*:･✧ media i'm currently into:
✧ James Cameron's Avatar (obvi)
✧ The Handmaid's Tale
✧ Project Hail Mary
✧ Iron Lung
✧ The Lord of the Rings
✧ Game of thrones/House of the dragon/A knight of the seven kingdoms
✧ Jujutsu Kaisen
✧ Smosh
✧ Markiplier
*:･✧ my hobbies
✧ writing
✧ reading fics, novels, mangas, manhwas
✧ drawing (i hope one day to be confident enough to make fanart and post it)
✧ crochet
✧ nail art (im really bad)
*:･✧ what i will write
✧ characters listed in my masterlist x reader fics
✧ fluff
✧ angst
✧ smut (that includes aged-up smut}
✧ toxic relationships
*:･✧ what i won't write
✧ character x character without a reader involved
✧ underage sex
if you do not agree with anything on this blog feel free to block me
I do not use ai
i'm in univerisity so sorry if requests take a bit.
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he’s wearing the same shirt here. they did such a good job showing how he’d been neglecting his human body — he looks so frail in a shirt he once filled out
reblog this if you’re jewish or your blog is a safe space for jewish people
in light of recent events as well as a new rise in creating nazi ocs I think this post is an important one to have on your blog if you stand behind your jewish followers or are jewish yourself.
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Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Description: Jake runs home after evening patrol to indulge in you before turning in for the night.
Word Count: 0.9k
Content Warning: don't worry ! it's sfw, maybe a little suggestive, Jake in love, fluff, tsaheylu, cuddling, kissing/making out, cuteness aggression, jake's feelings (let me know if i missed anything !)
Author's Note: #needthat !! just a little something about jake being head over heels for his mate. it was fun to write about tsaheylu and imagine what it might feel like ! i hope you enjoy hehehe !!
Jake was a simple man. He didn’t need much. Just a meal to fill his stomach, the rush of a successful hunt or a ride on his ikran, and, most of all, you.
Jake loved the feeling of you. There wasn’t a day that went by that he didn’t indulge in you, his mate. Your skin was so soft against his when he held you, and he delighted in the small sounds he could coax out of you, each a reward for his efforts.
Why you chose a skxawng (idiot) like him, he would never know, but he was grateful that you did. Grateful for the new life you gave him, one where he finally felt whole.
You were always on his mind. Even as he went from tree to tree during the evening patrol. He couldn’t wait to get back to the village where you were waiting up for him, and he all but ran home.
He padded quietly into your shared kelku (home), abandoning his gear by the door and securing the flap for the night. The room fell into an almost complete darkness, but he could still see the glow of your skin where you laid on the hammock.
Your ears twitched toward the familiar sounds of your mate as he shuffled around the room, quickly washing the day away and taking off his accessories. You rolled onto your side when Jake finally climbed into the hammock, his weight making the woven mat dip. He slotted himself behind you, your bodies fitting together like Eywa crafted you from the same stone.
Sighing contentedly, Jake hooked his chin over your shoulder and slid his hand up the softness of your stomach to rest over your heart.
“Hi, baby,” he mumbled, breath fanning over the skin of your neck. “You tired?”
“A little,” you answered, laying a hand on top of his. “Welcome back.”
He hummed, pressing light kisses wherever he could. You turned your head to give him better access and he trailed his lips up the side of your throat.
“Baby,” he murmured as he nuzzled against your jaw.
“Hmm?”
“Can we…?”
You opened your eyes to find him looking up at you, with your own tanhi reflected in his gaze. You brought a hand up to trace over the cluster of bioluminescent freckles (tanhi) on his cheek. His brow was lifted high in expectancy, looking far too innocent for what you knew he wanted to do.
But you nodded and Jake grinned, taking his warm hand from your chest to prop himself up. You watched as he gently took your twsin (queue/braid) in his hand and brought it towards his own. Glowing, the tendrils wove together as if by Eywa’s own hand.
You gasped at the sudden shift, feeling him everywhere, like he flowed through your veins. Jake’s eyes closed and he exhaled heavily, holding the connection in his hand.
