#rewrite

[aume]

Yes, how it should have gone.

how it should've gone

[thepinokio]

[daily-prompts]

Write a scene, or choose one that's already written, that takes place during the day. Now rewrite it to take place at night. How does this change things? Which works better?

[phoenixlionme]

[carawenfiction]

Surprise - the demo's been posted sooner than anticipated.

There might still be stuff I need to edit, and the profile page still need work (I haven't created all character descriptions etc.) but I think it'd be nice for others to see what I've got so far.

If you have any opinions/feedback, negative, positive, constructive criticism etc. to share, I'd love to know your thoughts!

And Jaelyn's (formerly Jaelene) description has been included in the intro post as well :)

One night you are faced with a dream that alters something within you, forcing you to return to your now abandoned childhood home to search for answers.

Little do you know that the house is connected to another realm where darkness reigns and sunlight is nothing but a distant notion; a realm your family appears to be mysteriously involved with.

Upon encountering a group of paranormal beings of unknown nature, you are drawn further into a strange and unsettling existence as you strive to uncover the truth of your past and find your way back home.

Whatever path you choose, remember to look out for your own shadow.

"The Shadow Society" was first published in 2020 and is currently undergoing an extensive rewrite. The new version leans more into mystery elements with added focus on characters, relationships and how they are forged in a world where nothing is certain.

One sequel is planned to release once the rewrite is finished.

Demo | Patreon | Ko-fi

* Play as a male, female or non-binary main character whose personality, actions and appearance are shaped entirely by your choices. * Play as gay, bi, straight, aromantic or asexual. * Discover a hidden world and take the first steps in uncovering its secrets. * Pursue one of five love interests along with two hidden ones, become entangled in a triangle between two siblings or remain single. * Determine who to trust and who to shun, who to befriend and who to antagonize, among a cast of characters with differing secrets and motivations. * Experience a story that explores the meaning of reality and illusion, truth and deceit, in a world of shadows that mirrors our own.

✹ A (Azuridian/Azuridia)

Their eyes, cold and piercing, seem filled with bitter truths that they refuse to share. They protect their knowledge fiercely and disclose only what they believe they need to when the situation calls for it. Some call them arrogant, but to that they would retort that they are the only one who can do what needs to be done. Driven and direct with a dash of sensuous charm, they don't hesitate to pursue what they want.

Appearance (male version): His face is angular and pale, his lashes a fringe of silver-white. His hair is slicked back, the sides of his head trimmed in an orderly fade cut. He wears a form-fitting, navy blue suit that gives a refined and sophisticated impression. A powerful yet subtle presence, he seems to quietly command the very air around him, emanating a sense of confidence that is both inviting and intimidating all at once.

Appearance (female version): Her face is angular and elegant, her lashes a fringe of silver-white. Her hair is gathered into a high ponytail that reaches her lower back, the sides of her head trimmed in an orderly fade cut. A sensual carmine red blooms on her lips, standing in stark opposition to her somewhat achromatic appearance. She wears a form-fitting, navy blue suit that gives a refined and sophisticated impression. A powerful yet subtle presence, she seems to quietly command the very air around her, emanating a sense of confidence that is both inviting and intimidating all at once.

✹ G (Gwyndal/Gwendolyn)

There is something palpably playful about their gaze. When turned your way, it seems to shine with the same kind of interest a child might show a shiny new toy. Though jovial and charming, there's something just beneath the surface of their demeanor that gives the impression that something far less pleasant lurks within. G has certain obsessive tendencies - their tireless interest in anything related to the 'Sunworld', as they are prone to call your home, for one - and seems to prefer the company of humans to the company of their own kind.

Appearance (both versions): They have tawny skin that contrasts with the short, blond hair that frames their rounded face, a slightly upturned nose sitting above charmingly curved lips. Their clothing style is eclectic and flashy, consisting of a torn yellow shirt with red- and black checkered pants. Silver chains hang around their neck and wrists, the metallic sheen matching the piercings that line their pointed ears.

✹ M (Michael/Michaela)

Though they aren't considered particularly bright, their dark eyes hold a reassuring warmth, alight with zest that could lure a smile from even the most jaded of people. But at times, when they think you aren’t looking, that spark seems to dim, the faint creases in their face appearing more prominent.

They are quick with quips and remarks they most likely hope others find witty, and equally quick to lend an ear and protect the things they care about.

Appearance (male version): His hair is dark brown, thick and tousled, often falling into his eyes. As an avid athlete he works out frequently, sporting a toned and muscular figure as a result. His clothing style is simple and comfortable, rarely going beyond casual jeans, t-shirts and sneakers.

Appearance (female version): Her hair is dark brown and thick, often pulled back in a high ponytail. As an avid athlete she works out frequently, sporting a toned and muscular figure as a result. Her clothing style is simple and comfortable, rarely going beyond casual jeans, t-shirts and sneakers.

✹ Q (Quaiel/Quarie)

A great, invisible chasm stretches between them and the people in their vicinity, a silent yet keenly felt tension seeming to follow wherever they go.

Bereft of the ability to speak, they somehow still appear more forthcoming than the people they surround themselves with. Somewhere deep inside they harbor an unyielding loyalty to A that is difficult to comprehend, especially when the latter's morals and actions often clash with what Q would normally agree with.

Though they rarely seek others out willingly, their eyes are kind, and when gazing upon someone they care about, a subtle tenderness seems to shine through.

