there's something about your writing that makes me want to print and stick it on my forehead with gorilla glue also could I request a tonowari smut? that big man has me frothing at the mouth
- an: omg that made me giggle out loud, i appreciate that so so much. i wasn’t planning on writing this tonight but i just couldn’t help myself, i hope you like what i’ve wrote!!
that big beefy man is so fine, ugh i get you completely
⤷ tonowari x fem!tsahìk!metkayina!reader
- cw: lower caps intended, just pure filth, newly established relationship, smut, p in v, heat cycle, rough sex, creampie(s), borderline cumflation, reader’s first encounter with someone in heat, reader is a bit oblivious on the topic of heat, knock on effect onto reader from said heat, breeding, knotting, belly bulging, dirty talk, size kink, multiple rounds, multiple orgasms, tonowari acts like an animal, let me know if i’ve missed anything!!
- wc: 5.3k, ish
- summary: you, a newly bonded tsahìk, return from your daily duties to find your mate, tonowari, experiencing his first heat cycle.
༻༺
you left before dawn.
the marui was still dark, the steady rhythm of tonowari’s breathing deep and even beside you. you moved quietly, careful not to wake him as you unpeeled his much larger arm off your waist and slid out of bed, gathering your things with the practiced silence of someone who had risen early her entire life. as tsahìk, the day would be long, you already knew it. rituals, healings, disputes to mediate and you did not allow yourself to linger.
he did not stir, just continued softly snoring away as you slipped out your shared hut.
by midday, you realised something was wrong.
tonowari had not appeared at the gathering platforms. no patrols had been called, no councils convened, no decisions passed through the familiar channels of authority that always bore his voice. an olo’eyktan did not vanish, not without reason.
you asked carefully. received only shrugs. uneasy glances.
by the time the sun dipped low, painting the reef in amber and rose, the feeling had settled deep in your bones.
when you finally returned, exhaustion heavy in your limbs, the marui greeted you with silence.
not the comfortable quiet of rest.
“tonowari?” you called softly.
no answer.
you followed the feeling rather than sound, your steps slowing as you reached the sleeping alcove. the woven divider was half drawn, as if abandoned in haste. beyond it, the space was dim, lit only by the faint glow of bioluminescent threads woven into the walls.
and there, partially hidden in shadow, he sat.
the air in the marui was thick, almost suffocating. you stood frozen in the entrance, your basket of medicinal herbs forgotten at your feet as you took in the sight before you.
tonowari knelt in the center of your shared space, his massive frame trembling with barely contained tension. his skin glistened with a sheen of sweat despite the ocean breeze that usually kept the marui cool. his chest heaved with labored breaths, muscles flexing and releasing in rhythmic waves as though his body was fighting against itself.
"tonowari?" you repeated, your voice came out smaller than intended.
his head snapped toward you, and you gasped. his eyes, those warm, steady eyes that had always looked at you with such tenderness, were different. the pupils were blown wide, nearly consuming the turquoise of his irises. there was something wild there, something barely leashed.
"you should not-" his voice was rough, scraped raw. he swallowed hard, the column of his throat working. "you should not be here right now, yawne."
but you stepped further inside anyway, letting the woven entrance fall closed behind you. "you are unwell. i am tsahìk. let me help you."
a sound rumbled from deep in his chest, not quite a growl, but close. the primal nature of it sent an unexpected shiver down your spine. "this is not.. this is not something you can simply heal with your herbs."
you moved closer, your training overriding your uncertainty. as tsahìk, you had tended to many ailments, witnessed the na’vi body in countless states. but this... you had never seen this.
"then tell me what it is," you said softly, kneeling a few feet away from him. "help me understand."
tonowari's hands were clenched into fists against his thighs, knuckles pale with the force of his grip. "the heat," he managed, each word seeming to cost him. "it comes.. sometimes. for our kind. i thought i had more time before-" he cut himself off with a sharp inhale as his body shuddered.
heat.
you had heard whispers of it, vague mentions from the elders, but never the details. it had always been spoken of in hushed tones, something private, something sacred and raw.
"how long does it last?" you asked, your healer's mind trying to categorise, to understand.
"days." the word came out almost as a groan. "sometimes longer. i need-" he stopped himself, jaw clenching so hard you could see the muscle jump. "you need to leave. now. before i-"
"before you what?"
his eyes locked onto yours, and the intensity there stole your breath. "before i lose control."
you should have been frightened. perhaps you would have been, if not for the way his entire body was angled away from you, every muscle straining with the effort of maintaining distance. despite the wildness in his eyes, despite the trembling in his massive frame, he was still trying to protect you. even now.
"i am your mate," you said quietly. "i will not leave you to suffer alone."
"you do not understand what you are offering." his voice dropped to something almost guttural. "the heat.. it is not gentle. it is not.. controlled. i would not be myself. i would-" he squeezed his eyes shut, a bead of sweat rolling down his temple. "i would breed you. claim you. i would not be able to stop until-"
the words sent a jolt through your body, something hot and liquid pooling low in your belly. you had mated with tonowari before, had joined with him in the way of the na’vi, but there had always been such tenderness, such care. this.. this was something else entirely.
"show me," you whispered.
his eyes flew open in a panicked state, "no."
"i want to understand. show me what the heat does to you."
for a long moment, he simply stared at you, his chest heaving. then, slowly, he shifted. the movement was careful, deliberate, as though he was fighting his body's every instinct.
he turned slightly, and you saw it, the evidence of his arousal, impossible to hide. his loincloth was tented obscenely, and even through the fabric you could see the way his cock strained, could see it twitch and pulse with his heartbeat. but there was something else, something that made your breath catch.
at the base, barely visible, was a swelling. even now, even without stimulation, his body was preparing for something.
"the knot," he gritted out, following your gaze. "it will.. when i am inside, it will swell. lock us together. keep my seed deep until-" he shuddered violently, cutting himself off.
your thighs pressed together involuntarily. the clinical part of your mind was fascinated, cataloging this new information. but the rest of you.. the rest of you was responding to something far more primal.
the scent in the marui had grown stronger. you had noticed it when you first entered, but now it was almost overwhelming, salt and musk and something uniquely tonowari, but amplified, concentrated. it made your head swim, made your skin feel too tight.
"your scent," you murmured, almost to yourself.
he made a pained sound. "it calls to potential mates. tells them i am.. ready. fertile." the last word came out as almost a snarl. "you should not be breathing it in. it will affect you, make you.."
but you were already affected. you could feel it, the way your body was responding without your permission. your nipples had tightened beneath your woven top, your skin felt flushed and sensitive. and between your legs, you were growing wet.
"tonowari," you breathed.
"no." he shook his head violently, hair whipping. "no, you do not want this. not truly. it is the scent, the pheromones. i will not take advantage-"
"i am your mate," you repeated, firmer this time. you moved closer, close enough now that you could feel the heat radiating from his body. it was like sitting near a fire. "before eywa, we are bonded. if this is part of you, then i want to know it. all of it."
his control was cracking. you could see it in the way his pupils dilated further, in the way his nostrils flared as he scented you in return. his hands unclenched only to clench again, and you realised he was stopping himself from reaching for you.
"please," he whispered, and you had never heard him sound so desperate. "please, yawne. i am trying. i am trying so hard to-" his words dissolved into a groan as another shudder wracked his frame.
you made your decision.
slowly, deliberately, you reached up and untied your woven top, letting it fall away. your breasts were bare before him, nipples peaked and aching.
the sound that tore from tonowari's throat was nothing short of animalistic.
"what are you doing?" the words were barely intelligible, his accent thickening with his loss of control.
"i am your mate," you said for the third time. "and i am choosing this. i am choosing you. all of you."
you reached for the ties of your loincloth.
"stop." the command was sharp, but his eyes were glued to your movements, tracking every shift of your fingers. "if you do this.. if you bare yourself to me now.. I will not be able to-"
"i know."
the loincloth fell away.
for one heartbeat, two, tonowari remained frozen. his entire body was rigid, every muscle locked and trembling. you could see the war raging behind his eyes, the last threads of his control being tested to their absolute limit.
then you shifted, and your scent, your arousal, reached him fully.
those final threads snapped.
the change was instantaneous. his pupils blew so wide his eyes looked black. his lips pulled back from his teeth in something between a snarl and a grimace. and his body moved before his mind could stop it.
he was on you in a heartbeat.
his massive hands gripped your waist, lifting you as though you weighed nothing. your back hit the woven mat, his body covering yours, and the heat of him was scorching. he was everywhere at once, his scent surrounding you, his weight pressing you down, his breath hot against your neck.
"mine," he growled against your skin, the word vibrating through your bones. "mine. my mate. mine to breed. mine to fill. mine."
his hips were already moving, grinding against you with desperate, uncoordinated need. you could feel his cock, impossibly hard, sliding against your slick folds. the knot at the base was more swollen now, you could feel it catching against your entrance with each thrust.
"tonowari," you gasped, your hands finding his shoulders, his back, anywhere you could touch.
he was mouthing at your neck, your jaw, his teeth scraping over your pulse point. not biting, not yet, but the threat was there. the promise.
"going to fill you," he panted, his voice wrecked. "going to pump you so full. going to knot you, breed you, make sure it takes. need to-need to-"
his hand slid between your bodies, and you felt his fingers at your entrance, testing, preparing. even lost to the heat, some part of him was still trying to care for you, still trying to make sure you could take him.
you were soaked, your body responding to his with an eagerness that might have embarrassed you if you could think clearly. but rational thought was becoming impossible. there was only sensation, his fingers stretching you, his scent in your lungs, his weight anchoring you to the earth.
"please," you heard yourself whimper. "please, i need-"
"i know what you need." his voice was pure gravel, pure sin. "i can smell it. smell how wet you are for me. how ready. your body knows. knows what it needs. knows what i am going to do to it."
he withdrew his fingers, and you felt the blunt head of his cock press against your entrance. he was huge, bigger than you remembered, or perhaps the heat had made him swell even more. for a moment, you wondered if you could take him, if your body could accommodate-
then he began to push inside, and all thoughts scattered.
the stretch was intense, overwhelming. your body yielded to him slowly, accepting him inch by inch. tonowari’s arms were shaking where they bracketed your head, his teeth clenched as he fought to maintain some semblance of control even now.
"so tight," he gritted out. "so perfect. made for me. made to take me. made to-" his hips jerked forward involuntarily, seating himself deeper, and you both cried out.
he was only halfway inside, and already you felt impossibly full. your walls fluttered around him, trying to adjust, and each small movement made him groan.
"more," you gasped, your legs wrapping around his waist, trying to pull him deeper. "tonowari, please, more-"
his control shattered completely.
with a roar that almost shook the marui, he slammed forward, burying himself to the hilt in one brutal thrust. the growing knot pressed against your entrance, not quite inside yet but promising, threatening. your back arched off the mat, a scream tearing from your throat, pleasure and pain and overwhelming fullness all at once.
and then he began to move.
there was nothing gentle about it. nothing careful. the heat had him completely now, instinct overriding everything else, and he fucked into you with a desperation that bordered on violence. each thrust was deep, punishing, driving the air from your lungs. the wet sounds of your bodies joining filled the marui, obscene and primal.
"look at you," he growled, his voice barely recognisable. "look how you take me. so small beneath me, and yet.." he punctuated the words with a particularly brutal thrust that made you sob. "yet you take every inch. every fucking inch of me."
you could barely breathe, barely think. he was so deep, reaching places inside you that you hadn't known existed. the stretch was almost too much, your body struggling to accommodate his size, but the pleasure was devastating. each drag of his cock against your walls sent sparks of sensation through your entire body.
"tonowari," you gasped, your nails raking down his back. "i can't.. it’s too much-"
"you can," he snarled, one massive hand gripping your hip hard enough to bruise, holding you in place as he drove into you again and again. "you will. you were made for this. made to be bred by me."
the word sent a shock of heat through you. bred. your body clenched around him involuntarily, and he groaned, his pace somehow becoming even more frantic.
"yes," he hissed. "you like that. like knowing i am going to fill you. going to breed you until you are round with my child. going to pump you so full.."
his other hand pressed down on your lower stomach, and you both felt it, the bulge of his cock moving inside you, visible beneath your skin. the size difference had never been more apparent. he was so large, and you were so much smaller, and yet your body was taking him, stretching around him, accommodating every thick inch.
"eywa," tonowari breathed, his eyes fixed on where his hand pressed, watching the bulge appear and disappear with each thrust. "look at you. look at what i do to you. i can see myself inside you, yawne. see how deep i reach."
you looked down, and the sight made you clench around him again. your stomach distended slightly with each thrust, the outline of him visible, proof of how thoroughly he was claiming you. it should have been frightening. instead, it made something hot and primal coil tighter in your core.
"harder," you heard yourself beg, your voice wrecked. "please tonowari."
he obliged, his hips snapping forward with bruising force. the angle shifted, and suddenly he was hitting something inside you that made sparks burst behind your eyes. you screamed, your body convulsing, and your first orgasm tore through you with devastating intensity.
but tonowari did not stop. did not even slow. he fucked you through it, prolonging it, his own breathing ragged and desperate.
"that is it," he growled. "come on my cock. squeeze me. show me how much you need this. need me."
you were sobbing now, overwhelmed by sensation, by the relentless pace, by the feeling of being so completely filled. your body was his, pinned beneath his much larger frame, helpless to do anything but take what he gave you.
"going to knot you," he panted, his thrusts becoming shorter, more focused. "going to lock myself inside this cunt and fill it until it takes. until everyone knows you are mine. carrying my child."
you felt it then, the knot at the base of his cock beginning to swell. it caught on your entrance with each thrust, not quite pushing inside yet but getting larger, harder. the stretch was already almost unbearable, and the knot was only going to make it worse.
"i do not know if i can-" you gasped, but your body was already responding, already trying to accept it.
"you can," tonowari said, his voice rough with certainty. "you will. your body knows what it needs. knows it needs to be bred properly. knotted and filled and claimed."
his hand slid between your bodies, finding the sensitive bundle of nerves above where you were joined, and he pressed down hard. the combination of sensations, his cock driving deep, the knot catching and stretching, his fingers on your clit, sent you over the edge again.
this orgasm was even more intense than the first, your entire body seizing, walls clamping down on him like a vice. and in that moment of heightened sensitivity, when your body was most pliant, most open, tonowari thrusted forward hard and the knot pushed inside.
the stretch was impossible. overwhelming. you screamed, back arching, as your body struggled to accommodate the thick swell now locked inside you. it was too much, far too much, and yet your body accepted it, stretched around it, held it.
"yes," tonowari roared, his hips grinding against yours, the knot preventing him from pulling out now. "yes, take it. take all of me. perfect. so fucking perfect."
he was locked inside you completely now, the knot ensuring that nothing would escape, that every drop of his release would stay deep inside where it belonged. the pressure was intense, the fullness beyond anything you had imagined. you could feel him throbbing inside you, could feel the knot pulsing.
and then he began to cum.
the first pulse of his release, there was so much of it. he groaned, his entire body shuddering, and you felt it flooding you, filling you, with nowhere to go because of the knot sealing you together. your stomach began to distend further, the bulge becoming more pronounced as he emptied himself inside you.
"look," he commanded, his hand pressing on your stomach again. "look at how i fill you. how much i give you."
you looked down and saw your belly swelling slightly, rounded with the sheer volume of his seed. it should have been impossible, but the knot kept everything locked inside, and he was still coming, still filling you. the sight was obscene and primal and deeply, fundamentally right.
"tonowari," you whimpered, your hands clutching at his shoulders. the pressure was intense, almost painful, but the satisfaction was bone-deep. this was what the heat demanded. what his body needed. to breed his mate thoroughly, completely, until there was no doubt that it would take.
"i know," he murmured, his voice softening slightly even as his hips continued to grind against yours in small, instinctive movements. "i know, yawne. you are doing so well. taking everything i give you. so small, and yet you hold all of me. all of my seed."
his hand stroked over your distended stomach almost reverently, feeling the swell of it, the proof of his claim. you were marked inside and out now, filled and knotted and bred exactly as instinct demanded.
the knot would not go down for a while yet. you were locked together, his cock still hard inside you, still pulsing occasionally with aftershocks. every small movement sent sparks of over-sensitised pleasure-pain through you.
"this is just the first," tonowari said, his eyes still dark with heat even though the desperate edge had dulled slightly. "the heat will last days. i will take you again and again. will keep you full and bred until my body is satisfied that you carry my child."
you shivered at the promise in his words, at the knowledge that this was far from over. your body was already exhausted, overwhelmed, and yet some deep part of you responded to his words with want.
"rest now," he murmured, carefully shifting you both so you lay on your sides, still locked together. his much larger body curled around yours protectively, one hand splayed possessively over your swollen stomach. "rest while you can. i will need you again soon."
you could already feel it, the heat building in him again, the way his cock twitched inside you, the tension returning to his muscles. this was only the beginning. the heat would drive him to take you repeatedly, to ensure his seed took root, and your body would have to endure it all.
time became fluid, measured only in the rhythm of tonowari's breathing against your neck and the slow, aching throb where you were still joined. minutes or hours might have passed, you could not tell. your body trembled with aftershocks, oversensitive and wrung out, while his seed continued to pulse weakly inside you, trapped by the knot that showed no signs of softening.
until finally, gradually, you felt it begin to recede.
the process was slow, almost agonising in its own way. each millimeter the swelling decreased made you acutely aware of how stretched you had been, how completely he had claimed every inch of you. tonowari's breathing had evened out behind you, his grip loosening slightly, and for a moment you thought perhaps the heat had broken.
you were wrong.
when the knot had finally softened enough, he pulled out with a low groan, and the rush of fluid that followed was obscene. it poured from you, thick and hot, far too much for your body to contain. You gasped at the sensation, at the sudden emptiness after being so impossibly full, and felt it coating your thighs, soaking into the woven mat beneath you.
"look at you," tonowari breathed, his voice rough with renewed hunger. his hand slid between your legs, fingers gathering the mess he had made, pushing it back inside you with a possessiveness that made you whimper. "leaking already. your body cannot even hold all i give you."
you were too exhausted to respond, your muscles liquid, your mind hazy. you thought perhaps he would let you rest now, let you recover before-
his scent hit you again, sharper than before, more intense. the heat was rising in him once more, faster this time, more demanding. you felt him shift behind you, felt his cock already hardening again against your lower back, and your breath caught.
"tonowari," you managed, your voice hoarse. "i need-"
"i know what you need," he growled, and suddenly his hands were on you, rolling you onto your stomach with an ease that reminded you exactly how much larger he was, how easily he could move you, position you, take you however he wanted. "you need your mate to breed you properly. to fill you until your body has no choice but to accept my child."
your arms were shaking as you tried to push yourself up, but he was already there, one massive hand pressing between your shoulder blades, keeping your chest down while his other hand gripped your hip, pulling your ass up.
the position made you feel even smaller beneath him, vulnerable and exposed. you could feel him behind you, the heat radiating from his body, the weight of his cock resting against your abused entrance. you were still so sensitive, still swollen and tender from the first round, and yet your body responded, slick gathering despite the soreness.
"i cannot be gentle this time," tonowari warned, but there was no apology in his voice. only raw need. "the heat, it is worse now. stronger. i need to mount you, breed you, make sure it takes."
"then do it," you gasped, because what else could you say? this was what the heat demanded. what his body needed. and yours would endure it.
he entered you in one brutal thrust.
you cried out, the stretch even more intense from this angle, the way gravity pulled you down onto him as he drove up into you. there was no careful working in this time, no gradual adjustment. he simply took, claimed, filled you with the single-minded focus of a male in the grip of heat.
"fuck," tonowari hissed, the crude word foreign on his tongue, dragged out by instinct. "so tight. even after i just bred you, your cunt grips me like it never wants to let go."
his hips snapped forward, setting a punishing rhythm immediately. each thrust drove the air from your lungs, drove him impossibly deep, the angle letting him reach places that made stars burst behind your eyes. the wet sounds of your coupling filled the marui, obscene and primal.
"you were made for this," he growled, his grip on your hip bruising as he used it for leverage, pulling you back onto his cock with each forward drive. "made to take your olo'eyktan's cock. to be bred by me. look how your little body stretches around me."
you could not look, could barely think, but you felt it. felt the impossible girth of him forcing your walls apart, felt the way your entrance strained around his thickness. from this position, the size difference was even more pronounced, his body covering yours completely, his hands so large they nearly spanned your entire waist, his cock so thick you did not understand how your body accommodated it.
but it did. it always did.
"tonowari," you sobbed, your fingers clawing at the mat beneath you, searching for purchase as he fucked into you with increasing desperation. "it is too much, i cannot-"
"you can," he cut you off, leaning over you, his chest pressing against your back, his weight pinning you down as he continued to drive into you. "you will. your body knows what to do. knows how to take me. how to milk every drop of seed from my cock."
his teeth found your shoulder, biting down hard enough to leave marks, and you keened at the sharp pleasure-pain of it. he was losing himself to the heat completely now, all pretense of control abandoned. this was pure instinct, pure need, the drive to breed, to claim, to ensure his mate carried his child.
"feel how deep i am," he panted against your skin, one hand sliding beneath you to press against your lower belly. "feel how i fill you. how your body makes room for me even though i am too big. even though i should not fit."
you felt it. felt the pressure of his hand from the outside and his cock from within, felt the way your belly yielded to accommodate him. the sensation was overwhelming, impossible to process, and yet your body responded with a fresh wave of slick, easing his way despite the soreness.
"that's it," tonowari praised, his voice a dark rumble.
his pace increased, each thrust harder than the last, and you could feel him swelling inside you again. already. the knot was forming faster this time, the heat driving his body to complete the breeding as quickly as possible.
"going to knot you again," he warned, though there was nothing you could do about it, nowhere you could go with his weight pinning you down and his cock buried inside you. "going to lock us together and fill you even fuller than before. going to pump so much seed into you that your belly swells with it."
"please," you whimpered, though you did not know what you were begging for. for him to stop? to continue? for relief from the overwhelming sensation or for more of it?
"please what?" tonowari demanded, his hips grinding against yours, the base of his cock catching on your entrance with each thrust. "please breed you? please knot you? please make sure you carry my child?"
"yes," you gasped, because it was all true, all of it. "yes, all of it, please.."
he groaned, the sound echoing through the marui as his knot caught, swelling rapidly until it locked you together once more. the stretch was agonising and perfect all at once, your body protesting and accepting simultaneously. you felt impossibly full, stretched beyond what should be possible, and then-
he came.
the first pulse of seed was like a flood, hot and thick, filling you instantly. but he did not stop. could not stop. the heat drove him to empty himself completely, pulse after pulse of cum pumping into you with a force that made your belly cramp. you could feel it, feel the sheer volume of it, feel the way it had nowhere to go with his knot sealing you shut.
"take it," tonowari growled, his hips jerking with each pulse, grinding his knot against your entrance. "take all of it. every drop. let it fill you until you cannot hold anymore."
your belly was swelling again, distending with the sheer amount of seed he was pumping into you. you looked down, watched in dazed fascination as your stomach rounded, the skin stretching taut. it should not be possible. no body should be able to produce this much, and yet the heat made it so, made his body determined to ensure conception through sheer volume alone.
"look at you," tonowari breathed, his hand sliding around to cup your cunt. "look how well you take me. how your body accepts everything i give you."
you could not respond, could only whimper as another pulse of cum filled you. the pressure was intense and yet beneath it was a strange satisfaction, a primal contentment at being so thoroughly claimed and bred.
tonowari shifted slightly, rolling you both onto your sides again, his knot still locked firmly inside you, his cock still pulsing weakly. his hand held your stomach, possessive and reverent, feeling the evidence of his claim.
"this is only the second time," he murmured against your neck, his voice still rough with heat despite the temporary satisfaction. "i will take you many more times before the heat breaks."
you shivered, exhausted and overwhelmed, your body already dreading and craving the next round in equal measure. the heat would not be satisfied easily. it would drive him to take you again and again, each time as intense as the last, until his instincts were finally appeased.
and you would take it gladly, would take everything he gave you. because he was your mate, and this was what the bond demanded.
༻༺
hi!! i had great fun writing this one, hope you guys enjoy it because i know i did!!
as always, i appreciate any support towards my work, requests are still open so submit whatever your heart desires! thank you!! - maya 🪼
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.
Summary: When the Sully family arrives in Awa’atlu, old wounds begin to split open inside Tonowari, Ronal, and Reader’s family.
angst + comfort
Wc: 15 715 words
Taglist: @coconuthoneyandjaguars
Masterlist
Pt2
The first time the Sullys came into Awa’atlu, the village changed shape around them.
Not in any way a stranger could have named, perhaps. The woven walkways were still strung between giant mangrove roots, the platforms still alive with the rhythm of hands at work, of children racing over sun-warmed wood, of nets being mended and fish being cleaned and voices rising over the endless breathing hush of the sea. But something in the air tightened all the same. The clan did not stop moving. It only moved differently, like a body drawing a breath and holding it.
You stood beside Tonowari when they arrived, just behind and slightly to his left, where the leader of the hunting parties would stand when judgment was to be watched but not yet spoken. Salt wind dragged across your skin. Your queue lay over one shoulder. The white marks of your avatar body caught the late light faintly, and though your build had always remained closer to the forest people than the reef people around you, the years had given you the easy balance of one who belonged here. Not by birth. Not by blood. But by time, by battle, by work, and by love.
It still did not stop them from looking.
You had long since learned how to feel it before you saw it. The way glances snagged on your hands, on your narrower tail, on your shoulders, on the traces that marked you as something that had not begun on Pandora no matter how deeply you had rooted yourself into it after. Most days you could let it pass like a tide under a canoe. Most days you could remind yourself that your mates had chosen you in full sight of what you were, that Tsireya’s laughter had first shaped itself around your name, that Ao’nung had once fallen asleep on your chest with seawater still drying in his hair after training. Most days it was enough.
This was not most days.
Jake Sully stepped forward carrying exile in the line of his body. Neytiri stood beside him like a drawn blade. Their children hovered near enough to their parents to show loyalty and far enough to show strain. Even before anyone said anything, the village had already seen the tails. The hands. The faces. The traces of sky-people blood riding alongside Na’vi bone.
And because the clan had seen them, the clan had thought of you.
Ronal’s gaze slid over the newcomers slowly. She did not spit the words some might have expected. She was too controlled for that, too sharp. Her judgment was worse for being clean. Her eyes rested on each child in turn, cool and measuring, then went to Jake, then back to Neytiri, then flicked once toward you before returning to Tonowari.
“They are very unlike us” she said.
That was all. Nothing louder. Nothing cruder. But the thought spread exactly as if she had named it outright. You felt it move through the gathered Metkayina like current through shallow water. Not all at once. Not boldly. Just enough. Half-breed. Strange. Wrong-shaped. Sky-touched. The same old poison dressed in softer cloth.
Tonowari spoke then, giving them uturu as his mercy demanded, because war and grief had driven them there and because he was not small enough to turn away those who came seeking sanctuary. You loved him most in moments like that. His voice was steady, his judgment larger than fear. Yet even while you loved him for it, some quieter and uglier part of you noticed that he never turned to the clan and stopped the way their eyes had slid to you too. He offered protection. He did not challenge implication.
