#mosaic staircase

[cpleblow]

Moraga Street Mosaic Staircase

©cpleblow photography (2012)

(recently discovered in my archives)

[upstairsdownstairsandinbetween]

The historic Milan headquarter of RAI (former EIAR),

Corso Sempione, Milan, Italy,

Designed by Gio Ponti and Nino Bertolaia in 1939. 

[beautifulfrenchhouses]

490,000 €

335 m² / 3606 ft²

Autun, Saône-et-Loire, Bourgogne-Franche-Comté, France.

[moviemosaics]

Subject

directed by Camilla Hall and Jennifer Tiexiera, 2022

[septembergold]

[faithandarisadventures]

Worcester Art Museum October 7, 2023 Worcester, Massachusetts

[playnextdoor]

I adore you puppy

summary: you and caitlyn try a collar and a leash

CW: swearing, drinking, slight intoxication, dom! caitlyn, the reader wears a collar and leash, the reader is referred to as "puppy" but its not petplay, slight slapping (i love it idc), Cait is a little mean (whats new), reader's chest is referred to as 'breasts', fingering (r! receiving), not really proofread despite it sitting in my drafts for the past week

The thought of introducing your kinks to Caitlyn crosses your mind one drunken night. Red wine makes you horny and tired, and you stretch out on the couch, trying to look seductive, but in reality, it looks like you’re struggling not to fall. Caitlyn, practically sober as she watches you, finds it endearing.

“I’ve been thinking,” you say, slurring slightly as you sit up and sip wine from your sleek glass. Caitlyn’s eyes follow how your tongue traces the rim of the glass, lingering on your lips. You’re oblivious to the effect you have on her. She wants to take you to bed, cradle your darling face, and perhaps tease you a little. But her respect for you keeps her patient, she’ll wait until you’re sober.

Caitlyn glances up from her book, the candlelight casting a warm glow over the left side of her face.

“What do ya think..” you hiccup, earning a soft laugh from her, “of me wearing a collar?”You finish the thought as you empty your glass.

Caitlyn blinks in surprise and then shakes her head, chuckling under her breath.

“I’m not opposed,” she says, her body leaning toward yours. Her movement invites a kiss, and you meet her halfway. She plants one kiss on the corner of your mouth, then presses her lips softly to yours, letting it linger. Before she can deepen it, you jab a finger into her chest.

“You didn’t answer my question,” you mumble, your half-lidded eyes locking with hers. Her calm and composed expression only fuels your anticipation. She smiles softly.

“Yes, I think you’d look adorable,” she replies, taking your hand gently from her chest. “But I think you’ll feel better in the morning if you drink some water and lie down.”

Rolling your eyes, you leave her and stumble toward the kitchen. As you giggle, you hear Caitlyn’s quick footsteps behind you. She’s close, ready to catch you if you trip down the long staircase.

Two nights later, you waited for her arrival, just as you did most nights. The moon illuminated her room, highlighting its true size and casting a soft glow over everything. Your eyes lingered on the intricate mosaic paintings adorning the tall ceilings. The sheets on her bed, smooth and luxurious, wrapped around you like a silky sateen ocean.

Her familiar footsteps echoed in the hallway, each heavy boot fall growing closer. She opened the door gently, unaware that you were already awake, and your body turned toward her. You watched her undress like a creep, not that she would mind. Loosening her dark blue, almost black hair from its ponytail, a soft sigh slipping from her lips. Facing away from you, she began to undress. You couldn’t help but muffle your giggles as you notice her struggle, nearly tripping over her feet while shedding the multiple layers of clothing.

“Cait,” you whispered harshly for the third time, startling her. She dropped her eyepatch, the final item she had been removing. Clutching her chest, she spun toward you, her expression shifting into a defeated smile.

“Sorry,” you murmured softly.

She shook her head, silently dismissing your apology, and approached you with something hidden behind her back.

“I have something for you,” she whispered, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead. Despite her composed demeanor, she kept her voice low, as if the guards a few halls down might hear. “Take a look.”

You sat up in the tangle of sheets, and Caitlyn steadied herself by placing a knee on the bed.

She pulled out a small black box, just large enough to fit in her slim hand. As she opened it toward herself, she bit her lip.

“You’re gonna kill me,” she muttered.

When she finally turned the box toward you, your breath hitched. Inside lay a beautiful black leather collar, accented with a silver pendant. The shining cursive letters spelling Kirramman’s made your cheeks flush.

“Caitlyn! Have you lost your mind?” you half whispered exclaimed, playfully shoving her shoulder. Her eyes met yours, and her soft smile mirrored your embarrassment. Both of you blushed like awkward teenagers on a first date.

“I only asked one person to make it, and I promise they don’t know its intended use,” she replied, pulling the collar from its box. The protective cotton piece fell away, revealing a silver chain attached to the leather. She tested the leash, letting the metal clink softly as she ran her fingers over it.

“And what exactly is the intended purpose?” you asked, a devious smile creeping across your lips. You already knew the answer; you were the one who’d suggested it, duh.

