#Bespoke Log Cabins

[timberlogbuild]

At Timberlogbuild, we specialise in creating high-quality, bespoke log cabins tailored to meet your unique needs and preferences. With a focus on craftsmanship and attention to detail, our expert team works closely with you to design and build log cabins that perfectly suit your lifestyle, whether it’s for a cosy retreat, home office, or garden escape. Using premium timber and sustainable building practices, Timberlogbuild ensures that every log cabin not only looks stunning but also offers durability and energy efficiency. Transform your outdoor space with a custom-built log cabin from Timberlogbuild.

[loveofdetail]

oh oh i have THEE answer for this. i call it "rustic opulent" and it's when people with multimillion dollar vacation homes in montana do them up in like. antler chandeliers. we're talking mansions styled to look like log cabins. bespoke cattle brands on the floor. towering raw stone fireplace and leather everything and """tribal""" rugs. these people want to feel like they live inside the tackiest ski lodge in the fucking world.

i DEFY you to name a more disgusting aesthetic. you can NOT.

does anyone have like an anti aesthetic. like something you look at and can recognize as a complete fashion/interior design/artistic movement and understand it but it makes you shudder seeing it. i am not talking like “its morally bad” “its poorly structured” like just sheerly devoid of joy for you actually invites a repulse response.

[nordensauna]

Sweat Dreams: The Artisans Crafting Your Personal Oasis of Steam and Serenity

Enter the realm of bespoke heat havens, where master craftsmen transform raw materials into personalized temples of relaxation. These aren't your run-of-the-mill, cookie-cutter sweat boxes; we're talking about the crème de la crème of thermal retreats, meticulously designed to cater to your every whim and fancy.

Custom sauna builders are the unsung heroes of the wellness world, wielding their expertise like master alchemists to create the perfect fusion of form and function. These skilled artisans possess an uncanny ability to marry traditional Finnish sauna wisdom with cutting-edge technology, resulting in a steam-powered paradise that's uniquely yours.

Picture this: You step into your private sanctuary, greeted by the intoxicating aroma of cedar or hemlock. The gentle hiss of water on hot stones fills the air as you sink onto a bench crafted to fit your body's contours perfectly. This isn't just any sauna; it's a reflection of your personality, desires, and dreams, brought to life by the deft hands of a custom sauna builder.

These heat-loving virtuosos don't just slap together some wood and call it a day. They'll consult with you on everything from the ideal wood species (Did someone say aromatic Russian Pine?) to the perfect lighting scheme for your late-night schvitz sessions. Want a built-in sound system to blast your favorite tunes while you sweat? They've got you covered. Dreaming of a sauna with a view? They'll make it happen, even if it means installing a panoramic window in your third-floor apartment.

They'll create an outdoor oasis that puts your neighbor's hot tub to shame. From ultra-modern infrared saunas that look like they've been plucked from a sci-fi movie set to rustic log cabin-style sweat lodges, these thermal wizards can do it all.

And let's not forget about the health benefits. Custom sauna builders are well-versed in the latest research on heat therapy, ensuring that your personal sweat palace is not just a treat for the senses but a boon for your well-being. They'll guide you through the pros and cons of different heating methods, helping you choose between traditional wood-fired stoves, electric heaters, or cutting-edge infrared technology.

In a world where mass-produced goods reign supreme, custom sauna builders stand as a testament to the enduring value of craftsmanship and personalization. They're not just building saunas; they're creating experiences, memories, and a little slice of heaven right in your home.

So, the next time you're pondering how to elevate your living space, consider enlisting the services of these steam-savvy savants. After all, why settle for an ordinary bathroom when you could have your very own heat-induced nirvana? With custom sauna builders, the only limit is your imagination (and maybe your budget, but hey, can you really put a price on perfect relaxation?).

Contact Us: Company Name: Norden Sauna Company Website: https://www.nordensauna.com Phone Number: +1-416-875-6783 Email: markus@nordensauna.com Address: Toronto, Canada

[jimbarnaloghomes]

Crafting Your Dream Retreat: Exploring Custom Log Home Kits in Montana

When envisioning your ideal getaway nestled in the heart of nature, what comes to mind? For many, the allure of custom log home kits offers a timeless charm and a connection to the great outdoors unlike any other. In the vast expanse of Montana's rugged landscapes, where the majestic Rockies stretch as far as the eye can see, the dream of owning a cozy log cabin becomes a tangible reality. Let's delve into the world of log home kits and discover how they pave the way for crafting your very own haven in the wilderness. Log home kits have revolutionized the way individuals bring their cabin dreams to life. These kits provide a convenient and cost-effective solution for those seeking a retreat that reflects their unique style and preferences. With a plethora of options available, ranging from traditional rustic designs to modern architectural marvels, there's something to suit every taste. But why opt for a custom log home design in Montana specifically? The answer lies in the unparalleled beauty and tranquility that this state has to offer. Imagine waking up to panoramic views of snow-capped peaks or spending evenings basking in the warmth of a crackling fireplace under a star-studded sky. Montana's natural splendor provides the perfect backdrop for creating memories that last a lifetime within the walls of your bespoke log cabin. For those ready to embark on this journey, finding reputable log home builders in Montana is key. These skilled craftsmen possess the expertise and craftsmanship required to turn your vision into reality. From initial consultation to the final touches, they work closely with clients to ensure that every detail is meticulously executed, resulting in a home that exceeds expectations. But before construction commences, careful consideration must be given to log cabin plans. Whether you prefer a cozy retreat for intimate gatherings or a spacious lodge for hosting friends and family, the layout and design of your cabin play a crucial role in shaping your overall experience. With the guidance of experienced architects and designers, you can customize every aspect of your home to suit your lifestyle and preferences. One of the greatest advantages of opting for a custom log home kit is the flexibility it offers. Unlike pre-built structures, these kits allow for a high degree of customization, enabling you to tailor every aspect of your cabin to your liking. From selecting the type of wood to choosing the layout and finishes, the possibilities are endless. In conclusion, embarking on the journey of building a custom log home in Montana is an opportunity to create a retreat that is as unique as you are. With the convenience of log home kits[RS1] , the expertise of local builders, and the breathtaking beauty of the Montana wilderness, your dream cabin awaits. So why wait? Start planning your escape to paradise today!

[customtimberloghomes]

Finding Your Forever Home: Log Home Builders in East Tennessee

In the rolling hills and lush landscapes of East Tennessee, the dream of owning a forever home nestled amidst nature is more than just a possibility—it's a call to a lifestyle embraced by the warmth of wooden beams and the rustic charm of log homes. The journey to finding your forever home in this serene part of the world is both exciting and profound, especially when it leads you to the doorstep of skilled log home builders who understand the essence of creating a space that's as timeless as the mountains themselves.

The Appeal of Log Homes in East Tennessee

East Tennessee, with its picturesque Smoky Mountains, verdant forests, and tranquil lakes, provides the perfect backdrop for log homes that blend seamlessly into the natural environment. These homes are not just structures; they are sanctuaries that offer warmth, comfort, and a retreat from the bustling world outside. The natural materials used in log home construction ensure that each house is unique, with its character and soul—a true forever home that stands as a testament to traditional craftsmanship merged with modern comforts.

Choosing the Right Log Home Builder

The key to bringing your dream log home to life is selecting the right builder. East Tennessee is home to several reputable log home builders known for their craftsmanship, attention to detail, and deep respect for the natural beauty of the region. Here are essential factors to consider when making your choice:

Experience and Expertise: Look for builders with a solid track record of designing and constructing high-quality log homes. Their expertise will be invaluable in navigating the unique challenges of log home construction, from selecting the right materials to ensuring the home is energy-efficient and durable.

Customization and Flexibility: Your forever home should reflect your personal style and meet your specific needs. Find a builder who offers customization options and is willing to work with you to tailor every aspect of your home, from floor plans to finishes.

Sustainability and Environmental Stewardship: Choose a builder who prioritizes sustainability, using responsibly sourced logs and incorporating energy-efficient features. A home that respects the environment is not only better for the planet but also offers long-term savings and a healthier living space.

Transparent Communication: A good builder-client relationship is built on trust and open communication. Your builder should be readily available to answer your questions, provide regular updates, and make the construction process as stress-free as possible.

Designing Your Log Home

Designing your log home is a journey of discovery, where every choice, from the layout to the smallest design detail, contributes to the overall feel of your forever home. Consider how you want to live in your space, the views you want to capture, and how the home can best fit into the surrounding landscape. Whether you're dreaming of a cozy cabin or a sprawling lodge, your home should be a haven that promotes relaxation, connection with nature, and spaces for making memories with loved ones.

Building Your Dream

The construction of your log home is an adventure that unfolds over time. It begins with the careful selection of logs and includes countless bespoke details that make your home uniquely yours. Watching your forever home take shape is a rewarding experience, filled with anticipation for the life you will build there.

Living the Dream in East Tennessee

Once your log home is completed, the true journey begins. Living in East Tennessee, with its natural beauty and welcoming communities, offers an unparalleled quality of life. Your log home is not just a place to live; it's a base for exploring the great outdoors, a gathering place for friends and family, and a cozy retreat where you can unwind and recharge.

Conclusion

Finding your forever home in East Tennessee, with the help of skilled log home builders, is an opportunity to embrace a lifestyle in harmony with nature. It's about creating a space that reflects your dreams, values, and the timeless beauty of log construction. In your East Tennessee log home, every day is a chance to live your dream, surrounded by the natural splendor and the warmth of wood. Welcome home.

[naturalelementhomes1]

Discover bespoke home designs with Natural Element Homes. From timber frame to log homes, we specialize in crafting your dream home. Explore now!

Visit Us at:- https://www.naturalelementhomes.com/

[tinyhomes1]

Advantages that you get with custom tiny houses.

Many people are interested in tiny houses because they seem like a good way to live more simply and sustainably. Custom-built small houses are the pinnacle of the tiny house movement, yet prefabs have their advantages. These custom homes provide a wide variety of advantages that are designed to fulfil the wants, desires, and fantasies of their owners.

Adaptable to Your Way of Life

The biggest benefit of having a tiny house made by tiny home builders just for you is that you can make it work perfectly for your needs. A prefabricated small house does not provide you the freedom to personalize the design to your needs the way a custom-built one does. Whether you are a chef who needs a high-end kitchen, an artist who needs a quiet space to work in, or someone with mobility issues who needs special features, a small house may be built to suit your needs.

Effective Space Management

Tiny houses may be customized to meet your specific needs. Container homes are the best. This ensures that all of the space provided is being put to good use. You may maximize the space you have by collaborating with a designer or builder on storage solutions, multifunctional furnishings, and clever layouts. Your tiny house will seem both roomy and useful with this degree of planning.

Aesthetic Preferences

You may put your personal stamp on the look and feel of your tiny house by having it made to order. A home may be designed to represent the owner’s personality in many ways, from the external cladding to the inside finishes, colors, and materials. A custom built tiny home allows you to realize your dream home’s design, whether that is a log cabin aesthetic, a minimalist modern look, or something else completely.

Conservation of Energy

Tiny houses may be made to order, giving homeowners the chance to use eco-friendly materials and innovative renewable energy systems. Tiny homes for sale Victoria have great quality. Materials, appliances, and panels that use less energy all fall under the category of “environmentally friendly.” This is consistent with an eco-friendly way of living and can lead to substantial savings on utility expenses over time.

Managing the Budget

The common perception that Tiny Homes for Sale Melbourne are more expensive is not always true; in fact, modest bespoke residences can be rather affordable. Working directly with a builder allows you to manage costs at each step of the process. Making smart material and feature selections can help you build a tiny house that is exactly right for you without breaking the bank.

