TAGLIST 7/50 â @yourdarlingdevotion, @opalescentangels, @kittykittykittysilly, @16lohens, @boreaswrites, @m3llobunn1, @piinkp4ntheress, wanna be added? send in an ask or leave a comment <3
note: hi guys it's me again i don't know what im doing..........this episode is full of bad jokes did everyone laugh....okay good......
TAGLIST 7/50 â @yourdarlingdevotion, @opalescentangels, @kittykittykittysilly, @16lohens, @boreaswrites, @m3llobunn1, @piinkp4ntheress, wanna be added? send in an ask or leave a comment <3
by the time you got to psychology 230, the lecture hall was already starting to fill up.
for once, you weren't rushing.
you'd even managed to grab coffee beforehand. a personal achievement.
clorinde was already there when you arrived.
of course she was.
you spotted her halfway up the lecture hall, exactly where she'd been sitting for the past week.
the seat beside her was empty. again.
you didn't even think about it this time. you just walked over and dropped into the chair.
"good morning."
"morning."
clorinde glanced up from her laptop.
"you seem more awake today."
you set your coffee down.
"don't get used to it."
"i wasn't planning to."
you narrowed your eyes.
for a moment, the corner of her mouth twitched.
then she returned to whatever she was reading.
the professor hadn't arrived yet, leaving the room filled with scattered conversations and the occasional sound of someone desperately finishing homework.
you pulled out your notebook. clorinde looked over.
"did you finish the reading?"
you stared at her.
she stared back.
"...define finish."
"i see."
"i read most of it."
"how much is most?"
"enough."
clorinde sighed. you took that as a victory.
a few seats behind you, someone loudly complained about an upcoming quiz. several others immediately joined in.
the professor walked in moments later, ending the conversation before it could gain momentum.
as students settled down, you opened your notebook. beside you, clorinde slid a printed packet onto your desk. you blinked.
"what's this?"
"the article you forgot to download."
you looked at the packet.
then at her.
then back at the packet.
how did she know?
"...you printed me a copy?"
"you said the campus wifi hated you."
"it does."
"i know."
before you could respond, the lecture began.
you stared at the article for another second before setting it beside your notebook.
maybe furina was never allowed to hear about this.
this evening, the dorm was unusually quiet.
which probably should've been concerning.
normally, either furina was spamming the group chat or lumine was attempting to convince you to do your assignments before midnight.
today, neither was happening.
you sat cross-legged on your bed, laptop open and untouched.
across the room, lumine was reading.
actually reading.
for fun.
you still didn't understand how she did that.
your phone buzzed.
you checked it.
nothing important.
you put it down.
picked it back up thirty seconds later.
lumine didn't even look up from her book.
"waiting for something?"
"no."
"mhm."
you narrowed your eyes.
"why does nobody believe me?"
"because you're a terrible liar."
how rude!
you tossed a pillow in her direction.
she caught it without looking.
which somehow made it worse.
before you could argue, a notification appeared on your laptop.
then another.
then another.
the familiar sound echoed from lumine's side of the room.
she finally looked up.
"email?"
you clicked it open.
immediately regretted it.
"oh, you've got to be kidding me."
"what?"
"the psych professor."
lumine sat up straighter.
that was never a good sign.
you skimmed the email once.
then a second time.
hoping the words would somehow rearrange themselves into something less horrifying.
they did not.
"what?"
"the research proposal."
"what about it?"
you turned your laptop around.
lumine read silently.
then winced.
"wow."
"that's all you have to say?"
"wow."
the deadline had been moved up.
significantly.
which meant your carefully crafted plan of worrying about it later had just been destroyed.
your phone buzzed again.
this time, it was a message.
from clorinde.
you stared at the notification.
lumine noticed immediately.
"that's not the group chat."
you hated that she knew that.
"no."
"clorinde?"
you groaned.
"i hate living with you."
