⊹₊˚‧ You're the daughter of Varang, and Tsakarem of the Mangkwan. You were raised with blood, and never allowed to feel or fail without being shown the consequences. After the successful raid of the Wind Trader's caravan, you manage to snag yourself your very own slave- none other than the Toruk Makto's oldest son- however, what happens when feelings get in the way of your mother's lessons?
⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊୨ᰔ୧₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹
6.5k wc / All characters have been aged up to be young adults (19 and up, except for Tuk)
what's next? // PART TWO
⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊୨ᰔ୧₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹
Hate is a powerful word. It drives people, it feeds one’s power.
You were made with hate, given birth with hate, and raised with hate.
You never called her sa'nok [mother], always Varang, or Tsa’hik. You never knew your father, and never bothered to wish for one. All you needed was Varang, her hand guided your every movement, from a young age, she made sure you would be what could lead the Mangkwan after her.
At 10, you learnt what happened to your father, as his kuru was given to you, the braid was slightly disheveled from the years, but you didn’t care. You hooked it on your leather belt, and promised Varang that one day, that belt would be full of more.
Even if deep inside you just wanted a hug, or any show of emotion other than rage.
So now you’re here. Sitting over a rock, in your hand what sky-people called mirrors. One of the males gave it to you after they had found a campsite of RDA soldiers, and after killing and raiding, he brought this to you as a courting gift.
At first you didn’t understand the reason for the small circle, but then you saw the reflection.
Slightly cracked. But you saw yourself in it. Your golden eyes, the facial features Varang passed to you, your scarification. Seeing your approval of the gift, he bowed down his head in respect.
“You are fire incarnate” He said, or at least something like that, before leaving.
So you began using it, making sure the ash on your face was evenly spread, your tribal paint threatening and powerful. Because maybe, just maybe, it’d be able to kill your real feelings.
–
They all ran, occasionally slowing down to help Spider. Neither Lo’ak nor Neteyam had their comms, as Lo’ak forgot his in the caravan and Neteyam’s got caught on a branch, making him break it to continue running, otherwise the Mangkwan would have gotten to them.
Varang didn’t exactly rush, her slender body moving with grace as she followed the scent trail of the Na’vi with the thunder. You ran along with your people, bows and daggers in hand as you could occasionally see a tail or a blue figure moving a few feet away- your prey.
You have occasionally seen these… Thunder weapons, in RDA soldiers. But had never seen how deathly they were, now that this blue boy had used it against your people, Varang wanted it, so her wish was your command.
Lo’ak helped Tuk and Kiri into the small river, Spider following close behind.
The flow of the water slowly began pulling stronger, Tuk’s smaller hands holding onto Lo’ak as the river threatened to separate them.
“What does dad always say?” Lo’ak said, watching both Tuk and his surroundings as they moved with the water, trying his best to lead the situation, since Neteyam had been wounded, an arrow going through his shoulder, the oldest Sully quietly wincing in pain, trying to keep calm.
“The Sully’s stick together” Tuk said, her eyes going from Lo’ak to Neteyam, worrying for her injured brother.
“You good bro?” Said Lo’ak, extending an arm to Neteyam’s good shoulder, Neteyam only nodding, but his face was already sweaty, a trail of blood mixing with the water as the flow forced them forward quite roughly.
“Sully’s never quit” Corrected Neteyam with a forced smile- prioritizing keeping calm even over the pain he felt.
“That’s right, Sully’s never quit” Lo’ak said, giving Neteyam a subtle nod.
The small peace lasted only a few seconds before the pull of the water became too strong, dragging them like rag-dolls.
Back with the Mangkwan, you all stopped as the scent ended in the river.
“I lost the scent, Tsa’hik” You said, frowning, kneeling in front of the feet-shapes in the mud, counting how many there were. What caught your attention was the much smaller one.
A sky-people foot.
“For what I can see, it’s 3 adults, a child and a sky-person” You said, standing up, your tail moving from side to side annoyed, ears drawn back.
Varang walked next to you as the other Mangkwan, investigated the area. Your ears moved up as you straightened your posture next to her.
“Well done, 'itetsyìp [Little daughter]” She said, her hand going to your hair, running a slender finger against your scalp. The affectionate nickname was only used when you were useful, and the way she said it held little to no feeling.
You nodded, and as quick as she had arrived next to you, she was already moving, pointing a finger at the direction of the river.
“Follow them!” She said, and all of you quickly obliged.
You had to be alert, your eyes wide open as you made sure to look in the mud and smell the scents in the air, to know where the fugitives had gone. While not told out loud, you knew it was a race against time- Varang’s patience always held a limit, and a not so large one.
