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[nilsavatar]

She may be evil, but she's unhealthyly beautiful.

Not good for my heart. No no😍

New screenshot of Varang in Avatar: Fire and Ash!

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DAY 23 BITING - Part 5

Parings: Neteyam x Fem!human

PART 1, PART 2, PART 3, PART 4

Genre/Warnings: fluff, ANGST, introspective, delicate themes (hibrid pregnacy, political and ideals conflict). All characters are AGED-UP. This the sequel of the @layla2-49 request used to fullfil the promp day 23 of lunakinktober 2023

Summary: Following the unexpected pairing that occurred at the Tree of Souls, after connecting as only two Na'vi normally could, Celeste and Neteyam entertain a clandestine relationship. Several times they have discussed coming out, but the girl is too prey to her insecurities as a human to do so. It is Eywa who will decide for both of them with a disconcerting revelation: they have conceived a hybrid child.

Word Count: 3,2k

Masterlist - Request a fic

Celeste sat on the edge of the medical cot, gripping the fabric of her shirt with shaking fingers. The weight of Neteyam’s words still hung in the air.

“You’re not human anymore.”

She wished to deny it, to cling to what she knew, but how could she? Every breath she took in Pandora’s air without choking, every whisper of life she felt moving under her skin, alien sensation coursing through her veins, told her the same truth. The child was manipulating her systems to an extent never before observed, just as a hybrid pregnancy had never been seen in the past. And no one knew when it would stop—if it would stop. Max and Norm had thrown themselves into research, but their finding only led to more questions.

“Her DNA is restructuring at a cellular level,” Norm explained, swiping through the scans on the holo-screen. “Her skeletal structure is shifting. Her respiratory system has already adapted, and now…” he hesitated, looking over at her. Max sighed. “Your nervous system is being reconfigured. That queue forming at the base of your skull? It’s not cosmetic. Your body is developing a neural interface like the Na’vi.” Celeste swallowed hard, reaching back to touch it. It was still small, hidden beneath her thickening hair, but she could feel it now. A living part of her that shouldn’t be there.

Jake, who had been pacing silently, stopped short. “Are you saying she’ll be able to connect to Eywa?” His voice was gruff, skeptical, fearful. His friends exchanged a glance before turning back to the girl. “We don’t know yet, but it’s a possibility.” Netyam, seated quietly by her side until now, finally spoke. “And the baby?” His voice was even, but his fingers curled into fists on his lap. “The baby… is accelerating it.” Their breath caught. “The hybrid nature of the fetus is actively rewriting Cel's biology to accommodate it,” Max continued, voice full of scientific accuracy marred by paternal concern, looking now at her. “This phenomenon occurs in all pregnancies and is known as microchimerism. If refers to the transfer of cells between mother and child through the placenta. Even in normal pregnancies, it is a little-known occurrence, but in your case, the influence of fetal-origin chimeric cells exceeds typical limits.”

Neytiri had remained silent the entire time, standing still beside her son. One hand gripped his shoulder, drawing comforting concentric patterns on his deltoid, while her golden eyes remained severe. But now, she stepped forward and crossed her arms. “You mean to say the child is forcing this change?” Norm grmaced. “It’s not forcing—. Something in the child’s DNA knows she wouldn’t survive carrying it in a purely human body.”

Celeste flinched at Norm's words, her heart pounding violently, Neteyam tensed next to her. Would she still be herself when this was over? Would she recognize her own face, her own mind? Or would she become something entirely different, something that neither human nor Na’vi would truly accept? The thought was terrifying.

Jake cast a warning look at his wife as if to caution her from speaking her mind. Neytiri’s expression didn’t soften, but she said nothing more. Then his eyes drifted back to his daughter-in-law, the way her skin was shimmering gently in the lit obscurity of the lab, how her body was progressively adapting. The tswin shaping at her nape had shaken him more than he wanted to admit. If her form was mutating so drastically, what would that mean for the child? And for her?

He had spoken with Neytiri in private, hoping for some measure of reassurance, but he had found her just as torn. “We don’t know what this means,” she had said, her voice quiet but heavy. “And that’s what scares me the most,” he had admitted. He wasn’t just worried about the girl. He was worried about what her transformation would mean for the clan. If Eywa was manipulating her DNA through the fetus, then why? What future was she shaping?

And what if it wasn’t meant to last? What if Cel was being remade to bring this child into the world, only to lose her in the process? That thought kept him awake more nights than he could count. He knew what would happen if the worst-case scenario occurred. He knew all too well the emptiness of losing someone dear to you. He had experienced it more times than he would have wished for even his worst enemy. He had lost friends, comrades, his brother. He had almost lost his son. Immediately, his mind went to him. What would become of Neteyam if he lost her? He would never be the same; even now he did not recognize him, worn down by anguish.

What about Spider? Celeste was his home, his comfort in a world that did not belong to him. They were twins, just like Jake and Tommy, they had lived everything together. But just as had happened to the Sully twins, at some point their paths had inexorably split, taking them on two distant paths. Only in appearance. Just as Jake's destiny had led him to overlap with his brother's, so Spider was to come alongside in support of his sister's. Besides fear, how must he have felt in passively witnessing her metamorphosis, who day by day seemed to become closer and closer to a Na'vi than a human? That he just could not imagine.

Jake needed answers. And he feared they were coming faster than anyone was ready for. The latest tests confirmed her transformation wasn’t stopping. Max and Norm had gone over the results a dozen times, looking for any sign that this was something temporary. Something they could explain. But there was no precedent for this. Her DNA was shifting, human markers were fading at an alarming rate, replaced by something that straddled the line between Na’vi and… something else new.

Her complexion had taken a weak lavender undertone, barely visible in bright daylight but unmistakable at twilight and dawn, when the light was less vibrant and strong. Her nails sharpened slightly, and finally, she no longer needed food like humans did. Her frame craved raw energy—sunlight, the forest, the pulse of Eywa herself. The longer she stayed indoors, in the compound, away from the living nature, the more drained she felt. It was tiring. Suffocating.

It happened a week later. Celeste had insisted on stepping outside the lab. She couldn’t take it anymore of the white walls, the observation screens, the constant monitoring. The moment her mate stepped inside, one look was all he needed. “You have to be outside,” he said, even if his voice was laced with reluctance. She nodded, but Spider got anxious, looking between them and then back at Max. “Is it safe?” The doctor let out a sigh, rubbing his jaw. “Safe? No idea. But keeping her locked in here isn’t helping. If anything, it’s making things worse.” Jake exhaled sharply, running a hand over his face. When Celeste met his gaze, something in her expression softened him. Damn, he thought, he always had a weak spot for her, like with Kiri and Tuk, his baby girls. He was definitely a girl’s daddy, unfortunately for himself. “Okay.”

She didn’t wait. The moment her bare feet touched the ground, she felt it. A wave of energy surged up through her legs, into her spine, as if the very land beneath her had been waiting for her return. The air hit her lungs with a rush of clarity, sharper, richer than anything she had ever felt. Her skin prickled, the glowing freckles responding to the pulse of the world around them. The jungle came alive around her, as if the planet was welcoming her back.

And then the pain started.

Celeste staggered, gripping Neteyam’s arm as a sharp, searing heat spread up her spine. “Cel?” His voice was urgent, his grip steady, but she could barely hear him. The world around her blurred, the sounds of the forest amplifying to an unbearable degree. She gasped, collapsed to her knees as white-hot agony lanced through her head. Neteyam was shouting, dropping beside her, hands gripping her shoulders for stability, Kiri and Lo’ak rushing forward, but she couldn’t focus on anything except the sensation of something unfurling from her body. An intense, searing pain lanced through her skull, as the base of her neck split open, releasing the long, trendily-like strands that had been growing beneath her nape.

Something ripped through the base of her head. Her queue. A fully formed, living, breathing kuru.

She reached up instinctively, fingers trembling as they touched, yet Celeste wasn’t afraid. Because as her kuru writhed in the air, reaching, searching, she perceived something. Vast, alive, profound, and endless, welcoming her like a mother greeting a lost child. Her breath hitched.

She could feel Eywa as more than just a presence—she felt her in her bones. The connection was instantaneous. Overwhelming. She sobbed, hands gripping the earth, shaking as the energy of the world itself surged through her. Neteyam was there, arms wrapping around her, his forehead pressing against hers. “Ma muntxate,” he whispered, voice thick with emotion. She had no words. Because deep down, she knew. She had crossed a threshold that could never be undone.

The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and blooming flora, yet all Celeste could feel was the fire coursing through her veins. Her body still trembled, her breath shallow as the tendrils of her queue twitched against her back, newly formed and sensitive to every shift in the air. It was a weird, indescribable sensation.

Everyone had fallen silent, staring at her in a mixture of awe and fear. Neteyam hadn’t moved from her side. His hands still cradled her face, his golden eyes flickering between wonder and worry. “Yawne…” His voice was hushed, reverent, like he was afraid to break whatever spell had just woven itself around her.

But Jake… Jake was rigid. He stood a few feet away, his expression unreadable, but the tension in his jaw said everything. He wasn’t just shocked. He was afraid. Celeste forced herself to take a breath, focusing on the way nature seemed different now. The hum of Eywa’s presence was louder, a song thrumming beneath her skin. Every leaf, every creature, every pulse of life—it all resonated with her in a way that was impossible to describe.

She was no longer just aware of Pandora. She was part of it.

“We need to get her back inside,” the olo'eyktan finally said, voice tight. His son's grip on her tightened. “Keeping her locked away won’t change anything.” The man’s eyes snapped to his firstborn. “You don’t know that.” “And you do?” Kiri’s voice cut through the sky, sharp and defensive. She had been kneeling beside his best friend, her hands hovering near her shoulder as if wanting to touch but not daring to. “Eywa is doing this. Can’t you feel it?”

Their father let out a breath, his gaze shifting to Norm in his avatar form, looking for confirmation. But he remained silent, her piercing amber eyes fixed on his adoptive niece as if studying something sacred—and terrifying.

Celeste swallowed hard, feeling the weight of their uncertainty pressing down on her. “I don’t think this will stop,” she whispered. “It’s not just the queue. My body is still… shifting.” She flexed her fingers, watching the faint bioluminescence swirl beneath her skin. Jake shook his head, muttering under his breath before turning once again to Norm. “Is this even possible?” The scientist exhaled, rubbing a hand over his neck. “Scientifically? No. But nothing about Pandora works by human rules.”

A heavy silence settled between them. It was Kiri who finally spoke, her voice quiet but firm. “Eywa has chosen her path. Whether we understand it or not… it is already set.” Celeste shuddered. She knew, deep in her bones, that she was right. There was no going back. And the question that loomed over all of them now was—

What was she becoming?

That night, Celeste sat at the edge of the outpost, her arms wrapped around her knees, watching the forest shift under the soft bioluminescent glow of Pandora. The air hummed around her, every leaf and creature alive in ways she had never perceived before.

Before. That word felt heavier now, like a distant memory of a life that no longer fit her. Her queue rested against her shoulder, its presence both foreign and natural. Every so often, the tendrils twitched, reacting to unseen energies in the air. It should have terrified her. Instead, it felt right.

Footsteps approached, and she didn’t need to turn to know it was Neteyam. She could feel him now, sense him in a way that had nothing to do with sight or sound. “You should be resting,” he murmured, lowering himself beside her. She let out a quiet laugh. “How do you rest when your whole body is rewriting itself?” Her lover didn’t answer right away. He watched her, his honey eyes reflecting the soft blur of the forest. “Does it hurt?”

She thought about it. Physically, no. The initial transformation had been painful, but now it was something else—like her body was stretching into something it was always meant to be. “No,” she admitted. “It’s just… overwhelming. Everything feels so different, so new.”

Neteyam reached out, hesitating before brushing his fingers over her forearm. The contact sent a shiver up her spine, not just from the touch itself, but from the way she could feel him—his presence, his emotions, even the warmth of his spirit, like he was somehow connected to her beyond just flesh.

His expression softened. “I don’t care what you become, do you know that, right? You are still you. You are still my mate.” A lump formed in her throat. She wanted to believe that. But was she really still the same person? Before she could answer, rustling from behind made them both tense.

Jake.

He stepped forward, arms crossed, his gaze flickering between them before settling on her. His expression was unreadable, but she could sense the conflict inside him. “We need to talk,” he said. Neteyam stiffened beside her. “Dad—” “Alone.” Celeste placed a hand on Neteyam’s, silently reassuring him before nodding. “It’s okay.” Reluctantly, he squeezed her fingers before standing and stepping back into the shadows of the outpost, leaving her alone with Jake. For a moment, neither of them spoke.

The man exhaled, hardly, embarrassed, almost, before sitting down beside her. He didn’t look at her at first, just stared into the lively jungle. Night had fallen deep and heavy across the forest, wrapping the world in a silken hush. The trees shimmered faintly with bioluminescent moss, the air thick with the sounds of life breathing in unison. But its beauty faded as he looked at her, his jaw tight.

“This isn’t what I wanted for you,” he finally said. She swallowed. “I know.” “You don’t understand.” He turned to her, eyes dark with something raw. “I’ve seen people change because of this planet. I know what it means when Eywa chooses someone. It’s not just about you anymore. It’s about the future. And the future…” He trailed off, inhaling sharply. “I don’t know what looks like anymore.” Her chest ached. “I didn’t ask for this,” she whispered.

He rubbed his hands together. Jake hadn’t felt this lost in a long time. He had fought wars, led people, faced the impossible—but this? This was beyond impossible. He wasn’t in front of an enemy right now; Celeste wasn’t just another battle to strategize around. She was family.

He had taken her in when she was just a kid, guided her, protected her, loved her like she was his own. And he was forced to watch her change into something he didn’t comprehend—something he wasn’t so sure he could understand. He wasn’t sure if she even needed him anymore. He couldn’t accept that, no father can. Cel and Neteyam had each other now, but in his eyes, they would always be children. His children.

The girl sat beside him, quiet but steady, her bright veins barely visible under the starlight. He looked at her tswin, how it rested against her skin like it had always been there. It made his stomach twist. She looked Na’vi, but she also didn’t. She looked still human, but she wasn’t anymore. Now something in between, a being Eywa had shaped with her own hands.

Celeste hesitated, then reached up, touching her queue, sensing his intense stare glaring at it. She didn’t feel in danger, at the same time, she felt the urge to shield her most vulnerable part of her body. The tendrils reacted instinctively, perceiving the tension in the air. Jake studied her, his eyes searching for something—doubt, fear, anything that told him she wasn’t so prone about this. But she was. She knew this was happening for a reason.

“Jake,” the girl pronounced softly, breaking the silence. “I know this scares you.” His jaw tightened, “‘m not scared—” “Yes, you are.” Her voice was gentle but firm. “And I get it. But I’m still me. I’m still your daughter.”

Something inside him cracked. He turned to her then, really looked at her—not as a mystery to solve or a threat to predict, but as the girl he had raised. The girl who used to stumble over her own feet trying to keep up with Lo’ak and Spider. The girl who had sat with him at the edge of the forest, asking questions about flying, about war, about the world she had grown up in but never truly belonged to. Finally, he sighed. “Kid…” his voice came out rough.

Celeste reached for his hand, and when her fingers curled around his, he almost pulled back—not because he didn’t want the touch, but because for the first time, he could feel something else beneath her skin. A pulse. A hum. The same thing he felt when he connected to the Tree of Souls.

It was her. Eywa was inside her, woven into her frame, her spirit.

Jake swallowed hard. “I don’t know how to protect you from this,” he admitted, voice low. “I don’t know what this means for you, for Neteyam, the clan. For any of us. This doesn’t just change you. It changes everything.” Celeste’s fingers tightened around his. “I don’t either.” She looked down, taking a breath before meeting his gaze again. “But I know I don’t want to do this without you.”

The man let out a shaky breath, rubbing his free hand over his thigh. It would be easier if she were just changing. If she were becoming Na’vi, like he had when he left his human body behind. That, at least, he could get.

But this? This was something Eywa herself had allowed—maybe even designed.

Celeste wasn’t just shifting from one thing to another, and Jake had no idea what that meant. But as he looked at her, at the fierce determination in her eyes, at the way she still held his hand like she had when she was younger, when she still trusted him to lead her—

He knew one thing for sure. He wasn’t letting go. “You’ll always have me, baby girl,” he said, voice thick. Celeste’s breath hitched, her eyes shining—not just with the eerie halo of her transformation, but with something far more human. And for now, that was enough.

Taglist: @minnory@faith2155@stardream14@akari-rosefield

[nilsavatar]

I love biting!! I can’t wait for part 5 it’s such a beautiful story 🤍

Aww, Anon, thank you so much for your amazing support! It is no small thing; I truly appreciate it.

I’m still in the writing process. Unfortunately, I have lacked time lately and needed to rest. Badly. But it won’t take long before Part 5 is released; maybe it will be available as early as the end of the week❤️

[nilsavatar]

DAY 23 BITING - Part 4

Parings: Neteyam x Fem!human

PART 1, PART 2, PART 3

Genre/Warnings: fluff, ANGST, introspective, delicate themes (hibrid pregnacy, political and ideals conflict). All characters are AGED-UP. This the sequel of the @layla2-49 request used to fullfil the promp day 23 of lunakinktober 2023

Summary: Following the unexpected pairing that occurred at the Tree of Souls, after connecting as only two Na'vi normally could, Celeste and Neteyam entertain a clandestine relationship. Several times they have discussed coming out, but the girl is too prey to her insecurities as a human to do so. It is Eywa who will decide for both of them with a disconcerting revelation: they have conceived a hybrid child.

Word Count: 4,5k

Masterlist - Request a fic

In the bioluminescent glow of Pandora’s night, Jake Sully stood at the forest's edge, his gaze fixed on the distant horizon. The vibrant nature around him buzzed with life, yet an unsettling turmoil brew within him. As olo’eyktan of the Omatikaya and Toruk Makto, he had faced countless challenges, but none as perplexing as the transformation unfolding before him.

Celeste, a human who had become an integral part of their clan, was undergoing a metamorphosis that defied all understanding. Eywa had blessed her union with his son, yet the consequences were unprecedented. To say that the news of Celeste’s pregnancy sent shockwaves through both the scientists and the People would be an understatement. A tawtute woman carrying the offspring of a Na’vi? It was far beyond imagination. The avatar bodies—engineered through terrestrial brilliance, blending both genomes in just the right sequence to function under Pandora’s conditions—were compatible with the natives. Little Socorro was only human, though—kind of. Her body was changing, adapting in ways that blurred the lines between Earthborn and Pandoran.

The man’s mind raced with questions in the nighttime peace, hugging his half-sleeping wife in one of their occasional getaways from responsibilities and worries. Though this one was hard to forget even for an evening. “This isn’t like what happened to us,” he said, suddenly, breaking the silence of sweet slumber, thinking about Spider’s sister seated in the shade of their kelku, her hands resting on her growing belly. “I was logged in my avatar when we mated. I was Na’vi, physically. But her? There’s no scientific explanation.”

