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[avesque]

So are you alive??

I’M CRYING yes i am very much alive <3 sorry i was mia, uni life is so hard and i was burntout but i’m back now! (still indefinite though so...)

anyway, since i’m here, i’ll say it: i don’t know if i will still continue my avatar fics anytime soon. if inspiration strikes then i’ll write and post. for now though, i’m kind of fixated on scream so we’ll see if anything good comes out of that haha.

[avesque]

and if i have ethan landry fics in my drafts then what

[avesque]

Will you continue tsu'tey's story?

hi honey! yes, i will be continuing tsu’tey’s story! <3

[avesque]

OUH 👀

[avesque]

HELLO FRIENDS

[avesque]

i have so many ideas and it’s both a blessing and a curse because i can’t write them all at once and when i do write my mind wanders back to the wip i’m not writing

[avesque]

inside

pairing: ao'nung x reader

For a hunter, driving spears through fish bothered Ao’nung more than it should have. It was something about the piercing of skin, the quick flush of pink-stained waters that too callously left no trace. The action of it – cutting through the body – violating the sanctity of in and out.

Today, he made a promise to say the words explicitly. Your two feet dance in the reef’s low tide before submerging completely. No hesitation, just numbingly cold waters straight up to the thigh. The feeling of his hot hand tightly woven in yours made you feel that way – lending the power to jump in headfirst like a dare he gives, but is too scared to take. Ao’nung tightens his grip and nervously makes a call for his ilu.

“Let me guess." You puff out your chest like a boy from long ago once did. "‘If I want to live here, I have to ride’.”

His lips loosen at the jest because, frankly, his voice doesn’t sound like that - but more compelling is your cute laugh that bubbles through the ocean surface. He sucks his teeth, shakes his head like he regrets tugging you by the fingertips out of your marui pod a few moments after eclipse – he knows he doesn’t – and finally lets his eyes give you a warm once-over. “Eywa, you are aggravating.”

If it's a lie, that's for him to know. Though, if the devilish grin you wield like a weapon is any indication, then something tells him his walls never stood a chance. To that so-nourishing ground that willed water to move when it shifted, his armour was so breakable. You were made to seep through it.

“Try it,” he murmurs, shoving his spear into your palm. “Like I taught you.”

Shakily, you take the tool and bend forward into the water. Ao’nung’s arms quickly wind around your waist, keeping you steady, grounded. You make a sudden thrust of the weapon that impales into nothing and feel droplets of water smack emptily against your face.

“Fuck, that was bad." When the chuckle escapes his lips, Ao’nung winces. He hadn’t meant for it to sound so harsh, but it did, and it always seemed to.

You narrow your eyes. Irritated, he can feel it. But the water licks where it stings, fish swim together in rhythmic circles, and his laugh is pretty.

“Watch it, fish boy. I taught you that word.”

He bites his lip. The water is no longer hot, and fish tickle at his feet. “Did I use it right?”

“Yes, teacher’s pet, you’re the perfect student,” you roll your eyes. Grumbling then, “apparently, only when it comes to bad things.”

Pinching at your hips, his hands spin your body around so that your chest heaves for his eyes to see. He places a chaste kiss on your collarbone. Looking up to meet your eye-line, he reasons, “you only teach me bad things.”

“Yeah? Well, they suit you.” A playful bite to the hook he threw first, but something about those words makes Ao’nung ache on the inside. Suddenly, he jolts and lets his hands rest at your back, your body falling until it teasingly hovers just a few inches above the water.

“Do they?” His lips turn all the way up. Eyes twinkling at the precariousness of your position and your pretty face of shock an unintended bonus. He plays the game – makes the empty threat of dropping you. “Think carefully.”

Seconds later, laughter explodes from both of you. Vibrating against the water as your fists come up to slam against his chest and squeals of ‘they don’t! they don’t!’ sloppily soothe Ao’nung’s anxiety. He pulls you up and your hands cup tenderly at his soft cheeks.

“Say something nice.” You whisper. Ao’nung feels dizzy from the warmth in your stare. His casts his eyes down, not wanting to be seen. Not knowing how to release the words that are stuck in his throat. The truth that scratches. The sickening vulnerability of insides clawing their way out. He is hiding, his forehead pinches, and you notice it.

“What’s on your mind, pretty boy?” Eyes closed, he leans into your touch. Then he brings his hand behind your neck, gently pushes until your head rests against his hard chest, and all you can hear is his heartbeat hammer, hammer, hammer. You trace the pretty ‘X’ of his sternum.

“Nothing. Just you.”

Perhaps for too long, the two of you sway together in the water. When the coolness of it sinks back to your ankles, Ao’nung’s spear is back in your hand, and there is a certain clarity in the way he keeps you cradled inside his arms.

It is in the pearls he keeps in his pockets for your collection. In the meatiest bites of fish that he leaves to the side for you to eat later. In the warmth of his body ghosting yours when you finally catch a fish - in the way he taught you - spear right through the inside.

It is his love, inextricably. The action of it. Inside everything.

reblogs/tags are appreciated <333

[avesque]

"I like weird people. The black sheep, the odd ducks, the rejects, the eccentrics, the loners, the lost and forgotten. More often than not, these people have the most beautiful souls."

[avesque]

THE GREAT WAR I: bruised like violets — tsu’tey

— when accompanying dr. augustine, norm spellman, and jake sully to explore the pandoran forest, you and sully become separated from the group. you barely survive the night before a na’vi woman rescues you.

INCLUDES fem!reader, dreamwalker!reader. mentions of tom’s (jake’s twin) medical history and death + his (purely platonic! brotherly!) relationship with reader, near death experiences. 3.7k words.

NOTE my knuckles were WHAT? 🎤 for the sake of this fic and my sanity, let us pretend time dilation is not a thing because that complicates all sense of logic in this fic’s timeline.

SERIES MASTERLIST | part ii

The familiar darkness of the link unit’s space shrouds you as you open your eyes, mind still reeling despite your countless ventures in your Avatar. Pushing the link’s cover open, you slowly sit up, wiping the sweat lining your forehead.

Dr. Max Patel greets you with a clipboard in hand.

“Grace is waiting for you.”

Your eyebrows jump. “Did she see me and Txur’ii shoot Sari seeds at the other kids again?”

Dr. Patel steps back, gasping, pointing an accusatory finger at you. “You said you’d stop doing that!”

“They started picking on him again!”

Txuri’ii is the Na’vi kid you almost plowed into the first time you tested your Avatar. He’s smaller compared to other Na’vi boys his age; a little thinner than usual too. It’s the reason you didn’t immediately see him that first time. He’s grown to be the source of entertainment for the other Na’vi kids, picking on him and bullying him.

When you learned of this, you dragged the kid and gathered all uncollected Sari seeds you could find. Borrowing two straws from the lab, you then hid behind the bushes as you preyed on Txur’ii’s tormentors.

You showed him as you stuffed the Sari seeds in your mouth and brought the straw to your lips. As the tallest of the bullies turns his back in your direction, you blow a seed through the straw, hitting the kid on his nape.

Txur’ii’s delighted squeak almost gave away your hiding spot.

One time, Dr. Augustine caught you and Txur’ii, and she berated you like a little kid when you got back in the lab.

You jump down the link unit, fixing your rumpled up shirt. You bid Dr. Patel goodbye, squashing down your smile with a finger to your lips and an obnoxious “shh.”

There’s a familiar face in Dr. Augustine’s vicinity. You stop short in your tracks, squinting your eyes as if that will help you understand the situation better.

You glide your palms over the edges of tables as you wade closer to where he’s talking with Dr. Augustine and Spellman in a wheelchair.

Last you heard, he’d been caught in a mugging incident. No one wanted to talk to you about it and the rumors you’ve heard said he was in a coma.

You suppose those were that — rumors, since he’s here, in the flesh, right in front of you. But what the hell happened?

“Tommy?”

You seem to have interrupted Dr. Augustine’s litany. All three of them turn their heads toward you and you get a perfect view of his face. He looks so different; definitely a lot more mature with the scruff. With your eyes trained on Tommy, you don’t see Spellman’s forlorn gaze as the realization dawns upon him.

“It’s — Jake, actually,” Tommy says. He offers a hand to you. “Jake Sully.”

Jake Sully.

Your eyes flit back to the head scientist, noting the way her eyes are quite softer than usual. Her cigarette hangs forgotten between her fingers.

“Another Sully?” you murmur. You recall Tommy mentioning a twin brother back when you were still on Earth but never meeting him in person.

He has exactly the same features as him but he doesn’t have Tommy’s calm and friendly aura. You don’t know if that’s the reason he kind of irks you suddenly or it’s something else.

You prop your hands to your waist, looking around. “Where’s Tommy? Has he recovered?” He hasn’t returned your video calls. Just last week, you tried contacting him again, hoping he’s woken up. All you received was an automated response, which made sense if he was traveling halfway through the solar system in cryo, though you would have preferred if he sent you a little heads up.

Jake Sully’s eyebrows reconnect, quizzically looking at the two scientists before saying, “Tommy’s dead.”

A sigh is caught in your throat. You want to ask him to repeat that but if you once again hear what you thought you just heard, you don’t know how you’ll be able to take it.

“Right.” You clear your throat, swallowing the lump that’s making your eyes burn. “Yeah, of course, I knew that.”

The sarcasm makes the dents in his forehead deeper, tilting his head to the side as he watches you.

“How do you—?”

“I gotta get back,” you suddenly announce, already walking away. You don’t bother sparing them another glance as you walk out of the laboratory, a lone tear trailing down your cheek. You’re quick to put your exopack on, a humorless chuckle escaping your lips at the betrayal choking you the way not even the Pandoran air could.

You’re evasive of the other scientists for the past week. Even in your Avatar form, you avoid any interaction with Dr. Augustine and other Avatar drivers.

Their silence about Tommy’s death makes something ugly curl in your stomach. You haven’t seen him since you were 14. Your stubborn mind refuses to accept what Jake Sully said about Tommy because that is just impossible. If anyone deserves to live the longest life they could on this godforsaken moon, or even back there on Earth, it would have been Tommy.

Tommy, who you basically grew up with. Despite being under the Colonel’s wing, there still wasn’t much to life. It was only then that Tommy started hanging out with you did you come out of your shell.

