#faux dutch door spread

[pettydabblr]

[rayraystudies]

Happy October! The season of all the pumpkin spice marketing anyone could ever imagine. And I went for the low hanging fruit theme of…autumnal pumpkins and leaves (lol). It’s also really hard to tell in this photo but I actually cut around the pumpkins and made a faux dutch door (I loved the idea after watching @shaydacampbell (ig) set up her spreads for October).

✍ Archer & Olive Bullet Journal, Uniball Signo RT1 UMN-155, Archer & Olive Acrylograph Pens Cool Fall Collection 0.7mm Tip, Pentel Fude Touch Brush Sign Pen

ig: rayraystudies || links: carrd

[rokutouxei]

lips against his mouth

ikemen vampire: temptations in the dark arthur conan doyle / mc (avril) | T for language | 2902 | [ao3] somehow even if you know you’ll always lose the game to arthur, you keep playing. losing is worth it anyway. | @ikevamp-holiday-exchange happy holidays, @littlelady-blackwell, I hope this is to your taste!

Holiday season in the mansion was nothing less than as extravagant as its master. In truth, the celebration was less for the religious significance, and more for the sheer luxury of it—one that Le Comte would not dare miss out on. 

While the untouched-by-time duo expressed no exact preference for their meal, the rather interesting mix of cultures of the other mansion residents led to a very colorful spread on the table—among many other dishes, some Kerststol for the Dutch brothers, some foie gras and caviar for the French soldiers, some dainty wagashi for the Japanese author, a variety of puddings and pies for the two Englishmen, some Glühwein as requested rather curtly by the musician, and, mostly for the humor of the time-slipped cook of the night, the closest he could get to his hometown’s favorite Christmas meal: take-out fried chicken cooked with 11 secret herbs and spices.

You beam. “Well, seems like our work here is done.”

“We made a good team, I think.”

You and Sebastian started your preparations long before the sun rose, and your hands were full with work from that moment on. But now that you’ve finally finished plating all the multiple courses of the multiple cuisines of multiple meals, it seemed very much worth it. A beautiful aroma—just about the smell of Christmas, gingerbread, pine cones, cinnamon—wafts from the dessert tray waiting on the side like a blessing, enticing people toward the beautifully laid table with everything from soups and salads to a beautifully carved duck.

At exactly six o’clock, the mansion residents slowly made their way out of their rooms and into the dining hall, each one marveling at the feast in front of them.

The dinner is, of course, nothing short of a success. Le Comte applauds both you and Sebastian for a job well done, and everyone is munching happily on the comfort Christmas food in between sips of wine and rouge. At some point, Vincent shares a story about Christmases with his family when he was much younger, and Mozart—in a drunken half-stupor—also interjects with a few of his own stories. The holiday cheer envelops the entire room, but something is missing, and you desperately try to fill it by being busy half-listening half- trying to shove a bit of everything on the table onto your plate.

Until he arrives, at last.

At first you don’t pay attention to him. Vincent and Dazai greet him rather happily when he enters—“Christmases are better when you’re complete,” Vincent says with a happy hum—but he doesn’t make a move to approach you. When you sneak a peek, he’s piling up with some pudding and a slice of an apple pie he’s surely saved to give for Isaac, based on how it’s placed on his plate. But you don’t raise your voice, don’t bring it up, just continue to focus on the flow of conversation, and now it’s Napoleon talking about Christmas masses at the Notre Dame. Not today, you tell yourself, you won’t give him what he wants.

Until he begs for it.

“Well hello love, fancy seeing you here.”

In a moment he has one arm slung around your shoulder, and his bangs brush against the soft of your cheek. You don’t even turn to look when you answer. “Why are you late? Where were you?”

“Why, if you’re that cross at me, I can imagine you’d be furious at how old chap Theo isn’t here yet either,” Arthur says.

“At least he had the decency to tell me he’d be out late tonight for a client thing,” you bite back. When you turn to Arthur and he only grins back, you push a large bite of kerststol into his open mouth before turning away again. “I’m not listening to your excuses. Finish your food.”

“Little bird, don’t be upset.” He presses a gentle kiss to your cheek, and he sounds so concerned your little faux anger is starting to thaw at the edges. “I went to get you a present. And a game.”

One thing you hate—because you are absolutely weak to it—is when Arthur relies on a moment of vulnerability to get you to turn to his side. Every damn time he does this, you insist this is some sort of manipulation, but on the other hand Arthur likes to call it “an act of love.” Today, Arthur relents by pressing his chin against your shoulder rather softly, and winding his hands around your waist.

Oh, drat.

“I’m not upset,” you finally relent. You lost that one from the start. “But a game? What game?”

The face Arthur makes—half-grin, half-smirk—only spells trouble.

But that’s the face you fell in love with, and if you were ride or die with it ‘til the end.

“You know how Le Comte has lived a bloody long time now, right?” Arthur begins. “Now, I was snooping around once—no need to ask why—but I found this nice old bottle of Chartreuse in the cellar. Not just aged old, but straight-from-the-first-ever-casks-made old. Authentic antique stuff. Probably taste like god’s alcohol. Thought I’d come back for it some other day, but I never really got to, and based on my last look at Le Comte’s room, he hasn’t taken it up with him yet. So it should still be there.”

You know where this is going, but you’d rather confirm the crime first. “So what do we do?”

“Simple: we find the bottle, and we drink it,” Arthur says. “But not just drink it, we play a game with it. When—and I say when—we find that bottle, we play truth or drink. First one to get drunk loses.”

“You don’t have the best alcohol tolerance, Arthur.”

“Neither do you, and that’s why I’m betting on mine.”

“Fine,” you surrender. Only a few minutes with him and it seems like he always has the upper hand. And yet somehow you don’t dislike that. “But the one who doesn’t find the bottle gets a glass headstart.”

He grins, gesturing toward the unattended door. “That’s what I like about you, pet. Let’s go.”

-

Because life is unfair and you are not the mind behind legendary detective Sherlock Holmes, Arthur finds the bottle before you. He hums happily as he pulls out the dark Chartreuse bottle out from the shelf, leaving you astounded in front of the white wine bottles. He says something about knowing the year Chartreuse was made and the order everything was arranged, but that doesn’t matter anyway because you’ve lost.

Luckily, he doesn’t doom the both of you into drinking in the cellar, so after carrying out a pair of beer bottles and also one with red wine, the both of you make your way to the garden, settling under the gazebo, the only light the dim glow from the mansion and tiny specks of starlight. You place the beautiful crystal glasses you’ve “borrowed” from the little feast on the table and Arthur pops open the drink.

“This isn’t the only reason you took us down here, is it?” you ask him, as he pours some Chartreuse—a beautiful green-yellow liquid that smells amazing.

“Is it so bad I want to have my lady alone to myself on Christmas Eve?” he says as he finishes pouring his own glass. “How about a toast to a wonderful holiday?”

You do a toast and drink under the night sky, faintly hearing the bustle from inside the dining hall. Arthur turns towards you and gives you a look.

“Would you rather be back inside with the rest of them?”

You pause for a full moment—just to mess with him; you see his expression slowly shift—before answering, “No, I’d rather be out here with you.”

“Golly, sure like to give me a heart attack, don’t you?” he chuckles. Then he turns towards you with a glint in his eyes. “Let’s play the game, Avril.”

-

The penalty of single glass of Chartreuse headstart? That hit hard. After you downed it you immediately regretted saying it in the first place. What kind of confidence did you have in that moment that you’d find the bottle first anyway? It was Arthur who saw the bottle before you even began. He was bound to win. But a game is a game and it must be played.

You swirl the Chartreuse on your glass and turn to Arthur.

“Since I had the first glass, you answer first.”

“Sure,” he says, tilting his empty glass towards you.

“Let’s start with something simple,” you consider. “After you turned into a vampire, what thing was the hardest change for you?”

“Oh, those kinds of questions. I was thinking the naughtier kind.”

You glare at him. “Hey, you don’t have a say on the questions I ask. Just the answers. C’mon.”

“Well,” he pauses. “I think the one that took a while to adjust to was the food. Or rather how it wasn’t needed anymore. Sure, Sebas cooks meals as normal, but it’s not the same kind of satisfying as with, say, humans eating food. Rather like a vice, really: enjoyable, but otherwise rather empty.”

You frown, thinking of the plates and plates of food you’ve eaten with Arthur. “But it’s not as bleak as you make it out to be, is it? It’s still pleasant, right?”

“Of course it is!” he says. “Especially when it’s with you.”

The smile returns to your face. “Okay, your turn.”

“How experienced are you when it comes to sex?”

You feel your face flush bright red, and this isn’t the alcohol, you’re sure. “What?”

“No objections allowed on the questions,” Arthur says, mirroring your answer earlier.

You huff. “And then what? You’re going to get jealous and blame me for it?”

“That’s assuming there’s anything I can be jealous of?” he hums. “I already have you. Why would I still be jealous?”

You look hesitantly at Arthur, and he points at the Chartreuse bottle as if saying, if you don’t trust me, then drink? But you do trust him, you do, and that’s the hard part. You sigh in defeat and whisper a vague detail in his ear, something just enough to sate his interest and nothing in gory detail. You squeeze your hands on your lap. Your greatest worry is that he judges you, after all.

But he only smiles at you. “Interesting! Thank you for entertaining my little curiosity.”

You are filled with relief. “Why were you so curious about it anyway?”

He shrugs. “Just wanted to know where you learned to be like that.”

You’re sure all your blood has now rushed to your cheeks. “Arthur!”

“Yes, yes, okay, I’m stopping,” he laughs, shrugging you off. “Your turn.”

“Next time ask a better question,” you say while pouting. You consider your next question as a point of counterattack. “Oh, oh, I have a good one.” You raise your glass towards him. “I know you were always chasing after ‘little skirts’ and all, and you’ve made an entire living out of it in the past—”

“I did not! Who said that?”

“—but my point is, have you ever—even just tried—to be with a dude? Even just once!”

Arthur considers this for a full moment, pursing his lips and even running his tongue over it, before he takes the Chartreuse bottle and begins to fill his glass up. Your jaw goes slack.

“Really? You’re drinking to that?”

“Some men have to keep their secrets, you know.”

“I won’t judge you, Arthur.”

“I know you won’t,” he says, before he downs the contents of the glass. “But this relationship would benefit from a bit of mystery, don’t you think? Besides, this game is no fun if no one drinks.”

“Fine,” you say, relaxing back into your seat. “Your turn.”

“Okay. What’s the thing you like best about me?” Arthur asks.

In that instant, you can think of a million answers, and listing them would maybe take you forever, but you decide the best one to say is nothing, so you pour some Chartreuse into your glass.

He pouts. “Now you’re doing that just to spite me.”

“So what if I am?”

“Oh, I’ll find a way you’ll tell me, one way or another,” Arthur concedes, and you only smile as you take your drink.