His locs brushed your cheeks as he leaned down to kiss you. Sweetly at first as if in greeting, but then he took your bottom lip between your teeth and tugged gently. You gripped his biceps, digging your nails into the flexed muscle. He smoothed over your lip with his tongue before reattaching his mouth to yours.
You let him in when he sought to go deeper, kissing you just the way you liked it until you did not know where Jake began and where you ended. Pleasure coursed through you and his heart beat rapidly in your chest but it could have just as easily been your own.
Jake pulled back and your brow furrowed at the loss of his touch. He smoothed the creased skin with the pad of his thumb, feeling your disappointment as if it was his. But it was short lived, dispelled by his fond expression and the feeling of all his affection welling up in you. You smiled at each other for a moment, basking in the overwhelming warmth of your love.
Jake suddenly dropped on top of you, letting his full weight press against your body. Smothered, you huffed and almost laughed as he hastily wrapped his arms around you. He squeezed until you were breathless.
“Jake.” You managed, with more fondness than rebuke.
He turned, resting his forehead against your temple. “God, I love you,” He breathed.
Tsaheylu (the bond) told you all that you needed, but it was always nice to hear the words aloud. You pulled your arms out of his tight grasp and draped them over his wide shoulders.
“I love you more.”
Jake shook his head. “No shot.”
How could you when coming back to you each day, and waking up to you each morning was more than he could have ever dreamed of? To be wrapped in your soft embrace, when all he had known was the folding cot, the hard ground of the bush, and a small, lonely apartment?
That was a lifetime ago, far away and bleak. And yet the memory of it only made him more grateful. Grateful that he had said “yes” to those men in suits. Grateful that you found him that fateful night in the forest. Grateful he came back, that you still loved him and fought beside him after all he had done.
He felt your contentment as you drifted off into sleep and he smiled against your skin.
A numb ache, hot and pulsing from where you had gripped it with your own. He would not be surprised if you had broken it with the sheer strength you had poured into him. But he did not complain, no. He would let you do it again, let you clamp onto his fingers, let you break them—break his whole hand—while you screamed in agony, voice drowning out Mo'at's words of encouragement. He would let you do whatever to him you pleased, for no harm to him could ever match the searing pain of labour you had endured.
He had been present for all 12 painstakingly long hours of active labour. The thought of leaving your side never once crossed his mind. Not when you screamed, not when you cried, and not when you gripped him like he was your lifeline and dug your nails into his flesh.
He tried not to show it, but he was terrified the entire time. Not of you. Never of you, but for you. The difficulties of birth were not lost on him. The blood, the shock, the exhaustion were most of what plagued his thoughts. What was even more daunting was the fact that the baby inside of you was more difficult than other na'vi children would have been. Because the baby was part him. Part human. That human gene that gave avatars more muscle mass also carried on to their children. That had terrified him, the thought of you pushing out a child much bigger than your body could handle. The thought of you not being able to do it. The thought of you succumbing.
But now the screaming had stopped, and the tsahik's tenth was filled with only the metallic scent of blood and the musk of sweat as you lay on the fibre-brown cot, back propped up against thick dark furs. Your sweat and tear-stained face was now soft, eyes half-lidded in adoration looking down at your slow-rising chest where the newborn babe was pressed against it.
Your baby.
Your son.
His son.
The baby slept quietly against you, comforted by the connection of your kurus, no longer wailing at the audacity of being forced into the world. He was round and soft with all that human fat that had caused you too much trouble the last few hours, thicker in ways normal na'vi babes would be slim.
Lo'ak's eyes searched that round little face, moving from his chubby cheeks to pouty lips, then higher up above his eyes.
No brows.
Lo'ak's chest stilled, breath hitching.
No brows.
The babe's face was devoid of any extra hairs that had plagued Lo'ak's face his entire life. For a second, a palpitating sense of relief washed over him, relief at knowing his child would not be subjected to the cruelties of words those hair brought on. The mocking, the sneers, all of it. The kind of silent scrutiny that lingered in crowds wherever he went.
Then his eyes traveled down. And there on the babe's clenched fist were five fingers. Five, short, stubby little fingers, each barely larger than a mealworm.
