#i tried to be poetic

[vellichor-of-the-solivagant]

With Them, Who Swallowed a Star

PAIRING: Professor!Task Force 141 X F!Student!Reader WORD COUNT 5.3k CONTENT WARNING: NSFW! group sex, age gap, fingering, cunnilingus, oral sex, handjobs, facefucking/blowjobs, unprotected sex, p in v, anal sex, slight usage of nicknames, reader is a pianist/student, tf141 are professors, smut with plot SYNOPSIS: A musician is a storyteller in their own ways. You had told yours and captured the sights of men you never expected to pull when you stepped inside an academy. AUTHOR'S NOTE: I tried to be poetic. This fried my brain and I'm not going to write something like this again. That's a lie because I have a series that has 5 love interests. This one was supposed to have Graves as well since he's actually my inspiration for writing this shit, but I ended up not adding him. I might do it on Drabbles if someone asks though. And yes, I have changed my username from DontFearTheReaperAzura. Here's the Masterlist for more! Also on Archive of Our Own / DISCORD SERVER

Your fingers fluttered slightly as you lifted your hands to the keys, blocking out the rustling from others as they sat in the grand auditorium. Long and drawn, you began to tell a tale you had held for a long time. Notes swam in the air, old friends that played with your tresses and caressed your skin.

The story started slowly, the sound of the beginning, the beginning of the end. Longing clashed with trepidation, your fingers sang a song of despair. You swayed with the music, lost in the whims of unspoken words—of a world you owned. Quicker and quicker, the notes climbed in sync with your heart, growing joyful in hopes of masking the mournful melody surrounding you.

It filled the emptiness deep within your chest for a moment, before like the heavens shed tears upon a barren land, you showed—you poured out the lore of your world, and with heavy reluctance to leave what you created, you played the last few notes.

For a few moments, you kept your eyes closed, and when a series of claps reached your ears, only then you opened them. You were shackled back to reality just as you held back your work.

You looked at the people, who in your eyes were nothing but shadows at the beginning, now enamored, yearning for the rest. You knew they felt it, too. Pulled, as though you were the center of the system. Like the Sun, a star.

And one man stuck out more than others, gazing at you, blue eyes almost ravenous. But it didn’t last for long, just like a song in the wind, he faded among the standing crowd, drowned out in the flurry of praise.

You breathed out a sigh as you stared at the towering structure before you, now your second hell—in replacement of the ramshackle place you call home—after you had gotten a scholarship to this prestigious university after years of a couple of years of working your ass off. Students rushed past you on their way in and out of their classes, but you stood frozen.

Suddenly you felt awfully unprepared for this unfamiliar place, of socializing and strangers, and of university. Of life. What did Google say about socializing with people your age again? How about impressing a professor? Good lord.

You shrugged off your thoughts and sauntered to your class. A large lecture hall welcomed your sight and you found an empty seat at the front row. Not the perfect place for observation of the whole place, but good for listening to the professor.

The sound of expensive shoes echoed throughout the hushed room and you kept your eyes down as you took out your notebook and pen. As the quiet dragged on, you glanced at the professor and found your brows raising at his sight.

He was tall, seemed to be fit, and in his thirties. He had a few wrinkles, a beard, and brown hair, but no sign of graying.

Above all, you could remember those eyes. An endless swirl of blue. The man at the concert hall.

You put your gaze down as the professor looked down on you, your heart hammered against your ribs, sudden nervousness springing in your nerves. You wished he wouldn’t recognize you, but at the same time, you hoped he did.

Yet, the silence remained, and in curiosity, you looked back up. Your breath hitched as your eyes met his, gaze shining with something you couldn’t decipher, and a smile formed on his lips.

You forced yourself to mirror it and batted a glance at the door. You wanted to get out.

The professor introduced himself as Jonathan Price, and told the class a few things about himself, before diving straight into the first lesson of Philosophy.

Time seemed to flow fast throughout his class and you kept your fingers busy, writing down his words. He was easy to understand, bringing out intricate details in his lesson, and asked questions now and then if he was going too fast while walking around the room.

You couldn’t help but notice his slacks fit in a certain area. Then again, that thing wouldn’t give you a brain cell even if you suck it off.

The bell chimed and you gathered and stuffed your notebook and pen inside your bag, jolting up to your feet. But as you approached the exit, his canorous voice called out to you.

“Pardon me, young lady.”

You turned to face the professor, keeping a respectable distance from him, which he closed off, only standing a couple of feet from you.

“Yes, sir?” You asked in a small voice when he remained silent, his eyes studying you with disconcerting intensity, just like how he gazed at you at your performance.

Finally, after an uncomfortable silence, he asked. “What’s your name?”

You spoke of your name in a steady voice, equally confused and intimidated, you gripped on the strap of your bag. Everyone had already left, now bringing quietness to the hall.

He smiled once again, his head tilting a bit to the side. “A pretty name.” His voice sent goosebumps on your skin, making you breathe in deeply, inhaling the scent of his pleasant cologne. “Such a shame I couldn’t catch it after your performance a couple of weeks ago.”

He remembered you.

Your cheeks began to burn.

Oh, how he yearned to caress your tinted cheeks, place a kiss on them, and mutter praise against your soft skin.

“Ah, you were there, weren’t you, sir?” You offered him a smile and a pause. “I think I caught a glance of you in the front rows.”