You don’t know how long the two of you sit out there drinking, but if the moon was any indicator, as it soared across the night sky, then you’ve spent a good amount of time out here. The questions don’t run out, from the mundane to the absolutely scandalous, firing at each other, seeking outrageous answers with the confidence of a drunk man on remembering what occurred overnight. At some point you switch from drinking as a penalty to drinking for the fun of it, and it doesn’t take long for the Chartreuse to go empty, and so Arthur pops open the next bottle, and the next. Luckily, the tipsiness doesn’t hit you enough to make you black out, just very gooey on the edges, and eventually you end up lying with your head on his lap. By this time you’ve given up the glasses for drinking straight from the bottle—“like a real pirate!”—which you alternate taking swigs out from.

Tongue loose, you look at Arthur’s blue, blue eyes and smile softly. “Hey, you know that thing you asked earlier?”

“Mm?”

“About what thing I liked about you?”

He pouts again. “Yeah, you refused to answer it.”

“No, no, no, baby, don’t pout,” you say, reaching out for his face. “There’s a reason for it. And it’s because I didn’t want to tire my tongue out talking. Because it’s everything.” You feel a grin form on his face. Taking this as a sign of approval, you begin to babble. “I like you. You know how weird it is to be this attracted to someone? Even I didn’t think I could fall in love like this. Just completely, fully, over-the-moon… ugh. I love you. I love all of you. Every single square inch of you, even your big, big, big, big”—a moment to consider—“brain.”

Arthur clears his throat and gives you a knowing smirk, to which the two of you laugh.

“Baby,” you coo. “I have another question.”

“What is it?”

You take a moment as if considering your question, but then realize there is nothing you have to fear when you have Arthur next to you. You stare at him with eyes filled with an infinite love, and ask, “Why did you choose me?”

Taken off-guard by the look on your face, Arthur turns away from you and looks up at the mansion, where he sees the faint shadow of Le Comte and Leonardo talking by the balcony. The party must have long been over by this time. Behind the mansion is a vast black sky, illuminated by the dim blue light of stars.

He begins to stroke your hair with his hands, soothing fingertips smoothing out the strands. You nuzzle against him—nearly purr, like a cat—but don’t insist on the question, don’t rush him, and Arthur doesn’t quite have the courage to look at you yet because he knows if he does he might just burst into vulnerable tears.

What a silly question, he thinks. What does it mean to choose when there are no other options? Sure, he’d been playing around but it wasn’t like he was looking for something like this. He hadn’t expected he’d be able to find something like this at all. Arthur loved the game—and he loved to play it, and he thought he could play it forever and ever and ever.

He couldn’t. He didn’t want to, anymore.

So no. There were no options. But that doesn’t mean that he had only chosen you because there was no one else. It was how he did not want anyone else. No one had passed the test. No one else had the qualifications. There was an entrance exam to Arthur’s heart and you had aced every single assessment.

But even that wasn’t right. You didn’t go out of your way to seek him out or romance him. It was all rather… organic. You weren’t just a hopeful, you weren’t some sort of candidate. You weren’t a selection on a list. You never were.

Arthur’s voice hides deep inside his voicebox like a scared mouse, like if he dares make a sound he’ll be found out. But he knows these are words that deserve to be heard. So he says it.

“I didn’t choose you, little bird,” he finally dares to say, his voice small and weak like it’ll crumble, with the bottle’s lips against his mouth, “It was you who had chosen me.”

But by the time this answer leaves his mouth you had long fallen into the realm of sleep, snoring lightly and rather adorably on his lap. Not that it matters, Arthur thinks, as he finishes the rest of the bottle and stares out at the sprawling garden. He doesn’t even need alcohol, the next time. He’ll say it again and again and again if you ask.

Tomorrow he’ll give you your Christmas gift. But he knows that no matter what he gives, it will never match the gift you have given him in allowing to be his.

[flamehairedwritings]

The Fire In Your Eyes: Chapter Six

Characters: Arthur Morgan x Original Female Character

Rating: The whole series will be E, 18+ ONLY for violence, gore, character deaths, animal deaths, parent deaths, swearing, grief, sexual themes and sex.

Summary: Saved by Arthur Morgan when her town is attacked, a young woman’s past comes back to haunt her when she has no choice but to join the Van der Linde Gang.

The Fire In Your Eyes Masterlist

Please don’t copy, steal or re-post my work; credit does not count.

The Bonds of Time

“Did you think I’d forget you? Just ‘cause I ain’t visited in a while?” Colm shook his head with a soft laugh. “How could I ever forget my only niece? You was a firecracker back then, too, runnin’ around, wantin’ to hold your daddy’s guns and shoot at the rats before the cat got ‘em.”

He laughed again and all she could do was cry silently, her breaths shaky. He talked so fondly.

"Shit, yeah, you was more entertainin’ than your brother—”

“Don’t you dare talk about him, you son of a bitch—”

“But he’s a ball of fire himself now.”

She froze. He smiled, his leg bouncing up and down slightly, as if in excitement, as if he had been waiting for this.

“He’s dead,” she whispered after a few moments, unblinking.

“Is he?” Colm watched her closely, his voice softer. “Or did he just decide to stay with us?”

She shook her head, at first slowly then firmly, her jaw tightening as anger started to build. “He went after you to kill you, he would have rather died than be part of your gang.”

“Yeah, that’s what he said himself,” Colm sighed, “But... when I told him it was Dutch and not me who killed your daddy, then, well... he changed his mind.”

Her hands curled into fists and she would have given anything to be free.

“He wouldn’t have believed you—”

“You don’t seem so shocked at that particular bit of news.” Colm tilted his head, a faux frown settling on his features. “You ain’t callin’ me a liar, either. It was my understandin’ from Thomas that you all thought I was the one to do it, so I guess you found out the truth, too. How recently? Go on, how recently?” he prompted as she remained silent.

"Before we came to meet with you,” she whispered, and he laughed with joy.

“Today? Ah, shit, girl.” He grinned at her in disbelief. “Out of the mouth of God himself, I presume?”

When she didn’t say anything he laughed again, shaking his head.

“Today, I don’t believe it...” He leaned his elbows on his knees. “I reckon you might owe me an apology of some sort, then.”

“Excuse me?”

“Oh, shit, you look just like your ma when you look at me like that—"

“Don’t you dare talk about her, you bastard, because of you she is dead.”

That made him pause just slightly. “Is that right?”

“Yes, we were living in Strawberry and your men attacked it a week ago. Do you even remember?” She spat each word out.

He nodded a few times. Then, a corner of his mouth twisted up. “Yeah, I remember. We were gettin’ young Colin and Andrew out of jail before they could spill their guts to the law. We ended up spillin’ 'em nice and good ourselves.”

“You killed them?” She stared at him, horrified. “So all that bloodshed, all those lives taken—”

“Is sometimes a necessity, to keep family safe.”

“You don’t care about family, Colm.” 

He chuckled, shaking his head. “It seems you don’t know me at all, my darlin’ Addy. We’ve lost out on a lot of time together.”

All she could do was stare at him, fresh tears sliding down her cheeks. She’d forgotten his nickname for her.

His smile widened a little more, before he sighed contentedly and stood with a quiet groan. “Well, I must be goin’ now, my darlin’.” Straightening up, he slid the ring onto the fourth finger of his right hand before returning his gaze to her. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, they’ll let you go, the law. You ain’t done nothin’ wrong.” He reached out and stroked her hair. This time she jerked her head away, her lips curling. He laughed. “Just like your ma... I’d take you with me, but I don’t fancy sleepin’ with one eye open. I’ll come and find you soon, though, once you’ve calmed down and seen sense.” He then gave her another fond smile. “Family should be together. Thomas’ll be so happy to see you.”

“He isn’t alive,” she half-hissed, half-pleaded.

He just smiled, then turned and walked away.

  "He’s dead!” she yelled after him, pulling against the rope, ignoring it as it cut into her skin. “He’s dead!”

He didn’t know how he’d found the energy to do it, but he’d freed himself. Freed himself from being hung upside down like a God damn animal ready to be butchered. He’d swung, managed to grab the metal file on the nearby table and picked the lock that held him bound. He’d used the same file to cauterise his wound with the help of the candle and, God, he didn’t know how he kept quiet as pain spread through his shoulder once more. He sat for a moment, trying to catch his breath─

The doors above opened.

“... he’s dead!”

Annie.

Shit...

“Shut your hole!”

Shit...

“I don’t wanna go to Mexico. I wanna go home... home!” Another voice, nearer.

Keeping hold of the file, he pushed himself up from the chair and staggered to the wall near the stairs, pressing himself against it.

“Hold on, I’ll be back in a minute.”

The man, carrying a lantern, moved down the stairs, paused, then darted forward, raising his lantern higher.

“What the hell?!”

Arthur lunged. 

Wrapping one arm around his neck and pressing his hand over his mouth, he started to choke the man, then twisted his neck, breaking it. Shoving the dead man side, he sucked in air, the task tiring him more than it should have.

You can rest when you’re dead, you idiot...

Searching the man’s body, he found a gun and throwing-knives. Knowing he couldn’t take them all on at once, he took the knives, opting, and praying, for a quiet escape.

Moving towards the stairs, he crouched as he ascended them slowly, straining to hear who was outside the doors.

“What’s he still doing down there?”

He paused at a new voice.

“It’s one thing torturing a man, it’s another putting him through stories of the homeland.”

A man passed by the open doors, mercifully, without looking down, a cigarette between his lips.

“He better hurry it up... I don’t wanna be here when the law comes for that side of beef.”

As the man’s voice grew quieter, Arthur started moving again, and peered out over the doors.

There was no one close by, but he could see lights shining from lanterns in a couple of places not too far off. Pressing his lips together, he stepped out from the stairs and, keeping low, turned to the left, spotting the man he’d seen speaking. Quietly, he approached and lunged once more.

It took mere seconds for him to break the man’s neck. This time he took the man’s gun, gripping it tightly. Glancing about, he headed towards the next source of light that was moving away from him. Fuelled by adrenaline now, he ran to the tree near it, paused for only a moment, then raced at the man, tackling him to the floor.

The man could only hiss out a brief, “What the hell?” before Arthur drove his fist into his face then choked him, watching the man as he died. Throwing him down, he huffed out a breath then stood, searching the area.

Where the hell is Annie?

He strained to hear once more.

“What are you lookin’ at, sweetheart?”

“Nothing.”

“Oh, are you implyin’ somethin’ there, bitch?”

Pressing his lips together, Arthur moved quietly towards the voices, coming to an old shack and pressing his back against it.

“I didn’t think you would be intelligent enough to pick up on it.”

“I think you’re lookin’ for a fight, aren’t ye? Well, I don’t fight women—”

“How noble of you.”

“You ain’t any better ‘an me, sweetheart, at least that’s what I heard—”

“Shut your mouth, you bastard, or I will kill you.”

All he had to do was wait until the man was completely distracted, Annie was doing a fine job of that—

“Oh, yeah, and how are you goin’ to do that?”

