#avatar afaa

[fandom-witch]

Neytiri and Jake dancing together at the Sturmbeest Hunt Festival, which is definitely a scene that should've stayed in the first Avatar film🔥🎇✨️

The awesome artist is tamatoris (ig not active currently) I got this in 2023 💙

[eywas-stargirl]

Girl, So Confusing 18+

neytiri x fem!reader

-for as long as you could remember, you and neytiri never got along. you two were always at each others throats, butting heads every chance you got. until one day all that tension came to a head when you both ended up trapped together in a storm.

word count: 3k

warnings: make-outs, fingering, dom/sub themes ig (soft dom neytiri?)

a/n: happy pride month!!

You and Neytitri never did get along.

Ever since childhood, she had been known as the olo'eyktan's warrior daughter. So different from her tsakarem older sister.

She was skilled.

She was disciplined.

She was couragous.

A natural leader. Someone all deserving of her rank.

That was what the elders said of her.

But to you, she was nothing but a headstrong, self important, kurkung (asshole). Always out on her own, always doing things her own way, claiming she knew better. And they praised her for it. They worshipped the ground she walked because to them, every step she took was thoughtful, graceful. To you it was uncaring of what laid on her path. She had no issues pushing everything away for her success.

She was your karyu(teacher).

She wasn't even a year older than you. It was an insult to have her placed as your instructor at the age of 14.

Perhaps that was where it started. The fighting. The hatred.

When she corrected your elbow, when she nudged your feet apart, when she spoke to you in that clipped, hissy tone of hers, it drove you mad. You would grind your teeth. You would have to concentrate on holding back your tail, in case you whipped her with it. That concentration never really lasted though.

You argued. Alot.

At first it was to get her to leave you alone. She never did, saying it was her duty to make you better. Her words made you bristle. Because you were already better. And if you weren't, you didn't need her help. You didn't want it.

Of course that never stopped her. She would find you everyday, without fail, and drag you with her. You would try to run, only for her to yank you right back. So you settled for hissing. You didn't think you had ever bared your teeth to someone as much as you did to her.

Nothing changed with age as most had hoped. In fact, it got worse. Many would flee the area if they spotted the two of you nearby, just avoid the inevitable bickering. Many had tried to beg to olo'eytan to release Neytiri of her duties to you, but Mo'at never allowed it. Why that was, you may never know. Tsahiks always did things for whatever arbitrary reason they conjured up.

"Starighten up!" A bow smacked you on the back.

You hissed but obeyed.

"Good," Neytiri said before moving to Tsu'tey.

There she was like always, head held high like a pious, uppity child who thought herself better than everyone. Her and Tsu'tey made a fine pair. Both with sticks up their asses. The thought brought a smirk to your lips, one she did not miss. She did not say anything though, instead, she addressed the party.

"There is a hexepede herd just over the river bank. There is an older male. He is large enough to feed the clan for days," she said, hips shifting to one side.

Tsu'tey added on, "We will split into teams to corner it, surround it from all sides," he turned to a pair, "You two, with me". He went down the line of hunters and sectioned everyone into teams. He then reached you "(Y/n), with Neytiri."

"What?" You spat, "You can not be serious. Put me with someone else."

You took a step towards him, but she blocked your path. "It is decided."

You held her gaze. Her angled face looked at you like you were dirt beneath her feet. Like you were insignificant, like your thoughts did not matter.

You huffed, whipping around and mounting your waiting pali (direhorse), the creature snorting and striking the ground, feeling your anger through the bond. The others followed.

Tsu'tey ignored the interaction, but rather looked upwards. "We must be swift, before the clouds bleed."

The herd was not hard to find. They remained by the river, drinking and bathing. At Tsu'tey's signal, everyone split, securing the east, west, north and south points. The large male was in the water, half surrounded by a few smaller females.

You and Neytiri stayed crouched, side by side, behind a dense shrub. From the distance, you saw Tsu'tey signal to her to ready her bow. Without hesitation, she raised her arms, pulling the bow taunt and aiming. You followed. You both waited, breaths quiet and even. Down your arrorhead was the neck of the hexepede. It dipped it's head to drink from the river, unaware of its impending doom.

The sky rumbled. The sound was so loud, you felt it in your chest.

"Raise it," Neytiri said. You did not notice you had lowered your arrow. You scowled and adjusted. It was only in moments likes these you were ever quiet. You bet she loved it. The silence. The peace. Not that it mattered, because once the hunt was over, so will it.

The hexepede raised its head at the sound, scanning it's surroundings.

You waited and watched.

Then right as it calmed, it thundered again. This time louder, more abrupt. Then a drop fell from the sky, right onto its head. The herd ran, perhaps to not get caught in the uncoming rain.

Next to you, Neytiri got up and ran to her pali, jumping into its back and following the others that already gave chase, barely waiting for you. Everyone kept following the herd, gaining on the male. You surrounded it. A hunter on each side, you and Neytitri at the flank and the others trying to block off its path. The rain came down harder, already soaking you all and wetting the earth. With each step, the palis splattered mud. It was becoming hard to see. The rain was dense, thick. It looked more like fog, blurring your vision.

Someone shouted. Perhaps Tsu'tey, maybe someone else. You could not tell.

Neytiri shouted back. Of course she heard. She drew her arm up quickly and before you could blink, shot. The arrow hit, the hexepede went down immediately. But as it stumbled at the impact, the ground beneath it became slippery, the mud now loose. Neytiri's pali struggled to stop. It cried out at it slipped, tipping over. Neytiri tried to calm it but the creature fell, throwing her off and knocking into your own mount, toppling it on its side. The both of you went tumbling down the incline. It was slippery, and you could not grap at anything properly to stop your descent.

It was only when Neytiri was blocked by a large portruding rock, did she stop and you slammed right into her.

You both grunted at the impact.

You clenched your eyes from the pain, trying to push it away and claw at the ground to right yourself.

"Skxawng!" you grabbed at Neytiri's arm, throwing it over you shoulder.

"Fnu(shut up)," she groaned.

Trying to wipe away the unrelenting rain from your eyes, you searched the top on the incline, to make out even one familiar figure, but it was pointless. It was hard to see far in front of you. The pittering of the rain was too loud to hear anyone if they were calling. And they in turn would likely not hear you so you saved your breath. You squinted through the rain and looked around, keeping Neytiri upright as she gained her footing. And in the distance, not far away at all, was small cave dwelling.

Shifting your grip on her, you made your way towards it.

As soon as you crossed the threshold—the curtain of draining water at the entrance—the sounds outside dulled, but only slightly. The overarching cave head kept the inside dry.

With a quick scan, you deemed it safe and shrugged Neytiri off of you and onto the cave floor. You wandered off to the back. There was nothing. No wood, no leaves. Nothing. Nothing to make a fire, nothing to eat. At least you could drink the rain water. The thought was ridiculous but true.

"Skxawng.."you muttered, "we are stranded thanks to your foolishness." You turned to her, arms crossed.

She glanced at you, rolling her shoulder "I could not predict that this would happen."

"I am surprised. Since you always know everything."

"Do not start," she huffed.

"Why? Ashamed?" you goaded,"the all mighty Neytiri, got herself thrown off her pali on a hunt. Like a child who does not know how to tame her own mount."

She said nothing, instead looking out into the rain.

"I should be thankful. Perhaps now I could be rid of you," you continued.

She got up then, "I would be the thankful one. I would no longer have to watch over you—a reckless, insufferable kurkung(asshole)."

"You think I am insufferable?" you laughed in disbelief, "then perhaps you should look inwards. The great mother will show you who you really are: a spoiled, self-important woman who thinks she always knows better."