After the commute at the Tree of Souls, the clan split in two. Some supported the child as a sign of mutual prosperity, a miracle meant to exist in the balance of the world. Others, however, labeled it an ill omen, a violation of the natural order, feared what they couldn’t understand.

“It is not natural.” “Eywa may have allowed the union, but this... this is wrong.”

Jake had heard it all before. The same fright, the same resistance to change that had nearly torn the Omatikaya apart when colonizers first came back to Pandora. But this time, he got that fright. Because deep down, beneath his duty as olo’eyktan and his instinct to protect his family, he felt it too. As wild as the perennial torment that the two sides of his very identity instilled in him.

“There is no scientific explanation for Eywa,” Neytiri stated, her voice serious, resolute just as it always was when faith and Na’vi culture were at stake. It was a conviction he has never fully embraced. The need to rely on science, on logic, on the knowable, was an earthly instinct he could never entirely cast aside. That lifeline—the belief that there was a reason behind everything, something demonstrable, classifiable, repeatable—was still a part of him. Neytiri might have agreed that there was a universal design, but her understanding of it was vastly different from his. Less analytical, less tangible than the laws of physics and biology, but to her, no less real. Perhaps, in some ways, even more so.

“It’s as much a mystery as Kiri conception.” “Not of the same scale, though.”  “We must trust the Great Mother nonetheless.” Jake exhaled, rubbing the back of his head. “Trusting her is one thing. Convincing the People...”

He was right. There was division among them. Leadership weighed heavily on his tired shoulders, and the safety of his loved ones, of Celeste and the baby, depended on the decisions he would make in the coming months. As the night creatures sang their melodies, Jake took a troubled breath, seeking clarity. The path ahead was shrouded in uncertainty, and for the first time in years, he felt the sting of doubt piercing his resolve. This wasn’t just about Celeste; it was about what she was becoming and what it would have meant for all of them. He knew Pandora. He had lived, fought, loved, and lost for this world. And he knew that when the Great Mother acted, it was always on purpose, even when it felt like uncharted territory.

It started subtly; Celeste first noticed it in quiet moments—when the dizziness from exertion subsided faster than it should have, when her heartbeat, once erratic in Pandora's dense atmosphere, slowed into a steady rhythm, perfectly in tune with the nature around her. Insects that normally avoided humans drifted closer during her strollings in the forest, as if sensing that she was no longer a regular alien walking in their world. Plants reacted to her touch, sending a pleasant tingling along her fingertips. Gradually, her senses were heightening beyond the limits of her species. She could hear animals weaving through the luscious vegetation, their calls reaching her feeble ears in way they never should have.

But then, the changes became undeniable She didn’t need the mask anymore.

The moment had come without fanfare. Celeste sat at the edge of a clearing, absentmindedly sketching in her notebook as the sun warmed her skin. Tuk sat beside her, both watching Neteyam train a small group of young aspirant warriors—the few still permitted to learn under their prince’s guidance. A shadow passed over Celeste’s face, the weight of guilt settling deep in her stomach, more and more pungent. Tuk, noticing, gently patted her forearm.

“Hey, don't think about it.” Cel forced a smile, though it did nothing to brighten her tired expression. “They would have signed farce papers to train with him first. Now, half the clan despises him, and the other avoids him out of fear.” “He is still the heir to the throne.” “How much longer?” she asked, her voice tight with distress. “Tsentey's faction is gathering more support every day. If they grow into a majority, it could mean exile for you. It could...” She trailed off, her fingers instinctively tightening over the slight swell of her belly. A tear caught the sunlight before she quickly lifted her head, blinking it away. “Sorry, Tuk-Tuk. I didn't mean to upset you.” “I'm old enough to listen to you if you need me.”

Celeste glanced at her, a genuine, grateful smile breaking through the tension. Tuk—still so small, yet already so mature. The rhythms of the clan left little room for childhood. By fourteen or fifteen, many had already completed Iknimaya and faced the Uniltaron—the Dream Hunt—to find their spirit animal and take their place as adults among the Omatikaya. Tuk’s own rite of passage was approaching fast, and for sure, growing up amid the ongoing conflict with the Sky People had only accelerated that process. Yet, she was still, indeed, a child. And Celeste wished she could protect that innocence just a little longer.

“Don’t worry for me,” she said with a sly grin. “Rather tell me about Enyetan.” The young woman arched a brow, giving her a suggestive look that made the teenager blush furiously. “Don't you start too!” Laughter bubbled from the sister-in-law's lips, warm and unrestrained. The sound carried across the clearing, reaching the ever-attentive ears of her mate, who couldn’t help but smile at the rare moment of lightness in the chaos of their lives.

What no one noticed, however, was how the energy in that laughter was off—wavering, unsteady. That day, the mask felt suffocating, the air too heavy and humid against her face. Suddenly, her breathing grew shallow, her throat constricting more at every second, intense heat searing through her airways. Panic should have set in; the desperate scramble for the emergency rebreather strapped to her belt. But it didn’t. The familiar choking weight of asphyxiation never came. panic. Instead, she felt light. Open. She gulped, and the air flowed freely into her lungs.

Pure. Fresh. Alive.

Her hands trembled as she hesitantly removed the exo-pack, bracing for inevitable. She expected her vision to blur, her throat to seize, the raw, toxic atmosphere of Pandora to set her lungs ablaze. Nothing happened. She inhaled deeply. No torturous pain, no giddiness. Just... oxygen filling her chest with an ease she had never known. Cool and sweet, like taking a true breath for the first time. The world around her looked brighter, colors deeper, sounds richer, the pulse of Eywa’s life clearer in her mind.

When she turned, Tuk was staring. “Cel...” she called with big, round, unblinking eyes. “Your mask.” 

Neteyam, mid-correction a boy’s stance with a bow, snapped his head in their direction, froze in place; a rare crack in his usual aplomb. Lo’ak, across the clearing, nearly dropped his spear as he strode over with a grim intensity, eyes flashing with disbelief. “Are you insane?” he blurted. “Put that back on before you drop dead!”  It was only then, as every pair of eyes locked onto her, that the human girl realized what she had done. Her breath was even, her chest rose and fell without resistance. She just shook her head, equally disoriented, “I... don’t need it.”

Neteyam was at her side in an instant, his large, calloused hands cupping her beautiful face, his lemon-gold eyes scanning hers with an unreadable mix of trepidation and alarm. “How?” The question wasn’t directed at her so much as at himself, as he looked at her with those giant orbs that characterized him in moments of extreme concentration. Pupils blown wide to the point they almost covered the entire iris. An adaptation response to threat, to enhance vision, to assess danger, to track an escape. His entire frame was on high alert, wired for protection. To keep his mate safe from something that was beyond unfamiliar, though.

This was odd.

For months, he had wrestled with sleepless nights and unshakable guilt. Gilt for giving in to his urges, for silencing reason when he should have resisted. No matter how much he loved Celeste, no matter how natural it had felt to surrender to his feelings, he should have held back. Instead, he had let desire eclipse caution, and now, she was paying the price. Inside, a sick weight settled in his gut, he felt lousy. He had failed at the one thing he had been trained for: protect. Maybe Tsentey was right. Maybe he wasn’t fit to lead. the leader of his people. How could he secure the clan if he couldn't even take care of his woman?

She reached for him, her fingers wrapping around his shaking hand, her respire hitched. “It’s the child.” Because what else could it be? What other options could explain what was going on with her?

Silence fell, thick and heavy. She could see the thoughts written plainly across their faces—the shock, the unease, the dread they didn’t dare voice. The training had come to a standstill. Stiff postures, atonic stares. Lo'ak and Tuk, who had been watching open-mouthed, exchanged a glance, their usual roguery absent for once.

A student’s voice, when it came, was quiet but edged with something serrated. “This has never happened before.”  “Shit,” Lo’ak exhaled, running a palm down his face. Neteyam's ears darted back at his brother’s reaction, tail lashing once before forcing himself to regain composure. Then, gently, he pressed his forehead to Celeste’s, his long fingers sliding down to cover hers over their unborn child. He tried—desperately—to ignore the whispers around them, the same echoing in the back of his mind, threatening to surface. “Isn’t this amazing, tìyawn (love)? I can finally admire you all day without this horrible mask hiding your beauty.” 

Celeste giggled at his ridiculous, love-drunk words, and for a fleeting minute, her preoccupations faded. Neteyam had always possessed this quiet strength—the ability to lift the weight off others’ shoulders, to remind them of the light even in the darkest moments. But it was also his greatest flaw. He carried too much. He took on burdens that weren’t his, stretched himself thin until he was on the verge of breaking.

Still, as he pressed their entwined hands against the gentle swell of her belly, warmth spread through her—not quite human, not quite Na’vi, but something in between.

There was content for a while, the nice, peaceful fondness of being in her lover's embrace. But it didn’t last. An acute sting twisted through her abdomen. She doubled over with a cry, her breath coming in ragged bursts. “What is it?” Neteyam asked urgently, his hand instinctively landing on her baby bump, aggravation evident in both his expression and voice. She couldn’t respond; the dull ache so severe it prevented her from speaking. The sensation wasn’t just pain—it was movement. Not the ordinary flutters of a fetus developing in the womb, this was deeper, stranger, as though something resonated within her. Not far away, the plants pulsed in time with her heartbeat, their faint radiance glinting like distant stars. Celeste clutched her stomach, feeling something under her skin shift. 

Kiri, who had been meditating high in the green canopy, sat upright. “It’s happening,” she whispered, her yellow eyes as large as a lemur’s.

By sunset, Celeste was in the ambulatory unit, surrounded by meds. The air soupy with tension; the sterile, white walls felt oppressive, nothing like the vast, living jungle or the cosy, homely ambience of Hometree. She sat on the examination table, palms firm over her tummy, mind reeling while they ran test after test, talking in hushed tones laced with both awe and fret.

The weight of the exo-pack she had worn her entire life was gone, yet the air in the lab had never felt stifler. Norm and Max worked in quiet urgency, moving between holo-screens displaying her vitals, their brows furrowed. The data didn’t make sense, her heart rate had slowed, more like Na’vi's than a human's. Her oxygen saturation was perfect—too perfect—the high carbon dioxide levels in the Pandoran atmosphere should have been affecting her, but they weren't. The ultrasound showed something incredible. She had developed wichow—the specialized organs, similar to kidneys, that allow natives to extract oxygen for their bloodstream from Pandora’s otherwise toxic air. A natural filter. A biological unfeasibility for her, still there it was.

Then there was the genetic scan. And that was when everything changed.

“This is phenomenal,” one doctor exclaimed, rubbing her temples as she stared at the results. Adjusting her glasses, she leaned closer to Max. “Her DNA is evolving. Look at his—her respiratory system has adapted to filtrate Pandora’s atmosphere, but it’s not solely adaptation. It’s... transformation.” She turned to the patient, her eyes filled with both scientific fascination and deep concern. “Your body isn’t just compensating for the pregnancy, Cel. It’s rewriting itself.” “What does that mean?” Neteyam’s reassuring grip on her shoulder stiffened while she shuddered. Max didn’t sugarcoat it. “The fetus isn’t a simple hybrid,” he explained, voice calm but dour. “It's triggering changes in you. Something in its DNA is interacting with yours in a way we’ve never seen.”  She swallowed hard, “I’m... mutating.”  Jake's words came out through clenched teeth, his jaw tight enough to snap. “That’s why she can breathe out there.” 

Neytiri stood rigid near the door, her narrowed eyes fixed on the glowing monitors. She didn't fully grasp the science behind the data plashing across the screens, nor the theories the experts were debating. But of one thing, she was totally sure: they had entered unknown territory. There were no answers here, no precedents. And the deeper they went in, the more question marks and anxieties sprung up. The creature Celeste was carrying was extraordinary in every sense of the term; not yet born, and already it was reshaping the world around it. This child—this impossible child—was changing everything from its very core.

But Celeste could see the unspoken fear in her eyes.

Kiri, who had insisted on coming, stood by her bestie’s side, her yellow orbs bouncing between the readings and her own intuition. “My nephew is part of both worlds. And now, so is Cel,” she stated softly. Spider shook his head, still baffled, struggling to wrap his mind around the unsettling reality. “That’s not how genetics works.”  The future tsahìk observed her friend with a grave look. “Nawna Sa’nok’s touch lingers on you,” she declared, pressing a cool palm on her forehead. 

Spider’s expression darkened, memories surfacing of all the times he had found Kiri lying in the middle of the wilderness, lost in a trance, nature beating around her. The way plants reacted to her touch, how she had tamed her ikran with freakish ease, how she swam through the currents, breathing underwater without any training as if she had always belonged to them. “You have felt this way before, haven’t you?” he asked, voice aloof with realization. Kiri nodded. “Not like this,” she admitted. “But yes. I have felt a... pull. A connection.” Her glance glimmered to her friend’s stomach. “It’s like Eywa’s energy is flowing through her.”  Neteyam’s jaw clenched, his hold on Celeste’s stronger. “Is she in danger?”  His sister’s lips pressed together into a thin line. “Was I?” she retorted, her words heavy with meaning.

“She’s not you.” Spider rubbed things in, rough, blunt, unable to conceal his growing agitation for his twin'. “Yet she has been chosen exactly as I was. As my mother was.”  “Your mother was an inanimate body in a fucking tank! She wasn't risking anything.” His remark was harsh and cruel, the tone leathery with frustration, but Kiri didn’t flinch. She knew he didn’t mean to hurt her. If anything, he had always been one of the few who had stood by her, defended her when others doubted. But just like everyone else in that room, Spider was terrified. As much as it hurt on a par with an anvil, she could find it in her heart to justify him. Celeste reached for him, squeezing his hand with one of hers while the other rested on her hip. The warmth inside her, the link she felt deep in her bones, was changing her at a fundamental level.

“Will I survive this?” she finally asked, voice barely above a whisper. The medical team couldn’t answer that question; the entire ordeal was new to everybody. Neteyam tensed beside her. Jake and Neytiri exchanged glances, the weight of precariousness dense between them, the pressure in the unit mounting at any second.

Truth settled over them like a murky, noxious fog. Neytiri’s ears flattened, her tail rolled dolefully around her leg as if seeking comfort in making herself small. One hand clamped against her chest, the other tentatively sought her husband's touch, resting on his contracted arm. His fist was clenched so tightly his knuckles had gone white, his other hand raking through his dreadlocks as he inhaled noisily through his flat nose. They had never shown such vulnerability before, or at least not at this magnitude. As parental figures, as leaders of the Omatikaya, they had always carried their burdens with quiet strength—as their firstborn son had learned to do. But now, stripped of that armor, their fear was palpable.

This only made Neteyam even more nervous. His whole frame was taut, trembling on the verge of exploding. His eyes, wide, glassy, shimmered with unshed tears, perfectly round and reflective like polished stones. He was there, present among them, but his spirit was somewhere far away. Cel—the love of his life— could have died, and no one could have stopped it. And for what? A child they never needed? A future they never chose? Why was Eywa doing this? Why them?

Their love was already complicated—strained by their incompatible species, haunted by past pain and resentment, burdened by the expectations of his status. He had thought he could cast it all aside, that he could embrace the reward the Great Mother had granted him. But that gift came with conditions—conditions so heavy that, had he known them in advance, he might have turned away. Yet none of it mattered. He would sacrifice his own happiness if it meant keeping Celeste safe.

In the fragile months after they had first come together, he had offered nothing but solace and praise. He had consoled when she was in distress, lifted her up when she doubted herself, encouraged her to trust her decisions—even the reckless ones as this one. But now, standing at the precipice of something unknown and terrifying, he could no longer do the same. He wished, more than anything, that he possessed the human gift for lying. At times like these, it would have proven useful—even if only to convince himself that everything would be fine, that at the end of this impossible journey, they would be happy. The three of them. Three, not two. Not just him and the baby. Not just him alone. Imagining a life without her was unbearable, and he refused to linger on the thought.

For a brief moment, once the initial panic had subsided, he had even allowed himself to believe that what was happening was beautiful. A miracle. Celeste could now breathe Pandora’s air—something that would surely help her through the long months ahead. But now, with this new revelation, he could no longer meet her gaze with comfort. Those warm, sweet, frightened, yet fiercely brave eyes searched his for reassurance. He had none to give.

Na’vi do not lie. And he would not offer false hope for something that, deep in his heart, frightened him so terribly.

As agitation grew, Norm reluctantly stepped forward and stroked his foot with the caring and kind manner of an uncle. “Look, we need more tests before we jump to conclusions. Right now, the priority is monitoring Cel’s condition. If your genome keeps reconstructing at this rate, we have no idea where it will end.”

*

The days blurred together in a haze of tests, scans, and restless nights where Celeste lay awake, feeling her body shift in ways she couldn’t see but knew were happening. The lab’s artificial lights felt oppressive, suffocating. The sterile environment clashed with the instincts waking inside her. She craved the jungle, the open air of Pandora—she needed to feel the earth beneath her feet, to hear the hum of life all around her. But every time she voiced this, Jake or Neytiri would exchange wary glances, and Neteyam would grip her hand a little tighter, unwilling to risk anything.

The fear in his eyes was worse than anything else. But the changes weren’t waiting for permission.

She no longer needed the exo-pack to breathe, that much was obvious. But it wasn’t just that: her lungs had changed. Max’s latest scans confirmed it. “They’ve elongated,” he said, adjusting his glasses as he stared at the results. “Your oxygen absorption rate has increased. You’re breathing like a Na’vi now.” Celeste touched her ribs absently while taking a deep breath from the inhaler—one designed for avatars and natives alike. She had already felt it. The deep, instinctual way her chest expanded when she inhaled, the effortless intake of Pandora’s air as if she had been born for it.

And her skin, once the soft beige of an Earthborn, had begun to repigment in tone—a faint iridescence beneath the surface was spreading, veins shimmering faintly in dim lighting. It wasn’t full bioluminescence like the Na’vi, but it was close.

Then there were her senses. At night, she could see in the dark. Not just in the way humans adjusted to low light, this was different. Colors took on a richer depth, details sharpened beyond what should have been possible. Smelling the lightest traces of the rainforest that clung to Neteyam’s skin, the sticky whiff of the cerulean paint his brother painted his body with, the pungent tang of disinfectant in the lab, once a mild annoyance, now felt nauseous. Scents she had never detected in the past. And her hearing—she could pick up sounds that no one else in the lab could. Conversations whispered in corners, the rustling of fabric from another room. She didn’t tell anyone, but she could hear the low, rhythmic hum of the planet itself when she closed her eyes. It was overwhelming.

And the baby—the baby was growing fast. Too fast. At just four months, she already looked closer to six. The doctors were baffled, worried. The hybrid nature of the child seemed to be accelerating everything as if her body wasn’t just adapting—it was rushing to keep up with whatever the baby needed.

