#nine-spotted moth

[libraryofmoths]

Moth of the Week

Nine-Spotted Moth

Amata phegea, formerly Syntomis phegea

The nine-spotted moth or the yellow belted burnet is a moth in the family Erebidae, the family of tiger moths. The species was first described in 1758 by Carl Linnaeus. The moths gets its names from the common nine spots on its wings and the yellow band on the sixth segment of its abdomen.

Description Both the moth’s body and wings are an iridescent blue on black or green on black. The wings usually have eight to nine white spots, six spots on the forewings and two or three spots on the hindwings. However the number and the size of these spots can vary per moth. Finally, the moth’s body has its own yellow spot in the second segment of the abdomen accompanied by a yellow band on the sixth segment. The antennae are thin black wires with white tips, unlike most moths’ antennae which are fluffy or saw edged.

Average wingspan of 37.5 mm (≈1.5 in)

Males are smaller than females and have thicker antennae.

Diet and Habitat The nine-spotted moth caterpillars eat many herbaceous plants such as bedstraws, dandelions, docks, fleaworts, grasses, and other low plants. This species is mainly found in southern Europe but makes appearances in northern Germany, Anatolia, the Caucasus, and the Dutch nature reserves of Leudal and Meinweg. It does not breed in the United Kingdom, but does immigrate there on rare occasions. They prefer drier areas such as open ranges with shrubs and trees, open forests, and sunny slopes.

Mating Adult moths mate in late May to August depending on location. Sources vary as to whether this species has one or three generations a year. Females lay an average of 104 eggs on host plants in groups of up to 61 eggs.

Predators The nine-spotted moth avoids predation by birds due to its mimicry of the Zygaena ephialtes. The Z. ephialtes is a moth unpalatable to birds, so its wings are brightly spotted to warn predators of toxicity. This is called aposematism.

Fun Fact The official term for the nine-spotted moth’s type of antennae is filiform, meaning thread-like. It is the most basic type of insect antennae.

(Source: Wikipedia, Moth Identification, CAB Direct, Amateur Entomologists’ Society)

[whitefangz]

my most favorite moth in the world btw. if you even care

[mintoxhitsuji]

Just one of my favourite moths, the nine-spotted moth, but make them cute colours <3

[a-sadnoodle]

This moth sitting outside my window

[mothandpidgeon]

Nine Lives (witch's familiar!Ezra x witch!f!reader) - Part 1

Moth's Masterlist // follow @mothandpidgeon-updates and turn on notifications to stay updated with my fics!

SERIES MASTERLIST

pairing: witch's familiar!Ezra x witch!f!reader

rating: T (evenual E) MDNI

summary: As you came into your powers and your curves filled in, Ezra realized he feelings for you were more than just affection. The only problem? He's a 300 year old crused witch. Oh, and he's a cat.

contents: age gap (like 300 years), slow burn, yearning, soft!Ezra, probably anachronistic witchy stuff, love triangle (quadrangle?), reader is a millennial but otherwise not described, Ezra is a cat, he won't be forever, this isnt a beastiality thing, moth never uses y/n.

wc: 3.1k

a/n: This one is for all my Thackary Binx girlies. I've had some version of this story in my brain for years now. I'm very excited slash nervous to be sharing it with you!

Thank you @moonlitbirdie and @lowlights for the beta and help with witchy stuff. Thanks @tinytinymenace for suggesting the title and @schnarfer and @whocaresstillthelouvre for listening to me ramble about this.

🐈‍⬛

Connor’s mouth is on you before you can get your key in the door. He’s lucky he’s a good kisser because he spent most of your date talking about his music. You’re lucky you don’t have a guitar because you’re pretty sure he’d serenade you. 

“Sorry. I’ve wanted to do that all night,” he says after you press him back. 

You laugh, triumph blossoming in your chest.

“At least control yourself until we get inside,” you tease. 

You hold his hand as you let yourself in. It’s quiet and dark now save the little reading lamp beside the faded, floral sofa. You’re relieved, maybe nobody’s home. 

“Cool place,” Connor says wandering in behind you. 

He’s taking in the details of your little apartment— a small kitchen tiled in green and an equally cozy living room. The attic ceilings slant with the roofline. There are pressed flowers and astrological charts on the walls, their frames outlined by the vines of overgrown philodendron. You pull him into another kiss so his eyes don’t linger too long on the books on your shelves, before he wonders why the spice rack is full of jars of belladonna and blackthorn instead of garlic and cinnamon. 

He squeezes your hips and your hands lace through his hair. Connor might not be the one but that’s not what you’re looking for. He’s exactly the kind of guy you won’t feel guilty about ghosting. Until then, he’ll be a good lay. 

He’s got his hand up your shirt when you hear your bedroom door squeak on its hinges. Out saunters Ezra, stretching out his long, black body like he’s just woken up. He was probably dozing on his favorite spot in the bay window.

“Hi, Ez,” you say, stepping out of Connor’s arms. Your cheeks heat, feeling like you’ve been caught doing something obscene.

Ezra brushes against your shins, a move that’s more territorial than it is affectionate. 

“Did we wake you?” you ask, scritching him on the white patch between his ears. 

“This your cat?” Connor asks. 

To call Ezra your cat as if you owned him doesn’t feel right. Even calling him a cat seems inaccurate. Ezra’s been your familiar since you were 18, passed down through generations of your family, but he was once a witch in his own right before being cursed to live in this form for 1000 years. 

“That’s Ezra,” you say, sidestepping the question entirely. 

 “Ez, this is Connor.”

“Hi, kitty. Pss pss pss,” Connor tries, crouching down to offer a hand for Ezra to sniff. 

Ezra does no such thing. He merely looks at him disdainfully, then his golden eyes shift to you with a look that says you’ve got to be kidding me. 

“Want a drink?” you ask, pulling Connor’s attention away. 

“Yeah,” he says. He takes off his jacket making himself at home. 

Ezra never approves of any of your dates and he isn’t shy about letting them know it, scratching up their jeans and hiding wallets under the couch. Once he left a hairball in a pair of new sneakers. As much as it drives you insane, you can’t be angry with him. It’s his job to not only be a companion and do your bidding but also to protect you. Now it feels like you’re bringing dates home to your older brother. Your older brother by a few centuries. He was turned sometime before the country existed. 

As you pour two glasses of wine, Connor slips his hands around your waist and his lips graze your neck. You’re already working up incantations for passion, whispering the words to yourself as he kisses down to your shoulder. The one good thing about being a witch is you can mask even the worst sex with a little bit of magic. Not that you have low expectations for Connor. There’s a promising bulge where you grind your ass back into him.

A crash rouses you from your reverie. 

“Ez!” you bark. 

Ezra has swatted Connor’s phone to the floor. He sits on the counter with a mild defiance on his feline face. 

“That’s ok,” Connor says, retrieving it and turning it over. “He didn’t mean it. Right bud?”

You’re not sure that cats can roll their eyes but Ezra does whatever the equivalent is before turning away with his tail raised to give Connor a full view of his asshole. He hops gracefully to the floor and retreats back into the other room. 

“Sorry. He doesn’t really like…people,” you say. 

“That’s ok. As long as you like me,” he says, pulling you back into his body. 

You laugh at him before you let him kiss you.  

—

“Should we go to the bedroom?” you ask. 

You’re straddling Connor’s lap on the sofa. The strap of your black, lace bra dangles off of your shoulder. 

“Huh?” he replies, as if he’s been roused from a trance. “Yeah.”

You chuckle to yourself. His lips are kiss swollen and eyes dazed. There’s a reason why witches are known to be seductive. Mortals can’t resist the magic.

You slide off of his lap and guide him up towards your room. 

Ezra’s sleeping on your pillow, curled into a soft little ball. 

“Wait here,” you tell Connor, depositing him on the edge of your bed. “Let me just—“ 

You scoop Ezra up and he lets out a yowl in displeasure. You take him to the living room, set him on the back of the couch and he blinks up at you, groggy and annoyed. 

“Exiled once again,” he complains, his human voice a silky southern drawl. 

“Just for a couple of hours. Can you stay out here?” you ask, your voice hushed. 

“Have I not suffered enough?”

“Youre right. It’s so terrible.” You roll your eyes.  “I make you sleep on the couch instead of the bed.”

“Two hundred and fifty three years in this feline form—“ he goes on. 

“Keep your voice down,” you hiss. 

“ —And the true curse is listening to you fornicate with a cavalcade of dim witted mortals,” he goes on.

“Did you say something?” Connor asks. 

You whip your head around to find him standing in your doorway.

“Not to you, hun,” you say. With a flick of your finger, he turns on his heel and goes back inside. You’ll have to cast another spell to rid him of any magical memories.

“I live here, too, little mage,” Ezra says. 

“Well, when you start paying rent, we’ll get a two bedroom,” you quip. 

“That little jest never gets old,” he grumbles. 

He leaps down from the couch and heads to the entryway. 

“Where are you going?” you ask, keeping your words as quiet as you can. 

“Leaving you to your debauchery,” Ezra says over his shoulder and he disappears through the flap in the bottom of the front door. 

—

In the morning, you wake up alone. 

Of course, you got rid of Connor as soon as you were sated. He asked to see you again to which you have a noncommittal answer. 

You’d expected Ezra to return, though. He might complain about being kicked out of bed but he knows nobody stays the night. 

“I only sleep with one man and that’s you,” you joke all the time. 

Each night you rest your chin on the top of his head, his warm body pressed back into your chest. It’s hard for you to fall asleep without Ezra purring beside you.

You linger for a while after getting dressed, sitting in the bay window and watching the leaves begin to fall. The apartment feels so empty without Ezra in it. It’s too quiet. That damned cat has two centuries worth of stories and you’ve heard them all ten times. You’re constantly begging him to shut up. Right now, you feel oddly lonely. 

Eventually you decide that waiting around for him is silly. You’ve got to get to work. Fortunately, you only need to venture down the back stairs and you’re there. Your apartment is in the attic of The Arcane Page. 

You let yourself in and you’re immediately hit by the smell of leather bound books, old paper, and the drying herbs Aunt Margot has hanging from the ceiling. The shop is packed so tightly with rows of bookshelves and oddities, it’s almost impossible to tell that this used to be a proper house. What had once been confined to the front rooms grew to take over the kitchen and sun porch, up the stairs to the bedrooms until the whole thing functioned as the store. 

The old Victorian is just off the main street that’s filled with quaint cafes, gift shops, and antique stores. It attracts all sorts— wannabe spiritual types looking for selenite wands, academics in search of rare books, and old ladies drawn in by the lush garden out front. Witches, too. The basement is full of spell books and strange ingredients, off limits to mortals. 

You hear aunt Margot’s jewelry before she comes into sight, Her gold earrings tinkling, bracelets jangling.

“Morning, dear,” she says, without glancing in your direction. She knows you’re coming before you arrive and not just because she can hear you on the back stairs.

She’s behind the counter in one of her regular linen dresses, dark hair streaked with silver falling around her shoulders. She pours from her porcelain tea pot.  

“Has Ez come down here?” you ask, glancing around the bookshelves to all of his favorite hiding spots. 

“No?” she says. She pushes one of the cups your way. Delicate and decorated with spell work, the scent of assam wafts up to your nostrils. “Percy, have you seen your friend Ezra?”

A little white mouse appears on the counter, paws clutching one of Margot’s rings. He scrunches up his pink nose at the suggestion he’s a friend of Ezra. Margot’s familiar has never gotten along with him. Despite the fact that one of them is a demon and the other is a cursed witch, the old cat versus mouse thing is somehow universal. Ezra’s threatened to eat Percival a hundred times, sometimes leaving dead chipmunks and mice at the threshold of the bookstore just to amuse himself. 

Percy shakes his head haughtily and then wraps his body around Margot’s steaming teacup. 

“He’s mad at me,” you sigh. 

“How come?” she asks, an eyebrow arched curiously. 

“I had company last night.” You put the cup to your lips as soon as the words leave you. 

“Let me guess. Another mortal.” Margot rolls her dark-lined eyes. She leans on the counter and sips her tea. 

You just shrug. 

“Then I don’t blame him,” she says. 

“It’s not the ‘50s. I can date a mortal. Didn’t you read Harry Potter?” you ask, knowing it’ll get a rise out of her. 

“You millennial witches and Harry fucking Potter. 