Caitlyn shrugged, faking innocence. “To remind you of your place. You’ve had trouble listening lately,” she teased, her smug grin now firmly in place. Her gaze locked onto yours, silently seeking permission without pressuring you.

Her words sent heat coursing through you. Caitlyn’s authoritative tone, paired with the quiet, deliberate attention she always gave you, left you squeezing your thighs together.

“You need to tell me, my love,” she said, snapping you out of your thoughts. Her finger tilted your chin upward, forcing you to meet her eyes.

“Uhhhh, yeah,” you stammered, blinking up at her. Her tall figure seemed to grow even more imposing, towering over you as her voice wrapped around you like a command.

“No, no, no,” Caitlyn laughed, and you couldn’t tell if she found your reaction cute or pathetic—probably both. “It’s yes…?” she prompted, her tone expectant.

Her fingers trailed down from your chin to your neck, gripping it gently. The slight pressure made your breath hitch, and you barely suppressed a moan.

“Yes, miss,” you finally whispered.

"Oh, come on now, up," Caitlyn commands.

She sits gracefully, wearing nothing but lacy black panties and a loosely tied silky blue robe, her black eyepatch in place just as it was that morning. The way her legs cross so effortlessly has you shifting uncomfortably in your current position.

You're nearly nude, just your underwear and the collar you'd so desperately wanted to wear. Now, with Caitlyn checking on you every minute to make sure you're okay, the caress of her fingers over your cheek, the weight of it feels all too real.

You perch yourself on the sofa beside her, glancing up. She notices everything-the slight sheen in your eyes, the unsteady rise and fall of your chest, and the way the metal leash gleams as it dangles between you. Her hand remains steady on the handle, a subtle reminder of how she’s in control.

"You've been good, yeah?" she asks softly, her hand lifting to cup your cheek. You can’t help but lean into it. Her thumb brushes gently across your skin, leaving you warm and utterly undone beneath her touch.

You nod, but Caitlyn gives you a light slap across your cheek.

You nod, but Caitlyn lightly slaps your cheek.

“Speak,” she demands, her words sharp. You shrink under her gaze, feeling yourself grow small.

“Yes, miss,” you whisper hoarsely, your hands clasping together as they fidget, bracing for her next move.

“So, does that mean you deserve to be touched?” she presses, her hand gently soothing the heat rising on your cheek.

“Yes, miss,” you answer more firmly this time, earning a satisfied hum from Caitlyn. She pats her lap, her hand swiftly wrapping the metal chain around her wrist as you scramble to comply, nearly toppling over in your rush.

“Well, you have to tell me where you need me,” she teases, tugging the chain gently while you wiggle into place beside her. Her hand glides over your neck, collarbone, the curve of your chest, and down to your stomach.

“Do you want me inside yet?” she asks, her fingers trailing down your body, brushing over your clothed clit. The white, lacy-frilled panties she chose for you stand in sharp contrast to the black leather collar snug around your neck.

You nod eagerly, only to realize too late that you’ve made the same mistake again.

Pulling harsher this time, Caitlyn caused you to topple nearly over her. Her condescending tone makes you want to hide in a corner. “Really?” She asks with disappointment hints in her voice.

“I—” you stammer, scrambling back into position. The word sticks in your throat as the restraint tugs firmly against you. Her warm and intoxicating scent overwhelms your senses, leaving you helplessly melting into her presence. “I want you inside, miss. Please.”

She releases the leash and cups your face gently, guiding your gaze to hers. Her lips meet yours in a soft, healing kiss. As you kiss back timidly, she presses harder against your clit, making you hiss as the friction builds. You grind down instinctively, gasping when her teeth nip at your bottom lip.

“Take them off,” she commands, patting your cunt lightly to urge you. You slide off to the side, removing the damp underwear with shaky hands. Folding them neatly, you place them on the armrest before turning back to her, your eyes wide and glossy with anticipation.

She watches you with an almost possessive pride, savoring the sight of your desperation. Knowing she’s the only one who gets to see you like this—so raw, so eager—feeds her. It’s intoxicating. The two of you are unashamedly perverse, but Caitlyn always takes it further, and you love her for it.

“So noisy today, hmm?” Caitlyn teases, her fingers playing with your folds as your hips rock weakly to meet her touch. Your hands rise to your chest, fiddling with the collar around your neck. The sight sends Caitlyn reeling.

“Maybe I need to gag you, yeah?” she murmurs, her voice strained to match your breathless mewls. You nod eagerly, the movement growing frantic as she presses two fingers firmly against your swollen clit, grinding slowly and deliberately.

“Uh-uh, Cait—” you choke out, grabbing at the cold chain for comfort. The soft clicking of the metal and the mix of your moans fill the room. Forgotten, the leash handle dangles loosely from her hand as Caitlyn watches you lose yourself on her fingers. Leaning closer, she struggles to see clearly past her eyepatch, and you arch instinctively, putting on an even more shameless show for her.

