#Translucent Cicadas

[rattyexplores]

Christmas party Cicadas

Most of these are the Two-toned Bunyip, except for the final image (the pastel specimen) which is unidentified.

Tamasa burgessi

25/12/22

[onenicebugperday]

Milky cicada aka white ghost cicada, Ayuthia spectabile, Cicadinae (Translucent Cicadas)

Found in Southeast Asia

Photos 1-2 by Bernard Dupont, 3 by lungchris, 4 by yriassic85, 5 by jackychiangmai, 6 by nomascus, 7 by charliev, and 8 by liuguangyu

[ainews]

Cicadas are taking over coffee shops across the United States this summer, and for a very specific reason. Their distinctive shells make them the perfect topping for lattes—to create beautiful, Instagrammable caffeinated drinks.

Designed to enhance the visuals of the espresso beverage, cicadas act as a whimsical and eye-catching garnish. The translucent shells look like tiny dried leaves, and they add a unique texture and color to the creamy espresso and milk mixture.

Cicadas are abundant in the US this summer, which means it’s the perfect time for baristas to get creative. Some mochas feature a scattered array of cicada shells that add to the aesthetic of their coffee art. Others are more minimalistic and include just a single cicada perched atop the latte’s surface.

The cicada as a garnish has gained such traction that some popular coffee chains, like Starbucks, are already serving drinks topped with the bug. And, of course, legions of baristas on Instagram have also been experimenting with cicadas, proving that they’ll almost certainly remain a popular topping throughout the summer season.

The popularity of cicadas as a latte topping is a testament to the invention and creativity of baristas. Not only do cicadas add a unique visual to the coffee art, but they also give coffee drinkers something to talk about, thus enhancing both the flavor and experience of the beverage.

[queenimmadolla]

It is a MONSTER of a heatwave in Indiana, so I imagine my precious little babies are indulging in one of those kiddie pools that kinda flop open, splashing in front of the trailer, baby Wayne reaching out of the pool to scoop up a handful of mud while mama who’s wearing a bikini that makes the neighbors turn their noses up, has to intercept it from his little hands before he can contaminate the whole pool. Penny is having the time of her life playing with the hose, shooting it up in the air so it looks and feels like it’s raining, spraying it towards the windows of the trailers because she likes to watch the water drip and appreciates the tinny sound it makes. But she especially likes tormenting her daddy, chasing after him with the hose, giggling as he screeches when the cold water soaks his back. And when he cries for your help you pretend not to hear though you snicker under your breath as you curl your lips in towards your teeth to conceal your laughter. Once the sun goes down you head back inside and since it’s too sticky and warm to sleep in bed you make a nest on the living room floor where you sprawl out and cuddle until the combined snores of your little family trickles into the cacophony of cicadas of crickets and that one lonely owl.

Okay, these thoughts and things you imagine? Yeah, I’m gonna need you to send them to me whenever you have them because YOU HAVE BEEN HOLDING OUT ON ME!!! Oh my gosh, Junie!!!!

I can imagine everything so clearly, Eddie fleeing from Penny, his curls limp and dripping wet, graphic t-shirt made translucent from the water of the hose and I can hear the laughter from both of them as well as baby Wayne’s. I can even see the neighbors peeking through their blinds, disapproval in their eyes simply because your family is happy and not hiding it (nor are you trying to hide in that bikini 👀—you did enough of that as a teenager).

And oh, how I live for family livingroom camp outs. The floor covered in sheets, blankets, and every pillow you could find as you all cuddle, cartoons displayed on the tv as everyone settles down from the excitement of the afternoon that had extended into the evening. Eventually, there are no more movies, nor is anyone awake to watch them. The tv screen is blue and the only sounds are the soft breathing (and Eddie’s snores) as well as the sounds of nighttime woodland life and that owl that definitely scares Penny whenever she’s awake to hear it.

[arcaneriddles]

When I vanish into melody And never return, far gone Would you turn me into a cicada So I can finish your song? When I vanish into melody Would you give me translucent wings? And I will finish your song When summer begins

Blackbriar - Cicada (2023)

[bellatrixobsessed1]

I Am Blackened Bones (Part 7)

It is still following them. She can hear it.

She has to admire the fire spirit’s persistence; it has been tracking them for four days now, trailing closely behind, lingering just out of sight. 

Zuko runs his fingers through his hair. “Ugg! This is so frustrating! It’s impossible!” She feels horrible for thinking so, but Katara wishes that he would just shut up for a moment or two. Just so that she can hear. Can really listen. But he bellows on. “This jungle is huge and Azula might not even be here!”

“But she could be wandering around somewhere.” Aang says. “She might be happy to have someone take her home.”

“Or she’ll be more furious than ever and this is all a waste of time.” Zuko kicks at the ground. “This was a stupid idea! Of course she’s going to be angry that we’ve tracked her down! Why should anything have changed?”

“Come on, Zuko, that’s not necessarily true.” Katara says, if only to try to placate him enough to regain a relative quiet. “You’re…we’re all just a little cranky and tired from being out here for so long.” She feels horrible for the half-sincerity. For offering words of comfort with an ulterior motive of sorts. 

There might have been another snap but Zuko’s voice had made certain that she couldn’t hear it. She grits her teeth and almost tells him outright to be quiet. If only Toph weren’t so entirely invested in setting up their campfire. That should have been Zuko’s job, the fire would have been lit already. 

Finally Zuko finds himself a spot on the ground and drops down, resting his chin in his hands. “Maybe we should just go home.” He mutters as a final thought on the matter. 

“Maybe we should.” Katara agrees quietly. Although she can’t seem to ward off the tickles in her heart that come at the thought of leaving anyone, even Azula, to fend for themselves in a creepy place like this. The rustles are closer now and this time they come with a guttural clicking. For all she knows, that stomach-churning clicking could have been ongoing for a while, unnoticed beneath Zuko’s grumblings. Katara fixes her gaze eastward. The clicking comes again, although she wagers that it hadn’t stopped at all it simply lowers in depth and then rises once more. She wishes that she could dismiss it as cicadas or some type of Fire Nation variety of cricket. They have been in the jungle long enough for her to have gained a sense of what its usually nightlife is like and this is not it.

“Zuko do you…?”

“Hear that?” His brows knit.

“Yeah.”

“Yeah…” 

“Do you think that its just…” Katara begins.

But no. 

Something is wrong. 

These snaps seem much louder. 

And the fire spirit never clicked.

The fire spirit didn’t exude such a hateful, conniving aura. 

Katara squints at the treeline. And there! Six glowing eyes. She lets out a sigh of relief, they are pretty low to the ground. “I think that it’s just a small…”

The eyes shift and shoot up. Katara gulps, she had sorely misjudged; this spirit is massive. A hulking shadow with a head turning presence. And turn heads it does. Aang, Toph, and Sokka drop what they are doing, firewood and tent pegs clatter to the jungle floor and the fire that Toph had just got kindling snuffs out.