The hours quickly passed as you continued, each muscle in your body stiff and stressed from the possibility of having lost them.
Varang wanted the thunder, and you were going to give it to her. Or else.
You could feel her eyes on you, daring to say the words.
We lost them.
You wouldn’t call this emotion fear, as it was something you taught yourself to not feel a long time ago, no, this would be dread. You knew failing had its grim consequences. The one you dreaded the most was having your kuru tortured. It was as if her claws digged into your brain and squished until the gray matter oozed between her fingers.
She had to set an example with you, show the Mangkwan that being her daughter did not mean you could get away with being weak, with failing. If anything, it’d make things worse, humiliating you in public as she used her kuru on you, seeing you struggle to not cry or scream as the other Mangkwan stared.
That’s why you needed to succeed. To prove you were what she wanted.
You’d spread fire all along Pandora just to prove yourself. May Eywa forgive you.
The mere thought of Eywa made you snap back to reality, almost as if scared Varang could read your mind- to find out your deepest secrets, the soft spot in your heart not reached by the ash, the small faith that refused to die.
Your eyes fixed on the mud, your whole body stopping as you saw the footprints again. Because of the water they were almost indistinguishable, but it was there.
You quickly kneeled next to them, raising your hand to catch the attention of the other Mangkwan. “They’re nearby” You said.
Deep into the forest, Spider hugged Kiri. For some reason, maybe Eywa’s blessing, maybe Kiri’s connection to said goddess, he could finally breathe.
Lo’ak had helped Neteyam take the arrow out of his shoulder. The wound wasn’t fatal, but the blood loss was taking a toll, making him dizzy and slow. To make matters worse, they had nothing to patch him up, with Neteyam’s arm on Lo’ak’s shoulder for support, they could at least consider Spider’s problem solved.
Before Lo’ak could ask if she could try helping Neteyam’s wound, the fire began raining.
The Mangkwan had arrived, and like a bird, you pounced over Lo’ak, screaming like a banshee, hitting him and making him fall.
Neteyam fell, being in no shape to fight, raising his arms, wincing at the sharp pain.
Kiri moved to protectively hug Tuk. You saw the Thunder that the male you landed over dropped.
The rest held their daggers, hissing, including the sky-person, who for some reason had no mask protecting his weak lungs. But they had no chance against your people. One by one they were unarmed and immobilized.
Your feet planted on the male’s back. He knew how to control the thunder- so Varang would be interested in him first.
Your eyes met the bleeding one, a Mangkwan already holding him by his kuru, as the others did the same, holding them out to Varang.
You let another Mangkwan grab the one you were immobilizing, and grab the metal weapon.
“Ma Tsa’hik” You said, lowering your head as you handed her the thunder. She wasted no time in taking it from your hands, her tail excitedly moving behind her as she lifted it in her hands.
As Varang spoke to the sky-person, you moved to see the injured male, who was with his eyes closed in pain.
From afar, Jake, Wainfleet and Quaritch stared at the macabre scene.
The Mangkwan were about to kill Spider, all to humiliate Kiri’s beliefs in Eywa.
But Varang wasn’t interested in that now. She wanted the thunder. You quickly moved beside the one that had fired it before, the one with the weird hiss.
“Show her thunder!” You scream at him as he refuses, saying something about no ammo. At his lack of complying, you smack him in the head.
“Kill the youngest” She orders you, and you grab your obsidian dagger, its sharp end reflecting the fire. You walk towards her, your eyes avoiding her.
They began screaming- but it was too late. Your tail flicked as you moved towards the hì'i 'eve [Little girl]. Your eyes moved for just a second to stare at the bleeding one. He looked bad. But before you could do anything, two shadows bursted in.
You were hit in the head, the punch making your ears ring and your world give a spin as you fell, the sounds of thunder making the whole sensation resemble kuru torture.
But your eyes saw one of the sky-people, now in Na’vi skin, point the thunder against Varang’s head.
You tried standing up, but your head felt scrambled up. “sa'nok [mother]!” You scream, not even realizing what you had said, too panicked to think anything other than Varang’s life being threatened.
That was probably the first time you called her mother.
Your hand extended towards her.
“DOWN!” The Na’vi with short hair screamt as he pulls harder on Varang’s hair, her making sounds between pain and laughter.
The Na’vi reunited in the middle. You recognized the one with dreadlocks. Toruk Makto. Your head slowly cleared up, and just in time as you saw Varang join her kuru with the one of the men threatening her life.
She screamt, and he did as well, dropping the thunder as he fell to his knees, all Mangkwan quickly going to attack again. You stood up to help immobilize them.