At the sound of a second voice, Arthur grit his teeth and peered through a gap in the slats of the shack. All he could make out was the top of a fire, Annie’s skirt and a man’s hand. Lowering himself, he slowly moved behind one of the crates.

“Huh? Tell us. How are you goin’ to do that when you’re tied up like that? You ain’t gonna do nothin’, are you.”

The man laughed, and Arthur quickly rounded the crate, ducking behind a stack of them and—

His guns. Exhaling a short breath, he quickly collected his revolvers and gun belt from on top of the box beside him and secured them around him as the men continued to taunt Annie.

“You just like talkin’ a good talk, don’t ye? Just ‘cause ye know we can’t do nothin’. Talk all you want, sweetheart, ye’ll be ours soo—”

Ada gasped as the man suddenly choked on his words, a knife buried in his head. He fell to the floor, his eyes wide, narrowly missing the fire.

“What the fuck?!” The moustached man grabbed his gun and made to stand, but before he could even straighten up, a knife sank into his neck. He made a gargled sound and collapsed, his shotgun tumbling out of his hands.

“Oh my God...” she breathed, staring at his body.

“Hey, you all righ’?”

She inhaled sharply as someone suddenly crouched beside her and her gaze darted up—

Arthur.

She stared at him, trying to process that he was actually there and the state he was in.

“Oh my God, Arthur—”

“Are you all right?” he asked again, more firmly, but she could see he was just barely focusing on her.

“Yes, yes, I’m fine, my, my hands...” Her voice shook, in fact her whole body was shaking, and she didn’t know whether it was from shock finally settling in or the cold breeze that now blew over them.

“All righ’, hang on...”

As he used a knife to cut through her bonds, she took the few moments to study him.

Jesus Christ...

His face was bloody and bruised more than hers, he was only in his red long johns, there was a large patch of dried blood on his shoulder—

“Arthur, your shoulder, Colm said it was bad—”

“Don’t worry ‘bout me.”

Her arms fell as he cut through the last of the rope and she hissed at the stiffness, her eyes closing tightly.

“Shit, I’m sorry.”

She felt his arm around her back and his hand on the pole behind her.

“Annie... Annie?”

She opened her eyes and looked at him.

“You have to stand up with me, all right? We have to get out of here.”

She nodded a few times, wetting her lips.

“All right...”

Tightening his arm around her, he gripped tightly at the pole and pushed himself up, clenching his teeth as his body protested. Wincing herself, she held onto his good shoulder as they rose, her legs weak. Trying to plant her feet firmly as blood rushed back into them, she leaned against him, her eyes closed.

“Annie, we gotta—”

“I know, I know, just let me...” She could hear how weak he was, could feel it as he swayed slightly against her. Swallowing, she opened her eyes and looked up at him, his face close to hers. “All right, let’s go.”

Nodding, he let go of the pole. Keeping his arm around her, either to keep her up or support himself, probably both, he started to move.

“Over there...” he murmured, pointing at at a small group of horses under a tree. 

She guided them over as he searched the darkness for any signs of movement. Arthur didn’t believe Colm would have just left those four men to defend the camp, others must be around somewhere.

Ophelia and Faithful lifted their heads and each made a sound as they approached, turning and walking towards them. 

“Hey, girl...” Arthur murmured to Ophelia as Annie led him to her, and she ducked under his arm, reaching up to lift his hand and place it on the back of the saddle.

“Up you get, Arthur.”

His other hand settled on the pommel and he closed his eyes, pausing for a moment. Then, he hauled himself up, grunting through gritted teeth. It was painful to watch him, but just as she went to aid him, though, he swung his leg over and sat up, his head tipping back slightly. Exhaling breaths he must have been holding, he wet his lips and held his hand out to her.

“Come on.”

"I’ll be fine, I’ll get on Faithful.”

Before he could protest, she mounted Faithful and clicked her tongue gently, prompting him into a walk. Ophelia, perhaps sensing her owner wasn’t in a good state, starting walking, too.

Arthur, clinging to adrenaline and knowing he had to not only get himself but Annie away alive, too, made himself grip the reins tightly and straighten a little, urging Ophelia into a canter. Annie followed his lead as they turned down onto a wide dirt path. A lake was to their right, waves gently lapping at the shore.

They kept their gazes fixed ahead, searching the distance for anything.

“I reckon there’ll be more of ‘em in the area, so we just gotta get far away, then we’ll make a plan.”

His quiet words were slightly slurred and her eyes darted to him. He was leaning a little to one side.

Christ...

“Arthur—”

“Shit, look, there...”

Her head whipped up as they slowed their horses. There, in the distance, were flickering lights that were growing closer.

“This way, down onto the bank,” she whispered, turning Faithful and guiding him down onto it, glancing over her shoulder to make sure Arthur was following.

He stayed behind her and they kept to a walk to make as little sound as possible. Above them, the lights grew brighter and they began to hear the voices.

“Why does Colm want us there? What’s he gonna do if he’s tied up?”

“He ain’t worried about Morgan, it’s Dutch and his gang he’s concerned about. He don’t want ‘em ambushin’ us before the law gets here...”

The voices passed and Ada released a breath. There was no way they could relax just yet, though. Turning, she looked at Arthur. He sat slumped, barely holding the reins, leaning to his right.

Shit...

“We’ve got to go faster, all right, Arthur?” she murmured, her heart racing. “Just for a little while so we can put some distance between us and them, okay?”

He nodded but didn’t respond, and she thought perhaps he hadn’t heard her properly, when he cleared his throat and urged Ophelia into a gallop. Swiftly doing the same with Faithful, they raced along the shore, Ada keeping an eye on the bank above and the other side of the lake for any lights or O’Driscolls. She could hear Arthur breathing harshly beside her, and prayed to God Almighty that he just held on for a little longer as they passed under a train track that sat high above.

Glancing down, Ada noticed deep lines and hoof marks in the sand, evidence it was used as a crossing area.

That coupled with the tracks... She knew where they were.

“Arthur, look...” she called quietly, slowing Faithful to a stop, Ophelia automatically doing the same. “We’ll cross here. We’ll go at a walk so we don’t make too much noise.”

He just nodded again, his head dropping down slightly.

Please, God...

Taking the lead, she guided Faithful into the river, Ophelia following behind. She could have taken them further up the bank, crossed in shallower waters but she knew time was precious. Cool water rose up her legs, soaking her boots and the lower half of her skirt, and she couldn’t help but shiver lightly. Arthur made a sound behind her as the water soaked his legs and she looked back at him, her eyes momentarily darting to the bank behind them to check they were safe.

“Just a little farther, Arthur. We’ll just put the river between us, all right, then we can take it a little easier, okay?”

He didn’t respond.

All she could hear was the water sloshing quietly as the horses swan across. There were no birds, no voices, nothing.

They were so close to the other side.

Just get there, just get there, just get there...

She could have cried when the water started to lower as they made it to shallower waters and the small island close to the bank, and moments after Faithful stepped onto the shore, his gait quickening into a canter.

“Good boy, come on,” she murmured, urging him up the incline to the path above, checking Ophelia was indeed following.

Finally, finally, they made it onto the flat path. Blowing out a breath, Ada gently halted Faithful and turned to Arthur.

“If we just—”

She broke off with a sharp inhale as he collapsed to one side. Swiftly sliding off of Faithful, she lunged forward and caught him around the waist before he fell, her shoulder pressing against his chest. She could hear his ragged breaths against her ear.

“Shit...” she breathed, trying to adjust her stance as she supported the full weight of him. “You’re all right, you’re okay...”

Breathing hard, she squeezed her eyes shut before pushing him up, trying to get him upright. Keeping her hands on his sides, she steadied him as best as she could.

“You’re okay, you’re okay...” she repeated under her breath, almost to herself.

Lights caught her attention.

Staring beyond him, she saw lights moving slowly across the other side of the lake, farther down.

“Oh, shit...”

Whether it was O’Driscolls or travellers she didn’t want to wait to find out.

Gripping the pommel of Ophelia’s saddle, essentially just her straining forearm keeping Arthur up, she placed her boot in the stirrup and pulled herself up. Sitting on his bedroll, she slipped her other boot into the other stirrup and gathered the reins. She guided Arthur to lean back against her, tilting her chin up and resting it on his good shoulder.

“There we go, we’re all right...” she murmured, her whole body tense to bear the weight of him.

Nudging Ophelia’s sides with the heels of her boots, she prompted her into a canter, calling quietly to Faithful to get him to follow.

Just get back to camp, just get back...

“All right, girl, come on, take us home...”

Arthur’s head leaned against hers as they rode and she listened to his shallow breathing, her chest tightening.

Please, God, let him make it.

He swam in and out of consciousness.

He was cold and hot all at once, and everything was so painful he was almost numb. A gentle voice sounded close by, so close it felt like it was in his head. He couldn’t hear what it was saying but it sounded soothing.

Hours or minutes passed, he didn’t know.

The next time he came to, though, the voice sounded a little clearer, if strained.

“We’re here, Arthur... Please wake up...”

He gave a slight groan, and he thought he heard the person, the woman, breathe a ‘Oh, thank God...’

Ada watched him for a moment as he groaned, before she returned her attention to the path. She brought them back to camp from the north side; no one had been guarding it.

Please still be here...

As they rose up the small incline, relief flooded through her as the camp came into view, the tents, horses and wagons still there.

Pulling the already slowing Ophelia to a stop, she cleared her sore throat as she dropped the reins.

“Somebody help!” she called hoarsely, unsure as to whether anyone would even hear her.

Swallowing hard, she winced as she slid her boots out of the stirrups and slowly moved a leg back, her hands gripping Arthur’s waist tightly as she dismounted. Her knees almost buckled when her feet touched the floor. When Arthur tipped to the side and leaned against her, they did.

Her body finally gave out as she collapsed, Arthur falling with her. They landed on the ground, he with a grunt, she with a gasped inhale.

She could hear how weak his breathing was and it terrified her.

“Someone help!” she called again, her voice no louder than her first attempt.

Then, mercifully, someone appeared above her.

“Arthur! Annie!” Mary-Beth gasped, her eyes wide as she pressed her hands against her cheeks.

Karen was suddenly there, too, kneeling beside Arthur. “Oh my God, are you two—”

Then, Dutch was there.

“Arthur—”

“I told you it was a set up, Dutch...” Arthur groaned.

Ada gazed up at the sky, trying to regulate her breathing.

“My boy, my dear boy, what?” Dutch continued.

“They got... me and Annie but we got away...”

“He needs help,” she finally whispered, her gaze meeting Dutch’s.

He nodded slightly, staring at Arthur’s wound. “Yeah, that you did, my boy.” Straightening, he looked around, calling out, “Miss Grimshaw? I need help!”

"... he was gonna set the law on us...” Arthur carried on as Dutch, Mary-Beth and Karen helped him to sit up, his voice straining with the effort.

"... They had us over the river from Flatneck Station...” Ada murmured over him, blinking slowly.

Charles was suddenly there, gently brushing the hair from her face as his eyes swept over her and the state she was in. He carefully slid his arms underneath her and lifted her as if she weighed no more than a feather.

