Sully family x eldest daughter reader
Part 17 < Part 18 > Part 19
Jake didn’t remember the walk home clearly.
He only knew that at some point he had bent down and (Y/n), half-asleep and flushed from dancing, had climbed onto his back without being asked. Her arms looped around his neck automatically, her cheek pressing against his shoulder.
Lo’ak demanded to be carried too, so Jake hooked him into one arm, the boy draped against his chest, still talking even as his eyes drooped.
Neytiri carried Tuk against her hip, the toddler already completely asleep, one small fist tangled in her mother’s necklace. Neteyam clung to her back, quiet and heavy with exhaustion.
Mo’at followed behind with Kiri, who had fallen asleep mid-sentence.
They looked like any other family returning from celebration.
Inside the mauri, they settled the children onto their mats carefully. Lo’ak barely stirred when Jake eased him down. Neteyam rolled once and curled instinctively toward his siblings. Kiri tucked herself close to Mo’at’s former place before drifting fully under.
(Y/n) murmured something incoherent and shifted against the woven mat, hair falling across her cheek.
Jake brushed it away gently.
He lingered longer than he meant to.
The drums had long since faded outside.
Only the steady chorus of children’s breathing remained.
Jake stepped to the back entrance and lowered himself down onto the threshold.
Neytiri joined him a moment later, her shoulder brushing his.
For a while, they said nothing. The sounds of their children’s soft snoring filled the silence.
“What is on your mind?” Neytiri asked quietly.
Jake drew in a slow breath.
He didn’t want to say it out loud. Because saying it would make it real.
“Norm intercepted long-distance frequencies,” he said finally.
Neytiri stiffened slightly.
“The Sky People,” he continued. “They’re coming back.” The words tasted like ash.
“We don’t know when,” he added. “Could be tomorrow. Could be next week. Next season. But they’re coming.”
Neytiri’s hand found his shoulder, her eyes searching his face to try and find a look that would tell her it wasn’t true.
Jake’s gaze drifted inward toward the sleeping children. “And now,” he said quietly, “I have to train my kids to be soldiers.”
Neytiri turned sharply toward him. “You cannot.”
“Baby,” he said, voice tight, “they’re coming back.”
Her jaw clenched. “They are children.”
“They won’t stay that way,” he snapped, sharper than he intended. “You think the RDA is gonna wait until they’re grown?”
Silence pressed down hard.
“Our war,” he said more quietly, “is about to become their war.”
His throat tightened. “Do you think I want to teach my daughter how to kill a man?”
The image of potential horrors flashed in his mind before he could stop it— (Y/n) with a rifle instead of a bow. Neteyam behind cover. Lo’ak bleeding. Tuk screaming.
The forest burning again.
He swallowed hard. “We know what they bring,” he said, voice low. “Bombs. Gunships. They level everything. They don’t care who’s in the way.”
Neytiri’s voice was steady but fierce. “The enemy has not returned yet.”
“It gives us time,” he shot back. “Time to prepare.”
“To turn them into something they are not?” she demanded softly.
“To keep them alive,” he answered.
He looked out into the darkness beyond the village. And suddenly he wasn’t seeing trees.
He was seeing firing lines.
He could see exactly how gunships would come in from the east ridge. Where soldiers would disembark. Which paths they’d use to funnel through the village.
He hated that he could see it. He hated that his brain worked this way.
“This place,” he muttered, scanning the shadows, “I used to see home.”
“Now I see how easy it would be to storm it.”
Neytiri’s fingers tightened on his arm. “They will not take this place again.”
“You don’t know they will.”
He looked at her then. “I promised you I’d keep this family safe, the moment (y/n) was born I swore that.”
“And I almost failed and it wasn’t because of the sky people.” How am I supposed to protect them from gunfire when I can barely keep (y/n) from getting mauled almost every other week?
Her expression softened just slightly.
“They are not here yet and you are a good father, our children sleep soundly because of you ,” she repeated.
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped tight.
“I’m worried,” he admitted quietly. The word felt foreign. “I’m scared of losing them.”
He looked back toward the sleeping mats. “If something happens to one of them because I wasn’t ready… that I could’ve prevented it—
His voice faltered. “I won’t survive that.”
Neytiri shifted closer, pressing into his side.
“You cannot carry every possible future in your head,” she said gently.
“That is not how this works.”
“They’re my kids,” he said fiercely. “I’m supposed to protect them.”
“You cannot shield them from everything,” she countered. “You will break yourself trying.”
He exhaled sharply through his nose.
“(Y/n),” he muttered. “She’s like me. You know she is. If the Sky People come back, she’s not gonna sit this out.”
Neytiri was quiet for a moment. “She is strong,” she said.
“She’ll get involved,” he insisted. “One way or another.”
“And you cannot stop her.”
Neytiri turned him toward her, cupping his face between her hands so he had no choice but to look at her.
“That,” she said firmly, “is a conversation you must have with your daughter.”
“She will support whatever decision you make, I would stand by whatever decision you make,” Neytiri continued. “But you must speak to her.”
He thought of her on Tìso’ha’s back. Fearless. Laughing. He thought of her falling. Covered in blood.
Of the way his heart had nearly stopped.
He has almost lost his little girl too many times.
“I don’t want her to fight my war,” he whispered.
“Then do not let it be only your war,” Neytiri replied.
He let out a long breath.
Beyond them, Lo’ak snored loudly and shifted.
Tuk made a soft sleepy sound.
(Y/n) turned once, unconsciously seeking warmth even in sleep.
And the dread settled heavy in his chest.
The Sky People were coming.
He had everything to lose.
The morning broke not with birdsong—
—but with an outraged, echoing shriek that rattled the woven walls of the mauri.
Jake’s eyes snapped open.
He lay still for half a second, listening. Another furious screech split the air, followed by a very familiar voice.
“Hold still, you dramatic overgrown lizard!”
He groaned and dragged a hand down his face.
He rolled carefully off the mat, stepping over sleeping limbs and blankets, and ducked outside into the pale gold wash of early dawn.
The sight that greeted him would have been alarming to anyone else.
(Y/n) was on the ground, arms wrapped tightly around Tìso’ha’s jaws, bracing her heels into the dirt as the midnight ikran thrashed her head from side to side in protest.
“Stop moving!” (Y/n) snapped, muscles straining. “I’m not trying to kill you!”
Tìso’ha made a low, furious rumble and jerked upward.