Neteyam never left her side. She felt his hands on her belly every night, felt the quiet reverence in his touch as he whispered to the child in Na’vi, his forehead pressed to hers in silent devotion. But she also felt his dread. The terror that she would slip away from him. That she would become something unrecognizable or disappear entirely.

Celeste stared at her reflection in the sterile glass of the lab’s observation window, barely recognizing herself. Her fingers trembled as she traced the outline of her cheekbones. Were they more angular than before? It wasn’t just weight loss. The structure of her visage was subtly shifting—her features elongating ever so slightly, her eyes taking on a faint amber hue that had not been there before.

And her hair. It had thickened, the strands darkening from their usual color to something richer, a shade closer to the inky black of the People. When she moved, the fine strands caught the light in strange, reflecting tones of deep violet and green—pale but unmistakable.

The changes weren’t just superficial. Her senses were growing keener by the day. She could hear Jake and Neytiri talk outside the room, even through the sturdy walls. She could smell the faintest traces of the jungle that clung to Neteyam’s skin, scents she had never been able to pick up before. The stench of disinfectant of the compound, once lightly noticeable, now felt almost insufferable.

Then there was the most undeniable proof of her metamorphosis, the most disturbing change—her queue.

the way her body responded to Pandora’s energy. She could feel the pulse of the world in a way that made her dizzy. When she stepped outside, the very air around her seemed to hum against her skin. The plants, the ground, the very life of the moon—it was as if she were beginning to tap into something bigger, something she had never been meant to connect with as a human.

And the most undeniable proof of that was her queue. It had appeared three nights ago. Celeste had woken in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat, her entire body burning as if feverish. Neteyam sprang into action immediately, pressing a damp cloth to her forehead, whispering soothing nothings as she gasped through the strange, intense sensation of her own body warping itself. When the pain finally ebbed, she had felt it, something pulling at the base of her skull. A tendril-like appendage forming, hidden beneath her thickening hair. It wasn’t fully developed—not yet—but the sensation was undeniable. A strange tingling at the back of her neck, as though her body was forcing her into something closer to the Na’vi.

The moment Neteyam realized, his eyes had gone wide, caught between stupor and scare, his hand trembling as he brushed over the barely formed kuru. He exhaled shakily, his gaze raw, almost reverent. “You’re not human anymore.”

Taglist: @minnory @faith2155 @stardream14 @akari-rosefield

[nilsavatar]

When is the next chapter of the biting franchise coming?

Hi there!

I'm still writing it. I think we're halfway through it before I publish it, so it won't be long. Ideally, I will publish it by this weekend or early next week.

Thank you so much for following up on this @akari-rosefield, I really appreciate it!

[nilsavatar]

DAY 23 - BITING part 3

Parings: Neteyam x Fem!human

PART 1, PART 2, PART 4

Genre/Warnings: fluff, ANGST, introspective, delicate themes (hibrid pregnacy, political and ideals conflict). All characters are AGED-UP. This the sequel of the @layla2-49 request used to fullfil the promp day 23 of lunakinktober 2023

Summary: Following the unexpected pairing that occurred at the Tree of Souls, after connecting as only two Na'vi normally could, Celeste and Neteyam entertain a clandestine relationship. Several times they have discussed coming out, but the girl is too prey to her insecurities as a human to do so. It is Eywa who will decide for both of them with a disconcerting revelation: they have conceived a hybrid child.

Word Count: 4,2k

Masterlist - Request a fic

The two lovers stood at the base of Kelutral (Hometree), its massive, ancient roots twisting into the earth like the very veins of Eywa herself. The light of Pandora’s bioluminescent flora pulsed gently around them, illuminating the somber expressions of the assembled Omatikaya—warriors, elders, and family—who had been summoned to hear the truth. Something that couldn’t be avoided any longer.

Beside them, Kiri and Spider remained close, silent pillars of support before what was sure to be an overwhelming revelation. Lo’ak stayed slightly apart, arms crossed, shifting his weight uneasily, torn between loyalty to his brother and the growing concern about what this revelation would mean for their people.

At the center of it all, perched upon a woven platform of vines and wood, was Mo’at. The tsahìk, Nawna Sa’nok’s voice among the clan, studied her grandson with inquisitive intensity. Though she had lived long enough to witness many great changes, there was something about the tension in the air that even she could not ignore.

“Grandmother,” Neteyam finally spoke, his tone firm but weighted with hesitation. “We come to you with a truth that must be shared. A truth that will change everything. She did not respond; only tilted her head, watching, waiting. He exhaled sharply before forcing the words aloud, under her scrutiny now concentrated on how his hand found Celeste’s—so small in comparison, yet she could sense a proud energy vibrating beneath her skin.

“Cel is with child."

A silence fell over the gathering, heavy and suffocating. For a moment, it seemed as if the planet itself had stilled, holding its breath. Then, commotion spread like wildfire; gasps, words of disbelief and shock contorting their features. “That’s impossible,” one of the hunters muttered. “She is tawtute (human),” another scoffed. “Such a thing cannot be."

Mo’at’s look remained unreadable, though her grip tightened on the staff she held. She finally rose to her feet, her presence commanding even in the face of such upheaval. “Is it true?” Her voice was steady, but a flicker of concern, doubt, and awe altogether crossed her visage. Norm, who had accompanied the young couple, stepped forward tentatively. “It is, tsahìk,” he confirmed. “We ran every test possible. She is pregnant. There’s no mistake."

A deep, disapproving growl rumbled from the crowd. It came from Tsentey, one of the oldest and most traditionalist warriors among them—a Na’vi who had long been wary of human influence. He had opposed Jake Sully’s leadership in the past, even if he had ultimately submitted to the clan’s will. But now, his old grievances resurfaced like poison in an open wound.

“An abomination,” the man spat, his voice rough with disdain, his knife-like gaze fixed on Neteyam. “First, we accepted a sky demon as our olo’eyktan. Then, his children, the offspring of an unnatural vessel. And now, this? A half-blood brings forth a child with one of them?” His nostrils flared, his disgust well displayed. “I must have been blind to believe you wouldn’t follow the same path as your parents.” The prince bristles, his tail flicking vehemently. “Watch your mouth, sempul,” he warned, tone filled with controlled fury. Tsentey’s lips curled. “You are not son of mine,” he hissed, dismissing the familial and courteous term with venom.

Lo’ak marched forward, but Kiri grabbed his arm, holding him back, intimating him not to worsen the already tense situation. Others in the clan began whispering, and it became clear that while many were simply stunned, there was a portion of the elders who were truly disturbed. “This must be a trick of the vrrtep (demons),” someone said. “Or a corruption of Eywa’eveng (Pandora) balance."

Pey’lan, another warrior—older than the Sully brothers but still young enough to be more prone to novelty and renovation than others—frowned deeply but did not immediately brush off the news. “If this is true, then perhaps it isn’t simply corruption, but an… evolution. One the Great Mother has allowed.” Tsentey grunted once more. “Nawna Sa’nok would never allow this.” “And yet, here we are,” Neytiri countered at last. “Do you truly claim to understand all of Eywa’s will?”

His eyes darkened as he turned back to the reason for such tumult and hate. “And what of your leadership, ma’Neteyam? You were to lead our people. But now? You are tainted by human touch, and now your little mate carries a curse.” “What are you trying to say?” intervened Jake, who had been silent thus far. His expression was heavy, his gaze piercing and aggravated. “Perhaps your son was never meant to rule. Perhaps your decision to give your bloodline a place among us was a sin."

A murmur rippled through the crowd. It was a dangerous thought, one that had lurked in the minds of some elders for years but had never been spoken aloud—until now.

“Enough.” Neytiri's voice cut through the sillness like a blade before anyone could speak again. As the weight of the accusations against her son and mate pressed down upon them, she could no longer hold her tongue. “My husband fought for this clan. Bled for us. Abandoned his tawtute self for us. He has honored the ways of the Omatikaya. If you question our son’s right to lead, then you question his right to have ever led.”

The warrior squared his shoulders. “In fact, I do. I questioned your mate when he was made olo’eyktan. And now I question the half-blood who will take his place with a demon woman beside him.” “So you also second guess Tsu’tey’s choice when he accepted Jake as Toruk Makto. And my father, who let him gain his place among us. And yet, my husband led us through war and saved our People.” “This is not war, Neytiri,” Tsentey countered, his voice hard. “This is our way of life. Your son—our future leader—has brought something into our world that was never meant to be.” “My son,” the woman said, stepping closer, her posture rigid, predatory, protective, “is Na’vi. He was raised in our ways.” Her voice trembled with emotion, but her eyes never wavered. “You question his blood? Then you question mine. You question me."

Tsentey faltered for the first time. Neytiri was a daughter of Eytukan and Mo’at, raised in the oldest tradition of their People. To call her son unworthy was to suggest that her lineage had been spoiled. That she, too, had been polluted. Nobody could deny the dismay when she chose one of them as well. Still, Jakesuli has an avatar, he looked like them, but Celeste? She was, in all respects, human. A constant reminder of their suffering, of what they went through. Of the man who was the hand in much of this pain.

Miles Quaritch.

“I question the Sky People’s hold on us,” the elder corrected, though his voice had lost some of its fire. “I ask what happens when we forget who we are.” Neytiri let out a harsh breath, her fists clenching at her sides. “And what are we, Tsentey? A People so afraid of change that we turn away from Eywa's will?” Her own tone dropped lower, more dangerous. “Do you think I wanted this?” She gestured to Celeste, to the young human woman carrying her son’s child in her womb, her voice raw. “Do you think I wished for my son to love one of them? I wanted him to find a strong mate among our People and lead with the pride of our ancestors. But he chose this path, and Eywa allowed it.”

The girl felt her stomach twist. Neytiri’s words stung, but she couldn’t blame her. All Na’vi stirred at their meaning. Eytukan’s daughter had never been one to embrace transformation, nor had she ever fully trusted humans, even after decades of peace. If even she had come to accept what had happened, what did that mean?

Tsentey’s jaw tightened. “Then perhaps Nawna Sa’nok has abandoned us.”

A horrified murmur rippled through the clan. Mo’at’s eyes darkened. “Mind your tongue, Tsentey.” But he did not back down. “We have strayed too far,” he pressed on. “How do we know this unnatural thing will not bring disaster upon us?” Neteyam’s patience snapped. “You speak as though my child is a monster to be feared.” His tone was a deep snarl, his tail lashing behind him and his ears glued to his skull. “The only ones acting like monsters are those who refused to listen to the Great Mother’s will."

Pey’lan nodded, stepping forward once more. “Eywa does not make mistakes. She is showing us a new path.” But for every voice that rose in their defense, another rose against them. “This is a betrayal of our ways!” “This child is an aberration.” “If we let this happen, what comes next?” The divide in the clan had never felt so real.

Jake took a slow breath, stepping beside Neytiri, his face hard. “I know fear when I see it,” he said. “I know what it does to people. It makes them lash out, makes them desperate. But fear isn’t a reason to reject something we don’t understand. It’s a reason to learn.”Tsentey scoffed. “Learn what? How to forget our ways? To let the Sky People infect us further?” Neytiri stepped forward again, her voice sharp. “You have always hated my mate,” she hissed. “Do not pretend this is only about my grandchild. This is about you. Your pride. Your unwillingness to see beyond what you know.”

Tsentey’s ears flattened, but he did not deny it. The clan murmured again, torn. A weight settled over them, a fracture that had long been forming, but now, with news of Celeste’s pregnancy, the crack had splid wide open. The tsahìk, who had been obeserving quietly, lifted a hand with a pained but determined expression. The crowd fell into hushed susurrations while her eyes lingered on her daughter before shifting back to her grandson. “You believe the Great Mother has decided this?” She asked, the tone in her voice grave. “I do,” Neteyam answered right away. “She led us to one another, guided our connection. This child is not an accident: it’s a sign.” The old woman took a long breath through her flat nose, her look indecipherable. “I must speak with Nawna Sa’nok,” she declared as to shut any other opinions. “This is beyond my knowledge. Come.” His mate faltered, “Come where?” “To commute with Eywa.”

A ripple of uncertainty passed through the gathered Na’vi. Some nodded in approval, believing that only Eywa’s wisdom could determine the truth of this unprecedented event. Others remained tense, fearful of what it would mean if the Great Mother did not respond—or worse, if she rejected Celeste entirely.

Neteyam’s grip on his mate’s hand tightened. “I will go with her.”“No,” his grandmother said firmly. “She must do this alone.” The girl’s stomach twisted with unease, but she nodded. “If this is what it takes to prove my child belongs, I’ll do it.” Kiri rested a hand on her shoulder. “You are strong, sister.” She offered a weak smile at those words before following Mo’at. As they disappeared into the glowing forest, the clan remained divided. Some whispered words of hope. Others steeled themselves against what they saw as a decay of their people.

And all the while, a windstorm gathered over Pandora, ready to reshape the world as they knew it.

The journey to the Tree of Souls was made in silence. Celeste followed Mo’at through the bioluminescent undergrowth, her heartbeat loud in her ears. The deeper they ventured into the sacred forest, the denser the air felt—charged, alive, pulsing with something beyond comprehension. The tsahìk moved with the certainty of one who had walked this path countless times. The human girl, however, felt like an intruder, like a shadow in a place that had never been meant for her. Yet, she was here. Eywa had brought her here.

As they emerged into the clearing, Cel’s breath caught in her throat The Tree of Souls towered before her, its luminescent tendrils swaying as though sensing their arrival. The atmosphere was thick with the hum of life, a presence so vast and encompassing that it pressed against her skin, wrapped around her like unseen hands. She could feel it—not just see it or hear it, but feel it—something ancient, grand, noble.

Mo’at turned to face her, her gaze honed yet not unkind. “You step before Eywa now, child,” the tsahìk said. “You will ask, and she will answer. If she chooses to.” Celeste swallowed, hands instinctively drifting to her abdomen. The thought of what she was about to do sent a shiver up her spine. This was more than just a ritual. It was a plea. The woman motioned for her to lay before the great tree, the ground beneath was soft, warm, almost pulsing like a heartbeat.

Then she reached forward, grasping one of the glowing tendrils and offering it to the girl. “Take it,” she instructed. “You must connect.” Celeste hesitated only for a moment before reaching out with trembling fingers. As soon as she touched the vine, something cold and electric rushed up her arm, her breathing hitched as she carefully guided the glowing tendrils toward her nape.

As the connection was made, the world around her vanished. Only the purple hues of dusk, which softly spread between the foliage of the great sacred tree, remained vivid in her now closed eyes. Mo'at, her face marked with wrinkles and wisdom, dipped her hands into a pearlescent solution taken directly from the heart of the trunk, intoning a prayer, then gently placed them on the girl's belly.

The girl was no longer in the clearing. She was standing in a vast, endless space—a sky without stars, a sea without water. A place of nothing, and yet, everything. She turned, searching, calling out, but no voice escaped her lips.

Then, a presence. A whisper in the void. A single breath of wind, stirring the silence like ripples on water. And then she saw her.

A woman, Na’vi in form but glowing with a light that was not of this world. Her form was woven from strands of living energy, shifting between physical and ephemeral. Her eyes—vast, knowing—pierced through her as though seeing not just her body but her soul, her very essence.

Cel knew, without needing to be told, who this was. “Eywa,” she whispered. The Great Mother did not speak in words, but she felt the response deep inside her, as though the very air was communicating with her thoughts.

Why do you come, child of two worlds?

The human breath trembled. “I seek answers,” she admitted. “I carry life within me, but it should not be possible. I am not Na’vi.” Eywa was silent for a long moment, her glowing form pulsing with a rhythm she could not understand. Then, like a whisper against her skin, came the response.

Life finds a way where it is meant to.

Celeste frowned. “But… how? How is this possible? No Na’vi and human have ever…” Eywa’s light shifted, and suddenly, Celeste saw. A vision unraveled before her—fragments of moments that did not belong to her, yet somehow, she felt them. She saw herself beneath the Tree of Voices, joined with Neteyam, their connection deeper than flesh, deeper than thought. She saw the glowing roots of the tree wrapping around her, pulsing, binding. She saw the strange, tubular growths that had formed at the base of her skull in those sacred moments, the fleeting connection she had barely understood at the time.

And then she saw her child. Not yet born, but already a part of something greater. A thread in the great weave of life that Eywa spun across Pandora. The Tree of Voices had not merely connected her to Neteyam. It had changed her. Maybe not in form, but in body and in something deeper, in a way no human had ever been before. In spirit.

She gasped as the realization struck her: her baby was not a mistake. Not an anomaly. Eywa had allowed this. Eywa had willed this. “Why?” she whispered, voice raw. “Why me?” The presence of Eywa did not waver.

You were chosen, as all life is chosen. You have walked the path, become part of the song. Your child is not the end of balance, but the beginning of a new one.

Tears welled in Celeste’s eyes. “But the People… they fear this. They will reject me. They will reject my child. They already have.” Eywa’s form pulsed, and for the first time, Celeste felt something like a sorrow so vast it spanned lifetimes.

Change is always met with hatred. But balance does not exist without it.

Her heart clenched. The deity had not said that the People would accept her child. She had not said that there would be no hardship, no pain, no struggle. Only that this was the path, that it was meant to be.

Celeste’s vision blurred with tears. “Will my child survive?” she whispered. Eywa’s light dimmed slightly, as if the answer was not hers to give.

You must walk that path to know.

Celeste felt her chest tighten, but before she could say more, the vision shattered.

Though I’ll tell you this. You may not be Na'vi, but you were born here. You are part of my beloved children even if appearances say otherwise.

She gasped as she was thrust back into her body, the connection with the Tree of Souls severed. Her body felt heavy, as if she had been drained of something vital. She collapsed on her side, breathing hard, with one last sentence chanting in her ears.

Trust who you are, ma’ite.

Mo’at knelt beside her, eyes sharp, searching. “What did you see?” The girl swallowed, her entire body trembling. “Eywa… she planned this.” She pressed a hand to her abdomen. “My child is meant to be.” The old woman studied her carefully before finally nodding, as though she had already known the answer. “The People will not all believe,” she warned. “There will be fear. Conflict.” Celeste looked up, her eyes filled with something new—not just conviction, but welcome. “I know,” she whispered. “But I will fight for my child, for my mate. For this new future.”

Mo’at let out a slow breath, then helped her to her feet. “Then we must return,” she said. “And you must prepare yourself for what comes next.” Celeste nodded, wiping the last of her tears. She did not know what the future would bring, but she knew one thing for certain.

This was only the beginning.

A whisper went through the living net as the two re-emerged from the forest under the glow of Pandora’s night. The bioluminescence pulsed around them, yet to the sky girl, the forest no longer felt like a place on uncertainty. It was alive in a way she had never fully grasped before, as if she was noticing just now its true beauty, its essence. She carries the weight of their deity’s message in her heart, and, as she stepped into the gathering once more, she soon realized with even greater force that knowing the truth and making others embrace it were two entirely different things.

