#and no fireplace linen panels

[fysanayairani]

Wallpaper Bedroom (Boston)

[mortalclace]

Philadelphia Living Room

Example of a large transitional enclosed medium tone wood floor living room design with beige walls, a standard fireplace, a wood fireplace surround, no tv and a music area

[sh-inaam]

Living Room - Transitional Living Room Large transitional enclosed medium tone wood floor living room photo with a music area, beige walls, a standard fireplace, a wood fireplace surround and no tv

[expectopatronope]

Denver Master Bedroom

[fayes-fics]

The Secrets We Keep: Pt II

<< Part I

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: Knowing someone your whole life doesn’t mean they can’t surprise you… (part II, see above for link to part I)

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, loss of virginity, vaginal fingering, oral sex (m to f), cunnilingus, hand job, vaginal sex, woman on top, orgasm. Also a lot of fluff and a few dashes of angst.

Word Count: 8.5k (13.6k for complete fic, including Pt I)

Authors Note: Part 2 of 2. Part 1 linked above. My longest gestating WIP! It’s been more than 18 months since I received a request for this secret diary fic. Tulip Anon, I have no idea if you still follow me, but I hope you think I did your detailed request justice. Here is the conclusion to this Benepic! Betaed by the awesome @colettebronte, who I can’t thank enough. Enjoy! 🫶

-vii-

The first thing you feel is throbbing pain, an insistent drum in your head, mouth dry as if you have been chewing cotton wool—the instant regret of excessive drinking floods through you. However, when your eyes reluctantly peel open, your predicament escalates.

You have no earthly idea where you are. Or how you got here. The last thing you remember was Benedict kissing you; then the room was literally spinning from entirely too much brandy. 

Still in the dress you wore yesterday, but tucked under crisp white linens. A trace of a familiar scent upon the pillow that you cannot quite place in your fuzzy state. Gingerly sitting up, you try to get your bearings, not yet awake enough to have any reaction beyond puzzlement. 

The room is darkened, thankfully, save for a sliver of the rising sun that slashes across the bed through a narrow gap in the curtains. You are in a large mahogany four-poster bed; the room is decorated in rich jewel tones—heavy velvet burgundy drapes and dark blue Persian rugs, panelled walls on which stunning artwork hangs. Embers glow in a nearby fireplace as you spy your pelisse hanging on the back of a door and your shoes neatly arranged nearby.

Then you twist and see the bedside cabinet, and your stomach plunges.

There, alongside a glass of water, is your notebook. Your secret notebook. The one that should still be concealed within the hidden pocket of your pelisse. But instead, it is here. And what is worse, it is open. Open to a page with one of your favourite sketches of Benedict: his eyes crinkling against the strong rays of the sun, a carefree smile on his face.

Instantly, you grab it and slam it shut. Fingernails drumming urgently on its silken cover, now hugged into your chest. Horrified that your mystery generous benefactor, who must have seen you to bed, has also been privy to your most private thoughts. 

Galvanised by a need to solve the mystery of who, you relinquish your tight hold on the tome. It is then that a folded letter slips out of its pages and drops into your lap. Tentatively, you unfurl the paper and are aghast by the headed notepaper declaring the author and revealing your host. The worst possible person you could think of.

But then your gaze falls to the elegant script inked onto its thick parchment, and your life is indelibly altered.

Dearest Y/n

I hope you are well-rested. There are so many things I am impatient to impart, but I must begin with an explanation and, indeed, an apology.

You are in my bedroom, at my lodgings. I brought you here as I saw no other option that would guarantee your safety and welfare, which is always my utmost concern.  I made pains to ensure your arrival here was not seen, and I must assure you, in case your recall is uncertain, that nothing has happened between us beyond our kiss. 

Now onto my apology, which is two-fold, although I suspect it should contain multitudes more. Firstly, my most sincere and unreserved apologies for my ungentlemanly conduct at our last two encounters. As wondrous as those kisses were, they were nonetheless inexcusable. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive my impulsive actions.

Secondly, I must apologise for my discovery of this, your private diary. My knowledge of its existence is purely accidental; I removed it from your coat merely as a wish for your possessions to be in neat order upon your awakening. My knowledge of its contents, however… for that, I must throw myself at your mercy and beg for your forgiveness. Curiosity and liquor are not the best companions, and it seems both got the better of me. 

In what I hope is partial recompense, I will confess a secret of mine. Arguably selfish in nature and most likely the worst possible timing, too. However, given what I have now seen, I am utterly compelled to convey it….

I love you, y/n.

Most ardently and most truly. 

There is no person in the world I would rather spend time with. Whose thoughts I am always impatient to know and whose every moment I wish to be a part of. For some time now, you have occupied my every thought. 

It is why I felt compelled to act when I heard from Eloise about your impossible situation. I will do anything within my power to assist you. It is why I said that I want to alleviate your burdens. I meant every word and more. My happiness is seemingly inextricably calibrated to yours—when I see you happy, it brings me great joy, and when I see you are not, it brings a pang to my chest I know not what do with. 

I would have taken these feelings to my grave… were it not for this diary. When what I found hidden within ts pages gave me the exquisite burden of hope. Hope that perhaps you return my affections? May indeed have done so for quite some time as well? 

I must also take a moment to compliment your poetic talent, and that is to say nothing of your artistic abilities, which quite frankly are humbling. Dare I dream of a day that we could paint together? Sorry (Again! Multitudes indeed!), I am likely getting far ahead of myself.

I will not be home when you read this. Partial cowardice on my part, no doubt, but born out of utmost respect. You always deserve the right to choose, y/n, and that includes what you do with this confession. I do not wish for you to be obligated to see me or let me know your response, thoroughly eager though I am to hear of it. 

If you wish to speak to me before your wedding ceremony, please leave your hair ribbon tied to my phaeton upon your departure. I will find a way to see you. If you do not, I shall, of course, respect your decision. 

A vila mon coeur, gardi li mo: You will always have my heart; I hope you also choose to be its haven.

Benedict

You could read this confession a thousand times over and still scarcely believe it; the depth of his feelings declared plainly, boldly, and so lyrically in writing. You pour over it once more, giddily aglow, your fingers tracing across his elegant, looped script, your lips moving as you mouth his words, needing to have them within you somehow. Then, you lovingly refold and place the letter between the last two blank pages of your notebook—a more fitting denouement to its contents you could not imagine.

You put on your shoes and pelisse, still floating on a cloud. A valet meets you in the hallway and, with a wordless nod of acknowledgement, leads you out of the rear mews entrance, handing you a large silk scarf to conceal yourself under. With one final glance up at Benedict’s abode, you unfurl the ribbon from your hair and, insides aflutter, tie it in a neat bow onto his phaeton before wrapping the scarf around your head and stealing out onto the streets of Mayfair. 

-viii-

Still in a daze about Benedict’s confession, you slip into the servant's entrance of your family home, tiptoeing through the dormant kitchen and tugging off the scarf. Just as you believe yourself home-free, Mrs White, head cook and ersatz maternal figure, materialises from the pantry, nearly dropping a bag of flour in surprise.

“Lawks alive, sweet child, you gave me a fright!” she exclaims, clutching her chest. “Pray tell, why are you sneaking into my kitchen at the crack of dawn?”

You cringe and turn sheepishly to meet her gaze. “Sorry for the scare, Mrs White. I, um, indulged rather too heavily last night. I was in no fit state to return home. I stayed with a trusted friend.” The truth, albeit behind a veil of obfuscation. “Please do not tell Father!” you add hurriedly.

As she plunks down the flour and smacks her fingers together to rid them of its nascent dust, she chuckles. “I shall not divulge if you do not… for I was already under your father’s employ when I did the same many years ago, the night before I made my Harry an honest man.”

“Deal!” you giggle, clutching your notebook tight to your chest, unable to quash the ebullience fizzing in your being.

“You look as if you caught a rainbow and sold it to the sky,” she declares, crossing her arms and observing you closely. “Wedding day excitement, yes?!” she adds pointedly with a raised eyebrow, even as her tone very much suggests she suspects otherwise. 

“Of course, Mrs White…” you concur, attempting to conceal the quirk of your lip. 

She rolls her eyes and shoos you affectionately towards the hallway. “Away with you! I suspect the less I truly know, the better…”

You say nothing; just give her a nod and race up the servant's stairs, keen to make it to your bedroom unseen. 

As soon as you are safely there, you toe off your shoes and only then relinquish your vice-like grip upon your notebook to hurriedly change into your nightgown as if you had been asleep in the house all night. Enacting a plan you conceived on the brisk walk home, you grab a night bag from your ottoman. Flinging open your wardrobe, patently ignoring the wedding dress hung upon its door, you bundle the notebook with a couple of your favourite outfits and stuff them into the bag. Buckling it shut while you scoot across the room, you open the sash window and  - with a quick check of the garden below - drop the bag into the large rhododendron beneath, hopeful the dense, fragrant blooms will conceal its presence for now.

Just as you are closing the window, a gaggle of ladies descend upon your room, led by your fussing mother, your ladies' maid Rachel among them. Realising she has had to lie to keep your cover since yesterday at the modiste, you silently shoot her a brief look of reassurance.

“Rise and shine, darling!” your mother chimes. “‘Tis your most special day!”

And then everything is a blur as the preparation for your wedding starts in earnest, you still slightly detached from it all, your thoughts purely of Benedict. It is only sometime later that you get a few moments of peace with just Rachel as she puts the finishing touches to your look.

“You seem changed, my lady…” Rachel opines sotto voce, sliding a pin into your hair.

You say nothing, even as your eyes meet in the vanity table mirror, unwilling to confess details of what has transpired just yet. Unsure yourself even what it could mean until you get the chance to see Benedict yourself, your stomach in knots to do so.

“I told your family you took dinner alone last night in your room after returning from the modiste, and then you went to sleep…” she whispers, leaning in even though you are alone.

“Thank you. I am truly grateful,” you offer sincerely before adding: “I will tell you more when I am able. I do beg one more favour of you…?”

She makes eye contact again in your reflection, giving a brief tentative nod after a pause.

“If you should hear from a Bridgerton valet, please follow any directions he provides,” you implore, the image of your hair ribbon fluttering gently in the breeze emblazoned in your mind.

“A valet? Not a ladies’ maid?” she checks softly, frowning.

“Yes, just please… do as he asks?”

“Yes, my lady,” she demures before reaching for your jewellery.

It is only as the carriage you and your mother ride in shudders over the cobblestones towards St George’s church an hour or so later that reality comes crashing in. 