Beside the Sullys, Lo’ak’s face set in that stubborn, bristling way boys wore when they had been cut too many times and refused to bleed where anyone could see it. Kiri stared back with painful calm. Neteyam stood straight as a spear. Tuk all but hid herself against Neytiri’s side.
Then Tsireya came up from the water, bright and curious and open as dawn, and the moment bent in a different direction for a heartbeat. Lo’ak looked at her as if the sea itself had climbed out to stare back at him. You would have laughed if the tension in the air had not still been sharp enough to cut.
Ao’nung and Rotxo ruined the moment almost immediately.
They did not begin at full cruelty. Boys rarely did when they were performing for a crowd. They started with the tails, with the shape of hands, with that dangerous tone that asked a question not because it wanted an answer but because it wanted permission to laugh. Tsireya told them to stop. Ao’nung did not listen. His eyes had gone to the Sully children with a brightness you knew too well. Not simple meanness. Worse. The thrill of sensing where the group’s cruelty would be safest, and stepping into it because it would make him bigger in their eyes.
You did not miss the way his glance brushed past you before he opened his mouth again.
That hurt more than it should have. It hurt because you knew where he had learned that comfort. Not from nowhere. Not from silence alone.
Still, the scene moved as it needed to. Tonowari assigned his children to help the Sully children learn the way of water. Only when Jake turned to him with the rigid, humiliated gratitude of a warrior accepting mercy with both hands did Tonowari glance toward you.
Tsireya was the one sent forward in the end.
That fit better than anything else could have. She was bright where the moment had gone brittle, open where the clan had narrowed in on itself, and young enough to step toward strangers without carrying quite so much of the adults’ suspicion in her bones. When Tonowari told her to show the Sullys where they would stay, she went without hesitation, all kindness and curiosity, gesturing for them to follow her deeper into the village with the easy grace that seemed to live in every part of her.
The others moved with her after a brief pause. Jake remained close to Neytiri. The children hovered around their parents, tense and watchful under so many eyes. Lo’ak looked like he wanted to stare at everything and fight half of it at the same time. Kiri was quieter, reading the village as if it might speak back if she listened hard enough. Tuk stayed tucked close. All of them followed Tsireya across the woven walkways and root-bridges while the clan watched them go.
You stayed where you were, still beside Tonowari, your face unreadable even while your thoughts moved harder than you wanted. Ronal had not said much, but she had not needed to. The clan had heard what sat underneath her judgment all the same, and because they had heard it, they had remembered you too. You could feel it in the aftertaste of the moment, in the glances that had lingered just a fraction too long before turning away.
Tonowari waited until the nearest listeners had drifted farther off before he spoke your name.
His voice was quieter now, stripped of the public weight it had carried a moment before. You looked at him, and something in his expression made you follow when he tilted his head slightly toward one of the outer platforms. It was not secrecy, exactly. More the instinct of a leader who knew when a conversation would grow teeth if it was given to the clan to overhear.
You went with him in silence.
The platform he chose sat a little apart from the nearest cluster of walkways, close enough to the village to remain within sight and far enough to let the noise of it blur into distance. Wind rolled in off the sea, carrying salt and the faint scent of algae warmed under the late sun. Below, the water shifted around the roots in restless blue-green ribbons.
Tonowari rested one hand against the rail of woven mangrove and looked out rather than at you immediately. “I want you to teach Jake Sully” he said.
You did look at him then.
For a beat, all you did was stare. Not because the request made no sense. In some ways it made too much. You were one of the strongest fighters in the clan. You understood adaptation better than most. You knew what it was to enter a people not shaped like yourself and learn anyway, hard and fast and under the pressure of never being allowed the comfort of true ignorance. Still, suspicion rose in you before duty did.
“Why me?” you asked.
Tonowari turned then, and he was too perceptive not to hear everything under the question. Not only why me because of skill. Why me when the clan has just been reminded what I am. Why me when Ronal looked at them and the people looked at me after.
His face softened, though not with pity. He had always known better than to offer you that. “Because you are capable” he said. “Because you see more than what is in front of you. Because he will need someone who understands both pride and shame if he is to learn quickly.”
Your mouth tightened. “That is not the only reason.”
“No” Tonowari admitted.
The honesty stopped you from hardening further.
He stepped closer, lowering his voice even more. “He is Olo’eyktan to his family even if he stands as refugee here. If he fails, the rest will feel it. If he is isolated, he will become harder to guide. You know warriors. You know how men like him carry humiliation. And…” He paused, studying you carefully. “There may be things in him you will understand more easily than others would.”
You held his gaze a long moment. “Because he was one of the sky-people.”
Tonowari did not flinch from it. “Yes.”
The word sat between you.
You looked away, out across the water where Tsireya’s bright figure could just be seen leading the Sullys farther along the village edge. Jake walked near the back now, his attention shifting everywhere at once despite the discipline in his posture. Soldier’s habit. Marine’s habit, maybe, though that thought came and passed before you had fully named it.
“And Ronal?” you asked at last.
Tonowari’s expression changed, not with irritation but with the knowledge that there was no use pretending that piece did not matter. “Ronal trusts you.”
“That was not my question.”
His jaw flexed once. “She will not interfere.”
You gave a short, humorless breath through your nose. “Another answer that is not the one I asked for.”
Tonowari accepted that too. “She does not like this burden being here at all” he said plainly. “But she does not doubt you. Neither do I.”
That should have eased you more than it did. Instead you found yourself searching his face for something smaller and meaner. Pity. Calculation. A hope that you would understand the Sullys because you were enough like them to make use of. Whatever he saw in your expression made his own grow steadier.
“This is not because I see you as closer to them than to us” he said, and now there was a firmness in him that left no room for retreat. “It is because I know exactly where you stand. With us. With this family. With this clan. Do not insult me by thinking I have forgotten.”
The rebuke was gentle only in tone. It landed harder for that.
You looked at him properly again. There was no hesitation in him now, no uncertainty, no crack through which old fear could crawl. For a brief moment the pressure in your chest loosened.
Then duty returned in full.
“If I do this” you said “I will not coddle him.”
Tonowari’s mouth twitched faintly. “I would be disappointed if you did.”
You folded your arms over your chest and stared out at the village once more. “And if he cannot learn?”
“Then at least he will fail honestly.”
That, more than anything, sounded like Tonowari.
Silence stretched for a few breaths. At last you nodded once. “Fine.”
Tonowari let out a breath so slight most would not have caught it. You did. He had wanted this more than he had let show. “Thank you.”
You shook your head. “Do not thank me yet.”
That almost drew a smile from him, but it faded before fully forming. Instead he stepped closer, slowly enough to give you time to refuse him if you wished. One of his hands came up to rest lightly at your waist, warm and familiar, and for a brief moment he only looked at you. Then he bent and kissed you.
It was soft, short, and almost unbearably gentle. No heat, no urgency, nothing that belonged to hunger more than affection. Just the quiet press of his mouth to yours, sweet with reassurance and the kind of love that had long since learned how to speak in smaller gestures. When he pulled back, he stayed close for only a heartbeat more before letting you go.
“I will send him to you after they settle” he said.
You watched him go.
——————————————————————
By the time Jake found you, the sun had shifted lower and the village had settled into that restless in-between hour when work had not yet ended but the worst of the day’s heat had broken. You were near one of the outer racks checking spear bindings, more to give your hands something useful to do than because the task truly needed doing. The sounds of Awa’atlu drifted around you in pieces: children splashing in shallows below, women calling to one another from the fish platforms, distant laughter, the low hush of water against root and wood.
You heard his steps before you turned.
Jake stopped a respectful distance away. For a moment neither of you spoke. Up close, it was easier to see what had first flashed at the edge of your notice before. The way he held his shoulders. The way he looked at space first, then movement, then exits, then finally people. The kind of stillness that was not ease but readiness worn so long it had become a second skin. He looked older than his face alone accounted for. More tired too.
He inclined his head slightly. “Tonowari said I’m with you.”
His Na’vi was serviceable, accented hard, each word carrying the weight of effort. You let him finish before answering.
“For now” you said.
Something in his expression shifted, not quite amusement and not quite resignation. He had likely already learned enough in the village to know that this was your version of mercy.
You set the spear aside and faced him fully. For a moment, you let the silence sit between you, weighing him properly now that the village noise had fallen farther away.
“Tonowari believes you can learn” you said at last. “I have not decided yet.”
Jake took that without visible offense. If anything, something in his posture settled, as if bluntness was easier for him to understand than politeness.
“Fair enough” he said.
You crossed your arms over your chest. “You will listen the first time. You will not argue every correction like wounded pride makes you smarter. And you will not expect me to make this easy because you were Toruk Makto, Olo’eyktan, or anything else that matters somewhere other than here.”
That finally pulled the faintest shift in his expression. Not quite amusement. Not quite irritation. More like recognition of a hard tone he had heard before in other places, under other chains of command.
“Got it” he said.
You held his gaze another beat, watching for the usual signs. Swagger. Resentment. The need to prove himself immediately. Instead you found exhaustion, discipline, and something heavier buried under both.
That did not make you trust him. It only made you think he might be worth the effort.
For one strange beat, the air between you altered. Not softer. Sharper. Recognition trying on a shape before either of you trusted it enough to name. Neither of you moved first. Neither smiled. Yet some old instinct, buried under years and planets and new bodies and new loyalties, stirred its head.
You broke eye contact first because you disliked the feeling of being read.
“Walk” you said.
Jake followed without protest. You led him down one of the narrower village paths where the platforms thinned and the sound of the central marui softened behind you. For a while you said nothing, making him keep pace over slick wood and curving roots, watching whether he looked only at where he stepped or at the full environment around him. He adapted quickly, though not gracefully. Not yet.
At last you stopped near a lower platform where the tide had come in high enough to lap against the woven supports.
“If you are to remain here” you said, turning to him “you will learn more than how to swim their way and breathe their way. You will learn when not to take up space. You will learn when pride becomes a burden for everyone around you.”
Jake absorbed that without visible offense. If anything, his gaze grew a shade more direct. “You always start this friendly?”
“No” you said. “Normally I am worse.”
That did it. One corner of his mouth moved before he could stop it.
You noticed. So did he.
It vanished almost at once.
He was silent after that, and to his credit he did not push.
That, more than the recognition itself, was what made you decide he might actually be teachable.
——————————————————————
Jake Sully learned like a man who understood that failure was no longer private.
The first few days, you gave him no softness. You made him run the shallows until his breathing turned ragged. You corrected his stance with the blunt pressure of your hand against his shoulder and the sharper crack of your voice when words failed. You showed him how to move his balance lower on the slick roots, how to enter the water without fighting it, how to watch the current rather than only the surface. You kept your explanations short in Na’vi because he needed the language in his mouth as much as the skill in his limbs. When he stumbled, you made him go again. When he swore under his breath, you pretended not to understand.
By the end of the second day, both of you knew you were pretending.
He had just surfaced from another rough dive, pushing wet hair out of his face and coughing salt from his throat, when you said, “You are still trying to win against the water.”
Jake wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “That obvious, huh?”
The English snapped between you so suddenly that both of you stilled.
Then, despite everything, the corner of your mouth twitched.
“Yes” you answered in the same language. “Painfully obvious.”
He barked a laugh. It came out rougher than amused, but it was real. For the first time since arriving, some of the tightness in him loosened.
“Jesus” he muttered. “That’s nice.”
“What?”
“English. No offense, but my brain feels like it’s getting beat with a shovel half the time.”
You folded your arms over your chest and looked at him a long moment. “You are doing better than you think.”
“Yeah?”
“No.”
That got a fuller laugh out of him, and there it was again, that quick flash of recognition. Not intimacy. Not anything you needed to fear. Just the strange, immediate ease of finding another person who had once stood under the same hard sun, listened to the same dead humor, worn the same kind of damage into the body until it became posture.
From the shallows, you saw Tonowari turn his head slightly from where he spoke with a group of hunters farther up the beach.
He looked away almost at once.
You told yourself it meant nothing.
——————————————————————
What unsettled your family was not one thing. It was accumulation.
Jake began to catch more of your English when it slipped out around frustration or instinct. Once, when he planted his foot wrong on a root slick with spray and nearly went backward into the water, you grabbed his arm and snapped “Watch your footing, soldier” before thinking. He froze. Then he stared at you with dawning disbelief.
“No way.”
You let go too quickly. “What?”
“That’s marine. Nobody says that like that unless—” He laughed under his breath. “You were one too.”
You did not answer immediately. Waves lapped around your calves. Farther out, ilu rolled just under the skin of the sea like ghosts. At last you said “A long time ago.”
“Still counts.”
“Not here.”
He studied you with a little too much understanding. “Yeah. I get that.”
You hated how much you liked being understood without having to pry your chest open for it. Hated, too, how dangerous that liking could look from the outside when no one else shared the language that carried it.
So you cut the moment short and sent him back underwater.
But these things added up. A phrase here. A tone there. A curse muttered in English when he swallowed too much water and came up sputtering. The half-grin you could not quite stop when he made some dry, bitter joke about command structures and impossible missions. The day you found yourself humming under your breath while sorting spears after training and he looked up from where he knelt checking a woven net.
“Hold on” he said.
You stopped.
“No” he said, staring. “No way.”
Your fingers tightened on the shaft in your hand. “What.”
“That song.”
You had not heard that song in years. Not truly. It was old even before Pandora, older still by the time it had crossed light-years with you in memory alone. Some fragment of Earth, half nursery-rhyme, half cheap old melody from barracks speakers and scratched recordings and a place so far gone it barely felt real anymore.
You should have denied it.
Instead you said “You know it?”
Jake let out a disbelieving breath. Then, very softly, he sang the next line.
Your whole body went still.
It was absurd. It was stupid. It was nothing but a few words from a dead world carried unexpectedly into salt air and reef light. And yet the force of it hit you somewhere behind the ribs. Something old and buried sat up inside you all at once.
So you sang back.
Not loudly. Not beautifully. Your voice had never been built for softness. Jake’s was worse, rough and low and frayed at the edges. But between you the melody formed anyway, pieced together from memory and laugh-broken mistakes and the sort of embarrassed amusement soldiers learned when they recognized one another being sentimental by accident.
When it ended, the silence after felt strange.
“Damn” Jake said.
You looked away toward the horizon because your throat had gone unexpectedly tight. “Yeah...”
“That was… damn.”
You stayed quieter this time.
Neither of you noticed Tsireya standing farther down the beach with an armful of shells for a long few seconds. By the time you did, her expression had already smoothed itself into something easy. She came forward smiling, asking what the song had meant, asking what language it was, asking if you would teach her a little of it.
You answered gently. You always answered Tsireya gently.
But that night, when you returned to the family marui, Ao’nung was sharper than usual. Ronal’s attention lingered on you too long before dropping. Tonowari asked how Jake had done, and the question was ordinary, but something under it was not.
You noticed.
You said nothing.
——————————————————————
Lo’ak came to you slowly.
It began with small things. Not intimacy. Not confidence. Observation.
You were the first among the Metkayina adults to acknowledge the Sully children’s progress without loading the praise with surprise or mockery. When Kiri held her breath longer than anyone expected, you told her so plainly. When Neteyam adapted his form in the water, you nodded once and said he learned fast. When Tuk followed Tsireya through shallow reef channels without fear, you crouched to her height and told her she was brave. And when Lo’ak took an ilu ride that ended ragged but stubbornly recovered, you caught him at the shore while everyone else focused on the larger lesson and told him “You corrected quickly. That's useful here.”
He looked at you then as if he did not know what to do with approval that had no sting hidden inside it.
After that, you caught him watching you now and again. Not often. Enough.
You did not go to him at once. Boys like Lo’ak could smell pity the way akulas smelled blood. He would have bolted from it. So you waited. You watched how Ao’nung needled him, how Neteyam shielded him when he could, how Jake’s discipline fell hardest on him and Neytiri’s worry sharpened around him until both could sound like disappointment if a child heard them at the wrong angle. You watched how Lo’ak learned to grin before the next blow landed, how he bristled before anyone touched the sore place because he had learned that if he bared his teeth first people mistook it for strength.
Then came the day Ao’nung and his friends crossed too far.
It played out near the waterline with enough witnesses to make it uglier. Rotxo laughed first. Ao’nung followed, circling the Sully children with that loose-limbed swagger boys wore when they believed the world had already decided in their favor. Tails. Hands. Foreheads. The mockery came quick and mean. Kiri’s expression closed. Lo’ak stepped forward at once, ready to start the fight that had already been offered to him.
You moved before he could.
“Ao’nung.”
Your voice cracked across the space hard enough that every child there froze.
Your son turned. Shock hit first, then defiance. He had expected adults to ignore it. He had not expected you.
“Mother—”
“No.”
The word came flat as stone. You crossed the sand until you stood between the two groups, not facing the Sully children at all. Facing him. Only him.
“What do you see when you look at them?” you asked.
Ao’nung lifted his chin. Around him, Rotxo and the others went still with the instinctive caution of boys who realized too late that the game had shifted.
He said nothing.
You took one step closer. “Say it.”
His jaw tightened. “They are not like us.”
The words struck with the force of memory because you had heard them before. Not always aloud. Not always with witnesses. But enough.
“No” you said. “They are not. And yet they are under our protection. They are guests. They are children. Is this how I taught you to carry strength?”
Ao’nung’s eyes flicked away for the briefest instant. Shame. Then anger, because shame rarely came alone at his age.
“They are freaks” one of the boys muttered from behind him, too quiet perhaps in hope of escaping notice.
You heard it anyway.
So did Lo’ak. So did Kiri. So did Tsireya, who had just reached the edge of the group and gone pale.
You felt the word land inside your own ribs like a thrown stone. For one terrible instant you nearly lost your hold on your face. Nearly let them all see exactly where it had struck. But you had stood through worse than a child’s cruelty, and this was not the moment to bleed.
Instead you looked at Ao’nung and said, very quietly “Then what does that make me?”
Silence.
Not one child moved.
Ao’nung’s eyes snapped back to yours, wide for one naked second before he forced them harder again. He had not expected that. He had not expected to be made to look directly at the bridge between what he had said and who you were.
“You are not—” he began.
But he had no ending for it.
You spared him none.
“You will not speak that way again” you said. “Not of them. Not of anyone under this clan’s shelter. If you do not know how to carry your rank with honor, then you will carry nothing. Go.”
He stood frozen just long enough to reveal the child still living inside the almost-young-man shape of him. Then he turned sharply and stalked off, his friends scrambling after him in uneasy silence.
The Sully children remained where they were.
You still did not look at them immediately. Your hurt was too near the surface. You knew if you met Lo’ak’s eyes just then you might show too much.
When you finally turned, Neteyam looked wary. Kiri looked as if she had understood far more than you wanted her to. Tuk only seemed confused. Lo’ak had that same braced expression again, like he did not trust good things not to twist into something else.
So you kept it simple.
“Go with Tsireya” you said. “Training is not finished.”
Tsireya stepped forward at once, relief and loyalty all over her face, gathering the others with the soft authority that came to her as naturally as tide.
Lo’ak lingered half a second longer.
You gave him one small nod.
He went.
Only when they were gone did you let yourself breathe.
——————————————————————
That night Ao’nung found you outside the marui.
The village slept in pieces, never fully. The sea muttered against the roots. Wind moved through hanging shells and fishbone charms with a sound like soft rattling breath. You had come out because you could not bear one more look, one more half-thought, one more silence from inside. You stood on a narrow platform over dark water and let the night keep your company while the tears you had denied yourself earlier escaped anyway, quiet and furious.
You heard him before you saw him. Young warriors always thought they moved more silently than they did.
“Mother?”
You swiped at your face before turning. He saw anyway. Of course he saw. Ao’nung had always been able to read your pain more quickly than Tsireya. He simply had less practice handling it.
He stood a little distance away, no longer broad with performance. Just young. Just your son. His shoulders had lost all their earlier swagger.
“I should not have said those things” he said.
His voice was low, roughened by shame he clearly hated. You waited.
“I should not have let them say them either” he added. “It was wrong.”
Still you waited.
Ao’nung swallowed. “I was angry.”
“Angry at children?” you asked.
“No.” He stopped, jaw tight. “At… everything.”
That at least was honest.
You looked back out over the water. Moonlight silvered the surface in broken bands. “Do you know why your words hurt?”
“Yes.”
“No” you said. “You know why they upset me. That is not the same.”
He flinched. Not visibly enough for a stranger. More than enough for you.
After a moment, you went on. “When you call them freaks, when you make their bodies into something to be mocked, you are not speaking only to them. You are speaking into a wound that existed before they arrived. A wound you have seen this clan touch in me all your life whether you named it or not.”
Ao’nung’s breathing changed. Slight. Tight.
“I know” he said.
You turned then and finally looked at him fully. “Do you?”
His face worked with things he did not know how to say. Defensiveness. Shame. Pride. Fear. The ugly confusion of realizing that someone could love you fiercely and still be disappointed in the shape you were taking.
“I did not mean you” he said at last, and it was the sort of thing a child said because he still believed intent could erase impact.
Your chest ached.
“I know” you answered softly. “But it doesn't erase that I still am lime them.”
Tears burned again. You despised them. You let none fall this time.
Ao’nung took a hesitant step forward. “I am sorry.”
This time, because it was him, because he had come on his own and because he was trying in the only way he knew how, you reached out. Your hand settled briefly against his cheek.
“I know” you said.
He leaned into the touch before he caught himself. The movement was small, almost involuntary, but you felt it all the same. It broke you a little more, because for all his sharpness and pride and the cruel stupidity of what he had done earlier, there was still something achingly young in the way he sought comfort before remembering he was meant to stand tall without it.
Your hand slid from his cheek to the back of his head before you could think better of it.
“Ao’nung” you said softly.
That was all it took.
Whatever stiffness had been holding him upright gave way at last, and he stepped into you with none of his usual swagger left, leaning his weight against you as if he had forgotten for a moment how to keep it all inside himself. You drew him in without hesitation, wrapping both arms around him and holding him close. One hand spread broad between his shoulder blades while the other rested at the back of his head, keeping him there with a gentleness that only made the ache in your chest deepen.
He did not speak. Neither did you.
For a little while, the two of you only stayed that way in the dark, with the sea breathing quietly below and the night moving around the edges of the platform. Ao’nung let himself be held in a way he would have denied wanting in daylight, all the sharp edges of him gone quiet for once. You pressed a kiss to his hairline and held him tighter for a heartbeat, as though that alone could soothe every place where disappointment had cut through both of you.
When he finally pulled back, it was slowly and with visible reluctance, his face turned partly away as if he could hide how much he had needed it.
You let him have that dignity.
He swallowed once, then straightened. “Goodnight, Mom” he said, voice rougher than before.
Your hand brushed briefly over his arm before you let him go. “Goodnight, baby.”
Only after he had disappeared back into the sleeping village did you stand there alone and let the thought come that you had been keeping away.
Ao’nung had been comfortable enough to say those things because he had heard their shape before. Maybe not in those exact words. Maybe not from Tonowari’s mouth. But from the clan. From whispers. From tones. From Ronal’s colder judgments uttered when you were not near enough to answer. From silences that let implication breathe.
And if Ao’nung had learned it there, if he had learned that such thoughts were sayable, then what had Tonowari and Ronal allowed to live around your children in all these years?
Worse still, what had they themselves believed and merely loved you enough never to say?
The question lodged like a hook and would not come free.
——————————————————————
After that, Lo’ak became a shape at the edge of your days more often.
He did not come to confide in you. Not yet. But he began staying back when the others ran ahead. He lingered after lessons under excuses that fooled no one. Once, while Tsireya helped Tuk with a breathing exercise and Ao’nung wrestled some challenge out of Rotxo farther down the reef, you found Lo’ak sitting alone on a low root with his feet in the water, staring out so hard at the horizon it looked like he was trying to force his thoughts into it.
You could have left him.
Instead you sat beside him without asking.
For a while neither of you spoke. Water moved around your ankles. A school of tiny fish flashed silver below. Somewhere overhead seabirds cried.
At last you said “You glare like your father.”
Lo’ak snorted before he could stop himself. “That’s not a compliment.”
“No” you agreed. “It is not.”
He glanced at you sideways then, suspicious amusement mixing with caution.
You let the quiet stretch again until he settled back into it.
When you spoke next, your voice was lighter than the weight of the question. “Did you want to punch Ao’nung?”
Lo’ak huffed. “Kinda always.”
“Reasonable.”
That earned you a real look. The first one not filtered through wariness.
You did not smile. Not much. Just enough.
A little of the tension left him. “You were really pissed.”
“Yes.”
“Because he was being a skxawng.”
“Yes.”
Lo’ak nudged water with one foot, watching the ripples. “And because of the other thing.”
There it was.
You turned your face toward the sea again. “Yes.”
He was quiet a long while after that. Then he asked, too casual to be casual “Does it bother you?”
You could have lied. You almost did. But something in the set of his shoulders stopped you.
“Of course it does.” you said.
Lo’ak looked down at his hands. Five fingers. Strong. Capable. Wrong, to some eyes. He flexed them once.
“Oh” he said.
It was such a small sound. Such a bare one. It carried more than any long confession would have.
You understood then, with a painful clarity, that no one had told him what he needed to hear. Not in a way that had sunk in. Not enough times. Not with the right weight.
So you spoke carefully, because some truths had to be laid in a boy’s hands like knives turned hilt-first.
“Listen to me, Lo’ak. The shape of your body does not lessen you. Not your hands. Not your tail. Not your face. Not any piece of you. Anyone who tells you otherwise is trying to make themselves feel pure by cutting someone else smaller. That is not truth. That is cowardice.”
He stared straight ahead. You were not certain he was breathing.
“You are Na’vi” you went on. “You are your father’s son and your mother’s son. You are yourself beyond both of them. You do not have to earn personhood from people who look at you and see only what is different. Do you understand me?”
Lo’ak’s throat moved.
“Maybe” he muttered.
“Then I will say it again another day.”
That made his mouth twitch a little. Not quite a smile. Near enough.
And because he was still a boy, because the ache in him had not erased the impulse to test, he said “You really think I’m perfect?”
“Nobody is” you said at once.
His head whipped toward you, offended.
You let him stew half a second before adding “You are loud, impulsive, and you make decisions like someone throwing knives blind in the dark. But none of that has anything to do with the body you were born into.”
Lo’ak barked a laugh so sudden it startled both of you.
You joined him. Very briefly.
From then on, he sought you more.
Not always alone. Sometimes he just drifted toward wherever you were helping set lines or checking spears or returning from a hunt, offering clumsy help he would never have offered before. Sometimes you found him with Tsireya and Tuk, and he was easy there, gentler. Sometimes he caught you between duties and asked sharp questions about fighting, or hunting, or how long it had taken you to feel like you belonged in reef water. Sometimes he said nothing at all, only sat near enough that the silence became company.
The Sullys noticed. So did your family.
Jake and Neytiri, to their credit, did not pry. You saw the awareness in Jake’s eyes, the cautious gratitude in the way he sometimes let Lo’ak drift toward you without calling him back. Neytiri watched too, more guarded, but she recognized help when she saw it. She simply did not know its shape.
