#short story with moral lesson

[kokaremo]

Sam’s Sidewalk Seed How a Tiny Crack Grew Hope 🌱✨ Inspirational Short S...

[theimaginationstationpodcast]

In the Shadow of a Large Tree: A Tale of Nature, Envy, and Consequences

In a sun-drenched meadow, two small birch trees grow in the shadow of a towering spruce. Jealous of the spruce’s dominance over the sunlight, the birch brothers hatch a plan to reclaim the sun for themselves. But their actions set off a chain of events that will change the meadow forever. This timeless story explores themes of envy, nature’s balance, and the unintended consequences of selfish…

[pocketstory]

एक अधूरी प्यास – दिल छू लेने वाली हिंदी कहानी | Hindi Story | Emotional ...

[gildedbearediting]

A Look At: The Meaning of Marriage

The Meaning of Marriage was written in first person. The narrator is the granddaughter who’s looking at her own mother’s life. Then there’s Mrs Perren and her sister, the grandfather, the ‘motherless’ mother, the children, and the tom cat. The theme for the story is trauma, and family. It depicts generational trauma with a faded father, absent grandfather, and a harsh step-mother. The grandfather…

[wizedaily]

Emily’s tulips 🌷 Don’t judge a book by its cover

[letinspireyou]

Moral story - A woman and her diamonds

“The happiness of your life depends upon the quality of your thoughts.” ― Marcus Aurelius

Anne was a lonely woman who, for the past 50 years, had spent her life collecting things she deemed valuable. She surrounded herself with the finest trinkets and furs, diamonds, and gold. She had expensive furs draped across couches and diamond encrusted jewelry boxes. Everyone around her knew not to come near them—Anne made sure of that by being mean and nasty to anyone she perceived as a…

[orangeblossomsintheair]

A LESSON ON HUNGER | SIMON RILEY

summary : You were small. He would give you grief about it until the end of time. End of story. Well end of story till the two of you started fucking in the dead of night.

wc : 5k of pure filth

an : if yall see @keen-eyed-creature suddenly in ur likes, that's me 😔

Simon knew you were small.

Hard to miss, really, when you had to tilt your head back just to look him in the eye. He was the first to admit that it was a bit of a laugh sometimes.

But it was never something he really thought much about, not in any serious way at least.

It was a detail, like the way you tied your boots or the way your hair stuck out from under your cap. It wasn’t like being short affected your ability to pull the trigger or call in air support.

You got the job done. That was what he cared about. You could be a foot shorter and it wouldn’t make a damn difference.

Still, he couldn’t help himself.

Every now and then, he would drop a jab, something about needing a step ladder to talk to him, or how he has to stoop down like he's dealing with a kid. He had a knack for teasing, and you were an easy target.

It was harmless, though.

Just some friendly fire. You took it well, knew that it was all part of the routine. Gallows humor. Good for morale, or whatever the hell Price said. Kept things light, even if it was at your expense.

You were small. He would give you grief about it until the end of time. End of story.

Well end of story till the two of you started fucking.

He first noticed it when your hand wrapped around his cock, the tips of your fingers barely brushing each other. His breath hitched, and his cock pulsed in your grip, thick and heavy in your tiny hold.

“Bloody hell,” he hissed, mesmerized by the sight. “Look at you.”

Your eyes darted up to his face, wide and innocent, as if you didn’t know exactly what you were doing to him. His chest heaved, the tight control he usually prided himself on slipping with every stroke of your hand.

"Fuckin' tiny," he muttered again, half to himself, watching the way your hand moved over him, struggling to take him all in. He hadn’t thought he’d ever care about something like that, never thought the size difference would drive him this insane, but here you were, bringing him to the brink without even realizing it.

You started slow, pressing soft, wet kisses along the length of his cock like a damn kitten, rubbing it against our cheek and spreading his pre-cum across your face.

When your lips parted, dipped your head, the first touch of your tongue against his tip had him groaning. Hot, wet, and so fucking soft.

“Jesus Christ,” he hissed, one gloved hand moving to the back of your head, the other braced against his thigh. He resisted the urge clawing at his chest that told him to shove himself deeper, to push till your throat bulged with the shape of him.

The first swipe of your tongue had him groaning, body tensing. Knuckles white, muscles straining as his hips jerked forward

You dragged your tongue slowly along the underside of his cock, the soft, wet muscle flicking over him. It swirled around the head before dipping into the slit, teasing, before tracing every vein on the underside.

Spit began to gather, dripping down his length as you worked him over, your desperation pushing you to keep going, keep pleasing him. Your doe eyes locked on his, wide and pleading, as you swallowed him as deep as you could.

“You look so fucking pretty like this,” he rasped, his voice gravelly. “Mouth all full, dripping down your chin. Bet you’d let me fuck your throat, wouldn’t you?”

You moaned around him, the vibration making him swear under his breath. He couldn’t look away. The way your lips stretched around him, your cheeks hollowing as you tried to take more of him—Ghost knew he was a ruined man.

When the blunt head of his cock hit the back of your throat, you gagged softly, pausing there, and he felt the tension in your body. His hand moved to cradle your jaw, fingers curling around it.

“Relax,” he murmured, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “Don’t fight it. Doing so fuckin’ good for me.”

You blinked up at him, tears spilling down your cheeks, and he felt his cock throb at the sight.

“Let me fuck your mouth,” he said, voice low.

You nodded, eyes fluttering shut, but he wasn’t satisfied.

“Look at me,” he barked, tone sharpening. “Need to see you mean it.”

Your eyes opened again, glassy and wide, pupils blown. You nodded again, and he let out a dark chuckle.

“Good girl,” he muttered, his lips quirking into a smirk. “Obedient when you’ve got a cock in your mouth, huh?”

The glare you shot him would’ve been more convincing if your jaw wasn’t slack, the weight of him resting heavy on your tongue.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” His hand sliding to the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair. “Now, open up. Gonna make you take all of me.”

You obeyed, jaw slackening, and Ghost wasted no time. His hips rolled forward, the thick length of him pressing deep into your throat, stretching, filling.

His breath hitched as he slid deeper, the tightness of your throat trying desperately to accommodate him. He couldn’t help the groan that escaped him. A sick part of him thrilled at the way you fought to take him all the way, despite the fact that he really was too fucking big for you to handle.

He watched you for a moment, eyes fluttering as your lips met his base, tears slipping down your cheeks as you struggled to keep your breathing steady, swallowing around him.

“Shit,” he hissed, his other hand moving to cup your jaw, holding you steady. “Feel that? Feel how good you are, huh? You’re a fuckin’ mess, love. Spit everywhere, tears down your face. Fuck’s sakes, you’re perfect.”

Ghost growled under his breath, feeling you pulse around him. “..Takin’ me so well, little thing.”

He gripped your hair tighter, guiding you, forcing his cock deeper. The sounds—wet, obscene—drove him insane. You were taking all of him, your mouth and throat the perfect fit, even though it was clear you were struggling.

“Fuck, you feel so good... Perfect,” he groaned. "You're so fucking beautiful, letting me fuck your throat like this." He slammed into you again, deeper, and watched your face contort in that beautiful, desperate way, knowing you’d take every inch of him, no matter how overwhelming it was

Your hands gripped his thighs, nails digging into the fabric of his pants as you braced yourself, letting him take control. He set a brutal pace, his hips snapping forward, his cock sliding in and out of your mouth with practiced precision.

“Gonna fuck your throat ‘til you can’t think straight,” he growled, his voice dark and heavy with lust. “Gonna make you choke on it, make you feel how deep I can go.”

The words sent a shiver down your spine, and you moaned around him, the sound vibrating against his cock. His head tipped back briefly, a deep groan rumbling in his chest before he forced himself to look at you again.

“Eyes on me,” he ordered, his tone brooking no argument. “Wanna see you when I come. Wanna see that pretty little face all wrecked for me.”

You obeyed, your gaze locking with his, and the intensity in your eyes nearly undid him. He could feel the heat building low in his belly, the tension coiling tighter with every thrust.

“Fuck,” he rasped, his hips stuttering as he drove deeper one last time. “Gonna fill that pretty mouth of yours. Don’t spill a fucking drop.”

And when he came, spilling hot and thick down your throat, the way you swallowed around him had him swearing again, his grip on you tightening as he rode out his release. “F-fuck- damn it, damn it-“

When he finally pulled back, his cock slipping from your swollen, spit-slick lips, he couldn’t help the crooked grin that stretched his lips at the sight of you. Messy, tear-streaked, and utterly ruined.

“Good girl,” he murmured, his thumb brushing over your chin to catch the stray drips. “Knew you could take it.”

The praise lingered in the warm air as he leaned back, watching you catch your breath. His thumb lingered at your jaw for a moment before retreating, replaced by a hand gently coaxing you to your feet.

“C’mere,” he said, tone still rough around the edges, but laced with something terrifyingly tender.

He pulled you up until you were straddling his lap, broad hands settling on your waist. The heat of his palms seeped through the thin fabric still clinging to your skin.

“Alright?” he asked, pale eyes scanning your face.