A disorienting flurry of feelings surfaced.
First it was fear for his son, of what the people might say or do, of what he might endure as he grew. The shame and self-hatred.
But then…there was adoration, quiet and fluffy, settling right in the middle of his chest in a ball of fuzzy warmth. Because looking now, at that little fist that housed that tiny pinky, Lo'ak knew, with all the certainty in the world, that finger could not belong to a demon. Attached to that pinky was a small, chubby newborn baby; someone who was the complete embodiment of love, the product of two hearts joining as one. That finger looked so soft and gentle and pliant. Something incapable of harm.
Pride came rushing in. Pride that there was part of him seen in his son. Pride of knowing indisputably that the babe was his—not that there was ever any doubt— and that finger was not what anyone ever told him it was. That it was not something vile and eldritch but rather adoring. How could he have ever let anyone make him believe otherwise when the truth was so clear before his very eyes?
Tears clouded his vision. It was not a burning that rushed along his waterline in quiet heartache. It was a fast and bubbling rise that quivered along his lower lashes in release of that suffocating feeling that surfaced whenever he looked at his hands.
"Ma Lo'ak"
Your hoarse voice broke him out of the spell his son had cast over him. His eyes found yours instantly. You held the babe up to him, arms lifting as much as the exhaustion that had settled in your joints would let you.
Instinctively, Lo'ak's hand raised, only slightly before stopping mid-air. It was the hesitation of a man who never knew if what he was doing was right. Hesitation that did not exist when he was a reckless boy. Hesitation that was born of blood and death and war. His hand stayed still, shackled by an invisible chain of his own making, holding him back, stopping him from crossing the distance despite your silent permission.
His eyes found yours again. Your wide, beautiful eyes, so different from his smaller ones. Those eyes that looked at him with all the adoration in the world. Those eyes that had seen him and chosen him despite what others whispered. Those eyes that softened and fluttered and gave him all the love he had craved his entire life, genuine and surreal.
"Lo'ak," your voice was a blanket, always so careful with him, wrapping him in pillowy warmth. Your lips were pulled back, smile sweet despite the corners drooping from tiredness. "You can hold him. It is okay." Lo'ak always listened to you. You were his rock, the one thing in his life that considered him completely, that held him up when his own legs refused to, folding under the pressure of his own doubt. Lo'ak owed you more than his life. Your love had saved him in ways he could not express in words. Whatever you wanted, he gave it, because you gave him everything the day you chose him. Even now, you still give him more than he deserved in the form of a sleeping babe.
Lo'ak's hand trembled, pulling against the self-imposed shackles, freeing himself and finally breaching the space between him and his son. You passed the baby off with ease, him only stirring slightly when you unlinked your kurus. The baby's weight settled in Lo'ak's arms nicely. Heavy and real. That pale blue skin of new life was plush with human fat, feeling so cushiony against his arms. The babe's rounded cheek was squished against Lo'ak's chest, his pouty lips letting out a quiet, content sigh. Lo'ak wondered if his son could hear the deep thudding of his heart, if it was comforting to his tiny ears.
Lo'ak's hand went to the babe's fist, smoothing his large thumb over the little one's knuckles. He naturally focused on that small pinky that was barely longer than his own nail, carefully opening the little hand so he could stroke it with a reverence he never thought he would have towards the finger that was just like his own. His heart skipped a beat when the babe curled its hand around his finger—his pinky, so large that those small fingers struggled to fully wrap around it.
It was then the tears finally fell, brushing against his cheek in a light, cool rush. He tipped his head down, bringing his lips closer to the babe's ear, and with a soft whispering voice laced with willowing devotion, he welcomed his son.
A numb ache, hot and pulsing from where you had gripped it with your own. He would not be surprised if you had broken it with the sheer strength you had poured into him. But he did not complain, no. He would let you do it again, let you clamp onto his fingers, let you break them—break his whole hand—while you screamed in agony, voice drowning out Mo'at's words of encouragement. He would let you do whatever to him you pleased, for no harm to him could ever match the searing pain of labour you had endured.
