Why are you not re-blogging? You think the fandom is dead, that no one’s interacting anymore, no one’s doing anything, no one’s writing, no one’s posting. ‘Everyone was so hyperfixed on that character, Where is the writing?’
People are writing. People aren’t reblogging. People aren’t giving some good feedback to motivate the writers that are putting their hard work, time, effort into making this piece that you were reading.
‘oh, it’s just too much work. You don’t wanna click that button and then click a few tags.’ Then you’re gonna have to suffer and not see a lot of writing from a lot of people because the only way this fucking app works is if you reblog.
I see so many pieces of work with 59 likes and 1 blog, I just saw one that had 690 likes and it had 9 reblogs. Even 1,000 likes and only 59 reblogs too. It’s devastating to see for the community of Tumblr. And I’ve been here for like five years, the way this app works is if you re-blog.
There’s so many people that are writing. There’s so many amazing things that I see and I try my best to reblog every single one that I read. That’s what I love doing because sharing someone’s piece of work is just beautiful because it allows me to show it to more people.
I reblog. And the beauty of it is;
I get notifications that this person liked it and this person liked it, and then that post continues to get more views, more likes and reblogs. All just because one person, reblogged it.
so please, if you are a part of Tumblr and you love reading your favorite writers fics, or love reading about your favorite character, please do your job and reblog it.
And if you don’t like re-blogging because you don’t want to do that on your account, then you can make another account and put all of the things that you read on that account. You can do separate things, like fic recs.
You can figure it the fuck out if you want people to actually be writing for a character you love. The writers are writing, you ain’t helping them share their work.
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.
The communal fire crackled as the clan gathered for the evening meal. You sat with Kiri and Tuk, laughing at one of Tuk’s animated stories about her day, when you felt eyes on you.
“Someone’s staring,” Kiri sang under her breath, not even bothering to look up from her food.
“He’s always staring,” you muttered back, fighting the smile tugging at your lips.
Neteyam sat with his parents and Lo’ak across the fire, supposedly listening to his father’s conversation, but his golden eyes kept flickering to you. You’d been mated for only a few weeks, and he still looked at you like you were the only person in the clan.
“It’s disgusting,” Lo’ak announced loudly enough for you to hear, earning himself a swift smack to the back of his head from Neytiri. “Ow! What? It is! He’s been like a lovesick yerik since the bonding ceremony.”
“Lo’ak,” Jake warned, but you could see him trying not to smile.
“I’m just saying, before he was only mostly annoying. Now he’s completely unbearable. ‘Have you seen her? Where is she? I need to check on her,’” Lo’ak mimicked in an exaggerated voice.
Neteyam’s ears flattened against his skull. “I do not sound like that.”
“You absolutely do, brother,” Kiri called over cheerfully. “Yesterday you asked me three times if she was okay when she was literally sitting right next to me.”
Your cheeks flushed as the family dissolved into laughter. Even Jake was chuckling now, while Neytiri tried and failed to hide her amused smile behind her hand.
“My son, the mighty warrior,” she teased gently, reaching over to pat Neteyam’s arm. “Reduced to following his mate around like a baby.”
“I do not follow her—”
“You literally walked into a tree yesterday because you were watching her,” Tuk piped up helpfully.
The gathering erupted in laughter again. You covered your face with your hands, torn between mortification and affection for your completely smitten mate.
Neteyam stood abruptly, his tail swishing in agitation, and started making his way around the fire. Your heart picked up speed as he approached with clear purpose in his eyes.
“Oh, here we go,” Lo’ak muttered. “Incoming.”
“Neteyam—” you started, but he was already there, offering his hand.
“Walk with me.”
“We’re eating—”
“Now, yawne.”
Kiri snorted. “So commanding.”
You took his hand anyway because, despite his family’s teasing, you’d follow him anywhere. He pulled you to your feet and immediately started leading you away from the fire, his fingers laced tightly with yours.
“Your family is never going to let you live this down,” you said, laughing as you walked toward the edge of the gathering.
“I don’t care.”
“You walked into a tree?”
“A small tree. Barely a tree. More like a large branch.”
