#short writings | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

outofangband · 3 months

Text

Realized I hadn’t provided you all with Angband era Maedhros ficlets for awhile

content warnings: dehumanization, stripping (non sexual), Morgoth is his own content warning, I had a piece awhile back about the aspects of presentation and display in both Maedhros and Húrin’s torture and this is a nod to that I guess

He wrenched his arm out of the grip of the orc attempting to pin them behind his back, ignoring the fresh burst of pain and the retaliatory smack.

Two Orcs had pulled him along, one gripping his ear so he was bent forward at an uncomfortable angle, the edges of the iron collar around his neck digging into his skin. It could have been worse was his bitter reflection. It was not as though refusal to cooperate could ever be left unpunished here Painful, yes, being tugged him along like a wayward child. But it was the laughter and humiliation that still caused his skin to burn. And as cruel as the journey was, whether dragged along by orcs or balrogs or other dark spirits it was the location that was so dreaded. The doors to that throne room were forever seared into his mind.

Maitimo wants to look up, to face the monster above him but every instinct is screaming at him to keep his eyes closed. He flinches minutely when the chain connected to his collar is dropped to the floor. The echos in the vast hall seem to resonate within him so he sways in place.

“Such a scene thou hast not dared to cause for some time, Nelyafinwë.” The Vala had actually rose from his throne, its voice soft and dangerous, “Far too merciful it seems I have been.” The eyes of the elf are fixed at a spot in front of him where his captor’s hand had previously rested upon the rest of his seat.

He waited in silence for several moments, acutely aware that he was being scrutinized.

The Dark Lord was inches from him now. His words were cold on the elf’s skin. “Strip. Wilt thou be so bold standing bare before me, decorated with mine own symbols?”

He has no memory of obeying. It is only when he feels the burning of shame over still healing wounds that he looks down to find himself indeed bare.

The word carved over his abdomen was plain to see and Maitimo could not say whether it was this the onlookers jeered at or this or the adornments.

“Look where stubbornness lead thy father to,” the Vala is crooning several minutes later. He is much too close. Long spindly fingers examine his ear. A shudder runs through him and the laughter that ensues causes him to double over. Clawed nails in his hair forces him to his knees. A groan of anger escapes his chapped lips.

...

The Dark Lord held a long chain in one of his vile hands, pulling slightly on it when the elf wearing the collar it was attached to showed signs of becoming too restless. Maitimo would be sat here for some time now, forced to endure mocking touches and the leers of the generals who visited the throne room. It was only a matter of waiting for the stubborn little elf to lash out at a hand or voice, ensuring his own punishment alongside the humiliation inherent in being constrained as a disobeying hound.

The elf glowers at him, body tensed, warring with itself

“Be a good little treasure now,” Melkor croons, “I wish for the heir of Fëanáro to look as pretty at my feet as his jewels do upon my brow.”

#the silmarillion #maedhros #in the iron hell #melkor #morgoth #short writings #it’s not very good but hey there’s suffering

55 notes · View notes

hide-in-imagination · 4 months

Text

If Ámbar and Simón shared their hang-ups on their secondary genders (Omegaverse)

Based on this post.

Essentially, at some point, Ámbar would open up a little about how she struggled to accept she was an omega due to the negative views she grew up hearing about them and how she wished she was an alpha instead. Then Simón would tell her how being an alpha is not as great as people believe, at least not to his eyes, and they would bond over their determination to make the best out of their secondary gender instead of letting the world dictate who they should be.

Simón, of course, would reassure her that she's the strongest, smartest, most determined woman he had ever met, so she should really not worry about stupid stereotypes.

"You know, I've always found it weird how people consider alphas the stronger gender," Simón commented. "I mean, physically I guess that's true, but alphas lose their rationality at just a whiff of an omega's pheromones, so wouldn't that make omegas the strongest?"

"..."

All of a sudden, Ámbar got hit by the impulse to kiss him silly.