He had been present for all 12 painstakingly long hours of active labour. The thought of leaving your side never once crossed his mind. Not when you screamed, not when you cried, and not when you gripped him like he was your lifeline and dug your nails into his flesh.
He tried not to show it, but he was terrified the entire time. Not of you. Never of you, but for you. The difficulties of birth were not lost on him. The blood, the shock, the exhaustion were most of what plagued his thoughts. What was even more daunting was the fact that the baby inside of you was more difficult than other na'vi children would have been. Because the baby was part him. Part human. That human gene that gave avatars more muscle mass also carried on to their children. That had terrified him, the thought of you pushing out a child much bigger than your body could handle. The thought of you not being able to do it. The thought of you succumbing.
But now the screaming had stopped, and the tsahik's tenth was filled with only the metallic scent of blood and the musk of sweat as you lay on the fibre-brown cot, back propped up against thick dark furs. Your sweat and tear-stained face was now soft, eyes half-lidded in adoration looking down at your slow-rising chest where the newborn babe was pressed against it.
Your baby.
Your son.
His son.
The baby slept quietly against you, comforted by the connection of your kurus, no longer wailing at the audacity of being forced into the world. He was round and soft with all that human fat that had caused you too much trouble the last few hours, thicker in ways normal na'vi babes would be slim.
Lo'ak's eyes searched that round little face, moving from his chubby cheeks to pouty lips, then higher up above his eyes.
No brows.
Lo'ak's chest stilled, breath hitching.
No brows.
The babe's face was devoid of any extra hairs that had plagued Lo'ak's face his entire life. For a second, a palpitating sense of relief washed over him, relief at knowing his child would not be subjected to the cruelties of words those hair brought on. The mocking, the sneers, all of it. The kind of silent scrutiny that lingered in crowds wherever he went.
Then his eyes traveled down. And there on the babe's clenched fist were five fingers. Five, short, stubby little fingers, each barely larger than a mealworm.
A disorienting flurry of feelings surfaced.
First it was fear for his son, of what the people might say or do, of what he might endure as he grew. The shame and self-hatred.
But then…there was adoration, quiet and fluffy, settling right in the middle of his chest in a ball of fuzzy warmth. Because looking now, at that little fist that housed that tiny pinky, Lo'ak knew, with all the certainty in the world, that finger could not belong to a demon. Attached to that pinky was a small, chubby newborn baby; someone who was the complete embodiment of love, the product of two hearts joining as one. That finger looked so soft and gentle and pliant. Something incapable of harm.
Pride came rushing in. Pride that there was part of him seen in his son. Pride of knowing indisputably that the babe was his—not that there was ever any doubt— and that finger was not what anyone ever told him it was. That it was not something vile and eldritch but rather adoring. How could he have ever let anyone make him believe otherwise when the truth was so clear before his very eyes?
Tears clouded his vision. It was not a burning that rushed along his waterline in quiet heartache. It was a fast and bubbling rise that quivered along his lower lashes in release of that suffocating feeling that surfaced whenever he looked at his hands.
"Ma Lo'ak"
Your hoarse voice broke him out of the spell his son had cast over him. His eyes found yours instantly. You held the babe up to him, arms lifting as much as the exhaustion that had settled in your joints would let you.
Instinctively, Lo'ak's hand raised, only slightly before stopping mid-air. It was the hesitation of a man who never knew if what he was doing was right. Hesitation that did not exist when he was a reckless boy. Hesitation that was born of blood and death and war. His hand stayed still, shackled by an invisible chain of his own making, holding him back, stopping him from crossing the distance despite your silent permission.
His eyes found yours again. Your wide, beautiful eyes, so different from his smaller ones. Those eyes that looked at him with all the adoration in the world. Those eyes that had seen him and chosen him despite what others whispered. Those eyes that softened and fluttered and gave him all the love he had craved his entire life, genuine and surreal.
"Lo'ak," your voice was a blanket, always so careful with him, wrapping him in pillowy warmth. Your lips were pulled back, smile sweet despite the corners drooping from tiredness. "You can hold him. It is okay." Lo'ak always listened to you. You were his rock, the one thing in his life that considered him completely, that held him up when his own legs refused to, folding under the pressure of his own doubt. Lo'ak owed you more than his life. Your love had saved him in ways he could not express in words. Whatever you wanted, he gave it, because you gave him everything the day you chose him. Even now, you still give him more than he deserved in the form of a sleeping babe.
