Bianca, 30+,German/female, NSFW, +18; just here to do what I love, getting away from the real world for a little while Masterlist AO3 Requests CLOSED Click here to join my Taglist
Here you’ll find everything I’ve written so far. Works with triggering content or 18+ are marked properly, so please read at your own risk and with caution. Happy reading!
Prompt: God, I’m in such a mood of just wanting august to kidnap my virgin self, tie me to his bed and show me all the ways he knows to make a woman cum 🤤
Pairing: August Walker x Female Reader (no race or body-type description)
*No permission is given for reposting my work, copying it, ideas or parts it and claiming it as your own*
Warnings: 18+, kidnapping, dub-con, sex toy, clitoral stimulation, bondage.
Word count: 666 (Buwhahahahahahahahaha)
A/N: Okay, that’s more or less the plot for Way to Hell (in their long run). I wrote this with a migraine and under the influence of pain killers, so here goes. Not beta’d, we die slipping off a cliff, kissing a hook and crashing into the fire.
Notes: Dialogues in Na'vi will be written in italics and translated, if there's something I've forgotten or translated falsely, please let me know. As with all stories your constructive criticism and comments are definitely appreciated.
Want to be tagged? Use this form right here.
Warnings: character death, blood, violence, angst, maybe a few tippos - if so, please let me know
You noticed the smell of smoke before you even saw it.
At first it was just a dark smear against the sky, rising above the canopy of trees where the green should have been bright against the sunlit sky. Your mind searched automatically for explanations — controlled burns, distant machinery, something contained and explainable.
But none of them were the explanation. You would have known, would have heard it on the comms.
The smoke was too thick to be a small fire.
Your fingers curled slowly against the seat of the Samson, knuckles whitening as the realization settled in your chest like a stone.
“Something’s not right,” you murmured, more to yourself than anyone else, but your mother was already moving closer to the window, gaze fixed on the part of the jungle where the school was located, jaw tightening in a way you had learned to recognize.
“That’s too close to the school.”
The aircraft descended faster than usual. The jungle below looked wrong, like something bad was about to happen. The usual flock of Pandoran birds not greeting you felt like they had already prepared for an unseen enemy to strike.
You swallowed.
You had learned that silence on Pandora rarely meant peace.
The landing was rough. Before the engines had fully powered down, you were already moving, boots hitting the ground hard enough to jar your balance. The air smelled sharp and acrid, smoke stinging the back of your throat.
Grace caught your arm, halting you mid-step.
“Stay with me.”
You hadn’t gone far when the shouting reached you — voices raised in panic, in warning. Na’vi voices calling out.
And then you heard the unmistakable sound of roaring machinery, loud and ground-shaking.
You froze.
Just beyond the treeline, you saw the mechanical RDA vehicles. Bulldozers clawed at the forest floor, tearing through undergrowth with brutal indifference, like it meant nothing. Like they had killed your home on Earth. Sec-Ops soldiers flanked them with weapons held ready, walking in their exo-suits, masks keeping them from being killed by Pandora’s air.
And then — half-hidden by the thick foliage — the warriors. Sylwanin and Tsu’tey flanking the enemy from both sides.
Your heart dropped into your stomach as Grace pulled you toward the school.
“Mom! It’s Sylwanin, we need to help them. They’re going to get killed.”
The Na’vi rushed from the trees, arrows slicing the air, killing a few of the men in the bulldozers or exo-suits, others setting fire to one of the large machines where it had already destroyed the earth beneath its wheels. The flames climbed greedily, smoke billowing as the engine stuttered and died, the driver barely escaping his burning grave.
For a terrible, fragile moment, you thought it might be over. The retaliation for what the Sky People had done enough to get the point across.
Then a gunshot cracked through the air.
“Get down!” Grace shouted, yanking you back as bark exploded from a nearby tree. Your heart raced with adrenaline — and fear. Eyes wide, you stumbled across the forest ground, like you had just started using your legs again.
The Na’vi scattered, retreating toward the school.
Toward sanctuary — the only safe place they had known for the last ten years.
“No,” you breathed, dread flooding your chest.
“No, no, no—”
Sylwanin ran hard. From where you stood, your eyes met across the clearing as Sylwanin signaled the others to follow her lead.
There was no fear there. She was a future leader of her people, a tsamsiyu, a warrior of the Omatikaya.
You only saw the apology in her yellow eyes.
And trust. Trust that they would survive the attack.
Grace surged forward, hands raised as she stood in the doorway of the school, her voice cutting through the noise of gunfire and shouting.
“Stop! This is a school! There are children here!”
The soldiers didn’t stop. They didn’t care. Orders were orders, and none would be exempt from those.
They followed the Na’vi — the blue devils, as some of the RDA called them.
The students rushed inside the school as Grace and you ushered them toward the back, desperation driving you. Sylwanin followed close behind as you ran in after the last one, lungs burning, the familiar walls suddenly feeling impossibly fragile.
This isn’t right, you thought wildly, waving to the eldest daughter of Eytukan.
This isn’t how this ends.
Grace positioned herself at the doorway again — a barrier made of sheer will.
“You don’t have authorization—!”
The soldier shoved her aside. Grace stumbled against a nearby table with a cry.
Sylwanin growled, fangs bared as she hissed at the foot soldier, arrow raised.
“Set hivum!” she called, pulling back the string of her bow ready to let loose.
A second soldier stepped into view.
The gunfire was deafening.
