toe pad

takaska  asked:

ok this is a really weird question and im not totally sure youll know the answer, but maybe youll know someone who does??? do hippos have feet or hooves. me and my significant other are going back and forth both providing conflicting articles that call them different things. i dont know why this happened but i would like to know if they are referred to as hooves or paws or feet or what please help

They have feet! 

While hippos are members of the Order Artiodacyla, the even-toed ungulates, the closest living relatives of hippos are actually cetaceans. Like hippos, the oldest known ancestors of cetaceans have also been described as having feet

Species in Artiodacyla are characterized by having feet with an “astragalus (a bone in the ankle joint) and an even number of functional toes (two or four), with the main limb axis passing between the middle two digits.” Artiodacyla includes “pigs, peccaries, hippopotamuses, cetaceans, camels, llamas, alpacas, mouse deer, deer, giraffes, antelopes, sheep, goats, and cattle” (Source). 

The interior structure of a hippo’s foot is more similar to that of a pig than that of a hoofed mammal in the same order. 

(Hippo foot. Source)

(Left to Right - the feet of a pig, a red deer, and a camel. Source). 

This is a great image from the cenozoic life blogspot that illustrates the foot anatomy of the same modern ariodactyls whose skeletal structures are shown above:

“Illustration showing the foot anatomy of modern artiodactyls: (1) the foot with four functional toes as demonstrated by the hippo, (2) the more common cloven-hoofed foot in which there are always have two functional toes with reduced or absent lateral toes, and (3) the padded foot which is found only among camels. In all cases, the central third and fourth digits support the main body weight and the first digits are always absent, resulting in an even number of toes.”

And here’s some baby Fiona feet to round out the post, because I can’t help myself. (source)

radxxregs  asked:

"I really love holding you, darling" w/ Frank Castle please💕

Frank Castle + this prompt list

A/N: wow i love frank castle and also i can’t end drabbles to save my mcfucking life. would 10/10 recommend listening to winter by birdy while reading, and also @kurtwxgners @brownvalerie pls enjoy some soft frank castle, from me to you my loves

The winter chill is biting, cutting through the closed windows and the meagre comfort of the shitty heating in Frank’s apartment as you sit up, cuddled up with Max under the thickest blanket you could find, waiting for him to come home. You’re half asleep at this point, curled up against the end of the sofa, the book in your lap sitting open but long forgotten as your mind wanders through the hazy twilight that comes between sleeping and waking. It’s nearing four am, not that you’re really aware of the time. You’re just waiting on Frank. No matter how often he tells you not to, you wait up for him. You just need some kind of proof that he’s alive before you go to sleep at night. It’s the price of loving him, you figure. The tension, the panic, the worry for his safety. Small price to pay for him, though. 

Later, though you’re not sure how much later, the door creaks quietly open and then clicks shut again, the sound jarring you from your almost sleep. Frank slips quietly into the apartment, a faint frown of concern crossing his face as he sees you on the couch. He hates that you worry like this over him, hates the stress he causes you, but he’d be a liar if he said it didn’t make him happy to see you waiting for him. Especially after the night he’s just had. He doesn’t want to turn the light on because he doesn’t want you to worry when you see his blood soaked clothes and battered knuckles. It was rougher than usual, though rough is all relative at this point. Every night is rough, but tonight was a bad night. He doesn’t deserve you, but all he wants is to be near you right now, so he deposits his guns on the table as quietly as possible and toes off his boots, padding over to crouch beside where you’re stirring on the couch. 

“Sorry I’m so late, beautiful,” he murmurs, gently brushing some loose hair back from your face as you blink drowsily as you stir from your half conscious stupor, giving him a soft smile, barely visible in the dim apartment.

