#canna for sale

[william-scott77]

Wonder bar by canna banana

Wonder bar by canna banana for sale is now available at Mungus Shrooms. As we all know it is the highest quality. Psilocybin chocolate bar on the market made by Canna Banana. Also, Enjoying a Wonderbar allows for a much pure high. Furthermore, eliminating the upset stomach feeling users would typically get from digesting mushrooms. Also, Canna Banana’s extraction technology completely puts the Wonder bar in a league of its own. Wonder bars are free of any contaminants and are more accurately dosed. Canna Banana products have been known to significantly reduce stress depression, increase focus, and stimulate brain cell growth. As a reminder, always start slow in a safe environment. Obviously, do not operate any motor vehicles while using this product.

#Psychedelic mushroom chocolate bars for sale #Psychedelic mushroom chocolate bars for sale california #Psychedelic mushroom chocolate bars for sale near me #Psychedelic mushroom chocolate bars for sale usa #Where to buy Wonder bar by canna Banana #Wonder bar by canna banana for sale #Wonder bar by Canna Banana ingredients #Wonder bar by Canna Banana price #Wonder bar canna banana reddit #Wonder bar chocolate psychedelic #Wonder bar psychedelic candy #Wonderland psychedelic mushroom chocolate bars

[sara-saragej]

Quando la casa dei nonni si chiude 💔...

“Uno dei momenti più tristi della nostra vita é quando la porta della casa dei nonni si chiude per sempre. Una volta chiusa quella porta non ci saranno più i pomeriggi felici con zii, cugini, nipoti, genitori fratelli e sorelle. Ve lo ricordate?

Non era necessario andare al ristorante la domenica. Si andava a casa dei nonni. A Natale la nonna bucava l’ozono con le sue fritture mentre il nonno si dedicava all’arrosto facendo puntualmente bruciare la canna fumaria. La tavola era lunghissima e veniva apparecchiata nella stanza più grande. Adesso la casa è chiusa ed è rimasta soltanto la polvere. Un cartello vendesi. Nessuno la vuole quella casa.

È vecchia. Va ristrutturata. Costa troppo. Cazzo ne sapete di quanto vale la casa dei nonni. La casa dei nonni non ha un valore. E così passano gli anni. Non ci sono più regali da scartare. Frittate da mangiare. Verdure da pulire. Quando la casa dei nonni si chiude ci ritroviamo adulti senza capire quando abbiamo smesso di essere bambini. Certo per i nonni saremo sempre piccoli e indifesi. Sempre. I nonni avevano sempre il caffè pronto. La pasta. Il vino. Le caramelle..

Poi finisce tutto. Non ci sono più le canzoni. Non si fa più la pasta fatta in casa..... Siete andati via troppo presto porca miseria. Io volevo fare la salsa ancora una volta. Il mirto. Le chiacchiere. E il liquore all’alloro. Io volevo ancora accatastare la legna con te nonno, anzi grazie per avermelo insegnato. E grazie per gli insegnamenti sulla vita. E sulla campagna. E sul giardinaggio. Ora quando passo guardo quella casa e mi viene sempre l’abitudine di parcheggiare. E di buttare giù il campanello. E di sentire la nonna gridare che porco giuda non sono modi quelli.

Scusa nonna. Non suonerò più il campanello. Al massimo quando mi capiterà di pensarvi di nuovo, come ora, canterò una canzone. Quella preferita dal nonno. Un amore così grande.

- Antonio Cotardo

When the grandparents 'house closes💔

“One of the saddest moments in our lives is when the door to our grandparents' house closes forever. Once that door closes there will be no more happy afternoons with uncles, cousins, nephews, parents, brothers and sisters. Do you remember it? There was no need to go to a restaurant on Sunday. We went to the grandparents' house. At Christmas, the grandmother pierced the ozone layer with her fried food while the grandfather dedicated himself to the roast by punctually burning the flue. The table was very long and was set in the largest room. Now the house is closed and only the dust is left. A for sale sign. Nobody wants that house. Is old. It needs to be refurbished. Costs too much. Fuck do you know what the grandparents' house is worth. Grandparents' house has no value. And so the years go by. There are no more presents to unwrap.

Omelettes to eat. Vegetables to clean. When the grandparents' house closes, we find ourselves adults without understanding when we stopped being children. Of course, for our grandparents we will always be small and helpless. Always. Grandparents always had coffee ready. The pasta. The wine. The candies.. Then it's all over. There are no more songs. Homemade pasta is no longer made..... You left too soon damn it. I wanted to make the sauce one more time. The myrtle. The chatter. And the laurel liqueur. I still wanted to stack wood with you grandpa, actually thanks for teaching me. And thanks for the teachings about life. And about the countryside. And about gardening. Now when I pass I look at that house and I always get used to parking. And to knock down the bell. And to hear the grandmother shouting that pig Judas are not those ways. Sorry grandma. I won't ring the bell again. At the latest when I think of you again, like now, I'll sing a song. Grandpa's favorite. Such a big love.