You nodded. “Better than okay.”

He shifted beneath you, guiding you closer. “Think you’ve got one more in you, sweetheart?” He spoke against your lips, eyes searching.

You swallowed, the anticipation curling low in your stomach. “I can take it,” you whispered.

The grin that spread across his face was something wicked. “That’s my girl.

With your confirmation, Ghost moved, lowering himself between your trembling thighs. He shouldered your legs apart, spreading you wide as he settled in like a man on a mission.

“G-Ghost,” you whimpered, instinctively reaching for his head as the heat of his breath teased over your cunt.

“Shh.” He looked up. “Let me return the favor, yeah?”

The first swipe of his tongue had you arching off the bed, a startled cry ripping from your throat. He groaned against you, eyes rolling back. Always tasted so good. He could cream his fucking pants just licking your pretty pussy.

You squirmed beneath him, thighs trembling as he licked a slow, deliberate stripe from your entrance to your swollen clit, a thumb spreading you open as he pressed the flat of his tongue against the bud.

As you squirmed in place, Ghost’s hands flexed, refusing to let you wriggle away for a moment of reprieve.

“Stay still,” he growled, voice muffled against your clit. “Let me enjoy this.”

His mouth worked you open slowly, licking and sucking at your clit with just enough pressure to have whimpers tumbling out of your lips.

He moved downwards, dipping his tongue into your heat before thrusting it inside, fucking you with it in deep, deliberate strokes.

The slick muscle pistoned into you like it was a cock, curling and stroking every inch of your walls, nose brushing against your clit with every movement.

Your thighs trembled around his head, but his strong hands kept them spread wide, holding you open for him.

“Ghost,” you sobbed, your hands fisting in his hair.

“Keep those legs open,” he ordered, his grip tightening on your thighs as he pushed them wider.

Your hips bucked against him instinctively, but he pinned you down as he worked his tongue deeper, faster. “Look at you,” he rasped, pulling back briefly to catch his breath, his lips glistening with your arousal. “Fuckin’ soaked for me. S’small and tight.”

You sobbed out as he latched onto your clit, sucking gently before flicking his tongue over the sensitive bud. The sharp jolt of pleasure made you cry out, back arching off the bed.

“Taste so fuckin’ good,” he groaned, his voice rough and needy as he returned to thrusting his tongue inside you. He fucked you with his mouth like a man possessed, his hands roaming over your thighs, your hips, everywhere he could reach,

When he latched onto your clit and sucked gently, you shattered. Your cry echoed in the room, your body arching as the orgasm ripped through you, shaking and gasping for air.

“There it is,” he murmured, every line in his body thick with satisfaction as he lapped up every bit of your release.

But he didn’t stop.

He growled against you, hands sliding under your thighs to lift your hips higher, giving him better access as his tongue delved deeper, dragging out your orgasm until you were sobbing beneath him.

“Too much,” you whimpered, body twitching with the aftershocks.

“Not for me.” Ghost pulled back to look at you. His pale eyes were filled with hunger and pride as he took in the sight of you. Tear-streaked, trembling, and utterly ruined.

“P-please,” you whimpered, tears pooling in your eyes as the overstimulation hit you like a tidal wave.

“Not done with you yet, love.” His tongue returned to your clit, circling the swollen bud with ruthless precision until you were sobbing beneath him, your hands weakly pushing at his shoulders.

“Ghost-”

Another climax built impossibly fast, and before you could protest, it crashed over you. His name fell from your lips like a prayer, your hands clutching at his shoulders, his hair, anything to ground yourself as he lapped at your release like a dog.

When he finally pulled back, his lips glistening and his chin slick with your release, he looked at you like you were a feast he hadn’t quite finished.

You barely had a moment to catch your breath before he was moving again, his strong hands gripping your waist as he positioned himself above you. The sheer size of him looming over you sent a thrill down your spine.

“Think you’re ready for me now, yeah?”

Ghost pressed you down against the mattress. Your thighs trembled as he pressed them further apart.

The sheer size of him left you gasping before he even moved, the head of his cock brushing against your slick entrance as he teased you.

“Relax,” he muttered, voice laced with a hunger that made your head spin. “Need you to open up for me.”

You whined, the sound barely coherent as he held you in place with a grip that bordered on bruising. He pushed forward, just enough to let the blunt tip breach you, and the stretch had you clutching at his forearms in desperation.

Your walls clenched around him instinctively, drawing a sharp hiss from his lips. “So fuckin’ tight, Jesus Christ..”

“H-hah.. too- too big-” you whimpered, clutching at his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as if to anchor yourself.

“Y’can take it.” His hands gripped your hips, holding you steady as he bullied his way inside your pretty cunt.

His jaw tightened, burying himself deeper, head dropping to your shoulder. “You’re gonna take it.”

You shook your head, tears welling in your eyes as he pressed further in, splitting you open inch by inch. The burn was sharp but his hands kept you pinned, leaving no room for escape.

“Stop squirmin’,” he ordered. His weight pressed you deeper into the mattress, his shadow covering yours entirely. “You’re only making it harder for yourself.”

Your sobs broke free as he surged forward, his cock sinking deeper into your heat. “I c-can’t,” you whimpered, tears streaming down your cheeks as you clung to him.

“You can,” he insisted, his tone softening but his pace unrelenting. His lips brushed against your temple, a stark contrast to the overwhelming force of him inside you. “Breathe, baby. I’ve got you.”

You tried to focus on his voice, the rasp of it grounding you even as your body felt like it was being torn apart. His thumb brushed over your cheek, wiping away a stray tear, before his hand drifted down to cradle your throat.

“Look at me,” he demanded. “Taking me so well, yeah? D’you feel how tight you are, hm? How perfect you’re gripping me?”

His words sent a fresh wave of heat rushing through you, and you whimpered as your body finally began to yield, the burn giving way to an ache that bordered on pleasure.

“That’s it.” Ghost’s lips curved into a grin as he watched you fall apart beneath him. “Knew you could do it. Knew this perfect little cunt could take all of me.”

Your sobs turned to broken moans as he pulled back, only to thrust forward again, burying himself to the hilt. The force of it knocked the air from your lungs, and your hands scrambled for purchase, gripping at anything to ground yourself.

“Feel that?” he rasped, his thrusts slowing down as he grinded against you. “Feel how deep I am?”

You could only nod, the words stuck in your throat as the pleasure began to build, overwhelming in its intensity.

“Good girl,” he praised.

The pressure inside you coiled tighter as he picked up the pace, the sobs spilling from your lips mingling with broken cries of his name.

You were a mess. Tear-streaked, trembling, utterly consumed by the sheer size and force of him.

“You’re so fucking pretty,” he groaned, quickening as he pressed you further into the mattress. “Ruined, cryin’ for me. Takin’ everythin’ I give you.”

His words tipped you over the edge, and when you came, it was with a shattering cry that left you trembling in his arms. But he didn’t stop, didn’t even slow. Oh no, Ghost dragged you through the aftershocks and straight into the next wave of pleasure.

“Don’t stop,” you sobbed, your nails raking down his back as he growled against your neck. “Please, Ghost- don’t stop-”

“‘M not going anywhere,” he promised, pulling out of you slowly and you felt an unbearable emptiness that followed his absence. Gasping at the way your walls clenched around nothing, already missing the stretch of him.

Before you could voice your complaints, his hands were on you again, lifting you effortlessly as he shifted onto his back.

“C’mere,” he ordered, his voice rough with need, guiding you to straddle his hips. The sight of him, broad chest heaving, his cock glistening and impossibly thick, standing proudly between you, made your stomach flutter with equal parts apprehension and arousal.

“Ghost, I-“ you started, but his hands ground you in place as he pressed his forehead against your trembling body.

“Be good,” he murmured, his thumbs stroking your skin in slow, deliberate circles. “Take what you need. I’ll make it fit.”

Your breath hitched, and with his steadying hands guiding you, you reached down, positioning the thick head of his cock at your entrance.

The pressure was instant, overwhelming, as you sank down the smallest fraction.

“Bloody fuck,” he growled, his head falling back against the pillow. “Look at you. So tight, so perfect-” His words cut off in a guttural groan when you shifted your weight, trying to take him deeper.

The stretch burned, his girth spearing you open inch by inch, and you couldn’t help the broken sob that fell from your lips. “S’too- too much,” you whimpered, your thighs trembling as you hovered above him, the sheer size of him making your head spin.

“Shhh,” he cooed, though his own voice was strained, his jaw clenched tight as he fought to keep still beneath you. “Doin’ s’good, sweetheart. Just take your time. Lemme fill you up.”

You nodded shakily, nails digging into his chest as you slowly lowered yourself further, feeling every ridge and vein of him stretching you impossibly wide.

He felt endless, and the way he groaned only heightened the unbearable pleasure-pain of being split open by him.

“That’s it,” he growled, his hands sliding down to grip your thighs, urging you to take him all. “Don’t stop now. You’re almost there. Gonna take every inch, yeah?”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you finally sank down to the hilt, his cock buried so deep inside you that it felt like he was in your very core.

