#Rockefeller forest

[thomaswaynewolf]

[myxomycota]

Ceratiomyxa fruticulosa

by Alan Rockefeller

[puwumats]

be careful not to aggravate your angina old man

[mutant-distraction]

Kevin LoMiglio

Rockefeller Redwood Forest.

[donaruz]

COME E PERCHÉ È VIETATA LA CANAPA?

👉1. Un ettaro di canapa produce tanto ossigeno quanto 25 ettari di foresta.

👉2. Ripeto, un ettaro di canapa può produrre tanta carta quanto 4 ettari di bosco.

👉3. Mentre la canapa può essere trasformata in carta 8 volte, il legno può essere trasformato in carta 3 volte.

👉4. La canapa cresce in 4 mesi, l'albero in 20-50 anni.

👉5. Il fiore di canapa è una vera trappola per radiazioni.

👉6. La canapa può essere coltivata ovunque nel mondo e richiede pochissima acqua. Inoltre, poiché è in grado di difendersi dagli insetti, non necessita di pesticidi.

👉7. Se i tessuti di canapa si diffondessero, l'industria dei pesticidi potrebbe scomparire completamente.

👉8. I primi contadini usavano la canapa; anche la parola "KANVAS" è il nome dei prodotti di canapa.

La canapa è anche una pianta ideale per realizzare corde, cordoni, borse, scarpe, cappelli.

👉9. Ridurre gli effetti della chemioterapia e delle radiazioni nel trattamento della cannabis, dell'AIDS e del cancro; Viene utilizzato in almeno 250 malattie come reumatismi, cuore, epilessia, asma, stomaco, insonnia, psicologia e malattie della colonna vertebrale.

👉10. Il valore proteico dei semi di canapa è molto alto e i due acidi grassi in esso contenuti non si trovano da nessun'altra parte in natura.

👉11. La canapa è ancora più economica da produrre rispetto alla soia.

👉12. Gli animali alimentati con cannabis non hanno bisogno di sostituzioni ormonali.

👉13. Tutti i prodotti in plastica possono essere fatti di canapa e la plastica di canapa è molto facile da restituire alla natura.

👉14. Se la carrozzeria di un'auto è fatta di canapa, sarà 10 volte più resistente dell'acciaio.

👉15. Può essere utilizzato anche per isolare gli edifici; durevole, economico e flessibile.

👉16. Saponi e cosmetici a base di canapa non contaminano l'acqua; quindi è completamente ecologico.

La produzione era obbligatoria nell'America del XVIII secolo e gli agricoltori che non producevano furono imprigionati. Ora, però, la situazione è ribaltata. DA DOVE?

👎-W. Р. Nel 1900, Hearst possedeva giornali, riviste e media in America. Avevano foreste e producevano carta. Se la carta fosse stata fatta di canapa, avrebbe potuto perdere milioni.

👎- Rockefeller era l'uomo più ricco del mondo. Aveva una compagnia petrolifera. I biocarburanti, l'olio di canapa, ovviamente, erano il suo più grande nemico.

👎-Mellon era uno dei principali azionisti della Dupont Company e aveva un brevetto per la produzione di materie plastiche da prodotti petroliferi. E l'industria della cannabis ha minacciato il suo mercato.

👎- Successivamente, il presidente Mellon Hoover divenne Segretario del Tesoro. I grandi nomi di cui abbiamo parlato hanno deciso nei loro incontri che la canapa era il nemico.

Ed è stato eliminato.

Le foreste vengono abbattute per la produzione di carta.

Il numero di avvelenamenti da pesticidi e tumori è in aumento.

Poi abbiamo riempito il nostro mondo di rifiuti di plastica, rifiuti nocivi...

.

UN SALUTO A TUTTI

Marco Corti

wa 3286098633

[quaranmine]

on loss, loneliness, and the woods -

A web-weave for my fanfiction The Incandescence of a Dying Light.

What To Do When Lost in the Woods; US Forest Service Flyer, 1946 // don't go where i can't follow by @quaranmine // tales from earthsea: “dragonfly” by ursula le guin // both art pieces by Matt Rockefeller // The Dharma Bums by Jack Kerouac // That guy might be staring at you by @julia-famula with text from "The Answer is Not a Hut in the Woods" by exurb2a // Firewatch Aspen screenshot from @/ripandtearyourgutz // Firewatch burned forest screenshot from @/simlicious // "Another Grieving Forest" by Alfred Kreymborg // Oil Pastel 2012 by Andrea Starkey with lyrics from Long Lost by Lord Huron // "Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening" by Robert Frost // Bosgezicht by Barend Cornelis Koekkoek, 1848; divider created by @/cottage-writings

[jacksoldsideblog]

On the loss of the worker class and the lack of hypocrisy in Project Mayhem

"What," he says, "what will you wish you'd done before you died?"

...

My job, I say. I wish I'd quit my job.

...

The mechanic starts talking, and it's pure Tyler Durden. 

"I see the strongest and the smartest men who have ever lived," he says, his face outlined against the stars in the driver's window, "and these men are pumping gas and waiting tables." 

