#aranahe!reader

cw: age gap (Teylan 18, Reader late 20s); virgin!Teylan; past trauma/abuse; hurt/comfort; fluff

You are an Aranahe weaver and songkeeper—tall and graceful, with the intricate silk patterns of your clan woven into your armbands and top, your skin a deep teal, marked with the faint glowing lines of kinglor silk tattoos. You are older than Teylan by several cycles, already past your first mating heat, confident in your body and its pleasures in a way the young Sarentu male has never known.

When the resistance brings the surviving Sarentu children to your clan's territory for healing and learning, you are one of the first to notice Teylan’s quiet fascination. He watches you from the edges of the weaving circles—wide amber eyes fixed on the way your long fingers move through silk threads, the gentle sway of your hips as you walk the suspended bridges, the curve of your full breasts beneath your woven top. His ears twitch whenever you laugh, his tail curling tight whenever you glance his way.

You find it endearing—this shy, untouched boy-man, raised in cold human walls, now staring at you like you are the first warm thing he has ever seen.

One evening, after the others have retired to their hammocks high in the kinglor nests, you find him alone on a lower platform, fidgeting with a broken human device, ears drooping.

“Teylan,” you call softly, settling beside him with the easy grace of someone who belongs to the sky. “You look lost.”

He startles, nearly dropping the gadget. “I—I am fine. Just… thinking.”

something with Teylan and an Aranhe weaver, that went to the resistance base with him. They’re happy and in love, and in the middle of the night she wakes up and he’s fiddling with some human tech and hs shows her how it works

The space beside you is empty but warm. Your hand moves along the padded sleeping mat, heat bleeding into your palm as you feel the woven material beneath your fingertips. The pattern is intricate, created by an Aranahe weaver in your clan and brought here when you joined Teylan in The Resistance base.

You had been here for a week now, and had finally felt settled. Even before you had joined Teylan, the Sarentu had welcomed you, but now they did so with happiness for the both of you. You and your mate—you weren’t yet used to being or having a mate—were given your own space to revel in the joys of being mates officially.

After You wake up to the empty mat, you notice that Teylan isn’t far from you. He is sitting near some of the crates he had brought into your room, human devices and trinkets that he liked to fiddle with. Though his back is to you, you can see the edges of your courting gift to him.

You had made him an armband to wear around his arm, though you had doubts that he would like it. When you gave it to him, you were hesitant. It was abundantly clear that Teylan preferred the human clothing rather than what the Sarentu wore. Still, he accepted your gift with great appreciation for the Aranahe skills of weaving.

Now it is one of the only pieces of Na’vi clothing that he wears.

“Teylan what are you doing?” You push yourself to sit and then stand on your sleeping mat, shivering from the loss of warmth when your blanket slipped off you.

“I finally got it to work.” He turns his head and looks back at you, head cocked slightly to the side. “It’s a human device that plays music.”

“That is what’a keeping you awake?” You reach for your shawl made of fine silk you gathered near your clan’s hometree, and drape it around your shoulders. You still hadn’t gotten used to the cold of the metal walls but you were trying to, for your mate.

“I’m sorry for waking you up.” A darker colour hits his cheeks as he blushes, and he smiles small; nervously like he is expecting you to give him trouble.

You close the distance between you and your mate and come to sit beside him. Your shawl tightens around your shoulders when you tighten your hand, and your tail moves in rhythm to your soft humming. You rest your head upon Teylan’s shoulder, to which he momentarily tenses, before he relaxes and presses his cheek to the top of your head.

“Show me how it works?” Your voice is soft, tender and sweet. You, like Teylan, tend to be shy and bashful in nature—although you know that he is that way because of Mercer. Regardless, you make a good pair.

“First you spin this….” He turns the device over in his hand, spinning the rotating wheel as the screen lights up. A grey bar that runs from one side of the screen to the other horizontally, highlights the humans words that it lands on when Teylan spins the circle.

“And then when you find what you want, you press this…” in the centre of the rotating circle is a smaller one that does not move like the one surround it. The centre can only be pushed but once Teylan pushes it, the screen changes again and music begins playing from the device.

“Let me try.” The moment you hear the music coming from the human object, your eyes grow wide and you snatch it from his hands. You turn it over to analyze it, curious and amazed by whatever it could be.

