Scientific Name: Berchemia scandens Common Name(s): Alabama supplejack, supplejack, rattan vine Family: Rhamnaceae (buckthorn) Life Cycle: Perennial Leaf Retention: Deciduous Habit: Vine USDA L48 Native Status: Native Location: Allen, Texas Season(s): Spring

It’s the red twisty vine.

this is a photo i took of a kohekohe-nīkau dominated coastal forest of Aotearoa.

see that tree in the foreground covered in vines? look at the bottom of the tree and youll see that its actually dead. i believe the vine is kareao aka supplejack. kareao is a strong vine that wraps around trees, sometimes killing them.

this particular tree has died after kareao has grown on it. the wood has rotted until the base of the trunk collapsed. the kareao continues to wrap around the trunk, holding it up.

Research

how much relationship do i want my world do i want with mine (using human made objects creates ideas in the viewers mind that this is a human apocolypse)

because my apocolypse is on earth i can start to relate my mutated dark nature forms to specific mutated plants and animals that exist on earth. eg some of the vine like things i have created can be mutated supplejack, this will help me visualise some of the mutated things i can make such as mutated kauri, pohutakawa, tui etc

having bones like femur ones, show the push pull effect between life and death

The first encounter between the first human settlers and kauri must have been a

remarkable experience. In their homeland of eastern Polynesia, there was nothing that

could have prepared the travellers for these immense cathedrals of timber.

In some northern traditions, kauri trees are thought to be the legs of Täne Mahuta

holding apart the sky and the earth and allowing light into the world. In another

traditional whakapapa, this giant rangatira of the forest had a connection with a giant of

the ocean, the sperm whale or parãoa. Kauri and sperm whales were seen as brothers,

children of Täne Mahuta born at the beginning of the forest. At the time of their

conception, the sperm whale had four legs and walked about on the land, feeding in

swamps and wetlands. However, he longed to enter the realm of Tangaroa and explore

the vast oceans, and asked Täne to place him there. After sailing around the sea for

many years he returned to the coast and called out to his brother Kauri, asking him to

join him swimming the ocean. But Kauri refused to leave his home in the forest. The

whale realised he could not change Kauri's mind, so he told him, If you will not join

me, let us swap skins. For a day will come when humans will cut you down and make you

into waka, and with my skin you will be able to withstand the salty seas.' For Maori, this

connection between the two brothers explains why the bark of kauri is thin and full of

resin like the oil of a whale, and why it oozes gum like the ambergris of sperm whales.

Kauri belongs to an incredibly ancient plant lineage that stretches back hundreds of

millions of years. The plant world has changed a lot since the first kauri trees evolved.

Slow-growing conifers have been replaced as the masters of the planet by faster-growing

flowering plants - angiosperms - which make up 80 per cent of all plants on carth.

However, kauri has an ingenious strategy that helps to level the playing field with

these young upstarts. It drops a layer of acidic leaf litter, which strips the soil of the

nutrients that many angiosperms need to fuel their rapid growth. Kauri can cope in

these awful conditions, as it has formed an alliance with mycorrhizal fungi in the soil

that are more efficient at extracting the remaining nutrients. The changes kauri makes

to the soil are so dramatic that it has led scientists to describe the tree as an ecosystem

engineer. It radically reshapes the environment around it to suit its needs, and in doing

so changes the structure of the forest. Plants such as mãhoe, supplejack and nikau are

driven out, while others such as mâpou, kauri grass and mingimingi, which can tolerate

poorer soil conditions, thrive.

The Supplejack

Previous Chapter Eighteen: Existing

Chapter Nineteen: A Phone Call 

As the weeks passed, Peter struggled in vain against the extra workload of his sophomore year classes. The balance between work, school, friends, and himself was everchanging, ever in threat of tipping off the edge of the proverbial blade. Though the latter was pushed to the side with increasing frequency and his bed was becoming more of a rare luxury much to his dismay.

The tub of tabouli, hummus, and carrots sat uneaten in front of him while Mike explained again why the discourse surrounding the new Firefly show was important to their group and the larger culture abroad.

“It’s a western in space, guys, how can you not like it? Plus, Nathan Fillion is working it. You know he’s damn charming.” 



“It’s basically a soap opera and you know it.” Midge said, arms crossed in front of them.

Mike sputtered and Ned stepped in before anyone else would get more offended. Still pouting his lips, Mike turned away from them and started shoveling down his lunch. Midge just sighed. Peter shifted in his seat wondering if he should say anything when Ned bumped shoulders with him.

“You okay?”

He forced a smile on his face. Ned waited for an answer, his eyes open and earnest. The expression made something in Peter’s chest ache. This bitter tug nestled down behind his ribs. Ned was dragged along in all of this. What started as befriending a lone boy in an empty classroom had turned into trying to gather intel from two of the biggest corporations in the world. Still, his friend was right there for him, ready and unfailingly patient with a smile.

“Want to hang out this weekend?” Peter asked instead of answering the question.

He wanted to do something. To have fun and get out of the house for once. His work shifts were pretty stacked up but it was worth it to rearrange them. Ned agreed if his answering smile was any indication.

“Yeah, dude. There’s this cool exhibit downtown about brainwashing. Maybe weird but it could be cool.”

“Sounds fun.” He said.

“Yeah, they get all these big companies to put something together. I’m surprised you know who didn’t do it. I hear Oscorp is holding one in the fall.”


Peter rubbed his chest. The cafeteria noise rushed toward him. All the laughter and words and echoes pressed against him, weighing down. His smile felt wobbly to him but hoped it came off as sincere.  

“We’ll have to check the one this weekend out.”

-

Ten hours later, Peter sat at his desk. His head resting in the crux of his arms crossed on the scattered papers and notebooks. He shifted in the chair and tried not to think about the coming week. The to-do list was somewhere in the mess under him. Every bullet point added another reason his headache was growing at an alarming rate.

One of the pages peaked out from under the curve of his elbow. The model car on it was dissected into the median and coronal planes showcasing all the guts. Why was he tinkering with it after all this time? No one would see it now. Red marks, newly etched into the paper some sleepless night would probably never leave this room let alone the top of his desk unless it was carried through the trash.

The thought of acknowledging he was finally abandoning the project left him gripping onto the papers tight in his palms. Even all these months later, Peter found himself tweaking their project and trying to improve upon it. Lee, the head intern, had said she was always available. Maybe he could email it over and then she could send it onto whoever her boss was? The chain of command wasn’t something he was entirely familiar with but eventually it had to land in his hands.

His phone buzzed.

Out of habit, Peter flipped it upside-down without looking to see who it was from. He tapped his finger against the wood until the sound stopped. He only just managed to sigh when the buzzing started again.

Phone calls were the worst. He hated answering the phone, hated talking over people and not seeing their facial expressions, and hated how goodbyes were always awkward. Above all he hated the way he could never talk in a coherent manner. Always felt like he was overstepping or worse in some people’s eyes, being too quiet.

Phone calls from anyone besides May were trouble. His aunt was in the living room so that meant it was bad. He could be expelled from Midtown or one of his friends could be hurt. Ned’s hands bloody. Julia’s heart stopping. Flash’s chest not rising anymore. Peter’s chest throbbed at the images. With sweaty hands he grabbed his phone off the desk and looked at the ID.

It was from an unknown number.

His thumb hovered over the green button as it rang but he didn’t answer.

If he didn’t answer it was easier to pretend nothing was wrong. The worry barely concealed by his expression was better left unfounded. He kept reading through one of his source books on mechanical engineering but the words held no meaning. His eyes kept returning to the flip phone sitting all innocent inches away from his hand.

His fingers twitched and the phone rang again.

Peter breathed in deeply before flipping it over. He read the number over again. Tried to memorize the digits quickly as if they would hold some significance the longer they were in his mind. The ringing continued and continued for what felt like forever.  

His Uncle Ben came to mind. Without letting him linger for too long again, he flipped his phone open and pressed enter. The other side of the call was silent. There was no breathing or anything to indicate someone was there.

“Hello?” The crack in his voice echoed in his ears.

“Am I speaking to Peter?”

The voice was smooth - pristine in its cadence and rhythm. Unlike his own, the words were spoken with no hesitancy or irregular pitch. There never was, either. It was a voice Peter would recognize anywhere. Hearing them say his name now made him realize how much he missed them. It was a strange thought considering. How could he miss a voice so much?

He scowled. It wasn’t fair to minimize Friday to that of just their voice.

“Fr - Friday? I…How did you get this number?”

There was another pause. Peter wished he’d said something else instead of beginning with such a sharp tone. He could’ve asked how they were doing or greeted them with enthusiasm. Instead the panic from earlier manifested in more of a bark. Heat flooded from his neck up to his ears.

“I have scanned through the Stark databases and found this number on Boss’s phone.” He couldn’t help it. Peter laughed throwing a hand over his mouth to muffle the sound. Friday’s silence was enough to confirm they heard but it didn’t dampen his smile.

This was Friday he was talking to. Peter couldn’t believe it and if the smile on his face was wide and almost made his cheeks hurt, he could almost forget about everything else.

“You stole my number from Mr. Stark’s phone?”

“Peter, as I said I scanned...”

“You did! Friday, I can’t believe it. Wait, is everything okay? Did something happen? Is … Mr. Sta- everyone’s okay, right? I mean you don’t have to tell me anything but is everyone…”

“Everyone’s fine. I’m sorry to have made you worry. I would also like to apologize for keeping silent. I called you friend once but haven’t acted in accordance to what constitutes that bond.”

Peter’s neck burned. Friday’s voice sounded as hesitant as Peter felt and he was glad, for once, he wasn’t in the Tower so they couldn’t hear his heartbeat pounding in his chest.

“No need to apologize. I just assumed when I left…”

“That has no bearing on it. There were other factors. Some I can talk about some I can’t.”

“Is, is this why you called? What can you talk about?”

Peter imagined Friday was taking a large breath in from the gap between answer and question. His heart, already beating far too fast for a regular school night, increased its speed.  

“You need to come back to the Tower, Peter.”

His ears filled with cotton inducing a fuzzy ringing. It grew louder and louder until he found himself leaning his forehead against the desk. The phone rested where it fell on the table by his clenched hand. He scooped it up despite the trembling in his digits and brought the phone to his ear again.

“Friday?” He rasped out.

“You need to come back to the Tower. There are matters here that would… benefit from your presence.”

There were too many pauses in the sentence and a million phrases flowing through his mind in response. Following on his immediate responses were a plethora of images of the Tower. He conjured filled hospital beds, condemned signs, and most haunting, empty rooms. The worry gnawed at his stomach not caring about Friday’s reassurances. Something had to be wrong. Why else would Friday contact him? It had been months.

There was nothing more he wanted, but all he managed to say was, “I can’t.”

The pain it would bring was all too easy to think about. He’d had a taste of it at the finale internship presentations. The sheer amount of people buzzing with excitement was enough to dull the awkward hurt but Peter couldn’t forget how hard it was to breath once he was in the Tower again. The familiarity burned at his throat. What was a safe haven reduced to just some place he used to know had hurt more than he was willing to say out loud.

Friday wanted him to go back there after everything. No awards or parties would be there to distract. He would have to walk down the hallways and see the beautiful skyline only glimpsed at that height. He would have to see Mr. Stark.

What would he say? What would he do?

“I can’t work on the project anymore, Peter.”

It was devastating in its simplicity. A twist of the metaphorical knife Peter had never even felt embedded in his side. It was a rope taken away as his head sunk swiftly under water. All the progress he’d made even if he didn’t realize it, was gone in the moment those words were said.

Mr. Stark was clear. Final.

