#while kindlings put more importance on fire

[coolattasclown]

I clicked it lol

Have a critter interacting with a goober :3

AWEWWW!!!!

THEY R BEING SO FRIENDS !

[imtrashraccoon]

I was suddenly hit with a burst of inspiration for this one. Like, my original idea was maybe three sentences long and then I looked into how to remove grass stains before modern laundry. That was a surprisingly interesting rabbit hole to go down.

@owl-bones

First, Previous, & Next Day

Bad Sansuary II: Horror - Stained

Word Count: 1,020

In the morning, Maul busied himself with general chores around the camp, like replenishing the firewood supply and checking the traps he'd set up a couple days ago for small game. Your mobility was still pretty limited, so you mostly stayed put, doing smaller but still important tasks like cutting up kindling. You also offered to monitor the fire when Maul decided to make a stew for later.

There had been a bit of tension in the air when you woke up that morning. With nearly dying by your teammate's hand and then having a heart to heart chat afterwards, you weren't really sure if you should acknowledge what had happened. Maul seemed equally as clueless, but talking had never seemed to be his strong point since you met him. There wasn't anything more to discuss anyways since neither of you had any answers to the obvious questions and weren't keen to go find them either.

Between Maul's trips of carrying firewood and stacking it near the fire pit, you requested a basin of water with the intention to do some cleaning. He was more than happy to help and soon brought you a bucket of water from a nearby stream.

You had noticed a grass stain on the back of your shirt when you got up, likely from getting pinned to the ground last night, and had decided to try getting it out. Now, you weren't an expert on stain removal, but you were confident that with a bit of elbow grease, you would get it out in no time.

How wrong you were. Not only had the stain already set into the fabric, but also no amount of scrubbing could remove it. You tried soap, you tried beating the stain with a stick, and you tried rubbing the fabric against a coarse stone. The trouble was you had limited supplies in the wilderness. Your mother probably would have known what to do in a heartbeat, but you really only knew what to do for blood and basic grime.

Maul returned with a pot of water and set it near the fire to boil. After checking how the stew was coming along, he glanced over at you curiously. "...havin' some trouble?" he asked.

You sighed and dropped the shirt into the bucket. "I guess, I now know why my mom would get upset when I came home with grass stains."

The giant of a skeleton let out a soft chuckle, eyeing the shirt with an amused glimmer in his eyelight. "there's a better way than what you're doin'."

"Oh? Do enlighten me then," you grumbled, crossing your arms with a huff.

He held up a clawed phalanx and went to go retrieve something from the supplies cache. When he returned with a metal banded cask, you raised an eyebrow. What could he possibly know about getting out stains? The whole time you had known him, he hadn't seemed to care if his clothing was stained and, beyond maintaining his armour, you had never seen him do anything remotely similar to laundry.

He poured out the water you had been using, leaving the shirt in the bottom of the pail. As you watched, he opened the cask and poured just enough of the surprisingly clear liquid to cover the stain. Your nose twitched as you caught the distinct scent of strong alcohol.

"let it soak for a while," Maul said as he closed the cask.

"You think that will actually work? Where did you even get spirits that strong?" You wrinkled your snout before adding, "Even if it does get the stain out, the whole garment will stink of alcohol."

He shrugged and motioned to the pot of water. " 's only to get the stain out. clean it again afterwards." He glanced down at the small cask and then shrugged, "bought it last time i was in the undercity."

Your mouth dropped open in shock. "Wait, you've been to The Undercity? And got out without being robbed or murdered?"

His permanent grin widened and he motioned to the crack in his skull. "not many are foolish enough to bother someone like me. i usually make the trip once or twice a year to buy stuff ya can't get anywhere else."

"I guess that makes sense." You eyed his sharp claws and chuckled. "With all the gang violence that goes on, I don't think I would last a second if I went there. I'd probably offend someone and get shanked, if I didn't get kidnapped by one of the local dons for being illegally adorable that is..."

Maul let out a sudden bark of laughter. It actually startled you for a second since he wasn't normally a loud person. He nearly had to brace his hands on his knees to keep from losing his balance.

"...boss would hate that," he managed to say between lingering chuckles. " 'specially cause it's true..."

You felt your cheeks grow unnaturally warm and quickly looked away to hide your blush. Since when was he so smooth with his words? You hadn't been expecting him to find your admittedly awful joke funny, as he usually only responded to your attempts at humour with a grunt or a huff.

"True, he'd tear the whole city apart if someone did that," you murmured.

"hey."

You turned to look at Maul again.

"promise ya won't tell either reven or dirk about this," he said quietly, motioning to the metal banded cask he was holding. "i mostly keep it for sterilizing bandages and they might steal it if they find out."

You pressed your paw against your chest and nodded. "I promise I won't breathe a word of it to them. They can find their own liquor to drown their sorrows in."

He gave you a stiff nod and went to put the cask away, leaving you wondering how he had figured out to use that specific alcohol for removing stains. There seemed to be a lot about him that didn't make sense, but it was fun to think about. Maybe you would ask him about his travels sometime.

[mjrtaurus]

Modern AU

Sometimes there are days when Dragon just knows the boys are in need of some extra love and care.

It’s a gut feeling, really… Ace will be a little more distant. Luffy will be a little more clingy. Sabo will be a little more restless.

Provided the weather is good for it on these days, he’ll wait for sunset and load up the truck bed with a thick futon, fluffy pillows, warm blankets, and a cooler stocked with plenty for an evening meal and breakfast for the next morning.

Then he’ll round up the boys and they’ll drive out to the fields past where the horses like to roam.

There’s an old fire pit out there. His dad had laid down the stones for it before Dragon had even been born, and he’d been to it plenty of times with him, mom, Dadan and Kuzan for nights like this.

He kept the tradition with his boys. Maybe someday they would do the same with their kids, if they so desired.

They would all help stack the wood in the pit, he would light the kindling and tend to the flames while the boys got the cooler out and dug through it for what they wanted.

After an appetizer of their preferred snacks, the main course for the evening would be hot dogs. Dessert would be s’mores.

Breakfast would be bacon, eggs, sausage, and hash browns. There were tomatoes, green onions, bell peppers, and cheese for omelets, as well as blackberries and plums for a splash of sweet in all the savories.

…

Breakfast was very important in the Monkey D household. It would all get eaten, rest assured.

When the last of the daylight died and the fire gave it’s heat and glow, Sabo would always settle against Dragon.

He was still very wary of fire- his scars were fair reason for it- so Dragon always kept it burning low. He would have scrapped the idea of starting one all together, but the boy’s therapist had suggested that reassociating fire with good things (like family time and a good meal) over a controlled flame would help in his longterm recovery.

It had done wonders for him so far, it just took a few minutes for him to settle into it. He even has started helping Dragon tend it.

They eat. Sometimes they talk and laugh, sometimes they sit in comfortable silence. It differs from trip to trip, and that’s okay.

Dragon’s favorite, though, is when the fire is put out for the night, when they put the cooler in the cab and roll the futon out in the truck bed. Everyone settles in close, with pillows and blankets.

And Dragon starts telling them stories as they gaze at the stars. All of them are from his mother or grandmother, taught to them by their parents before them, and so on and so forth. Old, old stories. Maybe a little bit murky here and there from the years of retellings and the changes that occur with them, but nonetheless important.

One by one, three little pairs of eyes drift shut, and Dragon watches the stars flicker and gleam in the silence.

He falls asleep knowing there’s nowhere else in the world that he’d rather be than right here.

[hardcore-gaming-101]

EOS: Edge of Skyhigh

This article is part of our Japanese Obscurities feature. We put out a whole book about them, which is available as both a full color hardcover and a Kindle ebook from Amazon! If you’d like to see more of these features, please check out the book and if you enjoyed it, leave a five star review so we can do a follow up with even more interesting, offbeat, or historically important Japanese games!

Taking after arcade classics like Space Harrier and After Burner, EOS: Edge of Skyhigh is a 3D rail shooter where you pilot a transforming mecha, using both a rapid fire gun and lock-on missiles to destroy hordes of enemies. The jet plane form is a little weaker but its smaller size makes it easier to dodge attacks, while the robot form is slightly more powerful but also makes it a bigger target. The robot form also features a powerful burst attack, a volley of powerful shots which is useful for taking down larger foes. You can use the shoulder triggers to speed up or slow down, but the difference in speed is often imperceptible.

Read more...

[theflintwarlock]

Foraging for Witchcraft

One of the great things about foraging specifically for Witchcraft is that you're not restricted to just edible things. You can forage/find stones, clay, bones, herbs, water, fruits and vegetables, wood and more.

I've made a post previously about how important low-cost Witchcraft is. So consider this a follow-up of things you can find for your practice that are completely free.

Some useful tools that are simple to forage if you are near the sea:

-Sea salt

Just gather filtered sea water in a pot and boil until salt crystals form. Then put the salt on a baking tray and either leave to sun dry or put it in the oven. You can also make infused salts and black salt like this

-Sea shells

They are common for love workings but are also great for protection, grind them up and use them in a protection salt (obviously not one you're going to eat)

-Sand

Often used for ritual magic, especially dyed sands. Also good for spell bags, planting certain plants, keep it in Jars or boxes and Bury things in it for a freezer spell.

-Stones and crystals

Of course I love flint, but there are many different stones based on your geographical location that will be good for Witchcraft. Quartz is great for protection, it doesn't have to be clear in order to work. White quartz is just fine.

-Sea glass

Sea glass is such a great form of protection, with colours from green to blue to brown and even a very rare red piece. Being infused with the ocean's energies really makes it special.

Some tools that are simple if you live near a forest/wooded area:

-Branches

Fallen branches can work as wands, divining rods, kindling for a fire, and depending on the type of wood they have different associations. You can make your own broomstick from collecting enough branches.

-Moss

Moss is often overlooked in magical practice, but it is an amazing type of plant that you can grow in a jar terrarium or dry and use in spell work. It is often the first thing to grow over dead wood or old stones, and as such it is Hardy and useful for hard times and new growth.

-Plants

So, so many different plants. Some edible plants like wild garlic have great uses in kitchen witchery, some poisonous plants like hemlock can be an amazing kick to your death work or baneful practice. What plants you can Forage will depend on your local area.

-Bones

Animal bones are a beautiful way to incorporate death and life into your practice. I usually let the Bones that want to be used for my practice come to me- if I can't find any more in a spot there used to be loads, I take that as a sign they did not want to be used/found a better resting place. I could do a whole post on cleaning and preparing Bones for your practice but vulture culture on tumblr has you covered.

Things you can Forage if you live in a city:

You may be surprised that I've included urban areas in this list. Most of what you can Forage here is more commonly thought of as rubbish, but it has excellent magical potential nonetheless.

-Broken glass

Excellent for baneful workings and baneful protection magic. Please be careful when collecting it, wear gloves and use a sealed container so no shards escape.

-Coins

Find a penny, pick it up and all the day you'll have good luck. I always keep the pennies I find on the pavement as a token of good luck.

-Beer bottle caps

I love collecting these and putting them in little jars. Corks can do a similar job when it comes to magic- keeping something in that you don't want coming out. Like an urban salt circle. Put a lid on it.

-Weeds

While you might not be in an area with abundant foliage and wildlife, you will undoubtedly be able to find weeds growing in the pavement or on gates and buildings. Ivy has great binding properties, dandelions are great for protection, shamrocks for luck ect.

-Feathers

These are easy to find if you live near pigeons and other birds. Please don't pick it up if there is a bird flu outbreak in your area, and as with bones make sure to wash them before bringing them into your home.

[dailydemonspotlight]

May I request Brigid please?

Brigid - Day 102 (Request)

Race: Megami

Arcana: Empress

Alignment: Light-Law

September 3rd, 2024

A strangely recurring trope in many mythologies is a goddess of the ‘Hearth-’ less one who represents fire and more the fireplace in the home, being typically maternal figures who stand in for the health of a home’s residence and the comfort and warmth of an open flame. This is a rather common role throughout many pantheons, and I suppose it makes sense- a hearth is a fixture in a home, after all- but it always feels a bit odd to prescribe such importance to one item in the house. And why is it always a goddess? No buff and burly men of the house with giant beards? A shame. My ramblings aside, though, today’s Demon of the Day is one such goddess of the fireplace, and one of the Tuatha Dé Danann as well- the Irish goddess, Brigid. 

While Brigid is associated with far more than just the home, a lot of importance is given to her role as such, being her primary moniker on top of being the goddess of poetry, healing, smithing, and several traditionally feminine aspects. Her roles mainly tie into her primarily being a goddess who represents, and stands in for, several things that are intrinsically art-related, painting (heh) a picture of her importance. However, curiously, all of these things aren't connected to one, central figure- much like Morrigan, it's believed that Brigid may be a title applied to several figures of the Tuatha Dé Danann, given to two of her stated sisters in the pantheon, being Brigid the smith and Brigid the physician.

