#I looked up cherry cobbler next.

[stringbeans-and-peas]

I wish I had my photo of the last blueberry cobbler I made. Unfortunately my old phone....is in a better place now. And I lost all my pictures.

[ladygojooo]

Neither Did I, My Dear (Nanami x Reader)

Synopsis: Five years - the amount of time you've been single, in university over in the States, and out of Japan. The amount of time you had to get over your ex.

Somehow, it wasn't enough.

Pairing: Kento Nanami x reader

WC: 2.3k

Content: exes to lovers, alternate universe - no powers, spiraling thoughts, hurt/comfort, angst, angst to fluff, fluffy ending, reconciliation (possibly OOC Nanami)

A/N: I tried, guys, I really did, but no guarantees that Kento is in character. I'm hoping that the more I write JJK fanfics, the easier it'll become to slip into their skins (metaphorically, lol). AO3 link here.

After five years in America, you’d forgotten how light Japan got in the springtime.

You didn’t really know how to put it, exactly, but it’s like you could see the sunbeams between the buildings and trees. You saw all the pastels and lighter colors of passerbys, the bright colors of the stands, the cherry blossoms - all of it was something you lost when you moved overseas for university. America had its vibrancy, sure, but it often was overwhelmingly grey. 

Even the peaches were softer and sweeter back in your home country. You smiled at the man running the stand, dropping the money into his hand and walking away with your find. Maybe you could make a nice peach cobbler, that was always your favorite dessert to eat when in the States.

Or, you thought as you were pushed and watched your peaches go flying into the air, maybe it would be better to force the person who ruined the peaches to pay for a new round.

“My apologies,” a baritone voice said, “I didn’t see you there.”

You looked up in spite of the unpleasant leap in your stomach to find him there.

Kento Nanami.

Valedictorian. Salaryman. Wannabe emo.

…and ex-boyfriend.

“It’s no problem,” you said, keeping your head down and gathering your peaches. “I’m not the best at watching my surroundings.”

He stayed quiet for a few moments, and for a brief second, you thought he’d move on and continue walking to wherever he had to go.

It wouldn’t be the first time.

But, much to your chagrin, your name came forth from his lips, and all hope of walking away from this encounter without further interaction was dashed spectacularly.

“Nanami, hey.” Your smile felt more like a grimace, but you’d practiced in front of a mirror long enough to know that it would look fine. “How- how’ve you been?”

“I’ve been well.” He bent down and picked up the last peach, putting it in the bag from whence it came. “I’ve been working for the past few years. It’s monotonous work at its finest, but there’s not much to complain about.”

“I’m glad work isn’t too much for you,” you said, keeping the strained smile on your face. “I know you worked hard to get to where you’re at.”

You both stood, letting the noise of the people moving around you fill the void that was your history.

He looked good. The lanky frame he had in high school had properly filled out, his hair had been cut and made him look professional, and the sunglasses - well, the sunglasses simply added onto the charm.

Not that there was any charm anymore. No. No, absolutely not. None.

“Would you-”

“I’ve gotta-”

You both stopped, caught off guard by speaking at the same time. “You first,” you insisted.

Nanami nodded in thanks. “Would you like to get coffee sometime? I’d like to catch up with you, if you’re willing.”

Your heart screamed in dread and delight at the proposition. It was everything you’d hoped for since he’d told you that the relationship was over, sure, but-

You’d spent five years trying to find some semblance of normal in the wake of the damage he left behind. Would intentionally meeting up with him undo all of that hard fought progress?

“I-” You cut yourself off and sighed. Who were you kidding? You still couldn’t say no to him, not even after all this time apart. “I’m free next Saturday.”

~~~

After exchanging numbers, texting back and forth sporadically, and figuring out a coffee shop which you both wanted to go to, you finally made it to the following Saturday.

You felt like you were going to puke.

Your nerves felt two seconds away from lighting on fire, which was a stark contrast to your deep and even breaths.

You felt like you were going to puke.

You leaned forward, your forehead touching the top of the steering wheel. Your eyes closed as you breathed yet again. How was this going to go? How could you stand in front of Nanami - purposefully - and not lose all the progress you made in moving on? Have you even moved on?

You felt like you were going to- 

“Alright, that’s enough, out of the car,” you told yourself, forcibly yanking your mind out of a downward spiral. You told Nanami you’d be here, and so help you if you skipped out of it because you were afraid of some stupid feelings that should have died a long time ago.

The shop bell chimed brightly as you walked in. It was a quaint little place, one recommended by Nanami himself, and one that you were quite taken by. Maybe you’d swing by here another time by yourself to enjoy it without the dread of talking to your ex hanging over you.

Speaking of, you heard him call your name from off to your right. Situated in the corner away from the other patrons was Nanami, two cups of coffee in front of him.

You waved, and as you drew close to the table, you spoke. “Hey, thank you for getting us a spot. I hope I didn’t keep you too long.”

“No worries. I wanted to make sure we had a spot that wasn’t in the midst of the shop. If I recall correctly, I know we both value peace and quiet.”

You were able to blame the way your eyes darted away from his on hanging your backpack on the back of your seat. It had been over five years since you last had any meaningful conversation with him, how in the world did he still remember that about you?

“I appreciate it, Nanami, thank you.” You smiled politely at him, hoping against hope that you weren’t blushing. “And thank you for the coffee. You didn’t have to do that.”

“Nonsense, I was the one to initiate this outing. It’s only fair that I cover the cost.”

You nodded once and took a sip. Your eyebrows raised in surprise. “Is this a muddy mocha?”

“Yes. It’s still your favorite type of coffee, correct?”

You didn’t have an excuse to break eye contact, but your eyes still glanced down at the table for a moment. Goodness, you hoped your polite poker face extended to blushing as well. “It is, yeah.”

“Good,” he said. You looked up at him through your lashes again, catching the way the side of his mouth ticked up the tiniest bit. You answered his grin with one of your own.

~~~

Much to your surprise, you two had fallen right into conversation like no time had passed. Tales about university, dead end jobs, and daily life were exchanged freely. You got to tell him about your friend group over in America, and Nanami got to disclose all the details about what his friend group in Japan was up to (you dutifully ignored the pang in your heart as you remembered that they weren’t your friends anymore).

“And that’s,” he said chuckling, head tilted back ever so slightly, “how Haibara ended up getting the number of a convict.”

“Oh my gosh,” you laughed, hand covering your mouth so as not to disturb the rest of the cafe with how loud you were. “If you would have told me that sweet, innocent Yu would one day get the contact information for a lady who’s been arrested multiple times for public drunkenness, I wouldn’t have believed it.”

“I still don’t.” Nanami’s voice sounded warm and inviting, just like-

Your laughter turned to sniffles and cries in an instant, and for the life of you, you couldn’t understand why you couldn’t just remain happy. Why did you always have to do this to yourself?

You heard Nanami shift in his seat. “Are you okay?”

His question, so full of concern for your wellbeing, only pushed you closer to tears. You stood abruptly, gathering your cup and your backpack in a few seconds.

“This was a bad idea, I- I’m sorry, Nanami, I have to go,” you whispered, hand still over your mouth and half over your face as you tried to conceal your sudden shift in mood. You hurried over to the trash can by the front door and threw away the empty cup.

“Wait-”

His voice cut off as you pushed open the door, fleeing as quickly as you could.

You idiot, you knew that coming out was a bad idea, but noooo, you just had to go ahead and screw yourself over. All that progress, and for what? An outing you deluded yourself into thinking was a date?

“Stop.”

You didn’t have time to wipe your tears from your face as Nanami cornered you against the wall. The alleyway in which you two stood was abandoned, just like it was the day he broke up with you.

“It isn’t like you to burst into tears like that,” Nanami said, eyes creased with worry. “Please tell me what’s going on.”

“Let me go, Nanami,” you whispered, your head turned to the side so you didn’t look at him.

“Not when you’re upset like this.”

You laughed bitterly. “What makes you think you have the right to try to soothe me? Why start now?” Silence answered you, and you couldn’t help the splinter of your heart. “Just let me go, please.”

“Let me make this right,” he murmured, drawing closer. You shook your head.

“You can’t.”

Only a few seconds of silence passed before you felt his fingers gently take hold of your jaw and turn your head toward him. Two more tears dropped down your cheeks when your eyes met his. He wiped them away and settled his thumb along your cheek, letting it glide back and forth.

“I-” He sighed raggedly. “It hurts me more than ever to see you in pain. What did I do, and how can I fix it?”

You laughed around a sob stuck in your throat and tilted your head back, moving out of his grasp. His hand landed on your neck instead. Your eyes closed.

“For a moment,” you mumbled, “for a moment, I felt normal again. We used to do this all the time, back when we were in school, and for a second, it-”

You paused and breathed before you started crying harder. You already hated that there were tears streaming down your face, but the prospect of breaking down further terrified you. This was the same man who walked away after shattering your heart. You didn’t want to be vulnerable in front of him again.

“Kento,” you whimpered, body betraying you as more tears slipped down your face, “for the first time in five years, everything felt bright again. I felt at peace for the first time in so long, only to remember that this is going to end. We’ll both leave the coffee shop and go back to our regular lives, and that’s ok - it is - but-”

“Breathe, darling,” he said as he rubbed his hands up and down your arms. It had always been a tried-and-true method that he used back in high school to calm you down, but after so long of not having him, it only made you fully burst into tears.

“It’s been five years, Kento, why do you still hold my heart captive?”

You couldn’t see the look of devastated longing on his face through your tears, but you could feel him guide you into his arms again. You felt his warmth and strength hold you as you fell apart for the first time in a long while. You felt him rock you back and forth as your tears soaked into his shirt.