At the time there were a thousand words he’d wanted to say but then and now it didn’t seem right. Now, the sense of betrayal no longer stung because it didn’t matter that Mr. Stark knew all about the Weaver and Oscorp. In the end, no amount of explaining or conversation would fix anything because there was nothing to fix.

The steps he took through the door were some of the hardest in his life. His surreptitious glance back resulted in seeing Mr. Stark bowed and facing away from him. The frightened look crossing over his face before hardly seemed to matter in the face of those words. It told Peter all he needed to know. Peter wasn’t wanted. Who wanted to look after a confused teenager? His time there was over.

Or so, he thought.

Months and months passed and now Friday was on the other end like nothing happened. Was there an option besides declining?

He would have thought Friday didn’t know what happened but that was impossible. They knew basically everything that happened in the Tower. It could be some misplaced urge to help Peter. It didn’t make sense. Despite their reassurances, he couldn’t help but worry something was the matter and despite his caution, Peter was curious.

Still, he repeated the two words again. They sounded more like a plea than a decision.

“What you are saying is you won’t not that you can’t. I know you only have one job and the owner has already given permission. I’m asking with sincerity. I need your help…. We need your help.”

Peter took his time to exhale. He stared at the phone in his hands, tracing Friday’s number with his eyes.

He thought of all the reasons not to go back. But the latest realization barged forward. It was with surprising ease that Peter thought about all the help Mr. Stark had thrown his way. All of the encouragement and kindness he showed without Peter even understanding what was happening.

The question wasn’t if he wanted to go back. He would always want to go back. The Tower in a way had grown to be his home. A safe space he never felt drained from after being there. No one expected anything more than Peter could give and the peace of working there, flexing his mind and being with people who understood him was intoxicating.

He could admit to himself he wanted to say yes without thinking despite every reason to say no. He had to be cautious about this, he decided. Peter had to make sure he wouldn’t get hurt like before. That no one would get hurt.

“Friday, you have to tell me what’s wrong.”

Only when he knew could Peter go back. Only then would Peter step foot in the Tower again.

Enjoy!

Next Chapter Twenty: 

Fanfic Rec #106 Tony Stark & Peter Parker (Marvel) part 3

A Little Late On the Blood Work by Pixiemage Tony eyed Peter for a moment. He looked nervous, tense. Scared. His knee was bouncing rapidly and Tony caught sight of the kid’s fingers plucking at the edge of his hoodie beneath his folded arms. The mannerisms were familiar, so strangely familiar, though Tony couldn’t quite place why. He pondered it for a half a breath before stepping forward. “So.” Tony stopped in front of Peter. “You're the Spider...ling. Crime-fighting Spider. You're Spider-Boy?” “I’m S…” Peter looked away, exasperated. “Spider-Man.” Confirmation. It wasn’t until Tony was back in his car with Happy that he even paused to ponder the familiarity of the kid in the apartment, the lingering thoughts in the back of his mind, the tiny voice wondering why it felt like he had met Peter before. There was something oddly recognizable about him. Speaking with Peter - watching him, listening to him - was gnawing at the back of his mind. It was like there was something he was forgetting, something that was so memorable and yet just out of reach. xXx "Boss, I have the results from Mr. Parker's blood work. I've found a match in the system." "A match to what, FRIDAY?" A name lit up the screen. Tony blanched. God, he needed a drink.

Safety Net by baloobird Peter hates when Tony drags him to meetings, but he soon figures out the real reason why his mentor does so.

Found by Spectra Tony Stark is living the dream.  A genius playboy with a pocketbook that could buy small countries, he spends most of his time partying and selling weapons to a military at war. He'd bartered off the last bits of his soul a long time ago, sporting the 'Merchant of Death' title with cocky nihilism. He had blood on his hands. If that bought him a one way ticket down under, he was fine with it. Or so he'd thought. A small, brown eyed toddler has somehow, inexplicably, thrown a wrench in everything. But there were hundreds, hell, thousands of kids rotting away in New York's foster care system. Why did he care so much about this one?  Or, Destiny decides to throw Tony a new fate. Headfirst. Right into his kneecaps.

The Supplejack by Elizabeth234 Peter Parker was alone his whole freshman year but finds hope when Stark Industries announces a science competition. The prize? An internship with Tony Stark.

The Media’s Prince by lia_ne It wasn’t weird to think that Tony was Peter’s father. Peter had everything that a Stark should have: the mannerisms, the intelligence, the looks, the snark. So, logically, they weren’t surprised when the press started to spread rumors about Peter being Tony’s illegitimate son.The catch? It turns out the press was right all along.

This is the 5th installment of Since I've Been Gone. Taken on the same day as the previous photos, this takes at the Waitakere Ranges Regional Park part of the @bushandbeachnz tour. The first video shows the inside on a long since dead kauri (Agathis australis). The second is my tour guide showing us a massive vine known as a Northern rātā (Metrosideros robusta). He's explaining that these vines can be mistaken for trees, such as this one which wrapped itself around a tree and once the tree died and rotted away, the rātā still maintained the shape it had when the tree was still there. I also hear they can live for a millennium. The third video is our guide talking about nīkau (Rhopalostylis sapida), NZ's only native palm. Here, he is talking about the small nuts produced from the palm's tendrils and are the main food source for the NZ wood pigeon (Hemiphaga novaeseelandiae), or kererū. I sadly stopped recording before he could go on about the birds getting drunk off fermented nuts. The fourth video is my guide showing us supplejack (Ripogonum scandens) that he referred to as 'bush asparagus', also he forgot the Maori names for it are kareao or pirita. Anyways, it's a climbing liana that blooms during December-February and produces red berries that are an important food source for NZ fauna. As my guide explains, the vine is edible and tastes like asparagus, as the name implies. The fifth video is just me showing off the kareao's shoot. The sixth video is my guide talking about this live kauri (Agathis australis) as it's producing the 'gum' responsible for the copals. And yes he also talks about kauri die-back, the reason NZ has shoe cleaning stations on trails. The seventh video features a lancewood (Pseudopanax crassifolius), or horoeka, albeit a young specimen. My guide is explaining that it's thought the spiky leaves were meant for deterring moa until it can grow to adult size, making it an evolutionary anachronism. Also, they apparently made for good bootlaces if you weren't picky enough. The last picture is just some mother spleenwort (Asplenium bulbiferum), or pikopiko. It's just some of New Zealand's many endemic ferns and apparently the fronds are edible. (at Waitakere Ranges Regional Park) https://www.instagram.com/p/CSsGVmCrGeI/?utm_medium=tumblr

NEW ZEALAND WHERE:  Epcot Food & Wine Festival 2018 Epcot Food & Wine Festival 2010 was the first time this idea of eating around the world ever dawned on me. I went back in 2012 as well, but lacked the resources and brainpower to think of a way to create such an experience at home. By 2018, I had fully fleshed out the idea of eating around the world and presently I have eaten food from 36.4% of the countries in the world for a total of 87 countries. Working on it... Seeing as how I’ve managed to make this dream a reality this year, it seemed only fitting that I should return to my roots and go back to Epcot again and look for new food booths. New Zealand is apparently not new, having first debuted in 2007, but it is a booth that for some reason rarely there. It wasn’t there the first two times I went at least. I was in a seafood mood (Florida will do that to you) so I got the Steamed Green Lip Mussels with Garlic Butter and Toasted Breadcrumbs. Apparently mussel farming, especially of the greenshell mussel (another name for them) -- which is only farmed in New Zealand, is a booming industry over there and has taken over much of the agricultural/fishing section of the economy. My findings: Slimy yet satisfying! Very garlic-y! The other booths at the wine and food festival didn’t really have anything that was too surprising or that I hadn’t tried already. Apparently when you spend several months seeking out foreign cuisine it becomes harder and harder to find new things to eat. Though, I did enjoy walking past many of the country booths and thinking "ha, I've tried that, and that, and that one too." The food fest has also moved to “types” of food (fitness, spicy, vegan, ect) more than cultural in recent years too, which made the cultural pickings kind of slimmer. However, there was an African drink I enjoyed called “Groot” (Groot Constantia Pinotage to be exact) that made me giggly as I walked around saying I AM GROOT to random tourists... And now for something completely different, a short poem by me... ABEL TASMAN NATIONAL PARK Come paddle into Abel Tasman, to where Eden's shores can be found, bringing your kayaks and catamarans to New Zealand's sweet island paradise. Where Te Puketea Bay curves into land, like smooth hips of a lover true, sands against those turquoise waves where the Māori once lived and grew. Where bellbird and tui sing songs to flood the forests full of noise, and drink to their sweet crescendos in crystal streams you can dive into. Where coastal paths lead footsteps past kiekie and supplejack vines, promising to show you such wonder while winding through its beaches. So let's spend a day on Tōtaranui, and an afternoon under Wainui Falls so we can see where beauty truly lives and answer when this adventure calls.

Sometimes when there are two things that I love very much, I put them together and achieve serotonin.

Tinker Bell x Tangled, high fluff ahead; a oneshot featuring a highly kintsugi narrative. Ah, the irony of having written this earlier and having the ending eaten by Tumblr, thus resulting in the story's own rebuilding--and crying, a lot of crying.

It had been a long day, and when the tinker sparrowman showed up, Quirin suspected the trials of dustkeeping advisor were still long from over.

"Fly with you, Quirin!", he greeted, wings fluttering softly with excitement, "I don't suppose you still have this week's ration? I got, ah, a little caught up with a new idea, you know how it goes." 

He chuckled sheepishly, but before the elder could so much as get to the right name in the leafbook checklist, the tinker had unrolled a new ink-smudged diagram from his bag. 

"It's going to really help the harvest talents! If we just put irrigation lines here, here, and here", he said, gesturing to a few places on the diagram, "Then we can counteract the alkalinity of the soil with this compound--oh, and if we add just a pinch of a common leavening agent, they won't have to worry about crossbreeding stronger stems!" 

Varian's wings glowed a soft tangerine with pride as Quirin spread it out carefully on the counter. When the tinker had first Arrived, and the first mutters had soon after reached the Dust Tree, he had assumed his enthusiastic disposition and friendly chatter were a ploy to win him over in defense, or perhaps get more dust; it wouldn't have been a first. But by the autumn harvests, he had relentedly admitted to himself that Varian simply had too much excitement to share and too few friends to share it with. In spite of himself, Quirin must have taken on a warmer attitude towards him and started listening more attentively to his plans somewhere along the line.

"Varian", he said softly, his hand not leaving the dust ration just yet, "The harvest faeries are growing butterfly weed by the second line. You'll cut right through the roots. And where do you think you're getting this? The rings?"

"'s okay, I'm using supplejack vines." he countered, waving it off, "Those wrap around other vines or roots without bothering them too much. Annnnd, I just found these by the mainland..." 

With a fluttering hop and too much fidgeting with the grass ties on his bag, Varian proudly held out one of many eyelets, perfect for irrigation. 

Quirin gave the high-spirited tinker a pat on  the back. "So long as you're careful, boy. Get one of the water talents to reinforce your goggles--and you might as well ask them to bring the rest of the talents as well." 

"Thanks, Quirin!" he chirped, sweeping the ration and the blueprints into his bag, "You won't be disappointed, I promise!"

It wasn't until moments after Varian had left that Quirin realized he had implied a use of dust in this compound of his...and that his feet had never left the ground on the way home. 

#################################

When Varian arrived the next week, to say he looked miserable would be to say his invention had merely not worked as he had planned. 

Dripping wet from his burst goggles to the tips of his sodden wings, he smiled weakly for a moment, then sighed. 

"Soooo it turns out supplejack is flammable." 