Skillful Construction

Tiny houses that are made to order typically have more character and personality than their mass-produced counterparts. Professional builders can give your small house the attention to detail it deserves, resulting in a sturdy and attractive structure.

Tiny houses that are created just for you might provide a wide range of benefits. As a result, you’ll have a more comfortable, convenient, and aesthetically pleasing home that also uses less energy and costs less money. Individuals looking for a more sustainable and individualized way of life may find the design flexibility, durability, and scope for customization offered by custom small homes to be compelling arguments in their favor.

[trinitybuildingsystems]

A TIMBER FRAME HOME: HOW DO YOU GET BENEFITS FROM THEM, AND WHAT DO THEY DO?

A timber-framed home is a structure made of individual pieces of wood that are then joined together. Homes built using timber frames are long-lasting, economical, and attractive. Your new home can benefit from the luxurious, distinctive, and rustic features that come from timber. Yet it's helpful to know some essential details about timber frame homes and what to look for in a contractor before you start building.

What Exactly Is a Timber Frame House?

As more people become aware of the distinctiveness and durability of building timber frame homes, traditional timber framing has slowly begun to gain appeal once more. It differs significantly from stick framing or log cabins employing dimensions of 5 by five or more.

Generally, timber framing calls for very skilled carpentry abilities. These enormous structures' functionality, design, and safety are more challenging to integrate. We've covered some of the crucial information concerning timber frame construction.

Features of Timber-Frame Homes

Homes with timber structures are renowned for their density and substantial beams. They typically connect with pegs and don't need as many load-bearing beams. Timber framing for interior detailing is standard in luxury homes.

Exposed beams can add ornamental or artistic elements, giving spaces a more open feel and warmth. Your freshly remodeled room can become more focal point-driven and elegantly integrate the outdoors by adding timber wood highlights to the ceiling.

This feature emphasizes expert craftsmanship's value while contributing to a distinctive look.

Advantages of Timber-Frame Homes

For generations, people have used timber frames. Wood can be used for cladding, furnishings, and interior design in timber frame structures.

About homes built of wood, there is a lot to learn. The house's insulation helps keep warm air from leaving, lowering energy costs.

There are several hybrid possibilities if you are not set on having your entire house made of wood. Due to its adaptability, it is an excellent choice for homeowners who only wish to use it in apparent areas of the home, such as kitchens or entryways.

Contractors typically offer wood frame wall panel systems as a part of a package that includes internal walls, floor, and roof components, among other things, in most timber frame house plans.

Construction of a Customised House

A bespoke home should be built since it will be distinctive and tailored to your needs, among other benefits. Despite the additional costs and effort, a custom design might be worthwhile if you desire your ultimate dream home. Before beginning, there are a few things to think about, such as:

Budget

a lot of options

choosing or creating a home design

forming a team

contract negotiations

Conclusion

With their exposed beams and stunning architecture, timber frame homes are eye-catching. They are well-known for their robustness, adaptability, and structural integrity.

Timber frames are the best option for unique home designs. Trinity Building Systems' experts can also provide excellent timber frame house plans. For a free consultation, reach out to them right away!

[logcabins-blog1]

Cabin Treatment: How to Protect your Log Cabin

At Log cabin kits, We are currently using Barrattine Wood Preserver to treat the external surfaces of the log cabins. We have been impressed with its properties not least the fact that it is oil based and has a number of colour options, including clear. As per the manufacturer’s instructions we recommend a minimum of two coats, ideally three, to ensure an adequate level of protection.

The colour swatches are an indication only and representative of the product applied to clean new/pale timber. The final colour finish can vary considerably due to the age, type & condition of the timber being treated. We always recommend carrying out a test area first in an inconspicuous area to make sure you are happy with the final dried colour.

Manufacturers Information

A high-quality, low odour oil/Spirit wood preservative which is deep penetrating. Barrettine wood preserver is used for wood protection against wood destroying fungi (wet rot), wood discolouring fungi and wood boring insects. Provides a semi-transparent matt/satin finish allowing the natural wood texture to be visible. Can be used on pressure treated wood, treated timber or untreated wood. Suitable for rough, sawn or smooth timber, does not require over sealing for wood protection.

No subsequent top coat product required unless for aesthetic purposes. For outdoor use and also for use on windows/frames, external doors/frames (internal and external sections). The Barrettine clear wood preserver can also be used on structural timbers in unoccupied areas such as floor joists.

 Application Can be sprayed using an airless sprayer such as a Wagner or Graco ideally using a minimum 1mm flat fan tip nozzle (9 - 11 thou tip). The sprayer must be thoroughly cleaned after application with white spirit and then oiled to protect the tip and moving parts (as per manufacturer's instructions). This product cannot be sprayed with a traditional pump action garden sprayer.

Ensure wood to be     treated is dry, free from dirt and repellent coatings such as paint or     varnish. (remove and sand down as required)

Recommend using a     biocidal wash such as Barrettine Knockout Mould and Mildew prior to     treatment

The final colour     finish can vary considerably due to the age, type and condition of the     timber being treated. We always recommend carrying out a test area first     in an inconspicuous area to make sure you are happy with the final dried     colour

Brush, dip, roller     or spray in suitable conditions. (When used outdoors make sure weather     conditions are dry and still)

Coverage: 180ml per     m2 or 1 litre to 5-6 sq metres

Drying times: 12     hours under normal conditions (20°C/65% rel. humidity)

Best results –     recommend 2-3 applications/coats

Key Features

Contains     Permethrin, Tebuconazole and IPBC

Protects     uncontaminated timber against wet rot, decay and wood boring insect attack

Mainly for external     applications but some Internal. (refer to internal and external     information on the back of the tin/container)

Approved under     COPR/BPR

Suitable for rough,     sawn or smooth timber, does not require over sealing

Harmless to plants     and pets when dry

Oil/solvent based     for deeper penetration

Low odour ready to     use formulation

Superb quality     water repellent resins

UV fade resistant     colour pigments

High level, long     lasting protection and preservation

 For more information please visit us or call us at ☏ 01342 477774

[mobiletimberhome]

Mobile Homes

Mobile Homes are a great investment without investing a lot of money. Don't wait to have the best top-class designed homes quickly. 

To Know More Visit Us.

[mantrabay]

Rush Amid The Rapids Published 30

Original Version on Poetry Nook under my pen name

MyNAh_27

Inspired and edited by my wonderful sister Jay Pallen

“Must I always be posting transactions and extracting trial balances?”

I said to myself, Landon Croaker, an accountant, adjusting the padded compartments of my backpack as I rambled up a ragged winding woodland path.

A granite strewn gulag odyssey that’s second nature to me now.

There was the usual green stew of ornate plants with enthralling names that fascinate the tourist.

Ancient Fir Clubmoss which grows into a chalice like shape

as beads of moisture drip sluggishly from its toothless emerald surface.

St Patrick’s cabbage, a dessert

spoon’s mirror image with thick leather leaves and zig zag veins.

Hapless Fraochan and whort shrubs whose symmetrical fruit pendants are just waiting to be plucked.

To say nothing of that most prickly bane,

those nasty nettles that have one scratching endlessly.

Oxalic acid scald that triggers spasms rippling over bare skin.

I brought my notebook with me.

It was spiral bound with a shifting, shimmery, hologram motif emblazoned on the front.

Observations were logged for future reference.

Closet novelist or bard perhaps?

Maybe one day.

The natural word is driven by a multitude of forces.

It seemed as if we are all marionettes in a chain, both manipulator and manipulated, Svengali and slave.

Rainbow trouts extracting energy from water vortices by means of slalom action.

Hornet’s pigments as they harvest solar waves for flight or excavation.

Fern clad Sessile oak trees with hard shelled acorn progeny suggesting motion of a different kind.

Birds pirating said acorns to a vernal grass plot for seamless cycles.

Canopies of lattice branches that springboard every creature under the sun.

Those boughs with the brittle snap at taut intervals that plant a sting in one’s ear.

Shrieks from a stunned squirrel leaping in the arc of a trapeze with blue jay alarm signal in tow.

The non-stop rustle from rabbits under slender stalks, and overarching foliage across burrowed hidey-holes.

Puffball clouds and brown dust spores sprung by microscopic raindrops.

Echo chamber habitat in open foetal sesame hostile to human intruders.

A wastrel I was within the wilds and the elements were miffed by this tactless troll through their terrain.

I was getting close to that place where my friends, a husband and wife team lived and ran a fringe publishing company.

These partners had a similar office in town.

They carried their high octane business drive into this secluded spot.

Urban and rural life was their forte initially.

Their penchant for capturing niche markets and spotting trends was legion.

The couple resided in a cherry wood log cabin with tongue and groove cladding and a pine timbered roof lantern peering pensively into the maze-like river down below.

This dwelling was perched at the side of a mountain.

The mountain itself had a surreal sweep about it as it apexed towards the sky piercing spectra colored cloud balloons.

Like a watchtower it sat silently in sinister observance.

Sunlight gestated in the sky as I trekked forward.

A primeval heave juddered beneath the rumpled insoles in my footwear as they oozed sweaty squelching noises.

Insights like fumaroles coursed through my veins in blood red bursts.

Within this raw canvas a universal pulse, a oneness exists.

A fallow deer suddenly appeared.

It was of the chestnut coat and white mottles type.

The deer looked furtively at me with startled eyes deep in its skull as if it knew something I didn’t.

They have their own badinage and intuition that goes with it.

Within minutes it vanished.

A swarm of flies choose my face as target practice.

A virtual non stop kamikaze buzz.

Flies, the spooky whistleblowers on the solitary hiker with grazed cheeks as collateral damage.

The sweat brought on by my laboured trudge didn’t help.

Despite this onslaught I stopped to tie my braided lace bespoke boots.

Anticipation drove me on irrespective of the sweltering heat.

It was if I had survived some endurance test.

The clothes on my body were wringing wet but still I had broken the back of the journey.

Though I sometimes felt it had nearly broken the back of me.

Heading onwards the

urban spirit still had me somewhat in its spell.

Sleep busting motorway drones going beep beep, cone shaped traffic markers as hard plastic cordon, the rapid rail transit system with it’s clickety-clack cadences, sonorous horn signals from departing cruise ships.

There is the other side of the equation in these surroundings.

Chambered cairns, those passage tunnels from the past that act as stone markers for the venturer.

Platform mounds whose ribboned cracks and gouges play host to strongly rooted Chasmophytes.

The leaves softly hinted at a lurking silhouette as the log cabin became dimly visible.

“Hello, there. Fancy seeing you here.

Welcome back.”

Chelsea, in a quaint croaking baby twang that mocked distance.

“Oh …You frightened me.” Landon said.

For a moment I nearly toppled over but miraculously kept my balance.

Chelsea dashed towards me with a note of concern that soon turned to mirth.

“A bit worried there Landon but never fear.

It’s great to see you.

What a surprise!

But then we like surprising people too as you’ve learned by now.”

I paused and replied.

“How could I ever forget? It's the unexpected that adds spice to this life business and others too!”

Landon sardonically.

While catching up we spied a crestfallen black crow struggling to take flight.

It eventually did.

“Like people at work or in other situations.

They can find it hard going.”

Chelsea observes.

“I always find this a haunting spot.”

Landon briefly.

“Indeed. You sound tired.”

Chelsea replies.

“We’ll change all that. We’ll change everything about your life now you’re here.”

The ramifications of that comment would soon unfold.

Was there a shadowy presence stalking us or am I hallucinating?

“The last time I was here we talked about the possibility of children.

Any decision yet? Indeed we have been having this conversation for some time.

You could always adopt.”

I continued.

“Don’t have to do that.

