#prompt23

Prompt: Sharing dessert @jilytoberfest

Lily fought back tears as she took in the wreckage of what had once been her kitchen, and cursed the day she’d ever come up with such a ludicrous idea. 

When planning James’ nineteenth birthday, their first as an official couple, she’d discovered the true travesty of a pureblood upbringing. They didn’t do birthday cake. 

“My parents loved me, of course. And we always celebrated my birthday” James had tried to reassure her, “It just isn’t a pureblood tradition to present a cake. It’s more of a cufflinks and family jewels type of celebration.”

Lily had decided then and there: she was going to make James the best cake he’d ever had. One good enough to make up for nineteen years of cake-less birthdays. A homemade cake filled with love and well wishes, just as her parents had made for her. 

She’d even braved a visit to Petunia’s to borrow recipe books, and the supplies to construct said cake. Petunia, in her never ending quest to bring Lily down, had warned: “You won’t be able to do it. While you were off at your freak school, I was learning how to cook and prepare a home. I don’t know why you even bother.”

She’d shaken off her sister’s pessimism and had popped down to muggle London to procure the necessary items herself. She’d always gotten top marks in potions. How different could it really be? 

The answer to her rhetorically posed question lay in the disaster zone that was now her kitchen. Pristine marble countertops, now dusted in a layer of flour after attempt number three, when she’d given in and finally used a little bit of magic to help the process along. Attempts one and two sat smouldering in her outside bins– the acrid burnt smell of them too overwhelming in the small kitchen. What had been her mother’s good cake dish, now playing host to a steaming pile of ash that had been meant to be a vanilla cake (attempt number four). On the stove rested attempt number five– looking more like an unfortunate burnt soup than a vanilla buttercream cake.

Attempt number six was supposed to be her final one! It turned out perfectly. The cake didn’t stick to the pan. It wasn’t too burnt or too soupy. And it didn’t take on the weird goo-like consistency of attempt number three. She’d gleefully pulled cake number six out of the oven– unable to stop herself from giggling like a small child at the perfectly golden cake. 

Lily let it cool the requisite amount of time, as directed by the cooking books she’d picked up in muggle London, then set to work on frosting it. 

The cake had been meant to look like a golden snitch: a memento of their Hogwarts days, but also a nod to her boyfriend’s chosen profession– as it turned out, playing with that snitch all the time had paid off. 

Comparing the cake (if one could call it that) in front of her to the design she’d sketched out on parchment earlier– no one would mistake one for the other even in passing. Instead of a perfectly round golden snitch large enough to feed twenty, she’d ended up with a lopsided mustard yellow egg– barely the size of her palm. Lily glared at the abomination, as if it was somehow the cake’s fault that Lily didn’t know how to bake, frost, or even trim a cake. 

The roaring of the fireplace announced James’ arrival. No. No. No. He was back too early! She scrambled to right herself from the dejected heap she’d crumpled to on the kitchen floor, and desperately brushed the flour off her face– as if that was what needed fixing. 

“Lil! I’m here!” James called, making his way towards the kitchen from the living room. “I got off early and was thinking we could–” he cut himself off at the sight that greeted him in the kitchen. 

“Happy birthday,” Lily offered weakly, willing her lip not to tremble. 

Shock and horror warred across his face as he rushed into the kitchen. “Lily, what happened here? Are you okay?” 

“I made you– I made you a cake,” she said, hating the way her voice broke. 

James took in the carnage, looking slightly shell-shocked, before his eyes latched onto the pathetic frosted egg-shaped lump she held on a plate in front of her. Instantly his face shifted, a broad grin overtaking his face with elation. “You made me a birthday cake?” he asked, unable to contain or disguise his childlike excitement– the poor sod probably thinking this was what all muggle birthday cakes must look like. 

James pulled her by the wrist over to the kitchen table, where she deposited her sorry excuse for a cake. “It was supposed to be a snitch,” she explained, “but then I got a little, uh, overzealous, in my cake trimming– and now we are left with this.” Lily couldn’t help it as her lips turned down as she looked at the lumpy dessert. A few tears escaped, but he quickly brushed them aside with his thumb. 

“Hey, it’s still a cake,” he reassured, “No one really cares how they look on the outside. It's the taste that counts, and I’m sure you made a superb cake, Lil.” 