You moved over the one you had heard been called Lo’ak, your knees painfully digging in his forearms as you sat on his back, keeping him still with your body weight, another hand grabbing onto his kuru just in case.
“¡Dad!” He screamt as Toruk Makto was also kept still on the floor, weapons pointed at him.
–
You all danced in celebration, chanting and moving around the fire.
But you were interested in something else.
You walked towards the captives, staring at their bound forms.
“Toruk Makto, and his litter of half-breeds” You said, your tail high and curious. You hadn’t meant it exactly as an insult- mostly as a statement, but you were so used to hearing people describe them that way, it almost came out automatically.
“Tsa’hik said I could choose one and keep it as my pet” you said, walking between them, taking the chance to kick Toruk Makto in the jaw. Payback for punching the lights out of you before.
“Bitch!” Lo’ak said, making you growl. You walked among them.
You looked at Toruk Makto. “Too old” You said.
You moved towards the youngest. “Too young”
Your path moved towards Lo’ak. “Too alien”
Then towards the sky-person. “Too ugly”
With a disinterested growl you ignored the woman with the demon nose.
Moving past the one with short hair, the one who had pointed the thunder at Varang’s head, you kicked him in the stomach. “Txanfwìngtu [Bastard]” You said with a hiss. “Just waist ‘till i get my hands on you, cupcake” He said with a pained growl.
Your eyes finally moved to the last one. The bleeding one, his face pale and body slightly shaking.
You had noticed him from the start. He struck out like a sore thumb, his factions perfectly Na’vi when all his siblings looked like a mix between races. That part inside you- the one you always hid made you let out a weird nose- you biting your lip to keep quiet, your hands turning to fists. He looked on the brink of death. And knowing Varang, she’d take the chance he’s weak to scalp him in front of his family.
“Toruk Makto’s oldest son.” You said as you kneeled beside him, your hand caressing his face. He was too out of it to even react.
“Neteyam, hey- look at me. Stay with me, son.” Toruk Makto said, his face etched with worry as he saw your hand on his face.
You ignored him as your hand grabbed this… Neteyam’s ankle, dragging him towards the firepit where Mangkwan still celebrated.
“Let him go! LET HIM GO!” Toruk Makto screamt desperately.
You ignored him as you dragged Neteyam towards Varang, who was dancing. You quickly swallowed down any sort of emotion that could betray you, and spoke.
“Tsa’hik. For the prize you mentioned… I want this man as my pet.” You said, lifting him into your arms, one hooking under his neck, the other under his knees.
Varang stopped dancing, and walked towards you, smiling.
“If I grant this, you must know, he is not an equal, but a lesser. You will shape him, and keep him in line” She said, running her finger down Neteyan’s jaw.
You nodded, your smile mirroring hers. It was like the mirror you had been given- seeing Varang’s smile in front of yours. Except her side was cracked and bloodied. And yours not yet.
So now here you were, over your Ikran, the beast screeching as it saw the Ash Lands come to view. You lowered, one hand on the Ikran, the other holding the passed out man against you so he’d not fall.
As you lowered yourself onto familiar land, the Mangkwan that had stayed curiously moved to get a look at the passed out forest Na’vi in your arms.
You hissed, making them snap out of it and continue their chores as you walked towards your kelku.
Entering it, you placed Neteyam on the furs you used to sleep, the many hides there softly adjusting to his body. Your eyes softened as you stared at him, your hands moving to heal his wound. After all you were Tsakarem, you had been learning all your life how to deal with these kinds of injuries.
Unlike the many Na’vi in the Mangkwan clan, he seemed softer, rounder. You took your time as you prepared the herbs and applied them onto his wound, then using cloth to secure it to his shoulder. You cleansed the dry blood, and then traced the blue patterns of his skin with your finger.
Your palm had a tattoo like Varang’s, the tattooed skin pressing against his blue skin. Blue just like yours, except yours was covered in ash, grime and paint.
You lowered your head and sniffed his neck, right where his scent glands were. You let out a shaky breath as you looked down at him. He smelt so… Alive, like a plant that just bloomed- a stark contrast against your own scent.
Your hand moved to his jaw, moving his face until it was facing you, you could almost taste the layer of cold sweat on it.
You moved back, his scent still on your nose.
–
When Neteyam woke up, he instantly felt something was wrong.
For a second he thought they had been saved by the Omatikaya, and that the shadow sitting next to him was Mo’at, and at any moment Lo’ak would burst in just to pester him about how he managed the situation.