“Y/N!”

Dr. Patel’s familiar voice cuts through your peace. He jogs over to you, worn clipboard in hand. You don’t think he has ever put that thing down. It looks three seconds away from disintegrating.

“Grace is looking for you.”

You say nothing but follow the scientist back to the lab. Inside, you see Jake Sully, Dr. Augustine, and Spellman huddled together.

Dr. Augustine greets you before gesturing towards Sully. “Marine’s coming with us.”

You raise your eyebrows, making an effort to not look at any of them.

“For the research,” she adds. “Norm’s coming too.”

You say nothing as you move and get ready, settling in your own unit. You see Spellman give Dr. Augustine a withering look and you roll your eyes.

To your left is the other Sully’s link unit. You watch as he methodically hauls himself up the machine, lifting his upper body first before hooking his arms under his knees to position his legs.

As you settle and close your eyes, you wonder how he ended up like that.

Spellman’s excited chatter grates at your ears. Tommy used to be like that. It was what you bonded over in the first place. And usually, you’d be more than happy to be out here with Dr. Augustine but you’ve been off-kilter ever since Jake Sully ceremoniously dropped the news.

The forest of Pandora is still a wonder to you despite residing here for the past six years. Though Dr. Augustine had been here much longer than you have, her stacks of files are endless about the Pandoran flora and fauna. It seems like the moon spits out new species every single day.

You huff as the two scientists crouch over a braid of roots, injecting a needle to see the synapses transmit on the small screen Spellman holds. You turn around and realize Sully is nowhere to be found.

Your company is too preoccupied with their discovery so you leave them be, following the ruffles of footsteps against fallen leaves. Pulling back a giant leaf, it reveals Jake Sully tapping away on a bunch of Helicoradian plants.

You don’t make yourself known, watching from the sidelines as a smile spreads across the man’s face. Sully is more… tolerable, you’d say, in his Avatar form. Though the aura you cannot place is still emanating off him, he also has that air of innocence.

You startle as the walls of Helicoradian vanish from his ministrations and instead reveal a crash of Hammerhead Titanotheres, one of which notices your acquaintance and releases a loud cry. They’re like giant rhinoceros, a spattering of blue and purple with thick armor.

You curse under your breath, stepping forward to get closer to him but still hidden from the animal.

“Don’t shoot!” you bark when you notice him grip his gun, finger on the trigger. “Don’t you dare shoot, Sully! That’s got armor thicker than your skull.”

The Titanotheres rakes its foot on the forest floor before charging, letting out another cry, leaving a flurry of dust in its wake. You’re helpless and frozen on your spot as Jake Sully stands his ground, leveling the giant’s cry with a shout of his own.

This seems to deter the animal, skidding to a stop. You think it whimpers. Sully is as surprised as you.

“You son of a bitch!” he spits. He huffs out a laugh and you grimace at the air of arrogance surrounding him. He spews out some more nonsense as the Titanotheres cowers and scurries away… until you hear something worse than a Titanotheres.

Behind Jake Sully stands a Thanator. Its cry pierces the air, sending shivers down your spine.

“Okay, now, what do I do?” The marine asks, gauging the animal. “What do I do?”

Oh, you’d beg Eywa to bring that Titanotheres back.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” you grit out. “Run!”

Jake Sully runs, abandoning all sense of dignity as he sprints — toward you. The Thanator charges and chases Sully and you have no choice but to run too, unless you want to be a predator’s lunch. You hear a distant, “what the hell is going on?” from Dr. Augustine as you run past her and a wide-eyed Spellman.

In your head, you’re cursing Sully in the darkest pits of hell. You are not fit for running. Your lungs strain as you fight to breathe, legs already aching and you pray to all the gods you know that your ankles will not give out on you this time.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit,” Sully chants. The Thanator growls and you think you can feel it breathing just behind your neck.

“There!” Sully points to an uprooted tree. You don’t question his decision, partly because you don’t have a choice. The two of you burrow under the thick roots, dirt on your hands and knees as you try to crawl further down the shallow hole.

The animal roars, sending a giant claw in your direction. You try not to scream as the roots practically disintegrate on its assault, a shower of wood falling over your heads. Jake Sully tugs on your hand, moving out of your hiding spot and taking off again.

“This is your fault,” you wheeze out, greens and blues flying by your peripheral. “Stupid shit.”

He doesn’t hear you or maybe chooses to ignore you. You don’t care. If you weren’t on the brink of death, you’d kill Jake Sully with your bare hands.

“We gotta jump!” He shouts over his shoulder.

Though there is a giant deadly animal chasing your asses, you skid to a stop, making the marine stumble.

“No.”

He ignores you again, pulling on your wrist hard enough to pop it. The Thanator unleashes another cry, sounding closer than ever.

“We jump on three!”

It’s then you hear the wild splashes of water. You’re running head on on the edge of a cliff. You’re going to die and Jake Sully is the last person you’ll see. It’s enough to make you want to cry.

“One!”

“No!” You try to pull your wrist free from his hold but his grip only tightens.

“Two!”

“I said no!”

“Three!”

“I can’t swim!”

You don’t jump.

Jake Sully does.

But he hasn’t let go of you. His momentum drags you along and you’re free falling to your death first and sinking beneath the waters next. During your fall, Sully’s hold on you disappeared. Your chest tightens in more ways than one.

The panic creeps in and your lungs constrict as you take a deep breath, choking on water and going blind in hysteria. You thrash, mind reeling and trying to open your eyes but between the choking and the drowning and the dying, you can’t find it in you to think.

Something wraps beneath your arms and pulls. You break out of the surface, sputtering and blinking away the water, to find Jake Sully in front of you.

“Hey, hey,” he shakes your arms. Stray strands from his braids are clinging to his face. “Are you okay?”

You hear a faint cry from above, the Thanator peering down at you.

“Can we—?” you cough, eyes stinging and nose burning. “Can we get out of the water first?”

Sully hauls you off the river and into land. You fall to your knees and heave, getting water out of your system. Your clothes are drenched and you assume he lost his gun along the way. There might be no Thanators here but the forest still isn’t safe.

You shudder, running a palm over your face to get rid of the rivulets. It’s no use since your palms are wet.

“This is your fault,” you say again, glaring at the man shaking his arms as if it will dry his clothes faster. Whatever vulnerability you showed when he pulled you out was already gone. “If your stupid little ass didn’t wander off, we won’t be here right now.”

“Hey,” he protests, walking over to where you are, boots leaving behind a damp trail. “I just saved your ass back there.”

“Okay, and?”

Sully blows out a breath. You can see the frustration seeping through his façade.

“Get up, we need to find our way back.”

You roll your eyes but don’t protest, knowing he’s right. He doesn’t bother to help you up as he walks away and you don’t bother calling his name as you stagger behind, sniffling and coughing still.

Trekking the forest is much harder with your clothes sticking to you uncomfortably. You’ve never explored this part so it was much harder to navigate, though Jake Sully doesn’t seem as worried as you are. Your legs are tired and your nose still has not recovered from the water you inhaled. You’d love nothing more than to be back in your human form and actually breathe.

It’s nearing eclipse and the two of you are still deep in the forest. Your clothes have not fully dried but not as damp as before but as night creeps closer, the temperature slowly drops and you shiver every now and then.

“We won’t make it back to camp in time,” you say, pushing back leaves in your way. Sully, ever the gentleman, doesn’t so much as help you jump over rocks, letting you clamber your way up like a soaked baby koala.

“No shit.”

“You are so fucking annoying.”

Sully huffs, turning around to look at you. “So are you.”

You jab a finger in his direction, growing more aggravated each passing second. “Shut the fuck up. If it wasn’t for your sorry, stupid as fuck fucking ass, we won’t be here, okay? We could be back in the lab right now — I could be back in the lab right now and resting on that very stupid and inconvenient bunk but no! I am stuck here with you of all people!”

“Hey—”

“I could have died and it would have been your fault.”

Jake Sully stops and you try to swallow the emotions, try to stop the burning sensation behind your eyelids. You are far more collected than that, far more articulate and definitely far more level-headed if it were a better day but you nearly died. Every breath still hurts your lungs and your body aches in places you never thought it could hurt.

He holds up a hand between you, as if conjuring up some healthy boundaries. You think he looks a little conflicted and it’s a fresh look on him.

“Listen kid.” Oh, you hate that condescending tone. “You and I, we need to work together, alright? If you wanna survive, you follow what I say. You don’t want to? Okay—” he makes a grand gesture of spreading his arm, as if giving you liberty, “—I’ll leave you out here to really die. Your choice.”

You scowl at him, fighting the urge to just reach up and grab at his face and squeeze so hard his eyeballs would pop out. But between the two of you, it’s the marine who knows more about survival skills than you ever could so you comply, grumbling after him in the darkness.

“This better not include more cliff jumping,” you remark, kicking pebbles along the way.

“We need to make a fire,” he announces. You stare at his back, wondering if he hit his head when you jumped off.

“How the fuck are we going to do that?”

“Do you have matches?”

You mutter some more nasty comments as you tap on your clothes, checking the pockets. You find a box of it on a pouch on your chest, pulling it out to find it dripping.

“Well,” you hold it between your fingers, watching as water drips, drips, drips on the dirt, “isn’t that lovely.”

Jake Sully curses, searching his pockets. He stills when a growl comes from behind the bushes, and the sound glues you to your spot. You unconsciously take a step toward him, listening intently as he mutters a silent victory, fishing out a lighter.

“Quick, rip a seam off your shirt.” He’s already plucking dry branches off a plant to his left.

“What?”

“We need to make a fire.”

You tug uselessly on the flap of your shirt. “How is this going to help?”

Sully stares at you with wide eyes, his jaw clenched. “Fucking Christ,” he shoves a branch on your hands and grips your clothes. You gasp as he rips a good portion of your polo, leaving you in tattered cargo and an undershirt. “You won’t survive a day out here.”

You push the stupid branch back on his palms. “I wasn’t made to survive here, I’m a scientist. If I asked you what a Loreyu is, you wouldn’t know a single shit about it too.”

