A rainbow home that looks
just like a painting has been listed for $499,000. The home at 556 South Vista
Oro in Palm Springs, Calif., is unique to say the least. The eccentric 1937
Spanish home belongs to Carl Tookey and Gregg Featherston, who purchased the
property when it was painted plain white.
Adding more than a splash of
color, the creative couple took inspiration from their worldwide travels
including Buckingham Palace. The colorful cottage comes with three bedrooms and
two bathrooms covering 1,664 square feet, according to Curbed.com. And the
0.12-acre grounds include a pool and stone courtyard. (Caters)
Natsu kicked a stone out in the courtyard, cursing the monkey suit he was wearing. It was far too sweaty and far too fitting for him to wear. He would sell his soul to be wearing his regular clothes at the moment, but today was a very important day.
Hooked and clawed and caught in the circulatory loop of blood from Draco’s heart to his lungs. All aching capillaries and ribbon-torn arteries, glass shards buried in Draco’s palms.
It’s insurmountable as he passes through the Hogwarts gates. Sees what he imagines the muggles who come poking around might see - an abandoned castle. Replete with smoke scarred wood and disintegrating bricks, blood strewn across courtyard stones and great columns that have now collapsed. Bereft of only an ominous ‘Keep Out’ sign, though he thinks that might not be far off.
Draco’s wand is clutched in a white knuckled hand as he digresses from the delineated path. Enters into the variegated shadows and dampened mist of the Forbidden Forrest and follows the coordinates written in blotted, under duress ink - because Potter’s wand had clattered across the floor and Draco’s wand had been pressed to the warm skin beneath Potter’s chin.
His confession is the vial of veritaserum tucked into Draco’s jacket pocket.
He fancies that it just might be felix felicis instead.
For the drabble prompts, "Do you even own a shirt?" + Sterek of course <3
To be honest, I don’t really know how exactly this ended up being a royal, historical fic with nerdy prince Derek and shirtless knight Stiles, but it did so I have to tag @demisexualhale (also on ao3!)
“Do you even own a tunic?”
The question was spoken dryly, Derek’s voice practically dripping with condescension as he wet the tip of his index finger to ease in the turning of the page of the large tome he was reading. It was extremely intriguing, a detailed account of the life of one of the more obscure members of his ancestral tree which stretched back for millennia.
It was a temperate spring day, the beams of sun that poked through the shroud of fluffy white clouds warm but not at all stifling, a welcome change in weather after the cold bitterness of winter. The gentle breeze that originated from the west stirred the branches of the autumn cherry trees and pink dogwoods whose delicate buds were already beginning to blossom.
With the last of winter’s snow melting away to reveal vibrant green grass boasting burgeoning puschkinia and tulips and white irises, Derek’s sisters had insisted they lunch in the courtyard of the castle. While he had initially rolled his eyes, already absorbed in his tome, Derek had finally relented under the weight of his older sister’s disapproving glare, though he brought his tome with him.
His sisters’ ladies-in-waiting had arranged a cozy spot for the three of them in the shade of the courtyard walls, beneath the delicately blooming branches of a grand tulip magnolia. With the assistance of a few other servants, the ladies-in-waiting had brought out a few chaise lounges along with several additional cushions for the trio royal siblings.
A table of refreshments had been carried into the courtyard as well, ornate china platters full of cucumber sandwiches and an assortment of fruits along with various tarts, both sweet and savory, and fancy pastries. Bottles of wine were arranged on the table among intricate, ruby encrusted goblets along with steaming pots of tea and hand painted teacups.
His sisters had taken up residence on one chaise lounge, delighting in the most recent of court gossip, whispering about the latest scandals of other royal families. They tittered behind their hands as they sipped their wine, though their laughter echoed off the ancient stone walls of the courtyard nonetheless, both of them sorely lacking in subtly.
Derek, on the other hand opted to focus on his book, not truly caring whether or not the Duchess of Lake’s gown at the last ball had been gaudy and repulsive or what lord was proving unfaithful to his wife with one of the nannies. He did not partake in any wine, either, as it was much too early for him, preferring to keep his wits about him as he enjoyed a cup of earl grey tea.