“I forgot to get candles…” she rambled, “But usually at a muggle birthday party they’d sing a little birthday song and then you blow out the candles and make a wish.” His brows drew together in confusion at why muggles would put candles– usually used for lighting drafty corridors– in a cake, before making you extinguish them as if that would grant a wish. Unwilling to go into explaining muggle birthday traditions– and unsure if she could without bursting into full on bawling tears, Lily shoved a fork in his hand. “Oh, go on. Have the first bite, birthday boy,” she encouraged with a watery smile. 

He gave her a winning grin and scooped up a large bite of the cake, plopping it in his mouth. No sooner had he closed his lips around the fork, than his expression shifted. He did his best to conceal the obvious disgust, but he couldn’t hide the shock and confusion that crossed his face. With difficulty, he swallowed, and gave her his best attempt of a grin. 

“Oh, it’s just awful isn’t it?” she moaned and dropped her face to her palms. 

“No, no!” James was quick to protest, “I just had a few sweets before I left the stadium, so it’s probably just the aftertaste of the lemon drop!” As if to prove his point, he shoveled half the cake into his mouth in two large bites. 

Lily let out a sigh of relief. At least attempt number six had turned out okay, even if her cake decorating skills weren’t exactly up to par. Relieved that her cake baking hadn’t been a complete failure, she snatched up a fork and speared the last bite of cake– to James’ protests. 

The cake had barely touched her tongue, then she was up as she ran for the sink to spit out the offending monstrosity– and be sick if need be. Lily rinsed her mouth out with water from the tap before turning to James. “That was awful! Why didn’t you say so? And why did you eat it? How did you eat it?” 

Then she promptly broke down in a fit of tears. 

“Hey, hey, hey. What’s wrong?” he asked, standing and pulling her by the hand into a warm embrace. 

“I– I just wanted to make you a birthday cake– you’d never gotten one– I don’t know how to bake– not at all like potions–” came her gasping response between sobs as she buried her head against his chest. 

“Lil? Lily?” tilting up her chin with two of his fingers when she didn’t look up. “Thank you for the cake.” His warm hazel eyes burned with sincerity. “But– But it was awful,” she whispered. 

“I don’t care,” James said, “It means the world to me that you even made me one. I love you, you know.” 

“I love you too,” Lily said, tears slowing as he leaned down to slowly kiss her. 

They stood in the kitchen wrapped around each other for a long while, before James let out a chuckle against her temple. 

“Stop laughing,” she grumbled. 

“I’m sorry,  it’s just nice to know that you can’t be perfect at everything,” he said, earning a half-hearted smack against his chest from Lily who had already started to giggle along with him. 

“It was pretty bad,” she laughed. 

“The worst,” he agreed, leaning down to kiss her again.

“I love you.” 

“I love you too.” 

Timid remain the new steps, Mice avoiding the lion’s reach. But the steps have not ceased, The prize still radiant, tempting.

The shattered pieces piled, Fused by time’s patience. The old steps knew not, Fragments were their hopes.

@doubi-ixi​ @linariouswrites​ @thethistlegirl​

Cute dragon under the cut.

What’s a whumpee gotta do to get some sleep around here?

.......................

Laurance kept pushing forward. This was his tenth day without sleep. He’d never gone this long before. He knew he needed to sleep soon. But he was being chased and was the only thing standing in between the three kids with him and death was himself. 

Laurance found a small space in between several trees to bed for the night. Laurance helped the kids in, settling them down for the sleep in the cool grass. He leaned against one of the trees and watched the kids lay down or complain quietly. Three of them. The oldest was a girl, about six years old. Then two little boys. The youngest was four. The middle one wore a gauze bandage over one eye. 

The girl curled up in Laurance’s lap, and Laurance softly ran his fingers through her hair, pulling small twigs and leaves out of it, little puffs of dust escaping out of every knot Laurance massaged free. Laurance’s eyes closed as the small children curled up in his lap and around him. Laurance listened to their sleep breathing and the rustling of leaves. Laurance wanted to sleep, but something wouldn’t sit right with him. He knew if he didn’t the three hours he needed he was going to start hallucinating. Laurance waited and waited, listening. He allowed himself a few minutes of sleep. The more he got, the more he wanted. His bones ached with the need to sleep. 

