field pants

  • (A conversation had after shopping for field clothes [aka the quest to find pockets] with my parents, and discovering my dad and I bought the same size pants)
  • Me: I can't believe we fit into the same pants.
  • Me: It's because he(dad) has no butt.
  • Mom: That's right. Guys don't have hips or butts.
  • Dad: Then why do you always tell me to get my butt moving?
  • Me: *Dies*
  • Dad: Next time you say to get moving, I'll say no, I don't have a butt.
A Vampire’s Bite

Prompt: 33. “Bite me.” “If you insist.”
Genre: fluff
Word count: 1265
Summary: Baz has a bad day and he’s had enough of pretending to hate Simon.

That’s it. I’m done. I’m so fucking done with everything.

Life isn’t so kind to me at the best of times, but I can’t help but feel there are days when it’s just feeling particularly cruel. (The universe is a sadist. Everybody knows that.)

I was going to ask my father whether I could stay at Watford over the Easter Holidays. I was thinking I could (maybe) spend some time with Simon since we’re on a truce and I think we’re almost friends. (Snow would never call me his friend. Doesn’t stop me from considering him mine.)
So I rang my father. And he said he needed me to come home. Not because he loves me so much, but because we need to take time to plan. (Jokes on me, after all. Apparently Snow wasn’t so far off, accusing me of plotting.)

“Basilton,” he said. “You’re a man now. I think it’s time for you to make a move. As long as we still have the advantage of you being Simon Snow’s room mate, we have to benefit from it. So let’s strike now before it’s too late.”
Make a move? I would love to make a move, but not the kind he has in mind. (Not really. Snow would end me if I tried anything. But maybe that’s for the best.)

I’m afraid he’ll ask me to kill Snow. Not now, perhaps, but one day. He doesn’t know it, but he’d be sending me to die. (Because I have to do as he tells me, and I’ll start a fight with Snow, and I’ll lose that fight. I’ll make sure of that.)

I’m so angry. I feel now more than ever that I don’t want any of that to happen. I don’t want to hurt Snow. I like our truce, I like being almost-friends. He’s ruining all of that. And I’m sick of having no say in that, I’m sick of being powerless, I’m sick of playing my role as “Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch”. The son of Natasha Pitch. Who fights for the old families. Who hates the Mage. Who is Simon Snow’s enemy and will kill him one day or die trying. I don’t want to be that any more. Because guess what? “Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch” is a fucking prick.

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sapphiresassenach  asked:

That new Shifted update gave me all the Da Jamie feels. I would love to see how Jamie acts during wee William's birth since Bree's was so hard. :)

anonymous asked: Hello Gotham! I’m not sure if you’re still taking prompts for Shifted but here is mine just in case!!! I would love to read anything to do with Fergus, I think he’s such a vital part of Jamie and Claire family in s2 and I wonder what’s his “role” in your amazing story. Thank you!

For the next few weeks I’ll be writing one-shots in the Shifted universe, filling in the blanks that we don’t see in the main story, before we resume the main action with Part 7 - The Visitor.

If there is a particular scene you’d like to see, send me an ask and I’ll see what I can do!

In Shifted, the premise is simple - what if Claire had gotten pregnant with Brianna a month or two earlier in the story, and she and Jamie had re-evaluated  their priorities and decided that the cause was lost, and they were able to slip away from the army and quietly return to Lallybroch?

Previous installments…

Interlude - The Surprise

Lallybroch, Spring 1753

Jamie wiped his sweaty brow on his damp shirtsleeve, frowning at the furrows neatly dug along about half of the field.

“Hold up!” he yelled to Murtagh, who was industriously hacking at the earth with his spade. His godfather paused, squinting in the rare spring sunshine, chest heaving with exertion.

