Can you give us something for older John/Simon/Johnny? Your choice who but just a little dark
Older!Johnny who always wanted to have kids but never had the time because he was in the SAS, deciding when heâs on the cusp of 40 to have a vasectomy
Older!Johnny deciding that he hasnât yet found a woman to wife up and doesnât want a bunch of kids with different women running around, so getting snipped is the solution
Older!Johnny who goes to see a doctor that shares a waiting room with an OBGYN doctor, and meets a single mother there whose on the fresh side of giving birth
Older!Johnny who strikes up a conversation while waiting for the appointment to discuss a vasectomy, where he learns that the baby daddy ran off with another woman
Older!Johnny who listens to the woman talking while her baby fusses, and has his future life flash before his eyes â rocking a baby to sleep, helping the little bairn take itâs first steps, helping mend scraped knees
Older!Johnny who decides, that no, it is not too late to have kids and he canât deprive his future wife thatâs sitting across from him this pretty woman more children
Older!Johnny who walks out of the appointment and takes his ageing maâs offer to inherit the country farmhouse cause his wife and baby need room to grow, and when it comes time to have more sibling for his wee little one, heâll need the room
Older!Johnny who connects with an old friend(s) to start pursuing the woman heâs gonna marry in exactly 1 year â that should be long enough of a wait to start trying for another
Older!Johnny who calls his ma and tells her that sheâs got to start knitting some baby clothes and prepare a nursery â heâs coming home for Christmas and bringing a wife and bairn for her to meet
By Monday you couldnât wait to get back to work to see the look on Captain Priceâs face when he had found his gifts returned to him. He would open his office door and enter the room where he found relative peace compared to the natural hectic energy of the soldiers who ranked beneath him and see it there.
The basket with the wine, chocolates, lavender, and vanilla bath bombs that had been returned with a note reminding the Captain that he had to finish the paperwork he had fallen behind on.
He was famous for putting off the necessary paperwork that needed to be completed and filed, choosing to focus more on the physical aspects of being the leader of an elite unit rather than the pencil pushing.
He, like the rest of his men, had overlooked the impertinence of filling out their forms and records, if for no other reason than to cover their asses in the event that something happens.
However, trying to get Captain Price to stay behind a desk and work through office work instead of being out in the field or even training felt like pulling teeth.
Between Captain Price and Lieutenant Riley, a good portion of your day(s) were spent trying to track down forms that were either missing from your office, or incomplete. It was a round-and-round experience that had you frustrated. Between the two older soldiers and the chaos that Sergeant MacTavish had caused, you were kept busy.
Sergeant MacTavish had violated minor HR guidelines like he was trying to beat a high score or set a new personal recordâa tact that had him consistently on your radar with his name in your memos more often than most soldiers.
The very first memo you had sent to him after getting this job was inconceivably polite considering that he had threatened to cut a privateâs junk off. It was only after you had sent the memo and had the sergeant at your office door that youâd learned why he threatened the soldier. Johnny said that private who had thought it would be funny to repeatedly hit on one of the medics even after she said no, had warranted a threat.
And while you morally wanted to agree, wholeheartedly actually, you had to follow the procedures that were put into place. The sergeant, however, morally correct he was in threatening the private, had to receive a warning. A memo, a reminder that threatening to âmake privateâs a eunuch the Roman Catholic Church could be proud ofâ was against HR protocolsâeven if it made you deliriously giggle behind your computer screen.
You let him off as easy as you could, which had opened up a figurative door to try and push your buttons.
A tactic that had spread to all of the 141 who seemed to take special interested in you. All that had boiled down to a game of back and forthâof the special service soldiers who were deadly in their own rightâto push your limits while flirting so casually that if actually threw you off guard. Which you thought they probably enjoyed.
However small the victory you had over the 141 by the rejection of the flirtatious act of Captain John Price, it had shattered with an impactful aggression when you stepped into the administration office. You could already detect the annoyance of one of the logistics administrators who was carting in a large stack of files. You didnât even have to see any of the full names written upon the tabs of the manila folders to know who they belonged to.
âGood morning.â One of the logistics administrators had approached you while you were trying to shrug off the peacoat that was slightly dampened from the light rain. She had greeted you but had negated the time necessary for you to grab the files before she placed them on top of the main receptionistsâ desk with a loud drop upon the wood surface. âThese belong to you; they arenât filled out correctly and since you are the human resourcesââ
ââthere are more than once HR people here, why do these always have to come to me?â You grab the stack of files and turn them toward you, peering at the black letters inked upon the white background of tags that identify which file belongs to which soldier.
âYour monkeyâs; your circus.â The logistics administrator that dropped off the files had given you a wry smile before she pushed past you and headed for the exit, loudly stating that she was going for a dart, and to bring them back to her when they were filled out correctly.
With her departure you looked at the receptionist behind the desk, the two of you sharing a glance while she smiled sympathetically and shrugged her shoulders. While you had started as a general Human Resources person, within the first few months of you being here you had taken on the majority of the 141âs HR cases until they were specifically your soldiers to manage. You were given a raise, considering how busy they kept you, and had long since been monikered as the ârules womanâ for the elite soldiers.
âHow much did they leave incomplete?â The question feels rhetorical as you tilt your head and give the files a sideward glance, noting that some were thicker than others. The captainâs obviously, because he hated finishing the things he needed to, which was followed by Sergeant Garrickâsâwhich was a surprise to you, since he seemed to be the least of your problems.
âShe was in her office for an hour muttering to herself and the longer she did, the moreâŚcolourful her language had become.â The receptionist recalls the early morning while you were still making your way toward the base and then finishes with an amused snicker at what she had heard.
âWhat a great way to start a Monday.â You sighed and grabbed the files from the desk, balancing them on one arm with your hand curled around what you could manage, to keep them intact. âThis will take me all morning to go through, if anyone needs meâŚI am not here.â
âIf they cause any problemsââ
ââthey already have caused problems.â You grimace and turn away from the desk, carting yourself and the files away from the receptionistâs desk down the hallway of the administrative building until you get to your office.
You manage to keep the files together as you unlock your door and step into the office, using the heel of your foot to close it behind you. When you are sealed away in your office, you struggle to shrug your coat off of one arm while still holding the files, and once one arm is free you focus on the other. Once you are free of your peacoat, you bend down and grab the collar of your coat and lift it from the ground and toss it onto the small two-seater couch shoved against the wall.
Relatively speaking your office is rather sparse in furniture. Other than having a desk and office chair, there are two seats in front of your desk and a small two-seater couch against the far wall, an Ikea bookshelf that is stuffed full of binders and books you need for your job, and a couple filing cabinets that are near your desk. You have limited space in your office, considering that you are the newest and youngest hire, and you are on the bottom of the figurative rung ladder.
Regardless, you find comfort in your office which seems necessary considering all the tasks you have to do on any given day when the 141 is on base and not deployed. Which in turn is why you have that little couch because there have been a handful of times where you have found yourself laid out on the sofa with a cold cloth across your eyes to drive away the headache.
âCanât fix stupidâ should have been your personal motto when you started this job, because it seems like soldiers on base that are not deployed are no more than oversized children who get themselves into trouble simply because they are bored.
Like Sergeant MacTavish who is by no means stupid, yet he thinks itâs amusing to shove decoy grenades under the beds of newly recruited soldiers. He finds it hilarious to see the soldiers almost pissing themselves from fright, which then in turn means you are sending another memo to the tactfully deadly man.
With your morning already being dedicated to taking care of the mountain of paperwork that will be set out before you, you settle yourself into your chair behind your desk and negate to turn on your computer. Instead, you reach for the left side of your desk and open the drawer to fish around for a set of headphones.
You grab your case and flip open the top, grabbing the left earbud and place it in your ear before you repeat the process with the right. Once you are settled enough, you close the lid of the case and place it back before you select a random playlist on your phone.
Each file comes with a name, rank, what unit they belong to and what skills they have, as well as a picture that is paperclipped to the front page of their file. The addition of the added information and picture is just part of the whole package, yet you know that it will act as a reminder that they are incredibly skilled.
The four soldiers that make up the task force are all incredibly smart and capable, that much is clear, and itâs obvious that they like to push your buttons one way or another.
When you are ready and the music is playing, you grab the file on top and flip open the cover to the first page, seeing the emboldened letters that spell out the full name of the leader of the 141.
Johnathon Paul Price â Captain â Task Force 141 â combat tracking, precision sniping, and aggressive close-quarters combat
The introductory page is flipped over until you come to the next and move on. You scour the pages for the missing lines of required signatures or information and pull open the drawer on the right to grab a highlighter.
You pop the cap off and push it onto the end of the highlighter to not lose the lid and begin highlighting the lines that need to be filled out. You work through the numerous pages in his file until you have odd portions here and there that he had missed, and when you are done with his you move on to the next.
