fifteen month old

Mother Murders Down Syndrome Son With Hand Sanitizer

Twenty-year-old Erika Wigstrom of Belle Chasse, Louisiana, appeared to cherish being a mother; before her son was born she uploaded numerous photos of her baby bump and created posts professing her love for her unborn child.

It must have come as a shock, then, when little Lucas was born with Downs Syndrome and a heart defect - the latter condition required the baby to be fitted with a feeding tube. Friends close to Erika said she was ‘disappointed’ at giving birth to a disabled baby, but she appeared to be dedicated to giving Lucas a fufilling life.

In October 2013, when Lucas was fifteen months old, he was rushed to hospital in an ambulance after a spell of frenzied vomiting. Erika told ER staff that she had accidentally spilled a bottle of perfume on Lucas, and the liquid may have gotten into his feeding tube. In an incredible lapse of judgement, the ER staff accepted this story and sent Lucas home with Erika, fitted with a new tube. The baby thrived after the 'accident’; but even so, people close to Erika began to suspect she was trying to rid herself of him. Erika often complained to her mother that Lucas 'stressed her out’ and that his medical care was too expensive. Her mother offered to adopt Lucas to ease the strain on Erika, but she had other plans in mind.

On January 24, 2014, just two months after the perfume incident, Lucas was pronounced dead in hospital after Erika rang an ambulance. The cause of death was determined to be alcohol poisoning; when confronted by the police, Erika calmly confessed to poring a bottle of hand sanitizer into Lucas’ feeding tube while he slept. She claimed she did it as an act of mercy, for she believed Lucas would not have had a quality life with his numerous conditions.

When Erika Wigstrom went to trial her own mother testified against her, telling the court about Erika’s neglectful behavior and the fact she felt burdened by Lucas, calling him a “retard”. The judge called her a “callous human being” and sentenced her to forty years in prison without parole.

anonymous asked:

Tsuna and Hibari when their daughters learn how to walk and follow them around!!!


“Papa!” his angel nearly tripped over her toes as she walked towards him. 

He froze when he saw her in the office. How did his daughter manage to follow him all the way to his office in the main wing without him noticing?

“Little angel,” Tsuna bent down to scoop her up but she took a step back and fell. Tsuna watched worriedly as she tried to fight back her tears. 

He finally picked her up and took her back to her room. She was struggling a little.. maybe she needed a diaper change? The maids would probably know what to do.

His daughter was his solace and times like this he wished he was an ordinary man who would have the time to tuck her into bed,change her diapers, tell her bedtime stories and feed her. 

The fucking Mafia took away his time with his angel and he knew he could never forgive Nono or Reborn for that.

He had returned her to the room but she kept sneaking out and following him around. He had no idea how a fifteen month old child could trick grown women.

It made his heart soar to have her follow him around, though, and he couldn’t bring himself to send her back. 

He had to make one of the Guardians take her away if he was having a meeting but else he loved every second of his little lioness following him around, especially when she walked around in his office while he did paperwork.

“You’re the favorite parent, huh?” you walked in to his office, watching your daughter follow your husband around as he arranged documents. You made a fake disappointed face,

“Of course I am,” your husband said smugly. You rolled your eyes and picked up your daughter.

“Come on, sweetie,” you said, gently, “Papa needs to work.”

Tsuna stiffened a little.

“Papa!” your daughter started wailing. “Papa!”

Tsuna’s expression turned into a frown as he watched the both of you leave. He was experienced in million ways of torture but he highly doubted that  any pain could be compared to the one watching your daughter being taken way because you didn’t have time for her.

Tsuna picked up his phone. “Gokudera? Cancel all my meetings for this week. I need to spend time with my angel.”


People in The Foundation were scared and confused.

Hibari Kyoya had been smiling the entire day and the only time he smiled was when he was about to beat the real shit out of someone.

Whenever they saw their smiling boss, they thought ‘so this how it ends’ until they saw the little toddler a few steps behind him.

They had heard rumors about his precious little carnivore- scratch that- his entire freaking office was filled with her pictures and doodles. It would be adorable if it weren’t for the fact that the man could break their spine with just a flick of his fingers.

Hibari kept looking behind him to ensure that his little carnivore was following him and didn’t fall or get hurt. He resisted the urge to pull out his camera and take pictures. He didn’t want to look in front of his employees.

He always had a soft spot for cute, small things and there was nothing in freaking universe that was more adorable than his daughter. He just knew that she was going to be his Achilles’ heel and his salvation.

Hibari had been working circles around his office because he didn’t want his daughter to stop following him but he heard that yawn and he immediately turned around and picked her up, taking her to his office.