So engrossed in thoughts of seeing Benedict all morning, you had almost forgotten the dreadful fate that likely awaits you. A sudden spike of fear that he will not turn up, that something will prevent him from seeing you, or, heaven forfend, today’s stiff breeze has blown your hair ribbon asunder. 

All at once, your head is spinning, your dress feels too tight, and there is a plunging dread in the pit of your stomach, your skin prickling hard before your vision seems to swim with dots before narrowing to blackness…

“Y/n!? Whatever is the matter?!” your mother’s alarmed voice rings out as you woozily return.

You are slumped sideways against the glass window, its cool surface a balm on your suddenly fevered temple.

“Is it what I told you about your wedding night…?!” she frets, her laced glove tickling your forehead as she appears to be checking your temperature. “I can assure you, you will get used to it…”

You bat her away and slowly sit upright, taking a calming breath while also trying to blot out the memory of her talk about marital relations right before you left the house. Not able to confess it as unnecessary without raising suspicion, you had to endure a stumbling, unhelpful explanation of things you already know. Indeed, you have witnessed at Granville’s parties, even if you have not taken part yourself. 

But then the sudden thought of being required to do such with Lord Farringdon has you grasping the curtain, your empty stomach heaving at the mere prospect. The silent hope that Benedict can assist you at the eleventh hour is the only thing that stops you from passing out anew.

With a shaky gait and a queasy, oily feeling, you alight a few moments later, your mother lending an arm of support as your father and brothers pile out of the other carriage. This is to be the entirety of your wedding guest list. You have pulled into a side courtyard of the church, concealed behind high walls, away from the inquisitive sights of the Ton. The rushed nature of the union and Whistledown’s latest means your family has no wish for this to be a public event, keen to be rid of scandal. Only your immediate family, your husband-to-be and the vicar - a friend of your father’s - know of today’s ceremony. Well, and Benedict. You did not even get the chance to inform Eloise of this expedited schedule.

As he leads you up the stairs and into the side vestibule, your father informs you that Lord Farringdon is already awaiting you at that altar and that he will appreciate a swift ceremony. You swallow thickly and nod mutely, sensing the window of opportunity creaking closed with alarming alacrity, each incessant tick of the church clock seeming like both forever and not enough time, scrabbling for any chance to stall.

Just as you are about to lose all sense of hope, you see movement over your father's shoulder that has your heart leaping into your throat. There, through a mullioned window, you see the distorted outline of a phaeton swiftly pulling up on the other side of the church from where you entered, a palpable wave of relief and excitement washing over you. 

Benedict has come!

-ix-

“Father, may I please have a moment alone?” you rush out breathlessly, pulse-pounding hard in your ears. Hoping he will interpret your request as mere nervousness about the imminent ceremony, you add: “Before I must take this big step and become a wife?”

He reluctantly grants your wishes, brusquely telling you it should be brief before following the rest of your family through the doors into the nave. 

As soon as the coast is clear, you are darting out the entrance again and running around the outside of the church, wedding dress swishing around your legs, until you skid to a halt next to a pillar that conceals you from the street.

There, before you, arrestingly beautiful and jumping athletically down to the pavement, is Benedict—a vision in a blue velvet jacket and teal cravat. 

Your eyes meet, and your knees want to buckle; such is the magnitude of the moment. He bounds up the granite steps and crushes his lips to yours briefly.

“No time to talk,” he rushes out. “If you wish to escape, take my hand, for we must depart now!”

Your heart hammers as you do the only thing you could ever want to: grab tightly onto his proffered hand as his face breaks out into the most arresting smile. Then it's a blur as he whisks you down the steps to his phaeton, hoisting you up onto its leather bench and throwing a blanket into your lap, then clambering in himself. With a shake of the reins, you lurch and take off down an alleyway at a rapid pace. The velocity of motion, red bricks of buildings whizzing by mere feet away, has you momentarily stunned and so you almost jump out of your skin when he speaks loudly over the rushing noise.

“Cover yourself before we get to the street,” Benedict advises quick-fire, only taking his attention off the road briefly to nod to the blanket. Just as you are struggling to conceal yourself, the horses careen onto Park Lane, attracting attention for the speed you are already travelling.

“Benedict!” you chastise, your arm shooting out to grab the side of the partial umbrella-like hood that arches over you, having to cling on for dear life. “This is not exactly a stealthy escape!”

“I know,” he grimaces, not looking at you, “but we must make haste and be as far away as we can as soon as possible.”

“Regardless of destination, we will need to stop at my house!” you almost have to yell to be heard over the jostling wheels on either side of you.

“Why??” His whole face screwed up in disbelief.

“I must gather some things! I will not leave without them, Benedict!!” you warn.

“What could possibly be worth stopping for?” he decries, the whole vehicle swaying violently as he rounds another bend.

“Perchance, other clothing?!” you wither loudly, frowning that he had not considered such, before adding: “And your letter!?” 

His head whips around to look at you and there is an intensity in his gaze that has your heart stuttering. An all-consuming want to kiss his lips as his gaze falls to your mouth. Only the urgent yelp of a pedestrian you narrowly avoid colliding into rips your attention away from each other. 

He rights the phaeton, tugging the reins so the horses slow.

“Alright,” he concedes, quieter, calmer. “But please do be as quick as you are able…”

You don't get the chance to inform him you have already packed and stowed a bag because he is pulling up in the quiet mews behind your family home. You jump down and take off, sprinting through the small gate and across the lawn. Soon, you are diving into the large bushes on the side of the house beneath your bedroom window. Fumbling around, you have to wrestle your dress from a branch before you reach the wall. Emitting a muted noise of victory as you are finally able to grab your bag and out of the foliage without looking.

“Miss y/l/n!?”

You jump out of your skin, spinning to see Mrs White standing at a nearby door, wielding a rolling pin.

“Mrs White, please,” you beseech, “please, do not tell anyone!” 

She takes stock of you: your animated state, your wedding dress torn over your knee where it snagged upon that branch, a night bag grasped in your ringless left hand… and she appears to make a calculated decision.

“I fear I could not, my child,” she offers with a shrug, “I do not see anyone for me to tell of…” 

The small, sympathetic nod and smile toying her lips has you barreling towards her, throwing your free arm tight around her as flour dust puffs onto the silk of your dress. You utter your thanks, flooded with gratitude, hugging her close before disentangling, you take off sprinting before she can say anymore.

-x-

As you depart from your family home, a companionable silence settles between you—a tacit understanding that there is much to discuss, but the journey is not the ideal place to do so. Both resolute to put some miles between yourselves and your family, likely now emerging from the church and wondering where on earth you are. A flare of guilt in your belly for not informing Rachel or even your mother. You resolve to send word tomorrow that you are safe without providing details.

As the edges of London give way to the countryside, you do decide to ask one simple question. 

“Where are we headed, Benedict?”

“I have a suggested destination….” he begins enigmatically, an odd cadence to his voice, “but we will discuss that later, once we stop for the night at an inn.”

There is a little flutter behind your ribs at the thought, but it is forgotten as a strong gust of wind whistles over the carriage, making you shiver and burrow into the blanket, wishing you had grabbed your pelisse from the night bag before setting off.

You startle as Benedict pulls you snugly into his side, adjusting the carriage hood and then the blanket, too, so he provides partial shelter from the winds as they whip across the fields. 

“I am sorry I do not have an enclosed carriage for you to journey in comfort,” he winces, his speech humming into you. “But it is best we use this speedier option anyway. We will cover more ground swiftly travelling light.”

You nod in acknowledgement. “Thank you for the blanket, at least; it is very considerate,” you respond, not unpleased to have an excuse to cuddle into him as you reassure him: “I am well now.”

Indeed, the warmth of his flank on yours and the steady rocking motion of the carriage is soporific, the whirlwind of the day hitting you even though it is merely lunchtime.

“Please rest if you need to,” he intuits, “I will wake you if needed.”

And despite the elements, you find the lure of sleep inevitable.

A warm wetness on your brow stirs you.

“Y/n…”

You wish you could always be roused like this; your name a soft rumble from Benedict’s lips as they trace gently over your forehead. You nuzzle unthinkingly into the sound and feel, which has him chuckling into your skin.

“We are here, at the inn….” he murmurs, his breath hot into your hairline.

You blink awake. “We are?!’” You twist to see you are stopped alongside an elegant Tudor wood building. “How long have I been asleep?!”

“All afternoon,” he admits, a touch sheepish. “You looked so peaceful and I assume you must need the rest after a tumultuous few days.”

His touching manner has a warmth spreading behind your ribs that makes you push up and land a kiss on his jaw.

“Thank you,” you whisper, pulling away but pleased to see a dot of colour high on his cheekbones.

“‘Tis nothing,” he demures before changing the topic. “I am sure you are hungry and in need of refreshments. So we shall dine and remain here for the night. We have covered a considerable distance from London already—around forty miles.” He jumps down and stands expectantly holding out a hand for you to follow suit as he continues speaking. “To avoid attention, we should present ourselves as family relations—cousins, perhaps?” 

“I am in a wedding dress,” you remind as you wrestle your way out of the blanket and reach for him to descend.

His Adam’s apple bobs as he scans down your form, lingering slightly.

“Oh yes. Well. Umm. Perchance as husband and wife then?” he flusters as you step down with his assistance.

“Would that not draw the attention you mentioned we should avoid?” you murmur, your hands still joined even though you are on the ground now.

“Do you have another suggestion?” he queries, his breath warm on your face as you stand entirely too close, fingers flexing around yours.

“Unless you wish me to remove my dress out here…” you goad, a little crest of victory as his pupils rapidly dilate and he huffs a breath, “...then I do not.”

“We have much to discuss,” he almost growls, which stokes something low in your belly as he tugs you along towards the entrance, only stopping to nod briefly to the inn’s groomsman who emerges to take care of your horses.

-xi-

The tavern at the inn is a warm, convivial space, wood-panelled, the smell of delicious foods wafting in the air alongside the tannin of wine and the ferrous tang of dark beer as crowds of people of all walks of life gather. Benedict sees you into a corner booth away from other patrons as he orders food, then goes to secure your accommodation for the night.

As he returns, passing you a glass of wine, there is a nervous churning in your gut; this is the first opportunity you have had to talk properly since you awoke to his life-changing letter.

“I have no idea where to begin,” he confesses, looking perplexed, and it makes you reach out in reassurance over the table, pulse strong in his raised veins under your fingertips.

“Your letter was the single most wondrous thing I have ever received,” you offer honestly, his eyes softening, making your heart flutter. “Benedict,” you take a steadying breath before ploughing on with the truth you have never spoken aloud before, “I have loved you for as long as I can remember…”

His face lights up, and his hand turns under yours, your palms touching as he laces your fingers together in a tight knot, then brings your joined fists to his lips, kissing your knuckles gently. 

