#and no fireplace rustic wood bed frame

[kahvikirahvi]

Bedroom - Southwestern Bedroom

[reecewykes]

Rustic Bedroom - Bedroom

[bigjerkart]

Guest - Bedroom

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Ginormous 1902 Victorian in Portland, Maine has 6bd, 3 full, 2 half baths, and is priced at $1.695M. It's in pristine condition and was remodeled in keeping with the period of the house.

This wood in the foyer is so perfect, it looks like they replaced it- the etched glass in the door looks new, too. But, they did it right, they replaced it to match the original.

It must've cost a fortune to redo this wood. Look at the bottom of the wood around the room. You can see that there's a dark border- it shows that the wood's been stripped and refinished. The bottom is where all the goop from the stripper settles and you wipe it off as best as you can.

They wallpapered, and that cost them big bucks. Look the wallpaper medallion and how it all matches the fixture.

Isn't this a magnificent room? You don't really see open great rooms like this, w/mezzanines, in Victorians. The Queen Annes and Italianates don't have them, but they're smaller homes than this one.

Look at the balcony. The whole family could appear there to give their holiday greetings to the world.

Check it out, an inglenook. At least I think it qualifies as one, a little over-sized, perhaps.

Now, this is a very successful powder room remodel.

I don't know why they went with a modern rustic cabinet style

This may be the dining room. They really went light on the wood in here. Love the flooring, though.

They've got a big office set up in here, but when they remove it all, there will be elegant wallpaper for the 2nd sitting room.

Elegant area at the 2nd level stairs. A little too "fussy" for me, though.

Look at the windows, crown molding and millwork.

Wow, look at the storage, and it's hidden.

This is beautiful, but there's a choice of main bds. b/c all the rooms are big.

Original brick fireplace. I like how they framed it.

Beautiful little cross hall.

See how large this other bd is? It could also be the main one.

Dramatic view of the mezzanine.

Wow, this is some nice looking spare bathroom.

Modern finished attic.

And, the back stairs have a bit of an elegant Eastern flair.

[yoonkinii]

We Were Human

Pairing(s): Ascended!AstarionxReader

Part:6

Synopsis: Astarion died as soon as he became something the world has never seen before. No one noticed the damage before it was too late and the Astarion everyone loved was lost to the new one. No one could notice when the turn was slow and silent. He slowly lost the playful glint in his eyes. Lost the love he gaze upon me with. Lost everything that made him the man I loved. Oh, how I would give anything to get him back. I would gladly give up my damned soul for him.

Aka you are transported back to the past in order to prevent ascended Astarion from losing himself the only problem? You don’t have a lot of time.

-

Masterlist

Warnings: Gore, blood, cruelty, cursing, death/murder, mentions of using oneself unwillingly, abuse, depiction of abuse and violence. Its ascended astarion, prepare for the worse.

Note(s): For the sake of the plot- Astarion will not automatically be damned from the start. In this world, Astarion becomes lost to the ascension overtime until he becomes the ascended vampire we know him to be in the game. Another note that should be highlighted is that this story will be told from the first person perspective since it benefits the story more than any other perspective.

You will also notice various things being different from the game. For example, Karlach will be able to stay in the ‘human’ world and she fixed her heart. (I love my girl, I’m not sending her back), Szaars palace has a different layout cause the one in the game was stupid. There will be more that you will notice in the future so beware.

Thank You.

For days now, the relentless drumming of rain against Karlach’s window had provided a steady backdrop to my thoughts. I found myself alone in her modest abode, a place she had grown accustomed to and seemed content with. The room held little beyond the essentials - a simple bed pressed against the wall, positioned beside the only window in the home. Atop the bed frame lay a quilt, carefully stitched by hand, a gift from myself to congratulate her about getting her internal engine fixed.

Opposite the bed, the fireplace stood as a focal point, its rough stonework casting a rustic charm. Despite its offer for year round warmth, Karlach rarely ever kindled a fire, claiming she had grown tired of feeling heat and would be like that for a long time. Only upon my arrival did she light it, deeming my chilled body was unacceptable. Even now, the faint scent of burning wood lingered, mingling with the fragrance of rain. 

The small kitchen area is equipped just enough to feel like home. A wooden dining table accompanied by two sturdy chairs, sits under a single swaying light bulb. The shelves contained only the most essential cookware, reflecting Karlach’s preference for practicality. She never carried around much and never cared for fine dining. She was content with her stomach being full and nothing more. 

Nestled in the corner, the bathing area boasted simplicity, making up a basic washing basin adorned with a small mirror suspended above. A neatly folded towel and a solitary bar of soap adorned the basin’s side, offering only the essential. Despite its humble appearance, the corner still did its job of allowing people to wash themselves as needed. 

As the front door swung open, inviting in the chill of the wind and the mist of  rain, Karlach stepped in, her hair drenched and a carefree smile adorning her lips. Settling beside me on the floor, she leaned back against her bed, seemingly unfazed by her wet state as she nudged me playfully. 

“Feeling hungry?” She inquired, gesturing towards the kitchen where food awaited. 

I offered a small smile in response. “You know I have no need for food like that,” I replied. Karlach’s brows furrowed momentarily before she let out a soft snort. “I meant in general. Have you felt hungry since you’ve been here? Any urge to bite into my neck?” she joked, tilting her head to expose her pulse point. “Not that I think my blood would taste very good…maybe just a little hot.”

Deep in thought, I gnawed on the inside of my cheek, pondering. SInce my arrival at Karlach’s place, I hadn’t ventured outside, fearing that Astarion’s threat still loomed, ready to scorch my skin at the slightest touch of sunlight. Fortunately, the rain had persisted for days, grinding me the relief from that particular dread. 

Shaking my head in response to Karlach’s question, I replied, “No, I haven’t felt the urge to sink my teeth into anything.”

“Well, that’s one way to put it, I supposed,” she teased lightly. But then her tone shifted, growing serious and somber. “But seriously,” she continued, “how long are you going to run?”

Taken aback, my brows shoot up in surprise. “Run? I’m not running.”

“Not literally,” she clarified, “but you are. You’re scared. I can see it when you wake up and instantly try to dodge out of the window’s reach. How you flinch at every creak and groan of the wood as if you’re anticipating something to leap out and get you. I see it in your eyes as you spend hours staring into nothingness, lost in a place I can’t reach. You won’t even tell me what happened or what’s wrong, and you don’t have to , but it’s plain to see that you’re scared and you are running from confronting that fear,”

I remained silent for a while, grappling with how to explain myself to her. Even though she didn’t know the exact details of what happened between Astarion and me, her observation was astute. I was running but how could I not? Faced Astarion once more, the events that unfolded had changed him, and all I had done was stand there, paralyzed by fear. How could I ever face the love of  my life after such a failure?

Karlach sighed, drawing my attention away from the window. She shook her head softly as she rose from her seat. “It doesn’t matter,” she said reassuringly. “ You can stay as long as you need to.” Moving to the front door, she grasped the handle. I instinctively shuffled away from the door’s impending opening, noticing the flicker of sadness in Karlach’s gaze as she observed my reaction. 

“I’ll be back late again,” She continued, choosing to ignore my wariness, hopefully for my own sake. “This weather is slowing down the rebuilding process.” With that, she opened the door, allowing the chilly wind to rush into the warm room. “Soldier?” she called out, glancing back at me. 

“Yes?” I responded, my hair tousled by the gust of wind sneaking past Karlach’s figure.

“Think about what I said, okay?”

My mouth opened and closed, a retort forming in my throat, but I couldn't conjure up a believable excuse. “Fine,” I relented, rising from my spot on the floor and making my way to the corner with the washing basin. “I’m going to clean up.”

Without another word, the door clicked shut behind her, shutting out the rain and wind. Reflecting on my behavior, I realized it had been rude to turn her away like that. Karlach had shown me nothing but kindness since my arrival. Despite bombarding me with questions upon my initial arrival, she had relented when she saw I wasn’t ready to answer. Even without an explanation from me, she had allowed me to stay, going as far as picking up extra clothes for me from stores, deeming my ‘fancy’ attire too uncomfortable. Those same clothes now hung in her closet, as she had generously made space for them among her own belongings. 

Selecting a nightgown, I slipped it on, shedding the clothes I had worn previously. The fabric felt more suitable for sleeping, its loose fit offering comfort as it draped over my frame, its hem skimming just above my ankles. 

With a sigh, I retrieved my bedroll from beneath Karlach’s bed, unfurling it before settling into it. Sleep seemed to be my only respite lately. Sleep and avoidance of the issues I should be confronting. But facing them was easier said than done, especially when my own mind tormented me with memories. How was I supposed to confront something when my memories of it were so painful? How could I forget the suffering I endured simply because I was in love?

A scream of unparalleled agony echoed through the desolate halls, jolting me from my trance. I blinked, disoriented by the unfamiliar surroundings. The walls, constructed of cold gray bricks, seamlessly melded into the floor, sending  shivers up my spine as the chills seeped into the soles of my feet. The hallway stretched endlessly before me, devoid of any discernible beginning or end. Regardless of which direction I faced, the scene remained unchanged. Mantels, adorned with flickering torches, line the walls at regular intervals, yet their feeble light failed to penetrate the infinite darkness that loomed beyond. I blinked again, and suddenly found myself standing before a weathered wooden door.  

Another anguished cry pierced the air, coming from the chamber beyond the door. . 

Without hesitation, my hand moved of its own accord, grasping the doorknob and pushing the door open. What lay before me turned my stomach: the room was awash with blood, the crimson fluid pooling on the floor in a sickening display. It coated every inch of the chamber, making it hard to navigate without stepping into it. Strangely, aside from the eerie glow of the torches, the walls were bare, mirroring the emptiness of the hallway. I blinked once more, and in the periphery of my vision, I noticed it: a door partially ajar, nestled in the far corner of the room. 