The moment Mo’at took the lead in front of her, with Neteyam besides her, the murmuring crowd fell quiet, a demonstration of her absolute authority; all eyes were on her. Still not a silence of peace—it was the calm before the storm. The tsahìk's eyes, wide open and tense, swept across the People. “Eywa has spoken,” she declared in a tone full of reverence, her voice strong, echoing through the assembly. “Celeste brings life. A child of the bond between heaven and earth. The first sign of a path Nawna Sa’nok set for us many cycles ago.” Her wistful gazed darted to her own daughter.

The revelation fell like lightning. The crowd exploded in an uproar of emotion. Some clan members knelt, seeing the event as a divine sign; others cried out in fear and bewilderment, claiming it was an affront to the natural order. Neteyam stood up, his face alight with determination. “If Eywa has chosen this, then it is her will. We cannot defy her.” But his words did not quell the chaos. “This is corruption!” Tsentey broke the agitation, his deep voice thick with anger, while a devious glare landed on Celeste, fill with something more than just disapproval. It was bare, irrational phobia, disguised as something worse than simple rage, shadier, brutal only as when self-preservation animal instinct rises to the surface, overriding rationality.

What might have sprung from that primal emotion chilled the blood in Spider's veins, as he pushed himself just in time between his sister and her mate, to shield her as the latter responded to the threat with equal aggression. A single quick vocalization exhaled from his open mouth, his jaw tense, his teeth clearly in view. His ears were folded and his nose curled up as he leaned forward menacingly, still hissing, his hand ready to adversely grip the hilt of the knife hanging from his chest. Tsentey was a seasoned warrior, but age had slowed him down; he could have done nothing in a physical confrontation with a brawny youth, forged by a lifetime of training mixed with youthful prowess and the drive that only protecting his mate can trigger.

The elder had to rely on intelligence rather than strength. He already overstepped by challenging both the olo’eyktan and his son's role, he couldn’t afford duel with the next in line to the throne without risking been exiled. That would be too much even for a clan as democratic as the Omatikaya was. “Don’t you see? The alien is already turning us against each other. This is not the will of Eywa—it is a deception, a sickness brought by those demons. It threatens everything we are!”

Celeste flinched at the venom in his voice, but Neteyam took a step forward, guarding her from the weight of Tsentey’s words. His tail flicked in agitation, but his voice remained calm. “She’s pandorian just like us” he stated, his golden eyes locking onto the older warrior’s. “She has been raised in respect of our customs. If even the Great Mother acknowledging her as her daughter is not enough, tell me—what else must she do to earn your approval? What have she not yet given?”

Tsentey did not respond immediately, but his silence spoke louder than his words. “Get rid of it.” A murmur of agreement rippled through some of the warriors and elders. Others shifted uneasily, torn between respect for the leading family and their own deep-seated beliefs. “We can tolerate half-bloods with Na’vi features, even close an eye on your repulsive relationship, but an off-spring generated from the of you? No, we can’t let such a monstrosity live among us, grow alongside our children.”

Another snarl escaped Neteyam’s throat and this time, if it wasn’t for his father grip on his arm, the situation would have escalated into tragedy. “Calm down, son. Don't give in to his provocations or you'll play into his hands,” Jake wispered in his ear. “He's tryin’ to make you lose control so he can prove that my legacy is infected with humanity. That Cel is deviating you with her sinful nature.” The prince was desperate to retort, but he gritted his teeth and nodded dryly; his father was right. That was all Tsentey’s plan to destroy the Sullys.

“You are so blinded by your sky demon girl, ma’Neteyam, that you do not even realize that you are endangering her. Is that what true love is? Making her meet something unknown, uncontrollable. It might even kill her, ‘itan (son).”

What a sly bastard.

Kiri exhaled slowly, then turned to Mo’at. “Grandmother,” she said, his voice quieter than usual, steadier, “Eywa has spoken. What must we do?” The woman's gaze fixed on the ones who were uncertain, the ones who were afraid, and the ones who were ready to embrace what had come to pass. She let the silence stretch, forcing them all to sit with their thoughts. Finally, she spoke. “Change is not a choice,” she said. “It comes whether we will it or not. We have seen this before. When the Sky People came. When they destroyed our home. When we fought. When some of them chose to stay. When some of them were born here.” She looked at Spider and Celeste now. “This child is part of that change. It is neither a blessing nor a curse. It simply is. Not the end of our People, only the beginning of something greater.”

The clan listened, the weight of her words settling into their bones. That child was a bridge between two worlds, two species, two opposites; something that could lead to understanding, a future where humans and Na’vi were no longer enemies.

Mo’at turned back to Tsentey. “You do not have to welcome it,” she told him. “But you will respect it.” The man jaw clenched, his tail flicking sharply. But he did not speak.

The stillness that followed was not one of agreement but of division. The clan was fractured. Some would support them. Some would oppose them. And some, like Tsentey, would never accept them. Mo’at exhaled deeply. “The People will decide,” she said at last. “But Eywa has already.”

And with those words, the future of the Omatikaya hung in the balance.

Taglist: @minnory

[nilsavatar]

DAY 23 - BITING part 2

Parings: Neteyam x Fem!human

PART 1, PART 3, PART 4

Genre/Warnings: fluff, ANGST, introspective, delicate themes (hibrid pregnacy). All characters are AGED-UP. This the sequel of the @layla2-49 request used to fullfil the promp day 23 of lunakinktober 2023

Summary: Following the unexpected pairing that occurred at the Tree of Souls, after connecting as only two Na'vi normally could, Celeste and Neteyam entertain a clandestine relationship. Several times they have discussed coming out, but the girl is too prey to her insecurities as a human to do so. It is Eywa who will decide for both of them with a disconcerting revelation: they have conceived a hybrid child.

Word Count: 4k

Masterlist - Request a fic

Celeste had been... different ever since Neteyam had brought her back to the human compound after collecting panopyra samples in the forest. Brighter, in a way. She visited Hometree more willingly and more often, interacting with the village women who now welcomed her with smiles and involved her in their activities whenever possible; she had discovered a particular talent for dyeing accessories the Omatikaya used to adorn their bodies with.

A soft half-smile spread across Spider’s lips as he watched her playing with a group of children on a nearby platform. They were about Tuk’s age, more or less, but already as tall as the girl, who wasn’t exactly towering herself compared to her twin brother. A genetic joke between heterozygotes. He would have lingered longer on seeing his sister finally out of the lab, out of her shell—he would have even laughed at the odd hairstyle the kids were braiding into her hair—but his gaze was drawn elsewhere. Specifically, to the Sully brothers, who were descending with long strides down the path carved into the massive tree trunk that served as a home for the entire clan, each carrying a yerik carcass over their shoulders. Another successful hunt, he thought with a twinge of envy.

How much he would have loved to prove his worth by helping sustain the People, but Spider was just a human. Not to mention Nash and Mary would have killed him if he even tried. And Celeste, especially Celeste!

Following the instructions of an elder hunter, the two young men carried their prey to a tent, where it would be skinned and butchered. When they reemerged, the brothers were playfully shoving each other and exchanging teasing remarks. Neteyam was already cleaning his arrows checking them for any damage. Amidst an “I did a cleaner kill” and a “My shot was more precise”, Spider joined the conversation with his typical warm greeting. “Back already?” “Missed us?” “Nah, I could’ve done without that skxawng face of yours.” The jab was meant as a joke, but Spider couldn’t quite hide the unease—and the faint irritation—from his tone. At least when it came to Lo’ak, they knew each other far too well. That irrational sense of protective older-brother energy was definitely misplaced.

“You’ve noticed it too, haven’t you?” “Depends on what we’re talking about.” “Teyam’s been acting strange lately.” That phrase was music to his ears, the confirmation that it wasn’t all in his head. But he decided to let his friend elaborate before sharing his concerns. He wanted evidence, not just vague conjectures. “Like what?” “I don’t know, bro. He doesn’t scold me like he usually does. He’s less uptight, whether we’re hunting or training. He smiles more, but he seems distracted a lot of the time. It’s like…” “He’s in love,” Spider finished for him. “Yeah. But you know how private he is. No one can get him to say who the girl is.” “Any idea who it might be?” “Nothing solid. Mom thinks it could be Nirat. Like her mother, she’s an excellent singer, but I don’t think that’s the kind of thing that would sway him enough to choose her as a mate.” “Mm, I agree. He’s not the type to be won over so easily. Singing is a beautiful talent, but just because it’s been decided that the next generation of leaders will be a brother-sister duo doesn’t mean Teyam’s standards for finding a strong mate to support the clan would change.” “Yeah, it can’t be Nirat, even though she’d kill for it to be her.”

Spider’s eyes drifted back to the person in question, who wasn’t even trying to hide how intently he was watching the human girl. The expression on his face was that of someone who had just put all the pieces together. “You know who it is?” “Let’s just say I have an idea. But I need confirmation.” As if some higher power had decided to fulfill his words, the decisive proof appeared before their incredulous eyes.

Nirat, dressed to the nines, with a flower tucked into her loose hair—a clear sign of her availability for courtship—made her way through the hunters to reach the future olo’eyktan. The beads adorning her ankles and wrists jingled with every step as she swayed her hips and fluttered her thick black lashes. At another time, Spider would have enjoyed the show, complete with boisterous chuckles and suggestive elbow nudges to Lo’ak, not holding back his commentary on the assertiveness of certain Na’vi women. Instead, his attention instinctively shifted back to his sister, whose expression spoke volumes.

Her lips were pressed into a deep pout, her wide, furious eyes fixed in a murderous glare at the eldest Sully. Her chest rose and fell in quick, frantic breaths, the intensity of which fogged up her mask. And then, the moment of drama. Mumbling some excuse, she got up despite the children’s protests. With a stormy expression, she left the clearing and returned to her refuge of experiments and disinfectants. But even with her head bowed, she couldn’t hide from her brother the fact that she was about to burst into tears—or from Neteyam.

The warrior brushed off the would-be suitor and moved to run after her, but Spider stopped him just in time, a hand on his torso to hold him in place. “Let her cool off. Talking to her now won’t do any good.” Neteyam opened his mouth to argue, to defend himself, but he knew his friend was right. In her current state, the girl would only push him away and retreat further into herself, buried in her stupid sense of inferiority and not belonging—even though the Great Mother herself had shown her otherwise. Gritting his teeth, his ears pinned back against his head, he looked for a moment past the human in the direction where Spider’s sister had disappeared. Then, with a sigh that deepened his already gloomy expression, he met his glare again and nodded. But before he could turn on his heel and retreat into his own bubble of frustration, Spider stopped him again. “What are your intentions with my sister?” It was pointless to evade the question, and in any case, Neteyam wasn’t the type.

Once she returned to the cold walls of the compound, Celeste did what she did best: locked herself in the lab, where the only sources of light were the plexiglass tanks and the computer monitors. One, to be precise, was on at that moment: hers. She sat there as though hiding from something, or rather someone. Someone who knew exactly where to find her. Her nerves were on edge, her suspicious eyes darting at every faint sound her feeble human ears could pick up.

Her irritated gaze flitted from the tablet in her hand to the tall figure that had just stepped across the threshold, the faint screech of the sliding door announcing his presence. Before her, in the dim room, the panopyra tank cast pale violet lights onto the young scientist’s face. Inside, the curious zooplantae drifted gracefully and hypnotically. Its presence seemingly consuming all of Celeste Socorro’s time and energy.

The supporting roots had intertwined to form a stem now, firmly anchored to the tank’s lid. From its core, several ends branched out to hold up the wide, inverted dome. Small, symmetrical dots outlined its surface, converging at the center, from which luminous tentacles extended. They now reacted to the insistent probing of mechanical fingers. At the ends of these, ultra-thin needles penetrated various points of the lively tentacles, immediately recording the data collected in the computerized system that Celeste held in her hands. Her goal? Entirely ignoring him.

The Na'vi couldn’t bring himself to break the silence immediately. He stood still, observing the scene for several long moments, trying to figure out how to approach her without making things worse. The way she moved—mechanical, precise, almost frantic—told him more than any words could. She was shaken. Hurt. She turned her back to him when Neteyam didn’t take the silent cue to leave. “I’m busy.” She was still mad. Fair enough. The warrior armed himself with his best smile, hoping to ease the tension. “I thought you might be hungry,” he said, setting the tray he had been carrying onto the table. “You’ve been in here for hours.”

Celeste felt a warm blush flood her cheeks. She bit the inside of her cheek until that familiar metallic taste of blood spread on her tongue. She wanted to set down the data pad, hug him, thank him for the thoughtful gesture, and tell him how sweet he was, but she was too angry to give in. If anything, seeing him only irritated her more. She could still picture Nirat wrapping herself around him like a jellyfish. Like the panopyra she was studying. So she asked, caustically, if he was stalking her, turning just in time to catch the hurt and disappointed look on his face.

“Yawne,” he said, all his regret poured into that single affectionate word, and guilt hit her like a punch to the gut. She knew Neteyam—his sense of loyalty, his serious and honorable nature. He wasn’t a playboy, nor someone who toyed with women for amusement. It wasn’t fitting for a leader, and more importantly, it wasn’t in his character. But she let her insecurities take over. Deep down, Celeste knew no one would approve of their relationship. It didn’t matter that the current olo’eyktan was human: Jake had an avatar; physically, he had more in common with a Na’vi than humans. And he was Toruk Makto. She had nothing to offer the clan… or Neteyam. She couldn’t become a member of the Omatikaya, and despite the tsahìk question being resolved by Kiri, young Socorro couldn’t promise him anything, least of all a family. What had been happening for months at the Tree of Souls—those strange tubular growths the roots formed at the base of her neck when they made love—meant nothing.

“Share your thoughts with me, Cel. Please.” She pressed her lips together, her shoulders rigid. “You should court Nirat,” she said curtly, trying to keep her composure. It felt like a stab to the heart. “… What?” “She’ll make an excellent mate. She’s beautiful, well-liked, and has a lovely voice that lifts spirits.” Well-liked? He wanted to ask sarcastically—Nirat was a snake. “We should tell the truth about us,” he answered instead, with that infuriatingly calm tone he knew drove her mad, though it masked a deep inner turmoil: the fear of what she might say next, words that could break his heart. “Everyone will know, and Nirat will get over it. I’m taken.” His response made the girl falter, her breathing slowed almost imperceptibly, but the fire in her eyes didn’t entirely die. “You just don’t get it, do you? I’m human, Teyam. I’ll always be out of place. Always… less. No matter what I do, I’ll never be like you. Never enough to truly belong in this world.” Neteyam took a step forward, slowly, cautiously. “You don’t need to be like us, Cel. You need to be yourself—that’s what makes you special. That’s what makes me see you, even when I look at everything else.”

Her eyes widened, startled by those loving words, which seemed to slip out before the young Na’vi could stop them. For a moment, she was speechless, her heart pounding in her chest, and he stepped closer, now only a breath away. He looked her directly in the eyes, unwavering. “I don’t know how to say this without sounding foolish,” he murmured. “I see you, Celeste. I have for a long time. When I whisper what I feel to you at the Tree of Souls, those aren’t just words said in the heat of the moment. I felt your spirit bond with mine. You’re a part of me. And when you hurt, I hurt too.”

She met his gaze, her expression pained. “But at what cost? You’re destined to lead your people. How can you do that with someone like me by your side? Even if the clan has learned to tolerate me, it doesn’t change the fact that I’m human.” The prince shook his head, his tone softening with a faint smile. “I’m not Eywa, tìyawn. I don’t know all her plans. But I know one thing. She wouldn’t have united us if our love was wrong.” Celeste swallowed, the words caught in her throat. She felt vulnerable, exposed, as though Neteyam had just torn down all the walls she had built around herself. “I… I don’t know what to say,” she admitted, her voice barely audible. “You don’t have to say anything,” he replied with a small smile. “Just don’t run away from me anymore. Please.”

A heavy silence fell between them, broken only by the faint hum of the machinery. Celeste lowered her gaze, biting her lip. Then, with hesitation that spoke of years of insecurity, she gave a small nod. “We’ll explain to them that Eywa chose you for me. We are mated before the Great Mother.” “Sure, we’ll tell them how that plant intoxicated us, and while we were… you know… the roots of the Tree of Voices somehow created a temporary kuru so we could connect. Nothing weird about that!” “Yawne,” he whispered, kneeling to press his forehead against hers, a gesture that felt more comforting than anything else. “Don’t underestimate our families. They’ll understand. Deep down, they probably always suspected this would happen—it was only a matter of time.” The scientist let out a tired smile, though doubt still flickered in her eyes. “I wish I could believe it’s that simple.” “You know you’re sexy when you’re jealous?” “Stop it, moron.” She blushed, shy but unable to suppress the warm laugh that finally broke the tension that had built up over weeks of secret moments and arguments. With that open confrontation, they accepted the challenges and joys their union would bring. Neteyam gently cupped her face, his fingers strong yet tender, brushing over her human skin with the reverence reserved for something sacred. They seemed suspended in perfect calm, and just as they were about to seal everything with a kiss, a strange sound escaped her lips. An unexpected spasm interrupted the moment as Celeste doubled over, one hand to her mouth, the other clutching her stomach. She rushed to the sink as violent retching overtook her. The young Na’vi steadied her firmly, his face etched with concern. “It must’ve been something I ate. It’s nothing,” she said between ragged breaths, trying to downplay it, but it wasn’t nothing.

In the following days, the girl continued to suffer from nausea and growing weakness. Despite her reluctance, Neteyam insisted she get visited. “I don’t want to alarm the clan or make them think there’s a problem, especially now that we’ve decided to go public,” she argued, trying to pacify him. “We need to figure out what’s happening. This has to be serious to leave you like this,” he said, his voice soft but resolute. Celeste sighed, resting a hand on her forehead. “Maybe it’s just stress. There’s no need to panic.” He shook his head, determined. “It’s not normal for you to be like this. Please, get checked out. If you won’t do it for yourself, do it for me—for Spider.” His golden eyes were filled with worry.

When her symptoms worsened, she had no choice.

The infirmary was quiet, lit only by the soft glow of lamps—a bubble of technological modernity nestled within Pandora's untamed beauty. Norm and Max worked with the scanning equipment while the girl lay on the exam table, her face pale and marked by exhaustion. For days, she had suffered from dizziness and an inexplicable heaviness. As the machine hummed softly, scanning her body, she sought comfort in Neteyam’s gaze. He knelt by her side, his fingers fidgeting nervously. Behind them stood Spider, arms crossed, his expression unreadable. Though they tried to appear calm, their eyes betrayed a growing unease.

After what felt like an eternity, Max’s eyes widened, glued to the screen in disbelief and a hint of fear. “This… this isn’t possible,” he said, his voice trembling slightly. Celeste sat up, alarmed. “What isn’t possible?” The doctor double-checked the readings, frowning. “There’s no sign of infection or poisoning. Your vital signs are stable, but…” He hesitated, glancing at Norm. “What?” she whispered. Max took a deep breath and pointed at the screen. “There’s an unusual reading… Though maybe calling it unusual isn’t accurate.” “What do you mean?” Neteyam leaned forward, his golden eyes fixed on the monitor, staring at the dark speck on the display. With another sigh, Max activated a 3D image showing a tiny, pulsating structure, barely perceptible. “You’re pregnant.”