John âSoapâ MacTavish â Sergeant â Task Force 141 â expert sniper, a demolitions specialist, and a lethal knife combatant
You are surprised by the large number of forms that Johnny had completed correctly, far more had been filled out properly as opposed to the Captainâs. Although you know that Price has a well-known hatred for paperwork, his missing forms are more likely due to everything else that is on his mind.
You have the same kind of expectations for Johnny and are pleasantly surprised, although you still have to give him more trouble than anyone else in the task force. Regardless of the nearly all completed forms, there are a few that still need to be done, and you make quick work of highlighting the missing pieces.
Kyle âGazâ Garrick â Sergeant â Task Force 141 â prime target elimination, covert surveillance, demolitions, close-quarters combat, and VIP protection
You get to Kyleâs file and find that is the second of the 141 to have the most missing paperwork filled out and you wonder if that is also due to the busyness of his mind. Or maybe the young sergeant was taking a page out of Captain Priceâs book by insisting that the paperwork and office side of their soldiering was far less important.
At least less important than the skills and training needed to be able to take down targets with little struggle. Regardless, you had begun to highlight the missing pieces that needed to be filled out and when you were done you moved on.
Finally, you have reached the lieutenantâs file that remains at the bottom of your pile and surprisingly is the thinnest of what you have.
Simon âGhostâ Riley â lieutenant â Task Force 141 â clandestine tradecraft, infiltration, sabotage, and marksmanship
While the other soldiers all have pictures of themselves in their file, there is a distinct lack of a photo for the lieutenant who is known to remain ice cold under the most stressing circumstances. Rather than there being a picture of the capable soldierâs face, there is a grey stock image of a profile, the kind that would be used in social media where there was a lack of an uploaded photo.
And unlike the rest of the men of the task force, Simon only has a single page that is not filled in correctly, requiring the least use of your highlighter.
The process of going through their files and highlighting missing pieces takes you a little over an hour and a halfâa dire contrast to the allotted time you had thought you spend. You surmised that you would be there all morning trying to comb through the files and paperwork that the logistics woman had given you, but you completed the task with proficiency.
Now that you were done, you had the wonderful task of tracking down the 141 to get them to complete this all properly.
You find your targets not in the mess-hall like you have expected but in a common room that resembles a break room in an ordinary office building rather than a military base. The combination of break room and common room means that there are a few worn couches set out before a television that has been through many years of use and is on itâs last leg.
There is a kitchenette with a fridge that could, likely, grow itâs own ecosystem from food forgotten or food that has been microwaved and thrown back into the fridge when it was left unfinished. To the left of the fridge is a row of countertops that hosts the microwave, two coffeepots that somehow survived the constant brewing of tar-like coffee, and a two electric kettles that have always seemed to constantly be used.
The door that leads to this break room/common room combination is shut, although you peer through the glass window that allows you to view two of the four soldiers you are looking for. Your eyes centre in upon the image of Sergeant Garrick and Sergeant MacTavish lounging on the couches in very different positions.
Johnny has his arms stretched across the back of the couch with his feet planted firmly on the ground, thighs spread, while his head lolls back and his lips part. He is sleeping, snoring really, while sitting upright on the couch.
Beside him, Sergeant Garrick is sitting on the very edge of the couch with his elbows resting on his knees, legs spread and his head leaning forward, eyes intently staring at the television. While Johnny is sleeping it appears that Kyle is watching some game on the screen and is hyper focused on whatever sport he is watching, his eyebrows furrowed in deep concentration.
You shift your attention from the two soldiers and drop it down to the handle that your fingers are wrapped around and start to twist, only to find that the door is locked from the inside. Your eyebrows mirror the furrowing of Sergeant Garrickâs, and you try again, in the event that it isnât locked but is rather hard to open. However, the second attempt is much like the first and you are unsuccessful in opening the door.
With little choice, you raise your hand and knock upon the barrier between you and two of your targets, knuckles rapping against the fireproof door with a steady knock knock knock. When you lower your fist and look back through the glass, Kyle catches your eyes as you lower your gaze toward the handle, signalling to him that the door is locked.
The sergeant catches on to what youâre saying, and he removes himself from the couch to approach the door, coming to stand by the glass window that lets you peer inside. There is a moment where you listen to the twist of the lock as it retreats into the door and then it swings open, giving you a face-to-face encounter with one of the skilled soldiers.
âSorry âbout that, love.â Kyle flashes you a grin and steps aside to let you into the common room, to which you take a look around the room and find the two soldiers you had not seen through the window. Kyle moves behind you, his hand brushing against your back as he walks back toward the couch and takes a quick swipe at Johnnyâs leg, startling the Scottish soldier awake.
He rises with a jolt and wide blue eyes, looking around like he was in the middle of some intense dream, and then his eyes return to their normalcy. When he reaches for Kyle to swipe back at him, Johnny freezes when he sees you standing in the common room with a stack of files in your arms.
âMâon yer shit-list?â Johnny groans and withdraws his arms from the back of the couch, to settle his large hands against his thighs.
âLow on my shit-list today, sergeant.â Your attention shifts from Johnny toward the circular table in the common room near the kitchenette, where both Lieutenant Riley and Captain Price are standing and siting.
The Captain is busy boiling a pot of water to make tea while holding a half-burned and consumed cigar, the kind which has the grey-blue smoke that you have noticed always seems to linger in his office. No matter how many times you had to tell him that smoking in his office is against the rules, that you have to enforce, he always seems to have a cigar somewhere.
Then, after looking at the Captain, your attention falls to Simon Riley. The lieutenant who can keep calm in any situation he faces, according to your ability to read between the lines of his skills, is sitting at the table with a cup of tea in his hand. The patterned flower cup does not match the aesthetic of the man who terrifies almost every enemy he comes across but no one would dare try to question him on it.
âNeed somethinâ, sweetâart?â When Lieutenant Riley notices your stare, he lowers the cup and quirks an eyebrow up at you while there is a subtle flex of his arm as he sets the cup down on the table.
âDamn ringmaster of a circus.â You mumble under your breath and draw your attention away from the lieutenant and focus it back on the files you have in your arms. You reach for Simonâs first since his was the last you handled and place it upon the table before you slide it across the top toward him. âYou have some incomplete paperwork that needs to be filled out.â
Simon doesnât verbally respond but he does grab the file and flip open the front cover before he starts rifling through the pages to find your highlighted sections. While he is focused on his own paperwork, you turn on your heel and move back toward the couch that Johnny and Kyle are sitting on. You lean over the back and drop each of their respective files onto their laps with no warning and then you straighten up again and stare down at the two youngest soldiers on the team.
âPaperwork? Câmon, luvââ
âDonât,â you raise your finger and point it toward Kyle, your eyebrows narrowing in response to the start of his complaint, your voice cutting him off, âeven start with me, sergeant. If you would do it right the first time I wouldnât have to hunt you down.â
âSâan excuse to see ye, hen.â Johnny, already rifling through his files, doesnât raise his head as he speaks but you can see the shadow of a playful smirk.
âCaptain.â You turn back on your heel, turning your back to Johnny, and face the infamous leader of these men. âYou have more than anyone.â
John, to your accusation, looks at you over the teacup in his hand and stares you down with those blue eyes that are conveying the physical exhaustion that comes with aging. Though he is still in better shape than a lot of people who are younger than him, you know that he feels the burden of not being in his 20sâ anymore; quickly approaching his 40sâ.
âYou returned my gift.â His voice is husky, hoarse and affected by the years of smoking cigars.
âYou didnât complete your paperwork.â You cross the distance between yourself and John, slapping the thicker file down upon the countertop and then your hand is placed upon the top of the manila folder. You use your hand to push the folder toward him with forcefulness that exemplifies the irritation you feel at having to chase them all down.
âYou might not like doing this, but it is part of your job. And itâs part of my job to chase you down when you donât have it complete, and I have much better things to do than to chase after you all.â Your attention falters from John toward Simon then Johnny and finally Gaz. âOn top of all the other things I have to doââ
ââsuch hard work for such a tiny thing.â
âIâm sorry not all of us have our own orbit.â You bite back at the lieutenant when he makes a snarky remark at your irritated comment, the snideness of your words makes the stoic soldierâs mouth quirks as a threat of a smirk plays upon his lips. âAir must be thin up there; itâs cutting off the circulation to your brain.â
 âFinish your paperwork. All of you.â It wasnât even Simon that you were really irritated by, but it is Simon who gets the bulk of your ire. With your demand made and the files dropped off with them all, you were ready to go for a sanctioned break and have your morning coffee that you missed out on. And if you were lucky, you could convince the mess hall cooks to give you an early lunch as opposed to waiting for the ravenous soldiers to get their fill.
You get to the door and start to twist the handle to open it when Johnny calls your name from behind you. You look over your shoulder and see the Scottish soldier sitting up, mirroring Gazâs position from earlier with his elbows resting on his knees.