But… The Omatikaya didn’t reek of burnt meat and wood. The kelku was oddly dark and from the faint outlines he could see of the decorations, it seemed like bone structures, twisting until they looked like demons brought from sky-people religions.
His whole body felt numb and unnaturally relaxed. That’s when he realized he couldn’t move his fingers, or any limb at all.
Panic began festering in his mind, with his blurry sight he realized the figure next to him wasn’t Mo’at, or any Omatikaya. It was a Mangkwan.
Your eyes met his, and you raised your hand, the tattoo on your palm in front of his face, the black eye almost winking at him, or maybe it was the effects of the drugs?
“Relax, Toruk Makto’s son” You said, your voice distorted, but he could start to finally make the shape of you.
“You have been given special herbs that numb your senses. Your shoulder injury got infected. It is the only way to save you from the pain” You said, putting the mushed herbs on a wooden cup with some liquid inside.
You had heard from Varang that the other Na’vi’s had managed to escape. You weren’t even sure why you were still aiding him and keeping him. You had told Varang you could use him as leverage in case you’d need it. But deep inside you felt some sort of pull, something inside you that begged you to explore this new side of you.
Not new, no, but hidden. Something you had repressed so long ago, and now was slowly flourishing.
Neteyam let out an attempt to talk, but the drug was still too present in his blood. You lifted his head with one hand and the other placed the cup against his mouth. “Swallow” You said as you let the mysterious liquid into his mouth, him slightly choking on it.
“This is 'umtsa [Medicine]. It’ll help strengthen your body to fight the infection. Drink it all.” You said, your voice carrying an unusual soft tone in it.
“If you don’t get better, Varang will not see any purpose in you, and will scalp you.” You warned.
Neteyam couldn’t do anything, couldn’t fight, couldn’t speak, or even move his tongue to let out some sort of noise. The liquid slowly made his eyes feel tired, lids closing as the last thing he saw was your hands going back to tending to his wound.
Then everything went black.
His dreams were a chaotic mix. Sometimes he dreamt he woke up one day and the Ash Lands were empty, and he could just walk out of there with no issue- then they’d be realistic, where he fought for his freedom, his dad and mom arriving to help him. The Toruk ripping through Mangkwans as Neytiri’s deadly arrows rained.
Or sometimes his dreams would be him in a more quiet place, almost as if his mind was trying to give him a safe zone deep inside his head.
But he’d always wake up in the same spot. You had made him a small bedding in your kelku, a collar of bone and leather tightened securely on his neck, the sharp ends of the bones sticking out, so if he ever did any quick movement it’d pierce skin and hurt. He had his own sleeping place, layered furs on the floor, slightly small for his size, so he had to sleep curled up on himself. Whenever he did get some sleep, that is.
The collar had some sort of leash attached to it, letting him roam through a small portion of your kelku, just out of reach of what could be used as weapons. You had completely cleansed his space beforehand, leaving little to no decoration, no fire in reach.
But you weren’t like other Mangkwan. The ones he saw in the raid were blood thirsty, desperate to hurt, to kill. But you’d simply stare at him, bring him food and water, and occasionally mutter a few words here and there.
Right now, you were cleaning his wound. Your hands moved softly against his skin, sitting cross-legged in front of him, a basket with different healing supplies inside.
You applied a cold paste, its color hinting that it’s some kind of mud. The grim thought that it’s most probably one of the stolen goods from the Wind Trader Caravan pops in his head.
He flinched at the cold feeling over his healing wound. Making you frown.
“Do not flinch. Or else I can mess up” you warned. “You speak as if you care” Said Neteyam, testing the waters.
Your cheeks turned a subtle purple, but thankfully the ash and paint covered it. “You have no use if you’re dead” You answered, leaving the paste down in the basket and grabbing a long cloth.
The silent question hung in the air. Use for what? If you wanted to, you would have already forced whatever agenda you wanted to, but you never touched him besides checking his wound, and never spoke more than necessary.
This was so far your longest convo.
“So you can escape” You answered, letting out a tired sigh. Your hand slowly moved to his braids, giving him time to move if he wanted. He didn’t.
Your fingers moved from his braids down to his arm band, your fingers tracing the beads in it.
Your eyes got glossy. But no tears fell. “I will not keep you. I only lied to be able to heal you, so you’d not die in front of your family.” You confessed, one of the beads was rougher than the others, slightly scraping your finger.
“You have a family to go back to. Your siblings must miss you.” You added with a shaky exhale. The final words went unsaid; I do not.
“You’ll be punished once I escape." He said, not moving closer, but neither pushing you away.