The room fell into an oppressive, deafening silence. The patient stared at the dark speck on the monitor, unable to form a response. Her heart pounding louder than the sound of the equipment, she finally whispered, “There must be a mistake. Neteyam and I… we’re biologically incompatible.” Norm nodded slowly. “In theory, you’re right. But I’ve checked the parameters once again. There’s no mistake. All the signs are there: elevated hormones, physiological changes, and an embryonic presence. Sweetheart, it’s happened—you’re truly pregnant.”

Despite feeling her grip on his fingers tighten, Neteyam couldn’t tear his eyes away from the medical terminal. The voices around him faded into a distant echo, as though he couldn’t fully process what he was hearing and seeing. This was news no one had ever anticipated—something no one had ever considered as it was supposed to be impossible. Behind them, Spider paced back and forth, his hands buried in his dreadlocks. “No, no, no.” He shook his head, unable to accept what they were saying. “There has to be another explanation. Maybe some genetic mutation, or…” He trailed off, his voice trembling.

A whirlwind of thoughts spun through the mind of the Omatikaya prince, visions of a hazy future, each scenario more terrifying than the last, all culminating in the absence of the woman he loved. “What are we supposed to do now?” Cel… the baby. Everything felt so… uncertain. “It all depends on what you decide to do,” Norm suggested, a clear implication hanging in the air. “Terminate the pregnancy?” “… it’s the simplest option.”

Celeste’s eyes filled with tears. As much as her rational side whispered that this was the most logical and risk-free solution, she already felt a deep connection to the being growing inside her. As though she sensed there was something larger at play than just motherhood, a bond with… “Eywa,” she murmured simply. “The effect of the panopyra, our union at the Tree of Voice, this,” she wrapped her arms protectively around her stomach. “The Great Mother united us for a reason, but this child… it’s a hybrid, yawne. We don’t know what that entails, or what will happen to your health. And no one here can help us. Your technology isn’t equipped to handle these kinds of… anomalies.” His heart pounded, his mind clashing with every possibility. How could he protect his mate and their child from a fate that seemed so dangerous? “Are you asking me to—?” “No! Eywa, no. I would never ask you to do that. But… I’m terrified, okay? You’re my person. It’s my job to protect you from harm, but how can I when I don’t understand what’s happening? I had come to terms with the fact that we wouldn’t have a family of our own. And being just us was enough for me, 'cause as long as I had you, nothing else mattered. But now… the most beautiful, incredible thing in the world has happened, and I can’t even celebrate it because it might…” He couldn’t bring himself to say the word.

The tension between them grew, and at that moment, another voice broke into the room. Spider, who had been silently sitting in the corner, sprang to his feet as if struck by lightning. His face was pale and strained, his eyes swollen with horror. The news had overwhelmed him. “This… this is too much! It’s not possible!” he shouted, his voice trembling. “You… Neteyam! How the hell did this happen?! How could you let this happen?!” Her brother's words, loaded with rage and panic, hit Neteyam like a punch. His face twisted. “This is all your fault! You’re Na’vi! This child…” Celeste stood up, frightened by her brother’s outburst, and took a step forward to intervene. “Spider, calm down… it’s no one’s fault. It’s not what you think.”

But Spider couldn’t contain his anxiety. His fear drove him to act without thinking. “You don’t understand! Do you know what you’re risking? This… this baby isn’t just a symbol of an impossible union—it’s a danger to you!” he shouted, his eyes filled with terror and disillusionment. “What will carrying a Na’vi-human hybrid do to your body? How much energy will it drain from you? Have you thought about how big the fetus will get before it’s born? How will you deliver it?”

Neteyam glared back at him with equal fury, his heart pounding, his posture stiff, his face tense. But there was also a sense of helplessness constricting him because, deep down, he didn’t know how to handle the situation either. The weight of responsibility and dread was crushing him. “I didn’t choose this, Spider. But it’s happened, and we have to face it together,” he said at last, trying to keep his voice steady. Spider, crushed, looked at the future olo’eyktan with eyes filled with both anger and anguish. “I can’t accept this,” he finally said, his voice reduced to a whisper.

It was at that moment that Kiri entered the room, sensing the intensity of the argument. When she saw him so agitated, she approached him calmly. “Monkey boy,” she said, her voice soothing. “This isn’t a threat. It’s proof of how great Eywa’s power is. This child… it’s not just a mistake. It’s a sign, something that goes beyond our fears.” Spider seemed shaken but couldn’t put aside the distress gnawing at him. Neteyam, though hearing the weight of Kiri’s words, still couldn’t let go of his worry. His need to protect Celeste was all-consuming, and the idea that she might be at such great risk devastated him.

Kiri’s face was calm yet resolute. “Brother, don’t be afraid. This is the path the Great Mother has chosen for you. Her decisions are always wise, even when we cannot fully understand them.” Her voice carried the gravity of an ancient truth, and silence filled the room. Then she approached Celeste gently, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. “This isn’t just your life at stake. This creature is a manifestation of the union of two opposite worlds, worlds that have been at odds until now. It’s the beginning of something new, a path forward together. We’ve seen signs of this connection. Your child is a blessing.”

Neteyam looked at his sister with eyes full of questions, but at last, a small glimmer of hope began to grow within him. Perhaps, despite all his fears, this child had a purpose beyond what he could see. Spider, though still harboring doubts, lowered his gaze. The consternation remained, but Kiri’s intervention seemed to have, at least, partially soothed his anxieties.

“We’ll do this together,” Celeste said, extending one hand toward her mate and the other toward her twin, her look locking with theirs, filled with an intensity they had never seen before. “We’ll face this future, whatever it may bring.” Neteyam took a deep breath, gathering the courage he needed. He didn’t have all the answers yet, but deep down, he knew he would stand by her side. And maybe, in time, he could learn to embrace this destiny that seemed impossible to comprehend.

“You can’t do this alone,” Kiri concluded. “Maybe it’s time to speak with Mo’at.”

[nilsavatar]

Neteyam won!

I'm not entirely surprised by the results, it's lovely that the fandom is so fond of our favourite mighty warrior. Still, I couldn't foresee how big the gap would be between him and the prospect of exploring other characters.

That said, I mentioned before that I had a couple of ideas in mind for Neteyam. I again ask for your help on which one to develop first.

Help me find inspiration🙏🏻💕

Even if it was a struggle and I had to face my insecurities, writing the Sarentu x Neteyam request pushed me out of my comfort zone, and finally wrote action scenes. Something I thought I couldn’t do.

I’m not satisfied with the outcome, but I’m happy to feel more at ease with the challenge now. It will surely help me with a project I've had in mind for years. So, thank you so much, Anon for the request. It also helped me get over the block I was experiencing, although the fic somewhat frustrated me.

Now, though, I have the problem that I would like to write more but I am running out of ideas. It would be amazing to get your input on what you would like to read.

As you know, I’m a Neteyam stan, I just love writing about him, and I have a couple of drafts that could be developed. At the same time, however, I was thinking it would be nice exploring some new characters. The videogame introduced many good ones, like So’lek and Okul.

[nilsavatar]

Your fic with Neteyam and The Sarentu was amazing I loved it! Would you be willing to write a fic about the Sarentu having a nightmare about being back in TAP? I just keep thinking about our characters reply to Anufi after saving her from being tortured by the RDA “Sky peoples air, one of Hardings favorite punishments” it’s horrifying that they would do that to literal children.

The Sky Breaker: Shadows of the Past

Parings: Neteyam x Fem!Sarentu (Ateyana)

Genre/Warnings: NSFW/MDNI +18, no use of Y/N, ANGST. All characters are AGED-UP. No smut, only fluff in the end, but still this story is not about romance, even if Sarentu’s relationship with Neteyam is mentioned. So'lek cameo as a brotherly figure for Sarentu.

!DISCLAIMER! Presence of dark and sensitive explicit themes: torture through poison, child abuse, trauma. Please do not read if these topics are not for you.

Little note: Thanks a million, Anon, for your request. It resonated with me so much that I couldn't wait in writing it, surprising myself with the speed I completed it with. Like you, I too was deeply disturbed by that part of the DLC, and even more so by the protagonist's hint about the abuse Harding allegedly inflicted on the Sarentu children. I usually wait at least a couple of days before posting to check for errors with a cool head, but this time I'm so impatient that I can't resist. I hope I managed to satisfactorily touch on all the points you listed, and that the end result reflects your expectations. Thank you again for the challenge you have given me, allowing me to explore even more of the world of Avatar, even in its darkest and most disturbing parts.

@hao-ming-8 you told me to tag you in case I write about So'lek. Although this story is not about So'lek, there is a part about him that reflects the ghosts of his past. I thought you might appreciate it.

Word Count: 5k

Masterlist - Request a fic

Yana crouched in the underbrush, her heart still hammering from the chaos of the last battle. The air was heavy with the acrid tang of scorched earth, a testament to the destruction wrought by the RDA. Beside her, Anufi set silently, the blue of her skin ashen, the fresh burns on her wrists standing stark against her flesh. Her silence haunted her almost as much as her own thoughts. Anufi’s rescue had been harrowing. Finding her facing the ground in a gas chamber where humans forced the Na'vi's lungs to choke on their poisonous atmosphere awakened an old, buried terror. Her hands trembled as she wiped sweat from her brow, memories unraveling in her mind before she could stop them.

She had been little more than a child when she, her sister and the others were taken into the RDA’s TAP. The Ambassador Program, they had called it, a name coated in the syrupy pretense of goodwill. To the humans, it was a symbol of diplomacy, and experiment in ‘peaceful coexistence’. Its true nature was something far darker—a carefully calculated project to mold Na’vi children into tools for the humans’ colonial ambitions. A gilded cage, where their culture, their independence, and even their spirit were systematically stripped away.

The Sky People smiled as they handed out data pads and notebooks, teaching the children about Earth’s history, science, and culture. But those smiles always hid something colder. They’d correct a mispronounced English word with thinly veiled frustration or scowl when a child struggled to manipulate human tools with their three-fingered hands. “It’s for your own good,” they’d say when a child wept, homesick for the forests of Pandora. “This is how you’ll help your people survive.”

Great responsibility for someone who was just a kid.

Aha’ri, however, saw through the lies. She had always been the bold one, the spark to Yana’s cautious flame. While the little sister obeyed quietly, biting back her discomfort, the older one would glare at the instructors with a defiance the set her apart. Her golden eyes, so full of fire, had  unnerved the RDA staff from the start. “That one’s trouble,” they’d mutter as she passed, but for a time, they tolerated her resistance. They wanted to shape her, too, to prove they could tame even the fiercest Na'vi.

Yana, on the other hand, was more thoughtful, more fearful and aware of the superiority the humans had over them because of their technological contraptions. They were on their own turf, here the soldiers and scientists were playing at home, driven by a cruelty and avarice against which a paltry little group of children could do nothing. Moved by this, the younger sister tried to temper the elder's temper, pleading with her to stay quiet. But Aha'ri wouldn’t listen.

“Tsmuke [sister], they’re stronger than us. They control everything. If you fight them—.” “Then I’ll fight harder,” Aha’ri interrupted, her voice sharp as an arrowhead. “They won’t break me.” But Ateyana knew better. The humans’ kindness was a thin mask over something monstrous, and that monstrosity revealed itself one fateful day.

It began in a cultural lesson — one of the RDA’s many patronizing attempts to bridge understanding between humans and Na’vi. Her sister had been tense from the very start, her tail flicking in irritation as the instructor droned on about the technological advancements of Earth, their tone dripping with condescension. “And that’s why humanity’s ingenuity has made us the dominant species,” they stated, holding up a glowing data pad as though it wet a sacred artifact.

Aha’ri patience snapped. With a swift motion, she grabbed the object from the instructor’s hands and hurled it across the room. It shattered against the metal wall with a deafening crash, its pieces scattering like shards of broken pride. “You don’t want to understand us!” Her voice cut through the stunned silence, sharp and fierce. Her tail lashed behind her, and her chest heaved with rage. “You want to own us! To take everything away from us. Our families, our land, our identity!” The other Na’vi children froze, their wide eyes darting between Aha’ri and the Sky People. Yana’s heart sank as she saw the instructor’s face harden, their polite veneer cracking to reveal cold fury.

Within minutes, the incident was reported to John Mercer himself. The administrator of TAP arrived with his characteristic composure, his every movement calculated and deliberate. Mercer had a presence that muffled rooms and chilled blood — a man whose power was as much in his intellect as in his authority. He looked down at the remains of the data pas, then up at the girl, who stood unrepentant, her chin raised in defiance.

“Colonel Harding,” he said, his tone calm but devoid of empathy. “You may deal with this as you see fit.” Ateyana’s blood turned ice. She knew what that meant. Colonel Angela Harding, the TAP’s enforcer, thrived on cruelty. A towering woman with a predatory gaze, she carried herself with the detached air of someone who viewed torment as a mere tool for oder. Her punishment were as inventive as they were brutal, each conceived not just to discipline but to humiliate and break the will of her captives, to withdraw insubordination and replace it with submission. For that monster, breaking the Na’vi wasn’t simply her duty: it was a twisted form of entertainment.

As she arrived in response to Mercer’s orders, the colonel strode into the room, her boots clicking against the linoleum floor, her expression one of faint amusement. Aha’ri maintain her bolshie attitude, but everybody could see the tension in her stiff tail and the subtle quiver in her shoulders. “Ah, the little firebrand,” Harding commented, her voice dripping with mockery. “You think you’re so special because you’ve got a bit of spark, don’t you?” The girl didn’t respond, her golden eyes narrowing in silent insolence, and she chuckled, shaking her head. “We’ll see how long that spark lasts.” When the woman reached for Aha’ri, Yana acted on instinct. She stepped forward, throwing herself between the colonel and her sister. Her entire frame trembled, but she forced her voice to be steady ash she spoke. “Aha’ri didn’t mean it!” She cried, meeting her icy gaze. “She’s just… she’s just angry. Please, forgive her just this time.” “Step aside, child,” Harding said coldly, her eyes razor-sharp like knives, but she refused to move. Her heart pounded loudly in her chest and ears, but she planted her feet firmly on the ground. “Please,” she begged, turning to Mercer, who studied her from the doorway with the detached curiosity of a scientist examining a specimen. “I’ll make her behave. I promise.” He stared at Sarentu for a long time, his head tilted as if considering her plea. “Discipline,” he said finally, his tone almost paternal, “is essential for progress. If you truly wish to help your sister, sweet child, you should teach her to obey.” Tears streamed down her face as she dropped to her knees in front of him, clinging to his lab coat in supplication. “I’ll take her punishment. Just let her go.” “Do you think if she saw you suffering in her place, she would learn her lesson?” The aloofness with which he asked prevented her from answering. “You want to protect your sister, I understand that. But have you ever thought that she is putting you all in trouble with her antics? Ateyana, you are a good girl, but if you always cover for her you will end up doing her more harm than good. Aha'ri needs to learn how to be in the world.”

With a flick of his hand, Mercer signaled Harding to proceed. The colonel didn’t wait for further discussion, she grabbed Aha’ri by the arm and began dragging her away, ignoring the younger Na’vi’s thrashing and curses. Yana lunged after them, her hands reaching for her sister, but two Sec-Ops troopers blocked her path, their like iron as they held her back, ready to point the weapons hanging at their side if necessary. “Don’t do this!” She screamed, her voice breaking. “Please! You don’t have to do this!” Her cries went unanswered, Harding didn’t even glance back. She pulled Aha’ri around like a rag doll. The doors hissed shut behind them, with a mechanical finality that sent a chill through the little girl’s soul.

Aha’ri’s punishment was swift and merciless. Harding took her to one of the facility’s sealed chambers — a tool originally designed to test human oxygen systems in Pandora’s atmosphere but repurposed for a far darker use. She was shoved into a cylindrical space with reinforced glass walls, that allowed observers to watch.

Harding’s fingers hovered over the control panel, her lips curling into a devious sneer. “Let’s see how well she handles a little taste of home.” Yana pounded on the glass, her fists striking the cold surface with frantic desperation. “Stop! Please! She’ll listen! She’ll listen, I swear!” The soldier glanced at her, one eyebrow arched in fake pity. “Oh, she’ll listen. One way or another.” With that, she pressed the button. Inside the tube, Aha’ri face shifted from boldness to confusion as the first wave of Earth’s air flooded in. It was clear but carried a hidden poison — the mixture of gases that made up the Earth's atmosphere, was toxic to Na’vi physiology. And the speed with which it was being administered in the small space made its effects immediate.

Within moments, the girl staggered, her hands clutching her throat as her lungs rebelled. “Breathe, little warrior,” Harding murmured, her voice filled with wicked mirth. At first, the girl resisted, glaring through the glass as if daring Harding to do her worst. But courage and recklessness couldn’t stop the poison from taking hold. The little sister’s breath labored in sync with the oldest’s, as she watched her confident posture collapse to her knees, gasping for air that her body couldn’t accept. Her chest heaved as she clawed at her throat, her eyes wide with panic.

The sight of Aha’ri’s agony — the strength draining from her limbs, the fire in her irises flickering into fear — was more than Ateyana could bear. She turned back to Mercer, who stood silently in the corner, his arms crossed. “Stop her!” The girl sobbed, her voice raw. “Please, make her stop! You’re killing her!” The man regarded her with the same neutrality he had shown throughout the ordeal. “Killing her?” He echoed, as though the idea were preposterous. “No. Colonel Harding knows her limits. Your sister will survive, don’t worry. The question is whether she’ll learn.” Sarentu’s whines filled the lab as she could only watch her sister being tortured.

The minutes dragged on like hours. Aha’ri’s struggles grew weaker, her gasps becoming faint and uneven. Her frame trembled, on hand pressed against the glass, her golden eyes locking with her sister’s as though reaching for help that would never come. Yana could do nothing but press her palms in return, her tears smearing the surface. Then her hands closed into fists, pounded against the window until they bled. She screamed, begged, wailed, but no one came. Behind her, the other Na’vi children huddled in terrified quiet, their eyes averted.

Harding savored the scene with a vague smirk, her arms crossed as though she were enjoying a private show. At last, when Aha’ri passed out, limp to the floor, her chest rising and falling in shallow, ragged breaths, she released the seal. “Enough,” her tone almost bored. The chamber’s doors hissed open, two guards stepped inside to drag the victim out, while the colonel looked down at the motionless girl with disdain “She’ll live,” said with casual, scorn indifference. “Maybe now she’ll learn her place.”