Your own family did not have that grace.
Tsireya’s jealousy came first and hurt the least. She grew clingier in small ways, touching your arm more often, leaning against you when she spoke, asking if you would braid shells into her hair that evening or come see some little thing she had found in the tide pools. It was not suspicion. It was fear of displacement. You answered it at once, gathering her close whenever you returned home, pressing kisses to her forehead, telling her stories while you worked her braids loose and redid them, letting her fall asleep with her head in your lap when the nights grew longer.
Ao’nung’s came in the form of watchfulness. He did not mention Lo’ak directly. He simply observed too much and went sharp around the edges whenever he found you speaking to the Sully boy alone. Shame still sat between the two of you after his apology, not healed, only softened over. That made everything worse.
Tonowari and Ronal felt different.
They held it in. They trusted you, and because they trusted you they hated the feeling all the more. You could see it in what they did not say. Tonowari lingering longer after evening meals, listening when you spoke of training but not asking the questions beneath his quiet. Ronal watching your face when Jake’s name came up and then turning away before the glance could become accusation. Their discomfort did not come from believing you unfaithful. Not yet. It came from seeing parts of you open in ways they had never been invited into.
That was what jealousy often was at its core. Not fear of replacement. Fear of exclusion.
You almost understood it enough to forgive.
Almost.
——————————————————————
The fracture deepened before it broke.
You began hearing things you had never let yourself fully hear before. A pause in conversation when you approached. A woman on a fish platform lowering her voice just a breath too late. A boy saying something under his breath about sky-blood and getting hissed into silence by his sister. None of it new, perhaps. Only newly impossible to ignore once Ao’nung had put shape to it in front of you.
And Ronal, for all the love between you, did not help.
She was not careless with you. Never that. In private she touched you with certainty, trusted your judgment in battle, shared the weight of the children and the home and the clan’s expectations. But she had always kept a harder core than Tonowari, and in moments where the Sullys were discussed her words carried enough old disdain to stir every insecurity you had spent years trying to bury. She did not call them demons. She did not need to. A tone could do the work. A look. A certain refusal to separate strangeness from contamination.
Each time, you said nothing.
Each time, something in you bent a little further.
Then came the day you learned she had spoken more plainly when you were not there.
Not from Tonowari. Not from some dramatic confrontation. From chance. From walking behind a half-screened section of woven wall and hearing the tail end of a conversation between Ronal and two women who had come seeking her counsel. You only caught enough to understand. The Sully children. Their bodies. Their blood. The risk of letting too much of the sky-people remain in the heart of the clan. Ronal’s voice cool and unsparing. Not once your name spoken, but you heard yourself in every omission.
You left before they saw you.
That night you could not eat.
When Tonowari asked what was wrong, you said you were tired. Ronal looked at you too long and said nothing. Ao’nung picked at his meal. Tsireya chatted about some little thing from the reef until even she felt the heaviness and fell quiet.
You slept badly. When morning came, you threw yourself harder into your duties.
No one stopped you.
——————————————————————
The argument began with almost nothing.
That was the cruel part. The worst fights often did.
You had spent half the day with the hunting parties and the latter part of the afternoon checking on the younger trainees. By the time you returned to the marui, salt dried tight over your skin and exhaustion sat meanly in your bones. The family meal was nearly ready. Tsireya was helping set woven plates in place. Ao’nung was cleaning a spearhead with too much force. Tonowari sat mending something with hands that only looked calm. Ronal had her back partly to you, sorting herbs and shells for medicines, her profile sharp in the slanting gold light.
You entered and the shift in the marui was immediate, small but noticeable all the same. Tsireya brightened first, coming to you at once, and you kissed her forehead as naturally as breathing. Your hand rested briefly on Ao’nung’s shoulder as you passed, even though he did not look up, his attention fixed too carefully on the spearhead in his hands.
Tonowari’s eyes found you next.
He was seated near the center of the space, broad shoulders slightly bowed over the piece of mending in his hands, but the moment he saw you he straightened a little. Not enough to make it obvious. Just enough that you caught it. His gaze moved over your face in one quick, quiet check, as though measuring your tiredness, your mood, the weight you had brought back in with you from the day. When you paused near him, he reached out and let his fingers brush lightly over your wrist. It was a small touch, gone almost as soon as it happened, but it carried the kind of familiar care that long years built into instinct.
“You are late” he said.
There was no reprimand in it. Only notice.
“Work took longer” you answered.
Tonowari gave a low hum and let his hand fall away, though not before his thumb brushed once against your skin. “Sit when you are done. You have not rested enough these past days.”
Before you could answer, Ronal looked up from where she sat sorting herbs and shells into neat little groupings by her side.
Her expression was harder to read, as it often was when others were near, but you knew her too well not to catch the brief pause in her hands when you stepped fully into the marui. She looked at you for a moment longer than necessary, her gaze moving over the damp salt dried into your skin, the tension still holding across your shoulders, the faint exhaustion under your eyes. Then she clicked her tongue softly, almost under her breath.
“You pushed too far again" she said.
The words should have sounded sharp. From anyone else, they would have. From Ronal, they carried that familiar edge of concern dressed in sternness, the shape it most often took when she did not want to soften herself in front of the children.
You exhaled through your nose, too tired to fight the gesture for what it was. “I am still standing.”
“Yes, Ronal said, dry and unimpressed. “And you think that is always the same as being well.”
Tsireya hid a smile at that, clearly having heard the argument before.
For the briefest moment, your eyes met Ronal’s properly. Something quiet passed there. Not tenderness made obvious. Never that, not in front of everyone. But something steady and known, something that had lived in the spaces between the three of you for too long to need much dressing.
You shook your head faintly, more to yourself than to either of them, and moved at last to wash.
——————————————————————
It could have ended there.
Instead Ronal said, without turning “Lo’ak was looking for you again.”
The words were ordinary. The tone was not.
You stilled with water running over your fingers.
“I saw him” you said.
“Mm.”
That sound. Small. Dismissive. Heavy with all the things left unsaid.
You dried your hands slowly and faced her. “If you wish to say something, say it.”
Tsireya froze. Ao’nung’s head lifted. Tonowari’s hands went still over the mending in his lap.
Ronal turned then. Her face was controlled, but not enough. “You spend much time with him.”
“He needed guidance.”
“He has parents.”
The words landed harder than they should have because you had given your life to children who were not of your body and never once resented it. Because you knew exactly where your deepest insecurity lived. Because Ronal knew it too.
“So do ours” you replied, voice already sharpening. “Yet that has never stopped me from raising them.”
Tonowari looked up fast. “Enough.”
“No” you said without taking your eyes off Ronal.
Ronal set down the herbs in her hands one by one with terrifying care. “The clan sees. The people speak.”
“And you listen.”
Her nostrils flared. “I am Tsahìk. I hear what moves through my people.”
“You let it move.”
“That is not the same.”
“No?” Your laugh came sharp and ugly. “Then tell me, Ronal, when they look at the Sully children and see something tainted, something wrong-shaped, something less, do you think I do not know what else they are seeing in that moment?”
Tonowari stood. “Y/n—”
“DO NOT.” You barely spared him a glance.
The words came out so loud and raw that the whole marui seemed to freeze around them.
For a heartbeat, no one moved. No one even breathed properly. It was not only the force of it. It was the fact that none of them could remember the last time they had heard you scream at all, much less heard it turned on one of them. Not Tonowari. Not Ronal. Not the children. You were not gentle by nature, not always soft, but this was different. This was something torn straight out of the center of you, stripped of discipline and pride and every careful restraint you usually kept wrapped tight around your hurt.
Silence crashed into the marui so hard even the sea beyond seemed to retreat.
Ronal’s chin lifted higher. Hurt had reached her now, and pride arrived right behind it. “You are twisting this.”
“Am I?” Your voice rose. “Ao’nung did not learn those thoughts from water and wind. He learned them here. In this clan. In this home. In the things said when I am not present and the things not challenged when I am.”
Ao’nung jerked upright. “Mother—”
“Be silent.”
The words cracked out of you with a force that seemed to stun even yourself.
Ao’nung went still at once. So did everyone else. It was not simply that you had snapped at him. It was that none of them were used to this version of your anger, this loud, shaking, barely-contained thing that tore out of you without the usual control wrapped around it. You could be stern. You could be sharp. But this was different, and the shock of hearing it turned on him kept Ao’nung rooted where he stood.
Ronal’s eyes flashed. “You accuse me of turning my son against you?”
“I accuse you of feeding him poison and calling it caution.”
Tsireya made a strangled sound. Tonowari stepped between you by instinct, but you moved sideways before he could block the line of the fight.
The words struck. Not because they were true in the way she meant. Because some part of them touched something real.
Your face twisted, more wounded than angry for one naked second.
“Never offered you?” you shot back. “You speak as though you ever reached for them.”
Ronal went still.
You laughed once, harsh and shaking. “Do you know how many times either of you asked about where I came from? About the life before this one? About the language still living in my mouth? About the things I lost?” Your voice rose again, raw with old hurt now, with something far older than the Sullys and this argument and even the clan’s whispers. “You accepted that those parts of me existed, yes, but you never wanted to stand too close to them. Never wanted to know them unless they could be made useful, or small, or easy to set aside.”
Tonowari’s expression changed at that, guilt flashing through it before he could hide it.
You did not spare him either.
“I did not hide those pieces because I wished to keep you out,” you said, voice breaking around the force of it. “I kept them quiet because no one asked. Because no one looked at those wounds and wondered what they were made of.”
The silence that followed hurt worse than shouting.
You had kept those fragments hidden. Not maliciously. Not knowingly. But because pain went silent when no one around you shared its language and because the ones who claimed to love you had never truly learned how to ask for it.
“You think I would betray you for friendship?” you asked, voice trembling now with fury.
“I think” Ronal snapped, and now she was shouting too “that demons return to their own. I think perhaps you feel the pull of sameness and do not know it. I think perhaps that is why you go so often where you are reflected.”
Everything in you went cold.
Tonowari moved at once. “Ronal.”
But she was too far inside the blow already. You saw regret hit her only after the words were gone.
You stared at her. “Do you see me only as a demon, then?”
Ronal was breathing hard. Wounded pride, jealousy, fear, and years of buried prejudice had tangled too tightly to unwind cleanly. In that moment she chose anger because anger felt stronger than retreat.
“Yes” she said, in a voice that shook. “In this, yes. What else calls a mated woman away so often if not the demon in her? What else lets her laugh and sing and hide herself with another male as though the bond of her family is not enough?”
Tsireya began to cry.
The sound barely reached you. Your ears were roaring.
You stepped forward so fast Tonowari actually reached out to catch your arm and missed. “You dare” you said, each word raw. “You dare accuse me of cheating while standing in the home I built with my own hands. While speaking to the children I fed, bathed, taught, held. While wearing medicines I gathered and skins I cured and weapons I sharpened. You dare call me demon after I gave you every piece of my fucking life?!”
Ronal’s face crumpled for a heartbeat under the force of it, but you were beyond mercy now.
“You put those thoughts into Ao’nung’s mouth” you went on, voice breaking louder. “Do not deny it. He did not invent that cruelty. He learned from the contempt you carry when you think I am not looking.”
“I was protecting this family!” Ronal shouted back.
“By teaching our son to despise people like me?”
Ao’nung surged to his feet then, shaking with his own helpless rage and terror, too young and too proud and too frightened for either of you.
“Stop talking to her like that!”
You turned on him in disbelief. “To her?”
His chest rose and fell fast. “She is my mother.”
The words hung. Not wrong. Not enough.
Pain and fury made you crueler than you meant to be. “And I am what, then?”
Ao’nung’s face twisted. For a second you saw him realize the cliff edge. He stepped anyway.
“You are not even my true mother” he spat. “You are not my real parent.”
The world stopped.
There were sounds after. Tsireya sobbing. Tonowari barking Ao’nung’s name in horror. Ronal’s sharp inhale like she had been stabbed. But all of it came from very far away. What you heard most clearly was the split inside your chest. Clean. Final. A thing tearing where you had thought it had grown too strong to tear.
Tonowari crossed to you quickly, hands half raised. “Y/n, listen to me—”
“No.” You reeled back from him too. “NO. NOT ONE OF YOU.”
Tsireya ran forward then and you almost broke on the sight of her, but you could not stay. Could not breathe inside that marui another second.
You snatched up the nearest things that were yours. A wrap. A knife. Your bow. A small satchel hanging from a peg by the entrance. Tonowari called your name. Ronal did too, and hers sounded ruined now, but you could not hear anything except the echo of demon and not my true mother and the older, deeper voice inside yourself whispering the worst of all.
You could not even give them children.
Perhaps that was what had always sat beneath it. The old failure. The body that had crossed worlds and changed shape and still would not do this one thing the clan understood without question. You had told yourself for years it did not matter, because Tsireya and Ao’nung were yours in every way that counted. But pain was a scavenger. It dragged up every buried bone when called.
You fled before you screamed.
You climbed until your hands bled.
Not badly. Just enough for the sting to keep you in your body when grief wanted to blast you out of it. You left the clustered marui of the village behind, crossed a tangle of roots and tide-cut stone, and found one of the old trees farther inland where mangrove gave way to the slightly drier edges of forest. There, high above ground and water both, you wedged yourself into the cradle of thick branches and finally let the collapse come.
It was not graceful. It was not quiet.
You cried until your chest cramped and your throat felt flayed raw. You hit the trunk once with the heel of your hand hard enough to bruise. You cursed in English because Na’vi felt too sacred for the ugliness in you and because no one was there to hear Earth’s dead language anyway. Then you curled in on yourself with your forehead pressed to bark and shook like something hunted.
You thought of Ao’nung as a small child reaching for you from Ronal’s arms the first time he had chosen to come to you without prompting. You thought of Tsireya feverish and half asleep, her fingers tangled in your braid while you sat up all night cooling her skin with damp cloths. You thought of Tonowari holding you after hunts gone bad, of Ronal’s mouth at your shoulder in the dark, of every year you had given to this family, this place, this life built on the bones of another.
Then you thought of the clan’s eyes on you when the Sullys arrived. Of Ronal saying unlike us. Of whispers. Of silences. Of Tonowari never quite cutting them off. Of every time you had chosen gratitude over fury because love seemed more important than being right.
The night gave you too much room to think. Sleep would not hold for long, and every time you drifted close to it your mind kicked you back awake with something sharper waiting. So you lay there in the cradle of branches staring through gaps in the leaves at scraps of dark sky and let yourself wander somewhere crueler.
Your thoughts found Lo’ak because of course they did. Not just Lo’ak as he was now, all sharp edges and stubborn pride and hurt packed into the shape of a boy trying not to show where the world had bruised him, but Lo’ak as he had been when he was smaller, when his hands had still looked too big for the rest of him and his ears and brows and fingers had marked him out before he could even understand why people were staring. You thought of the way eyes lingered. The way silence changed texture around him. The way even kindness could turn ugly when it carried pity underneath.
And then, against your own will, your mind made the leap. If you had ever carried a child of your own here, if Eywa or fate or whatever force ruled these things had ever placed that life in your arms, would they have looked like that too. Would they have had your blood written into them in all the ways this world knew how to notice and punish. Five fingers. Strange bone structure. Some soft human wrongness visible beneath Na’vi skin. Something beautiful to you, maybe, because it would have been yours, because it would have been theirs, because love would have made every difference sacred. But not beautiful to everyone else. Not safe.
The thought hollowed you out in a new place. Because once it came, another followed it, quieter and somehow worse. Maybe Tonowari and Ronal had known. Maybe not in words, not in any deliberate, spoken way, but somewhere deep and practical and afraid. Maybe some part of them had always been relieved that no child had ever come from your body. Relieved that they had been spared the risk of loving a child the clan might look at the way they looked at Lo’ak. Relieved that they had been spared explaining your traits in the face of tradition, in the face of gossip, in the face of that old, ugly instinct to sort the acceptable from the strange.
You shut your eyes hard enough to see color behind them, but it did nothing. The thought kept gnawing. Not because you truly believed they would reject such a child once placed in their arms. That was what made it hurt in a different way. You knew Tonowari would have loved fiercely. You knew Ronal, for all her pride and sharpness, would have fought like a knife for anything she called hers. But love after the fact was not the same as wanting before the fact. It was possible to love deeply and still feel relief at being spared a harder road. Possible to adore you and still be grateful that you had not given them a child who would carry the most visible proof of what set you apart.
Your stomach turned. Suddenly the old grief was tangled with something meaner, more humiliating. It was one thing to wonder whether they had ever looked at you and seen difference they tolerated because they loved you. It was another to imagine they had looked at your empty hands, your empty womb, and thanked the stars in some quiet hidden corner of themselves that it had stayed that way.
You pressed the heel of your hand over your mouth to hold in the sound that wanted out. Below you, the forest breathed and shifted and remained indifferent. Somewhere distant, water moved against root and stone. You thought of Lo’ak again, of the set of his jaw every time he pretended he did not care, and something inside you cracked with a tenderness so painful it felt almost like guilt. Because if a child of yours had looked like him, you knew with horrible certainty that you would have loved them past language, past reason, past fear. You would have torn the world open with your bare hands before letting anyone make them feel lesser for it.
And that, perhaps, was the sharpest wound of all. That no such child had ever existed, and yet you were grieving them anyway. Grieving the possibility. Grieving the shape of a life you had never let yourself hold long enough to name. Grieving the chance that perhaps, somewhere under all this hurt, you had wanted more than you had ever admitted. Not just mates. Not just a place. Not just borrowed children who had become yours through devotion rather than blood. Something smaller and more dangerous. Someone who might have carried your difference openly into the light, forcing everyone around you to reveal exactly how much of your strangeness they could truly bear.
For a long time after that, you did not sleep at all.
——————————————————————
Morning did not fix anything.
That, perhaps, was the hardest part. Dawn came all golden over the water as if the world had not been split open. The village woke. Nets were lifted. Fish gutted. Children called to one another. Duties remained, indifferent to heartbreak. So did you.
You returned at first light only long enough to wash your face in cold water and tie your hair back properly. Then you went straight to your responsibilities. The hunters needed directing. Tracks from the night tides needed reading. Two younger warriors had argued over spear allocation. A net line had torn along one of the outer shallows and needed stronger hands to repair it before midday.
The clan saw you.
Of course they did. Word had already spread. You could feel it in the way voices lowered when you passed, in how no one quite dared ask anything. Their curiosity warred with the very obvious truth written in your face. So they watched instead.
Let them, you thought.
If they expected you to vanish because your heart had been broken in private, they did not know you at all.
By noon Tonowari found you near the storage platforms where dried lines and harpoons were kept. He approached alone, which was at least wise.
You did not turn when you heard him.
“Y/n.”
You kept checking a spear haft for warp.
He stopped a careful distance away. “Please.”
That made you laugh once under your breath. Not kindly. “You ask for gentleness now?”
Tonowari absorbed the blow without flinching. “I ask for a chance to speak.”
You finally looked at him then. He wore grief openly. Guilt too. It would have moved you yesterday. Today it only hurt.
“Where was this chance” you asked “when I needed you to stop the clan from looking at me like I was something lesser the moment the Sullys arrived? Where was it when Ronal spoke and let implication do its work? Where was it when Ao’nung learned those thoughts under our roof?”
His face tightened. “You think I don't know I have failed. I know I have.”
“Then let that knowledge keep you company.”
He stepped forward despite the warning in your posture. “I did not think—”
“No” you cut in. “You did not. That is exactly it.”
For a second you saw anger spark in him too, not at you but at himself, at the impossibility of saying enough. Then it died. He stood there broad and wounded and unable to mend with strength what strength had failed to protect.
“I love you” he said simply.
Pain sliced fresh through your ribs. “Then you should have protected me better.”
You walked away before he could answer.
——————————————————————
Tsireya came later.
Where Tonowari approached like someone handling a blade, Tsireya came like she always came to you: quickly, heart first, tears already threatening. You found her near the outer shallows because she had clearly searched until someone told her where you were. The moment she saw you, she ran.
You caught her automatically. There had never been a world where you would not.
Her arms wrapped around your waist so tightly it almost hurt. You dropped to your knees in the wet sand at once to hold her properly. She was crying before she even tried to speak. You kissed her forehead again and again, smoothing damp hair back from her face, murmuring broken comforts in Na’vi and half-English endearments that survived from a life she had never known.
“None of this is your fault” you told her. “None of it. Do you hear me?”
Tsireya nodded against your neck and cried harder.
You rocked her a little, because once upon a time that had been enough to calm every storm she brought to you. “You did nothing wrong.”
“I should have said something” she choked out. “I should have stopped them sooner. I saw Ao’nung growing mean and I thought he would soften. I should have—”
“No.” You tipped her face up until she looked at you. “You are not responsible for carrying what the adults failed to carry. Not you.”
Her mouth trembled. “Come home...”
That nearly broke you all over again.
You drew her in and held her. “I cannot” you whispered.
“Not ever?”
Your throat closed. You made yourself answer honestly. “Not yet.”
Tsireya nodded because she was kinder than anyone deserved and because she understood even when understanding hurt. She clung to you another minute, then let you wipe her face with your thumbs as if she were still little enough to fit entirely in your lap.
When she left, she looked back three times.
You watched every step.
——————————————————————
The family felt your absence exactly as you knew they would.
Not because you flattered yourself irreplaceable. Because every home had a rhythm, and you had been part of theirs for too long not to leave silence where your habits belonged. No second pair of hands to catch the small work before it fell. No evening rounds through the marui checking straps, medicines, children, weapons, weatherproofing. No body dropping tired beside theirs at the end of a long day. No one to laugh first when Tsireya made some bright joke. No one to sharpen Ao’nung’s practice blade after he had abused it against coral. No one to shoulder against Ronal while sorting herbs. No one to trade a quiet look with Tonowari across a crowded family meal.
Absence was never just emptiness. It was the shape of all the things that failed to happen.
Ao’nung felt it hardest after the first shock passed. Shame made him restless. Restlessness made him stupid. He trained too hard, snapped too fast, and once nearly got himself clipped by a reef edge because his focus was split in six directions at once. Tonowari hauled him out and cursed him senseless for it. Ao’nung took the scolding without fighting back because his thoughts were somewhere else entirely.
Ronal carried hers more inwardly. She did her work. She led. She helped heal. She moved through the village with the same proud spine and uncompromising hands. But she slept poorly, and when she thought no one watched her eyes went to doors, walkways, platforms, the outer edges of the village where you should have been appearing any minute with wet hair and sea-salt on your skin and some tired complaint ready on your mouth.
Tonowari wore his like a stone tied around the chest. He had always been large enough to contain pain without spectacle. That did not make it smaller.
You did not see all of this firsthand.
You only saw enough to guess the rest.
And still you did not return.
——————————————————————
It was Lo’ak who found you on the second evening after the fight, though not by design.
You were coming back from the outer roots with a bundle of repaired line over one shoulder and a small catch looped at your hip when you spotted him sitting alone where mangrove shadows met the darkening water. He did not hear you at first. His posture gave him away before his face did. Folded in. Guard up. Something raw fresh in him.
You almost kept walking.
Then you remembered how it felt to be left alone with hurt large enough to swallow speech.
So you went to him.
He looked up fast when your steps reached him, visibly startled, then awkward. “Oh. Hey.”
You set the repaired line aside and lowered yourself onto the root beside him. “You choose lonely places.”
He shrugged one shoulder. “Guess so.”
You studied him in profile. “What happened?”
“Nothing.”
“Mm.”
Lo’ak huffed. “You do that thing.”
“What thing?”
“That thing where you act like you already know I’m full of crap.”
“I do already know.”
He gave you a sideways look. Even in the gloom you could see the fight between pride and relief.
At last he muttered “Dad got on my ass again.”
“About?”
“Everything.” He kicked lightly at the water below. “The ilu stuff. The diving. Ao’nung. Me not thinking. Me thinking too much. Pick one.”
You listened.
“He doesn’t say I’m messed up or anything” Lo’ak said after a moment, staring hard at the darkness. “Not like that. He just… with Neteyam it’s always trust and expectations and all that warrior stuff. With me it’s like he’s waiting for the next screwup.”
There was no accusation in his voice by the end. That made it sadder.
“And your mother?” you asked.
Lo’ak shrugged again. “Mom loves me. She just…” He grimaced. “She just doesn't say he isn't right.”
You sat with that.
After a while you said “When people are afraid for someone, they often speak badly. They think fear will sound like discipline if they make the voice hard enough.”
Lo’ak snorted faintly. “That doesn’t make it suck less.”
“No” you agreed. “It does not.”
Silence. Then, softer, he asked “Did you mean it?”
You turned toward him. “Mean what?”
“What you said before.” He did not look at you. “About me.”
You understood.
“Yes” you said. “I meant it.”
Lo’ak swallowed. The dark hid his eyes, but not the tremor that went briefly through the line of his jaw.
“Okay” he murmured.
Nothing dramatic followed. No collapse into confession. No sudden ease. He only sat there beside you a little longer than before, and when you rose to leave he rose too and carried half the repaired line without you having to ask.
Sometimes trust entered by the smallest door.
——————————————————————
By the third night, the ache in you had sharpened into something cleaner.
Not less painful. Clearer.
You knew you could not keep sleeping in scattered places forever. You also knew you would not return to the marui only because they missed the space you filled in it. Missing you was not enough. Love was not enough. Not when love had left certain injuries untouched for years because addressing them would have required discomfort.
So when dusk deepened and your feet turned almost without thinking toward the old path that led to the spirit place the Metkayina kept near the inland meeting of root and freshwater, you let them.
The Tree of Voices. Mangrove-wrapped, sea-breathed, threaded with swaying tendrils that caught moonlight in pale glows. The place always quieted you. Tonight it only made you careful.
You saw Ronal before she saw you.
She floated near the top of the great tree, posture bowed in a way you had almost never witnessed from her. Not weakness. Pleading. Real pleading. It stopped you cold enough that your first instinct was to turn away before she looked up.
You pivoted.
“Please.”
Her voice cracked on the one word. You froze with your back half turned.
For a long moment neither of you moved. Then slowly, because running now would have been a kind of cruelty and because some exhausted, still-loving part of you could not do that to her, you turned back.
Ronal had risen to her feet. In the silver-blue light her face looked carved from grief. She came no closer until you allowed it by staying still.
“Do not leave” she said.
“I already left.”
“You know what I mean.”
Yes. You did.
The wind shifted. The floating tendrils stirred. Somewhere beyond the roots, water moved over stone.
You folded your arms hard across your chest. “You have words now.”
Ronal closed her eyes briefly. “I should have had them sooner.”
“That is not apology. That is observation.”
Her gaze came back to yours, wet and unshielded in a way that startled you more than any shouted argument had. “Then hear this. I was wrong.”
The simplicity of it hit harder than defense would have.
She took one slow breath. “I was jealous. I was afraid. I heard pieces of you I could not share and instead of asking for them, I made them suspect. I let the clan’s uglier thoughts sit too near me. I told myself I was protecting what was ours, when in truth I was protecting my pride. And when I was hurt, I used the cruelest words I could find because I knew where to wound you.”
Your jaw tightened so hard it hurt.