You barely registered the sound as you dropped to the floor with the children, pulling them close, shielding them with your body.
Time slowed.
You saw the arrow fly — piercing the glass of an exo-suit, the soldier inside collapsing as poisonous air flooded in.
Then another shot.
Sylwanin turned.
Just half a step.
Surprise flickered across her face — not fear, but also recognition. Just understanding.
Her body jerked.
She fell, gravity pulling her to the ground.
You screamed — but you didn’t hear yourself, blood rushing in your veins.
Sylwanin hit the floor hard, red blood spreading beneath her, impossibly bright against the pale surface.
“No!” Neytiri cried, dropping beside her sister, hands pressed uselessly at the wound. “No, no, please—”
Tsu’tey was there in an instant, fury and disbelief tearing through him as he turned to the soldier.
He froze watching the blue warrior raise his spear.
Too late to move away, Tsu'tey killing him with a well placed hit on the glass of the exo-suit, letting the poisonous air kill him in seconds. Without another look at the Sky People, he swiftly moved, gathering Sylwanin against his chest. The sound that left him wasn’t a word. It was something broken loose from deep inside. His heart and soul dying slowly with Sylwanin's life draining from her.
You crawled forward, to the fallen body of your friend, your adopted sister. "Please, tsmuke, stay with us." The tears rolled over your cheeks, body heaving with the unsteady breaths you took.
Your mother fell to her knees, hands already slick with blood. “Stay with me,” she begged, voice cracking. “Please—stay—”
Sylwanin’s eyes fluttered open.
She looked at Grace first.
Her lips moved, barely.
“Sa’nok.”
Grace made a choked sound, tears in her eyes as she shook her head. "You're going to live, Sylwanin, you hear me."
Sylwanin’s gaze shifted to Neytiri, her expression softening despite the pain, something like reassurance settling there, brushing her sisters cheek. "Oe ‘efu ngeyn.... tsmuke."
Then she looked at you.
For a heartbeat, everything else fell away.
She smiled.
Small. Certain.
As if to say: This is not your fault.
And then she was gone.
The silence that followed was unbearable.
Tsu’tey rocked her body, grief tearing through him. Neytiri collapsed against him, sobbing openly.
You couldn’t move. Your legs refused to obey. Your hands trembled uselessly in your lap.
The school had been safe.
It was supposed to be safe.
Grace staggered to her feet, blood staining her hands.
“Get out,” she snarled, voice shaking with fury. “Get out of here!”
The soldiers retreated, unease flickering in their eyes.
It didn’t matter.
Nothing could undo this.
They had brought Sylwanin to Hometree, the only place she really had been safe all her life.
The Omatikaya gathered in grief.
Eytukan stood before them, his face carved hollow by loss. Mo’at knelt beside Sylwanin’s body, her hands trembling as she pressed her forehead to her daughter’s brow.
Her wail rose through Kelutral, a sound so full of pain that even the forest seemed to recoil.
When Eytukan spoke, his voice carried anger. Finality.
“The Sky People are no longer welcome here.” he called over the gathered people of his clan before turning back to your mother and you.
She tried to speak. To explain. To plead.
You watched her come apart under the weight of it — saw the moment Grace understood that intention no longer mattered. That good humans were indistinguishable from the rest when blood stained the ground.
The school was closed.
No more laughter or learning. No more trading jokes with the sisters or learning your ways.
The bridge you had built burned down to the ground and no words of reassurance could rebuilt it.
That night, you stood alone inside your bathroom after a much needed shower, your avatar safely tugged in at the camp grounds inside Hell's Gate. Leaning against the sink, you looked down at your hands. There was no more trace of blood, but you could feel its slickness like a phantom, like you'd see the red everythime you closed your eyes.
You thought about Sylwanin. How Sylwanin had believed in the sanctuary of Grace's school. How she'd be safe there. Of how she had run toward it — and died there.
You pressed a hand to your chest, grief settling deep and heavy, reshaping something fundamental inside you. Sobs escaped your lips as you sank to the tiled floor.
You had come to Pandora believing understanding could save them. Could shape a world where humans and Na'vi could live alongside, like your mother had dreamed of.
Now you knew better.
Some could never be changed.
They were stuck in their beliefs, stuck in their own ways.
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Notes: Dialogues in Na'vi will be written in italics and translated, if there's something I've forgotten or translated falsely, please let me know. As with all stories your constructive criticism and comments are definitely appreciated.
Want to be tagged? Use this form right here.
Warnings: talk of wars, maybe a few tippos - if so, please let me know
Part 1 Part 2
Translations: "Mawey" - Calm
"Tsmuke" - Sister
"Tsap’alute!" - Apology!
"Uniltaron" - Dreamwalker
"Omatikaya" - Blue Flute Clan
"Pa’li" - Direhorse
"Eywa" - The Great Mother, Gäia
“Makto ko." - Let’s ride!
"Tsahìk" - High Priest, Head Shaman
You were nervous when Sylwanin told you she’d teach you how to use a bow and arrow. You weren’t a pacifist — with Earth’s history, there was no denying that you needed to know how to protect yourself, even with a gun — but shooting an arrow at a target too far away without training? That was the biggest "are you for real" question you’d ever asked.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea. You said there’s still too much I need to learn.”
“Mawey, tsmuke. You learn fast — for a Sky Person,” Sylwanin grinned, stepping behind you to correct your form — again. “Breathe. Feel the arrow as part of you. And let go.”
