throughout the air

I live for clichés. Sitting on a Parisian rooftop, reading poetry in the early morning when the air is crisp and cold, soft kisses peppered across the face, romantic bouquets, walking as if on air throughout an art museum, every corridor empty except for me, pressing post-it-notes with messages to all the walls of my apartment, being unable keep myself from gasping as the heavy burgundy curtains of a opera house reveals beauty. I want it all.

Star vs. The Forces of Evil Gets Weekday Premieres in February

Star vs. The Forces of Evil will air new episodes Monday-Thursdays in February on Disney XD.

Each episode’s initial premiere will air at 7:00am (ET/PT) each day with multiple repeats that will air throughout the day.

For three weeks, the episodes will be broke into 15-minute premieres. Then the last two episodes of season two will air Monday, February 27. Both are half-hour episodes.

Episode titles follow (Warning for possible spoilers!):

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My dad is so weird about some things. Our fights are over the stupidest shit.

We heat our house with wood. We always have. In the living room is a fireplace, and in the basement we have a wood stove. The stove pumps hot air throughout the house and keeps it at a barely-tolerable temperature through the winter. I’ve lived here my whole life and have been building fires for warmth for as long as I can remember. I’ve built cooking fires, bonfires, campfires, fires in the fireplace, fires in the stove… I spent all summer and fall teaching children how to build fires. I know how to build a fire!

Somehow that’s not good enough for my dad. I went into the basement to get the stove running and he followed me down “to observe” and “make sure you’re doing it right”. I asked him if there was some secret trick he expected me to know but wouldn’t tell me, and he just shrugged. “I don’t know what you know,” he said.

Cue a heated argument about whether or not it’s disrespectful and condescending to doubt your son’s competence at something he’s been doing all his life, for no reason except paranoia and possessiveness over the role of fire-builder.

Which is a thing… I don’t know if it’s some kind of ancient heritage, but it really seems like “people who can build fires” instinctively distrust each other to do it right and constantly meddle with the construction of a fire.

Yuri on Ice Fanbook: In Regards to Love

Throughout the airing of the show’s season, there was a lot of quality content flooding Tumblr and AO3. And truthfully, there can never be enough! That being said, if you are a writer, artist or both you can now apply to participate in the Yuri!!! on Ice Fanbook: In Regards to Love. This book will consist of 20 short stories or one-shots as well as art that will be divided into two sections: Agape and Eros. Whilst Agape will be limited to fluff and PG rated works, Eros will allow and even revel in the spicier side of things. When applying you can make clear how and in which section you wish to contribute. However, you will be sorted not only based on the options you provide but also based on the demand for works on a certain character/ship. The theme of the fanbook is love of any kind…whether platonic, familiar or otherwise. That being said, you do not have to write about a ship but you can also write about a character in specific and what eros/agape means to them. Applying artists will be assigned a story to create an illustration for or if they are interested in the making of the cover/back of the book they can as well. Though as of now we are looking for at least 20 writers and 20 artists, this is a number that depending on the number of applications might change. We might expand the number of works, or if needed, reduce it. Check out the link for the application form bellow! 


If you have any further questions regarding this, feel free to contact me at @introvertedbibliophile28 . As soon as we receive enough applications we will start sorting you accordingly. Everyone will receive their assignments via messages (so keep open!) either by myself or by @koganess  

Though the deadline is a soft deadline, get your applications in by January 10!

Hidden Stars Pt.3 (M)

Pt. | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 |  -   [Drabbles]

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader, Yoongi x Reader

Genre: Smut/Angst 

Word Count: 9,841

Description: It started out simple, but when your feelings start to grow for the idol who isn’t allowed to date, things get complicated.

Originally posted by bangtannoonas

“Yuna.” The name echoes throughout the air, and it’s as if it has a direct line to your bloodstream, because as soon as the two syllables register in your mind, you fall into a complete state of panic. Your body tenses up, and there’s a rapid increase to your heart beat, causing sweat to pool at your forehead. It’s as if you’ve lost the ability to breath, and you aren’t sure what to do, when you suddenly feel the emptiness of your hand being filled again.