Got my husband and he’s got me.” She said.

“We’re both kids at heart.”

Her voice trails off with a sad tinge.

“This location seems ideal but there’s school and….. other factors.”

Chelsea hesitantly.

“Nothing that couldn’t be resolved with a bit of thought.” Landon in reply.

At this point Croaker sensed Chelsea’s unease and didn’t press the point.

“Hey, what’s this?” Croaker cried as two apples landed at his feet.

“Yahoo. You two.”

Chesney, Chelsea’s husband shouted before climbing down a tree with infant zeal.

“It’s been so long.

Doesn't time fly?

Going back to our childhood the days have been an endless sprint.”

Chesney again.

“These sudden appearances are very well coordinated.

Is there a hidden hand or something deeper?”

Landon mused as we all continued apace.

While walking it dawned on me how dewy-eyed this couple were.

They also cut thin, bony almost adolescent figures despite their thirty something vintage.

One could say they were reflections of each other in every sense.

Entering the cabin shortly afterwards it seemed like something from a children’s storybook.

Cartoon mosaics hanging precariously from their fool’s gold borders, zip purses with smashed purple bead inserts, and shredded comic strips in tiny bundles.

Plush stuffed toys with sewn outer fabrics as well but for whom?

“Ever since my first visit I’ve sensed a saga shrouded in the deepest mystery.

This cover up.

An untold tale.”

Croaker on reflection.

“Hey Snap. What are you thinking?

What’s accountancy like these days?

A game of noughts and crosses.”

Chesney’s barb evokes laughter.

“Nothing ever really changes.

The usual stuff, low risk profiles, investment hazards.

It’s a world I drifted into but is there a way out I wonder?

How about you?

Still building this publishing company in paradise.”

Croaker once more.

“Publishing is odd at times. It’s almost as if you are becoming the stories submitted.”

Chesney observed.

“Children's stories and fantasies are beginning to do well for us.

Themes linked to birth and regrowth which we’ve always had a thing about are also gaining interest.

All those manuscripts but am I boring you?”

He asked.

“Not at all.

It gets me away from the staid accountancy world.”

Landon tactfully.

A salad of roasted lemon, fennel fronds and pomegranate was served with zesty citric juices to accompany our discourse.

Guacamole dip based on chunky avocados, signature relish blobs and tortilla chips rounded off this fare.

Slants on various topics passed blithely from our lips.

Our enthusiastic voices filled the cabin adding an extra dimension to this haven from that Trojan horse we call the daily plod.

After our meal we placed the Royal Stafford dishware in the washing machine.

Chelsea’s phantom figure scurries outside with Olympic speed for whatever reason.

A flambeau wouldn’t have been out of place.

It was so redolent of the suddenness about.

A cocoon descends around Chesney and Landon as they become rapt in each other’s company.

Unfortunately Chesney had this habit of being swept up by his own conversations.

Against caw and pipe rook vocals in the background I quizzed Chesney about the urban country rift.

It seemed that even tranquil timberlands so-called have their own stressors.

“See those creatures slumped awkwardly on fragile twigs?

They can sense pending discomfort such as weather changes.

But can they really cope?”

Chesney pondered.

“Don’t know if you can really escape the man-made pressures of city life.”

A querulous tone from Chesney this time.

“Maybe these divisions are rubbing off on one another.”

Landon archly.

“Thud…… an incredible sound.

What was that?”

Chesney shook as he commented.

Chelsea walked in the door.

“Oh dear .. let’s say a homing pigeon.

Always up to that kind of nonsense.

They’re a strange breed.”

She said smugly.

“Very strange indeed.”

Chesney out loud.

A strained silence ensues as Chesney and Chelsea exchange glances but one could guess from their scrunched up expressions what they were thinking.

“Was that really a homing pigeon?”

Landon wondered and maybe Chesney too.

A circus of the wilds continued to intensify outside as species vies with species in a fanfare of egos.

Chirpy robin red breasts at the window,

wing scraping crickets in high chorus on a Vulcan steam curtain.

Horseshoe Bats that weave around rainbow shafts with aplomb.

Such delights as Daddy long legs with their cancan dances on sodden green patches.

“Excuse me …..ring a bell.”

Chesney diverting Landon’s attention from the goings on outside with a broken fragment.

Landon bought this autumn crocus crystal vase for them both on a previous sojourn.

It slipped from his hands in a butter fingers incident and predictably shattered.

From memory Croaker uttered the words “my lasting gift” as it fell.

Cackles all around but frustration for Landon.

“It’s an hilarious keepsake after a fashion.”

Chelsea opined.

“Oh, thank you I think.”

Said Landon.

The hours passed with this and other anecdotes.

We both decided to retire.

Landon saw Chesney furtively remove what looks like a letter from a ring pull drawer.

“Just an old bill.

Must shred it.” He said.

“Why would Chesney even explain that?

His face is red.

How curious.”

Croaker thought.

Shuffling to his allocated bedroom Landon did notice kids gadgets dangling over cube modular storage units.

Pink salmon quilted eiderdowns, pillows with children sleeping under moonlit skies, and Milky Way throw blankets completing this idyllic scene.

The night passed uneventfully.

There were some noises in the kitchen as early morning approached but I was too tired to notice.

Having woken sluggishly Croaker walked into the dinning area.

A sense of foreboding, an ominous ghostly silence filled the room.

The strangest happenings seemed imminent.

Landon grappled awkwardly with the claustrophobia around him.

It was rudely disrupted by the shrill chatter of the chestnut-sided warbler - Induna of the morning cacophony.

An oak hook tip moth added charm to the proceedings with its zoom and flutter acrobatics.

“I’ve the creepiest feelings about this morning.

Doubt if I’ll jot these presentiments down.

Not very promising for one who toys with the idea of being a writer.”

Croaker reasoned while casting a suspicious eye on everything.

“Buzzz ……Buzzz ....Boing.

It’s my old phone’s text tone.

My boss.

Wonder what he wants?”

Landon to himself.

“Dear Landon,

When you return I would like to speak to you about your future with this company.

At the moment I can’t go into further details.

As it involves a lot of interested parties a wide ranging discussion would be in order,

Regards,

Tom Wright

Managing Director.”

Landon’s worst fears now confirmed.

“What am I to make of that?

Just how serious is this or is there another …. what is this in front of me?”

A letter from Chesney and Chelsea.

“Hi Landon,

We had to leave quickly.

Just one of those things.

Help yourself to whatever largesse there is.

Don’t know how long we’ll be.

You can hang around of course or leave if you like.

Don’t break anything !!

Ha ha,

Ches and Chels.”

Incredible!

Between the text and the letter who wouldn’t be alarmed?

Landon limped outside to an ear splitting din and a mist laden detritus that merged into pockets of streams steeplechasing each other.

A slimy frog vaults and casts a damp viscous oil spray in Croaker’s direction into the bargain.

Something ….a shadow.

Was there someone following me?

“This has been the most peculiar visit I’ve ever had.

Intrigue seems encoded in it’s every aspect.”

Croaker’s anxiety growing.

A tap on the shoulder followed by a crystal shard landing near his feet.

“The vase remember ?

Don’t take yourself so seriously ……..there’s something we’d like to discuss with you.”

Chesney said pointedly.

“An Agatha Christie mystery novel has nothing on the twists and turns of this trip.”

Landon frets.

“We’ve been mulling over this, Chelsea and I.

Your presence is an extraordinary coincidence.

Do you have this sixth sense about some higher force at work?”

Chesney quizzically.

“We’d like to offer you a job as an accountant as there is a vacancy here.”

Chelsea this time.

Landon now shivering with the incongruity of it all.

“Don’t you know by now we love to jumpstart even our closest friends?

This post is

tailor-made for you and you’d be foolish not to snap it up.”

Chelsea once more.

“I’m sure your current boss will understand as our paths have crossed over the years!”

Chesney stated.

Croaker’s head was now in a spin.

What a bizarre comment but he said nothing.

“You like writing don’t you Landon?

Well, you did the last time we spoke.

There are plenty of stories around here.

Who knows, there might even be a role for you as judge and editor.”

Chelsea opining.

“Maybe those diary entries weren’t a waste after all.”

Landon hoped.

“Didn’t you go to an awful lot of trouble just to offer me a job?”

Croaker queried.

“Neither Chelsea nor I do things the conventional way.

We’ve been building up to this for quite some time.”

Chelsea with Chesney nodding.

A carousel of thoughts flashes through Landon’s mind at this juncture.

He walked in a trance struggling with everything that happened.

“What was in Chelsea’s large sports bag I wonder?”

Croaker thought.

“Let’s go for a swim, Landon.

I’ve got swim trunks for all of us.

Last down to the river is a nerd.”

An unsurprising dare from Chelsea.

We glide over spiked brambles, severed logs, twisted stumps and every jagged tooth rock shape imaginable.

Herculean feats were performed.

Because Landon was in a state of shock he got the wooden spoon.

Chelsea tossed a nylon mesh swim trunks at Landon as everyone duly changed.

Something slipped out of Chesney's pocket without him or any of us knowing.

It was that letter Chesney removed previously and read as follows.

“Dear Chesney and Chelsea,

As your doctor I regret you won’t be able to have children. It’s with a heavy heart I share this with you.

There are many reasons for this...”

The rest of the letter was creased and illegible.

It was subsequently swept to the river’s edge underneath a Crested Iris by a slight breeze.

Meanwhile, we were all breast stroking with abandon with the occasional breather as well.

“You can make up your mind, Landon at the end of this swim whenever that is and wherever it is taking us.”

Chelsea chuckled.

“Things really aren’t all that different around here bar the setting.

Even the speed.”

Once again Chelsea spoke as she circulates in the eddying stream.

“Let yourself go, Landon.

Be that rush amid the rapids.

Maybe it’s a different cage but still.”

Chesney, a toddler’s echo to this mind boggling denouement.

We all started off again as we follow each other downstream.

“Awh, the child within!” Cries Chelsea before heading off.

“An opportunity of sorts, an escape of sorts. I’ll probably accept this bizarre offer.”

Landon to himself as he swam.

At that moment the mountain looked down imperiously upon us all as the stray deer suddenly reappeared from nowhere.

Maybe that deer did know something after all.

Quite a few things perhaps!

Photograph and piece all my own work @mantrabay

I appreciate in advance everyone on Tumbrl who considers and rates this post

[fromthedeskoftheraven]

Visions of sugarplums

Pairing: Agent Whiskey x female reader

Content: Pining, workplace romance, fake dating if you squint, oh no we’re snowed in, mention of food, kissing, making out, mostly-non-explicit sex (under-18s, jog on), so many sweet pet names you’ll get cavities, romantic Jack because apparently I'm a sucker for that

Word count: ~4800 (yeah. Jack is a demanding muse)

Prompt: “Hoping one day you’ll make a dream last” (Let Her Go, Passenger), for @yespolkadotkitty‘s follower celebration writing challenge 🎉

Note: I said canon Whiskey who? This cowboy drinks respect women juice.

Part two: Kentucky welcome Part three: Just say you will

Taglist (if you’d like to be tagged, un-tagged, or make a request for future fics, feel free to let me know): @writemessystarwars @keeper0fthestars @flightlessangelwings @yespolkadotkitty @emesispo @songsformonkeys @beccaplaying

-----------------------------

A whirl of snow stings your cheek like a slap as you hurry through the grounds of the posh ski resort that sprawls across the valley, dotted with cozy cabins and million-dollar chalets.

Your sheer stockings, low-cut dress, and teetering heels are no match for snow bursts and the wind that cuts through you like a  knife. Inwardly cursing your alter ego and her penchant for skimpy fashions, you tug your thin coat more tightly around you.