It is a skinny thing that ambles around on all fours with a sickly beige to brown gradient complexion. Its under belly is speckled with what looks like tiny red gemstones floating within nearly translucent, gelatinous skin. It breathes heavily and when it does its slippery, slimy sides suck in and suction to its ribcage. Katara thinks of thin rubber, elastic and bouncy. The texture is pimpled and difficult to gaze upon.

“What does it want?” Sokka asks. 

“I think that it wants us to leave.” Aang replies. He grimaces. “We might have stepped onto its territory.”

And that, apparently, is reason enough for the spirit to propel itself at them with an enraged clicking screech. A massive hand whips out and slaps Sokka clear across the clearing before he can even reach for his boomerang. Toph throws a wall of stone between she and its palm. A palm that obliterates the earthy wall with ease. 

Zuko blasts the hand aside with a horizontal column of fire. “Watchout, Aang!” 

Aang leaps out of the way of the spirit’s crystal-barbed tail only to find himself clobbered when it comes back around. Zuko winces on his behalf. The fight has just begun and they are already overpowered…a perfect ambush. This is no time to let her mind wander but she spares Azula another passing thought; if she has been in this jungle all this time, it would be a miracle to find her alive. 

Zuko throws blast after blast at the spirit but it seems mostly unphased. Katara’s water sinks into its skin, seeming to rejuvenate it more than anything else.

“We’re getting our asses kicked!” Toph hollars. 

Katara has to wonder if they would be faring any better had they been prepared. As things are, they don’t stand a chance. Katara gasps as the spirit extends the crystals on its tail, she doesn’t even have time to cry out before it poises that tail for a lethal blow. She closes her eyes and waits for it to come. 

She hears a shrill screech and a shatter. And she opens her eyes to writing spirit surrounded by rough shards of shattered ruby. Beneath it, almost comically small by comparison, stands a spindly spirit with a cloak of fire. It looks back at Katara and its face cracks into a glowing grin of sorts. 

A grin that is wiped swiftly away by the other spirit's retaliation. It ponces upon the fire spirit who only narrowly evades.

 Zuko springs forward with furry and two fistfuls of fire. He throws one after another but the only spirit that yelps is the one with the fiery limbs. It drops to its knees and clutches its head. 

“Zuko, stop you’re hurting it!”

“That’s kind of the point, Katara!” 

“No! Not one! You’re hurting the fire spirit.” The poor thing is on the ground writing, its hands frantically move from one part of its body to the next; it first clutches its head and then its stomach and then its head again. And then its right arm, its throat, its head, its chest, its stomach…

It is confused and it is more terrified than ever. So much so that it can’t even seem to fathom what part of it is hurting the most and so it continues its haunting twitching dance. A dance that seems to swell and crescendo as the skirmish wages on.

“How am I hurting the fire spirit?” He huffs as he throws another ball of fire. 

The fire spirit shrikes, perhaps louder than the spirit that Zuko had actually struck. 

Katara’s mouth falls agape and her words come out in a gasp, “your fire.” It must be. She watches him throw another flaming ball and the flames encompassing the fire spirit rise with a vicious roar and then seem to burn out completely. It cries out again, in time with the malevolent spirit. “Your fire!” Katara says louder. “Firebending hurts it.” 

“What!?” He looks over his shoulder. 

“I–I think that using firebending takes fire from the spirit and that hurts it.” 

Zuko’s brows crease.

“Zuko, pay attention!” Toph shouts as the other spirit’s spectral tail comes to thrash him squarely in the back. He crashes to the ground with a thud and a loud curse. The spirit is on top of him in second, four of its six eyes are fixed upon him, the other two keep a close watch on everyone else. 

Zuko brings the fire to his hands again and the fire spirit seems to wither. Drawing in on itself. There is a an eye-burning glow that pulsates brightly in the cracks in its treebark arms. The other spirit puffs up, its skin bulges, body rounding like a pufferfish on land with a glowing red belly. Also like a puffer fish, spines protrude from its body; sizable sharpened crystals that jut just shy of puncturing Zuko’s stomach. He releases a relieved breath and grits his teeth. All the spirit has to do is lower its body and Zuko is as good as dead. 

His face strains as he summons every ounce of fire in his body. There is a flame in Aang’s hand too. Sokka’s boomerang twitches in his hand, Katara can tell that he isn’t sure if he should release it. Toph too holds her boulder in place; if the spirit tries to duck, Zuko will be impaled. But he will be impaled if they do nothing. 

The fire swells in Zuko’s hands. 

And the fire spirit twitches and writhes next to Katara.

At its wit’s very end the fire spirit unleashes an absolutely nightmarish screech and charges. 

It is fast.

Admirably so. 

It moves with such a speed that she only sees a gold-orange blur. And then it is on top of the puffer spirit ripping and clawing, viciously ribboning the creature’s back. It gives a screech of its own, sucks the jutting jewel back into its stomach, and pushes it out of its back. The fire spirit gives its back one last lash before diving out of the way. 

The puffer spirit unleashes an enraged clicking growl. Katara, Aang, Toph, and Sokka attack in unison while Zuko rolls out of the way. The puffer spirit inflates in second, crystals jutting out in every which way. It pitches to the side, putting holes in the grass as it rolls towards them. The four of them dive out of the way each in a different direction. 

But the fire spirit, the stubborn, perhaps stupid, thing holds its ground extends its branch-like claws. Katara wants to scream. To shout at it to get out of the way as the puffer spirit barrels towards it. But it seems all too intent on popping its newfound rival. At the very last moment, the fire spirit finally finds its sense and leaps out of the way. But it extends a claw and holds it there as the puffer spirit rolls on by, drawing a deep red gash on the other spirit’s side. It unleashes an angry roar and discharges all of its crystals, one final act of vengeance and defiance before it deflates. 

Katara scrambles to get out of the way and Sokka throws himself over her. Zuko throws himself behind a tree, picking Toph up as he does so. Aang rebounds one of the jagged crystals with a powerful puff of air. Katara and Sokka get lucky, one gem pierces the ground just short of their heads. The fire spirit isn’t so lucky. The puffer spirit, with a particular resentment, had sent a larger barrage of crystal spines at it. The fire spirit manages to dodge three but the fourth and fifth pin it to the ground by its shoulder and splinter its arm at the elbow respectively.

Blood like lava runs thickly and slowly like syrup from the splintered wood of the spirit’s arm. Its sobs come like a rush of fire through an open door. Katara shudders, the undertones are distinctly human. 

.oOo.