“Ian!” Jamie called to his brother-in-law, who couldn’t participate in the digging but supervised from the edge of the field. “Ye’re sure we can space the potatos so closely together? We didna do that the last time – ”

“Yes, we can.” Ian shifted a bit as the peg of his wooden leg caught in a patch of softer soil. “I was reading Sir Walter’s book again last night, and it didna say anything about whether three inches instead of four wouldna be good for the plants.”

“One of the MacNabs was telling me the other day that they’d tried the three inches up at their croft,” Murtagh interjected, nudging Jamie with the handle of his spade. “And it didna seem to have an ill effect on the harvest.”

Ian hobbled closer to Jamie and Murtagh.

“Aye, but the soil is a bit boggier over at those crofts,” Jamie reasoned. “It can hold more moisture than ours can. I just want to make sure if we’re going through all the effort, we’ll still get as much as we can.”

“But if we dig three inches apart, we can add an extra row for the whole field. That’s worth the effort, no?”

Jamie pursed his lips, remembering how he and Ian had stayed up late the night before drawing out a map of the field and calculating exactly how to dig the furrows. The winter barley crop had been poor – so they needed to grow more food. And potatos were the easiest solution.

He’d finally slipped into bed close to midnight – Claire had gone upstairs long before, the weight of the bairn in her belly making her much more tired these days. She knew her time was coming, but had assured him just this morning that it would be a few weeks yet.

And that was why Jamie was being so conservative about the potatos. Claire had to eat. Brianna had to eat. Jenny and her army of bairns had to eat. And Murtagh, and Fergus, and the tenants.

So much responsibility – and times were still lean, seven years after Culloden. Things had been worse, to be sure – but they were a long way from being better.

He’d risen early – Claire had slept restlessly, it was so difficult for her to find a position that would remain comfortable. She dozed off right after dawn, so he had quietly untangled her from his arms, kissed the reassuring roundness of her belly, whispered “I love you,” and prepared for the day.

Ian pursed his lips. “How about we try it half wi’ the three inches and half wi’ the four? That way we can still have the extra row – ”


Jamie whirled to see seventeen-year-old Fergus cresting the hill.

“Papa! Quick! You must come!”

“Soldiers?” Murtagh raised his spade, ready.

Fergus stopped in his tracks – right at the edge of the field – and bent over, panting.

“No – no. Not that. It’s – Maman. La petite bairn – it is coming.”

Jamie dropped his rake and shot off, racing back to the house.

“Truly?” Ian hobbled across an untilled section of the field. “Is the bairn on its way?”

Fergus straightened up, still winded. “Yes – yes. The midwife just arrived. It is very, very quick this time. Tante Jenny thought she’d have to deliver it on her own. I told her I could help – but no, she sent me to fetch you.”

Murtagh clapped a solid hand on Fergus’ shoulder – the lad had grown to be taller than him, but he was still very slight of build. “That’s verra brave of ye, lad. Now let’s get back – the tatties can wait, aye?”

Fergus had left the front door open – and Jamie almost crashed into Mrs. Crook in the entryway.

“Upstairs,” was all she said.

Jamie bolted through the sitting room, taking the stairs two at a time.

Six-year-old Brianna Fraser – banished from the upstairs to a quiet corner of the sitting room – turned to her cousin Maggie.

“Why do ye think he’s so worrit? Everything will be fine.”

“Ye ken that Grannie Ellen died having a bairn?” Maggie focused on changing her rag doll’s dress. “He’s probably worrit because of that.”

“I didna ken that,” Brianna replied softly. Then – “Do ye think my Mam is going to die? I dinna think Da would let that happen.”

Maggie shrugged.

Brianna frowned, lay her doll down, and folded her fingers in her lap. Trying not to think about what was happening upstairs.

Ten stairs – then the turn. Then another ten – then the landing. Then six strides to their bedroom –

Claire screamed.

And Jamie almost ripped the door off its hinges.