You felt whole again in the arms of the man who broke your heart, and you hated it just as much as you loved him.

Only when your cries turned into the occasional sniffle did he speak again.

“I suppose we’ve both been holding each other captive, then.”

You couldn’t understand what he was talking about. “What?”

Kento shifted, drawing you the tiniest bit closer. His breath was warm where it fanned against the crown of your head. “I’ll be honest - I asked you out today to see if there was a chance you’d allow me to date you again. Ending our relationship was the worst decision I’ve made.”

You pulled away from his chest to look at him, hoping that your face didn’t appear pathetically hopeful. “What?”

His hand came once more to rest on your cheek, eyes flitting between yours. “My heart has always been yours, I just didn’t realize it until you disappeared the week after everything ended.”

“Kento…”

“Please, sweetheart,” he whispered, touching his forehead to yours, “let me win your heart over once again. Let me be yours.”

With his plea came two distinct paths.

The first? You could keep the walls you’d painstakingly built, back away from Nanami, and walk away. The path of your future would be blank and wide open, and you could mold it any which way you wanted. You could pursue further education, found a charity, rescue a dog or two - any and all of it, it was open to you.

And it seemed terribly unappealing.

The second? 

Well, you could lean forward and feel the warmth of his lips once more. You could spend more nights together, making dinner and watching tv before leaving for your apartment. You could hold his hand, exchange warm glances, and pepper his face with kisses. You could one day have and hold him, until death did you both part.

And so you leaned forward ever so slightly, bridging the chasm that stood between the both of you.

His lips, slightly chapped though they were, felt so much like home that it took an embarrassing amount of strength to keep standing and not fall completely into him. Kento’s hands found their way to your waist, pulling you impossibly closer as he reciprocated.

“I never stopped loving you,” was the first thing out of your mouth when you pulled away. 

He chuckled, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. 

“Neither did I, my dear.”

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

Jason would absolutely be able to tell the moment you got home if it’s been a bad day. Patrol planned or not he would drop everything to have you sit in his lap and give you a good shoulder massage while you rant about your day.

"No bones day today?"

Jason paused, watching you stand in the middle of the floor, rubbing your eyes with your sleeve and looking at the guitar and amp in the corner of the room with what he can only describe as confusion.

"No bones," you confirm, crumpling into the sofa with a yawn and curling up in your spot.

"No bones it is," he said, starting the kettle for tea and crossing the floor to drop a blanket over you, knowing you'd wrap yourself up until you achieved the optimum level of burrito.

He used to worry when you had these kinds of days- but now he could almost predict it. And he'd had a feeling yesterday. For the last few days really that one was coming. Your bursts of manic energy and the effects of not getting enough sleep tended to slam into you; leaving you tired and punchy for a little while.

"I'm sorry-"

"Pockets," he snorted, "the zoo isn't going anywhere. Neither is the ice cream place you like."

"This is Gotham."

"Yeah," he chuckled, "But we already had this month's Arkham break out. AND the full moon isn't until next week."

"Fair enough."

"So, no bones. We'll loaf around and you can rot your brain for a day."

"It feels like jello."

"I bet it does," he said, leaning over the couch to pet your hair. "But it'll firm back up in a day or two... At least you didn't go on a hike."

"That's true." You groan and stretch, "How many times did I-"

"You didn't," he said, "You rented a carpet cleaner and didn't wait for me to get home to move the couch. It was impressive, honestly."

"I remember that," you answer yawning. "That doesn't explain why my shoulders hurt so bad."

"Carpet cleaner," he said practically. "Cobbler or brownies?"

"Do we have cherries?" you ask, turning to look up at him.

"Peaches."

When your nose crinkled he smiled a little, "Brownies it is."

[akanemnon]

i want to eat your artstyle like it’s a five course meal it’s SO GOOD

you draw UT undyne so WELL

i feel like your art would taste like a cherry cobbler idk why

Awww thank you so much! Luckily we'll get a little more UT Undyne in the next comic too! She's fun to draw! (Also I had to look up what a cherry cobbler is. It looks and sounds delicious)

[queeniecook]

"Celebration" Part 1

I put my revelation about my feelings for Pak in the back of my mind and heart. I didn't want to deal with them. I was scared to deal with them. I didn't want to fall for someone. It was too risky. Besides, I wanted to keep our friendship. I'd rather have that than nothing at all.

Christmas arrived. I was throwing a small party. And by small, I meant it was just going to be myself, Cleo and Pak. Yes, I know having him around wasn't the best way to forget things like feelings, but we had made the plans weeks ago. Plus I wanted the company.

"Fish?" Pak questioned once he arrived. Cleo seemed to like the idea of a fish dinner.

"Yes....something wrong with it?" I asked him. I tried to go with something I had already in my fridge, so I didn't have to go grocery shopping.

"No." Pak stated and looked at it. "I guess I just expected turkey or ham." He explained. "Thank you for making dinner." Pak added, smiling.

We sat down to eat, I tried not to stare at him. He was acting odd about the fish. Fishy if you will. I found it weird, considering he lives on a island. Maybe he was burnt out on fish because of that?

The fish dinner was forgotten when we moved to my office and started singing Christmas carols. I was shocked, Pak actually has a really good voice.

Then it was time for gifts, Pak got me my very own yoga mat. I was happy with it. And amused.

I watched Pak shake his gift and tried not to laugh. It was funny really.

He opened his gift box and looked at me. I got him the same thing. His old one was falling apart. We laughed about getting each other the same thing.

Santy Paws got Cleo a new toy. She didn't seem too thrilled.

Until about five minutes later, then she loved it.

Pak and I left Cleo to play with her new toy and had our dessert. Some cherry cobbler he brought over. Then we watched a Christmas movie classic "Frosty the Snowman".

It was getting late after that. I enjoyed spending the Holiday with Pak and Cleo. I hadn't had a Christmas like that in years.

Then he surprised me. Stunned me really. I wasn't expecting it at all. For one, where did he even hide mistletoe? I didn't see any pockets on his outfit. Two, I wasn't sure if I was ready for that to happen. My heart was about ready to pound out of my chest.

And then he kissed me. It was a quick peck on the lips, really. My mind knew it was a brief moment. But my heart. It felt like it lasted for minutes somehow. I stopped breathing. I almost fainted. And then I heard him telling me goodnight and he left.

I stood there, blinking. That did not help me at all. And I wanted to run after him and yell at him for just kissing me and leaving. Why did I want to do that? I didn't want to examine that one.

I decided to go on a walk to clear my head. It was so darn cold out though that I barely made it around the block. My thinking would have to wait.

When I made it back to the house, a new Father Winter guy was waiting for me. I wondered what happened to the last one. But he gave me a gift of a new book to read and I thanked him.

After I went inside, I got ready for bed and hung out with Cleo on the couch.

"What do you think that mistletoe business was about, Cleo?" I asked her.

Her response was to look at me like "More pets, less talk please." so that didn't really give me an answer.

I sat in my room and thought about things. Maybe I was overthinking it? Maybe he was just being festive? Maybe he got caught up in the Holiday spirit? Maybe I was reading too much into it.

I decided not to bring it up. If he wanted to talk about it, he'd bring it up. Because there was a chance it meant nothing. I didn't want to make things weird.

next->

[00towns]

plant matter, part 2: an end of season update

read part 1 here!

Veggie garden

I’m sad to report some mixed results here. This Japanese summer was absolutely brutal, both on me and the plants I was desperately trying to keep alive. The heat was beginning to demand that I water the garden up to twice a day, an unfortunate side effect of growing in containers. This became tedious quickly, and I was more than often reviving my wilted tomatoes and peppers from the brink of drought induced death. I got several fantastic harvests of cherry tomatoes, which I either brought to work to share with coworkers or made into a delicious sauce with garlic. I got one really good harvest of yellow peppers, which I brought to a riverside barbecue to share with friends. In late summer, my veggies were struck by two pests: an infestation of scale, and an uncomfortably nosy neighbor who seemed to view my small garden as an opening to talk to me. I could have fought the scale, but my travel picking up in August and September meant that I was also frequently away, and I decided to let the scale win. I was rid of both pests at once! 

Houseplants 

This hobby has gotten out of hand. I discovered this summer that you can buy plant cuttings on Mercari, and it went downhill from there. My collection of plants has almost doubled, none of which I will be able to bring home with me when I return to the US next year. Some highlights include a monstera albo I’m growing from a leafless node cutting, a variegated syngonium which arrived in my mailbox in a plastic bottle, and a Teruno Collection Shangri-la pothos, which goes for upwards of fifty dollars on Etsy. In this year’s graveyard are a string of pearls, a string of hearts, and a peperomia, all of which were victim to the shitty potting soil at my local grocery store. 

My deliciosa lived outside the whole summer and had a blast. She’s almost doubled in size. I don’t know if it’ll fit back indoors, although I was forced to trial this theory during Shanshan when the winds were really starting to pick up. She needs to start paying rent. 

Spider lily

Not much survives the heat of the summer in terms of flowers, but when the temperature breaks so do the hearts of spider lilies, which bloom in spiky red and white fireworks. They dot the banks of the river behind school, growing like weeds at the base of trees and in thickets of weeds. A sign of the waning summer, they’ll last for as long as the cicadas, until the forests eventually fall silent and brown for the winter. 

Peaches, grapes, chestnuts 

I became addicted to spending Y1000 almost every other day on incredible fat peaches from the farm stand and grocery store. They’re so delicate that even picking them up damages the flesh underneath, and some I saw this year were so large they required two hands. The early season ones were white but still soft and absurdly sweet just like yellow peaches, and the later season ones have been mostly yellow with a more earthy taste. These peaches were blended into nice cream, baked into peach cobblers, and eaten with two hands over the sink like an animal. I’ll miss stonefruit season dearly. 