Once more, my body moved of its own accord, propelled forward by an unseen force. Each step I took was accompanied by the sickening sensation of slick blood coating the soles of my feets, staining them with a stranger’s life. With trembling hands, I pushed the door ajar, allowing the flickering light of the torches to cast eerie shadows in the dimly lit room. 

I stood frozen in place, my heart pounding against my ribs like a frantic bird trapped in a cage. My breaths came sharp and ragged, as if struggling against an invisible weight pressing down on my chest. Every fiber of my being crackled with fear at the sight that unfolded before me.  

“Astarion?”

I whispered, the sound barely audible in the oppressive silence. But there was no response, only the echo of my own voice reverberating off the walls. Frantically, I repeated his name, each syllable clawing its way out of my throat in a desperate plea for acknowledgement. But my efforts were futile, as if my voice had been stolen away, leaving me with nothing but mute desperation. 

Clawing at my throat in a futile attempt to force sound from my lips, I felt my eyes widen in horror as they flickered between Astarion’s battered form and the blood-splattered walls surrounding us. The mere sight of him threatened to overwhelm me with a nauseating sickness, forcing me to avert my gaze. 

There he was, laid bare in his vulnerability. Curled into a pitiful heap in the corner of the room, he trembled uncontrollably, his arms protectively around his head as if seeking refuge from some unseen torment. His once flawless skin was now marred by a tapestry of wounds, some still seeping crimson rivulets. With each flinch, a new mark appeared, adding to the mosaic of his suffering. 

Suddenly, he was jerked from her fetal position by an invisible force, his body rendered limp as his hair was yanked back mercilessly. A sob tore free from his lips, mingling with the whispered please that spelled forth in a desperate cascade. 

Driven by instinct, I sank to my knees before him, cradling his battered face in trembling hands. Bruised and swollen beyond recognition, his eyes were nearly swollen shut, while blood trickled from his broken nose, staining his lips crimson. Tears mingled with the blood, their salty tails tracing paths down his bruised cheeks, a testament to the agony he had endured.

Even as I knelt before him, my tear-filled eyes pleading with his vacant gaze, it seemed as though I was but a ghost in his eyes. His stare was distant, unfocused, as if he looked through me rather than at me. A shiver of unease ran down my spine, my confusion deepening as I followed the line of his sight, searching for whatever phantom held his attention.  

There, looming over us with a malevolent grin etched on his face, stood Cazador -  the tormentor of my beloved, the architect of his suffering. His presence was suffocating, dripping with disdain as he regarded us with contempt. With a deliberate, calculated motion, he raised his arm, his lips moving soundlessly as if uttering a silent incantation. In the blink of an eye, his blade descended, its deadly edge slicking through the air with horrifying finality. A scream tore from my throat, mingling with Astarion’s own anguished cry. 

Gasping for breath, I bolted upright, the echoes of terror still ringing in my ears. My eyes darted around the room, seeking solace in the familiar sights that surrounded me. The flickering flames of the fireplace cast dancing shadows across the wooden floor, the rhythmic pattern of rain against the windows providing a soothing backdrop to my thundering thoughts. 

With a shaky exhale, I realized it had all been a dream - a nightmare that had gripped me in its icy grasp. Swallowing hard, I forced myself to confront the anxiety that still pulsed beneath my skin, gnawing at my resolve. Rising unsteadily to my feet, I disentangled myself from my bedroll and made my way to the front door, my heart pounding in my chest. 

As I stepped outside, the chill of the rain-soaked air enveloped me, drenching my hair and clothes in its icy embrace. Ignoring the curious glances and calls of concern that greeted me, I sprinted through the cobbled streets with single-minded determination. Only when I reached the imposing gates of the palace - my - did I allow myself to pause, my breath coming in ragged gasps. 

Pushing open the door, I was met with an eerie silence that hung heavy in the air. The dim glow of the palace offered little solace, casting long shadows that seemed to dance in the flickering light. 

“My Lady?” came a tentative voice, breaking the silence like a fragile whisper in the darkness.

Raising my gaze, I spotted Lucinda’s familiar brunette head as she approached, her arms laden with pristine white sheets. She regarded me with a tilt of her head, her expression inscrutable. 

“Lucinda,” I greeted her with a smile that I hoped masked the tension I felt. “Do you know where Astarion is?”

“Lord Ancunin is bathing,” she responded matter-of-factly, her gaze unwavering. 

“Thank you,” I murmured, offering a brief nod before ascending the stairs, my footsteps quickening with purpose as I made my way to the bathing chamber. As I pushed open the door, a rush of warm, moist air greeted me, enveloping me in its comforting embrace. 

Inside, I found him reclining in the large porcelain tub, his back resting against the smooth surface. His expression shifted from annoyance to surprise as he caught sight of me.

“Lover?”

I made no reply, closing the distance between us with determined steps. Without hesitation, I climbed into the tub, fully clothed, and nestled myself against his bare chest. 

His initial tension melted away as he relaxed into my embrace, his arms encircling me protectively. I breathed in his familiar scent, nuzzling my nose against his pulse point as we savored the simple intimacy of our closeness. 

But as I made to move away, his grip tightened, holding me in place. 

“I didn’t think you were going to come back,” he confessed, his fingertips trailing lightly across my arm, sending shivers down my spine and leaving goosebumps in their wake. 

“I was terrified, Astari,” I admitted, no longer willing to suppress my fears. “What you did was…it was horrible.”

“I know, and I am sorry,” he whispered, his voice heavy with regret. “Truly sorry. I don’t know what came over me…it was like…” He trailed off, his words lost in the depths of his turmoil. 

Pulling back from him, I held his gaze with unwavering determination. “No, you don’t get to do that,” I asserted, jabbing a finger towards his chest. “You do not get to shut me out like that. Keeping things bottled up is selfish, Astarion. It was selfish of you to push me away when I tried to help you with that dream. I won’t allow you to do the same now, especially after you threatened my life as it if meant nothing.” 

His jaw tensed, the muscles grinding as if engaged in a silent struggle. I knew I was pressing his buttons, but I was beyond caring. He needed to confront this, just like how I was. His lips formed a thin line. “I never meant to hurt you.”

“Really? Because it certainly didn’t seem that way to me,” I retorted, narrowing my eyes. His hands, resting against my waist, tightened slightly, betraying his inner turmoil. “Astarion, I need you to tell me what’s going on.”

His gaze bore into mine, the deep ruby of his eyes contrasting sharply with his pale lashes. “I’m locked in a constant battle with myself. I’m changing, I can feel it, but I don’t know if I can control it. I never wanted to hurt you, and seeing the fear in your eyes when I threatened you snapped me out of it,” he explained, gently tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear. “But by then, it was too late. You were already gone.”

“Is it still you when you lash out like that?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. 

He sighed heavily. “Yes,” he admitted, his expression pained. “It’s my emotions, but sometimes they overwhelm me, and I become the one person I wanted to escape from.”

“Astarion, don’t say that,” I pleaded, taking one of his hands in mine and guiding it to my cheek. “You are not him. The fact that you’re talking to me about it sets you realms apart from him.” Tilting my head slightly, I pressed a gentle kiss to his palm. “When this change happens, what seems to help you come out of it?”

“You,” he replied simply, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. 

“Me?” I echoed, surprised. 

“Yes, my Darling. Even in my darkest moments, I would never hurt you”

“But-”

“I never stopped protecting you from the sun,” he interjected, cutting off my protest. “You never lost it.”

Studying him closely, I noticed the weariness etched into his features, the grief and darkness that had descended upon him since his ascension. Furrowing my brow I pressed him further. “Describe this feelings to me, in detail.”

He hesitated for a moment, gathering his thoughts. “It;s like a constant whisper in my mind, manipulating my emotions to its advantage,” he explained slowly. “I try to resist it, but sometimes I lose control, and my actions become erratic. Each time I regain my sense, it becomes harder to ignore these impulses. It pains me to admit it, but while it’s still me acting, the emotions driving those actions are not my own.”

I swallow deeply. This was unfamiliar information I didn’t know in my past life, one I never encountered even during the darkest times. Yet, it all makes sense now - how Astarion gradually succumbs to this unseen force, losing more of himself with each passing moment. I lift my gaze to him, offering a faint smile. 

“Use me.” I suggest catching him off guard. 

“What?” His brows knit together in confusion, his expression reflecting his puzzled state. 

“You mentioned that somehow I have the ability to pull you back from this haze,” I explained. “So use me. Utilize me in any way necessary to retain yourself. I’m willing to do whatever it takes.”

Worry creases his face, his fangs lightly grazing his bottom lip in contemplation. “Are you sure? I could put you in danger”

“Absolutely,” I affirm, leaning in to place a reassuring kiss on the crown of his head. “You’re talking to the girl that destroyed an Elder Brain.”

His arms encircle my waist, tightly as he buries his head against my chest. My fingers weave into his hair, tangling in the soft white curls. He murmurs a grateful ‘thank you’ against my chest, his thumbs stroking the fabric of my damp nightwear soothingly. We lingered in that embrace for a while until Astarion insisted that I had to bathe properly. He peeled off my nightwear, letting it fall to the tiled floor with a wet ‘plop’. As he runs his fingers through my hair, my mind swims with thoughts. The vivid dream, coupled with the newfound knowledge of Astarion’s condition, fills my thoughts. It’s not much, but it’s a starting point- a beginning that I desperately needed. 

[pearlypairings]

Coffee and Contemplation

*chapter 4 posted*

sneak preview from AO3:

TW: canon violence/body horror for TP & ST, nightmare sequences. Proceed with caution

The first thing Dale Cooper noticed, when he realized he was no longer at the bed & breakfast, was the blaze of the fireplace to his right, nearly catching the sleeve of his suit on fire.

He was in a parlor room, but nowhere he’d been before based on his initial impression. The scorching heat of the fireplace blackened the photo frames propped on the mantle and scarred them beyond recognition. From his seat on a rustic armchair,  he watched as a strange red aura seeped through the lofted ceilings, casting a ripple of blood-stained distortion down over the room.

