Haunted House For Sale in Mineral Wells, Texas — Cheap!
A haunted one-bedroom unit in a six-story mansion once owned by Joan Rivers just came back on the market for $4.25 million … and the ghost isn’t even Joan!
Well, bargain haunted house seekers, your search may be over. A small haunted house in Mineral Wells, Texas, is up for sale for only $125,000. It already has a recognized name – the “Haunted Hill House” — a website, nine ghosts and a good location close to the Baker Hotel, another infamous haunted building.
The Haunted Hill House is furnished – in fact, the ghosts don’t want anything removed – and is already a popular rest spot where tourists pay up to $200 a night to stay. What are you waiting for?
OK, perhaps you heard that the property is only appraised at $26,000. Maybe a little history will change your mind. The two-story 2,800-square-foot structure has three bedrooms and two full bathrooms on a two acre lot. It was built in 1890 by Fanny Yeager Kyle who lived there until she died in 1924. Some time after that, the house was turned into a brothel and that’s the source of many of the ghosts.
People staying at the home have reported the ghost of a young boy believed to have been a prostitute’s handicapped child who died there. Another frequent visitor is the spirit of a man who fell in the well (the brothel didn’t have a collie to run for help). Becky Foley, the real estate agent representing the house, says there are cold spots, strange sounds, more ghosts and reports of guests being scratched and bitten. Despite all of those things …
It’s really just an old house that needs a little TLC.
However, it may not be a good idea to fix it up. The current owners say that paranormal experts who confirm the house is haunted have warned that disturbing the décor or any of the furnishings could cause the spirits to bite harder, throw more objects or worse. They suggest keeping it as a tourist attraction and Paranormal Research Center. Mineral Wells officials would probably like that too since they’re trying to attract more visitors (of the non-ghost variety) to the area. As Becky Foley puts it:
Alleged ghost venues and the paranormal does bring in megabucks.
Jared Leto Lists House in Hollywood Hills (EXCLUSIVE)
SELLER: Jared Leto
LOCATION: Los Angeles, CA
SIZE: 4,021 square feet, 4 bedrooms, 3 bathrooms
YOUR MAMA’S NOTES: Having upgraded and
up-sized to a vast, historic and wildly idiosyncratic compound in the
Laurel Canyon area of Los Angeles — more on that in a minute — Oscar
winning method actor and indie-rock musician Jared Leto (“Dallas Buyer
Club”) has hoisted his former home in the Cahuenga Pass area of the
Hollywood Hills up for sale at $1.999 million. Mister Leto, who
portrayed The Joker in this year’s blockbuster superhero extravaganza
“Suicide Squad” and will soon star in “Blade Runner 2049,” the Ridley
Scott produced sequel to the original and beloved dystopian sci-fi
thriller “Blade Runner,” purchased the hillside home in March 2006 for
Listing details somewhat generously describe the .29-acre
property as a “mini-estate” and indicate the walled, gated and
relatively unassuming, vine-encrusted two-story residence measures in at
4,021-square-feet with four bedrooms and three bathrooms that include
two master suites with “incredible closet space” and spacious
slate-tiled bathrooms. Chocolate brown hardwoods run throughout the main
entertaining spaces that include a roomy living room with minimalist
fireplace, a compact formal dining room with traditional bay window and a
large and well-maintained if stylistically dated kitchen — boring beige
tile floors, ordinary white raised panel cabinetry, and a mix of medium
grade black and stainless steel appliances — plus an over-sized family
room with wet bar and adjacent recording studio. The house overlooks a
tropically landscaped side yard with swimming pool, spa, built-in fire
pit, built-in grilling station, and extensive concrete terracing. Below
the back of house a patchy patch of lawn is bordered by an anemic row of
bamboo and there’s a large of unattractive terrace atop a detached
two-car garage that’s accessible from a cul-de-sac that runs up the rear
of the property.
That Mister Leto would put his Hollywood Hills home up for
sale isn’t such a surprise to avid celebrity real estate watchers who
already know, as mentioned above, he made a surreptitious, off-market $5
million purchase in late 2014 of the so-called Lookout Mountain
Laboratory, a storied warehouse-like complex in the Laurel Canyon area.
The industrial compound was built in the 1940s and used until the late
1960s as a military film studio where, among other classified projects,
filmmakers and photographers with top security clearance made training
films and documented military research on atomic bomb tests. The
1.7-acre spread, all but hidden behind an imposing driveway gate and a
dense wall of foliage, has more than 50,000-square-feet of meandering,
multi-level interior space that at the time of Mister Leto’s purchase
incorporated eight bedrooms, a dozen bathrooms, several kitchens, and at
least half of a dozen living and entertaining spaces that ranged in
size from cozy to cavernous.
The shade in this article is so next-level subtle-extra I love it. Still so weird Jarebear never put a mirror up in the bathroom…like, huh? He probably figured if he had one - he’d never leave his bathroom. Best not to risk it.