(Y/n) lifted clear off the ground for a second before being swung sideways and flung onto her back with a thud.
The ikran immediately flopped down on top of her in retaliation, pinning her with half her body weight.
“Get off!” (Y/n) wheezed, trying to shove at the scaled chest pressing her into the dirt. “You oversized, temperamental tooth pick!”
Tìso’ha snapped her jaws inches from (Y/n)’s face in warning.
“What,” he asked slowly, stepping forward with his arms folded, “do you think you’re doing?”
Tìso’ha’s head whipped toward him. She snapped.
Jake jumped backward instinctively. “Whoa—!”
Bob landed a second later with a heavy thud, placing himself between Jake and his daughter’s irritable ikran. He let out a sharp, scolding trill that held clear authority.
Tìso’ha huffed, annoyed, but shifted off (Y/n) and stepped back.
“Thanks, pal,” Jake muttered to Bob before crouching to help his daughter up.
(Y/n) brushed dirt from her leggings and arms and glared at Tìso’ha.
“We were having a minor discussion,” she grumbled.
Jake arched a brow. “Minor.”
“I made her a headpiece,” she explained, gesturing toward a carefully woven band decorated with beads and small feathers lying abandoned in the dirt. “And she doesn’t like it.”
“She is too picky,” (Y/n) insisted. “It’s distasteful, she wants to be pretty but she also wants to be fussy.”
Jake chuckled under his breath and ruffled her hair roughly. “You do realize,” he said, “you have a father?”
“I swear,” he continued, “I only see you when you come home for dinner.”
“That’s not true,” she protested. “I come back once or twice a day.”
“Yeah,” he shot back, “to drop stuff off and then you’re gone again before I can blink.”
She grinned, unapologetic.
He stepped closer and placed his hands on her shoulders.
They felt broader than they used to. Stronger.
“When did you get so big?” he muttered. It felt like yesterday she could fit entirely in one of his hands. Like yesterday she’d wake him up and wanted cuddles because she had a nightmare.
His chest tightened painfully.
The words formed before he could stop them. “We need to have a chat.”
She tilted her head. “About what?”
She looked… bright. Unburdened.
Her life had finally steadied. The whispers were still there but they didn’t seem to bother (y/n) anymore. The loneliness had softened. She had her ikran. Her place. Her footing.
Now he had to throw a shadow over it.
He hesitated. “Nothin’, pumpkin,” he said instead.
He could have this conversation in a few days.
Let her breathe. Let her be thirteen a little longer.
Let her fly and wrestle and argue about decorative headpieces without the weight of war pressing on her shoulders.
He looked away, jaw tight.
Fuck being the one who had to dump this on his sweet little girl.
Because the RDA wouldn’t see a sweet little girl.
He swallowed hard and forced his voice steady. “Be back by sundown,” he said gruffly. “Or your mother will have your hide.”
“And maybe,” he added, “spend some time with your siblings today.”
She rolled her eyes but nodded. “Okay, dad.”
Tìso’ha crouched and spread her wings.
(Y/n) grabbed the abandoned headpiece, tucked it into her saddle pouch despite the ikran’s clear disapproval, and mounted in one smooth motion.
“Try not to insult anyone before lunch,” Jake called after her.
“No promises!” she shot back.
With a powerful beat of wings, Tìso’ha launched skyward.
Jake watched until they were a dark shape against the rising sun.
“Just a few more days,” he murmured to himself.
A few more days of freedom.
He kicked lightly at the dirt at his feet.
Because of fucking corporate greed. Because of people who had never seen this place as home.
He had to start preparing his baby girl to be a soldier.
She might get herself killed trying to fight a war she would inherit from her parents.
Or he would be killed doing everything in his power to try and protect her.
If he trained her, he stole her childhood.
If he didn’t, he risked her life.
And if he fell in whatever was coming— She would have to take his place.
The thought hollowed him out.
Olo’eyktan. Toruk Makto. Leader.
He would make damn sure she was prepared.
Even if it broke something inside him to do it.
Tarsem heard the shouting before he saw anyone.
It wasn’t the usual noise of kids roughhousing.
Not the usual sounds of his friends fishing at the river.
He quickened his pace down the river trail and pushed through the hanging vines at the edge of the clearing.
He expected to see Sa’ley, Ralu, Kxani—
Maybe even (Y/n) if he was lucky. He hoped he did, he was surprised she even gave him a second chance at all, surprised that she’d even be there and not flying across the forest.
Instead, he saw five other boys clustered near the shallow bend in the river.
Teyruk’s shadow pack. A pack with a scorned ringleader and a leader that wasn’t around
Teyruk—still healing from the broken leg—but his presence and influence lingered in the tension of the group.
Tarsem’s stomach dropped.
Sa’ley, Ralu, and Kxani stood a little off to the side, not fully involved but not exactly leaving either. They looked… uncomfortable.
Caught in between what was going on as bystanders.
The raised voices weren’t coming from them. They were coming from Neru and the others.
Lo’ak was in the water up to his knees, jaw clenched, fists balled tight at his sides.
Neteyam stood slightly in front of Kiri, shoulders squared, hoping he looked threatening enough to leave them alone. Spider hovered beside them, mask glinting faintly in the light.
“What’s the matter?” Vokel jeered. “Blood of Toruk Makto not here to save you?”
Arik shoved Lo’ak lightly in the shoulder. “Maybe she’s busy flying around showing off her shiny new pet.”
Lo’ak shoved back harder. “Shut up.”
Neru laughed. “Oooh. Temper.”
Feyn circled behind Neteyam, close enough to brush his shoulder.
“Which one of you is supposed to be the real Navi , huh?” Dalu sneered. “All I can see is a mix of half breeds hanging out with a pink skin.”
Neteyam didn’t respond. He just stood there.
Spider shifted uncomfortably.
“Maybe we should leave,” Sa’ley muttered under her breath, but it wasn’t loud enough to matter.
Tarsem felt something cold settle in his chest. This wasn’t random. This wasn’t playful.
They couldn’t go after (Y/n).
Not after the snapped bone and the public humiliation.
So they’d found something easier.
He has suffered being compared to (y/n), but to go after little kids— and his friends just seemed to let them, they were just standing there watching those poor kids get picked on.
Taking their frustrations out on those who didn’t deserve it
“You all think you’re special,” Neru continued, stepping closer to Spider. “Walking around like you own the place.”
“We don’t,” Kiri said quietly.