You let out a choked sob, your chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath.

“Fuck, look at you,” he rasped, his voice thick with awe and something darker. His gaze burned into you, watching as you struggled to adjust to his size. “So fucking tight, squeezing me like you don’ wanna let go.”

You couldn’t form words, your mind hazy and overwhelmed as he filled you completely, stretching you to your limits. He let you sit there for a moment, his hands tracing soothing patterns on your thighs as you trembled above him.

“Move,” he commanded softly, voice coaxing but firm. “Show me how good you feel, baby. Ride me.”

You whimpered, your hands splaying across his chest for balance as you lifted yourself slightly, only to sink back down again. The friction was devastating, and the stretch still burned, but the heat building in your core had you panting for more.

“That’s it,” he groaned, his fingers digging into your skin as he met you halfway with a shallow thrust that left you crying out. “Taking me so fucking well.”

Each rise and fall of your hips had him spearing you open all over again, the sheer size of him filling you in a way that made you feel utterly wrecked, utterly his. Your sobs mixed with moans as the pleasure overwhelmed you, Ghost taking over to guide your movements with a possessive grip.

“Made for this,” he growled, his voice raw as his gaze locked on the place where your bodies joined, watching as his cock disappeared inside you with every thrust. “Made for me to fuck you like this. Look at how you’re taking me- so greedy, so fucking pretty.”

The sound of your sobs only seemed to spur him on, his hands gripping your waist tighter as he thrust up into you, meeting your movements with a force that left you breathless.

“Ghost,” you whimpered, your nails raking down his chest as your thighs burned from the effort, your body trembling from the relentless pace.

“Don’t stop,” he growled, his voice a low, possessive snarl. “You’re not stopping until I feel you come around me. Wanna feel this tight little cunt squeeze me, got it?”

You nodded, unable to do anything but obey as his hands gripped your waist firmly, slamming you down on his cock with a force that had you keening.

The stretch was unbearable, your body trembling from the sheer effort of taking him. The swollen ache between your thighs was overwhelming, but the pleasure sparking through you burned brighter.

“Good girl..” He guided you to ride him faster, deeper.

Your head fell back, tears streaming down your cheeks as your body clenched around him. The first climax tore through you like a lightning strike, sudden and all-consuming, leaving you shuddering and gasping for air.

“Fuck, there it is,” he rasped, thrusting up into you, dragging the aftershocks out longer. “That’s my girl..so fucking perfect when you come for me.”

You barely had time to recover before his hand slid between your bodies, his thumb pressing down hard on your swollen clit.

Your scream echoed in the room, your hands scrambling against his chest as the sharp jolt of overstimulation hit you like a tidal wave.

“N-no!” you sobbed, trying to lift yourself off of him, but his hands held you down, refusing to let you escape.

“Don’t think so.” His thumb circled your sensitive bud in maddening, unrelenting strokes. “You’re not running from me. You’re gonna take it, all of it. Gon’ make you come over and over until you can’t think straight.”

Your body jerked uncontrollably, every nerve alight as his cock drove into you, his thumb working your clit. The relentless friction sent you tumbling headfirst into another orgasm, this one sharper, rawer.

You screamed his name, your nails digging into his shoulders as you shook in his hold, but he didn’t stop.

“That’s two,” he growled, his lips curling into a wicked grin as he watched you fall apart. “Think you’ve got another one in you, sweetheart?”

“I c-can’t,” you sobbed, tears spilling freely as your body quivered against him. “It’s too much, I c-can’t-”

“You can,” he interrupted, his voice dark and commanding as his hips snapped up again, driving his cock deeper.

His thumb pressed harder against your bud. Your thighs trembled violently, every nerve in your body raw and exposed as he pushed you toward another peak.

“You’re so sensitive,” he rasped, voice thick with satisfaction as his thumb slowed just enough to keep you on the edge. “So swollen, so perfect..”

“Ghost-!” you sobbed, voice breaking as another climax slammed into you, your walls clenching around him like a vice. The pleasure was too much, too overwhelming, and yet you couldn’t stop yourself from chasing it, your hips grinding against him despite the tears streaming down your face.

“That’s it,” he groaned, his free hand gripping your ass as he guided your movements, keeping you firmly in place. “Keep going, love. Don’t stop until I say so.”

Your body was beyond exhausted, trembling violently as his relentless pace and the constant attention on your clit drove you into the kind of pleasure that felt like madness. Every stroke of his cock, every circle of his thumb sent shockwaves through you, leaving you an incoherent mess.

“Ngh..” you whimpered, your voice breaking as your head fell forward, your hands clutching desperately at his chest. “Can’t- please-“

“But you’re being such a good girl,” he murmured, softening slightly as his hand slid from your clit to grip your waist again. “You’re taking me so well..look at how swollen and perfect you are.”

His cock throbbed inside you, and as you slumped against his chest, he leaned up to press a kiss to your tear-streaked cheek, his voice a rough whisper in your ear.

“Think you’ve got one more?”

Your body trembled uncontrollably, tears streaking down your face as you shook your head weakly, barely able to form words. “N-no more.. please, Ghost… it’s too much,” you sobbed, breaking as you slumped against him, completely spent.

But he wasn’t having it.

“Thought you wanted to be good for me?”

Effortlessly, he lifted you off his still-throbbing cock, making you whimper at the sudden emptiness, your thighs trembling as they struggled to hold your weight.

“Shhh,” he murmured, his voice deceptively soothing as he shifted you, his large frame easily maneuvering you like you weighed nothing. “You’re not done yet, baby. I’ve got you.”

“Ghost, no-” you whimpered, trying to squirm away as he laid back fully, his broad shoulders pressing into the mattress.

But he didn’t give you a choice.

His hands tightened on your thighs, pulling you forward until you were straddling his chest. The heat of his skin against yours made you shiver, your swollen, oversensitive core throbbing as he moved you higher.

“Be a good girl and sit,” he ordered, eyes locking onto yours with a predatory intensity that made your breath hitch.

You shook your head frantically, tears pooling in your eyes as you whimpered, “Ghost… I’m too sensitive, I-”

His grip on your thighs tightened, silencing your protests.

Before you could protest further, he pulled you up, positioning you directly over his face. The heat of his breath against your soaked, swollen folds made you cry out, your hands flying to his shoulders for balance as you tried to lift yourself away.

“Don’t run from me.” He forced you down, lowering you onto his waiting mouth.

The first swipe of his tongue against your overstimulated clit sent a sharp jolt through you, and you sobbed, your body jerking as the overwhelming sensation threatened to pull you under. “Ghost, Ghost-“”

But he didn’t stop.

His tongue was relentless, licking and sucking at your sensitive bud, his hands holding you firmly in place no matter how much you tried to squirm away.

“That’s it,” he whispered between long, torturous strokes. “Don’t you dare run from me. You’re gonna take everything.”

Your thighs shook violently on either side of his head, your body trembling as wave after wave of unbearable pleasure crashed over you.

You sobbed, tears streaming down your face as his tongue circled your clit mercilessly, his mouth devouring you like a man starved.

Ghost snarled, his grip tightening as he dragged you even closer, his tongue plunging deep inside you before returning to your swollen, throbbing bud. “You’re gonna come for me again, and you’re gonna let me taste every fucking bit of you.”

You couldn’t hold back the scream that tore from your throat as another climax ripped through you, your body convulsing violently as his mouth pushed you over the edge.

Your hands tangled in his hair, desperate and needy, as you sobbed his name, begging for mercy even as your hips ground against his face.

Finally, he slowed, his tongue gentle now as he lapped at you lazily, his hands sliding up and down your thighs in soothing strokes. “There you go,” he murmured, his voice softer now, though the satisfaction in his tone was unmistakable. “That’s my pretty girl.”

Your body slumped forward, your chest heaving as tears streamed down your face. He let you collapse against him, his arms wrapping around you protectively as he kissed your temple, his breath warm against your skin.

“I told you you could take it,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear as he held you close.

[athenaeum-of-the-herald]

Hubris: Insolence in the Face of the Gods

It's been a good long while since I've done a lessons post and I think this topic is one of the most needed.

Today, we'll talk about hubris! As always, I am simply one source and encourage you to do your own research ♡

• 𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐇𝐮𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐬? •

Hubris (ὕβρις), in short, is extreme pride, arrogance, and overconfidence– especially involving defying the gods or disregarding moral and social boundaries. It is seen as an overestimating of your abilities and defiance of the gods.

In ancient Greek, the term ὕβρις (hýbris) carried a more complex connotation than simple arrogance. It implied an intentional violation of order, an overstepping of human limits, or a direct challenge to the gods. Hubris was not just about personal pride; it was seen as a moral and social offense with cosmic consequences, as it represented an attempt by mortals to rise above their proper place in the divine and social order.

In looking at ancient Greek literature, we see that hubris is often the downfall of many, a mortal flaw that leads to nemesis (which is divine retribution).

"Hubris consists in doing and saying things that cause shame to the victim... simply for the pleasure of it. Retaliation is not hubris, but revenge. The cause of the pleasure for those committing hubris is that by ill-treating others they think themselves superior."