- Antonio Cotardo

Dolce ☕ Pomeriggio🌹

[gelatinatremolante]

Ciaooo❤️❤️❤️ tu che sei bravissimo, hai una ricetta di cookies con le gocce di cioccolato da darci? 💓

Che emozione, è da tanto che non mi veniva chiesto e sei troppo gentile. Comunque ci sono tantissime ricette e alla fine riescono più o meno tutte, quella che ho fo fatto fin dalla prima volta consiste nel mescolare 100g di burro a temperatura ambiente con 100g di zucchero semolato (o di canna oppure metà e metà); aggiungere due uova medie (una alla volta) e l'astratto di vaniglia fino a quando non sono assorbite; aggiungere 180g di farina 00 setacciata insieme a 1 cucchiaino di lievito fino a quando il tutto non è ben amalgamato e un pizzico di sale; per poi aggiungere circa 150g di gocce di cioccolato, mescolare e magari lasciare per un po' l'impasto nel frigo. Si formano dei mucchietti di impasto ben distanziati e si informa a 180 gradi per circa 15 minuti 🍪

[houseoflmw]

The Price is Wright (pt. 1)

I run a fashion page for Letitia on Instagram and there are some pieces I’d love to buy but… the price is not (w)right for me. So, in this series, I’ll put together more affordable outfits inspired by Tish!

Inspiration

Clothes

Option 1: Pretty Little Thing - Plisse Shirt and Wide Leg Pants (top) (bottoms)

Sizes: 16 (L) - 26 (5X)

Cost: $58.50 (it’s currently on sale!)

Option 2: Boohoo - Plisse Shirt and Wide Leg Pants (set)

Sizes: XS - L

Cost: $43 (it’s currently on sale!)

Accessories

SOJOS - Classic Square Polarized Sunglasses (link)

Cost: $14.99 (it’s currently on sale!)

TOPSHOP - Canna North South Crossbody Bag (link)

Cost: $49

Shoes

Nike - Air Jordan 1 Elevate Low (link)

Size: Women’s 5 - 12

Cost: $123.97 (+20% off right now!)

✨What would you like to see next?✨

#letitia wright #houseoflmw #thepriceiswright #fashion #outfit inspo #outfit inspiration

[ipotesi-controversa]

ciao.

quanto cazzo è difficile sradicare i gesti che abbiamo ripetuto all'infinito nella speranza che non finissero mai?

mi sono seduta per terra riparata dal terrazzo con un felpone enorme a fumare una sigaretta e a godermi il temporale, come avresti fatto, sicuramente, tu.

tremo e cerco di star ferma. ho freddo. schiena appoggiata al muro, aspiro e inspiro.

ho i capelli scomposti e i pensieri pure.

non te li posso raccontare, ma so che se ci pensi bene, è proprio così che mi immagini.

mi pensi? io si. ti fischiano le orecchie?

oggi nel mio niente risuona forte la musica che ascoltavamo insieme e mi sento a pezzi. come cazzo hai fatto? cosa cazzo mi hai fatto?

premura, esiste cosa più bella?

da quando non ci sei più tu non so cosa significhi, e quando me lo voglio ricordare, almeno per un po', osservo la pioggia e il suo modo di depositarsi per terra.

ancora devo capire se guardo il cielo per entrare in me stessa o per andarmene. è una strana sensazione, vagare senza meta senza riuscire a fermarsi.

puoi, per favore, venire qui?

tante volte, sai, seduta qui, ho sognato un amore senza catene, in equilibrio su un filo di seta; non te l'ho detto mai, non avresti capito cosa intendessi, però ci ho sperato, sempre, fino all'ultimo minuto.

alcuni angoli della mente sono rifugio.

altri, gabbie.

l'angolo dedicato a te è una gabbia, una vera e propria condanna; eppure, senza alcuna ragione, io torno sempre, spinta da chissà quale voglia di farmi male, con la speranza che tu, magari un giorno, possa aprire quella porta e farmi sedere nella gabbia, accanto a te.

è malsano, vero?

penso a quanto i vuoti che abbiamo, abbiano la forma di chi li lascia; impossibile riempirli con altro, scappando veloce per non sentire dolore.

faccio sempre lo stesso errore io.

le persone non godono della proprietà commutativa come in matematica.

se cambi l'ordine delle persone, e cambi una persona all'interno della tua vita, cambia il risultato di quello che sei.

mi ero ripromessa che a tutti i costi io avrei resistito a tutto e mi è costato caro; carissimo.

avrei dovuto fare caso al cigolio prima che la giostra si fermasse, ma non sono mai stata brava capire quale sia l'attimo prima del tracollo brusco e inevitabile.

forse è colpa mia.

questa mattina, devo scriverlo senza giri di parole, attraverserei galassie pur di riprovare alcune sensazioni una volta ancora. e invece dietro al vetro, vedo le scarpe sotto la scrivania buttate lì, dalla sera prima, e so che non mi saranno utili a raggiungerti.

perché si fa fatica a costruire e invece demolire è così semplice, me lo dici?

ho cercato un complicatissimo equilibrio in una bilancia sfalsata e ora mi chiedo che cosa me ne farò di tutti questi fastidiosissimi ricordi e dove posso lasciarli per non trovarli più, nelle mattine in cui diluvia forte e io ho un solo fotogramma di noi dietro la grata della cucina, i tuoi occhi curiosi e settembre come sfondo.

vivere, in queste giornate, è così difficile che mi chiedo come faccia tu a riuscirci così bene.

ieri mattina Marta mi ha detto una cosa: "bisogna saper fare pace con le cose che non sono, senza domandarsi il perché, senza cercare risposte dolorose, si spreca tempo deteriorandosi in cose sbagliate"; annuivo senza alcuna convinzione, pensando solo a quando avrei voluto correre per sfogare questa rabbia mista a nostalgia che mi sale quando il tempo mi fa questo effetto strano di ricordare i dettagli che fanno male e che non torneranno più.

quasi quasi, oggi, frano ché oggi, con il cielo color canna di fucile puntato alla tempia, la tristezza mi scava dentro come i tasti di un pianoforte.

alle emozioni non frega nulla della ragione, è proprio vero; esattamente come i sentimenti se ne fregano delle evidenze.

oggi sono triste, nostalgica, sottosopra, sopraffatta, ma con la consapevolezza di non essermi persa niente, mi sono persa io.