His heart tore in two at the sight on the bed. Claire – naked, legs bent at the knees, stomach heaving along with her shallow breaths, face contorted in pain. Jenny and the midwife – the same sour-faced woman who had delivered Brianna and all the Murray bairns – standing on either side of the bed, alternately soothing and encouraging Claire.

Jenny looked over her shoulder – and he immediately saw her relax.

“Jamie’s here, Claire.” Her voice was a bit loud, almost as if she were speaking to a child.

But Jamie was already at Claire’s side, enfolding her as best as he could into his arms.

“Jamie?” Claire’s voice was weak – far away. Lost.

“Aye, Claire. I’m here.” He kicked off his boots and settled against the headboard, cradling her back to his front. Just as he had when she was delivering Brianna.

“When did it start?”

“Just about an hour ago.” Jenny gently kneaded the arch of Claire’s foot. “Claire wasn’t feeling too well after breakfast – ”

“Those – bloody – fucking – onions did it,” Claire panted. “Never should – have them with – breakfast…”

Then she curled against Jamie, body going rigid as another pain rippled through her middle –

“Oh, God. I have to push,” she groaned.

The midwife pulled back Claire’s leg and reached down. “Aye – ye’re open and ready, Claire. Push.”

She did.

It was awful – and there was a lot of blood – and Claire’s blunt nails drew stinging pain where she clutched Jamie’s arms. But he didn’t feel a thing – encouraging her, whispering to her, holding her as she drew from somewhere deep inside herself to push and push and push.

All was forgotten when Claire’s body released the final tension – and the midwife held up their blood-smeared, screaming, absolutely gorgeous son.

“Born in the middle of the day – he’ll always have lunch on his mind, poor lad.”

Claire held the baby’s head tighter in the crook of her elbow. Jamie darted one hand to wrap the blanket tighter around the baby’s impossibly tiny shoulders, gently touching the bitty chin and nose with the pad of one finger.

“Born early, too – means he’ll always be waiting on other people. Puir lad.”

“I can’t believe how easy that was, compared to the last time.” Claire settled back a bit against Jamie, oblivious to Jenny and the midwife sorting the soiled linens and tossing bloody water out the window.

“It didna look easy from *my* perspective,” he smiled, absolutely hypnotized by his son’s sleeping face.

“And I was so worried, too. But Jamie, when my water broke and you weren’t there – ”

“Hush. It doesna matter. Though Fergus told me he volunteered to stay behind and help ye?”

“He told me he’d helped with a birth before – at the brothel. I don’t even want to begin to imagine what that must have been like.”

“He’s a braw lad.” Jamie bent to kiss Claire’s shoulder. “We’re lucky that our wee boy will have such a good brother to look up to.”

The baby stirred, but then settled.

“Is he our William, then?” Claire asked softly. They had decided on the name as a tribute to Jamie’s beloved elder brother – but now that the baby was actually here…

“Aye. No’ Willie – that was my brother. No’ Will – that’s too English. William. A good, strong name.”

“Yes. Yes it is.”

Claire turned over her shoulder to face Jamie. “I do love you, Jamie. Thank you.”

He smiled – heart full to bursting with love and joy and pride.

“For what? I didna do any of the work.”

“For giving him to me. For being here with me. For – for this life.”

He bridged the gap between them in a long, long kiss.

“I love you.”

He butted his nose with hers.

“Can you get Brianna?”

He smiled even wider, kissed her forehead, and sprang off the bed and down the hall.

Not even a minute later, Brianna shyly poked her red curls around the doorframe.

“Come here, love,” Claire gently encouraged. “Come meet your brother.”

Then Jamie was there, guiding her around Jenny and the midwife and toward the bed.

Brianna gingerly stepped to Claire’s side and peered down at the swaddled bundle. The baby dreamed, quiet.

She furrowed her red brows and didn’t say anything for a long time.

Jamie opened his mouth to speak, but at a firm look from Claire thought twice about it.

