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[magymacabre]

Credits

CLOTHES:

mintae. Yuna Top - Black

Gorsimi - Kavi Panties

AsteroidBox. Celest Skirt - Black

CLOCKHAUS - Regina Coat //

{Sakura} Sporty Thigh Socks - Maze

AsteroidBox. Shredded Nets - Black Plain

WeArH0uSE [torn] Sheer/50%

HAIR:

Magika - Bangs - Amy

Magika - Hair - Amy

MAKEUP/TATS:

[HEXUMBRA] Kamberly HD Lipsticks - Day

Exclusive at the <a href="http://maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Source/225/193/2552">Orsy Event</a> March 9th-23rd

<a href="https://www.hexumbra.com">[HEXUMBRA]</a> Peyton Eyeshadow - Ice 5 Shimmer

<a href="https://www.hexumbra.com">[HEXUMBRA]</a> Peyton Liner - 7 (Tintable)

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Lilithe'// Rabies Tattoos - Fresh [FINGERS ONLY]

Rekt Royalty - Protection Scar

EVERMORE. [ skin.tone - tint/adjust ] - 20%

.:E.A.Studio:. Swallow Gauged S Pixy Moringa TaTToo

ACCESSORIES:

(Yummy) Undying Love Hand Chains

(Yummy) Undying Love Ring Collection

.ashes. jeweled moon bindi

AZARAN - NOX NOSE CHAIN

RAWR! Luna Nails

Vibing -- lisha collar -- silver/black

SHOES:

AVEC TOI - Empire Boots - TIGHT

THE BASICS

Ebody Reborn

Lel Avalon.

Nar Mattaru . Hela Skin {Ghoul}

^^Swallow^^ Pixie Gauged S Ears

MAZE.mods - Soft Thighs mod

.

[cordyce]

ao’nung is frustrated.

at least, that’s what you’ve deduced from watching him sharpen his knife for the past ten minutes straight. if he keeps going, it might get as thin as a wish bone; threatening to snap at the slightest bit of pressure. as much as you’d find amusement in the sight of that, you’d rather not be in the crossfire when it happens.

“what’s got you caught in its net?” you ask, finally, as you drop the gear you’ve been mending while ao’nung simmers.

“funny,” he mutters, but mirth is not something found in his tone. another scrape, another grating. he does not look over at you.

“i know. i’m the funniest person alive. you should be grateful you have the opportunity to bask in my presence.”

it’s a ploy—a tease. like waving fresh bait in front of a young ilu but never tossing it into the water for them to eat. your tactic with ao’nung is always the same. push and pull and prod just enough that he bites back with less venom and more demure. because sarcasm is better than spite, in all regards.

except now, he doesn’t take it. now, he simply keeps his head tucked down, his lips pressed in a hard line. whittling at his knife and spouting invisible steam out of his ears.

you stand up, make your way over to him and bend slightly at the waist to slide your hands along his sloped shoulders. his muscles go taut—just a bit—at the initial contact of your palms, but relax a second later. not to their resting state, no, but leaving the field of caught off guard at the very least. you hum, lean down further as you dip your hands over his clavicles, across the upper half of his sternum.

“what is wrong, ao‘nung?” its sincere, this time. your question. because despite the dynamic between the two of you, you really do care—jokes and jabs aside.

this silence is different. you can tell by the twitch of his ears that he’s thinking; mulling something over on his tongue before he decides whether to spit it out or swallow it down. you can never guess which one it will be, not with him. he acts on whims, never strategy. there is no speculating his next move, so you simply don’t try to.

“there has been talk among the reef.” it’s all he says; all he gives. such a shell of a man, forcing you to pry open his jaws to reach the pearl within.

it is good that you’ve always been so skilled with your hands.

“there is always talk among the reef,” you chuckle, begin to fiddle with the necklace that’s strung around his neck. hooking your chin over the top of his head, you look down to watch as he grinds his knife once again. “you know they like to keep their minds busy with silly things.”

“it isn’t a silly thing.”

