legs attached to a man

Imagine Lee Raising You, And Your Real Mother, Barbara, Trying To Take You Back


“Oh, sweetheart, what have you gotten yourself into?”  

Lee swooped down and picked the girl off the floor, setting her on the counter in front of her. The child was crying. Her knee was bleeding and broken glass was on the floor.

“Were you playing with the snow globes again?”

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So. A Niall who embodies ‘lucky in cards, unlucky in love’. But like, in a truly brutal way, because he’s been making fortunes since before he was of legal age to gamble, has more money than he could spend in several lifetimes (and he’s tried, okay – has bought cars, a yacht or two, watches, clothes, apartments, drugs, you name it) and has finally reached a point where he realizes that spending doesn’t make anything better. That material objects and a reputation as someone who’s got it all doesn’t cover anything up of fill up those hollows inside of him, because the losses he’s suffered cling to his insides. Are raw in Las Vegas noise and neon lights. It’s a brother who couldn’t stop with the drugs that Niall’s money bought them. A mother who passed away after a gruelling fight with cancer. A father who lost himself in sorrow, who no longer saw the world clearly, who couldn’t quite understand the changes Niall was doing for him, to show him that he could do better. Be better. Be that son he always thought he’d be when he was a kid.

Niall’s got his life as together as he can, now, which isn’t very together at all, but his surface seems alright. Isn’t a picture of a guy who’s got it all, but an image of someone who’s fought to be where he’s at. Someone who owns a successful hotel and casino in Vegas and knows every damn aspect of it. The staff, the guests, the facilities, the lot of it. There is a spa on the fifteenth floor, and a penthouse that is entirely his own, and a popular bar at ground level that promises classic rock. Rolling Stones. Pink Floyd. Acoustic versions of bone-rippling songs from the past, to sink into with alcohol and merriment. It’s Niall’s favourite place, apart from his home higher up in the building. His go-to place when papers are signed and the sky looks lonely because Vegas happens downstairs without it. Without him.

And it’s a Friday night and Louis is working the bar – is grabbing Jameson before Niall’s had the time to sit down at his usual spot at the end of the wooden counter, and Niall is settled. Fills up with companionship. Lets wounds within scab over, here, in friendly presence of a long-time colleague, and drinks in whiskey and surroundings. A bloke on stage, unknown, stealing attention from each table with long, skinny legs and enticing, barely-there flutters of eyelashes attached to closed lids. A man, singing his heart out through low, molten flecks of syrup. Vowels drip right out of him, become light and soar like smoke in the air moments later, and the room’s never been so in love before. Neither has Niall, because he doesn’t want to lose anyone else.

He doesn’t realize that the Earth keeps spinning, moving, rotating with the galaxy through space and time until Louis stops his thoughts from rushing in the opposite direction with childlike, infatuated enthusiasm, humming an agreement of, “Mhmm,” and preforming a wiggle of understanding eyebrows. He’s impressed as well, with the star that’s snuck through the sky and landed on their stage.

“How did he do that? There’s not – ” Niall stutters. A scratch on the stage, on the building, out on the street, he wants to finish. Maybe one on my heart. A shocked crash of a hello to startle it back to life. Hi, here I am, I collided with you. “I haven’t hired him.”

Louis refills his glass – alerts Niall through that gesture alone that the thing burning upon his tongue and in his throat isn’t his heart burning itself; that Niall’s just downed his liquor. “Liam did, after I’d made you swear to delegate some of your workload. You can thank me with a raise.”

“Yes,” Niall says. “No – no. This is bad. It’s gonna be bad.

“He’s brilliant,” Louis points out, in cahoots with an audience that chimes in with its cheering for the supernova in the room, the explosion of minds and hearts as the last notes of Starman are sinking into appreciative walls. The world is fucking ironic. Niall’s not amused. Is already feeling the effects of the alcohol – doesn’t drink much, these days. Not with Greg’s old sobriety coin in his back pocket, heavy with guilt and reminders. With lost love and the desperation to never ache that badly again – to never think that he can mend those wounds again, to give that shit another try.

“He is,” Niall agrees. The whiskey cheers. His stomach’s jittery. “It’s bad.

But it’s not like he can fire the guy. He wants to. Has the position and right and mind to, but his lips are going numb by the time midnight has come and gone, and this won’t work out turns into where have you been all my life and they keep drinking until the morning. Talk about music. About youths spent in London, in Camden, in daydreams of taking over the world. Talk about careers not working out, of people met never to be seen again, lost in rushes to go places. Wonder aloud how they both ended up here – how they’ve both taken whiskey from the bottle Louis left once he’d closed up the bar and dropped more and more of their professionalism down the neck of it. And Niall doesn’t care, just wants to talk more and more until that natural rasp of Harry’s voice has become something decadent enough to truly belong here. To stick around in Vegas air and locked in secrets of drunken fuckups. To never want to leave.

