first scene Horus fights against Seth in the region of ‘Behdet’; whilst in the fifth and last scene (the IX and the X battle against Seth) Horus triumphs over Seth in the Eastern regions of Lower Egypt (near the border with Asia).

On the barque, Horus of Behdet (falcon-headed and wearing the Double Crown) snaring the hippo/Seth with the rope, and spearing his hind quarters with the harpoon (the eighth harpoon).
Behind Horus, the Harpooner (lion or baboon-headed) Whose name is “He Who comes forth with the mouth aflame”, holding an harpoon and a knife.
To the left, the King with His hands raised in adoration.

Be then frankly an entire anarchist and not a quarter anarchist, an eighth anarchist, or one-sixteenth anarchist, as one is a one-fourth, one-eighth or one-sixteenth partner in trade. Go beyond the abolition of contract to the abolition not only of the sword and of capital, but also of property and of authority in all its forms. Then you will have arrived at the anarchist community; that is to say, the social state where each one is free to produce or consume according to his will or his fancy without controlling, or being controlled by any other person whatever; where the balance of production and consumption is established naturally, no longer by the restrictive laws and arbitrary force of others, but by the free exercise of industry prompted by the needs and desires of each individual. The sea of humanity needs no dikes. Give its tides full sweep and each day they will find their level.
—  Joseph Dejacque, in his polemic with Proudhon
The Price of Bread in Dungeons and Dragons, Part 1

There’s a multitude of issues with the way the economy in D&D works; namely, it doesn’t. This is a worldbuilding exercise by me to try and make some sense out of seemingly random numbers. I’m probably going to fail. This week, we’re looking at bread, milk, cheese, beef, pork, and chicken. The necessities in life.

For ease of understanding, the seasons are renamed in my campaign. The calendar is 360 days and begins in the spring month, Pollengrass, which is then followed by Sunpeak, Harvestfall, and finally Deadwood. I use the terms fairly interchangeably with their actual counterparts here.

So, what is the price of bread? Well, first we have to discover how much it costs to plant wheat.

BREAD

Planting 100 pounds of grain seed (wheat, rye, barley) will yield 1500 pounds of grain on average. One acre of land can handle this amount normally. Planting takes up most of Pollengrass (spring) and ends in Harvestfall (fall).
Not many people just want wheat itself, so the wheat has to, in most cases, be milled first.
100 pounds of grain will result in 70 pounds of flour. An average-skilled miller takes 10%, and about 20% is lost in the milling process.
Bread, of course, requires flour AND water to make. For most, the cost of water is negligible, but we’ll say 1 gallon of fresh water costs 2 copper pieces and can be used to make 4 loaves of bread. A loaf is a pound, and has about 4 servings in it.
That pound loaf costs an average of 8 copper. This means making a loaf of bread actually requires 1.1 pounds of grain to be recovered from the miller, who then takes his 10%, and including what is lost in milling, it requires 1.3 pounds.
The average person needs about a pound of food per day. Half, one quarter, or even one eighth of this could be bread.
Let’s say this super-average farmer plants 10 acres of grain, getting back 15,000 pounds at harvest. The government taxes 1500 pounds.
The farmer is left with 13,500 pounds of raw wheat, which he takes to the super-average miller. Due to average loss and the miller’s cut of 30% total, the farmer comes away with 9450 pounds of flour.

I’m saying all this to say that a pound of wheat bread costs 8 copper. A pound of white bread costs 15 copper.

The farmer comes away with 60 pounds of flour for every 100 pounds of wheat he planted. Average price of regular brown flour is 5cp per pound, while the more expensive white flour is about 10cp per pound. This means the farmer that plants 50 acres (5000 pounds) of brown wheat seed gets 75,000 pounds of wheat at harvest, and 45,000 pounds of flour after tax and milling. At average market price, that returns 225,000cp, or 22,500sp, or 2250gp, or 225pp.

A 1-acre plot of brown wheat yields 1500 pounds, and yields 900 pounds of brown flour after milling and tax. At average market price, this returns 4500cp, or 450sp, or 45gp.
If this is a field of white wheat, it yields 9000cp, or 900sp, or 90gp.

Forgetting everything else, one human will need 365 pounds of bread per year to stay fed. This is not at all a nutritious meal. Assuming the farmer has a spouse and 8 farm hands, these 10 people need 3650 pounds, roughly, of bread per year.

I think this is all I can say about bread, but you can read about milk, beef, chicken, and pigs under the cut.

