#Cream and Yellow rug

[aeinjela]

Cream and Yellow rug, 5x7, 6x8, 7x10, 8x10, Geometric carpet, Tufted area rugs, Bedroom, Living room, Oval shape, Premium Wool

Introducing our Hand Tufted Rug, a stunning blend of style and comfort that will elevate any room in your home. Available in soft cream and vibrant yellow, this geometric carpet is designed to complement a variety of decor styles while providing a warm and inviting atmosphere. Crafted from premium wool, our rugs are not only visually appealing but also durable, ensuring that they will withstand the test of time in high-traffic areas such as your bedroom or living room.

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[slowwshoww]

it’s hard out here being a bitch who loves grey bc every interior design Look w grey is boring as hell use grey as a BASE or an ACCENT not as the whole thing

[illusionsofinsight]

Living Room - Enclosed Remodel ideas for a mid-sized, enclosed, formal, transitional living room with a dark wood floor, white walls, a corner fireplace, a stone fireplace, and no television.

[girlfurniture]

Basement Walk Out Basement - mid-sized transitional walk-out medium tone wood floor and brown floor basement idea with beige walls and no fireplace

[casscaincampaign]

New York Transitional Basement

[grapejuicestyless]

Paper Crowns

Harry Styles x fem!reader

Summery: After finally having some down time after a hectic few weeks, you and Harry finally get around to decorating for the holidays.

“What do you think?”

My gaze was drawn to the thick, red and green stockings hung over the mantle, embroidered with the first initials of our respective names. Along the brick hung thick ropes of tinsel spread through the deep green garland with pops of red cranberries scattered throughout.

But the real show stopper hadn’t been the festive rugs, or the seasonal mugs, or the extravagant lights Harry and I had woken up bright and early to hang all across the roof and the gutters, but the tall tree that sat squished in the corner of the living room, a small blanket wrapped around the base of the tree and a thick pine-y smell wafting through the house.

It was decorated with a mixture of ornaments and garlands that shouldn’t have mixed, but due to the extreme randomness of the assortment, it felt all too perfect. Each ornament was a souvenir of a shared experience or memory that tied to places that expanded down the Western and Eastern coasts of the United States all the way to the beach-y shores of Australia. Some were collected from our families, old art projects from our early school days, or framed family photos that we used to find embarrassing as children.

There was crumpled up tinsel in all different colors and red and silver and blue and yellow ribbons swirling around the branches. But right on top, sat a beautiful, golden star that shined so brightly, it put all the other sparkling things to shame. And it felt so much like home, I felt like the grinch. My heart had grown three sizes bigger.

“It’s perfect, Har.” I complemented, vaguely aware of the comforting of his hand resting against my hip, pulling me closer to him as we shared a small space in the center of the room.

He smelled of shaving cream and vanilla, and he was as warm as the crackling fire by our feet. We’d spent so much time together, running around in private so that one day, we could both return to the spotlight. Harry now adorned a scruffy mustache, one I was familiar with, and one he had previously grown out during the lockdown a few years back. In this light, one could forget that he was Harry Styles, because under our shared roof, he was simply Harry. Nothing more, nothing less.

“M’glad we found time to do this together this year.” I spoke softly, my eyes flickering from the shiny decorations to the deep greens of his eyes. Only to find that the entire time, he hadn’t been admiring our work the same way I had, but rather he hadn’t been stuck looking only at me.

“Me too.”

In previous years, though Harry and I were both granted a few days off from our hectic work schedules to enjoy the holidays with family, the weeks leading up to it never seemed to synchronize. But, a bare home is a sad one, so when eventually, snow began to turn into slush and our house looked eerily dark compared to the other houses around the block, one of us would end up setting up the house in the quiet, letting the moon be our company while the other was far away attending to their own problems.

This year was different. Harry wasn’t touring, and the album had been finalized a long time ago. As for me, I had finished press for all my movies, and the premieres had come and gone. I could spend my days laying at home now, tucked beneath a blanket with the satisfaction that it had all washed over, and I had the pleasure to bask in the glory, not in Time Square or the heart of Los Angeles, but beneath the covers with my head pressed against my lovers chest, sighing out in total bliss.

“Theres only one more thing for us to do.” Harry smiled, leading me across the cold wooden floors to the dining room, which had been pre-set with all the plates and cutlery for our eventual guests that would roll in on Christmas morning.

Next to each plate lay a large paper tube shaped in something close to the appearance of a bow. Christmas Crackers, is what Harry called them. Cardboard-like things that were meant to be pulled apart like a wishbone, a harmless game where the winner of the larger half would win a small prize.

I smiled, leaning my hip against the table and watched as he leaned across the table cloth to grab one of the spare crackers that sat in the center of the table next to the stacks of candles.

“What do I win if I get it?” I asked softly, grabbing the end of the game firmly between my fingers.

“Is the prize not enough?” Harry laughed, his eyes crinkling happily as he bared all his teeth in his smile.

“How about a kiss. Just to satisfy my cold heart.” I teased, and he didn’t argue. We both knew that despite the result, I’d get what I wanted either way. It was Christmas time after all.

“What if I win?” He raised a brow. “What do I get?”

I hummed, watching his grip tighten around the other end, his fingers flexing under the strength of it.

“Anything you want, my love.” I promised him softly, blush rising on both of our warm cheeks at the open promise.

Harry simply nodded with a teasing smirk, counting down softly under his breath, but skipping the two and jumping to three like he often did before his songs.

There was a short battle before a loud pop sounded, and as we looked down at our hands, I was surprised to find the larger half attached to where I held on.

Inside there was a bottle opener shaped like a reindeer. It was dull and already rusting, but it wasn’t really the prize I cared about, not when Harry was already wrapping his arms around me with a loving grin, drunken in his gaze as his eyes locked onto mine.

There was a paper crown too, purple and delicate. His fingers fiddled with the material before slotting it on my head, and pressing his palms against my cheeks.

When he kissed me, I felt warmth expanding in my chest down to my cold feet, and I swore his lips were meant for mine because they fit so damn perfectly against mine every single time.

When he pulled back, it was with a shaky laugh, and a touch of his mouth to the tip of my nose. The moment felt golden, like something I’d stolen from the world, and I was happy to have gotten away with it.

“Merry Christmas, Harry.” I couldn’t help but giggle at the sappiness of it all. The giddy feelings had me reeling, making me forget for a moment that I wasn’t a young girl in love anymore, but the woman that had proudly grown beside him.

“Merry Christmas, love.”

[charliemwrites]

Government Asset Soap! This is half of the last part (the smut got too long and I wanted to post this dammit).

Original concept comes from @ceilidho’s military asset Soap. Further inspiration came from @391780’s Nikto version “The Summons”. Both are very good and you should definitely check out!!

Content: Post-trauma coping, Non-Con Touching and Kissing, Violence (mentioned), Unstable Soap

It’s probably a fire hazard, the candles. They’re sprinkled across your little cabin like fireflies, feeble but steady heartbeats of a home you’re failing to build. Too many of them, likely. Two, sometimes three, per room. Tiny tealights, smokeless soy, scented pine. It would be easier, safer, to just turn on the lamps you foolishly invested in.

You can’t bear anything brighter than golden halogen anymore, though. The glare drags you back to a tiny cell bisected by cruel metal, holding back an even crueler fate. No, you’d much rather wade through pools of shadow and firelight, fire code be damned.

It’s a small cabin, but you’ve already cluttered it up with furniture and rugs, a theme for each room. Yellow and blue for the kitchen. Purple and cream for the den. Green and brown for your bedroom. Nooks to hide in, spaces to squeeze into, big shapes to huddle behind. You’ll never be caught out in a cold, barren room ever again.

Your days are long regardless of the time of year. Get groceries in town every day, making a point to be friendly and seen so that someone might notice if you suddenly stop coming. Clean incessantly, so many surfaces to dust. Pick hobbies like daisies. Knitting and crocheting, different paint styles, felting. You’re contemplating carpentry, would like to build shelves for all the books stacked up in the den. Keep a dream journal by your bed that you neglect for weeks at a time.

You draw out the nights until you can count the hours until dawn on one hand. Stay up baking, making homemade ink, learning new ways to style your hair, anything, anything, anything—

It’s not the sleeping – or at least that’s not the worst of it. It’s the waking.

Laswell suggested a cat.

You told her to stop suggesting pussy to unstable people.

But it’s still not a bad idea. Another living thing to keep you accountable; the plants are pretty and time-consuming, but not good company.

You talk yourself out of it every time, knowing the worst-case scenario. It’s not catastrophizing if it actually happens, and you can feel an invisible time weighing on your shoulders like another gravity. Tick, tick, tick. Heavier, heavier, heavier. It’s hard to breathe beneath the wait.

The military doesn’t do apologies. It does platitudes at best. Well wishes and good intentions are painted in brushstrokes of blood. Victory flags are planted on bodies, living or otherwise. Laswell apologized. She swore that if there had been another way – any other way…

She didn’t promise to leave you alone. Didn’t assure you that you’d never see her or her goons again.

If you thought it would do any good, you’d tip one of the candles over and set it all aflame. Rebirth through fire. But you never did figure yourself for a phoenix. And besides, a phoenix is still itself, even when the ash falls away.

So, you spool out your time like picking at tapestry threads, one thin string at time.

Tonight, it’s bread. Cinnamon chocolate babka, to be specific. You were craving something sweet. Are debating the merits of some sort of cream cheese icing while you shower off the long, ever-busy day.

Have decided on an optimistic why not as you slip out to begin your overly complicated self-care routine. Moisturizers, hair oils, lotion. An unexpected benefit of overloading yourself, you suppose. Even when you first got out of the military, you didn’t take such good care of yourself. You have a jogging route now. You’re handling your trauma every possible way except therapy. (And sleeping.) Better than nothing, you figure.

The candles have gone out in your bedroom. You click your tongue in annoyance, trying to remember where you left the matches this time. Bedside table?