The fire spirit has gotten used to pain. This variety of it is different though. Worse, if only because she hasn’t gotten used to it in the way that she has come to familiarity with that burning sensation. In some ways, the fire spirit almost misses the harsh burning when it cools away–it is a constant, a familiar affliction that is comforting in its familiarity.

The ailment that she feels now…she thinks that she is going to die. That her flame will snuff and she will be reduced to just a pile of smoking twigs and blackened bones with fading traces of orange to outline the cracks in them. 

She holds her arm out and her body trembles, the fire haloing it sputters. At first she doesn’t comprehend what she is looking at. Lava gushes from her elbow, creating a sizzling crater in the ground next to her. It gushes from what she, at first, thinks is just a fair sized hole. But then a breeze comes by and rattles the branches. Rattles her branch. Her branch is broken, snapped nearly in two. 

She screams again. A strangled sound between a shrike and a wail. 

“Oh no…” the girl with the blue eyes and braided hair mutters. “Oh no, no, no!” Without thinking she wraps her arms around the fire spirit. She throws herself back just as quickly with a cry of her own. And the fire spirit laments in double; she hadn’t meant it, but she can’t help it, she has burned the girl’s arms. Put a char in her clothing.

“Aang, help it!” 

“You’re the waterbender, Katara!” Sokka shouts.

“It’s a fire spirit, Sokka! I don’t think that waterbending on it is a good idea. I-I don’t know how to heal spirits anyways, I don’t think that I can.” She bites her lip. “Aang, can you do something?” 

The fire spirit’s firefly eyes land upon Aang and she recognizes him; the Avatar.

Yes. She knows the Avatar. All spirits know the Avatar. He can help her.

She  reaches for him with her good arm. Flexing her fingers with a sense of longing and desperation.

His voice is gentle. “It’s alright, you’re going to be okay.”

But she doesn’t think that she will be. She is always in so much pain and just when she thought that the suffering was all done with, it has come back worse than before. And so the spirit weeps. She weeps and wishes that someone could hold her. 

The waterbender’s fingers brush fleetingly over the back of her uninjured hand. It was a simple, passing gesture but there had been so much affection in it. The fire spirit could sense it. She can see the compassion and care in those blue eyes. And she supposes that that will have to do.

[aiyexayen]

"A-Xu," Wen Kexing says.

He says it too softly, barely shaping his mouth around a word that's more taste than sound, the precious textures of his zhiji's name given over to the sacred susurrus of the night. There isn't room for an echo in the dense drapery over the bed but he hears it anyway; something lingers behind the distant roar of the river and skips between crickets and cicadas to nestle in the innkeeper's midnight hearth.

It's comforting to give this perfect name to the soft places beyond the bed. Comforting to demand that it be repeated again and again until it becomes as inextricable from the world as it is from Wen Kexing's tangled mess of a heart.

And then, in a wave of twisted anxiety, he becomes jealous.

Finding his own mouth with his hand as thin fabric slips down from his wrist, Wen Kexing acknowledges the continued existence of his face in the dark just so he can press fingertips to the smooth curve of his upper lip.

"A-Xu," he feels himself say again, catching the name this time so it stays with him only. If he holds it tight enough, he can keep it forever.

His next inhale smells like shimmering sunlight on old lacuered wood and the tingle of alcohol before a kiss. His breath is warm on his hand, like a throat is warm against squeezing fingers. He holds tighter to the air in his open palm.

The bed dips and blankets twitch as the figure next to him shifts in his sleep. It is not a thin face that stills every muscle then; Wen Kexing simply falls back on instinct--the greatest joke, after all, the greateat secret, is that the master of ghosts is still just a rabbit with blood in his teeth, tensed in his hidden hollow and ready to bite again.

It's a reflex he doesn't need here but he doesn't pretend it away at this time of night. Instead he counts his breaths until he can hear them and whispers himself a shelter against the chill of his drifting thoughts.

"A-Xu."

This time he is wrapped in the enveloping expanse of the impossibly quiet name like bolts of sky-blue silk: bright, analeptic, nearly as forgiving.

The third call acts as a key to the tight band around his chest--or maybe the slow creep of starlit silhouettes on the pattern of the wall has finally cracked him open. Either way his words get caught on the tail end of his zhiji's name and pulled up out of him in a surge of feeling.

"Isn't it funny," he whispers almost soundlessly to the sleeping room, "that monsters can dream? If nightmares are not allowed for people like us then why does sleep elude me like the golden tail of a fish that turns to thorny branches each time I reach out to catch it with both hands?" He closes his eyes and opens them. Not much is different between the two states. "I cannot sleep but I cannot bear to be awake. How dare I waste any chance to lay by your side?"

Especially now that he knows what it's like to be apart from him. If only laying here separated by the barrier of sleep didn't still feel like its own kind of uncrossable distance.

Wen Kexing sighs. It's louder than he intended and he stills for a bit until the discord he stirred up fades back into the rhythm of the night sounds. It gives him time to think, and he finally says, "...even if you say so, I am not a good person. I would have become one for you, I think, if I had met you in time, but it's too late."

Letting the words touch his lips, however translucent and petal-thin they may be, is a kind of release he would surely never allow in the daylight; even this is an unconscionable lapse, but A-Xu makes him new, makes him care, and the risks are half the fun of the game.

The bed shifts again and Wen Kexing lets out a puff of air as an arm thunks across his middle. A-Xu grumbles something unintelligible.

For a split second adrenaline bubbles at the corners of Wen Kexing's awareness. But, no. He was too quiet to hear.

"Lao Wen," A-Xu murmurs in his ear, soft with sleep of his own.

"A-Xu?"

"Sleep."

The sound of his own name in A-Xu's mouth feels safe, whatever else he feels. The chill of adrenaline fades; the arm holding him is warm.

But he says it one more time. Quieter than any time before. He has to; four is inauspicious, of course.

"A-Xu."

The hand draped at his waist darts up to slap against his mouth, but it's late and A-Xu is lazy. It only makes it halfway, gripping softly to Wen Kexing's jaw to shake him roughly a couple times back and forth. He smiles against the palm, fond. "Haoba," he mouths against it and it returns to settle warm at his hip.

A-Xu is close enough now for Wen Kexing to curl up in his scent and so he does, letting himself be coaxed. It is too late, but not too late at rhe same time. A-Xu is here, and A-Xu loves him, and the sun will rise again tomorrow. He can let that be enough.

Sleep is as hard-won as ever--maybe even more difficult, limbs at odd angles to his body like this. But when it finally comes, Wen Kexing blissfully does not dream.

[bodysnatcherrrr]

Lil Writing Drabble Challenge

(Plus a goose.)