Appearance (male version): His creamy skin is dotted with freckles that peek out around the dark muzzle covering his lower face. His red hair is curly and unevenly cut, long in the front and short in the back. A tattered, knitted cardigan falls off one shoulder, reaching a little past his knees. Beneath he wears a white shirt carelessly half-tucked into umber pants.

Appearance (female version): Her creamy skin is dotted with freckles that peek out around the dark muzzle covering her lower face. Her red hair, curly and wild, falls over her shoulders down to her waist. A tattered, knitted cardigan lays half-neglected at her elbows and reaches a little past her knees. Beneath she wears a white shirt carelessly half-tucked into umber pants.

✹ R (Rheylo/Rheyla)

Their gaze is withdrawn, bordering on hostile, their eyes a pair of flames that seem to want to incinerate whoever they’re aimed at. They hide themselves behind long, black hair and a hood, wielding snark and sharp comments as weapons to fend off deeper probing into their psyche. For all their posturing, they get embarrassed easily and may not be quite as laidback as they hope to appear.

Appearance (male version): His skin is medium-dark, the half of his face that he deigns to show sharp and eye-catching. His hair is long and black, some of it hanging loose while the rest is fixed in small braids. He has faint stubble that runs along his jaw and chin and a small gap between his front teeth that he'd rather keep hidden.

Appearance (female version): Her skin is medium-dark, the half of her face that she deigns to show sharp and eye-catching. Her hair is long and black, some of it hanging loose while the rest is fixed in small braids. She wears black lipstick and has a small gap between her front teeth that she'd rather keep hidden.

✹ Jaelyn

Caution follows their every move. Though quiet and reserved, they are not without humor. Once comfortable with a person, their perceived shyness can turn into good-natured smugness and gentle back-and-forth teasing. They have a certain fondness for books and will take whatever opportunity they get to quote a work they enjoy.

Jaelyn works closely with the Shadowman/Shadowlady and is often the one who carries out their orders, though not always without complaint. Though loyal, they are not a blind follower and possess strong opinions of their own. As for their motives and how they ended up in their current position is anyone’s guess.

Appearance (male version): His eyes are a mystery to you, concealed behind a pair of gradient colored, diamond-shaped glasses. He has dark skin and long tight curls that are parted on one side. His lean figure is draped in clothing that appears at once modern and antique, consisting of a violet blouse with an intricately designed jabot, waist-high pants and a pair of leather boots.

Appearance (female version): Her eyes are a mystery to you, concealed behind a pair of gradient colored, diamond-shaped glasses. She has dark skin and long tight curls that are parted on one side. Her lean figure is draped in clothing that appears at once modern and antique, consisting of a violet blouse with an intricately designed jabot, waist-high pants and a pair of leather boots.

✹ The Shadowman/The Shadowlady

It was their voice that drew you in first; the kind that could lure anyone into a sense of security and then cruelly leave you to navigate best you could in its absence. Smooth and mysterious, they grace your life through whispers and echoes of times long gone. When you first meet them face to face, they hide behind masks and shadows alike.

But who are they, really?

Appearance (male version): His turquoise eyes glow with a terrifying kind of potency, lips formed in an ever-present half-smile. He stands taller than most humans, his long hair streaked with black and silver, gathered in a loose ponytail that reaches his lower back. A few wisps that have managed to free themselves almost appear to float around his face, dark clinging to shining grey like black ink stuck to parchment.

His long lashes, each black one followed by one of silver, curve above tiny streaks and dots delicately painted to accentuate his eyes. A golden earring attached to a peacock feather hangs from his left ear, swaying delicately when he moves.

His skin appears polished and glossy, like that of a porcelain doll, his figure lithe and broad shouldered. He wears an iridescent blue and green robe that is adorned with gemstones. Underneath he wears a fitted, sleek black suit, complete with a tie. Strange, dark dust covers his hands and long, claw-like nails.

Appearance (female version): Her turquoise eyes glow with a terrifying kind of potency, lips formed in an ever-present half-smile. She stands taller than most humans, her long hair streaked with black and silver and pulled back in an elaborate updo. A few wisps have managed to free themselves from the chignon and float gently around her face, dark strands clinging to shining greys like black ink stuck to parchment.

A golden earring attached to a peacock feather hangs from her left ear, swaying delicately when she moves. Her lashes are long, each black one followed by one of silver. She wears purple-blue eyeshadow and shimmering purple lipstick.

Her skin appears polished and glossy, like that of a porcelain doll. She wears an iridescent blue and green robe that is adorned with gemstones. Underneath she wears a low-cut dress  that clings to her voluptuous figure. Strange, dark dust covers her hands and long, claw-like nails. ��

Appearance (non-binary version): Their eyes glow with a terrifying kind of potency, lips formed in an ever-present half-smile. They stand taller than most humans, their long hair streaked with black and silver and pulled back in a loose ponytail that reaches their lower back. Their lashes are long, each black one followed by one of silver.

Sometimes their figure appears soft, shaped by feminine curves, other times lithe and slender with broadened shoulders. They wear an iridescent blue and green robe that is adorned with gemstones and slide off their shoulders, baring the intricate piece of golden jewellery tied around their neck.

Their long lashes, each black one followed by one of silver, curve above shimmering purple-blue eyeshadow and purple lips. A golden earring attached to a peacock feather hangs from their left ear, swaying delicately as they move. Strange, dark dust covers their hands and long, claw-like nails.  