You were still giggling when you reached the quieter outskirts of the celebration, near the large roots of Hometree where the light from the fire barely reached. The bioluminescent plants cast a soft glow around you, and the sounds of the clan faded to a gentle murmur.
Neteyam turned to face you, and something in his expression made your breath catch. The playfulness from moments ago had shifted into something more intense.
“You were talking to Ka’vio earlier,” he said, his voice low.
“I… what?” You blinked, trying to remember. “Oh, at the hunt gathering? He was just asking about—”
“He was standing very close to you.”
“Neteyam, he was asking me about herb preparations for his mother—”
“And smiling.”
“People smile when they talk, my love.”
His hands found your waist, pulling you flush against him in one smooth motion. Your hands instinctively came up to rest on his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath your palms.
“He has been smiling at you a lot lately,” Neteyam said, his face dipping close to yours. His voice had taken on a rough edge that sent shivers down your spine. “I do not like it.”
“Are you jealous?” you breathed, even though the answer was obvious in the way he held you, the possessive gleam in his eyes.
“Of Ka’vio? No.” His lips quirked up in a smirk that made your knees weak. “But I think perhaps I need to remind him who you belong to.”
“Oh?” You tried to sound unaffected, but your voice came out breathy. “And who’s that?”
His hands tightened on your waist, and he leaned in until his lips brushed against your ear. The question came out in a low, teasing rumble that made heat pool in your belly:
“Who is your mate, yawne?”
Your breath hitched. “That’s not fair—”
“Say it.” He pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes dancing with mischief and desire. One hand slid up to cup the back of your neck while the other remained possessively on your waist. “I want to hear you say it.”
“You’re being ridiculous,” you managed, but you were smiling, heart racing.
“Maybe.” He nipped playfully at your jaw, making you gasp. “Say it anyway.”
“Neteyam—”
“Who?” His tail wrapped around your leg, and you could feel the rumble of satisfaction in his chest at having you caged in his arms.
“You,” you finally surrendered, pulling him closer by his necklace. “You are my mate, Neteyam te Suli Tsyeyk’itan. Only you. Always you.”
The smirk melted into something softer, more reverent. “That’s right,” he murmured, pressing his forehead to yours. “Mine.”
“Yours,” you agreed, and then his lips were on yours, claiming and tender all at once.
The kiss deepened, his hand threading through your hair while yours explored the strong lines of his back. You forgot about Ka’vio, about the teasing, about everything except the way Neteyam held you like you were precious and his all at once.
“THEY’RE MAKING OUT!”
You sprang apart to find Tuk standing several feet away, hands cupped around her mouth, announcing your private moment to literally everyone.
“TUK!” you and Neteyam shouted in unison.
“I FOUND THEM! THEY’RE BEING GROSS!”
Lo’ak’s cackle carried across the clearing. “I TOLD YOU! He can’t keep his hands off her for five minutes!”
Neteyam dropped his head to your shoulder with a groan while you buried your flaming face in his chest.
“Your family,” you mumbled against him.
“Our family,” he corrected, but you could feel him smiling. “Come on. Let’s go somewhere they can’t find us.”
“There is nowhere they can’t find us.”
“Then we’ll go somewhere they won’t follow.” He took your hand again, that mischievous glint back in his eyes. “I know a spot.”
As he led you deeper into the forest, you could still hear Lo’ak’s voice carrying through the night: “Dad, they’re leaving! Should someone tell them that we can all see their bioluminescence trails? …Dad? Dad, are you laughing?!”
You looked up at Neteyam, who was definitely trying not to laugh, his ears still pink from embarrassment but his grip on your hand unwavering.
“Worth it?” you asked.
He stopped, pulled you close again, and kissed you soundly. “Always.”
————————————————————————
Later at the secluded waterfall…
You know,” you said, trailing your fingers down his arm as you sat tucked against his side on the smooth rocks, “you really don’t have to worry about Ka’vio. Or anyone else.”
Neteyam’s tail twitched. “I know that.”
“Do you?”