According to the Lebor Gabála Érenn, a major collection of pre-Christian Irish texts dated back to the middle ages, Brigid and her sisters were each the daughters of Dagda, with her being a poetess who owned two oxen, Fea and Femen. To quote,

Brigid the poetess, daughter of The Dagda, she it is who had Fea and Femen, the two oxen of Dil, from whom are named Mag Fea and Mag Femen. With them was Triath, king of the swine, from whom is Tretherne. Among them were heard three demon voices in Ireland after plunder, to wit, whistling and outcry and groaning.

The description of them crying out when something had been stolen also seems to tie into the idea of Brigid being a goddess of the home, leading to basically everything regarding her and her role, in some way, tying into either the arts or the hearth. In yet more collections, she's described in much the same way, as a goddess of the hearth, the home, the arts, and everything related to them.

Of course, as time went on, the culture shifted, and Ireland became Christianized- several of the important folkloric figures were instead replaced in new, biblical sources, with similar figures who were stripped from divinity and instead given roles as saints, heroes, or witches. Brigid, of course, was no exception, and several historians believe that the Christian Saint Brigid was the Christianized version of Brigid, the goddess, likely adapted from her role and placed over a real person.

Of course, much like Morrigan, I find it just as hard as it is to write about Brigid as it is to understand her role as a possible triple-goddess. Isn't Irish folklore just fun? Curiously, though, adding on to her role as a saint, there was an alleged fire held and kindled for years by 19 nuns in the honor of Saint Brigid, putting a nice little bow on this whole thing- even after she had been possibly adapted into a saint, people still honored her importance in the role of the home and hearth.

In terms of design in SMT, there's not a lot to comment on? The pot she spews flame from is rather suspect, but for the most part, she looks like how one would expect from a gentle goddess of the home, albeit with some flair in the form of the silver arm and... well, the flare. Still, I really do quite like the design- it works for what it is, and it helps paint Brigid in a really nice light.

[edward-cabrini]

How To Write Words Having Consequences

Whether writing or speaking, our words can have truly far reaching consequences. For some of us that might just be within our immediate circle of friends. For others, words can have far broader impact.

In my writing this is perhaps most clearly shown by the following key moment. The main protagonist Lorcan, is a victim of abuse. As he forms new friendships, especially with his commander Fiachra, he's able to put his past pretty firmly behind him. Then this happens:

“I thought your officers would be amongst your closest friends. Not even Lord Varden? He speaks so highly of you often.” Laoise asked in disbelief. Fiachra shook his head, gazing up at horizon. “Lord Varden, is pleasant company but he is not my friend, he is merely present in the same spheres. My officers, or any man at arms in my regiment-” Fiachra paused, slowly raising his right hand, closing a fist over his heart, as though to gently catching a drifting leaf on the wind. His gaze fixed on some distant horizon obscured by the city. “They are my trusted comrades, valued instruments of war and conquest. Their service is invaluable to me, building the path together to reach my dream… But this does not make any my friend. They are each a bundle of kindling upon my bonfire, subsisting off its warmth as it sustains them through the darkest of times. Crumbling to ash under the weight of its flames.” Fiachra continued passionately yet sorrow crept into his voice as he looked out over the flickering city firelight. [...] Seeing Fiachra clearly illuminated in the moonlight against the back drop of the palace candlelight Lorcan halted, observing his commander.

“My closest companions are akin to small fires, their kindling ignited by the sparks of labours upon my dream. Yet they are consumed by the fire, losing themselves to my dream.” Fiachra's shoulders heaved as he stole a breath. Lowering his shaking fist from his breast, he unfurled his fingers by his side. Flexing them in turn to remove a lingering stiffness. He turned to face down Laoise, “What is a life worth to anyone if it is not lived well in pursuit of worthy wants?” Fiachra put to Laoise, his emerald eyes luminous against the twinkling city lights.

It's a lot of words to say Fiachra only sees those around him as stepping stones to his goals. Every quiet moment between Lorcan and Fiachra, every encouragement, every rousing speech, a calculated effort so he'd fight and die by his command. Lorcan was never meant to hear this conversation. It was made for Laoise, to plant the seeds for her to join Fiachra and overthrow her father, the High King of Isernland. Words have consequences. Fiachra casually tossed aside a decade of friendship with a few words he thought would better serve his ambitions. The fallout of those words is cataclysmic. It's hard to give writing advice for this kind of a story moment but here's my list of guiding principles for writing a scene when what has been said will have big story consequences:

The response should be proportional. Fiachra's assertion that only those that stand apart from him could be something more is what leads to Lorcan leaving him behind. Lorcan leaving is what leads to Fiachra's depression, his poor mental state is what leads to everything that follows. It's a chain of snowballing dominoes.

No matter how surprising, what is said still has to be in character. Fiachra has repeatedly been shown to have ulterior motives and a subtle change in mannerisms based entirely on who he's speaking to and what he wants from them. He's a manipulator through and through. Even knowing this and being part of his schemes, Lorcan is still completely blindsided by the conversation between Fiachra and Laoise. Which is perfectly in character for the steadfastly loyal swordsman.

Where characters stand and how they are framed in the scene is just as important as what is said. Characters often interact while at a table or maybe just walking, even while fighting. Yet for these dramatic moments, every little detail that can be squeezed can add so much more tot he impact. It's builds on the significance. When there's multiple characters in one scene and you want the focus to be on two in particular, you can point the difference in elevation. The lighting. The clothing. Background. Everything mentioned should be important. Why did I not add much about the Laoise and where she was in the scene? Because, though she is being conversed with, she isn't who we should be paying attention to. The disparity between Lorcan and Fiachra is what's most important. One standing with the palace behind them and the moon shining upon them, the other shrouded by shadows and the looming city of Felhutzberg in the background. 4. Disregard everything I have ever told you. No seriously, there's a hundred ways of doing a thing. Different scenes have different circumstances. I have absolutely put impactful moments in a single sentence and moved on as though they were an ordinary line of dialogue, or action, or scenery. I want those little things to come back and haunt the reader as they go, "oh fuck..." There's no reason whatever way you want to write these moments wouldn't be what's best for the story you want to write. Just make note of each moment so when it comes to reviewing your drafts, you can check how it reads compared to your intention. Best of luck. As a side note, I will be trying to get more Tumblr content out on the blog. I'm just so close to finishing my first draft of Book 3 that my social media stuff has started to look a little neglected. I promise, more stuff is coming.

[bulbasaurmeistermeisterbulbasaur]

Been playing through the dark souls trilogy with sorcery/magic plus moonlight greatsword (because every time I play I end up gravitating towards undying melee tank) and after running through them in relatively quick succession I feel the need to just put out there some thoughts.

None of which I’ve actually tried to compare to the lore or whatever and is just the feel I got. Also probably spoilers lol.

Dark souls 1 feels like Duty. Those afflicted with the undead curse are compelled to ring the two bells to open the way, compelled by the idea that one chosen undead will link the fire just as Gwyn did. (Cleric undead have a duty to retrieve the rite of kindling from the catacombs but that’s more a death sentence due to the church seeing undead as an abomination or something idk I was mage person)

Dark souls 2 is Forgetting. Those who are afflicted with the undead curse are destined to lose all memory and then themselves entirely. Important entities in the first game like Seathe the Scaleless and Big Hat Logan are replaced with paledrake and some once known sorcerer. Only a rare few characters actually know anything, as most will talk about the land with “if you believe the stories” or some reference to myth. And even the linking of the flame is forgotten to “becoming the next monarch”

Dark souls 3 is Decay. If you’ve played the game you know just how badly the world is rotting, and while that could be in part due to Prince Lothric refusing to do the duty of linking the fire saying something like “let it all fade to nothing, I’ll have no part in it “or whatever, but to me it’s more that the world itself can no longer sustain itself. The linking of the fire has gone on so long that the land itself is becoming either rot or buried under endless ash. Gwyn’s cycle he started in ds1 is destroying the very world he was desperately trying to preserve.

[koma-lyptus]

My First Offering to Hekate

4 July 2024

I thought about what to do for Hekate all day today. I have no money to spare, so I could not purchase anything, but I do have so many small things laying about the house to use.

After enjoying the holiday fireworks, I prepared a small offering dish with my intentions solely focused on hekate. I added in a pinch of white bread from an aging loaf, a drizzle of honey, and the smallest clove of garlic.

Then I prepared my space. I lit a white candle, it has a scent that I am struggling to identify. It was a gift from a student for teacher appreciation day. Then I put on some soothing music in my AirPods to create a surround sound effect without waking anyone and stopping the constant fireworks sounds from outside. I then selected my tarot for the evening and woke it up with a few soft knocks before shuffling. Once the deck was well shuffled, I spread the cards out across the space and let them rest.

With my space ready, I sat down and began to write a letter and my prayers to Mother Hekate. This included some crude drawings of her important symbols which I apologized for.

I folded the up so that the symbols faced out. I then used the candle’s flame catch the note on fire. Once the fire was burning, I set it in a small dish to burn. The flame grew huge, it was way bigger than any other time I’ve ever lit paper on fire. I’ve used newspaper for kindling. I was nervous for my tapestry! It genuinely felt as if Hekate was accepting the note as I watched the flame consume the ink and leave behind grey ashes.

I then grabbed my tarot and piled them together, giving them another thorough shuffle while setting my intention to pull a past, present, and future. My mind on guidance and working with Hekate, obviously.

I pulled the following cards—

Past: The Devil, Reversed

Present: Temperance,

Reversed Future: VII of Cups, Reversed

My interpretation:

In the very recent past there was an event in my home that fundamentally changed something with me. I felt like I mentally snapped. I’ve wanted to move out, been more in tune with my spirituality, and so much more. While this event was traumatic, it seems to have been the final breaking point and has led to a positive healthy course.

Currently, I am fighting my impulses to save money. It is a huge change. Normally my impatience leads to screwing myself financially and I truly believe this was Mother’s way of telling me to lock-in so I can achieve my goals.

Especially since my future card is all about clarity. I believe Mother is saying with patience, she will teach me to be decisive and see the world for what it truly is.

[roadrunnerscamping]

Advice To Making Your Camping Trip The Best It Can Be

Vacations don't always have to be about theme parks and museums; camping also makes for a great vacation. If you want to maximize your enjoyment next time you go camping, read on. You will find this information helpful on your next camping adventure!

Always take along plenty of food, and be sure it's the proper kind. Depending on the length of your stay, you will want food that is not very perishable. Remember, food poisoning could quickly put an end to your camping adventure. Take the proper steps to prepare your food and do research if necessary.

The difference between a fun camping trip and a dangerous one? Preparation. Be sure you don't go camping until you are fully prepared with all the supplies you need. If you are camping in a new location, research the local wildlife, geography and the climate before leaving home.

Pack things like oranges when you go camping. They are nutritious, and they also keep mosquitoes away. Use the discarded peels to rub your exposed skin, and the insects will stay away from you.

Stay safe while you camp. That means to steer clear of large wildlife, and even some of the smaller creatures. Even small animals can present a danger. Obviously, if you see bears, do not feed them.

If you have bought a brand new tent in preparation for your camping trip, set it up at home first before you use it for camping. By doing this you will be able to make sure that your tent does not have any missing parts. Furthermore, such a task will help to reassure you that you know how to errect your camping tent properly. You will find your frustration level diminishes greatly as well.

Make sure your sleeping bag is fit for the environment in which you are going to camp. Heavy weight sleeping bags are best for cold weather, while lightweight bags works best for hot weather. Be sure the bags you bring hug your body so your body heat is contained.

A tasty orange provides a peel that can help repel nasty mosquitoes. If you've packed everything, except for mosquito repellant, do not fret. You can simply rub the inside of the orange peel on any exposed skin. This should effectively repel mosquitoes for hours.

Whenever you go camping, it's important to remember to bring all of the items you will need when you arrive at your destination. If you forget a few things, it could ruin your entire trip. The creation of a list of all the things needed and use of that list when packing will be helpful. Good items to bring include a sleeping bag, water, food, hygiene supplies and things that can help you get a fire started.

Dryer lint is a great item to bring if you are trying to start a campfire. Start saving this lint a short time period prior to going camping and you'll have enough lint in time. Keep a used grocery bag on your laundry room door to collect the lint. Doing this means you can just snag your kindling on the way out the door the morning your trip starts.

If you are taking children with on your camping trip be sure to bring pictures of them as well. If your children get lost during your trip, a picture of them can be very helpful. Be sure that you have brought one for urgent situations, particularly if your camping destination is quite a ways from home.

Reading and music can be great activities outdoors, but remember to appreciate the scenery for what it is. Take time to look at the stars or go hiking in the woods. You will feel relaxed and more in tune with nature.

Take plenty of water, food and drinks along with your camping supplies. If your campsite is a known bear hot spot, you must ensure that your food items are not stored near where you are sleeping. Garbage should be burned to dispose of any smell of food that may attract a bear to your campsite.

It is important that you practice food safety while you are out camping. Food should be packed in bags that are airtight or in waterproof containers. Keep cold foods in ice in insulated containers. Don't keep raw and cooked food together, so there is no contamination. Wash your hands or use a hand sanitizer before you prepare your food. Cook foods to proper temperatures and chill foods quickly.