Current Progress:

Written/reworked chapters: Prologue, chapter 1, chapter 2, beginning of chapter 3 (very little).

Edited chapters: Prologue, chapter 1, chapter 2

Total wordcount: Around 30k as of beginning of April 2025

Demo: TBA (Estimated release date: 19th - 20th of April)

Credits

@filopay for the gorgeous cover art at the top

Canva for the other images used in this post

[xurkitry]

Just a silly guy

Silly bonus animation under cut

[micksture]

🦉 STOLAS REDESIGN 🌓

oh where do i even START. there is no metric or scale on this world that can adequately measure the sheer velocity of my eyeballs rolling into the back of my skull in contempt whenever Stolass the cringe ass nae nae baby comes on screen during the already painful watch of Helluva Boss. this goddamn piździelec is the bane of my existence. not only is he my least favorite Helluva Boss character, but my least favorite Hellaverse character in general. the narrative treats this pompous chicken drumstick as if he has the right to act like the victim, when all he’s ever done is put Blitzø in uncomfortable situations where Blitzø had to have sex with him to obtain the Grimoire, knowing full well that Blitz needed it to keep his business running. AND he keeps on neglecting Octavia, his DAUGHTER, to continue being weird towards/about Blitz. now, that in itself DOES make him an interesting character, but the problem is in the way he’s shown to us – as someone to be pitied. why is he treated like a good guy in the show, i will never understand. nerf the whiny bird and quit justifying his actions before I draw him stuck in a glue trap hitting the Peter Griffin death pose 🌞

Letting up on that hate-filled rant, let’s talk business!! Stolas is a self-centered manipulator with a victim complex that is blind to other people’s feelings in my rework. He blames everyone but himself for his actions and despises when things don’t go his way. In his eyes, it’s all Stella’s fault that he turned into a cheater (as if she wasn’t also forced into their loveless marriage like he was…). He was distant and cold from the start, and when Stella stopped trying to make their relationship work and quit taking his bullshit, he became even worse. His daughter isn’t exempt from his coldness either. As much as he swears up and down that he loves her, he still silently views Octavia as a nuisance, an obstacle that is firmly placed in the way of true freedom and peace that he could have been living, if not for his obligation to raise an heir. He feels entitled to being the way he is, since he’s never been treated all that well by life either. He very clearly feels trapped, but that doesn’t erase all of his faults.

I do like the idea of Stolas being a villain. A multifaceted character that has been wronged, but a villain nonetheless. And he is treated like one! He would NOT be the main focus of the show, however — the lights would be on I.M.P. tbh I’d rather go for a more episodic approach to the story, where each episode is about a different client of I.M.P. and we get to see the main characters actually doing their jobs as paid assassins and facing some wacky setbacks they have to overcome, rather than seeing the constant back and forth between Blitz and Stolas that the official show seems to revolve around now. So yes, Stolas wouldn’t be featured nearly as often! In fact, I feel like he’d usually get the most screentime in the heavy episodes: for example ones that would tackle his relationship with Blitz, or ones that would showcase his immediate family and how they all pretty much hate each other.

Now onto the design!! In all honesty, I don’t mind his official one, but I couldn’t help myself from hitting him with the redesigning-beam too. POW 💥

• He has gained quite a bit of feathers, especially around the neck. Also, instead of the weird hat-crown (???) with eyes situation he has in the official design, I just gave him a floating crown with one eye AND plumicorns – the ear-like feathers that owls commonly possess!

• I kept the astrology theme because it’s AWESOME. Every high ranking member of the Ars Goetia family has a different set of chores that they do to ‘regulate’ Hell. Stolas is the one in charge of the night sky in every Ring!! He studies galaxies, constellations and asteroids, among other things cosmos-related. he can also create galactic matter at will, hence the two nebula orbs he’s holding and the galaxy cape 🌌 (fun fact: you can phase your hand through his cape and it’ll be covered in star dust!)

• His cape is fastened with an Asmodean crystal. Why is that important? Well, an Asmodean crystal can work as an inter-dimensional transportation device just as well as the Grimoire. He knows what that kind of crystal looks like. Blitzø does not (Asmodean crystals are anything but obtainable for the common demons. Most have no idea what they look like). Also, Stolas has a lot of those crystals stored in the castle, thrown around forgotten chests and left unused. See where I’m going with this? Stolas purposefully retains this information and tells Blitz that he only has the Grimoire to spare, for which Blitz has to go to bed with him each month (as their agreement states), when he could’ve given Blitz one Asmodean crystal and part ways with him long ago. But he’s too selfish to let go of the imaginary relationship he created and continues the same cycle that leaves both of them more and more divided.

I think that’s it for now. This post is long enough as it is. Thank you for reading it though <3

[nyaa]

[supd00dle]

No Comment.

[dntaed]

“It’s currently—” Jason leans back on the counter’s edge to glance at the clock, “—five in the morning.”

“We talked all night?”

The refrigerator’s light glows in the kitchen, casting its hue on you and Jason. You stay seated stubbornly on the counter. The cool surface biting into the bare skin of your thighs.

“I’m freezing.” You groan.

Jason coos. He moves to stand between your legs. Your head instinctively falls to his shoulders.