“Correct.”

“Thank you for watching, sir,” you said, not knowing what to speak of next, and nodded at him, reaching out to the knob to leave. But he reached for the door, making you blink at his unexpected actions, caged between the door and him.

“I couldn’t take my eyes off of you,” he fessed, bodies now closer to yours that you almost touched, and you gulped. “You were magnificent.” He opened the door, a hand motioning at you. “See you on Wednesday. And I hope we see more of your performance.”

We?

You jolted awake at the loud laughter of a raucous group outside of your room and grunted at the sudden pang of pain in your head when you stood up. You glanced at the alarm clock by your bedside and muttered a crisp curse, hauling your bag. You burst out of your room, slipping past students in the hallway like a breeze, hurried apologies were called out to those poor victims she bumped into.

The morning had been long and tiring, and you decided to take a nap earlier, only to end up sleeping for a couple of hours. Now, you were about to get late for your next class, and the usual ten-minute walk turned into a five-minute run and an uncalled exercise.

You glanced from left to right in the hallway, glancing at your phone to make sure you were in the right building, and turned to the right, following the signs. You halted before a room, strangely closed even though the class was supposed to start in five minutes.

You used your phone as a mirror and patted down your hair, before turning the knob and opening the door. You walked into a softly lit room and realized the mistake you had made as you spotted a man splayed down on a couch across the room. A hand behind his head and over his stomach, and over the lower half of his face was a black mask.

Inside was a personal office, belonging to one of the professors.

You immediately turned away, about to exit the room when an angry voice echoed.

“Have you got no manners?” The man rose to sit, a scowl painted on his face.

For the nth time in your sorry life, you wanted to bury yourself alive. You dipped your head low in embarrassment. “I’m very sorry, sir. I thought this was the room my class was in. I didn’t mean to intrude.” You frantically fumbled on your phone, inputting the wrong password one time, and read your schedule.

You read the room number wrong.

Brilliant. Bloody brilliant.

The professor fixed his crooked mask. “What class were you supposed to go to?”

“Uh, a math class of Mr. Simon Riley,” you read on your phone, keeping your head low.

A hum escaped past the man’s lips, making you glance up at him. His dark blond hair slightly ruffled from his apparent nap and coat a bit crooked. He ran his hand on his hair, fixed his coat, and patted down the invisible wrinkles on the fabric.

He stood up and you inched back, surprised at his stature. A tall man with broad shoulders and arms noticeably strong, (massive honkers) and eyes like a pool of honey, swirling like molten gold under the light.

“You’re in luck, sweetheart. I’m Simon Riley. You’re in my office, our class is in the next room.” Unlike earlier, his cold voice had turned a bit softer, but the fact that he was your professor made your sweat run cold.

You nodded, inwardly wincing at your dumbass. “Again, I apologize, sir.”

He stood before you, next to the opened door. Gladly, there were no students passing by in the hallway.

“What is your name, love?” he questioned, his hands going to his pockets. His eyes narrowed at the way your head dipped, refusing to meet his gaze. Like a meek little bunny, scared of the world and what all those pretty eyes could see.

He wanted to place a finger under your chin and lift your face up to look at him.

You never knew introducing yourself could feel like an interrogation until now. You told him your name, averting your gaze down at his shoes that shifted slightly. “Nice to meet you, Sir Riley. I’m sorry it wasn’t under the best circumstances.”

He hummed once again and stepped out of the office. “Pleasure’s all mine."

You followed him out of the room and he swiftly closed the door behind you, his being a bit closer to you than comfort.

With a nod, Professor Riley led you to the classroom. Dozens of students had already occupied the room and you silently made your way to a vacant seat on the second row, placing your bag next to you.

Just like Mr. Price, the masked professor went straight to the point, briefly introducing himself to the crowd, and began his lesson. He, too, was easy to understand, repeating the equations some couldn't get well, and was kind enough to let the class take a few minutes of break, before continuing. You had also come to notice he would fix his mask every once in a short while.

And when the bell chimed, he bid his students goodbye, yet called for your name. You halted on gathering your things as he approached you. His eyes glanced at the students who last left the room before he spoke.

"Feel free to come by my office whenever you have a question or need anything. Can't have you lose your way again, do we?" He asked, a bit of amusement in his voice as he leaned close.

You smiled at his offer. "Thank you, sir."

Sure as shooting, you asked him where your next room was for Chemistry. By good fortune, he knew where it was and who the professor would be.

"Ah, there he is." Sir Riley abruptly came to a stop, making you halt in your tracks as well and follow the direction of his gaze, to see a man with a mohawk.

"Simon!" The man jogged towards the two of you, a grin playing on his lips in contrast to the man who never took off his mask. Another person with blue optics, but his were bluer as though someone took a piece of the briny deep and placed it in his optics.

He kept a smile as his attention swept to you. "And who's the little bird?"

You frowned a bit at the nickname, nonetheless gave him your name, and watched his eyes light up with fascination. The man began to tell the pull he felt by the notes of your music, how enamored he was by the unspoken words of your tale.

He was there, too and Sir Riley was along with them.

Your face flushed as he ranted and they both noticed, taking note of the shades painted on your skin, bashful of the sudden recognition.