"I do, I have always known better than you" she stepped towards you, "you do not follow orders, you are not disciplined. You are wild like a nantang pup and just as unknowing." You stepped back. "The day I was assigned to you was the worst of all I have lived. I have not known peace since. You are a baby—always whining and stomping your feet when things do not go your way. And you are careless. Always swaying your hips, rolling your eyes and picking fights with those above you. You do not think. It is by Eywa's miracle you are not dead!" your back hit the wall. Her chest rose and fell where she stood directly in front, crowding you.

"I should have left you in the storm," you whispered, jaw tight.

This was normal for the both of you. It should feel normal. The cruelty, the clipped remarks, the anger. It was familiar. It was a song and dance you two have been doing for years. But now, here in this cave, alone, you both stood chest to chest, skin grazing each other. Just barely. There was a fire behind her eyes, hot and ablaze. fury, defininitely. and maybe something else. Something that was new. Or perhaps it was something you had ignored.

The air felt thicker. Maybe it was the rain. Maybe it was the heat flowing where you bodies touched.

Her fierce eyes pierced into you, still so wide and round even in her anger.

Something warm built in your stomach. Perhaps lower. You tried not to think about it. You tried not to notice the closing distance between you, you tried not to feel the way her thigh brushed yours. It was hard to when your breaths became one, warm huffs that calmed the chill on your nose.

Before you knew it your lips touched, and suddenly she was pressing you firmly against the cave wall. It was not soft. It was not gentle. It was hard, rough, frantic. Your lips parted for hers so easily it should have made you ashamed but all you could focus on was pushing back into the kiss, feeling the way her soft lips sucked on yours. You let out a quiet moan when she bit you. Not enough to break skin, just enough to hurt. You felt the spot throb as she shoved her tongue into your mouth. It was long and wet and demanding. You tried to fight it, to take over, to wrap your tongue around hers, but you felt too light, too weak to the feeling of her, especially when her hand travelled up to you neck and her fingers wrapped around it. The tip of her tongue flicked the roof of your mouth, eliciting another moan from you.

When she pulled back, you gasped, drool pooling at the corner of your mouth. Your eyes were hazy and your body slouched into her, as if all the fire within you was outed from the taste of her. Earthy with a hint of yovo fruit she had for breakfast.

With her other hand she wiped away the drool "So this is what makes you pliant," she hummed, eyes half lidded.

Then she kissed you again.

Her hands travelled downwards, from your neck, rubbing over your chest and your pebbled nipples—your back arched—down your ribs and waist, before touching the strings of your tewng that hung on your hips. Her lithe fingers undid them, letting the fabric pool at your feet.

The cold air touching your bare mound made you shiver.

"ah," you moaned when she touched you, parting your pussy lips. She stroked you gently, keeping her touch light. She dipped lower to your entrance but she did not push in. She circled it and you could feel your wetness ooze out of the fluttering hole.

"So wet" she said, eyes not leaving where she touched you. She pushed in slightly, not enough to breach, just enough to collect the slick there. Her now lubed fingers dragged upwards. Your breath hitched as she came closer and closer to touching your clit. But she didn't. Instead, she used two fingers to rub either side of the hood.

It felt good, but not enough.

You bucked your hips, hoping she would take the hint.

She tsked, "Always so impatient."

You whined when she pulled away, your knees trembling without her support.

She looked at you. You wondered what sight you made. Disheveled? Desparate? You wondered if she liked it. She had to. You hoped she did.

She took your discarded tewng and folded it neatly, placing it at the center of the cave floor "on your back."

Blinking away enough of the haze, you laid your head on the makeshift headrest and shifted at the cold feel of the floor.

She grabbed your ankles, pushing them further apart, and settled between your legs. Her hands rested on your inner thighs, making soothing motions. They inched closer and closer to your center until she stopped at where your inner thigh met your pelvis and pushed you open, even wider. Her calloused thumbs hooked onto your lips and pulled them apart, spreading all of you open for her to see. And once again, she rubbed you, not touching your clit directly. You tried shifting your hips but she pressed you down, immobilising you.

"You want me to touch you?" she looked up at you.

You nodded.

"Then ask. Ask for what you want."

Your bottom lip trembled. You struggled to get the words out, your sane mind fighting against your desperate state. Need won.

"Please" the words left you in a whisper, still too prideful to give in so easily "please…touch me."

And she did.

She pulled back the hood of your clit and tapped it once. Your toes curled. Then, she did something unexpected. She spat directly onto it. The impact made you jump.

"Oh!" you gasped when she circled your needy clit. Her motions were slow and light at first, then she pressed just a little bit harder and sped up. "mmh!" one of your legs hooked around her, trying to find something to ground yourself.

Her other hand, massaged your waist, pinching lightly when your heel dug into her back too hard. It then went upwards. She caressed the underside of your breast beneath your feathered chest piece. She grabbed it and pulled it over your head, leaving you truly naked below her. She brushed your nipple before using her thumb and forefinger to tweak it. She pulled and rolled it gently, watching the way your chest arched into her touch. When she left your chest, you opened your mouth to complain only for her to stuff it with her two fingers. You didn't need any instructions, you just sucked. Spit pooled on your tongue, using it to wet her fingers "mmmh." It tasted like wood and rainwater.

When she was satisfied, she pulled her hand away from your mouth and brought it to your opening. With one finger, she circled it once before pushing in slowly. Your eyes fluttered at the feel of each knuckle pushing past the rim. Once she was all the way in, she crooked her finger, stroking your velvet walls. She eased it out then carefully pushed back in. She kept this rhythm until she found your cushiony sweet spot, that made your eyes roll back. When you were loose enough for her, she added another digit.

You cried out at the stretch.

She waited for you to adjust before thrusting in and out, curling her fingers every time. With her fingers in your tight hole and her rubbing at your clit, a coil tightened in your stomach. She lowered her head to your chest, taking one of your hardened nubs into her hot mouth and flicked it with her tongue, you felt her moan against your chest. Your legs wrapped around her, ankles crossed behind her back.

"Please—please!" you didn't know what you were begging for. Less? More? For release? The words just left your mouth without thought. The wet sounds coming from between your legs were obscene. It was all you heard, paired with her heavy breathing. You didn't know if the rain had stopped or not.

Neytiri pulled back "so good," she praised, "See? It is not hard to be polite. If I had known this was what you needed to listen, I would have done this sooner."

Her words barely registered as the tingly feeling between your legs grew stronger when her pace quickened and her fingers reached deeper.

"Neytiri!"

Your back arched painfully and you cried out, the coil finally snapping as you came undone. Your legs shook and your vision went white. Your breath stopped as you grabbed onto her shoulders, digging your nails into her skin. She kissed you through it, sucking on your tongue that hung out of your mouth "mmf—fphmm!ah!" you humped her hand, riding it out.

You panted when she pulled back, admiring the view of you, thoroughly fucked out on the cave floor. You still thrusted against her, not wanting it to end so soon.

Luckily for you, the rain had yet to stop.

[willoweclipsepirate]

LITTLE SHADOW AND THE WEAVER

• pairing: aonung x fem!reader (aonung's pov)

• warnings: mention of death, aonung pinning

• summary: A tiny, persistent shadow has been trailing Aonung across the reef. He thinks it’s a nuisance; it’s actually a matchmaker. Veya isn’t just watching him—she’s reporting back to the weaver who’s been watching him back.