“Why did you never tell me?” He entreats softly.

“Why did you never tell me?” You return lightning quick, a quirk on your lips that has him chuckling.

“An entirely fair accusation,” he concedes, shuffling closer and grabbing your other hand, your heads so close together now. “I suppose I thought my feelings irrelevant, futile even, that you would secure a titled husband. Though why your father chose such a vile one confounds me, I must confess.”

“I believe that a chastisement,” you commence but are interrupted by food arriving at your table. 

So, as you eat, you explain the whole story between mouthfuls. That you were able to delay your debut last season in your father’s absence, but it meant this season, he was determined to see you matched swiftly. Recounting fondly your time spent with your Aunt Eliza, Benedict appearing impressed as you reel off all the skills you now possess. You also talk in detail about how her encouragement meant you fell into the London art scene and how you know Henry Granville. Benedict listens intently, taking bites of his dinner, but his attention never wavers from you as you recount everything. 

“So yes, I believe the match was about my father’s wish to quash a perceived rebellion more than a match society might deem appropriate for the firstborn daughter of a Viscount.” 

“An untitled second son, even less so,” Benedict muses softly, downcasting his eyes, a flare of insecurity that has you putting down your cutlery and grabbing his jaw.

“Benedict, please do not,” you petition, rubbing a thumb over his cheek. “You know me. You know that I have never cared what society might think! If I were to marry, I would only ever want it to be a love match. I would not give a damn if my husband were a penniless beggar as long as he loves and respects me.” 

You pause as he raises his soulful gaze to yours, your faces so close.

“Luckily for me, the man who stole my heart fifteen years ago is neither penniless nor a beggar. He is a wonderful, caring, handsome, passionate artist who I would indeed be lucky to paint next to,” you conclude with reference to a line in his letter, a scene you can picture so clearly it seems more premonition than a dream.

“Fifteen years?” he repeats, a look of utter wonderment as he turns his lips aside to kiss your palm where you still cup his face. You nod, a little nostalgic smile tugging at your lips as he adds: “Then I must confess… I have never been more grateful for my incessant curiosity; it led me to your diary and thus to this very moment.”

He takes your hands from his jaw, then kisses both of your knuckles again in turn, but this time, he lingers, his lips warm, damp and pursed open, and a trace of his tongue dabs your protruding bone. A shiver runs down your spine, stoking something acute, dangerous and exhilarating.

“Do you know I have kept that notebook hidden since I was fourteen? Sewing a secret pocket into all of my coats or hiding it under floorboards so it would never be found. For six years. Yet it took you less than one evening…” 

“Maybe it was waiting to reveal itself to the one person who needed to see it the most…” he muses between kisses, his breath gusting hot over your fingers. 

That seismic but simple poetic sentence devastates your ability or wish to talk anymore—a thronging need for him that you are powerless to resist any longer.

“Take me to our room, Benedict,” you command, voice tremulant with want and hope. 

His head shoots up, his face a captivating tapestry of barely bridled passion and astonishment.

“But I-I booked us separate rooms,” he stumbles, confounded, and that gentlemanly act just makes you want him all the more.

Uncaring that you are sitting in a wedding dress in a public tavern, you pitch forward and capture his lips in a kiss that instantly becomes passionate and demanding, your hand running into his hair and tugging him closer.

“You should return the key and request your money back, for that will not be necessary…” you decree, breathing the words into his mouth.

That seems to light a fire in him. He shoves back the table and sweeps you into his arms bridal style, striding out of the room purposefully, his mouth hot on yours, your pounding heartbeat almost drowning out the bawdy, raucous cheers from the drunken patrons you pass.

-xii-

Once the room door clicks closed behind you, his demeanour softens. He gently removes your shoes before setting your stockinged feet down on a plush rug in front of a roaring fire. He tugs his jacket off so he stands before you in a colourful waistcoat and ruffled shirt.

“Are you certain?” His ask is chivalrous, tinged with such delicate hope it makes you melt.

“I have never been more certain of anything in my entire life,” you declare candidly, boldly stepping towards him.

His hands encircle your waist as yours slide up his biceps, the warmth of his skin through the crisp white fabric making your blood run warm. 

“I may be chaste, but I know of what we are to do; I have been at Granville’s, remember. I also know that I want this. So very much.”

“I am the luckiest man…” he asserts in a low rumble, your honesty seeming to ignite him again as he crowds into you.

It’s an electrifying kiss that has your scalp tingling: his hands moulded to you, mapping your every curve as you take from each other as you never have before, desperation bubbling over with each parry of tongues. His fingers land on the buttons of your dress, between your shoulder blades, silently asking permission.

“Rip it off me,” you urge impulsively, chest heaving within your stays. “I want you to destroy this very dress and everything it represents….”

His responding growl inflames your core, molten liquid heat as his large hands grab the material and tear it asunder from your body so you stand before him, trembling with desire in just your stays and chemise.

He guides your fingers to his waistcoat, the crackle of the fire and the huff of his breaths the only sound in the room. His chest rises and falls steadily as you work on each button. When you reach the last one, he shucks the garment from his torso, then crosses his arms and discards his shirt in one swift motion, sailing away in a puffed arch. The broad expanse of smooth chest before you has you tongue-tied. A lean musculature and pale complexion reminiscent of Italian renaissance sculpture… but living, breathing and looking at you as if you are the most precious thing on earth. 

Long arms wrap around you, enveloping you in his warmth, fingers spidering up the notches of your spine through the thin cotton of your chemise until they reach your stays and pluck upon the laces there. He unties them slowly as his lips trail hotly down your throat. You have observed forms of intimacy but didn't expect the firsthand experience to be so rich, so all-consuming. The sights, the sensations, the scents. Like the tangy undernotes lurking beneath his woody cologne, an aroma that is all him, his bare skin. It makes your mouth water and lean into him; a want to be a part of him almost—so much heat and touch.

As your loosened stays drop to the floor behind you, a clawing need for his flesh on yours has you rapidly discarding your chemise over your head, naked now save your stockings. But before he has the chance to see, you propel yourself into him again, his solid chest colliding with your breasts, your peaked nipples trapped against his warmth. A loud groan from his lips that you swallow as you push up onto tiptoes and wrap your arms around his strong neck, kissing him ferociously. His grip slides down to grasp your bottom, pulling you into him, something rigid pressing your stomach through the refined wool of his trousers. 

“Let me look at you,” he pleads, withdrawing a half step, his eyes sweeping covetously down your body as you feel aglow in the heat of the adjacent fire. “You are so beautiful,” he attests shakily, an insistent throbbing between your legs that is all of his making, so close without any stimulation.

“Touch me, Benedict.” 

It’s equal parts order and request, grabbing his wrist and guiding it low over your belly. His elegant fingertips curl through the patch of hair before swiping between your legs, dilated pupils boring into yours as you emit a wanton moan, knees almost buckling. A strong arm wraps around you to keep you steady as he observes you up close, repeating the motion, parting your folds this time, you honeying upon his fingertips as he glances over your swollen clit. 

You whimper his name, and he claims your lips again, sliding the pad of his fingers over that spot over and over. Fingernails digging into his arm at his expert touch, the air swirling with the wet sound and scent of your arousal.

“You smell so utterly divine,” he groans, pitching forward and almost biting your bottom lip in a toothful, desperate meeting, your moans echoing over his tongue. “I need to taste you,” he stutters.

You have to shoot out an arm to grasp the mantlepiece as he suddenly drops to his knees before you and buries his face into your mound, inhaling deeply, his nose pressed onto your clitoral hood. He is so primal in his desperation as he lifts one of your legs and places it over his shoulder, diving into your folds, his tongue a wet, hot spear over your swollen nub. Your other hand burrows into his thick head of hair, scratching along his scalp as he hums his approval into your damp heat, the vibration causing sparks of pleasure to fan out.

It takes what little shred of concentration you have left to stay upright, clinging to the fireplace and him, rocketing skyward so dizzyingly fast, slack-jawed, breathless, rooted in your body as you gawk down at him. You had no idea this would be so intense, so carnal. His stare is fixated upwards on you, reading your reactions like a book, his glazed jaw moving with expert precision buried between your legs—an intoxicating sight that burns into your retinas.

“I need you to come for me, y/n,” he begs hotly into your soaked flesh, his tongue a muscular swipe greater than his fingers, his fingers plucking the ribbons holding your stockings loose so they slide down to your feet.

“I want to do so with you…” you gasp, unable to prevent whatever forms in your mouth from slipping out, leaking profusely onto his chin.

“You will; I promise,” his gravelly assurance, the permission you need to let go, riding his tongue with abandon, your body undulating, chasing that ephemeral high you have only experienced from your own touch before. But this is so much more, so wholly other, magnitudes indeed, the words from his letter never far from your thoughts even as you spiral somewhere close to bliss. His gaze locked onto you, able to read all your signs: skin flushed, ragged pants, shuddering with each quest of his tongue.

And then he gently bites your clit, and you are gone, his hands needing to clamp onto your hips to hold you upright as your body convulses. You cry out, sagging onto him as your body races with a high that fizzes in every cell, radiating in waves of pleasure that have you calling out, uncaring who may hear, incapable of anything but clinging to his hair for dear life and scrunching your toes into the thick wool rug underfoot.

You know you utter a curse, entirely overpowered by the euphoria coursing through you as he stands back up and pulls you into his arms, kissing your cheek chastely, the scent of you strong on his face. But as you come back to yourself, renewed passion stokes in you, determination to give as good as you have been given, a drive for mutual pleasure that has you shoving him backwards forcefully.

He falls back onto the bed, a look of total surprise claiming his face as you crowd over him, laying prone, attacking his trouser buttons with a vigour that has him stunned, his mouth agape. But he doesn't move to stop you, far from it. There is a flash in his eye as you grab his hands and cage them onto the sheets briefly before returning to attack his clothing. Wordlessly, he lifts his pelvis when you tap his hipbone, and then you are tugging his trousers down and off, flinging them across the room.

You are momentarily taken aback when you look down and realise he is without underwear, now as naked as you. His cock, nestled in a small patch of hair, is larger than you have seen before, tinged dark pink and leaking from the tip. It looks so good you bite your lip, a twinge deep inside that is pure want. 

His moan is beautiful as you take him in hand. He is hot and steely in your grip as you move your hand up and down, learning his contours, fascinated by the contrast of how silky his skin is.

“I am so glad you have seen things you should not have,” he groans, squirming delightfully, so very responsive to your touch. It makes you greedy always to have him like this, yearning for you as much as you do him, stuttering your name as you change your grip and move a little faster.

