#crystals-trash-heap

[wolfythewitch]

hi i drew your oc i hope thats ok! hes such a silly lil guy

PERFECTLY OKAY. i love this so much

[luckyspike]

Writing is fucking hard

For the past oh idk 2 ish years I’ve been working on a book. It’s a fun book! I would love to finish it. But god is it hard work. And I keep getting into the cycle where I feel like it shouldn’t be this hard, I shouldn’t have to force it like this, so maybe it’s not actually very good and I’m just wasting time making a heap of trash that no one will care about

But like. I won’t know unless I try right?

But it might also be a tremendous waste of time.

And that’s the rub with it, isn’t it? I don’t have a crystal ball to see if it’s worthwhile. If I want to do it, I just have to do it first and trust it’ll turn out in the end.

In riding there’s a saying: “throw your heart over the fence and your horse will follow”. It means ride forward with your heart, and the horse will carry you.

And I feel like I’m sitting on this horse, staring down an enormous bullfinch (big scary jump, look it up)

And I’m just holding my heart in my hands

[crunchy-the-dragon]

DELTARUNE SPOILERS AND WEIRD ROUTE DISCUSSION WITH A HEALTHY HEAPING OF

JUST THOUGHT OF AN ABSOLUTELY PAINFUL READING OF KRIS' RELATIONSHIP TO THE SOUL AND HOW THE GUILT THEY FEEL IN THE WEIRD ROUTE IS SO MUCH WORSE THAN I FIRST THOUGHT, (but it does require a fair bit of stretching and combining multiple other theories I've seen so bear with me): So, uhhhhh, you know how the person on Kris' phone says they need the soul? Possibly to open fountains, or this "police sacrifice" or to close the fountains, whatever it may be, what I want to focus on is why Kris on multiple level needs the Soul. To start, lets focus on Asgore talking to himself in Carol and Rudy's room, implicating some sorta involvement in the Knight and the Dark Worlds from him ending that scene by talking about a shadow crystal he has. Thing is before that he says "We'll all be a happy family again...won't we?" We knew he wanted to rebuild his family but now know he seeks to use something with the Dark Worlds to do so, probably related to Dess' disappearance but that's not important. Bottom line is this is about their family; Kris' family.

If we take the scene at the end of chapter 4 to show Kris' isn't just upset at her being drunk, but (in their mind) replacing Asgore. With this, the specificity of Asgore's statements and the person on Kris' phone it's not too hard to imagine they're working towards the same goal (regardless of their knowledge of another): use the Dark Worlds to bring Toriel and Asgore back together by "saving Dess," for whatever that means. This is probably the biggest assumption given this evidence is fairly open ended but I bring up these possibilities because it really puts a horrid flavor on Kris' relationship with the soul.

This thing, this otherworldly force that strips Kris of emotion and autonomy is something Kris needs, if not for any bodily need given they move around just without us (especially in Noelle's house, look at this theory by twilightofthesandwiches for more thoughts), but to achieve emotional fulfillment. Whoever's on the phone has convinced them this plan will fix their family and bring Toriel and Asgore together they just have to endure the soul's possession to see it through. AND IT GETS WORSE

In the case of the weird route, the soul hurts people other than Kris: putting Birdly in a catatonic state he might never recover from and Noelle, just, Jesus Christ. Imagine being Kris, watching as this ephemeral force you can only attempt to steer like a rampaging bull decides to turn your oldest friend into a monstrous puppet it can manipulate, just like you. And at the end of the day you need it back, either for your own health or the plan YOU are apart of, but you can't erase the feelings of guilt over putting it back in a position of power it already used to reach into Noelle and violate her autonomy as a person, taking the first of many possible victims in the process. You can hit it, lock it up, throw it in the trash, stomp it half to death, but don't forget Kris. YOU PROMISED. (also i just think this song summarize Noelle fawning to soul possessed Kris as well Kris' almost Faustian deal type situation they've got going on with it)

[hakogyi]

i'm back with another black butler shitpost made with the help of @qualityrain and @crystals-trash-heap aka the '"they're a found family" every time sebastian and ciel were tender with each other' squad

[qualityrain]

saw this post and remembered that dazai and chuuya have a thief and detective skin and my single neuron activated. for my one and only skk propaganda giver @crystals-trash-heap

[mimaveil]

Haze (IX)

Governing concept: Chatty mpreg political thriller, feat. an arranged marriage between two anointed sociopaths and the grownup hangups of their caretakers.

Summary: A drop-down interrogation.

prev: the orchid and the wasp, worm moon, haze (i), haze (ii), haze (iii), haze (iv), haze (v), haze (vi), haze (vii), haze (viii)

cw: VERY nsfw, mention of child abuse

Tell us what his dick tasted like, Ben. 

Denial’s a cheap sealant, darling. We know your strain, your tricks, your shameful annihilation choreo under the linear chandelier, air-fried luna moth, fucking a hand cramp into the grippy mat. 

Plug the sordid acoustics. Pop the jumbo blister pack of fantasies, 325mg, on pitted black tile. Tone on tone, while your perfectionist regime rehearses the geothermal reacharound: 

9. How salty was he? 

8. Did your dream boy taste like drowning in a coastal town, lousy with pine resin, wild garlic and elided shit? 

7. Along the garrote points of his neck, did he smell like papaya syruping a wet rug, strays skulking the port, a queynte not-quite native, not-quite wild?  

6. Did you kiss him with courtesy before you nosed into that rubbery bounce, fresh eraser, incense-grade cedar on an exposed barrel, the metallic lick of a blistered ferrule?

5. How ardently did you audit the grain of his cunt, gooey gsm, briny and crushable? Clit clamped, measuring a moral arc by tongue. By accounts, you like an astringent slick, salted plum pellet in the chilled carafe of your mouth,

yet when presented with the whole worshipful trencher, shivering, a balanced-lethal inheritance of Eighth genetic politicking, you cry decaf, zero-proof?

Anyone can fuck a guy, so you went for his dick first, like warming left-overs, with your shoes on. Disappointing.

Oh, do stop hiding—fingercomb your teeth—spit in the tub—get dressed—you like his sullen holiness so you wanted to rough him up a little, inflict a trashed-hotel-room party on this choice cut, render your God-ridden Crystal Prince, Keeper of the Noble-Flint-Ultra-Clear-Float, unto a pliant dirty heap basted in his own leaking premise. Knees blown, you gagged on the satsuma steam, and he yanked your ear, a fall of icy sugar, pay attention, and your dick jumped four bars—

—pinched his kewpie nipple, easy, squirting with heat

4. Did his come clot in your mouth, with that tannic bluster you like? 

3. How many Na+ pilgrims, re-baptized, swam through the gates of your appetite?

2. When he’s rocked up against you, your knuckles working his sluice, and you mumble a devotional into his scalp—salt pyramid kiss between the brows—does he understand you were courting

1. Do you wonder, in your lonely-doll cameline trousers, strolling the nave to scalloped chanting, how far the pleasure traveled in our dear Owen’s body? Smoked hole, if you made it good, like Boyd’s show-your-dinosaurs dictum, that sulfury, tropical roil that splits a gait open?