“Poor baby.” You can imagine the smug grin on his face. “Weren't you the one who decided not to sleep tonight–”

“But–”

“–to eat, what is this again?” He picks up the Ice-cream carton placed next to you.

“Ice-cream. I was craving something sweet.”

“No wonder you're freezing. Plus, we need to address your sweet tooth.” He laughs.

“I have a weakness for sweet things.” You place a chaste kiss on his cheek. Jason snorts. The corners of his lips curled.

You snatch the carton from his hands. Grabbing the spoon you take another bite. You can feel your mouth freeze as the cold spreads in your mouth.

“Oh no, poor baby–”

“Shut up, Jay.”

“Want me to warm you up?”

You give him a faux glare.

“How do you stay warm, anyway? You hog all the blankets, maybe that's why.”

He gasps. “No, I do not.”

“Take responsibility, Jason Todd. Warm my hands for me.” You reach out your hands in front him, fingers wiggling. The smile on your face reaches your eyes.

With a tender grip, he wraps your hands in his, the warmth of his palms spreading slowly into your cold fingers.

“I spoil you too much.”

“Kiss me,” you whispered back.

He smiled, a pearl-iridescent grin that lures you in. “You always order me about.”

“Kiss me.”

“Now you want a kiss? Are you sure?” The corners of his smile curled, turning into a teasing smirk. “Because once I do, I might not be able—”

Your hands grasped the fabric of his collar and yanked him down.

His lips danced around yours. The taste of him seeped into you akin to honeyed nectar. His hands encircled your waist. Calloused hands fleetingly ghosted over your skin.

“I love kissing you.” You murmured.

“Spoiled.”

“Shut up. You love me.”

[sp00ky-scary]

have some miraculous au outfit w.i.ps

in order the outfits are: winter, everyday, formal, summer, sleep, school (I haven't drawn all of Alya's yet)

some like useful info about the au

they're all aged up to like 16-18

they go to a private school, ik schools in france don't require school uniforms I've decided their's does because it helps play a little more into the magical girl-ness of the show

I'm basically rewriting the entire plot of the show

it's still Marinette and Adrien as Ladybug and Chat Noir I just felt like starting Alya's concepts first :]

anyway I hate this show but it's taken over my brain

[dawnwriterimagines]

Rewriting Part 5 of Traitors Among Us

CLEAR SKIES (A Rewrite)

SIMON 'GHOST' RILEY x FEM!READER TASK FORCE 141 x PLATONIC!FEM!READER Rewrite of PART 5 of Traitors Among Us

Traitors Among Us Masterlist

Summary: With your resignation approved, Price discovers you've resigned. You head back to begin to pack your life away from Task Force 141, running into those who've betrayed you.

Author Note: Soooo, I decided to rewrite Clear Skies: part 5 of Traitors Among Us because...I didn't like it as much lol, and it wasn't received as nicely as the other parts. It's pretty much completely different lol. So, here I am rewriting this part! Don't worry, the multiple endings of Traitors Among Us will be releasing very soon...

If you liked this would you Buy me a Coffee?

---

Silence filled the air in the Chief Officer’s office, thick with tension. Captain John Price stood rigid, arms crossed, eyes locked on Laswell as she calmly sipped from her tea, her lips set in an almost casual line. He’d expected a straightforward debrief, not this.

“You did what?” Price’s voice was low, disbelieving. His brow furrowed, the anger creeping in like a slow burn.

Having arrived at the administrative building, delivering his mission reports and making his way into Laswell's office. Captain John Price wasn't expecting to receive the surprising news so casually that the woman in front of him had signed off on your resignation, without so much as consulting with him, your Captain.

"I gave her what she wanted, John," Laswell rolled her eyes, sitting in her seat. "I let her go. She was never about to meet with you, and I won't let a soldier like that leave, under my supervision, without some type of severance," she speaks, casually, tapping her spoon of tea along the rim of a porcelain mug. "I do apologize, I was actually preparing a better way to tell you this. Time got away from me, I suppose." Although, Laswell says so unapologetically as she takes her first sip with a hum.

Price blinked, caught off guard by the detached nature of her words. He shook his head slowly, still processing.

"Severance?" Price gritted. "She didn't lose her place on the force, Laswell. She's on temporary leave for recovery not discharged--I would've never--"

"Oh, stop it, John," Sweeping away a few locks of hair, Laswell sits back in her chair. "Even if, would it matter? The girl's petrified of you, if she saw you she might actually kill you," she can't help but release a humored hum. "Willing to turn down her pension, her insurance, just to resign in peace.

She would've never come to you, and you were foolish enough to think she'd stay," she laughs this time at the absurdity of it. "She wanted an out," she takes another sip, shrugging. "I gave it to her." She then slides a few papers her way, preparing to continue her paperwork, interrupted for the second time today.

Slamming a hand over the stack of papers, Price can't contain the expression twisting his face, his anger, his grief. "Let her what?! You stripped her of her title, does she know that? There is no lawful resignation without my signature, what've you done?"

"Well, you are in need of a Demolition Operative now, I will say," she hummed, tapping the spoon against the rim of her mug, her voice annoyingly casual. "I already have someone in mind, luckily for you."

"Operative Gray is an integral part of this Task Force, it's not up to you how I handle my team anywhere outside of our missions, Laswell," Price hardly held his tone.

“Funny, John,” Laswell mused, not looking up, her voice dripping with dry amusement. “I seem to remember you handling a certain... situation under my orders.” Her eyes met his now, sharp and calculating. "Just fine."

