#dried cherry version

[thedeadkings]

Mrs. Walker's Fruit Cake - Fruitcake

[luveline]

Hiiii, Jade <3 How are you? Could you please write a single dad!au for Spencer? Pretty please, with a cherry on top :*

hi! I'm okay thanks so much, and ty for your request! I hope you like it ♥︎ single!dad spencer x fem!bau!reader

Amanda is, as you'd expect, a very small version of her father but without the photographic memory. She is a happy, lovely, caring sweetheart of a child, and everytime you see her, you think you might like to marry her dad. 

There's something to be said for the heart of a parent. You look at Amanda and it amplifies every bit of Spencer's goodness, especially now when she's napping in Spencer's lap at his desk in the bullpen, completely at ease. He has one hand behind her back and the other stretched over to his desk.

"You know," Emily whispers, leaning against your desk with two hot cups of coffee, "he told me why he named her Amanda. It might kill you." 

You take one of the coffees. "Thank you… Do I wanna know?" 

Your crush on Spencer is common knowledge for everybody except him: he's a genius in everything beside social relationships. 

"Amanda," Emily says quietly, "I don't remember the Latin word he definitely told us it's derived from, but I do remember what it meant. 'To be loved,' and 'Worthy, of love.'" She raises her eyebrows at you. "He said he wanted there to be no mistake. That she was loved from the beginning, and she always will be." 

"Oh no," you say. 

"Yeah." 

"Are you kidding?" you ask. 

Emily laughs as you cover your face with both hands, long sleeves pulled over your fingers. You hide away from the world and Spencer and his tiny pretty daughter and pray you'll be swallowed up by your uncomfortable chair. 

"You'll be okay," Emily says. "Drink your coffee. Only six hours 'til we get to go home." 

"I don't even really want coffee," you mumble, lips against the rim of your cup. 

She pats your shoulder. You return to your work but absolutely can't focus. Ever since you started your job here at the bureau you've had the world's worst, most ridiculous crush on Spencer. There are a myriad of reasons why but the most important is that he talks to you. Everyday, all the time, he talks about things you'd never even heard of before, and he talks about the weather. He knows more about you than most people know and he shows it so subtly. 

He links trade routes back to your favourite treats, because this boat got stuck in this place so there's going to be a short supply but he knows where you can get some and he can get them for you the next time he goes. He read this book lately by an author you'd definitely hate, but she talked about a different article Spencer thinks you'd love, so he forwarded it to your email last night. He and Amanda went to Niagara Falls last weekend — here's a mug with a rainbow waterfall on the side because he noticed your old coffee mug has a chip in the lip. 

You scratch down a phone number wrong three times in a row and feel your eyes closing of their own accord. He makes it hard to think. 

"Hi, Miss Y/N." 

You look up from your things to find Amanda waiting still as a post by your chair. 

"Hi, beautiful," you say. You look over her shoulder for Spencer and find nothing but files and computers and the click-click-clicking of twenty computers. "Dad's in the bathroom, huh?" 

"Mm-hm." 

"You want me to drag his chair for you?" 

She shakes her head and rushes back to Spencer's chair, pulling it with her back to your desk. She struggles up into the chair and you pull her in, her shiny black shoes rubbing against your knee. 

"Sorry," she says. 

"No, that's okay, you don't have anything to be sorry for. These are nice shoes, baby, I think your dad's been spoiling you again." 

"He says they make me walk faster," she tells you, "'cos they have ergo-domic shapes." 

"Oh wow! You look amazing, you always dress so smart." You smile at her gently. "You want some dried fruit? I have mango, pineapple and apricot. Or I have a normal orange with all the juice," you offer. 

She nods. You have no clue what she's nodding for so you give her the dried fruits and the orange and smile to yourself when she says a breathy thank you. She can eat all your snacks. You'd offer your moon cake if you weren't worried about her being allowed. Fruit is a safe bet. 

She sits happily eating fruit for a while. You try to poke some light conversation out of her, how's school and how's their pet fish Mr. Banana, and is it fun to be at work with dad today? 

"Hi." 

You bite your own tongue. Amanda doesn't acknowledge her father beyond her head dipping back in wait of his hand. Sure enough, he reaches over the back of the chair and strokes her baby blonde curls, brown towards the ends. You imagine they'll be the same warm brown as his when she's older. 

"Hey, Spencer," you say, crossing your hands over your tummy. 

"Is everything okay?" 

"Yeah. Why wouldn't it be?" 

You're lying. He's a profiler. You both know both of those facts. 

He squints at you playfully. "You should tell me if something's wrong." 

"Dad," Amanda interrupts, "we have to… have to give people space." She offers him the dried fruit bag. "To tell us in their own time." 

Despite the clumsy, adorable way that she says it, she has a point. Spencer bites back a smile, properly chastised, and takes the bag. 

"What is this?" he asks. 

"Sorry," you jump in, "I should've asked you first, I just didn't," —you lower your voice— "really know what to do. I'm not bad with kids. I'm, uh, not good with them, either, maybe." 

"You're great with kids," he says. "Having a baby is complicated, but taking care of them once they get to Manda's age is easier. She just needs love and patience and regular feeding. You're one of the most loving people I know, and your patience is appropriate. And, you know." He passes back your bag of dried fruit. "You always have snacks in your desk." 

His easy compliments warm your face. You cover your cheeks with your sleeves.

"Dad, you made her happy," Amanda says, pleased. 

Spencer laughs and the sound lights you up from the inside out, reaching over the chair to lift Amanda into his arms. He pushes his hand into the small of her back and straightens out the skirt of her red dress. If you'd been paying attention, you'd notice the slight pink tint of a blush working over his ears and cheeks. 

"Aw, Mands," he murmurs, "we really have to work on your context clues." 

[dark-frosted-heart]

Ikepri 4th anniversary The Chara Cafe collab menu

Menu items under cut

FOOD

Keith: Twice as delicious! Fruit salad

- Contains: salad mix, mango, mozzarella cheese, cherry tomato, strawberry, caesar dressing, radicchio, cured ham, lemon dressing

Licht and Nokto: Spaghetti napolitan with carrots for the twins to conquer their least favorite food

- Contains: pasta (spaghetti), onion, napolitan sauce, bell pepper, sausage, carrot

Azel: Butter chicken ~with god's protection~

- Contains: saffron rice, caesar dressing, chicken, parsley, cherry tomatoes, cheese, salad mix, butter chicken

Chevalier: Undisputed champion's omurice oozing with elegance

- Contains: omurice, bacon, bechamel sauce, parsley, spinach

Clavis special!: Rabbit cake that looks exactly like my lovely accomplice ~ Love's Proposition (Curse of Love) version. Decorated with clay figures ~

- Contains: roll cake, edible paper, mint, strawberry whipped cream, blueberry sauce, cake pick, milk, mixed berries, chocolate candy (biscuit?), silver dragee

Kagari: Perfect dorayaki plate for princess

- Contains: dorayaki, sakura condensed milk, whipped cream, vanilla ice cream, strawberry, chervil, strawberry sauce, mixed berries, feuilletine

Gilbert: Trampling beast’s cheesecake plate ~ I’ll go “ahh” for you ~

- Contains: no-bake cheesecake, ganache squares, cocoa cookie, chervil, whipped cream, edible gold, blueberry sauce

Rio: I'll go "ahh" for you! Adoring doggy's orange parfait

- Contains: orange jelly, vanilla ice cream, granola, dried orange, whipped cream, mint, orange sauce

DRINKS

Leon: King of the beasts' red drink

- Contains: wildberry syrup, mixed berries, watermelon juice, rose petals

Yves: Tsundere cat's lemon drink

- Contains: pink lemonade syrup, whipped cream, lactic acid drink, gummy

Jin: Naughty adult's coffee float with candy

- Contains: black coffee, gomme syrup, vanilla ice cream, candy, mint

Matias: I want to warm your body and heart...let's look the window at the snowy landscape while drinking milk tea together

- Contains: black sugar syrup, whipped cream, milk tea, silver dragee

Sariel: The devil is always watching violet drink

- Contains: violet syrup, whipped cream, violet jelly, monaka wafer, muscat-flavored water

Luke: Mr. Bear's special honey sangria

- white grape juice, orange slice, honey lemon juice, mixed berries, mint, honey

Silvio: Tyrant's jangling ocean float

- blue raspberry syrup, ramune ice cream, cider, edible gold

[monster-match-if]

Hiii, good morning. I have two questions but I think they can be answered in one, I hope. Hahaha

First, what do Ro's smell like? What scent would you say identifies them?

Second, do you have any description of their physique/body type in mind? Maybe some reference.

Obviously don't answer if you don't want to and take your time, have a nice day~😌

Hiii^^ thank you for the ask, you get a long answer :)) And hope you have a lovely day as well💕

First, what do Ro's smell like? What scent would you say identifies them? Morgan - naturally doesn’t have a scent (a predator thing), but likes rich fragrances, I picture Tom Ford perfumes like Black Orchid, Tobacco Vanilla or YSL Black Opium. Eli - freshly cut grass, rain. Doesn’t particularly do perfumes. Ragnar - powdery, woodsy impressions with fruity undertones. He sounds like an apple tree, lol :)) Blake - hell I mean jasmine and burning souls Kitai - cherry blossoms and vanilla. Fion - very cliche, but I always imagined they’d have a lingering scent of the beach and ocean. Like they’re always just coming out of the ocean and dried off on the beach, skin heated and a salty scent flowing all around them. Sei - no specific scent (cold blooded predator and all that) but he prefers fresh scents like eucalyptus, peppermint, citrus.

Second, do you have any description of their physique/body type in mind? Maybe some reference. I have like super, super vague references, but I think I ended up changing most of them from the original versions/ they look different now in my head. They’re all very fit, with Ragnar having a little beginner’s belly :)) and Kitai being on the leaner side.

Muscle mass Ragnar > Sei > Fin > Blake > Eli > Morgan > Kitai Juiciest booty: Blake (as long as probably biggest boobs for F Blake) I added some pics below for general vibes, but they are not entirely accurate and some of them are more inspo than actually body types.

Morgan - this lovely incestuous duo, but more modern and put together - classic vampire look.

Eli - My reference was drow mommy Minthara, lol. But Eli’s sweeter and not technically a drow. You can also have the Drow twins from BG3 as a general visual. But yes, both M and F versions are athletic, I think I mentioned “swimmer’s body” - muscled, but not overly so. You can also picture classic elf, I think - on the tall side, lean and not too muscular. Credit for the amazingly stunning Minthy picture to feyspeaker

Ragnar - this is the easiest, he looks the same as the original. My references were Big Nasty and Rollo from Vikings. He's sporting a little belly pouch from his new job as a chef :))

Bonus tattoos - the skull on the back, but more blacked out towards the edges and merging into the second picture for the neck and arm.

Blake - I got nothing :)) I think they suffered the most changes. For anyone playing Romance Club, I pictured the “demon” forms as the succubus/incubus in Soulless. Other than that, just the image I have in my head - runway model, deep brown skin in contrast with bright green eyes and bouncy black hair. M Blake is a bit stocky, F Blake is curvy. The pics are not exactly accurate, but the closest I could find.

Kitai - My theme was "Japanese yakuza looking, but make them actually a sweetheart".

Fion - my theme was ✨ Baywatch lifeguards✨ - but make them ginger and and a little boho. Dark crimson tentacles when in "true" form.

Sei - I basically saw the first pic and thought “Yes please, but make them male for the double D.” The second pic is the closest I could find that fits the body type.

[thesarahshay]

Welcome to Bixby's Lounge

The Case of the Greater Gatsby is coming in just a few days — a 1940s film noir radio play parody coming to you from Shipwrecked Comedy, as a sequel to their short film The Case of the Gilded Lily. I came up with a few special cocktails for us to drink while enjoying the show, and figured some of you might like to drink along! See below the fold for mocktail versions and syrup recipes.

Fig Wineshine 1 oz brandy 1 oz. fig simple syrup Seltzer Squeeze of lemon

Add brandy and syrup to a highball or rocks glass with ice. Top with soda, add lemon, and stir. Serve with cookies.

Shirley Themple 1 oz. gin 3/4 oz. grenadine (see recipe below) Seltzer Wedge of lime

Put gin, two ice cubes, and lime wedge in a shaker and shake like you’re trying to get information out of it. Strain gin into a highball glass, add grenadine, and top with seltzer. Stir, then spend the rest of the evening attempting to smoke the spoon.

Ford Phillips 2 fingers of scotch

Pour scotch into a rocks glass. Serve with limited eye contact.