0. Or did it stay a localized pleasure, a wet tip under bubble wrap, a beard quilling babyfat thighs, cherubic bulge like dekopon-or-or-or-Or

Saints evoked, you’re going to torch your bowels, trying to hide_

_You’re going to torch your bowels if you keep juicing your panic, jewelry writhing on your fat fingers, tripping on your split-back cape and smashing hood-first into whatever rotted ancient the Eighth’s arborists dredged in at great expense for an audience of 800 squinting adherents. 

Guts blushing, touch trunk (from Sophia’s recon and Daniel’s third-party reconstruction, we’re assaying, oh, 36’ circumference, ring of cow-sized calluses, pulpy, infested core. A cav-hole, 10’, lined in lead). Pray on your daughters as Owen thumbs the hollow pyramid of flake sea salt between your brows, briny, crushable. 

Our understanding is that salt is chosen for its God-given, earth-forged properties in set quantities, tiresome. Forgive us; color us ill, delirious, misinformed. We tire of these ceremonial white spaces, just a plunder laundered by time.

So sprinkle dried blood, in your solitary hole. Swimming in dirt, you’ve relinquished yourself to the darkling beetles, the domino assassin bugs, the beefsteak fungus pelting your hood. Beset by rot, sniff camphor, chasteberry, goat’s-beard resin, hedge nettle, chestnuts roasted with Tempranillo. 

Outside, our brave popelet shall demonstrate his templar mastery by reviving the rotting hulk, and the tree too, forgive the risible bloom of this joke—how tepid is eternity, without sleep! Without play.  

Oh, but we long to meet you in that pillowy arena of mutual worship-interrogation. Smoking out windows, waiting for our co-creation to thicken into something indefensible. We envy your dreams, the spat-on-shell, your dream boy salting your cock at a clinically impossible angle (that’s why they call it a comforter; the deniability bakes the pleasure in, grinds your eyebrows into the bolster). Cast our way, and we’ll cater you a buffet of boys, in and out of pup.  

Shame about the tiara we sent. Your daughters would have loved you for it. 

Watch the vomit. Poor, feral pet! The days treacle your molars; you didn’t have the strength to end it. 

0. How did you escape the House, Ben? 

00. How badly did the light damage you?

000. What is that warm pool inside you?

0000. You thought that was light? 

[captainswaglord500]

Cockatrice (Artwork by Yuujinner)

Kingdom: Animalia

Phylum: Chordata

Class/Clade: Reptilia (Sauropsida)

Clade: Diapsida

Clade: Archosauria

Clade: Dinosauria

Clade: Saurischia

Clade: Eusaurischia

Clade: Theropoda

Clade: Neotheropoda

Clade: Averostra

Clade: Tetanurae

Clade: Avetheropoda

Clade: Coelurosaria

Clade: Maniraptoriformes

Clade: Maniraptora

Clade: Pennaraptora

Clade: Oviraptorosauria

Clade: Edentoraptora

Superfamily: Caenagnathoidea

Family: Caenagnathidae?

Subfamily: incertae sedis

Genus: Ornithosaurus

Species: O. necrophilus (“death-loving bird lizard”)

Ancestral species: possibly Microvenator celer

Temporal range: late Pleistocene to recent (87,000 kya - present)

Information:

A ravenous scavenger, the cockatrice is by no means at the top of its food chain, though its uniquely offensive, musky odor, ear-splitting vocalizations, and proclivity for traveling in large groups called flocks make it a creature which few predators wish to tolerate. Add onto this its territorial aggression, and you have what may be Archaeonesia’s most detested scavenger. Cockatrices use their superb sense of smell to detect carrion from several tens of miles away, primarily feeding on the carcasses of various reptilian and mammalian megafauna, sometimes flocking around fresh kills made by larger predators and using their sheer number to overwhelm the carnivore into relinquishing its kill. Though it usually eats carrion, it is also classified as an opportunistic feeder, readily going after small vertebrates. Found primarily in the Arava Desert and the surrounding grasslands in the western half of the Isle of Perils, this medium-sized oviraptorosaur is known all throughout the Isle of Perils, including its central mountain range, making it one of the few non-avian dinosaurs to live in that region. It is also one of the few non-avian dinosaurs to actively seek out human settlements, particularly to feed on discarded scraps of food. Actively seeking out human settlements, it is known to scavenge from trash heaps and refuse bins, which make it a local pest in some areas. Entire flocks of these animals, as many as 40 individuals sometimes, may swarm landfills. Similarly, these creatures will use their sheer number of overwhelm larger carnivores into relinquishing kills before greedily tearing into their spoils. A pecking order can be observed amongst these animals, typically in which the largest male gets first pickings on the corpse. When feeding on carrion, as gruesome as it may be, they will typically eat away at the orifices first before hollowing out the cadaver. Due to its exceptionally strong stomach acids being able to kill most bacteria, it can eat carrion which most other scavengers would otherwise find too putrid or dangerous to consume. Attracted to shiny objects for the purposes of adorning their nests with them, they have been known to steal jewelry, though those which live farther from human settlements may instead use quartz and other naturally occurring crystals to adorn their nests. These animals are exceptional jumpers, being able to clear fences nearly 12 feet all and jump nearly 25 feet in a single bound. Exceptionally territorial in nature, groups may mark trees and rocks with a pair of scent glands behind their ears, which produce the foul musky odor typically associated with the animal. As these animals are quite social, their ability to recognize patterns (and more specifically faint color patterns and facial differences) allow them to differentiate between one another with remarkable ease. They can also recognize human faces with exceptional accuracy. Grooming behavior is well-documented, and like primates, it plays an important role in establishing social relations. Primarily diurnal, these animals rely on scent and eyesight to find food, and typically, a few individuals will venture away from the nesting grounds at a given time to locate food before they’ll go back and alert the others of its location, utilizing what is sometimes described as an elaborate��dance”, consisting of many different vocalizations, as well as head and body movements, to communicate location, much in the same way honeybees do. As the many environments it lives in are teeming with predators, a few individuals will take shifts throughout the night to watch the nesting grounds while the others sleep. A pouch at the base of the neck, commonly called a crop, allows the animal to store food before digesting it, though it serves a dual function of allowing it to transport food back to the nest to feed its offspring.