Vokel leaned in toward Spider. “What even are you?” he said mockingly. He reached out and flicked Spider’s mask.
Spider stepped back immediately. “Don’t.”
Feyn snorted. “What happens if we just—” he reached for the cord at the back of Spider’s mask “—pull this?”
Spider swatted his hand away. “Don’t touch that!”
Dalu laughed. “What? It’s just a cord.”
Lo’ak surged forward but Arik caught him by the shoulder and shoved him back into the water.
“Easy,” Arik said mockingly. “We’re just asking questions.”
Tarsem felt his pulse in his ears he needed to do something, why wasn’t anyone doing anything. He felt like he was stuck in mud, or there was something stuffed in his mouth because he couldn’t do or say anything
Ralu stared at the ground.
Kxani looked between the groups nervously.
Sa’ley’s jaw tightened but she didn’t move.
The sound of river water seemed louder now.
“You all think you’re untouchable,” Neru spat. “Because of her.”
There it was. The real reason. Not Lo’ak. Not Neteyam. Not Spider.
Frustration. Resentment. Too scared to challenge (Y/n). Too bitter to swallow it. So they redirected it.
Vokel stepped forward again and this time he grabbed the cord that connected Spider’s mask to his exo pack and yanked it tight.
The cord snapped tight in Vokel’s fist.
Spider’s hands flew up immediately, panic flashing across his face. “Let go!” he shouted, stumbling forward to keep the line from straining too hard.
Lo’ak didn’t think. He lunged.
His fist connected with Vokel’s jaw, but it was sloppy. It landed without real weight behind it.
Vokel barely staggered. He rubbed his jaw once, then looked back at Lo’ak with slow, simmering irritation. “That all you’ve got?” he said.
He swung. His fist connected with Lo’ak’s cheek and sent him backward into the water with a splash. The river swallowed the sound for a second before Lo’ak resurfaced, coughing and furious.
Laughter erupted from Neru and Dalu.
“Look at that,” Arik mocked. “Little babies without their big sister around.”
“Yeah,” Feyn sneered. “Where’s the Blood of Toruk Makto now?”
“She’s the hero,” Neru added loudly. “She’s the one everyone cares about.”
“You’re just demon blood disappointments.”
The phrase hit harder than the punch.
Kiri flinched. Spider’s hands trembled on the cord. Neteyam stepped forward but his hands were shaking.
“Leave us alone,” he snapped. His voice cracked slightly, but he held his ground.
Neru just laughed. “What are you going to do?”
Arik stepped closer and, without warning, swung his bow sideways.bThe wood smacked across Neteyam’s face with a sharp crack.
The sound cut through the clearing.
Neteyam stumbled. Lost his footing. And fell into the river beside his brother.
Neteyam pushed himself up slowly. A red mark bloomed across his cheek where the bow had struck. He stood in the water, breathing hard.
The boys on the bank grinned down at him.
“Go on,” Dalu taunted. “Call your sister.”
“Yeah,” Neru added. “Maybe she’ll come flying in and save you.”
The river moved around Neteyam’s knees. He didn’t look at them. He didn’t look at his siblings. He just wiped the water from his face and stood there because he was no (y/n).
“Wrap it up guys,” Kxani sighed frustratedly.
“Yeah do you want to get in trouble with the Oloektan?” Ralu added crossing his arms but still not looking at what was going on.
“Shut up!” Neri snapped at them.
“They’re right! You should leave them alone, they’re just kids!” The words left Tarsem’s voice before he could stop them.
Feyn marched over to him and pushed him to the ground, “and what are you gonna do? Go crying to Toruk Makto? If you so much as say a word I’ll drown you in the river,” Feyn threatened, kicking Tarsem once for good measure then turned around to join the others.
“Leave us alone!” Spider shouted, voice breaking.
“Did the pink skin say something?” Neru mocked, tilting his head.
Laughter rippled through the group.
Spider’s fists clenched. “I said leave us alone.”
Feyn stepped closer, eyes narrowing. “Or what?”
Kiri moved before she even realized she was doing it. She stepped forward and planted herself in front of Spider, arms spread instinctively as if she could shield him.
“Stop it,” she said, voice trembling but firm.
Dalu barked out a harsh laugh. “Look at this.”
Vokel stepped forward and grabbed Kiri by the back of her head.
Lo’ak surged forward. “Don’t touch her!”
Vokel shoved Kiri forward and dunked her face-first into the river.
Her hands clawed at the water.
Neteyam lunged but Arik caught him around the chest and yanked him backward. Lo’ak swung wildly, but Neru hooked an arm around his shoulders and held him tight.
“Let her go!” Neteyam shouted, straining against Arik’s grip.
Vokel lifted Kiri by her hair.
She came up choking, coughing, eyes wide with shock and fear.
Before she could get a full breath—
He shoved her back under.
The river swallowed her small form again.
The laughter was louder now.
Spider threw himself forward but Feyn shoved him hard, sending him stumbling back. “Stay down, pink skin,” Feyn spat.
Neteyam twisted desperately, nails digging into Arik’s forearm. “Stop!” he yelled.
Lo’ak thrashed against Neru’s grip, teeth bared, pure fury in his eyes.
They were bigger. Stronger. The imbalance was obvious.
Kiri’s hands broke the surface again, clawing for air.
Vokel hauled her up by her braid.
Her face was red. Tears streamed down her cheeks. She gasped, sucking in ragged breaths that barely filled her lungs.
“Look at her,” Dalu sneered. “Go on scream for your big sister.”
Neteyam’s voice cracked. “Please!”
Lo’ak’s movements became frantic, kicking backward into Neru’s shin, earning a sharp grunt but no release.
“Hold still,” Arik growled at Neteyam, tightening his grip until it hurt.
Kiri came up again, coughing violently, her small body shaking.
Vokel twisted her hair tighter. “One more?” He asked casually.
Neteyam’s chest felt like it was caving in.
Lo’ak’s eyes burned with helpless rage.
Spider scrambled to his feet again, desperation written across his face. “Stop!” he screamed.
And Vokel shoved her under once more.
The water churned around her.
Neteyam’s heart slammed against his ribs.
Lo’ak’s voice broke entirely. “Kiri!”
Then Vokel yanked her back up.
She hung limp for a moment, coughing weakly, eyes squeezed shut, tears and river water mixing down her face, coughing weakly.
Vokel still had a fist twisted in her hair.