Camping can be much more enjoyable and easier when you have good advice. This article should have given you exactally what you needed. Relax in the beauty of nature and spend peaceful times with family and friends by taking advantage of all the helpful advice in the article above to make your camping trip the the best ever.

[chanoyu-to-wa]

The Chanoyu Hyaku-shu [茶湯百首], Part II:  Poem 48.

〽 Furo no toki sumi ha na-kago ni kane-hibashi          nuri-kōgō ni byakudan wo take

    [風爐の時炭は菜籠にカネ火箸          塗香合に白檀を焚け].

    “During the time when the furo [is being used], the charcoal [should be placed] in a vegetable-basket, in which are [a pair of] metal chopsticks [that will be used to handle the charcoal]; and from [within] a lacquered kōgō¹, byakudan is burned.”

    This poem sets down the precedent for the way things are done during the “season of the furo” -- just as poem 40 did for the “season of the ro.”

    The word na-kago [菜籠] refers to a specific type of shallow basket, featuring a square base and round rim, in which vegetables were displayed in the market².  A typical example of an Edo period na-kago (that was modified for use as a sumi-tori) is shown below.

    Kane-hibashi [カネ火箸 = 金火箸] means chopsticks made of metal³.

    Nuri-kōgō [塗香合] means a kōgō made of lacquerware⁴.

    Byakudan [白檀] is sandalwood.  Traditionally byakudan (which was the least expensive of the imported incense woods) was cut into small pieces, roughly 6- or 7-bu square.  One of these was kept under the tongue (especially when going out in public), to perfume the breath while speaking.  Even today, many older teachers say that pieces of byakudan should be put in the mouth for a little while before being put into the kōgō, so the saliva will moisten them, which will help prevent them from bursting into flames as soon as the piece of charcoal on which they are placed begins to kindle (though the origin of this practice appears to have been forgotten).

    Nevertheless, byakudan came to be used in chanoyu only later⁵, which is the reason why this word only appears in versions of this poem that date from the early Edo period.

    The older versions of this poem, quoted below (from Jōō’s Matsu-ya collection, and Rikyū’s 1580 manuscript), differ from the more modern versions in two points:

〽 natsu nado ha sumi mo sairō kana-hibashi          kyara-kōgō ha nuri-mono to shire

    [夏などは炭もさいろうかな火箸          伽羅香合はぬりものとしれ].

    “During the summer (and other such [times]), the charcoal is also [carried] in a sairō, [the host uses] metal hibashi [to handle the charcoal], and the incense container for the kyara is a lacquered piece -- [you should] know [these things].”

    Sai-rō [さいろう = 菜籠] is simply another way of reading the kanji that were pronounced na-kago [菜籠] in the other version of this poem.  The two have the same meaning.

    Kyara-kōgō [伽羅香合] means an incense container for kyara⁶.  Here it would be referring to the container in which crushed jin-kō [沈香] was kept on the Buddhist altar (a Chinese example of which is shown below).  This container was traditionally made of lacquerware because metals (such as bronze or brass) would tend to give the fragrance of the incense wood that was stored in them a metallic scent.

    In the context of chanoyu, crushed jin-kō (such as that used when offering incense to the Buddha) was originally drizzled along the length of the dō-zumi [胴炭], so that the fragrance would be released over the course of the gathering -- as the piece of charcoal slowly caught fire and burned⁷.

    The two forms of this poem traditionally associated with Katagiri Sadamasa and the Sekishū school, however, are more problematic.  The version that Nakayama Sōhaku sensei refers to an old Rikyū manuscript (that was in the possession of Katagiri Sadamasa) --

〽 natsu nado ha sumi mo sairō kane-hibashi          nuri-kōgō ni byakudan wo take

    [夏などハ炭もさいろうかね火ばし          ぬり香合に白檀を焚け]

-- is an amalgam of the old Jōō/Rikyū version and the (later) Hosokawa Sansai version (i.e., the version found in the Kyūshū manuscript), combining the kami-no-ku of the former with the shimo-no-ku of the latter.

    But the other version, which Sadamasa seems to have discovered during his researches into Jōō’s teachings⁸ --

    〽 natsu nado ha sumi mo sairō kane-hibashi          kyara ni kōbako ni yakimono to shire

    [夏などハ炭もさいろうかね火ばし          伽羅に香箱に燒物としれ]

-- appears to look back to a time even before the Matsu-ya manuscript, when Jōō was occupied with the teachings of yin-yang that he had learned at the Shino family’s kō-kai [香會]⁹.  At that early period, Jōō (following the traditional teachings of the Shino family) held that kōgō made of metal or pottery, being yang, were most appropriate during the spring and summer (the yang seasons); while kōgō made of wood or lacquerware (which are dead substances, and so yin) are appropriately used during the yin seasons (autumn and winter)¹⁰.

_________________________

¹Some school-affiliated scholars take this to mean that the kōgō should be placed inside the sumi-tori, but that was not Jōō’s intended meaning.  Rather, the poem is constructed as a pair of parallel cases:  the hibashi in the na-kago, and the byakudan in the lacquered kōgō.

��Even today, not only in Japan, but also in places like Hong Kong and China more generally, this kind of basket is still found in the wet markets (albeit more often than not made from molded plastic).

    The price indicated would be for the entire contents of the basket -- thus the baskets varied in diameter.

    When used as a sumi-tori, this basket is usually lined with lacquered paper*, to prevent charcoal dust from sifting out onto the floor when the sumi-tori is moved. ___________ *Paper strips are cut, lacquer (usually black, but sometimes red) is painted lightly onto the inside of the basket, and when it becomes tacky, the paper strips are pushed into place one by one (after which each is brushed over with lacquer.  When it dries, this forms an impervious liner for the basket.

³Originally these were bronze, imported from Korea (where they were made as eating utensils); though from the sixteenth century they were also being made (in Japan) of iron*.

    The most commonly seen shape today features an opening on the handle end.  These imitate the metal hibashi used by Rikyū that were originally made as giant needles for sewing the omote [表] (the woven straw coverings) and heri [緣] (fabric borders) onto tatami mats,  While Rikyū used a pair of actual needles (which were around 6-sun long), the modern pieces imitate the shape, while increasing the length to that of the Korean bronze chopsticks (the increased length helps protect the host’s hand from the danger of being burned). ___________ *The original Japanese-made hibashi simply reproduced the Korean originals, albeit in cast iron (since bronze was not made in Japan until the end of the sixteenth century, when the bronze craftsmen were brought back to Japan at the conclusion of the first of Hideyoshi’s two failed adventures on the Korean peninsula).

⁴These were mostly made, in China, as containers for the red seal ink; though in Japan -- on account of their rarity -- they were used as containers in which cut fragments of precious kyara [伽羅] incense were stored.  Their use was adopted directly from the practices associated with kōdō [香道]*. ___________ *Crushed jin-kō [沈香] was also stored in such containers on the oshi-ita [押板] (in this case, the word should be translated offerings table) that was placed in front of the image of the Buddha in the temple setting (prior to intoning his prayers, the worshiper approached the oshi-ita and placed a pinch of crushed incense wood into the censer -- an ancient practice in which it was believed that the smoke of the incense would carry the supplicant’s words up to the Buddha).

    Either of these usages (or, probably, both) could have formed the precedent for the use of such things as incense containers during the sumi-temae.

⁵As chanoyu spread throughout society, many people began to practice who did not have the means to purchase kyara or jin-kō, thus byakudan (which was theretofore used primarily for oral hygiene more broadly in society, as explained above) came to be the smell associated with the furo season.

⁶The word kyara is being used generically, in this poem, as a way to refer to both kyara and jin-kō.

    Jin-kō and kyara are wood from the same tree (traditionally Aquilaria malaccensis and A. agallocha, among other southeast Asian species of the genus; the Chinese species A. sinensis has also come to be used in recent years to produce “cultured” or “synthetic” jin-kō -- that is, trees that are artificially infected in the greenhouse).  Both jin-kō and kyara come from a tree that has become infected with the mold Phaeoacremonium parasitica:  jin-kō represents the infected wood, and kyara is the resinous wall that the tree forms around the diseased tissue to encapsulate the infection, thereby preventing it from spreading to the rest of the plant.

    Since kyara is considerably rarer, it would be very unlikely that it would be used as described here.  The word is probably being used as an umbrella term for the more readily available jin-kō.

    The word kyara is said to have been derived from the Sanskrit aguruḥ [अगुरुः], which is the regional name for the aloeswood or agar tree (Aquilaria malaccensis), and, by extension, its fragrant wood.

⁷At the end of a chakai, virtually all that will remain of the charcoal fire are the two ends of the dō-zumi, and a collection of embers.  When crushed incense wood is drizzled along the length of the dō-zumi, the fragrance continues to perfume the room gently until the end of the gathering.  But when chips of byakudan or jin-kō are placed on two of the charcoal pieces, the incense generally burns up quickly, not infrequently emitting a cloud of unpleasant-smelling smoke, and then nothing more.

    Using chips of byakudan seems to have become the usual way to do things during the early Edo period -- probably because, when only three chips of incense wood were placed in the kōgō (with two then put into the furo), this made it easier for the guests to turn the kōgō over, to inspect the bottom (where there was often an indication of the name of the maker etched into the lacquer); but a kōgō filled with crushed incense wood could not be turned over in this way.  This was a manifestation of the Edo period’s focus on the utensils (and their value).

    When turning the lacquered kōgō over to inspect the bottom, the original way was to press the remaining piece of incense wood against the bottom of the kōgō with the index finger of the right hand, and then flip the kōgō over.  Later -- since this could possibly scratch the lacquer -- the guests were advised to remove the piece of incense and place it on a piece of kaishi, before turning the kōgō over.  This often resulted in the guest forgetting to put the piece of incense back, or its getting lost when the guest’s sleeve pushed it out-of-sight (and, on those occasions when a wealthy host was actually burning pieces of precious kyara in this way, sometimes resulted in the guest surreptitiously pilfering the piece of kyara, while claiming that it had gotten lost)....

⁸Over the course of his tea life, Katagiri Sadamasa seems to have come to the conclusion that Rikyū’s teachings (at least as they were represented by the Sen family) were unreliable and inauthentic (since they appeared to be highly conflicted and wholly inconsistent*).  Thus he spent the last decade of his life -- using his considerable power of coercion as a major daimyō, to pressure others (particularly those of a lower social standing to himself) into opening their archives to him -- researching the teachings of Jōō (who, as Rikyū’s teacher, he believed must have been the better repository of the ancient teachings).  He was, therefore, able to uncover documents that (because, like Rikyū’s densho, they had been written for a single disciple) were otherwise unknown to the tea world at large.  

    Sekishū spent this period cataloging his findings -- and, not infrequently, using them as a cudgel to push back against the authority of the Sen family. ___________ *The result of their practices being based on the teachings of the machi-shū (meaning the teachings traced their roots back to Imai Sōkyū, and the chanoyu of Jōō’s early middle period), over which the Sen family had laid a thin patina of what of Rikyū’s teachings they could glean, second and third hand, from those of their contemporaries who were willing to pull back the curtain, at least a little.

⁹Korean culture has, since ancient times, been heavily influenced by the ideas of yin and yang as interpreted through what are known as the bāguà [八卦] (hakkei in Japanese)* -- which ties this line of speculation to the Shino family.

    But with respect to Jōō, this is connected to the fact that, rather than possessing a firm, classical education in chanoyu (or one of the other arts), Jōō† picked up his early knowledge piecemeal from his contemporaries‡.  Thus, his opinions (and so his teachings) changed as he moved through society and came to associate with people from different backgrounds. ___________ *So much so that the four cardinal points from this system feature prominently on the modern Korean flag.  (These come from the system commonly referred to as the Xiān-tiān [先天], the natural arrangement of the bāguà, or Fúxī-bāguà [伏羲八卦], the system ascribed to the mythical emperor Fúxī, who reigned sometime between 2900 BC and 2000 BC, and is credited with the invention of music, hunting, fishing, animal husbandry, and cooking; another system, called the Hòu-tiān [後天], or derived arrangement, or Wén wáng-bāguà [文王八卦], refers to the system ascribed to King Wen of Zhou, who ruled from 1150 BC ~ 1050 BC.)

†Jōō was an antique dealer, and his thinking was, at least in the beginning, focused on the financial question -- relative to the price for which he was going to buy it, how much profit could he expect to get for any given utensil.  

    It is said that the mannerisms of present-day Kyōto antique dealers -- particularly those involved in the sale of tea utensils -- imitates Jōō‘s professional behavior.

‡Primarily, it seems, so that he could better interact and communicate with them -- so he appeared to be a cultured individual who knew what he was talking about.  He dove into poetry and incense as ways to cultivate acquaintanceships with people who, directly (as potential sources or customers) or indirectly (as ways to meet other people with whom he might develop future business relationships), would further his ends.