Shockingly even more expensive are bundles of shine muscat grapes with thick, bitter skin. Usually bought as a gift, I choose the cheapest ones and pop a few in my mouth before I even make it home. Grapes will be a feature over the next months in daifuku and jelly desserts. My neighbor’s grape trellis has been fruiting since July, but now the size of the bunches look like they’ll break the thin stems they hang from. I’ll be a little bird, waiting for them to fall. 

Lastly and my favorite are chestnuts. In the morning, they sit fallen on the side of the street; by the time I walk home they’re pecked apart and the flesh inside consumed by hungry creatures. I enjoy them roasted from street stands, baked into desserts, soft and crumbly in bread. 

Thank you, growing season! See you next year!

[gwendolynshepherds]

And I was talking with Cheryl the other day and she says that she knows exactly who did it. It was Pam. You know, from the bingo hall? Turns out, she was getting tired of wondering which one of them would kick the bucket first, and since Loretta had Pam in her will, Pam just decided to take the inheritance early.

Oh, but you just know they’ll never find her right? I mean, the old bat’s got everyone fooled. They think she’s just as sweet as cherry pie, but you saw just how she was when she lost that one game didn't ya. That woman's got one hell of a sour side, I just know it.

Anyway, it's been nice talking to you, Winnie. I better leave before I get too riled up. Wanna look nice and proper for my date. Real dainty. And I can't very well be dainty with these kinda thoughts on the mind now can I? I'll see you next week. Bye bye now.

Oh my stars, well I never! You know, I saw Pam last week with the pastor, and I think she was getting more than spiritual advice, if you know what I mean. His poor wife is just all bent outta shape over it, but if you ask me, I think the kids've known for a while. I'll let you get all gussied up for your date, but you better be comin' over for some sweet tea and peach cobbler before bunko on Wednesday. Bye Donna!

[gintrinsic-writing]

Based on the real-life Kindness War I’m currently losing to my new neighbors.

—

Legend was doing something to a piece of parchment. It might have resembled writing, if writing involved angry jabs and forceful lines, Time reflected. He was pretty sure it didn’t.

“He’s been at it for an hour,” Four said discreetly.

“Who is he writing to?”

“From all the snarky mumbling, we’re pretty sure it’s Ravio, but—” Legend underlined something hard enough to tear a line through the paper. The rip was audible. That didn’t seem to slow him. “—we think the intended message is meant for someone else.”

Warriors peered up from his journal. “It’s definitely for someone else.”

“How do you know?” Time asked.

Warriors smirked, making Time instantly regret asking. “Hey, Vet,” he began casually, “how’re you liking those new neighbors?”

“Sons of bitches!” Legend snapped, emphasizing each word with a stab-like jab of the quill. “They’re so entitled and awful! I can’t believe Ravio has to deal with them all by himself. I swear to the goddesses, when I get back there, I’m going to make them regret ever setting eyes on our house.” He grabbed a fresh sheet of parchment and continued writing. There was beginning to be a small stack.

“What did they do?” Time asked in concern, fearing vandalism or theft. He knew Legend and Ravio kept a valuable inventory.

Legend grumbled under his breath, glaring like he could burn a hole through the paper with his eyes. Then, after a rather intense, all-caps sentence was written, he said, “They cleaned and polished our shields.”

“…Is that a euphemism?”

While Warriors cackled, Legend started a new line. “No, it’s not a euphemism. They literally cleaned and polished all of our old shields.”

“And that’s… bad?”

Legend’s glare transferred to Time. It was impressive. “Do you know,” he began in a growl, “how long it takes to get the grime out of seven shields? They even applied oil to the goddess-damned leather straps.”

Time glanced at Four and Warriors, then back to Legend. “I don’t see why—”

“And then! After a snowstorm two weeks ago, Ravio told me they shoveled a path to the shop’s front door! By hand!”

“I’m lost,” Time confessed.

“And when Ravio tried to get even with them by baking them a sourdough loaf from scratch, they returned the pan with a fresh cherry cobbler. A cherry fucking cobbler! In our pan!” Legend seethed.

“These are all good things.”

Legend looked at Time as though he was being purposefully dense. “Don’t you get it? This is a declaration of war! They’ve outdone Ravio at every possible turn. He’s beset by their machinations. Bad enough that they did all the rest, but that pan—the fact that they returned it with something better…” The parchment ripped under the weight of his next line. “Those bastards are going to pay.”

Warriors started cackling again, joined soon by Four, but all Time felt was concern.

“It sounds like they’re just trying to be nice.”

“Oh, I’ll show them nice.”

“What are you going to do?”

Legend smiled with all his teeth, like a monster before it sank its fangs in flesh. “I’m going to put insulator enchantments across all their windows; they’ll never lose heat through the panes in winter again. And then I’m going to make them my best potions. And then—” He smile grew more vicious. “I’m going to make them the best fucking blackberry cobbler they’ve ever eaten.”

As Legend resumed violently writing, Time turned back toward the others. “I still don’t understand.”

Four pretended to wipe a tear away. “Just enjoy it.”

[summercreolefanfictioner]

how Kanato Sakamaki fell in love with the vampire doll (prompt + moodboard)

context: the timeline happened three days since Maya's permanence at the Sakamaki household and before they found out her name

the cherry aftertaste || kanato, maya

Cherries.

Those little round fruits in scarlet color with stems people knot in perverted ways. They have a bittersweet sour taste that matches with heavy creams, cakes, and chocolates. Most of all, they look like droplets of blood when soaked in water.

It's not like Kanato wasn't fond of cherries. On the contrary, cherries are one of his favorite fruit in desserts. He just doesn't see them as a sinful fruit like people do when they use the term in the context of sexuality. He thinks apples are the wicked ones that taste like sin and human blood mixed with madness.

But lately, Kanato was fond of cherries, and it has something to do with his little vampire doll of a wife.

If someone were to ask him what thing comes to mind when he hears the phrase 'love at first sight,' it would be cherries. And they immediately think it's because of the innocence and taste of a delicious first kiss or taking a woman's first time. However, that wasn't the case. Maya reminded him of cherries—beautiful little red balls, so innocent and tempting. And when he crushed them into his hands, broken into a juicy pulp, they turned his hands blood-like, and it was a beautiful sight, just like the full red moon.

He remembered everything as if it was yesterday. It was during a rainy night, and it was the third day of Maya's permanence in the mansion. He had nightmares of the past where he sang over and over again as his mother taught Laito a fake kind of love while Ayato was drowning in depths of despair. When he woke up, he had this sudden urge to burn everything in sight but restrained himself, or he'll set the whole mansion on fire. So he opted to go to the kitchen, grab some snacks to ease his sour mood, and sleep afterward.

As he walked his way toward the kitchen, he smelled something sweet in the air. It was the scent of a baked pastry and something similar to vanilla and sour cherries. He twisted the knob and opened the door. The next thing that greeted him was Maya in her long-sleeved floral patterned night dress, her back to him as she took out something from the oven. She held out her masterpiece, took a whiff of the warm smell, and smiled softly.

Now that was rare. Maya (or Doll like how he usually calls her before he knew her real name) never smiles. She was a doll, and dolls don't cry in pain or twitch when their owner scolds them or smiles at the rare sight of a baked pastry. Maya was just supposed to be a doll—lifeless and void of any pleasures in this world.

But at that moment, she felt alive to him, like a doll that moves whenever he pulls on its strings.

How infuriating... and fascinating.

She put the baked dish on the kitchen counter and finally met his gaze. He thought she would be caught off guard, but she just donned her usual blank expression and bowed in his presence. After that, she wrote, "Is there something I can do for you, Kanato-san?"

Kanato was only silent, sitting by the kitchen counter to scrutinize what she had made. "What is this filthy mess?" he asked.

"It's a cherry cobbler."

Kanato frowned, observing every detail of the dish. Well, the crust was crisp and baked just how he likes it, but he'll have to see the cherries for himself.

Maya wrote something again on her board and then showed it to him. "You can have them if you like."

Well, it was a precious opportunity he won't pass up. "Please give me a fork, Doll-san."

She handed out the fork, and he purposely brushed his fingers on hers when he took it. Her cheeks reddened at the contact, scolding herself mentally for losing her composure over a trivial physical contact. Kanato chuckled at that.

To think I could elicit this reaction from her.

Once done, he placed some cherry cobbler on his plate and took a bite. And true to what he smelled earlier, it tasted warm and delicious. The bitter-sour taste of the cherry jam coated the buttery pastry, which was sweet enough to lift his dark mood. But he was Kanato, and he won't give her the satisfaction of knowing how delicious this dessert was, so he just ate in silence. While doing so, he felt her red eyes on him, blankly observing him eat.

"Why are you staring? Don't you know it's rude?" he queried, glaring at her, putting down his fork. "You think so too, right, Teddy?"

"I just wanted to know if it's sweet enough to your liking."

He huffed in annoyance, slightly pushing the plate away from him. "As if this pile of rubbish suits my palate. It's not sweet enough. Do something about this."

Maya took out a jar of icing sugar from the cabinetry and a tub from the fridge as if on cue. She dusted icing sugar on his dessert, scooped out vanilla ice cream from the tub, and presented the dish to him again.

"Where did you get the ice cream? Reiji didn't buy one for me this month."

"I made it this morning with the ice cream maker."

He raised a brow at that. "And why would you go through the trouble when you can buy one?"

Her scribbling was taking a slow turn, shakily showing what she had written on her board. "Because you said you wanted to eat ice cream."