Although you don’t quite get the concept of the device because when you try to spin the circle, the music only jumps forward in time. You frown and your ears fall flatter against your head, almost pinned, and you turn your head to look at Teylan.

He smiles at you, softly and tenderly, and then grabs the device from you. He keeps himself pressed flush to you although his left hand moves behind your back to settle on your left hip.

“Like this…” he shows you again, going through the same cycle of steps, teaching you until you feel like you get the hang of it. And once you do, Teylan sits back and watches you play with the human trinket, shuffling through music that plays on the device over and over until your eyes grow heavy.

Only once you feel like you are going to fall asleep does Teylan take it from you. He sets it back into his box of human things and helps you back into bed, where he joins you. He slips a hand over your waist to pull the blanket over the both of you, and then he leans in and tucked his face into the crook of your neck.

English is not my native language, so please excuse any mistakes!

⟾ Naive Love

Synopsis 𓄼 You fell in love with her before you even knew what it was, but it seems luck isn't on your side… For now.

Words 𓄼 1 056

Attention 𓄼 free, cute, young and naive love, you simply embarrass yourself in front of her.

Dictionary 𓄼 tsahìk - spiritual leader 》kinglor - flying insect similar to a moth 》tsakarem - apprentice/successor of tsahìk 》skxawng - idiot

You had been observing Ri'nela for some time, not knowing exactly when it began.

Perhaps it was right when she first appeared in your clan, or when you first heard her voice speaking to your leaders, but now you knew there was no turning back.

Because from the moment you noticed her, you fell in love.

And when that happened, ironically, you thought you were ill.

Sweaty palms, a slight trembling in your body, a dry throat, the heat, and a racing heart were clear evidence that something was wrong, so you ran to the only person who could help you at that moment. Etuwa, your Tsahik sage.

And that day, to your dismay, she was accompanied by her mentor Nefika.

Do you still remember when Nefika scolded you for not practicing your embroidery with Koranu, your best friend and fellow weaver, before you started telling her everything that was happening and feeling in your body, when the older woman started laughing out of nowhere. You found it even stranger when Etuwa didn't intervene, quite the opposite, since she had a happy smile plastered on her face.

Doubt lingered in your mind.

Were they happy about your imminent death?

The weaver said it was nonsense, young one, you didn't understand.

The leader said it was a sign from Eywa, and you swore that if it was, you could die right there.

But it was only when they asked a very precise question that things started to make sense. They asked if it started because of someone, if you had looked at someone and started noticing more about that person than you normally would. You stopped and thought.

Everyone in the clan was known to you, whether by name, face, or even voice, and none of them made you feel this way. However, there was someone outside the clan who caught your attention more than necessary a few days ago when she arrived.

The girl who had arrived with the already known sarentu and So'lek.

That kind of thing, that feeling, was something completely new. You had never been so fascinated by someone, and over time you seemed to long even more for the times she visited you.

Nefika laughed even more.

Etuwa comforted you, finally clearly stating what the whole situation was about.

That wasn't an illness.

That was love.

It was as if a small light had turned on inside your head.

At that time you didn't know her name, so Etuwa told you.

Ri'nela.

And the pronunciation never sounded so sweet in his mouth

You were sitting on one of the low platforms next to Koranu, holding the thin threads of pure silk in your hands, your weaving work already forgotten. Not that you were doing anything really interesting, but it was a perfect place as an excuse to sit and watch the young sarentu girl chatting with her Tsahìk a few meters ahead of you, without raising much suspicion.

A silly sigh escaped again, and another, irritated one, came from the weaver beside you.

– Go talk to her already. Those idiotic sighs of yours are distracting me.

The girl's voice reached your ears as she unraveled yet another newly formed thread that didn't please you. You quickly looked away at her.

– Talk to whom?

– The sarentu girl you can't stop staring at.

Frowning, you feigned ignorance.

– I wasn't looking at her.

– No? You look like a moth that found the last kinglor flower in the whole forest near her.

Koranu's tone was monotonous, as if she were already tired of dealing with this situation multiple times.

Her ears drooped and her tail shriveled behind.

– Am I being that obvious?

– If the whole clan doesn't already know, I really don't.

The girl stopped working on the piece she was making just to glance at you.

– Don't miss the opportunity. If not now, it may never be. If not you, it may be someone else.