You pad across the soft carpet, using the edge of the bed as a guide in the pitch black. The only other problem with candles is that their humble light doesn’t reach very far. But you know this house and keep the floors tidy enough that you’re confident you won’t trip.

Make it to the nightstand without incident and pat around. Knock the side of your hand into the little carton and only just catch it before it hits the deck. Let out a little huff and start to fumble it open.

“Nice catch, bonnie.”

You gasp, but your voice doesn’t get any farther than the back of your tongue. The box slips from your numb fingers, matchsticks scattering across the floor. He tsks.

“Shame that. We’ll get ‘em later.”

You can’t move. Can barely breathe. You’re just frozen, heart thundering with a sudden storm of fear and confusion. Hands still aloft in front of you, spine rigid, knees locked.

You feel more than hear movement behind you, and then the warmth of his body seeping into your naked skin. Not quite touching. Not yet.

“Missed you, little bird,” he rasps in your ear.

You always thought that in a moment like this you would scream. Kick and elbow and fight, damn your certain loss. But when it comes down to it, survival drowns out all those stupid, haughty ideas about pride and dignity. So you don’t curse and shout like you always fancied you would.

You whisper, “Soap.”

He hums but it sounds like a growl in your panicked state. “Missed me too, aye? You’re already naked fer me.”

His hands are searing when they settle on your waist like they belong there. He pulls you back against him; in the dark he’s bigger, broader than you remember. At least, you think, he’s fully clothed for now.

“What are you… how are you here?” you ask.

He barks a laugh, mean and rough. “Was only a matter of time after that shite they pulled.”

You squeeze your eyes shut and see it recreated in the phosphenes behind your lids.

Soap buried balls deep inside of you, murmuring a constant stream of filth as he got harder and harder inside you. Filling you up as you twitched around him, oversensitive and teary, afraid of what would come next.

Then the lights flashed, flicked red. An alarm sounded, Laswell’s voice ordering Soap away from you. But he just snarled and hunched over you, hips snapping to bury himself right back inside while you cried out.

The locked door swung in, armed guards swarming in. Yanked Soap off you while you scrambled to cover yourself. Someone grabbing your arm none too gently to pull you from the room. Soap wild-eyed and snarling like something possessed, until he was overtaken by struggling guards and you were trembling naked in that damned hallway.

“Was mad at you, at first, cannae lie,” he says, almost conversational. Your eyes snap open, though you know it’ll do you no good. “But I’ve had time to think on it. Wasnae yer fault, was it? Saw them drag you out.”

An awful relief floods you. Fuck dignity, fuck honesty. This is Soap right behind you, completely unrestrained and unsupervised.

“Yeah,” you answer, voice small. “I didn’t know they would do that. What… um. What happened to you?”

He presses his face into your damp hair, pressing closer, snaking his arms to squeeze you against him.

“Sent me off on some shite mission,” he explains, “probably hoped I’d die out there. You smell so good, lass.”

You shiver as his breath ghosts over the sensitive skin of your neck. Hot, humid.

“And… and then what?” you insist, trying to stall.

You’re not sure what you’re stalling for. There will be no miraculous saves here – not that you really got any last time. It’s not like there’s any real plan to be made here, either. None that you’d be confident enough to risk his wrath on.

“Disappeared. Took care of business. Came to get my pretty little bird.”

A rough hand trails over the curve of your hip, brush the neat curls of your mound. You suck in a breath, hands twitching with the urge to stop him but not sure of putting up resistance when you’re still unsure of his mental state.

“And what about you, hm?” he rumbles. “Been a good girl while I’ve been away?”

His fingers dart down towards your entrance, not nearly prepared for anything. Least of all his thick digits.

“Y-yes!” you yelp, grabbing at his wrist. Relief makes you dizzy when you manage to stop him. “I-I’ve been good. Which means I’m not… I can’t just take you. I need… I need prep.”

He huffs, nips at the tender spot beneath your ear. The thrill that shoots through your stomach is terrifying.

“That’s what these are for, bonnie.”

And to your horror, he starts to push past your resistance like your staying hands aren’t there at all.

“John!”

He freezes. You shudder air into your burning lungs, feeling dizzy on panic.

You can get through this without pain, just think.

“I haven’t even got to see you,” you stutter, voice shaky. Can’t quite inject the disappointment you’re trying for, but hopefully it’ll work. “And I bet you’re all dirty from travel.”

He grumbles. “So what?”

You scramble to think of a satisfactory response. “S-so let’s get reacquainted in the shower, yeah? That way I can see your handsome face, at least.”

He chuckles, grazes his teeth “playfully” across your cheek. “Bossy thing.”

“You like it.”

And to your shock, he agrees with an amused huff. Hauls you up in his arms and walks you back to the still muggy bathroom. You’re set on your feet and spun around, chin jerked up to receive a savage kiss. All tongue and teeth, no finesse. He’s just licking into your mouth, hungry and animalistic, spit dribbling down your chin.

When he finally pulls away, you blink spots from your vision. Finally focus on his smug features and make a soft, horrified noise when you register the splatter of crimson across them.

“Och, that? My little bird had watchers.”

Of course you did. The horror ebbs a bit. Resentment has made you indiscriminately bitter.

“Oh,” you say, “th-thank you. Definitely glad we’re showering first, then.”

“Squeamish?”

You’d like to know when the world turned upside down and John fucking “Soap” MacTavish began teasing you about the blood on his face.

“A bit,” you admit.

“Poor dear,” he coos. “Hard to believe we were made for each other sometimes, aye? Complementary, we are.”

Is that what he thinks? Christ.

You turn to start the shower again, spine prickling with the weight of his eyes on your back. The water rushes down and then he’s crowding you against the cold wall beneath the (thankfully) warm spray.

“Y-you’re still dressed!” you protest between sharp nips to your collarbone.

“Fix it, then,” he snarls.

You claw his shirt up his back, get momentarily distracted by the impressive display of muscle hidden beneath. Draw your palms over his chest and feel him shudder.

“Fuckin’ heavenly, love,” he purrs. “Missed this.”

A vague memory comes back to you, him gripping you close because he felt you naked against him for the first time. Him admitting he hasn’t had affectionate touch in a while.

This… this you could work with.

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Masterlist

[yaniluvs]

۶ৎ (용복) : YOUR WARMTH ALONE ── your sunshine boyfriend ends up bruising himself while trying to skateboard on the snow covered pavement right outside the cabin.

𓍯 bf!felix ʚଓ fem!reader ：（ 𝒾 ） 2.1k ── ༯ DRABBLE, domestic fluff, comfort, bruises, petnames, kisses, corny flirting, slightly worried/upset. ⸝⸝𓂃𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 . /ᐠ.ꞈ.ᐟ\ྀིྀི

yani's note ˖˙ ᰋ blonde lixie has been invading my mind recently, not that im complaining.. >< wrote this while listening to twice's new album ;3 changing my theme a bit (lot) heh. comments, likes and reblogs are always appreciated ! happy reading <3

the tiny, cozy cabin was nestled, in the quiet arms of the snowcapped hills, framed by a winter that seemed softer than usual, as though it too wanted to protect the pair inside. snow cascaded gently outside, flakes falling like whispered secrets onto the untouched slopes of the village. the windows of the wooden loft—frosted around the edges—offered glimpses of a world washed in silver, a serene contrast to the warmth pooling within.

the room held an intimate stillness, the kind that could only exist between two people who’d shared years of quiet moments together. the air was thick with the scent of pinewood, faint traces of cinnamon from earlier tea, and the earthy crackle of the fireplace that painted the walls with flickering amber light. shadows danced on the polished wooden floor, illuminating the textured grain of the pine boards, aged with stories of other winters.

she sat on the plush, woven rug—a deep brown flecked with hints of cream—atop her boyfriend's knees, her legs drawn up loosely to her chest. her skin glowed in the firelight, the straps of her thin top slipping off her shoulders with careless ease, revealing glimpses of lace along her collarbone and the soft curve of her waist. her shorts were loose, brushing against her thighs, and her toes peeked out, cold against the carpet despite the warmth of the room. a stray strand of her hair fell across her face, but she didn’t brush it away, too focused on her task.

he sat beneath her, leaning back against the base of the sofa, his legs sprawled open and his head slightly tilted. damp strands of his blonde hair clung to his temples, catching the firelight like spun gold. his skin, kissed by the faintest flush from the heat inside, bore fresh, angry scrapes and bruises—pale streaks on the otherwise perfect canvas of his arms, chest, and neck. he wore nothing but sweatpants slung low on his hips, the fabric pooling against his ankles as though it, too, had surrendered to the room’s languid warmth.

the small wooden coffee table near them held a folded linen towel and the remnants of a first-aid kit, its contents scattered with quiet precision. her hand moved slowly, a damp cotton swab tracing the length of a scrape along his collarbone. she was careful but firm, her brows knitted in an expression of muted frustration. he didn’t flinch, much. instead, his gaze was fixed on her—soft and unhurried, studying the way the light wrapped around her like a second skin. his lips, slightly swollen from a split, quirked into a faint, rueful smile when she muttered something under her breath.

the loft was small but cozy, a space that felt lived-in despite being rented. the walls were honey-colored, planks of smooth wood rising to meet an a-frame ceiling where beams crossed like an embrace. a single pendant light hung from above, casting a warm yellow glow that mingled with the flicker of the flames. in the corner, a sheepskin throw lay draped across a rocking chair, and a stack of books sat forgotten on a nearby shelf. the curtains were drawn back just enough to reveal the snowfall, which caught in the firelight and shimmered like stardust.

the heat from the fire clung to the room like a blanket, thick and almost too much, but neither of them moved to open the window. the snow outside seemed worlds away, and in this space—this bubble of warmth and quiet intimacy—they were untouchable. the only sounds were the occasional pop of the wood burning in the hearth and the faint hiss of the snow meeting the glass. silence wove itself between them, heavy and meaningful, as if even words would have felt too loud.

felix sat still as best as he could, leaning against the sofa, but every so often, a slight flinch betrayed him when her cotton swab pressed a little too firmly against one of his cuts.