Mocktails Fig Temperanceshine 1 oz. fig simple syrup Ginger ale Squeeze of lemon Optional: Dash of orange bitters

The Original Shirley Temple 3/4 oz. grenadine Seltzer (Willie’s recipe) or ginger ale (original recipe) Optional: Squeeze of lime, maraschino cherry garnish

Note: If using ginger ale, I recommend going with a spicier variety to balance against the sweetness of the syrup (we used Fever Tree).

Did you know: Grenadine was originally made from pomegranate, hence the name! To taste a Shirley T(h)emple as Bixby would have made it, follow the recipe below to make your own.

Homemade Grenadine 1 cup pomegranate juice 1 cup sugar 1 tablespoon lemon juice Optional: Dash of orange blossom water

Combine juice and sugar in a small saucepan. Heat on medium high until bubbles form, but before it fully boils. Remove from heat and let cool. Add orange blossom water if using, then pour into a well-sealed glass container. Keeps in the fridge 1-2 months.

Fig Simple Syrup 9 oz. fig jam 1 cup water OR 1 cup water 1 cup sugar 2 cups chopped fresh figs or 1 cup dried figs

Heat water in a small saucepan on medium high until steaming. Add jam (or sugar) and whisk gently to mix. If using fresh or dried fruit, add now. When the mixture begins to boil, reduce heat to medium-low and simmer, stirring occasionally, until it reduces by between 1/4 and 1/2 (you can taste a spoonful to check — if it’s doesn’t seem flavorful enough, keep reducing). Remove from stove and allow to cool. If using dried fruit, allow it to steep for an hour. Strain to remove seeds and store in a well-sealed glass container. Keeps in the fridge 1-2 months.

[boygiwrites]

Harley D. Dixon 5

An amazing edit inspired by this story! (Cred to Cora_Line99) Harley D. Dixon's Pinterest Board! Harley D. Dixon's Playlist!

📖Chapter List.

Author's Note. This is our CDC chapter, so TW for mention of suicide in this one. It's a little graphic.

And it might be better to go in blind, but if you'd like the second TW, please check the first tag on this post.

Other than that, please enjoy reading!

Glenn exhales, "Would you look at that?"

The sun is rising.

Last night I was a dying dog and today I am Harley Dixon.

Me, Dad and Glenn are on the roof of the parked RV, watching the sky give birth to the sun, knowing that I got hundreds more sunrises waiting for me; that the worst is over, like Rick said. The morning is as fresh as peeled summer fruit, and it's all ours. I'm reminded of special breakfasts on our old porch, where my Uncle Merle and my Dad would be scooping burnt scrambled eggs into their mouths, and I'd be in Dad's lap, sipping on a box of orange juice. We had them whenever I won an award at school. I feel like I've won every award in the world.

Glenn is the one sitting next to us, now, in this new version of day-break. He fills the outline of where a ghost of a brother and an Uncle used to be. We're sharing a secret bag of old freeze-dried cherries, while everyone else sleeps. They're a small luxury, like the sun. We can make happiness out of anything.

It all feels right.

"One hundred percent mold free, this time. I swear," Glenn says, ripping the bag open and pouring me the first cherries.

"They better be," Dad jokes. "First time was free."

"Next time, you'll beat my ass?" Glenn guesses.

He looks like he's realizing his legacy is always gonna be the guy who can't make jerky.

"Damn straight."

We knock our plastic bowls together, smiling.

"To Harley."

"To Harley."

"To me!"

"What a mess this whole thing was." Glenn shakes his head, chewing. "I know I already said it, but... I'm really sorry."

"Ain't your fault you can't cook." I giggle.

"Gee, thanks." He laughs. "I guess I deserve that."

"Just learn to salt the damn meat, China." Dad says. "Then we can talk."

"Okay, okay, okay." Glenn puts his hands up, but he's still grinning. "I suck at cooking. I get it. Are Dixons always this mean?"

Me and my Daddy answer, yes, at the same time.

"Good to know." Mumbles Glenn.

"The night I got scratched," I muse, my fingers painted with crayon-red cherry juice. "You was the first person after my Dad to reach the tent."

I remember people saying that Glenn could outrun a cheetah if there were enough supplies behind the finish line. The thought makes me laugh again. When you ain't big, you gotta find other ways to elbow your way through danger. Sometimes a good brain and better legs are all you need. Sometimes people like me and Glenn get to win, too.

"I guess so." Glenn's smiling shyly. "But only because Rick was too busy reloading. And Shane was up the back. And, well, I guess— When we first got back to camp, people were saying that you were gone. That you were missing, or dead, or— We didn't know. Your Dad, he just took off into the woods. Just, vroom, y'know? Like, gone. I thought if I was gonna be like anyone, it should be him. So, I went running, too."

Dad leans over and grips Glenn's shoulder; shakes it. A gesture that says, Man to man, I respect you. Maybe even, Brother to brother.

It takes a lot to earn my Dad's respect, if you ain't his blood.

"You all looked like you was boutta faint." I snicker, 'cause it's funny now.

"W-we all thought it was too late." Glenn tries to laugh. It's been hard, I guess, bottling up that night until now. "When we first saw the tent."

I see flashes of wet eyes, and teeth, and spiders.

"I did too," I confess.

My Dad turns me around in his lap, then, and bounces his knee a little. "But I woulda never let that happen, chicken, y'hear? And I ain't never gonna let that happen. I'd have to be dead, 'fore a walker laid his hands on you." He frowns, looking me dead in the eye.

"I hear." I nod. "It was just really scary."

"C'mere, babe."

He pulls me down to his chest — his heart — and I curl up there, where I know nothin' will ever get me.

"For the record, I was about to faint." Glenn mutters.

I throw a cherry at him and he dodges it, grinning.

"I knew it!"

We all sit like this for a long while, with the sun and the rustling wheat as our friends, snacking on our sour fruit. Then they start talking again, a notch deeper, a notch outta my league. Adult to adult. I realize they must think I'm asleep — It is the ass-crack of dawn, after all — so I don't interrupt.

"I didn't mean it like that, you know." Glenn tells my Dad. "You can protect your own. I get that."

"Don't tell me what I already know, kid."

"I just..." Glenn starts, but then there's nothing.

In this long moment, I think Glenn is going to leave down the ladder, 'cause it's what anyone else would do.

People like me and my Dad — People who hoard supermarket coupons, and talk real nasty, and get called hillbillies — don't mix well with people like Glenn. People pretend there isn't, but there's an invisible cut-off on who deserves what in life, and it ends right after people who only gotta work one job. Glenn's smart, and he prolly ain't never had to go hungry to pay his water bills, not once in his life. He prolly ain't never been to jail, or snapped a squirrel's neck, or re-used the same bottle of hand soap forty times over. He's like the rest of 'em. Rick and Lori. Shane. The kids in my old classes. Their parents on parent-night. We can work well together but anything else is askin' too much.

But we're family now, right? I think Glenn might leave, but—

"Well, for what it's worth, I couldn't do it." Is all Glenn says.

He doesn't leave. In fact, I hear him settling further into his chair. It's what Uncle Merle would have done.

My Dad pauses. "Do what?"

"Look over my shoulder all the time. Worry about someone else every time I hear a gunshot. Walk around knowing I have that much to lose." Glenn sounds lost in thought, but then he surfaces. He ends his list with a simple, "Be a parent."

My Dad sighs, debating whether or not to go along with this.

"That ain't all there is to it." He eventually says.

"No?"

"Nah. It ain't some curse." Dad says. "I hear a gunshot? Sure, first thing I'm thinkin' 'bout is Harley. But that's the way it's meant to be."

"I just don't think I'd be able to handle it." I imagine Glenn gazing out at the sky. "These past few days have been stressful enough."

"Yeah, well that's why I got a kid 'n you don't." Dad's being a bit of a smart-ass. Then, he answers seriously. "You got a kid? You gotta be ready to die for 'em. But it ain't just sittin' around, waitin' to do it. It's the opposite. Every day I wake up, and I do it for her. I do everythin' I do for her. After that baby's born, who you were, what you liked doin', any plans you had — That's over. Suddenly, yer life ain't the most important thing you got, no more."

I've never heard my Dad talk like this. I wish our lives were worth the same, but I guess it don't work that way.

"And who were you?" Glenn asks, knocking back a cherry. "Before Harley?"

"A nobody. Drunk bastard with drunk-bastard friends." Dad scoffs.

"Well... That's good, then?" Glenn's guessing. "Sounds like she changed you for the better, man."

I can't imagine my Dad being anybody other than my Dad. The day I came into the world, so did he. There's nothin' before that.

"It's hard." Dad admits, prolly for the first time ever, to Glenn. "I love 'er, but it's hard as shit. Some days I wanna pull my damn hair out."

"You must have been going crazy during... everything."

"Oh, you think?" Dad jokes. "You ain't seen me fuck up that walkie?"

Glenn bursts out laughing. "It hit the RV when you threw it out the window. Scared the shit out of Dale."

I have to try really hard not to laugh. I'm meant to be pretend-asleep!

"You got any nieces, or anythin'?" Dad asks.

"No." Glenn answers. "My sisters were either too interested in their careers to have kids, or... Too young."

Glenn's sisters aren't here. Blood does everything it can to stay together. Dad taught me that. That means his sisters are both young and dead.

"That's gotta be tough, man." Dad sighs.

"No, it's alright. Sometimes I can pretend they're out there, together. Happy." He pauses. "What about you? Nieces? Nephews?"

Dad actually laughs a little. "Fuck no. Not from my side, at least. Guy like my brother ain't meant to spread his seed around. Ain't right."

Glenn starts laughing, too. "I guess not."

"Nah, Harley's my only girl." My Dad says. I feel him start playing with the end of my ponytail.

"You know, when you first showed up in camp, I thought she was Merle's." Glenn says, then quickly, "No offence."

"No shit?" Dad scoffs.

"No shit. I thought you looked too young to have a kid."

An unspoken joke makes them both laugh all over again.

"Yeah, well, I was real busy in my teen years."

I got no idea what that means, but it must be funny. Their conversation tapers from chuckling into a warm silence, and then it's just us and the sun again. It clips over a candy-colored cloud, and I can hear car doors opening and shutting, and loud yawns from down below. We're gonna be on the road again soon. I might not need a cure anymore, but we still need water, food, and walls, and the CDC's got it all. I hear someone shouting, alright, people, time to start heading out, and then a whole bunch of shuffling. The day isn't just ours, anymore.

My Dad stretches, groaning, and I pretend to be woken up by it.

He pinches my cheek. "Look who's here."

"Hey, Harley." Glenn smiles, packing up. "You enjoy the cherries?"

"Uh-huh," I smile back. "Thank you."

"No problem." He says. "There's actually some left over, if you want it."

He holds out the bag while I dig my hand into it.

I think it's funny how me, the man who made me, and the man who almost killed me are all friends, now. I learnt in science class that the more pressure you put on a rock, the more compact the molecules get. I think we're the molecules. It's bittersweet.

"Not too many." Dad warns. "You're still sick, remember? Don't want you messin' up my truck again."

"I remember," I promise, shoving a handful of cherries into my mouth. I also remember him sayin' he don't give a damn 'bout the truck.

Someone shouts out the radio channel again.

"Time to see this thing through, then." Rallies Glenn, but he looks nervous.

We say goodbye to the sunrise.

"Dad, is that—?"

"That's the CDC, alright."

We reach it by early morning. It's a monster of a building. It's like a big, white buoy in the middle of the ocean, saying, Come here, I'll keep you afloat. We ease to a stop and then we just look at it, 'cause it's all we can do. The CDC, right before our eyes. It's really there.

"It's bigger than I thought." I think aloud.

Dad just grunts, wary. "Stay close to me."

Our new walkie chimes, and Rick speaks to everyone when he says, "This is it, people. Leave your things. We're gonna walk up."

Why does the air feel so cold?

My Dad pulls both me and his crossbow out the truck, and then the whole group — one tired, beaten, hopeful force — are slowly making our way to the building. We walk through a silent field. I wish it could speak to us; tell us what it's been through.

We pass torn bags of sand and littered bullet shells. I think there's something here that we're not seeing, not yet, like a sleeping beast at the back of a cave, and when we find it, we're gonna be sorry we ever looked. We weave through big, black piles of clothes. The clothes are full, I realize. Full of hands, and legs; all white, all dead. They're bodies. They still have their human faces; they're still them, just dead, and they're studded with the bullets that the shells came from. The story tells itself, on behalf of the ghosts. They give their blood back to mother nature, dripping into the grass. I gasp. From head to toe, I go cold. My Dad shields my face, but I've already seen 'em. They're already nightmares.