This mission was supposed to be a piece of cake. A few days at a luxe resort, posing with your partner as an arms dealer and his girlfriend to get close to your target, and everything was going swimmingly...until your search of the target’s study during a cocktail party was interrupted by two of his security staff making their rounds ahead of schedule. The adrenaline rush of your narrow escape is still humming in your veins.

Beside you, long strides making quick work of the path, Jack Daniels has transformed himself from intelligence agent to wealthy gun runner with the world on a string. The cashmere overcoat that cost more than your first car is the perfect finishing touch to his sharp suit, and his dark good looks stand out even in the hazy moonlight.

Rounding the corner of a chalet, Jack slows his steps to a stroll. A strong arm pulls you flush against his side as he walks, letting an easy laugh float on the wind like you’ve said something witty. Before you have time to wonder what’s going on, another couple materializes in the pool of light from a lamp, squinting against the gusts that throw fresh powder into the air like confetti.

“Evening,” Jack says with a tip of his hat and a winning  smile, the very picture of a genial Southern gentleman. “This weather sure is pickin’ up, ain’t it?”

The couple mutter their agreement  and hurry on their way. Once they’re out of sight Jack’s hand slides to the small of your back, guiding you as you both quicken your strides again. Your teeth are chattering by the time the wind blows you onto the porch of your own cabin, and in a fumble of hands on the doorknob you step together into the blessed stillness of the spacious room.

A  cheerful whistle pierces the air and you turn to find Jack brushing snow off of his black Stetson and favoring you with a lopsided smirk. Even damp with melting snow he manages to be striking, all sultry eyes and dashing mustache and wayward strands of dark hair curling over his  forehead.

“Nothin’ like a little skirmish to get the blood pumping.” He carefully sets the hat on the fireplace mantel to dry. “I feel like...”

“...A tornado in a trailer park,” you finish with him, earning one of those wide, dimpled grins that always dazzles you a little in return.

“Just so,” he says.

“That’s another one in the ‘win’ column.” You try to suppress a shiver as you pull the flash drive that might as well be a smoking gun from the cleavage of your dress. “A few bumps in the road, but we got what we needed.”

Jack ignores the congratulations, stepping close to take your chilled hands between his large ones. His hands aren’t much warmer than yours, but the thrill that trickles down your spine has nothing to do with the cold.

The frown lines between his brows deepen. “Darlin’, you’re colder than a well-digger’s belt buckle. Go on and have yourself a hot shower while I get a fire started and check in with HQ.”

“I can wait, I’ll help you,” you offer.

He shakes his head, already moving toward the fireplace. “Don’t you worry, sugarplum, ol’ Jack’ll have this place snug in no time. You just get comfortable.”

Helpless against the lure of hot water and fuzzy socks, you rummage in your suitcase for a change of clothes. Still, you stop at the bathroom door to look back at Jack where he’s stacking logs with the same determination furrowing his brow as when he’s reviewing dossiers or cleaning his guns.

The two of you have been almost inseparable for the year that you’ve been working for the Statesman agency. Even your code name was assigned with your partnership in mind, a little inside joke Champ never gets tired of telling when he introduces the two best agents in the New York office: “...Because you can’t have a Manhattan without Whiskey and Vermouth!”

Jack comes on as strong as his namesake liquor, but you’ve seen the  steely nature under his flashy Southern charm, the practice behind the effortless shows of skill, the tender heart he hides with bravado.

And he has no idea you’ve fallen in love with him.

As though he can feel your gaze, Jack looks up, his stern expression relaxing. He gives you a wink and waves one hand to shoo you along before getting back to his task.

With a sheepish smile, you duck into the bathroom and turn on the shower before you can do something stupid.

Like asking him to join you.

***

"Mission report, Agent?”

Champ’s projection flickers into the armchair across from Jack, looking like some kind of Halloween effect with the flames dancing over the logs in the fireplace behind him.

“We’ve got all the intel we need.” Jack adjusts his glasses, stretching his legs out in front of him with a sigh. “Agents ready for pickup.”

“Glad to hear it. Where’s Vermouth?”

Jack glances toward the sound of running water. “She’s just showerin’ to warm up. We got caught in a snow flurry coming back to the cabin.”

“That so?” The ghost of a smile flits over Champ’s face. “I thought you’d want to be the one warmin’ her up.”

Jack’s not sure if he’s more annoyed by the teasing, or how quick he is to take the bait. “Champ, this ain’t a Fourth of July picnic. In case you’ve forgotten, I’m on a delicate mission with my partner.”

“Now, don’t get your feathers ruffled, son,” Champ says mildly, reaching for a highball glass. “You confided in me about your feelings, and I’m just givin’ you a little nudge of encouragement.”

“I did not confide in you.” Jack leans forward to jab a finger at the hazy image of his boss. “You tested Ginger’s new truth serum on me.”

Champ’s grin is distinctly unrepentant. “Well, you looked like a man who needed to get somethin’ off his chest. ‘Sides, I won twenty bucks from Tequila for being right.”

Jack only grunts, slumping on the couch again. “Your granny’s special mint julep recipe, my ass.”

“Jack, she’s a pretty girl. Smart as that whip of yours. You think you’ll be the only one to notice? Anybody can see Vermouth thinks the world of you, but one of these days she’ll be wearin’ another man’s ring if you don’t stop pussyfooting around and make good on all that flirtin’ you do.”

That idea settles in Jack’s stomach like a bad oyster.

Of course, Champ has a point.

You are pretty. No, scratch that...beautiful. You’re a hell of a good agent -- the quickest route to Jack’s bad side is to suggest otherwise -- but you’re so much more than that. Your sweetness and spirit are more than a man like him can hope to deserve, but damn if the way your eyes light up when you smile doesn’t thaw something long dormant in his chest.

If he’s been hell-bent on keeping things professional between you, his dreams are anything but. When he closes his eyes he sees you, soft and yearning and his. His to have and hold until he wakes up aching, with your phantom touch lingering on his skin.

He’s starting to forget why professionalism was so important to him in the first place.

“Champ, you got anything else related to this mission? Been a long day here.”

“Matter of fact, I do.” Thankfully, Champ has the grace to go along with the change of subject. “That storm’s kickin’ up too much snow to get a jet in there. You’ll have to hunker down and wait for a pickup in the morning.”

Well, if the universe wants to hand Jack another night in your company, who is he to argue?

“Copy that,” he says out loud. “We’ll await contact in the morning.”

Champ smiles. “Plenty of time for any long-overdue conversations you might want to have.”

“You’re startin’ to break up. Whiskey out.” Jack pulls off the glasses and tosses them unceremoniously onto the coffee table, scrubbing a hand over his face.

Sparing a glance at the darkening sky outside the window, he hauls himself off of the couch to put another log on the fire, trying not to think about how Champ just might be right.

***

When you emerge from the bathroom in a cloud of fragrant steam, Jack is lounging on the couch in front of a crackling fire. He’s traded the designer clothes for jeans and a faded button-down shirt and managed to tame his tousled hair. You know he takes pride in his trademark hat and bespoke suit jackets, but there’s something about him when he’s dressed down and softer around the edges that tugs at your heart.

He looks up when you come into the room, cheek dimpling with a smile. “Well, don’t you look like a new woman? Thought you were fixin’ to turn into an icicle on me for a minute, there.”

“Here’s hoping our next assignment involves sandy beaches and umbrella drinks.” You hug your sweater around yourself. “What’s the word from Champ?”

“Looks like we’re here for the night on account of this storm.”

As if on cue, a gust of wind rattles the windows, making you jump.

“Come and have a seat by the fire, sweetheart.” Jack picks something up from the coffee table and waves it at you. “Got a protein bar and some water for you. I don’t know about you, but a handful of damn canapes ain’t going to see me through to morning.”

“You sure know how to wine and dine a girl, cowboy,” you tease, dropping onto the couch.

His laugh is as good-natured as ever. “When we get back home, I’ll cook you the best steak you’ve ever had.”

“The best steak since the last one you cooked for me?"

“Well, a man should always be improvin’ his technique to keep a woman happy.” His dark eyes twinkle with mischief, and you roll your eyes but can’t quite smother a laugh.

The protein bar tastes something like chocolate-flavored chalk but you’re hungry enough to make quick work of it, washing it down with gulps of water. Jack nudges your shoulder and you find him offering his flask with a wry smile.

“’Fraid it’s all I've got in the way of dessert.”

The whiskey inside burns its way down your throat and mellows to spread its warm glow through your chest. With a sigh, you hand back the flask, watching Jack’s throat ripple with the swig he takes before reattaching it to his belt.

The liquor’s fire contrasts with the chill of the day in your bones, setting off a shiver that shudders through your shoulders and arms.

“Honey, you still cold?” Jack’s voice is rough-edged with weariness and whiskey.

“Well, I like a nice walk in the snow as much as the next girl, but I was half naked in that ridiculous outfit,” you say dryly.

One corner of his mouth quirks upward. There’s something unreadable in those fathomless eyes as he watches you for a moment before opening one arm, arching a brow in invitation.

Some tiny, winged creature takes up residence in your chest where your heart should be, and you immediately scold yourself. Jack’s your partner and your friend. Of course he has the decency not to want to see you miserable after a long, cold day.

So you tell yourself, even as you go to him, nestling into his side and letting his arm come around you to hold you close. His hand is relaxed on your shoulder, his thumb trailing back and forth in a gentle rhythm.

“Better?” he murmurs.

You feel like home, you think.

“Better.”

With Jack’s heartbeat steadfast and comforting under your palm, the last of your reserve dissolves. You tuck your head into the crook of his neck and melt into his warmth, breathe in his scent, musky and tinged with leather and sandalwood.

Quiet descends on the room, fleece-soft and a little sleepy, as you stare into the fire and let your mind wander. The hypnotic trace of Jack’s thumb over your shoulder is the only indication that he’s still awake.

You sneak a look at him. His eyes glitter black in the gathering dark and his profile is regal, carved into the stern dips and hollows of a Roman sculpture by the play of light and shadow from the fire.

He’s beautiful. You wonder if anyone’s ever told him.

“Jack?”

He hums in answer, almost the purr of a contented cat.

“Do you ever think about retiring?”

A soft snort of laughter rumbles against you. “You callin’ me old?”

“We both know I’d punch anyone who did,” you scold, giving his chest a playful swat. “I just mean...do you ever imagine doing something else? Something more peaceful?”

“Well, I’ve got a patch of land in Kentucky with a farmhouse. One day I suppose I’ll give up the apartment in the city and trade the Silver Pony in for a ridin’ mower.”

You frown. It’s a jarring reminder that after all this time, Jack still has his secrets. “You do?”

He nods. “It’s been in my family for generations, my granddaddy left it to me. Always thought I’d raise a family there. Houseful of kids, dogs, the whole nine yards,” he says ruefully.

He doesn’t have to tell you why he never did.

The tragic loss of Jack’s wife and unborn son is no secret in the agency, and you might know better than anyone about the hole they left in his life. It’s always broken your heart for him, but the idea of this family home that sits empty but for his ghosts makes it suddenly, achingly easy to imagine Jack building a cradle in the barn and reading bedtime stories and teaching little ones to ride their first horses.

“Maybe it’s not too late,” you offer. “You never know.”

He squeezes your shoulder for an instant, a silent recognition of your kindness, before going on with a breezy sigh. “What about you? You fixin’ to go plant yourself by a pool somewhere with a fancy drink in one hand and a book in the other?”

“What, and not get to play fake criminals at cocktail parties with you?” you scoff. “Not a chance.”

His smile is sharp and sweet as molasses. “Well, I'm always happy to escort the most beautiful woman in the room.”