Aristotle; Rhetoric

• 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐂𝐲𝐜𝐥𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐇𝐮𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐬 •

The cycle of hubris was typically as follows;

Hubris- the act committed, whether it be ego/pride, arrogance, superiority, etc.

Ate- The "moral blindness" faced when committing hubris, in which the person committing the act can not see the consequences of their recklessness.

Nemesis- The divine punishment that follows, often leading to ruin and suffering.

Hubris has been used as a display of mortal Insolence in many Greek Tragedies and epics.

Achilles in The Illiad, where his hurt pride and ego which caused the Greeks to suffer heavy loss, including the death of his best friend.

Creon in Antigone, where he held state law above the divine. Forbidding the burial of Polyneices despite warning from the prophets which led to the deaths of his son and wife.

Odysseus in The Oddessey, where his pride prompted him to reveal his name to Polyphemus, leading to Poseidon's wrath, the death of his crew, and his prolonged journey home.

Pentheus in The Bacchae, where he denies the divinity of Dionysos and mocks His worshippers, leading to him being torn apart by frenzied Maenads, including his own mother.

Naturally these are only a few examples, but throughout them we see that Insolence in the face of the gods have been the downfall of many.

• 𝐌𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐜 𝐋𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐦 •

When we read these stories, it is important to remember that the myths are not to be read as literal recounting. But rather, as lessons we carry in our day to day lives as mortals under the divine.

It is a reminder to keep our egos in check, and to not become overcome with pride and self indulgence.

That excessive overconfidence can and typically will become our downfall, as is the way of human nature. We climb, and we fall. Even outside of ancient literature, we can see the application of hubris in the modern world.

• 𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐖𝐞 𝐒𝐞𝐞 𝐇𝐮𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐬 •

Hubris is more than just arrogance; it's a fundamental moral and philosophical concept rooted in ancient Greek culture. It is a reflection of the belief that human beings have natural limitations and that attempting to surpass them, particularly by challenging the gods or fate, will inevitably lead to ruin.

In Greek tragedy, hubris is not just a personal flaw. It is a cosmic offense. It disturbs the balance of the universe and demands retribution through nemesis. This idea continues to resonate in modern literature, psychology, and history and is something that I believe should always be kept in mind, especially as worshippers.

[toruforuu]

gojo satoru x reader || hogwarts au (18+)

wonderwall ch.4 receding youth

✼pairing: hogwarts au - slytherin!gojo x ravenclaw!reader

✼summary: gojo satoru, the golden boy of a famous family lineage of wizards sets his sights on you, a half blood defying his pureblood morals. he makes it a goal in his life to make yours a living hell. years of endless pestering, teasing and rivalry stretching out. as times goes on, he finds himself thinking about you more than he isn’t. he grows torn between his family’s beliefs and the forbidden ache tickling his chest whenever he sees you

✼meaning: wonderwall - the person you cannot stop thinking about (song by oasis)

✼genre/tags: hogwarts au, female reader, strangers to enemies/sort of academic rivals to forbidden lovers, slow burn, angst, eventual smut, pining and yearning (mostly gojo), built up tension, teasing, bickering and pestering, jealousy, slightly spoiled gojo, obsessed and lovesick gojo, both are pretty oblivious to their feelings

✼warnings: discrimination, death, grief, shitty parents, light bullying, mentions of hook ups, sexual topics, family pressure and trauma, mentions of injuries and violence, degradation, mentions of political views, escalating political situation, lgbtq representation, cheating

✼word count: 6.5k

✼chapter: 4/?

a/n: hiii! another chapter successfully done yay! i had to do a lot of research for this and the upcoming chapters and i feel like i discovered harry potter tok all over again ahaha. this chapter is the last one set in the past so we are hitting up present, i am so excited to share where the story goes. i have it all planned out in my notes app:>

based on this //  previous chapter // next chapter 

˚⟡˖ ࣪:link to the playlist

˚⟡˖ ࣪:link to the vision-board

In comparison to year five, year six casted a rather gloomy atmosphere. You had anticipated the free periods were meant to deceive when you got your hands on the schedule. And you were right, free periods indeed served as an attempt to keep up with the amount of homework that was being set rather than for enjoyment, the bar high. Not only were you studying as though exams were everyday, but the lessons themselves became more demanding than ever before.

The sixth year was the year in which you and all of your classmates advanced to N.E.W.T. level classes — short for Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Test.

Based off your O.W.L scores — standard tests taken at the end of year five — and depending on the minimum requests of the professor teaching the subject at that time, you were allowed to participate in any number of classes as long as you met the requirements. Neither the core classes nor the elective courses were available to those who did not meet said requirements, holding some of your fellow classmates back. While you did have the opportunity to choose whether you wished to continue in particular subjects, those N.E.W.T. subjects you began studying in your sixth year were expected to be carried on into year seven, and to pass the N.E.W.T. exam in that subject as a form of graduation.

You could also elect to take part in Apparition lessons for a fee of twelve Galleons — to teleport to or from a place. If one was seventeen years of age, or would turn seventeen on or before the 31st of August then you’d be eligible for a twelve-week course of Apparition Lessons from a Ministry of Magic Apparition instructor. Nearly the entirety of the whole year applied, because for one it was a skill which could come in pretty handy and would certainly make things much easier. The class was scheduled to take place shortly after Christmas before the arrival of spring.

Destination, Determination, and Deliberation — the three D’s of Apparition.

The lessons consisted of students needing to apparate into a hoop by focusing your mind on the hoop and then to spin around with the intention of appearing in the hoop. Other Hogwarts teachers would be around to assist any students who had accidentally splinched themselves during the lessons. That’s when many of the most changed their mind due to fear, fear of getting splinched — or also known as the separation of random body parts which would occur when the mind was insufficiently determined. For some the price wasn’t worth paying for.

You would received a licence to Apparate by the end of April if you were successful enough. Luckily, you were and most of your friends too. Expect Arabella who was one of the majority who hadn’t finished the course due to her self doubting. Those who splinched themselves during the final exam, even in a minor way, would be forced to retake the test.

Other than that, year sixth managed to have you and the larger part of students burying your noses in books, succumbing to a cycle of getting up each morning only to end up utterly spent each night. Balancing quidditch, your social life and studies forced you to make a merciless sacrifice in your sleep schedule. Running low on energy while holding up your imagine along with grades was nearly impossible. One of your spheres had to experience a lack. The social aspect of your life receiving the low blow eventually.

When the Yule ball came to an end, the blossoming romance between you and the prince of Gryffindor’s quidditch only crossed the starting line. It soon became evident that the two of you would form a couple, extending everyone’s expectations. You spent the entire spring together, whenever it was walking around the Black lake or staying up late in the library after the curfew, stealing clandestine kisses from each other. You didn’t hold it against the other when you played on the field, one’s team surpassing the other. He quickly became accustomed to your ways with your friends, joining you on your trips to Hogsmeade regularly. He was kind enough to make sure you were fed and hydrated throughout the weeks before upcoming exams. He was there to console you when the Slytherin’s word ripped through your set up walls, comforting you about your academical abilities. He was kind despite his firm looking nature, he cared for you in way you wished someone would when you read fairytales as a child. For some time, it was all portrayed perfectly in your eyes. Flawless. Maybe it was because you often skimmed through lessons ahead, giving you a heads up, therefore you didn’t felt the need to overbearingly study as others, sparing time for your boyfriend. That didn’t seem to transfer into year six as it was a completely new custom for you. You panicked, picking yourself together barely with no effort left for a relationship at that moment.

Unfortunately, by that time, you guessed what Satoru Gojo meant by referring to your boyfriend as “someone like that”. The words which he spitted out after still lingering in your head during many of your sleepless nights too. It slowly began to go downhill in late summer of year six when you were already settled back at school, your banter changing for the worse. He started to pop by less and less, leaving you with your friends. His efforts in conversations became stiff and forced. You sensed how wrong it felt, the sudden shift. In the beginning of the downfall, you thought of the words the white haired Slytherin slurred out. Pushing them aside as they were surely only haunting your mind for nothing. However, as time went on it unraveled he might have been right to some extent. Not that you would ever admit to anyone.

You blamed yourself for the fall out between you, often engaging in conversations and apologising for the lack of anticipation from your side. Only for it to end the same as it always did. Him telling you to not worry about it since he understands how much your academics matter to you, promising to be and do better. And couple of days, if not hours, he’d be the same as before, depriving you of any explanation. Driving you further down the hole.

It was one of those foggy early mornings in potion lessons when you could feel your eyes shutting down in exhaustion, your body betraying you after you spent extra hours chatting with your impatient boyfriend last night. Trying to push away the inevitable, which was hanging in the thick air above your head, waiting patiently to grab you by the throat and behead you.

You were brought to life by a tug at your sleeve to warn you of the professor entering, the older twin saving you from earning yourself detention. Dorothy was the only one from your friends joining you on taking advanced positions as it wasn’t a fan favourite between the students for its need of precision. Arabella was one for herbology and taking care of magical creatures, while Beatrice thrilled in astronomy and divination, often practicing her reading skills on you. You too weren’t overly keen to potions, nonetheless you took the class, thinking about your future instead. You had it figured out back then, heading into the same field of work as your mother.