As he carried her away, she heard Pearson apologising profusely.

“... I’m sorry, Arthur, I’m, I’m so sorry, Annie—”

“It is a bit late for apologies,” Dutch snapped before calling out once more, “Swanson!”

Pearson swallowed hard before gripping Arthur’s arm as he, Dutch and Mary-Beth lifted him to his feet. “Mr Morgan, you’re safe now, you and Miss Sawyer are both safe—”

“Where is she, where’s Annie?” Arthur slurred, trying to look around as Dutch and Pearson drew his arms around their shoulders so they could support him.

"Charles has got her, don’t you worry, you’re both safe now,” Dutch soothed him gently as they half carried him towards his area, his feet stumbling slightly.

“Let’s get him to bed,” he heard Miss Grimshaw order, his gaze fixed on the ground. 

Was he insane or was the ground flowing like water?

With a slight grunt from both men, Pearson and Dutch lowered him onto his bed, Dutch repeating, “You’re safe now.”

Arthur huffed out a harsh laugh that startled them all. “That’s pretty, Dutch...” He dropped his head back against the pillow, his eyes already closing. “... That’s real pretty...”

Dutch watched him, his mouth in a thin line.

“Miss Grimshaw,” he murmured after a moment, “Will you sit with him awhile?”

"Of course,” Susan answered quietly. Pulling a chair from the table beside his bed closer, she patted Arthur’s arm gently. “You’ll be okay, Mr Morgan, you’re home.”

Dutch stared for a few moments, then turned on his heel and strode across the camp.

“You’re all right, Annie, you’re going to be fine now...”

She gazed at Charles as he carried her. She couldn’t quite believe it yet, couldn’t quite believe they’d actually made it.

“Am I really here?” she murmured, so quietly.

“Yes, you’re here now. You’re safe.”

He had such lovely hair. The soft ends of it brushed against her cheek.

“Arthur’s in a bad way.”

“Miss Grimshaw’s looking after him. She’ll take good care of him.”

She heard herself exhale a faint laugh, the corners of her mouth lifting slightly as her eyes suddenly filled with tears.

Good. Good old Susan. She would allow nothing to pass that she didn’t want, even death itself. Arthur would be safe.

Charles looked at her as he came to a stop and started to lower her down.

“Are you all right—”

“Put her in my tent.” John was suddenly at his side, a grim expression on his features. “She’ll need the privacy.”

“Thank you, John.”

She looked at John as Charles straightened again, adjusting his hold on her gently, and hoped he understood her silent gratitude, her eyes still shining with unshed tears.

John nodded, his hand lightly touching her shoulder, before he was gone, walking in the direction of Arthur’s tent. He passed Dutch, who was heading towards them.

She looked away, returning her gaze to Charles.

“I can’t feel my legs.”

“The bottom of your skirt is damp. Did you cross water?” He was speaking as quietly as she was, and it was so nice, like there was no one else in the world.

“Yes, it was the quickest way to get him back.”

“And you, too. We’ll have to get you warm, though.” Charles ducked a little as he entered John’s tent, and gently set her down on the bed.

A long breath left her as she sank against it, her eyes closing. She felt Charles kneel beside her, his fingers lightly touching her jaw, checking for swelling or fractures.

“How do you fee—”

“My dear girl...”

Ada’s eyes opened as Dutch stepped into the tent, concern etched across his features.

“Are you all right? What happened?”

Charles continued to carefully check her face as she spoke, her eyes half-open. “They took us on the ledge. Knocked us both out, I think, they certainly did me. When I came to, we were on the move, on their horses. We were crossing water, it was such clear water, I could see fish, and I started calling out, hoping someone would hear us. They hit me, and I just yelled louder, then they hit me again and again and again, and I fainted again...” She broke off to hiss quietly as Charles touched a particularly tender part of her cheek, relaxing at his murmured apology. “... The next thing I knew I was tied to a post. Then Colm...” She broke off again, his words suddenly flooding back.

The tears that had filled her eyes suddenly spilled, slipping down her cheeks. Charles paused his studying, one of his fingers gently brushing the tears away.

“What, my dear?” Dutch prompted gently, his eyes fixed on her. “What did he do to you, Annie?”

Her mouth moved slightly but nothing came out.

“Annie?” Charles murmured, his hand settling on her shoulder.

She turned her head a little to one side, then shook it. “Nothing. He did nothing to me.” She felt Charles relax. “He just... He’s just an awful man.”

“That he is,” Dutch agreed, anger seeping into his tone. “That son of a bitch... Miss Sawyer, I promise you, this great wrong will be righted, I will see to that.”

She just nodded, taking in a slightly shuddering breath.

“What happened after tha—”

“Where is she? Annie?!”

Sean all but burst into the tent, his eyes wide as he caught sight of her.

“Oh, darlin’, are you all right?” His frantic tone instantly softened as he knelt beside Charles, his hand finding hers.

She smiled weakly, her features crumbling slightly as she tried not to sob.

Don’t...

“I’m fine, Sean, really. It looks worse than it is.”

“That’s probably true,” Charles added, sitting back on his heels. “I can’t feel any breaks or fractures. Is there anywhere else—”

She shook her head quickly when she felt Sean tighten his grip. “No, no, it’s just my face, nowhere else.”

“Well, that is a relief.” Dutch sighed heavily before inclining his head. “I shall leave you to rest, then. Are you all right to tend to her, Charles?”

“Yes, if that’s all right with you, Annie.”

She hummed quietly. “Yes, that’s fine.”

“Can I stay, too, Annie?”

“Of course you can, Sean,” she murmured, her eyes closing.

“Very good. Rest well, Miss Sawyer.”

She hummed again, hearing Dutch exit.

“Sean, will you get me some clean cloths and water?”

“Yeah, sure.”

Her hand dropped from his, and she heard him leave quickly.

Fingers gently brushed her forehead.

 “Sleep, now, Annie,” Charles murmured.

She finally gave in to the exhaustion.

Warm sunlight danced across her face.

Karen hadn’t closed the tent flap properly last night.

Ada didn’t mind, though. It was wonderful.

She’d spent a full day sleeping after their return and the next resting. She’d relayed again all that had happened to Dutch and Hosea on that second day, Hosea sparing her from having to reveal all the details by gently cutting off Dutch’s barrage of questions. After that, the girls had joined her and talked with her, Mary-Beth braiding her hair while Karen and Tilly took turns showing off what they’d stolen recently. Sadie even joined them and laughed along, and when the other women left she quietly told Ada that Arthur was still sleeping but Miss Grimshaw had done the best she could and the wound looked a little better.

On the third day her body felt stronger but Sean had persuaded her to stay abed, telling her she should take all the time she needed to recover. Secretly, she was relieved. Something in her just couldn’t face leaving the safety this tent had provided from reality. He stayed with her all day and she welcomed his distractions, listening to his stories of wild adventures that might not have been all true and making her laugh until her stomach hurt.

On the fourth day, Abigail brought Jack to see her.

“He’s been complainin’ about wantin’ to see you,” Abigail said apologetically but, again, Ada welcomed the distraction, and listened to him talking about his drawings or the books he was reading or the fish he’d seen in the lake for hours. She had to hide her dismay when Abigail came to retrieve him, as the times she was left alone...

The nights were hard. Left alone with only her thoughts and memories, she couldn’t help but turn over Colm’s words in her mind, obsessing over the way he’d said it, his expressions, the language he’d used. Was he telling the truth? The idea of her brother being alive was as unbearable as it was him being dead. She didn’t want the tiny spark of hope it had built within her. If it wasn’t that she thought about incessantly, then it was the knowledge that her father’s murderer was sleeping only a few feet away. Could he even remember the two small children that had been there when he’d killed Michael O’Driscoll? 

The only brief reprieve she had was thinking about, despite what Colm had said, Arthur had saved her. He had come for her and saved her. And she had saved him.

If she did sleep, it was fitfully, waking always with a start at the slightest sound. She thought of getting up and walking around the camp but she didn’t want to talk to anyone, too vulnerable in that moment to mask her pain.

It was the fifth day, now, and she knew she could no longer hide away in John’s tent under the pretence she was recovering. She didn’t want to have to explain that while she might have physically recovered, emotionally she was still in complete turmoil. Mary-Beth helped her to dress, gifting her a slightly worn plain black skirt with pockets that went beautifully with the emerald blouse Sean had stolen for her. She then braided her hair again up into a bun, looking very satisfied and proud once she stepped back.

“There. Oh, you look beautiful, Annie! Here, have a look...”

She handed her the small mirror from the barrel on the other side of the tent that John probably used to shave with, and for the first time in five days Ada saw her reflection.

The cut on her eyebrow had scabbed over, making it look worse than it probably was. Bruises along her jaw and cheekbones were smaller than she thought, though they were still faintly purple and blue, only a few starting to turn a little yellow. Dark circles hung under her eyes, evidence that she was perhaps not coping as well as she wanted everyone to think.

What a fright you look, her mother would have said.

Mary-Beth had done a lovely job of her hair, though, so Ada smiled as she lowered the mirror, handing it back to her.

“Thank you, Mary-Beth, you’ve turned me into something wonderful.”

“Oh, gosh, no,” the other woman dismissed gently as she took the mirror, returning it to its position, “You’re very pretty, Annie, I just made your hair a little neater.”

Ada’s smile widened a little more as she pushed herself up to stand. “You’re the beauty here, Mary-Beth, neat hair or not.”

Mary-Beth beamed as she shrugged her shoulders. “I always like to look nice, so, thank you, Annie.”

Ada lifted a grey, probably once white, shawl from the end of the bed and wrapped it around her shoulders, about to follow Mary-Beth out when the other woman paused before turning back to face her.

“I think it was so brave... how you brought Arthur back like that.” She played with the ends of her chestnut-brown hair slightly as she looked at her. “You could have left him out there and saved yourself, so many other people would’ve.”

Ada looked at her, her forehead dipping slightly. “No, I couldn’t.”

Something Ada couldn’t quite place passed over Mary-Beth’s features, but before she could dwell on it the woman was smiling again. “Let’s go and get somethin’ to eat before Uncle has it all.”

Stepping out with her, Ada smiled gently as she pulled the shawl a little tighter around herself. “Actually, Mary-Beth, I think I’m going to go and see how Arthur is.”

The woman paused and the same expression appeared again, vanishing as quickly as it came. “All right, then. Would you like me to save you a bowl?”

“No, thank you. I’m not very hungry.”

Mary-Beth nodded and smiled widely before walking away. Ada watched her, her pace quickening as Uncle staggered towards the pot of stew.

Inhaling a long breath of crisp air, Ada tipped her head back and gazed up at the sky. A clear and brilliant blue.

Just go.

Wetting her lips, Ada turned and began to walk. From the corner of her left eye she saw that Dutch’s tent was, thankfully, empty. 

