#strawberry hemp wraps

[cannabis-archives]

[madamlaydebug]

1. ROOT CHAKRA HEALING

OUR (Physical) Body

Today we are wrapping up with our root chakra healing and exploring the PHYSICAL body. The root chakra relates to your lower back, legs, feet and your process of elimination.

A balanced root chakra in the physical body enables us to have a strong immune system as well as a deep sense of vitality and energy. A sense of balance is present in our diet, knowing when we need to re-fuel and when we need to curb unnecessary cravings.

When we are unbalanced the physical symptoms can show up as : * Pain in Lower Body (feet, knees, legs, hips)

* Poor Circulation

* Digestive / Bowel Movement Issues * Weakened Immune System * Issues with Metabolism

NEW PATTERNS & SELF CARE

Proper Nourishment :

All food carries specific energy that can help to heal us energetically. The following foods help to ground you and heal the root chakra:

Grounding proteins: lentils, tofu, black beans, quinoa, green peas, hemp seeds, pumpkin seeds, chia seeds, tempeh, hemp milk, edamame, spinach, black-eyed peas, broccoli, almonds, spirulina, tahini, chickpeas, and nut butter.

Red fruits and vegetables: red apples, strawberries, pomegranates, cherries, tomatoes, red cabbage, beets, etc.

Root vegetables: potatoes, beets, carrots, onion, garlic, leeks, and parsnips.

Yoga Poses / Stretching :

I find that the most effective way to balance this energy center is to do targeted yoga poses such as: - Malasana (yogic squats), either moving or static

- Spinal flex (for example in Cat/ Cow)

- Sitting down, Head to Knee Pose - Janu Sirsansana (head to knee half forward bend)

- Warrior 1 Pose

- Tree Pose

Doing 1-2 in the morning & at night

Plant Medicine / Teas :

Below are some great teas that can help promote balancing our root chakra.

Dandelion Root, Sage, Ginger, Elderflower

Checking in with our physical body - feeding it nourishment that promotes balance can be a wonderful way to stay mindful of what we put in our bodies. Making conscious choices on the food we eat is a wonderful self care practice that doesnt require perfection, just presence. ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ Happy Healing loves!!! 🌟

[wufflesvetinari]

i need to convince myself i'm making SOME progress with this godforsaken short story so i'm going to post a bit of the draft here. just to say it exists, three friggin weeks later

-

Red smoke like a sunrise, the air of this strange planet choked in the soot of our victory. The battlefield bright with mech debris: fertilizer drones commandeered from our home colony, reprogrammed, weaponized. Sent with us in the forward dropships; keyed to our command. 

We would not have bombs, otherwise. We would not have poison.

We are farmers. We are a gentle people.

Our organic-glass tubing spreads like strawberry runners over the scorched alien terrain, its density determined by algorithm. At home, this latticework would have delivered nutrients and treated the soil. It would have brought life to barren ground, a resource available to all by sacred human right. Enshrined in our charter and constitution: life. The right to it.

But the dose makes the poison. My new compound spreads quickly; contaminates enemy soil.

Some of us have fallen. Our exosuits, designed for solar satellite repair work, apply coagulant and brace bones. Our respirators, meant for deep-sea environmental preservation missions, work to filter out the blight we’ve brought. In this way our fragile psyches are insulated from the shocking scent of death. 

But not the topography of it. Not its shape.

We’ve pulled the enemy out by the root. The General told us we didn’t have a choice. They’d tortured our ambassador, destroyed our lunar seed vaults, attempted a blockade. They were coming for us. We had to. 

We had to.

The General strides across ruined plains, his body like a scar against the sun. A sharp and sudden light reflects from some piece of him: his exo, his command glove, the clasp of his cape. The light of him drives straight through me.

He is a colossus. He saved us. He needs me and he saved us and I want to go to him, but I can’t even stand. 

Smoke plumes rise like distant grain silos. I vomit into my respirator, trapped with the scent of myself; the scum. I fade.

-

“Can I ask what you’re making, sir?” Lieutenant █████ asks, sitting in the patient bed next to mine. Since the surgeons woke her an hour ago, she’s done nothing but yank on her fingers like she wants them removed: first the right hand, then the left.

“A gown for a newborn,” I croak past a damaged throat. “My wife’s in the third trimester back home.”

 “Oh. Is this your first?”

“The first I haven’t carried myself.” I wrap homespun wool around my hook, offered by our neighbors in exchange for my help reprogramming their fertilizer lattice during the last dry season. I brought skeins of it with me in the forward fleet; an entire basket in my quarters. “I owe my older boys new sweaters. They need clothes whether there’s a war on or not.”

█████ giggles, a little manic, as though I’ve told a joke. 

Her hemp bag boasts the emblem of the Weather Shaper’s Syndicate: a civilian expertise that earned her a hasty officer rank in my Specialist Corps. Her leg ends just above the knee, but she’ll be fitted with a biosynth soon. The doctors probably completed a full vitamin rebalance when she was under. Probably countered a genetic susceptibility or two, just because they could. 

“At least there isn’t anymore,” she says. When I look at her, she clarifies: “A war. We ended it? Just now? Or at least once the talks end.”

When I give her no answer, she goes back to pulling at her fingers. Her sunken eyes dart from my bandaged ribs to the baby’s sleeve taking form under my hands. 

The medi-ship’s plant wall generates a cocktail of pristine air and corticosteroids. Beneath us, the wreckage of a planet turns.

She tries again: “It—it was terrible. As inhuman as they tell you in the ethics practicums as a kid, like something out of the old world. I saw—but the General said it was worth it. To protect everyone. Back home?”

Her gaze asks for my authority as a substitute for forgiveness. She looks very young, and I become very angry.

“What was worth it?” I say it calmly. I don’t know why I say it at all. 

“I…the General said—”

“Which part do you mean? Specifically.”

Her smile trembles; she presses the button for pain reliever. She doesn’t fully understand it yet, the scale of what we’ve done, but her body feels it like a fever. 

I make my voice bright and effusive. “No need to be so modest. Your team did well punching holes in their ionosphere. Between that and the typhoon seeding, how many did you take down before the dropships even landed?”

“Sir?”

“Let’s talk in planetary percentages. Let’s talk in long-term damage.”

Our founding charter, the General’s steel voice says in my head—like he’d said to the Colony Council, two years ago—allows for militia muster in self-defense. It allows for the ethical deployment of minimum effective force. If you grant me the authority—

I smell my own vomit again, its own kind of ghost.

“Sir—Commander ██████,” the weather shaper says faintly. “I carried out your orders.”

“You did.” I rip back a row to fix a dropped stitch. My sheets are hand-sown and clean. “You’re right. He’s right. We had to protect ourselves.”

A gift box looms at the foot of my bed. It had taken me some hours to work up the courage to open it. Inside sits a bottle of wine from my home syndicate—the General knows I like good wine—and some kind of complicated artisan decanter, constructed as a tangle of glass roots as tall as my forearm. 

The decanter leans by design, like a lurching soldier. It casts sharp-twisted shadows. It traps the light.

Swift recovery, my friend, the letter says, his cursive a series of slashes across the page. My heart races like a north-rabbit in flight. Like lying in the melting snow of a battlefield, watching his presence eat up the horizon like an Alexander of our own making. Like the line between love and fear.

I ask a nurse to decant the wine for his team as my thanks. The liquid works through branching blown-glass roots. A maze of red, like the fertilizer lattice I programmed to poison a hundred thousand miles of enemy farmland. Like strawberry runners.