The little girl’s footprints were everywhere. Tiny, persistent, pressed into the damp sand like a trail of seashells left behind at low tide. I’d first noticed them two days ago, appearing just behind my own larger prints whenever I walked the shoreline. At first, I thought it was coincidence. Then I caught a flash of movement from the corner of my eye. A small, darting shadow disappearing behind a cluster of mangrove roots before I could turn fully.

Today, the child had grown bolder. She stood barely ten paces away, arms folded, chin lifted in a way that suggested she wasn’t hiding anymore. "You’re supposed to be the fastest swimmer," she declared, as if this were a well-known fact I’d somehow forgotten. Her toes dug into the sand, restless. She was maybe ten or eleven, all sharp elbows and restless energy, but she held herself with the practiced defiance of a village elder.

I blinked at her, half-amused, half-annoyed. The fastest swimmer? Sure, I’d won a few races, but that wasn’t exactly common knowledge unless someone had been talking about me. "Who told you that?" I asked, crouching to her eye level. The girl’s nose wrinkled, like she was debating whether to divulge state secrets.

"The weavers," she finally said, with solemn gravity. "They say you move like an ilu but with less splashing."

I nearly choked on my own breath. The weavers? My mind snagged on the word like a fishing net on coral. There was only one weaver I cared about. The quiet girl with clever fingers who never looked at me for too long, the one whose name tasted like salt and honey when I whispered it to myself at night. If she was talking about me, even in passing...

“Which weaver?” I asked, trying to sound casual. The child tilted her head, considering me with the unsettling clarity of someone who hadn’t yet learned to lie well.

“All of them,” she said, then amended with a shrug. “But mostly my sister. She watches you.”

The world narrowed to the sound of waves and the sudden, frantic drumming of my own pulse. Her sister. The realization hit me like a rogue tide. This tiny, relentless shadow was hers. The girl was already skipping away toward the water’s edge, done with the conversation now that she’d dropped her bomb. I scrambled after her.

I caught up to her just as she reached the shallows, her small feet kicking up sprays of seawater like scattered stars. "Wait—" I called, but she was already waist-deep, arms slicing through the water with the effortless grace of someone born to the reef. I hesitated. Chasing a child into the ocean wasn’t exactly dignified, but the thought of her sister’s name lodged in my throat like a promise. I dove in after her.

She twisted underwater like an eel, glancing back just long enough to smirk before darting ahead. I pushed harder, muscles burning, but she was fast, slipping through the currents with infuriating ease. I caught glimpses of her braids streaming behind her like dark ribbons, the flash of her grin whenever she glanced back. She was taunting me.

We broke the surface near a cluster of floating rocks, the girl hauling herself up onto one with a wet, triumphant thump. I followed, panting, water sluicing down my back. "You’re ridiculous," I muttered, shaking my hair out of my eyes.

She beamed at me, swinging her legs over the edge of the rock like this was all part of some grand plan. "You are fast," she admitted, as if this were a concession. "But I’m faster."

I exhaled sharply, half-laughing despite myself. Her bravado was infectious, even if she’d just humiliated me in front of no one but the open sea. I leaned back on my palms, letting the sun warm my face. "Alright, little eel," I said, nudging her foot with my own. "What’s your name?"

She wrinkled her nose again, considering whether to answer. "Raveya," she said finally, swinging her legs harder, kicking droplets into the air. "But you can call me Veya. Everyone does."

Raveya. The name settled in my chest like a caught breath. Of course. The sister with the endless energy, the one the village elders sighed about whenever she bolted from her chores. The one who trailed after her, my weaver, like a second shadow.

I cleared my throat, casual as a passing cloud. "So. Your sister. The weaver." I paused, pretending to examine a barnacle on the rock. "She... watches me?"

Raveya, arched one eyebrow, looking suddenly older than her years. "You didn’t hear me the first time?" she asked, kicking a spray of seawater toward me.

I dodged the spray with a laugh, but my pulse hammered against my ribs like a drumbeat gone wild. "I heard you," I said, wiping saltwater from my chin. "Just making sure you heard yourself." I flicked a droplet back at her, aiming for nonchalance, but my fingers trembled just enough to betray me.

Veya snorted, flopping onto her back across the rock like a starfish claiming territory. "You’re weird," she announced, squinting up at the sky. "My sister says that too. She says you talk to fish like they’ll talk back."

My breath hitched. She’d noticed that? I’d only done it once, muttering to a stubborn school of silverfin when I thought no one was watching. The memory burned my ears. "They listen," I muttered defensively, then bit my tongue. Arguing with a child about fish was not the path to dignity.

Veya rolled onto her stomach, propping her chin on her hands. Her eyes gleamed with mischief. "She also says you have a nice laugh."

My fingers twitched against the sun-warmed rock, suddenly unsure where to put them. "She—" My voice cracked, and I coughed into my fist, pretending the ocean spray had gone down wrong. "She said that?"

Veya grinned, kicking her feet lazily in the water. "Mm-hmm. When you helped old Marei haul her nets last moon. She said it sounds like bubbles popping." She mimicked the motion with her fingers, a little explosion of air.

I stared at her. I remembered that day. The nets had been snarled, Marei cursing like a stormcloud, and I'd laughed when a crab scuttled up her arm. But I hadn't noticed her there, half-hidden behind a basket of mending. Had she been smiling?

Veya sighed dramatically, flopping onto her back again. "You're thinking too loud. It's boring."

The rock beneath my palms suddenly felt too warm, too rough. Like every barnacle and ridge was pressing into my skin with unbearable clarity. I flexed my fingers, trying to shake off the sensation. "Your sister," I began, then stopped. What exactly was I asking? Does she like me? Too direct. What else does she say? Too desperate. I settled for, "She’s... observant."

Veya snorted, kicking up a lazy arc of water. "She notices things," she corrected, as if there were a world of difference. "Like how you always take the long way around the village to pass by the weaving huts."

My face burned. Eywa, had it been that obvious? I’d thought my detours were subtle. Just a casual loop, nothing more. But apparently, she had counted my footsteps like tides. The thought sent a strange thrill down my spine.

Veya rolled onto her side, propping her head on one hand. Her grin was sharp as a reef’s edge. "She also says you’re bad at hiding."

I groaned, rubbing my face with both hands as if I could scrub away the heat rising in my cheeks. "I’m not bad at hiding," I muttered, though the protest sounded weak even to my own ears. Veya just smirked, kicking her heels against the rock with rhythmic little splashes.

The silence stretched, thick with unsaid things. I picked at a loose barnacle shell, letting the quiet settle between us like foam on the tide. Finally, I glanced sideways at Veya, who was now drawing spirals in the wet rock with her fingertip. "So," I said, voice deliberately light, "was the fastest swimmer thing the real reason you followed me? Or was there... something else?"

Veya's finger paused mid-spiral. She looked up, eyes narrowed in suspicion, but the corner of her mouth twitched. Like she'd been waiting for this question. "Maybe," she said, drawing out the word. Then, with a shrug that was far too casual for the mischief in her eyes: "Or maybe I just wanted to see if you'd chase me."

I snorted, flicking a pebble into the water. "So this was a test."

"Obviously." She rolled her eyes, as if this were the most basic truth in the world. "My sister says you're smart, but I think you're slow." Before I could protest, she added, "She also says you're kind. Even when you pretend not to be."

I exhaled sharply, watching the pebble sink beneath the waves. The water was so clear I could still see it. Tiny and white against the sand, like a lost tooth. "Your sister," I said carefully, "talks about me a lot, huh?"

Veya rolled onto her stomach, kicking her feet in the air. "Only when she thinks I'm not listening." She paused, then added with theatrical solemnity, "Which is always."