[wreckmyplans-thatsmyman]

Eddie going undiagnosed with adhd for so long has led to several coping mechanisms as he's gotten older. The middle school buzzcut was a result of pulling at his hair too often. His rings are to prevent him from biting his nails, and give him something to play with. He wears dangly chains and all sorts of zippers and buttons and fidgets so he can stay in constant motion. When he's feeling really keyed up, there's ripping his jeans or a bandana in his back pocket to tie over his head. His hair is too metal, and his fingers are too important to be self-destructive that way anymore.

There's also the desire for stillness, which he isn't very good at. The metal music that's loud enough to drown out every other sound helps. Putting on headphones and plugging them into the sound system, sitting directly underneath it so the cord doesn't pull when he headbangs. Sometimes he wonders if he likes metal music because it reminds him of his brain. He's always got a little too much going on -- the crashing cymbals of anxiety when Wayne sorts their bills on the kitchen table and tallies up if they have enough to cover them all, the steady thrum of the bass line that mimicks the constant thruline of /stories/ he likes to think about, the wailing guitar solo of a sudden idea that cuts over his every thought, demanding attention until it fades out.

There's marijuana, now that he's older. What began as a whim and way to relax quickly became his favorite coping mechanism. He loves the ritual of sitting down with his grinder and papers and rolling a supply of joints. He loves the smell, has gotten to where he can discern certain the varieties not just by sight but by their smell and taste. He may not remember any information for chemistry class, but he has the strains Rick provides him with and their effects memorized. Has to, when smoking Sour Diesel instead of Northern Lights before bed can change the entire course of his evening. Algebra wasn't his strong suit, but he can do canna-math in his head, sales and change and grams and ounces, and he's getting to the point where he can feel the weights without the clunky scale he lifted from Mr. Davidson's supply cabinet. Making money from selling certainly helps out at home, allowed him to save up for his baby and any other Corroded Coffin gear he may need, but if he never had another customer, he'd probably still smoke daily. He assumes it's tolerance, the way sometimes he can smoke and instead of getting blitzed like Buckley always does, he just feels settled. Heavy, as if someone is sitting in his lap, keeping him still and settled and warm. Sometimes it feels like his brain is less like metal music and more like a kindergarten class set loose on a playground or someone walked into Radio Shack and turned every device on max volume. But after a few hits, the smoke dances around to calm the screaming and turn off the screens, and his brain is just a little model train on its circular track, going around in wobbly circles at a steady pace, and he can breathe.

#i could keep going ig but i have other stuff id rather write #eddie munson headcanons #i firmly believe eddie would be dx'd with adhd and possibly autism in a modern setting #thinking about my funky little stoner and how that's his best chance at medication he will ever get

[burningdeerfestival]

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[myloish]

every time i remember how huge mike/will has gotten i go through an entire spectrum of emotions in a single heartbeat because on the one hand it's like watching teens and young adults go "oh man i think they're really gonna go for it this time!!!" over a ship with the same likelihood of happening as [pick two boy characters from Sport Anime]

but then at the same time it was the show that decided to veer hard into "no will is like in love with him" in the ugliest way possible and it was the actors who were tweeting "this season has me shipping mike/will HARD" and "i'm for mike/will if they're for mike/will" and now marketing has picked up on a the sales niche so they're selling copies of will's big gay painting on purses and handbags so it's LIKE

i cannae blame a 19 y/o bisexual twitter user for seeing the above and putting the pieces together in a way that results in them thinking It's Endgame and getting really excited over the idea. but at the same time. the day that finale drops. it's going to get ugly.

#where's that post that was like when will dies it's gonna be nov 5 for gen z #bc it really resonates

[scogito]

Riassunto delle cause di malore improvviso:

1-caldo 2-freddo 3-troppo sport 4-fine di un Amore 5-bere alcolici (anche con moderazione) 6-fare sesso 7-guardare partire europei calcio 8-spalare neve 9-bevande energizzanti 10-dormire troppo 11-pizza margherita 12-cereali 13-errato consumo di pesce 14-eccesso di bicarbonato di sodio 15-uova sode 16-troppe visite rimandate 17-mangiare troppo 18-ora legale 19-non svolgere faccende domestiche/giardinaggio 20-farmaci effervescenti/ricchi di sodio 21-caffè 22-cibi pronti surgelati 23-dieta liquida 24-troppe ore davanti la TV 25-lavorare troppo 26-mangiare cacao tutti i giorni 27-smog e inquinamento 28-timore di non farcela 29-colesterolo LDL 30-fiato corto 31-rumori traffico 32-stufe e camini 33-ereditarietà 34-temperature calde nella notte 35-zucchero di canna 36-dormire con luce accesa 37-clima 38-sale 39-sottoutilizzo antivirali 40-esposizione incendi 41-diete rapide 42-insonnia 43-depressione 44-patatine 45-covid 46-caduta capelli 47-emicrania 48-asma e allergie 49-fumare erba 50-intervento alla cataratta 51-mangiare oltre il limite 52-sospensione terapia ormonale in menopausa 53-burro 54-bresaola 55-vino 56-lavoro noioso 57-microbiota intestinale 58-freni delle auto 59-igiene orale 60-pressione alta 61-stress da gara 62-orario in cui si cena.