So they waited. And waited –

“Hallo, wee William,” Brianna finally said, voice impossibly soft. “I’m your big sister. I’ll take care of ye.”

Then she bent to kiss his brow.

Jamie gripped Claire’s shoulder a little tighter.

So thankful for this life.

anonymous asked:

Prompt baby gets sick for the first time

Hey Anon, so your request was a little vague but I hope this is what you wanted…


Emily and Alison ran down the hospital’s hallway, heading straight towards the nurses station. About an hour ago they got a call from Spencer, who was babysitting their eight month old son, letting them know that she had taken him to the hospital after she couldn’t get his fever to go down.

“Jamie Dilaurentis-Fields” Emily panted slamming her hand on the counter “He was admitted about an hour ago”

“I’m sorry ma’am I can only share information with immediate family” The nurse informed not even looking up from her paperwork.

“He’s our son, you moron!” Alison snapped rather harshly, adrenaline was pumping furiously through her veins and she couldn’t help all the worst scene scenarios that were running  through her mind. Sure their son had been sick before but never a take him to the emergency room sick.

“Oh, I’m sorry” The nurse looked up apologetically “I assumed the woman who brought him-”

“Well you assumed wrong” The blonde barked interrupting the young woman in front of her “Where is he?!”

“He’s in room 2214” 

“Thank you” The brunette placed a comforting hand on her girlfriend’s waist, slowly they headed down the hallway. Their hearts beating nervously in their chest and Emily would swear she could feel her heart trying to jump out of it but she couldn’t let herself break apart, not when she knew Alison was on the verge of a full blown breakdown. 

They found their son’s hospital room’s door open and through the crack they could make out Spencer’s figure facing the other way. Without hesitating the blonde barged into the room ready to find her son lying in a hospital bed. However, to her surprise the only thing she found was an empty car seat on the floor and her son’s stuffed lion on the bed.

“Ali, you guys are finally here” Spencer breathed out turning around to face her clearly disturbed friends.

“Wh-where is he?!” The blonde muttered trying to catch her breath, “Where’s my son?!” 


“Where is he Spencer?!” Alison snapped

“Babe…” Emily took a step further into the room placing her hand on Alison’s waist.

“Emily don’t even try to defend her, she had one job and look where we are” The blonde barked “She was supposed to look after our son and he ended up in the hospital”

“I’m so sorry Ali, I didn’t know what to do” Spencer looked between the two women in front of her.

“No, Spence it’s okay. It’s not your fault” Emily exhaled. 

“Where is he?!”

“A nurse took him so they could check him, she said they would bring him right back” Spencer informed them, “Ali I’m so sorry” she repeated, and although she knew that the chances of her blonde friend actually reasoning or forgiving her at the moment were slim she wasn’t about to stop trying, she also knew that the fact that Jamie got sick and had ended up in the hospital wasn’t her fault either but she couldn’t help feeling guilty.

Alison stared at her for what felt like forever before she could bring herself to speak, “No I.. I know, it’s not your fault… I’m just… it’s the first time he’s this sick” 

“I know” Spencer nodded turning around when they heard a knock on the door, where they found a nurse holding their eight month old son in her arms. From the moment they say him both Alison and Emily could tell he was sick, he was stripped naked except from his diaper and his cheeks were red and stained with the trails of his tears.

“I think someone’s ready to see his mommies” The nurse smiled handing the baby to Emily and once the little boy saw them his eyes light up.

“Hey champ” Emily cooed kissing the top of his head and she felt his still hot skin against her lips.

“Is he going to be okay?” Alison inquired walking closer to her girlfriend and son, Emily passing the baby over to Alison and as soon as Jamie was in the blonde’s arms he snuggled up against the crock of her neck. “Hi sweetie”

“Yeah he will, he’s got a slight ear infection which explains the fever” The nurse explained “We’ve got him on an antibiotic so he’ll be fine”

“Can we take him home?” Emily placed her hand on her son’s back soothingly.

