I can't find the original ask because I stupidly sent it anonymously— but anyways @ceilidho
I said I was going to build the Country Roads house in the Sims, asked you about it, and then promptly forgot. Oops.
Anyways it's still not done all this time later because I hate interiors, but the outside is pretty!
(This is a screenshot of a screenshots because I can't take pictures in this game I'm sorry)
Specs: This house is built on a 30×30 in Chestnut Ridge— lot traits are homey, natural light, and no visitors (solicitors??? I don't remember. The one that stops people from showing up as much lmfao) This build ONLY uses the Horse Ranch expansion pack at the moment, but that will probably change with furnishings, if I ever do that.
The ranch house is 2-story, and has plenty of room for newlyweds and their future babies.
In the back, there is a prairie grass patch to help feed the resident(s) of the fully functional barn, and the lot also grows wild prairie grass thanks to the lot challenge. Adjacent to the lot is a small horse training area for reader to have her riding lessons!
It's so far from being done but I did want to show at least some of it before I forget about it again. <3
I haven't posted any writing on Tumblr in a very long time, and I don't know that I will plan to do so again; but we shall see. Please forgive any formatting errors, I haven't done a real post on this app in like three years.
Anyways, 555 words for @the-californicationist 500k #cali’s nameless challenge !
And this one is a Regency! AU!!! We love that.
____________________________________________
Behind Velvet
It is like something out of a fairy tale. Lords and ladies, heirs and debutantes all gracefully waltz over a polished marble floor. The band plays, music swelling as dozens of skirts twirl in unison. People lift little flutes of something sweet to their lips, some lifting their ornate masks away from their faces to peruse the tables of sweets.
You adjust your own mask, and descend the stairs to the floor, hoping to find something enjoyable on the tables for yourself. You do not make it more than a third of the way across the room before someone abandons all propriety, and takes you by your gloved wrist. You startle, whirling around to face—
“Miss, please, forgive me.” The man says, pressing his lips to your gloved pulse. “I wished to speak with you, but I do not believe you could hear me over such a party.”
Your pounding heart evens, and you breathe deeply, brushing off the fright. “You are forgiven.” You reply, and he releases your arm. “It is true, I could not hear you. What is it you wished to discuss, mister. . ?”
He smiles, bright eyes flashing behind his mask. “I must ask your forgiveness again, but is the purpose of a masked ball not to enjoy the delights and pleasures of anonymity?”
“Perhaps. . . Go on, you are forgiven— please, tell me what it is you wish to say.”
He chuckles. “You do not seem eager to speak with me.”
“I am afraid not, and it is your forgiveness I will now ask, but you must understand. Why would I waste my precious time talking with a handsome stranger when the pile of almond cookies I sighted from across the room grows smaller with every passing moment? I implore you to speak quickly.”
He laughs, and offers you his arm. “You are forgiven, and I understand entirely.” He replies. You take his arm, and he speaks in your ear as he guides you through the crowd towards the desserts. “I myself would likely not wish to listen to a handsome stranger prattle on about how beautiful I am, and how greatly he would desire a dance with myself.”
“You jest.”
“Of course. Were I a lady, I doubt I would receive many offers.”
“Perhaps it is simply my charm? I do believe you did call me as such. And, I do believe that in my jest, I asked for a dance with you, Miss.” He says, offering you two of the cookies on a small tray. “My request, I can assure you, was genuine.”
“And, I do not believe I called you handsome! How can I know you are such when I do not know your identity, as it is hidden behind a mask!” You reply, finally reaching the tables.
“Ah.” You reply, slipping one of your gloves off to enjoy the treat. It is. . . disappointing.
“Is it the cookie you are unhappy with, or myself?”
You look at him, his eyes bright, but concerned behind his mask.
“The cookie. Although, I am also displeased with the fact that I do not have a pen.”
“A pen?”
“So that you might sign my dance card, handsome stranger.”
He grins at that, and warmth spreads all over your skin at how he looks at you. “I will have to find one, then.”