A mortal—“

“Killed my great great great great grandmother. I know,” you say. As if you haven’t had that fact drummed into you since you were old enough to walk. You decide not to mention how hypocritical it is that Margot dislikes mortals when she’ll happily take their money. It’s not worth it. The two of you have had this argument a hundred times. 

“I like mortals. They’re uncomplicated,” you tell her. 

“Uncomplicated? They’re boring.” She sets down her tea cup. “Have you ever been with another witch?”

Your cheeks heat at the question. Not because she’s your aunt. You’d tell her just about anything and, considering the fact that she raised you, she knows pretty much all there is about you. You’ve had plenty of sex but you’ve never done it with a witch, a fact that makes you feel like a virgin all over again. It’s not for lack of trying. There’s just not a whole lot of hot, single witches in your area. And while you’ve talked about going somewhere where the witches are in excess— Salem, New Orleans, Portland— you’ve always found some reason to stay in the Catskills screwing mortals. 

Luckily, you don’t have to answer Aunt Margot’s question because Percy squeaks and she says, “I know but she won’t.” Then she turns her attention to you and translates, “Percy says you ought to just summon Ezra.”

You frown at him. You could. A simple spell would compel Ezra to return to you but you can never bring yourself to cast it. Maybe if he were just an ordinary familiar, not a witch with his own desires, you might feel more comfortable using magic on him like that, but he has so little of his own. The least you can give him is the freedom to be alone if that’s what he wants. 

“You spoil him,” she tells you. Sometimes you’re not sure if Margot can read your thoughts or if she just knows you well. “He’s your familiar not your roommate.”

You finish your tea and put the cup down on its saucer. 

“You know what? I’m going to shelve some books downstairs,” you say. 

“Oh would you look at that,” Margot says, peering into your empty cup with amusement on her lips. “Maybe there is a witch in your future after all.”

She holds the teacup out for you to see the wet leaves have formed a clump in the shape of a heart. 

—

Ezra’s limping by the time he returns home. The sun has already begun to dip below the trees, painting the sky autumnal shades of purple and orange. Though he resents the idea he’s turned into a house cat, he’d much rather spend the night on the couch than have to do another in the damn woods. No matter how much it hurts. 

“Where the hell have you been?” you ask when he slips back through the cat door. 

You’re immediately kneeling beside him, concern cutting your pretty features. Shame settles between his shoulders. As your familiar, he has no right to disappear for an entire day. He almost wishes you’d punish him— dunk him in an ice bath or beat him with a hair brush like some of his old masters had— but he knows you won’t. You’re too good to him. That’s where he went wrong and fell in love with you. 

It happened slowly. You treated him more like a pet than a servant. From the very beginning, you let him sleep in your bed, drifting off to sleep as you stroked his belly. Sometimes he thought you were the one purring. You talked to him.  Not just about magic but you shared your entire life with him. No witch had trusted him, called him a friend in all the time since he’d been cursed, not until you. 

As you came into your powers and your curves filled in, Ezra realized this was more than just affection. You were beautiful and bold. And he couldn’t do anything about it. 

You’re off limits in every way. In human years, you’re not young but you’re practically a child compared to his 300 years. The bond between witch and familiar is sacred, a line even a witch as forward thinking as you would never dare to cross. And, of course, there’s the little matter of his being a cat. 

“I was getting really worried,” you say. 

“You requested solitude,” he responds. 

You sigh and pick him up, setting him on the counter. 

“You hurt your leg,” you tutt, taking his paw in your hand so you can examine his injury. 

He spent the night prowling the forest, anything to save himself the agony of hearing you with that mortal. In this self pity, he’d picked a fight with one of the feral tomcats that lives in the old graveyard. 

“This is why I don’t like it when you stay out all night,” you chide as you disappear into the bathroom. “Those cats are vicious.”

You return with a small jar of healing ointment you brewed specially for him.  

“I’ve walked this earth a cat longer than those mangey beasts. Longer than I was human,” he says. 

You begin by cleaning the cut, his fur now matted with blood and leaves. Your touch isn’t unfamiliar to Ezra yet he still wonders what it would be like to feel your skin, the softness of your cheek and plush thigh without a layer of fur in between. To hold your hand with one of his own. 

“I’m sorry I kicked you out last night. You’re right. You live here too. And I know you don’t like mortals,” you say, as you clean his wound. 

He’s let you believe that that’s why he’s so petulant when you bring your suitors around. Mortals have never been his cup of tea but he absolutely despises the ones that you bed, humans that have no business being with any witch let alone one like you. 

“They’re below you. You deserve a proper witch,” Ezra says. 

That’s a far more painful reality. Even if he were in the running, which he never will be, There are thousands of witches more worthy of you. One day you’ll find one and Ezra will watch you fall in love. With someone else. He’ll stay the same just as he has all these years, and be your loyal familiar even as you inevitably share less with him. He’ll watch you age and fade. Eventually, he’ll lose you entirely. Perhaps you’ll have a daughter that will take him on as her familiar but he can’t imagine caring for any other witch half as much as he loves you. 

“Come on. You act like you never seduced a mortal,” you say. 

The peppermint oil of the ointment tingles on his tender leg. 

“There was an art to such things in my time. One had to concert more effort than opening an app,” Ezra says. 

You smirk as you finish bandaging him. 

“I got you something. To make up for it,” you say when you’re finished. 

You glance towards the coffee table, a cheeky smile playing on your lips. Ezra follows your gaze to find a tray of take out sashimi waiting there. His stomach growls. Perhaps he is a house cat. He’d forgotten to catch himself dinner.

You bring him over and lift the plastic lid off of the container and Ezra sniffs at the glistening fish. It smells glorious.  

He wishes he deserved you. You know what he is, what he did to be convicted of such a harsh curse and yet you care for him like no other witch has. 

He swallows down the lump in his throat. 

“Is this tuna belly?” he asks. 

“Your favorite.”  

“I suppose I could find it in my heart to forgive you,” Ezra says though you’ve done nothing wrong. 

You scoop him off of the table, cradling him like a baby. 

“Easy on the wound, little mage,” he complains but secretly his heart swells. 

You laugh and kiss the white patch on his brow. 

“I love you, Ez.”

🐈‍⬛

Part 2

I'd love to hear from you! Don't be shy!

[krysalla]

hide me from the cleaver, i'll hang with you forever! - i

thomas hewitt x fat f!reader

word count: 5.4k

read on ao3

warnings: 18+ MDNI, blood, violence, gore, murder, kidnapping, drugging, body horror

Tommy has been lonely for so long. He's ready to settle down.

You startle awake and you can’t move. Your limbs are locked up, unwilling to comply with any thought or demand that they move, they stay glued to your sides while you try to fight yourself into full consciousness. All you can do is look ahead, up into the vast darkness of this room, and will yourself not to cry. You don’t know what’s going on. You don’t remember checking into a motel, the last thing you remember was the bright sun filtering the the van’s windows, lulling you into an uneasy sleep while your friends chatted amongst themselves toward the front of the van, the feeling of sweat pooling in the creases of your body and soaking your shirt and hair.

This bed is unfamiliar and not a motel bed. The sheets don’t have the starchy smell and stiffness that they would if you were in a motel. It’s a private home. If you were in a hospital, there would be more noise and light. You’d rather be in a hospital.

Whoever put you here, they tucked you into bed like a child with the sheets snug under the outline of your body and a soft pillow under your head. Maybe a good samaritan? Maybe it was a car accident and being out in the middle of nowhere, the nearest hospital must be at least an hour’s drive away. No, that still doesn’t make sense. You try not to cry, but as you keep coming up with ideas about why you’re here nothing clicks in your memory. You whine out in frustration. The how isn’t important, not when you can’t move.

You take a deep breath through your nose and exhale through your mouth, trying to relax so you can jump start your limbs into working again. Your mouth is dry and the taste of your last meal is hot on your breath–a pre-packaged pastry and gas station coffee. Your stomach grumbles. Whatever happened, it happened before you and your friends stopped off for lunch. The room is pitch black so it must be well past nine at night. If you can still taste your breakfast, it must be the same day or at least the early hours of the next day. Pinpointing a timeline makes you feel a little better about your situation.

Your hand flexes and finally you’re able to push yourself up. You rip the blanket off of you and your arms and chest scream out at you. You’re not wearing your clothes. You were wearing a loose shirt and a pair of cut offs. Someone stuffed you into a dress that is at least two sizes too small for you. You feel across your chest, the neckline is low, maybe not for the person it was intended for, but on you it is, you are spilling out everywhere. The sleeves cut into your upper arms and constrain the breadth of your shoulders, the fabric stretches tight over your wide hips and soft stomach, the buttons holding the front of the dress closed are straining against all of you, creating gaps between the edges of the fabric. Whoever dressed you removed your undergarments too, probably to make it easier to squeeze you into this horrendous dress. Your first instincts are your friends, this wouldn’t be the first time they’ve pulled a trick on you, but this feels needlessly cruel, even for them, to strip you down while you’re sleeping.

Your friends–where are they?

There’s no one else in this room, you can’t hear any breathing but your own. You get off the bed and on shaky legs wander blindly in the dark until you see the small strip of light coming from under a door and stagger toward it like a moth to a flame, this will lead you out of here, get you the answers you need. You pull the door open and hiss at the bright, sickly yellow that floods the room. You blink, waiting for the spots dancing across your vision to fade away. The hallway is dilapidated and filthy. The walls are yellow too, it’s not from paint but years worth of smoke build up. You tiptoe through the hallway, trying your best to keep quiet, but the old floorboards creak under your weight.

You get a better look at what you're wearing. The dress is old and well loved but you are ruining it. Your stomach and hips bulge against the fabric and the skirt was supposed to be loose but it’s swallowed up by your thighs and ass. You can barely make a full step.

You pass by three more doors, two of them to your left and one to your right, before you find the staircase.

A woman wails from somewhere downstairs.

You follow the voices even though your gut is telling you not to. The stairs don’t creak under your weight, deceptive given the looks of them. No, you move silently through the house, every sound drowned out by the woman crying frantically. Nothing can be heard over her, not the shifts of the wood floors or the stretching and ripping of the dress you’re wearing. One of the buttons pops and hits the wall. 

The front door looks so inviting, it’s the best idea. You don’t know where you are, you’re wearing a stranger's clothes, you have no idea how you came here and there’s a woman howling. This is not a safe place, you need to leave but you can’t. No matter how hard you will yourself to grab the doorknob and slip out unnoticed, you can’t. That could be one of your friends–either Anna or Lucy–and you wouldn’t be able to live with yourself if you left them here. You close your eyes and head towards the chaos you know is waiting for you.

As you get closer, you can distinguish the voices clearly. It’s Anna. Her usual soft tone becomes shriller and more agitated with each passing second, with each step you take. She’s cursing and threatening. A man is yelling now, a woman too. Both sound older. A dog barks.

You peek your head around the corner. 

Anna is tied to a chair with thick ropes. Her red hair, her pride and joy, is a mess, tangled like someone had run their hands through it and tried to yank it out by the roots. She fights and tugs at the ropes, rocking the chair with her, a wild look in her eye, the kind you see in a wild animal that’s been cornered and has no other option than to bare its teeth and fight. Around her is a family, you think. An older man stands at the head of the table, holding onto the back of the chair. He looks bored. Another man is in a wheelchair with a small, mangy dog in his lap. A woman sits next to the man in the wheelchair. The table is covered by a lacy tablecloth and set up for a big dinner. The evening meal sits, ready to be served. There are five place settings. You only count four people.

The bored man shouts, “Tommy, get in here and shut ‘er up already.”

There’s number five.

A man lumbers out from the other entrance to the dining room and your mouth dries. He’s huge. You’ve never seen a man that size before. His presence captures your attention, stealing you away from your concern for your friend who is clearly in big fucking trouble. Something isn’t right about his face. It looks off, loose around his eyes and mouth, like there’s too much skin and it can’t hold itself up anymore. He looks so familiar.

“You stay the fuck away from me, you fucking freak!” Anna yells before breaking back down hysterical tears. You hear an electric humming. Then comes the roar. The man–Tommy–has a chainsaw and he wields it without a problem, like the beast of a machine weighs nothing at all to him. You finally take a step into the doorway.