The drop of his forehead, his brow, the slope of his nose, his eyelashes and the curve of his eyes, the plastic profile of his mouth, talking, these are all outlined in black against the stars. 

"If we could put these men in training camps and finish raising them. 

"All a gun does is focus an explosion in one direction. 

"You have a class of young strong men and women, and they want to give their lives to something. Advertising has these people chasing cars and clothes they don't need. Generations have been working in jobs they hate, just so they can buy what they don't really need. 

"We don't have a great war in our generation, or a great depression, but we do, we have a great war of the spirit. We have a great revolution against the culture. The great depression is our lives. We have a spiritual depression. 

"We have to show these men and women freedom by enslaving them, and show them courage by frightening them. 

"Napoleon bragged that he could train men to sacrifice their lives for a scrap of ribbon. 

"Imagine, when we call a strike and everyone refuses to work until we redistribute the wealth of the world. 

"Imagine hunting elk through the damp canyon forests around the ruins of Rockefeller Center.

"What you said about your job," the mechanic says, "did you really mean it?"

.

Chapters 18-19, Fight Club.

Well known, probably, for the facetious nature of stating there’s no war in the generation in the 90s as having no war when the Gulf war ‘ended’ in ‘91, and in ‘03 we’d be back in Iraq. Also known well for its inclusion in the movie. 

But like, what’s actually being said there, when you get past that?

You have: The working class of America was emaciated as jobs flew overseas and were rerouted to prison ‘labor’, rapidly deindustrializing the country and leaving those left behind to be shoved into bullshit jobs to create a consumer managerial class, a fangless servile underclass without real power to affect the day to day of society, and a very, very small remaining working class. People who once would have been integral to the function of society are now further alienated and reduced to consumers in a deindustrialized feedlot. All that’s left is the hopelessness, which everyone can see is a cataclysmic disease. A problem that has to be solved. You have such a severe loss of power, such strong alienation that fight club develops as a way to grasp even a sense of control and purpose.

You have: Men especially have been promised war and hard times as the catalyst for their own purpose, but now this generation has seen war, has seen hard times, and none of those promises are stacking up. The poisoning and bombing of civilians in Korea, Vietnam, Iraq, doesn’t quite match with the image of righteously dying to end nazism. There is no sudden government program buying up the labor of the beleaguered man down on his luck, to create massive publics works projects and revitalize the surrounding world and economy, a la the New Deal. The propagandized images of the past have been tarnished. There is an acute sense of lack of purpose, lack of value. There is an acute sense of something needing to shift, something massive.

You have: a manufactured rejection of the working class, a debridement of labor, a world in which salary has no relation to the importance or effort of the work you do; there is no value.

He says, imagine; the American people revitalized to the power and importance of before. Strong and undistracted, no longer pacified by petty admittance to jobs with no purpose, no longer accepting of their devaluation, no longer allowing their importance in the world the predicted value of their ad-influenceable leanings. 

Imagine; you’re afraid of history, you cannot imagine crafting a better world, anyone with a concrete plan has been gunned down and removed from power and all you’re left with is limpdicked fools who sit around waiting for a miracle to happen. Imagine you can only see destroying this one and hoping what rises from the ashes will be better as the answer. 

He's an accelerationist; make everything worse, so bad, hit bottom so all you can do is rise. 

So: accelerate. Take the average wage slave, already stripped of true individuality in favor of corporate signage, already stripped of power, and push them farther. Imagine, you think, only will everyone be strong if they finally accept that they are weak. Become the opposite of free. Join a cult. Become nothing and no one. Manifest the death cult already intrinsic in society. Become the nexus of all of society’s ills. Push people into such inhumanity that they will inevitably revolt against you and learn the true value of themselves in the world. 

And try to collapse society. Accelerate the fall of finance. Hasten the destruction of society so it can blossom again.

So yeah, it’s like… I think Project Mayhem’s hypocrisies are on purpose, really. Self improvement is masturbation if you’re never going to actually make a difference. Self destruction is the only thing that will allow you to reach even a moment of perfection. Destroy what you were, let go, fucking take action for once, unfreeze, DO something. Project Mayhem is an advanced version of fight club; it promises actualization through destruction. It isn’t like, some happenstance thing that results in Tyler making the space monkeys what they are. 

I think it’s moreso simply the manifestation of the accelerationist aspect of Tyler’s anarchist, nihilist ideals. And like those two, it’s also a criticism. The monkeys do not drag themselves free. They still await orders. It is a failed, ill planned philosophy of a rabid dog.