My chest tightened. I shouldn’t ask. I definitely shouldn’t ask. "What else does she—"

A sudden splash cut me off. Veya had launched herself off the rock, arcing into the water with a practiced flip. "Race you to the reef!" she called, already a length ahead.

I didn’t hesitate this time. I dove after her, the water closing over my head like a second skin. The reef wasn’t far. Just a quick sprint for someone who’d grown up racing the tides, but Veya had a head start and the reckless energy of a child with nothing to lose. I pushed harder, muscles burning, the saltwater stinging my eyes as I chased the flicker of her braids ahead.

She glanced back once, grinning, and I realized too late it was a trap. Veya twisted sideways at the last second, darting behind a curtain of kelp. I barreled past, momentum carrying me straight into a school of startled silverfin. They scattered like shards of light, and I swore I heard her laughter ripple through the water.

By the time I untangled myself, Veya was perched on the reef’s edge, swinging her legs like she’d been waiting for hours. “Told you I was faster,” she singsonged, flicking a droplet at me.

I hauled myself up beside her, panting. “Cheating doesn’t count.”

Veya stuck out her tongue, unrepentant. "Cheating counts if you don’t get caught." She stretched her arms behind her head, watching the silverfin regroup below us with the smug satisfaction of a seasoned strategist. I resisted the urge to push her into the water. Barely.

I exhaled through my nose, forcing my shoulders to relax. "Fine," I conceded, because arguing with a child about aquatic ethics was a losing battle. "But next time, no kelp."

Veya grinned, kicking her heels against the coral. "Next time, no rules." Before I could protest, she added, "My sister says rules are for people who can’t think ahead."

My breath caught. Again. "Your sister," I began, then stopped. I couldn’t keep circling back to her without sounding desperate. But the words tumbled out anyway: "Does she... ever come out here?"

Veya's grin turned sly, her toes tracing idle circles in the water. "Sometimes," she said, dragging out the word. "When she thinks no one's looking." She flicked a glance at me, then away, as if deciding whether to share a treasure map. "She likes the blue cove. Where the old shipwreck is."

My pulse jumped. The cove was hidden behind a curtain of waterfalls. The kind of place you only found if you knew where to look. I'd stumbled upon it years ago, back when I still thought exploring was worth the scrapes and lectures. Now I only went there to think. Or, more recently, to imagine quiet moments with a certain weaver who supposedly watched me when I wasn't looking.

Veya kicked my ankle lightly. "You're doing that thing again," she said, wrinkling her nose.

"What thing?"

"Where you stop talking and just stare." She mimicked my expression with exaggerated wide eyes and a slack jaw, and I swatted at her, missing deliberately.

I swiped at her again, but she ducked with a cackle, nearly toppling backward into the water. I caught her wrist just in time, pulling her upright with a grunt. "Careful, little eel," I muttered.

Veya wrinkled her nose but didn't pull away. Instead, she leaned in conspiratorially. "If you go to the cove tomorrow at high tide," she whispered, "you might see her." Her breath smelled like salt and stolen fruit.

My throat went dry. "Why are you telling me this?" I asked, my voice rough with suspicion. Veya shrugged, but the glint in her eyes was anything but innocent. "Because you swim fast," she said, as if that explained everything. Then, with the gravity of a village elder delivering prophecy: "And because you stare at her baskets like they're gonna talk back too."

I nearly choked. Had it been that obvious? I'd only lingered by the weaving huts once, maybe twice, admiring the intricate patterns of her work. But baskets? That was a stretch. Unless... unless she'd caught me tracing the curve of one with my fingertips, imagining her hands shaping the reeds.

Veya's grin widened, sharp as a shark's tooth. "She noticed," she singsonged, kicking her feet in the water. "She says you—"

I clamped a hand over Veya’s mouth before she could finish her sentence. "Enough," I hissed, ears burning. The girl bit my palm. Not hard, but enough to make me yelp and release her. She cackled, scrambling backward on the reef until her heels dipped into the water.

"You’re easy," she declared, shaking her head like she pitied me. "Like a clam without a shell." Before I could retort, she twisted and dove, vanishing into the turquoise depths with barely a splash.

I stared at the spot where she’d disappeared, half-tempted to follow, half-terrified of what else she might reveal. The cove. High tide. Tomorrow. The words pulsed in my skull like a second heartbeat. I’d been given a map to something precious, and it felt like both a gift and a trap.

The sun had begun its slow descent by the time I dragged myself back to shore, limbs heavy with exhaustion and something lighter. Something like hope, fluttering in my chest like a trapped jellyfish. Veya had vanished halfway home, darting off with a wave and a promise to "tell her you lost," her laughter trailing behind her like sea foam. I had let her go, too preoccupied with the image of the blue cove, its waterfall veil shimmering in my mind.

That night, I lay awake in my hammock, listening to the distant murmur of the waves. The village was quiet, save for the occasional rustle of palm fronds or the soft call of night birds. I replayed Veya’s words. She noticed, she watches you, she says you’re kind. They looped in my skull until they lost all meaning, becoming just sounds. I turned onto my side, pressing my face into the woven fibers. Had she really seen me trace her baskets? Had she smiled?

The next dawn came too soon and not soon enough. I rolled out of my hammock before first light, my movements jerky with restless energy. I scrubbed my face with seawater, the cold shock doing little to calm the buzz under my skin. High tide was mid-morning. I had time. Too much time.

I busied myself with pointless tasks. Mending a frayed net, reorganizing my shell collection, but my fingers fumbled, clumsy with distraction. By the time the sun had climbed high enough to paint the lagoon gold, I gave up. I dove into the water, letting the current carry me toward the eastern cliffs where the cove hid.

The waterfall roared louder than I remembered. It was the first thing I noticed as I hauled myself onto the hidden ledge behind the cascade. The way the sound filled my skull, drowning out the hammering of my own pulse. I crouched there, dripping, and wondered if this was a mistake. The cove was deserted. Of course it was. What had I expected? That she’d be waiting for me, basket in hand, smiling like some half-remembered dream?

I shook the water from my hair and stepped forward anyway, because turning back now would be worse. The cove was smaller than I remembered too. A crescent of pale sand cupped by moss-slick rocks, the wreck of an ancient skiff jutting from the shallows like a broken rib. I traced its spine with my fingertips, the wood worn smooth by centuries of tide and touch. Maybe I’d imagined it all. Maybe Veya had been...

A splash.

I whirled, heart in my throat. The waterfall’s veil shimmered, distorting the figure stepping through it. For a wild second, I thought it was Veya, come to laugh at me, but no. The silhouette was taller, the curve of the shoulders familiar in a way that made my breath catch.

Her braids were wet. That was the first thing I noticed. The way they clung to her shoulders, dripping onto the woven straps of her tunic. The second thing was the basket tucked under her arm, its lid slightly askew, revealing a tangle of half-dyed reeds. The third thing was her face. The sharp intake of breath, the widening of her eyes, the way her fingers tightened around the basket handle like she might bolt.

Neither of us moved. The waterfall’s mist settled on my skin, cold and electric. I should say something. Anything. But my tongue felt too big for my mouth, all the clever phrases I’d rehearsed dissolving like sea foam.

She recovered first. “You’re—” Her voice was softer than I remembered, frayed at the edges like sun-bleached rope. “—early.”

I blinked. Early? As if this were an appointment. As if she’d expected me. My pulse stuttered. “Veya told you,” I managed.

She hesitated, then lifted her chin. Not defiant, but uncertain, like someone testing the depth of a tidepool with their toes. "She said you'd asked about the cove." A pause. The basket shifted under her arm, reeds rustling. "I didn't think you'd come."