I am the girl with the Sunflower Eyes. From the story you displayed in Washington Square Park today. It’s two more days until it’s my love & I’s second anniversary. And it’s true. He does look at me in a way no one else has ever looked at me before. It’s one of the most romantic, celestial, awe-inspiring looks I will ever experience. He put it so well.
All I can say is that his eyes are like a gleaming ocean. one that only I will see. So yeah. I’m pretty freaking lucky.”
Summary: A kindergarten classroom in Glass Shard Beach, New Jersey, circa 196?.
Stanford set his hand against the construction paper and took out his brown marker. Stanley, who was sitting next to him, had already drawn a rather shoddy drawing of a sailboat in the top corner.
“Okay, class,” the teacher, Mrs. Feldman, was saying, “make sure you keep your hand very still on the paper, or it won’t turn out right. Take your brown markers and trace around your handprints.”
Stanley grabbed a blue marker and slammed his hand down on the paper.
“Stan, turkeys are brown, not blue,” Stanford admonished, beginning to trace around his splayed hand very carefully.
“Well all the awesome turkeys are blue!” Stanley exclaimed, and began to trace his own hand, pressing down on the marker so hard it began to smash and dyed the edges of his hand.
“Would you want to eat a blue turkey?” Stanford asked as he finished his tracing.
“Yeah I would! That would be awesome!”
“Alright class, when you’ve finished, you can lift your hands from the paper. Your thumb will be the neck and head of your turkey, and your fingers are the feathers. Have fun decorating your turkeys however you like!”
The twins each lifted their hands in tandem. Stanley grinned at his drawing, the thick blue lines still shining from the drying ink. He turned to his brother, expecting to see the same smile looking back at him. Instead, Stanford was wearing a frown.
“What’s up, bro-bro?” Stanley took up a red marker and began to draw hot-rod flames on his turkey.
“My turkey came out wrong,” Stanford replied. Stanley stopped mid-flame and frowned at his brother’s handprint.
“How? I don’t see anything weird with it.”
“But it’s wrong,” Stanford insisted. He stared at his hand. The edges had still been dyed a faint brown, despite his best intentions.
“There’s nothing wrong with it,” Stanley huffed. Stanford didn’t reply, so Stanley decided that his verdict of normalcy had been enough and went back to his hot-rod flames. He was totally immersed in the craft, tongue sticking out in concentration, when Stanford mumbled something so low that Stanley wasn’t even sure he’d heard it.
“My turkey came out wrong because I’m wrong.”
Stanley’s marker froze in place and he turned to his brother. He was just as Stanley had left him before, staring at his hand, but now there were fat tears in Stanford’s eyes. They hadn’t yet fallen, and Stanley wasn’t even sure his brother knew they were there. Stanley glanced back and forth between Stanford and his outstretched hand, trying to figure out what was making him so upset.
“What are you talking about, Ford?” Stanley asked cautiously. The red ink of his marker began to make a bleeding red dot at the end of one of his flames.
“Mine isn’t like everyone else’s. Everyone else has four feathers!” Stanford said around the lump in his throat. He was barely keeping in the tears now, and he was trembling. “I have five! Five feathers! It’s supposed to be four.”
“So? That just means your turkey is better than everyone else’s,” Stanley stated matter-of-factly. “The more feathers there are, the more awesomer the turkey is.”
Stanford stared at him, astonished. A thought came to Stanley and he beamed.
“Hey, that means you have the best turkey in the world!” he exclaimed.
A cautious smile broke out on Stanford’s face. He looked at his hand, and then at the other drawings around him. He broke out into a wide grin, and the fat tears were banished from his eyes.
“Well, you have the best looking turkey in the world,” Stanford beamed.
“Darn tootin’!” He threw his hands in the air and cheered, and Stanford joined him. A few kids laughed around them, but they were all too absorbed in their projects to pay attention.
“Yes! Best turkeys in the world!” he crowed.
“Best brothers in the world!” Stanford echoed. He held up his marker-stained hand. “High five!”
“No, best brothers in the world get the best high-five in the world: a high-six,” Stanley replied, and clapped hands with his brother.
Main cloister of the convent of Our Lady of Mercy, Cusco (Diego Martínez de Oviedo, c. 1660 - 1670)
“Hispanic colonial architecture knows nothing more beautiful than the cloister of the Merced. Magnificent handling of open space, lightness and grace combined with sturdy virility of mass, the deep beauty of the color, extraordinary richness and originality in treatment of textures, unerring taste in scale and proportions, all this and more make the Mercedarian cloister unique”
Harold Wethey, 1944
One of the great masterpieces of Peruvian Baroque, the main cloister of the mercedarian convent in Cusco is the result of the extensive rebuilding produced after the destruction of the former building in the great earthquake of 1650. Its design is attributed to architect and ensamblador Diego Martínez de Oviedo, who worked in the rebuilding of the convent after the death of his father, architect Sebastián Martínez.