Lo'ak's hand trembled, pulling against the self-imposed shackles, freeing himself and finally breaching the space between him and his son. You passed the baby off with ease, him only stirring slightly when you unlinked your kurus. The baby's weight settled in Lo'ak's arms nicely. Heavy and real. That pale blue skin of new life was plush with human fat, feeling so cushiony against his arms. The babe's rounded cheek was squished against Lo'ak's chest, his pouty lips letting out a quiet, content sigh. Lo'ak wondered if his son could hear the deep thudding of his heart, if it was comforting to his tiny ears.
Lo'ak's hand went to the babe's fist, smoothing his large thumb over the little one's knuckles. He naturally focused on that small pinky that was barely longer than his own nail, carefully opening the little hand so he could stroke it with a reverence he never thought he would have towards the finger that was just like his own. His heart skipped a beat when the babe curled its hand around his finger—his pinky, so large that those small fingers struggled to fully wrap around it.
It was then the tears finally fell, brushing against his cheek in a light, cool rush. He tipped his head down, bringing his lips closer to the babe's ear, and with a soft whispering voice laced with willowing devotion, he welcomed his son.
A numb ache, hot and pulsing from where you had gripped it with your own. He would not be surprised if you had broken it with the sheer strength you had poured into him. But he did not complain, no. He would let you do it again, let you clamp onto his fingers, let you break them—break his whole hand—while you screamed in agony, voice drowning out Mo'at's words of encouragement. He would let you do whatever to him you pleased, for no harm to him could ever match the searing pain of labour you had endured.
He had been present for all 12 painstakingly long hours of active labour. The thought of leaving your side never once crossed his mind. Not when you screamed, not when you cried, and not when you gripped him like he was your lifeline and dug your nails into his flesh.
He tried not to show it, but he was terrified the entire time. Not of you. Never of you, but for you. The difficulties of birth were not lost on him. The blood, the shock, the exhaustion were most of what plagued his thoughts. What was even more daunting was the fact that the baby inside of you was more difficult than other na'vi children would have been. Because the baby was part him. Part human. That human gene that gave avatars more muscle mass also carried on to their children. That had terrified him, the thought of you pushing out a child much bigger than your body could handle. The thought of you not being able to do it. The thought of you succumbing.
But now the screaming had stopped, and the tsahik's tenth was filled with only the metallic scent of blood and the musk of sweat as you lay on the fibre-brown cot, back propped up against thick dark furs. Your sweat and tear-stained face was now soft, eyes half-lidded in adoration looking down at your slow-rising chest where the newborn babe was pressed against it.
Your baby.
Your son.
His son.
The baby slept quietly against you, comforted by the connection of your kurus, no longer wailing at the audacity of being forced into the world. He was round and soft with all that human fat that had caused you too much trouble the last few hours, thicker in ways normal na'vi babes would be slim.
Lo'ak's eyes searched that round little face, moving from his chubby cheeks to pouty lips, then higher up above his eyes.
No brows.
Lo'ak's chest stilled, breath hitching.
No brows.
The babe's face was devoid of any extra hairs that had plagued Lo'ak's face his entire life. For a second, a palpitating sense of relief washed over him, relief at knowing his child would not be subjected to the cruelties of words those hair brought on. The mocking, the sneers, all of it. The kind of silent scrutiny that lingered in crowds wherever he went.
Then his eyes traveled down. And there on the babe's clenched fist were five fingers. Five, short, stubby little fingers, each barely larger than a mealworm.
A disorienting flurry of feelings surfaced.
First it was fear for his son, of what the people might say or do, of what he might endure as he grew. The shame and self-hatred.
But then…there was adoration, quiet and fluffy, settling right in the middle of his chest in a ball of fuzzy warmth. Because looking now, at that little fist that housed that tiny pinky, Lo'ak knew, with all the certainty in the world, that finger could not belong to a demon. Attached to that pinky was a small, chubby newborn baby; someone who was the complete embodiment of love, the product of two hearts joining as one. That finger looked so soft and gentle and pliant. Something incapable of harm.
