Rough Around the Edges

upperstories submitted: 

Climbing up six flights of stairs was a pain.

Climbing up six flights of stairs after driving what felt like thousands of miles without stopping for anything but gas and coffee wasn’t much better.

But climbing up six flights of stairs with a bad knee, three exhausted bundles of living ink clinging to you like a lifeline, and going on nothing—no real food or water or even a bathroom break—but sheer grit? Downright impossible.

Henry Ross cleared it in half his usual time.

He didn’t care how late it was, how much he ached or how much he wanted to just curl up next to the chipped floor molding and become comatose, he was not in the mood for any of his neighbors catching him as he was. He just thanks god his doorman, a short ruddy-faced man named Patrick, had fallen asleep at his desk before he’d snuck in, like old Patty always did after 11:00 PM.

“644, 645—646,” said Henry, stopping to catch his breath.  “Here. This is it.”

He could feel Boris, Alice, and Bendy collectively sigh in relief, wilting like lilies in the hot summer sun.

Boris was fairing what seemed like the best of them; hand on Henry’s shoulder for balance, but with enough of his druthers to stand upright without help. Alice clung to Henry’s left pant leg, leaning heavily, her black eyes barely open, and not at all complaining when Henry used his free arm to help keep her steady. Bendy, for all his intents and purposes, hadn’t left Henry’s grasp since the studio, tucked against his left side with his face half buried in the old animator’s collar. Henry was pretty sure he’d fallen asleep at least 3 times on the way—he had one hell of a loud snore for a shorty. He hadn’t asked to be put down once, but Henry did not complain. It had been a long day for all of them, but Bendy had had it the roughest—which was saying something, as Henry had learnt that hard way that being turned into a living cartoon was no picnic.

“What’s the plan, Henry?” said Boris, catching Henry off guard.

“Plan is, uh,” Henry mumbled, fumbling with keeping Bendy and Alice from toppling over while he fished for his keys. They weren’t in either of his pockets… where were they?

“Get inside, go to bed. Try to sleep and…” He sighed, “I don’t know, come up with a better plan in the morning.”

“Works fer me,” Bendy muttered, not even opening his eyes.

It was then Henry noticed a small shimmer along the door’s upper frame. Bracing Alice as best he could, he reached up and ran a hand along the top of the door molding and caught something metal on the far corner. Of course. Right where he left it.

“Henr—ry?” said Boris, muffling a yawn behind the back of his hand. “That, uh, don’t seem particularly safe there, leaving yer key where someone can find it. What if someone tries breakin’ in?”

“Not to worry Boris,” said Henry, smirking to himself sardonically, “I doubt anyone would find anything of mine worth stealing…”

The lock gave a rusty clunk, and Henry shouldered it open.

The sound of a rickety radiator and the smell of old newsprint, a faint burnt wood-like scent, and cardboard greeted them along with the faint sting of old alcohol. The light of the hallway cast a thin orange glow into the otherwise pitch-black apartment. Henry couldn’t remember feeling so relieved to see color, faded and muted as it was.  He ushered everyone in and quickly shut the door behind them before trying a light switch. It flickered twice before dimly glowing weakly, barely any better than the hallway light. With a small fzzt!, it went right back out.

“Great,” Henry grumbled. It took a bit of blind stumbling, but he managed to reach a tall lamp next to the couch and switched that on instead. The bedroom was cast a pale light, giving everything a pale bluish tint. “Gonna need to replace that.”

Alice and Boris blinked in the sudden light, Bendy preferring to just keep his face buried under Henry’s chin.

“Well, uh,” Henry said, eyebrows creasing as it seemed something very apparent dawned on him. He tried his best to smile, but only managed a wince and he half-heartedly motioned to the living room. “Here we are. Home sweet home.”