Unfortunately, it was rather difficult to focus on the words written on the page when Laura’s raucous laugh was not the only sound reverberating in the courtyard. The sound of blades clashing drowned out the sweet birdsong of the cardinal perched in an ornamental pear tree, the thunk of arrows hitting wood echoing dully.
Alas, the courtyard had already been in use when Derek’s sisters had dragged him outside with them, a group of knights sparring and practicing in the warm sunshine. They had graciously volunteered to vacate the courtyard in order for the royals to enjoy their leisure time without any annoyances, but Laura had dismissed the offer as ridiculous.
Raised to be diplomatic, Laura had simply suggested that both parties make use of the courtyard, the head of the knights bowing his head in both thanks and appreciation. After all, the courtyard was plenty big enough. Though apparently not big enough to spare Derek from another distraction.
A/N; Short chapter, but next one will have some more reveal!
It is said that some people have old souls, reborn every couple centuries to find their loved ones again and continue on their never ending journey. But what happens to these intersecting lives when one is immortal and the other is ripped from them?
Lucy blinked, trying to clear her mind. It was obvious she had spent too long on the train and had gone stir crazy. Who knew a week and a half of constant travel could be enough to break a mind.
“C’mon Luce! I haven’t see Jally since he was a colt!”
“And I have never ridden a horse!” Lucy defended. She eyed the large stallion warily, hair and mane black as the night sky above them.
“You broke his great great great whatever grandma,” Natsu explained, happily petting the side of Jally’s neck.
“Well Sun Star was kind and gentle and not three feet my superior.” She sniffed. Really, as though Natsu would compare her mare to his beast. Lucy cocked her head when she noticed Natsu’s stare, a wistful joy shining in his emerald gaze. “Natsu?” Lucy questioned, stepping towards him and placing one hand on his chest. Lucy blinked when Natsu took her hand, lifting it to his mouth where he ran his lips over the backs of her fingers.
“Knew you’d remember her.” he said, voice low with emotion. Lucy took in a sharp intake of breath, becoming aware of the importance of her memory.
“I have ridden a horse,” she mumbled, head spinning at the onslaught of memories she was able to pull from.
“Bunch’a ‘em.” Natsu whispered back. Lucy squealed loudly when she was suddenly lifted, deposited on the horse and covering blanket as if she were a child by Natsu’s strong arms. “Now we gotta go! I can’t wait to show you the castle again, Luce.” Natsu said easily, deftly lifting himself onto the horse in front of Lucy, his hands fisted in the horse’s mane.
“Natsu!” Lucy hissed, struggling to lift her leg and dress to put it in it’s proper place beside her other one. “I can not ride like this! It’s, it’s improper!” She face felt as vibrant as his hair, and her eyes grew large as she saw an excuse to not be caught in such a compromising manner. “My luggage! We cannot just leave it here.”
Lucy all but pouted at Natsu’s bawdy laugh, his hand resting comfortingly on her knee. One of her spread knees. Shame crept along her spine at the lewd position, to be a lady and have your legs spread this wide… “Don’t worry Luce, it’ll be taken care of. And stop fidgeting, you’re freaking out Jally.”
Outlander one shot requested by Anon based on this imagine:
You don’t really remember the exact moment that you had
fallen asleep. You had walked through the airport, booked in your bags, looked
round duty free, boarded the plane and then you’d taken off. Not that you were
surprised that you had fallen asleep, it had been a number of weeks since you
had slept the entirety of the night without waking up or at the very least
dreaming. Ever since your parents had informed you that they would be
travelling to the UK and from there you would meet them for a family holiday in
Endless Autumn - Lucien x sweetheart fic chapter 1/6
My interpretation of the story of Lucien and his doomed sweetheart. I hadn’t got my hands on ACOWAR when I started, so this story is not influenced by any new knowledge about Lucien, the Autumn Court, or his lost love. I even named all his unknown bastard brothers…
The first time I saw her, I was on a walk through the
The low autumn sun shone brightly through the trees, shards
of light piercing through the cool air and warming my skin.