Pride came rushing in. Pride that there was part of him seen in his son. Pride of knowing indisputably that the babe was his—not that there was ever any doubt— and that finger was not what anyone ever told him it was. That it was not something vile and eldritch but rather adoring. How could he have ever let anyone make him believe otherwise when the truth was so clear before his very eyes?
Tears clouded his vision. It was not a burning that rushed along his waterline in quiet heartache. It was a fast and bubbling rise that quivered along his lower lashes in release of that suffocating feeling that surfaced whenever he looked at his hands.
"Ma Lo'ak"
Your hoarse voice broke him out of the spell his son had cast over him. His eyes found yours instantly. You held the babe up to him, arms lifting as much as the exhaustion that had settled in your joints would let you.
Instinctively, Lo'ak's hand raised, only slightly before stopping mid-air. It was the hesitation of a man who never knew if what he was doing was right. Hesitation that did not exist when he was a reckless boy. Hesitation that was born of blood and death and war. His hand stayed still, shackled by an invisible chain of his own making, holding him back, stopping him from crossing the distance despite your silent permission.
His eyes found yours again. Your wide, beautiful eyes, so different from his smaller ones. Those eyes that looked at him with all the adoration in the world. Those eyes that had seen him and chosen him despite what others whispered. Those eyes that softened and fluttered and gave him all the love he had craved his entire life, genuine and surreal.
"Lo'ak," your voice was a blanket, always so careful with him, wrapping him in pillowy warmth. Your lips were pulled back, smile sweet despite the corners drooping from tiredness. "You can hold him. It is okay." Lo'ak always listened to you. You were his rock, the one thing in his life that considered him completely, that held him up when his own legs refused to, folding under the pressure of his own doubt. Lo'ak owed you more than his life. Your love had saved him in ways he could not express in words. Whatever you wanted, he gave it, because you gave him everything the day you chose him. Even now, you still give him more than he deserved in the form of a sleeping babe.
Lo'ak's hand trembled, pulling against the self-imposed shackles, freeing himself and finally breaching the space between him and his son. You passed the baby off with ease, him only stirring slightly when you unlinked your kurus. The baby's weight settled in Lo'ak's arms nicely. Heavy and real. That pale blue skin of new life was plush with human fat, feeling so cushiony against his arms. The babe's rounded cheek was squished against Lo'ak's chest, his pouty lips letting out a quiet, content sigh. Lo'ak wondered if his son could hear the deep thudding of his heart, if it was comforting to his tiny ears.
Lo'ak's hand went to the babe's fist, smoothing his large thumb over the little one's knuckles. He naturally focused on that small pinky that was barely longer than his own nail, carefully opening the little hand so he could stroke it with a reverence he never thought he would have towards the finger that was just like his own. His heart skipped a beat when the babe curled its hand around his finger—his pinky, so large that those small fingers struggled to fully wrap around it.
It was then the tears finally fell, brushing against his cheek in a light, cool rush. He tipped his head down, bringing his lips closer to the babe's ear, and with a soft whispering voice laced with willowing devotion, he welcomed his son.
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the worst thing about having to study is that's when everyone decides to update their fics and i can't read them all cuz then i won't have time to studyyyyy ahhhhhhhgggg this world is cruel i'm fighting demons aka my lack of self-discipline
it's always "one more fic then i'll study" and then suddenly it's tomorrow
anyways wish me luck for my final on thursday guys. manifest a pass for me puh-leasee i don't wanna fail this shit again 🙏🙏🙏
Description: You share a, somewhat, quiet morning with your husband, three babies, and a whole lot of fruit.
Word Count: 1.5k
Content Warning: no real plot, takes place between avatar 1 and 2, established relationship, co-sleeping, reader is afab, breastfeeding, eating, Lo’ak is about 3 months, Neteyam and Kiri are about a year and a half-ish, fluff, domestic life, (let me know if i missed anything !)