Price’s jaw tightened, and the old guilt gnawed at him. “The worst mistake I’ve made on the force.” His voice was quiet but raw.

Laswell’s smile didn’t fade a bit. “No, John,” she said softly, her tone almost teasing now. “Your mistake is thinking you have any authority here that I don’t already have.”

Price froze for a moment, the weight of her words sinking in. He reached for the papers on the desk, his hand curling into a fist before he let them go. Laswell slid the stack back across the desk with a single, deliberate motion, then stood up.

As she passed him, her shoulder brushed against his, and he stiffened, barely holding himself together.

“Oh, John,” she said, almost too sweetly. “The military is engrained in all of us. In your blood. In hers. Don’t worry,” she hummed, tapping the edge of a file. “She’ll be back. They always come back. In one way or another.”

"Well..." Laswell shrugs, calmly. "Just never to Task Force 141," she turns back to Captain Price, dismissed him with a wave, leaning back in her chair., slipping a file from her desk. "Not like that wasn't the original plan before our informant came clean, hm?"

Wary, grieving eyes drift away from the Station Chief, chest tight. "Well what about Gray?" Price swallows. "I can't allow her to leave without everything she deserves from her service, I won't."

"Christ, John, you take the fun out of everything nowadays." Laswell’s smirk faded into something more calculating, more serious, before rolling her eyes. "We'll hold off on that for now," before Price can interject, she holds up a new folder, stamped a harsh red CLASSIFIED, it glares up at him. "You and your team have other matters to discuss."

Price hesitated, brows furrowed. He took the folder, the tension in his muscles still tight. He opened it quickly, scanning the document with a sharp eye. His face darkened as he read, the information weighing a heavy burden, but nothing he could say was undeserved.

Lips pressing tight together, John Price presses down into the folder hard, creasing the papers and clenching his jaw. Fuck.

---

The sliding doors open automatically, the lobby going quiet at the sight of your sopping wet figure stumbling through the entrance. Dropping your hands from over your head, you pause to stare down those who held eye contact too comfortably, quickly their stares dropped.

Entering the residential building, it's nearly midnight, the mess halls still quite lively, soldiers prepping for their next mission or staying guard in the halls. Your boots squeak with every step unwarrantedly, trailing a puddle as you shuffle your way down the hallway, face flushed cold from the rain.

The hall seems much too long suddenly, the wet squeak along the marble floor, the damp cling of your clothes to your skin, the uncomfortable twist of your brace around your legs, the pruning of your fingers. You were ready to just lock yourself away in your room, pack and never see even the silhouette of this place ever again.

Rushing to the elevator, ignoring the whispers, the burning eyes on the back of your head, you rub your clothed arms to warm yourself up, soaked to the bone. Stealing a jacket from one of the racks before leaving the building, it wasn't as insulated as you'd hoped but it was better than nothing, or Kyle's pity wear.

Pressing the upper arrow, you wait for it to light up.

It doesn't.

So you press it again. This time it does glow, finally.

...But, no opening.

You wait a few seconds, then check the electronic number above.

1.

First Floor.

You press the arrow again. Waiting for the doors to open.

Clearing your throat, you press down on the down arrow this time. Just open up.

Nothing again.

Motherfucker...

A few heads turn while you press the buttons on the elevator one too many times, taking a breath as you continue to tap on the buttons along the panel. You didn't care as long as it would just open. Up. Down. Up. Up. Up. Down. Fucking somewhere, just open the fuck UP!

"Just fuckin open..." you grit out, attempting to keep your nerves down. For all you knew, Simon or Price, or Kyle or Johnny, could've seen you enter the building, they could be walking up to you right now. The very thought had you anxiously holding down on the elevator buttons, contemplating the stairs but walking was already a hassle with your brace. "Open. Open, open, open!"

"Open!" Your fist coming up in frustration to slam into the panel, the metal creaks and bends back but it doesn't make the elevator go any faster. It does hurt your hand though.

Taking your now sore fingers into your grip, pressing into your knuckles, your nostrils flare and you take a breath. You don't dare turn around as you hear the chuckle behind you, you can feel your teeth already grinding to nubs.

"So, you're the reason this thing breaks down every week, huh?" sliding up next to you, a soldier, lieutenant by the single silver bar on the shoulder of his uniform, his kevlar unhooked and new, prepping for departure. "Ya know, you can't make it go any faster that way?" nodding to the dented panel, before flashing a charmed smile your way.

Narrowed eyes link with his. "Excuse me?"

For a moment, all he can do is stare back, words lost on his tongue as he darts between your eyes, mesmerized. His smile doesn't drop even as he clear his throat, "I just mean, you'll hurt your...hand."

"Oh, will I? I didn't know that," you wonder, sarcastically. Before, hitting the panel again, a louder bang sounds in the hallway, causing attention. "Maybe I'm doing it wrong." A screw comes loose with a cling, your jaw twitching at the sound as he only huffs a humored sound.

"Yeah," he chuckles briefly as the metal falls with a klunk. "You're quite the mechanic."

"Can I help you, lieutenant?"

"Just a stranger, looking out for another, that's all," the lieutenant says simply.

"Ok, Stranger," you speak, this time turning your back as the elevator finally beeps as it descends to the ground floor. You direct your chin back to where he came. "You can leave now."