There’s something so plain and sincere about the sentiment that you’re taken aback.

Jack throws around compliments like other people talk about the weather. But you know when he’s just greasing the wheels of conversation, filling the space between words...and this isn’t it.

Ignoring the rush of heat into your cheeks, you default to the safety of humor. “Flattery will get you everywhere, Agent Whiskey.”

The smirk, the laugh, the sly innuendo you’re expecting don’t come. He shifts to look at you, so close and so handsome it hurts, and the naked admiration in his eyes makes your breath catch in your throat.

“Ain’t flattery, sugarplum.” His thumb travels fleetingly to the bare skin of your neck above the collar of your sweater. “You’re as pretty as a Kentucky sunrise and twice as bright, and that’s the truth.”

“Jack, that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me...that anyone’s ever said to me,” you blurt out, and mean it.

His dimple deepens, and a dash of his usual devilish charm flashes across his face. “Well, if we’re bein’ honest with each other, I must confess to thinkin’ lots of complimentary things about you.”

You can barely hear him over the hammering of your heart.

“Is that so?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he drawls. The flicker of his glance to your lips is so quick, you could almost miss it.

But you don’t.

Maybe it’s the whiskey, maybe it’s the wind wailing in the eaves, maybe it’s the thrill of almost being caught by the bad guys, but something prods you on, dares you to play with fire. Your hand shifts almost imperceptibly on his chest, letting the tip of one finger find the warm, tanned skin at the open neck of his shirt.

“And what are you thinking right now?”

Something hot and swaggering flares in his eyes and you know, you know he’s picked up your gauntlet.

“Well, sweetheart...” His hand moves from your shoulder, trailing lazily to the nape of your neck. He tilts his head to watch goosebumps erupt in the wake of his touch before turning that smoldering gaze on your face again. “Right now I’m wonderin’ what you’d say if I were to kiss that pretty mouth.”

“I’d probably ask what took you so long.”

You barely finish the sentence before his hands cradle your face and his lips are on yours, stealing your breath with their plush softness.

Nothing in your experience of lukewarm flirtations and flaky boyfriends has prepared you for Jack’s affections. He’s a force of nature, possessive and generous by turns, and his approving hum when you open for him and the hot slide of his tongue against yours have you clinging to him like you’ll drown if you let go.

It’s only when you’re nearly dizzy that you break away for air. “Jack,” you whisper, sinking a novel of emotions into one syllable.

His lips brush your forehead. “I’ve got you, sweetheart. My beautiful girl.”

“I’ve always been your girl, Jack.” You rest your forehead against his, closing your eyes against the glaring, shimmering audacity of the words. “I love you.”

The exhale that fans over your cheek is your name. Your real name, the one thing he almost never calls you. His hand is gentle, tilting your chin up. “Look at me.”

You gather the nerve to lift your eyes to his, only to find them soft. Happy.

“Honey, I love you.” His dimple makes an appearance with an apologetic smile. “Hell, I was smitten from the first handshake. But you were a new agent, and things were workin’ out so well, I never wanted to upset the applecart by tellin’ you so.”

Your laugh is breathless with relief. “Well, then,” you say, toying with the button that stands between you and his bare chest. “I guess we’ve got some lost time to make up for.”

“Oh, I like the sound of that.” With the agility of his training, he hooks one hand around the back of your knee and the other around your waist and moves you to straddle his lap. His big hands splay across your back to pull you snugly against him as he traces the line of your jaw with his nose. “Now where were we, darlin’?”

Your head is spinning with the nuzzling of his nose over your pulse point and the broad warmth of his chest pressed to yours and the growing hardness under the tight denim of his jeans.

“You were--” You break off in a gasp as his teeth graze the sensitive skin of your neck. “You were kissing me better than anyone else ever has.”

“Baby, I’m gonna make you forget about ever kissin’ anybody else.”

You don’t bother telling him you’re way ahead of him.

Jack’s hair is soft and thick when you weave your fingers into it like you’ve always wanted to, stroking where it hints at curling at the nape. When your hand slips under his collar to shape the strong column of  his neck, caress the vulnerable skin under his jaw where his pulse is thundering in time with yours, the low growl in his throat sends heat spiraling straight to your core.

He surges up to capture your mouth again, a hot, demanding crush of lips and tongues that makes you move restlessly against him, wanting more. He doesn’t miss it, and when he slides one hand to your lower back to press you even closer on his muscled thighs every nerve in your body lights up.

“I want you, Jack,” you plead between kisses. “Need you.”

His hands slide underneath your sweater and come to rest, warm and calloused, on the soft skin over your ribs. When you least expect it, he gentles the kiss into something almost chaste and when he pulls away, just enough to look into your face, his eyes have gone solemn.

“Tell me to stop, sweetheart. I will.”

You could burst with love for this man.

“I’ll strangle you with your own lasso if you do.”

Jack barks out a surprised laugh, lighting up with a grin before he goes in for another kiss. “Gonna take care of you, sweet girl.” His voice is silky against your lips. “Gonna give you everything you need.”

His hands move, bringing your sweater with them to whisk it over your head, and you feel the weight of his appreciative gaze roving over your bare skin and sheer bra.

“I can’t remember when I’ve seen anything so gorgeous.” His hands are back at your sides, fingertips teasing at the edges of the purple lace that leaves little to the imagination. When his eyes meet yours again, they’re blown dark and deep with desire. “And I reckon you’d look even prettier spread out for me on that big bed.”

That’s all it takes to have you scrambling to your feet, shimmying out of your leggings and socks as you cover the handful of steps to the luxurious bed that faces the fireplace. You reach for the clasp of your bra, but a click of Jack’s tongue halts your movement.

“Slow down, there, honey.” There’s a hint of command bleeding into his voice that you know well from missions, the sound of him giving orders and expecting them to be obeyed that always kindles a flame in you. “Let your man unwrap his gift.”

A blush warms your cheeks and trickles down your neck as you drop your hands to your sides and wait for him beside the bed, anticipation tingling in your limbs.

Jack has beautiful hands, as graceful as they are strong, but they’ve never been so mesmerizing as they are now, making quick work of his shirt’s buttons and carelessly shedding it to the floor.

You’ve seen him shirtless before -- it’s hardly avoidable when you spend most of your lives together -- but never like this. Never when you’re openly staring at his broad shoulders and lean waist and the smooth planes of his chest, all bronzed in the glow of firelight. And certainly never when he’s calling himself your man and looking at you like he’s starving and you’re his favorite meal.

His arms slide around your waist and the heated press of his skin against yours tears a soft whimper from your throat. He catches it with his mouth, blends it with his own hum of satisfaction in a searing kiss.

He keeps his lips on yours even as he eases you back onto the bed, laying you down on the fluffy comforter with his hand cradling the back of your head. He stands again for as long as it takes to shuck off his jeans and kick them away before he’s crawling over you, settling his warm weight over your body and into your welcoming arms. You’re so swept up in the kiss that reunites you that you barely notice the skillful flick of his fingers that frees you from your bra...until he bends his hot mouth to your breasts and lightning spikes through your veins.

“So perfect,” he praises against your tender skin. “So good for me.”

He’s perfect. Even more than you’ve imagined on the lonely nights when you give yourself over to fantasies just like this, of Jack pressing you into a mattress and murmuring sweet sentiments in that liquor-and-honey voice while his clever hands find you more than ready for him.

A whine escapes you when the cool air of the room suddenly replaces the heat of his body, leaving you bereft.

“Don’t you worry, honey.” Jack’s voice drops an octave, even as a smirk coaxes his dimple out of hiding. “I said I’d take care of you.”

Warm hands slide your panties down your legs and off, and he strips off his own boxers to come back to you in all his naked glory.

His strong biceps cage you in and his mouth finds yours again as your hands roam greedily over golden skin and taut muscles and the hot, hard length between you.

“Jack, you’re so beautiful,” you sigh, over his panting breaths into your neck. “I’ve wanted this. Wanted you, for so long.”

He raises his head to look at you, lush lips parted and eyes blazing. “Honey, you’ve got me. For as long as you’ll have me.”

He kisses you like he’s sealing a promise.

And then he’s inside you, like he belongs there. Maybe he always has.

Every surge of his body, every stroke of his hands, every gritted curse and word of praise pressed to your skin makes stars burst behind your eyelids, and when you’re clutching blindly at his back and keening his name like an incantation, his voice is a desperate rasp in your ear.

“Let go, sweetheart. I’ll catch you.”

You do. And he does.

And when he grips bruises into your thigh and shudders in your arms and buries a broken declaration of love in your hair, you know beyond a doubt there will never be anyone else.

***

If there’s a heaven, Jack’s pretty sure he's died and gone there to be lying in a cloud of down comforters with you tucked close to his side, head pillowed on his shoulder and legs tangled with his own. The bare skin of your back is petal-soft under his stroking fingers as he watches the firelight dance on the ceiling.

“I love you, Jack,” you murmur, and his heart swells too big for the prison bars of his ribs.

“I love you too, sweetheart.” He laces his fingers with yours on his chest, brings them to his lips. “You know, I dreamed about this,” he confesses.

You raise your head, resting your chin on his chest to look at him. “You did?”

“I did. Felt a little guilty about it, if I’m bein’ honest, but I don’t guess I could help it.”

“I won’t hold it against you.” Your eyes sparkle at him in the dim light. “Did I live up to your dreams?”

He smiles, sweeping a stray lock of hair away from your face. “Oh, honey, they couldn’t hold a candle to the real thing.”

You look pleased with that answer, nuzzling a kiss into his neck before settling your head on his shoulder again.

“I can’t wait to get you home,” he muses. “Have you in my own bed.”

He feels you smile against his skin. “As many nights as you want, cowboy.”

“Careful, there. I might take you at your word, you’ll go home and find movers at your place.”

You sigh out a laugh that’s music to his ears and draw idle shapes on his skin with your fingertips in the quiet.

“Jack,” you say again, soft as a peach blossom.

“Yeah, honey?”

“Will you take me to that farmhouse sometime?”

His greedy heart can already see you there, breathing life into the place.

You, perched on the kitchen counter, feet swinging in time with your chatter while he cooks for you. Sitting with him on the porch swing to watch the sunset splash its tapestry of pink and orange and lavender across the sky. Soft and sweet underneath him in the big cherry wood bed, greeting the pale glow of morning with sleepy eyes and kiss-swollen lips.

A backyard wedding.

Tiny, mewling cries in the night and your silhouette framed with moonlight from the picture window while you nurse a baby who has Jack’s eyes back to sleep.

The peace that washes over him is too good to be true, too hopeful for his battered heart, too honest for his life of compromises.

He closes his eyes, drinks it in anyway. Claims it. Squeezes you a little closer in his arms.

This is the dream that lasts.

“That’s a promise, sugarplum.”