He chuckled dryly. "... So I'm pitiful, is that it?"

She shook her head. "I just want to make your ice cream, Kanato-san."

Kanato narrowed his eyes at her before retaking a bite. It's sweeter now. He continued taking big bites of the dessert, even having seconds of the dessert and shoveling the food into his mouth with no care if he made a mess. Well, Kanato can eat cleanly and refined, but Reiji was nowhere in sight, so he might as well behave like the brat he is.

He didn't say he enjoyed the dessert or praised her for her skills, but she was wearing that soft smile, and it was all for him.

Everything... all for him.

"Hey, I want to know something."

She gave him a confused look.

"Do you always smile like that? Even around my brothers?"

Maya thought for a moment about what he meant by those words. When she couldn't come up with an answer, he only sighed in disappointment.

"Nevermind. As I thought, you really are a foolish mortal."

Foolish, yet amusing.

In the end, he ate all the cherry clobber and left none for her. Maya tended to clean the mess Kanato made, watching him walk out of the kitchen. But before he could do so, he stopped, looked over his shoulder, and spoke.

"Hey, Doll-san."

She turned to him.

"Why did you make a cherry clobber at this late hour?"

She wiped her hands dry on her apron and wrote on her board. "I was craving something sweet."

"But cherries aren't sweet," Kanato countered.

And when she looked away to hide her bashful face and how her shaking hands gripped her pen and board tight, he smirked in realization.

"You like cherries."

Her face reddened even more, nodding at his statement.

"Well, at least I got to eat your cherries for you."

It took Maya a few minutes before getting a hint of what Kanato meant. She desperately wanted to hide her face behind her board to mask her embarrassment. She wasn't usually like this, but whenever she's left with Kanato, she feels every reason thrown out the window. He would always ask obscure questions and expect her to be patient as she answered them with all her might.

Most of all, he sees right through her. Every little detail of her—the way she chips off her nails or how she sometimes cuts a few strands of her hair—is noticed by him. Maya likes to think it's because of his vampire senses.

Or maybe it's because he had her ever since he killed the hunter.

"Doll-san."

She snapped from her thoughts.

He still wore that damn smirk like the sneaky devil he is. "Do my brothers know? About your cherry obsession, I mean."

She shook her head furiously. Ever since becoming a doll, Maya never tells anyone what she likes or her inner thoughts. Her preferences will never matter to her master; well, that is, if she has one.

"That's great."

She tilted her head in confusion, watching him walk to the back of the kitchen. When he returned, he laid a piece of heart-shaped cherry lollipop on the counter.

"Your cherry clobber is not the sweetest thing I have tasted," he revealed, watching her frown slightly. Then he added, "but the fact that I'm the only one who knows your secret is certainly surprising. You should do that more often."

Maya nodded, pleased that she made him happy.

"Next time, you can make me eat your cherry pie," he remarked, and seeing how she didn't pick up on that, he sneakily said, "that is if you know what I mean."

Now, her whole face was colored in red, and Kanato wished he could paint it on a frame so he would be reminded of how she embarrasses herself in front of him.

After that, he left the kitchen and went upstairs to his room. Once inside, he sat by the window and stared at the pouring, unwrapping his heart-shaped cherry lollipop and sucking on it. Kanato looked down at Teddy on his lap.

"Oh? You also like her, Teddy?" Kanato giggled at that, biting one side of the lollipop and cracking it into pieces. "I've taken quite a liking, as well. She's interesting, that Doll-san. If we kill her one day, we don't have to sew her mouth shut because she won't scream that much. Isn't that right, Teddy?"

He continued licking his lollipop in delight.

"Doll-san is not a bride, but soon, I'll make her mine."

After all, he found her in that forest, and he knew then that she would someday be his from the beginning. On the other hand, Teddy raised his hands, communicating something absurd that made Kanato laugh.

"Didn't I tell you before, Teddy, that there's no need to worry? Doll-san will never run away because she will make her way towards us in the end."

And when he finished his lollipop, he sighed in frustration.

"Until then, her cherries will do... for now, at least."

[deadmomjokes]

Alright, it occurs to me that some of y'all never-went-to-summer-camp folks may not know the glorious goopy goodness that is Dump Cake. So allow me to introduce you to the easiest and most indulgent-tasting dessert you'll ever make, so easy a sleep-deprived group of 20 pre-teen girls can make it over a fire in the rain in the middle of the woods while only endangering the life of their absolutely-not-getting-paid-enough-for-this counselor once!

You will need:

2 big cans of your favorite pie filling

A large box of your favorite cake mix

2 (maybe 3?) sticks of butter-- idk, we're not doing exact measures here, you basically just decide when it looks enough like Julia Child would start to be mortified

A cooking vessel-- at camp we used a cast iron dutch oven, but a 9x13 baking dish will do fine, or a few pie tins, or the biggest roaster pan your mom has hidden in the back of the cupboard for Thanksgiving turkey usage, literally whatever as long as it will go in the oven or in the coals of a fire.

Something to cover your baking dish with, aka foil if you don't have an oven-safe lid

Mix ins, if you're feeling fancy-- nuts, chocolate chips, heck you could even do marshmallows, we don't judge, whatever floats your boat

A healthy disregard for conventional cooking advice, and zero sense of shame

What you do:

Dump the pie filling into the cooking vessel

Dump in the mix-ins if you're using them

Dump the cake mix over the top

Chop up the butter into pats or chunks

Dump enough butter chunks on the cake mix to more or less cover it

Cover with lid or foil

Bake. 350 if using an oven. If cooking over a fire, wait til the fire is burned down to hot coals. Put the dutch oven in the middle of it, then set coals on top of the lid. Bury that sucker in hot coals and ashes. (This is the part most likely to murder someone, only allow the least sleep-deprived and least caffeinated among you to wield the hot-stuff shovel.)

Leave it until you start smelling something tasty.

Bam! You have cobbler's infinitely more delicious and significantly less-healthy hick cousin.

I expect anyone who goes camping in the next 5 months to attempt this recipe, it's literally so easy that the only way you can mess it up is if you accidentally get ashes in it when taking the lid off, and even then you just scrape it off and it's fine. But if you cook it in your kitchen in your perfectly ash-less oven....

All I'm saying is, you now have a low-spoons, high-tastiness recipe for one of the most indulgent recipes man ever created. What you do with this information is up to you.

Note on flavor combos

Literally it's whatever floats your boat, but some of the best (imo) are:

Cherry pie filling, chocolate chips, chocolate cake mix

Peach pie filling (canned peaches in syrup if you can't find the 'official' pie filling), white cake mix

Apple pie filling, chopped walnuts, vanilla cake mix

Berry (mixed or any) pie filling, funfetti cake mix

Chocolate pudding pie filling, chopped nuts or crushed pretzels, vanilla cake mix (adds extra step of making pudding, but SO worth it)

Go forth and dump cake, y'all.

[dunkindestieldonuts]

Happy Anniversary, Nerds

1094 words, rated M (read on ao3) Happy Pi Day and happy anniversary, Dean and Cas <3

Castiel wakes up on Sunday morning to the warm, familiar weight of Dean partially on top of him, lightly kissing along his collarbone. He brings his arms up to stretch, making a noise to get Dean’s attention.

Dean stops his ministrations and rests his cheek on Castiel’s chest to look up at him. His smile is brighter than the sunlight streaming in through the open window. "Happy anniversary, Cas," he says softly.

“Anniversary?” Castiel asks, bringing his hand up to card his fingers through Dean’s hair.

Dean tilts his head to meet Castiel’s touch. “Yeah, it's our anniversary. We've been married for a month.” He pouts, which makes Castiel stifle a laugh. “Don’t tell me you forgot already.”

Castiel moves his hand to the back of Dean’s head to pull him forward so he can kiss his forehead as an apology. Dean lets him.

“I was under the impression that anniversaries were an annual occurrence. I didn't know you could do it monthly.”

“Yup,” Dean says, popping the P.

“Does the monthly version include the exchanging of gifts?”

Dean smiles mischievously. “It does indeed.” He traces patterns on Castiel’s chest with his fingers. He arches an eyebrow at his husband. “Now, I’ve got something in mind but is there something...you want?”

“Hmm.” Castiel purses his lips and looks over at the wall, considering. Dean moves up so he can reach the exposed side of Castiel’s neck with his lips. It distracts Castiel from answering for a moment before an idea comes to him.

“A food processor.”

Dean jerks his head back to look him in the eye. “A...what?”

“I've noticed when you’re looking up recipes to try, you skip over ones that require kitchen tools we don’t have, like a food processor. I'd very much like to try some of those foods. I love your cooking.”

Dean makes a pained noise and scrunches his face, closing his eyes. He drops his forehead onto Castiel’s. “I love you so fucking much.”

Dean can hear the smile in Castiel’s voice. “I love you too, Dean.”

He lifts his head back up to look Castiel in the eye. “That's not exactly what I meant. The gift should be just for you. Be selfish. Whatever you want, Cas.”

Castiel hums in thought again. He’s starting to catch on. “Maybe if you told me what you want as your gift then I'd have a better idea of what you mean.”

The mischievous smile is back. “I'd like you to let me give you a blowjob.”

Dean looks down Castiel’s chest and starts to move lower, but Cas catches him by the chin, forcing him to look back up.

“No, Dean. Be selfish,” he says, trying to be serious. His smile is betraying him, though. “Something just for you. A blowjob would benefit me as well.”

Dean sighs, knowing Cas won’t let this go, even with what Dean is offering. He brings his elbows up to either side of Castiel’s head. He glances up at the wall above the headboard and catches sight of the sword he’d taken from the bunker hanging there.