“Please stop…” he grits out, his hand covering yours and slowing your motions, but you can tell it is utterly reluctant. “I am too close, my love…”

That reflexive term of endearment makes something melt behind your ribs, and you crawl up over him as you release his cock, claiming his lips in a kiss, his hands encircling your waist, pulling you down so that his cock is trapped under your pubic bone.

“I love you,” you breathe quietly over his lips, holding his face, wanting to convey the depth of feelings you have for this man.

“I love you too, y/n,” he replies earnestly, his eyes glassy, a cloud of emotion claiming his expression as his hands cup your jaw as well, a profound moment of heartfelt sincerity amid this tableau of fevered physicality.

“May I?” 

Your ask is hesitant as you rearrange, sliding your legs up either side of his hips, signalling your wish to ride him, a need to be the one to give your virginity to him more than him to take it. Something achingly significant in the ability to choose.

He nods a reassuring and spellbound look, and a beguiling hitch in his throat as his tip brushes your entrance.

“It may hurt a little, my love,” he advises, wincing as if wishing that was not the case for you.

“I know,” you murmur back, grabbing his hands to aid you in sitting up so you have more range of motion. 

And then, with a steadying breath, you lower yourself onto him, mouth falling open at the invasive stretch with barely a fraction of him inside you. His face is a kaleidoscope of everything you hope for him—joy and bliss. Your fingers grasp tight around his knuckles, your joined hands a knotted fist, as you feel a pinch of pain that makes you suck air through your teeth, knowing this is the moment you become a woman. So glad it is with him, the categorical love of your life.

Luckily, the ache is fleeting, and you sink lower, him moaning your name lyrically, you puffing a breath at the complete fullness. A pressure holding you open that is so galvanic you now understand the hedonism of what you have previously witnessed—the drive to satisfy an urge that is innate and potent.  

“Oh my god, Benedict,” you stutter, as finally he is fully seated within your body, clinging to him, held open in the most arresting way.

“I know, my love, I know…” he soothes, untangling your hands to touch your skin, running his palms reverentially down your body. “You are amazing, a wonder…” 

“Guide me…?”

He smiles and whispers gentle instructions for you to push up with your thighs and then sink back down, his hands now clamped around your waist to assist you. The sensation is indescribable, the drag of his cock against your walls as you slowly ascend and descend, trying to catalogue every second as a precious memory.

Your speed increases as you get used to the physicality of movement, a cloying, dewy heat spreading over both your bodies as you move in unison. He starts to tilt his hips off the bed to assist in your strokes, pushing to a new depth that catches your breath and has you muttering a curse, your hands scrabbling his abdomen, enjoying the flex of muscles there. His grip moves to your breasts, teasing your nipples in a way that has you gasping and riding harder. His fingers snagging on your sensitive buds is a beeline zipping to your engorged clit, that mashes into his body with every downward stroke you take. Still on a high from your last orgasm, it won't take much more for you to come again; this time, you hope in tandem.

His movements become more urgent, his noises louder, his touch firmer, squeezing you, bucking up with force now, making you moan with each new plunge onto him, as if he craves to leave an imprint of himself inside you.

“Are you close, my love?” you query, borrowing his term of endearment. It has his screwed-shut eyes flying open, his hands flexing on your hips, and a ripple up his rigid cock you can actually feel.

“Yesssss,” he hisses back, “please call me that again,” he entreats through clenched teeth, a prominent vein in his neck pulsing hard as his whole being seems to tense.

“My love,” you coo, treating it like a gift to bestow, addicted already to the effect it has on him, his fingers digging into your flesh in a way that will leave marks you will be proud to wear.

You move faster now, the sturdy bed squeaking in protest, the sound of your damp skin slapping together, taking even yourself by surprise at how visceral this is, especially for a first time. Expecting it to be less somehow and enraptured that instead, it is better, burning brighter than anything you have ever fantasised of—skin and sweat, muscle and bone, heart and body in rhapsody. 

One of his hands squirrels between your legs, fingertips hooking against your clit, and within seconds, you are breaking. Your vision whiting out as you slam onto him, your pussy clenching in waves, his cock almost too much as you float somewhere that is both within you and a thousand miles above. Dimly, you sense his nails scrape your flesh as he calls out your name, loudly, debauched, wrecked, a strong pulse through his length as he shudders then goes entirely still, a warmth blooming deep inside your channel that is his seed, something about it so very primaeval. 

You slump inelegantly onto his chest, huffing breaths, altered fundamentally by this magical experience. His touch is soothing, encouraging to lay upon him as he softens within you, eventually slipping out as you lay nuzzled together, exchanging soft words of sated joy—a sudden tide of fatigue lapping your edges. Fuzzily, you feel Benedict chuckle under you and, with hushed, tender words, rearrange your pliant body, rolling you onto your side and curling protectively around you, a warming presence that has sleep seizing you almost immediately.

Awakening the following morning in Benedict’s arms is sublime, his stubbled lips grazing your neck as he rolls you under his warm weight. Just as your body stirs under his sensual kisses, he stops and sighs, dropping his forehead onto your clavicle.

“I wish to spend a lifetime right here, entwined naked with you, my love, but alas, I must desist,” he laments softly. “We need to get moving…”

“You never did say your planned destination,” you point out, running your fingers into his lush hair as he tilts his handsome face up to meet your gaze.

“Did I not?” He lilts, feigning ignorance. “I blame you entirely; your beauty is far too distracting..” Flattery falling from his lips reflexively. “Well, anyway, we must make haste if we are to reach Scotland by Friday as I have planned.”

“Scotland?” you echo breathlessly. “That is so far! Why there?”

“Gretna Green, my love,” his eyes sparkling as he hovers over you, entwining the fingers of your left hands together, his thumb brushing your ring finger. “I hope you are amenable to my proposal...”

And your heart veritably explodes.

-xiii-

The journey is long but worth it. Your wedding, five days later, over the border in Scotland, is everything you could hope for—a beautiful, romantic, private moment for just the two of you, promising your lives to each other in secret. Something thrillingly illicit about its location, too, the place to which all forbidden lovers escape. You do not wear a wedding dress, just a simple light blue chiffon one you had thrown into your night bag, always a favourite since Benedict once complimented you in it. He wears a cravat in the same colour. Exchanging matching wedding bands engraved inside with the same phrase Benedict signed off his love confession with: A vila mon coeur, gardi li mo (Here is my heart, guard it well).

You are happily ensconced in his idyllic Wiltshire cottage by the time family reactions to your elopement reach you almost two weeks later. The Bridgertons are supportive if a little shocked; the dowager Viscountess is always enamoured with a dramatic love story. Your family is less so, but they cannot deny a match with a Bridgerton is no bad thing, even if it was fleeting gossip fodder. You hear from your mother that Lord Farringdon did not demand compensation for your abscondment from the altar. Apparently, you were not the first to do so. Rumour has it that the odious man is negotiating a marriage deal with the Cowpers for their wayward daughter. It may be the first time you have felt a pang of sympathy for Cressida. 

Mostly, you are grateful that the more scandalous truth surrounding your union - Benedict stealing you away on your wedding day - never becomes public knowledge. Every couple must keep some secrets from the world, no? 

Although, a couple of weeks later, on a leisurely Sunday morning, you discover your marriage can no longer be considered as such.

“Darling, you might want to see this…” Benedict drawls casually, wandering into the bathroom as you luxuriate in warm water. 

He drops the latest issue of Lady Whistledown onto a nearby stool as he tugs off his shirt, apparently planning to join you in your bath. Your mouth falls open in shock as you grab the pamphlet. But it is not from his naked form as his trousers hit the floor; it's from what you read:

Lastly, this author may have to eat her hat. News has reached me that Mr Benedict Bridgerton had indeed done the almost unthinkable and married the spirited Miss Y/n Y/l/n. They exchanged vows in a quiet ceremony far from the prying eyes of the Ton and will now settle in Wiltshire, I hear. 

“How did she find out?” you ponder aloud as he slides into the tub behind you. Surely Whistledown must be close to the Bridgertons to discover as such?

“I have not a clue. But perhaps I should send her some honey from our hives to make her headwear more digestible?” he jests, interrupting your reading by pulling you backwards into his arms. 

“Mr Bridgerton!” you chastise playfully, holding the paper aloft to save it from the sloshing he creates as he surrounds you, laughing carefree, so much delightfully naked skin around yours.

“Are you done reading Mrs Bridgerton?” His tone changes to a husky murmur in your ear, his fingers trailing distractingly upwards over your ribs under the water.

“You just brought this to me, husband,” you riposte pointedly, but your argument dies off into a wanton noise as his hands slide up and cup your breasts, his thumbs circling your nipples expertly. You abandon any attempt to focus on the page, tossing the paper aside and twisting to capture his lips with yours.

Upon the floor, as water splashes onto the wood nearby, the last few sentences you missed glow in a shaft of sunlight:

Congratulations on the latest Bridgerton love match, and I wish them a lifetime of happiness. As I am certain, do all of you. 

What secrets will I unearth next, dear readers? Even I do not yet know. But I look forward to it. Don’t you?

Yours sincerely,

Lady Whistledown

masterlist • wips • taglist (follow this blog to be tagged)

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[simstorian-blog]

Darby’s Den

(CC List + Links)

World Map: Britechester

Area: University of Britechester

Lot Size:  30 x 20

Gallery ID: Simstorian-ish

Packs Needed

Expansion Packs

Cats & Dogs

Cottage Living

Discover University

For Rent

Get Famous

Get Together

High School Years

Island Living

Game Packs

Dine Out

Parenthood

Vampires

Spa Day

Game Packs

Laundry Day Stuff

Build Mode

Felixandre

Chateau Pt. 2 (Fiddle Leaf, Frame 2 Medium, Interior Doors Tall, Single Door, Stairs + Landings)

Colonial Pt. 3 (Column 1, Fences, Railing, Spandrel 1)

December 2017 (Door 1)

July 2018/2017

London Exterior (Balcony, Column 5m, Pilar 9m)

Paris Pt. 1 (Stone Block)

Paris Pt. 3 (Panelling)

Petit Trianon (Pediment 1)

Schwerin (Window 1)

Versailles (Niche)

Kta

Ceiling Tile 3

Lili’s Palace

Jugendstil (Floor Tiles)

Pierisim

Winter Garden (Roofing)

Buy Mode

CharlyPancakes

The Lighthouse Collection (Books)

Felixandre

Berlin Pt. 1 (Curtain Medium)

Chateau Pt. 5

Chateau Pt. 7 (Bedside Table, Drawer, Ottoman, Silk Rugs, Table Lamp)

Gothic Revival (Fireplace 2)

Schwerin (Chandelier 2 & 3, Chandelier Wall)

Harlix

Orjanic Pt. 2 (Curtains Medium, Cushion 2, Rug, Table Lamp)

Harrie

Coastal Pt. 8 (Roman Blinds- 2 Tile)

Heritage Pt. 2 (Landscape Artwork, Mirror, Portrait Artwork)

Max20

Happily Ever After (Chair Velour)

Peacemaker

Kitayama Living (Encyclopedias)

Hinterlands Living (Square Coffee Tray Table)

Pierisim

MCM Pt. 3 (Narrow Rug Long)

MCM Pt. 4 (Kitchen Counters Island)

Woodland Ranch Pt. 3 (Linen Armchair)

DO NOT REUPLOAD MY LOTS.