[castlescarey-blog]

Every garden needs a storage shed, log shed, home office or just a simple decking. Whatever size of the garden Castles Carey make something unique for you, be it a pergola, log cabin, eco-/compost-loo, viewing platform or scooter/bike run. We build every wooden structure as per the client's requirements. For more information visit our website at https://bit.ly/2V5e63B

[premiumloghouse]

Business Name: Premium Log House

Address: Loughsallagh House, Loughsallagh, Clonee, Co. Meath, D15 RC04, Ireland

Business Phone: 015313399

Business Email: info@premiumloghouse.ie

Website: https://premiumloghouse.ie/

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/premiumloghouse.ie/

YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCupOpx2LjrfeXAQ04Kp3IrA

Business Description: We make totally bespoke log cabins that can be used for literally any space you can think of, whether it be a garden room, garden office, entertaining space, children’s playroom, music studio, sewing room, reading room etc…

Google My Business CID URL: https://www.google.com/maps?cid=5367102194161004710

Business Hours: Sunday Closed Monday 8 am - 5 pm Tuesday 8 am - 5 pm Wednesday 8 am - 5 pm Thursday 8 am - 5 pm Friday 8 am - 5 pm Saturday Closed

Payment Methods: Cash Check Visa Master Discover Amex Paypal

Products: Log Cabins

Keywords: log cabin log cabins ireland log house log cabins for sale log cabins dublin

Business/Company Establishment Year: 2018

Number of Employees: 15

Yearly Revenue: 50,000-100,000 USD/CAD/AUD/GBP

Location:

https://g.page/premium-log-house?share

Service Areas:

[rebeccatherine]

Reconnaissance

Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Marvel Rating: Mature Characters: Sharon Carter (Marvel), Sam Wilson (Marvel), Arthur Parks Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Espionage Summary: Sam Wilson accompanies Sharon Carter on an undercover SHIELD mission.

Read on AO3 under the pseud rebeccavis or below.

Sam had offered to sleep on the floor. He said he was used to it from his days in the military, which Sharon understood; Steve had mentioned to her offhandedly before that his bed never felt quite right. However, on this occasion the bed was probably the safest place for both of them. As she had pointed out to Sam, they had a clear view of the window from there should they need it and, if anyone decided to check in on them, it would look a little strange for a doting wife to be alone in a king-size bed. Sam, after looking horrified by the notion of someone spying on him while he was asleep, eventually conceded. 

“Sorry.” Sam’s whisper had been preceded by the sound of something soft hitting the floor. “Why do they give you so many dang pillows?”

Sharon chuckled. “I don’t know,” she admitted, “Rich people shit?”

Their backs were turned to each other and, even if they hadn’t been, Sharon doubted she’d be able to see much of anything in the darkness of their isolated cabin. She heard a soft rumble from next to her, though, and could see Sam smiling in her head. “Rich people shit,” he agreed.

Sharon supposed she was meant to go to sleep now. While she hadn’t served in the military, she’d had her fair share of sleeping in strange places as a SHIELD agent, many of which had been far less comfortable than where she was at the moment. Even so, this was maybe the first time she was worried about having trouble drifting off. Her mind was usually where she felt it should be: focused on the job and what steps she needed to take to ensure its success, including getting a good night’s sleep. Tonight, her mind was for some reason lingering on terms of endearment, unexpected compliments and arms wrapped tenderly around her waist. 

She felt Sam’s weight shift slowly next to her and suspected he was turning over onto his other side. It was something she had been thinking about, too, although now it meant they’d be face to face, which would be weird. Or would it? She settled for rolling over onto her back instead to stare at the ceiling. Her eyes were starting to adjust to the darkness, and she could just about trace the outline of the wooden beams above her head.

“Hey, Shar?” Sam’s voice was soft, but so unexpected that she froze for a split second. “Can we talk?”

*

“Sam? Is my purse out there?” Sharon had raised her voice a little, hoping she’d be heard from outside the bathroom where she was putting on her makeup. 

“Uh...yeah, I see it, baby,” she heard Sam reply, emphasizing his last word significantly more than was necessary, “Do you need it?”

“Oh, I think I left something in there, but I can…” Sharon trailed off as she heard footsteps in her direction and then a gentle rap on the door she hadn’t bothered to lock. “You can come in. I’m almost done.”

The door opened with a click and Sam stepped in, offering up a smile as his eyes met hers. She could tell there was a slight nervousness to his expression, at odds with how comfortably the bespoke dark suit he was wearing fit him.  

“Almost, huh?” he said, his tone playful.

“Wouldn’t want to forget my lipstick,” Sharon explained, reaching over to take her small silver clutch from his hand, “Thanks.”

“Yeah, you’d look terrible without it,” Sam teased, to which Sharon chuckled. 

Having reclaimed the missing item from her purse, Sharon turned back towards the mirror to apply the deep red shade to her lips. It reminded her of the colors her aunt had always been fond of wearing, perhaps even more so because, like her aunt once had, she was currently sporting brunette shoulder-length curls. Her dress, on the other hand - red, full-length, with a front slit and a mostly open back - was probably something Peggy would not have opted for unless she had also been undercover.  

“Just to be clear - you look amazing, Shar.” She glanced over her shoulder at the sound of Sam’s words, then directed a grin at him.

“So we’re not going with ‘baby’?” she asked. 

Sam’s brow furrowed. “Damn it.”

“It’s OK, you don’t have to worry. While you were out I put a bug killer in one of the lamps by the bed, so nobody’s listening in on us,” Sharon assured him as she turned around, “It’s good to get some practice, though.”

“I just thought ‘baby’ would be easier,” Sam explained, “I’m worried I’m going to forget to call you by your cover name.”

“‘Baby’ works great. I’ll go with it, too.” Sharon gave a nod to indicate she was ready to go, then emerged with Sam into the bedroom. “Look, I know this undercover stuff isn’t exactly your thing, but I promise you’re in safe hands,” she added, “Besides, it’s not like you have to put on a British accent or anything.”

“Thank God,” Sam noted, “I bet you can do a great British accent. You have family from there, right?”

“Yeah, that’s an easy one for me. My grandfather’s whole side of the family is British.”

“Did they teach you any fun British slang?”

“Plenty, but I’m pretty sure it’s all from the fifties so I’m totally out of date.” Sharon gave a small shrug of her shoulders. “You know my aunt used to call me ‘Shaz’ sometimes?”

“Shaz?” Sam echoed. His eyebrows raised as he shot an endearing glance at her, clearly entertained by the idea. “That’s amazing. Can I call you ‘Shaz’?”

“Absolutely not,” Sharon replied, though she kept her tone light.

“Noted. Although I make no promises after this mission is over and I’ve found the nearest place where I can get a daiquiri,” Sam noted, “You don’t have to join me, though.”

“Maybe I’d be OK with it under those circumstances,” Sharon conceded with a smile, “I do like ‘Shar’, though.”

Sam looked pleased with himself. He made his way over to the bed to pick up Sharon’s coat, which he offered to her. “Trust me, I’ve worked with you enough and heard enough to know I’m in the safest of hands,” he affirmed, “I just don’t want to get in your way. Do the photos look good?”

“Oh, yeah, they’re perfect. All you need to do is distract Parks and I know exactly where I need to go,” Sharon slipped her arms into the outstretched garment, shrugging it over her shoulders and gently tugging her hair out from underneath it. “Tell Redwing I said thanks.” 

“I will,” Sam replied after a small pause, “So we’re in, we talk to the party guests for a bit, you go download the files, and we’re out. Pretty straightforward apart from the fact that our ride isn’t coming until tomorrow morning.”

“So unlike Maria to not come pick up her friends after a party, but what can you do?” Sharon joked, “I think we’ll be OK to spend the night in our luxury log cabin.”

“I can always take the floor,” Sam said. 

“We can talk about that later. Let me give you your comm.” Sharon’s purse didn’t have room for much besides her lipstick and some cash, but the communication devices - one of which she handed to Sam - barely took up any space at all. “Is there anything else we need to go over?”

“I don’t think so. I’m glad we have these,” Sam admitted, then something seemed to occur to him, “Oh, I was going to ask you about ground rules. I wouldn’t want you to be uncomfortable, but I know we’re supposed to be married...I guess I don’t know how this usually works.”

“When we’re in the field pretending to be a couple we tend not to go overboard on public displays of affection unless the intention is to make someone else feel uncomfortable. Honestly, though, I wouldn’t worry too much about it. I trust you.” Sharon exchanged a small smile with him, and was glad to see he looked a little relieved. 

“Alright, then, Mrs. Dixon. Let’s go.” Sam offered up his arm, which Sharon took as they made their way down the wooden staircase to the living room. “This is some really weird rich people shit, you know. What kind of person owns what looks like an English mansion in upstate New York and makes his friends hire out nearby log cabins with no cellphone service just to attend his party?”

Sharon laughed, partly because it sounded a lot like something Tony Stark might do. “I’m glad you got that off your chest,” she commented, “And you’re right. Unfortunately, tonight I think we’re going to have to deal with a lot of rich people shit.”

*

“Name?” The man at the entrance to the mansion was dressed as a butler and peering at Sam as if he was a curiosity, which gave Sharon a strong urge to kick him in the face with one of her high heels. 

“Dixon. Sean Dixon,” Sam told him with a confidence that meant Sharon didn’t have to force a smile. She gave his arm an affectionate squeeze, having kept her own wrapped around it for most of the drive over.

“Ah, yes, and you must be the lovely Cherie Dixon.” The butler pronounced her name with a perfect French accent, so Sharon naturally had to correct him.

“Oh, it’s ‘Sherry’, but believe me, if I could say it your way I would,” she declared. The giggle she gave along with her words was fake but well-practiced, unlike the smile the butler gave her in return which was simply fake.  

“If you would be so kind as to step into our testing area,” the butler instructed them. 

Sharon gave a small nod which Sam mirrored, and the two of them made their way inside. Out of the corner of her eye, Sharon noticed that their ride - a chauffeured limousine that had been provided by the owner of the mansion - was still waiting in the extended driveway. She wondered what instructions the chauffeur had been given should she and/or Sam turn out to be mutants.

They had both been briefed early on that the party had a strict policy against mutants attending. It wasn’t a particularly new development; there were many, particularly those in power, who didn’t like that mutants could often hide in plain sight unlike most of the Avengers. What wasn’t clear, however, was how such policies were being enforced, and that was one of the things she and Sam had been tasked with finding out.

“Please give me your left index finger.” Sharon had been ushered along with Sam through the first door on the left, where a line of men and women dressed as old-fashioned footmen and maids were holding anachronistic devices that were roughly the same shape as a large calculator. She glanced at Sam, who just barely raised his eyebrows, then turned to the woman who had addressed her. 

“Here you go,” she said, letting go of her companion’s arm to present her left hand to what she assumed was a lab technician-turned-maid. The woman clearly didn’t have much in the way of bedside manner, as she pricked Sharon’s finger with a needle without so much as a warning. She then instructed her to press the small drop of blood to a pad on the device she was holding, where a bright light shone behind Sharon’s finger before she received a reading. 

“NO X-GENE DETECTED,” the screen flashed. 

“Is that good?” Sharon asked, her eyes wide.

The woman who had tested her all but rolled her eyes. “Yeah. That’s good,” she said, then turning to Sam, “You’re up next.”

Sharon’s eyes darted around to the other would-be house staff while Sam was similarly tested for his lack of a mutant gene. The devices they were using were unfamiliar to her, and she could almost make out a logo on the back of them but not quite. For now, she just made a mental note to try to steal one of the devices before they left the mansion for the night. 

“NO X-GENE DETECTED,” the screen flashed again, and Sam was also cleared to go out the door and back into the foyer.

“I feel like she drew way more blood than she needed to,” Sharon remarked, shaking her head. The needle prick didn’t really bother her at all and she’d had far worse injuries in the field, but Sam had been very quiet so far and it was starting to unnerve her how differently he was acting compared to his usual self. She hoped that she might be able to help him relax by drawing him into a conversation. 

“Oh, yeah?” Sam’s response wasn’t very encouraging but he did offer her his hand, which she took. 

“Maybe she was just jealous,” Sharon mused playfully. Sam had taken her hand in both of his and gently turned it over. “What are you doing?”

“Just surveying the damage,” Sam said with a hint of a smile, “You think she was jealous of your ring?”

Sharon had managed to almost forget about the 2 carat, heart-shaped engagement ring and matching wedding ring on her left finger. Sam clearly hadn’t, though, and she was glad he seemed to be settling into his role. “I think she was jealous of my gorgeous husband,” she replied, “You do look very good in that suit, baby.”