As I walked amongst the weathered barks, the sound of my
brothers laughing like fools in the formal gardens mercifully dying down, I
stumbled upon her standing beside a reflecting pool. The water was a mirror in
which she gazed upon herself, her long dark auburn hair swept over one shoulder,
her simple but flattering deep purple dress swaying gently in the breeze.
Summary: Zeb informs Kallus of a failure of the former imperial agent’s, one that gives the newly-minted Rebel hope he doesn’t deserve (AKA, Kallus finds out about Lira San). (Oneshot. No, it’s not shippy. But it’s heavy.)
Yavin IV was very different from Atollon. Dense jungle yielded only enough for ancient temples to rise through the trees, and unforgiving vines still insisted on growing over the stone. But the vast stone courtyards worked well as landing pads, and the permanent structures provided cover for the rebels and their supplies, so it was not at all a bad set-up for the recovering Rebellion forces to move into.
Zeb hefted the heavy supply crate to the top of the stack he was building and broke to rest and gaze around the landing pad. It did not look so different from Atollon, he decided. Enough familiar ships speckled his view, and the ramshackled way they sorted supplies, set up generators, laid out their quarters, it was all things he recognized. The topography of a rebel base never changed much.
Something new caught his eye as he scanned the pad, something that didn’t fit, and his eyes moved back to the unfamiliar person. Agent Kallus. Just Kallus, now. It was still difficult to get used to. For so long, Zeb’s instincts had been trained to think threat when he saw the man. But circumstances had changed. Agent Kallus had become Fulcrum, and Fulcrum now became…
An audience with the Emperor was granted the moment Hiruzen stepped a foot into the southern gateway of the Imperial Palace, brown and green all over except for the glimpses of red that hinted at its original clay brick structure. The gates were unmanned. Within, a forest had consumed the stone courtyard and the compounds therein. Trees Hiruzen had never seen shivered with his passing. The Emperor saw all, The Emperor heard all. From his court at the heart of the palace The Emperor watched his every step. Hiruzen wasn’t superstitious, but – it was too late for these kinds of thoughts.
The iron staff strapped on his back and the shuriken and kunai hidden in every seam of his clothes clattered in his inner ears. He brought nothing else. The guards by the doors didn’t stop him – wooden guards with weapons and armors bearing witness to a hundred battles. Such was the fate of The Emperor’s fallen enemies, or so was whispered in his father’s camp. Hiruzen thought they bore The Emperor’s likeness. From here on it was wood: ornately carved doors, pillars like dragons coiling toward the sky. More statues. Vulnerable dry wood, eminently flammable. The Uchiha must have thought so, too. And now the only proof that the Uchiha had existed was the red-eyed wraith that delivered The Emperor’s judgement personally.
Hiruzen knelt between the open maws of a pair of lions. He clasped his hands before his face first before sinking until his forehead touched the ground. A booming laugh acknowledged his supplication. The Emperor found his staff, balanced precariously on Hiruzen’s hunched spine, funny. The same avuncular voice told him to rise, and when that wasn’t enough, to raise his head. To look at the Emperor in the eye. Hiruzen did, and found he had not spontaneously combusted. The Emperor sat in his golden throne, behind the great royal mahogany desk. He was dressed in green and yellow silk threaded with gold, and over the silk was the fabled Senju red armor. Atop of his unbound hair was a red hat not unlike a farmer’s. Not even a samurai’s, but a simple triangular hat made of canvas and painted the red of blood. The Emperor was beaming genially at him. Hiruzen was armed, and they were alone. But he reminded himself there were statues, and the palace itself lied between them. He reminded himself of the Uchiha.
Hiruzen prostrated himself once again, and delivered his father’s message, and his gift – himself. “Your servant came bearing a tribute.”
