I once lived in the master bedroom of a six-bedroom mansion built in the 30s. It was situated on a few acres of forested land and a stone’s throw (or two) from the basketball arena at UNC Chapel Hill. (It was called the Russian House when it housed Russian language students.) For most of that time, I lived with a motley crew of 6 or 7 guys, although a couple of girls moved in shortly before I moved out. The house was built by the head sanitation engineer and featured virgin pine paneling and just the craziest, sturdiest build quality you could imagine. We had a giant back yard with an equally giant moss patch that apparently germinated after a tarp was left over the lawn for a number of days. There was a nice little fish pond on the side and a beautiful Japanese maple out front. Every room had or shared a bathroom which was also kind of cool. My room featured a fireplace, built-in bookshelves (which hid a built-in secret compartment) a couple of regular closets and a lockable gun closet.
Today, I think it is a visitor center or something and the forest was cut down to make room for married student housing.
I also lived for a time in another fairly giant house with a family of four who rented to me and another guy. The house was originally built by an architect for he and his wife and was very much a 70s modernist style and had a bazillion built-in drawers everywhere. It was situated on a steep hillside and the parents had put up a swing that you could ride out over a ravine that lay maybe 50–80 feet below (i.e. scarily far down). There were also eye hooks in the vaulted living room ceiling and occasionally they’d hook up a swing and a trapeze bar for the kids.