“oh? then tell me, what is so dire that it could have the great ao’nung this tense, hm?”

his hands falter for the first time, a pause in his rhythmic grazing. your brows furrow at that, create a hairline crease in the middle that only smooths out as he resumes his motions. scrape, scrape, scrape again. it’s like he’s doing it in sync with his heart. if you shifted your hand over just a tad, you suppose you could test that theory.

“it is talk of you.”

quiet. a mere grumble under his breath. if you were not leaned over him like this you would not have even heard him. such an odd twinge to his tone; laced with something you can’t quite decipher. can’t quite pick up on. it isn’t necessarily anger, but something flirting along the lines of it.

“me? don’t tell me you have went around spreading rumors that i am possessed by eywa’s evil sister again. i thought you stopped that when we were kids.” you laugh through it, because the jagged edges of his timbre are making your fingers itch. “you’re going to ruin my reputation.”

he scoffs. condescending, dismissive. normally you’d take that as a good sign; a call back to his regular grating demeanor. at this specific moment, however, you find annoyance in it.

“your reputation is fine,” he tilts, gives a particularly harsh press of his knife that makes you think this just might be the time where it snaps. miraculously, it doesn’t. “so completely fine.”

“then what could they possibly find reason to speak of me for?” you press, rubbing your thumb over the cord of his necklace, twisting it around your fingers. “i have not caused any trouble lately. haven’t set fire to any maruis. why, there’s nothing that i can think of that could possibly warrant—“

“they speak of your lack of mate.”

his hands are working harder, less refined. jaw clenching, deltoids growing stiff below you. it’s all starting to air itself out, his jaws have cracked open just enough that you can finally see the pretty pink pearl that rests on the bed of his tongue. but it is not enough, not yet.

“then all they speak is the truth,” you shrug over him, keep your gaze locked on his movements. you want to be sure, before you jump to the assumptions that are creating hurdles in your mind. “there is no harm in speaking of public knowledge.”

“they—“ he hitches, twists his face up like his next words are sour on his tastebuds, “they are voicing their thoughts on potentials for you. they think.. rotxo is the best option.”

“oh, yes. rotxo would be a fine potential mate.”

and, ah. there it is. the coup de grace.

ao’nung snaps his head around towards you so fast you hardly have time to lean back to avoid getting smacked in the chin by his skull. there’s a fissure between his brows, his eyes have widened past the aggravated slits they were before. his mouth is cracked open in disbelief, of the fact that you agreed with him or another matter, you aren’t sure. either way, it is clear now what has been getting under the heir’s skin.

he's jealous. and you can't help but find that the slightest bit amusing. it's not often you have ao'nung in the palm of your hand like this; akin to a bug squirming under the pad of your thumb with no clear route of escape. you think you can play this up, just a little.

"you do not think that," he states, like he needs to speak it into existence. like if he says it then it will ring true, change your mind.

(he doesn't need to change your mind, but he doesn't need to know that right now).

"why would i not?" you hum, tip your head like you're truly contemplating it. "he is sweet. has a tender heart. and he is always so quick to help me. he doesn't even complain. i think taking him as a mate would be a good decision."

"the only thing good about rotxo is his hair," ao'nung spouts, rolls his eyes at you as his face fills up with indignation. "stupid, pretty boy goody two shoes."

"oh, you're right! and he's nice to look at," you agree, nod your head right along with it, "how could i forget?"

his cheek dips; he's sucking it in between his teeth. you've really done it, you think. setting him off has never been so easy. sure, it’s never too hard to get him riled up in the middle of a bickering match. but like this? aggravated over, what, exactly? the thought of you with someone else?

maybe you’re enjoying this a bit too much.

“he is not your type.” a bold proclamation, ao’nung spits out. grasping for straws; searching blindly. “you would not go well with him.”

“i think he is my type, actually,” you dispute, and he’s stopped all his movements now. knife long forgotten as he seethes over every word you speak. “kind. loyal. good morals. easy on the eyes. yes, definitely my type. that checks off the list.”

he purses his lips, knots up his brows. “that cannot be the list.”