“S’okay baby. You’re back now,” you reply sleepily, reaching for the switch on the lamp beside the couch. Your previously peaceful expression rapidly morphs into one of alarm and concern as you take in Frank’s fresh black eye, split lip and bloodied clothes. “Oh my god, are you-are you hurt? Let me get a better look-”

“Don’t fret, sweetheart, I’m not badly hurt. Just a little bruising.” A blatant trivialisation of his aching ribs and split knuckles, but he’s weathered worse and he doesn’t want to think about his injuries right now. “Just-c’mere. Please.” He moves to sit beside you, pulling you carefully into his lap, enjoying how willingly you shift across the couch to wrap him in your arms. He tucks his head against the crook of your neck, his eyes slipping closed as he breathes you in, revelling in your warmth and softness as your fingers card gently through his short hair. Maybe he’s selfish for wanting this, for being with you despite the danger he knows it puts you in, but he doesn’t care. Not tonight. He just wants hold you, to ignore the dangers and the deadly, terrible tasks he has ahead of him. 

“You wanna shower, baby?” you ask quietly, still not moving from your position on his lap. “Wanna go to bed or just sit for a while?” He doesn’t respond, so you just tilt your head slightly to press a kiss to his temple, settling a little closer against him. He loves you for it. For knowing what he needs without him having to say anything. He’s loved you for a while now, but hasn’t had the nerve to say it. Actually saying the words out loud is admitting he has something he can’t bear to lose, but tonight, here with you in his arms, they’re hovering closer to the surface than ever, just out of reach. 

“Hey beautiful,” he murmurs against your skin, pausing as you let out a low hum in response. “I-I lo-” and just like every other time he’s tried to put his feelings into words before, they stick in his throat. He’s a coward when it comes to things like this, and he’s made his peace with it. Mostly. “I really love holding you, sweetheart,” he finishes, his voice trailing off a little as he presses a slow kiss to the hollow of your pulse, hoping he can tell you, without saying it, just how important to him you are. 

Because you are the most important thing there is in his life right now. More than his mission, more than the furious sense of purpose shoving him out into the streets each night, you’re what’s holding him together. Your hand moves from where it’s carding through his hair to cradle his jaw, delicately tilting his face up from where it’s hidden against your neck so you can lean down to kiss him softly. It’s gentle and slow and the tenderness in your touch makes his head spin, because he may be terrible at communicating, but all your feelings are right there on the surface and all it takes is a touch to know you understand him perfectly. 

I just want to make sure we all know sombra doesn’t wear toe shoes / vibrams. The are thick tights/leggings with reinforced padding on the under side. If they were toe shoes, the shading defining each toe would be much more pronounced and go further into her foot. 

That is all, good night.

Name: Boris

nick names: Big Boof

Appearance: Is 6 feet tall, has dark fur and a white face with grey cheeks. His ears are round and stand up, but can lay down when expressing emotion. he wears dark overalls with one pocket on the front and big shoes. supports white gloves and a white bow on the chest.
personality: very sweet, kind, innocent, not that bright, friendly, good natured, sensitive, gullible

2nd werewolf form

appearance: huge, fluffy, paws drag, long thick black claws, white paw pads. 3 toes and an aposable thumb, 3 toes on back legs. looses grey on the cheeks and ears are always back unless listening to something.
is roughly 6 feet and 5 inches in this form

Upgrade

Summary: Genos gets a minor upgrade, and Saitama is intrigued.

Words: ~1300

Rating/pairing: General. Saitama/Genos fluff, pre-relationship

Note: I wrote this mostly to try and get something written. It’s silly with just a touch of feels.

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aftercare

I.
Ninety-two days
out of the mental hospital
you told me,
“cool it with the cookies”.

See, to supplement the Klonopin
I cooked up my own cure.

Three slightly underdone
chocolate-chip cookies
taken by mouth each night
with a glass of cold milk
and forehead kisses.

I was trying to bake
back you to life:
to that good old
golden brown.

Remind you what it is
to have sweetness inside.
Convince you to to be alive.
If for nothing else,
dessert.