DO NOT CLAIM THEM AS YOUR OWN.

DO NOT PLACE BEHIND A PAYWALL.

Tray Files: Download

[hometoursandotherstuff]

It looks like a neat white farmhouse in Murrysville, Pennsylvania, but not only is it a seriously dated 1966 mid-century modern, it has the weirdest architectural features and needs a very deep cleaning. It has 5bds, 5.5ba, and it was reduced $35K to $535K. I think they're gonna have to go lower b/c there's a lot of work to do here.

The description calls this a stunning entry with exquisite chandeliers. I see a dated and dirty carpet. So, they took two vases off those corner shelves and left the dirt.

Now, here we have a fake forest with treetops smooshed right into the ceiling. I can't tell if that's a water fall in the right corner, but it's full of dirt and looks broken.

The stone thing on the left must be a planter, but how deep is it? It looks like the bottom fell out. Next is the octagonal mezzanine in the ceiling. It's a big open space and it must've been dramatic when it was new?

Behind the long stone structure is a mural. Maybe it's an indoor pond.

Here's the view from the top. The empty plastic containers must be planters.

The kitchen is huge but the cabinets are in good shape. The counters look like an old version of a composition material like Corian.

What is that black panel over the fridge?

The kitchen certainly has a comprehensive sprinkler system in the ceiling.

This is a vast area for a living room. Do they make ride-on vacuums? Looks like something's missing from the ceiling feature.

Here's a family room area with a fireplace.

The spiral stairs in the family room lead up here. I have no idea what this is and what that fenced in area is for. There appears to be a terrace with a BBQ kettle outside.

In the primary bedroom they left a bed platform and dirty upholstered headboard with matching linens.

MCM bath has a walk-in tub. They're very expensive and range in price from $2K - $10K.

Whoever designed this house really liked these openings in the ceilings. According to the description you can see clear up to this one on the 3rd fl. from the 1st. fl., but this is clearly an unfinished attic.

They do sell tension legs for sinks like this, but the owners have cleverly installed a plunger to fashion a sort of pedestal sink.

What a long garage.

This is a deceiving property. I thought that the farmhouse was for sale, but I didn't see the mid-century home attached to it. The land measures 1.3 acres.

[dujour13]

A little romance to kick off February ❤️

(instead of not-a-date it’s wait-is-this-a-date)

---

“May I take your cloak, sir?”

Woljif dodged the man reaching for his shoulders until he noticed from the corner of his eye that Siavash didn’t seem bothered.

“It’s new, don’t mess it up.” Following the chief’s lead he allowed himself to be decloaked, clamping his arms protectively over his pockets while the waiter whisked off his cloak and hung it to steam dry next to Siavash’s by the fireplace.

Nervously Woljif took in the room, his instinct taking mental note of valuables and escape routes: wood-paneled walls, blazing hearth, the kind of fancy paintings that only looked like something if you squinted, a dozen candlelit tables in crisp white linen, gleaming crystal wineglasses and silverware he reckoned he could easily get seven and a half per set for. Beyond the kitchen, the back doors were flung wide to let out fragrant steam, and a whole contingent of cooks and wait staff stood there smiling like rubes and bobbing their heads to the Knight-Commander.

As they were escorted to a table in the front nook, he caught Siavash’s flushed, bright-eyed gaze and began to feel something was expected of him.

“Swanky place, chief. I thought we were headed to the Half Measure.” He yanked his chair out of the waiter’s hands and scooted it in himself.

“This place just opened. They have Andoren specialties.”

Seemed harmless enough, but Siavash still looked like he was waiting for something.

“Uh. Andoren, huh? Like what?”

As Siavash explained, using a lot of words like “braised” and “flambé,” Woljif fidgeted. All this talk was making him hungrier.

“Woljif, you’ll be needing that dessert spoon.”

He took it out of his pocket and put it back on the table.

Through the windows angled around their table, they could see figures hurrying past on the darkened street, cloaks pulled tight against slanting wind and rain. Within, candles shed a cheerful pool of bronze light that glinted from polished dinnerware. It didn’t fail to cross Woljif’s mind that he had always been on the other side of that glass, dreaming of what it would be like to be sitting here. His stomach responded audibly to the memory.

“I guess you’re hungry.”

“We missed the mess bell by an hour, chief. I’m ready to eat my boots. Flambé.”

For some reason Siavash seemed to find this really funny. At last he brushed a tear from the corner of his eye and leaned back comfortably in his chair, which brought his legs forward so that one ankle rested against Woljif’s, and gave him that expectant look again.

Woljif glanced about, searching for clues. The waiter served Siavash wine and Woljif a glass of flavored water with a slice of some kind of fruit wedged on the lip. Other patrons seemed to be avoiding looking their way too often, respectful of the Knight-Commander’s privacy. A halfling couple at a low table across from them were engrossed in conversation and he watched as one of them took the other’s hand across the table, their fingers twining together.

Oh.

“So um. What’s the occasion?” Woljif asked as lightly as he could with volcanic heat surging to his face.

Siavash beamed. “No occasion. I just thought I’d take you out.”

“Like on a—on a date?”

In response Siavash reached across the table with his palm open, and when Woljif placed his nervous and slightly chilly hand in his, grasped it gently. “Yeah. A date. You all right?”

Only then did Woljif become aware that the whooshing sounds behind him were not the wind or someone sweeping, but his own tail stripping the restaurant’s decorative fern of its leaves. He wound it around his chair.

“Sure. I just didn’t expect…”

“I should have warned you. I thought it would be a nice surprise.”

“It is!” Woljif almost shouted. “I mean, yeah. Just not used to bein’ what’s it called.”

“Courted.”

“Right. That’s not to say I never had a date before. I’ve had a few, you know. Pretty busy guy, not much time for that stuff.”

“Thanks for taking the time for me,” said Siavash in a low voice, and Woljif felt suddenly like he’d evaporated, like his body had no mass and he might float to the ceiling. Under the table he felt their ankles slide together and had the urge to grip his chair with his free hand to stay grounded.

This was what the Count meant and what those novels were on about, but it turned out the reality was so much nicer. All the times he’d pressed his nose to the windowpane and gazed longingly at the warmth and food beyond his reach he’d never imagined himself having them in such good company.

“I guess I can spare an hour or two for the Knight-Commander,” he joked, his voice a little thick.

The candlelight made Siavash even more handsome, glowing in his burnished gold hair and dancing in his laughing hazel eyes. Slightly dizzy, Woljif sniffed his drink suspiciously.

“It’s not alcoholic,” Siavash reassured him.

When the amuse-bouche arrived, a tiny bowl of fish soup hardly bigger than a walnut complete with tiny croutons and a doll-sized spoon, Woljif again had to take a cue from Siavash not to call the waiter back and give her a piece of his mind. It turned out pretty good, and there was a lot more on the way: sautéed mushrooms in little copper pots, beef simmered slowly in red wine until it melted in your mouth, roasted potatoes in rosemary and sea salt, vegetables with fancy names glazed with butter and honey, fresh flaky bread still warm from the oven.

Woljif had always reckoned that food was food. He had his favorites like cherry rolls and spicy pastries, but when the Count got to waxing poetic about fine cuisine he was skeptical.

This though—

“Aright, I gotta give it to ‘em,” he said through a mouthful, hunched over his plate with both elbows on the table, mopping up wine sauce with a crust of bread, “this ain’t half bad.”

Siavash seemed to be enjoying every bite Woljif took just as much as he did. He paused in his story just to grin.

Woljif ordered more bread by waving the basket at the waiter. “Wait, so you took a Korvosan Arbiter to a brothel?”

“No, not really,” Siavash laughed. “I just knew the suggestion would get him out of there. One more word and he was going to start a war. Fortunately he was too drunk to walk down to the port so we steered him to his chambers instead and left him with his head in a bucket.”

“He’s lucky he didn’t wake up naked in a ditch in Nidal.”

“Oh, I think the Duchess had much worse than that planned for him by the time we got him out of the banquet. Imagine being devoured slowly by a teacup dinosaur.”

When at last the bill came Woljif had completely forgotten about his nerves and was leaning back complacently in his chair with both hands folded over his replete stomach. The warmth where his shin rested against Siavash’s seemed to have radiated to the rest of his body.

“This was nice, chief. Thanks.”

“It was. I hope it compares well with all those other dates you’ve been on.”

Woljif made a face. “Sure does.”

“So what would be your dream date? For future reference.”

“This but not in the fucking Worldwound.”

They had another good laugh but one look at the bill had Woljif back on his guard in an instant. He glanced meaningfully towards the door.

“Something tells me we wouldn’t get away with it. You’re almost as famous as I am around here these days.”

“Yeah, has its disadvantages,” Woljif sighed. With tremendous reluctance he fished in his pocket but Siavash insisted on taking care of it and couldn’t even be talked into writing it off as a Crusade expense.

Back out on the street they walked close to keep out the chill. As soon as they rounded a bend into an unlit street Woljif seized Siavash’s hand, a little roughly as if swiping something from a store shelf, but with sincerity.

“What about your dream date, chief?”

“This was it,” smiled Siavash, breathing in the night air. “Danger on all sides, the bold heroes finding comfort in camaraderie and a rare moment of respite. Good food. And you.”

“Hells, you are such a sweet talker.”

[hareofhrair]

Beauty and the Beast story preview

I'm working on this beauty and the beast inspired monster romance short story and I thought I'd share the first scene to maybe get folks interested! When it's done it'll be posted on my patreon.

This is going to be a somewhat dark take, focused on a predator/prey dynamic, very much leaning into the monstrousness of the beast and the necessity of approaching romance with a nonhuman in a very nonstandard way.

In terms of content, everything that happens will still of course be explicitly consensual. I may do dubcon in a different story in the future, but it'll be the exception and very clearly marked. Most of what I write will always be clearly consensual. The beast is very non-human- primarily quadrupedal and so far he either doesn't speak at all or only very rarely. He's fully intelligent and capable of communicating, but also very much not a human. Not sure about other content tags or warnings to include yet since it isn't finished, but I'll update as I figure it out! Now on to the story!