“Well, you look good in pretty much everything, baby,” Sam replied. Something about the way he was looking at her took Sharon off guard, and she was surprised to feel the back of her neck grow hot. Sam was apparently a better actor than she had given him credit for.

“Thank you,” she said, her voice coming out quieter than she intended at first. She cleared her throat and then added: “You’ve always known how to compliment a girl.”

“Isn’t that why you married me?” Sam teased. He let go of her hand and offered his arm to her again. 

“One of many reasons,” Sharon replied with a grin. She accepted his offer and then nodded towards an open doorway that led into what appeared to be the living room. “Everyone seems to be heading in there and it looks like they have drinks, so I vote we go check my coat and then we follow,” she suggested. 

“Lead the way, Cherie.” Sam managed a pretty decent impersonation of the butler from earlier, and Sharon laughed.

“Shut up.”

*

“Sher-ee.”

“Sher-ee,” Sharon repeated, butchering the French guttural ‘R’ sound as if she hadn’t had plenty of practice speaking French in her line of work.

“Eh, close enough.” The woman seated in a small, cream-colored armchair across from Sharon and Sam shrugged her shoulders with a smile, tossing her shoulder-length blonde bob. Sharon didn’t know too much about her yet but she did know that her name was Marie, she seemed to speak better French than Sharon did even when she wasn’t pretending, and - most importantly - she was their ticket to the person they were looking for. She seemed younger than Sharon, maybe twenty at most, and eager to make conversation. Sharon had spotted her chatting with the host of the party earlier, and all they needed to do now was get her to lead them to him.

“Didn’t you tell me your name means ‘darling’?” Sam asked, glancing at Sharon. They were sitting on a powder blue couch, his arm resting gently around her shoulders. 

Sharon all but batted her eyelashes. “That’s what my mom always said.”

“Yes, she was correct,” Marie said enthusiastically, “From chérir, to cherish.”

“Like the Madonna song,” Sharon joked. Sam chuckled, but Marie’s blank expression suggested to Sharon she’d been right about the other woman’s age.

“Clearly your mother chose well,” Marie continued, “You make a wonderful couple.”

“Thank you. I feel like I can barely remember what life was like before Sean,” Sharon said, all smiles, “We’re a good team. He makes up for all the things I’m missing.”

“Come on, baby, there isn’t anything you’re missing,” Sam insisted. 

“It’s OK, I know I’m not the smartest cookie in the cookie jar,” Sharon retorted, “But you, on the other hand...I’m telling you, Marie, you’re looking at the world’s next Tony Stark.”

“My wife likes to brag about me,” Sam told Marie, “I also love to hear it, though, so it all works out.”

“So you are interested in technology?” Marie asked.

“I’m working on starting up my own tech company,” Sam explained, “Cherie’s father is an investor and I’m looking for a few more.”

“In that case, you should definitely talk to Arthur if you haven’t yet. I know he’s always looking for new collaborators,” Marie said, “You know the mutant detectors that scanned your blood when you first arrived?”

“So that’s what they were?” Sharon mused out loud.

“Wait, did Parks provide the lasers they use in those?” Sam piped up.

Marie grinned. “Yes. He and Trask are hoping they’ll be able to make them available to the mass market soon.”

“That’s impressive,” Sam said with a nod, “Do you work with him?”

“Oh, no.” Despite Marie’s reply, Sharon could tell she was flattered by the notion that she might be involved in Arthur Parks’s company. Nice going, Sam. “I’ve just known him since I was very young. Arthur’s wife, Lucy, knew my father and when I was growing up he wasn’t around very much...the Parks practically raised me.”

“Well, clearly you’ve picked up a lot from them. I’m around Sean all the time and I still don’t really understand his work,” Sharon said with a laugh.

“I actually had been hoping to get a chance to talk to Mr. Parks. I’ve never met him directly but from talking to friends of his I really think we’d have a lot to offer each other,” Sam affirmed.

“Then allow me to introduce you,” Marie offered, “Trust me, it would be my pleasure.” 

*

“Alright, Sam, I’m in the study. Clear your throat if our friend is suitably distracted.”

Sharon soon heard Sam’s subtle assurance over her comm, although she almost didn’t need it because she could also hear Arthur Parks droning on in the background. She felt relieved that she had only had to stand next to Sam and pretend to be interested in the man’s work for a relatively short time before, as she had expected him to, Parks had invited ‘Sean’ to join him and a couple of other men for a cigar. Sharon had then spent a few minutes in Marie’s company before excusing herself to use the powder room. Her companion had offered to go with her, but Sharon had managed to convince her that she needed some privacy when she implied that she might be taking a pregnancy test. 

“I’ll be as fast as I can and keep you updated. Sorry this has to be a one-way conversation,” Sharon told Sam. 

When she thought about it, there were quite a few things she felt as though she wanted to apologize to Sam for. This wasn’t supposed to be his mission in the first place, for one. The original plan had been for Steve to accompany her, until the discovery that more than a few guests at the party had ties to HYDRA had made it impossible for Steve to go incognito. Sam had the technical expertise to both help in the field and impress Parks, so he had been the natural choice. The world of espionage was far from Sam’s natural environment, though, and even though he’d been doing well so far, Sharon felt a sense of responsibility in making sure nothing happened to him. That feeling was coupled with a decent-sized amount of guilt that she would actually rather be on a mission with Sam than Steve at the moment. 

“I’ve got to admit I’m a little envious of you, Dixon. It sounds like your story’s just starting and you have a world of opportunities ahead of you. I remember when it felt that way for me.”

Sharon rolled her eyes as she took her lipstick out of her purse and popped a concealed flash drive out of the bottom of it. She had little to no sympathy for the plight of someone like Arthur Parks. 

“I do feel very lucky,” Sharon heard Sam’s voice say, “Now, don’t get me wrong, I’ve definitely had to hustle, but the hustle was worth it.”

“Hacking in now,” she informed Sam quietly, the flash drive now inserted into Parks’s personal laptop. 

“Mmmm, and I’m sure having a rich wife can’t have hurt. I wasn’t so lucky.”

Arthur Parks’s use of the word ‘wasn’t’ gave Sharon pause. They hadn’t been given any intel on his marriage having recently fallen apart, although it was a little odd that his wife Lucy didn’t seem to be in attendance at the party.

“A word of advice, Dixon, although it’s probably too late,” Parks continued unprompted, “Always sign a prenup.”

Sam gave what sounded like a slightly nervous laugh. “I don’t think I need to worry about my wife.” Sharon was about to tell him not to be afraid to throw his wife under the metaphorical bus if he needed to, but a third person with an English accent spoke up before she had a chance. 

“I think this one’s a lost cause, Arthur.” Sharon had heard the man introduce himself as Jonathan Wilson a little bit earlier. “You and your wife seem very much in love.”

“I really think it’d be hard not to fall in love with Cher,” Sam declared. Sharon noticed his ‘Cher’ sounded a little close to ‘Shar’, but hopefully nobody else would pick up on it. “I mean, you’ve all seen how beautiful she is but on top of that she’s so...brave, and talented, and just so competent…”

Sharon couldn’t help the smile that crossed her features for a moment, even if it quickly vanished as she realized she was listening to a bout of silence. Either something had gone wrong with the comms or Sam had paused awkwardly mid-sentence and although the latter was preferable, it still wasn’t ideal. 

“...at making me happy, you know what I’m saying?” Sharon heard a few ripples of laughter following Sam’s joke, and she breathed an inaudible sigh of relief. 

“Nice recovery,” she told him, “Alright, I’m in. Just keep doing your thing, but maybe don’t lean into the doting husband role too much. I don’t see so much as a picture of Athur’s wife in his study and it sounds like things got ugly.”

The conversation took more of a business slant again and Sharon was able to relax ever so slightly, continuing to listen while she went through the files on Arthur Parks’s laptop. She had always found it a little ironic that the objective of any given mission, like this, tended to be the easiest part. Getting in and getting out were usually the parts that you had to worry about. 

“Looks like the intel we got was solid. Parks is definitely trying to build himself some kind of team, but I think SHIELD will have to dig deeper to find out what for,” Sharon informed Sam, “I’m copying the list of contacts and his correspondence. Lots of familiar names here, several associated with HYDRA...and Georges Batroc. Interesting.”

“Anyway, I’m sure you’re tired of listening to me by now. Maybe I can get my laptop and show you some photos of all the places Parks lasers have been used. Who knows, I might even give you some ideas about where they haven’t.”

Sharon stiffened as she glanced at the progress bar in the corner of the computer screen. “I’m not done,” she said after hearing Arthur Parks’s words, “Sam, can you stall him?”

“I...think I already have some ideas, actually,” Sharon heard Sam say, “Marie mentioned you were interested in music, and I…”

“Marie thinks she knows a lot more than she actually does,” Parks interrupted, “My wife is the music lover. Not that her taste in music is any good.”

“Marie’s just a kid,” Sam noted softly, “They always think they know a lot.”

“Not that much of a kid.” Arthur Parks’s voice was quieter than before and Sharon was having a hard time hearing him. “It’d be nice if she acted like more of an adult every once in a while.”

“Almost there,” Sharon said to Sam. Her fingers were hovering over the flash drive, ready to retrieve it the moment it was finished copying the files. “Just keep him talking.”

“Well, she has nothing but nice things to say about you and your wife, so it seems like you taught her something,” Sam said, managing to keep his tone jovial, “She said you practically raised her?”

“You seem to be very interested in Marie,” Parks commented. Sharon thought she might have heard the sound of a clinking glass. “Wilson?”

“Yeah?” Sam answered at the exact same time as another voice that Sharon presumed belonged to Jonathan Wilson did. 

Shit. Sharon watched the progress bar creep towards the end far too slowly for her taste as Arthur Parks offered Jonathan Wilson a drink. 

“Sorry. I thought you said Dixon,” Sam said sheepishly.  

“Well, I was also going to ask you a different question,” Parks said, “You a Scotch drinker?”

 “Sometimes,” Sam answered. 

“Sometimes,” Parks echoed with a chuckle, “Where are you from again?”

“New York,” Sam replied, “City. The City. Harlem.” He clearly remembered his cover story but seemed to be having trouble keeping his nerves under control. 

“Right, right.”

“Got it,” Sharon declared, “I’m going to close up here and I’ll come knock on the door looking for you.”

“There’s something about your accent, though…” she heard Parks muse while she stowed the flash drive away back in her lipstick tube, “Sometimes it sounds a little off to me.”

“I can’t pick up on anything...but then, I don’t suppose I’d be able to,” Jonathan Wilson commented with a chortle.  

Sharon stood up after closing Parks’s laptop, making sure it looked just as it did when she had first found it. She felt as though she could practically hear Sam’s heart beating faster, or perhaps it was just her own. “Hey, don’t be afraid to change your backstory a little if you need to,” she encouraged him, “The easiest lies to tell are the ones with a bit of truth.”

“How did you know?” Sam said, feigning being impressed, “My dad is from Louisiana. I don’t even notice it most of the time but Cher tells me sometimes the occasional word slips out.”

Sharon smiled to herself. The door to the study was closed behind her and from there it was only a quick trip across the hallway to where she needed to be. Granted, it was quite a large hallway. 

“I knew it,” Parks declared, “I’ve been to Louisiana a couple of times. New Orleans is a great…” 

Sharon knocked loudly at the door. When Arthur Parks pulled it open, he was greeted with the sight of her with her hair slightly dishevelled and grinning from ear to ear. 

“Can I help you, Mrs. Dixon?” he asked. 

“I just thought I’d stop by to rescue my husband,” Sharon answered.