“Let go, she says. As if it were that easy,” you muttered, earning a chuckle from the future tsahìk behind you. You took a deep breath, closed your eyes, remembering the words a friend back on Earth once told you: Breathe, take aim, breathe — and let go.
Only this time, those words didn’t work very well. You let go of the arrow and it struck the ground a few feet short of the target — close to Tsu’tey’s foot as he trained with the other warriors. He turned sharply, a scowl on his face, snorting at the avatar driver.
You winced, biting your lip as you watched him mount his pa’li, grabbing the arrow on his way over to you and Sylwanin. “Tsap’alute!” you called, gripping the bow like it was a lifeline.
Tsu’tey stopped directly in front of you, the direhorse snorting loudly, its warm breath washing over your face. “Tsu’tey, I’m sorry, I did not mean to—”
“You are not welcome here, Uniltaron,” he growled. “You destroy because you do not see.” He threw the arrow at your feet. “Leave before there is nothing left for us.”
Sylwanin placed her hand on your shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “He… ma Tsu’tey didn’t mean it. Grace and you are welcome, but… he is worried for our safety. The Sky People get closer every day, and he thinks you are leading them to us.”
You nodded, trying to find words that might reassure her — but there were none, not when it felt like you were betraying the Na’vi and your own people at the same time.
Because…
Tsu’tey was right. The RDA moved closer every day. With Grace and you giving Parker the intel he wanted — and Selfridge feeding information directly to the RDA.
Hell’s Gate moved closer. Every day. With their machinery.
Mechanical growls came from the jungle, bulldozers and personnel in their skel-suits cutting down trees to make way for other vehicles.
You tried to ignore it — tried to teach the children and other Na’vi — but the noise of breaking wood and animals unable to escape the destruction pressed in around you.
And this time, it wasn’t coming from the borders of Hell’s Gate.
It was closer.
You found yourself pausing mid-lesson without meaning to, your head tilting as if you were trying to determine if you should run or stay. The Na'vi noticed immediately, of course they had heared the noise as well - there was no way they hadn't. They always did. Their chatter would falter, the children's hands stilling in the dirt as they followed your gaze toward the trees, their ears moving around to find the source of the noises.
Grace noticed too, walking over to you.
“Focus,” your mother murmured once, her hand on your shoulder when you drifted again. “They don’t need to feel your unease. Get back to the lesson, it will keep their mind occupied.”
You nodded, forcing yourself back into the rhythm of the lesson, your voice gentle, steady as you taught the Na'vi numbers and letters.
You knew something was coming, and it didn't feel good at all.
The Na'vi warriors got antsy.
They were there — every day they were always there — but their presence didn't feel casual anymore. Where they once leaned against trees or sat in loose clusters to listen to Grace and you, now they stood at the edge of the school, shifting positions, speaking in low voices that stopped when you looked their way.
Tsu’tey came less often.
When he did, he didn’t linger, sending dark looks towards your mother and you. He stood at the edge of the clearing, arms crossed, gaze fixed beyond the school as if daring something to come closer. He didn’t care for the lessons anymore. Didn’t care to learn about English words or tools the sky people used.
He simply guarded the Na'vi while he stopped caring for the professor and her daughter.
Sylwanin noticed it before you did. Felt the coldness in his gaze as he watched you, her adopted sister as he patroled the school grounds.
She didn’t berate him for it. Didn’t laugh it off like she used to when she teased him before, when she joked with you about it. Now when the future Tsahìk arrived, her smile still came easily — but it didn’t stay as long as it used to before. Her braids were pulled tighter, her posture more guarded, sometimes stiff, like she already prepared for a fight, a tightness in her body she hadn't carried before.
You told yourself it made sense. Sylwanin was the eldest daughter of the clan’s leaders. Training to become Tsahìk wasn’t just learning words and rituals — it was also learning to be prepared for a fight, to protect the people of the clan.
Still, you missed the sound of her laughter. The easy way you learned from each other.
Grace paced the lab, a cigarette perched in the corner of her mouth as she scribbled on her notepad, watching and rewatching the logs from the weeks before.
She tried to hide the anxiety. Tried to hide that she smoked more since her last talk with Parker Selfridge. Stepping away. Turning her shoulder. Flicking ash where you wouldn’t see. But you always noticed. Smoke clung to your mother. It lingered in hair and fabric and breath.
It was worry of a mother loosing her childern. Of a member loosing its clan, it's family.
One morning, before you linked, you found Grace staring at another data screen, jaw tight, cigarette forgotten between her fingers.
“What’s wrong?” You asked quietly.
Grace didn’t look up. “Parker.”
That was enough. And you knew what he wanted even if your mother didn't tell you.
He existed like a pressure system — rarely visible, always there. You had never liked the way he spoke about Pandora as if it were a problem to be solved instead of a place that breathed. He wanted the Unobtanium at whatever costs and if it meant eradicate a people then so be it.
“What does he want now?” you asked.
Grace huffed a humorless laugh. “Results. Timelines. Relocation scenarios. Unobtanium.” She gestured sharply at the screen. “He wants me to convince the Omatikaya to move. As if you can just… ask that.”
The model of Hometree flashed on the screen and you thought of the time you walked to Kelutral in the morning and left late at night — warm wood, laughter, the children running around the hollowed base of the giant tree. She swallowed.
“They won’t do it. Eytukan will not allow it,” you said softly.
