The avatar fandom is one of those places where you have about 5 months around the film’s release where there is like 20 fics a minute and then complete radio silence until the next film releases 2000 decades later.
Pairing: female!Sully reader x Sully family, female!Sully reader x Neteyam
Warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, grief, war themes.
Summary: Loss of the eldest daughter and big sister had been difficult for sully family, especially her twin brother, but what happens when eywa decides that it’s not the end for her?
Words: 5.3k
જ⁀➴
…Weeks later after your death…
The Marui was shrouded in the deep blues of the eclipse. The rest of the family was asleep, or pretending to be. Neteyam was staring at the roof of the tent, Lo’ak was curled tight in a ball, and Jake sat by the entrance, keeping watch with a hardened stare white stripe of paint covering middle of his face and chest.
Neytiri sat in the corner, the light of a single bioluminescent lamp illuminating her hands.
In her lap lay the Songcord.
It was long, winding through years of memories. She traced the beads of her own life, then moved to the smaller cords attached to hers her children's. Her fingers trembled as they found yours. She touched the first bead. The birth. She remembered the chaos of it, the double heartbeat. Her two babies You and Neteyam.
She moved her fingers down. Your first steps,First hunt,The time you fell from the tree, The time you caught your first fish. And then, her fingers stopped at the end.
A new bead was added,It was a pearl, dark and iridescent, harvested from the depths of the Cove of the Ancestors,She brought the cord to her chest, rocking slowly back and forth. The melody started low in her throat, a vibration before it became a sound. It was the melody she had hummed to you when you were inside her, and the melody she sang when she held you for the first time.
“Zola’u nìprrte’ ma y/n”(Welcome, my Y/n)
“Ngati oel munge soaiane “(I welcome you to our family)
“Lie si oe atanur”(I experience the light)
“Pähem parul, tì’ongokx ’awtuta”(The miracle arrives, a birth out of one person)
“Lawnol a mì te’lan”(A great joy ,which is in the heart)
“Ngaru irayo seiyi ayoe, tonìri tìreyä Ngaru irayo seiyi ayoe, srrìri tìreyä”(We give thanks for the nights of life ,We give thanks for the days of life)
"My fierce heart... my warrior true."
She squeezed the pearl tight, her eyes closing as she pictured your face the smile that was exactly like Neteyam's, but sharper, wilder.
"A father protects and A mother protects..."
"But the water calls and the spirit connects."
"You faced the fire... you welcomed death."
Her voice hitched, turning into a low, keening wail that she quickly stifled, forcing it back into the melody.
"Where are you now?... My beautiful child, my light?"
"With Eywa you sleep.. with Eywa you stay."
"Until I come... to guide your way."
Neytiri stopped singing. The silence that followed was louder than the song.
She looked down at the Songcord one last time. In the past, she sang to celebrate your life ,but tonight, she sang to acknowledge the end of it.
And actoss the tent, Neteyam turned over. He hadn't been sleeping. He had been listening. He let out a shaky breath, pulling his knees to his chest.
જ⁀➴
The sun had long since dipped below the horizon, leaving Pandora bathed in the bioluminescent glow of the eclipse. The ocean was a mirror of the stars, but tonight, Neteyam wasn't looking up. He was looking down.
He sat on rock that jutted out over the Cove of the Ancestors. Below the surface, deep in the trench, the Spirit Tree pulsed with a rhythmic, ethereal light,It was a heartbeat,your heartbeat, now joined with Eywa.
Neteyam ran a hand over his chest. The white ochre paint felt dry and tight against his skin, cracking as he breathed. He felt phantom pains in his chest. You two had been twins. You had shared a womb, shared a childhood, shared a rhythm of existence and now, there was just silence on his right side. A void where your presence used to hum.
The sound of footsteps scuffing against rock broke his trance. He didn't turn , He knew who it was . Heavy, hesitant, dragging with guilt.
"Bro?"
Neteyam exhaled smoke into the cool air. "Hey, little bro."
Lo'ak moved slowly, as if afraid he was intruding. He sat down a few feet away, pulling his knees to his chest. His eyes were red-rimmed, the dark circles under them stark against his blue skin. For a long time, neither spoke,The only sound was the gentle lap of water against the stone and the distant chittering of night creatures.
"I can't see her down there," Lo'ak whispered eventually, his voice thick. "But I know she's there."
"She's there," Neteyam confirmed, his voice flat. "With the ancestors. Probably telling them how to run things."
Lo'ak let out a weak, wet chuckle that died quickly. He picked at a loose piece of moss on the rock. "It should have been me, Neteyam."
Neteyam’s jaw tightened. "Don't."
"I'm serious," Lo'ak insisted, the tears finally spilling over, cutting tracks through the white paint on his cheeks. "I’m the one who wanted to go back. I’m the one who got us pinned down on that ship. She...was hit because of me…that bullet... it was for me."
"It was chaos, Lo'ak," Neteyam said, turning to look at his younger brother. His own eyes were burning, but he refused to let them fall. “”We all were targets."
"But she was covering me." Lo'ak wiped his nose aggressively. "She was always covering me,and you and she never stopped moving Even when she was bleeding... she pushed me onto the tulkun first."
Neteyam looked back at the glowing water. The memory of that moment was painful shard in his mind ,the way the light faded from your eyes so terrifyingly fast. As a twin, he had felt the exact moment the cord was cut. He had felt his soul tear in half.
"I was the oldest," Neteyam said softly. "By five minutes. But I was the oldest. It was my job,Dad said... protect the family. That’s all I had to do." He clenched his fists until his knuckles turned white. "I was right there,I was right next to her,I should have been faster."
"You couldn't have—"
"I should have taken the hit!" Neteyam snapped, his voice cracking, the soldier facade finally crumbling. "She was my other half, Lo'ak! You don't understand... it’s like walking around with one lung. Like I failed her."
They sat in the heavy silence of their shared guilt. The weight of it was suffocating, enough to drown them both right there on the rocks.
Then, a sudden breeze swept through the cove, ruffling their braids
Neteyam took a shuddering breath then He looked at Lo'ak, who was burying his face in his knees.
"You know what she’d say if she saw us right now?" Neteyam asked quietly.
Lo'ak sniffled, looking up. "What?"
"She’d kick our asses," Neteyam said. The corner of his mouth twitched upward, a painful, tiny smile.
Lo'ak blinked, and then a genuine, albeit watery, smile broke through. " yeah,Yeah, she would."
"She’d walk right up to you," Neteyam continued, his voice gaining a little strength as the memory of you washed over him, "and she’d flick that spot on your forehead.
"And she’d call me a skxawng," Lo'ak added, letting out a breathy laugh. "She’d say, 'Baby brother, stop crying and load the damn magazine.'"
"She’d tell me to fix my face," Neteyam laughed, the sound rusty but real. "Remember when we got caught sneaking out to the Hallelujah Mountains? And Dad was losing his mind?"
"And she stood in front of us," Lo'ak remembered, shaking his head. "She told Dad it was her idea. That she wanted to see the ikran nests,She tried to take the grounding for both of us."
"And then she hit us both in the back of the head as soon as Dad walked away," Neteyam chuckled, wiping a tear from his cheek. "She said, 'If you two idiots get me grounded during the eclipse festival, I will skin you alive.'"
Lo'ak laughed, leaning back on his hands. "She hated it when we got mopey,Remember when I crashed the ilu during training? I was sitting on the beach feeling sorry for myself, and she literally threw a fish at my head."
"A live fish," Neteyam corrected, grinning. "It slapped you right in the face."
"She said, 'The ocean doesn't care about your feelings, Lo'ak. Get back in the water.'" The laughter faded into a comfortable, warm silence. It wasn't the heavy silence of before. It was filled with your presence.
"She wouldn't want this," Neteyam said, gesturing to their slumped postures, the despair radiating off them. "She wouldn't want us sitting here, blaming ourselves for something she chose to do."
"She chose to save us," Lo'ak whispered.
"Yeah," Neteyam agreed, looking down at the spirit tree one last time. "She was stubborn like that. She never let anyone else have the last word. Including the Sky People."
Neteyam stood up, his legs stiff. He reached a hand down to Lo'ak.
"Come on," Neteyam said. "Mom needs us. And if we stay out here looking like wet feral cats, she's going to haunt us."
Lo'ak took his brother's hand and pulled himself up. He looked at the water, then at Neteyam. "Sullys stick together?"
Neteyam gripped Lo'ak's hand tight, pulling him into a rough embrace, resting his forehead against his brother's.
"Sullys stick together," Neteyam whispered.
જ⁀➴
The woven walls of the Marui blocked out the wind, but they couldn't block out the cold that had settled in the center of the room.
Neytiri sat on the floor, surrounded by the small, tangible remnants of a life cut short and In her hands, she held a woven top one of yours,that she made for you. It was stained with sea salt and dried blood ,She ran her long fingers over the stitching, tracing the pattern where the beads had been sewn in. She wasn't crying crying anymore , her face emotionless, eyes staring at a spot on the fabric as if trying to conjure the warmth of the skin that used to be underneath it.
Across from her, Jake sat cross-legged, his movements sharp and precise.
He was working on her arrows ,He was meticulously binding a small, explosive charge to the tip of a long reed shaft, his hands were steady, but his jaw was clenched so hard a muscle feathered beneath the white stripe on his cheek.
They hadn’t spoken since he returned from the beach, The air was thick with the words they were too afraid to say. If they spoke her name, she was truly gone,If they stayed silent, maybe she was just sleeping in the other room.
Jake finished the binding and picked up the heavy blackened bow, Neytiri’s bow, the one Lo'ak had retrieved. He had restrung it.
He moved across the mats, his knees cracking slightly. He set the bow down gently in front of her, placing the explosive tipped arrow beside it.
"I know you won’t give up your bow" Jake said, his voice rough, sounding too loud in the quiet space.thhen he put arrows in front of her. "Keep a good distance when you hit it"
Neytiri finally looked at the weapon. Her hand trembled as she reached out, picked up arrow ,but slowly dropped it closing her eyes.
"You bring fire to a house of water," she whispered.
"I bring you a way to kill them," Jake said, the desperation leaking into his tone. "When they come back. Because they will."
"Is that all there is, Ma Jake?" Her eyes rose to meet his, and they were endless pools of grief.
"It’s my job," Jake snapped, the guilt flaring up like a struck match. He sat back on his heels, running a hand through his hair. "I’m supposed to keep this family safe. That is the one thing... the one thing I am supposed to do. And I failed."
"We fought," Neytiri said softly.
"We ran!" Jake’s voice broke. "We ran from the forest to save them, and I just brought the war here. I put her in the line of fire." He looked down at his hands, seeing blood that wasn't there. "I look at Eywa... I look at this spirit tree... and I don't see a plan, Neytiri. I see a grave. Where was she? Where was the Great Mother when our daughter was bleeding on that deck?"
Neytiri’s posture stiffened. She dropped the shirt and grabbed Jake’s wrist, her grip iron-tight.
"Do not," she hissed. "Do not speak of Her with that poison in your heart."
"She took my child!" Jake yelled, the sound echoing off the water outside. "She took our baby!"
"She is holding our baby!" Neytiri screamed back, her voice shattering the stillness.
The anger drained out of her as quickly as it had come, replaced by a wave of agony so profound she doubled over,She clutched her chest, right over her heart, gasping for air.
"Faith..." Neytiri sobbed, her voice crumbling into broken pieces. "Faith is all I have right now, Ma Jake. If I do not believe she is with the Great Mother... if I do not believe she is safe within the eywa..." She looked at him, tears finally cutting through the white paint on her face. "Then she is just gone. And if she is just gone, I will die."
She picked up the shirt again, burying her face in it, inhaling the fading scent of you. "I cannot hear her," she wailed, a sound of pure, maternal torture. "I listen to the shell, I listen to the wind... my baby,My first daughter,She was part of me.“
Jake stared at her, his composure turning to ash.
He moved forward, collapsing the distance between them. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her shuddering body against his chest.
"I know," Jake choked out, burying his face in her neck, his own tears finally falling, hot and fast. "I know, baby. I know."
Neytiri clung to him, her fingers digging into his back, wailing into his shoulder. They rocked back and forth on the woven mat, the deadly bow forgotten on the floor beside them, two parents drowning in the ocean of their loss, holding onto each other to keep from going under.
જ⁀➴
The sky was the color of a bruise a swirling mix of smoke, storm clouds, and the unnatural orange glow of burning ships. The Metkayina village of Awa’atlu was in ruins. The RDA’s new fabrication modules, bolstered by the terrifying aggression of the Ash People clan lead by their tsahik Varang , had pushed the reef clans to the breaking point.
Jake fired his last magazine, the recoil jarring his exhausted shoulder. He threw the empty rifle down and drew his axe. Beside him, Neteyam was fighting like a demon, He moved with a reckless speed, cutting down Ash warriors who tried to board their commandeered skimwing.
But there were too many of them.
"Fall back!" Jake roared, his voice hoarse. "Get to the rocks! Loa’k stay with your sisters!"not knowing he was already out in the sky.
Neytiri was screaming in rage, her bow singing death, but even she was being forced back. The RDA Recoms were advancing, their heavy machine guns tearing through the cover. The Ash People, coated in gray dust and wielding obsidian edged spears, surged forward like a tide of darkness.
"Ma jake It’s over," Neytiri gasped, holding onto her ikran.
They were trapped against the cliff edge. The ocean raged below, churned up by the engines of the demon ships,Hope was a dying ember ,They had fought for weeks, fueled by grief and vengeance, but vengeance could not stop bullets.
In the center of the chaos, Kiri dropped to her knees. She didn't pick up a weapon. She grabbed her queue, her hands shaking, and slammed the neural connection into a patch of bioluminescent moss clinging to the rock.
"Ma Eywa," she screamed, and walked towards light , trying to resist the powerful wind ,which was holding her back. "Hear me! You took my sister! You took our heart! Do not take our home too! HEAR ME!"then spider and joined her , to walk towards light. The battlefield went silent for a split second, a vacuum of sound.
Then, the planet answered.
It started as a vibration in the teeth, a hum in the bones, The water erupted. Hundreds of Tulkun breached the surface simultaneously, their armored bodies acting as living shields against the RDA ships. They weren't just the outcast Payakan this time,it was the pod. From the sky, the clouds broke. A screeching wall of sound descended as thousands of Ikran, storm gliders, and even the smaller stingbats dived. They were wild, and they swarmed the Ash People's aircraft, clogging the rotors with their bodies, tearing at the cockpits with talons.
"Eywa..." Kiri breathed, watching a massive payakan launch itself onto the deck of a Sea Dragon, crushing a squad of soldiers. "She answered." The tide of battle shifted violently. The people on RDA shops panicked. The Ash warriors looked to the sky in fear.
But the greatest miracle wasn't happening on the surface. It was happening deep, deep below.
The water here was usually still, but today, the Spirit Tree was thrashing. Its glowing tendrils, usually a soft calming violet, were pulsing with a blinding, golden white light.
You floated there, suspended in the roots. You had been dead for weeks,Your skin was pale, your eyes closed, your chest still. The sea life had begun to claim you,tiny luminescent barnacles dotted your arm guards, and sea grass was woven through your hair.
But Kiri’s scream had traveled through and It had hit the Spirit Tree like a lightning bolt.
Eywa, the Great Mother, does not give and take in the way humans understand. She maintains the balance,She holds all energy,But sometimes... sometimes the energy is too fierce to be held and Sometimes, a warrior's song is not finished.
The roots wrapped tighter around your waist and chest,the golden light intensified, becoming searingly hot.
The bullet wound in your chest the dark, ugly hole that had stolen your life began to glow and heal,The tissue knitted together. The blood, stagnant in your veins, was suddenly charged with bio-energy.
Just then your heart gave a single, violent kick.
The water around you vibrated,the energy transferred from the Tree into you,It was a jolt, a shock of life more painful than the death had been.
Your eyes snapped open.
જ⁀➴
The sky above the was a churning cauldron of black smoke and screaming engines.
Neteyam urged his Ikran, into a steep dive ,the wind roared in his ears, tearing at his braids,He was exhausted. his quiver was down to his last three arrows, and his heart was hammering against his ribs ,not with fear, but with a hollow, desperate acceptance.
He was fighting like a man who had nothing left to lose. Since you died, a part of him had been trying to find a way to join you without dishonoring the family.
"Break right!" Lo’ak’s voice crackled over the comms, breathless and panicked.
Neteyam banked hard, narrowly missing a burst of machinegun fire from an RDA SA-2. He returned fire, his arrow piercing the cockpit glass, sending the pilot into a spin.
But the Ash People were different. They didn't fight with machines,they fought with hate and fire.
An Ash warrior, riding a massive, scarred mountain banshee with skin the color of charcoal, surged up from the smoke below,He was painted in grey and ochre.
Neteyam pulled back his bowstring, but his fingers slipped on the sweat and blood. The shot went wide.
Damn it.
He tried to reload, but his banshee shrieked, barrel rolling to avoid the Ash warrior’s spear. The maneuver disoriented Neteyam for a split second.
In that second, he lost the advantage and the Ash warrior banked sharply, disappearing into a cloud of thick, oily smoke. Neteyam scanned the horizon, his chest heaving. "Where is he..."
The Ash warrior had pulled a silent loop and was now hovering directly at Neteyam’s right, the warrior raised a modified RDA rifle a heavy, ugly thing meant to tear through a bone.
Neteyam yanked on the neural queue, trying to dive, but he knew he was too late ,He stared down the barrel of the gun. The Ash warrior grinned, a cruel expression.
Time seemed to slow down. Neteyam squeezed his eyes shut.
But bullets never came, instead a piercing cry shattered the air,It wasn't the guttural roar of the Ash banshees. It was a high, musical, terrifyingly familiar shriek.
Neteyam’s eyes snapped open From above, a streak of blue and yellow appeared. It was your Ikran. It had been missing since your death, vanished into the wild, but now it was here, diving with a speed that defied physics.
And it wasn't empty.
You sat there, effortless in the saddle. You were soaking wet. Your hair was loose, loating in the wind. Sea water dripped from your nose and chin But the most terrifying, beautiful thing was your eyes. They were burning with a fierce, electric gold energy, the same energy that flowed through the Spirit Tree.
You lowered your bow, resting it on your thigh. A small, crooked smirk the one you used to give him when you beat him in a race tugged at the corner of your mouth.
"Hello, big bro," you said, your voice raspy from the water but undeniably, miraculously alive. "You look like shit."
Neteyam’s mouth opened, but no sound came out,His hands shook so hard he almost dropped his bow.
"Y/N?" he choked out, the name tearing from his throat like a sob.
"The one and only," you winked, though your eyes softened as you looked at his terrified face. You gestured with your chin toward the battle raging below. "Now, are we going to finish this, or are you going to keep staring at me like I’m a ghost?"
Suddenly, the emptiness in Neteyam’s chest the void that had been there for weeks slammed shut.
He felt your pulse,and let out a wet, hysterical laugh, wiping tears and soot from his face. He gripped his bow, feeling strength flood back into his limbs.
"Let's kill them all," Neteyam said “Sully’s stick together!”
"Lead the way, Ma 'eylan," you replied.
જ⁀➴
The battle had bled out into a smoky, trembling silence, the ash people had retreated, fading back into the volcanic smog like ghosts.
Quaritch, battered and outmatched by the renewed ferocity of the Sullys, had chosen fire over capture, plummeting into a burning ravine rather than facing Neytiri’s blade.
On a large, flat outcropping of rock jutting from the sea, the Sully family reunited. they were a wreck,Jake was favoring his left leg, his chest heaving. Neytiri was wiping black soot from her face, her eyes scanning the sky frantically for her children. Lo’ak was sitting on the ground, holding his head, while Kiri and Tuk clung to each other.
"They're coming!" Tuk squeaked, pointing upward.
Two Ikrans broke through the haze. One was Neteyam’s familiar teal mount. The other was a beast they hadn’t seen in weeks a darker, sleeker creature that had vanished the day you died.
Jake stiffened, his hand instinctively going to his knife,his eyes narrowing. He recognized the mount, but his mind couldn't process why it was here because It should have been in wild. The Ikrans landed heavy and hard, their talons scraping against the stone. Neteyam slid off his mount first, He didn't look like a soldier who had just survived a war,He looked like a man who had seen Eywa,He was grinning a wide, tear-streaked grin that looked manic on his face.
He didn't walk to them ,He turned back to the other Ikran, He reached up a hand, offering it to the rider. "Careful sister," Neteyam said, his voice carrying clearly across the silence. "You're still getting your land legs back."
Neytiri froze,her bow slipped from her fingers, clattering loudly against the rock.You landed on the rock with a soft thud. You were soaking wet, your skin glistening with sea water and a strange, faint bioluminescent sheen that seemed to pulse in time with a heartbeat.
But there was no blood. There was no hole in your chest,Just a swirling, golden pattern of energy where the bullet had been, glowing softly against your blue skin, you looked at them, your golden eyes adjusting to the faces of the people who had buried you.
"Sa’nok,Sempul," you whispered, your voice raspy and small. "I... I think I took a really long nap."
For a span of five seconds, nobody moved, the wind whistled through the rocks. Then, Neytiri made a raw, guttural noise of pure, agonizing disbelief.
"No..." she breathed, stumbling forward,Her hands shook violently. She looked at Jake, as if asking him to wake her from this cruel dream. "Ma Jake...?"
Jake was paralyzed, he was staring at you, his warrior's mask completely shattered. His lower lip trembled. He blinked rapidly, tears spilling over, washing clean tracks through the war paint on his cheeks.
"Baby girl?" Jake choked out, the name barely audible.
You took a hesitant step forward, and that broke the spell.
Neytiri lunged she threw herself at you, She collided with you, dropping to her knees and dragging you down with her, burying her face in your wet, cold stomach. Her hands were everywhere touching your face, your arms, your hair, frantically searching for the wound, checking for the blood that wasn't there.
"Oh, Great Mother... oh, my sweet child... my heart...my daughter " Neytiri sobbed, her voice breaking into wails of hysteria and joy. She gripped you so tight it bruised, terrified that if she let go, you would turn into sea foam and vanish.
"Mom, I'm okay," you cried, tears finally spilling from your golden eyes as you wrapped your arms around her trembling shoulders. "I'm okay,She sent me back,I'm here."
Jake fell to his knees beside you. He wrapped his massive arms around both you and Neytiri, pulling you into his chest. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling the scent of the ocean and the ozone smell of Eywa's energy,He sobbed openly, a deep, heaving sound that shook his entire frame.
"I got you," Jake whispered over and over, rocking you. "I got you,I'm not letting go. I'm never letting go."
"Y/N!"
Lo’ak crashed into the pile next, tackling you from the side and he was crying so hard he couldn't speak, just pressing his forehead against your shoulder, gripping your arm.
"I thought—I thought it was my fault," Lo’ak gasped, his voice wrecked. "I’m sorry, I’m so sorry."
