hello folks, I go by Metro and/or Chesha. I’m a 25 yo queer artist and writer! This is @cheshagirl ‘s sideblog for Avatar and original content! check out @cheshadraws for specifically art only content of mine :)
*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*
anyways, I’m currently hyperfixating on Avatar and it’s overall universe so if you’d like me to write some headcanons or short fics send me a prompt!
warnings:
This is a nsfw space, meaning minors should not follow me or interact.
I will not write or draw any nsfw content regarding the underage characters (tuk, neteyam, spider, kiri, lo’ak, etc)
extra:
I am extremely in love with creating lore and drawing self indulgent oc shit so I’ll post a lot of my oc’s (mainly Zae or Owsiupät). I also love talking about them so asks about them would be appreciated and treasured
currently writing a fic about my na’vi ocs with the recoms
*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*
oc introductions:
Owsiupät → avatar fandom, na’vi oc / intro
La’eng → avatar fandom, na’vi oc / intro
*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*
if y’all have any questions just shoot me an ask/message :)
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When Tarsem becomes the new Olo’eyktan of the clan, you believe he will start courting another, more fitting woman to be by his side.
cw: light angst; hurt/comfort; mating
You stand at the edge of the upper platforms of the Omatikaya clan’s new Hometree, watching the evening firelight flicker across the gathered people.
Tarsem—now Olo’eyktan, mantle heavy on his broad shoulders—moves among the people with that same quiet steadiness that first drew your heart. He speaks with elders, laughs softly with warriors, lays a gentle hand on children’s heads as they pass. Every young unmated female seems to find a reason to linger near him tonight, their eyes bright with hope.
You feel the ache settle deeper in your chest.
You are a skilled weaver and singer, yes—your voice carries the old songs well, your fingers weave patterns that make elders smile with memory—but you are not the daughter of a great hunter, nor the sister of a legendary warrior. You are simply you: steady, kind, perhaps too quiet for the mate of an Olo’eyktan. Surely he will choose someone bolder, someone whose bloodline strengthens the clan more visibly.
You slip away before the feast ends, climbing higher into the branches where atokirina drift like slow stars; their presence somewhat soothing you. The night air is cool against your skin, and you press your back to the wide trunk of Hometree, letting the tears come silently.
You do not hear him approach.
Suddenlt, strong arms slide around you from behind—familiar, careful. Tarsem’s chest presses to your back, his chin resting atop your head as he envelops you completely.
“I looked for you below,” he murmurs, voice low and warm against your ear. “You left too soon, ma yawne.”
You try to steady your breath, but it trembles. “There were many who wished to speak with you, Olo’eyktan. I did not want to… steal your time.”
His arms tighten slightly. “You steal nothing that is not already yours.”
You turn in his embrace, searching his face—those calm amber eyes that have watched you for moons, the faint scar along his jaw from a long-ago hunt.
“Tarsem,” you whisper, “you are leader now. The clan looks to you. You should choose a mate who—”
He silences you with a gentle thumb to your lips.
“I have already chosen.”
Your heart stutters.
He reaches into the small pouch at his waist and draws out something wrapped in soft leaves. When he unfolds it, a songcord bead rests in his palm—carved from the bone of his first kill, threaded with fibers dyed in the deep indigo of Omatikaya night skies, and inlaid with a single glowing seed from the Tree of Voices.
“I made this the night you allowed me to court you,” he says quietly. “I have carried it every day since, waiting for the right moment to give it to you.”
More tears spill freely now. “But… there are others—stronger, bolder—”
He shakes his head, stepping closer until you are pressed between him and the tree. “None stronger than the one who sings healing into broken hearts. None bolder than the one who faces each day with quiet courage after all we lost.” His forehead rests against yours. “I see you. I have always seen you. There is no other.”
His hand guides yours to his chest, over his heart. “Feel this, yawne. It beats for you.”
You do—strong, steady, true.
He links your queues then—slow, deliberate—tsaheylu blooming bright and overwhelming. His love floods you: deep, certain, patient, fierce. No doubt. No hesitation. Only you.
When the bond settles into a warm hum, he kisses you—soft at first, then deeper, claiming. His hands slide down your sides, pulling you flush against him, and you feel the hard evidence of his want pressed to your belly.
“Here,” he breathes against your lips. “Now. I want no more waiting.”
You nod, breathless, and he lifts you easily—your legs wrapping around his waist as he presses you gently back against the tree. Cloth falls away in urgent whispers; skin meets skin under the watchful glow of the forest.