“It’s nothing I haven't endured before.” you answered after a few seconds of silence. The moment was broken as someone called your name outside your kelku. It was Ofewl, the same man who had been trying to court you for a few months now, the same one who gave you the mirror.
You quickly let go of Neteyam as if burned, and taking the basket in your hands you stood up, giving him a last look before going outside to see why you were needed.
Closing the flap behind you, you meet Ofewl, the Mangkwan holding out a piece of Viperwolf hide. “I have traveled long to get you this, I skinned and prepared it myself” He said, bowing his head in respect as you took the rough skin of what once was a Viperwolf.
It was rough, dry- unlike Neteyam’s soft skin. You quickly snapped out of the thought as you gave Ofewl a nod, already preparing to turn around and go back to your kelku. But he stopped you, placing a hand on your shoulder. “I have spoken to the Tsa’hik, stubborn fnele [Woman]. She is pleased a man of my caliber is courting you.” He said, his hand making you turn around.
“Stop making things harder. You are fire, and I'm the grease that’ll help you expand it” He said. You slapped his hand away and hissed at him. “I do not need a skxawng to tie myself to” You said, hairless eyebrows furrowing.
“Because you have that na'rìng 'evan [Forest boy], is that right? The son of the great Toruk Makto, makes you wonder what other great things he has, since you spend all day in there with him” Ofewl said, the implication making your ears go back and your hiss to deepen to a dangerous growl. “Careful, Ofewl, or your kuru might end up in my belt” You said in a low tone, your tail angrily moving from side to side.
Ofewl raised his hands in mock surrender. “That’s what i thought” He said before turning around and leaving. You wanted to carve that smug grin out of his face, your hand itching to grab your dagger.
–
As much as you hated to admit it, you began wishing Neteyam’s wound would heal slower. You had gotten the thought to apply something that would harm the skin, and slow him down so he’d spend more time with you, but you knew you couldn’t do that.
You had been sent to a raid party with some other Mangkwan. It was the usual, fight, kill, grab kuru’s, steal the goods then go back.
You had become so used to it, your body moved on automatic. But something stopped you, a branch creaking a few feet away. If you had not moved an inch to the right, the arrow that followed soon after would be lodged between your eyes.
Its feathers were green and yellow. The other Mangkwan did not have the same luck, a few falling to the floor. Then, Toruk Makto appeared, stone axe in hand as he pounced over others, a few Omatikaya warriors following him. You quickly took your dagger from your belt, your eyes meeting the Toruk Makto’s ones.
He quickly began running towards you, recognizing you as the one who took Neteyam.
You snapped out of it and quickly got into position. Even then, he was stronger, his body heavier, his impact against you bringing you both to the floor.
Your dagger hit his axe, both weapons against each other, you using all your strength to avoid the axe making your face pulp. Realizing he was winning, you used your knee to hit him in the groin, making him fall to the side in pain. You quickly stood up, and without looking back ran towards your Ikran.
By the time you were already on the air, you noticed the deep gash on your shoulder, most probably done by the Toruk Makto from when he let the axe fall after you hit his privates.
But the adrenaline was still on your veins- the pain barely registering.
Arriving, the word had already arrived by another Mangkwan of the surprise attack.
The moment Varang saw you dismount your Ikran, her eyes widened and she quickly ran towards you, grabbing your face in her hands, checking for any injury, then seeing your shoulder, covered in blood.
Her face morphed into something you’d never seen before. Genuine concern. She frantically searched for any other wounds.
“Who did this!?” She asked, enraged, tail flicking angrily behind her, her grasp on your face tightened almost painfully.
“We were ambushed by the Omatikaya.” You answered. “No, I said, who did this?” She repeated, her hands leaving your face to grab your shoulder, moving it with the intent to make it hurt. You bit back a sharp hiss of pain, blood now seeping into Varang’s hands.
“Ieyil said Toruk Makto did it. He was with the Omatikaya.” Ofewl said as he walked closer, his gruff voice making the others shut up.
Ieyil was one of the Mangkwan women in the raid, she had been hit by one of the Toruk Makto’s mate’s arrows- you figured she managed to escape.
Varang’s hand shot up, and grabbed your hair. “You were foolish to let him that close” She said, her hand now turning to a fist painfully tugging on your strands. “Next time you’ll ride with Ofewl. Without him you are not to be let out” She said with a final hiss before turning around and leaving to go hear what the other survivors had to say.
You ignored Ofewl’s smug grin as you walked towards your kelku.
Entering, Neteyam was asleep on the furs- poor thing, you had drugged him before leaving. You could not risk him escaping before time, it’d only get himself killed.