He was quiet for a moment, then sighed. “I see you. I see how the other warriors look at you. How could they not? You are beautiful, kind, fierce…” His arm tightened around you. “Sometimes I still can’t believe you chose me.”
You turned to face him fully, cupping his face in your hands. “Neteyam, I didn’t just choose you. I see you - all of you. The mighty warrior, yes, but also the male who brings me flowers he thinks I’ll like. Who lets Tuk braid his hair even when she tangles it hopelessly. Who worries about everyone but himself.” You pressed a soft kiss to his lips. “You’re stuck with me, my love. No amount of smiling warriors will change that.”
He searched your eyes, then smiled - that soft, genuine smile he saved just for you. “I love you.”
“I love you too. Even when you’re being a possessive skxawng.”
“I prefer ‘protective.’”
“You walked into a tree.”
“I thought we agreed never to speak of that again.”
You laughed, and he kissed you again, slower this time, reverent. His hands traced patterns on your skin that made you shiver, and you felt the bond between you pulse with warmth and affection and desire.
“Although,” you murmured against his lips, “I didn’t hate the jealous thing. The whole ‘who is your mate’ question was—”
“Was what?” He pulled back with that insufferable smirk, reading your flushed face perfectly.
“Nothing.”
“No, no. Please continue.” His hand slid up your thigh, his touch feather-light and teasing. “You didn’t hate it?”
“Neteyam…”
“Should I ask again?” He leaned in close, voice dropping to that low rumble. “Who is your mate, sevin?”
Your breath caught, and you could feel him smile against your neck.
“That’s what I thought,” he murmured, and proceeded to spend the rest of the night thoroughly reminding you exactly who you belonged to - and who belonged to you.
————————————————————————
The next morning at breakfast
You have leaves in your hair,” Kiri observed dryly.
“And your lips are swollen,” Lo’ak added with a grin. “Both of you. It’s like you’re allergic to subtlety.”
Neteyam just smiled, completely unrepentant, and pulled you closer. His family groaned in unison.
Jake shook his head, but you caught him squeezing Neytiri’s hand, a knowing look passing between them.
“Young love,” Neytiri sighed, though her eyes were warm.
“Young idiocy,” Lo’ak corrected.
“You’re just jealous,” Tuk announced matter-of-factly. “Because you don’t have a mate who looks at you like Neteyam looks at her.”
Everyone turned to stare at the youngest Sully.
“What?” She blinked innocently. “It’s true. It’s nice. I want someone to look at me like that one day.”
Neteyam’s expression softened, and he reached over to tug gently on one of Tuk’s braids. “One day, tsmuke. But not for many, many years.”
“Agreed,” Jake said firmly. “Many years.”
You leaned into Neteyam’s side, watching his family bicker and tease, and felt overwhelmingly grateful. For him, for them, for this chaotic, loving, ridiculous family you’d married into.
Neteyam pressed a kiss to your temple, and you felt rather than heard his quiet words: “I see you.”
“I see you,” you whispered back, and ignored Lo’ak’s gagging sounds entirely.
____________________________________________
Author’s note: again writing I had stored up let me know if you guys like it
Hi!Could you write a sad fanfic?For example,the reader is the eldest daughter in the family.Therefore, she's older than Neteyam and responsible for the younger children.Jake raised her as a warrior and is very strict with her,unlike the other children. For example,he treats Kiri with a special tenderness, more than he does his own daughter.This deeply hurts the reader, but she doesn't show it. So,during the war,Jake entrusts her with protecting the younger children,which results in the reader's death.I need to cry because I still haven't recovered from Neteyam's death💔
Built for War
Awwww this idea really made me cry😭. I hope it doesn't make you cry (actually it does, so I'm not the only one who had to cry)
Have fun reading ✨
Masterlist
You were his first child, the one who came before the others softened him, before he learned how to kneel when someone cried instead of telling them to stand.
Jake Sully did not know how to be a father when you were born, he only knew how to be a soldier, so that is what he made of you.
From the time you could walk steadily, he placed a bow in your hands. From the time you could climb, he told you not to look down. When you fell, he did not rush forward in panic like other fathers might have, he stood back, arms crossed, watching with sharp eyes that measured strength instead of fear.