When they returned Aha’ri to the dormitory, Ateyana rushed to her sister’s side. Her skin was damp with sweat, her breath still short, but her beautiful eyes fluttered open as she cradled her. “It’s okay,” the younger whispered, stroking her hair. “You’re safe now. I got you.” But Ahari didn’t respond. She stared blankly at the ceiling, her expression devoid of the fire that had once defined her, replaced by a hollow emptiness that she could barely recognize. Ateyana’s heart ached as she realized the truth: the sister she knew was gone, her spirit crushed under the weight of what she had endured.

From that day, she was different. She stopped speaking out against the humans, her rebellious nature altered by a haunting silence. Yana, too, carried the scars of that day — not on her body, but in her soul. She had failed her sister, failed to protect the one person she loved most.

The memory of Aha'ri’s panting breaths, her despairing eyes, would never leave her. It would follow her into adulthood, a ghost that whispered of her guilt and the monstrous cruelty of the humans she had once begged for mercy. That was the day Ateyana learned a hard truth: mercy was not something to be asked for. It was something to be taken, or forced, or denied entirely. And if she wanted to protect her people, she could never again rely on the humanity of her enemies. She would have to fight with all her might, at the risk of being stained with sin in the eyes of the Great Mother. A promise she made to herself again on the day Aha'ri was killed.

She sat on the thick root of a great tree, her fingers absently tracing the worn fletching of an arrow. Around her, the forest pulsed with life. The gentle hum of glowing flora and the soft rustle of leaves in the breeze seemed distant, muted by the storm in her mind. The memories of Aha’ri scratched at the edges of her consciousness, threatening to drag her into the darkness she had fought so hard to keep at bay.

Sarentu squeezed her eyes shut, trying to focus on the sounds of the nature, the cool texture of the moss beneath her fingers — anything to anchor herself in the present. But the harder she tried to push the memories away, the sharper they became. The hiss of the cell, the anguished cries of her sister, the emptiness in Mercer’s eyes. A shadow fell across her, and a warm weight settled on her shoulder. Startled, Yana blinked and looked up to find So’lek standing beside her. His hand rested lightly on her shoulder, his touch firm bun unintrusive. 

So’lek was one of the few people she trusted completely. He had been a warrior long before the RDA’s return and had seen firsthand the destruction the humans could bring. His cheek and temple bore the scars of past battles, and his eyes — amber like a fading sunset — held the weight of someone who had endured loss and hardship.

He didn’t speak at first, his gaze steady as he looked down at her. There was no pity in his expression, only quiet understanding. A gaze that knew the pain of haunting memories. The gaze of someone who had carried his own ghosts through the years.

“You’re far away,” he stated softly, his voice low and even, like the rumble of distant thunder. She tried to muster a reply, but the words caught on her tongue, looking away, ashamed of the vulnerability she was showing.

The man crouched beside her, his hand still on her shoulder. He didn’t press her to talk, didn’t demand an explanation. Instead, he sat in silence, his presence a muted reassurance that she wasn’t alone.

“I know that look,” So’lek said after a moment, his thoughtful. “The way your shoulders tighten, how your tail moves without you even realizing it.” He paused, his warm eyes meeting hers. “You’re fighting something inside, aren't you?” Yana felt her throat harshened. She wanted to deny it, to tell him she was fine, that she didn’t need his concern. Bet the words felt pointless even before she could externalize them. So’lek’s glance held her, stiff and unyielding, and she found herself nodding, almost imperceptibly.

“I think about it too,” he admitted, his tone dropping even lower. His eyes drifted to the forest canopy, his expression longing but far-off. “The things I saw. The things I couldn’t stop. Sometimes they come back when I least expect it. In the quiet moments, when the forest is still, I feel I may be at peace once again, at least a little, they creep in.” His hand gave her shoulder a small, reassuring squeeze. “But you don’t have to face it alone.”

Her lips parted, but she hesitated. So’lek’s words reached something deep inside her, a part of her that had been hidden for so long she’d almost forgotten it existed. For years, she had carried the weight of her guilt and pain in silence, afraid to burden others with the darkness she couldn’t escape. But in So’lek’s eyes, she saw no judgment, only the quiet camaraderie of someone who understood.

“What do you do?” she asked finally, her voice barely above a whisper. “When the memories come?” So’lek tilted his head, considering her question. “I remind myself why I fight,” he said after a pause. “Not to forget, or to erase the past. But to make sure it doesn’t happen again. For the ones I lost. For the ones still here.” Yana stared down at her hands, her fingers still gripping the arrow. His words resonated with her, stirring something in the depths of her chest. She thought of Aha’ri, of Anufi, of the clans who had entrusted her with their lives. Of Neteyam. They were her purpose now, the reason she had to keep fighting—even when the pain felt unbearable.

So’lek rose to his feet, his hand slipping from her shoulder. He turned to leave but paused, glancing back at her with a faint smile. “You don’t have to carry it all by yourself, little one,” he said gently. “If the burden is too heavy, let someone else help you shoulder it.” She watched him walk away, his tall frame disappearing into the camp shadows. The weight of her memories hadn’t lifted, but for the first time in a long time, she felt the faintest flicker of hope. She wasn’t alone—not entirely.

The moment of clarity didn’t last long. As the night deepened and the forest grew quieter, the memories crept back in, stronger than ever, sharper and crueler than any blade. It seized her mind without warning, dragging her into the dark recesses of her subconscious where fear and guilt lurked, waiting.  

She was back in the TAP facility, a child again, small and powerless. The sterile white walls loomed around her, closing in like the jaws of a predator. The hum of machinery filled the air, a sound she had grown to dread in those years. Ahead of her, Mercer stood tall, his shadow stretching impossibly long, swallowing the room in its cold grip. His expression was impassive, the same look he had worn when he condemned Aha’ri to her punishment.   Behind him stood Colonel Harding, her fingers drumming against the control panel with rhythmic precision. Tap. Tap. Tap. Each sound reverberated through her chest like the beat of a war drum, growing louder and louder until it drowned out her own breathing. Harding’s lips twisted into a devious smile as her hand hovered over the controls.   Inside the chamber, Aha’ri yelled. It was the same scream she had heard that day, raw and primal, full of misery and pain. The sound teared at Yana’s ears, filling her with a helpless rage that burned like acid in her veins. She tried to move, to stop Harding, but her feet felt rooted to the ground, as if the very air around her had turned to stone.  

“Stop!” She exclaimed with a cry of distress. “Please! Stop!”  

Her hands moved on their own, pounding against the glass until her knuckles split, blood smearing the surface. But her cries were swallowed by the cold, unfeeling room, just as they had been all those years ago. Aha’ri’s golden eyes locked with hers through the glass, wide with terror. Ateyana’s heart shattered all over again as she saw her sister collapse to her knees, gasping for air, her body convulsing as the poisonous atmosphere ravaged her.  

Suddenly, the scene shifted. Ateyana was no longer outside the chamber. She was inside it. The walls pressed in around her, the sterile white replaced by suffocating gloom. The hiss of the oxygen systems grew louder, sharper, until it was the only sound she could hear. Her chest tightened as she drew in a ragged breath, only to feel flames sear her lungs. It was Earth’s air, toxic and alien, invading her body and asphyxiating her from within.   She grazed her throat, panic overtaking her as her vision blurred. Shapes flickered in the dimness—indistinct at first, then blinding. She saw Anufi, her body slumped against the wall, her eyes round and lifeless.   “No,” the girl breathed, reaching for her, but her limbs felt heavy, sluggish. “No, no, no!”  

Then another figure emerged, stepping forward from the shadows. Aha’ri.   Her sister’s complexion was pale and gaunt, her once-bright golden orbs now dim and vacant. She stared at young woman, her expression indecipherable, as though she were looking at a stranger. Behind her, a faint, ghostly image of the cylinder chamber from their childhood flickered to life, overlaying the blackness like a poignant projection.  

“You failed us,” Aha’ri whispered, her voice merging with Anufi’s in a disturbing, chilling harmony.   She shook her head, tears raining down her cheeks. “I tried!” she gasped, her voice plaintive, barely audible over the sound of her labored breathing. “I tried to save you!”   “You failed us,” they repeated, their voices growing louder, the words echoing in her skull until they became a deafening chant. “You failed us! You failed us!”  

The constraining darkness strengthened its grip, the air growing heavier with each passing moment. Her vision swam, the shapes of Aha’ri and Anufi blurring into the shadows. Her own reflection appeared before her, distorted and corrupted, her visage pallid and streaked with tears.   In the reflection’s eyes, she saw all the guilt she had buried for years— the guilt of letting Aha’ri down, of begging Mercer for mercy instead of fighting back, of living when her sister’s spirit had been crushed. And now, the remorse of almost losing Anufi to the same hideous tactics, the same noxious fumes.  

The reflection spoke, its tone cold and unrelenting, distorted in sounds that weren’t hers, but resembled all too closely the voice she had grown most fond of, in the endless struggle that was her life. “You think you can protect them now? You can’t even protect yourself.”  The words hit her like a blow to the chest, forcing the last remnants of air from her lungs. She kneel over, the choking poison overwhelming her. Her hands reached out blindly, her fingernails grasping at nothing.   “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry” she murmured, while her reflection took the figure of somebody else.

The darkness surrounding her grew denser, swallowing her cries and the shapes of her sister and Anufi. It was suffocating, cloying, pressing on her from all sides. She reached out, desperate for any tether to pull her back into the light, but her fingers grasped only the void. Then, she saw him.

“Neteyam?” she whispered, her voice trembling with disbelief.

His form was unmistakable — his broad shoulders, the proud set of his jaw, the way his braids swayed gently as he walked. But something was off. His movements were sluggish, his steps unsteady. Yana's breath caught in her throat as he turned toward her, his face ashen and drawn, his bright lemon eyes dull and dead. “No,” she hushed, shaking her head as alarm dig into her chest. “No, not you. Not you too.”

Neteyam didn’t answer. His lips parted, but no words came out, only a soft, wheezing gasp. Her horror deepened as she saw the friction burns on his wrists, raw and angry, identical to the ones Anufi had borne. The result of the straps with which they had taken him there. Aimed at inflicting pain and subduing resistance, as a further form of the utter contempt RDA had for them.

The light fizz of oxygen filled the air, and she realized with sickening clarity that her mate was choking, his body wracked with spasms as he fight for breathe the toxic human atmosphere. She ran to him, her feet moving as though through water. “Neteyam!” she cried, her voice cracking. “I’m here! I’ll save you!”

But no matter how fast she moved, she couldn’t reach him. The distance between them stretched endlessly, as though the murk itself were conspiring to keep them apart. He fell to his knees, his eyes locking with hers for a fleeting moment. There was no accusation in his gaze, only dread and sadness—a quiet, haunting sadness that made her chest feel like it was splitting open. “Don’t leave me!” she shrieked, tears streaming down her face unstoppably. “Please! Eywa, don’t take him from me!” As his body slumped forward, the shadow surged around him, consuming him entirely. Ateyana dropped to her knees, her cries echoing into the void.

She bolted upright with a strangled gasp, her form drenched in sweat. Her hands flew to her forehead, trembling as she struggled to shake the lingering terror of the dream. Her chest heaved as she gulped in Pandora’s sweet, life-giving air, her mind racing to separate illusion from reality. Her surroundings came into focus slowly — the soft glow of bioluminescent plants, the distant hum of nocturnal creatures. She was back in the forest, far from the sterile walls of the TAP facility.  

It took her a moment to realize she wasn’t alone. Beside her, lying peacefully on a bed of soft mats and pillows, was Neteyam. Her breath caught as she turned to look at him. The moonlight filtering through the hut bathed his profile in a silvery gleam, highlighting the strong lines of his jaw and the gentle rise and fall of his chest. He looked so tranquil, so alive. Yana’s shaking fingers reached out to touch his cheek, her fingertips brushing against his warm skin as though to reassure herself that he was truly there. The tension in her frame ebbed slightly, a wave of relief washing over her. He was safe. He hadn’t been taken from her, hadn’t suffered the horrors her mind had conjured.

“I almost lost you,” she mumbled, her voice whispery as the wind. The young man stirred slightly, his expression softening in his sleep as though he could sense her presence. Sarentu's heart clenched with a mix of endearment and dismay, her emotions swirling like a storm within her. The nightmare had felt so real, so visceral, that even now, the echoes of it clung to her. Her hands trembled as she touched her throat, half-convinced she would feel the burns of the human oxygen.

Her eyes darted to Neteyam once more. Her feelings for him were undeniable, a bond as deep as the roots of Pandora’s sacred trees. But that love came with a fear so profound it threatened to consume her. She had already lost so much— her family, her innocence, the peace of her childhood. The thought of losing Neteyam, of watching him suffer as Aha’ri had, was a pain she could scarcely bear. For a brief moment, she allowed herself to linger in the solace of him being there, her digits brushing against his hair. But the relief was short-lived.

Yana buried her face in her hands, her body wracked with silent sobs. She had tried so hard to bury the past, to lock away the pain and guilt in the darkest corners of her mind. But saving Anufi had torn open those wounds, forcing her to confront the truth she had spent years avoiding: she couldn’t run from her failures. 

As the faint light of dawn began to seep into the forest, she felt the weight of reality settle over her once more. The RDA’s war machines still loomed on the horizon, their engines a constant reminder of the battle yet to come. The nightmare was a cruel reflection of the stakes she faced every day — a reminder that every moment she spent with Neteyam could be their last.

Her gaze shifted to the bow resting nearby, its polished wood shining smoothly in the early morning. There was no room for hesitation, no space for weakness. If she wanted to protect Neteyam, Anufi, and her people, she couldn’t allow insecurities to paralyze her. Her fingers brushed against Neteyam’s cheek one last time before she stood, her movements quiet so as not to wake him. She would fight for him, for all of them. Whatever it took, she would ensure that the nightmare she had seen would never become reality.

She glanced to the floating mountains, and wiped her tears, her hands curling into fists, her resolve hardening like steel. The battle was coming, and she would meet it head-on, fueled by the love that gave her strength and the fear that reminded her what she had to lose. She couldn’t change whar happened to Aha’ri, but she could give her whole self for the future, for Pandora itself.

The past had left its scars, but it had also given her purpose. The Sky People would pay for what they had done. Yana would make sure of it. 

[nilsavatar]

Hello! I'm new to your page, and I absolutely love Avatar! I was wondering where I could read your fics? Is it a post or a site like AO3? I'm so excited to read them 😊😊😊

Hi! Sorry for the late answer, I’ve been inactive for so long.

There is a fixed post on my page with the masterlist and the links to all my writings, even those on AO3💕

[nilsavatar]

Help me find inspiration🙏🏻💕

Even if it was a struggle and I had to face my insecurities, writing the Sarentu x Neteyam request pushed me out of my comfort zone, and finally wrote action scenes. Something I thought I couldn’t do.

I’m not satisfied with the outcome, but I’m happy to feel more at ease with the challenge now. It will surely help me with a project I've had in mind for years. So, thank you so much, Anon for the request. It also helped me get over the block I was experiencing, although the fic somewhat frustrated me.

Now, though, I have the problem that I would like to write more but I am running out of ideas. It would be amazing to get your input on what you would like to read.

As you know, I’m a Neteyam stan, I just love writing about him, and I have a couple of drafts that could be developed. At the same time, however, I was thinking it would be nice exploring some new characters. The videogame introduced many good ones, like So’lek and Okul.

[nilsavatar]

All's fair in war and love

Parings: Neteyam x Fem!Sarentu

Genre/Warnings: NSFW/MDNI +18, no use of Y/N, ANGST, SMUT in the end, love bites, sexual tension, P in V, manhandling, fingering, praising, cursing, pet names (tìyawn, yantu, yawne, love, sweetheart), dirty talk (Neteyam has a breeding kink as request by Anon), edging (orgasm denial), soft-dom Neteyam. All characters are AGED-UP. Neteyam is a bit cheesy, but from the way he shows how much he cares for his family, it's in character to be a romantic in a love context.

!DISCLAIMER! Presence of dark and sensitive explicit themes: destruction by explosive devices, massacre, and murder (the protagonist and Neteyam kill soldiers). Please do not read if these topics are not for you.

Summary: The story takes place in one of the final stages of the video game Avatar: Frontiers of Pandora, in one of the most poignant and heartbreaking moments of the plot. Following a heavy earthquake at the Well of Souls that hit the Zeswa hunting party, Sarentu, who will take the name Ateyana here, travels to the site in search of survivors. Finding that many have perished, she decides to find the source of the devastating tremors. Quakes that are not of seismic origin, rather human. With vengeance in her heart, she goes to the military outpost seeking justice. There she will be joined by her lover, Neteyam, and together they will fight for Pandora. But also for themselves.

Little note: This story should have come out months ago - many months ago, way too many. Writing it was a source of great frustration for me. I found myself having a precise idea that I couldn't put into words. The biggest challenge was the action scene that you will find as you read, and, honestly, I don't even think it came out that well. It was the first time for me to deal with this type of narrative. Even if I'm not at all satisfied with the result, it feels right to publish it, for those who have been waiting for it. Anon who requested it, those who answered the poll to choose Sarentu's name, @akari-rosefield who DMed me for updates. This fic is for you.

Word Count: 9k

Masterlist - Request a fic

“Yana!”

Shouts. Shouts and gunshots. The alarm siren.

“Ateyana, we must move!”

A male voice. Nor? The noises mingled with the high-pitched whistle that filled her ears, her eyes blinded by too much light blocking her view. A wall of intermittent red cleared up only by the white of bullets and the few monitors still working.

“Telisi, Yefti-.” “Come!”

Somebody pulled her by the arm. Her legs ran as if pulled by a force she thought lost. The images blurred until they took on the contours of a face she knew. Eyes that were large and bright, but distant as if hiding a secret, now wide with terror.

“It’ll be fine. Don’t be afraid. It’s gonna be like falling into a deep sleep. When you wake up, it will all be over.” “It burns.” “I know, dear, it’ll pass now. Just close your eyes and start counting down from ten. Ten... nine... eight... seven...”

The woman’s voice became distant like a ghost's, her eyelids heavy. The fire coursing through her veins gave way to a sudden cold; a searing chill that numbed her feet, then her legs, and slowly worked its way up her entire body.

“... six... five...”

Surrounded by darkness, all she could hear was the capsule hissing shut, protecting her from everything but silence.

Neteyam remembered his first meeting with Ateyana well. The excitement and commotion that her entrance to Awa’atlu had triggered, on a par with a resurrected spirit — the dawn of a new day. It felt like déjà vu, but in reverse: this time, the Sullys were not on the side of the outsiders falling from the sky, and instead of suspicion, there was a mood of celebration. On the back of her ikran, she wore with ease the hallmarks of the clans that had touched her, each symbolizing a stage in her rebirth; the teachings of their ways. The sea breeze sighed through the soft kinglor silk of her robes, the feathers of the stiff Keme’tire cloak vibrated with every breath, while the colors of the Zewsa shone brightly in the sunlight. Her eyes even deeper and more orange by the sharp contrast with the white, purple, and fuchsia that tinged her skin. So unusual was her appearance, yet harmonious, paired with the banshee that sported the same fanciful pattern. “Look! Look at her face!” “The mark.” The young warrior's gaze followed the whispers around him and settled on the girl's left cheekbone, cut by a crescent moon and four drops just below the eye.