"He is John Mactavish, your Chemistry professor," Sir Riley piped in, placing a hand on the other man's shoulder, before bidding his farewell at the moment, marching down to his next class.

Left all alone with Professor Mactavish, you turned to him. He grinned at you and he beckoned at you to follow him. The man was, well, talkative and wasted not a second expressing his applause of your performance and how he never expected to see you in the university.

You could only mutter small words and nod, already feeling exhausted. But it was pleasant to hear him compliment you. You could get used to it.

And you could get used to his enthusiasm for teaching. His first lesson went straight to an experiment and dragged you to his side as his assistant, instructing you to mix chemicals. Occasionally, his fingers brushed over yours as you passed vials.

Your eyes met, and sparks flew all around.

Literal spark.

And fire.

Professor Mactavish pulled you to the side, hand remaining on your arm as the chemicals were set ablaze.

With a couple of ticks of the clock, a giggle erupted from your lips and like there was a pull, his chuckles followed.

In the sea of awes, his laughter floated on the surface.

You sprinted on the hall, navigating through the winding routes of the structures, and arrived at one of the most exquisite auditoriums you had ever set eyes on. Your eyes took in the magnificent chandeliers and the divine paintings stretched across the ceiling.

The sound of a throat clearing pulled you from your stupor.

“Are you just going to stand there?” a voice called for your attention to where he stood near the stage. The man basked in the warm glow of the concert hall, skin as though molten caramel, and eyes like embers.

“Oh, forgive me, sir.” You straightened yourself up like a soldier before a superior. “I was just, well, this place is beautiful.” You couldn’t help but glance around once again.

“Isn’t it?” A soft smile crawled its way to his lips and he approached you. “I am Mr. Garrick and you are . . .” your name rolled out of his tongue like a serenade, gentle to the ears, a sight to see the way his lips moved, and he extended a hand to you.

You clasped it gently before realization dawned on you. “Pardon me, Garrick as in the Kyle Garrick?”

In a flash of a moment, something sparkled in his eyes and searched yours. “Yes, it is me.”

You nearly squealed and ran around the room in excitement. “Oh my God. Wow. I-I’m a huge fan, sir. You were such a huge inspiration to me—and, and, I wished I could have watched your performance at the concert before, but I was busy preparing for mine. Oh, that must be why Mr. Price, Mr. Riley, and Mr. MacTavish were there! You are friends!” Your words tumbled out of delight.

"Yes, well, thank you for the kind words." His hand sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck, his smile becoming wider.

You gazed at him for a few moments before you snapped out of it, your brain slapping it to your face that you just rambled in front of this gentleman. "I'm very sorry, that was unprofessional of me."

"No need for apologies. But I do want to get a feel of your play today as soon as possible." A hand landed on your back, his warmth slipping through the fabric as he led you towards the grand piano patiently waiting for you at the stage.

Your fingers itched in anticipation.

Sir Garrick gave you a comforting smile and sat on the front row seat. "Feel free to play whatever your heart desires."

What your heart desires.

With a shaky breath, once again, you began to tell a tale, the notes sounding like a human voice as it wove its sonorous song.

A ballad to tie what dream your heart made. An andante at first and increased tempo at each heartbeat.

Lightning striking and thunder howling, Kyle was consumed with the way you swayed from one note to another. He couldn't peel his eyes off you as though you had him in your grasp, a puppet for you to control. And only when the last of the music hung in the air, could he snap free of the strings.

He walked towards you and dropped to his knee, taking one of your hands in his palm. "You were truly astonishing."

"I'm telling you, she was marvelous," Kyle exclaimed, pacing around Price's office and pointing at his fellow professors. "Blimey, if only you guys were there the other day, you'd feel chills."

Simon kept a straight face as he sat on the couch, legs spread, his knees bumping with Johnny who took a seat beside him, sipping from his mug of coffee. Whilst, Jonathan inclined on his chair behind a mahogany desk, decorated with intricate carvings and souvenirs he had gathered as they traveled across continents.

"I get that you're delighted, but could you quiet down?" Price grumbled on his desk, a pang of pain shooting his head.

"No, I am not shutting up." Kyle raised a hand, shaking his head. "She recognized my name. My name.” He pointed at himself.

“Anyone would recognize your name if they’re yer fan or hater,” Johnny quipped and placed the mug down on the coffee table.

Kyle turned to him. “You don’t get it, mate. She said she’s a fan of mine. I was a huge inspiration to her—”

“Was a huge inspiration to her,” Simon echoed, leaning back against the couch. “Used to be, not anymore.”

Kyle glared and stomped towards the masked man, grabbing his collar when the other merely raised his brows in a challenge. “I swear to God, Simon, I swear to—”

“I swear to God if you three don’t shut the fuck up—” Price paused, straightening himself from his chair as Kyle shook Simon, and glared at them— “I’ll have you asinine blokes chopped into bits!”

Kyle let go of Simon, who simply fixed his crooked collar and tie, and raised a brow at the man behind the desk. He sat down on a vacant chair, his eyes not leaving Price, and asked, “Are you jealous she recognized me, Price?” he was answered with another glare, which he shrugged at. “Or not.” He definitely is.

For a few moments, they sat in silence, each lost in their train of thought. All centered on a certain lady, whom they had watched from afar, now within their grasp. They only acted as though it was their first time meeting you.