âCouldnae let ye leave without askinâ ye if youâre in a relationshipââ his lips are already stretching into a teasing smile and your eyes narrow in response. ââcause there might be a few soldiersâ interested, if youâre single.â
âFinish your paperwork, sergeant.â Your lips become pursed and your arms cross over your chest as you keep your voice steady and your tone rooted in irritation. When you donât accept nor deny Johnnyâs claims, it brings a grin to his face regardless of your message and response. And he, in turn, responds as cheekily as you expect him to.
âYes maâam.â
The door shuts with a click behind you, muffling the sound of their voices as they begin speaking amongst themselves.
I am taking a break from writing for Avatar and focusing back on my other Call Of Duty WIPâs
My interactions with Avatar are low compared to when I started and it is making me lose a lot of motivation and energy right now to continue to write when I feel like Iâm not getting a lot of interest
I promise it wonât be forever but for my own mental health I need to focus on something else
So for now there is a pause on Avatar (at least on Tumblr)
Your feet moved along the densely packed path that led from the entrance to your familyâs kelku. You were incapable of slowing down even when passing elders of your village had scolded you for not watching where you were going.
You were a whizzing blur of braids that whipped behind you with every rushed jaunt you took, tail acting as a rudder that steered you around sharp corners. There was a sense of urgency that was only known to you, stemming from your desire to spend your day with the Sully family.
Which was opposed to sitting through one of your motherâs lessons on skinning, tanning and preparation of hides for usefulness in the clan.
There had been little struggle when you had squirmed out of your motherâs grip and darted from the entrance of your kelku. At only 7 years old, you already knew where your priorities had laid and who you wanted to spend most of your time with.
Itâs why you had gotten up so quickly in the morning, rushing through your chores and escaping your saânok before she could settle you down for her lesson.
In your haste to get to the Sullyâs kelku, you had been weaving in and out of the crowds of Omatikaya faster than anticipated. You had come to a cross path in the village and had run smack into the legs of one of the returning scouts and hunters. The tall imposing Naâvi appeared silently on the path, so quickly you had no time to stop before you collided.
As you stumbled backwards you had fallen upon your backside, smacking both elbows upon the ground which had left stunned and temporarily frozen in place. Left staring up at a scout with eyes wide. These scouts and hunters, the ones who had gone out of the village for weeks at a time, navigating their tasks as a small and elite unit of Naâvi were almost legendary.
You had heard of them and their reputations through whispers of hunters to beâdetailing how they wanted to be like them, to be among the few with necessary skills to be a scout.
They had learned to move through the trees without making a sound, to fly in such synchronization with their ikranâs that there was no end or beginning from ride to banshee. While you were laying awkward on the ground after running into his legs, the Naâvi turned his head and looked over his left shoulder.
He gazed down at you with a subtle twitch in the corner of his lips, an action that could have led to a smile, but it never rose.
âNĂŹtxan yawne lu, ma evi.â He had spoken with a smooth and measured voice, another practiced quirk that he had learned as a scoutâto keep his voice as controlled as his feet were with every step he had taken.
It was yet another skill that made these Naâvi so deadly and impressive, heralding abilities that went beyond those required of regular warriors in your clan.
Watch where you are going girl â that is all he had spoken to you before he turned fluidly, moving like the leaves of a tree flowing naturally with the wind.
You observed, still astonished, as he moved with such natural precision toward the clanâs cooking stations to deposit the animal. He had crouched to the ground and slid the hexapede off his shoulder, lowering it to the ground by the preparation mat.
The women and men that were responsible for creating the communal feasts had descended upon the animal, thanking the scout for his contribution.
You are surveying intently as the knives make a precise slice in the animal before the hide is just as carefully started to be separated from the meat. You knew that the hide would be stripped off the carcass and would then end up with Naâvi like your mother, who would clean and tan the hide for use elsewhere.
You watch them working with the animal with intrigue and fascination, you had never seen anyone in the clan actually process an animal before.
Usually all you would see is the still fresh hide that would need to be prepared by people like your mother, and you would often help her go by grabbing her the specific knives she had used to scrape the hide, and then the herbs she used to tan it.
You watch the preparation for so long, you miss seeing the scout disappearing from the area without making a sound. That, just as before, stuns you until a familiar flash of blonde in the corner of your eyes has you focusing again.
âSkxawng! What are you doing?â Spider calls for you while he rests his hands on your blue striped arm and shakes you back to focus.
You shake your head and look at the human boy who, just like you, would rather spend his time with the Sullyâs as opposed to the laboratory with the scientists. There is a familiarity between you and Spider that flourishes with the shared desire to be around the young Naâviâs that you have crushes on.
For Spider it is Kiri; for you it is Neteyam. The two of you, with your childhood crushes, have more in common with each other than you had originally thought when Neteyam and Loâak introduced you to the human boy.
You know that some do not like the Sky-Person hanging around the village because he is not one of you, but his insistence of being around makes sense. He is a boy and there are very few children his age around hereâat least those who are human like him.
âSkxawng! Hurry up!â Spider is calling back for you while you remain on the floor, his voice being the final push for you to rise to your feet.
You scramble forward and begin your tact of weaving in and out of the crowds of Naâvi to chase after him, following the flow of blonde dreadlocks that whip behind him. When you finally catch up to Spider you skid, successfully, to a stop outside the Sullyâs kelku and raise your hand to push the privacy curtain back.
Once it is shifted and moved, you have a clear view into the Sully home and the natural rhythm of their family that you love to be apart of.
Jake, Toruk Makto and the Oloâeyktan, is by the rack of his and Neytiriâs weapons, taking account of what needs to be fixed and what is ready for hunting. You can see him standing proud and tall by the weapons with dreadlocks, that Spider admired enough to copy, gathered together in a single tie.
His hair hangs down his back, the very ends of which are only a few inches above his tail and are embellished with beads created by his mate and children.
Neytiri is sitting by the fire creating little clothes for their baby-to-be, a girl that they say will be named Tuktirey. You can see her resting upon her knees, with her baby belly protruding and getting rounder as she grows closer to the day of her birth.
She is wearing one of the shawls you have seen Moâat wearing a time or two, and you know it bring Neytiri comfort because it smells like her mother, the tsahik.
Kiri and Loâak are both sitting on their hammocks looking bored but as you and Spider arrive, the two have very different reactions to you arriving. While Kiriâs face lights up at the sight of her âmonkey boyâ showing up, Loâakâs expression is one of relief. Boredom does not suit Loâak well, and it shows.
âKaltxĂŹ!â You greet the family with a beaming smile, your voice and expression rooted in your excitement to see them all, but specifically to see Neteyam.
âKaltxĂŹ, ma uksyĂŹp.â Jake turns away from the weapons rack, greeting you with a hello and his usual nickname for you. By calling you âlittle shadowâ, he is both teasing you about your fascination and crush with his eldest son.
You were a common presence here in the Sully family home, often arriving early in the morning and not leaving until it was almost eclipse. Sometimes you would arrive with some kind of gift, whether that was fruit or pieces of meat you had snuck from the communal kitchen.
And other times you would show upon with scraps of nature that you found along your hours spent in the forest when you werenât here.
Jake and Neytiri teased you by claiming that you were practising for when it came time for you to court Neteyam when you were ready. Usually, those little quips and teases would have Neteyamâs cheeks flushing and his squeaky protest that you were not courting because you were too young.
âMĂŹpey lu Neteyam?â You ask the question that lingers on your mind when you donât see the eldest of the Sully family around, hoping that he would be back soon.
âPo lu hu tsahik.â Neytiri answers with a softness that you know is delivered as a measurable way to soften the disappointment that falls upon your small shoulders.
âOh.â You make the sound and your lips are drawn into a small frown as your hairless eyebrows furrow. The news makes your shoulder droop and your staggering excitement begins to falter, slowly being replaced by disappointment that feels far too raw.
âNga tsun fĂŹtsenge sĂŹyawn txo nga zene.â Neytiri speaks again and offers you a place beside her, extending the invitation to stay regardless of Neteyam being gone to see his grandmother.
There is a moment of hesitation as you turn your head and look out toward the exit of their family home, and a debate begins in your mind. Whether you take the invitation to stay here with the Sullyâs is being debated internally with the possibility of going to find Neteyam.
 Ultimately you decide to take the invitation and skip forward to come and sit by Neytiriâs side, wherein you reach for pieces of hide that you know your mother and you had worked on.
As you lay it against your lap and run a hand along the smooth tanned hide, you naturally lift your head and look for the boy whose presence you are missing.
âAynga lu lekye'ung srak?â The accusation rises in the council room that is emptied aside from yourself and the Oloâeyktan, temporary as it is. You know that by asking Tarsem if he is out of his mind you are igniting a spark of disrespect however you also know that Tarsem understands the complicated nature of what he is asking.
Tarsem is sitting upon the floor instead of the throne that he is rightfully given as the leader of the clan. He is sitting with a chubby faced baby between his legs, chin shiny from the slobber that runs down the curve of her lips while one fist is shoved into her mouth to gnaw on.