He feigned disappointment. "Ouch," he sported a playful grin. "I thought we were getting along pretty well."

"Well I'm sure you've got a flight to catch, don't let a stranger make you late."

"The only stranger I've met worth being late for," he says, genuinely.

"Oh!" Surprised, you glance away from him. "Subtle," you take a step back, uncomfortable with the space between the both of you now. You lean against the edge of the elevator door, it dings again, your knee brace wasn't helping your leg pain at all.

His charming smile fades, brows lifting as he quickly backs off, reading the lines. "Oh, sorry, I-"

"No," you clear your throat, hearing the ding of the elevator behind you. "No, no I'm just..." your hand goes to your ring finger, you used to fidget with your engagement ring all the time, there used to be a tan line imprinting it along your skin, now that same finger was scarred up to the nail. "I'm just not the flirting type right now." Your hand tensing up, balling into a fist, you'd nearly forgotten...

"Ah," He notices, clearing his throat, embarrassed at himself. "You're with someone."

You wanted to scoff at that, not anymore.

"No," Your knuckles cracked. "Just uninterested." Your hand falls to your side. The years you'd spent loving Simon, adoring him, fighting beside him, all that time...it was painful to know it would all just lead up to this. But, it was easier now to just feel nothing because it ended such a way.

The elevator opens and the both of you looks back towards it.

The lieutenant's eyes flicker back to you. "M' sorry," your brows lift in question. "About your...lover."

"He's not dead," you say.

His lips press together, thoughtfully, before nodding once. "Sounds like quite the guy."

"No idea," you scoff, an understatement indeed.

After a moment of silence, the elevator door, with a squeak, beginning to close. The persistent stranger puts his hand out before you have to, fully stopping the closing door before it can seal, taking a large step to catch it.

You froze as he unintentionally corners you, for the moment take him in, analyzing every detail as you'd always done as a soldier. His hair and clothes damp from the rain, cheeks flushed for a reason you weren't sure of.

He reminded you terrifyingly of Simon. Though the two had to be quite different in all capacities besides ranking and muscle definition.

He's tall, wide broad shoulders, a scar curved through his left brow to his temple, green wide eyes and he smelled...warm, was the only way you could describe it. You're sure his skin would feel as so.

You were quite cold from the rain, though you've been freezing ever since that day and you've never gotten past the phantom cold, eager to be warm again.

Not once in this disturbing, cold and humiliating event had you ever felt a moment of comfort. Of warm, loving comfort. A single embrace would destroy your every resolve. Not a minute, not a second, not a breath of warmth.

Your eyes flicker up, surprised to meet his staring back, seemingly taking you in the same way. His hand leaving the opening elevator door, to rest above the wall above your head. He was close enough for you to feel the leather of his kevlar against the back of your hand, for once your first thought wasn't to push someone away. His gaze lingers on the fresh scar beneath your eye, the tinted pink fading in the white of it.

"You shouldn't do that," you breathe.

There's nothing good here left for you anymore.

You're no longer a soldier.

"Do what?" he asked.

No longer apart of the Task Force, no longer apart of any of this.

And the scars you'd be left with just for being here...

Bringing your hand up to your face, running over the raised, ruined skin, your jaw tightening and your lips pressing together. You shift to the side, your hand finding the handle grip along the sides of the elevator doors.

He notices, straightening, awkwardly. Swallowing thickly, "Sorry, I didn't mean to, uh..." he squeezes his fist, as if berating himself internally. "--that's quite the memorabilia." Again his expression twists at his own question, fist squeezing, that was a dumb thing to ask.

"It is," you grazed the tender flesh of your scars. "Isn't it."

"I'm sure you've got quite the story."

Lips pressing together hard, fingers curling into your palm as if your own scars had burned you.

"Um..." going into detail meant a lot of things you didn't want to confront right now, pressing the button for the elevator again, it opens this time. "I appreciate the conversation, stranger. But, you should go."

"I'm sorry-" he realized he'd touched unsavory ground, voice lowered with regret. "I didn't mean..."

"It's fine," you swallowed thickly, taking a breath. "It was nice to meet you truly."

He follows you to the divide of the open elevator as you step in and though the divide, turning to see his face, desperate for a glimpse of yours.

Your stranger speaks soundly. "Wes."

His name you realized, you press your lips together, thoughtfully as he stares at you, not expecting anything in return, seeming peaceful with you just...knowing. The elevator doors slipping closed. You say nothing else, but you can't help but look at him differently, humming softly. You supposed he was no longer a stranger.

"Ok..." you managed a meaningful smile that struggled to begin. "Wes, then."

You could see the relief in the drop of his shoulders.

As the metal doors ding in preparation to close, you catch a glimpse of someone beyond your persistent stranger, as he turns to leave.

An approaching figure that enters the building, exiting the rain with heavy steps, dragging his feet along the marble, a black mask painted white along the curves of his mouth and nose, a skull. Stalking the halls like the ghost he preferred to be, Simon.

And he haunts you as so.

You hardly notice as the doors begin to close, a sinking feeling in your stomach erupting as you made eye contact with Simon Riley.

His slow, deliberate steps become nonexistent, he's instantly rooted to the floor, you were sure he'd even stopped breathing.

Though you felt your blood run cold, your chest squeezing violently with ache, and a rage in your soul that begged you to claw his fucking eyes out and rip out his heart like he'd done to you weeks ago, you didn't freeze.