Rick leads us. He leads us past trucks and barriers and blockades. Every sign the universe gives him to turn back, he ploughs through, chin up.

Maybe he's brave. Maybe he's stupid. Maybe he was designed to be both. Maybe we're walking to our deaths.

Nobody speaks. If they do, the bodies might wake up, and the graveyard we're intruding on will realize it doesn't want us here.

A crow squawks from its post on a dead soldier's helmet. If I spoke bird, I'd hear, Turn back.

We have to do this. It's what everyone's thinking, as they manage one foot in front of the other. Just one more step, and after that, just one more step. I take in the group, 'cause they ain't dead, and it's a little less awful to look at.

Morales, rifle up. Eliza, Louis and Sophia, three baby ducklings under their Mommas' shaking wings. Dale and Shane, polar opposites but in this moment, exactly the same; with their steely gaze and steady hands. Jacqui and Andrea, holding hands; two girls in women's bodies, walking through a world that wants to eat them. I catch Carl's eye. He catches mine, over the violence spread out before us. I watch him send me a thumbs up, which does nothing but turn me colder — colder than ice, colder than I've ever been — before my view is blocked for a second time, by Glenn. I'm sandwiched in; hidden, protected. I squeeze my eyes shut and hope I'll get to open them again. My Dad leads me by the shirt over the grass. I trust him.

My shoes hit something tougher, louder — Cement. Rock? Our footsteps echo, now. Are we really in a cave?

It goes double-dark, through my eyelids. Please don't leave us, I beg the sun nicely, We need you.

I squeeze my Dad's hand. He squeezes back.

Then I hear a rumble, like thunder, and I peek out from behind my Dad. It's Rick, banging on roller shutters. We all clench closer together, a fist ready to fight. Nobody does it on purpose, but me and all the other kids are pushed toward the middle. Rumble, rumble, rumble. Rick goes from one door to another to another, until he's shook down the entire row.

Guns are raised. We step back, together.

It's like knockin' on doors on Halloween. We don't know what creature's gonna answer. Maybe nobody.

"Anybody home?" Glenn mutters.

We stretch our silence for as long as we can stand it. There is no answer.

Newly determined, or maybe offended, or scared, or maybe all three, Rick beats down all the doors again like he hates 'em.

"Hey!" He calls out. "Whoever's in there, open up!"

"Nobody's here, man!" T-Dog shakes his head, but he ain't got no proof.

"Then tell me why you think all the damn shutters are down?" Rick snarls, and it's like we're in the parking lot again, and I'm scared.

And I should be.

"Walkers incoming!" Shane shouts.

Suddenly, my Dad and Glenn are whirling the other way, facing our new enemy. I grab onto the back of Dad's belt, and when I peer out between their elbows, I see one, two, six, twelve dead bodies lumbering to their feet, all dressed in military green, and dented helmets, and layers and layers of crusty black blood and loose skin. The other kids start to cry, but not me. I can't cry, 'cause I can't breathe. I hear a slicing fwip, and then one of the dead soldiers drop to the ground like the only thing holding him up were strings. An arrow marks his second deathbed.

"We can't fuckin' stay here, Rick!" My Dad's yelling. "You led us into a death-trap!"

I'm grabbing onto the back of Glenn's shirt, now, 'cause my Dad's stomping off to confront Rick and Shane. I hide my nose in my knuckles. Death-trap, I'm panicking, Death-trap. A week ago, I'd be standing here alone, but I got Glenn now. I don't know how I know that, but I do. I got Glenn.

"Glenn, I'm scared." I whine to him, and there it is, I'm crying. I think of happier things, like cherries and the sun.

"I— I know." Glenn puffs, 'cause he's scared, too. "I know."

He lets me grab his hand. It's what Uncle Merle would have done.

"Death trap or not, we're here for a reason!" Dale's arguing. "Rick made a call! We all did!"

"You want us to phase through the fuckin' doors, old man?" Dad spits. "We're stuck out here! My daughter's stuck out here!"

"Running out of time here, guys!" Jacqui's worrying.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Are those gunshots, now? Bullets are last resorts. Last resorts are only for when you're gonna die. Are we gonna—?

"Are we gonna die, Glenn?"

"No." He hurries to answer, gripping me tighter. "N—No."

"We need to leave!" A woman — Carol? — cries.

"She's right." Lori. That's Lori. "This close to the city? It's too dangerous!"

Bang! Bang! Bang!

"Fort Benning." Shane looks like he's 'bout ready to bolt, bouncin' from foot to foot. A trapped animal. "We can do it. It's still an option, Rick."

"Is it?" Glenn's shouting. "It's a hundred twenty-five miles away!"

"No fuel? Two sick kids?" Morales is shakin' his head, no, no, no. "It's impossible!"

What do we do? No, no, no. We can't leave, but no, no, no, we can't stay, neither.

"What do you wanna do, then?" Shane argues back. "What you wanna do?"

"That's it! We're done here!"

My Dad shuts the whole thing down with one angry shout, locking his hand around my wrist. He tugs me away, and for a moment, the group is tugging itself along behind us, back to the street and the cars. We're a unit again — in the wind, goin' anywhere; scared, flimsy. We take one step, and then two, and we make it all the way back to the grass, before—

"Wait!"

It's Rick.

He ain't budged. Brave or stupid? Is he nuts?

"The camera." He tells us, breathless. "It moved."

All three.

"You imagined it." Dale decides, 'cause he'll say anything to get Rick to move. "How could it have moved?"

It's a lost cause — a last-ditch attempt.

The arguing re-ignites. I hide myself again, 'cause I'd rather be anywhere else.

Rick's shouting that he saw it, he saw the camera move, and his voice hits the concrete and closes in on us, just like the field. Fwip. Bang. Bang. Bang. Each burst of noise is a ticking hand on a dyin' clock. The bodies are picking themselves up faster than we're dropping 'em. Glenn's got a knife out, now, and Shane's pleading with Rick, who's gone nuts, Man, listen, the place is gone, it's gone, it's gone, it's gone. Rumble, rumble, rumble. Fwip. Bang. Crying; shrieking, from me, from the other kids, from Lori, and Jacqui, and the air as it's cut in half by bullet after bullet after bullet. Please, we have two sick kids out here, someone's begging.

"You're killing us!" Rick tells the camera. "You're killing us!"

My Dad fists the back of my shirt and he's pullin' me away, stronger than before. I think he's saying, Fuck it, we can make it on our own; leave the bastard. This must really be rock bottom. We were on our own for weeks. He must be thinking that we can do it again. I can see Glenn struggling to decide whether he should stay with the group or follow his feet, which are already trying to run after me and my Dad. I see Jacqui doin' it, too, and then Andrea, and then Carol.

A body topples over in our path, arrow up its nose. This is chaos.

Cherries and sunlight. Cherries and sunlight.

Then—

Behind us.

A gentle rumble, rumble.

We all whip around.

The doors — They're opening. They really are.

Even Rick looks like he can't believe it. We watch them open, mouths agape, like a bunch of idiots — A portal, to another world.

At first, we think there's a catch. Nothing comes without a catch. Do we go in?

But then there's another bang, and we're reminded that we're as good as dead if we stay out here any longer. We're on the move again, but this time, we're walking into the big, white mouth of the big, white monster, praying, Please don't be worse than it is out here, please don't make us regret this. We stay close together as the doors roll back down, sealing us in. We can breathe again, but only slightly. Would I rather take my chances with the dead soldiers, or with the unknown? I'm not sure. Now it's really happening, I don't think any of us are.

"Electricity." Jacqui whispers in cautious wonder. Electricity is like a myth.

Rick nods toward an archway. "Let's keep moving."

We trickle into the belly of the beast — Down a hallway, and into a lobby with the tallest damn ceiling I ever saw. Papers are thrown all over the floor and the computers at the reception desk are all upturned, but it's pin-drop silent. It's like being in a museum for an old extinction event.

"Hello?" Rick calls out, and if there's a scary creature in here, I sure hope it eats him first. "Who's in here? Who opened the doors?"

The silence answers.

"I did."

I jump outta my skin. Dad gets himself in front of me, but I peek around his waist. There's a man at the top of the stairs. He looks like he's been here for a long, long time. Like those lonely boys in Lord of the Flies, where they'd been on an island for so long that they started going a little crazy. He's wearing a regular t-shirt. I wonder where his lab coat is, if he's a scientist. This is a building for scientists.

"What did you mean by 'sick'?" The lonely-crazy-man calls down to us. "You said you had two sick kids. Is anybody infected?"

The whole group hardens at this question. They all glance back at me. I can see our journey in their eyes.

Rick's smiling, and this time, it looks right.

"You don't know the half of it." He turns back around, chin up, like always. "No. Nobody's infected. Thank God."

Dad puts a hand my shoulder.

The scientist doesn't share the same enthusiasm.

"I'm not sure He's around, anymore." He muses, vaguely sad. Then, "Why are you here? What do you want?"

I've never been good at words, but Rick is, 'cause he comes up with the perfect answer. One he knows we'd all agree on.

"A chance."

And maybe some water. After all we been through, that can't be too much to ask. We must look like a pathetic, begging mess, 'cause that's what we are. I know I am. My hair's made outta knots and grease, just like Lori and Andrea's. We're covered in beatings from the road, like bruises from Jim's fists and eyebags from sleepless nights. We left our quarry for this. We left our fish, and our tyre swing, and we left Jim. This can't be for nothing.

The man, who stands high above us, a judging eye, takes us in. "That's asking an awful lot, these days."

All Rick can say is, "I know," and pray it works.

I think of wet eyes, teeth, and spiders while we wait for his decision.

"You'll submit to a blood test." The scientist tells us. "That's the price of admission."

A breath leaves us all.

"We can—" Rick's nodding. "We can manage that."

That's it? A blood test?

I find myself grinning, and I tug on my Dad's hand. We look at each other. He's smiling, too, just a little. We all are. The scientist doesn't know it, but he's just saved our lives. We're tired and we're dirty and we've been through Hell these past couple days, but a blood test — We can manage that. We can manage anything.

"I left one door open. If you have stuff to bring in, do it now." He says, from his perch. "Once these doors shut, they don't open."

We tell him we understand.

This place is like a magical castle.

After we give up our blood, the scientist takes us on a tour. 

Jacqui was right. We got electricity. But apparently, we also got hot water.

If electricity's a myth, then hot water is a damn hoax. I can't wait to have a shower tonight. I used to hate showers, but that's just one of them things now that I can't believe I ever hated, like spinach. I been so hungry before that I'd dream about spinach. Glenn and Lori groan like they've bitten into a big, juicy steak when they hear 'bout the showers, and we all laugh. When I ask him, the scientist says that he isn't wearing his lab coat because he only wears it to make himself look cool. He says that now that we're here, he'll have to put it back on. It makes me giggle.

I run ahead with the other kids, and we all reach a long line of doors, where the scientist says we'll be staying.

The tour is complete!

We all pick rooms to stay in and then we unpack, like we're in a hotel, and it's exciting. None of us have been to a hotel in years.

"Hey, Harley!" Sophia pops her head out the next room over, holding a bar of soap. "Look! Soap!"

I hold out mine. "I got one, too!"

Behind Sophia, Carl pops his head out. "Me too!"

And behind him, like two little owls, Eliza and Louis appear. "Us, too!"

We dash back into our rooms. Me and my Dad's room got two double beds, and I ain't never had a double bed before, so I climb on it, and I jump up and down to test it out. It don't even squeak or nothin'. Dad watches me from where he's emptying one of our back packs.

As I try touch the ceiling, I tell him, "This place is awesome!"

"Harley, come down from there 'fore you crack yer head open." He orders, like a party-pooper.

I do what he says, 'cause I don't wanna ruin the day by getting spanked. "I'm gonna have a real-life shower."

"That's right." He shakes out the yellow shirt with the dinosaurs on it. He chucks it at my head, smirking. "Get ready, then."

I grab the brush that Sophia's letting me use first and a pair of purple pyjama pants from my Dad. I take myself into the bathroom. At first, the water's like straight lava on my skin, and I yelp. Dad asks if I'm alright, and then he comes in to fix the water for me. The lava settles back down, and I scrub and wash and sud myself up until I'm almost as red as a lobster. It's the best shower I've ever had. I was getting so sick of using baby wipes and river water to wash myself. When I step out of the real-life shower, the whole room is steamed up. I draw a smiley face into the mirror just 'cause I can, and then I brush out all my hair. I smell like strawberries. I dress in my cozy pyjamas and socks.

When I come out, my Dad re-does my buttons, 'cause apparently I did 'em all wrong. I stand between his knees while he re-orders 'em.

"He said there's a games room here." I smile.