“don’t move,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, tinged with an unspoken frustration that wasn’t entirely anger. her eyes stayed fixed on his chest, focused on cleaning the shallow scrape that ran across his collarbone. she didn’t look up, not even when she felt his gaze on her, warm and unrelenting, as if he could memorize her like this forever.

“sorry,” he whispered, his deep voice so soft it barely reached her ears. there was no playfulness, no cheeky grin. just quiet, earnest apologies that made her heart ache and fold all at once. he winced again, but this time, he quickly bit his lip to stifle any noise.

“felix,” she mumbled, finally meeting his eyes for a moment, her tone firm yet so tender it didn’t carry the weight of real anger. “stop moving.”

he nodded solemnly, his golden hair falling into his freckled face. “i won’t, baby. i promise. sorry.” his lips, slightly swollen from the fall, tugged into a small, apologetic smile, but her gaze had already returned to the task at hand.

she worked with the steady precision of someone who cared too much. her hands moved gently, dabbing at the shallow cut on his lip now, careful not to press too hard. she didn’t say much, but the set of her brows and the soft pout on her lips spoke volumes. she was upset—not angry, not exactly—but worried in the way only someone who loved too deeply could be.

he couldn’t help himself. even as she tended to his wounds, felix’s eyes stayed glued to her. the firelight painted her features in warm hues, and her hair, slightly messy from the day, framed her face in a way that made her look impossibly soft. she was close—so close he could feel her warmth, smell the faint trace of her vanilla lotion mixed with the subtle smokiness of the room. his chest tightened with the weight of his own admiration.

“y/n,” he whispered again, his voice like velvet, coaxing her attention. she didn’t look up. he shifted slightly, just enough to bring his hand to her leg, resting it lightly on her knee, his thumb brushing in soft, absentminded strokes. “love.. i really am sorry.”

her hand paused for the briefest second, but she didn’t reply. instead, she moved to his neck, carefully tilting his chin up with her fingers to get a better angle. the cut there wasn’t deep, but it stood out against his fair skin, and she felt a fresh pang of guilt seeing it. she bit the inside of her cheek, trying to keep her resolve.

his eyes never left her. the soft firelight caught the sparkles in his gaze, turning his brown eyes into molten amber. his freckles, scattered like constellations across his cheeks and nose, seemed to glow, and the gentle curve of his lips—heart-shaped and still pink despite the small cut—made her heart squeeze.

“babe?” he tried again, his voice a little deeper now, but still so tender it felt like a caress.

her eyes flickered up briefly, meeting his gaze, and for a moment, the annoyance she was clinging to wavered. his expression was pure, almost boyish, with the kind of fragility that made her want to gather him up and never let go. she let out a soft sigh, returning her attention to his wounds without a word.

“don’t be mad,” he pleaded, his voice a little playful now, though he didn’t dare move again. “you’re too pretty to be mad at me.”

“felix,” she muttered under her breath, her tone warning but without any real edge. “don’t speak.”

“sorry, sorry,” he said quickly, but the corners of his mouth lifted into a small, almost mischievous smile. “i just missed you, baby. you know that, right?”

she didn’t reply, but her hands slowed slightly as she wiped away the last of the blood from his arm. he took that as his cue, letting his hand slip from her knee to her waist, resting there gently. his touch was warm, grounding, and she let out another small sigh, finally sitting back a little on his lap.

“i’m fine, you know,” he murmured, his other hand coming up to cup her face, brushing his thumb along her cheekbone. “really. you don’t have to worry so much.”

her eyes flickered to his, and this time, she didn’t look away. “you’re not fine, felix. you could’ve really hurt yourself.” her voice was softer now, the frustration melting into something more vulnerable.

“i’m okay,” he insisted, leaning forward slightly so their foreheads almost touched. “and i’m here. with you. that’s all that matters.”

her lips parted as if to argue, but the way he was looking at her—with so much affection it felt like the room had shrunk to just the two of them—made her words falter. she hated how easily he could do this to her, how his angelic smile and soft voice could unravel her in seconds.

oh, one can never really stay mad at this angel.

“don’t do it again,” she whispered finally, her voice barely audible, but he caught it.

“i won’t,” he promised, sealing it with a soft, lingering kiss to her forehead. “i swear, baby.”

and just like that, her resolve broke. she leaned into him, letting her head rest against his shoulder as his arms came up to wrap around her, holding her close. the snow continued to fall outside, but inside, the world had never felt warmer.

his arms tightened around her as she leaned into him, her weight settling lightly against his chest. he pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head, his lips lingering there as if he could apologize a hundred times through touch alone.

for a while, the only sound was the crackle of the fire and the faint whistle of the wind outside. then felix broke the silence with a quiet chuckle.

“you know,” he murmured, tilting his head so he could see her face better. “i think the skateboard might have it out for me. you think i should sue?”

she let out an involuntary snort, quickly stifling it by burying her face against his shoulder. “your fault for thinking you’re tony hawk in the middle of a snow-covered town.”

“hey, i was trying to impress you,” he defended, his deep voice dipping into a mock whine. “how was i supposed to know the ground would be slippery?”

“it’s snow,” she deadpanned, pulling back just enough to give him a pointed look. “what did you think it would be? a trampoline?”

felix blinked at her, then broke into a sheepish grin, his freckles scrunching adorably. “okay, fair point. but you looked really curious watching me from the window, so…”

she rolled her eyes, but her lips twitched in spite of herself. “you’re lucky i love you, otherwise, i’d let you bleed out next time.”

he gasped, clutching his chest dramatically. “so cold, babe! i thought you were the sweet one in this relationship.”

“sweet?” she echoed, arching a brow as she reached for the first-aid kit again. “i’m literally the one patching you up after your dumb stunts.”

“because you love me,” he teased, his voice dropping into a sing-song tone.

she shook her head, biting back a smile as she gently applied a fresh bandage to his collarbone. “don’t push your luck, lixie.”

“too late,” he quipped, leaning forward to nuzzle his nose against her cheek. his hair, still damp from his earlier shower, tickled her skin, and she swatted at him half-heartedly.

“lix!” she protested, laughing now despite herself.

he grinned wide, his heart-shaped lips pulling into the kind of smile that could melt even the iciest resolve. “there she is. my y/n. knew i could get you to smile.”

“barely,” she muttered, but her cheeks betrayed her with a soft blush.

he chuckled, pulling her closer and pressing a kiss to her temple. “you’re terrible at staying mad at me, love. it’s one of your best traits.”

she scoffed, but her head found its way back to his shoulder, her fingers playing absentmindedly with the hem of his sweatpants. “next time you try to impress me, just.. don’t involve gravity.”

“deal,” he said easily, his hand rubbing slow circles on her back. “but for the record, i still think i looked cool for, like, two seconds before i fell.”

“sure,” she replied, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “you were the picture of elegance.”

“see? you do get it,” he said, laughing as she groaned and playfully shoved at his chest.

“i love you.”

“i love you so much more, darling.”

and just like that, the tension dissolved into kisses, laughter and warmth, the kind that only they could share. outside, the snow kept falling, but inside the house cabin, all was right in their little world again

[red-doll-face]

Snow Angel 8

Chapter 8: malicious Series Masterlist

low - medium honor Arthur Morgan x fem. Reader

Arthur has been living by himself, laying low (for real this time) somewhere in the Pacific Northwest. After the whole Pinkerton and Micah debacle, he has been hiding away, waiting for it all to blow over, occasionally getting letters from the people who still know that he’s alive. He’s been alone awhile and at first, he thought he could handle a little loneliness. He has been wrong before. Lucky for him, you look like the perfect thing to break up the monotony.

Warnings: dubious consent, low honor Arthur, darkish fic, a bit of naive reader. Reader has dated and period typical ideals, not very good ideas about men and marriage… if you want reader to be strong and a fighter… this is not for you sorry, I dont think i have anything to explicit here... WC: 3854 As promised, chapter 8 tonight idc what time it is i made a promise and its too late for this shit. fuck it we ball...I'm pretty happy with how this turned out i really hammered away at it until i got sick of reading it... watch out for meanie arthur 😈 Tags: no TB, weird but not that toxic relationship, Arthur being a grump lol

Your family meets Arthur.

The sunlight is a pale yellow on the dusty canvas of his tent. The world is a pretty color, deep browns of fur and cream colored fabric. You rub your eyes, not putting much together just yet. You try to wipe away the sleep that clings to you. You’re alone in the tent, not as warm as you usually are with the unfairly warm blooded man that is typically at your side. You suppose that it is more that he keeps you at his side. You turn over and lay on his bed roll a bit longer, lazing about in the chill of the morning air. You enjoy the smell of him; leather and gun oil, coffee perhaps and bitter tobacco, more than you want to admit. You nearly fall asleep again, listening to the sound of Arthur getting ready to be on the road again. 

The flap of the tent is parted by Arthur's hand, porting his leather gloves again. It's bright and cold all at once. 

“Hey, sunshine. How’s my girl this mornin’,” He has a smile under his hat, he’s crouching to look inside the tent while you sit up, supporting yourself on unsteady arms. He has a soft, endearing look when he watches you try to organize your hair, rub your face. 

“I’m ok…Is it very early? How long have you been awake?” 

“Nah, about eleven now, should get goin’, looks like those clouds are comin’ back. Been up awhile,” He has a hand out to help you up and out of his tent. Then he’s helping put your arms through the sleeves of the coat he gave you, sagging a bit, made for his broad frame. This act is so gentlemanly, so strangely kind for a man like him. Jaded, guarded, and gruff. His hands smooth down your arms, so big on you, making you bite your lip. He looks down at you, the neutral line of his mouth quirks up at the sides, over his rugged features. Unable to meet his expression, you tilt your head, looking away. Something warm and sweet pools in your chest. 