Grace finally looked at you then, something tired and furious flickering behind her eyes. “I know.”
That was what scared you the most. The RDA would not be stopped by a clan leader like that, no matter how bonded he was with the land. They'd rather see everyone dead than take a different approach. That's how it always had been, even on earth and they would never change their ways.
Over time the school was less lively. Fewer childeren came to learn and Grace felt her heart break each time.
You noticed the absences weighing on your mother. Each missing laugh. Each empty space at the school tables. When you asked the youngest daughter of Mo'at, Neytiri explained that some families preferred to keep their children closer to Hometree now.
“It is wiser,” Neytiri said. Translating to safer. Safer for the Na'vi to not end up dead by the sky peoples machines.
You nodded, even as the word settled uneasily in your chest, she understood. Understood the fear of the Omatikaya.
Sylwanin arrived late that day. She stepped into the clearing with Tsu’tey beside her, both of them painted like they were ready to ride into battle, even if the battle hadn't started yet. The lines were subtle, but you felt your breath catch all the same.
It didn’t belong here. The school was supposed to be a safe place for the children and adults wanting to learn. Not a battle ground between humans and Na'vi
“Everything okay?” You asked, keeping your voice light.
Sylwanin smiled, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. She looked at the trees, watching the leaves move, rustling like there was something hidden beyond the green wall. “The forest is restless.”
Tsu’tey didn’t bother softening it. “The Sky People cut closer. They destroy our earth. Destroy our home.”
Grace straightened immediately, cutting into the conversation. “This is a school, please don't talk about wars that haven't happen yet.”
“This is Omatikaya land,” Tsu’tey shot back. “And your people do not listen. They bring the fight to us. We do not want to fight, but your people do.”
You felt the familiar urge to settle the dispute, to talk about differences between departments, between scientists and soldiers, between intention and impact.
But you knew they didn’t care about intention. They cared about peace, but the RDA didn't want the peace, they wanted land and mineral resources, turning Pandora into another earth.
Sylwanin placed a hand on Tsu’tey’s arm. The gesture was small, but it grounded him. His breathing slowed.
“We still come to learn... sometimes,” Sylwanin said calmly. “But we cannot pretend nothing is changing because everything is changing.”
Her gaze found yours.
“You feel it too,” she said.
You nodded. “Yes.”
The word felt heavy. Too heavy to carry alone.
Later, when the clearing had emptied and the forest turned quieter again, Sylwanin stayed behind.
Grace was packing up equipment, distracted by the earlier confrontation with Tsu’tey, who now waited near the pa’li, his eyes never leaving the tree line.
Sylwanin sat beside you, close enough that your shoulders brushed.
For a long moment, neither of you spoke.
“The Sky People will not stop until everything is burned down. I saw their machines and the destruction they leave. They do not care for Eywa,” Sylwanin said at last. There was no anger in her voice. Just certainty.
“We’re trying to make them listen,” You said automatically. “Grace is fighting for the school, so the children can learn and we might live peacefully together.”
“Do you believe that or is it what they want us to believe?” Sylwanin replied. “I trust her. I do trust you. But that trust does not stop machines, does not stop the Sky People from getting closer,” Sylwanin continued, gently.
You had no answer for that. “What will you do?” you asked.
Sylwanin’s gaze shifted to Tsu’tey. Something softened there - they were future mates after all. “We will stand ready,” she said. “We do not attack when not necessary. But we will not wait to be attacked by the demons.”
Your throat tightened. “And if they don’t listen? If they attack?”
Sylwanin’s fingers curled briefly against her palm. “Then Eywa will know our hearts. The Great Mother will protect us. She cares for all her children.”
It wasn’t neither a promise of peace, nor was it a call to violence either.
“There is still good in some of them. The people of the program, they care for your people.” You said quietly.
Sylwanin smiled, small and sad. “But not those with the metal machines, with the metal birds.”
She stood then, moving toward Tsu’tey without hesitation.
He mounted his pa’li, Sylwanin climbing up behind him, spear secured across her back. The other warriors gathered too, waiting to ride with their leader and friend.
“Makto ko!” Tsu’tey called.
They rode into the forest, swallowed by green and shadow.
You stood where you were, long after they disappeared, unease settling deep in your chest.
You had come to Pandora believing understanding could change the course of things.
Now you weren't so sure.
Some refused to change, holding onto everything they knew.
And some brought the change, pushing it into every corner until the world you thought you knew no longer fit the shape of what was coming.
You had the terrible sense that those molding the planet to fit the shape they thought they wanted would not be lenient with the people who wished to keep the old ways alive.
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Notes: Thank you to all that left comments and likes, glad you liked the first one
Dialogues in Na'vi will be written in italics and translated, if there's something I've forgotten or translated falsely, please let me know. As with all stories your constructive criticism and comments are definitely appreciated.
Want to be tagged? Use this form right here.
Warnings: fluff, jokes about Tsu'tey, maybe a few tippos - if so, please let me know
Part 1
Translations: "Omatikaya" - Blue Flute Clan
"Sa'nok" - Mother
“Oel ngati kameie.” - I see you
"Tsahìk" - Head Shaman, High Priest
"Rewon lefpom." - Good Morning
"Ma’tsmuke." - My sister
"Ngaru lu fpom srak?" - How are you?
"Pa’li" - Direhorse
"Vitraya Ramunong" - Tree of Souls
"Kelutral" - Hometree
Please enjoy and happy reading. Thank you.