He ignores you. You watch as he ties the fabric on the end of the stick, dipping it on a curved leaf that has collected sap. He hands it to you before doing the same thing to his own piece of clothing and stick.

He flicks the lighter on and brings it to the saturated fabric. It catches fire immediately and you see a lot better now.

Another growl resonates, closer this time. Sully says nothing else as he grabs your wrist, torches in hand, and runs.

It seems all you’re meant to do this day is run and to be frank, you don’t think you have it in you to do so. Your legs give out as you reach a clearing, a pond shimmering in the night. It is a pain to admit but you’re thankful for Sully’s grip on you or else you would have dug your face on the forest floor.

“Shit, kid—”

“I’m alright,” you heave, dragging your feet so you’re kneeling. “I’m alright.”

Your reprieve is short-lived when something pounces behind you. You choke back a scream, ignoring the twitching pain on your ankle and scrambling to stand up. There’s a blur of black dancing in your peripheral and soon, there’s a whole pack of them surrounding you.

Jake Sully snarls, swishing his torch in a wide arc. You do the same, your back glued to his, your heart beating an erratic rhythm in your chest.

“Viperwolves,” you say.

“How do we kill it?”

“I don’t know!” You thrust your weapon forward as another one of them attempts to jump on you. “With a gun?”

“We don’t have a gun,” he grunts.

“As if I don—”

You scream as a Viperwolf pounces on you, sending you skittering away from your partner. Your torch is nowhere in sight and you’re far too panicked to think straight. Its large mouth is right at your face, sharp teeth inches away from your face.

This is it. Six years on this moon and you meet your fate like this. What a gruesome, sad ending. You don’t bother fighting, closing your eyes and flinching as it lets out a snarl before attacking you.

The pain never came.

You think you hear something, hear it whimper and the others scuttle off, but Jake Sully is already dragging you away.

There’s a ringing in your ears and his voice sounds so far away but your eyes are clear. You see him so vividly. Tommy.

“Hey, hey.” He makes a show of snapping his fingers to your left, to your right. “Talk to me, come on.”

It was the same thing he said when you almost drowned in a pool back on Earth. You were eight and stupid, taking a dip unsupervised, feeling like such an adult as you tried to imitate the others who were learning to swim as a part of their Avatar Training Program.

Tommy had found you nearly unconscious, calling and shouting for anyone as he rubbed and slapped at your back, throwing up water.

“Hey,” he had said, wiping away water on your face, “talk to me, come on.”

You had burst into tears right then, clinging to him and never letting go until you fell asleep. For a long time, he had been the only safe place you ever knew and seeing him in Jake Sully in the same situation makes your throat close up.

“M’fine,” you warble. You don’t see the woman who saved you speaking softly as she holds a palm to the Viperwolf that nearly bit your head off.

When you hear faint footsteps retreating, you think Jake Sully has left you out here, but he’s crouched over your form, looking over his shoulder.

He pushes you up despite your protests, shy of dragging you on the dirt by your arms. He’s got a hold on your wrist again, dragging you through the forest again. It is disorienting, all of it. From being chased by a Thanator, jumping off a cliff and nearly drowning, to being attacked by a Viperwolf — paired with your fatigued body, your knees rattle as you blindly follow Sully.

You hear him talking, a string of slurred words. The forest is melting, a spiral of blues and greens, until your vision vignettes and there’s nothing at all.

MORE NOTES when i said this was a slow burn, i wasn’t planning on this slow. but! our boy tsu’tey will finally show up in the next chapter. i’m just happy how we’ve slowly opened reader’s relationships with other characters, and here’s to unraveling them while building up new ones!

TAGLIST @cullenswife @hannibalelijah @neytemsgf @syviiss @katsukiswrld @lovekeeho

[avesque]

everything is fine!

— 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘴

the lowdown —the one where you can’t help but want lo’ak even though he’s in love with someone else.

the who — lo’ak x fem omatikaya!reader

the word count — 735

the tags & warnings — unrequited love (oh boy we’re doing this) ,, one-sided pining ,, lo’ak is oblivious & reader is a slave to her feelings for him :(

the notes — based on this request ! strayed a little from the prompt, but i think some of the lyrics still apply ! 

masterlist

For some time, you’d always thought that your feelings for Lo’ak had to be the most diminutive seedling planted in the drought of your adolescence, but it grew, bloomed, and flourished. And under even the most stressful of circumstances, the only thing you could ever be certain of was that every pump of your heart was for him. 

You tried to prune the ebbing fondness at the start, didn’t want a single soul to know that the troubled son of the clan’s leader had staked a claim on your affections, but like growing pains, you evolved with the feelings.

As you grew into yourself, grew from being fond to being in love, you started to read between every line, began to analyze every lingering gaze, every friendly smile. You white-knuckled hope so tightly, at times you felt you couldn’t breathe. Not when the idea of you and Lo’ak was fragile and a single gust could shatter what you spent years shielding. 

And for a while you thought that the feelings could be mutual, thought that the fine line you two danced over was just the start of something more, but you couldn’t bring yourself to bite the bullet. You’d just always assumed that neither could he. 

Lo’ak was carrying a burden on his shoulders, one that was meticulously crafted over years of being compared to the eldest Sully. It was only natural that you’d assume the role of softening him, words gentle, heart on your sleeve as you’d whisper your sound declarations laced as sweet affirmations. 

You smoothed over every bruise inflicted on both skin and soul, built him up in times when his foundation was crumbling. And god, did you wish he’d see you. Wish he’d see that you were trying, hoped so hard that he’d kiss your wounds away, too. But you’re too used to giving and he’s too used to taking. 

But truthfully, you’d take Lo’ak any way you could have him, no matter how much you pined, no matter how much you wanted, needed him to be yours, you mustered the courage and the contentment to accept as much of him as he’d be willing to give you. 

However this? This was the final straw. The one that fractures your already delicate heart. 

Lo’ak’s preoccupied, the same girl who’d begun to show interest all those weeks ago tasting his lips the same way you’d yearned to for years. And you don’t mean to stare, dread pooling and coiling in your gut, but he’s touching her like you’d always wished he’d touch you and it makes you sick. 

And you figure this is what breaking feels like, when you hear those three burning words whispered in the dead of the glowing forest, not swallowed fast enough as Lo’ak leans in to kiss her again. 

“I love you.” 

Lo’ak is in love.

It’s the kind of love that’s consuming. The kind that cripples in the silence of night, makes him absolutely flushed with the desire to spend every waking moment intertwined. It’s the kind that teeters over a very dangerous line, one that can send Lo’ak into the throes of the most passionate and fulfilling love, or send him barreling headfirst into the thorns. 

It’s the latter, he realizes, after weeks of the honeymoon phase, of talking about the future, of parading around the village boasting such a shiny lover. 

“My parents have arranged a marriage.” 

Lo’ak’s smile drops, eyes unblinking as he stares at the girl before him in utter disbelief. 

His thoughts come out in a disarray, unable to formulate a solid sentence to convey the way fissures are forming in his chest. 

“We can’t continue this,” she tells him tearfully. “I’m sorry.” 

It’s the first time he begs, clinging to her tightly, like pleading will rewrite their stars. 

You find him in the same spot after eclipse, eyes glued to the twinkling skies through the opening in the canopy of trees. 

The severance of his union is a hushed hum among the villagers and you are a creature of ruinous habits, always set to self-destruct. 

You swallow as you approach him, fingertips brushing his shoulders as a silent announcement that you’re there. 

He can’t help the shiver that runs down his spine, something like distant comfort niggling in his stomach. Because if there’s one thing he can count on, it’s you picking up his broken pieces. 

And you do. You always do. 

neng © 2023

taglist; @nao-cchi , @jkiminpark , @philiasoul @amart-e , @s-u-t , @netesbby , @tayswiftlovebot , @dumb-fawkin-bitch , @fanboyluvr , @neteyamoa , @itssiaaax , @girlpostingsposts , @athenachu , @neteyamo

[avesque]

omfg when i req that for tsu’tey i was not expecting my heart to be in absolute pieces right now bc of it ugh you did a phenomenal job and it was exactly what i was hoping for, you delivered i cannot ty enough :”)) ur such a good writer, pls keep it up just so amazing <33

you are the sweetest most precious angel ever omg thank you so much! you just made my week <3

[avesque]

hi sweet darling my my myyy i adore your writing so very much and wanted to know if you are still taking requests from that one post you linked? if so i would love to see something with tsu’tey for the “i am in love with a moment we never had” + angst? something about him with some angst just scratches an itch in my brain idkkk lots of love btw mwah !<3

across the stars — tsu’tey

INCLUDES fem!reader, human!reader. angst. 1.1k words.

NOTE anon you are so sweet omg thank you so much! <3

jakesully hands tsu’tey a note one afternoon after the battle, a crumpled piece of folded paper with specks of dirt on the edges. it looks tiny and, tsu’tey admits, unimportant.

he refuses to take it.

the olo’eyktan sighs, pushing the scrap back in his direction. “come on, brother. it’s important.”

tsu’tey begs to differ, taking a step back and scowling at the chief. a small, immature part of him is still stingy about the turn of events; how he had no choice but to pass his title to jakesully when he was on the brink of death.