It spins on after that; the planet, the galaxy, Niall’s mind and heart and tongue as it talks. Says the most idiotic things to a Harry Styles who only laughs back as though Niall is charming. A Harry who blushes no matter how many times Niall praises his work, his talent, the artistry that runs in veins and fingertips and – which Niall doesn’t say – makes Niall feel beautiful whenever Harry rubs a hand over his shoulder, side, or back in appreciative friendship.

And there’s protection to find in their positions. A boss and his employee, being a bit too friendly, maybe, but still nothing that can’t be swept away with jokes and laughter because that’s how it goes around here. Friendships that tie everyone from the bar to Niall’s front door together and make this place so fucking successful.

But then there suddenly is more. Is a searing kiss. Wandering hands. Lost breaths that make the hollows inside of Niall burn before they’re soothed over by the sounds Harry make into his mouth. Clothes discarded, personal rules broken over and over again as an elevator brings them home, into bed, into bliss and a brand of desire that will burn Niall down to the soles of his feet.

Harry’s slim, but broad. Has a waist to dig fingers into. Kisses like he means it more than anything he’s ever sung over strange heads and into Niall’s chest. He touches Niall with feverish want and fills him up until the world scatters around the edges of Niall’s vision, and he hasn’t felt like this before. Has never been so happy and desired and scared in his life, and he can’t tell Harry that he loves him, after. After night upon night spent talking about their lives, confessing secret desires and stories suffered and daydreams reflected in the other’s eyes. Can’t say it, because he’s lucky in cards, and Harry’s not one. Harry’s a star. A world. Is everything but a game, so Niall would lose him if he said it.

(Only, after weeks of mind-blowing sex and Niall being a martyr, trying to let Harry go to give him a shot at proper love, after Harry breaking down in a heap of shouts and emotion and consequently breaking Niall’s heart, too, he says it in a rush of terror and want and is rewarded with Harry in his arms,  with Harry sinking into him, into chest and bone, into hollows and wounds that won’t ever heal fully but that seem to beam from inside of him as though the memory of his family is proud of him, and HAPPILY EVER AFTER STUFF.)

Robb Stark imagine

Request: none

warnings: language, violence

I held onto Brans waist laughing. He was hysterically laughing. It was amazing to see how happy he was compared to yesterday.

“Not to fast.” Robb said as Bran kicked his horse to go faster.

“You be quiet Robert Stark!” I yelled back at him.

Theon let out a booming laugh, whilst Robb and Bran laughed at me. Bran rode a little ways away from Robb. We came into a clearing slowly.

“Bran, I think it best we turn back now.” I said a little nervous.

We looked around for any danger. Then these people came out from behind us and circled us. One grabbed our horses’ reins.

“All alone in the deep dark woods.” A disgusting woman said.

“We are not alone.” I said protectively.

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anonymous asked:

You are an amazing writer and I love your stories. I was reading one of your crossover prompt responses and couldn't stop wondering about the part you left unanswered. Who do you ship Tim with in the Marvel verse?

Hi babe. Just, okay, soooo. Ah, @yozoraarashi talked to me about the possibility of Tim staying in the MCU at one time (it’s here) so O_O here’s a little something. Ah, it’s terrible and unedited, however, the saving grace is the suit. So, I regret nothing.


The golden R on his chest gleams wickedly, sharp, in the night, and he just breathes.

He might be older now, wiser than the last time he did this, but it’s a crazy thing how his heart is pounding so hard, like when he was new to everything and throwing himself off buildings wasn’t second nature.

And standing on the Iron Man platform of Avenger’s Tower, looking out over this world’s version of New York City, he gets that incredible feeling all over again—like he’s starting over. Like he can do things right this time. He’s got the knowledge, the fight, and the right reasons to put on the domino, to let the black and yellow hang to his heels, to heft the bo like it’s an extension of his limb. He still has the same drive cultivated during his tenure, the need to be part of the Mission—to do everything he can to make sure the baddies in the world don’t get to hurt other people, to make sure no other little eight-year-old boys have to watch their mommies and daddies die.

Robin is going out there tonight—and he’s bringing a whole lot of please, try me along for the ride.

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The Village Idiot (Avengers x reader)

Request: Avengers x reader “I’m starting an idiot jar. Any time you do or say something idiotic you have to put at least a dollar in it– more depending on how stupid the thing you did or say.”

“I’m sorry, Sam,” Natasha pleaded quietly, “I thought that would work.”

“Well you thought wrong,” he winced, watching her wrap a bandage around his leg that was quickly turning red with his blood, despite her best efforts.  “Maybe next time we let Steve stick to planning, alright?  I mean, it wasn’t the worst idea you’ve ever had, but still…”

“I know, I’m sorry,” she repeated, shaking her head, “I feel like such an idiot.”