-

I do not want the decanter. 

Its complex and scarless surface speaks to the work of a master artisan. At home I would have had to trade a lattice designed from scratch in return for a product so fine. But people—people who meet him, understand him—give the General things for free.

I visit the General’s quarters on the Plethora, my ribs still aching, planning to explain that my dogs would just knock his gift from its shelf. That my boys play rowdy. That the house my great-grandfather built in the first days of the Colony is small, each space designed for function (solar power and a heat pump and green-growing walls). The better to keep to the Charter; give back to the land.

Instead, I stand at his doorway and fail to knock. I’ve found I can’t picture his face anymore, not outside of that one half-conscious moment: the battlefield, the hard red horizon. 

A superimposition of my other memories. An invasion.

The door slides open and I jump. His shadow swallows mine. His massive shoulders fill the doorway.

He looks at me and I’m wrung out clean, a piece of fabric on the line. His eyes are deepest green. 

“██████,” he greets me softly, and invites me in.

[thomphlip452]

Avocado Toast Recipes to Elevate Your Breakfast

Avocado toast has become a staple breakfast dish, beloved for its simplicity, versatility, and health benefits. What was once a humble snack has now risen to stardom, gracing the menus of trendy cafes and home kitchens alike. So, what exactly is avocado toast, and why has it captured the hearts (and taste buds) of so many?

Health Benefits of Avocado

Avocados are not only delicious but also packed with essential nutrients. They are rich in healthy fats, fiber, vitamins, and minerals, making them a nutritious choice to start your day. Incorporating avocado into your breakfast routine can provide sustained energy, promote heart health, and support weight management.

Basic Avocado Toast Recipe

Creating the perfect avocado toast requires just a few simple ingredients. Start with ripe avocado toast recipe, quality bread, and your favorite seasonings. Mash the avocado onto toasted bread, sprinkle with salt and pepper, and voilà – a delicious and satisfying breakfast is ready in minutes.

Variations of Avocado Toast

One of the beauties of avocado toast is its versatility. From sweet to savory, there are endless possibilities to suit every palate. Experiment with different toppings, herbs, and spices to create your perfect combination.

Sweet Avocado Toast Recipes

For those with a sweet tooth, avocado toast can be transformed into a decadent treat. Top your toast with sliced fruits like strawberries, bananas, or kiwi, and drizzle with honey or maple syrup for a delightful breakfast indulgence.

Savory Avocado Toast Recipes

Savory avocado toast options abound, offering a satisfying and protein-packed start to your day. Consider topping your toast with a fried or poached egg, crispy bacon, smoked salmon, or feta cheese for a savory twist that will keep you full until lunchtime.

Vegan and Gluten-Free Options

Avocado toast is inherently vegan and can easily be made gluten-free by choosing the right bread. Opt for gluten-free or grain-free bread alternatives, and pair with dairy-free toppings like hummus, roasted vegetables, or nut-based cheeses for a delicious plant-based breakfast option.

Avocado Toast for Different Dietary Needs

Whether you're following a low-carb, high-protein, or ketogenic diet, avocado toast can be customized to meet your dietary preferences. Swap traditional bread for low-carb options like lettuce wraps or almond flour bread, and add protein-rich toppings like grilled chicken, tofu, or hemp seeds for a satisfying meal that fits your lifestyle.

Avocado Toast for Weight Loss

Avocado toast can also be a valuable tool for those looking to shed a few pounds. The combination of healthy fats, fiber, and protein helps to keep you feeling full and satisfied, reducing the likelihood of overeating later in the day. Practice portion control by limiting the amount of avocado and opting for lean protein toppings to create a balanced meal that supports your weight loss goals.

Avocado Toast as a Balanced Meal

While avocado toast is delicious on its own, it can also be incorporated into a balanced meal by pairing it with complementary foods. Serve your toast alongside a protein source like Greek yogurt, smoked salmon, or tofu scramble, and add a side of mixed greens or fresh fruit for added nutrition.

Tips for Perfect Avocado Toast

Achieving the perfect avocado toast requires attention to detail. Start by selecting ripe avocados that yield slightly to gentle pressure. Toast your bread to your desired level of crispiness, and consider adding a squeeze of lemon juice or a sprinkle of red pepper flakes for an extra burst of flavor.

Incorporating Avocado Toast into Your Routine

Avocado toast is not only delicious but also incredibly convenient. Whip up a batch of toast in minutes for a quick and satisfying breakfast on busy weekday mornings, or take your time to experiment with different toppings and flavors on lazy weekends. Consider preparing a few extra slices of toast during meal prep to enjoy throughout the week.

Avocado Toast for Any Occasion

Whether you're enjoying breakfast at home, hosting a brunch with friends, or looking for a quick and nutritious snack, avocado toast fits the bill. Its versatility makes it suitable for any time of day and any occasion, and with so many variations to choose from, you'll never get bored.

Avocado Toast Around the World

While avocado toast may have originated in Australia, its popularity has spread far and wide, inspiring unique variations around the globe. From the Mexican-inspired "pan de aguacate" to the Japanese "avocado nori toast," different cultures have put their own spin on this beloved dish, showcasing the universal appeal of creamy avocado on toasted bread.

Conclusion

Avocado toast is more than just a trendy breakfast option – it's a delicious, nutritious, and endlessly customizable meal that can elevate your morning routine. Whether you prefer sweet or savory, vegan or gluten-free, there's a perfect avocado toast recipe out there waiting for you to discover. So why not give it a try and see for yourself why avocado toast has become a breakfast favorite for so many?

FAQs (Frequently Asked Questions)

Can I make avocado toast ahead of time?

While avocado toast is best enjoyed fresh, you can prepare the ingredients ahead of time and assemble just before serving to prevent the bread from becoming soggy.

How long does avocado toast stay fresh?

Avocado toast is best enjoyed immediately after assembly to prevent the avocado from browning and the bread from becoming soggy.

Can I freeze avocado toast?

Avocado toast is not suitable for freezing, as the texture of the avocado will change upon thawing, resulting in a less desirable eating experience.

[writer59january13]

Galley slave to obsessive compulsive disordered behavior announces...

Fore score minus xv orbitz ago from being centenarian

strong contractions forced me

to pass thru cervix,

buck naked bare lady,

I ranked as only grandson sharing

same surname as Aaron,

(mine paternal grandfather)

me the sole heir –

foreshortened to Sol Aire

evinced scrawniness then (as shown

via ultrasound), which at birth

became crystal clear,

unbeknownst to parents

obsessive hidden compulsive predilection

pronounced with social anxiety affliction

manifested later in life,

whose mental health of mine,

would find me at sea

schooled in counting fish,

where I did flounder with anguish,

nevertheless as newborn human being,

the propensity with panic attacks

a decade plus years in future

whereat yours truly

would wallow in despair

meanwhile bundled cuteness

ranked as excelsior,

though said infant

extremely agitated and fussy,

I possessed unusual fear

witnessed in scrunched

and furrowed brow

slightly resembled

quirky pissant outlier

tipping the scales

courtesy old fashioned

analog needled gear

greater or lesser

than seven pounds

(minus or plus a few ounces)

with a mass of (the following feature fabricated)

dread fully locked hair,

otherwise a gangly sack

of many lovely bones,

whereat obstetricians

could not help themselves but jeer

thus upon exiting

birth canal found

yours truly anxiously twirling loose

kinky follicular fibers according

to medical records prevaricated,

courtesy poetic character sketch, whose trademark embellishment endemic beginning to end of poem, (your job dear reader to distinguish fact from fiction)