"Shut up, skxawng," you laughed through your sobs, freeing a hand to smack the back of his head lightly. "It wasn't your fault. Never your fault." Tuk squeezed in, burrowing into the center of the mass, wailing your name, You kissed the top of her head, feeling the warmth of your family, the solid reality of them.
Only Neteyam stood back, just for a moment, watching. He was crying silently, his chest rising and falling with relief ,He looked at Kiri.
Kiri stood a few feet away. She wasn't crying,She was smiling, a serene, knowing smile. She walked over slowly, crouching down. She didn't hug you immediately,Instead, she placed her hand over the glowing, golden swirl on your chest.
She closed her eyes, feeling the pulse of the Great Mother beating beneath your ribs. "She wasn't ready to say goodbye," Kiri whispered softy. You looked up at Kiri and smiled. "She told me I had work to do."
Jake pulled back, just an inch, cupping your face in his large hands. He looked into your eyes those new, electric eyes and saw the fire of the planet burning in them. He wiped a tear from your cheek with his thumb.
"I see you, my daughter," Jake said, his voice thick with a gratitude he could never express in words.
"I see you, Dad," you replied.
Neytiri pulled you back down, refusing to share you for another second. The Sully’s were whole once again.
….Week later….
You sat on a large, flat rock that jutted out over the drop off, your legs dangling into the cool water.
You were looking down through the clear water, you could see the distant, glowing of the Spirit Tree.
You absently touched the center of your chest the skin there felt different now warmer than the rest of you,The golden swirl where the bullet had been pulsed softly, a second heartbeat against your fingertips.
"Mom says you shouldn't be out here alone."
You didn't jump, because you had felt him coming long before he spoke.
Neteyam stepped onto the rock, He sat down next to you, close enough that your shoulders brushed.
"I'm not alone," you said quietly, your voice still carrying a slight rasp from the seawater. "I'm with you."
Neteyam let out a breath, leaning back on his hands. He followed your gaze down into the abyss.
"Does it..." He hesitated, struggling with the words. "Does it scare you? Looking at it?"
"No," you answered honestly. "It looks like... home. In a weird way. It’s quiet down there, Neteyam, There’s no war there ,no sky people ,no pain”
Neteyam looked at you then, he looked tired, dark circles under his eyes hadn't fully faded, even after a week of peace. "It was too quiet up here," he whispered.
He looked down at his hands, clenching and unclenching them. "When the bond snapped... it wasn't a noise,It was just... silence. Like half the world just turned off,I kept reaching for you, out of habit. Every time I saw something funny, or stupid, or dangerous, I’d reach out to push the feeling to you,and there was just...nothing."
He turned his head away, staring out at the horizon,”I thought I went crazy. Mom was quiet and Dad was trying to keep us moving... and I was just standing there, feeling half a person."
You reached out, covering his hand with yours "I heard you," you said softly. Neteyam looked back at you, eyes wide. "What?" "In the tree," you said. "It wasn't words ,It was... feelings and I felt you drowning,I felt your guilt,It was so heavy, Neteyam. It was pulling me back down." You squeezed his hand. "That’s part of why I woke up,You were being so loud, big brother. You wouldn't let me sleep."
A tear slipped down Neteyam’s cheek. He let out a wet, shaky laugh. "So I annoyed you back to life?"
"Basically," you smiled, bumping your shoulder against his. "You and Mom,She was singing and It vibrated through the roots,It tickled."
The humor faded quickly, replaced by a heavy solemnity,Neteyam turned his hand over, interlacing his fingers with yours. He gripped tight, as if checking your pulse through your palm.
"I failed you," he said, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper "My one job was to protect the family. And I watched you take a bullet meant for me."
"Neteyam, stop," you said firmly, turning to face him, your golden eyes flared slightly, a visual echo of your emotions. "You didn't fail, You fought, we fought, That's what we do. I didn't jump in front of you because I wanted to be a hero,I did it because..." You paused, searching for the words. "Because a world without you isn't one I wanted to live in anyway."
Neteyam stared at you, his jaw working. "You can't do that again,You can't leave me here to explain to dad why his daughter is gone."
"I don't plan on it," you said,You looked back down at the glowing tree. "Eywa sent me back for a reason, Neteyam. I don't know what it is yet, Maybe it’s just to annoy you. Maybe it’s to fight the enemy,But I know one thing."
"What?"
"I’m not the same," you admitted, your voice trembling slightly for the first time,”I feel... old and I feel the water moving before the waves crash, I feel the Tulkun miles away,It’s a lot of noise inside my head now."
You looked at him, vulnerability cracking your calm mask. "I need you to help me stay grounded, ma Teyam. If I start drifting... you have to pull me back.
Neteyam shifted, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you into his side, resting his chin on the top of your head, right between your ears."I got you," he vowed, the vibration of his chest rumbling against you.
He held you there for a long time, listening to the water lapping against the rock.
"Your eyes are weird now, though," Neteyam mumbled into your hair, ruining the moment intentionally. "You look like a furious owl."
You elbowed him in the ribs, hard. He grunted but didn't let go. "And you look like a skxawng who needs a haircut," you shot back.
"Good," Neteyam exhaled, squeezing you tighter. "You're definitely still you."
"Yeah," you whispered, closing your eyes and leaning into his warmth, finally feeling the cold of the grave leave your bones. "I'm still me."
“I see you ,y/n”
“I see you ,brother”
જ⁀➴
Side note: soo i did what I couldn’t do with movies, i reunited Sully’s🥹
Twin idea came from my younger sisters, they are twins, and growing up with them taught me that there isn’t stronger bond than twin siblings have, they are basically inseparable, and I can’t imagine them being without each other.
And also excuse my poor writing. I searched up lot of words in dictionary 🥲
Summary: When your kuru is used against your parents, your scream triggers a primal rage in Jake Sully that neither the RDA nor the Ash People are prepared to face. And, during the healing, your mother's voice is the best medicine.
✨ based on this request ✨
The air on the deck was thick with a suffocating heat rising from the burning hull. You were on your knees, your hands bound behind your back.
Quaritch stood over you, his eyes tracking the churning water below. He knew Jake and Neytiri were down there. He knew they were waiting for the right moment.
"They are playing hide and seek," Quaritch growled, his voice rasp. He looked down at you—Jake’s firstborn, the pride of his eyes—and a cruel smirk twisted his face. Then, he looked at Varang, who stood with her hand already hovering near your head.
"Let's give them a reason to show up. Make sure the father hears it." He said, putting your comm beside your face.
Varang didn't hesitate. Her hand shot out, snatching your kuru with a brutal grip.
What you felt wasn't just physical pain. It was a lightning strike to your soul. Your neural queue was the center of your very being and Varang was squeezing it like she intended to snap the connection forever.
A painfull agony radiated from the back of your skull, lancing through every nerve in your body. Your back arched, your lungs seizing as the world turned into a blur of blinding light and static.
A sound broke from your throat: a raw, high-pitched scream of pure torment that echoed across the metal deck and pierced through the crashing waves below.
Nearby, Jake was swimming through the waves, his eyes scanning for a way to break in.
Then he heard it.
It was a direct bullet to his chest. The scream of his daughter—his baby girl. In an instant, the tactical soldier vanished. Something terrifying took its place. His pupils constricted and his grip on his weapon tightened until the material groaned.
He didn't just lock in. He became a storm.
Jake exploded from the water, trailing fury. He launched himself onto the deck.
Quaritch barely had time to raise his gun before Jake was on him. He used the butt of his weapon to smash Quaritch across the face with enough force to knock him out and send him skidding twenty feet across the burning metal.
Varang hissed, tightening her grip on your kuru in a desperate attempt to use you as a shield, but Jake was faster. He dropped his gun, drew his combat knife and in one fluid motion, he was at your side.
He grabbed Varang wrist with one hand, the bones in her arm audibly creaking. He stared directly into her eyes—a look of such cold promise that the she actually flinched.
"Let. Her. Go," he breathed.
It wasn't a request.
It was an execution sentence.
Under the sheer pressure of his grip, Varang’s hand recoiled. Jake immediately shoved her back and sliced her neck with his knife. He stepped over your trembling body, shielding you from the world with his entire frame.
The battle raged around you, but for Jake, the world had shrunk to the size and were only the two of you. He collapsed to his knees, freeing your hands and searching for injuries.
You were shivering violently, your eyes were unfocused and glazed. Your kuru was bruised, the neural filaments twitching from the trauma.
"I've got you, I've got you," Jake choked out, his voice cracking. His large hands, usually so steady, were shaking as he tried to hold your head still.
"Dad," you whispered, your voice a ghostly thread. You were delirious, the pain-overload making your mind wander to the forest, to home. "I can't... I can't feel anymore. It’s so quiet, Dad... wh-why can't I?"
"Shh, baby, It's okay," Jake's heart was breaking at the sight of his fierce warrior daughter reduced to this.
"H-Hurts... Mom's help... Need mom."
He looked at Neytiri, who was running toward you. "Neytiri! We have to move!"
You leaned into his chest, your hands feebly grasping at his tactical vest. "Make it stop... please... make it stop..."
"We're going to get you home," Jake vowed, his voice hardening again as he saw more RDA soldiers approaching. He scooped you up, holding you against his heart like you were still the tiny child he’d held in the Hometree years ago. "I'm going to kill every single one of them for touching you."
He stood up, carrying you through the smoke and fire. He felt like a father who was ready to burn the entire world down just to keep your heart beating.
During the fly back to the village, he had you tucked against his chest, his thick arms acting as a living cage to keep you from slipping. His eyes never leaving the back of your head.
Every time the skimwing crested a wave, the slight jar caused you to let out a broken whimper. You weren't feeling like a fierce warrior anymore; you felt like a child again, reduced to raw nerves, needing your parents to do something to erase the hurt.
"It hurts... Dad, it hurts so much," you sobbed, your voice barely audible. Your hands were curled into claws, clutching at his back, your fingernails digging into his skin.
Jake’s jaw was set so tight it ached. He had seen death. He had seen his sons bleed. But this was a different kind of horror. Seeing you, his little warrior, so utterly broken and terrified, was a blade to his heart.
"I know, baby. I know," he murmured, his voice thick and cracking. He pressed his cheek against the top of your head, trying to absorb your tremors into his own body. "Just breathe for me. Focus on dad, okay?"
"Make it stop..." you choked out, a fresh wave of delirium taking hold. "Please don't let them break me..."
Jake closed his eyes for a second, a single tear escaping. The guilt was a physical weight. He was the one they were after. You were just the leverage. "No one is going to touch you again. I promise you, on my life."
When you reached the reef, Jake scooped you up, your head lolling against his shoulder. You were still whispering, a low rhythmic chant of "it hurts"; like a loop that was the only things that kept you awake and dissociated you from the pain.
They brought you to the healing cove, the water warm and glowing. Neytiri stepped forward, her hands hovering over your bruised neural queue.
"The connection is unstable," Neytiri whispered sharply. "The trauma is deep. She's lost in the echo of pain."
Kiri stood by your head. She didn't speak; she didn't need to. Her connection to Eywa allowed her to feel the jagged, electric static screaming through your kuru. To Kiri, your pain felt like a disharmony in a song that was supposed to be perfect.
She reached out, her fingers glowing faintly as she brushed them against your temple. "She’s so loud," Kiri whispered, her voice trembling. "Her spirit... it’s screaming, Mom. It’s like a storm that won't stop."
You flinched under her touch, your eyes flying open, in horror. "No... don't touch it... it burns..." you wheezed, your body arching in the shallow water.
"My baby, It's okay, look at me." Neytiri took your face and searched for your watery eyes. "You have to let us heal you, okay? I promise it will be alright." Your chin trembled in anticipation but you nodded lightly, letting a few tears drop.
Neytiri looked at Jake, seeing the way his hands shook as he held your legs steady and her heart broke for both of you.
"Ma Jake," she murmured, a firm but grounding command. "Hold her shoulders. She must stay still for this."
Neytiri motioned you to close your eyes and placed a hand over your heart and the other near the base of your brain, where the bruising on your kuru was dark purple. She began to 'sing' the Healing Song, her voice low and guttural at first, vibrating through the water.
As the song rose in pitch, Kiri began to weave her hands through the water, calling the glowing microscopic life to gather around your neural queue. The light intensified in a soft pulse that attempted to knit the frayed filaments back together.
But your deep breaths could do nothing against the pain of the healing.
"It hurts, dada." you whispered unconsciously, unaware of the words that came out of your mouth. Calling him dada made Jake flinch as if he’d been shot. It's been years since you have called him that way.
Jake swallowed hard and lunged forward, pinning your shoulders down with a desperate tenderness. "I'm right here, baby. Dad is here, always here."
His eyes were wet, a sight that none in your family had seen in a long time. He was the commander, Olo’eykte, Toruk Makto. But right now, he was just a father watching his child drown in a sea of pain he couldn't fight for her.
"We are trying!" Kiri cried, tears streaming down her own face. "Mother is trying to reach her, but she’s too scared. She’s hiding."
Neytiri leaned down, pressing her forehead against yours, her Song turning into a fierce, rhythmic chant. She grabbed your hand and pressed it firmly against her chest.
"Please come back to us, my baby." Neytiri commanded you, her voice cutting through your delirium. "You are my daughter, daughter of the Forest. You are my warrior. Do not let them take your spirit."
Under the pressure of her voice, your thrashing began to slow. The white-hot static in your mind started to fade into a dull ache and a kind of tickle, a sign of healing.
"We see you," Jake choked out, grabbing your hand and kissing your knuckles over and over. He leaned to whisper directly into your ear so only you could hear. "I will tear the world apart before I lost you, baby. You’re our home. Our brave, brave girl."
"Dad...?" you whispered after a few minutes. Your eyes opened, finally focusing on his and then on Neytiri's. "Mom? M-my head.. tickles.."
"Oh, my sun," Neytiri let out a half-sob, half-laugh, kissing your face with a ferocity that spoke of a thousand unspoken feelings. The tickle meaning your kuru was healing. "The fire is out, my girl. You're safe. You came back to us."
"Your mom and Kiri... they brought you back, baby girl. And we are not losing you again."
And they stood to Jake's words.
They didn't let go of you. Even as your eyes drifted shut from the exhaustion of the healing, they remained there, anchored to you, like silent guardians who would never truly sleep again until they knew terror and pain had left your soul.
hi, i was wondering if you could write a toddler!reader avatar, where she’s a big mommas girl and she like loves neytiri and she realizes neytiri doesn’t like spider so she decides she doesn’t like spider either until he helps her with something and she starts to like him. idk if that made sense 😭 if it didn’t feel free to ignore this
You are definitely Neytiri‘s daughter, there’s no mistaking it in the way you cling to her whenever you can, your tail curling around her leg when you toddle beside her.
You love your mama fiercely and grumble when someone gets to close while you’re cuddling, mumbling an adorable 'my mama' as Neytiri chuckles at your possessiveness, especially when it’s directed at Jake.
"What do you mean no touch? She was my wife before she was your mama." Jake retorts after having just received a small hiss from you when he tried to touch Neytiri.
"No, my mama. Daddy no touch." You poke your tongue out at him as your mother chuckles and keeps working on your hair.
"You heard your daughter." Neytiri smiles, seeing Jake’s dumbfounded expression.
You mimic Neytiri in many different ways, loving the things she does, repeating things she says, even disliking the same things she does because what upsets your mama, upsets you in return.
That’s the reason you also don’t like Spider, it’s not that he ever did something to you for you to not like him, but Neytiri just can’t get herself to accept him. He’ll always be a sky-person to her, hence your dislike towards him.
No matter how nice he is, you’ll always glare at him the same way your mother does, watching him closely whenever he’s around your siblings.
Jake crouches down beside you and snaps his fingers in front of your face, pulling your fixated gaze away from Spider, who’s fooling around with your brothers and sisters. "Don’t you want to join them, babygirl?"
You hesitate for a moment and when you see Spider again you shake your head, making grabby hands for Neytiri when she approaches you both. "Mama."
She instantly lifts you into her arms, running her finger along your nose, making you giggle as Jake straightens himself.
"She’s too much like you for her own good." He smirks, receiving a halfhearted glare from her in response before she simply turns and walks off while whispering to you softly.
One day, you reluctantly let Neteyam and the rest of your siblings drag you with them towards a pond where your older brother often fishes and to your dismay Spider is there as well but you try to ignore him, keeping close to Neteyam as you clutch your favorite wooden toy in your hand.
After you spend some quality time with them, you now watch them splash in the water from your spot on a large rock, babbling to your wooden Ikran.
Since the rock is slightly slippery from the water, you couldn’t keep your grip on it anymore at some point, slipping into the water before even a sound can escape you.
You haven’t learned to swim yet and are now flailing in the water, your siblings seeming not to notice what’s happening as they are too busy shouting and splashing each other.
As you start to choke on the water, you feel two hands pull you back over the surface by your armpits, starting to cough as your lungs try to get free from any water that bothers you.
"Whoa, Y/N. Are you okay? Here." You recognize Spider's voice, feeling him pat your back to help you breathe again.
Your siblings now have gathered around you, Kiri wiping the water from your eyes as you start to calm down again, your body shaking from shock.
You then focus your gaze on Spider, realizing he was the one to save you from nearly drowning, suddenly wrapping your short arms around his neck to cling onto him, surprising not only him but your siblings as well.
Neteyam and Lo'ak share a confused look while Kiri and Tuk smile at your interaction with Spider, all of them knowing that a few hours ago you would have hissed at for even being near you.
Spider continues to pat your back awkwardly, still shocked that you’re actually holding onto him. "It’s- it’s okay."
Ever since that day, you start to grow a liking to him over time, feeling grateful yet are still wary of him sometimes and even Neytiri seems to dislike him a bit less, but just a tiny bit.
You’re still a mamas girl through and through but now show a twinge of your father’s personality as you slowly begin to accept Spider.
prompt: the sully family’s middle daughter, long overlooked, fights alone through pain. After nearly losing her, they finally see her and love her fully.
pairings: sully family x reader, jake sully x daughter!reader, neytiri x daughter!reader, sully kids x sister!reader, middle child!reader
warnings: angst, bloody wounds, family angst, hurt/comfort, whump, themes of war.
notes: this was requested by @ray-of-faith11
All your life has been a sequence of standing in the place between. Between brothers and sisters, between peace and war, between a forest that loves you and a family that never quite feels like it was meant for you.
The disconnection began when you and your brothers started to grow up. Jake had begun to shut you out of everything.
Your mother, never really there for you, always focused on your siblings. The only person whose connection to you had not severed was Tuk, and still, you knew that the day would come—because it always did.
It happened with Lo’ak, it happened with Neteyam, it happened with Kiri, and it happened with your parents.
You sit silently slouched over some weapon crafting material, hands skimming the string, testing it. Your father sits just a few feet away, helping your brothers and Kiri craft their own bows. “Dad, can you help me?” you murmur, “i cannot attach the string to the—”
“Y/n— can’t you wait? I’m helping Kiri.”
“Okay,” you say evenly, nodding even though he is not looking. “And when you are done?”
“Sure.” He says, voice rough, lips tight.
One minute passes, then two, he seems to forget that you’d even called out for him in the first place. So you figure it out yourself.
Even Tuk’s glance, soft and slightly knowing, can’t erase the hollow ache curling in your chest. You bury it under the weight of your work, under the sound of strings snapping into place and wood being sanded smooth.
Tuk comes from behind you, hands already on your shoulders, peeking over them to see your work. “Y/n…can I tryyy?”
“Not now, Tuk. I am not finished.”
“Are you having trouble?”
“No.” You say, quicker than you should have. Tuk’s frown is instant, tiny hands loosening around your shoulders.
You set the materials aside and take her little hands in yours. “I am busy.”
“Okay,” she whispers.
Your mother crosses into the large space of your home, eyes skimming briefly over you before focusing on other things.
When her eyes land on Tuk, they narrow slightly. “What did you do?” She asks you immediately, your shoulders tense as everybody looks up from their laps, all eyes falling over you.
“Nothing, I am just crafting the bow—she would not leave me alone.”
“She should not have to. Do not treat her as if she is a burden. Let her try.” Your mother says.
You can only sigh, handing Tuk the crafting materials sharply. “There,” you murmur.
Your mother gathers whatever it is she needed and remains outside, close enough to hear everything being said inside. you take the components of your unfinished bow back immediately and continue to work.
Only, Tuk does not complain this time, she just watches your hands as they skim wood and sometimes tug at the strings too hard.
“You are doing it wrong.” She teases.
“I am not,” despite everything, you smile.
“Seriously, Neteyam showed me-“
“I said I am not!” You snap, your voice cutting louder.
Instantly, your fathers voice echoes across the space. “Hey!” The single word cracks through the air like a whip.
You freeze, Jake is already on his feet, anger flaring quick and hot. “Don’t you talk to her like that.”
Everybody freezes. Tuk flinches slightly beside you. Your chest tightens, legs pulling in at your side. “I told her that I was busy.”
“She’s a kid!” He snaps, stepping closer. “Your sister. You don’t yell at her because you’re frustrated.”
“I did not- I am not frustrated.”
“But you did, and yes you are angry!” he yells, voice rising. “And you’re taking it out on your siblings.”
Something inside of you twists like a vault, sharp and sudden. “I just wanted to finish something without being interrupted,” you murmur, hands shaking slightly as you try to focus.
Before he can respond, a new voice cuts through. “What is happening here?” Your mother stands at the entryway, and before you can say anything, your father steps up.
“She snapped at Tuk.”
“No-” you sigh, “she kept getting in the way of things. I was just trying to finish my bow!”
“So you raise your voice at her?” Your mother asks.
“Yes.”
“She just wants to learn, is that a crime?” Your father chimes in.
“I am learning too!” You snap. “I just want to finish my work!” You stand now, breathing heavily.
“Y/n, apologize. Now.” Your mother crosses her arms, waiting.
You shake your head and crouch to gather your things, brushing past your parents carelessly and moving toward the doorway.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Jake asks, but you ignore him., continuing to move.
You find yourself sitting stiff on a smooth rock, fingers still pulling at the stupid string that got you here in the first place.
The noise inside the marui fades slowly, piece by piece, until it is replaced by the low hum of night insects and the distant rush of water.
Jake steps outside, arms crossed, jaw tight. Staring out into the darkness as if it might offer him some answers.
Of course it doesn’t. He exhales through his nose, long and controlled, but the tension doesn’t leave his shoulders.
“Daddy?” The voice is small.
He turns, already softening. “Hey baby girl.”
Tuk steps closer, hands clasped behind her back the way she does when she’s thinking too hard about something.
“What’s up?” He asks, crouching a little so that he’s closer to her height.
She doesn’t answer right away, just looks at him—studying. Then, she speaks, “do you love Y/n?”
The question lands wrong, too direct, and too easy. Jake blinks, caught off guard. “What kind of question is that?”
Tuk shrugs, it is not her usual, playful shrug—this one is careful. “You always say you love us, all of us.” She says quietly.
“I do.” He answers immediately. “Of course I do.”
“But…” she hesitates, eyes dropping for a moment before lifting again. “you don’t talk to her the same, that’s it.”