You can’t help the small smile which breaks your usual overhanging worry and overwhelmed bewilderedness you carry around now, ever since you’ve been with Arthur. His certainty helps you cling to some semblance of stability. But really, you’re not sure about anything. It doesn't matter what you are though, it matters more that Arthur gets what he wants. 

You nod, he was right when he said it wasn't so early. The sun had come for a day but was certainly on its way out now. Yellow light still casts a green glow through the trees for now but soon it would be all dusky tones and colors, a monotone repetition of winter. You would miss the light but you weren't unused to the gray and the fog. The sun had brought a small levity to your journey with Arthur but now it was back to the gloom, returning to your anxious state, waiting impatiently to see your family.

Arthur has a small fire going and you come and help prepare food while he tears down the rest of the camp. You are cleaned up and fed in not so long. Lucky has a breakfast of carrots and some oatcakes Arthur has hesitantly offered, patting at Lucky's side, your horse shifting his feathered legs. 

You're back on the road in not much time at all, by noon at least and the sky is almost completely obscured by the hampering weather. You fear it might rain soon or even begin to snow as Arthur drives the cart further. He's even more nervous than yesterday, more antsy. He doesn't reach for his cigarettes and you don't give him one, too busy feeling unnerved yourself. Instead his hands fidget, gripping the leather of the reins, scratching absentmindedly at his face, sighing and rolling his shoulders out. Something is weighing on him, like he’s mulling over what’s going to happen next.

“Why are you- why are we going to see my parents?” You ask, brittle, quiet as the winter around you. Still, you speak over the wagon wheels rolling over the earth.

“That’s what you want. Ain’t no other reason,” His answer is clipped. You can tell it isn’t the whole truth.

He turns to you and huffs at your face, disbelief etched into the tilt of your head, the furrow of your brow. 

“I don’t like loose ends. I ain’t one to leave them lyin’ around. I can’t afford to have people sniffin’ around right now. Not ever.” 

“Sniffing around? I don’t understand. Is this about the robbing thing? Are you an outlaw?” You ask, an incredulous tone to your voice. 

He gives you a look out of the corner of his eye before he shifts his halfhearted focus back to the dirt road. “No.” It seems you’ve touched a nerve of his. You will pester him about it later, perhaps when he’s more in the mood to withstand some of your more brazen behaviors. For now, at least your back and forth has distracted you enough that you almost rode past the path that breaks off to your home. 

You sigh and guide him down the small road to your family cabin. You pick at your nails but stop when Arthur puts his hand over yours, squeezing just enough to make you sigh and stow your hands in the coat he gave you. 

You can see the wooden cabin through the trees, chickens clucking in the yard and the bare vegetable patch is frozen over for the winter, some pelts your father left to dry are hanging from the porch roof. It's humble and quaint, a little broken down from too long without repairs but it's sturdy and strong.

Your father peeks out of the gingham curtain your mother put up before rushing outside. You jump down and are surprised that he has such a large hug for you, a laugh. Your mother runs out as well. They're gathering you between them, gasping your name. You nod, throat tightening with emotion. With which emotion, you don’t know entirely. You're up to your neck in nerves. But there's happiness in seeing your parents. Knowing that they can learn of where you’ll be going. You remember what Arthur said about chaining you to his bed. They’d never know what happened to you if he held such a desire as that. 

“What happened to you?! Are you hurt?” You shake your head while your mother looks you over, searching for some grave injury. 

“Who’s this?”Arthur leans against the cart, holding his belt. He pushes off. You think of all that has happened so far. But you obey Arthur’s wishes, that you will convince your parents that this man saved your life and has fallen in love with you in three days, that he wished for your hand in marriage. 

“He… He saved me, I- he saved my life,” You swallow. It really is the truth, you most likely would have frozen to death without Arthur’s hospitality. Arthur seems apprehensive of this situation, as if waiting for some terrible event to transpire. But you know your father and the clap on Arthur’s back takes only him by surprise. He's grabbing Arthur's hand and shaking it. 

“Please, come inside,” He’s motioning for everyone to join. You come inside to your grandmother sitting by the fire. She tosses a lazy look over her shoulder. You come to her side but she seems to waver. 

“Is she ok?” You reach for her hand but she’s been like this for a while, fading from the world while staying in it. 

“Yes, she's just fine. Did you ever make it to the doctor?” The question seems to pester Arthur but he’s distracted by your father asking for his name. 

“Arthur… Arthur Morgan,” He’s looking to you for some sort of direction but you're not sure what to offer him. He lets an easy grin slip over his features while he shakes your fathers hand. You can tell it’s a bit strained. 

“No, I got lost,” you say, feeling incompetent and childish as always. You grip your hands, fidgeting. Looking up with your face tilted downwards, you look at the man who stands in your family room, looking out of place. He seems to notice, trying to bring his high and wide shoulders down a little, keeping his limbs close. Perhaps to seem smaller than he is. He bows his head a little, hiding his eyes beneath the shadow cast by the hat he wears. “Arthur let me into his home,” 

The look he gives you with his blazing blue eyes is not one you’ve seen on him before. A sort of satisfied pride, different from his normal smug expression. His hands hold one another as he stands tall and strong. You bring your gaze to the fire. 

“Well, I’m glad he was there, couldn’t have you frozen to death out there,” both of your parents give him appreciative simpers. 

Every comment they make acting as if it wasn’t at their insistence you went out irks Arthur. You can tell by the way he lowers his hat over his eyes again, a small sneer pulling at his lip. You just nod. Your parents stand unaware, watching the two of you, the way you stand closer to Arthur than to them when they let you. Your mother gives you an odd look and you shrug slightly. 

Your pa motions for all of you to sit in front of the fire in some wooden chairs while your grandmother shuffles to her day bed, your mother at her side to help her. You sit next to Arthur, his heavy footsteps have his spurs jingling until he sets himself down, creaking the chair. His place at your side doesn’t go unnoticed by your father who raises his brow. Your Ma joins all of you, next to your father. 

“I went looking for you, you know, couldn’t get through the snow,” your father looks happy to see you. You smile lightly. You’re unsure what to say. 

“Thank you again for letting her stay with you, Mr. Morgan,” your mother snaps upwards. “Would you like something to eat, drink?” 

“No, ma’am, I’m- uh I’m fine,” you’re surprised he seems so unadjusted. He could shoot a man with ease but can’t speak to your mother the way he cockily talks to you. You suppose it would be much too strange for him to do so while playing perfect suitor.

She sits down again. Your father has his pipe on the table which he stuffs with tobacco. He has it lit in a second or two and he puffs smoke. 

“So, what’s going on that you came with a cart on Lucky? You certainly didn’t have one when you left,” Your father asks point blank. He doesn’t mind the sudden change of tone. It makes your stomach roil. You had hoped you wouldn’t have to talk about it so soon, but your father makes quick work of getting down to brass tacks. You turn to Arthur. He looks at you with sureness in his features, strong jaw set and big hands clenched over his thighs. You don’t know what he’s going to say. 

“I intend on marryin’ your daughter,” his words are blunt and stun your parents. He matches your fathers matter-of-fact way of speaking. Your parents stare between the both of you oddly. Obviously, perhaps not expecting this turn of events. A woman as young as you bringing a man around, having been unaccompanied for three days now. Then your father removes the pipe from his lip. 

“I don’t see why not,” he nods easily, as if deciding between jumping off a cliff or walking away. You’re shocked he would agree so readily. Hardly a decision or a deliberation. Your mother looks to your father, questioning him. “You saved her life, after all,” the way he words it makes it sound like by saving you, Arthur is entitled to you. 

“Dear, isn't he a bit…she… she’s quite young,” Your mother puts up some brief resistance. You look at Arthur, whose brows crinkle slightly. You know Arthur is much older than you, more experienced in things of the world. But you had never thought too much about it, hadn’t even asked how old he was. What did it matter when he was taking you to bed, when he had you in his home? What bearing does it have on anything? You doubt Arthur would have been persuaded to leave you well enough alone should you have pointed out how much older he was. If anything, he would derive pleasure from such a comment. 

You don’t mind his age much, really, you hadn’t even particularly noticed it too much. Not having much experience with men makes Arthur the baseline, the default. Younger men could have been different but you wouldn’t know anything about it. Arthur is all you have in that aspect. You look at the weathered lines over his features, the lines at the corners of his eyes, the freckles from staying in the sun too long, scars and the small dip of his flesh just over his cheeks. You didn’t think any of him as ugly. Only rugged, sturdy. You had come to like how he looked, how in charge of himself he was. He had a strong jaw and brow and an even more distinctive profile. There is only certainty in his eyes, only his usual prideful stare. 

“If Arthur cares for her, would care for her, isn't that quite enough? She won't be young forever, ” Your Pa’s dated ideals are at the forefront of this conversation. You fumble with your fingers and pick at your nails. Arthur doesn’t stop you this time. You knew your father wasn't too traditional but he hasn't even thought to ask if you liked Arthur at all. Perhaps he assumed you did. How little he cares for your opinion does hurt you, makes your heart twist and your stomach ache. You hate that a part of you is happy that you’ll be with Arthur now. You’re conflicted, torn between shame, contentment, and sorrow. 

“Well, I guess I’m just a very lucky man,” You think he can tell by the way your face falls how crushed you are. Arthur’s deep voice resounds from beside you, you hadn't expected him to speak very much. When you look at him, he has a soft smile. His words do little to help but they still have an effect on you. It isn't the first time he's called himself lucky for having you but this time is more meaningful to you. It’s a somewhat private meaning he intends for you and only you. You let a small smile perk up your face. 

“I suppose, perhaps it is time for you to be your own woman, now,” your Ma nods solemnly. 

You’re not sure why this comes as a surprise to you. But it does. Arthur looks at you, the look on his face is unreadable. Maybe he knows how odd it is that your parents are so willing to leave you to him. Or perhaps he’s happy that his desire is about to be fulfilled. You guess he expected some sort of fight. Like he would prefer to fight for you, to solidify himself as the most important thing in your life. He’s already proven he can care for you so your father is calmly discussing the marriage with your ma. Their voices drown out in your ears, no longer assigning meaning to the sounds. You look at Arthur's hand, the way his fingers scrunch up and form a fist as he crosses his arms over his chest. A jittery exhale is all you have to add to the conversation.