reasonable rhyme now resumes

along current frayed thread

stitching baby me finding strands of hair wrapped around fingers

surmising in retrospect, I felt bored

without access to world wide web

infant versus aging baby boomer

expressed at early stage individuality,

and nonestablishmentarian stance

sporting knotty harried styled

swiftly tailored quasi/pseudo dreadlocks, gave Medusa a run for her money

(before they were in vogue)

tough as hemp cord

an anomaly, which

no app could compare,

boot nonetheless highly adored

and valued more than fine spun gold

resembling inimitable

indestructible filaments,

when taut could lift

off the ground a board

dill low, which no reference

manual could address

even topnotch experts

queried, could not explain

outrageous constituent rare

peculiarity the likes

never seen before,

though still insured,

a novel boot nada

so critical freak

of nature ma lord

hirsute component

partitioned in a triple tier moored

substantial pressure upon noggin,

entwining, looping, spilling somehow

interweaving insync with umbilical cord

into a mass of whirled

wide webbed wear suitable for

four seasons, which bamboozled,

grew like Kudzu

into an immense

globular mass galore

'bout the size of Rhode

Island) after one year hoar

more, and wove in part

from stem cell threads, nor

ceased proliferating after birth placenta

accrued intact and immediately put in cold store

room, a by very peculiar product

tinged with strands

of strawberry blond hair

evoking how lioness would roar

cocooning, contriving, and conveying

this tiny dude into self concocted

hermetically sealed giant spore

miniature mummy, who without doubt

looked like a lady

bug hide entombment

able to survive thermonuclear war

as a minor subsequent repercussion

the downy side understood,

impenetrable forest

filched countless growing years,

without jesting, when

figurative messed hair em scare em

bedlam reigned as a supreme nest

sans shrieking obsessed

invisible hoodlums

broke free their electric kool

aid acid test

from maximum security solitary

confinement investment

for naught busting andirons

weighing down with reinforced

steel trap door cladding

didst not bar

compulsive banshee

like imps of thee pervert,

but merely slow down

minuscule limbs

emulated a hitchhiker thumb

upon will could assume

Alaska Bull Worm sized Albatross

shaped anchorage) unsinkable (short

term) screaming, rebelling, quaking,

atomic sized banshee beastie boys,

et cetera with fiery zest.

[hookahonlineindia1]

Buy OCB Paper Online In India - Happy Trail

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These papers are for rolling your own cigarettes. They come in a variety of flavors and styles that let you roll exactly what you want. Shop our selection today to find the perfect rolling paper for your next smoke session! OCB rolling papers are a type of rolling paper used for smoking tobacco or cannabis. OCB Paper is a well-known brand that produces a variety of smoking products, including rolling papers, cigarette tubes, and filters.

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[the-blunt-diaries]

rolled my first blunt with a juicy jays hemp wrap 🎉

ironic it's my first when my blog is literally named "the blunt diaries" but oh well

[glittangrease]

[lovers-and-sinners67-blog]

Fortune does not change people, it unmasks them.

[bethebologna]

Bruce Banner and Strawberry Cough in a mango @highhempwraps organic hemp wrap 🌳

[greenflowerpower]

Hemp wrap blunts 🌩

[asweetprologue]

Food of the Continent

Alright kids this is a little different from my normal stuff and entirely self indulgent! I recently worked on a fic that involved mention of quite a bit of food, and me being myself, I put a decent amount of research into it. I decided to compile that for those who, like me, get to a scene where the boys are eating and find themselves at a loss. What would a medieval witcher and bard eat on an average day? I’ve based my findings on medieval Poland, which isn’t, obviously, the Continent. If you want to add potatoes to your fantasy world, go ahead! The Witcher 3 certainly did. But if you’re looking for accuracy, please see an extensive list of medieval appropriate foods below the cut! 

Medieval Polish Cuisine

Meat

Pork

Beef

Poultry

Fish

Royalty/Nobility only: Venison

Most common: Pork, Beef

Breads

Rye bread - Used mostly commonly for trenchers

Common white bread - Often used for harvest feasts

Rusks or binavice - A hard tack-like bread used for soldiers' rations

Manchet breads - Essentially wheat rolls

Boiled breads (bagels, ring pretzels) -  Also called circuli or bracellus if you don’t want to say that Geralt is eating a bagel, but he could have! They were a very common street food.

Rogale or crescent rolls

Most common: Trenchers, white wheat rolls

Vegetables  

Field peas

Cabbage

Onions

Fava beans (used for animal fodder, peasant food, and flour)

Mushrooms

Leeks

Beats

Kale

Lentil (lower class food, often stewed)

Parsnips

Cucumbers (treated as a fruit, a type of melon)

Skirrets

Rutabagas

Turnips

Radishes

Lettuce

Alexanders

Carrots (VERY rarely)

Most common: Peas, cabbage, onion; parsnips and skirrets in the winter

Notes: Pickling and dry storage were extraordinarily important for surviving the winter months. Peas could be saved dry and reconstituted by soaking them in water, and cabbage was turned into sauerkraut. Also note the lack of potatoes! Anytime you think of potatoes in a meal, substitute them for turnips.

Fruits and Nuts

Apples

Pears

Plums

Cherries

Hazelnuts

Strawberries

Blueberries

Raspberries, sloes, cranberries, and rowans (all used to make juice or in fermented beverages)

Raisins

Almonds (expensive)

Figs (expensive)

Most common: Apples, pears

Notes: Serves always after the main meal, fresh or cooked. Apples were often dried and eaten year round, or made into a butter and jarred. While not part of the Polish diet, I posit that more exotic fruits like oranges (used for cooking, not eating), peaches, lemons, and dates could probably be brought north from Nilfgaard, but they would be more rare and expensive the further north you went!

Herbs

Parsley (helps kill the onion smell)

Dill

Garlic

Mustard

Fennel

Most common: Parsley and dill

Oil

Lard

Butter

Poppy and hemp oil

Notes: Butter and lard were extremely important. Medieval people burned a lot of calories, so fats were a critical part of their diet. Almost every meal would have been smothered in some kind of animal fat, unless it was a Friday.

Drinks

Honey water/milk

Hydromel (similar to mead, less alcohol)

Mead

Ale

Wine

Desserts

Placki, flat cakes

Tortae, high quality desserts made only with high grade bolted flour. Could have been a type of strudel with rich cheese based filling. Also could refer to small, flat cakes. Also could have been similar to cheesecake.

Marzipan (expensive)

Notes: In a contradictory fashion, when you read sweetmeats, that means desserts. It usually refers to a highly sugary confection, such as candied fruits or nuts. Sweetbread on the other had, does refer to meat, and is made from offal. I know. 

Common Dishes Gruel of mixed grains - Side dish, served with meat and a wheat bread Courtier's Pottage - One pot dinner made with millet, peas, bacon, onion, vinegar and parsley. Would have been quite thick due to the millet. Extremely common. Parsnip, Leek, and Alexander Stew - Common in early spring, typical one pot meal for a noble family. Served with cheese dumplings. Pears stewed with Cucumbers and Figs Chicken baked with Prunes - Common in noble establishments. Either cooked in a covered pot, or wrapped in dough to form a kind of giant turnover on festive occasions. Ham stewed with Cucumbers - A rich dish made with butter, onion, beer, and cucumber, raisins, and cranberries. Sour cream was added to the stew to thicken it. Lentils and Skirrets with Bacon - Stew Beer Soup - A classic stew made with leeks, cabbage, flour, beer, eggs, and cheese Fish Aspic - A kind of savory gelatin, usually used as an ornamental component of a larger banquet display Game stewed with Sauerkraut - Bigos, served at royal banquets. Peasants probably had their own versions using pork or beef instead of venison. Crepes - Probably served not as a dessert but during dinner, with beer soup and cheese or fish aspic. Krepel - Flat cake of layered cheese and bread, fried and served with strawberries or fruit Praskury - Wafers Apple flat cake - Essentially like an apple pizza Honey cakes - Kind of flat cake saturated with honey.