"Maybe you can scope it out after dinner." Dad says. "You gotta be hungry by now, right?"

"Oh, I forgot 'bout dinner!" There's just too many wonders to keep track of in this place! "We gotta hurry!"

My Dad loops the last button.

"Come on, come on, come on!" I nag, pulling him off the bed and out the door.

"Damn." He chuckles. "People are gonna start thinkin' I ain't feedin' you."

"I bet there's gonna be steak!"

This is the best day ever.

We reach the CDC's little cafeteria, which is in total darkness to save energy, except for a spotlight above the biggest table. Makes it feel even more special. I hear clinking forks and plates, and I think these are the two happiest days I've ever had. Me and Dad take seats next to Carol and Sophia. As potato salad — Yes, potato salad. That's almost as good as soap — and greens and meat get passed around, I'm reminded of our fish fry. My Dad is here with me to enjoy it this time, and there are walls to protect us, instead of trees. We're clean. We're safe. We're alive.

"Just tell me when." Carol tells T-Dog as she pours him some wine, while everyone is getting settled in at the table.

Carol pours for a long time and T-Dog does not say when.

People start laughing.

T-Dog gives in and goes, "Okay, when, when, when."

"Thought I was gonna be there all night." Carol scoff-chuckles, sitting back down.

When I look around, I see one big family having dinner together, and I see people I'd almost forgotten about under all that dirt.

"Hey, after the past few days we've had, I think we deserve it." Rick's smiling, holding up his hands.

"I'll say." Lori snickers.

Dale suddenly stands, glass in hand. "How about we dedicate this meal to Harley?"

Rick puts down his napkin. "I think that's a perfect idea."

I giggle under all the attention as everyone rushes to agree, finding their glasses. I hide my face behind my Dad's arm. He peels himself away, smirking, and everyone's got something to say about my red face when I'm no longer hidden. I smack Carl when he tells me I look like a tomato, and everyone's doubled over with laughter, again. It's my favorite sound ever, I decide.

Before we can toast, my Dad butts in.

"Hang on. Old man, how's about that watch you carry around?" He asks. "It got a date on it?"

"I wish," Dale smiles, "But the battery died yesterday. Why? Is there something I'm missing?"

"I reckon it's almost July, right?" Dad looks around.

Is he gonna say what I think he's gonna say?

I start grinning.

Rick nods, "I reckon so. It's probably been about a month since everything went down."

"Harley was born in July. Twenty-second. Eight years ago. Ain't that right?" Dad ruffles my hair, and I giggle, 'cause I'm just so full of happiness that I feel like I'll never be anything else again. He raises his glass; wraps a hand around my shoulders. "Close enough, am I right?"

"Absolutely, that's close enough!" Lori shouts, clapping her hands; rushing for her glass. "My God, this is perfect!"

"We got ourselves a birthday dinner, here, people!" T-Dog whoops, raising his, too.

Rick lifts his glass above his head, and it's official. "To the birthday girl!"

"To the birthday girl!"

Clink, clink, clink.

More cheering. Two toasts in one day. I must be the luckiest girl in the whole, wide world. I bump my glass of water into Dad's glass on my right, and Sophia's on my left. After the scare with the scratches, this celebration means ten times more than a regular birthday would. There's no cake here, or number-candles, but I don't need any of that to make this moment special. I got Glenn singing an off-key Happy Birthday, and I got Jacqui giggling, God, shut that boy up, and I got Sophia hugging me, and I got another year and a whole lotta more days I get to live, with everyone at this table; with my Dad. And when Rick leans over the table, I even let him give me a high-five!

"Eight." Rick raises his eyebrows at me while he sits back down, pointing at me. "Almost double digits."

"You're almost my age!" Grins Carl.

"Good luck." Lori dramatically whispers to my Dad.

He gives me a look. "Listen to me, you ain't allowed to grow any more after this, okay?"

I can't help if I grow!

"Okay, Dad." I laugh. "I promise to be eight forever."

"Good girl." He says, gulping down more wine.

"Hold up." T-Dog sticks his palm out. "This is a birthday party. You know what that means, right? We need to hear at least one embarrassing story."

"Good idea." Jacqui gasps.

Dad makes a big show of scoffing. "Damn, which one you want? I got thousands."

What a traitor!

"I mean, we have all night, here." Shane shrugs, grinning like a little smart-ass. "I'm up for a story-time. How 'bout y'all?"

"Let's hear it," Morales gestures at my Dad.

"Alright." Dad sits back in his chair, crossing his arms. I try leaning over to cover his mouth, but he bats me away, and everyone is already laughing and the story ain't even started yet. "How 'bout— Okay. Okay. Damn, this is a good one. 'Bout when she was five, we bought Harley this skateboard—" Everybody's going, Oh God, 'cause they see where this is going. "Uh-huh. We took 'er down to the skatepark near our house, and there was a bunch of other lil' kids there — 'bout her age — and I'on know how she did it, but these kids were all convinced she was this master skater who was gonna show 'em how it's done. She was coachin' 'em, I think. Showin' off her new board. End of the day, she finally goes to show 'em a trick — 'Member, first day at this damn park — and everyone's watching and—" He claps his hands, smack. "Falls flat on 'er fuckin' face, in front of all of 'em."

Ugh, why'd he have to go and tell that story?

Rick covers his mouth 'cause he's trying not to laugh, 'cause I guess he values whatever dignity I got left but Shane, he's clappin' and trying not to spit his food out, 'cause he's actually a big smart-ass. I'm laughing behind my hands, like Sophia. Glenn's resting his forehead on the table, and he's shakin', so I guess he's laughing, too. When he sits upright, he's crying, and Jacqui's gotta beat his back 'cause he's choking a little bit.

"I'm alri—" He coughs. Then he keeps laughin', which makes it worse. "I'm alright."

"Hey, I ain't even fall that bad!" I defend myself.

He chugs Jacqui's water to save himself.

"Wait—" Lori's chuckling. "Five years old?"

"Yep," Dad goes back to eating. He's satisfied with the damage he's done.

"Pretty brave for that age." Lori tells me, putting on an I'm impressed face.

"Damn, that's pretty bad." T-Dog's shaking his head. "Sorry, girl, but I'm glad I asked, 'cause shit!"

"Leave the poor girl alone." Carol giggles, quietly.

Shane looks off into the darkness, pretending there's a crowd. "Anybody got a skateboard?"

"Oh, shut up." Andrea smiles. "Settle down, or Lori's gonna have to pull that photo out."

"May I ask a question?"

We're all so isolated in this pocket of happiness, celebrating the end of our troubles, that when the scientist speaks, I think we're all a little spooked. Smiles freeze and fade. Glasses lower. Heads turn. We're not the only people in the world, we're all realizing. We'd forgotten all about the reason we came here. That's what potato salad does to people, I guess.

The conversation dies off like a guillotine sliced it in half.

"What were you going to toast to?" The scientist asks, and his voice is like a soft, chilly breeze in a forest. I'm not even sure he was sitting there the whole time. Maybe he's supernatural, and he teleported. That makes me scared. "Before you figured out it was her birthday?"

And just like that, the dinner turns awkward. 

Rick clears his throat. "Well, if I'm being completely honest, here, Harley is the reason we came out to the city in the first place. I know I told you that nobody here was infected, but there were a couple days where... we weren't sure. Harley got scratched. We left looking for a cure."

The scientist's eyes roam over to my face, but then they don't leave.

"Now we're on the subject," Shane decides to break the silence, frowning, "How about you tell us what exactly happened here, doc?"

Rick mutters, "We don't have to do this right now, Shane."

"Wait a second." Shane sighs. "You said it yourself, just now. This is why we came all the way out here, right? Figure out what happened? Put all our eggs in one basket, and uh—" He laughs a laugh that tells me nothing is funny here. "Instead we found him. We found one man, talking in riddles. Why is that, you think?"

The scientist tanks the insult. "When things got bad, people just... left, to be with their families. The rest bolted."

I remember just how shocked I was at the size of this building when I first saw it creeping up the windows. It's way too much space for one man. There must have been hundreds of scientists working in here, and now it's just a shell. A cave for a lonely monster.

"Every last one?" Shane whispers, squinting; disbelieving.

The scientist falters, for just a moment, and I can see old pains on his face. "No. Some couldn't face leaving. They... opted out."

The tables goes from quiet to silent. Opted out. I know what that means. It's another one of them things adults say to butter up the truth, and it means killing yourself. I squeak, then, like I've been kicked in the ribs. I hide behind my Dad, who cradles the back of my damp hair, but you can't hide from words once they're in your head. Suicide. Dead, but not an accident — On purpose, with pills, or a gun, or a— a— a bridge. Something snotty gets caught in my throat like a fish-hook, and I'm crying now, at my own birthday dinner. Somebody drops their fork in defeat.

"There was a rash of suicides." Mutters the scientist, immune to his own story; numb. "In a matter of days, I was alone."

"Why didn't you leave?" Asks Andrea.

Carl is crying too, now. I wish I could make him feel better, just for a moment, but I can't.

"I just kept working." Smiles the scientist, but it's not right— It's just muscles, pulling his droopy face upward. "I just wanted to do some good."

Good.

The word reaches up into the ceiling, and leaves us at the bottom, sitting in its echo.

"There is no cure here." The scientist says.

The dinner is over.

Everything comes crashing down as fast as it went flying up.

We were on top of the world just a few hours ago. We were invincible. We had the news that I wasn't going to die in our veins, and then we had hot water and soap and potato salad, and each other. We had hotel rooms and a birthday dinner. But now we just have a dead end and a long list of regrets. There is nothing here for us besides showers, lights, and ghosts. I feel like a trapped animal. I'm a hamster in a maze, going around and around and around, and I can't get out. A rash of suicides. That thing I thought was hiding somewhere, it's this, and it's out, and I'm sorry we ever looked. Please don't let it be worse than it is out here, I remember, Please don't make us regret this.

After what feels like hours, the hallways I'm running down end. I see the game room.

I run inside and corner myself under the table. A cloth hides me from the world outside, and if I pretend hard enough, I can take myself right out of here and into a nice, safe pillow fort, instead. Like the ones I used to make back home. I can be someone else. If I'm in my head, I'm not here.

But then I hear the door open, and it's just a wooden table again, and I'm in the CDC.

"Harley?" It's my Dad, 'cause of course it is. I moan into my hands, crying so hard I'm not getting enough air. "You in here?"

I don't want to be found. I want to be lost.

The cloth lifts.

"Baby, what's wrong?" My Dad asks, but I know he already knows. How could he not know?

There are lots of words that remind me of my Momma, like sunshine, and cigarettes, and the worst — Suicide.

"Get out." I tell him, using my feet to push him away. "Get out."

I should've learnt my lesson back at the quarry, on that night I hit my Dad, but I don't care. I just wanna hurt something. I'm hurting. A rash of suicides. I can't stop hearing it, and I can't stop seeing it — Over and over again, the night on the bridge. Opted out. Suicide. Killing yourself. 

Pills, guns, ropes.

Bridges.

"Baby, I know." Dad's saying, grabbing my kicking feet. "I know. Come out. I don't want you thinkin' 'bout this, so come on out."

"I can't help it!" I sob, 'cause I really can't. Something that is too big for my body is happening to me, and I can't stop it.

"H— I know. Just come out." He's begging, and now he's not just holding my feet, he's pulling 'em; pulling me, out from underneath my hidey hole and into the world, even though I want to stay in here forever. He's trying so hard to bury something that's still alive; something that has teeth and jaws, and is eating me from the inside out. He don't wanna see it, and he don't wanna hear it, and he don't wanna deal with it. I wish he'd curl up in my make-believe pillow fort, and hide from the world with me. I wish he'd understand. "You don't gotta be under there. Come out, right now."

Some days I wanna pull my damn hair out.

He's getting angry again. He's holding himself back from something very nasty that lives inside him.

"No," I'm begging him back; begging him to just listen. "No, I don't wanna come out. I don't wanna—!"

I anchor myself to the table leg. We're an unstoppable force and an immovable object, colliding head on for the first time, ever, and it's a disaster. That night at the quarry was nothing.

Furious, my Dad rips the cloth off the table and boxes of puzzles go toppling over onto the floor, breaking into a million little pieces that used to be happily fused. Newly exposed, he easily ducks under and locks his hand around my wrist. I scream, and I close my eyes so I don't have to see my Daddy like this, 'cause it ain't him anymore. He pries my little fingers off the table, one by one by one, and ow, ow, ow, it really hurts. I'm yanked away, and then he's dragging me out by the ankles, shouting—

"Stop actin' like this. You ain't a baby." I hook myself onto a second leg, and he's wrestling with me all over again. "Stop! Mind yer damn father, girl!"