You know that the little one is teething, and you know that she is hopelessly attached to her daddy, enough that Tarsem often has to bring her with him to the council room instead of leaving her with her saânok.
When you accuse him of being out of his mind, he raises his head and looks at you with the expression that is conducive of wanting to tease you and be empathetic with you.
He knows that you and Neteyam were incredibly close when you were growing up and he understands that there was a falling out when you had turned 14. That was the time when you had passed your iknimaya and had been chosen for one of the coveted spots of a scout.
That decision to choose to become an apprentice of the many great scouts had taken you away from the village for weeks at a time, another factor that had widened the growing cavern between you and the eldest Sully son.
Though not many had known why you had decided to pull away from Neteyam, it was obvious that something had happened. The little shadow that had used to be thick as thieves with Neteyam, had become less of a constant figure.
Although hadnât stopped being friends with Loâak, Kiri or Tuk, things had inherently been more tense with Neteyam.
It was only after the Sullyâs had left for Awaâatlu that you had told Tarsem the truth. And Tarsem had likewise informed you that Neteyam had confided in himself and Jake, before the Sullyâs left, that he missed you, that he didnât understand why you were distancing yourself. It was complicated and it wasnât an easy of a fix as Tarsem would have believed.
You do not get over the boy you were in love with calling you âannoyingâ and claiming that he would ârather drink acid than court youâ. There was no feasible way for you to forget the blatant purpose and truth in Neteyamâs voice as he insulted you in front of the older hunters who had teased him about you being his lover.
âThere are other scoutsââ
ââthey are busy scouting the RDAâs movement on the edge of our territory. And you are the best.â Tarsem offers you a compliment as he negates the one defence you try to make, that he should send someone else.
And by sliding a compliment into his roundabout way of giving you an order as the Oloâeyktan, he is trying to smooth you over; butter you up to accept the order you had been given.
As if you would go against the Oloâeyktan who was giving you a task that you have completed willingly any other time. It was only because it now involved the Sullyâs that you had been so hesitant, not necessarily unwilling but certainly questioning whether no one else could do this.
However, if your Oloâeyktan had insisted, you knew you would comply even if you would rather slam your own hand in a weaving loom.
âScout ahead and make sure the approach back to the clan is clearâ a directive for a Naâvi like you who had been trained for more than 4 years to move silently in the shadows.
Since you were 14 years old you had been an apprentice to the kinds of Naâvi that you had witnessed when you were 7, the Omatikaya who had moved in such intense silence that you wondered if his feet had even touched ground.
That was the calculated silence that you had learned through many trials and errors of your early training days. Weeks after you had completed your iknimaya at 14, you had gone into training to become a scout, and you had to essentially relearn all your skills with the directive to be inconceivably silent.
Move in the shadows without being seen, learning to track without disturbing the nature around you, hunting with bow and arrows without the sharp twang of the string as it was pulled.
You had the skills to pass your iknimaya but becoming one of the deadly silent scouts that amazed you when you were only 7 took more focus and concentration than you had used when you were earning your place among the clan.
Although it was the hardest task you had ever set out to complete, in the end it had been worth it. You had become an incredibly astute and capable scout who moved like a phantom across the forest floor, proficient in slipping in and out of RDA bases and facilities without a trace.
Your desperation to escape continuous training alongside Neteyam after he had broken your heart had given you the motivation, the drive to pursue the elitism of being an emissary. For weeks on end you would leave the village with the group of hunters you would be training under and learn to live within the forest; the safety of the village was long behind you.
Out in the density of the forest the Omatikaya had called home, you were instructed to be as indistinguishable from the forest as the flora and fauna.
Scout ahead â make the pathway clear â escort them home
It is the conversation you had with Tarsem before you had visited the tsahik, that echoes in your mind. Repetitive as the insctructions your Oloâeyktan had been to be the guide that would assist the Sullyâs in returning to the forests most of them were born in.
It was this designative task that had you packing supplies in the event that you had to be grounded if there was an attack from the RDA. The words that act as a melodious song akin to something some in the clan would sing as they reminisce on their songcords.
Words, directions, instructions for this act of welcoming the Sullyâs home to the clan they had left behind. You are a phantom figure, you and your ikran move as one in a flight that is both attentive to the world around you, and freeing in the moments before you would see them.
You depart from Hometree and fly over the floating mountains, connected to each other by thick vines that you had ran across. The memory of a younger you chasing after Neteyam, Loâak, Kiri and Spider is an unsettling stone that weighs down your heart and your stomach.
Everywhere you see them; him.
Every where you look there are stilled images that flash in your mind and dissipate as a fog slipping through your fingers. You had wholly settled yourself with the falsified hope that you would never have to see him again, you know that was never a valid reality.
Neytiri would never have stayed away from her forest forever, neither would her children, they would always want to be drawn back here.
However, you had aligned yourself with a vapid likelihood that he would stay in Awaâatlu amongst the reef people and you would not have to see the boy who called you annoying; who suggested at 14 years old, that he would rather drink acid than be your mate.
You could have lived a happy life without seeing the boy who had taken your acts of friendship, a childhood crush that turned to the beginning roots of real love and turned it into something ugly.
Neteyam had taken the openness of your heart and crushed it beneath his fingers while being entirely unaware that you had heard him. He had believed that you were avoiding him for some other reason, he had anticipated that your cold shoulder must have had to do with him passing his iknimaya before youâas if that was enough for you to treat him so indifferently.
After you had heard the words spewed from his mouth to impress older hunters, you had retained your friendship with Loâak, Kiri, Spider and Tuk without any change of personality. You were still the warm person you had been when you hadnât experienced heartbreak but not to Neteyamâneteyam had the pleasure of receiving your neutrality.
You treated him like you would have any other member of the clan that you did not feel particularly close to; with respect that was pinched.
Your ikran reminds you to focus when your mind had strayed and your emotions begin to bleed through your connected kuruâs. Regardless of having the astute ability and training to scour the skies and the mountains below you while you fly, you are distracted enough that your ikran needs to recenter your focus.
It is with a soft hiss that your ikran makes your attention and emotions shift back to where they should be. Your mind needs to be sharp, and your emotions will alter your ikranâs ability to fly if they become too poignant.
You thank you ikran for the reminder by leaning forward and brushing your hand down itâs neck, a subtle and quick pet before it begins to shoot upward vertically. This is a tactic you are used to using when you are scouting, in order for you to get a greater look at what you are potentially flying into, you will rise higher in the sky.
As you reach the desires height, your ikran gracefully spins into a barrel roll as a measure of amusement and to break the clouds that are between you and a clear view.
As you come up on the other side, you lean to the left and glance at the area below you, forming a mental marker of where you are above the hallelujah mountains and where you expect to see them.
It does not take more than five minutes before you hear and see the first of the mountain bansheeâs that are familiar to you. The first shrieks rise like a siren against the mostly clear sky rendering itself as an announcement that the ikranâs remember where they had come from.
Jake is in front, leading his family like he always has. His ikran, Bob, has colouring that stands out against Neytiriâs ikran to the left of him. With bright blue colouring that is the base, there are patterns of purple, brown, yellow and black that run around his wings and skin.
Jake looks back at his mate and though you cannot see his expression, you think he is smiling at the ease his mate feels to be returning home.
Neytiri is next, her ikran flies almost completely side by side with Bob. Saâata is similarly coloured to Seze, but Saâata has more blue compared to the yellow and green secondary markings. Her ikran is not as playful as Seze, or so you have heard from Moâat, as the loss of her first had left Neytiri more guarded.
The Sully boys are flying next, side by side.
Neteyamâs ikran is the first you see, the green base colour of itâs skin is broken up by yellow and brown with hints of lighter green stripes that run along its wings. The colouring of Neteyamâs ikran is similar to Seze although there is greener.
You see Loâakâs ikran taking a dive and a spin, carelessly soaring through the sky with little care what could be out there. His ikran is sky blue like the horizon after the sunrise, with secondary markings of purple, yellow, brown and black.
Kiri is flying nearby Neteyam and takes Loâakâs place when Loâak takes the dive. Her ikran stands out as the most vibrant of them all, with striking turquoise, vibrant blue and purple markingsâ different from her first ikran.
You see them as they are flying in formation, unaware that you are here. You are high enough in the sky that they would miss you here, and even if they had suspected you were watching them, it is your practiced precision to not be seen.
You watch them all, observing the way they fly so different from the other. With Loâak and Neytiri are seemingly so relaxed and eased, Neteyam and Jake seem guardes. Though Jake is watching Neytiri with pride, there is still the natural edge and tension that sits on his shouldersâjust like his son.
âLetâs make ourselves seen.â You lean forward and whisper to your ikran, the same decision and sense passing between youâan idea to have a little fun.