"was i right?"
you groaned louder.
note: how i feel after letting my tiktok shit post brainrot seep into my smau......you guys better appreciate my humor (i am the most unfunny person EVER)
TAGLIST 7/50 â @yourdarlingdevotion, @opalescentangels, @kittykittykittysilly, @16lohens, @boreaswrites, @m3llobunn1, @piinkp4ntheress, wanna be added? send in an ask or leave a comment <3
congratulations, you weren't late! a miracle, really.
you arrived at psychology 230 with three whole minutes to spare and immediately felt proud of yourself for it. as you should!
that feeling lasted maybe five seconds.
because sitting halfway up the lecture hall was clorinde.
and beside herâŠan empty seat.
you slowed, looking around you in the classroom.
there were other seats available. plenty, actually.
you could've easily sat next to your friends, or anyone you recognized in the class.
yet the seat next to her remained empty.
clorinde glanced up from her notes.noticing you standing there, she nodded toward the empty chair.
"good morning."
"morning."
you slid into the seat before your brain could overthink it.
"you made it on time today."
you stared. clorinde looked genuinely serious.
"wow."
one eyebrow lifted.
"wow?"
"i get one late arrival and suddenly i have a reputation."
for a moment, you thought you saw the corner of her mouth twitch.
"i'll keep that in mind."
you laughed despite yourself.
the professor hadn't even started class yet.
already, this conversation had lasted longer than the entirety of yesterday.
class felt a little tense now, in a way.
you now knew way more about clorinde than she probably knew about you.
beside you, clorinde opened her notebook.
"i looked over the project topics."
right. the project.
you were here for the project.
not because your project partner had apparently saved you a seat.
"and?"
"i have thoughts."
you groaned. why was she so quick?
"of course you do."
"did you see the edits to the document?â
"i did not."
"maybe you should check then."
"of course."
this time, you were almost certain she smiled.
almost.
note: omg ik the reader technically already knew that clorinde and navia were friends but shhhh. it was supposed to be implied that you don't recognize her when you're snooping around clorindes page you just kinda go "wow look at her. cool". anyways shhh. just be quiet okay? okay. anyways this is SO ass! thank you to my supporters who still read it nonetheless <3 ilya!!
contributing to the makoharu/harumako agenda....( the handle on the bottom of the fanart is to my twitter account, where i'm gonna start to post art and stuff )
đà ŹÜsummary đ at eight years old, neteyamâs presence in your life continues to become a constant. heâs just thereâ during tracking practice, during weaving sessionsâŠ. and during the walk home.
ⶠwarnings đ fem! naâvi reader, reader is omatikaya, neteyam and reader are both 8 here, new bonds and new routines, still learning to navigate social cues and what to do with awkward realizations.
we are continuing from where we left offâ word key at bottom !
Tapirus tracks wind all around the kelutral, the soil patterned and worn with printsâ leaving you wishing your karyu had chosen a more interesting animal for tracking practice.
Itâs midday, the sunlight a warm touch on your skin as it filters through the trees and highlights the forest floor. The plethora of tapirus tracks are easy to follow, the small, friendly creature unconcerned with leaving behind evidence of its existence.
You peek out from behind a tree, noticing fresh dirt kicked up and scattered about.
The tapirus must be close.
Soft rustling from the nearby bush swivels your ears, tail flicking sharply once in annoyance. You twist your neck and glare at Neteyam, whose head has popped up from said bush.
He presses a finger to his lips when your mouth opens, ready to tell him to leaveâ this is your target and he can get lost. You roll your eyes when he emerges completely, standing so close his warmth at your back dulls the cool shade of the trees.
A faint scent clings to Neteyamâ one of crushed leaves and woodsmoke from the fire this morning. Your nose scrunches, the ticklish urge to sneeze making itself known.
A hush falls over you both, the distant cries of ikran filling the silence. Neteyam taps your shoulder twice.
Then again.
Your ears twitch.
When you relent and lock eyes, his fingers form the signs for âanimalâ and âleftâ in quick succession.
Your eyes dart left, pulse jumping as you follow the line of his finger. A spark of excitement lights up your chest as a blur of color whizzes past. He signs âfollowâ and you nod, feet falling in line behind him without hesitation despite your irritation he spotted the tapirus first.
Tacky mud squishes between your toes, Neteyamâs tail flicks and hits your hip accidentally. Heâs taller, forcing you to stare at the back of his head while he leads. Neteyam freezes mid-step and you skid to a stop, barely avoiding a collision.
You peer around his shoulder, excitement snuffing out the annoyance.
There, at the base of a cheadle plant, snuffling about for vegetation, is the target.