“Kyo-san-” Kusakabe stopped when he saw a toddler napping on his intimidating boss’ lap.

“Stop talking. You’ll wake her up,” Hibari glanced down at his daughter, checking if she was disturbed and glared at his right hand man, “Go.”

“I’ll bring in some food and spare diapers,” Kusakabe said quickly.

“No need,” Kyoya said and snorted. “Do you think I’d leave home with my daughter without coming prepared?”

His eyes fell on the baby bag next to him and Kusakabe smiled to himself. It was true that a daughter could change a man.

Good Cop, Bad Cop

Originally posted by minidodds

The Twins & Lina

A/N: This is a little fic about Rafael and his family. He has 3 children with you but you’re starting to see a pattern regarding who always plays good cop and who plays the bad cop!
Thank you @minidodds for your help, as always!

Teeth gritted and fists clenched, you did you best to keep your patience as your daughter screamed like a banshee in the aisle of the supermarket. Her twin sister hid behind her father’s leg as you attempted to calm the five year old with a toddler strapped to your chest.

“No, Serena, you can’t have another bar of chocolate, we have enough at home!” Your patience was certainly being put to the test today.

“But I want THIS one!” your daughter screamed back at you.

You looked pleadingly at Rafael, who looked away from you guiltily, without offering any assistance. If he had had his way, Serena would have five candy bars in her fat little fists.

“I said no! You remember what the dentist said, you eat too much chocolate. We’re not buying any more.”

Snatching the bar out of your daughter’s hand, you shoved it back on the shelf, letting her father deal with his wailing daughter.

“I hate you!” Serena’s words echoed in your ears as you pushed the shopping cart down the aisle. Her words shot daggers through your heart.

Thinking back to all the times you and Rafael had laughed at parents with their devil spawns throwing tantrums in public places, you grimaced, never once imaging that you would become one of them.

Out of the corner of your eye, you watched Serena fling herself into her father’s arms. “Papi!” she sobbed into this shirt.

You turned and walked further away, out of earshot, pulling relevant items off the shelves and forcefully shoving them into the cart.

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I'm A Search And Rescue Officer For The US Forest Service, I Have Some Stories To Tell

by searchandrescuewoods.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 (Final)

Well, once again, you guys have blown me away with your staggering amount of responses to my stories! There’s no way I can respond to each of you individually, so I’m just going to address some common things again, and then move on to the stories. I’m going to write as many as I can think of, in addition to my friend’s stories, and I will probably not update again until I get a chance to answer some questions that I myself have for my superiors.

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Harry-- I Want You to Love Me

The sound of wailing pierced through the peaceful quiet of my morning coffee. It was 4 AM and I had barely slept at all, mine and Harry’s daughter keeping me up through the night.  She would sleep for thirty minutes, wake up crying and wanting to party for an hour and a half, and the cycle would start all over again.  She was two months old and I knew that we weren’t anywhere near out of the woods when it came to her being a night owl who doesn’t want to sleep.

Just a few minutes ago I had heard the muffled sound of her starting to kick up a fuss when she woke up and realized she was alone.  Frustrated tears had started to leak out of my eyes from my seat at the kitchen counter.  I hadn’t even bothered going back to sleep after the last wake up call, but I had desperately wanted my one cup of coffee for the day, something I couldn’t have if I was about to have to feed her again.

Harry, who had woken up with me the last time she had cried, had seen the look on my face and instantly jumped to open the fridge, pulling out a container filled with precious milk I had been pumping since she came home from the hospital.  We had only used a little bit of it, but we knew she’d take a bottle.  “Lemme take this one,” Harry offered as he started up hot water to warm it up.  “You enjoy your coffee, I’ll take the baby.” 

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Since the day we brought his little brother home from the hospital, I’ve encouraged my older son to interact with the baby; my biggest concern is that my fifteen-month-old WR will feel neglected or jealous of MT who now takes so much parental attention. I want them to like each other, and that starts with their building a relationship. I’ve worked hard to teach WR to enjoy his brother.

The first thing WR learned was to wave at the baby and say “hi, MT.” This was fun for him, because (with some help from Mommy) newborn MT would always wave back and say, “hi, WR.” I liked teaching him this because it was easy from a safe, non-poking distance. We started with “hi” and built from there.

They give each other kisses. They play peek-a-boo around the furniture. WR gently touches both their noses in turns, both mouths, both ears, both feet, both fingers together. And if I take too long to reply on the baby’s behalf, WR will walk over and carefully wave his hand, and say “hi, MT.” After a month and a half, MT is getting more responsive. WR calls or fetches me when he cries; he puts the binky in the baby’s mouth, he waves. He loves his brother.