Your ikran begins diving sharply, wings tucked into the sides to gain speed. You lean forward until your belly almost touches your ikranâs neck, flying with speed toward the Sullyâs. When your ikran shrieks as it approaches the family, it suddenly extends itâs wings and flies overtop Neteyam and Loâak, startling the boys.
When Loâak curses you out for scaring him, your head lolls back with a laugh as you follow through with the roll. You fly over their ikranâs and underneath, swooping back up in a rise that brings you to a hover above them.
âConsider that your welcome home, Loâak!â You call out to him from above and take another small dive back around the family, blatantly ignoring the set of golden eyes that follow you as you move.
As you look back at the boy who broke your heart, his lips rise into a smile that you do not return. That smile you once fell so heavily for, stirs the burning ashes of resentment that has you throwing a scowl back at himâan evident reminder that you are not as happy to see him as he is you.
Yes anything that is aonung with air trader reader, Brat sully, any sully, any reader we want
Vigil
Summary: On the anniversary of the Mangkwan attacking your clan, you light lanterns away from the main village in the memory of your family
Warnings: mentions of death, grief
There is a telling darkness that is only stifled by the glow of lanterns that you begin lighting underneath the cover of mangrove trees. The lengths of the trail that you have wandered to have brought you here, to an opening in the density of the mangrove trees that act as your own private solitude.
Here you kneel against the ground and feel the penetrating chill off the air that blows in off the shoreline, capable of cutting through the well-woven travelling wrap that you have bundled around yourself. It still carries the scent of your oldest sister, although the scent is fading you still cling to the clothing. You carry it with you and you wear it as if it is a safety blanket while your hands are shaking.
While you are trembling and struggling to light the flame that will illuminate the lantern and allow it to float when you release it. Your hands feel numb but not from the cold; from the grief that still makes it hard to catch your breath. The feeling of loss is poignant, and the devastation your clan suffered still weighs heavy upon you even a year later.
It is as hard for you to believe that a year has passed, as it is to understand why you were so lucky to be spared. Why had the Mangkwan clan attacked on the departure trip that you had not been on, instead of one of the many other excursions. These questions lay heavily on your mind and they are another catalyst that has you stumbling to light your lantern.
You can feel the phantom sensation of something invisible squeezing your throat until you cannot physically breathe. The strain of your body to inhale is deenergizing, it sucks out whatever fight you have until you are ready to collapse. And with the struggle to breathe, comes the first sorrowed, painful cry.
A cry and shaking hands that are calmed when another's hand settles on yours. The scent of saltwater, sun and musk is begins to infiltrate your senses, and you know which Metkayina has joined you here. You do not need to turn your head, you do not need to speak his name or even take a glance at the Na'vi who has joined you here.
"Let me help you." He speaks with a voice that carries warmth and comfort, and you lean back on your haunches, every muscle in your body feels exhausted from the bare minimum. Your eyes feel unfocused and distant as you look ahead at the sea that continues it's ever flowing motions while you feel as if your world is coming to a stop.
"It hurts." Two words that are so simplistic yet carry a crushing burden that ferries in the immense heartbreak that threatens you. The tightening of your throat is only furthered by the burning of tears that will soon roll down your cheeks.
"I know." Beside you, Ao'nung is helping light the flames that will feed the lanterns, and they will soon be released in memory of the things you lost. The people who you will never again be able to see while you are still breathing; you will only ever see them in Eywa.
Your position shifts and you are no longer sitting on your haunches but you are sitting at the end of the trail. In the place where Ao'nung had come and carved out a place among the mangrove trees for you. Carefully cutting down the necessary trees to create this private place of mourning for you - the girl that he had spent years loving and waiting for.
"I ask myself why I was not there, why I could not have been there when the Mangkwan attacked my clan." You speak with a voice that shakes and trembles, wavers with the rising foreshadow of heavy tears that will run down your cheeks. "Why was I not taken with them?"
You turn your head ever so slightly to the right and see him, the boy that asked you to stay. The boy who had loved you for so long and had waited for you, was the same boy who created this place of mourning for you.
The Metkayina boy who had stayed up for steady portions of the night to watch you sleep sporadically, and if sleep did not find you then he would talk instead. He would lay your head on his lap as he brushed his fingers through your hair and allowed you to cry, or lay there in silence while you stared out at the opening of your shared marui.
Ao'nung was there for you then and he is here for you now. He does not have to ask; he knows you won't ask. Yet he helps anyway, he is here and he is helping you while your hands are incapable of igniting the flames because of the frigidness that makes your bones suffer as if they have been dipped in the ice waters of the far north.
"Ma syulang..." His voice is just as soft, just as tender as when he first arrived here to your private escape. You can see the look in his eyes, the emotional depth of empathy that clashes with the guilt that is blooming from the roots of relief.
Ao'nung leaves the lanterns alone for a moment and reaches for you; to touch your cheek and brush his thumb across your striped skin, wiping away a tear. "I would have lost you, ma muntxate. Your father made me promise that I would not let you go after them, after your sister and your sempul."
"I know." Another few tears roll down your cheeks and Ao'nung wipes them as well, he clears them off your skin and then he shifts his hands to cup your cheeks. He leans down just as he gently pulls you forward to rest his forehead against your own. Your eyes close but the tears do not stop flowing, not when Ao'nung begins to hum a song that you had not heard in far too long.
The words, the melody, they all belong to the lullaby your mother had sung to you when you were younger. The sound of it coming from Ao'nung's lips is a bittersweet marker of your life, knowing that you have your mate but you have lost your sisters and mother. And it hurts to know that you will be bringing a baby into your lives that will never know the love of your mother and sister's love. Your baby will have to rely on the stories that you will tell them while you are still not fully processed the grief.
"Let me carry some of the burden for you." Ao'nung ends the song with a statement, an offer, that does not require a statement in return.
He hands you one of the lanterns you have carried up here and he secures it in your hands, watching as you wrap your fingers around the bottom edge. When you are ready he brings a flame toward the wick and waits until the fire catches and as it does, his hands graze yours to help you hold the lantern steady.
He comforts you as you whisper a message to the lantern as if you are talking to your sisters, conveying everything you had wished you could tell them before they were taken from you. When you are done your message and ready to let the lantern go, Ao'nung helps with that as well. He helps you pull your hands off of the light that will be sent up to Eywa and then he helps you with another.
Over and over until your lanterns are gone; until you are alone with him. Once there is nothing left to light, Ao'nung steadies you in his lap as the exhaustion catches up to you, and you are naturally seeking for the grounding feeling of his arms tightening around you.
Beneath the glow of lanterns that are floating off against the background of brightly burning stars and bioluminescence, you are held by a Metkayina who wishes he could take your grief for you.
A boy who loved a girl so much that he waited for her for two years, and would continue to wait for her until the end of his life.
Yes anything that is aonung with air trader reader, Brat sully, any sully, any reader we want
Vigil
Summary: On the anniversary of the Mangkwan attacking your clan, you light lanterns away from the main village in the memory of your family
Warnings: mentions of death, grief
There is a telling darkness that is only stifled by the glow of lanterns that you begin lighting underneath the cover of mangrove trees. The lengths of the trail that you have wandered to have brought you here, to an opening in the density of the mangrove trees that act as your own private solitude.
Here you kneel against the ground and feel the penetrating chill off the air that blows in off the shoreline, capable of cutting through the well-woven travelling wrap that you have bundled around yourself. It still carries the scent of your oldest sister, although the scent is fading you still cling to the clothing. You carry it with you and you wear it as if it is a safety blanket while your hands are shaking.
While you are trembling and struggling to light the flame that will illuminate the lantern and allow it to float when you release it. Your hands feel numb but not from the cold; from the grief that still makes it hard to catch your breath. The feeling of loss is poignant, and the devastation your clan suffered still weighs heavy upon you even a year later.
It is as hard for you to believe that a year has passed, as it is to understand why you were so lucky to be spared. Why had the Mangkwan clan attacked on the departure trip that you had not been on, instead of one of the many other excursions. These questions lay heavily on your mind and they are another catalyst that has you stumbling to light your lantern.
You can feel the phantom sensation of something invisible squeezing your throat until you cannot physically breathe. The strain of your body to inhale is deenergizing, it sucks out whatever fight you have until you are ready to collapse. And with the struggle to breathe, comes the first sorrowed, painful cry.
A cry and shaking hands that are calmed when another's hand settles on yours. The scent of saltwater, sun and musk is begins to infiltrate your senses, and you know which Metkayina has joined you here. You do not need to turn your head, you do not need to speak his name or even take a glance at the Na'vi who has joined you here.
"Let me help you." He speaks with a voice that carries warmth and comfort, and you lean back on your haunches, every muscle in your body feels exhausted from the bare minimum. Your eyes feel unfocused and distant as you look ahead at the sea that continues it's ever flowing motions while you feel as if your world is coming to a stop.
"It hurts." Two words that are so simplistic yet carry a crushing burden that ferries in the immense heartbreak that threatens you. The tightening of your throat is only furthered by the burning of tears that will soon roll down your cheeks.