My throat clicked. The words stuck there. I always come here. Instead, I nodded at the wrecked skiff between us, its hull bleached white as bone. "You fix baskets here?"

Her fingers flexed around the woven handle. "It's quiet," she said, as if that explained everything. The basket's lid tilted further, revealing coils of reed dyed in shades of lagoon-blue and storm-gray. I recognized the patterns. The same ones I'd traced on market days when I thought no one was watching.

I swallowed. "Your sister said—"

"She says too much." The words came out sharper than intended. She winced, then exhaled through her nose. The basket settled onto a flat rock with a soft thump. "Veya thinks she's helping."

I stepped closer, sand gritting underfoot. The wreck's shadow stretched between us like a bridge. "Is she?"

She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she crouched beside the basket, her fingers plucking at a loose reed with practiced ease. The silence stretched, thin as the morning mist, until I wondered if I’d imagined the question entirely. Then, without looking up: "Depends."

"On what?"

"On why you’re here." Her fingers stilled. The reed snapped taut between them.

My pulse thudded in my temples. I could lie. Say I’d come to explore the wreck, to gather shells, anything but the truth coiled in my chest like a nervous eel. But her eyes flicked up then, dark and searching, and the words came unbidden: "I wanted to see if you’d be here."

Her fingers froze mid-motion, the reed trembling between us like a plucked bowstring. I watched the realization dawn in her expression. The slight parting of her lips, the way her breath hitched just enough to disturb a strand of hair clinging to her damp cheek. For a heartbeat, the waterfall’s roar faded to a hush.

Then she snorted. Actually snorted, shaking her head as she tucked the loose reed back into place. "Of course you did," she muttered, but the corner of her mouth twitched upward. "Veya told me you’d say that."

My ears burned. I should’ve known. The little eel had probably rehearsed this entire encounter with her sister, down to the last stammered word. I scraped a hand through my hair, scattering droplets. "She’s terrifying," I admitted, kicking at the sand. "Does she always..."

"Plan everyone’s lives for them?" She straightened, brushing wet strands from her forehead. "Yes. Especially mine." Her gaze flicked to the basket, then back to me, weighing something. "She also said you’d stand there dripping like a caught fish unless I threw you a line."

I exhaled sharply. Half-laugh, half-sigh. I shook my head. "So," I said, nodding to the basket, "what’s the line?"

She arched one brow, fingers lingering on the half-woven reed. "You could start by telling me why you stare at my baskets like they’re going to whisper secrets." The words were teasing, but her knuckles whitened around the rim.

My stomach flipped. I could lie. I could deflect. Instead, I stepped forward until the wreck’s shadow no longer separated us. "Maybe I was imagining your hands making them," I said, voice lower than I’d intended.

Her breath caught audibly. The reed slipped from her fingers, unspooling into the sand. "That’s—" She bit her lip, then snatched the reed back with more force than necessary. "Direct."

I grinned, reckless with the rush of finally saying something true. "Direct's better than staring at baskets like an idiot," I said, nudging the loose reed with my toe. "Unless you'd rather I kept doing that."

She huffed, twisting the reed between her fingers until it squeaked. "You are an idiot," she muttered, but the insult lacked its usual bite. I watched, fascinated, as a droplet slid from her braid down the back of her neck, then further, disappearing under the woven edge of her tunic. My throat went dry.

The basket wobbled as she reached for another reed, her fingers brushing a coil dyed deep blue. "This one’s wrong," she said abruptly. "The tension’s off. See how it buckles here?" She thrust it toward me like an accusation.

I blinked. I had no idea what she was talking about, but I took the reed anyway, my fingers brushing hers. A spark, or maybe just the shock of cool skin meeting warm. "Looks fine to me," I lied.

She plucked the reed back with a scoff, but her fingers trembled. "You wouldn’t know good weaving if it bit you," she said, turning the coil over in her hands. The blue dye stained her fingertips, smudged where my touch had lingered.

I crouched beside her, close enough that our shadows merged on the sun-warmed rock. "Teach me," I said.

Her head jerked up. "What?"

"The basket." I gestured to the half-finished form, its spirals uneven where she'd abandoned it. "Show me how it's done."

She stared at me like I’d just asked her to gut a fish with her teeth. "You don’t want to learn weaving," she said flatly.

I shrugged, plucking a loose reed from the basket. It was softer than I expected, pliant between my fingers. "Maybe I do," I said, twisting it experimentally. It snapped. "Okay, maybe I don’t."

A laugh burst out of her. Sharp, surprised, like a bird taking flight. She clapped a hand over her mouth too late. I grinned, victorious.

"You’re impossible," she muttered, but the words lacked heat. She snatched the broken reed from me, her fingertips brushing my palm. A shiver ran up my arm.

The broken reed lay between us like a challenge. I watched as she inspected the frayed ends with a frown, her fingers moving with the precision of someone who knew every fiber’s worth. "You twist it here," she said, demonstrating with a fresh reed, "not here." Her thumb pressed into the spot where I’d snapped it, as if marking the lesson into my skin.

I leaned in, feigning interest in the reed but really watching the way her lashes caught the light. Gold at the tips, like sunlit sand. "So it’s all about the grip," I mused, reaching to mimic her hold. My fingers overlapped hers, deliberate.

She didn’t pull away. "It’s about patience," she corrected, but her voice wavered when my pinky brushed the inside of her wrist. The reed bent obediently this time, looping into the beginnings of a spiral.

I exhaled through my nose. "Patience," I repeated, as if the word were foreign. The scent of her, salt and crushed sea grapes, filled the space between us.

The reed slipped from my fingers again, unraveling into the sand with a soft hiss. She sighed. The kind of sigh elders made when children asked why the sky was blue for the third time. She reached to retrieve it. Our hands collided over the damp coil, fingers tangling. I froze. So did she.

For a heartbeat, neither of us moved. The waterfall’s roar faded to a hush.

Then she yanked her hand back like she’d touched a jellyfish. "You’re hopeless," she muttered, but the flush creeping up her neck betrayed her. She stabbed the reed back into the basket with more force than necessary, sending a spray of loose fibers into the air.

I caught one mid-flight, twirling it between my fingers. "Hopeless at weaving," I agreed, grinning when she shot me a glare. "But I’m told I’m a fast swimmer."

The glare softened into something dangerously close to amusement. "You are," she admitted, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear with still-damp fingers. "Veya wouldn't shut up about it after your race."

My chest warmed at the memory. The little eel's laughter, the way she'd twisted through the water like a gleeful predator. "She cheated," I said, leaning forward to pluck another reed from the basket. This time, I mimicked her grip perfectly.

She watched my hands, her brow furrowing. "You're learning," she accused, as if this were some personal betrayal.

I held her gaze, letting the reed curl naturally between my fingers. "I learn fast." The words hung there, weighted with double meaning. Her throat moved when she swallowed.

The reed in my hands curled into a near-perfect spiral. A fluke, surely, but the way her eyes widened made it worth the three previous failed attempts. She reached out, hesitating just before her fingers touched mine. “You’re… not terrible,” she conceded, voice grudging.

I smirked, nudging the finished coil toward her. “High praise.”

She snatched it away, but not before I caught the flicker of a smile. The basket between us was now a mess of half-spirals and snapped reeds, evidence of my fumbling. Yet she hadn’t shoved me into the surf yet, which I took as progress.

The waterfall’s mist settled over us, cool and damp. I watched as she tucked a loose braid behind her ear, the motion practiced, effortless. “Why this cove?” I asked suddenly.