Suspended upside down, a fleshy, gray flower-like chandelier bloomed wide to reveal a violent pistil full of sharpened thorns in neat rows. The shoots of slick roots expanded from the center of the room, connecting to all of the furniture like an intricate circuitry for existence. The strange flower vibrated with malevolent life.

Dale stood up and followed one of the thickest roots, guiding him out the doorway crowned by an ethereal dust floating against the pull of gravity. The root pulsed under his watchful eye and slinked up ahead, beyond his field of vision into the hallway. Turning to the left, the root exploded into smaller intercepts all over the rest of the house. The only inanimate object untouched by the pervasive roots was a commanding grandfather clock leaning tall against torn wallpaper billowing in the hall. 

Tired, but menacing, the grandfather clock towered over the foyer like a stoic stalker. No matter where Dale moved in the room, the face of the clock never strayed from view, invisible eyes stuck to him at all angles. The weights inside the case were covered by webbing, thick and grimy like stormy sea foam tainted by commercial tankers. As if waking to his presence, the weights struggled to lift against the resistance of the webs.

A loud tone caught his attention, as the clock began to chime with the rise and fall of chains and the pendulum bobbing back and forth, tangled in the thick network of web. Dong. Dong. Dong. Dong. Dale counted only four chimes, but the clock face conveyed a different time entirely. The hour hand of the clock short circuited over the roman numeral XI, unable to click past the number after the tolling finished.

The foyer shook violently with frames crashing down the stairs and the sound of wood splintering in the process. When Dale turned to run towards the front door,  a flash of light paralyzed him through the entryway windows. The stained glass of the door reflected its design onto the cracked floorboards— an inverted, dark blue rose near his feet— stretching across red shadows willed into existence by the house. 

With the image fading with the light, Dale backed away from the tremors of the hall into the dimly lit dining room. Everywhere he turned greeted him like an uninvited guest wearing out the courtesy of his host. Dark mahogany cabinets scattered their own troubling shadows near the edges of the table. Amidst the shadows, a sickly girl, donning a Hawkins varsity jacket, pulled out the head chair for Dale with skeleton fingers clutching the wood frame. 

A spread of various side dishes decorated the clothed table along with four place settings, but none at the seat he was offered. At second glance, he realized mealy worms wriggled free of the side dishes and a layer of green sludge slid over the remains of a turkey carcass. His jealousy of the other place settings ceased with his appetite long gone.

Nevertheless, Dale obliged the teenage girl, recognizing her to be Chrissy Cunningham when he stepped closer to sit. An eerie flavor of fear stretched her face, silencing her lips with amateur stitching.....

[bedbreakfastoregon]

Oregon Bed and Breakfast: Where Comfort Meets Adventure

Oregon Bed and Breakfast: Where Comfort Meets Adventure

Oregon, known for its diverse landscapes and outdoor activities, offers a unique blend of tranquility and excitement. Whether you're a seasoned traveler or a first-time visitor, the allure of Oregon's natural beauty is undeniable. Nestled in this breathtaking environment is a haven that perfectly balances comfort with the thrill of adventure: the Oregon Bed and Breakfast. Located in the heart of the state's most scenic areas, this bed and breakfast in Oregon is more than just a place to stay—it's an experience that captures the essence of Oregon's spirit. Visit us at www.sumpterbnb.com to learn more.

A Warm Welcome in the Heart of Nature

Upon arriving at the Oregon Bed and Breakfast, you'll be greeted by the warm, inviting ambiance that defines the experience. The charming architecture of the inn, with its rustic yet refined design, immediately sets the tone for your stay. Each room is thoughtfully decorated to reflect the natural surroundings, featuring cozy furnishings, soft linens, and large windows that frame the stunning views of Oregon's forests, mountains, and rivers.

The innkeepers, passionate about hospitality, ensure that every guest feels at home from the moment they step through the door. Their knowledge of the local area is invaluable, providing personalized recommendations for activities and excursions that suit your interests. Whether you're seeking a relaxing retreat or an action-packed adventure, they are eager to help you craft the perfect itinerary at the best bed and breakfast in Oregon.

The Perfect Base for Adventure

Oregon is a playground for outdoor enthusiasts, and the Oregon Bed and Breakfast is ideally located to take full advantage of the state's natural wonders. From the majestic peaks of the Cascade Range to the rugged coastline of the Pacific Ocean, there is no shortage of adventures waiting to be discovered.

For hiking aficionados, the nearby trails offer a range of options, from easy strolls through old-growth forests to challenging ascents up volcanic peaks. One of the most popular hikes in the area is the trek to the summit of Mount Hood, where you'll be rewarded with panoramic views of the surrounding wilderness. For a more leisurely experience, consider exploring the Columbia River Gorge, where you can walk beneath towering waterfalls and through lush, moss-covered canyons.

Water lovers will find plenty to enjoy as well. The region is home to pristine rivers and lakes, perfect for kayaking, canoeing, or fishing. The Deschutes River, in particular, is renowned for its world-class fly fishing, offering the opportunity to catch trout and steelhead in a serene setting. If you're up for a bit more excitement, try white-water rafting on the Rogue River, where the rapids provide an exhilarating ride through some of Oregon's most remote and beautiful landscapes.

Relaxation and Rejuvenation

After a day of exploration, return to the Oregon Bed and Breakfast to unwind and recharge. The inn's serene setting makes it the perfect place to relax, with plenty of quiet corners to curl up with a good book or simply take in the views. The spacious porch, overlooking the gardens and surrounding woods, is a favorite spot for guests to enjoy a glass of wine as the sun sets behind the mountains.

Indulge in a soothing soak in the outdoor hot tub, where you can soothe your muscles while gazing up at the star-studded sky. The clear, dark skies of Oregon provide some of the best stargazing opportunities in the country, and there's nothing quite like the peacefulness of a quiet evening spent under the stars.

Inside, the common areas are equally inviting. The cozy living room, with its stone fireplace and comfortable seating, is the perfect place to gather with fellow travelers or simply enjoy a quiet evening by the fire. A selection of board games, books, and movies are available for your entertainment, ensuring that even on rainy days, you'll find plenty to do.

Farm-to-Table Dining Experience

One of the highlights of staying at the Oregon Bed and Breakfast is the farm-to-table dining experience. Breakfast is a true delight, featuring a variety of homemade dishes prepared with fresh, local ingredients. From fluffy pancakes topped with Oregon's famous marionberries to savory omelets filled with seasonal vegetables, the menu is designed to showcase the best of the region's produce.

Many of the ingredients used in the kitchen are sourced directly from the inn's own garden, where herbs, vegetables, and fruits are grown organically. The innkeepers take great pride in their garden and are always happy to give guests a tour, sharing tips on sustainable gardening practices and the joys of growing your own food.

In addition to breakfast, the inn offers picnic baskets for guests heading out on a day of adventure. These thoughtfully prepared meals are perfect for enjoying in the great outdoors, whether you're picnicking by a mountain lake or taking a break on a scenic hike. And for those who prefer to dine in, the inn can arrange for a private, candlelit dinner, served in the comfort of your room or in a secluded spot on the property.

Immersing in Local Culture

Beyond the natural beauty and outdoor activities, Oregon is rich in culture and history. The Oregon Bed and Breakfast is a gateway to exploring the local heritage, from the historic towns and villages to the vibrant arts scene.

A short drive from the inn, you'll find charming small towns like Hood River and Bend, where you can stroll through art galleries, browse local boutiques, and sample craft beers at one of the many microbreweries. These towns are also home to numerous festivals and events throughout the year, celebrating everything from music and art to food and wine.

For history buffs, the region offers a fascinating glimpse into Oregon's past. Visit the nearby Oregon Trail Interpretive Center to learn about the pioneers who journeyed westward in search of a better life. The center's exhibits and living history demonstrations bring the story of the Oregon Trail to life, providing a deeper understanding of the challenges and triumphs of the early settlers.

Sustainable Travel

At the Oregon Bed and Breakfast, sustainability is a core value. The inn is committed to minimizing its environmental impact through eco-friendly practices such as energy-efficient lighting, water conservation, and waste reduction. Guests are encouraged to participate in these efforts, with recycling bins provided in each room and information on how to reduce energy use during their stay.

The inn also supports local conservation initiatives, working with organizations dedicated to preserving Oregon's natural landscapes and wildlife. By choosing to stay at the Oregon Bed and Breakfast, you are not only enjoying a memorable vacation but also contributing to the protection of the environment.

A Memorable Experience Awaits

Whether you're seeking a peaceful retreat in nature or an adventure-filled getaway, the Oregon Bed and Breakfast offers the best of both worlds. With its comfortable accommodations, stunning surroundings, and endless opportunities for exploration, it's the perfect destination for travelers who want to experience all that Oregon has to offer.

Looking for places to stay in Sumpter Oregon? Perhaps you're searching for Sumpter Oregon lodging? Or maybe you typed in b&b near me while planning your trip? Look no further! Book your stay today at Sumpter Bed and Breakfast and discover why so many guests return year after year. Whether you're planning a romantic weekend, a family vacation, or a solo journey, you'll find that the Oregon Bed and Breakfast is a place where comfort truly meets adventure, making it one of the best places to stay in Oregon. Whether you're after a vacation rental by owner in Oregon or seeking the charm of a b&b in Oregon, this is your perfect escape.

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[woodcrafted]

Embracing Rustic Home Decor : A Journey Back to Simplicity

In a world that’s increasingly fast-paced and technology-driven, there’s a growing desire to reconnect with nature and embrace the simple, unpretentious beauty of the past. Rustic home decor perfectly captures this yearning, offering a timeless aesthetic that is both cozy and charming. With its roots deeply embedded in the rural lifestyle, rustic decor brings a sense of warmth, comfort, and authenticity to any living space.

