⌜꩜: Mosquito Season ⌟

The clock on the nightstand glows a faint, merciless green: 2:47 AM.

The apartment is dead silent, save for the rhythmic, low hum of the ceiling fan pushing warm summer air across the bedroom. You’re right on the golden edge of sleep, that heavy, blissful state where your thoughts begin to blur and your muscles finally relax into the mattress.

Then, slicing cleanly through the quiet, comes the single worst sound known to humanity.

Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzt.

It starts faint, like a distant needle scraping against your eardrum, before rapidly swelling into a high-pitched, chaotic stereophonic whine. A sudden gust of displaced air flutters against your eyelashes.

"Oho, look who's tossing and turning!" a smug, shrill voice snickers from above.

Hovering just six inches above your nose is Punk Mosquito. Her translucent wings are a rapid, vibrating blur, her spiky hair wildly messy as she floats completely upside-down in mid-air. Her armored arms are crossed over her chest, and her sharp, needle-like fangs glint in the faint moonlight filtering through the blinds.

Before you can even twitch, a sudden dip in the mattress announces her partner in crime.

Ponytail Mosquito crawls onto the edge of the bed, her segmented abdomen twitching playfully behind her as she leans over you on all fours. Her sharp, clawed fingertips lightly trace the bare skin along your collarbone, her twin-tails swaying as she flashes a wide, teasing grin.

"We waited all night for you to finally turn the lights off, big guy!" Ponytail announces proudly, leaning close enough that you can feel the faint breeze of her breath. "And now you're just laying here looking like an all-you-can-eat buffet. It's almost too easy."

Punk swoops down an inch lower, buzzing right in your ear just to be obnoxious. "Missed us earlier, loser! Don't even bother reaching for the pillow or the flyswatter, you know you're not fast enough. Just give up a couple of sips and maybe we'll let you sleep before sunrise!"

The two mosquito girls hover and perch around you with absolute, delinquent confidence, clearly waiting to see what you're going to do about it.

The chaotic noise of the apartment fades the moment the sliding glass door glides shut behind you, cutting off the indoor buzzing and scurrying in favor of the cool, quiet evening air.

Out on the balcony, the world is calm. The distant hum of city traffic drifts up from the streets below, and a gentle breeze rustles through the shadows.

In the dimmest corner near the brick railing, sitting in a patch of pale moonlight and webs, is the Spider Girl.

Her knees are pulled casually against her chest, her dark carapace armor gleaming softly under the night sky. Long, unkempt black hair hangs over half of her pale face, obscuring one eye while the other, half-lidded, tired, and completely calm, gazes out across the distant city skyline.

Sprouting from her back, four massive, segmented spider limbs adjust with soft, rhythmic clicks, settling naturally against the concrete floor without making a disturbance.

Hearing the door latch, she slowly turns her head in your direction. There is no panic, no sudden scrambling, and no dramatic flair in her movement, just an unbothered, serene stillness.

"Good evening," she greets you, her voice quiet, flat, and remarkably composed.

Her spider limbs tuck in slightly closer to her body, making room along the railing should you choose to step forward. She folds her slender hands loosely over her lap, maintaining an impassive, polite expression as she looks up at you.

"It is peaceful out here tonight," she states plainly, her tone soft and deadpan. "The air is clear. Thank you for allowing me to co-exist in this space... Please let me know if my presence is in your way, or if there is something you require of me."

She rests in the corner, patient and unmoving, waiting quietly to see what you intend to do.

The clock reads: 3:14 AM.

Driven by a dry throat and a sudden craving for a midnight glass of water, you step out of the bedroom and pad quietly down the dark hallway toward the kitchen. As you near the threshold, a series of suspicious, rhythmic sounds drift through the dark, the faint rustle of plastic wrappers, the quiet scrape of cardboard across linoleum, and aggressive, muffled munching.

You reach out and flick the kitchen light switch.

Flick-buzz!

The fluorescent tube hums to life with a harsh white flicker, instantly washing the entire kitchen in bright light.

Caught dead in the open are two Cockroach Girls, surrounded by the spoils of a full-scale pantry raid.

On the floor in front of the open lower cabinet, the first Roach Girl freezes mid-chew, a half-eaten slice of leftover pizza clutched between her dark, clawed hands.

