#Cedar Double Hung Windows

[windowanddoorinstallation]

Why Western Red Cedar Windows Are More Popular Than Others

Cedar windows are hugely popular in Australia due to the warm look they offer to any property. Western red cedar is the most common version of cedar used in their manufacturing. This blog post covers the details of this particular wood and why it is preferred for windows across the globe.

What Are Western Red Cedar Windows?

Western red cedar is also called 'thuja plicata', and this wood grows in coastal forests where humus-rich soil mixed with softwood is found. This wood also grows in drier interior forests of western Columbia, Washington, and Montana. Because this wood is used in furniture production and the production of windows and doors, mainly western red cedar forests are managed and have controlled harvests.

Why Western Red Cedar Is So Popular For Cedar Window Manufacturing?

According to the experts of cedar window installations, several reasons contribute to this and the top one is the warmth and beauty of this wood. It is known for its exceptional beauty, even in its natural and finished state. It features a rich textured textile green combination with a palette of warm, mellow tones. The most common colours are light amber, deep honey brown and so on, and it is believed that no man made material can duplicate this wood's look and natural lustre. This factor has contributed a lot to the popularity of cedar window installations across the globe. This wood will enhance the looks of any structure, regardless of its type and design.

Cedar Wood – A Gift of Durability

Western red cedar windows feature natural oils that come as a natural preservative to make them naturally resistant to insects, pests and other factors that can wear down or decay them. It's popular because it is a dimensionally stable wood and stays flat most of the time. When finished and maintained well, it ages gracefully and can perform flawlessly for years and years.

Beauty Related Benefits

The beauty of western red cedar is unmatched; apart from this, the wood is also beneficial in several other ways. For example – the structure creates interior air spaces to make this wood create natural insulation inside the property. It has been noticed that rooms that have cedar window installations and doors remain cooler in summer and warmer in winter. This wood is also known for its excellent sound suppression and absorption quality.

[emilieshapirostudio]

Craftsman Exterior New York Idea for a medium-sized, brown, two-story craftsman-style home with a shingle roof.

[rocketjumper]

Traditional Family Room Large elegant open concept dark wood floor family room photo with gray walls, a standard fireplace, a stone fireplace and a concealed tv

[killstiles]

Wood Exterior Mid-sized craftsman gray two-story wood and shingle exterior home idea with a shingle roof and a brown roof

[ttheodoropoulos]

Craftsman Pool Mid-sized arts and crafts backyard stone and rectangular lap hot tub photo

[ladysif8]

Primal Attraction 18+

One late night, as I was aimlessly scrolling through TikTok, I came across those pheromone perfume ads and, of course, a steady stream of Logan TikToks. It sparked something, and thus, Primal Attraction was born.

•Pairing: Logan Howlett/Witch Original Female Character

•Rating: Explicit

•Tags: X-men Universe, Mutants, Wolverine, Witchy Vibes, Familiars, Pheromone Perfume, Smut, Possessive Logan, Kitchen Sex, Unsafe Sex,

•Summary:

Join Logan and Indica as they navigate wild magic, pheromone-fueled chaos, and all the possessive, steamy moments you could ask for. 😏💜 From kitchen counters to sweet (and spicy) moments, this fic is packed with love, laughter, and just a little bit of trouble! 😉

Nestled near the quiet town of Banff, Alberta, stood a small stone cottage that looked as if it had been plucked straight from a fairytale. Its walls were made of weathered gray stones, framed by black trim that outlined the windows and roof. The front door, painted a dark, enchanting shade of purple, seemed to beckon visitors into a world filled with secrets and stories. Towering spruce and cedar trees shaded the house, their branches swaying in the breeze and casting playful patterns of sunlight over the stones, adding to the cottage's timeless, rustic charm.

A large white fence surrounded the cottage, its posts carved with runes—symbols of protection that whispered quiet magic. Just inside the gate, the air was fragrant with rosemary, planted in neat rows that flanked the entrance. Beyond the herbs, a lush garden thrived in vibrant shades of green and purple, showcasing the bounty of each season under the careful, loving care of its gardener. Vegetables and herbs of all kinds flourished, while chickens wandered freely, pecking at the earth and clucking softly, adding a lively touch to the serene scene.

The front porch creaked softly as if welcoming every step, and the feeling of stepping into another time deepened once inside. The cottage was a Victorian-style marvel, with ornate trim that framed doorways and windows, and each room was washed in deep, cozy hues that contrasted beautifully with the streams of natural light pouring in from large windows. Despite the dark colors, the abundance of light bathed the space in a warm, inviting glow, creating a perfect balance between light and shadow. Plants cascaded from every available surface, their leaves catching the sun, adding vibrant splashes of green that enhanced the cottage-core vibe of the home.

The kitchen, a true heart of the home, featured wooden butcher block countertops that gleamed softly in the morning sun. Open shelving lined the walls, filled with an array of jars containing dried herbs, spices, and bubbling jars of sourdough starter. Fresh herbs hung drying from hooks overhead, filling the air with their earthy scent, and vintage copper pots were neatly displayed above the stove. This space invited creativity and comfort, blending Victorian elegance with rustic cottage warmth effortlessly.

Through an open set of double doors, the sunroom awaited like a secret garden within the house. Tall, arched windows lined the walls, reflecting the greens of the outside garden. Sunlight streamed in, warming the terracotta tiles underfoot and casting dappled patterns across the room. Whitewashed wooden beams arched overhead, adorned with delicate hanging plants that swayed gently with every passing breeze. Potted herbs and flowers thrived in every corner, reaching toward the sunlight, while vintage wicker chairs with plush cushions and cozy throws invited you to sit and soak in the serene beauty. The room was alive with the scents of lavender, rosemary, and warm earth—a space where the line between the indoors and nature blurred effortlessly.

In the living room, a large stone fireplace with a sturdy chimney served as the focal point, radiating warmth and comfort. Above the mantel, antique candlesticks and a collection of small curios told stories of the past. A large flat-screen TV subtly blended into the old-world charm of the room, perched on a wall opposite a small, cozy sectional. The sectional was draped in soft throws, flanked by vintage side tables topped with lamps whose intricately detailed shades cast a soft, golden glow. The walls were adorned with pictures of ancestors—sepia-toned portraits in ornate frames, their eyes peering out from the past, lending a sense of history and belonging to the space.

The bathroom was a moody retreat, its dark-painted walls making the space feel like a comforting cocoon. A large window overlooked the side yard, where bees buzzed around vibrant plants that fed them. In front of the window stood a clawfoot tub, its porcelain surface gleaming—a perfect spot to soak and watch the play of light and shadow outside. Plants trailed from shelves and perched on windowsills, their lush greenery offering a refreshing contrast to the deep, moody colors. The tile shower featured eucalyptus hanging from the showerhead, releasing a fresh, invigorating scent with every hot shower. Fluffy towels and neatly arranged bath bombs promised relaxation, making the bathroom a haven of comfort.

Across the hall from the bathroom was the master bedroom, an enchanting space where modern comfort met Victorian elegance. The walls were painted a rich, dramatic black, which made the white ceiling feel all the more expansive. A large, old black vintage iron bed frame took center stage, its frame sturdy and elegant, dressed in soft, inviting bedding. Faux ivy intertwined with delicate fairy lights trailed along the headboard, casting a soft, magical glow that made the room feel like a dream. It was a space designed for rest and escape, every detail thoughtfully considered—from the textures of the bedding to the gentle twinkle of lights that sparkled like stars above.

In one corner of the room, a vintage vanity with an ornate oval mirror stood, its wooden surface polished and rich with age. The vanity was adorned with candles, their soft light flickering gently, casting dancing shadows against the walls. Bottles of perfume, each with intricately designed glass stoppers, sat alongside antique trays holding an array of cosmetics—creams, powders, and delicate brushes. The scene was completed by a plush stool tucked neatly underneath, inviting moments of quiet reflection. It was a space that whispered of old-world glamour and everyday rituals, adding a touch of personal charm to the room.

Tucked away at the end of the hall was a second bedroom, currently storage but maybe one day there would be a little one sleeping in crib.

Sound asleep and nestled in the king-size bed, Indica Howlett lay wrapped in sage green bamboo sheets, a thick, cozy duvet draped over her. The morning sun rose steadily, its rays filtering through the large windows, casting a soft, golden light that danced across the room. Indica shifted slightly, stirring against the warmth of her bed. Her auburn hair, streaked with hints of blonde and woven with a few delicate dreadlocks, fanned out across the pillow in a tousled halo. The sunlight caught the different textures, giving her hair a warm, golden glow. A light dusting of freckles graced her pale skin, adding a touch of character to her serene, peaceful expression.

Beside her, sprawled comfortably on the bed, was a massive ball of black fur: Ranger, her devoted 100-pound German Shepherd. He lay with his legs stretched out and his head nestled near her side, his thick coat shimmering under the morning light. His deep, steady breaths matched the gentle rise and fall of Indica's chest, a quiet rhythm of comfort and companionship. Ranger's ears twitched occasionally, half-listening to the waking world while still lost in his own dreams. His calm, watchful presence added a sense of security to the tranquil setting, his protective instincts ever-present even in sleep.

As the sun climbed higher, Indica slowly drifted from sleep, her mind gradually surfacing as she stretched her limbs under the soft duvet. She arched her back, feeling the satisfying pull of a full-body stretch. Ranger, waking with her, let out a deep, lazy yawn, his jaws stretching wide as he blinked his eyes open. He hopped off the bed with a soft thud, his paws landing lightly on the wooden floor. Stretching out fully, he extended his back legs behind him, his front paws spread wide in a perfect downward dog pose, a picture of relaxed contentment.

Indica shifted to the edge of the bed, her bare feet brushing against the cool floor. She reached out to Ranger, her hand smoothing over his head and sliding gently down to his snout, her fingers sinking into his soft fur. Leaning down, she pressed a light kiss to the bridge of his nose. "Good morning, handsome," she murmured, her voice still thick with sleep. Ranger's tail wagged slowly at first, then picked up pace, a steady rhythm that matched the easy, calm start to their day.

Glancing at her cell phone on the bedside table, Indica noted the time—a little before 8 AM. She smiled softly, setting the phone back down as she turned her gaze back to Ranger. "Guess what, big guy? Daddy's coming home today." Her voice was filled with quiet excitement. Ranger's ears perked up at the familiar words, and his tail wagged a little faster, as if he understood and shared her anticipation.

Indica pushed herself up from the bed, her long auburn hair tumbling down her back, brushing just above her waist. The soft dreadlocks mixed with loose strands gave her hair a unique, natural look that suited her free-spirited style. The oversized tee she had worn to bed slid up her bare thighs, a cozy, well-loved favorite that moved easily with her every step. She stretched her arms above her head once more, feeling the satisfying pop of her joints as she fully woke up. With a contented sigh, she walked over to the window, her bare feet making a soft, whispering sound against the floor. She paused there, gazing out at the day unfolding beyond the glass. Her heart felt light with the thought of her partner's return, and Ranger by her side, ever her faithful companion in their quiet cottage home.

Her steps were slow and unsteady as she made her way to the bathroom, eyes still half-closed. She relieved her aching bladder with a sigh of relief, the early morning quiet wrapping around her like a comforting blanket. Returning to the bedroom, she caught Ranger's expectant gaze. "Alright, let's get you outside," she murmured, her voice soft with lingering drowsiness. She opened the side door, letting him trot off into the yard with his nose to the ground. She propped the door open slightly, allowing the crisp, cool fall air to creep into the house, its chill brushing against her bare legs and waking her up a bit more.

Indica headed to the kitchen, still groggy but comforted by the familiar routine. She started the coffee pot, the sound of dripping water and the rich aroma of brewing coffee filling the air. She leaned against the counter, arms folded loosely as she waited, savoring the peacefulness of the morning. The early sunlight filtered through the windows, casting soft shadows across the walls and floor, painting everything in gentle, warm hues. Once the coffee was ready, she poured herself a steaming cup, the warmth seeping into her hands as she held the mug close. She called Ranger back inside, and he followed her up the stairs, his nails clicking rhythmically against the hardwood floors as they returned to the bedroom.

Indica settled down at her vintage vanity, the oval mirror reflecting her sleepy expression. She placed her coffee mug carefully beside her, the steam curling up in lazy tendrils. Her reflection showed the early signs of the day—hair tousled with a mix of loose waves and a few dreadlocks that framed her face, her eyes still heavy with sleep. Her gaze shifted to the photo tucked into the corner of the mirror, and a soft smile spread across her lips. The picture captured a perfect moment of herself and her wonderful husband Logan Howlett to the rest of the world Wolverine. Indica's hair in the photo was shorter, falling just past her shoulders in a mix of loose waves and dreadlocks. Her sapphire blue eyes twinkled behind thick-rimmed glasses, radiating happiness and a touch of excitement. The picture captured the moment perfectly—the day they had closed on their little cottage. Indica's smile was wide and genuine, her joy almost leaping off the photograph. Logan stood close behind her, his broad frame nearly enveloping her as he held her tightly, their happiness reflected in the way they clung to each other. His strong arms wrapped snugly around her thick waist, his chin resting on her shoulder. His broad, muscular frame easily dwarfed her, his 6-foot-4 stature slightly hunched to meet her height. His messy brown hair was tousled as if he'd just run his hands through it, and his hazel eyes sparkled with warmth and a touch of mischief, a look she knew well.

The cottage had been a dream come true for both of them, a cozy sanctuary nestled away from the bustle of everyday life. Indica remembered the way Logan had looked at her that day—his hazel eyes soft with love and pride as they signed the final papers. She'd been nervous about such a big commitment, but with Logan, it had all felt right. The excitement of that day still lingered in her mind, and every time she looked at the photo, she could almost feel the warmth of Logan's arms around her again, the thrill of their new beginning captured in that single, perfect moment.

Indica traced her fingers along the edge of the photo, her heart swelling with affection. Logan's presence in the picture felt almost tangible, his grin infectious even in stillness. "Just a few more hours," she whispered to herself, her voice tinged with anticipation and a bit of impatience. The thought of Logan's return filled her with a warm, fluttering excitement. Ranger nudged her leg gently with his nose, his tail wagging softly as if he could sense her mood and shared in her joy.

She took another sip of her coffee, savoring the rich flavor as it spread warmth through her body. The oversized tee she wore to bed shifted slightly, brushing against her bare thighs as she adjusted in her seat. Indica glanced around her bedroom, taking in the soft, golden glow of the morning light that bathed everything in a gentle brightness. The vintage vanity with its oval mirror and scattered candles, the bottles of perfume and cosmetics neatly arranged, the comforting mess of her life—everything felt just right.

Indica hopped happily down the steps, the hem of her high-waisted sage green skirt fluttering with each bounce. The soft cotton fabric swayed around her thighs, catching the morning light as she moved with a buoyant energy. A playful sliver of skin peeked out between the waistband of her skirt and the dark gray square-neck crop top that stretched snugly across her chest, highlighting her natural curves. Around her neck, layers of delicate necklaces shimmered, their pendants catching the light as they gently clinked with her steps, adding a subtle melody to her cheerful rhythm.

Draped over her shoulders, a long black cardigan flowed with her movements, its cozy fabric trailing behind like a soft, comforting shadow. Her bare feet, with black-painted toes peeking out from beneath her skirt, softly tapped against the floor as she hopped down the stairs. Indica's auburn hair was pulled into a carefree bun, beads, and charms woven into her dreadlocks, peeking from the back of her head, adding a touch of whimsy and individuality to her look. The beads glimmered with each step, catching the light, a small yet personal statement of her unique, effortless style.

Indica felt light and free, the crisp fall air brushing against her exposed skin, adding to the sense of renewal that filled her with every step. She couldn't help but smile, her lips curving upwards as she descended the stairs, the thought of Logan's return filling her with a warm, bubbling excitement. Everything about her felt right and true to herself—from the effortlessly chic outfit to the playful sway of her skirt, and the way her jewelry softly tinkled like a gentle reminder of her happiness.

Ranger followed closely behind, his tail wagging in sync with her upbeat pace, his ears perked and alert as if sharing in her joy. Indica glanced back at him, her smile widening at the sight of her loyal companion, and gave him a quick wink. Ranger responded with a soft woof, his tail swishing even faster, matching the light, carefree energy that filled the room.

Indica grabbed her long, wide wicker basket from the kitchen, the familiar weight resting comfortably against her hip as she made her way out the back door. The cool morning air greeted her, carrying the sweet scent of blooming flowers and freshly turned earth.

Indica stepped off the path out her side door and into the dewy grass, the cool moisture kissing her bare feet as she walked further into the yard. She set down her basket and stood still for a moment, arms lifting to her sides with elbows tucked in, palms facing upward. Her chest rose with a slow, deliberate breath as she closed her eyes, her toes flexing into the soft earth beneath her.

She felt it immediately—the hum of energy from the land beneath her feet. The power of Mother Nature surged up from the ground, flowing through her like an ancient current. Indica exhaled slowly, focusing her mind, letting herself connect deeply to the earth. She imagined the energy like roots from a tree, spiraling up into her body, and she soaked it in, drawing it into every fiber of her being.

The warmth of it spread through her, filling her with an undeniable sense of peace, strength, and belonging. The soft energy wrapped around her, soothing, healing, and energizing her all at once. She smiled faintly, feeling the pulse of the earth underfoot, her body vibrating with life as she continued to ground herself in the moment, in the energy freely offered to her.

Like her husband, Indica was a mutant—though her gifts were of a different nature. While Logan's abilities were grounded in raw physicality and survival, hers were ancient and elemental, deeply intertwined with the world itself. She was a witch, and a powerful one at that. She had walked the earth for over a hundred years longer than Logan, carrying the wisdom and power of centuries in her veins. Time had taught her the secrets of nature, the elements, and the mysteries that lay between life and death.

Her skin began to glow faintly, shimmering in the soft morning light, as if absorbing the energy of the earth like a flower soaks in the warmth of the sun. This was not a grand display of power, but a quiet communion with the forces that surrounded her. The centuries she'd lived had taught her patience, control, and a deep respect for the magic she wielded. She knew that true power was not in the loud, explosive moments, but in the quiet, steady strength that came from being in tune with the world around her.