The main classes you chose for your advantage were: history of magic (undoubtedly your favourite), defence against the dark arts, charms, transfiguration and lastly, astronomy (since you liked to understand your friend’s rambling at least a bit and found it breathtaking).

The female professor clasped her hands in an attempt to gather your attention before greeting you with a cheeky smile. The lesson hadn’t started without her expressing excitement about how so many students joined her class that year, her voice dripping with honesty and gratitude. Truthfully, you still couldn’t pay close attention to what she had to say as the lack of sleep kept bothering you. You couldn’t recall the last time you had felt so tired. You blinked a couple of times, chasing the exhaustion away and in the process you caught a piece of artic locks cornered into the other side of the room. That damn bastard picked nearly the same advanced classes as you since he didn’t give a particular care about it, he was good at anything anyway, so he could pesk you even then. Your movements weren’t swift enough to not make out the sign of lazy smirk written all over his lips.

“This potion will may be appetising to you, young folks, for what is stupidity without youthful love?” the professor’s soothing voice echoed almost poetically in your mind, thoughts sliding over to the imagine of your boyfriend, her words scratching a place.

“Does anymore here know what is inside?” she takes a step closer to a pot, palm lingering over the lid to build up some sort of tension. Leaving all the students to go guessing about what is swirling within the walls of the pot, her words serving as a riddle.

“Amortentia,” you blurted out in a whisper, shocked that the professor managed to caught your words. She praised you instantly, removing the lid.

“Come closer and tell me what else you know, child,” she gestured for you to come closer with her hand, nodding her head gently in your direction. You took a sharp breath, steadying yourself before stepping closer to her, revealing your tired figure to the remaining students.

“It’s the most powerful love potion in the world. It is distinctive for its mother-of-pearl sheen, and steam rising from the potion in spirals,” you spoke deliberately with care, voice loud enough for everyone in the room to hear this time.

“It smells different to each person, according to what attracts them,” you went on, endless hours in the library granting you the information which was now basically engraved in your hemispheres.

“For example, to me it smells like,” your body inched closer to the pot, leaning over to see the bubbling pink liquid painted in the same shade as newly sprang carnations.

“Cinnamon,” was the first thing pushing up through your nostrils, the familiarity of it making your head spin. Your boyfriend carried the smell, you recognised it immediately.

“Quill ink,” as the second aroma took over you, the intensity made you nearly stumble. You couldn’t count how many times you ended up with quill stains after study sessions, who didn’t use quill ink? The diversity of the smell leaving you waver.

“Crispy winter air,” you mumbled as you sniffed the spiralling essence of the potion.

“White amber and..” you shallowed the dry lump in your throat when two other scents materialised. Peppermint cream? Your mouth couldn’t voice out the other smell out loud, not comprehending where it was all coming from as those notes were not something you were able to categorise.

You stepped back, eyes temporarily shutting to regain your sanity. You shook your head, clearing your throat in the process and then lined yourself back amongst the other students, pushing strands of hair behind your ear. You walked with your head low, only looking up at the sight of the older twin arching her brows at you in curiosity. You would definitely be under an interrogation later.

“Very good, love,” the professor congratulated you in addition.

“As you can see the advanced potion is strong to the point where the simple smell can be overwhelming to some. The usage of it in history is well known and registered, causing the produce of it to become very restricted for one should never underestimate obsessive infatuation,” the voice carries on, hinting causation while your senses still fumbled with the overwhelming scents, making your head pound.

“Please, feel welcomed to smell it,” she once again gestured with her hand, inviting everyone closer.

A line of curious students formed, the queue including both your friend and the white haired wizard as well. Dorothy first asked if you would be okay on your own for a moment to which you simply nodded, bearing a soft smile.

Some people called out what they were sensing, some kept it to themselves. Satoru was the one to keep quiet, he stood by the pod for longer than you intended he would. Your eyes calculating his movements, part of you curious what someone like him would proceed to smell in the watery attraction. The furrowing of his brows escaping your vision.

✼ •• ┈┈┈┈┈┈๑⋅⋯ ୨˚୧ ⋯⋅๑┈┈┈┈┈┈•• ✼

A layer of silent heaving pressed onto you as the winter break approached. There used to be a certain tenderness linked with winter in addition to the coldness, now it transformed into despair, leaving your heart bruised.

You were sprawled on a cushioned couch in the Ravenclaw’s common room, the place dead silent as most people already took the train home. The unusual void of businesses leaving you to drown in your sorrows. You sat by the fireplace, the silence so demanding you could pick out the sound of burning wood, the dancing spurts of flickering fire reflecting in your orbs as you pondered your troubled mind. This specific time last year felt like you were living a novel-like life, unlike these douses of misery you were being fed now.

For a while your life truly felt perfect, you were chasing a high so blindly that you forgot that the only way out from a high is to go down. Further down than you anticipated. And you also couldn’t believe that the next year would be your last at the school of magic, time flashing quickly before your eyes.

Your father’s health severely declined somewhere admits the seasons which is why you were advised to stay at Hogwarts for the break by your mother, exceptionally. It wounded her to leave you behind for such a holiday, however, she promised she and your father would make it up to you. Once they would return from the continent of America. They travelled overseas in search of a high quality doctor who could find an alternative treatment that might work for your father, because the ones they tried back at your hometown weren’t enough. It shred you to pieces seeing the life deflate from your father’s features. You begged your mother to let you come with them as you were nearly an adult legally. Though it wasn’t enough to convince her. She didn’t want you to see the cruelty of the situation through your own lenses.

“Finished packing?” you didn’t need to check who it was, your gaze stayed glued to the ceiling covered with paintings of constellations, the solar system and lonely stars.

“What are you doing here?” the question wrapped without any distinguishing emotion he could decipher, making him tilt his head to the side at your current state of misery.

“Relax,” he said teasingly “I was dropping something by,” he huffed out, hands hidden in his pockets. You navigated your head towards him for a brief moment, noticing he wasn’t dressed in the usual black robe with the uniform underneath. He was dressed casual. No, casual perhaps wouldn’t be the best word to describe him in any sense. His form was hugged by a burgundy jumper, a button up shirt with a tie tucked beneath safely. A belt securing his pleated jet black pants in place at his waist. An elegant black coat draped over his forearm which matched his pants. He must have been on his way home too.

“You got in?” you questioned as the only way to get in to the Ravenclaw’s common room is to solve a riddle given at the entrance, expression puzzled before you picked yourself up to sit. You straightened your posture to appear more put together, you didn’t want him to see you hitting rock bottom.

“Like it’s what? Hard?” his eyes austere and searching, shit-eating grin forming on his lips.

“You haven’t answered my question,” he called you out a moment later when he figured you wouldn’t be answering him. He took in your appearance, of course, the change in your demeanour impossible to overlook since it was so unlike your normal self.

“Yeah, I am,” you lied hesitantly, unsure whenever he already knew what’s been spread around or if he was clueless to your father’s state. You chose to lie, hoping he wouldn’t know any circumstances so you could get out of the interaction as soon as possible.

He is not ought to be informed, you thought to yourself. He was the last person on Earth you wished to cross paths with and explain the situation to so the universe must have hated you.

“Oh yeah? Then why aren’t you on the train home with Arabella?” he scoffed at your lame attempt of cover up, but his tone didn’t cary any trace of his usual arrogance.

“Were you spying on me?” you tried to dodge the topic once again, rolling your eyes in annoyance.

“I saw you two saying goodbye,” he mumbled, shrugging his shoulders as his expression transformed into a sheepish one at best.

“So you were,” you clicked your lips together, leaning into the couch. Your gaze wandered into your lap, fingers tracing out the delicate drawings of hearts on your pyjama pants. From what you heard his birthday was in winter, in December as a matter of fact. Actually getting to think about it, it wasn’t a breathtaking sacred fact, it made sense to a degree. His presence awoke the same energy as winter days of clear brilliance.

So his birthday must have been days ago, the thought sprinted across your brain.

“Don’t you go home every break?” the words shot up straight into your heart which instantly shattered a little over his innocent question. Satoru Gojo didn’t act with the intention to cause damage for the first time since forever, yet he still unknowingly managed to do the opposite of what he truly wanted.

“Something came up,” for the first time since the beginning of your times, you haven’t barked back at him as you were too preoccupied with your own wonderings to acknowledge such an option. It would be a lie to say it didn’t knock the wind out of Satoru’s lungs to see you deprived of your drive.

“Staying here, is it?” he nodded casually, scanning the common room and even propping his head back a little to catch a peak of the painted ceiling, his Adam’s apple bobbing in the process.

“Mhhm,” a hum of agreement slipped past your lips.

“Merry Christmas then,” the white haired wizard hadn’t felt an urge to poke you any further so he wished you happy holidays as a way to depart, sensing his presence wasn’t welcomed. Plus, he had a train to catch.