You look down at the table, and you see that Yoongi has interlaced your fingers with his. He gives them a tight squeeze that makes you lift your gaze, and he tries to muster up a look that will let you know that everything was going to be alright. You understand his silent words, and you shake your head as you try to calmly bring yourself back down.

You feel a presence come into your peripheral, and you take a deep breath before turning your head slowly to face the person, who unknowingly had every reason in this world to hate you.

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Raindrops and Starlight: A Feyrhys One-Shot

Feyre and Rhys find themselves dancing in the rain after a night of celebrations, much to their delight.  

The celebration courtyard was filled with raucous laughter and the heady scents of sweat, roses, and fine ale.  Between the long tables set on either side of the courtyard was a crowd of dancers, twirling and swaying in bright silks. 

Seated at one of the tables, Feyre gazed at the dancers with her head propped up on her fist.  The vibrant colors and spinning shapes blurred before her tired eyes, becoming a cloud of navy- and peach-colored chiffon.  To her left, Cassian roared with laughter at something someone had said.  But Feyre was too exhausted to pay attention to any conversation being held at the table tonight. 

It was just after midnight in Velaris, and the entire city was celebrating the full moon.  The streets were crowded with vendors and stalls selling moon-shaped trinkets and sweets.  Music floated in the air throughout the city, echoing in every alley and every clearing.  

Little candles were lit in the house windows and lined up along the edges of the streets, making it appear as if the entire city was speckled with tiny stars. 

The band finished that charming, plucky tune they’d been playing, and the entire courtyard erupted into applause.  Face alight with a wide grin, Mor plopped onto the bench across from Feyre.  A moment later, Azriel—whose shadows had disappeared for the evening—slid into the seat next to her.  Mor turned to grin at him as she tucked her hair back up into its delicate braids.  

“I haven’t had that much fun in a century,” she said, twisting back to face Feyre.  Beside the golden-haired dreamer, Azriel was fingering a piece of bread, his face strangely red.  Feyre suppressed her smile—the shadow warrior had finally build up enough courage to ask Mor to dance, but evidently didn’t know what action to take next.  As if he could feel her gazing at him, Azriel looked up, brows furrowed.  

In the distance, the band started a slow, calming melody and pairs of dancers began to stand. 

Feyre slowly grinned at Azriel.  She let her mind reach out and touch his mental wall, and he opened up enough to let her voice through. Ask her to dance again, she said. She won’t say no. 

After a moment of gazing down at his hands, Azriel turned to Mor and hesitantly murmured something in her ear.  She grinned widely and nodded, letting him take her hand and lead her to the dance floor.  Mor’s golden dress swayed in the breeze and she touched Azriel’s cheek, and then they were lost in the crowd. 

Those two will take a century to admit their love for each other, came a familiar, deep voice in Feyre’s mind.  She smiled despite herself, her tiredness disappeared somewhat. 

At least you were brave enough to do it sooner, she replied.  Any longer and I would’ve had to resort to flirting with Cassian. She felt him laugh through the bond, his joy like a wave of golden sparks in her mind. 

Feyre sat up straight, gazing around the courtyard. While we are on the topic of adoration, where might I find you, my love? 

Over by the giggling women dressed rather revealingly.  I must say, some of them are more daring in their fashion than you are. Though I daresay what you are wearing tonight is revealing enough. 

Feyre stood immediately, clamping down on her annoyance. Prick, she hissed at him, and then slammed her mental wall shut—but not before the echoes of her mate’s laugh reached her. 

She made her way around the table, her dress swishing.  She had chosen a peacock-colored number for the occasion, with complicated, delicate indigo accents threaded throughout.  The silk wrapped tightly across her bodice, coming to a sharp V and exposing her bosom, and flowed out into a billowing skirt that barely touched the ground.  Cerridwen had braided her hair up into a style like Mor’s, letting a few pieces hang down, and had given her small, turquoise earrings that glinted in the light to wear.