¹⁰Jōō iu, kōgō no koto, haru-natsu ha tsuchi no mono, aki-fuyu ha kiji-no-mono, nuri-mono yoshi, kō no tame ni yoki-yue no koto nari [紹鷗云、香合ノコト、春夏ハ土ノ物、秋冬ハ木地ノ物、ヌリ物ヨシ、香ノ爲ニヨキ故ノコト也].

    This means “Jōō said, with respect to the kōgō, in spring and summer [it should be] something made of metal or pottery; in autumn and winter, an unpainted [wooden] piece, or a lacquered piece, is appropriate.  This is in deference to [the conventions of] the [practice of] incense.”

    Dōan recorded that this account of Jōō’s words (which are found in his commentary on the Chanoyu san-byak’ka jō [茶湯三百箇條]) was passed on to him by Rikyū.

    In the early period when this poem was composed, jin-kō (or the host’s personal blend of perfumes that was almost always based on jin-kō) was used to perfume the air of the tea room all year round.  Therefore, the selection of the most appropriate container for the incense was connected only with the yin-yang aspect of the season.

==============================================

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[charcolor]

didn't want to make that post about me so i'm posting it separately.

2014, after mike brown was murdered, was when i stopped standing for the pledge. (i was in 8th grade.) my homeroom teacher got mad at me for it, telling me nothing is more important than standing during the pledge.

i kept refusing and they called my parents.

my biodad came in my room while i was at his house, trying to convince me america is great and i should respect it by standing for the pledge. i told him about police brutality and mike brown. he told me mike brown was a criminal and his murderer was just doing his job as a cop, or something to that effect. i told him it wasn't true that he robbed a store (obviously, though, robbing a store wouldn't call for murder. even if i had thought to mention this he wouldn't have listened.), i showed him security footage posted online to prove it. he laughed at me for actually believing that, mocking me for thinking mike brown didn't deserve to die, which triggered a meltdown (i forget if i had started crying already, but i was definitely crying now) and i lightly kicked him in the gut.

i was 13 and small, he was 55 and big, so it didn't hurt him, but he immediately yanked on my leg and started smacking my backside while i was crying. as if he'd been waiting for an excuse, this wasn't physical abuse because i hit him first, all because he was trying to teach me that america is great. he took my kindle fire (which i used to access the internet, i didn't have a smartphone yet) and had me sit in the living room while waiting to go home to my mom's house. while i was waiting he put on some videos on his computer. i forget how many, one was about how great america is or something (might have just been the national anthem) and another "proving" that mike brown was a dangerous criminal who needed to be put to death.

later, during a therapy session (i believe right before i was sent to the psych ward) he told my therapist "i never said he deserved to die, just that he was asking for it." which is a statement that still baffles me.

when i turned 18 and no longer legally had to go to his house i cut all contact. unfortunately, even though i have his number blocked, he can still send texts. i have to see his overaffectionate hollow bullshit every time i happen to open my blocked messages.

i realized recently that being treated like that to this day makes me scared to talk to anyone. being laughed at and mocked by my biodad like that, while i was breaking down, made me scared of experiencing it again if i ever try to speak to adults about serious topics, like police brutality or the genocides in palestine and congo or fascism in general. i try to contribute in other ways, by donating and sharing posts and going to vigils (there are anti-war vigils in providence twice a week.) but actually confronting someone is too mortifying. i'm very ashamed of myself for that, i hope i get stronger someday, i'd be able to help more people.

a lot of times i think about how i outlived people like mike brown, how i was younger than them when they were murdered. he really was just a kid. he's supposed to be 28. it's not fair that he was murdered and everyone (well, everyone with power at least) forgot after a few months.

[katieshumanitiesblog]

A Manifesto of Passion

Our world is one where the expression of passion translates to dramatics and extremism. I stand to praise encouragement to all to feel the emotions of life with emphasis and confidence. We shall have freedom to follow our hearts and reject the limitations imposed by society. I imagine a future where people are true to themselves and chase their ambitions without fear or hesitation, all because they are passionate about what they do. Our unconscious mind drives us to do things through a sense of meaning, whether we know it or not, and everyday is an opportunity to reveal our thoughts and devotions. 

When you drink from the well of passion, life takes on a new dimension, full of purpose and infinite vitality.  Our passion lights the way, driving us onward with boundless fire and determined purpose in a world where routine and doubt are ordinary. 

I wrote about my mother, a poem that reminded me of her and the love she grew into me. The emotion I embodied in “This poem” written on my blog, gives purpose to an already important relationship. You can see my thoughts through this post, the weight of where this topic lies upon me, and the revelations I've made growing into my own heart.

My photo collection combines my love for the humans in my life and the act of capturing a moment forever. Through words I express the importance of these relationships, through pictures you see the words come to life, through analysis you feel the feelings I am expressing. 

Music is most notably accepted in regards to the passions people have as both artists and listeners. My music theme is a collection of artists differing opinions on America. A theme filled with controversy on both ends. You experience what it’s like to undergo oppression and the fulfillment of patriotism in a single post. The controversy lies much deeper, questioning how much you can feel and how far you can go with them. Many dismiss passion as an individual “doing too much” or overreacting to their interest. Whether that be a positive interest they chose to speak on or a negative topic, the pushback we see towards expressionists leaves a bad taste in my mouth. One might find the song “Courtesy of the red, white, and blue” written by Toby Keith as a classic embark into American culture while others resonate much more with the song “The Bigger Picture” by Lil Baby. Both of these pieces reflect much different experiences in America, as I wrote in my blog post, yet express the same passionate energy towards a common factor. Without the efforts made by artists of all kinds, there would be no tangible demonstration of feelings and experiences many have lived through. 

Desire is what drives development and new ideas. Fundamental changes, game-changing innovations, and ground-breaking discoveries all stem from this one factor. When we have deep personal investment in a cause or concept, we are more likely to take risks, try new things, and question established norms; as a result, we may find ourselves paving the way for revolutionary change. Through my passions I have learned so much more when acting on the impulses I feel. The direction our minds head towards when you put feelings into action lead to remarkable finds, things we did not know existed. On top of that, following our hearts brings us happiness and contentment. The ordinary becomes extraordinary when it gives meaning and thrill to even the most routine activities. Loving life to the fullest means savoring every moment, no matter how big or little, and marveling at the simple things around us.

Finally, I say, listen up: the call to make passion our essence is loud and clear. The ability to overcome obstacles, discover underlying abilities, and carve out a unique route to happiness is contained in its passionate embark. Join me in kindling the fires of inspiration in one another and in the world at large, so that our shared dreams may shine brightly. Being passionate about something not only helps us find our true selves, but it also reveals our limitless potential.

[kebeeeen]

The Entrepreneurial Journey of "Fern-To-Go"

Entering the world of entrepreneurship is like sailing into unknown waters. It necessitates tenacity, imagination, and an unrelenting passion for one's goal. This account of my entrepreneurial path explores the obstacles encountered, insights gained, and pivotal events that have influenced my professional and personal development.

The Spark of Inspiration:

Every business journey starts with a spark an idea that kindles a personal fire. It was, for me, the result of combining my passion with astute awareness of a gap in the market. My resolve to launch my own business was strengthened by the conviction that I might use invention to change the world.

The Birth of the Venture:

Starting a business requires careful preparation and execution. I turned my concept into a workable business plan that outlined the target market, objective, and distinctive selling point. Getting money and putting together a committed team were essential to realizing my vision. The launch of my business signaled the start of an exhilarating journey with highs of achievement and lows of uncertainty.

Building a Strong Team:

A successful endeavor requires teamwork. One of the most important lessons I learned in my business path was the value of assembling a unified, strong team. Every team member added special abilities and viewpoints that aided in the expansion of the business. Our success was largely attributed to fostering a good and cooperative work culture, which allowed for the flourishing of creativity and the unified facing of obstacles.

Embracing Innovation:

Innovation is the key to staying ahead in the ever-changing corporate world. My experience as an entrepreneur has taught me the value of being adaptable and always looking for new methods to provide value. My company's innovation became its lifeblood, allowing us to not only survive but also flourish in a cutthroat industry. This included everything from using cutting-edge technologies to improving our product offers.

Conclusion:

My experience as an entrepreneur has been a tapestry made of tenacity, inventiveness, and fortitude. It is a story of development for all of us aspiring business owners, not just for me. The difficulties encountered presented chances for growth, while the accomplishments marked significant turning points in an ongoing quest for excellence. Thinking back on this trip, I am reminded that becoming an entrepreneur is more than just picking a job; it's a life-changing experience that molds people, creates relationships, and changes the business environment forever.

[tempestaslokni]

Location: Near the Forest @zaidshair

Lokni had spent the better part of an hour baiting lines and casting them into the water, then patrolling along the pier to check for tension in the lines. It was time-consuming, but not boring. There was something serene about being here, on the open water, gazing out at the endless sky. In the distance, Lokni could barely make out the soft movements of eelgrass in the water, dancing with the movements of the waves. He was so far from home, and yet, in the pit of his stomach a strange excitement sparked to life. As far as he knew, this was uncharted land, full of mysteries. Maybe this was a chance to start over. Maybe the fire had all been some sort of catalyst. Within the excitement there was also guilt, guilt at the fact that he may have just up and vanished, leaving his mother with more work than she would have normally had. Taking a brief moment, he smoothed his hand across his chest, feeling the strong beat of his heart. If this wasn't a dream, or if he wasn't dead, then he had to find a way off this island. This moment in time was simply the calm before the storm.

Earlier Lokni had managed to scrounge a couple cans of food from the ship, as well as an old burlap potato sack that had been left behind. He had used this to cram whatever useful things, including a well-crafted pot, that he could find into the bag before slinging it over his shoulder and getting out of the ship.

The strange events then began to occur, the announcement, the "feast-" which by the way, like hell he was gonna' participate in- practically had "TRAP" scribbled all over it. Regardless, all of these events had left Lokni spent, confused, and most pressingly of all, hungry. Mr. Johnson had never let him forget the time that a coyote had tried to steal Lokni's leftovers while he was dozing by the campfire, only for Lokni to wake up and run after that scavenger like a madman. Of course, it got away, but the yelling and curses ran long into the night. To know oneself is an important thing, and Lokni knew himself well enough to know that being hungry would end poorly for everyone, himself included.

He carefully lowered all the crabs from the line into the pot, before quickly looping some old rope through the pot handles to secure the lid in place and heading off to find some wood to build a fire. The tree line in the distance looked promising, it was probably teeming with old branches and kindling. He'd have a fire going in no time- or at least that's what he thought before a man, a little shorter than himself, ran around in front of him, blocking his path. His black hair was shorn shortly to his head, and he looked well put-together, like one of those people you'd see in magazines.

"Where d'you think you're even going?? That's not - are you mad? You can't just go alone in them trees, mate! It's dangerous." the newcomer said, his expression one of concern and confusion.

"I'm dangerous if I don't eat." Lokni replied, "I'm just going to build a fire and cook this up, I don't mean anyone harm, and I can handle myself in the woods, at the very least. Figured I didn't want any trouble with anyone. By the way... who are you? You're not joining 'The Feast?'"

location: near the foresty area @tempestaslokni

Nothing here made sense. A deserted island but there was running water - hot water, too, and electric power. A pseudo-hospital. And unnerving feast set out on the 'Hub. The Cruise ship looming on one side of the land (the island? He couldn't even be sure. Zaid held out a vain hope that this was connected to a mainland, that this was all a product of some strange government experiment and they'd all be found and returned home) and what looked like a dormant volcano on the other side.

And then there was that strange, old fashioned radio tower type structure, poking out from the trees.

Zaid had regained some energy, still exhausted from the day's madness, but the sun was slow to set. He hadn't bothered with the bungalows yet, except to use the facilities. Why make any claims? They were going to be found. They had to be found. He kept wandering, restless and under some impression that if he did something, then something would happen.

Zaid happened upon one thing, as he neared the trees to the north (or what he assumed was north. He'd need to find qibla direction at some point as well) - a man. A tall man, beautiful long hair neatly held in a thong. And he was heading straight into the trees. After Zaid's previous attack (so Zaid considered it, anyway) from wild horrors back at the beach's treeline, he didn't even stop to think.

He just broke into a jog, and called out. "Hey! Oi, you there!" Zaid caught up, circling around to face - and block - the other man. "Where d'you think you're even going?? That's not - are you mad? You can't just go alone in them trees, mate! It's dangerous."

[loaksky]

— 𝘪𝘯 𝘧𝘶𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘮

the deets — lo'ak is the black sheep in the family, clinging to honor by a precarious thread. you are the well-loved songstress in the tribe. he should resent you for being everything he's not, but his fickle heart can't bring him to do so.

the who — lo'ak x fem omatikaya!reader

the word count — 10.2k (rip yall)

the tags — (one-sided) rivals-to-lovers, angsty angsty, hurt / comfort, reader gives lo'ak a big ol smooch (perhaps more than one), lo’ak is the biggest dumbass and because of this he’s mean asf, reader has a big ol heart and just really wants lo’ak to like her, aged!up characters for maturity’s sake. 

the warnings — language, lo'ak is in luv but doesn't realize it, he's in denial that the feelings could be reciprocated, this is super dramatic so put your seat belts on!

the notes — was feeling extra sad and wanted to write something self-indulgent. this lovely anon requested something, and i used their ask as inspiration to finish this beast. fine line, bags, and love in dark are the three main songs i listened to finish this, so if you wanna be in your feels, have a listen LMAO. despite all the support, i’m still so mf nervous posting this ejsjsjdjs

masterlist

SOMETHING UGLY KINDLES IN THE PIT of Lo'ak's stomach at the mere mention of your name. It's sour on his tongue, bitter in his brain. He doesn't know when he's started to feel like this, started to feel absolutely dreadful anytime he'd hear the timbre of your voice. 

