fifteen month old

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!!

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.”

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.

Keep reading

Hang on a sec...

Harry was born July 31, 1980. So that means if Lily carried him for exactly nine months (although not likely, but bear with) then she got pregnant on October 31, 1979.


But wait, let me make it worse.

Halloween 1979, nineteen years old and seeking comfort amidst a bloody war, James and Lily–a little drunk on Firewhiskey and each other–create their son.

Halloween 1980, twenty years old and the prophecy looms over their heads like heavy thunderclouds–lightning could strike at any moment. Still, they celebrate Harry’s first Halloween, locked under the Fidelius Charm. It’s hard, but they’re happy to be together. Safe.

Halloween 1981, twenty-one years old and every second chafes. Harry longs to play outside. He watches little dinosaurs and pumpkins and ghosts troop by, half-filled bags of candy on their arms. Maybe he’s only fifteen months old, but he knows that outside must be more fun than inside. The blue sky and green grass mean room to play, to run. But he settles for games with Daddy’s wand, giggling on the living room floor when a rainbow of sparks showers over them. Mummy watches them from the couch. Suddenly inspired, Harry runs to his toy room and James looks to his wife.

“All right, love?” It only takes him a moment to read the worry in her eyes.

She smiles sadly, but Harry barrels back into the room before she can speak, toy broomstick in hand.

“Dada, play,” he announces.

“Ask Mummy.” James shoots Lily a knowing look. He won’t be in bed for hours if they let him fly now.

“Mama?” Harry brings her the broomstick. “Pease?”

“It’s time for bed, my little love. We’ll ride brooms in the morning. Let’s go read some books,” Lily’s heart wrenches at the disappointment on Harry’s face and she almost caves–seeing him upset breaks her these days–but he soon recovers.

“Books?” Harry drops his broomstick, lifting his arms to Lily. 

As she settles him on her hip–my, how he’s grown, she thinks–there’s a loud crash. 

James, who had been lounging on the floor, is up and out of the room like a shot, his wand forgotten on the rug.

It happens in slow motion.

The room grows icy cold. Harry shivers, arms tugging at Lily’s Gryffindor t-shirt. She pulls him close. 

They’ve been betrayed. She can feel it in her bones. But she’s rooted to the spot, frozen in terror. James. James, where are you? I need you, James.

His voice is telling her to run, to save Harry, but her heart is tearing itself in two. Every muscle in her body strains towards James. Her James. But her love for her son wins, forcing her up the stairs in a frantic attempt to save their child. 

Harry must live. Even if we don’t. James told her that once, and she knows he’s right. Her baby boy deserves a chance to live and find love just like his parents.

She sets Harry in his crib and is barricading the door with anything in sight when she hears it. Thud. It’s the sound of James falling to the floor, but it’s also her heart plummeting in her chest. She chokes back a sob–or maybe it’s a scream–and rushes to Harry. The footsteps echo down the empty hall. 

When the door explodes inward, Harry cries out. Lily plants herself between him and Voldemort, the fury on her face like a raging fire.

His wand is raised, pointed at her heart, but she doesn’t care. Not Harry. Not Harry. It’s a mantra. She begs and pleads–not Harry. Take me instead. 

His lips form the words: Avada Kedavra.

Lily doesn’t scream. She stands firm. And as the bolt of green strikes her heart, she thinks of her son. Daddy and I love you, Harry. Always.

And then it’s black.

“Lil.” James’ voice breaks as he curls himself around his wife. They’ve found each other. And their son is alive. 


In a world without them.


(( inspired by this post ))

Home Alone

This was prompted by @madabouttennant, who requested the first time the Doctor is left alone with his baby [for an extended period of time]. You didn’t specify a Doctor, so I went with Tentoo, because he’s my precious baby ^.^

This was it. The first bit step in parenthood. A Major Milestone… Today marked the first time that the Doctor was left alone with his daughter for more than an hour.

Jackie had booked a spa day for herself and Rose, claiming that Rose deserved a selfish day of pampering before Baby Number Two was due in just two months.

This left the Doctor alone to bond with his fifteen month old daughter, and he was excited to have the day with her. He loved his family so much, and grew a little irritated with Rose when she double-checked that he had anything he might need: the number of the spa she would be at, the number of the pediatrician, a fridge-full of potential food items for their little picky eater.

“Rose, we’ll be fine!” he said, swallowing down his exasperation. He knew this was hard for Rose, too. This marked the first time she would be away from their daughter for half the day, too. “Now go. Go enjoy yourself. Have fun! We’ll be here when you get back.”

The Doctor and Rose made sure that Ella was sleeping before Rose slipped away. But even when Ella awoke, there was plenty of screaming and fussing and calls for mummy.

Keep reading

900 Followers!!! - You Know What This Means?!?!

So our little blog, which believe it or not is fifteen months old, just reached 900 followers. 

We know, we know, it’s because we’re awesome. But, also…think about that! That means that on tumblr there are at least 900 people with a passing interest in reading Veronica Mars fanfiction. WOWZERS!!!! That’s cool.

Originally posted by leadbyeg

We love and adore every one of you! Some of you reblog or like a lot of our posts, some of you are silent savorers, and some of you are our greatest champions. We’re so thankful for each of you!

To celebrate we’re going to do our regular thing: 

We’re going to facilitate giving away some fic. Written for you. Personally. Specially. By one of the insanely talented voices in the fandom. 

(How’s that for some choice adverb selection?)

Originally posted by theweekmagazine

How do I enter the contest? Please click here and take the 900 Followers Survey. While likes/reblogs of this post are nice, the survey is the only way to officially enter. Only a few of the fields are required, but the more information you can provide the better. In order to qualify for the contest, you must follow our blog. That’s only because we’re trying to thank our followers, specifically. Not because we’re greedy bastards.

What am I going to win? Why, a fic of course! The survey allows you to enter as many elements as you desire to include into the fic, should you win. We’ll ask the authors to write fics that are at least 900 words, but as many of them are currently working on large scale WIPs we don’t feel comfortable asking for more. Also, please keep in mind that while they will try to include all your requests, it may be impossible to do so.

How will you pick the winner? The winner will be selected using the random number generator.

Who will write my fic? We’ve gathered a lineup of authors who we will be asking to fulfill prompts whenever we do one of these contests. We’ll present the selected prompt to the first author and say, “Hey, can you write this?” If they say yes, then fabulous! If they say no, for whatever reason, we’ll ask the next author, and so on. 

When does the contest end? You must take the survey by Monday, July 20 9:00 AM PST to qualify. No entry received after that time will be considered.

How will I know if I won? We’ll notify the winner through a post to this blog on Tuesday, July 21 and/or also send an ask to make sure they got the message.

When will I get my fic? We want to provide the authors with a month to create the fic. It might not take that whole time, but it could. So, you should see it posted and dedicated to you by August 31.

Are you excited? We’re excited! And, again, so happy and thankful for each of you.