The light made it easier to take stock of just how messy the man’s apartment really was. A quintessential bachelor pad, with bare walls, sealed and opened boxes alike strewn everywhere, bookshelves decorated with everything from empty whiskey and beer bottles to unfinished model ships—and pretty much everything except for books. Dirty laundry littered the floor, waste bins sat overturned in the corner. The kitchen looked almost unused, save for the stacks of pots and pans stuck to the grimy stone tops, and piles of unread junk mail and bills sat on the kitchen counter, unsorted. The couch looked about as comfortable as a sack of potatoes, the green fabric a shade greyer than when it was first bought.  One of its legs was held up by an old phone book.

A thick, sturdy easel and stool sat out of place in the corner, next to a far window, unmistakable in spite of a tarp covered it. Stacks upon stacks of blank newspaper leaned against the corner behind it, book-ended by empty sketchbooks that looked hardly handled. A stray sheet of sketch paper poked out from under the tarp, the off-white paper marred with frustrated, uninspired scribbles of charcoal.

Henry was suddenly acutely aware of Alice and Boris’s stares. He coughed.

“Sorry about the mess,” said Henry, rubbing the back of his neck and looking down, “I don’t, uh, get guests all that often.”

“S’alright Henry,” said Boris, voice no longer tired. His ears had pulled back, eyes downcast as well. “We don’t mind it.”

“S’not like we got anywhere else to be,” Bendy mumbled, peaking up. “Even if it is a pig’s sty.”

“Bendy,” said Alice, sharply.

“Any port in a storm, huh?” Henry shrugged, smirking ruefully. “Alright, alright, everybody to bed. We can worry about this mess in the morning.”

He didn’t need to tell the Toons twice. Henry herded them into the next room, which was surprisingly less musty than the den. There were still more piles of boxes strewn about, sure, but the desk next to his bed was only slightly disheveled, and bed looked well made. Almost as if Henry never really slept in it… or used his bedroom at all.

He led Boris to one end and helped him strip the covers to climb in. Afterwards, he lifted Alice up onto the mattress. Up next was Bendy.

“Alright, short stuff, time to get down,” said Henry, leaning down for Bendy to easily fall onto the mattress. Which he did not. “C’mon, I need my arm back at some point.”

“Can’t here yah, I’m asleep,” said Bendy, pretending to snore, clinging all the tighter.

It took a couple of attempts, but he finally managed to pry Bendy free from his side, his arm practically all pins and needles from the tight hold the little demon had on him. In spite of the little devil’s petulance, Henry gently set him down next to Alice and gave his arm a slow pinwheel stretch. He ignored Bendy’s pointed, pouting glare, clearly not liking being rudely stripped from his warm perch. The fact that a draft ran along Henry’s apartment didn’t improve things much either.

“It’s cold,” said Bendy.

“I know. Sorry,” said Henry. He shouldn’t feel this guilty. “It’s all we got for now.”

The apartment was small, the circumstances messy, the bed a single, and tomorrow looked big and uncertain… but it was all Henry had on such short notice. He only got color back a day ago; he could worry about living conditions later.  

Tomorrow. He could worry about it tomorrow.

He motioned to tuck them in and—stopped himself when Bendy gave him a look.

Why had he moved to do that?

He rubbed his neck and stifled a yawn with his knuckles.

“I’ll be in the den if you need me,” he mumbled, suddenly feeling very foolish.

“You’re not staying here?” Alice asked. Boris looked surprised as well, but Bendy ignored all of them and crawled under the sheets, pointedly looking away from Henry. Something about that stung, just a little.

“Not enough room for all of us on there, Angel,” said Henry. The stinging didn’t go away. He’d gotten them all out, hadn’t he? He brushed it off. “But, uh, I’ll leave the door open. You can bug me for anything.”

Alice nodded, but she looked like she wanted to say something else. Henry waited… and she just followed Bendy, tucking herself between the demon and the wolf without another word. Boris gave Henry a little wave, but didn’t say much more before his head fell back on the pillows. Within seconds, he was snoring up a storm along with Bendy, Alice silently snoozing between them.