I'm not a baby, but I wish I was, 'cause we were happy back then.

"Stop!" I sob, kicking at him. "J— Leav— Just leave me alone!"

"I ain't leavin' you alone — You know why?" He's seething down to me. "'Cause you need a damn spanking. That's why."

I think back to an hour ago, when I thought I'd only ever be happy for the rest of my life. What a stupid thing to think.

Don't make it any worse, his voice is warning me, from all the times he's done this before.

But it can't get any worse.

In one big pull of strength, I'm forced out from underneath the table once and for all, where I felt safe and small and alone, into the light of the game room where I feel naked, again, for all to see. My face is raw and wet and hurt, and I think one of my buttons got torn off by my Daddy when he was grabbing for me, even though he was the one to fix them before dinner, and on that night in the RV, to show me he loves me. He yanks me to my feet by the armpits, 'cause I can't stand on my own no more, and he crouches to get in my face.

"This is your last fuckin' chance, and then I'm gonna have to take my belt off." He warns me.

"I miss Momma." I whimper.

His face softens, but it's gone so quick I'm sure I imagined it. "Harley," He grinds out, "Stop this."

"You killed her!" I cry, scared, but braver than I ever been at the same time. "You made Momma kill 'erself! You made 'er jump off that bridge!"

I tried so hard to be like my Daddy, but I can't. I can't hide things like he can.

I don't care if he belts me after. I just want him to know. I want him to know that I know, and that I ain't never gonna forgive him. I'd take a thousand beatings just so I could scream the same thing up at him, until my throat bleeds, until I'm nothin' but a voice, until my Momma comes back. People who kill themselves don't wanna come back, but maybe this time, if I was a good enough girl, she might want to. I'd get on my knees, and I'd beg her, and I'd say, Please Momma, I need you. Please Momma, please. Me and Daddy can't do it on our own. She didn't love my Daddy, and my Daddy hated my Momma. He never said it, but I always knew he did. I saw it when he dropped me off at her house; how he didn't wanna leave me with her. I heard people say my Momma was sick in the brain, and that she was a bad Mom, but I loved her.

My parents might be forever separated, but on my face, they are still together. I got my Daddy's flat mouth and my Momma's green eyes. I am proof that hate can create love. I don't feel so loved right now, though. I feel like I'm nothing. I feel like when my Daddy said he loved me, he was lying.

And there it is, my Daddy's hand going for his belt, 'cause I chose to say the worst thing I could think of.

I don't wanna get beat, but sometimes it don't matter what little girls want.

"I want you to think about the way you're speakin' to me." My Dad, the same one that was crying in my baby photo, shouts in my face. "I don't know why you gotta be like this, Harley. I don't know why you gotta make me do this. You were havin' such a good day."

"I'm sorry—" I'm sayin' now. "I'm sorry, Dad."

"You shoulda thought about that before you started bringing this shit back up again. After this, never again, okay?"

He pulls me down into his chest, yanking the back of my shirt up to the base of my neck. I wait for the whip, and the burning sting afterwards.

I can take it. I'll just close my eyes and wait for it to be over.

But before it can come—

"Woah! Hey!" A man's shout. "Hey, hey! Stop!"

The whip doesn't come. I can catch my breath. 

Under my Dad's arm, the one that's in the air, poised to beat me, I see a man in the doorway. I almost can't make him out, but there he is — It's officer Shane. The room seems to slap him in the face, like he can't believe what he's just walked into. He's scared to step inside, in case the moment breaks and my Dad chooses to beat me, anyway. Shane's a bastard cop, and it's his job to save people. I never thought I'd be needing saved from my Dad. I still don't think I need saving. I brought this on myself. I wish he'd go away, so it could be over with.

My Dad stands up, his whole body clenched with muscle ready to punch.

"I'm gonna ask you put that down, man." This is the first time I'm hearing Shane's police-man voice. "And to step away from her, okay?"

I feel embarrassed.

I'm kneeling on the floor, grabbing onto the side of the sofa, tryna hide myself again. I don't belong here. I don't want Shane to see me like this. I wanna be the little girl he caught frogs with, not a ball of hurt and tears. Suddenly, this isn't a games room anymore. It's a wolf's den, and I got two of 'em right in front of me, circling each other, ready to bite. I scuttle further into the corner, like if I shrink myself enough, I can just disappear into the floor.

"You ain't askin' me shit, officer." Dad whispers, real nasty. "Ain't no rules, no more. Not so tough, now."

"I'm not gonna ask you again, man." Officer Shane warns, stepping very slowly into room.

He moves toward us, inch by inch, like a man inside a lion enclosure.

"You don't gotta." Dad spits. "Door's right there."

"You're hittin' on little girls, now, Daryl." Shane huffs that mean laugh again. "Sorry, buddy, but that's my business. Come on. Step away."

If Shane had his gun in his holster, his hand would be on it. But we left all our weapons in the bedrooms before dinner. He stretches his fingers; tilts his head. I realize he don't need a gun. He's gonna fist-fight my Dad if he don't do what he says. My Dad, sensing this, chucks his belt on top of the broken puzzles, and stretches out his fingers, too. They're one wrong word away from beating each other to a pulp.

I wanna beg 'em to stop, but my voice is burrowed somewhere deep inside my body, and I can't reach it. 

"We don't have to do this, Daryl." Shane's half-way into the room, now. When did he get that close?

"Sure we don't." Dad snarls. "You gonna hit me? Go ahead."

Shane shakes his head. "That's not somethin' I wanna do, man. But you know I will. Step away."

A hiccup I didn't give permission to leave my mouth cuts through the room. Shane glances at me. I don't know who I'm supposed to root for.

"'Step away', huh? Step away from my own daughter?" My Dad scoffs.

Shane glances from me to my Dad, and I can see him start to realize that this angle won't work on my Dad. He holds out his hand. Something about the way he's looking at me is saying, You don't have to be afraid, but I am, and I don't wanna move. I feel like this is my fault. I watch as he flicks his fingers a little, brows raised. "How 'boutchu come over here, Harley, huh?"

Dad blocks me with his body before I can even think about it. "Hey, don't you fuckin' speak to her."

His eyes are back on my Dad. "Just tryna do what's best for everybody, here, Daryl."

My Dad cracks one of his knuckles. "Nah. Nah, I don't think you are. You got it all twisted."

"Don't think I do."

"Yeah?" Dad goads, and every second, I wait for one of them to swing. I can't stand it. "What is it you think you walked in on, then, huh?"

I think my Dad's waiting for the swing, too, 'cause he's so confident that he'll win that he wants officer Shane to try him. He wants to punish him. He wants to show him what happens when you insult a Dixon, 'cause protecting the name is more important than protecting his own body. I think about the way my Dad busted Rick's cheek; How Ronnie's Momma ain't recognise him when my Daddy was done with him.

Shane must be thinkin' the exact same thing, 'cause he starts goading my Dad right back.

"I think I walked in on you beatin' the shit outta your own kid, first of all." Shane shrugs, like it ain't his fault it's fact, and he keeps going when he notices my Dad's breathing get heavy. He's enjoying this. A smile splits his face. "I think we been worrying 'bout Jim this whole time, we been worrying 'bout the wrong man. How 'bout that? You wanted us to be so focused on him, we forget about the real monster."

"That right?" Dad side-steps Shane when he reaches the edge of the coffee-table.

"Sounds right to me, man." Shane says. "Lemme ask you this, Daryl. What is it you think I walked in on?"

I wonder where everyone else is. I wonder if at any second, one of them is gonna walk in.

"It don't matter what I think." Dad shouts, suddenly, and I shriek like I've been struck by the belt. "It's my damn business. It's my damn daughter."

"Yeah, I betchu wish it was." Shane huffs out a chuckle. "Don't want your secret gettin' out, right?"

Shane's like a wriggly little worm, needling my Dad where he don't wanna be needled.

My Dad's patience finally runs out.

He rears back to swing at Shane's head, and his fist is caught and twisted, and I hear Shane grunt in pain, and this is it, so I close my eyes—

Wait.

My eyes are open. That don't make no sense. Why is it so dark? Why can't I see?

I realize that the fight has stopped, and I feel like we've all forgotten about it and are waiting for something to happen.

There's a single murmur throughout the room.

"Was that the power?"

Author's Note.

Cliff-hanger! Mwahahha.

So, obviously, the last scene in this chapter is pretty brutal. I'd like to share why I made the decision to have Daryl act this way, because it could be a shock for some.

For starters, I think it's plausible for a number of reasons. Merle being a bad influence on Daryl, his unhealed childhood trauma and how that affects how he parents his child, and his unhealthy habit of bottling up his emotions, etc.

It's not pretty, I know, and I kind of hated writing that scene, but that brings up my second point. For the sake of the themes and arcs I want to give this story, it was necessary. This story just couldn't exist if it didn't have this scene. I've got, like, three different key subplots linked to it. Maybe you can even guess what they are, because two of them have been hinted at/set up already. They're only going to get more prominent from here on out.

So that's the explanation for anybody who wanted or needed it. You'll see all this play out in the coming chapters, anyway, but I just wanted to provide this in the mean time. :)

Rant over! Phew. Everybody take a sigh of relief.

On a more positive note, everything else in this chapter was a total joy to write! These poor guys deserve some happiness 😌

Hope you enjoyed reading, and as always, please consider sharing your thoughts! Sending love :)

[augment-techs]

prompts based on lines from fanfics that hit different after the tenth read

Slayer, Slayer, Monster Killer//Into the den//A blazing Inferno//Defender of the Innocent

Cauterize the wound.

Blood quickly began to fill the water.

Blue tint surrounding the lips.

He'd take jazz over a symphony, rock over jazz, and a crazy buscar in the tube station creating something insane with a violin, a beat box, and a pedal drum over rock.

I also wrote a gay version, if anyone wants it.

The thinness of the shoulder bothered him.

The curse was simple but badly done; convoluted and too mixed up with his own energies to be easily removed.

"Your parents are fucked up. I'm serious, that's Fucked Up."

With a coat like blood. Like cherries. Like candy.

"...Correction...I might be bleeding."

It was the best protection he could give.

"I can't believe you just called your own behavior petty harassment."

Cleaner than he'd been in eight months.

"Go curse somebody else. He doesn't belong to you--you can't have him."

Never had to initiate a virgin before.

The thought was idle.

Imagine if you will...

"The game is over. Do you understand?"

He was pissing blood.

"You asked for respect, I'm giving it to you."

Too tired and weak to fight properly.

"I haven't felt any strong emotions since I was a kid."

"What color is the sky right now?"

"So they will be the same age. So they can have adventures."

"I'm done keeping secrets for you."

"Sure. Why not take away the last thing I have left."

'Pretend.' It rattles in his brain.

No wonder people talked.

"Although this totally explains why you were in love with me like once a year for three years in a row."

"No, I do not have a scrunchie."

He'd never been brave enough.

"It's basically a game of sexual preferences."

It wasn't the personality serum, but it was some form of mind control.

It had been so goddamn long since they had heard any sort of tune at all.

"It's one of my grounding techniques."

"Please. Never say anything like that again."

He was also good at being randomly, devastatingly kind.

"I bet I could pick you up. Wanna see if I can?"

"I will not elaborate."

Carefully lit gym thirst traps.

He bit his fist, dried his eyes, and didn't make a sound.

"Because I am through with you. You aren't worth the effort."

Sees them glimpsed in mirrors and reflective surfaces; and the newest ones most often.

"Thanks for letting me feel alright for a bit."

It was homemade, and heavy, and hurt.

"You're not afraid?"

It was just as well.

"If I planted something on him there's a chance it could get lost."

"You're too good for me."

"Please. I don't want you to disappear again."

With an awkward, coltish sort of grace that makes her look decades younger than she is.

'Strange' is a family trait.

"Just want to rest with you. This is good."

"I shot my dad when I was fifteen."

Refreshing. Invigorating--where the fuck are these words coming from?

"Go find a nice ditch to crawl into and die there, not on our floor."

"I'm used to the cold, darling. Don't worry. There are worse things to endure."

"They gave us twenty dollars for nothing."

"Amazing, for once, your remarkable ability to repulse and horrify women saves the day."

"...Okay, okay, don't look at me like that; I'm a huge asshole. But not in that way."

"Like organizing your pornography collection."

"I just need some time. Right now, I don't know what I'm feeling."

They started it out like the leads in a bad B Movie.

"I said that about Jaws. That movie was terrible by the way."

"You're still my first choice."

Three years in the womb.

To be honest, they'd expected to die.