1. Coffee- At fifteen her Daddy had told her she made her coffee too strong. "You havta chew it to get it down." He had chided from his usual spot at the empty dining room table, peering into the kitchen at his only daughter fiddling with the Black and Decker. Carpet holding distance between them was stained with oil and dirt from years old work boots. Her bare feet cold on the ground. Standing on the mopped laminate flooring of her own kitchen now, she carefully measures the grounds. The brewed coffee weak and bitter.

2. Lose- After so long all that is gradually shifts into past tense. It's the little scraps of information you wish you could forget. The minute details that hang around in your head on good days, bad days and whatever is in between. A body is never meant to be that still in a family home. 'She looks like she's sleeping.' Sleep doesn't molt once sun kissed flesh violet and blue. You lose the sound of their voice saying your name. An ever spoken I love you trailing before or after. (Her laugh escaping her, her belting out her favorite Elton John song.) The taste of home made fried green tomatoes on a random Tuesday afternoon. I was a selfish kid and never asked to learn how you fed us so well.

3. Shimmer- 'You wanna play mermaids? My tail is shimmery and black. What about yours?' A new friend was made in the three feet of water. Imagined tails slicing through sun warmed water as still growing feet kicked to keep them afloat.

4. Liminal- In most aspects of life, a liminality is constantly hovering. A waiting ship to beam you straight to another galaxy, but as I sit here with reruns of The Golden Girls playing with you, I know there are certainties in life.

5. Unanimous- "You can't get cold, you have enough blubber." "Your brother's friends said you're easy." Unanimously a loner. Broken bones can be reset and mended.

6. Purple- Crimson and azure perfectly blend as the setting sun falls just below snow blanketed hills. I am comforted by the sound of cicadas chirping their nightly lullaby. All is calm and I am fine.

7. Retrograde- "Mercury is in the oven again." And it was Rachel's turn this time to roll her eyes at the text, fingers hovering over the screen while trying to find the perfect emoji to send back. Words useless when all can be blamed on the precise alignment of planets. A simple moon sent and promptly ignored.

8. Wound- I learned at the young age of seven that bleeding will get you whatever you want. The sharp crack of a wooden Louisville Slugger whipping back into my cheekbone, one good scream and a fountain of blood were all it took to garner concern and sympathy. A new translucent purse happily slung over my avian shoulder as I brandished a row of neatly placed stitches under a shining black eye.

9. Interim- In the mean time I'll fill my nights with fantastical ideals of a life that could have been. An in between of realities and make belief as I work my way through my third cup of coffee for the evening. Fingers only warmed by the hot porcelain.

10. Brush- Knitting and twining, snagging and catching. You had always found a way to pull at every single knot. The careful brush of your hand through my hair, the tight leash you kept fixed around my neck, your hands were not meant to ever hold something so delicate.

[heldflesh]

TALES OF O'FRIEL — TAMSIN OLWEN LOVEDAY.

──  (  grace  van  dien.  demi  woman,  she / they.  )  recently  seen  sprawling  across  beer  -  soaked  oak,  hand  clasped  to  ear  in  fitful  whispers  and  sideway  glances,  the  occasional  cicada  slipping  past  lip  and  taking  flight  at  the  whaler:  enter  TAMSIN  OLWEN  LOVEDAY  O'FRIEL.  twenty  six  years  old  &  a  libra,  usually  observed  in  gossamer  lace,  a  ghost  upon  body;  soft  glow  emitting  from  skin  pulled  sheer  –  pulsating  veins  and  a  flash  of  something  golden,  the  teeth  of  a  white  rabbit  drawn  upon  shoulders;  sorry  thumper,  and  goodby  –  ;  love  is  a  devotion  local  known  within  their  circle  as  VULPINE  +  GNOMIC,  a  perpetual  hum  of  twilight  by  bôa  on  salted  mouth.  something  of  the  SEPULCHRAL  +  PESTILENT  follows,  regardless  …  something  to  do  with  one's  very  own  side  -  quest,  faux  prophecies  and  dangers  ahead;  tales  most  befitting  miscreants  and  visitors  alike,  one  and  the  same  –  uncaring  to  lift  another  finger  of  their  own  ,  perhaps  ?  strange,  what  a  FAERY  can  get  up  to.  they’ve  been  heard  waxing  lyrical  about  a  dream  they  had  recently,  a  strange  tale  of  a  never  -  ending  dance  –  how  many  eternities  have  we  spent  here  together?  –  soles  long  worn  to  bone  and  dust;  body  nothing  more  but  a  husk  of  skin,  exoskeletal;  entertainment  beneath  a  spider's  growing  web  –  but  we're  here  together,  aren't  we?  forever  and  ever  .  pay  no  mind  to  fanciful  star  -  gazing,  though:  rather,  mind  the  tangible.  focus  on  bated  breath  against  locks  of  hair,  near  -  translucent  fingers  laid  across  shoulder  –  voice  here,  and  there,  nowhere  –  everywhere;  you  want  to  dive  into  this  lake  sooo  bad,  you  want  to  swim  all  the  way  down  and  wrap  around  the  seagrass  and  get  stu–  /  ears  impossibly  long  –  all  the  better  to  hear  you  with,  my  dear  –  tufts  of  softened  white  gold,  splintering  from  fine  points,  lily  of  the  valleys  dangling  chain-like  /  and  phantom  wings  in  every  passed  mirror  –  gambling  never  a  consequence  until  now;  a  mother's  cruel  laughter  echoing  from  every  budding  flower,  every  cawing  bird,  every  iron  box  clawed  open  in  searing  desperation  .  /

... mentioning themes of CONTROLLING MOTHERS, BODY HORROR, DEATH, GRIEF, DEPRESSION, and INSECTS, BUT LIKE GROSS. proceed with care.

with palms held out.

full name — tamsin olwen loveday o'friel.

nickname(s) — tam / tammy, if one despises their life; loveday; love ( friends, if you can call them that, and mother, if you can call her that ); owl face; first name preferred.

date of birth & age — october 4th, 1xxx, physically twenty6.

gender / pronouns — demi woman; she / her and they / them.

sexuality — demiromantic, bisexual.

typing — faery, wings MIA.

occupation — woods - wanderer; ex - dancer; hunter AND gatherer; gambler; front desk at shrike point light.

astrology — libra sun, capricorn moon, taurus ascending.

interests — hallucinogens. old - fashioned gold coins, particularly those dug up from hidden treasure chests. playing serpent. mammatus clouds. a good gamble, or an even better bet. winning. animal fur. warm beds. warm bodies.

aversions — classical dancing. uncalculated risks. lying ( even if desired ). weak constitutions. promises. anyone named "craig", no particular reason. high ledges. her mother. particularly nosy spiders.

next in queue — shadow of a doubt, sonic youth; vanished, crystal castles; pitch the baby, cocteau twins; show me your mind, sunken.