“A whetstone.” He looks back down.

Castiel tilts his head to the side in confusion. Dean feels a wave of affection crash over him at the sight of the familiar gesture. He leans down to kiss Cas on the nose.

“Y’know. For the katana,” he says when he pulls back, gesturing to it. “Keep it sharp.”

Cas smiles. “That's more like it.” He wraps his arms around Dean’s neck and brings him down for a kiss. When they pull apart, Castiel looks away. “I still think we should get the food processor...”

Dean tilts his head to catch his eye. “And?”

“And I'd also like a new sweater.”

“You got it.” Dean smiles and plants a firm kiss on Castiel’s lips. “Can I give you the gift of a blowjob now?”

“You may.”

✧π✧π✧π✧

When they finally emerge from the bedroom, Castiel goes off to take a shower and Dean immediately goes to the kitchen. He opens the cabinet above the stove and pulls out a small blue journal, thumbing through it till he finds the recipes he marked the day before.  The island countertop is completely covered in ingredients and various food preparation utensils by the time Castiel comes out of the bathroom. Dean barely registers his presence, so engrossed in what he’s doing.

“What’s all this?” Castiel asks, going over to the coffee pot to get it started. He leans back against the counter as it brews and watches his husband bustle around, fondly cataloguing the way Dean fiddles with the tied bow in his apron when he reads from the journal.

“It’s Pi Day, Cas.”

“Pie day?”

“Yeah, three point one four and all that.”

“Oh, the mathematical pi.”

“Yes, that,” Dean responds distractedly as he assembles the standmixer.

Castiel goes to look at the recipes Dean has highlighted. Notes cover the margins, scribblings that he can barely make out. He thinks he sees Sam likes less sugar in the margin next to the peach cobbler, Jody doesn’t do blackberry next to a berry pie. He also catches sight of post-it notes with the names of their family, the scribbling on these a little neater. He smiles.

“So not just for us?” he asks.

“Nope, we’ve got some deliveries to make later. It might be our anniversary but Pi Day is sacred.”

Castiel scoffs, pouring two mugs of coffee. He extends his arm to give one to Dean, who can only stare at it at first, train of activity interrupted, before his brain catches up and he puts down his handful of apples to take it. “Thanks.”

Castiel pulls him closer by his apron pocket. “I think our first anniversary being on Pi Day makes the anniversary sacred, don’t you think?” he says, raising his eyebrows and looking over the lip of his mug at Dean.

Dean smiles at that. “Well then, take me to church, Cas.

“You were on your knees for me earlier,” Castiel responds.

“Fuck, I love you.”

“I know.”

Dean puts his mug down so he can hold Castiel’s face with both hands. He kisses him, deep and slow, until the oven’s preheat chime goes off. Dean pulls back, takes a swig from his now-cooled coffee, and waves his hands at Castiel.

“Now, please get out of my kitchen. I have work to do.”

✧π✧π✧π✧

Castiel goes out to get a food processor while his husband works. Dean uses it for the cherry crumble.

[chilling-seavey]

Seasons Change (d.s.) - TWO

↳  A/N This one’s a little long but will give you a good insight into daily farm life at the Seavey residence! 

↳ Summary: Everyone knows everything about everyone in this small rural town in east Connecticut and the handsome single father who owns the farm down the main street seems to always be the talk of the town. Balancing the care of his acreage, raising his school-age son, and coaching the local boys’ hockey team keeps Daniel busy; but his mind never strays far from the expansive and vibrant flower gardens planted outside his farmhouse.

↳ Word Count: 2901

↳ Warnings: This story touches on topics such as loss of loved ones and grief. Nothing too detailed but read at your own discretion x

Every morning at 5:30, Daniel’s alarm rang loudly from his bedside table. It was routine now to pull himself out of his far too empty queen size bed and get dressed by the light of the bathroom sconces alone. The sun was rarely over the horizon this early but he opened the curtains in his bedroom and headed downstairs in jeans and a t-shirt, opening up the rest of the house in preparation for sunup. Lennox was still fast asleep in his bed when Daniel stepped out of the front door and trekked down the front porch steps, along the foot path, and across the gravel drive towards the barn.

The first hour of every morning was spent there; milking the cow as well as tending to the horses and the feed troughs. This used to be his favourite time – sitting on one stool with Marigold on the other, each tending to a cow as she quietly sang them into the morning. No one was more of a morning person than Marigold. She always made waking up early easy. But Daniel now milked the sole cow in silence, sometimes letting a small whistle come to his lips in the process as he worked, a tune that would follow him back down the path to the farmhouse.

On the opposite side of the house from the gravel drive was a small hallway that held the laundry room and mud room and in there was where the two buckets of milk went first thing. Daniel would pour the fresh milk into glass jugs and bring them right into the kitchen, leaving them in the freezer to cool with a timer set for one hour. All his work was precise to the minute.

By then, the sun would be rising and his hands would be scrubbed and it would be just about 6:30 when Daniel would take the stairs back up to the second floor to wake Lennox. This morning was no different and, like usual, the small Jack Russel Terrier greeted him with a wagging tail when he opened the door. Daniel bent down to give him a quick scratch behind the ears before stepping into the blue-painted room and he pulled open the curtains.

“Morning, Spud.” Daniel called to his son who was waking from the light that had suddenly been let into his room.

Lennox rolled sleepily onto his back and rubbed his eye with his fist, the small dog jumping up to join him on his single bed like he hadn’t been by the boy’s side all night. Daniel stopped by the side of his son’s bed and pet a hand over his hair, watching his same blue eyes flutter open to look up at him.

“Morning, Daddy.” Lennox yawned.

Daniel smiled at his sweet son and nudged his cheek with his finger, “Up and at ‘em, buddy. The chickens are waiting for you.”

Lennox giggled lightly and sat himself up, watching as Daniel pulled out an outfit for his son and draped the pants and shirt onto the end of the bed.

“I’m going to shower. Eggs on the kitchen counter, okay?” Daniel reminded the seven-year-old like he did every morning.

Lennox only replied with, “Yes, Daddy.” and watched his father leave.

While Daniel hurried to shower in the masted bedroom ensuite, Lennox got himself dressed and hurried down the stairs to tend to his morning chore. The dog ran at his heels out the front door and around to the side of the house on the edge of the fence just before the barn where the chicken coop was built. He wished the chickens good morning and gathered the eggs from the nesting boxes in the small basket he carried with him.

By the time Lennox had collected the eggs and returned inside, Daniel had just finished his shower and was prepping breakfast in the kitchen with wet hair and fresh clothes to start the day. The two of them had a good routine down between farm work and getting ready for the day, and while Daniel cooked up the eggs, Lennox brushed his hair and washed his face and brushed his teeth for school. They ate together in the breakfast nook just off the kitchen with windows on three sides of them directed right to the rising sun and glasses of perfectly fresh milk to pair with their eggs, bacon, and fruit.

The school bus came for 7:45 and Daniel always walked Lennox down the long driveway of their property to wait with him at the road for the bus to come. When it stopped at the end of their driveway, Daniel hugged and kissed his son goodbye and watched him get on the bus with Jack’s daughter from the next farm over.

Daniel spent his days alone on the farm, tending to the animals and testing to see if the ground was ready to be ploughed. After lunch, he drove down to the general store to pick up a few things, greeting Corbyn behind the counter with a friendly hello.

“What can I get you?” Corbyn asked.

Daniel took off his hat and set it on the counter, “Bag of chicken feed and the order that I put in the other day, please.”

“Of course.” Corbyn disappeared into the back of the store to gather the order and Daniel waited at the counter. He scanned the ice cream freezer near by but stopped himself from ordering a cone.

“Daniel!”

He turned at the sound of his name being called above the ring of the bell above the door to face an older woman rushing down the soup aisle towards him.

“Thank goodness! I was hoping I wouldn’t have to come knocking on your door.” she said, slightly breathless in her rush and he held out a hand for her to hold onto as she calmed herself down. “My front step is broken again. My husband walks far too heavily and it snapped right down the center. Would it be too much trouble for you to come take a look?”

“Not at all, Lydia.” Daniel chuckled politely. “I’ll have Corbyn grab me a piece of plywood with my order and I’ll stop by.”

“Oh, you are an angel, Daniel.” the older woman sighed, clutching onto his hand thankfully. “I don’t want to trip myself up those blasted steps.”

“Of course not.” Daniel agreed.

“I’ll pay you for it this time-”

“Oh, no, that’s-”

“I insist, Daniel.”

“Lydia, you don’t need to pay me.” Daniel said strongly. “Maybe just bring another one of your delicious cherry cobblers to next weeks brunch, alright?”

“Oh,” she flushed bashfully, “I suppose.”

“Alright.” Daniel smiled, giving her hand a pat. “I’ll be over in as soon as I pay for this order.”

Daniel seemed to be known as the handyman of Lincoln as well as the best hockey coach; he had built the chicken coop in his backyard himself and fixed up their farmhouse porch within the first month they had moved to town. Now everyone seemed to appreciate his attention to detail and his generous offers to help fix a broken step or a leaky roof…and he never once accepted payment. Daniel’s days were filled with helping out around the town and tending to his land until Lennox would come home from school around 3:00. Lennox would tell Daniel about his day while Daniel finished up the day’s work and then they would head inside together to start dinner. While dinner was being made, Lennox did his homework with the dog sleeping under his chair, and once they ate – always at the dining room table like Marigold always insisted – it was time to get changed for hockey for 6:00.