“no?” you peruse, play into him. he makes this too easy, really. “what do you think is on the list, then? moody? messy? long hair? a tendency to be mouthy? being the chief’s son?”

that earns you a shove off of him; a click for him to realize you’ve been fucking with him this entire time. biting back your shit eating grin would be impossible so you don’t even try to. nor do you stop the laughter that bubbles out of you as he goes back to his knife work and curses you under his breath.

you reach for him again except this time you walk around until you’re in front of him. one hand on his shoulder, you lean down to shove the knife and sharpener out of his hands and plop yourself right into the slot his crossed legs have made. his gaze is narrowed at you, his lips jutted. you simply smile—innocent, sweet—as you slide your hands around to cup the nape of his neck.

“i don’t think rotxo could handle me,” you murmur, sickeningly saccharine in such a direct contrast from seconds before. ao’nung doesn’t budge. “and the good ones are always so boring. if he was my mate, when would i ever get the chance to get up to trouble?”

“you are trouble,” ao’nung scoffs; acting annoyed, fed up. but his hands give him away as they meet the dimples of your lower back, as they slide up your spine to hold you secure so you don’t fall backwards.

his facade of pretending to not care has never been too full proof. there’s been cracks in that glass since day one.

“your trouble,” you grin. your fingers begin to draw circles along the back of his neck, tease at his hairline. “you made me this way, you know.”

“i made you nothing,” he rebuts. “you are the one who always comes up with the pesky ideas that get us scolded.”

“ah, you’re right,” you agree with a faux sigh. “humor and brains. i guess i’m the funniest and smartest person alive. truly, you should be honored.”

ao’nung rolls his eyes, peels his hands off of you. “forget ability, i do not wish to handle you now. rotxo can have you, for all i care.”

“oh?” you quirk, begin to stand up. “should i go see what he is up to—“

“sit,” ao’nung orders before you can rise no more than a few inches off of his lap; hands gripping your waist to tug you back down. the playfulness drains from his eyes, that annoyance—jealousy—flashes across sea foam irises for just a moment. “you are not funny.”

you bite the edge of your lip, making your grin turn slanted. he is so fun to tease, to toss around. his palms are warm on the dip of your waist. sliding your hands further back, you skim your finger along the side of the braid encasing his queue. faint, light. he tries to hide the shiver it causes but you pick up on it regardless. and that only makes you grin wider.

“they will speak of me until i choose a mate,” you hum as you lean closer to him, minimize the distance between your faces. “rotxo is not the only name that will be paired with mine. they all like to place their bets, you know.”

“their bets are stupid,” ao’nung mutters; gruff and rumbling out of his chest as his attention flickers, falters, the closer you get.

being this close is nothing new. being this touchy is nothing new, either. but it’s almost like your skin is buzzing, your energies feeding off one another in the moment that sends you tumbling into a smug streak. or maybe, that’s just the power ao’nung holds over you and you’re scared to admit it.

“you only think they’re stupid because your name is being outnumbered in the betting pool.” maybe that’s a little mean, but it’s fun. your fingertips are heavier now, more directed as you trace the divots of his braid with one hand and gauge the rise and fall of his chest with the other. “if you were winning, would they be stupid then?”

“i am winning,” ao’nung conveys, so sure and lacking any sense of doubt in the slightest; a variance from a few moments before. and that, well, that actually makes you falter—for just a second.

“and how do you figure that?” you mumble out the question into the minute slot between the two of you. bated and breathy.

ao’nung hooks an arm around your waist, his other hand sliding up to grip the hinge of your jaw. not harsh, not rough, but firm. cradling you carefully but securely; solidly. your breath hitches, your fingers pause on their skimming across his queue encasing.

“because i am the only one who gets to do this,” he says. blunt and honest and certain as he closes the gap severing you.

he kisses you full and deep and warm. he kisses you like he has not eaten in days and you are the one thing that can sate his hunger. he kisses you like the ocean kisses the shore; yearning and all consuming, and rushing back once more as soon as their lips must part.

and he does; chase your lips as you pull back to catch your breath. places one, two, three pecks there before he deems it a safe retreat. his eyes are lidded, but no longer from frustration. that signature crooked, haughty smirk of his is curved into his pale lips. and instead of smacking it off, you’re considering how many more kisses it would take to wipe it away.