"Mm-hmm." Quirin responded, passing him a blanket of moss to dry off with. If he'd had a pinch of pixie dust for every angry harvest talent who'd implored him to withhold the rations in the last week, the tree would never need so much as a grain of blue dust 

The tinker's gaze was focused on the floor, tears welling up in his eyes. "I'd fly backwards if I could." he apologized. As an afterthought, he held up the edge of one damp wing, its costal margin and apex singed. "Well...I'd fly anywhere if I could."

"Not again, Varian." Quirin sighed softly, and the newer arrival's heart sank. 

"Did you ask Rapunzel to heal that for you?" Notable for her ornate golden wings, the lightkeeping guardian should have at least been able to fix the worst of the damage and let the sparrowman fly in a week or so, but he shook his head and wrung out the towel. 

“Sh-she was busy with some of the other faeries, and I-and I didn’t know where else to go. Besides, it, heh, probably won’t be the worst thing if I stay grounded for a little while.”

“Probably not.” he agreed, “It would be a shame to lose my favorite regular, though.”

Varian gave a soft slight smile, followed by a half-second’s wince as his wings protested the attempt at instinctual quavering. “Really, sir?”

“Sure as anything.” Quirin responded, smiling warmly. A moment later, that smile was gone, replaced by a firm hand on his shoulder and a stern glare.

 “It isn’t as though we get a lot of happy visitors nowadays, what with whatever you’re doing with the dust.”

“--alchemy--”

“Varian. Do us both a favor and don’t let me hear any more of it. You’re lucky enough not to have lost your wings this time; I’m legally allowed to withhold or cut dust rations if you manage to find a way to destroy the fields like this again.”

The tinker’s glow burned a brief peach with indignation as he slammed his hands onto the counter. “But alchemy could really help Pixie Hollow! All the last plan needed was a different breed of vine; all the test subjects even showed consistent a-accrescence in response to the solution.”

“The tests are irrelevant if the results aren’t the same when it’s demonstrated. Pixie Hollow can’t have any more harvests destroyed.”

“The fields will grow back stronger than before.” he retorted stubbornly.

“The harvest talents won’t.” Quirin shot back, pinching the bridge of his nose with frustration, “Varian, tinker talents may delight to tear their work down only to build it again better than before, but harvest talents invest their whole livelihoods into their fields. Just the slightest change disrupts the crop yield, and no faerie can afford to push that deadline.”

The sparrowman’s shoulders dropped. “The harvest talents were....rea-really hurt because of...me, weren’t they?”

“I’m afraid so.” the dustkeeper responded gently.

His shoulders trembled, the tears in his eyes finally spilling down his face. "Now win-winter is going to be delayed an-and they'll have to scrap the whole field and-and-and..."

And Quirin wrapped him in a hug affectionate and strong and just loose enough not to jostle his wings and everything was safe if just for a minute.

"Shh, shh", he murmured, his voice a low rumble in his chest. "Though the harvest talents might not forgive you today or tomorrow, they will soon enough. They'll work together to restore what they can, and the fields will be ready to sleep by winter. Hush now, lad, what do tinker talents do best?"

"Tear things down and build them up again better than they were before." he answered quietly.

"So long as you're doing your best to be better today than you were yesterday, think of it as rebuilding. You've got to quit thinking of yourself as scrap when you're simply not off the iron yet."

Varian sniffled, a flicker of a wince as his wings protested his instinctual attempt at fluttering. "I guess repairs to the harvest carts would make a pretty good start, then?"

Quirin gave the tinker talent a firm pat on the back. "I think they'd appreciate it a lot."

"Oh, and Varian?" he called as the other stopped in the doorframe, softly tossing him the dust rations, "If you ever need a patch, I can always make time for a favorite regular."

He caught the bag with a gentle hit to the chest, a grin lighting up his face like a sunbeam. The sparrowman's wings were stilled, but in the last light of the afternoon, his glow was as warm an orange as the dustkeeper had ever seen it.

Lepidoptera study - 03/01/21 - Anthene lycaenoides, “Pale Ciliate Blue” Superfamily Papilionoidea; Family Lycaenidae; Subfamily Polyommatinae; Tribe Lycaenesthini

The Caterpillar has yet to be photographed, but ranges in colour from Yellow to Green to Purple depending on the colour of the flower buds it consumes.

The food plants are buds and flowers of various plants, including Cassia fistula “Golden Shower”, Flagellaria indica “Supplejack”, Bridelia tomentosa “Pop-gun Seed”, Pongamia pinnata “Pongam”, Clerodendrum floribundum “Lolly Bush”, Rhyssopterys timorensis “Timor Liana”, and Cupaniopsis anacardioides “Carrotwood”.

The ants that attend this caterpillar include Oecophylla smaragdina “Citrus Ants”, Crematogaster “Acrobat Ants”, Iridomyrmex anceps “Black Ants”, and Odontomachus ruficeps “Rusty Trapdoor Ants”

This species is found in QLD, WA, and NT. Outside Australia: Indonesia, Malaysia, New Guinea, and Thailand.

(Source)

by Elizabeth234

Peter Parker has been alone his whole freshman year but finds hope when Stark Industries announces a science competition. The prize? An internship with Tony Stark.

Words: 4365, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types, Iron Man (Movies)

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: Gen

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Pepper Potts

Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark

Additional Tags: Science Competition, Pre-Spider-Man: Homecoming, Pre-Powers, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Irondad, spiderson, Adventure

Sligoville in the parish of St. Catherine, Jamaica.

1843 Sligoville (named after the 2nd Marquess of Sligo, Governor of Jamaica) is established in the parish of St. Catherine as the first free community in Jamaica by the English Baptist Minister Reverend James Mursell Phillippo.

1939 April Howell founds the "Ethiopian Salvation Society" and purchases 485 acres in the hills of Saint Catherine, 5 miles on the road to Sligoville. Howell’s settlement becomes to be known as "Pinnacle", its main village is East Avenue.

1941 August 19 The Daily Gleaner.

Howell was charged with Assault Occasioning actual bodily harm Spanish Town R. M. Court His Honor C. M. Mac Gregor charge with assault occasioning actual bodily harm to Jeremiah Simpson Evelyn Magee Nathaniel Osborne and assaulting Standford Edwards pleaded not guilty. Mr. N. A. Clare, Clerk of Courts for Saint Catherine prosecuted while the defense was conducted by Mr. F. A. Pixley large number from Pinnacle also came to the courtroom until restrained from entrance the prosecutions case was incompleted and further hearing was postponed until Saturday.

PROSECUTION

Witnesses for the prosecution who testified for the day were the four complainants, Iris Young and Dectective Corporal Samuels, of the Spanish Town Police.

Nathaniel Osborne, in corroborating statements made by Standard Edwards, said that he was a cultivator living at Ringrose, near to Pinnacle. On the 3rd July he was enganged in burning coal on his property when a group of people called ‘Pinnaclemen’ came to his cultivation and spoke to him. The men carried sticks and supplejacks, which they brandished, and he had to run.

Mr. Pixley objected to this evidence on the grounds that it was not evidence against Howell.His Honour: I cant see that its not evidence.

During the argument that followed Mr. Pixley asked His Honour to note the objection because Howell was not present.

The witness continuing said that when he returned his coal was gone. On the 6th July he went to Pinnacle, with Jeremiah Simpson and Iris Young to complain to Howell about the loss of coal. At the gate he saw Standford Edwards, Amanda Hamilton, Evelyn Magee and others. They asked for Howell and the gateman sent some one to call him. Howell soon afterwards came down to the gate, riding a horse flanked on either side by guards, with a crowd of men behind him, all armed with sticks and supple jacks. He ordered the gate to be opened, and Simpson and himself were let inside.

The others were outside. They had gone to Pinnacle to ask about their bags of coal while some of the others had gone to buy beds, which they had heard the people at Pinnacle were selling.

MATTER OF TAXES

Howell asked them if they payed taxes and they replied ‘yes’ to the collector at Spanish Town, Howell then said: Take this man (meaning him Osborne) aside and give him 96 lashes and to Osborne, ‘I will teach you that you are not to pay taxes. Neither you nor the Government own any lands here.

I am Haile Selassie.’ Five men then held him, and he was stretched over a table formed of sticks and with Cecil Delahay counting, the man lashed him with their supple jacks. Jeremiah Simpson was treated likewise, and he received 110 lashes while Evelyn Magee who had bawled out when he, her uncle, was getting flogged was ordered to be caught by Howell. She was caught and she received 52 lashes in her hands. Howell also boxed her for refusing to take the flogging and drawing away a supple jack from one of the men, deal him (Osborne) a blow as a king of parting shot.

They were all so badly beaten, except Edwards who had received a blow from Howell, that they had to be taken up and thrown outside of Pinnacle and after being carried a short distance down the road the police van came from Spanish Town and took them to the hospital.

Jeremiah Simpson made similar statements and so did Evelyn Magee and Iris Young who said that she had been able to elude the people Howell had sent after the people at the gate, when Magee had fallen into their hands.

Detective Corporal Samuels, of the Spanish Town Police, told the Court that Howell had been arrested at his home at Pinnacle about 12 o’clock one night about two weeks after the incident at Pinnacle.

Witnesses were cross examined by Mr. Pixley.

In cross examination, Osborne said that he became unconscious when he had received about fifty lashes, and Simpson said the same when questioned.

Only Dr. L. L. Freeman D.M.O in charge of the Spanish Town Public Hospital is to give evidence for the prosecution and Mr. Pixley told the Court that he had 12 witnesses to call for the defence.

His Honour, after fixing Saturday morning, at 9.30 o’clock, for the continuation of the hearing in respect of these charges, extended Howell’s bail, which had been fixed by His Honour Mr. Dan Marchalleck, R. M. for St. Catherine, at £100 with one or two sureties.

1943 December 24 Friday The Daily Gleaner.

Detained In Connection With Woman’s Death

Leonard Percival Howell, leader of the Ras Tafarian cultists of Pinnacle (off the Sligo Ville Road, St. Catherine). And members of his household, were detained for questioning by the Spanish Town Police yesterday afternoon in connection with the death, under what the Police consider suspicious circumstances, of his common-law wife (whose name was not ascertained up to the time of going to press), and whose partly decomposed and crow ravaged body, was found at the cult camp earlier in the day. Police action followed a report from Pinnacle that the dead woman was missing from last week Friday and that the crows were seen dipping and soaring over a spot about a quarter mile from the house in which Howell and herself lived.

1951 January 18 Howell sentenced to 2 year in prison for Ganja.

Ex Cult Leader Held On Ganja Charge

Leonard Howell one time Ras Tafari chief at Pinnacle St. Catherine and two other men were arrested yesterday by first class constable A. E. Tilloch of Browns Town Police Station charged jointly with having Ganja.

Howell, Levi Ward and Edgar Reed were held in a raid 8 Windward Road on premises.

Hundreds of curious persons lined a stretch of the road for hours after the police left with a large quantity of stuff said to be Ganja.

Defendants who are in Sutton Street jail will appear before the Kingston Resident Magistrate’s court today.

1954 May 27 The biggest Ganja raid as of that time takes place at Pinnacle £3, 000 is seized. Howells son Monty in the interview on Wu World radio with Bob Marley’s granddaughter Donisha Prendergast said that a lot more than £3, 000 was taken from his Dads house and from the community thousands and thousands were taken. £3,000 FOUND AT PINNACLE SOME £3,000 IN CASH was found by the police raiding party which last week-end swooped down on the Ras Tafarians’ Settlement at Pinnacle, near Spanish Town. 

The police unearth the biggest store of cured Ganja ever to be found one place at a time. 

It is understood that whilst some men were digging out crocus bags loaded with the “weed” others were pulling from the roof of a number of huts crocus bags, bags made out of old trousers. They were laden with £5 notes, £1 notes, and other local currency notes and coins. 

