Pumpkin Pie Cookie Run Novels & Stories

This one was shaped like a little, bewildered-looking logic-drone, made entirely of blackberry and a particularly defiant, flaky pastry. The note simply read: “Heard you had fun. -J” We ate the drone-pie under the twin moons, laughing, our home once again safe from the terrible, encroaching threat of making sense.

"I don't care about your comfort." "I am telling you I am going to make a mistake," I insisted, the blinding glare of the noon sun beating down on the exposed concrete until my vision swam. "Let me just clear fifty random crates from the north dock instead. That will give your runners enough product to move by midnight." "No," Cassius commanded, his gravelly voice dropping an octave as he stepped directly into my path. "You will learn the tactile difference of the water-refined batches today, Obi. You don't leave this grid until you can spot the purity blind."

Pumpkin pie was her comfort food. “I'm home!!!” I announce. I really need to change my passcode. “Oh, Roxanne. You are just in time. The pie is just out of the oven. You can go get changed and come back downstairs.” She appeared at the doorway of the kitchen wearing the apron I never use, and a huge smile. I smile back but it is strained. I hate pumpkin pie because of her. She made them when ever she wanted me to talk about my feelings. “Is he here as well?”

Just another two hours on this road and I would reach the destination where The Run would take place. The Run has been around since the original pack was created. The first Alpha king and leader of all wolves around the world created this event when she wolves were created and in limited supplies to the population of werewolves. The species needed to survive and the strongest genes needed to be passed down, hence The Run and the claiming of a mate. After the success of the first run the tradition carried down. Something about taking a female by force seemed like the ultimate manly thing to do and during those time periods where the male had to be strong and their offspring stronger to surviv

It leads to the backyard, and when I get there Lucas and Theo are sitting at the table, each with a margarita. “What did Camille send!?” Lucas asks the second he sees what’s in my hands. “Pumpkin snickerdoodles.” “In May!?” Lucas’ eyes widen. “That’s what I said. Apparently, it’s because we graduated.” “Give it up,” Lucas says holding his hands out. “Keep them away from me,” Theo says. “Every time your mom sends a batch of something, I end up five pounds heavier.” “Who said I was sharing?” Lucas jokes as he lifts the plastic. “Margaritas and pumpkin cookies, we’re kind of mixing vibes here.” “Who cares?” Lucas says through a mouthful.

The hustle and bustle of the city was at its peak as the day approached noon. The streets were packed with people going on their own businesses. Along the busy streets of Plymouth city, there was a popular quaint corner pub. There were few people scattered in the pub having lunch and talking in hushed voice. The bartender/barkeep was wiping down the counter, while the casier was close to dozing off. There were two barman and barmaid serving the customers. There was a door beside the bar that led to the kitchen section of the pub. The kitchen was empty save for one person absentmindedly looking out of the only window in the small room. Eloisa was one of the two cooks of the Axe Star pub. The

Pushing me down the route it wants me to take. Jim was panting and his lungs were beginning to burn. He wasn’t in the best shape and the running was taking its toll. Halfway down the new path he saw the grave. He recognised it instantly. The gravestone was unique; Jim knew every inch of it intimately. The moment he saw it he knew why the thing in the ground had guided him here.

“Are you heading out?” “No? I came looking for you.” “I need to do another tray of these cookies,” she says. “I’m almost out up front, and they’re a popular seller.” “Cookies,” I say, pinning her with a look. “Cookies,” she replies. “Cranberry macadamia nut with white chocolate. You can try one when they come out of the oven if you want.” Autumn makes a show of evenly spacing each scoop of cookie dough, giving it all her focus like it’s the most important thing she’s ever done. She’s obviously trying to pretend everything is fine, acting cheerful and light, but she still won’t look at me.

I found the first pumpkin just as the last colors of evening were sinking into the garden. It lay beneath the garden bench—a little orange globe small enough to fit in the palm of my hand. The remnant of its vine curled like a cat’s tail. When I picked it up, I noticed words carved into its skin. A poem, etched with a slender blade. > Though the light is small, > it can still show the way. The carved letters were somewhat angular, but perfectly legible. The grooves were fresh, and when I ran a finger over them, I thought I could still feel the raw dampness of the pumpkin beneath its skin.

Within a span of fifteen minutes, he quickly but elegantly finished everything except the pumpkin cakes. Meanwhile, the dishes were taken away from him. He ordered another pot of iced tea; he started on his second pumpkin cake when the fresh new pot was placed in front of him, placed down his cake on the plate, and poured out the iced tea onto his cup again, placing the pot on the table, he lifted the cup towards his mouth, as the cup was lifted there was a sudden silence before there was a sudden loud whip-like Bang! and the sound of Porcelain smashing into pieces