Red everywhere. There’s no hiding from the blood and carnage. Anna is convulsing to the rhythm of the chainsaw ripping through her chest. Tommy rears the chainsaw back and forth out of her body. Blood splatters everywhere, the rubbery bits of her flesh sticking to every surface and splashing into the pot on the table. Her bones crunch and crack in a sickening symphony. You can’t connect this brutality with the domestic setting around you. A family dinner all served up on the table with a frilly tablecloth to protect the wooden table. 

You clamp your hands over your mouth. You don’t want to watch this carnage but you can’t move. You’re stuck and you see Anna’s head loll around on her neck until she looks up at you, and you can hardly believe that she is still alive. Her eyes light up, it’s dim but you can see her register you, and she attempts to speak. Her words are garbled and wet, tongue too coated with blood to get her words out properly. The chainsaw pushes all the way through her chest again. Her jaw goes slack and her eyes wide in agony. The chainsaw pulls back. A death rattle, her final breath. Her head drops.

The man, the one who was yelling, cackles and smiles something awful while he reaches out and grabs onto her red hair and pulls her head up to face him. He spits on her face. It’s brown from chewing tobacco. “Ain’t so pretty now, you stupid bitch, huh?”

“Hoyt, watch your language!” the older woman admonishes. 

“Now, Mama,” the man lets go of Anna’s hair and straightens up. “Worse things been done at this table than a lil’ bit a swearin’.”

The mangy mutt on the still nameless man’s lap growls at you. Everyone looks up at you.

The man–Hoyt–settles a hand on his hip and looks at the behemoth that carved up Anna. He snorts, “Seems your sleeping beauty woke up, boy.”

Tommy looks up at you and you realize why he looks so familiar. That’s not his face. That’s David, Lucy’s boyfriend. He cut off his face and is wearing it like a mask. You notice the blood around his eyes and on his neck. It’s fresh. David and Anna are dead. Lucy and Bobby’s fates unknown, but you know what yours will be.

You scream.

The man stomps toward you but you dodge him, running toward the door and blessedly, it’s unlocked. You throw it open and bound down the front steps. The moon is full tonight, casting enough light to help you find your way, but that means he can see you too. You can hear him behind you, his hulking weight racing after you and his heavy breaths pounding like a drum in your ear. He’s so close, all he has to do is reach out a hand and grab you by the back of the neck. You duck and weave between the laundry hung up on the line, hoping he will get confused and lose you in the chaos.

You veer left and head towards the thicket of trees. A dirt road runs perpendicular to it. You can lose him through there and follow the dirt road to a paved one. Maybe a semi truck will roll through or a farmer with a truck or anyone. Anyone would be better than this bloodthirsty family you’ve encountered.

You run as fast and as long as you can, but you are not built for it. Your knees and ankles ache, the bottom two buttons on the dress have popped and given you more room to move but only expose you more. You burn in humiliation and anger. 

Tommy seems to have disappeared. You thought it would be a relief, but it’s not, he could be anywhere, he has the home field advantage. He knows the roads better than you, probably knows the woods too. Each sound, no matter how soft it is, has your head swiveling around on your neck, looking for the ever present threat of him, the glint of the blade glowing in the night. Blood rushes to your ears. You have to get out of here. You need to get to the police and tell them what kind of freaks are living out here. Are you the first to encounter them? The ease with which they orchestrated and witnessed the carnage of Anna’s death tells you no. That beast’s mask–David’s face–the work around the eyes and mouth and nose, all those delicate features, it was carved clean. That is not the first face he’s worn.

What do you know? You are in Texas. Somewhere between Austin and Odessa. David and Anna are dead, Lucy and Bobby are missing and most likely dead. It’s the dead of night. Which way is west? You have no landmarks to point you in the right direction, at least back home you have the mountains, and you have no idea how to find the north star. 

There–the road lies just ahead of you.

You miss the shards of glass on the shoulder of the road. It digs into the flesh of your foot and you wail in pain as it hits bone. You crumple to the ground and hold onto your foot.

He makes his appearance. He breaks through the treeline, shoulder heaving with his heavy breaths, eyes shining in the dark as he stalks closer to you. This is it. You get on your knees and hold yourself up with your hands, trying to push up, but the second you dare put any weight on your foot, your leg gives out. You yell, deep from your chest and swing your head up to look at him. He walks slowly and it makes you angry. He’s playing with his food and you just want this over with. You’re done, there’s nothing left for you to do.

“C’mon, hurry up! I don’t have all day,” you spit out at him.

He dangles the chainsaw in your face when he stops in front of you. You gag at the stench of iron and sight of chunks of Anna still stuck in the chain. He tilts the weapon and presses your chin up with the flat side, smearing her blood over your face as he examines you. You can hear the low hum of the engine. He stares at you from behind his mask. His eyes are dark and wide. He adjusts his grip on the chainsaw and shifts his weight. You don’t lose eye contact with him. You will not be the one to break or bend. If he wants you dead, he will look you in the eye while he plunges that monster through your chest. You are going to meet your fate and he will have to watch you die, you won’t let him take the cowardly way out like he did with Anna.

It’s hard for someone to make you feel small. Even if they were taller than you, odds are you were wider, but beneath him, you feel minuscule. He’s barrel chested, shoulders wide and arms bulging with muscles. Everything about him radiates strength and power. You clench your jaw and swallow.

You reach out and grab the saw, bringing the tip right to the center of your chest. You’re aware of the image and if you had been watching this interaction from the sidelines, you’d laugh at the implications of this. You, with your large chest spilling out from the fabric of your dress, on your knees while he towers over you with a weapon that is no doubt phallic pointed right at you. How pornographic. You grab the saw again, fingers slipping against the wet metal to press it harder against you.

“C’mon! Kill me already!” you shout. This show of bravery is a farce. You are terrified. If you thought begging or pleading would save you, you would. But no, you see that no amount of messy pleading and placations will save you. It didn’t save Anna. No human could take a life in that manner and be weakened by bargaining. 

His eyes flash up to you. The skin of his mask distorted and warped from the heat and his own sweat. The nose collapses in on itself. You offer yourself up to him on a silver platter and he won’t make a move. 

“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon…” You grit your teeth and push yourself into the saw. His hand wavers.

The deafening roar never comes. The engine cuts off and the buzzing stops. He drops the chainsaw and instead reaches out to touch you. He cups your face and whines. You drop your jaw at the utterly pathetic noise you just heard come out of the behemoth. He takes that as an invitation and shoves his thick fingers into your mouth. You gag at the intrusion and taste of him—blood and grime and sweat. His other hand presses your top lip up. Under his scrutiny, you feel like a show pig being judged. Maybe you’ll win a prize. Whatever he sees, he nods and pulls his fingers from your mouth, a strand of your spit connecting him to you until it breaks. He wipes his fingers on his dirty cargo pants.

He hauls you up onto your feet, not paying any mind the blows you land on his chest. He ducks and wraps an arm around your thick waist and without much hassle lifts you over his shoulder, he bounces once to get himself comfortable with the weight of you and then picks up the chainsaw and walks you back to the dirt road, back to the house of horrors. You can’t even fight him, too stunned at the display of strength. You haven’t been picked up since you were a little girl.

You go quietly with him. You have no energy left to expend now that the adrenaline has left your system.

It’s only a few minutes before the house comes back into view. The woman and Hoyt wait for your arrival on the front porch, backlit by the patio lights. They follow him in the door, the woman clucking over you, her hands skating over your face as Tommy takes you deeper into the house.

“Now, Tommy, you couldn’t find anything better to fit her? She looks like a hussy in that thing.”

He grunts in reply. Another fact to add to what you know: he is the one who dressed you and presumably the one who tucked you into that bed upstairs. But why? Why would he do that when he slaughtered the others? Why treat you with the kindness of tucking you into bed while Anna was tied up with rope and David’s face skinned from his head. The fifth setting at the dinner table. You didn’t understand why they would set it for someone destined to die. It wasn’t for Anna, the place at the table was for you. He intends to keep you.

He grabs your injured foot and spins around to show it to the woman who clicks her tongue at the sight.

“Set her on the couch, I’ll make some tea.”

He deposits you on the couch and stands behind you. Hoyt settles himself across from you with a sly smile and his arms crossed over his chest. He licks his lips as he devours the disheveled sight of you. You close your legs tight and hold your hands on your lap, hoping to block his view.

“Mhm, Tommy, think I get why you chose this broad outta all of them. Looks sweet as pie, wonder if she tastes as sweet as she looks.”

Tommy grabs your shoulder in what you assume is a protective manner. You can’t see what he does behind you, but whatever it is, it’s enough to get that man to stop looking at you like that.

“Hoyt, ain’t you got your own girl to entertain?” the woman asks as she reappears from the kitchen with a tray in her hand that holds a tea cup and some first aid supplies. Lucy. That must be Lucy that they are talking about.

“She don’t seem as fun as this one.”

“Leave Tommy’s girl alone. My boy deserves something nice and you ain’t gonna get in the way of that.”

He huffs and rolls his eyes, arms falling back to his side as he levels the woman with a glare. “Fine.”

Hoyt leaves and the grip on your shoulder relaxes.

“Tommy, go get a blanket for her.” She sets her supplies out on the coffee table and sits across from you on it. She smiles at you, not unkindly but you can see that sharpness in her eyes, she doesn’t trust you, thinks you’re an intrusion. The skin on her hands is thin, veins dark blue and protruding, and covered with spots. Her fingers are knobbly. She grabs your right ankle and pulls your injured foot into her lap. She looks back up behind you. “Tommy,” she says sternly. 

You hear him walk away. 

“He’s a good boy. Just wants to make sure you’re alright.” She examines your foot and picks up a pair of tweezers. “You got yourself good here. I’ll be quick about it.”

The glass slides out with a little maneuvering and you bite your lip to keep from crying out. The woman’s eyes crinkle behind her glasses. She pulls out another piece of glass slowly, watching your reaction to it. She likes this. 

A quilt is thrown over your lap and you rush to cover your body with it. 

“She’ll be fine, quit your hovering. I’m tryna work here.”

Tommy makes a disquieted noise. 

The last piece of glass comes out, the one that reached bone and you can’t stop yourself. You whine and bury your face in the blanket. Tommy has his hands on your shoulders again, thumbs rubbing circles into you. 

“There we go. Just gotta get you cleaned up.” She goes to work on cleaning out the wound and wrapping it up. 

You whimper and push yourself further into the corner of the couch. Tommy leans over you, gazing down at you with a soft look. He has brown eyes. Dried blood cracks around the corners of his eyes, you can’t see his lips through the mask but you know he’s smiling.

“Oh hush now, it’s all done now.” She pats your ankle. “Have some tea—It’ll help settle your nerves.”

“I don’t want tea.”

She narrows her eyes at you and reaches across the empty space between you and grabs your chin, fingers digging into the fat of your cheeks. “I won’t take no lip from you, missy. Drink the tea. Ain’t a request, understand?” She shoves your head to the side when she lets go. 

“Okay.”

She harrumphs and passes the tea cup to you. You don’t want to think about what she may have put in here. You chug it down. You hand the teacup back. It was a mistake to down it all in one go. You can’t think straight and your body feels heavy. Maybe it’s arsenic. That would be a cleaner way to go.

“Good girl,” she croons. She looks up past you. “Take her to bed.”

You’re in the air again, swinging in his grip as he takes you back upstairs and back into the bed you woke up in. He tucks you in beneath blankets and fluffs your pillow for you. If this was anyone else, you’d think the action was sweet, loving but it’s not, it’s him, the man who murdered your friend. When he’s content that you are comfortable enough, he sits on the edge of the bed, springs creaking under his weight, and he cups your cheek. You blink tears from your eyes and he wipes them away. 

“What are you going to do to me?” you ask. 

He peers at you through David’s face and leans down to kiss your forehead. You feel his lips part the hole he made of David’s mouth. He kisses you chastely like a parent does a child when they have a nightmare. 

You can’t fight the wave of exhaustion and the sedative weighing you down. It would be easier for him and better for you if he killed you in your sleep. It’s a reassuring thought that this ordeal will be over when you close your eyes. You let your dreams take you. 

-

The heat’s much worse in the backseat of the van. You feel more like cargo than a human back here, sitting amongst all the suitcases that didn’t fit in the trunk. You’re by yourself back here, all your friends sit in the front of the van, leaning over each other and chattering away with one another while you sit forgotten with their luggage. It’s all so on the nose that if you weren’t in this situation, you’d be laughing. Physical proof of where you stand in relation to everyone else.