---

Beauty had been living in the Beast’s castle for about a month when she began to realize she was enjoying it.

Her heart thundering in her ears she sprinted down the hall, bare feet slapping against the cracked and tarnished marble, the gallery illuminated in stark squares of black and white by the pale moonlight slanting in through the tall, dusty windows that lined one side. Behind her she heard nothing but his breathing, his paws silent as a ghost. If she could hear his breath he was close, too close. She needed to buy herself some space if she was going to make it up the stairs. But she was learning the layout of the castle well by now.

She swerved abruptly, diving through a shadowed door into a sitting room. She slammed the door behind her, knowing it wouldn’t slow him long, but maybe long enough. She leapt over a collapsed and moldering settee and rushed to the far wall beside the cold and cobwebbed fireplace, feeling along the aged wooden paneling with shaking hands.

“Where is it,” she hissed through her teeth, panic beginning to rise the longer she could not hear the Beast on the other side of the door. If he was not breaking it down, or simply opening it, she didn’t know what he was doing, and that was dangerous.

Suddenly, a candle flame jumped to life beside her and she flinched, already braced to throw herself out the window, the closest avenue of escape. But it was not the Beast. It was a plain white candle in a simple golden candle holder, hanging in the air as though being held. If she caught them at the right angle, Beauty could sometimes almost see the faint image of a pair of white gloved hands holding it, the most she’d ever seen of the ghostly servants that tended this place.

The candle moved closer to the wall, illuminating the faded scroll work along the chair rail. A spectral hand faintly gestured to a hidden switch among the carved roses. Beauty nodded in terse gratitude as she pressed the button and slipped silently into the narrow servant’s passage behind it. Even if the Beast knew of this passage (which he almost certainly did) he would not be able to fit in it to follow her, and it had several different exits, so he could not simply circle around to wait for her at the other end. Not unless he already knew her so well he could guess which exit she’d choose.

The foyer exit was the obvious choice, being the closest to the grand staircase. She obviously could not use that one. The exit to the kitchen was unexpected, but so far from where she was trying to go that it’s advantages were more or less nil. He would likely assume she’d head for the great room, which was reasonably close to the staircase but still less obvious than the other choices. That is, if he didn’t know that she knew that if she followed the passage to the west gallery it was only a quick sprint across the hall to the drawing room with the attached butler’s pantry, where behind the moldering linens the back of the cupboard swung open to reveal a small staircase which led to the second floor hallway with the guest bedrooms.

She climbed the narrow stair as quickly and quietly as possible, pulling up her dress to cover her mouth and nose to protect them from the thick dust and cobwebs that filled the dark, cramped space. At one point a rotted wooden step gave way under her foot, but she caught herself in time.

She emerged slowly through the hidden door at the top of the stair, scanning the dark hall for signs of the Beast. The moonlight through the windows pooled silver on the moth eaten rug that ran down the center of the hall, but did not illuminate the dark doorways of the bedrooms. But Beauty could only go forward, slipping silently out into the hallway.

Her room, the room the invisible servants had shown her to the day she first came here, was at the end of the hall. The hall was too dark, but if it had been daylight she would have been close enough to see her door. She felt, to her surprise, a strange kind of disappointment.

Then she felt the hair on the back of her neck lift-- There was no sound, there never was, he was always perfectly silent, but she felt his presence suddenly behind her regardless. She lunged forward without a moment’s hesitation, flying into a sprint like a race horse leaping off the starting line. She heard the thudding impact of his body landing on the floor where she’d just been, the weight of the body that would have driven her to the ground and trapped her there as his teeth closed around her neck.

But the miss didn’t slow him down. He was an inch behind her, close enough for her to not just hear but feel the heat of his breath. Her door could not have been more than nine yards away, but it felt like it stretched on forever, time slowing as fear pulsed through her like electricity, lightning running down her veins. She’d been running since sun down, and her muscles were screaming, air burning in her lungs. Panic gripped her heart, certain this time was going to be it, he had her, she’d been too slow, too predictable. In a moment his teeth would be in her and she was going to die.

There was her door, looming out of the shadows, just a foot away, then an inch. She slammed into it with her shoulder and closed her eyes, certain it was too late. She felt a rush of air, claws a centimeter from her face, a brief flare of pain in her back--

And then she was tumbling, rolling to a sprawling stop on the floor of her room.

For a long second she just lay there, face against the aged wood floor, still expecting death to catch up with her. She was shivering with exhaustion and soaked in fear sweat and she could feel stinging, shallow lines of pain on her back in the shape of the Beast’s claws, but she was alive. Slowly, she raised her head to look at the door, which stood open not a foot away from where she lay.

The Beast stood just outside it, huge leonine head lowered, golden eyes watching her with a predator’s intensity. He was the size of a draft horse, body somewhere between the ursine and the feline. She’d seen him walk upright when it suited him, but he clearly didn’t prefer it. Long, wickedly sharp horns curled from his brow. It was easy to see why they called him a Beast. Though, at the same time, the flat, nearly human shape of his face, the way his elongated forepaws were almost hands, made it impossible to dismiss him as entirely animal. The effect was unsettling, to say the least.

He watched her, but made no move to cross the threshold into her room. He never did. She always braced herself, expecting each time to be the time he broke this rule, but he still hadn’t done it yet. He simply stood there and watched her.

Finally, relief flooded through her and she fell limp onto the floor again, laughing wildly. She was going to live. For one more night at least, she was going to live.

“Not tonight, Beast,” she said to him with a sharp, vicious smile. “You’ll just have to try again tomorrow.”

He didn’t respond, he never did, just stared a moment longer, then slowly turned and padded away down the hall, vanishing into the shadows. Beauty just lay back on the floor and laughed, the ecstasy of victory, the thrill of escape, rushing through her in waves. Her skin tingled, hyper sensitive under the sheen of cooling sweat, her senses still on high alert, feeling more alive and awake than she had in all the years before she’d come here. A shaking hand slid down her thigh, pulling up her rumpled skirts to slide beneath them, and her ragged breath hitched in her throat. She considered, for a moment, closing the door, and then decided against it. Let him watch, if he wanted.

[steliosagapitos]

       ~ “Imperial staircase made of oak wood in Castel Savoia, built for the Queen consort of the Kingdom of Italy Margherita of Savoy. Italy Queen Margaret Castle stands at the foot of Ranzola hill, Valle d'Aosta, northern Italy, in the place known as ‘Belvedere’, as it dominates the whole of the valley as far as the Lyskamm glacier.The building was erected between 1899 (the first stone was laid on 24 August) and 1904. In 1981 it was purchased by Val d’Aosta Regional Council. The architect Emilio Stramucci, who designed the neo-Baroque decorations for Palazzo Reale in Turin and for the Quirinale in Rome, designed the mediaeval-style castle, described as ‘15th-century Lombard style’, quite frequent in France and Savoy, the homelands of the reigning sovereigns. It consists of a central rectangular body, with four cusp-roofed towers, each different from the others. The exteriors is covered in grey stone from the quarries of Chiappey in Gressoney, Gaby and Vert. The castle is on three floors: the ground floor, with living quarters, the noble floor, with the royal apartments and the second floor (not open to visitors), reserved for gentlemen of the court; the cellars are located underground. Only a few pieces of the original furniture remain; the other furniture on show comes from Villa Margherita, property of the Beck Peccoz Barons, in which the Queen stayed before the manor’s construction; the original pieces include the tapestries in linen and cotton, decorated with a chiné effect. The ornamental pictures are the work of the young painter and restorer Carlo Cussetti, who later worked on the new wing of Palazzo Reale in Turin. The mediaeval-inspired coffered ceilings, wooden panels and furniture are by the Turin wood carver Dellera, who supplied the Royal House.On the ground floor, the main entrance leads to a vast hall with columns and a painted coffered ceiling, which leads in turn onto other rooms. On one side are the gaming rooms and the sitting rooms, connected to the semi-circular veranda looking over the valley. On the opposite side are the dining room, with its richly painted decorations on the walls, fireplace and ceiling coffers, and parchment-carved boiserie. Neogothic is also the style used in the so-called ‘staff-bearer’s entrance’ in the octagonal tower situated in the north-west corner. An elegant wooden Imperial staircase made of oak wood leads to the royal apartments, preceded by a hall whose ceiling bears the inscription ‘Hic manebimus optime’. The Queen’s apartment occupies the best position: from the windows of the delightful sitting room in the northern tower, you can enjoy the view of Mount Rosa and the entire valley. The false fabrics painted between the windows are reminiscent of the decoration in the baronial hall of Issogne castle. The adjacent apartment was occupied by the Hereditary Prince Humbert. On the opposite side of the hall are situated the apartments of the King and of the Marchioness Pes of Villamarina, lady-in-waiting to the Queen. The kitchens were located in a building a short distance away and were connected to the castle by an underground Decauville track. Other annexes include Villa Belvedere, originally used for guests and the royal gendarmerie, and the little house known as Romitaggio Carducci, dedicated to the poet who was a devoted admirer and singer to the queen. The foot of the manor hosts a rocky garden full of Alpine, botanical species.” ~

[eliteprop]

Top Interior Design Trends for New Homes

As real estate evolves, so do interior design trends, reflecting the changing desires and lifestyles of today’s homeowners. Whether you’re constructing a new home or updating your current space, embracing the latest trends can elevate your environment to one that’s both functional and fashionable. Here’s a look at the top interior design trends for, where luxury, sustainability, and personalization come together to redefine modern living.

Open Concept Living Spaces

Open concept living has emerged as a signature of modern home design, breaking down walls to merge the kitchen, dining, and living spaces into one seamless environment. This expansive layout not only enhances the sense of space but also maximizes natural light, creating a bright, airy atmosphere. It’s ideal for fostering connection, whether you’re spending quality time with family or hosting lively gatherings. With its flexibility and stylish appeal, this trend redefines how we experience daily living — bringing both form and function to the forefront, especially in the evolving landscape of real estate in Madurai.

Minimalist Aesthetics

Minimalism continues to thrive in modern interior design, but it has evolved into a more inviting and comfortable aesthetic. Rather than the stark, cold spaces of the past, today’s minimalist designs embrace warmth and coziness. Homeowners are gravitating toward simplicity and clean lines, yet with a softer, more personal touch. Neutral color palettes remain central — think shades of beige, cream, and soft greys — but they’re now complemented by warm accents like light wood finishes and pops of color that create a sense of balance. Natural materials, such as wool, linen, and velvet, add depth and texture, making spaces feel more inviting without compromising the minimalist appeal.