The music quivered through the air as Feyre made her way around the edge of the courtyard.  Groups of fae were gathered here, chatting and laughing and sipping mulled wine.  Here and there, hidden in the darkness, were couples kissing passionately.  Feyre quickly avoided her gaze, cheeks burning, and glanced around for Rhysand’s dark hair and trimmed attire. 

And there he was. 

Leaning against one of the stone walls, half in the shadows, smirking and eyes glinting and hair ruffled as he listened to the female fae before him talk.  Feyre started towards him and, as if he could feel her presence, he looked up.  His eyes glowed as he took in her appearance, gaze sweeping up and down her form and making her cheeks blaze. 

She would never grow used to his intense stare, she realized, as she slowly walked towards him.  Never, despite the years they would be together.  Rhys looked back down to the woman before him, politely saying something, and then turned back to face her.  He wore a fitted jacket and tunic, all black, with gold accents on the wrists and collar.  His hair was half swept back and the shadows played with the planes of his face. 

My High Lord, thought Feyre, and Rhys grinned.

Hello, Feyre darling, he purred, reaching out to wrap his arms around her when she neared.  He pulled her to his chest and she breathed in his musky scent, eyes shuttering closed. 

“You left us as soon as we arrived at the festival,” she whispered, hands clutching the back of his jacket.  He pulled away slightly, eyes filled with an unspoken apology. 

“I had business.” He kissed her forehead. “I promise that it won’t happen again.”

Business with pretty, underdressed girls? thought Feyre, but Rhys just shook his head—half smiling—and pulled her onto the dance floor. 

Oh no. 

“Rhys,” pleaded Feyre. “Rhys, my love, not tonight. I’m tired, please—”

He just smiled wickedly once more and said, “Those manners are only for the bedroom, Feyre darling.” He inclined his head towards the whirling crowd before them. “Let’s dance.” 

Feyre tried protesting once more, pulling on Rhys in an attempt to avoid the inevitable, but soon gave in and was swept into the crowd.  Infinitely grateful that she had chosen such a freeing dress, she linked her hands around his neck and whirled along to the music.  The tune became lively, joyful, and—all tiredness suddenly gone—Feyre laughed and spun in Rhys’s grip.  

The world around them became a blur of blues and pinks and silks and light, and they themselves became—became the music, the night, the stars and moon, the  vibrant colors and laughter.  Feyre threw back her head and let the joy consume her, giving in to the moment.  When she looked back up at Rhys, he was smiling with delight and gazing upon Feyre as if she was the only light he could see in this infinite blackness, as if she was his world. 

Of course, she was his world, and he was hers.  Because they were mates, together for eternity, bound by some ancient and wild thing that lit up between them as if it were alive. 

The music reached its end and the pair paused in their dancing, both panting.  Feyre stared at her mate, memorizing the happiness in his eyes, the youngness he seemed to display, the lack of anything that associated him with darkness or pain or fear, before it was too late.  Because in this moment, he wasn’t Rhysand, High Lord of the Night Court.  He was Rhys, her friend despite the troubles, her other half for all time, her mate throughout the ages.

You’re mine, she said to him, and took his face in her hands and kissed him passionately. 

His hands found her waist, gently tracing invisible lines there.  Her mouth opened and his tongue swept in, eliciting in a groan from her.  Somewhere in the distance, she could hear another tune starting—but that didn’t matter.  Rhys’s fingers began tracing up her dress, towards her breasts, and every thought in her head vanished.  

With an effort, she pulled back. Not now, she said to him.  Even in her mind her voice sounded breathless.  Rhys’s smile turned feral. 

What better time than now? he said to her, but he pulled away despite his words.  He held her close to him, fingers tracing a line up and down her back, as a slower song began.  Feyre turned her head, listening to Rhys’s heartbeat that seemed to match her own.  She closed her eyes for a moment and when she opened them again, she caught a glimpse of Mor and Azriel, still dancing.  The pair were pressed close, their foreheads together, Azriel’s hands around Mor’s back and hers around his neck.  

Mor sported a happy expression and, oddly, Azriel was smiling. 

Feyre felt her lips twitch upwards and closed her eyes again. 

And then the first drop of rain fell on her nose. 