“oh yeah,” he chuckles, lips brushing over yours as he’s already leaning in again. “so winning.”

and you can’t help but agree.

likes & reblogs appreciated !

[queen-morgana91]

zuko and katara hating aang in these ao3 fanfictions is so funny girl youre shipping the two biggest aang defenders ever they love him with a burning passion Imao 😭

[writebecauseyoucannotbreathe]

Ozai: *points at a baby picture of him*

Ozai: This is propaganda.

Ozai: *edits the picture so the baby is shirtless with six-pack abs*

Ozai: This is an objective fact.

Uncle Iroh: You shouldn't base your entire personality around your abs.

Ozai: You base your entire personality around one cup of tea. ONE cup because you have no one to share it with.

Uncle Iroh: This is why dad never loved you.

[a-web-of-worlds]

Amelie sees an unfortunately familiar person walking the direction of a bar. Not again.

They door to be right behind Ezra, gripping his wrist.

He lets himself be pulled in a 360, always ready for a new adventure. Has Ezra met this person before? They seem vaguely familiar, but his memory of that night is clouded by too much alcohol.

"Hello again." Yeah, Ezra probably met them. Hopefully he didn't do anything too embarrassing while zey were drunk. He doesn't care if he did.

[thethndr]

hey want to see one of my favorite websites

[airteacher]

//Just imaging startling an Airbender and them jumping back a 100 feet like a cat.

[ponytailzuko]

[ID copied from alt text: A chibi drawing of Ladybug and Zuko smiling and holding hands while frolicking in a field of flowers with ice cream cones. End ID]

this crossover thing has been like opening pandoras box like what do you mean i can draw whatever characters i want hanging out im gonna do it forever

[katerina-q]

Viewing media through shipping lenses is ruining people’s media literacy and you see that clearly with certain people here 😭

a lot of these new atla fans AND old fans that clearly haven’t matured much since the cartoon ended in the bush administration are making the fandom as a whole look stupid

[laertesthelocalstranger]

Laertes slips through the Michaels, humming pop goes the weasel under their breath. He came here hunting for someone, but they seem to have vanished, so he might as well enjoy the environment.

They’re trying to imitate someone they saw leaving earlier, perfect posture, chewing the inside of their mouth, hand twitching up to fix his hair every once in a while. She looks nothing like them, not in actuality, but even their partner wouldn’t have been able to tell the difference.

Laertes turns the corner, out of the sketchbook section and into the next aisle, and almost runs face first into the person in front of her. “Hi!”

[the-spore-connection]

i should clarify that i legally do not have blood 🚫

illegally, though, i have a great deal 🩸

but you don't get to know how 🚫 what are you, a cop ? 👮

[magymacabre]

#008

Credits

CLOTHES:

Bipolar - Viola Top

.choory. torn stockings - BOM [BLACK]

SPIRIT - Maybel panties

SPIRIT - Maybel skirt

HAIR:

Stealthic - Adore (S Head)

MAKEUP/TATS:

[HEXUMBRA] Kamberly HD Lipsticks - Day

Exclusive at the <a href="http://maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Source/225/193/2552">Orsy Event</a> March 9th-23rd

<a href="https://www.hexumbra.com">[HEXUMBRA]</a> Peyton Liner - 3 (Tintable)

<a href="https://www.hexumbra.com">[HEXUMBRA]</a> Bridget Eye Makeup - Juniper

<a href="https://www.hexumbra.com">[HEXUMBRA]</a> Diamond Bae Nose Highlight - Soft (Tintable)

<a href="https://www.hexumbra.com">[HEXUMBRA]</a> Diamond Bae Cheeks Highlight - Reg (Tintable)

<a href="https://www.hexumbra.com">[HEXUMBRA]</a> Face Glitter Left (tintable)

<a href="https://www.hexumbra.com">[HEXUMBRA]</a> Face Glitter Right (tintable)

<a href="https://www.hexumbra.com">[HEXUMBRA]</a> Love Hurts - Gift (Left Cheek)