Though a given flock of cockatrices may not necessarily consist of entirely closely related individuals, it is more common than not for a flock to consist of a set of parents or grandparents and several generations of offspring. During the beginning of the dry season, around early December, the males’ colors will become substantially more flashy and eye-catching, his wattle flushing a bright maroon and violet color and the undersides of his wings flushing a pink hue, and although related species are known to engage in mock fights as part of mating displays, this species instead relies on a less violent method of winning approval from the females they wish to court: designing the most colorful display. A male will create a nest and adorn it with the most colorful materials he can found, anything from flowers and fruits to rocks and crystals. However, this is only part of the courtship ritual. While a bright nest may earn some initial interest from female suitors, it is what he does next that determines his success: performing an elaborate dance, sometimes with a shiny rock clutched in his beak, he will angle his head up towards the sky, revealing his brightly-colored wattle and wings. High-stepping in a circle around her, his throat will undulate to make a deep, rattling bellow, beating his wings and jumping up and down to keep her attention. If she accepts, she will join him in this dance and copulation begins. Cockatrices mate for life, and in 1.5 months time, she will lay a clutch of 2-4 blue eggs in the nest, and for the 5 weeks it will take for them to hatch, she will not leave the nest, the male fetching her food and water via his crop. When the young are born, they are, in a rare exception amongst non-avian theropods, altricial, being born nearly featherless and unable to walk for the first few weeks of life. By a month old, they will be able to walk. By a year, they will have reached half their adult size, being large enough to join their parents in the search for food. By 2 years, they will reach adult size, and at around 3.5 years, they will have gained their adult plumage and will reach sexual maturity. Many may choose to stay with their parents’ flock, though some may go off and form flocks with other young cockatrices. If they’re lucky, a cockatrice may expect to live 20-30 years.

Around the size of a cassowary, this species is around 5.6 feet tall, roughly 9-10 feet in length, and weighs around 200 lbs on the heavier side. There is no notable sexual dimorphism between species. The naked head is highly fluorescent, the neck being reddish yellow and the wattle/fleshy growths on its face being yellowish-orange and bluish-purple. The beak is red and the eyes are white. Plumage is white on the body and most of the wings, though near the base of the neck, the tail, and the wing feathers, the plumage starts to turn black, with the wing plumage having many beige spots along their length. Its legs are yellowish-gray.

Long-renowned for its dissonant calls, this species generally communicates with others of its kind with rasps, shrill humming, and a sound variously called “bleating” or “bugling”. Territorial calls consist of loud, deep booms which rumble across the land. However, it may hiss or honk if aggravated or in an attempt to intimidate and size up other scavengers/carnivores, and it has a characteristic shrieking whoop referred to by some as a “dinner bell call” to other cockatrices that food has been located.

Much in the same way that vultures are viewed as unclean and malevolent animals in Western society, so, too, is the cockatrice in Xenogaean society, made dually ironic for the fact that vultures also exist in the region, albeit typically in more montane environments. Long seen as a bad luck omen, stumbling across a dead cockatrice was said to signal impending disaster, particularly famine or drought, and in fact, it was said that if one did stumble across one, or managed to kill one, they were to immediately cremate it and spread its ashes in a river. Nonetheless, it does appear in some heraldic imagery and was venerated amongst some indigenous peoples in the region, particularly to the southeast. It was said the Bronze Age Aravan King, Kuntapurexa, infamous for his brutal conquests across the Isle of Perils, was followed by a horde of cockatrices which reaped the benefits of his conquests, feeding on the corpses of those he and his men killed as they went from village to village pillaging and marauding. The deafening sounds of these animals from afar was therefore used by some villagers as a way to determine how close Kuntapurexa and his men were to their settlement and therefore whether or not to abandon the town. How true this was, however, remains up to speculation, as no surviving historical records seem to confirm if this was a true account or not, with the possibility of it being a tall tale being rather likely. That said, if one can get past the animal’s revolting smell and dietary habits, a tame cockatrice makes for an exceptional companion animal, being exceptional at navigating, tracking, and retrieving items and trinkets, and in times past, some would use these animals to discretely transmit messages across long distances in a similar manner to messenger pigeons. On top of that, its affectionate nature towards those it’s acquainted with makes it decent as a pet as well, minus its food requirements. In fact, while some cities actively try to exterminate or otherwise relocate cockatrices within their walls, others may actively promote breeding programs for the animals in an effort to reduce waste in landfills. Despite being classified as a caenagnathid oviraptorosaurian, this placement is tentative: though its skull anatomy and genetic data would seem to support an inclusion amongst the Caenagnathidae or at least closer to the Caenagnathidae than the Oviraptoridae, the anatomy of its arms (and its wrists in particular) is exceptionally basal, more akin to that of therizinosaurs or ornithomimosaurs than to that of other oviraptorosaurs. Amongst an indigenous group in the Arava Desert region known as the Nge'echets, the cockatrice was seen as an embodiment of the desert itself, almost a god in its own right, far contrary to how their Xenogaean-speaking neighbors viewed the animal. As such, offerings were left out to the animals as a way of asking for safe passage from one oasis to the next as part of their migratory lifestyle. Nonetheless, amongst all native cultures in the region, the consumption of this animal’s meat is considered taboo due to its scavenging lifestyle. In lieu with its scavenging lifestyle, flocks of these animals may follow sick or injured animals for miles, waiting for them to collapse before finishing them off, hence it was long said that spotting a cockatrice behind oneself was a sign that death was on one’s doorstep. In some regions, they are also associated with the Xenogaean death goddess, Yerakiya, seen as either her messengers or even as a form she herself takes in the world of the living. Bones of this animal date back to the late Pleistocene, around 87,000 years ago, and fossil member of the genus are known as far back as the Miocene. A smaller closely-related species found on an offshore island, the basilisk (O. insularis), went extinct in the 18th century due to the introduction of pigs by British colonists. With around 2,000,000 mature adults in the wild, populations appear to be stable but declining in certain areas. 

[mattapparentlystumbltourneys]

Virtual Character Tourney - Round 2 - Bracket B - 5

Propaganda below (May contain spoilers!)

Sophia propaganda:

She's one of the two characters who are exclusive to the Strikers spinoff, and I think they have an interesting take on how she plays into the worldbuilding (although admittedly I haven't finished the game, I know small bits and pieces of how it ends.) Seeing as the series is very heavily based around psychology and how humans interact with their surroundings, having a character whose entirely artificial is a different take on how they interact. She's not the only artificial game of the series, but she is the only one for Persona 5, and that's important because of how much P5 focuses on the psychology aspect even more then the others already did. Also, she's really silly and I love her. She has hearts for hair because she has so much love to give!!

Sophia is an AI character that can fight in battle and wield a Persona. As humanity's companion, she is duty bound to help people any way she could.

Her hair is made of hearts, she hums when she's happy, you find her in a giant box in a trash heap and she immediately decides to come with you. She lives in your phone when you're not on a mission and asks you about the human heart because that's her mission but really because she wants to be as human as you are. She's wonderful and amazing and is one of the best AI characters in gaming.