“What—” She looked upwards, squinting against the other drops falling.  Sometime in the night, the sky had clouded over and was now dropping water onto the celebrators.  The other dancers paused as well as the warm rain began to fall more quickly, glancing at one another.  Then they simply laughed and began twirling and swaying again, letting the rain drench their clothes and hair.  

“You look absolutely stunning,” whispered Rhys in her ear, and Feyre pressed her lips to his cheek.

“As do you.”

He pulled back just enough to meet her gaze, a smirk forming. “It almost makes me want to lick the water running down your pretty little face.”

Her heart jumped, but she managed stay composed and whisper, “Shhh.” She pressed a finger against his lips, but he just bit her soft skin gently.  

It was damning that her heart skipped a beat the moment his teeth met her skin.

You can lick me all you want, she said through their bond, once we’re alone. Later tonight.

Who said it had to be later?

A wicked grin and his arms tightly around her were all the warning she was given before Rhys shot into the air, lifted through the rain and the warm breeze by his powerful wings.  She yelped and clung to him, still unaccustomed to his sudden flying.  He strengthened his grip and smiled down at her, water drenching his hair and face. 

Feyre smiled back and then closed her eyes, creating a little bubble of water-free air around them.  She felt approval drift down the bond. 

They flew on, Rhys tracing an invisible pattern into her back. 

And Feyre let the wind wrap around her, giving herself up to the night and the stars.


Gif source:  ((Unknown))

Imagine waking up in Jon’s arms early one morning.

——— Request for anon ———

The sun had just peaked over the horizon, and happened to shine perfectly through the window as to disrupt your sleep by shining directly onto your face. You let out a soft whimper before finally stirring, feeling an arm around your body keeping you from moving all too much without more effort than you wished to give at this early hour.

Cracking one eye open, you see the mess of hair that is Jon at your side, along with the furs that kept you from feeling the nip of the northern air throughout the night. Turning away from the window, you move further into the furs and Jon’s body, happily letting him unconsciously pull you closer as he barely is even disrupted by your change in position.

You could get a few more hours of sleep, you figure. 

The Adventures Of An Asexual Office Worker

In which Kunimi does not get paid nearly enough for this shit.

AKA: the infamous 90s diet coke AU started by @pussycat-scribbles

Though really, all I did was read through all the ideas and added an exasperated Kunimi who’s just done with everything.

I might continue this. We’ll see. I just really hope I did it justice.

Part II can be found here.

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Let It Rain

Summery: Yixing is working on some of his music and you come over and sit on his lap while he works and continuously ask for kisses. (fluff)
Member: Yixing x Reader
Type: Fluff
Length: 1,020 Words

My first scenario as an admin of the blog! I’m still learning but I’ve tried my best so I hope you enjoy it.

- Admin Kain

Originally posted by ethereal-baek

You let a sigh escape from deep inside as you stood, face pressed tightly against the cold glass of the window, watching the rain dance throughout the air and make a soft pitter-patter sound as it collided with the environment around. The sky was cloudy and grey and your day was quickly becoming as dull and mundane as the weather around.

You were supposed to spend the day out  with your boyfriend, Yixing, but the miserable display of the elements had cancelled your plans and now you were stuck in the beige living room attempting to keep yourself entertained while Yixing worked on his music for just “5 more minutes.” Yeah, that was approximately 27 minutes ago.  Leaning against the dark wooden bookcase, that was more for show than practicality, was quickly becoming uncomfortable and you could only fiddle with the waxy leaves of the small potted plant on the windowsill for so much longer before you started aimlessly tearing them off.

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Imagine being Sam's and Dean's little sister and Dean teaching you how to shoot a gun.

“Okay, now just aim and shoot!” Dean exclaimed as released his grip on your hands that was holding the gun only to turn to you with a confused look. “Y/n, shoot the gun.”

“I can’t, Dean. I’ve never shot one before.”

He scoffed. “I thought you knew how to.”

“I was being sarcastic,” you smiled.

He sighed before returning his hands on top of yours. “Okay, now just pull the trigger. I’ve got your hands steadied.”