You looked ahead again, at Ri'nela, seeing Tamtey also approach to join the conversation they were having. The way the warrior placed his hand on the tsakarem's arm, so close, made a strange feeling of unease take over your body.

She was right. You couldn't keep watching her from afar forever.

– You're right… I…

Rising from your seat, you let the lines fall to the ground, ready to take some initiative and muster the courage to approach, your newly acquired enthusiasm giving you the strength to take the first step.

– I'll talk to her!

You should have thought better when you decided to abandon those lines in front of you, because as soon as you stood up to take the first step, your right foot got caught in the threads, and then the other, causing you to lose your balance. And as if that wasn't enough, right on the edge of the platform were small containers of ink that you and Koranu intended to use to dye the fabrics.

Disaster was inevitable.

One moment you were all confident and ready to finally talk to Ri'nela and express your feelings, and the next you were face down on the floor, looking like a newly painted mural with your feet intertwined in kinglor silk, managing to attract the attention of not only the aranahe present.

Koranu sighed wearily, rolled her eyes, and went back to paying attention to the silk she was sewing, undoing another patch only to do it again, giving up on you a long time ago and leaving you to deal with that situation alone.

– Skxawng.

Your courage was gone that day.

Whether it was because you got up and realized you had just ruined one of your best chances to try to get closer to Ri'nela, or because you knew she had witnessed your embarrassing situation, or because you were reprimanded by Nefika, who was returning to supervise you and Koranu at that exact moment, for being so clumsy in front of everyone as soon as you stood up.

When you finally had the chance to look in her direction, she was no longer there.

And you prayed with all your might to Eywa that night.

That that hadn't been her first impression of you.

What a naive thought you had.

It turns out you weren't the only one who had her eye on someone, after all.

It's just something silly and simple because I lost the idea, but I still intend to write something better for Ri'nela here >•< Maybe I'll write a short story about this. I'm still learning how to use Tumblr, I want to make things pretty here ♡ and then I'll arrange the others

English is not my native language, so please excuse any mistakes!

⟾ Still, A Promise.

Synopsis 𓄼 A war is uncertain, you never know what might happen. The only certainty it can give is that of many losses, losses that do not distinguish between enemies and allies.

Words 𓄼 1 295

Attention 𓄼 free, light romance, anguish, inner apprehension, neural connection, comforting, comfort with kuru.

Dictionary 𓄼 kinglor - flying insect similar to a moth 》ikran - mountain banshee 》tsaheylu - link 》kuru - neural thread 》vrrtep - demon 》tsahìk - spiritual leader 》ma txe'lan - my heart

You weren't born to fight.

You hadn't gained the gift to be a hunter, much less a warrior in your clan, but it wasn't as if those roles were the most coveted among the young prodigies of the Silk Forest.

The Aranahe were skilled artisans and weavers because those lands, blessed by the Great Mother, made them prosper in that capacity, teaching them from a young age to coexist with the kinglor creatures of the forest and the ikrans that flew over the beautiful floating mountains of the Western Frontier.

But when war approaches your territory, the hands that once wove the most beautiful and delicate fabrics are forced to wield thick, heavy weapons, as adapting to battle has become essential for survival.

But your people weren't warriors.

And that was what scared you the most.

– Your hands are trembling.

Her voice cut through the silence inside one of the upper domes where you two were sitting within the Hometree. Most of the resident aranahe were on the lower floors making preparations for those who would go to war that day.

The cheerful noise below, the enthusiasm and positive vibes among the newest warriors didn't reach your ears, passing by as something distant.

They were happy for the chance to finally be able to get rid of those demons from the sky that rotted their lands and destroyed their home.

But war was war.

An ugly word that left a bitter taste when pronounced, that granted scars when it happened, and that was the main cause of many losses since arriving on “Pandora”, from the stars.

Your fingers stopped halfway to her cheek, the yellowish ink on your hand looking too cold.

Times changed a long time ago.

Your people weren't born to fight like that.

But there you were, painting marks on her body and being forced to let her go to a battle of such magnitude.

– I don't like this.

Her voice came out weak.

– I know.

It wasn't a cold response, but the way it was phrased, too precisely, didn't please her.

– But I have to go.