Ultraman X propaganda:

X canonically lost his physical form and lives in Daiichi's phone. His presence caused Daiichi's phone to turn gold, instead of the standard-issue silver the rest of XIO's employees have. It's possible for XIO's scientists to send powerups to X because he lives on Daiichi's phone. There's also a couple episodes where X gets trapped in cyberspace and Dr. Gourman and friends have to design something for Daiichi to help him escape. (Dr. Gourman is the first to notice Daiichi is secretly Ultraman X. Also in the crossover movie, Daiichi and X got separated and X couldn't live on Daiichi's phone so he jumped to the nearest computer (which belonged to Naomi from Ultraman Orb, air date 2016) and began pulling up photos of Daiichi in a "Have You Seen This Nerd?" sort of way. The enemy goons saw Naomi and her cryptid hunting gang putting up missing posters for Daiichi and tore them down bc they had him captured at their crystal witch's base, a creepy haunted house. Eventually when Daiichi and X reunited as man and lil alien on his phone, they were so happy they ignored everyone else in the room. They were grateful enough to fight alongside Naomi's sad space cowboy, Kurenai Gai, in battle.

[1358456]

Dex Holder Team Overhaul

Okay, now to overhaul the team of one of my new favorites (unofficially) who has some... unfortunate Pokemon... It's Scarlet!

Again, I'm so close to finishing all the overhauls, so... let's get this done.

So, her team currently consists of... ignoring evolved status...

Sprigatito, Pikachu, Tarountula, Palafin, and Armarouge.

The spider sucks ass, even when evolved. However, it seems to be Scarlet's signature and maybe even her first Pokemon. So like Diamond's Munchlax, the spider will be fired from active combat team, but will stick around on her back at all times. Scarlet's new Agent Gadget: Spider will be used to grapple hook and to fling people, and her actual spider will be used to hogtie people and other miscellaneous threads-tasks, like... tying up Violet upside down on a flag pole or something.

Pikachu... pfft. ... The Pikachu gives me an unfortunate idea that'll bring me a lot of pain. But that's for another day.

The dolphin is interesting, alternating between crap and superpowered, but I really don't see this thing fitting in Scarlet's team. The thing has a heart symbol on its chest. It does not suit Scarlet at all! And its super form is called a Hero form. Definitely not Scarlet.

Armarouge is decent enough and it looks like something a treasure hunter will have. So it's a keeper, because what I have in mind for Scarlet is...

Team theme: Eternal Legacy

"Legacy" because... relics are a legacy from the past, and "Eternal" because... they're now possessed and will wander around forever. Deliberately worded if you couldn't tell. Hehehe... ahem.

Since Scarlet is a treasure hunter, I think it's quite suitable for her to have a bunch of Pokemon that seems like a relic of the past. And it just so happens that there are quite a few good Pokemon that no one else has that feel like relics! ... And "coincidentally", a lot of those are... Ghost types because they're haunted relics.

First up in her new team is... Aegislash. Apparently it got nerfed while I was dying or something, but its mechanics seem to be the same. And if this thing isn't a relic Pokemon, what is, really?

Next relic Pokemon would be... I was torn between Runerigus and Cofagrigus, but I'm going to have to go with Cofagrigus. Runerigus looks like it used to be on a museum display until it toppled over and now it's in a trash heap. Cofagrigus looks like something that should be in a museum, but the last guy who tried is <redacted>. Thus Runerigus is a possessed pile of rubble, and Cofagrigus is a dangerous relic.

Next up... Gholdengo. The thing that I thought looked like the Cheestring mascot, but made of coins. Given how Scarlet was hunting down its pre-evolution form, I think it'd be suitable if she got enough coins from those wandering chests to get the Coinstring mascot. ... How does this thing not get Pay Day?! It does get a new move that's like Pay Day, but... come on. Its level 1 move is Tackle and not Pay Day? Boo.

And finally, is... not Kabutops fossil, as amusing as that might be, since it doesn't actually exist. But rather, Excadrill. It's not a relic, but... it's something that helps in getting said relic, because it can dig. Scarlet won't be much of a treasure hunter if she can't dig for buried treasure or even detect them. So a mole Pokemon seems like a good fit. And an Excadrill hits like a truck on top of it.

So all together, Scarlet's new team becomes...

Meowscarada, Armarouge, Cofagrigus, Aegislash, Gholdengo, Excadrill.

A cat, a living armor, a possessed coffin, a set of weapons that came to life, a stack of gold coins that decided to live, and a mole. And with that...

Blue: overhaul - Cute Danger Yellow: lol Crystal: updated Sapphire: overhaul - All Terrain Proficiency Platinum: overhaul - Frozen Elegance White: overhaul - Movie Stars! Y: overhaul - Winged Aggression Moon: overhaul - Spirit of Vengeance Shield: updated Scarlet: overhaul - Eternal Legacy

Now that leaves just one more overhaul... and that's Diamond's team. Though this time, I'm just adding one more change to his already updated team. And then I'll be done with the team changes, until Generation X or something comes along and adds another base stat 600 total non Legendary probably-Dragon. And so the cycle begins again.

[reverend-dog]

Please Don't Litter

Lacy loved the forest. Not only for its verdant vibrance, whispered sounds, and head-clearing melange of smells, but for what it wasn’t. Specifically, the forest wasn’t home. The forest didn’t shout, argue, or berate. Never had the forest punished Lacy for what she wasn’t: strong, agile, tough, alert to the slightest changes in mood and temper so she wouldn’t make people get angry and force them to discipline her. Not like Simon, who could do no wrong.

The forest offered balm and refuge, and Lacy visited as often as possible. Even on days like this, when the rain fell hard enough to leak through the canopy of the tall trees and pound the trail. The clatter deafened, but sounded elysian compared to what drove Lacy out in such weather.

Lacy considered the forest a friend, with whom she could share any secret, and in turn knew intimately every trail and glade. The heap of smashed, melted metal and plastic in the shallow, blackened crater did not belong. Its presence revolted Lacy, like an inflamed boil on flawless skin, especially since a trash can just a few paces away offered a proper means of disposal. “Why?” Lacy wondered. “Trying to dispose of evidence?” She considered calling the sheriff, but knew they would respond one of two ways: do nothing, or turn the trail into a crime scene, tromping all over the place and making even more of a mess.

Even distorted by heat and force, most of the trash was recognizable: circuit boards, wires, plugs. A handful at a time, Lacy ferried it to the trash can. The last piece, which might have been the core of the device, proved more enigmatic: about the size and shape of a melon, its cloudy crystalline surface featured whorls and wrinkles that made Lacy think of a brain. “That makes no sense,” she scoffed, as she picked it up. “Computers don’t use real --”

At last!

Light and sound burst all around Lacy, and for a panicked moment she thought she’d been struck by lightning. But lightning hurt, at least Lacy assumed so. She felt electric, all right, but like a Christmas tree when it’s switched on, brilliant and alive in a way that promised wonderful things. It spread from her hands, where the crystal globe had just evaporated, and reached her scalp, every toe, and all places in between.

A need tore at Lacy, to laugh, sing, or just shout; some form of vocal release. The resulting sound she made combined all three, and would doubtless have terrified fellow hikers, had anybody else been adventurous or desperate enough to venture out in the downpour. It rivaled the thunder that rolled and crashed overhead.