[non-rise-tmnt-au-competition]

tmnt omniverse summary: tmnt omniverse is a tmnt × ben 10 crossover AU where ben is accidentally transported into an alternate reality where the turtles live. his friends kevin and gwen find a way to go after him to find him. dr. animo, who works for the shredder, wants to get his hands on the omnitrex to use the alien DNA inside to create a version of the mutagen that mutates people into alien hybrids. the turtles and the alien force must stop the shredder's evil plans to take over earth.

mystic forest summary: an original iteration where the turtles were raised out in the middle of the rockefeller contamination zone, a large chunk of mutagen-infected woods by new york city. soon after meeting their first human friend, they discover a portal to another world lies in their backyard.

tmnt omniverse - @glitter-alienzzz

mystic forest - @ibbywondrous and @amevello-blue

[feddy-34]

a national park for every state (5/5)*

badlands national park, south dakota

cherokee national forest, tennessee

big bend national park, texas

zion national park, utah

marsh-billings-rockefeller national historical park, vermont

shenandoah national park, virginia

olympic national park, washington

new river gorge national park and preserve, west virginia

apostle islands national lakeshore, wisconsin

grand teton national park, wyoming

*DISCLAIMER: some states do not have national parks. instead they have national monuments, national seashores, national historical parks, etc.

[pickleweed2]

Scutellinia sp, the Eyelash Cup, of the family Pyronemataceae. These were found growing on the bark of a recently fallen Douglas Fir.

the first image is a 19 image stack, the last 3 are 100 image stacks

Rockefeller Forest, Humboldt Redwoods State Park

[genderfluid-and-confuzled]

This is an ode to my best friends and every good thing that must come to an end.

Tomorrow, we won't see each other in study hall So, here's a few memories for us to recall And no, I won't be mentioning the epic highs and lows of high school football

I grew up next door to Betty Cooper Who everyone thinks is super duper Just don't mutter the word 'tangerine' Cause it sets off her serial-killer gene

Veronica Lodge, always in pearls, There isn't a business you haven't given a whirl Funny to think you were never prom queen Then again, you were, once upon a time, a human dialysis machine

Cheryl Blossom, you're as rich as a Rockefeller You also kept your beloved Jason down in a cellar

But I'm glad to see you and the serpent queen back together Only thing, Toni, 'Southside' is one word. So, whoever designed your jacket is a terrible speller

Jughead Jones needs no intro He made his teacher jump out a window Thinks himself a private eye Chained himself to Southside High

Kevin's voice is so beautiful he belongs in a chorus But he spends most of his time cruising Fox Forest

Fangs, look at you now You're a rockstar greaser A long way from a cult member who stole organs to put in a freezer

Last but not least, Mantle the Magnificent Pound for pound you're my closest equivalent But there's that other Reggie so how do we know you're even legitimate? I'm gonna need to see some kind of birth certificate

These are just some of our wild endeavors But now we've come to the end of our time together It's truly one of my life's greatest pleasures To call you all my best friends Forever and ever

-A poem by America's greatest Poet ever, Archie andrews

[n1nthrule]

He stares at me from across the living room. On the TV there's the news broadcast of the night before: a sickly grin carved out with green paint, eyes blazing apartment blocks.

Chinese demon. 

Dragon of avarice.

Before we got over the sides of the building, I saw him shaking. He’d never been so close to the edge. He looked so small, like roadkill. 

Tyler slapped him in the back of the head and told him, he’s not allowed to be a wimp. Fucking girl. All that training, going to nothing. And then he pushed him over the ledge. 

The rest of us just watched.

The first rule of Project Mayhem is you do not ask questions.

There’s green paint sticking in all our fingernails. Blondie over there, the guy who was touched by Tyler himself, is picking his down to stumps. 

Last week, when we all gathered under the one light and Tyler started with his usual speech, Blondie came out of the circle of guys all with shaved heads and asked, what’s next?

What’s the plan?

What are we looking towards?

Tyler tagged him for a fight immediately.

The second rule of Project Mayhem is you do not ask questions.

I watched him go down from just three hits, his weak little roadkill face left all smashed up with blood. The guys around him gestured weakly, too scared to call an ambulance, too angry to call the cops. Some guy in the corner said he knew first aid, and covered Blondie’s whole head with bandages. His weak little angel face, all bruised over, with just a few small slits for his eyes and mouth. If you get close, you can hear his breathing, laced with dyspnea. 

The woman in the news report gestures at the burning apartment blocks, and says the council has already started searching for the culprits.

When we go to sleep, in our military surplus bunk beds tucked into the Paper Street basement, Blondie comes over to mine as softly as he can. He asks me, what’s next?

What are we looking towards?

Has Tyler said?

His big roadkill angel eyes look up at me through their bandaged slits.

To calm him down, to make him smile, I tell him what Tyler told me the day I joined.

“Picture yourself planting radishes and seed potatoes on the fifteenth green of a forgotten golf course.

“You’ll hunt elk through the damp canyon forests around the ruins of the Rockefeller Centre, and dig clams next to the skeleton of the Space Needle leaning at a forty-five degree angle.

“We’ll paint the skyscrapers with huge totem faces and goblin tikis, and every evening what’s left of mankind will retreat to empty zoos and lock itself in cages as protection against bears and big cats and wolves that pace and watch us from outside the cage bars at night.”

“And Tyler?” He asks. His voice trembles with the weight of it. “Where’s he?”

I tell him Tyler’s gone. Lost in the fight for better things. He dies assassinating the President or blowing up the grave of the Queen of England and we give him a big Viking funeral. We send his coffin out to sea and leave it to the piranhas.

Blondie sighs into my lap. His face is concentrated on the bunk above as if he’s counting the planks slowly.