He hated every time he startled awake because of one of the kids moving, or an animal making a noise. But no footsteps. Laurance had collected about an hour of sleep by the time morning came. He clenched his teeth as he heard the kids wake up and wiggle around. He stood and looked the three over before he started to root around in the satchel he carried. He still had some fruits and breads from the last village they stumbled through, as well as some roots he had scavenged. He handed some out to each kid. The girl was chattering about a funny bird she saw the day before. Laurance smiled slightly and told her the name of the bird and some funny things they did. The little girl, Ari, laughed. 

Laurance hugged her with one arm. The older boy, Andrew, clung to Laurances’s arm on the other side, one hand picking slowly at the bandages over his eye. Laurance grabbed that hand gently and picked up the four year old. 

“We have to keep going.”

Laurance was telling himself more than the kids. He wanted to stay and rest. He rubbed his eyes and carried on, stumbling and walking slowly. 

“Are you sleepy?” Ari asked quietly, tugging on Laurance’s ragged sleeve. 

Laurance nodded. His vision was getting blurry. He stumbled again and went down. He curled around the four year old and hit the dirt. He could hear Ari’s high pitched voice tell him to get up. The four year old was crying. Andrew was too experienced with terrible things to cry. He just curled up in Laurance’s side. Laurance closed his eyes, and fell asleep.

heavy is the head that gets no sleep ~Cold is the Night, Oh Hellos

Whumptober 2020, #23: What's A Whumpee Gotta Do to Get Some Sleep Around Here?: "Sleep Deprivation" "Exhaustion"

Arthur couldn’t remember the last time he slept.

He’d tried, but no one would let him. Every time he so much as looked at his tent, Miss Grimshaw or Dutch was there, nipping at him for not contributing enough, or Pearson was there, heckling him to go out hunting.

@whumptober2020

Whumptober Prompt 23 (bleeding out) Fandom: 9-1-1 (spoilers for first few eps of season 3)

“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?” Josh frowns when there’s no answer. “Hello?” 

  “Um, hi. I need -- I need help.” The speaker is clearly a child, the voice high and breathy and scared. Josh immediately switches modes, his tone softening. 

  “Then you called the right place. My name is Josh, what’s yours?” 

  There’s a pause and then the little voice comes back on. “C-Christopher. My dad’s a firefighter and he said -- he said to call you if I ever needed help.”

  “Okay Christopher, I’m going to make sure you get the help you need. Are you hurt?” 

  “No, I’m okay. But Buck is sick and he -- he sounds funny.” Christopher sniffles a little and Josh’s stomach sinks. 

  “Alright, I’m going to help you and Buck, okay? Do you know your address?” 

  “No, my dad dropped me off at Buck’s house and I don’t -- I don’t know where it is.” He sniffles again, harder this time. 

  “Don’t worry, Christopher, we’ll get there soon. You’re at Buck’s house --” he has to stop himself from swearing when it finally clicks that this isn’t just any Christopher and not just any Buck. Shit. “Can you tell me your dad’s name?”  He grabs a notepad and jots down ASK MADDIE FOR BUCK’S ADDRESS then snaps to get the attention of the first person walking by. He hands the notebook to him and turns his attention back to Christopher just in time to catch the tail end of Christopher’s description of his father working for the 118. 

  “Okay Christopher, thank you. We’re going to figure out exactly where you are and get help over there in no time. Can you tell me a little about what happened to Buck?” 

  Christopher sniffles again. “He -- he was coughing,” he says. “And then he started -- well, there was all this blood coming out of his mouth and then he fell down and wouldn’t talk to me so I called you. It was really scary.” The last part is said in a near whisper and Josh’s stomach drops even further, which he honestly hadn’t realized was even possible at this point. 

  “I bet it was, but you’re doing a great job, Christopher. Is Buck awake now? You can try shaking his shoulder or yell at him, it won’t hurt him,” Josh says. 

  “Okay,” Christopher says, and Josh hears him call Buck’s name then let out a sob when there’s no answer.  “He’s making a weird noise and his eyes are sorta open but he won’t talk to me. I’m really scared, Josh.”

  “I know Christopher, and I’m so sorry you’re scared, but you’re doing so, so good.”

  Maddie walks up to him in the next second, her eyes wide and already brimming with tears, but she has Buck’s address written on a sticky note that she hands to him with a shaking hand. Good girl. He types it in quickly and makes eye contact with Maddie before continuing. 

  “Okay Christopher, we’ve got an ambulance coming your way, only three minutes away. And guess what? It’s your dad’s truck.” 