You started to notice it more and more, how separated you are from the other five. It never bothered you much as a kid, just happy to be included by anyone, no matter if it was just the scraps of a friendship. Better to be the doormat than alone. But you’re older now and it’s starting to take its toll. It’s always been there, lurking, the doubt of their love for you, that is nowhere near the same level you gave to them. Time and age have given you a little perspective and you’re just so tired of carrying it all around.

One last trip.

You pluck at the fabric of your shirt, hoping for a little relief from the heat and your own sweat. The air conditioning doesn’t reach back here. Anna and her boyfriend, David, in the front seat don’t even bother to open the windows. They are perfectly comfortable with the steady stream of cool air hitting them directly. You shift in your seat and feel the back of your legs peel away from the leather and can feel the sweat gathering beneath your thighs,on the back of your knees, in the crease of your inner elbow from how you have your arms folded close to your torso.

Lucy and Bobby play a card game and flirt good naturedly, nothing will come from it, they’ve been playing this game since they were fifteen.

David curses and hits the steering wheel. “Almost out of gas.”

-

You’re alone again when you wake. You’re devastated that you woke up. You curl onto your side and cry until you have nothing left to give. Your eyes are swollen and lips irritated from your dry heaving, but when the tears run out you wipe your eyes and nose and fix yourself straight. There’s no use in crying. Crying won’t find you a way out. Lucy and Bobby are still out there. You have to find them.

The room is bathed in sunlight and you get your first real look around. There’s sparse furniture: the bed, a side table and a set of tall drawers. The wallpaper, a peach floral pattern, is water damaged and peeling. It’s a small room, maybe what was a guest room. On the dresser is a stack of folded clothing. 

You rush out of bed, limping on your bad foot, desperate to change out of the dress. The clothes are yours. They were in your suitcase. They have your things. You hurry out of the dress, the rest of the buttons popping off in your urgency. There’s indents all over your body from the tight fabric and you try your best to soothe them before you dress. It’s the most modest outfit that you packed—a pair of jeans and a long sleeve blouse along with your undergarments.

You stand by the door, listening for any signs of life on the other side. Nothing. The house is deathly silent. You pull the door open with care not to let the hinges squeak.

There’s only four other rooms upstairs that she could be in. The one at the end of the hall, the one you didn’t notice the night before, is a bathroom. You peek through the next two doors, both empty save for some furnishing. This last one must be her. You hear the light shuffling of sheets through the door and a weary moan.

Lucy is bound and gagged on a four poster bed with gauzy curtains hanging around her, her arms pulled apart in a spreader bar and her feet tied to the bedpost with the same thick rope they used on Anna. Her clothes are ripped to shreds and bloodied. She’s covered in cuts and bruises and her lips are cracked and there’s a chunk of hair missing close to her hairline. You can’t help but feel lucky. Her and Anna have gotten the worst treatment of the three of you, you’ve barely come out with a scratch, the only real injury you have was one of your own making. It strikes you then that Hoyt may be more dangerous than Tommy with his lecherous stares and bloodthirsty smile.

You lean over her and cup her cheeks. “Lucy! Wake up. Gonna get you outta here.”

She stirs.

“Dumpling? Thought they got you for sure. First one that got hauled away…” she slurs and drops out of consciousness.

“No, no.” You pat her face and she still doesn’t respond. You hope she’ll be able to forgive you. You slap her across her cheek, leaving a stinging, red mark in the shape of your hand. She jolts awake, laughing and crying at the same time. “Lucy, stop. They’re gonna come up here.”

She takes no heed, only attempts to kick her legs out and wrestle her way out of the spreader bar. She manages to shift the bed across the floor by an eighth of an inch in her efforts. You can’t hear over her laughter, they could be coming up the stairs right now and you’d never know and you’d lose the opportunity to escape. Tommy had too much faith in you not to try running again or the old woman didn’t add enough sleeping pills to her tea, probably used to dosing up women who are half your size. You cover her mouth with your hand and use your other to pull the cuff loose.

The door bursts open as she bites down on the flesh of your hand and you cry out in pain. She uses such force that she breaks skin. Heavy steps make their way to you. Tommy is by your side, picking your hand up to examine, whining when he sees the damage done to you. He isn’t wearing the full mask, just a half one that covers the lower half of his face in dark brown leather. You can see scarring peek over the edges of his mask and across his forehead. His dark hair hangs limply around his shoulders. Tommy looks down at the floor, cheeks gone ruddy under your examination. 

You notice the cleaver at the same time she does. It glints, casting spots of light along the walls of the room from how his hand shakes around it.

“Look what you did! You stupid, fat cow!” Lucy’s voice pitches up in fear as she spews venom at you, blaming you for her own actions. You could have saved her but she wouldn’t listen to you. 

His head whips to the side, looking down at Lucy with narrowed eyes, shoulders stiff as he tests the weight of the cleaver in his right hand. He reeks of blood and body odor.

She doesn’t stop her insults, the same things you’ve heard for years and you walk backward away from her, cradling your hand to your chest, trying to stop the bleeding. His free hand holds onto your shoulder, squeezing twice before gently nudging you to the side.

You hear scurrying steps and out from behind him comes Hoyt. “Aw, now look what your bitch did!” 

“What? You’re gonna stand here with these inbred fucks!” she yowls and arches her body off the bed. “Of course the only man that would even touch you would be a freak.”

Tommy takes four quick steps to the bed and raises the cleaver above his head and with one smooth swing and a terrible wail, plants the blade into her skull. He pulls it out with a sickening crunch, but Lucy still hasn’t given up on life, she hangs on by a thread. Her eye is popped and deflated, liquid oozing out of the socket, her insults turning into unfettered rambling. You vomit. He huffs in satisfaction, letting her writhe around on the bed a little more while Hoyt curses and shouts. The blade comes down once more and ends Lucy’s slurred speech. 

[peachetteprice]

Born For It | Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Enter: Rich-boy!Gaz who was never born into wealth, but rather, born for it.

Thankfully, his blagging skills were never subpar, as convincing the wealthiest blonde bimbo at a conference in Fort Lauderdale would have proved tricky had he not mastered the art of running his delicious mouth. It was, in his own words, piss-easy to convince the woman he was 'in love with' that he was, in fact, a very well-off, well-known auditor for numerous major tech companies, and he was, additionally, all too talented at forging the paperwork for a 2024 Kia Stonic in cerulean blue – that certainly did not cost him a month's worth of groceries to rent for two weeks – to prove that it was truly all his. And, goodness, thank the creator that his father was so devoted to owning three gorgeous, pin-striped Italian suits before he passed, otherwise he would have nothing prim and proper to wear on their first, second, third, fourth, and fifth dates! Well, before he devoured her on her velvet couch and stole her hand in marriage, of course.

Naturally, he takes to the role of pompous, spoilt, entitled husband like a moth to a flame, as he has an inordinate ability to stretch the truth with his long Ralph Lauren fleeces tucked at the elbows, VVS diamond-studded watches, and tinted Versace sunglasses.

Oh, but don't be fooled by the crass social act: the man knows a con artist when he sees one.

He doesn't spend long at the country club with a glass of red in hand, talking to Brian and James and Marcus and their wives Tiffany, Tiffany 2, and Tiffany 2.5, respectively, about the recent tax evasion scandal from Johnsons and Co. (and how they all might do it better without getting caught) before he spots you across the outdoor pool on a sun chair: the young, recently wed beauty with ample time left on your wrist to be doing anything with your life other than seduce poor, geriatric, twice-divorcée, once-widowed, thrice-Viagra'd Mr. Shepherd – or, more crucially – the vast riches he carries in those flabby jowls of his, just ripe enough for the taking as soon as that weak heart of his drops him dead in the shower on a cold Tuesday morning, months later.

It's a shame, really, that the old dog didn't put his conversation skills into the will, because it takes Kyle no more than three minutes of ogling to read the smudged guilt and lost desire on your face, and poses, to you, over a kiss on the knuckles and a well-timed whisper into your ear, the question of joining him one day for lunch in his large, supersized, monstrous mansion that hardly gets used by his married-to-her-work-first wife who, herself, would never think of Kyle wishing to screw another woman on the weekends to entertain himself in such a lonely... drab... suburb.

It does perplex you a little a first, especially when you aren't certain why he wants you of all the women at the country club, when every wife, waitress and pool girl would burst open their bras and dangle their naked breasts in his face at just a chance of that silver tongue on their bodies, because he's simply that irresistible.

Not only because he knows your golden secret to greed, and has been known to – again – run that scrumptious mouth of his to anyone he can throw under the bus for another grand or two, but because it's clear to anyone that dear-old Shepherd's cock does nothing for a pretty pussy like yours, and you desperately need to cream over his thick, severing, thigh-splitting one until you cum, to make up for all the flab he wiggles in and around your folds at nine in the evening before he conks out in his silk pyjamas – he has to wake up early to catch the morning run of his favourite radio show, don't you remember?

Though, you do agree that he is irresistible. In fact, you have to.

And you wouldn't tell on Kyle even if you could, even if he didn't have his wife's lawyer on speed-dial, due to that legally-binding, twenty-three page contract locked within a safe in your makeup drawer which clearly states that anything of yours from the inheritence – whenever your old biddie shoots the gun, kicks the bucket or collects his final paycheck, that is – is automatically his, too, as well as the properties in Toulouse, the estate in Dubai, the stocks and shares in Google and Facebook that only ever seem to be going up... oh, and that divine cunt of yours he laps up like a starved dog whenever his wife is away.

| Masterlist |

[willowedspirits]

Soul Bound

Words: 3,116

Chain References

---

The sight of home was always a welcome one.

Entering the city’s gates was enough to help Legend relax under the circumstances—the dewy smell, the patrolling sentries, the snobs, the rain. Being in more familiar terrain took a great weight off his shoulders.

He could almost forget about the band of stray bugs following him if it weren’t for the awkward stares the late-night city dwellers sent his way.

“My shop is in the lower region, closer to the streets. I shouldn’t be long. Just need to grab a few things for our...” Legend paused, looking for the right word, “Journey.” He settled with. Honest truth, he was excited to venture further into Hallownest’s caverns. Not that anyone but him needed to know. But if he was going to be parading around with a bunch of strangers, he wanted to at least have a decent nail.

He wouldn’t say his shop was the finest in the city. The upper capital indeed had competitors, but Legend prided himself on the standards he held for his business.

He was lucky to have bought it when the old landlord was selling for any geo they could get their claws on. It was an old building at the bottom of the capital with creaky doors, and a cracking ceiling constantly covering his products in dust.

But it was home.

“With how important this business you allude to is, you’d assume it would take up more space.” The bee remarked while examining the small structure fronting the empty street.

Legend scoffed, “You try finding prime real estate in the middle of all this foot traffic.”

Warriors laughed, a harsh buzzing sound.

Legend’s claw lingered on the door, glancing back at the large group that definitely would not fit comfortably inside, “To your point, though, the nine of us will not fit. Especially not the giants back there.”

Twilight didn’t respond. Time didn’t seem to care. “We will wait out here then,” he said simply, his tone flat.

Warriors hummed, “I can assure you we aren’t looking for souvenirs anyway.” It sounded like a joke, so Legend chose to interpret it as such.

The little dragonfly, Wind, was not too happy, “What?! But I wanna see! Why did we come all this way just to end up standing out here in the gutter?” His little wings twitched in irritation.

“Why don’t we go see what Twilight’s looking at instead?” Sky negotiated.

The mantis had slowly migrated away from the group, examining the Lumafly fluttering in a street lamp down the path. Wind paused to watch him and scoffed but followed the moth’s lead as he started walking away. Wind could honestly come inside if he wanted. Him and the caterpillar, Four.

They probably wouldn’t even reach the table tops with how small they were.

Legend sighed, hoping he wouldn’t regret bringing them here, and finally opened the door.

“I’m back!” He shouted once the door closed behind him, surprised to get no response; he rarely returned to an empty home. Ravio must be out, meaning Sheerow was also gone.

Odd, but not unheard of for the duo.