The cloister is square in plan, with two stories of six arches on each of its four sides. The main feature of the cloister is the presence of richly carved stone columns of Corinthian order placed over heavily rusticated arches and supporting the corresponding entablatures. These columns share the characteristics of those used in contemporary retablos, with the lower third separated from the rest of the fluted shaft by a ring of acanthus leaves, and adorned with tongue-shaped motives. On top of that, in the upper story two smaller columns support the arches on each side.
The surrounding corridors are covered with richly carved wooden ceilings, except the one next to the church, adorned with domical vaults. A large array of paintings depicting the life of Saint Peter Nolasco is placed against the walls of the entire lower story.
“People ask me, ‘What is the use of climbing Mount Everest?’ and my answer must at once be, 'It is of no use.’ There is not the slightest prospect of any gain whatsoever. Oh, we may learn a little about the behavior of the human body at high altitudes, and possibly medical men may turn our observation to some account for the purposes of aviation. But otherwise nothing will come of it. We shall not bring back a single bit of gold or silver, not a gem, nor any coal or iron … If you cannot understand that there is something in man which responds to the challenge of this mountain and goes out to meet it, that the struggle is the struggle of life itself upward and forever upward, then you won’t see why we go. What we get from this adventure is just sheer joy. And joy is, after all, the end of life. We do not live to eat and make money. We eat and make money to be able to live. That is what life means and what life is for.”
–George Mallory, Climbing Everest
Mountains are a matter of proximity. From the peaceful, orderly valley below, they appear changeless. Decades pass, as do centuries, and the snow-capped peaks seem to rest in stasis. But any climber knows that this is not the case when near to the summit. Ice gives way, snow buries tracks, storms alter the face of the mountain, and from hour to hour it is different. The winds come, day changes to night, and the realization hits that this terrain is anything but still. This is one of the beautiful, yet false, appearances of mountains—that they should mask such tremendous change with such monumental stillness.
Snowpeak is no different. Temperate Zoran climes quickly give way to unforgiving arctic winds and the blank canvas of white. The path upward is always treacherous, and never easy, but it seems to be one of those things that moves the human spirit ever onward. As Mallory famously said, the purpose of climbing is simply to quell “the indomitable desire to see what lies beyond the heart of man.”
In this environment lies Snowpeak Ruins. This structure rests at an elevation far higher than anything else within Hyrule, and its very existence seems a folly—as if those that built it were testing the gods by trying to survive in such impossible conditions. And it appears as though they were ultimately unsuccessful. The ruins are in a sorry state. The weight of time and ice has laid low the walls and ceilings of this structure, and winter has slowly crept into the passageways and halls, quietly reclaiming what it once possessed.
But we can imagine the previous opulence of this place. Although we do not know why it was built, or by whom, it is clear that this family had great wealth, power, and a vast experience of travel and culture. In layout, it is very much a fortress. High curtain walls form a perimeter around an inner courtyard, and a tall central keep towers above the rest of the complex. It is perched upon an outcropping of stone in the shadow of a large cliff, and is accessible only by a narrow bridge. The façade is low to the earth, and few windows can be seen from the exterior; this is likely tied to the need for insulation, more so than the interior need for light. The complex is two stories of flat, featureless stone, with square pillars demarcating the corners. The interior is sheltered by a steeply-gabled roof, which is normal for buildings in cold regions, as this precludes massive buildup of snow upon the roof and subsequent collapse. Four guard towers rest at the corners of the courtyard, and hold a commanding view of the interior court as well as the valley floor far, far below. The keep was perhaps the personal chambers of whoever was in command of this fortress when it was still in use, and is the only chamber to have ornate windows and all the trappings of a bedroom inside. It is also incomparably more well-tended than the rest of the structure, giving it obvious importance over other areas.
The entryway is as grand as that of any European estate of antiquity. For although it is a fortress, it is also a country manor. It bears its own unique sigil not tied to any known entity of the land; it takes the form of two rapiers, crossed before a winged crest. Past the thick wooden front doors, the traveler is greeted by high ceilings, beautiful, exposed beams, intricate woodwork, and sumptuous detailing upon every surface. Light filters in through three small windows above the door, dancing upon the red carpeting and forming myriad flickering shadows upon the wooden engravings. The floor and walls are made of grey and black bricks, and are matched with dark woods and delicate tiles near the floor. In the vaults formed by the archways to either side are large suits of armor, complexly gilded with fine metals but bearing no known device.
These suits of armor present a strange notion. They are not suits made for human beings. In fact, this is quite contrary to actuality. They are identical to the suit of armor worn by Darkhammer, the miniboss of this dungeon. A chainmail undercoat covered by thick plate mail, with four-fingered gauntlets and a hole in the back for a tail can all be seen within this particular design. The stature is also curious, and obviously not reflective of human composure or frame. So, why would such creatures have equipment awaiting them within this complex? It may be that they are simply decorative—the trophies of past campaigns. Or it may be that the ruler of this mansion was not tied to the Kingdom of Hyrule at all, but was instead ruler over a sovereign polity. Ultimately, it is very odd that the protective equipment of the enemy would be allowed within the halls of such a structure.