It's warm, thick like nectar and it makes him sick. 

Ever since you all were little, the elders crooned over what a great girl you were growing into; strong, intelligent, beautiful. It made him boil how much they'd sing your praises, the high esteem everyone held you in as one of the clan's most talented. 

Something dull would pick at him being compared to his older brother, but nothing burned more than being compared to you. 

Maybe it's because it's always implied whenever your names share the same sentences, that lingering implication that he could be more like you. The clan fans the flames of your mere existence while Lo'ak is snuffed out like a dying fire. 

He hates it. He hates you. 

He thinks. 

It'd be easier to, if you were awful behind the scenes. Arrogant, stuck up, but you're none of those things. You're kind, gentle, mighty when you need to be. It doesn't help that you shine like the brightest star, engulfing everyone in your light, in your warmth. 

But Lo'ak resists. He sees right through you, sees right through every saccharine smile you send him. He can see it in your eyes, how you really see him. Despite standing a full head taller than you, he sees the way you look down your nose at him. 

It grates his nerves, how disgustingly sweet you are towards him despite all attempts to rebuff you. 

Certainly doesn’t soothe his ego when you always seem to be around the bend every time he gets bitched at by the clan, eyes soft and filled with pity. To add insult to injury, you frequently tail him like a shadow after these moments when all he wants is to be alone. 

Like now, you linger. 

It's after dinner and Kiri and Spider stand before him. They come together like the three points of a triangle and you stand an awkward distance away from them. 

Kiri notices you first, her face splitting into a big smile as she waves you over. 

Lo'ak breathes a deep sigh before locking eyes with Spider who tries his best to suppress an amused grin. 

“Hi,” you chirp and Lo'ak can't help but roll his eyes. 

Spider and Kiri greet you eagerly. Lo'ak simply nods his head in acknowledgement before tightening his fist around his dagger. 

“We going or what?” he finally says. 

You perk up. 

“Where are you guys heading off to?” you ask curiously, hands clasped behind your back.

Spider opens his mouth to answer, but Lo'ak cuts him off quickly. 

“No where important,” he says, unsure if you'll blab about their whereabouts to the elders, or worse, his parents. 

You roll your lips and shift on your feet. 

“Can I come?” you ask hesitantly, eyes hopeful. 

Kiri's smile grows as she links her arm with yours. 

“No,” he says sharply. “Absolutely not.” 

Your face falls and something pulls inside his chest when you fail meet his gaze, your frown barely perceptible. 

You make a move to pull from Kiri's grasp, but her arm tightens through yours. She levels Lo'ak with a weighty glare and you fidget uncomfortably under his narrowed eyes. 

“Don't worry about it,” you say, like someone's hit a reset button. You smile that pretty smile and Lo'ak wants to scream. "It's okay, I think Rutan needs help with clean up." 

You slip from Kiri's grasp and the three watch you walk off. 

“Do you always have to be such a bitch?” Spider scoffs a disbelieving laugh. 

“She's just gonna tag along so she can snitch,” Lo'ak grumbles. 

“Oh c'mon,” Kiri argues. “________ just wants friends.”

Lo'ak sneers. 

“I don't want to be friends with her,” he says firmly, knuckles white around the handle of his knife.

“Weirdo,” Spider mumbles. “She’s cute. Think she likes you.”

Lo'ak's spine stiffens.

“It's an act” Lo'ak grumbles. “She just wants to look good in front of the elders to keep up whatever nice girl show she's putting on.” 

Kiri rolls her eyes hard. 

There are moments when Lo'ak thinks he's being harsh, but he can't help himself. It's like he loses all semblance of a filter when it comes to you. 

“Hi, Lo'ak,” you greet him sweetly, lowering yourself onto the fallen log he's perched on, fashioning arrows to practice with later on in the evening with Neteyam. 

He shifts away from you, putting the distance of two bodies between the two of you as he pauses his task at hand. 

“Hi,” he says flatly. 

“Can I help?” you ask tentatively, fingers twitching towards one of the untouched sticks in a pile next to his feet. 

His kicks them closer to himself, out of your reach before leveling you with a sharp glare. 

“No thanks,” he says quickly and you recoil slowly, letting out a shaky laugh before fixing that stupid smile on your pretty face. 

“Oh, sorry,” you apologize, straightening in your seat. 

A silence so uncomfortably palpable settles over the two of you as you shift so that your knees are turned towards him. 

His throat bobs when his gaze travels from your little toes all the way up to your inquisitive gaze, golden and searching. It makes something unruly settle in his gut and he turns his attention back to carving his arrows. 

“Do you need something?” he breaks the silence finally. “I'm kinda busy.”

You bite your lip before scooting a little closer to Lo'ak's hunched figure. 

“My birthday's coming up,” you start. 

“I'm aware,” Lo'ak almost scoffs. 

It's all the clan has been able to talk about for the past few days. How they'd be able to prepare for the golden girl's next birth cycle and what they'd be able to do to make you smile the brightest. 

“Your birthday is a week before,” you state and his head whips towards you. 

“How do you know that?” he asks sharply, accusation heavy in his gruff tone. 

You flinch and he falters for a moment before your smile simply widens. 

“We grew up together, Lo'ak,” you say and the way his name sounds from your mouth sounds absolutely heavenly. “You're my friend.”

Friend. 

He scowls at the term.

“We're not friends,” he bites back. 

If the statement bothers you, you don't show it, simply tucking a strand of hair behind your ear before putting on a brave face. 

“I want to celebrate with you,” you say shyly. 

“Hard pass,” he says too quickly, gathering his sticks and fashioned arrows under his grasp. 

He leaves you in the clearing on your own.

You must be fucking with him. You have to be. It'd be the only explanation for why Jake pulls him aside a few nights later and tells him that you've requested to work with him and Neteyam during archery practice. 

“No,” he says stiffly, shaking his head. 

His dad levels him with a hard glare and Lo'ak sighs deeply. 

“She's a nuisance, Dad,” he argues. “Me and Neteyam are making good progress with our training and we'll have to start at square one if she joins.”

“Lo'ak, this isn't an ask,” Jake says sternly. 

“But, Dad!”

“Lo'ak.”

Lo'ak huffs, snatching his bow and quiver angrily before storming off. 

“You're doing great,” Neteyam says to you once the three of you have convened in the training circle. 

The three arrows you've shot have all landed within centimeters of the mark and to say that Neteyam is impressed is an understatement. Lo'ak, on the other hand, fumes not-so-silently as he tears his arrows from his target. 

Yet again, you have another person wrapped around your finger and it makes his blood simmer as he assumes his position at the marker and loads his arrow. It splinters through the air and hits the target right on the bullseye. The arrow punctures through the hide and lodges its way into the wood from the sheer force of Lo’ak’s shot. 

You start at him moon-eyed, lush lips breaking into a full smile. 

“Perfect shot,” you observe. “That was awesome.” 

Lo’ak scans your features hesitantly before his gaze flits to his older brother, waiting for any acknowledgment that he’d done a great job, but Neteyam is taking notes on the arrows still stuck in the fabric of your own target. 

His heart sinks. 

“Fuck this,” Lo’ak grumbles, bundling all of his belongings.

He stalks through the clearing, past his brother, to leave you two. 

He doesn’t know what fuels the fire more, the fact that Neteyam didn’t even bat an eye at the feat they’d been practicing for for the past three weeks because he was too immersed in you, or the fact that you bore witness to his first clean shot and gave him that sickeningly sweet smile that made his stomach turn. 

“Where are you going?” Neteyam sighs. 

“Somewhere you two aren’t,” he grumbles under his breath, ducking through the brush of the lofty forest. 

You lick your lips, locking eyes with Neteyam as you give him a bashful grin and slowly break away to follow Lo’ak’s path. 

He isn’t far ahead as you push through the vines and low-hanging leaves, the path lined with large plants and the spindly roots of the looming trees. The grass is plush between your toes as you scamper to follow Lo’ak from a distance, watching as his lithe body climbs through the dense flora. 

“Why are you following me?” he calls after a few dozen paces, stopping in the middle of the path to whirl on his heel. 

His golden eyes are syrupy, warm despite the edge, and you can’t help but flash him your pearly whites in a genuine smile that takes up your dimpled cheeks. 

“Why’d you run off?” you ask him. “You were doing so well!” 

His chest rises and falls with a scoff. 

“You can give it a rest, you know?” Lo’ak says flatly, fist so tight around his bow he feels like he’ll crush the wood. 

Your expression morphs, eyebrows furrowing in a way that makes Lo’ak throat bob, something pinching behind his ribcage. 

“What?” you ask, frown marring your pretty face. 

“I don’t know what you’re playing at, but you can stop acting like you wanna be friends with me,” Lo’ak says matter-of-factly. 

“You are my friend,” you protest quietly. 

Lo’ak rolls his eyes. 

“Dude, whatever,” he mutters, turning his back on you. 

“Is it so wrong?” you murmur and he stops in his tracks, refusing to meet your gaze. “To be friends?” 

Friends. 

That stupid fucking word again.

Lo’ak bites his tongue and stalks off, leaving you on the path. 

Neteyam rips him a new one when he sees him at dinner later that night. Lo’ak hangs his head as Neteyam digs in.

“Is it so hard to be nice?” Neteyam asks, hand squeezing his shoulder as they stand a handful of meters away from the main circle. 

As his eyes wander, he notices you sitting with his sister, head thrown back in laughter that glitters and wafts with the rising smoke of the fire. He swallows turning his attention back to his older brother. 

“Just don’t like her,” he admits. “I want her to leave me alone.” 

“You don’t like her or you like her too much?” Neteyam asks, brow bone raised. 

Lo’ak’s face scrunches.

“Ew, no,” he blurts. “Why would I—”

“________ just wants to fit in,” he sighs. “She has trouble making friends.” 

“Yeah, I wonder why,” Lo’ak mocks. “I don’t know why Kiri and Spider are always up her ass, she’s—”

“Lo’ak,” Neteyam warns. 

“Dude, everyone is always ________ this, _________ that! I don’t understand what’s so great about her—”

A throat clears and the brothers both turn their attention to the newcomer. Lo’ak could groan in frustration seeing that you’ve abandoned your seat and now stand nearby with two wooden plates. 

“They’re going to start cleaning up soon,” you say hesitantly. “Wanted to bring you some.” 

Neteyam takes it graciously from you, nodding his head in thanks while Lo’ak stares down at the plate you’d arranged for him, abundant in vegetables and thick cuts of meat. 

“No thanks,” he says flatly.

You try to coax him. 

“C’mon Lo’ak, you say gently. “I know you haven’t eaten yet.” 

“No thanks,” he repeats stonily, holding his hand up. 

You offer up the plate again. 

“Lo’ak–“ 

“I said no thank you,” he grunts, annoyed. 

He’d only meant to push it back towards you, but one second it’s in your hands, the next you’re wearing dinner, the plate clattering onto the ground. 

“Lo’ak!” Neteyam scolds. 

“Shit, I didn’t–”

“It’s fine,” you breathe an airy laugh and Lo’ak freezes when he hears your breath hitch. “It was an accident.” 

“Oh, ________…” Neteyam sighs, but you’re picking up the plate and scurrying off, ignoring the nearby snickering. 

“Whatever you got going on, you need to cool it,” Jake scolds him in the family tent after dinner that night. “________ is a good girl, she’s trying to find her place. Can’t really do that if you’re gonna be a jerk to her all the time.” 

Lo’ak resists the urge to roll his eyes because, yet again, someone is sticking up for you, admonishing him about how he could be nicer, how he could take you under his wing, how he–

“What about me?” Lo’ak argues. “I tell her to leave me alone all the time, but she doesn’t listen. Why do I have to be nice to someone who doesn’t respect–”

“Cut the bullshit,” Jake thunders. “You haven’t even tried being her friend.” 

“Why should I?” Lo’ak counters. 

“Because maybe you two are more alike than you’d care to learn,” Jake says knowingly. “Now go apologize.” 

“Dad!” 

“Go, Lo’ak.” 

Lo’ak sucks in a deep breath before squeezing his eyes shut and blowing out through his nose. 

“Fine, fine, whatever,” he grumbles, ducking from the tent into the humid night air. 

He starts into the jungle, fingers brushing over the leaves and petals of the plants and flowers. He takes the moment to regulate his pounding heart in his chest before trying to wrack his brain for any words that he could scrounge into a believable apology. 