That didn't need to be stated, but it still seemed like the right thing to say. You lowered your gaze, the still almost untouched bowl of fresh ink near your knees on the ground. Etuwa noticed your silence too quickly.

– Our people will not be alone. The clans have united, and we will fight as one. We will attack together and defeat them before they can even recover.

You heard her words, you knew the plans prepared for that day, plans that had been discussed in the temporary unified council between the Aranahe, Kame'tire, and Zeswa. The offensive was the main line of reasoning; it was a good plan. But would it be good enough?

What if the attack went wrong?

What if the enemy managed to recover faster than expected?

She continued.

– I will do everything to prevent so many losses. I will do everything to protect them.

Protect. A strong word that carried as much weight as responsibility.

Her tail twitched behind and her ears went back, betraying her discomfort.

– And who will protect you?

– I am taking the best with me.

– Even the best are prone to fall, Etuwa.

And you know that.

Silence hung between you.

And there was considerable time before one of you decided to make the first move.

You didn't resist much when you felt those warm, strong arms you'd grown to love supporting you, pulling you into her lap. Your legs tensed around her, with a quick tremor, and your arms gripped her shoulders tightly. Your head lowered to the nape of her neck, inhaling her characteristic scent, seeking to etch it eternally into your mind.

It no longer mattered if the fresh paint was now smudged or even staining your fine clothes.

Etwua embraced your partially bare back, her fingers delicately tracing your spine before one hand abandoned that task.

You noticed the subtle movement.

She stretched one arm behind her back, holding her own braid to show you. The pink strands appeared eagerly when you did the same, and they joined with hers as soon as the distance disappeared.

The effects of the tsaheylu were immediate.

You both let out synchronized sighs as the connection became too strong through both of your kurus, the silent feelings being exposed every second.

She felt your apprehension for her, your fear for those of your clan, your feeling of helplessness and your anguish, and you could feel her hatred for the war, her worry about leading so many to something unpredictable, the distress and weight of returning home with a victory and with the fewest possible losses.

But beyond all that, beyond the longing, the fear, and the uncertainty, there was comfort. A slight pulse of the connection trying to anchor you in that situation, which, gradually, began to be shared with her as well.

And little by little the bad thoughts calmed down in your mind, not disappearing, never disappearing, but placed in a place where they didn't need to be present at that moment.

Etuwa hadn't said a single word, because she understood. With or without connection, she would always understand you, but between duty, reason, and will, the choice would always be geared towards a greater good. Before she was your partner, she was a leader.

And you understood her better than anyone.

– Promise me.

Her ears twitched even before she caught his voice and lifted her face from his chest.

– Promise me, Etuwa.

His hands went to the sides of her face, the ink on his fingers already forgotten.

– That you won't let any vrrtep hurt you. That you'll come home alive… To me…

Saying that word felt like a sin, a poison.

– I can't lose you…

The words sounded like a whisper, so low as if they didn't want to risk escaping into thin air. The tsahìk brought her face closer to your neck.

– I can't guarantee you something like that.

You knew. She knew. That was a cruel truth.

– But I promise…

Her senses sharpened. Her kurus were still strongly connected to the side when she decided to place her forehead against his, her eyes closing as she felt his skin against hers. There. Present.

– I promise I will do everything to return home and to you, ma txe'lan.

That wasn't the answer your conscious mind wanted to receive. It wasn't certain or exact, but it was the closest you could get.

You didn't insist.

You simply allowed yourself to stay embraced with your companion, listening to her breath, feeling her warmth, and sharing your deepest feelings high up in your Hometree.

Your night wasn't guaranteed.

The Great Mother couldn't give you certainty.

But Etuwa was there now, and that was what mattered at the moment.

That day you let her go, watching her ascend to the heavens, her body painted for war alongside Ka'nat and the best warriors of her people, unsure if she would ever return to your arms.

But you believed in that promise.

Your right hand rose to firmly grasp a set of beads made from the seeds of the Hometree pinned to your chest, a small gift Etuwa had made and given you at the very beginning of your courtship, a few moons ago, but which held as much meaning for you as any other, for she kept a similar one you had made in your own garments.

To guide.

To protect.

So that I may always be with you.

And you believed in that promise.

Because at dusk the warriors would return victorious against the people of the sky, led by their leaders, and all would be well.

Oh, Eywa, all would be well.

I simply love Etuwa <3