“That’s a good dream.” he tells me. So I say I'm gonna make it real. All of it. For him. He stalks off back to his bunk with a faint smile hanging on his bloody lips.

[wisco-warrior]

Tom Kingsford

➤ Grand Teton National Park is an American national park in northwestern Wyoming. At approximately 310,000 acres (1,300 km2), the park includes the major peaks of the 40-mile-long (64 km) Teton Range as well as most of the northern sections of the valley known as Jackson Hole. Grand Teton National Park is only 10 miles (16 km) south of Yellowstone National Park, to which it is connected by the National Park Service–managed John D. Rockefeller Jr. Memorial Parkway. Along with surrounding national forests, these three protected areas constitute the almost 18-million-acre (73,000-square-kilometer) Greater Yellowstone Ecosystem, one of the world's largest intact mid-latitude temperate ecosystems.

[euphoric-melancholyy]

Silent Night (Nothing Feels Right) - An Irondad Fanfiction

A/N: I wrote this fanfiction in December of 2020 and I guess…never posted it here? Maybe I did but I can’t find it. But since I can’t find it, here it is! I wanted to play with the idea of Christmas being really hard for Peter while Tony loves it. Title from The Worst Christmas Ever by Sufjan Stevens. Rated T for the use of one curse word. What's Infinity War and Endgame? We don't know her here. Also note that I remembered Peter was Jewish after writing this. I apologize - maybe I’ll write a more accurate version someday.

Summary: "It’s just I, I hate Christmas, okay? Like the fact that people buy you presents is nice and everyone talks about getting together with family but I don’t have that. I did and all Christmas does is remind me that I don’t. My mom and dad, they loved Christmas, lived for it. It was a two month holiday and it was so magical and perfect and then they died right before Christmas and now Christmas just hurts, it really, really hurts."

or

A look at grief during the holiday seasons throughout the years as Peter and Tony grow closer.

Also on Ao3

Peter’s first five Christmases are the best, though time has made them fuzzy and grief romanticized their imprint on his mind. He sees it in flashes: at the Christmas market around Rockefeller, where Richard and Mary would take him every year to buy new decor that littered the tiny apartment the week following Thanksgiving. In a classic clear lit Christmas tree whose top bends at the ceiling, it’s height too high for the space it’s confined, in science toys and loving looks, and “Merry Christmas, our little genius. You’re gonna change the world someday,” his mom would say. The tables were an explosion of glittered tinsel and forest garland, accenting the edges and corners. while Harry Connick Jr crooned “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas.” In the smell of gingerbread wafting from the oven after a hard day at school, after some kid named Rodrigo called him a four-eyed-freak and pushed him down, scraping his knee. In how he would curl up on the couch with his parents every evening the month of December, an old Christmas movie playing on the TV. Ben and May would join them every Christmas morning, and the five of them would spend the day drinking eggnog and dancing, May snatching the crimson ribbon from the tree and waving it around as her hips swayed. She’d reach out her hand to Peter until they were all dancing and singing, quite horribly, from the top of their lungs. He knows there were things he didn’t see, or his mind chose not to remember that might crush his idyllic five-year-old heart. But it was perfect, in his mind’s recollection. It was perfect.

Until it wasn’t.

Until a plane crashed in the Pacific and his world imploded and crashed with it. He went home with his Uncle Ben, and never returned to the apartment twelve blocks over in Queens. Dancing on Christmas felt wrong; everything, including Christmas itself felt wrong - a stabbing, overwhelming void he drowned in. (At least Rodrigo was nice to him now.) His sixth Christmas Eve, he cried until sleep claimed the remainder of his energy and Ben and May cried with him. The day was met with little fanfare, and he didn’t care about the presents under the too small tree, with colored lights instead of clear. Maybe if today didn’t happen, if he just laid in the Captain America comforter until it was dark outside again, it wouldn’t be real. He could forget the wet grass by the graveside where his parents' names were engraved into stone less than a month ago. The void hurt, his chest constricting with every breath.

“Peter, honey, it’s Christmas,” May said, her eyes just as swollen and red as his own.

“No, it’s not!” he protested, turning his face away from her and burying it further into the pillow. “It’s not Christmas without mom and dad. They...they loved Christmas. It can’t be Christmas without them.”

“You know..” May starts, choking on the words and letting it trail off.

“You’re right, Pete.” Ben said “It’s not Christmas without them. Come on, bud. Grab your coat. We’re going on a field trip.”

And that’s how it started, how they ended up stomping through the dark, gross, mush of snow, presents in hand, to spend Christmas morning with Richard and Mary once more. He didn’t know if he believed in heaven, but he hoped it was real, because it was very cold and sad there, Peter thought. But it’s the only way he knew to be with them.

It became tradition after that, and even on years that Peter didn’t want to visit, they’d brave the weather and sit around the graveside, exchanging presents and stories and highs and lows of the year. A morbid, oddly comforting reminder of everything he lost and everything he still had.