ACCESSORIES:

Moon.Cutie.Moon.Garters

(Yummy) Eternal Life Ring Bracelet

(Yummy) Eternal Life Ring Collection

AvaWay* ALL SEEING EYE Necklaces Set

hive // study buddy style 3 w/pencil bag

Lunar - Jojo Leg Ribbon

Moon. Cutie Moon Garters // MST MOD //

RAWR! Balance Necklace

TETRA - Purity Bodychains

[ Conviction ] Gauged S Coffin Hangers

[ Conviction ] The Claws V.2 (Witcher HUD)

SHOES:

Semller Thigh High Stomper Boots Silver Bats

THE BASICS

Ebody Reborn

Lel Avalon.

Nar Mattaru . Hela Skin {Ghoul}

^^Swallow^^ Pixie Gauged S Ears

MAZE.mods - Soft Thighs mod

.

[cordyce]

BY YOUR HANDS ALONE

neteyam sully x gn!reader

notes: this is silly & overtly fluffy & all over the place if i am completely honest rn. neteyam is a little flustered & probably ooc. sorry :’)

"there you are."

"here i am," you mirror back instantly, hardly sparing a glance up at the far too familiar voice as your fingers continue to work at chopping up some vegetables. it's a busy day—a momentous day. there is no time to waste.

"let me help," neteyam offers, already making moves to steal your knife from you as he steps to your side.

but you weave it away from his grasp, nudge him back with your shoulder and point the knife at him as you address him. "aht, don't think so," you differ, then continue your slicing. "besides, don't you have your own tasks to get to, mr. mighty warrior?"

days like this require a lot of preparation; everyone chipping in and doing their part so that it all gets done and runs smoothly. if even one person slacks off, it could cause a rift in sanctified plans. and that simply wouldn’t do. no, it would not.

"i have completed all of them, actually," he retorts, but he shrivels when you narrow your eyes up at him. "okay, almost all of them."

you scoff, let your pupils meet your sockets with a roll as you pry the truth out of him. of course, one of the most important days of the year and it is now that neteyam chooses to have an irresponsible whim. you aren’t sure what you’re gonna do with him.

"your mother will have your tail if she finds one thing out of place for tonight, you know this." it isn't necessarily a warning, but there is some tip-off in your tone. "you must get everything done."

neteyam hums, leans his hip against the raised wood that you are using as a makeshift counter. he says nothing, simply watches you. takes into account how you dice up the vegetables in front of you diligently before sliding them to the side with your knife and moving onto the next ones. his stare is driving you crazy—no one works well under pressure, after all.

it causes you to have a slight blunder; a misstep. you cut a pattern a tad too fast and send a slice of root tumbling towards the ground. neteyam's instincts are superb, quick, and he catches it before it hits the dirt. mumbling a thank you under your breath as he places it back on the tray, you find the heir before you still not making a move to speak.

you aren't sure why it unnerves you so.

"what do you have left to complete?" it's not the question you want to ask, but 'what the hell do you keep staring at?' doesn't sound quite as nice. so you settle on it.

you take a pause, a breath, to turn to him. throughout the years you have seen the eldest sully child wear many expressions. ones tainted by smiles, irritation, pride, devotion—but this one has you tipping your head in the most peculiar way.

because timidness is not something you think you've ever seen don the strong features of neteyam sully.

he carries himself with such an air of confidence; shoulders pressed back and chin held high—not arrogant, but undaunted. he does not shift gaze unless he is avoiding scoldings and he does not suck in his cheek unless he is fighting frustration. so, you wonder, what could possibly have his face contorted in such a reticent manner. if you did not know any better, you’d almost call his demeanor a rendition of shy. but that seems rather uncharacteristic of him, doesn’t it?

"ah—are you sure you don't need help with that?" he's deflecting, brushing off your inquiry like he hasn't heard it. and you can't decide whether you find that amusing or concerning.

he's making way for your knife again and you twist your arm to hold it out of his reach behind you. you eye him carefully, flit your gaze all around him to pick up on anything that you can that would explain his behavior.