Leaning back onto her hand, you take control, fucking yourself on her fingers. One arm clings to the headboard of the couch for support as you bounce and grind in a rhythmic frenzy. Caitlyn watches, captivated by the soft ‘o’ of your mouth, the slick, obscene strings of arousal dripping down her fingers, the way your free hand grips the leash tightly.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” Caitlyn gasps, her voice heavy with desire. Her fingers move with your faltering rhythm, guiding you as exhaustion creeps in. She presses her palm harder against your clit, each contact pushing you closer. Caitlyn knows this move too well; she’s perfected it. Memories flood back of her chest pressed to your back, her fingers curving just right, leaving you trembling for hours afterward.

This time, you nod eagerly, her two fingers sliding deeper as your voice catches. The rough drag of her palm sends sparks shooting through you, pooling heat low in your stomach.

“Y’gonna come?” Caitlyn coos. You nod again, your wide eyes meeting hers, pleading. She visibly restrains herself from yanking your leash to deny you of your release. Sweat gleams on your chest as it rises and falls, your breaths uneven.

“Beg then,” she commands.

You whine first, and she tugs the leash sharply.

“C’mon, you can do it. What happened to my sweet puppy, hmm?” Her teasing strikes a nerve, the word puppy breaking you. Your body gushes in her hand, trembling.

“Please miss —Caitlyn, please need you.” You try speeding your hips up, but she's already steps ahead of you. Her fingers relentlessly speed up, and she can tell how much you like them when she slightly curves them. She watches as you plea and cry, head tilting back as she unashamedly watches the way your tits bounce with every thrust of her fingers.

“Cait— mm gonna,” you can barely get the words out as if this girl’s fingers can’t get any faster. The soft squelching of your arousal as her fingers splatter in little spurts over the sofa. You glance down and nearly come again at the sight of her fingers playing with your folds, your brain turning to mush. 

“Holy shit!” a high-pitched sound cried out as you came, falling onto the back of the sofa. Caitlyn nearly dives onto you, fingers slipping out as she rubs soothing circles on your swollen clit.  And all you can do is take it so far gone that you can't help but jerk every time Cait flicks your bud a certain way.

Your legs clamp together instinctively, trapping her wrist as you slump against the couch. Heart racing, you whimper softly as Caitlyn withdraws her hand, wiping her fingers before leaning in to kiss your cheek. Unhooking the leash from your collar, she steps away, grabbing her robe and the long-forgotten glass of water.

“So… puppy, hmm?” she teases, a smirk tugging at her lips.

You glare at her, cheeks flushing, which only makes her laugh.

“Enough,” you mumble, turning your face into the pillow to hide your embarrassment. Caitlyn trails her hand up your bare

back, her nails scratching lightly, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

“It’s cute, no? I know you like it,” she says softly, her voice dripping with confidence as her fingers trace idle patterns across your skin.

You nod into the pillow, fidgeting, too embarrassed to face her. Caitlyn always teases you like this after your moments together, her confidence making it impossible to get back at her. But this time, she lets you be. Brushing back the hair covering your neck, she leans down to kiss the spot where the collar sat, trailing soft kisses down your back.

Her lips trail along your bare skin, soft and gentle, as she whispers, “You know, I love seeing you like this. All mine.”

Your face heats, but you can’t help the muttered response that escapes. “You’re insufferable.” The words are muffled into the pillow, your voice tinged with lingering embarrassment.

Caitlyn laughs softly, the sound low and warm in your ear. “Insufferable, huh?” she repeats, her hand wandering to lightly pinch your thigh, earning a startled squeak from you. “Pretty bold for someone who was just crying on my fingers.”

“You’re lucky I like you,” you mutter, rolling onto your side to glance at her, your lips curving into a small, tired smile.

“Oh, puppy,” she grins, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face, “you’re lucky I fucking adore you.”

The words catch you off guard, leaving you warm and speechless. Caitlyn leans in, her lips brushing your lips in a soft, lingering kiss that sends a comforting warmth in your chest.

a/n: i apologize for this unintentional writing hiatus, life has been crazy. this was supposed to be longer but i got lazy and insecure lol, hope you enjoyed it anyway

[verpuerto]

Powder Room - Bathroom

[evan-collins90]

Farallon restaurant - 450 Post Street, San Francisco, CA (opened June 1997 - closed 2020)

"Farallon is named after a fishing island off the Pacific coast.

The underwater fantasy theme drives the $4 million restaurant. The electric atmosphere grabs customers the minute they walk through the glass doors framed by a brushed steel and Lucite canopy, which vaguely looks like a scallop shell. Giant jellyfish chandeliers hang from the high ceiling. The walls are textured with shellfish impressions, and lighted yellow pillars that climb the walls are imprinted with seaweed. And that's just the bar.

The big main dining room is more elegant, but maintains the marine motif. Tiny tiles form mosaics on the ceiling, where two huge light fixtures are formed into seashells. Even the hood over the kitchen carries out the theme: It's covered in copper scales. And suspended over the counter are beautiful blown-glass lights shaped like fish.

A gracefully curving staircase leading to the mezzanine is covered in 50,000 blue-black glass beads that resemble magnified caviar, while the wall sconces replicate stands of coral and barnacles."