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friendly reminder that oscar isaac is multiracial and not just biracial. he’s half cuban ( assumed to be equal parts native cuban and spanish cuban ), one quarter white french, one eighth guatemalan, and one eighth israeli. so yes, oscar isaac is latino, but he’s also middle eastern! something to keep in mind.

anonymous asked:

One of the new writers about Klaroline: "If I tell you anything I will be drawn and quartered and then eighth'd and maybe sixteenth'd. But -- in general -- its good, rich drama." Also "You just have to wait. It'll be worth it. We promise."

First thing’s first, Jeff is absolutely precious. He’s so nice, and I just—god bless.

And second of all, 

A Different Tempo [Andrew Neiman x Reader]

Author’s Note: I watched Whiplash over the weekend and it put me through so much emotional stress, holy shit. I had to write at least one thing for it after that, because it was amazing. This also ended up way longer than I thought it would, but I hope you like it. I listened to Cola by Lana Del Rey on repeat while writing this, it was kind of the inspiration, so you should totally listen to that while you read. ^^

Word Count: 2,188

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an assorted collection of sayings and exchanges from my latest serial Tolkien dream

(since I’ve been asked by more than a few people to keep this saga updated)

“What happened to your hand?”
“See I tried to dislocate my thumb, like you taught me a long time ago? But the shackle was all spiky and I thought yanking my wrist through a spiky band of metal would be a good way to die of blood loss.”
“LOSING YOUR HAND IS ALSO A GOOD WAY TO DIE OF BLOOD LOSS”

“I mean, technically when you do the math it’s quarter-elven, one-eighth bird and one-eighth Planet Venus. But I don’t trouble myself with genealogy too much, if I did that everybody would be my cousin.”

“She’s your kid?”
“… in a manner of speaking, yes.”
“And suddenly everything makes sense. She’s got a mean right cross.”
“I’m sure you deserved it.”

“FUCK OFF YOU DRY-EYE-SUFFERING MOTHERFUCKER”

“Our family has A Problem.”
“Other than that thing where insanely powerful women fall instantly in love with lesser men?”
“Being away for a few thousand years has done nothing for your sass, has it?”

“I mean I knew you could sing I just didn’t know that it exploded things.”

“I spent fucking millennia over here hoping to get away from this shit and yet here I am, once again, dealing with human wall art. I’m going home.”
“If this is what convinced you, frankly, I think it’s worth it.”
“Shut up. I haven’t forgotten that this is all your fault. You’re the one who wanted to go to the store.”

“You’ve got a whole knife in your shoulder and you look like you’re about to pass out and you’re telling me you’re going to fight all the guards at once? A ercat, no. Go sit down.”

things we shared before sunrise

A/N: For day 3 of @phichuuriweek . Prompt: anxiety.


Phichit finds Yuuri at the dining table, waiting for the sun to come up. There’s one last apple in the bowl on the kitchen counter.

It’s the first thing Phichit notices when he comes out of their bedroom in his pajamas and his bare feet, too alert considering the time. There had been a sale on apples at the supermarket last week—a pound for a dollar, keeps the doctor away, and so on—and Phichit had remembered reading somewhere that apples were better for waking up in the morning than coffee. Now there’s just the one left, so it must be true.

The wall clock reads 5 AM, Wednesday, June 24. The season starts up again exactly a week from today and neither of them can sleep. Yuuri is prone to this, but so is Phichit sometimes—the fluttering in the stomach, the racing heart. The sudden, nagging feeling that he needs to do something with his hands without knowing what.

They wait together, each on the edge of the other’s silence, watching the sky. Yuuri sits still, but Phichit must move, turn his attention toward things he can see and touch. So he focuses on the apple and on doing what he’s been taught: lay down a cutting board, pass the fruit under running water. Slice in half and scoop out the core. Cut the halves into quarters, the quarters into eighths. Serve.

The skin is rosy, pale yellow near the base. There are good things, he’s been told, in the skin. You don’t peel it off and throw it away.

When Phichit joins Yuuri at the table, he sets the plate between them and says only, “Here.”