Both hockey bags were stored in the laundry room and once they were changed into sweats and t-shirts, the boys each grabbed their own bag on the way out the door. They made sure they had filled water bottles and all their equipment in a hurry as they rushed down the path to Daniel’s old forest green pickup truck. It wasn’t a long drive to the community centre – Lincoln was a very tiny town after all – and once parked, they headed inside together. Daniel always made sure he was early since he was the coach. Lennox led the way down the single hallway of the community centre, hockey bag over his shoulder (and almost the same size has he was) with his good luck t-shirt he always wore tucked proudly over his small body.

‘Love and luck from my Mommy in heaven’ was printed in black font over the back and although it was originally made for him when he was six, Lennox insisted they made a new one for each season as he grew. It truly was his good luck charm and nothing made Daniel prouder than seeing his son still wanting to wear that shirt to every game.

“Hurry up, Dad!” Lennox called from the doorway of the change rooms, his young voice echoing down the near empty hallway.

The team room seemed to always have a lingering smell of sweat and ice that had accumulated over the last few decades but it smelt like home to the boys. Daniel and Lennox got changed into their jerseys and equipment and Daniel helped him lace up his skates and took off the skate guards from the blades before they were ready to go. By the time they were changed, the other junior boys had started to arrive to get changed and Daniel headed out to the rink with his keys to greet the few parents and set up for practice.

Lincoln Lightning uniforms consisted of white pants and jerseys with dark blue stripes and light blue accents and although the boys had to wear full padding and gear for practice, Daniel usually just wore skates and socks, pants, and his jersey. He helped himself to the supply room with his set of keys and grabbed a few extra sticks and the crate of pucks to bring over to the bench. A few parents always stayed back to watch the practice – mostly the mothers honestly – but Daniel never minded. Marigold always liked to watch her boy play too.

Once it hit 6:30, Daniel draped his whistle around his neck and called the boys onto the ice. Living in Lincoln for their whole lives, the boys were already very good on skates so weekly practices were just for game technique. With the whistle balanced between his lips, Daniel let his skates glide him backwards as he greeted his team,

“We’re practicing slapshots today. Or…shots in general. I know a few of you need a bit more practice with this.”

Daniel turned towards the one net set up at the end of the rink, showing off the dark blue print along the back of his jersey that read Seavey 99, and he pushed off towards the few pucks scattered over the ice. He moved gracefully and pulled his stick back to slap a perfect shot right into the goal net, the sharp sound of the stick hitting the ice echoing through the arena. The boys ‘wow’ed.

“We’re going to get you there, okay?” Daniel said as he skated back over to his team. “Do we all have our mouthguards in?”

There was a chorus of, “Yes, coach!”

“Lemmy see.”

The lineup of boys gave him big grins so he could see the thin curves of soft plastic between their teeth.

“Alright, good. Let’s see what you got. Get in two rows.”

Practice lasted an hour and by 7:30 the boys were huddled up for their last little pep talk before they were ushered back into the change rooms. Daniel stayed back on the ice to get a bit of his own practice in that was up to his skill level and by the time the few parents had left and complimented Daniel on his work, it was just Lennox and Daniel and Jonah’s boy left at the rink.

Daniel changed back into his sweats and t-shirt and packed his bag while the two boys waited on the bleachers and ran up and down the aisles together, playing. Daniel locked up the supply room and turned off the arena lights and herded the boys out into the cool spring evening air.

“So sorry I’m late.”

“No problem.” Daniel said honestly as Jocelyn hurried over from the parking lot. “I was just going to drive him home for you.”

“You’re far too kind.” Jocelyn chuckled, taking her son’s bag for him and then his hand. She looked back up to Daniel, “I called my family friend…she’s going to come down by the end of the week and she’ll stay with us for a few days…longer if you want to hire her of course.”

“Oh.” Daniel almost forgot about the offer for a gardener and he hiked his bag higher over his shoulder, “That’s great. Thank you.”

“Of course. I’m sure Jonah will shoot you a text when she’s settled and we can drop by.”

“Yeah, for sure.” Daniel agreed.

They said their good nights and Daniel watched them walk off to their car before looking back down to his son. With messy sweaty post-helmet hair, Lennox looked up at him through the dim light of the parking lot.

“Who’s she talking about?”

Daniel led him back to the truck and tossed their bags in the bed of the truck before helping him into the front seat, “I’m thinking of hiring someone to help around the farm.”

Lennox pondered his father’s statement as he waited for him to get in behind the wheel. When they started off towards home, the young boy answered, “Why?”

“It’s hard to take care of everything just me.” Daniel said.

“You already sold Spot and the sheeps and most of the chickens.” Lennox argued. “And you have me. I can help.”

“But you’re also in school…and you’re seven.”

“Almost eight, Dad.”

“Almost eight.” Daniel corrected himself. “But I need someone to help me take care of Mommy’s flowers.”

There was a silence that fell over the truck as they drove down the dark two laned road out of the main intersection and towards their farm. Lennox turned and looked out the window.

“What do you think?” Daniel asked after a moment.

“I don’t want someone to touch Mommy’s flowers.” Lennox answered softly.

“I know, Spud. I’m not crazy about the idea either…but we’ll lose the garden completely if we don’t have someone tending to it. That’ll be even worse.”

“I guess.” Lennox mumbled.

“I’m just going to meet her later this week and see…she’s a friend of Jocelyn and Jonah’s…she might not be a good fit anyway…I don’t know.”

“How do you know if it’s a good fit?” Lennox asked as they turned into their long driveway and up the dirt drive past the few trees lining the way.

Daniel took a deep breath as their farmhouse came into view, the porch light illuminating a few of the flowers that were starting to bud with the incoming spring, “I don’t know.”

He parked the truck and the boys got out and carried their bags right to the laundry room – a habit Marigold instilled in them to prevent the main house from stinking up. Daniel started the laundry while Lennox went up to bathe, leaving his sweats and his lucky shirt with his father to wash for their next practice. When laundry was started and the cat and dog were fed and Daniel got himself showered free of hockey sweat, the two Seavey boys cuddled up on the living room couch to watch some TV before bed. Lennox had a glass of milk and two cookies like every night and Daniel had his arm around him the whole time, feet kicked up on the coffee table and cat asleep on his lap.

When it was bedtime, Daniel made sure the dog was settled on his bed – with a snap of his fingers and a stern ‘lay down’ – and then he tucked in his boy under his quilt and brushed his damp hair from his face.

“Comfy?” Daniel asked quietly.

Lennox nodded up at him. Daniel leaned down to kiss his forehead and then switched off the bedside lamp.

Through the dark, Lennox spoke softly, “Daddy?”

“Yeah, Spud?”

“I want only Mommy to take care of her flowers.”

Daniel paused a moment, ignoring the pain that clutched his heart as he bent down to kiss his little boy again, “I know. So do I. But we’re going to keep her garden looking nice for her…so when she’s watching down on us, she can see that you and me are very good at keeping a nice house, right?”

“Right.” Lennox sniffled.

“Okay.” Daniel tucked him in snugly. “Sweet dreams. I love you, Spud.”

“Love you, Daddy.”

With his son put to bed, Daniel helped himself to the back porch, lingering by the railing by the light of the outdoor LEDs and overlooked the garden of green that turned into a blossoming overwhelming forest of colour every summer. It had been a little forgotten about the last year with Marigold having just passed so the garden was now in desperate need for some TLC. Daniel sighed and headed back inside to head to bed himself soon, only hoping everything would work out. He hoped Marigold was watching out for him.

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[passivenovember]

Snippets of partially written fics that will never see the light of day, part one!

--

He keeps a battered spiral notebook in the back pocket of his Levi’s like some sort of behavioral scientist. Life Among the Gorillas, Jane Goodall through and through, beginning when the car is parked on Cherry lane. 

Billy considers the slopping roof, the screened in porch, and the cracked pavement that proves the house has never seen a family from the west. 

That’s the first fact in his notebook, the holy grail Billy will share with the world when he journeys back home again; houses in the Midwest are not equipped to care for families that were born near the sea.

Families where children are born with boards nailed to their feet. The surfing and skating kind.

Billy doubts they’ll be doing much of either, here.

“It doesn’t look that much different from home.” Max clutches her regulation board to her chest. The world’s most awkward and uncomfortable teddy bear, wheels poking and prodding skinny arms as she glances over, worrying the skin of her lip. “Do you think it looks different?”

Billy thinks it does. 

He hates it. Everything about it; the brown house, on its brown yard, next to its brown driveway. Pancakes and hash browns. Grass as far as the eye can see. 

Max worries the skin of her lip.

Billy thinks it looks different. Thinks it looks like hell, like wastelands and flood lands and miles of isolation, but. “Nah.” He shakes his head anyway.

“Yeah?”

“Feels different, though.” Billy rolls down the window, plugging his nose dramatically. “Smells different, too.”

Max snorts. “Shut up.”

Small victories.

“It does, it smells like cow shit.” Neil and Susan are still a ways off, pulling the Ford behind the moving van. Billy figures they have time, before. 

Things change. Before boards are exchanged for Nike shoes and wool coats in the fall.

Billy digs around for his lighter. “Wonder what the locals do about the stench.”

“Maybe they plant flowers.”

“Impossible,” He says, taking a pull from his smoke and stretching his legs where they sit. It’s been a long drive, but. He’s not ready.

Not yet.

“Maybe they have massive green houses and everyone buys crates of lilies and sunflowers when they seasons change.” Max fiddles with the wheels on her skateboard. “Maybe their living rooms are full of yellow petals. Maybe they only eat sunflower seeds.”

“Sunflowers don’t smell like anything.”

“Bullshit.”

“They don’t, that’s why the factories cover them in barbecue sauce. To make ‘em smell good.” Billy watches Max filter through a series of expressions before she lands on her favorite. 