Excellent examples of the 'Org-Nouveau' style popular in the 1990's

Designed by Pat Kuleto

Scanned from American Theme Restaurants by I.M. Tao (1999) and the February 1998 issue of Interiors Magazine

[allastoredeer]

Okay, so, I decided to have a little fun and traced one of the collages I made (posted all of them in a different posts) to both relax and practice line thickness, and HOT DAMN do I have more respect for background artists.

Those details CRUSHED me. But also O.O I noticed so many things in the background that I hadn't before. Like the horse mosaic on the wall, the lions jumping through hoops in the background, how the staircase isn't straight, it's curved, and just how many eye shapes there are in the hotel, damn).

I'm probably ALSO going to use this as a reference, because one can never have too many references, and like with my other ones, anyone is free to snatch this one up too if they want. Something about the absence of color and shadow just...help my brain with the shapes, you know?

[tossawary]

I don't have a solid plot attached to this idea, I don't currently really have the desire to drop everything to go write "The Hobbit" fanfiction, but for a while I've had the idea of *gestures vaguely" some post-canon story (probably some form of fix-it) taking place before, during, and after a grand dwarven opera performance in Erebor.

Because I am absolutely certain that the Lonely Mountain had an absolutely stunningly beautiful Royal Opera House (and plenty of other, less grand performance halls) that, at the city's height, was putting at least one show every single day. Orchestral symphonies, operas and operettas, dramatic plays, dance performances... you name it, they had it and more. The various cultures of Middle Earth evidently ADORE music, dwarves absolutely included. The Company all bring instruments to Bag End to play and sing themselves off before their quest!

Also, beyond the music side of things, with how dwarves are named as master crafters? Smiths and toymakers and magicians? No way that they did not have some of the most gorgeous costumes, sets, and effects on the planet. Dwarves would go WILD with their articulated stage puppets, I know it.

One of my biggest issues with the film trilogy is that it failed to deeply explore the Company as people who had lost their home, beauty and culture included. Smaug not only killed countless people, entire families, and leave many of the survivors poor and desperate, the dragon went on to hoard their heirlooms and life's work and leave these priceless gold treasures UNUSED. It is an additional heartbreak to imagine Smaug tearing through Erebor neighborhood by neighborhood, house by house, so that he could tear out every gemstone in, say, mosaic made by someone's grandmother that sat above the breakfast table every morning. To think that Smaug in the aftermath tore magical lanterns off the walls, the sort that might have been decorated with animals or flowers, to make some daycare walkway just a little more cheery for the children, and in his greed left a dead city in the dark.

The live-action movies put both Smaug and the Balrog in these... absolutely enormous chambers that serve somewhat unclear purposes. The king's treasure vault and a former marketplace, I think? (Moria has been raised by goblins, I can forgive the emptiness.) It's a quick visual depiction of Thror's uncontrollable gold lust to give him a Scrooge McDuck room, sure, instead of anything with an actual organizational system (normally, I assume dwarves are big on sorting their vaults if they have one). Super big columns and hallways and staircases do somewhat effectively communicate the "lost glory" of Moria (I am very fond of these movies!!!), even if I also think it's not as interesting as it could have been. And the other obvious purpose of big, open warehouse-like spaces is 1) it's easier to animate the big creatures moving around in them generally and 2) it allows the films to show off the full-bodied visual spectacle of their big creatures.

But I think it would have also kicked ass to put Smaug in Erebor's former Royal Opera House or something, some enormous theatre decorated across generations. That could be big! The ART (statues, fountains, banners, windows, general architecture) that you could put on the exterior, which has had its face ripped open for the dragon to get inside? The ART that you could put INSIDE (mosaics, murals, and more) as Bilbo sneaks inside? Ohhh, you could include so many potential lore references with thematic relevance!

Also, Bilbo could get jump-scared by old articulated stage puppets or something. IT'S THE DRAGON-! Oh, no, it's some old opera prop. (Yes, we're talking more about an actual adaptation of "The Hobbit" rather than fanfiction concepts now.)

Sure, there's raw material treasure and coins hoarded here in this place, but there would also be musical instruments and toys and household tools and cookware and fancy dishes, wedding jewelry and anniversary gifts and family shrines and festival costumes, fountain statues and street lamps and mailboxes and business signs, and other evidence that people really LIVED here. These are all ordinary objects that Bilbo recognizes from the Shire.

We could tie these objects directly back to objects we saw featured in Bilbo's home early in this adaptation, which he was trying to "protect" from the dwarves during their "That's what Bilbo Baggins hates" song. There are half-burned portraits of people's late parents here too. Did he think that there weren't any dwarves who made doilies or handkerchiefs embroidered with flowers? Of course they made things like that too.

It's perfectly symbolic to, say, place Smaug's bed in an area like the king's throne room. The dragon is now the King Under The Mountain. But I think it would be deliciously haunting to have the throne room of Erebor be empty, the throne half-broken, the silver stripped from the walls and moved elsewhere, because Smaug doesn't care about Thror's old audience chamber. What's a dwarf king to a dragon? He burns the same as all the others. The dragon has instead made his bed in a beautiful public place of art and culture that was for the people, by the people, surrounded by the lovingly crafted belongings of the ordinary people he killed. Gold is gold to a dragon whether it's in a coin or a candlestick.