Someone had draped more cloths and blankets over Arthur’s area, probably to give him some more privacy, so she had to pull one of them back slightly to peer in. He lay on the bed, his eyes closed, lips parted. She watched him for a few moments, her gaze dropping to his chest to check if he was breathing. It rose and fell steadily; he was asleep.

The chair beside his bed was vacant so she quietly slipped past the blankets and took a seat, her eyes remaining on him. He didn’t move, his breathing remaining regular.

Sadie had updated her on his progress over the past few days and she said he’d seemed to be starting to get a little better. They had to make him eat, but that was nothing new, apparently, from a man who was so busy taking care of ‘business’ he often forgot or didn’t have the time. Someone had changed him into dark brown trousers and a cream undershirt, which had the faintest stain of blood just around where his wound was. She stopped herself from pulling back the open of his shirt to inspect it; Miss Grimshaw had probably patched him and the others up a thousand times before and was therefore most likely an expert. The stubble that usually framed his face had grown a little longer but his skin and hair was clean. He looked... gentle, for once.

What the hell am I doing here.

Blowing out a quiet breath, Ada lifted her gaze from him and stared ahead at the side of the wagon. Then, she narrowed her eyes slightly.

Were they... photographs?

She’d never noticed them before. Then again, she hadn’t exactly been around his area before to notice them. Sitting forward in the chair, she leaned over him a little, getting a better look.

One photograph had three men in it, one standing, two sitting down, in some kind of parlour. It only took her a few moments to realise it was Hosea, Dutch and Arthur, albeit them probably about ten years or more so ago.

A corner of her mouth lifted.

Arthur looked so young.

He probably turned a pretty head or two... I bet he still does. 

She had to stop herself from snorting loudly at the sudden thought. 

What a silly thing to think about. 

Her eyes darted to the next photograph.

It was of an older man, probably around Dutch’s age now, maybe younger, but she didn’t recognise him. He was holding some kind of board, however, and upon leaning a little closer she saw that it read, ‘Lyle Morgan. Larceny. 12-7-1847′.

It really does stay in the family.

There were a few other trinkets and items, too, like a horse shoe and an article that told of a robbery, one that probably meant something to Arthur.

Sitting back, her legs crossing, Ada grazed her teeth over her lower lip. She couldn’t stop herself from continuing to inspect. At the base of the bed was a chest with a rug thrown over it and his revolvers and gun belt rested on top, along with his hat. Beside her on the table was a flower in a bottle (a gift from Mary-Beth?), a cigar, a map and a picture of an older woman. She studied the picture, a corner of her mouth lifting. It had to be his mother.

Arthur mumbled quietly and her head quickly turned to him. His brow furrowed slightly and he mumbled something again, though she couldn’t make it out. She was about to murmur his name when his eyes opened.

Swallowing, he took in a long breath and exhaled it, then his eyes darted over to her.

She smiled automatically, wanting to put him at ease.

“Good morning.”

He watched her for a moment, as if his brain was catching up with where he was.

“Good mornin’.”

His voice was rough and low, somehow prompting her to make her’s quiet.

“What were you dreaming about?”

He looked away from her, then, his eyebrows raising slightly as he adjusted his head on the pillow.

 “Deer.”

Her smile seemed to want to linger. “That hungry? I’m afraid it’s fish for breakfast.”

He grunted his disinterest.

“Yeah, I’m not jumping at it either.”

“You’ve gotta eat somethin’.”

“So do you.”

“Yeah, but you look like shit.”

A sudden laugh escaped her before she could stop it, her smile widening as she raised her eyebrows.

“Oh, really? I do?”

He glanced at her before closing his eyes, a faint smile pulling at his lips, and she suddenly found herself very interested in it.

“Yeah, you look like you’ve been to hell.”

“Oh, I do apologise. You look radiant, however, Mr Morgan.”

“Yeah? I feel it.”

Her smile faltered as she watched him shift slightly, a pained wince flashing across his face. She played with one, frayed end of the shawl.

“You shouldn’t have come for me, Arthur.”

 His eyes snapped open and he looked at her in disbelief. 

“Are you kiddin’ me? You might be dead if it weren’t for me.”

“I would have been fine. The law doesn’t know I’m with you all, I could have told them the O’Driscolls kidnapped me and they would have let me go.”

“Yeah, and then what?”

Her mouth opened, then closed slightly.

“What, you would have come back?”

She didn’t answer.

“Nah, I don’t think you would’ve. Maybe I should’ve left you there,” he grumbled, directing his gaze ahead, dismissively.

Why did that notion offend him so?

Her skin prickled slightly.

“Do you remember the journey back here at all?”

His brow furrowed as he glanced at her, slightly suspicious of the sudden turn in conversation. “No.”

“Exactly,” she retorted, “You’d be dead in a ditch or a river right now if it wasn’t for me so show a little gratitude.”

He stared at her incredulously. “Why don’t you show me some gratitude, woman, I got you out of there, and you wouldn’t have been able to be a damn hero if it weren’t for me.”

“Well, you didn’t have to save me.”

“I didn’t have to save you?”

“No, you didn’t.”

He opened his mouth, then swiftly quashed whatever it was he was going to bite back as she arched an eyebrow, his teeth gritting.

“You’re a stubborn, irritatin’ woman,” he muttered.

“Yeah, well, you’re an ungrateful bastard,” she shot back, crossing her arms as she sat back.

They fell silent as he closed his eyes, probably praying for strength not to murder her, and she stared at him, silently daring him to snap back because there was something so simple and easy about arguing, despite how difficult she knew but absolutely would not admit she was being.

But... the corner of her mouth twitched just slightly.

He just looked so... put out. Like a cat that hadn’t been fed the moment it was hungry.

The question of the day was still nudging at her, too.

“Why did you save me, then?” she continued. “Seeing as I seem to be such an inconvenience, and don’t give me the ‘save people as need saving’ preaching or I will choke you and I don’t think anyone would stop me.”

His jaw moved minutely. “Save people as need savin’.”

She gave a humourless laugh. “So because Dutch says so?”

He turned his head to stare at her. “Because it’s right and there was no way in hell it was righ’ to leave you with those bastards.”

Her lips twitched again. “So you’re a criminal with a heart?”

He made an almost disgusted sound, looking ahead before he closed his eyes again. “Will you shut up? I’m tryin’ to rest here.”

The twitching broke out into a smile. Tilting her head, she lowered her voice into soft awe.

“Thank you, Arthur, for saving my life, you’re a real hero—”

“Ah, shut up, woman, before I tell Grimshaw you’re ready to get back to work.”

She laughed as he grumbled, folding her hands in her lap. Her gaze dropped as she was suddenly reminded of the absence of her ring. She licked her lips, shifting in the seat.

“I do mean it, Arthur,” she said after a moment, her voice quieter, “Thank you.”

“Yeah, whatever,” he answered, though he didn’t grumble.

Silence fell again, and it felt rather comfortable. She gazed at the photographs again, her eyes drifting from the one of his father to him, comparing. She found herself wanting to know what his childhood had been like. Had his father raised him in a gang? Or had he been kept away from it all as a child? What had led him to—

“He told me you...” Arthur’s voice startled her out of her musings, his words hesitant as her eyes found his. “... you weren’t in a good shape.”

She knew what he was dancing around.

“None of them touched me. In that way, anyway,” she answered, giving a faint smile. “I was just hit to be quiet, then tied to that pole. Nothing else.”

He nodded, casting his gaze over her bruises. “That’s a relief, then.”

“Yes, it is.”

She watched him for a few moments. His gaze returned to hers.

“Annie, can I ask you somethin’?”

She raised her eyebrows a little, rather surprised.

“Sure.”

"When we were talkin’, before we went to see Colm, somethin’ Dutch said... affected you.”

Her heart dropped. Keeping her features neutral, she lifted her gaze, as if recalling the conversation.

“Did it?”

“Yeah. When he was sayin’ about how he killed Colm’s brother.”

“Oh...” She pressed her lips together and shook her head slightly. “I just... it all seems so petty, doesn’t it? How this long feud started.”

He frowned. “Petty?”

She nodded, holding his gaze. “Yes. I’m sure there’s more to the story but... to play with people’s lives like that—”

“What ain’t you tellin’ me.”

Her mouth stayed open as she broke off, her eyes searching his before she frowned.

“Nothing, why—”

“You said someone was dead, too, when we were bein’ held by the O’Driscolls. I heard you yellin’ it, who were you talkin’ about?”

Her frown deepened. “It— I thought you were dead. Colm was spinning lies, trying to get me upset and he led me to believe you were dead.”

He didn’t answer, wanting to see what she said next. She remained silent, too, just staring at him.

She probably thought she was hiding it but he could see the pleading in her eyes for him to not press the matter, to be a gentleman and let it go. But he was no gentleman. He knew a poker face when he saw it, and a liar when he heard one.

“Annie... It don’t have to go any further than you and me, whatever it is.”

She continued to stare, panic starting to claw it’s way up.

“It’s nothing,” she implored, trying to keep her voice low because, God, who knew who else was around, but she knew she had already lost.

“Annie—”

“Not today.” She had to give him something. Shaking her head a little, she murmured, “Please, Arthur... not today.”

He studied her and she didn’t dare look away. Then, he sighed and nodded begrudgingly.

“All right... Not today.” He pressed his lips together before continuing, ”If you’re in trouble, though—”

“You dead yet, Morgan?”

John Marston, her unknowing saviour, brushed past the blankets with a bowl of stew, the widest grin she’d seen from him yet on his lips. It didn’t falter as he caught sight of her, inclining his head.

“Good mornin’, Miss Sawyer, how are you today?”

“Very well, thank you, John,” she beamed, grateful to him for the second time that week. “How are you?”

“Just fine, just fine.” His gaze slid over to Arthur. “I’ve been told to feed our patient, here.”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake...” Arthur grumbled, closing his eyes as she stood, clasping her hands together.

“Oh, isn’t that wonderful! How kind you are, Mr Marston.”

“I do what I can, Miss.”

“Can I thank you again for allowing me the use of your tent?”

“Oh...” Arthur opened his eyes, fixing his gaze on the younger man. “So that’s why you’ve been lurkin’ around here, snorin’ on the ground beside me.”

“Well, you wouldn’t let me get in with you.”

“I’ll leave you boys to it.” Annie grinned as she departed and Arthur watched her, his mouth in a thin line.

How could she do that? Change from one person to another just as quickly as blinking? And what in the hell was she hiding? He’d had a feeling from the start she was and now he was so close to finding out—

“Come on, Morgan, I’m gonna feed you like a little baby bird.” John was still grinning as he sat down, holding the bowl towards him.

Arthur groaned. “Get outta here, Marston, leave me to die in peace.”

“No way in hell. Now sit up, old man, come on.”

“I should’ve left you on those mountains with those wolves.”

“But you didn’t.”

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Tagged: @belfry-bat​​​​, @sistasarah-sallysaidso​

[bnhavibes]

That's fine 😊💞 -🐇anon

Birthday boy love!😽

Sometimes Kirishima could never figure you out.