The year that Ben died, gunned down in a bodega over some petty cash, May didn’t sleep Christmas Eve. Peter stayed with her, curled up on the couch with a blanket and Ben’s favorite Christmas movies playing in the background. The grief eclipsed any remaining joy the “happiest season of all” supposedly carried. When morning came, it was Peter who coaxed May from her despair with hot chocolate and a sad smile.

“Come on May,” he whispered. “It’s not Christmas without the family.”

Ben was buried next to his parents. Neither Peter nor May did much more than cry and say “Merry Christmas” that year.

-/-/-

2016

Tony Stark loved Christmas, in a sort of nauseating, over-the-top way that Tony Stark does everything. He hired four dozen decorators to deck his house, the compound, and the rebought tower in different themes. It reminded Peter of his parents, in the way that you couldn’t turn a corner without seeing a tree, or garland, or some sort of Christmas memorabilia. And though the season brought a sharp sting with it, Tony’s joy and love for it was contagious. Peter couldn’t help but smile when he saw a Christmas hat resting on top of an old Iron Man suit, or an entire wall covered in high-tech Christmas lights. It reminded him of Christmas as a child, especially since he had started getting closer to Tony. Which was some whole other childhood dream, weird thing he was still figuring out how to navigate, come to life. After May had found out about Spider-Man, she called Happy, who called Mr. Stark and spent an hour ripping him a new one. Peter thought he would die of embarrassment right then and there. But to his surprise, it ended with Tony taking a more active role not just in the superhero antics, but Peter as well. Tony had even gone as far to invite Peter and May to his annual Christmas party a few months later.

Even May’s lingering fury was not enough to turn down the opportunity. The party is extravagance at its finest, overwhelming in its lavish embellishment. May abandons him three glasses of champagne in, leaving Peter to wander around looking for any familiarity with a growing sense of feeling out of place. He fidgets with his hands, adjusting the purposefully ugly Christmas tie May had bought him for the occasion, declining offers of the fancy cocktails, when he spots Happy. He basically sprints over to him.

“No, nope I did not sign up to chaperone you tonight kid. I’m security.”

“I’m 15,” Peter whines. “ I don't need a chaperone. Besides, May is here.”

“May, your single aunt May?” Happy inquires with a raise of his brow.

“Ew. No, no no no no. Do not ruin this for me. Please stop.” He covers his ears, as if that could help him unhear where Happy’s thoughts are.

Happy just shrugs. “Wanna be my, what do you call it? My guy in the chair.”

“As long as it doesn’t involve my aunt, sure.” Just then, Peter hears a crash, cringing as an ice sculpture shatters to the ground about forty feet away, onto the fake snow covering the floor.

“Okay kid, you’re on watch. Use that peter tingle of yours and super senses to make sure no one steals shit. We better split up though, it’s better for security if I cover one end and you the other. I’ve got Frozone over there.”

“Yes Mr. Happy, sir. Tha- Thank you!”

With Happy gone, Peter feels the loneliness return. It’s interrupted with the touch of a hand on his shoulder. “Ah, Underoos! You made it.” Tony says. “I see your aunt is hitting it off with Pepper.” They turn to the right and Tony waves. May’s head is thrown back in laughter and Pepper is pointing to her fiance. “Actually, wait this might have been a terrible idea.”

Peter laughs at that, and for the first time that night, he feels at ease. Mr. Stark’s hand on his shoulder is an anchor tethering him in this unfamiliar environment. As if he could sense it, Mr. Stark lifts up his completely unnecessary sunglasses, leveling him with a smirk. “You okay? I know these can be pretty overwhelming. I ordered some eggnog and apple juice just for you, you know since you can’t enjoy the adult beverages. I mean, I was at your age but this is why you are better than me.”

“I’m okay, Mr. Stark. Thank you for inviting me. And everything.”

“I couldn’t not invite my favorite young adult. Aren’t you youngins supposed to be the epitome of Christmas spirit and all that jazz?”

“I mean, look at my tie. It’s got Christmas spirit.”

Tony opens his mouth to respond, but closes it. “You know what, here.” He reaches into his inner coat pocket, pulling out a small, red wrapped package. “You seem like you could use some Christmas cheer.” Tony hands it to him, turns on his heel and calls out “Merry Christmas, Pete” as he walks away.

The following weekend, Peter sits on a ratty quilt in a deserted graveyard on Christmas morning. May is standing back, giving him some semblance of privacy. “Hey mom, dad, Ben. I...This year has been surreal. I saved New York. And Mr. Stark got me a Christmas present. It’s a watch that turns into web shooters and it is possibly the coolest thing ever and I think we’re like, friends? It’s nice, really weird, but…” Peter sighs, pulling at the grass around the stones. “I miss you all. And Mr. Stark really loves Christmas and sometimes it’s hard, because I don’t. But he makes me want to love it too. And this little girl told me that Spider-Man is better than Santa Clause, which is insane, right? I wish you could see me. May said you’d be proud of me, but. I just really wish you all were here.”