#mondo marcio #scienza #mass media #malori improvvisi #correlazioni #vax #vaccino #salute #sanità #manipolazioni #società #società malata #zombie #svegliatevi #aprite gli occhi #sistema #covid

[aftermathfanfic]

Part 2, Chapter 12

The striking sound of a gavel hammer rang through the auction room, causing all heads to turn in attention.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Spoke the servant at the front of the room, standing behind a wooden pedestal. “The bidding for the items presented for sale by Mr. Victor Carbonneau is about to commence.”

Scrooge adjusted his top hat with a frown. He and Bentina were slowly manoeuvring through the crowd, making their way towards Glomgold. They could just see Glomgold’s dwarfish body standing among the socialites and collectors, wringing his hands with anticipation. Once they were close enough, the two of them took a place on either side of their enemy, though if Glomgold noticed, he didn’t seem to care.

Keeping his composure despite his headache and anxiety, Scrooge looked down at Glomgold with a frown. “What’s the plan, Flinty?” He asked in a low voice. “You’re not winnin’ the auction, you cannae possibly outbid me.”

Glomgold cackled madly. “Mighty bold of yeh to assume that, Scroogie!” He said mockingly. “It’s going to make crushin’ you all the more satisfying!”

Scrooge took a deep breath to calm his agitation, knowing that Glomgold wasn’t going to explain anything to him. Leaning down, he muttered, “I don’t know what you’re playin’ at Glomgold, but if you think I’m lettin’ you get out of here with that talisman, you’ve got another thing comin’.”

Glomgold’s expression suddenly shifted into a hateful sneer. Looking between him and Bentina, he growled at Scrooge, “You think you’re goin’ to humiliate me again, Scrooge? No… no, you’ve done that one too many times now. Gettin’ me fired from me own company… that was the last straw!”

“I had-!” Scrooge bit his tongue, trying to avoid attracting attention, then growled at his rival, “I had nothin’ to do with that!”

“Then how do you know about it?” Glomgold hissed accusatorily.

“Because it was on the evenin’ news! Everyone knows!” Scrooge shook his head and glared at his rival. “When will you stop blamin’ others for your mistakes?”

Glomgold’s glare burned, like a gently stoking fire behind his eyes had suddenly surged into a blaze. In a dangerous voice, barely above a whisper, he told Scrooge, “Because I don’t make mistakes, Scrooge. I’m the smart one, I’m the only smart one. If you want to live through what comes next, you’d do best to remember that.”

Scrooge rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to the auctioneer. He knew better than to try and argue with him.

On the other side of the room, standing beside a window, Huey and June were standing guard, doing their best to seem inconspicuous. They watched as the items for auction were brought out one by one, numbered paddles rising and falling as bids were placed, withdrawn, and outbidded one after another. June watched the process with some amount of interest, though the look of expectancy on her face was poorly veiled.

“…So… is this all we’re doing?” She quietly asked Huey.

“…Uh… quite possibly.” Huey replied reluctantly. He added with a shrug, “Though, even if we manage to get the Talisman, we’ll probably get ambushed or something. So…”

“Right, okay…”

An awkward silence hung between them for a moment.

“…Uh…” Huey uttered quietly, prompting June’s attention to turn to him. “I… just want to say sorry. For not standing up for you back on the plane. It wasn’t…”

“No, it’s okay!” June said quickly.

“It’s not fair that your voices aren’t being heard, and…”

“No, it’s… it’s fine… I mean, why would you?” June shrugged sadly. “You don’t really know us.”

“Well, we should. We should’ve made an effort.” Huey replied. “Sure, we don’t go to the same school, but we live in the same house. We’re family… and family is supposed to stand up for each other, no matter what. So, again… I’m sorry.”

June looked at him for a moment, a shy smile breaking across her beak. “Thank you.” She said softly. “That means a lot.”

Huey smiled back.

His cousin looked around the crowd, her spirits lifted somewhat, and she asked, “Um, May and I don’t know much about Glomgold… is he dangerous?”

“Uh…” Huey frowned in thought. “Mostly by accident.”

“Exclusively by accident.” Louie spoke up, causing Huey to jump in alarm. “None of his plans work, or even get close to working.”

Huey stared at his brother, leaning against the wall with a casual smirk on his face. “What are you doing?” He demanded. “You’re supposed to be with Uncle Scrooge and Mrs. Beakley!”

“Oh, yeah, ‘cause they need my help restraining Glomgold.” Louie rolled his eyes, muttering, “Urgh. Can’t believe that we’ve been worrying over nothing this whole time.”

“Glomgold isn’t nothing!” Huey said frustratedly. “The stakes are too high to be treating this so flippantly!”

“Look, maybe I’d agree with you if Glomgold actually had anything. But he doesn’t.”

June frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Well, he doesn’t have his company anymore, does he?” Louie replied. “No company means no assets, no departments to divert funding from, nothing.”

“He might have other businesses. He was a successful businessman, after all.”

Louie shook his head. “No, no… most of the money he made came from adventuring, not his business. He put all of his eggs into one basket and lost it all. As far as we’re concerned, he might as well be bankrupt.”

“And that is exactly why you should be worried.” Huey said gravely. “Desperate men do irrational things, Louie.”

Louie looked back at him with an annoyed expression. After a moment, he muttered, “Fine,” and started walking back into the crowd.

On another side of the room, near the door, stood Dewey and May, scanning the crowd as the auction started to get underway. They were silent in their guard, both of them focused on the task at hand.

“Do you wanna come to my baseball game?” Dewey asked her suddenly.

May blinked. “Huh?”

“Right, yeah, sorry.” Dewey shook his head. “Uh, first of all, sorry we didn’t speak up for you two back on the plane, it wasn’t cool. Second, uh… I’ve got a baseball game happening against Silverbeak High in a couple of weeks, in case you and June wanted to… hang out or something.” He shrugged.