“Get up,” he would say, and you always did. You learned quickly that praise from him did not come in soft smiles or warm embraces. It came in nods. In fewer corrections. In silence that meant you had done well enough.
Then Neteyam was born, and something shifted not in you, but in him. He was still strict, still commanding, but with Neteyam there was pride that felt warm instead of heavy.
When Neteyam succeeded, Jake’s voice carried approval. When he failed, Jake corrected him, yes, but with a hand on his shoulder and a steady reminder that he would do better next time.
With you, it was always expectation. “You are the oldest.” “You set the example.” “You don’t get to make mistakes like that.”
Lo’ak came next, and Jake’s frustration with him felt different too louder, but almost… forgiving. Lo’ak was reckless, and Jake scolded him for it, yet there was something in his tone that said he understood that recklessness, because it mirrored his own.
Kiri was treated with a tenderness that carved something quiet and painful inside your ribs. When she asked questions about Eywa, Jake crouched to meet her eyes. When she grew overwhelmed, he softened, voice low, patient in a way you could not remember him ever being with you.
And Tuk sweet, small Tuk wrapped around his finger so easily that sometimes you wondered if you had imagined the version of him that once lifted you into the air without worry about how strong you would become.
But you never complained. Because you were the firstborn.
You were the one who braided Tuk’s hair when her hands were too small to do it herself. You were the one who helped Neteyam practice late at night when he thought he was not good enough. You were the one who stood between Lo’ak and Jake when arguments burned too hot. You were the steady one, the reliable one, the one who did not cry when scolded.
Warriors do not cry. Warriors endure.
The night before the final battle, when the sky felt too quiet and the air carried the kind of stillness that comes before something terrible, Jake called you aside.
He did not ask if you were afraid. He did not tell you to stay safe. He simply looked at you with that assessing gaze and said, “You’re in charge of the younger ones. Keep them out of the fight unless it’s unavoidable.” There was trust in it. Heavy trust. The kind he had been building into you your entire life.
You straightened instinctively. “Yes, sir.” He placed his hand on your shoulder briefly, firm and grounding, and added, “You’re my strongest.” It was meant as pride, and maybe it was, but it felt like a burden settling more firmly across your back.
The battle was chaos, fire against water, screams swallowed by waves, gunshots splitting the sky. You moved through it the way he had trained you to move calculated, aware, always thinking three steps ahead. You kept Tuk close, directed Lo’ak with sharp gestures, reminded Kiri where to run and when to hide.
You were not thinking about yourself. You never did.
The moment comes in a blur a flash of metal, a split-second alignment of danger and innocence. The shot was meant for Neteyam. You see it in that strange way warriors sometimes do, where time stretches thin and clear. There is no hesitation in you. No weighing of cost.
You shove him aside. Pain tears through you, violent and blinding, and suddenly the world feels distant, as though you are underwater without having entered the sea.
You hit the sand, and it feels warm beneath you, too warm. Voices blur together. Tuk crying. Lo’ak shouting. Kiri praying. Neteyam is at your side first, his hands pressing desperately against the wound as though he can will your body to obey him.
“Stay with me,” he says, and it is almost ironic, because you have said those same words to him more times than you can count. You try to answer, but your voice feels thin. Then Jake is there.
He drops to his knees beside you with a force that shakes the ground, and for the first time in your life, he does not look like a leader or a warrior. He looks like a father. Terrified.
His hands press over yours, trying to stop what cannot be stopped, his voice breaking as he says your name again and again as if repetition alone could anchor you here. “You’re okay,” he insists, but the words tremble. “You’re okay.”
You look at him, and in his eyes you see something you have chased your entire life not expectation, not evaluation, but pure, raw love. “I tried,” you whisper, because that is what you have always done. Tried to be strong enough. Good enough. His face crumples in a way you have never seen.
“I know,” he says, voice shattering. “I know, baby.” The word hits harder than anything else. Baby.