Irritation. “Just because you’re my big brother--”

“Jesus, don’t call me that?”

Max blinks. Wide and owlish. Wet. “How come?”

And Billy doesn’t want to start off on the wrong foot. Doesn’t want to start over at all, but. That’s what this is. Endings and beginnings and relationships that crumble and turn to dust before siblings rebuild them out of clay, into.

Something shiny.

And new.

Billy tugs the collar of his jacket up and around his ears, frowning. “Makes me sound old.”

“You are old,” Max says lightly. “You know too much random shit not to be old.”

“Like what?”

“Like,” Max adjusts the skateboard, running her hands across the etched and worn surface. “How to change a tire. Where to find the best hiking boots. How to roast a turkey--”

“‘S not my fault your mom can’t cook for shit.”

“I know that.” Max says. “That’s what old people do. Complain about how their recipe for peach cobbler is better, and the local youths are ruining the duck pond, and like. Brag about shit they know how to do.”

“Oh yeah?” Billy counters. “And what kind of shit is that?”

Max shrugs. “Survival.”

She opens the car door after that, placing the skateboard on the pavement and testing the waters. Billy rolls her window down for better driveway vision.

“You think I know how to survive.” 

It doesn’t seem possible.

“Yeah, you know.” Max gets a little more confident after her feet plant themselves on the board. She maneuvers pretty well over the cracked pavement, a kick flip here, a slash turn there. “ You understand lots of stuff. Maybe everything.”

“Everything, huh?”

Billy watches with glee as she falls on her ass over the fist split in the concrete. Max looks up at him, scowling when he can’t quite swallow the laugh working its way up his throat. 

“The jury’s still out on that one.” She says stiffly.

Billy doesn’t buy it for a second. “Whatever, shithead. I’m your big brother now, and I know everything. Remember that the next time you’re trying to get your way.” 

Max flips him the bird. Billy leans against the hood of the Camaro, eyes tracking the movement as Max tries the turn again. 

If nothing else it feels good to stand on his own two feet.

--

Everyone in the Midwest leaves their clothes out to dry in the afternoon sunlight, and the only reason Billy knows this is because Steve Harrington’s clothes smell like warm sugar and daffodil blossoms. 

Billy thinks it might be the detergent his mother uses. 

Maybe the uber expensive, hyper polyester blend that makes up the polos Steve swaps out for gym clothes at basketball practice, but when he finally works up the courage to do more than sniff, Steve looks at Billy like he’s gone insane.

“You actually have dryers on the west coast?”

Billy frowns. “Of course we do, what is this. Little House on the Prairie?” 

Harrington balls up his gym shorts, tossing them at Billy’s head. “The next time you wash your sheets, hang them outside.”

So Billy does.

And the next time he crawls into bed Billy realizes that sun bleached fabric does more than block out smells it creates a fortress. A barrier. Warm afternoons and the smell of oak leaves wrapped in his own little world.

--

From somewhere, through a haze of smoke and the wafting grasp of day old pizza, a needle tore a hole that felt like a bee sting. Painful in the way his feet would sometimes burn on the Middle School blacktop during summer.

Nancy yanked on the yellow rubber-band, letting it fall back in place. It slapped thickly against the meat of Steve's arm, and.

He was hanging in a butcher shopped. Ripe for sale. Wrapped from head to toe in caution tape, and.

Radioactive.

"Ow." Steve hummed distantly, fingers moving to rub. To soothe.

Nancy slapped his hand away. "Stings if you do it like that."

"Stings now, holy shit."

"You gotta let it heal."

Steve frowned. "I didn't think that was the point."

Which made Nancy giggle. "What, not to let it heal?"

"Yeah, I thought." He licked his lips. Once. Twice. It was like seeing God. "I thought we were supposed to let it bleed."

[blessyourhondahurley]

If You're Brave Enough to Start

[Read on AO3]

Prompt 1: Sharing a Blanket Prompt 2: Fear 

"You can, you should, and if you're brave enough to start, you will." -- Stephen King, On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft

"This cobbler is delicious. Would you like to try a bite?" Cas offers a spoonful to Dean with a smile.

Dean flushes and looks around the diner before waving his hand as if he's trying to shoo away a fly. "Nah, Cas, put that down. Stop tryna feed me."

"Why? I think you'd enjoy it. It's not pie, but it seems very pie-adjacent." Cas squints at him for a moment before shrugging and eating the bite himself. He gives a happy little hum and digs into the bowl for more.

The cobbler looks fantastic. It's homemade, full of thick, fresh chunks of pink-tinged peach, oozing with juice, and a golden brown pastry top that even from across the table smells temptingly of pecans and brown sugar. Dean fucking longs for a taste. He's about ready to punch himself for his casual, "you go ahead, buddy" after the waitress had admitted there was only one serving left. But men don't split desserts and they sure as hell don't feed each other. He turns back to his piece of (obviously store-bought and completely mediocre) cherry pie.

"I don't understand why you do this," Cas states. He heaves a put-upon sigh before setting the spoon down next to his half-finished cobbler. "My grace is gone, but you're still so easy to read. You desperately want to try this food, and you would love it if you tasted it, I can assure you. Last night you slept poorly because you were cold and the couch in the motel room is worn and uncomfortable. There was plenty of room in the bed where I was sleeping, and I had more blankets than I needed, but you insisted you didn't want to share. Two weeks ago you twisted your ankle on that ghoul hunt, and I offered to wrap it for you to ease the pain. Even though I could see how much discomfort you were in, you lied to my face about it and said you were fine. You constantly torture and deprive yourself in large and small ways, and why? What is it you fear?" He rubs a hand over his eyes and his shoulders slump. "It's all so unnecessary, Dean. What are you afraid will happen if you were kind to yourself, if you allowed me to be kind to you?"

Dean scoffed. "M'not afraid, man. It's just--"

Cas raises a questioning eyebrow and waits for him to continue.

"That's just not how I am, Cas. It's not how men are. You're new to this human thing, but you need to understand. Men don't trade spoonfuls of peach cobbler in crowded restaurants. They don't share blankets, and they sure as shit don't share beds. They take care of their own crap on their own and don't ask for anything from anyone. Men are strong, Cas. That's how I was raised. That's how I am."

If Cas could roll his eyes any harder, he'd be looking at his own brain. "Dean, forgive me for being blunt, but you need to hear this. I love you very much, but everything you just said is complete horseshit. Your father was a fine man but a damaged one, and the lessons he passed on to you carried that damage along with them. You can be a man and let someone help you. You can be a man and let someone love you. You told me yourself, we're stronger together. Now, here's the rest of my cobbler. Help yourself. And then let's go back to the room and I'll rub your shoulders. I know you've got a terrible crick in your neck from that couch."

Dean picks up the spoon.

[goldenflowerlv]

can you write something graham burns and amy related??

Absolutely I can! However, I'm in the mood for a little bot of mischief, aren't you?

"It doesn't really matter if it's Christmas, Cody. If they are under the mistletoe together, they have to kiss! Or at least, it provides a good opportunity to." You explain.

Right now you are laying a trap for Graham and Amy. They've been dating officially for two months now, and you haven't seen them kiss once. You've also recruited Cody and Frankie to your cause.

"Okay, it's secure." Cody says, hopping down from the stool he was using to reach the ceiling.

"Good," you shoot Frankie a text, letting her know that she can now bring the two love birds back to the fire house. "Now, we wait."

.......

It's an agonizing 15 minutes, but the dorks (you mean that in the best possible way) finally arrive. You greet them in your usual happy way, careful not to sound too excited.

"Hey guys! Where have you been doing?"

Amy responds, "oh, we were just at the park. It's a beautiful day out, and we decided to take advantage of it." She tilts her head curiously, "What are you making?"

You grin, perhaps a bit too wide, "Come look!"

They both step towards the kitchen island, right under the mistletoe. Your next words are Cody's cue, "I'm making cherry cobbler, it's my mother-in-law's recipe."

On cue, Cody steps in, seemingly distracted by his phone, and comes to stand beside you. He looks up, and pretends to just have noticed the mistletoe hanging from the ceiling.

"Hey, look." He directs our attention to the plant. "Looks like you two are under the mistletoe!"

Graham starts turning red, and starts rambling, "O-oh! I didn't realize- I thought we'd taken down all the Christmas decorations, heh. But, I guess we forgot? I don't even remember putting up any mistletoe-"

Amy pulls him in by his tie and mets his lips with hers. The kiss only lasts for a second, but Graham is still as red as a beet.

Then, you continue on as if nothing happened. You and Amy have an intelligent conversation about how baking is a form of chemistry. Graham stands there like a awestruck school girl, and eventually, they both leave to watch some movies.

......

Bonus:

✖Trilogy Group Chat✖

Frankiestein: Did you get the photos?

TrebleMaker🎤: You know I did.

TrebleMaker🎤: *sent six attachments*

CodyBologna: Good work, team. For our next bout of mischief, I vote we mess with Kade.

Frankiestein: I second that notion.

TrebleMaker🎤: Then it's decided. At dawn, we ride.

[mauserfrau]

Last Night At Jawgrim’s - Bordertober

Happy Friday! Have some artsy nonsense with a side of drinking and gore.

I remember— it was really a pretty sunset that night.  It was truly a sight to see.  You know, that night.  The last time I went down to Jawgrim’s for some bathtub tequila.  

You’re saying holy people don’t drink.  But ah, you’re wrong.  We all drink on that planet.  

I got chest up to the bar.  Jawgrim kept it awful high, but he was a big man.  Yes, I’m sure it wasn’t Grimjaw.  Yes, big in every dimension, but he wore his old bandit mask off to the side of his head like a Promethean girl at a summer festival.   