The space was well used. Shelves barely scraped the arched ceiling and tables were pushed as far up against the walls as possible.  All of which were covered in old relics, antiques, and curiosities. Each table was divided and objects were labeled with a generous amount of written signs listing their values. With all his travels have provided him with, there needed to be a space for everything. It was an organized chaos that Legend found himself simply accepting the longer he stayed in the city.

And lived with Ravio.

He sighed, breathing in the old musty air he’d come to associate with home. It was still nice to be back, even if Ravio was nowhere to be found.

Actually, it was probably better that way. He wouldn’t be keeping his new acquaintances waiting. “Okay,” he muttered to himself, stepping around the counter. He’d collected a few nails over the years but wouldn’t call his collection extensive compared to other shopkeepers he’d met. Ruins were prime spots to find old weaponry, and repairing them was relatively easy as long as it was in one piece.

These nails, hidden from the public behind a locked drawer built into the counter, were considered his finest. Short-ranged nails made up most of his inventory, with some made to be hidden away under a cloak or behind a claw; most were honestly more decorative than practical. His great nails and lances were further back in his personal space. He’d once gotten a compliment for his variety by a blacksmith, which felt nice.

Legend didn’t think he would be bringing any of them, given how flashy they could be. He didn’t know how Time could wield the largest and, no doubt, heaviest nail he’s ever seen.

He leaned back, thinking to himself. Ideally, he would want to bring something easy to carry, easy to conceal, and something that wouldn’t get taken away easily. Not that he didn’t trust his new acquaintances, but you wouldn’t catch him without a nail around any of them alone.

(Yet.)

He was pulled out of his internal rationale when the door opened. A gentle breeze rattled the hanging lamps illuminating the shop as a sliver of the conversation amongst the strays outside slipped in before becoming muffled by the closing door.

Legend waited, listening. A beat passed, then a shuffle, somebody moving through the cramped shop, before he heard a loud thump, making him wince. The intruder yelped. Legend slowly pushed the drawer closed, only making it halfway before the intruder made themselves known. “Oh no!” they hissed. There was a lull, then a very hesitant, “Uh—Legend? Hello?”

Legend peeked over the counter, staring at Hyrule, who only spotted Legend once he cleared his throat. Whatever just broke, it better not have been expensive, for Hyrule’s sake. The poor firefly looked nervous, antenna flat against his head as he stepped back. “I didn’t mean to- It... I hit the table.”

Legend didn’t react, glancing at the closed door behind him.

“They’re trying to climb the light post. Bugs were... watching...” Hyrule trailed off.

Legend sighed and leaned over the counter to see a dark shape at Hyrule’s feet. It was a stone relic, old and long fossilized, 250 geo unless Ravio upped it without telling him. He waved a claw, “Just put it back where you found it.” Dropping it wouldn’t make the value any less; what’s one more crack? In pieces, however... “Carefully.” He added.

“Okay.”

Legend returned to the drawer, not hearing anything else hit the floor but keeping himself alert.

“Are these all from one place?” Legend almost didn’t hear it, with how quiet Hyrule kept himself.

He looked back up. Hyrule had gained the courage to step further into the space, though he kept to the middle of the walkways between the tables with his tail tucked closer to himself. “No,” Legend said. “Most of its from the surface.” They do well in the shop since many in the capital haven’t been higher than the Crossroads.

“The surface...” Hyrule muttered, which made Legend assume he was one of them.

Hyrule didn’t say any more; he just continued to look around the shop, noticeably avoiding the counter. It gave Legend time to settle his debate.

A pair of short nails, light and easy to slip under his armor, comfortable to maneuver with and strike. He settled one on each side, tucked away in his cloak.

He finally closed the drawer and stood, watching Hyrule slowly migrate towards the shelf with his Greenpath relics. He leaned forward, resting his claws on the countertop, “Now’s your chance to buy something. I don’t think we’re going to be back for a while.”

Hyrule didn’t respond, pulling away from a particularly expensive and mossy idol. He turned, meeting Legend’s eyes before quickly averting them.

Legend squinted.

Hyrule moved onto the next shelf. His antenna twitched, curious, and his claws occasionally reached out to carefully touch an item before moving on.

It was a habit that made Legend cautious. Many experiences with grifters or bugs that think they’re sly. He didn’t believe Hyrule would take anything, not with Legend standing right there and his very... wary personality. But he’s met bolder bugs. Houses one of them himself.

“What is that?”

There was a single window in the shop, on the wall to the right of the door, showing a perfect view of the street outside. Ravio had decorated it with a lovely display of some relics, one from each region in Hallonest they had inventory for. There was also a little bed for Sheerow pressed against the glass, which was ‘another incentive to come inside,’ as Ravio had insisted. “What?” Legend said, asking for a specific item.

Hyrule stepped carefully through the shop when approaching the window, claws curled in his cloak. “That,” he said, nodding at a long object against the wall, leaning against the window frame.

“Oh, that.” He passed Hyrule easily, grabbing what caught the firefly’s attention.

A staff. One that he’s had before he arrived in the city. 1,000 geo. It was an old relic that sat in ruin for who knows how long before he found it during his travels. The bottom was broken, forming a jagged point that Legend suspected used to be a decorative heel. The swirled carving at the top was chipped but intact, which was partly why it was so expensive.

The other reason…

It didn’t take much for Legend to make the staff glow, for a spark of light come to life in the rivets of the carving. It was a neat little trick, something only Legend had been able to do and something he, admittedly, still didn’t fully understand. There was a pull from… somewhere within him.

Taking.

Using.

Guiding?

He didn’t know what to call it.

Hyrule took a step back, the flickering glow reflecting in his eyes. “Where did you get that?” He said, wide eyes never leaving the light.

An odd choice of words.

He didn’t think he would have picked up on the slip if he hadn’t heard similar ones so many times before from the other traders. Legend let the glow fade, watching Hyrule’s claws gripping at his sides, looking like he wanted to snatch it right out of Legend’s claw. He leaned the staff against his shoulder, relaxed but guarded. “Some old ruins. Bordering Greenpath and the Crossroads. Why?”

The implication was there, and Hyrule must have been aware of the suspicion because he backpedaled, physically and verbally. “I—It looks... familiar. Is all.”

Legend continued to stare.

“I think- I mean… I could be mistaken?” He faltered, trying to recover.

Legend blinked, then put the staff back into place by just a fraction; the oldest trick in the book.

It worked. “It looks like a Shaman’s staff.” Hyrule caved, “One they use for Soul...”

Now, that was interesting.

Soul had been growing in popularity throughout the city, with the Soul Sanctum being the main culprits. Legend’s grip on the staff tightened. He figured it was something special to do with him since Ravio and other potential buyers had never made it glow before. Was it really his Soul?

Research was needed. The Soul Sanctum has been very interested in the recent gossip regarding magic.

Perhaps they could help?

Would they?

“Soul, huh?” he said simply, examining the staff, which suddenly had a whole new meaning. “Shamans. I’ve never met one.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to. They aren’t... around anymore.”

“You knew them?”

Hyrule laughed, “You could say that. I wouldn’t know most of what I do now without them.”

“And this was one of theirs?”

Hyrule examined it as closely as he could without touching it. Legend wondered if he wanted to. Wanted to hold something that clearly meant something to him. Something that Legend didn’t- couldn’t understand. “Looks like it, the carving up top—” Legend lowered it, looking closer at the spiral that decorated the end. “Is traditionally a shaman’s design.”

He had wondered about the design. Whether it was carved by other bugs or just a happy coincidence created with time. Legend’s seen such fine craftsmanship before, but knowing the context for its design added a lot more value to the “stick” he’d once simply used as a bludgeon and occasional nightlight. Hyrule was still watching, antenna stood alert, leaning forward, with a desire in his eyes. A genuine snail shaman’s staff. It was definitely worth more now in terms of geo, but the sentiment it held for Hyrule seemed greater.

“Do you want it?” Legend tested.

Hyrule flinched, gaping at Legend, “You- really?”

If Ravio were here, he would be calling Legend a soft-hearted sentimental bitch.

Legend shrugged, “Not like I’m going to be doing anything with it. All it does here is collect dust.” This is the first time anyone has shown such interest in the staff.

The light in Hyrule’s eye dulled, “I don’t have any geo.”

Legend smiled, “Then it’s a good thing I don’t just deal in geo. This is a trading shop, after all.”

Hyrule’s antenna lowered, suspicious, and looked between him and the staff. “What do you want?”

It was really hard not to mess with him, the first thought being your right arm, but Legend knew he’d be skeptical in the firefly's place. There was always a catch in this business. He switched the staff from claw to claw. “How about...” he said, pausing more for dramatics. He already knew what he wanted: “You show me all the tricks this thing can do.”

“...Seriously?” Hyrule sounded both relieved and doubtful, “That’s all?”

“That’s all I really want out of it now. It used to be something I could wack over someone’s head if I didn’t like them. Either that or a fun party trick. It would be... interesting to see what it was really made for.” He held out the staff, letting his grip ease around it, “Deal?”

Hyrule reached out but hesitated to take it from Legend’s claw. He squinted, looking the staff up and down, antenna twitching. “I shouldn’t...” he said. “It’s not mine.”

So?

Legend kept the offer out.

“You found it.” Hyrule added as if that elaborated anything.

Hyrule kept his claws to himself, even going further to prove the point by taking a step back.

Okay, How are we going to do this?

“So you don’t want it?” He pushed.

Hyrule’s antenna twitched again, “I can’t take it. It’s not mine.”

That still didn’t help.

Legend leaned back, taking the staff with him. He hummed, thinking. He’d heard of Soul here and there during his travels. Each bug had a different definition, but a similar sentiment was that it kept bugs alive and going. He’s heard rumors of some bugs that could harness and use their Soul to their benefit.

He would have... has laughed in their faces at the notion.

Then, he met Hyrule.

He’d seen what Hyrule could do, how his very being lit up when using his power. Legend wanted that knowledge. Would Hyrule be willing to share?

What would Legend be willing to give in return?

“You’ve put me in a rough spot here Rule.”

Hyrule squinted at the nickname but didn’t comment.

The ball was in Hyrule’s court. Legend hated that.

Mercifully, Hyrule seemed to pick up on his internal conflict. “I could teach you.” He said, “How to use it, I mean.”

That was kind of him, but... “I don’t like... I have plenty of debts I need to pay off already. And I wouldn’t want to scam a potential customer.”

Hyrule looked around the shop, eyes drifting from item to item stacked on tables and shelves, pausing on one full of tablets and old scrolls. He gasped, “Your journal!”

Legend stepped back, claw automatically going to his satchel. “Absolutely not!” He said it perhaps too sharply, seeing how Hyrule flinched, but he didn’t care.

“No! Sorry, uh-” Hyrule scrambled, raising his claws, “Your map. I meant your map. Or- What’s on your map?”

It was Legend’s turn to waver. He recalls their journey to the city, traveling through the twisting caves and tunnels, and how none of his comrades had the necessary skills to navigate outside their regions. “Yes?” he prompted.

Hyrule didn’t waste it. “I want to see them—all the places you’ve been, where all of this came from.” Hyrule gestured around the shop.

His map was far from complete, but he remembered the look in Hyrule’s eyes when he first opened it in front of the group. His travels were something he rarely got to talk about. Few bugs actually cared where their treasure came from.

Legend forced himself to relax and collect himself. Soul lessons for a tour? It didn’t seem fair at all. Hallownest was huge, and Soul was... He wasn’t entirely sure what it was. Hyrule clasped his claws before him, pleading silently, eyeing the staff.

“Mmmm,” a pause, debating. If what he’s heard is true, Soul was a bug’s life force, their essence, their very being; controlling it would be an excellent tool. The staff only glowed in his claws; if he could somehow do more... “I can do that,” He decided.

Hyrule beamed, his antenna vibrating. He extended his claw, closing the space between them. “Deal?”

Legend couldn’t hold back the laugh. This was perhaps the strangest barter he’s wagered, but you wouldn’t catch him complaining. “Well,” he said, taking Hyrule’s claw, “If you insist.”

Only Time and Warriors were at the door when they finally vacated the shop. Looking down the street, Legend could see the rest of the group circling something on the ground, along with a Great Sentry. Wet red armor shone against the flickering light, and Legend felt his eye twitch.

“What in the queens of old is that?” Warriors exclaimed, gesturing to the staff still in Legend’s claw. This caught Time’s attention, who looked interested but remained quiet.