“Thing’s’ll be better in the morning,” he said, half heartedly. He wasn’t sure if he was talking more to them or himself. “Promise.”

The Toons said nothing.

Henry trudged to the couch, every inch of him feeling almost as heavy and war-beaten as when he returned to the States from the Front. As he turned off the lamplight, he only hoped sleep would come to him as easily as it had the Toons.

In spite of a million thoughts churned in his mind, clicking like giant cogs. The studio, Bendy, Boris, Alice, Sammy, Joey, their escape, the look on Bendy’s face and the strange ache it left in his gut. Or maybe he was just tired from all the running and the fear and the coffee. Henry pushed it all down, too tired to think, and fell face first onto the lumpy, familiar couch. His arm was left dangling over the side.

Sleep fell over him like a thick, lead curtain. Like a flood of inky black.


Henry awoke from a nightmare, and for a moment he thought he was still dreaming it.

He couldn’t remember much, except there had been whites and grays and something about sheep—or was it the 3 little pigs and the big bad wolf?— and a big, empty black void collapsing on top of him.  A faint whine broke through the void, someone’s whine—was it his? When his eyes snapped open, all he saw was black, and his heart wouldn’t stop pounding.

He was back. He was there. Back in the studio. Escaping had just been a wonderful, hopeful dream and he was still there he was going to die there and the Toons Were In Trouble—!

But when Henry bolted upright, he felt the familiar lump fabric of his couch, heard the familiar sound of taxi’s speeding by his building in the horrible early hours following midnight. He even welcomed the musty smell of newsprint and old beer. He wasn’t in the studio. He was safe.

And the Toons—

Henry leapt to his feet and bolted for his room in two easy strides. The door was open. And in the bed.

They were there. Safe and sound. Their silhouettes were easily recognizable, even in the faint moonlight and the faraway streetlamp light

Boris was leaning halfway out of the bed, tongue poking out and lolling to the side as he snored, his feet jutting out comically from under the covers over the end board. The blanket looks uncomfortable small on him. Alice was breathing deeply, her face twitching occasionally from deep REM, but otherwise looking peacefully saint-like. Her halo was crooked and looked dangerously close to falling on her face, disturbing her sleep. Bendy was silent, facing away from Alice and…

He softly whined.

Henry was at his side in a second. Had he woken Bendy up with his frantic flailing in the next room?

No, Bendy was still fast asleep, his face scrunched up tight, hands balling up the blanket and comforter in bunches, hogging it and pulling it away from Boris. A droplet of ink dribbled from his temple, staining the large pillow they shared.

Bendy was having a nightmare.

Without thinking, Henry reached for his pocket and pulled out a grey-stained handkerchief. Praying he didn’t startle the Toon awake, he gingerly mopped the loose ink from Bendy’s forehead. Bendy flinched away, curling tighter into himself. The little devil suddenly seemed very small.

Henry quietly shushed him and continued mopping up his clammy forehead, swiping it in long, gentle strokes. Slowly but surely, Bendy’s hands began to unclench, his brow starting to dry. His face refused to give an inch, his whines only becoming more anguished.

“….mmm…jo….ey?” Bendy breathed.

Henry’s chest seized. He lost his voice, but only for a moment.

“Nah… no, half pint,” said Henry, all the gruff and bite leaving it as he spoke softly to the little devil. “S’just me.”

A pause. Bendy shifted, shut eyes seeming to relax a fraction. “….old m’n?” he muttered.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s old grouchy me,” said Henry, wanting to laugh. “Everything’s fine. Go back to sleep.”

“…stay’ere th’s time… kay?” said Bendy. His face finally relaxed.

Henry stopped mopping.

All at once, Henry faintly remembered something very striking. Something very specific. When he was a young lad, he’d become sick with pneumonia, and despite all his aching and griping and being a pain, his mother had dropped everything— work, her book club, volunteering at the library— to sit at his bedside for almost a whole three-day weekend. It had almost made up for being sick while school was out. And while he was sick, she read him stories. Treasure Island and Huck Finn. He never remembered thanking her for it, but he did remember drawing James Hawkins fighting Captain Long John Silver. She’d tacked up his drawing on the fridge with a green magnet and never took it down. She smiled for weeks on end after getting that gift.