Simón sniffed the air and chuckled. "Yeah, just like that." He looked at her. "No need to exemplify, you know? I'm very aware of how weak I am," he said, amused.

Shit, had she released pheromones?

Ámbar was a little panicked for a second because she had absolute control over her release of pheromones (unless she was in heat or forgot to take her suppressants, of course, which never happened) so she had no idea how he managed to smell her. Maybe she did it unconsciously?

Of course, none of this showed outwardly (at least she hoped not). "Weak?" She squeezed out a laugh to dispel the awkwardness. "I bet you could lift me with just one arm as if I weighted nothing, so I wouldn't call you weak any time soon."

Shit shit shit, Ámbar, what are you doing, why did you say that, why are you even thinking about him holding you up and carrying you around like a sack of potatoes, what the hell is wrong with--

Simón laughed. "You wanna give it a try?"

For the sake of her sanity, Ámbar said no.

As she walked away she couldn't help but think about her own weakness. He said alphas are weak to omegas pheromones but it's not like they smell bad to us...

Particularly, Simón's scent had a way to make her a little stupid whenever she was near him.

Ámbar sighed. Stupid omega genes.

#simbar omegaverse au #simbar #hi it's me again #it's me hi I'm the problem it's me #I can't help it- I read ABO mangas and ideas flock to my head #short writings

15 notes · View notes

cozzycoz · 10 months

Text

Have you ever found yourself questioning the meaning of your existence? And asking yourself how the world around you could be so... unbelievably dark? Well I have awoken to a world where secrets lye hidden in the very corners of this city, awaiting my arrival. A city filled with violent puppets that my father helped make. I am stuck in this loop of questioning, and returning to the very beginning. I wish to understand what separates me from them in the grand scheme of things. Am I one with this nightmare? Is the obsession for success the reason they are all here? I am possibly the creation of a mad man...a mad man I call my father. I want to know the truth, and I will stop at nothing until I find the answers. Sophia...my sweet sanctuary...please remain at my side.

Gif credit: @vergiluscious

#pinocchio lies of p #lies of p pinocchio #lies of p demo #lies of p #lies of p game #lies of p geppetto #lies of p sophia #my writing #short writings #margo writes

32 notes · View notes

quinn-borel · 7 months

Note

For a Quinnmeric prompt - 20. telling each other I'm here

The sound of chains rattling, the smell of seared flesh, the hysteric laughter which preceded the accusation of heresy against the Lord Commander. Again, another lash against his torso. Again, the chains that bound his arms were heated and carved their image into his skin. They took pleasure in his pain—they wanted to see him on his knees, begging for mercy. Two golden eyes stared him down, pale lips curled into a devious smile as they contemplated their next action of torture. Perhaps the black and white knights were needed. Perhaps they would tear him limb from limb. Perhaps a little more fire…yes, more fire would do the trick. That was a promise. A weight on his chest left him gasping for air.

And that’s when Aymeric woke up, the weight releasing itself as his cat jumped off of him. He quickly sat up with a cold sweat beading upon his brow. With his breath caught in his throat, his hands gripped the bedspread that covered his torso—another nightmare.

But it was so long ago…yet his scars still felt fresh.

A gentle hand touched his arm, her sleepy gaze falling upon him with a furrowed brow of concern.

“Aymie…” Quinn muttered, “are you alright?”

As their eyes met, his chest heaved a sigh…yet no words passed his lips. Quinn shifted in their bed, her hands gently placing themselves upon his visage. She pressed her forehead to his, eyes closed and slowly exhaling to help him control his breath.

In and out…in and out.

She knew well that he had experienced another nightmare, for the look in his eyes spoke as much. While it was a rare occurrence, it wasn’t the first time he was ripped from his sleep with memories of his past. How she wished to chase those memories away—to bring her Lord peace in his slumber once and for all. But all that she could do was ground him and bring him comfort, just as he did for her when her own slumber was interrupted in such a way.