Unlike most mutants, Indica's abilities weren't just tied to her DNA. They were rooted in the ancient magic that had been passed down through generations of witches before her. She could feel the life force of everything around her—the trees, the wind, the animals hidden in the forest—and she could call upon that energy, bending it to her will if the need arose.

But today, she needed nothing more than the peace of connection. Her glowing skin was a testament to the energy she drew from the earth, a soft aura of magic that surrounded her like a protective blanket. Despite the peaceful scene, there was always a wildness in her—an untamed force, like a storm waiting to be unleashed. It was the kind of power that lay dormant until it was needed, and when it was released, it was devastating.

Logan knew that side of her well. He'd often teased her, saying that while he could survive almost anything, it was Indica who truly scared him when she was pushed too far. Her power, unlike his own, wasn't something that could be fought or overpowered. It was subtle but immense, like the slow rise of the tide that you only notice when it's already swept you away.

She wore that power with a quiet grace, moving through life as though she carried the weight of the world effortlessly on her shoulders. And in many ways, she did.

Indica stepped into her garden, the dewy grass cool under her bare, and took in the sight of her plants, thriving in the warm spring sunshine. This was her favorite way to start the day—hands in the soil, surrounded by the quiet hum of nature, and the sense of peace that came with nurturing her little piece of the world.

She crouched down among the rows of vegetables, the hem of her skirt brushing against the soft soil. Carefully, she plucked ripe, plump tomatoes from their vines, placing them gently into her basket. Next, she moved on to the peppers, their vibrant colors standing out against the green leaves. She selected a few zucchinis and squashes, their firm skins still cool from the morning air. A large head of cabbage, nestled among its leafy companions, found its way into the basket as well, along with a few heads of broccoli, their bright green florets crisp and fresh.

Indica then made her way to her herb garden, where the fragrant scent of thyme and lavender filled the air. She snipped generous bundles of each, tucking them carefully into the basket, their earthy and floral scents mingling with the vegetables. She paused for a moment, inhaling deeply, letting the soothing aroma ground her in the quiet morning.

With her basket now brimming with fresh produce and herbs, Indica walked to the chicken coop. She set the basket down on the ground, glancing at Ranger who was never too far away. His watchful eyes tracked her every move, his ears perked and alert, always on guard and always protecting. She smiled at him, a silent thank you for his steadfast presence.

Indica opened the coop, stepping inside to greet her flock. The chickens clucked softly, flapping their wings and pecking at the grain she scattered on the ground. She moved carefully among them, her hands deftly collecting nearly a dozen warm eggs, each one nestled gently into the straw-lined sections of her basket. The chickens clucked in approval, their gentle noises creating a peaceful soundtrack to the morning's tasks.

With her basket full and her chores nearly complete, Indica paused for a moment, soaking in the serenity of her surroundings. Ranger trotted up beside her, his nose twitching at the scent of fresh eggs and herbs. She gave him a gentle pat on the head, appreciating the quiet companionship he offered.

As Indica turned back toward the house, the sun had climbed a little higher in the sky, casting a warm glow over the garden. The light filtered through the leaves, creating dappled patterns on the ground as she walked. She glanced down at Ranger, his loyal form trailing just a step behind her, ever watchful.

"Come along, Ranger," she said softly, her voice carrying the gentle authority of someone who knew he would follow without question. She adjusted the wicker basket on her arm, its weight a pleasant reminder of the morning's harvest.

Ranger perked up at her words, his ears twitching as he fell into step beside her, his presence a comforting shadow. Together, they walked toward the cottage, its cozy silhouette framed by the early morning light. The cool breeze brushed against Indica's skin, the scent of freshly picked herbs and earth mingling in the air, making her feel connected to the land she cherished.

As they approached the back door, Indica paused for a moment, taking in the peaceful scene around her. The garden, the chickens pecking contentedly in their coop, the quiet hum of nature—it was all a part of the life she and Logan had built together.

Pushing the door open, Indica stepped inside with Ranger trailing close behind, his nails clicking softly against the wooden floor. The familiar comfort of the cottage wrapped around them like a warm hug, the scent of home mingling with the fresh air she'd brought in from outside. She moved into the kitchen, the cozy heart of the house, where sunlight streamed through the windows, casting a soft glow over the rustic wooden countertops.

Indica set her basket down and began washing the vegetables she'd just picked. The cool water splashed over the tomatoes, peppers, zucchini, squash, cabbage, and broccoli, washing away the last traces of garden soil. She worked with practiced ease, humming softly to herself as she laid each piece out to dry. Once the vegetables were cleaned and set aside, she moved on to her herbs, bundling the thyme and lavender with twine and hanging them by the window to dry. The fragrant bundles swayed gently in the morning breeze, filling the kitchen with their fresh, earthy scent.

After washing her hands, Indica reached for one of her prized jars of sourdough starter sitting on the counter. She cradled it carefully, knowing the effort and care that had gone into nurturing the culture over time. She could already imagine the tangy aroma of fresh bread filling the cottage—a scent that always made the house feel like a true home.

With her sleeves rolled up, Indica began the familiar process of making two loaves of bread and a dozen bagels. She measured the flour with precision, her movements fluid and sure, a dance she had perfected over countless mornings. The dough came together under her hands, soft and pliable, as she kneaded it with care, folding in the promise of a hearty, delicious meal. Ranger watched her from his spot nearby, his eyes tracking her movements, content to keep her company as she worked.

As she shaped the dough into rounds for the bread and bagels, Indica felt a quiet joy settle in her chest. There was something deeply satisfying about creating with her hands, about filling her home with the warmth and comfort of freshly baked bread. She glanced out the window, catching a glimpse of the sun now fully risen, bathing the garden in golden light. With Ranger by her side and the simple, soothing rhythm of her morning chores, Indica felt at peace, eagerly awaiting the moment Logan would walk through the door and make their little cottage feel whole again.

After finishing the bread and bagels, Indica carefully transferred the warm loaves and golden bagels onto the cooling rack, the rich, yeasty aroma filling the kitchen and spilling into every corner of the cottage. The scent mingled with the lingering hints of thyme and lavender from her herbs, creating a comforting, homely blend that made the space feel alive. She wiped her hands on her apron, glanced at the clock, and saw there was still plenty of time before she needed to meet Logan. Deciding to make the most of the morning, she grabbed a light sweater and stepped outside to check the mailbox at the end of the brick path.

Ranger trotted beside her, his ears perked up and tail wagging, alert to every sound and scent around them. The morning sun was now bright and cheerful, warming Indica's skin as she strolled down the brick path lined with wildflowers. Their colorful petals swayed gently in the light breeze, adding splashes of purple, yellow, and pink against the lush green backdrop. Indica couldn't help but feel a sense of peace; mornings like this were what she loved most about their little cottage.

Reaching the mailbox, she opened it and found a small stack of letters along with a neatly wrapped package addressed to her. Curious, Indica tucked the letters under her arm and carefully opened the small box. Inside was a delicate vintage perfume bottle, ornate with a golden cap and a beautifully etched glass design that caught the sunlight. It sparkled softly in her hand, looking like something out of an old movie. She spotted a folded note inside and pulled it out, her heart warming as she read the familiar handwriting: "To Indi, love Nessa."

Indica's smile widened, and a warm feeling spread through her chest. She gently uncapped the bottle and brought it to her nose. The scent was divine—citrusy and sweet with just a hint of wildflowers, bright and refreshing, yet grounded by a soft floral undertone. It was the kind of fragrance that instantly lifted her spirits, light and invigorating, like a small burst of sunshine captured in a bottle. She couldn't resist spraying a little on her wrist, inhaling deeply as the scent settled on her skin. It felt like a personal little gift of happiness, a reminder of her friend's thoughtfulness.

Back inside, Indica set the mail on the kitchen table, still smiling as she glanced at the perfume bottle again. She carefully wrapped the fresh bread and bagels in soft linen cloths, tucking them neatly into their places in the pantry. The kitchen felt cozy and complete, with the fresh loaves on display like a testament to the simple joys of her morning. She paused for a moment, just enjoying the sight and smell of her work, the way the sun streamed through the windows, making everything feel warm and golden.

Realizing she still had a few things to take care of before meeting Logan, Indica grabbed her bag and checked her list of errands. She needed to pick up a few essentials in town—fresh produce, a couple of things from the hardware store, and perhaps a quick stop by the local market for some special treats to welcome Logan home. The day already felt full of promise, and she was eager to make the most of it.

She gave Ranger a gentle pat on the head, feeling the soft fur beneath her fingers, and grabbed her keys from the hook by the door. With a final glance around the cozy kitchen, she headed out the door, her thoughts already drifting to the moment when she'd finally see Logan again. As she walked down the path, the citrusy, floral notes of the perfume lingered in the air around her, mingling with the fresh morning breeze.

Indica climbed into Logan's old, beat-up blue Ford truck, its paint slightly faded but still holding a certain charm. The engine rumbled to life with a reassuring growl, and she steered the truck down the gravel driveway, the wheels kicking up tiny clouds of dust behind her. She drove along the winding road, the crisp mountain air filling her car as she rolled the windows down. The morning sun bathed the landscape in a warm, golden light, making the journey to town feel like a serene escape. As she rounded a bend, she spotted a small roadside stand brimming with fresh produce. Her gaze was immediately drawn to the baskets of peaches, their vibrant orange hue gleaming under the sun. She smiled, thinking of Logan and his love for her peach cobbler.

Pulling over, she parked and stepped out, the earthy scent of ripe fruit filling her senses. The old man running the stand greeted her with a friendly smile, and she picked through the peaches, selecting the ripest ones that would be perfect for her cobbler. She paid the vendor and placed the basket of peaches gently in the passenger seat, giving them a fond glance before getting back on the road.

The road into town wound through the picturesque town, framed by the dramatic peaks of the surrounding mountains. The sun shone brightly, casting long shadows of the jagged peaks across the streets. Banff was a quaint, charming place with a mix of rustic and modern elements. Small shops with colorful awnings lined the main street, their windows filled with local crafts, souvenirs, and cozy café signs. The streets were busy with tourists and locals alike, giving the town a lively, vibrant atmosphere.

Indica parked the truck in front of the hardware store, a modest building with a red and white striped awning that offered a touch of old-fashioned charm. She stepped out of the truck, taking a deep breath of the crisp mountain air. The town's fresh scent, a mix of pine and the faint aroma of brewing coffee from nearby cafés, filled her senses.

Indica strolled through the hardware store, scanning the shelves for the items on her list. It didn't take long for her to notice the way the male employees' heads turned as she walked by, their eagerness to assist almost palpable.

One of the workers, a lanky guy with a name tag reading "Evan," approached with a bit too much enthusiasm. "Can I help you find anything, miss?" he asked, his eyes darting over her face and lingering on her form longer than necessary.

Indica offered a polite smile. "Just browsing, thanks," she said, moving on, but she caught him leaning in subtly as if trying to catch a whiff of her perfume. She arched an eyebrow but kept walking, shaking her head slightly.

Further down the aisle, another employee, stockier with a mop of curly hair, was stacking bags of mulch. His eyes drifted south the moment she passed, staring shamelessly at her chest. Indica shot him a pointed look, and he quickly turned back to his task, cheeks reddening as he fumbled with the bags.

By the time she reached the checkout counter, the young cashier couldn't have been more than nineteen and looked utterly flustered. His eyes widened when he saw her, and he stumbled over his words as he tried to make small talk.

"Uh, hi, ma'am! I mean—hey! Uh, find everything okay?" he asked, his voice cracking slightly.

Indica nodded, placing the bags of chicken feed and dog food on the counter. The cashier's hands shook as he scanned the items, his fingers hitting the wrong keys on the register repeatedly. He mumbled an apology, cheeks turning pink, clearly overwhelmed.

"Uh, s-sorry," he stammered, glancing up at her with wide eyes. He knocked over the pack of gum by the register in his haste, and Indica bit back a small smile, trying not to let her amusement show.

"It's okay," she said gently, passing her card over the reader. The cashier nodded, his hands still shaking as he bagged her items, practically tripping over himself to finish.

Indica smiled softly, trying to put him at ease. "Don't worry about it," she said, watching as he finally managed to ring up her items.

The cashier fumbled with the receipt, dropping it twice before finally handing it over. "Uh, have a great day!" he squeaked out, avoiding eye contact as Indica gave him a kind nod and walked out of the store, the sound of his relieved exhale following her out the door.

Indica took her bags, giving the cashier a nod of thanks as she turned to leave. As she stepped outside, she exhaled a slow breath, shaking her head slightly. The over-the-top attention was almost comical, but she wasn't about to let it get to her.

Driving to the liquor store, Indica noted the mix of calm and hustle that marked the late afternoon in Banff. The store, a modest establishment with a faded sign that read "Banff Liquor Store," had been a regular stop on her errands. Inside, the aisles were neatly stocked with everything from local craft beers to imported wines, and the familiar clinking of bottles filled the air.

As she scanned the shelves for Logan's favorite Molson beer, she became aware of the attention she was drawing. A pair of frat boys, clearly tipsy and a little too eager, followed her movements, their whispers and low chuckles not going unnoticed. Indica kept her focus on the task at hand, pulling two twelve-packs off the shelf and setting them in her cart.

"Hey, sweetheart," one of them called out, a smirk plastered on his face. He was tall, with messy blond hair and a backward cap, the epitome of college arrogance. "Need some help with that? Looks heavy for someone like you."

Indica rolled her eyes internally but maintained a polite smile. "No thanks, I've got it." She pushed her cart forward, trying to ignore the way they continued to trail her through the aisles.

The second one, shorter but stockier, with a jersey that looked like it hadn't been washed in days, stepped in front of her, blocking her path. "You know, we could use some company tonight. What do you say? You, us, a couple of drinks... maybe more?"

Indica sighed, her patience wearing thin. "Not interested, guys. Just here to grab some beer and go."

Undeterred, the first guy leaned closer, his breath reeking of alcohol. "Aw, come on. Don't be like that. We're fun. You should give us a chance."

Before Indica could retort, a voice boomed from behind the counter. "Indica! Hey there, kiddo!"

Indica looked up to see Mickey, the store's owner, an older man with a grizzled beard and a cap that seemed permanently affixed to his head. His eyes were sharp as he took in the scene unfolding in his store.

"Everything all right over here?" Mickey asked, his gaze fixed on the frat boys with a steely look that could cut through glass. "These fellas bothering you, Indi?"

The frat boys exchanged uneasy glances, suddenly looking like school kids caught by the principal. Mickey's reputation as a no-nonsense guy—and his long-standing friendship with Logan—clearly struck a nerve.

"Uh, no, we were just talking," the taller one mumbled, his earlier bravado quickly dissipating.

Mickey didn't budge. "Well, how 'bout you talk yourselves right outta my store? Ain't got time for any funny business today."

The frat boys muttered a half-hearted apology, shuffling out of the store with their tails between their legs. Indica watched them leave, shaking her head slightly before turning back to Mickey.

"Thanks, Mickey. Those guys were getting a bit too friendly," Indica said, her voice laced with relief.

Mickey nodded, a wry smile breaking through his gruff demeanor. "Ain't no problem, Indi. I've known Logan too long to let punks like that give you any trouble. You're practically family around here."

As Mickey rang up the beer, he glanced over his shoulder at a small display behind the counter. "Oh, by the way, just got a fresh batch of Logan's cigars in. You want me to add a pack?"

"That'd be great, thanks," Indica replied, genuinely appreciative. She watched as Mickey added the cigars to her purchase, his weathered hands moving with the ease of someone who'd been in the business far too long to be rattled by much.

He handed her the bag, his expression softening. "Take care of yourself, Indi. And tell Logan I said hi. Don't need folks like those boys bothering you 'round here."

Indica smiled, feeling a warmth that came from more than just the friendly gesture. "I will, Mickey. Thanks again."

She headed out, beer and cigars in hand, reflecting on the odd string of encounters that seemed to shadow her day. With a sigh, she started up the truck, the engine rumbling to life as she set off for the small-town grocery store, hoping the rest of her errands would be less eventful.

Indica moved through the grocery store with the ease of someone who'd been through these aisles a hundred times before. She grabbed a bunch of bananas, added them to her basket, and moved toward the leafy greens, mentally going over her list. The fluorescent lights overhead buzzed faintly, blending into the hum of the store's atmosphere. It was supposed to be a routine trip—get in, get out, and go home. But something was clearly off today; she had been approached multiple times by men she'd never talked to, some men she didn't know from around town.

She could sense him before she saw him.

Indica spotted him lingering by the cucumbers, pretending to look at the produce but clearly watching her, waiting for a moment to pounce. Indica sighed, her grip tightening on her basket. She wasn't in the mood for this.

She ignored him and moved to another section, trying to make it clear she didn't want any interaction. But, of course, that didn't stop him. He followed her, slithering through the aisles like an unwanted shadow. Every turn she made, he was right there, just a step behind.

When she stopped to pick up some apples, she felt his presence even closer than before. She turned, ready to give him the standard cold shoulder, but he was standing too close—way too close. Close enough that she could smell the faint, stale scent of cologne on him; before she could step back, he leaned in, took an audibly deep breath, and sniffed her.

Indica froze for half a second, disbelief flooding her mind. The guy actually sniffed her. This had crossed a line.

"As if the fuck off stamped across my forehead wasn't clear," she said, her voice low and firm, "to leave me alone."

He sneered, his smile creepy and self-assured, as if he thought her irritation was cute. "Aw, come on. I'm just tryin' to talk to ya," he purred, his eyes roving over her in a way that made her skin crawl. "You smell good, by the way.....really...really good."

That was it.

Before he could react, Indica's hand shot out, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt. His cocky expression shifted to shock, his mouth opening in protest as he realized that he wasn't just being grabbed—he was being lifted off the ground.

His feet dangled helplessly a few inches above the grocery store floor, eyes wide with panic as the realization of what was happening sank in. The basket in her other hand dropped to the ground with a thud, apples rolling away, but she didn't care.

"You've been warned," Indica growled, her voice low and deadly. "I've had enough of you following me around like a creep. I told you no. That means no."

The man's eyes flickered in terror as he stared at her, now fully aware that she wasn't just some ordinary woman. There was something else about her, something dangerous. His lips trembled, but he was too stunned to speak. His hands clawed at her grip on his shirt, but it was no use.