She didn't answer right away. Her fingers traced the half-finished basket's rim, following the pattern like a familiar path. "It's where my mother taught me," she said at last, voice softer than the waves lapping at the wreck's bleached bones. "Before she joined Eywa."

My fingers stilled on the reed I'd been mangling. I'd heard the stories. How the weaver's mother had drowned when her fishing skiff capsized in the sudden storm during the battle, how they'd found her body cradled in the roots of the sacred coral at the Ancestor's Cove. I'd been too young to remember the funeral, but I remembered the whispers. "I didn't know," I said, too loud in the quiet.

She shrugged, but her shoulders were stiff. "Not many do." The reed in her hands twisted tighter, tighter, then snapped with a sound like cracking bone. She stared at the broken ends, lips pressed thin. "Veya was barely four when Mother died. She doesn't remember much."

I exhaled through my nose, watching the tide creep closer to our rock. I'd come here to flirt, to stammer through some half-formed confession, not to tread on grief older than my first spear. But when I glanced up, she was watching me with an odd intensity, like she was waiting for me to bolt.

The broken reed lay between us like a shared wound. I cleared my throat, the words scraping against something raw in my chest. "I lost Mother a year ago," I said abruptly. The confession hung in the humid air, too heavy for the quiet cove.

She stilled. The half-formed basket in her lap suddenly seemed to demand all her attention. "I remember," she murmured. "The whole village mourned."

I picked at a callus on my palm. "Tsireya was supposed to learn the leadership chants from her. Pril... Pril was just pulled from her body moments before Mother closed her eyes. She never even heard her voice." I shrugged, the motion jerky. "Now I just hum off-key lullabies to keep her quiet. It's all I know how to do." The admission tasted bitter. Like failing at something that should've been simple.

Her fingers paused over the reeds. "You take care of them both." It wasn't a question.

"Someone has to." The words came out sharper than I intended. I flexed my fingers, tracing the phantom weight of Pril's small hand in my palm. How she'd clung to my tunic whenever the wind howled, while Tsireya worked in heavy silence to keep our household from unraveling. "Tsireya tries to hold the weight of two, and Pril is too young to understand why her hammock is empty, so I..." My throat closed around the rest. The memory of seeing morhers body, the way her hand was slack, still burned behind my ribs.

The reed in her hands stilled. She didn't offer empty condolences. No Eywa's will or she walks with the ancestors. Instead, she reached across the wreck's shadow and plucked the mangled coil from my lap. "You fold the ends under," she said, pressing the reed flat against her palm. "Like this. So it doesn't unravel."

I watched her hands. The calloused fingertips smoothing the fibers, the careful tuck of the loose end beneath the spiral. It was the opposite of grief-talk, this quiet demonstration of how to keep things whole. I swallowed hard. "Show me again."

She did. Three times. Four. On the fifth attempt, my fingers brushed hers and neither of us pulled away. The reed held.

The basket between us was a lost cause. More undone than done, its pattern beyond saving. She sighed, nudging it aside with her knee. "Hopeless," she muttered again, but the word had lost its edge.

The reed in my hands had softened from handling, its edges fraying like the nerves under my skin. I rolled it between my palms absentmindedly, watching as she gathered the scattered coils with quick, efficient motions. Her braids swung forward, brushing the sand, and without thinking, I reached out. Stopping just short of tucking one behind her ear. My fingers hovered, then curled awkwardly back into my lap.

She went very still. The half-formed basket tilted precariously on her knee. "What are you doing?" Her voice was low, wary, but not unkind.

My ears burned. I dropped my hand like I'd been burned. "Sand," I lied, rubbing my fingertips together as if brushing off grains. "In your hair."

She eyed me, skeptical, but didn't call me out. Instead, she tucked the braid back herself with a quick flick of her wrist. The moment stretched thin between us, taut as an overstrung bow.

The wreck's shadow had shifted with the sun, no longer separating us but pooling at our feet like spilled ink. I cleared my throat. "So." I nudged the ruined basket with my toe. "Do you always abandon projects when they frustrate you?"

Her eyes flashed. A spark of challenge igniting in their depths. "Do you always ask stupid questions?"

I grinned, leaning forward until our knees almost brushed. "Only when I want answers."

She rolled her eyes, but her fingers, still tangled in the loose reeds, trembled slightly. "Fine. No, I don’t abandon them." She flicked a glance at the half-finished basket. "I just... set them aside. Until I figure them out."

I plucked a broken reed from the sand, twisting it idly. "How long does that usually take?"

"Depends." Her voice dropped, almost to a whisper. "Some patterns take years."

The reed snapped between my fingers. I stared at the broken ends, the fibers splayed like tiny, desperate hands. "Years," I repeated, my voice rougher than the tide-worn rocks. "That’s a long time to wait."

She shrugged, but her shoulders weren’t as stiff as before. "Not if it’s worth it." Her fingers traced the edge of the wrecked skiff beside us, the wood bleached pale as bone by decades of salt and sun. "Some things unravel if you rush them."

I exhaled through my nose, watching the way her fingertips lingered on the wood grain. I knew that touch. I’d seen it in Tsireya’s quiet mourning, in the way Pril’s tiny fingers would search the empty air for a lullaby she’d never learned. I’d done the same myself. "And if you wait too long?" I asked quietly.

Her hand stilled. "Then the tide takes it." The words hung between us, heavier than the humidity clinging to our skin.

The reed in my hands snapped again. I didn’t notice. Too busy staring at the way her throat moved when she swallowed, the faint pulse visible beneath the damp skin. “The tide,” I echoed dumbly. My voice sounded strange. Hoarse, like I’d been gargling sand.

She exhaled sharply through her nose, a sound perilously close to laughter. “You’re repeating everything I say.” Her fingers plucked at a loose thread on her tunic’s hem. “Is that a habit, or are you just...”

“Stalling?” I supplied, grinning when her eyes narrowed. The reed’s broken ends dug into my palm, sharp as the realization suddenly carving through my chest. I leaned forward, close enough to count the salt crystals drying on her collarbone. “What if I don’t want to wait for the tide?”

Her breath hitched. The thread between her fingers pulled taut. “Then you’re an idiot,” she murmured, but her gaze dropped to my mouth.

My pulse roared louder than the waterfall. “I’ve been called worse.” I shifted, knee brushing hers in the sand.

She didn’t move away. The thread snapped. “I used to watch you,” she admitted abruptly, the words rushed like a confession dragged from the deep. “Before... before you noticed Veya following you. Before you started taking those stupid detours past the weaving huts.” Her fingers clenched around the broken thread. “Your laugh does sound like bubbles.”

Heat shot up my neck. I’d imagined this moment a hundred times. Dreamed it during restless nights, but never with her voice so raw, her hands trembling over ruined reeds. “You...” My voice cracked. I tried again. “You noticed me?”

She groaned, covering her face with both hands. “Tides, this is mortifying.” The words were muffled, but I caught the edge of laughter beneath them. “Yes, you oblivious kelp-head. I noticed.” Her hands fell away, revealing flushed cheeks. “I thought you were just being polite when you helped haul nets. Then you kept doing it. Even when no one was watching.”

My chest ached. I remembered those mornings. The ache in my shoulders from lifting waterlogged nets, the way I’d linger just to catch a glimpse of her through the weaving hut’s open sides. “I wasn’t being polite,” I said, too loud. “I was...”

“Hopeless,” she finished, rolling her eyes. But her fingers curled into the sand, betraying her. “Like a moonfish circling the same reef.”

I leaned forward, close enough to see the flecks of gold in her dark eyes. “You circled too,” I pointed out, grinning when she huffed. “Admit it. You liked watching me sweat.”