I think if you really want to sell one of the key messages of "The Hobbit", which in my opinion is: "If more of us valued food and cheer and song above hoarded gold, it would be a merrier world." then you ought to throw yourself behind EREBOR being a place where food and cheer and song had value, not just the Shire. Thorin isn't lost at the end because he's a dwarf and dwarves don't value such things, but because he as a specific person who makes the mistake of weighing pride and gold over people, and he comes to regret that on his deathbed.

So, back to the fanfiction idea, I think that Erebor had music again in it as soon as dwarves started living in it again. It will take decades and decades before the Royal Opera House is half as splendid as it was before, and there is a performance there with beautiful costumes and puppets and sets comparable to those that came before, some traditional historical show that is part of specific seasonal holiday for dwarves. But that very first winter, when the future still looked grim, I think the dwarves cleared out a small stage and cast the roles of this traditional musical retelling of their history among them, based on who knew the parts best, because they aren't just miners and smiths and soldiers, and there was music again in Erebor that winter despite all the damage that the dragon did.

[anakinstwinklebunny]

Pairing: stalker!mafia!anakin x f!reader

Epilogue

The penthouse was quiet, save for the muted hum of the city outside. ANAKIN'S SKYWALKER'S footsteps echoed faintly down the corridor, his stride purposeful and unhurried. The luxurious space was a testament to his power and wealth, but it held secrets within its walls that no one else knew. He moved with the ease of a man who owned everything in his domain, yet his mind was not on the riches around him—it was on you.

Reaching the end of the hall, he stopped before the door that blended seamlessly into the wall, invisible to anyone who didn’t know it was there. He pressed his hand against the hidden sensor, and with a soft click, the door unlocked, sliding open to reveal a narrow staircase descending into the darkness.

Anakin took a deep breath, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he descended the steps, each one creaking under his weight. His heart quickened with anticipation, a familiar thrill rushing through him as he approached the sanctuary he had built—a place where he could be alone with his thoughts, his desires, his obsession. His everything

He almost felt like a silly teenager again, all those butterflies flying in his stomach, circling their path. He felt it. And he loved feeling it. It was the thrill of the amazing feeling he could sense whenever his steps were closer to that room. Although, it wasn't just normal feeling. And it weren't normal butterflies. Everything was twisted to its own the most darkest form

Yet, he loved it. He cherished it. Like he would cherish you, if you'd let him.

The room at the bottom of the stairs was small and windowless, illuminated by a single dim light that cast long shadows across the walls. But those walls…they were alive with images. Hundreds, maybe thousands, of photos covered walls to every inch, creating a chaotic mosaic of your face, your smile, your life. Some were taken from afar, capturing moments when you thought you were alone, while others were closer, more intimate, as if someone had been standing right behind you.

There were candid shots of you at work, in the café, laughing with friends, walking down the street, oblivious to the camera’s gaze. There were even images from inside your apartment—photos of you sleeping, eating, reading, crying, sitting in dull silence. Your entire life mapped out in obsessive detail, each picture telling a story that only he could understand.

Anakin’s fingers brushed over one of the photographs, a close-up of your face, serene in sleep. He traced the curve of your cheek with his thumb, his eyes dark with an intensity that bordered on madness. His breathing deepened, the room seeming to shrink around him as he was consumed by the overwhelming need that had driven him to this point.

He imagined himself touching you, but not in sexual way - more in a gentle, loving way a real partner would do. He wanted to feel the heat of your face, to feel the light skin against his fingertips. He wanted to make you feel like a goddess. Because that's what you were for him

Yet in among everything, it wasn’t just about wanting you that way. It had more of a darker meaning, even when he didn't want to admit it. It was about possessing you, consuming you, making sure that no one else could ever touch what was his. You had become his world, the axis around which everything else revolved, and the thought of losing you—of you slipping through his fingers—was unbearable.

He walked to the center of the room, where a small table stood, cluttered with more mementos of you—a strand of hair, a piece of jewelry you had lost, a napkin with your lipstick stain. He picked up a ring, one he had bought but hadn’t given to you yet. It wasn’t time. Not yet. But soon.

He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply as if he could breathe in your essence from these objects. The sweet, fruity fragrance he swore followed him everywhere.

The room, this shrine to his obsession, was both his refuge and his prison. It was here where he allowed himself to indulge in the darkness that he kept hidden from you, the side of him that even you, in your love and trust, could never fully know.

At least for now.

His eyes snapped open, and he looked around the room with a newfound determination. This was a game, after all—a game of strategy and patience. Every move he made was calculated, every little action of his was for the sake to make you fall right into his arms. He was playing a dangerous game, but he was the master of it. And now, with each passing day, you were beginning to play it too, though you didn’t even realize it.

Anakin turned toward the door, the ring still clutched in his hand burned a hole in his palm. As he began to climb the stairs, he glanced back at the room one last time, a dark smile playing on his lips.