"And if you don't leave me alone," Indica added, her voice dropping even lower, "you're going to regret it."

Then, as if to punctuate her throat, her eyes began to glow—a soft, fiery amber that lit up her face with an ethereal intensity. The man's breath hitched, his entire body going rigid as he stared into those glowing eyes, realizing he was dealing with something far beyond his understanding.

"I—I'm sorry," he stammered, his voice shaking as he scrambled to get his words out. "I—I'll leave you alone. I swear."

Indica's lips curled into a tight smile, more predator than anything. "Good."

She released him, and he stumbled back, nearly falling on his ass in his hurry to get away from her. He turned and bolted toward the exit, not bothering to look back as he disappeared into the parking lot.

Indica took a deep breath, the glow in her eyes fading as she collected herself. She glanced around the produce section. A few other shoppers had noticed, some staring wide-eyed, but no one dared approach her.

Grabbing a few items from the ground, Indica shook her head. "Freaks everywhere," she muttered to herself, turning her attention back to her groceries.

She was more than done with this trip—time to head home.

As the X-Jet, the Blackbird, descended smoothly toward a secluded clearing near Logan's cottage, the engines' soft hum filled the cabin. Storm expertly guided the jet down, landing on a tranquil stretch of land surrounded by dense forest, with the rugged peaks of the Rockies visible in the distance. The hatch opened, and Logan was the first to step out, the crisp Canadian air hitting him as he stretched, rolling his shoulders. Scott followed, still grumbling about something Logan had said earlier.

"I'm just saying," Scott argued, his voice tinged with irritation. "There's no way the Leafs are making it to the playoffs this year."

Logan scoffed, grabbing his duffle bag and slinging it over his shoulder. "Shows how much you know, Slim. That new goalie they got? Kid's a wall. Mark my words; they'll be there."

Scott rolled his eyes, clearly not interested in Logan's sports opinions. "Yeah, sure. Just like you said, the Bears would win the Super Bowl last year, right? How'd that work out?"

"Hey, that's different," Logan shot back, pausing at the edge of the jet to pull his last cigar from the box. He bit the end off and spat it onto the ground, fishing in his pocket for a lighter. "Bears had injuries; the whole season was a wash."

Scott made a face, crossing his arms as Logan finally got his cigar lit, the tip glowing brightly in the early morning light. "Excuses," Scott muttered under his breath.

Storm, watching their back-and-forth with an amused smile, followed them down the ramp. "Do you two ever stop arguing?" she asked, her eyes sparkling with humor. "You're like an old married couple."

Logan smirked, taking a deep drag of his cigar. "He's just pissed 'cause I'm always right." He exhaled a thick plume of smoke, the scent of tobacco mingling with the crisp mountain air.

Scott snorted, shaking his head. "You're impossible."

Storm turned her attention to Logan, a playful gleam in her eyes. "Speaking of impossible, you got anything special planned for Indica's birthday?"

Logan's expression softened slightly at the mention of Indica. He grinned, his eyes glinting with a mischievous light. "Yeah, I got plans," he said, winking at Storm. "Gonna keep her in bed all day if you catch my drift."

Storm laughed, a musical sound that echoed in the open space around them. "That sounds like you, Logan. Just don't forget the flowers—or something a little more romantic."

Scott made a face, his expression a mix of exasperation and disbelief. "I don't know why she puts up with you, Logan. She deserves better."

Logan shot Scott a pointed look, his smirk widening. "Wouldn't you like to know, bub?" he quipped, taking another puff of his cigar. Scott grimaced, looking away with a disgusted shake of his head as if trying to banish the thought entirely.

Jean, Rogue, and Bobby emerged from the jet. Next, Jean's red hair caught the morning light as she descended the ramp. "What's all this about flowers and picnics?" she teased, catching the tail end of Logan's conversation. "You going soft on us, Logan?"

Logan's grin widened as he tapped the ash from his cigar. "Nah, just got a special day planned for Indica," he said, his voice taking on a rare, softer edge. "Found the perfect spot—a field full of wildflowers, tucked away from everything. Place looks damn near magical like it's out of a fairy tale or somethin'."

Rogue smiled, her Southern accent slipping through as she spoke. "Well, ain't that sweet. Ah, never pegged ya for the romantic type, Logan."

Logan shrugged, playing it off. "What can I say? Indica's got a way of bringing that out in me." He took another puff of his cigar, the scent mixing with the fresh mountain air.

Bobby nudged Rogue, smirking. "Logan's got a soft spot; who knew?"

"Watch it, Iceboy," Logan warned, though his tone was more amused than threatening.

Jean looked at Logan, genuinely impressed. "That sounds lovely, Logan. I'm sure she'll love it."

Logan nodded, a flicker of pride in his eyes as he thought of Indica. "Yeah, she will," he said confidently. "Gonna pack a picnic, take her there, and let her just soak it all in. Ain't nothin' she loves more than a place that feels like it's got a story to tell and that field—it's got somethin' special."

Storm gave him an approving look, her smile full of warmth. "That's really sweet, Logan. You know, sometimes you surprise me."

Scott, overhearing the exchange, made a face as if the conversation was almost too much for him. "Wildflowers and picnics? Who knew you had it in you, Logan," he muttered, half-sarcastic but tinged with a reluctant acknowledgment.

Logan shot him a sideways glance, a sly grin still on his face. "Like I said, Slim—you'd be surprised at what I got in me. Indica's just got a way of bringin' it out."

Scott shook his head, his exasperation clear as he turned back toward the jet. "Whatever you say, Logan. Just don't screw it up."

Logan's smirk didn't falter. "Not a chance," he called after him. "See ya around, Scott. Try not to be so uptight."

Storm chuckled, giving Logan a knowing look. "You're a piece of work, Logan. But I think you've got this one right."

Logan nodded, his eyes glinting with determination. "Damn right, I do," he said.

As the group reboarded the jet and took off, the roar of its engines fading into the distance, Logan turned his gaze toward the dirt path leading to his cottage. The wildflowers swayed gently in the breeze, their vibrant colors popping against the lush green of the surrounding forest. It was quite peaceful, a hidden gem tucked away from the rest of the world. Logan took a moment to breathe it all in, imagining Indica's reaction when he brought her here.

Slinging his duffle bag over his shoulder, Logan set off down the dirt path toward his cottage. He'd already planned every detail down to the last sandwich in their picnic basket, and he couldn't wait to see the look on Indica's face when she saw it all. The thought kept him going, his steps steady as he made his way home, the scent of wildflowers lingering in the air and mingling with the faint trace of cigar smoke. Logan couldn't help but smile—it was good to be home.

Logan approached the cottage, the faint crunch of gravel beneath his boots, the only sound breaking the stillness of the morning. The air felt crisp, carrying the earthy scent of pine and damp soil, but as he crossed into the boundary of their property, something else tingled in the air.

It was subtle at first, like the quiet hum of electricity just beneath the surface, but Logan could feel it—an almost tangible buzz of energy. He paused for a moment, taking it in. The sensation was familiar, a steady, comforting pulse that surrounded the land like a protective blanket. Whether it was the intricate protection spell Indica had woven around the property, making it impossible for anyone—man or mutant—to find them unless she allowed it, or whether it was simply Indica channeling her powers today, Logan couldn't quite tell.

Either way, it felt like home.

The energy hummed in his bones, warm and steady, like a quiet heartbeat that matched the rhythm of the forest around them. It wasn't intrusive, just there—always present, always protecting. He knew that as soon as he crossed the invisible line, he was safe. No one could track him here. No one could find them. The spell was old magic, ancient and powerful, like everything Indica did. It wasn't flashy, but it was unbreakable.

As he took another step closer to the cottage, Logan's lips curved into a faint smile. The sensation of the spell, or maybe just the natural energy Indica drew from the earth, wrapped around him like a familiar embrace. He'd never been one for magic, but this? This was different. This was her.

He could feel her essence in the land, in the way the leaves seemed to sway a little softer, in the way the sunlight filtered through the trees just right, casting warm, golden rays across the ground. There was a peace here that he hadn't felt anywhere else—a calmness that settled deep in his chest, reminding him that he wasn't just a wandering soul anymore. He had a place, a home.

And that home was with her.

The closer he got to the cottage, the stronger the buzz became, like a low hum thrumming just beneath the earth. Maybe she was channeling today, grounding herself as she often did, drawing power from the land and sky. Or maybe it was just her presence—her very being—that made everything here feel alive, like the world itself bent to her will in the gentlest, most natural way.

Either way, Logan found comfort in it. It wasn't just the protection or the magic that made him feel at ease. It was knowing she was here that she had created this space for them—a sanctuary away from the chaos of the world.

He took a deep breath, the fresh air filling his lungs as he reached the front door, feeling more grounded with each step. Yeah, this was home. And whatever buzz of energy lingered in the air, he'd never get tired of it. It was Indica. It was them.

And it was exactly where he wanted to be.

As Logan pushed open the cottage door, he couldn't help but announce himself. "I'm home!" he called, his deep voice filling the cozy space.

Almost instantly, Ranger was there to greet him, tail wagging and eyes bright. The German shepherd nudged his leg affectionately, the connection between them more than just a man and his dog. Ranger had been Indica's familiar for as long as Logan could remember, a loyal companion who had walked beside her through countless years. In his past life, Ranger had been a sleek, black cat named Nightshade, or Spicy Cat; Wade liked to joke. Logan had heard the stories of how Nightshade had prowled beside Indica, full of attitude and sass, just as Ranger was now, though in a different form.

"Hey, buddy," Logan murmured, scratching behind the dog's ears as he closed the door with a gentle push, the familiar thud of the purple wood hitting the frame making him chuckle.

That damn purple door.

Logan still remembered the day Indica told him she wanted to paint it purple. He had stood there, paint can in hand, brows furrowed in confusion. "Why in the hell are we painting the front door purple?" he had asked, popping the lid off the can with a little more force than necessary. "Doesn't that throw off the feng shui or whatever?"

Indica had only laughed, that melodic sound that always made him feel lighter. She'd grabbed the paintbrush from his hand and dipped it into the vibrant color. "Purple is a symbol of wealth, prosperity, and peace, Logan. It also represents the magic that lives here, in us, in this space. It's an invitation for those who understand and a warning for those who don't," she explained, her eyes sparkling with that ancient wisdom she carried so effortlessly.

Logan had scratched his chin, still skeptical but trusting her judgment as always. "And the runes? All those carvings you did in the doorframe and throughout the cottage?"

Indica had smiled softly, her fingers tracing one of the intricate symbols carved into the wood. "They're protection. Each one has a purpose—to keep us safe, to ensure no unwanted visitors find us, and to help the house feel... alive. A home, not just a place to live."

Logan had stared at her for a moment, a smirk pulling at his lips. "Well, alright then. Purple it is."

That memory always made him smile. He still got a kick out of how serious she was about those little things, but in the end, it all worked. The cottage was their sanctuary, protected by her magic and the love they'd poured into it.

He was pulled from the memory by the warm, inviting scent of freshly baked bread wafting through the air. His stomach rumbled in response, the smell filling the small space with a sense of comfort and home. "Babe?" Logan called again, his voice softer this time as he headed toward the kitchen.

"I'm in here!" came Indica's reply, her voice warm and full of life.

Logan smiled, giving Ranger one last pat before making his way down the hallway, eager to find her and sink into the warmth of their little home once more.

Logan stepped into the kitchen and stopped, his gaze falling on Indica. She stood at the counter, her delicate hands working a crumble mixture as she leaned slightly over a bowl filled with sliced peaches, the golden fruit glistening with spices. The sweet scent of cinnamon and nutmeg filled the air, mixing with the warmth of the freshly baked bread she must've pulled from the oven earlier.

Without a word, Logan crossed the small space and wrapped his arms around her from behind. His presence was solid, comforting, as he pulled her against his chest, rumbling a low, content sound deep in his throat. "Missed you," he muttered, his voice rough but soft with affection.

Indica smiled, her hands stilling for a moment in the bowl of crumble. Logan lowered his chin to her shoulder, having to hunch down a bit to accommodate the height difference between them, and pressed a gentle kiss to her cheek. Her warmth, the scent of peaches, spices, and the faint trace of lavender in her hair—it was all home to him.

"I missed you too," Indica murmured, her voice soft and full of that deep connection they shared. She paused her work, wiping her flour-dusted fingers on her apron before looking over her shoulder, her gaze meeting his.

Logan didn't need an invitation. He leaned in, capturing her lips in a sweet, lingering kiss. It wasn't rushed or hurried, just full of the quiet love they'd built together over the years. His lips moved softly against hers, and for a moment, the world outside their little kitchen seemed to disappear.

When they finally pulled away, Logan rested his forehead against hers, a content smile on his face. "Smells good," he rumbled, glancing at the peaches. "But you smell better."

Indica laughed softly, the sound as warm and comforting as the kitchen around them. "Flatterer," she teased, nudging him playfully before turning back to her task, but not before stealing one last kiss.

Logan nuzzled into the crook of Indica's neck, pressing soft kisses along her warm skin. The familiar, intoxicating scent of her hair—lavender and something earthy—mixed with a new, sweeter aroma that hit his senses all at once. It was citrusy and bright but with an underlying note of wildflowers that seemed to wrap around his mind, making it hard to think of anything else.

He inhaled deeply, the scent taking hold of him like a drug, stirring something deep and primal inside. "Mmm, what's that smell?" he murmured, his voice already rough as he buried his face deeper into her neck, his lips moving against her skin. "You smell... different."

Indica didn't get a chance to answer before Logan's instincts kicked in. The sweet, wild fragrance wrapped around him like a vine, pulling him closer as his hands began to roam over her body. His fingers found her waist, his grip tightening as he pulled her back against him, feeling the warmth of her body through the fabric of her cardigan. A low growl escaped his throat as his lips brushed her pulse point, his nips turning more urgent, more possessive.

He nipped at her neck, teeth grazing the soft skin before soothing the sting with a slow, heated kiss. "You're driving me crazy, darlin'," he rumbled, his voice thick with desire as he moved to the other side of her neck, his tongue flicking out to taste her. He couldn't get enough, the citrusy sweetness making his senses hum and pushing him closer to that dangerous, feral edge he kept so well hidden.

His hands moved up, one sliding under the hem of her shirt to grip her bare skin, the other slipping over her chest, pulling her even tighter against him. "Damn, Indica," he growled as he sucked a mark onto her skin, the scent clouding his mind, turning every thought into need. "Smell like sunshine... like somethin' wild..."

He groaned low in his throat, the scent flooding his senses, making him want to devour her, to claim her in every possible way. His lips returned to the sweet spot just below her ear, nipping and sucking, his body pressed flush against hers as his hands wandered, possessive and hungry.

Whatever that scent was, it had him hooked, pulling him deeper into her orbit, where nothing else existed but her.

Indica felt Logan's warmth seep into her as his lips moved hungrily along her neck. Her breath hitched, and her fingers instinctively gripped the edge of the counter in front of her, trying to steady herself against the surge of heat flooding through her. The scent of peaches and spices from the crumble she'd been working on faded into the background, replaced by the intoxicating mix of Logan's rugged presence and his rough, demanding touch.

She melted against him, her body surrendering completely to his. The strength of his arms around her, the way his hands roamed over her skin, made it impossible to focus on anything else. Every nip and kiss sent shivers down her spine, a soft moan escaping her lips as she pressed her back into his chest, wanting more, needing more.

Logan's growl rumbled through her, vibrating against her skin as his teeth grazed her neck again. Her knees weakened, and she clung to the counter for balance, her knuckles turning white as she tried to ground herself. But it was useless—he had her, completely and utterly, and there was nowhere else she wanted to be.

Her breath came out in a shaky exhale as she tilted her head to the side, giving him better access to her throat. "Logan..." she whispered, her voice trembling with desire. She arched her back, pushing herself closer to him, feeling the hard lines of his body against hers, the possessiveness of his touch igniting something deep inside her.

He responded with another growl, his hands gripping her tighter, pulling her even closer. She gasped, her fingers slipping from the counter for a moment as she leaned into him, her body pliant, her heart racing. Logan's scent—earthy, raw, masculine—mixed with the sweet, citrusy wildflowers clinging to her, enveloping them both in a heady cloud of desire.

Indica's breath hitched again as she let herself go, surrendering to him completely, the world around them vanishing until all that existed was the feeling of his lips, his hands, his body pressing her deeper into that primal, electric connection they shared.

Indica's heart throbbed fiercely against her ribcage, each beat echoing Logan's intense desire. Her hands reached up, tangling in his hair, nails lightly scraping his scalp in a way she knew drove him wild. She could feel the rumble of his growl against her skin, a vibration that spurred a deeper arousal within her.

"Logan," she breathed out again, this time a plea mingled with exhilaration. His response was a deeper groan, almost animalistic, as he pressed his body harder against hers.

His kisses moved with more urgency now, tracing fiery paths down her neck, over her collarbone, each one stoking the flame higher. Logan's hands were relentless and gentle all at once, exploring with a familiarity that only heightened the thrill. The edge of his fang-like canines grazed her skin softly, dangerously, reminding her of the wildness within him that matched the storm he stirred in her.

The sound of her heartbeat filled the kitchen, mingling with the crackle of the oven behind them and their labored breaths. Indica's fingers tightened in his hair, pulling him closer, desperate to erase any space left between them.

With a growl, Logan lifted Indica effortlessly, his strong hands gripping her hips as he hoisted her onto the counter. Her legs wrapped instinctively around his waist as she clung to him, their lips crashing together in a heated kiss. Neither of them noticed the chaos they were creating—too lost in each other to care.

As he leaned into her, one of Logan's hands swept the counter, knocking over the tub of flour. It tipped and spilled, sending a white cloud puffing into the air around them, dusting their skin and clothes. Indica let out a breathless laugh, but it was swallowed by Logan's hungry kiss as he pressed even closer, his lips capturing hers with unrelenting intensity.

In the midst of it all, the sugar tub teetered, then fell, scattering across the counter and onto the floor in a sticky cascade. Eggs, forgotten from earlier, rolled across the counter before slipping off the edge, landing with soft thuds on the hardwood floor.