When he crosses the glowing waters of a skinny brook, something rustles nearby and his hand is on the hilt of his dagger in the blink of an eye. 

He turns to face the noise, knife drawn, but then you emerge and his body relaxes a fraction. 

“Fuck, ________, you scared me,” he sighs in relief. 

You fidget and swallow down the lump in your throat. 

“Sorry,” you say sheepishly. 

A brief silence dawns the two of you and Lo’ak notes that you’ve cleaned up from the evening meal’s debacle, now wearing a longer loincloth threaded with round pearlescent beads that refract the luminescence of the surrounding forest. 

Your grasp tightens around a leather bound journal and for a moment, he wonders what you could be writing about. 

When you follow his gaze, you shyly tuck the journal behind your back and give him an uneasy smile. 

“I wanted to–”

“I came to–”

Your words clash and you breathe a little laugh through your nose as you gaze at him with brilliant eyes. You start closing the distance and Lo’ak’s hands grow clammy. 

“You first,” you offer. 

Whatever threads of an apology he’d crafted in the moments prior have evaporated now that you stand before him, absolutely glowing. 

“Lo’ak?” Your head tilts and his cheeks warm. 

“Sorry,” he says hoarsely. “For what happened at dinner.” 

You shake your head quickly. 

“You don’t have to apologize,” you assure him, reaching out to touch him. 

He recoils, clearing his throat as he retreats to put an ample amount of distance between the two of you. 

You eye the berth and something shutters across your face as you rock back on your heels and flash him another uneasy smile. 

You haven’t even tried being her friend, his dad’s words echo like a call in the night. Maybe you two are more alike that you care to learn. 

Were you? You and Lo’ak were as different as they come, you molded by the love and adoration of the clan, him built up by the lessons and lectures he received from his parents and Neteyam. 

“Where are you going?” you ask, blowing by the previous conversation. 

He shrugs. 

“Dunno,” he admits. “I was looking for you.” 

The way you freeze is almost covert, your lips rolling as you try to hide the smile threatening to split your face. 

“Oh,” you hum. “Wanna go for a walk?” 

No, he wants to say. He absolutely does not want to spend anymore time with you than he has to. Likes to believe that he wouldn’t even bat an eye if he were to never see you again, but you’re looking at him expectantly and his dad’s words are like a mantra in his head, so he agrees begrudgingly. 

It’s awkward at first, silent except for the natural soundtrack of the vicarious jungle. But like you do so well, you break the silence and Lo’ak has to resist rolling his eyes for the third time that night. 

“What are your favorite colors?” you ask suddenly. 

“I dunno, green?” he offers. 

“Are you sure?” you laugh quietly. 

Lo’ak thinks a moment before nodding his head. 

“Yeah, green,” he finalizes. “And blue.” 

He barely notices that you’d fallen behind, and when he turns to look over his shoulder, he sees that you’re scratching something into your little journal. 

“And your favorite fruit?” you press, nose still between the pages. 

Lo’ak breathes out a laugh and your head shoots up. 

“What? You gonna send this list to the lab?” Lo’ak asks.

You give him a shy smile, shifting on your feet. 

“No,” you say softly, then whisper to yourself, “just compiling a list to win your heart.” 

Lo’ak barely hears you, ears twitching as his eyes narrow in confusion. 

“What?” he asks. 

You snap your notebook shut, shaking your head quickly as you pad through the grass to catch up to him. 

“Nothing.” 

Something ripples in the fabric after that night, you and Neteyam both notice when Lo’ak enters the training clearing the next afternoon and greets you with a nod instead of flat out ignoring your presence like he had the last training session. 

And you think that the moment is fleeting, a one off, but as the days progress, you realize that maybe Lo’ak is finally softening around you. 

He stays for entire lessons, the most minute of smiles twitching at his lips whenever you compliment his shots. He waits near the edge for you as you pack up your things, and while the walk back to the village is a quiet one, you bask in his company, triumphant when he doesn’t run off. 

And while your evening walks are few and far between, you savor the moments he affords you, wedging yourself between him the crumbling walls of his facade. 

Tonight is one of those moments, sitting on adjacent branches overlooking the lively forest, when Lo’ak lets you peek farther into his life than he’d originally intended. 

“He never understands,” he sighs, popping a few berries from his satchel past his lips. 

Tonight’s topic is his father and you listen intently, eyes fixed on the way he reclines on the branch and looks up at the stars. 

“I try hard, you know? To make everyone proud, but all they see is my failure,” he says, obviously annoyed. “No matter what I do, it’s not good enough.” 

“You do great things, Lo’ak,” you say quietly, the first words you’ve said all night. 

And like your voice is a reminder, Lo’ak’s spine goes rigid, throat bobbing as he realizes that he may have said too much to you. He’s getting too comfortable and you’re all the willing to absorb every insecurity and every worry he has. 

But something about quiet moments like these makes him loose-lipped, eyes fluttering to where you’ve got your notebook balanced in the seam of your thighs, scrawling something on the pages as you eat your own berries. 

The words are leaving him before he can stop them. 

“Easy for you to say,” he murmurs. “You’re perfect.” 

The laugh that escapes you startles him and a few of the berries he was about to devour slips from his fingers and plunk down the leaves.

“I’m not perfect,” you assure him. 

“Only someone who’s perfect would say that,” Lo’ak grumbles, peering over the edge of the branches to spot his fallen fruit. “The whole village loves you, everyone’s always so ready to bat for you.” 

You look down at the pages of your journal with a sad smile. 

“It’s a lot of pressure,” you admit quietly. “Everyone’s watching your every move, waiting for you to mess up.” 

Lo’ak shifts uncomfortably.

You continue. 

“And most of the villagers our age don’t like me,” you say, thumbing one of the pages. “They say I kiss ass, that I’m always trying to keep a leg up.” 

Lo’ak winces, knowing that he’s the source of at least one of those sentiments. 

“The elders think you’re honorable,” Lo’ak argues gently. “You’re talented, you have something to offer the people.” 

“Honor means nothing if you’re bound by it,” you say finally, closing the cover to your journal. “If anything, I want to be more like you.” 

“Like me?” Lo’ak asks incredulously, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. 

You nod, smiling at him. 

“Yeah,” you whisper. “I think you’re brave, fearless. And even if you care what people think, you do what you want.”

Lo’ak is quiet, taken aback by your confession.

Before he can respond, you’re gathering your things, bidding him a warm farewell as you begin climbing down the tree to disappear into the night. 

After that night, you think that maybe you’re just imagining things, that you’re reading too much into the fact that Lo’ak has begun to finally act like you exist, but then Kiri says something and the hope sends your heart soaring. 

“Seems like he finally got his head out of his ass,” she says a few mornings later as you two stand near a shallow stream, eyes peeled for any fish you two could bring back to the village. 

“Think so?” you ask nervously, arrow trapping the flailing fish to the pebbles of the stream’s bed. 

Kiri shrugs. 

“He actually pays you mind now,” Kiri observes. “That’s a step up for sure. I think you just need to spend more time with him.” 

You smile, splashing through shallow waters to capture the fish and add it to the growing pile in the basket between you and the middle Sully. 

“Yeah?” you wonder

So you test the theory, basket filled with various peeled fruits and a little container of nectar you squeezed from the petals of a flower. 

It doesn’t take long to hunt him down. When you enter the training circle, he’s packing up his things, quiver strapped to his back and bow in his fist. 

Before you make yourself known, he’s turning on his heel to face you, eyes wild as he swallows down the lump in his throat. 

He’d be the last to admit that the last night you two spent together was branded in his brain, that his mouth had dried up so much so he felt his tongue could crack.

There were so many implications in your words and it horrified him, scared him so much that he knew he couldn’t let you that close again. 

But now you stand before him, pretty as can be, hopeful even, and he’s at a war with himself, absolutely caught between resenting you for being everything he’s not and giving into the draw. 

“Hi,” you greet, basket heavy in your hands. 

You look more radiant than usual, skirt brushing the forest floor, the woven vine of your top banded to expose your midriff. 

“Hey,” he replies hesitantly. 

“Where you going?” you ask curiously.

His throat bobs as he gestures behind him. 

“Hunting,” is all he says.

“Do you want to go for a walk?” you ask eagerly.

He doesn’t. He shouldn’t. Because things are shifting and he’s not sure if he’ll be able to stomach the change. If he’ll be able to admit to himself that you’re wearing him thin, that you make him feel things he’s never felt before and that it makes him feel like he has no control. 

Because when it boils down to it, you make him lose control, make him lose his filter, and make him feel every emotion twice as hard. 

“No,” he says.

And in that moment, you feel like you’re back at square one, watching as his eyes turn stony and his jaw sets firmly. 

“You shouldn’t go hunting on your own,” you say softly. “Will someone be with you?” 

“It’s fine,” he argues. “I’m fine.” 

“I can go with you!” you offer. “I thought maybe we could sit by the stream and talk, but we can go hunting instead. We can–” 

“No,” he says again, pinning you with eyes so lethal, it makes you wonder if you really had imagined the moments you shared with him, if you had imagined Kiri telling you that she saw it too. 

You try again anyways. 

“It’ll be good practice and–”

“I said no, ________,” he barks. “You’re dead weight and I want to be alone.” 

Your lips seal and you bite the inside of your cheek. 

Lo’ak could nearly scream in frustration when he notices the way your shoulders sag and it makes something in his heart cinch. 

“Okay,” you agree, nodding quickly. “Be safe and–”

The words die on your tongue when you notice the look of annoyance on Lo’ak’s face. 

Lo’ak is in deep shit, you come to find out hours later. 

You sit outside of the training circle, knowing that Lo’ak will return down the path after his hunting trip. What you don’t expect, however, is Jake and Neytiri emerging with the entire line of Sully kids and Spider.

Jake grips the back of Lo’ak’s neck tightly as they march past wandering eyes, straight to the family tent. You don’t miss his wounds though, varying in depth, some bleeding, some sore. 

You’re hot on their heels, standing right outside of the entrance as Jake tears into the middle Sully. 

“Time and time again, I have to get on your ass for doing the complete opposite of what I ask you to do!” Jake’s voice is thunderous inside the tent. “Do you not realize that you not only risked your life but your sisters’ too?”

There’s a beat of silence before Jake continues, obviously pacing from the way his volume fluctuates. 

“And what were you thinking bringing Tuk? She’s nine, Lo’ak!” he shouts, the anger and the hurt evident in his tone. 

“I’m sorry,” Lo’ak mumbles. 

“Yeah, I bet you are!” Jake scolds. “I don’t ask for much. All I want is for you stay in line. Just stay out of trouble and work hard on your training. I paired you with ________ and Neteyam in hopes that maybe you’ll tighten up and be more like them, but you’re always disappointing me.” 

You frown. 

Whatever Lo’ak had done probably didn’t warrant such deep admonishment and something tugs especially hard at your heartstrings knowing that all he wants to do is make his dad proud. 

“You’re surrounded by good influences, but you always have to go against the grain, Lo’ak,” Jake says, the edge in his tone softening. “I’m getting tired of the bullshit, son. You need to clean up your act. Hear me?” 

“Yes sir,” Lo’ak says quietly, voice almost a whisper behind the hide of the tent. 

“Now go get yourself cleaned up,” Jake huffs. 

Your spine is straightening when you hear foot steps closing in, holding your breath as the flap to the tent billows open and Lo’ak is emerging.

His eyes flit to yours and his expression sours further. 

“Lo’ak,” you murmur, reaching out to him. 

He’s shrugging you away, wincing when a wound on his shoulder stretches especially taut. 

“You’re hurt,” you say quietly. “I’ll–”

“Leave me alone,” he says, eerily level. 

“But you’re–”

“I said leave me alone, ________,” he warns, pushing past you in what should be the pursuit of his grandmother’s quarters.

Instead he’s making a beeline for the jungle. 

You’d seen the look in his eye before he stonewalled you, seen the hurt and heaviness that most people didn’t seem to notice because he was always so adventurous and carefree. 

You follow after him. 

“Lo’ak, you know he’s only worried for you,” you try to reason gently, fingers reaching for his own as you duck under massive leaves and fluttering insects. 

He whirls to face you, swatting your hand away. 

“Don’t fucking touch me,” he bites. “You don’t know anything.” 

You swallow, holding your hand to your chest as you watch him lay down every brick to wall himself off. 

He hates it. He hates how you look at him, how you seem to pity the life he has to live. It makes him sick, thinking that you two have it the same. He’d rather be hated for being great than hated for being a let down. It’s insulting, how you think you know how it feels. 

“Let’s go back. I’ll wrap your wounds and–”

“Of course, clan’s golden girl is gonna patch me up and make it all better, huh?” he seethes facetiously. “Just fuck off!” 

You flinch, blinking at the boy you holds so much rage in front of you. 

“I know you’re hurting, but you don’t have to be mean,” you whisper, taking in a shuddering breath to will yourself not to cry. 