He thought about that memory— that old smile she had where the edges of her eyes crinkled at the edges, and her teeth shown and she wheezed out a quiet laugh.

Seeing Bendy go back to slumbering peacefully, he could only wonder… Had this been how she felt while he was growing up?

A tightness settled in Henry’s chest and a whole different ache fell over on him. It wasn’t an entirely new realization, one he’d been grappling with ever since Boris had shakily asked Henry if he really meant they’d all escape with the animator. Ever since he’d found Bendy blindly running from his own solemn doppleganger. Ever since He’d told Bendy that he was his own story’s protagonist.

He was responsible for these three now.

Now, that wasn’t to say that Henry was irresponsible. He was a hard working, a dependable man of routine, and could even come handy in a pinch. 

But this was different. This was new. This was terrifying.

He was an old, bitter man. No living family left to speak of. Well on his way over the hill. Never had a thought in his mind about marriage or kids of his own, often only keeping his focus on staying alive, both during and after the war. Hell, he never even thought he’d set foot near an animation desk again before heading off to see Gabriel’s pearly gates (if he was that lucky). And yet, here he was, with three cartoons dropped in his lap. Who probably wouldn’t be able to handle living in the real world yet. Who probably shouldn’t be sharing a tiny bed in the middle of a run down apartment on the ass-end of a filthy city.

What could an angry old man with a tiny apartment and hardly anything to his name do for them?

“mmm… h’nry?” Bendy whined. Henry snapped out of his quiet, rising panic, stifling a yelp.

“S-still here,” he managed, feeling his voice crack.

“good…” Bendy relaxed against the pillow, completely at ease. Completely trusting.

The tightness in Henry’s chest finally unfurled, and his eyes felt a slight sting. He covered his mouth to muffle a deep, shaky sigh. Bendy had complete and utter trust in him. Was that a good thing? Did Henry deserve it? In spite of all that had happened these past few days, he suddenly didn’t feel so sure.

But… this was his chance right? He was supposed to figure things out now, wasn’t he? He felt so unprepared, like he’d been thrown out in No Man’s Land all over again.

But then again… this wasn’t like the war. Or the studio. Things were on his turf. If anyone should’ve felt like fish out of water, it was the Toons. He was the one with the knowledge of how the real world worked, how colors looked and how real sunlight felt on your skin.

He had to be there for them. He was going to be there for them. 

They were all he had now. 

Feeling more tired than ever, Henry stood from his seat as quietly as he could. He quickly grabbed Alice’s halo, just before it could teeter another centimeter and drop onto her nose, and after giving it a quick polish with his handkerchief, he set it on top of the bedside lamp, perfectly centered. He set to work on the blankets, adjusting it to be spread out evenly between the three of them— he left Boris’s feet sticking out, finding the silly sleeping position suited the wolf— and tucked them all in. It wasn’t the best, rough around the edges, and the blanket was lopsided. But Bendy re-curled around, snoring softly and facing Alice. Her head lolled, and she in turn nestled comfortably atop Bendy’s horns. Boris snuffled and licked his snout before settling more deeply against the pillow. They all seemed to just… fit together. Like puzzle pieces.

Henry felt that unfurling feeling return, and he quickly wiped his face.

Despite being exhausted, he hardly felt like returning to the lump couch. He returned to Bendy’s side of the bed, and took a seat. He knew his neck and back were going to kill him tomorrow, but he could worry about that later. He had more important matters to worry about.

Like making sure the other three got the best-damned night’s sleep they ever got. He wasn’t about to let their first night in the real world be a sorry one.

Tomorrow was going to be the roughest day of his life, and yet, somehow, he couldn’t find it in him to mind it.