“Thank you.” Yuuri smiles. He takes the first piece between his fingertips, delicate and tender, and when he lifts it to his lips Phichit sees the dawn break.



sext: it is a sweltering august night and we are caught up in the music of our own naked bodies. it is not 1969 but i feel woodstock in my bones.

sext: finger me like i am the strings of your favorite guitar, until my vertebrae vibrate with the melodies hidden in between the spaces of my spinal cord.

sext: the needle touches vinyl and i can’t get my hands off of you.

sext: our breaths quicken into quarter notes, eighth notes, sixteenth notes. we crescendo to a chorus of carbon dioxide and then begin again, panting.

sext: i’m stevie nicks and you’re tom petty. remind me that there is still a way to translate love into music. remind me that a heartbeat can be shared territory.

sext: even my name sounds like music when wound around your tongue.

sext: save your forevers for a stadium packed with screaming lights. i just want your now, amplified loud enough to shatter my stereophonic rib cage.

sext: come closer, i want to map out your body on a mix tape and press replay so many times that you can hear the smudged fingertip traces.

sext: whoever they are, wherever they are, they are singing about us.

sext: they will always be singing about us.

—  a band girl’s love song | flythevinyl

anonymous asked:

Herb mixes for smoking?

Definitely!

a gentle reminder that the relationship between plants + people is the source of life. If you are wild harvesting, ask their permission, and once you’ve received their permission, harvest just what you need, and offer something back to the plant as an energy exchange. Usually I will listen to what they want, and usually they will ask for a song, a dance, or some tobacco. If you are not wild harvesting, check out Mountain Rose Herbs website for herbs to ship directly to you.


Spinning Coyote Smoke Mix: Good for insomnia, “spinning out”, to stop or reduce marijuana smoking, and for anxiety and nervousness. A good end of the day or bedtime smoke or for relaxing with friends. A really good smoke for those perfectionists who are addicted to the adrenaline and ego thrill of being really really busy and have trouble slowing down. 

Mullein - one half cup

Skullcap - one quarter

Passionflower - one quarter 

Manzanita - one eighth cup

Damiana - one eighth cup

Fennel (Or Anise) seed - just a sprinkle 


Take it easy Mix: Sensual calming effect of Hops and Skullcap together. Hops has a funny smell to it, kind of like ripe cheese, but it smokes with a nice flavor and no aftertaste. You may feel a little stoned.. if you are feeling depressed, I would smoke Spinning Coyote instead of this one. Hops has a tendency towards being a downer herb.. but if you are overall balanced in life it could be really good and grounding to journey with Hops.The Manzanita mixed in will give it more of an edge.

Hops - one half cup

Mullein - one quarter cup 

Manzanita - one eighth cup

Skullcap - one eighth cup

Deer’s Tongue - to taste

Anise - just a sprinkle 


Please let me know if you have any further questions or concerns about herbs and smoking them, I’d be so happy to help with anything you need in the process.

With reverence,

Rosemary Milk

3

of the last twelve hours i have been crying for three, that is one in four hours, a quarter of my time, an eighth of a full day, that i have been crying, i do not deserve this, this is not who i wanted to be, is it too late to make better choices or is this who i am now? is this my fate that god has chosen for me? what kind of cruel god,,

erikaderika-deactivated20161212  asked:

Hello, just wondering what happens to beef cows after they are looked after at a ranch?

Primarily steers but also cows are raised to about 600 pounds then taken to a livestock exchange building. From there either a backgrounding yard operator will buy them and put on another 400-500 pounds or a feedyard will condition them to a finished weight of ideally 1400 pounds.

At that weight they are taken to a processing plant where the carcass is graded. It is then cut into halves and quarters and eighths and essentially is sold to companies that further cut the carcass into ribeyes, New York strips, T-bones, full and half racks of ribs, briskets, sausage, hamburger, and the like. Utility grade meat is made into dog and cat food. Tallow is used as wax in candles, crayons, soap, and as an ingredient in animal food. Bones that are not included with meat cuts are used as dog food and also ground into bone meal used as a high calcium supplement for swine.

The organs are harvested for food such as the kidneys, liver, heart, and tongue. Tongue, liver, omasum, and heart is often exported to Mexico and Japan where it brings a premium as it is considered a delicacy. Hooves are used as dog treats and collagen is separated to be used in lotions and cosmetics as well as oleo oil and gelatin is also taken. Oil is also used in rubbers and plastics such as on the soles of your shoes and grocery bags. The blood is collected in a huge tank and sold to pharmaceutical companies. The only organ not utilized is the brain due to the possibility of Bovine Spongiform Encephalopathy.

Leather is tanned on site; if a hide was branded it is lower quality and exported to other countries to make shoes. If not branded, it is sold domestically for belts, wallets, vehicle interior, horse tack, purses, and jackets to name a few.

No part is wasted so there is truly no such thing as vegan because if you drive or wear shoes or buy plastic water bottles there is an animal byproduct in all of those and more.

The highest quality of care is put into these animals because it is contradictory to mistreat an animal that is worth over $3/cwt or $1200/he depending on the time of year and influx of cattle on the market. The profession of a livestock producer is one in which we all take humble pride and conduct business in the best ways we know.