If your characters are eating Breakfast, they're probably eating millet porridge, eggs, or bacon. If they are eating Lunch, they are probably eating trencher bread with lard or cheese or soaked in beer, or stew. If they are eating Dinner, they are probably eating some kind of meat, usually pork or beef, with vegetables like cabbage, peas, onions or parsnips, either in some kind of one pot stew or plain. Desserts are almost always sweetened with honey, and include fried breads and wafers.

Roadside meals would probably consist of fresh meat from hunts (mostly poultry and rabbit), either roasted or put in a stew; rusks, eaten plain or soaked in water or ale; wild berries or apples; reconstituted peas; sauerkraut; and root vegetables like parsnips, turnips, radishes and onions that would save well over several days. Wild parsnips could probably be found easily in the Northern Realms.

I hope this was helpful to someone! This is meant to help you generate ideas, not to be used as a strict guide for what to include in your fics. This is fantasy, so you can absolutely do whatever you want, and besides that it will always be hard for us to be accurate about what exactly went on in the medieval kitchen. However I hope this helps give you an idea about what the average tavern might be serving, and you can worry a little less about what to include in those pesky meal scenes. 

Source: Food and Drink of Medieval Poland by Maria Dembinska, English translation by William Woys Weaver

[stressandstarvation]

today wasn’t great lol

breakfast was 2 gluten free wheetbix, 1/2 cup of almond milk and 10 blueberries lol (144)

at morning tea I was starving so I had my wrap. Gluten free hemp wrap with some relish, carrot, lettuce and gluten free nuggets (359)

then I had some slices at work because there was baking and i felt bad saying no (267)

lunch was pea crisps (88)

dinner I did homemade peanut satay would recommend (503)

desert was some of that low cal pudding and a strawberry (27)

then I wanted something because my flatmate was eating chocolate so I had a mini milkybar which was a bad idea because they’re such a trigger for me. And then I ate 70% of my whittakers hazelnut block because I’m a failure. (1136)

vitamins: 54

total: 2579🤡

really meeting those November goals for myself lmao

Anyway as of 7:45pm my Apple Watch says I have burned 550cal, 38 minutes of exercise and 14 hours of standing

[autumnleaves1991-blog]

Day 29: In the Fridge - Santiago ‘Pope’ Garcia

Day 29: In the Fridge - Santiago ‘Pope’ Garcia 

Pairing: Santiago ‘Pope’ Garcia x F!Reader 

Rating: 18 + for language 

A/N: Day 29!? Only one day left :( Thank you for reblogging, commenting, and liking. I see them all and it warms my heart. 

Taglist: @itspdameronthings​ (Requested this prompt and fellow Santi lover) @oldstuffnewstuff​ @yespolkadotkitty​ @heythere-mel​

“Where the hell is it?” you huff bent over in the fridge. 

You steadily remove the entire contents of your fridge before you curse and slam the door. “Querida?” you scream and turn to your husband a hand to your chest. 

“SANTI! Jesus honey you scared me! Did I wake you?” 

“No, I don’t really sleep without you. I woke up almost as soon as you got up. I thought you were just going to the bathroom but then you didn’t come back.” he steps closer and rubs your back gently. 

“I’m sorry. I just...god this is so stupid,” you rub at your eyes and wipe away the rogue tears. 

“What’s wrong querida? Do you need something? Are you...are you having cravings?” He’s gentle with his questions but your emotions are all over the place and a small sob escapes your mouth. 

Santiago holds you close to his chest and wraps his arms around you. Your slightly swollen stomach is protected between the two of you. “Querida...what do you need?” 

You gasp and look up at him. His hands are so gentle as they wipe away the tears that are streaming down your cheeks. You hiccup, “I was trying to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich...and we don’t have any peanut butter...or jelly!” 

Santiago tries to suppress the chuckle but it escapes and you groan into his chest before crying harder. Slapping his arm harshly, “don’t laugh you ass, you did this to me!” You take a step back and point to your protruding bump.

“I’m sorry querida...I just never thought I would see you cry over peanut butter and jelly. Would you like me to get you some?” He reaches for you and your anger is quickly forgotten over the temptation of him holding you. 

“Yes, please,” you nod holding him as tightly as possible. 

“Why don’t you go lay down and I’ll run to the store and bring you back peanut butter, jelly, and even that white bread you like so much?” He kisses your forehead gently and all you can do is nod. 

He holds your hand and leads you back to bed, helping you into the bed and tucking you in. Your chocolate lab, Roman jumps onto the bed and cautiously walks over to you before plopping down and laying his head on your belly. 

“Keep an eye on mommy and baby brother for me ok pal?” Santi scratches Roman behind the ears before kissing you on the lips. He goes to the closet, grabs his jacket, tennis shoes, and his hat before walking out the door. Twenty minutes later the door unlocks and Santi comes back with two large paper bags balanced in his arms. You walk into the kitchen upon hearing the commotion, your mouth dropping open at the sheer volume of items he purchased. 

“Santiago...honey, I thought you were going to buy peanut butter and jelly? Not the entire grocery store!” 

He grins at you before starting to unload the bags, “Well I wasn’t sure what you would want, and I read in that what to expect book that sometimes you can have aversions so I thought I should grab lots of options.” 

He takes the next ten minutes lining up the items on the counter until he’s satisfied with his offering, smiling brightly at you from your perch on the island. 

“Ok so I got you smooth peanut butter, crunchy peanut butter, sunflower butter, almond butter, cashew butter, hemp butter, and cookie butter to choose from for the butter part of your sandwich. Which would you like?” 

“Uhm can I have a sunflower butter and a cookie butter one?” 

He nods before pulling them forward, “okay, and for the jellies I got strawberry, boysenberry, blueberry, blackberry, prickly pear, orange marmalade, grape, pepper jelly, and cherry preserves.” 

“Did you just say pepper jelly?!” 

“Querida, nothing is too good for our baby, if you want pepper jelly you will get pepper jelly,” he says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. 

You laugh before shaking your head, “I would love the boysenberry with the sunflower butter and the...god I can’t believe I’m saying this...the pepper jelly with the cookie butter.” As weird as it sounds the second he said it you couldn’t stop thinking of the mouthwatering combination. 

Santiago’s face splits into a shit eating grin and he sets to work making the two sandwiches. “Go sit down on the couch Querida I will bring your sandwiches over to you in a minute.” 

You hobble off the island and plop yourself onto the couch. Grabbing the remote and finding some old reruns of M.A.S.H. Santiago sweeps into the room and over exaggeratedly lays the plate into your hands. 

You moan as you devour the two sandwiches in a matter of minutes. Licking your fingers and sighing at your craving having been met. You lean your head back on the coach and turn your eyes to see Santiago staring at you. His eyes blown wide with an unmistakable look. 

“Like what you see Pope?” you tease knowing how hot it got him when you used his call sign. 