“it’s from y/n.”

tsu’tey stills. his ears fall back in his hair at the mention of your name, tail swishing in curiosity.

you were one of the researchers — a biologist, he remembers you saying — alongside grace who studied pandoran flora and fauna. before the war, you had wormed your way well into the clan with your bright smiles and tinkling laughter. despite being one of the sky people, no one was able to resist you.

you were magnetic.

tsu’tey prides himself in his great resolve, his firm judgment. he is as untrusting as one can be; calculative when needed and always skeptical.

though he cannot deny how even he was left defenseless to your charm. it pains him to admit it but he grew fond of your excited chatter, especially the way your little demon face would light up at the mere mention of new plants, among other things.

he snatches the paper in jakesully’s hands and leaves without a word.

the note has been tucked under the woven mat in his hut for days now. tsu’tey has convinced himself there are far more important things to focus on than your flimsy little gift, and as dawn breaks over the moon, he finds himself grappling for excuses he can tell himself to prolong the inevitable.

a frustrated scowl mars his face, jumping off his hammock and kneeling on the floor, lifting the carpet to reveal the folded scrap. it seems almost threatening as it sits there, staring back.

he chooses to get it done and over with.

he turns it over a few times, looking for something; anything, but all there is is smeared dirt. finally, with bated breath, he slips a finger in the crease and unfolds it.

the paper is filled with your neat handwriting, dark ink nearly glowing on the white background. his heart sinks a bit as he sees how little you wrote but he ignores the feeling.

my dearest, tsu’tey, it reads.

his hands shake and the paper crumples beneath his fingers.

you may be reading this while i am already off this moon, or you may be reading this with a scowl perfectly painted on your face with me in front of you. either way, i just hope you’re reading this.

i would first like to thank you for your warm welcome.

tsu’tey grunts at that, shifting on his haunches, something ugly bubbling in his chest, one he cannot name.

i know how difficult it must be to accept someone like me yet you did not push me away. (you did, but you are unsuccessful! i am just stubborn, and i’m glad i am.)

the countless moments i have spent with you are everything to me. i will hold them close to my heart forever.

from the deepest crevices of my heart, thank you. i appreciate all the things you’ve done for me. for showing me the flowers and telling me about them, letting me come with you on hunts, and for merely walking with me in the forest. i hope you enjoyed those moments as much as i did.

the sky people are going back on earth soon and i have decided to come with them. before i go, i will tell you a secret.

my heart has grown too fond of you. sometimes, i fear you can hear the way my heart beats a little faster when you’re near. you have enraptured me. you are the most beautiful creature i have ever laid my eyes upon.

but i —

the letter is cut off, scrawled over by strings of ink. it starts again below, and the words sends an arrow straight through his heart.

i am in love with a moment we never had. not entirely, i suppose, since i do not go over our moments the way you do. i do not experience them in a… friendly way, shall i say? the way you do. it does not translate the same way between us.

i have spent nights with you clouding my mind, the sound of your voice a hazy lullaby in my head. i have dreamt of holding you, of kissing you, of telling you i love you.

i see you, tsu’tey. even when i am no longer in this moon, remember that somewhere in this vast universe, someone out there sees you.

thank you for sharing a part of yourself with me.

yours, y/n.

the letter is nearly balled up in tsu’tey’s firm grip. it is miniscule compared to his hand, and it is a reminder of how small yours had looked in his when he guided you over rocks that one time he showed you around.

something sits heavy in his heart. guilt, he’s come to know. the sky people left just two days ago and jakesully had given him your letter a week before.

he falls back on the floor of his hut, the mat digging under his left thigh.

had he known of your feelings… had he conquered his fear and read your letter earlier…

because tsu’tey may be known for his great resolve but all it took was your blinding smile to spear through his walls. he was untrusting as one can be but the trust you have shown you had in him had him wavering.

he suppose it is just right that he was stripped of his title. one so mighty will not cower before a piece of paper, but he had, and he missed the one chance eywa has given him to let you know of his feelings that had grown and bloomed over the course of your moments spent together.

he has nothing of you to remember by except this letter and the guilt that has taken root over his chest. he knows it will stay right there as long as he lives.

[avesque]

ao’nung is frustrated.

at least, that’s what you’ve deduced from watching him sharpen his knife for the past ten minutes straight. if he keeps going, it might get as thin as a wish bone; threatening to snap at the slightest bit of pressure. as much as you’d find amusement in the sight of that, you’d rather not be in the crossfire when it happens.

“what’s got you caught in its net?” you ask, finally, as you drop the gear you’ve been mending while ao’nung simmers.

“funny,” he mutters, but mirth is not something found in his tone. another scrape, another grating. he does not look over at you.

“i know. i’m the funniest person alive. you should be grateful you have the opportunity to bask in my presence.”

it’s a ploy—a tease. like waving fresh bait in front of a young ilu but never tossing it into the water for them to eat. your tactic with ao’nung is always the same. push and pull and prod just enough that he bites back with less venom and more demure. because sarcasm is better than spite, in all regards.

except now, he doesn’t take it. now, he simply keeps his head tucked down, his lips pressed in a hard line. whittling at his knife and spouting invisible steam out of his ears.

you stand up, make your way over to him and bend slightly at the waist to slide your hands along his sloped shoulders. his muscles go taut—just a bit—at the initial contact of your palms, but relax a second later. not to their resting state, no, but leaving the field of caught off guard at the very least. you hum, lean down further as you dip your hands over his clavicles, across the upper half of his sternum.

“what is wrong, ao‘nung?” its sincere, this time. your question. because despite the dynamic between the two of you, you really do care—jokes and jabs aside.

this silence is different. you can tell by the twitch of his ears that he’s thinking; mulling something over on his tongue before he decides whether to spit it out or swallow it down. you can never guess which one it will be, not with him. he acts on whims, never strategy. there is no speculating his next move, so you simply don’t try to.

“there has been talk among the reef.” it’s all he says; all he gives. such a shell of a man, forcing you to pry open his jaws to reach the pearl within.

it is good that you’ve always been so skilled with your hands.

“there is always talk among the reef,” you chuckle, begin to fiddle with the necklace that’s strung around his neck. hooking your chin over the top of his head, you look down to watch as he grinds his knife once again. “you know they like to keep their minds busy with silly things.”

“it isn’t a silly thing.”

“oh? then tell me, what is so dire that it could have the great ao’nung this tense, hm?”

his hands falter for the first time, a pause in his rhythmic grazing. your brows furrow at that, create a hairline crease in the middle that only smooths out as he resumes his motions. scrape, scrape, scrape again. it’s like he’s doing it in sync with his heart. if you shifted your hand over just a tad, you suppose you could test that theory.

“it is talk of you.”

quiet. a mere grumble under his breath. if you were not leaned over him like this you would not have even heard him. such an odd twinge to his tone; laced with something you can’t quite decipher. can’t quite pick up on. it isn’t necessarily anger, but something flirting along the lines of it.

“me? don’t tell me you have went around spreading rumors that i am possessed by eywa’s evil sister again. i thought you stopped that when we were kids.” you laugh through it, because the jagged edges of his timbre are making your fingers itch. “you’re going to ruin my reputation.”

he scoffs. condescending, dismissive. normally you’d take that as a good sign; a call back to his regular grating demeanor. at this specific moment, however, you find annoyance in it.

“your reputation is fine,” he tilts, gives a particularly harsh press of his knife that makes you think this just might be the time where it snaps. miraculously, it doesn’t. “so completely fine.”

“then what could they possibly find reason to speak of me for?” you press, rubbing your thumb over the cord of his necklace, twisting it around your fingers. “i have not caused any trouble lately. haven’t set fire to any maruis. why, there’s nothing that i can think of that could possibly warrant—“

“they speak of your lack of mate.”

his hands are working harder, less refined. jaw clenching, deltoids growing stiff below you. it’s all starting to air itself out, his jaws have cracked open just enough that you can finally see the pretty pink pearl that rests on the bed of his tongue. but it is not enough, not yet.

“then all they speak is the truth,” you shrug over him, keep your gaze locked on his movements. you want to be sure, before you jump to the assumptions that are creating hurdles in your mind. “there is no harm in speaking of public knowledge.”

“they—“ he hitches, twists his face up like his next words are sour on his tastebuds, “they are voicing their thoughts on potentials for you. they think.. rotxo is the best option.”

“oh, yes. rotxo would be a fine potential mate.”

and, ah. there it is. the coup de grace.

ao’nung snaps his head around towards you so fast you hardly have time to lean back to avoid getting smacked in the chin by his skull. there’s a fissure between his brows, his eyes have widened past the aggravated slits they were before. his mouth is cracked open in disbelief, of the fact that you agreed with him or another matter, you aren’t sure. either way, it is clear now what has been getting under the heir’s skin.

he's jealous. and you can't help but find that the slightest bit amusing. it's not often you have ao'nung in the palm of your hand like this; akin to a bug squirming under the pad of your thumb with no clear route of escape. you think you can play this up, just a little.

"you do not think that," he states, like he needs to speak it into existence. like if he says it then it will ring true, change your mind.

(he doesn't need to change your mind, but he doesn't need to know that right now).

"why would i not?" you hum, tip your head like you're truly contemplating it. "he is sweet. has a tender heart. and he is always so quick to help me. he doesn't even complain. i think taking him as a mate would be a good decision."

"the only thing good about rotxo is his hair," ao'nung spouts, rolls his eyes at you as his face fills up with indignation. "stupid, pretty boy goody two shoes."

"oh, you're right! and he's nice to look at," you agree, nod your head right along with it, "how could i forget?"

his cheek dips; he's sucking it in between his teeth. you've really done it, you think. setting him off has never been so easy. sure, it’s never too hard to get him riled up in the middle of a bickering match. but like this? aggravated over, what, exactly? the thought of you with someone else?

maybe you’re enjoying this a bit too much.

“he is not your type.” a bold proclamation, ao’nung spits out. grasping for straws; searching blindly. “you would not go well with him.”

“i think he is my type, actually,” you dispute, and he’s stopped all his movements now. knife long forgotten as he seethes over every word you speak. “kind. loyal. good morals. easy on the eyes. yes, definitely my type. that checks off the list.”

he purses his lips, knots up his brows. “that cannot be the list.”

“no?” you peruse, play into him. he makes this too easy, really. “what do you think is on the list, then? moody? messy? long hair? a tendency to be mouthy? being the chief’s son?”

that earns you a shove off of him; a click for him to realize you’ve been fucking with him this entire time. biting back your shit eating grin would be impossible so you don’t even try to. nor do you stop the laughter that bubbles out of you as he goes back to his knife work and curses you under his breath.

you reach for him again except this time you walk around until you’re in front of him. one hand on his shoulder, you lean down to shove the knife and sharpener out of his hands and plop yourself right into the slot his crossed legs have made. his gaze is narrowed at you, his lips jutted. you simply smile—innocent, sweet—as you slide your hands around to cup the nape of his neck.

“i don’t think rotxo could handle me,” you murmur, sickeningly saccharine in such a direct contrast from seconds before. ao’nung doesn’t budge. “and the good ones are always so boring. if he was my mate, when would i ever get the chance to get up to trouble?”