First attempt for one of my biggest inspirations, @aveeragemusings , I’m sorry it took a little longer and I hope it’s not too much of a disappointment! Much love xoxo
Warnings: Swearing and mention of an abusive relationship
54. “If he’s going to treat you like shit I’m going to kick his ass.”
58. “I want my best friend back.”
65. “If I ever see you anywhere near her, you’ll have to deal with me!”
“You’re a fucking bitch,” the blonde boy’s words used to sting at her heart, burning like acid, but she’d heard them so many times they began simply echoing off her numbed soul, not bringing tears to her eyes anymore.
She’d learned that the best thing was not to argue, so his harsh words were met by a barely audible: “Okay.”
“Sod off now, and come back to me when you’ve finished being such a fuck up,” he releases her hands, a shooting pain remaining in her wrists as he walked away, angry and determined, and left her standing with a straight face and a crumbling heart.
Draco x Reader where they have been in a secret relationship since fifth year (the reader is a Gryffindor). They meet at the battle of Hogwarts where Draco’s parents call him to come to them and he has to side with Voldemort.
hears it before he sees it. A high, cold rasp that he’s become far too familiar
with. A shriek and a cry and shock seizing the base of his spine when he
finally can make out the words.
“Harry Potter is dead.”
floods his mouth, hot and thick, as he stumbles down the crumbling limestone
steps, glances around the ash mottled courtyard, sees the lifeless body of
Harry Potter hoisted in the groundskeeper’s arms.
Boy Who Lived.
thought seems more like a requiem than an anthem.
is seventeen years old. There’s soot beneath his fingernails and blood smeared
across his knuckles and a Dark Mark stamped onto the skin of his arm. He’s
caught, inexplicably, between two sides of a war. His blood doesn’t feel so
special anymore, not when his father’s been locked up for it and his family’s
been threatened for it.
world has been turned upside down. Crystal vases shattering and misconceptions
cracking. Love wilting like a rose in the wintertime.
can see her. Standing just a few feet ahead of him. Gryffindor tie loose around
her neck and cheek streaked with dirt. She won’t look at him. She’s wearing the
bracelet he had given her their fifth year, only a short while after they had
had refused it initially, on principle.
still not sure how he managed to wear her down about that, how he managed to
catch her in the first place; when she’s brave and reckless and he’s scared,
too scared to let anyone even know that they’re more than they seem.
didn’t know. Didn’t know about his task or about the mark until it was too late
to salvage anything.
still loves her. So fucking much.
a curse, he thinks, almost worse than the one on his arm.
can hear his father, hissing his name across the courtyard. He can see in his
peripheral the gazes of his classmates, the thin lipped frown twisting
McGonagall’s face, the trembling of Y/N’s shoulders.
takes a step forward.
more than a step.
a thunder strike.
It’s a heart break.
knows what he’s doing. Knows that he’s deciding between his family and her.
Knows that when he reaches them, when he sides with them, it’s all over.
watches him. Clenches her jaw and steels her spine and watches as he chooses.
nothing short of anguish. The final straw and the last rift in a broken heart. It’s
sides being picked and ribs being snapped and the final chords of a love song
that was never really meant to be.
can see, almost through a penseive, the cracked films of memories. His fingers
in hers, the cool nights atop the astronomy tower, lipstick stained kisses and
legs tangled against a Slytherin green mattress. She can see the moment it all
fell apart. His face through the steam of the platform sixth year, a difference
and a change and the beginning of an end.
Draco’s falling into place beside his parents, beside the Death Eaters, and
suddenly Y/N seems to understand.
gravity of it all is overwhelming. Moon pulled tides that sweep over her head
and fill up her lungs.
drowning and nobody can even see.
Longbottom is shuffling across the courtyard.
meets her eyes. Licks his lips and shifts his feet.
one notices as she undoes the bracelet clasped around her wrist. Tosses it
against the stone of the courtyard among the rubble.
Draco sees. Sees and understands with a startling amount of clarity.
war isn’t over yet, but everything between them is.