Knowledge is handed down through tradition and teaching from our prior generations, learned from trial and error, and even a young entrepreneur gaining knowledge with a goal to have land and cattle of their own.

Eat beef. The west wasn’t won on salad.

anonymous asked:

do you have any practice tips? whenever I try to practice I feel like I don't improve at all.

-get your instrument ready. properly tune it, maybe clean it, find a comfortable place to practice, and mentally prepare yourself

-warm up. do scales, finger exercises, mouth exercises–whatever is necessary to get yourself physically ready to play things with agility

-use a metronome. don’t start at the speed that you can currently play it. start a little bit slower than that and really take time to think about each note carefully. from there, gradually increase speed, and make sure that you can play everything accurately at the speed you play

-practice with a tuner. this is especially helpful for instruments like the violin where intonation is always just a really complex guessing game. sometimes it helps to play certain passages (like anything written in 8va) an octave lower, just to get the right sound in your ear. unless you have perfect pitch, in which case, frick you

-practice using different rhythms. if it’s written as quarter notes, play eighth notes. throw in some dotted rhythms. play every note as a whole note. do whatever you need to to get some muscle memory and understand the piece a bit better

-sometimes, things just don’t work. you can practice a piece for hours and get nowhere with it. in this case, make a video of yourself playing through the piece. analyze things that you need to do differently. is your posture bad? fix it. are you using a bad fingering? change it. are you using too much bow/breath? use less. are you not using enough? use more. 

hope this helps a little

Too Many Triangles

Next

AN: Sooo… Here’s the thing. A thing. Based off some awesome art by @swiftboone​ and the following conversation between them and @gravity-what​. (Which I highly recommend you look at before reading.) They inspired this little drabble, and I really do love the idea. It falls under the one of us, demon/corrupted Ford AU, but that’s not the focus here at all. Just a backdrop for the premise.

Rating: T (For you know, the unhealthy relationship, general demon-y stuff. But again, not a focus in the story.)

“Haha! Hey, hey Fordsy! Come check out what Bender can do with that coat hanger and a-”

“Not now, I’m busy.”

Busy?

Busy?!

How could he possibly be, busy?!

A dismissive hand was waved in his general vicinity. Stanford did not even bother to look in his direction when addressed. Well now he certainly didn’t care about Bender and his super-cool coat hanger tricks, not when Stanford was busy, with something, or rather, somethings else. His cheerful demeanor from before faded as he heard the word busy. He stopped floating on the spot, and took a more direct path to where Stanford stood.

He was off in an isolated corner, away from all the fun. The man did not even notice when he appeared over his shoulder. The little ones did, and they backed away from his very shadow. Stanford however, continued to whistle a tune to himself as he interacted with the swarm. He flicked his wrist in one direction, and twirled a finger on the other hand.

The yellow cloud of triangles split in half, and then into quarters, eighths, sixteenths. Each smaller swarm took on a shape. One became a sphere, another was a cube, and there was a cylinder. That was what he was busy with? He pushed the miniscule versions of himself out of focus, so he was in front of Ford. They made tiny squeaks of protest, and scattered through the air as he got in the way.

Stanford took a step back, as they all started to regroup again. The swarm all struggled to hide in his coat. The tattered thing moved as if it had a life of its own with them underneath. It must have been tickling him, because he tried to hide a slight smile as they hid around him. It was so rare to see him grinning now a days. For some reason he was always gloomy, moping around as if he would rather be with his family than spending time here. The smile he fought to hide was a tired one. The dark circles took up more of him every day, and his face was looking more sunken. But as he grinned at the swarm, there was a content, yet exhausted air about him.

“What are you so busy with?” He asked, folding his arms.

“I’ve been training the youngins’ to respond to certain stimuli. They seem to enjoy it too.”

“Didn’t I tell you to stop being anti-social?”

“Your… Friends are having trouble understanding the whole, children, thing.” He replied.

“Tell them they’re not children again. They’re a miniature army of me. They won’t be bothered by that.”

“But they’re not. Despite keeping a herd mentality, which I believe is an instinct to help survive infancy, they’re actually quite individual as well.” He tugged at his turtleneck, and several triangles stuck their heads out of the top. “Why little Duodequadraginta here-”

“Ugh, I thought I told you not to bother naming them. There’s like, way too many for you to keep track of!”