You cannot remember the last time he called you that. You want to tell him you were not angry. You want to tell him you understood why he raised you the way he did. That maybe he had been trying to prepare you for a world that would not be gentle.
But the world grows dim around the edges. You feel your siblings close, their hands clutching at you as though they can keep you tethered through sheer will. Jake presses his forehead to yours, and his shoulders shake as he whispers apologies you can barely hear.
You protected them. You fulfilled the role he carved into you. And as the light fades, you realize that the only thing you ever truly wanted was this to be held like you were something fragile instead of forged.
After you are gone, the silence in the family feels unnatural, like something essential has been pulled from its center. Jake no longer speaks as sharply. He no longer demands perfection. He holds Tuk longer. He listens to Lo’ak without immediate correction. He answers Kiri’s questions with patience he once reserved only for her.
And sometimes, late at night, he sits alone with your bow resting across his lap, staring at the worn grip where your fingers once held tight, and he whispers into the quiet,
“I should have protected you.” But you were the firstborn.
Story: you were born in the sully family, with five fingers, and a skin Like humans, so neytiri was never able to accept you (part 12)
Plot: jealous
All the parts are here
Tags: @whiskles
@shaheea
@yoko7658
@nacihe
@astrid-ash
@gaiestguyever-to-exist
@justmare
@karma-reader
@qardasngan
@7leo7
@miss-aveline
@commandertorinshepard32
@splatashajumpinoff1226 @sarentuinmyheart
@gmmcfarland04
@rainyreina31
@ottergirl
@zenyboytheoneanonly
@cmalass
@tubby23
@cantaloupesoda
@bluecookies-and-ink
@mcfeemarvel41-blog
@miawolfo
@th3realslimb1tch
@werschitz
@user153639937
@beka-gr33n
@angiebeersblog
@occasionallyfreshhound
@h4loglowxx
@kklovescookies
@neteyamsrealgf01
@victoria2054 @stiveroon
@minqxchae
@dusty-boo
@lvlypinkesworld
@sunmoonsweets @werschitz
@deepangelpartykid
@aloverofanything
@sleep-all-day-everyday
@coloredsenses
@theendlessvoidofdarkest
@kittyslayercute
@shxniq
@celestialsonglines
@iloveotters101
@javajuava05
@kittyslayercute
@shxniq
Neytiri disliked Ronal long before arriving at the Metkayina village.
The two Tsahìks could barely tolerate one another during their first meetings. Ronal was blunt and prideful, while Neytiri was equally stubborn and fiercely protective of her people.
Their personalities clashed naturally.
What Neytiri did not expect was for Ronal to become one of your favorite people.
At first, she thought it was harmless.
You had always admired Tsahìks. You adored listening to Mo'at speak about traditions and had spent years fascinated by Grace Augustine's recordings. Ronal was simply another wise woman for you to learn from.
Or so Neytiri thought.
Then she began noticing the little things.
You smiled more whenever Ronal praised your accomplishments.
You sat beside her during clan gatherings without hesitation.
You volunteered to help prepare medicines whenever she asked.
Most importantly...
You looked comfortable around her.
Comfortable in a way Neytiri had spent years desperately trying to achieve after realizing her mistake.
One afternoon, Neytiri went searching for you after not seeing you for hours.
Instead of finding you with Jake or Neteyam, she found you sitting beside Ronal while weaving shells into one another's braids.
Ronal was laughing softly at one of your stories.
"You flew your ikran into a tree?" she asked, amused.
"It was only once!" you defended yourself.
Ronal laughed quietly before reaching over and fixing one of your braids.
"You are hopeless."
You smiled sheepishly at her.
Neytiri froze.
That simple gesture made her chest ache.
Ronal touched your hair so naturally.
And you allowed it.
Years had passed since you willingly let Neytiri braid your hair.
The realization stung more than she cared to admit.
The jealousy began growing slowly.
Whenever Ronal praised your hunting skills, Neytiri found herself pointing out your accomplishments during family dinners.
Whenever Ronal taught you a Metkayina tradition, Neytiri suddenly offered to teach you ancient Omatikaya stories.