Neteyam’s heart was pounding so hard he could hear it in his ears. Please somebody help. He looked at the others who were just watching. Why won’t you help us.
Lo’ak thrashed uselessly against Neru’s grip.
Spider was scrambling again—
Vokel felt a light tap on his shoulder.
His word exploded in white.
(Y/n)’s fist connected with his nose with a crack that echoed sharper than the bow had against Neteyam’s face.
Bone gave. Blood followed instantly.
Vokel staggered backward, releasing Kiri as he collapsed into the shallows with a choked shout.
Kiri stumbled free, coughing violently, falling to her knees.
The clearing went dead silent.
“Pick on someone your own size.”
She dropped her bow at her feet and cracked her knuckles.
Neteyam and Lo’ak tore free in the split second of confusion and scrambled to Kiri, pulling her toward their sister. Spider followed, eyes wide, shaking.
They all ended up behind her.
She didn’t look back at first.
Just kept her eyes on the boys in front of her. Then she flicked her gaze over her shoulder briefly.
“I’ll handle these fools. I’ll make sure I get pay back.”
Get em sis,” Lo’ak cheered.
Neteyam’s stomach twisted. There were too many of them.
Arik. Neru. Dalu. Feyn. Vokel, already climbing back to his feet with blood pouring down his face.
He looked at her with wide, pleading eyes.
And for half a second something flickered across her expression. Then it was gone.
Vokel wiped blood from under his nose, smearing it across his cheek. His eyes burned with humiliation.
“There’s more of us than you, Blood of Toruk Makto.” The title was spat like an insult.
(Y/n) tilted her head slightly.
“Bet the clan won’t praise you if we beat you up,” Neru added, stepping forward. A few of them laughed, though it sounded forced now.
Her stance shifted subtly—feet planted, weight balanced, shoulders loose.
She stepped into the strike instead of back, driving her fist forward with everything her father had drilled into her—hips turning, shoulder following through.
Her knuckles connected with his sternum.
She felt the impact travel up her arm.
Felt the resistance of bone and muscle give.
Air exploded from his lungs in a broken gasp and he folded instantly, collapsing into the dirt on his hands and knees, wheezing like something inside him had been crushed.
Another fist came at her face. She caught the wrist mid-swing, skin slapping against skin, twisted hard and shoved him sideways. He stumbled past her, bare feet slipping in the mud.
Her eyes caught movement to her left .
The force of the punch jarred her forearm, pain shooting up to her elbow, but she absorbed it and fist her shoulder into his chest, sending him staggering backward.
A sharp crack behind her skull.
White light burst across her vision.
Someone’s bow smacked her across the back of her head.
Her knees buckled. The world tilted.
She hit the ground hard, gravel biting into her cheek.
A foot slammed into her ribs.
Someone’s heel dug into her back, pinning her down.
Wet earth pressed against her mouth.
She tasted river water and blood.
A kick landed against her shoulder—pain flared hot and electric, stealing her breath.
Her siblings were behind her. She could hear them. Trembling. Kiri crying quietly.
Neteyam trying to sound brave and failing.
The foot ground harder into her spine.
Another kick caught her hip.
Pain bloomed everywhere at once—sharp, dull, burning.
She forced air into her lungs.
She could hear them laughing at her as her world spun. She could barely hear her siblings through the fog in her head. She forced a few more deep breaths in, fighting the pain.
She was her father’s daughter.
And Sully’s never back down when there was hell to pay.
The foot lifted just slightly to adjust balance—
She rolled quickly, throwing the weight off her back and coming up on one knee.
Her head swam. Her vision blurred.
She caught his arm. Twisted.
There was a sickening pop as his elbow bent in a direction it wasn’t meant to.
His scream cut through the clearing.
Another boy rushed her. She stepped inside his reach and drove her fist into his jaw.
She hit until felt cartilage give.
Felt teeth cut her knuckles.
He tried to swing back but she hammered him again and again until his jaw hung wrong and he dropped, hands uselessly clutching his face.
Another swing from a bow came from her right.
She ducked under it, felt the wind of it pass over her head, and kicked out.
Her heel connected with a knee.
There was a crack, she reached out and grabbed the bow and threw it into the river.
The boy collapsed with a howl, clutching his leg.
Something struck her from the side.
Stars burst across her vision.
Another hit landed against her cheek.
Another against her mouth. She tasted copper instantly.
A fist drove into her temple.
She hit the ground again.
The side of her face met stone.
One eye already swelling.
The laughter was back—breathless, mean, desperate.
“Blood of Toruk Makto doesn’t look so mighty now!”
Her ribs screamed when she inhaled.
Blood dripped from her lip onto the dirt.
Her siblings were shaking.
“Yeah your big sister is eating the dirt!”
Neri loomed over them, “she can’t help you now.”
Neteyam sounded like he was about to break.
Kiri’s breathing hitched.
Spider whispered her name like he didn’t know what else to do.
She spat blood onto the ground.
She was gonna make them pay, she’d hit them until either her knuckles broke or they stopped getting back up.
The dirt was cool her palms.
Her body wanted to stay there.
But the sound of them trembling— That was worse.
She pushed up with a groan, sucking air in.
One eye half-closed already.
Hair hanging loose and damp against her face.
She didn’t answer their taunts.
She took a deep breath, simply rolled her shoulders once and lifted her fists again, calm and collected but her eyes burned with fury.
Guess this won’t be over until someone stayed down.
Like hell she’d let it be her.
There was an itch in her hands and a fire and her bones. She was going to hit them until they stayed down for good.
She squeezed her eyes shut and saw Kiri gasping for breath, tears mixed with river water streaming down her face, scared out her mind.
She wouldn’t let that go unanswered, these bastards we’re going to pay—
Once she regained a semblance of her strength she moved.
The next boy barely had time to brace before her fist drove into his stomach. She felt the impact travel through her shoulder, through bone, through muscle. He folded with a broken grunt, collapsing over her knee.
Another tried to grab her braid—
She spun under his arm and drove her fist into his throat.
She slipped inside the arc and hammered her fist across his cheek. Cartilage crunched under her knuckles. He reeled.
Every hit was sharp, desperate, fueled by something deeper than anger.
Pain shot through her skull with every movement. Her vision flickered at the edges. But she moved faster than they expected, faster than possible with her head spinning.
Faster than they could process.
A punch to the ribs that made something shift unpleasantly under her skin.