Slowly, you step around Neteyam, reaching into your woven pouch. The rope tangles around your shaking fingers as you ease it out, eyes fixed ahead. You inch forward, careful not to disturb the forest floor.
By your side, Neteyam moves silent and catlike.
The tapirus stills. You lean in, thighs coiling tightâ
Neteyam pounces.
You spring into action, closing the remaining distance in a heartbeat.
âHold it still!â You shout, stumbling over rocks and plants, leaping to Neteyam as he wrestles the tapirus.
âWhat does it look like I am doing!â He yells. Neteyam suddenly flips the tapirus on its side, eyes wide and searching. You drop to your knees, fingers fumbling with the rope as the animal thrashes, dirt flying.
The animal squeals once the knot is tied, its fiery spirit finally accepting defeat.
You sink to your heels, chest heaving, sweat prickling your skin. Neteyam is no better, bent over on hands and knees, head low as he struggles to breathe.
As quietly as a falling leaf, your karyu descends from a tree limb. Several Naâvi children follow his lead, nowhere near as graceful.
âYou did well, young ones,â the karyu praises. He turns to the group. âWatch and learn, children!â He calls. âThrough teamwork, they tracked and captured the tapirusâ and the animal remains unharmed.â
You share a brief, awkward look with Neteyam.
Silently, you agree not to confess youâd never intended to work together at all.
Later, in the communal base of the kelutral, an hour after youâve been sentenced to weaving baskets with the other Naâvi childrenâ you wince and shake your hands out. The constant repetition creates a deep ache in your knuckles.
You stretch your arms overhead, shoulders and spine popping, and glance around to see if the others have gotten any further. Some of them have finished more than one. You frown, staring down at the halfway threaded basket in your lap like itâs offended you.
It amazes you how swiftly some kids weave.
One of the children sitting beside you, Teylan, crowds in your space, inspecting your basket with a poke and a loud hum.
âDid you weave this blind?â He asks with a laugh, straightening to his original position. âIt is awful.â
You shove his shoulder, ears flattening. âYours looks like it was crushed by an ikran!â
Teylan gapes, a genuine flicker of hurt crossing his face. His chin lifts in defiance. âOh yeah? Wellââ
âEnough,â Neteyam cuts in softly, laser focused on his basket. âWe are supposed to be weaving.â His fingers move steadily, never looking up.
Youâd completely forgotten he was there.
Teylan hesitates, then huffs and leaves you alone, returning to his weaving. You stick your tongue out when Teylan isnât looking.
Absently, you reach for another razor palm leaf, then search for your twine on autopilot. You come up empty handed, noticing too late your pile has vanished. Glancing around the group shows all the spare twine has been used.
The dread of having to leave your spot and gather materials vanishes when more twine suddenly appears, dangling in your line of sight.
Your gaze lifts, and you realize Neteyam is offering some of his. He still doesnât meet your eye, arm outstretched as if heâs patiently waiting for you to take it.
The twine lands in your open palm. Your hands automatically resume threading, cheeks warm as you pretend nothing happened.
Thereâs only enough to finish another quarter of your basket. You eye Neteyamâs neat pile of twine, fingers itching to snatch more. Lips pressed together, you shrug and reach over for more. He doesnât say a word, so you figure itâs no big deal.
You finish before Neteyamâ who is always careful and patient as he weaves, and sit for a moment with hands sticky from razor palm residue.
Most everyone has completed their share of baskets and dropped them off with the karyu for inspection, free to leave and return to their parents. You could go. You donât. Instead you linger, using your tewng to wipe your hands clean.
Neteyam stands a moment later, basket tucked under his arm, and you do the same.
You hand over your creation first, heading in the direction of the familiar vine path toward your parents. The sound of soft steps approach, unhurried and even, and your ears lift an inch. Neteyam matches your pace, shoulder to shoulder.
The journey is slow as you hop from vine to vine. Neteyam doesnât speak, neither do you.
Itâs awkward.
Lots of kids take this pathwayâ laughing and roughhousing and dancing along the woven vines. Youâve walked it so many times you know exactly where Neteyam breaks off on his own. Usually, he doesnât even look back, light on his feet and arms outstretched for balance as he continues down a more narrow vine.
The turnoff comes, then goesâ he never leaves.
Neteyam keeps walking beside you. The large split becomes visible, thick vines twisted and spiraling in different directions.
Together, you reach the end.