I gave WR a rubbery velociraptor toy today to keep him happy at the restaurant while our whole family visited Uncle Edward “Acko Aggo” for the lunch shift. He marched the dinosaur across the table (“raaahrr”), kissed it on the rubbery teeth (“mwoaah”), then pinched its tiny rubber hand and waved and waved and waved. “Hi, MT,” he said, “hi, MT.”

First, to immediately recognize the dinosaur toy even has hands, if minuscule green claw hands - then, to understand the whole ultimate purpose of having hands is all to wave hello to his baby brother.

Maybe One Day - Part 3

A collection of one-shots of Jay Halstead as a dad. Because we all need that in our lives. Co-written with @halsteadpd

When canon gives you lemons, you make fluff…

In case you missed it: Part 1Part 2

Christmas had been Jay’s favourite holiday for as long as he could remember, and he had always hoped to instill that same joy in his own children one day. Erin didn’t have the happiest holiday memories, but she wanted to give her children the childhood she hadn’t been lucky enough to have herself. Together, Jay and Erin were determined to create the perfect Christmas for their own family.

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Connection Chap Eight

Originally posted by notmydate

Originally posted by imahighfunctioningsherlockian

Originally posted by 4mnesias

Connection.  Read Chap One here. Chap Two. Chap Three. Chap Four. Chap Five. Chap Six. Chap Seven.

Sherlock x reader

Summary: an American forensic psychologist hired by Mycroft Holmes. You thought it would be more interesting and fulfilling than your previous job with a law firm in London but you had no idea how much it would change your life. Or really, how much one person would change everything.

Word count: 2193

Chapter Eight

Lines borrowed from The empty hearse in BOLD

(22 months later)

Your name: submit What is this?

A knock at the door stirred you from the reports covering your work side of the kitchen table. You glanced over to the mess on other side and smiled. Will, your fifteen-month-old son, was giggling as Mrs. Hudson tried to feed him breakfast. Another knock echoed through the flat and Mrs. Hudson stood up. You stopped her with a pointed finger. “Sit. You’ve done enough.”

She smiled as she sat back down and leaned toward the toddler throwing more of his breakfast than eating it. “As if playing with you is a chore.”

You shook your head as you stood and called out, “hang on!”

With a big smile toward the other side of the table, you asked the giggling, bright-eyed mess, “who do you think it is?” You were met with wet raspberries and messy claps. You chuckled as you walked backward through the kitchen door. “Don’t make any more of a mess on nana. I’m raising a gentleman.” He blew more raspberries and Mrs. Hudson’s laughter followed you into the sitting room.

You opened the door and frowned, “John? Why the hell didn’t you just come in?”

John smiled as he walked in glancing around as if he might see someone else. “Never know when you might be entertaining someone.”

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handstolearn  asked:

bawson 33 ya know, for when you finish all your other prompts ;)

The Flu


Prompt: “Fuck…I feel like I’ve been hit by a car.”

Ruthie gives Mike the flu

So this is an “outtake” from Two Baseball Players and a Baby, my fic in which Mike finds out he has a daughter and Ginny volunteers to co-parent.

Ginny shifts Ruthie on her hip, pressing the back of her hand to his clammy forehead. Ruthie leans over to do the same though her arm isn’t long enough, cooing, “Ma…”

“Da doesn’t feel good, Peanut,” Ginny tells the fifteen-month-old baby, pulling her groping hand away from Mike’s beard, emphasizing “Da” in hopes that she’ll break her habit of calling them both “Ma”.

Loving Lincoln

Chapter 2: Leni

Leni Loud was six years old. Her favorite things to do were watch cartoons, and play with her fashion dolls.

She was sitting with her little brother, Lincoln, on the couch. They were watching their favorite show, Poppy Avenue.

Her mother had asked Leni to keep an eye on Lincoln while she got some work done in the kitchen. Leni didn’t mind, she liked spending time with him.

Lincoln was only fifteen months old, and he couldn’t walk yet, but boy could he crawl. Lincoln had been getting into absolutely everything. Just last week, he crawled into his parents’ room and got into his mother’s cosmetics, and completely covered himself in them. His white hair still had a light pink stain.

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arysthaeniru  asked:

25, yoonkook?

(this has been in here for ages but i was feeling angst last night after reading baby me’s journal entries so this bullshit happened)

(1.4k, depression, mention of suicidal thoughts, therapy, talk of overdosing) 

yoonkook, 25 ‘I honestly don’t think that you’re like me at all.’