Bold Accent Walls

Neutral tones provide a calm backdrop throughout the home, but bold accent walls and statement ceilings are becoming popular ways to add character and style. Rich colors, textured wallpapers, and wood paneling create focal points that bring personality into the space without overwhelming it. Statement ceilings, featuring exposed beams, coffered designs, or unique lighting fixtures, add a creative touch to any room. These features elevate the design, offering a balance of simplicity and flair. For those looking at houses for sale in Madurai, these trends bring elegance and individuality to modern homes.

Indoor-Outdoor Living

Blurring the lines between indoor and outdoor spaces is a trend that enhances modern living. Large sliding glass doors, expansive windows, and indoor greenery create a seamless connection with nature, making rooms feel brighter and more open. Outdoor areas like patios and terraces are becoming true extensions of the home, with comfortable seating, outdoor kitchens, and cozy fireplaces. This design approach is especially seen in luxury villas in Madurai, where indoor-outdoor harmony adds a touch of elegance and tranquility to everyday life.

Visit our website: https://starhousing.org.in/

[khannadigi86]

"Stylish and Functional: Integrating Storage into Your Interior Design"

When it comes to interior design, the balance between aesthetics and functionality is crucial. One of the key challenges in creating a beautiful yet practical living space is integrating storage solutions that not only fulfill their purpose but also enhance the overall design. Whether you're living in a compact apartment or a spacious home, clever storage ideas by professional interior designer can transform your space into an organized, stylish sanctuary. Here, we explore various ways to integrate storage into your interior design, ensuring both style and functionality are achieved.

The Importance of Storage in Interior Design

Before delving into specific solutions, it's important to understand why storage plays a pivotal role in interior design:

Clutter Reduction: Proper storage helps reduce clutter, making spaces look cleaner and more inviting.

Enhanced Aesthetics: Thoughtfully designed storage can serve as a focal point or seamlessly blend into the background, enhancing the room's aesthetics.

Improved Functionality: Well-planned storage ensures that everything has its place, making daily tasks easier and more efficient.

Increased Space: Effective storage solutions can make even the smallest spaces feel more spacious by utilizing every inch of available space.

Multi-Functional Furniture

Multi-functional furniture is a game-changer, especially in smaller homes. These pieces are designed to serve more than one purpose, maximizing both space and functionality.

Storage Beds

Beds with built-in storage are perfect for bedrooms with limited space. Options include:

Under-Bed Drawers: Utilize the space beneath your bed with pull-out drawers, ideal for storing clothes, shoes, or linens.

Lift-Up Mattresses: Some beds have a mechanism that allows the mattress to lift up, revealing ample storage space underneath.

Storage Ottomans and Benches

Ottomans and benches with hidden storage are versatile additions to any room. They provide seating, can be used as coffee tables, and offer concealed storage for items like blankets, magazines, or toys.

Sofa Beds

Sofa beds are excellent for guest rooms or small apartments, offering a comfortable seating area by day and a cozy bed by night. Many also come with built-in storage for bedding.

Built-In Storage Solutions

Built-in storage solutions are custom-designed to fit your space perfectly, offering a seamless integration of storage and style.

Built-In Wardrobes

Built-in wardrobes can be tailored to fit any nook or cranny, maximizing storage in bedrooms. Consider features like:

Sliding Doors: Save space in smaller rooms.

Mirrored Doors: Create the illusion of more space and provide a functional mirror.

Customized Interiors: Include shelves, drawers, and hanging space tailored to your needs.

Built-In Shelving

Built-in shelves can transform otherwise wasted space into functional storage. They can be designed to fit around doors, windows, or even fireplaces, adding character and practicality.

Creative Storage Solutions

Think outside the box with these creative storage ideas that add both style and function to your home.

Staircase Storage

The space under the stairs is often underutilized. Consider converting it into:

Pull-Out Drawers: Ideal for storing shoes, bags, or cleaning supplies.

Bookshelves: Create a cozy reading nook with built-in shelves.

Home Office: Design a compact workstation with a desk and storage.

Hidden Storage

Hidden storage solutions are perfect for maintaining a clean, uncluttered look. Ideas include:

Hidden Cabinets: Conceal storage behind panels that match your walls or furniture.

Secret Drawers: Incorporate drawers into furniture like coffee tables or kitchen islands.

Floating Shelves

Floating shelves are a stylish way to add storage without overwhelming a room. They can be used in any space, from the kitchen to the bathroom, and offer a minimalist, modern look.

Kitchen Storage

The kitchen is often the busiest room in the house, and effective storage is crucial to keep it organized and functional.

Pantry Solutions

A well-organized pantry can make meal prep and grocery shopping easier. Consider:

Pull-Out Shelves: Provide easy access to items at the back.

Clear Containers: Store dry goods in clear containers for a uniform look and easy identification.

Door Storage: Utilize the inside of pantry doors for additional storage, such as spice racks or hooks for utensils.

Cabinet Organizers

Maximize cabinet space with organizers that keep everything in its place. Options include:

Lazy Susans: Ideal for corner cabinets.

Pull-Out Baskets: Make it easy to reach items at the back of deep cabinets.

Dividers: Keep baking sheets, cutting boards, and lids organized.

Kitchen Islands

A kitchen island can provide additional storage, workspace, and seating. Consider features like:

Built-In Shelves: Store cookbooks, small appliances, or decorative items.

Drawers and Cabinets: Keep utensils, pots, and pans within easy reach.

Pull-Out Trash Bins: Hide trash and recycling bins for a cleaner look.

Living Room Storage

The living room is a space for relaxation and entertainment, and it can quickly become cluttered. These storage solutions keep it tidy and stylish.

Media Consoles

A media console with ample storage can keep electronics, cables, and accessories organized. Look for options with:

Cable Management: Keep cords out of sight.

Adjustable Shelves: Customize storage to fit your needs.

Closed Storage: Hide clutter behind doors or drawers.

Built-In Bookcases

Built-in bookcases can add character and storage to your living room. Consider incorporating:

Display Shelves: Showcase decorative items, photos, or art.

Closed Cabinets: Hide less attractive items like DVDs or board games.

Bedroom Storage

A clutter-free bedroom is essential for a restful environment. These storage ideas help keep your bedroom organized and serene.

Nightstands

Choose nightstands with storage to keep essentials within reach. Options include:

Drawers: Store books, glasses, or medications.

Shelves: Keep baskets or bins for easy access to smaller items.

Under-Bed Storage

If a storage bed isn't an option, consider under-bed storage solutions like:

Storage Bins: Slide bins under the bed for seasonal clothes or shoes.

Rolling Drawers: Easy to access and perfect for storing linens or extra pillows.

Closet Organizers

Maximize closet space with organizers that keep clothes, shoes, and accessories in order. Consider:

Hanging Shelves: Add extra storage for folded clothes or shoes.

Drawer Units: Keep smaller items like socks and underwear organized.

Hooks and Racks: Utilize the back of the closet door for additional storage.

Bathroom Storage

Bathrooms often have limited space, making smart storage solutions essential for keeping them tidy and functional.

Medicine Cabinets

A medicine cabinet with built-in storage can keep toiletries and medications organized. Look for options with:

Mirrored Doors: Serve a dual purpose and save space.

Adjustable Shelves: Customize storage to fit your needs.

Vanity Storage

A vanity with built-in storage can keep bathroom essentials out of sight. Consider features like:

Drawers: Store makeup, hair tools, and toiletries.

Cabinets: Keep cleaning supplies or extra towels hidden.

Over-The-Toilet Storage

Utilize the space above the toilet with shelves or cabinets. Options include:

Open Shelves: Display decorative items or store towels.

Closed Cabinets: Hide less attractive items like toilet paper or cleaning supplies.

Home Office Storage

A well-organized home office can boost productivity and reduce stress. These storage solutions keep your workspace tidy and efficient.

Desk Storage

Choose a desk with built-in storage to keep essentials within reach. Options include:

Drawers: Store office supplies, documents, or electronics.

Shelves: Keep books, binders, or decorative items organized.

Filing Cabinets

A filing cabinet can keep important documents organized and easily accessible. Consider options with:

Locking Drawers: Keep sensitive information secure.

Rolling Casters: Make it easy to move the cabinet as needed.

Wall Storage

Utilize wall space for additional storage. Ideas include:

Shelves: Store books, office supplies, or decorative items.

Pegboards: Keep tools, supplies, or accessories organized and within reach.

Outdoor Storage

Outdoor spaces also benefit from effective storage solutions, keeping them tidy and functional.

Storage Benches

A storage bench can provide seating and a place to store outdoor items like cushions, gardening tools, or toys. Look for options with:

Weather-Resistant Materials: Ensure durability in outdoor conditions.

Lockable Lids: Keep items secure and protected from the elements.

Sheds and Cabinets

A shed or outdoor cabinet can keep larger items like lawnmowers, bicycles, or sports equipment organized and out of sight. Consider features like:

Shelves and Hooks: Maximize storage space and keep items off the ground.

Ventilation: Prevent moisture buildup and keep items dry.

Conclusion

Integrating storage into your interior design doesn't mean sacrificing style for functionality. With thoughtful planning and creative solutions by an interior designer, can create a space that is both beautiful and practical. Whether you're working with a small apartment or a spacious home, these storage ideas can help you achieve an organized, clutter-free environment that enhances your lifestyle. Embrace the challenge of designing storage that complements your aesthetic, and you'll enjoy a home that is not only stylish but also perfectly functional.

[4iwillteachyoutoberich]

The dining room at 81 Quarry Hill, Stone Cliffe

The dining room at 81 Quarry Hill, Stone Cliffe is an exceptional blend of opulence and refinement, inviting all who enter to experience the pinnacle of regal dining. Designed with a meticulous eye for detail and an appreciation for old-world craftsmanship, the room embodies a royal splendour that transcends eras. From the moment one crosses the threshold, it is clear that this is a place where every meal is elevated to an unforgettable experience.

The grandeur of the room is immediately apparent in its rich, ornate finishes. Tall, intricately carved oak panels line the walls, creating an atmosphere of timeless elegance. Above, a coffered ceiling adorned with gold leaf detailing reflects the glow of an antique chandelier, which hangs like a crown in the centre of the room. The chandelier's flickering candlelight casts warm shadows that dance along the walls, creating an intimate and enchanting ambiance.

At the heart of the dining room stands a magnificent table that stretches elegantly across the space. Carved from the finest mahogany and polished to a high shine, the table commands attention with its intricate inlays and graceful curves. Its sheer size and sophistication are a testament to the room's royal character, accommodating a gathering of guests while fostering an air of intimacy.

