here in the garden & . cicadastar


  • general tw for religious imagery, canon - realistic gore, rabies, body horror, survivors guilt, post - traumatic stress disorder & a loss of identity / derealization. all other triggers will be tagged if applicable.

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    cicadas bury themselves in small mouths of the tree's hollow, lie against the bark - tongues like amulets, though i am praying i might shake off this skin and be raised from the ground again. i have nothing to confess. i don't yet know that i possess a body built for love. when the wind grazes its way to something colder, you too will be changed. one life abrades another, rough cloth, expostulation. when i open my mouth, I AM LIKE AN INSECT UNDRESSING ITSELF.
    richie hofmann, idyll .

  • CICADA, n.
    ( suh • cae • da ) a large homopterous insect with long transparent wings, occurring chiefly in warm countries, seen as a symbol of resurrection. the male cicada makes a loud shrill droning noise by vibrating two membranes on its abdomen.
    lit. likened to sirens by socrates, who told a story of how these creatures were once men. after the muses were born, he says, some became so intoxicated by their music that men sang and sang until they perished, from having forgotten to eat or drink — cicadas rose from their bodies, reincarnated to sing continuously, never requiring food or water.

    CICADASTAR ; distant cicada, cicadacreek / cisgender male ; he & him pronouns only
    born song of distant cicada as a testament to his mothers attempted ' rebirth ' after his arrival, as well as the thundering hum of said insect lingering just beyond the oak that newleaf. collects shells and wings when he can find them in her honor, using them to decorate his fur and nest. -star was given to him by starclan as he took control of the river territories.
    — moth drawn to light xx unknown kittypet ; brother to wasprattle / volatile chaotic neutral
    — leader of riverclan, former marshlander / highly hypercritical towards kittypets & outlanders
    — speaks with a smooth, dark german accent / distrusts windclanners & shadowclanners
    — fourty months, ages on the 8th / cancer sun, virgo moon / voice: thomas kretschmann
    heartchart / pinterest / toyhouse —————— ALLES PASSIERT, WIE ES PASSIEREN MUSS

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    tall, stunning curly black smoke / tortoiseshell chimera w intense salt - blue eyes smells like rainstorms and fresh moss. marble. ivory - cut and apollyon, this oriental mix stands nearly a head above the majority of his colony mates ; a thin, willowy creature, all edges and ice - cut perfection. he seems cut from the stars themselves, sloping, looming curve of night. over his form is a coat of rich, deep black smoke that shades darker as it ventures down his limbs, cut with interconnecting rivers of porcelain like moonlight peering ominously through darkened canopies. his pelt is slightly wavy and silken to the touch, notably curling around longer around the ruff of his chest and over the bony lift of his hindquarters. these curls fall in loose, messy ringlets in places his fur is longer ; cascading down in soft rivulets from his chest, tail and rear.

    agony embeds in dark corners, memories hidden behind setting suns and dark storm clouds –– demon dripped in secondhand divinity and yet he bears that proudly, raven wings haphazardly stapled to the arch of his shoulderblades. ice - laden blue eyes and lids a perpetually calm half - mast, dark lashes descend from their downturned curvature, deepening the arch just beneath his browbone. his structure sings a feral sort of hymnal, presenting an almost dangerous sort of beauty veiling what monstrosities lie beneath the ivory of his skull. jutting jawline and a squared chin, sunken cheeks drawing a shadow beneath high, sharp cheekbones. tall, angular ears settle atop the flatter slope of his cranium. he is beautiful ; lucifer in the eyes of an envious god. for all his looks, his expression is lax, void — corpse - eyed and hollow until spoken to. he is tall, lean, cut - glass pretty ; he smiles with too - many teeth and oh, he is sharklike. a predatory gracefulness from the lines that press the image of exhaustion beneath ice water hues to the slow, sure gait in which he walks, nameless strength poorly concealed within the hard lines of his physique. his throat is strong but slim, leading up into a square, neat jawline. the lines of his visage are well - structured, high but defined cheekbones and a chin that comes to a small point. his muzzle is slightly domed, long and narrow, with scarcely any perceptible stop while inclined in a fashion roman - nosed. high, sharp shoulderblades leading down into slim, birdlike arms, ending with thin, sharp - knuckled paws.
    ↳ generation one, carrying la perm curls​
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    positive: loyal, charismatic, altruistic, empathetic neutral: intense, dramatic, refined negative: explosive anger, petty, condescending, overprotective, possessive, hypocritical he, smooth as wine, sweet as honey, a being a darkness within the darkness. he has layers, complex and interesting and as if by his very own nature, he is both the poet and the language one spins. syllables in shades of black, velvet lining his raw throat and silver dripping from burst taste buds all caged in age - reddened ivory ; above all else, cicada is charismatic. a smooth - talker at heart, with a way of lowering the guard of those around him with his abrupt, open conversation. despite his disarming tone and demeanor, the mottled tom himself will not be caught opening up to anyone without a fight. ultimately distrustful, he tends to keep his emotions close, pressing each budding feeling back through the wire - thin spokes of his ribcage ; choking on orange lilies and hydrangea, stuffing the thrashing songbird in his esophagus into silence.