“I’m here.” She whispered, “I’m here, Aymeric. It’s alright.”

His breath hitched once more before he settled in to her touch, her warm hands a welcome comfort. While the incident at the Vault was years prior, the wounds inflicted upon the Lord Commander still felt fresh. While they had long since healed, his mind still brought him back to those painful hours every once in a while. He felt absolutely helpless, yet Quinn’s reassurance anchored him back to reality—he was safe. He was with her, in their bed, and he was safe.

“Thank you, my dearest.”

He uttered those words before sleep began to converge on him once more. As he lay back, Quinn placed her head upon his chest, arms wrapped around him in a firm hold. Upon feeling her weight and her grasp, Aymeric broke a small smile as he closed his eyes.

He would sleep soundly for the rest of the night knowing she was at his side.

#Wolmeric #Quinnmeric #Quinn lore #Aymeric de borel #Quinn Borel #short writings #ffxiv #fanfiction #let's look at Aymeric's trauma!#nightmares

3 notes · View notes

writeblrwithfangs · 2 years

Text

There are times where I’m a cageling awaitin’ to be set free. But for a world so full of danger around every corner it’s best to be hidden away.

To find those I can trust is what I seek- an escape from the loneliness that tortures me.

#idk what this is #writing rambles #rambles #writing #poetry #I wanted to use a word I liked #cageling #words alike #short writings #creative writing #not good #it sucks #you get the jist #short form #short verse #loneliness #mental health

3 notes · View notes

matsur1 · 2 years

Text

Sitting down in your little room alone, scrolling through TikTok, drinking coffee on a rainy day. Then a video popped up and it read, “Where do you see yourself 10 years from now?”

You take a good time to think of where you see yourself in at least 5 years, but nothing came to mind. Isn’t it so… sad? Not knowing what you even want anymore because you’re always just trying to meet people’s expectations. Trying to fit into society no matter how many times others tell you to be yourself because, the truth? This era is judgmental. It tells you what to do, what to be, how to act, how your life should be. They’re just writing down your life for you.

How you become so insecure when you go somewhere outside and see these people in such “aesthetic” outfits? How people kept telling us that this generation would stop these “beauty standards”? It never once happened. Somehow, these standards just got higher. Higher and higher until even NINE-year-old kids already want to look like teens.

Notice how the world is also falling apart? These pollutions? The climate change? The videos about the nature dying?? How many years do we have left to change everything about our environment?? 3-5 years? People think it’s nothing, people think it’s going to be okay. People think it’s NORMAL and ignore these warnings. Let’s be honest, we all feel bad for the next generation but, look at us. Most of us are still young. Like what, ranging from a newborn to mid 20s. Let’s forget about feeling bad for the next generation and start doing the change ourselves. Remember this, “If you want to see change, start with yourself.”

3 notes · View notes

sylvies-kablooie · 3 months

Text

i do unironically think the best artists of our generation are posting to get 20 notes and 3 reblogs btw. that fanfic with like 45 kudos is some of the best stuff ever written. those OCs you carry around have some of the richest backstories and worldbuilding someone has ever seen. please do not think that reaching only a few people when you post means your art isn't worth celebrating.

#i often wonder about how many things would be considered classic or high art had they only received the marketing #how many short films that were made for class could have been the most powerful thing you'd ever seen? if you'd seen them?#“you know the greatest films of all time were never made” etc etc #but like. these works of art ARE being made. it's just enjoyed by a smaller audience with equal impact though #i think about this one furry i used to follow on insta who had the coolest worldbuilding ever. it's been years.#thought prompted by that sketch of nimona from ten years ago that was just for a character design #posted to the creator's tumblr and now it's nominated for best animated feature film at the oscars #and by the genuine emotional reaction a fan comic made me feel. how much work had gone into it. how beautiful it was to me.#idk what to tag this but i hope whoever needs to hear it does #writing #writer #fandom #fandom culture #artist