No, instead your hand comes out, taking the closing end of the elevator door. It pauses with an electronic strain of its gears beneath your resistance, while you stare unblinkingly at your Ghost. And it opens again with a light ding.

Simon's eyes widen a fraction, he straightens noticeably, hopefully. His hand coming up, pulling at his mask, the skulls creasing down to reveal himself to you, but he'd remain as so...your ghost.

"(Y/n)..." you can hear the whisper of your name from his lips, but you've turned from him now.

Stepping forward and off the divide of the elevator, you take Wes by the arm, pulling him back around to you, his eyes are wide in surprise, innocent enough to have never expected more from your encounter and unable to find the nerve to speak smoothly now that you're making a move.

"Sorry..." you breathe to him, before reaching up and pressing your mouth to his.

It's not a messy kiss.

It's hardly a kiss.

But, it gets the message across.

You had loved Simon, completely and utterly. There was no punch or kick you could ever throw at Simon that could convey the collapse of those feelings.

So this, was the next best thing.

As Wes melts into your lips for the brief moment of surprise intimacy of a stranger, you cup the back of his neck, as you've done many times for Simon. Eyes opening to gaze back to your ghost, and as you do, you're not surprised to see him practically looming over the two of you.

He's a mess of himself. A fraction of the man he was before. A ghost of himself.

But, he'd always been a ghost to be feared.

As Wes's hand climbs up to grip at your hair, you retreat back, tucking your hair back and taking a breath.

Your guiltless eyes blink up to Wes, "You should go."

Hardly given a moment to recuperate, still reorganizing the thoughts you'd taken and filled him with all in the seconds you'd spared him with. He, rightfully confused, breathes. "What?"

"She said, you should go."

As Simon speaks, voice heavy with emotion, anger and resentment but most of all hurt, PAIN. Only then do your lungs fill with air again, untainted by the weight of your fears of him, of broken dreams and memories your defiled love.

"My dead lover's risen again," you speak, sarcastically. Staring down the hollow-eyed man, "A ghost."

The metal doors close with a light thud.

And so, maybe you had no fear of him anymore. Maybe you were tired of being frightened. Whatever it was had more guts than you had the energy to have in the last few weeks.

Because the next thing you know, you're shoving past Wes, blood red in the tint of your vision, your fingers expertly popping the gun out of his holster and you take your aim at Simon.

He doesn't flinch.

Neither do you.

Your finger is steady on the trigger. And you pull.

---

The subtle light of the safe house cast shadows across the room, the usual tension of Task Force 141 momentarily replaced by an air of anticipation. Everyone knew but you. Ghost stood slightly apart from the group, his mask hiding the myriad of emotions that flickered beneath. He’d planned this moment carefully and yet being trapped in a safe house during the night of the dinner he'd planned for you both wasn't apart of it. It was still meant to be tonight.

Your lover stared at you in the reflection of the window, catching your beautiful eyes in the glass, they sparkle and his bones feel liquid and he nearly loses his grip on the velvet box. What better time could there be?

Ghost turned to you, pulling his mask away, revealing Simon Riley, garnering your attention with a surprised stare, "What's...goin' on?"

His deep voice steady yet laced with a rare vulnerability. “Wherever you are, I wanna be,” he took a step. "Wherever you go, whether you like it or not, I'm goin' too."

"Stalker," you quipped, though your voice could barely reach a whisper as you stared at the tiny box in his hand, watching as he came closer.

He cracked a smile, but he continued. "Everywhere you are, anywhere you want to be, if you'll let me, since you're right...I just can't stay away," he teased, watching as you short circuit as he approaches steadfast. "...and if you want me, as you'll have me...I wanna be everywhere you are."

The team fell silent, the weight of the moment sinking in. Price raised an eyebrow, an amused smirk dancing on his lips, while Johnny tried to stifle a grin, Kyle cursed quietly shifting in anticipation. "The best thing I've ever held onto in this life is you. It will always be you."

Simon takes the closing steps to you, watching you closely, the two of you sharing the same overwhelming expression, though yours freer in its willingness to express. He was being serious. This was really happening. "I can't imagine taking on this life of chaos without you."

With a small, almost hesitant movement, Simon revealed the velvet box. The flicker of metal caught the light as he produced a small box, his hands surprisingly unsteady. His eyes momentarily flickering downwards before gathering the nerve to look you in the eye again. “We’ve been through hell, we're in the aftermath of it now, another glimpse not far behind, but there’s no one I'll ever know, that I’d rather have by my side.” He dropped to one knee, the rest of the team exchanging glances, a mix of excitement and surprise evident in their expressions. "No one but you."

As Simon kneels before you, your heart races, disbelief clear on your face, brows furrowing into each other, watering as you look to him, all your feelings flooding your senses. His words echo in your mind, and the world around you fades away, leaving just the two of you.

“Marry me...” His voice was firm, yet you could see the vulnerability in his eyes, the way he waited with baited breath, his shoulders halting all movement as he wouldn't take a single breath until your answer. "I'll choose you. I'll choose you every time..." The room held its breath, the only sound the quiet rustle of fabric as the team leaned in slightly, as if to witness a moment that transcended their usual world of warfare. "Marry me..." his voice is a breath against your skin.