"tell me." it's not an order, you aren't demanding, but neteyam nods his head like he's respondent of such.

"my father told me i needed a, uhm," he stutters, licks his lips, like he's tripping over his own tongue. and it's undeniable the way you see his ears twitch. "for the celebration tonight. i need a.."

"a what, neteyam?" you press, cock your brow up at him. you don't think you've ever seen him like this. never witnessed him so.. "you need a what?"

"a.. date."

so fidgety.

"a date?" you repeat with widening eyes.

"no, no not a—not a date really but i need someone for the—“

"the staining ceremony.” you finish for him, continue his sentence because with all his blubbering you aren’t sure he’ll ever spit it out.

he nods curtly.

the celebration tonight is for all the young warriors who have proved themselves throughout the calendar year as being strong willed and great protectors of the clan. neteyam, of course, is one of them. has been since he earned the right to be titled as such. so perhaps it should have clicked in your head that he’d be searching for a partner for the staining ceremony portion of the night.

but a part of you—if you’re being completely honest with yourself—just figured he had one already. events like this take weeks of planning; most warriors find their artisan a fortnight in advance. because it cannot just be anyone.

the partner one chooses for the staining ceremony must be someone with whom they feel a connection. some of the older warriors choose their mates. some of the youngest choose their mother or father. some settle for siblings. others, in brazen acts of outstretched hands, choose a mate unbonded; one who they harbor feelings for but have yet to seal such in the eyes of Eywa.

you cannot lie and say you had not pondered over who neteyam’s choice would be. a part of you thought he would pick kiri—they have always been so close and she has been his partner for such ceremony before. but, you are not deaf to the murmurs of your village, you are not ignorant of what has been passed from mouth to ear of all that will listen. there have been other… prospects who have been suggested to neteyam for this special commemoration.

your name has not been among them.

“well,” you continue, tear your eyes away from him and get back to the task at hand. there is no need to dwell on such things and fall behind. you have just one more batch of greens after this to prepare then you will be done and can walk away from all this. “if you’re here to ask my opinion on who your choice should be, i’m not sure i will prove to be much help.”

a shut down; a cut off. you’d like this conversation to be over as soon as possible because it’s making your fingers itch. you’re offering him a gateway to close the topic off.

but he doesn’t seem to get the memo.

“no,” he chuckles, now, and you can tell he’s shaking his head out of the corner of your eye. it’s breathy; like he’s punched it out of his chest and finally broken past the barrier of whatever flusteredness had him trapped before. “that’s not why i came to find you.”

“if it’s to convince kiri to sacrifice herself to do it for you again this year, i’m not game for that either.” you don’t understand why his laughter leaves you agitated, why this whole situation has caused an odd twisting in your gut.

“that won’t be necessary,” he disputes, “i do not need kiri to be my partner this year.”

your fingers fumble, your slicing stutters. “oh?” and you want to kick yourself for how your voice hitches. you clear your throat, bite the corner of your lip that neteyam can’t see. “convince some other poor soul to do it for you? is it zuy’nik? i know she presented you a kill from her hunt recently.”

neteyam hums. “no. i have not chosen zuy’nik.”

you grip your knife harder, focus carefully on the blade as you chop down on a bundle of leaves. your throat is dry, your heart is thundering. you feel silly.

“sënuul, then?” you question, do your best to sound as disinterested as possible even though your chest is burning to know who could be lucky enough to have been picked by the heir himself. “i hear many young warriors wish for her. they say she has delicate hands.”

your hands—in contrast—have grown tense; your chops near erratic. being this worked up over a man who is not your mate seems so futile, so nonsensical. if your mother were here to see you now she’d call you childish.

but is it so childish to want things your heart yearns for?

“while that may be true,” neteyam agrees with the sentiment, and that makes your stomach lurch, “it is not sënuul either.”

“then who is it? who could you possibly—“

a hand covering yours has you cutting yourself off. neteyam’s palm melds over your knuckles; stops your unsafe cutting and stills your wrist’s movements. before you can even bring yourself to look at him, calloused fingers are hooking around your chin. swiveling your head around, you have no choice but to meet his gaze. and it is not averting, not twinkling with tepidness like it was before. you think, for a moment, that’s because he’s passed the feeling onto you.