“you are trouble,” ao’nung scoffs; acting annoyed, fed up. but his hands give him away as they meet the dimples of your lower back, as they slide up your spine to hold you secure so you don’t fall backwards.

his facade of pretending to not care has never been too full proof. there’s been cracks in that glass since day one.

“your trouble,” you grin. your fingers begin to draw circles along the back of his neck, tease at his hairline. “you made me this way, you know.”

“i made you nothing,” he rebuts. “you are the one who always comes up with the pesky ideas that get us scolded.”

“ah, you’re right,” you agree with a faux sigh. “humor and brains. i guess i’m the funniest and smartest person alive. truly, you should be honored.”

ao’nung rolls his eyes, peels his hands off of you. “forget ability, i do not wish to handle you now. rotxo can have you, for all i care.”

“oh?” you quirk, begin to stand up. “should i go see what he is up to—“

“sit,” ao’nung orders before you can rise no more than a few inches off of his lap; hands gripping your waist to tug you back down. the playfulness drains from his eyes, that annoyance—jealousy—flashes across sea foam irises for just a moment. “you are not funny.”

you bite the edge of your lip, making your grin turn slanted. he is so fun to tease, to toss around. his palms are warm on the dip of your waist. sliding your hands further back, you skim your finger along the side of the braid encasing his queue. faint, light. he tries to hide the shiver it causes but you pick up on it regardless. and that only makes you grin wider.

“they will speak of me until i choose a mate,” you hum as you lean closer to him, minimize the distance between your faces. “rotxo is not the only name that will be paired with mine. they all like to place their bets, you know.”

“their bets are stupid,” ao’nung mutters; gruff and rumbling out of his chest as his attention flickers, falters, the closer you get.

being this close is nothing new. being this touchy is nothing new, either. but it’s almost like your skin is buzzing, your energies feeding off one another in the moment that sends you tumbling into a smug streak. or maybe, that’s just the power ao’nung holds over you and you’re scared to admit it.

“you only think they’re stupid because your name is being outnumbered in the betting pool.” maybe that’s a little mean, but it’s fun. your fingertips are heavier now, more directed as you trace the divots of his braid with one hand and gauge the rise and fall of his chest with the other. “if you were winning, would they be stupid then?”

“i am winning,” ao’nung conveys, so sure and lacking any sense of doubt in the slightest; a variance from a few moments before. and that, well, that actually makes you falter—for just a second.

“and how do you figure that?” you mumble out the question into the minute slot between the two of you. bated and breathy.

ao’nung hooks an arm around your waist, his other hand sliding up to grip the hinge of your jaw. not harsh, not rough, but firm. cradling you carefully but securely; solidly. your breath hitches, your fingers pause on their skimming across his queue encasing.

“because i am the only one who gets to do this,” he says. blunt and honest and certain as he closes the gap severing you.

he kisses you full and deep and warm. he kisses you like he has not eaten in days and you are the one thing that can sate his hunger. he kisses you like the ocean kisses the shore; yearning and all consuming, and rushing back once more as soon as their lips must part.

and he does; chase your lips as you pull back to catch your breath. places one, two, three pecks there before he deems it a safe retreat. his eyes are lidded, but no longer from frustration. that signature crooked, haughty smirk of his is curved into his pale lips. and instead of smacking it off, you’re considering how many more kisses it would take to wipe it away.

“oh yeah,” he chuckles, lips brushing over yours as he’s already leaning in again. “so winning.”

and you can’t help but agree.

likes & reblogs appreciated !

[avesque]

to that user (i can’t mention you for some reason : ( i am sorry) who commented what song it would be, i am so glad you asked !!! every time i write slow dance scenes i always think of them dancing to earth angel by the penguins (that song from back to the future!) it is very special to me <3

hii! would I be able to request a fic about neteyam? just pure fluff? but aged up if that makes sense like neteyam would be 19 and the reader would be the same age as well!🫶 hope you’re having a beautiful day!🫶

in the quiet of the night — neteyam

— you find out the remedy to a headache is a slow dance.

INCLUDES fem!reader, omatikaya!reader. established relationship, fluff. 1.0k words.

NOTE i love writing characters slow dancing; thank you for giving me an excuse to do so!

it is past eclipse when neteyam and the other hunters finally reached the village with a plentiful catch. the weather had drastically changed throughout the whole day, the wind biting at his face but the sun harsh on his skin. it had started a blooming headache on the back of his skull.

he would love nothing more than a peaceful rest and to come home to you but the people await, the feast just starting as the night grows deeper.

you are by his side, fixing the necklace you have weaved for him many moons ago. the place is starting to fill up as your fellow people gather around the bonfire.

he winces as a group of kids run past you, squealing in delight. it makes his head pound harder and he closes his eyes to try and ease the feeling.

“is something wrong?” your voice is like music to his ears, palms delicate against his skin as you feel his forehead.

neteyam shakes his head. “nothing bad, just a little headache.”

he cracks his eyes open to find you frowning, a worried dent in between your eyebrows. he smiles just to reassure you, cupping your face and gently rubbing away your worry.

“i am fine, tìyawn,” he promises. “it will go away soon.”

the olo’eyktan first pays gratitude to eywa for the clan’s blessing and the feast starts. the night is alive, bright yellows and orange dancing in the night, filled with laughter and the chatter of people you have known all your life.

there are girls dancing as other na’vi taps away on their instruments. a quiet laugh bubbles up your throat that has neteyam turning his gaze to you.

when you meet his curious eyes, you point somewhere a few feet from you, where lo’ak is getting dragged by a familiar girl, one you’ve heard is interested in him.

you both watch as his brother clumsily moves to the music, tripping over his feet in the process. a little ways behind them is the chief and his mate, twin smiles on their faces as they watch their youngest son. when their gazes flit in your direction, you make a decision to drag neteyam up there.

you make some flimsy little excuse to save neteyam from his agony. the tsahìk sends you and her son a worried glance but you reassure her you will take care of him as best as you can, and will call her if it ever worsens.

the walk back to your shared tent is quiet. your hands are clasped so tightly in his, snug and perfect like it was meant for him to hold all along.

“thank you,” he says into the night. you look at him, so pretty under the moons’ light, the beads in his braids reflecting the faint glow from above.

there’s a funny little smile playing on your lips. “what for?” you squeeze his hand one, two, three times.

neteyam shrugs. he squeezes your hand one, two, three times and tugs you closer. you place a palm on his chest, the other still holding his hand. a cold breeze flutters by as he rests his forehead on yours.

though this is an unusual act from your mate, you do not question him. the people are too busy and caught up in the feast, you suppose no one will come back out here this early and maybe that’s why neteyam decides to let his guard down.

you don’t notice it at first, too focused on the feel of him this close to you, but you’re moving — neteyam is moving, you realize. slowly, back and forth, a mess of feet and a shy giggle from him.

“what are we doing?” your question is laced with equal parts fondness and mirth. unsure as you are, you follow him, just as you always do, in anything and everything.

“dancing.”

you pull away, a confused little pout on your face. “this is dancing?”

he hums. your confusion doubles as he raises one arm with your hand still in his.

“turn,” he says, and you do, movements clumsy and unsure, but when you’re facing him again and he has a big smile on his face threatening to split his face in half, you will your worries away.

“this is dancing?” you reiterate.

“yes,” he muses. his smile is boyish, a little sharper on the other end, a light smirk. it is so reminiscent of the fourteen-year-old neteyam that stole your heart. “dad dances like this with mom. he says it is a sky people thing.”

“just like this?” neteyam prompts you to turn again, and you do, though he does not let go of your hands. his left arm goes over your head and, once you’re facing forward with your back to his, he pulls you closer. “without music?”

“there is music. he sings it.”

“the olo’eyktan sings?”

his chuckle is right by your ear. “hums it,” he explains.

it’s kind of awkward, lumbering away with your moves unpracticed. his hands let go and you think it’s over, but then his arms are around you, hugging you to his chest. his warmth is welcomed, body melting into his own. you lean back and rest your head on the juncture of his neck, a space you believe was molded to fit you in all ways.

it’s ironic how you were laughing at lo’ak earlier yet tripping over neteyam’s feet every now and then.

you hear him right by your ear — a deep hum, coming straight from his chest. it vibrates against your back, a soft buzz that tickles your spine.

your pair turns in a slow circle to the song he’s humming, backed by the faint hubbub from the gathering and the noise of insects around.

“is that the same song your father hums?” you tilt your head back a little.

a faint kiss is dropped on your temple before he rests his cheek there. “yes. he’s been humming it ever since i can remember.” he pauses, then, “i’ve always dreamt of doing the same someday… with the person i love.”

“well,” you nuzzle closer to him, gently nosing under his chin, “how is that dream going?”

neteyam exhales a content sigh, headache forgotten. “like i can stay like this forever.”

[avesque]

pleaseeeee ur tags i could cry 🥺💖 !!!! ty for ur sweet words u are an angel <333

no YOU are an angel >:( <3

[avesque]

— 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵, 𝘸𝘦 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘭𝘦

the lowdown — the one where you and lo'ak are words apart, but not a thing can come between you.

the who — lo'ak x fem human!reader

the word count — 5.2k (could i even still call this a drabble i–)

the tags & warnings — perhaps some language, slight idiots-to-lovers (the signs are there and lo'ak is a dummy), reader is really sweet and just loves life hehe, arguably too much tension lmaooo

the notes — based off of this request! read more notes at the end!

masterlist

Something in the forest smells…off. 

Against better judgment, Lo’ak tails it, ears twitching as he creeps through overgrown leaves and rustling foliage. His hand is on the hilt of his knife, eyes keen as he searches high and low for any shift or change in the terse atmosphere. 

He’d wandered off, a little too far from where his father warned him the boundary lied, but there was a scent that clung to the trees, that slunk around his willowy figure and it belonged to no creature in the forests of Pandora. 

It’s quiet, almost eerily so, the only sounds in the dense habitat is the pad of his feet against the grass and the chirping and croaking of the animals hidden among the trunks of trees and stems of flowers.

It’s like they’re watching, waiting, and Lo’ak’s heart begins to thud nervously in his chest as the scent strengthens like a haze. 

I could turn back now, he reasons with himself. Because whatever lies ahead could be his very demise. It’d be a horrid way to go, alone and in the thickening brush. 