    cicada cares deeply for those around him, almost cripplingly so ; he bears the pain of others both emotional and physical through no fault of their own, despite their relationship. time has adjusted him to the horrors of this world and he does his best to prevent others from suffering the same way he had ; as a result, he has a substantial soft spot for children, and has a tendency to take any youth under his wing. he is abundantly altruistic and self - sacrficing to a fault, engaging in reckless activity in the mere instance that it would help a situation even fractionally. born before the formation of the colony, cicadas beliefs fall somewhere in the grey area. having adopted and harbored a fight to survive mindset for so long, his idea of good and bad are noticeably blurred ; he does what he believes is best and acts on instinct, which can go equally good or bad depending.

    cicada holds himself with a even grace, ever - collected and calm most of the time . . or, he makes an attempt to be. he holds himself with an intensity that cant help but betray, passion brimming behind icewater eyes and demure smile. he is a refined beauty, proud and tall and harbors a force within him balancing precariously on the edge with razor sharp consistency ; an anger. a deep, visceral, bitter fury that wretches itself violently from his chest. a rage he acquired from his mother, all - encompassing and paralyzing. his tongue is wickedly sharp if given the chance, claws and teeth not to be mentioned, and he will not fight fair. with these intense episodes come varying seconds of blackout in which he lashes out with force, never lasting more than ten seconds at most. during these episodes, he is extremely prone to fits of violence in which anyone around him is at risk.

    as a result, he tends to distract himself with hobbies ; botany, most notably. a coward, he shies away from most physical violence unless absolutely needed. he is far from the brutish ferals he'd grown with, and tends to fight quick and messily. at a severe disadvantage to larger enemies and tends to avoid them at all costs, relying on speed and agility, explosive surprise moves, favoring claws. he is not highly trained in offensive moves and fights unfairly as a result, usually goes immediately for the throat or back-of-the-neck killing bites if he’s capable. he is protective of the marshers to an almost self destructive point, and wildly possessive of those residing within.
    — small scar over his left eyebrow, barely visible. thick scars on his underbelly.
    ENFJ - T | this type's secret weapon is their purity of intent. generally speaking, they are motivated by a sincere wish to do the right thing rather than a desire to manipulate or have power over other people. even when they disagree with someone, protagonists search for common ground. the result is that people with this personality type can communicate with an eloquence and sensitivity that are nearly impossible to ignore – particularly when they speak about matters that are close to their hearts.
  • MATED ; homosexual, homoromantic / difficulty falling in love, trusts slowly but entirely / ½ SMOKECADA
    — monogamous / madly in love with and devoted to smokethroat / does not appreciate advances
    — speaks with a heavy german accent / north upper saxon dialect with strong low german features
    — physical health : 100%, no illnesses. mental and emotional health : 60% / attack in #141828
    ⤷ combat difficulty is hard to severe ; combat points calculated using dicemaiden on discord. his physical health tends to drop and rise sporadically , and he tends to acquire a myriad of injuries when living his day to day life. most injuries are simple wear - and - tear marks along his body, primarily around his arms, in the form of minor lacerations and bruising. usually, his health will not dip beneath sixty without having experienced a major injury or illness. if ill or healing from a large injury, i ask you not to engage him in combat unless plotted out with me first. any unplotted attacks in this case will be ignored!
    — faded crushes on houndsnarl, rosemire
    trusts : houndstride, smokethroat, ashpaw, clearsight, snakeblink, willowroot
    distrusts : buckgait, cinderfrost
    loathes : sootstar, tigerfrost, weaselclaw, spiderfall
    close friends with boneripple, houndstride, smokethroat, willowroot, ashpaw
  • his past is not one of love. family a foreign thought, friends scarce. born to a mother too blinded by rose - colored goggles to see the pampered kittypet she'd mated wouldn't stay, by the promise of a life beyond the spoils of the street to care for the life growing within. moth drawn to light, a beautiful molly, was born to a show pedigree only.. slightly defected. a kink in her tail and overtyped features, she was placed on the streets one bareleaf afternoon unceremoniously, tucked into a cardboard box somewhere along the streets of the uk on their way to drop her sibling off at his new, loving home. greedy, money - hungry twolegs with little regard for the wonky kitten left her to perish. managing to get out of the box, four month old moth ventures the streets, doing what she can to survive the wicked living conditions and new are she'd found herself stranded in, taking up with a band of ferals for a short period of time before moving on to the next nest she could scrounge up.