Rustic home decor is characterized by its use of natural materials, earthy colors, and an overall sense of organic simplicity. It’s a style that draws inspiration from the rugged beauty of the countryside, often incorporating elements like weathered wood, stone, and metals that have a history and a story to tell. But rustic decor isn’t just about looking back—it’s also about creating a space that feels lived-in, inviting, and deeply personal.

The Essence of Rustic Home Decor

At its core, rustic home decor is about embracing the imperfections of natural materials and celebrating their raw, unrefined beauty. Unlike other design styles that prioritize sleek, polished finishes, rustic decor welcomes the rough textures of wood grains, the uneven surfaces of stone, and the patina of aged metals. These imperfections are not flaws but are instead cherished as they add character and depth to a space.

Wood is perhaps the most defining element of rustic home decor. Whether it’s reclaimed barn wood used for flooring, exposed wooden beams that draw the eye upward, or handcrafted wooden furniture, the warmth and texture of wood are integral to creating a rustic ambiance. The beauty of wood in rustic decor lies in its diversity—each piece of wood, with its unique grain pattern and knots, tells a different story, contributing to the overall narrative of the space.

Stone is another material that features prominently in rustic decor, often used for fireplaces, accent walls, or even flooring. The rugged, natural appeal of stone brings an earthy quality to a room, grounding the space in the natural world. The use of stone in rustic decor isn’t about achieving perfection; it’s about appreciating the natural variations in color and texture that make each piece unique.

Metal, particularly in its aged or distressed forms, also plays a role in rustic decor. Wrought iron fixtures, copper accents, and galvanized steel can add an industrial edge to a rustic space while still maintaining the overall warmth and coziness of the style. These elements are often used sparingly, as accents that complement the dominant wood and stone features.

Colors and Textures

The color palette of rustic home decor is inspired by the natural world, with earthy tones dominating the landscape. Shades of brown, beige, and gray are commonly used, often accented with deep greens, warm reds, and soft blues. These colors create a soothing environment that feels grounded and harmonious.

Texture is another essential component of rustic decor. The juxtaposition of rough, weathered surfaces with softer, more inviting materials like linen, wool, or cotton creates a balance that is both visually and tactilely pleasing. For example, a wooden dining table with a distressed finish might be paired with upholstered chairs, or a stone fireplace could be softened by a plush area rug and cozy throw blankets.

The layering of textures in a rustic home not only adds visual interest but also enhances the sense of comfort and coziness. This layering can be seen in the combination of different materials, such as wood, stone, metal, and textiles, as well as in the use of different finishes and treatments, like distressed wood, patinated metal, and woven fabrics.

Furniture and Accessories

The furniture in a rustic home is typically sturdy, functional, and often handcrafted. Pieces like wooden tables, leather armchairs, and wrought iron bed frames are common, each chosen for their durability and timeless appeal. The design of rustic furniture is often simple, with clean lines and minimal ornamentation, allowing the natural beauty of the materials to take center stage.

Accessories play a significant role in bringing a rustic space to life. These are often items with a sense of history or personal significance, such as family heirlooms, vintage finds, or handmade crafts. Items like ceramic vases, woven baskets, and iron candlesticks can add a touch of rustic charm, while elements like animal hides or antlers can introduce a bit of the wilderness into the home.

Lighting is another important aspect of rustic decor, often achieved through the use of fixtures made from natural materials like wood, metal, or glass. Lantern-style lights, wrought iron chandeliers, and Edison bulb fixtures are popular choices, casting a warm, inviting glow that enhances the cozy atmosphere of the space.

Creating a Rustic Atmosphere

The atmosphere of a rustic home is one of warmth, comfort, and unpretentious elegance. This is achieved not only through the materials and colors used but also through the careful curation of space. Rustic decor is about creating an environment that feels welcoming and lived-in, where every item has a purpose and a story.

One way to create this atmosphere is by incorporating natural elements into the decor. Fresh flowers, potted plants, or even a bowl of pinecones can bring the outdoors inside, enhancing the connection to nature that is so central to rustic decor. Additionally, using natural light to illuminate a space can enhance the rustic feel, highlighting the textures and colors of the materials used.

Another important aspect of creating a rustic atmosphere is embracing the concept of wabi-sabi, the Japanese philosophy of finding beauty in imperfection. In a rustic home, this might mean leaving a wooden table unfinished, allowing its natural grain and knots to be fully appreciated, or choosing furniture and accessories that have a worn, lived-in appearance. The goal is to create a space that feels authentic and unpretentious, where the imperfections are celebrated as part of the home���s unique character.

Conclusion

Rustic home decor is more than just a design style; it’s a way of life that embraces simplicity, authenticity, and a deep connection to nature. By focusing on natural materials, earthy colors, and the beauty of imperfection, rustic decor creates spaces that are warm, welcoming, and full of character. Whether you’re living in a rural farmhouse or a modern city apartment, incorporating rustic elements into your home can help create a sanctuary that feels both timeless and grounded.

In a world that often feels overwhelming, rustic home decor offers a retreat into simplicity and a reminder of the enduring beauty of the natural world. It’s about creating spaces that are not just visually appealing, but also deeply comforting, where every item has a story and every room feels like home.

[ypgoz9939s]

The Ultimate Guide to the Chicest Cabins in Big Bear Elegance in the Mountains

Big Bear is renowned for its stunning landscapes and outdoor adventures, but it's the chicest cabins in Big Bear that offer an unparalleled experience of luxury and comfort. These cabins blend rustic charm with modern elegance, providing a perfect retreat for those seeking a stylish getaway. Nestled in the heart of the mountains, the chicest cabins in Big Bear feature top-notch amenities, breathtaking views, and unique designs that cater to every taste. Whether you're planning a romantic escape, a family vacation, or a solo retreat, these cabins offer the perfect setting for relaxation and rejuvenation. Discover the chicest cabins in Big Bear and indulge in an extraordinary mountain retreat that you'll never forget.

What Makes the Chicest Cabins in Big Bear Stand Out?

When it comes to mountain retreats, the chicest cabins in Big Bear truly stand out. These cabins are not just places to stay; they are experiences in themselves. What sets them apart is their unique blend of rustic charm and modern luxury. From the moment you step inside, you'll be captivated by the attention to detail in every aspect of the design. The chicest cabins in Big Bear feature high-end finishes, cozy fireplaces, and expansive windows that frame breathtaking views of the surrounding mountains and forests. They offer a serene and stylish escape from the hustle and bustle of everyday life, making them the perfect choice for discerning travelers.

Top Amenities Offered by the Chicest Cabins in Big Bear

The chicest cabins in Big Bear are renowned for their top-notch amenities that ensure a comfortable and luxurious stay. These cabins are equipped with state-of-the-art kitchens, plush bedding, and spa-like bathrooms, offering a home-away-from-home experience. Many of the chicest cabins in Big Bear also feature hot tubs, private decks, and outdoor fire pits, perfect for unwinding after a day of adventure. Entertainment options are plentiful, with high-speed internet, large flat-screen TVs, and sound systems available in most cabins. Whether you're looking to relax or stay active, the amenities in these cabins cater to all your needs.

The Best Locations for the Chicest Cabins in Big Bear

Location is key when it comes to choosing the chicest cabins in Big Bear. These cabins are strategically situated to offer easy access to the best that Big Bear has to offer. Whether you're interested in skiing, hiking, or simply soaking in the natural beauty, you'll find the perfect cabin in a prime location. The chicest cabins in Big Bear are often nestled in secluded areas that provide privacy and tranquility, yet they are still within close proximity to popular attractions and activities. This ensures that you can enjoy the best of both worlds – a peaceful retreat and exciting adventures.

Design and Décor Inside the Chicest Cabins in Big Bear

Step inside the chicest cabins in Big Bear and you'll be greeted by stunning design and décor that exudes elegance and comfort. These cabins are meticulously designed to create a warm and inviting atmosphere. Natural materials like wood and stone are used extensively, complemented by modern furnishings and stylish accents. The chicest cabins in Big Bear often feature open floor plans, allowing for seamless flow between living spaces. Large windows bring the outside in, creating a connection with the natural surroundings. Every element of the design is thoughtfully chosen to enhance the overall aesthetic and provide a luxurious living experience.

Family-Friendly Features of the Chicest Cabins in Big Bear

For families seeking a memorable mountain getaway, the chicest cabins in Big Bear offer an array of family-friendly features. These cabins are spacious and well-equipped to accommodate families of all sizes. Bunk beds, game rooms, and outdoor play areas are just some of the amenities that make these cabins ideal for family vacations. The chicest cabins in Big Bear also provide convenient access to family-oriented activities such as skiing, hiking, and boating. With plenty of space for everyone to relax and play, these cabins ensure that both parents and children have an enjoyable and comfortable stay.

Romantic Getaways Chicest Cabins in Big Bear for Couples

For couples looking for a romantic escape, the chicest cabins in Big Bear provide the perfect setting. These cabins offer a cozy and intimate atmosphere, with features like private hot tubs, fireplaces, and luxurious bedding. The chicest cabins in Big Bear are often located in secluded areas, providing privacy and tranquility for a romantic retreat. Whether you're celebrating an anniversary, honeymoon, or simply seeking some quality time together, these cabins offer a serene and stylish environment where you can unwind and reconnect. Enjoy a candlelit dinner on the deck, soak in the hot tub under the stars, and create lasting memories in one of Big Bear's chicest cabins.

Adventure Awaits Outdoor Activities Near the Chicest Cabins in Big Bear

Adventure enthusiasts will find plenty to do near the chicest cabins in Big Bear. These cabins are ideally located close to a variety of outdoor activities, ensuring that there's never a dull moment. In the winter, you can hit the slopes at Big Bear Mountain Resort or go snowshoeing in the pristine wilderness. In the summer, hiking, mountain biking, and water sports are popular options. The chicest cabins in Big Bear serve as a perfect base for exploring the great outdoors. After a day of adventure, you can return to your luxurious cabin to relax and recharge for the next day's activities.