“Mean? Mean?” Lo’ak bristles. “I’ve tried telling you to lay off nicely, tried telling you to just leave me alone, but you don’t listen. You just pry and overstep and you make every little thing about you! Oh, it’s so much pressure, villagers our age hate me, of course they would! You already have everything and just have to go rub salt in the wound!” 

You shrink, eyes welling as your lip trembles. 

“Lo’ak, stop,” you whimper. 

“We’re not friends, ________.We never were and we never will because I don’t like you,” he spits. “Now please, for the love of god, will you just leave me alone!” 

The forest is silent save for Lo’ak’s ragged breathing, fists clenched as he glares down at you. 

“I-” Your breath hitches and you choke out an apology. “I’m sorry.” 

Lo’ak’s heart softens a fraction as you take a step back, turning quickly on your heel. 

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” you rasp, tripping over your own feet as you stumble into a run, putting as much space as you can between you and the middle child who stands in the middle of the forest, unable to wrangle every harsh word he’d said to force back down his throat. 

You dropped your journal. 

Lo’ak is sure you’re looking for it, know that you’ve always got your nose stuck in it. You had dropped it running off and now he has its leather bound in his hands. 

It’s been a couple of nights since the faithful evening he’d blown his top and he’d only seen whispers of you. It was so unlike you to disappear, to not be entertaining the masses as they fell to your feet. 

He’d cooled off significantly, and when he replayed the conversation in his head, he winced, body folding in on itself as he realizes how harsh he’d been. 

“Are you actually thinking thoughts?” Spider claps him on the shoulder, startling him so badly he drops the journal. 

It lands spine down, the pages fluttering open. 

He chances a peek before Spider is rounding his lithe figure to pick up the notebook. All he makes out is a rough sketch. 

“You write?” Spider asks, intrigued. 

“No, it’s ________’s,” Lo’ak answers. 

“Oh, your little girlfriend’s?” 

Lo’ak gives the human a cross look, snatching the book from his grasp as he stands up.

“Trouble in paradise?” Spider pries, scurrying to keep up with Lo’ak’s long strides. 

A beat of silence before Lo’ak finally answers. 

“Made her cry,” he mumbles, embarrassed. 

Spider winces behind him. 

“You serious?” 

Lo’ak sighs. 

“Yes, dude, fuck,” he breathes, hand coming to the back of his neck. “I don’t know what came over me. Dad was ripping me a new one and Neteyam already chewed me out before they got there and she was being annoying, so I just…” 

“Bro,” Spider scoffs in disbelief, scratching the back of his head. “You’re a real dickhead sometimes.” 

Lo’ak’s eyes wander as he shifts uncomfortably, feeling incredibly small as his friend glares up at him. 

“I mean, I told her I wanted to be left alone!” Lo’ak tries to defend weakly. “I- I didn’t mean to.” 

“She likes you a lot, dude,” Spider reiterates. “She just wants you to like her back.” 

Despite the glaring signs, Lo’ak has trouble believing that your feelings for him far surpass charity work. They couldn’t, it was impossible. Because at the end of the day, you’re you and he’s…him. 

He opens his mouth to say something, but Spider beats him to it.

“Did you at least apologize?” 

Lo’ak squirms.

“Dude!” 

“Look, I know, I know,” he tries to assuage the situation. 

“________ is literally the sweetest girl in the entire clan you just–“ 

“I get it, bro, I get it!” Lo’ak huffs. 

“Get your head out of your ass,” Spider says. “She might not stick around long enough for you to realize.” 

“Realize what?” Lo’ak snaps. 

“Are you really gonna play stupid right now?” 

He blinks at the human. 

“You like ________,” Spider says matter-of-factly. “You always have, ever since we were kids.” 

“Oh, piss off,” Lo’ak grumbles.

“Dude, you’re literally my best friend, but I sometimes I wanna shove my foot so far up your–”

“I do not like ________,” Lo’ak says sharply. 

“Everyone sees it but you, dipshit,” Spider scoffs. “You like her, but you’re scared. She’s perfect and she intimidates you. Think she’s gonna see you for what you really are and turn her back on you like everyone else does when you fuck up, but she’s not like that, Lo’ak. She’s been there whether you like it or not. But she might not always.” 

Lo’ak swallows down the knot in his throat, fingers tightening around the notebook. 

“Everything clicking?” Spider asks knowingly. 

Lo’ak throws him a final narrowed glare before stalking off. 

It’s Lo’ak’s birthday and just like every orbit, he spends it alone in the forest.

At first, he’d been burdened with the weight of hurting your feelings, but now his conversation with Spider weighs heavy on him as he climbs dirt walkways and flowered paths. 

It doesn’t help that your notebook weighs heavy in his satchel, a silent reminder that he still has a piece of you while you cling to his peace of mind. 

I think you’re brave, fearless. They’re the words you uttered to him that fateful night you turned the reality of you two on its axis. 

As he splices all the moments you two shared like a reel, he realizes that it’s endless. That you’re always there, you’d always been there, like a layer of impenetrable atmosphere surrounding him. 

He really should apologize, he knows this much, but you’ve disappeared like a wisp of smoke. Training sessions have returned to a sibling affair and he’s too prideful to ask about you. 

It’s almost eclipse when he begins making his way back for the evening meal, knowing that a scolding will await if he arrives even a minute late. 

After what had happened with you, he was lying low, trying to diminish his blip from the radar.

As he closes in on the village’s main circle, he notes that it’s quiet. A little too quiet. It puts him on edge, makes him draw his bow and feel around for an arrow in his quiver. 

A few more paces and he’s broken into the clearing, a few stragglers milling about. Another half a dozen steps and it’s like the forest melts into a celebration, whorls of blue pouring into the circle as villagers begin trilling. 

Lo’ak is hoisted into the air as the dying fire in the center of the camp begins to slowly roar. 

“Happy birthday, baby bro!” Neteyam caws loudly as they begin jostling him into the air, chanting and dancing as the dense crowd of clanspeople celebrate him.

It’s like time slows as he peers from side to side eagerly, seeing the way Spider, Kiri and Tuk dance happily among his people. Jake and Neytiri stand near the fire, smiles wide when they see the look of awe on their middle son’s face. 

When he’s finally set on his feet, he wobbles, childlike as he turns, taking in the glowing streamers that crisscross between the tents. Flowers of green and blue thread through the vines, gleaming like lamplight as the forest buzzes around them. 

“Wha– What is all this?” Lo’ak croaks in disbelief, eyes flitting wildly as he notices Norm and Max standing next to a table they’d hauled from the pod to the circle, piled high with meats and vegetables wrapped in leaves. 

A platter of yovo fruits, his favorite, are at the center, surrounded by a painted sign with his name and the handprints of dozens of villagers on it. 

“You survived another orbit!” Neteyam laughs heartily, head-locking the younger boy before roughly digging his knuckles into the top of his head. 

A laugh bubbles from Lo’ak’s lips, swatting his brother away as villagers and clan members he’d grown up with approach him one by one to greet him. 

As the night progresses, he doesn’t even realize he’s searching until your mother approaches and his spine goes rigid, cheeks warming under her piercing gaze. 

“From my ________,” she says, setting a pouch into his palms. “She toiled over these for many eclipses. Please take care.” 

Lo’ak’s nod is delayed as his satchel shifts on his shoulders, a dull reminder that your journal still remains with him, begging to be read. 

“Where– Where is she?” he asks suddenly, feeling your absence all the more now that your gift sits in the palm of his hand. 

“My daughter does not feel well,” your mother says simply. “She wished to be excused from the festivities.” 

His chest feels hollow, stomach tight as his cheeks burn. You’d mentioned this to him, all those days ago in the training circle, about wanting to celebrate with him. 

His eyes flit to the flowers looped through the vines, the mountain of yovo fruits, the gift in his hands. He doesn’t want to be presumptuous. Doesn’t want to fuel the tiniest ember of hope in chest, but he can’t help it. 

He can’t help but read into it, into the implications of this celebration you’d planned all for him, into every word you uttered to him in the quiet of the forest’s chirping. 

It’s all it takes for him to lock himself in his own head. The feast melts into the background, dull, as his eyes cut the crowd for you. 

You have to be here, gotta be hanging around the outskirts silently. The idea taunts him, makes his gut twist hard as images of you dancing in the circle, singing to him, celebrating him, loving him—

Lo’ak freezes, blinking incredulously at the thought that’d just crossed his brain. It makes him queasy, makes the regret and the guilt gnaw at every nerve ending as your crying face flashes like an unwanted slideshow in his brain. 

It’s all he can think about as the festivities die, as villagers begin turning in the for the night and he helps his family clean up the aftermath of another orbit finally finished. 

Spider helps Tuk and Neteyam near the fire, and as Lo’ak moves through the motions like he’s caught in a tide, Kiri watches, knowing all too well what consumes her brother’s mind. 

It isn’t until Lo’ak is shrouded by the stillness of the early morning, his family tucked in their tent, bodies and limbs splayed as they sleep together, that he sits in a swinging hammock, your journal and the pouch in his lap. 

It feels wrong, the way he thumbs the cover, working up the courage to turn it open. But Ewya, fate, would have never left it in his wake if it wasn’t meant to be read.

As his finger ghosts the etchings of the front cover, worn and loved by you, something tickles his leg as he admires the leather. He blinks in disbelief when he sees a singular woodsprite resting against his thigh. 

Before he loses his nerve, he’s opening the pages with bated breath. 

Recipes, nature notes, short thoughts fill the sheets and Lo’ak feels like he’s reading into your brain, seeing all the little things no one bothers to know. 

he is like the sun,

shines so bright,

but burns the closer you get. 

Lo’ak’s pointer finger glosses over the ink, over your curly handwriting. 

he is so incredible, but he doesn’t even know it. i want to shout it to every creature in the forest, every tree and every flower. oh, how i wish to be as fearless as him. 

His chest heaves as the words blur. 

Fearless. 

Fearless. 

Fearless. 

In this moment, he feels everything but. He feels like a coward. 

He continues to flip, throat lodged as he sees drawings, both rough sketches and full renderings. He hadn’t even known that you liked to draw, yet here he was, observing his home through your artistic eye. 

Flowers, leaves, trees, creatures, insects, fruits mar the stained papers, etched like it’d been caught in real time. 

likes green and blue. 

likes yovo fruits. 

The entry from the day you’d first walked with him through the forest. 

When he turns the page, his breath hitches. 

In full color, you’d captured his bullseye from your first training session. His back taut from the release, expression shaded stoic. He looked mighty, like the strongest warrior, and it was all through your eyes. 

Lo’ak doesn’t even realize he’s crying until the bullseye in the illustration bleeds from a fallen tear. Another one drips from his chin, then another. 

The next page is the night you two had poured your hearts out to each other. Again, in full color, he’s watching the stars. You don’t leave out the glow of the freckles that smatter his face and body, don’t miss the smile that plays at his lips as he quietly points out that his dad had come from a star. 

He flips again and different iterations and designs for what seems like jewelry litters the pages, shaded with different colors of blue and green, marked with varying notes, x’s marking through ideas you didn’t like. 

Lo’ak remembers the pouch, sitting untouched in his lap, and his shaky fingers undo the ties. He shakes the contents on the flat of the notebook and the most intricate beadwork fits into the crease. 

His eyes widen as he picks up the necklace in a trembling hand, the eclipsing sun catching the etching in the flat stones. 

Four five-fingered hands and four four-fingered ones, each separated by jewels scavenged and cleaned from the bed of the glowing river. 

A small scroll flutters from the pouch and Lo’ak chokes back as sob as he unrolls the hide. 

Happy Birthday, Lo’ak. I am always grateful to know someone like you. May your next orbit be filled with endless blessings from Ewya and may you see yourself how I see you. 

You see him, he realizes. You’re his supporter, a silent force that consumes every insecurity and swallows every doubt. You believe in him more than he believes in himself. 

He stands from the hammock and runs. 

You’re sitting in the same tree the two of you had rested in the night you’d confided in Lo’ak, watching as the sun eclipses and begins to light up the sparkling forest.

Something rustles and you sit up, hand on the hilt of your dagger as you search the area for movement.

As your eyes lock on the source, you almost wish it had been a beast coming to devour you whole. But as Lo’ak climbs the branches of the tree quickly, you feel the dread begin to solidify in your veins. 

You take your satchel, hanging from a nearby branch and sling it over your shoulder, pulling your shawl over your head to prepare for your escape. 

“________, wait,” he chokes breathlessly. “Please.” 

You feel like crying all over again, feel so unbelievably stupid thinking that Lo’ak would ever see you the way that you see him. 

You pause a beat as he settles on the branch across from yours, chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath. 

Something glints in the sun and your eyes widen when you see that Lo’ak has fastened the necklace you made him around his neck, right above the the leather chain that holds his beloved claw charm. 

“You’re wearing it,” you whisper, lips twitching into a frown as you try your best to keep your tears at bay. 

“I’m sorry, ________,” Lo’ak apologizes hoarsely. “Fuck, you don’t understand how sorry I am.” 

The tears well on their own. 

We’re not friends. We never were and we never will. 