notable features — almost comically long ears; tufted at the ends, mimicking caracals & a constant, soft light emitting from them; evangeline, is that you?

general disposition — calculating to the point of desperate.

last known location — trying to convince tourists to step into faery rings at the campgrounds after being interrogated for twenty minutes about whether they can shrink down to the size of a half - chewed polly pocket and if faeries believe in, like, jesus?

scrying mirror & kindred — melisandre ( game of thrones ), rose dewitt bukater ( titanic ), lux lisbon ( the virgin suicides ), love quinn ( you ), vanessa ives ( penny dreadful ).

what lurks in the past...

were they born, or were they created? fae realm a haze beyond fingertips, limbs extending too long, too narrow; cobwebs sticking to new legs, trembling foul's - burning from inside out. a gleam to everything in view; light bouncing from leaf to leaf, sparkling upon open water; skewed from chest, lance - like. overwhelming - maddening, small eyes watching intently every human who stumbled upon their realm by accident; idiocy at their finest, curious as their bodies collapse into hysterics, never able to behold the beauty of the land before them.

she never cast doubt, a mother who would never allow it; too many eyes to keep sight of, too many eyes to be wary of. days filled of frivolous activity; dance after dance, sun and moon passing in tandem, day and night after day and night. rocketing themselves into the sky, as far as can go, vast, endless - did they have space? if she keeps going - will she be surrounded by nothing but void, but the sky all around her; come crashing down as the pressure compresses her lungs, stops her breath?

what did the other realm have, that they didn't? curiosity - not doubt - leads to their first visit - not alone, never allowed, not by mother; three of them at the slightest, pas de trois. it's hideous, it's beautiful - it's devotion; before they were - or have they always been the one and same? captivating, to be in a world not their own; to find vices only a human could have, dishonesty beyond the mirror, kept from wandering eyes and hands, but not cards.

visits become frequent - some secretive, some brash, crawling out of holes formed from bark, emerging from tree's flesh. eras change in a blink of eye - here one day, gone the next; so fickle, their short lives. unexpected friends meeting unexpected demise; but what right, would tamsin have to be sad? what is it - to be sad, melancholic? too much to do, to worry about such trivial things; too many minds susceptible to trickery, flimsy thoughts they hold so carelessly.

until she met them, light scorching eye, features engraved beneath eyelids; an intoxication never so sweet, rivaling nectar from their realm - maybe sweeter, maybe just. devotion a home, suddenly - to her, to them, together; forever, if she could. if they could - possibility just out of sight, just out of frame. but maybe not - somewhere else, where time moves different.

was she a fool? blinded by love - stricken by it as taut as grief itself; a mother like hers never trusting, never trusted - never trust. in all her wisdom; tamsin could not compare the centuries laid upon her mother's back. foolish. foolish. foolish - she never meant the harm; never meant the death sentence, lips of lover grazing fruit. lifting her into their arms - entwined in one another, feet barely dusting floor. spinning together in a silent waltz as time rolls on bye; until their skin is nothing more but dust molded husk, tamsin unable to look away, unable to pull apart; terror - laced ichor, enough for eternity.

doesn't remember leaving the realm - leaving them, there - by their lonesome; an exhibit to be watched, a reminder to be wrought. everything's new; modern, hum of technology reverberating skull, shaking spine. twenty years laid to rest; an unwavering form sitting atop rock in the woods, gaze unmoving; statuette, before bone creaks back into existence.

only to be tricked again; a mockery, lost to their own hysteria, their own grief - desperation seeping pores, clutching at narrowed frame. the dead should stay dead; even in their realm - law remains enact, balance must never waver. greed has no moral to stand upon; deals are made, gambles set - hands shaken, blinding light and sharp sulfur and a piercing scream as wing pulls self from body. and nothing. no body to raise from ground; still in the fae realm, still dancing; only spirit, only confused; memories scattered - no remnants of tamsin, or the years lost to them. nothing at all. husk meets husk; fool meets fool.

those of the realm of fae: family to friends, to those who think tamsin a fool for losing their heart so easily, for letting it slide from her palms into another; for upsetting her mother, older than most.

lost lover, loving no more: nothing more but a ghost; a clean slate free from burden and memory. it hurts to look at them - hurts to acknowledge; so tamsin doesn't - cowardly, after all sacrificed.

...comes to light in present...

it's not better now; but it's better than nothing; existing bares easier on the soul, when distracted; kept amused, kept pushing limits - a child who learns best from example. she can't rot any longer, insects a collection inside her, now; coughed up on occasion, fluttering away like nothing - mother's watchful servants, ever - gazing, ever - curious. fucking nosy. better than the fae realm - better than reminders, devotion's growing modernity cloaking old memories.

tamsin's - hard to crack; penchant for gambling, seen tucked into far - off booths, old coins shuffling between fingers, betraying the air the exudes her, collaborating with the far off, dull look in her eyes. severity no longer reaches - slapped away with a dismissive hand and a cold, humorless laugh that twists maniacal at a pin's drop. can never deny a game - or the hunt, puzzles not the only stimulant solace is found in.

everyone's useless except the shrike family, and the knowledge their library keeps; front desk an excuse to scour over maps and crumbling pages - they've got to be somewhere, don't they? somewhere, anywhere; tamsin's pried open their fair share of iron boxes, trying to find the wings she bet away; lost, given up. sacrificed. the deal a bust - why should tamsin be the only one to suffer? fingerprints never quite there - most certainly no longer, wrapped in bandages with every clasp of iron.

never a liar - forever desperate, visitors of devotion, south of tene, are subjected to tamsin's harrowing tales of heartbreak and sacrifice, no storyteller but just a girl trying to find what is hers, rightfully; years and years of scavenger hunt, level impossible; treasure maps drawn and discarded and drawn again. a quest - she insists. it's just a quest. all will be well - just heed my word, do my bidding. help me fly.

the one whose heart shall be ripped fro - : most probably a witch, or another faerie; the one tamsin lost to, who won their gamble - the game they play. probably still alive, ever - mocking, tamsin staring into their windows nightly.

devotion visitors, none the wiser: it's a tale almost as old as time; the full truth never revealed, only enough sad details to guilt a stranger into potentially perilous tasks.

...and carries into the future.

how long can she dance this dance? make fool out of fool, reap the consequence of never listening to those wiser than her - almost childish, tamsin's resolution, determination. naïve. pathetic. too many eyes on her - waiting for her eventual fall, one she does not rise from; how do you kill a faerie?

but perhaps there's an alternative route; sky regaining vibrancy, leaves returning from their dulled hues - no more bodies, no more deaths; grieving a silenced lamb, a quest to complete on her own. be her own savior, heal her own wounds.

maybe tamsin can lock the king into a checkmate; play the game better - win, for once.

enough is ENOUGH! we're sick of it!: this isn't a soap opera, get a grip! one way or another, even if the end result is less desirable. enemies, friends of their mother, those wronged by tamsin after years of trickery and mischief.

a family found: eventual friends, insecurities and trust issues and fears aside; people who care, people who tamsin will not gamble the lives of. probably.