II.
The same metal spoon
that crushed the pink pills
under the press
of your numb fingers
now scoops out the dough
into gooey spheres
plopped on the pan.

But the chub was chunking,
you said with a chuckle.
“Maybe some carrots and dip?
I want to start running again.”

That’s the first time I knew
you had moved back into
the home of your body.

III.
Movie night,
indie flick,
Craigslist couch,
lightly salted
sweet potato chips
(sans chocolate).

I am the Little Dipper
and you are the Big.

She’s on the floor now,
the lady on the screen;
she’s committing suicide.
No. She’s attempting it.
There’s a difference.

My breath is suddenly
sucked into the quick sand
-trap of my trachea.

We are both so still and so quiet-
there is a stillness and quietness
to watching any movie,
of course.
But this is different.

This is a nauseating nostalgia.
They will call the police now.
She will stay there for weeks.
By the time she gets home,
the carpet will have been replaced
with eggshells.
The cutlery with plastic.
The locks on the bathroom
door with keys atop the frame.

Just then, your arms
tighten around
the circumference
of my belly
and you breathe
in the hair twisted
down my spine.

That’s how I know
you want to be here.

IV.
Some days the shadows are sticky.
Some days you wake up
with cinderblocks stacked
sixty stories high on your chest.

Some days I pull your parts
out of bed, piece by piece,
and assemble them back
into a body. Paste the knuckles
to the palms,
screw the knees to the bend,
shingle the shoulders
into their scaffolding.

Some days it works
and you walk out of the house
breathing mechanically.

Some days I can’t find the “ON” switch
beneath the bruising shadows.
Some days I flip it
and nothing.
I flick it up and down furiously
and you don’t even blink.

V.
Some days lick you limp.
Some days I kneel by the bed
and cry into your toe pads,
begging them to curl
and carry you into your day.

Sometimes I swear
we are playing
Hide and Seek
because I spend all day
searching for you;
even through you’re right there.

Some days it’s all I can do
to push the straw
between your clenched teeth.

Some days your shadow
stands upright and drags
your carcass behind it.

VI.
Some days I play a solo game
of Hide In Case You Seek.
Stash all the steak knives
in my sock drawer;
bury the box cutter
in the plant’s dirt.
Count the pills.
One, two, three, four…

How long has it been since
I checked that you were still breathing?

How long has it been
since I took a breath
without measuring its
length, it’s intention,
its air quality
against yours?

VII.
Last night I watched you get tattooed;
the white plane of your wrist
reborn in sharp technicolor.

You did not tell the artist how
that very swatch of skin
had once been promised
to another;
another blade that was hungry
to spill hues across your skin;
but only two: red and then black.

As she scratched meaning
into your arm,
you began to leak
with your own pigment.
I watched you bleed
to live and not to die.

That time blood on your wrist
meant you had chosen life.

VIII.
You just told me
you’re getting your graduation
picture taken this Wednesday.
And next fall
you’re going to the rainforest
to save the sick animals.

Look at you baby,
going places.

IX.
But for now,
you are here.
My head is on your shoulder.
I see your x on my map.
What a treasure.
You are here.

X.
May you always choose
to stay.

For all the people who are either A. thinking about declawing your cat or B. dont see anything wrong with declawing cats, let me tell you my personal experiences with declawing.

I work as a vet tech and see roughly about 3- 5 cats get declawed EVERY week. I cannot even begin to rightly explain how bad these cats suffer after the procedure. Usually when theyre waking up they start flailing their feet (since the feet are bandaged up and theyre in pain) and start hitting their paws on the side of the cage, usually instantly making their bandages a complete bloody mess. Sometimes if the vets didnt completely glue the paw pads together (yes, they dont suture the opening up, they literally glue it) after AMPUTATING the cats ends of their toes, the paw pads will tear open and just bleed, making us have to wrestle down the cats and apply more glue to their already painful feet. The next day we take off the bandages, clean up the cats usually bloody feet and make them look as nice as they did when they came in and send them off with their owners, who are completely unaware of what their cat just went through. 