Author's Note: i’m so sorry i’ve been so inactive 😭 i hope you enjoy this one !! it’s been sitting in my pile of wips for a really long time. pray i get my mojo back ! i miss writing and enjoying it !
divider by @saradika-graphics
A rare quiet had settled over the Sully kelku (home), with all of its members piled into a large, sturdy hammock, nestled in the back of the dwelling. Jake slept with his back to the outside world, curled around his wife and his three small children. Kiri dozed soundly, tucked into her father’s chest, while Neteyam laid by your shoulder, his steady wispy breath tickling your ear.
The silence was broken when small whines came from the baby on your other side, turning into cries and waking you from a light sleep. Jake shifted beside you as you gathered Lo’ak into your arms and cooed softly, wiping the tears from his azure cheeks.
Sleepily, you helped him latch, smoothing over his hair covered brow as he drank with fervor. Always hungry and consequently filling out quickly, your youngest son made you wonder what your mate looked like as a child. Glancing at Jake, whose half-lidded eyes watched you intently, you were quite certain Eywa had blessed you with a glimpse.
You kissed Lo’ak’s four-fingered hand as he lifted it up to touch your face. His small tail curled around your wrist like it always did when you held him. Wide, yellow eyes peered up at you over the swell of your breast, sparkling as the rising sun filtered through the woven canopy above and danced across his stripes.
Jake was quick to place a hand on your arm when you attempted to sit up, taking Lo’ak from you and climbing out of the hammock. Jake let you rest when he could, knowing his duties as Olo’eyktan sometimes kept him away, and loving quiet mornings with his children. Especially after a bad night, when his dreams brought back memories that he would rather leave behind. Despite the lack of sleep, seeing their sweet faces and caring for them kept you both present and, most of all, thankful.
Your mate rocked the prrnen (baby) with the practiced movements of fatherhood, shifting his weight from foot to foot, and you settled back down. With him gone, Kiri stretched out to fill the space and Neteyam stirred. He pushed himself up, standing with his eyes still closed but holding his arms out to you. You laughed at the sight and gently pulled him down onto your chest. He rubbed his face against your sternum, patting your sides with his small hands as.
You snuggled with your toddlers in the hammock as Jake sat with Lo’ak on the opposite side of the marui (dwelling), beside the large entrance. The morning sun lit them in a bright, hazy glow and it was almost like a dream. You drifted in and out of sleep until the sound of Lo’ak’s full-bellied laughter rang out in your home.
The sound made your eyes fly open and your heart soar.
Jake was hunched over Lo’ak, who grasped strands of his father’s long hair in chubby hands. Laughter floated out of your son’s mouth as Jake blew soft raspberries on the small boy’s round stomach. The still-novel sound was like music to your ears. Of all the songs that Eywa had written, it was your favorite. Jake’s own low and breathy chuckle only made it sweeter, like a beautiful harmony.
Jake’s tail swished excitedly behind him and his gaze rose to meet yours. His eyes sparkled with pride and awe, but his smile was smug. As if Toruk Makto needed anything else to pad his ego, it happened that he was the only one who could make little Lo’ak laugh. You sent him a pointed look with feigned offense, not meaning it at all, and received a wink in return.
Jake continued playing with Lo’ak as Neteyam and Kiri took turns at your breast. You hummed a simple song over them, welcoming the day with a thankful prayer. When they were content, you helped them climb down from the hammock and watched as they ran to their sempu (dad). He held his free arm out to sweep them into his embrace.
You would have stayed abed in the hammock, watching the blissfully domestic scene, if it were not for your growling stomach and the fact that Jake was severely outnumbered. Unhurriedly, you swung your legs over the side of the swaynivi (family hammock), securing a shawl around your shoulders before pushing off toward the baskets of food.
Crouching, you put together a leaf plate full of an assortment of fruits that made your mouth water. Desperate to satiate your seemingly neverending hunger, you munched on the ripe fruit and listened as Jake attempted to interpret your children’s babbling. An amused smile spread across your face as he conversed with them about something ridiculous that he was absolutely making up.
You were cutting another tìhawnuwll (spartan fruit) when Kiri appeared by your side, peering down at your hands as they worked.