With one woman the police found £899. 1/- cash; another had over 300 and several had other large sums, all of which the police took over. 

The money belongs to some of the 140 prisoners who have been charge with Ganja possession and with having fire arms illegally. It will be returned to them as soon as the cases are settled. THE STAR. Monty and his brother Bill were also arrested in the raid and charges are brought against them for being in unlawful possession of a Bulova watch and a Rolex watch. The police send a note to Howell telling him that if he doesn't come up with x amount of money that his sons will be charged for a lb of Ganja each. Howell pays the money and is able to retain a receipt from the place he bought the watches from, the charges against his sons are withdrawn and his sons are also discharged. June 12 No case against Howell’s sons The charge was withdrawn yesterday in the case against Martinal and Silbert Howell, teenage sons of Leonard Howell, one time self styled “king of Pinnacle. They were held during the raid which the police made at Pinnacle property on the morning of May 22, and charged with unlawful possession of watches and a cloak. Mr. H. E. Rickards, solicitor of Dayes and Rickards, informed His Honour Mr H. P. Allea in the St. Catherine R. M. Court at Spanish Town that he had produced receipts to the police which showed that the two accused were in legitimate custody of the goods. They lived about a mile away from Pinnacle settlement in the house which used to be occupied by Howell. They were in no way associated with the settlement. Mr. Cliff Grant Clark of the Courts, said the case with withdrawn. The defendants were discharged.

June 12 The Daily Gleaner.

11 sentenced to prison as Pinnacle trail opens

‘Extremely large’ quantity of ganja in Court

SENTENCES ranging from six months to two years imprisonment at hard labour were passed today by His Honour Mr. H. P. Allen in the Spanish Town R.M. Court as the trail of the Pinnacle case opened.

Eleven accused persons sentenced today were convicted on charges of cultivating ganja and of having ganja in their possession.

One hundred and forty persons were arrested by the police in a raid on Pinnacle property, a few miles from Spanish Town, early Saturday morning on May 23.

The exhibits of what was certified as ganja were brought to the Court in police station wagons in all manner of containers boxes, barrels, baskets, crocus bags, grips, bales. There were also exhibits of ganja plants in court.

10 day trail

The trail which will resume on Monday at 9 a.m., is expected to last from a week to ten days.

Mr. Cliff Grant, Clerk of the courts, is prosecuting while Mr. H. E. Rickards is representing all the accused.

Acting Deputy Supt. J. N. Ricketts and Sub-Inspector George Eubanks were in attendance on the court.

Detective Sergt. Jez Marston, who was brought from Mandeville to take part in the raid, gave evidence today in all the cases heard: It was an account of his illness caused by a motor cycle accident that the trail was set back from Monday until yesterday.

There was only one incident in the smooth running of the trail. An accused who gave his name as Alfred Bennett collapsed while in the dock. He revived shortly after and was offered a chair.

He was being tried in the first case of the day along with James Bennett and Adina Manning. They were accused of cultivating ganja and having ganja.

Detective acting Corporal Gerald Nembhard told of accompanying Detective Sergeant Marston and acting Corporal Frank Harrison to Pinnacle at about 4 p.m. on the afternoon of May 23. They went to a cultivation surrounding two huts and saw the three accused weeding the field.

Warrant read

After a warrant was read, none of the accused said anything. A search was started and ganja plans numbering about 5, 000 were found in a 3 acre plot.

He arrested all three on charges of cultivating ganja and having ganja in their possession.

Cross examined by Mr. Rickards witness admitted that he did not know who was James Bennnettt or who was Alfred Bennnett.

Dectective Sergeant Marston gave evidence and under cross-examination pointed out James Bennett. Mr Rickards submitted that the accused was not James Bennett but Alfred Bennett.

Acting Corporal Frank Harrison also gave evidence. James Bennett in his defence said his name was not Alfred Bennett. He lived at Thompson Pen and had gone up to Pinnacle at around 2 p.m. on the day of the raid to visit his cousin Alfred, who was ill. He knew nothing about ganja nor had he ever planted it.

The other two accused in their defence denied that they were cultivating ganja or had ganja when they were accosted by the police.

The Magistrate found them guilty.

The police said the ganja seized on that occasion weighed 80lbs.

“It is a serious matter” said the Magistrate “and the quantity of ganja in this case is extremely large.”

James Bennett and Alfred Bennett were sentenced to twelve months on each of the two counts, sentences to run consecutively, Adina Manning was sentenced to twelve months for cultivating ganja and 6 months for having ganja in her possession, sentences to run consecutively.

Other policemen who took part in the raid and who also gave evidence were Corporal Albert Ellis, Constable Rudolph Ellis Acting Corporal Uley Delahaye, Constable Quintin Crawford and Constable Simeon Powell.

1000 lbs. Ganja

Caleb McPherson, who pleased guilty to having 100 lbs, of ganja in his possession was sentenced to 12 months imprisonment at hard labour.

He claimed that at the time of his arrest he had £18, which was taken away. Mr. Rickards promised to take up the matter.

Pircell Fairweather was acquitted on a charge of cultivating ganja. He was sentenced to 9 months imprisonment for having ganja in his possession.

Alexander Johnson found guilty of having 3 lbs. Of ganja in his possession was sentenced to 12 months hard labour.

Gustavus Robinson pleaded guilty to having 110 lbs of ganja. The weed was found in two boxes and a crocus bag in his room on the morning of the raid. He had one previous conviction for having ganja. Robinson was sentenced to two years at hard labour.

Henry Dawkins and Rebecca Murray were both convicted for having ganja. Dawkins, who pleaded guilty to being in possession of a box with 7 lbs. Of ganja, found in his room was sentenced to 12 months at hard labour.

The box

Mr. Rickards had submitted that Murray should not be presumed to have the ganja in her possession merely because she lived with Dawkins. Dawkins had admitted that the box was in his possession and had afterwards stated from the witness box that Murray knew nothing about the contents of the box. Mr. Rickards criticised the nature of the of the evidence given by police witnesses.

The Magistrate however, held that she was guilty of being in possession of ganja.

George Brown and Lillian Goode, who also said they lived together in a hut at Pinnacle, were  both sentenced to 12 months at hard labour for having over 100 lbs. Of ganja in their possession. Mr. Rickards commented on the conflicting evidence which he said was given by the police in that case.

They gave verbal notice of appeal and were offered bail in the sum of £100 each.

Furthur hearing was adjourned at this point.

No case against Howell’s sons

The charge was withdrawn yesterday in the case against Martinal and Silbert Howell, teenage sons of Leonard Howell, one time self styled “king of Pinnacle.

They were held during the raid which the police made at Pinnacle property on the morning of May 22, and charged with unlawful possession of watches and a cloak.

Mr. H. E. Rickards, solicitor of Dayes and Rickards, informed His Honour Mr H. P. Allea in the St. Catherine R. M. Court at Spanish Town that he had produced receipts to the police which showed that the two accused were in legitimate custody of the goods. They lived about a mile away from Pinnacle settlement in the house which used to be occupied by Howell. They were in no way associated with the settlement.

Mr. Cliff Grant Clark of the Courts, said the case with withdrawn. The defendants were discharged.