She kept throwing blows, making sure they didn’t have a chance to attack at a blind spot, and she was out for blood, the more blood spilled from the broken noses, the more bones bent in the wrong direction, the better. She’d hope their bones set wrong, that their noses be permanently disturbed, their arms and legs permanently disfigured.
So that they’d remember this day.
That they’d remember the price that would be paid if they so much as glanced in her siblings direction.
The clearing filled with the sound of labored breathing and low, pained cries.
She stood over them, chest heaving.
Blood trickled from her split lip down her chin, from her blistered and bleeding knuckles.
A thin line of red trailing from the graze on the back of her head into her hair.
Her body was already beginning to bloom purple and deep blue beneath her skin.
She spat blood into the dirt near them.
Neteyam and Lo’ak rushed forward, catching her as her knees threatened to give out.
They slipped their arms under hers, holding her upright.
She was shaking now. Adrenaline draining.
Across the clearing— Tarsem stood frozen.
His friends beside him, pale, horrified.
He had never seen violence like that up close.
Never seen her like that.
She lifted her head slowly. Looked straight at him.
Looked him up and down. “Second chance, huh?” Her voice was hoarse. Flat.
Tarsem swallowed hard. Why hadn’t he moved. He still couldn’t move. Why was he such a coward when it came to her.
Her cheek was swelling visibly now.
Dirt smeared across her skin.
Bruises darkening already across her ribs and arms.
Neteyam tightened his grip.
Lo’ak braced her from the other side.
“Don’t just stand there!” Neteyam shouted at Tarsem and the others. “Get some help!”
Sa’ley jolted like she’d been struck and took off running toward the village.
The clearing felt suddenly too quiet.
(Y/n) forced herself to look at her siblings.
“Are you okay?” she asked, voice softer now.
Her gaze found Kiri. “Kiri?”
Kiri ran forward and threw her arms around her, burying her face against her sister’s chest.
Her small body shook violently. “Why do you always save me?” she sobbed. The words were muffled, broken.
(Y/n) wrapped one arm around her, ignoring the flare of pain in her shoulder.
“Because you’re my little sister and if anyone messes with you like that it’s my job to fuck em up.”
Simple. Like it was obvious.
Kiri broke into full, ugly tears against her, clinging tight. “Mom’s going to kill you if she hears you cursing like that.”
“Only if she hears me and besides wouldn’t be as bad as the headache I’ve got going on.”
This was the second time something like this had happened.
They hadn’t been strong enough.
This time— (Y/n) had won.
Lo’ak wiped his face roughly, trying to look tough and failing.
Neteyam stared at the boys on the ground, something new in his expression—something harder.
(Y/n) tried to grin but it pulled painfully at her split lip. “Good news though,” she muttered.
They all looked at her. “They shouldn’t bother you for a while.”
She shifted slightly, wincing as pain stabbed through her ribs. “It takes bones a long time to heal.”
Lo’ak’s shoulders began to shake.
Neteyam’s breath hitched once. Then twice.
And suddenly both of them were crying.
Not loud at first. Just sharp, wounded sounds they were trying to swallow.
(Y/n) groaned softly. “Hey—hey. Don’t.” Her voice wavered. “Don’t cry. I need you two to hold me up until dad shows up.”
Lo’ak let out a watery laugh despite himself.
“What if mom shows up?” Neteyam muttered thickly, trying to wipe his face with the back of his hand without letting go of her.
(Y/n) blinked slowly, then whispered, “Then I need you to help me escape.”
Lo’ak barked out a choked laugh.
Neteyam huffed through his tears.
Even though it made her wince.“Easy,” she hissed, breath catching. “Ribs.”
They loosened slightly but didn’t let go.
“You should be able to walk around the village carefree,” she muttered, head drooping briefly before she forced it upright again. “No one messes with my little brothers and sister.”
She shifted her gaze toward Spider. “And the stray human.”
“Hey,” Spider protested, though his voice cracked.
He stepped in too, trying to wrap his arms around her without knocking Neteyam or Lo’ak off balance.
He failed spectacularly. They nearly toppled.
Despite the blood and bruises and the broken boys groaning in the dirt—
Kiri clung to her waist, still hiccupping quietly.
From Kiri’s perspective— Her big sister was untouchable.
Even bleeding. Even shaking.
She was the toughest person Kiri knew. Kiri’s tears weren’t just fear anymore. They were awe.
Lo’ak looked at her like she was invincible. He had always bragged about her to anyone would listen and when she wasn’t around. Always tried to fight anyone who spoke her name wrong.
But this— This was different.
He had seen her hit. Seen her fall. Seen her get back up.
He wanted to be like that. To never stay down.
To be as tough as his big sister.
Neteyam saw something else. He saw the pain. The split lip. The swelling eye. The way she was trying not to lean too hard on them.
He saw how tired she looked.
And guilt stabbed at him.
Because part of him had resented her.
Resented the comparisons. Resented the shadow.
She had taken every hit for them without hesitation, fought until those being mean to them were bloody and broken on the ground for them.
All because she was their big sister.
Spider looked at her like she was gravity itself. He had never belonged fully to this world.
Never felt like he had a place.
But she had never treated him differently.
Never made him feel small.
She had stepped in for him too.
And he knew he would never forget that.
Neteyam and Lo’ak lifted their heads slowly.
Their eyes shifted past her. Past the boys groaning on the ground.
They had been there. They had seen everything. They could have stepped in. Could have tipped the numbers.
Neteyam’s jaw tightened. Lo’ak’s fingers curled into fists.
The hurt in their eyes wasn’t loud. It was quiet. Settling.
They would never forget that either. They’d never forget the faces of those who could have stepped in but watched as their sister stood up for them.
Jake didn’t remember the run.
Only Sa’ley’s panicked voice, the names of his children on his tongue.
The river came into view.
Five others were at his heels but he barely registered them.
Blood dripping down her chin from a split lip.
Knuckles torn open and red, bleeding, dripping like rain drops.
Standing over five boys who looked like they’d been trampled by a herd of sturmbeasts.
For a split second his heart surged with savage relief.
They were standing. All of them were standing.
He crossed the last few strides in seconds and stopped in front of her, breath heavy, eyes scanning fast. “What happened?” he demanded.
Lo’ak flinched. “Dad’s mad,” he whispered under his breath to Neteyam.
Neteyam swallowed nervously.
Jake’s gaze flicked to the boys groaning in the mud.