Pandora, 2152
By the time a full year had passed, you no longer counted the days.
At first, you had marked them carefully—each sunrise another small victory with Selfridge or the school, each successful link a reassurance that you were doing what you had come here to do. Somewhere along the way, the numbers stopped mattering. Routine replaced anticipation, and anticipation softened into something quieter.
Something that felt steady. Familiar.
Each morning followed the same rhythm.
Link. Head to the shuttle. The school clearing nestled just far enough from Hometree to be respectful, close enough to be reached by laughter drifting through the trees. The forest no longer startled you with every sound. You had learned which calls meant danger and which were simply the jungle speaking to itself, some of its inhabitants coming to greet you in the morning before the school began.
That alone felt like something had shifted. Like you might belong.
The children greeted you now without hesitation, voices calling your name in a mixture of English and Na’vi that made something warm bloom behind your ribs. They tugged at your hands, showed you feathers and stones and bits of carved wood, proud of every small discovery.
Grace taught with sharp focus and tireless intensity, yet with patience rather than instinct. You noticed the way the children gravitated toward your mother for knowledge—calling her sa'nok, mother—and toward you for reassurance.
You didn’t correct them.
And you found you didn’t mind the way it felt.
The morning sun filtered through the canopy when Eytukan arrived, tall and composed like the clan leader he was, Mo’at at his side, a quiet certainty. You dipped your head respectfully, fingers brushing your forehead.
“Oel ngati kameie,” you greeted.
Eytukan inclined his head in return, his eyes thoughtful. Mo’at’s gaze lingered longer, weighing your presence in their home—whether you were friend or foe. After a moment, the Tsahìk nodded once.
That approval still made your chest tighten. You had studied the Omatikaya extensively before ever setting foot on Pandora, but nothing in the data had prepared you for how much it mattered to be seen by them. How much you wanted to be part of them.
Sylwanin and Neytiri arrived soon after, accompanied by several children and a handful of warriors who lingered at the edge of the clearing. Sylwanin’s smile was immediate and bright, her curiosity worn openly. Neytiri’s gaze was sharper, assessing the space, the people, the way the forest shifted around them.
“Oel ngati kameie,” Sylwanin greeted, settling beside you with ease.
“I see you,” you replied, smiling. “Rewon lefpom? How are you today?”
“Well,” Sylwanin answered carefully, the accent still present but softer now. “And learning.” Her eyes lit with pride. “Your words are… tricky.”
You laughed quietly. “They are. English is cruel like that.”
Neytiri’s mouth twitched, amused. “We practice as you told us. The books sa'nok Grace gave us are helpful.”
“And you’ve made wonderful progress,” you said, genuine. “Ma’tsmuke.”
Tsu’tey stood apart, arms crossed, his attention fixed not on the lesson but on the tree line beyond. The tension in his shoulders was unmistakable—like the warrior he was. He hadn’t cared to join your classes, but you knew Sylwanin made him learn your language, just like she’d promised you would learn the ways of the Omatikaya.
“Ngaru lu fpom srak?” you asked gently, trying anyway.
Tsu’tey scowled, tail flicking. Without a word, he turned and strode toward the pa’li waiting nearby.
Sylwanin sighed fondly. “He does not like being made to sit still,” she said. “I told him he must learn more than hunting. He disagreed, but I know he likes the books Grace gave us.”
“As stubborn as a mule,” you offered. “He needs to chill out.”
Sylwanin’s brow furrowed. “Moole,” she repeated slowly. “Yes. Like that.”
Neytiri tried the word next, tasting it carefully. “Chille aut,” Sylwanin added a moment later, grinning when you burst out laughing.
That sound—shared, unguarded—felt precious.
As the lesson continued, you watched Sylwanin closely. She asked questions that went beyond language—about Earth, about oceans and birds and cities built upward instead of outward. She listened in a way you rarely encountered: not just to learn and benefit, but to understand.
It made you wonder, quietly, what kind of life Sylwanin imagined.
When the session ended and the children scattered, the eldest daughter reached out and clasped your hands.
“There is a celebration tonight,” she said. “A mating ritual. At Kelutral. We would like you to come.”
Grace froze mid-motion.
You felt the colour drain from your face. Hometree was sacred. Protected. Not a place outsiders simply walked into, especially not Dreamwalkers like you often heard Mo’at call them.
“Oh,” Grace said slowly. “Are you certain? We wouldn’t want to impose, it sounds like a more private celebration.”
Sylwanin smiled. “You are not imposing. You are learning our ways. We promised.”
Mo’at’s gaze settled on Grace, steady and expectant. After a long moment, Grace inclined her head. It was an invitation she shouldn’t refuse—like a test to see if you were worthy to be part of the People.
“Then we would be honored.”
“Oh,” Grace said slowly. “Are you certain? We wouldn’t want to impose, it sounds like a more private celebration.”
Sylwanin smiled. “You are not imposing. You are learning our ways. We promised.”
Mo’at’s gaze settled on Grace, steady and expectant. After a long moment, Grace inclined her head. It was an invitation she shouldn't refuse, like a test to see if they were worthy to be part of the people.
“Then we would be honored.”
The journey to Hometree felt different this time. The path was familiar, but you were acutely aware of every step, the sun about to set and the first bioluminescent lights of the forest flickering to life. Feeling the air grow warmer as Kelutral came into view, lights glowing softly through the bark, you couldn’t help but stare in wonder.