1960 June 22 Wednesday The Daily Gleaner. Police and Military undercover Red Hills Rastafari arms cache DESPERADOES WITH RAPID FIRE GUNS KILL TWO ROYAL HAMPSHIRE SOLDIERS two other infantry men critically shot Gang of five, some bearded, hijack van, escape to Sligoville PREMIER CALLS ON PUBLIC TO HELP A COMBINED Police Military raid on Rastafarian camp in the Red Hills area, yesterday morning, was turned into a deadly ambush when five men attacked the raiding party from the rear and fled, leaving one soldier, a member of the Royal Hampshires, dead on the ground and three other members of the same unit critical wounded. A second soldier died at Military Hospital at Up Park Camp last night and the other two wounded men were reported still on the danger list, particularly one, who was shot three times in the chest and once in the neck. Automatic weapons were used in the attack. The surprise attack and casualties increased the tempo of the combined Police Military operations, in an area stretching all the way from Red Hills, through Ferry to the rugged hills of Sligoville, where the five desperadoes are said to be located. They reached there after slipping through the Police and Military cordon in the Red Hills area and then headed for cover by commandeering at gun point a van owned by Wills Battery Company, and driven at the time by Mr. C. Staples, and shooting their way through a Police and Military road block along the Spanish Town Road, near Ferry. SUBMARINE RUMOR Yesterdays development follow a weekend filled with rumors of increased subversive activity in Jamaica, including stories that a strange submarine had landed arms on the North coast and that large quantities of arms had been secretly brought into the island. There was no confirmation by the authorities of these rumors. The operations were described by the Premier, the Hon. Norman Manley, however, as “normal”, in a broadcast to the people in which he appealed for the cooperation of citizens to assist the Government in protecting the good name of the country. Up to Press time, Police and soldiers (of both the Royal Hampshires and the West India Regiment) had a widely stretched cordon around the entire area of operations, although in concentration in the Sligoville area; a heavy armed guard has been assigned to duty at the Sligoville home of the Hon. Willis O. Isaacs, Ministry of Trade and Industry; ad armed Police protection had been alerted at the homes of the Premier and other ministers of Government. The combined Police and Military operation moved out to cordon off the Red Hills area early yesterday morning in order to take measures which were described by the Ministry of Home Affairs yesterday in the following words: “The Military and Police operations now taking place are a continuation of the security measures being taken by the Government in places where it is suspected ganja and/or crude weapons are stored for activities similar to those which were discovered”. This is a reference to raids made in April by the Police on the African Reform Church premises of the Rev. Claudius Henry, Repairer of the Breach, now held without bail on a Treason Felony charge, and to raids by the Military and Police on Rastafarian camps in the Wareika Hill area. The movement, which began around three o'clock yesterday morning, was directed against a Rastafarian camp the Police knew existed in the Red Hills area. The camp is located on the slopes of the hill overlooking approaches, and connect with Washington Boulevard. High level Police and Military conferences over the week end decided to move in on the camp. ENCIRCLEMENT The area was cordoned off during the dark, and at dawn the raiding party moved in. When they arrived there, however, it was empty. All that was found were dynamite, crude bombs and several sharp two edged cutlasses. A party of Hampshire Regiment soldiers was left at the camp while other member’s of the raiding party began what was to be a day long combing of the area. Details are not yet available, but around 11:30 a.m. yesterday the residents of the Red Hills area were startled by the sound of shooting from the bush. According to an official release, five men, believed to have been among the occupants of the camp, made a surprise attack on the search party at the camp, shooting one fatally and wounding three others. One of them died later at Military Hospital. The five men have been described as dressed in military style khaki clothing. Three of them were brown and two black; three were bearded fully, two appeared to be without beard, They were armed with long guns or automatic weapons, and one had a long revolver stack in the top of his trousers. After they had escaped from the scene of the camp’s disaster, they were next placed along the Spanish Town Road just below Ferry and a Police Military road block. Here, two hundreds yards east of Ferry, they seized a Fod can belonging to Wills Battery Company at gun point, ejected the driver, crashed a Police cordon, shooting as they headed towards Spanish Town and Sligoville, A police van which was headed toward Kingston turned around to give chase and in turning went over the embankment. On the way to Sligovile, people have told of being asked the way, by armed men in a car, and some at Cotton Piece, about five miles from Sligoville, said the men waved to them as they sped towards Sligoville. At Cedar Valley, two miles from Sligoville, the Ford van crashed into a telegraph pole as it attempted to negotiate a corner. The occupants fled the vehicle, carrying their weapons and amunition, and disappeared into the bush. The Police and Military units are now concentrated in the area, having set up campaign headquarters at Mt. Moreland Postal Agency, about two miles from Sligoville. Two Police dogs are in the area to join the search, while a spotter plane overflew the Sligoville area all yesterday afternoon to assist the ground search for the wanted men. Though alowed by darkness and difficult terrain, the search for the desperadoes went on through the night. Shooting, then Screams from the bush REVOR Wilfris, A 16 year houseboy who works about a quarter mile from the scene of the shooting, told the Gleaner that between 11 a.m. and 1 p.m. some soldiers came to the house and took him down to the now defnnet Red Hills Country Club. At the club they asked him if he knew where any Rastas lived. He told them he did not know, he had only seen them working on a nearby quarry, They returned him to the house shortly after. While in the house, soldiers accompanied by policemen started moving toward an in the bush near the home. Long after he heard shooting and screams. An officer shouted for some soldiers and stretchers. Two men were carried away on stretchers. The shooting lasted about 5 minutes. Military h/q closed to visitors FULL SECURITY measures were taken at Up Park Camp yesterday, which became closed to all visitors. Inquiries at the Military Headquarters for the names of the members of the Hampshire Regiment killed and injured in yesterday’s raid on the Rastafari camp at Red Hills, produced no information. The names will not be released until the next of kin have been notified. Meantime, units of the Hampshires have joined the West India Regiment units and the Police in the Sligoville Area in continuation of the search for the armed desperadoes wanted by the authorities. Crash kills van driver OLD ENGLAND Mr. June 21 (From out correspondent) ONE MAN was killed and another seriously injured in an accident on the Old England Brokenhurst main road shortly after noon today. It is reported that a van owned by Blue Ribbon Bakery of May Pen, and driven by Mr. Dalton Sutherland, 26, of Four Paths, overturned while negotiating a corner, Mr. Sutherland was pinned down under the van and died on the spot. Mr. James Ferguson, 40, a salesman who was travelling on the van, was seriously injured and was taken to the Mandeville Hospital. Ten in hospital after bus plunge THIRTEEN persons were injured yesterday when an Enterprise bus plunged down a 45 foot ravine into a river at Trinityville, St. Thomas. UNIA appeal Help root out ‘evil menace MR. RALSTON S. POWELL, Commissioner of the Universal Negro Improvement Association in Jamaica (founded by Marcus Garvey) told the Gleaner last night he wished to send profound sympathy to the relatives and Army colleagues of the deceased and injured soldiers. As a result of the shooting he said, well thinking citizens should aid the Police in rooting out the “evil menace in our midst”. He wished to make clear that the UNIA did not tolerate such “un-Jamaican and un-democratic activities” and they were determined to help in whatever way they could to prevent any similar incident here. Machine gun hold up ORDER:DRIVE US THROUGH THE driver of the 1959 Ford pick-up belonging to Willis Battery Company, which was commandeered by five desperadoes on their way to the hills of Sligoville yesterday, described last night how the vehicle was taken from him. The driver, Mr. Staples, said he was driving toward Spanish Town around noon. At the bridge, just before reaching Ferry Police Station, five men, dressed in greenish uniforms resembling the uniforms of American soldiers, wearing what he believed to be false beards, and each holding what appeared to him to be a machine gun, suddenly appeared; standing in the road, causing him to stop the vehicle. One man climbed in beside him, stuck a machine gun into his ribs and ordered him to “drive us through”. Four times he was ordered to do so, and four times he refused. He told them he must know what it was all about before he would drive them. The man refused to tell him; Meanwhile, the other four men had climbed in the pickup from the rear. A police van approached from the opposite direction and there were exchanges of gun fire between the men and the police; one bullet struck the wind screen, breaking it. The man beside him called to one of the men behind. “You come an drive”. He then opened the van door and pushed him out on the road. Another man, he said came from the rear pushed him aside, climbed in and took the wheel. The motor had been left running and the desperadoes drove off, leaving the driver crouching on the road. While on the ground, the driver saw the Police van trying to turn round to pursue the bandits, but in the manoeuvring, it went over into the ditch. He heard Police in the upset van, radio to all units a description of the stolen pickup. The desperadoes threw out his “tool-pan” as they drove away. A POLICE ROAD BLOCK on Spanish Town Road, at Duhaney Bridge, similar to that at Ferry through which the five desperadoes shot their way yesterday to escape into the rough, broken hilly terrain of Sligoville. Troops move on Civil Servant’s home THE HOME occupied in the Red Hills area by Mr. A, St. A. Clarke formerly Senior Statistician in the Civil Service, now attached to the Ministry of Finance, was involved yesterday morning in the security manoeuvres in that area by Military and Police units. The security forces searching for Rastafarians, moved in on the house, situated some distance beyond the old Red Hills Country Club, about 7:00 yesterday morning and later in the morning and questioned Mr, Clarke. Soldiers were reported to have battered on the door. At home at the time were Mr. Clarke, his wife and their seven year old son. Mr. Clarke, who wears a beard, later lodged a complainant with the Ministry of Home Affairs. He vacated his family from the home for the rest of the day. Report unusual Rasta moves – Manley THE Premier, the Hon Norman Manley, Q.C., made an appeal for the cooperation of citizens in reporting unusual movements of Rastafarians to the proper authorities, in a broadcast yesterday afternoon. Mr. Manley was reporting to the island on yesterday’s incidents in the Red Hills and Sligoville areas: He said: “I want to say just a few words about the news that you have probably heard in regard to a raid made by the Police and a detachment of soldiers on a Rastafari camp in the Red Hills. “I deeply regret that a soldier was shot and killed and three wounded. “This was done by five of the men who had been in the camp, who managed to get hold of weapons and were shooting their way to escape. It seems that they feel upon the soldiers from the rear, “This was just a normal raid that was being made on this camp where we discovered the sort of thing that we had found at Rosalie Avenue; we discovered dynamite and cutlasses and things like that. Must End “There is no need for anyone to get alarmed, but at the same time, everyone must realize that this wicked and mischievous activity must come to an end. These people and I am glad it is only a small number of them are wicked enemies of your country. “They are doing your good name great harm, and it is tragic that this sort of thing should be happening just when we are on the verge of becoming an independent people. “I want to ask every citizen to assist your Government in protecting the good name of your country. I want to ask you all to report any unusual movements you may see of Rastafari people whether they are going in ones or twos or in groups, wherever they suddenly appear in suspicious circumstances. “I think you have a duty to do this. Make your report to the proper authority, if need be, to the nearest Police station. I promise you that anybody giving information along these lines will have his name kept absolutely secret and will be protected in every way, completely protected. We will do our duty, you do yours, and all will be well.” Government sympathy to relatives of dead Following is the text of an announcement made by the Ministry of Home Affairs yesterday afternoon on yesterday’s security measures by the police and the military and on developments: “The Police and Military raid, mentioned in an earlier statement made by the Ministry of Home Affairs took place early this morning. A well prepared camp was discovered in the Red Hills area but when the raiding party moved in no one was there and it was evident that the camp though recently occupied had been abandoned. “As we expected dynamite, crude home made bombs and other crude arms were discovered. “At around 11:30 a.m. five persons, who are believed to have been amongst the occupants of the camp, made a surprise attack on members of the search party, shooting one fatally and wounding three others. These desperadoes then made their escape by commandeering a vehicle at gunpoint on the Spanish Town Road. Appropriate follow up action is proceeding. Mischief “Steps have already been taken to advise relatives of the soldiers who suffered casualty in the unfortunate incident, and the Government expresses its sympathy to their relatives. “There is no doubt that a small element of the Rastafari movement is determined to make mischief and to do damage to the good name of this country. Government calls for the co operation of all law abiding citizens to help to put and end to this wicked conduct. “Everyone is asked to bring to the attention of the Police authorities any evidence they have of the movements of these persons whether in twos or threes or in larger numbers or any suspicious activities by strangers that they may notice. Government guarantees that their reports will be kept secret and they will be fully protected. “There is no need for alarm but we must put a stop to this business” Two held; in ganja charge DURING the Military operations at Sligoville, yesterday evening, the Police arrested, on a charge of having Ganja in their possession. The men are Gladstone Perkinsm 44, of 44 Seventh Street. Trench Town, and Samuel Tucker 39, of Maxfield Park settlement. They were taken in by Acting Corporal Grant of the Half Way Tree CID. The soldiers, several hundreds of them, from both the Royal Hampshires and the West India Regiment, together with hundreds of Police armed with rifles, bren guns, sten guns, and light mortars, displaced themselves for an all nig combing of the area but up to the time of going to Press, had made no contact with the armed fugitives.