“Merry Christmas,” you whispered back dryly, letting him hang on for a second. He then nodded, sparing you one last look before taking his leave.

The conversation felt unlike any other you shared, it was force less and lacking in your dynamic. It worried the blue eyed young man. He reflected on the chat while on the train, cracking his head open on what could possibly bend you to your knees when his years of bickering and pestering couldn’t.

And soon it was March already. You opened the windows, spring floating in and kissing you on the tip of your nose. God, you have waited eternally — now the sun bathed the world in layers of lucent yellow. But the small delight from the awakening of the sun didn’t last as it wasn’t long till you found out it indeed wasn’t your boyfriend you smelled in the love sickening potion. To be specific, your ex boyfriend. You had no idea whose scents you sensed and it probably would be a little maddening to you if you wouldn’t be broken over the fact you got broken up with. Not only that. The quidditch star of Gryffindor mapped it out in a clever way, pulling you to the side after practice to spill the truth. Well, his own truth he built up in order to come out as the good guy.

His voice was gentle as he guided you through all the reasons why you weren’t able to form a match any longer, highlighting his own mistakes and taking most of the blame to make himself feel less guilty. You kept still as your throat tightened to the point where speaking was not a privileged you possessed at the moment. Tears prickled in the corners of your eyes throughout his way with words, your stubborn strength pushing you to leave your emotions in check. At least until he would be gone or you somewhere out of his sights.

It crashed down onto you properly days later when he promenaded himself through the hall with a new girl by his side. You understood then, all his indifferences and cold, vacant answers. The rush of pain felt like an arrow piercing through your flesh, blood gushing out of the wound as you remained unable to tent it. The news came to you from his distant cousin. A girl Arabella was seeing in a secret since the ball, making it even worse knowing there were three of you in the relationship.

Regardless of the changing weather of March, you ended up enveloped in the arms of your dear friend at the very top of the Astronomy tower where you occasionally went when you could tolerate each other’s presence only. It was a safe space for you. And you desperately needed a place where you could come apart.

“I wish there was a way to know, then I would never allow it to even start,” your shaky voice declared as your head rested against your friend’s chest, her vanilla scent gently attacking your senses as tears continued to stream down your cheeks. Eyes puffy and red from the amount of tears shed.

“Don’t be like that, it made you happy for a while. Isn’t that enough?” her fingers soothingly glided over your hair, bringing a sense of comfort and placing a bandage over your torn heart which bled and bled. The one she didn’t break.

“I was foolish,” your defeated form stated and as you replayed the whole relationship, the signs were there. You simply couldn’t seem them due to the blindness and stupidity of love which only left you feeling dumber now. Something not even the strongest love potion in the world could fix.

“It’s the price we pay for love. Stop being hard on yourself,” Arabella’s voice pressed, scolding you for degrading yourself, because seeing you so bend left a sore bruise on her as well.

“I, just- how will I be able to go around now?” you spoke softly in a muffled tone. The bare imagine of how it would feel to walk through the hallways, attend quidditch practices and lessons while having to face him shattered you down. Your face pressing into the skin of her chest harder.

“You’ll wake up one morning without the pain,” your friend went on with reassuring you, mumbling sweet nothings in an attempt to make you feel better.

“It will take forever,”

“The time will pass anyway,” she drawled out a soft chuckle, fingers neatly brushing your hair from your forehead — her words resonating with a part of your being.

The time will pass anyway. It both electrified and frightened you, the strength of those simple words carrying such a thoughtful meaning. It meant you would learn to bounce back just like your trampoline.

“And when did you get so wise, huh?” you whimpered with a snicker coming out along through the remaining sobs as you looked up from her chest. Nose sniffling while your heaving chest slowly rose back to a normal pace.

“Learnt from the best,” her tone teased you to escalate your mood higher, pinching your cheek with her fingers to which you only playfully winced.

“I love you,” her straightforward gesture of platonic affection charmed a weak smile to your lipd. Leaving you to repeat her words after bringing her into a tight embrace.

Meanwhile Satoru Gojo stood still underneath the stairs leading up to the top of the tower, tucked safely in the shadows as he quietly listened on the scene playing out. He should’ve left, shouldn’t have eavesdropped, however, something within him kept him glued to the spot. His fists were clenched since it was clear what this was about. Everyone saw the jerk parading his new partner days after your split, when some still not aware of it. Him included. Major part of him felt sort of relieved that you got rid off the bad influence masked in sheep’s clothing, smaller part of him was sorry for you. And the tiniest part of him spiralled with thrill as well, ecstatic he was right all along. Nonetheless, he knew you would live on due to having such friends by your side. You were in good hands.

Satoru Gojo did some of his best decisions in the upcoming days, he let his grades drop to ease the pressure he had been giving you. Allowing you to rest up, not having you all worked over stupid grades which didn’t matter to him anyway.

He did one other thing he was pleased with, one the white haired menace felt entitled to doing.

You weren’t supposed to be in the audience when the spring season of quidditch kicked off with Gryffindors playing up against Slytherin. The first match of the second semester. You decided to miss out on it. The wound was still after all too raw and could be torn open by the imagine of your ex partner flawlessly fleeting through the sky. But Arabella bursted into your shared room with urgency, which was rarely shown in her behaviour, dragging you to the match anyway regardless of your protests. You couldn’t stay locked away from the outside world, rotting in your bed forever and it was her goal to remind you of the little things you loved so dearly. So there you were, watching the players warming up for the actual match. A pang of nostalgia suffocated your heavy heart, meanwhile the Slytherin’s captain, Satoru Gojo, already prepared in his position.

The game established a clear winner in the first half of the game. Gryffindor struck a point after point because of the hurried and impatient pace the Slytherin’s obtained, lacking their witty and precise play-style. The captain of the team itself seemed to be off, you took a notice of their inadequacy. For the first time in a century you chose to be on the Slytherin’s side, praying they would leave Gryffindor bitting the dust and it turned out your favour was meaningless.

Your ex boyfriend fulfilled his position of a beater well, pushing the Blugders away from his teammates to save them from being knocked down. Satoru restored to his calm behaviour as he and his team kept losing, still, he was aware of the urge in his chest to let go of the restrictions all too well. And he was, oh, so close to snapping at the sight of a flashy smile belonging to the beater of Gryffindor, your idiotic ex boyfriend.

When the reality of having nothing to lose washed over him, the grip on his morals slipped and he allowed himself to clash into a one particular player of the opposite team. Moulding it to look like an accident the first time, the second time was suspicious but could still be passed on as unintentional. However, the third time justified his actions were spot on, non accidental at all. He lunged into him, nearly knocking him down to the ground, which your ex didn’t let slide that easily. The game rooting with corruption at their attempts at one another. The captain of Slytherin was disgustingly clever, flying lower than a normal player would as he knew the beater of Gryffindor would follow.

You rose from your seat in the audience, rushing down the stairs to look down over the railing. When you did, your ex partner was on the ground lying on his back with the white haired starlet straddling him. Fists flying his way down, crushing against the side of his face. Even up from the tower you could see the blood seeping out of your ex partner’s mouth. He fought back, kicking arms and legs in the process of trying to get Satoru off him. It did him no good, he eventually stopped fighting and took it until his teammates rushed down to tear them apart.

The Slytherins were disqualified from the game all due to the acts of their captain. A first win of the season falling Gryffindor’s way. And Satoru Gojo was banned from playing for two weeks.

Next time you found yourself in the air up against Slytherin, you couldn’t pass on the opportunity to fly over to the white haired disaster before the start of the match. Sensing it was right to address the situation even though you weren’t hundred percent sure the picked up fight wasn’t a coincidence. But since the poor guy ended up with a broken nose, curiosity got the better out of you.

“You shouldn’t have,” you empathised the words, hinting at the meaning but not saying it out fully. Strands of hair flew across your face due to the mild spring breeze as you spoke up despite the tight grip of the hair tie holding it in a ponytail, his hair moving in a similar mesmerising way.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he shrugged as he glanced down your way, discarding look written over his features which signalled you to go away.

“The fight-“ you proceeded to be instantly cut off.

“I was merely playing the game and protecting myself, don’t get ahead of yourself ” he frowned, voice laced with his usual overbearing arrogance which brought regret into your system in no time.

“Right,” you breathed out awkwardly but firmly, eyes unable to maintain eye contact as you weren’t sure how to react. You flew away on your broomstick without any further declaration, turning your overthinking off throughout the duration of the match.

Even so, the season of fresh beginnings, renewal and growth didn’t bring fruition at all. Quite the opposite, the world’s righteousness faltered and rotted away with the evil spreading and rising in numbers. The agenda against muggles, wizards mixing with non wizards and muggleborn wizards sparking controversy in the wizard world of politics. It alarmed you as your mother was undoubtedly a target to take down, her position at the Ministry of magic holding a powerful hand of cards. And as soon as the professors initiated any warnings or speeches during lessons, you sensed something ugly covering the world into its beguiling covers.

“We are entering dark times, children, so it’s important for you to know how to defend against your deepest fears” a professor responsible for the defence against dark arts pulled you and your classmates into an older class sitting at one of the highest peaks of Hogwarts for a special occasion.