You had never seen anything so beautiful, the atmosphere calming your racing heart while the drum beats and rhythm of the music and celebration chants made you feel more alive than you had been back on Earth.
The tree was rhythmic, layered, alive.
You stood still for a moment, overwhelmed. No recordings, no studies could have prepared you for this.
And least of all, you hadn’t expected to be welcomed.
Sylwanin moved to you, grabbing your hand and pulling you forward into the throng of dancers without hesitation, laughter bubbling as she guided your protesting steps into the flow of bodies. Hands clapped in time, feet struck the ground, voices rose and fell together.
You moved hesitantly at first, the steps foreign to you. Both sisters laughed softly, holding your hands and guiding your timing with the other dancers. The couple smiled at the trio, both a part of Grace’s students. The female, Oare, took over, taking your arm and leading you to the middle of the dancers, letting the rhythm flow over you—moving more freely as you felt it settle inside of you. You caught your mother’s face nearby, watching with an expression caught between wonder and restraint.
For the first time, you realized your mother wasn’t looking at a successful program.
She was looking at a future she desperately wanted to protect.
Later, when the music softened and the couple moved to the Tree of Souls—to Vitraya Ramunong—you sat with your back against the inner curve of Hometree. The wood was warm beneath your palms, thrumming faintly with life.
You listened to the people, to the stories and laughter. It felt, for a moment, like you were part of something that could show the Sky People another way—one that respected the planet, the living world, harmony over taking.
A foolish thought, considering who sat among the higher-ups at Hell’s Gate… but a thought nonetheless.
Divider @saradika-graphics
Taglist (let me know if you no longer want to be tagged in this):
Summary: Everyone's path is already written, but what if one decision would change everything.
Words: 3k
Notes: Welcome everyone to a project I've been thinking on for a long time - but finally I decided to work on it. It's a reader and Jake Sully one, and I'd like to explore where it will take me. Originally it was a Jake Sully/OFC one, but I decided to change it for Tumblr - please let me know if I missed something while editing. I hope you guys will still give this story a chance and have fun while reading.
Dialogues in Na'vi will be written in italics and translated in the foot note, if there's something I've forgotten or translated falsely, please let me know. As with all stories your constructive criticism and comments are definitely appreciated.
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Warnings: fluff, some swear words, maybe a few tippos - if so, please let me know
Translations: "Srane, ma sa’nok. Oel ngati kameie.” - Yes, my mother. I see you.
“Kaltxi, Dr. Augustine. Oeru syaw Tom. Oel ngati kameie.” - Hello Dr. Augustine. My name is Tom. I see you.
Please enjoy and happy reading. Thank you.
Earth, 2145
“Your mom is going to have a heart attack.”
Tom’s laugh warmed the words, breath brushing the back of your neck as he tugged you closer against his bare chest. For a moment, there was nothing but the low hum of the apartment’s vents and the rain tapping the window—clean, ordinary sounds that suddenly felt rare.
You sighed, dragging your fingertips along the planes of his ribs like you could map him into memory. “She’ll survive. I’m not going to stop seeing you just because I’m the daughter of the great Doctor Augustine.”
“Y/N,” he chided gently, and you could hear the smile hiding behind it. “She’s not great in the way you mean. She’s just… watching out for you.”
“I know.” You turned enough to catch his eyes, hair spilling across your cheek. “But still. I’m an adult. I can make my own decisions.”
Tom’s hand slid around your waist, thumb tracing a slow line through the fabric of your sleep shirt. “Mmm. Decisions. Dangerous things.”
You opened your mouth to fire back something clever—something that would make him laugh again—when a soft ping chimed from the holo pad on the desk.
You both stilled.
Your eyes met. Tom’s brow lifted, teasing—caught—and your stomach dropped straight through the floor.
“Shit,” you muttered, already scrambling up and yanking a shirt over your head. The shirt. The one you’d stolen from him because it smelled like him and because leaving was easier when you could pretend you weren't leaving.
Tom moved just as fast, stepping out of sight with the smoothness of someone who had learned to be invisible in other people’s lives.
The holo pad’s screen flickered, then resolved into Grace Augustine’s face: sharp-eyed, cigarette already in hand, hair pinned back in that practical way that made you think of laboratory lights and long nights. Grace smiled—an expression that always looked like it had been negotiated with great reluctance.
“Sweetie,” Grace said, too brightly. “What took you so long? Don’t you miss me?”
“Of course I miss you, Mom.” you tried to sound normal. Casual. Like your heart wasn’t still sprinting. “I was just… busy.”
Grace’s eyebrow rose.
You had seen that eyebrow dismantle grown men in committee meetings and reduce cocky grad students to puddles of apology. It was an eyebrow with a PhD.
“Busy,” Grace repeated, taking a drag. “Have you been studying your Na’vi? You know I need you ready. The school will be up soon, and the clan’s patience isn’t infinite.”
You swallowed, and lifted your fingers to your forehead. “Srane, ma sa’nok. Oel ngati kameie.”
Behind you, somewhere out of camera range, Tom’s muffled laugh escaped.
Grace’s expression softened—just a fraction. “A bit formal when it’s just me, but it’ll do.”
Her gaze drifted. Focused. Shifted to your collar.
“And why,” Grace said slowly, “are you wearing a men’s shirt with Tom Sully printed on it?”
You closed your eyes and pinched the bridge of your nose. Of course. Of course you’d missed that.