His oldest daughter also bested up but looking better than they did, her younger siblings scared but unharmed besides a mark across Neteyam’s cheek.
His stomach dropped. He looked back at her.
“What were you thinking?” he snapped.
But it carried. “I taught you better than this.”
They’d seen that look before. They were sure she was done for.
This was not a small scuffle.
Jake stepped closer, jaw tight. “You don’t escalate like this. You—”
Her one good eye blinked rapidly. Her lip wobbled.
Spilling down dirt-streaked cheeks.
His brain short-circuited.
“I— I didn’t—” she sniffed, shoulders shaking slightly.
Jake’s anger evaporated so fast it almost made him dizzy. “Hey— hey— no, no—” His voice softened instantly. “Dad’s not mad.”
Neteyam’s mouth fell open.
Jake stepped in and gently grabbed her shoulders.
“I’m not mad, pumpkin. I’m sorry, okay? I just— I got worried.”
Her bottom lip trembled convincingly. “I just wanted them to stop, they were picking on the others.”
He swallowed his feelings down hard. “Okay. Okay.”
He cupped the uninjured side of her face gently. “I know. I know.”
Behind him, Neteyam saw it.
Lo’ak’s eyes widened slowly.
(Y/n) tilted her head just enough to give her brothers a quick, subtle thumbs up behind Jake’s back.
Neteyam nearly choked on his laughter.
Lo’ak clamped his lips shut to keep from laughing.
Jake, oblivious, finally really looked at her. And the anger didn’t come back.
Her knuckles were split open. Skin torn and red and raw. Swollen already.
He could see where bone had met bone over and over again until one party couldn’t get up .
Her lip was split down the middle. Blood drying in dark streaks against her chin.
Her cheek was ballooning purple.
The graze at the back of her head was matted with dirt and blood. Bruises were already blooming across her ribs and shoulders.
He felt something inside him twist painfully.
She had hit hard. Hard enough to break bones. Hard enough to shred her own hands.
And she had kept going until the boys were down and out.
That was what scared him.
The fact that she hadn’t stayed down. That instinct to get back up no matter what.
It had nearly gotten him killed more than once.
And now— It lived in her.
“Hey,” he called out to those that came with him without looking away from her. “Get the others to Mo’at.”
His voice was steady again. Controlled. “I’ll take this one.”
Two of the hunters moved immediately to the boys on the ground and picked them up, carrying them towards the village
Then he slid an arm behind her back and another under her knees and lifted her gently.
She winced as his hand brushed her ribs.
He felt it. Every small flinch.
Every tremor now that the adrenaline was draining.
She tucked her face against his shoulder. Small again. So small.
He remembered her fists when she was a toddler. Soft. Barely able to close around his finger.
Now they were bloodied and torn because she had broken bones.
He carried her away from the river, mud sticking to his bare feet.
The warriors behind him began lifting groaning boys from the dirt.
He didn’t look back. His mind was racing.
What would war do to his girl?
What would his daughter sacrifice in the name of protecting her siblings?
He tightened his hold just slightly. Too tight.
“I’m taking you home,” he murmured into her hair. “We’re getting you patched up.”
She sniffed one more time for good measure.
Like the first crack before something worse breaks through, a prelude of something worse to come because he knew his daughter, knew that he was just like her and she was just like him.
The thought of the coming war scared him since this showed that she would do anything for her siblings, and he knew that wasn’t limited to putting her life on the line.
“Mom’s going to be so mad,” (Y/n) huffed dramatically as Jake carried her up the path toward home.
Her voice was muffled against his shoulder.
Jake adjusted his grip slightly, careful of her ribs. “Don’t you worry about your mom,” he said firmly. “You’re not in trouble. You were protecting your siblings. I won’t let you get into trouble for that.”
Behind them, Neteyam, Lo’ak, Kiri, and Spider followed in a tight cluster, still shaken but walking.
Against his chest, (Y/n) allowed herself a tiny, invisible smirk.
On the inside? She felt incredibly smug.
“I messed them up.” He could hear the grin in her voice.
The thought pulsed warm and satisfying beneath the ache in her bones.
Jake glanced down at her battered knuckles again. “Yes,” he murmured, softer now. “You did.”
“And you did a good job. They won’t mess with you—or your siblings—again.” He didn’t like the part of himself that felt proud.
Didn’t like that spark of satisfaction knowing she had stood over five boys and walked away upright.
But pride was there anyway. She had protected them.
He just wished she hadn’t had to.
They reached the mauri and Jake called out sharply, “Neytiri!”
She appeared almost instantly.
One look at their daughter and her expression darkened.
Jake set (Y/n) down carefully on her feet.
The moment her weight shifted, she swayed slightly and he steadied her.
Neytiri crossed the distance and began assessing damage with quick hands.
“You got into a fight,” she said flatly. Not a question.
(Y/n) looked at the floor.
Jake cleared his throat. “She was defending her siblings.”
Neytiri didn’t stop cleaning dried blood from her daughter’s lip. “That does not explain this.”
Jake folded his arms. “Maybe you should be worried about the other guys.”
She shot him a look so sharp it could have cut bark.
Jake held his ground. “She protected them.”
(Y/n), sensing the balance perfectly, let her shoulders slump slightly and winced as Neytiri pressed along her ribs.
On the inside, she was very aware that her father was exactly where she wanted him.
“Dad,” she said softly, blinking up at him. “Can I have some extra hides? My mat’s kind of hard.”
Jake didn’t hesitate. “Of course you can, baby girl.”
Neytiri closed her eyes briefly.
Jake moved quickly, pulling out the softest hides they had, layering them carefully. He adjusted them like he was building a nest rather than a bed.
“There,” he murmured, helping her settle down. “Comfortable?”
He brushed a strand of hair from her face and kissed her forehead gently. “You were very brave.”
She leaned into it. “Dad… could you maybe get me one of those ice packs from the biolab? My face kinda hurts.”
Jake blinked. “Why didn’t I think of that?” he muttered. “Of course. Yeah. I’ll get you one.”
“And maybe,” she added sweetly, eyes widening just slightly, “one of those pillows the avatars use? A few of them? They’re really soft.”
Jake didn’t even pause. “Coming right up.”
He turned and headed toward the biolab at once.
Then looked down at her daughter.
One eyebrow slowly lifted.
(Y/n) gave her the faintest, most innocent look she could manage with a swollen eye and split lip.
Neytiri moved without speaking.