Sarentu. The lost clan.

Neteyam had only heard of them in his grandmother’s stories. The old woman had a sad smile as she talked about the lost storytellers, who were distant cousins of the Omatikaya and descendants from Entu, the first Toruk Makto; diplomatic wanderers who preserved the oral memory of clans’ history, carriers of Eywa wisdom. A beloved People whose terrible fate was known to all Na’vi. Exterminated by the RDA. The same organization that kidnapped their children to raise them as deviant soldiers, alienated from the Great Mother, from all that made them pandorians. Kids who disappeared twenty years ago as a result of the attack on the Tree of Souls and the dismantling of the TAP program.  Or so they thought, for one of them had just dismounted her dragon, its wings still rustling with the sound of powerful beats.

Making her way through the crowd, the plaintive wails of the baby cradled in her arms acted as a herald of the tsahìk's arrival. Loran, younger brother of Ao'nung and Tsireya, born shortly after the RDA attack that nearly killed the Sullys' eldest son, seemed to have absorbed the heartbreak of his People, the turmoil of those dark times, for relentless was the torment that plagued him until he fell asleep.

The girl stepped forward, kneeling as she made a small bow before her forehead. “Oel ngati kameie, Ronal eo lu Metkayina Tsahìk.” The woman smiled, and her calmness seemed to ease the breathlessness of her son, who stared at the visitor with large, tear-filled eyes. “Ateyana te Hìtaì Kataru’ite.”

For a split second, her gaze flickered. It had been so long since she had heard her full name spoken aloud. The mention of her family, specifically her mother, sent a shiver down her spine. With a long history of being used as an experiment, trapped within the confines of sterile concrete walls, she had come to see herself as nothing but a test subject. A lab rat. A cluster of inconsequential cells employed to experiment with a substance and observe its reaction. Or worse, treated like a monkey that was given logic games to assess its intellectual growth. With each class, each shower in disinfectant, because the stench of Na’vi was unbearable, every trace of her natural self slipped away; depersonalized from everything her name stood for to the point of hating it. Ateyana, Spirit of the Dawn. It sounded like a joke, the sense of hope that her name carried. In the RDA compound, scientists educated Sarentu children in math, English, weapon use, and also introduced them to human literature and history. A series of conflicts, wars, colonization, and destruction caused by the idea of taking things simply because one had the power to do so. Throughout those years, she couldn’t ignore the eerie parallels between them and the indigenous communities who had been eradicated in certain areas of Earth. The name of one population in particular had stayed with her, as it bore a striking resemblance to her own. The Yana, a population decimated by the California genocide unleashed by the Gold Rush, ceased to exist in 1916 when the last descendant perished in a Rancheria.

Right from the beginning, she saw that historical reference as an omen of what was to come for her and her people, now down to just five survivors. Whether through brutal erasure or assimilation into other clans, the Sarentu would disappear.  She made a decision that day: to only go by Yana. She abandoned her full name and any other nickname despite her sister’s disapproval, and adopted what everyone now regarded as a diminutive, oblivious to its true status as a legitimate name. 

A name that signified the final chapter of their lives.  Hers and those who shaped her into the resentment and anger-filled young woman she is today. And with almost absolute certainty of all those who would accompany her in her revenge.

“For a long time, we believed in the defeat of your people, but our hope for your return never wavered. The Great Mother could not fail those she had delivered her word to. We have missed you.” Ronal caressed her cheek, her thumb feathering the raised outline of the mark. A moment of weakness that surprised those present, accustomed to the woman’s stoic and fearless nature. “Come, you need rest. You’ve been through a lot, and your eyes tell me there is much to discuss.”

The girl nodded, her heart full of gratitude at the warm welcome, a gesture she hadn’t anticipated (the tsahìk's reputation preceded her). A fleeting warmth that would soon fade.

2174, PANDORA, RESISTANCE HQ, KINGLOR FOREST

“We have located the epicenter of the quakes near the Celebration Arches”. Priya’s finger pointed on the map to the demarcation point between Aranahe and Zeswa territories; just beyond the network of caves that connected the Kinglor Forest to the Upper Plains.

“Ayvitrayä Ramunong (Well of Souls),” Jake’s voice belonged to a hiss, recalling vividly the last time he had admired the magnificence of rock arches growing up from the underground, driven by the incredible magnetic force. A shell that enclosed within it a dense, lush vegetation protecting the Tree of Souls. Two decades earlier, the RDA had destroyed the Omatikaya’s most sacred site. Although the basin was at the foot of the Hallelujah Mountains, right in the Flux Vortex’s heart, their attack wiped out the clan’s memories and, almost, their spirit. Something similar was happening here. He was certain of it. The tremors recorded were too cadenced and regular to result from seismic activity. Humans orchestrated it. 

“Drills.” “That's what we suspect.” “Unobtanium?” “We do not detect a relevant presence of unobtanium in the subsoil that would justify extraction. On the other hand, it is rich in carbon-fossils.” “Oil?” “Let's call it that.” “What's the point of extracting it? We have abandoned fossil energy sources for more than a hundred years.”

We have. At his side, Neytiri clutched the handle of the bow she had not laid since their arrival, her eyes darkened by the battle paint that adorned her face. Sometimes her husband still spoke as if he were one of them. After all, a part of him always would have been. Just look at the military waistcoat he wore like a second skin, the rifle always at hand, despite Eywa's abhorrence of metal weapons. The man spoke before his mate did, “We must act, but we need to be smart.” “Anqa is already on site examining the situation. Yana is with her,” she added, noting the friend's apprehensive look at the mention of one person alone in that dangerous place. “What?” The tone in Neteyam's voice was caustic; a venomous hiss barely vented between clenched teeth, but he did not have time to question the girl's presence in the field any further, as a loud din echoed from the two-way radio on the table.

“Anqa! Anqa, can you hear me? What's going on?” The purple-haired ecologist was terrified. -The RDA… Arches…! Blew up! Zeswa… the signal was disturbed. The hunting party… Everything collapsed. The arches collapsed…- Neteyam snatched the transceiver from her hand to bring it to his mouth with cold timbre and a blank stare. “Where is she?”

No further explanation was necessary for Anqa to understand to whom that male voice, she had come to know all too well, referred. Despite the number of forced interactions with the young Na'vi, despite the operations they had collaborated on side by side, it seemed impossible for her to get used to the chill that ran down her spine whenever she heard him speak with that tone. Especially at times like these. Netayam was frightening when altered, a worthy son of his mother. His lips pulled downward in a thin line, his teeth clenched to the point that his jaw snapped, the tips of his canines showing in tacit menace. His eyes fixed and alert, serpentine, his nostrils flared, and his lungs swelled to a peak and then deflated into severe rumblings in the deepest part of his throat.

-She went looking for survivors.-

Adding nothing more, the young warrior pushed the device against Priya's frail chest, who could barely stand on her own strength, and took wide strides toward his ikran; his parents at his heels. Jake grabbed him by the arm as the boy adjusted the throat-comm around his neck and set it to the frequency matched with his girlfriend's.

“Where you think you’re going?” “To get her.” “You stay here. We’ll go.” The son ignored those words by loading the bow onto the animal’s back. His mother called him back, in tune with his father���s admonition. “I won’t say that again.” “Fine. ‘Cause I won’t sit on my hands while the girl I love is in danger. I’ve never done that with my siblings, and I’m certainly not going to start now.” Jake stepped back as his son pointed his fingers to his own chest, right at the level of the scar that marked him; the everlasting reminder of when he was dying in his arms. “I’m the one who has to keep her safe. I'd never forgive myself if something happened to her.”

“Just as I couldn't live with myself if we lost you.”

Neteyam’s gaze straightened, “I wouldn’t change a thing, even if saving Spider meant giving my life. I am ready to die for those I care about.” “I know, son, that’s what scares me.” He took his face with a palm and brought it close until they were face to face, “Bring her home.” “Yes, sir.” “I expect a mateship ceremony when this whole thing is over.” The boy chuckled, “Yes, sir.”

Yana looked at what was left of the watercourse leading to the heart of the prairie, almost totally dried up except for a few puddles here and there — the water within them of an unnatural greenish hue with purplish reflections and dense consistency. Her vision was blurred by the cloud that had risen after the collapse, and made it difficult for her to breathe; the air tainted by smoke, dust, and pollutants intoxicated her lungs. Around her, the high rock walls were lined with rubble, uprooted trees, and … bodies.

Of winzaw (arrow deer), pa'li and Zeswa.

Most of the hunters had perished crushed by their own mounts, others by boulders or sudden impact with the ground. All were covered in the grayness of ash and death. The only color was the red dye they dyed their hair with, which, mixing with the blood, stained the rocks.

-Tìyawn (love)? Tìyawn, do you read me? “Teyam?” -Thanks, Great Mother, you’re doing okay. Anqa gave us a heads-up about the blast. Where are you at?- “I'm going up the river. There's so much death here. So many killed, so much life…,” her voice died in her throat, ”… destroyed. I'm going up to the drill now. Stop this from happening again.” -No way. Call off the ikran and get back here. Now. We need to regroup. We can't afford recklessness. Do you hear me, Yana? Do not attack!- “I will carry the pain to the ones who caused it.” -Ateyana…!-

Neteyam's inhaled voice died out in the metallic noise of the interference caused by the flow. She was alone. Not that it made any difference. Even though she knew she was hurting him, she would have ignored his intimate but selfish request. She would never have turned back, at the cost of annihilating him in the soul. The Zeswa had welcomed her as a clan member returning from a long, grueling journey. They had raised the festival kites to honor the rebirth of the Lost People; they had taught her their way. She would not abandon them to their grief. The Sarentu were once a peaceful tribe of storytellers and diplomats, they weren't warriors, the Sky People had made them so. Who forced them to take up arms, paint themselves in the colors of war, and swell their chests with battle echoes. If there was one valuable lesson she had learned from human cruelty, it was that there are circumstances in which one must be stained with sin to achieve the goal. Yana was willing to do that, too. She was willing to be abandoned by Eywa and the Na'vi to save Pandora. To give up her integrity and love. To force Neteyam to remain without her. Therefore, even with a grasp gripping her heart, before advancing on the path that had formed in the ruins, besides checking the state of her bow, she counted how many munitions she had in the rifle she carried. As the invaders used to say: all's fair in war and love.

“Fuck!” imprecated Neteyam, pressing the side button to change frequency and connect to Anqa’s throat-comm, his voice sharp. “Anqa, do you copy? I’ve lost signal with Yana. The flux is making the instrumentation crazy.” Static crackled in his ear before Anqa’s voice came through, laced with tension. -Copy. What do you mean, lost signal? Where was she heading?- “She moved into the rubble,” Neteyam said, his frustration barely contained. “Trying to avoid being spotted by soldiers on her way to the drill.”

The woman’s silence spoke more than a thousand words, as heavy as the burden that gripped their hearts. If flux interference was disrupting communication with the Sarentu, it could only mean one thing: she was at the center of it, right in the collapsed area. Then Anqa replied, her tone edged with worry. -Damn, girl. She always does this.-

“I’m not leaving her out there,” he said firmly, his eyes scanning the horizon as he tightened his grip on the banshee's reins. Anqa’s response was swift, resolute. -I’m not suggesting you should. But don’t go in blind, Neteyam. We need you in one piece, too.- “She’s taking out that drill whether we’re ready or not,” the warrior shot back. “You know her—she’ll make the shot even if it kills her.”

A heavy sigh crackled through the comm. -Alright. Listen, head toward the north ridge. The flux is thinner there. I’ll try to guide you remotely with what’s left of the scanners. And, Neteyam?- “Yeah?” -Don’t let her do anything stupid. We need her alive for this fight.- He smirked faintly, though his heart was pounding. “She’s not the only stubborn one here, you know.” -Clearly. Watch your six out there. Out.- The communication fell silent, and Neteyam nudged his mount forward, his gaze narrowing on the jagged horizon.

Flying over the area, he spotted the yellow-and-white-banded Scorpion below him, close to a tall tree growing crooked, almost horizontal, on the top of a hill. A lone stone arch remained intact to shield it. As he imagined, he found the tawtute at the foot of the gigantic tree admiring its leaves turning to fall; the disconsolate expression of someone who had already experienced that same desolation on their skin.

His blood froze when he saw Telisi catch up to her with her typical awkward walk, and rub her muzzle against the woman's cheek as if seeking comfort. Determination burned in his chest as he murmured to himself. “Hold on, love. I’m coming.” With a sharp whistle, his ikran spread its wings, and they dove into the flux-laden skies.

With each step, the dust thickened, and her heart bounced in her chest in rhythm with the increasingly deafening thumps of the drill. Slow and steady, the thuds that sounded by the second seemed to numb her. But even as her feet stumbled over the craggy ground shaken by the vibrations, she did not hint at stopping her progress. Gradually the path became more impassable, where the gorge had filled with giant boulders and uprooted trees, blocking access. She could have scaled what remained of the arches to get an aerial view of the surroundings, but climbing to the top would have meant exposing herself to the aim of snipers and automatic machine guns. Surveillance at that extraction site had to be on high alert, she was certain.

As she advanced, a faint glow hit on her right, warm and clear. Sunlight. A passageway free of disaster. She approached it cautiously. The entrance was just big enough for her to crouch through and gave access to a cave; the ceiling smashed by the earthquake into a natural skylight. Yana hesitated before entering; the air was cleaner but venturing inside a rocky way could be dangerous, even fatal with those continuous tremors running through the underground. A collapsing wall could easily have turned that cave into her grave. But the alternatives were few, and between standing in the mist that prevented her from seeing potential enemies and making her way through the shadows, she chose the one that would give her an advantage. When it comes to Na’vi, the sun is always expected to cast banshee shadows over the heads of their enemies, or the patter of galloping hooves to announce their arrival. It would not occur to anyone to look down, to guard ravines and underground passages to quell any surprise attacks. The People were skilled hunters who never mixed such skills with the art of war. But Yana was not just Na'vi now. Certainly, her DNA was, but a substantial enough part to create ethical contrasts in her person was human.

Penetrating inside the cave, she could ascertain that the main exit had, in fact, collapsed. The only other point of access was the skylight itself, but to reach it she would have to rely on the strength of her arms to climb. With no small effort, she reached the top, and the mammoth, frightening figure of the drill appeared before her, the building structure circling it like a barrier. A stroke of pure luck: as she ascended the passage, she had come right to the heart of the Alpha platform; the auger staring her straight in the face as if to give a defiant welcome.

“Priya? I'm at the drill. Tell me how to tear it down.” -I hear you. Destroying the drill-core will leave that monster useless. It's protected, but cut the control wires, and you should get an opening. Hurry, it's the RDA. Nothing's ever enough.- “Consider it done.” With those words, the tsamsiyu (warrior) took her leave, before turning off the transceiver and penetrated inside the platform, filled with enemies armed to the teeth. But she wasn't afraid. She possessed the skills to accomplish the mission without having to engage in open confrontation. With patience and calculated movements, she would have tampered with that contraption. What could go wrong?

The military base sprawled across the battered terrain like a metallic parasite, its angular structures jutting out from the ground, illuminated by harsh, artificial floodlights. Sarentu advanced through the shadows to make herself invisible, her breathing controlled, every step deliberate. She crouched low behind a jagged fragment of collapsed rock, her body blending with her surroundings. She inhaled deeply, her ears twitching as she listened to the heavy footfalls of a nearby patrol. Her bow was slung across her back, and a quiver of arrows hugged her side, a blade ready in one hand. She slipped between the patrols, weaving through their blind spots, and approached her prey. The monstrous drill, the beating heart of devastation.

The machine seemed alive, a colossus of metal and energy, digging relentlessly. The hum of its turbines vibrated in the air, an almost hypnotic rhythm, but the girl could afford no distractions. The base was heavily guarded; squads of soldiers moved in coordinated patterns, their exosuits clanking softly as they patrolled the perimeter, a mechanical dance of strength and control.

Moving with feline grace, she watched them for several minutes, mapping their movements. Three guards on the raised catwalk, two near the energy core, one stationed at the control room door. The others roamed unpredictably. She’d have to move fast and strike silently. Stealth was the key, and a strategy formed in her mind as she did so, accurate and deadly.

Her chance came when two soldiers paused to speak, turning their backs to her. She darted forward, her feet barely making a sound on the uneven ground. With a lightning gesture, she drew an arrow and stuck it. The string of her bow was stretched in deafening silence. The first shot struck the guard in the throat; the second fell before he could scream. When the third turned too late, her blade flashed, slipping through the crevices of his armor, her palm plugging his mouth before he could react. He collapsed with a muted thud. Yana dragged the bodies into the shadows, methodical despite the adrenaline coursing through her veins. No mistakes, no hesitation.

The main control panel was located in a cabin protected by armored walls and a digital keypad lock, where the last soldier was typing distractedly. Taking cover behind a stack of crates, an arrow flew, quiet as the whisper of the wind. The lone guard fell onto the controls, his hand smearing blood on the screen, as the rustle of the drill grew louder. She pushed him aside to access the panel that displayed data incomprehensible to anyone but a skilled technician, but she had no need to decipher it, SID would have taken care of it—a portable interface capable of decoding the security frequencies of enemy forces.

After a few seconds of work, her eyes lit up as the device emitted a soft beep of success, unlocking the door. The cabin was cramped, lit by cool neon lights, and the control panel dominated the room, its screens and switches monitoring every aspect of the drill.

The hanged plans showed how the core was protected by an electronic security grid, making it inaccessible without a specific command. Quickly, she navigated the panel menus, bypassing the access codes with her device. Her experience enabled her to locate the sequence that activated the turbines' maintenance mode, which was necessary to temporarily expose the core for technical interventions.

The next step required rigor. Yana pulled out a small vibration-cutting tool and began to disassemble the panel's side plate. The metal shell was resisting, but with a sharp blow, she managed to remove it, revealing a tangle of wires and circuits. She quickly identified the wiring for the core cooling system, a critical component in keeping the turbines stable. By cutting a single blue wire and replacing it with a connector she modified, she created a controlled short circuit that sent a false overheat signal to the main panel. The lights flashed, and a low alarm went off, prompting the system to automatically open the bulkheads protecting the drill core to allow for a supposed inspection.

Before leaving the cabin, the girl deactivated the hacking device, automatically erasing all traces of her digital intrusion. She remounted the panel plate and verified that everything appeared intact from the outside. Finally, she slipped between the shadows once again.

With the core now exposed, she could see it shone with an unnatural blue-green glow, pulsing like an alien heart.

“Time to finish this,” she murmured, moving briskly to it. She retrieved a bundle of small adhesive charges from her belt, aware that every second lost could be lethal. She carefully placed them in the most vulnerable spots, her hands steady despite the time pressure. The bomb timers were set on a delay long enough to allow her to move away safely. She was just finishing cocking the last one when a cry rang out behind her. “Intruder! By the drill!”