That hits harder than anything that was said inside. Your father’s expression tightens. “Tuk-“
“You sometimes get bad at her faster,” she continues, words a little quicker now, like she’s afraid she won’t get them out otherwise. “You always listen to Kiri, sometimes Lo’ak, and Neteyam.”
He flinches, barely.
“But you don’t really listen to her.” She finishes with a sharp exhale, as if she’d been holding those very words for decades.
A long pause stretches—then, finally, “I am trying to keep this family together.” Jake says, voice lower.
“Everyone is under pressure, baby…I can’t-“
“Maybe Y/n is as well.” Tuk interrupts, almost a whisper. “You just don’t look.”
That stops him completely, here he is, learning about his middle child from his youngest, learning things he should have already known.
“She tries really hard, I can see it. Nobody else does.”
Jake looks away then, out into the trees again. Trying to avoid what’s sitting in front of him. “I know,” he says after a moment, but it does not sound as certain as it should.
Tuk steps closer, tiny hand reaching for his, he lets her take it. “Maybe you should tell her, daddy.” she says.
He glances down at her. “Tell her what?”
“That you love her.”
Tuk says it so simply, like it should be easy. Jake’s throat tightens slightly, his grip on her little hand shifting.
“I think she forgot.” Tuk adds.
That one lands deep, for a second, he doesn’t speak at all. The sounds of the forest fill the space between them, thick and alive, but it does nothing to ease the quiet weight settling in his chest. “..yeah,” he murmurs. “I’ll talk to her.”
Tuk nods, satisfied in that small way of hers. “Okay.”
She squeezes his hand once before letting go and walking back inside.
Your father stays where he is, still staring into the dark.
You remain silently seated on the same forest rock, fingers curled in the moss, legs dangling—your bow is finished beside you.
Nobody has come looking for you, and that’s all you can think about. Not the bow you finally built, just the fact that your own family forgets you like a story with a torn page.
You are always the one to watch as they share the love you were once a part of. The realization creeps in, you lean forward, your elbows resting on your knee caps, palms squeezing against your eyes.
You gasp sharply, then your cries escape like a weight you didn’t even know you had to bear, now it’s melting into soil. Your hands move away, letting the tears escape—your face is washed in secrets kept too deep, a baptism of everything you cannot say.
Your mind drifts once again, you, as a young girl- held in the arms of your parents, or you, curled up with your siblings, or- “whatever,” you murmur.
You hop off of the large stone, taking your bow, moving quietly through the forest. You test the bow by drawing it as far as possible and piercing right through a woven target—a forgotten one.
You spend the long night hours walking about the forest, drowning yourself with work, it’s not even close to dawn, and you’re still tired. Eventually, you go back to the village on your own, your kelku is quieter than usual when you step inside, not empty, just wrong.
It is the kind of quiet that feels like everyone is aware of something, but no one knows how to touch it. For a brief second, a few heads lift, then they go back down too fast.
You don’t say anything, you just move to your space, set down your bow carefully, and pick up whatever work is closest. Something unfinished, something that gives your hands a purpose so your mind doesn’t have to.
No one stops you, not your mother, or your father, not even Tuk. But your siblings notice the way your tail is unmoving. None of them bother to speak.
The silence stretches, it follows all of you into the night. Sleeping doesn’t come easy, despite your obvious fatigue.
The space feels too tight and too empty at the same time. between breathing, shifting, the faint sound of your family settling in—but none of it reaches you.
So you get up quietly.
By the time morning comes, you’ve already been working. Your hands move without thinking, sharpening, tying, adjusting. Anything that keeps you from stopping.
Anything that keeps you from feeling.
“You’re up early.” Jakes voice.
You don’t look up. “I couldn’t sleep.”
Your father watches you for a moment longer than usual this time, like he’s trying to figure something out—but he says the wrong things.
“You can’t keep doing that.”
He almost reaches for you, almost softens—but that quickly turns into authority all over again.
Your hands still slightly. “Doing what?”
“This,” he gestures vaguely, frustration already creeping in. “Running off every time something doesn’t go your way.”
“I didn’t run.” you cut in sharply, the words quicker than you intend. “I just left.”
Lo’ak, leaning against the doorway, snorts. “Left, ran, whatever. You’re too old to keep acting like this. Everyone else has real things to worry about.”
Your hands freeze on the bow. “Real things?” Your voice is louder now, shaking slightly. “Is it a real problem that I exist here, and you all ignore me?”
Lo’ak shrugs, too casual, almost bored. “Maybe if you weren’t so sensitive-“
“Sensitive?!” You snap, standing up, heat curling in your chest. “I am not sensitive! I am tired! Tired of being invincible to you all. Tired of being treated like I’m nothing until I explode!”
Jake steps closer, tension rolling off of him. “Y/n. I am trying-“
“No!” You yell, spinning to face him. “You’re trying for everyone else! You listen to Kiri, you listen to Neteyam, but not me!”
Kiri, standing at the doorway beside Lo’ak watches closely, eyes rolling. “Well maybe if you weren’t always running away or sulking, people would notice you more.” She says.
The words hit like a whip. Your chest tightens, everything twists inside. “I am done” you murmur, voice low but trembling. “Done trying to matter to people who don’t see me.”
Jake opens his mouth, frustrated, angry, but no words land. You brush past him, Kiri and Lo’ak, ignoring the shocked looks, the unspoken guilt, the tension in the room.
Without another word, you move towards the doorway, shoulders rigid. You don’t even stop to grab anything, you just make your way out.
“Y/n-“ Jake calls after you.
But you don’t stop. The hut is suddenly emptier than it’s ever been.
You don’t notice the hours passing, moving through the forest in a quiet rage, letting the night swallow your footsteps. By the time night is a blue smear over the horizon, your limbs ache, your hands smell of wood and bowstring, but you feel somehow more yourself than you have in weeks.
Your family is seated, together in the hut, spending quality time with one another. Jake’s voice breaks the silence in a soft whisper. “Tuk told me something. Last night.”
Your mother stills, moving closer so that your siblings do not hear. “What?”
Jake hesitates, but not for long. “She thinks Y/n might have forgotten that we love her.”
Neytiri inhales sharply. For a moment, she cannot speak. Her jaw tightens, her ears lowering slightly, the weight of it settling in her chest all at once.
“She did not forget,” Neytiri says at first—quick, instinctive, but it doesn’t sound certain.
Jake looks at her then, really looks—and realizes she’s already further ahead than he is, already understanding what this means.
Your Mother sets the materials in her hands aside, more abruptly than she intends. “All this time..” she murmurs, almost to herself. “She stands there, and we let her.”
Neytiri shakes her head, already moving toward the entrance. “We will not let that be the truth she carries.”
There is urgency in your mom now, emotion pushing through control. “We can remind her now.”
Your father nods, solemn.
The forest still breathes when they leave. Not peacefully, but alive.
Not peacefully—but alive in that quiet, watchful way it gets after conflict. The air is thick, holding onto the last echoes of raised voices, of things said too sharply, too late.
Jake and Neytiri move quickly through the trees, their pace urgent, focused on you. Not the village, or the others.
“She went east,” Neytiri says, voice tight, already scanning the ground, the branches, the smallest disturbances.
Your mother stills, but her body does not fully obey her. Her hands tighten around nothing, fingers curling as if they are trying to hold onto something that is no longer there.
The sounds of the forest blur for a moment, fading beneath something older, something softer.
A memory, it comes uninvited. You are small again. Much smaller than the others ever seemed to be. Your limbs all softness and curiosity, your steps uneven as you try to follow her through the roots of the forest.
“Ma’ite,” Neytiri had called gently, glancing back at you. “Stay close.”
You had nodded quickly, too quickly, determined. Always determined.
A root caught your foot, you stumbled forward with a small cry, hands scraping against the ground. Not hard enough to truly hurt, but enough to startle you.
Neytiri had turned at the sound, but not fully. Because Neteyam had called for her at the same time. “Mother, look!”
Something about his voice.. pride, excitement, it pulled her attention. Just for a moment Just long enough that when she looked back, you were already pushing yourself up.
You did not cry, or reach for her. You were just quiet.
Your little hands brushed the dirt off your palms, clumsy but practiced, like you had already learned that no one would always be there to do it for you.
Neytiri had stepped toward you then. “Are you hurt?”
You shook your head quickly. “No.”
She remembers that now, the way you did not look at her when you said it. The way your shoulders stayed slightly hunched, like you were holding something in.
But Neteyam had spoken again, tugging at her attention, and the moment passed as easily as breath.
She had let it pass.
The memory snaps away just as quickly as it came. Jake nods, jaw set. “She couldn’t have gotten far.”
But there’s something unsettled in his tone.Because deep down he knows you could.
They move faster, the forest parts around them, familiar, guiding—but something feels off. It all felt too quiet and too still.
then a high, distant sound. Your father freezes mid step. Your mother turns sharply toward the sky.
The scream of something tears through the air. “Move!” Jake tries to warn the villagers from where he is, but it is too late. The missile hits.
The explosion rips through the village behind them, a violent bloom of fire and sound that shakes the ground beneath their feet. Light flashes through the trees, unnatural and blinding.
Creatures flee and everything alive reacts. “No!” Neytiri’s voice breaks into something raw, already turning back. Jake doesn’t hesitate this time. “Go!”
They run.
Back at the village, it’s chaos. Flames devour the edges of huts. Smoke coils thick into the sky. The sound of sky peopl weapons cuts through everything—sharp, mechanical, wrong.
People scatter, some fighting, some trying to pull others to safety. And then you arrive at the edge like a shadow.
Silent. still and watching. Your chest rises and falls once, then you lift your bow. Everything else disappears, you move along the outer edges, slipping between trees, using darkness and smoke like armor.
Your arrows fly, clean and precise. A Sky Person drops before they even understand what hit them.
You don’t stop, you shoot many more. Your movements are sharp, controlled—every shot intentional.
There is no hesitation here, no second guessing, no waiting for someone to notice you. This is where you exist.
Inside the chaos, Jake is commanding, pulling people back, redirecting fighters. “Fall back! Move the children now!”
Your mom is already ahead of him—faster, deadlier. Every arrow she fires finds its mark, but neither of them sees you.
You’re too far out like always. A sky person turns, weapon lifting. You draw faster, but the release is too slow. The crack splits the air, you don’t even register the sound properly.
Just the impact, it hits your side hard enough to spin you. Your breath vanishes instantly as you’re thrown off balance, crashing into the ground. The world tilts, blurs.. your bow slipping from your grip before you can snatch it back.
For a second, you feel nothing. No pain, just ringing silence. Then, it comes. Your body folds slightly, a sharp, broken inhale tearing through your chest as something hot and deep ignites in your side.
Your hand moves instinctively, it presses—just enough pressure, but it is wet. You look down, your hand is dark, shaking.
Your jaw clenches tight, you force yourself up, every movement slower now, tighter. You pick up your bow again, and you keep fighting.
You don’t let yourself stop, you don’t even let yourself think. You move through the pain, through the heat, through the way your body is starting to feel heavier than it should.
You hit another demon, another target. Another breath you almost lose. By the time the sky people retreat, you’re barely steady.
But you’re still standing, so it doesn’t matter. You leave before anyone can see.
The village slowly regathers itself. Smoke drifts through what remains. The fires are being put out. Voices are lower now.. shaken, exhausted.
Jake moves quickly, checking everyone. “Tuk?”
“I’m here!” She says, running into his arms. He pulls her in, relief flashing across his face.
Lo’ak, Kiri, Neteyam. He checks them, one by one—everyone is safe and alive. “Where’s Y/n? did anybody see her?" he asks suddenly.
There’s a pause, a long one. Your siblings exchange hesitant looks. Neytiri’s head lifts slightly, eyes closing. “She is not here.” She sighs.
Jake’s chest tightens. “Damn it-” They don’t wait this time, they move to leave again—to find you.
Another distant rumble sounds, not as close.. but enough to make them pause.
Your father looks back. The village is still vulnerable, still recovering. There are injured villagers, children crying.
Not safe, your mother sees it too, Jake’s pull back, his silent choice to stay. He exhales sharply, jaw tightening.
“We secure the village first,” he says, voice firm but strained. Your mother doesn’t argue.. and they turn away.
You come back alone, the village is different now, of course it is, it is quiet, and cold. Your steps are slower, but still steady, your hand never leaves your side, pressed tight and holding everything in.
You move toward your hut, walking in on just your family. You hold yourself together, not crying, whimpering, not even a limp. You just walk to your space and set your things down.
Night falls so fast. The sounds of the village dims into something mute and distant. Soft footsteps, the crackle of what little fire remains.
Inside the hut, your family settles again. Slow and careful, as if everyone is pretending things are normal.
You sit in your hammock, unmoving. Your hand is still pressed to your side and it hasn’t left. At some point, the others lie down. One by one, the shift of bodies, the quiet murmurs, the slow rhythm of sleep beginning to take hold.
No one looks at you long enough to notice that you sit holding yourself together with just your palm. Besides, they are all sleeping.
You lay down gently on your side, knees drawn in slightly. the ache in your side grows sharper and hotter, gnawing at you until it’s unbearable. Try to ignore it at first, thinking you can will it away, thinking no one needs to see you like this.
But it only spreads, twisting deeper, coiling into panic. A strangled gasp escapes, sharp and sudden. You bite your lip, trying to keep it back, but the pain wins. “Dad…!” The cry is desperate, high, cracking in your throat.
It cuts through the quiet of the night, and it shakes your small body. You press your hand harder, sobs breaking through as your body trembles uncontrollably. “Dad, please…”
“Daddy I didn’t mean to- earlier. Dad, I didn’t!” You cry, wondering if he’s hearing you, if he’s awake. “Dad?”
“Yeah?” His voice is thick with sleep, but awake.
Your sobs tear free uncontrollably, raw and unfiltered.
“Y/n..” he murmurs, the sound of him moving fast reaches your ears, the thud of his feet against the woven floor, the rustle of his body as he reaches for you.
Your eyes flutter for one second and he takes your wrist immediately, uncovering the wound. “Oh my- why did you hide this, baby?!”
“I don’t- I’m sorry! I- I thought you’d be angry!”
He frowns deeply, the sounds of your cries rouse your siblings and mother awake, they hesitate for a moment.
“What’s going on” Lo’ak says groggily.
“Who is crying?” Kiri says.
Neteyam is the first to join Jake’s side, hands reaching for your face. “Stay with us.” He says firmly.
You cry, squeezing your father’s arm. Your mother rushes over, brushing carefully past Neteyam and gripping your shoulders, forehead against yours.
Your body is still shaking, breaths breaking apart as pain pulses through your side.
But the pain doesn’t just sit in your side—it pulses through everything, sharp and consuming, stealing the air from your lungs in broken pieces. Your fingers clutch at your father’s arm like it’s the only solid thing left in the world.
“stay with me,” Jake says, but his voice is different now, not sharp, not impatient. It’s unsteady.
He is afraid.
His hands hover for a second like he doesn’t know where to touch without hurting you more—then one settles against your cheek, grounding, warm. “Look at me. Y/n.”
You try but your vision blurs, tears mixing with the haze, but you force your eyes open just enough to find him. “I didn’t mean to… I didn’t want to make you mad.” Your voice fractures under the weight of it.
that’s what breaks his heart. “no, hey,” he shakes his head quickly, pulling you closer without thinking, like he’s trying to hold you together himself. “You’re not- I’m not mad. I’m not mad at you.” His voice drops, rough, thick. “Never.”
Your breath stutters again, body curling tighter despite the pain.
Beside him, Neytiri is already moving, fast, precise, hands firm but gentle as she inspects the wound. The moment her fingers press near it, her expression changes.
Fear. “She’s losing too much blood,” Neytiri says sharply, but her voice trembles at the edges. “Why did you not come back sooner? Why did you not tell us?”
You don’t answer because you honestly can’t. Because the answer is sitting right there between all of you, unspoken but louder than anything.
Because you didn’t think anyone would notice.
Neteyam’s hands stay steady on your face, his forehead pressing briefly against yours. He speaks low, urgent, “You’re okay. You hear me? You’re staying.”
Lo’ak is frozen a few feet away, guilt hitting too late, too hard. He doesn’t speak at first—just stares at the blood on your side like he doesn’t understand how it got there.
Kiri’s arms wrap around herself, her earlier words hanging between you two like something rotten. She looks at you now and her voice comes out smaller than ever before. “Y/n,”
From the other side, tiny hands grab onto your arm. “Y/n…” Tuktirey whispers, already crying again. “You’re gonna be okay, okay?”
Your grip tightens weakly around your father’s hand. “Dad…” you whisper again, softer now, like you’re slipping somewhere he can’t follow. “ I tried to be good. To fight back.”
His entire expression crumples. Something inside Jake gives way completely. “Hey- no, no, no,” he breathes, shaking his head. “You don’t have to try to earn that. You hear me? You never should have.”
His voice cracks fully, openly now. “I love you.”
The words come out like they’ve been trapped for too long. “I love you. I’m sorry I didn’t say it. I’m sorry I didn’t show it-“ his grip tightens, almost desperate, like if he lets go you’ll disappear, “but you don’t get to leave thinking you had to fight for a place in this family. You already have one. You always have.”
Your breath hitches. For just a second the pain dulls under something else, something warmer.
Neytiri moves, pressing cloth firmly to your wound, her hands steady even as her voice softens when she leans close to you. “Stay with us, ma’ite. stay.”
“Sa’nu..” you sigh, eyes softening just briefly. Your body trembles again, but this time your hand doesn’t just clutch your side. it shifts, weakly, until it presses against your father’s.
Around you, everything is different now. The silence that once ignored you is gone. replaced by voices, by hands, by urgency, and by a fear of losing you.
By love that came too late. but not too late.
You wake up wrapped in comfy sheets and the same clothes you were shot in. Herbal smoke drifts in the air like the song of a new day, the sun casting gold streaks across the hut.
Your entire family is asleep around you, you stir faintly, reaching for the bowl of water, but it drops from your weak hands.
You wince slightly as your siblings and parents stir, your father is alarmed and stands too quickly, “Y/n.. baby, you okay?”
“Yes. I need water.”
He stands, scooping up the bowl and filling it with water. He puts the bowl to your lips and tilts it slightly, filling your mouth with water.
When you’re done drinking, you look down and notice the bandaging at your middle. “How long have I been sleeping?”
“Three days.”
“Three? I should be okay to walk.” You try to stand, but Jake physically holds you back, guiding you down gently.
“Not yet. We’ll work on that together, okay?”
“Why? I mean, three days..”
“Yeah, three days of sleep.”
Your siblings and your mother are already awake behind your father.
Your mother is already closer than she’s ever been without you calling for her. Her eyes aren’t scanning the room, not checking on anyone else—they’re on you entirely. There’s something unsettled in them still, something guilty, but something else too.
She’s not looking away this time.
Tuk is the closest to you already, fingers brushing your arm softly. “I told you that you would be okay.” She smiles.
“I didn’t think it was that bad,” you say.
Your mother steps closer now, slow, like approaching something fragile. Her hand lifts, hesitates for the briefest second—then rests against your hair, smoothing it back from your face.
The gesture is so soft it almost hurts more than the wound. “You do not decide that alone anymore,” she says quietly.
No sharpness or correction. Just the truth.
Behind her, Lo’ak finally speaks, voice rougher than usual. “That was.. stupid,” he mutters.
Neteyam shoots him a look.
“What?” Lo’ak adds quickly, but it’s weaker now. “Not- not like that. I just mean-” he exhales, frustrated with himself, then finally looks at you. “You should’ve said something.”
Kiri shifts beside him, arms uncrossing slowly. “We didn’t make it easy,” she admits, quieter than you’ve ever heard her.
That one settles deeper and no one rushes to fill the silence after that.
Your father’s hand squeezes your shoulder slightly. “We’re gonna do better,” he says.
You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.
Tuk leans into you more, her head pressing gently against your arm. “You didn’t forget, right?” she murmurs.
You blink. “Forget what?”
She tilts her head up at you, eyes wide but certain. “That we love you.”
The question hangs there—but it doesn’t feel as heavy as it did before. Because now you have something to measure it against.
You glance around the room again. At your father, who hasn’t let go. At your mother, who hasn’t looked away. At your siblings, who are still here—with you, not around you.
Your fingers tighten slightly around Tuk’s hand. ““No,” you say, voice quiet, but steady.
Their love has never been forgotten, just hard to see. Your father exhales, something in him easing at that. He leans forward just slightly, pressing his lips briefly against your forehead—careful of the bandages, careful of you.
“We’ll make sure you don’t have to wonder again,” he murmurs.
And this time, it doesn’t feel like something you have to earn.
Weeks of healing and your families tentative care pass, your father helps you walk, your siblings bring you refreshments without you having to ask, and your mother stays by your side.
She sings to you your songcord at night, she rebraids your hair when she notices that they need fixing, she steadies you when your nightmares become too much to handle, and for once—she isn’t choosing someone else entirely over you.
You are theirs, and they continue to make sure that you see it and feel it. You are no longer standing in between, you are finally, undeniably held.
Synopsis, Spider wasn’t the first human born on Pandora, but he was the first to grow up on it. You had Neytiri’s heart long before Jake came along, and you’d have both of theirs long after. The problem is, humans weren’t meant for Pandora. Even so, Eywa saw you, and it seems like she accepted you. Maybe that's why, even after being without you for so long, they saw you again.
WC: 10.5k (oh wow)
inspired by @jsooly taken in by the sullys series!
A/N: I wrote this quite literally at 5 am, and it's drastically different from my usual writing style, but I like it! Very bittersweet! and written with the assumption that whoever is reading this knows about Sylwanin and her lore.
You were born to a soldier on Pandora, a Seargant who seemed unbothered by her pregnancy during her term. The RDA wasn’t progressive, not at all, but they weren’t so cruel (at least to their own race) that they’d force a pregnant woman into work. Your mother simply made the decision to keep working, no matter how unsafe it was.
After she gave birth to you, she seemed… inattentive at best. She took maternity leave for the required period of time and got back into the action once she was cleared, leaving you essentially alone. It wasn’t long after her redeployment that she was killed in action along with the rest of her squad. An unfortunate accident in the dangerous wilds of Pandora
So, motherless and unclaimed by a father, you were orphaned. Too young for Cryo, they let you stay. Your mother's room became yours and yours alone.
Of course, the RDA base was no place for a child. Ill-equipped and non-accommodative. The higher-ups reasoned that you’d best be left to the scientists and doctors. They’d know how to take care of a kid best, right?
Of course, no one really paid much attention to you. Giving the minimum attention necessary to keep you alive, lest they carry the guilt of neglecting an infant to death.
Grace wasn’t sure what to think of you when you were put in her care. She was a scientist, not a babysitter. Her focus was on the Na’vi, their way of life, and the organisms living on Pandora. She didn’t have time to look after a kid.
You were shucked off onto some lower-level scientists and assistants. She didn’t hear much from you other than your crying, which was always met with swift confinement to your room with your current caretaker.