Further into the main hall, it becomes evident that this place was certainly not built by the current Yeti residents. Like a Swiss chalet, the wood paneling upon the walls and pillars is exquisitely tasteful, presenting a stark alternative to the rugged nature of the brick walls. Both staircases leading upward have been partially destroyed, perhaps by time, and perhaps by the weight of overzealous Yeti feet. Once again, clearly this place was not made by such beings. A rack of spears lines the far wall, resting behind a metal grill, beautifully made into the shape of a flower.
A painting of the Sacred Grove
The doorway to the inner halls is equally as splendid, consisting of dark panels of wood inlayed with golden devices of the sunburst and house sigil. On the consummate carvings to either side of the door hang immense candle holders, and above is a gold and red interpretation of the coat of arms. Almost as queer as the incongruous suits of armor in the entryway are the paintings resting upon the floor and walls. The paintings that hang upon the walls are hopelessly faded. And though it is clear that they are portraits of important figures, it is difficult to even distinguish biological sex, let alone to discover their identities. But these paintings are not the strangest among them. The landscapes are far more perplexing. Scenes depicting the Sacred Grove, the Arbiter’s Grounds, Hyrule Castle, Ordon Goats, and even what is seen by some as the City in the Sky feature here on repeat. And while Hyrule Castle and the Arbiter’s Grounds may be hallmarks of Hyrulean vistas, how is it that there came to be a painting of the Sacred Grove? Locked away deep within Faron Woods, protected by an unruly spirit, and locked to all but the Hero of Time, how is it possible that someone else had been there to witness it? Could this eclectic military house have been culturally-minded travelers with a penchant for exploring the unknown hinterlands of Hyrule, or are these simply meant to confuse the average gamer?
I wish we knew.
What we do know, however, is that the range of scope of those in power here was great. These halls would have once housed a fairly large guard force, based upon the size of the kitchen and the extent of the storerooms full of weaponry and cannonry. (The instructions to the cannon, it should be made known, are in Hylian. Yet another aspect to this mystery.) We also know that someone had exotic tastes. Cheeses and pumpkins from Ordon can both be found within certain chambers, and in conjunction with the paintings it becomes obvious that at least one resident was culturally literate—and highly so. With great wealth comes expensive tastes, and this is reflected by nearly every object. Expensive time-pieces, heraldic symbols, leather-bound books upon wooden shelves, large fireplaces, chandeliers and vaulted ceilings all hint at an aristocratic atmosphere. Because this is a castle, and due to the religiosity of every Hyrulean culture, it is only natural that there be a small chapel within. This is one of the larger rooms, and is very traditional in style. High windows, the glass has long since fallen out, filter in both light and air, and a layer of snow covers the rug running the length of the center aisle. Pews line either side, and lead to some form of sanctuary, which is a separate room in itself, though much of it is visible through the two large windows on either side of the door. As there are no religious markings upon either edifice or embellishment, it is not known what religion was practiced herein.
The ruins of Snowpeak represent the human endeavor to triumph over nature, and in this brutal yet beautiful environment they pass from one resident to the next, undergoing imperceptible, but ever real, changes.
The coat of arms of this house can be found in one other place in Hyrule. On the lowest ridge of the path leading to Zora’s Domain from North Hyrule Field is a cave of ice. It consists of four rooms, each of which holds a distinct puzzle, ultimately leading to a heart piece. Magnificent arabesques glimmer from beneath sheets of ice, and torches set into the wall give the cave an air of the unknown.
The decorations herein are reminiscent of those at Snowpeak. The weapons are similar in craftsmanship, yet the decorations upon their hafts are far more ornate within this cave. And here, not only is the coat of arms present. It exists alongside the crest of the Royal Family. In addition to this, the gates of this place are Zoran in nature- exactly like those within the Water Temple. Perhaps this cave is meant to show the interconnectedness of all peoples within Hyrule. And because this cave yields no history, it is impossible to extrapolate based upon these findings. But the strangeness at Snowpeak is not now an isolate; although it is not known how this sigil was dispersed (or indeed where it originated), it now has taken a place within the larger culture of Hyrule.
Some of you have been asking me about where the “Retro Arcade” photo i posted was taken. So here’s the scoop on it..and its pretty amazing.
“Luna City” was created by Peter Hirschberg in his GARAGE! It is a two-story 2400 square-foot paradise for anyone who is a fan of old school video games. Located about 70 miles west of Washington D.C. Peter’s private collection of retro games is considered one of the greatest in the world. Completed in 2006 Peter would have ‘game days’ every few months where he would open the doors to the public to come and play.
Unfortunately this story takes a big turn for the worse. In 2010 Peter and his wife had a falling out and he was kicked out of the home he had built for them. As a result of going through a divorce he was forced to sell half of the games from his collection and half the money was given to her.