Each born to a wealthy family, presented interesting things which soon died down as they broke them down into pieces, they had grown bored. And had found that there were only a few they could put their trust in this world. Though not related by blood, they shared everything since they were younger. They knew one another strengths and weaknesses. Their faults. Their passions.

Their desires.

A knock pulled them out of their reveries.

Johnny being the closest to the door, got up and opened it. A smile was brought to his face as he found you. “Hello, bonnie. C’mon in.” He swung the door open, a hand motioning at you.

You hesitantly stepped in as you saw your professors inside the office, eyes all settled on you. You put a hand on your other arm to hold down your nervousness as the door behind you shut.

Four men who were strangely overly friendly to you. You could think of a couple of reasons. The first being a musician they had watched and the second, being their student.

A hand landed on the small of your back, guiding you further in, making your face flush. “Have a seat,” Sir MacTavish waved a hand at the sofa, where he and Simon sat. 

You kept your gaze low as you obeyed him, sitting between him and your math professor, red cheeks going in a deeper shade as you met Kyle’s gaze. Embarrassed, you finally faced Price, and asked, “What is it that you called me for, Professor?”

Price put his elbows over his desk and intertwined his fingers. “We have a proposition for you . . .” Your name rolled sensually out of his tongue.

The proposition was to be their assistant. Given their overlapping schedules these days, it was hard for them to handle them. At first, you refused the offer, telling them you had a part-time job to do, along with practicing your skills in piano. But they had already thought about that and said they could pay you for your work.

A tempting proposal. Perfect for a student like you who got into this prestigious school through a scholarship.

You tapped your pen on the table and heaved a sound sigh, slouching on the chair. You were in a cafe near the school, in an attempt to change the atmosphere and help you write a report for Sir MacTavish's and Sir Price’s classes, but it didn’t seem to be helping at the moment. A pleasant music came from your earphones to block out the background noises and you closed your eyes to lull yourself.

When you opened your eyes, you jolted up your seat. “Shit!” your hands immediately flew to your potty mouth and straightened your spine at the sight of one of your professors, Simon, across the table. “Ah, uh, I’m very sorry, sir. I didn’t notice you—”

“Why do you apologize so often?” his rough voice was low and he placed a cup of tea on the table. His eyes landed on your notebook, full of notes, written clean as though it was printed.

You pursed your lips, unable to think of an answer, and ran your tongue over the soft flesh, catching Simon’s attention. “I . . .”

Simon glanced around the empty cafe, the only other person within the area was the staff over the counter, who kept her eyes on her phone. And you had perfectly picked a secluded spot. He looked back at you and reached out a hand, placing it under your chin. He lifted your face to bring your eyes to his.

Your heart raced at his actions.

“An angel as brilliant as you are should carry yourself with confidence, sweetheart.” His thumb caressed your lips. “Perhaps, we could teach you that.”

Your lips parted at his touch, warmth pooling at your stomach. You knew this was strange—wrong, and yet you didn’t want him to stop.

But he let go and leaned back, and you found yourself gripping on your thigh. “Have you thought of our proposal last week?”

You nodded, clearing your throat. “I have, sir.”

“What do you say?”

“The offer is good, and I don’t think it will clash with my schedule under normal circumstances, either.” You paused, letting him wait for your answer as you gazed into his caramel eyes. “I’ll take it, professor.”

You were fond of puzzles. You were interested in mysteries. And you were drawn to danger.

Being their assistant had more perks than you initially thought it was. You talked with them about their terms and added some of yours, and they seemed to be pretty considerate about it.

Maybe, a bit too much.

You had moved to an apartment they got you, so you wouldn’t be distracted by your roommates. When you had breaks, they would call you to their offices and give you desserts and snacks.

And more often than not, their touches lingered, turning into hugs, caressing, and pinching when in private. To close, seemingly the start of a taboo, a risk, and yet when Professor Price had you pinned between him and Professor Garrick in his office one late night when most of the people at school had gone home, you didn't want them to stop.

You wanted the heat to rush over you, like a forest fire, unwavering.

Didn't pull back when he planted his lips on you. Didn't stop the very professor you looked up to as a musician to bunch up your skirt and grind his dick against your ass. Didn't stop even when the other two entered and Sir Price had his hand rubbing against your clothed cunt. Didn't stop when Professor Riley locked the door behind him as Sir Mactavish joined in.

Johnny’s snaked a hand around your waist, a bit harsher than the ones he’d always done, but you didn’t mind it. Not when his lips were gentle against yours, patient and exploring as he led you on his lap when he sat on your couch, stealing you from Price and Garrick. He drank on your gasp as you felt another pair of lips on your nape, dusting kisses along your flesh.

Simon breathed against your shoulder, hand grasping the swell of your breast and performed maddening massage that got your nipples pebbling under the fabric of your top. You flinched when he took them by fingers, the rolls languid, and shifted on the other man’s lap as you felt a poke underneath.

Johnny groaned against you, parting the breathtaking kiss. He removed you from his lap, only to turn you against him, now facing the professor who had shed his mask. His fingers dipped under the band of your panties, into your untouched bud and your wet folds. He rubbed with a hum, spreading your filth.

“You're so wet, hen,” he commented and inserted a digit, rubbing it against your slick walls.