Subtle and Nuanced

Summary: Killian Jones has an unusual relationship with a neighbor in which they exchange notes via cat. He’s also slowly falling for his flower shop’s newest customer. Surely these two things are unrelated.
Rating: T
Notes: Happy birthday, @thejollypirate​! I’ve owed you this story for ages, so this seemed like the best time to finally get it to you! Welcome to adulthood, it’s the worst, I’m sorry. Thank you to @lifeinahole27​ for reading it over!


Content warning: Pet sickness and a trip to the veterinarian.

As far as Killian was concerned, it was Liam’s fault. When the window had first gotten stuck, and Killian had mentioned he was going to phone the landlord, Liam had told him not to bother, that he would fix it himself. He was relatively handy, and it was always easier to do minor repairs and bill the landlord for materials than it was to call and wait and wait and wait for the man to send someone over. And so Killian had agreed, and waited for his brother to fix it.

But of course, Liam kept forgetting. After all, the window wasn’t in his bedroom, so it was easy to forget the damn thing wouldn’t shut. And when Killian would remind him, he’d either make an excuse about how late in the evening it was, or how busy he was, or make a comment like It’s July, Killian, it’s not as though it’s cold out, you’ll live another day.

And then of course, Liam’s boss had to back out of an extended, weeks-long business trip at the last minute, and the only person who could replace him was Liam. And after dropping him off at the airport, Killian returned to find a huge gash in the screen of his bedroom window. Now, not only did the damn thing not close, but now all manner of insects could get inside the room as well.

All manner of insects and, he discovered, the culprit.

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richie x eddie

really quickly, as someone who suffers from panic attacks somewhat regularly, i just wanted to say that if at any time YOU feel anxious or are in need of someone to talk to, my messages are always open. i’ll be there as quickly as i can if you need to chat ❤️❤️

if you find reading about panic attacks triggering, please refrain from reading this one. i’ll post another reddie fic soon for you to read x

Richie’s shoes scuffed noisily against the cracked pavement beneath him, the glasses sitting on his nose occasionally slipping down as sweat built up below his forehead. It was a sunny day, with absolutely no wind to race across your skin and cool you down. There wasn’t a child in sight, their bikes and soccer balls left on the front porch as they instead lay in the shade. It was far too hot for any games today. Richie felt his eyes squinting against the sun, similar to what they’d done before he got his first pair of glasses.

Eddie strolled beside him, his hair pushed far back from his face and his pale cheeks bright red from the heat. Or sunburn, Richie couldn’t tell. His shirt hung loose around his stomach, and Richie was suddenly envious that he hadn’t thought to wear a looser shirt. It would have been a hell of a lot cooler than this Hawaiian shirt, he thought to himself. But he felt too embarrassed to take the over shirt off, so on his shoulders it stayed.

As the two bounced down Main Street many thoughts raced through Richie’s head. The loudest would be curling his fingers through Eddie’s own, and walking hand and hand down the concrete sidewalk. He’d almost done it too, but he had the sudden realization that Eddie might not want to. Sure, they’d shared a few moments together, and Richie was almost certain that Eddie liked him back. But the thought of Eddie drawing his hand away at Richie’s touch scared him too much to actually attempt the action. Plus, my palms are probably too sweaty, Richie added into his thought train.