He enters you slowly, eyes locked on yours, letting you feel every inch as he claims you fully for the first time. The bond sings with shared pleasure—his low groan echoing in your mind, your gasp and moan answering in his.
When you come, it is together—quiet cries muffled against each other’s necks, bodies trembling in perfect unison.
After, he holds you there—still joined, still linked—forehead to forehead in the old way.
“You are my mate,” he whispers, voice rough with emotion. “My love. My heart, always. The clan will see what I have seen all along.”
You smile through happy tears, fingers tracing the line of his jaw.
“I see you, Tarsem. Olo’eyktan. My love.”
He kisses you again—slow, reverent, promising.
And high in the branches of Hometree, beneath Eywa’s gentle guidance, the new Olo’eyktan seals his choice—not with ceremony or announcement, but with the quiet, unbreakable truth of two hearts finally, fully entwined.
hi i'm still thinking about how after jake went to crash site after the mangkwan raid on the wind traders there was a decent chunk of time where jake absolutely thought his entire family was dead and it was all his fault
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Jake never thought something so small could make him this nervous.
He sat cross-legged outside the marui, your little girl between his knees, the early evening light spilling warm gold through the leaves. In his large hands was a thin section of her soft hair, dark and still a little wild from playing all day.
Too small.
That was the problem.
Everything about this felt too small.
The beads.
The strands.
The careful movements he was trying not to mess up.
His fingers, used to bows and reins and weapons, hovered awkwardly.
“…you sure about this?” he muttered.
You leaned against the entrance, arms folded, smiling. “Jake, you led a whole people into war. I think you can handle a braid.”
He’d started saying it before she even understood words.
He carefully separated the strands again, tongue pressing briefly to his upper teeth in focus. His ears were angled back, tail flicking with quiet concentration.
“This how it goes?” he asked.
“Other side first,” you corrected gently. “Then cross.”
He tried.
It slipped.
He groaned under his breath. “Eywa help me…”
You pushed off the doorway and stepped closer, placing your hands over his for a moment, guiding. “Slow, Jake. She’s not going anywhere.”
He followed your movements, gentler this time. More patient.
And slowly… it began to take shape.
Not perfect.
But real.
Your daughter went quiet, trusting him completely, small hands resting in her lap.
Something in Jake’s chest tightened.
He’d held weapons before he’d ever held anything fragile.
Now here he was, afraid of pulling too hard on a braid.
“Never thought I’d mess this up,” he murmured.
You smiled softly. “You’re not.”
“I mean… mess up her,” he corrected, nodding slightly to your daughter. “I’m always scared I’m gonna do somethin’ wrong.”
You knelt beside him. “You love her. That already makes you better than you think.”
His fingers stilled.
He looked at you, then back down at the small head in front of him.
“Hey, sweetheart,” he said quietly.
She hummed in response.
“You know… when I was a kid, I didn’t have this. Stuff like this. Someone sittin’ with me. Touchin’ my hair. Bein’… gentle.” His voice roughened. “Didn’t think I needed it.”
He swallowed.
“Turns out I just didn’t know what it felt like.”
Your chest tightened.
He finished the braid carefully, tying a tiny bead at the end. It glowed faintly in the dusk.
There.
Done.
He stared at it like he’d built something sacred.
“…I did it,” he whispered, almost to himself.
You laughed quietly. “You did.”
Your daughter twisted a little, reaching up to touch it.
“Pretty,” she said.
Jake froze.
Then his face crumpled in the softest way.
He let out a breath that shook.
“Yeah?” he murmured. “You like it?”
She nodded.
That was it.
He pulled her back gently against his chest, careful of the braid, arms wrapping around her small body like he was afraid the world might reach in and take her.
You watched as he pressed his forehead to the top of her head, eyes closing.
For a moment, he wasn’t Toruk Makto.
He wasn’t olo’eyktan.
He was just a father who had braided his daughter’s hair.
“Love you, baby girl,” he whispered. “More than anything.”
You moved closer, resting a hand on his shoulder.
He looked up at you, eyes warm, full.
“Hey,” he said softly. “Thanks… for givin’ me her. For givin’ me this life.”
You smiled. “You built it too.”
He leaned in and kissed you gently.
Behind you, the forest glowed brighter as night began to fall.
And for once, the great warrior of Pandora was worried about nothing more than a braid too small for his hands.
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