“You are so fucking beautiful querida, pregnant with our son. You’re eternal my love, practically glowing. And shit when you moan and lick your fingers...the things you do to me querida.” 

You can feel the heat sneak up your neck and you give him a smile and a nod and that’s all the conformation he needs. He’s on you instantly kissing you and tugging you to straddle his waist. You feel him devour you and you moan into his mouth. His hands kneading your lower back and running over your ass. 

Yes, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches were the baby's craving but mommy was craving something else. Luckily daddy was able to deliver both.

[cagestark]

A Hole in the Head//3

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter  Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight

Read here on AO3.

-

Peter stares at his reflection, assessing the image. The sweater he wears is dove gray, hemp-fiber and wide knit, giving a glimpse of his lean figure beneath—he likes the way it feels when he moves his arms and the knit brushes over his nipples (which are still tender from the loving abuse Tony delivered to them yesterday). A darling navy tumbled-fabric jacket and chinos complete the outfit, giving him a sense of elegance while remaining casual. 

Usually he likes every item he wears to be on-brand, but Peter doesn’t own any Armani sunglasses. He needs the sunglasses, though. Today, he wants the extra security they give. He wants some control, wants his guard to not know where his gaze rests. So on slip the Salvatore Ferragamo sunglasses with the rose-gold frames, like armor. 

After Peter’s embarrassing display yesterday, he’d spent the remainder of his afternoon and evening in his bedroom. He’d dropped after the sex, but only a little, lying shaky in a steaming tub while Tony fed him strawberries and licked the juice from his raw lips. 

“Send him away, sir,” Peter had begged. “I don’t want a guard. I just want you.” 

Tony smiles in a way that’s sad and soft and that Peter hates. “You didn’t feel that way when you were asking him to join us.” 

“Do y’ think I’m a slut?” Peter asks. He doesn’t cry—but it’s a near fucking thing. Everything, inside him and out feels scratched raw. “Why am I still like this after what Beck did? What’s wrong with me?”

“Pete. Hey, kid, look at me. Look at me. Good boy. Don’t talk about yourself that way. Do you know what I’d do if anyone said that bullshit about you? I’d kill them, sweet thing. I’d gut them. I’d grind them into dust. Nobody talks about my boy like that, and that goes for you, too. You fearless fucking thing. God, you know it drives me crazy watching you lose your mind, no matter who it’s over. And I don’t think there’s a person in the world who could fault you for wanting Barnes. He’s art, isn’t he?”

Peter sits up, startled. Water splashes over the side of the tub and soaks Tony’s pants (the only thing he wears, tugged on hastily after their fucking) but he gives no notice. Pieces to a puzzle he didn’t know existed suddenly snap into place. “You like him too.”

“I like him as much as I can like anybody who isn’t you. I’d say it’s more lust than anything—some admiration too. I’ve seen him dismember a body in ten minutes flat, you know that? I don’t think he knows the meaning of the phrase weak stomach. He’s got my respect is what I mean.” 

“More of your respect than Beck had?” 

Tony sighs and lets one hand slip into the bathwater to take Peter’s pruning hand. “Short answer? Way more than Beck had. But Pete, it doesn’t matter anymore. Beck is deader than dead. Do we need to go and visit the hole I dumped him in to make sure? It’s been a while since we’ve visited. Maybe it would help you put it to rest.” 

“And what about you?” Peter asks. He reaches out with the damp fingers of his free hand and runs a wet thumb beneath Tony’s eyes where the skin is thin and bruised looking from nights spent in insomnia and in poor sleep. “Are you resting?” 

“I’m getting there,” Tony promises. “Barnes helps. We’re going to keep him, Pete. You’ve got to make peace with it.” 

They’d spooned and spent the night in their room. Peter had stirred only briefly to Tony pressing a kiss to his forehead and giving him his love before leaving for the day. Plans are being drawn up for a Stark Industries tower in Manhattan, and Tony is up to his eyes with contractors and city planners and architects, spending more time away from the mansion in general. Though he doesn’t say anything, the knowledge is unspoken that Barnes is outside the door, that he will be Peter’s shadow from now on. 

Peter is ready, though.

Every hair in place, he moves to the door and opens it. Barnes is there in the hallway. He has the room beside theirs to sleep in (and isn’t that fodder for Peter to consider when he’s jerking off in bed, thinking about thin walls and naked assassins tangled in the sheets), but from what Tony told him, Barnes doesn’t often sleep. The years he spent in Russia being trained in God-knows-what have changed him. It’s no wonder that most of the people in Tony’s employ speak of him like he’s a phantom. 

Without acknowledging the other man’s existence, Peter goes downstairs and makes himself breakfast: organic overnight oats and avocado toast. Barnes takes up residence in a stool at the island countertop, eyes on his phone. He looks like a bored receptionist. 

Maybe Peter should make things a little more interesting for him.

“I’m going to the mall,” Peter says off the top of his head. Because the best plans are the ones no one can see coming, including Peter himself. Barnes doesn’t flinch at the sudden words. His head turns slowly, eyes half-lidded as he stares at Peter blankly. Did they not have malls in Russia? Peter thinks with scathing glee. “This is me being nice and warning you.” 

“Why?” 

“Because you asked me to?” 

“Why are you going to the mall?” 

“To hang out? To windowshop? To shop shop? I don’t know. I’ll figure it out when I get there.”

“If you don’t have an objective, why do you want to go?” 

Had he really spent so little time around normal humans that he’s forgotten the inherent illogic of them? 

Something stirs in Peter’s gut, a strange mix of softness and exasperation. Like always, when he’s presented with two choices, Peter finds himself tempted by the worser one. He can’t help but put his hand to the flames; he loves being burned. “I just—oh my god. Look, I need to spend time outside of the mansion or I’ll lose my mind. I’m trying to leave in a safe way. Unless you’d like me to wait for when you’re taking a shit for me to climb out the window?” 

Barnes shrugs one shoulder and goes back to scrolling through his phone. 

Brown eyes narrow. If there’s one thing Peter does not like, it’s being ignored. It makes him see red, like blood is dripping down into his eyes. If you’re ignored, then you’re ignorable. There is nothing ignorable about Peter B. Parker. 

“Shouldn’t you get a car for me or something?” Peter snaps. “Call me a cab?” 

“I’m your guard, not your servant,” Barnes says, his voice rough from disuse. 

Bust. Peter thinks for a long moment, chewing on his toast. At last, a smile spreads across his face. To his benefit, Barnes responds with a look of appropriate trepidation and scepticism. “That’s fine,” Peter says brightly, pushing away his empty plate. “I’ll get us a ride.” 

-

Tony’s garage is fourteen-hundred square feet and houses six cars and two motorcycles. (His garage beneath ground houses much less legal and savory things, but Peter can’t open that with a press of the automated door opener) Barnes doesn’t look equipped to withstand the sunlight dressed in a black leather jacket that probably conceals far too many weapons and black fitted pants that appear too tight to conceal anything. Though judging by the organic bulge there, he’s certainly packing heat in a way that Peter would appreciate—

Peter opens the third garage door and Barnes squints into the darkness making out the shape of the Aston Martin One-77. It’s a beautiful car, almost supernatural with the allure it holds over most people, luring them in like fish to a pretty tackle. Barnes steps inside without being ushered by Peter. One hand reaches out to hover over the glossy surface as though he doesn’t dare touch it. 

“You like?” Peter asks smugly. 

“We’re not taking this,” Barnes says at length. 

“Excuse me?” 