Conclusion

Exploring the chicest cabins in Big Bear offers a unique blend of rustic charm and modern luxury, providing an ideal setting for a memorable mountain retreat. Whether you're looking for a romantic getaway, a family vacation, or an adventure-filled escape, these cabins cater to all your needs. With top-notch amenities, stunning design, and prime locations, the chicest cabins in Big Bear ensure a comfortable and stylish stay. Plan your visit today and experience the best that Big Bear has to offer.

[jooheonspinky]

Kpop Dream Log 57: with Jung Kook

September 25, 2023, Monday (2)

A/N: This is a continuation to Dream Log 56 which you can read here.

It seems there was a continuation of the previous dream but, though I remember a lot of details about my room, there isn’t much that actually happens.

So this one starts with me lying in bed. My bed is full size with a navy and cerulean blue comforter. The frame was wood, bulky and the short posts were square, very rustic. The bed fit along the shortest wall at the end of the room. 

The room was a rectangle shape. It was small and made of stone. They bulged a bit, so the wall wasn’t flat. There was a fireplace along the longest wall and a small rounded table for two opposite it. After you pass the table it’s just a few steps before you reach the next shortest wall and I had a large trunk there next to the arched door way.

Anyway, the room was chilly so I had a small fire going. It gave the space a soft orange glow that didn’t really reach the bed area. I had put the newspaper with the ashes into a small box and placed it on the table. I knew the next day I would have to turn it into his family. I was so heartbroken, I just curled up under the comforter and cried myself to sleep.

While I’m asleep, the ashes begin to smolder before it incinerates. A bright white-yellow light, like those champagne type fireworks, illuminates my room and that wakes me up. I sit up and shield my eyes until the bright light extinguishes. My mouth hangs open as I look over to the table.

Jung Kook’s naked form is curled up in the fetal position on the table. His skin is pale and glistening, his hair soaked and plastered to his scalp and forehead. 

And this is when I wake up. It seems he was a Phoenix.

Dream Log Masterlist

[becoration]

Decorate your home in autumn with trending colors and textures - Interior Decoration

Post has been published on becoration

Decorate your home in autumn with trending colors and textures - Interior Decoration

Autumn is the perfect season to give your home a new look. As the leaves change color and the weather gets cooler, it’s time to create a warm and cozy atmosphere indoors. Let’s consider incorporating autumn colors by decorating the walls, furniture, and upholstery. Include the orange tones of autumn leaves, brown, mustard yellow, green, velvet red, navy blue, and purple. It is also important to incorporate natural materials such as natural stone for countertops, wood for floors and furniture.

Nature-inspired textures such as rattan and mosaics or tiles with different patterns for the kitchen. We must remember that outdoor spaces during this transition from summer to autumn should not be forgotten. Occasionally the temperature drops a bit but still feels pleasant, on those days you can enjoy gardens on terraces or patios. It is ideal to continue using them in autumn, preparing cushions in autumn colors, adding thick-textured blankets and fireplaces to withstand the weather.

If you have the opportunity, it is the best option to continue enjoying nature, admire the green and feel the fresh air on our skin. Colors and textures that are trending in autumn for home Incorporate earthy tones for a natural feeling. When it comes to autumn, earthy tones are essential. Incorporating warm tones such as burnt orange, golden yellows, rustic browns, and deep reds will immediately give your home that pleasant autumn vibe. Consider using these colors on accent walls, cushions, and curtains. Not only will they add depth and character to your space, but they will also create a natural ambiance.

Add texture with fabrics and materials. Textures play a crucial role in creating visually interesting and cozy environments. In autumn, opt for cozy fabrics such as velvet, faux fur, and thick weaves. Place soft blankets on your sofas and chairs, or layer them on your bed for an extra touch of warmth and comfort. Incorporating textured materials such as rattan, wicker, and natural wood also adds a rustic element that perfectly complements the season. Use metallic accents to add elegance. To add a touch of glamour to your autumn decor, incorporate metallic accents.

Gold, copper, and brass accessories such as candle holders, vases, and photo frames can elevate the overall look of the space. Subtle touches of shiny metals alongside the warm earthy tones will create a harmonious mix of elegance and comfort. Bring nature indoors with fresh flowers and plants. Autumn is a season of abundance, and there is no better way to celebrate it than by bringing nature indoors. Fresh flowers and plants not only add beauty to your home but also purify the air and create a relaxing atmosphere. Opt for autumn flowers such as sunflowers, dahlias, and chrysanthemums.

Additionally, consider placing potted plants with colorful foliage such as crotons or coleus to add pops of vibrant tones to your space. Create a cozy ambiance with lighting. Lighting can have a significant impact on the ambiance of a room. During autumn, opt for soft, warm lighting to create a cozy atmosphere. Use warm white or amber-toned light bulbs in your lamps and sconces. Consider adding string lights or LED candles to create a warm glow. Don’t forget to incorporate candle holders and lanterns to create the ambiance of cool autumn nights. Experts recommend layered lighting as the best way to create a cozy atmosphere suitable for autumn decor.

Floor lamps or placed on shelves and side tables sufficiently illuminate a room without having to add ceiling lights. Add seasonal accessories for a festive touch. Add a touch of seasonal festivity by incorporating autumn-inspired accessories throughout your home. This could include decorative pumpkins, wreaths made of dried leaves or pinecones, or a bowl filled with scents of cinnamon, cloves, and nutmeg. These small additions will enhance the autumnal atmosphere and make your home feel cozy and festive. Renew your bedroom with autumn bedding. Create a cozy autumn retreat in your bedroom by updating your bedding. Choose sheets and duvet covers in warm colors such as ochre, burgundy, or dark green. Add layers of fluffy blankets and cushions in complementary colors and textures. Embrace the season by incorporating autumn patterns such as tartan or floral prints. In conclusion…

Decorating your home in autumn is all about embracing the colors, textures, and nature-inspired accessories. By incorporating warm earthy tones, cozy fabrics, metallic accents, fresh flowers, and seasonal details, you can transform your home into a cozy sanctuary that reflects the beauty of the season. So, embrace the falling leaves and cool breezes, and create an autumn retreat in your own home. Photos: Unsplash and Pixabay.

Source: Opendeco, decoration news in Spanish

[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

Words: 2,740 Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader Reader pronouns: she/her Era: Alexandria, pre-Negan Warnings: language (duh, it's me), violence, gore, typical TWD A/N: This is part of a series! Find the other parts on my Master List! Summary: Daryl discovers something in the cabin and continues to be surprised by Y/N's kind treatment of him.

Your name: submit What is this?

Daryl found himself in the bathroom, leaning over the sink basin and staring at himself in the mirror. He was somewhat gaunter than he had expected and he ran a hand over the stubble on his face. His hair was long and hanging far past his eyes. He stripped off his clothes and turned the shower on, turning it as hot as he could stand and stepping underneath the spray. He let it run over his bruised and sore body, turning his face up to feel the spray, stinging all the little cuts and scrapes all over him. His feet were particularly bad from all the travel, bloody and blistered and definitely needing some medical attention and rest.

When he climbed out and pulled his clothes back on, the heat from the shower, the sensation of being clean, safe, warm, and fed, resulted in a level of exhaustion that he couldn’t fight. He threw back the blankets on the bed and settled into the soft mattress, sinking heavily into the pillows.

He felt like he was in the fucking twilight zone, staring up at the exposed beams above him, surrounded by the smell of detergent and the shampoo he’d scrubbed through his hair. It felt like hardly a minute before he plummeted into an unusually heavy sleep.

He woke mainly from an urgent thirst and sat up in bed abruptly, disoriented for a moment and grasping for the familiar hilt of his knife until he remembered that it wouldn’t be there. Climbing out of the bed, pulling the shade aside and glancing out, he could see that it was fully daylight and he had the sense he had slept for an extremely long time.

He hesitantly pushed out of the bedroom into the main living area and scanned it. There was no sign of you or the dogs, but there was a healthy bed of coals in the fireplace. Moving farther into the room, he saw that the door to the other bedroom was standing ajar and the bed was unmade with swirled sheets and blankets. No sign of you though. He noticed all your piled winter gear was absent from where you’d dumped it by the door previously. He turned and went into the kitchen, grabbing a drinking glass from a cabinet, standing over the sink, and gulping down the crisp, cold water until he almost felt sick.

He wondered where you were. The cabin was quite silent.

Daryl went back into the bedroom he’d stayed in and began to look around, curiosity leading him. He stirred the coals in the fireplace and tossed more wood on, quickly fanning it into lively flames. His eyes wandered over the walls. They were mainly adorned with the type of wildlife art you would expect to see in any cabin, but there were a few old photographs too, framed in rustic wood. A man was smiling as he held up a huge fish in one, and in another a young family posed around a campfire, marshmallows roasting on sticks.

There was a cedar chest beneath the window and Daryl found it stocked with extra linens and blankets. He made his way over to a chest of drawers against the opposite wall. There were a few photos in frames sitting on top of it and his eyes were immediately drawn to the largest, despite the fact that it was toward the back. He gently nudged the others out of the way and gulped anxiously as his fingers closed around the frame.

Before he even really had time to process what he’d just discovered he heard a sudden flurry of activity out in the other room, including a door slamming shut with the wind and you obviously talking to the dogs in a hushed voice. He wandered out to see you stomping snow from your boots and snowshoes and pulling off your winter gear, heaving it down carelessly in a pile again.

You looked up suddenly, sensing him standing there, and you seemed to survey him for a moment. “Hey,” you greeted him. Strider and Bear both came running over to him at full tilt, their bellies and snouts crusted with snow. “You look better,” you commented. “Rested.” He did. His skin was brighter and the dark circles that had been under his eyes were diminished. “You needed that sleep. I guess almost freezing solid really takes it out of you.” Daryl straightened up from patting the dogs and watched you pulling off your heavy coat.

“How long was I out?” he asked.