[chrismerle]

more bugs get into the new house than the old one, but they're more bearable than when bugs got into the old house

in the current house, there are, like, multiple bugs a day, but they're rollipollis, tiny millipedes, those little translucent dancing spiders, tiny grass spiders, moths, and regular ol' flies. they're so low key that even i, the most insectophobic and arachnophobic person in the house, can basically just ignore them

in the old house, bugs getting in was less common, but they tended to be shit like wolf spiders that would span my palm, house centipedes longer than my fingers, cicadas a couple times, and FUCKING STINK BUGS. there was no ignoring any of them

[viewer-of-many]

A dove, really flamboyant and loves to show off his magic tricks to anyone who takes interest in magic.

"ahh~ greetings fellow bots, welcome, right this way, you're about to see the fantastic magician himself, me! Ohohohoho!"

Taxidermied Canadian swallowtail butterfly, she always felt a heavy weight on her. She felt envious of Curionia. Always sad and pessimistic about life.

"this is so... Sad... You tried so hard impressing everyone... You didn't take care of yourself... I'm so sorry..."

Daddy longlegs, the one who loves to do tricks, and make horrible boring jokes on everyone. He's just happy to be alive!

"wow! This is un-Bee-lievable! Haha, get it? Because there's a bee botbot, no? Ok"

Dessert Rosy boa, calm and collected, but she does acknowledge her foul smell. But she is definitely a sensei type of bot.

"you bots really need to work on your footwork more, you'll run as sloppy as that hoagie over there, now again! But stiff up those shoulders!"

Tarantula, this bot really likes to play "hunt". He'd sneak up on someone and teasing them after an almost painful nibble.

"aw~ come on! It wasn't that painful! It was a little bite!"

Ball python, a very well mannered bot. Compared to the other animal botbots, who have to deal with their beast instincts, he has full control of his.

"oh me? It's true, I don't really worry about my instincts... I can control it, I don't know why, maybe it has to do with my brain or something like that"

Scorpion, absolutely a massive prick! He doesn't have any respect for anyone! Anybody who is a higher status than him, he'll try his way to squish them down lower to him. He loves the infamy he gets.

"why don't you wusses get your stupid whiney flashlight out of my turf, or else!"

Corn snake, so silly and fun! Always the best in personality!

"so what are we going to do today? Is it a game or a super cool party? C'mon! You gotta tell me! I just can't contain myself!"

Rhinoceros beetle, a very strong warrior. He wishes that he'd get to face his greatest opponent one day, but right now, he's a bit old

"*sigh* you there! Yes, bonsai tree, what's your name? Bonz-eye? Interesting, I saw you wield that sword, who made it for you? That's a fine blade you got there"

Dung beetle, he's just as gross and weird as Clogstopper.

"YO! What's up? Oh this? It's just my ball of poop, wanna touch it?"

Cicada: absolutely a loud little piece of sh- he can't shut up.

"HEY! WHAT ARE YOU DOING? WHAT? I CAN'T HEAR YOU! YOU'RE SO QUIET, SPEAK UP!"

Betta fish, an absolute escape artist. She loves to try and escape any containment. Also a criminal.

"hah! You really think this translucent tank can keep me in? Amateurs!"

(I won't be able to name the spider botbots, since that means looking up details about their alt modes, and I am very afraid of them.)

Risori the Ring Master(The type of dove used in magic tricks is Streptopelia risoria, the Barbary or Ringneck dove. He specializes in ring based magic tricks)

Pinpilio(taxidermy can also be called pinning, and Papilio is the genus of swallowtails)

Sonorgata(Sonoran Desert, where rosy boas can live, and trivirgata, the scientific name)

King Coils(ball pythons are also called royal pythons, and they like to coil up)

Sculstinger(A Centruroides sculpturatus)

Kerophi(kernels, like corn, and Pantherophis, the genus name)

Aloeox(Strategus aloeus, the ox beetle)

Saceroll(Scarabaeus sacer. has ball, will roll.)

Decibre(Brevisana brevis, the loudest insect in the world.)

Betti Byrin(Betta fish are in the Anabantoidei suborder, also referred to as labyrinth fish, due to a special organ they have)

[shiningdesignersreflections]

Chapter 4: My Own Design

Narrated by Nikki.

~~

August 25

Saw the renowned designer today.

A lady wearing dark clothes, graceful, even her perfume smells of haute design.

Not THAT lady, though.

Turns out real life doesn’t have so many coincidences to offer, after all.

Forgot to ask the sun hat lady’s name. Will I ever see her again?

~

September 1

Time flies. The project wraps up tomorrow. Don’t want to go...

Goodbye, sea!

~

September 25

Received the magazine featuring the beach project, with a page showing every designer’s work.

Wasn’t expecting to see my swimsuit in a corner, marked as “Designer: Nikki”!

Not the most prominent spot, but good enough to be my lifetime souvenir.

Saw a gorgeous blue dress in the magazine.

Layers of silk, in shades of blue, a gradient, like the mysteries of the tranquil sea.

Plus pink decorations.

I know this must be from the sun hat lady. This is her soul, a unique reflection of the world in her eyes.

~

May 4

The diary didn’t stop. An adventure of beauty continues.

The fluffy feeling of a kitty brushing past me. The sweetness of cappuccino foam. Puddles rippling in a downpour. Petrichor, the pleasant small after rainfall. Petals, washed almost translucent by raindrops.

...

These are my designs.

My observation of overlooked beauty will continue, no matter where I am.

~

June 5

It’s getting warm. Momo put away his heavy cloak. No need for quilts at night. Trees turning green, with cicadas calling.

Summer again, before you know it.

A gentle night breeze, like waves at the sea back then, caressing my feet.

Want to visit the sea again.

Might find something different this time, or different people.

~~

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

[mnchrmdrms]

Mercy

Sabito stares on. He wants to see, it’s a little twisted, but he wants to know. He has to. If Giyuu will stoop and kill for the sake of his freedom, for the sake of Sabito’s.