It was his birthday, and yet you had been so distant and aloof with him all day. To put it in his own words, you weren’t treating him like he was very manly today, and it was making him upsetti spaGHETTI!!!

(a/n: isn’t my boi so fcKinG PRECIOUS)

The rest of the Bakusquad couldn’t tell him, but you had something very special lined up for him.

As you disappeared from his sight, he was getting more and more disassociate with his friends; He was more concerned with the cold shoulder you had been giving him all day than the fact that his buddies were trying to make him feel better by letting him win a few rounds in a video game. He couldn’t focus, though, on anything besides the fact that you were all hiding something from him.

Eventually, he snapped. “Alright, what’s going on?” He asks, placing his controller onto the coffee table with a deep huff.

“What do you mean, dumbass?” Bakugo said, snatching the controller from the table for his own turn. “You’re finally beating Denki at zombies, and it’s your birthday so shouldn’t you be happy or something Shitty Hair?”

“Is... Is something going on with (Y/N) that I don’t know about?” He asked tenderly, scratching his head to avoid the sharp head turns of his friends.

“What makes you say that, cmon bro you know she’s just like this sometimes.” Kaminari answers, shoving some chips in his mouth.

“Dunno. I guess she’s just been ignoring me I think?” His brows furrowed before digging in his pocket for his phone before shooting you a ‘where did you go?’ text.

“Nah, why would she ignore you! Give her a break, it’s not like she’s out cheating on you or someth— OUCH!!” Denki yelped, a fist smashing his head down.

“Why the hell would you say that dumbass!? You’re just gonna make him upset.” Bakugo gritted through his teeth. Kirishima looked at Bakugo with concern.

“Wh-What makes you think she— No. No, you’re lying.” He squeaked, getting up despite the protesting shouts between the two.

“She’s NOT doing anything BRO, come oN! Let’s just play games!!” Denki’s cries were results of Bakugo beating on him for speaking such negative things into the world.

—————————————————————————

After you left the lounge, you sped your way up to your dorm room. You only had a matter of time before Eji would notice you were missing and come looking for you. You pulled your hair out of the dutch braids they were in. He always loved seeing the wild way your faux curls settled on your shoulders. As soon as you got in your room, you stripped yourself of clothing, quickly coating your skin in a cocoa butter lotion to hydrate and a spritz or two of your man’s favorite perfume before running over to your dressers.

You pulled out a deep maroon colored lace bodysuit that came with matching lace panties and garter. You pulled on thigh high nylon socks, hands shaking as you prepared for your present. A sigh left your lips as you looked your reflection over on the screen of the blank TV in your room. You silently prayed he would like it. You lightly coat your lips in a strawberry flavored chapstick, jumping just a little as a throat cleared behind you. You felt your cheeks heat up as the man of the hour himself popped up.

“B-Baby!” You exclaim, swiftly making your way over to his arms but he stops you at arm length. A confused pout sat across your lips, pulling the bottom one out just a bit as you looked at the hand on your chest. “W-What is th—”

“What can of softie do you think I am?” His tone is harsh, the growing scowl on his face throwing you off more.

“Eji— Oh!” You were pulled his direction, him pinning your back against the door as he shut it.

“You think you can just walk all over me, huh, (Y/N)?” He spat, causing you to wince.

“Baby, I—?”

“No, don’t ‘baby’ me!” He scoffed, “Denki says you’re cheating on me, is that why you’re dressed like this huh?”

Instantly you face palmed, “I’m going to kill Denki.” You grumbled, to Kirishima’s dismay. He frowned, assuming that meant he was right. “This is one sick way to stop you from playing games and send you up here.”

Kirishima groaned, “Don’t bullshit me, (Y/N)!”

“No, Kiri-chan, I’m serious! I told the dumbass to fucking send you up here as soon as he got an opening. I— I wanted to surprise you... It’s your b-birthday afterall, and I... Wanted to make you feel special.” You were fiddling with your fingers as you stared at your fidgeting feet between his big shoes. “But I guess he said something stupid like I was cheating? That doesn’t make any sense, why would Denki want you to think I was cheating on you?”

He sighed.

“Well, when ya put it like that... I—I guess I should say I let my emotions take control of me.... Now that I think about it, I acted really unmanly instead of listening to Katsuki fend for ya. And you know he’s the kind who wouldn’t do it just to cover for you! God, I’m so glad it was a misunderstanding.” He said, pulling you into an apologetic hug; Picking you up by your hips and inhalely sharply as he pressed your body into the door.

(Shook) Dumbfounded, you wrap your arms around his chest anyways. It wasn’t until you buried your face in the crook of his neck that you realised just exactly what you were doing before he interrupted. A smile spread acros your lips as you began to plant subtle kisses on his hot skin.

Subconsciously, his hips twitch; the warmth between your scantily clad legs beginning to pool a delicious slick. He gasps a little, running his hands up your torso and massaging your breasts a little before stroking through your hair.

Breaths getting heavy; your lips finally meet, and the moist feeling in your panties began to leak a little from the way Kirishima was rubbing the bulge in his pants against the centre of your thinly covered clit.

“Mm, (Y/N), you know just how to get a guy going, huh?” He pants on your lips, licking at the bits of drool that were dribbling out the corners of your mouth a bit. “You’re so lewd, baby! Oh, my god, it’s like I can do the tiniest— oh!” His traveling hand finds its way to your core, fingers delicately tapping along your aroused pussy. “Geez, you’re so wet, already, huh?” He plunges his fingers past your panty line to coat his fingers in your essence, causing you to moan shakily, trembling as the nimble tips of his calloused fingers danced around your folds and trickling around your neglected hole.

“Oh, Eji~” You moan in his ear, grasping his hair at the back of his head with one hand and holding yourself up with the other one; wrapping your other arm around his shoulders, behind his neck.

“Mmmph. You look so lewd, all dressed up for me, whimpering at my touch.” His voice is low, rumbling in your ear before he removed his hands.

Taking it as as opening, you quickly run your hand to his sweats, knowing he goes commando when he gets home, yanking them down just enough to whip the hard member beneath it.

“Wa-Wait, no, I’m leadi— Ohhhhnnnmmmm— G-Goddd...” His protests fell into a string of curse words, you had forced his entire length into your tight walls, not letting yourself adjust as he streched you out. You sigh in relief, waiting for Kiri boi to catch his breath. “You’re really something else, you know. You never cease to amaze me.”

“Happy Birthday, Daddy.” You moan in his ear, nibbling at his earlobe gently and the next thing you know you’re in the air. Kirishima tossed you onto the bed, not giving you an opening to get up before he leaped onto your back, ripping your panties to the side and shoving his dick back into you. You moan loudly, jumping your lower half to your knees and backing into his hips as he snapped them into your ass.

“Oh, baby. You’re s...oo... tight,” He groans as he exhales, gripping your hips gently while relentlessly slamming into your now clentching walls. “Call me the name... Please.” He whispers.

“Ohhhhhnnnggg, Red Daddy Riot. You fill me up so well, I— Ohhh!” You mewl as his pace increases. “Happy birthday, Daddy. Oh! Yeeeeeesss. Fuck!! Me!!! U-Use your Q-Quirk!!~”

“B-Baby! Oh, go-god you make me feel so manly, I— I love you.” He moans before he grabs you by the hair and oushes your head down into the bed.

The naughty words leaving your lips fuels the fire in the boy’s stomach, but being the good boy Kirishima was, he did as he was told. Using his Quirk in the lightest amount possible so that he didn’t literally tear you apart. (only metaphorically ty.)

You scream in pleasure as you feel his dick solidify and thicken in waves, showing his brief use of the quirk to be just so deliciously hard inside your aching cunt.

“(Y/N)... Ohhh, shhhHHHHIT!” He groans as your juices begin spraying out of your hole in response to him sloshing around your drenched walls. You were so wet for him, it had been pushed out every time his cock went to fill you up; Your legs, along with Kirishima’s shirt, sweatpants, and thighs, were coated in your slick.

“Cum in me, Daddy. Fill your lewd baby up with your cum. Please, Red Daddy Riot, I want your cum in mee~!” You moan as your legs start trembling from the excitement (mixed with a little bit of fear of Kiri losing control of his Quirk, but a LOT of pleasure from his cock).

His last bucks are sloppy, but you can feel his dick pulsate so literally due his Quirk, and you cum again, your own orgasm spraying out, and soaking your bodies once more.

“(Y-Y/N)?” Kirishima’s voice shaky as he recollects himself; Removing his cock from your body and turning your body to face him,

“Yes, Daddy?” You coyly reply.

He moans, “God, if you get pregnant, just remember you told me to— hey!”

You kicked him in his side. “What the hell, Eji!?”

“IM JUST KIDDING LOVEBUG I WAS TRYING TO BE FUNNY— I DIDNT MEAN TO MAKE YOU ANGryyyy....” He whines, tackling your body and wrestling to pin your arms by your head.

“Get off me, ya punk!” You cry, kicking and shimmying— your attempt to get out of his hold.

“But it’s my Birthday!”

You cave.

——————————————————————————

hope you enjoy! i am partially intoxicated as I type this so pls forgive any mistakes! 🥺🥺😭😭

[salted-barbed-wire]

Lessons to be Learned 2

Oh jeez. I wrote the first two chapters to a new series in one day and I’m so thankful that @alexispoo gave me the idea to this and other future series. So here is Chapter two. Enjoy. Chapter One HERE

Summary: Being in detention isn’t what the reader thought it would be. The situation only gets more intense when Principal AJ interrupts Mr. Ambrose’s lesson. Warnings: SMUT! LIKE IT’S ALL SMUT! AND AN ITTY BIT OF VOYEURISM!

Tag List: @i-kneel-for-king-loki @straight-outta-the-asylum @ridingmoxley @paradoxical-opheliac @geekoftv @wrestlingnoob @m-a-t-91 @livingthestrongstyle @lip-sync @princess3733 @nickysmum1909 @ambrose-asylum-ft-mitch @shieldlovereve @jubaleelovehate @xstylesxclashx @the-geekgoddes @stardustmoonlightflower @ashleyvc88 @ceasaros-smile @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch @alexispoo @ambrosegirlforever @llowkeys

CHAPTER TWO

“Good girl.” I heard his voice say.

Suddenly, his soft, warm lips came crashing down on mine. I thought was going to collapse onto the desk. Mr. Ambrose, Dean Ambrose, my Creative Writing teacher, whom I had so many fantasies about late at night, was kissing me? I was so in shock that I could barely kiss him back.

He pulled back for a moment, “Do you want me to stop?”

“God, no.” I pleaded. “More.”

I could feel that smirk against my lips, “Then please join me at the front of the class room.”

He held his hand out to help me up out of my desk and walked me over to his chair. He sat down and I took little time to straddle his thighs in the chair, going back to tasting his lips. Our tongues teased each other while his hands wandered along my frame. They glided up my arms, down my sides, then one cupped my breast and the other moved down to my thigh. Wetness pooled in my panties as the warmth of his hand pushed the hem of my uniform skirt up.