Just yesterday at work we had a cat come in who got declawed a few months back and was limping on one of his feet. After taking a closer look, we realized it felt like he had a splinter in one of his toes. We put him out and opened up the toe to find, low and behold, that the cats nail started growing back in this poor cats toe, literally making it so that the cats foot got stabbed every time he put pressure on that foot. And if any of you have felt a cats nail, you know how sharp they get. 

Declawing makes cats more likely to bite, I’ve experienced it. Declawed cats usually wont let you touch their feet because theyre uncomfortable, even years after, Ive seen it. Declawed cats usually end up with severe arthritis in their feet, Ive seen it. And the reason vets dont tell you all these things is because they make money off of crippling your cat, I have seen how much money we make off of declawing cats. The procedure only takes about an hour, which means we can fit in more declaws in a day, which means easy money. 

Im tired of pretending like I dont see this happen to cats every single day I work, and Im tired of putting my morals in the back of my head because Im scared of what would happen if I said something. Its time people start speaking up, if everyone were to stay quiet, nothing would ever get done. 

STOP DECLAWING CATS. 

Sinking - Part 3 - Smut

Originally posted by lolenka

Author: @dumbass-stilinski
Rating: NSFW 18+
Pairing: Stiles Stilinski/Reader
Words: 4,307
AN: 3rd and final part. Thanks for sticking around and being so encouraging! Ya’ll are the greatest! xoxoxox Special shout out to my hoes, love you guys so much. 

Part 1
Part 2


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anonymous asked:

Question, how do draw your dragons feet Love your art, it inspires me to draw

Thank youu, it makes me really happy to hear I’m able to inspire someone! (´;ω;`)♥

There’s this post I made some time ago that you can try using. 

Hmmhmm answering this was way harder than I thought it would be! I’ve been drawing dragon feet for such a long time now that when I do them I just kinda draw them in without too much thinking. Also I’m not that good at analyzing my own processes and my anatomy skills are quite lacking SO I don’t know if I can actually get any helpful advice out of myself but I’ll try my best to shove some examples your way!

Look for reference material depending on what kinda feet you wanna draw; for example here’s some refs i used with my latest dragon drawing

Birds and reptiles offer a really great range of different kinds of feet options! You should also look into all different kinds of animals’ feet to just kinda see what aspects of their anatomy you like and could use in your own work. When drawing the front feet you can also try looking at your own fingers and try to adapt those shapes and joints into your drawing. 

Here’s a lil tutorial for hind feet that i tried to put together. It’s really rough but maybe you can get something out of it (´▽`;)

Start out with a really simple guideline of what you want to do and continue to add some “bones”. Add some meat around your “bones”. I usually start with the toe pad type things because I think it makes it easy to figure out what your foot is gonna look like and it gives a good base to work on. Keep adding structure to your foot until it actually kinda looks like a foot and you should be good to go! I think you can use this kinda method to do all kinds of different feet by just altering the thickness and/or the length of the toes. ALSO don’t feel obligated to draw dragons with 5 toes, I just like to draw them that way! (*・∀-)☆

I hope you maybe got something out of this answer! If you have some more specific things to ask about this whole thing or if something i said made no sense, feel free to throw another ask my way! (•́⌄•́๑)૭✧

(If the pictures are too small, let me know!)

Oberyn x Baratheon/Lannister!reader...

((I love me some Oberyn….I hope you all enjoy))

Word Count: 2,203

Warning: Smut but nothing too detailed about half way through

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anonymous asked:

Drabble: number 4, " ...let's roll the dice " RafaelxReader, maybe discussing having a baby together, they're married and worried about how it will work out with their jobs and such? Also, congrats on 900 ❤️

*wobbly bottom lip* oooooooomg awe… and thank you so much!!