“Mercy…”

The words come from underneath the slight figure of a man who was nothing, but a whip receptacle a few days prior. There is no mercy in his eyes, they look cold and dead and full of hate for the man he’d gored just seconds prior. Supposedly, they had given him everything that he would ever need, everything he’d ever wanted. But here he is lips pulled back into a vicious snarl as Sabito stares on. He wants to see, it’s a little twisted, but he wants to know. He has to. If Giyuu will stoop and kill for the sake of his freedom, for the sake of Sabito’s. His hands are dyed red, covered in blood and bits of this man’s skin and flesh. It’s strange, he doesn’t look any different, not to Sabito at least. He is still untainted by the world. his skin looks soft and translucent under the dying light of the sun. His muscles are underdeveloped, but he looks well-fed. Just like all the members of the high court. Even with the snarl on his face, he is still beautiful, face round and eyes blue and icy and calm like the gems they would set at his feet. A body completely absolved of the sickness and death outside of the church walls. Sabito can say the same for himself, even if he doesn’t want to.

Nothing looks different, except for the blood dripping from the crisp, white linen of his tunic. He’s bathed in blood, from head to toe it drips down his hair and slides over his cheeks. Untamed grunts of exertion rumble up from his throat as he stalks toward the man crawling away from him. He continues to beg for mercy at his feet, but it falls on deaf ears. He’s completely one track minded. Searching for another opening the man’s leather armor to sink his knife into. Sabito sees the blood gushing from the bandit, knows where its coming from and his chances for survival. Giyuu doesn’t notice any of it, a death grip on the handle of the ornate knife Sabito had handed him before he left. He hovers over him, full of vitriol and a shiver runs down Sabito’s spine. He’d always regarded Giyuu as fragile. Even before this he had sent Giyuu to hide and sought to protect him, too keep him sheltered from the harshness of murder and blood. Giyuu never fails to prove him wrong, as he stands over this man, poised to slice his throat.

The moment he raises his knife Sabito plunges his sword into the bandit’s chest.

The quiet hum of cicadas and insects hum through the forest and the glitter of the setting sun highlights the blood caked on Giyuu’s face. He turns to look at Sabito, eyes full of admiration and relief as blood pools at his muddy feet. The heat is stifling and the air is wet as they continue to appraise each other. Giyuu is the first to reach out.

“Sabito.” there’s so many emotions mixed into his name. Giyuu always says it like he’s tasting it. “Are you hurt?”

Sabito remains quiet. Letting Giyuu grip him tight around his bracers. He hadn’t expected the calm collection in Giyuu’s voice. He’d expected him to turn on him, clutching his knife and throwing around excuses and demanding to go back to the church. Demanding that they both repent and live out the rest of their lives as good vassals and icons. In the name of the holy lady.

He’s been with Giyuu almost all of his life and its unsettling how little he truly knows about him.

Giyuu runs a cloth, a torn piece of some part of his tunic, to Sabito’s body. Cleaning blood from his wounds. So gentle and warm as he looks at Sabito with concern his eyes, such a turn from the natural born killer he’d seen just a few moments ago.

“His shoes. Take them.”

Giyuu looks reluctant to stop, but he does as he’s told, removing the shoes from the lifeless body of the bandit. Even as his now barefeet drop with a heavy thud to the ground Giyuu still seems unphased. As if he this man was another bump in the road. Giyuu turns back to Sabito with stomping about in his new boots.

“How are they?”

“Fine. A bit tight. But they’ll do,” Giyuu says standing close to Sabito’s side “we can buy some that fit me when we make it home.”

There’s another moment of silence. The blood of this bandit begins to return to the earth. Sabito breaks it. He has to know

“You don’t want to bury him?”

“No.” Giyuu spits, anger rising again. He holds his knife with a grip so tight his knuckles go white. “Anyone who tries to hurt you will die, horribly. What you did for him was far too kind and I hope, in death, he was thankful for the mercy you granted him. He would never have gotten it from me.”

Sabito feels heat pool in his chest and stomach as he looks at Giyuu. His look of aloofness replaced with deep-seated rage and a desire to harm. How far Giyuu has fallen. From the symbol of purity and piousness, born to repent for others, to a heathen willing to take the life of a man who looks at his retainer the wrong way.

All for me.

The thought disturbs him. In truth, the idea that he may be the reason for Giyuu’s corruption bothers him, if only a little. Sabito takes him by the wrist, leading Giyuu deeper into the forest. Giyuu follows, he can see the questions forming in his mind, but he doesn’t say anything. Only pads along quietly.

Giyuu is killing for him, but he didn’t ask for that. He squeezes Giyuu’s hand and a switch flips as he drags him further away from the path. Giyuu should have stayed in his hiding place, Giyuu should have done as he was told, it's the first time he’s really seen Giyuu disobey him and the most terrible time at that.

He can feel Giyuu grow anxious behind him as he stomps further and further into the woods. The heat in his chest keeps growing, he doesn’t understand it. If its anger or love or lust. Giyuu perpetually makes him feel and it's never straightforward. Giyuu runs right into his back, still caked in drying blood and wrist caught in Sabito’s vice grip. He doesn’t turn and he doesn’t let go of Giyuu’s hand.

“Don’t do it again.” Sabito grits out and Giyuu doesn’t make any noise. Not a single sound. And he doesn’t pull away from Sabito either. Sabito moves to take another step forward.

“I cannot,” Giyuu says, steady and warm as he cuddles and clings to the threadbare shirt on Sabito’s back. “and will not make any promises.”

The heat in his chest wanders up again. He goes forward, this time following the direction of the path. Giyuu is beautiful, even spattered with blood, but he’s an idiot all the same.

“I can take care of myself. And I can take care of you.” Sabito marches along. Listening for the sound of rushing water. “Don’t do it again.”

Giyuu nods along, listening and comprehending, but ultimately doing whatever he likes.

“Giyuu,” Sabito says, a little harsher this time, “Don’t do it again, understand.”

He hums, acknowledging Sabito once more, trying to keep pace.

“I don’t want to lie to you,” Giyuu breathes, “Sabito.”

The red finally rises in Sabito’s face. Giyuu always says his name like that. Exclusive, letting it roll off his tongue. Sweet and just for him. He looked down at the wrist in his hand, completely red with blood and hooked around the knife used to defend Sabito’s knife.

He can’t say that he’s happy, but its nice that Giyuu refuses to lie to him.