"I know." Beside you, Ao'nung is helping light the flames that will feed the lanterns, and they will soon be released in memory of the things you lost. The people who you will never again be able to see while you are still breathing; you will only ever see them in Eywa.
Your position shifts and you are no longer sitting on your haunches but you are sitting at the end of the trail. In the place where Ao'nung had come and carved out a place among the mangrove trees for you. Carefully cutting down the necessary trees to create this private place of mourning for you - the girl that he had spent years loving and waiting for.
"I ask myself why I was not there, why I could not have been there when the Mangkwan attacked my clan." You speak with a voice that shakes and trembles, wavers with the rising foreshadow of heavy tears that will run down your cheeks. "Why was I not taken with them?"
You turn your head ever so slightly to the right and see him, the boy that asked you to stay. The boy who had loved you for so long and had waited for you, was the same boy who created this place of mourning for you.
The Metkayina boy who had stayed up for steady portions of the night to watch you sleep sporadically, and if sleep did not find you then he would talk instead. He would lay your head on his lap as he brushed his fingers through your hair and allowed you to cry, or lay there in silence while you stared out at the opening of your shared marui.
Ao'nung was there for you then and he is here for you now. He does not have to ask; he knows you won't ask. Yet he helps anyway, he is here and he is helping you while your hands are incapable of igniting the flames because of the frigidness that makes your bones suffer as if they have been dipped in the ice waters of the far north.
"Ma syulang..." His voice is just as soft, just as tender as when he first arrived here to your private escape. You can see the look in his eyes, the emotional depth of empathy that clashes with the guilt that is blooming from the roots of relief.
Ao'nung leaves the lanterns alone for a moment and reaches for you; to touch your cheek and brush his thumb across your striped skin, wiping away a tear. "I would have lost you, ma muntxate. Your father made me promise that I would not let you go after them, after your sister and your sempul."
"I know." Another few tears roll down your cheeks and Ao'nung wipes them as well, he clears them off your skin and then he shifts his hands to cup your cheeks. He leans down just as he gently pulls you forward to rest his forehead against your own. Your eyes close but the tears do not stop flowing, not when Ao'nung begins to hum a song that you had not heard in far too long.
The words, the melody, they all belong to the lullaby your mother had sung to you when you were younger. The sound of it coming from Ao'nung's lips is a bittersweet marker of your life, knowing that you have your mate but you have lost your sisters and mother. And it hurts to know that you will be bringing a baby into your lives that will never know the love of your mother and sister's love. Your baby will have to rely on the stories that you will tell them while you are still not fully processed the grief.
"Let me carry some of the burden for you." Ao'nung ends the song with a statement, an offer, that does not require a statement in return.
He hands you one of the lanterns you have carried up here and he secures it in your hands, watching as you wrap your fingers around the bottom edge. When you are ready he brings a flame toward the wick and waits until the fire catches and as it does, his hands graze yours to help you hold the lantern steady.
He comforts you as you whisper a message to the lantern as if you are talking to your sisters, conveying everything you had wished you could tell them before they were taken from you. When you are done your message and ready to let the lantern go, Ao'nung helps with that as well. He helps you pull your hands off of the light that will be sent up to Eywa and then he helps you with another.
Over and over until your lanterns are gone; until you are alone with him. Once there is nothing left to light, Ao'nung steadies you in his lap as the exhaustion catches up to you, and you are naturally seeking for the grounding feeling of his arms tightening around you.
Beneath the glow of lanterns that are floating off against the background of brightly burning stars and bioluminescence, you are held by a Metkayina who wishes he could take your grief for you.
A boy who loved a girl so much that he waited for her for two years, and would continue to wait for her until the end of his life.
Summary: Ghost bears the marks of a great loveâhidden in the lines of ink
He is a soldier; a man who is used to death.
He is a man who has exceptional skills that come from a cold exterior that locked into place when he put on the mask. When he donned the reinforced vest, he became the man they called Ghost, the lieutenant who did his duty and followed the right kind of orders.
Beneath it all, was the real man. Under the patterned scarf he wore around his neck that hid the tattoos with deep sentimental meaning. There were the gloves that obscured his knuckles, and the ring that was engraved in his skin via the fine lines of a tattoo gunâimperfect but that was what he loved about it.
That tattoo was done by his wife, by the Mrs. Riley that stayed at home with the chubby cheeked little baby who drooled everywhere, because he was cutting teeth. The lines of the tattoo were shakily inked, couldâve been because youâd never done a tattoo before. Or it mightâve been because you were crying big tears, real emotional as you held the tattoo gun and tried it to hurt him.
Tried not to hurt Lieutenant Simon Ghost Riley, who had been shot more than most people get vaccines. He had felt the sting of the bullets that cut through flesh and leave gaping holes, bleeders that wonât stop until a piece of cloth is shoved in them.
But noâhis darling wife, softly curved with an ass that he desperately wanted to sink his teeth intoâwas worried about a tattoo.
His darling little wife who had spilled coffee on herself. Who apologized on their first real dinner date because she wanted a steak and not a salad and if Simon was going to be turned off by that than she was sorryâ
Damn those men who had gotten to you before him, who had you convinced that your body was deserved criticism.
He wore the marks of you in the lines of black ink, some coloured, that were symbols or initials of important events. Images that werenât at all revelling of who you were to anyone but him; to the soldiers he fought side by side with. There was an inexplicable need to keep you shielded from the life he had as a soldier.
But still he had a ring on his finger, tattooed to symbolize he was married but nothing more. No names, no dates, no locationsâjust a ring in ink.
Above his heart he had your sonâs birthdate right next to yours. It was some miracle that heâd been able to be there when your baby was born, little monster came out kicking and screaming and fighting. It made Simon proud to know that his boy had a strong set of lungs and a willingness to fight.
You were the very centre of their lives, Simonâs and his baby boyâs. You were the mama, the wife, the love of his life and the reason why his son smiled as brightly as he had. You were the heart of their lives, the very reason why Simon had tried to hard not to let the guns take him out while still being the guard between you and the chaos in the world.
It was you. It was your baby.
Reminders of her, inked onto his skin and hidden beneath tools used for war. Reminders of what was waiting for him and why he had to come home.
You and your baby; the promise of a happy ever after that he was looking forward to.
You should definitely read MJ Marinoâs Mercy Ravens MC romance series. Itâs really really good I think you would like the series. When I reread this series it reminded me of how you characterize the 141.
If you donât mind reading e books, you should use ty website to (allegedly) pirate it : ebookhunter
I will have to add it to my list of things to write đ Iâm such a sucker for touch-her-and-die kind of vibes and Iâm sure Iâd die for this series
Your feet moved along the densely packed path that led from the entrance to your familyâs kelku. You were incapable of slowing down even when passing elders of your village had scolded you for not watching where you were going.
You were a whizzing blur of braids that whipped behind you with every rushed jaunt you took, tail acting as a rudder that steered you around sharp corners. There was a sense of urgency that was only known to you, stemming from your desire to spend your day with the Sully family.
Which was opposed to sitting through one of your motherâs lessons on skinning, tanning and preparation of hides for usefulness in the clan.
There had been little struggle when you had squirmed out of your motherâs grip and darted from the entrance of your kelku. At only 7 years old, you already knew where your priorities had laid and who you wanted to spend most of your time with.
Itâs why you had gotten up so quickly in the morning, rushing through your chores and escaping your saânok before she could settle you down for her lesson.
In your haste to get to the Sullyâs kelku, you had been weaving in and out of the crowds of Omatikaya faster than anticipated. You had come to a cross path in the village and had run smack into the legs of one of the returning scouts and hunters. The tall imposing Naâvi appeared silently on the path, so quickly you had no time to stop before you collided.
As you stumbled backwards you had fallen upon your backside, smacking both elbows upon the ground which had left stunned and temporarily frozen in place. Left staring up at a scout with eyes wide. These scouts and hunters, the ones who had gone out of the village for weeks at a time, navigating their tasks as a small and elite unit of Naâvi were almost legendary.
You had heard of them and their reputations through whispers of hunters to beâdetailing how they wanted to be like them, to be among the few with necessary skills to be a scout.
They had learned to move through the trees without making a sound, to fly in such synchronization with their ikranâs that there was no end or beginning from ride to banshee. While you were laying awkward on the ground after running into his legs, the Naâvi turned his head and looked over his left shoulder.
He gazed down at you with a subtle twitch in the corner of his lips, an action that could have led to a smile, but it never rose.
âNĂŹtxan yawne lu, ma evi.â He had spoken with a smooth and measured voice, another practiced quirk that he had learned as a scoutâto keep his voice as controlled as his feet were with every step he had taken.
It was yet another skill that made these Naâvi so deadly and impressive, heralding abilities that went beyond those required of regular warriors in your clan.
Watch where you are going girl â that is all he had spoken to you before he turned fluidly, moving like the leaves of a tree flowing naturally with the wind.