But then he hears it. A voice so delicate and lilting, and like a sailor hooked by a siren’s call, he follows it, deeper and deeper. The trees begin to twine closer to each other, roots sprawling and the pathway overgrown. 

Pandora is beginning to glow, the only indication that eclipse is drawing near now that the canopy of leaves overhead knit so close together, the sun can’t cut through to the ground. 

It’s singing, he realizes. The voice is, but he can’t make out the words, a slurry of syllables and smooth melody that makes his eyebrows dip. 

As he draws nearer, the voice becomes clearer and he’s stricken when the words he makes out aren’t in Na’vi. Like a predator hunting prey, Lo’ak crouches and moves the brush to the side to peer into the clearing, breath catching in his throat when he finds you, a peculiar little thing who sings as you hunch over something in your lap. 

You’re angled away from him, but the sleeveless shirt you’re wearing shows earthy skin, so far removed from the blue Lo’ak’s been accustomed to seeing. The curls of your hair are unruly, piled high as neatly as you can to keep it out of your face. 

His eyes are wide, finding a human so far from the camp established near his home. There’s something about how relaxed you are, your grace as you fiddle and hum like there aren’t dozens of predators on the prowl who could pounce at any moment, Lo’ak included. You can’t be with the enemy, it’s impossible, you’re too unaware and too soft. 

And he can’t peel his eyes away, fingers wrapped around the handle of his dagger loosening as he watches you with bated breath. 

After another moment of fiddling, you cheer quietly, triumphantly, as you hold up what you’d been tinkering with. 

Lo’ak’s only seen one once before, one of those little film cameras that develop instantly. You point it towards a patch of grass and a split second of flash goes off before the mechanical whirring of the film feeding from the camera echos through the clearing. 

It’s only when he moves forward for a better look that his rustling catches your attention. Your head snaps up, towards his direction and you’re brushing the strands of stubborn hair behind your ears as your eyes, big and round, survey the area. 

“Hello?” 

Lo’ak’s gaze flits over every curve of your face, eyes dipping to take in the swell of your cheeks, the expanse of your neck and the shoddy beadwork fastened around your throat. 

He sizes you up as you stand to your feet, ratty gingham of your yellowed skirt swishing around your ankles. 

“Hello?” you try again, hand coming up to a holster slung across your chest. 

You unsheathe a knife so tiny, Lo’ak can’t help but snort out a laugh and your steps stutter when you make out the familiar blue whorls behind the flora. 

Lo’ak’s severely underestimated his hiding spot, spine going rigid when he notices the way your eyes grow as big as saucers. He’s been found out and your jaw nearly unhinges. 

“Whoa,” you whisper, sheathing the knife as you take a tentative step towards Lo’ak’s post. 

He’s sure you can hear the way his heart thuds against the cage of his chest, know that he’s caught like a hideous game of cat and mouse.

Your movements are slow, calculated, as if anything sudden will spook Lo’ak away. But he’s rooted to his spot, eyes unblinking as he watches you close in on him. He waits, almost with anticipation as your fingers close around the leaf, a hairsbreadth from his nose, and move it out of the way to get a good look at his face. 

For what seems like melding moments, you both are still, eyes searching and bodies frozen. 

“Hi,” you squeak, throat bobbing. 

Lo’ak is huge, shoulders broad and legs long as he squats before you. His lean muscles flex as he shifts in his spot, eyebrows furrowing a fraction as he takes you in before him. 

You’ve got a flower stem tucked behind your other ear and he notes that your cheeks are red. But what’s more peculiar is the fact that you have no oxygen mask, seemingly breathing the dense air with ease. 

“Hi,” he warbles, voice catching as you take another step forward. 

One of your hands is outstretched, like you’re reaching to touch him, but like a flash of lightning in the sky, his fist closes around your wrist to stop you, jostling you with narrowed eyes. The other hand has pulled his dagger from his hip and the tip, razor sharp, is aimed towards your trachea. 

“Sorry,” you breathe, swallowing down the knot in your throat. “I’ve never…” 

You’re breathless, absolutely in awe at the boy who crouches before you. 

You’d spent the latter half of your existence on Pandora watching the Na’vi from afar, opting instead to center your time and attention to the sprawling habitat of the forest. For years you documented the change in weather, the flora, the fauna. More seldom, you’d jot down the brief observations of the Na’vi you encountered, three instances you can count on your fingers. 

You’d been enraptured with the moon, your home away from home. But as the memories of the dingy planet, decaying and falling to the greed of humans, continue to dull, all you seem to recall is the lush jungle. 

“Who are you?” Lo’ak’s tone is accusatory. “What are you doing here?” 

You’re stunned, his voice seemingly rumbling from deep within his chest. You wonder if his English is from a language school, but others from the small commune said that the last institution closed decades ago after an attack. 

“________,” you introduce quietly, shakily, as the weapon pointed towards your throat doesn’t relent. “My name is ________.” 

“Are you with the RDA?” 

He has to be sure, watches every inch of your face for a tell. 

Instead you look horrified at the idea. 

“God no,” you shudder. “I would never.” 

He lowers his knife, but doesn’t lose his edge. 

“You can breathe without a mask,” he observes. “How?” 

You’re still tense, frozen as you watch Lo’ak rise to his feet to tower over you. You barely reach his diaphragm and a ripple of fear slinks down your spine knowing that Lo’ak could crush you with no hesitation. 

“Lab rat,” you admit, almost shamefully. 

Before Lo’ak even knows what you’re doing, you’re lifting up the hem of your shirt to reveal a raised scar that travels across your abdomen, from bottom rib to bottom rib. He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to be looking at, just stares down at you as your pointer finger brushes over the fused flesh. 

“The atmosphere in Pandora has enough oxygen for the average human to survive, but that survival factor is squashed by the amount of carbon dioxide in the air,” you say simply, like you’re reciting a fact. “Na’vi have an extra organ that acts as a filter to—” 

You stop talking when Lo’ak blinks at you and you feel sheepish over your word vomit.

“Well…” you divert.

“Well what?” 

“What about you?” you ask, scratching the back of your head. 

“What about me?” Lo’ak asks uncomfortably, eyes flitting as he takes in the way you seem to light up. 

You are so starkly out of place, but something in the way the forest melts around you makes him feel like this is where you belong. 

“What is your name?” you ask, tilting your head. 

He hesitates for a moment, but you look hopeful, excited. 

He takes a step back, still wary despite dwarfing you. 

“Lo’ak,” he answers skeptically. 

You test the name on your lips, beaming up at him when he nods. When you advance upon him again, he doesn’t retreat, just reluctantly lets you circle his towering figure with wide eyes. 

“You’re the first Na’vi I’ve seen up close,” you admit softly. 

There’s adoration in your voice that makes Lo’ak shiver. 

“You’re in the middle of nowhere,” he observes. “We don’t venture out this far.” 

“Except for you,” you amend with a hum. 

He’s used to being the exception, the sore thumb. His father always reminds him as such whenever he steps out of line, but coming from you, something in the way you acknowledge makes him feel like you can see right through him. 

“Yeah, I guess,” he agrees. 

Your hand reaches out to him, but you pause, finding his gaze unrelenting. He watches your every move. 

“Can I touch you?” you ask gently. 

“I mean…sure? I guess?” he forces out, throat suddenly hoarse. 

Your palm presses into the smooth expanse of his abdomen and his stomach caves with a deep breath at the feeling of your fingertips brushing against his skin. 

You grab his hands, turning them so that they’re palms up, and if possible, your eyes are comically larger than life when you count his five fingers. 

“You have–”

He snatches his hand away from you, expression souring as he tucks them behind his back. 

“I get it,” he gruffs. “It’s weird—”

You hold your hand out to him, so much smaller in comparison to his and offer him a weak smile. 

“No,” you assure him softly. “It’s okay.” 

He’s opening his mouth to say something, but the comm crackles to life in his ear and his father’s voice is grainy. 

“Lo’ak, do you copy?” 

He takes in a deep breath, pressing the button to speak into the air.

“Yes.” 

“It’s getting dark,” is his father’s way of apologizing. “Be home soon.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

Your eyes are still pinned to him as he straightens, taking another step back from you the survey the scene before him. 

“Where are you…” your voice trails off as you watch him retreat. 

“You can’t tell anyone about this,” he warns you. 

“But—”

“I’ll kill you.”

You don’t even flinch, climbing over the same branches and ducking over the same vines he does so with ease as he makes for the same path he’d taken there. 

“Wait, Lo’ak!” you call out as he picks up the pace, unable to keep up with his hulking strides. “Will I see you again?” 

He throws you a look over his shoulder, like you shouldn’t be so noisy, and you shrink, watching his form diminish in the glowing forest. 

You count almost nine eclipses without Lo’ak, something heavy like river stones anchored to the pit of your stomach. You hadn’t been able to sleep much since your encounter with him, so fascinated with the glow of his eyes, the stripes of his skin, his extra finger. 

He was all you could sketch in your journal, all you could write about, think about. After years and years of quiet, distant observation, of hearsay from the villagers, you’d finally seen a Na’vi, up close and personal, and you were aching to see him again. 

You don’t know if Eywa had heard you, if she pitied your poor soul, but on the tenth morning, you sit in the same clearing when you hear rustling in the brush. It comes from the same little patch it had last time you were here alone, and when your gaze flits to the swaying foliage, you yelp when you find that Lo’ak hadn’t even tried to hide this time. 

The smile that spreads across your face is sunny, blinding, as you climb to your feet and close the distance between the two of you. 

“You’re back,” you observe happily, peering at him from head to toe, then you giggle. “I can’t believe you’re back.” 

You’re looking at him like you’re looking for anything out of place since you’d last seen him and it makes him incredibly warm under such a brilliant gaze. When the pads of your fingers glide from his wrist to forearm, like you can’t believe he’s really standing right in front of you again, his tail involuntarily swishes.

“I thought you said Na’vi don’t really come out this far,” you tell him, taking a step away from him. 

He finally breathes the air he’d been holding in his lungs.

“We don’t,” he agrees. “Except for me.” 

Your grin widens, if possible, at the subtle implication that maybe he’d been thinking about meeting you as much as you thought about meeting him. 