Perhaps the other girl he had was worth the trouble her father had gone through to make sure she didn’t marry a man like Arthur. Your parents are just happy to see you married, maybe they consider you homely enough to be lucky to have anyone seeking your hand. An ugly reality but a likely one to you. Your focus is so much that you don’t notice that you're biting your tongue until it hurts, gripping your knees hard. All you want is to be away from here but that isn’t happening. 

It’s a strange air that settles over your family room. It’s only broken by your mother bidding you to your room so you can pack things away in a chest for you to take with you. She says the both of you should leave the men to talk. You rise and walk to your bedroom, too dazed to bother turning to Arthur.

Once you’re in your bedroom, your mother closes the door behind you. She pulls out the chest she used to keep old blankets in. She starts to pack away your clothes, your baubles from when you were a babe. A blanket from when you were just born. Your mind is in too many places at once. You pick up some books, trinkets your father made for you. The room is small, not much for you to bring with you. Just like Arthur said. You watch your life disappear into the wooden box, to be taken away so you could live it with Arthur.

“He seems like a good man. You’re lucky to find one like that, just by chance,” your mother speaks into the brittle quiet of the room. Arthur can be a good man, he has been a good man before. But you’re not sure that he is one. You simply nod along. 

“This isn’t happening because… because you’re with his child or some other such atrocity?” Her tone is clear. You think he spills all of his spend on your thighs or belly to avoid that outcome. There certainly was an atrocity, or at least she would think so but it won’t end in you being with his child. For now. Wasn’t that what every man wanted with a wife? Maybe Arthur didn’t want children but you had no way of knowing but to ask him. You can’t imagine yourself working up the nerve to ask him that. 

“No, he was very… proper with me,” you lie through your teeth. You’re trying not to laugh like a loon at how untrue that statement is. Trying to be convincing when usually you’re anything but. You wince privately, sensing your own awful lying, hoping you can fool your mother. 

“He doesn’t look the gentlemanly type but looks can be deceiving. I’ve not seen a gentleman but those guns are something. And that coat, he must be quite the hunter, even your father has never given you a coat like that,” She's excited to talk about him. Like he was a boy you liked, not a grown man to marry you. “He seems a bit old for you but it's not too uncommon, a man like him wanting a young wife,” 

“Yes, he was very nice,” your voice is flat and short as you fold your clothes away. You tuck the things too homely under the bed, perhaps your mother will find them later. Her voice floats over, making you freeze. Like the icy air has drifted in from a drafty window, it feels like the room drops several degrees.

“He did something to you, didn’t he?” you don't try to face her, biting your lip. Your hands scrunch into the fabric of the clothes you were folding. You always were a terrible liar. 

“No,” You finally decide to look at her, trying to keep your response simple, leaving no room for interpretation but it doesn't work the way you’d hoped. Her eyes focus on the bruised mark on your neck; you had completely forgotten about it. You slap your hand over it out of instinct but there’s no hiding the truth. 

“No, he didn’t, Ma, he didn’t,” you plead desperately. You can feel the tightness in your throat when you realize she doesn’t believe you. Her face drops, saddens deeply. Her eyes go dark and well with tears. Her jaw falls open as if to ask you what he did, to portray that she is curious but simultaneously would rather hear anything over what Arthur might have done with you. Done to you. You feel your lip tremble. Something within you shrivels in dread. Heat crawls up your body, feeling clammy and warm all at once. 

“Please, don’t, don’t tell Pa,” The pace of your heart picks up, standing up clumsily. Her hand comes to her mouth, shaking her head as tears drip down her face. “He could kill him, please,” You beg her and she refuses, rushing out. You go to stop her as she slams the door open to confront him. 

Try as you might, you can't reach her in time. She sees Arthur, stomping towards him. 

“What did you do to her?! You tell me-” Your father is confused, grabbing your mother. You’re an animal, frozen in the stare of a predator. You can see Arthur's face become severe, his glare fixed on you. His brows pinch and his mouth is set in a hard line. It’s the angriest you’ve ever seen him. His posture adjusts into something more threatening, readying his body for whatever comes next. His features pull into an unnaturally cool expression. Then he’s grabbing you, turning you quickly. Your back is pressed against his chest before you can protest, can even think of trying to run. 

His arm is iron over your chest and neck. You grab onto it as you lose your balance, relying on him to keep you upright. You gasp and scramble, going completely still when you hear the sound, the slide of metal on leather. His pearl handled revolver is leveled upward towards your family. The whole cabin goes quiet, your mother’s blustering screams and your father’s confused babbling falling like rocks into a lake. An eerie silence descends over you. 

All you can hear is the sting of the quiet and your own breathing, the smallest shift of Arthur’s boot scraping the wooden floor. “Arthur, please, no,” You whine, wiggling just a bit. The last thing you want is to provoke him into squeezing the trigger. His finger is pressed up against it, ready for anything. He bows his head to whisper a bone chilling ‘shh’ in your ear. It makes the smallest hairs of yours stand on end, your heart dropping into your gut. Terror keeps you stuck to him.

“Think you've gone and said too much already, darlin’” you can hear the mocking humor dripping from his words, the usually affectionate term for you has a sharp edge. His voice, so low and venomous, right in your ear makes you shiver. You swallow slowly, fear courses through your veins. Unwillingly, your thoughts float to Arthur holding his gun to that thief, his flippant manner of taking lives. You squeeze your eyes shut, hoping that whatever happens here doesn’t end in blood. 

OK! sorry for the cliffhanger but i couldnt say no to spicing things up, lol. evil arthur being a meanie 😈 arthur being a grumpy driver is everything to me, what i would do to wake up to arthur saying good morning sunshine to me.. 😳lh arthur or not hes a cornball LMAO lemme know what you guys think i would love to hear it 😳😭💖tysm for reading !!

Series Masterlist

[echo-goes-mmm]

Silas and Wren 2.0 #2

Masterpost

Previous

Next

Warnings: none

Master quickly paid, and soon he was unlocked from his chain. The other slaves eyed him with pity, and it didn’t help the worry growing leaden in his stomach.

The streetlamps were already lit when they left, casting their warm glow on the road. 

The fresh air was a welcome change from the warehouse, but it was rapidly cooling, and he shivered as Master led him through the streets. 

“What’s your name?” asked Master, startling him.

“W-whatever you want it to be, Master.”

People kept looking their way, and he kept his eyes lowered and head down.

“Well, what did your mother call you?”

“W-wren,” he said, teeth chattering. His worn clothing wasn’t enough for the chilly air, and the cobblestone roads were freezing on his bare feet.

“Then that’s your name,” said Master, looking at him from the corner of his eye.

“Thank you, Master.”

Wren tucked his fingers under his arms as Master stopped to browse at a stall selling street corn.

It smelled delicious, but he couldn’t understand why they stopped.

Master paid for a cob of the grilled corn, and handed the tinfoil package to him.

“You look cold,” he said, “and you should eat.”

Wren took it gratefully, and the hot corn kept his hands warm until it was cool enough to unwrap. It was nice to know his new Master was a generous type.

He nibbled slowly to make it last. His feet were still freezing, but he’d had worse.

When the crowds had thinned, he took a better look at his Master.

He was handsome: tall, with dark hair and gray eyes.

Many of his old masters weren’t nearly so beautiful, and maybe that would make bed service more bearable.

But he was also a vampire, and there was no way to tell how that was going to go. He half expected to be hypnotized already.

Master walked in long strides, seemingly in a hurry to get home, and Wren had to work to keep up.

He was surprised when a half hour into the walk, Master stopped in front of a narrow townhouse.

He pulled a key from his jacket pocket, and unlocked the door, ushering Wren in.

It was dark inside, the windows covered in thick blackout curtains to presumably block out the sun, and Master opened them to let in the light from the streetlamps.

The house was nice, certainly, but it wasn’t the infamous nest in the upper city he had heard about.

Was Master a lone vampire?

He didn’t voice his thoughts, instead keeping quiet as Master pulled candles from a shelf in the living room.

Wren waited for Master’s first orders, but Master didn’t seem interested in bedding him yet.

“Are you hungry?” asked Master, searching for matches. “I bought food, but I, uh, forgot to make something.”

“I’m alright, Master,” he said politely, confused.

Master turned, matches in hand. “Oh good,” he said, smiling sheepishly. “I don’t think I can cook anyway.”

Master lit one of the candles, the dim glow casting his face in warm yellow. “I’ll show you to your room.”

Master had prepared a room for him? His heart sank as he thought of chains and cages.

Wren chewed the inside of his cheek in worry as he followed Master upstairs to the second floor, and then up another, smaller staircase.

There was a short, narrow hallway, and then a door that led to the attic.

“I know it’s not much,” said Master, putting the candles and matches on a table off to the side of the door. “But it’s something.”

Wren stood stunned for a minute, taking it in. 

“It’s beautiful,” he said truthfully.

The room was small, with a low cozy ceiling, and Wren loved it immediately.

There was a circular window across from the door, with parted blackout curtains that let in moonbeams.

A bed sat below it, with a nightstand. A rug was under that, with a blue and cream design.

There was even a small, low bookshelf against the right wall with books, and a plush chair to sit in.

He couldn’t read, but it was a nice thought.

“I’m glad you like it,” Master said. “I- um- I’ll let you rest. I know you sleep at night, but...”

“I’ll work on it, Master,” he promised.

“Thanks,” he said, smiling. “I’ll be downstairs, if you need anything.”

Master closed the door behind him, and Wren was left alone.

___________________

He woke up late in the morning, sunlight streaming through the attic window.

Wren tried to go back to sleep, to prepare for the night ahead, but he didn’t have much success.

Soon he was too hungry to stay in bed, and he went downstairs to look around.