-/-/-

2017

When Thanksgiving rolls around the next year and starts off the holiday season, it brings the ache of grief with it. He doesn’t have the time to dwell in it like he has in years past, too preoccupied with AP tests, the SATs, Spider-Manning, and bi-weekly training and lab days with Mr. Stark. So when the billionaire invites him to his personal, small family, Christmas, he’s really confused and surprised when the main emotion that surfaces is one of overwhelming sadness for the family he’s lost. Ned would probably have a conniption if the roles were reversed, passing out on site of elation. And it’s not that he isn’t excited, it’s just…

A guilt, he’ll realize later. But naming it doesn’t make it any easier. He knows he isn’t replacing them, he knows that, but it feels almost paternal, how Mr. Stark looks after him, knows his schedule, and worries over his safety to an overbearing extent. And now he’s somehow a part of his family Christmas.

“Are you sure you want me to come to Christmas dinner, Mr. Stark? I don’t want to intrude on your family-”

“I wouldn’t invite you if I didn’t want you there, Peter.” He says. The use of his actual first name stops him in his tracks, only reserved for moments of seriousness. It’s enough to quell the insecurities for now. He’s not going to ruin anything about his mentor’s favorite holiday.

“Okay.”

It’s only Tony, Pepper, Rhodey, Happy May and Peter Christmas Evening, though the amount of food could feed triple that amount. Peter’s excited, but drained from the earlier holiday festivities, so he takes the time to admire the decor around the house. It’s elegant, obviously Pepper’s doing, and he tries to force some of the magic of the season into his bones. There’s a tree in the corner whose tip caresses the ceiling, and it unlocks a memory that Peter had forgotten:

Peter sits atop his fathers shoulders at age four, reaching as high as he can to put the star at the top of the tree. When he leans forward, his glasses slide to the tip of his nose. “Daddy, my glasses!” he calls, but it’s too late and they fall to the floor. In the commotion, he drops the star too, and it breaks. Peter begins to cry.

Richard bends down to retrieve the fallen items, and swings Peter back around to his front. “It’s okay, your glasses are fine.” He holds them out to him. “See?”

“But,” his lip quivers. “But I broke the star. I’m so sorry daddy.”

He shushes him gently, pulling him in a hug. “The star doesn’t matter. What matters is you’re okay. You didn’t fall. It’s okay. I’m gonna put you on the couch while I clean up this glass,” Richard kisses his head. “I think it looks better without it, anyway. It’s too tall for a topper.”

“You’re not mad?” Peter asks, voice cracking.

“Mad? No, of course not. It was an accident.”

Rhodey’s laughter brings Peter back to the present and he forces a smile. Peter looks around and even Happy looks happy, animatedly gesturing as he retells an embarrassing story from Tony’s past. He tries to focus on the story, fingernails digging crescents into his palm, but it only draws blood and heightens the constriction on his heart. Peter excuses himself, racing off to the bathroom and locking the door.

He expects it to be May who finds him, but to his surprise it’s Tony who is knocking on the door a couple minutes later. “Pete? You okay in there?”

“I’m fine, I’m sorry I didn’t mean to worry you.” Peter replies, opening the door and refusing to meet his mentor’s eyes.

“Care to talk about it?”

“About what?”

“Come on, kid. I know you. You’ve been off. And not just today, this whole month. What’s going in that head of yours?”

He feels a single tear roll down his cheek and the words spew fast. “It’s just I, I hate Christmas, okay? Like the fact that people buy you presents is nice and everyone talks about getting together with family but I don’t have that. I did and all Christmas does is remind me that I don’t. My mom and dad, they loved Christmas, lived for it. It was a two month holiday and it was so magical and perfect and then they died right before Christmas and now Christmas just hurts, it really fucking hurts. And I know you love it and I don’t want to ruin it for you because no one should have something they love ruined, you know? I’m just, I’m just so tired. And it’s hard every year and I try to pretend that it’s not but. I just. I miss my family. I miss Ben and my parents and I really appreciate all that you’ve done for me and I don’t want to make this about me because you deserve to have a good Christmas. I’m sorry. I - ” He sighs deep, closing his eyes tight to keep the emotions at bay, and slides down the wall to sit on the floor. Tony joins him, sitting criss-cross-apple-sauce in front of him.

“I, I’m not great with this emotional stuff, and I think, well my therapist would say my way of coping is doing everything in excess. My parents died just before Christmas, and my dad was not the ideal father and my mom, I don’t know how she put up with him, loved him even. But I have three good memories of my parents together, and one of them was on Christmas.” Tony pauses a moment, lost in the recollection. “And I love Christmas because I’m just trying to get that feeling back. Sometimes I can. Most of the time I can’t. You don’t have to pretend to like Christmas for me, or for anyone. But you do have to pretend to like Pep’s cooking.”

“She’s a great cook!”

“Your comparison is your aunt who I’m pretty sure destroyed your taste buds with her date loaf.”

“At least I don’t eat gross rich people food that no one can pronounce.”

Tony gently elbows him. “Tell me about them, your parents.”

Peter smiles, and it feels genuine for the first time in two weeks. He doesn’t usually talk about them, and he wonders now if it’s because no one ever asks. As he begins to talk, he feels a weight lifted from his chest he hadn’t realized was there. The grief is still there, but it’s sting is subdued, and he feels himself actually appreciating the holiday for the moment. Tony’s a better listener than Peter would have expected and it isn’t long until he’s sharing his stories with everyone. May’s anecdotes add character and details he only remembered from the times she would tell him. It feels nice, sharing this part of himself with the people he now considers family.