Neither Logan nor Indica seemed to notice—or care. Logan's hands roamed over her waist, her back, her thighs, pulling her closer, deeper into his embrace as he nipped at her lips, his breathing ragged with desire. Indica's fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him in as she kissed him back just as fervently, her body arching toward his, eager for his touch.

Flour dusted her dark skin, and she barely registered the soft crunch of the sugar under her bare feet as Logan pulled her further to the edge of the counter. The mess around them grew, but their focus remained entirely on each other—on the electric connection that sizzled between them, making everything else fade away. His strong hands ran up her thighs, pushing her skirt higher, his touch sending electric shocks through her veins. Indica moaned softly, her body reacting with an intensity that surprised even her; she was lost in the sensation, in Logan, in the overwhelming desire that coursed through them both.

Logan's eyes, usually a calm sea of blue, now mirrored the storm raging inside him. His gaze was intense, almost predatory, but filled with an undeniable love that made Indica's heart swell even as her body ached for him. He kissed her deeply, passionately, a kiss that spoke of raw need and fierce protectiveness.

Her fingers traced the muscles of his back, feeling them tense under her touch as he deepened their kiss. The world outside this burning circle of passion might as well have ceased to exist—they were here now, everything else fading into insignificance.

Breaking the kiss, Logan trailed his lips across her cheek to her ear, whispering words thick with emotion. "You have me spellbound, darlin'. Completely."

Indica's response was a mix of laughter and breathless desire. "And you have me... more than spellbound, Logan. You have me enchanted, ensnared." Her words tumbled out between gasps as his mouth once again found her neck, sending tingles spiraling down her spine.

Logan chuckled, the sound dark and enticing. "Ensnared, huh?" He teased lightly, his breath hot against her skin. "Just where I want you." His hands settled on her hips, his thumbs rubbing small circles through the fabric of her skirt, each touch sending waves of anticipation coursing through her body.

Indica felt a surge of power well up within her—a wild, thrilling energy that seemed to pulse in sync with Logan's own feral intensity. She leaned back slightly, looking into his eyes with a daring smile. "Maybe," she whispered huskily, "it's where I want to be."

The heat in Logan's gaze intensified, a flare of desire so strong it nearly took her breath away. He leaned in, his lips brushing hers softly, teasingly. "Is that so?" he murmured against her mouth, the words barely audible yet laden with promise.

Indica nodded, her eyes locked on his, reflecting the fire she saw burning within them. She pulled him closer, eliminating any remaining distance between them. Their lips met again, this time in a kiss that was nothing short of explosive. Logan's hands moved with purpose now, tracing the contours of her body as if memorizing every detail through touch alone.

"Need you," Indica all but whined, her voice breathless as she clung to Logan. Her hands gripped his shoulders, nails digging in lightly as she pulled him closer, her body trembling with anticipation. The raw need in her voice sent a shiver down Logan's spine, his desire for her flaring even hotter.

"Yeah?" he rasped, his lips brushing against her ear as his hands roamed her body, tracing her curves through the fabric of her clothes. "You got me, darlin'. Always."

Logan's voice was low and rough, the primal edge in his tone matching the intensity in his eyes. He leaned in, kissing along her neck, each press of his lips more urgent than the last. Indica's body responded instinctively, arching toward him as she whispered his name, her need for him a palpable force between them.

His grip tightened around her waist, and he kissed her fiercely, swallowing her soft whimpers.

Her hands wandered down Logan's back to tug at the hem of his shirt, seeking skin, craving the warm contact of flesh on flesh. He obliged without hesitation, pulling the garment over his head and discarding it carelessly to the floor.

As the shirt hit the floor, Indica's breath caught at the sight before her. Logan, bare-chested, was a sight to behold. His muscles rippled beneath his skin, his broad chest covered in a layer of coarse hair that only added to his raw, rugged appeal. His physique was a perfect balance of man and beast—primal, powerful, and utterly mouthwatering.

The deep grooves of his abs led down to his waistband, each muscle flexing as he shifted closer to her. His arms, thick with muscle, bore the marks of countless battles and the strength that came with being Wolverine. There was a raw energy about him, something untamed and dangerous, but beneath that wild exterior was a man who loved her fiercely.

His chest rose and fell with each breath, his body exuding heat and power. Indica's eyes traced the scars scattered across his skin, faint reminders of the wars he'd survived, only to heal and come back stronger. But it wasn't just his strength that made her heart race—it was the way he looked at her like she was the only thing that mattered in his world.

Logan stood there, every inch of him dripping with masculinity, and she couldn't help but bite her lip at the sight. He was raw, untamed power, yet the way he was with her—the way he surrendered only to her—made him even more irresistible.

"Like what you see, darlin'?" he rumbled, his voice low and gravelly, a smirk tugging at his lips as he caught her staring. His eyes glinted with that feral edge, a promise of everything to come.

Indica reached out, her fingers barely brushing over the surface of Logan's chest, tracing the lines of muscle beneath her touch. "Always, my love," she whispered, her voice filled with both admiration and desire. His skin was warm—hot, even—like the very heat of him was rising to meet her, pulling her closer with every pass of her fingers. The muscles under his skin rippled with each subtle movement, every breath he took vibrating through him like restrained power waiting to be unleashed.

Indica's hands moved slowly, savoring the feel of him, her fingertips gliding over the firm planes of his chest and down toward the valleys between each sculpted muscle. There was a raw energy in him, an untamed force that hummed beneath her touch. With each stroke, the connection between them grew deeper, more tangible, crackling like electricity in the air between them.

Her fingers mapped his chest, lingering on old scars that told stories of battles fought and survived, her touch soft and reverent. She was in awe of him—of the sheer strength and resilience that radiated from his body, yet how he allowed himself to be so vulnerable in her hands. It was an intimacy few knew, a side of Logan that only she was privileged to witness.

As her hands moved lower, trailing over the ridges of his abdomen, the air around them seemed to hum with a potent energy—a spark ignited between them that only grew hotter. Logan let out a low growl, his body responding to her touch, muscles tensing under her fingertips as if aching for more. The tension between them was almost too much to bear, and yet Indica savored every second, knowing that this moment was theirs alone.

Logan's hands were not idle either; they moved up her sides, thumbs brushing the underside of her breasts, teasing her over the fabric of her crop top, which suddenly seemed far too much of a barrier between them.

The scent of her—sweet and citrusy with a hint of wildflowers—hit him again, and this time, something snapped. Logan's grip tightened on Indica's hips, his breathing turning ragged. He pulled back just enough to look at her, his eyes dark with feral intensity, pupils blown wide with desire. The perfume that clung to her skin, mixed with the raw magic he could feel pulsing through her, was driving him wild.

Without warning, Logan's hands moved with rough urgency, tugging at her clothes, fingers gripping the fabric as he pulled her shirt over her head, his growls low and primal. He wasn't gentle—not this time. His need was too strong, too immediate. The sound of fabric tearing filled the air as he yanked her closer, his lips crashing against hers, swallowing the soft gasp that escaped her.

As the fabric fell away from her body, completely exposing her large breasts to the cool air of the kitchen and then to the heat of Logan's gaze, a sense of vulnerability swept over her, quickly chased away by the depth of desire she saw reflected in his eyes. His touch was reverent as he traced the lines of her body now laid bare before him.

Indica leaned back on her hands, her chest rising and falling rapidly with each heated breath. Logan's fingertips danced across her skin, exploring every curve and contour as if he were mapping a precious terrain.

"Beautiful...most beautiful thing I've seen in my life," His lips followed, pressing against her flesh with a mix of soft kisses and slight nibbles that drew small, delightful sounds from her throat.

As Logan's broad, hairy chest pressed against Indica's, he could feel something more than just the heat of her body. It was a sensation that pulsed just beneath her skin, a subtle energy—her magic—coursing through her and into him. His muscles tensed slightly as he felt it, a tingle that began at the point of contact and spread outward like sparks flickering through his veins.

The deeper his fingers dug into her hips, the more the sensation grew, as though her magic was responding to their closeness to his touch. It wasn't overwhelming, but it was impossible to ignore. He could feel the hum of power she carried within her, like electricity dancing beneath her fingertips, sparking against his skin.

It was intoxicating, the way her magic blended with the raw physical connection between them. Logan groaned softly, burying his face in the crook of her neck as the sensation intensified. "I can feel it," he growled, his voice thick with desire, "your magic... it's in me."

Indica smiled, her breath coming in soft, uneven gasps as she trailed her hands down his muscular arms, fingers tingling with the same power he felt. "It's always been yours," she whispered, her voice laced with a mix of passion and something deeper, a connection that went beyond the physical. "You bring it out of me."

The warmth of his mouth journeyed across her collarbone and delicately down the center of her chest, hovering over her heart as if he could feel the rampant beat echoing his own. Indica's body arched towards him, seeking the pressure of his touch, craving more of the intoxicating mixture of pain and pleasure only he could deliver.

Logan's gaze met hers, intense and unyielding. In that look, she saw the wildness of the beast within him, restrained but palpable, held back only by the thin thread of control he maintained. It thrilled her; it terrified her—a delicious terror that only fueled the flames higher.

He lifted her slightly, his hands firm under her thighs, shoving her skirt up, bringing her even closer, the strength in his arms unquestionable. Logan's lips found hers again, the kiss deep, consuming as if he could somehow draw her very soul into his.

Indica responded with equal fervor, her own passion matching his, stroke for stroke, kiss for kiss. Her hands roamed over the broad expanse of his shoulders and down his back, feeling every muscle tense under her touch.

Her fingers shook as she struggled with the button and zipper of his Levi's, her mind consumed by the searing heat of Logan's lips on her neck. Each kiss left a trail of fire that burned through her body, making it nearly impossible to concentrate on the task at hand.

As the button finally gave way and the zipper descended, a rush of excitement surged through her veins. With a swift movement, Logan tugged down his jeans and boxer briefs.

His thick, flushed cock erupted from his pants, pulsing and throbbing with desperate need. The intense pressure and heat burned through every nerve in his body as he ached to release his desire.

Indica's gaze locked onto him, her eyes dark with want and a touch of wonder. She reached out, her hand trembling slightly as she touched him, her fingers wrapping around his girth. Logan groaned, the sound deep and guttural, filled with raw need. His eyes closed for a moment in sheer pleasure at her touch.

His rough, calloused fingers traced a path up her trembling inner thighs until they reached the fabric barrier of her panties. With a primal growl, Logan hooked his fingers in the waistband and yanked them down with a force that left red marks on her skin. The scent of her arousal filled his senses as he exposed her throbbing wetness.

"Indi, darlin'," he whispered hoarsely, his voice strained with desire. He opened his eyes, locking on to hers with an intensity that sent shivers down her spine. "Please."

The single word was a plea filled with longing and anticipation. Indica nodded slightly, understanding his need, feeling it mirrored in her own body. She shifted her position slightly, guiding him closer with a gentle tug of her hand. Logan obliged, stepping forward until he was nestled between her thighs.

Indica throws herself back onto the counter, knocking over the vase of flowers and scattering sugar across the kitchen. She bites down hard on her lip, eyes locked with her husband's as he leans in and sucks a pert nipple into his mouth. The scent of citrusy perfume fills his lungs, clouding his mind and igniting a primal urge within him. His higher brain struggles to maintain control as the beast inside of him roars, begging to be unleashed and ravish Indica without mercy.

"I'm going to devour you, my little witch," he snarls, his voice dripping with primal hunger as he positions the thick, fat head of his cock at her sloppy entrance.

With agonizing slowness, he begins to press inside her, torturing her with each millimeter of penetration.

Indica bites down hard on her lip, suppressing a whimper as she feels the pressure building inside her. The anticipation coils tightly in her body, setting every nerve on fire and making her ache for release. With a shaky breath, she nods in consent, giving him the permission he seeks.

"Harder...fuck me harder, my beast," she gasps out, surrendering herself completely to the wild desire that consumes them both.

Logan's response is immediate and powerful, his body responding to her plea with an intensity that matched the ferocity of his nature. He drives into her with a primal force that leaves no room for gentleness; each thrust deeper and harder than the last. The sound of their bodies colliding fills the kitchen, blending with Indica's gasps and moans.

The kitchen becomes a blur around them, the world narrowing down to the intense connection of flesh on flesh, the raw, nearly animalistic sounds filling the air: the slap of skin against skin, their mingled breaths, and growls of unrestrained desire.

Logan sets a punishing pace; each thrust sending waves of pleasure radiating through Indica. He leans into her, his hot breath against her ear. "Mine," he whispers fiercely between gritted teeth, each word punctuated by another deep drive that sends shivers racing down her spine.

"Yours," she whimpers.

Indica feels herself spiraling toward oblivion, every nerve ending screaming as she clings to Logan, her fingers digging into his muscular shoulders. The world tilts and spins, every sensation heightened to an almost unbearable intensity. She feels as if she's teetering on the edge of a precipice, one more touch, one more thrust away from plummeting into ecstasy.

"Logan," she gasps, her voice breaking with the force of her passion. "Don't stop."

He growls in response, a sound so primal and unrestrained that it sends another wave of desire coursing through her. His hands grip her hips firmly, guiding her to meet each of his thrusts, the connection so deep that it feels as though they are merging into one entity driven by the same wild hunger.

"Won't stop.....never gonna stop," he growled in response, hips snapping forward hard.

Above them, the kitchen lights flicker as if resonating with the energy they are generating, a low hum filling the air alongside the scent of citrus and arousal. Indica's senses are overwhelmed; the scent of Logan's skin, the taste of his kisses, and the feeling of him moving within her fuse together in a dizzying crescendo of sensation.

Each thrust pushes her closer to the edge, and she can feel her body tighten around him, her climax building like a storm on the horizon. Logan senses it too, his movements becoming more desperate, his balls heavy and tight, the growing pressure at the base of his spine; he became more focused as he seeks their mutual release.

Indica's world narrows to the electric connection between them, each point of contact sparking with raw energy. Her cries grow louder, less inhibited as she nears the peak of her desire. She grabs Logan's face, pulling him down for a fierce kiss, their teeth clashing, tongues battling for dominance in a dance as old as time.

The tension in her builds to an almost painful degree, her entire body wound tight as a bowstring. And then, with one final, deep thrust, Logan sends her over the edge. Her climax washes over her in waves, powerful and relentless.

"L-Lo—nngh," she cries out back arching off the counter.

Logan groans deep in his chest, feeling her velvety blood hot walls massage his aching cock. "Fuck!"

She clings to him, nails digging into his back as she rides the waves of her release, each contraction pulling a deeper growl from Logan's throat. His own climax follows close behind, spurred on by the clenching of her body around him. He buries his face in the crook of her neck, his body shuddering with each pulse as he empties himself into her, cum spurting out in thick milky ropes marking her as his in the most primal way possible.

The world seems to pause, their heavy breaths and the slowing thud of their hearts the only sounds in the now silent kitchen. Gradually, they come back to themselves, the haze of lust dissipating slightly as reality begins to seep back in.

Logan lifts his head to look at Indica, his eyes still dark with residual desire but softened with something deeper, a tender yet fierce affection that sends a warm flush through her body all over again. He presses a gentle kiss to her forehead before easing back slightly to look at her.

"We might have gotten a bit carried away," he says with a rough chuckle, his voice still husky from their exertions. A sheepish grin crosses his face as he takes in the disarray around them—the overturned vase, sugar spread across the countertop, their clothes discarded haphazardly on the floor.

Indica laughs, a light, joyous sound that fills the kitchen. She reaches up to brush a damp lock of hair from his forehead, her touch gentle and affectionate. "Maybe just a little," she agrees, her eyes sparkling with amusement and love. "But I can't say I minded it."

He nods, his eyes locking with hers, intense and burning yet filled with an emotion so deep it makes her heart swell in her chest. He bends down to capture her lips once more, this kiss tender and loving, a stark contrast to the passion-fueled ones that had preceded it. It's a confirmation of something beyond their physical desire—an affirmation of their deep, unwavering connection.

Logan took a deep breath, that scent hitting him again, he felt his cock stir. "What the fuck are you wearing? Smells too damn good..." His voice was rough, teasing, but there was a glint in his eyes—like he still hadn't gotten enough of her, even after everything.

Indica chuckled softly, sliding off the counter and pushing her skirt down her legs before pulling on one of his t-shirts. The shirt, oversized on her, fell to just mid-thigh, and she padded barefoot over to the kitchen counter, where the small bottle of perfume sat. She picked it up, sniffing it once more just to test how strong it was before handing it over to him. "Here, see for yourself," she said, smiling.

Logan didn't even need to remove the lid to catch the scent; it hit him full force. He took a deep breath, his nose flaring. "Smells like pheromones," he muttered, more to himself than her, as his brow furrowed in curiosity.

As Indica leaned on the counter, her gaze dropped to the floor. A small brochure, glossy and folded, lay there like it had been waiting to be noticed. She picked it up and read it quickly, her eyes widening before she burst into a fit of giggles. Leaning heavily against the counter for support, she couldn't stop the laughter from bubbling up.

Logan raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching into a smirk. "What's so funny?"

Still giggling, Indica handed him the brochure and the little card that had come with the perfume. "Here, read this," she said, trying to catch her breath.

Logan scanned the brochure, his expression shifting from confusion to amusement as he read the bold print: Pheromone-Infused Perfume: Enhance Attraction, Elevate Desire.

Logan held the perfume bottle between his fingers like it might explode at any second, his brow furrowed as he stared at it before glancing back up at Indica. "Who the fuck sent you this?" His voice was gruff, laced with curiosity but edged with a little annoyance.

Indica's lips twitched into a knowing smile. "Vanessa," she replied, watching as his reaction shifted from confusion to that trademark grumpy scowl.

Logan grunted in response, his face hardening as he handed the bottle back to her like it was some sort of dangerous contraband. "She's almost as meddlesome as her husband," he muttered, shaking his head as if dealing with Wade's antics in spirit, even when the man wasn't physically present.

Indica couldn't help but laugh at that, setting the bottle back on the counter. "You know they mean well."

"Yeah, sure," Logan grumbled. "Well-meaning chaos, just like Wade."

Indica grinned, still laughing softly. "That's probably why every guy in town was acting crazy around me today. I didn't realize I was walking around wearing literal pheromones."