A closed door on the second floor was probably Master’s room, and he peeked into a couple cracked open doors to get his bearings.

A full bathroom, claw tub and everything, was on the right, along with a linen closet and a guest room.

Downstairs held a kitchen, living room, and dining room. There was a backyard, with a high fence and a small patio, and Wren briefly smiled at the idea of Master mowing a lawn.

His stomach grumbled, and he cut the exploring short to cook a quick meal.

The kitchen had brand-new pots and pans, a tea kettle, and an untouched stove and oven.

The cabinets were stocked with food, and there was fresh meat and vegetables in the ice box. The most surprising item was a spice rack that was stocked with more than he knew existed.

There was no way he could eat all of it, even within a week.

He would have to ask Master not to buy so much.

Wren started on a pot of rice, and pulled out some broccoli and chicken from the icebox.

He looked for some olive oil, and found it in a cupboard above the stove.

It was nice to work without someone looking over his shoulder. He had served in kitchens before, a long time ago, and had watched the cooks as he washed his Master's dishes. Now he could do the cooking, which had always seemed more interesting.

Wren pulled out spices at random, sniffing them to figure out what to put on the chicken.

He was having fun, really, but cooking wasn’t the quietest chore.

He glanced up at the ceiling, and hoped Master couldn’t hear him as he chopped the broccoli.

Over the years, and after many masters, he had learned that a beating on the first day was bad luck.

The rice came out a bit undercooked, but it was his first time and no one else was eating it.

He ate slowly, wondering what his new Master was like. He seemed nice enough, but a bit… odd.

Was that the vampirism, or was he just unused to giving orders?

And why didn’t he have a nest?

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[cosmal]

i saw you asked for hurt/comfort requests

could you do James or Sirius with either fem or gn reader where the r scratches or claws their hands subconsciously when nervous and they always have scratches or marks on their hands because of it and James or Sirius is like 😟 bc that’s their baby and like how they would help them? I hope that made a little sense and feel free not to do it. I love your writing sm

moisturiser

summary sirius rubs cream into your hands.

content sirius black x fem!reader, mentions of self harm/scratching

Sirius has disappeared for longer than he said he was going to and you're starting to fidget more than normal. He said he'd be back, and you don't have a strange attachment to him or anything, but you don't know any of his friends that well.

You know Lily better than the others, that's how you met Sirius, but she's also disappeared. You sit back in the chair you're sharing with Sirius and listen to whatever it is Frank and James are talking about.

Sirius returns just when you think you're about to stare a hole into the rug under your feet. You startle when he bumps his knee into yours as he settles. You try to smile and fail horribly. You feel bad for missing your boyfriend so sorely - worse for struggling to talk to his friends.

"Sorry I took too long," SIrius apologises quickly.

He's got two new glasses full of cold pineapple juice in his hands. It sploshes over the brim with his quick movements. Cloudy yellow liquid tracks down his wrists. He leans over, the drinks pressed between the two of you, and kisses you on the cheek.

He hands you yours and licks his fingers quickly, wiping the rest on his jeans. A line of wet smeared up his thigh. You wrinkle your face up at his flippancy.

"Lily was showing me around," he tells you. You sip from your drink quickly and ignore the chill in your teeth. "They just renovated. James installed two shower heads in their shower."

"Really?" you gawp. You set your drink down on the table next to you.

"Yeah." He nods and scoots in closer to you.

"We should do that in your flat," he offers, stupid smile stuck to his face. "I think you'd love it."

"You think?" You're not really listening and you feel horrible for it. You wonder when you'll find the courage to talk to people without prompting. You'll wonder if you'll ever not need Sirius to calm you down before spending time with all of his friends. If you'll never be nervous ever again.

"Definitely," he says, half distracted.

He's reaching into his pocket suddenly, lifting himself up a little to reach deep down. He pulls out a small white tub with a screw-top lid. "I stole this from Lily's room," he says, opening it up.

You gawp. "What?"

He scoops some out and warms it up in his hands. Leaning over, he takes your own hands and starts massaging the cream into your skin. "Smells nice, hmm?"

You blink down at his hands. You know what he's doing. Spending extra time smoothing the cream into the backs of your hands and your wrists where you've rubbed them raw. Welts smattered across your flesh that you hadn't even noticed you'd inflicted. You didn't even know Sirius had realised. You never mention them to him.

You blink and blink and blink until you remember to respond. "Hmm, yeah. Uh - roses?"

"And hyacinth," he tells you, still rubbing your hands. The cream has been thoroughly absorbed now, you think he just wants to spend extra time touching you.

He rubs and rubs until your hands feel almost dry again. "I think it's a moisturiser,'' he says, fingers scraping over your fingernails. "Supposed to reduce redness."

You hum and grab his hands now, lifting them to your mouth. You kiss over his knuckles lovingly and hold him tightly. You want him to know how much you love him right now - it might be more than you ever have.

"Thank you," you say to him and hold his hands to your stomach. "Really."

He lets you lean your head on his shoulder with no problems, turning inwards to let you tuck your elbow into his side. "That's okay, lovely. Your hands still hurting?"

You shake your head and your hair ruffles up over his jacket. "Feel so much better."

"Good," he kisses into your hair, humming a soft sound. "Good. Tell me when they're hurting or if you can't stop scratching. You can hold my hands or I can rub some more cream into them."

"Yeah?"

"Of course." He steals his hands back to wrap his arms over your shoulders and holds you close. "If you're in pain, I'm here to help. Promise."

You think you really could cry but decide against it. Still, your throat feels thick, your mouth dry. You swallow back your sudden, loving upset and kiss his cheek instead.

"You're amazing." You think you might keep your head on his shoulder all night. "I love you."

"I love you too," he says slowly, squeezing your arm closer.

There's a moment where you find yourself listening to his friends, listening to Sirius laugh about whatever it is James is parading about. He still finds time to kiss your head sometimes.

"Hey, Siri?" you ask when he's finished laughing.

"Yeah, sweetheart?" he responds, attention almost immediately, solely on you.

"Did you actually steal that cream from Lily?" You really want to laugh. "You should probably give it back."

Sirius laughs, sounding really pleased with himself. "No, I asked to borrow some. I'll leave it here."

"Oh."

"Take a photo of it though?" he asks and put it in your lap.

"Why?" You do what he says anyways.

"So I can remember what it's called," he smiles. "I'll go buy some more."

He buys three. One for you, one to keep at his flat, and another for his car.

[thelargefrye]

okay but RICH boyfriend!yeosang who is always dressed so fashionable and looks perfect is dating you, who's not so rich and wears sweatpants five out seven days of the week. a lot of people think he's only dating you as a charity case, hell even you thought that at first. but yeosang continuously proves everyone wrong when he looks at you like you're the only person in the world to him.

he even begins wearing sweatpants (designer ones maybe) when he comes over to your apartment and even leaves them there. always taking you shopping and buying you anything you want. you both even have several matching sweatpants because he thought they looked cute. slowly but surely moving you into his bigger and more fancier apartment. he claims one day that you should just move in because his apartment is just too big for one person.

at first you're worried about your little nicknacks and stuff will ruin his fancy apartment. throw off the minimalistic aesthetic with your oddly colors cat figures, but yeosang adores them. putting them front and center so everyone can see them when they enter.

you funky checkered rug going in your now shared bedroom and yeosang even mixing your green colored sheets with his black ones. and you cute yellow toaster sitting nicely on her marble countertops and snuggled nicely around all the stainless steal appliances. he willingly throws the aesthetic of his apartment away in order to welcome you and your things.

and so now living with your overly rich boyfriend, he talks you into letting him dress up from time to time when you're both bored. and its during these days that you start becoming interested in wearing something other than sweatpants.

rich boyfriend!yeosang who takes you on vacations because he wants to. throwing his money around when he needs to in order to make sure you're satisfied. taking you to places you only dreamed about and restaurants you could have never thought to eat at. and while you love experiencing the rich and luxurious parts of yeosang's life. sometimes you feel overwhelmed by it all.

yeosang can tell when you get overwhelmed by his lifestyle. he can tell when sometimes you would rather just stay at home with him watching a movie and eating fancy ice cream than being surrounded by rich snobs. so he takes you home, but he makes sure to stop at the convenience store near your apartment. both you of still dressed to the nines like you should be in a five star restaurant and not a 7/11. he lets you get any snacks you want before taking you home and you both change into your many matching set of sweatpants before you're cuddling on the couch together. surrounded by your oddly colored nicknacks and his minimalistic decorations.

"oh, we should get a cactus!"

"sure, i'll buy you ten."

"uh-no, just one is fine."

[autumnvine]

Fresh Start

Summary- A fresh start, new beginnings, running away from everything that happened before. Running into to something new and wonderful.

⚠️ Warning past traumatic relationship, abusive relationship (Obviously not Tom)⚠️

Here you were, your new life, a fresh start, well was supossed to be. Coming off the coach suitcase handed to you by the driver, 6hour drive from one side of the country to the middle. From Kent to London. "London" ,lips smiling side to side. "I'm home I guess"

You knew noone, didn't know where you were, just were you had to be, dragging the overly large suitcase to the taxi rank, securing a taxi to take you to Oxfordshire.

gazing out the backseat findow watching the red busses, the people, seeing some of the high street, the tall buildings

"Staying long?" the taxi driver brought you from your daze

"I'm Sorry?"

"The suitcase is quite large, are you staying long?"

"Oh Apologies yes I plan to be here a while"

"The accent where you from?"

"From Kent, the bottom of England"

"Why are you here? Family? Friends? Hiding?"

"What no I'm not hiding why?"

"It was a joke, sorry"

"I'm here on business actually, I plan to be here, do my job, leave"

The long drive quickly became awkward, uncomfortable even. Noone knew why you were here, a select few even, noone should know, don't speak of it, not a word. repeating in your mind over and over.