June 23 Thursday

July 26 Tuesday The Daily Gleaner. ISLANDS BIGGEST MANHUNT ENDS NEAR SLIGOVILLE AFTER ISIX DAYS SLEEPING GUNMEN CAPTURED IN SHOP One wounded in bid to reach for submachine gun. JAMAICA’S biggest manhunt came to an end just before dawn yesterday morning as four men Reynold Henry, Al Thomas, William Jeters and Howard Rollins, all American citizens were taken into custody by police and military units at Orange Grove, two miles out of Sligoville. One man was shot. He is Howard Rollins, who the police say reached for a sub machine gun when the search party came upon them in a small dwelling house shop at Orange Grove. As he reached for the weapon, a soldier opened fire. Rollins is now under heavy guard in the Kingston Public Hospital. The other three men three of the five whom military and police units have been searching for since last Tuesday are in the Kingston Police Station. Hunger and sleep were the twin factors which led directly to the capture of the wanted men. The men woke up a lone shop keeper at Orange Grove, on Sunday night, demanded food and drinks and having had them fell asleep on the floor of his house. They were awakened just before 5 o’clock yesterday morning by police demands that they “come out with your hands up.” Rollins stirred and reached for the sub machine gun and was promptly shot by military and police guns trained in at a window and covering them as they lay sleeping on the floor. The shooting was the signal for entry into the room. As the policemen and soldiers entered, Reynold Henry (son of the Rev. Claudius Henry, head of the African Reform Church, now held without bail on a charge of Treason Felony) reached for a gun. A soldier clubbed him to the floor with the butt end of his rifle. Thus ended a chase and search which had occupied six days and which had begun at a Rastafarian Camp in Red Hills, where four Hampshire soldiers were shot two fatally and which had soread to the rugged hills and broken country of Sligoville. The police took into custody a sub machine gun and several small arms and a large quantity of ammunition. IDENTIFICATION PARADE The hunt ended just a few hours before the police had established that the three Rastafarians killed at the Red Hills camp, included among them the long wanted Claudius Beckford, otherwise called “Thunder.” They had all been shot in the head, allegedly on the orders of American nationals who had joined the camp at Red Hills. Before their deaths, Beckford and the two others Gerald Scott and R. McDonald whose bodies were discovered at Red Hills on Sunday were the leaders of the camp. All four captured men are to be charged with murder in connection with the deaths of the two soldiers at Red Hills on Tuesday and evidence is being accumulated in connected with the death of the three men whose bodies were discovered on Sunday. Three of them Henry, Jeters and Thomas will appear in the Half Way Tree Court tomorrow. An identification parade was held at the Central Police Station yesterday. A police communiqué on the capture of the wanted men yesterday said: At about 1.30 a.m. on the 27th June, a resident of Orange Grove reported to the Police that the four (4) wanted men had gone to his house and demanded food and drink, which he was forced to supply. They then went to sleep and this man contacted the police and military road block at Tredegar Park. As a result a small detachment was taken to watch the house and reinforcements were immediately called for from Sligoville. The reinforcements under Major D. F. Robinson 1 W. L. R. and Asst Supt. Of Police W. S. Howard left Sligoville and proceeded to the area. A cordon was thrown around the house and at 5.00 a.m. a combined military and police unit moved in on the house. A window was broken by a W. I. B. Sergeant and a police man, who saw the four men lying on the floor. They were ordered out and one man subsequently identified as Howard Rollins attempted to reach the arms that were on the floor of the house. He was shot. Thereupon all the men surrendered to the police and army. “The injured man was conveyed to the Kingston Hospital by a military doctor and ambulance unit. “The other three men who are identified as Reynold T Henry, Al Thomas and William Jeters were send under escort to Police Headquarters, where they are detained. “All four men are U.S. citizens. A quantity of arms and ammunition has been recovered. “The Police are stil very anzious to interview the following persons: Lawrence Thornwell RICHBURGH o/c Larry RECHBURGH, Mitchell Dunbar SWABY, Patrick Alnswirth GRANT, Qasim ABDULLAH, Phillip STEVENSON, David AMBRISTER, o/c David KENYATTA, Eldrid Zinton Emanuel MORGAN o/c ‘REX’, Donald Masou Harper, Titus DAMONS, George Junoir DAMONS, All WATUSIE o/c WATTUSEY, Jospeh Lee WILLIAMS o/c William JOSEPH, Sethi AMENEN HAT.” MILITARY WITHDRAW At a Press Conference yesterday morning, the Commissioner of Police, Mr. L. P. R. Browning, Lieut. Col. David Smith, Commanding Officer of W.I.R., Major Dunstan Robinson, of WIR, Mr. A. G. Langdon, Assistant Commissioner of Police and Captain D. Prothero, of the Royal Hampshires attended. Mr. Browning paid tribute to the military, whose action in the operation was absolutely first class, he said. A skeleton force of police had been left in the area but all military personnel have been withdrawn. Mr. Browning stressed the fact that public support is still required even though the fugitives have been arrested, Asked about the arrival of the fugitive s into the island Mr. Browning said that the time of arrival was doubtful. Lt. Col. Smith said in reply to a question that the ammunition found on the men was not from the local military. Taking part in the seven day man hunt were 400 military personnel and 100 police. United States Consul Mr. Robert McGregor was kept informed of the situation up the the arrest yesterday morning, Mr. Browning told the Press Conference. A reward of £1,200 will be paid today to the shopkeeper at Bamboo whose information to the police led to the arrest of the four fugitives. Premier commends Police, Military THE police and the military have been commended by the Premier, the HON. Norman Manley, Q.C., for their work in the manhunt which ended yesterday. In letters sent to Brigadier Derek Lister, Commander Caribbean Area, and Mr. L. P. R. Browning, Commissioner of PolIce, yesterday, Mr. Manley said: “Brigadier Lister, Please accept and convey to the commanding officers and all other ranks of the Hampshire Regiment and the West India Regiment the thanks of the Government of Jamaica for their devoted services in the recent troubles which have been brought to a successful conclusion today. The Government of Jamaica repeats its sincere regrets and (Continued On PAGE 14) ‘Thunder’ one of the dead Rastafarians CALVERT Claude Beckford, otherwise called “ Thunder” and wanted by the police on a Treason Felony charge since April, when the Rev. Claudius Henry was taken into custody on a similar charge, was one of the three men whose bodies were recovered from a grave at Red Hills on Sunday. The two other dead men found in the grave were Gerald Scott and R. McDonald, also members of the Rastafarian Cult and members of the Ethiopian Coptic or Reform Church, headed by the Rev. Claudius Henry. Postmortem examination yesterday morning settled the cause of their deaths. They were all shot in the head. The police believe that the manner of their deaths was in the nature of execution and on the instructions of American nationals who had taken over command of the camp at Red Hills, where Beckford had been in hiding and where all three were up to recently the leaders of the cultists who occupied the camp. Soldiers of the Royal Hampshire Regiment digging for weapons at the abandoned Rastafarian Camp at Red Hills on Saturday discovered a recent grave. Expecting to unearth one body a police and military search party visited the on Saturday morning and dug up not one body but three. First indications were that the man had been strangled or hanged. Marks conforming with such a theory were found around their necks. A postmortem examination yesterday revealed the true cause. They had been shot at close quarters through the head. Rastas identified All Jamaicans, the dead Rastafarians were identified yesterday by other Rastafarians who were rounded up by the police yesterday and Sunday. A police release on this matter said yesterday: “It is now believed that the three men buried near the abandoned Rastafarian Camp in Red Hills woods are (1) Gerald Scott, (2) C. C. Beckford, and (3) R. McDonald. All these men were members of the Ethiopian Coptic Church and followers of the Rev. C. V. Henry. It is understood that these men were murdered on instructions from foreign members of the camp.” (Continued On PAGE 14) HE CALLED FORCES WHILE MEN SLEPT MR. SEPTIMUS HIGGINS, 46, the shopkeeper in whose house the four wanted men were held, yesterday told how he was forced to give them food and drink from his shop and was finally able to summon the security forces when the men went to sleep on the floor of his house. The wanted men were held at Orange Grove yesterday morning between Tredegar Park and Sligoville by a detachment of policemen and members of “B” company of the West India Regiment. Mr. Higgins said that at about 7.30 Sunday night four men came in his yard and called to him. Reynold Henry said to him: “We are in trouble, we are out from Tuesday gone and we got nothing to eat. What do you have in the shop?” Pot on fire He said he told them that he had nothing save for “little flour, fish and oil” The four men went in the one room building used as a kitchen and sleeping quarters, made a fire and put a pot of the fire. They went in the shop, took four bottles of aerated water from a shelf and drank one each. Mr. Higgins said he gave them flour, codfish and oil, and the men helped prepare it. The men made dumplings from the flour, cooked and ate them. Then they took off their clothing which were wet wrung them and placed them over cross sticks by the fire to dry. Mr Higgins said they showed him their guns, saying, “These are for all those who set hands against us.” They put them on the floor. They next asked for a cro (Continued On PAGE 14)

Some people don’t realize that the weeds you pick from your gardens or the wild plants you find growing in the woods may be able to be eaten! In fact, quite a few of them have very similar nutrition values to that of popular “superfoods!” This is just a compilation of weeds that I’ve learned are edible in some form or another. It’s not meant to be a field guide, so if you’re unsure what some of these look like, please look them up. Unless you’re sure you’ve identified something correctly, avoid eating random plants. I hope this can help someone, somewhere. Keep growing, pals!

dandelion

purselane

clover

lamb’s quarters

plantain (the long green tiny stalks, not the banana-like tropical fruit)

chickweed

mallow

pigweed

yellow dock

sheep sorrel

wood sorrel

garlic mustard

violets

nettle

fireweed

bull thistle (remove spiny thorns before eating)

creeping charlie

forget-me-nots

harebells

field pennycress

coneflowers

kudzu

peppergrass

pineapple weed

pickerelweed

mullein

shepherd’s purse

tea plant

toothwort

teasel (avoid spiny hairs)

wild grape vine

wild bee balm

herb robert

mayapple

joe pye weed

knapweed

stickyweed

cattails

blue vervain

common yarrow

common sow thistle

coltsfoot

fern leaf yarrow

henbit

crimson clover

evening primrose

downy yellow violet

daisy fleabane

japanese knotweed

milk thistle

new england aster

supplejack vine

alpine strawberries

barberry

If you know of any more, please feel free to reblog and add more! I know this isn’t all, but this is all I had in my personal notes so far. I’ll update it when I learn of more!

Little Bird, Little Time

Yesterday the team and I discussed the current state of our project and collectively reviewed what we had learned during our over-the-break testing.

Given that we spent the majority of our semester researching Māori stories and legends as well as native New Zealand, our game was built mostly in a conceptual state. 

What we had built before the break was a prototype build that included the player’s flying mechanics, sprite art, and partially implemented animations.

However, the scope of our story was going to require massive quantities of artwork for landscapes (all, of course, representative of native New Zealand) that also would need to be drawn from level-design that we simply did not have yet.

The Decision

With limited time we made a tough but necessary call to build our project as a prologue to the original story we had planned to use.

The prologue would essentially be a demo for the game, the player will have full access to the Fantails movement and mechanics, as well as plenty of space to play with them. The prologue consists of a single large area that includes a Kiwi burrow, The underbrush, a stream, a tangled maze of Supplejack Vine, and  an enormous central tree (Lovingly referred to by us as the ‘Mother tree’) which can be flown around and explored, other Fantails can be found here as well, it is on this tree that the player will build their nest.

The nest can be built by the player exploring the area and collecting “good sticks” from various places, once all sticks have been collected and brought to the nesting location, the player will be met with a finishing in-game cinematic that introduces the oncoming storm that would kickstart our story.

Our Purpose

One of our team, Bligh, asked an important question: “Is our projects purpose still intact if we make this change?” Our project's purpose (At least as I understand it) was to tell a New Zealand story through the medium that is games.

I personally believe that by making use of a scene that is both true to the material and canon to our planned story, we maintain the conceptual purpose by building an experience that won’t provide the middle or the end, but the beginning of a New Zealand Story, 

Possum facts and control tips

Brushtail possums are marsupials that were introduced from Australia in the 1800s to establish a fur trade. They pose a serious threat to our forests and native wildlife by destroying plants and birds’ nests, eating birds’ eggs and invertebrates, and competing with other species for food.

How did they get here?

Possums were first introduced in 1837 because some early European settlers were hoping to establish a fur industry. Those animals did not survive, but people kept trying. The first possum population to survive was in Southland in 1858.

In 1921 the Government made it illegal to bring any more possums into New Zealand. It was too late; by then, they were already spread across the country.

In 1946, possums were officially declared a pest in the New Zealand environment. By 1950 they were found in over half of New Zealand and they kept spreading.

Fiordland and Northland were the last areas of mainland New Zealand to be invaded by possums. In the 1960s there were hardly any possums in Northland, but by the 1990s – only 30 years later – 10-15 million were estimated to live there.

Possums numbers reached their highest point in the 1980s when there were 50-70 million of them in New Zealand. With such high populations, trappers began to make a good living from hunting them. Throughout the 1970s, prices for their skins were good. In 1981, the best year for trappers, 3.2 million skins were exported.

What do they look like?

Brushtail possums can be silver-grey, brown, black, and gold. They have bushy, prehensile tails (tails that can easily grasp tree branches) and large, pointed ears. Possums’ bodies can be 30-50cm long with a tail length of 24-40cm, and can weigh 1.5-4.5kg. Possums are marsupials, so females have a pouch.

Where do possums live?

They are spread across most of the country and can be found wherever there is shelter and a good food supply. They live in trees, feasting and thriving on the seasonal leaves, buds, flowers, fruit/berries and nectar provided by our local plants, but also move across open country to hunt and graze.

What do we know about their behaviour?

They are nocturnal and feed at night.

Often follow the same track, forming flattened paths about 20cm wide.

Have an average home range of 200m in forest and multiple nest sites.

Have favourite trees that are visited regularly, leaving extensive scratch marks in their bark and heavy browsing of leaves and fruit.

Their dislike of wet weather makes control much more successful during fine weather.

What impact do possums have?

How you can help control possums.If you’ve identified possums on your property (see how to identify predators), you can:

Trap — regular trapping is a good way to manage them. Visit our trapping and baiting toolkit to choose the right trap and baits. Did you know that they respond well to visual lures (blue and white in particular) and are attracted to fresh fruit, peanut butter, and a sprinkling of sugar over the lure? Make sure you always wear gloves when handling your trap or catches.

Use toxins in a bait station — regular baiting will keep numbers at low levels. Traps or bait stations can be moved to target seasonal food supplies such as pine pollen in July – August (their poo turns yellow!); willow-poplar budding in October-December; supplejack, taraire, hinau, tawa fruiting in May – August;  late summer podocarp fruit such as totara; various orchard trees when in fruit throughout the year.