You feel your heart race with feelings that seared itself into your soul, a moment that would never leave you, your vision blurred with tears. "Simon..." the world narrowing down to Simon and the hope in his gaze. The silence was palpable, a shared moment of vulnerability among seasoned soldiers. Finally, you nodded, emotions swirling as a smile broke across your face. “Yes,” you laughed with a sob, nodding as you wiped your face. "Of course, Simon. Yes!"

Simon rose, slipping the ring onto your finger as cheers erupted from the team. The laughter and joyful roars of Task Force 141, your family, fade into the background as you focus solely on Simon, the man you love.

Johnny clapped Simon on the back, Price grinned widely, laughing heartily in glee, and Kyle let out a whoop of approval. In that moment, amidst the chaos of their lives, there was a rare glimpse of hope and happiness—a reminder of what they were truly fighting for.

---

The clouds, still held hostage by the night, moved almost imperceptibly through the midnight air, the rain having stopped by now and the stars taking action to be seen beyond.

You breathe evenly, stroking the broken skin of your knuckles, smearing the blood that still leaked through and picking at the dried specks of it along your nails.

Heavy hangs the air as you sit in your silence, nothing but the light scrapes of your nails along your own skin. Then, a heavy padding of footsteps outside the door, your eyes drawing to the movement as a shadow pulls along the flooring of the lighting beneath the doorway, the door clicks open.

A round-faced, army suited man, your attorney, enters the room, behind him two men standing at attention, stomping his dark boots down onto the old wood eager to be noticed, lifting a document to read. "Sergeant (L/N), due to potential endangerment of yourself and your fellow man, you are to be supervised continuously throughout the night until the remainder of your scheduled departure from central Orloz Military Base.

From there, as requested, all contact will be terminated, all personal and packaged requests, terminated. All inquiries, all personal and otherwise familial advises for continued contact, terminated. Due to the nature of your injuries and the unprecedented circumstances brought upon by the events of June 23rd 2023, you've been pardoned from additional..."

What use is there listening to more?

Leaning your head against the cool glass, you let yourself fall blissfully unaware of his voice, drowning in the sea of your own mind.

You stare down at the scars enveloping your hands, your wrists, still raw and sensitive even now. Along your ring finger was the imprint of your engagement ring, it would fade with time, but nothing else would.

You felt so blind, so dumb for thinking this family was ever real, that they were anymore than colleagues, soldiers of war. An idiot for believing in Ghost, believing that he was more than the soldier you'd fought beside for a decade.

Who would've thought things would've turned out this way.

The weight of everything—the heartbreak, the disappointments—were pressing down on your chest like a block of cement.

Letting the absent, warm tears fall down your cheeks, soaking into the dampness of your shirt.

You press your palms into your thighs, trying to ground yourself, but the overwhelming feeling spiraled further, tightening your throat till it hurt.

---

Simon's face is burned red with scratches, blood smeared along his face. His hand holds tight to your wrist, the gun having long fallen from your grip, the entryway still smoking from a missed fire.

Your teeth pull at Simon's exposed skin, biting down on the skin of his wrist until you can feel it snap away from the bone, resistance failing the muscles.

With a pained groan, Simon pushes you back into the metal doors of the elevator, "Stop this, (Y/n)!" he hissed at you, as he locks you into his grip, cornering you as soldiers come forward at the commotion.

"You promised," came your voice, your mouth filled with blood, a chunk of his flesh from your mouth as he shoves your neck into the metal divider, keeping you as still as possible. "You promised you'd choose me..."

Simon's twisted expression unravels as he hears his own vowed words from your tortured lips, seeing glimpses of the woman he's always loved in the livid, scorned woman he'd left behind in that cell.

"(Y/n)..." he began, his grip loosening.

Clicks of rifles and heavy booted steps filled the dormitory, interrupting him. "HANDS UP!"

---

"...if you're in understanding of these terms, we can proceed as stated."

"...Yeah," you whispered. "Understood."

"Thank you for your service, Sergeant (L/N)," he saluted shortly, before picking his beret off the table and walking out of the room. "Your assistance to the dormitories will be available shortly."

So, when he leaves, claiming to be back to escort you back to your quarters, you sit there. You sat there for hours. Or maybe it just felt like it. Either way, it didn't matter.

This time tomorrow you'd be off base, no longer a soldier but a citizen of no one, with no one to turn to and disowned by your family...

What was there to look forward to now?

Your hand comes up, tracing the water lines running down the glass, the ray of light from the street lamps that burn into the room, stinging at your eyes and lighting up the evening.

A streak of red follows your stained fingers.

Dried blood melting off your skin and running down the glass, falling slow.

Nothing to look forward to at all...

Multiple Endings coming soon. The end of Traitors Among Us... STAY TUNED

ENDING ONE

[son1c]

he found a troubled little orphan in the woods and decided to keep her. it should be fine, since his secret can't get out if she can't see that he's not human. right? right???

[theangrycomet-art]

just how big is your skyfire design???

Skyfire's Design Page for Ref

REALLY fucking big- like how big I feel Predaking's root mode SHOULD have been.

I tend to jump around a bit on the specific numbers, but as of right now he's like roughly 45 ft?? (I have Optimus 'round 35 ft with Bulkhead at 28-30ft)

Fowler, who for convenience I hc at exactly 6ft tall is there for scale.

Edit: Skyfire and the rest of his fellow Wreckers

Kofi Page | Commissions Open

[makeshiftpaint]