You had to admit that his southern drawl was pleasant. “Close to fifteen hours I think,” you said as you smoothed your hair. “You’re probably starving.” You sank down onto a small bench by the door and started to pull your boots off. You pressed your hands over the chill on your cheeks and realized his blue eyes were unwaveringly fixed on your face. “You want something to eat?” you prodded again.

Daryl was just staring at you still as you climbed to your feet again and your eyes caught on his expression. There seemed to be a shadow settling over his face and it gave you pause. “Are you okay?” you pressed him again. “Feeling alright?”

He gulped and nodded a little vaguely.

You still felt slightly uneasy. You could sense some tension in him. That’s when you noticed that he had a picture frame dangling in his hand. He saw your eyes wandering to it and suddenly realized he was still holding it. He clasped it gently again in both hands, looking down at it steadily for a long moment. His voice broke through the tense silence before you could ask him about it. “Uhh… yeah, ya know, I—I am actually hungry,” he said. “Just—be right back.”

You watched, still puzzled, as he disappeared back into the bedroom but you shook it off. Strider settled down in front of the fireplace and you stepped carefully over his wagging tail to revive the coals into a happy blaze, warming your chilled fingertips. Bear jumped up onto the couch, content to snooze after a morning of exploration outside.

A moment later, Daryl returned and you glanced up and gave him a perceptive look. His expression hardly changed at all. Stoic, this one, you thought. “Help yourself to whatever you want in the kitchen. The fridge has a bunch of stuff in there.” You sat down on the stone hearth and leaned against it.

He looked uncertain and maybe a little surprised at your open offer. “Ya got enough?”

For some reason, this made you laugh and Daryl watched as you jumped up and led the way into the kitchen. “Come on,” you said, beckoning him with a tilt of your head.

He trailed behind you and watched as you went to stand beside the fridge. You shot him another small smile and pulled the door open. He not only saw the container with the venison stew from the day before, but an abundance of opened mason jars with various canned goods on the other shelves. “I had a huge garden last summer and canned a bunch of stuff. If you don’t want anything that’s in here,” you paused and yanked the freezer door open and Daryl’s eyes wandered over the packed contents, “find something in here, or…” You shut the freezer and for the first time Daryl noticed a large chest freezer tucked into the corner, “here. Or the pantry.”

He stared at the almost full freezer chest. His eyes shot up to your face. His expression was a bit dumbfounded. “Some of it is from before, you know, before the outbreak but most of it,” you shrugged. “As you can imagine there isn’t much to do here alone so… I hunt. And trap. And fish. Better to be prepared in case a big storm or something hits.”

Daryl picked up a vacuum sealed package of meat. It was meticulously labeled with the date it was harvested and the contents. They all were. He stared back at the freezer, his blue eyes narrowed and you laughed again at his expression. He tossed the meat back down and you shut the lid. “Like I said, help yourself to whatever. Obviously, I don’t have a food shortage. Some of the pantry items are a little more limited right now, besides the stuff I canned last summer. I haven’t done any scavenging for supplies this winter so a few things are running low.”

Daryl was overwhelmed. It seemed like an impossible amount of food and you were telling him he could have any of it? Choices? Having a choice of what to eat wasn’t really a thing anymore. In this world you had to be grateful for whatever you could get, whether it was roadkill or grilled venison. So, not only had you pulled him out of the snow and saved his life, but you were readily sharing all your supplies with him… a complete stranger. He realized you were waiting for him to say something and he pulled himself out of his own head long enough to say he was fine with just having some more of the venison stew. He didn’t want to impose on you anymore than he already was. You didn’t owe him a damn thing. To the contrary, with the way the world was and how some of the people in it acted now, he wouldn’t have blamed you at all if you’d left him to freeze.

Before he could make a move to do it himself, you pulled the stew out and dished it into a pot which you set on the stove to heat.

Daryl sank down on a stool at the counter and watched you busying yourself around the kitchen. “So, uhh,” he rubbed his hand over the stubble on his face, “what were ya doin’ out there today?” he drawled.

“Checked the snares first thing this morning, then did a little tracking just to see what we could see. Took a detour to one of our favorite spots just for the hell of it. Foraged a bit, but nothing too exciting this time of year. Just enjoying being outside and burning time mainly, you know? Nothing else to do really, besides curl up with a book maybe.”

He nodded. “Ya,” he agreed. “That all comes in handy nowadays. Knowin’ how to track and hunt,” he drawled, picking at a small chip in the counter absently with his thumb.

You nodded. “Pretty much the only way to make it these days. I haven’t been back to that spot yet,” you said, studying the way his wavy hair, now clean and shiny, was falling into his eyes. “To look for your pack and crossbow, I mean. Was planning to tomorrow.”

He nodded. “Thanks. Ya dun have to. I mean, I can go myself if ya tell me where to look,” he said.

Your brow furrowed low over your eyes. “You should still take it easy. It’s only been a couple days since I found you out there, and I have a feeling you had a long, hard trip even before you hit that spot of bad weather.” Your gaze was perceptive, almost knowing. You suddenly bent and opened a cabinet. You set a first aid kit down on the counter, close to Daryl. “I, uhh, noticed you were a bit banged up. Your feet especially,” you said, feeling a slight flush in your cheeks at the awkwardness of the situation. Here was a complete stranger and you’d already basically completely undressed him, seen most of his body. Your mind flickered back to the stunned horror you’d experienced at the sight of all those scars on his chest and back. You again wondered what fucking nightmare he’d lived through, only to find himself landed in another with a rotating cast of corpses. “Use whatever you need out of that kit,” you said softly.

Daryl pulled his bottom lip in between his teeth and chewed it anxiously. His blue eyes flickered back up to you as you turned away and stirred the venison stew on the stove. He shoved down a sudden upwelling of feeling that tightened his lungs. “Ya don’t get many dead up here?” he asked, purely out of a desperate need to distract himself from the place his mind kept going to.

“Not this time of year. The cold freezes them,” you explained. “I find them out there in the snow. Sometimes when I almost trip over them and others times they’re just standing there like some kind of sick totem pole or scarecrow or something.”

“Does it kill ‘em?” he asked. “I mean… ya know what I mean?”

You turned to face him and leaned back against the counter, crossing your arms over yourself, subconsciously shielding yourself against some bad memories. “Some of them. Others… I’m not sure if they just never froze solid or what but they start moving again when it warms up. Like, some frogs and turtles can actually freeze up to 70% of their bodies in the mud during the winter and they just thaw out when the weather warms. Their hearts even stop.” You paused and gulped, realizing you were getting off-topic, but he was still peering at you with quiet interest. “Anyway, the first winter I spent up here, spring was a rude awakening when some of them started thawing out and walking again. These days I stick a knife in their skull when I find them. Better not to risk it.”

Daryl nodded. “Good call.”

The stew was hot and you dished some out into two bowls and slid his over across the counter. You both dug in, though you noticed that he seemed to eat much more slowly than he had the day before, despite the fact that he should probably be almost equally famished after 15 hours asleep. A silence fell between the two of you as you ate. Strangely, it wasn’t uncomfortable.

Daryl dragged a hand across his mouth when he was finished and pushed his bowl slightly back, leaning forward on his arms. “Thanks,” he drawled. “Again.”

You nodded and gave him a small smile.

“So, you been up here by yourself this whole time?” His eyes narrowed as he asked.

You nodded, averting your eyes away toward the counter. “Yeah. Besides playing music, your voice is the first I’ve heard in… I don’t know how long.” Shit. Was admitting that weird? He probably thinks you’re a fucking weirdo now. But Daryl didn’t seem phased by your admission.

“S’gotta be hard,” he said. “Ain’t easy goin’ it alone these days.” He knew that well.

Your face contorted a little as you thought about the world before the turn. It was easy to get in touch with friends and family anytime you wanted. Now, you sat and wondered if any of them were even still alive. “It can be,” you admitted quietly, and Daryl thought he saw some profound sadness on your face and his stomach turned. “But at the same time, hard to trust anyone these days. I wouldn’t know how to go about finding people to trust.”

Daryl swallowed the big bite of stew in his mouth. “Ya say that, but ya decided to bring me in,” he pointed out.

You glanced up and met his eyes. Daryl thought yours seemed a little wide, a little bewildered for a moment. You turned them back to your own bowl. “I told you. Wasn’t my call.” You looked over toward the other room and Bear was sitting in the doorway now. His tail thumped against the floor when he noticed you looking at him.

Daryl nodded. “Remind me to bring ‘em back the biggest damn bone I can find,” he drawled.

You let out a small amused noise and Daryl gulped at the tightness which started in his throat and seemed to travel downwards to settle between his lungs. He wanted nothing more than to let you go on living this relatively peaceful existence in the mountains of Montana, but he hadn’t crossed over half the country for that.

[hometoursandotherstuff]

The Jersey Ice Cream Co. is a Design Company that decorates with flea market finds and salvaged materials. Here’s a home called “Magic Egg Farmhouse”  they did. In this home they combined a formal antique look with rugged rustic, sometimes in the same room. 

I like the faux patina they do on the walls and some of the unique touches- the photo above has a portrait on the left with a stack of letters tied to it with twine.

In the office nook they fashioned a curtain rod from two twigs.

In the hall outside the bathroom, is a lovely leafy wallpaper with a vintage painting.

A powder room painted deep blue with brass accents.

Roughly hewn walls in the dining room give it a very rustic effect.

The kitchen has modern cabinetry and appliances, but the wall is rustic wood with mostly vintage kitchenware.

In the mudroom is a sink for potting plants.

The master bedroom has a lovely fireplace, but the feature wall behind the bed is rustic.

This bedroom has a vintage reproduction patterned wallpaper.

A child’s room has a petite vintage print.

What an incredible sink! 