Seconded! Oh, sweet union! After so long alone, I’m so happy to be you!

Lacy’s brain insisted the voice was a sound, but her ears argued that the only noise to pass through them was Lacy’s own. Lacy glanced around, then looked down at herself. “Who’s that?” she demanded, though her euphoria dampened not at all despite her confusion. “What do you mean, to be me?”

Right! Sorry, forgot! Twenty twenty-four, symbionts haven’t evolved yet. Sorry, I remember: consent first. The exuberant voice quieted, tense with anxiety. Do you want me to leave?

“What are you?” Lacy challenged aloud. “You’re… inside me?”

Not so much inside as in within. I’m diffused equally throughout your body. I can leave if you want me to, the synergy hasn’t set yet. As for what, I’m an etherian. We evolved a few millennia after humans went interstellar.

Um, the voice hesitated, I should say we will evolve after humans go interstellar. That’s to say, your future. It seemed to anticipate Lacy’s next question; perhaps it could. I was part of a hyperspace mapping expedition, we took a wrong turn. I don’t know what happened to everybody else, but when I woke up, I was trapped inside a satellite.

“A satellite?” Skepticism welled up in Lacy, but then she looked down at the crater, then up at the gap in the treetops. “How did that happen?”

Before I answer that, we have to settle this. Am I staying or not?

Lacy blinked. “I… don’t know. What happens if you do?”

Once the synergy sets, we’re linked forever. Everything we each know, we both know. And, well, I don’t want to tease, but it is a symbiosis. We both benefit, in some pretty fantastic ways.

“The way I felt when you – when we first joined,” Lacy mused. “Is that one of the benefits?”

It is, the voice confirmed. But –

Lacy thought of home. The yelling. The hitting. The fear. Then she thought of anywhere, everywhere else, all the beauty and hideousness that waited.

Oh, the voice interrupted itself as it shared Lacy’s thoughts. Oh.

Let’s go somewhere, Lacy suggested without speaking. She spread her arms, threw her head back, and danced in a circle about the sodden trail as the etherian, her new best friend, dug in and made itself at home.

Let’s! The voice cheered with an explorer’s jubilance.

[far-side-skies]

Hi, this ask is your excuse to talk about, Mycellium the Darkwalker

Ooh yes, this'll be fun :3

So Darkwalker is actually named after a video game character. I play a winter apocalypse survival game called The Long Dark which focuses very heavily on realism, but it has a challenge mode called "Escape the Darkwalker" that originally started as a Halloween event. The aim of the challenge is to survive as long as possible while this invisible, horrific force of nature constantly follows you across the frozen wilderness and not even hiding away in a house in the rare remains of civilisation can stop it from getting at you. Either you die from cold, hunger or thirst first, or Darkwalker gets you.

According to promo art it looks like this

Mycelium is slightly less malignant though. As a Champion, they are one of several who embodies death (others include Midnight Son and Wandering Sun). The 'god' of death is known as Decay, and it's the embodiment of time, erosion, fading memories and death. It's technically unfathomable, but I picture it looking like talking roadkill.

But back to Mycelium, they are effectively a nature spirit who focuses on paving the way for new life after death. More often than not they're covered in mushrooms and musty, decaying furs, and they smell like a compost heap. They were rather kooky, but overall quite chill unless you disrespect the sanctity of nature in some way, such as by littering. Clean up after yourself. And don't be mean to possums or raccoons, or any other 'trash' animal.

In the modern day though, they're not quite as friendly. On our side of Atmos, there's a Terra once known as Londras, known for its snowy landscape and beautiful forests. An... incident involving Sky Knights getting into a fight in the crystal mines lead to the whole Terra being split open, exposing the core and causing the land to plummet into a deadly arctic winter. Unbeknownst to anyone there, Darkwalker had been hibernating in the crystal core for milennia, and the sudden rude awakening has left them hostile to people and downright feral. Survivors of this localised winter apocalypse know better than to get in their way, and the storms surrounding this Terra often crash passing ships into its surface, leaving poor unfortunate souls to attract Darkwalker's wrath.

Maybe one day they'll calm down, but until then, Londras is known as Wintermute.

And that's what I have so far. I do actually have an idea for a fic involving Piper, Dark Ace and Darkwalker, but I have no idea when it'll be written.

Thank you for all the Champion questions, Peregrine!! These were a lot of fun to answer, it's not often I get to compile all the stuff I've infodumped about in private on Discord to share with Tumblr.

[atefirom]

Divine steps came to a halt and both hands raised making the focus of all eyes a little box resting on top of both palms. Inside the package was a little butterfly made out of clay and colored at the best of her abilities—the overall shape was clearly stylized but one could tell what it was just from a single look.

Alongside the hand-made gift was a little note that read as this: "Happy birthday Panette, i hope today is a beautiful day for you. I know that you enjoy bugs a lot so i thought of making you a little figure of a butterfly, it doesn't exactly look like the real thing but i tried coloring it with the colors you usually wear to make it unique to you. Thank you for being a wonderful friend - Alear."

"Happy birthday Panette!" The dragon chirped and carefully she placed the gift on solmic hands. "I wanted to give you this gift myself since i'm unsure if you have plans made for today, i hope you like it! Oh and be careful, it's very frail."

Birthdays were never special with gifts, cake, nor celebrations. Growing up, they were special enough for her to be one year older, one more year of courage to get up and escape. If she received anything for herself it was a lecture about what she should be. Gifts from her father came in the form of green and brown glittering heaps of trash. They were crystals to him until he had no more use for them and they joined the rest, discarded and forgotten. Perhaps she and her brother made a game of it to see who could collect the most once if only to let some light into her day.

So it is strange to be approached at all on this absolutely mundane day deemed as her day of birth. And a visit from Alear of all people… dragons… ( though, she didn’t know many dragons ), beings. Bearing a gift and a chipper attitude, Panette accepts it cautiously. As if it really were for her. She opens it as she listens, discovering the clay butterfly painted that was nothing ordinary or natural for this insect, but… to match its owner. Something she could claim as hers and hers only, made just for her. Something tugs at her chest then, a heat traveling up through her until it pops and bursts between cracks revealing a smile that reaches her eyes.

“Oh, Divine One, this is…” Words fail her for moments at a time to describe this particular item, no gift. Marvelous, magnificent, neither could express her proper gratitude and appreciation. Shouldn’t she be the one gifting the deity anyhow? It almost felt backwards despite the circumstances. 

“So considerate,” are the ones she settles on. She looks up at the dragon, lips tilting. “Thank you, truly. I will do my due diligence to handle it with great, great, and gentle care.” She emphasizes the last as things in her hands tend to shatter.

“Oh, and… Divine One? If it is not too much of me to ask, when is your birthday?”