    she meets brookshire's church " sometimes dead is better " on chance ; a lean, curl - laden tom hailing from a beautiful, haughty line of la perms, who took too much interest in her rough - n - tumble life. he boasts of how his twolegs allow him on the streets, all bravado and charm. he boasts of his life, his home, his ability to go wherever he pleased and still have the safety of a twoleg nest to return to. he spoke of freedom, and loneliness, and moth falls for him almost immediately. her knight in shining armor, her savior. he swore to the molly he would get his owners to take her in, she was a pedigree after all. they romanced beneath the full moon, all bathed in porcelain, and moth truly believed she'd fallen in love, her chest bursting with warmth and light once they mated and he drew a tongue over her sleek ear, murmuring promises of a life beyond what she'd struggled with for so long. they spent the next seven sunrises together, lounging in comfort in a small, abandoned nest, knowing only the company of eachother. moth falls asleep curled into his side, nose tucked into dark curls and breathing in the scent of a life she could have known this whole time.

    the next day, he was gone

    moth was devastated. even more so when, shortly after, she began to experience an unfamiliar sickness and growth in her stomach signaling the culviation of that week alone with the tom who'd betrayed her so heavily. frantic, the molly joins up with a colony living just around the overgrown twoleg nest they'd shared, settling into the promise of food, shelter, and help with the kittens now absorbing what little prey the colony offered. it was not an easy life, living amongst the wreckage of a human's previous life, nestled deep within the old, rusting metals of gutted vehicles lost to time. hidden beneath the rotting cellar wood or beneath trash mountainous and aged enough to nearly form solid, it was far from glamorous. cicada was born beneath a copper - rusted pipe jutting crooked from wood panel walls, in a box not dissimilar to the one his mother had been abandoned in, new life amongst the dank mildew. he bore dark curls, with a bold, roman nose and ears much like hers. if she had hesitated before slowly, groggily nipping his sac open, no one was around to see it.

    his mother, still a stray amongst the streets of the city and burdened with an extra mouth to feed, paid him little mind as he aged. it was a tough life ; moth attempted to make life somewhat enjoyable for the youth, and cicada, starved of most affection, lapped it eagerly from her paws. taught to fear most of his fellow colony members, he lived the majority of his first couple of months in hiding, living off his mother's milk and what prey she offered him once his teeth began to cause too much of an issue for her. at roughly eight months, one of the colony's members changed; for now, he is left only with fleeting memories of gnashing teeth and white, sparkling foam oozing slow from wide, sharpened teeth. he remembers fear, a sickness, but little else.

    his memories pick back up at roughly eleven months, in which hare whiskers found him and offered him a home amongst the marshers, offering a safe place to stay and enough distance from the city for the bicolor to rest comfortably. he resides there still today.

    Important Threads
    ( ☆ ) Interaction ( ★ ) Development
    WHAT I HATE THE MOST ──── first skirmish.
    YOUR BONES, THEY HAVE TO BREAK ──── killing rain.
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      [box=55%][justify][fleft][URL=''][img width=80px][/img][/URL][/fleft] text [b][color=#171717]"speech"[/color][/b]
    [tabs][tab=˗ˏˋ 𓆩  OOC][b][color=#171717]i.[/color][/b] 
    [tab= ✟ ][color=#171717][B]˖ ⁺ 。 ˚ ⠀ CICADASTAR⠀⠀[/B][/color][b][s][color=transparent]−−−c−−−[/color][/s][/b]⠀⠀[i]king of the rivers.[/i]
    [fleft][img width=80px][/img][/fleft] [b]m.[/b] he / him. [color=#8797b1][i]black smoke & tortoiseshell chimera with intense salt - blue eyes.[/i][/color] a handsome, looming tom bearing patchwork black - silver curls that fall over his slim figure in loose, shining rivulets, broken with white and glossy from his fish diet. descending from a heritage of overtyped oriental shorthairs, cicadastar stands [b]unusually tall[/b] amongst his peers, and holds himself with a tragic grace, poised and prim and ever - aware of how he is being perceived. 
    [color=#171717][B] ᨒ [/b][/color] gay, mated to [abbr=penned by rai][b]smokethroat.[/b][/abbr] smells like wet stone & moss. 
    [color=#171717][B] ᨒ [/b][/color] speaks with a german accent. 43 moons, ages every 50 posts. 
    [indent][i]penned by antlers[/i] [/indent]
    [tab= 𓆪 ´ˎ˗][b][color=#171717]"speech"[/color]
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