You observed, still astonished, as he moved with such natural precision toward the clanâs cooking stations to deposit the animal. He had crouched to the ground and slid the hexapede off his shoulder, lowering it to the ground by the preparation mat.
The women and men that were responsible for creating the communal feasts had descended upon the animal, thanking the scout for his contribution.
You are surveying intently as the knives make a precise slice in the animal before the hide is just as carefully started to be separated from the meat. You knew that the hide would be stripped off the carcass and would then end up with Naâvi like your mother, who would clean and tan the hide for use elsewhere.
You watch them working with the animal with intrigue and fascination, you had never seen anyone in the clan actually process an animal before.
Usually all you would see is the still fresh hide that would need to be prepared by people like your mother, and you would often help her go by grabbing her the specific knives she had used to scrape the hide, and then the herbs she used to tan it.
You watch the preparation for so long, you miss seeing the scout disappearing from the area without making a sound. That, just as before, stuns you until a familiar flash of blonde in the corner of your eyes has you focusing again.
âSkxawng! What are you doing?â Spider calls for you while he rests his hands on your blue striped arm and shakes you back to focus.
You shake your head and look at the human boy who, just like you, would rather spend his time with the Sullyâs as opposed to the laboratory with the scientists. There is a familiarity between you and Spider that flourishes with the shared desire to be around the young Naâviâs that you have crushes on.
For Spider it is Kiri; for you it is Neteyam. The two of you, with your childhood crushes, have more in common with each other than you had originally thought when Neteyam and Loâak introduced you to the human boy.
You know that some do not like the Sky-Person hanging around the village because he is not one of you, but his insistence of being around makes sense. He is a boy and there are very few children his age around hereâat least those who are human like him.
âSkxawng! Hurry up!â Spider is calling back for you while you remain on the floor, his voice being the final push for you to rise to your feet.
You scramble forward and begin your tact of weaving in and out of the crowds of Naâvi to chase after him, following the flow of blonde dreadlocks that whip behind him. When you finally catch up to Spider you skid, successfully, to a stop outside the Sullyâs kelku and raise your hand to push the privacy curtain back.
Once it is shifted and moved, you have a clear view into the Sully home and the natural rhythm of their family that you love to be apart of.
Jake, Toruk Makto and the Oloâeyktan, is by the rack of his and Neytiriâs weapons, taking account of what needs to be fixed and what is ready for hunting. You can see him standing proud and tall by the weapons with dreadlocks, that Spider admired enough to copy, gathered together in a single tie.
His hair hangs down his back, the very ends of which are only a few inches above his tail and are embellished with beads created by his mate and children.
Neytiri is sitting by the fire creating little clothes for their baby-to-be, a girl that they say will be named Tuktirey. You can see her resting upon her knees, with her baby belly protruding and getting rounder as she grows closer to the day of her birth.
She is wearing one of the shawls you have seen Moâat wearing a time or two, and you know it bring Neytiri comfort because it smells like her mother, the tsahik.
Kiri and Loâak are both sitting on their hammocks looking bored but as you and Spider arrive, the two have very different reactions to you arriving. While Kiriâs face lights up at the sight of her âmonkey boyâ showing up, Loâakâs expression is one of relief. Boredom does not suit Loâak well, and it shows.
âKaltxĂŹ!â You greet the family with a beaming smile, your voice and expression rooted in your excitement to see them all, but specifically to see Neteyam.
âKaltxĂŹ, ma uksyĂŹp.â Jake turns away from the weapons rack, greeting you with a hello and his usual nickname for you. By calling you âlittle shadowâ, he is both teasing you about your fascination and crush with his eldest son.
You were a common presence here in the Sully family home, often arriving early in the morning and not leaving until it was almost eclipse. Sometimes you would arrive with some kind of gift, whether that was fruit or pieces of meat you had snuck from the communal kitchen.
And other times you would show upon with scraps of nature that you found along your hours spent in the forest when you werenât here.
Jake and Neytiri teased you by claiming that you were practising for when it came time for you to court Neteyam when you were ready. Usually, those little quips and teases would have Neteyamâs cheeks flushing and his squeaky protest that you were not courting because you were too young.
âMĂŹpey lu Neteyam?â You ask the question that lingers on your mind when you donât see the eldest of the Sully family around, hoping that he would be back soon.
âPo lu hu tsahik.â Neytiri answers with a softness that you know is delivered as a measurable way to soften the disappointment that falls upon your small shoulders.
âOh.â You make the sound and your lips are drawn into a small frown as your hairless eyebrows furrow. The news makes your shoulder droop and your staggering excitement begins to falter, slowly being replaced by disappointment that feels far too raw.
âNga tsun fĂŹtsenge sĂŹyawn txo nga zene.â Neytiri speaks again and offers you a place beside her, extending the invitation to stay regardless of Neteyam being gone to see his grandmother.
There is a moment of hesitation as you turn your head and look out toward the exit of their family home, and a debate begins in your mind. Whether you take the invitation to stay here with the Sullyâs is being debated internally with the possibility of going to find Neteyam.
 Ultimately you decide to take the invitation and skip forward to come and sit by Neytiriâs side, wherein you reach for pieces of hide that you know your mother and you had worked on.
As you lay it against your lap and run a hand along the smooth tanned hide, you naturally lift your head and look for the boy whose presence you are missing.
âAynga lu lekye'ung srak?â The accusation rises in the council room that is emptied aside from yourself and the Oloâeyktan, temporary as it is. You know that by asking Tarsem if he is out of his mind you are igniting a spark of disrespect however you also know that Tarsem understands the complicated nature of what he is asking.
Tarsem is sitting upon the floor instead of the throne that he is rightfully given as the leader of the clan. He is sitting with a chubby faced baby between his legs, chin shiny from the slobber that runs down the curve of her lips while one fist is shoved into her mouth to gnaw on.
You know that the little one is teething, and you know that she is hopelessly attached to her daddy, enough that Tarsem often has to bring her with him to the council room instead of leaving her with her saânok.
When you accuse him of being out of his mind, he raises his head and looks at you with the expression that is conducive of wanting to tease you and be empathetic with you.
He knows that you and Neteyam were incredibly close when you were growing up and he understands that there was a falling out when you had turned 14. That was the time when you had passed your iknimaya and had been chosen for one of the coveted spots of a scout.
That decision to choose to become an apprentice of the many great scouts had taken you away from the village for weeks at a time, another factor that had widened the growing cavern between you and the eldest Sully son.
Though not many had known why you had decided to pull away from Neteyam, it was obvious that something had happened. The little shadow that had used to be thick as thieves with Neteyam, had become less of a constant figure.
Although hadnât stopped being friends with Loâak, Kiri or Tuk, things had inherently been more tense with Neteyam.
It was only after the Sullyâs had left for Awaâatlu that you had told Tarsem the truth. And Tarsem had likewise informed you that Neteyam had confided in himself and Jake, before the Sullyâs left, that he missed you, that he didnât understand why you were distancing yourself. It was complicated and it wasnât an easy of a fix as Tarsem would have believed.
You do not get over the boy you were in love with calling you âannoyingâ and claiming that he would ârather drink acid than court youâ. There was no feasible way for you to forget the blatant purpose and truth in Neteyamâs voice as he insulted you in front of the older hunters who had teased him about you being his lover.
âThere are other scoutsââ
ââthey are busy scouting the RDAâs movement on the edge of our territory. And you are the best.â Tarsem offers you a compliment as he negates the one defence you try to make, that he should send someone else.
And by sliding a compliment into his roundabout way of giving you an order as the Oloâeyktan, he is trying to smooth you over; butter you up to accept the order you had been given.
As if you would go against the Oloâeyktan who was giving you a task that you have completed willingly any other time. It was only because it now involved the Sullyâs that you had been so hesitant, not necessarily unwilling but certainly questioning whether no one else could do this.
However, if your Oloâeyktan had insisted, you knew you would comply even if you would rather slam your own hand in a weaving loom.
âScout ahead and make sure the approach back to the clan is clearâ a directive for a Naâvi like you who had been trained for more than 4 years to move silently in the shadows.
Since you were 14 years old you had been an apprentice to the kinds of Naâvi that you had witnessed when you were 7, the Omatikaya who had moved in such intense silence that you wondered if his feet had even touched ground.
That was the calculated silence that you had learned through many trials and errors of your early training days. Weeks after you had completed your iknimaya at 14, you had gone into training to become a scout, and you had to essentially relearn all your skills with the directive to be inconceivably silent.
Move in the shadows without being seen, learning to track without disturbing the nature around you, hunting with bow and arrows without the sharp twang of the string as it was pulled.
You had the skills to pass your iknimaya but becoming one of the deadly silent scouts that amazed you when you were only 7 took more focus and concentration than you had used when you were earning your place among the clan.