“The Boggart sitting in the darkness within the wardrobe has not yet assumed a form. He does not yet know what will frighten the person on the other side of the door. Nobody knows what a Boggart looks like when he is alone, but when I let him out, he will immediately become whatever each of us most fears,” he spoke carefully about the extant being hidden behind the wooden door.

“Each one of you will try your luck. The key to the spell of Riddikulus is to phantom a funny imagine as a defence, which makes the Boggart take an official form of what you thought about,” he goes on with explaining the spell.

“Anyone up to go first?” the professor suggested lightly which earned him only one hand raised into the air. A hand of the exceptional young wizard with hair the shade of picturesque snow.

He confidently stepped up in front of the wardrobe, elm wood wand with dragon heartstring at its core stretching out at overwhelming 14.5inches in his hand, ready to preform the spell. An unfounded belief that only pure-bloods can produce magic from elm wands circled the wood of the wand he was holding. The truth is that elm wands prefer owners with presence, magical dexterity and a certain native dignity. Of all wand woods, elm produces the fewest accidents, the least foolish errors, and the most elegant charms and spells — these are sophisticated wands, capable of highly advanced magic in the right hands, which makes it highly desirable to those who espouse the pure-blood philosophy. The core, a dragon heartstring produces wands with the most power, and which are capable of the most flamboyant spells. Wands paired with Dragon heartstrings tend to learn more quickly than other types. While they can change allegiance if won from their original master, they always bond strongly with the current owner. The cunning dragon wand tends to be easiest to turn to the Dark Arts, though it will not incline that way of its own accord. It is also the most prone of the three cores to accidents, being somewhat temperamental. And Satoru fitted the picture of the typical wielded of the wand for sure. Just about to find out which direction he would head in.

As the handle of the wardrobe swinged the door open, immense coldness wrapped around you like a cloak while your stomach turned over with nausea. Satoru, the usual radiant and carefree young man found himself facing a mirror instead of a notorious beast, reflecting his beauty. Pair of the same lucent eyes staring back at him. He felt his heart pace quicken against the press of his ribs. Pure logic spilled from his brain, leaving him baffled as he watched the mirror starting to crack. The painful sound of screeching glass echoing through the quiet classroom where the fall of a head-pin could be heard.

“Riddikulus,” he called out after what had felt like an eternity, leaving your breath caught somewhere in between your throat and lungs. The Boggart transformed right away into a tiny music box, letting out funky tunes. Quiet classmates watching erupted in cheers suddenly, daring to pat him on his back for being successful. In spite of his cool and nonchalant demeanour, a part of him felt bare to the rest of the world at that precise moment.

You watched the people ahead of you in the line conquer the Boggart without a hiss of panic. And when it finally came to your turn, you hesitantly pulled out your 103/4 inch wand, gripping it tightly as you signalled for the professor to open the door once more. Vine wands are among the less common types, and their owners are nearly always those witches or wizards who seek a greater purpose, who have a vision beyond the ordinary and who frequently astound those who think they know them best. Vine wands seem strongly attracted by personalities with hidden depths, being more sensitive than any other type when it comes to detecting a prospective match. And wands with Phoenix feathers at its core, the rarest one, are capable of the greatest range of magic, though they may take longer than either unicorn or dragon cores to reveal this. They show the most initiative, sometimes acting of their own accord, a quality that many witches and wizards dislike. Phoenix feather wands are always the pickiest when it comes to owners, for the creature from which they are taken is one of the most independent and detached in the world. These wands are the hardest to tame and to personalise, and their allegiance is usually hard won. But you managed, the wand picking you for a reason in that shop all those years ago, leaving you to wonder what that reason is.

Second later you gasped when everyone including the professor got devoured by the darkness spreading around you, the now familiar chilliness embracing you like a tight hug. You twirled in each direction, sensing a presence within the spreads of the dark desperate to inch closer. You cursed silently under your breath, senses numbed by the anxiety and terror as you found yourself swallowed by the darkness. Your fingers tightened around the wand before lifting it into the air. Twisting it in a simple movement as you casted the spell, recalling a heartfelt memory between you and your parents. The Boggart dissolved into a plump orange cat which used to run around your neighbourhood when you were little, the mews of the animal sounding a little too similar to snorting . You averted your gaze to find all eyes were on you. A pair of machiavellian orbs amongst them.

At the end of the school year, all students from every year were gathered in the Great hall as an emergency was put together by the headmaster last minute. Everyone was wearing their summer clothing as the belongings were already secured safely in the awaiting train, ready to depart for the break.

“As you all know by now, our world is heading towards evil. I shouldn’t speak any of this to you, but I refuse to leave you in the dark. Invisible forces are toying with us to see how far they can go before they make themselves material, showing their faces to the world. I advise you to be safe during your summer, and bear in mind that we’re entering the making of history. See you all in the new school year,” the headmaster’s voice lined with fondness, bringing the words out with care and gentleness. You felt petrified as you listened, goosebumps appearing on your body. Nothing would ever be the same. You knew then, all was about to fall over the brim of change.

Satoru kept his expression neutral, not daring to let his facade slip. A gathering evil, a gathering evil he was part of. Numbness stored in his chest as gasps filled the Great Hall, hushed whispers of the younger fellow students heard in the distance. The world might have been on the undeniable turn for the worse, but so was he. He was in front of a crossroad. The thing which could stop him from submerging into the darkness stood a couple of feet away from the boy, a taste of the sun. One would never know, because the stubborn wizard would refuse to go against his family for something so fragile and unpredictable, that is if he even gathered the courage to acknowledge the goodness swirling through him whenever he saw you.

And just like fireworks receding into the night, you both felt your innocent youth slipping through your fingers like water, for two very different reasons.

credits for dividers: [@enchanthings-a @cafekitsune]

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Common Fantasy Subgenres

The broad tent of fantasy literature has spawned many fantasy subgenres that range from mythical and gritty to modern and otherworldly. Understanding the different fantasy subgenres can help aspiring writers find their niche so that they can create a fantasy series that readers can enjoy for years to come.

Fantasy novels take on many forms, and the number of distinct fantasy subgenres seems to grow with each passing year. Here are 18 particularly important subgenres within the world of fantasy:

Dystopian fantasy: Sometimes grouped in with science fiction, speculative fiction, and literary fiction, dystopian fantasies imagine worlds gone wrong. The settings are at once familiar to contemporary audiences and also alarmingly worse than the present world. Jack Vance’s Dying Earth series is a pulpy example of this subgenre of fantasy fiction.

High fantasy: Sometimes called “epic fantasy,” high fantasy is set in a magical environment that has its own rules and physical laws. This subgenre’s plots and themes have a grand scale and typically center on a single, well-developed hero or a band of heroes, such as Frodo Baggins and his cohorts in J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings or Bilbo Baggins and the dwarves in The Hobbit. George R.R. Martin combines high fantasy with elements of medieval fantasy and romance in his Song of Ice and Fire series (and the Game of Thrones television series based upon those books).

Low fantasy: Set in the real world, low fantasy includes unexpected magical elements that surprise ordinary characters, like the plastic figurines come to life in Lynne Reid Banks’s The Indian in the Cupboard.

Magical realism: While similar to low fantasy, magical realism characters accept fantastical elements like levitation and telekinesis as a normal part of their otherwise realistic world, as in Gabriel García Márquez’s magical realism classic One Hundred Years of Solitude.

Sword and sorcery: A subset of high fantasy, this subgenre focuses on sword-wielding heroes—such as the titular barbarian in Robert E. Howard’s Conan pulp fiction stories.

Urban fantasy: Urban fantasy is a genre of literature encompassing novels, novellas, and short stories in which fantastical characters and concepts are placed in a real world urban setting, often in the present day. Urban fantasy novels have devoted followings and they have spawned film and TV adaptations. Urban fantasy stories often draw from noir and gritty police procedurals. They also may incorporate fantastical elements and supernatural creatures. These could involve undead zombies, vampires, druids, demons, wizardry, witchcraft, and other such fantasy tropes. For example, The Dresden Files by Jim Butcher.

Paranormal romance: This fantasy subgenre combines romantic themes with fantasy elements like vampires, werewolves, shifters, faeries, and zombie armies. Many contemporary fantasy series blur the line between urban fantasy stories, coming-of-age tales, and paranormal romances. Patricia Briggs and Jeaniene Frost are popular authors in this subgenre.

Dark fantasy: Combining elements of fantasy with the horror genre, dark fantasy’s aim is to unnerve and frighten readers. For example, consider the gargantuan, otherworldly monsters in H. P. Lovecraft’s universe. Gothic and Victorian dark fantasy tends to embrace a paranormal setting and supernatural elements, which can range from vampires to werewolves and beyond. Note that by no means is every paranormal fantasy a dark fantasy.

Grimdark fantasy: One step beyond dark fantasy, grimdark novels pry into the blackest depths of the human condition, often in the proverbial underbelly of an alternate world. The Court of Broken Knives by Anna Smith Spark is a popular book within this subgenre.