I was trying to catch his eye, but he didn’t see so good.  Hazard of drinking too much of his own moonshine.

I figured he’d come around sooner or later.  Anyway, he had Trash Fire and her boys to water, the cobbler from down in the gulch.  A couple Hyperion types who wandered in.  The usual raff and riff.  Actually, Riff wasn’t around… 

Only realized Deupree showed up ‘cause he let in a gust.  He had a knack for that and swagger and conning ladypersons out of tables.  Wasn’t any need that night.  He put his feet and his pack up, pack half-open, just daring somebody to go looking inside.  Yeah, I know that’s part of What’s In The Box.

But by then I’d got a drink and Trash Fire was on it.  I’d say lit, but I mean, Trash Fire… 

I tried to make it last.  Great stuff.  Made your ears ring or your nose run depending on the batch.  I miss it.  I was missing it that night while I still had a glass and the air still smelled like air instead of whiskey puke.  

So of course you know the next gust, it’s all sweet and chemical.  Thought somebody busted a slag rifle over somebody else’s head outside.  That would have explained it.  But I’ve still never smelled anything like her.

Wasn’t unusual to see strangers at Jawgrim’s.  Only bar in town.  Wasn’t unusual he acted like they weren’t there.  No point if they didn’t know him.  Wouldn’t tip.

So this woman, she’s got a scarecrow with her.  I’m mean, I was looking at this guy… I guess it was a guy…  nobody asked.  Nobody ever asks on that planet.  Looking at him I got so stuck on autumn, pumpkin for supper and getting scratched to bits in a field of maize like back on Halcyon 1.   

The fan came around.  I got another whiff of her.  Stared into my glass after, trying to figure just what was in the ice that night.

The scarecrow slid in beside me.  He flashed he wanted two fingers for two people and Jawgrim gave it to him right up.  

I remember, he drank before the woman.  She made a face when she did.  I mean, more of a face.  Shoved her pour back at him after one sip.  Him now, he drank it like it was water.  Left the glasses on the windowsill too.

Anyway, the woman, she got over to Deupree and she sat with him.  I thought maybe he’d turned over a new skull plate.  Don’t start, I was there for too long.  I thought good for him.  

But he looked out from under his hat.  Could see it in his eyes— he didn’t know this woman, but he smelled her like I did.

“Well, hey little lady,” he said, all smooth.  “Do you know what tonight is?”

And she said back, “What’s it matter to me what day it is?” That was a new one.

No, I don’t actually remember myself what day.  I was a holy person on that planet.  I didn’t know what two times four was half the time.  

Now, it took him about two seconds, but they were the longest two seconds anybody ever spent at Jawgrim’s I’m sure.  Deupree came around though.  He smiled, gold canine winking out of his mouth.  “How about I make it matter?”

“You can try, I guess.  But I’m pretty good at What’s In The Box.” I couldn’t see the look she gave him.  She’d swung around the side of the table so it was just him and the scarecrow got any view.

Now, the thing I forgot to mention about Deupree was that he used to be a chemical engineer.  His bar bet box would have been the stuff of legends anyplace else.  But on that planet, he was small time.

Should have known there was something funny about her ‘sides the smell.  Why’d she care so much about a hustler in a no-name town?  Why’d she say, “What’s the bet?”

“Hundred.”

“Cheap.”

“Well, what’s rich then, if you wanna play that way?”

“I dunno.  You?”

“Me?”

“Bet me your soul.  I always wanted to try that.” She made this movement, tugging on her sleeves, like wrapping the idea around her.  And I think she raised Deupree the scarecrow once he finished laughing, but Trash Fire threw a cherry at me and said this was my job and I’d better referee.

I shook my glass at Jawgrim and I went over.  Deupree and the woman nodded. 

She had blue eyes.  Parts of them seemed red.  Not like a white cat’s.  Like they just were red sometimes.  Just ‘cause.

Now, Deupree’s box was black, and the finger slits, they leaked shadows.  I don’t know how he did it, but I wouldn’t put my hand near the thing.  Nasty looking business even if the effect was just carbon and crossed fingers.  

No, I didn’t think it was unholy.  I know unholy when I see it.  Or, I did at some point.  Look, it’s complicated.

The woman reached towards the box.  She touched the tip of her pinky to the shadows crawling on the outside.  Then she pressed it back to her mouth, tasting with all of her tongue.  How she smiled, all hungry and certain.  Her attention locked on Deupree as she reached into her coat.

“It’s a sheep’s eye like this one.”

One splattered on the table.  It sat there, staring up.

So this woman had been walking around with an eyeball in her pocket.  That’s what I’m saying.

Deupree gave it a hell of a look.  His laugh, that came out hollow.  Still did manage to laugh, but still.  He slid the first compartment open and dumped out the eye.  His was all discolored from whatever he’d used to pickle it.  “I’d say that’s cheating.”

I didn’t have any plans to allow it, until he got to his but.

“...but I can feel the love in your efforts.  OK then.  One of the compartments tonight is new and you can’t guess it even if you are a fangirl of mine.  The other? Nobody’s guessed that ever.  Not in seven years.”

The woman looked on.  Her smell and her satisfaction got all fierce-like.  People were taking their own bets in the back now, Jawgrim pouring as fast as his chipped mason jars would let him.  She put her hand— yes, her whole hand —in the furthest compartment.  She didn’t once take her eyes off of Deupree, but she reached behind herself, gesturing to the scarecrow.

He came to her, both their glasses in one hand.  One he tipped into the opposite palm and it clanked.  No, I don’t remember what he smelled like.  Never got that close to him.  Anyway, he shook the two together, whispered some gibberish and held the bottom one out to the woman.

The contents splattered on the table when she dropped it.  “Unlaid vinegar pigeon eggs.  You could have just peeled some grapes.”

“Ah, but grapes are awful hard to get here.”

Vinegar pigeon eggs? Oh, people on that planet ate them with the local meat.  Made it taste less bad by comparison. 

I went to call it again.  

Deupree gestured slitting his throat.  I guessed he meant shut up.  ‘sides Jawgrim shoved another glass in my hand.  My last drink there.  Soapy and familiar.  Made my eyes swim and my guts stammer hard as Trash Fire’s laughter.

“Last round,” said the woman.  Her concentration broke for half an instant.  She told the scarecrow, “Oh, nice knowing you.”

He pretended to weep.

No, I didn’t notice he hadn’t spoken, but… You’ll see.  Hang on.

Picture her, reaching into the center slot, her whole hand again.  Some thoughtfulness got on her lips this time.  She closed her blue eyes.  The bar buzzed and chirped and hiccupped.

Her fingers when she pulled them out were stained with dark, old blood.

She hummed.  I fought to get Deupree to look at me.  He was all eyes for her though.

As she said: “This is the heart of a boy named Eucariah.  He died a long, long time ago in a valley on the other side of the planet.  Mama said not to go out after dark.  Oh no, he did anyway.  He could hear the bandits singing.  He had to do it.  He had to not listen to Mama and wasn’t that sad? Wasn’t that the hardest thing ever? Listening to somebody else.  Hell, he didn’t even listen when they tried to do his autopsy.  It took the town doc an hour to cut open that thick skull of his and then there was nothing inside.”

She dropped one more thing on the table.  A metal toe tag.  The kind like they used at the old Dahl camps ‘cause the only paper they had rotted in the heat.

Deupree said nothing.

The bar, we were laughing, you know.  She was bullshitting so hard.

She just had to be.

Deupree said nothing.  He wasn’t even breathing.  He could not look away from her.  Not even as the scarecrow loomed over him and placed a hand on his back.

“Well,” said the woman.  “Say your prayers or…”

“Or what!” he cried.  His voice cracked so hard.

“Get out.  Get out of town.  We don’t want you here.”

We? Who was we? I wondered half this damned awful second.

Deupree turned the table over as he bolted.  Glass and guts spilled everywhere.

And the woman, she reached out to me.  I guess she wanted to wipe her hand.  I flinched.  One terrible moment I met her eyes myself, but she turned to the scarecrow and she shrugged.  “I guess we should catch him before he hurts his little self.  Or not.  As long as he’s gone.”

The scarecrow shook his head.  He pulled her to her feet even though her hand was still filthy.  He showed her out, all formal and bowing.

For the rest of us, he said “Peace!” and slammed the door and went laughing out of Jawgrim’s.  Everybody behind him? Quiet as a graveyard by that point.  Everybody except for me.  

I remember, I ran outside after them.  Why? Dumb curiosity, I guess.  I was the only one after all.  

Maybe it was the bathtub tequila or maybe it was that too pretty sunset or maybe, God damn them, it was real, but the streets of that town? All full of gusts and ghouls.  Not even sure half of them were people before they died, warped as they looked, but they were definitely dead, smiling through their skulls in the dusk.  The woman walked down the line of them and they chattered, all of them, their teeth and their ribs shaking, body slime dripping from the old ones.  I heard them say mother; mother something.

You know, I heard her name, but my brain won’t let me remember it.  Know it’s in there.

But I couldn’t.  I can’t.  I didn’t look away.  I stood there crossing myself as the streets swelled with dead.

I don’t know what snapped.  One touched me.  Or something.  Anyway, it was by the grace of God I ran.

I ran all the way back to my room in the back of the whorehouse.  I grabbed my things and I left that place— that town, that planet, that galaxy.  I’ve had no drink since.  OK, except for what I needed to ween myself off of the stuff.  And this glass with you.  I’m sorry, I’ve got no taste for real tequila.  

I still smell her, sometimes in the autumn.  Smell that woman.

I smell her and I pray.