“…Uh…” May blinked, taken off-guard. “Sure…? I don’t know much about baseball…”

“Oh, you don’t have to know anything. It’s mostly just to hang out, talk with people, eat corn dogs… uh… it’s actually kinda boring to watch.” Dewey admitted.

May snorted with amusement. “Not really selling me on this.”

“Well, it’s just that I’ve guilt-tripped everyone else into going, it’s… kinda unfair if I didn’t extend an invite to you.”

May pondered it for a moment, before shrugging nonchalantly. “Alright. Why not?”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah! At Feathered Hill, right?”

“Yeah, at the sports field! You do kinda have to pay to come, but it’s only five bucks.”

“Easy. When did you say it was?”

“Uh…” Dewey winced. “Supposedly next-next weekend? The other team’s coach keeps cancelling and asking to reschedule it.”

May raised an eyebrow. “Why’s he doing that?”

Dewey chuckled. “Oh, yeah, lemme tell you about this psycho…”

Back in the crowd, Louie had sidled up to Scrooge, positioning himself on the side opposite Glomgold. “Well, well, well!” Glomgold sneered as he saw him. “If it isn’t yer nephew, Huey!”

“Louie.” Louie corrected him.

“Don’t correct me!” Glomgold snapped. Then he smirked, and said, “Come to watch yer uncle lose to me for the last time?”

“Nah, came to watch you embarrass yourself.” Louie drawled as Scrooge raised his bid once more.

“Louie…” Bentina said warningly.

Glomgold got up in Louie’s face, a menacing snarl on his beak. His eyes narrowed at him, and he muttered, “Why do you seem so familiar to me?”

Louie shrugged, spying a glint of light in Glomgold’s jacket pocket. “Probably because I stole your whole fortune that one time?”

“Aye, aye… is that it? It seems…” Glomgold muttered, his eyes flicking back and forth. Then he shook his head and growled, “Yes… yes! That’s it!”

He shoved his face back into Louie’s, prompting the teenager to back up even as his other hand whipped out to grab the object he’d seen. “Well, I won’t be lettin’ you get away with that again, you can bet your britches on it!”

“Yeah, yeah.” Louie muttered, waving away the smell of Glomgold’s breath and hiding what he had stolen behind his back. “Like you have anything worth stealing.”

“That’s enough, Louie.” Scrooge said sternly as Glomgold spluttered indignantly. “No need to kick a man while he’s down.”

“I still have money!” Glomgold snarled. “I’ll have you know that I bought an aircraft carrier just the other day!”

“A what?” Scrooge demanded incredulously.

“That’s right, Scrooge! Cannae say that you have one of those, can ya?”

“Where in the blazes did you get an aircraft carrier? And why? How much money do you even have left?”

“Tha- That’s not important. What is important is that it’s one part of my intricate plan to bring you down, Scrooge! And by the end of it-!”

“Item seven – a golden talisman of unknown origin.” The servant’s voice rang out across the room, immediately returning everyone’s attention to the front of the room. Being pushed forward by two servants was a mounted wooden pedestal with a glass box placed on top. Within this box, sitting on a red velvet cushion, was the circular golden amulet that Scrooge had hoped he’d never have to see with his own eyes. The emerald that held its magical essence sat in the medallion’s centre, and the eight gems that formed its magical lock and key twinkled maliciously in the chandelier light. There it was – the Talisman of the Tarrasque.

“Here we go.” Glomgold chuckled, rubbing his hands together.

“Found in the same vault as the other items presented today, this twenty-one-carat gold talisman is believed to originate from Roman Gaul, circa 20 BC.” The auctioneer continued as the item was wheeled out by two other servants. “We believe that it was once worn by a Gaulish king prior to Roman conquest to denote status. Starting bid is at three-hundred-and-thirty thousand euros. Do I hear three-hundred-and-?”

Scrooge immediately lifted his numbered paddle into the air, a determined look on his face.

“Three-hundred-and-thirty.” The auctioneer said quickly. “Do I hear three-hundred-and-sixty?”

Another paddle rose somewhere else in the crowd, from someone Scrooge didn’t recognise. Strangely, Glomgold didn’t even attempt to bid, electing instead to stand where he was, grinning like the madman he was.

“Three-hundred-and-sixty, do I hear four-hundred?”

Scrooge’s paddle shot into the air once more. For once, he didn’t care how much money he spent. He just had to make sure that talisman never reached the hands of anyone who wasn’t him. Back and forth, he cast his bid with the other buyers, gritting his teeth harder every time the bid was raised. And with each bid, he became even more keenly, painfully aware that Glomgold didn’t seem to care one bit.

From the window, June narrowed her eyes as she noticed something. She whispered in Huey’s ear, who frowned concernedly and pulled out his phone.

From the door, May paused in her conversation with Dewey to point something out to him. No sooner than he had noticed that May typed and sent a text.

Louie’s phone buzzed silently in his pocket. He pulled it out and read the message that had came up, only to be interrupted by a notification for another, similar text. He raised an eyebrow, then sidled over to Bentina as nonchalantly as he could.

“May and June just noticed something.” He murmured to her. “One of the servants-”

“The red fox to the left of the case?” Bentina replied quietly. “The one that looks agitated?”

“…Yeah. They think she looks shifty.”

“Duly noted.” Bentina said curtly, her gaze already focused on the woman in question. The fox wore the same attire as the other servants, but her posture was betraying her. Bentina knew a nervous person when she saw one, and this woman was as nervous as they came.

“We are at seven-hundred thousand euros, do I hear seven-hundred-and-fifty?” The auctioneer said from the front of the room.