57K notes · View notes

sing-you-fools · 8 months

Text

me: this is a background character who's in one scene, has two lines, and is completely irrelevant to the rest of the story. i am going to stop obsessing over what to name him and use the random name generator on behindthename.com. i am going to accept the first thing it gives me and move the fuck on.

behindthename.com:

#guess i can call him charlie #i'll know what it's short for #and maybe someday i'll have a Fandom and someone will deep dive this far and find out the truth #a bitch can dream #writing #writeblr #naming characters #behind the name #names #character names #my writing #charizard cockburn #pokemon #sing-you-fools #1k #5k #10k #25k

50K notes · View notes

strangelittlestories · 4 months

Text

After the occupation, the princess was confined to the palace.

Once a month she'd be taken on a walk around the city, heavily guarded of course, to show the people that she still lived. It also served, of course, as a reminder of what they stood to lose if they made trouble. The princess did her best go wave and smile and give the people what encouragement she could.

The rest of the time, her life was spent in musty rooms and dusty towers. She filled most of her time scouring the castle for materials which she would sew into more and more elaborate outfits, which she would show off on the days when she was allowed outside.

Indeed, the public loved their princess and her dresses so much they'd often sketch or paint them along the route and pass the images on so that all could see the princess at least was well.

This pleased the occupiers for two reasons. First: it kept the princess out of trouble. Second: it gave them a reason to sneer and they did love a good sneer.

"What a vain creature she is!" They would remark.

"Doesn't even care we murdered her brothers so long as she gets enough satin to make her little dresses!" They squawked.

This was unfair, of course, for to call her creations "little dresses" was to call Queen Murderfun the Needlessly Genocidal "a tad piquey". Her dresses were gravity-defying wonders lace and pearl. They were thunderstorms captured in velvet and waterfalls summoned in silk. She was a wizard with silk.

Still, she bore their mockery with a tight smile and careful deference.

"Please, good sirs, my home, my people and my city now belong to you. Let me keep, at least, this one last joy."

And they sneered and they crowed most unpleasantly, but they let her keep her sewing room.

Of course, they would have known their mockery to be doubly unfair had they realised the true purpose of the princess's elaborate designs. For hidden in the intricate embroiderings across her gowns, jackets and fans, the princess had encoded secret (and very detailed) messages. When she would go on her monthly walk, the city's loyalists would line the route, sketching down the patterns to decode later.

Thus did the princess transmit all the occupiers' secrets (unearthed while supposedly 'searching the castle for old fabrics') to the city and thus did she build her resistance.

On the day the revolution finally came, she girded herself in armour of thick spider silk and whale bone. She cut a fine figure with a lacy handkerchief in her top pocket and a razor sharp knitting needle keeping her hair up.

As she waltzed through the castle to open the door for her army, the Usurper King tried to stop her and she simply unfolded her handkerchief and showed it to him.

Upon seeing the impossible arcane pattern emblazoned across it, he fell to the floor with blood streaming from his eyes.

She always had been a wizard with silk.

---

Thank you for reading. If you'd like to support my writing, you can do so at https://ko-fi.com/strangelittlestories

#writing #microfiction #short story #flash fiction #wrote this a few years back and finally got round to posting here

12K notes · View notes

kithj · 7 months

Text

good games i've played on itchio lately:

please tell me you love me - chat with your guild members for the last time before the game's servers are shut down

GIRLKILLER (covet) - there is a girl who looks like you, and today you're going to kill her

cover me in leaves - stuck in your small hometown, you get your first tattoo. and then a few more, and more, and more

don't rock the boat - play through the different perspectives of a women's crew team as they are stalked by something in the water

GUTLESS - you are the captain of a deep sea vessel. your mission doesn't go well

so, about last night... - you wake up sick and weirdly hungry after hooking up with someone at a party. you spend the next night trying to find her.

close the window, my love - short bitsy poem about closing the window. sound on! this creator has a lot of short bitsy works i recommend.

there is a beautiful star - just a short, cute side scroller. lots of short, lighthearted games from them, definitely recommend for a mood booster.