“Mom—”
Grace leaned closer to the camera like the distance between planets was a personal insult. “Well?”
You exhaled. “He’s in the program too. We… study together.”
“Study,” Grace echoed, amused. “And it ‘clicked,’ I assume.”
Your cheeks heated. “Yes. It clicked. Okay?”
Grace’s mouth twitched. “Does your Tom Sully have the courage to show his face, or am I speaking to a ghost in my daughter’s bedroom?”
Tom chose that moment to step into frame behind your shoulder and lift a hand in a small wave. “Kaltxi, Dr. Augustine. Oeru syaw Tom. Oel ngati kameie.”
Grace stared at him for a long, quiet second—assessing, dissecting, taking measurements no instrument could. Then she nodded once.
“Your Na’vi is good,” she said. “That’ll matter there.” A beat. “Also: good luck, Sully. Y/N is a tough cookie.”
You groaned. “Mom.”
Grace’s smile sharpened, fond and cutting. “What? I raised you. I know.”
Tom’s hand slid to your hip, a grounding touch. Grace noticed, of course she noticed, and her expression held something like approval—carefully disguised as indifference.
“Well,” Grace said, flicking ash into a tray. “I’ll let you get back to your… studying. We’ll talk again before you ship out, yeah?”
You nodded, suddenly aching. “Yes, Mom. I can’t wait to see you again.”
“Mm.” Grace’s gaze softened again, just enough for you to feel it like warmth on your skin. “Sleep. Eat something. And don’t do anything too stupid.”
The screen went dark.
The room felt too quiet without Grace’s voice filling it. Like the air had been let out of something.
It always surprised you how quickly you folded back into the shape of someone’s child, no matter how carefully you'd grown beyond it.
Tom stepped closer, arms folding around you from behind. “That wasn’t so bad,” he murmured into her hair. “I think she likes me.”
“She tolerates you,” you said, though she couldn’t stop the smile. “It’s basically love.”
Tom’s lips brushed your jaw. “So. Different planet. Your mother around all day. What are we going to do?”
“Please stop,” you breathed, the laugh turning into something softer. “It’s going to take me nearly six years to get there. I don’t want to waste what’s left—thinking about what happens when I’m gone.”
Tom’s arms tightened.
For a moment, neither of you spoke.
You hadn’t been together long. Four months. Not long enough to claim promises like property, not long enough to make plans that didn’t feel like tempting fate. But long enough that you could imagine him waiting, long enough that the idea of leaving made your chest ache in a way you didn’t know how to name.
“It’ll be okay,” Tom said finally. He sounded like someone saying something true because he needed it to be. “We’ve got this. I'll send you off and the time until I get there will go fast.”
You nodded into his shoulder.
Cryosleep made time disappear. That was the mercy. It was also the cruelty.
Time only disappeared for the people who were asleep. Everyone else had to live through it.
Pandora was calling—through Grace’s voice, through the language in your mouth, through every lesson you’d crammed into your skull.
And for the first time, you wondered what it would cost to answer.
Pandora, 2151
Five years, nine months, and twenty-two days vanished in a blink.
You woke with the taste of recycled air in your throat and the unsettling certainty that the world you'd left behind had kept moving without you. For you, it had been a moment. For everyone else, it had been almost six years of living in a timeline you could never step back into.
Hell’s Gate rose out of the rain like a scar.
From the shuttle window, Pandora looked endless—dark jungle stretching into mist, lightning flickering in slow pulses inside thunderheads. The air itself seemed to press against the glass, heavy with damp and life.
“Y/N, you coming?”
Dr. Max Patel stood in the corridor outside the landing bay, a civilian in a sea of corporate uniforms, his expression kind in a place that didn’t seem built for kindness.
You tore your gaze from the storm. “Sorry. I was just… looking.”
Max smiled like he understood what you couldn’t say. “First time seeing it awake is different, isn’t it?”
“Yeah.” you swallowed. Your palms were damp. “I’m nervous about linking.”
“Normal.” Max started walking, and you fell into step beside him as the facility’s lights washed everything in sterile white. “It’s one thing in sims. Another thing entirely when there’s an actual body waiting for you.”
You passed a line of soldiers moving toward the armory, boots leaving wet prints on metal floors. Their laughter echoed off concrete. Somewhere deeper in the base, heavy machinery growled.
They looked like men preparing for work, not war—and somehow that made it worse.
Max’s voice lowered, conversational. “Have you been able to contact your boyfriend yet?”
The question hit harder than it should have.
“Not yet,” you said, forcing a shrug that felt like a lie. “I arrived late yesterday. He’s probably already en route. In cryo.”
That was the story you kept telling yourself because it fit neatly.
There were a dozen reasonable explanations. You chose the kindest one and held onto it. Because it meant Tom’s promised call was still out there somewhere, just delayed by distance and protocol and the strange math of space travel.
Max’s hand rested briefly on your shoulder. “He’ll be here before you know it.”
You nodded because nodding was easier than admitting the silence had teeth.
You reached the lab corridor, where the air smelled of disinfectant and warm electronics. A door slid open, and there she was—Grace, walking fast, cigarette in hand, eyes bright with a focus that looked dangerously like hope.
“You’re finally here,” Grace said, and pulled you into a hug that was tighter than her usual tolerance for affection.
You breathed her in—smoke, coffee, something sharp and familiar. Home.