Scrooge looked around the auction room. He was the last person to bid, and nobody seemed to be willing to match him yet. He waited tensely for the next few moments, ready for any kind of interruption or setback.

“And, sold!” The auctioneer slammed his gavel hammer onto the pedestal. “To number twenty-four in the top hat. The next-”

And then the lights went out.

A chorus of gasps reverberated through the room, followed by confused conversation and argument, and then by the shattering of glass. Scrooge immediately moved forward, pushing through the crowd, trying to get to the talisman quickly. But even as he moved, he was fearing the worst.

“Everyone stay calm!” A voice shouted through the darkness. “We’re just having an issue with the lights, just stay where you are!”

Scrooge narrowed his eyes, trying to peer through the darkness as he got closer to the front of the room. He could just make out the glimmer of glass shards lying around the podium, the glass box that once held the dreadful artifact broken into pieces and its contents nowhere to be seen.

Scrooge drew in a sharp intake of breath. He spun around and marched back into the crowd, holding his cane with a furious grip. Glomgold stood right where he was, Bentina holding his arm in a vice grip to make sure he didn’t go anywhere. Louie was standing nearby, staying stock still and his eyes flicking back and forth.

“Where is it?” Scrooge growled urgently. “What did you do?”

“I don’t know what yer talkin’ about.” Glomgold replied with a devious grin. “I’ve just been standin’ here, haven’t I?” He turned to Bentina and said mockingly, “You might be lookin’ to let go of me once the lights come back on, eh?”

Bentina glared at him, a cold expression on her face.

Still holding on, she reached into her pocket and pulled out a phone, pressing the quick-dial button as she did. She held it up to her ear, never breaking eye contact as she waited for a response.

“Hello?” Came a whispered reply from the phone.

“Webby, the Talisman’s been stolen.” Bentina told her. “Search the grounds for a female servant, red-furred fox. She’s our likely suspect.”

“…On it.” Webby replied instantly before hanging up.

Glomgold’s smirk died.

Bentina’s smirk grew.

---------------------------------------------    

Webby quickly dialled Lena’s number, pushing away from the wall and starting to walk away. She kept an eye out as she walked, looking for the person her granny had described.

“Hey. Everything good down there?” Lena replied from the phone.

“Granny said that the Talisman was stolen.” Webby told her quickly and quietly. “We’re looking for a red fox, female.”

“Red fox…” Lena mused. “…Yeah, I see someone like that. She’s coming out the front door, heading for the main gate.”

“Got it. I’ll intercept and meet you there.” Webby told her. With that, she hung up and put the phone back in her pocket, slinking into the long shadows of the night.

---------------------------------------------    

On the streets outside the manor, far from the crowd that was now gasping in disbelief, there was a faded yellow car parked on the side of the road. Standing beside it were two figures – a short, diminutive mole in a dirty white coat over a dark blue sweater, and a grey fox in a cobalt hoodie and brown cargo pants.

The mole looked up from the tablet he was holding to see the lights vanish from one of the windows of the manor. “And… we’ve gone dark.” He said with a reedy voice, a smirk upon his snout. “They should have one minute before the lights come back.”

“Right…” The fox muttered, sweeping his hand through the fur on his head. “Remind me again why we’re stealing this thing during the auction? The point when the most people are looking at it?”

“Because our employer said so.” The mole replied dryly, returning his attention to the tablet.

“Fuck, this is stupid.” The fox groaned, leaning back in agitation.

Within the car itself was another figure, an oddity in every sense of the word. He was wearing a full-body suit of ballistic armour, including a helmet with a black, opaque visor. Though the suit once held dark colourations, it had been inexpertly painted white, and it was marred by dents, scratches and scorch marks. He sat at the driver’s seat, his hand idly tapping on the steering wheel as he listened to his companions.

Leaning out the window slightly, he said in a low, gravelly voice, “…We could’ve used a ramp.”

The mole frowned and looked up at him. “What?”

“Just sayin’. With the first plan.” The figure shrugged. “We could’ve used a ramp.”

“The first plan? Do you mean your drunken ramblings about driving a car through the window?”

“Look, I just feel like it was a solid plan, and it was unfairly snuffed and attacked. And our boss was all for it, too, it was just that you guys had a ‘problem’ with murdering innocent bystanders.”

“Yeah, who could possibly have a problem with that?” The fox said sarcastically.

“I dunno, fuckin’ cowards, maybe.”

“Go to hell, Reshad.” The fox growled irritably, prompting a dark chuckle from the figure in the car.

“You’re anxious.” The mole remarked wryly, his eyes briefly flicking up to the fox. “I take it that you’re worried about Miah?”

“Yeah, of course I’m worried about her! She’s my sister!” The fox snapped at him. “We sent her in alone in there, you’re-!”

“Sister?” Reshad peaked out of the car to stare at him from behind his visor. “Wait, I genuinely thought the two of you were banging, like, this whole time.” He cocked his head. “You two aren’t banging?”

His companions stared at him in complete silence for about four or five seconds.

“…No.” The fox said, his tone somewhere between disgust and disbelief.

“…Huh.” Reshad shrugged and ducked back into the car. “Guess I misinterpreted that whole relationship.”

“How the fuck do you…?”

“Look, Miah isn’t a child.” The mole told him flatly. “She’s just as capable as the rest of us. More to the point, the worst that happens if she gets caught is that she gets arrested.”

“And that’s good?”

“It’s better than what usually happens in our line of work.” The mole said coldly. “Now both of you be quiet. You’re spoiling my focus.”