Your teeth sunk to your lower lip, biting back a squeal at the sudden intrusion.

Simon placed his fingers under your chin and leaned down on you, his tongue running over your lips, something he had always wanted to do before. “Don't bite your lips. That's something we're supposed to do, yeah?” He whispered on your lips and explored your mouth, savoring the echoes of your pleasure, and left to plant his marks on your collarbones. Hands gathered your shirt and lifted it, exposing your chest to his sight.

His mouth dropped to the nipple, sucking while his hand went to work on the other. 

Johnny began to pump faster, making you throw your head back to his chest, moaning out in pleasure as you shot a glance at other professors.

“You are not so innocent after all, hm?” Price took your jaw and ran his thumb over your lips, before pushing it in, muffling your cries.

“No one's that innocent nowadays, Price,” Garrick remarked, watching the frown on your face and the flutter of your lashes at every jerk of Johnny's hand made and Simon’s tongue did. His tongue ran over his lips, hand cupping over his hard-on, palming himself through his pants.

You began to suck on Price’s finger, making his dick twitch in his pants—his brain wondering how good your mouth would feel around him. He pulled his hand away to work down on his belt and pants, hands pulling out his shaft. He gave it a few pumps, chuckling when he noticed the way your tongue ran over your swollen lips before a groan escaped from it as Simon planted a bite on your neck and Johnny's thumb began to work on your clit.

Price brought his tip to your mouth. “Open up, dove,” he demanded and grunted as he pushed his shaft in, breath hitching at the warm feeling of your tongue and your throat. Your face twisted a bit at the taste of his precum. He let you adjust for a couple of seconds, hand going to the back of your head before he began to thrust.

One of your hands flew to hold onto his hip as you let him use your mouth, eyes fluttering closed and focusing on breathing through your nose. Out of the blue, Johnny pulled his fingers out and Simon stepped away, eliciting a whine from you. Vibrations ran down Price’s body and he groaned.

Unbuckling of belts echoed in the air, and you were pulled away from Price, making him curse. The next thing you knew, you were staring into the eyes of the man you had admired for so long.

“Sir—”

Kyle put his thumb over your lips, cutting off your words. “Not sir. Call me Kyle.” He positioned his cock under your cunt, rubbing the tip on your entrance.

You gasped at the sensation. “Kyle . . .” Your jaw slacked as he slowly went in, hands pulling you closer to his clothed body, fingers running on your flesh, gentle just as how he played his instruments. 

“Yeah, yeah, that’s it,” he groaned, hands sliding down to your ass to guide you up and down on his length.

Now, he made music out of you.

It didn’t take a few ticks of the clock until they fucked you with all they had.

Simon’s cock was buried in the confines of your mouth, fingers tangled on your tresses, watching the curls of your lashes get soaked by the tears that rolled down on your cheeks as they relentlessly pounded on you—Kyle on your pussy, Price on your ass, and Johnny on your grasps. You had never felt so full, so complete.

You feel your legs shake—the sign you have reached the pinnacle of pleasure and exhaustion when Kyle hits the spot deep in you. You whined against Simon’s cock, groaning as beg for the overdue orgasm that they had been keeping from you.

You felt a hand slide down your thigh, finding your swollen clit, before the rough pads of the fingers rubbed aguishly gentle and slow. If they weren’t your professors, you would have cursed at whoever the one was doing it. But your wish had been heard and he picked up the pace until you were crying, arching your back.

But they weren’t done.

You felt Kyle and Price become rougher at each of their thrust, Simon tugging on your hair harder, and Johnny losing his rhythm on your hands, until they all pulled back, coating your skin with their cum.

You slumped on Kyle’s chest, limbs like a stringless puppet as you ride out the aftermath of your orgasm. Your heavy lids fell close, tired from the deed, but you fought back the drowsiness, not wanting to fall asleep in the state you were in.

“You did good, love,” Kyle cooed into your ear and planted a soft kiss on your temple.

Johnny leaned down and pressed a kiss on your shoulder. “Yer amazing, bonnie. Can’t wait to have more of ya.”

A hand caressed your flushed cheek, swiping the transparent mix of tears and sweat. “Let’s bring you back to your apartment, dove,” Price said in a gentle voice.

Gentle fingers scraped your scalp, gaining a hum from you, must be Simon with how his fingers feel on your head. An unspoken apology about the way he tugged on your locks.

Like the sky glowing, your skin glittered in the ruins they drew up. A masterpiece you were, vulnerable, vincible in their sight, like walls that had fallen. And yet as though a book which held thousands of words, they still had more things to know about you. 

Like every start of a relationship. How fortresses were made. Each beginning of a story. 

You basked in the echoes of their praise, letting their words bring you comfort and slowly help you regain your mind and strength.

Like after a fire, new maps were drawn. A new tale was written, with them, who swallowed a star.

Taglist: @itsyellow

[cheesemenace]

Insatiable Consumption

Overconsumption is a symptom of our collective greed, a manifestation of this societal disease. A specific way that greed exerts itself to the forefront of the human mind in our current era is through fashion, more specifically: fast fashion. It is a favored media of the vice, a void which cannot be filled.