At the words, Yoongi lets out a laugh, a sharp bark of a thing that almost has Jungkook flinching. Yoongi’s eyes flick over to him, coughs into his curled fist, sobering as he lets his head bump against the bathroom drawers.

‘Is that right?’ Yoongi says and Jungkook scowls.


It’s not the witty response he would’ve liked. Jungkook’s never been all that good with witty, yet alone when he’s doped up on his meds that make him feel like a zombie. The response makes him look like the petulant asshole everyone seems to think he is. Even the people in group all give him looks the second he walks into the room, as if they have as much right to call him fucked up as all the normal people outside the room do. 

Jungkook’s sure Yoongi would’ve levelled him with the same look at some point in time, but when he racks his memories, all he can come up with is an image of Yoongi in one of those stupid plastic chairs wearing the same expression as he is now. Jungkook used to think that expression was one of boredom, but upon reevaluation it looks more patient, like the group therapist’s face, minus the over-load of kindness.

Yoongi’s staring at him with that look, and whilst there’s no abundance of kindness pouring out of him, there’s still a little something that Jungkook can’t bear to look at for too long. So he turns and stares at the wall in front of him, well aware of the fact that Yoongi’s still looking at him. Still studying him. He hugs his legs tighter and pinches his lips.

There’s less than a metre of space between the two of them, they’re only really separated by the wall of the bathtub Jungkook’s huddled inside. Yoongi never asked why he was in it, which is a good thing because Jungkook’s not all that sure either. He just is. Besides, he hasn’t asked Yoongi any questions as to why he’s here in Jungkook’s house and how he’s here. So Yoongi has zero right to pry either.

Yoongi had came into the bathroom not ten minutes past and would’ve scared the living shit out of Jungkook had his medication not left him with a delayed reaction. Yoongi had groaned as he sunk to the cold tile floor. He’d said ‘Hey’ and Jungkook had grunted in response and then kinda sat there until Yoongi had said they were similar and Jungkook had tensed all over.

There’s a bottle of pills on the counter top just inches above Yoongi’s head. It’s Jungkook’s medication, prozac, it makes him feel tired all the time and he’s dropped a lot of weight over the months he’s been taking it. The doctor says they should be helping, but Jungkook honestly can’t remember a time in his life he’s felt so miserable.

‘I know what you’re thinking,’ Yoongi says, and Jungkook blinks at him. ‘Don’t do it.’

It figures that Min Yoongi would draw conclusions like that. The self-proclaimed genius that thinks he knows Jungkook so damn well after staring at him in their group therapy sessions with ten other nut cases and having perhaps four measly conversations with him.

Through the haze the meds put him under Jungkook can feel contempt bubble up at half the speed it might’ve once upon a time. Yoongi presumes to know his thoughts before he does and Jungkook grits his teeth. The thought hadn’t crossed his mind, dying, but he reluctantly admits to himself that it might’ve headed into that territory in due time.

‘Why not?’

Yoongi shrugs, his leather jacket squeaks against the counter. ‘I’ll stop you.’

‘How you gonna do that?’

‘Shove my fingers down your throat the second you swallow those things,’ he glances upwards, cocking his head towards the bottle. ‘Call your parents. A psych ward, maybe.’

Jungkook glares. ‘You’d call my parents?’

‘Without hesitation,’ Yoongi says, with the factual air of a news journalist reporting on the hundreds of lives lost in whatever war-zone this week. ‘They need to know, it’s the smart thing to do. You wouldn’t die by the way. The shit you’re on is prozac, right? It’s pretty hard to OD on prozac. You’d just have some shitty side effects and cry a lot, probably.’


Yoongi just shrugs again. Doesn’t seem to have a care in the world.  

‘Why are you even here?’ It’s been hard for Jungkook to imagine things, his creativity’s been shot to hell and he hasn’t drawn in ages. It’s impossible for him to conceive an explanation as to why Min Yoongi would be sitting on the floor with him in his bathroom, telling him not to try kill himself.

‘You haven’t been to group in a while,’ Yoongi says. And he hasn’t, he’s missed the past three, his parents drop him off and he bails, goes off walking in a daze with the sweltering summer heat beating down on him but it’s just better than being in that cramped room.

‘But why do you care? And don’t say it’s because we’re the same. We are not the same.’

Yoongi’s four years older. He has friends that pick him up from group sessions and ruffle his hair and he smiles as they do it before swatting them away. He’s well dressed and washes his hair regularly and has the capacity to give a shit about his appearance. He talks in group, albeit sparingly, about music and channelling frustrations into that, because his outlet isn’t all soaked up through meds and mental stuff. He’s not sick

‘Maybe not anymore,’ Yoongi says, ‘but you remind me of how I used to be. Fifteen year old me would’ve been a mirror image. Except shorter and paler.’