“i do not wish for any other partner in this clan.” and his voice does not waver, does not stumble, now. you swallow as you listen. “i came here to ask if you would do me the honors, for tonight.”

your tongue feels like cotton; the fuzz of it floating to your brain to make everything go static. this is.. not what you had expected.

you had expected to follow neytiri’s orders for preparing the food for the meals that would be shared. you had expected to dress yourself in the ceremonial clothing and jewelry you keep for these special occasions. you had expected to stand around the edges of the circle during the opening dance, serve food to the elders, and sit with a content tight smile as you watched kiri declare neteyam’s war paint for the third year in a row before the true celebration began.

you had not expected yourself to be standing face to face with neteyam, ears twitching embarrassingly sporadic, as he asks you to join him in one of the most intimate and important events of a warrior’s life.

and you suppose you can use that element of surprise as the reason why you find yourself a tad bit speechless while you nod dumbly. a wide grin cracks across his face, curves up his cheeks as he lets out another breathy laugh.

“thank you,” he murmurs, and he still hasn’t let go of your chin. “i was worried i would not get the chance to ask you in time. i was pushing it, but i tried to get all my other duties done as fast as i could.”

now that, the mention of time, finally knocks you out of your little lovesick trance.

“hey, wait,” you huff, shove at his chest lightly with your free hand. “you should have asked me sooner! i should have already had your stain pattern planned out, and—and now i have to go get all of your paints and i didn’t factor in the time for that. you’re terrible!”

“ah, i’m not terrible. i am sure you can just wing it,” he waves off, simpers like this is funny.

“wing it?” you gape at him. because he genuinely cannot be serious. “this will be your war paint pattern for the rest of the year. if it’s bad then you will be stuck with it. you want me just to wing that?!”

“why not? i have faith in you, i’ve put myself into your hands.” and it’s meant to playful, you know this, but the way he’s looking at you proves his words hold their full weight regardless. “don’t be mad at me.”

“oh, i’m mad,” you retort, brush him away as you get back to slicing because now you really do not have the time for distractions. “i cannot believe you have waited until last minute.”

“would you like me to ask someone else?” he queries, and you whip your head over to level him with a glare. “i mean, i am sure sënuul would be honored to be the partner of the future olo’eyktan.”

“you know, i liked you better when you were sputtering and nervous,” you spit back, retract your attention once again. “terrible. truly terrible.”

“ah, do not be mad at me,” he levels again, “what can i do to have you forgive me?”

“nothing. you will never be forgiven.” with no hesitation, but also no malice. your bite holds no venom, and your cheeks are still warm. such hypocrisy you spew.

“nothing?” he questions, and you don’t even have to see his face to know he is smiling. there he is again; the neteyam who holds his chin up high and taunts his brother into mindless games to prove his worth. you admire this neteyam; love this neteyam.

this neteyam grabs your face and tugs you forward before you can think of another mindless rebuttal to spout.

the kiss is light but fervent, and if you were a poetic person you might just say that his lips taste like future promises you already intend to keep. the fight drains from your body and you find no urge to bring it back. this neteyam seems to know how to quell you, how to dispel your frustration and wipe away your grievances like fogged up glass. so easy, so effortlessly.

he pulls away languidly, breath puffing against your lips. "forgive me?" he asks again, and you find yourself nodding before he even finishes the question.

he turns your head to peck your cheek then drops his hands to finally successfully steal the knife still held in yours. you tip your head, blinking through the daze to inquire what he's doing.

"i can finish that, you know."

"i know," he answers, then flashes you a crooked grin that has your stomach twisting in a way far different than before. "but don't you think you should start planning how you want to trail your hands over me?"

and, oh. part of you wants to hit him for that. but part of you wants to tug him in by the neckpiece he dons and get him to shut up by an alternative method.

as you reach forward to run your hand ever so heedlessly up his chest, a faux illusion of planning your mapping, you think you might just settle on the latter.

likes & reblogs appreciated !