Legend had a response, a quick, perhaps snide comment about this bee’s so-called queens. He held back as Hyrule took hold of the staff, jerking it in his claw but not pulling it away from Legend. He presented it with a sudden confidence. It glowed bright under Hyrule’s hold, more of an even pulse compared to Legend’s weak flicker. He wasn’t sure if Hyrule was doing it on purpose. Legend hoped the Sentry didn’t see, too busy with whatever the rest of the group was occupied with (which he’d no doubt have to pay for later).

“A souvenir!”

Legend sighed and allowed it.

[deathmoth-blog]

Beautiful black witch moth

The erebid moth Ascalapha odorata, commonly known as the black witch, is a large bat-shaped, dark-colored nocturnal moth, normally ranging from the southern United States to Brazil. Ascalapha odorata is also migratory into Canada and most states of United States. It is the largest noctuoid in the continental United States. In the folklore of many Central American cultures, it is associated with death or misfortune.

Female moths can attain a wingspan of 24 cm. The dorsal surfaces of their wings are mottled brown with hints of iridescent purple and pink, and, in females, crossed by a white bar. The diagnostic marking is a small spot on each forewing shaped like a number nine or a comma. This spot is often green with orange highlights. Males are somewhat smaller, reaching 12 cm in width, darker in color and lacking the white bar crossing the wings. The larva is a large caterpillar up to 7 cm in length with intricate patterns of black and greenish-brown spots and stripes.

The black witch lives from the southern United States, Mexico and Central America to Brazil, and has apparently been introduced to Hawaii.[citation needed]

The black witch flies north during late spring and summer. One was caught during an owl banding project at the Whitefish Point lighthouse on the shoreline of Lake Superior in July 2020.[citation needed]

The black witch is considered a harbinger of death in Mexican and Caribbean folklore. In many cultures, one of these moths flying into the house is considered bad luck: e.g., in Mexico, when there is sickness in a house and this moth enters, it is believed the sick person will die, though a variation on this theme (in the lower Rio Grande Valley, Texas) is that death only occurs if the moth flies in and visits all four corners of one's house (in Mesoamerica, from the pre-Hispanic era until the present time, moths have been associated with death and the number four). In some parts of Mexico, people joke that if one flies over someone's head, the person will lose his hair.

In Jamaica, under the name duppy bat, the black witch is seen as the embodiment of a lost soul or a soul not at rest. In Jamaican English, the word duppy is associated with malevolent spirits returning to inflict harm upon the living and bat refers to anything other than a bird that flies. The word "duppy" (also: "duppie") is also used in other West Indian countries, generally meaning "ghost".

In Brazil it is called "mariposa-bruxa", "mariposa-negra", "bruxa-negra", and "bruxa", and it is also believed that when a moth of this type enters the house it can bring some "bad omen", signaling the death of a resident. In the Ecuadorian highlands they are called Tandacuchi and in Peru Taparacuy or Taparaco. These countries share the belief that if this moth, a messenger of death, appears in your home, someone will die very soon.

In Hawaii, black witch mythology, though associated with death, has a happier note in that if a loved one has just died, the moth is an embodiment of the person's soul returning to say goodbye. In the Bahamas, where they are locally known as money moths or money bats, the legend is that if they land on you, you will come into money, and similarly, in South Texas, if a black witch lands above your door and stays there for a while, you will supposedly win the lottery.

In Paraguay and Argentina, this insect is mostly known as "ura", and there is a popular belief that this moth urinates and leaves worms on the skin of people and animals. However, the insect that lays eggs in the skin and whose larvae become embedded in the flesh is the colmoyote or screwworm (Dermatobia hominis).

In Spanish, the black witch is known as "mariposa de la muerte". Other names for the moth include the papillion-devil, la sorcière noire, the mourning moth or the sorrow moth.[citation needed]

Black witch moth pupae were placed in the mouths of victims of serial killer 'Buffalo Bill' in the novel The Silence of the Lambs. In the movie adaptation, they were replaced by death's-head hawkmoth pupae.

[peskellence]

Pairing: RK900/Gavin Reed

Tags: Post Pacifist Ending, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Smut, Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Masterlist

Read on AO3 here:

Summary: A lot has changed since the revolution. Crimes against androids are now being treated with greater severity, with many being subject to the same penalties as crimes against humans. While anti-android attitudes are on the decline, transforming the mindset of an entire city is no simple task.

A reluctant Gavin Reed and his new partner RK900 have been assigned to investigate a string of disturbing murders. Despite the shift in Detroit's social climate, Gavin still holds reservations about whether or not androids are truly alive. Will his developing feelings for 'Nines' prompt a shift in perspective?

Warnings: Graphic Violence, Depression/Self Destructive Behaviour, Smut

Word Count: 3.3K

Actually Decent (3)

[12:47 pm] HEY gav

[12:47 pm] guess what

[12:48 pm] me and Jasmine are finally official 

 

Gavin glanced down at his phone, scanning through the messages he had just received from Tina, scoffing fondly. After a few moments of deliberation, he fired off a playful response:

 

You:

that's great ti

and the last nine months of you hooking up in the supply closet didnt count because…?

 

As the reply was sent, Nines emerged from the kitchen, deftly sidestepping the assembly of cats congregating at his feet. Carrie seemed determined to trip him up, intercepting his path with every movement. Wendy supported the efforts, trailing closely behind, batting her tail. 

The android was wearing one of his favourite lounging tops, an old graphic t-shirt of Gavin's that he hadn't worn in years. It depicted a montage of famous horror icons drawn in a cartoonish style. Their arms were draped around each other as they posed for a group photo, pulling faces at the camera. 

 

Actually Decent (2)

Because its finally on the socials <3 <3 <3

this is the best day of my life

 

Observing his approach, Gavin couldn't help but marvel at how Nines managed to look so effortlessly good whilst wearing a beaten-up shirt that was at least fifteen years old—paired with a set of baggy sweatpants that looked like they'd lost a fight with a swarm of moths. 

He supposed it helped that the garment was a tad too short, teasing at a small sliver of midsection every time he raised his arms. It was downright pornographic, and he intended to write a letter to CyberLife regarding the issue. Either a complaint or a thank you. He hadn't decided yet. 

"The popcorn is in the microwave," Nines smoothly informed, scooping up the most placid of the cats, Nancy, into his arms. He stroked her soft brown fur in long, affectionate brushes before skillfully finding the sweet spot between her neck and ear. The cat melted into the touch as the android moved his fingers with well-rehearsed precision.

"Okay, cool, now all we gotta do is find something to watch," Gavin mumbled, tearing his attention away from the appealing sight long enough to trail his thumb across the power button of a chewed-up television remote. 

The action was delayed, however, as not seconds after setting down his phone, it fired off again, demanding his attention with a precession of frenzied dings:

 

Actually Decent (7)

I might ask her if she wants to move in with me 

thats the next step after socials right?

OMG

GSVNI

G AS VIN

GAVIN*

Is it too early to propose?

 

Nines had reached the sofa, tutting frustratedly at the pair of legs strewn across the thoroughly claw-marked cushions. He nudged one of the offending limbs with his knee, continuing to scratch behind the ear of an increasingly vocal Nancy. "Move."

Gavin huffed indignantly, although a playful roll of his eyes assured it wasn't serious. He raised his legs, allowing his partner to sit before casually slumping his feet across his lap. Nines, having anticipated this, lifted up the fluffy mound that was purring appreciatively in his arms. Once settled, he placed the cat in the junction between his feet.

As he replied to Tina, the android claimed the forgotten remote and proceeded to flick through channels, searching for something of interest.

 

You:

How very lesbian of you.

Yes its too early you freak.

 

Actually Decent:

:( Sad.

we could have had a joint wedding.

When you and Nines get married, are you gonna take his name, or are you gonna keep yours?

 

You:

Nines doesn't have a last name 

and he's basically taken mine already

 

Actually Decent:

Awww, that sucks. I thought Gavin Serial Number 

313 248 317 - 87 had a nice ring to it.

I'd definitely take Jas’ surname. Mrs and Mrs 162 441 229. Really rolls off the tongue don't you think <3 

 

"I'm not seeing anything I think we'd particularly enjoy," Nines commented, as he made a subtle gesture towards the TV.

Gavin looked up to inspect the screen and was assaulted with a visual barrage of rapidly changing images, blurring into each other at a dizzying rate. His eyes ached, and his forehead pulsed as he vainly attempted to process what he was seeing. "Jesus , slow down. We don't all have advanced optical units; I can't take shit in that quickly."

The pace of the flicking decreased, albeit marginally, as Nines glanced over at him—a mischievous smirk pulling at his lips. "I'm struggling to recall the last time you asked me to slow down."

The seductive resonance of his voice betrayed the double meaning with transparency. It left Gavin to splutter incredulously, mouth gaping in disbelief before he matched his partner's expression with his own crooked smile. "We literally did it this morning, asshole. God, you’re insatiable."

"I see no reason why we can't also partake this afternoon. It is my day off, after all." Carefully so as not to disturb the cat, Nines had begun trailing his free hand across the inside of one of the man's legs. Starting at his ankle before migrating up the taut muscle of his calf. 

It didn’t matter how much time they spent together; the seemingly endless endurance of his libido was something that Gavin was still adjusting to. The android had been permitted decidedly less time to indulge in carnal pleasures, and had made it clear since the beginning of their relationship that he was intent on making up for lost time.

"Easy, Casanova," the man said lowly, suppressing the emergent groan that was building in his throat as the hand brushed the inside of his thigh, seemingly intent on trailing further. "Let's watch a movie first, and then I'll think about it. Give my body a chance to recover."

He squinted at the television again, making another attempt at assigning sense to the disorientating mess being hurled in his face. The rate seemed to have increased significantly in the wake of their playful exchange, and he knew for a fact Nines was doing it on purpose.

Having had some fun at his partner's expense, he eventually relented, handing the remote back to Gavin with quiet complacency. The frenetic blur of images halted, settling on what seemed to be an antique evaluation show. A well-dressed couple engaged in an animated conversation with a heavy-set man in a garish bright suit. They were sharing a bewildering level of enthusiasm over what looked to be a teapot.

Oh, Hell no.

Gavin switched the channel quickly, grimacing as he did so. The sour expression only deepened as the next show involved another suburban, button-down couple chatting menially with a dour-looking host. The only discernible difference seemed to be that the subject of interest was now determining which shade of indistinguishable beige paint should be used to decorate a downstairs bathroom.

After breezing through a few more channels of equally mind-numbing programming, he grew increasingly defeated, grunting under his breath in frustration. "Ugh, you're right. This is all trash—the joys of Daytime TV, I guess."

"If you would pay for a streaming service or two, then you wouldn't be at the mercy of public broadcasting."

"What do I look like, a millionaire? Those sickness paychecks only go so far. I don't have streaming money."

"You'll be back at work and earning your full pay soon enough." The android reclined back in his seat as Nancy kneaded her claws into his lap, seeking a comfortable position. Ultimately, she sank down, curling into a tight ball. "Perhaps you ought to treat yourself; I'd be happy to split the cost."

"Animal shelter money doesn't really constitute ‘rolling in it’ either, Nines."

His partner tutted at the persistent pessimism before seeking out another compromise. "Alright, fine. Then we can watch one of your DVDs."

"We've watched the entire collection more times than I can count. I wanna find something you haven't seen yet."

"Truly, I don't mind what we watch as long as we do it together."

Gavin pointed to his throat and made a prolonged retching noise. "You and the sappy crap."

Nancy, who had begun dozing against his leg, roused slightly, her tail bristling and amber eyes scanning her surroundings. The noise was not enough to prompt her to flee, as a soothing stroke from Nines ensured she settled back down. 

He shot his partner an incredulous look, to which Gavin responded by prodding a heel into his abdomen. "Oh, don't give me that look, I'm kidding."

"I know you are. You'd be utterly devastated if I ever relented on the ‘sappy crap’" There was a brief crackle of static, which marked a shift in tone towards the end of the sentence. The typically smooth, measured resonance of his voice adopted a more abrasive quality. 

Gavin scowled, noting the uncanny familiarity as he sunk further into the cushions. "I do not sound like that."

"You sound exactly like that—It is a sample of your voice."