“Would you be able to play this game?” he murmured to the shadows, his voice barely above a whisper. “Or is it already too late?"

The door slid shut behind him, the room becoming dark once again. Just like his owner's heart

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[upstairsdownstairsandinbetween]

Casa de los Milagros (House of Miracles), Xalapa, Veracruz, Mexico,

Courtesy: Danilo Veras Godoy

[lostfunzones]

Glass mosaic by Phillip Suffolk on the staircase of Powell & Moya's Mayfield School, Putney (1955).

[gloomlet]

Gloomlet’s TS4 Script, Gameplay & Replacement Mods

So I decided to compile a list of all the script/gameplay mods that i use or have used in my game. This was mainly made for my personal use, but i’m sure it could be helpful to other people too!

UPDATE! PLEASE READ!! This list is no longer up to date - use the Google Doc! - 04/25/24

Basic & Recommended!

TS4 Mod Manager ui cheats extension mc command center Carl's Sims 4 Gameplay Overhaul Relationship & Pregnancy Overhaul Wonderful Whims The Mood Pack Mod First Impressions Contextual Social Interactions Simulation Lag Fix Teleport Any Sim Better Exceptions

CAS Mods

Stand still in CAS More Traits in CAS Tidy details in CAS More CAS columns Lifetime Aspirations Child Aspirations Set Housewife - Aspiration Unlimited Likes + Dislikes Preferences Plus Homebody - Preferences 100+ CAS Traits Resized Facial Piercings

Replacements & Retextures

Fan Art Maps Map Replacements Overhaul Clean UI Sims 1 & 2 Font LIS Fonts Fluffy Clouds (Ghibli Clouds) Feet replacement Hand replacement Bra + Panty Default Replacement better babies + bottle replacement Another baby bottle replacement Default Cutlery! Cute Kitchenware Replacement Boxing Gloves Aquarium Fish Recolor Ceiling replacement paint it up mod A brighter mop Selfie Override

Objects Phone Replacement Smaller dollhouses Switch Controller + console Game controller PS1 console pc game override Remote control sponge & spray override Another Sponge & Spray override

Electric Toothbrush Razor Bassinet override infant rug +  infant tub child drawing replacement weather controller Cats & Dogs Fireplace Headphone/earbud override Old-fashioned Suitcase The slightly nicer Tree House Fireplace Lil Campers Light

Replaced + more Interactions Bed Cuddles Better Woohoo Reactions Realistic Reactions Brush Teeth From Toothbrush Holders Wake-up animation Greetings

Visuals & effects No overhead effects No zzz No object highlight no plumbob please Smaller Mosaic Minimalist CC Icon More Holiday icons

Gameplay!

Playable Pets Slower infant needs Expanded Mermaids Who's Knocking More Visitors No Bad Microwave Buffs Memory Panel Smarter Pie Menu: Searchable Smart Sim Randomizer Play Chess on any computer Strangerville Story toggle

Careers & Jobs Career Overhaul New Careers Simdeed Recruitment Services Flex Part-Time Recruitment Agency Game Developer Career Ultimate Nursing Career Modeling Career Tumbling Tots Daycare Career Shear Brilliance - Cosmetology Seasonal Odd Jobs - Autumn Odd Job Overhaul Modeling and Makeup Odd Jobs Babysitting Gigs Freelance Chef

Education Uni Tweaks Education Overhaul Uni Application Overhaul University costs more Choose Your Roommate Long Distance Learning No Uni Housing Restrictions Uni Aspirations School Lunch Override Longer or Shorter Degree Requirements

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[fayes-fics]

When The World Is Free: Chapter 1 - Sous le ciel de Paris

MASTERPOST | NEXT

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, WW2 AU.

Warnings: none

Word Count: 2.1k

Summary: Welcome to the start of my new multi-chapter fic based on a request by the lovely @amillcitygirl! Please see the masterpost for a synopsis of this story. Please note that while I do have a plotted outline, I will be posting chapters as I write them, and I expect that process to take quite a few months. Please bear with me! This first chapter sets up the story - reader moving to Paris in the summer of 1939 and bonding with her new flatmate, Eloise Bridgerton. Please note that Benedict won't be turning up for a couple of chapters yet. Thanks to @colettebronte for beta reading. Enjoy! <3

August 1939

Emerging from the underground Trocadero metro stop, you round the corner of the recently completed, gleaming Palais de Chaillot and stop dead in your tracks. There before you is the most iconic landmark of Paris. Perhaps all of France.

La Tour Eiffel. 

Breathtaking in its metallic magnificence, glowing in the setting sun. A sight that buoys your travel-weary soul seven days after you left New York: boats and trains finally bringing you to this wondrous spot. A light breeze even dances over your neck in greeting, a balm from the cloying subterranean heat of the metro. 

It's a light elbow check to your arm that pulls you back from a state of reverie. 