Originally posted by rundalek


“I saw Noah yesterday,” despite how innocuous it sounded- having his eyes glued to you and awaiting a reaction certainly made it feel more important than it seemed.

Now didn’t quite seem the time for small talk: with you trying to shove documents into a briefcase while simultaneously grabbing bites of breakfast. “Oh did you?” Interestingly enough, he nodded eagerly your way upon acknowledgment. “I bet he’s getting big, it’s been awhile since they’ve been over.”

He pursed his lips in thought, then dropped his gaze to the coffee cup in front of him. “He used to be so small, you know? I remember when he was just a newborn-”

Memory lane for someone else’s toddler? You didn’t really have time for this this morning, but it seemed to mean something to him- “I’m surprised you recall his infancy so fondly, you were scared of the baby.”

Rafael’s jaw fell; “I was not!”

“You refused to hold him,” it was rude to talk while managing a mouthful, but the opportunity was too good to miss even if you were biting onto toast to keep it from falling. “You were terrified of him, you thought you’d break him.”

His brows furrowed together, trying to recall the memory in his mind’s eye. “Well they’re just so… precious, you know… so small, so pure.” 

The way he spoke of babies- it actually caused you to pause. Had he ever really mentioned little children before? You couldn’t think of a time he had, but now it seemed to be the only topic on his mind. “I suppose, when they’re not in the way.”

His face- when he turned to catch your stare again, he looked as if you had somehow pained him. “In the way? I think children are brilliant, why would they be in the way?”

“Since when did you find brilliance in tiny, dependent people?”

“The thought of adoring a child is ludicrous to you?”

This conversation had taken a serious turn you certainly hadn’t anticipated. A quick look at the clock- you really didn’t have time for this right now. “I… I didn’t say that,” what were you even defending, and why did he suddenly care what you thought about children? “I just-”

While you fumbled over an apology you didn’t think was warranted, Rafael stood from his chair. Quickly, he slammed shut the folder he’d been so busy with and stormed past you, not even bothering with a goodbye or his typical kiss for your cheek.

Left alone, and rather bewildered, you suddenly found time: to sit, to stare across at where he had been sitting, to breathe and consider the odd conversation…

Near his barely-touched breakfast was a calendar, with red circles surrounding a date you had already known to be anticipating: His birthday. Another year older, another year wiser… and apparently, another tick for his biological clock.

… Was your dear husband seriously considering fatherhood?


Instead of heading towards the door, as you knew you should be, you wandered through the corridors of your little condo until you finally found him- sitting, in his office chair, trying his best to look distracted with a pretentious novel.

“Rafael;” patience was prevalent in your words, and you hoped your hands laying atop his shoulders could convey the compassion in your heart. “Rafael- why are you suddenly so concerned with children?”

Your stoic man, able to maintain the chaos of a courtroom, slumped back into the cushions. “I… I honestly don’t know,” he lay his head to the side, until his cheek could rest against your knuckles- you lift your thumb to graze his face. “I suppose seeing everyone around me with their kids, watching them get older… while I get older.”

At least this bridge was getting crossed. “Darling, you’ve never said you wanted to have children.”

“I didn’t know I did,” he reached up, curled fingers around your wrist so he could gently tug you around the chair. “To be honest, mi amor, I didn’t know a lot of things until I found you-” laughter, more like nervous chuckling, but you’d take any happiness you could. “I never wanted to be in love, it was all so messy… I certainly didn’t want to get married-”

“Really?” You perched on the arm of his chair, leaned back just enough so you could shoot him a hopeful smirk. “But you fell into husband-hood so well, it’s like you’re a natural.”

“It was easy,” lazily, he drew little circles over your pencil skirt with his fingertips, “I still remember, the moment I first saw you, I wanted it all. You were like a light switch, took all the dark drearies that I lived in and made it bright, showed me the way.”

You combed his hair back, carded through the strands with a careful hand. “All I’ve ever wanted for you was happiness, Rafael.”