“Hey, don’t go that far. Let’s just say you’re disillusioned on what makes a good decision.”

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What Are You? Part 8

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader (Friendship) Steve Rogers x Reader

Warning: Swearing so far.

@chrisevansthedoritobastard   @143amberrose   @mayfeather27   @impossiblealice  @coley0823 @chrisevansthedoritobastard  @holahellohialoha  @thejameebond   @ladylachesis  @fanficgirl2727

“She’s cute though.” Peter grins throwing muffin pieces at you as you exit the coffee shop.

“I guess I’m just not into red heads.” You laugh batting away muffin pieces flying at you.

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Honey and Wine

That Greek God Modern AU with @peachpitsss

Credence/Newt, teen rating but may fringe at mature if you squint.

On AO3 Here (forgive my ugly mobile format): http://archiveofourown.org/works/8924524

“Dionysus is represented by city religions as the protector of those who do not belong to conventional society and he thus symbolizes the chaotic, dangerous and unexpected, everything which escapes human reason and which can only be attributed to the unforeseeable action of the gods.”

You never felt doubt, until you looked into the eyes of a British man wearing his strange, pagan amulets, smiling nervously before he looks away and takes the leaflet from your lifeless fingers.


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anonymous asked:

"Papa! Your finally home!" Thomas cooed. He'd spent every night at camp crying for his father trying to be strong but waiting for him to come back. His tiny body slamming into the man's side " you kept your promise!" (Caughtbetweenatorrieandapatriot )

Abraham’s knees nearly buckled right from under him when he felt Thomas race forward and slam into his legs. He omitted a startled “Oomf!” and looked down to find his son – his beautiful son – practically attached to his leg. “My boy!” The man cried out, scooping the little blonde up in his arms. Abe pressed some dozen kisses to Thomas’ face, squeezing the child as tight as he could.

Abraham felt as though, at any moment, he’d be pulled away from his family – just as he had countless times before. Thomas and Mary were no more than grains of sand, continuously slipping between his fingers. His father was a grain of sand as well, one that he’d lost amongst millions of others – and could not get back again. And so, Abe cherished this small moment in all of its glory, reunited with his son.

“Look at'cha – you’ve grown!” He bounced the boy on his leg, huffing over exaggeratedly. “And you’re gettin’ big too!”


cocklesheadboop  asked:

Hey I have a one-shot request. I love fics where cas becomes transformed into a toddler like 1 or 2 years old and Sam and dean need to look after him and obviously cas is crazy attached to dean and its all super cute and then when Cas gets transformed back somehow he still wants to be cuddly with Dean. And turns into destiel obvs.

Here it is! (sorry if it’s crap) (and here is the link to it on fanfiction.net if anyone wants)

“Dean, I think we’ve got a case.” Sam’s voice called from the other room.

Dean sighed, stretched and got out of his seat, walking out of the kitchen and leaning over Sam’s shoulder to glimpse whatever it was he was looking at on his laptop.

“What is it?” He asked.

“Well, it seems like someone’s been messing around with other people’s ages. Look, five people in the last month have been reported to have suffered either sudden age loss or gain. Three people have been aged by as much as forty years – one guy went from being thirty seven to around seventy – one has been turned into a teenager, and another into a baby.”



“We’ve seen this before right? With that witch – Patrick?”

“Yeah, we have.”

“So it’s another witch, then? Someone is stealing people’s years again?”

“I guess.” Sam shrugged.

Dean scanned through the article on the screen again. “It’s not that far from here. Only upstate. We could get going now.”

“We could.” Sam agreed. “You wanna call Cas?” He looked up at Dean from where he was sitting – and was it just Dean imagining it, or was Sam smirking at him?

“Alright.” Dean nodded, avoiding Sam’s eye, a muscle in his jaw clenching unconsciously. “Yeah, I’ll call him.”

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Player's heart // chapter ten (last one)

CHAPTERS: one two three four five six seven eight nine 

Yep guys that’s it. This is a last chapter! Sorry it might be confusing with time gaps. This is basically how the story ends and how the life looks for them, hope you enjoy it! <3 Third person pov.

Val wasn’t sure what he should do. He was still standing frozen to the ground feeling like his legs weren’t attached to his body.

“Man what was that?” Alex his best friend asked a little bit surprised.

Val shook his head as he looked a this friend.

“What was what?” He asked blinking.

“Don’t treat me like an idiot. That kiss with Zendaya, what was that?” He didn’t want to let go.

“Well exactly what you said it was a kiss.” I said dumbly.

He groaned and rolled his eyes. “Seriously Val since when things changed between you two.”

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