“You don’t know the meaning of the word inconspicuous, do you, kid? You’re supposed to be laying low until Toomes is taken care of.” 

“Come on. It’s New York City. Conspicuous is the new inconspicuous.” 

Barnes doesn’t look impressed. “No.” 

Peter prepares to argue but just manages to stop himself, gritting his teeth. Pick your battles, Pete, he tells himself. It’s no use dying on this hill. Not when he’s sure that he’ll find a much more satisfying hill to die on later in the day. He takes a deep breath in, holds it to the point of pain, and then lets it all out silently. “Fine,” he says at last. “We’ll take the Cadillac. Happy?” 

“Thrilled,” says Barnes with all the joy of a pallbearer. 

“You’re driving,” Peter says, plucking the keys off of their designated hook. He tosses them and Barnes catches them easily, the bastard. He’s so unflappable. Peter has no idea what it will take to get a reaction from him, but he can hardly wait to find out. 

After adjusting all the mirrors and seats (Peter takes note of how far back the man has to adjust the seat to accommodate legs that are inches longer than Tony’s) Barnes sits stoic behind the wheel, unmoving. 

“Any day now.” 

“Put your seatbelt on.” 

“Are you kidding me? I’m not twelve.” 

“Put. On. Your. Seatbelt.” 

“Make. Me,” Peter mocks. It’s worth it when Barnes reaches out faster than Peter can blink, wrapping a gloved hand so tightly around the seatbelt strap that hangs beside Peter’s neck that the leather of his glove creaks. The scent of leather and oil in Peter’s nose nearly makes his eyes roll back before Barnes pulls his arm back towards the console, jabbing the seatbelt into place. 

“Safety first,” Barnes snarks. 

Turns out, it’s a good fucking idea: safety. 

While he drives them from the secluded suburban house into the city, he breaks every traffic law known to man. Maybe he’s doing it to frighten a reaction from Peter, but if so, he’s going about it in all the wrong ways. Peter is a total adrenaline junkie. The swoop in his stomach he feels at every descent over a hill, the way his body is pressed to one side or another when Barnes makes a turn at double the recommended speed—all it does is take his breath away, make his head spin. 

When they begin to enter the city, Barnes is forced to adhere to more conventional traffic laws, but Peter is already looking forward to the drive home. He glances at the older man’s profile, not bothering with subtlety. Sunlight lights up the edge of him, emphasizing the perfect slope of his nose and the defined jaw. 

“What?” Barnes asks. 

“What, what?” 

“You’re staring at me.” 

“You’re hot. Sue me.” 

Barnes lets a sarcastic breath come out his nose. Peter takes the lack of response as a chance to turn fully in his seat, the belt straining across his chest. “What?” Peter asks. “Has no one ever told you that before?” 

“Told me what?” 

“How hot you are.” 

“Is this a real question?” Barnes wonders, face expressionless, voice unwavering. 

“Very real. When’s the last time someone told you that you were hot?” 

“About thirty seconds ago.” 

“God, you’re no fun,” Peter says. “You’re like Steve Rogers Junior or something. Turn up here onto the one-way. I want to go to Brookfield Place.” 

No matter the time of day, everything is always busy in Manhattan. The mall is no exception, and Barnes has to go up three different floors before he finds a satisfactory spot in the parking garage. Going into the mall with the other man is a downright surreal feeling. Peter can’t help but wonder what they look like together: Barnes’s hulking, gothic mass and Peter’s petite, borderline-preppy figure. But if Peter thought that he would get the chance to interact with Barnes here, he was mistaken. The man cuts away from Peter and disappears among the sea of bodies, probably to do something like maintain a superior vantage point. Despite being amongst so many people, Peter feels the keen sting of loneliness. 

He hates when Tony spends so much time working. 

Determined to make the best of his time, he stops by Davidoff’s and buys the cigars Tony likes. There’s a lighter too that catches his eye: S.T. Dupont, brushed palladium. Peter doesn’t know much about lighters except that he loves the way they look in Tony’s hands, the way he opens them with sure, practiced fingers. 

Feeling a little cheerier (spending money has that effect on him, maybe a side effect from so many years of poverty in Queens, but Peter’s no therapist) he crosses over to the new Louis Vuitton store. Tony doesn’t step foot here—it’s ultra-gauche to him, and Peter finds a giddy little thrill in being surrounded by clothes he knows Tony would make a sour face at. He picks a few items that are the least offensive and steps into a private luxury fitting area. 

When he steps out of the fitting room to test his stride in the tight denim pants, Barnes is sitting in one of the chairs with his ankle resting on his knee. He looks out of place among the luxury and colors. 

“What are you doing here?” Peter wonders. 

“I can’t keep eyes on you when you’re in a fitting room,” Barnes says around a scowl. “Stick to the open areas.” 

“What’s the use of going to the mall if I can’t try on clothes?” 

“I’m not seeing the use of being here at all,” says Barnes, tucking one leg up to rest his ankle on his knee. Peter grits his teeth. It isn’t fucking fair that the guy is so attractive and repulsive all at the same time, that he has a body Peter wants to worship but an attitude that makes him want to take the elevator up to the top floor of the mall and jump off. Splat. 

Peter ducks into the fitting room without a word and tugs on his clothes in a cold fury. I’ll show him, he thinks, tucking his shirt into pants. Anyone who tries to fit a collar around Peter’s neck finds that he’s not afraid to pull on the leash, even if it’s a bad idea, even if it chokes himself. Barnes will see.

When he comes out dressed, Barnes lifts both eyebrows. 

“I’m going to go and get a shirt to match those pants.” 

“No,” Barnes says, slowly, like Peter is a child. “We’re leaving.”

“One more shirt, and I’ll go without a fuss.”

Barnes weighs his options, gray eyes flickering from side to side while he thinks. At last, he says, “Be quick, kid. Or else.” 

As soon as Peter is free of the fitting room, he turns towards the doors of the store and begins to walk briskly. Once he’s free of the store itself, he lets himself jog to the escalator. He goes up to the top floor to throw Barnes off in case he’s already looking, ducking into the stairwell and then sprinting down them to the ground floor, narrowly avoiding bumping into a man counting his change at the vending machine. 

The feeling inside him is like euphoria. It’s the way he felt in the car with Barnes behind the wheel taking turns at ninety miles per hour. He imagines that he can already hear the pounding of boots behind him, but when he turns around, there is no one there. Barnes is probably just realizing that Peter made a run for it, and when he catches the younger man (when, Peter notes distantly, even in his mind he knows now that he will never be able to escape the man, he is always the rabbit running just out of reach of the dog’s jaws) the punishment—well Peter can hardly imagine what he’s in for. 

Peter comes out of the mall and into the sunlight. He turns away from the parking garage and begins to stroll down the street, hoping to god no civilians passing by take note of his half-hard cock. Heart pounding, Peter glances back over his shoulder, looking for a figure dressed in black and towering over the others, but there is no sign of the assassin—

Until a hand grips his wrist and pulls him into an alleyway. 

The breath goes from Peter’s lungs and for a moment he feels true fear. He goes for his strap but the figure knocks him off balance, urging him further into the darkness and away from any prying eyes who might glance down the alley. A body presses him into the brick wall of the building, skewing his sunglasses. 

The hand that rests palm flat on the bricks beside Peter’s face is gloved in black leather.  

“You think this is fucking funny?” Barnes whispers hotly into Peter’s ear. 

“Maybe not funny, but I’m having a good ti—ow, fuck, watch it!” Barnes grabs the sunglasses and crushes them in his hand, glass littering the ground. “You asshole! Those were four hundred dollars!” 