The self-debilitating humour quirks Jungkook’s interest and it takes a moment for him to realise it’s because he recognises it within himself. It should irk him, it doesn’t and he finds one corner of his lip curling up in a smirk.

‘Is this where you start preaching to me about how it gets better?’

‘Fuck no. Fifteen year old me would’ve broken the jaw of anyone who tried to pull that shit.’

‘So what then?’ Jungkook says. ‘You’re not here to preach? I don’t get it.’

Yoongi sighs and stretches his legs out, groaning with the minimal effort.

‘Your experiences are your own,’ he says. ‘So I’m not gonna sit here and say this is what happened to me and it’ll be the same for you just because we’re alike. That’s bullshit and I hated it. And I remember hating it.’

Jungkook stares at him, he can hear blood thumping in his ears, knows his mouth has parted a little as Yoongi’s been speaking but he can’t bring himself to snap it closed.

‘There isn’t actually anything magical I can say that’ll make it all go away,’ Yoongi continues and Jungkook notes, with a little jolt of surprise, that there is a bit of a strain to Yoongi’s voice. And he likes that awkwardness, because it feels that much more honest. ‘If it were that simple, it wouldn’t be a problem to begin with. And I’m not good with comforting. Never have been. But I do remember when I was fifteen, that the one thing I would’ve liked would have been someone to be there, not trying to fix anything, just being there in general.’

For a moment, Jungkook expects Yoongi to continue, but a minute passes and the silence doesn’t waver and Jungkook realises there’s a proposition there. From Min Yoongi, who must’ve somehow found out his address and broke into his house to sit down on his bathroom floor and tell him they’re the same.

Jungkook takes Yoongi in. He’s not a shining beacon of hope, all flashy and unattainable. He’s stilted and honest and real and he might be the closest someone could come to getting it.

‘You can tell me to fuck off if you want,’ Yoongi says. ‘I won’t leave, but I’ll sit in the other room and give you air to breathe until your parents come home. Or I can sit here with you and you can talk. It’s up to you really.’

Jungkook considers it, digs his bitten nails into the flesh of his biceps subconsciously as Yoongi squirms a little under his gaze, the tables turned.

‘I don’t want to talk,’ Jungkook says and Yoongi blinks at him, nods once and moves to stand. A watered down version of panic jolts in Jungkook’s brain and he hurriedly adds, ‘I don’t want you to go though.’

It takes a moment, for Yoongi to realise just what Jungkook’s asking of him and when it dawns on him he smiles, this gummy smile Jungkook’s only seen him use with his friends.

‘No talking then,’ Yoongi says, settling back against the counter once more.

‘No talking,’ Jungkook mimics and they fall into a comfortable silence.

Christmas Morning

anonymous asked:

Spencer x reader where they spend christmas together and with his son? Just fluff, opening presents and such :)

I’d fallen in love with a man who loved fiercely, who cared more deeply than anyone I’d ever known, and who had a baby boy, who was only fifteen months old at the time. Carter is three now, and Spencer is still as loving as he ever was. He’d adopted Carter after the baby’s parents were murdered. Spencer just hadn’t been able to handle the idea of him going into the system. He was an unlikely father, but a great one. And, lucky for me, he’d fallen in love with me, too.

“Cwismas!” Carter’s voice awakened me early that morning, racing into our room, his small, bare feet tapping the floor quickly, one right after the other. I felt Spencer stir beside me, both of us awake as Carter bounced on his feel at the end of our bed, still too little to climb up on his own. He saw me sit up and ran to my side of the bed, reaching for me to pick him up. I did, and he wiggled out of my arms and onto the mattress between Spencer and I.

“Cwismas!” he squealed again, and I laughed.

“Yes, Carter, it’s Christmas,” I said.

“Daddy! Cwismas!” Carter said, tugging on Spencer’s hand. Spencer smiled at him.

“I know, buddy,” he said. “It’s Christmas.” Carter smiled brightly, his dark curls a mess, his hazel eyes bright with excitement.

“Presents?” he asked hopefully, looking up at us expectantly. Spencer and I both laughed, neither of us the least bit sleepy anymore.

“Yep,” I said, beginning to draw back the covers to get out of bed. “There are presents for all of us in the living room.” Carter cheered as Spencer reached out, his hand on my shoulder keeping me from moving. He leaned in and kissed me, gently and lovingly.

“Merry Christmas, (Y/N),” he mumbled against me. I smiled slightly.