Surrounding the table are high-backed chairs upholstered in luxurious velvet and accented with gold trim, providing both comfort and style. Each chair is thoughtfully positioned to ensure that every guest feels like a distinguished member of a royal court. Sumptuous table linens, crystal glassware, and fine china complete the setting, inviting guests to dine in the utmost luxury.

The room is flooded with natural light during the day, thanks to the floor-to-ceiling windows that offer a breathtaking view of the gardens and surrounding woodlands. This light illuminates the gilded details and rich woodwork, imbuing the room with a regal glow. In the evening, the chandelier and wall sconces create a more intimate setting, where each guest is bathed in soft, flattering light.

An ornate fireplace stands at one end of the room, its mantel carved with the estate’s crest and flanked by columns. The crackling warmth of a fire adds to the room’s welcoming aura, making it the perfect place to linger over an evening of fine dining and spirited conversation.

Every meal served in this space is imbued with a sense of ceremony, and guests cannot help but feel honored and celebrated. Whether enjoying an elaborate banquet or an intimate family supper, dining at 81 Quarry Hill, Stone Cliffe is an experience of unparalleled luxury. The room’s regal atmosphere transports all who dine here to a realm where every moment is savored, every taste is exquisite, and every guest is treated like royalty.

For those fortunate enough to receive an invitation to this grand dining room, the sense of being enveloped in luxury is palpable. The meticulous craftsmanship, opulent décor, and impeccable attention to detail create an environment that not only celebrates the joy of dining but also the art of living well. Here, at the heart of the estate, the dining room stands as a testament to the timeless values of hospitality, elegance, and the simple pleasure of gathering around a table with those you cherish.

[house-builders-toowoomba]

Design Principles Of Stump Homes

Stump houses stand as unique architectural marvels that seamlessly blend into their natural surroundings. These dwellings, constructed atop the remnants of felled trees, not only showcase innovative design but also offer a harmonious relationship between human habitation and the environment. When it comes to design principles and interior decor trends specific to stump homes Toowoomba, nature takes center stage as it guides every aspect of the living space.

Embracing Organic Architecture

At the heart of stump house design lies the principle of organic architecture. Inspired by the natural contours and materials of the surrounding landscape, these homes harmonize with their environment rather than imposing upon it. The use of reclaimed wood from fallen trees creates an earthy charm to the structure and minimizes environmental impact. Builders and designers often work closely with the terrain, allowing the shape and placement of the stump to dictate the overall layout of the house.

Integration of Natural Elements

In stump house interiors, there is a thin line between indoors and outdoors. For example, large windows and open floor plans invite ample natural light and ventilation, blurring the boundaries between the interior and exterior spaces. Materials such as stone, clay, and untreated wood dominate the décor of stump homes, creating a warm and inviting ambiance reminiscent of the forest floor. Live-edge furniture pieces and accents crafted from reclaimed materials further emphasize the connection to nature, infusing the space with a rustic yet elegant charm.

Sustainable Practices

From construction to daily living, eco-friendly practices permeate every aspect of these stump home designs. Rainwater harvesting systems, solar panels, and passive heating and cooling techniques are often incorporated to reduce energy consumption and lessen reliance on external resources. In addition, many stump houses feature edible gardens and green roofs, further enhancing their self-sufficiency and ecological footprint.

Cozy Retreats in Nature

Despite their minimalist aesthetic, stump homes exude a sense of warmth and comfort that is quintessentially cozy. Soft textiles in earthy tones such as wool rugs and linen curtains, add tactile appeal and a touch of luxury to the interiors. Thoughtfully placed lighting fixtures, including pendant lamps and wall sconces, create intimate spaces while highlighting the natural beauty of the surroundings. Cozy nooks and reading corners invite residents to unwind and immerse themselves in the tranquility of their natural surroundings.

Blending Tradition with Modernity

While rooted in tradition and sustainability, stump house design also embraces modern amenities and technologies. State-of-the-art appliances and smart home systems seamlessly integrate into the rustic charm of these dwellings, offering convenience without compromising on environmental values. Minimalist furnishings and clean lines complement the organic architecture, striking a balance between traditional craftsmanship and contemporary design sensibilities.

Personalization and Adaptability

One of the most appealing aspects of stump house living is the opportunity for personalization and adaptability. With a focus on modular design and flexible floor plans, residents can customize their living spaces to suit their evolving needs and preferences. Whether it is adding a greenhouse extension or incorporating a cozy fireplace, stump homes offer endless possibilities for creative expression while maintaining a deep respect for the natural environment.

[simstorian-blog]

N O O K S T O N E

(CC List + Links)

World Map: Oasis Springs

Area: Bedford Strait

Lot Size:  20 x 15

(3-bedroom—3 double beds, 2.5 Baths)

Gallery ID: Simstorian-ish

Packs Used

Expansion Packs

Cats & Dogs

City Living

Cottage Living

For Rent

Get Famous

Get Together

Growing Together

Island Living

Seasons

Snowy Escape

Game Packs

Dream Home Decorator

Jungle Adventure

My Wedding Stories

Parenthood

Realm of Magic

Spa Day

Strangerville

Vampires

Stuff Pack

Vintage Glamour

Build Mode

Awingedllama – Simple Windows & Doors

Felixandre – Berlin Pt. 2 (Glass Double Door Short)

Peacemaker – Multi-Level Carpet

Peacemaker – Vaulted Ranch

Simplistic – Elegant Wallpaper (Crane)

Simplistic – English Watercolour Wallpaper (Donegal)

Sooky88 – English Country Wall Set (Plain)

Sooky88 – Victorian Floor Tiles

Buy Mode

Anye – Mertice Chair

Awingedllama – Fluffy Blanket

BlueTeas

Empire Snooker Suspension Lamp

Samara Sconce

Sheer Curtains

CharlyPancakes

Lavish

Munch (Fridge, Stove)

Cowbuild – Mont Blanc Chandelier

Felixandre

Colonial Pt. 2 (Tray)

Fayun Pt. 2 (Linen Armchair)

Florence Pt. 1 (Piano)

Gatsby (Orchid Vase 1 v2)

Gothic Revival (Victorian Bedframe)

Grove Pt. 3 (Painting B, Painting C Leaning)

London (Chandelier Short)

Harlix

Baysic (Packs Wardrobe Clothing - ALL)

Harluxe (AC Control, Light Switch, Mini Bar)

Kichen (Stool)

Orjanic Pt. 2 (Curtains)

Tiny Twavellers (Dino Lamp)

Harrie

Coastal Pt. 7 (Bench)

Octave Pt. 2 (Metal Fireplace)

Octave Pt. 4 (Light Switches)

Shop the Look 2 (Ceramic Side Table, Dining Chair)

Stockholm (Ottoman)

Ice Cream for Breakfast – Ruggable x Iris Apfel Rugs

Joyce – Simple Live #8 (Tofu Bar Chair)

KiwiSims4

Blockhouse Sectional BGC

Blockhouse Bookcase

Leaf Motif – Garden Cover

Lili’s Palace – Intarsia Bedding

Peacemaker

Alesund Sectional

Bowed Bedroom (Bench, Dresser, Furrow Pouffe, Ring Dish, Vanity Table)

Futura Living (Fireplace Medium)

Pierisim

Oak House Pt. 2

Oak House Pt. 4

MCM Pt. 5 (Hair Brushes, Hair Dryer, Hang Clothing, Straightener, Wig Collection)

Unfold (Dragon Tree)

Vera Bathroom (Bathrobe Functional)

Winter Garden (Old Rug)

Woodland Ranch (Double Bedframe w. Canopy, Nightstands, Table Lamp)

Woodland Ranch Pt. 2 (Hanged Dishrack)

Woodland Ranch Pt. 3 (Old Rug)

Myshunosun

Gemini Vase

Luna Slippers

Simplistic

Loloi Rugs (Part I)

Vincent Van Gogh

Vintage Silk Divider

SixamCC – Luggage Cart

Sundays

Kediri Pt. 1 [Ceiling Light, Throw Pillow (solids)]

POP! Pt. 1 (Throw Pillow II)

Sumba Pt. 1 (Pillow Set I)

Swell Pt. 1 (Mattress, Pillows, Throw)

Yarra Pt. 2, 3 (Bed Cushion Set, Duvet)

Syboubou – Wall Panel Mirror

The Townie House Project – Moderno Pouf Ottoman

TaurusDesign

Eliza Walk-in Closet

Lilith Chilling Areas Pt. 1 (SulSul Sign)

Tuds – Turn Lounge

DO NOT REUPLOAD MY LOTS.

DO NOT CLAIM THEM AS YOUR OWN.

DO NOT PLACE BEHIND A PAYWALL.

Tray Files: DOWNLOAD

[hometoursandotherstuff]

1880 Victorian in Royersford, Pennsylvania is a fixer-upper bargain for $339,900. It has 6bds. 1.5ba. Royersford is 32mi. Northwest of Philadelphia &  has become highly popular and the place to call home. The certificate is from the Millworker Brothers that once owned it.

Unfortunately, someone replaced the wainscoting with 1970s paneling, but that can come down easily. The baseboards are still there and so is the inlaid floor. But, the star is that curved door.

Entrance hall. I like the way they did the carpeting to expose the inlaid. 

Closeup of the intricate carving on the newel post.

You can see that it still has the crown molding, wainscoting on the left, and the original fireplace. I don’t know if the pocket doors are still intact b/c of the curtains.

The beautiful fireplace surround is here, and I would definitely remove that board and the fake bricks. 

The railing is an unusual design. 

The floors look like they can be definitely be redone. More fake brick that has to come down. 

There’s a nice built-in cabinet, so this must be the dining room. It needs to be stripped and refinished, though. The current stain and finish is rough.

The sunporch has lots of potential.

The kitchen is large and needs some updating, but look at that beautiful window.

Wonderful ornate original hardware.

Wish they hadn’t painted the molding up here black, but there’s a great linen closet on the left.

Bright bedroom.

I wish they would’ve shown more of the 3rd floor interior b/c it looks so fabulous.

It has 2 widow watches, but it looks like the doors were replaced by windows.

Why didn’t they show the interior of the turret room?

Nice deck and a patio on the back that needs some power washing. 

This garden can definitely be revived.

Good-sized yard.

The front gate and fence need some sanding and Rust-O-Leum. 

This could be a great house. 

The area is supported by a revitalized business district with quaint shops, restaurants, a popular ice cream shop (Handels) and a historic fire house recently converted to a brew pub (Lost Planet) and plans for redevelopment of the nearby river front (some of which has already been completed...drop your Kayak in the river) all these amenities are within a 2-7 block walk.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/109-2nd-Ave-Royersford-PA-19468/9884687_zpid/