Your steps slow, and Neteyam matches you silently. The two of you stop and linger at the split, just standing there. The silence stretches too long and it starts to feel suffocating.
You wonder why he will not leave first, and you sneak a peek at him. Heâs fiddling with the edge of his tewng, twisting the fabric with his ears dipped low. His tails swishes behind him a little too fast. Yours does the same.
Neteyam glances up and your gaze darts to your feet. You cross your arms over your chest.
âIââ
âMy parentsââ
You both speak at once and then freeze, finally locking eyes. Embarrassment burns your cheeks. Neteyamâs ears look darker blue than usual.
The awkwardness pulls the words from your mouth without choice.
âMy parents are waiting.â You spin to leave, then hesitate. The word, âbye,â leaves you in a rush, and you refuse to turn around.
You walk swiftly in one direction, smiling and letting Neteyamâs soft spoken âbye!â linger in your head the entire way home.
ⶠword key :
tapirus : a small, docile pig-like creature on pandora.
haven't posted here in a hot minute, but just thought i'd do a small dump of my latest drawings, and tbh i kinda love how they came out for the most part and i hope that i keep it up this year
đà ŹÜsummary đ at eight years old, you struggle with learning the bow and arrow. when a boyâ whose name you canât recall at first, shows up out of nowhere and teaches you, an unintentional routine forms.
ⶠwarnings đ fem! naâvi reader, reader is omatikaya, the seeds of an important childhood friendship are planted, neteyam and reader are both 8 here, new bonds and strange feelings, learning to navigate social cues.
The water is clean and cold as it laps at your toes, shocking the soles of your feet and hitching your breath. It creeps steadily to your ankles as you wade into the shallow river stream.
You freeze when you spot movement behind a nearby rock, exposing your target.
A steady breath in, pushing it out slow. Your arms shake as the bow lifts, string biting your fingers as you fight the tension of the pull.
Itâs difficult to remember what your dad tried to teach you, but at eight years old youâre determined to figure it by yourself.
A soft breeze rustles your hair. Your elbow dips in fatigue before itâs repositioned. Thereâs a beat of silence, then the arrow soars.
It pierces the water several inches from where youâd intended.
The startled fish darts down stream, leaving you with sunken shoulders and flattened ears.
Anger balloons in your chest, a fierce heat racing to your cheeks. Your sudden stomping disturbs the stillness, chilled droplets scattering across your lower half as you hiss in frustration.
Water ripples to your left, the movement delicate enough not to disrupt other creatures.
A soft spoken voice fills the silence.
âDonât stomp, they feel it. And you are holding it wrong.â
Your torso twists to the left, bow hanging limp at your side. A boy with dark braidsâ close in age, stands a few feet away. You frown. âItâs hard,â you protest, grip tightening.
His name is just out of reach, face familiar but not coming to mind. You know heâs the Oloâeyktanâs son, and that he takes group training way too seriously.
The boyâs head tilts like he doesnât quite understand how this could be hard. His ears twitch before lifting higher. âHereâ Iâll help you,â he insists, moving closer. âTry again.â
You huff, pull another arrow from its holder, and return to your previous positionâ bow lifted, arrow pointed in the same direction. Itâs no different than before.
He settles halfway behind you, his presence felt more than seen. âLike this,â he instructs, gentle fingers guiding your elbow. âMy dad says always keep your elbow up.â
Your tummy twists in an unfamiliar way, palms growing warm, and it confuses you to the point of pretending it doesnât exist. âNow what?â You ask, the burn of string against your fingertips growing unbearable quickly.
âThereâs a fish hiding behind that rock.â He tilts your aim by a few inches, then steps back. âBreathe inââ He waits for your next big breath. âHold it⊠Now breathe out and let the arrow go.â
It skims the surface of the rock, barely missing the fish. You gasp and glance at the boy in shock, a giddy smile growing on your face. âDid you see? I almost got it!â You spin fully, tail swishing in excitement.
He grins, a small giggle escaping. âGood shot!â
Your spine straightens and your chin lifts, confidence puffing your chest. âIâm going to get the nextââ
âNeteyam!â Someone cries, panic etched in their voice.
A younger boy sporting similar features to Neteyam bursts through the tree line and stumbles to a stop before the riverbank. âItâs almost eclipseâ dad is going to be so mad!â He continues, face pinched in distress.