The taxi came to a stop, paying what you owed you collected your suitcase and left. Scared. Alone. Rather lost you wandered up and down different streets, finding a beautiful garden "Florence Park" benches upon benches, families cycling, throwing a frizbee back and fourth, rose bushes, glorious trees surrounding the entire park, parents pushing prams and lunch, you were so hungry, and so very glad to see a snack van.

"What you want love?"

"Cheese and Pickle roll please? Thank you"

Maybe this could be your new home, what if you could call this place home, it is different, much bigger then your hometown, much, much bigger.

Eventually finding your new residency 74 Sheppards hill, standing outside admiring the building, white brick, cherry blossom tree in the front garden, very bad parking. Opening the front door a small quaint hallway, coatstand, shoe basket, welcome mat, yellow walls "That needs re-painting" the livingroom off the hallway was yellow, mathcing couch, horrid green rug "That needs a paint job too" following through the the dining room, "Beautiful table" yellow walls, green rug although slightly smaller then the last, the kitchen yellow walls, nice stove, fully functioning. Running upstairs to the bedroom, yellow walls, cream carpet "Looks new" double bed, nice view of the street, bedroom beside the same. Unpacking your clothes to the wardrobe, placing your makeup and perfume along the window ledge, Laptop on the bed, case file stashed in the top drawer just incase.

A few weeks had gone by you still didn't know anyone, but at least you knew where to get a good cup of coffee and an even better cheese and pickle roll for lunch. Close by there was stores supplying milk, bread, local essentials. A short walk into a park where you spent most of your time running, you had gotten familiar with the route around the park, grabbing your coat off you went. Running. Headphones blasting music through your ears, drowing out all other noises, banishing the thoughts in your head, escaping your reality. You escaped everything.

After a laps of the park you gave in to the pain in your legs, sweat dripping off your back, hair going everywhere, laying on the grass was somewhat relaxing, just laying there looking at the sky, watching as the clouds rolled past one another. Feeling the sun shining on your face and the gentle breeze washing over you. It was tranquil. Maybe it wasn't so bad here. Laying there as time passed you by. Until something very heavy landed on you, pulling out your headphones rather startled quickly sitting up to find this small ball of fur laying over your legs, in the distance a man running over to the little puppy. The little fur ball caked in mud, just as you now were too, laying beside you, scratchig its ear, the man in the distance becoming closer and closer.

"Are you alright? did he knock you over?

Bad dog" leaning his hand out to you to help you up,

"I'm alright, no he, he didn't its okay"

"You're covered in mud, was that him? I'm so sorry"

"Don't worry its alright" you tried to keep your cool and not start blushing by the very kind, very handsome man a little taller then you. Stunning blue eyes you could get lost in, hair thick with curles. Tight white shirt, navy tie to match his trousers and blazer.

In all efforts trying to stop from blushing and becoming memorised, you didn't quite hear his question, he was looking at you, concerned,

"Oh pardon sorry, what did you ask me?"

"Are you sure your alright miss?"

"Yeah, uh yes I'm okay, I'm sorry" trying to hide your embarrassment

"No, you don't run into people then sit looking cute and loveable" said the man looking at his dog

"You're very cute and loveable" you spouted out, immediately catching the mans attention.

"The dog, um I meant.. I meant the dog sorry, I'm sorry I should go, I need to go, I am sorry. It wasn't your dog's fault I'm sorry, have a nice day I'm sorry"

You ran off, just kept running until you were home, wanting to charge your phone from the music, you must have compleately forgot to lift your phone off the grass beside you, disappearing in such a rush you didn't even think.

That man and his dog is all you thought about, dreamed about, created yourself a life with him in your head, letting your thoughts run wild. You didn't even ask his name. How silly just to run away like that.

After showering and getting cleaned up you began to re decorate your new home, rolling up the rugs for the charity shop, piling up the photos left from the previous owner, re arranging the kithcen cupboards to suit your liking.

It was now early evening, the house you walked into was so different now, sitting on the couch watching Gilmore girls from your Netflix acount, it had always made you laugh. A knock at the door draw your attention from the T.V. noone knew you were here, noone should know, what if it was someone from Kent? Someone from the life you ranaaway from? Worrying and panicking you slid down the sofa like a child hiding from the door, hearing the knocking again and someone "Hi I have something for you from the park I'm sorry" smiling as you recognised that voice, "Just a moment" You shouted back as you looked for your keys.

It was the man from the park, the handsome man who offered to help you,

"Hi, sorry i think you left your phone on the grass and there was no password, your address is in it I'm sorry I wasn't looking at anything I promise, just to return this to you."

Smiling you couldn't believe he had gone to all the trouble,

"Thank you, I'm y/n, do you want to come in?"

"I'm Tom, it's nice to meet you, I couldn't, you've just invited a perfect stranger into your home you know"

"Well Tom, a perfect stranger who offered to help me, and went to the trouble of returning my phone to my door, instead of keeping it or selling it, is rather trustworthy."

Tom took you up on the offer and came in

"I am sorry I've n been shopping yet, but I have milk and tea, would you like some tea?"

"That would be lovely thank you, you like yellow huh?"

"I just moved here, it was like that when I arrived, I do plan to redecorate, I just finished taking away the green rug to the charity earlier.

"Green?" he asked trying to hold his laughter

"It wasn't my pick, I was thinking of painting the walls a light grey colour and looking for a cream fluffy rug, some pink pillows, perhaps a coffee table"

"Don't you actually need to buy coffee first?" The two of you laughed and joked about Tom's quick sense of humour.

As the night contuined so did the conversation, hours went by, your stomach rumbled embarrassingly

"What do you like to eat? You're hungry, I'll order something over, don't worry i won't stay for dinner, but accept it as my appology fro Bobby landing on you earlier." Tom asked politly

"Thank you, please join me for dinner, I haven't spoken to someone for quite some time."

Nine months had gone by and your friendship with Tom had blossomed into something wonderful, there had been laughing, crying, paint spillages, copious amounts of food ordered, many times you had taken his little ball of fur to the park, who was not so little anymore. The two of you were really getting along. Tom was in the middle of helping you to pick the final touchings of your house. Carrying a massive stack of pink, white and grey pillows, with a vase under his arm for the living room, which now had a coffee table, as well as coffee in the kitchen cupboards. This had all come to gether so nicely, and very quickly with Tom's wonderful help.

You sat in bed that night thinking how your life had three sixtied itself, completely turning around, you brought out the case file from which you stashed the very first night there in the top dresser drawer. Having all the pages spread, almost covering the flower petals on the bed sheet completely. Seeing the trial notes for your ex-boyfriends coviction of aggraved assault. You hadn't thought of your old life in so long, noone knew, noone would understand. It wasn't your fault what happened yet somehow a part of you blamed yourself. Making a quick cup of tea on before falling asleep, throwing the papers on the floor

Making some bacon and fried eggs the following morning, waiting for Tom to appear at your door, he had mention he was off work this week and offered to come round and help you again. With breakfast ready on the table for him, he appeared at the door, A bouquett of golden sunflowers in hand

"You can't have an empty vase on your table dear" handing them to you his smile brighter then ever before

"Awh Tom there Beautiful thank you"

"Your Beautiful" kissing you before taking off his shoes. "Darling I've got somemore of your things in the boot of my car"

After breakfast you unpacked a fully loaded boot indeed, stuff for everywhere, decorative lights for the garden tree, hanging baskets for the front door, some throw blankets for around the house. "Y/n where do you want the dog bed? Also why did you buy a dog bed? You don't have a dog?"

"By the sofa please, because Bobby always ends up laying on the floor, he needs a bed too for when he comes over" Tom couldn't help but giggle that you had bought a bed for his dog, Tom hadn't even spent the nigh before, however Bobby had been a few times and fallen asleep on the stair case when he has been around for dinner.

"What about the pink blanket and the small bookshelf?" Tom shouted from the hall

"My bedroom please" you shouted back from the front door hanging the baskets at either side of the door.

Tom carried the small bookshelf and pink blanket draped over his arm up the stairs to your room, placing the shelf just by the dressing table and the blanket on your bed, accidentally knocking over a stack of papers with his feet he didnt see, bending down to pick them up it caught his attention, "aggravated assult" scanning his eyes worriedly over the papers in hand, reading the deails of you and what happened between what appeared to be an ex boyfriend. Realising that Tom was prying into something which was not his business he stacked the papers and left them on the dresser. Coming back down the stairs Tom wasn't sure how to act, should he bring it up? No best to leave it be he thought. Hearing a crash by the front door he say you laying with a broken plant pot smashed everywehre, flowers in your hair "Darling what happened?" he asked while offering you a hand up, "I was hanging the basket and there was a bee and I've never been stung so I was sartled a litlle and fell of the step and dropped it, I'm sorry"

Tom couldn't help but smile "A bee, you fell off the stairs from a bee?"

"Well, yes I've never been stung before and- why are you smiling?"

"You are so beautiful, you have flowers in your hair." Gently Tom lifted a strand of your hair tucking it behind your ear, kissing your neck , kissing just below your ear, on your collarbone, along toward your chest. Kissing you over and over. You jumped your legs and wrapped them around his waist, he carried you through to the couch tripping over almost everything in his path but not taking his eyes off you. You kissed him back everywhere possible.

That had never happened to you and Tom before, sure you had shared a kiss every time he left your house, or everytime you saw eachother, but never like that, never with such passion, never randomly out of nowhere. Tom left not long after having to take his cute little fur ball for a walk. Finishing the last few bits and tidying up, putting away the remaining items you could get comfy, get your laptop and your sweatpants, nice and cosy for the evening. Getting changed smiling at the blanket Tom put on the bed for you and the bookcase he had carried, all you did now was think about Tom, how he took care of you, how he helpd you, and how you were hiding this massive secret from him that you knew would either drive him away or break his heart for not telling him sooner. Turning toward the door you saw the stack of paper, not where you left them, thinking for a moment maybe you did put them there, "Tom, the blanket he know, oh goodness he knows, Why did he not mention anything, why didn't I tell him?" cursing yourself for not being more careful.