“Well…” you trail off, turning on your heel so that he doesn’t see the hope in your expression. “Is there a reason why you returned? Last time we saw each other you told me you’d kill me if I said anything.” 

“Have you?” he retorts, unmoving from his spot. 

“Never,” you say quietly. “Wanna keep you to myself.” 

The words stun Lo’ak, make something twist in his stomach as you turn back around to face him. 

“Where’s your family?” he pries, the courage the ask you all the questions that had culminated over the past week finally teeming at the brim.

“Don’t have much left,” you answer honestly, openly. “A lot of them didn’t survive the journey here. I only have my sister and my mother.”

Something akin to sympathy squeezes in his chest as he watches the way you fidget.

“And your village,” he presses. “Who all is there?” 

“My own and four other families,” you reveal. “It’s not much, but we don’t really need a lot when we have such a vast forest to survive off of.” 

He doesn’t know what to do with the information, still in awe that humans so far removed from the RDA and the scientists he’d grown up knowing take up residence in the very jungle he thought he knew like the back of his hand. 

“Can they breathe like you?” he asks bluntly. 

You blow out a small laugh, seemingly finding the interrogation amusing rather than intimidating if the way that you walk away from Lo’ak is anything to go by. 

“No,” you tell him, returning to your station in the middle of the clearing.

You’ve got a blanket spread neatly on the grass, stacks of books and a rucksack pinning each corner down to keep the fabric semi-taut. You’d been reading through a book about the herbs on Pandora, the page still flipped to a beautiful bundle of petals and stems that resemble Earth’s baby’s breath. 

You don’t realize that Lo’ak has followed you, standing half a meter away from your setting to observe your belongings, so tiny in comparison to the things back at camp. He pauses, weary like he’s crossing a threshold, but you lean forward, fingers grabbing his own to yank him gently. 

He’s toppling onto the woven blanket, shifting comfortably like a baby touching grass for the first time when he feels the odd texture against his skin. 

“I didn’t think I’d see you again,” you admit to him, leaning back on your haunches as you shamelessly stare at him with that soft smile on your face. 

“I was debating,” he whispers under his breath, eyes still wandering. 

“You didn’t hurt me,” you remark simply, hands folded in your lap. “The first time around.” 

“I could say the same for you,” he responds, gaze finally settling on your own. 

You breathe another laugh, taking his hand in yours to compare the difference. 

“Don’t think I could’ve even I tried,” you breathe, and something eases in Lo’ak at your acknowledgment that he has the upper hand. 

But he doesn’t think he could hurt you. He wouldn’t. Not when you’re so soft and curious, and especially not when you insinuate that you’ve been waiting for him patiently. 

“What do you do here, ________?” he asks you, genuine interest as he folds one long leg under the other to settled before you. 

You shrug. 

“Research, read, live,” you answer. “We left Earth with no real agenda. Just wanted to live a better life.” 

Lo’ak skims your features. 

“You like to swim?” he asks you, and you perk up. 

“Yeah,” you nod. “Love it.” 

“Good,” he says. “I know a place.” 

The two of you become like polar opposites of a magnetic field, so drawn to the other, not a single thing could drive a wedge between the two of you. 

Lo’ak can’t help it, not when you talk a million miles a minute about your love for life, for Pandora. Not when you first break the barrier and sit in his lap with a book, reading him your favorite children’s stories or blurbs that accompany the research materials you’d crafted from years of exploring the moon. 

And he can’t just chalk it up to being able to see his home from your perspective, but being able to see the wonder that oozes from you when you see it from his. How in awe you are when he carries you on his back to climb the looming trees, seeing above the canopy of leaves for the first time since you touched down on the lush terrain. Or when you run your fingers over the spines of fish during your swims in the nearby streams, when you coo at the cubs of creatures that would otherwise devour you whole. 

It doesn’t help that you take your life by the reigns, seemingly invincible after you divulge the entire story behind your scar. To know that they’d experimented on you, grown artificial organs, used you as a trial and then left you for dead after a seemingly failed test run. You live your life to the fullest, find no fear, but still tread with compassion. 

You beguile Lo’ak, have him wrapped around your finger as the two of you teeter over a very fine line. 

And your village sees it. No one has to utter a word to know that something, someone, has been occupying your attention these last few weeks. Humans are few and far in between, so they turn the other cheek, waiting until you feel comfortable enough to tell them that a certain native has captured your heart. 

Lo’ak, on the other hand, toes his friendship with you with great caution. He slips through the cracks undetected, crossing the forest to see you when he can. He keeps it hush, locked tight like a vault, but his family knows better. Knows that if he’s not audacious in the way he’s causing trouble, he’s still stirring it up somehow. 

Neteyam pounces first. 

“Where are you going?” he asks, fingers tight around his younger brother’s shoulders. 

“Out,” Lo’ak answers simply. 

“Out?” Neteyam mocks, expression flat like he doesn’t believe him. 

“Yes, out,” he reiterates, pulling his shoulder from his grasp. “I’ll be back.” 

He’s paranoid on the way to you, taking a few detours in the case that his brother, the ever diligent and doting eldest, is tailing him. It weighs heavy on his mind even when he finally makes it to your corner of the jungle unfound.

“Does your village still not know about me?” he asks suddenly, one of the first words he’d uttered since settling behind you, large hands braiding your hair gently as you read quietly to yourself. 

You look up from your book, spine straightening. 

“No,” you answer honestly. “You told me not to and I honor your wishes.” 

He’s silent for a moment before asking another question. 

“How would they react?” he asks, starting another braid in hopes to quell the tremor in his fingers. “If they knew about me? About, you know…” 

“I think they’d love you,” you say honestly. “Especially if they know you like I do.” 

He’s putty in your hands and you don’t even know it. It makes his heart ache and stomach tie because he’s not so sure he could say the same. If his family, or his village, would welcome you with open arms like you say yours would. 

“Why?” you ask, turning to face him. 

He simply shrugs, doesn’t know how to tell you that he’s brimming with feeling. That the weeks, months he’s spent intermittently spending time with you makes him feel the most alive he has in years. And he especially doesn’t know how to tell you that even if he’s scared shitless, a part of him wants to try, wants to be with you if you’ll have him.

But he doesn’t know what your life is like back at your camp, doesn’t know if you have someone waiting for you. And what would his siblings think? His parents, if he told them he was falling for a—

“Would you like to?” you ask him, hand coming up to touch his face. “To meet them?” 

“I mean…” he trails off, scratching the back of his neck. “Could be nice to, you know, see where you—” 

You’re staring at him so intently, he stops mid-sentence.

“But I couldn’t return the favor,” he says suddenly, biting the inside of his cheek as he watches the way your expression screws up in confusion. 

“What do you mean?” you ask, taking his fidgeting fingers in yours. 

“I wouldn’t be able to take you to meet my village,” he says in one breath. “It’s too risky. They’re not really fond of humans and—”

You squeeze his hands, a sad smile gracing your lips that makes his heart wrench. 

“I wouldn’t ask that of you, Lo’ak,” you tell him. “I know what the dynamics are like, and rightfully so. Humans have taken a lot from you, from the people. It would be disrespectful to expect them to welcome me.” 

He nearly melts, doesn’t know what he’s done to deserve someone like you in his life.

“You’re too good,” he whispers. 

“When you’re ready,” you say softly. “If you’re ready, just tell me.” 

Neither of you bring up his clan or your village again after that, just enjoy the moments that you spend with each other in the glittering jungle. 

“Smile!” you coo, film camera held in both hands as you nestle back against his chest and aim the lens towards your huddled figures. 

The motors whir and while you wait for the photograph to develop, you’re turning to face him. Your cheeks warm when you find that he’s already staring down at you, golden eyes soft and lips slightly parted. 

“Have you ever listened to the radio?” you ask him, pinching the photo between your fingers to fan it through the air. 

“Radio?” he parrots, pulling himself from his reverie. 

“Yeah, it plays music,” you tell him. “Sometimes it broadcasts the news, but obviously we don’t get signal here.” 

“News?” Lo’ak’s expression is pinched in confusion as you pull away from him and your laugh flutters through the air. 

Your skirt pools around your figure when you crouch to rummage through your bag, items clinking and clunking together as you search for the battery-operated music player you smuggled from your friend’s family in the village. 

“Here!” you call excitedly, pulling the red and blue player from where it's buried under one of your dozens of leaflets and rolls of film. 

You pop the back open to make sure the batteries are still intact, the radiant grin spread across your full lips widening when you fiddle with the buttons and it creaks to life. 

The tinny sound of Phil Collins starts playing from the weak little speaker, but you set it on top of a fallen tree trunk and take Lo’ak’s hands in yours. 

“Let’s dance,” you giggle, moving in time to the beat of his drums. 

“Wait, wait,” Lo’ak calls, embarrassed. “I don’t really…” 

“Oh, come on,” you prod, arms gliding through the air as your skirt twirls around you in tandem with the rhythm. 

Lo’ak is mesmerized, swallowing down the knot in his throat as you dance like it’s the only thing you’ve ever done. Your movements are fluid, amateur, but makes his heart thrum violently nonetheless. 

You sing along with the words, voice smooth and lilting as your feet pad against the grass. 

The scene before him is picturesque against the eclipsing sun, your skin warm and dewy under the growing glow of the forest’s glimmer. He itches to capture this moment, freeze it in the frame of a photograph for his eyes only. So when your face arches skyward and you continue singing along with the quiet music, Lo’ak picks up your camera and snaps a clumsy picture.

“Hey!” you burst out laughing, rushing towards him just as the photo begins feeding out of the camera. 

“What?” he whispers innocently, jerking the photo from your grasp when you try to reach for it. 

“Stop,” you whine. “What if I look stupid?”

“You could never,” he hums, tucking the photograph in his woven satchel. 

He knows there no going back from this, going back from you. The night you watch the stars seals his fate. 

“There she is,” you croon triumphantly, pointing to the glowing orb. 

You and Lo’ak are nestled high above in one of the tree branches. You’re bundled against him, your back to his chest with the warmth of his skin cocooning you as you both watch the slowly shifting sky. 

“My dad came from a star,” he says after a pregnant pause, one that makes you lean your head back against his shoulder and play with the fingers splayed across your stomach. 