In your mind the name clicks into placeâ Neteyam.
Neteyam frowns at the other boy. âLoâak you skxawng!â He marches out of the water and straight over to Loâak, pinching his ear. âWhere were you?â
Loâak hisses, batting Neteyamâs hand. âI was with Spider,â he mumbles, rubbing his sore ear and scowling up at his brother.
With a shake of his head, Neteyam grabs Loâak by the scruff of his neck and spins him, pushing him forward. âLetâs go. We have to hurry.â
He throws a look at you over his shoulder and waves, then disappears before you return the goodbye. You blink a few times, processing the whirlwind of a moment.
Itâs quiet once more, and your thoughts shift to focus on your bow and arrow. You retrieve the discarded arrows, debating whether to practice more or not. Tucking them safely into their holder you decide itâs best to go home, too.
Your mom and dad will be mad if you stay gone for too long. You wince thinking of the impending lecture youâll receive if itâs after eclipse when you return.
Dealing with them when theyâre mad is the last thing you want to do.
The next morning, at the stream, Neteyam is there.
And the day after that.
You quit being surprised a week in.
Itâs not always at the same time. Some days itâs when the world wakes, as the sun rises above the horizon and chases off the darkness. Before the chill of the night fades entirely and all the Omatikaya warriors head out on a hunt.
Others days, itâs late. When the stones have been warmed by the sun and you stand on them for far too long because itâs soothing like a hug.
You never really speak to one another, content to practice in silence. Neteyam makes a target at some point so you follow his lead. He pretends heâs not glancing over everytime you shoot to check your aim, and itâs annoying even when youâre doing the exact same.
More often than not, Neteyamâs shot lands closer to the center of his target than yours does, and that really gets under your skin.
His siblings orbit around him every now and then, and you put on an irritated expressionâ but the sounds of their voices and laughter reminds you of home.
One afternoon Neteyam doesnât show.
You decide you donât care, because itâs not Neteyam you miss. You donât even like him.
Itâs the fact that itâs boring trying all alone.
Half the session is spent checking over your shoulder, despite ordering your brain not to. Your body does not listen. Arrows end up scattered, lost and further away from the target than ever before. You give up when the frustration mounts, boiling and overflowing until your jaw is clenched tight enough to crack teeth.
You do get in trouble for losing so many arrows, and youâre tasked with crafting new ones as punishment.
Thereâs a communal fire that evening, filled with laughter and food and dancing. Neteyam is there, of courseâ heâs the Oloâeyktanâs eldest son.
He catches your gaze, giving you nothing other than a small smile. You scoff and roll your eyes, slumping on the ground against an old tree stump.
Who cares, you convince yourself, fiddling with the tip of your tail, keeping your stare glued to it as if the hair could hide you.
Youâre entirely aware of him on the other side of the fire, and it sits heavy in your chest.
The Oloâeyktan gives a small encouraging speech as the fire dwindles and most children are being ushered to sleep for the night. You sigh, dragging out the moment until your parents come for you.
Suddenly Neteyam sinks to the ground beside you. You glance at him, drawing your knees to your chest, wrapping your arms around them. Neteyam mimics the awkward position, elbow brushing yours.
Thereâs a loud peel of laughter, and the fire crackles in the background. You press your lips together, wondering why heâs here. The quiet stretches and the moment bloats with awkwardness until finally you blurtâ
âWhy didnât you show up?â You peek at Neteyam, locking eyes briefly as surprise flickers over his face.
âI did not know you cared.â
Your gaze darts to your knees, hot embarrassment flooding your cheeks. âI donât.â
âOh.â
Neteyam says nothing after that, and neither do you. Sitting side by side until youâre both called in different directions, refusing to look at one another.
Neteyamâs at the stream the next time you go for practice.
When you nod awkwardly at each other in greeting, the strange twist in your belly returnsâ the fluttery one from the other day.
As the silence remains, Neteyamâs actions speak for themselves.
ⶠa / n : hope you all enjoyed the very beginning of neteyam and readers childhood friendship! love to hear thoughts and predictions!! itâs short, i know, but iâm trying something new.
i tried to tag everyone, but it wouldnât work for every blogâ sorry!
jacobvanloon
areudirty
andulkaphoto
origamiaround