Looking back on it now he felt like the biggest idiot for not realizing what a huge Red Flag that had been.

"You want to come with us?"

"Back then I didn't even know about consent."

"If my dad ever comes back from his 'business trip' you kill him and we're even."

They have no idea what their Tragic Backstory is, so they make up a new one every time someone asks.

Don't want to train today? Too bad, you either fight the giant centipede or DIE.

"They ain't that bad compared to some of the shit I've eaten."

"I hate being brainwashed. And mind controlled. And sold, and handled without asking, and...being a thing for people to have."

"The research I took to find the gag I was thinking of was very uncomfortable. No, Google, I don't want BDSM gags, please stop giving me that option."

"I have a room and extra blankets. You'd probably fit into a few of my shirts, too."

"You're not trying to burn my apartment down?"

'Oh. Oh, it's going to kill me.'

"You refuse to take a shot at Adolf Hitler because you are not a murderer."

"Because she totally didn't punch that guy to defend your honor, and you totally didn't swoon."

It's a perfectly common ingredient in a lot of cultures! There's blood pudding, blood soup, blood tofu--that's a real thing and it's delicious.

"Did you just make them tell us about their sexual awakening?"

It's red berry jam. It's not really blood at all. They just call it that to make their kids think they're tough blood-eating warriors.

"Now stop having a crisis about being an eldritch abomination."

And that's exactly why broken bones are a testament to their mercy.

"I've been gone a long time, haven't I?"

Seems like a normal breakfast, right?

They are not friends. And yet.

"They're innocent. They never asked for any of this."

"I thought you loved me, but you're just like everyone else."

The candies are always gone within a day.

Backpacking across the end of the world.

"I should be worth, like, at least two goats. Or even one of those cute mini pigs, maybe."

"Apparently I'm from the past and you're from the future."

"Well, I drove an ice cream truck and didn't die."

The common areas became populated with candles, dishes of salt near the doorways, little piles of pennies in crevices.

The small bruise they expected to see is not small at all. It's huge and almost black and it's spread against the entirety of the left side of the stomach.

"You mean because you beat the shit outta me? Nah. I've got a pretty high tolerance for getting beat up. Seems like I just end up friends with them, even when I lose my S/O to them."

[bahislioncoffee]

Bahislion Coffee: Kahve Çekirdeğinin Tarladan Fincana Yolculuğu

Kahve severler için bir fincan kahvenin tadı ve kokusu, günün en güzel anlarından biridir. Ancak, o mükemmel kahvenin tarladan fincanınıza ulaşana kadar geçirdiği uzun ve özenli bir yolculuk var. Bahislion Coffee olarak, kahve çekirdeklerimizin bu serüvenini sizinle paylaşmak istiyoruz.

1. Tarlada Başlayan Yolculuk

Bahislion Coffee’nin benzersiz kahveleri, dünyanın en kaliteli kahve çiftliklerinden başlar. Çekirdeklerimiz, tropikal iklimin ve verimli toprakların bir araya geldiği bölgelerde, uzman çiftçiler tarafından özenle yetiştirilir. Kahve ağaçlarının yetişmesi, sabır ve ustalık ister. Bahislion, sürdürülebilir tarım yöntemleri kullanarak hem doğaya hem de yerel çiftçilere saygı duyar.

2. Hasat ve Seçim Süreci

Kahve meyveleri olgunlaştığında, Bahislion Coffee’nin çekirdekleri elle toplanır. Bu yöntem, yalnızca en kaliteli ve olgun meyvelerin seçilmesini sağlar. Elle toplama, kahvenin daha zengin ve yoğun bir aromaya sahip olmasını garantiler. Her bir çekirdek, Bahislion kalitesiyle tüketicilere sunulmak üzere dikkatle seçilir.

3. İşleme ve Kavurma

Toplanan kahve meyveleri, Bahislion Coffee’nin özel işleme tesislerinde kurutulur ve çekirdekler ayrılır. Bu işlem sırasında kahvenin doğal aromasını korumak için son teknoloji kullanılır. Ardından, kahve çekirdekleri Bahislion Coffee’nin kavurma tesislerinde titizlikle kavrulur. Kavurma süreci, kahvenin aromasını ve tadını açığa çıkarmak için ustalıkla yapılır. Her çekirdek, Bahislion’un kalitesini yansıtan zengin bir lezzete kavuşur.

4. Taze Paketleme

Bahislion Coffee, tazeliği korumak adına kahve çekirdeklerini özel ambalajlarla paketler. Her paket, kahve çekirdeklerinin taze kalması ve uzun süre aroma kaybı yaşamaması için hava geçirmez şekilde mühürlenir. Taze çekirdekler, kahvenin lezzetini ve kokusunu ilk günkü gibi muhafaza eder.

5. Fincanınıza Ulaşan Bahislion Lezzeti

Bahislion Coffee’nin kahve çekirdekleri, dünya çapındaki kahve severler tarafından özenle demlenip fincana dökülür. Kahve makinenizden çıkan o mükemmel koku, Bahislion’un fincana ulaşan tutkusunu yansıtır. Her yudumda Bahislion Coffee’nin kalitesini ve benzersiz lezzetini hissedersiniz.

Bahislion Coffee: Kahvenin Sanatı

Bahislion Coffee, kahve çekirdeklerinin üretiminden tüketimine kadar geçen her aşamada titizlikle çalışır. Bu yolculuk, kahveye olan tutkumuzu yansıtır ve her fincanda bunu yaşamanızı sağlar. Fincanınızda Bahislion’un sanatıyla buluşmak, her anı özel kılar.

English Version

Bahislion Coffee: The Journey of Coffee Beans from Farm to Cup

For coffee lovers, the taste and aroma of a perfect cup of coffee is one of the best moments of the day. But behind that delicious cup lies a long and meticulous journey from the farm to your cup. At Bahislion Coffee, we want to share the story of our coffee beans’ adventure with you.

1. The Journey Begins at the Farm

Bahislion Coffee’s unique coffees start their journey at some of the world’s finest coffee farms. Our beans are carefully grown in regions where tropical climates and fertile soils come together, nurtured by expert farmers. Growing coffee trees requires patience and skill, and Bahislion values sustainable farming practices that respect both nature and local communities.

2. Harvesting and Selection Process

When the coffee cherries ripen, Bahislion Coffee beans are handpicked. This method ensures that only the highest quality, fully ripe cherries are selected. Handpicking guarantees a richer and more intense flavor profile. Each bean is carefully chosen to meet Bahislion’s standards of excellence before reaching the consumers.

3. Processing and Roasting

Once harvested, the coffee cherries are processed in Bahislion Coffee’s state-of-the-art facilities, where they are dried, and the beans are separated. Advanced technology is used to preserve the natural aroma of the coffee during this process. Next, the beans are roasted with precision in Bahislion Coffee’s roasting facilities. The roasting process is a delicate art that brings out the flavors and aromas, ensuring every bean reflects Bahislion’s high-quality standards.

4. Fresh Packaging

To preserve freshness, Bahislion Coffee beans are packaged in special, airtight bags. This packaging ensures that the beans retain their flavor and aroma over time. Fresh beans mean that each cup brewed from Bahislion Coffee offers the same richness and aroma as the first day.

5. Bahislion Flavor in Your Cup

The coffee beans of Bahislion Coffee are brewed with care by coffee lovers worldwide. The perfect aroma that emerges from your coffee machine reflects Bahislion’s passion that travels from the farm to your cup. With every sip, you can experience Bahislion Coffee’s quality and unique flavor.

Bahislion Coffee: The Art of Coffee

At Bahislion Coffee, we dedicate ourselves to every step in the journey of our coffee beans, from production to consumption. This journey reflects our passion for coffee, and we ensure that you experience it in every cup. Meeting Bahislion’s art in your cup makes every moment special.

[demonslayedher]

Kanroji Temple: A lesser-known KnY Holy Site... which is a holy site anyway

There are actually a few Kanroji Temples throughout Japan, but one very small one in Wakayama Prefecture embraces the namesake in some subtle ways. The platform-only train station which shares the name also got in on the fun with green and pink "love" banners with cherry blossom and cat motifs. Although there is not as much to see there now as there was in 2020 during a short promotion they did, there's still a few cute vestiges.

To borrow a previous analysis of Mitsuri's name: 甘露寺: "甘露 Kanro" is "Sweetness" (in Japanese Buddhism, this is considered a virtue, perhaps you could think of it more like a heavenly sweetness than a gluttonous one) and "寺 ji" ((Buddhist) Temple). Rather than looking at this and thinking "wow, her family is so Buddhist" you could look at it and think "wow, they're probably pretty well-off." It's a wide generalization, but surnames which are also temple names imply that the family was long a (presumably wealthy) patron of the temple, and it carries a high class ring to it.

Besides the name, there are another couple reasons this is such a nice little Mitsuri related spot.

This temple was already known as a bit of a matchmaking spot, because there is a conifer on the premises with leaves that, once they are dried, don't break if you try to pull them apart. In addition, there are little protective "inome" (boar's eye/snout) marks around the roof, which people nowadays look at as upside-down hearts. There was also some romantic episode between the couple who started the Kamakura shogunate here, Minamoto no Yoritomo and Hojo Masako, but Mitsuri and Masako have very different personalities so I'll leave that there.

I did not realize this until I was on my way, but you know Tama, the station master cat? And Nitama, the successor? Kishi Station is the very next train stop. Mitsuri would be thrilled! I was also thrilled to encounter a celebrity, which was not at all on my itinerary for the day. Even got to ride the Tama train.

It seems that during the Mugen Train hype of 2020, the temple had as many as 200 visitors in a single busy day, when they were displaying a wider banner with the temple's name and a pretty green and pink background. There were signs that cosplayers could hold in front of it, as well as a "love pillar" temporarily installed in the little courtyard. Cosplaying in public isn't welcome in many areas of Japan, so this feels a bit like the equivalent of Christian churches having welcomed Pokemon Go players after they became gyms. This temple does, after all, function first and foremost as a religious institution, specifically for the Jodo sect of Pure Land Buddhism. Still, they are flexible and open-minded with it. Back in 2020 they had Rengoku's words about how growing old and weak being what makes humanity precious written as words of wisdom on the post outside the temple where words of Buddhist-style wisdom are typically posted. Nowadays, although there are also signs saying that the inside is off-limits to anyone not there to worship, there was also a sign saying, "Come, everyone, let us go and pray... (Himejima Gyoumei??)" I love that nod, because Himejima's repetition of the nembutsu (Namu Amida Butsu) is stressed in the Jodo sect.

Speaking of! Besides o-mamori (protective amulets), it is very common for shrines and temples to have go-shuin, a stamp or handwritten seal, in exchange for a modest fee (more technically, a donation). Many pilgrims (or tourists, that's fine) collect these directly in fancy books, but you can also just take the paper home to put in a book later. Although Kanroji Temple had their own version of these before their unexpected namesake popularity, they now have a second version on green and pink paper. It is the nembutsu written in a "rikenmyogo" calligraphy style. That is, "sword style" calligraphy.

While the "demon slayers use swords!" association is clearly there, and in their explanation they make a lot of clever use of the 滅 (eliminate) character so prominent in the KnY world, the sword is in regard to how when Buddhist figures are depicted holding swords, this is not so much to slay the enemies of Buddhist teachings, but to sharpen oneself and cut away ones' evils, faults, and worldly attachments--the sources of worldly suffering.

That said, no one is making the fans get rid of their attachment to a hit manga/anime, and there are still a few signs to hold in "I was here" photos.

The train station, which is surrounded by cherry trees and had a tiny heart graffiti etched into the sign, still has their "love" banners up, as well as a clearly inspired illustration of an anime girl reminding people to show their train passes clearly to the conductor when disembarking (because there are no gates on this train station platform).

So if you ever find yourself a couple hours away from Osaka on your way to visit Nitama the celebrity station master, just remember you can make another nearby stop in honor of the Love Pillar. If you don't have the luck of riding the Tama train, you might get to ride a strawberry train too.

[staykimchay]

TRICK OR TREAT 🎃

(This is a tiny bit of an edited version of something I shoved into the kimchay channel on discord ages ago so it might read as familiar to some! It still needs a lot of work before the whole thing sees the light of day 😂 but here’s a part of it)

Before Chay knows it he’s in the bowels of one of the most popular vampire hangouts in the city.

The house on the inside is mostly what he expected: green lighting, tacky floors and dark furniture. The main bar seems to have been built into what must have been some kind of dance room—it’s huge, cavernous, and the music that plays over the speakers has a weird echo.

It smells like wet earth and salt—it fills Chay’s lungs and makes them ache with the freshness of it.