She now has exclusive use of the house & arcade and Peter is not allowed on the property without her written consent. He hopes to get the remainder of the games back some time in the future to rebuild. Nothing is certain right now because of the divorce he may end up loosing them all.
A very unfortunate outcome, I hope they’re able to work something out where both can walk away satisfied.
Thanks for taking the time to read this, as a huge fan of retro games looking at the pictures of Luna City takes me back to my childhood and at the sites and sounds of being in a real arcade.
All the best to Peter Hirschberg, thank you for making one of the greatest places I’ve ever seen.
Me and my wife have a one year old son.
His name is Aidan. Like most young parents, we think he’s the best thing to
ever happen to us. I know that pretty much all couples think their baby is
beautiful, but if most people are honest with themselves, they definitely
believe that there are ugly babies out there.
Aidan is different. He was
immensely beautiful and good looking even from birth. When we would take him
out in public, strangers who were a good distance away would stare at him and
then walk over to us and tell us how beautiful he was. Aidan’s smile was
intoxicating and would light up a room full of people.
We moved into a house right before he
turned a year old. It’s not anything fancy, but we were very happy that we
finally found one that suited us. It had three bedrooms and two bathrooms. It’s
a one story house with about 900 square feet of room. Moving in was stressful
but well worth the trouble and money.
A few weeks ago we bathed Aidan and put
him to bed around 9:00 PM. It was a Friday night and we were both looking
forward to the weekend together as a family. Me and Jennie stayed up reading on
After about an hour and a half we both went to bed. Our room is
situated across from Aidan’s room. He’s still small enough to be in a crib and
we haven’t converted it into a toddler bed yet. I peeked my head in to check on
him. He was laying on his back and snoozing without a care in the world. His
little chest rose and fell in a calm rhythm and I wished life and sleep could
be that simple for me. Oh well, I was happy that he had that wonderful gift for
a little while longer.
I had the baby monitor with me and I plugged it into the
wall. We laid down and fell asleep fairly quickly. The first time I heard Aidan
cry was about midnight. I laid in bed awake and he eventually fell back to
sleep after about a minute. I stayed awake for a few more minutes before I
finally decided that he was back to sleep before I myself tried to go to sleep
A few hours later I heard him babbling.
It was probably about 3 in the morning. He began bouncing in his crib and
saying, “A-jump-a-jump-a-jump!” Jennie stayed asleep. I laid there and listened
to him play in his crib and smiled. I knew that keeping me up like this made me
lose quality sleep but at moments like those I didn’t care.
Aidan kept babbling
and jumping up and down every once in a while. I listened and expected him to
start crying but he didn’t. He kept babbling and mixing in the few words that
he knew with his babbles. About twenty minutes later he was finally asleep
In the morning we got up and I checked
the baby monitor. Aidan was still asleep but was beginning to stir. It wouldn’t
be long before he was fully awake and jumping around again. Jennie went into
the kitchen to make some coffee. I walked out of our room and glanced at the
door of Aidan’s room.
There was a note on it. My first thought was that Jennie
probably wrote it but, then again, that really wasn’t like her. I stepped
across the hallway and took the note that was attached to the door by a piece
of duct tape.
I just wanted you to know that I don’t normally do this, but after seeing your
baby boy how could I go through with it? It’s not everyday that two people meet
who have genetics to produce such a beautiful offspring. Evolution makes a lot
of ugly people, but not very many are as good looking as your boy.
I played with
him last night while you two were asleep. He loved me and though I was funny.
At first I was determined to go through my plan with you all as my victims, but
he convinced me otherwise. Please enjoy the rest of your lives and make more
beautiful children like him.
I left him a present to play with from the last family I visited the other
“Jennie…” I said.
“What, honey?” she said as she walked
over to me with a cup of coffee.
“Did you or anyone else leave a note on
Aidan’s door? Please tell me this is a sick joke,” I said.
“No. What-” she said as she glanced at
“Aidan!” I shouted. We both ran inside
his room. He was looking at us as soon as we came in and began to jump up and
down excitedly. I was relieved.
But then Jennie screamed at the top of
Aidan was jumping up and down while
holding a severed human finger.
So I’ve got these songs that are like…my love square anthems right now. I cannot I repeat CANNOT help but think of these cute kids when I hear these songs. I’ve got it bad, I know. But I stand by these they are so perfect to me ok ya’ll know me I always have a billion more feels than I should about EVERYTHING. But I can’t stop. Listen to these songs and TRY not to get feels you will fail I promise you.
1. The song Adventure of a Lifetime by Coldplay is like the Ladynoir anthem for me idk mannnn whenever I hear it I think of those two on patrol, running across rooftops and playing and chasing and laughing and enjoying the night and being KIDS. I always feel like over time, Chat encourages LB not to be so serious and to have a bit of harmless fun running around Paris with him, whooping and laughing as they race each other. They just feel free and at ease together. “Unstoppable.” I want to make a fanart of it so bad, or even a comic, the mental image of them in my head that I get when I hear it. It sounds like Chat Noir singing about life as a superhero by LB’s side. All the feels. I get a bit emotional sometimes when I listen to this song actually shhh don’t tell I’m such a mess for these two lol
Did you listen to it? Did you get the visual??? RIGHT?!!! OKAY! RIGHT.