-/-/-

2018

It’s stupid how it happens really. One second he’s singing to himself to the tune of Jingle Bells “Thwipping through the streets of New York every night. Wrapping bad guys up in my web so tight. Crawling up the walls, making villains fight. What fun to make the holidays free from crime tonight. Oh-” And the next his body slams full force into a crane and through a building. He will never live this down, as Karen reminds him now that he’s conscious and recovering in the Tower’s medbay. Mr. Stark, sympathetic at first, has now played the video for all of the Avengers. This is death by mortification, and if he doesn’t live until Christmas, his obituary will read “killed by quick wit in an attempt at holiday spirit gone wrong. His untimely demise is the fault of mentor and fellow Avenger, Iron Man, who thrives off Spider-Man’s constant embarrassment.”

The super drugs Dr. Cho has him on keeps him wired and restless. In the three days since he has broken his leg and fractured his ribs, he’s eaten copious amounts of food, mostly cookies because “it’s Christmas. Don’t deny me these joys”, played hours of video games, Facetimed Ned, binge watched the first season of Chuck, and begged Tony to let him work in the lab. He’s met with a no everytime, with Tony, May, and Dr. Cho saying he needs to rest instead of work.

“I’m tired of resting. I want to do things.”

“You should have thought about that before you didn’t pay attention to where you were swinging, Tarzan.” Tony replies.

Peter groans, overly dramatic. Christmas Eve is tomorrow and he can’t even walk. May’s staying with them, both her and Peter not wanting to be separated so close to Christmas. She’s been burying herself in books, and Peter knows it’s just a distraction from the grief that resurrects this time of year. He couldn’t be more grateful she’s here with him though, her presence a balm keeping him from tearing at the seams. And no matter how energetic he acts, the seasonal anxiety still thrums just beneath the surface, worsened by his injured state.

He needs to move. He needs to do things. He needs -

“Tony, can I fly your Iron Man suit? I don’t even need to walk and-”

“Absolutely not.”

Christmas Eve is quieter than normal. They play Christmas movies all day, different Avengers rotating in and out. It’s the first prolonged period of time he’s really got to spend with them since Tony and Steve made up a few months ago. Things are still tense, especially between the aforementioned heroes, but Tony seems more content and Peter was more than ecstatic to meet everyone. Natasha is the one that’s surprised him the most: she’s kinder than he would have thought, taking an immediate liking to her “fellow Spider”. It’s still surreal to see her lounging around in her pajamas, eating cereal, doing normal people things. She’s made it a game to throw random things at him to see if he’ll catch or dodge it. He usually ends up getting hit with two pillows a day when he stays at the Tower.

It’s late Christmas Eve night when he realizes he won’t be able to visit his family the following morning, and the anxiety he’s been fighting explodes to the surface. Friday alerts Tony to Peter’s change in vitals and he’s there in fifteen seconds.

"Breathe with me Pete. Come on, you’re okay. In and out, feel that?” Tony grabs Peter’s hand, pressing it into his chest. “Mimic me. You’re safe. Breathe. You’re doing great.”

Minutes pass before Peter’s breathing returns to normal and he leans into Tony’s shoulder. “Thank you,” he whispers.

“Anytime. . .Wanna talk about it?”

“I-” He sits up and opens his mouth to refuse, but something stops him. Maybe this is something he can fix. “I spend every Christmas morning since my parents passed at the cemetery with them and Ben and I - I can’t tomorrow.” he gestures to his casted leg. “I just, it’s the only way I know to...honor them. Be with them. Christmas was their favorite day, I just, I have to spend it with them.” There’s a pause, the weight of Peter’s words syncing in.

“Wow kid, that’s really fucking sad.” Tony responds, squeezing his shoulder gently in a sign of comfort. “But, what kind of billionaire, philanthropist, superhero and mentor would I be if I ruined your depressing Christmas tradition because of a broken leg?”

“Wait, you - I can go?”

“Yeah, get some sleep. We’ll go in the morning.”

They wheel Peter to the headstones the next morning. He thinks it’s a little dramatic, but he knows that his fractured ribs will be thankful. It’s surprisingly warm for a December 25th, and Peter’s just thankful to have May, Tony, and Pepper there - the new and old truly blending for the first time. Pepper had brought three sets of flowers, and the gesture warms Peter from the inside out.

He tells his parents and Ben about joining the Avengers, defeating the Green Goblin, and how he’s about graduate high school. Tony even speaks up, talking of the more embarrassing moments on missions and in training. May talks about wine nights with Pepper, and the new office job she started in September.

Peter doesn’t realize he’s crying at first, not until May is bent down in front of him, wiping a tear from his cheek.

“I’m sorry. I don’t - I don’t know why…”

“Shhh, it’s okay baby,” May says, misty eyed herself. She grabs the handle of the wheelchair and turns him around. “Let’s go get some tissues from the car.”

It gives Tony a moment to himself and he sighs, sitting on the ground between the stones.