Eventually, though, you became autonomous. You were quick, slippery, and curious. The ones in charge of you didn’t pay much attention, which led to you sneaking around. Once, finding your way into Grace's lab.
She found you at her desk, standing on her chair in only an ill-fitting t-shirt and diapers, leaning over and staring at the projection of various pictures she had up.
Grace wasn’t cruel; she may not have wanted to be responsible for you, but she held the same fondness for kids that most did.
Carefully, she picked you up, sitting you in her lap, and asked you what you were doing.
“Pic!” Is all you blurted out, head turned around, and staring at her with your wide and curious eyes. Grace chuckled, nodding as she hummed and affirmed your babbles.
You spent the rest of that day in her hold, watching as she scrolled through the pictures and videos she had in the database, explaining, in the most child-friendly way, the ones you were interested in.
Being just over a year old, you weren’t still in her lap. Wriggling around, grabbing at her and objects, even standing up in her lap and jumping up and down, which she swiftly stopped. Despite all this, Grace was patient with you. Perhaps it was your curiosity for Pandora that softened her, the fact that you were interested in something she’d devoted her life to researching.
A new brain to fill, maybe.
So, you made frequent trips to the lab after that. Slipped past your caretakers and crawling into Grace or Max’s laps, whoever was available, and babbling on and on. You weren’t the center of attention or a priority, but you became somewhat of a soft spot for Grace and her fellow scientists. Not as much of a burden, anymore.
It wasn’t long before you started picking up on the Na’vi phrases being used, especially once you discovered the parts of the lab dedicated more towards the avatars and culture of the Na’vi. Grace, ever the enabler of your interest in Pandora, started speaking to you in almost strictly Na’vi.
Being so young, you picked up on it incredibly quickly, nearly at the same speed as English, which you’d only really started learning a month or two prior.
It was cute to them, having a little human baby babbling in Na’vi and focusing so intently on the fauna and flora you saw in catalogs. Some even joked that your bedtime book should be the one Grace wrote.
They called you the LabRat around the base. A term of endearment, of course. Many knew about you, the loose kid on base who scurried around and spent almost as much time in the lab as the scientists. You were cute. But really, that’s all you were to them, a cute kid.
But to Grace? Somewhere along the way, she grew more fond of you than she’d expected. She ate with you at breakfast, watching you messily eat out of the corner of her eye as she held conversations with the other scientists. You stuck to her side, only ever really leaving it when you wanted to be with Max or go to sleep. Even then, she often had to carry you to your room multiple times throughout the day when you fell asleep in her lap.
You spent a lot of time with Max, too. Whenever Grace was in her Avatar, which was often, you found yourself with him. He was always a little softer with you, having been more fond and sympathetic with you earlier on.
He treated you more like a kid than most others. He didn’t really try to feed your curiosity with Pandora, instead focusing on the fact that you were a deprived orphan child. He was the most suited to take care of you, probably.
At some point, you found your way into the Avatar lab, watching through the windows. No one really saw it coming, but you escaped. With your little mask that was slightly too big for your face, you ran out the door, gunning right for Grace’s Avatar.
They didn’t really think you’d recognize her, but you did, and you wanted to see her. Of course, you were a little intimidated by her drastic change in appearance and height, but at this point, you knew about the Na’vi and Avatars, so you didn’t have much of a problem.
Grace, in her Avatar form, was perhaps even more loving towards you. Maybe it was the youth of the body, or the fact that she had her own internal favoritism for it, but she seemed happier. Something you picked up on quickly.
You loved being outside. No longer were you content being cooped up in the lab, you wanted to see the forest! Of course, they weren’t exactly ok with the idea, but your crying eventually convinced them.
Grace decided to take you to the school. She’d made excellent progress with the Omaticaya through the school, maybe it would be good to start introducing some direct human contact… through you. And she figured it could be good for your development, meeting beings that weren’t just inattentive scientists and soldiers.
With your mask on and sporting your cutest clothes, Grace took you to the school. The Na’vi kids were unsure about you at first, with their adverse feelings about Skypeople, but eventually they opened up.
You were small, so incredibly small. Even the young children had no problems holding and cradling you. You were cute in your own, human, way.
They were intrigued by the fact that your Na’vi was as good as your English. Granted, neither were particularly good, seeing as you were a toddler, but it's the fact that they were at the same level that they admired.
Sylwanin was especially interested in you, often taking you in her arms, cooing and coddling you.
“Sa’nok, she’s so small!” She’d exclaim to Grace, who’d laugh in response.
“Well, she’s human. You’re probably at least 2 feet taller than my human body, and I’m an adult.” She leaned over Sylwanin, smiling down at the scene. “She’s just a youngin’, not even 2 years old.”
From then on, you were a regular addition to Grace’s school and a personal favorite of Sylwanin and Neytiri. The two sisters absolutely adored you. Cooing over you and your babbles, sitting you in between them or on one of their laps during the lessons.
Often, they’d sit in the back with you, giggling at your tiny body and antics, brushing your hair, or watching as you fiddled with whatever toy or objects you could get your hands on.
Between your time in the lab and out at the school, you were the first human to be culturally raised Na’vi. It was fascinating to Grace.
Tsu’tey was cautious of you at first, unsure of how to handle how small and frail you were. But out of everything, you were also incredibly persistent and curious. Somehow, you found yourself worming your way into Tsu’tey’s arms, waddling up to him and demanding he pick you up through body language.
Sylwanin found this utterly adorable, how you’d stand there and “Hmf!” until he reached down and picked you up. He didn’t really know how to hold you, hands tucked under your armpits, torso and legs dangling in the air, but you crawled your way around him, finding yourself sitting on his shoulders. Well, shoulder, to be exact. You could comfortably sit on one, granted it was with one of his hands on your legs to keep your balance while you grabbed onto his braids.
“Tey-Tey” “Wanin” and “Tiri” you called them, not really able to pronounce their full names. They, of course, didn’t care, cooing at the babble of nicknames you gave them.
In turn, they started to call you “Syulì'ang”, a butterfly-like insect that was known for its characteristic claws that latched it onto whatever it landed on. A fitting nickname, they all thought.
Their sweet Syulì'ang. Tsu’tey was more or less simply amused by you once he was comfortable. He wasn't as doting as Sylwanin or Neytiri or some of the others; he liked you, but it was more or less than he was entertained by you.
Of course, that changed the more you stuck around. By the time you’d learned to walk well enough to walk to the school yourself, with Grace accompanying you, of course, he was always waiting by the doorway. He’d give a simple nod to Grace when the pair of you came into view, and he tried to remain stoic as you ran forward, your small body knocking into his tall legs and calling out his name, but Grace, and just about anyone else who really knew him, could see through it.
You spent your developmental years at the school, growing up so quickly that the Na’vi kids didn’t know what to do. When they first met you, you could barely walk, and all you could really do was babble and string together words, but years passed, and you began holding conversations and moving around fairly fluidly.
Of course, you were still small and babyish, still just a toddler, but toddlers grew and changed fast.
You were like their baby sister. Tsmuke, they called you. To them, you were really no different from another Na’vi kid. You spoke fluently, you were young and saw the world in a manner that seemed to reflect their own cultural point of view, perhaps from your exposure to it.
Grace couldn’t really place when she started to love you. Maybe it was when you first called her “Sa’nok”, copying the kids at the schoolhouse. Maybe it was when that transformed into “Sa’nu”, or when it became “mama” when back in the lab. Maybe it was that day you first caught her attention, having snuck into the lab and into her heart.
She never corrected you when you called her those things, even when she got odd stares from the others around when you did. They just didn’t get it. They were too wrapped up in their own world. And yeah, so was she, but at some point, you became a part of her world.
She didn’t really think of herself as your parent, but she didn’t mind if you thought of her as one. She wasn’t really the nicest; she was definitely more of a ‘tough love’ kind of parental figure, but that wasn’t really all that bad.
Pandora wasn’t suited for you. You weren’t supposed to be there, and it wasn’t a good place for you by any means. You weren’t given proper attention or affection, and when you were, it wasn't consistent. Grace and Max, and the Na’vi kids weren’t role model family figures, but they tried, and they loved you, no matter how… odd it was.
At some point, you’d met Mo’at and Eytukan. Likely, they’d heard of you from their daughters and Tsu’tey. It was hard to tell what they thought of you, after all, they had their own reservations about the humans, only allowing the school to function due to Sylwanin's request.
But they liked you enough. You were a kid, a toddler, innocent in what was being done to their planet. You didn’t deserve to be on the receiving end of any prejudice they held towards the humans. You spoke the language and learned beside their children. You seemed to love the forest as if it were your own home.
Formally, you met Mo’at when you fell down and scraped yourself while running out of the school, being chased by Sylwanin. You cried, of course, but Sylwanin, as calm as ever, simply scooped you up and told Grace she was taking you to her mother to get fixed up, running off before she could object.
You watched the Tsahik in awe as she worked on you, rubbing a salve on your wounds, her jewelry and beadings clinking together as she did so. You watch her in silence, Sylwanin giggling at your entranced demeanor. At the end, climbing back into Sylwanin’s arms, you turned and told Mo’at she was magnificent. A big word for your age.
Mo’at had to admit, you were a charming little kid.
Neytiri was especially charmed by you, often taking you from anyone else's arms to hold you in hers. It became a running joke that she’d adopt and steal you away if she could. She never denied it.
You could always be found fiddling with her hair or necklaces, pulling at them or putting them in your mouth. Neytiri, despite not liking your actions, was patient with you, simply giggling as she pulled it from your grasp and pointed your attention elsewhere.
Some people on base started to voice complaints about you being out too much. Being gifted jewelry and pieces by Sylwanin and Neytiri, and one piece from Tsu’tey, you began dressing in them every day.
Of course, the complaints went nowhere, being no more than off-hand comments made by people who had no role or responsibility in your upbringing. As loved as you were, you were still overlooked more often than not, just an orphan kid who wandered in and out of the base. Outside of Grace, Max, and a few other scientists, no one really cared.
You had your routine. Getting up, spending time with Max before running out with Grace to the school. The school was your favorite place, you often told Neytiri and Tsu’tey in giddy whispers. You felt free and loved. It was your place.
When Sylwanin stopped showing up, you were sad. You missed her. Really, she was your favorite.
You didn’t understand why you stopped going to the school, why Grace started arguing with a bunch of the soldiers more often, and why you were no longer allowed outside of the base. You cried a lot, saying you wanted your Tsmuke’s and Tsmukan. You wanted to go to the school, you wanted to see Neytiri and Sylwanin and Tsu’tey and the others.
You cried when a scientist, tired of your whining, told you they probably didn’t want to see you.
Grace had a hard time comforting you. She didn’t know what to say, struggling with her own grief and guilt in the whole situation. All she could do was hold you and tell you that things were going to be okay.
It was a while before you stopped crying so much. You still whined about wanting to go outside, but you learned to stop when asked. You spent your nights fiddling with the gifts from Neytiri and Sylwanin, the jewelry they crafted for you, the toy Mo’at gifted you once, and the Ikran Tsu’tey carved for you out of wood. They were your most treasured pieces.
You worked on your own gifts for them, on and off, through the two years you spent without them.
You were six by the time Jake came around. You became attached to him very quickly.
He’d just made it to base and was getting filled in by Norm. His introduction to Grace wasn’t going well, bordered by her hostility towards him being there in place of his brother. Before he could say anything else, you bounded into the room.
“Sa'nu! sa'nu! 'ur 'upe oe run!” Mama! Mama! Look what I found! You yelled, stopping at her feet and shoving an insect you were cradling in your palm into her face.
She glanced at the bug and tilted her head, raising a brow at you. “ Y/n, nga kame nga're ke tung wrrpa, ‘itetsyip.” You know you’re not allowed outside, little one.
You pouted, stomping your foot. “Oe ke wrrkä! tsal pamähem ne oe.” I didn't go out! It came to me. You insisted. Grace merely rolled her eyes with a grin as she ruffled your hair.
Jake looked at Norm, confused, who translated a lazy “she’s showing her a bug.” for him.
As if you just noticed their presence, you awkwardly glanced at the two, shyly shuffling behind Grace. Jake glanced between you and Grace before leaning in.
“What’s that you got there?” He asked, smiling as he watched your facial expression change. Before he knew it, you were launched into a whole explanation about the bug. It's name, both scientific and Na’vi, and all the fun little characteristics you noticed and pointed out to him.
It was easy to tell who you’re favorite was going to be among the newest science recruits. You became quick friends with the ex-Marine, demanding his attention whenever he wasn’t busy.
You were an interesting little thing. Energetic as all could be, running around like you owned the place, switching between languages so casually as if they were one. Jake paid more attention to you in a week than most of the people on base had in your entire life.
He’d come by your room, peaking in as you played with your toys or read a book you definitely didn’t actually understand. As soon as you noticed his presence, you’d abandon whatever it was you were doing to run to him, hoisting yourself up into his lap.
“What's up, little bug?” He’d say, smiling down at you as you went on and on about whatever it is you wanted to talk about. Most of it went right over his head, but he listened nonetheless. He got the memo pretty early on that you were essentially left to your own devices, only helped with the bare minimum by people who didn’t want to be responsible for you
So, he started being more attentive towards you. Call it fatherly instincts, he calls it common empathy. You didn’t have any plans or expectations for him, you weren’t disappointed in his presence in place of his brothers, you simply looked up at him with those wide and love-filled eyes. That was all he needed to become hooked. His little bug, he liked to call you.
To Norm, Jake had adapted a fatherly role scarily quickly. Of course, Norm thought you were cute, but he wasn’t really sure what to do with you. It puzzled him how well Jake was with you, for only knowing you for a few days. How you crawled into his lab during one of the briefings, obviously tired but wanting to be involved.
The briefing was casual, so Jake wrapped his arms around you and cradled you, rocking you in his arms as he hummed a lullaby he’d grown up with on Earth.
It was the first time someone had sung you a lullaby, at least since you were a crying infant everyone was desperate to soothe. You fell asleep in his arms immediately. Grace only gave a passing glance and a chuckle, stating he was now on bedtime duty.
And that he was. You were a stubborn kid when it came to bedtime, fighting your own sleep and exhaustion because you wanted to be where the attention was. You didn’t want to miss out on any of Grace or Max’s briefings or discoveries, no matter how dull they were, or the fact that they didn’t really happen after hours. Nevertheless, you were difficult to put to sleep.
He was quickly called the Y/n Whisperer after he calmed you down from a tantrum and had you knocked out in bed within 10 minutes of you being told to go to sleep, an affair that often took at least half an hour and some strong bargaining.
Jake was still reeling from it all. For him, he was still dealing with the fact that his brother was dead and he’d taken his place on a scientific mission on Pandora, whisked away from his dystopic life on Earth and given a brand new chance. It was dizzying, and now he had a kid attached to his leg.
Call it what it was: whiplash. He doesn’t really understand why you liked him so much, why he was able to connect with you so well. Maybe it was because he was the first person to spare you a second glance in your entire life, a second glance you didn’t have to work and beg for.
If given the chance, Jake was sure you two would be absolutely inseparable.
It was during dinner that things shifted. You were there for Jake's recounting of the events that transpired after he got chansed off by a Thanator. Through it all, all you heard was that he’d met Neytiri.
Neytiri. Your Neytiri.
You missed her. You missed her so bad, and Jake got to see her. It had been two years, and you thought for sure there was no way you’d be able to see her again. But Jake saw her! He even went to the village, so he likely saw Tsu’tey, Mo’at, and Sylwanin!
Seeing them was possible. That was the conclusion you came to.
Tsu’tey was the one to find you the next day. You had snuck out, exopack secured on for the first time in nearly two years, and you set off. Your memory was hazy, and you hardly remembered your way through the forest.
Scratch that, you didn’t remember it at all. You got lost almost immediately, your excitement to see your friends slowly replaced with uncertainty and fear. You wandered through the woods, climbing across logs and rivers, becoming more and more sure that you weren’t going the right way…
Of course, you didn’t know what to do. No one could really blame you for how you started crying out, yelling for Neytiri, Tsu’tey, Sylwanin, Grace, whoever you thought could find you.
It wasn’t until you heard the growl that you regretted your decision to be so loud. Nantang. They surrounded you, stalking and getting ready to pounce. All you could do was scream.
Tsu’tey found you, following the distant yelling for familiar names and then the high-pitched screams. He shot the Nantang, scaring off the others as he rode in on his pa’li. He was ready to shoot you, the human who had trespassed onto their land, but he paused. Arrow resting between his fingers, and breath hitched.
It was you.
He was quick, dismounting his direhorse and scooping you up in his arms, doing his best to soothe you with soft words as you cried and writhed in his hold. Blood was everywhere. He was horrified.
He acted on pure impulse. Jake. Jake probably knew you. He was also human, and he was an avatar- so he probably knew Grace- he had to get you to Jake.
So he rode on his direhorse as fast as he could, holding you tightly in his arms as you bled and bled and cried. Oh, how you cried, clinging to him and whimpering, he felt so helpless. Exactly like how he’d felt that day Sylwanin died in his arms at the school house. He couldn’t have that happen again. Not with you. Not with the small girl he’d grown so fond of.
It was a blur, finding Jake and Neytiri, the morphing look of terror on their faces as they took in the sight of the girl in his arms and his disjointed explanation. It was a blur, and he was on his knees, Neytiri holding onto him as they both shook, taking in the situation as Jake ran off into the woods with you in his arms, pushing himself as fast as he could go.
Jake was scared. You were such a sweet girl, and in the days he’d known you, he was hooked. You were small, petulant, stubborn, smart; you were a good kid. You were funny and fun to be around, and he liked you. He saw why Grace had such a soft spot for you, who wouldn’t?
But now you’re in his arms, bleeding, and Grace is gonna be horrified.
He got you to the base, bursting through the doors, demanding a doctor, yelling you needed help because you were hurt and bleeding. You were small, hurt, bleeding, and it felt like you were at death's door.
You were swept out of his arms, and all you could do was whimper, reaching back out to the strong arms you felt safe in. They hooked you up to machines, tended to your wounds. They assured Jake and a just-arriving-frazzled Grace that you were gonna be fine.
But the base wasn’t a hospital. Yeah, it was a military base, and those often come with medical centers, but it wasn’t good, especially not for a child. With how advanced they were, they weren’t well equipped.
You suffered for days, writhing and screaming in pain, tears only stopping once you ran out of them.
Despite Grace and Max’s pleas and Jake's insistence towards Quaritch, you were essentially… ignored.
You were loved. But you were still just a bastard orphaned child; the RDA simply didn’t want to deal with you, especially with your seemingly growing allegiance to the Na’vi.
Of course, they did what they could to help you, but it was minimal.
You were going to die, Grace and Jake were sure of it.
So, desperate, he went to Mo’at. He pleaded for her to help you. She didn’t need much convincing.
The night before Grace planned to move the operation to the Hallelujah Mountains, they snuck you out, careful to remove all your hook-ups to the machines.
They took you to the village, breaking so many rules, desperate to help you.
You were frail, withering away in his hold. The best he could do was whisper comforts as he carried you.
Mo’at worked quickly, shooing them out of her tent as she worked on you. Salves, mixes, incense. She worked for hours. You were just a little kid; you had so much before you. She pleaded to the Great Mother to help you, even if you were a human she could barely reach.
You were getting better, but it wasn’t enough. Something was wrong, very wrong, and she didn’t know what it was or how to help.
She pulled away, examining you with a hitched breath. Just as she went to move to grab another tool, something caught her attention.
An Atokirina.
It floated in the air, pulsing until it wilted down to meet your skin.
Mo’at’s eyes widened.
“We must take her to the Tree of Souls.” She declared as she stepped out of her tent, the group that had gathered in front of it standing and moving in confusion.
They wanted to question it. Jake wanted to ask what was wrong, how you were doing, and if you’d live. All the words were on the tip of his tongue, but Grace grabbed his hand. She kept her gaze forward, at the tent, but she’d communicated enough.
Tsu’tey was the one to take you into his arms, lips pursed, and eyes gazing down at you in worry. For a moment, Jake wanted to be the one to hold you, but you curled into Tsu’teys arms so comfortably- so familiar, a moment of comfort and assurance when you were in so much pain.
Neytiri followed close behind, hand resting on your forehead as they walked, her eyes focused on your face scrunched in agony, your pinched brows and wavering lips. How she wanted to soothe you, to hold you, and kiss away the creases of pain in your face.
You’d grown so much since they’d last seen you. You were still so small, but so much more grown. They had missed you so much, their grief compelled by the loss of two sisters. They nearly begged Mo’at and Eytukan to call off the ban on humans on their land, if only to see you.
And now, you were back in their arms, but by the force of necessity and desperation. Out of the fear of death.
The clan, having roused at the commotion, made their way to the Tree of Souls with the group. They didn’t question their Tsahik’s care of the human child, many of them having heard the accounts of you and your kindred nature from the many children who’d attended the school.
Arriving at the Tree, Neytiri and Tsu’tey kept Grace and Jake at a distance, allowing Mo’at to prepare as the clan gathered around. They pulled Jake and Grace down to the ground with them, connecting their Kuru to the roots sticking up. They started to hum, moving as a group.
With everything in them, they begged Eywa to help you.
You were human, yes, but they loved you. You were their sister. You were Grace's daughter, by love if not biology. You were a sweet kid, and they wanted- needed you to stay.
“Allow this child to heal, Great Mother, allow her to heal and walk among us. To live, to feel your embrace.” Mo’at’s words echoed, her chants and pleas thrumming through the crowd.
Placed at the base of the spirit tree, you lay there, wrapped in luminescent tendrils. They wrapped around your small body, seemingly consuming you as they grew. The light of the tendrils pulsed with your every breath, echoing across the tree like a ripple in water.
You… you felt free. The tendrils were warm, encasing you in what felt like a mother's embrace. Your vision was blurred, but you saw. You saw so much, all you could do was smile. You saw Sylwanin, every time you’d seen her, every word, every movement. She wrapped around you. You saw the sea, you saw the forest and the land. It was breathtaking.
Mo’at faltered, her chants falling off the tip of her tongue as she glanced down at you. At this, the ones who’d brought you here opened their eyes.
They didn’t know what to do.
You were there, alive. More alive than you’d ever been, but they could feel that you were slipping away.
Neytiri crawled towards you, Grace scrambling up and finding herself at your side. She took your hand in hers as Neytiri caressed your hair.
They knew it was a desperate attempt, taking you here, unlikely to work, but it hurt. They weren’t ready to let go. The humans weren’t going to help you. What else were they to do?
Tears slid down Grace’s face as she watched you, your eyes glazed over as a smile crept onto your lips.
“Y/n- Syulì'ang please-” Neytiri whispered, her voice cracking. She leaned down, placing a kiss on your forehead. “Stay” she begged
“Syulì'ang,” Tsu’tey choked out, pleading, biting back his words, and tears with them. “Be strong, stay with us.”
You heard their words. You wanted to reach up, to comfort them. Grace was right in front of you, and all you wanted was to reach up and wipe the tears off her face.