  “O-okay,” Christopher says. “That’s not too long.”

  “Nope, it’s pretty quick,” Josh says. “Can you do a favor for me, Christopher?” 

  “Sure.” 

  “Great. Can you see if there’s any blood in Buck’s mouth? I know it might be scary or gross but it’s really important, okay? Is there anything coming out of his mouth?” Maddie lets out a sob from behind him but he ignores her.

  “There’s a little bit of blood,” Christopher says. “It’s coming out of his mouth and he’s making a weird noise, like when I get a really bad cold and have to take my inhaler.” 

  “Okay, thanks Christopher. The blood might be making it hard for Buck to breathe right now. Is he looking toward the ceiling or toward a wall?” 

  “Um, the ceiling.” 

  Shit. There’s no way Christopher can roll Buck onto his side. “Can you tilt his head so that it’s facing the wall? It might seem a little weird, but you’re going to help him breathe better.” 

  “Okay.” There’s another little pause and then a scrabbling sound before Christopher comes back on. “Okay, I did it.” 

  “Great job, Christopher, you’re doing so well,” Josh says. “The firefighters are going to be there really soon. Can you open the front door for them? It’s okay if you can’t.” 

  “I can do it,” Christopher says. “But I can’t hold the phone and my crutches.” 

  “That’s okay, you can put the phone down and pick it up again when you’ve got the door open.” 

  “Okay.” There’s a soft clattering sound as Christopher ostensibly sets the phone down, and then the distant sounds of his crutches moving across the floor. 

  “Josh?” Maddie says, her mouth trembling. Josh leans forward and grabs one of her hands.

  “He coughed up blood and collapsed. That’s all I know, Maddie. I’m so sorry.” 

  “I need -- I need to go,” she says. “I have to go to him.” 

  “I know you do,” he says. “But the 118 is literally pulling up as we speak, so you’ve got a better chance meeting them at the hospital.” 

  Maddie nods and swipes at her eyes as a voice -- not Christopher -- pops up on the phone. 

  “Hello? This is Captain Nash with the 118.” 

  “Hi Captain Nash, this is Josh Russo. Glad to hear you guys.” 

  “Yeah, looks like we’re going to have to scoop and run. I’ve gotta go, but thanks for helping Christopher.” 

  “Of course. Maddie will meet you at the hospital. Are you headed to Dignity Health?” 

  “That’s the one. Thanks.” 

  The phone call ends with a click and Josh takes a deep breath before turning to Maddie. “They’re taking him to the hospital and you’re not driving. Let me call you an Uber.” 

  “Okay,” she whispers. “Thank you.” 

  “Of course,” Josh says, wrapping her in a hug. “He survived a fire truck falling on him, he can handle this.” 

  Maddie lets out a halfhearted chuckle and nods. “Yeah,” she says. “Of course.” 

  Josh makes the call and walks Maddie down to the front of the building, gives her another big hug before she climbs in the back, already sniffling again. It’s strangely anticlimactic, more so than the usual call, but at least he’ll find out how Buck is, one way or another. It’s more than he normally gets. More than any of them normally get. 

  “You okay?” Sue asks when he walks back in. 

  “Yeah,” he says. “Kind of a tough one.” 

  “Do you want to take a minute?” 

  Josh takes a deep breath and squares his shoulders. “No, I think I’m okay.” 

  “Great,” Sue says, clapping him on the shoulder. “Let me know if you change your mind.” 

At what point does juicy gossip turn hurtful? 

BBC, Sherlock/John or Sherlock & John

“No nononono no! Alvin! Put that down! Down! No!”

The toddler let out a bright giggle of laughter, waving the pair of panties he’d pulled out of the laundry over his head. “Aw shi’ aw shi’ aw shi’!” The half words rose up amid his delighted trilling as the young boy took off in his stompy little run, chaotic and wild but always shockingly quick for the roegadyn’s expectations. “Aw shi’!”

By the time Brem was up on her feet the tiny gecko’te was half way out of the room, swinging the flag of his victorious thieving with every imbalanced waddled step. Her chase is faltered at least partially by her own need to try and swallow down a belly laugh at the situation, putting a stumble or two into her step. Eventually though those two large hands catch the boy around the torso and haul him up. “You got a good couple of decades before you need to get started on any of that, Mister.” Her admonishing was met with another ribbon of youthful giggles, with a twitch playing out through his feline ears.