“Merry Christmas, Spence.”

Our tiny, intimate moment was broke as Carter, who’d managed to wiggle his way off of the bed, tugged on my hand. Spencer and I smiled at one another and followed Carter, who was eagerly leading us out to the living room. We got to the kitchen first, where Carter raced to the table and peered over the edge at the plate and cup we left out for Santa last night. The chocolate chip cookies were gone, save for a few crumbs, and the milk glass was empty. Carter looked back at us in delight and wonder.

“Santa was here!” he said.

“He sure was,” I replied. “Want to go see what he left for you?”

“Yes!” Carter squealed, racing off the the living room with Spencer and I right behind him. We both smiled at his sheer joy. He was finally old enough to really enjoy Christmas, and Spencer and I were loving every second of it. We watched as he stopped in the middle of the room, surrounded by presents, turning in a circle to take it all in. I caught Spencer out of the corner of my eye, reaching for a remote to what I knew to be a remote-control truck. Carter was too distracted by the giant teddy bear that I knew had come from Garcia to notice what his dad was doing. I smiled as Spencer pressed the lever forward, and the truck came rolling from the corner of the room, toward Carter. He turned, surprised by the noise, and we watched as his face lit up at the sight. The truck rolled to a stop in front of Carter, a shiny red bow on top of it. I glanced at Spencer, who was smiling tenderly at the sight of his little boy. The little boy who had become more ours than his. I leaned into his side as Carter tore into the first gift, which I knew contained a leather bag much like the one Spencer carried, but kid-friendly. Carter had told me a million times that he wanted to be like Daddy, and when I saw the bag, I couldn’t resist the temptation. Spencer wrapped his arm around my shoulders and pulled me close.

“Which one do you think is going to be his favorite?” Spencer asked me. I smiled slightly to myself.

“I’m thinking maybe the one that he’s going to get in about seven and a half months,” I replied. Spencer smiled at me and kissed my head.

“That one’s going to be my favorite, too,” he replied. “He’s going to make an incredible big brother.”

“We’re going to make an incredible little family.”

“Merry Christmas, (Y/N),” he said, as we watched Carter sling the leather bag over his shoulder and offer us a bright, happy smile.

“Merry Christmas, Spencer.”

Baby Blue Eyes || Fitz and Hunter

>> @whiskeyandtwoshotglasses

It started innocently enough, with Fitz reading in a book they’d gathered during the search for a new portal, but he made the mistake of reading a passage aloud. At first, he didn’t realize what a Vishanti was or whether the dread Dormammu was some other name for the creature on Maveth, but once he felt his facial hair retract and the room get bigger, he knew something was wrong.

Before too long, Fitz was outgrown by a pile of his own clothing and tumbled out of the chair, seemingly around fifteen months old, bright blue eyes looking around in confusion. “No,” he frowned definitively, before saying it with more enthusiasm and a lot more frustration, not hearing that someone else had entered the lab. “No, no, no!”

Creepypasta #805: I'm A Search And Rescue Officer For The Us Forest Service, I Have Some Stories To Tell (Part 3)

Length: Super long

Alright, let’s move on to the stories:

The first happened on a case that I went out on right after I got out of training, and was still pretty new to everything. Before I took this job, I was a volunteer, so I had a basic idea of what to expect, but on those calls you’re mostly dealing with finding lost people after vets have found signs of them. As an SAR officer, you go out for all kinds of cases, from animal bites to heart attacks. 

This case got called in early in the morning, from a young couple who were up on one of the trails that goes by the lake. The husband was completely hysterical, and we couldn’t really figure out what was going on. We could hear the woman screaming in the background, and he was begging us to come up there right away. When we get there, we see him holding his wife, and she’s got something in her arms. She’s screaming these awful, almost animal-like screams, and he’s sobbing. He sees us and he screams at us to help them, to please get an ambulance up there. 

Now obviously we can’t just drive an ambulance up the walking path, so we ask him if his wife needs help, or if she can walk on her own. He’s still hysterical, but he manages to tell us that it’s not his wife that needs help. I go over while one of the vets tries to calm him down, and I ask the wife what’s going on. She’s rocking, holding something, and just shrieking, over and over. I crouch down and see that whatever she’s holding, it’s covering her with blood. That’s when I notice the sling on her front and my heart sinks. 

I ask her to tell me what’s going on, and I sort of pry her arms gently open so I can see what she’s holding. It’s her baby, obviously dead. His head is caved in on one side, and he’s covered in scratches. Now, I’ve seen dead bodies before, but something about this whole situation hits me hard. I have to take a second to compose myself, and I get up and go get one of the other vets, who’s standing by. I tell him that it’s a dead kid, and he sort of pats my shoulder and tells me he’ll deal with it. 