“You’re just as soft as I’d imagined.” He murmured between kisses.

I could only manage to respond in a moan as his carnivorous lips moved from mine, to my jaw, to my neck. My hands played with the light curls and I tried to keep him as close to me as possible. The flesh on my neck ached from his teeth giving it little love bites. Shaking a little, I moved my hands from his head to the buttons on my shirt.

I heard him make another satisfied groan as I began undoing them one by one. His mouth nipped at my neck on final time then moved to my collar bone. I pulled my shirt completely open and he pulled back to eye me.

“So beautiful, Miss. (Y/L/N).” His finger traced the strap of my bra, “You look just as good out of the uniform as you do in it.”

My flushed face got even warmer.

He pushed aside my white oxford shirt, allowing it to fall to the ground behind us. Goosebumps ran up and down my back as the material brushed off my body and was replaced by the caress of his hands. Mr. Ambrose’s fingers made quick work of the clasp and hook of my bra, which he quickly helped me out of.

His tongue reached out and teased my nipple. I whimpered as his lips wrapped around it. His hand that had been on my thigh pushed its way a little farther up and was pushing his thumb against my heat through my panties.

“You’re so wet for me already?” His teeth grazed against my skin again, “What a good girl you are.”

His thumb pushed passed the fabric and pressed into my clit. I gasped at the sensation. He moved his thumb back and forth, stroking me. My hips moved with his thumb, grinding against his lap where his erection was starting to burst through his jeans. I groaned as my eyes rolled back, I wanted so bad to have him inside of me.

“Not yet, kitten.” He whispered against my neck, nibbling on my ear. “I’ve been wanting this for a long time. I’m going to take my time with you.”

I whined again and he lifted me as he stood up. The faux leather of the desk chair was cold against my bare back and legs and I shivered when Mr. Ambrose set me back down on the chair. He knelt between my legs, pulling my hips forward so I was leaned back all the way into the chair.

He kissed the inside of my thighs, helping kick off my shoes and gently roll my knee-high socks down my legs. His long fingers slowly traced up the sides of my thighs, hooking onto my panties. I lifted my butt to allow him to pull them down from underneath my skirt down past my ankles.

“These are so pretty,” He smiled as he held my lace thong up in front of me. “I think I’ll be keeping them.” He stuffed them into the pocket of his jeans, then pushed my thighs apart exposing my wet cunt.

Mr. Ambrose leaned in and kissed the lips and pushed his tongue up against my clit. My moans and whines became louder and louder as he flicked and licked with his skinny, long tongue. Ambrose’s lower lip pushed up on it and his teeth grazed against my slit.

“Oh my God!” I cried out, “M-M-M-Mr. Am-“

“Shhh.. call me, Dean or sir, kitten. Release for me.” He gasped against my heat.

A few more teasing licks and I was set over the edge, leaving Dean to lick up my orgasm.

“Mmm. You taste so sweet, (Y/N)” He told me in between licks. “Now it’s my turn.” He stood in front of me and unclasped the belt buckle and quickly pulling down his zipper. “Get on your knees, kitten.”

“Yes, sir.” I jumped and followed orders, dropping to my knees behind Dean’s desk.

“Good girl,” He cooed again. He pushed down his boxers, allowing his cock to spring free.

My jaw dropped to the floor. It was huge! I knew I wasn’t going to be able to fit the whole thing in my mouth but I was going to have to try. I took my hand and wrapped my fingers around it, flicking my tongue against the head of his cock. Dean’s eyes rolled back and a low moan escaped his lips.

Just as I began to wrap my lips around Dean’s member, the door knob to the class room turned.

“Mr. Ambrose?” Principal Styles’ voice filled the room. “I’m here to talk to you about Miss.-“

He stopped dead in his tracks and looked at the two of us. His jaw dropped to the floor and he quickly shut the door behind him.

“(Y/N)! Mr. Ambrose! What in the world is going on here?”

My heart had stopped as well as my breathing. This is it, I’m going to be expelled, not go to college, Dean is going to get fired and hate me forever.

“Fuck.” I hissed.

“What does it look like, AJ?” Dean chuckled. “I’m making sure Miss. (Y/L/N)’s skirt is at the appropriate length. Care to watch?”

I looked up to see Dean truly smiling. He looked down at me and gave me a wink.

Taking a breath and biting my lip, “Yeah, Principal Styles. Take a seat and enjoy the show.” I offered a sly smile.

Mr. Styles looked between the two of us and hissed a slew of curse words. He then pulled out a set of keys out of his pocket. He turned and locked the door. “Nothing leaves this room.” He commanded both of us.

Dean and I both nodded.

Mr. Styles walked over to a student desk and removed his blazer, setting it gently on the chair back. He sat down and rolled up his sleeves. “Please, don’t mind me. Continue.”

I turned my attention to Dean. His smile hadn’t faded, “Give the man a show, Kitten.”

I lifted his cock up and licked it from base to tip. Both men moaned. My lips wrapped around his member. Dean pushed my hair aside so Mr. Styles could get a good view.

“What do you think, AJ?” Dean asked him. “You see how much she can take of me?” I could see out of the corner of my eye ‘AJ’ rubbing his throbbing erection through his pants. “Look at this pretty mouth wrapped around my dick.”

I began to move my head faster back and forth on him, coaxed by his dirty talking. I drug my tongue up the shaft when I moved my head back. Dean moaned again and took a handful of my hair and wrapped in his fingers. He pushed my head, bobbing me along; fucking my mouth. I felt myself moistening between my legs even further knowing that AJ was watching.

I moaned around him. “She likes to be fucked in her mouth, AJ.” Dean thrust into me. “(Y/N) can sure act like a good girl. But really, she’s just as naughty as you’d ever dream she’d be.” He pulled me off his cock and let go of my hair, “Her mouth is so warm and her lips are so soft.”

AJ groaned and I heard the zipper to his pants move. “You should probably hurry up and fuck her, Ambrose.” AJ growled as he stroked his fully erect cock. “Before one of the janitors that has a key comes in to find us here.”

Mr. Ambrose helped me stand up and unbuttoned my skirt. He pushed it off me making sure to rub over my bare ass and give it a quick slap. I yelped and followed his motions to go to the front of his desk. He cleared off an obstacles and then Dean laid me down on my back, making sure to spread my legs.

“Such a pretty pussy. Right, AJ? I got to taste it earlier. Before you came in and interrupted. Believe me she tastes as good as she looks.” Dean teased me with the head of his cock, lining it up with my entrance, just barely keeping it from sinking into me and then pushing it against my clit.

“Please.” I whimpered. I felt like I was going to explode.

Dean smiled, “What do you want, Kitten? Tell Mr. Ambrose and Principal AJ what you want.”

I turned to see AJ’s face watching me intently, then I looked at Dean, “I want you to fuck me.”

Without warning, Dean’s thick cock slammed into me. I cried out. Giving me little time to adjust to his thickness, Dean pounded me into his desk. My body was already clenching around him, squeezing his cock.

“Damn, she’s so fucking tight, AJ.” He grunted as his thrusts quickened. “I don’t know how I even fit in her. She sure knows how to take it though. Look at those tits bounce when I fuck her.” I moaned in response to what Dean was saying. “Tell him, Kitten. Tell him how you like it.”

I turned to AJ and moaned, “He’s fucking me so hard, Sir!”

“Call him, Daddy.” Dean leaned down and whispered in my ear as he bit my neck.

I turned my attention back to AJ who was full on jerking his dick. I took note of it’s size as well, same size if not bigger than Dean?

“Do it!” Dean hissed in my ear, “Tell him how it feels, Kitten.”

“Daddy,” I looked at AJ who froze. I could hear Dean let out a low, throaty chuckle. “Daddy, it feels so good the way he’s fucking me.” My eyes rolled back as Dean shifted his weight, rolling over my gspot. “Fuck! Dean, sir. Give me more!” I cried out.

“See, AJ. She likes the way I fuck her. She squeezing the life out of my cock. I bet you wish you were the one who had detention with this one. Bet you wish you were the one fucking this tight pussy right now.”

AJ only responded with a low growl, giving Dean a quick glare.

“Fuck!” I nearly screamed. I looked at AJ, “I’m going to come, Daddy.”

AJ moaned and his eyes softened as they focused on me, “Come, sweetheart. Come for us both.”

Dean reached down and applied pressure to my clit with his thumb, rubbing the swollen nub. I cried out again allowing my release to come.

“Oh my God!” I gasped. My head was spinning, heart racing, blood pounding. I had never felt like this before.

“Fuck,” Dean hissed and pulled out of me. His release came all over my breasts and stomach.

“Jesus Christ.” I heard AJ mumble and I knew he had also came.

I lie there, naked, covered in Mr. Ambrose’s come on his desk gasping for air. “Holy shit.” I mumbled.

Dean gave me a hand and looked at Principal Styles, “I think this one has learned her lesson.”

[jeremystrele]

Designing City Themed Bedrooms: Inspiration From 3 Hotel Suites

Falling in love with a city can happen on far flung holidays or right on home ground. Is it possible to translate an exciting city vibe into an interior space? Is it feasible to design a master bedroom that conveys the city you’re passionate about without it becoming over themed or childish? The designer of these three city themed bedrooms proves it can be done. Visualised by Ivan Jakovlev, these three hotel suites also include kitchen and dining spaces that follow on from bedrooms with themes of Paris, Geneva and Amsterdam. All achieved without the presence of a single picture postcard or souvenir snow globe in sight.

City breaks are full sightseeing and soaking up the style of the city you’re adventuring through. This Parisian themed suite honours the hero piece of the French capital city right off the bat with an Eiffel Tower silhouette applied at the centre of a towering wooden headboard. The large question mark above could represent popping the big question, which is done by scores of lovebirds up at the top every year.

Pendant lights over the bedside tables echo the triangular silhouette of the Eiffel tower. The herringbone pattern beneath the motif is reminiscent of the body of water that resides by the landmark, and also of the towers structure itself. The herringbone pattern is repeated on other volumes around the room and draws another Parisian landmark to mind, the pyramid Louvre with its black framed glass.

In life, the Eiffel tower stands in a hue chosen to complement the Parisian sky, a bronze colour known as ‘Eiffel Tower Brown’. In this bedroom decor, silky Parisian blue bed covers are strewn across a sumptuous bronze brown bed.

The metalwork bedroom pendant light is another reminder of the engineering and art that make up the Parisian landmark. Metal grey herringbone pattern covers the bedroom floor, meeting with water-like veined marble tile.

A fleur de lis wall decal marks the doorway. This classically stylised lily is of course widely used as a decorative design but many Catholic saints of France, especially St. Joseph, are depicted with a lily.

The bedroom pendant lights by the bed are Tall Beat pendants. Another Tom Dixon style pendant hangs over a comfortable armchair as a chic reading light.

On the other side of a skyscraping bookcase, a small dining area is styled like a bijou Parisian cafe, with illustrations of cafe au lait, baguettes and croissants embellishing the walls. The neat black dining pendant light is the Beat Fat style pendant by Tom Dixon again.