"Bullshit. You pitch-shifted it, and now you're just trying to mess with me." Returning his attention to the television, the man continued to trawl through the increasingly dire options. He was on the brink of admitting defeat when an unwelcome image asserted its presence, filling the screen from corner to corner:

 

Dimitar Petrov stood at a wooden stand, fixating on something out of view. His hazel eyes appeared relentlessly cold, darkened with detached cruelty. A nervous-looking man in an ill-fitting blue suit stood to his side, running his fingers anxiously through spiked black hair. Gavin felt his chest tighten as the once-jovial air surrounding the couple dissipated, replaced by an unpleasant tension.

He’d forgotten what day it was—and suspected he had done so consciously, at least to some extent. Not wanting the unwelcome reminder of the events that took place several months ago to dampen the mood.

After the initial shock waned, he sat himself upright, focusing his attention on the screen. The camera panned over to a gallery filled with solemn faces, with the corresponding attendants sitting in respectful silence. A few voices broke through, with the laboured sobs of one attendee proving particularly disruptive. Gavin recognised her as Stephenie, the sister of Jennifer Parkins — the Reaper's only human victim. 

Focus then shifted to an older man on the opposite end of the room, looming over the proceedings with a stern expression. "Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, have you reached a verdict?"

"We have, Your Honor."

 

An anticipative breath lodged in his throat as Gavin leaned closer. The forgotten remote was still clutched in his grasp, trapped in an increasingly tightened vice. Then, a hand found his forearm, stirring his attention just enough that his focus pulled away from the screen.

As their gazes locked, Nines gave his arm a tentative squeeze before softly addressing him. "I suggest we find some lighter viewing. Perhaps a psychological horror."

"Doesn't get much more horrifying than this fucker," the man seethed, glowering at the television as the camera focused back on Dimitar. He quietly reassured the android, resting a hand across his in a placating gesture. "It's okay, I wanna hear what they say."

 

Any lingering noise in the court dissipated as an effort was made by the more hysterical onlookers to quiet themselves. The foreperson stood from his chair, a paper clutched in his hands. His eyes were narrowed as he gave it a cursory scan before finally addressing the courtroom. "In the Case of The Androids Of Detroit Versus Dimitar Petrov, we find the defendant… Guilty of all charges."

The gallery stirred back to life as ripples of sounds echoed through. Gasps of relief mingled with more vocal affirmations as tearful spectators embraced each other. 

"The court accepts the jury's verdict. Dimitar Petrov, you are hereby convicted of sixteen counts of first-degree murder. Given the severity of your crimes, the court sentences you to life in prison without the possibility of parole."

With a defeated sigh, the blue-clad lawyer slumped in his chair, casting a weary glance at a man on an opposing bench. The figure in question, decked head-to-toe in ostentatious maroon, quietly gathered his papers, nodding in measured satisfaction. Dimitar seldom reacted to the verdict save for a cruel sneer. A set of bailiffs emerged at the stand, flanking him on either side before placing their hands on his shoulders and leading him away.

 

"Fucking good," Gavin remarked, exhaling the fraught breath that he had been holding during the deliberation. "Exactly what that piece of shit deserves."

As he said this, a high-pitched ding could be heard from the kitchen, which he recognised as the microwave. The man stood up from his semi-reclined position, grunting as he did. Though he made an effort to withdraw his feet slowly, the action proved enough to finally disturb Nancy. She dropped to the floor and plodded away towards the kitchen, presumably in anticipation of food. Nines was visibly saddened by her departure as his hand hovered longingly where she had been resting.

"Need to get a new couch; the support on this one is terrible." Gavin craned forward, pressing his hands to the small of his back as the bones emitted a soft crack. "My back is killing me."

The android transitioned from displeasure to amusement in rapid succession as he let out a terse snort.

"Hey, don't laugh," the man retorted, levelling him with an accusatory look. "It's completely reasonable for me to want to sit on a comfortable couch."

"I'm not laughing because it's unreasonable. I just think you're being a tad dramatic."

Gavin scoffed, spinning on his heel in a deliberate show of theatrics, accompanied by a flagrant eye roll. Advancing toward the kitchen, a distant mewl could be heard, accompanied by a more exuberant yowl of impatience—easily recognisable as Tiffany. 

"It's all part of ageing, Nines, and it's only getting worse from here. You still gonna want me when I look like a wrinkled ball sack?"

"That would imply you don't already."

"Ooo, harsh .” He emitted a sharp hissing noise, clutching his chest in a show of exaggerated offence. "I'm thirty-six, you smug asshole."

"Thirty-seven in a few weeks.”

"Yeah, don't remind me," he growled as his playful demeanour started to wane. "I found another grey hair this morning. That's five now."

"Ahh yes, a sure sign that false teeth and an orthopaedic pillow loom closely on the horizon."

"If you keep teasing, I'll have to bump my midlife crisis ahead a few years."

Emerging into the kitchen, the sounds of anticipative yowls grew, and he made a detour en route to the microwave. A growing congregation of hungry cats gathered at his feet, glassy eyes staring up in anticipation.

"Gavin, none of that matters to me," he heard Nines protest from the other room. The playful joviality of his voice was absent, replaced with something more sincere. “Your appearance may change, but you will be the same person—and I will continue to adore you.” 

"Easy to say when you're gonna spend the rest of your life looking like an underwear model."

As the cupboard creaked open, he heard a flurry of movement from another room, followed by the frantic plodding of feet. A frenzied blur of black and white came screeching into the kitchen, thunderous paws losing grip as the cat collided head-first with a wall.

 

Goddammit Richie. 

 

"If you knew I would age the same as you, that my physical appearance would also be subject to change, would you feel any differently?"

His hand stilled on the handle. Bristling at the unexpected question, he swiftly abandoned his current task, much to the vocal chagrin of his pets. "No, of course not. Why the hell would that change anything?"

Then a realisation struck him. He had never been one for overt sentiment, with Nines having comfortably taken that role in the relationship. That being said, the negligence he had demonstrated at failing to express that particular affirmation—several months after its emergence—couldn't really be excused.

"Nines…I love you. You know that, right?" 

The confession was met by a weighty silence, which left Gavin with a disquieting sense of unease. He quietly receded back through the kitchen and peered his head around the corner of the doorway, seeking to gauge his partner's response.

Nines was staring at him, eyes glossed with ill-concealed sentiment, as his lips were pulled into a small, grateful smile. Everything about his softened expression seemed to exude adoration—and unyielding devotion. "I do, but it feels truly wonderful to hear you say it."

The draw of his voice was magnetising, compelling the man to abandon everything he had been doing. He hurried back to the couch and, without another word exchanged, straddled his partner's hips, capturing his mouth in a fervid kiss. The android groaned appreciatively, mingled with a static-like charge, as he kissed back with matched enthusiasm. 

"What about the popcorn?" Nines gently teased, having pulled back just enough that the words danced enticingly against the man's lips.

"Fuck it, that can wait," Gavin murmured, his mouth running a languid path across the length of his jaw. "The movie, too. I've had enough rest."

Then Richie—who the couple had long since surmised was the embodiment of chaos tenuously masquerading as a cat—barrelled his way through the living room. His trajectory was only halted as he jumped onto a windowsill, knocking over several ornaments with a brush of his tail.

Rather than stopping there, he somehow managed to scamper his way up one of the curtains, getting his claws embedded at the top and marking it with sizeable tears as he tried to wriggle free. In the process, the rail above dislodged, collapsing to the floor, taking the curtains, and a still-attached cat with it. 

Anything that remained on the windowsill was promptly displaced, including a succulent that Tina had gifted Gavin as a Get Well Soon gift. The plant hit the floor with a crack, shattering into a mess of dirt and ceramic.

 

Goddammit Richie.

 

He emitted a deep groan into his partner’s shoulder as the android shared in his discontent, albeit with a more subdued resignation. "That's a shame; I rather liked that plant."

Carefully, he encouraged his partner off his lap so they could both stand to inspect the damage. As he did so, Wendy came charging out of the kitchen, being chased by Carrie, dashing in front of the couple and almost sending them toppling over. 

"You know, with all these additional bodies, conditions are getting rather cramped."

Picking up the curtains, Gavin noted in frustration that the flimsy support beam had been warped as a result of the impact. "I'm gonna move out soon…before I lose any more of my fucking deposit."

Nines stood to his side, conducting a survey of the room. His attention was drawn to the distinctive scratch marks etched across nearly every wooden surface, as well as a large indent in the plasterboard beside the door. "I’m afraid it might be a bit late for that."

Gavin grumbled in begrudging acknowledgement. He set the mangled curtains back on the floor, determining them to be beyond salvaging, as he folded his arms over his chest. "Don’t get me wrong, this place is a shithole, but it kind of sucks to leave so soon. I only just moved in."

"You’ve been here for almost a year," Nines smoothly corrected.

"Yeah, but I only just finished unpacking."

There was a lull in the discussion as his partner fell silent, lips pursed thoughtfully. At times like this, he missed the days when flickers of light on his forehead would seek to betray his line of thinking. The android was much harder to read without his LED, although he respected his decision to remove it —seeking to shed all superfluous reminders of his past. 

Mercifully, this had extended to his CyberLife jacket, which had found itself on the receiving end of Gavin's lighter. It had been an extremely cathartic evening for both of them.

"Well, my home is larger than yours," Nines eventually said, his voice carrying with it an air of measured rationale. "You could always stay with me for a while. Until you find other living arrangements."

The invitation caught Gavin off-guard as his folded arms slackened, falling limply to his sides. "You’d let me move in with you? Seriously?"

"I see no reason why we could not reach some sort of ‘agreement.’"There was a teasing edge to this as the android leaned forward, deftly cupping his jaw and capturing his lips in a stolen kiss. "On the promise that you might make some effort to be a touch more organised."

The man snorted at the suggestion, brow raised incredulously as he leant his weight into the affectionate touch. "Not happening. Nice try, though."

"The arrangement needn’t be temporary…" Nines continued, his gaze flickering to the side as though claimed by a sudden rush of uncertainty. "You could stay indefinitely, should you like."

It was Gavin's turn to fall silent. In his previous relationships, moving in together hadn't even been a consideration until a full year of established dating. Even then, he had met the suggestion with marked resistance. 

With Nines, nothing about their relationship had ever run as conventional, making the swift progression seem oddly fitting. Any fleeting reservations he may have held soon deserted him, yielding to the trepidation in his partner's eyes. 

It occurred that he had never felt so deeply compelled to commit himself to someone, and it would be foolish to dismiss the significance of that. 

"I guess we’re together most nights anyway, so it makes practical sense. Might take you up on that offer."

"I hope you will," Nines replied, his voice airy and drawn out, like a gracious sigh. He wrapped his arms smoothly around his partner, pulling him close. "I love you, Gavin."

"I know you do—schmaltzy bastard."

[that-foul-legacy-lover]

OH I got another idea. Now I'm not sure if you can relate or what you wanna do with this one but I just had to share the lil brainrot, sorry :'3

Legacy + adhd s/o who literally cannot sit still for five minutes (unless it's the sacred cuddle time).

It would be so chaotic in the best of ways because his s/o would unintentionally mirror his base instincts so good.

Jumping from fiddling with whatever caught our attention to the next one? Mhm, yeah.

Hiding in random spots/climbing up in random places? Yep.

Play fighting because pent up energy? Yep yep!

Taking every chance possible (when out in open spaces) to happily run around in nature until worn out? Yep yep yep, that's us. :D

Being happy little moth monsters together (at least in spirit lmao).

I call it the Cat Instinct, when it hits it hits 👍

this is SO CUTE you would run in circles together

as someone who has an obsession with climbing to high places, i'm latching onto that specific bullet point: you and Foul Legacy climbing trees together. there must be big trees in Liyue somewhere that can bear his weight (if anything you can go climb the big tree where Azhdaha is sealed. he won't mind, Zhongli asked permission first) and you two just love climbing onto the branches as fast as you can, seeing who can get to the top first. nine time out of ten Foul Legacy lets you win, because he both loves seeing you smile victoriously and also prefers to be slightly below you in case you fall, so he can catch and swoop you back to the ground. of course if this does happen, you immediately climb onto his shoulders and ask him to fly you around instead so you can be even taller

you make a habit of running around outside in the evening, somewhere in the fields away from the city so Foul Legacy won't be seen, pouncing on each other and play wrestling until you both collapse onto the grass together, staring up at the darkening sky. if Legacy still has some energy left, you'll raise your arms up and ask him to toss you in the air and carry you around so you can hug his neck while giggling. you're calm right now, since you're in snuggle mode, so Legacy carries you home and promptly curls up with you in his blanket nest, nudging your cheek and purring. the next morning you're full of energy again, happily running around to complete your chores, and Foul Legacy couldn't be happier

[thelaithlyworm]

I stole a page from Wu Xie's private notes because I thought it was pretty.