Logan let out a deep chuckle, shaking his head as he tossed the brochure on the counter. "No wonder. Damn near drove me feral myself." He pulled her close again, his arms wrapping around her waist as he buried his face in her neck, inhaling deeply. "But hell, I don't need pheromones to want you, darlin'. You do that just fine on your own."

Logan stopped in his tracks, eyes narrowing suspiciously. "Wait... what do you mean 'acting crazy'? Was somebody hitting on you?" His voice grew rougher, a low growl slipping into his words.

"Logan—" Indica started, trying to calm him down, but before she could say more, she was hoisted up and slung over his broad shoulder with no warning.

"I'll be damned if someone's hitting on my old lady," Logan grunted, marching through the kitchen and living room with determination.

Indica giggled, lightly tapping his back. "Where are you taking me?"

"To bed," he rumbled, his grip tightening possessively on her thighs. "We aren't leaving this house again until you smell like mine," he declared, giving her a playful slap on the ass as he stomped up the stairs, each step filled with intent.

Indica's laughter echoed through the house, warmth filling her chest. She knew Logan was serious, but his protectiveness had a way of making her feel cherished. She relaxed against him, content to let him be feral and wild, knowing all too well how much they belonged to each other.

Mood Board

Go back to Sif's Masterlist

[communitybuildersia44]

What to Expect During Your Window Installation Process

If you're considering hiring window installation services Cedar Falls, understanding the process can help you feel more prepared and confident. Here's a quick summary of what you can anticipate throughout the window installation process.

Initial Consultation

The procedure starts with an initial consultation. One of the agents from the window installation company will come to your house to check your existing windows, measure them and ask you questions about your preferences. This step is important as it will help them to identify the kind of windows that will suit their style and also the budget.

Selecting Your Windows

After the assessment, you will be assisted by specialists in selecting the relevant windows suitable for your house. The options include double-hung or casement designs, with materials ranging from vinyl to wood. Additional considerations will encompass energy efficiency ratings and upkeep, which can be managed with the assistance of professionals.

Preparation for Installation Day

Once the windows are purchased from the appropriate vendors, they can choose to find out when they will be installed. In addition, it is wise to prepare your house by clearing up the space around the windows as well as moving up any furniture covering the windows. Doing such preparation will ensure that the installation progress is smooth.

Installation Procedure

The installation day is a day focused on work, so be assured that the team will be up and ready to work. They will proceed to take off the old windows and check the window frames for any damages. Following that, the new windows will be put in, and the workers will ensure they are properly installed and positioned to improve energy efficiency.

Final Inspection and cleaning

After the setup is finished, the crew will carry out the last check to make sure every part that was put in place is working properly. They will also clean up the house so that it will be neat and clean.

Bottom Line

There are numerous actions you can take to simplify and enjoy your window installation services Cedar Falls, and one of them is understanding what to anticipate!

[glassaround]

Wood framing windows

Wood framing for windows refers to the use of wood as the structural framework around a window opening. Here are some key points to consider about wood framing for windows:

1. Structural Support: Wood framing provides the necessary support and stability for the window unit. It helps distribute the weight of the window and transfer it to the surrounding structure.

2. Material: Wood is commonly used for window framing due to its strength, durability, and ease of workability. Different types of wood can be used, such as pine, oak, or cedar, depending on the desired characteristics and aesthetic.

3. Insulation and Energy Efficiency: Wood has natural insulating properties, which can contribute to energy efficiency. Wood framing can help reduce heat transfer and minimize drafts around the window, leading to improved thermal performance.

4. Customization and Design Flexibility: Wood framing can be easily customized to fit various window sizes, shapes, and architectural styles. It can be cut and shaped to accommodate different window configurations, including casement, double-hung, awning, or specialty windows.

5. Moisture Protection: Proper moisture protection is essential for wood framing. It should be treated with a suitable wood preservative, painted, or sealed to prevent moisture infiltration and minimize the risk of rot or decay.

6. Maintenance: Regular maintenance is required to keep the wood framing in good condition. This includes inspecting for any signs of damage, repainting or refinishing as needed, and addressing any moisture issues promptly.

7. Environmental Considerations: Wood is a renewable resource, and using responsibly sourced wood for framing supports sustainable practices. Look for wood that is certified by organizations like the FSC (Forest Stewardship Council) to ensure it is sourced from responsibly managed forests.

8. Cost: Wood framing is generally cost-effective compared to other materials. It is widely available and can be less expensive than alternatives such as aluminum or composite materials.

When working with wood framing for windows, it's important to ensure proper installation and follow local building codes and regulations. It is recommended to consult with professionals experienced in window installation or framing to ensure the framing is structurally sound and meets all requirements.

[wallabywindows]

Wallaby Windows of Austin

Give Your Texas Home Superior Style & Better Performance With Quality Premium Windows and Doors Wallaby Windows offers windows and doors that meet your performance and style needs. We install quickly efficiently, and offer a comprehensive warranty. BOOK IN-HOME CONSULTATION. Superior Style, Energy Efficient, Made To Last Windows Hey there, fellow Austinites! We're your friendly neighborhood window and door experts, and we're here to bring a breath of fresh air (literally!) into your homes. We know Austin isn't just the Live Music Capital of the World, it’s a vibe, a lifestyle, and a community. That's why we've dedicated ourselves to making your living spaces as cool, comfortable, and uniquely Texan as the city itself. Whether you're gazing at the iconic skyline from your double-hung window in Round Rock, or you want to feel the energy of your backyard seamlessly flowing indoors with a sleek sliding glass door in Cedar Park, we've got you covered. Contact Us: Wallaby Windows of Austin Address: 2711 Daisy Dr, Austin, TX 78727, USA Phone: 512-991-0780 Email: sclifford@wallabywindows.com Website: https://wallabywindows.com/austin External Links: Artmight Coub Disqus Spreaker Ted Medium

[martinhouse]

If you're thinking about replacing your windows, read this first

If I could go back in time, it'd probably not be for super socially solid reasons like avoiding the Great Depression or stopping Hitler. I'd probably go back in time to stop the inventor of vinyl.

Vinyl is the bane of any preservationist. I refer to Big Vinyl in my life more often than I should care to admit, like it's this single entity taking over the populous with its wastefulness and less-than aesthetic value.

Sometime after the big housing boom of the post WWII era, Big Vinyl hired the best marketing firm available to them, and every homeowner with a turn-of-the-century or older home was pressured into replacing their "drafty old windows" with these new-fangled energy efficient double-or-triple paned vinyl replacements. They were also swindled into covering up their lap or cedar siding with the same material but that's a discussion for another day. The vinyl window manufacturers convinced homeowners their current wood windows leaked cold air and led to higher energy bills, and of course these people were willing to invest in these glamorous new inventions in order to save a few bucks on the gas bill, who wouldn't?

But the thing is, the old craftsmen of yore were smart folks. They built homes to stand the test of time: centuries even. The concept of Planned Obsolescence would've been as foreign as the internet to them. They built these windows from materials that not only would last centuries, but also built them in a way they could be maintained by any homeowner with rudimentary tools and a weekend afternoon. Vinyl replacement windows are the beginning to a long lineage of trash. Once that vinyl replacement window you've installed in your home fails, and fail it will as plastic, when exposed to cold, heat, and sunlight, ultimately does fail, it cannot be maintained. The entire sash must be removed, taken to the landfill, and replaced again.

Wood sashes are fairly simply removed from their casings to be reglazed, repainted, and returned to their location. In the case of a double or single hung window, simply pop off the stop, remove the sashes, perform the maintenance, and return them. Casement windows are even simpler to remove -- simply pop out the hinge pins and remove the sash. I will recommend a couple of books on the subject at the bottom of this post.

I've looked at many homes with buyer clients who immediately think once they close on the house they need to replace old windows that have been painted shut, or are missing sash cords, or leak cold air. With a little bit of consideration and a little more effort, you can get these old windows working for you in very little time.

The question, of course, is always energy savings. The idea behind new replacement windows is that they're double or even triple paned, allowing a space for "neutral" air to rest between the panes of glass and thereby keeping your house cool or warm, season-dependent. If your old, character-filled single-pane windows are well glazed (no access point for air to move through the window) and fitted with a proper storm window, they are no less energy efficient than their newer counterparts. Spend some time on google just to see who is telling you the new windows are so much more energy efficient: the "studies" have been paid for by companies such as Andersen, Window World, Pella...in other words, window manufacturers who stand to make money off you! The average cost of a replacement window is $650, including the labor. Now consider this over an entire house: our home has 30+ windows. That's nearly $20,000 in windows. Our energy bill is typically $250/mo if you average out cooling and heating seasons (we have storm windows). So let's pretend that goes down to $200/mo (it wouldn't, I promise, but let's just play pretend). That's a savings of $600/year. It would take over 33 years to make up the cost of the replacement windows. Now, I ask...will the replacement windows last that long? It's unlikely. The service life of a vinyl window (and please, take this with a grain of salt, I scrolled for a long time before giving up and just taking the first hit on google which was a window manufacturer) is 20-40 years.

And for a little dose of anecdotal evidence: when my parents first bought their 1908 American Foursquare home in Illinois, the windows had been neglected and leaked cold air. They replaced all of the windows with double paned vinyl. This did reduce their energy bills (of course it would, the old windows leaked cold air, they needed to be maintained). However, when several of the windows were less than 5 years old, their spring action mechanisms failed and they were unable to stay in the open position under their own volition. We had a houseful of 1xs stationed on the windowsills of every room to prop them open. And what's one of the biggest complaints of old windows? They don't stay up. I bet 90% of the sash weights are still in the sash pockets of the windows that don't stay up, and all they need is a sash cord. Bullocks!

When you consider the climate crisis, do we really want to contribute to the amount of trash in the landfill by replacing our replacement window every few decades? Or should we spend a little bit of time maintaining our wood windows that have been built specifically for your home and have the potential to last generations? A gallon bucket of Sarco type M Glazing Putty is $85. That'll glaze a lot of windows.

I'll touch on the character defining aspects of wavy glass and wood windows in another post.

Please consider the following books if you're interested in maintaining your own wood windows:

[aroundtheworldwithphillyfogg]

November 13th: Yokohama

At dawn on the 13th the “Carnatic” entered the port of Yokohama. This is an important port of call in the Pacific, where all the mail-steamers, and those carrying travellers between North America, China, Japan, and the Oriental islands put in. It is situated in the bay of Yeddo, and at but a short distance from that second capital of the Japanese Empire, and the residence of the Tycoon, the civil Emperor, before the Mikado, the spiritual Emperor, absorbed his office in his own. The “Carnatic” anchored at the quay near the custom-house, in the midst of a crowd of ships bearing the flags of all nations.

Passepartout went timidly ashore on this so curious territory of the Sons of the Sun. He had nothing better to do than, taking chance for his guide, to wander aimlessly through the streets of Yokohama. He found himself at first in a thoroughly European quarter, the houses having low fronts, and being adorned with verandas, beneath which he caught glimpses of neat peristyles. This quarter occupied, with its streets, squares, docks, and warehouses, all the space between the “promontory of the Treaty” and the river. Here, as at Hong Kong and Calcutta, were mixed crowds of all races, Americans and English, Chinamen and Dutchmen, mostly merchants ready to buy or sell anything. The Frenchman felt himself as much alone among them as if he had dropped down in the midst of Hottentots.

He had, at least, one resource,—to call on the French and English consuls at Yokohama for assistance. But he shrank from telling the story of his adventures, intimately connected as it was with that of his master; and, before doing so, he determined to exhaust all other means of aid. As chance did not favour him in the European quarter, he penetrated that inhabited by the native Japanese, determined, if necessary, to push on to Yeddo.

The Japanese quarter of Yokohama is called Benten, after the goddess of the sea, who is worshipped on the islands round about. There Passepartout beheld beautiful fir and cedar groves, sacred gates of a singular architecture, bridges half hid in the midst of bamboos and reeds, temples shaded by immense cedar-trees, holy retreats where were sheltered Buddhist priests and sectaries of Confucius, and interminable streets, where a perfect harvest of rose-tinted and red-cheeked children, who looked as if they had been cut out of Japanese screens, and who were playing in the midst of short-legged poodles and yellowish cats, might have been gathered.

The streets were crowded with people. Priests were passing in processions, beating their dreary tambourines; police and custom-house officers with pointed hats encrusted with lac and carrying two sabres hung to their waists; soldiers, clad in blue cotton with white stripes, and bearing guns; the Mikado’s guards, enveloped in silken doubles, hauberks and coats of mail; and numbers of military folk of all ranks—for the military profession is as much respected in Japan as it is despised in China—went hither and thither in groups and pairs. Passepartout saw, too, begging friars, long-robed pilgrims, and simple civilians, with their warped and jet-black hair, big heads, long busts, slender legs, short stature, and complexions varying from copper-colour to a dead white, but never yellow, like the Chinese, from whom the Japanese widely differ. He did not fail to observe the curious equipages—carriages and palanquins, barrows supplied with sails, and litters made of bamboo; nor the women—whom he thought not especially handsome—who took little steps with their little feet, whereon they wore canvas shoes, straw sandals, and clogs of worked wood, and who displayed tight-looking eyes, flat chests, teeth fashionably blackened, and gowns crossed with silken scarfs, tied in an enormous knot behind an ornament which the modern Parisian ladies seem to have borrowed from the dames of Japan.

Passepartout wandered for several hours in the midst of this motley crowd, looking in at the windows of the rich and curious shops, the jewellery establishments glittering with quaint Japanese ornaments, the restaurants decked with streamers and banners, the tea-houses, where the odorous beverage was being drunk with “saki,” a liquor concocted from the fermentation of rice, and the comfortable smoking-houses, where they were puffing, not opium, which is almost unknown in Japan, but a very fine, stringy tobacco. He went on till he found himself in the fields, in the midst of vast rice plantations. There he saw dazzling camellias expanding themselves, with flowers which were giving forth their last colours and perfumes, not on bushes, but on trees, and within bamboo enclosures, cherry, plum, and apple trees, which the Japanese cultivate rather for their blossoms than their fruit, and which queerly-fashioned, grinning scarecrows protected from the sparrows, pigeons, ravens, and other voracious birds. On the branches of the cedars were perched large eagles; amid the foliage of the weeping willows were herons, solemnly standing on one leg; and on every hand were crows, ducks, hawks, wild birds, and a multitude of cranes, which the Japanese consider sacred, and which to their minds symbolise long life and prosperity.

As he was strolling along, Passepartout espied some violets among the shrubs.

“Good!” said he; “I’ll have some supper.”

But, on smelling them, he found that they were odourless.

“No chance there,” thought he.

The worthy fellow had certainly taken good care to eat as hearty a breakfast as possible before leaving the “Carnatic;” but, as he had been walking about all day, the demands of hunger were becoming importunate. He observed that the butchers stalls contained neither mutton, goat, nor pork; and, knowing also that it is a sacrilege to kill cattle, which are preserved solely for farming, he made up his mind that meat was far from plentiful in Yokohama—nor was he mistaken; and, in default of butcher’s meat, he could have wished for a quarter of wild boar or deer, a partridge, or some quails, some game or fish, which, with rice, the Japanese eat almost exclusively. But he found it necessary to keep up a stout heart, and to postpone the meal he craved till the following morning. Night came, and Passepartout re-entered the native quarter, where he wandered through the streets, lit by vari-coloured lanterns, looking on at the dancers, who were executing skilful steps and boundings, and the astrologers who stood in the open air with their telescopes. Then he came to the harbour, which was lit up by the resin torches of the fishermen, who were fishing from their boats.

The streets at last became quiet, and the patrol, the officers of which, in their splendid costumes, and surrounded by their suites, Passepartout thought seemed like ambassadors, succeeded the bustling crowd. Each time a company passed, Passepartout chuckled, and said to himself: “Good! another Japanese embassy departing for Europe!”

[lukin08]

All Summer Long

Here is my submission for the Summer Lovin @frozines.  A big thanks to @punkpoemprose for putting this together.  Amazing, as always

Rating: T

Words: 5261

Also available on AO3

The bell dinged over the door as Anna pulled it open. She took pause at the sound and looked around. At first glance, the store looked exactly as it had from her childhood. Knotty pine planks lined the walls and ceilings matching the cedar siding on the outside of the building. T-shirts ran across the top of the long back wall, all beckoning tourists to purchase them. The racks leading over to the checkout were full of snacks and hats for anyone unfortunate to have forgotten their own. Anna walked over reading all the fronts of the baseball caps. She had to use all her self-control to not grab the pink and black one that read ‘Boat Waves, Sun Rays and Torch Lake Days’.

After closer inspection, much had changed to Pabbie’s. New floors, a quick serve area that had about every grab and go food you could think of, and most importantly, a bakery and ice cream counter all filled out the large space.

She was flipping through a rack of sweatshirts when a voice called out. “On your left, Red.”

Anna jumped out of the way as a man passed her quickly carrying two large boxes over his shoulder.

“Sven!” A middle-aged woman called, following quickly behind him.

“Gotta go. We’re on fire today!”

“You tell him I need his order today before 5.”

“I’ll try.”

“Do it or you’ll be out of luck next weekend! No pilfering from the store when you run out of supplies anymore. It’s messing up my books!”

“Love you too, Bulda!” He said, flashing her a grin then disappearing out the front door.

The woman stopped next to Anna, put her hands on her hips and sighed. “Those two will be the death of me, I swear.”

“Everything ok?”

The woman looked at Anna and smiled. “It gets busier earlier every summer. Used to be until the third week of June when the water got warm when the crowds started, but we’ve been running full steam since before Memorial Day.”

“Wow. That early?”

“Who would have thought? Guess we aren’t the best kept secret of Michigan anymore.” The woman took a long look at Anna. “Anything I can help you with?”

Anna glanced out the window at the marina. “I actually had a question about an installation for a dock. Do I need to go next door?”

The woman waved her hand. “No need for that. Follow me.”

Anna followed her over to a counter at the other end of the room. The sign above it on the wall read ‘Torch Lake Marina’. There was all sorts of literature on boat rentals and storage and marine services on the counter.