“A beautiful sight, but one you’ll get used to,” your uncle Robert chuckles, shaking your heavy leather case to indicate it's time to move along. “In fact, I've been told you will be able to see it from your appartement…” 

He has accompanied you to Paris and will see you settled into your new adventures before continuing on to visit friends in England. He spent the roaring 20s living right here in the 16th arrondissement himself and, indeed, has arranged for you to share living quarters with a young British lady, a relative of his English friends. It's a comfort to know you’ll have at least one English speaker to chat with as you dive headfirst into learning proper French as you go.

Robert leads you away from the amazing sight and into the bustling streets, alive with cars, trams, bicycles and pedestrians buzzing in all directions. It's all at once like New York City, but yet so different as well, cafe terraces filling the wide pavements with all manner of people gathered to sip robust cafe au lait and refreshing limonade. 

Within minutes, you are on a quieter side street and stopping outside a handsome honey-coloured stone facade with wrought iron window balconies and window guards, teaming with colourful, fragrant flowering pots. The number 14 gleaming white on a traditional navy blue tile. Your uncle pushes the enormous wooden door open, beckoning you into a cool whitewash wall corridor with mosaic floor tiles.

“Ahhh, Robert!!” a sophisticated middle-aged lady bustles from a nearby doorway and greets your uncle warmly, kissing both cheeks. It would appear they are friends of old.

“Y/n, this is Madam DuLac, your landlady,” he explains as you offer a handshake, admiring her boucle jacket and chic bun.

“Qu’est-ce?” she signals with a good-natured frown, obviously finding your polite greeting lacking, pulling you into a hug and two-cheeked kiss. She smells like Chanel perfume, cigarettes and baked goods. “You are in Paris now, ma chérie; this is how we greet one another,” she counsels in heavily accented but perfect English.

“You speak English?” you sigh, relieved, your French decidedly lacking.

“Bien sûr,” she smiles. “And please call me Solène,” she adds with a friendly smile.

“Eloise should be home from the library maintenant; the perfect time for you to meet,” she gestures towards an elevator cage surrounded by a sweeping grey marble staircase.

“I think I would prefer to take the stairs,” you admit, nerves flaring at the idea of such a contraption.

Your uncle laughs. “Well, I am taking it; I am not hefting this case of yours up five flights of stairs,” he adds dryly as you gaze up the swirling stairwell.

“Five storeys?” you squeak.

“The view is the best from the top,” Solène advises as she rattles back the cage entry and steps in, looking at you expectantly. 

Reluctantly, you follow, all three of you and your luggage crammed into the metal cage as it jerks to life and begins its ascent.

“You will get used to it,” Solène smiles as she reads the apprehension on your face, your vice-like grip on your small vanity case and handbag.

Luckily, the lift reaches your destination safely. One shudder before it stops, and the door concertinas back in Solène’s hand to reveal a sweeping hallway with doors left and right. 

“Ici,” she signals, the last door on the right-hand side.

But before you can knock, the door peels open, and a pretty, petite brunette jumps in surprise, dropping the book she is holding.

“Pardon,” she offers in perfect accented French, and you wonder for a split second if it is the correct apartment.

“Eloise, this is y/n,” Solène gestures.

“Ohhh, hello,” she grins, and the whiplash back to a plummy British accent is momentarily confusing. “I was about to go read in the courtyard, thought you might not be turning up today. Anyway… come in, come in!”

You shake her proffered hand as she ushers you into the apartment. Instantly, you feel a warmth spreading in your belly, like you have come home. It's light and airy, with large windows looking out across the Parisian rooftops, and yes, to the left is indeed the Eiffel Tower, still gleaming in the fading evening light. But the place also feels homely, that sort of messy that is lived in, comfortable. A large velvet sofa with tumbling stacks of books around it, a little kitchenette awash with colourful enamel cookware, and a jumble of art deco posters and random paintings adorning the walls. 

“Solène, I don't suppose you've baked any more of those rather delicious madeleines, have you? To welcome my new housemate?” Eloise pipes up with a chipper, conspiratorial wink your way. 

You already like her.

“Effronte!” Solène exclaims with fond exasperation before pausing. “There may be some…”

“I remember those!” your uncle adds with a tinge of nostalgia as he drops your suitcase. “You are in for such a treat, y/n.”

“Well, while our landlady decides if she’s willing to share the treats she has obviously baked but is being coy about…”Eloise raises a pointed eyebrow at the woman before returning to you. “...let me show you your room, then maybe a drink? I'm sure it's been a long journey.”

You nod and, with an exchange of grins, follow her down a corridor. She sweeps open the door to a lovely room, a large double bed with matching bedside tables and a dresser. But best of all, french doors onto a Juliet balcony overlooking a quiet courtyard filled with a riot of birch trees, their leaves gently rustling in the evening breeze.

“Mostly, it’s pesky pigeons down there, but you do get the occasional blackbird singing in the morning,” Eloise smiles as if intuiting your thoughts.

You spend some moments wandering the room and checking out the various fixtures, running idle hands over the furniture, already feeling remarkably at home with your new housemate and, indeed, your new home for the next twelve months.

“I'm just next door,” Eloise reveals, pointing a thumb over her shoulder. 