“As soon as he’s fevers gone, you can take him home, so we’ll be checking on him about every ten minutes” The nurse smiled, “Yet, if you need anything just push the red button above the bed.”

With that the nurse disappeared out the door, leaving the three women alone with the baby, “I’m gonna go call Toby and let him know everything’s okay” Spencer informed kissing the top of Jamie’s head before heading towards the door. 

“Spence..” The blonde called out making her friend stop to turn around, “I’m sorry I screamed at you”

“It’s okay, don’t worry” Spencer smiled “I get it, I was just as worried”

Once they were finally alone Alison sat on the bed, Emily following close behind, a now fussy baby in the blonde’s arms. “Sh-sh-sh, it’s okay baby, it’s okay” 

“I hate seeing him like this” Emily sighed tracing circular soothing motions in her son’s bare back.

“Me too” Alison gently swayed back and forth trying to get her son to fall asleep, “I’m so scared” she whispered.

“Of him being sick?” Emily inquired “You heard the nurse, he’ll be just fine”

“No” Ali shaked her head, “Of how much I love him, and how devastated I would be if something were to happen to him” The blonde exhaled placing her cheek on top of his head.

“Nothing’s gonna happen to him, I promise” Emily stated “He’ll be fine”

Bruises and Footy

Summary: After missing your last few games, Sebastian makes it his mission to see you play AFL in the next match.

Pairing: Sebastian Stan x AFL Player!Reader

Word Count: 2104

Warnings: like one swear word, fluff, the proper way to play footy ;)

A/N: Alright @ly–canthrope, here’s your request. This was super fun to write :D

Originally posted by jamesnbucky

“Alright, gents!” You call, walking into the locker room, slipping your jersey over your shoulder. “Listen up!” You get your team’s attention as you stood at the front. “I know we’re up against Collingwood, but that doesn’t matter. Someone’s gotta get their ass out of the top five,”

The team laughs as a few girls tie back their hair. “We got a tough game ahead of us. We keep our heads, our eyes on the field and we do well, got it?” You ask and they all nod, each individually psyching themselves up.

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Got half an hour before I need to leave for my job interview. I hate this in between time…

Also the only shit I own that isn’t plaid/a bright colour is my School Shirt and I’m really hoping it doesn’t show.

Goodness it feels weird to be in a suit….

A lot longer than I anticipated, but what can I say? I had a hell of a time writing it. And don’t tell my boss but I took my bluetooth keyboard into work and spent my free time editing this on my phone. Shh… So anyway, this fic was requested by @curiositykilledthecompanion. Enjoy, my darlings!

It’s kind of a basic plot, but can you write a Tony x Reader one where he and the reader are flirting during a mission, and she gets hit, and he thinks somethings wrong, but she doesn’t say anything about it until they get back to the tower? Like, she hides it from him and he gets mad because she could’ve died?


Battles were not renowned for the feelings they invoked. Yet this could not really be considered a battle. The fight was too easy. How could anyone expect to stand up against The Avengers?

“Call it in,” said Steve, who was leading the team. All the team members sounded off – Tony Stark, Natasha Romanoff, Clint Barton, Thor, even the Hulk gave a resounding cry (not that anyone had thought he was in any way missing or injured).

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One major positive that has come out of this trip is I have FINALLY figured out how to safely secure Ebon in a way where he won’t get himself tangled mid-trip and panic. For years now I’ve fought over either letting him be loose and risking his safety or tethering him and inevitably having him panic (which is a major distraction to the driver, let me tell you).

Step one: clip harness to car as instructed by manufacturer.
Step two: clip front of harness to one side of the car so he can’t turn around.

He’s able to shift comfortably just not turn (which would inevitably get his foot twisted in the tether because he is, of course, clumsy). Between this and the orthopedic bed he happily slept most of the time. No stress panting. No stress poops.

Happy Ebs is best Ebs.