Her nose scrunched. “I liked that you didn’t complain.” A pause. Then, softer: “And… maybe the way your hair curled when it dried.”

My breath caught. I’d rehearsed grand confessions in my head, but this... this stumbling honesty over snapped reeds and half-woven lies was better. The wreck’s shadow had shrunk to a sliver between us, the tide licking at our toes. I nudged her knee with mine. “Still like it?”

She flicked a droplet at me from her damp braid. “It’s tolerable.”

The reed in my hands finally gave up, snapping for the third time. I barely noticed. “Veya said you thought I was kind.”

She stiffened, fingers freezing mid-motion. “Veya talks too much.”

“She said you noticed me.” I pressed, reckless with the thrill of her earlier admission. “Not just my hair. My… staring.”

The flush crept higher, staining her cheeks lagoon-pink. “I noticed,” she muttered. “You’re not subtle.” The reed in her hands twisted tighter, too tight, threatening to snap. “And then you stopped coming by the huts.”

I blinked. “I did?”

“After the monsoon.” Her voice dropped. “When Mother...”

Understanding punched through me. “I was...” I swallowed the excuses. She deserved truth, not deflection. “I didn’t think you’d want some grief-struck fool trailing sand through your workspace.”

The reed snapped between her fingers. “I waited.” The admission burst out sharp as broken coral. “Every market day. Watching the path. Thinking...” Her jaw clenched. “Thinking maybe you’d come back.”

My pulse stuttered. All those weeks spent avoiding the weaving huts, convinced my longing was one-sided, while she’d traced my absence like a missing stitch. The realization left me winded. “You… wanted me to come back?”

She scowled at the ruined reed. “Don’t make me say it twice.”

My grin spread slow as sunrise. “Say what?” I nudged her knee. “That you missed me?”

The reed in her hands twisted into a tight spiral, her knuckles whitening. "Maybe," she muttered, stubbornly avoiding my gaze. A droplet from her braid landed on the back of my hand. Cold, startling. I didn’t wipe it away.

I leaned in, close enough to count the salt crystals clinging to her eyelashes. "Just maybe?" My voice came out rough, teasing.

She exhaled sharply through her nose. "You’re insufferable." But the corner of her mouth betrayed her, twitching upward.

The tide crept higher, swirling around our ankles. I watched as she gathered the ruined basket into her arms, her movements quick and deliberate. Like someone preparing to flee. But she didn’t. Instead, she hesitated, fingers tracing the frayed edge where I’d snapped too many reeds. "You ruined it," she said, but there was no accusation in her tone.

The basket lay between us like a shipwreck. Its coils unraveled, its edges frayed beyond repair. I stared at it, at the way her fingers lingered on the broken reeds, and realized with sudden, startling clarity that I didn’t care. Not about the basket, not about the ruined spirals, not even about the tide now lapping at my knees. All that mattered was the way her braids dripped saltwater onto her collarbone, the way her lips pressed together to suppress a smile.

"You ruined it," she repeated, softer this time. Her thumb brushed the edge where I’d snapped too many reeds. "But..." A pause. Then, so quiet I almost missed it: "I don’t mind."

My pulse stuttered. The words hung in the humid air, fragile as seafoam. I reached out before I could think better of it, my fingers skimming the back of her hand. Still damp, still trembling slightly. "Neither do I," I admitted, my voice rougher than the tide-worn rocks.

Her breath hitched, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, she turned her palm up, letting our fingers tangle in the space between us. The gesture was so small, so deliberate, that my chest ached with it. "You’re staring again," she murmured, but there was no bite to it. Just a warmth that seeped into my bones.

The confession hung between us like sunlight caught in the waterfall’s mist. Bright, undeniable. My thumb traced the inside of her wrist where her pulse fluttered, rapid as a minnow’s tail. "So," I said, voice uneven with the weight of it, "you like me."

Her fingers tensed around mine. "Don’t say it like that." But the way her shoulders lifted, a suppressed laugh, a stifled joy, betrayed her.

My grin felt too wide for my face. "Like what?"

"Like you’ve won something." She ducked her head, but not before I caught the smile tugging at her lips.

My fingers tightened around hers, calloused skin catching on the softer ridges of her palm. "Say it properly," I dared, voice low with the thrill of her nearness. "Say you like me."

She groaned, tipping her head back as if pleading with the sky. "You’re impossible." But her fingers curled tighter around mine, nails biting lightly into my skin. An anchor, a claim.

The tide swirled around our knees, warm as the laughter building in my chest. I tugged her closer, sand shifting underfoot, until the wreck’s shadow no longer separated us. "I’ll say it first," I offered, grinning when her eyes snapped to mine. "I like you. A lot. Enough to ruin baskets for." My thumb traced the blue dye staining her knuckles. "Enough to humiliate myself in front of you for months."

Her breath hitched. For a moment, she just stared at me. Eyes wide, lips slightly parted, as if I’d spoken in some foreign tongue. Then her free hand came up, swift and sudden, to flick water at me from her damp braid. "You idiot," she muttered, but her voice wavered. "You could’ve just..." Her gesture encompassed the wreck, the ruined basket, the months of stolen glances. "Asked."

My laughter bubbled up, unrestrained and bright, as the water droplets from her braids splattered across my cheeks. "I’m asking now," I said, shaking my head like a dog shedding seawater. The motion sent droplets flying, and she flinched away with a half-hearted scowl, but her fingers stayed tangled with mine, warm and insistent.

Her thumb brushed the ridge of my knuckle, a fleeting pressure that made my pulse skip. "Took you long enough," she muttered, but the words lacked any real venom. Instead, her gaze dropped to our joined hands, her lashes casting delicate shadows on her cheeks. I watched, mesmerized, as her lips curved into a smile. Small, private, dopey in a way that made my chest ache.

I’d seen her smirk, scoff, even snort with laughter, but this? This was new. This was mine. The realization punched through me with the force of a breaker, leaving me breathless. "So?" I prompted, squeezing her hand. "Is that a yes?"

She tilted her head, considering me with exaggerated solemnity. "Hmm. Let me think." The pause stretched just long enough for my stomach to knot, then her grin broke loose, sun-bright and devastating. "Yes, you kelp-head. Obviously."

The word burst out of me before I could think better of it. Reckless, buoyant, like a bubble breaking the surface. "Then I will court you."

I barely recognized my own voice. Too loud, too rough, cracking on the second syllable like a boy’s. My ears burned. I hadn’t meant to blurt it like some half-drunk warrior proposing over a feast. But there it hung between us, naked as a beached jellyfish.

She froze. The reed she’d been about to pluck from the basket hovered midair, trembling slightly. For one excruciating heartbeat, I was certain she’d bolt.

Then her fingers tightened around the reed. "You don’t even know my favorite color," she said flatly.

I blinked. "Blue," I said without hesitation. "The same shade as the dye staining your fingers right now." I tapped the smudged pigment on her knuckle. "You use it in every third basket coil, even when the pattern doesn't call for it."

Her fingers spasmed around the reed. "That's..." Her throat worked. "Observant."

"Green," she countered suddenly, jerking her chin toward my waist. "Your spare cord. Always green, never the traditional red. Even though the elders complain."

The cord I'd started weaving after Mother's death, when the sight of blood-red fibers made my stomach turn? I swallowed hard. "You..."

"Watch you?" She arched a brow, daring me to comment. "Like you don't stare at my hands every time I pass you, fish."

The admission hung between us, raw and electric. My pulse hammered against my ribs loud enough to drown out the waterfall. Slowly, deliberately, I reached for the half-finished basket. Not to fix it, but to set it safely aside. The reeds whispered against each other as I moved it beyond the tide's reach.