#these are all p short except for so about last night gutless and rock the boat #still not super long tho #these are all on my itch page too but whatever lmfao #also cringe i feel so awkward writing descriptions but i dont really have a lot to say personally #except. Good Game 👍#also sorry recommending gutless a second time sue me #i think girlkiller is my favorite atm... i like the ambiguity in that one and two different endings #games

13K notes · View notes

delicacysblog · 1 month

Text

“what was the most pain you have ever felt”

healing from someone, i once thought i would heal with

6K notes · View notes

outofangband · 17 days

Text

Morwen and Aerin scene from a longer fic (can be read without the rest though)

cw: implied/background abuse and captivity and the headspace that comes with that

Reposting with edits because im almost finished with the next part!

Follow up to this

Also thank you to @melestasflight for your kind words on my first draft

“You should keep these for yourself,” Aerin says quietly but she does not protest as Morwen finishes crushing the leaves and adds them to the steaming cup.

“I have no need of them now and these grow unrestrained in my garden,” Morwen says, “You are in pain. You do not hide it well.”

This is not strictly true. Aerin has been concealing this pain for days now and is well accustomed to hiding others. She has been using her arm normally, despite how it exacerbated the wrenching of the joint. But it seemed that when she crossed this threshold, her ability to hide her suffering left her. She pulls her shawl more tightly around her. She has not worn clothes that truly feel her own in well nigh a year. She has not felt her own for that time either.

The steam coaxes forward her tears with more urgency. The scent of it coated her nose and mouth. It was too hot to hold but she reached for the mug anyways, feeling the roughly formed clay of the Nen Lalaith beneath her burning fingers. Morwen watches her for a moment, then lays one hand atop of hers, just briefly, and she sets it back down again.

“I am sorry.”

“For what do you apologize?”

It is an exchange they have had more than once before. In her cruelest hours, Aerin could not say if the voice of Morwen held patience or indifference. Suddenly, she makes a movement between a shrug and a shoulder. Her shaking does not abate after and once more those words find her.

This will never end, not until I do.

She has thought this again and again since that day she was first brought before him but it is the closest she has yet come to saying them.

She does not, though the words are half formed. Nor does she think Morwen will have any answer. There is no answer that is both honest and kind. Aerin knows she has come closer to death lately than she has ever done before, close enough that she tries with an almost desperation not to consider that end, and which she dreads more.

She blinks away more tears. She cannot weep for this or she would not stop.

“I will stay up, if you want a few minutes. I could not sleep myself.”

Morwen looks exhausted truly but Aerin does not doubt her words. She does not want to accept but her own tiredness is weighing on her and she knows she will not have long before she has to return and when she does, she will have no sleep.

Aerin takes one of her hands and links her fingers through Morwen’s, looking at her for permission to remain like this. Morwen gives her a swift nod that almost makes her smile even if it does not.

Perhaps she does sleep. She does not dream but her world blurs in a way that lessens the sharpness of her pain and coats her sadness in something hazy, if only briefly.

She stands again before she is truly awake, the blanket that is not hers falling to the ground. She cannot speak as she walks to the door. If she does not restrain herself before she returns she will pay for it dearly. She wants to think it would be worth it. She does not know.

(Morwen watches Aerin leave, pulling the frayed edges of her shawl more tightly around her. It had not been made for warmth but anything that she might use to cover herself was welcome.)

Note: the flow is definitely a bit rushed, this is party of chapter five of with slander for a blade and it’s a bit out of the style of the previous chapters, it’s almost an interlude. Anyways it definitely needs some work still. There are a few paragraphs at the beginning I didn’t end up including because they needed more work

Second Author’s note: I have a post here that goes a bit into Aerin’s first meeting Brodda and I’m writing it in fic form but it’s been taking awhile

Third:: I hope this is ok, I’ve been feeling so bad about my content lately and unfortunately it’s made me an even worse empirical judge of it

#the silmarillion #the children of húrin #short writings #Aerin #Morwen

20 notes · View notes

hide-in-imagination · 4 months

Text

Simón would hate to be an Alpha and Ámbar would hate to be an Omega.