Fables: Using personified animals and the supernatural, fables impart moral lessons, like the stories in Aesop’s Fables and Arabian Nights.

Fairy Tales: Intended for children, fairy tales and folk tales are typically set in distant magical worlds (with beginnings like “Once upon a time, in a land far, far away…”) where trolls, dragons, witches, and other supernatural characters are an accepted truth, as in the Brothers Grimm’s Grimms’ Fairy Tales.

Superhero fantasy: Unlike stories in which a hero acquires special abilities through scientific means, such as exposure to radiation, the protagonists’ powers in more fantastical superhero stories are supernatural. Many superhero stories are set in a low fantasy world—one that’s quite similar to our own world. Superheroes ranging from Wonder Woman to Thor bring fantasy elements to worlds that otherwise obey the known laws of science. Many superhero fantasy authors have worked in the comic book medium, from Stan Lee to Bob Kane. As such, superhero fiction in the fantasy genre is also known as comic fantasy or comic book fantasy.

Fantasy of manners: This subgenre, exemplified by fantasy books like Gormenghast by Mervyn Peake, combines supernatural world-building with the type of society-centric concerns one might encounter in a work by Edith Wharton or Noel Coward. Human drama and pettiness may outweigh magical powers in this subgenre of fantasy literature.

Crossworlds fantasy: Sometimes called portal fantasy, this subgenre involves characters transporting from a normal world to a magical one. This requires authors to engage in both magical world-building and grounded realistic world-building. Crossworlds fantasy stories often appeal to children, as seen in the Chronicles of Narnia series by C.S. Lewis and Alice in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll. These works also fit a category known as juvenile fantasy.

Steampunk fantasy: This highly specific subgenre combines the Victorian science and technology of the Industrial Revolution with contemporary takes on robots and machines. As such, steampunk fantasy is at once alternate history, science fantasy, and a modern fantasy—although the specifics vary with specific novels. Soulless by Gail Carriger is a particularly well-regarded steampunk fantasy novel.

Arthurian fantasy: These historical fantasy stories exist in a magical world of King Arthur, although Arthur himself is not always the main character. Due to their magical setting, Arthurian fantasy novels and short stories tend to feature mythic creatures like dragons, and many of their heroes are knights—which also makes them part of the heroic fantasy subgenre.

Sci-fi fantasy: These stories can be set in any variety of time periods—which means they can be a contemporary fantasy, a modern fantasy, a futuristic fantasy, or even historical fantasy—but they establish a new world where scientific advancements have changed the rules of engagement, while still incorporating magical elements. The Star Wars series and the various works of Isaac Asimov have helped set the bar for sci-fi fantasy.

Wuxia fantasy: This subgenre is rooted in classic Chinese literature. It involves elements of fantasy interspersed with martial arts. Jade City by Fonda Lee is an example of wuxia fantasy.

Source ⚜ More: Notes & References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

[quinloki]

Random Writing Tips

This is for fan fiction more than anything else, but it can also work for original content depending on your parameters. (If you need to submit an outline to your publisher, for instance, obviously you would need an outline XD )

You do not have to write Chronologically:

I mean you don't have to write your story in time-line order from start to finish. You can start in the middle, and catch the audience up with flashbacks or whatever.

You can start in the middle, go back to the start, meet up to the middle, resume, and continue.

You can write the ending first, fill in the story while effectively walking backward through it, and then post it in chronological order. Just because you write it out of order doesn't mean you have to post it that way.

You do not need an outline:

Outlines are great for a LOT of people, and for others it can be a point where you just freeze. You don't have to know Everything That's Gonna Happen - even if it's an original piece. It's a rough draft, you can let the story drag you around.

Deleting whole chapters is not a failure.

You can fix words and patch plot holes, but you can't post a blank page and have it accomplish much of anything.

Length doesn't determine value:

You're not lesser than a novelist if you write short stories.

You're not somehow less of a creative or storyteller just because you write 500-1000 words drabbles or 100 word micro fictions.

You don't need 500k words and 50 chapters to be a "Real Writer".

Great big long epic stories and tales are indeed amazing, but someone's not a better writer just cause their story has chapters.

The value is in the story. Sometimes that story takes a million words to tell, sometimes it only need a couple thousand. Sometimes it's something even shorter - two-sentence horror is legit because it's legit.

It doesn't matter how many times it's been done:

By virtue of the mathematically limitless combination of words you can string together in a single sentence, it is impossible for someone to tell a tale the same way you will.

It

does

NOT

matter

how much your story might have in common with someone else's. It doesn't matter how much overlap exists between stories, the details will be different and that's the point. Humans see patterns in everything so you're not going to escape them.

Someone's going to see a similarity in your work compared to someone else's no matter how much you stretch for original or unique - and in trying for that stretch you might lose the important parts of your story and end up with nothing.

It does not have to be "Good".:

It doesn't have to be technically good.

It doesn't have to be thematically good.

It doesn't have to be grammatically good.

It doesn't have to be morally good.

It doesn't have to have a lesson.

It doesn't have to have a point.

It doesn't have to be something anyone else enjoys but you.

It doesn't have to fit inside a specific box or series of parameters in order to be something you can share.

The good guys don't have to win, the bad guys don't have to lose, the abuse can be romanticized - you can write something Specifically Meant To Make People Uncomfortable.

Just... create. Create if it brings you joy. Create if it fills a void. Create if the only worse than creating is Not Creating.

Whatever you make today will be the best you can do, and if you keep doing it and keep trying and keep learning and keep creating, then in a year

five years

ten years

You'll look back - and you'll see progress.

The time passes anyway, so don't let anything stop you from writing. Rest, drink water, do wrist stretches - they're not just for artists, writers need them too. Don't let anyone else stop you.

I'm begging.

Not your own doubts. Not someone else's innocuous or honest or cruel or even "correct" words. If it is spite that hurls you forward, then so be it. Do whatever it takes.

And if it takes too much, then rest.

[ethnicallymoral]

Vander and Ned Stark Parallels

I could write an essay on the parallels between Vander and Ned Stark.

Fighters turned into father figures. Holding on to morals and virtues that no longer function in the world they lived in. Both their deaths become catalysts, leaving the next generation to pick up the pieces.

"Love is the bane of honor, the death of duty."

Ned knew the truth and had leverage but chose honesty & loyalty instead. He adopted Jon, knew his lineage & kept it a secret for honor. Vander could've joined Silco with shimmer but he judged him for it instead.

They were too naive, nostalgic, and short-sighted for the leadership that was demanded of them.

Both Ned and Vander were betrayed by men from their past who played the game better than them. And underestimated their counterpart at the exact time that it mattered the most. Their principles made them predictable and weak in a game that doesn't care if you're playing fair.

They're the "good guys," in the narrative, yes, but refusing to adapt causes more harm than good in leadership positions. They left themselves and others extremely vulnerable for morals that I would deem as selfish. Their deaths left the one's they swore to protect and their community abandoned in a ruthless world that they were not prepared for.

Their roles as father figures are central to their stories and echo each other. Especially when you look at what their children inherit from their deaths. And it's interesting because both Ned and Vander chose fatherhood out of their sense of duty AND the chance for redemption. Ned Stark with Jon. Vander with Vi and Powder.

The child's innocence dies with their father.

Both Arya and Powder watched their fathers die traumatically. Arya becomes a weapon of vengeance driven by guilt and anger. Sansa's thrown to the wolves. Vi driven by guilt and anger. Powder spirals into Jinx.

But they survive — DESPITE their father's lessons.

Anyway, I actually really like that there is fault in their approach and that these two characters aren't infallible. But I think a lot of the nuance gets lost in season 2 and maybe it didn't really matter in the end. I just couldn't stop thinking about this.

Thanks for reading.

I post a lot more Silco posts on Twitter, if you’d like to find me there too.

[a-girl-named-fran]

Okay so I have a theory for DATV that is so thoroughly unconnected to the main story but it potentially solves a decade old question. Beware, potential spoilers below.

In short, Ghilan'nain created nugs.

In one of the Regret Prison chats, Solas tells Rook about a time he tried to warn an elven village of Ghilan'nain's approach and they didn't listen. He watched in horror as they were turned into animals against their will.

We already know she's a crazy biologist with no morals, and we know that some of her creations turned out beautifully despite their origin (ie halla).

Look at their ears and their little fucking hands. What if Ghilan'nain came across a group of rebels and decided to teach the Dread Wolf a lesson? 'The rebels act like cowardly rats, why not look like them?'

And once they were transformed, she lost all interest and moved on. But the newly transformed nugs were still semi-sentient so they scattered to the winds in the hopes of finding a way to reverse their cursed forms. Some even descended into the bodies of dead titans.

Over the past few millennia, they've lost their purpose and origins (much like the elves) and live simple lives. Rumor has it that the nugs in the Deep Roads have kept their sentience for the most part, even formed a kingdom of nugs that answers to the one and only Nug King.

Granted, I'm likely wrong since I'm sleep deprived and haven't looked at all the codexes/wikis but this theory scratches an itch for me.