2. The Marichat theme for me is definitely Company by Justin Bieber. But that’s going mostly off of fanon Marichat and the popular theme of Chat visiting Mari on her balcony after patrols some nights. Not even getting into the “sin” part lol, just them being goofy with each other, and Mari letting herself be charmed by Chat and laughing at his puns and playing along with his silly antics in ways she doesn’t really do as LB. I love the idea that when Chat feels insecure and a bit lonesome, he seeks out Mari’s company, because she doesn’t intimidate him as much as his beloved Lady and he enjoyed their first encounter. They find a bit of solace in each other from their unrequited loves, and become fast friends. (I need canon Marichat to be like this SO BAD UGH)
TELL ME THAT SONG DOESN’T FIT THEM OKAY I DARE YOU I WILL FIGHT.
3. My Ladrien theme is This is What You Came For by Calvin Harris ft. Rihanna. I feel like the chorus lyrics are just enough of an explanation I meannnn “everybody’s watching her but she’s looking at you” COME ON they are handing me Ladrien on a platter with this. Ladrien is quickly becoming a soft spot for me because UGH you two just kiss i’m so tired of this you are so obviously in awe of each other jeSUS. This is actually the one part of the square that could sail right the fuck now if they just were a bit more brave. Like a teeeeeeeny bit more. Kill me.
(And I honestly think of BOTH Marichat and Ladrien when I hear Ariana Grande’s Dangerous Woman. Whooo boy. But I’m tryna keep this sin free and PG okay so lemme stop lol)
4. And lastly Adrinette/Adrienette. Oh man, this is my ultimate OTP ever of all time. Like the whole square all boils down to this for me so this song gives me every frikkin feel i swear to kwami. Salvation by Gabrielle Aplin is THE Adrinette jam no ifs ands or buts. I mean it’s all thanks to that AMAZING video by @brooklynnbros there is no way I can hear this song without thinking of them. That and the “In The Rain” song obviously. I just let the tears flow at this point I don’t even try to be an adult about this.
the lyrics “I never meant to fall for you” like ugh how on point is that and just seeing the umbrella scene in that video alongside this song I was like oh OKAY time to cry now.
And then finally La Vie en Rose by Edith Piaf is my all-around anthem. If you don’t know the lyrics, go look up the translation it’s so on point! The english version isn’t exactly the same as the French, but the essence is the same and it’s so sweet. Like the entire story of these two and the concept of the love square and the whole sweet crazy loving pure goodness that these kids are wrapped up in. I just get all caught up in the feels you guysssss. *sobs* They’re fumbling through life and love and finding themselves and it makes me feel so warm and fuzzy for them and I’m so excited to see how they find each other in the end. I’m seriously really excited and happy to see them grow to love each other on all fronts. I’m a goner. “It’s him for me, me for him, in this life, He told me so, swore it for life.” EXACTLY right.
So now I’m curious! What are some songs you all associate with these cute kiddos?
Edwin Ohl House  ~ New Castle Pa ~ Historical House by Onasill ~ Bill Badzo Via Flickr: A two and one-half story square plan residence showing Queen Anne influence, It has coursed limestone foundation and running bond brick walls. It has a high hip roof, with east-west main ridge, tower with conical roof located in west bay, and gable roof wall dormers. It also has an arch motif cornice line.
The house was built in 1899 for Edwin Newton Ohl (1850-1922. At that time he Served as the manager of the New Castle office of Republic Iron and Steel. He later became president of United Iron and Steel (1906), president of New Castle Portland Cement Company (1908) and a director of the First National Bank.
I never planned or intended for my main value to be love. Emotionally, I am an idiot. Was even moreso before. I’m sure I will say that again later on. Always I’m looking back at who I was and how I acted, and saying, oh. I was emotionally such an idiot. No matter how far I move forward, I look two years back into the past and see a fool who couldn’t contact, couldn’t dialogue with, couldn’t honor her emotions.
I had planned to be a workaholic. I had planned to set my bearings on the star of accomplishment. I was a too-smart-assed high schooler and I’d been told by too many English teachers that I was a good writer. I’d been to Nationals in Debate a few times. I’d done a lot of reading on my own, taken some college classes, passed some AP tests with a 5. I had seen the supposed best and brightest of my class and been underwhelmed. Sure they had bigger GPA’s than me, but they still asked me to edit their valedictory speeches.
I imagined that one day, I would crack all of their heads like nuts. Not literally. I was smart, good at faking being even smarter, and despite my rude face I was a good enough listener with bright enough retorts that people tended to give me their confidence. I knew secrets. People blubbered their truths and sick, sad feelings at me, and I thrived on it, and I felt superior.