You nodded and with a deep breath pulled the trigger. It sounded throughout the air, the bullet missing the target completely. A screamed escaped your lips as it did so, fear and excitement overwhelming you. Clearly, you weren’t expecting it to be so loud…or so powerful.

Dean looked at you with an expression of amusement before sighing. “We’ve got a lot of work to do before you ever go hunting with us.”

Week nine of @one-shots-supernatural’s writing challenge. Sorry it’s so short! Haven’t been in the mood to write at all for some reason, but I figured I would you give you something.


Mikhail Vrubel

Head of the Demon

Demon and Tamara

Dance Tamara

1890-91, black watercolour and whitewash on paper. The Kiev State Museum of Russian Art, Ukraine and The State Tretyakov Gallery, Russia. 

illustrations for Mikhail Lermontov’s poem The Demon:

“…Legions of slaves, thy smile their sole reward,
Shall bow and tremble at thy feet.
Shining battalions ever be thy guard,
Obedient fairies form thy suite.
From the vast treasures of the Morning Star,
A chaplet will I bear thee down.
And dewdrops, shaken from the flowers afar,
Shall shine like diamonds, round thy crown.
Undimm’d the sunset’s softest-colour’d ray
Shall, blushing, circle round thy waist.
Sweet balm and bergamot throughout the day
Shall fill the air with odours chaste.
Thine eye I’ll charm, with endless sights unknown
Thine ear with wondrous sounds I’ll please;
I’ll build thee sumptuous halls of precious stone,
I’ll bend before thee on my knees,
I’ll dive into the sea at thy behest.
I’ll range the Heavens at thy call -
Tamára, I will give thee all,
Oh! but love me!…”

Canto II, X, tr. Alexander Condie Stephen, London, 1875

                                                                                  @bladeofthehawk​ —— continued from [ x ]

             – ·             Monstrous and terrifying was the roar that blasted throughout the air, surely a telling sign that the Branded girl’s end was looming upon her. Was it the head of these fiends or something more? Furious and dripping in death, this new beast ripped its way from the infinite darkness and into her sight, tearing without mercy through a swathe of the troll horde, only to finish its dive before the lone woman in a shower of blood and gore as her predators’ heads slid from their throats. With fangs bared and blade held high, her newly revealed saviour blessed his own fatal luck that he had reached her before the unthinkable.

   Even through the protection of the talismans inked onto their bodies, they were hunted. All that Guts once knew no longer mattered. The overpowering energy of Fantasia offered little sanctuary to those damned by the Brand. There was no longer such thing as the astral world – it was theirs, and not even he was ready for this onslaught. Guts held his ground, feeling blood stream down to his ankles and puddle at his feet. Thankfully most of it wasn’t his own.

                But the same could not be said for her.

   “A little out of practice, huh, Commander?” he barely managed to speak through a hard mixture of adrenaline, fatigue and worry for the well-being of his mate, but he couldn’t turn his back on these feral beasts. Casca wasn’t ready for this. Guts knew there was a reason he felt so hesitant to allow her to tread this journey, but it was too late for regrets. No matter, he’d protect her just as fiercely as he had the last time it was merely the two of them – the only difference was that now, there were no repercussions or figurative demons to get in his way.

   Sensing the vile, murderous intent of their coming assailants even where his blinded eye couldn’t, the crimson tipped Dragonslayer in his hands rose defensively. Guts sneered with another hot blast of breath as its rough iron screeched against the tooth and claw of each and every infested wildlife that sprung to take a bite of his woman. Not on his damned watch.

   “I need to know that you’re still with me,” While he kept the animals at bay, his heel moved to kick back Casca’s fallen blade within her reach. The enchanted steel thrummed when it hit the tip of her boot. “So pick it up! We didn’t watch the sun set just for you to buy it before it comes back up again!” It was the first sight he’d be able to share alone with her after a hell like this. Guts wasn’t about to allow that chance to slip through his tiring fingers. 

©Deborah Coulter 2017

Collage for week of January 1…a passion for dragonflies, stripes, and LOVE in the air throughout 2017!!!

Wishing everyone a Peacefull New Year!!!