It took us over an hour to get this woman to let us see her kid. Every time we try to take him from her, she flips out and tells us we can’t have him, that he’ll be okay if we just leave her alone and let her help him. But eventually, one of the vets manages to calm her down, and she gives us the body. We took it back to the med area, but when the EMTs showed up, they told us that there was never any hope of saving the kid. He’d died instantly from the trauma to his head. I was good buddies with one of the nurses who met them at the hospital, and she told me later what had happened. 

Turns out the couple had been walking with the baby in the sling, and they stopped because the kid was fussing. The dad takes the kid and is holding him, looking out over this little gully by the path. The mom comes to stand next to him, but she ends up stepping on a loose patch of soil, and she trips. She falls into the dad, who drops the kid, who ends up falling about twenty feet down this little gully onto the rocks at the bottom. The dad climbed down and recovered the kid, but he’d fallen right on his head, and was dead by the time he got there. The baby was only about fifteen months old. It was a total freak accident, a series of events that coalesced into the worst possible outcome. Probably one of the more awful calls I’ve been on.


I haven’t seen a lot of animal bites in my time as an SAR officer, mostly because there aren’t that many animals that come around the area. While there are bears in the area, they tend to stay pretty far away from people, and sightings are highly unusual. Most of the animals you’ll see are small ones, like coyotes, raccoons, or skunks. 

What we do see frequently, though, are moose. And let me tell you, moose are nasty fuckers. They’ll chase after anything for any reason, and god help you if you get in between a female and its baby. One of the more amusing calls was of a guy who’d gotten chased down by an absolutely massive male moose, and was stuck up a tree. Took us almost an hour to get him down, and when he was finally on solid ground again, he looks at me and says: ‘God damn. Them fuckers is big up close.’ I guess that’s not really a scary story, but we still laugh about that one.


I honestly don’t know how I’d forgotten this story, but it is, by far, the scariest thing that’s happened to me. I guess maybe I’ve tried so long to forget about it that it just didn’t come to mind right away. As someone who spends literally all of their time in the woods, you don’t ever want to let yourself get scared of being alone, or out in the middle of nowhere. That’s why when you have experiences like this, you tend to just forget about them and move on. This is, to date, the only thing that’s ever made me really seriously consider if this job is the right one for me. I don’t really like talking about it much, but I’ll do the best I can to remember it all. 

As I recall, this took place right at the end of spring. It was a typical lost-child call: a four-year-old girl had wandered away from her family’s campsite, and had been missing for about two hours. Her parents were completely despondent, and told us what most parents do; my kid would never wander away, she’s so good about staying close, she’s never done anything like this before. We assure the parents that we’ll do everything we can to find her, and we spread out in a standard search formation. 

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Against All Odds

Thank you so much for asking me to participate in @jilytober! I’m honoured to be alongside so many other amazing authors. This is my “if they lived AU” – as I am incapable of writing anything short, I’ve posted it here to make use of the read more. Enjoy :) [Tw: death mentions] [ffnet]

The facts, relayed several days later in the Daily Prophet, are these: Alice and Frank Longbottom, respected Aurors both, are attacked in their own home by the wizard styling himself Lord Voldemort on Hallowe’en, 1981. Frank’s body is discovered downstairs; upstairs Alice’s lies in front of their fifteen month old son’s crib. Neville is unharmed. His Grandmother, Augusta Longbottom, refuses to comment.

The facts, not relayed in any newspaper, are these: on Hallowe’en 1981, Lily Potter makes spaghetti. She makes enough for three—they’re expecting Sirius Black—but the third portion ends up in the bin. Harry, their fourteen month old infant, has a good night, waking only once. Eventually, dawn breaks. It’s raining. James gets Harry up. Lily eats some toast. She contemplates cleaning the bathroom, mostly for something to do. Shortly after lunch, Remus Lupin appears on the doorstep.

And then all hell breaks loose.

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The Best Fam on Youtube!

Fandom: Valdaya

Author’s Note: This is an AU story where our lovely duo are famous Youtubers. Their jobs are basically the same in that Zendaya makes little sketches and singing and dancing videos. Val does dancing and rap. Okay good? Good. Everything else will be explained as the story goes. Don’t want to give too much away.

P.S. I want this to be a multi-chaptered story so hopefully this first chapter is well received.


Zendaya sets up the tripod in front of her. It was one of those mini ones. She angles the small Canon Powershot G7 X to point straight at her. “Hey are you ready, babe,” she called out.