Although it was the hardest task you had ever set out to complete, in the end it had been worth it. You had become an incredibly astute and capable scout who moved like a phantom across the forest floor, proficient in slipping in and out of RDA bases and facilities without a trace.
Your desperation to escape continuous training alongside Neteyam after he had broken your heart had given you the motivation, the drive to pursue the elitism of being an emissary. For weeks on end you would leave the village with the group of hunters you would be training under and learn to live within the forest; the safety of the village was long behind you.
Out in the density of the forest the Omatikaya had called home, you were instructed to be as indistinguishable from the forest as the flora and fauna.
Scout ahead â make the pathway clear â escort them home
It is the conversation you had with Tarsem before you had visited the tsahik, that echoes in your mind. Repetitive as the insctructions your Oloâeyktan had been to be the guide that would assist the Sullyâs in returning to the forests most of them were born in.
It was this designative task that had you packing supplies in the event that you had to be grounded if there was an attack from the RDA. The words that act as a melodious song akin to something some in the clan would sing as they reminisce on their songcords.
Words, directions, instructions for this act of welcoming the Sullyâs home to the clan they had left behind. You are a phantom figure, you and your ikran move as one in a flight that is both attentive to the world around you, and freeing in the moments before you would see them.
You depart from Hometree and fly over the floating mountains, connected to each other by thick vines that you had ran across. The memory of a younger you chasing after Neteyam, Loâak, Kiri and Spider is an unsettling stone that weighs down your heart and your stomach.
Everywhere you see them; him.
Every where you look there are stilled images that flash in your mind and dissipate as a fog slipping through your fingers. You had wholly settled yourself with the falsified hope that you would never have to see him again, you know that was never a valid reality.
Neytiri would never have stayed away from her forest forever, neither would her children, they would always want to be drawn back here.
However, you had aligned yourself with a vapid likelihood that he would stay in Awaâatlu amongst the reef people and you would not have to see the boy who called you annoying; who suggested at 14 years old, that he would rather drink acid than be your mate.
You could have lived a happy life without seeing the boy who had taken your acts of friendship, a childhood crush that turned to the beginning roots of real love and turned it into something ugly.
Neteyam had taken the openness of your heart and crushed it beneath his fingers while being entirely unaware that you had heard him. He had believed that you were avoiding him for some other reason, he had anticipated that your cold shoulder must have had to do with him passing his iknimaya before youâas if that was enough for you to treat him so indifferently.
After you had heard the words spewed from his mouth to impress older hunters, you had retained your friendship with Loâak, Kiri, Spider and Tuk without any change of personality. You were still the warm person you had been when you hadnât experienced heartbreak but not to Neteyamâneteyam had the pleasure of receiving your neutrality.
You treated him like you would have any other member of the clan that you did not feel particularly close to; with respect that was pinched.
Your ikran reminds you to focus when your mind had strayed and your emotions begin to bleed through your connected kuruâs. Regardless of having the astute ability and training to scour the skies and the mountains below you while you fly, you are distracted enough that your ikran needs to recenter your focus.
It is with a soft hiss that your ikran makes your attention and emotions shift back to where they should be. Your mind needs to be sharp, and your emotions will alter your ikranâs ability to fly if they become too poignant.
You thank you ikran for the reminder by leaning forward and brushing your hand down itâs neck, a subtle and quick pet before it begins to shoot upward vertically. This is a tactic you are used to using when you are scouting, in order for you to get a greater look at what you are potentially flying into, you will rise higher in the sky.
As you reach the desires height, your ikran gracefully spins into a barrel roll as a measure of amusement and to break the clouds that are between you and a clear view.
As you come up on the other side, you lean to the left and glance at the area below you, forming a mental marker of where you are above the hallelujah mountains and where you expect to see them.
It does not take more than five minutes before you hear and see the first of the mountain bansheeâs that are familiar to you. The first shrieks rise like a siren against the mostly clear sky rendering itself as an announcement that the ikranâs remember where they had come from.
Jake is in front, leading his family like he always has. His ikran, Bob, has colouring that stands out against Neytiriâs ikran to the left of him. With bright blue colouring that is the base, there are patterns of purple, brown, yellow and black that run around his wings and skin.
Jake looks back at his mate and though you cannot see his expression, you think he is smiling at the ease his mate feels to be returning home.
Neytiri is next, her ikran flies almost completely side by side with Bob. Saâata is similarly coloured to Seze, but Saâata has more blue compared to the yellow and green secondary markings. Her ikran is not as playful as Seze, or so you have heard from Moâat, as the loss of her first had left Neytiri more guarded.
The Sully boys are flying next, side by side.
Neteyamâs ikran is the first you see, the green base colour of itâs skin is broken up by yellow and brown with hints of lighter green stripes that run along its wings. The colouring of Neteyamâs ikran is similar to Seze although there is greener.
You see Loâakâs ikran taking a dive and a spin, carelessly soaring through the sky with little care what could be out there. His ikran is sky blue like the horizon after the sunrise, with secondary markings of purple, yellow, brown and black.
Kiri is flying nearby Neteyam and takes Loâakâs place when Loâak takes the dive. Her ikran stands out as the most vibrant of them all, with striking turquoise, vibrant blue and purple markingsâ different from her first ikran.
You see them as they are flying in formation, unaware that you are here. You are high enough in the sky that they would miss you here, and even if they had suspected you were watching them, it is your practiced precision to not be seen.
You watch them all, observing the way they fly so different from the other. With Loâak and Neytiri are seemingly so relaxed and eased, Neteyam and Jake seem guardes. Though Jake is watching Neytiri with pride, there is still the natural edge and tension that sits on his shouldersâjust like his son.
âLetâs make ourselves seen.â You lean forward and whisper to your ikran, the same decision and sense passing between youâan idea to have a little fun.
Your ikran begins diving sharply, wings tucked into the sides to gain speed. You lean forward until your belly almost touches your ikranâs neck, flying with speed toward the Sullyâs. When your ikran shrieks as it approaches the family, it suddenly extends itâs wings and flies overtop Neteyam and Loâak, startling the boys.
When Loâak curses you out for scaring him, your head lolls back with a laugh as you follow through with the roll. You fly over their ikranâs and underneath, swooping back up in a rise that brings you to a hover above them.
âConsider that your welcome home, Loâak!â You call out to him from above and take another small dive back around the family, blatantly ignoring the set of golden eyes that follow you as you move.
As you look back at the boy who broke your heart, his lips rise into a smile that you do not return. That smile you once fell so heavily for, stirs the burning ashes of resentment that has you throwing a scowl back at himâan evident reminder that you are not as happy to see him as he is you.
Hello author!
I don't really send asks, so forgive me if this turns out awkward, but it's been a few months since I came across your blog, and let me tell you: THANK YOU for your amazing work (and for feeding my delusionsâŚ)
I'm mostly a COD girlie, but your Avatar stories got me HOOKED, especially your latest one, "The Art Of Falling Behind", I just can't wait to read more of it! Will it be a slow burn? Do you plan for it to be a short fic or a longer one? either way I just know it will be as perfect as every one of your fics!
P.S: english is not my first language so bear with my weird way of writing please...
P.S 2.0: I LOVE YOUR BLOG SO MUUUUUUUUUCH
-đâ
âĽď¸ This means so much to me to hear, you have no idea. This is much needed this week, and I canât thank you enough for following me from my Call of Duty journey to my Avatar journey
It really means the world to me to have followers who joined for one fandom and stayed for another, that to me is amazing
Iâm terrible with words so this probably isnât coming across right but I really really want you to know how much I appreciate you âĽď¸
As for your question, The Art Of Falling Behind is going to be a slow burn/slow build and it will be a longer series â second (probably) to Keveâotsyip and my (future planned) Sarentu/TAP/breeding program series
And your way of writing is perfect, donât worry about it. English is my first language and I still have problems with it đ
For Game Of Survival â would you prefer having a scene(s)/chapter where it shows how Aoânung/Neteyam infected with the chemical or a scene(s)/chapter where reader is tasked with heading to Awaâatlu to help Norm and Aoânung/Neteyam are already infected?
youâre not considering leaving tumblr are you? That would be so sad!
I wouldnât leave tumblr, at least not permanently
If I needed a mental health break because I was getting too caught up in my head about notes/comments/reblogs, I would take a break but I wouldnât actually leave tumblr
If anything I would just focus on what I have on AO3 and take a step back from my page here
I find it interesting that you have more notes/interactios with you call of duty stuff than your avatar stuff
Yeah itâs like I canât really break into the Avatar fandom as well as I could with COD or marvel, but it only seems that way on tumblr. All of my Avatar WIPâs always do better on AO3, same with my COD stuff
It could be for a lot of reasons, might be because Tumblr scammed me with a mature label or maybe because I donât really write smut and smut is hella popular with both COD & Avatar. Or my work could just not be as well received/well liked as other authors đ¤ˇââď¸
AO3 has less interactive possibilities than Tumblr yet I get more notes/kudos/comments there
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