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New Zealand Gothic
  • You live by the beach. You’re in the middle of the city, but still there is a beach. You swear it never used to be there, but you’re not sure when it showed up. It’s getting closer, forever closer. They say it’s because of rising sea levels. You don’t believe them.
  • “Keep New Zealand Green”. The slogan is everywhere. Billboards. Rubbish bins. Chip packets. People smile and say it as they put their rubbish in the bins. “Don’t litter,” they say. “Keep New Zealand Green”. The ferns whisper it as they rustle. The trees tell you in their touches, as the branches reach to stroke your face. “Keep New Zealand Green,” people say, monotonous as they throw their soda bottle away. They are no longer smiling. There is fear in their eyes. The “Or else” is unspoken.
  • Your cousin littered once. You never heard from him again. 
  • Food is always on the news. They’ve changed the recipe again. “Of what?” people ask. “Everything,” the media replies. “Nothing is the same.”
  • You take a trip to the States, and everyone thinks you’re Australian. When you get home, there is a kangaroo sitting on your lawn. You don’t know who you are anymore. 
  • John Key gives a stretched smile as he gazes into the camera of the press conference. His mask cracks. The nation pretends not to notice. Silently, they wonder what lies beneath it. 
  • Winston Peters has said something stupid again. “How is he still in Parliament?” your uncle asks. You don’t know. You can’t remember him not being there. Neither can your dad. You check the Archives. He has always been there, it seems. He will always be there. There is no escaping him. 
  • “When I was a kid, I rode my bike outside,” your mum complains as a child on a bike passes you on the footpath. “Kids never ride their bikes these days. They never play outside.” Another kid zooms past. And another. And another. The footpath is nothing but children and their bikes. Why can’t your mum see them?
  • There is a new cabinet member. He is just sitting down for his meeting. His palms are sweating. At the head of the table, John Key lifts his hands to his face. No one but his cabinet sees beneath his mask. The new member wonders what lies beneath. His imagination paints a vivid picture of monsters and tentacles and creatures of evil. John Key peels away his skin. It is much worse. Much, much worse. The cabinet member gulps. Tony Abbott smiles back at him. 
  • “The Haast’s Eagle, now extinct, was big enough to carry off an adult person,” the museum guide tells the group of school children. “Imagine that! Thank goodness they’re not around anymore.” You turn away, so the children can’t read your expression. You can’t lie like the tour guide. One day, the children will find out the truth. It’s better for them to think they’re safe, for now. 
  • You visit Christchurch. The earth starts shaking and you dive under a doorway. Around you, people carry on. “There’s an earthquake,” you try tell them as the building sways violently. You can hear the beams groaning, unable to take the pressure. A crack opens up in the floor beside you. Two old ladies are shopping for clothes and stop to reassure you. “It’s just a small one,” one of them tells you. A hanging light that was swinging perilously snaps and crushes her. She doesn’t scream. “Just a bit of a shake,” the other one says. “You’ll get used to it, after a time.” You’re scared she’s right. 
  • “Don’t scare the kiwi,” the lady at the kiwi house tells you. But the kiwi aren’t scared of you, you think, as they scuttle around in the dark. They know that there is something much more terrifying out there. Something that only they remember. 
  • Maui angered the sun, when he caught it in his net to slow it down. Now, it glowers down upon you all, waiting to kill the unsuspecting. You are scared that one day you will forget your sunhat, and you will be the next victim.
  • “Slip, slop, slap,” you are taught in school. “And always wear a hat. Or the sun will get you”. Your mother covers you in sunscreen, over an inch thick. You only have a gallon left in the bathroom. Your supply is getting low.
  • “I’ll reapply your sunscreen in an hour,” she tells you. But you forget. You cry in agony as your skin catches alight. You wish Maui had left the sun alone. 
  • The kiwi are wise. They hide from the sun, and scuttle around at night. They are the only things that will survive in this accursed land. 
I bleed words, baby

You said I bleed words
Ink dripping from my teeth like the sweat on your back
There was a time when all I ever did was think of you
When every poem I wrote was written with you in mind
In my heart, I let you go
But my words reflect the ramblings of a woman drunk on the idea of misrepresented love taking center stage
And so it is just how you said it was
I bleed words
Ink dripping from my mouth onto napkins
Tossed into trash bins and littering the streets of Nashville with my bad attitude and hopelessly romantic ways
And I’ll bleed words until I bleed out onto your bedroom floor
Until all you see is my red ink and white lies floating around your head
Like a goodbye never spoken
Like a hello never shared
Like a time never wasted
I bleed words, lover
And all you bleed is blood.