“I didn’t realize the marina was part of Pabbie’s. I had to double check the address when saw it.”

“We purchased it a few years ago. Now what can I do for you?”

“I need to schedule a dock installation.”

Anna gave her the information and after a few minutes she had a time for the next week for the Marina to come out.

“Arendelle. Now that’s a name I haven’t heard in years. There was a family that had a place on Cherry Road named Arendelle. Are you any relation to them?”

“Yes. That’s me… I mean that’s my family. My parents owned the house. We used to come up here a long time ago.”

“I remember your father. He was in here all the time with the boat in the summers. Got along well with my father. How is your family doing?”

That was all it took. One simple question and Anna was off, spilling her guts to a stranger. She explained her parents' passing five years prior and the over ten-year absence due to her parent’s intense focus on her sister’s health. But Anna was back with a vision for the house and being up at the lake this summer was just what she needed. Internally she was screaming at herself to just stop talking. But Bulda kept asking her questions and seemed genuinely interested in what she was saying that Anna just couldn’t stop.

“That all sounds amazing, dear. You must keep me updated with how things are going. Can I give you one piece of advice?”

“Sure.”

“Make sure to take a minute to breathe now and then. You can blink and the entire summer will be over.”

“I will. Some friends from home are coming up tomorrow. I think we are going to head over to the sandbar. It should be fun!”

“Or at least entertaining. The sandbar on the weekend is always good for that.”

-------

This wasn’t what Anna had envisioned for a day out on the water. The morning had started fine. Anna was thrilled to be back out on the water again. To understand the depths of Torch Lake’s beauty and appreciate its deep aqua and turquoise colors, you really had to take it in with your own eyes on the lake. It was even fun at first when they anchored at the sandbar. But things took a turn for the worse as the day went on.

They anchored with a group of boats and the faces were all familiar. The uppity groups she remembered from school, all in the same social circles her family were in hadn’t changed a bit. They played their music too loud, drank too much and Anna quickly remembered why she left Ann Arbor as soon as she could. As much as she was trying to rekindle old relationships, perhaps some of them were better left as old friends.

Fending wanting to check out more of the sandbar, Anna decided to venture away from the group. It was easy getting around. Barring the occasional deep spot, the water wasn’t more than up to her thighs most of the time and in some stretches it was only at her ankles. There was over two miles to walk if she wanted, but Anna was on a mission.

Rumor was there was a pontoon that served food on the sandbar. She didn’t really believe it, but she was intrigued enough to go in search of it. After a few questions and only getting turned around twice between all the boats she looked up at the large yellow and black sign that read ‘Burger Barge’ stretched across the pontoon.

After spotting what looked like the area to order, Anna went up the side of the boat. As soon as the person in front of her was handed the foil wrapped sandwich, she stepped up closer. “I’ll have a burger. That’s all you have, right? Or is there something else?”

The man up at the boat was in front of the grill. He didn’t bother to look up. “A little busy here.”

“I can wait. How long do you think?”

He pointed his spatula down to the end of the boat. “Order in the back, princess. Just like everyone else.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I saw you hand a burger to someone. I thought-“

“Does it look like I take orders here?” he snapped. “Do you see the prices anywhere? You think I’m going to handle everyone’s money and cook all the food at the same time?”

“I’m sorry, I-“

“Do I know you?” He had stopped what he was doing and was staring at her now.

“Excuse me?” Anna tried to make out his features, but his blond bangs hung over a wide bandana covering his forehead and sunglasses obscured his eyes.

“Do I know you,” he said slower, dropping his sunglasses down to get a better look. His brown eyes glared over at her.

Anna crossed her arms in front of her, annoyed at the tone he was taking with her. “You most certainly do not!”

He grinned, which only infuriated Anna. “Good. Line’s at the back of the boat. Get moving.” He pointed again and went back to flipping the food on the grill.

“Well maybe I don’t want to eat here anymore.”

“Suit yourself. Good luck finding something else to eat out here.”

“Rude,” Anna said under her breath. She went to walk away because he did not deserve her business. But her stomach rumbled in protest and what other option did she have?

The line was long and snaked behind a few other boats. It only gave Anna time to stew on the conversation and what an absolute ass the cook had been.

“Hey, Red! From Pabbie’s right?”

Anna was almost taken back at the smiling face in front of her. “Yes. Sven? Did I get that right? I think that’s what the owner called you.”

“You got it. I’m always having someone chase me down calling my name. What can I get you?”

Anna bit her bottom lip looking at the choices. “What do you recommend- the chicken sandwich or the burger?”

“You can’t go wrong with anything, but,” Sven leaned forward. “We’ve got the best burgers on the lake. Trust me, I know the cook.”

“Oh, him.”

Sven glanced behind him then back at Anna. “From here or…somewhere else?”

“A few minutes ago.”

Sven’s face relaxed and he smiled again. “Don’t mind Kris. His bark is worse than his bite.”

“I don’t plan on talking to him again, but thanks.”

“Stick with me Red this summer at the Burger Barge. I won’t steer you wrong.” Sven handed her the burger and a canned drink. “The Coke’s on me. For your pain and suffering.” He winked at her before turning away to take the next customer’s order.

------

The truck pulled onto the driveway, the long trailer behind it making a metallic rattle against the sections of dock it was carrying. Anna got up from her chair on the beach and threw on a shirt over her bikini top, not bothering to button it up. Old shorts and cover up seemed appropriate enough to meet with the dock installers. She was halfway back to the house when two men got out of the truck.

“I don’t know. Go ring the doorbell.”

The voice that got out of the passenger side was familiar, but he was turned away from Anna. She jogged over, waving her hand. “No need. I’m here.”

“Red!” Sven turned and grinned. “We keep running into each other!”

“Hi Sven. And it’s Anna. Anna Arendelle.”

Sven tipped his hat. “Pleased to meet you, Anna…officially that is. How was the burger?”

“Best one I’ve had in years.”

Sven laughed. “I knew it!” He pointed across the truck. “I think you’ve met my business partner.”

Anna looked through the windows of the truck and recognized him immediately. He was standing there with his head down, clearly not happy. “Oh no.”

Sven bumped Anna’s shoulder. “Relax. If it makes you feel any better, he’s probably freaking out right now.”

Anna giggled as she looked through the window again and saw the man take a deep breath and go to walk around the truck.

“Anna, Kristoff,” Sven said as he introduced them.

“Ma’am,” Kristoff said.

There was a part of Anna that was pleased with how nervous he looked, but she decided to let him off the hook. “Just Anna please.”

Kristoff nodded. “Anna, could you show us where you want the dock?”

A few minutes later, Sven and Kristoff were rolling the sections of the dock down to the beach. Anna took her place back on the beach and picked up her notebook. Sven made small talk with Anna as she went through her plans for the house. Kristoff, on the other hand, kept his words short and only talked to Sven about what they were working on. Still, Anna found herself drawn to Kristoff, watching him from behind her sunglasses. He was easy to keep an eye on, watching him work in the water with just his swim trunks on, the muscles in his back flexing against the weight of the dock. A girl could get used to a view like that.

“Pay no attention to my rude friend,” Sven said as he leveled the two closest sections of the dock together. “He doesn’t like talking to anyone who isn’t a local.”

“I’m a local.”

Kristoff barked a sharp laugh. “For what, five minutes?”

“Ok. Then how long until I’m considered local.”

“Make it past Labor Day and we’ll talk.”

A little later Sven ran back to the marina to pick up extra posts, leaving Anna and Kristoff alone. Anna watched as Kristoff looked like he was mulling something over. After a few minutes he took a deep breath.

“I’d like to apologize for how I talked to you on Saturday. It was rude and unprofessional, and I shouldn’t have done it.”

“No you shouldn’t have.”

“The guy in front of you was trying to scam me for a free burger. Said the order was wrong. It wasn’t. What a crook.”

Anna laughed remembering the scowl on Kristoff’s face. “Apology accepted.”

“Thanks.”

“So, you aren’t just the Burger Barge’s master chef, I see,” Anna said as she watched Kristoff work.

“That’s just a weekend gig Sven and I came up with to make extra money when we were in college. It just took off and we haven’t stopped. I run the marina most of the time.”

“So that’s connected to Pabbies?”

Kristoff nodded. “Family business. It was my grandfather’s. My mom and dad took it over when I was kid and have been running it for years now. We bought the marina when I came on full time after school.”

“We used to go there all the time. It’s one of the good memories I have of my childhood. Spending time on the lake and going over to Pabbies to get a snack was the highlight of my summers. I was so sad when we stopped coming up to the lake.”

Kristoff was leaning against one of the posts now, watching Anna. “So, what are you doing here?”

“What do you mean?”

“Its just you in this giant house by yourself? Seems like a waste.”

“My sister didn’t want to deal with it anymore. It's all part of her freeing herself from worldly possessions process she’s going through. I couldn’t bear the idea of selling it and I needed a fresh start, so I bought out her half from her.”

“So, you’re just here with no plans?”

“If you must know, I do have plans. I’m updating the house and turning it into a bed and breakfast. And I’m going to run it.”

“Great. For more rich tourists to find the lake.”

Anna shook her head. “No. I want it to be affordable. I want people to bring their families and get to enjoy the lake like I did as a child. I want them to have those memories. As many people as possible. There’s so much land on the property, I was thinking of eventually expanding if it goes well. Maybe even hosting weddings. This house was built to be filled with joy and laughter of many people. I feel it in my bones.”

Kristoff went back to anchoring one of the posts. “Sounds ambitious.” Anna was about to argue with him when he added. “But nice. We need more of that around here.”

-----

Anna wasn’t exactly sure why she was nervous, but she was pacing up and down the landing outside of Pabbie’s waiting for Kristoff. They had struck up a bit of a working relationship, with Kristoff working on several smaller outdoor projects on the house as the main work inside was being done. She looked forward every day when he strolled onto the property after his work at the marina, often staying for dinner when she absolutely insisted. He seemed less and less resistant to stay every time she asked. Today was the most excited she’d been all summer. Her boat had arrived at the marina and Kristoff called her that morning saying it was ready for her to pick up. Now she was waiting for her to bring it around and take it out for a test run.

“Need a lift?”

Anna spun around only to see Kristoff pulling up along the landing with a big grin on his face. He put the boat in neutral and waved at her to come over to the edge. In one strong movement, Kristoff lifted her at the waist and into the boat. Anna let out a small squeak when he put her down, breathless at how effortless Kristoff made that look. He went slowly out of the marina area and past the no wake zone of the sand bar. As soon as they were past the buoy, he turned to Anna. “I’ll take it out then show you where everything is. Then it’s all yours.”

“Sounds great!”

“Where to?”

“Anywhere.”

“Want me to open it up? This baby goes fast.”

“Yes! I love to go fast!”

Kristoff gave her another grin and let open the throttle.

-----

They were out in the middle of the lake where Anna had stopped the boat. She was laying on the back of the boat without a care in the world. The water had been too tempting, and she couldn’t resist jumping in. Safely that is, Kristoff insisted on her wearing her life jacket out in the open water. Now she was laying on the towel, stretched out enjoying the warmth of the afternoon sun. Anna felt Kristoff’s eyes on her, but she didn’t dare look over.

Kristoff leaned back on the seat, stretching his legs out. “We’ll get the boatlift put in tomorrow then I’ll bring the boat over.”

“Sounds like a plan. Hey, I need an opinion.”

“Ok.”

“How many boats do you think I should have for next summer? I want the guests to be able to go out on the lake and enjoy it. I was thinking about one pontoon, but is that enough?”

“You want my honest opinion?”

“Duh. That’s why I asked you?”

“None.”

Anna lifted her head and looked at Kristoff. “Wait, what? None?”

“You heard me. Boats are a lot of work and you already have one. What you need is kayaks and paddle boards, a couple canoes and maybe a raft for swimming. That’s all. Keep it non-motorized.”

“But don’t you think I should have something?”

“Not everyone will want to use them. Plus, the expense of keeping them up and the insurance is only going to force you to keep your rates higher.”

“Mmm, suppose you’re right…for once.”

“Watch it.”

Anna pondered her options for a few minutes before sitting up, stretching and wrapping the towel around her. “I’ll just have to recommend Torch Lake Marina as our exclusive source for rentals.”

“I think we may be able to work a deal out with…wait, have you come up with a name for the B&B yet?”

“Working on it.” Anna looked up at the afternoon sun, wishing the day could last longer. “I suppose we should head back. I’ve kept you out too long.”

“I didn’t mind. It was nice spending the time with you. Let’s just hope Sven Actually did some work while I was gone.”

Anna tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear. “It was nice today, wasn’t it?”

“Hey Anna?”

“Mmm?”

“I won’t be able to come out to the house for a few days.”

She sat down in one of the seats, feeling a sense of disappointment that she wouldn’t be seeing Kristoff, but also that he hadn’t asked her something different.

“Of course. Is everything alright?”

“Just gearing up for the 4th. It’s going to be hectic. Sven and I are going to be out on the boat at the sandbar all week. I wish we could both grow an extra set of arms its going to be so busy. But I’ll see you for the fireworks if you still want to go.”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world. Oh wait! I just had the best idea!”

“What?”

“Do you trust me?”

------

“Who thought this was a good idea?” Kristoff was tapping on the wheel of the pontoon waiting at the landing at Pabbie’s.

“This was all you, my friend,” Sven said with a laugh. “Relax. Anna will be fine, and we need all the help we can get this week.”

“She’s late. We should have left by now.”

“Five minutes isn’t going to change anything.”

“Have you seen the boats out there already?”

Sven rolled his eyes then pointed to the parking lot. “There she is.”

“What the hell is she carrying?”

“I’m here!” Anna yelled walking as fast as she could with the large cardboard box. As soon as she got to the boat, Sven grabbed the box and helped her step on. Kristoff was already in the process of untying the ropes and started moving before Anna sat down.

“Don’t mind him, Red,” Sven said. “He’ll calm down once we get anchored in a good spot. What did you bring?”

Anna smiled. “I’ll show you as soon as we get set up.”

She took the short time it took to ferry out to the sandbar to relax. Anna wasn’t sure what Kristoff’s reaction was going to be with the surprise, but she hoped he was open to it.

“Absolutely not.” Kristoff shook his head when Anna showed him the t-shirts that read ‘Burger Barge Torch Lake’ on them with a silhouette of the pontoon.

“Why?” Anna and Sven whined simultaneously.

“How are we going to sell those and the food? And I don’t have the money to pay you for those, Anna.”

“Relax. You have me to help and I promise I won’t sell a single shirt that gets in the way of the food orders.”

“No one’s going to want those.”

“Wanna bet? You take care of the burgers and I’ll stay out of your way and help sell these. You can pay me back out of the profits from the shirt sales. If they don’t sell, I’ll eat the cost.” Sven and Anna stood there holding their breaths. Finally, Kristoff relented, his face softening. “Ok, but the food is a priority.”

“Aye, aye, captain.”

“Don’t start.”

-----

The fire was soothing as Anna sat near it on the double swing. She was bone tired from working these last few days on the pontoon and staying up for the fireworks tonight. But it was a good tired. An ache from an honest day’s work and pure satisfaction. Kristoff came over and sat next to her. He handed her a stack of bills.

“What’s this?”

“Your cut from the week.”

“I don’t need-“

“You earned it. We made more than ever, even splitting it three ways. There’s also the money for the shirts.”

Anna gave Kristoff an impish grin. “I already placed another order. Told you we’d sell out.”

“You were right, and I was wrong.”

“Mmm say that again.”

Kristoff nudged Anna. “Seriously. Thank you for helping us.”

“Anytime.” She rested her head on Kristoff’s shoulder. “How do you do this all the time.”

“You get used to it. Its only for a few weeks in the summer then it quiets down.

“Still impressive.” Anna looked over at the property’s dock and noted the flags flying. “So, who’s the Michigan State fan?”

“Oh that? It’s where I went to school.”

Anna chuckled. “My dad would not be happy with you.”

“University of Michigan alum?”

“Worse, he was the president of the school.”

“The president? Let me guess. You and your sister followed suit.”

“My sister went full ivy league. I pushed back against every expectation and went to Ohio State.”

“Ohio State?! That’s treason. I’d tell you to fly that flag at your place, but it would be like putting a target on your back.”

“Guess I should fly the Michigan State flag then.”

“Nope. Not allowed unless you have someone that lives there.”

“Maybe one day,” Anna said through a yawn as her eyes closed.

The next thing she remembered were warm strong arms carrying her back to the truck to take her home.

-------

“I can’t believe how much nicer it is on the sandbar today!” Anna looked around. There were people, but the masses were gone. There were places to move and not a drunken party every ten feet.

Kristoff was sitting on the back platform of Anna’s boat, legs hanging in the water. “Sven, tell Anna the rules of the sandbars for the locals. Since she isn’t one, she needs to know.”

Sven came over to the group and hopped up on the platform. “Rule 1!” He called out. “Never go to the sandbar on the weekend!” Everyone raised their drinks and cheered. “Rule 2. Stay away from the west side. Only tourists go there! Rule 3. Don’t act like an asshole! And Rule 4. The most important of them all. Don’t engage with the tourists!” Everyone cheered. “Here’s to making it through August everyone. One more week and the summer season is officially done.”

They all clinked their glasses together in solidarity.

The rest of the day was a blast. Anna spent her time talking to everyone, playing games and even making plans to meet up with a few of the girls the next week. It had taken all summer, but Anna felt that she was finally starting to feel at home. She found herself walking with Kristoff later. She also found herself being a little flirtier than usually, a little more playful than normal. Maybe it was her comfort level, maybe it was their seclusion away from the group. Whatever it was, Kristoff didn’t seem to mind.

“I bet I can.”

“No way.”

“Three tries.”

“Three. That’s it. Then you have to admit you can’t do it.’

“Deal,” Anna said in agreement. “Now hold your hands out like that. Remember if you take a step, then I win.”

“And what do you win?” The grin on Kristoff felt dangerous. Anna didn’t want him to stop.

“I’ll tell you after I win.”

She squared herself up to Kristoff, lined her hands up with his, pulled them back and then pushed as hard as she could, contacting his palms. Kristoff stumbled back, surprised at Anna’s force. But then he took another step back, losing his balance as he stumbled and fell into a deep spot on the sandbar.