Grace cried. Silent, of course. Tears slipping down her cheeks like arrows of fire burning their way through the air. They hurt like it. She wondered if they’d scar, if there would be a trail of scarred flesh down her cheeks when she was done.
You were her child, at least, the closest she had to one. You were the best thing she’d had in a long time. And now, you were slipping away. Like the school, like Sylwanin, like Neytiri and Tsu’tey and the children who’d called her Sa’nok. You called her Sa’nu.
The grief was endless. A fountain pouring from Neytiri as she wept, hands shaking as she tried to fight the urge to take you into her arms. She’d seen you grow up, your words develop from babbles to sentences, your mind expand. She wore the bracelet you’d made for her. It was ill-fitting and poorly crafted, but she weaved it into her armband, careful to preserve its shape and structure. She meant to always have you with her, even if she couldn't physically.
You were more than a child she saw as a sister; you could have been her child. A ridiculous notion, but she felt so strongly about you. She wanted to take you in, hold you close, and carry you as she did her chores and duties. She wanted to hunt and bring it home for you to eat till you were full. Perhaps, to her, you were an odd mixture of a sister and child, but that just meant she loved you all the more.
Her sweet Syulì'ang. She’d named you after the insect, a beautiful creature that fluttered around and gripped onto surfaces when it meant to. She wished and wished and wished that you'd stay, that you’d grip onto the ground and stay there with her. She did not like humans, but you? You, she loved.
So it hurt, watching as your eyes closed, feeling your pulse slow, have you die right in front of her, right in her reach.
Your eyes, heavy, rose up to the sky. “Sa’nu, Tsmuke, Tsmukan, Jake-” Your words were quiet, strained, and heavy. But you spoke anyway, a warmth passing through your body. “Eywa, she’s” It was hard to speak. “She’s like the waves-” your breath released from your lips, cutting off your words.
The tendrils around you pulsed before they dulled, the light dimming across the Tree of Souls.
Jake could only hold Neytiri as she cried, his own tears falling as he felt his entire demeanor freeze.
They left you by the tree, something Grace opposed. But Mo’at had insisted it was Eywa’s wish. Jake and Grace weren’t happy, nor were Tsu’tey and Neytiri; they wanted to give you a proper burial, but they complied with their Tsahik’s declaration.
It was mere days later that Neytiri visited again, only to be met with an empty landscape. You were nowhere in sight, only an abundance of tendrils in your place, pulsing with light as Eywa breathed below them.
Ronal, for weeks, dreamed of a face. A human one. She’d never seen the girl before, unfamiliar with the face and voice she kept meeting in her dreams. It bothered her, being met so forcefully with a demon's face, but behind it, she felt the Great Mother's words.
She couldn’t make sense of it; it drove her wild how she prayed and prayed, and all she was met with were new visions of the girl. With a newborn baby, she felt stretched thin. She confided in Tonowari about her dreams. He did what he could to comfort her, putting in effort to relieve her of as much stress as he could.
Ronal prayed, seeking answers and clarity. What did the Great Mother want?
One night, she dreamed of the spirit tree, along with the girl. She dreamt of whispers, of a new face, of a young Metkayina child she held in her arms.
She woke up in a cold sweat, right as dawn rose in the sky.
She made her way through the village, mounting her tsurak, and traveled to the cove of the ancestors. She felt a weight in her chest as she arrived. She dove under, swimming through the featherlike branches as she made her way to the center of the tree.
She reached forward, placing her palms on the branches wrapped tightly in on itself. Slowly, she unwrapped it, pulling it away from the other ‘leaves’ wrapped around. Once she got to the center, she pulled back.
An infant lay in the middle, wrapped in the leaves. Slowly, she pulled it out, taking it into her arms, she swam up. Breaching the surface, she looked down, watching as the baby breathed in the air.
The first breath.
Ronal gazed down at the baby, brows pinched together as she took her in. Confusion was the least she could describe it as.
A moment passed. Ronal mounted her tsurak, and she returned home.
Whispers surrounded her as she walked through the village, eyes following her and landing on the unknown infant in her embrace. In the mere minutes she’d had the baby, she felt an overwhelming sense of maternal instinct towards it. She reasoned she felt that way about most babies, but this was stronger.
She approached her Marui, Tonowari, meeting her at the entrance. He gazed down at her, then the baby, confusion panting his face. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out, stuck in the flurry of words he was trying to put together.
“The Great Mother brought her to me,” Ronal spoke, calm and melodic. “To us.” Tonowari gazed up at her.
Words exchanged between them in complete silence.
He nodded, stepping aside, allowing Ronal to enter the Marui.
The two took to their daughter quickly, entranced by the baby given to them by Eywa. They were lost, confused by her appearance, but they didn’t question it. They simply placed her in the cradle with their other baby, Ao’nung, watching as they turned and curled to hold each other.
“You dreamt of her.” Tonowari’s voice broke the silence.
Ronal, attention on the baby's unwavering, nodded. “Last night, yes.”
He looked to his wife, tentative as he examined her facial expression. “And the others?” He questioned.
There was a moment of silence, Ronal’s hand coming to rest on the edge of the cradle.
“I do not care. She is my daughter. She is ours now.”
Tonowari stared at his wife before nodding, reaching down to cup his daughter's face in his hand. “And what is our daughter's name?” He spoke, already transfixed by the infant lying in the cradle he crafted by hand.
Ronal tilted her head, watching the girl. After a moment, she gazed to Tonowar, their eyes meeting as a soft smile graced her lips.
“Syuli”
After your death, Jake’s loyalty to the RDA wavered. Grace had accepted her fate as a trapped scientist long ago, but Jake refused. He bonded with Neytiri and Tsu’tey quicker, earning the faith of the clan before he finished his Iknimaya.
He saw it in black and white. The humans left you alone and to die, the Na’vi loved you as their own and wept at your death. His decision was clear-cut.
Still, his fast actions weren’t enough to prevent the events that led to Neytiri’s belief of his betrayal. Or the destruction of the home tree. Or the death of those he fought by.
By the end of the war, your death was followed by many others. Black stains on Jake’s heart. He mourned you, grieved for you. The devastation of the war was hard enough, but you? You weren’t even a casualty; you were a victim of the most unfortunate of circumstances. He replayed it in his head over and over again, each time wondering what he could have done to save you, to prevent your death.
It drove him to the worst of his depths. A side of himself he hadn’t even seen when his brother died.
The only thing keeping him afloat was Neytiri and the child that lay in her womb.
“She is with Grace now, my Jake, with the Great Mother.” Neytiri would say, burying her grief. Twice, she's lost you now. When Sylwanin died and her parents shut down their connections with the humans, she wept for not only her sister but for you. Would she never see you again? At least back then, she found comfort in the fact that you were safe and in Grace’s care.
Perhaps you still were, in her arms, just as you are in the Great Mothers. But you’re not in hers. That’s what hurt. How you’d never grow up, forever stuck as the small child she knew and loved.
Time passed, and she had Neteyam. Her sweet baby boy. She felt the cracks in her heart start to be stitched back together, only further healed when they took in Kiri.
She saw it in Jake, too, how he took to his fatherly role immediately, perhaps better prepared after his time with you. Slowly but surely, they came to be okay again.
Still, you burned in their hearts. As she wove her songcord, she pulled one of the beads from the bracelet you made her, as carefully as she could, and wove it in.
A‘eveng, Y/n, ohe oamum
Wamintxu fi oe, a syawn
a’atanur oe mameyam
meyam ohe ngenga, tsalsungay pehrr lom
A child, Y/n, i knew
showed to me, a blessing
a light I held in my arms
I hold you, even when gone
It was hard to speak about you to the kids. They didn’t want to introduce the idea of someone dying at such a young age. They also still grieved you, struggling to accept your death. It wasn’t fair. You should be with them, growing up alongside their children. You would have been such a good big sister.
This hit Jake especially hard, knowing how you’d been excited to have another kid on base; Spider. You raved to him about how you were going to bring him to the lab all the time, what toys you’d give him, and how you wanted to teach him Na’vi and have him as a little brother. At least, the closest you could have to one.
So it was hard watching Spider do all that, grow up and learn Na’vi, come into his family and be seen by his kids as a fellow sibling, knowing it was everything you wanted.
But years passed, and their family grew, and it grew strong. Their children knew of you in passing, in hushed breaths like how they spoke of Sylwanin and the others they’d loved that left them through such harsh tragedies.
Neytiri and Jake didn’t want the children to wonder what it would have been like to have you in the family. It was already too painful for them to wonder themselves.
Their children grew, their personalities developed, and they came into their own. It was hard not to see you in each of them. Tuk’s curiosity, Lo’ak’s mischief, the softness in Kiri’s eyes, and how Neteyam was so thoughtful with his words. For all its hurt, it also gave them comfort. They’d continue to see you, even when you weren’t with them.
Their grief became something mellow, something they could plant love and strength into.
But then the RDA came back. Like an old scar tearing apart, refusing to heal. Their lives turned upside down, and their healing came to a harsh halt, slowly stepping backwards against the blood and gunfire they stood in.
That eclipse, when the kids were in the hands of the recoms, Jake felt barbed wire wrapping around his throat.
He heard their whines, their yelps of pain, and he almost lost them. He refused to risk it. Not again.
“He had our children. Had them under his knife.” He was scared, begging Neytiri to leave, to find a better place for them. He hadn’t been able to find one for you. He wouldn’t let that happen again. “Look, I got nothing… I've got no plan. But I can protect this family. That I can do.”
Neytiri heard the unsaid, seeing what he saw when he spoke.
“But I do know one thing, wherever we go, this family is our fortress.” It was unintentional, his hands placed delicately on her shoulders, one slipping down, grazing the armband she’d woven with your bracelet in it.
They had to protect their children.
The Travel to the Metkayina was difficult, tiring, laborious, and met with storms that raged against them. But they pushed through. They’ve pushed through worse; they’d do this for their family.
They landed on the beach, drawing the attention of the clan, who gathered around them in confusion and awe. They were nervous, holding themselves close together as they were gawked at and picked on by oncoming clan members.
Jake felt a sense of relief when Tonowari, an honorable man and the clan's Olo’eyktan, arrived at the scene, greeting them warmly and with a smile. He felt confident, with Tonowari on their side, he believed he could get past the wall Ronal would inevitably put up.
As the crowd parted, he prepared himself, but he felt all the breath be taken out of his lungs.
Ronal stalked closer, her imposing demeanor, but that wasn’t what shocked him. Behind her, following at her heels, was a young girl. Teal skin with swirling stripes.
She resembled you.
He couldn’t place it; the girl was Metkayina, in every way. But something about her face, the way her expression was set in it, how she carried herself. The air around her, the look in her eyes. All of it set off bells in his chest, ringing and clanging against the grief that settled there. The grief for you.
She stood behind Ronal, tilting her head exactly the way you did when you were curious about something.
Neytiri had seen it hundreds of times, holding you in her lap at the schoolhouse. She let out a breath. Jake glanced at her, millions of words passing between them.
She saw it too.
Jake took a moment to collect himself, pulling back from the shock he’d experienced but couldn’t explain. He went on with his prepared speech. He was seeking Uturu; sanctuary, safety for his family.
His veins were buzzing. He didn’t want to be turned away, to force his children to retreat in defeat, praying they’d find another clan willing to listen and take them in. He felt helpless.
Ronal, skeptical, circled the family. She pulled at their tails, remarking how inefficient they’d be in the water, in their way of life.
She approached Kiri, taking her hands in hers. A scowl crossed her face. Four fingers. Kiri held her breath, self-conscious of her extra finger, a tell-tale sign of their human descent. Demon descent.
Ronal gazed down, tilting her head.
She looked up to her daughter, the one who’d arrived with her. She watched her for a moment, the dreams she saw all those years ago flooding her mind. Something she’d never speak aloud.
She dropped Kiri’s hands, walking past the children and Jake Sully. “You are ill fit to live here.”
“We can adapt. We can learn.” He pleaded, desperate to convince them to let his family stay. Desperate to appease the leaders of the clan.
“I’m done with war.” He spoke to Tonowari, quiet and between them. “I just want to keep my family safe.”
Ronal watched him, not convinced by his words. Behind her, her daughter stepped forward, placing her hand on her mother's shoulder.
“Sa’nu.” The words escaped her lips, and Jake breathed in. He saw you, sitting in Grace’s lap in the lab, running up to her excitedly, lying at the spirit tree, dying.
Ronal looked at her daughter, words exchanged between their gazes, she turned to her mate, being met with the same sentiment. A moment passed, and she nodded.
“Jake Sully and his family will stay with us.” Tonowari announced, explaining to the clan their duty to teach them their ways of life.
Jake sighed in relief, bringing forth a ‘thank you’ from his family.
“Our children, Syuli, Ao’nung, and Tsireya, will show your children what to do.”
Ao’nung stepped forth, displeased by his father's decision, but silenced.
“Come, we will show you our village!” Tsireya stepped forward, hand in hand with her sister.
You looked to the family that had arrived at your village. You took in their faces.
They felt familiar to you. You couldn’t place it.
Tsireya tugged you along through the village, humming as you made your way across the woven walkways. Neytiri and Jake, though focused on taking in their new home, couldn’t help but watch you. The bounce in your step all too familiar.
It was eerie, and they didn’t understand their attribution of you to the little girl they’d known all those years ago.
You became a constant in their life, always around their kids, peeking into their Marui to offer fruits you’d picked with your mother. You were a sweetheart, thoughtful, and kind to their children.
Your mother stayed skeptical of her allowance of the foreigners into their clan, fueled by your growing night problems.
It had been years since she last caught you sleepwalking. It was a problem when you were a child, roaming around the village in the midst of the night. Many concerned clan members came to her with stories of how you found yourself at the edge of the walkways, staring up into the open sky with a withered look on your face.
You sleep-talked, she discovered after staying up to follow you one night. You spoke garbled sentences, strung together words that didn’t make sense. You spoke in a mix of Na’vi and English.
How you even knew the language? She couldn’t understand.
She prayed nightly, seeking for guidance on how to help her sweet baby girl. Again, she was only met with visions of that human child.
It all came to a head one night when Tsireya woke her up, lip jutting out as she whispered that you’d fallen during your walks. Ronal soothed her daughter, telling her to go back to sleep before leaving to find you.
You were on your knees, hands clasped together as you spoke in broken prayers, eyes glazed over. You were somewhere she didn’t know.
She was tired of it, worried to death, and lost. So, she did the only thing she could think of. She pulled you into the water carefully, holding you as she rode to the Cove of the Ancestors. You came out of your trance, slowly but surely, but still drowsy and out of it.
She was able to coax you to enough consciousness to get you to dive under, connecting with the spirit tree.
She doesn’t know what you saw when you did. All she knows is that you hadn’t sleep-walked, or talked since. She knew you were special. A child she would never truly understand, but she loved and cherished you with everything she had.
She saw the way the animals around you seemed to move in sync with you, how the luminescence at night pulsed with your breath. She didn’t ask for answers. She loved you and she trusted the Great Mother.
But here you were again, standing at the entrance of their Marui, eyes glazed over, staring off into the stars. Ever since they’d let the Sullys stay, you’d been walking and talking in your sleep again.
It wasn’t as intense, thankfully, but it was enough to rouse her or her children from sleep every so often.
They worried for you. They took turns staying up, watching you, easing you back to sleep, careful not to startle you from your trance. During the day, they acted as if nothing was different. They knew you were different, but they loved you nonetheless. You were their daughter, their sister.
Ao’nung picked on you, teasing you and going out of his way to bother you. It was his way of showing his love, he joked. He had his moments. Picking you up in his arms and carrying you across the village to your mother for treatment when you hurt yourself on a spear, ignoring your complaints that it was your hand that was injured, not your legs, you could still walk! He ignored you, carefully setting you down in their Marui, lurking by the door until you were bandaged up and ready to leave.
Tsireya was easier. You got along with your younger sister without any problems, aside from the occasional spat that never went anywhere. You two were two peas in a pod. Inseparable. Hands clasped together, arms wrapped around each other. You were always together. It’s how you thrived.
Ronal and Tonowari, they never gave a second thought to the fact that you weren’t theirs, because you were. From the moment they’d set you down in that cradle, you’d become theirs. Their love for you was strong and unwavering. They called your name out with affection, they weaved you jewelry and clothes with love, they never let you doubt you were loved. They held you as you slept, as you dreamt.
And you dreamt. You dreamt every night. Of faces, of voices, of people you didn’t know, but knew.
By the time you woke up, your dreams were in blurry fragments, unable to be pieced together or made sense of.
Your family didn’t voice their worries to you. They saw how you flourished when interacting with their new clan members.
You were patient with them, guiding them through your way of life like it was the easiest thing to do. You blended in with them, conversing with the children so easily, it was as if you’d been doing it your entire life.
You and your siblings, Rotxo, and the Sully kids became somewhat of a friend group. Always together, at least in fragments. You felt as if your family had expanded.
The Sully kids adored you, especially Kiri. It was something about the way the two of you seemed to understand nature that connected you. And perhaps, your mysterious origins.
You confided in Kiri, and Kiri alone, about your peculiar birth. The whole clan knew, they’d witnessed it firsthand, but the story hadn’t made its way to the Sullys. Perhaps it was because it was accepted, no one thought twice about it, you were Ronal and Tonowari's daughter. No one thought to mention that, by biological means, you weren’t.
You told her how you didn’t know your biological parents. No one did. Abandoned at the Spirit tree, you were taken in by Ronal and Tonowari, raised alongside Tsireya, and essentially as Ao’nung’s twin.
She told you about her mother, a scientist who was beloved by their clan, who died during the first war against the humans. She was born from her Avatar.
Grace.
You spoke her name before Kiri told you.
An odd look passed her face. It wasn't until it dripped from your chin that you realised a tear had slipped down your cheek.
“I-i’m sorry, I'm just-” You strung together words, embarrassed and confused by your unconscious outburst. “It’s hard to speak about my birth.” You blamed it on that. Kiri accepted your words, wrapping her arms around you in an embrace that felt warmer than anything else you’d experienced.
You grew a lot closer to the Sully kids. It was their parents who were odd to be around.
Jake and Neytiri didn’t know what to think of you. You were Ronal and Tonowari’s daughter, Na’vi, born and raised in the reef. Yet when they looked at you, heard your voice, all they could see was that little girl they’d loved.
They were going crazy. That was the only explanation. Driven mad by the destruction of their home and subsequent forced abandonment of it.
They wanted to talk to you. They ached to. But it ached just as much to do so. It wasn’t fair to you, their projections of grief onto you.
You were kind, you spoke for them when they first arrived, and you went out of your way to welcome them. You taught their children and defended them, taking them in as if they were your blood.
But every time they saw you, they were swarmed by a whirlpool of grief and relief.
“She speaks like her.” Neytiri would whisper one night, when all the children were off in the village attending a celebration, Jake lying next to her.
“Yeah.” He’d say, eyes locked on Neytiri’s face, watching as she wandered through her mind. Watching as a tear slipped down her cheek.
For weeks, they watched you, watching every movement and quirk you exhibited. How you spoke, how you moved through the walkways, your sense of humor. The way you scrunched your nose in a certain way when faced with food you didn’t like. It all pointed back.
Back to her.
That girl.
She haunted them.
A ghost following them around. One they thought they’d put to rest over a decade ago.
They had moved on. They grieved her, yes, but they had learned to live without her. Just as they did with every person they lost.
But she was back.
They thought it was in their heads at first, but the more they saw, the more they became sure.
Her body had disappeared, Neytiri recounted to him, a whisper under her breath as they watched you talk to Neteyam and Tsireya from afar. They’d left her at the tree like Mo’at demanded, abiding by Eywa's wishes. Her body was gone far too quickly to have been natural decomposition, and no creature would dare feast on a body wrapped in Eywa’s arms like she was.
They didn’t question it, too wrapped up in their grief to try and breach the topic. They simply accepted it. Eywa wanted her. She was with Grace, they believed.
But she wasn’t.
She was in the reef, living amongst the people, living.
They saw you, and they saw her. One in the same.
They’d grieved you, and now you stood right in front of them, out of their reach.
It tore them apart. They must have been going insane because you were not that girl they knew, you were not the girl they loved and doted on. But you were.
You couldn’t be.
But they watched and they watched and they saw. They saw her.
“It’s not her.” Jake’s voice was steel. Laced with a hardened grief.
“I know what I saw, you know what you see.” Neytiri defended, unsure of how to explain it.
He shook his head, pacing back and forth in the Marui, sliding a hand down his face.
“She’s a Metkayina! She’s Ronal and Tonowai’s daughter! That's it.” He spoke so certainly, as if he were trying to convince himself.
The two breathed heavily, working through their mind and hearts to get their words. Logic wasn’t making sense, but they tried to cling to it, both of them in different ways.
“Ronal didn’t give birth to her, nor did Tonowair father her.” Neytiris' words were heavy, like steel and stone. “A gift from Eywa, Ronal calls her.”
Their eyes met.
At this point, they were haunted less by you and more by the fact that you were back. It wasn’t easy mourning someone, learning to accept their death after having grown to love them so fiercely, to learn how to live without them. All of that, only for them to appear again.
All those walls they’d built, all the strength they’d planted in their grief, it was crumbling, the base of it all blowing away like sand in the wind.
It almost hurt more than the grief itself.
They simmered in it for weeks, speaking through glances and hushed whispers.
It was quiet that day. Jake was making his rounds through the village when he heard it. The humming. Not just the humming but the tune.
Slowly, he rounded the corner, peaking around the Marui, eyes landing on you sitting on the edge of the walkway, legs dangling from an opening. You sat there, beading an arm piece as you hummed.
You hummed the lullaby Jake had used to sing that girl to sleep. The lullaby from Earth.
He felt his chest crack open. He wanted to say something, to reach out and speak to you-
“Sempu!” You called out, spotting Tonowari walk up from another direction. Wordlessly, you held up your work for him, a smile spreading across your face as he approached and knelt down.
“Ah, this is great work, my little ‘itetsyip.” He leaned in, hand reaching up to pull it closer to examine it. He grinned, nodding towards you. “You are an exceptional crafter.”
Jake watched the scene, brows furrowing, a weight resting in his chest.
You rolled your eyes. “Oh, bah! You and Mother praise me far too much.”
Tonowair simply chuckled, his hand moving to cradle your cheek as you grinned at him.
“No, we simply see how great you are.”
Jake started to notice more after that. He watched not just you, but your life. How you wandered freely through the village, greeting your clan members eagerly, your cheerfulness returned. You were surrounded by kids your age, all watching you with a mix of adoration and respect. You bonded with your siblings, giggling over inside jokes and banter.
Your parents were doting. They didn’t spoil you; they made sure you were responsible and self-aware, but they loved you, and they showed it. The more he watched, the more Neytiri did too; perhaps she’d been watching the full scene the whole time.
You weren’t alone.
You smiled so widely, and you never had to beg, you never had to work for attention or affection. You were accepted wholeheartedly.