Lifting your phone messaging him

Please come over, I need you xx

Is everything alright? Tom replied almost instantly

No, please come over, I need to talk to you. I need to explain myself and i need to do it in person, please xxx

Tom came straight over finishing up walking Bobby, you asked him to sit down, handed him some tea and sat the pile of paper infront of him. Judging by the look on his face he already knew what it was about,

"I'm sorry Y/n I'm so sorry, i never read them i knocked them over i should have told you, I'm sorry" Poor Tom panicking thinking he was introuble

"I'm not mad, please let me explain" You took his hand in yours, taking a deep breath "It was an accident, I , he, we had an argument someone had called from his work called, a woman and he'd been coming home late working on weekends, not answering any of my text or calls, and I confronted him about it he said he didn't know and no woman worked with him and we got to shouting and he grabbed me, he hurt me I didn't mean to upset him I-" tears priking your eyes and yourvoice catching in your throat, Tom gently squeezed your hand tighter "It's alright, you don't have to tell me anymore" he said

"No I want to, I didn't mean to upset him I didn't mean to make him mad and the phone wrang again n I told him to answer it if he wasn't hiding anything, it was her on the phone he got really mad started shouting, threw the phone across the room, he threw everything he grabbed me, he threw me and hit me and broke my nose and my-" now fully accepting the tears you cried and continued "he broke my nose and my ribs and he bruised my neck and everything, he threw me Tom, he said he loved me. If I never asked him he wouldnt have-"

"Don't say that, do not blame yourself that was not your fault, do not think like that, please." Tom letting slip a few stray tears himself

"He had done it to others, he hurt them, I was in court he went to prison for a few years, he told me if he found me he would hurt me, and he would- I didn't know what to do, he has friends, ots of friends, he is everywhere, I ran I got a coach far away from there somewhere he would never look for me, somewhere with too many people he wouldn't find me, I ran, like a scared child I ran so far away from everything I knew, packed a case and ran. I'm sorry I didn't tell you, I'm sorry I didn't know how, I didn't know what to do Tom, I never ment for you to find out, not like this I'm sorry and when i saw them by the door I knew you saw it, and I thought you might think I did those things, but i didn't I never hurt anyone I swear.I'm so sorry Tom." Sobbing on the couch you felt humiliated, embarrassed, raw emotion, you sat there sobbing your heart out infront of the greatest man in the planet who didn't even know what he was getting himself into with you.

His heart was breaking for you, how could something so terrible happen to someone so sweet, so beautiful, so kind and caring, how could anyone do something like that to you, a gentle soul. You both sat crying, you cuddled up into his chest took his arms wrapping them around you, "I've got you, you'll always be safe here, noone will ever hurt you again. Not while I'm here, I'll protect you. Always."

[omgkalyppso]

[Content ID: Art of characters from Fire Emblem: Three Houses. From left to right, in the foreground there is a My Unit / Byleth OC, two fankid OCs, and Claude von Riegan. They are seated on a mauve rug with colored patterns outdoors. The My Unit OC has one arm extended as if gesturing while talking. They are looking down towards the toddlers who are focused on an orange book. They are wearing brown pants, a dark yellow shirt, and at least one rose earring. The fankid OCs are fraternal twins dressed similarly, with cream shorts, and one wearing a yellow scarf and red tunic while the other has a red scarf and yellow tunic. The child in the red tunic has his hair tied in a braid with red ribbons and a few gold-colored clips on the side of his hair. Claude is wearing a yellow top with a white shirt underneath, his patterned green and gold belt, cream pants, his gold earring, and a gold ring on his left ring finger. His right hand holds his left elbow, and his left hand is held to cover a smile on his mouth as he too watches the children. In the background, there is an earthy cliff, atop which there is green grass with some white and yellow flowers, Claude's resting white wyvern, and the My Unit OC's brown-red wyvern who is stretching one wing. The sky is blue with some white clouds, and a body of blue water can be seen. /End ID]

Changing Fae's colors back and forth in basically every drawing. This time I referenced the sprite I made. (I'll put this below the cut too)

It's my first time drawing any of my fankids! (: The boys are Geralt <- (intentional spelling) and Nader -> (eldest). Fae and Claude have a total of 4 children, and in worldstates with Avery (my Shez OC), Fae also has a child with him, and in various au's they also have a parental relationship to my Hilda x Lorenz fankids.

Close-ups and without a background below the cut.

[little-cereal-draws]

Details I noticed in The Last Wish pt 5

I know I said I was done but then I watched it again and now I have more

So I mentioned in a previous post how there's always a big build up before they show a character's face for the first time, but I realized the extent of it during this rewatch. In the very beginning, before Puss starts singing, they don't even show the face on the ice sculpture of him. They really want the first time the viewer sees his face to be when he starts singing

They also don't show Puss' face on the painting he vandalized of the Govenor until the spotlight goes on it. I know they did this for the funny dramatic reveal but it's really quite impressive that it wasn't in the shot sooner considering Puss was singing and dancing in front of it for quite some time now

A dog pees on the Govenor's couch

The lady in a wheelchair who's on the left side of the crowd after he defeats the giant is also at the party

Speaking of when Puss defeats the giant, he winks at the crowd as it falls behind him

The song he starts singing when he gets hit with the bell is called "The Legend Will Never Die." This is one of the songs he sings when he's in the cave of lost souls that we catch the very tail end of

When Death shows up at the bar, Puss has his tongue out from drinking his leche. He does a blep a lot longer than I would in the presence of Death but when Death holds the shot glass up, you can see him put it away in the reflection on the glass

The scythe that cuts Puss in the bar fight is the one with his lives marked off

Mama Luna's house is on a peninsula jutting into the sea

During the montage of him at Mama Luna's, when he lays down on the rug for the first time he has his back claws out. They retract slightly when all the other cats come and squish him in but they're still visible

The white and cream cat who becomes acquaintances with Puss (the white and cream cat watches him on the litterbox and they nod at each other later) is the one on the litterbox when Mama Luna tells him that that's his bathroom. So they have canonly both watched each other poop... that's fun...

The statue of the Govenor that Papa Bear knocks over as they leave Del Mar has the Govenor with a foot on a bag of money. No wonder the people didn't like him

Mama Luna has matching blue socks with her cats. They have pink paw prints on the bottom. She also has yellow paw prints on her earrings

Goldi laughs when Papa stuffs Mama Luna into the piano

On the inside of the doors in Jack's treasure room, it says J.H.

When the crime family falls through the ceiling of Jack's factory, the stained glass window of him breaks and falls outside the room. Later when Jack's packing his bag, he steps on the glass that's now inside the room. A little consistency error

Also when Jack and the Serpent Sisters walk into the treasure room, the door stays wide open. No one goes to close it and it doesn't swing shut by itself. In the next shot we get of the door, it's fully closed. It doesn't really matter but it's still interesting that they can include all these little things but didn't have the door swing shut or smth while they're talking. it would have been an easy fix. oh well

When they show Kitty's wanted poster, there's a hiss with the background music. A clever way to add a bit more of her character without doing anything too big

The music they play during the chase after Puss, Perrito, and Kitty steal the map is Puss and Kitty's Flamenco. It's the same song they play when they're fighting for the map later and dance on each other's feet

"I'll get you, my kitties, and your little dog too." A wonderful Wizard of Oz reference by Jack that no one ever talks about

When they're looking at the map in the Dark Forest, Kitty pushes Puss out of the way so she can see what her path is. Except she pushes him by his face. And she pushes him so hard, he completely flips over. That had to have hurt

Goldi has leather stitching on the back of her blue corset-esque piece where it was let out to fit her better. It's probably the same one she was wearing when she broke into the bear's house all those years ago and they've just been adjusting it to fit her as she grows

This isn't so much a detail as it is a question. They posies just hit Team Friendship but they eat Jack's people. Just pull all the flesh off their bones in one go. Why did they respond differently? Maybe it's because they didn't have the map? Maybe it's because they could sense that Team Friendship's wishes were better than Jacks? idk

Before Puss runs off from the fight by the river and has a panic attack, you can see Death reflecting in his eyes

Death smiles as he watches him run into the forest

When Mama Bear suggests that maybe they could be happy without a wish, Goldi gives her a glare. She does not like that idea lol

Goldi also pulls a face when Perrito says she won the orphan lottery and Mama says, "I like his jib as well. Lets keep him."

During the final fight at the star for the map, Puss jumps off Goldi's face to grab it

This isn't so much a detail as it is something funny I like, but I love it when Kitty has the map during the final fight and is jumping confidently through the air... and then gets body slammed by a bear lol Like she's so small and she just got completely launched by a bear coming out of nowhere

Also when Jack is ignoring Nutmegan as she gets sucked into the star and he just ducks as an entire bear goes flying over his head. idk i just think the bears fighting in very unbearlike ways is funny

So Puss must be unbelievably strong because when Baby was being sucked into the star, it took two full grown bears and Goldi to save him but Puss does it by himself. He almost gets sucked in too for much longer than Baby and no one comes to help him; he's just holding onto the Gatito Blade with one hand. And then all by himself, using only rage, he gets his feet back on the ground and rejoins the fight. Like,,,, that must have been so hard

Death growls as he talks when Puss finally stares him down after telling him to pick up the scythe

This is only something I noticed during the last fight but I'm pretty sure it's true during the rest of the movie too. Death doesn't blink. He closes his eyes when making certain facial expressions but he doesn't blink. This is such a subtle but cool way to make him feel more unsettling and supernatural without the audience picking up on it

When Perrito's trying to do the cute eyes at Jack, he puts his head down for a second and you can see his shoulder blades sticking out through his sweater

Kitty always runs like she's in an anime. Like this

When Puss suggests "chomper" as a name for Perrito, Kitty shakes her head too

Someone used the Gatito Blade to pin Team Friendship's wanted poster to the mast of the ship they steal at the end

When Puss points at it, his claws are out too. He was so offended by that being their official team name now, he was moved to minor violence lol

Part one, Part two, Part three, Part four