By the time he woke up, you had already stitched up your shoulder injury, using the handheld mirror to properly see where you were cleaning now, your blue skin visible after having the paint and ashes cleansed from that part of your body.
With a groan he sat up.
“You drugged me… Again” He said, more statement than accusation- it wasn’t the first time you had done this.
You ignored his talking as you accidentally rubbed too hard against the stitches, making blood appear again, a drop running down your skin. You hissed in pain, his ears going up in curiosity.
“This is why you must leave soon. Your father, Toruk Makto, and your mother, his mate, are looking for you. Close, too close” You said, your tail moving side to side annoyed, your ears drawing back.
“You’re bleeding” He said as he stood up, walking towards you. “Leave it” You said, your tone harsher than what you intended. His hand found your wrist, grabbing it softly. Your eyes widened- how?
“You cut the leash” You said, surprised. Looking back, he had no collar anymore- it layed on his furs, cut in the middle, a shard of your broken mirror laying next to it.
He could have used that same shard to kill you, to run away and end anyone in his way. But no, he did not. Instead here he was, taking the cloth from your arms, and beginning to wrap it around your wound just as you had done with him at the beginning of all of this.
You went still- cheeks blushing a furious purple underneath the paint and ash.
His hands then moved to the water basin in front of you, grabbing the wet cloth in there, and then moving it towards your face. You simply stared at him- “Neteyam.” You said in a whisper, your face lightly frowning, it was a warning, but you did not know what was the consequence.
He pressed it against your face, removing the paint underneath it. Each time he dipped the rag in the water, the liquid became more opaque, until your face was clean, blue skin just like his, luminescent freckles adorning your face, softly glowing.
Your eyes slowly moved to his lips. He noticed, his breath slightly breaking its rhythm.
“I see you” You said without even thinking about it. He moved an inch closer.
This was you. You had no barriers to hide yourself, you weren’t a Mangkwan, you weren’t Varang’s daughter, you were just a woman.
“Do not look at me like that” You said, blushing and embarrassed at his silence- trying to move your head away.
He let out a low laugh before moving closer. His forehead met yours, making your breath hitch for a second.
You closed your eyes, not knowing if you should press in for a kiss or simply enjoy this moment.
“I see you, not Tsakarem, not Varang’s daughter. I see you” He finally said.
Your throat felt tight, almost as if your vocal cords had tangled and you could no longer speak. “Then look away.” You said, feeling as if you didn’t deserve this. Why was he so kind? You could have perfectly stepped back, but you didn’t.
You could hear a faint laugh, then his nose against yours. You closed the distance, feeling his soft lips on yours, neither of you moved, simply savouring the tender feeling of pressing lips together.
You stepped back, mind set. Neteyam opened his eyes as you grabbed his hand and tugged him to your bedding furs, your tail up in the air, the tip moving from side to side.
You helped him sit down, and you followed him soon after, one in front of the other. You had no words- instead grabbing your kuru and presenting it to him. Your mouth moved as you tried to speak, but your mind was feeling too much to process it. But the offer was there.
“Tsaheylu.” You said under your breath, avoiding looking at him. Neteyam looked down at your braid, taking a steadying breath before bringing his own kuru in front of yours.
“Are you certain?” He asked, and your free hand moved to intertwine your fingers. “In case I never see you again… I…” You couldn’t finish your sentence, instead looking at him with glossy eyes.
No extra words were needed, the gap closed, the pink tendrils hugging and tangling together. You instantly felt a warmth feel you. You saw Neteyam’s life. Playing with his siblings, hunting with his father, taming his first Ikran, and so much more. So much life, so much laughter.
All he saw in yours was a constant pain- to be reduced to means to an end, but the small hope of a better life always there.
He felt what you felt the first time you took him in, how you’d mutter small prayings to Eywa for him to wake up.
The link was so strong, filling you both with warmth. It was almost impossible to not continue, your hands moving up to his chest, softly pushing him down as your lips met his.
You didn’t hurry- you finally felt calm. From the Tsaheylu you felt what he was feeling, a phantom warmth now on your chest where your hands were on his. As you moved your lips against his, you sat over his crotch, your hands going to undo the leather cords covering your chest.
Neteyam let out a relieved sound as those came off- of course, he had felt the numbing pain from them as well the moment you connected. You took his hands on yours and placed them over your breasts, his fingers tracing the red lines from the pressure that the cords were making.
Your hairless brows furrowed and you let out a weak moan into his mouth as his fingers moved to your nipples, playfully pinching and rubbing them until they got hard, then palming your whole breasts with his big hands.