Your uncle appears in the doorway to announce that he and Solène are off to catch up as you unpack and suggests you all reunite for dinner later at a local bistro. It all sounds so very Parisian chic; you cannot wait.

“So tell me about yourself,” Eloise flops onto your bed, already wonderfully casual in your presence, as you open your case and the wardrobe to unpack.

“I’m y/n. I'm from a little town on Long Island called Patchogue, about fifty miles outside New York City. I'm 22…”

“Me too!” she interjects, then signals for you to proceed.

“I wanted to see the world before I settled down. And I’ve dreamed of living in Paris since I was a little girl...” You feel your eyes misting at the fact it's now finally coming true as you continue. “So my parents agreed to pay for me to come to Paris for a year. Under the strict agreement, I get married when I return…” 

“You have a fiancé?”

“Yes. Well, sort of. Stanley. We practically grew up together, and we’ve been going steady since we were eighteen.”

“Going steady? That's so American,” Eloise chuckles.

You nod with a giggle, then continue. “He hasn't proposed formally yet, says he is saving up for a ‘real nice’ ring, but it will happen. He is the son of my dad’s business partner. They run a construction company. So, while I'm here, they are building a home for us to live in when I return. We will get married next summer and move right in.” 

“You don't mind?” Eloise frowns.

“Don’t mind what?” you query as you hang up your favourite dress.

“That your future is so… plotted out. I couldn't bear the idea. It's why I think my mother let me move to Paris. She was so fed up with me refusing to settle down.” Eloise laughs, idly flicking through the magazine you were reading on your journey.

“I suppose I've never really expected anything else,” you shrug, pausing as you put away your hosiery, but her words make you contemplative. “You don't have a boyfriend back home?”

“God, no. Too many pretty Frenchmen to entertain me here,” she winks. “I’ll introduce you to some, just in case you change your mind,” she breezes, climbing off your bed and drifting to the door. “Wine?”

“Oh… well, why not? When in France, etc,” you agree and close the drawer on the pile of cardigans you have just safely stacked.

“That's the spirit!” she effuses over her shoulder as you follow her back into the living room, the Eiffel Tower still glittering in the dusk.

“This place is so lovely,” you sigh, transfixed by the view as she wanders over and hands you a glass.

“It is a pretty magical view,” she agrees, staring at the skyline with you, watching as each window seems to illuminate in soft yellow with the dying light.

“And the decor, too; I see you love books as much as me,” you smile, tilting your head to the piles before taking a sip of red wine. It's the perfect balance of refreshing, mellow fruitiness and tart tannin coating your tongue, so much better than any wine back home.

“Oh god, yes! I work in the library. I can bring home as many as I want,” she enthuses.

“So, are there actually any left on the shelves?” you jest, lightly, savouring your drink and wandering to take a closer look at a smaller painting that catches your eye. It's very different to all of the others.

“My god, this is beautiful,” you breathe, hugging your wineglass to your chest as you stare transfixed at the art. It appears to be a large country house, probably British, bathed in the warm pinkish light of dawn.

“That's home. Aubrey Hall in Kent. I think the family made me bring it in the hopes it would make me homesick,” Eloise deadpans.

“It’s a wonderful piece,” you breathe, fingers reaching out to lightly trace over the heavily oiled brushstrokes. Something about it is so captivating and intimate.

“I'll be sure to let the artist know,” she smirks. “Although I'm reticent to give him any more praise, seeing as, unfortunately, he is my brother.”

“Your brother painted this?” taken aback by the revelation, assuming it an heirloom.

She nods and comes to stand next to you. “Yup. Benedict. Second eldest. I'm fifth of eight, by the way. Hence ‘E’ for Eloise. It's a thing,” she rolls her eyes.

“Wow. Big family. I just have one brother...” 

“Lucky you. Although, as much as he is irritating, if I could only keep one sibling, it probably would be him,” she admits, taking a swig of wine.

“I love art,” you sigh, finally tearing your gaze from the canvas but already knowing it is something you will return to again and again. A pull you can’t quite understand.

“Oh, then I know the perfect job for you! There’s a gallery around the corner from the library, and I saw a sign saying they wanted an English speaker to assist international visitors! You would be perfect!”

“I would love that!” you extol, even as a tiny part of your brain lingers on the idea that it would be too good to be true if it all worked out, that fleeting sense of foreboding in paradise.

“Excellent!” Eloise’s enthusiasm pulls you back to the immediate. “So let’s get your glad rags on! It's time to hit the town for your first night in Paris!”

And thus, you find yourself being bundled back into your room to refresh and change for your first night in the city of your dreams. Indeed, as you find yourself being led by Eloise, arm looped in yours, through the bustling evening streets to a little bistro, your uncle and Solène already waiting at a table with smiling faces and drinks in hand, you can't help but feel this really is the only place in the world you could ever want to be…

Your adventure is just beginning.

Benedict taglist: @foreverlonginguniverse @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @truly-dionysus @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @kmc1989 @desert-fern @starkeylover @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @amygdtjhddzvb @sya-skies @balladynaaa