“Really?” you whisper, watching as something flits across the midnight sky.

“Yeah,” he chuffs, other hand pointing eastward. “That one, right there.” 

You squint, eyes straining as you try to make out the twinkling blurb. 

“What’s he like?” you ask, knuckling the fatigue from your eyes. 

“Who?” Lo’ak hums. “My dad?” 

“Yeah,” you murmur. “He must be pretty great if he raised someone like you.” 

Lo’ak’s at a loss for words, can't admit that while he thinks his dad’s incredible, that all he wants in life is to be like him, he’s not sure if his father feels quite the same. If the disappointment in his gaze and the stone in his voice is anything to go by every time Lo’ak fucks up and gets lectured, he could argue that his father’s efforts to rear a good man have gone in vain. 

“Something like that,” he opts to say, cheek nuzzling against yours as you shift further into his hold. 

“And your sisters?” you prod, pinkie linking with his.

He’s silent for a moment before a small smile stretches across his lips. 

“I think they’d like you,” he says sincerely. “You remind me of both of them, actually, so I think that if you were to ever meet them, they’d love you.” 

Like I do, he wants to add. 

You hum in response and he can tell you’re getting tired with the way you’ve fallen slack and completely relaxed against him. 

“And…your mom?” Your words are coming out slowly, like you’re fighting against sleep and losing. 

“She’s amazing,” he says softly. “She’s sacrificed a lot and–” 

A long, steady puff of air blows from your nose and Lo’ak shifts a little to see that your eyes have fluttered closed and you’ve pulled the shawl you’d brought with you tighter around your shoulders. 

Lo’ak’s always felt that lingering feeling that you could feel it, too. You had to. You wouldn’t wait for him before every eclipse, let him hold you, let him treat you like he loves you if you didn’t. 

He gets his answer on a random afternoon in your clearing. 

You had bound a thin journal, scrawled your names on it, and now you were in the middle of pasting a picture of you and Lo’ak in the stream to the section you titled Adventures. 

“Have you ever been in love?” Lo’ak asks crassly, then clears this throat, backtracking a little to save face. “Like on Earth…or…” 

“I was ten when I left home,” you chuckle, flipping to a fresh page. 

You start setting leaves and petals against the paper, arranging photographs of you and Lo’ak on various excursions.

Lo’ak swallows. 

“So never?” he asks. 

You pause your crafting to lean back on your haunches, peering at him through your lashes with the glue brush still in your hand. 

“Why?” you deflect. 

He fiddles with one of the flowers on the page, shrugging his shoulders. 

“Just curious,” he murmurs. 

“No,” you answer honestly, after a moment. “I haven’t.” 

He nods. 

“Do you think you will?” he prods, busying himself with thumbing through the dozens of pictures the two of you have amassed through your time together. 

You watch him closely, see the way his ears are flat and his tail thumps quietly against the forest floor. You can’t help but smile when he glances over the top of one of the photos to peek at you. 

“It’s very possible,” you respond coyly, picking at a piece of lint on your skirt. 

Lo’ak goes rigid, dropping the photos in his lap to look at you. He opens his mouth to say something, but you beat him to it. 

“There is someone,” you say seriously, willing the grin creeping at the corner of your lips to relax as you search Lo’ak’s expression for any fissures. “Someone who’s become quite special to me.” 

Lo’ak wants to roll his eyes, but you light up and he can’t find it in himself to be ugly. 

“All he has to do is say the words,” you whisper, closing the contents of the journal in on itself as you ease closer to him. 

He’s sitting with his legs folded one into the other, but you’re eye level as you stand on your knees. One of your hands move a braid behind his ear, settling on his shoulder as the other traces his cheek softly. 

Something like hope sizzles in his stomach when he sees how close you are, when he smells the sweet aroma of fruit and herbs in your hair as you inch forward. 

“Do you think he will?” he swallows, breath warm against your lips. 

Your nose brushes his, waiting for the final plunge. 

“I don’t know, Lo’ak, will you?” 

A smile grows from ear to ear as Lo’ak leans forward, lips slotting against yours as he seals every last bit of emotion and affection that pools in his gut into a kiss that takes his breath away. 

His hands settle on your waist, thumb brushing your scar as you climb into his lap and he pulls you closer. 

He doesn’t see the woodsprite that settles on your shoulder as he kisses you feverishly, a silent sign from the Great Mother that being worlds apart will never transcend what the two of you have. 

Differences be damned. 

an; okay WHEW this one was actually such a challenge! i grappled with wanting to include angst, but i feel like a lot of my writing veers in that direction, so i decided to gift you guys with lo’ak and reader who are in love despite the odds hehehe. although i consider this a long drabble, i do have a lot of cut scenes that i’d be willing to share to turn this into a mini drabble series *side eye* lmaooo. love you all <3

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neng © 2023

taglist: @nao-cchi , @jkiminpark , @philiasoul @amart-e, @s-u-t , @netesbby , @tayswiftlovebot , @dumb-fawkin-bitch , @ewackmn , @fanboyluvr , @neteyamoa , @itssiaaax , @girlpostingsposts , @athenachu

[avesque]

hii! would I be able to request a fic about neteyam? just pure fluff? but aged up if that makes sense like neteyam would be 19 and the reader would be the same age as well!🫶 hope you’re having a beautiful day!🫶

in the quiet of the night — neteyam

— you find out the remedy to a headache is a slow dance.

INCLUDES fem!reader, omatikaya!reader. established relationship, fluff. 1.0k words.

NOTE i love writing characters slow dancing; thank you for giving me an excuse to do so!

it is past eclipse when neteyam and the other hunters finally reached the village with a plentiful catch. the weather had drastically changed throughout the whole day, the wind biting at his face but the sun harsh on his skin. it had started a blooming headache on the back of his skull.

he would love nothing more than a peaceful rest and to come home to you but the people await, the feast just starting as the night grows deeper.

you are by his side, fixing the necklace you have weaved for him many moons ago. the place is starting to fill up as your fellow people gather around the bonfire.

he winces as a group of kids run past you, squealing in delight. it makes his head pound harder and he closes his eyes to try and ease the feeling.

“is something wrong?” your voice is like music to his ears, palms delicate against his skin as you feel his forehead.

neteyam shakes his head. “nothing bad, just a little headache.”

he cracks his eyes open to find you frowning, a worried dent in between your eyebrows. he smiles just to reassure you, cupping your face and gently rubbing away your worry.

“i am fine, tìyawn,” he promises. “it will go away soon.”

the olo’eyktan first pays gratitude to eywa for the clan’s blessing and the feast starts. the night is alive, bright yellows and orange dancing in the night, filled with laughter and the chatter of people you have known all your life.

there are girls dancing as other na’vi taps away on their instruments. a quiet laugh bubbles up your throat that has neteyam turning his gaze to you.

when you meet his curious eyes, you point somewhere a few feet from you, where lo’ak is getting dragged by a familiar girl, one you’ve heard is interested in him.

you both watch as his brother clumsily moves to the music, tripping over his feet in the process. a little ways behind them is the chief and his mate, twin smiles on their faces as they watch their youngest son. when their gazes flit in your direction, you make a decision to drag neteyam up there.

you make some flimsy little excuse to save neteyam from his agony. the tsahìk sends you and her son a worried glance but you reassure her you will take care of him as best as you can, and will call her if it ever worsens.

the walk back to your shared tent is quiet. your hands are clasped so tightly in his, snug and perfect like it was meant for him to hold all along.

“thank you,” he says into the night. you look at him, so pretty under the moons’ light, the beads in his braids reflecting the faint glow from above.

there’s a funny little smile playing on your lips. “what for?” you squeeze his hand one, two, three times.

neteyam shrugs. he squeezes your hand one, two, three times and tugs you closer. you place a palm on his chest, the other still holding his hand. a cold breeze flutters by as he rests his forehead on yours.

though this is an unusual act from your mate, you do not question him. the people are too busy and caught up in the feast, you suppose no one will come back out here this early and maybe that’s why neteyam decides to let his guard down.

you don’t notice it at first, too focused on the feel of him this close to you, but you’re moving — neteyam is moving, you realize. slowly, back and forth, a mess of feet and a shy giggle from him.

“what are we doing?” your question is laced with equal parts fondness and mirth. unsure as you are, you follow him, just as you always do, in anything and everything.

“dancing.”

you pull away, a confused little pout on your face. “this is dancing?”

he hums. your confusion doubles as he raises one arm with your hand still in his.

“turn,” he says, and you do, movements clumsy and unsure, but when you’re facing him again and he has a big smile on his face threatening to split his face in half, you will your worries away.

“this is dancing?” you reiterate.

“yes,” he muses. his smile is boyish, a little sharper on the other end, a light smirk. it is so reminiscent of the fourteen-year-old neteyam that stole your heart. “dad dances like this with mom. he says it is a sky people thing.”

“just like this?” neteyam prompts you to turn again, and you do, though he does not let go of your hands. his left arm goes over your head and, once you’re facing forward with your back to his, he pulls you closer. “without music?”

“there is music. he sings it.”

“the olo’eyktan sings?”

his chuckle is right by your ear. “hums it,” he explains.

it’s kind of awkward, lumbering away with your moves unpracticed. his hands let go and you think it’s over, but then his arms are around you, hugging you to his chest. his warmth is welcomed, body melting into his own. you lean back and rest your head on the juncture of his neck, a space you believe was molded to fit you in all ways.

it’s ironic how you were laughing at lo’ak earlier yet tripping over neteyam’s feet every now and then.

you hear him right by your ear — a deep hum, coming straight from his chest. it vibrates against your back, a soft buzz that tickles your spine.

your pair turns in a slow circle to the song he’s humming, backed by the faint hubbub from the gathering and the noise of insects around.

“is that the same song your father hums?” you tilt your head back a little.

a faint kiss is dropped on your temple before he rests his cheek there. “yes. he’s been humming it ever since i can remember.” he pauses, then, “i’ve always dreamt of doing the same someday… with the person i love.”

“well,” you nuzzle closer to him, gently nosing under his chin, “how is that dream going?”

neteyam exhales a content sigh, headache forgotten. “like i can stay like this forever.”