“I know,” he nodded, finally found the bravado to look you in the eye, “and all I’ve wanted was to give you everything. To live, to love, to grow with you.”

To grow. He hadn’t quite mentioned that mantra before.

A baby. Of course, there was an extra bedroom in the home, full of light- it’d make a darling nursery. Your man, patient and forever kind- he’d really make a wonderful father. What if, instead of stilettos and the squeak of leather shoes, there were little toes padding over your hardwood floors? That Lucy girl, the Lieutenant’s babysitter- what if she had room to take on another charge sometimes? What if, of an evening, instead of having your noses in case citations and depositions; you two read stories to a teeny tiny bundle of joy?

“Mi amor?” His voice tore you from the rambling list of hypotheticals you had somehow found yourself so preoccupied with. “I probably shouldn’t have said anything, it’s a silly thought,” while you blinked past the haze of switching gears, your precious husband took your hand up in his, pressed a kiss to your skin. “We’re too busy, it would be too much, I must just be being silly-”

To be honest, you had never considered children. Yet for some reason, right in this moment, knowing he had an affinity for the idea, and picturing the domestic paradise that could come with itsy-bitsy spider songs and eency-weency hands… well, the leap of faith didn’t seem so deleterious anymore.

“Rafael,” you rocked off from the chair, shifted so you could crouch before him instead. Taking advantage of his hold on you, you lifted his hand, so you could nuzzle your cheek against his palm. “My love, maybe… maybe a baby would be quite darling… do you think it’d have your eyes?”

Between the two of you, always, there was all the love the world could ever offer- more than either of you ever thought existed. It gave new reason to your soul, new strength in your bones… if the two of you were already so perfect and resplendent; imagine the new life you could bring into the world, together?

Rafael’s lip trembled, he bit back tears the best he could and leaned forward, so he could leave a kiss on both of your blushing cheeks. “The gene pool’s a gamble, mi amor, there’s no telling precisely how beautiful our baby could be…” longingly, desperately, he gathered up both of your hands in his, brought the bundle of fists to rest over his rampantly beating heart. “Mi Corazón, if by any miracle you’d want to bless us with a miracle… let’s roll the dice…”

These kisses were meant for this exact moment: your lips found his, and he tangled his fingers in your hair while cradling your face. Hundreds of times, you two have kissed, yet this precious peck shared at this very moment- it felt like the most glorious affection you’d ever received.

“I’d love that, Rafael… you’ll be the most brilliant Papi there ever was…”

His tears escaped, fell against your cheeks as well as his; and the smile you had been searching for finally reappeared; “Te amo, mi amor… I love you so.”

That Certain Time....

Pairings- Dick Grayson x Reader

Requested by @living-breathing-bibliophile- heyyy! can you do a dick grayson/ bat fam fic where reader is on her period? Please!

So sorry it took a while! Forgive us?

PS. (y/s/n/)- Your Superhero Name. XD

  You were swinging form rooftop to rooftop, which is officially the worst time to get your period.

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Imagine watching horror movies with Niall. Since he had the day off, he’d spend his time cleaning up the apartment in that meticulous way of his (you weren’t all about color coding your shirts) and prepping. His way of prepping meant takeout, wine, and lots and lots of snacks. Most of them unhealthy, too.

It’s a win-win situation for you. You love horror movies. You love wine. You love takeout. You love unhealthy snacks. And, of course, you love Niall. You’re losing nothing in this situation.

You’ve always been delighted by horror movies, ever since you were about nine years old. Of course, certain movies have done you in: Mirrors, for example, had you crawling your way into the bathroom to avoid looking at the vanity for at least a week.

You think a healthy scare is good for you.

Niall does not, but he’s always down for horror movies. They freak him out, he’s said in the past, but he’ll watch them because “I know ya like to watch me just about shite me pants.”

After work, you rush home, excited for the evening. It’s Friday, so you can stay up as late as you want; no work for you tomorrow!