You had everything you wanted here, Neytiri and Jake realized. You had everything they wanted to give you, and you didn’t have any barriers. You weren’t human or parentless. You moved about freely. You weren’t raised to expect to come second, third, or fourth place.
Neytiri and Jake had wanted to give you that life. But they couldn’t. They never could.
The Great Mother didn’t fulfill their desires to be the one to love you; she gave you what you needed. She gave you the opportunity to live.
It was bittersweet. You had the life you wanted. You were loved.
Just not by them.
And that was ok.
They’d lived their lives, they’d found happiness, a family, and they were good.
You’d found what you needed, even if it wasn’t with them.
summary: Broken by the fall of the Hometree and Eywa's silence, you dream for a possibility of peace of mind, figuratively and literally. You come to the Metkayina's village looking for a temporary refuge in your search of said peace, and end up never leaving in favour of love.
pairing(s): tonowari x omatikaya!reader, platonic reader x neytiri
word count: 15k (i know...)
warnings: reader is neytiri's sister, grief and mourning, mention of dead bodies, eywa's constant meddling, probably suggestive, yearning, pining, "but i don't want ninat", added lore cuz i got carried away, kinda miscommunication, no ronal hate, space racism?, complex neytiri i fear...., mentioned pregnancy, mentioned childbirth, rotxo is adopted lmao, when the story starts reader is around 19 and both neytiri and tonowari are around 22, takes place after avatar (2009), proofread one time instead of the two usual times so pls let me know if there are any errors
author's note: can't believe this fine shyt is now a single dad
dividers from @uzmacchiato!
When the smoke clears and the ashes fall, nothing is left of the Hometree.
Nothing but the stump, the bulging roots and the cut-off part remain of your destroyed home. You’ve never seen one, but you think that the remains of the tree must look like a decapitated corpse — something that once was full of life, and now is just… there. A reminder of what was.
Many managed to evacuate the branches as it fell, but just as much ended up being buried by its massive limbs; you can’t find it in yourself to understand if it was a blessing — for them to have such a quick death, one that avoided them from feeling the endless grief you’re feeling now — or a tragedy. You keep asking Eywa the same question, but either she doesn’t know, or she won’t tell you.
She hasn’t been telling you much lately, anyway.
As the daughter of the Olo’eyktan and Tsahìk, you grew up close to the bond you shared with Eywa. Mo’at always brought you and your sisters along with her to pray, and the three of you soon learnt how to perceive her in everything you did and everything that happened. The Great Mother is in all of us, your mom used to always say, before you fully grasped the concept. She gives, and we take. And when the time comes, we’ll be the ones to give back what we borrowed.
It looks like, to you, that the time has come. Only, Eywa won’t seem to take anything from you.
During the day, you’re back at the ruins of the Hometree, with a few other Omatikayas looking for the remains of their loved ones. When they are easy to remove, you do so, and then give them the burial they deserve as a part of the People; when the branches have buried them too deep in the terrain for you to remove them, you pray for them and their souls, hoping that they are, at last, at peace.
At night, you pray by the Tree of Souls until the first morning lights shine through the outline of the mountains, when your mother wakes and gently drags you to the marui you share with her and orders — more like begs — you to sleep. “You won’t be able to hear Eywa better if you tire yourself so, daughter,” she utters as she holds you tight in her arms, humming that same lullaby she used to when you were little. “I doubt she wants you to be exhausted.”
You sniffle brokenly, hiding in her shoulder like a child as she covers you with the blanket she had stitched with the help of Sylwanini and Neytiri when she first realised she was pregnant with you. It’s a miracle you managed to salvage it from the fall of the Hometree, as most of your belongings have been lost during it. “We still haven’t found Tsu’tey, sa’nok,” you whisper, muffling a sob.
Mo’at sighs softly, holding you tighter. “Oeyä yawne,” my beloved, she starts, “Tsu’tey died a great death. Even if you do not find what remains of him, I’m sure Eywa will hold him close nevertheless. He fell into the ocean, after all — she’s strong there, too. We might not think of it to be our home, but everywhere Eywa is, can be considered our home.”
Still, it’s hard to believe that Jakesully out of all people is helping rebuild your village.
He’s supposed to be one of the aliens that came from the sky — one of the four-fingered demons that have destroyed your home. And somehow, Eywa still chose him to lead the Omatikaya.
You don’t deny his bravery, nor his will to learn your ways, nor the fact that he is a great warrior — Turuk Makto, in fact. It doesn’t mean that it isn’t hard for you to look at him and not see the Hometree lying dead on the ground, burning, and the Tree of Voices reduced to shreds under the dozers.
You know it’s probably just your grief talking — you’ve never had anything against the man, not even when he first came here, blabbering about wanting to learn the way or whatever the RDA had put in his head — but you don’t know what else to do. When you’re not looking around for the corpses of the fallen, or praying for them, or begging Eywa to tell you the meaning of all of this, you’re either crying or trying to sleep — and when the latter comes, it’s never restful.
Neytiri is grieving, too, and you know it, but she takes it differently — because she has Jake, and she’s putting all she has into building a new, safe village, where maybe one day their kids will grow happily. But you feel stuck — like when it fell, the Hometree swallowed you, too, along with all the fallen comrades that you had known for your whole life.
Your answers finally come during another restless night spent under the Soul Tree.
Your mother has since stopped trying to coax you away from it — instead, she has taken to making salves and weaving shawls under the light of the branches as you weep silently for a sign, the terrain still against your body, unlike the usual steady beat you used to feel. Sometimes Mo’at braids your hair, other times recalls stories of your father and sister, but mostly lets you cry it out — even if her heart breaks every time a tear slips down your cheek. Neytiri sometimes comes along, chanting her songs and saying her prayers, but lately, she’s taken to spending her nights in the tent she calls home, with Jakesully.
(Not that you blame her. If you had a mate, you’d probably find comfort in them, too. If you had a mate, maybe you wouldn’t be so utterly hopeless.)
It’s when you find sleep while having these thoughts that finally, Eywa responds to your call in the best way she knows — a dream.
You feel like you’re floating, and finally, finally– you can feel her presence. She’s everywhere, surrounding you with her warmth, and it’s just when you look around to understand where you are that you notice that you are underwater. Life swarms you from every angle — the fishes twirling in a dance only they can understand, anemones and corals shimmering with bioluminescence on the rocks under your feet.
You don’t know for how long you swim, but what you know is that you haven’t felt this feeling in what seems like ages. You have missed the Great Mother’s presence, and if this dream tells you anything, it’s that maybe, she has missed you, too.
A large, warm hand engulfs yours. You can’t see the face of the man that has taken it, but by the color of his skin, he can’t be Omatikaya. Come with me, a voice says, and you aren’t able to really distinguish it — it does not sound like a real voice, rather like a spoken thought inside your mind. Our Spirit Tree is this way. You feel the same hand on the small of your back, guiding you in the water, in a way so gentle that you already dread the moment his touch will fade.
You wake up with your hand still feeling warm and dried tears staining your cheeks. The ground you’re lying on feels stiff and cold. Hoisting yourself up on your elbows, you notice the sky — it’s still night — and your mother, sleeping with her head leaning on the trunk of the tree. “Are you trying to tell me that I have to find my peace somewhere else?” you murmur quietly to the tree, impossibly tired in every way imaginable. And maybe it’s just an impression, or your lack of sleep, but you think the branches glow a little more than usual at that.
The hard part is not accepting to leave behind the Omatikaya — in your heart, you knew that a part of you died when the Hometree fell, and no new village would ever make up for what the sky people have taken away from you; every camp made after that would only look like a ghost of what was, where you grew up in.
No, no. The hard part is convincing both the Tsahìk and the Olo’eyktan to let you go.
By the time morning comes, your bags are already packed. Your ikran, Ry’ia, is waiting for you just outside of the village chirping softly with Neytiri’s mount, Sa’atra, as you pull on your traveling shawl and wait for the villagers to wake up before your departure. Needless to say, it doesn’t take long for chaos to erupt.
Neytiri drags you away from the astounded clan members as soon as she gets wind of what’s happening, Mo’at and Jakesully on tow when she sits you down in one of the newest tents, her face unreadable as she takes a seat in front of you. “Explain.”
You look at her mate and your mother, sitting respectively on her left and on her right, and suddenly your heart fills up with courage you weren’t even aware of having. “I had a dream last night,” you start, “Eywa has shown me where to find my peace again.”
As you recall your vision, you can tell that the only one fully understanding the meaning of it is your mother, because while Jakesully doesn’t look too troubled about it, Neytiri hasn’t had that betrayed look on her face towards you since you were seven, and you stole the last piece of fruit intended for her. “What?” she asks in pure disbelief, “Wha– why would you ever think of going away from here, sister? We have plenty of men who would be delighted to have you as their mate. We have the ocean. We have fishes. Do you really have to look for them from another clan to be happy?”
You shake your head, guilt seeping through your chest. “Sister, if I could be happy while being here, close to you, I would stay. But…” Your eyes drift up to Jake and immediately go back to her, not wanting to blame him for all the things humans have done to you. “I can’t find it in myself to build a new village that Tsu’tey, father– hell, Sylwanin won’t see. And even if I could…”
You scroll your shoulders, “Eywa has shown me the way,” you say firmly, “and I will follow it.”
Neytiri looks over to Mo’at, searching for support in the discussion. “Mother, please, tell her this is madness,”
She looks at her for a singular moment, then to you. Finally, she speaks. “When I was your age, I had a dream, too. It led me to your father.” The story isn’t new to you — everyone knows Mo’at was part of the Orangi clan before she married your father.
Neytiri stares at her, “Mother, you can’t be serious– she doesn’t even know where–”
“How can she know, if she does not try?” The Tsahìk interrupts her, “Eywa has shown her that she won’t find peace while living here. These things are rare, but they happened. That was my case, at least.”
Your sister gapes at her, flabbergasted, only to look back at you, getting back up on her feet. “If you leave,” she hisses, “I will never forgive you.” She storms out, her tail twitching after her, leaving the tent feeling even colder than before.
Finally, you manage to look at Jakesully straight into his eyes, trying to avoid the glare your mother is sending him, and you’re surprised to see an actual understanding of the situation there. “You do understand why I can’t stay here, do you?”
He blinks, sad. “I do.”
You nod, “Good. I would never ask you to leave — this is your home, too, after all. And it would mean sacrificing Neytiri’s happiness. I’d rather be happy here too, but… I can’t do that. Not while my loved ones lay under the Hometree, dead.” you shake your head, ashamed of what you’re about to say, “Not while you are here living the life they deserved. I am sorry, Jakesully.”
Tentatively, he places a hand on your shoulder. “It’s okay,” he mutters, sorrowful, “I know you would stay here if you could. Just… please, do not go today. Wait until the end of the week. Let me talk to your sister– I’ll try to change her mind.”
As he leaves to go look for Neytiri, you are left with your mother. Your eyes remain downwards, all the courage of before gone after your sister’s outburst, your heart feeling heavier than ever. Needless to say, when she moves to hug you, you’re left stunned — you were waiting for her to tell you you were mad, too. “I am sorry, daughter,” she says, her usually firm voice trembling, “I did not understand your pain was so great. I thought Eywa had in her plans to keep my daughters close to me, but if having you far from me is the price for your happiness, then I’ll gladly take everything that comes with it.”
You avoid mentioning her teary eyes when she pulls back, her hands holding your shoulders. She sniffles, trying to save face. “The Metkayina are the only sea clan your father’s ever had contact with,” she manages, "their Olo’eyktan may still remember him. You should start your search from there.”
In the following days, you are smothered with gifts.
Everyone makes something for you to take on your travels, or to give to the chiefs of the foreign clans you’ll visit. Your friends Ninat and Peyral stitch a beautiful shawl in record time, stitched beads and feathers in it. So that you may have something to remember us by, Peyral explains, emotional, as Ninat nearly bursts into tears.
Your mother makes a Tsahìk necklace typical of the Omatikaya and tells you to give it to the wife of the chief. Showing respect to your hosts is always important, remember. Do not forget your culture, but do not force it on them, either.
Even Jake turns up one night, giving you a funny-looking bone knife that he clearly has just learned how to carve. “As a… parting gift?” he tells you, even if it sounds more like a question. His ears bend down, “I’m sorry you feel like you have to leave to be happy. I wish things didn’t have to be this way.” I wish you could overcome our differences like your sister did.
You look at the knife — the jaggedy blade looking ugly but clearly heartfelt — and then back at him. “You’re a good man, Jakesully,” you tell him. “I am truly sorry that my opinion on you has to be stained by what your kind has done to us — but perhaps, it’s just because things are a little too fresh. Perhaps, I just need some time away from here.”
Neytiri doesn’t come looking for you until it is time for you to go. As you say your goodbyes to friends and everyone you grew up with, she shuffles quietly behind Jake, her hands behind her back. Still hugging Ka’ani, you look at her as she gets closer, suspiciously quiet, only to present you with a bead on her open palm.
You gasp at the sight of it — it’s a bright blue stone, one of the ones to be found only in the ikrans’ nest, with the Omatikaya clan symbol etched on it. “For your songcord,” she explains, not looking you in the eye. “To mark your… new start. Your travels.”
You look at the bead, taking it in your hands, then tug Neytiri close to hug her as tight as possible. “I’ll miss you, sister,” you murmur in her shoulder.
Even if she’s supposed to be mad at you, she reciprocates the hug immediately, and it doesn’t take long for the tough facade to crumble. “Please, come back when you’re finally happy again, okay?” her voice is trained, and you doubt anyone but you heard her whisper. “This will always be your home. You’ll always have a place to stay here — with me.”
Ry’ia is delighted in the change of scenery — you can tell by the way she reacts through the bond, but also the happy shrieks she lets out once you lower her near the surface of the ocean so that her wings may touch the water. You look behind you — to the mountains that you’ve called home ever since you came to the world — one last time before turning your gaze back to the sea, the directions your mother gave you etched into your mind.
Awa’atlu is almost three days of travel from your village, turned into four by the stops you make to allow Ry’ia and yourself some rest. And when you finally reach it, it’s night, and only a few lights are shimmering in the Metkayina village. Not wanting to disturb their sleep, you turn your ikran to the rocky side of the island — devoid of any maruis from what you can see — and land atop the coast, dismounting from Ry’ia and patting the side of her neck. “Good girl,” you murmur, “rest now, yes? I’ll take a dip and be back here with you in a moment.”
You remove your traveling shawl as she chirps quietly, remaining in your loincloth and chest piece as you dive into the waters.
You feel like crying in relief when you finally feel her. Eywa is everywhere here — she surrounds you with the water in bioluminescence, in the anemones that move in rhythm with the currents and the nocturnal fishes that swim around in a haze. It’s like waking up from a bad dream, being able to finally feel her again.
Even if brief, the peace it gives you swells your heart. The Great Mother wasn’t holding a grudge against you — you simply weren’t searching for her in the right place.
You resurface to catch some air, only to notice that you aren’t alone.
A turquoise zukzuk — an otterfin — stares at you with her big eyes, and if she weren’t an animal, you’d say she was smiling at you. She rubs her snout into your shoulders, chirping happily, and you chuckle, petting her back, “Aren’t you a cutie? Oh, yes you are, yes you are…”
She licks your cheek, and you fake a gag even as she basically throws herself in your arms. “Now, hasn’t anyone ever told you not to trust strangers? If I were a tad bit more selfish, I’d totally bring you home with me,” you’re not sure how you would manage an otterfin in the forest or while traveling, but you’re sure that if there’s a will, there’s a way.
“Hey, you shouldn’t swim here when it’s dark,”
The screech you let out is loud enough to wake up the whole village, you’re sure. The zukzuk — who looks more scared than you — jumps in your arms as you hug her, ready to defend her from any possible attacker. The latter — a man with turquoise skin and weird tattoos over his face — screams back, mostly startled by your yelling.
“Sorry, sorry!” he puts his hands in front of him as your screams die down, still hugging the otterfin, “I didn’t mean to startle you, it’s just that — we’re too close to the reef, and it’s mating season for the akulas. Their cubs will start hunting for preys any moment now. It’s dangerous to stay here for long.”
You share a look with the otterfin, who’s still cuddled to you, and it’s just then that the man seems to notice her. He frowns, “Nala, is that you?” It's the same tone you use for Ry’ia when she pulls some kind of stunt you told her not to do, and the zukzuk lets out a noise while looking at you with the biggest eyes as if to say, I’ve never met this man in my life.
The latter gasps, “It is you!”
The pup cuddles closer to you, hiding under your chin, her tongue slipping out of her mouth like she wants to mock him. You raise an eyebrow, “This is your zukzuk?”
The guy nods, “She knows she shouldn’t swim here at night, it’s dangerous–”
A rumble from below interrupts him, and you all freeze. “…What did you say about those akula cubs?” You don’t even know what an akula is, but judging from the fact that apparently their cubs make swimming at night dangerous, it can’t be anything good.
His hand wraps around your wrist as he starts to drag you away, back onto the shore, much faster than it took you to even get here. “Just where did you come from? Are you Ta’unui really so clueless?” Another rumble from behind you, and he swims even faster. You keep Nala under your arm, and she keeps moving her tail like she’s trying to help him move away.
It’s only when you’re out of trouble and onto the shore, where the water reaches your knees and you’re illuminated by the bioluminescence and the moons, that he notices that you don’t look like a Tau’nui at all. He stares at your slim tail and arms, leaning his head like he’s never seen a specimen like this, and even your clothes are weird. Quite dumbly, he pulls at the feathers stitched into your top, staring intently, “What are those?”
The fact is, you’re also just noticing that he doesn’t look like normal Na’vi men, too — at least, not to the ones you’re used to. He’s broader, taller, and apparently also dumber, because he doesn’t even seem to notice that he’s just grazed and uncovered part of your breast.
You deadpan. He blinks. Nala barks. He lets the feathers go as he turns purple, “Sorry, I didn’t notice.” He’s lucky that the Omatikaya are people raised with no shame about their bodies, because otherwise, the slap you would’ve given him wouldn’t have been too nice from a girl who’s supposed to look for uturu in his clan.
You squeeze the water out of your hair as he stares weirdly, Nala twirling around the two of you. “Why were you swimming if the waters are so dangerous at night?” You ask him, trying not to stare too much at his arms — you never thought that the Omatikaya men needed more muscles, but now you understand that if they did, it wouldn’t have been such a bad thing. His tail — twitching uneasily behind him — is thicker and longer than yours, and his arms have strange prolongments on their sides — to help swimming, you suppose. While Omatikaya grow slender and thin to avoid any difficulty in swinging in the forest, maybe the Metkayina grow to swim more efficiently in the ocean.
“I was looking for her,” he points at Nala, “we spoiled her a little too much, and now she doesn’t know how to take a no.” He tries to smile at you, “You’re not from around here, are you? Your tail would be horrible for swimming.”
You nod, “I’m from the forest clans — the Omatikaya.” you tell him your name, and he nods. “I came here looking for uturu, but the village seemed to be asleep when I got here, so I figured I would talk to the chief in the morning.”
He looks troubled, “I’m Tonowari,” he introduces himself, “I’m from the village. Uturu? Has something happened to the Omatikaya?”
No matter how much you insist he doesn’t, he drags you to the village — in the literal sense, as you didn’t want to follow him and he has to take you by your wrist — and over to a secluded mauri, where he finally lets go. Ry’ia chirps tiredly beside you, huffing indignantly at him as you wrap your shawl tighter around your shoulders. “I’ll talk to Olo’eyktan and Tsahìk,” Tonowari tells you, nodding to the mauri, “wait for me here, okay?” Nala quietly follows him, dragging her little belly over the sand.
You didn’t really explain the whole thing— you just told him that you’re here to find contact with Eywa again because you weren’t able to in your homeland. You don’t really know why he insisted so much in talking to the chiefs now, and you can’t help but wonder why he feels comfortable waking up the two most important people in his village for a stranger.
Soon enough, he comes back out from the marui, gesturing for you to come inside; you do, and you’re greeted by two very much awake chiefs, sitting with their backs straight as ever.
“Olo’eyktan Arvak and Tsahìk Tsika,” Tonowari tells you, nodding to them, “I’ll leave the three of you alone– keep an eye on that big bird of yours.”
“She’s not a big bird," you whisper, too tired to fully protest. He pats your shoulder, looking a bit guilty, letting the woven sheet atop the pod close back behind you, “Sure she isn’t,”
You remain alone with the chiefs — and Nala, who you realise just now hasn’t followed Tonowari. Looking at the couple, you figure that the Metkayina must all have his same features. “Sit,” Tsika gestures to the empty space in front of them, “and tell us everything.”
Recounting the fall of the Hometree is more difficult than you thought it would be — because even if it’s been almost a month now, the wound still feels fresh. They listen, not prodding for more information when you stop to take a deep breath to avoid bursting in tears, and the Tsahìk puts a hand over her mouth when you mention your father. “Eytukan,” she murmurs, looking over to her mate. “He came here when we called for the other Tsahìks.”
At your confused face, Arvak explains, “A little over twenty years ago, our son fell sick. Rashes all over his body, convulsions, other symptoms we’d never seen before.”
His wife takes a deep breath, “When nothing seemed to work and we lost all hope, Arvak chose to call the other clans’ Tsahìks and healers for help. The Ta’unui sent a healer, the Aranahe some healing plants, and everyone pretty much did the same. But your father,” she pokes you in the chest, not in a mean way — in a way that says, the man you’re half a part of. “Olo’eyktan Eytukan came here himself. Excused his wife’s absence, told us she had just given birth to their third daughter and wasn’t able to travel properly. He took a look at our son’s state, and said that it probably was txumpaywll poisoning — until then, we didn’t even know that its plants had started to grow on our islands. Made a salve for his rashes, concocted the antidote and left when he got better.”
They bow their heads at you, “It will be an honor to pay back Eytukan’s kindness. Tell us what you need, and we’ll do anything in our power to help you.”
You beg them to raise their heads, embarrassed. “I just want some time with your clan,” you tell them, “learn your ways with the creatures, how you move within the currents.” If Jakesully out of all people managed to learn the Omatikaya’s ways, you doubt it will be much harder for you. “I… I’ve lost contact with Eywa. I hope that learning your clan’s ways will help me in finding it again.”
Arvak has got a pensive look on his face. Then, he says, “Tonowari, I know you’re listening. You can come in.”
The man sheepishly enters the marui again, sitting beside you, a little embarrassed. You raise an eyebrow — did he really think either of you didn’t hear him? You might’ve not heard him approach when you were in the water, but back with your feet on steady ground, you would’ve known how to spot him before he was even in your line of sight.
Nala squeals and throws herself on his knees, purring. Arvak tries to ignore her to his best abilities. “Our son Tonowari will teach you everything he knows about the reef,” ah, so that’s why he didn’t have any problem waking them up. Nice to know that the Olo’eyktan’s successor has seen your boob. On his part, Tonowari makes no protest. “Her training starts tomorrow. Go show her one of the vacant maruis — she’ll stay here for a while.”