“Oh, yeah.” The fox scoffed, leaning against the car. “Starin’ at that tablet must be real hard work.”

He turned his gaze toward the gates of the manor, shoving his hands in his pockets and holding the pistol that he had hidden inside. After a few moments, he saw a distant figure emerging from the manor and quickly making their way towards them.

“She’s out.” The fox sighed relievedly.

“See?” The mole crowed arrogantly. “What did I tell-?”

Before he could finish his sentence, another figure suddenly leapt out from the shadows, kicking Miah’s legs out from under her and knocking her to the ground.

“…Oh, shit.” The fox hissed, pulling the gun out of his hoodie.

He started to run towards the scene, only to be pulled back by his mole companion, who said urgently, “No! What are you doing?”

“Rescuing her, what does it look like?” The fox snapped at him.

“That manor is going to be swarming with security in the next two minutes!” The mole argued. “If you go in and start a gunfight-!”

“Start a gunfight?” Reshad gasped in delight. “Can do!”

“What? No, that wasn’t-!”

The car’s headlights blazed to life as the engine awoke with a roar.

---------------------------------------------    

The moment the woman was on the ground, Webby leapt onto her and took hold of her arm, holding it behind her back and restraining her.

“What-?” The fox turned her head to look at her, wild alarm written across her face. “Who the hell are you?”

“I’m Webby!” Webby replied cheerfully.

“…Okay?”

Lena slowly floated down in front of the two of them, looking down on the fox with a smirk. “And I’m Lena. And you just tried to steal something that we want.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” The fox snapped angrily, trying to wriggle out of Webby’s grasp to no avail. “Gh- How are you so freakishly strong?”

Webby quickly rummaged around in the woman’s suit pockets, ignoring her captive’s protests, and grinned victoriously as her hands clasped around a large, circular metal object. She pulled it from the woman’s suit and held the Talisman aloft with a cry of, “Found it!”

Lena smirked. “Nice one, Pink.”

“…Okay, listen.” The thief said quickly, a nervous smile on her face. “You really want to let me go.”

“I don’t think we do.” Lena told her.

“Seriously, you have no idea who I’m working for, kid. It’s seriously in your best interests to-”

“What? You call yourself a master thief?”

They turned to look in the direction that the voice had come from. There, standing in the courtyard statue, was their family, gathered around each other and staring at the scene before them. At the front of the pack, being held tightly by Mrs Beakley, was an outraged Flintheart Glomgold.

“Huh. That was quick.” Huey remarked.

“Glomgold?” Webby gasped in surprise. “You’re behind this?”

Then she looked down at her prisoner and asked judgingly, “You’re working for Glomgold?”

“…We needed the money.” The thief muttered, not meeting her eyes.

“We?” Scrooge parroted, quickly striding forward. “Who else is-?”

His eyes widened. Behind her, Webby could hear the sound of an engine, mixed with a deranged scream of murderous glee. She spun around, Lena joining her, to see a faded yellow car rushing through the gates towards them.

She saw Lena put both of her hands in front of her, summoning a shimmering blue sphere of force around herself. Behind her, Webby felt Scrooge tackle her from behind and pull her to the side of the path onto the grass. Behind her, she could hear the panicked shouts of the rest of her family as they all dove for safety.

In front of her, she watched as the car collided with the magical bubble Lena had conjured, sending her flying back into the statue behind her. The sphere shattered on impact, sending Lena crumpling to the ground, motionless. The car screeched to a stop in the middle of the courtyard, in between where Lena and the family was, and where Webby and Scrooge lay, watching the scene with horror.

Webby scrambled back to her feet, her heart pounding in her ears, only to skid to a stop as the car door was thrown open by the armoured figure inside. For a moment, she froze in terror as she saw him emerge with an enormous machine gun in both hands.

She dove back down to the ground, covering her ears tightly as the air became dominated by the deafening cacophony of gunfire. She shut her eyes tightly as fear overtook her, the armoured man’s madcap laughter making the experience even more terrifying than it already was.

Then her eyes snapped open as she felt someone yank the Talisman out of her hand.

She looked up as the fox thief, who had somehow managed to avoid the car, the Talisman in her hand. Instinctually, she started to get up, but then ducked back down as the machine gun came sweeping back over in her direction.

“You see?” The armoured man roared over the onslaught of lead. “The car idea works!”

“You could have killed me, you psychopath!” The fox shrieked furiously at him. “What are you even firing at?”

“I don’t know!” The man cackled gleefully.

Webby’s gaze swept over the courtyard, trying to see the rest of her family. She saw them hugging the ground like she had been, May and June held down by Bentina. She saw commotion coming from the manor itself, the security guards emerging from the house. She saw Glomgold, freed from Beakley’s grip in the confusion, scrambling towards the car with a desperate glint to his eye.

Her gaze settled on Lena, still slumped motionless against the plinth of the statue.

“Get us out of here!” Glomgold roared to the armoured man. The mercenary responded by backing up closer to the car, still firing his gun in all directions. It was only when the weapon released a merciful click that the man threw the gun back into the car and dived in. He didn’t even close the door before he slammed his foot on the pedal, the wheels spinning for a moment before the vehicle screeched back out the way it came.

Even as the car was passing, Webby was getting back onto her feet and running toward her unmoving friend. “Lena? Lena!” She cried as she got close, fearing the worst.

Lena’s magical form had dissipated, reverting back to her casual hoodie and light blue singlet. It seemed that the bubble had protected Lena from the worst of the damage, for the only visible sign of injury was a trickle of dark, shadowy ichor at the corner of her beak. Her eyelids were closed, but already flickering open, filling Webby with momentary relief.