[hakogyi]

@barbieb0y @qualityrain @crystals-trash-heap @maobubbly whoopsie daisy

Reblog to put one of these in your mutuals’ pocket when they’re not looking

[hakogyi]

who up for reverse 1999 oc

fullbody and notes!! had a lot of trouble with her design AS USUAL because i wanted to be a smartass you know. base her off of a piece of literature or make her some sort of allegory to fit the overall theme of re99...

...and then a youtube video of boris johnson reciting the road to mandalay (poem) in YANGON fell straight into my lap and i laughed so fucking hard and decided to make her based off of that

excuse my poor handwriting i miss my old one too (state exams have irreversibly damaged my penmanship sorry)

special thanks to @crystals-trash-heap for the fashion tips 😚

[qualityrain]

//bsd 109 spoilers

shitposting on aggie again for my homie @crystals-trash-heap w skk and shuake

[mjonthetrack]

vice queen

CHAPTER 87: “The Rat Among Us” (Run It Back Edition)

The sound of the lockdown siren sliced through the bunker like a blade.

ERRRRHHH—ERRRRHHH.

Steel doors slammed. Lights flickered red. The compound locked down tight like a vault getting prepped for war.

Jey was mid-convo with one of the runners, Jimmy leaned against the wall scrolling through his phone—until the system override hit and they both snapped to attention like hounds catching scent.

“What the fuck—?” Jey muttered, already moving toward the front.

Then—

SLAM.

The main doors cracked open just enough before security sealed behind them—and Camille shot through like a damn fireball.

Mini-skirt swishing, Birken swinging, face pale, hands shaking.

She didn’t look at nobody.

Didn’t say shit.

Just sprinted toward the office area like she was running from something that had her soul in a chokehold.

She made it to the trash can just in time—and hurled.

Loud. Violent. Messy. Gut-deep.

Everybody stopped. Froze. Not a single person dared move.

Jey looked at Jimmy.

Jimmy already moving—storming after her, pushing past a stunned guard.

“Camille!” his voice rang out, panic wrapped in rage.

She threw up again.

Her whole body shaking as her knees hit the tile. Hands gripping the edges of the bin like her life depended on it. Her long acrylics digging into the plastic.

Jimmy dropped beside her, arms reaching out, trying to touch, trying to ground her.

“What happened? Baby, what the fuck happened?!”

Camille pulled herself together just enough to catch her breath, hands trembling, stomach clenched—and then the dam broke.

She screamed.

Loud. Broken. Guttural.

Her voice cracked like a whip in the air:

“I can’t fuckin’ believe it—”

Jey’s eyes snapped wide. He was by her side instantly, crouched on the other side. “What?? What the hell you talkin’ about?!”

She wasn’t sobbing soft. She was crying ugly. Tears and snot and shaking.

And when she finally looked up at them—eyes red, makeup ruined, mascara running—her voice dipped low, venom-soaked:

“We got a rat.”

Silence.

The whole room sucked in air like a punch just landed.

Jimmy’s jaw locked, rage bubbling like lava. “Who?! Who the fuck?!”

Camille looked between them, her jaw tight, eyes gleaming—not from weakness, but rage.

She didn’t say.

She didn’t need to.

Because the look in her eye said she knew exactly who it was.

But right now?

She was sitting on it.

Letting it fester.

And when she finally broke that silence again, her voice was cold. Final.

“Ain’t nobody safe. And when I’m done? Somebody’s getting buried.”

She stood up slowly, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and looked both twins dead in their eyes.

“Lock this bitch down. Nobody in. Nobody out. Not ‘til I say so.”

Then she stormed past them like a queen walking through fire—leaving chaos and silence in her wake.

CHAPTER 88: “The Things You Can’t Unsee”

The office door slammed shut with enough force to rattle the glass.

Camille was pacing—wildly—like a caged animal with her heartbeat in her throat and her vision in shambles. Her nails clawed through her curls as she walked circles so tight they were damn near spirals. Her breath hitched, the pressure inside her chest building like a bomb ticking down to zero.

She stopped.

Turned.

Stared at the desk.

BOOM.

Her hand flew out and knocked everything off in one angry sweep. Laptops, files, pens, her glitter notepad—all gone. Her favorite crystal paperweight cracked when it hit the floor.

“NO—” she screamed, voice guttural, sharp, shattered. “NO NO NO—”

And then—

CRASH.

She grabbed a framed photo off the side shelf—*her, Jimmy, Destiny, Jey—*smiling at some stupid rooftop dinner like things were normal. Like people were loyal.

Fake ass shit.

It shattered against the wall with a sharp, unforgiving crack.

“WHAT THE FUCK!!” she screamed again, dropping to her knees like gravity yanked her soul down.

Camille slid down the wall in a heap, her breath coming out in broken sobs as she choked on air and heartbreak.

“This shit—this shit can’t be real. I’m tripping, I must’ve been tripping—had to be hallucinating,” she muttered, her voice barely there, like she was convincing herself. “Naw, naw, she wouldn’t. She couldn’t.”

Footsteps.

Fast. Heavy.

Jimmy.

“Camille—baby, breathe. Just breathe,” he said, trying to stay calm, but his voice was shaky. He crouched low, reaching for her shoulders, but the second he touched her—

She jerked away, gasping like he burned her.

She scrambled to her feet, stumbling to the bathroom attached to the office, hand over her mouth as she dry-heaved once—then violently threw up.

Her body was rejecting the entire situation.

Jimmy stood in the doorway, helpless, hands out like he could stop a mental collapse with just touch and words.

“Camille,” he tried again, voice cracking this time.

She held up one trembling hand behind her, signaling him to wait.

Her knees buckled. She gripped the sink, chest heaving. Mascara running down her cheeks like black war paint.

Then—her voice. Croaky. Broken. Barely there.

“I saw…” her throat locked. She tried again. “I saw her—”

And then she threw up again. Hard. Like the truth itself was poison.

She slammed her palm into the counter, gritting her teeth, crying harder now.

Her voice climbed into a raw shriek.

“I SAW HER WITH SALVATORE!!”

Silence.

Jimmy froze. His entire body locked. That name—that name—had no business leaving her mouth. Not now. Not like this.

Camille slid to the floor again, back against the cold tile, knees to her chest, rocking like a child who’d seen a monster in her closet—and realized it wore someone she loved’s face.

She whispered again, voice fraying at the edges:

“I saw her. Destiny. With him.”

CHAPTER 89: “I Saw Her with Salvatore”

It was like slow motion.

Camille’s heels clicked loud on the tile as she staggered out the bunker hallway, one hand braced on the wall, the other gripping her stomach like she was holding her soul in. Her face was flushed, her lashes wet, her gloss smudged—raw emotion on display.

Jey took a step forward. “Camille? What’s goin’ on? What the fuck happened?”

She didn't answer. She turned sharp, doubled over a trash can and wretched again—violent and empty. The sound alone made Jimmy flinch.

Jey looked at his brother. “What the hell is this?!”