[mirandamckenni1]

Blackbriar - Cicada (Official Music Video) The official music video for 'Cicada' by Blackbriar, the second single of our forthcoming album 'A Dark Euphony'. ➞ Order your copy via Nuclear Blast Records: https://ift.tt/dgrXnAG Blackbriar is proudly endorsed by Lignator Guitars. Like and follow us on social media: Facebook: https://ift.tt/x4cftaj Instagram: https://ift.tt/NmL0sKQ TikTok: https://ift.tt/e17NnsM Would you like to support us? Merchandise: https://ift.tt/EVaDgh0 Patreon: https://ift.tt/7JyoPnf Blackbriar: Zora Cock – Vocals Bart Winters – Guitars Robin Koezen – Guitars Siebe Sol Sijpkens – Bassguitar René Boxem - Drums Ruben Wijga - Keyboardist Music written by: René Boxem, Bart Winters Lyrics & melody written by: Zora Cock Arranged, orchestrated, produced, and mixed by: Joost van den Broek at Sandlane Recording Facilities, Rijen NL Mastered by: Darius van Helfteren at Amsterdam Mastering, NL Music Music video by: Blackbriar Music video colorgrade by: blksm media A special thanks to: coachman Augustinus Hoekstra and Ruurd Hoekstra, on-set photographer Jord Otto, and Diederick Cock. --------------------------------------- ‘Cicada’ Lyrics --------------------------------------- My love, you are my muse and enticed me into song I vanish into euphony to worlds far gone I can hear the bluebells ring So I am leaving, I am leaving, I am leaving I can hear the bluebells ring I can hear them sing I'll disappear into a field of blue When I vanish into melody And never return, far gone Would you turn me into a cicada So I can finish your song? Some might only hear a humming noise But if you know just how to listen I promise you will hear my voice I can hear the bluebells ring So I am leaving, I am leaving, I am leaving I can hear the bluebells ring I can hear them sing I'll disappear into a field of blue When I vanish into melody And never return, far gone Would you turn me into a cicada So I can finish your song? When I vanish into melody Would you turn us into folklore? Like the Muses used to do I'll sing for you forevermore I can hear the bluebells ring I can hear the bluebells ring I am pixy-led, and I might not ever come back Oh, I might not ever come back I am spellbound, and I do not want to be found Oh, I do not want to be found When I vanish into melody And never return, far gone Would you turn me into a cicada So I can finish your song? When I vanish into melody Would you give me translucent wings? And I will finish your song When summer begins via YouTube https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cKYTrDM2mpw

[faebhaal]

Unlike her mother whose truest form is more insectoid, Ithaca retains much more humanoid features and the feature that really gives her fae ancestry away is her wings.

Ithaca's wings resemble those of a cicadas. The veins are gold and the membrane is iridescent and translucent. Her one pair is made up of 8 wings (4 individual pairs). Example pictured under read more.

[wickedpeachie]

❛ you can kiss me, you know. ❜ from finnick to annie ( stolen from your prompts tag >:)) )

The water lapped up against her thighs, seeping into the fabric of her skirt and turning almost translucent. She had ventured in far enough to settle comfortably in the water but not so deep it was necessary to swim. It wasn’t a task she could accomplish on her own yet, and whenever she did have the urge Finnick offered to keep her afloat. Annie hadn’t taken him up on the offer yet, knowing she’d be to terrified to let go of him if she went beyond where her feet could touch. She had no questions on if he’d carry her, but they’d yet to cross that bridge. He had encouraged them to the lagoon tonight, a space that offered a sort of privacy the popular beaches did not. The night was still warm, a tell tale sign that summer had yet to pass. The warmer weather brought more people to their home, and it was easy to see why. The warmth of the air would seep into the water, and it was still warm enough to enjoy a late night swim. Aside from his splashing, the only noise accompanying them were crickets and cicada and their voices.He was more at home in the water than ever on land. 

Her lips widened, laughing softly as he finally twisted to toss a wink at her. “You look like a wet dog”. He had never quite given up on that flirtatious nature. Even when she scolded him, played along or rebuffed him. It felt as he flustered her on purpose, given to her temper and then soothed it with touches they unspokenly knew as platonic. Whenever he returned they seemed to spend more and more time together. The proximity in age helped, aside from their common ground as victors. It felt as if something more was there, but Annie never named it. Whenever that feeling arose in her stomach, the fluttering of butterflies and warmth to her cheeks she ignored it. She couldn’t risk loosing her only friend over a silly thing like feelings. Not when she wasn’t sure if it was real or not. 

His response was to chuckling, swimming back until he could lay himself beside her. She knew what his question would be, a soft ‘join me?’ Would be offered. He always offered, waiting patiently for the day she’d be ready. If ever. Annie longed for it in her soul, so deep and powerful she’d sometimes cry over the lost sensation of being at home in the water. Their gazes connected as she thought it over. There would never be anyone safer to attempt with than him. Annie swallowed, feeling her heart race at the thought. “I’m scared” She confessed, a whisper to the wind. His hand reached out, and she instinctively placed hers in his. 

“Just keep your eyes on me” 

What else could she do? For all her worries and fears, they faded away when Finnick was there. As if something deep within her knew that he meant safety. It wasn’t always so, but those days had passed and now she struggled to remember a time he couldn’t put a smile on her face. As they ventured deeper into the water, his grip secured around her when her toes no longer touched the bottom. She was anxious, but doing as he said her gaze stayed on his face. He offered a smile, keeping her raised just above him in the water as her arms circled around his shoulders. “You okay?” Annie offered a tentative smile, surprised at how calm her nerves felt. “Yes” She breathed, grateful he’s the one keeping them afloat. Time seems to tick by, Finnick carefully helping her maneuver in the water. So much so that when she finds that she’s completely relaxed, they’re laughing and tossing small splashes back and forth.

When their gazes meet again, the air around them freezes. Finnick’s gaze is soft, and something behind those eyes she can’t quite pin. Her arms had comfortably circled around his neck again, his hands warm on her waist. Her heart races, and the temptation to pull away stays at the back of her mind. They never linger so close like this, it leaves her a little breathless and unsure. 

“you can kiss me, you know” he whispers

Did his gaze flicker to her lips? Annie exhales, her head turning slightly. “Finn that’s not funny” She mumbles softly, but the brush of his thumb pulls her attention back. Was he trying to lighten the mood by teasing her? His gaze hasn’t left her face, and she feels her cheeks heat under his intensity. He wasn’t joking. Somehow that made it a tad harder to decipher his statement.If she was going to lay herself bare, why not to the man who had saved her in more ways than she could count?

She inclines closer, watching his gaze study her every movement, as if he was holding his breath. Every inch of her is aware of him, of the space between them. To step off this ledge, to jump blindly into whatever this was between them. Her norse brushed his, eyes fluttering shut the moment she felt his own labored breath fan her face. If she only had one chance, she was going to seize it. Her lips brush against his, and his hands tug her closer until their bodies are puzzle pieces fitting together. Her arms tighten around his neck, pressing her lips into his. It felt as if the taunt string between them snapped, an explosion going off. It makes her head spin, and if she hadn't been breathless before than she'd be panting afterward. Why had she tip toed around this, the feelings that swelled every time they were alone? What if they decided it wasn’t worth it? It was her greatest fear. It could ruin their friendship. Break apart what they had struggled to build. Annie realized that for all the risks…it was worth it. 

He was worth it.

So she kissed him again.