Fast fashion has proven to be an extremely wasteful form of creation and purchase of what is supposed to be a necessity. Clothing, something that should be able to be worn over and over again has become extremely easy to acquire and discard, both physically and mentally. An article by the Center for Biological Diversity states that, “Despite the increased demand and consumption of fast fashion garments… [people] are buying more while wearing fewer of the items they own” (AT WHAT COST). Interestingly, consumers buy much more than they used to due to decreased costs, yet almost right away get rid of that clothing; filtering out the items for new designs of the same cheap quality. Almost as if they see it for what it is: cheap. The downgraded quality of clothing has created a drop in perceived value, pushing the idea that it is something that can- should- be thrown away after a few uses.

Large corporations can be blamed for cheap prices obtained by paying their laborers an unlivable wage, but customers are guilty as well. Shiva wrote in her essay “From Soil, Not Oil” that: “Solutions will not come from the corporations and governments that have raped the planet and destroyed peoples’ lives” (281). While companies do their part to promote dissatisfaction with ads, people promote jealousy as well as greed through public judgment and personal insecurity. This quote suggests that it is the individual's job to fix their treatment and view of wasteful and harmful activities, rather than the companies who are already lost in their strive for personal benefit.

The constant change of styles and trends, which fast fashion companies quickly follow, plants a seed of desire. A glimmer of greed, that grows into a thorny ivy, is potted into the consumers’ soul. Mankind has of recent times begun to completely dominate the natural world, as Carson states in her essay “The Obligation to Endure” that, “Only within the moment of time represented by the present century has one species- man- acquired significant power to alter the nature of this world” (248). Countries with complete access to the newest items, newest clothes, have prompted a collective rapacity, a bottomless pit, which customers believe can be filled with fibers and textile.

They attempt to fill a bottomless pit of yearning, but are instead filling landfills with their selfishness. It is a failure of mankind to have pushed themselves to become the ever consuming monster, with a hunger that is never satisfied. First world countries, in specific, have indulged almost entirely, with great vorecity, in materialism and the gluttony of selfishness. Thus vomiting their destruction on the rest of the world in addition to themselves.

Worked Cited

Shiva, Vandana. “From Soil, Not Oil” Reading the World: Ideas that Matter. Ed. Michael Austin. New York: Norton, 2020. 279-285

Carson, Rachel. “The Obligation to Endure” Reading the World: Ideas that Matter. Ed. Michael Austin. New York: Norton, 2020. 247-253

“AT WHAT COST? UNRAVELLING THE HARMS OF THE FAST FASHION INDUSTRY” Center for Biological Diversity. https://www.biologicaldiversity.org/programs/population_and_sustainability/sustainability/fast_fashion# (Accessed: 7 November 2024)

Authors note: I need to be able to have this in times new roman. WHY CANT I MAKE IT FONTABLE PLEASEEE.

[mothicrose]

a mother who lectures

that you are the sins of your father

is no mother at all

[teaboot]

you're so like. inspiring. or i wish i could be inspired. you reblog that post with the blue critter and you're like "im glad i was born on this planet". how do i manage to get that mindset. how do i manage to not want the pain to stop at any cost and enjoy what's still possible to enjoy

It's my first time here and I'm never coming back

[vigilante24ish]

🌙 Moon Phases 🌙

Agatha Harkness X Fem!Reader

Plot: You have a past with Agatha, one as old as your ages. Your roads often met, but more than once, she left you behind. Now, once again, your paths cross, but this time; it is intentional.

Taking place around Episode 2 of the series. Might continue it if it gets popular or leave it as a small one-shot. Give it a shot and let me know

You were a rare type of witch, one whose path not many chose to follow; but not you. The very same moon you observed and talked to as a child was the very same source of your power.

The very same moon shapes you as you grow, your moods and natures shifting like the never-ending phases. Both light and darkness resided within your soul, one path sometimes more tempting than the others and vice versa.

It was under that that you learnt to do your first spell, that you practised your Latin, and it was under the same moon that you met her...

Agatha Harkness

Under the full moon had you gathered with her and her coven, to praise the Godess around the fire; bodies void of any clothing as your magic grew wild and free.

After that, you met again and again; sometimes by mere coincidence.

Your ever shifting nature was what had kept others away, keeping you confined to a small neutral space between two covens but never able to truly join any of them. Your complex thoughts that guided your kindness and also led you down dangerous paths became a mystery for Agatha to explore... to study.

The meetings became intentional, the unique aspect of your mind was something she welcomed and encouraged; the very first sparkle between you.

Sometimes your sweet words and smiles seemed to melt whatever ice was threatening to form around her heart; seemed to bring light into days her thoughts were too dark.

And sometimes, your mischievous nature assisted her with crazy plans; noses buried behind stolen scrolls of forbidden magic.

During those moments, sparks always seemed to fly between the two of you. Sometimes, they were small, hiding behind brushing hands and contagious smiles. Other times, those sparks threatened to ignite an immortal fire; fueled by long touches, lustful looks, and forbidden secret kisses.

It never went too far, and it never became something permanent. You learnt to live with it, also unsure if this could ever work out or if it was a momentarily escape from the solitary life chosen for you.

You never judged her decisions but never tried to change her either, even when you could see the dark path she favoured was becoming too much.

You opened your door for her when she first fel like an outcast, and again after, she had taken down her coven. You offered her your house and a change of clothes, a warm tea and a shoulder to rant.