“Whu…” Lena murmured as Webby knelt down beside her. “…What… the fuck just happened?”

“Easy, easy.” Webby whispered as Lena tried to stand up.

Beakley was by her side in an instant, kneeling down and scanning Lena for injuries. “Does anything hurt?” She asked, an urgent tone to her voice.

Lena took a deep breath, then gasped in pain. She grasped her chest, wincing as she did so. Webby felt her throat tighten.

“Broken ribs…” Beakley murmured, a conflicted look in her eyes.

“You can heal yourself, right?” Webby asked fearfully. “With magic?”

“Slowly, yeah…” Lena grunted. She put her hand on the injury, a blue glow emanating from her palm as she cast her spell. “It’ll take, like, an hour.”

Webby saw Scrooge approaching behind her, the rest of her family stepping out from behind the statue. She saw her grandmother share a look with her father, and she knew exactly what they were thinking. They couldn’t afford to waste an hour. They couldn’t even afford to waste a minute.

“…We have to go.” Beakley told the two of them. “Webby, you…”

“I’ll stay with her. You guys go ahead.” Webby finished for her, grasping Lena’s hand in hers. She turned to Scrooge with a fearful look. “Don’t let him get to it before you guys.”

Scrooge nodded, turning to the rest of the kids and gesturing for them to follow him. Beakley stood up to follow, giving Webby a reassuring kiss on the forehead before she did so. As the family left, the boys already debating with themselves as to what was going on, Webby saw May and June giving her glances of uncertainty, to which she nodded in what she hoped was a supportive way.

Then, she was alone with Lena in the courtyard, Carbonneau’s private security guards swarming the area with pistols out, trying to get a handle on the situation. Webby didn’t care. She just sat next to Lena, keeping her company as the healing spell did its work.

After a moment, she saw a duck in a tan jacket and gold tie dart out of the house, running into the scene. Victor Carbonneau, Webby recognised him.

He slowed down to look down at her, sitting beside a pained Lena, then glanced around the courtyard, studying the tire tracks on the grass and the bullet shells littering the pathway.

“Erm…” He murmured, turning back to Webby. “…Monsieur Glomgold?” He guessed.

“Yeah…” Webby replied, keeping her gaze trained on Lena. “My dad’s gone after him.”

“Who is…?”

“Scrooge.”

“…Oh.”

He looked out toward the front gate, gripping his hands behind his back anxiously.

He turned back to Webby and asked, “Your… father left his bank details, yes?”

#ducktales #ducktales 2017 #dt17 #huey #huey duck #dt17 huey #dewey #dewey duck #dt17 dewey #louie #louie duck #dt17 louie #webby #webby vanderquack #dt17 webby #may duck #dt17 may #june duck #dt17 june #lena sabrewing #scrooge mcduck #dt17 scrooge #mrs beakley #flintheart glomgold #aftermath #ducktales aftermath #fanfiction #fanfic

[william-scott77]

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[mmmthornton]

okay i pulled the trigger on a cute pumpkin spice latte bong from Canna Style because it was on sale lol but i mean look at this!

[kiki-de-la-petite-flaque]

La realidad exige que lo digamos bien claro: la vida sigue su curso. Sucede así en Cannas y en Borodinó, en los llanos de Kosovo y en Guernica. Hay una gasolinera en una pequeña plaza de Jericó, hay bancos recién pintados cerca de Bila Hora. Las cartas van y vienen entre Pearl Harbor y Hastings, pasa un camión de muebles bajo la mirada del león de Queronea y solo un frente atmosférico amenaza los florecientes jardines cercanos a Verdún. Hay tanto de Todo que lo que hay de Nada queda muy bien cubierto. De los yates de Accio llega la música y en la cubierta, al sol, bailan las parejas. Pasan siempre tantas cosas Que seguro tienen que pasar en todas partes. Donde hay piedra sobre piedra hay un carro de helados cercado por los niños. Donde estaba Hiroshima de nuevo está Hiroshima y se siguen produciendo objetos de uso cotidiano. No le faltan encantos a este hermoso mundo ni tampoco amaneceres para los que merece la pena despertar. En los campos de Macejowice La hierba es verde, y en la hierba, como pasa en la hierba, la escarcha, transparente. Quizá no haya un lugar que no haya sido un campo de batalla, los aún recordados, los hoy ya olvidados, bosques de cedros y bosques de abedules, nieves y arenas, pantanos irisados y barrancos de negro fracaso donde en caso de urgencia satisfacemos ahora nuestras necesidades. Qué moraleja sale de todo esto: parece que ninguna. Lo que de verdad sale es la sangre que seca rápida y siempre algunos ríos, algunas nubes. En esos desfiladeros trágicos el viento se lleva los sombreros, y es inevitable: la imagen nos da risa.

— Wisława Szymborska, Tr. Abel Murcia, Fin y principio, 1993

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[olitaly]

#lozioni #olioextraverginedioliva #pelle #scrub

[pancrippi]

https://cookpad.com/it/ricette/12229637-focaccine-morbide-con-esubero-di-licoli?ref=profile

Versare il licoli in una padellina antiaderente calda e leggermente oliata.



2

Condire la parte superiore a piacere: in questo caso ho messo cipolla affettata sottilmente, erba cipollina, semi di sesamo, sale e pepe. Ma si può fare anche con pomodori secchi, pomodorini, olive, origano, basilico... Se dovessi pensare a un topping dolce direi della frutta secca o disidratata e zucchero di canna (o sciroppo d’acero alla fine).



3

Cuocere anche la parte condita per altri due minuti in modo che anche il topping scelto si cuocia o caramellizzi.