And an equally incredible tub. Look at the dark zinc interior and the old iron frame. That’s very unique.

https://www.jerseyicecreamco.com/projects/

[thevulcanbobdylan]

Touches #10 🥺

#10: happily doing everything with just one hand, if it means they don’t have to let go

I love this 🥺 I actually considered writing this scene for Looking Through Glass, but I ended up worrying about word count and doing it a little differently... so consider this an alternate/deleted scene. It’s also a sneak peek for a future chapter, so maybe some of this will make it into the final edit after all.

“... So without further ado, Admiral, Madam President, welcome to your cabin.”

Lee stepped aside and into the crowd. The expectant energy of the gathered humans and cylons faded into the background as Bill shared a glance with Laura. Emotion surged in him - if only he could undo their argument and his snappishness. He had no way to show his contrition with a look. She gave him a wavering smile, and he could only hope she understood.

Surprising him, she took his hand. It was a reflexive, magnetic gesture - not an offer extended, but an irresistible impulse. Holding on tightly, he let himself be led up the steps to the porch.

Her other hand was on the doorknob when she glanced at him again, and he tried to nod encouragingly. She took a steadying breath and opened the door.

Bill could only imagine how Laura must feel when they stepped inside; for him, it was akin to stepping into a dream. He’d be lying if he said he’d ever really developed a mental image of the place. Perhaps it had been an act of self-preservation, forcing it to remain theoretical - to remain Laura’s dream, and hers alone. Maybe he’d pictured something vaguely square, squat, low-ceilinged and dim. This cabin was none of those things.

The breeze across the lake was blowing invitingly through the open southern window, and the sunlight gleamed on the smooth wood floors. Empty of furniture, the interior felt spacious and airy. The one large room was divided by a partial wall that housed a stone fireplace, separating the cabin into two halves. Directly ahead of them was the makeshift kitchen, with a counter along the wall and a deep basin to serve as a sink.

Lee and his cylon architects had spared no detail. To their right, the north-facing window was framed by floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. Bill had stepped in and out at various stages of the construction - had even passed through that morning on his way to set up his gift to Laura - but now he felt he was seeing the whole of it for the first time. Maybe he, like her, had closed off his mind to the reality of it, until now.

When the initial awe began to fade, he became aware of her hand, still clasped tightly in his. With her other hand she was brushing tears from her cheeks, turning from side to side without letting go, her lips parted in absolute wonder. The first place she took him was to the fireplace, running the fingers of her free hand over the stone mantle, letting her eyes be drawn up to the gently sloping roof. Then she turned and pulled him over to the bookshelves, feeling the sturdy wood as though afraid it would turn to dust under her touch. 

It was a sensory experience for her, touching every feature and detail, convincing herself it was real. Bill, trailing behind, not letting go, had eyes only for her. Her bare feet; her short curls - she looked at home here already, and it filled his heart to bursting. Her tight grip on his hand was his lifeline, pulling him out of their disagreement and the ensuing awkwardness, bringing him home.

At long last, she dragged him in the direction of the bedroom. His gift was hidden from view by the fireplace, and he hung back, forcing her to turn into him to avoid letting go of his hand.

“My gift for you,” he said, nodding toward the other room. Her eyes widened, and she gave him a tentative little smile, and nodded, and they stepped through the door together.

It was a bed, big and sturdy, with rustic head and foot boards and an overstuffed mattress. Bill watched as Laura covered her mouth with her free hand, closing her eyes as tears spilled over.

He pulled her into an embrace.

“This is what you’ve been working on?” she said into his shoulder. He nodded with his cheek against her hair.

Without another word, she pulled back from him, one hand still clasped in his, and drew him down onto the mattress. They sat facing one another, and he watched in rapt silence as her watery gaze swept the ceiling and landed on the window, with its view of the lake.

There was a catch in her voice when she said, “it’s perfect.”

With his free hand, he thumbed the tears from her cheek.

She laughed at herself then, and touched his face in return. “We should go out,” she said. “They’ll be waiting to hear what we think.”

A little reluctantly, they rose to leave, retracing their steps through their unfamiliar new home until they reached the front door, and hand in hand, stepped out into the daylight.

[wintersongstress]

Sex headcanons for Arthur?😏

Alright I didn’t want to get too carried away with this, so I apologize for this not being as explicit as you may have hoped 😩

~~MATURE THEMES BELOW THE CUT~~

✿ — In a word, Arthur is devoted when it comes to intimacy. 

✿ — He has had few partners in his life. Once he fell in love with Mary all he wanted was to do right by her, but after she broke off the engagement he had a moment of weakness with Eliza. One that had consequences. If his sense of self-worth crumbled after Mary’s rejection, it was all but decimated after his failings as a father. 

✿ — Opening up his heart to another woman will be off the table for a long, long time. Because of his past, he cannot allow himself to be selfish and seek comfort recklessly. Only someone who knows him, truly, and does not ask to him to give what he does not have can begin to undo the years of ingrained self-loathing. 

 ✿ — Those entrenched feelings, however, can be dismantled. Arthur is not a lost cause. If you are the one to insist he deserves affection and companionship, you best believe Arthur will treasure you. He is helpless to deny your fondness for him, reciprocating it tenfold. 

✿ — Slowly, slowly, he will come around to accepting your touch, and more. He will do everything he can to make you as happy as you make him. With how much you allay his uncertainties, the emotional connection you two form is indescribable and the most important thing in his life. You become the very summit of his life’s hopes of domesticity, an elevation before abandoned. 

✿ — Once that connection is established, that ultimate act of vulnerability and giving each other everything hovers over the both of you.

✿ — The first time is heaven: peaceful, perfect, and unplanned. 

✿ — Caught in a storm near Strawberry, you and Arthur hurried in from the downpour, seeking shelter at the quaint hotel in town. Rainwater drenched every inch of your clothes, dribbling down from your hats in a steady stream as you ducked under the porch and stepped inside. A courteous fire welcomed you and radiated the lobby, throwing shadows over the racks of elk horns decorating the rustic walls and the arrangements of stuffed wildlife. Arthur spoke with the clerk and paid for a room and a bath for himself while you warmed your hands by the flames.

✿ — The room was spacious and charming. Sconces glowed with honeyed light, limning the outlines of pictures frames on the dusky walls. On the bedside table a vase of lilies prettied the corner with its pearlescent petals, arranged so a faint perfume wafted from the snowy blooms. Quilts blanketed the large four-poster bed, and beyond the curtained windows rain pattered against the panes, instilling a soothing ambience.

✿ — Arthur discards his hat and unbuckles his gun belt, placing them on the dresser. You swallow at the metal clink of his suspenders as he sheds them, jumping slightly when he squeezes your shoulder and kisses the back of your neck. “I’ll be back soon,” he promises, and leaves the room.

✿ — Thunder rumbles overhead as you get a fire going in the hearth. The wood and kindling catch easily, and soon a dry crackle fills the space with warmth. You divest your sodden clothes, wringing them out over the porcelain water pitcher and draping them over the fireplace screen to dry. As you wait in your undergarments, your heart pounds wildly in anticipation. Arthur and you had never spent the night at a hotel together, alone. Though no part of you is afraid of being with him, an uncertainty lurks in your thoughts towards somehow ruining the meaningful bond you formed with him outside of physical intimacy in crossing this threshold.

✿ — As you light a few candles, Arthur’s footsteps creak the floorboards as returns from his bath. He enters the room with his pants on over his union suit, his hair damp and rivulets of bath water glistening his neck. The hairs of his chest peek out from his shirt, dark with water and shining in the firelight. In the mirror’s reflection he meets your eyes as you shake out the match, turning to him with a smile.

✿ — “Hi,” you breathe. For a moment the room is quiet, Arthur at a momentary loss for words. You bite your lip as he takes you in your appearance: the cream white of your stockings, the lacey frill of your drawers, the book of laces along your corset, and lastly the translucence of your chemise. Your eyes shyly snag his as you step closer, admiring the way the light of the fireplace passes over his features. His gaze is warm and gleaming as he smiles, sweeping over your face with admiration.

✿ — “You look so beautiful like this,” he says. His knuckles glance your cheek lovingly, lingering before drawing an idle caress down the hollow of your throat. Your lashes lower. “Can I kiss you?”

✿ — A little breathless at his wonderment, all you can do is nod before he closes the gap between you.

✿ — The first thing Arthur reaches for is your face. His hands cradle your cheeks completely, his thumb parting the expectant seam of your lips before touching them with his. The faint smack of his mouth against yours melts away the sounds of the rain and the crackling fire, until all that exists is him and you and the butterflies fluttering in your chest. His mouth is soft compared to the strength of his hands as they curve down your arms and seek your waist, slipping warmly beneath your clothes to bring you closer. When your breasts press flush against him you rise on your tiptoes and tangle your hands in his hair, the kiss turning feverish.

✿ — Arthur yields the softest moan against your mouth, his brows tightening like his hands around your hips. You want him closer. You want him to go faster but oh…Arthur took his time with everything that night. 

✿ — Amidst the luminance of half-burned candles, the lines of Arthur’s body rolled over yours, his lips pressed lushly to your throat as he groaned at how perfect you were and how long he wanted to be with you like this. The utmost reverence accompanied the coursing touch of his hands, learning the dips and curves of you he deemed beautiful as your nails dug crescents of need in his back. In the moments when you let go before him, his strong arms held you, and when he grew lost his fingers entwined with yours, the only place he thought they belonged in that breathless, fleeting moment. 

✿ — The rain stormed and the hours of the night passed unseen, but in the end you fell asleep against his bare chest, feeling warm, tired, and cherished. 

[keltonwrites]

I bought a house in the middle of nowhere

“Yeah, I loved it, but she’d never move there.” It was something akin to that, at least. He didn’t mean any mischief, no deceit or planning. It was an honest take on what, at the time, was true. I saw the road into town on Google Maps, noted that it was closed during the winter, acknowledged the reality that a person can own a snowmobile, and I said, “we are not moving there.” But, all good truths are just dares in the making.