Anna was doubled over in laughter when he came out of the water soaked and hair flattened down past his eyebrows. “You think that’s funny?” he said, brushing his hair back with his hands.

“N-no, no!” Anna said, trying to talk and laugh at the same time. “I got you. I totally got you!”

“I’ll show you something funny!”

Anna didn’t stand a chance. She screamed in laughter as Kristoff scooped her up and ran. “Kristoff, put me down!”

“Oh, you want down?”

“Yes!”

“Ok.”

Kristoff unceremoniously threw Anna off the edge of the sandbar. Anna screamed, hitting the water. She didn’t stay under long, a strong arm grabbing her, bringing her up. Kristoff was standing just where Anna couldn’t touch the bottom. He held her tight, his hands wrapped around her bare waist.

“You dirty rat. I won.”

“Yeah, what are you going to do about it?”

They didn’t move, locked close together. Anna’s breath hitched at the way Kristoff was looking at her with a want in his eyes. She gave into it too, closing her eyes, leaning in ever so.

“Kris! Anna! Where are you? Time to go! We’re heading out!”

Anna broke away from Kristoff, the moment lost. “We should head back,” she said, walking back to the boat without waiting for him.

-----

“Oh hi, dear.” Bulda was restocking the shelves with shirts. “Anything you need?”

“I was actually looking for Kristoff. Is he over at the marina?”

“He took off early to do some work over at my house for me.”

“How’s he been?” Anna was following Bulda around as she went to clean up the counter near the bakery section.

“Fine. A little quiet. But nothing unusual. Why? Is there something I should be concerned with?”

“No. I just haven’t seen him since before Labor Day and I was wondering how he was.” Anna looked down, wringing her hands. “Bulda, can I ask you a question?”

“Anytime dear.”

“Have you ever tried to do something that you wanted to do, I mean really want to, but then miss your opportunity? And then make it worse because you doubt yourself and over analyze everything. Then make it weird and even more worse by avoiding it all together?”

Bulda stopped what she was working on to listen to Anna. “I don’t know about anything that specific, but I will say that holding something back never helps. Best to just get out what you need to do and move along. Otherwise, it festers.”

“I suppose you’re right.” Anna turned to look across the street at the home on the lake. “So next door?”

Bulda nodded. “In the backyard.”

She knew he saw her, pretending not to notice, then giving in and walking over to the swing.

“Hey.”

Anna patted the seat. “Sit with me.”

He sat, dropping the weight of his body the last few inches with a weary sigh. Neither of them said anything at first as they slowly swayed back and forth.

“Anna, I'm sorry.”

“Kris, there’s nothing to be sorry about."

“But there is. I’m sorry if I read something wrong and made you uncomfortable.”

“You didn’t.”

“Then why have you been ignoring me?”

Anna turned to face Kristoff. “The house is finished and the permits came this week. I think I can start having guests this fall. I just need to get the staff up and running and the marketing done.”

“That’s great. But I don’t understand what that has anything to do with what we’re talking about.”

“It does. The house. The project. It’s the first time I’ve ever been able to do something truly for myself. Where I can say this was my idea. This is what I want to do. Do you know how scary that can be?”

“I guess.” Kristoff was leaning forward, elbows on his thighs, clearly concerned with the conversation. When Anna placed her hand on his thigh, he looked up at her.

“There’s other things that I want too. But that’s just as frightening sometimes to trust my feelings.” Anna took Kristoff’s hand and led him to sit back up and face her. “I’m the one who’s sorry. For ignoring you and for ever doubting what I want. Because I know. I truly know there’s nothing more I want right now than you.”

Anna felt Kristoff's whole body go from rigid and defensive to relaxed. He grinned at her, rubbing her knuckles with his thumb. “You know I have a rule,” he said resting his head against the back of the swing.

“Still won’t consider me a local. Ridiculous.”

“Well, you did make it past Labor Day, so I guess you are officially a local now.”

“Would you stop talking and kiss me?”

“Gladly.”

His hand cupped Anna’s cheek pulling her into a soft kiss. Anna closed her eyes, grinning through the kiss as she savored the moment, never wanting it to end. A cool breeze blew in from the lake. Kristoff wrapped Anna tighter in his arms as she shivered. It was a reminder of how quickly things could change and this time Anna welcomed it with arms wide open.

“Oh, I forgot to tell you, I finally have a name for the B&B.”

“What’s that?”

“The Toasted Marshmallow.”

Kristoff let out a hearty laugh.

“You like it?”

Kristoff leaned down lips brushing Annas. “I absolutely love it,” he said before kissing her again.

[windowanddoorinstallation]

Types of Commercial Doors and their Features Boundaries

There are several very important things to know when you are out to buy commercial doors and one of the top ones is that they are available in different types. Yes, they can be purchased from any reputed seller of commercial windows and doors. When out in the markets for buying, you will come across three very common options and the names are –

Glass Doors - The architect's favourite, but it comes with the according price

Metal Doors - Best choice for price/value

Wood Doors - Not a very common choice

As far as the main entrance dors are concerned, the first thing to know is that they are generally required stronger and hence, glass door is not the choice here. In such doors, there is an equipment of a thick steel frame or larger metal/wood doors. The glass doors are often made up of aluminium frame and they can be used in the interiors in combination with locks.

Glass Doors

Sellers of timber doors as well as casement windows say that glass doors look amazing, but the factor that needs your attention is that it is very high demanding in terms of maintenance.

This means that they will require dusting on a daily basis and the locking mechanism would also require lubrication as per the recommendations.

They are found in options like full frame, half frame or sometimes even no frame version, but this version is not that popular.

Metal Doors

Sellers of windows and doors and timber doors say that this happens to be simplest as well the most robust option present in terms of commercial windows and doors.

They also come in "Left Hand Outswings" or "Right Hand Outswings" meaning opening from the left hand side or right hand side.

Wood Doors

Lastly, there are wood or timber doors that are generally used in homes and even, business environment.

There can be semi-glass doors made up of wood or timber and they can be used in a corporate office environment and more in industries like medical facilities where privacy is needed.

[utterlyinevitable]

Hurricane (Part 4)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr. Rebecca Lao) Word Count: 2.1k Warning: Small bit of cussing Summary: A hurricane is falling over Boston. Edenbrook has been evacuated and some very different doctor’s end up seeking shelter together.  

A/N: This series was inspired by an anon prompt request for “protection”. I hope I did it justice! This is a multi part story.  ALSO I love Gatsby and Fitzgerald and so self-indulgent in this chapter 🤣

________________________________________

Once Becca and Ethan brought order back to Naveen’s kitchen, she bounded back into the dining room with a bottle of pinot noir in each hand for them all to share much to everyone’s elation. Ethan hung back during the first bottle, opting to gather blankets and towels for the guests. 

The group of gossips played card games and continued letting the conversation flow as freely as Naveen’s hand. Running out of hospitable things to keep him occupied, Ethan poured himself a generous glass and observed the people around him. With much convincing from the group he eventually gave in to the pressure and joined the game of ‘Bullshit’. When that got boring they moved rooms in the name of tranquil comfort. 

They all sat in the living room watching Baz Luhrmann’s The Great Gatsby as the storm raged on outside. Naveen was quick to make sure everyone had copious amounts of wine and cheese before retiring to bed. Without the scrutiny of his father figure Ethan felt he could be a little more carefree. 

Under the cover of darkness Ethan let himself drape his arm behind Becca against the back of the love-seat, making sure to keep his touch a distance away, the soft cushions dipped under the weight of his muscle. She felt the warmth of his presence along the base of her neck. The short invisible hairs stood up at the electricity emitting off him, igniting her senses in the best possible way. Becca smiled to herself, moving a bit closer to him so their sides were completely touching. She leaned into him just enough that the fabric of their clothes were pressed flat against the other.  

Her eyes darted around the dark cabin. Elijah had moved from his wheelchair and to the edge of the three-seater sofa. Sienna sat next to him in the middle and was now lounging out over Naveen’s deserted seat with a throw pillow cuddled deep in her small embrace. 

The coast was clear. Everyone was too engrossed in the film to pay any mind to the diagnosticians on their left. 

Boldly, Becca rested her head gingerly on the curve of Ethan’s shoulder. Her friends were none the wiser. 

Pushing their luck a bit further Ethan slid his arm closer to her shoulder blades. She reciprocated their game by placing a hand carefully on his muscular thigh. 

Ethan’s enchanting blue eyes did their own quick survey of the scene to make sure Sienna and Elijah were still oblivious. When he was certain her friends were too caught up on the imagery, Ethan cupped his free hand over hers. The corner of Becca’s lips noticeably perked as she laced their fingers together. 

“I love this story,” she whispered into his ear. 

“Why? It’s a tragedy. There is not one likable character in the whole plot,” he whispered back.  

“That’s what makes it so compelling. They’re flawed and real.” 

Before Ethan could rebuke, her favorite line was about to be said. 

“Gatsby? What Gatsby?” she mimicked looking over to Ethan. 

Her eyes held the same adoration reflecting from Daisy Buchanan’s character. It was hopeless and all-consuming, fiery and full of… something Ethan couldn’t place. All he knew was when that line fell delicately off her tongue he couldn’t help but parallel the feeling of him and Becca being the only two people in the universe. Ethan had that smile - that one smile reserved only for her. That one smile full of eternal reassurance and pride, making it as if his whole world revolved around her in that soulful moment. A glimpse into who Ethan was and not who Dr. Ramsey needed to be.  

Becca was mere inches away. One movement and it would all be over. Her eyes flickered down to his lips and back to the large television screen, ever so enchanted by the modern classic playing out before them. Ethan was thankful for her lack of focus. He let out the breath he was holding in he held onto her hand just a bit tighter. 

As the evening passed on Ethan let himself fall a bit more into comfort. 

For a brief moment he thought maybe, just maybe, everything could be this simple. They could be together and the people in their lives could all know, and no one would care. No careers could be in turmoil by the mere mention of their romantic relationship. 

No politics. Just love. 

Unfortunately, that’s not how the world works. 

Ethan was far too well-versed in cynicism to let himself fall any further than this moment. Holding hands in the darkness was all they could ever have with others around. He let the moment last, trusting her word that her friends wouldn’t destroy their ephemeral happiness. 

No, that was destined for them. 

Once the credit scene began to roll Sienna was the first to disturb the peace. 

“Come on I think it’s time for bed,” she sat up and tapped a dozing Elijah on the shoulder. 

Sienna dared to glance over at the love-seat - doing a double take to make sure it was really, truly happening before her very eyes. There in the warm glow cascading off the television was Becca curled up against Dr. Ramsey. Ethan was cradling her against him with his right arm securely at her waist as his left held up a book. He began reading the closest literature he could find towards the end of the film when he was sure Becca was asleep and wouldn’t castrate him. Neither diagnostician made an attempt to move. 

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” Elijah agreed, lazily moving back into his chair while Sienna made sure to put the pillow back where she found it. “Night Becca, Dr. Ramsey,” he called as Sienna wheeled him to their room for the next few days.  

“Goodnight, Dr. Greene. Trinh,” Ethan acknowledged without breaking focus on his book. 

Once the friends were safely in their room with a click of the door Ethan began to migrate, casting the book aside and reaching for the remote on Becca’s armrest to shut the television off. 

“No,” she whined as his small motions rock her gently to disturb her slumber. 

With a smirk Ethan scoffed, “You’re basically asleep.”

Becca grumbled back as she threw her arms over her eyes, “I don’t care.” 

Ethan took the challenge and swiftly rose to his feet. Becca’s cheek immediately met the crater in the cushion as she flopped down without her supporter. 

“Hey!” her objection was partially muffled by the old paisley printed cushion.  

Ethan couldn’t help but chuckle at his resident. Her legs were still awkwardly folded under herself and he’d imagine they’d at least be tingly with pins and needles by now, she still had her jeans on and her top exposed the pale skin of her midriff, and her brown locks were wildly strewn about. With a bemused shake of his head he brought the remainder of the dishes into the kitchen. 

When he came back Becca hadn’t moved an inch, her body still lolled to the side where he was previously sat. 

In four long strides Ethan was back in front of her. Becca heard his shallow footsteps yet was too comfortable to acknowledge his presence. Suddenly the couch flew out of under her and Becca was in free fall. Before she could open her eyes taut muscle and bone made contact with her rib-cage. 

Ethan had slung her over his shoulder. 

“Ethan!” she hissed. Normally Becca would appreciate the delicious view of this new position however the generous amount of wine mixed with the blood rushing to her head was not working in her favor.  

“Shush, you’ll wake everyone up.” Becca’s bottom jiggled from Ethan’s playful smack. 

She argued back, “You woke me up!”  

“It was that or have a stiff neck tomorrow,” Ethan began to rationalize as he took each step carefully so as to not to lose his balance. “And I’m not dealing with your complaints.”

Naveen’s master bedroom was large with glorious vaulted ceilings and exposed wooden beams. It was much too big for one person. Keeping with the cabin theme, the bed was wooden with four tall posts, the outer wall was lined with windows looking out over the river, and the adjoining bathroom led right into a modest yet bare walk-in closet. 

Ethan placed Becca down on the soft springform mattress conscientiously. She reveled in the waft of cinnamon and cedar of the quilt and deep red cotton sheets. Becca appreciated how Naveen also had an affinity for pillows - four medium firm and two down were waiting patiently for her noggin. Becca was too enticed by sleep to rummage for pajamas in her bag. Instead she began to unbutton her jeans haphazardly from her horizontal position. 

Ethan watched as she fumbled continuously, not quite grasping the button enough to pop it through the hole. After the fourth try he swatted her hands away, taking the reins. Ethan expertly flicked the button, dragged the zipper down and freed Becca’s legs from the thick day-ridden material. She sighed as the cool air met her clean-shaven skin. Her toes then hooked and flicked off her socks while she sat up and pulled her shirt off.  

 Sitting cross-legged on top of the duvet in just her nude bra and purple lace panties she asked, “Staying or going?” 

Her jeans were now folded on top of the wardrobe where Ethan stood with a cocked eyebrow, “What do you think?”

BOOM! 

A close clack of thunder rattled the wood causing them both to jump. 

CLACK! 

TSS

“Fuck!” she screamed in exasperation as quietly as she could. “Do you think a tree fell?” 

“Rookie, are you scared?” 

“No. I’ve been through loads of hurricanes,” she asserted, moving up the bed to crawl safely under the covers. “There's just a lot of wood around here. One wrong bolt and we’re all up in flames.” 

Ethan perched himself at the edge of the bed next to her nearly nude form. “I highly doubt that will happen.” 

“But it could happen.” 

“Theoretically.”

The covers sat around Becca’s waist. Her supple curves of her exposed breasts called to him. Ethan began to reach for her but the rational doctor did all he could to stop himself from caressing the addictive skin. Instead his hand rested on her inner thigh, just the thin duvet separating their warmth. Her hair was a frizzy halo around her rounded face and her lips stained deep indigo from all the red wine. And yet she was still - always, so beautiful. 

She watched as his eyes trail over her and his chest rose and fell a tad quicker.   

“You should stay. I know you want to.” 

“You know I can’t.” 

“You know they already think we’re dating anyway.” 

Ethan was taken aback at the brazen accusation but not enough to remove his hold on her, “We are doing what?” Instinctively his calloused fingers tightened their grip slightly. 

“Don’t look so surprised,” she all but rolled her eyes at his idiocy. After a beat, her brown eyes fixated on his expert hand, she added, “Ethan… are you single?” 

Her small voice was full of shaken vulnerability. She yanked the covers up higher, releasing his hold on her, and curled herself further into them, shielding herself from his answer. Or lack thereof, there were too many seconds hanging in the space between them.  

He reached out to tuck a few strands behind her ear. The wait was killing her. 

“No… I’m not.” 

Those words. Becca felt like the air had been stolen from her lungs. How long had she been waiting to hear them? How long has she been hoping Ethan Ramsey would commit to only her with a promise of forever? She couldn’t recall anything other than him at this moment moving in closer to her. Their noses brushed every so slightly, his affirming and hopeful words lingering warm against her flushed cheeks. 

“Stay,” she breathed. 

The way she was imploring him could crumble the Great Wall of China. Every ounce of Ethan’s resolve came crumbling down as he finally admitted his feelings to the universe. He thought she knew by now how he was irrevocably hers without words needing to be shared. Dr. Ethan Ramsey would continue living a solitary life until he could freely be able to love Dr. Rebecca Lao and without fear of completely destroying her bright future. 

Ethan wanted so badly to dive into the covers with her and never come back up - her sweet embrace was all the sustenance he needed to survive. But the little voice in the back of his head told him not to cut the line just yet.  

“Only until you fall asleep,” he agreed. “Wouldn’t want Naveen thinking we were being indecent in his bed. He’d never let me hear the end of it.” 

________________________________________

Taglist: @ohchoices​​​ @dulceghernandez​​​​ @aylamreads​​​ @binny1985​​​​ @ramseysno1rookie​​​​ @interobanginyourmom​​​​ @queencarb​​​​ @perriewinklenerdie​​ @rookiefromedenbrook​​​ @eramsey28​​​ @choicesficwriterscreations​​​ @heauxplesslydevoted​​​ @schnitzelbutterfingers​​​ @purpledragonturtles​​​ @ramseyandrys​​​​ @ermidc​​​ @mrsdrakewalkerblog​​​ @doilooklikeiknow​​ @overwhelminglyaquarius​​ @drethanramslay​ @edgiestwinter​ @rookieoh​ @lucy-268​ @mvalentine​ @lilyvalentine​ @starrystarrytrouble​ @angela8756 @pitchblackstars @custaroonie​ @sanchita012​ @thegreentwin​ @openheart​ @tsrookie​ @adrex04​ @togetherwearerapture​ @ezekielbhandarivalleros​

[draconicocelot]

The Little Vampire Fic : Never Again - Part One

Hello again “Little Vampire Fandom”! I’ve been very excited to write this one and I hope you all enjoy!

Summary: Rudolph visits Tony in San Diego only to find out he is struggling.