She fetched a bowl of cool water, clean cloths, strips of bandage, and a small clay pot of salve from her baskets. She set them beside her daughter and knelt.
(Y/n) tried to look indifferent. She failed the moment the damp cloth touched her split lip.
Neytiri’s hand was gentle—but thorough. She wiped away the dried blood along her chin, down her throat, across her collarbone where muddy handprints had streaked her skin. The water in the bowl turned pink, then red.
Her siblings gathered quietly around. Neteyam stood close enough that his shadow fell over them both. Lo’ak hovered with restless energy. Kiri stayed near her sister’s knee, eyes red from crying. Spider lingered just behind them, silent.
Neytiri tilted (Y/n)’s chin carefully, examining the cut. “Hold still.”
The back of her head came next. Neytiri parted her hair and found the graze. Blood had clotted into dark tangles against her braid. She cleaned it slowly, wiping away grit and river silt.
(Y/n) clenched her jaw. Did not flinch.
Neytiri noticed. When she finished, she moved to her daughter’s hands.
The knuckles were swollen and raw. Skin split. One nail cracked. The flesh beneath angry and inflamed.
Neytiri did not look up at first. She washed the blood away carefully, revealing every tear and bruise beneath.
The sight made her chest tighten.
She dipped her fingers into the salve and pressed it into the wounds. (Y/n) hissed quietly through her teeth.
Neytiri’s eyes lifted then.
She wrapped each hand. When she finished, she turned to the others.
Tuk had begun walking toward her big sister, wide-eyed and curious.
Neytiri scooped her up before she could climb into (Y/n)’s lap. “What happened?” she asked calmly.
Immediately— They all began talking at once.
“One at a time,” Neytiri said, voice firm but even.
Neteyam swallowed and stepped forward slightly. “We were just going down to the river to play.”
His voice was steady, but his hands were still clenched.n“They started picking on us for no reason.”
He hesitated. “They really seemed to hate (Y/n).”
Lo’ak jumped in. “So they took it out on us.”
Kiri’s voice trembled. “They tried to drown me.”
Silence settled over the space.
Neytiri’s gaze flicked sharply to her daughter. Then back to her children.
“But (Y/n) stepped in,” Lo’ak said quickly. “And she beat all of them up.”
There was no admiration in his tone this time. Just awe.
Neytiri exhaled slowly. She looked at her eldest daughter.
At the swelling cheek. The split lip. The bandaged hands.
Then at her younger children. “Take Tuk,” she said quietly. “Go play nearby.”
Neteyam gently took Tuk from her arms. The others moved reluctantly, though they did not go far.
Once they were out of immediate earshot, Neytiri turned fully to her daughter. “Be warned, daughter.”
Her voice was low now. “You will not be punished for standing up for your siblings.”
(Y/n)’s shoulders loosened a fraction. “But you will learn restraint.”
Neytiri’s gaze held hers steady. “You carry strength beyond your years. If you do not exercise control over it…”
Her tone sharpened slightly. “We will be having words and your father will not be able to save you.”
Silence stretched between them.
Y/n met her mother’s eyes and nodded rapidly, yes ma’am.
Jake came barreling back into the mauri like a man on a mission.
One arm was stacked with pillows—two, three, maybe four of the soft synthetic ones from the avatars’ quarters. The other arm was balancing a thin mattress he had absolutely stolen off a biolab gurney, a folded sheet thrown over his shoulder, with an ice pack tucked under his chin.
“I’m back,” he announced, slightly out of breath but triumphant.
Neytiri looked up slowly.
“How is my pumpkin?” he asked her immediately, already scanning his daughter for any worsening signs.
Neytiri exhaled through her nose. “She is not dying. She merely got into a fight.”
Jake crouched down in front of (Y/n) anyway, eyes softening the moment they landed on her bruised face. “But look at her,” he murmured, reaching out gently. “Look at my precious girl’s face. She’s hurt.”
He set the mattress down carefully and arranged it with more focus than he had ever shown a battle plan. Pillows stacked just right. Sheet shaken out and smoothed flat. He even patted it experimentally like he was testing it would be soft enough.
He knelt in front of her again. “Is the light making your head hurt?” he asked quietly.
(Y/n) nodded slowly, producing the widest, most tragic eyes she could manage with one side of her face swelling.
Jake’s heart cracked clean down the middle. “Okay, dad will sort that out then.”
He handed her the ice pack. She pressed it dramatically to her cheek, sucking in a small breath for effect.
“My poor girl,” he murmured, kissing the top of her head. “Dad will make it better.”
Without hesitation, he scooped her up again—careful, careful of her ribs—and carried her over to the makeshift nest. He lowered her onto the mattress like she was glass, tucked the sheet around her shoulders, adjusted the pillows behind her head.
Then he stood and began rearranging hides around the entrance, angling them to block out as much light as possible.
He crouched beside her again. “Is that better, pumpkin?”
He cupped the uninjured side of her face, thumb brushing gently beneath her eye. “You get some rest now.”
Neytiri watched all of this with folded arms. “You are spoiling her,” she said evenly.
“She won a one versus five,” Jake countered. “She could ask for my kidney and I would carve it out.” Jake didn’t even deny it.
“My little girl is hurt,” he replied, glancing back at (Y/n). “Isn’t that right?”
(Y/n) nodded again, sad eyes fully activated.
Neytiri’s gaze shifted to her daughter. It was a look that said, I know exactly what you are doing.
(Y/n) blinked innocently back at her mother. The ice pack pressed gently to her cheek.
Neytiri narrowed her eyes slightly.
(Y/n) widened hers in return.
Jake, entirely oblivious, adjusted the pillow one more time.
Jake settled beside her and rested a broad hand over her shoulder.
“You are coddling her,” Neytiri said quietly. “She is no longer five.”
Jake didn’t even look up.
“Neytiri,” he murmured, nodding toward the evidence. “Look at her knuckles. Look at her lip. Look at those bruises.”
His jaw tightened. “My baby girl can have all the TLC in the world.”
(Y/n) shut her eyes, energy finally completely draining out .
Jake gently shook her shoulder to wake her up..
“Nope. Sorry, baby girl,” he said gently but firmly. “You can’t go to sleep just yet.”
She cracked one eye open. “I gotta make sure you don’t have a bad brain bleed.”
She sighed. But she did look tired. Her breathing had slowed.
The adrenaline was gone now.
Jake’s resolve wavered. He stared at her for a long second.
Then he sighed. “Oh, alright. You can sleep.”