And here I am, living in the “there” I said I would not. Two years ago, I left my job at Headspace for a life reset. It was pre-pandemic, and Ben and I were planning a big road trip. Our perfect paradise in Topanga, CA, had crystallized itself as many people’s perfect paradise, and those “many people” all had more money than us. Our options to buy a home were nil, and home-buying was essentially all we wanted. Ben’s a builder and I’m a world builder, and we wanted somewhere to invest that didn’t belong to someone else. We packed the car with the tent and the bikes and the dog and all the things that come with tents and bikes and dogs, and off we went on our own Tour de l’Ouest, looking for a place to call home. We knew what we wanted, knew our odds of finding it, and hit the road anyway. Here was the dream list — concocted by two pie-in-the-sky dummies who married each other:

Not rainy or consistently windy

Notable access to the arts

Remote and challenging to get to/close neighbors

Wild West influenced architecture

Progressive community

Exceptional trail access out the front door

High-speed internet

In our budget

And my personal favorite: had to “feel right” Good luck to us with a list like that, but thus began our hunt. We camped in the snow, tried every dirty chai in the Rockies, and explored every town we could. Whatever a good time it was, it felt useless. Every town Ben was OK with, I hated. Every town I was OK with, Ben despised. And the few places we both loved required money we just didn’t have. We came home with our sails down, limping into the harbor of our rental. But as is the way with romantics, our dreams began to slowly eclipse our reality. Books fell victim to Zillow and Trulia. TV was replaced by the MLS. All writing time was dedicated to Realtor.com. Hours were spent pouring over maps, county records, and updating spreadsheets that tracked price per square foot compared to beds and baths. Over time, all that internetting led to one singular town of 180 people at 10,000 feet in the San Juan Mountains of Colorado with a road that said “Closed Winters” on Google Maps. Look, I don’t know what happened. Ben found this town on a map, I said don’t be ridiculous, and after a year or so of him telling people I'd never move here, here I am, being ridiculous. Was it reverse psychology? Maybe. Was it the charming “town plan” that mandated all houses be rustic cabins and forbade AirBnB? Could be. Was it the fact that when I looked at Strava’s Heatmap, it showed what seemed like thousands of miles of trails just out the front door? I mean, yes. All these things played a part, but all I know for certain is that one day I woke up and said, “we’re going to move there.” Ben doubted this conviction (and the realities behind it) thus cementing it into place in my head. In a town of 180 people there’s only ~60 houses, which means maybe 2 or 3 get listed per year — but my spreadsheet had the proof: we hadn’t missed our chance yet in this tiny town. The data showed a strong likelihood there would be at least two houses listed within the calendar year. This, however, was also our last chance. The spreadsheet also showed that if we didn’t find a house this year, we wouldn’t be able to afford one the next. We called a realtor, made our case, and harangued her until she believed us that we were truly the kind of yahoos who would move to an avalanche field and stay there. And then it happened. A pocket listing. It was a darling home built in 1890. It had the beds, the baths, and the views. We were the first and only to know. We put in an offer, they agreed, and we would come to see the house in a few weeks. But in those few weeks, the circumstances changed. The sellers lost their own sweet deal, and they couldn’t sell yet. Their agent promised we had right of first refusal, it was only a matter of time. Ben lamented, I preached patience, and we went to see the house that was no longer for sale anyway.

It was a quiet winter morning in Covid when we drove across the packed snow to meet our realtor outside the house. The sun was out and the 13 degrees Fahrenheit felt warm. I unzipped my jacket, mask on my face. I took long videos and talked about where I would set up my office and where we’d put the bikes. As we closed up and I settled into a future where this house would eventually be mine, our realtor told us there were comps in the area — other residents quietly interested in potentially closing out. Would we like to see them? Sure, let’s.

One home came with an incredible commercial kitchen. The whole house was a whopping 3500 sq ft if my memory serves me correct, which falls under the category of “houses too big to find your cat in."

Another home had an open-air-to-the-kitchen bathroom.

The third was dark and overpriced with cracked windows and open beer cans scattered about.

And then, plans changed.  “Hey guys, there’s actually one more house we can see.” The last house we saw was a log cabin, nestled in the hillside by itself, with massive A-frame windows looking out onto the peaks beyond. Inside was a labyrinth of a life lived long and large. The cabin was built and loved by a man we’ll call Jack. Jack was 82, and as we walked toward the front door on that sunny winter morning, he exited with two beers in his pockets, headed to the mountain to ski. Jack was an attorney — in his life he’d been both criminal and defender — and from the stories, somewhat interchangeably. There were artifacts from running in the same scenes as Hunter S. Thompson and Willie Nelson; there were stuffed birds, bad books, sheet-covered couches, smoked spliffs, and piles and piles of mouse shit. Every inch of the house was lived in, and not just by people. You think millennials like plants? No. This man likes plants. The biggest monstera deliciosa I’ve ever seen, spanning some 10 feet wide and 15 feet tall. Draping cactuses, spider plants, massive aloes, and an ambitious hoya carnosa clawing its way to the top of the massive fireplace. But there were problems. I’m trying to be diplomatic saying the house was lived in. The wood by the door handles was dyed black from years of hand grease rubbing against it. The carpet in the upstairs was soiled almost everywhere with bat scat. Newspaper was stuffed between the massive logs to keep the wind out. There was cardboard taped over almost every window, blankets nailed over the others. Half the doors wouldn’t open. It was unnerving to touch the crusted light switches. It was early enough in the season of Covid-fear that touching anything felt like gambling. On our way back to our rental in the bigger neighboring town, we shared our awe and our no-ways, lamenting how long we’d have to wait for the little 1890s fixer upper. That night, I sent the video I took of the cabin to my parents. “Can you believe this?” I asked. And do you know what my dad said? “Great log construction.” After that, the cabin was all we could talk about. “Could you believe those plants?” “Did you see how big those logs were?” “I just googled Jack, look at this.” “Do you know what the insulating factor of logs is?” “How much did he say he was asking?” It came down to the plants. Amidst all the chaos in that house, the tender care of those decades-old plants sung the clearest. This wasn’t just a place Jack lived in, it was a place that wanted to be lived in. We made an offer the next day.

Jack had six months to clear out his 30 odd years of collecting, and the town had six months to speculate about the worrisome Californians moving to their high-altitude, high-risk town. The town itself is an old mining town. It rests in a high valley, surrounded by peaks over 13,000ft, and is over six hours from the nearest major airport. Five people died around this town in avalanches this past year. The dirt road into town is littered with avalanche fields, warning visitors to not stop when driving in. The other way out is a pass road, only drivable in the warm months, but you could skin out if it was dire. Most August days, the high is in the mid-60s. The valley is blanketed in wildflowers, and the aspens littering the mountainsides suggest a promising fall display. The town had a heyday, a low day, and now it’s a community of preppers, adventurers, appreciators, and “get all these idiots away from me”ers. We don’t know these people yet, but the ones we’ve met have the same like to live hard attitude we do. Heli-ski guides, ex-CIA agents, woodworkers, bakers, teachers, just a general can-do group of people. The kind of people that see a California license plate and peer with skepticism between the thin gap over their sunglasses and under their caps.

You might say I’m romanticizing the place, but the residents are worse. Like all good old-timers, they’re full of threats: “wait’ll you see the snow drifts,” “let’s see how you do outrunning an avalanche,” “good luck with the winds,” “the last Californians didn’t last a year.” God, what does that remind me of?

“Yeah, I loved it, but she’d never move there.”

With every taunt, my teeth ground more enamel, fingers rolling into a clench. And maybe Jack recognized this intensity, because on the day of closing, he hosted a gathering for us in the town's open space. He had us introduce ourselves to the skeptical locals, and I made my case in court, eyes narrowed and lips curled. “I’m the daughter of a smokejumper and wildlife biologist. I grew up watching the wind and the door. I’ve lived in big cities, small boats, and more than one cabin. I always take the stairs, I never use air-conditioning, and I’m a very good shot.” I’m just a girl, standing in front of a town, asking them to give her a fucking chance. Jack stepped forward to speak. “You know, I had my doubts about a couple Californians coming to look at my house. But these people? These are the nicest people you’re ever gonna meet.” And then I helped Jack set up his cot so he could spend his last night under the stars in the town that kept him young. Cooper ran circles with the other dogs. People brought homemade cocktails and bowls of dip and we felt welcomed. Even the mayor, a fellow writer, came and she struck up a conversation. “I hear you’ve got a little bit of a following on social media!” She teased. “I guess, nothing wild.” “Well I just wanted to let you know if you ever geotag this town, I’ll drag you out of it.” She grinned. This was a special place. And every visitor who couldn’t handle the realities of being here threatened the very wellbeing of the people who lived here. This town survives on a delicate balance. They source their own water, manage their own roads, and fervently protect the land and the people around them. Their stories about racing avalanches, snowmobiling in the dark of night to the doctor’s house, hunkering down in each other’s homes as the storms pass — these stories were bylaws. You can join when you’ve proven you’re ready to join. By their own projection, they are hardy and steadfast people, and when they see a Californian, they see something fleeting. Many years ago, I worked in the British Virgin Islands. The people born and raised there were called Belongers. At the customs office, the placards above the lines literally read, “If you belong, stand here” and “If you do not belong, stand here.” Whether or not we belong isn't up to the town council, and it's not up to these residents. It's up to years spent drifting my old Mustang in the snow on the way to school, up to Ben's months and months spent in the backcountry, up to my years of reading fire reports and assisting with evacuations, up to Ben's ability to read the landscape and the weather, up to my doggedness, his diligence, and our pathological love to do difficult things well. It’s up to us, to these old logs, and to this valley. Doesn't mean we'll belong, but it does mean we'll try. And for the record, the road is open in the winter. But do these sound like the kind of people who’d tell Google that? Next week, a tour of the house that we get to call ours — stuffed with newspaper, run by plants, and filled with mice. P.S. Here's where we get our mail.

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