“Be right there beautiful. Our little nugget’s giving me a hard time.” Zendaya smirked. It seemed that she might have to do this video solo.

“Hurry up! The camera’s all set up!” She heard a groan from down the hall and a high pitched giggle right after. The twenty-three-year-old shook her head. How hard was it to get clothes on? She checked her phone. It was almost time for their usual film time. “If you are not here in three minutes consider yourself cut,” she shouted with finality. 

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another thing to add to the exponentially growing and already gargantuan list of things fucked up about harry potter: when we think of the scene where dumbledore leaves harry on the dursley’s front porch we tend to think of harry as a tiny helpless baby, which is fucked up enough. but keep in mind at this point harry was FIFTEEN MONTHS OLD and could very likely WALK. can you imagine for a microsecond if harry had woken up and wondered where the shit he was and thought hm maybe i’ll go look for mummy and daddy and kicked off his blankets and just started toddling down privet drive to fuck knows where?!?!?! fucking hell?!?!?!?!?! hello yes 911 i need to speak to jkr about albus dumbledore’s choices please!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

For Cap @mizjoely’s :  Entangled 



“She has legs,” Sherlock breathed, eyes still glued to the tiny figure toddling into the waves.

Molly turned and held out her arms. “Come in, Merina, and meet your father, my sweet!”

“She has legs,” Sherlock said again, but when Molly glanced at him again she saw the way his eyes were taking in every detail about their fifteen-month-old daughter. The tumble of dark curls on her head. The sun-kissed flesh. The brown eyes, so like her own; the plump lips unmistakably shaped as his were; the sturdy little body splashing in the shallows - and the silvery sheen of scales on her legs, human legs ending in elongated, webbed feet.


^^ still alive. SHERLOLLIANS ROCK!!

anonymous asked:

Olicity prompt: team Arrow watching a football game. Olicity with their toddler (a boy named Tommy) Dyla with Sara and Theroy. Fluffy Olicity with their son!! :)

Prompt Fill #1

Words: 2448

Rating: T

A/N: Here you go, Nonnie! I hope it’s not bad. It’s the first time I’m writing something that domestic, I write a lot of AU’s and angst so this one was a nice step away from my usual likings. It’s unedited so I’m sorry for any mistakes. I hope everyone will enjoy it!


“I never thought I would say this,” Felicity said as she leaned against the kitchen counter in her townhouse, her eyes taking in the sight in front of her. “But we could use a bad guy to catch.”

Lyla looked over her shoulder as she grabbed two bottles of beer from Felicity’s fridge and snorted, seeing what Felicity was staring at so dumbfounded. “Boys and their games,” she mused, closing the fridge. “At least they didn’t forget about their kids.”

Felicity smiled involuntarily, seeing a four year old Sara sitting in Diggle’s lap, playing with her favorite toy and baby Tommy bouncing up and down on Oliver’s knee that was moving in a steady manner.

“But you’re right,” Lyla continued, stepping up beside her and leaning against the counter like her. “It’s a strange sight to see the mighty Green Arrow and his loyal sidekick being typical men on Friday night. If I didn’t know any better I would say someone swapped them while we weren’t watching.”

Felicity hummed agreeing with her and continued watching their boys.

It was their first night off in weeks and a family dinner sounded like a great plan to relax and spend some quality time together. But then Diggle turned on the TV and there was a football game playing, and just like that the dinner was forgotten and her usually broody, carrying bow and arrows, husband turned into the cliché of clichés. Apparently the team that was playing was Diggle and Oliver’s favorite and that only gave them another reason to bond over and yell at the flat screen eagerly, while drinking beer from the bottle and playing with their kids at the same time.

It was a sight she never thought she would see.

It took them a long time to get to the point where they were now. Dealing with the League of Assassins, fighting off another bad guy that - to everyone’s shock - was her father, and helping Oliver to rebuild his persona from ashes, making him so much more than he was before. It wasn’t easy, it was sleepless nights, tears following them wherever they went and too many close calls that made her want to quit.

But they never gave up and they always found a way to deal with everything that life was throwing at them. And now, two and a half years later, she was married to the love of her life and they had a wonderful, fifteen months old little boy they would do anything for. Lyla and John were stronger than ever, with Sara growing up so quickly, and the team that once was falling apart now glued together so tightly that Felicity thought nothing could separate them.

Everything was as perfect as she could imagine in the world they were living, and she only hoped this wouldn’t change anytime soon.

Oliver needed this. He needed to be loved and happy and for once not care about anything other than the little boy in his lap who was the center of his universe.

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