This is the penultimate of the little fics inspired by Ed and Divide. Other two are here + and here +

This one inspired by How would you feel, mush factor 3000.  Already know the last one I’ll do.  


Liam finds Zayn outside.  With a cigarette, of course.   For a moment, he just stands and watches the silhouette that stands in front of him, lit only by the summer moon as the light finally fades. 

Behind Liam, in the room, it’s finally quiet.  It’s past 2am now.  Popped balloons cover the floor, and every table has empty bottles, and red wine stains on the tablecloths.

In Liam’s head, today has formed a million and one memories and that’s what he can remember now, when he sees the photos, he’ll remember all the things he won’t believe he forgot.

It’s hard though to take notice of anything when all you ever wanted in your life is there standing in front of you. 

And has been since the moment you went halfsies on a McChicken sandwich meal and a Mcflurry all those years ago. 

To now, the present and all that they have in front of them.  That’s what matters. 

“It’s a bit creepy when you stand there all silent, staring at me, i mean it’s certainly not for me arse is it?” Zayn pauses, takes a quick drag  on his cigarette and then when he’s exhaled he adds, “Mr Malik-Payne.”

He turns his head to look back at Liam, this small grin that’s growing larger by the second.

They’ve called each other that for so long.  It’s just that now, as of seven or eight hours ago, it’s official. 

Liam takes the two or three steps to move next to Zayn, reaches his hand out and Zayn knows, hands the cigarette to him and Liam takes a long drag, and then as he takes the cigarette away, he exhales, looking down at it as he does.

“We still quitting?”

“Yep, only allowed one bad habit I reckon once you tie the knot.”

“What’s the bad habit you’ll keep then?” Liam asks.  Knows the answer already of course. 

“Some bloke that gave me the last bit of the Rolo ice cream McFlurry in 2010, literally the worst habit ever and yet there I was yesterday, saying all kinds of dopey romantic shit in front of all those we love and trust, and now I’ve no chance of kicking that habit, what about you?”

Liam leans forward, takes a step down to where the small litter bin is on the small paved area in front of the grass, and stubs out the cigarette, then he stops still, looks to the  ground and then upwards.

Zayn’s there in front of him now, still lit up by the moon, this half smile on his face.

This half smile that Liam’s had as the last thing he sees before he sleeps, whether they’re together or not, since he was 16 and Zayn, 17. 

The half smile that he’d gone home and dreamt about after that first weekend in March.

The half smile on the roof of the X Factor house, even though Zayn was petrified of heights, that he’d offered Liam along with a place in his life, in his heart, that Liam knew he’d fallen in love with that year and yet had taken him so long to work out. 

The half smile that, when they’ve had a fall-out or an argument that’s gone on for days, made worse by separation and all the stress, has shown itself and Liam knows then, no matter who’s fault it is, and really who’s bothered anyway, it’s okay.

It’s his for life.  Or at least as long as they are each other’s life.  

The half smile drops, and Zayn clears his throat, and this is what it’s like sometimes, not just for Liam either, they  got lost in what’s been, and the potential for what’s to come.

He takes the 2 steps in one go and then he’s turning Zayn to face him, cocks his head to one side, and takes in the way Zayn looks.

Simple, crisp white shirt, black trousers, and okay, they probably cost a bomb, but they could be twelve quid from Primark and he’d still be everything.

Lately Zayn looks younger, it’s amazing what planning something like this can do.   

Still mired in the crap, but when it’s just them, when they aren’t stuck in the middle of the that  grind, it just fades away, and it’s there still, like a low hum as a background noise, but they know not to knock into it, not to bother it, and the time will come in a matter of days that the volume will turn up but for now, it stays that way. 

And they live with it, they carry on with it there, and they thrive in spite of it there. 

Liam lifts his hand up to cup Zayn’s cheek. 

“My bad habit?  It’s also my best habit.” 

“Cheesy sod,” Zayn teases and they smile and then silently Liam moves his hand away from Zayn’s cheek, places it on the back of Zayn’s neck and he moves in closer to Zayn, so their hips are aligned though Liam’s a little taller. 