“I’ll just wake you up every now and then,” he added quickly.
(Y/n) nodded weakly, already half drifting. Within moments, her breathing evened out
Jake stayed exactly where he was, hand still resting lightly over her shoulder.
Voices rose outside. Adult. Angry.
Jake’s head lifted. He glanced toward the entrance.
“You can handle it?” he asked quietly.
He didn’t want to leave her. Not even for a second.
Neytiri exhaled slowly and nodded.
She knew one day this would backfire on him. One day their daughter would weaponize those sad eyes so expertly he wouldn’t stand a chance.
It would be his fault and Neytiri would leave him to the problems he enabled.
Neytiri stepped outside. Her children scurried behind her instinctively.
Five fathers were walking down the path.
Neytiri crossed her arms.
“He is tending to our injured daughter,” she replied evenly. “What do you want?”
One stepped forward. “Our sons have told us what happened.”
“They say she attacked them.”
Lo’ak immediately bristled. “That’s not true!”
“They’re lying!” Neteyam nearly shouted.
Neytiri lifted a hand without looking back.
“My daughter,” she said, voice calm but firm, “would not instigate a fight unless necessary.”
The fathers exchanged looks. “The way we see it,” one said, “it is our sons’ word against hers.”
“That’s not true,” Lo’ak insisted, stepping forward despite himself. “Tarsem, Sa’ley, Kxani and Ralu were there. They saw the whole thing.”
The men glanced at each other again.
Neytiri’s expression didn’t change. “Then you have bystanders,” she said smoothly. “Who will tell the truth.”
She straightened slightly. “Leave. My husband will deal with this in the morning. Go to your children. I will do the same.”
There was tension. Embarrassment.
No one wanted to escalate this in front of half the clan. One by one, the fathers turned away.
Kiri stepped closer to her mother. “You can’t let (Y/n) get in trouble,” she whispered.
“Yeah,” Lo’ak added fiercely. “She was only protecting us.”
Neytiri looked down at her children.
“She will not be punished for protecting her siblings.”
But her gaze lifted toward the mauri entrance.
Where Jake sat inside, guarding his sleeping daughter.
“And she will learn,” Neytiri added quietly, “that strength must be guided otherwise there will be consequences.”
They stayed at the edge of the village. Not close enough to be seen. Not far enough to pretend they didn’t know what was going one
Tarsem watched as the warriors carried the injured boys into the Tsahik’s tent.
One with his jaw wrapped in cloth.
The sight made something twist in his stomach.
Her rising from the dirt. Blood in her mouth. Eye swelling.
And still getting to protect her siblings because no one else would.
He swallowed. He should have moved. He should have done something.
He had stood there. Frozen.
Like a hexepede calf in tall grass.
Sa’ley folded her arms tightly. “This is bad.”
“No kidding,” Ralu muttered.
Kxani kicked at a rock. “They’re going to say she attacked them.”
Tarsem snapped. “They attacked her siblings.”
“They were going to drown Kiri,” he added, voice tight.
“And what did you do?” Ralu shot back.
“You stood there,” Ralu continued, heat rising in his tone. “We all did.”
Kxani crossed her arms defensively. “We weren’t part of it.”
“You were hanging out with them,” Tarsem fired back.
“Because you were too busy trying to win back (y/n),” Ralu shot back instantly.
“You’ve been following her around like a lost pup,” Ralu snapped. “So we were trying to hang with the others.”
“Trying to what?” Tarsem demanded.
“Trying to not look pathetic!” Ralu barked. “Trying to not look like we’re chasing Toruk Makto’s daughter around!”
Sa’ley’s jaw tightened. “They said we weren’t good enough to hang out with her.”
“And you believed them?” Tarsem demanded.
Kxani bristled. “Maybe we were tired of hearing it from everyone else too.”
Tarsem stepped forward. “So you decided to kiss up to those jerks?”
“At least we weren’t trying to impress your girlfriend,” Ralu spat.
Tarsem’s face went red. “She’s not my girlfriend.”
Ralu let out a harsh laugh. “Please.”
“She’s not even my friend,” Tarsem snapped back, the words sharper than he meant them to be.
The moment they left his mouth— He regretted them.
Sa’ley’s eyes widened. “You hear yourself?” she whispered.
Ralu stepped closer, chest almost touching Tarsem’s.
“You froze,” Ralu said low. “You talk big about being on her side, but when it mattered you did nothing.”
The push turned into a swing.
Ralu’s fist caught Tarsem across the cheek.
They grappled awkwardly in the dirt, fists catching shoulders and ribs without real aim.
“Stop it!” Sa’ley shouted.
Kxani grabbed Ralu from behind while Sa’ley pulled at Tarsem’s arm.
They were yanked apart roughly, breathing hard.
Tarsem’s lip was bleeding now.
Ralu’s eye already reddening.
Silence fell heavy between them.
Tarsem wiped blood from his mouth with the back of his hand.
He could still see her in his mind. Standing there. Looking at him. “Second chance, huh?”
He’d had it. And he had done nothing.
“I could have stepped in,” he muttered.
“I could have helped,” he said louder.
“You think it would’ve changed anything?” Ralu shot back, though the anger had faded to something quieter.
“It would’ve changed everything,” Tarsem said. His voice cracked slightly. “She saw me.”
He swallowed. “She saw that I did nothing.”
The weight of it pressed into his chest. He had wanted a second chance.
He had been given the perfect moment to prove himself.
He had been as frozen as a hexepede calf.
He doubted she would ever look at him the same way again.
“Maybe we should stop being friends.”
@sillyfreakfanparty @athenannann @animegamerfox @nxstqlgia @saltedcoffeescotch @smthsmthblahblah @umlasblog @gypsiegoop @ihatecupcakesandpiss @seawavesss @seawavesss @fastleopard1521 @marija4674 @dick-graysons-hole @abyssalresonancedemon @hiyikohijirikawa-blog @crucificu @th3realslimb1tch @c1eepypas1a @yangduarte @verona-aliyah @any-maybe @minghaofied @thatgirljas13 @poppyw4 @ilocuras24 @elliether @l0nesomedrifter @naturallycuriousblog @defonotelis @gypsiegoop @yangduarte @frey-williams @akamenaruto14 @cantaloupesoda @nationaldissapointment @that-jay @butterfix @whos-nin1 @kitkat1690 @ressya @pitypinkabyss @kittsoraxx @julietelysythe