***********************

Flying to Tony’s house had become such a familiar route to Rudolph that he could fly to San Diego from Transylvania with his eyes closed. It was a pain to deal with the difference in time zones, the change in weather, and the fact that it was about a 40 hour flight for him. There were definitely some instances in which he wished he could just board a plane like everyone else and almost cut the trip in half, but flying without a plane was much more fun. There was a lot of stopping involved along the way to make sure he stayed out of the sun, but overall, he made it to Tony’s house exactly when he said he would. Tony had just been released on a long weekend and got Friday off, as well as the Monday the next week. They tried to coordinate trips with Tony’s school schedule so that they could see each other as much as possible but also keep Tony’s sleeping schedule as in-tact as it could be. 

As Rudolph flew over the quiet neighborhood where Tony lived, he took a moment to appreciate his surroundings. There was the smell of a distant fire as someone must have been camping out in their backyard. It was on the late side for a family outing, but a group of teenagers was probably taking advantage of the crisp autumn evening. It was always a wonderful temperature there, but some nights got more chilly than others. The wind blew against Rudolph’s face, but he could barely feel a difference since his skin was already so cold to the touch. 

He was almost quivering with anticipation as he reached the familiar white house with four windows on the front of it, a big grey roof, and a fence surrounding a small front yard. It was a nice family home for three people, and since the space was slightly larger than they needed, it was a wonderful location for parties or just having company over. Tony’s bedroom was the last room on the left when he approached the right side of the house. Just as he hoped, there was a singular light shining from his window which meant Tony was still expecting him. The double-hung window was covered by beautiful mulberry colored curtains, but he could see the light slightly peeking through. Rudolph swooped in and leaned against the wall as his long black nails, which could be classified as claws with how long and sharp they were, made a gentle tapping sound against his window. 

Usually, Rudolph heard Tony call out to him and say something along the lines of, “I’ll be there in a second!” or “Coming Rudy!”. However, this time he could only hear the sounds of shuffling feet and a soft thud as if he just got out of bed. Not only that but usually Tony had his room lights turned on so that it was a bigger beacon for him. On this night, Tony had only kept his bedside lamp turned on. Rudolph didn’t have time to think about what was going on as he heard the crack of the window opening slightly. Two hands suddenly squeezed out from under the lift of the window and pushed up on it until Rudolph could fit inside. As he flew through the curtains, he followed through with his habit and shut the window behind him. Tony’s room looked the same way it had when he visited before. The walls were a deep purple color, and with the red-tinted curtains and all of the vampire-themed décor in the room, it almost felt like they never left the castle. Even Tony’s bedsheets had a picture of the traditional Dracula print on them with bat fabric for his pillowcase. Rudolph couldn’t help but feel flattered that he had enough of an interest in vampires that he dedicated his bedroom to them.  

“Tony! It’s-” Rudolph didn’t even get time to speak before Tony had rammed into him, his arms tightly wrapping around his back. Rudolph was shocked, Tony had never acted this way when he came to visit, but he hugged him back. He knew it had been weeks, but they had gone months without seeing each other. Did he really miss him that much? Suddenly, Tony huffed out a laugh and pulled back.

“Sorry… it’s been a rough day,” Tony sighed. His face was barely visible since the only light in the room was coming from the bedside lamp, but Rudolph could see that he was covering his right eye with his hand. “It’s very good to see you Rudy.”

“It is wonderful to see you as well, Tony,” he ran his fingers through his hair until he hit a tangled mass, which Tony seemed to notice.

“So, what do you want to do tonight? Looks like we should deal with your hair first,” Tony chuckled, but his voice was overlaid with exhaustion and another emotion that Rudolph couldn’t quite place. Fear? Anger? Sadness? Pain? 

“I suppose so,” Rudolph copied his laugh, but then floated over to Tony and hovered in the air across from his seat on the side of the bed. “However, first you must tell me what is wrong.” Tony dismissed the request as he waved his other hand in the air and smiled while keeping the upper half of his face shrouded in the dark. 

“It’s no big deal, Rudy. School has just been tough and I…” Tony paused, noticing that Rudolph was not buying it. His arms were crossed and his eyebrow was raised in disbelief. “Okay… fine,” Tony groaned as he lowered his hand away from his eye. Rudolph quietly gasped aloud as he gazed at the swollen purple and black bruise surrounding his eye. It looked awful, and since Rudolph became concerned when Tony even got a papercut, seeing such an obvious injury terrified him.

“T-Tony! What happened?! Are you alright?!” Rudolph flew over to him and put his cold hand against Tony’s cheek. Tony flinched as the whole area around his eye was sore making Rudolph retract his hand immediately. 

“Don’t worry so much, I’m fine. I accidentally tripped and hit this side of my head against my bedpost. It hurts a little bit but it’ll go away soon,” Rudolph took a deep breath as he felt himself relax. At least Tony was alright and that his injury was just a clumsy accident. 

“Well, as long as you’re alright… Then I shall grab the brush,” Tony smiled brightly as he felt relieved that the topic was dropped. He found it strange that Tony didn’t want to talk about it, but he just assumed it was because the fall may have been embarrassing. Luckily, the rest of the night seemed to distract Tony from his bad day. They started by dealing with Rudolph’s tangled hair, which was something that became a habit whenever they got together. Gregory and Anna even made fun of him because they always could tell when he came back from seeing Tony by the fact that his hair didn’t look like a bird’s nest. 

Then they moved onto watching a bunch of cheesy vampire movies which they just ended up criticizing more than actually watching. Tony knew so much more about vampires now, and considering he had the real thing sitting right next to him, they were able to debunk most of the stunts and myths shown in the movies. Either way, it was still fun. The two ended up staying up until about 3:00 a.m before Tony showed signs of falling asleep. They were halfway through their third vampire movie when Rudolph felt something press against his shoulder. When he looked over, Tony had passed out and was now leaning against him. Rudolph smiled as he unhooked his cape from his collar and wrapped it around him. He slowly stood while keeping his arms under Tony so that he didn’t fall over as he grabbed the sheets and pulled them over him. As soon as he was tucked into the bed, Rudolph headed for the window and opened it slowly. Now that Tony was asleep, it was time for Rudolph to go and eat. It had been a long trip after all, but he never wanted Tony to have to worry about that side of the whole vampire thing.

***

As the sun shined in Tony’s eyes, he winced and started to stir. He woke up at about 10:00 a.m with a note left on his bedside table. It stated: “Your father and I are off shopping about ten minutes away. We will be back around dinner time and then we will be off to the theater. Let us know if you care to join us! Say hello to Rudolph for us! Love you!” 

Tony smiled as he set the note back down and stretched, each segment of his spine popping as his back straightened. Bob, Tony’s father, had built him a life-sized coffin for his birthday one year to play pretend with. It was made of real wood, and it was even stained to have a rich cedar finish. While Tony used to use it when he pretended to be a vampire, it eventually became Rudolph’s bed whenever he came over. He even covered the inside with blankets and pillows so it was extremely comfortable. While it was counterproductive to Rudolph’s love of dark and cramped spaces, he came to really appreciate the comfort of the coffin he slept in at Tony’s place.

“Rudy? You still awake?” Tony mumbled as he leaned over to his bedside where the coffin was lying on the floor. 

“Noisy as always, aren’t you mortal?” Rudolph replied, his voice muffled from the thick wooden slab between them. He was satisfied as soon as he heard Tony laugh from inside his dark sanctuary. What he didn’t see was Tony clutching his side and quietly hissing through his teeth as if he had hurt himself by laughing. He grimaced slightly as he pulled up his t-shirt and observed the dark brown bruises that were scattered over his torso like the splotches on a cow’s hide. As he heard the creaking of the coffin door he quickly pulled his shirt back down and glanced at Rudolph with an optimistic smile. 

“Old habits die hard I guess,” was Tony’s response. Rudolph made sure the coffin door was still slightly shut so that the sunlight couldn’t reach him as he smiled up at him. “Oh! Here’s your cape back by the way,” Tony pulled Rudolph’s cape out from underneath the sheets and tossed it over to him. “I guess I’m not used to staying up that late without you visiting.”

“Don’t worry, I only slightly judged you,” Tony stuck his tongue out at him as Rudolph playfully hissed back. 

“Well, I’m going to go get breakfast. I’ll see you again this evening, okay?” Rudolph nodded with a big yawn as he laid back down in the coffin. 

“Good day, mortal,” the coffin lid closed with a thud as Tony made his way out of the room. Rudolph had just managed to settle in when he heard Tony’s phone go off. Usually, he didn’t intend to snoop in Tony’s personal matters, but he had been acting strangely ever since he came. He wasn’t as awake and excited as he usually was, and he seemed to be sensitive when it came to going for a flight or anything that involved a lot of moving. Rudolph respected his boundaries, but he also wanted to help Tony, even if he didn’t want to be helped. As he opened the lid slightly, he was able to slide the phone into his coffin without coming into contact with the sun. 

When he opened the phone he saw Tony’s usual lock screen, which was a commissioned drawing of him and “a vampire” that just happened to look exactly like Rudolph. He couldn’t take pictures with Rudolph since he never appeared in any of them, but he had hired an artist to draw a digital photo of the two of them just from Tony’s description. Surprisingly, the artist drew him almost perfectly. When he looked at the screen, he saw that there was one notification for an email that came in. Rudolph put in Tony’s password, which was conveniently “Rudy” or “7839” in numbers on the keypad. His home screen was actually a picture of Tony and his parents standing in front of the castle they first met in. Tony was on the very end with one arm around his mom and the other around what looked like nothing. He was actually putting his arm around Rudolph, and that was the photo they first took and realized that he could never be seen in them. It was touching either way that that was Tony’s home screen. Even if he couldn’t be seen, Tony knew who was there. 

As Rudolph finally reached the email, he saw that the sender was named Nigel Appleby. He figured it was someone from school or a friend of his in the neighborhood. That was until he read the subject line. “Better Be There”. Rudolph narrowed his eyes in suspicion as he read on further. 

“If you really do have this ‘vampire friend’, how come none of us have seen him? I for one think it’s a shame you have to depend on imaginary friends to keep you company, Thompson. You couldn’t find a real friend even if you tried. Tell you what, you bring this friend of yours to meet us at 6:00 tonight. If you can prove that you’re not spouting nonsense every single day, which you are, then prove it. You wanna be left alone? Here’s your chance, kid. See you then. 

Nigel”

[sky-arcobaleno]

The Bouloo Homestead

They say home is where the heart is. But what is home if the heart is haunted by the past?

I went of a description spree really. 

The Homestead Exterior:

Built of Southern Red Oak, the Bouloo Homestead stands at a gorgeous height of 28 ft. tall - Each story (2) being about 11 ft. tall.

With cedar wood shingles, a second-story balcony, and a full-coverage covered porch, the homestead is perfect for large families and beautiful pictures.

The full-coverage covered porch is made of the same Southern Red Oak as the rest of the house. However, the railings of the porch are made of wrought iron with a design similar to blooming wild flowers - a different flower for every support beam captured section {no section/flower is the same}

The Homestead’s First/Ground Level:

When you come in from the driveway, using the front yard’s gravel path, you enter the foyer using the half-glass, two-vertical panelled Oak door. You noticed how the doro had a half glass panel on each side, a flower design engraved in the glass on the door and panels. Yet, you can’t identify the flower.

Entering the foyer, your shoes hit wood hard flooring. It is Oak wood, with a gray finish. Taking your shoes off, you hop the one step and enter the living room, or as your Gam Gam called it - the Great Room.

You pad along the hard flooring and, in passing, look at the hearth. Encompassing the fireplace are heavy stones found from within the nearby woods. A fond smile appears as your eyes travel up the fireplace. The coarse rocks went up the ceiling of the first floor, through the second, and finally stopped on top of the roof, where a square copper-based chimney cap was mounted to keep away the elements from the fire below. Then you looked towards the road-side, where a window made of two double-hung and a picture frame was laid. Its view of the front yard meadow forces happy memories to your mind. Returning to the fireplace, you catch the sight of two more double-hung windows, one on either side. You forgot how much your Gam Gam liked the natural sunlight.

Returning to your tour, you look up right before you enter the kitchen. There, the upper floor’s wooden railing stood, protecting the top from the bottom. Your eyes gazed to your left. Behind the wall there were the stairs leading up.

Entering the kitchen, your feet remained on gray oak flooring. Examining the kitchen, you saw how there was a snack bar in place of the dining area. It was about 4 ft. tall, made of cedar wood with a wooden top. Passing the snack bar into the appliances zone, you raised an eyebrow at the MayTag logo. Your father had kept his word. Over the farmhouse sink was an awning window that extended outside. You followed the wooden countertop all the way to the refrigerator, where just a few feet away, stood the other outside entrance. It was a two-lite patio door, fully made of glass, with a white wood finish. Pulling the full curtain over the door, you turned towards your left, where the utility room was. It was sealed by a full-wood door.

Uninterested, you turned a bit more to your left and took the flight of wooden stairs up. Holding onto the wooden railing as you went.

On the Second Floor, you arrive at the loft, or study, as Gam Gam called it. There is a small entrance to the attic and the familiar wooden railing that looks down upon the Great Room. In the loft, there is a tiny pocket where a casement push-out window lays. Looking upon the wooden forest behind the homestead.

Walking along the gray oak flooring, you reach the master suite of the house. The master bedroom holds a walk-in closet with a single sliding panel door, a storage area pocket that also holds an attic entrance, a balcony, and of course, the master bath. You pass the king-size bed and open the glass doors with a simple push.

Amazed, you understand the balcony’s beauty. The door looks like a regular door, until you push in the middle, where it splits away, revealing to glass half-doors. Like a princess door. Your fingers trace the abnormal glass design. Unlike the flowers that were at the foyer’s doors, or the floral patterns of the covered porch railings, a mighty dragon soaring towards the sky was encrusted here. Turning away, you reach the edge of the balcony, where wrought iron railings guarded the fall. The design here was also atypical. Three sleeping dragons held up the railing, but encased each of the dragon was an empty case. As if something is supposed to be there, yet nothing was. Pushing away the urge to search, you returned inside, locking the balcony’s doors behind you.

Entering the master bathroom, the oak flooring finally changed to glazed ceramic tiles. Your anxiety lessened at the sight of simple glazed ceramic tiles. Looking at the shower, a hazed glass panel answered your unasked question. Looking to your right, the tub big enough for three hushed your fear. You would definitely fit here. Unlike that tiny apartment one. Shaking your head you passed the wide glass mirror that stood above the double sink with a wooden countertop. At least Gam Gam kept the theme through the whole homestead. Leaving the master bathroom, you looked at the tiny pocket where another double-hung window perched. Your gut dropped however, as you took a few steps towards it. This pocket was...no ordinary pocket you recalled. Sea-sunk memories arose, but you immediately left the room in search of present memories. The Homestead was both pleasant and unpleasant.

Returning to the ground level, you passed through the great room and foyer, entering the forest bedroom on your left. Immediately, your mind went to a happier place. This was your old, childhood bedroom. The peeling wallpaper of soft flowers was the tell-tale sign. You looked at the window facing the road. It was the bigger of the two the room had. This window, a glass block divided 2x3, was covered with a yellow-stained white sheer curtain. Turning to the other window, your heart seemed to fall beat in fondness. A tiny clay model of a little girl stood, holding a basket. Your child-self’s remodel of Red Riding Hood. She stood alone on the sill of the storm window Wiping away your tears, you left your childhood bedroom and went to the bathroom.

It, unlike the recent bedroom, was still in kinder condition. The single-person tub and shower was shielded by a plain tan shower curtain. The single sink, with a fracturing mirror, had rusting stains. Ceramic glazed tiles similar to the master bath reflected the soft white light bulb. With a brief reflection in the fractured glass, you see the reflection of childhood you. Carelessly smiling with a blue thumb print of her cheek and orange paint smeared down the right eye to her neck. Then, with another blink, she was gone. You left, turning off the light bulb.

Finally, you stood in front of the final bedroom. Your hand sat coldy and sweaty on the silver door knob. To open meant accepting. To keep close meant a good night’s rest. Taking a few minutes to breathe, recuperate, and settle racing thoughts, you grabbed the door knob and turned.

Inside the final bedroom, the same scene appeared like it did some many years ago. A full twin bed, with camo bedspread, a wildlife wallpaper, blocking sunlight from the two storm windows on either outside-facing wall, was a tree-canopy green curtain. At the bedside, a chest with a keyhole lock stood gathering dust . Feeling the chill of the hardwood flooring through your socks, you decide to leave the room without a final glance. It was like a deep cut was reopened and sea salt was rubbed into the squishy, bloody flesh in a hard, pressing motion.

Finishing with the homestead’s interior tour, you left out the foyer’s entrance. Now on the covered porch, you walked with your fingertips grazing the wrought iron railing. With the creaking of the wood boards beneath, you stopped at the back of the porch. Where a three-step stairwell led down to the grand backyard before the tall grass bloomed into the treeline, marking the forest’s turf. You stared at the mighty trees, who watched the homestead for a solid 6 generations. Without conscious thinking, you have reached the backyard stairway. Yet, it was the way the forest seemed to phase between real and magical that stopped you from taking the three steps. Your body was telling you that danger lurked within the wooden world only feet away. Turning your back on the forest, you returned to the road side of the homestead. Walking down the three-step stairwell, you walk back towards the gravel driveway. There, in front of your car, is the three-car garage.

It is made of Southern Oak Red wood as well, but the garage reflects the natural wood beauty. With a dark white finish and dark red wooden garage doors, the garage reflected the grandeur of the homestead. Each garage door had a sunrise window in the center and meticulously burned into each garage door was a name. The furthest left, ending with the symbol for earth, was the name Yia Bouloo. In the middle garage door, with a fire symbol, was Xiou Bouloo. Finally, the final door held the name Zaly Bouloo, written in a simple way, with the symbol of air at the end. You gave a soft, sadden smile before walking over to the driver’s door and entered your hand-me-down vehicle.

The Bouloo Homestead, a place of joyous memories and momentous griefs. As you back in reverse and quickly change to drive, you take a final glance in the rearview mirror. The Homestead stayed lit and happy. As if awaiting your next return. Yet, the way the shadowy forest rose behind it made you nervous. You couldn’t remember the last time the forest clung to the building. As if trying to hide secrets you should know. Yet, you didn’t know these secrets. At least not yet.