*

It was getting in and getting out that you had to worry about. Getting to the party had required a lot of planning, from SHIELD providing Sharon and Sam with aliases and a mission briefing to their conversations on the flight to New York. During that time they had also planned how they’d be getting out, but that plan hinged on everyone perceiving them as nothing more than party guests. To that end, what they couldn’t do was leave the party at the nearest opportunity. Rather than make more small talk, Sharon had suggested they head to the ballroom and she didn’t think she’d ever seen Sam look more relieved. 

“So do you think I thoroughly destroyed your chances at entering into a business deal with Arthur Parks?” Sharon wondered playfully. She had to lean in close to him to be heard over the music, but that was easy to do when they were dancing.  

“Oh, I think those chances are pretty much roadkill by now,” Sam replied, making her chuckle, “That’s alright. I think if I’d had to listen to him for another half hour I’d have lost my mind.”

“I wouldn’t blame you. It’s his loss, at any rate.”

“Sure is. For a successful businessman, he seems pretty good at losing things.” Sam lifted his arm and gently twirled her around while she barely hid a grin. 

“You can spin me more than that,” she said, “I used to be a figure skater, you know.”

“Wait, really?” Sam closed the small distance between them as the song changed to one with a slower tempo, his hands coming to her waist. 

“Oh, yeah. My mom taught me to ice skate when I was a kid,” Sharon explained, “Have you ever tried it?”

“No, I haven’t, but I always thought it looked fun,” Sam replied, “I guess it’s probably a bit like flying.”

 “Well, I’ve never flown, but to me it feels a lot like flying.” Sharon let her arms rest around Sam’s shoulders almost without thinking about it. “I’m a little out of practice, but I still go sometimes. I’ll take you - maybe before rather than after we go to a bar for that daiquiri.”

Sam seemed to like that idea if his grin was any indication. “You’ve got yourself a deal.” He glanced over his shoulder momentarily and then leant in so that he could lower his voice even more, speaking softly  close to her ear. “You just need to go on a few more ops with me if you ever want to try flying.”

Sharon was surprised not by Sam’s gesture but her own reaction to it. She’d seen him harmlessly flirt with other people before, especially Natasha, and she enjoyed flirting herself when the occasion called for it. The unusual part was feeling her neck grow hot and letting her gaze linger on his lips when he pulled back. “I’d like that,” she admitted, “You’re a good partner.” 

Sam smiled again.

Sharon swiftly decided that she should keep talking, mostly because she wasn’t sure what she’d do if she didn’t. “Hopefully next time you’ll get to have a little more fun,” she told him.  

“Hey, I’m having fun,” Sam insisted, to which Sharon raised her eyebrows. “I am now, at least.” Sharon laughed. “I do wish the music was a little better.”

“Mmm, some Marvin Gaye, maybe?” Sharon suggested.

“For starters,” Sam replied, a hint of suspicion in his smile. 

“You know who probably would’ve picked better music?” Sharon said. She was struggling to keep a straight face before the punchline of her own joke, which she decided to attribute to a combination of both the high and relief from having completed a large part of their mission. “Arthur Parks’s wife,” she just about managed to get out before she burst into laughter, hiding her face in Sam’s shoulder. She heard him laughing as well, which only made it more difficult for her to compose herself, but at least she figured the other party guests wouldn’t think much of it. 

“You’re a great partner,” Sam declared, then adding, “We’re good to stay here for the rest of the party, right?”

Sharon nodded, pressing her lips together to suppress any remnants of her giggles. “I did just tell you that I’m pregnant, after all.” Sam’s eyes widened almost comically for a moment before he seemed to remember the excuse Sharon had used to get rid of Marie. 

“Of course,” Sam joined in, “We can name the kid Laser.”

Sharon had to cover her mouth with one of her hands to muffle a guffaw. 

*

“Hey, Shar? Can we talk?”

Somehow, Sharon had a feeling Sam didn’t want to talk about the mission, which had gone remarkably smoothly, all things considered. The intel they needed was stored on the flash drive in Sharon’s purse, which was sitting on the nightstand next to something else they had also managed to bring back. Just before they left the mansion, they had returned to the testing room with an excuse about Sharon having misplaced her wedding ring. While Sam distracted the woman who had tested Sharon earlier, Sharon had managed to grab one of the mutant detectors and the staff seemed none the wiser. The only real concern now was the fact that they had to spend the rest of the night in their cabin, which meant if Arthur Parks or anyone else did suspect them, they would know where to find them. Sam was aware of all of that, though, and she would be very surprised if he wanted to go over what to do if they caught a glimpse of someone staring at them through the window. 

“Sure,” she replied, her eyes still on the ceiling. She let out a small exhale before she rolled over onto her side to face Sam, barely able to make out his expression in the darkness. “Is everything OK?”

“Yeah. I just...I’m not even sure I should be saying anything, but...y’know, aside from almost forgetting New York was both a state and a city and being called ‘entertaining’ by some weird British folks, I actually had a really good time tonight.”

 Sharon couldn’t help a small smile. “I kind of meant it when I told Marie we made a good team.”

“Did you mean it when you said we should go ice skating and then for drinks?” That question caught Sharon off guard, particularly in how hopeful Sam sounded when he said it. “It’s OK if you didn’t,” he added quickly, before she had a chance to respond, “We’ve known each other for a while, but we’ve never…” Sam paused. “Tonight, when we were dancing, I just felt like…”

“I felt it, too,” Sharon said quietly. 

“OK.” She was starting to be able to see his face better as her eyes continued to adjust to the light, and she realized a smile was slowly spreading across it. “OK,” he repeated with a nod, “I’m kind of getting the feeling there’s a ‘but’ coming, though.”

“There’s a ‘but’,” Sharon admitted. His delight at the notion that they both felt similarly was already making her reconsider what she was about to say, but she wanted to be honest with him. “I’m not ready, Sam.”

“Ah. There it is,” Sam said. His grin vanished, as she expected, and he gave a small nod. “I understand. You did break up with Captain America. That had to have been pretty crazy.”

“Or, as my extended family likes to tell me, I’m the crazy one.” Sharon flashed a humorless smile. “I don’t...I’m not in love with Steve anymore, but that breakup wasn’t easy. It wasn’t even anyone’s fault, really, it was just...well, I’m sure the last thing you want to hear is gossip about your best friend.”

“I did just kind of admit to having a crush on my best friend’s ex-girlfriend, though,” Sam noted.

“I guess you did.” Sharon’s smile was genuine this time. “God, I wish we’d figured this out sooner.”

“I’ll take some of the blame for that. I was too busy staring at redheads.”

“And I was too busy thinking if I stuck around long enough Steve might fall in love with me.”

“Shar…” Sam’s voice was soft, and Sharon suddenly felt like she might have said too much. 

“If you were just a hot stranger this would be a whole lot easier,” she joked, trying to lighten the mood. 

“I’ll take that as a compliment, I think,” Sam teased back, “It’s OK, Sharon. Sometimes the timing just isn’t right.”

“I just meant that if it was someone I didn’t really care about, maybe I’d go on a date or two and it wouldn’t end well but it wouldn’t be a big deal. If it was you, though...I wouldn’t want to mess it up.”

“If it was you, I wouldn’t want to mess it up, either.” Sharon’s breath caught in her throat. “Can I...can I ask you a favor, though? If you do feel like you’re ready someday, and assuming you haven’t met anyone even hotter, can you let me know?”

“What if you’re dating Natasha Romanoff by then?” Sharon asked, not entirely unseriously. 

“In that case I would like everyone to please give us as much privacy as possible,” Sam replied with a smirk. 

“Wow, OK. She’s really your type?”

“Are you jealous, Shaz?”

Sharon couldn’t help but laugh. “Maybe a little. Is that OK?”

“Yeah. That’s OK.” Sam’s eyes had what could only be described as a twinkle in them. “You still haven’t answered me.”

“You’ll be the first to know.”

[customtimberloghomes]

Rustic Refinement: Embrace Luxury with Custom Timber Log Homes

In a world where luxury often intertwines with modern design, there's a growing appreciation for the timeless elegance and organic charm of custom timber log homes. Beyond the stereotypical image of rustic cabins, these bespoke residences embody a unique blend of rustic refinement, inviting you to embrace a luxurious lifestyle in the heart of nature. Let's explore the captivating world of custom timber log homes and discover how they redefine opulence with a touch of rustic charm.

Timeless Appeal Meets Modern Luxury

Natural Beauty Elevated

Custom timber log homes capture the essence of nature's beauty and elevate it to new heights. The use of carefully selected timber, with its warm tones and distinctive grain, creates an aesthetic that is both authentic and luxurious. The result is a residence that harmonizes with its surroundings while exuding a refined sense of style.

Architectural Artistry

Far from the stereotypical log cabin, custom timber log homes showcase architectural artistry. Craftsmen and architects collaborate to design homes that seamlessly blend traditional log construction with modern amenities. This marriage of old-world charm and contemporary comforts creates a living space that is as functional as it is visually striking.

Crafting Your Bespoke Timber Retreat

Tailored to Perfection

The hallmark of a custom timber log home lies in its tailor-made design. Every element, from the size and layout to the choice of wood species, is carefully considered to reflect the homeowner's vision. This personalized approach ensures that each home is a unique masterpiece, crafted with precision and care.

Luxurious Interior Spaces

The luxury of custom timber log homes extends beyond the exterior. High-end finishes, gourmet kitchens, spa-like bathrooms, and expansive living areas redefine the traditional log home experience. These residences seamlessly blend the cozy charm of rustic living with the sophistication of upscale interiors.

Eco-Friendly Elegance

Sustainability in Style

Luxury and sustainability converge in the realm of custom timber log homes. Many of these homes are crafted from responsibly sourced timber, emphasizing eco-friendly practices. The use of renewable materials not only adds to the home's natural allure but also aligns with a conscientious approach to living.

Energy Efficiency

Advancements in construction techniques have made custom timber log homes energy-efficient. From insulated log walls to modern heating and cooling systems, these residences offer a comfortable and environmentally conscious living environment. Embracing luxury doesn't mean compromising on sustainability.

Embracing Lifestyle Amenities

Indoor-Outdoor Living

Custom timber log homes are designed to maximize the connection with nature. Expansive windows, spacious decks, and outdoor living areas seamlessly integrate indoor and outdoor spaces. This design philosophy invites residents to savor the tranquility of nature while indulging in the comforts of their luxurious abode.

Recreational Retreats

Luxury extends beyond the home's interior, with many custom timber log homes situated in picturesque locations that offer recreational opportunities. From mountain retreats with hiking trails to lakeside properties with boating and fishing, these homes provide a haven for those seeking a lifestyle infused with leisure and adventure.

Investing in Timeless Luxury

Property Value Appreciation

Beyond the immediate comfort and opulence, custom timber log homes often appreciate in value. The unique craftsmanship, coupled with the enduring appeal of timber construction, makes these homes a wise investment. Their timeless allure stands the test of changing design trends, ensuring lasting value.

A Legacy of Luxury Living

Owning a custom timber log home is not just a lifestyle choice; it's a legacy. These homes, often passed down through generations, carry with them the stories of family gatherings, nature retreats, and the joy of rustic refinement. It's a legacy of luxury living that transcends time.

Conclusion: Rustic Elegance Redefined

In the realm of custom timber log homes, rustic refinement and luxury intertwine to create residences that stand as testaments to the beauty of traditional craftsmanship and modern living. Embrace the warmth of timber, the elegance of personalized design, and the allure of a lifestyle that seamlessly blends luxury with the rustic charm of nature. With custom timber log homes, your retreat becomes a sanctuary of timeless appeal and enduring sophistication.