Ronal’s voice shook more now, but she did not look away. “No. I do not see you only as demon. I do not even see you as demon at all. I see my mate. I see the woman who has stood beside me through blood and storm and birth and grief. I see the one who raised my children as wholly as if they had first quickened under her own heart. I see the one I hurt because I was not strong enough to master my fear before it mastered my mouth.”
Pain and love and fury all surged at once so violently you nearly stepped back.
“You said it” you whispered. “You cannot unsay it.”
“I know.”
“You let those thoughts live around our son.”
“I know.”
“You let the clan’s whispers touch me for years.”
Ronal’s face crumpled. “I know.”
There it was. No defense. No reaching for context before accountability. It left you without the clean fuel of rage.
You hated that.
“And what of Ao’nung?” you demanded, because if you could not keep striking her, perhaps you could at least keep from softening. “What of Tonowari? What of the fact that none of you protected me where protection should have been simple?”
At that Ronal’s eyes filled properly and one tear slid down without her wiping it away. “Then do not forgive us yet.”
The words hit so unexpectedly you stared.
She took a step closer. Stopped. Waited. “Be angry. Stay angry. Ask more of us than one night of grief. But do not stay gone while we try to become better than the people who wounded you. Come where we can answer. Punish me with your honesty if you must. Not with your absence.”
Your throat worked uselessly around an answer.
Then Ronal, proud Ronal, fierce Ronal, lowered herself to her knees before you.
It was not dramatic. That made it worse. Better. Truer.
“I am asking” she said, voice almost breaking fully now. “Come back and let me mend what I can. Even if it takes long. Even if you do not touch me. Even if you do not call me beloved for many nights. Come back.”
Something inside you gave way then, not into easy forgiveness but into the terrible truth that you loved her still. Loved her enough that the sight of her bowed hurt almost as much as what she had done.
You crouched before you knew you meant to. Your hands found her face roughly, as if you could still be angry through touch. Ronal leaned into your palms with a shuddering breath.
“If you ever say those things again—”
“I will spend the rest of my life earning the right not to.”
You exhaled, shaking. “That is not how forgiveness works.”
“No” Ronal whispered. “But perhaps it is how atonement begins.”
For a long moment you stayed there, hand on her face, anger still alive and grief still raw and love refusing to die under either. Then footsteps sounded behind you, hesitant and stopping short.
Tonowari.
Ao’nung.
Tsireya.
Of course.
You looked over your shoulder. Tsireya was already crying again, though more quietly now. Tonowari’s expression was almost painfully careful, hope warring with the knowledge he had no claim to it. Ao’nung looked worst of all. Stripped bare by shame. Younger than he had in years.
He took two steps forward and stopped so abruptly he nearly stumbled.
“Mother” he said, and his voice cracked so badly you closed your eyes.
When you opened them, he was crying too. Not prettily. Not with dignity. Like a boy who had discovered too late that words could not be taken back just because terror came after.
“I was wrong” he blurted. “I was angry and stupid and I wanted to hurt and I said the worst thing I could think of because I knew it would hit and I hate myself for it and I know that is not enough and I know I am yours, I know that, I know it, and I am yours too if you still want me, please—”
He broke there.
Tsireya covered her mouth, sobbing. Tonowari looked away briefly as if the sight of his son’s grief struck somewhere too tender to witness directly. Ronal, still kneeling beside you, made no move to intervene. Wise again, for once. Let him say it.
You rose slowly and faced Ao’nung fully.
He flinched before you even touched him.
That nearly undid you.
“What you said” you told him, voice low and steady only by force “will stay with me for a very long time.”
He nodded frantically, tears falling. “I know.”
“You do not get to speak from pain and call the damage smaller because you did not mean all of it.”
“I know.”
“You are my son" you said, and his face broke open entirely. “You are my son whether blood says it, or the sea says it, or Eywa herself says nothing at all. But if you ever weaponize that wound again, I will not spare you for your age.”
Ao’nung was crying too hard to answer properly. He nodded anyway.
Then, because you were never not his mother no matter what you had told yourself in the dark, you opened your arms.
He came into them with a sound you would remember for the rest of your life.
You held him while he shook. Tsireya collided into both of you an instant later, wrapping herself around your side and pressing tear-wet kisses to your shoulder and jaw and temple as if trying to prove you were really there. You drew her in too. For a few breaths the three of you stood locked together, all pain and salt and forgiveness-not-yet-but-love-still.
When you finally lifted your head, Tonowari still had not moved.
You looked at him. “And you.”
His mouth almost twitched through the grief. “Yes.”
“You do not get to be the calm one and imagine that is enough. Your silence has teeth.”
Tonowari bowed his head once. “I know.”
“You should have stopped it long before now.”
“Yes.”
“You let me bear things alone because you thought surviving them meant I needed no shield.”
His eyes closed briefly.
You let him sit under that. Then, because he had owned it with the same painful honesty Ronal had and because love made monsters and mercies of all of you, you held out one hand.
Tonowari took it like a man accepting judgment.
When he stepped close, he did not pull you into him immediately. He only rested his forehead against yours and breathed. That hurt most of all. The restraint. The understanding that your anger still lived and had to be honored.
“I missed you” he whispered.
You shut your eyes. “Good.”
He laughed once against your skin, broken and relieved and miserable all at once. “Cruel woman.”
“Yes” you said.
That made Ronal huff a damp, half-laugh from where she had finally risen, and suddenly the impossible thing happened.
The pain remained.
So did the love.
They stood together and did not cancel each other out.
——————————————————————
You did not return to the marui that instant. You made them walk back with you slowly. You made them answer. Not every question. Not every hurt. But enough. Along the root-paths under moonlight you spoke of the clan’s whispers, of old wounds, of the ways love had not absolved them from confronting the ugliness around you. Ronal did not shy from hearing it. Tonowari did not hide behind leadership. Ao’nung spoke little after his apology, but every word he gave was honest. Tsireya stayed close enough to touch you every few breaths as if still making sure you would not vanish again.
By the time the family marui came into view, you were exhausted to the marrow.
The sight of home almost drove you back. Then Tsireya laced her fingers through yours and tugged very gently, and you let her.
Inside, nothing had changed and everything had. Your sleeping place remained as you had left it. Your things, the few you had grabbed, were not there because you still had them. Yet the air itself felt different. More careful. Less sure of itself. Good. Let it be.
Tsireya made you sit before you could decide not to. She brought water. Ao’nung, red-eyed and subdued, disappeared and returned with the wrap you had left behind days ago, folded more neatly than he had ever folded anything in his life. Ronal stood at the edge of the space as if uncertain whether approaching would wound more than soothe. Tonowari lit the low lamps and then simply remained near, visible, available, not pressing.
You looked at them and felt the ache all over again. You stood there for a long moment, looking at them all in the dim light of the marui.
Tsireya’s face was still wet with tears. Ao’nung looked wrecked by his own shame, all the sharpness gone out of him at last. Tonowari stood quiet and careful, as if one wrong movement might send you slipping away again. Ronal had not tried to come closer since your return, but her eyes had not left you once. The weight of everything still sat there between you, bruised and breathing, but it no longer felt like something that would swallow the whole family alive if no one spoke.
You let out a slow breath and looked away for a moment, gathering yourself.
“If I come back” you said at last, your voice tired but steady “then I will not return to silence. I will not come into this home and pretend nothing was said. I will not make myself smaller so the rest of you may feel more comfortable with what you have done.”
“No” Ronal said immediately, her voice low and rough. “You should not.”
Tonowari nodded once. “You will not have to.”
You looked at Ao’nung then, and some part of your chest still hurt too badly to soften fully, but there was room for something gentler now too.
“And you” you said quietly “will not hide from me when you are ashamed. You will face me. Do you understand?”
Ao’nung swallowed hard and nodded. “Yes, Mother.”
That word nearly undid you again.
The silence that followed was not easy, but it was no longer cruel either. It simply existed, full of exhaustion and the remains of tears and the fragile uncertainty of people who had broken one another open and were now being forced to learn how to touch the wound without making it worse. For the first time since you had left, the marui felt less like a battlefield and more like a place where healing might someday be possible.
Tsireya was the first to move.
She stepped toward you slowly, as though afraid you might still pull away, and when you opened one arm for her she came at once, folding herself against your side with a soft, shaking breath. You wrapped her close and kissed the top of her head. She clung to you without embarrassment, pressing her face into your shoulder the way she had as a child whenever the world felt too large or too sharp for her soft heart.
“I missed you” she whispered.
Your eyes closed. “I know, sweet girl.”
Ao’nung lingered only a moment longer before he came too, slower than his sister had, more uncertain, but no less in need of it. He did not throw himself at you. That was not his way. He only moved close enough that you could reach for him, and when you did, when your hand caught his arm and pulled him nearer, the tight control in him gave with almost frightening speed.
You drew both of your children in against you then, one on either side, and held them.
For a while none of you said anything. Tsireya’s breathing gradually evened under your hand. Ao’nung stood tense at first, then slowly let himself lean just a little into your side, no longer pretending he did not need the reassurance of your touch. You kept one arm around Tsireya and the other around him, your fingers stroking once down his back before settling there. The simple familiarity of it hurt and soothed in equal measure.
Across from you, Tonowari watched with something raw and grateful in his face. Ronal looked quieter than you had seen her in a long time, her expression stripped bare by remorse and love and relief she did not seem to know what to do with.
When the children finally eased back, you were left facing your mates.
For a heartbeat no one moved.
Then Tonowari crossed the small distance between you in that same careful way he had worn since you returned, broad body held back by restraint rather than confidence. His hand came up slowly, giving you every chance to refuse him, and rested against the side of your neck. Warm. Steady. Familiar enough that it made your throat tighten.
“You do not have to forgive everything tonight” he said softly. “You do not have to be whole tonight either. Just stay.”
The words were so simple that they lodged deeper than any grand speech could have. You looked at him, at the honesty in his face, at the grief he had made no attempt to hide from you, and nodded once.
“I can stay” you said.
Something in him eased then, not all at once, but enough. He bent and pressed his forehead gently to yours, saying nothing more, and in that silence you felt apology, relief, and love all tangled together. It was not enough to erase what had happened. It was enough to remind you why leaving had hurt like tearing out part of your own bones.
When Tonowari stepped back, Ronal still did not move immediately.
Her hands were clasped too tightly in front of her, a rare tell from someone usually so composed. At last she came toward you, slower even than Tonowari had, and stopped close enough that you could see how red her eyes still were.
“I do not know how to touch you tonight without fearing I have lost the right” she admitted.
Your anger stirred again at that, but more tiredly now than before. “Then do not decide for me.”
Ronal’s breath caught.
You reached for her first.
The look that crossed her face at that was almost painful to witness. She stepped into you as soon as your hands found her arms, and the moment she was close enough you pulled her the rest of the way in. Ronal held herself tightly for all of one second before breaking and wrapping both arms around you with a quiet, shaking exhale that seemed pulled from the bottom of her lungs. You held her through it, one hand at her back, the other slipping up into her braids.
“I am here.”
At that, Ronal made the smallest wounded sound and held you tighter.
The rest came more quietly after that.
No more shouting. No fresh wounds. Just the family settling around one another in the weary aftermath of too much pain finally spoken aloud. Tonowari brought water. Tsireya, still reluctant to let you out of reach, sat pressed close to your side while Ao’nung fetched the wrap you had taken when you left and set it beside you with lowered eyes. Ronal insisted, in the old familiar way that was half command and half care, that you sit before your legs gave out under you. This time, when she said it, a faint thread of warmth lived under the sternness again.
You sat.
Slowly, naturally, the others gathered around you. Tsireya curled in first, leaning against you with her head on your shoulder. Ao’nung sat near your knee, not touching at first, but close enough that the distance no longer felt like rejection. Tonowari settled at your other side, one arm stretched loosely behind you along the woven supports, near without crowding. Ronal remained in front of you for a few moments, as if still confirming to herself that you were real and staying, before finally kneeling close and resting one hand lightly over yours.
No one rushed to fill the quiet.
That was what made it kind.
The sea breathed beyond the marui walls. Night sounds moved through the village in soft layers. The lamps burned low, throwing warm light over tired faces and damp lashes and shoulders slowly unclenching after days of strain. At some point Tsireya’s eyes drifted shut, her breathing evening out where she rested against you. Not long after, Ao’nung shifted closer in tiny increments until his shoulder brushed against your leg. He did it as if hoping no one would notice.
You noticed.
You said nothing, only let your hand settle into his hair for a brief, gentle stroke. Ao’nung’s eyes closed for half a second at the touch before he ducked his head. That alone told you how deeply he still needed to feel he was forgiven, and how young he still was beneath all the pride.
Tonowari reached for one of the woven blankets and spread it over all of you with the same quiet efficiency he brought to every act of care. Ronal watched him do it, then leaned in and pressed a small kiss to your cheek, so soft it barely seemed to land. You turned just enough to let your forehead brush hers in answer, and the relief that moved through her was so visible it made your chest ache.
By the time the night deepened fully, the marui had gone still around you.
Tsireya was sleeping against your side. Ao’nung had not quite fallen asleep, but he sat drowsy and quiet near your knee, no longer fighting his own need for closeness. Tonowari’s hand rested warm and solid over your ankle beneath the blanket, a grounding touch more than anything else. Ronal remained tucked close enough that your shoulders brushed, her presence careful now in a way it had not been before, as though she had finally understood how precious your trust truly was.
You looked at them and felt the ache still there.
Not gone. Not erased. Still bruised, still tender, still real.
But underneath it, and around it, something softer had returned too. Something stubborn. Something home-shaped.
Your family had hurt you. They had failed you. They would have to live with that and do better, and you would make certain they did. But they were still yours, and you were still theirs, and tonight that truth was no longer a weapon in anyone’s mouth. It was only a promise resting quietly in the dim light, wrapped in warm bodies and salt air and tired love.
So you stayed there with them, held and holding in turn, while the tide turned outside and the night folded gently around your home.
summary: Broken by the fall of the Hometree and Eywa's silence, you dream for a possibility of peace of mind, figuratively and literally. You come to the Metkayina's village looking for a temporary refuge in your search of said peace, and end up never leaving in favour of love.
pairing(s): tonowari x omatikaya!reader, platonic reader x neytiri
word count: 15k (i know...)
warnings: reader is neytiri's sister, grief and mourning, mention of dead bodies, eywa's constant meddling, probably suggestive, yearning, pining, "but i don't want ninat", added lore cuz i got carried away, kinda miscommunication, no ronal hate, space racism?, complex neytiri i fear...., mentioned pregnancy, mentioned childbirth, rotxo is adopted lmao, when the story starts reader is around 19 and both neytiri and tonowari are around 22, takes place after avatar (2009), proofread one time instead of the two usual times so pls let me know if there are any errors
author's note: can't believe this fine shyt is now a single dad
dividers from @uzmacchiato!
When the smoke clears and the ashes fall, nothing is left of the Hometree.
Nothing but the stump, the bulging roots and the cut-off part remain of your destroyed home. You’ve never seen one, but you think that the remains of the tree must look like a decapitated corpse — something that once was full of life, and now is just… there. A reminder of what was.
Many managed to evacuate the branches as it fell, but just as much ended up being buried by its massive limbs; you can’t find it in yourself to understand if it was a blessing — for them to have such a quick death, one that avoided them from feeling the endless grief you’re feeling now — or a tragedy. You keep asking Eywa the same question, but either she doesn’t know, or she won’t tell you.
She hasn’t been telling you much lately, anyway.
As the daughter of the Olo’eyktan and Tsahìk, you grew up close to the bond you shared with Eywa. Mo’at always brought you and your sisters along with her to pray, and the three of you soon learnt how to perceive her in everything you did and everything that happened. The Great Mother is in all of us, your mom used to always say, before you fully grasped the concept. She gives, and we take. And when the time comes, we’ll be the ones to give back what we borrowed.
It looks like, to you, that the time has come. Only, Eywa won’t seem to take anything from you.
During the day, you’re back at the ruins of the Hometree, with a few other Omatikayas looking for the remains of their loved ones. When they are easy to remove, you do so, and then give them the burial they deserve as a part of the People; when the branches have buried them too deep in the terrain for you to remove them, you pray for them and their souls, hoping that they are, at last, at peace.
At night, you pray by the Tree of Souls until the first morning lights shine through the outline of the mountains, when your mother wakes and gently drags you to the marui you share with her and orders — more like begs — you to sleep. “You won’t be able to hear Eywa better if you tire yourself so, daughter,” she utters as she holds you tight in her arms, humming that same lullaby she used to when you were little. “I doubt she wants you to be exhausted.”
You sniffle brokenly, hiding in her shoulder like a child as she covers you with the blanket she had stitched with the help of Sylwanini and Neytiri when she first realised she was pregnant with you. It’s a miracle you managed to salvage it from the fall of the Hometree, as most of your belongings have been lost during it. “We still haven’t found Tsu’tey, sa’nok,” you whisper, muffling a sob.
Mo’at sighs softly, holding you tighter. “Oeyä yawne,” my beloved, she starts, “Tsu’tey died a great death. Even if you do not find what remains of him, I’m sure Eywa will hold him close nevertheless. He fell into the ocean, after all — she’s strong there, too. We might not think of it to be our home, but everywhere Eywa is, can be considered our home.”
Still, it’s hard to believe that Jakesully out of all people is helping rebuild your village.
He’s supposed to be one of the aliens that came from the sky — one of the four-fingered demons that have destroyed your home. And somehow, Eywa still chose him to lead the Omatikaya.
You don’t deny his bravery, nor his will to learn your ways, nor the fact that he is a great warrior — Turuk Makto, in fact. It doesn’t mean that it isn’t hard for you to look at him and not see the Hometree lying dead on the ground, burning, and the Tree of Voices reduced to shreds under the dozers.
You know it’s probably just your grief talking — you’ve never had anything against the man, not even when he first came here, blabbering about wanting to learn the way or whatever the RDA had put in his head — but you don’t know what else to do. When you’re not looking around for the corpses of the fallen, or praying for them, or begging Eywa to tell you the meaning of all of this, you’re either crying or trying to sleep — and when the latter comes, it’s never restful.
Neytiri is grieving, too, and you know it, but she takes it differently — because she has Jake, and she’s putting all she has into building a new, safe village, where maybe one day their kids will grow happily. But you feel stuck — like when it fell, the Hometree swallowed you, too, along with all the fallen comrades that you had known for your whole life.
Your answers finally come during another restless night spent under the Soul Tree.
Your mother has since stopped trying to coax you away from it — instead, she has taken to making salves and weaving shawls under the light of the branches as you weep silently for a sign, the terrain still against your body, unlike the usual steady beat you used to feel. Sometimes Mo’at braids your hair, other times recalls stories of your father and sister, but mostly lets you cry it out — even if her heart breaks every time a tear slips down your cheek. Neytiri sometimes comes along, chanting her songs and saying her prayers, but lately, she’s taken to spending her nights in the tent she calls home, with Jakesully.
(Not that you blame her. If you had a mate, you’d probably find comfort in them, too. If you had a mate, maybe you wouldn’t be so utterly hopeless.)
It’s when you find sleep while having these thoughts that finally, Eywa responds to your call in the best way she knows — a dream.
You feel like you’re floating, and finally, finally– you can feel her presence. She’s everywhere, surrounding you with her warmth, and it’s just when you look around to understand where you are that you notice that you are underwater. Life swarms you from every angle — the fishes twirling in a dance only they can understand, anemones and corals shimmering with bioluminescence on the rocks under your feet.
You don’t know for how long you swim, but what you know is that you haven’t felt this feeling in what seems like ages. You have missed the Great Mother’s presence, and if this dream tells you anything, it’s that maybe, she has missed you, too.
A large, warm hand engulfs yours. You can’t see the face of the man that has taken it, but by the color of his skin, he can’t be Omatikaya. Come with me, a voice says, and you aren’t able to really distinguish it — it does not sound like a real voice, rather like a spoken thought inside your mind. Our Spirit Tree is this way. You feel the same hand on the small of your back, guiding you in the water, in a way so gentle that you already dread the moment his touch will fade.
You wake up with your hand still feeling warm and dried tears staining your cheeks. The ground you’re lying on feels stiff and cold. Hoisting yourself up on your elbows, you notice the sky — it’s still night — and your mother, sleeping with her head leaning on the trunk of the tree. “Are you trying to tell me that I have to find my peace somewhere else?” you murmur quietly to the tree, impossibly tired in every way imaginable. And maybe it’s just an impression, or your lack of sleep, but you think the branches glow a little more than usual at that.
The hard part is not accepting to leave behind the Omatikaya — in your heart, you knew that a part of you died when the Hometree fell, and no new village would ever make up for what the sky people have taken away from you; every camp made after that would only look like a ghost of what was, where you grew up in.
No, no. The hard part is convincing both the Tsahìk and the Olo’eyktan to let you go.
By the time morning comes, your bags are already packed. Your ikran, Ry’ia, is waiting for you just outside of the village chirping softly with Neytiri’s mount, Sa’atra, as you pull on your traveling shawl and wait for the villagers to wake up before your departure. Needless to say, it doesn’t take long for chaos to erupt.
Neytiri drags you away from the astounded clan members as soon as she gets wind of what’s happening, Mo’at and Jakesully on tow when she sits you down in one of the newest tents, her face unreadable as she takes a seat in front of you. “Explain.”
You look at her mate and your mother, sitting respectively on her left and on her right, and suddenly your heart fills up with courage you weren’t even aware of having. “I had a dream last night,” you start, “Eywa has shown me where to find my peace again.”
As you recall your vision, you can tell that the only one fully understanding the meaning of it is your mother, because while Jakesully doesn’t look too troubled about it, Neytiri hasn’t had that betrayed look on her face towards you since you were seven, and you stole the last piece of fruit intended for her. “What?” she asks in pure disbelief, “Wha– why would you ever think of going away from here, sister? We have plenty of men who would be delighted to have you as their mate. We have the ocean. We have fishes. Do you really have to look for them from another clan to be happy?”
You shake your head, guilt seeping through your chest. “Sister, if I could be happy while being here, close to you, I would stay. But…” Your eyes drift up to Jake and immediately go back to her, not wanting to blame him for all the things humans have done to you. “I can’t find it in myself to build a new village that Tsu’tey, father– hell, Sylwanin won’t see. And even if I could…”
You scroll your shoulders, “Eywa has shown me the way,” you say firmly, “and I will follow it.”
Neytiri looks over to Mo’at, searching for support in the discussion. “Mother, please, tell her this is madness,”
She looks at her for a singular moment, then to you. Finally, she speaks. “When I was your age, I had a dream, too. It led me to your father.” The story isn’t new to you — everyone knows Mo’at was part of the Orangi clan before she married your father.
Neytiri stares at her, “Mother, you can’t be serious– she doesn’t even know where–”
“How can she know, if she does not try?” The Tsahìk interrupts her, “Eywa has shown her that she won’t find peace while living here. These things are rare, but they happened. That was my case, at least.”
Your sister gapes at her, flabbergasted, only to look back at you, getting back up on her feet. “If you leave,” she hisses, “I will never forgive you.” She storms out, her tail twitching after her, leaving the tent feeling even colder than before.
Finally, you manage to look at Jakesully straight into his eyes, trying to avoid the glare your mother is sending him, and you’re surprised to see an actual understanding of the situation there. “You do understand why I can’t stay here, do you?”
He blinks, sad. “I do.”
You nod, “Good. I would never ask you to leave — this is your home, too, after all. And it would mean sacrificing Neytiri’s happiness. I’d rather be happy here too, but… I can’t do that. Not while my loved ones lay under the Hometree, dead.” you shake your head, ashamed of what you’re about to say, “Not while you are here living the life they deserved. I am sorry, Jakesully.”
Tentatively, he places a hand on your shoulder. “It’s okay,” he mutters, sorrowful, “I know you would stay here if you could. Just… please, do not go today. Wait until the end of the week. Let me talk to your sister– I’ll try to change her mind.”
As he leaves to go look for Neytiri, you are left with your mother. Your eyes remain downwards, all the courage of before gone after your sister’s outburst, your heart feeling heavier than ever. Needless to say, when she moves to hug you, you’re left stunned — you were waiting for her to tell you you were mad, too. “I am sorry, daughter,” she says, her usually firm voice trembling, “I did not understand your pain was so great. I thought Eywa had in her plans to keep my daughters close to me, but if having you far from me is the price for your happiness, then I’ll gladly take everything that comes with it.”
You avoid mentioning her teary eyes when she pulls back, her hands holding your shoulders. She sniffles, trying to save face. “The Metkayina are the only sea clan your father’s ever had contact with,” she manages, "their Olo’eyktan may still remember him. You should start your search from there.”
In the following days, you are smothered with gifts.
Everyone makes something for you to take on your travels, or to give to the chiefs of the foreign clans you’ll visit. Your friends Ninat and Peyral stitch a beautiful shawl in record time, stitched beads and feathers in it. So that you may have something to remember us by, Peyral explains, emotional, as Ninat nearly bursts into tears.
Your mother makes a Tsahìk necklace typical of the Omatikaya and tells you to give it to the wife of the chief. Showing respect to your hosts is always important, remember. Do not forget your culture, but do not force it on them, either.
Even Jake turns up one night, giving you a funny-looking bone knife that he clearly has just learned how to carve. “As a… parting gift?” he tells you, even if it sounds more like a question. His ears bend down, “I’m sorry you feel like you have to leave to be happy. I wish things didn’t have to be this way.” I wish you could overcome our differences like your sister did.
You look at the knife — the jaggedy blade looking ugly but clearly heartfelt — and then back at him. “You’re a good man, Jakesully,” you tell him. “I am truly sorry that my opinion on you has to be stained by what your kind has done to us — but perhaps, it’s just because things are a little too fresh. Perhaps, I just need some time away from here.”
Neytiri doesn’t come looking for you until it is time for you to go. As you say your goodbyes to friends and everyone you grew up with, she shuffles quietly behind Jake, her hands behind her back. Still hugging Ka’ani, you look at her as she gets closer, suspiciously quiet, only to present you with a bead on her open palm.
You gasp at the sight of it — it’s a bright blue stone, one of the ones to be found only in the ikrans’ nest, with the Omatikaya clan symbol etched on it. “For your songcord,” she explains, not looking you in the eye. “To mark your… new start. Your travels.”
You look at the bead, taking it in your hands, then tug Neytiri close to hug her as tight as possible. “I’ll miss you, sister,” you murmur in her shoulder.
Even if she’s supposed to be mad at you, she reciprocates the hug immediately, and it doesn’t take long for the tough facade to crumble. “Please, come back when you’re finally happy again, okay?” her voice is trained, and you doubt anyone but you heard her whisper. “This will always be your home. You’ll always have a place to stay here — with me.”
Ry’ia is delighted in the change of scenery — you can tell by the way she reacts through the bond, but also the happy shrieks she lets out once you lower her near the surface of the ocean so that her wings may touch the water. You look behind you — to the mountains that you’ve called home ever since you came to the world — one last time before turning your gaze back to the sea, the directions your mother gave you etched into your mind.