The pressure against his back increases until he struggles to take in a breath. Gasping for air, Peter grabs at the wrist beside his face, struggling to make known his urgency. All at once, Barnes turns him around so they face each other, the back of Peter’s head thudding against the brick wall. He grits his teeth against the pain and goes to knee the taller man in the balls. But it’s a move Barnes has been expecting, kicking Peter’s legs apart and planting himself between his thighs. 

The position is more than intimate. There’s no way Barnes can’t feel Peter’s erection, pinning his pelvis to the wall the way he is. Their chests brush with every breath, and one of those strong, leather clad forearms presses against Peter’s throat, a threat that has his blood singing. 

“Do you want to die?” Barnes asks him through his teeth. “Because this is how it happens. By not listening to me. By running from me. Tony told me you were smart, but all I see is a little boy playing grown-up games. It’ll break your daddy’s heart when Toomes gets his hands on you, and who do you think he’s going to blame? His brainless little baby? Or me?”

It’s a good thing Barnes’s arm cuts off Peter’s ability to speak, because at least that way he can blame it on anything but the shame he feels, the embarrassment that ties his tongue. He struggles and writhes more out of instinct than real hope of escape, and during one undulation, his stomach brushes against a distinct hardness. 

Peter freezes, eyes wide. Barnes’s eyes expand fractionally before narrowing even more, his jaw working as he grits his teeth. Arching more, Peter makes contact again. Barnes pulls him away from the wall for just an instant before jerking him back in admonishment. The rough bricks catch his hair and make his head ache, but it’s secondary. It’s all secondary. 

Because Barnes is hard. 

Peter begins to laugh. Even when the forearm pressed against his throat presses forward maliciously until no more noise can slip past his lips, Peter can’t stop shaking. Head spinning, Barnes gives him space to breathe before he can slip into unconsciousness and Peter gasps for air only to give it up again in laughter. 

Winning is so fucking sweet.

“I finally got a reaction out of you,” Peter rasps, eyes wet from the hilarity of it all. He bends at the waist, gagging, working to catch his breath. The whole time, Barnes watches with an expression that Peter can’t deduce, head tilted as if Peter is some microbe beneath a microscope that needs further studying. 

“Oh, right,” Barnes says at last, mouth curling upwards cruelly. He takes a step back to lean against the opposite brick wall, lounging there in a way that looks far too comfortable. Doubt sprouts in Peter’s mind and sours the joy of his victory. Whatever is brewing behind Barnes’s empty, smug eyes isn’t something Peter’s going to like. “I forgot. About your self-esteem issues.” 

That sucks the last bit of laughter from Peter’s lungs. “Excuse me?” 

Barnes crosses his arms. At length, he says, “Yeah. You know. How you correlate your own self-worth with the number of people who are sexually attracted to you. How if nobody has a hard-on looking at you, then you feel like shit. Because you are shit. That what you needed, kid? Needed to feel like more than just a poor orphan from Queens who sucks a powerful man’s dick to get affection and protection?” 

Peter’s blood boils. He feels himself shaking, fists clenched tight at his sides. For a moment, he thinks about drawing his concealed carry and pointing the barrel right at Barnes’s pretty fucking face just to see the smug expression drain from it. “You’re just talking out your ass right now because you have a hard-on for me. Must suck being human like the rest of us!” 

They’re both hitting new lows, finding cracks in the armor of the other person, because Barnes’s face twists into fury and he pushes away from the wall until they are nearly chest to chest again (and the size difference, Jesus, Peter has to look up at the guy, and that doesn’t even speak to how broad the other man is, bulky where Peter is lithe and willowy). Through his teeth, Barnes wonders: “What do you want from me? Jesus, if I knew you’d be such a fucking brat, I never would have taken this goddamn job!”

Peter pokes a finger into that broad, hard chest. “Right now? I want you to admit that you want to fuck me!” 

Barnes grabs him by the shoulder and shoves him back into the wall, pulling Peter upwards so that when he presses their bodies together, their cocks meet. Both of them are still hard. “Fine,” he snarls, breath wafting over Peter’s face. “I want to snap you in half from fucking you so hard. I jerked off last night wondering which I’d like more, to cum in your ass or all over that smart fucking mouth. Listening to you and your daddy fucking made me harder than I’ve been in my entire life. Is that what you want? Is this what you want?”

“Yes,” Peter chokes, eyes rolling. His hips thrust even though there is no space, even though the man is front of him is as yielding as the brick wall behind him, the pressure on his cock making stars burst in the back of his brain. “Yes, I want it all, I want it all.” 

Barnes drops him. The loss of contact has Peter’s head rushing. The man leans forward until their faces are inches apart, close enough to kiss if they so wanted, and for a moment Peter’s eyes even flutter only to be dropped back into reality when Barnes speaks: “But it’s never going to happen. Not today, not tomorrow, not ever. This is my job. The last guy who fucked you on the job got himself killed, and I’m not looking to follow in his footsteps.” 

Peter is left gaping as Barnes steps back to put space between them again. It had all seemed so close, but now it had slipped through his fingers like sand in a clenched fist, like water down a drain. His mouth opens but no words come out. No words. 

“Get over it, Peter,” Barnes says solemnly. “And quit trying to get the both of us killed.”

[perogipoj]

all this before coffee

Dedicated to my black sheep family, who will always be golden.

 Barbed wire, blank walls and an empty sky. Cocoa Beach.  Brevard County, FL. Jail.  Also known as SHARPS.  Tammy walked into the classroom with an air of bravado coupled with the eyes of a child. I never met a teacher before she said shyly, glancing at her handcuffs on the uncomfortable chair.  Even … I hesitated, even in school, I asked gently. I adjusted my own hips to adjust for the cold hard beneath me.  I mean, a teacher for real.  Her eyes looked down, and I implored with my eyes this time to the corrections officer to remove the handcuffs.  Her shoulder length hair was marred by black roots and mustard colored ends.  There were scars on her arm from cutting.  Her teeth were perfect when she decided to smile. Opening the GRE materials, I joked that I am useless at math but fairly good at grammar.  Tammy looked beautiful.

 Some of us take many things too far.  That has seemed to be my pattern.  Even healthy habits turned into obsessions.  Jogging turned into running which became marathons and a cruel treatment of my body.  Some can run into their seventies without injury as some people live to a hundred while smoking and drinking whiskey to the end.  Mindful eating became anorexia and bulimia.  Going organic made me broke with the kombucha and hemp that flowed through my veins.  Being tidy led me to compulsive house cleaning, often with bleach scouring my hands and my eyes colored in pink tears.  Personal grooming turned to hours and dollars of hair coloring, clothes I could not afford, Botox, and breast augmentation. Wanting affirmation led to dangerous and toxic sexual situations.  

 Jaylen, I was warned, was “special.”  I would normally groan inward, used to so many parents highlighting their children as such, usually to explain poor grades.   The volunteer walked all twelve years of Jaylen, his mannerisms large and chaotic, into the room in which all toys and colors were removed.  I hate reading, he said, standing with his arms crossed in front of him like a knight.  Why? It’s stupid.  Can you read, I asked, opening the second-grade reader I was given. I don’t need to read, I can dance.