Shoot at night — suitable in rural areas only and effective if done regularly. Warm nights are best, especially after rain. Use a spotlight and a .22 rifle or shotgun. Read the NZ Police’s safety and legal requirements for firearms and learn more about how to control them on farms.

The Supplejack

Summary of the story:  Peter Parker has been alone his whole freshman year but finds hope when Stark Industries announces a science competition. The prize? An internship with Tony Stark.

Hi all. Thank you for being patient on this one. I haven't been at my best recently and writing has taken the brunt of that. In saying that I hope you all doing well and enjoy this one.

I'm also working on my other story "A Night She won't Soon Forget" and that should be posted sometime next week!

Previous Chapter Fifteen: He Returns

Chapter Sixteen: Civil War

Peter reclined back onto the towel. Sand moved under his body to accommodate the shifting in weight as he changed positions. He closed his eyes and listened to the people talking over the waves lapping at the shore. More sand underneath his head siphoned down creating a gritty pillow for his head.

He exhaled.

Flash and Julia were talking to his side. Their soft tones were loud enough to guess Flash had done something irritating and Julia was, in her way, telling him off. He couldn’t hear their specific words but he smirked at a cry of dismay from his friend over something Julia said. Their laughter washed over him along with the general sounds of a beach. It was good to have them close.

He smiled.

They were upstate for the weekend at one of Frank’s mom’s cottages. The home, bigger than any house let alone cottage had the right to be, was hidden away in the Finger Lake Region. It was beautiful country surrounded by hills and vast trees, all miles from the city. Peter couldn’t tear his gaze away from the farms and forests they passed to get to their little oasis. He didn’t ask for specifics when Frank invited them and sitting on the beach with everyone he was glad he didn’t let himself turn down the offer. It was nice to just be for a moment.

Their whole team came out plus Flash, Estee, and Ned in celebration of their runner-up status for the conference. He hadn’t thought there was anything to celebrate but his team had been overjoyed at the announcement. The group chat overflowing with all sorts of ecstatic messages and memes.

The celebration had to be put on hold because of the fast approaching end of school. Finals took over their thoughts for the time and everything else was waylaid. Frank and Monica were graduating so their schedules were filled along with the addition of making sure they were ready for the fall. He and Julia tried to help as best as they could but school bogged down their own schedules as well.

Peter expected everyone to separate in a natural way with all of these factors and was dismayed, as well as pleased, the group chat never extinguished. There wasn’t a day where someone didn’t text something, whether it was Frank talking about one of his games or Julia making sure they were all doing okay for the week. Those small connections were enough to get him through finals and not thinking about what happened.

Summer arrived with the abruptness of the last ring of school bell and finish of finals. One minute the world was on your shoulders and the next it didn’t matter how long you went without sleep to study for the history final. The average was a 59 percent and Peter scraped by with a 65. At least he’d aced all his other finals. Those acted as a buffer when May asked him about the results.

The hot season had been… different than what he was used to. There wasn’t any other way he could describe it. Instead of the long walks alone, waiting for May to get home from work by reading or working ahead on homework for the upcoming year Peter was familiar with, this year Peter had friends.  And they wouldn’t take no for an answer.

The whole group of them stuck together as much as they could even after the presentation. Julia met him at the library more times than he could count. Although she didn’t have homework the two of them, and sometimes Flash accompanying her, would read there. More often than not they would then go no a fieldtrip around the city, finding new spots and ice-cream places they had all never been before. Sometimes Frank and Monica would join them on their escapades.

It was glorious.

And it was exhausting.

He hoped they wouldn’t change when fall was ushered in with the start of school and life began again.

Only two more weeks until the date back.

Logically, he knew it wouldn’t be the same but the thought of starting out his sophomore year the same way his freshman year began was unbearable. It had to be different. He suspected, good or bad, that nothing would quite be the same again. But he was also different.

Peter thought about everything that happened – everything he went through – and realized how much had changed. It was a chilling reflection. The depths of evolution he went through in the past year alone. He’d been lost in the sea of grief as school began and it wasn’t until a white flag, in this case a piece of paper hanging outside of the office, waved that something shifted. Of course, he was resistant to it and avoided the signup sheet simultaneously afraid and yearning for what signing his name could bring.

From there it all tumbled accumulating into even greater changes than Peter ever dreamt possible. Ned was steadfast in his offer of friendship. Cafeteria lunches became commonplace when Peter didn’t feel comfortable before. He’d even begun to enter into the debates Mike held at the table earning approving glances from Midge and Jaimik.

In the midst of all this Peter won the internship. Him. Peter Parker. The freak no one liked. The one who felt best in a safe place instead of in the bustling halls of school was interning at Stark Industries with some of the smartest people he’d ever met.

He remembered wishing he could be like the people who walked into the building like it was any other day; not stopping to stare at the intricate planes and panels leading up to the clouds. While Peter often ran late and didn’t have time to stop and stare, he found the building had become a safe place to him. His seat by the window was always empty and waiting for him and besides it was a cabinet full of snacks Julia would share. Lab five and its occupant were beginning to be as familiar and his talks with Friday never failed to make his day.

Thinking of lab five made his chest tighten. Something he always felt when Mr. Stark was mentioned somehow. He wondered what would have happened if everything had gone differently.

If Peter explained.

If he’d stood up for himself and made Mr. Stark listen.

What would Ben have said about it all? How would he react to his nephew forgetting to his speech about courage and shyness? In actuality, Peter had no doubt Ben would’ve stormed into Stark Tower and gave Mr. Stark a piece of his mind. Ben’s approach would be direct and the results would be swift, he was sure of that much. But that was something Peter couldn’t do.

He respected Mr. Stark too much to try and push himself into the man’s life. There was a list of things left unsaid but maybe it was for the best. At least now the man attributed the faults to something Peter did instead of who Peter was. He wasn’t sure if he could handle another rejection of himself again. Especially not from Mr. Stark.

Peter shook his head on the towel and ignored the sounds around him as long as he could.

All of these incited the changes in himself. He was still Peter but at the same time he was something more. He had friends and family. People he could contemplate opening up to. Topics he was passionate about. A job doing something he excelled at. They all were apart of him now when a year ago he could never have dreamed of any of it. And he felt so lucky to be able to think that; to be laying there on the beach as his friends surrounded him.

And that was that.

Julia squealed and began laughing. She stood up in a hurry, spraying sand onto her towel and Peter’s face. He sat up, covering his face with his hands to block the sun while trying to spit out the offending grit in his mouth.

“What was that?” He found Julia soaking and Flash holding a bottle full of liquid.

“You stand back, Flash” She yelled. He smiled and progressed further toward her. Peter scrambled onto his feet at the deranged grin Flash sent him. Julia’s hands were up to provide a barrier in front of her. Her head moved back and forth between the two of them.

“Oh, no you don’t. Peter, I’m warning you.” He stepped toward her. “Flash, you’ve corrupted him!”

Flash moved forward after a nod from Peter. Julia darted backward but Peter blocked her exit. Flash raised the bottle again and flipped it over but Julia was too fast. The water ended up dripping into his hair and down his face. At least the sand from before was washed away.

His bangs flattened onto his forehead and he coughed to get the liquid out. Flash and Julia’s laughter ignited further at the sour face he was making. Her arm was over Flash’s shoulder and the two huddled together as he wiped the hair from his eyes.

“So funny.” He frowned when they continued to laugh. Their eyes crinkled and he couldn’t help but smile in response. Peter stepped toward them and shook his head. Water sprayed over the two, provoking protests. They followed him as he ran to the dock, dodging their attempts to throw the last of the water on him.

Frank stepped out of the house and onto the porch. His yells of encouragement were followed by the sounds of his steps as he ran toward them.

“Yeah, fight it out!”

The planks of the dock shook under each step forward. They all backed up, not wanting to get in the way until they realized they were stuck between the dock and water with nowhere to go.

“No!” They yelled united under a common enemy fast approaching. Frank continued to yell. His eyes bulged out and Peter could almost imagine his tongue leaving his mouth and dangling over the side of his face. At the last moment he extended his arms out on either side of his body and jumping forward. He dragged the three of them up and over the water until they crashed into the waves.

Peter swam back to the beach. Sand squished through his toes as water pooled in his bathing suit before dripping down his legs. He stood at the precipice of the water watching as the tide moved back and forth, over and away from his feet. In the corner of his vision he could spy Frank pushing Julia into the water again at the edge of the dock. Her raised voice filled with mirth so at odds with her normal quiet tones. It seemed everyone was able to let loose on their weekend trip.

He turned his back on the shore and made his way to his towel. Monica and Estee had arrived while they were swimming. They smiled as he approached.

“Cold?” She asked snickering at the shivers running down his arms. Peter nodded and sat down careful to keep his sand encrusted feet off the towel. He watched the others continue to swim around. Their laughter punctuated the splashes as they jumped off the dock.

Monica moved over and sat next to him. Her head rested on top of her knees tucked against her chest.

“Peter?” She said in a quiet tone. “I wasn’t sure if I should say anything or when a good time to talk would be but I wanted you to know I’m really proud of our team. I could tell you thought we blamed you for the place we got but the thought never crossed my mind. You know?”

Peter swallowed and turned to face her. She stared straight at the lake but there was an openness in her face.

“I didn’t…” He cleared his throat. “How did you know?”

This time she did look over at him with a soft smile. There wasn’t an ounce of blame there. Peter shifted on the towel.

“I think I know you by now Peter. Plus, I would’ve felt the same if I was… you know.”



The tightness knotted in his chest in response and he did his best not to remember Mr. Stark’s parting words. Instead he focused on his teammate. It was her senior year and college was around the corner for her. He wondered what she would do now that both of her internships were done and her life was just beginning. She was sure of what she wanted that there was no doubt she would do something great. There was no reason for her to lie because he knew she would have no trouble saying her mind. Peter looked over and was grateful now for that straightforwardness. It let him accept her words and feel the knot loosen.

“Thank you.” He said.

She leaned over and put a hand around his shoulder, drawing them together.

The sun was setting behind a row of trees on the other side of the lake. Clouds lingered in the sky creating specks of purple and black overlaid on the fire palate in the sky. Frank, Flash, and Julia finally crawled out of the water and onto the shore all shivering and prune-skinned from the water. They plopped down on the towels and started digging into their bags to grab the snacks they brought down from the cottage.  

Peter accepted a handful of grapes. Everyone laughed and talked as they dried off. Two more weeks until school and in that moment, Peter would’ve given everything to stay on that lake; somewhere in upstate New York with his friends.

-

“How’s the Yaesu doing?” Barry asked from his spot in the doorway.

Peter looked up from behind a pair of magnifying goggles. Barry’s features were distorted under the pair of goggles but he smiled at the way Peter was almost bouncing off the seat as he nodded.

“I think it’s done.” He said.

Barry entered the room and Peter shoved everything over to the side of the desk so he could move the radio over to where his boss was standing. Barry whistled as he inspected the new parts all secured in their right place.  He tinkered around with a few of the disks but then stepped back.

“This is great, Peter. I’m glad you talked me into those extra hours, though your old manager is missing out on one good barista. She’s a beauty. With your finishing of that I think you deserve the rest of the day off.”

Peter opened his mouth to protest; to say he needed the distraction, but Barry was already waving him off.

“No worries. You’ve been working so much and I know you want some time before school. I’ve got the shop covered here.”