Awa’atlu is almost three days of travel from your village, turned into four by the stops you make to allow Ry’ia and yourself some rest. And when you finally reach it, it’s night, and only a few lights are shimmering in the Metkayina village. Not wanting to disturb their sleep, you turn your ikran to the rocky side of the island — devoid of any maruis from what you can see — and land atop the coast, dismounting from Ry’ia and patting the side of her neck. “Good girl,” you murmur, “rest now, yes? I’ll take a dip and be back here with you in a moment.”
You remove your traveling shawl as she chirps quietly, remaining in your loincloth and chest piece as you dive into the waters.
You feel like crying in relief when you finally feel her. Eywa is everywhere here — she surrounds you with the water in bioluminescence, in the anemones that move in rhythm with the currents and the nocturnal fishes that swim around in a haze. It’s like waking up from a bad dream, being able to finally feel her again.
Even if brief, the peace it gives you swells your heart. The Great Mother wasn’t holding a grudge against you — you simply weren’t searching for her in the right place.
You resurface to catch some air, only to notice that you aren’t alone.
A turquoise zukzuk — an otterfin — stares at you with her big eyes, and if she weren’t an animal, you’d say she was smiling at you. She rubs her snout into your shoulders, chirping happily, and you chuckle, petting her back, “Aren’t you a cutie? Oh, yes you are, yes you are…”
She licks your cheek, and you fake a gag even as she basically throws herself in your arms. “Now, hasn’t anyone ever told you not to trust strangers? If I were a tad bit more selfish, I’d totally bring you home with me,” you’re not sure how you would manage an otterfin in the forest or while traveling, but you’re sure that if there’s a will, there’s a way.
“Hey, you shouldn’t swim here when it’s dark,”
The screech you let out is loud enough to wake up the whole village, you’re sure. The zukzuk — who looks more scared than you — jumps in your arms as you hug her, ready to defend her from any possible attacker. The latter — a man with turquoise skin and weird tattoos over his face — screams back, mostly startled by your yelling.
“Sorry, sorry!” he puts his hands in front of him as your screams die down, still hugging the otterfin, “I didn’t mean to startle you, it’s just that — we’re too close to the reef, and it’s mating season for the akulas. Their cubs will start hunting for preys any moment now. It’s dangerous to stay here for long.”
You share a look with the otterfin, who’s still cuddled to you, and it’s just then that the man seems to notice her. He frowns, “Nala, is that you?” It's the same tone you use for Ry’ia when she pulls some kind of stunt you told her not to do, and the zukzuk lets out a noise while looking at you with the biggest eyes as if to say, I’ve never met this man in my life.
The latter gasps, “It is you!”
The pup cuddles closer to you, hiding under your chin, her tongue slipping out of her mouth like she wants to mock him. You raise an eyebrow, “This is your zukzuk?”
The guy nods, “She knows she shouldn’t swim here at night, it’s dangerous–”
A rumble from below interrupts him, and you all freeze. “…What did you say about those akula cubs?” You don’t even know what an akula is, but judging from the fact that apparently their cubs make swimming at night dangerous, it can’t be anything good.
His hand wraps around your wrist as he starts to drag you away, back onto the shore, much faster than it took you to even get here. “Just where did you come from? Are you Ta’unui really so clueless?” Another rumble from behind you, and he swims even faster. You keep Nala under your arm, and she keeps moving her tail like she’s trying to help him move away.
It’s only when you’re out of trouble and onto the shore, where the water reaches your knees and you’re illuminated by the bioluminescence and the moons, that he notices that you don’t look like a Tau’nui at all. He stares at your slim tail and arms, leaning his head like he’s never seen a specimen like this, and even your clothes are weird. Quite dumbly, he pulls at the feathers stitched into your top, staring intently, “What are those?”
The fact is, you’re also just noticing that he doesn’t look like normal Na’vi men, too — at least, not to the ones you’re used to. He’s broader, taller, and apparently also dumber, because he doesn’t even seem to notice that he’s just grazed and uncovered part of your breast.
You deadpan. He blinks. Nala barks. He lets the feathers go as he turns purple, “Sorry, I didn’t notice.” He’s lucky that the Omatikaya are people raised with no shame about their bodies, because otherwise, the slap you would’ve given him wouldn’t have been too nice from a girl who’s supposed to look for uturu in his clan.
You squeeze the water out of your hair as he stares weirdly, Nala twirling around the two of you. “Why were you swimming if the waters are so dangerous at night?” You ask him, trying not to stare too much at his arms — you never thought that the Omatikaya men needed more muscles, but now you understand that if they did, it wouldn’t have been such a bad thing. His tail — twitching uneasily behind him — is thicker and longer than yours, and his arms have strange prolongments on their sides — to help swimming, you suppose. While Omatikaya grow slender and thin to avoid any difficulty in swinging in the forest, maybe the Metkayina grow to swim more efficiently in the ocean.
“I was looking for her,” he points at Nala, “we spoiled her a little too much, and now she doesn’t know how to take a no.” He tries to smile at you, “You’re not from around here, are you? Your tail would be horrible for swimming.”
You nod, “I’m from the forest clans — the Omatikaya.” you tell him your name, and he nods. “I came here looking for uturu, but the village seemed to be asleep when I got here, so I figured I would talk to the chief in the morning.”
He looks troubled, “I’m Tonowari,” he introduces himself, “I’m from the village. Uturu? Has something happened to the Omatikaya?”
No matter how much you insist he doesn’t, he drags you to the village — in the literal sense, as you didn’t want to follow him and he has to take you by your wrist — and over to a secluded mauri, where he finally lets go. Ry’ia chirps tiredly beside you, huffing indignantly at him as you wrap your shawl tighter around your shoulders. “I’ll talk to Olo’eyktan and Tsahìk,” Tonowari tells you, nodding to the mauri, “wait for me here, okay?” Nala quietly follows him, dragging her little belly over the sand.
You didn’t really explain the whole thing— you just told him that you’re here to find contact with Eywa again because you weren’t able to in your homeland. You don’t really know why he insisted so much in talking to the chiefs now, and you can’t help but wonder why he feels comfortable waking up the two most important people in his village for a stranger.
Soon enough, he comes back out from the marui, gesturing for you to come inside; you do, and you’re greeted by two very much awake chiefs, sitting with their backs straight as ever.
“Olo’eyktan Arvak and Tsahìk Tsika,” Tonowari tells you, nodding to them, “I’ll leave the three of you alone– keep an eye on that big bird of yours.”
“She’s not a big bird," you whisper, too tired to fully protest. He pats your shoulder, looking a bit guilty, letting the woven sheet atop the pod close back behind you, “Sure she isn’t,”
You remain alone with the chiefs — and Nala, who you realise just now hasn’t followed Tonowari. Looking at the couple, you figure that the Metkayina must all have his same features. “Sit,” Tsika gestures to the empty space in front of them, “and tell us everything.”
Recounting the fall of the Hometree is more difficult than you thought it would be — because even if it’s been almost a month now, the wound still feels fresh. They listen, not prodding for more information when you stop to take a deep breath to avoid bursting in tears, and the Tsahìk puts a hand over her mouth when you mention your father. “Eytukan,” she murmurs, looking over to her mate. “He came here when we called for the other Tsahìks.”
At your confused face, Arvak explains, “A little over twenty years ago, our son fell sick. Rashes all over his body, convulsions, other symptoms we’d never seen before.”
His wife takes a deep breath, “When nothing seemed to work and we lost all hope, Arvak chose to call the other clans’ Tsahìks and healers for help. The Ta’unui sent a healer, the Aranahe some healing plants, and everyone pretty much did the same. But your father,” she pokes you in the chest, not in a mean way — in a way that says, the man you’re half a part of. “Olo’eyktan Eytukan came here himself. Excused his wife’s absence, told us she had just given birth to their third daughter and wasn’t able to travel properly. He took a look at our son’s state, and said that it probably was txumpaywll poisoning — until then, we didn’t even know that its plants had started to grow on our islands. Made a salve for his rashes, concocted the antidote and left when he got better.”
They bow their heads at you, “It will be an honor to pay back Eytukan’s kindness. Tell us what you need, and we’ll do anything in our power to help you.”
You beg them to raise their heads, embarrassed. “I just want some time with your clan,” you tell them, “learn your ways with the creatures, how you move within the currents.” If Jakesully out of all people managed to learn the Omatikaya’s ways, you doubt it will be much harder for you. “I… I’ve lost contact with Eywa. I hope that learning your clan’s ways will help me in finding it again.”
Arvak has got a pensive look on his face. Then, he says, “Tonowari, I know you’re listening. You can come in.”
The man sheepishly enters the marui again, sitting beside you, a little embarrassed. You raise an eyebrow — did he really think either of you didn’t hear him? You might’ve not heard him approach when you were in the water, but back with your feet on steady ground, you would’ve known how to spot him before he was even in your line of sight.
Nala squeals and throws herself on his knees, purring. Arvak tries to ignore her to his best abilities. “Our son Tonowari will teach you everything he knows about the reef,” ah, so that’s why he didn’t have any problem waking them up. Nice to know that the Olo’eyktan’s successor has seen your boob. On his part, Tonowari makes no protest. “Her training starts tomorrow. Go show her one of the vacant maruis — she’ll stay here for a while.”
Ry’ia is already sleeping when you and Tonowari detach your bags from her saddle, and you try your best not to gape at his biceps as they flex while he takes the heaviest woven baskets out of your hands. “Don’t worry, I’ll take those– you must be really tired.”
He balances them on his side and shoulder as he walks you through the maruis — with the few still awake villagers peeking out of their tents to steal a curious look at you — only to stop in an empty one, carefully leaning the baskets down to the floor. You stare at the woven walls of your new home, at the mat on the floor and the little space reserved for the fireplace, thinking that maybe, just maybe, this can work.
You set down your bag as Tonowari stands back up from his knelt position, “Try to get some sleep,” he tells you quietly, “I’ll come to wake you up tomorrow a little before dawn — it’s when the ilus wake up. If you need anything, that–” he points to a nearby pod, “–is my marui.”
He stops for a moment and looks at you, sitting on the sleeping mat. “I’m sorry about your father and what happened to your people.”
You press your lips into a thin line. “Thanks.” You avert your eyes and wrap your shawl a little tighter around you. “Uh… goodnight, Tonowari.”
He nods, a sad smile on his lips as he moves outside of the tent, still holding open the curtain serving as door. “Goodnight.”
He closes the blind, and you’re left to your thoughts.
Tonowari laughs. “Your swimming form is funny.”
You pout. “If you're here to poke fun at my survival-level swimming form, I’m sure Nala would be happy to teach me how to instead.”
His laugh gets even louder, and he raises his hands up. “I said it was funny, not bad! It’s like… watching a child take their first dive out of their mother’s womb.”
“Are you really saying that a kid might swim better than me?”
The son of the Olo’eyktan has at least the decency to stifle his chuckles now. “No, no, I’m sure you’ll learn soon enough.”
This morning, the villagers were astonished to find out that the chiefs had basically sneaked you into the village overnight — but sure enough, their spirits changed when you started distributing the gifts you had brought for them. The Tsahìk seemed pleased with the necklace your mother had made her, claiming it to be of beautiful manufacture, as her people raided your baskets for the shawls and armbands your friends had stitched for them. Yovo fruits were gone in a matter of seconds, and Arvak had to set aside the dried meat you brought to assure that everyone got a piece for dinner.
(As for Arvak’s gift, you gave it to him once the crowd dissipated. You told him it was from Toruk Makto, who even after proper Omatikaya training, unfortunately still had to work on his carving abilities. He took the dagger nonetheless, pleased that Toruk Makto himself took time out of his day to make something for him.)
Despite your gifts quietening the protests of your arrival, the villagers still stared a little too hard sometimes — no wonder, they’ve never seen a forest Na’vi before. Most of them are nice or at least cordial to you, but a few doubtful stares still linger as Tonowari tries to do his best in teaching you the ways of the Metkayina.
You start spending your mornings — from before dawn up until lunch — with the Olo’eyktan son, learning how to juggle the currents and hold your breath, and your afternoons with the clan elders, weaving baskets and learning how to stitch seashells into body pieces.
(The first time you asked if you could help weaving the growing side of the marui pods, they gasped, scandalized. Apparently, it’s strictly the men’s job around here.)
After a few days and horrendous tries, you finally manage to finish your first armband — Priya, an old woman wearing the feather chest piece that one of your friends had made, insisted on it. It’s decorated with a few shells you managed to collect while diving with Tonowari, and as she inspects it closely, she hums, clearly pleased with your work. “I’m sure your mate will be delighted to wear this, one day.”
You raise an eyebrow, surprised. “My mate?”
The other elders nod convincingly, passing around your work. “In Awa’atlu, the first piece a girl makes is always a stitched armband," she explains, revealing why she had pressured you so much in starting off with one. “The mother makes sure to save it, and when the time comes, it will be given to her husband to wear. He, in return, will give her a carved comb, usually decorated with anything that pleases the woman.”
You think about it for a moment, “So, the first ever piece the men carve is a comb, too?”
The women laugh like the mere thought is hilarious. “Of course not!” Priya hollers, “The first piece a woman stitches is important because in her life, she will make numerous beautiful works. The men give them the most beautiful comb they make, because it’s already a miracle if they manage to make one singular, decent comb.”
At this, you laugh with them, thinking about that wobbly knife Jake made for their Olo’eyktan. Then, you snort, “This wasn’t my first armband, though,” yes, you had to learn how to properly position shells and have them not fall off the strings, but this isn't your first time stitching.
One of the other women shrugs, “So what?” She says, “It’s the first one you make here — as a future proper Metkayina — that counts as first.”
Later on that night, back in your marui, you observe the armband and store it inside one of your woven travel bags, hoping that one day, the man you dreamt about will be able to wear it.
Whenever you are free from both weaving lessons and Tonowari’s constant nagging, you delve deep into the forest that the island offers, collecting herbs and fruits. Apparently, the Metkayina have learnt to make the most out of what the sea has to offer, and subsequently rarely explore the forest except for harvesting fruits. The seaside forest is a bit different from what you were used to, but fortunately the plants do not differ that much.
The first time you show the Tsahìk how you used to make disinfectant salves in the forest, she stares at the concoction like it has just clicked something in her brain. She smells it, tries it on one of the hunter’s light scratches and notes how he doesn’t lament any stinging. “Why don’t you come with me and my tsakarems one of these days?” She asks finally. “I’m sure we could teach you something, as well as learn from your… peculiar ways.”
The next day, you ask about the tsakarems to Tonowari as he gently hoists you up to an ilu. “Here, when the Tsahìk doesn’t have a daughter, she takes various apprentices under her wing,” he explains, showing you how to place your feet to avoid falling off of the creature’s back. “And then, either the most talented or the one the future Olo’eyktan chooses becomes Tsahìk, while the others go on to become healers.”
You still fall off of the ilu’s back, but it doesn’t really matter — because Tonawari is there, ready to catch you, and immediately steadies you as you come crashing onto him. You’ll learn, he signs, still underwater. Do not worry, you’ll learn.
The two of you have grown significantly closer since your arrival, and you try not to notice the way his touch tentatively lingers over your hips as he brings the both of you back to the surface. The two of you stare at each other then, his hands still atop your waist, and just as he’s about to say something, the moment is broken by Nala — and either she’s obsessed with his biceps at least half as much as you are, or she’s really just a little, fat bugger. You both laugh as she slobbers all over your face, his hands leaving your body, and you have to convince yourself that you’re not missing his touch to continue the riding lesson.
Your weak spots are the signing lessons and the apnea training, mostly because your complete attention on him is needed to actually learn something.
The first time he pushes his hand into your belly to show you how to breathe with your stomach, you thought you would’ve been able to faint right here and there — or swoon, depending on how you see it. And whenever he shows you new signs and their meaning, unfortunately all you can think about is what exactly his fingers can do.
After lunch, you join the Tsahìk and the tsakarems in their dive for medical algae; a girl named Ronal shows you the best shells to pick to add to plants to make a paste, and the fishes that you have to follow to find a certain type of anemone with incredible healing properties. She’s a little ruffled by your presence at the lesson and you can tell, but you don’t find it in yourself to judge her; you’re pretty sure that when Jake was learning your ways, you were far more suspicious of him than she is of you.
Weirdly enough, the Tsahìk comes looking for you when you don’t show up to her lesson the day after. You come to find out that what you thought was a once-and-done offer was meant to be a more permanent position among the tsakarems, and now your evenings are filled with her lessons about spirituality and healing, too.
But the best thing about Awa’atlu is, by far, Eywa’s presence: she’s everywhere, in the waters you swim into the bonfire Avrak lights when it’s time for dinner, and for the first time in months, you feel safe. Even Ry’ia does, and it’s evident in the way she made herself a nest atop one of the highest trees in the forest.
You’ve made friends with the elders and two girls close to your age, Wali and Em’a, and the curious glances that the Metkayina sent you on that first day you spent here are nothing but memories now, as they have seemed to accept you as one of her own.
Ironically enough, you start noticing how close Ronal and Tonawari are just now that you know her.
Nothing much, but still noticeable, because most of the women in the clan are not close enough to him to be touching him — but she does. And for some reason, a lingering touch on his arm here and two grazing knees there are all it takes to ruin your night.
You know it’s stupid — a lot, actually. You’d already figured that one day, Tonowari will have to choose a beautiful and probably Metkayina woman to mate with to become the Tsahìk when his mother won’t be able to be anymore. Ronal is smart, definitely the prettiest tsakarem out of Tsika’s group, and above all, an established Metkayina in the clan. You, meanwhile, still have to properly mount an ilu, and Eywa forbids a skimwing.
When the fire dies out and it’s time for everyone to go to sleep, you sneak away from your friends to find refuge in that same rocky coast you landed on the night you arrived, and find yourself looking at the stars.
The next morning, after yet another slip down the back of your ilu, you’re ready to pack your bags and go back to wallowing in your pity in the remains of the Hometree, but Tonowari stops you by the tail and drags you back into the water, already hoisting you up the ilu’s back again. “Come on,” he encourages you, getting on the saddle right behind you. “Make the bond– I'll worry about not making you fall.”
Your eye twitches. Just how are you supposed to stay focused on the ilu when you can feel his chest pressing against your back, and his arms basically engulfing your own as he holds onto the saddle? He blinks at your staring, acting oblivious. “What?”
By some miracle, you manage to focus on your mount. The ilu’s speed causes you to completely lean on Tonowari for support, but he doesn’t seem to mind — the opposite, actually. One of his arms wrap around your midriff to keep you more stable, and while underwater you can feel his chin rest on your shoulder, when you rise back to the surface it’s his breath that you can feel on your cheek — and you know for a fact that he’s doing that on purpose, because he’s much taller than you, and he has to be crouching to be almost your height.
“See?” He whispers in your ear. “It’s not so hard.” Well, of course it isn’t with him assuring you don’t fall. Slowly, you lift your head up to look at him, a brow raised in amusement. “Not with you here, mister.”
Your sultry gaze makes him blush — an absolute hunk of a man who has surely had his fun playing with your closeness up until now, defeated by the batting of eyelashes. Unbelievable. His index finger traces a little pattern over your side, his eyes not leaving yours, “Then I’ll be here for as long as you’ll need me.”
Wali and Em’a tease you endlessly about your lessons with Tonowari, and although they are terrible at catching fishes with the nets, whenever the two of you are out in the water they’re suddenly the most interested in fishing, even if their eyes are directed to anything but their supposed catches. They insist on rebraiding your hair in the Metkayina way when your braids start growing out, picking the prettiest shells and beads they can find to intertwine them in your strands. Considering you ditched your feather tops for their net-and-shell ones a while ago, if it weren’t for the colour of your skin and your tail you could probably pass as a reef Na’vi without too much trouble.
But the main problem remains — you are not a Metkayina, not in the true sense of the word. And you are reminded of that as you see Ronal drag Tonowari away from the bonfire during dinner.
Your mood shifts visibly. You play around with the fruits on your bowl, completely bummed, and Em’a and Wali share a knowing look. “Maybe she just wants to talk to him,” the latter whispers, as her friend nods. “Yeah, they butted heads allll the time when we were kids. I’m sure he just did an ugly marui pod and she wants to point out every single mistake he made with the weaving.”
You huff a bitter laugh, “Yeah, because I’m sure that that kind of stuff requires an immediate discussion.”
You go back to watching the stars atop the rocky coast that night — it’s a habit by now, because even if you feel happy here, you still miss your mother and sister. The thought of the three of you watching the same sky always manages to comfort you. Alas, now it’s helping you overcome how stupid you’re feeling, because you know that Ronal is perfect for Tonowari.
She’s been a tsakarem for longer than you, has grown up with him, knows how to ride an ilu perfectly and knows the way of the water like the back of her hand. She doesn’t come from who-knows-where, where trees grow as tall as the stars and far away from their beloved ocean, doesn’t have a useless tail for swimming, and doesn’t need to resurface constantly for a breath of air as much as you do. Wanting to be with him is selfish, because you’re fully aware that there’s already someone perfect for him out there.
Still, that doesn’t mean it hurts less.
The next day you opt to avoid Tonowari’s lessons, staying close to Em’a and Wali to help them stitch a wedding gift for one of the village’s couples on one of the empty, woven platform just above the water surface. The chief’s son had looked confused when he’d found you with the women instead of in your marui, but his questioning glance was met with a shrug. “Well, they need this gift done before the end of this week. I won’t be able to ride an ilu properly any time soon, anyways.”
His shoulders sag a bit and he looks like a grounded ikran, but he still nods and goes his way, back to the beach. “What?” you ask Em’a when she stares at you, gaping. “He looked so sad! Why didn’t you go with him? Me and Wali could’ve finished this alone!”
You go back to your stitching, fiddling with the strings. Your mind takes you back to the other day — the way his finger traced your skin — and still, a little part of you can’t help but wonder how things would be if he didn’t like another girl already. “Well, I wouldn’t want to intrude between him and Ronal, you know.”
Your friends stare at each other, not knowing what to say — it’s not like they can rebuke without knowing what the two of them talked about — or did — last night.
You spend the day avoiding Tonowari like they pay you for it, running errands in the forest for the Tsahìk and finishing baskets with the elders, and by the time dinner time arrives, you can’t evade him anymore without half the clan wondering what happened between you two.
You’re sitting beside Em’a — who’s arguing with Priya about what shells are best for a chest piece — when someone tugs at your braids as gently as possible. “Hey,”
Of course, it’s him. He looks a bit sheepish, a weird leather pouch over his shoulder as he lets your hair go and sits beside you, brushing a fallen braid behind your ear. “I like the way you did your hair– it’s really pretty.”
Well, if Priya and Em’a weren’t listening before, now they definitely are. It’s a miracle Wali is on cooking duty tonight, because otherwise, you’d have three very nosey listeners instead of two. You blush, “Um– really?” Damn him and the effect he has on you. One day, he’ll be Ronal’s — but you decide that it surely won’t be a problem if you have his attention, just for tonight.
He nods, a smile gracing his features. “The prettiest,” for some reason, it doesn’t feel like he’s talking about the braids anymore, but you’re not brave enough to point it out aloud. “You know, I was thinking that we could try again with the ilus tomorrow. Don’t let a few falls discourage you — I’m sure I fell a lot when I had to learn, too.”
You scoff, swatting him on the arm. “Really? Big, bad Tonowari beaten by a skimpy ilu?”
He rubs the back of his neck, “Well, actually, I don’t really remember — I was little — but I’m pretty sure my bad memory is just because I probably hit my head really hard while falling.”
That manages a laugh out of you — and it’s like he can go back to breathing properly, because he had really thought he had done something that offended you in some way or the other. He was more stressed than he let out this morning, when you refused to come with him to see the ilus.
The night goes on and you laugh like you haven’t in months. He sure knows how to make great company when he wants to, and his arm — leaned on the sand behind your back — sometimes brushes against your spine, causing pleased goosebumps to etch over your skin. Eywa, you want him to be even closer so bad.
And it’s just when he leans down and scoots a little closer, his hand tentatively resting on your back, that you notice her.
Ronal is glaring at you from the other side of the bonfire, her arms crossed and her fingers tapping impatiently. The charm wears off — you remind yourself that you can’t exactly pretend she doesn’t exist for a night, because even if you don’t owe her anything, you don’t want to cause any rift between her and Tonowari. It’s not like he’ll ever mate with you, anyway.
So you gently pull away, trying to ignore his hurt stare as you get up from your previous sitting position. “I– did I do something? Are you–”
“Sorry, I just need a breather,” you disappear into the forest, but not before seeing Ronal stomping angrily towards Tonowari, surely ready to yell at him. Priya and Em’a cast worried glances at your back, but you’re too distraught to actually notice.
The rocky coast is quiet in contrast to the continuous chatter of the bonfire, as the sound of the waves is the only thing breaking the silence. You hug your knees close to your chest, staring at the stars, wondering what and how Neytiri is doing right now — cuddled up with Jake, no doubt. Well, if Ronal wasn’t so perfect for Tonowari, you think you’d like being cuddled up to him, too–
A hand on your shoulder nearly makes you jump out of your bones — were you really so lost in your thoughts that you didn’t hear the same man you were just daydreaming about approaching? Embarrassing. If your father were alive, you wouldn’t hear the end of it.
Tonowari sits beside you again, and you hug your knees just a little closer. “I, um,” he stutters, and you can’t believe a man of his size is able to get embarrassed. “Today, when I went hunting outside the reef, I got you something.” He grabs the pouch slinged over his shoulders, opening it to reveal a beautiful conch shell.
You’ve never seen one so big — it’s probably the size of your head, if not bigger. The outer shell is iridescent, reacting to the bioluminescence of the waves that crash underneath you, while the inside is streaked in blue and purple. You’ve never seen anything like it, and you gape at the sight. “Tonowari, what…”
“I saw it and it just reminded me of you,” he explains, his cheeks a pleasant indigo. He holds it out for you to take, and if you weren’t sure your eyes were playing tricks on you, you’d say his hands were trembling slightly. “And so, as it is tradition, I thought I should’ve gotten it for you– if you will accept it, that is.”
You’re too dumbfounded by the seashell to really listen to him. You take it in your hands, tasting the weight of it, admiring its colors and wondering how something so beautiful could have reminded him of you. At last, you find yourself hugging it close to your chest, even if its spikes poke a little into your arm. “Thank you, Tonowari,” you say, feeling as full as anyone can be.
He perks up, his ears twitching like he’s in disbelief, his tail moving happily in the sand. “…Really? You accept it?”
You raise an eyebrow. “Why wouldn’t I?” It's a gift, and you don’t plan on giving it back to him anytime soon. It’s too beautiful to even sit anywhere near his man-cave.
The grin he makes takes up his whole face. “Okay. Okay, that’s great. Fantastic, even.”
Gently, he touches your arm. “So, how about riding those ilus tomorrow?”
The next morning, you manage to mount an ilu properly — without Tonowari behind you for support, that is. It’s nothing much, but it’s still a step forward into life in the reef, and from the way your teacher claps and hollers, you’d think you’d tamed an akula.
Later that evening, you’re still helping Em’a and Wali with their wedding gift, as well as recounting last night’s events to their flabbergasted faces. “A conch shell?” Wali asks to confirm, her thread and beads long forgotten.