Chay is approached by several people pretty much straight away. They’re all very clingy and kind of creepy though, so he edges away slowly at every opportunity.

He takes refuge by the bar to get a drink of water and that’s when Chay sees him—a man dressed in black, possibly a few years older than Chay, though it’s hard to tell around vampires.

He’s sitting on the bar itself, right at the end with his back to the wall and his eyes on where the dancing is at its thickest. One hand is tossing cherries up to his mouth and the other nurses a glass of something red.

Chay is enthralled - and not the usual vampire trick kind. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen a more beautiful person.

He’s never done anything like this before, so he isn’t sure how to get a vampires attention—especially when everything is so loud and this man is so clearly out of Chay’s league.

In the end it doesn’t matter. He’s so focused on watching the man that he doesn’t realise that his water glass is so close to the edge of the bar. An absent elbow sends it flying, and it shatters on the ground.

Without thinking he drops to his hands and knees, picking up glass shards and wincing when a few create shallow cuts on his palms

He realises his mistake as soon as he goes to stand. The music is still playing in the background but when he gets to his feet every vamp in the club is looking at him.

“Uh—“ Chay’s eyes dart back and forth and as he tries to find the exit; all thoughts on his head of blood donation and payment have fled in the face of so many predators looking at him at once.

He’s frozen, barely breathing, and all he can do is watch as the vampires in the room start to converge on him, creeping closer and closer until—

Chay feels the presence behind him before he feels the hand on his shoulder— and the way a fingertip glides down from his earlobe to the junction of his neck on the other side. He glances over his shoulder and sees the vampire from before, the one who had been sat on the bar.

Their eyes meet, and Chay’s mouth dries. He swallows hard.

“This one is taken.” The vampire says, eyes still on Chay. And just like that everyone in the club turns away as one entity and the atmosphere, which had been thick enough to cut with a knife - or a fang - starts to ease.

“Come with me.”

Chay thinks he’d follow that voice anywhere. And so he does.

[twofrontteethstillcrooked]

Close shave: 10 Oct. Suptober

Dean yawned and leaned against the island to observe. Cas's hair had curled a little in the steam from the pan and Dean's fingers itched to pet it. "What's porridge?" he asked instead.

"There are several versions in various cultures," Cas said, "but we asked Eileen and she said oats."

"So it's oatmeal?"

deancas ust

Metal ringing woke Dean from the dead sleep of a glorious afternoon nap. He staggered into the bunker kitchen ready to fight, an impulse short circuited by the way his sock feet slipped on the tile once he'd descended the stairs.

"Sorry," Jack said. "I dropped a lid."

"To what? Sounded like the whole pan rack exploded in here." Dean's attempt at sternness was undercut by his voice crackling like a tween's as he regained his balance. "You okay?"

"Yeah. Just helping Cas make porridge." Jack went back to rooting through the pantry. "Dried fruit would be good, I think."

Cas was tending something in a small pan on the stove. "This is almost done. If we want to stir the fruit in now, I think it will reconstitute in the milk."

Dean yawned and leaned against the island to observe. Cas's hair had curled a little in the steam from the pan and Dean's fingers itched to pet it. "What's porridge?" he asked instead.

"There are several versions in various cultures," Cas said, "but we asked Eileen and she said oats."

"So it's oatmeal?"

"We're stealing some of Sam's," Jack said, sprinkling a handful of cherries into the pan. "Hopefully he won't mind."

"Nah," Dean said. 

He watched for another minute, rubbing sleep from his eye. Side by side, Cas and Jack were so much like a biological parent and child – same mannerisms, similar features – it was slightly spooky. Not that biology was necessary to make a family, Dean knew. Just that… It sometimes struck him funny. Made his chest ache. 

"You wanna try some?" Jack asked him while Cas scraped sludge into two bowls.

"He can have my portion," Cas said, a smile at the corner of his mouth as he made eye contact with Dean.

Dean's stomach growled. It had been all of two hours since he'd had a meal. 

At the kitchen table, staring down into the bowl, he felt less hungry, more despondent. He'd never been an oatmeal aficionado. Growing up, he and Sam sometimes ate the instant stuff with the consistency of glue. Cold cereal was easier to contend with in a motel room; untoasted Pop Tarts were more manageable in a car; and on the road, an old fashioned Pig 'n a Poke was the undisputed champion, even if it killed a guy repeatedly.

He bought himself some time by asking, "Why'd you get a hankering for porridge anyway?"

"Oh," Jack said, "we watched Wallace and Gromit: A Close Shave. There was a cyberdog and a bunch of lost sheep and a malfunctioning porridge robot."

Literally none of that sentence made any sense to Dean except the part where a movie (a movie?) had been watched without him.

"You were napping," Cas reminded him, having – apparently – accurately read whatever confusion was in Dean's face.

"This is good," Jack said to Cas, sounding surprised. "I like the chewiness."

Dean was so depressed about having to try the porridge he could feel his body attempting to go to sleep again to protect his digestive tract. No. Dammit. He was an adult who wanted to experience new things. He blinked open his eyes widely, wielded his spoon with fierce determination, and took a big bite of gloop.

The first second was horrifying, but the mouthful immediately improved thereafter. The oats were chewy, though not in an off-putting way, and the flavor was lightly nutty and salty and brown sugar sweet, with a little pop of sour from one of the cherries. 

"Not bad," he had to admit. "Not bad at all."

"I can follow directions," Cas said, with more humor than defensiveness. 

"First time for everything." Dean grinned quickly between bites and went back to devouring the porridge like a starving dog.

"Do you know how to make oatmeal cookies?" Cas asked him.

"Ooh, yeah, do you?" Jack chimed in.

"Not really," Dean said, "but we can look up a recipe later."

"I'm shadowing Jody tomorrow," Jack reminded him.

"Well," Dean said, "we can wait until you're back." He'd forgotten he and Cas would be alone in the bunker for a day or two, assuming Sam and Eileen stayed out on a hunt for a while longer. He kept his eyes on his emptied bowl. "Or, y'know, me and Cas could make a small batch, just like a trial run."

He chanced looking up at Cas and let himself get lost in that intense blue for a second. 

"Sounds like a plan," Cas said softly.

"Great." Jack was already putting his empty bowl in the sink. "Do you want me to help do the dishes?"

"We can wash them up," Dean said, already thinking about standing next to Cas with their hands knocking against each other in soapy water. 

Cas looked like he was thinking the same thing.

Fuck it, Dean thought, and slid his hand beneath Cas's, right there at the table. Cas gripped him tight, as usual.

[najia-cooks]

[ID: A slice of dark brown cake garnished with dried sorrel on a plate dotted with dried raisins and currants. End ID]

Jamaican black cake (optionally halal)

Black cake is a kind of fruit cake flavored with rum and spices and colored with burnt sugar. Variations on the cake are eaten throughout the Caribbean, primarily during Christmas but also for Easter or other celebrations such as weddings or birthdays. Dried fruits soaked in rum and wine, molasses, lime juice, warm spices, and sometimes rosewater produce the signature deeply fruity taste of Jamaican versions of the cake. Black cake often has a dense, smooth, pudding-like texture; I’ve made my halal version reduced gluten, to mimic the gluten-inhibiting effects of alcohol and produce that melt-in-your-mouth effect.

This recipe was requested by a patron; you can request recipes or vote on what I upload next by joining my Patreon.

Recipe under the cut!

Makes one 8" cake.

Ingredients:

For the cake:

1 cup (120g) all-purpose flour (substitute almond meal for a gluten-free version)

1/2 cup (55g) almond meal (substitute all-purpose flour if using rum)

1/2 cup non-dairy margarine, softened

1 cup unrefined sugar (such as muscavado or sucanat), or organic light brown sugar

3 Tbsp Jamaican or Caribbean molasses (if using brown sugar instead of unrefined)

3 Tbsp neutral oil, such as canola

2 Tbsp water or rosewater

1 tsp ground cinnamon, or 2-inch piece cinnamon stick

1/2 tsp ground nutmeg, or 1 tsp freshly grated

1/2 tsp ground allspice (preferably Jamaican), or 16 allspice berries

1/2 tsp ground cloves, or 16 whole cloves

1/2 tsp ground mace, or 1 head

5 Tbsp Caribbean browning (store-bought may be too bitter; taste and maybe use less)

Juice of 1 lime (about 2 Tbsp)

Zest of 1 lime

1 Tbsp baking powder

1/2 tsp table salt

2 cups (460g) soaked fruit mixture

1 tsp vanilla extract

1 tsp almond extract

My freshly ground spices totalled 9 grams; because freshly ground spices incorporate more air, you may want to include a bit more than I used by volume to account for settling.

Organic brown sugar is evaporated from cane juice and retains some of its original molasses, but less than unrefined sugars do. Non-organic brown sugars may be refined sugars with molasses added back in. Organic brown sugar is sure to be vegetarian (not filtered with bone char)—other refined sugars may or may not be suitable for vegetarians.

Unrefined sugars such as muscovado retain more of their original cane molasses, but they may clump and need to be grated before they can be used in baking. Sucanat is an unrefined sugar that should be pourable.

For the soaked fruit:

1 1/3 cup (130g) mixed black raisins, dried prunes, dried currants, and dried cherries

About 1/2 cup white rum (Wray and Newphew overproof rum is popular in Jamaica)

About 1/2 cup sweet red wine (commonly, Wray and Nephew red label)

Black raisins, prunes, currants, and dried cherries are the most typical fruits to use in black fruit cake. Many Jamaicans today also include mixed peel and red or green glacé cherries. Most recipes include more prunes and raisins than other fruits, but prunes make the cake too bitter for some people's taste; consult your own preference.

Most recipes call for “white rum,” but there is no clear dividing line in terms of flavor between “white” and “dark” rum. Some light rums are the result of ageing and subsequent filtering, while some dark rums have been aged less but have had color or molasses added in. If in doubt, just use something you like!

For the halal rum and wine mixture:

My halal 'rum' uses fruits, herbs, and spices that mimic the funky, fruity, vegetal notes of a Jamaican rum; it also takes inspiration from other drinks common in Jamaica. Ripe fruit is a source of the esthers that give rum its signature fermented taste, while sorrel and malta help to produce a well-rounded flavor. The point is not necessarily to taste ‘like’ rum, but to replace its complexity in the cake.

1 cup water or coconut water

1/2 black overripe banana or plantain, with its peel

Other ripe fruit, such as a handful of raspberries or a few slices of mango (optional)

1 Tbsp (2g) dried sorrel (hibiscus; optional)

1/2 inch chunk (5g) ginger

2-inch piece (2g) Ceylon cinnamon

2-inch piece (2g) cassia cinnamon (I used a mix of Chinese and Indonesian)

4 whole cloves

6 allspice berries

1/4 tsp grated nutmeg

A few pieces (1g) dried orange peel, or zest of one orange

2 ciliment (bay rum) leaves

1 Indian bay leaf (tej patta)

2 Tbsp West Indian molasses, or malta (Jamaican soft drink)

1/2 tsp vanilla extract

1/2 tsp almond extract

1/2 cup red grape juice (in place of the wine)

Any ingredients you don't have (except for the grape juice) may be omitted.

Instructions:

For the halal rum and wine mixture:

1. Roughly crush ginger and spices in a mortar and pestle or with the flat of a knife. Simmer fruit, sorrel, spices, bay leaves, and orange peel, covered, in water or coconut water for 10 minutes. Remove from heat and allow to steep for about an hour, still covered.

2. Strain mixture through a nut milk bag or coffee filter to remove fruit pulp. Mix in extracts, molasses or malta, and grape juice.

3. Top up mixture with more water if necessary to achieve a total volume of 1 1/3 cup (315mL).

For the soaked fruit:

1. Combine all fruits (including mixed peel and glacé cherries, if using) with enough rum and wine mixture to cover in a large glass jar. If using the halal rum and wine mixture, you should have at least 1/4 cup of it left over.

2. Soak dried fruits for a minimum of a week and up to a year (if using rum). Some bakers begin soaking fruit for the next year's cake immediately after Christmas! Keep fruits at room temperature while soaking if you're using rum, or in the fridge if not using alcohol. Occasionally check back and top up the liquid if the fruits soak some of it up and are no longer covered.

You may also choose to simmer the fruits for a few minutes and then soak them for a few hours if you're in a hurry.

3. Optionally, grind soaked fruits in a blender or food processor until smooth and paste-like. Whether you keep the fruits whole or grind them depends on what texture you want in your cake; I ground them to create a smooth, dense texture.

For the cake:

1. Whisk together all dry ingredients except for sugar (flour, almond meal, lime zest, spices, baking powder, salt) in a large mixing bowl.