A small kitchen flanks the eating spot.

A vibrant yellow backsplash and countertop is matched by a single chair cushion and the wire legs of the dining table.

A tall mirror helps the tiny kitchen diner feel more spacious.

Next we travel to beautiful Geneva. Faux deer head decor may be all the rage but here we celebrate the Swiss cow and her role in the traditional Alpine ascent and descent of the cattle.

The headboard feature wall is made up of a series of wooden panels interspersed with cowhide pattern and slate grey. A simplified Alpine tree outline adorns the largest board high above the bed.

LED strip lights run up the edges of the headboard panels. A twinkly modern chandelier adds to the cosy glow.

The soft suede bed ties in with the rich brown cowhide.

The Swiss cross is a massive trend in interiors right now, used as a bold print over cushion covers and throws. Here the Swiss cross is given prominent placement over the door and high above a dressing table.

Another cow reference is made on the television wall, with a bull motif.

A brown suede bedroom accent chair matches the bed.

In this hotel bedroom suite, the kitchen and mini dining area run right off the sleeping area. The yellow accent kitchen space features another cow themed wall decal, which humorously promotes ‘Milk’ by the food prep area.

Next we’re whisked to the land of windmills in this interior interpretation of Amsterdam. A modern adaptation of one of Holland’s historical windmills spreads its sails on a wooden headboard wall. A set of wooden wooden house shapes on the windowsill match the natural grain.

The blue colourways of the bed, bedcovers and bedroom armchair link with the smooth canal waters of Amsterdam.

A number of planters are dotted around the room, on the sills, bedside tables and bookcase. The greenery is reminiscent of the tree lined streets of the Dutch city.

The red flex ceiling light provides a little twist on Amsterdam’s famous ‘red light’ district.

Yellow accents bring in the sunshine.

Bicycle culture seems almost part of the Dutch DNA; the streets of Amsterdam are flooded with cyclists heading to work and ferrying kids to school, and up to 15,000 bicycles are retrieved from the canals each year! With this in mind, the Dutch’s favourite mode of transport has been made a prominent part of this city themed decor, with bicycle wall decals resting at two of the bedroom walls. A streetlight wall decal adds to the city vista, and yellow frames represent the windows along the streets of Amsterdam.

Typographical wall art states “You + Me + Coffee = Happy!” in a nod to the famous and numerous Amsterdammer ‘coffee shops’ that tourists from all over the world ‘weed’ out in order to experience an extra specially ‘happy trip’!

Recommended Reading: 50 Travel-Themed Home Decor Accessories To Affirm Your Wanderlust

Related Posts:

6 Dark Bedrooms Designs To Inspire Sweet Dreams

Winter House

Hotel de Glace: Ice Hotel, Canada

Kids' Room Decor: Themes and Color Schemes

25 More 2 Bedroom 3D Floor Plans

citizenM Hotel Interiors, Amsterdam

[drewebowden66]

Designing City Themed Bedrooms: Inspiration From 3 Hotel Suites

Falling in love with a city can happen on far flung holidays or right on home ground. Is it possible to translate an exciting city vibe into an interior space? Is it feasible to design a master bedroom that conveys the city you’re passionate about without it becoming over themed or childish? The designer of these three city themed bedrooms proves it can be done. Visualised by Ivan Jakovlev, these three hotel suites also include kitchen and dining spaces that follow on from bedrooms with themes of Paris, Geneva and Amsterdam. All achieved without the presence of a single picture postcard or souvenir snow globe in sight.

City breaks are full sightseeing and soaking up the style of the city you’re adventuring through. This Parisian themed suite honours the hero piece of the French capital city right off the bat with an Eiffel Tower silhouette applied at the centre of a towering wooden headboard. The large question mark above could represent popping the big question, which is done by scores of lovebirds up at the top every year.

Pendant lights over the bedside tables echo the triangular silhouette of the Eiffel tower. The herringbone pattern beneath the motif is reminiscent of the body of water that resides by the landmark, and also of the towers structure itself. The herringbone pattern is repeated on other volumes around the room and draws another Parisian landmark to mind, the pyramid Louvre with its black framed glass.

In life, the Eiffel tower stands in a hue chosen to complement the Parisian sky, a bronze colour known as ‘Eiffel Tower Brown’. In this bedroom decor, silky Parisian blue bed covers are strewn across a sumptuous bronze brown bed.

The metalwork bedroom pendant light is another reminder of the engineering and art that make up the Parisian landmark. Metal grey herringbone pattern covers the bedroom floor, meeting with water-like veined marble tile.

A fleur de lis wall decal marks the doorway. This classically stylised lily is of course widely used as a decorative design but many Catholic saints of France, especially St. Joseph, are depicted with a lily.

The bedroom pendant lights by the bed are Tall Beat pendants. Another Tom Dixon style pendant hangs over a comfortable armchair as a chic reading light.

On the other side of a skyscraping bookcase, a small dining area is styled like a bijou Parisian cafe, with illustrations of cafe au lait, baguettes and croissants embellishing the walls. The neat black dining pendant light is the Beat Fat style pendant by Tom Dixon again.

A small kitchen flanks the eating spot.

A vibrant yellow backsplash and countertop is matched by a single chair cushion and the wire legs of the dining table.

A tall mirror helps the tiny kitchen diner feel more spacious.

Next we travel to beautiful Geneva. Faux deer head decor may be all the rage but here we celebrate the Swiss cow and her role in the traditional Alpine ascent and descent of the cattle.

The headboard feature wall is made up of a series of wooden panels interspersed with cowhide pattern and slate grey. A simplified Alpine tree outline adorns the largest board high above the bed.

LED strip lights run up the edges of the headboard panels. A twinkly modern chandelier adds to the cosy glow.

The soft suede bed ties in with the rich brown cowhide.

The Swiss cross is a massive trend in interiors right now, used as a bold print over cushion covers and throws. Here the Swiss cross is given prominent placement over the door and high above a dressing table.

Another cow reference is made on the television wall, with a bull motif.

A brown suede bedroom accent chair matches the bed.

In this hotel bedroom suite, the kitchen and mini dining area run right off the sleeping area. The yellow accent kitchen space features another cow themed wall decal, which humorously promotes ‘Milk’ by the food prep area.

Next we’re whisked to the land of windmills in this interior interpretation of Amsterdam. A modern adaptation of one of Holland’s historical windmills spreads its sails on a wooden headboard wall. A set of wooden wooden house shapes on the windowsill match the natural grain.

The blue colourways of the bed, bedcovers and bedroom armchair link with the smooth canal waters of Amsterdam.

A number of planters are dotted around the room, on the sills, bedside tables and bookcase. The greenery is reminiscent of the tree lined streets of the Dutch city.

The red flex ceiling light provides a little twist on Amsterdam’s famous ‘red light’ district.

Yellow accents bring in the sunshine.

Bicycle culture seems almost part of the Dutch DNA; the streets of Amsterdam are flooded with cyclists heading to work and ferrying kids to school, and up to 15,000 bicycles are retrieved from the canals each year! With this in mind, the Dutch’s favourite mode of transport has been made a prominent part of this city themed decor, with bicycle wall decals resting at two of the bedroom walls. A streetlight wall decal adds to the city vista, and yellow frames represent the windows along the streets of Amsterdam.

Typographical wall art states “You + Me + Coffee = Happy!” in a nod to the famous and numerous Amsterdammer ‘coffee shops’ that tourists from all over the world ‘weed’ out in order to experience an extra specially ‘happy trip’!

Recommended Reading: 50 Travel-Themed Home Decor Accessories To Affirm Your Wanderlust

Related Posts:

6 Dark Bedrooms Designs To Inspire Sweet Dreams

Winter House

Hotel de Glace: Ice Hotel, Canada

Kids' Room Decor: Themes and Color Schemes

25 More 2 Bedroom 3D Floor Plans

citizenM Hotel Interiors, Amsterdam

[camilaimbire]

As March comes to an end, it’s good to spend a time and recap and think about the events that happened this month. Overall, I think March was mainly full of good things than bad. Spent great quality time with friends here in Sacramento, and also got to visit a great friend in Reno. We found solutions to housing issues, regarding our move in the summer – yes, new adventures await. My husband got two articles published in major philosophy journals. There were some unexpected expenses, but we managed to deal with them in a positive way – which is not my usual way of dealing with things. But let’s jump into the reason for this post: My Bullet Journal.

Goodbye March

Initially, in March I had set to keep my regular layout and add collections as needed, but I was looking at the way Rachel, from Sitting in the Clouds, was doing her monthly spreads and adding spending and budgeting to her bujo, it encouraged me to try once more to add expenses control to my bujo. So in March I mainly experimented with ways that I could incorporate it to my weekly spreads. I came to a final layout which is what I’ll be using in April.

I had no need for major collections, but I did add a couple of Photography Check-Lists that I had in my last bullet journal. They are a good way to find inspiration when I’m uninspired to shoot pictures. I also continued to add recipes to my Recipe Index, it’s extra helpful when meal planning. The one spread that is still in progress is my Blog Spread. I haven’t been having the time to blog as consistently as I’d like to, so having a monthly schedule, as I had planned for March, didn’t work. It’s a try and error process.

photgraphy check list

photography check list

Hello April

I’m excited about the April spreads because after experimenting in March, I’ve got a lot of new things going on this month. As I mentioned before, I have a whole new Budget Spread that I’m incorporating to both my monthly and my weekly spreads. The first is an overall monthly budget for me to keep track of recurring expenses. The second is my weekly grocery and other expenses. The goal is to control our home budget and not overspend. I’m also tracking our savings account on a weekly basis. These were added to my weekly spread, which made me have to alter how it looks by removing the dutch-door system to my weekly. It will take some adjusting because my weekly spreads take up two pages now, but we’ll see how that will work out by the end of the month.

I’ve again, changed my Blog Spread. This time, I am not allocating dates to when I’ll post things, I’m just listing ideas for posts and how I am following up on writing them. I’ve added a Sacramento Bucket List collection since we’ll be moving in the summer. I’m still working on my faux calligraphy for the headings and one color a month theme – this month is blue.

monthly budget set up

new weekly layout with left column for weekly shopping list and right column fro weekly spending

new blog srepad

collection: Sacramento bucket list

I’m looking forward to April starting, there’s a lot of new stuff going in my bujo that I really hope will work. And in the real life, my husband and I have got a lot planned, including a trip to Seattle and Portland, which I am really excited about.

Do you have big plans for April?

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  Bullet Journal: Goodbye March! Hello February! As March comes to an end, it's good to spend a time and recap and think about the events that happened this month.

[rayraystudies]

One difference to the rolling weekly spread I used in the past, I decided to try out the faux dutch door version that @elizabethturn (again I know haha) uses.

✍ Archer & Olive Bullet Journal, Uniball Signo RT1 UMN-155, Archer & Olive Acrylograph Pens Cool Fall Collection 0.7mm Tip

ig: rayraystudies || links: carrd