 I met The Peruvian on a last minute, pathetic online date.  I was at a job expo to acquire my first teaching job after finishing my master’s degree at a world-famous university.  I almost flunked out.  I could not focus.  I cried over social histories in German, a language I lacked grammatical skill in, dreading the meetings with just my professor and another grad student. Black tea, discussions of Marx I got lost in, his approval nodding at the stout Russian girl I already had difficulty understanding in English, never mind in German.  In college, I was stellar.  On time to each class, writing papers late into the night with a gusto of my fingers and a smile on my face.  The world looked bright. On a sweltering day with an incompressible and unimportant commencement speaker, we burnt in the sun and passed around a flask of vodka under our graduation gowns.  Life is beginning.  I held the parchment color graduation schedule. My name had a star next to it.

 I saw that Tammy was no longer shackled when she entered the gray room.  Since the week I met with her, she had elevated herself to the trusted inmates who could clean, deliver meals, and hand out the dog-eared pages of books on a squeaky cart.  So, you scored extremely high on many levels, Tammy.  Let’s take a look at the reading comprehension packet I assigned on The Scarlet Letter.  She smiled more brightly.  I pressed her for intrigue. Ma’am, she said glowing, my commissary is so lit now I don’t have to eat the garbage they give us.  They try to pass off expired food when I deliver it.  I wanted to call them out on those pistachios.  I don’t have time to answer these packets you give me. But I read the book.  What did you read, according to you?  We clasped hands.  Of course, the minster got off and Hester had to wear the giant A over her pilgrim costume.  I dipped my head. Of course.  She could read Hawthorne.  

 I will be the gladdest thing

           Under the sun!

I will touch a hundred flowers

           And not pick one.

 I will look at cliffs and clouds

           With quiet eyes,

Watch the wind bow down the grass,

           And the grass rise.

 And when the lights begin to show

           Up from the town,

I will mark which much be mine,

           And then start down.

-          Edna St. Vincent Millay  

 Jaylen came running into the room from the play center and basketball court which I assumed was a courtesy to me.  He needed to get the wiggles out.

 Nassau Point in the summer at Aunt Tillie’s, driving the Long Island Expressway until it ended to countless grey and white mottled roads.  Passing vineyards that used to be potato fields, cramming my mouth with the last bit of contraband Doritos which were called a Special Treat to nullify us on the vast expanse from New Jersey to the tiny white house.  Decorated in “Early American” with a front glass porch smelling oddly pleasant of moth balls and sunlight.  The huge lawn rolling into the bay with a dock that appeared and disappeared with the tide.  Kids took showers in the dank basement, carved out of a space teeming of a hoarder. A crusted bottle of prell shampoo and a withered sliver of ivory soap.  I met Man-Boy With Very Hairy Legs for the first and last time.  Stroking my legs up and down, he asked if I had a boyfriend.  I was ten, and smug that I could run through poison ivy and never get a rash.  Do you want to fool around, like do stuff?  He whispered into my ear everything I did not know yet.  That’s what married people do!  With his laughter, I leapt my long legs and ran, up the hill, to the driveway where my father was shucking corn.  I got away. This time.

 I was so excited to see Tammy.  But she was not in attendance.  I left the CO the beat-up copy of Antigone for her. I never saw Tammy again.  “All men make mistakes, but a good man yields when his course is wrong and repairs the evil.  The only evil is pride.” This quote was for my betterment, not for Tammy’s.

 A time of reckoning, and a time of complete growth.  A time of a schedule not placed by us.  A journey into us through the connection of others, who became best friends.  Vitamin fusions, lining up for medication in ribbed short paper cups, and Group.  Totally released from responsibility, my linens and clothes were washed, returned the same afternoon in compact squares surrounded by plastic wrap.  Jokes of communal constipation. So, this is my brain mapped.  Here is what displays depression, here anxiety, this is insomnia, that part shows a lack of memory and concentration.  What is that big blue of the Pacific Ocean?  She looked at me, clicked her keyboard.  PTSD.  

 I want to draw a Parrot! P-A-R-R-O-T and speak like one! Wordless, I handed him the blue and black expo markers for the old white board.  With precision, he drew the bird.  I need more colors, he explained in one breath can I talk like a parrot.  I smiled at him at led him to his desk. Let’s try to pay attention today, and I will get you more colors and you can show me how a parrot talks. I began my lesson, and his eyes drifted into imagination.  I needed to get him more colors.  

 I told The Peruvian I was pregnant.  Now I can never afford to divorce you he muttered, enraged.  Married two months earlier, I realized our honeymoon baby was not welcome.   The protesters were angry, and I felt sick. Him on his laptop, me crying to a social worker.  Do not sedate me, I plead, I need to feel this sin.  Sliding my shoes off in the car, my trunk grinding with mountain rolls of cramps and uncontrollable sobbing coming from a divine place, I declined lunch in West Palm.  I never want to do anything fun.  Changing my pad alone in a car beneath the ceiling of the parking garage in City Place, I then tilted my head and fell asleep again.  My birthday came and went.  You didn’t remember my birthday.  With that evil glint in his eyes, he turned his head and told me that was because he did not love me.

 I purchased a ream of paper and a new box of 42 colors Crayola, legit, sharpener in the box, for Jaylen.  He immediately sat down and drew and drew.  Can we put some words to these if we use the colors you want?  He looked up at me shyly and wrote down five words from the fifth-grade reader.  How did you know that?  Easy, my Grammy teaches me.

 I did not smoke to fit in. I smoked because it felt good out in the parking lot, vying for shade, with the Tech supplying communal cigarettes and a light.  The wave went through me and my lips burned with the dirt and smoky taste.  You look like Strawberry Shortcake trying to smoke a cigarette!  My mother was a sophisticated Virginia Slims smoker, sitting on the brick steps in her tennis skirt, so beautiful, watching my brother play in the backyard waiting for my father to return from work.  I sat next to her in awe, breathing in the sprinkler water and counting its pattern, hum hum-hum-hum, hum hum-hum-hum.  

 I took a cigarette break on my Uber ride home.  I knew I would not smoke much when I got home.   However, I did not consume much except cigarettes and black coffee.  I felt Parisian.  The house got messy, and my thighs grew softer. Investing only in ponds cold cream and drugstore mascara, I laughed deeper and threw myself into work more than ever, with determined concentration, forgetting my posture, hunched over in zeal working sixty hours a week.   Anxiety attacks did not make my head and hands shake while driving. I binged watched Law and Order.  Being unhealthy never felt so healthy.  

 I called the jail to let them know I am available for other inmates if they needed me.  I went the next day to help a young man learn English as a second language. All went well until he stood up screaming asking for a guard then switching to Spanish.  

 Here is your key, you can find your mailbox in the teacher lounge.  Here is the form to join the union, Mr. Pescatelli will most certainly find you about that.  Do you know what a block schedule is?  In the morning you will be teaching Advanced Placement European History to our magnet students.  After lunch, you have sophomore World History in the fourth wing. The afternoon will have different challenges.  If you ever need assistance, security is just down the hall.  Welcome to Ft. Lauderdale High School.  Welcome to my first year of teaching.  

 …

 I met the Sophisticated Scandinavian Man in Boston in the Spring.  A PhD candidate from a social democracy intrigued me.  I was twenty-two and he was twenty-eight.  I felt like a puppy taken in from the cold.  There is a long story for this, maybe later.  The times in which he devoured me, lavished upon me, he loved a short story I wrote, “All this before coffee.”

 Sonya met me in the prison classroom.  In anticipation of a new student, I posted Jaylen’s parrots, travel posters, pictures of presidents listing their failures before they took office.  Hello, she said, reaching her cuffed wrists out to me.  I am Jaylen’s mother.

 All this before coffee.  All this after a DUI.