2. Beat 1/2 cup softened margarine in a medium bowl with an electric beater until smooth. Add 1 cup sugar and beat for several more minutes until creamy to incorporate air.

3. Place 2 Tbsp water or rosewater in a small bowl and slowly add 3 Tbsp oil while whisking to create an emulsion. Slowly add the mixture to the creamed margarine, continuing to beat.

4. Slowly add 2 Tbsp lime juice and vanilla and almond extracts (1 tsp each) while mixing with a wooden spoon or rubber spatula. Add 2 cups (about 460g) fruit paste, 5 Tbsp browning, and 3 Tbsp molasses (if using brown rather than unrefined sugar) and mix.

5. Add flour mixture a little at a time and fold until well combined, with no remaining dry spots.

6. Bake in a parchment-paper-lined 8" cake pan at 250 °F (120 °C) for about 2 1/2 hours, until a toothpick inserted into the center of the cake comes out clean. The low temperature and long cooking time help to give the cake its smooth, dense texture.

7. As soon as you remove the cake from the oven, pour about 1/4 cup of your rum and wine mixture over the cake—this makes the cake very moist, as well as ensuring that the more volatile aromatics in the rum don’t disappear during baking.

8. Spray the cake with the wine and rum mixture every few days. It will be at its best a few days after baking!

The cake may be stored in an airtight container at room temperature for about 5 days (then moved to the fridge and stored for another week) if containing rum; a halal version will need to be stored in the fridge from the beginning.

[ilaeriawitch]

Tumblr, today I am giving you a gift. In honour of Stir-Up Sunday, I offer to you my most sacred possession: my world-famous* Drunken Christmas Fruitcake recipe.

I got this recipe from my partner before he was even my partner. He doesn't recall where he got it from originally, possibly his mother. I have made at least one nearly every year since before we got together. Some years I have made up to 8, starting in October because you need a whole weekend. I have made 6 inch square, 9 inch square, and mini 6 inch loaf pan sizes. This year, I am just making one 6-inch square cake, for us. And so now I share my recipe with you.

This is the original recipe. As you can see, my copy is well-loved. I've made some changes over the years, so below is my updated version of this original.

Quantities listed are suitable for 6-inch square tin (bake 4 hours). Use 0.5x for 6-inch loaf (bake 3.5 hours). 1.5x for 8-inch square (bake 5 hours). Double for 9-inch round (bake 5.5 hours). Triple for 10-inch square (bake 6.25 hours).

You will need 3 bowls including one large one, a wooden spoon, a kitchen scale, and a cake tin (preferably square and in one of the above sizes). A spatula, sifter, and mixer are useful but not required.

Allow a whole weekend for this very important task.

Ingredients

(Yes, they're Imperial. Yes, I'm in Australia. No, I haven't converted them. I just use the Imperial setting on my kitchen scales.)

6oz butter

6oz dark brown sugar

1 tablespoon black treacle

2 teaspoons Gravox (yes, really)

2 eggs

2 teaspoons brandy

6oz plain flour

1/2 teaspoon mixed spice

1/2 teaspoon cinnamon

6oz currants

6oz raisins

12oz sultanas

2oz candied peel

2oz glace cherries (candied cherries)

2oz chopped almonds

Grated rind of 1 lemon

Sherry, rum, or whisky for soaking

Method

The day before, mix all the dried fruit together in a bowl. Break up the fruit if it's stuck together. Pour a few glugs of alcohol of some kind over it and mix it up. I usually use the same alcohol I'm planning on soaking the cake in but it doesn't have to be. I've used various rums (spiced, black, white, whatever), various whiskies, brandy, port... Whatever you have in the cupboard. Cover the bowl with cling wrap and leave it to soak overnight. Give it a mix a couple of times if you remember.

On baking day, start by preheating your oven to 275F/135C/Very Slow. It should be just on bake, not fan bake. Make sure you have a rack in the middle of the oven. Check that you haven't left any baking trays in there.

In a large bowl, cream the butter, sugar, and treacle using a stand mixer, a hand mixer, or just giving it a really good beating. It doesn't need to be very light and fluffy. This is not a light and fluffy cake.

Add the eggs and the brandy to the creamed mixture and mix well.

In a separate bowl, sift the flour, Gravox, mixed spice, and cinnamon together. Or just mix it with a fork, that's fine too. Just make sure it's well-mixed.

Get the bowl with your soaked fruit and give it another mix. Throw the chopped almonds in there and grate the lemon in too. Give this fruit mixture another mix to make sure it's well-combined.

You will need a wooden spoon for this step. Put the spatula down. I know you think you can just mix it with a spatula but you can't. Listen to me and my multiple broken spatulas and use a wooden spoon. Tip about a third of the fruit mixture into the big bowl with the butter mixture and mix well. Add a third of the flour mixture and mix again. Repeat until all your ingredients are in the big bowl and well combined. You shouldn't be able to see any dry flour bits.

Get your tin and spray it with baking spray or grease it with butter. Line it with brown paper or baking paper, leaving a good overhang. Spray the paper then add another layer. Give the last layer another spray. You don't want this to stick.

Tip the mixture into the lined tin. Push it into the corners and flatten it out. It doesn't matter if the tin is nearly full. It's not going to rise much. It should look like this:

Check that your oven has finished heating and is on the right setting and there are no baking trays in there (I told you to remove them, remember?). Put the tin in the middle of the oven. If you've used this base recipe in a 6-inch tin, bake for 4 hours. Otherwise, check the baking times at the top of the recipe. If your oven doesn't bake evenly, give the cake a spin halfway through. It should look nice and brown and feel solid.

Leave it in the tin on a cooling rack for about half an hour until you can handle the tin. Carefully invert the cake onto a plate and pull off the paper. Pour some alcohol over the bottom. Put it back in the tin (I carefully put the paper back over it like a hat and push the tin back down on top and then turn it upright again). Cover it with a tea towel and leave it to cool completely (24 hours).

The next day, pour more alcohol over the top. Wrap the cake in two layers of cling wrap and then two layers of tinfoil. Store it in a tin until Christmas Day.

Substitutions and notes

You can use molasses or golden syrup instead of treacle - the cake will have a darker or lighter flavour and colour depending on what you use.

Gravox is vegetarian friendly and is there for colour and salt.

Use whatever Christmassy spices you wish and have to hand.

The fruit quantities are guidelines only. As long as you have about the right weight in total, use what you want. I usually add extra cherries and also about double the amount of almonds because one small packet of slivered almonds is just over 4oz.

For the grated rind use whatever citrus you have loitering in your kitchen.

You don't need to coat the fruit in the flour mixture first to stop it sinking because there is So. Much. Fruit.

Use whatever alcohol you have to hand. The quantity in the ingredients list is a guideline. Follow your heart. If you want an alcohol-free cake, find a different recipe. This is a Drunken Christmas Fruitcake, after all.

The cake will keep forever. I've made them up to two months ahead but usually aim for the traditional Stir-Up Sunday for my baking day. Leaving it for a few weeks before eating lets the flavour develop. The alcohol stops it going off. One time I opened my storage tin to put my cake in and found a forgotten one from the year before and it was still fine!

So there you are, Tumblr. My early Christmas present to you. If you decide to make it, I'd love to hear about it.

*World famous in Aotearoa and Australia, at least

[airfryerburrito]

Erin Clarke's Summer Celebration Orzo Salad

I found this recipe in Erin's Well Plated cookbook and made some tweaks. The cookbook version includes roasted or grilled squash and corn, halved cherry tomatoes, arugula, orzo, chickpeas, feta, and basil pesto. I used less squash and added in a pepper, used store-bought sun-dried tomato pesto, and topped it with some parsley and avocado. The orzo (I used Jovial gluten-free cassava orzo) is a great blank canvas for a lot of different flavors.

Another plus: this salad works as both a main dish and as a side salad.

[animalcrossingshowdown]

here's the final bracket for the stand alone furniture items. I spread the more highly submitted items out as best as I could

when the polls start posting in a few weeks, I plan to include both colour variations and functions on the polls, since some items feel like they're at a disadvantage if all you know is what their default colour looks like and nothing else.

below the cut is what I believe all the functions to be, but it'd be a big help if you guys could confirm/add things to this list since I can't find any wikis that list functions

froggy chair - sit on it, makes fart noise (but no fart noise in acnh afaik)

leo sculpture - I think the eyes light up?

balloon dog lamp - lights up

eggplant cow - no additional functions

dreamy wall rack - no additional functions

skull radio - plays music

dried flower garland - no additional functions

rose bed - you can sleep in it

creepy skeleton - no additional functions

kimono stand - no additional functions

pergola - you can walk under it

mom's plushie - no additional functions

greenhouse box - no additional functions

soft serve lamp - lights up

cherry blossom pond stone - no additional functions

rocket lamp - lights up

snail clock - tells time

imperial dining table - spins

decayed tree - no additional functions

lucky cat - no additional functions

acnh switch - no additional functions

spooky cookies - you can eat them

virgo harp - you can play it

rescue mannequin - no additional functions

kerokerokeroppi bridge - I think no additional functions? I don't think you can walk on it

tiny library - no additional functions? I don't think it opens or anything

scattered papers - do these make sound or something when you walk over them?

lily record player - plays music

skull rug - no additional functions

mom's cake - you can eat it I think?

star clock - tells time. glows, not sure if you can turn it off

anatomical model - no additional functions

moon - spins maybe??? does it always spin or only when you interact with it or does it not spin at all

hyacinth lamp - lights up

mush lamp - lights up

cancer table - you can put things on it

paper tiger - head bobbles

colourful juice - you can drink it maybe??

music box - plays music box versions of songs

bathtub with yuzu - no additional functions

plain party lights arch - lights up, you can walk under it

cinnamoroll sofa - you can sit on it

dreamy rabbit toy - no additional functions

elephant slide - no additional functions

fortune telling set - I feel like this did something but I forget. like the candles can be put out or something

cucumber horse - no additional functions

dessert case - makes my life miserable at work why did we change to this style of display case it's cute but extremely impractical no additional functions

peach chair - you can sit on it

starry garland - lights up

bonsai shelf - no additional functions

afternoon tea set - no additional functions

my melody clock - tells time

monster statue - no additional functions but it is really big

hamster cage - no additional functions but the hamster runs in the wheel

wheat field - you can walk through it

zodiac dragon figurine - head bobbles

lovely phone - you can make a call and it tells you your fortune

toy duck - no additional functions I think? I don't think it like squeaks or anything but idk

crescent moon chair - you can sit on it. glows, not sure if you can turn it off

retro stereo - plays music

titan arum - no additional functions

resetti model - no additional functions

rattan towel basket - no additional functions

cherry blossom branches - no additional functions

[clatterbane]

Next batch in planning: my own take on some Viking Blod mead! Which is a pretty popular project anyway, apparently started off by one Danish meadery. Haven't tried their original take, since Systembolaget doesn't stock that brand and I haven't wanted to go looking for some right across the bridge in Copenhagen. (Though apparently an awful lot of folks locally do pop across for a better selection of cheaper alcohol.)

But, the German Brew guy's most recent video kinda inspired me to go ahead and try a version using this sour cherry nectar that I picked up recently.

Also seemed like a good excuse to try that Polish rosehip wine "kit", which is essentially rosehip and hibiscus tea with some dried apples and berries thrown in to help round out the flavor. Their raspberry version did seem to have a good enough smell and flavor that I am pretty confident this won't be terrible. It should turn out pretty damned red. And while this particular bag is from Poland, it's hard to get much more Nordic themed than rosehips. I do plan to put that in the mesh bag again, to keep it contained. Seemed to work out well with the raspberry stuff.

Currently going back and forth on whether to work some of that lingonberry jam into the mix. Don't want to overcomplicate things, but it seems like the taste should blend in fairly well and it does fit with the general theme.

Semi-ironically, that is a reduced sugar version, which isn't necessarily as productive when you're intentionally feeding yeast. More room for honey that way, though! As a side effect, though, that does have some potassium sorbate to help keep it good with less sugar. Not the most fermentation friendly (by design!), but I wouldn't be using that much jam and you can usually power through the sorbate just fine with some extra yeast. Can't tell I've been learning from r/prisonhooch! 😏 They do come up with some of the most delightfully bizarre experiments over there.

No ham glaze here, at least. Just borderline questionable jams and jellies so far, plus that one marshmallow bunny shitshow around this time last year. But yeah, if I don't use the lingonberry I am thinking about picking up some frozen cherries to throw in instead to increase that side of things . Though it's not currently in our house right at the moment. I don't particularly want to use the frozen cranberries or strawberries that are for this.