“Mah-tee,” she observed, pointing at the fruit.
“Mauti (fruit),” you repeated, handing her a piece and smoothing down her sleep-mussed hair as she ate.
Neteyam’s sweet voice came from behind you, repeating the word “meyam (hug)” quite demandingly. You glanced back to find him sitting in Jake’s lap, attempting to hold Lo’ak on his own. Neteyam was grinning, arms wrapped tightly around his little brother’s middle. Your lips quirked upwards at the sight. Your oldest often forgot he was still a baby himself.
“Go to sempu (dad),” you encouraged Kiri as you stood and followed her back to Jake.
Kiri ran and Jake watched with a smile as you neared. You held out a piece of tìhawnuwll to Jake and he took it between his teeth, catching your wrist before you could pull away and licking the juice from your fingers.
“Thanks, baby.” He murmured, kissing your palm before letting you go. “Sleep okay?”
You settled beside him with a hum and leaned your head against his shoulder.
“What’s Lo’ak got against sleeping these days?” Jake yawned as you ate.
“If he is anything like his siblings, it will just be a few weeks more,” you replied, offering Jake another bite. “I hope… for our sanity.”
Lo’ak had put up a nasty fight, refusing to sleep and waking constantly throughout the night. You had gotten through similar sleep regressions with Kiri and Neteyam, but experience did not make this particular trial any easier. Such a blissful morning felt like a reward for the battle that was the night prior.
“He's taking it like a champ, though,” Jake noted, holding Lo’ak’s small foot between his fingers and inspiring Kiri to take the other one. “He’s real happy today.”
“Then perhaps today I will make him laugh,” you declared, meeting Jake’s gaze with confidence as you barred your children from knocking the leaf plate off your lap and onto the woven floor.
His brows lifted and his head titled as he regarded you with playful skepticism. “Good luck with that.”
You swatted his arm and Jake’s amused laugh was almost a snicker.
“Do you doubt me, husband? I will have you know that Lo’ak smiles at me all the time,” you informed him.
Jake shook his head. “Not the same.”
You leveled a look at your mate. “It means he might laugh. And it could be today.”
Jake’s smile softened and his mouth opened to speak, but Lo’ak squawked instead. The little one kicked his feet free from Kiri and Jake’s captivity and Neteyam patted Lo’ak’s belly in an effort to sooth him.
Unfazed, Kiri stood from her crouched position and moved between your legs. She took some fruit from the plate in both hands and offered them to you. It was your turn to laugh as she tried to maneuver two handfuls of fruit into your open mouth.
“Thank you, sweet girl,” you managed while chewing.
Kiri beamed and turned, plopping down in your lap, occasionally gesturing for more fruit by sticking her hand out. Jake was smoothing a hand over Neteyam’s thick, dark hair when you saw the boy eyeing the plate of fruits from his confined spot. Neteyam leaned toward you, taking Lo’ak with him, his small mouth open as wide as it could get.
“Here ya go, pal.” Jake took a few pieces from the plate and held them within the boy’s reach in his open palm.
Neteyam munched gratefully, sticky hands touching everything they should not, including Lo’ak’s hair. But your youngest was much too occupied with attempting to grab Neteyam’s share to notice.
The leaf plate’s contents quickly dwindled to nothing and you found yourself cutting more fruit at your children’s request for nì'ul (more). Squeals and giggles lifted into the air as Jake chased Kiri and Neteyam around the marui (dwelling) while they waited, holding Lo’ak out before him like a flying beast. Maybe even Toruk himself.
Your children definitely inherited their affinity for fruit from you. You hummed in delight as you sampled each one you added to the plate, taking the time to fill your stomach while you could. Before little hands laid waste to the sweet nourishment. They all ran to you when you sat back down with the replenished fruits, flushed and eager to eat.
“Eywa, this family will surely eat all the fruit in the forest,” you mused, smiling fondly with full heart, if not a full belly.
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pirate na'vi but they're not actually pirates they're just a group of weirdos that live on the sea on boats, not even for trade or anything they just do it for the fun of it and once in a while they just pop up at island villages to drink and party then leave again.