You nod, mimicking the size of the shell with your hands, “Yeah, a thing this big,”
Em’a squeals, “No way! I didn’t think he was so straight forward!”
Confused, you ask, “What do you mean? He was just being nice,”
They look at each other, gaping, then back at you, “What do you mean, he was just being–”
They’re interrupted by someone sitting down next to you without asking permission, and you blanch when you see Ronal. “Oh– oh, um, hi.”
She blinks at you like it’s no big deal, then picks up a spare thread and needle and begins helping you with the netting. “So, what did Tonowari tell you last night?”
You hesitate. “Oh, um, you know — lessons stuff. A few tips on how to balance my weight on the ilus better. Um… in a– friendly way?”
She perks up an eyebrow suspiciously, her ears twitching in annoyance. “Lessons stuff, huh?” she repeats, stitching a shell in the most aggressive way you’ve ever seen — even Neytiri bad-mouthing Jake never reached these levels of hostility. “In a friendly way? Is that so?”
You share a panicked glance with your friends, laughing awkwardly. “Yes?” It sounds more like a question than a reply, and that’s probably what tips her over the edge. Her eye twitches, and she doesn’t even bother to put the needle and thread where she found them as she rises back up to her feet while grumbling, “If you’ll excuse me,”
“She didn’t even try to be sneaky,” Em’a mutters as soon as she’s out of hearing range, “what’s up with her?”
Your stomach churns, “Well, it’s probably the fact that–”
A loud slap echoes from the village, making the three of you flinch. A second slap ensues. When you look up, you notice that Tonowari is standing on the shore, holding his jaw with his cheeks already turning an ugly purple, and Ronal is marching away, fuming.
…Yeah. You probably shouldn’t have accepted that shell thinking that it wouldn’t matter if he was going to marry her anyways.
You wonder what exactly is between them, but can’t find it in yourself to ask him — mostly because you aren’t brave enough to tell him that you like him. Em’a and Wali can keep telling you that there’s nothing between them, but recent events continue to prove them wrong.
That night, at dinner, you mostly keep to yourself, deep in your thoughts, and even if Priya tries to drag you out of your misery, it’s all futile. For one reason or another the fruit you’re munching on tastes bitter, and you’re not sure if Tonowari’s absence around the bonfire helps or worsens your mood. It’s only when Ronal herself pats your shoulder and gestures for the beach that you get out of your haze.
She tugs you by your arm down onto the shore, as silent as ever. “Listen, I’m really sorry–”
“Did you do anything you need to apologise for?” she asks, jumping off a rock. You stumble, “I– well, I know you and Tonowari probably–”
“Stupid forest girl,” she huffs, not even looking at you, “thinks I want him like he’s some kind of trophy when he’s stupid like a baby–”
“Hey! That’s not nice–”
She tugs you roughly one last time only to let your arm go as you reach where the ocean meets the sand, and you fall down in the water, wetting your — newly made, you must add — loincloth. You groan, rubbing your backside, “Ow– I get that you’re mad, but this seems a little too much to me–”
Ronal points to somewhere behind you, looking tired of you. “Go.”
You blink, confused — and then you turn, only to catch sight of Tonowari, only a few klicks behind, mounting an ilu. He raises a hand to greet you, the smile on his face nervous, and you notice that he’s got that pouch slung over his shoulder again.
Hesitant, you turn to Ronal — looking for what, you don’t know. She raises an eyebrow expectantly, “What are you waiting for? Go.”
You’re not sure you want to know what kind of game she’s playing, but something tugs at your tail. It’s Nala, you come to realize, and she’s trying to drag you off to Tonowari.
You relent, following the zukzuk and mostly letting yourself get carried by the current until you’re in front of him. He gestures his fingers to his forehead as a salute and then holds his hand out to you, “Care for a swim?”
Still hesitant, you look at the ilu, then back at him. “No baby akulas trying to eat me this time?”
He laughs, “No, not where we’re going.”
You allow him to hoist you atop the ilu — because even if you're capable of doing it yourself, he always does that — and then climbs up in front of you, holding one hand behind your thigh to keep you steady and the other on the reins. “Hold on tight.”
You have to admit that riding at night is beautiful. Other than the moons and stars above you, the only light comes from the bioluminescence, and you remove one hand from his waist to brush the surface of the water, in awe. Nala swims beside you, holding up with the pace with some effort, but still looking very happy to see you and her carer together.
Tonowari stops the ilu when floating rocks and boulders — like a miniature-size Hallelujah Mountains — start to appear in the sky. “Where are we?”
He turns to smile at you. “You came here for Eywa, didn't you?” he asks, “Well, you could say we're going to visit her.”
He dives and you follow him, still a bit reluctant. He stops to let you catch up to him when he notices that you’re a bit behind him, a hand coming up to hold your smaller one — and suddenly, all of this feels very familiar. The fishes twirling around the two of you, the rocks and algae shimmering, the life you can feel buzzing within the water–
Tonowari lets go of your hand as you stare all around you, but it’s just to sign something. Come with me, our Spirit Tree is this way. His hand comes up to the small of your back, and if you weren’t holding your breath, you’re sure you would’ve sputtered.
If he notices the way you’re staring at him — like you just discovered a whole new person — he doesn’t mention it. He just guides you through the swarms of nocturnal fishes until you see it — the Spirit Tree.
Never in your life you would’ve thought that something like that could’ve existed underwater. It looks like it’s made out of dreams, shining upon anything that comes close to it, and Tonowari’s hand slowly leaves your back as you approach it — he’s letting you have some space, you realise.
Meeting the ancestors is like going back home — maybe it’s because in the spirit realm the Hometree and all the people that came down with it are alive, or maybe it’s because you didn’t do it for a long time. Either way, once you come back from it — you have to, the air in your lungs is starting to feel less and less every second that passes — you come to find out that finally, you feel truly at peace.
You swim up to a rock covered in moss to catch your breath, taking a moment to admire your surroundings — you’ve swam up to an open cave, it seems, painted and engraved with stories from the start of the Metkayina clan to the new days. Tulkuns, ilus and Na’vi twirl across the stone, set for an endless dance across generations, and you hear the water crinkle beside you.
“Do you like it?”
You nod, “It’s beautiful. Our Spirit Tree, back in the forest, doesn’t really offer any space for carvings.”
Tonowari nods, looking at the artwork scattered across the walls. “This is the Cove of the Ancestors. It’s where we bring the dead to rest, where newborns have their first contact with Eywa and ceremonies are held.”
You hum, already imagining him in full Olo’eyktan attire, his father passing down his spear to him. The man clears his throat. “I… I also brought you here for another reason other than the Spirit Tree — Ronal suggested I might’ve wanted to… clear things up a bit between us.”
You feel your heart skip a beat. Ah, there it goes. “There’s nothing to clear up,” you assure him, even if your chest feels like it’s imploding. “It’s okay. I know you have responsibilities — and we both know that Ronal’s the best tsakarem out there.”
He blinks, confused. A beat passes, slowly. Then, “But I don’t want Ronal.”
Oh. Oh.
You stutter, wondering if he’s joking — and from the way he’s looking at you, he’s not. “But– I thought you two had a thing. She dragged you away from the bonfire the other night — she’s always so close — she slapped you this morning just because we talked last night.”
Tonowari’s laughter is sincere and without any malice behind it. “What? No!”
He removes his pouch from his shoulder, and opens it to reveal another conch shell– even bigger than the last one. It’s different, though: this one reminds you of him, all turquoise and light blue accents, and you wonder just how many hours he has spent looking for it. “Here in Awa’atlu, gifting a big conch shell symbolises the start of a courtship,” he explaines — embarrassed, perhaps? “I got so used to having you around that I forgot you weren’t born Metkayina, and probably didn’t know of the tradition. Honestly, I was too happy you had accepted it to ask myself if you knew about it — and for that, I owe you my apologies.”
You soften visibly, but still hold a little resistance. “But Ronal–”
“Ronal is a friend,” he empathizes the word, “if anything, she sees me as a brother she can’t get out of her hair. All this time, she’s pressured me to make my move on you — before the other skxawngs in the village noticed all your qualities. That day at the bonfire? We kept arguing over what compliments I should’ve used for your hair.”
You blush, “I kept telling her I should’ve just told you that you were beautiful — which was true — but she kept insisting for a subtler approach. And when we came back, you weren’t there.”
You fiddle with the shells of your chestpiece, “Well, I thought you went to have some alone time with her or something,” you mutter.
Another laugh. “So, you escaped to watch the stars every time we were a little too close? I’m flattered that you kept looking at me,”
You push at his arm, “Then why did she slap you this morning? Your cheeks are still swollen, by the way.”
He snorts, “Ouli — the ceremonial tattooer — gave her a conch shell a week ago, and she has accepted it. She can’t wait to be absolved from tsakarem’s duties, but they can’t step down until the Tsahìk — and the future chief — choose who, one day, will guide the people spiritually.” Two of his fingers come up to your chin, holding your head up to stare into your eyes softly, “She was waiting for me to choose you. I told her I’d propose the shell to you yesterday, and then she found out that apparently, you saw it as a friendly talk. Needless to say, she was pissed.”
“But– I’m not even fully trained yet. She’s better at–”
He shakes his head, “I don’t care what she’s better at — I know you’ll learn everything about our ways, eventually. You’ve already proven yourself worthy enough.” he raises the shell again, his hand moving up to your cheek. “So, what do you say if we try this once more? I found another shell just to ask you again.”
You take the shell in your hands, admiring it for a moment before throwing all your self-control out of the picture, jumping in his arms so abruptly that he falls down on his backside. The kiss is mind-shattering, his hug is everything you imagined it would be, and his body is just as warm as it was in the dream where you saw him for the first time.
The funniest thing is that once you pull away, you both are gasping for air — something you’ve never seen him do, even after diving sessions that seemed to be hours long. Tightening the hold of your arms around his neck, you press your chests even closer, your noses brushing. “Is this the answer you wanted?”
He huffs a chuckle, his eyes already looking down at your lips again, “I don’t know– seemed a bit too friendly to me. But maybe, if you do that again, say, three or four times more, I might grasp the concept fully…”
You’re pretty sure the two of you could’ve stayed there kissing all night — and maybe even more than that, with the way you could feel him pressing against your crotch — if it wasn’t for Nala, who, by the time you went back for seconds for the fourth time, already had enough and positively jumped over the two of you, breaking the sweet moment with barks and flaps of her tail.
That doesn’t stop you from sharing quick, frenzy kisses whenever she’s not looking, as by the time Tonowari accompanies you back to your marui, your lips still feel swollen and are surely flushed. “I’ll see you tomorrow?” he asks you, pressing one last peck to your cheek. You nod, giving his hand one last squeeze, “‘Course,”
You decide to take things slowly — you still don’t know the Metkayina’s ways to their full extent, after all. The next few months are made of exhausting training, as now you’re the only tsakarem and still have to pass your iknimaya, and you don’t want to let anyone down. You know the expectations that everyone has about the Tsahìk, and you surely have no intention to make Tonowari look bad as Olo’eyktan when the time comes.
And about him, he surely makes the intensive training easier.
Everytime he notices that you’re a little too stressed he makes sure to bring you a trinket from his hunts — let it be a weird rock that looks like a heart or a basket full of shells you can make your chest coverings with. He finds flowers to put in your hair during meal times, and just swings you over his shoulder like a pouch full of water when he decides that you’re overworking yourself a tad bit too much, dragging you to his marui for a well-deserved nap.
The day of your iknimaya marks your formal entry in the clan — one who later on becomes even more real thanks to your mating ceremony.
It’s a quiet affair — quieter than it is usual for the son of the chief — but neither of you resent the lack of festivities or celebration, because the most important thing is that you are now mated for life. Per Metkayina tradition, you rebraid each other’s kuru braids, picking beads and shells perfect for each other just for the occasion, and when the time to exchange your wedding gifts comes, you think back to Priya’s words and wonder just who she married — because the comb Tonowari carved out of coral is nothing short of stunning.
“I’ve never been to your forest,” he tells you as you brush the swirls of the flowers and trees etched along the smooth side, “but I’ve tried imagining it so many times, I can only hope I brought it justice.” It may not be completely accurate to the forest, but the thought he put into it is more than appreciated nonetheless. In exchange, he wears your armband like it’s a badge of honor, even if it’s a little too tight on his bicep. (Not that you’re complaining — the sight is scrumptious, and you can’t believe you get to wake up next to him for the rest of your life.)
You quickly settle in the marui Tonowari built with his father in the months of courting, and after a few months of blissful marriage, you don’t even notice when your belly starts to grow.
You just assumed you were getting a little too comfortable in your new life with him and maybe put on a bit of weight — after all, the Metkayina are much softer than the Omatikaya, so maybe your body’s just adapting to the environment. You think so, until Tonowari points it out.
One morning, as he’s tying his braids back, he stops to look at you — still lying half-asleep on the mat you share, barely awake yet. He crouches to stare weirdly at your belly, then pokes at your bellybutton like he’s trying to study a new species of fish. “Oeyä Tanhì,” he starts — my star, a nickname he has taken a liking to calling you since your wedding.
You hum non-committedly. “Yes, Ma Wari?”
He keeps poking at your stomach, and keeps doing so even when you try to swat his hand away. “Stop it, Tonowari, it tickles.”
He kisses your cheek, and continues doing so all the way to your forehead, brushing your hair away from your face as he leans his cheek over the top of your head. His chuckle is full of disbelief as he whispers, “My love, I think you’re with child. Your belly is rounder and stiff.”
A moment passes. Then, “Are you calling me fat first thing in the morning, Tonowari?”
A terrifying silence and a visit to Tsika later, it’s confirmed — you are pregnant, already four months along. You’re confused, mostly because your people don’t show up until five months, but one look at your hunk of a husband is all it takes to explain your questions.
Your second tattoo is to celebrate the pregnancy. While the first was above your eyebrow and went down to your cheek, this one cups the upper part of your belly and continues to your sides, still leaving some space for eventual other tattoos on your lower belly and hips.
At night, you sit on the step going onto the ocean of your marui, letting your feet float in the water as Tonowari sits on a banked canoe below, rubbing ointment on your freshly-done tattoo. “The arch symbolises the first pregnancy,” he mumbles softly, “the sides, protection for the firstborn. If another pregnancy occurs, a piece will be added here,” he brushes against the empty, rounded sides of your belly, “for protection of the second born, and then one for the third, and so on.”
You laugh, playing with one of his braids. “I think you’re getting too full of yourself, mister– let me give birth to this one before talking about other children, will you?”
He rests his head in your lap, almost purring when you start tracing lines over his face and scalp, “And when the child is born,” he adds, a hand still over your stomach, “the father gets a tattoo over the heart, one that turns into a spiral as more children come.”
A hum, “Maybe we should start thinking about names first, Ma Wari.”
The agreement is, he chooses the name if it’s a boy, you choose if it’s a girl. He picks the name Aonung; you opt for Tsireya.
His father’s illness comes as a bitter surprise to all.
It starts with a cough, then he’s getting groggy when he moves a little too much, until no remedies the Tsahìk, you or the healers try to use work, as he lies bedridden in the marui him and his wife have shared for decades.
Tonowari is understandingly broken up about it — the man who he grew up idolizing, who offered you a refuge in your grief, who helped him build the marui where you’ll be raising your child and every other one that might come after them. He won’t be meeting his grandchild, and even if Arvak insists for you to sleep properly in your own pod for the wellness of the baby, you’re not going to leave him or your husband alone in this difficult time.
You and your mate spend every night by his side as Tsika prays and chants for Eywa, not getting a blink of sleep herself, until the inevitable comes, and Arvak’s hand finally goes limp in hers.
The period of mourning doesn’t seem like nearly enough for Tonowari to handle his grief — he spends every night curled up into you, resting his head on your lap, trying to find comfort in you and his unborn child. He’s so big that if the situation was a little different, you would’ve laughed; instead, you just hold him close and sing him to sleep.
But life doesn’t stop for grief, and you know that well. Soon, he’s named Olo’eyktan and you Tsahìk, Tsika stepping down from her position with tears in her eyes as she gives you her headpiece.
Time in the village goes fast — people to heal, ceremonies to make, salves to concoct and prayers to hear. Months pass and your belly starts feeling impossibly big, so much so that the kids of the clan start following you everywhere to help their increasingly more tired Tsahìk. Tonowari always laughs when he sees them, going on about how Nala now has competition for the place in your heart reserved for children and animals, and the otterfin herself brings you a gift everyday — let it be a polished rock she found while swimming or a type of seaweed she thinks to be delicious.
The contractions start at night. You toss and turn in pain but try to avoid waking up Tonowari, just in case it’s a false alarm like the ones you had in the last three days. It’s only when he nudges you with a gentle hand — hair still mussed a bit with sleep — and tells you that the mat is wet that you understand that your child is coming.
Tsika and Ronal — now one of the best healers in the village and happily mated to Ouli — don’t spare any minute after your husband calls for them, and immediately have him carry you — now almost delirious with pain — to the birthing pond, where the water is warm and Eywa’s presence strong. The sigh you let out when your husband gently positions you against the rocky wall of it is one of pure bliss, and your clammy skin now surely doesn’t give you any problem.
Aonung is born hours later at dawn, resurfacing out of the water by himself like tradition, crying out for his father to take him. Tonowari takes one good look at him, hears his strong wails and immediately passes him to your tired, waiting arms, “A boy,” he says breathlessly, brushing your braids out of your face, “a healthy, strong boy.” He presses his lips to your forehead, a tear slipping down his cheek, “Thank you, Oeyä Tanhì, thank you.”
“Aonung,” you call out sobbing, as the babe stops his crying and latches onto your breast. “Hi, my sweet, hi,” he’s a little bigger than Omatikaya babies, but you love him nonetheless. He nestles over your chest as soon as he’s done feeding, and chooses that that’s now his favourite place to be.
In the next few weeks, your son reveals himself to be a real mama’s boy. During the day, he stays curled up in your chest in the netted wrap that Em’a and Wali had made for you, and Eywa forbid Tonowari tries to help you by taking him — because he will cry until his ears beg for mercy, only to go back to being an angel as soon as he passes him back to you.
The children coo and poke at him when you bring him to meet them, and one of the older ones jokes about how he looks just like your husband, but can only stand you. You laugh at that, because it is true — Aonung is his father’s copy, and maybe that’s why he likes you so much.
It’s only when he reaches three months of age that you gather enough courage to ask Tonowari to visit the forest — not because you’re afraid he’ll say no, but because you’re not sure if you’re ready for it. It’s been almost two years since you left now, and while you aren’t exactly ready to see the remains of the fallen Hometree again, you want Aonung to meet his grandmother and aunt, and your husband to see where you grew up.
Of course, the latter could never deny you anything, and a week later you get on Ry’ia with him behind you and set sail for the forest of the Omatikaya. The village is left to Tsika’s hands, and Aonung babbles happily against your chest as he flies for the first time in his life.
The village is in the same place it was two years ago — it’s just grown a lot since then, marui pods where the branches once weren’t even steady enough — and you laugh when Ry’ia leaves you immediately to go back to the ikrans’ nest, ready to meet her old friends no doubt. You keep one hand over Aonung’s small back and the other in Tonowari’s palm, guiding him through the branches and groves as he stumbles many times.
You laugh, “How does the forest feel, reef boy?”
He pales as he stares down the branch you’re standing on, wondering just how many people die here from falling down into the void. “Dangerous, my love.”
Neytiri screams when she first sees you — alerting all the other villagers about your arrival. She runs to hug you tight, not even noticing your son nestled between you two or the reef Na’vi awkwardly standing behind you until you pull back, a soft smile on your lips. “Sister, it’s been so long–”
You laugh, nodding. “It has been, sister. I wanted to introduce you to Tonowari–” the man salutes her with his fingers going to his forehead and then gesturing towards her as you take Aonung out of his wrap and into your arms, “and little Aonung.”
You don’t notice the way her face falls instantly. Your boy coos at her, gesturing his fat little arms towards her, and the moment is interrupted by Mo’at, far more pleased than her elder daughter at the turn of events. When your sister takes her nephew in her arms and your mother hugs you, she stares at his turquoise skin, larger tail and wide forearms with worry, “He’ll never be able to move fully in the forest with these,”
You chuckle, still in your mother’s embrace, “A good thing we live in the reef then, no?”
Her eyes skim over your sturdier arms, the tattoos over your body and the seashells braided into your hair– and before you know it, she leaves Aonung in Jake’s arms and storms off.
Being back home is nice — because while Awa’atlu became your home in the last two years, here in the forest still live your friends and family, and it’s where you grew up. Your mother spoils Aonung rotten and watches him as you go hunting on your ikran with Ninat and Peyral, while Jakesully — upon Tonowari’s insistence — tries to show him the way of the forest. Your friends chuckle every time they catch sight of your husband, asking if every Na’vi in the reef is as big as him, and if you know any Metkayina men willing to marry in the Omatikaya.
Neytiri, who you found out to be pregnant the day you arrived, mostly stays by herself, pondering, and whenever you ask if she wants to do anything with you she refuses, lamenting nausea or other pains.
You talk to Mo’at about it, worried, but she just gives you a weird look. “She’s grieving, child.”
Your eyebrows rise up to your hairline, “What do you mean, grieving? Who died?”
“She thought you were still traveling,” she whispers, caressing Aonung’s curls while he munches on the beads of your braids, “and that once you were ready, you would’ve come back to living here. Seeing you with a mate and a son… it broke her heart, because now she knows you’re not coming back.”
You think back to all the times you two talked about how your children would grow up together, being best friends and close just like you did — and your heart breaks a little, too, because in all of this, you hadn’t considered how she would take the fact of you never fully returning to the forest.
That night, you leave Aonung with Tonowari — as your son has finally started to appreciate his father a little, too — and go looking for Neytiri at the Tree of Souls, knowing that at this hour, she usually prays and chants her songcord.
She stops when she hears you approach, her ears perking up. You smile softly, “I thought we could pray together– like the old days?” When your father was still alive, your sister still arranged to Tsu’tey, and the both of you were less complicated. When she could still become Tsahìk, and you had no reason to.
She scoffs a little, “Like the old days,” she mutters, “am I supposed to pretend that you didn’t turn your back on me?”
You grimace, taking a seat next to her, “Tiri…”
“Don’t ‘Tiri’ me,” she hisses, “you have no right– I was waiting for you. Waiting for you to come back–” her voice cracks — pregnancy emotions; you know them too well. “For you to come back here and marry one of our men like our ancestors did for centuries. Instead, you marry a reef Na’vi and– and move Eywa knows how far from here without saying anything–”
She breaks down, and you shush her gently, cradling her head on your shoulder. This feels familiar, because when you were kids, she was usually the one comforting you. “Why did it have to be the Olo’eyktan?” she cries, her tears wetting your skin, “Couldn’t you find someone less important — someone you could come here to live with?”
You shake your head, pressing your cheek on the crown of her hair for comfort, “I didn’t choose him, Tiri,” you say softly, “I fell in love. That’s not something one controls, and you, out of all people, should know that.”
Still in denial, she sobs harder, “What will it be of our kids?” she asks, pressing a hand over her slightly swollen belly, “Will they grow up as strangers, like they’ll be to our father and sister? Will they look at their aunt and wonder if she’s an outsider?”
“Never, sister, never,” you hush, “we’ll visit — you and Jake can visit, too.”
As her cries die down, she asks, “Does the thought of living here still scare you so much?”
And for that, to your horror, you don’t find an answer.
Tsireya comes a little over a year after her brother, and this time, she looks like you. She still has her father’s Metkayina features — the tail, her forearms — but one good look at her face, and it doesn’t take a Tsahìk to guess that she’s your daughter. Ironically enough, she prefers her father's chest over yours — unless we’re talking about feeding time, because, let’s be real, Tonowari will never be able to beat you at that for obvious reasons.
Aonung has started to waddle a while ago, and has been restless since. He goes from your marui to his grandmother’s, visiting Ronal and Em’a on the way, falling at least twelve times in the meantime. He loves swimming with you and his father, constantly bugs his sister when she’s stealing the milk that he’s convinced should be his, and plays with Nala on the shore when the zukzuk starts following him around.
He’s a sweet boy who brings you flowers and pieces of fruit when he notices the smallest frown on your face, and loves cuddles from mom and dad before and after going to sleep. And even if he’s a little mean to his sister sometimes, you know he loves her very much from the way he begs you to let her swim with him or wants to share his food with her.
You visit Neytiri a few more times, but the visits slowly come to an end when you realize that she has no intention of ever coming to the reef to see the life you’ve built here. While Mo’at visits frequently, bringing the children gifts and swarming them with affection, your older sister seems to have accepted the fact that in her eyes, you’ll never be truly close again.
You accept the notion with far more ease than you could have ever imagined — because you have a family now, and people that look up to you for guidance. If Neytiri doesn’t want to see that, it’s okay; you’ll never manage to love her any less for it.
The kids grow quicker than you realize, because soon, Tsireya is waddling behind Aonung too, and the excruciating process of weaning her off starts.
Her brother had been even more difficult, so you’re actually quite relieved to see that she at least does not cry herself to exhaustion every night like he did. But every time she lets out the smallest whimper, you find Tonowari’s big eyes boring into yours, with that look that says, we could resolve the problem by just having another baby. You always glare at him when he suggests that, because two kids under three already feel like more than enough now, and you have no intention of having another one so soon.
But as she often does, Eywa has a different plan for you.
Tonowari hurriedly wakes you up one night as you’re resting on the sleeping mat, nearly asleep as the kids quietly snore beside you. He’d been out all evening to help his mother with some herbs while you watched the children, so you’re worried to find him so distraught. “One of the Ta’unui’s women died in birth,” he whispers, careful not to wake up Aonung or Tsireya, “they need to feed him, but none of the women in their village is nursing. Could you…?”
He doesn’t even have to ask, really, because five minutes later you’re sitting in the Tsahìk’s tent, nursing little Rotxo while the Ta’unui Olo’eyktan shares worried whispers with Tonowari. The newborn is a little chunkier than Aonung and Tsireya were, but that just means that his mom, while she could, took good care of him.
“He’s an orphan,” you hear the chief say, “his dad died a little while ago on a hunt, and he’s only got his grandmother now — but frankly, she’s old, and I doubt she’ll be able to take care of him for long…”
The solution seems clear in your eyes, and after talking to Rotxo’s grandmother about her new place in the Metkayina village, you introduce Aonung and Tsireya to their new little brother. They don’t ask why you didn’t have a big belly like the other pregnant women in the village, or why his skin isn’t a little bluer like theirs, and instead take to him instantly, putting shared efforts to find nice shells and smooth little rocks to put in the woven crib where he naps.
Everyday, you bring him to his grandmother so that she can have a piece of her daughter back with her, and slowly, she takes a liking to your children as well. They start calling her grandma like they do to Tsika and Mo’at, and you don’t miss the way she seems to be rejuvenated by being around such lively children.
“No more kids, huh?” Tonowari teases you gently one evening, the sun fading into the horizon, as you breastfeed little Rotxo while watching Aonung and Tsireya play with ilu cubs in the water.
You swat his arm, so tired but so full of love. “Oh, shut up, Tonowari. The next kid we have, we’ll have in at least ten years.”