“You’ve lost weight,” Grace muttered, stepping back and scanning you like a checklist. “Cryo sickness? Dizziness? Headaches?”
“I’m fine, Mom.” you managed a smile. “Just hungry.”
Grace’s mouth twitched. “Good. We eat later, together. We’ve got work. I want to show you.”
Of course. Grace was to excited to have you there, have you one link away from your Avatar.
You moved toward the link room, and your stomach knotted tighter with every step. You'd logged hundreds of hours in sims. You'd recited procedures, memorized protocols, taken tests until your dreams were filled with blue skin and braided queues.
But this was different.
This time, it was you.
“Is it going to hurt?” You asked, hating the thin edge in your voice.
Grace’s gaze flicked to you, softer than her words. “No. It’ll feel strange. But you’ll be fine.” She tipped her chin toward the bed. “Lie down. Close your eyes. Don’t fight it.”
Don’t fight it.
You climbed into the gel cradle. The material molded around you like cool hands, pliant and obedient. Above you, the lid waited.
Grace leaned close, eyes steady. “I’m right here. Okay?”
You nodded.
The lid lowered.
Darkness swallowed the light.
“Link in three,” someone said.
You inhaled.
And then the world fell away.
For a heartbeat, there was nothing. No body. No breath. Just a free-fall of awareness through black space.
Then sensation hit like a wave.
Color burst behind your eyes. Sound sharpened into painful clarity. Your heart hammered too fast, too loud, in a chest that didn’t feel like yours.
You gasped—reflexive, desperate—and air flooded your lungs.
Real air.
Thick with damp and something sweet and green. Alive in a way Earth’s recycled oxygen had never been.
Your eyes snapped open.
Light stabbed at your vision. You squinted, lifting a hand to shield yourself—and froze.
Blue fingers.
Longer than human. Striped. Trembling.
This wasn’t like the simulations. This wasn’t a tool. It felt—dangerously—like an answer.
“Hello, Y/N,” a voice said nearby. “How are you feeling?”
You turned your head too quickly, and the motion was fluid in a way you weren't used to. Two doctors leaned in, masks hissing softly as their exopacks fed them breath.
“Any dizziness? Nausea?” another asked.
You swallowed. Your throat worked differently. Everything worked differently. “No,” you managed. Your voice was lower. Wrong. Not wrong—just not the one you'd known all her life.
You sat up slowly and looked down at yourself.
Cerulean skin with darker stripes, like an echo of Earth’s tigers in a world that had never known them. A body built for speed and strength. A body that wasn’t yours and yet—somehow—was.
Your pulse raced. Awe rose in your chest, bright and dizzying.
Then something brushed your arm.
You flinched hard.
Your tail flicked again, reacting to a thought you hadn’t meant to have.
A startled laugh escaped you—half wonder, half nerves.
“This is—” you swallowed. “This is going to take some getting used to.”
The doctors began their checks. Wiggle your toes. Touch finger to thumb. Follow the light.
You complied, movements easy in a body that felt like it had been waiting for you to arrive. That ease scared you more than the strangeness.
You hadn’t earned this body. It had simply accepted you.
One of the doctors reached for a syringe. “I’m going to take a blood sample and—”
“You’re done,” Grace’s voice cut in, sharp as a blade.
The doctor paused. “Dr. Augustine—”
Grace stepped forward, eyes hard. “You can draw blood later. You’ve got enough data on her to last you a year. She’s going outside.”
Your chest tightened. In the glass reflection, you caught sight of Grace’s face—protective, furious, and utterly unmovable.
The doctors exchanged a look and backed off.
Grace tossed you a pair of shorts and a shirt. “Get dressed. We’re testing reflexes somewhere that isn’t a damn shoebox.”
You pulled the clothes on awkwardly, tail shifting behind you like a living question mark.
“What now?” you asked, breathless with adrenaline.
“Now,” Grace said, “you learn what that body can do.”
You followed her through the corridors, each step longer than you expected. The world seemed sharper in avatar senses—every sound louder, every smell layered. Metal and oil and human sweat. Beneath it all, the humid breath of Pandora pressing at the edges of Hell’s Gate like it wanted in.
At the shuttle bay, Grace glanced at you, cigarette forgotten between her fingers. “Tomorrow,” she said, voice firm. “We go to the school.”
You blinked. “Tomorrow?”
Grace smiled—wide, fierce, and more hopeful than you had seen her in years. “No more waiting.”
When you stepped off the shuttle and put your bare feet on Pandora soil for the first time, everything shifted.
The ground was warm, springy with hidden roots. The air wrapped around you like a living thing. Somewhere in the distance, a creature called—a sound that vibrated through your bones.
You drew in a breath and tasted rain and leaf and something ancient you couldn’t name.
You should have thought of Earth. Of Tom. Of the life you’d left.
Instead, you stood there—blue skin prickling in the humid air—and felt the forest watch you with patient, endless attention.
You had come here to help. You hadn’t expected the world to answer back.
A year from now, you would call this place home.
You didn’t know yet what would be taken from you for that belonging.
But you felt, deep in your chest, that you had stepped onto a path that didn’t bend easily.
And that some choices—once made—could never be unmade.
A-Z MOVIES: The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe (2005) dir. Andrew Adamson
To the glistening eastern sea, I give you Queen Lucy the Valiant. To the great western wood, King Edmund the Just. To the radiant southern sun, Queen Susan the Gentle. And to the clear northern sky, I give you King Peter the Magnificent.
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