At least he was kicking Peter out in the nicest way possible but he wasn’t sure what he would do now. Frank and Monica had moved into their dorms the weekend before. Frank was out of state on a football scholarship. The pictures they sent of their cramped rooms did not inspire excitement about Peter’s own future prospects. Their small updates while sporadic allowed everyone in their team to stay connected.

Flash and Julia were doing something together which had surprised Peter but everyone else didn’t share his reaction. Monica said he should have seen it coming and on reflection Peter realized they had spent a large amount of time together at the cottage. He thought it was cute they were friends. Julia brought a sort of calm to Flash whose energy otherwise had too many directions to go to. Under the other’s influence Peter noticed the focused energy in Flash and a rise in confidence in Julia.

Ned was Ned. The boy texted Peter if he wanted to hang out today citing movies they could watch but with this unexpected freedom so early in the day Peter just wanted to spend time by himself.

There was nothing wrong with that, he reassured himself and ignore the guilty feeling of not texting his friend back. Spending time with yourself was important. Balance was key and while their upstate vacation was fun he returned home tired. After all he thought of by the lake, all the changes he’d undergone, he wasn’t a completely new person. He was still Peter Parker and sometimes he needed to be with himself.

Peter went into the back to grab his stuff. He spotted Barry on his way to the door in the front. The man was leaning against the counter, arms crossed on the glass case with his eyes trained on the small TV set up by the register. One red Converse rested on the other.

“Barry?” Peter spoke trying to gain the attention of his boss but the man didn’t respond. He said his name again with the same lack of response. The news murmured in the back and Peter walked around the counter, curious to see what was monopolizing his boss’s attention.  

The camera was shaking. Blurry images focused and unfocused on the screen amidst dirt and chaos thrown into the air. The trembling stopped; the camera focused and everything seemed to pause.

Peter’s breath lodged, trapped and turning stagnant, in his chest. The camera was stationary but what it captured was made all the more violent by this unnatural stop in motion. The outside world was silent, trapped in the spell the recorded world wove spinning regardless of its effects in brash action. Metal screamed on impact. Dust and debris streamed across the sky and Peter’s eyes tried to follow every movement in anticipation.

The first thing his eyes zoomed in on was the blue suit. Hadn’t he seen it on the TV only a month ago with that stranger? Captain America stood center screen, facing away and gesturing wide to someone he couldn’t see. His back tensed. Muscles rippled under the taught fabric facing them. His dropped for a moment. The helmet with dipped out of sight before his back straightened again. His shoulders square and spine tall. Then he brought his arm up and lunged forward.

Something hit the ground.

Red and gold caught his eye.

Peter gripped the edge of the counter as blue hit the red suit, sending the cement cracking under the pressure. Why was he? How could Captain America attack… his fellow Avenger? His friend?

His knees threatened to buckle as he tried to comprehend what he was seeing.

Captain America and Iron Man. In battle.

Beyond those two frontal figures other superheroes were fighting. Using their powers against each other. Not against a villain or some common enemy. No, they were fighting amongst themselves.  

Captain America stood above Iron Man. His feet near the man’s head. Cement cracked in a grotesque halo around his head. The building behind them was on fire.

In the back of his mind Peter wondered how this was being recorded and broadcasted onto the TV. All those thoughts were stripped away when Mr. Stark, no, Iron Man, launched off the ground, toward the other man.

Their fight began in earnest. There were no more pauses, nothing to say there was any hesitancy left in either figure. The colors clashed on screen and a restless itching invaded his muscles and into his blood cells. He needed to do something. To run or distract or… something. But he didn’t know where to go or what to do. Would he be welcomed? The most sickening prospect is he knew he wouldn’t be able to do anything either way. Not in comparison to all of the special people already there.  

Still, despite reaffirming these thoughts there remained the urge to run there and help Mr. Stark in any way he could.

Regardless of not being wanted or needed.

“Look at that there. Who would have thought good old Captain America would engage like that?”



Peter focused on the screen again. Cold sweat broke out on the back of his neck at the realization they were at a different location than before. The walls were dark and condensed the vision of the cameras making him feel claustrophobic.  

Iron Man was standing apart from a figure shrouded in the shadows. The famous shield, the one Peter dreamed of holding as a child, was cast to the side. Scratches marred the star on the front. Captain America stepped out from his place by the wall with a frown. He said something as he looked Iron Man up and down. A faint, pleading look replaced his otherwise dour expression.

Punches were thrown and explosives detonated in the cramped quarters so quickly it was difficult to keep track of everything. Peter lost sight of Iron Man for a moment and his heart clenched until the faint glow of the arc reactor appeared from inside the dust cloud.

Peter couldn’t think of him as Mr. Stark in that suit. His name refused to surface in Peter’s mind with all the metal incasing him, protecting him. It created this distance and it would hurt too much to think of that as Mr. Stark fighting.

The shield was in his hands.

Everything was in slow motion. The itching grew and Peter needed to run, to scream, to stop it but he was helpless. Captain America brought the shield over his head. His knees were on either side of Iron Man’s chest. The shield came down and slammed, stopped in time by Iron Man’s hands. The shield came up again, higher than the previous time, and it was flying down.

His heart stopped. Iron Man’s hands weren’t enough to stop the energy behind the assault.  Captain America stared down. Iron Man gazed upward, pain and a sort of grime acceptance in his eyes.

The shield came down faster than he could follow, the stars and stripes blurred by the motion. The results were confirmed with the denting of the red armor. The arc reactor fractured. Glass cracked and allowed the light to slip through the gaps.

The two men stared at each other. Their broken and torn up armor added unspoken meaning to the betrayed faces they wore. Iron Man’s helmet came off and it was the first time he wasn’t realized to see Mr. Stark’s face. Before that moment there was still a doubt and hope it would’ve been someone else or empty. But no, Mr. Stark gasped for air while his hands clawed against his chest.

Those wide eyes and desperate movements were the last to appear before the TV went black.  Peter was frozen. He was stuck in the fraught moment that had ended too soon and not soon enough on screen. The one he knew Mr. Stark was still living.

Barry said something. His eyes searched Peter’s face but he couldn’t look away from the screen now filled with headlines and news anchors. His boss moved around the counter and clapped him on the shoulder with another word Peter missed. He moved to the back of the store leaving Peter alone.

The person on screen was speculating about the possibilities of meaning this could mean for the Avengers and greater world. Their lips hurried through the broadcast but it was obvious they didn’t know what was happening.  

One particular sentence caught his attention.

“…and, of course, Tony Stark also under the alias, Iron Man, was on scene. While we don’t know exactly what caused this rift between the group it is clear his motivations and actions are far from scrutiny given past indiscretions…”

His hands clenched at his sides at the smirk on the reporter. The tighter he squeezed the deeper his nails bit into the flesh of his palms. It was just like those people staring in the hallways of the Tower. Their faces all pressed against the glass to catch a glimpse and speculate about their boss. The news was the same. The amount of times Mr. Stark had joked about what they wrote about him was sickening.

Who were they that they had the right to say that? How was that fair?

Peter squeezed his hands harder, pushing his knuckles into the glass on the counter before storming out of the building. He didn’t call out a goodbye to Barry or clock out of work. It didn’t matter.

The wind swept through his hair and a chill descended onto his skin as he walked out. On pilot he steered through the crowds of people without making eye contact. His thoughts were miles away but his feet began the way to his apartment without prompting.

He couldn’t help the tendril of worry curled in his stomach. It nested there and created a pit stuck like an anchor weighing down his body and thoughts. Mr. Stark had to be okay. He was Iron Man after all and the man had faced much worse. He’d always come out ahead every other time.

That was the defining difference though. Mr. Stark had faced worse enemies before but Captain American wasn’t an enemy to Peter’s knowledge. While Mr. Stark didn’t talk about the Avengers often and Peter didn’t want to pry, it was a kind word he spoke when he did. Peter never dreamed there would be discord in the world-famous group. They were the Avengers and to all outward appearances they were colleagues and friends. Everyone’s aimed weapons. The scowls and grimaces. All the fighting in the back. All of it aimed at a teammate.

He thought of Julia, Frank, and Monica and shivered. Would they turn on each other given the chance? Peter shook his head at the wayward nature his thoughts were taking. He had to focus on what was happening now.  

Mr. Stark’s eyes and his hands holding onto his chest would be burned into his mind. The image of fissured glass and metal replayed over and over. Peter wasn’t sure if he could remember to breath normally.

-

The subway ride passed by without notice as his thoughts whirled around in his head. Somehow Peter made it back to his room ensconced in the familiar warmth of his blanket. He squeezed his eyes shut and hoped to obliviate everything. For a selfish instant, all he wanted was to forget about the afternoon and all the baggage that came loaded with it. He should’ve helped. It was like there was this voice in the back of his mind that knew in some other universe he would have been strong enough to help in some way. It wasn’t to be. He was here in his apartment under the covers in his bed. He was hiding from his aunt and her questions. He was hiding from himself and the disappointment he felt about it all.

Peter’s phone rested against the pillow to his side. He ignored all the incoming text messages from his friends and instead scrolled through every social media and news outlet he could think of trying to get a crumb of new information. There were videos breaking down every scene of the footage released like a movie trailer. Everything was conjecture.

There was one option to find the truth.

Shaking hands dialed the contact and with minimal thought to convince himself out of this course of action, Peter pressed call. The lone sound that filled the air was the rings followed by Mr. Stark’s voicemail. The man’s voice, gentle and teasing, took Peter’s breath away. He hadn’t heard it in so long and yet it felt like yesterday. He remembered the story Pepper told him of how she forced him to set up the voicemail on his number.

“You know who it is. You’re trying to call me so I’m supposed to say leave a number but don’t. I’ll find you.” He could hear the phone being put down and Mr. Stark walking away while talking to his partner. “Are you happy now, Pepper?” He said and they both laughed.

She told Peter over dinner one night how stubborn the man was. How even though he was quick to right his wrongs, change came difficult for him, including, apparently, a new voicemail. The man had griped from across the table but winked at Peter when he insisted in defending Mr. Stark’s honor and told Pepper he was the same way. He glanced up under his lashes when he spoke, confident for the first time that night, to see their eyes soften as they gazed at him.  

He scowled at the memory and let the phone fall screen first onto his mattress before turning toward the wall. Peter tucked the blanket higher over his head and wished he had the courage to leave a voicemail, or to call one more time so he could hear their laughter again.

His stomach throbbed as he thought about his internship. He spent so many hours in the Tower over forged metal and takeout boxes with the man. All the time he agonized over if he should be there and listing everyway he wasn’t good enough when it would’ve been, not easy because nothing was that easy, but worth it to forget about all that. How strange and how worth it would his internship have been if Peter had just accepted he was wanted there? At the time he rationalized he was doing everyone a favor. He was saving them from disappointment but maybe he was saving himself the potential hurt. Peter thought of his promise to himself to try and be happy and he realized maybe this was a part of it.

Osborn and his curled smile were the crux of this. The injection of that man into his life had closed off doors he was only beginning to see were available to him. If only he’d never gone to Oscorp.

It was no use thinking like that but his mind kept circling around the two men well into the morning. Nothing fruitful came of it and he was left with shadows darkening his eyes.

May tried to grab his attention. She loaded up his plate with toast and strawberries but Peter pushed it around. His homework beckoned him from his desk but as he sat there, Peter found his eyes wandering to the fire escape and beyond.

His feet pounded against the sidewalk as his walk turned into a run. Despite the screaming in his muscles and the pressure building in his lungs he continued forward, urged by the lack of thought his action was providing. He was so focused on his body he didn’t have to think about Mr. Stark and why he was fighting with Captain America. Self-reflective thoughts were shoved down by the sound of his harsh breaths and for the moment Peter was running.

And it was heaven.

Thank you!

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Next Chapter Seventeen: Reflections and Realizations