Simón didn't always hate it. Back when he first presented at 12 years old, it was cause for celebration all around him, and he felt very proud of it. Being an alpha meant you were cool after all, right? "The coolest!" His friends said. "I hope I'm an alpha too!" They said. "This means you were born to be a leader," his father told him. "You're meant for great things," his mother said with utter joy.

Some of his friends turned out to be alphas too, but most were betas. Most people around him were betas, actually, including his own parents, which made sense according to the education he got at school-- around 80% of the population were betas.

That meant he being an alpha made him extra special, and little Simón, being a kid as he was, was very happy and excited about that.

That was until one of his classmates unexpectedly went into heat in the middle a class. They were all 14 at the time, and the girl in question had been previously identified as a beta, but apparently, that labeling had been wrong. The whole class went into chaos. The teacher rapidly asked another omega girl to go get the school nurse while he tried to keep at bay the teenage alphas who reacted to the pheromones and were trying to get closer to their omega classmate. The pheromones were so strong that even the betas were affected; some curled up in their seats, covering their noses and trying to not lose their minds, while others ran out of the classroom for the same reason, scared of the effect the pheromones might have on them. Only the one remaining omega got closer to her suffering friend and tried to offer some comfort while the girl panted, writhed, and whined for the heat her body was going through.

Simón watched all of this from his own seat. He wanted to help. His teacher, a beta, was struggling to contain the group of alphas by himself. Some betas were clearly distressed. The omega in heat was in pain.

But he couldn't move. He was petrified. He was petrified because he wanted to help, but the heat pheromones were so strong, and so sweet, like brown melted sugar down his throat, and he was getting all these impulses. He wanted to do things to that girl that he had never even considered before, and the fact that all these wants and thoughts were going through his head terrified him into place.

He felt disgusting.

The situation eventually got handled and Simón even got praised for how well he handled it. "An exemplary alpha" he was called. But Simón knew the truth now about what his alpha nature meant. He knew he only had better self-control than his peers, but, deep down, he wasn't any better-- He had the same beast inside, and all it wanted was to dominate, control, and take.

It only got worse from there. As he and his peers got older, Simón noticed more and more instances in which alphas abused their power to submit betas and omegas-- especially omegas. It wasn't all of them, thank god, but more than once, Simón had to get between an alpha and a struggling omega as the alpha used his force and pheromones to try to take advantage of her. "She wants it," they'd say. "Otherwise, why is she spreading her alluring pheromones everywhere?"

Some would use their alpha voice and make betas and omegas do things as a 'joke', like telling them to jump in place, do stupid poses, or say humiliating things. Sometimes with omegas, they'd tell them to lift their skirts or show their butts if they were guys. They'd laugh as if they weren't forcing another human being to do something they didn't want to do. Sure, sometimes it was harmless, but even then, it was just wrong.

"It's just a little fun," they'd say when Simón complained about it or intervened.

"What kind of alpha are you?"

Simón wished he wasn't an alpha. He wished against all hope that their second definite identification test at 16 showed he was actually a beta and the whole alpha thing was just a mistake. Both his parents were betas. 80% of the population were beta. Why couldn't he be a beta too?

But of course, he was labelled as alpha again, and by 17 he had his first rut, which really cemented it.

Alphas are not inherently bad, he told himself. You've met some good ones, haven't you? And many are leaders, scholars, inventors-- You can do good with it, it's okay.

He managed to believe that most of the time, but it was hard when twice per year he'd get aggressive, horny, and would have to be locked up in his room because he wanted to breed like a fucking animal. Why couldn't he just be born a beta? Ruts were the worst. And he didn't want to dominate anyone, he just wanted to find love like his parents, have a companion.