Whenever Ronal invited you to gather herbs, Neytiri conveniently asked if you wished to join her for training instead.
The more time you spent with Ronal...
The more Neytiri tried to pull you back.
At first, everyone assumed she was simply trying harder as your mother.
Eventually, even Jake noticed the pattern.
One evening, while the family sat together for dinner, Neytiri suddenly spoke.
"Tomorrow, I will teach you a new hunting technique."
You blinked in surprise.
"Oh."
Before you could answer, Ronal approached the family gathering.
"I apologize," she interrupted politely. "I have already asked her to accompany me tomorrow."
Neytiri immediately frowned.
"For what purpose?"
Ronal crossed her arms.
"She wished to learn about our healing traditions."
Neytiri glanced toward you.
"You have never shown interest in healing before."
"Actually," Jake laughed quietly, "she's been asking Ronal questions for almost three weeks."
The smile on Neytiri's face nearly cracked.
"I see."
You looked awkwardly between both women.
"I can always do one thing in the morning and another in the afternoon."
"No," Ronal replied calmly. "You promised to help me all day."
Neytiri immediately responded.
"Her family should come first."
The tension in the air became almost visible.
Tonowari slowly stood up and quietly walked away before getting involved in another argument between his mate and Neytiri.
Jake sighed heavily.
"Here we go again."
The competition only grew worse after that.
Neytiri began bringing you gifts from the forest.
She complimented your accomplishments more openly.
She invited you to spend time with her whenever possible.
The problem was that her efforts came years too late.
You appreciated them politely, but nothing more.
Meanwhile, spending time with Ronal was effortless.
She never asked you to forgive her.
She never apologized for things she hadn't done.
She simply enjoyed your company.
One afternoon, while helping Ronal prepare medicines, she suddenly asked,
"Has your mother always been this persistent?"
You nearly laughed.
"No."
Ronal raised an eyebrow.
"Interesting."
"What do you mean?"
"She looks at me as though I am attempting to steal her child."
You awkwardly looked away.
"That's probably because she thinks that."
Ronal sigh quietly before speaking.
"Children cannot be stolen."
You blinked in surprise.
"They go where they are loved."
Those words lingered in your mind for the rest of the day.
Eventually, Neytiri's jealousy became impossible to ignore.
One evening she found you laughing beside Ronal while helping prepare dinner for the clan.
Ronal affectionately tapped your forehead after you accidentally mixed two different herbs together.
"Pay attention."
You laughed softly.
"Sorry."
The smile upon your face was genuine and relaxed.
Neytiri had spent years trying to receive that smile.
And here you were giving it away so freely.
Later that night, she quietly confronted Jake.
"She loves Ronal."
Jake looked up from the knife he had been sharpening.
"She loves a lot of people."
"No."
Neytiri sat beside him.
"She looks at Ronal the way she used to look at me when she was young."
Jake immediately paused.
Those words hurt because they were true.
Neytiri lowered her gaze.
"I hate that I know that look."
Jake sighed softly.
"You should."
She looked toward the ocean.
"She lets Ronal touch her hair."
"Yeah."
"She smiles whenever Ronal praises her."
"..."
"She willingly spends entire days beside her."
Jake smiled faintly.
"Sounds familiar."
Neytiri slowly turned toward him.
"What do you mean?"
Jake laughed softly.
"That's exactly how she acts around the people she trusts."
Neytiri felt tears beginning to gather in her eyes.
"Then she trusts Ronal more than me."
Jake remained silent for several moments before finally answering.
"That's because Ronal met the version of her that was starting heal."
Neytiri frowned slightly.
"And me?"
"You met the version of her that was begging to be loved."
The truth left Neytiri speechless.
You had offered her your entire heart when you were little.
By the time she finally reached for it, there was nothing left to offer.
And now, as she watched another woman naturally become one of the maternal figures in your life, Neytiri realized something painfully ironic.
She had spent your childhood pushing you away.
Now she spent your adolescence desperately trying to pull you back.
Unfortunately for her, the daughter she had once rejected had finally learned that love should never have to be chased. Once she understood that, she stopped running after people who weren't willing to choose her.