“Hi, I...I haven’t even done this for my own parents, so it feels a little weird.” Tony sighs, putting his hands in his pockets. “I just wanted to meet you and say that… God, I don’t know what I’m doing. But Peter is such a good kid. His heart is so kind and big. He makes me want to be better. To be a better man, maybe a father someday. He’s a little reckless at times, I blink and he’s injuring himself or doing some teenage superhero bullshit, which also makes me second guess the whole father thing…” He trails off, clearing his throat. “But I wanted to thank you for raising him. For making him the man is. He told me a little bit about you all last year. I wish I could have met you. All of you. . . I’ve made too many mistakes to count, some even with Peter. But I will do everything in my power to protect him. And I just wanted you to know that.” He claps his hands, rubbing them together to break the tension he feels. “Okay, well. . . Rest easy Richard, Mary, and Ben.” He touches their gravestones in farewell, and walks back to the car.

[mutant-distraction]

Beautiful Places In The World

➤ Grand Teton National Park is an American national park in northwestern Wyoming. At approximately 310,000 acres (1,300 km2), the park includes the major peaks of the 40-mile-long (64 km) Teton Range as well as most of the northern sections of the valley known as Jackson Hole. Grand Teton National Park is only 10 miles (16 km) south of Yellowstone National Park, to which it is connected by the National Park Service–managed John D. Rockefeller Jr. Memorial Parkway. Along with surrounding national forests, these three protected areas constitute the almost 18-million-acre (73,000-square-kilometer) Greater Yellowstone Ecosystem, one of the world's largest intact mid-latitude temperate ecosystems.

📷@codymayer22

[veritanascoste]

🔴💣LE VERE RAGIONI PER LE QUALI VIETARONO LA CANAPA?

🔻Ecco spiegato in pochi punti fondamentali le vere ragioni per le quali la canapa fu fatta sparire.

🌿1 Un ettaro di canapa produce tanto ossigeno quanto 25 ettari di foresta.

🌿2 Un ettaro di canapa può produrre tanta carta quanto 4 ettari di bosco.

🌿3 Mentre la canapa può essere trasformata in carta 8 volte, il legno può essere trasformato in carta 3 volte.

🌿4 La canapa cresce in 4 mesi, un albero in 20-50 anni.

🌿5 Il fiore di canapa è una vera trappola per radiazioni.

🌿6 La canapa può essere coltivata ovunque nel mondo e richiede pochissima acqua.  Inoltre, poiché è in grado di difendersi dagli insetti, non necessita di pesticidi.

🌿7 Se i tessuti di canapa si diffondessero, l'industria dei pesticidi potrebbe scomparire completamente.

🌿8 I primi contadini  usavano la  canapa per tutto; La canapa è anche una pianta ideale per realizzare corde, cordoni, borse, scarpe, cappelli.

🌿9 Ridurre gli effetti della chemioterapia e delle radiazioni, la cannabis può essere usata nel trattamento di AIDS e cancro;  Viene utilizzata in almeno 250 patologie come reumatismi, cuore, epilessia, asma, stomaco, insonnia, psicologia e malattie della colonna vertebrale.

🌿10 Il valore proteico dei semi di canapa è molto alto e i due acidi grassi in esso contenuti non si trovano da nessun'altra parte in natura.

🌿11 La canapa è ancora più economica da produrre rispetto alla soia.

🌿12 Gli animali alimentati con cannabis non hanno bisogno di sostituzioni ormonali.

🌿13 Tutti i prodotti in plastica possono essere fatti di canapa e la plastica di canapa è molto facile da restituire alla natura.

🌿14 Se la carrozzeria di un'auto è fatta di canapa, sarà più resistente dell'acciaio.

🌿15 Può essere utilizzato anche per isolare gli edifici;  durevole, economico e flessibile.

🌿16 Saponi e cosmetici a base di canapa non contaminano l'acqua, quindi è completamente ecologica.

⚡La produzione era obbligatoria nell'America del XVIII secolo e gli agricoltori che non ne producevano venivano condannati al carcere.

🔸️Nel 1900 Hearst possedeva giornali, riviste e media in America.  Avevano foreste e producevano carta.  Se la carta fosse stata fatta di canapa, avrebbe perso milioni.

🔹️ Rockefeller era l'uomo più ricco del mondo. Aveva una compagnia petrolifera.  I biocarburanti e l'olio di canapa erano il suo più grande nemico.

🔺️Mellon era uno dei principali azionisti della Dupont Company e aveva un brevetto per la produzione di materie plastiche da prodotti petroliferi, l'industria della canpa avrebbe distrutto il suo mercato.

💥Successivamente, il presidente Mellon Hoover divenne Segretario del Tesoro.  I grandi nomi di cui abbiamo parlato hanno deciso nei loro incontri che la canapa era un nemico ed è stata eliminata.

Le foreste vengono abbattute per la produzione di carta.

Il l'esplosione di tumori ed avvelenamenti da pesticidi è sotto gli occhi di tutti.ed abbiamo riempito il mondo di rifiuti di plastica, microplastica e sostanze nocive.

A voi il verdetto!