The only part about being an alpha that sounded romantic were the stories about alpha/omega pairs. Apparently, once you found your omega, it felt like you were meant to be, like you were made for each other, and everything just fell into place. Most times, Simón imagined he would just marry a beta because he was scared of losing his mind if he dated an omega, but then he heard about these stories, or watched pairs in a movie, and a part of him craved that. He didn't know if it was the human part or the alpha part, but it did sound nice.

In the end, it might be the only thing that made being an alpha worth it.

---------------------------

Ámbar hated being an omega from the very beginning.

She was supposed to be an alpha-- A respected leader above the rest, not someone on the freaking lowest level of humanity. Her godmother was an alpha, her grandfather (as Sharon told her) was also an alpha, and every head of the Benson family had always been an alpha. "The only omega was my stupid little sister and she ruined everything," Sharon always told her with vitriol dripping from her words.

Ámbar had tried so hard until then. She behaved like she was supposed to be behave, strived to be the best at school, sports, and every activity she ever tried, because if you didn't plan on succeeding, what was the point of even trying at all. She was supposed to be an alpha.

And then the test in the envelop said she was an omega and it was like a spit on her face.

Omegas were weak. Omegas were usually just pretty accessories for alphas. Omegas were hindered by regular heat cycles which made companies not want to employ them because they were a hassle. Omegas were more trouble than they were worth.

Ámbar was devastated. Her godmother never looked at her the same way again. She had to be on suppressants the whole time both for her sake and the sake of others. Her first heat was painful and humiliating even though she was alone in a heat room prepared just for her with every commodity she might ever need.

Because how would it not be humiliating when she was panting and moaning and calling for an alpha, literally any stranger that just happened to be alpha, to come ravish her and push her down and just basically have his way with her over and over.

Ámbar was independent. She was strong. She had a huge sense of self value. The fact that something inside her made her want to beg to be dominated and used was disgusting.

So, she was going to do the using instead.

Ámbar was resourceful and she was smart. So she was beautiful and desired? She could use that to her advantage- Make guys dance at the palm of her hand. So she had pheromones irresistible to alphas and even some betas? Sure, that could make her seem like prey, at the eyes of society she would always be some delicious candy at the disposal of others to be taken whenever they pleased, but that was only if you didn't know how to play the game. You were only the loser if you didn't want to get caught. You were only prey if you didn't set the trap yourself.

So Ámbar, once again, started climbing the social ladder like she'd always done. Who said an omega couldn't be a leader? She'd have subjects at every room she entered with just a bat of her eyelashes. Who said she couldn't be at the center of things? Weren't omegas beautiful for a reason? Weren't spotlights made to make shiny things shine even brighter?

And who said she had to submit to an alpha? As far as she was concerned, she could have an alpha boyfriend and have him be the accessory. Let him believe it was the other way around, who cared? As long as it helped build her image, the guy could think whatever he wanted.

Of course that meant she could never share her heat with anyone or let herself be bitten. Every heat was hell. She felt lonely. Her omega always felt lonely, like it craved something else-- like scenting her partner not just to mark her territory but for a sense of belonging and comfort. Like being hugged and cuddled and feeling safe surrounded by someone's scent and warmth. Like being not only admired but adored. Like being not only desired but cared after.

Maybe it was Ámbar that felt lonely and not just her omega.

It didn't matter. If she was successful, if she could make her godmother proud, the rest was secondary. She had a bright future ahead of her if she only did everything right. That was more important than anything else.

--------------

Simón would hate to be an Alpha and Ámbar would hate to be an Omega.

Until they meet each other.

...

#simbar omegaverse AU #sorry not sorry I just LOVE to write these little concepts ksjdn💖#simbar #soy luna #simbar fic #simbar fanfic #soy luna fanfiction #short writings #My Writing #I'M COOKING LET ME COOK

16 notes · View notes