Ry’ia is already sleeping when you and Tonowari detach your bags from her saddle, and you try your best not to gape at his biceps as they flex while he takes the heaviest woven baskets out of your hands. “Don’t worry, I’ll take those– you must be really tired.”
He balances them on his side and shoulder as he walks you through the maruis — with the few still awake villagers peeking out of their tents to steal a curious look at you — only to stop in an empty one, carefully leaning the baskets down to the floor. You stare at the woven walls of your new home, at the mat on the floor and the little space reserved for the fireplace, thinking that maybe, just maybe, this can work.
You set down your bag as Tonowari stands back up from his knelt position, “Try to get some sleep,” he tells you quietly, “I’ll come to wake you up tomorrow a little before dawn — it’s when the ilus wake up. If you need anything, that–” he points to a nearby pod, “–is my marui.”
He stops for a moment and looks at you, sitting on the sleeping mat. “I’m sorry about your father and what happened to your people.”
You press your lips into a thin line. “Thanks.” You avert your eyes and wrap your shawl a little tighter around you. “Uh… goodnight, Tonowari.”
He nods, a sad smile on his lips as he moves outside of the tent, still holding open the curtain serving as door. “Goodnight.”
He closes the blind, and you’re left to your thoughts.
Tonowari laughs. “Your swimming form is funny.”
You pout. “If you're here to poke fun at my survival-level swimming form, I’m sure Nala would be happy to teach me how to instead.”
His laugh gets even louder, and he raises his hands up. “I said it was funny, not bad! It’s like… watching a child take their first dive out of their mother’s womb.”
“Are you really saying that a kid might swim better than me?”
The son of the Olo’eyktan has at least the decency to stifle his chuckles now. “No, no, I’m sure you’ll learn soon enough.”
This morning, the villagers were astonished to find out that the chiefs had basically sneaked you into the village overnight — but sure enough, their spirits changed when you started distributing the gifts you had brought for them. The Tsahìk seemed pleased with the necklace your mother had made her, claiming it to be of beautiful manufacture, as her people raided your baskets for the shawls and armbands your friends had stitched for them. Yovo fruits were gone in a matter of seconds, and Arvak had to set aside the dried meat you brought to assure that everyone got a piece for dinner.
(As for Arvak’s gift, you gave it to him once the crowd dissipated. You told him it was from Toruk Makto, who even after proper Omatikaya training, unfortunately still had to work on his carving abilities. He took the dagger nonetheless, pleased that Toruk Makto himself took time out of his day to make something for him.)
Despite your gifts quietening the protests of your arrival, the villagers still stared a little too hard sometimes — no wonder, they’ve never seen a forest Na’vi before. Most of them are nice or at least cordial to you, but a few doubtful stares still linger as Tonowari tries to do his best in teaching you the ways of the Metkayina.
You start spending your mornings — from before dawn up until lunch — with the Olo’eyktan son, learning how to juggle the currents and hold your breath, and your afternoons with the clan elders, weaving baskets and learning how to stitch seashells into body pieces.
(The first time you asked if you could help weaving the growing side of the marui pods, they gasped, scandalized. Apparently, it’s strictly the men’s job around here.)
After a few days and horrendous tries, you finally manage to finish your first armband — Priya, an old woman wearing the feather chest piece that one of your friends had made, insisted on it. It’s decorated with a few shells you managed to collect while diving with Tonowari, and as she inspects it closely, she hums, clearly pleased with your work. “I’m sure your mate will be delighted to wear this, one day.”
You raise an eyebrow, surprised. “My mate?”
The other elders nod convincingly, passing around your work. “In Awa’atlu, the first piece a girl makes is always a stitched armband," she explains, revealing why she had pressured you so much in starting off with one. “The mother makes sure to save it, and when the time comes, it will be given to her husband to wear. He, in return, will give her a carved comb, usually decorated with anything that pleases the woman.”
You think about it for a moment, “So, the first ever piece the men carve is a comb, too?”
The women laugh like the mere thought is hilarious. “Of course not!” Priya hollers, “The first piece a woman stitches is important because in her life, she will make numerous beautiful works. The men give them the most beautiful comb they make, because it’s already a miracle if they manage to make one singular, decent comb.”
At this, you laugh with them, thinking about that wobbly knife Jake made for their Olo’eyktan. Then, you snort, “This wasn’t my first armband, though,” yes, you had to learn how to properly position shells and have them not fall off the strings, but this isn't your first time stitching.
One of the other women shrugs, “So what?” She says, “It’s the first one you make here — as a future proper Metkayina — that counts as first.”
Later on that night, back in your marui, you observe the armband and store it inside one of your woven travel bags, hoping that one day, the man you dreamt about will be able to wear it.
Whenever you are free from both weaving lessons and Tonowari’s constant nagging, you delve deep into the forest that the island offers, collecting herbs and fruits. Apparently, the Metkayina have learnt to make the most out of what the sea has to offer, and subsequently rarely explore the forest except for harvesting fruits. The seaside forest is a bit different from what you were used to, but fortunately the plants do not differ that much.
The first time you show the Tsahìk how you used to make disinfectant salves in the forest, she stares at the concoction like it has just clicked something in her brain. She smells it, tries it on one of the hunter’s light scratches and notes how he doesn’t lament any stinging. “Why don’t you come with me and my tsakarems one of these days?” She asks finally. “I’m sure we could teach you something, as well as learn from your… peculiar ways.”
The next day, you ask about the tsakarems to Tonowari as he gently hoists you up to an ilu. “Here, when the Tsahìk doesn’t have a daughter, she takes various apprentices under her wing,” he explains, showing you how to place your feet to avoid falling off of the creature’s back. “And then, either the most talented or the one the future Olo’eyktan chooses becomes Tsahìk, while the others go on to become healers.”
You still fall off of the ilu’s back, but it doesn’t really matter — because Tonawari is there, ready to catch you, and immediately steadies you as you come crashing onto him. You’ll learn, he signs, still underwater. Do not worry, you’ll learn.
The two of you have grown significantly closer since your arrival, and you try not to notice the way his touch tentatively lingers over your hips as he brings the both of you back to the surface. The two of you stare at each other then, his hands still atop your waist, and just as he’s about to say something, the moment is broken by Nala — and either she’s obsessed with his biceps at least half as much as you are, or she’s really just a little, fat bugger. You both laugh as she slobbers all over your face, his hands leaving your body, and you have to convince yourself that you’re not missing his touch to continue the riding lesson.
Your weak spots are the signing lessons and the apnea training, mostly because your complete attention on him is needed to actually learn something.
The first time he pushes his hand into your belly to show you how to breathe with your stomach, you thought you would’ve been able to faint right here and there — or swoon, depending on how you see it. And whenever he shows you new signs and their meaning, unfortunately all you can think about is what exactly his fingers can do.
After lunch, you join the Tsahìk and the tsakarems in their dive for medical algae; a girl named Ronal shows you the best shells to pick to add to plants to make a paste, and the fishes that you have to follow to find a certain type of anemone with incredible healing properties. She’s a little ruffled by your presence at the lesson and you can tell, but you don’t find it in yourself to judge her; you’re pretty sure that when Jake was learning your ways, you were far more suspicious of him than she is of you.
Weirdly enough, the Tsahìk comes looking for you when you don’t show up to her lesson the day after. You come to find out that what you thought was a once-and-done offer was meant to be a more permanent position among the tsakarems, and now your evenings are filled with her lessons about spirituality and healing, too.
But the best thing about Awa’atlu is, by far, Eywa’s presence: she’s everywhere, in the waters you swim into the bonfire Avrak lights when it’s time for dinner, and for the first time in months, you feel safe. Even Ry’ia does, and it’s evident in the way she made herself a nest atop one of the highest trees in the forest.
You’ve made friends with the elders and two girls close to your age, Wali and Em’a, and the curious glances that the Metkayina sent you on that first day you spent here are nothing but memories now, as they have seemed to accept you as one of her own.
Ironically enough, you start noticing how close Ronal and Tonawari are just now that you know her.
Nothing much, but still noticeable, because most of the women in the clan are not close enough to him to be touching him — but she does. And for some reason, a lingering touch on his arm here and two grazing knees there are all it takes to ruin your night.
You know it’s stupid — a lot, actually. You’d already figured that one day, Tonowari will have to choose a beautiful and probably Metkayina woman to mate with to become the Tsahìk when his mother won’t be able to be anymore. Ronal is smart, definitely the prettiest tsakarem out of Tsika’s group, and above all, an established Metkayina in the clan. You, meanwhile, still have to properly mount an ilu, and Eywa forbids a skimwing.
When the fire dies out and it’s time for everyone to go to sleep, you sneak away from your friends to find refuge in that same rocky coast you landed on the night you arrived, and find yourself looking at the stars.
The next morning, after yet another slip down the back of your ilu, you’re ready to pack your bags and go back to wallowing in your pity in the remains of the Hometree, but Tonowari stops you by the tail and drags you back into the water, already hoisting you up the ilu’s back again. “Come on,” he encourages you, getting on the saddle right behind you. “Make the bond– I'll worry about not making you fall.”
Your eye twitches. Just how are you supposed to stay focused on the ilu when you can feel his chest pressing against your back, and his arms basically engulfing your own as he holds onto the saddle? He blinks at your staring, acting oblivious. “What?”
By some miracle, you manage to focus on your mount. The ilu’s speed causes you to completely lean on Tonowari for support, but he doesn’t seem to mind — the opposite, actually. One of his arms wrap around your midriff to keep you more stable, and while underwater you can feel his chin rest on your shoulder, when you rise back to the surface it’s his breath that you can feel on your cheek — and you know for a fact that he’s doing that on purpose, because he’s much taller than you, and he has to be crouching to be almost your height.
“See?” He whispers in your ear. “It’s not so hard.” Well, of course it isn’t with him assuring you don’t fall. Slowly, you lift your head up to look at him, a brow raised in amusement. “Not with you here, mister.”
Your sultry gaze makes him blush — an absolute hunk of a man who has surely had his fun playing with your closeness up until now, defeated by the batting of eyelashes. Unbelievable. His index finger traces a little pattern over your side, his eyes not leaving yours, “Then I’ll be here for as long as you’ll need me.”
Wali and Em’a tease you endlessly about your lessons with Tonowari, and although they are terrible at catching fishes with the nets, whenever the two of you are out in the water they’re suddenly the most interested in fishing, even if their eyes are directed to anything but their supposed catches. They insist on rebraiding your hair in the Metkayina way when your braids start growing out, picking the prettiest shells and beads they can find to intertwine them in your strands. Considering you ditched your feather tops for their net-and-shell ones a while ago, if it weren’t for the colour of your skin and your tail you could probably pass as a reef Na’vi without too much trouble.
But the main problem remains — you are not a Metkayina, not in the true sense of the word. And you are reminded of that as you see Ronal drag Tonowari away from the bonfire during dinner.
Your mood shifts visibly. You play around with the fruits on your bowl, completely bummed, and Em’a and Wali share a knowing look. “Maybe she just wants to talk to him,” the latter whispers, as her friend nods. “Yeah, they butted heads allll the time when we were kids. I’m sure he just did an ugly marui pod and she wants to point out every single mistake he made with the weaving.”
You huff a bitter laugh, “Yeah, because I’m sure that that kind of stuff requires an immediate discussion.”
You go back to watching the stars atop the rocky coast that night — it’s a habit by now, because even if you feel happy here, you still miss your mother and sister. The thought of the three of you watching the same sky always manages to comfort you. Alas, now it’s helping you overcome how stupid you’re feeling, because you know that Ronal is perfect for Tonowari.
She’s been a tsakarem for longer than you, has grown up with him, knows how to ride an ilu perfectly and knows the way of the water like the back of her hand. She doesn’t come from who-knows-where, where trees grow as tall as the stars and far away from their beloved ocean, doesn’t have a useless tail for swimming, and doesn’t need to resurface constantly for a breath of air as much as you do. Wanting to be with him is selfish, because you’re fully aware that there’s already someone perfect for him out there.
Still, that doesn’t mean it hurts less.
The next day you opt to avoid Tonowari’s lessons, staying close to Em’a and Wali to help them stitch a wedding gift for one of the village’s couples on one of the empty, woven platform just above the water surface. The chief’s son had looked confused when he’d found you with the women instead of in your marui, but his questioning glance was met with a shrug. “Well, they need this gift done before the end of this week. I won’t be able to ride an ilu properly any time soon, anyways.”
His shoulders sag a bit and he looks like a grounded ikran, but he still nods and goes his way, back to the beach. “What?” you ask Em’a when she stares at you, gaping. “He looked so sad! Why didn’t you go with him? Me and Wali could’ve finished this alone!”
You go back to your stitching, fiddling with the strings. Your mind takes you back to the other day — the way his finger traced your skin — and still, a little part of you can’t help but wonder how things would be if he didn’t like another girl already. “Well, I wouldn’t want to intrude between him and Ronal, you know.”
Your friends stare at each other, not knowing what to say — it’s not like they can rebuke without knowing what the two of them talked about — or did — last night.
You spend the day avoiding Tonowari like they pay you for it, running errands in the forest for the Tsahìk and finishing baskets with the elders, and by the time dinner time arrives, you can’t evade him anymore without half the clan wondering what happened between you two.
You’re sitting beside Em’a — who’s arguing with Priya about what shells are best for a chest piece — when someone tugs at your braids as gently as possible. “Hey,”
Of course, it’s him. He looks a bit sheepish, a weird leather pouch over his shoulder as he lets your hair go and sits beside you, brushing a fallen braid behind your ear. “I like the way you did your hair– it’s really pretty.”
Well, if Priya and Em’a weren’t listening before, now they definitely are. It’s a miracle Wali is on cooking duty tonight, because otherwise, you’d have three very nosey listeners instead of two. You blush, “Um– really?” Damn him and the effect he has on you. One day, he’ll be Ronal’s — but you decide that it surely won’t be a problem if you have his attention, just for tonight.
He nods, a smile gracing his features. “The prettiest,” for some reason, it doesn’t feel like he’s talking about the braids anymore, but you’re not brave enough to point it out aloud. “You know, I was thinking that we could try again with the ilus tomorrow. Don’t let a few falls discourage you — I’m sure I fell a lot when I had to learn, too.”
You scoff, swatting him on the arm. “Really? Big, bad Tonowari beaten by a skimpy ilu?”
He rubs the back of his neck, “Well, actually, I don’t really remember — I was little — but I’m pretty sure my bad memory is just because I probably hit my head really hard while falling.”
That manages a laugh out of you — and it’s like he can go back to breathing properly, because he had really thought he had done something that offended you in some way or the other. He was more stressed than he let out this morning, when you refused to come with him to see the ilus.
The night goes on and you laugh like you haven’t in months. He sure knows how to make great company when he wants to, and his arm — leaned on the sand behind your back — sometimes brushes against your spine, causing pleased goosebumps to etch over your skin. Eywa, you want him to be even closer so bad.
And it’s just when he leans down and scoots a little closer, his hand tentatively resting on your back, that you notice her.
Ronal is glaring at you from the other side of the bonfire, her arms crossed and her fingers tapping impatiently. The charm wears off — you remind yourself that you can’t exactly pretend she doesn’t exist for a night, because even if you don’t owe her anything, you don’t want to cause any rift between her and Tonowari. It’s not like he’ll ever mate with you, anyway.
So you gently pull away, trying to ignore his hurt stare as you get up from your previous sitting position. “I– did I do something? Are you–”
“Sorry, I just need a breather,” you disappear into the forest, but not before seeing Ronal stomping angrily towards Tonowari, surely ready to yell at him. Priya and Em’a cast worried glances at your back, but you’re too distraught to actually notice.
The rocky coast is quiet in contrast to the continuous chatter of the bonfire, as the sound of the waves is the only thing breaking the silence. You hug your knees close to your chest, staring at the stars, wondering what and how Neytiri is doing right now — cuddled up with Jake, no doubt. Well, if Ronal wasn’t so perfect for Tonowari, you think you’d like being cuddled up to him, too–
A hand on your shoulder nearly makes you jump out of your bones — were you really so lost in your thoughts that you didn’t hear the same man you were just daydreaming about approaching? Embarrassing. If your father were alive, you wouldn’t hear the end of it.
Tonowari sits beside you again, and you hug your knees just a little closer. “I, um,” he stutters, and you can’t believe a man of his size is able to get embarrassed. “Today, when I went hunting outside the reef, I got you something.” He grabs the pouch slinged over his shoulders, opening it to reveal a beautiful conch shell.
You’ve never seen one so big — it’s probably the size of your head, if not bigger. The outer shell is iridescent, reacting to the bioluminescence of the waves that crash underneath you, while the inside is streaked in blue and purple. You’ve never seen anything like it, and you gape at the sight. “Tonowari, what…”
“I saw it and it just reminded me of you,” he explains, his cheeks a pleasant indigo. He holds it out for you to take, and if you weren’t sure your eyes were playing tricks on you, you’d say his hands were trembling slightly. “And so, as it is tradition, I thought I should’ve gotten it for you– if you will accept it, that is.”
You’re too dumbfounded by the seashell to really listen to him. You take it in your hands, tasting the weight of it, admiring its colors and wondering how something so beautiful could have reminded him of you. At last, you find yourself hugging it close to your chest, even if its spikes poke a little into your arm. “Thank you, Tonowari,” you say, feeling as full as anyone can be.
He perks up, his ears twitching like he’s in disbelief, his tail moving happily in the sand. “…Really? You accept it?”
You raise an eyebrow. “Why wouldn’t I?” It's a gift, and you don’t plan on giving it back to him anytime soon. It’s too beautiful to even sit anywhere near his man-cave.
The grin he makes takes up his whole face. “Okay. Okay, that’s great. Fantastic, even.”
Gently, he touches your arm. “So, how about riding those ilus tomorrow?”
The next morning, you manage to mount an ilu properly — without Tonowari behind you for support, that is. It’s nothing much, but it’s still a step forward into life in the reef, and from the way your teacher claps and hollers, you’d think you’d tamed an akula.
Later that evening, you’re still helping Em’a and Wali with their wedding gift, as well as recounting last night’s events to their flabbergasted faces. “A conch shell?” Wali asks to confirm, her thread and beads long forgotten.
You nod, mimicking the size of the shell with your hands, “Yeah, a thing this big,”
Em’a squeals, “No way! I didn’t think he was so straight forward!”
Confused, you ask, “What do you mean? He was just being nice,”
They look at each other, gaping, then back at you, “What do you mean, he was just being–”
They’re interrupted by someone sitting down next to you without asking permission, and you blanch when you see Ronal. “Oh– oh, um, hi.”
She blinks at you like it’s no big deal, then picks up a spare thread and needle and begins helping you with the netting. “So, what did Tonowari tell you last night?”
You hesitate. “Oh, um, you know — lessons stuff. A few tips on how to balance my weight on the ilus better. Um… in a– friendly way?”
She perks up an eyebrow suspiciously, her ears twitching in annoyance. “Lessons stuff, huh?” she repeats, stitching a shell in the most aggressive way you’ve ever seen — even Neytiri bad-mouthing Jake never reached these levels of hostility. “In a friendly way? Is that so?”
You share a panicked glance with your friends, laughing awkwardly. “Yes?” It sounds more like a question than a reply, and that’s probably what tips her over the edge. Her eye twitches, and she doesn’t even bother to put the needle and thread where she found them as she rises back up to her feet while grumbling, “If you’ll excuse me,”
“She didn’t even try to be sneaky,” Em’a mutters as soon as she’s out of hearing range, “what’s up with her?”
Your stomach churns, “Well, it’s probably the fact that–”
A loud slap echoes from the village, making the three of you flinch. A second slap ensues. When you look up, you notice that Tonowari is standing on the shore, holding his jaw with his cheeks already turning an ugly purple, and Ronal is marching away, fuming.
…Yeah. You probably shouldn’t have accepted that shell thinking that it wouldn’t matter if he was going to marry her anyways.
You wonder what exactly is between them, but can’t find it in yourself to ask him — mostly because you aren’t brave enough to tell him that you like him. Em’a and Wali can keep telling you that there’s nothing between them, but recent events continue to prove them wrong.
That night, at dinner, you mostly keep to yourself, deep in your thoughts, and even if Priya tries to drag you out of your misery, it’s all futile. For one reason or another the fruit you’re munching on tastes bitter, and you’re not sure if Tonowari’s absence around the bonfire helps or worsens your mood. It’s only when Ronal herself pats your shoulder and gestures for the beach that you get out of your haze.
She tugs you by your arm down onto the shore, as silent as ever. “Listen, I’m really sorry–”
“Did you do anything you need to apologise for?” she asks, jumping off a rock. You stumble, “I– well, I know you and Tonowari probably–”
“Stupid forest girl,” she huffs, not even looking at you, “thinks I want him like he’s some kind of trophy when he’s stupid like a baby–”
“Hey! That’s not nice–”
She tugs you roughly one last time only to let your arm go as you reach where the ocean meets the sand, and you fall down in the water, wetting your — newly made, you must add — loincloth. You groan, rubbing your backside, “Ow– I get that you’re mad, but this seems a little too much to me–”
Ronal points to somewhere behind you, looking tired of you. “Go.”
You blink, confused — and then you turn, only to catch sight of Tonowari, only a few klicks behind, mounting an ilu. He raises a hand to greet you, the smile on his face nervous, and you notice that he’s got that pouch slung over his shoulder again.
Hesitant, you turn to Ronal — looking for what, you don’t know. She raises an eyebrow expectantly, “What are you waiting for? Go.”
You’re not sure you want to know what kind of game she’s playing, but something tugs at your tail. It’s Nala, you come to realize, and she’s trying to drag you off to Tonowari.
You relent, following the zukzuk and mostly letting yourself get carried by the current until you’re in front of him. He gestures his fingers to his forehead as a salute and then holds his hand out to you, “Care for a swim?”
Still hesitant, you look at the ilu, then back at him. “No baby akulas trying to eat me this time?”
He laughs, “No, not where we’re going.”
You allow him to hoist you atop the ilu — because even if you're capable of doing it yourself, he always does that — and then climbs up in front of you, holding one hand behind your thigh to keep you steady and the other on the reins. “Hold on tight.”
You have to admit that riding at night is beautiful. Other than the moons and stars above you, the only light comes from the bioluminescence, and you remove one hand from his waist to brush the surface of the water, in awe. Nala swims beside you, holding up with the pace with some effort, but still looking very happy to see you and her carer together.
Tonowari stops the ilu when floating rocks and boulders — like a miniature-size Hallelujah Mountains — start to appear in the sky. “Where are we?”
He turns to smile at you. “You came here for Eywa, didn't you?” he asks, “Well, you could say we're going to visit her.”
He dives and you follow him, still a bit reluctant. He stops to let you catch up to him when he notices that you’re a bit behind him, a hand coming up to hold your smaller one — and suddenly, all of this feels very familiar. The fishes twirling around the two of you, the rocks and algae shimmering, the life you can feel buzzing within the water–
Tonowari lets go of your hand as you stare all around you, but it’s just to sign something. Come with me, our Spirit Tree is this way. His hand comes up to the small of your back, and if you weren’t holding your breath, you’re sure you would’ve sputtered.