[CW: insects, tryptophobia, harm to a human]

[ID Landscape page showing 'pencil' sketches of a moth and web, some small with folded wings, one large with outspread wings partially drawn in mottled glory. Centre bottom is the sketch of a hand with mysterious pockmarks. There are spots and scrapes of a red-brown substance. Title reads, 'Ghost Moths (avoid)'. End ID]

// Image Credits

Mystic Nine screencaps, heavily edited "Hand, Palm, Fingers" by Alexander Lesnitsky, Pixabay "Nest Wasp Insect" by notre_planete, Pixabay Pixabay stock image (spotted paper)

// Some of the details, in large:

[ID Close-up of spread-winged ghost moth, in bright colours and wide 'brush-strokes' like oil paint. End ID]

[ID Version of the painted moth, now looking like pencil on a white background. End ID]

I'm not going to say there's not stuff about these edits that isn't insanely nitpicky, frustrating, and tedious, but also a big chunk of this is knowing which filters can be slapped onto what and what effect they might have. The 'pencil' is directly derived from the 'oil' with some clean-up with the eraser tool and then copy-pasting some of the left wing to fill in a gap in the right that didn't convert well (that shadowy bit at the bottom.)

[ID 'Sketch' of a hand held palm up with alarming smudges and small pockmarks dotted all over. End ID]

I got those crater textures by converting a picture of a wasp nest to 'pencil' and pairing it down until I got those alarming circles, and then played around with placement. Also... this started as a photo of a hand but I lost the tendons and the palm crease in conversion and rebuilt them from spare parts.

I'm. I'm pretty sure a real graphic designer would be Very Unimpressed by what passes for technique here, but it gets shit done and certainly entertains me.

[Permission to use or remix these images, with or without credit. (Though namedropping the Pixabay sources would be ace.) Please do fold, spindle, or mutilate...]

[whitefangz]

Nine-spotted moth (Amata phegea), found in the middle of nowhere on a closed road outside of Cagli in central Italy earlier this summer

[blubushie]

here just to show you this little guy. do you know what is this?

cheers to you mate, hope everything's alright with you. Im drunk

Nine spotted moth! Reckon they're also called burnets? Never seen one in person but they're very pretty

Also enjoy the drunk! Shout one for me

[thebelljarwriter]

Mothchild - day 19: hunter

19th entry for @31-daysofhorror, hunter

two men go into the woods and encounter a possible descendant of the infamous winged beast of West Virginia

tw: attempted child murder.

1970

West Virginia

There was an echo of crickets filling the moonlit sky of that November night.

 The sound of twigs crunching beneath the boots of hunters trekking down the path of a darkened forest, the flashlight being their only source of guidance. William felt the autumn chill creep onto his back, making him shiver, his dog followed close behind him as William trotted alongside Frederick. Four years ago, there had been rumors of an alleged winged beast that lurks in the woods, its eyes glowing red amidst the dark shadows of the forest and a blood-curdling screech that echoes, William’s ears perked up to the sound of rustling, immediately flashing his light and pointing his gun at the bushes.

 Nothing.

 “What’s wrong Billy?” he heard Frederick snicker, “scared of a lil bunny rabbit?”

 William shot him a quick glare, “these are the same woods that had that mothman in ‘em, y’know. It’s too late to be out here in these woods.”

 Frederick scoffed, whistling for their dog, Percy, to follow and arched an eyebrow at William, “when are you gonna face the facts?”

 “What facts?” 

 “That mothman isn’t real. It’s been, what, three years since he was last seen?” Frederick stated matter-of-factly, continuing down the path of the forest, “it’s just a story to scare kids nowadays, c’mon.”

 An eerie silence, until William had broken the silence again (much to Frederick’s annoyance). 

 “Back then, there was a rumor that the mothman might’ve had offspring.” his voice in a wary whisper, “some say they saw it back in nineteen-sixty-nine, just two years after mothman was last seen.”

 “You’re sayin’ that weird sky beast got a mothbaby?” Frederick chuckled, “gee, where’s its mothmama, huh.”

 Percy had made an abrupt stop, the greyhound’s ears perked up and his head darted across the thicket of the forest. And then, he began to snarl, Frederick and William gave each other a concerned look, the greyhound frozen in place with his teeth bared at whatever he stopped and stared at.

 “Percy,” Frederick called, “what’s wrong bud?” 

 The bushes rustled again, William pointed his rifle towards whatever had made that sound, immediately cocking his gun and aimed at any and all spots. A breeze roared through the forest, causing the two men to shiver like the leaves of the trees. Percy began to bark out, his cry echoing throughout the woods, causing the crows to let out a startled caw. Frederick’s breath grew shaky, staring at William who still had his rifle aimed at any direction, and back at the growling greyhound.

 And then, a small chirping noise emitted from the bush. And that’s when they saw her. 

 A young girl in a hospital gown came from the bushes. Black, feathery wings sprouted from her back, inky fur-like feathers covered half of her face, arms and legs, her unblinking crimson eyes stared at the two men before her, flickering with curiosity, they shimmered in the light of Frederick’s flashlight. She let out a squeak, as though to say hello.

 William held his gaze on the moth-like girl, completely bewildered. Frederick, however, had his eyes wide as plates as he stared in abject horror, he cocked his rifle and aimed right at the mothchild.

 “Billy, shoot it.” 

 “Wuh-what?” 

 Frederick spluttered, “you fuckin’ heard me, shoot it, Billy!” 

 “I’m not gonna shoot a child, Fred–”

 “That’s not a child, William,” Frederick gestured to the mothchild, “that is a damn abomination!” 

 William’s grip on the rifle quickly tightened, his eyes darted at the youngin, she simply stared at them with unblinking confusion, a frown quickly forming on her expression. William gulped, squeezing his eyes shut and shaking his head.

 “Not a chance, I won’t do it.” 

 Frederick stared at him, eyebrows snapped together and eyes blazing with a fury. He marched towards William, yanking the rifle out of his hands.

 “You call yourself a huntsman.” Frederick spat, William gawked in horror as he saw it aim at the mothchild, whose eyes widened in terror at the sound of Frederick cocking the rifle. Percy snarled, stepping closer as though he would be ready to attack, Frederick had completely ignored William’s pleas, seeing the mothchild begin to finally panic, as though she finally understood how much her life was in danger at the hands of two huntsmen. And then–

 BANG! 

 The young moth-like child quickly ran back into the bushes, as the bullet was shot into the sky. William’s rifle turned upright into the pitch black night, and there was only the sound of the men’s heavy breathing and the pounding of two heartbeats. Frederick and William lowered their heads from looking up, seeing that the youngin had already fled, William had finally let go, still feeling his heart pound out of his chest, his breathing shredded, and staring at Frederick who stared back, unblinking.

 “Where… where she go?”

 “Gone… she’s gone.” 

 The rifle dropped to the ground. The two men continued to stare at one another, then, they had begun to make their way back to where they came with their greyhound following behind them. After that, neither of them talked about that event for the rest of their lives.

[dansnaturepictures]

Nine of my favourite flora and fauna photos I took in September 2024 and month summary

The photos are of; Red Deer at Bushy Park, Common Seal on the Beaulieu River, young Coot at Bushy Park, Barn Owl in a flying display at the Hawk Conservancy Trust, Clouded Yellow at Milford on Sea, Lesser Yellow Underwing moth at home, Ruddy Darter on Brownsea Island, Common Lizard at Thursley and hawthorn berries with a ladybird on.

Some of my most magical wild moments of a mesmerising September were watching mammals; immersive views of Common Seals and Grey Seals, enchanting Red Squirrels and ravishing Red, Roe, Fallow and Sika Deers bringing glorious late summer/autumn feelings of splendour. Grey Squirrel, Rabbit and Brown Rat provided some nice moments too.

It was a marvellous month of avian movement with many of my top birds of a fine birding moth enjoyed on migration in and out including Ospreys, Hobby, Bar-tailed Godwit, Whimbrel, Curlew Sandpiper, Brent Geese, Pintail, Wigeon, Wryneck, Pied Flycatcher, Spotted Flycatcher, Wheatear, Whinchat, Yellow Wagtail, a rare for Lakeside Tree Pipit seen on my patch, a Chiffchaff in the garden and unusually Sand Martin at Bushy Park and epic scenes of many House Martins and a few Swallows moving through places. Other highlights this month included incredible views of majestic White-tailed Eagles twice at Newtown and Poole Harbours, Marsh Harriers, Sparrowhawks including one coming into the garden, Kestrel, Sandwich Terns, Shag, Curlews, Common Gulls, Mediterranean Gull, Egyptian Geese, Gadwall, Teal, Shoveler, Starlings, Ring-necked Parakeet, Grey Heron, Greenshanks, Sanderlings, Turnstone, Ringed Plover, Snipe, Great White Egret, Cattle Egrets, Little Egrets, captivating views of Spoonbills in Poole Harbour, Little Grebes, Whitethroat, Grey Wagtail, Rock Pipit, Dartford Warbler, Cetti's Warbler heard and Kingfisher. Cormorant, Stonechat, Jay, Green and Great Spotted Woodpecker and lots of nice views of Great Crested Grebes including the chicks, Moorhens and Coot were other highlights at Lakeside. It was great to spend a day spellbound by birds of prey and others on an amazing day at the wonderful Hawk Conservancy during the super week off of day trips with so many phenomenal places visited and much wildlife seen.

Butterflies did quieten down this month for me but I saw some fantastic ones, headlined by adding the excellent Clouded Yellow to my year list a great final piece of the jigsaw to another memorable butterfly year for me. I also really enjoyed seeing Small Coppers at Bushy Park and Southbourne, Meadow Brown, Small Heath, Speckled Wood especially seen well at Lakeside, Common Blue, female Adonis Blue at Old Winchester Hill, Green-veined White, numerous Small Whites and Large Whites especially on sunny days, beautiful Painted Ladies, Red Admirals and Peacock. I enjoyed seeing a fair few moths this month too including dashing Willow Beauty, Garden Carpet, L-album Wainscot, Light Brown Apple moth, sumptuous Lesser Yellow Underwings, pretty Lunar Underwing, Square-spot Rustic and Silver Y and Vestal in the day. Dragonflies and damselflies took a large amount of the limelight again as they dazzled at this well lit and beautiful time of year, Brown Hawker, thrilling Black Darter, Common Darter and Ruddy Darter views, Keeled Skimmer on Brownsea Island, resplendent Migrant Hawker, gigantic and eyecatching Southern Hawker and exquisite Emerald Damselfly were special to see.

It was captivating to watch Common Lizards at Thursley Common and a Common Frog on a wet New Forest walk at Puttles Bridge. Symbolising the shift to autumn I saw loads of craneflies this month which was memorable. I also enjoyed seeing Long-winged Conehead, Common Green Lacewing, hoverflies, bees, wasp, hornet, enigmatic Devil’s coach horse beetle and ground beetle at Thursley, ladybird, Forest Bug, Dock bug, and Grey Silverfish and spiders at home.

Key flower/plant sightings this month included my first ever skullcap at Bushy Park, lots of great devil’s-bit scabious one of my favourites, harebell, common toadflax, restharrow, marjoram, wild basil, water mint, great willowherb, sundew, bog asphodel, sea rocket, wild radish, seaside daisies, sand spurrey, yellow-horned poppy, sea kale, rock samphire, mercury yarrow, wild carrot, pineappleweed, mignonette, hedgerow crane’s-bill, red clover, white clover, comfrey, a strong month for yellow with ragwort, fleabane, tormentil, sowthistle, oxtongue and autumn hawkbit, montbretia, self-heal, gorse, ivy, plantain, black medick and bell and common heather painting the landscape a splendid purple. There was a lot of nice fruit to see including apples, dogwood berries, guelder rose berries, rowan berries and fine ruby hawthorn berries. Sunflower, pretty fuchsia, buddleia, roses, rose hips, firethorn berries and other colourful plants were nice to see at home this month.