Once you’re home, you slip off your shoes and dig your toes into the padded carpet floor with a sigh of relief. “Ni, I’m home!” You call out as you make your way to the bedroom, shrugging off your work clothes as you do so. You toss them into the hamper and change into a pair of plaid pajama pants and an old t-shirt. “Ni?”

“I’m in here, love!” Niall calls back to you, presumably from the kitchen. You pad your way over to him and smile at the sight of him: he’s shirtless, in a pair of sweats, and he’s dealing out the Thai food he ordered on paper plates. God, you love this man.

You greet him with a kiss, and when he nips at your lip you pull away giggling and wag your finger at him. “Uh-uh. Movie time!” You crow. This isn’t an occasion that happens regularly; normally you store up horror movies, rent them all in one go, and sit through the night to make it through them.

Niall rolls his eyes playfully. “Chipper about death and scary things, I see,” he jokes, and you reach over and pinch his bum in retaliation when he turns his back. When he yelps, you toss him a wicked grin, grab your paper plate and a fork, and head out to the living room.

The couch is already made up with two pillows and a couple of blankets scattered about it. The coffee table has junk food galore, and you’re raring to go.

But you’ve made it tradition to eat dinner first and actually talk with one another, so you do that first, eating delicious pad-Thai noodles while Niall recounts a hilarious situation that happened at the store today involving strawberries and condoms, and possibly pictures on the internet. You talk a little bit about work, but it’s mostly boring. Niall says he’s proud of his girl, and dinner is done.

And so Horror Night officially begins. You manage to make it through two movies without actually screaming in fright, but it’s close to midnight, “the witching hour” as Niall reminds you, the little shit. And of course, that’s the time period the two of you choose to watch some satanic film. A jump scare comes, and you scream, flinching into Niall, who cringes into you.

“Fuck me in the arse,” he grumbles, shaking it off more quickly than you. “That was a good one, got us both.”

For the rest of it, you can’t bare to not be in Niall’s arms. He’s not complaining. Maybe this is why he’s secretly loved movie night: he knows that when you’re actually scared, he’s the person you turn to, the person you need to make everything better. He soothes you in a way no one else does it. And Niall knows it too, judging from the way he presses a sweet kiss to your forehead when you refuse to give him up.

Finally, at close to two in the morning, you call it quits. Though exhausted and jumpy, you manage to clean up the mess of food wrappers and blankets, with the apartment lights all on.

“You’re the man! You have to go turn off all the lights!” You cry out later that night, safely bundled in bed. Niall blearily looks at you and shakes his head. Then, with a resigned sigh, he heads off to the kitchen to make the rounds.

But you discover being alone is worse than turning off all of the lights. “Niall!” You squeak out and dart down the hallway, skidding to a stop in the living room, where he’s already turned off the light. “Give me your hand!”

Niall lets out a tired chuckle and takes your hand. Together, you meander through the apartment and turn off the lights, the last one being the hall light for the bedroom. The bedroom, at least, needs to be lighted for a bit longer.

“That was productive,” you sigh out as you clamber into bed, Niall beside you. You look at each other for a bit. “Those movies were really scary.”

He dips his head in agreement. “Yeah, good luck sleepin’ tonight, babe,” he says and you pout.

“I think I’ll be able to sleep as long as I’ve got you.” You say, before leaning back and flicking the lamp switch off. Now, only the lamp on Niall’s side is on. Slowly, he flicks it off too, and in the darkness, you both move towards each other so you collide somewhere in the middle of the bed, tangling your limbs up and holding each other. One of your legs is tossed over his hip, his arm is across your chest.

The two of you fit perfectly together, like puzzle pieces. Normally, you don’t sleep like this, just next to each other and close enough to touch. But nothing brings you closer than the fear of the devil jumping out from the darkness, so wrapped up like a pretzel, you sleep the rest of the night away.