Jimmy didn’t know either. And that never happened.

Camille wiped her mouth on her sleeve and then she screamed. It echoed like something out of a war zone.

“FUCK!!”

Then came the spiral.

She stormed into the office like a storm hit her bones, tossing everything off her desk with both arms—papers, monitors, glassware shattering, it all went flying. A framed photo hit the wall with a hard crack.

“WHAT THE FUCK!” she howled, voice breaking as she collapsed to the floor. “WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS?!”

Jimmy and Jey rushed in, frozen by the chaos unraveling in front of them.

“Camille—hey, hey, breathe, talk to me—”

But she was already gone in the head, spiraling, trembling, rocking back and forth on the floor with her fists balled. “This shit can’t be real, I must’ve been trippin, I must’ve been hallucinating... that shit couldn’t have been her…”

“Who, Camille?!” Jey barked, starting to panic. “Who the fuck are you talking about?!”

She stood suddenly, dizzy and swaying, then beelined for the bathroom. Jimmy followed close behind.

And then—boom.

Right before she dropped to her knees again, she choked out the words between gagging sobs:

“I saw her… I SAW HER WITH SALVATORE!!”

The silence went nuclear.

Jey blinked. “What?”

Camille’s voice cracked, hoarse. “DESTINY.”

It hit like a sniper round to the gut.

Jey’s face lost all color. He didn’t speak. His lips parted but no words came out, like his whole brain buffer-errored.

Jimmy stepped back like he caught secondhand whiplash. “Nah… nah, you not serious—”

Camille looked up, eyes wild, cheeks wet. “You think I’d be in here puking, screaming, throwing up my fuckin’ lungs if I was playin’? You think I’d make that up?”

“She—she was supposed to be at the spa yesterday…” Jey mumbled, eyes darting like he was chasing memories. “She said she had a facial and a… a meeting—”

“She had his tongue down her throat, Jey,” Camille snapped through clenched teeth. “That’s what she had.”

Jimmy dragged a hand down his face. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ.”

Jey took a slow step back like the room was spinning. And then he laughed—low and dry and crazy.

“No way. There’s no fuckin’ way. She ain’t even like the streets. She hated this whole life. She said she didn’t wanna be near any of this…”

“She’s BEEN here,” Camille snapped. “Every week. With you. Acting like it’s cute. Like she belonged here. And now I know why.”

Jey turned, punched the wall with so much force the drywall cracked straight through. “I’m gonna kill him. I’m gonna kill that slimy motherfucker and feed him to the fuckin’ coyotes!”

Camille didn’t respond. She just leaned over the sink, staring into the mirror at a version of herself she didn’t recognize anymore.

And Jimmy?

He stood in the middle of it all. Silent. Watching his girl unravel, watching his twin break, and knowing—

This wasn’t no small-time betrayal.

This was war.

CHAPTER 90: “That’s My Blood”

Camille was pacing like her bones couldn’t decide between flight or fight, eyes red, chest rising like she just ran a marathon through hell. The room was quiet except for the click of her heels and the ragged way she kept swallowing like her throat was closing up.

Jey stood in place, fists clenched at his sides, still processing.

Jimmy hadn’t moved either, Ghost pressed to his leg like even he knew something world-shattering had just been said.

And then Camille snapped.

She turned, pointing straight at Jimmy and then to Jey, voice cracking like glass under a tire.

“I was going to the beauty supply shop! The one on Fifth and Marshall—you know the one!”

Her finger dropped to her chest, trembling.

“I had Ghost with me, I was drivin’ the Camaro. And—and you know I keep my location on since we been together, Jimmy. You can check it. You can verify every fuckin' thing I'm about to say.”

Jey blinked, eyes locked on her like she was about to say something that would kill him.

Camille’s voice started to shake. Her whole body was fighting it, trying to stay upright, trying to breathe right. But the next words came out like they cost her everything.

“I didn’t even get out the car.”

She looked down. Her hands had curled into her palms.

“I saw him.” Her voice cracked. “And I saw my baby cousin.”

Jey took a step back like her words were bullets.

“They were… kissing.” Camille’s voice was paper thin now, unraveling. “In public. Like they had nothing to hide.”

Jimmy dropped into the chair behind him, rubbing his mouth hard, his knee bouncing like crazy.

Camille choked on the next sentence, and it came out in pieces.

“J-Jey… I’m sorry. I swear to God I’m sorry, but… there were kids. Two of them.”

Jey’s breath hitched.

“And they—looked like her.” She paused. “Exactly like her. Our dimples. His hair. Her eyes.”

Camille’s knees gave out and she dropped to the floor, pulling her knees into her chest as she shook.

“You can check my dash cam. It records automatically. It’s connected to my phone. I ain’t got shit to lie about, Jey. That’s my blood… but I wouldn’t lie to protect no one over you.”

Her voice dropped lower, softer—deadly calm.

“Her wedding ring was off.”

That was it. The kill shot.

Jimmy had to stand and walk to the far corner, his back turned, hand pressed over his eyes. He couldn’t look at her. Couldn’t look at his brother.

Camille stared straight ahead, voice hollow now. Numb.

“It all makes sense now, doesn’t it?”

Jey still hadn’t said a word. He was a statue. No sound. No tears. Just… breaking.

“She always had some slick shit to say about me. Always doggin’ me, makin’ me feel like I was the embarrassment of the family. Every little thing I did—she judged it.”

A bitter laugh escaped her lips, one that didn’t sound right at all.

“She never cared ‘bout this life until I showed up in it. Until she realized I was around y’all. Then she was suddenly curious. Showin’ up at the bunker. Volunteering for events. Wanting to see what the ‘hype’ was about. Five yearsmarried to you and she ain’t never showed up before.”

Camille’s arms curled tighter around herself.

“Now I know why. She was already sneaking around in it. And you? You was the fool wearin’ her ring like a badge of honor.”

Jey still hadn’t moved. His jaw was tight. His eyes—completely unreadable. And that? That was worse than rage.

Camille didn’t say anything else.

There was nothing left to say.

Just silence. Heavy, suffocating silence.

And the sound of a man’s heart breaking without ever making a sound.

CHAPTER 91: “Don’t Press Play”

Jimmy sat still in front of the monitor, jaw clenched so tight the vein in his temple was visibly pulsing. Jey stood behind him, a hollow shell of himself, arms crossed, but barely holding it together. The dashcam footage was already pulled up—timestamped, location locked. Everything Camille said lined up to the damn second.

But Camille? She was nowhere near the screen.

She stood frozen by the door, fingers trembling as she clutched the wall like her legs couldn’t support her.

"I—I can’t watch that shit again."

Her voice cracked like a dried leaf underfoot. She didn’t wait for anyone to try and convince her otherwise. She turned and ran.

The click of the bunker’s hallway door echoed behind her as she disappeared into the back section, the automatic lights flicking on one by one with each panicked step.

Jey didn’t follow.