I had the most childish and cartoonish of images in my mind. A dark, oak-covered office with windows over looking a small shopping square. A brick building with two stories and lots of bookcases, one of those lamps with the green glass shade, pens in gold casings, glasses on a chain, rich oxblood furniture, tailored formidable business casual, someone crying and vulnerable and waylaid on a chair across from my desk.
And I…what was I doing in this fantasy? I looked good, impeccably smooth-haired and tight-browed, a hint of silver in my hair. Black sleek clothes. Cutting words that sliced through all of their bullshit and somehow also healed them. A deeper, richer voice than I actually have, but something I still pretend at.
I imagined some of my closest friends coming as adults and unraveling their inner tragedies at my feet. And I was able to pick it all up and put it right with a few words and a glance. And I was wealthy, but that didn’t matter. I had no image of what my down time would be like. I just knew I wanted to be a psychologist.
And it never occurred to me then, or for years after, that what I liked about psychology was those talks with other people. It was not the expertise I imagined myself wielding and shielding myself with. It was the moments that no therapist’s office can create, moments sitting bare-kneed on stoops and curbs after years of knowing one another. And then a little truth slides out. And if you’re a good friend, a loving person, you do not put it under any kind of microscope. You don’t say that it’s interesting, how this problem manifests. You just listen and hear and love and give of yourself, too.
But I didn’t realize any of that then. I didn’t even realize that I needed people, too. I mean it. I thought I would live alone, work alone, spend my nights brooding over books in the dark. To tell the truth, I never planned on needing people. And every time that I have, it has stunned me and hurt me to realize how vulnerable I am.
But even with this phony foolhardy image of myself as cold-blooded shrink lizard queen, I still chose to follow my very best friend to the one good college he’d gotten into. I had other choices, some more prestigious or with offers of more money. I said I chose OSU for its size, and on the merits of its psychology program. But I chose it for love.
And all my adolescence I hungered to go away to school and live in a city. I pictured myself in bars and walking the street at night, stenciling graffiti, something I never actually did. I saw myself alone reading in libraries all night, and cooped up in laboratories running experiments. I did not plan to cry in my mother’s arms, sputtering and shaking in the parking garage before she left. I did not plan to miss her so desperately that I remained in bed moaning silently all evening, calling everyone I knew.
And I did not plan to give up on all the clubs, from the Skeptic’s Group to the Psychology Club to Psi Chi to Speech to spend all my evenings wrapped in the doughy arms of some freshman German major two doors down the hall.
And I did not plan on quitting my winter job at the Hallmark to follow him across the country in an old blue Ford pickup truck. And I did not plan on moving in with a boyfriend. And I did not plan on considering giving it all up, my dreams of graduate school in a real city, to spend an extra year shacked up with him. And I did not plan to offer to follow him to Poland. And I did not plan to every contemplate marriage.
And I did not plan to miss everyone so desperately when I left for Chicago. I did not expect that I would cry in my mother’s arms again, just as babyish, just as desperate, sobbing clawing laying at her feet in my empty new apartment. I got a studio. I didn’t plan on making friends or needing friends.
I didn’t expect that I would lay there dull and empty-headed when my mom pulled away, a hum of lonely nothingness inside. I did not think I’d call everyone I ever knew again, so desperate to hear a voice, nor did I think I’d wander the town, up to Skokie, west to Lincolnwood, south to Lincoln Park, podcasts filling my head with company, tears filling my eyes behind sunglasses.
I did not plan on falling in love with a classmate. I didn’t think I’d post friendship advertisements on Craigslist because I got too lonely to not try even the lamest of attempts. I didn’t ever expect that I would date my way out of loneliness, or try to, and fail, and cling to the social-emotional equivalent of rat-bitten driftwood for two years. I did not plan to delay my thesis progress for that driftwood; I did not think I’d ever give a man my thesis idea just because he had the temerity to make me love him, and fail at his life, and then ask. I never thought I’d let someone throw a plate in my direction.
And I did not think that it would take loving another person to make me give up such abuse. And I did not think that after six years here, some of them very bad, that I would want to give up on the potential of a tenure track career so I could stay with someone I love. I certainly didn’t think I would want it and be glad to want it and feel so utterly right about it.
And I didn’t expect that I would fill my days with love more than anything else. I thought I would chase achievement. First speech trophies. Then graduate school acceptance. Then degrees. Then publications. Then, at least productivity. I thought my joy would come from churning out stories, experiments, money, something.
It never was why I exist. I am happiest when I am with someone I love, or petting a small animal, or listening to someone who is upset.
I didn’t plan on being that kind of person. For someone so cold and casually cruel, the thing I am best at is loving.
Do you mean fanfic prompts are open?Can you please write a post season 1 fanficCanon divergance) where Oliver doesn't go to Lian Yu, but stays is Starling and Diggle suggests him to go to a house in the woods to rest and drink beer and maybe go fishing and Oliver finally agrees and then he meets Felicity somewhere in Verdant or the destroyed lair and he invites her too and she's happy that he wants to be friends with her after he "doesn't need her skills anymore" and they go and havefun :)
Sorry the delay anon!