When I turned back, she was watching me with an expression I'd never seen before. Something between exasperation and wonder, her lips slightly parted like she'd forgotten whatever sharp remark she'd planned next. I took advantage of her momentary speechlessness to bridge the remaining distance between us, my knees bumping hers in the sand.

"I want to court you properly," I amended, voice low. "With gifts. And..." My nose wrinkled. "Poems, probably. Tsireya’s been hoarding them in her shell-box, and Pril tries to hum them to the hatchlings when she thinks no one's listening."

Her fingers twitched around the reed. "Poems," she repeated, deadpan.

I grimaced. "Terrible ones. Full of kelp metaphors." I leaned in, close enough to count the droplets clinging to her lashes. "But I'll learn to weave something decent. Even if it takes me a decade."

Her breath hitched. A tiny, wounded sound that punched straight through my ribs. When she spoke, her voice was barely audible over the tide. "You'd..." Her throat worked. "You'd really try?"

My fingers found hers without looking, tangling in the damp space between us. "Already am," I murmured, thumb brushing the blue-stained knuckle where her grip had gone white around the reed. "Badly."

The reed snapped between us with a sound like laughter. She didn't seem to notice. Too busy staring at our joined hands with an expression I couldn't name. Something between panic and wonder, her lips parted around an unspoken word.

I waited. The tide curled around our ankles, warm as the flush creeping up my neck. I'd seen her face down storm swells without flinching, but now, now her fingers trembled against mine like a fledgling's first flight feathers.

Finally, she exhaled. A shuddering breath that ruffled the loose hairs framing her face. "Alright," she whispered, so soft the waves nearly stole it.

My pulse stuttered. "Alright?" I echoed, voice cracking like a boy's.

She flicked water at me from her still-damp braid. "Yes, you impossible creature. Yes." The words burst out sharp, but her hands were gentle as they turned to clasp mine properly, palms pressing together until the saltwater between us grew warm. "Even though..." She gestured wildly at the ruined basket, the snapped reeds, the decade of mutual idiocy stretching behind us. "Look at this mess."

I grinned so wide my cheeks ached. "Our mess," I corrected, tugging her closer until our knees knocked together in the sand.

Her scoff lacked conviction. "Ours," she admitted grudgingly, fingers tightening around mine.

[neteyamurmakto]

I was rewatching afaa. Hottieeee. Seriously, he is so fucking handsome. Lion beauty.

[stanislavdedolubov]

Wanted to draw the two of them in Mangkwan clan warpaint😼

Full

[venuspx]

I see you

A/n: kind of rushed, I'm sorry🥹🫶🏻 I MAY be a bit slow with posts again, because of Art fight, but please don't hesitate to request something!!

Warnings: reader is emotionally closed off, suggestive kind of?? Reader tries denying her feelings, written in a half-asleep daze so be aware.

Pairings: neteyam × reader

When Jake told Neteyam that they'd have to move to the water tribe, he didn't think much would have come out of it. He just thought they'd have to learn the ways of the water tribe.

What he doesn't take in for account, is a pretty and quiet girl. You. You seemed curious enough when the Sully family first arrived, but didn't speak up for them. He was intrigued by the sad and curious look in your eyes.

You help Tsiyera with the Sully's things as she shows Jake and Neytiri their new home, and Neteyam sees this as a sign for questions. Though, you aren't very chatty. In fact, you looked confused while talking to him.

"Are you a sibling of hers? The chief's daughter?" Neteyam gestures to Tsiyera in front of you. You shake your head. "No. I am just a friend of hers."

Neteyam mentally takes that into account. "You lived here for long?" Baby was so desperate for a conversation from you

You look at him with a dazed and confused expression. "I think so?"

That makes Neteyam realise there's more to you than curiosity and sadness. He cracks a smile at your statement. You almost, almost replicate it.

---

The Sully's start their learning the next day. You happen to be there. But Neteyam noticed how you would hang back, not really saying anything. He tried his best to blend in with you, he really did. But, he was too obvious, and you were too invisible.

You forced down your feelings, telling yourself that it wouldn't work out; he was the son of Toruk Makto, a future warrior, a prince. You were just some invisible girl who happened to be friends with Tsiyera.

---

A sort of tension grew between you and Neteyam. It wasn't explanatory; neither of you two even talked to each other, yet even Neteyam's mother could sense the tension when someone asked about you around neteyam.

The final cut, was when you sat alone by the beach. You were sitting near a sort of shoreline pool, on top of the rocks. You stared down at the blue glow of the water and fishes, and other sea creatures.

You heard a shuffling behind you, where the trees stood, and immediately alerted your brain. Turns out, it was just neteyam. You stared at him, barely any expression forming, but your heart was in leaps.

"I..I am sorry. Lo'ak, my baby brother, told me you were here. He thought you were in danger." I came to check on you, the silent words he wanted to say.

Slowly, you nodded. "It is fine. You are allowed to join me."

A tiny bit of excitement appeared on Neteyam's face. "Okay."

He took a seat next to you, where your fingers were touching, and your feet practically playing footsie in the waters.

Suddenly, after a bit, he said, "you are a strange na'vi. You seem very..closed off? I do not know what the word is."

"I am afraid." You said, not looking at Neteyam. He blinked. "Of what?"

"of rejection, vulnerability. We cannot work out neteyam. You are a prince, the son of Toruk Makto, a mighty warrior. I am friends with the princess, I am leftover. No one would approve of our relationship."

He shut you up real good. If there was anything he learnt from his father, it was how to kiss. He's seen his mother and father share passionate kisses and moments of vulnerability.

He wanted to have those moments with you. He wanted to hug you from behind while you cooked, watch you while playing with the kids, to share passionate kisses, to tug your hair behind your ear.

"I see you,"

"I see you, Neteyam."

[rbyoai]

younger varang art

[ilu-rider-ocean-lover]

Random Tamtey head canons

After getting to the Aranahe home tree they didn't return to HQ for at least a week just so they could fully process and get the base understanding of clan life. Ri'nela was next to arrive at home tree and stayed with Tamtey, teylan stayed at HQ as much as possible tbh and Nor is off exploring.

Tamtey has 0 fucking clue when someone is flirting with them. i think Nefika would be the first one to point it out (i will die on the hill that Itu had a crush on Tamtey first 🫣🫣🫣) whoever wants to mate with them needs to be very obvious about it otherwise they won't catch on

After Aha'ri died Ri'nela stepped in to be a big sister to them. she would braid Tamteys hair around their kuru, comfort them when they were sick or hurt, determined to be there for them in honor of Aha'ri's memory and they become the leaders of the sarentu clan together. (i do love removing the sister vibes and shipping them together but that's for another day)

Teylan and Tamtey are BESTIES!!!!!! and they are also trouble twins. Tamtey is one of the only na'vi that can convince him to leave HQ with a 95% success rate. Tamtey gets them mixed up in all sorts of wacky shit

aside from the RDA and the mangkwan Tamtey doesn't have enemies. every na'vi or friendly human that meets them loves them. They are so kind and bubbly you can't help but find them charming

would be a dog person

spends a lot of time just flying and exploring when they don't have a job to do. their ikran becomes a close companion as a result. anyone they date gets dragged on a lot of night flights or early morning flights to watch the sun rise. the view is incredible tho

real good at fixing things. as a kid in TAP they learned and loved taking things apart to put them back together again. now they pick up on crafting really easy as a result their skill always impresses their teachers

loves listening to earth music and will listen to any recommendations people have. they prefer a lot of pop and indie music