The words haunt you like a broken record and you shake your head, moving from your perch to move down the branches. 

“Wait, wait,” Lo’ak pleads. “Please don’t go, I–”

“I hate you,” you whisper. “I hate you, Lo’ak.” 

He freezes, watching as you balance on a branch below. 

“I tried so hard to be your friend,” you whimper, angrily wiping away your tears. “You’re amazing. You’re strong, and you’re fearless, and you are everything I want to be, but you’re heartless.” 

Lo’ak lets out a shuddering breath, a chill running down his spine as you look up at him like he’d smashed every star in the sky. 

“I wanted to be with you, you know?” you let out a watery laugh. “I hoped that maybe if I stuck it out, you’d see how much I cared, how badly I wanted to be with you, even if it was from a distance.” 

“I do, _________, I do!” he argues. 

He hadn’t always, but he sees it now. He sees you. 

You shake your head again.

“You don’t,” you sigh, voice trembling. “It’s my fault anyways. You were right. You told me to leave you alone and I was being too much.” 

“Stop–”

“Let this be the last time,” you assure him. “Let’s just– Let’s pretend we never met.”

“No, _________. Wait!” 

You’re climbing down the tree and disappearing into the brush and, like a fleck of ash, you’re disintegrating into nothingness. 

Most people think he’s being moody, that he’s just been scolded by his father or older brother, but Neytiri knows better. 

She sees the way her son has changed over the course of the past few weeks. She knows there is a great burden that he carries, but much like her beloved and her eldest, he suffers in silence. 

“Maitan,” she says quietly, brushing a braid from his face as he folds the leaves around a chunk of steaming meat. 

Lo’ak pauses almost imperceptibly, but continues his task. 

It isn’t like him to stay home and work with Neytiri. If anything, he’d be the first one out of the tent, Tuk, Spider, and Kiri tailing after him as they galavant through the endless forest. 

“Something weighs heavy in your heart,” she tries again, hand coming over his. 

Lo’ak stops and leans back, unable to meet his mother’s searching gaze. 

“I hurt someone,” he says quietly. 

Neytiri stiffens.

“What?” 

“I hurt someone I care about,” Lo’ak admits. You’d called him fearless, strong. He needed to live by your word. “I hurt her and I don’t know how to fix it.” 

“Oh, Lo’ak,” she murmurs, squeezing his hand gently. 

Her face has softened as she takes in his stony expression. 

“My son, some things cannot be fixed,” she says honestly. “But all things require great effort. Sometimes those efforts will fall through, but that is the natural order of life.” 

Lo’ak swallows. 

“Whoever this special person is, if you have hurt her, she deserves the full effort of your heart, no?” 

You do, he knows you do. You deserve every last effort. But a niggling streak of insecurity tells him that you don’t deserve someone like him. You don’t deserve someone who takes your affections for granted. You deserve someone who will love you with every breath, who will love you fearlessly. 

“I really messed things up, Mom,” Lo’ak says quietly. “I don’t…” 

Neytiri’s hand comes to Lo’ak chest. 

“The night I first met your father, Ewya gave me sign,” she says. “He has a pure, strong heart. You do too.” 

Lo’ak swallows. 

“Be brave, Maitan,” she says. “Sometimes that is enough.” 

Lo’ak’s fingers hurt from picking berries.

His cuticles bleed, pricked by the thorns of the fruit’s bush. Kiri hums beside him, weaving a little bag out of ropes of thin vines. 

“You’re not gonna help me?” he whines. 

“Why should I help you with your mess?” 

You look beautiful under the glow of the evening meal’s crackling fire. It’s the first time you’ve emerged since before Lo’ak’s birthday feast and you’re being flocked by elders and villagers, wishing you well and asking about your supposed ailment. 

He sits across the fire, fists tight as he searches for a lull in the crowd. 

Spider snickers next to him, devouring the contents of his plate like he’s starved, watching Lo’ak’s useless pining like a show. 

Be brave. 

He’s standing to his feet before he can back out, crossing the circle to approach you. The villagers watch like they know something he doesn’t and the nerves are eating away at him as he steps into your space. 

You look up from your conversation with a girl your age, the smile slipping from your lips. 

“Can we talk?” Lo’ak asks, eyes wandering to watch the way everyone watches him. 

You remain jaded.

“Now’s not a good time,” you say quietly and a few onlookers snicker in the background. “________,” Lo’ak tries again. 

You stare up at him, the shadow of the fire dancing over your features as you seemingly look right through him. It’s humiliating, the way you remain seated and watch him fidget, but he figures he deserves the cold shoulder after months, years of casting you to the side. 

“Let’s go?” you ask the girl, nodding your head over your shoulder. 

The girl chances a glance between you and Lo’ak, noticing the telltale sign of your work etched into the stones of the choker he hadn’t taken off since his birthday. 

She gives him a sympathetic smile as she follows after you. 

He’s going to have to try a lot harder than he has, he realizes as your birthday looms right around the corner. The next eclipse, in fact. 

He’s losing hope, losing courage, but he can’t give up on you two just yet. 

He makes sure the berries he picked the days prior are packed tightly in his bag, the lid to the nectar fastened, and his present wrapped nicely. 

It’s his last hope, his last shot to make things right. 

Spider, Tuk, and Neytiri surround him, Neteyam and Jake off on a hunt. 

They’d all been privy to the fact, aiding him in his endeavors as he organized his final grapple with your heart. 

“Kiri said she’ll bring her right before eclipse,” Spider says, peeking from the flap of the tent. “That’s in, like, minutes.” 

Lo’ak is nervous. Doesn’t know what he’ll do if he loses you for good, but he knows he has to give it his best effort. It’s the least you deserve. 

Be brave. Sometimes that is enough. 

Lo’ak glances at his mom and she gives him a warm smile, ruffling his braids. 

“You are the son of Toruk Makto,” she assures him, pinching his cheek. “There is nothing you cannot do.” 

The words are carved into his brain as he rushes through the forest, the the stream that the curls and bends through the forest. It glows beautifully at night and that is his final push. 

“Wait, give me like three seconds, I left something.” Kiri’s voice is muffled behind the trees. 

“Huh?” Lo’ak sees the way your head tilts through an opening in the foliage. 

“I’ll only be a second!” 

“Wait, Kiri!” 

Kiri is running straight for him, comes barreling through the bushes, and continues down the path. 

“Good luck, egghead!”

Lo’ak takes in a final breath to quell the tremor in his hands before ducking through the bushes to reveal himself. 

You’re sitting on the embankment, on a woven mat that Kiri had laid out for you two, decorative vines edging the seams. 

“Oh, you were–”

You peer over your shoulder and your expression falls. 

“Lo’ak…” 

“Happy birthday, ________,” he breathes. 

You don’t look amused, slinging your bag over you shoulder as you rise to your feet. 

“Kiri and I are hanging out,” you tell him. 

He scratches the back of his head. 

“I…I had Kiri bring you here because I knew that you wouldn’t come with me if I asked,” he admits. “And of course, I don’t blame you, but I– I just really need to talk to you.” 

You bite the inside of your cheek, unable to look him in his eyes as he draws nearer. 

“Just give me some time, please,” he pleads. 

You finally meet his gaze, searching his eyes as he looks down at you earnestly. 

You give him the tiniest nod, reluctantly shedding your satchel to reassume your seat on the mat. 

The waters rush gently, like a song as Lo’ak lowers himself next to you.

His palms are clammy as he fidgets in his seat, the scent of herbs and flowers wafting from your dewy skin. He can’t bring himself to look at you, afraid that every sentiment he’d crafted in the hours of the night will escape him, so he watches the bubbling of the stream. 

“Well?” you whisper, like you don’t want to shatter the fragile sheath of peace that layers you. 

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “I know I’ve said it already, but I really am, ________.” 

“I know,” you murmur and his gaze flits to yours. “Even if you don’t act like it, you have a good heart, Lo’ak. You feel everything, even the things you don’t want to.” 

He swallows.

“I didn’t mean it,” he says carefully. “I was mad and I took it out on you. That wasn’t fair.” 

You sit silently, knees hugged to your chest. Your cheek rests against your knee, watching Lo’ak with seeing eyes. It makes him trip over his words. 

“My whole life, I’ve always been compared to Neteyam,” he says. “The entire village would whisper about me and how I was nothing like the mighty warrior.” 

When he glances at you, he notices your fingers twitch, like you want to reach out to him. 

He squashes his fears and turns to face you, five-fingered hand coming up to thread with your four. You watch the union, uncertainty obvious in the way you tense, but Lo’ak squeezes. 

“And then when we started growing up, you were just another person I had to live up to,” Lo’ak whispers. “You’re perfect, ________. You’re kind, and you’re smart, talented. You’re everything I’m not and it made me hate you.” 

You shrink, but Lo’ak pulls you towards him, hand coming up to brush your cheek. 

“But you’re all of that and more,” he continues, the words gushing like a river. “You’re always there, you support me and you defend me and see things I don’t.” 

You become shy under his gaze because for the first time, he’s seeing you. He’s seeing you for every single thing you’ve been to him and it makes your stomach knot. 

“I have something to tell you,” he says. “Please don’t be mad at me.” 

Your gaze is soft, palm still in his as he turns and reaches into the bag he discarded next to him. Your eyes widen when he produces your notebook, edges curled the slightest as he hands it to you. 

“My journal,” you say, taking it from him quickly. “I’ve been looking for this. Why- Why do you have it?” 

He looks guilty, lips rolling as he avoids your gaze. 

“Did you…” 

“I wasn’t going to,” he admits. “But there were woodsprites and I knew it was a s–”

“Lo’ak this is private,” you murmur incredulously. “Why would you read this?” 

“How long, ________?” he asks quietly, grip on your hand tightening. 

“Lo’ak, don’t–”

“How long?” he presses desperately. 

Your eyes are watering, like that wicked night all over again and Lo’ak begs Eywa for the final push. 

“Since we were ten,” you whisper brokenly. “It was my first performance and it was so stupid, but I was throwing up because I was nervous and you talked me through it.” 

Lo’ak is stunned, the memory like the faintest of outlines. 

“We didn’t even know each other that well,” you hiccup. “But you patted me on the back and you gave me this–”

You pull your fingers from his grasp and flip the journal to the last page, revealing a hidden pocket. Your nimble fingers pull a tattered string, the remnants of a vine, threaded with wilted flower petals, preserved from being pressed inside your notebook.

“You said that they made you make it during lessons,” you say, breath hitching. “That it’d be my good luck.” 

He’d forgotten all about the memory completely, too caught up in driving whatever wedge he could between you two, building up walls to seal you out. 

“And you kept it this whole time?” he asks, face scrunched in disbelief. 

“I’d hold on to anything you give me,” you admit in defeat. “Heartbreak included.” 

He lets out a shaky breath. 

“________, I’m so sorry,” he repeats, hand coming up to your neck. “You have to know that. I’m really fucking stupid, but if you give us a shot, I won’t mess it up.” 

Your hand comes up to his wrist, crumpling as you bow your head. 

“Don’t do this to me,” you beg, moving to break away from him. 

“Please.” 

His hold tightens, other hand twining with yours. 

“If I…if I give myself to you, I’m giving you everything,” you say hesitantly. “If you break this, you break me. I don’t think I can come back from this.” 

Lo’ak presses his forehead to yours, breath warm against your lips as he searches your gaze for any semblance of hope. 

“This is me being fearless, ________,” he whispers. 

You melt, pressing your lips to his tentatively. He’s frozen for the shortest of moments before relenting, pushing up onto his knees to deepen the kiss. 

He’s cradling your face and your hands are wandering and Lo’ak can’t help but think he could get used to loving you. 

To being loved by you. 

BONUS

“I was gonna give it to you on your birthday,” Lo’ak says sheepishly a few nights later under the stars. “But, you know…” 

Your usual place among the branches of the looming trees have a lot of memories both bitter and sweet, but you suppose you could make new ones. 

“You don’t have to give me anything,” you say sweetly, tail swishing to wrap around his ankle. “You’re all I need.” 

Lo’ak doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to your saccharine words if the pounding in his chest is anything to go by. 

His hands are shaky as he pushes the hide towards you, a bow made of vine tied neatly around the gift. 

“Wanted to,” he says simply, moving the hair from you face to see your reaction better. “Open it.” 

You’re gentle with the present, like you are with most things, but eager to see what he’d gotten you. 

A tiny gasp falls from your lips when you finally see it, wide eyes meeting his as you free the jars of paints he’d mashed up, the brushes he fashioned, and the brand new journal he bound himself. 

“Lo’ak, wow…” 

“So you can paint me more,” he says, then adds timidly. “Or maybe us. Maybe you could paint us.” 

an — holy shit guys, this was such a big project for me because i really wanted to dive into so many different things in this fic. to everyone who was waiting patiently, thank you sososo much. as usual, i took a lot of creative liberties with this one, but i hope you guys enjoyed nonetheless! although requests are paused for me to catch up, like always, if you wanna chat with me about literally anything, my askbox is open. lots of love hehehe :) xx

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neng © 2023

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