Jimmy didn’t call after her.

All they heard next?

The slam of a bathroom door.

Then the unmistakable, gut-churning sound of retching.

Jimmy exhaled shakily, his knuckles white where they gripped the desk. Jey didn’t move. He hadn’t spoken in over ten minutes. But now?

Now he spoke, his voice low, eerily calm.

"Play it."

Jimmy didn’t ask if he was sure.

Didn’t even look back.

He clicked the spacebar.

And the screen filled with the view from Camille’s windshield.

It was sunny that day, you could hear the low hum of the car's engine. Ghost was whining a little in the passenger seat, tail thumping gently.

And then—they saw him. Salvatore.

Stepping out of a sleek black car. Laughing.

And her. Destiny.

No wig. No hat. No disguise. In a sundress, toned down but elegant, like she was trying to blend in.

She walked right up to him with a confidence that screamed familiarity—and not a second of hesitation passed before they embraced.

Then came the kiss.

Not one of those fast, scandalous pecks either. No. This was slow. Intimate. His hand on her waist. Her hand on the back of his neck. Lips moving like they’d done this a hundred times before.

Behind them, from the car—two kids came bounding out. Laughing. One of them with a head full of dark curls and a grin that mirrored Camille’s baby photos. The other with the same hazel-gold stare as Destiny herself.

Jey didn’t blink.

The volume on the video stayed low, but Jimmy could feel the air shifting.

And then he heard the sound again—Camille throwing up, violently.

Jimmy stood quickly, knocking the chair back.

“I’m gonna go check on her—”

But Jey finally moved. One hand shot out, stopping him.

His voice was flat. Unreadable.

“You’re not leaving.”

Jimmy’s jaw tensed. “She’s your girl’s cousin, and she’s back there breaking—”

“She’s my blood too,” Jey snapped, eyes never leaving the screen. “And that don’t change what the hell I just saw.”

They stared at each other for a beat, tension like static in the air.

And in the background?

Camille’s sobbing echoed down the hall, muffled behind the bathroom door like it was trying to claw its way out.

Jey didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe.

Just watched.

And for the first time in years…

He didn’t know what the hell he was gonna do next.

CHAPTER 92: “You’re Gonna Do It”

The sound of the bathroom door creaked open like it knew the weight of what was waiting on the other side.

Camille stepped out on wobbly legs, skin pale, lip trembling, mascara smudged like war paint after battle. She clutched a cold towel in her hands, still shaking as her breath puffed unevenly from her chest. Ghost padded beside her, whining gently, nudging her calf like he could anchor her to the ground.

She wasn’t even halfway to the office when Jey turned.

Silent.

Expression blank. Empty.

Like a man staring through time and all the lies in it.

In his hand? His Glock. Jet black. Polished. Loaded.

And pointed grip-first at her.

Camille froze. Her voice cracked when she spoke.

“Jey?”

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. Didn’t even breathe different.

“You’re gonna do it.”

She blinked, stumbling forward slightly from sheer confusion, her hands going up but not reaching for the weapon.

“W-What?”

“You heard me.” His voice was sharp. Cold. Laced in betrayal and exhaustion. “You’re going to go to her… and you’re going to erase her.”

Camille’s mouth dropped open. “Jey, what the hell are you saying?! That’s my cousin!”

“The same cousin who’s been smiling in my face for five years while laying up with my enemy?” Jey's nostrils flared, eyes burning now. “The same one who got two kids with a man that’s had us ducking bullets and warrants and leaks for the last three years?”

Jimmy stayed silent at the desk, head bowed slightly, hand resting on the hilt of a blade strapped to his thigh. He didn’t agree—but he didn’t stop it either.

Jey stepped forward, holding the nine out toward Camille with more force now, the tension in his wrist visible.

“You tell me how I know you ain’t been reporting shit back to her, too. How we know this whole time you weren’t the middle link.”

Her face twisted in betrayal and shock.

“You think I knew?! That I would ever play you like that?! I threw up on the floor, Jey! I’m the one who came to y’all because I didn’t know what else to do! I’m the one that’s been here with you since the bunker got rebuilt—”

“Then prove it.” His voice cracked. Just slightly. Pain under the ice. “You love Jimmy? You ride for us? Then prove it. You end that bitch, and bring us her ring.”

Silence blanketed the room like a funeral veil.

Ghost let out a low growl. Camille’s hand hovered in the air. Not toward the gun, but toward her own throat like she was choking on the weight of what was being asked.

“You out your mind if you think this easy for me,” she whispered.

“And you out your mind if you think I got room left to be soft,” Jey shot back. “This isn’t about family no more. It’s about war.”

A beat passed.

Then two.

Then—slowly—Camille’s fingers curled around the grip.

Her hand shook, but she didn’t let go.

She stared down at the weight in her palm like it was the first time she’d ever held her own future.

And Jey?

He just nodded once.

“She’s expecting you for lunch tomorrow. She texted Jimmy’s phone while you were in the bathroom.”

Camille blinked once, twice, and her jaw tensed.

She didn’t say “yes.”

She didn’t say “no.”

But she didn’t put the gun down either.

CHAPTER 93: “Fuck You.”

The room went dead silent.

Thick.

Hot.

Crackling with tension and disbelief as Camille’s shoulders squared and her chest heaved in tight, furious breaths.

Her gaze swung to Jey like he’d just stabbed her in the back and twisted it slow. But then her eyes slid—to Jimmy.

The man she was just learning to trust. To ride for. To belong to.

And the look in her eyes? That shit hurt.

“After all the shit I done for y’all?” she snapped, her voice shaking but still sharp as razors. “I’ve saved your asses—plural—multiple times. Cleaned up messes, ran intel, walked away from my whole life and stood on business for this family.”

Jimmy’s brows pinched, his jaw twitching like he wanted to say something but didn’t dare interrupt.

“And I ain’t even your wife, Jimmy.” Her eyes stung, her throat tightened. “But I still pulled single off my bios, let you put your name on me, let go of every man who paid me like I was gold. I cut ties, I picked you... and this how y’all treat me?”

The silence was deafening.

Camille’s hand slid down her side slowly, fingers wrapping around the grip of Jey’s nine—and she tucked it into her waistband like war now lived on her hip.

“Fine.” Her voice was low. Hollow. “You got it.”

Jey took one step forward.

“Camille—”

“Fuck you.” She snapped her head at him, venom laced in the words as she gritted her teeth and turned to the door.

Jimmy’s voice came next, low and rough like gravel.

“Cam—wait, baby—”

She didn’t even flinch. Didn’t pause. Didn’t turn.

Just spat out the same words over her shoulder like a grenade pin.

“Fuck. You.”

Then she walked out.

Boots heavy on the metal floor. Ghost at her heels, ears pinned back and eyes locked on her like he was ready to maul the next person who dared look at her wrong.

The door slammed shut behind her.

And in that bunker?

There was only stunned silence and the echo of something sacred snapping clean in half.