It’s just a suggestion
man,” John muttered from the corner of the emptied out club. Oliver glanced
over to see his shoulders scrunch as he ducked beneath the overhead duct work.
John grumbled when the edge of his head hit the edge of the thin steal.
Oliver bit back a smirk but
released a short gruff, “I should be on Lian Yu not spending mindless days
out in the woods with booze and landscapes Digg.”
He could feel John’s eyes
rolling from the opposite side of the room. “Oliver just go, rest and take
a step back. The city is damaged but not undone. You lost your best friend and
you opened up some very old wounds…” he declared before Oliver could offer
another rebuttal. “You’ve been through a lot this year so please just take
the time to sort out how you really feel before you decide to run away back to
your own island of solitude,” he prodded as Oliver’s neck bent.
“You’re not letting this go
are you?” Oliver meekly complained. ‘
He glanced up to see his
friend’s ghost of a smile change into a small smirk. “You should ask her
to come by the way…” he added as Oliver’s eyebrows shot up to almost his
“Digg no…” he mumbled
just as the door to the deserted club shot open and her sweet, angelic voice
filled the otherwise stagnant air.
“Okay seriously you two
spend entirely too much time in this place!” Her declaration of fact made both
men smile as she approached them in her skinny jeans and panda flats. Her smile
was large and full of life as she passed Diggle and headed straight towards him.
Her bright blue eyes held no trace of sadness nor remorse, all they held was
the promise of many more tomorrows. She stopped inches from his still form and
gave him another dazzling smile. “So…why did you call me down
Oliver quirked his head and
furrowed his forehead before shooting Digg a pointed glare. The older man just
shrugged his shoulders and yelled out, “Felicity I’ll be back in a
nodded in complete confusion before once more focusing her sparking gaze at
Oliver. He felt his heart stammer when she began to look around the vacant
space. “So…” she asked as they continued to stand in an uncomfortable
silence. “Now that Walter’s been found and the Glades were somewhat saved
I’m assuming you won’t be needing me anymore…” her voice died out as her eyes
flitted down from his and towards the floor. She looked out of place in the
vast, open space of the empty club. Her skin even seemed to dim as she waited
for Oliver’s tepid reply.
let the trash bag fall with a thud to the floor and cleared his suddenly
clogged throat. Her head shot up and her eyes sparked with electricity when he
said, “You could come…” he coughed when her eyebrows furrowed.
where?” she voiced slowly while gauging his somewhat confused expression.
Hokulani Hewahewa stood on the small weathered dock in the dark listening to the familiar sounds of the bayou. It wasn’t a place for the faint of heart- especially at night. Alligators, snakes, and even the occasional big cat made a meal out of unwary travelers. Strange lights and mysterious sightings of everything from ghosts to vengeful creatures haunted the bayou at night, and it was easy to get lost, turned around, and if one wasn’t careful, a single misstep could send them below ground and they would never find their way back to the surface.
Hoku loved the bayou. Night. Day. It didn’t matter, it was home and it always would be. She loved the superstitions, the healers and the magic. The food. The swamps. Even the damn alligators. She’d grown up in these swamps, the constant drone of insects had been her lullaby. This was Farlam. A town she was proud of. No matter how many times nature–or man slammed it–the town rose over and over, each time better and stronger. It was her city. Her bayou. Her swamp. And her people.
But now… oh, now, she was going to have to share. Her father’s will had finally come to light. The Sharpe family had been prosperous since the Antebellum Era, but since the Fifties had started going down hill. Spending money they didn’t have, and the majority of the family was scattered to the wind. Worn, scuffed combat boots made their way back along the dock toward one of the renovated slave shacks where light illuminated the porch. She might have left the Allerdale Plantation on occasion, but she always found her way back. This was home, as much as she did not want it to be.
Pass the garden she fought to maintain, the plantation house stood, looming in the night. It was dark, as it had been since her father had passed the year before. It was a leaky, withered building, only a husk of its former glory. It probably should have been torn down, yet her father had remained. It was livable, if just barely, having been build in the traditional antebellum Greek Revival style. The square, two-story home had twenty-eight square columns, each three feet around and thirty-five feet high, with twelve-foot wide galleries wrapping around the building on both floors. There were eight Italian-marble fireplaces, and a large hall through the center of the home gave access to the principal rooms, and, off the end of this hall, a well designed circular stairway lead to the second story.
The plantation had, at its peak, eighteen-hundred acres- a mix of sugarcane and cotton -but was now just down to forty, most of which had been reclaimed by nature. Her mother insisted that she leave, that it was no longer her problem, but Hoku just… couldn’t. Especially now that she had a pair of mysterious cousins on the way. Lucille and Thomas. Just who were they? Would they care about the land as she did? Or would they simply sale what they could, or worse, demolish history?