If he notices the way you’re staring at him — like you just discovered a whole new person — he doesn’t mention it. He just guides you through the swarms of nocturnal fishes until you see it — the Spirit Tree.
Never in your life you would’ve thought that something like that could’ve existed underwater. It looks like it’s made out of dreams, shining upon anything that comes close to it, and Tonowari’s hand slowly leaves your back as you approach it — he’s letting you have some space, you realise.
Meeting the ancestors is like going back home — maybe it’s because in the spirit realm the Hometree and all the people that came down with it are alive, or maybe it’s because you didn’t do it for a long time. Either way, once you come back from it — you have to, the air in your lungs is starting to feel less and less every second that passes — you come to find out that finally, you feel truly at peace.
You swim up to a rock covered in moss to catch your breath, taking a moment to admire your surroundings — you’ve swam up to an open cave, it seems, painted and engraved with stories from the start of the Metkayina clan to the new days. Tulkuns, ilus and Na’vi twirl across the stone, set for an endless dance across generations, and you hear the water crinkle beside you.
“Do you like it?”
You nod, “It’s beautiful. Our Spirit Tree, back in the forest, doesn’t really offer any space for carvings.”
Tonowari nods, looking at the artwork scattered across the walls. “This is the Cove of the Ancestors. It’s where we bring the dead to rest, where newborns have their first contact with Eywa and ceremonies are held.”
You hum, already imagining him in full Olo’eyktan attire, his father passing down his spear to him. The man clears his throat. “I… I also brought you here for another reason other than the Spirit Tree — Ronal suggested I might’ve wanted to… clear things up a bit between us.”
You feel your heart skip a beat. Ah, there it goes. “There’s nothing to clear up,” you assure him, even if your chest feels like it’s imploding. “It’s okay. I know you have responsibilities — and we both know that Ronal’s the best tsakarem out there.”
He blinks, confused. A beat passes, slowly. Then, “But I don’t want Ronal.”
Oh. Oh.
You stutter, wondering if he’s joking — and from the way he’s looking at you, he’s not. “But– I thought you two had a thing. She dragged you away from the bonfire the other night — she’s always so close — she slapped you this morning just because we talked last night.”
Tonowari’s laughter is sincere and without any malice behind it. “What? No!”
He removes his pouch from his shoulder, and opens it to reveal another conch shell– even bigger than the last one. It’s different, though: this one reminds you of him, all turquoise and light blue accents, and you wonder just how many hours he has spent looking for it. “Here in Awa’atlu, gifting a big conch shell symbolises the start of a courtship,” he explaines — embarrassed, perhaps? “I got so used to having you around that I forgot you weren’t born Metkayina, and probably didn’t know of the tradition. Honestly, I was too happy you had accepted it to ask myself if you knew about it — and for that, I owe you my apologies.”
You soften visibly, but still hold a little resistance. “But Ronal–”
“Ronal is a friend,” he empathizes the word, “if anything, she sees me as a brother she can’t get out of her hair. All this time, she’s pressured me to make my move on you — before the other skxawngs in the village noticed all your qualities. That day at the bonfire? We kept arguing over what compliments I should’ve used for your hair.”
You blush, “I kept telling her I should’ve just told you that you were beautiful — which was true — but she kept insisting for a subtler approach. And when we came back, you weren’t there.”
You fiddle with the shells of your chestpiece, “Well, I thought you went to have some alone time with her or something,” you mutter.
Another laugh. “So, you escaped to watch the stars every time we were a little too close? I’m flattered that you kept looking at me,”
You push at his arm, “Then why did she slap you this morning? Your cheeks are still swollen, by the way.”
He snorts, “Ouli — the ceremonial tattooer — gave her a conch shell a week ago, and she has accepted it. She can’t wait to be absolved from tsakarem’s duties, but they can’t step down until the Tsahìk — and the future chief — choose who, one day, will guide the people spiritually.” Two of his fingers come up to your chin, holding your head up to stare into your eyes softly, “She was waiting for me to choose you. I told her I’d propose the shell to you yesterday, and then she found out that apparently, you saw it as a friendly talk. Needless to say, she was pissed.”
“But– I’m not even fully trained yet. She’s better at–”
He shakes his head, “I don’t care what she’s better at — I know you’ll learn everything about our ways, eventually. You’ve already proven yourself worthy enough.” he raises the shell again, his hand moving up to your cheek. “So, what do you say if we try this once more? I found another shell just to ask you again.”
You take the shell in your hands, admiring it for a moment before throwing all your self-control out of the picture, jumping in his arms so abruptly that he falls down on his backside. The kiss is mind-shattering, his hug is everything you imagined it would be, and his body is just as warm as it was in the dream where you saw him for the first time.
The funniest thing is that once you pull away, you both are gasping for air — something you’ve never seen him do, even after diving sessions that seemed to be hours long. Tightening the hold of your arms around his neck, you press your chests even closer, your noses brushing. “Is this the answer you wanted?”
He huffs a chuckle, his eyes already looking down at your lips again, “I don’t know– seemed a bit too friendly to me. But maybe, if you do that again, say, three or four times more, I might grasp the concept fully…”
You’re pretty sure the two of you could’ve stayed there kissing all night — and maybe even more than that, with the way you could feel him pressing against your crotch — if it wasn’t for Nala, who, by the time you went back for seconds for the fourth time, already had enough and positively jumped over the two of you, breaking the sweet moment with barks and flaps of her tail.
That doesn’t stop you from sharing quick, frenzy kisses whenever she’s not looking, as by the time Tonowari accompanies you back to your marui, your lips still feel swollen and are surely flushed. “I’ll see you tomorrow?” he asks you, pressing one last peck to your cheek. You nod, giving his hand one last squeeze, “‘Course,”
You decide to take things slowly — you still don’t know the Metkayina’s ways to their full extent, after all. The next few months are made of exhausting training, as now you’re the only tsakarem and still have to pass your iknimaya, and you don’t want to let anyone down. You know the expectations that everyone has about the Tsahìk, and you surely have no intention to make Tonowari look bad as Olo’eyktan when the time comes.
And about him, he surely makes the intensive training easier.
Everytime he notices that you’re a little too stressed he makes sure to bring you a trinket from his hunts — let it be a weird rock that looks like a heart or a basket full of shells you can make your chest coverings with. He finds flowers to put in your hair during meal times, and just swings you over his shoulder like a pouch full of water when he decides that you’re overworking yourself a tad bit too much, dragging you to his marui for a well-deserved nap.
The day of your iknimaya marks your formal entry in the clan — one who later on becomes even more real thanks to your mating ceremony.
It’s a quiet affair — quieter than it is usual for the son of the chief — but neither of you resent the lack of festivities or celebration, because the most important thing is that you are now mated for life. Per Metkayina tradition, you rebraid each other’s kuru braids, picking beads and shells perfect for each other just for the occasion, and when the time to exchange your wedding gifts comes, you think back to Priya’s words and wonder just who she married — because the comb Tonowari carved out of coral is nothing short of stunning.
“I’ve never been to your forest,” he tells you as you brush the swirls of the flowers and trees etched along the smooth side, “but I’ve tried imagining it so many times, I can only hope I brought it justice.” It may not be completely accurate to the forest, but the thought he put into it is more than appreciated nonetheless. In exchange, he wears your armband like it’s a badge of honor, even if it’s a little too tight on his bicep. (Not that you’re complaining — the sight is scrumptious, and you can’t believe you get to wake up next to him for the rest of your life.)
You quickly settle in the marui Tonowari built with his father in the months of courting, and after a few months of blissful marriage, you don’t even notice when your belly starts to grow.
You just assumed you were getting a little too comfortable in your new life with him and maybe put on a bit of weight — after all, the Metkayina are much softer than the Omatikaya, so maybe your body’s just adapting to the environment. You think so, until Tonowari points it out.
One morning, as he’s tying his braids back, he stops to look at you — still lying half-asleep on the mat you share, barely awake yet. He crouches to stare weirdly at your belly, then pokes at your bellybutton like he’s trying to study a new species of fish. “Oeyä Tanhì,” he starts — my star, a nickname he has taken a liking to calling you since your wedding.
You hum non-committedly. “Yes, Ma Wari?”
He keeps poking at your stomach, and keeps doing so even when you try to swat his hand away. “Stop it, Tonowari, it tickles.”
He kisses your cheek, and continues doing so all the way to your forehead, brushing your hair away from your face as he leans his cheek over the top of your head. His chuckle is full of disbelief as he whispers, “My love, I think you’re with child. Your belly is rounder and stiff.”
A moment passes. Then, “Are you calling me fat first thing in the morning, Tonowari?”
A terrifying silence and a visit to Tsika later, it’s confirmed — you are pregnant, already four months along. You’re confused, mostly because your people don’t show up until five months, but one look at your hunk of a husband is all it takes to explain your questions.
Your second tattoo is to celebrate the pregnancy. While the first was above your eyebrow and went down to your cheek, this one cups the upper part of your belly and continues to your sides, still leaving some space for eventual other tattoos on your lower belly and hips.
At night, you sit on the step going onto the ocean of your marui, letting your feet float in the water as Tonowari sits on a banked canoe below, rubbing ointment on your freshly-done tattoo. “The arch symbolises the first pregnancy,” he mumbles softly, “the sides, protection for the firstborn. If another pregnancy occurs, a piece will be added here,” he brushes against the empty, rounded sides of your belly, “for protection of the second born, and then one for the third, and so on.”
You laugh, playing with one of his braids. “I think you’re getting too full of yourself, mister– let me give birth to this one before talking about other children, will you?”
He rests his head in your lap, almost purring when you start tracing lines over his face and scalp, “And when the child is born,” he adds, a hand still over your stomach, “the father gets a tattoo over the heart, one that turns into a spiral as more children come.”
A hum, “Maybe we should start thinking about names first, Ma Wari.”
The agreement is, he chooses the name if it’s a boy, you choose if it’s a girl. He picks the name Aonung; you opt for Tsireya.
His father’s illness comes as a bitter surprise to all.
It starts with a cough, then he’s getting groggy when he moves a little too much, until no remedies the Tsahìk, you or the healers try to use work, as he lies bedridden in the marui him and his wife have shared for decades.
Tonowari is understandingly broken up about it — the man who he grew up idolizing, who offered you a refuge in your grief, who helped him build the marui where you’ll be raising your child and every other one that might come after them. He won’t be meeting his grandchild, and even if Arvak insists for you to sleep properly in your own pod for the wellness of the baby, you’re not going to leave him or your husband alone in this difficult time.
You and your mate spend every night by his side as Tsika prays and chants for Eywa, not getting a blink of sleep herself, until the inevitable comes, and Arvak’s hand finally goes limp in hers.
The period of mourning doesn’t seem like nearly enough for Tonowari to handle his grief — he spends every night curled up into you, resting his head on your lap, trying to find comfort in you and his unborn child. He’s so big that if the situation was a little different, you would’ve laughed; instead, you just hold him close and sing him to sleep.
But life doesn’t stop for grief, and you know that well. Soon, he’s named Olo’eyktan and you Tsahìk, Tsika stepping down from her position with tears in her eyes as she gives you her headpiece.
Time in the village goes fast — people to heal, ceremonies to make, salves to concoct and prayers to hear. Months pass and your belly starts feeling impossibly big, so much so that the kids of the clan start following you everywhere to help their increasingly more tired Tsahìk. Tonowari always laughs when he sees them, going on about how Nala now has competition for the place in your heart reserved for children and animals, and the otterfin herself brings you a gift everyday — let it be a polished rock she found while swimming or a type of seaweed she thinks to be delicious.
The contractions start at night. You toss and turn in pain but try to avoid waking up Tonowari, just in case it’s a false alarm like the ones you had in the last three days. It’s only when he nudges you with a gentle hand — hair still mussed a bit with sleep — and tells you that the mat is wet that you understand that your child is coming.
Tsika and Ronal — now one of the best healers in the village and happily mated to Ouli — don’t spare any minute after your husband calls for them, and immediately have him carry you — now almost delirious with pain — to the birthing pond, where the water is warm and Eywa’s presence strong. The sigh you let out when your husband gently positions you against the rocky wall of it is one of pure bliss, and your clammy skin now surely doesn’t give you any problem.
Aonung is born hours later at dawn, resurfacing out of the water by himself like tradition, crying out for his father to take him. Tonowari takes one good look at him, hears his strong wails and immediately passes him to your tired, waiting arms, “A boy,” he says breathlessly, brushing your braids out of your face, “a healthy, strong boy.” He presses his lips to your forehead, a tear slipping down his cheek, “Thank you, Oeyä Tanhì, thank you.”
“Aonung,” you call out sobbing, as the babe stops his crying and latches onto your breast. “Hi, my sweet, hi,” he’s a little bigger than Omatikaya babies, but you love him nonetheless. He nestles over your chest as soon as he’s done feeding, and chooses that that’s now his favourite place to be.
In the next few weeks, your son reveals himself to be a real mama’s boy. During the day, he stays curled up in your chest in the netted wrap that Em’a and Wali had made for you, and Eywa forbid Tonowari tries to help you by taking him — because he will cry until his ears beg for mercy, only to go back to being an angel as soon as he passes him back to you.
The children coo and poke at him when you bring him to meet them, and one of the older ones jokes about how he looks just like your husband, but can only stand you. You laugh at that, because it is true — Aonung is his father’s copy, and maybe that’s why he likes you so much.
It’s only when he reaches three months of age that you gather enough courage to ask Tonowari to visit the forest — not because you’re afraid he’ll say no, but because you’re not sure if you’re ready for it. It’s been almost two years since you left now, and while you aren’t exactly ready to see the remains of the fallen Hometree again, you want Aonung to meet his grandmother and aunt, and your husband to see where you grew up.
Of course, the latter could never deny you anything, and a week later you get on Ry’ia with him behind you and set sail for the forest of the Omatikaya. The village is left to Tsika’s hands, and Aonung babbles happily against your chest as he flies for the first time in his life.
The village is in the same place it was two years ago — it’s just grown a lot since then, marui pods where the branches once weren’t even steady enough — and you laugh when Ry’ia leaves you immediately to go back to the ikrans’ nest, ready to meet her old friends no doubt. You keep one hand over Aonung’s small back and the other in Tonowari’s palm, guiding him through the branches and groves as he stumbles many times.
You laugh, “How does the forest feel, reef boy?”
He pales as he stares down the branch you’re standing on, wondering just how many people die here from falling down into the void. “Dangerous, my love.”
Neytiri screams when she first sees you — alerting all the other villagers about your arrival. She runs to hug you tight, not even noticing your son nestled between you two or the reef Na’vi awkwardly standing behind you until you pull back, a soft smile on your lips. “Sister, it’s been so long–”
You laugh, nodding. “It has been, sister. I wanted to introduce you to Tonowari–” the man salutes her with his fingers going to his forehead and then gesturing towards her as you take Aonung out of his wrap and into your arms, “and little Aonung.”
You don’t notice the way her face falls instantly. Your boy coos at her, gesturing his fat little arms towards her, and the moment is interrupted by Mo’at, far more pleased than her elder daughter at the turn of events. When your sister takes her nephew in her arms and your mother hugs you, she stares at his turquoise skin, larger tail and wide forearms with worry, “He’ll never be able to move fully in the forest with these,”
You chuckle, still in your mother’s embrace, “A good thing we live in the reef then, no?”
Her eyes skim over your sturdier arms, the tattoos over your body and the seashells braided into your hair– and before you know it, she leaves Aonung in Jake’s arms and storms off.
Being back home is nice — because while Awa’atlu became your home in the last two years, here in the forest still live your friends and family, and it’s where you grew up. Your mother spoils Aonung rotten and watches him as you go hunting on your ikran with Ninat and Peyral, while Jakesully — upon Tonowari’s insistence — tries to show him the way of the forest. Your friends chuckle every time they catch sight of your husband, asking if every Na’vi in the reef is as big as him, and if you know any Metkayina men willing to marry in the Omatikaya.
Neytiri, who you found out to be pregnant the day you arrived, mostly stays by herself, pondering, and whenever you ask if she wants to do anything with you she refuses, lamenting nausea or other pains.
You talk to Mo’at about it, worried, but she just gives you a weird look. “She’s grieving, child.”
Your eyebrows rise up to your hairline, “What do you mean, grieving? Who died?”
“She thought you were still traveling,” she whispers, caressing Aonung’s curls while he munches on the beads of your braids, “and that once you were ready, you would’ve come back to living here. Seeing you with a mate and a son… it broke her heart, because now she knows you’re not coming back.”
You think back to all the times you two talked about how your children would grow up together, being best friends and close just like you did — and your heart breaks a little, too, because in all of this, you hadn’t considered how she would take the fact of you never fully returning to the forest.
That night, you leave Aonung with Tonowari — as your son has finally started to appreciate his father a little, too — and go looking for Neytiri at the Tree of Souls, knowing that at this hour, she usually prays and chants her songcord.
She stops when she hears you approach, her ears perking up. You smile softly, “I thought we could pray together– like the old days?” When your father was still alive, your sister still arranged to Tsu’tey, and the both of you were less complicated. When she could still become Tsahìk, and you had no reason to.
She scoffs a little, “Like the old days,” she mutters, “am I supposed to pretend that you didn’t turn your back on me?”
You grimace, taking a seat next to her, “Tiri…”
“Don’t ‘Tiri’ me,” she hisses, “you have no right– I was waiting for you. Waiting for you to come back–” her voice cracks — pregnancy emotions; you know them too well. “For you to come back here and marry one of our men like our ancestors did for centuries. Instead, you marry a reef Na’vi and– and move Eywa knows how far from here without saying anything–”
She breaks down, and you shush her gently, cradling her head on your shoulder. This feels familiar, because when you were kids, she was usually the one comforting you. “Why did it have to be the Olo’eyktan?” she cries, her tears wetting your skin, “Couldn’t you find someone less important — someone you could come here to live with?”
You shake your head, pressing your cheek on the crown of her hair for comfort, “I didn’t choose him, Tiri,” you say softly, “I fell in love. That’s not something one controls, and you, out of all people, should know that.”
Still in denial, she sobs harder, “What will it be of our kids?” she asks, pressing a hand over her slightly swollen belly, “Will they grow up as strangers, like they’ll be to our father and sister? Will they look at their aunt and wonder if she’s an outsider?”
“Never, sister, never,” you hush, “we’ll visit — you and Jake can visit, too.”
As her cries die down, she asks, “Does the thought of living here still scare you so much?”
And for that, to your horror, you don’t find an answer.
Tsireya comes a little over a year after her brother, and this time, she looks like you. She still has her father’s Metkayina features — the tail, her forearms — but one good look at her face, and it doesn’t take a Tsahìk to guess that she’s your daughter. Ironically enough, she prefers her father's chest over yours — unless we’re talking about feeding time, because, let’s be real, Tonowari will never be able to beat you at that for obvious reasons.
Aonung has started to waddle a while ago, and has been restless since. He goes from your marui to his grandmother’s, visiting Ronal and Em’a on the way, falling at least twelve times in the meantime. He loves swimming with you and his father, constantly bugs his sister when she’s stealing the milk that he’s convinced should be his, and plays with Nala on the shore when the zukzuk starts following him around.
He’s a sweet boy who brings you flowers and pieces of fruit when he notices the smallest frown on your face, and loves cuddles from mom and dad before and after going to sleep. And even if he’s a little mean to his sister sometimes, you know he loves her very much from the way he begs you to let her swim with him or wants to share his food with her.
You visit Neytiri a few more times, but the visits slowly come to an end when you realize that she has no intention of ever coming to the reef to see the life you’ve built here. While Mo’at visits frequently, bringing the children gifts and swarming them with affection, your older sister seems to have accepted the fact that in her eyes, you’ll never be truly close again.
You accept the notion with far more ease than you could have ever imagined — because you have a family now, and people that look up to you for guidance. If Neytiri doesn’t want to see that, it’s okay; you’ll never manage to love her any less for it.
The kids grow quicker than you realize, because soon, Tsireya is waddling behind Aonung too, and the excruciating process of weaning her off starts.
Her brother had been even more difficult, so you’re actually quite relieved to see that she at least does not cry herself to exhaustion every night like he did. But every time she lets out the smallest whimper, you find Tonowari’s big eyes boring into yours, with that look that says, we could resolve the problem by just having another baby. You always glare at him when he suggests that, because two kids under three already feel like more than enough now, and you have no intention of having another one so soon.
But as she often does, Eywa has a different plan for you.
Tonowari hurriedly wakes you up one night as you’re resting on the sleeping mat, nearly asleep as the kids quietly snore beside you. He’d been out all evening to help his mother with some herbs while you watched the children, so you’re worried to find him so distraught. “One of the Ta’unui’s women died in birth,” he whispers, careful not to wake up Aonung or Tsireya, “they need to feed him, but none of the women in their village is nursing. Could you…?”
He doesn’t even have to ask, really, because five minutes later you’re sitting in the Tsahìk’s tent, nursing little Rotxo while the Ta’unui Olo’eyktan shares worried whispers with Tonowari. The newborn is a little chunkier than Aonung and Tsireya were, but that just means that his mom, while she could, took good care of him.
“He’s an orphan,” you hear the chief say, “his dad died a little while ago on a hunt, and he’s only got his grandmother now — but frankly, she’s old, and I doubt she’ll be able to take care of him for long…”
The solution seems clear in your eyes, and after talking to Rotxo’s grandmother about her new place in the Metkayina village, you introduce Aonung and Tsireya to their new little brother. They don’t ask why you didn’t have a big belly like the other pregnant women in the village, or why his skin isn’t a little bluer like theirs, and instead take to him instantly, putting shared efforts to find nice shells and smooth little rocks to put in the woven crib where he naps.
Everyday, you bring him to his grandmother so that she can have a piece of her daughter back with her, and slowly, she takes a liking to your children as well. They start calling her grandma like they do to Tsika and Mo’at, and you don’t miss the way she seems to be rejuvenated by being around such lively children.
“No more kids, huh?” Tonowari teases you gently one evening, the sun fading into the horizon, as you breastfeed little Rotxo while watching Aonung and Tsireya play with ilu cubs in the water.
You swat his arm, so tired but so full of love. “Oh, shut up, Tonowari. The next kid we have, we’ll have in at least ten years.”
He raises an eyebrow, amused, “Oh? So, we will have another kid?”
You blush — incredible how after having two of his kids and being bare for him so many times, he still manages to get a reaction out of you. “Maybe.”
He hums, an arm wrapping around your shoulders as he presses a gentle kiss to your temple. “Yeah? And what do you want to call them, if it’s a girl?”
You look down to little Rotxo, his hand opening and closing around the curve of your breast, his chunky belly pressing against your ribs. It’s ridiculous — the way Tonowari can get you to think about another baby while already having three small children.