Your small mewls of pleasure were swallowed down by his mouth, his tongue now entering your mouth to properly taste you.
You broke the kiss, a string of saliva connecting your mouths. “I want to taste you, Neteyam” You said, slowly kissing a trail down his neck, him letting out small groans as your mouth reached his V-line.
You nervously stared at the bulge in there. You had never- done this before. Your fingers went to undo his loincloth, biting your lip as the flimsy fabric came off, his hard member slightly bouncing, a pearl of pre-cum beading at the tip.
Fuck. Has he done this before? You wouldn’t be surprised- he was attractive, and the son of Toruk Makto, on your part you had always denied any sort of intimacy with other Mangkwan men, not wanting to bare your true self to them through Tsaheylu, it didn’t help most of them were as sadistic as it gets.
You didn’t want to come off as inexperienced, and in your nervousness you took as much as you could in one go, making him let out a groan as his legs tensed, his hand hovering over your head, fingers grazing your hair.
He tasted musky, manly- not a bad taste, just very unique, the scent stronger the deeper you took him.
You began bobbing your head slowly, drool running down his shaft, his salty pre-cum hitting the end of your throat, the tip flushed purple under your ministrations.
What your mouth couldn’t reach -as you weren’t experienced at all-, your hands did, jerking him off as your mouth sucked and licked.
Through the Tsaheylu you also felt the pleasure, your toes curling as your body didn’t stop getting hotter.
Neteyam guided you through it, muttering small praises, his hand caressing your head.
You couldn’t keep waiting. You needed him- so you stopped, taking deep breaths as you undid your loincloth, letting it fall down as you crawled back on top of him.
You looked down, seeing how his tip slid between your folds, your slick easing him in. You winced, the feeling not pain, but something uncomfortable as you began lowering yourself on him.
His hands went to your hips, thumbs rubbing circles on your skin as you finally got him completely inside- your pussy lips pressing against his hips, his cock twitching inside of you, the tightness feeling amazing.
He could feel the feeling of you losing your virginity, how his cock inside you felt, but you also felt how being inside you was. It was a stark contrast, both feeling alienated and welcomed.
Your hands moved to his chest as you began moving, biting your lip as the awkward feeling began feeling like a warm fire inside you, each thrust lighting it up more than the last.
Wet sounds filled your kelku, along with your mewls and his groans, Neteyam’s head throwing back as his hands guided your movements, his cock completely lubricated by your slick.
His hand moved from your hip to the blue-purple button over your folds, pushing the hood of your clit back as his thumb pressed on it, rubbing slow circles as he savored your moans.
The stimulation quickly made this fire inside you grow stronger, your legs trembling as after a few minutes you were cumming. Your insides became tighter, milking him for all his worth, and a few minutes after you, he was cumming as well, deep inside you.
You stayed a few minutes on top of Neteyam, legs quivering as you felt his member soften inside you, a few drops of cum oozing out of your joined private parts.
You shakily moved to the side, your whole body still ectastiated from the prior activities. Your tail curled with Neteyam’s tail as you laid your head against his shoulder, rubbing your neck (where your scent glands are) against him, marking him up.
Your fingers traced patterns on Neteyam’s skin, your breathing slowing down as you felt like you were about to fall asleep.
You don’t think you’ve ever slept so well in your whole life.
Until a shriek pierces the calm. In a second you’re up, putting your loincloth and top on-
A Mangkwan screams from outside.
“Omatikaya warriors coming!” you turn to look at Neteyam. Your heart was slamming against your ribs, you had to make a decision, fast.
You could smell the fire from the Mangkwan’s arrows already, screams filling your ears as the floor trembled from the Ikran’s landing on Ash territory.
You grabbed your dagger and moved towards Neteyam.
“If Varang comes here- i… I’ll fight her” You said, finally seeing a chance to escape from all this. Your face frowned as you stared at the flap in your kelku, waiting for the imminent moment before Varang came searching for Neteyam.
But it was all a stupid fantasy, and you knew it. You had your shoulder injured, so you could only use one arm to fight. But at least your death would give Neteyam enough time to escape.
You noticed too late, the flap slightly opening. By the time you saw it, the arrow had already lodged itself into you.
You stand at the edge of the Mangkwan camp, the central fire spitting embers into the night sky as the celebrations go on.
Varang lounges on her throne of blackened bone, legs spread wide, one hand lazily tracing the edge of her obsidian blade. Across the flames sits Colonel Miles Quaritch—Recom body gleaming in Mangkwan colours, tail flicking slow and hungry.
His eyes never leave you.