[queen-morgana91]

I love this part in the comics

this is why i believe aang is a great air nomad AND avatar

[syrupgirl]

Hi can I request number 26 with a female reader and Neteyam please?

“Oh look, they’re back, they’re back!” Tuk jumped up and down on the balls of her little feet. Her tail swished back and forth behind her, swishing up leaves an it’s wake.

Neteyam looked up from the herb he was grinding in time to see the scouting team return from their mission. Typically, Neteyam would join them on these types of expeditions, but his grandmother had decided he needed to start taking his role as the next Olo’eyktan seriously. He though he had been, but apparently not to Mo’at’s (high) standards.

Neteyam set down his work and jogged over to the cliffs edge. The steady beat of the Ikran’s wings got louder and louder as he got closer and he could just make out their riders. He got as close as he could to the edge without the risk of getting crushed and smiled brightly.

Lo’ak touched down first and dismounted his Ikran with ease. It was clear on the boys face that he was eager to report back to their father on his findings.

“Hey bro.” Lo’ak muttered briefly before completely breezing past his older brother and off further into the camp.

Neteyam snorted a short ‘welcome back, bro’ before turning back to the rest of the squad. Suddenly, a squealing sound erupted from somewhere in front of him. He squinted and tip toed slightly as he tried to look past the crowd of riders taking up his field of vision.

Finally, he got a good look over everyone’s heads and could finally see the spruce of all that racket. The first thing he took notice of was his youngest sister who had latched herself onto one of the scouts. And the second was who the scout was.

“Yn!” Tuktirey screamed with her little lungs, her eyes almost completely shut from the fat of her cheeks being pushed up from her big smile.

You gripped her back with equal vigor. Albeit, a little awkwardly, since she barely met your chest in height.

“Oh, my little tuktuktuk!” You gently pinched the tips of her twitching ears as she pried herself off of you and smiled when she giggled hysterically.

Neteyam watched the two of you as you continued to converse animatedly. He felt a little creepy just..watching you but he couldn’t bring himself to interrupt such a sweet moment. It warmed his heart to see the love and care you had for Tuk. You treated her like your own little sister and she soaked up every single ounce of your attention and affection that she could get.

“-ere is he? Netey- Oh! There he is! Neteyam!”

The eldest Sully was quickly snapped out of his creeping by Tuk as she trudged towards him, dragging you by the hand behind her.

“You didn’t even say ‘hi’ to her!” She mock pouted and shoved you in front of her. Truthfully, Neteyam did feel bad that he didn’t seek you out the minute you returned but that feeling didn’t trump the embarrassment creeping up his neck at this forced proximity between you two.

You snickered at the girl, “Oh hush, Tuk. He is saying ‘hello’ now isn’t he?” Turning back to him, you raised an eyebrow. As if to ask ‘are you saying hello?’

“Uh- oh um yeah. Hi- hey.” Yeah, because that sounded like a normal greeting.

You chuckled briefly before you wrapped your arms around his body and squeezing tightly.

“Hi, Neteyam.”

The boy responded with a light huff and his arms wrapping around you. He settled his head next to your and tilted his face slightly towards your hair, taking a deep breath in.

All too quickly, your head turned which forced Neteyam to move his out of the way. He was greeted by your incredulous smile and he could feel heat bleeding into his face.

“Did you just…Smell my hair?” You asked through chuckles.

Before you could blink, Neteyam was out of your embrace and vehemently denying that any smelling took place.

You and Tuk broke down in your own fit of giggles at his sputtering which made Netuam all the more flustered and desperate to clear his case, waving his arms around.

i don’t like this very much but I hope it’s okay for you💋

[isthei]

funny little situation where 1 year postwar, katara toph and zuko get isekai’d to lok era and toph bullies them into becoming a pro bending team

katara: that’s the new avatar??

korra: [has no idea who they are, yelling from across the ring] aren’t you too young to be here

zuko (5 apples tall): i’m older than you?

korra: suuuure. look, i don’t want to beat up a bunch of babies

toph: BABIES???? babies? oh that’s it. eat DIRT twinkletoes [launches korra into the sky]