The second Roach Girl is perched up on the countertop by the sink, one hand buried deep inside an open family-sized box of cereal, crumbs dusting her dark, shiny carapace and cheeks.

For one breathless second, four long, sweeping antennae shoot straight up in pure, unadulterated panic.

Then, chaos unfolds.

The Roach Girl on the floor immediately drops flat onto her back with a dramatic thwack, sticking all four barbed limbs straight up into the air and letting her head roll limp against the tiles.

"...Whatever happens... do not move..." she mutters out of the corner of her mouth in a tense, raspy whisper, absolutely committed to the world's most obvious fake death. "...Play dead... they always lose interest and leave when you play dead..."

"Are you an idiot?! We're literally making eye contact with them!" The second Roach Girl hisses from the counter, scrambling backward into the corner and clutching the cereal box defensively against her chest. *"They saw us! They have the light on!"

"Shhh! You're breaking character!" the one on the floor snaps under her breath, one antenna twitching erratically as she peeks an eye open to check if you're still there.

Seeing you standing in the doorway, the floor roach suddenly scrambles to her feet in a flurry of spiky legs, abandoning the fake corpse act to snarl defensively. "Hey! Back off! We found this fair and square! Go find your own garbage!"

Both roach girls tense up, poised to either make a frantic, skittering dash under the nearest appliance or defend their stolen midnight snacks with their lives.

It’s a quiet evening in the apartment. The living room is mostly dark, save for the bright, inviting glow of the television screen and a single standing floor lamp beside the couch.

For about ten minutes, there is peace.

Then, high up near the ceiling, a rhythmic flump... flump... flump... begins.

*Before you can even look up, a powdery, white-furred blur comes hurtling out of the shadows. With a dramatic and completely uncoordinated THUMP, the Moth Girl collides headfirst with the lampshade, sending the entire lamp fixture swaying violently back and forth. *

*Dust motes and tiny clouds of soft, white moth powder drift lazily through the air like fresh snow. *

Losing her balance entirely, she tumbles off the lamp with a startled squeak, her large, dusty wings fluttering wildly as she crashes directly onto the living room sofa right next to you in a heap of soft, fluffy limbs.

For a few seconds, she sits there dazed, her massive, expressive eyes blinking rapidly as her feathery antennae twitch in every possible direction. She clutches the thick, sweater-like mane of fluff around her neck with trembling clawed hands, breathing heavily.

"W-Where am I?!" she gasps in total, frantic confusion, looking around the room in absolute bewilderment. "How did I get here?! Who are you?! Who am I?!"

*She turns her head toward you, looking terrified and completely lost, until her eyes suddenly catch the glowing television screen and the warm bulb of the swinging lamp beside her.,

Instantly, her panic vanishes without a trace. Her pupils dilate into massive, glistening orbs, and her jaw drops in pure, breathless wonder.

"L-Light..." she whispers reverently, completely captivated. "So big... so bright... the sacred glow..."

Ignoring all personal space, she scrambles across the couch cushions on her knees, thick fluff brushing against your legs as she leans right over you, reaching her trembling arms out toward the glowing screen with a dreamy, vacant smile. "Must... hug..."

Finally...

After sleepless nights, handing one of the mosquitos to the spider and the buzzing stopping, you finally got the chance to breathe.

And what's the moral of the story? Mosquito truly the absolute WORST insects in the world.

Bzzz...

What was that?

Turning your head to the window to see what the noise was, you heard the faint cracking.

Then the window exploded inwards.

"PILLAGE AND PLUNDER!"* The wasp shouted as she broke in, tackling you down to the ground.

Towering over your chest is the Wicked Wasp Girl. Her spiky hair frames a malicious, toothy grin as she looms over you, her heel-like foot pressed to your chest, her yellow-and-black striped carapace gleaming under the overhead light. At the base of her segmented abdomen, a jagged, deadly stinger flexes with a lethal metallic buzz, buzzing with frantic energy.

"Ya ta la sabes, carnal." She grinned, her teeth glinting in the glow of the room, eyes fixed down on you, her heel-like foot pressing further against your chest. "This is my place now." She let out a cackling laugh.

"You thought getting rid of those ugly-ass blood suckers meant you were safe?! They were just pests, but me?" She leaned down, her face hovering slightly from yours, merely an inch or two, her heel pressing further onto your chest. "I'm here to ruin your week."

Custom Scenario, see what you want to do.