You move among the warriors, pouring dark fermented sap into their cups. Your ashen skin glows under the firelight, hair braided with obsidian beads and red feathers. Your body is strong and curved—thick thighs, round hips, breasts barely concealed by scorched leather straps. Scars map your ribs and collarbones, beautiful and deadly.
Every unmated male watches you with raw want. They offer kills, growl rough songs, press too close during raids. You always walk away—untouched, unmated, eyes cold.
Tonight, however, is different.
Quaritch stares openly. His pupils blow wide when your scent drifts past. His tail tip twitches in slow, predatory arcs. Varang notices everything—the flare of his nostrils, the flex of his fingers around his rifle, the way he shifts like he’s already imagining you under him.
She smiles, sharp and dangerous.
As you pass near the throne, Varang’s hand snaps out and catches your wrist. You freeze, but you don’t pull away out of awe and respect of your Tsahík. The camp quiets instantly.
“Little ember,” Varang purrs with a voice made of smoke and gravel, “our Sky Demon guest can’t stop staring at you.”
You lift your chin, meeting her gaze fearlessly. “Many stare. Few dare touch.”
Varang laughs, low and approving. She pulls you closer until you stand between her thighs. One hand slides up the back of your leg, possessive and firm, while the other gestures toward Quaritch.
“Colonel,” she calls, eyes still locked on you. “Come closer. I want to see if your hunger matches your reputation.”
Quaritch rises, bare feet dusted in ash. He stalks forward, then stops beside the throne, his gaze rakes over you—breasts, waist, the way your thighs press together under Varang’s grip.
“Beautiful,” he drawls, his accent rough with that human edge. “And untouched. That’s a damn shame.”
Varang’s long fingers dig into your thigh, smearing red paint, hard enough to mark yet soft enough to tease. “She waits for something worthy,” she explains, smirking sharply. “Or someone.”
Quaritch steps closer, reaches out, and brushes the backs of his knuckles along your jaw. “You let her touch you,” he murmurs. “Do I get the same privilege?”
Varang answers for you. “Only if I allow it.”
She yanks you down suddenly, pulling you onto her lap so your back presses to her chest, legs straddling hers while the rest of the clan keeps watching and celebrating.
Your ass settles against the heat between her thighs. Varang grinds up once—slow, deliberate—drawing a sharp breath from you.
Quaritch’s tail lashes. His hand slides to your throat—not choking, just holding—thumb pressing over your racing pulse.
“Look at her,” Varang murmurs. “So pretty when she tries not to beg.”
You glare over your shoulder, but the effect vanishes when Varang’s hand slips between your thighs, fingers finding you already slick behind your loincloth. She circles your clit once, twice—teasing—then pushes two fingers inside without warning. You gasp, back arching, head falling against her shoulder.
“There it is,” Varang purrs against your ear. “My pretty little ember… dripping for both of us already.”
Quaritch leans in until his lips nearly brush yours. “Tell me, sweetheart,” he rasps. “You want us to share you tonight? Want me to fuck you while she holds you down? Want to feel us both inside you, stretching that tight little cunt until you scream?”
Your breath hitches. Varang curls her fingers deeper, stroking that spot that makes your thighs shake uncontrollably.
“Say yes,” Varang whispers with a sharp nip to your neck. “Make me proud.”
You look between them—Varang’s cruel smile, Quaritch’s predatory smirk—and the last thread of resistance snaps.
“Yes,” you mewl, breath coming out shaky.
Varang laughs, triumphant, and shoves you forward onto your hands and knees on the furs in front of the throne. Quaritch is already unbuckling his cargo pants, cock emerging from its sheath—long, thick, and slightly curved—as he kneels in front of you.
Varang sits on her haunches behind you, yanks your leather aside, spreads your slick cunt open with rough fingers while you press your face into the furs, shame and molten arousal waging war inside you.
It’s an honor to be chosen by the Tsahík herself; you just didn’t expect her to take you in front of the whole clan.
“Hold still, ember,” she hisses. “We ruin you tonight.”
Quaritch grabs your queue at the base of your skull—firm yet careful—lifting your face to guide your mouth to his length while Varang sinks her elegant fingers back inside you.
Your tail lashes with a soft snarl before you lick at his dripping slit, then suck at the thick tip.
Quaritch exhales through his teeth while the tendons in his neck flex. “There we go, sweetheart,” he groans shamelessly. “Atta girl.”
Two predators. One precious prize.
And you—beautiful, untouched, desired by the entire clan—finally claimed by the only two who are worthy.
The fire keeps burning low yet steady. The feast turns into a ritual of fertility and claiming.
And by dawn, every Mangkwan knows exactly who you belong to.
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