Yet when she told you of her plans, when she asked you to join her... you politely declined. This was not the path you wished to take, and whether she was hurt by your words or not, remained a mystery; true feelings hidden behind sarcastic words and fake smiles.

Eventually your paths parted and the years passed by. However, fate seemed to draw you back to one another like two halves of a whole; supernatural powers trying to keep you together.

It never lasted for long.

Your door was always open and sometimes, those old sparks seemed to reappear but by then, Agatha's mind had been taken by a need for power.

Once again, you did not follow, only watched her walk away from you for yet one more time. More than once, you thought to call her out, say you changed your opinion and join her; or even try to shift her goal... but you never did.

Like the silent moon watching over the earth, you did that... just watch. You became her light when she needed you but never dared to take the next step; your conflicted thoughts and emotions stood in the way.

Somewhere in the future, she stopped showing up, and you wondered if she had settled down at last or someone had taken her down. Both scenarios made your heart ache, and thus, you chose to forget; lock away any memories you had once created.

It worked and you continued your solitary life, never setting for a place too long and never looking at someone the same way you would look at Agatha.

Now, you had a small business right beneath your little apartment. It was not something fancy, simple crystals and tarot cards for those interested. You also offered star and even zodiac readings, being perhaps what truly ade you famous amongst your customers.

The moon always guided you, the stars spoke to you even when placed on a simple imaginary map. The houses dividing the sky exposed their secrets to you; both of past and future.

So it was no wonder all kinds of people walked through your door; some more believers than others but all with the same curiosity about their lives.

Yet you did not expect that one calm day, the bell above the door would ring and a familiar face would step into the shop.

"Hello, Hon" the husky female voice you had almost forgotten reached your ears like the sweetest melody.

Your breath caught in your throat for a moment, before your mask settled back into place. "Agatha" you greeted her back, offering her the courtesy of standing up from the wooden chair you occupied behind an old worn out desk.

Her blue eyes locked onto yours with the same intensity they had all those years, invisible flames dancing behind your irises; threatening to mix and burn everything to the ground.

As you stared into the face you often searched for amongst the stars, that little locked chest at the back of your mind was forced open. The memories you had suppressed all those years flooded your mind, making your heart beat twice as fast as both happiness and pain dominated you.

"It has been too long" Agatha said, her voice acting like a beacon that saved you from drawing in your emotions. "Missed me?"

Her signature smirk was still there, eyes flickering with mischief and tempting pink lips stretching faintly; yours for the taking, if you dared to step closer.

It was then you noticed that someone had one with her. A teenage boy, stood tall behind her; trying to observe some crystals but his eyes often lingered to you.

You didn't know whom this boy was but your mind rushed to scenarios, wondering if he was her son; the product of love with someone other than you. Even if not by blood, Agatha had chosen it; letting him take your place after she got tired of you turning down her offers.

You were not sure and did your best to remain calm, not let anything show and not lose control of yourself. Your mind was both your blessing and your curse, its mood as uncontrollable and unpredictable as the rising tide; controlled by an ethereal power far beyond your reach.

Agatha seemed to understand where your gaze lingered, the teenage boy feeling slightly uncomfortable under the vague expression casted in your eyes.

She rolled her eyes at the drama. "He is my pet, not much of an importance" she explained dryly and then sent a warning glare to the boy, ensuring he would not utter a word.

The situation was delicate, it needed proper handling. If it was up to her, she would have left him in the car, one window barely open for some air but she couldn't.

Well, she could try but the boy was persistent and at that moment; Agatha did not truly think him being there would change something.

Considering how welcoming you always had been over the course of centuries, how considerate you have been of her well-being and how willing you were to help; even when a part of you clearly wanted to stop her.

"What do you want?" You managed to ask, your voice sounding as cold as you wished it to be.

The moon was not yet full, the tide had not fully risen and there was still power to hold everything at bay.

Her timing could not have been better and something told you, that she knew it. Never having forgotten how unique your thoughts were and how they matched the white moon that offered its light when the two of you met in secret.

"I plan to walk down the road, you see. And I am in need of a coven" she said simply, making it hard for you to detect whether she was even slightly affected by your meeting after so long. "Are you in?" She asked next, not giving you much time to debate.

The clock at the wall was ticking in sync with your beating heart as you processed an answer.

Perhaps this one should be different from all the others... just this once.

.

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

[starthecozy]

Kinktober prompt 22: costume

Steve and Eddie going as Morticia and Gomez for Halloween! The lack of hair similarities they make up with a lot of attitude (inprnt)

[ptieuca]

buffy + angel's claddagh ring

[haaam-guuuurl]

So, I'll admit that I have had a lot of feelings about K and Evan. From being weirded out about K's obsession in the beginning of the season, to being really into how their relationship developed because Brennan and Erika addressed it and both characters evolved a lot, to really loving them as a couple yet understanding they probably wouldn't last, to being afraid of what would happen in s2 because it might not make sense for them to be together but I still really like them together. But I should not have worried. This is Brennan and Erika we're talking about. They always slay any dynamic, be it a couple or enemies or mother and daughter - and exes who are still friends but it's still awkward but they still want to look out for each other, often to disastrous results? Freaking gold!! Just these two episodes have been so good, I can't wait to see where this season goes next!