He raises an eyebrow, amused, “Oh? So, we will have another kid?”
You blush — incredible how after having two of his kids and being bare for him so many times, he still manages to get a reaction out of you. “Maybe.”
He hums, an arm wrapping around your shoulders as he presses a gentle kiss to your temple. “Yeah? And what do you want to call them, if it’s a girl?”
You look down to little Rotxo, his hand opening and closing around the curve of your breast, his chunky belly pressing against your ribs. It’s ridiculous — the way Tonowari can get you to think about another baby while already having three small children.
𝐀𝐍 𝐔𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐄 ᝰ Pril is an adorable, but very hungry baby. When you take a moment to make yourself some breakfast and hand your daughter over to her father, she decides to solve her hunger herself. Unfortunately for Tonowari, she mistakes his chest for yours and assumes she'll gain milk if she latches onto him.
𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆… Tonowari te Tsika'u Arvak'itan
𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓… SFW ᝰ Avatar: Fire and Ash based, non-canon, featuring baby Pril, fem!Metkayina!reader, Tsahìk!reader, dad!Tonowari x mom!reader, reader takes place of Ronal, established relationship [mates/marriage] pure fluff, humor, domestic, mention and act of breastfeeding; na'vi language w/ translations
𝐃𝐔𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍… 2.7k words
𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐑… This was a very fun and cute fic to write!! This is the first Tonowari fic I've written in a long time that wasn't attached to FSB. I enjoyed writing Baby Pril too because she's such a cutie patootie🥰!!! As always, I hope y’all enjoy and always feel free to comment and reblog, I can’t wait to read y’all reactions!
𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐒… Main M.list ・Avatar Taglist
Morning in Awa’atlu begins softly. Sunlight spilling over the island as the chatter of waking Metkayina spread throughout the village, some getting ready for the day as others already begin their daily routines that align with their clan roles.
Inside your family’s marui, however, the calm of the morning is already over, due to having a infant in your home. Your daughter, Pril, squirms in your arms with determination, little feet kicking against your hip, trying her best to communicate to you what she wants. “Ma…ma…ma…”
“Yes, yes,” you murmur with a small laugh, gently swatting away her hands as she attempts to pull at your feathered top, not wanting her to pop the strings or pull any of the decorations like she did on your top from a few days ago. “You are hungry again. I know.”
Pril has been nursing almost constantly lately, always hungry and begging for the golden liquid that flows from your swollen breasts. She is growing fast for a child her age. It is clear that Pril is a strong baby, something you’ve known since you carried her in your womb. What you didn’t know while you were pregnant is that she would grow to have the appetite of a tsurak [skimwing].
When you’re about to cradle her so she can be fed for the second time this morning, your stomach rumbles in quiet protest, reminding you that you haven’t eaten yet yourself. Having a baby, along with your other many responsibilities, the main one being Tsahìk [clan's spiritual leader], it is easy to forget these things, but thankfully your body is willing to keep you in check.
“Tonowari,” you call gently, glancing toward your mate, needing to gain his attention.
The Olo’eyktan looks up from where he’s seated, repairing his spear shaft that got damaged during a sparring session with some of the hunters, one of the his ways of keeping his combat skills sharp. “Yes, psakalin [honey]?” Tonowari replies while putting down his spear, eyes softening immediately when he sees Pril wiggling in your grasp.
You carefully walk over and place your daughter into his large waiting hands, needing your hands free for a few moments. “Hold her while I prepare something to eat,” you say, feeling your stomach growl again, begging for any source of nutrients. “If I do not keep my strength, she will soon complain that there is none left for her.”
When breastfeeding, mothers must eat plenty of food so they can maintain energy and milk supply. Therefore, you must eat so she can continue to happily suckle milk from your breasts until her little tummy is full and satisfied, so she can grow big and strong like her older siblings.
Tonowari nods immediately, taking Pril with ease and adjusting her position, wanting her to be comfortable as he holds her against his chest so she can feel his warmth.
Your daughter blinks up at him with wide, curious eyes, looking at her father as if he’s her whole world which makes Tonowari smile. Soon, Pril's attention shifts. Her tiny hand reaches up, trying to grab her father’s akula teeth necklace. Her hands are far too small to grab it fully, but her little nails do dig into Tonowari’s skin as she tries her best to grasp it, making him lightly wince.
“You have a strong grip,” he murmurs with quiet pride, furthering the notion he's built in his mind that once Pril is older she’ll be a great warrior just like her mother. Pril gurgles happily, moving her little fists in the air, as if she’s agreeing with her father’s statement.
While they are having some father daughter time, you move with ease around the small cooking space, slicing fruit and pulling warm fish from the cooking pot, feeling your mouth water from the delicious aroma. You toss a cubed piece of fruit into your mouth, already starting to eat as you wait for the fish to cool off just a tad.
Behind you, Tonowari continues his quiet conversation with your youngest daughter, keeping her entertained as you tend to your hunger. “Your mother says you are always hungry,” he tells her, thinking about how just last night you were telling him that she inherited his large appetite. “I suspect she exaggerates.” He says jokingly, knowing that you are telling the truth about her eating habits. He has witnessed her hunger first hand and he can agree that her little stomach is somehow never satisfied.
Pril squirms closer against him, pressing her nose into the firm muscle of his chest, making your husband assume she wants to be cuddled so he begins to gently bounce her, thinking it’ll help her settle down. “Maybe you will grow into a great weaver,” he muses, stroking her hair, wondering what position she will feel led to once she grows old enough to make the decision. “Or a strong diver like your tsmukan [brother].”
Your daughter’s ears twitch, as if her attention has yet again been drawn elsewhere. Her tiny nose presses more firmly against Tonowari’s chest, her face nuzzling instinctively into his warm skin. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat echoes beneath her cheek, the one thing that usually calms her little spirit when she’s riled up. But today it isn't working.
Pril’s stomach gives a small, impatient growl, making her brow lines furrow. Her hunger has become sharper than earlier. It is no longer a gentle feeling but an urgent pull that will no longer go unsatisfied.
Her mouth opens slightly, her tongue pressing forward as instinct takes over. Your daughter’s small hands press clumsily against Tonowari’s chest as she shifts, searching for the source of the nutrient rich fluid she gets from you. Her lips brush his skin, crawling toward what she assumes to be your breast, and she latches.
When Tonowari feels his daughter attach to him, he stills instantly, breath catching as he looks down at her in confusion. He does not move at first, clearly trying to understand what she is doing. His hand hovers awkwardly near her back, unsure whether to adjust her or leave her be. “…What are you—” He doesn’t even finish his sentence because Pril pulls back slightly, making Tonowari not feel the need to continue.
Pril’s tail begins to lash and her small face scrunches in growing frustration since she wasn't able to find any milk. She doesn’t understand because when she’s with you this always works. She nudges forward again, more insistent this time, pressing harder against her father, latching onto him for a second time.
She tries again, but she still comes up short, making her tiny fingers tighten against his skin, showing how she’s growing impatient. Pril thinks if she works harder, milk will come, so while she’s still latched to her father, she bites down. And it’s not a soft bite either.
When it happens, Tonowari jerks sharply, his confusion of his daughter actions turns into pure shock as pain spikes through his chest, making a strangled sound tear from his throat. “AUGH!” He nearly loses his hold on her, but his arm tightens at the last second purely on instinct, thankfully keeping Pril from falling to the ground.
His free hand flies to his chest, eyes wide in disbelief as he looks down at the small culprit latched onto him with strong determination, clearly not willing to let up until she finds what she’s looking for. “Daughter, release!” he chokes, trying to gently pull her away without hurting her, but the attempt only seems to encourage her stubborn grip. Tonowari did say that Pril has a strong grip, now she’s showing it.
The commotion echoes through your kelku [home], making you nearly drop the plate full of food in your hands at the sudden shout from your husband. You quickly place it down and swallow the food you were chewing before running over, wondering what has transpired that calls for this loud of a reaction. “Tonowari, what has happened?!”
“She has bitten me!”
You blink, not understanding him at first. “…What?” Pril has never been a aggressive baby, so you don’t know why she would bite her father.
“Our child just bit me!” he repeats, gesturing to his chest, bringing your attention to his clearly reddened and abrasive nipple that he was finally able to get his daughter to detached from.
When you look at your husband’s wounded area, and then you look down at your daughter and how agitated she’s becoming, that is when you connect the dots. Your daughter had mistaken Tonowari’s warm skin and muscular pecs for your own breasts, thinking if she latched on she would be able to find a source of nourishment, but clearly she was wrong.
For a moment you try very hard not to laugh, but the sight of Tonowari, a great warrior and fearless leader, currently defeated by your daughter who is only the size of his hand, is simply too adorable.
The laughter escapes before you can try to stop it, which makes Tonowari frown immediately, not finding this situation funny. “You find this amusing.” He grumbles, rubbing his chest, trying to stop the pain.
“I am sorry,” you say between laughs, crouching down next to your husband. You place a supportive hand on his shoulder, calming down your laughter before giving him a comforting look. “I truly am.”
“She attacked me without warning.” He says, his forehead lines creasing, similarly to when he’s disciplining your oldest child, Ao’nung.
“When you hold her like that,” you point out, gesturing to his broad chest and how he’s cradling her so close to his skin. “What did you expect?”
Tonowari opens his mouth to argue, but he just closes it again, thinking you could possibly have a point. This never happened with your other two children. He held Tsireya and Ao’nung in the same manner when they were Pril’s age and they never tried to bite him, so he doesn’t know what got into his daughter for her to act this way.
You move a few steps over to your medicine basket, a thin smile spreading across your lips as you reach for a small jar of healing salve. “Well,” you say lightly, applying the cool mixture to Tonowari’s skin, seeing the small indentations Pril caused to his nipple when she latched firmly onto him. “I suppose I cannot blame her.”
Tonowari eyes you suspiciously, wondering what you mean because it is clear your daughter is at fault. “Why not?”
You tilt your head, examining his body in a loving manner instead of how you would do a usual injured patient. You can't help it when your handsome husband has his chest puffed out in front you, looking very attractive when he’s being all domestic and fatherly with your youngest daughter.
“You do have a very… impressive chest.” When you say that, your mate’s ears flicker at the compliment, making him wonder where you are going with this. “Broad shoulders,” you continue casually, flickering your eyes at him before looking back down at the affected area. “Strong muscles.”
Tonowari huffs under his breath, enjoying your praises at his physique, but he cannot properly receive the compliments when he’s in pain. “Flattery will not undo the injury.”
“I am not flattering you,” you say sweetly, continuing to rub the herbs on his wound, wanting to help wipe that grumpy expression off his face and make him smile. “I am explaining our child’s confusion.”
He gives you a long look, his eyes squinting just a tad, before his lips turn into a thin line, as if he’s trying not to smile or show any sort of amusement, but he cant help it when you look at him the way you are. “You are enjoying this far too much.”
“Maybe a little.” You admit, not being able to deny how funny yet cute this situation truly is. Once the salve is applied thoroughly, you lean back, placing the lid back on the jar. “There,” you say, putting the salve back into its original place. “It will stop stinging soon.”
Tonowari rolls his shoulders experimentally, testing to see if the herbs have begun working yet. “…It is feeling better.” He says softly, thanking Eywa that soon his pectoral muscle will no longer be in pain because he has many duties ahead of him today.
He’s always had empathy for women, he knows their bodies go through a lot when it comes to bearing children, but feeling this pain and knowing this is something you and other women in the clan go through each time they have a child, Tonowari has gained even more respect for na’vi women.
“I am glad.” You reply before gently lifting your daughter from his arms before she attempts another attack on Tonowari, not wanting her to try to bite at her father’s good side, the only side he has that is uninjured.
Her tiny face scrunches immediately in protest, not enjoying that she’s being ripped away from her father’s warm embrace. And she’s still upset at the fact she hasn’t been given any food yet.
“Mawey [calm], little one.” you murmur, settling down comfortably next to your husband. You adjust your top, moving the decorative feathers out of her way before bringing her in close, angling her in the perfect position to breastfeed. “I will feed you properly so you do not have to bite sempu [daddy] again.”
When baby Pril smells the colostrum in your milk, her nose guides her to your breast. Once she finds your nipple, she latches immediately, happy to finally be feed after not having any success with her father. As her tummy fills with milk, content little noises fill the room and her tail happily sways as her little appetite finally gets what it has been dying for.
Tonowari leans in towards you, wrapping his arm around your waist, watching the two of you with quiet amusement now that the shock of the incident has passed, though he’s still surprised about what happened. “For someone so small, she is very dangerous.”
You smirk up at him, knowing exactly where she gets that trait from. “She takes after her father.”
Tonowari snorts, not accepting that comparison, in his mind, he has done nothing along the lines of danger. “I have never bitten anyone.”
“Are you sure?” you tease, remembering an event that would say otherwise. “You were quite fierce when we first met.” You give him a “look”, one that helps jog his memory to the early years of your relationship, when you both were just two teenagers in love.
His eyes warm at the thought, remembering the times where he chased you around the island until you gave him a chance and when you did, his fierceness only became refocused… mostly in how he expressed his affections. “Perhaps… you are correct.”
Tonowari reaches over you, brushing a gentle finger along your daughter’s tiny tail as she drinks from your breast, acting as if she hasn’t eaten all morning, making him shake his head with a quiet laugh. “I battle many things,” he says, thinking of the storms, disputes, and the endless responsibilities of leading the clan, challenges he always faces head-on. Yet his gaze softens as he looks down at the small life in your arms. “Yet my daughter defeats me before breakfast.”
You grin, knowing how much enjoys being a father, and how he would not want his life to be any differently. “That is fatherhood, Olo’eyktan.” You say before leaning your head against his shoulder, feeling his hand rub the small of your back as the two of you watch your daughter drink contentedly.
For a while, neither of you says anything, allowing yourselves to just enjoy this moment of peace. You and Tonowari bask in the warmth of parenthood, listening to the ocean waves lap against your dwelling and your daughter’s soft nursing sounds filling your home.
Tonowari presses a gentle kiss to the top of your head, thankful that he’s able to call you the mother of his children, that Eywa blessed you and him to create three wonderful souls together that show the love and strength within your union.
Although Pril already shows signs of being a little troublemaker, you and your mate cannot wait to see the young woman she will grow into. However… for the time being, it might be wise to keep her away from her father’s chest whenever she’s hungry so the little adorable baby you birthed, doesn’t turn into a little milk thirsty monster.
Prompt: what will you choose—love or duty? bound by responsibility, the metkayina tsakarem cannot help but fall in love with neteyam sully after his family seeks refuge among her people.
Pairing: fem!metkayina reader x neteyam sully, fem!metkayina reader x mom!ronal, fem!metkayina reader x dad!tonowari. Aonung x sister!reader, Tsireya x sister!reader
Wc: 7.9k
Warnings: kissing, use of y/n, touching, secret relationship, arranged relationships, mentions of mating, touchy!feely!neteyam, fighting, mentions of blood, male on female violence (not neteyam), fluff!, slightest bit of angst.
Translations: yawne (beloved), Tsakarem (spiritual leader in training)
Being the eldest daughter of the olo’eyktan came with many demands, and a lot of training. With that belonging came new challenges, and a good deal of pressure.
It had been weeks since the Sully’s had last sought and received uturu from the Metkayina reef people. As your siblings grew friendships with the newcomers, you fell short—hardly able to spend time with them as your duties and training kept you away.
Trust that you understood your position all too well. You must be fierce, do not fret, show no weakness as you will one day become a strong, spiritual matriarch just like your mother.
Atleast, it’s what your father’s always told you.
Your role as Tsakarem often keeps you from making your own decisions, leaving the important things to your parents. But the moment you saw Neteyam, your mind expanded.
His honey gold eyes, his smooth, dark blue skin, and his lively braids—it all made your stomach whirl.
You’d sneak off at night to see him, it was easy when everyone, even the group thought you two just didn’t like each other. Your ambivalence only grew when you thought of the reactions your parents would give if they’d ever found out.
The night he began to secretly court you was full of complexity, but excitement. You’d never even thought of rebelling against your parents’ strict and robust morals.
You sit cross legged beside your mother in the large, main marui pod, rolling herbs into pastilles and studying new tree sap recipes for healing.
“How is it going, daughter?” She asks, moving to crouch over you and superintend your work.
“Mm” You hum softly, it is all you can manage to do when you are as focused as you are now. Your body shifts, giving her space so that she can observe closely without putting too much pressure on herself.
The distant sound of yipping causes your attention to shift to the flaps of the pod entry, observing through the slight gaps between them; your siblings and the Sully children, leaping from the council platform and into the sea—which you loved. so much.
“Daughter,” Your mother calls, her voice cutting through your thoughts. “Focus.” her hands crush the rest of the herbs that you had sort of abandoned.
“Mother, may I go to the water?”
“We are almost done here.”
“Tsireya and Ao’ get to do whatever they want.”
“No, they have been assigned to educate the Sully’s. They are working hard too, with just opposite tasks.”
Your arms cross and your head tilts, it has been weeks since they arrived. What more could they possibly be learning? “It has been weeks, they know what they’re doing.”
Your mother sighs, her hands stopping their movements. “Really? Tuktirey is still young. She needs more attention, more attention means more lessons.”
You grumble as she puts the herbs and bowls away to sit beside you, holding your hand and sitting up straight, her legs criss crossed—she teaches you to listen for signs, to understand the connection between the people and our deity. And to teach others what you have learned, so that you can pass your knowledge down to your sister and other young clan members.
Eclipse comes faster than you’d anticipated, but it does not bother you, it only means you’ll get to see Neteyam.
Your mother dismisses you after long hours of training, while skipping through the village, you spot Tsireya, Aonung, and the Sully kids, returning from the water.
“Sister!” She rushes forward, grabbing your arms and smiling. “Where have you been? You should have joined us, it was fun. Please, join us tomorrow.”
“Yes, I will. Go comb your hair, it will be knotted from all of the swimming you’ve done. Make sure to…”
Tsireya’s eyes roll playfully, her hands letting out of yours. “I know, I know.” She laughs and runs to the main pod, you watch her go for a minute before approaching the Ilu pens where Neteyam is storing away the reins and saddles. watching him silently through the woven saddle racks, you pick up the rest of them.
“I can feel your eyes.” He smirks teasingly, leaning down to look back at you.
“I know,” You shake your head, fighting back a giggle. “We have not spoken in days.” Your smile falters briskly, hands ceasing before moving again, slower this time.
His smirk is wiped away instantly, he hangs the saddles up and moves quickly to stand before you. “I’m sorry, it’s hard when everyone thinks we hate each other. I don’t want them to suspect anything either, it could cost you your position.”
A sigh you’d been holding back escapes from your lips, “Then let’s go together—tonight, secretly. At the three brothers like usual.” You plead, hands dropped to your sides.
“Okay, yes.” His fingers hook gently around the rough fabrics that make up the guipu skirt which your mother weaved for you. “Come here, please”
“I will see you later.”
His eyebrows pinch together subtly, he’s never had to ask you to come here twice.
He watches you set off towards your pod, hands clenched tightly around his head. Neteyam knows that you’re angry. Why wouldn’t you be? He hasn’t even come close to your usual spot in weeks. No explanation. No apology. Just silence.
He snarls to himself, walking slowly to his family’s pod. Everyone is there, hooking up the hammocks and preparing for bed.
“Where have you been? C’mon, grab your stuff and hook it up. Let’s go.” Jake ushers him as soon as he steps into their dwelling, shaking his head marginally as he helps Tuk with hers.
“Yes sir.” He sets his hammock up right beside Lo’aks, his fingers moving steadily around the intricate weavings.
In your marui, your hammock is already set and ready to be slept in even though you won’t be using it. As you pick out your outfit for you and Neteyam’s meet up, your father comes in unexpectedly.
“Where are you going at this time, daughter?” His arms cross as he stands at the entrance, leaning against the wall.
“Nowhere. I am just planning for tomorrow's council meeting.”
He nods, moving towards the hammock which he shares with his mate. The rest of your family shuffles in, your brother being annoying as usual, snatching you and your sisters belongings and tugging at your long, black hair.
“Aonung! Stop!” You snap, snatching your hair from his grasp. Tsireya slaps him lightly across the head, leaping away soon after to lay in her hammock, laughing aloud.
“Quiet!” Your father hollers, rubbing the tip of his nose with his fingers in exasperation.
You quickly lay in your own nivi, your outfit suspiciously fancy for sleep. Your parents decide to make no comment, turning over and resting in each other's arms.
You wait up for everyone to doze until they finally do. You stand as quietly as you can, tiptoeing out of the domicile and running to the Ilu pens as soon as your feet meet the sand.
Neteyam is already there, prepared with food, water, and mats. Prepared in ways you hadn’t expected.
You keep your mouth shut the whole way there, it wasn’t hard to miss his gaze—he kept his eyes on your back the entire time, you could almost feel them bleeding through you.
At the three brothers, he dismounts and helps you onto the rocks. Neteyam sets up the mats, splaying the food and drinks around it. “Come on baby.” He says carefully, reaching for your hand, the other tapping a spot beside him.
You eye him for a beat before sitting down where his hand was. “What is it?”
“I’m apologizing. For not meeting with you.”
He reaches out, rubbing small circles on your shoulders.
“I just wish you’d have told me why you weren’t meeting with me. Can you?”
“I just didn’t want to be too obvious, my father and brother were catching onto my disappearance,”
“Oh. Well we can’t let that happen…”
“I know. I just want you to be happy. I know you love your people, and I know you’re ready to take on your mothers role.”
“Yeah.” You mumble, staring into the sea, hands holding his shoulders. You always had to remind yourself of your position, to keep you from being reckless—but you never had to worry around Neteyam.
His hands trail down your body, pulling you in by the waist and kissing your cheek gently. “We’ll figure it out. Let’s just enjoy this…hm?”
“Okay,” You whisper as you try the fresh pasuk he’d brung. “Mm” you hum, offering it to him.
Neteyam didn’t even eat much, just the food you offered. All he could do was smile as he watched you enjoy them,
“Come here,” He says, his voice a low whisper. “Closer.” You look up from the fruit in your mouth before scooting closer, the juices dripping down your chin.
He wipes away the juice that had been squeezed from the fruit, peppering your face in soft kisses, chuckling charmingly and pulling you into his lap to finally kiss your lips.
The kiss was gentle at first, slow, like he was trying to hold onto this moment. Your eyes shuttered closed, hands exploring his hair and braid pattern desperately.
“We need…” You breathe, pulling away for a second—your forehead against his. “We should get back. Soon.”
“Soon.” He repeats, continuing to kiss you, deeply this time. One hand tangled in your hair, while the other held your thigh, steadying you on his lap.
“Neteyam,” you gasp, tugging at his hair.
He continues for what feels like eternity, leaving sloppy kisses down your neck before pulling away. “Okay, okay.”
“We must get back.” You murmur between pants, hands adjusting your ruffled top, then moving to his hair—wiping it from his face.
He reserves the rest of the food he’d brought, storing it in the basket and standing, helping you up as he moved towards the ilu that was still there.
With his hands in yours, he sends you onto the creature gently, sitting behind you right after, his chest flush against your back, broad shoulders enveloping your shadow.
You ride back to the village, sharing soft laughs and mindless jokes with one another, when you reach the lagoon, you both fall silent—scattering around quickly, but quietly, as if hunting a meer deer or a fast fish.
You kiss him, a soft, sweet goodnight gesture. “I will see you tomorrow.”
“I hope so.” He smiles, pressing one last lingering kiss against your hair.
You tiptoe back to your marui as quietly as you could, removing the beautiful weavings that you had slipped into earlier and wearing more comfortable, satin ones.
When you drop the thick, heavy outfit you’d been wearing before, a shell that held the whole top together fell especially hard.
Your eyes shoot up immediately, just hoping your family didn’t hear the loud thud. Aonung stirs and then his head jerks directly towards you.
“What are you doing up?” He whispers loudly, standing spindly.
“None of your business." You snap sharply, moving to pick up the clothes.
“Ah, ah.” Aonung crouches down faster and holds your outfit up.
“Give it to me! You will wake mother and father.” You grit through your teeth.
“This smells like the Sully boy,” he taunts, waving the ioi around as if it were a toy.
“Aonung! Those are special beads,” you snatch the apparel from him, clutching the shells and beads it is adorned in.
“Then why were you wearing them out? Hmm?”
“None of your business! Go back to sleep. Now!” You slap his hand away, snarling sharply, hanging your clothing on your personal belongings rack that your father crafted for you, a symbol of familial love.
Aonung watches you silently, his gaze softening just a fraction. “Fine, sorry.”
You turn back, watching him lie down before reposing with a soft blanket from your childhood.
The next day is laced with duty and gathering—hunters, including Neteyam, his father, Lo’ak, Rotxo, your brother, your father, and several other young hunters among the metkayina vanished to amass the village's food preservation.
You are crouched beside your friends, heating stews and proteins which were prepared some days prior—maintained nourishments that are too difficult to find and cook all in one day.
As you wrap up the reheating, you join your mother for a quick ritual, then you hear of the hunters returning.
The men rounded up baskets of beast meat, seeds, fish, rich drinking water, and herbs for spices.
Your fingers wrap gently around the sash which the young warrior, Amak had given you. “Thank you, Amak—for these gifts.” You smile, passing the sash down to the line of women.
You turn to walk back to your marui, and as you do, two large hands wrap around your waist and pull you to a secluded area behind your home.
You gasp sharply before realizing it is Neteyam. Your breathing soothed and your eyes softened. “You scared me,”
“I’m sorry yawne” He laughs, kissing your cheeks carefully.
“Careful, Teyam…” You whispered softly, “someone will see us.”
“I’m tired of keeping this a secret.” His voice was low, frustrated and serious.
“No,” you whisper—not harsh, not angry, calm, controlled. You pull back.
“No?” He stills.
“We are not telling anyone.”
His brows draw together. “Why?”
“Because the moment we do, it stops being ours.”
That makes him pause, you lower your voice, glancing toward the open stretch of sand beyond your marui. Your father is speaking with Jake sully, your mother is blessing the catch, Aonung is watching everything as always.
“If we tell them, it becomes alliances, it becomes responsibilities.”
“And what is it now?”
You step closer, fingers coiling tightly into the cummerband around his waist. “It is mine, it is yours. No future titles, no duties. Just us.”
“You are not afraid?” he presses gently.
“Of being caught?” A small smile curves your lips. “Always.”
He exhales a soft laugh.
“But I am more afraid of losing this before we have had it long enough. We will tell them one day. When it does not feel like surrender.”
“And until then?”
“Until then we are quiet.”
Footsteps crunch faintly in the sand nearby, you both freeze as a shadow moves along the side of the marui, Aonung's voice drifts closer.
You shove Neteyam lightly toward the other side where he can sneak away. “Go.”
He doesn’t argue but before he slips away, he steals a quick kiss—warm, dangerous. “You like the risk,” he murmurs against your mouth.
You shove him again, cheeks flushing. “Go.”
He disappears around the curve of the pod just as your brother rounds the corner.
His eyes narrow. “You look suspicious.”