Or so he hoped. If Stanford started getting attached to individual personalities then he was never going to get the guy away from the swarm. Why had he thought creating them was a good idea again? All they did was take up his time, and make Ford act even more like his old wound-up self again! Stupid little things had the others giving him weird looks as well. As if they hadn’t used another person to host their miniature army of doom before!

“I didn’t name them, I numbered them. From unum to uingenti.”

Yup, he’d named them. He’d named all five hundred of those little brats. He didn’t know whether he should be disgusted or impressed that Stanford had been patient enough to name the entire swarm. One of the triangles popped up from his hair. Nope, he was definitely disgusted. When they made eye-contact, the triangle made a tiny noise. Did… Did that stupid thing just laugh at him?! Before he could smash the little hell-spawn to bits, Ford plucked it out of his hair.

“Sedecim what are you doing up there you silly thing? Go play with the rest.”

The one named (It was not a number, it was a name, and they both knew it.) Sedecim floated up to his ear, and rested inside for a moment. Evidently it had said something back to Ford, because he rubbed his chin thoughtfully, and nodded.

“Yes, I do see your point. But I’m sure that Quindecim and Septemdecim want their sibling’s company.”

Oh no he was talking to them as well! And they were replying! And he was referring to them as if they were, family. This was just getting ridiculous! Those things had to go, now! Otherwise Ford was going to start visibly labeling them, and setting up trust funds for their post-secondary education! Where had he put the fly swatter again? Oh right, Bender was using it to help with his coat hanger tricks, of course.

Priorities, priorities… He looked over at the group, who was having fun with their mayhem, without him. Then he looked back at Ford, who was happily conducting the swarm. They made a sphere formation, which flattened out to a circle, a hole gradually growing in the center of it. The ring became a line, and they started to move around in jagged little patterns. They flew past his eye, and wrapped around him like a ribbon, tying themselves in a knot before bursting. Little golden triangles showered down everywhere. He could feel them clinging to his hat and curiously inspecting the folds of his tie.

“Hey! Stop th-”

He brushed them away from his front, but others had already undone his tie. He grabbed at the ones who had stolen from him. There was a tiny, but satisfying crunch as they were squished. They cried out in pain, and he could feel the swarm struggling and writhing between his fingers. When he let go, many of them were crumpled, bent over like folded bits of paper. Some of them fell to the ground. The ones that got off more easily returned to Ford, and hid in his coat, all whimpering in union. He peeled off the remaining one that was stuck to his fist, and flicked it away. Stanford caught it, and gently cradled the crying thing in his hands.

“Bill! That was completely unnecessary!”

The injured ones that could hold themselves up fluttered around pathetically, their flight patterns erratic. Stanford placed the badly injured one in his pocket. Then he took the nearest one in his fingers and straightened it out again. It gave a grateful chirp, and rested in his hair with Sedec- No, they were not supposed to have names. Or numbers! They were a nameless, soon to be extinct army! As Ford straightened out more of the wounded party, the happy sounds grew louder, and even more were crawling through his hair.

“They were stealing my tie!” He defended.

“They were just teasing.” He snapped, turning his back to him. “One would think you would realize that, given who they were spawned from.”

What had he done to deserve this? It was their fault for existing after all! The ones he had harmed before crawled to the back of his hair, and along his neck. Again, he could have sworn the stupid things were laughing at him. He made a crushing gesture with his fist, and they went back to cowering. Stupid things. There was only room for two evil triangles on this planet. Him, and that sentient pizza guy Steve. But that was it! There was no space for the brats.

But, if he was going to exterminate the pests, he would have to be more subtle about it. Otherwise Stanford was just going to keep staying mad at him. They definitely couldn’t have that. He glared at the retreating form of Stanford. He was still cradling the swarm in his arms, and quietly soothing them. That was just disgusting! Did he have to be so affectionate with the damn things? Seriously, he needed to tone it down.

He returned to the fun side of the room, where coat hangers and other miscellaneous objects were being used for entertainment. Despite the fact that it was enjoyable to watch one of his friends almost choke themselves to death by accident, he kept feeling his eye stray back to Stanford and his new-found children.

He’d destroy all five hundred of those little parasites if it was the last thing he did.

anonymous asked:

Hi, do you have a herb smile bekend for chakras and one for psychic abilities and one for intrusive thoughts? Thank you. Have a geest dat. Xx

Lavender to taste - Skullcap one quarter cup - Damiana one eighth cup - Catnip just a sprinkle + Mullein one half cup

Enjoy this blend as a tea or smoke 

check out this site https://www.mountainroseherbs.com for herbs that you aren’t able to wildcraft yourself. They have tons of organic product!!!