And then he feels a hand placed on the small of his back and then the fingers of their free hands link together.

There’s no music, just the sound of the night, and the occasional bubble of laughter from somewhere within the grounds of the hotel. 

They just sway, they stay silent, each lost in their thoughts, lost in the fact that they have each other.  

With luck they’ll  grow old together, have shit times, have great times, have kids that they’ll welcome into their home if they’re lucky, live to see Batman: we said that was infinity the final episode but we were lying, and breed their own puppies.

And then one day Liam’ll wake up and Zayn’ll be deaf as a post, or they’ll lose their false teeth. 

But each day Liam thinks he’ll marvel at the way that his love, it never stops building and each time he thinks “Well, that’s pretty deep, and you can’t love him more than you do.”

He’s wrong. And he doesn’t think that’ll ever change.

Zayn’s voice brings him back.

“Eh you, I can hear you thinking, you’re ruining this dance, second one of the night too, you can definitely tell it’s our wedding day.”

“Was, Mr Malik-Payne, we’re an old married couple now, that was yesterday and this is today, and anyway, i have plans for this second dance, plans for you and your no arse as well,” he says the last few words with a quick up and down of his eyebrows and a smile that promises all that Liam intends to deliver. 

“Oh yeah?” 


“Hey Liam, jaan,i love you.”

It’s a feeling each time it happens, each time Zayn is so tender, like Liam’s heart is growing right there and then and each time he can’t find the words, so he just presses his body closer, his lips finding Zayn’s.

And that’s how he knows.  That’s what they have, a lifetime.  

Them. The best and worst habits.  

The Lost One Part 1

Pairing: Eventual Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 1002

Summary: You work in a café but on your way home you find something unexpected.

A/N – No Bucky in this chapter yet.

Originally posted by caffeinatedcollegefreshie

Working in a café had its perks; you met wonderful people, you watch as students and business people order their choice of beverages and give them quick access to food. What was it that attracted people to the coffee shop that you worked in? Was it that coffee shops offered an irresistible convenience? Was it the free Wi-Fi that allowed people to work or just to check up on their friends, or to check through social media while waiting to head off in their own direction? Whatever it was you didn’t mind, you got paid at the end of the week and return home at an early time.

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Genre: Smuttie Smutty Smut

Members: Jeon… A.k.a #MrRudeAndFlirtLately

Word Count: I have no idea Just read fam

You are on a sweet date with your very own cute yet sexy boyfriend JungKook. The times you freely meet are rare so you are doing everything you like while hanging out at his place. 

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Another chance

Name: Another chance

Author: Aya-Fay

Fandom: Fantastic Beasts and where to find them

Pairing: Newt Scamander x Reader

Theme: Newt finds out you smoke.

Tag: @umbrellas-and-tallymarks@oswald-cobblepot-is-my-addiction@fantasticbeastsimagines@elvirateaqueen13@queencobblefreezestuff@myregardstothereader​  @rawrcoptergaming​  @seaweedredandbrown@ohlookfanfiction@hirainhisrain@waywardtimemachinejellyfish@this-is-a-unique-username​  @socktrollqueen@eli-cya​ 

Originally posted by your-harry-potter-imagines

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anonymous asked:

Do you not feed Luffy and Ghibli hay? I checked all of the photos on your "living spaces" page and I didn't see a hay rack or hay anywhere

it’s hard to see from the angle of the pictures but if you look closely you can see that there is hay in their litter bins. we keep hay in their litter box because they like to poop while eating. more than half of the bin is filled with hay. it is always refilled daily and we dump everything (1-2 days), rinse/wipe down the litter box and fill with clean bedding and fresh hay.

bunnies NEED hay. ghibli and luffy love 3rd cut timothy hay (crucial) as well as orchard and bluegrass. we order from small pets and kms hayloft. i’ve attached a few pictures for you to see~ xoxo

this is MY hay!