You fold your arms calmly. “You look nosy,”
His gaze lingers, then drifts behind you—searching. Your heart pounds so loudly you’re certain he can hear it, but Neteyam is gone. Aonung huffs, “mother wants you.”
“Then why are you still here?” You brush past him to find your mother. You assist her in preparing the bowls, and when the time comes—the entire village is there, surrounding your father.
The topic of the meeting has your heart thumping against your ribs, a shiver of instinctive fear running down your spine. Sky people.
All your life, you hadn’t worried about war. Now it has come. It would come. Your father, Neteyam, warriors of the clan going so far, you’d stay up worried—worrying that they would not return.
As the meeting wraps up, your parents call you to your marui for a brief, important talk.
You step into the quiet of your marui, woven walls glowing faintly in the evening light. Your mothers expression is calm, the weight behind her eyes pin you to the spot. Your father sits opposite her, hands folded in his lap.
“You have grown, daughter.” Your mother begins softly, there is no warmth in her tone. “Strong, intelligent, and careful. But you are also old enough to understand your duties as Tsakarem.”
You nod slowly, stomach twirling, head running with millions of possibilities.
Your father leans forward, voice deliberate. “It is time we speak of your future, daughter. The clan’s unity must be preserved, and there are decisions you must accept.”
Your chest tightens as if you know what is coming, but the words still struck like a tidal wave.
“You are to be mated with Amak. The future of the clan lies with you.”
Your ears dropped, tail pausing its movements and tucking itself between your legs.
Your mother reaches out, her fingers brushing your cheek. “You will understand in time. Your heart will follow your duty, as all Tsakarem have before you.”
But you do not feel comfort. You feel a storm. Anger. Desire. Fear. A part of you wants to scream. Another part knows the clan’s eyes will always follow.
If you were to see Neteyam again you could not falter.
As the days passed, you noticed your mother and father speaking with Amak’s parents more often than ever before.
You are on the ilu, riding with Neteyam, hands placed on his waist as your head rests against his back.
He stops nearby a rock, taking your hands and helping you climb up. “Come here.”
“They are speaking to Amak’s family again,” you say quietly.
His bubbly expression vanishes completely.
“They will arrange it,” you continue. “Not now. But soon.”
His jaw flexes so tightly you can see the muscle shift. He steps closer—too close for propriety, not close enough for comfort.
“You will not accept it,” Neteyam mutters, fingers clenched around yours as if anchoring himself.
“I have no choice!” You cry, hands weakening.
“Hey…” He whispers, tugging your waist and lifting you onto a higher part of the rock. “It’s alright, we’ll find a way.”
You close your eyes, leaning into him, feeling the heat of his body, the steady rhythm of his breath against your own. The world around you—the clan, the looming duties, the weight of expectations seems to shrink to just this moment. Just the two of you.
“I can’t go against my parents,” you whisper, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “I am their Tsakarem. I have responsibilities, Teyam.”
“And so do I,” he counters softly, hands running through your curls. He tilts your chin so your eyes meet his. “We will find a way.” He repeats.
He steps between your legs, his hands rubbing soft circles against your hips. He pulls you in, lips trailing down your neck as you close your eyes, arms wrapped around his shoulders tightly, hands tugging at his braids. “Neteyam…” you whisper, voice trembling.
He continues, smiling softly, hands moving from your hips and unto your waist, sliding under the flaps of your beads to touch soft skin.
“Someone will catch us…” Your hands move to his chest.
“Shh.” He whispers, hands desperate, pulling you close again.“No one sees us here. It’s just us.”
You lean in once more, lips finding his, slow at first, teasing, tasting, savoring the risk. Your hands lower along his back as his fingers tighten around your waist, pulling you closer. Your hearts hammer in unison.
A soft sigh escapes you as he trails kisses along your jaw, your hands tangled in his hair now—for a moment, nothing exists outside of this.
A shadow rides over the water, both of you too deep in one another to care. Then a splash in the water catches your attention—you both part, freezing mid motion, hearts leaping to your throats.
Aonung stands there, eyes wide in shock and anger—his arms are crossed, jaw set tight. “Get off of her! Right now!” Aonung snaps, voice cracking.
Your brother rushes forward, pushing Neteyam back into the rock.
“Aonung!” You yelp, reaching for his arm.
He pushes you back as well, carefully before pinning Neteyam down, punches landing on his face.
“Stop now! Please!” You scream, pulling your brother away.
Neteyam only retaliates, turning over and fighting back. “Neteyam!” You snap, he freezes for a second, but your brother's continuous slaps bring him back to the moment.
You cover your mouth—unsure how to separate the two from one another, you can’t help but laugh.
You manage to pull Neteyam off of your brother at some point and he leans against the rock, panting softly.
“Did you choose this?! You bring him here for this?!” Your brother questions, not angry with you—but with Neteyam.
“We…we’re careful, Aonung”
He calms slightly with the knowledge that you did choose this. But his frustration remains as he remembers your title in the clan.
“Careful?! You’re Tsakarem! You have responsibilities! You are pure! And here you are sneaking off with this forest boy in the evening!”
“We know the risks and we love each other."
“Love?!” Aonung spits the word like it’s venom. “Love doesn’t matter! You’re promised—promises are not optional!”
“It has not been sealed! it is just a mere plan!”
“Father and mother will hear about this.”
“Do you think my life is a game to be arranged for convenience? Do you think I want this? Do you think I want to mate with someone chosen for me, for duty alone, while my heart beats for someone else?”
“You are blind! Naive! you are risking everything!” Aonung studies you, jaw tight, eyes flashing with anger and something softer—concern. Your expression is small, eyes big and glossy. After a long pause, he finally exhales sharply. “Fine,” he snaps, spinning on his heel. “I won’t tell. But… do not think I won’t be watching.”
He goes away on the ilu and you turn to Neteyam, his expression is soft as he glares down at you—arms still closed around your waist. “Are you okay?” He whispers.
“No,” You press your face against his chest. “I am so pressured. The constant reminder of duty crushes my ribs.”
He holds you against him with one hand on your head.
“Your nose is bleeding.” You observe, wiping some of it away with your thumb.
“Let’s get back.”
You nod, taking his hand and helping him onto the ilu, you stay seated behind him, your eyes fixed on his back and the bruises your brother left there. “I can assess these when we get back.”
“Leave them. They will heal themselves.”
“Are you angry with me?”
He doesn’t answer at first, guiding the ilu through the darkening water, the reef glowing faintly beneath you. His skin is warm under your delicate palms, muscles tight beneath your touch.
“No,” Neteyam says finally, his voice quiet. “Not at you.”
Your hand trails down to his cummerband, tightening around the fabric. “At my brother?”
“At all of it.” His voice is rougher now. “At the way they speak about you like you are something to be traded. Angry at the way I have to stand there and pretend that I do not—” His accent is thick as he speaks.
Your chin rests on his shoulder, back arched to reach his height. “Do not what?”
“Do not love you.”
The words sink into you slowly, heavy and anchoring. “I do not want you fighting my brother.”
“I do not want to fight him either.” He exhales sharply. “But I will not let anyone speak about you like that. Not even Aonung.”
“He thinks he is protecting me.”
“And he is,” Neteyam admits after a moment of silence. “In the only way he knows how.”
The village lights come into view, both of you straightening instinctively, distance slipping between your bodies even before reaching the shore.
He helps you down first, hands lingering at your waist for half a breath too long. “Meet me tomorrow?” He asks softly, leaning closer.
You hesitate, not because you don’t want to see him, but because you do. “Yes,” you whisper. “But not at the rocks. Aonung will be watching now.”
A faint smile brushes his bruised lips. “I thought you liked the risk.”
You nudge his chest gently. “Be serious.”
“I am,” his eyes soften. “I am serious about you.”
Your chest aches. “We have to be smarter,” you murmur. “If they seal the arrangement with Amak…”
His face hardens at the name “…then what?”
You have no answer. “I do not know,” you admit. “But I will not surrender quietly.”
Sleep does not come easy that night, you lie in your hammock, staring at the woven ceiling of your marui. Across the space, you can hear Aonung shifting.
“You are reckless.” He mutters into the darkness.
“—You would not understand.”
“I understand more than you think, I see the way father looks at you. Like you are already carrying the clan on your shoulders.”
Your throat tightens, no response.
“He will not bend,” Aonung continues. “If this mating strengthens alliances, he will not bend.”
“And mother?”
“She will say it is Eywa’s will.” Silence settles between you.
“Aonung,” you whisper.
He sighs, already knowing what you will ask. “I will not tell,” he says again. “But if this destroys you, I will drag that forest boy away myself.”
You smile at that, “it is not Neteyam’s fault. It will not destroy me.”
“You hope,” he corrects.
The sun had barely risen over the Metkayina reef, casting golden light that danced across gentle waves. You follow the group as they moved toward the hunting grounds, the air filled with the soft squawks of the tsurak and the faint whisper of the reef.
Rotxo, Aonung and Lo’ak were joking as usual, laughter echoing over the water, Tuk and Kiri darted across the shoreline, chasing each other and shrieking. Tsireya stood nearby, her gaze sweeping the water.
You and Neteyam stand silently apart, helping to untangle nets that had drifted from the hunters’ return. Your hands brush more often than necessary—yet both of you move with mechanical precision.
“Careful there,” Rotxo says without looking up, tossing a shell at the water. “Wouldn’t want to ruin the nets.”
You give a soft nod, avoiding Neteyam’s gaze. He grunted something that could have been an agreement—or a complaint, but said nothing.
Lo’ak leaned against a rock, watching. “They really don’t like each other, huh?” he mutters to Rotxo and your brother, a hint of amusement in his voice.
“Yeah…you can feel the tension,” Rotxo laughs aloud.
Tsireya tilted her head slightly, lips pressed together as she watched you and Neteyam carefully. “I think it’s more than just dislike,”
Your eyebrows pinched together, they are speaking as if you were both not right there. Neteyam’s jaw tightened just the slightest, no one else noticed the faint smile he tried—and failed to suppress.
Aonung’s eyes never left you two, he knew the truth of what was happening with you both, and he noticed the quiet choreography of your hands, the glances no one else caught. The others only saw what they expected; hostility, irritation, and the unspoken tension between you and Neteyam.
His eyes followed you two as you finished untangling the net, his jaw was tight, he had seen enough the day before to know that the tension everyone else thought was hate—was something far more tender.
The next days are heavier, Amak appears more often, kind, respectful—strong. He brings you carved shells, rare corals, gifts that would make any Tsakarem beam, you accept them with practiced smiles.
But every time his fingers brush yours, every time his hands touch your skin—you feel nothing. That frightens you more than anything.
Neteyam grows quieter in public, careful. Every time your eyes meet across the sand, it feels like something stolen and sacred.
One evening, as the sun sinks low, casting golden streaks across the water, your father calls you to stand beside him before the clan. Your pulse stutters, communal beads hanging elegantly over your smooth skin.
“Soon,” he announces, voice carrying across the reef. “We will celebrate unity between families.”
Your stomach drops—now the whole clan knows that you are promised. You do not look at Neteyam, you cannot.
After the gathering disperses, he finds you anyway. Behind the ilu pens. “This is happening,”
“Yes.” You frown, hands fiddling around with your neck accessories.
“You still say we wait?”
Your composure crumbles. “What do you want me to do?” You whisper fiercely. “Run? Abandon my mother? My people? My duties?”
“I want you to choose me, baby.”
The words hang between you like a blade, you step back slightly, letting it fall. “I am trying to,” you say, voice trembling. “But choosing you means tearing something else apart.”
He steps forward, eyes blazing—not angry, just desperate. “then let it tear”
Your heart pounds so loudly you can barely hear the waves. “I cannot—i will not be the reason my clan fractures.”
“And I cannot be the reason you live a life you do not want.”
Silence falls over you both, wind moving through woven pods, the laughter of children near the shore, your life pulling in two directions.
“I need time,” you say finally.
He studies your face, searching for certainty. “You have some time,” he says quietly, “but not much.”
The following day is too bright, the reef reflects sunlight in sharp, blinding streaks as the clan gathers near the central platform. Warriors repair their weapons, other men and women among the clan weaving and cooking.
You move through it all with your chin lifted, spiritual beads gleaming against your skin like a reminder of who you are supposed to be.
Near the drying racks, two young hunters murmur to loudly. “I saw her,” one whispers. “At the ilu pens with the sully boy.”
“The Olo’eyktan’s daughter?” the other scoffs, “no, she is promised to Amak.”
“They were not standing like strangers.”
You freeze, back still turned. Across the platform, Amak pauses mid step, his shoulders stiff. His head tilts just slightly, listening. Your pulse pounds, trying to move away before he reaches you—but his hand closes around your wrist. Not brutal…yet.
“Walk with me,” he says. Not a request.
His eyes search yours as if they are hunting for truth. “You have been seen.”
Your breath remains steady. “Seen doing what?”
“With him.”
You do not pretend that you don't understand, just watching him seeth before you.
“With Neteyam.” He finishes, the name leaving his mouth like something bitter.
“We speak, sometimes…” you answer carefully.
“Do not insult me.” His grip tightens. “You are Tsakarem. You do not sneak to speak.”
You pull your wrist back slightly, “lower your voice.”
“Why?” His voice rises instead. “So you can continue to meet him in the shadows?”
“No! I remember exactly who you are. You are promised to me!”
“I am not yet mated.”
“But you will be!” His voice cracks across the sand now, drawing more attention. “And the clan already speaks of you wrapped around a forest boy!”
Your cheeks burn, not from shame, but in fury. “Do not speak of me as if I am your possession.”
His fingers dig into your arm now, hard. “You will not make me a fool before the clan.”
“Release me.”
“You will end whatever it is you have going with the forest boy.”
“I will not.”
Something shifts in his expression, hurt cuddling into pride. “You would throw away alliance for him?” he demands.
“I would choose my own future.”
The slap is not open handed, it is the shove that follows—sharp enough that you stumble backward against the wooden frame of the marui behind you, shoulder striking hard.
Gasps ripple through those close enough to see. Pain shoots up your arm.
“Do not touch her.” A sharp voice sounds from across the platform, Neteyam. He crosses the sand in seconds, anger radiating off him like heat. His golden eyes take in your posture, the mark already blooming on your arm.
“This is not your concern, forest boy.” Amak snaps.
“It became my concern when you put your hands on her.”
“I have every right—”
“You have none.” Neteyam calls out, that is all it took for Akam to lunge first, the crack of fist against jaw echoes across the reef. Neteyam stumbles back but recovers immediately, slamming into Amak’s ribs with equal force, enough to send them both crashing into the sand.
Shouts erupt as warriors rush forward—they hesitate. This is not a minor scuffle, it is territorial.
Amak swings hard, splitting Neteyam’s lip. He retaliates with a brutal strike to his cheek, knocking him sideways.
“Stop it!” You scream, rushing forward.
Someone catches your arm—aonung. His grip is firm but not cruel “Do not go between them.”
“They will kill each other!” You hiss.
Across the dais, Jake strides forward, towering, angry. Neytiri moves beside him, eyes worried, but she moves like an arrow.
Your father pushes through the formed circle of villagers, your sister watches among the crowd worriedly. “Enough!”
His roar silences the crowd. He sweeps the scene, eyes lingering on your bruised arm. “What is the meaning of this?”
Amak wrenches free just enough to point at Neteyam. “This forest boy dishonors the village!”
Your heart stops beating, the silence is loud.
“He sneaks with your daughter in darkness. The Tsakarem.” His voice rises deliberately, making sure everyone hears. At this point your mother is at the site of action. “They meet alone,” he continues, “they touch, they kiss, they hide.”
A collective murmur spreads through the crowd like wildfire, Jake’s grip on Neytiri tightens.
“Is this true?” Your mother asks, her eyes closed.
Your hands tremble. “We have not performed Tsaheylu,” you say clearly, hands hovering. “We are not mated, mother.”
Gasps fill the village. “But I would choose him,” you continue, “if I were permitted.”
Amak laughs, lacking any amusement. “She admits it before the whole clan.”
“You disappoint me, daughter.”
Jake looks between you and his son, understanding dawning with dread. Neteyam tries to step forward again. “It is my fault—”
“It is mine too,” you cut in, placing a hand on his arm.
Amak’s lip curls in disgust. “She would abandon alliance for a man who has not even bonded her.”
That stings because it’s true, you and Neteyam have not made Tsaheylu—you’re both ready, just marked with fear. There is no sacred bond to shield you, only choice and love.
Your mothers eyes draw to you, crossing the sand and gently cupping your jaw, tilting your face towards the light. Then she sees it, the swelling at your shoulder and the imprint of fingers forming at your wrists.
Her breathing changes, slow and controlled. “Who,” she asks softly, “placed this mark on my child?”
Amak straightens, still angry. “She defied-”
Tonowari takes him by the arm. “You put your hands on her?”
He struggles against your fathers firm grip. “She shamed…”
Tonowari shoves him forward harshly. “She is my daughter.” His words tear out of him.
Ronal rises to her full height now, eyes burning blue as she steps between you and the onlookers. One arm shields you instinctively as if you are still small enough to tuck behind her ribs.
“No male,” she says, voice ringing across the reef. “Will ever strike what came from my body and call it correction.”
Amak’s parents step forward nervously, but falter when your mother gives them that cold stare.
“She is promised,” Amak tries again.
“She is not yours!” Ronal snaps.
Tonowari releases him only to shove him back a tad. “If you cannot control your temper before the bond,” he says, chest heaving. “what would you do after?”
The question shifts everything. It is no longer about Neteyam, or secrecy, or embarrassment. It is about safety. Your safety. “Did he frighten you?” he asks quietly.
Ronal’s fingers brush your hair back, checking you like she did when you were a child who scraped your knee on coral.
“If he ever raises his hand to you again,” she says coldly, directed to Amak without looking away from you. “He will answer to me before Eywa”
“This discussion is finished. No union will be considered with a male who forgets he courts a daughter, not a trophy.” Your father announces.
When he looked at Neteyam. this time, it was different. Measured, evaluating a man who did not claim ownership over his daughter, did not speak for you, accepted accountability when needed, and did not hide once exposed.
The reef is quieter at dusk, never silent, but soft. You sit near the outer shallows, legs submerged to your calves, watching the current drag ribbons of light across the sand below.
You know they are coming before they speak, Aonung’s footsteps are heavier, Tsireya’s are not footsteps at all, she moves like tide foam.
Tsireya drops beside you first, bumping her shoulder into yours gently. “You look dramatic.” she announces.
You huff a soft laugh. “I am not.”
“You are,” Aonung mutters, lowering himself on your other side. “You stare like a dying ilu.”
“I do not!” You laugh.
Silence falls again, but it is not a tense silence, it is just shared. The water laps at your skin. After a moment, Tsireya rests her head against your arm. “Does he make you happy?”
“Yes.”
Aonung exhales through his nose. “That is inconvenient.”
You nudge him with your knee. “Do you hate him?”
“No,” your brother replies immediately.
You blink, then he continues, staring out at the reef instead of you. “I hate that you will leave.”
“I am not leaving,” you whisper.
“You will.” He insists quietly. “If you bond. If you lead, if alliances shift, daughters always leave.”
Tsireya tilts her head. “That is not true.”
“It is sometimes true, and I do not like it.”
“I do not want to leave you,” you say honestly. “Either of you.”
Tsireya’s hand slips into yours. “You will not leave us,” she says firmly. “Even if you go somewhere else, you are still our sister.”
“We will always sit beside you.” Your brother says.
“I love you,” you say suddenly. The three of you, born of the same reef, the same parents, the same expectations.
Aonung clears his throat. “You are emotional.”
Tsireya beams. “I love you too”
your brother hesitates, then quietly, “yes, fine. I love you too.”
The sun sinks lower, and when you finally stand to return to the village, your brother walks slightly ahead, Tsireya slightly behind.
Two weeks pass, not in secrecy, not in shadows, open. You no longer slip away at eclipse, you walk beside Neteyam in daylight.
At first, villagers watch like they expect something to break, but it doesn’t. You help your mother grind herbs, Neteyam helps mend nets with young warriors. You cross paths naturally. You speak without flinching. When his hand finds yours, it is brief—appropriate, but not hidden.
There are whispers. But there is no scandal, because nothing you do is dishonorable. You have not bonded, you have not defied your parents, you have no abandoned duty, and Neteyam has not overstepped once.
Your father watches Neteyam like a stalking akula, not judging—but again, evaluating. He superintends his training, his hunting, the way he guides other, younger hunters in need of help.
As day blend to one, stretching into another turning of the tide, your name is still spoken with reverence, Tsakarem, daughter of the olo’eyktan—but now it is also spoken with something else; curiosity.
And Neteyam’s name is no longer whispered like a secret pressed into woven walls.He trains under your father’s gaze without flinching. He listens. He does not posture. When corrected, he bows his head. When praised, he does not swell. The young warriors begin to follow him naturally—not because he demands it, but because he steadies them.
That night, you sit with your mother outside your marui. The tide is low, the stars scatter across the water like crushed shells.
“you embarrassed me,” she says calmly. You brace for anger, but her voice is not sharp. “You frightened me.” She corrects.
“I did not mean to, mother. You would have let me bond with Amak,”
Her jaw tightens slightly. “I would have let you fulfill what I believed protected the clan.”
“And now?”
Her gaze drifts towards where Neteyam sits with his siblings near the shoe, laughter drifting across the dark blue.
“Now I see protection is not always found in arrangement.”
It is the closest thing to a blessing you have ever heard from her lips.
Later, Neteyam meets you by the shallow reef—not hiding, not touching too closely, just standing beside you. The distance between you feels smaller now, not because you are reckless, but because you are seen.No stolen kisses tonight. Just fingers brushing briefly before parting. And somehow, that feels stronger.
Amak keeps his distance, your father speaks to him sometimes, not cruelly, but firmly. The lesson was not about love, it was about control.
And Neteyam? He earns his place without asking for it. One evening, after a long hunt where he guides younger warriors safely through rough currents, your father approaches you quietly.
“He does not seek to possess you,” he says.
“No, papa.”
“He does not weaken you.”
“Never.”
Tonowari studies the horizon.“Then if you bond one day,” he says slowly, “it will be because you chose strength and not because you surrendered to it.”
Your throat tightens.It is not dramatic. Not ceremonial. But it is permission.
You sit cross legged between Neteyam’s thighs as he braids a new bead into your hair, one carved from reef shell—simple and unadorned. He does so in front of the water. Not hidden, or displayed.
He leans forward, placing a soft kiss on your neck. “We do this when you are ready,” he murmurs, leaning against your shoulder there. “Not when they push, and not when we are afraid.”
“I’m not afraid.”
He smiles softly, placing more kisses up your neck and unto your face. “Neither am I”
The reef breathes around you—you are now a woman who chose, and that changes a lot.“But Neteyam…” you murmur, leaning back slightly.
“I know that we’ve managed everything so far…” you continued, fingers fidgeting with a loose strand of hair. “But you and Aonung need to fix things. You two do not get along.”
His hand stilled mid weave, you could feel the tension that drove to his shoulders. “I can feel it every time you two are around one another.”
“What are you saying?” he leaned forward, golden eyes sharp.
“I’m saying every time you’re around him, it’s like you’re ready to fight! You can’t stand him, and I’m stuck in the middle. Every. Time.”
You spun to face him, your hair slipping from his careful fingers.
“I don’t like it either!” He snapped. “You think I want this tension? You think I enjoy being hated by him for what…Loving you?!”
“Then act like it!” you snapped, twisting slightly so your face turned toward his shoulder. “Act like you can handle it! Because I can’t keep choosing between the two people I love!”
“Turn around baby, let me finish.” He muttered as you yelled in his face.
You exhaled sharply before turning back around and allowing him to finish braiding the beads into your long black hair.
“I’m trying,” his jaw clenched, fingers knotting the last strands with controlled force. “You have no idea how it feels to see him hate me for loving you.”
“And what?—do you think it’s easy for me?!” Your hands gripped his arms, the sand beneath you shifting as you pressed closer to him. “Do you think I like watching my brother fight with the man I love?”
The tension coiled between you, his waist warm against your neck. “I feel it,” he said brusquely. “Every moment. But I won't back down from you. You’re mine and I am yours in every way that matters.”
You exhaled shakily, leaning back into him, the sand sticking to your legs. “Just… don’t make it worse,” you breathed. “I didn’t mean to yell.”
“Meet me at the three brothers’ rocks tonight.” There was no secrecy in Neteyam’s tone, no smirk or challenge, just certainty.
You do not sneak from your marui. “I am walking the reef before sunrise.” Ronal studies your face for a long moment, eyes sharp, searching. Whatever she sees there makes her nod once. Tonowari watches you pass, he does not call you back—it feels like a blessing.
The tide is low when you reach the Three brothers’ The rocks stand dark against a violet sky, the water curling around their bases in soft, patient breaths.
This is where you once ran breathless in the dark, where fruit juice stained your chin, where he first said he was tired of hiding, where Aonung dragged him off of you with fury in his eyes. Where you almost lost everything.
Neteyam steps down from the peak of the middle rock when he finally sees you, neither of you rush forward. “This place used to feel so dangerous,”
“It was.” You answer, smiling.
“It doesn’t anymore.” He steps closer until only a breath holds you two apart. The wind lifts the ends of his braids.
“This is where we chose each other," you smile again.
He nods once. “Where I decided no one else could take you as theirs.” He laughs.
Your hand rises to his chest, feeling the steady beat of his soul beneath your palm. “I am not being taken, I am choosing.”
His eyes search yours carefully. Choosing. “If we do this, there is no stepping back.”
“I’m not afraid anymore.” The words settle between you two like something hallowed. You step down together into the shallow water between the rocks. Cool, tiny waves brush your ankles, the reef glows faintly beneath you.
You sit facing one another, knees touching, hands resting against thighs, breath uneven but steadying. There is no rush. Your fingers lift slowly to your kuru, his hands echo yours, there is a final moment of stillness and your foreheads touch first.
Then, gently—the tendrils squirming, longing for connection. The kurus join, the connection is not violent or overwhelming. It is grounding.
Your breath catches as his presence floods into you, warmth, steadiness, a voracious protectiveness braided with patience he had to learn, for you.
Everything paused—even the world, to witness something beautiful. Neteyam inhales sharply when the bond settles fully, his hands tightening against your thighs.
The connection deepens—not louder, not brighter. Just wider. You feel the steadiness of his heartbeat sync with yours, the rhythm aligning until it’s difficult to tell which pulse belongs to whom.
Your eyes open at the same time, his are wide, pupils dilated, exploring you. Your lips part and he takes the opportunity to have them meet his. Slow and deliberate—testing the reality of this moment.
His hands find your face, brushing your jaw and smoothing back your hair. Your head tilts as he buries his face into the crook of your neck, teeth grazing the sensitive spots there.
He smiles softly against your nape, palms running down your body—feeling, discovering the places that make you sigh.
The kiss breaks for a second, eyes searching, hands touching. He reaches for your hand, squeezing gently. “I love you.”
Your smile brightens intensely, placing soft kisses along his knuckles. “I love you.”
He pulls you close, holding you on his lap. You lay silently there, tracing constellations, sharing small jokes, and for the first time—you do not feel compromised by duty, by arrangements. you are free. and you are mated for life.