[mylittlecrow]

i will never shut up about jon promising to protect sansa in 6x09 and then the parallel of lyanna begging ned to promise to protect jon IN THE NEXT EPISODE. something something “if the day should ever come when your lord father was forced to chose between honor on the one hand and those he loves on the other what would he do?” and we KNOW ned picked love. ned loved his sister so much he lied to his king and bff to protect jon. ned loved his daughter so much he sacrificed his honor and duty to the realm and lied to protect sansa.

the writers intentionally put sansa at the center of jon and dany’s conflict. sansa’s not in king’s landing during the battle in 8x05 or 8x06 but she still haunts the narrative, her name is brought up by FOUR different characters. jon was ready to die if dany saw him as a threat to the throne. “i'm tired of fighting it’s all i've done since i left home.” and the only way to get through to him and to get him to fight again and to kill dany is to mention sansa and how she’ll never be safe with dany around. “if we don’t take back the north we’ll never be safe i want you to help me but i'll do it myself if i have to.”

and sansa is so used to being alone. she spent months waiting for robb to rescue her from king's landing, and it never happened. robb chose the north, his duty, over her. and she's beaten for the north's independence and then sold to two different families who stole the north from her. and then she finally finds help in theon and brienne and podrick but she doesn't feel completely safe again until she's in jon's arms. but even then she's still ready for more disappointment, to be separated from her family again because “life is not a song” and “there are no heroes.” but jon isn’t robb. “jon isn’t tormund. jon isn’t davos, or the red woman, or stannis for that matter. jon is jon.”

“where will you go? where will we go. i won’t ever let him touch you again. we need to trust each other. until i return the north is yours. touch my sister and i’ll kill you myself. what you did for her is the only reason i’m not killing you. i’m her family too. what about everyone else? what about the other people who think they know what’s good? i’ll protect you, i promise. no one can protect me, no one can protect anyone.” but jon proves her wrong, he can protect her. he will keep her safe. because when his day comes and he has to chose between love and duty, he chooses her. there still are heroes in her story and their story isn't over yet.

[casiia]

watching the sunset with simon riley, the both of you are laid out on a plaid blanket at the top of a sandy hill. the splintery material of a picnic basket scratches at your ankle as you shift it away from you.

“it’s so beautiful.” you say, blinding reaching at your side for simon’s hand, interlacing your fingers with him. you caress his knuckles with your thumb, never tearing your eyes from the perfectly complimented hues of pink, red, and orange that paint the cloud free sky.

you watch as the sun slowly descends into the cerulean colored water, soft waves crashing into one another lighting a pleasant sound in your ear. you dare close your eyes for a moment, blinding yourself of the breathtaking view in front of you. tilting your head back you part your lips, a slow breeze tickling the tip of your nose and breezing through your hair. you can almost taste the salt from the ocean, and as the sun begins to burrow away for the night you can still feel it’s warm rays against your cheeks.

paralyzed in a moment of beauty, you slowly inhale, feeling the stress leave your body — the anxiety that’s curled in the swell of your stomach, with one breath you feel it unwind and something’s lifted off your shoulders. the weight of simon’s hand in yours resting in your lap, his warm palm keeping you from shivering from the wind. his shallow exhale parting from his lips as he does exactly as you’re doing. the freedom he feels from basking in the presence of the art that lights the sky. the melted colors that reflect his heart, his love for you, the future that he can imagine so clearly.

bright.

“it is beautiful.” simon mutters quietly, not wanting to disturb you. he’s seen the sunset —he has seen it a million times; but he was never talking about it.

sure he thinks sunsets are pretty, but beautiful is never a word he’d use to describe it. nothing that he’s seen or heard of could be as beautiful as you. he hasn’t even looked at the sky tonight, frankly it would kill him to take his eyes off of you.

because to him, you are his sunset.

[voltaical-art]

recent bishop doodles. hes not having a good time

[starry-bi-sky]

childhood friends au danny is submissive the same way a dog wearing a muzzle is submissive, send tweet.

[phantobats]

Dick knows that for any relationship to work, both partners have to adapt to eachother. Compensate for possible weak spots, like how he compensates for his leaner figure through agility in a fight against someone broader and heavier. Or how his body adapts to be able to keep up with all of the strenuous activity he does.

You might have to change certain aspects of yourself, give up parts of your identity in order to ensure the comfort and happiness of your partner.

Naturally, the same principal would apply to familial or professional relationships.

Yet how many pieces of yourself can you give up before you start to question whether the loss was worth the comfort of another?

Broken shards of a mirror never quite fit back the same, after all — yet the individual shards can be polished into something new, something better. Their existence does not have to mean that the lost shape of the mirror was in vain.

So why is it that he still wants to reassemble the mirror despite knowing all that?

[mizzyislost]

something something how horribly tragic both the broken vessel and lost kin fight feel something something idk man this is hard

[nanabanonana]

Zuko: but, soft! what light through yonder window breaks? it is the east, and Sokka is the sun.

Sokka: wow, Zuko, i didn't know you knew poetry.

Zuko: what the fuck is poetry

[mishy-mashy]

What point is there in ruling the world, if the people you want in it are already gone?

The goal to rule the world is hollow now. All For One wanted a world where everyone existed for his sake.

Yet, the one person (possession) he wanted most by his side, as the one whose dreams inspired him to find his own, and the first person AFO declared them to, is already gone.