The searchlights all pointed at her, and the camp exploded in chaos. Cursing under her breath, the girl dived behind a support beam as bullets tore through the air, arrows at the ready. She shot one, then another in rapid succession, each finding its mark. She shot down the nearest enemies, but there were too many reinforcements for her to face them alone.

The situation seemed desperate. Her eyes rested one last time on the drill, then her fingers went to the detonator as she murmured a quiet prayer, ready to make a drastic decision. Just as she was about to press the button, a shadow loomed overhead. A high-pitched whistle cut through the air, followed by the shrill screech of an ikran, its wings slicing through the chaos in a bright trail. Neteyam plunged into the fray, the claws of his beast bearing down on a squad of soldiers. He leaped from his back mid-flight, landing next to Yana with a force that made the platform vibrate.

“What are you doing here?” she asked as she fired another arrow at an approaching guard. “Saving you,” replied her boyfriend, unsheathing his blade, piercing a soldier who came too close in the chest. Sarentu gave him a look full of sarcasm and defiance. Together, they fought their way back toward the drill side by side, their movements perfectly synchronized even in the crossfire. Time was against them; the charges were set, and the girl had the detonator.

“Now or never!” Neteyam shouted, shoving her behind cover as another wave of bullets ripped through the air. She took a breath, staring at the target. Everything came down to this moment. The explosion was deafening, a column of blinding flash of light rising skyward, devouring the drill. The shockwave knocked them both off their feet, flames and debris raining down around them. Yana felt the heat lap against her skin as Neteyam covered her with his own body.

“It’s not over yet!” he shouted, pulling her to her feet as the ground beneath them broke, reacting violently to the destruction. They sprinted toward the edge of the base. The warrior whistled sharply, and his dragon swooped low, its wings slicing through the smoke. He hauled her onto its back and the animal soared as the base sank into the rubble.

As they ascended, the flux pulsed ominously, a deep, rhythmic thrum that resonated through the air. From the sky, as the ikran carried them away, they watched the flames consume the drill. She turned to him, her breathing still labored. “Thank you,” she said, the word full of emotion and relief, while hugging him. He nodded in return, his gaze fixed on the horizon. That was only the beginning. The battle was not over, but for the moment, the drill was gone.

The ikran landed on a rocky ledge hidden in the tops of the tallest trees, a safe place away from the chaos. The wind, charged with the wild energy of the flow, subsided. Neteyam descended first, his movements stiff and charged with tension. When the young woman set foot on the ground, she found him already distant, his back to her.

“Yawntu?” she called, her voice low, almost hesitant. He turned abruptly, and in his golden eyes shone a storm of emotion. His voice, usually calm and reassuring, was broken by a tremor of restrained anger. “What the heck were you thinking?!” She stopped in place, surprised by the ferocity of the tone. “I-”

“You left on your own, you walked into that damn field,” he interrupted her, taking a step toward her. “You were going to-” He couldn’t even say the phrase—You were going to let yourself blow up—, too painful to even think about. The trembling that still shook him was not just a momentary fear: it was a deep-rooted feeling, born of the overwhelming love he felt for her and the horror of seeing the possibility of a future without her. The scene played out in his head repeatedly, like a vortex of conflicting emotions consuming him. Even knowing she was safe now could not quell.

He felt a surge of panic when he realized she would remain in the base, risking her life to destroy the drill even though the bombs were active.  His mind, usually clear-headed in battle, filled with chaotic images: her face illuminated by flames, her hands reaching toward him as life left her, the emptiness of a world without the sound of her laughter or the warmth of her gaze. Each beat of the ikran’s wings felt like an eternity, and every second that passed was a weight piling on his chest.

“What was that all about, huh?” His chest rose and fell furiously, his breathing quickened as he drew closer to her again, towering over her with his stature. “Why didn’t you wait for backup? You always want to do everything yourself, you trust no one.” A sequence of questions and statements that sounded as if they meant something else entirely. 

You didn’t wait for me. You don’t trust me?

Neteyam fought with himself not to give in to the sense of helplessness, but with each passing moment, the girl’s silence only infuriated his sense that she had consciously chosen to sacrifice herself to destroy the drill. This tormented him, for it meant that she had decided to leave him behind.

“You were ready to die in there! Do you have any idea what that would have meant for me?!” he shouted, and, for a moment, seemed about to burst, but he held back, running a trembling hand through his hair. “I... I can’t lose you, Yana. Not like this.” Those words crashed like waves against a wall, leaving a pain-filled silence. Sarentu stepped forward, her gaze catalyzed on him. “Teyam, listen to me. I had to do it. It was the only way.” “Your life is not an acceptable price!” he replied, his voice louder than he intended. He took a step toward her, his eyes staring at her as if he feared she might disappear. “Not for this war. Not for any war.”She looked at him, surprised by the vehemence of his words. “And anyone else’s life is?” she asked, calm but firm. “If it wasn’t me, it would be someone else. You know that.”

There was nobility in her intent, but Neteyam shook his head nonetheless at her disinterested altruism, his breathing still uneven. Her martyrdom might mean nothing to someone else, but to him, it would amount to the nullification of himself.

“I don’t care about someone else. I-I care about you. More than duty allows, more than I wish sometimes. When I saw you, surrounded by the RDA with the detonator in your hand, crouching in front of the ordnance ...” He shook his head again as if to banish the image, his eyes glazed over. “It was as if a part of me was already dead.” Silence descended. He ran a hand over his face, trying to regroup his thoughts. When he spoke again, his voice was lower, almost a whisper. “When I saw you wouldn’t stop ... I felt my whole world falling apart. You can’t ask me to bear it, Yana. You can’t.”

She looked at him, motionless. His words sank into her heart like knives, but she did not defend herself. Instead, she moved slowly closer until their foreheads almost touched. “You think I wasn’t scared?” she murmured, laying a hand on his chest, where his heart was still beating so fast. “You think I didn’t wonder, every second, if I could come back to you? But I did, Neteyam. I made it. We made it.” Her hands went up to graze his face, her eyes searching his with an intensity that left him breathless. “I wouldn’t be here without you.”

The Omatikaya prince felt the knot of anger and terror loosen inside, leaving a void filled only by his love for her. Saying nothing, he closed his eyes and rested his forehead against hers, breathing her own breath. His hands moved to encircle her waist, pulling her against him. “Sorry,” she mumbled. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I won’t be so reckless next time.”

The young warrior closed his eyes, lowering his head to leave a kiss on her forehead. “There won’t be a next time,” he whispered. “I’m not letting you do that on your own again.” The echo of his words bounced between them, an even stronger bond forged in the fear and love that united them. “I cannot lose you,” he repeated, his voice an almost imperceptible rustle. “I can’t. You’re my everything.”

Yana replied without speaking, laying her hands on top of his, squeezing them with a gentleness that contrasted with the ferocity of their battle. When she finally lifted her face to his, her lips found his in a kiss that was anything but gentle. It was urgent, desperate, a reminder that they were alive, that they still belonged together.

As they lost themselves in each other, the world around seemed to vanish. There were no more wars, fears, or dangers; there was only them, two souls who had defied fate to find each other once more.

Neteyam broke away from the kiss, his breath short, his face still very close to hers. He looked at her with an intensity that seemed to want to carve that moment in time. “It’s not just fear,” he murmured, his voice rough, as if the words cost him immense effort. “It’s that without you ... I’m nothing.”

She shook her head, her hands rising to clutch the fabric of his warrior belt, pulling him toward her. “Don’t say that,” she replied, her eyes shining. “You are strong, more than anyone I know. But if you think it’s any different for me, you’re wrong.” Her voice cracked as she continued. “Every time I fly with you, watch you fight, hear your voice through the wind... it’s like the world makes sense. And the thought of losing you... it would kill me.” Her words slid between them, breaking down all barriers. Neteyam closed his eyes for a moment, giving her time to see the vulnerability he rarely showed. When he opened them again, there was a warmth in them, a promise that did not need to be spoken.

“We will not be lost,” he said, with a conviction that seemed carved in stone. “No matter what, we’ll always find our way back to each other.” Yana smiled, an expression at once sweet and wistful. “Then never let me go.” Neteyam responded by grasping her face in his hands, his thumbs tracing the contours of her skin as if he wanted to memorize every detail. “Never,” he promised, before kissing her again, this time with a gentleness that contrasted with the desperation of minutes before. The kiss intensified, fueled by something more than desire. A silent communication, a dialogue of souls seeking each other, recognizing each other. Neteyam’s hands came down along her sides, clutching her as if afraid she might fade away. The girl reacted by wrapping her arms around his neck, letting go completely.

Words became superfluous, replaced by the hushed language of their bodies and their gazes. The adrenaline that had sustained them up to that moment transformed into another energy, warmer, deeper. Recognizing their vulnerability, the go-or-nothing gamble they’d taken, they seized the present as if it were their last. They lay down on the carpet of moss that covered the ledge, the sky above them tinged with the vibrant colors of sunset. The sun’s rays streamed through the leaves, casting dancing shadows on their faces. For a moment, the world seemed to slow down, allowing them to lose themselves completely in each other, without fear, without hesitation.

His hands ran all over her body as if to imbue it with his essence. With each caress, a piece of her clothing slipped away. With each kiss, the ornamental paintings faded. “What should I do with you, huh?” He asked. “Do I need to breed you to generate some reason in you?”  She chuckled, but then said in a serious tone, “I won’t stop fighting even if you impregnate me.” “I know already, geez. That’s why I’m so into you. I still wanna see your tummy swell with my child, though. Still wanna fuck you senseless until my cum fills you whole.” A shiver ran down her spine until her toes curled, and she could already feel a small knot tightening in her lower abdomen. But her stubbornness, combined with a taste for having the upper hand, kept her anchored enough so that she would not get lost in the glee of carnal sensations. So that she would not say something she did not mean, or make promises she would not keep, in the heat of the moment. “It’s not gonna happen until we get the RDA out of here for good.” Neteyam agreed: raising a child in such a volatile, perilous environment was out of the question, “But we can always train for it. ‘Til we’re one forever.” “You mean in front of Eywa? Are you sure? You want to do this with me?” He beamed, in love. “You’re the only one I want this with. Are you up for it? When all this shit is over-” “Yes!” The Omatikaya prince gasped at the sudden answer to a question not quite expressed. “Yes?” “Yes, I will marry you as soon as all this shit is over. For what it’s worth, you are already my mate, with or without tsaheylu.” Their unconventional, colorful declaration of eternal love, though far from romantic, felt perfect for them.

Neteyam resumed kissing her everywhere. Her eyes, the tip of her nose, cheeks, neck, breastbone. Reaching her flat belly, he lingered there for a long time as if something was already sprouting inside. Strong fingers gripped her hips possessively, sinking into them until they left their imprint, while his nose tickled her navel, followed, then, by his tongue. He traced the outline there, then went up to one of her breasts and sucked greedily, his hand massaging it as if he could stimulate something else besides the nipple’s turgidity. As if he expected nourishment. When he was satisfied so, he gave the other tit the same treatment, and Yana had to bite her lip hard to keep from moaning. 

When, at last, the warrior pulled away with a resounding pop, she could sketch out a sly giggle, partly from the ticklish sensation, partly because she knew the source of so much attention. “I love your kinky side.” His face, already flushed from the exertion and impetus that was shaking his insides, turned purple at that joke. This side of him still ashamed him. A side he could not repress. And, to be fair, he didn’t want to erase it either, being linked to the unbreakable connection he had felt with Sarentu from the very first day. The way she held Loran, the way she cradled him, captivated him. The gentleness in her manner, the kindness in her eyes, despite the belligerent times in which they lived, had forged her into resentment and death. Yana exuded a warmth and fragrance that smelled like home. He fell inexorably in love with it and longed to turn the world into a safer place for her. She was his person, he knew it immediately.

She laughed again, her face slightly bent in a canny expression. “It’s cute when you get all bashful.” Stung to the core but refreshed by the challenge, he lifted her legs, spreading them apart just enough to observe how she glistened in the sunset light. A little revenge rattling in his head. “Soaking wet already? Did the raid get you pumped? And you called me kinky.”

With both forearms on either side of her face, one knee crept between her legs to make room for himself, now bent to graze his pelvis, he towered over her in all his majesty.  “You keep getting more and more beautiful,” he declared before moistening a finger and bringing it past the edge of her intimacy. His mouth stifled a sigh that faded into his oral cavity as tapering fingers flew over her inner thigh, caressing the soft skin and slowly growing a pleasant warmth. Attentive to her every slightest change of expression. A soft moan fell from her lips as he rubbed her clit, tracing tight circles, eager to make her tremble under his touch. Her hips moved unwittingly against his.  She sensed him sneering when his finger probed the dewy soil of her womanhood, the ring of muscle already yearning to capture him inside. “I barely touched you.” Provocation to which Yana couldn’t hold back and, embarrassed, she intimated him to shut up. His phalanges slowly slipped between her folds and plunged inside her, caressing the soft walls. She felt him melt into her passion, wet noises filling their ears with each languid lunge of his digits. Sarentu moved in his grip, stammering his name, her heart bursting in her chest as she closed her eyelids. 

“I’m here, sweetheart.” He cuddled her, and she moved closer to his caress, crossing her shins behind his back, her heels wedged into Venus’ dimples, inviting him deeper, harder. “Please don’t stop,” she purred in a moan. The walls sucked him in so deliciously, begging for more, and Neteyam was hardly the type to deprive a woman of her desires. His fingers curled, teasing her most sensitive spot, while his palm rubbed against her agonizing clit, causing an uncontrolled stream of meows. Each more desperate than the last, as they turned into acute wails as she neared orgasm. She gazed at him, her eyes filled with longing, “More,” but his hand retracted, slowing the pace almost to quell the spiral in her stomach, ready to snap. A whimper hovered in the air as he stopped, just a breath away from that wonderful spot that made her toes curl. He stared at her in amusement at the frustration that crippled her delicate facial features, her mouth open at the revelation.

Neteyam was making her pay for it. Whether it was for teasing him just before or for the headshot at the Alpha platform, she couldn’t tell. 

“Neteyam,” she admonished him afflictedly. “Beg.” “Wha—” “Apologize for scaring the hell outta me out there.” “Oh, come on!” she begged him, rolling her hips against his fingers, trying to chase the sublime sensation that was slowly withdrawing from her. “Apologize.” “Sorry, okay? Sorry, sorry, I won’t put myself in danger like that ever again,” she said all in one breath, reduced to a mess of sobs and soft grumbles similar to a cat’s purr. “I need you” The man shook his head, still in her hands, and a shadow fell over his eyes. “Promise me.” Yana snorted in disbelief. But if Neteyam needed to hear her say it, to be reassured, she would.  “I promise,” she sighed, drawing his face to hers and placing light kisses over his eyes, shining with desire but veiled with anguish. He slid to his side, his forehead juxtaposed against the girl’s. Yana drew the contours of his face. The arch of the nonexistent eyebrows, the feline nose, the line of the lips, the cheekbones so sharp they could slice glass. She rubbed the tip of her nose against his, at the affectionate gesture the warrior massaged her shoulders. 

“Roll over your side,” he whispered, and she complied. Once her back matched his torso, his strong arms encircled her, gluing her to him.  “I love you,” he claimed, kissing her shoulder blade. His palm traveled all the way down her body to her shanks, his digits again infiltrating her thighs, still finding traces of arousal. His fingertips collected the liquid and moved on to the stimulating lubrication of her intimacy. She trembled under his skilled hand, babbling his name as his fingers crept further, dancing in rhythm with her thrusting hips. She gasped when she felt a bulge rub against her butt. Then, without warning, his searing erection pushed its way inside her. Her mouth opened wide in a silent cry of pleasure, and her eyes rolled back as she bucked against his firm frame. Her mind clouded with the pulsing need to let the lust wash over her like boiling lava, as her vision turned white and her head grew light. 

She no longer sensed anything around her. Only Neteyam’s thrusts grew deeper and deeper, kissing her cervix at an ever-increasing pace. This would not last much longer. The man behind her knew well. In fact, his tapering fingers took to torturing her clit in concentric motions, as precise and relentless as his cock paced her back and forth, threatening to come out, but never quite.

“T-teyam,” she uttered, earning a quick bite at the base of her neck.“Let go. Almost there” It was like being bewitched by a spell. The knot that plagued her belly melted away, releasing waves of pleasure so intense they blinded her and pinned her to the bed of moss. There, impaled on her one true love dick.  It didn’t take long before the charge with which he poured into her lost its force. Neteyam was close, very close. So close that she didn’t even have time to prepare herself when, with one last, vigorous thrust, he burst free. A grunt rose in the air and an immense heat filled her.

He rested his forehead against her nape as, breathless and with a hint of malice littering his voice, he said, “I got so far down that if we were already mated, I definitely would’ve gotten you pregnant by now.” Yana started laughing in his arms. “You’re obsessed with this stuff, you know that!”He squeezed her tighter, sliding out of her. “How can I not be with a hottie like you?” She turned as far as she could to search into his eyes. Into his beautiful eyes, yellow as the winter sun, soft from exertion and surrounded by the redness of the moment. And he smiled, a full and genuine smile. A smile in love.

They remained hugged under the darkening sky, saying nothing. There was no need. Their hearts spoke more clearly than any words. Neteyam brushed her hair, studying her with a gentleness that contrasted with his usual resolve. “If this is all we have,” he whispered, ”that’s enough for me.” She closed her eyes, a smile that talked of peace and gratitude painted on her lips. “For me, too.” They remained like that, two souls entwined in a world that tried to separate them, but that night failed to do so.

“If this leads to awesome sex, I’m totally down for more trouble!” “Yana!” The sound of their laughter, carefree and light, mingled with the rustling leaves and the gentle breeze, dancing on the wind like a playful melody.

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Question, in your fic “Phoenix” what is the creature in the middle between Neteyam and the female na’vi??

Hi!

It's a txumre', or slinth as humans called it. It's a venomous forest-dwelling animal and one of the fastest predators on Pandora . The Na'vi use its venom for medicinal purposes and imbue the tips of their arrows with it.

It is the mount of the protagonist.

Phoenix... Another story left on hiatus for so long 😭

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Will the Sarentu X Neteyam be soon? Just curious as I’m replaying Frontiers Of Pandora.

Hi there! Thank you for reaching out to me 💕

Unfortunately it won't come out anytime soon, I am still in the early stages of the writing process. I am struggling with the introduction, where Sarentu and Neteyam meet for the first time before moving on to the main part.

I am structuring it as an established couple, so I am going to provide more context on how they fall in love.

I'm sorry to keep you all waiting. I'll do my best to publish it ASAP.

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IMPORTANT PSA ⚠️

Hey, everyone!

As some of you may have noticed, my precious @neteyamswillow hasn’t been very active recently due to personal reasons. For her Avatar: Mating Season event, she originally wanted to return to us, but unfortunately tumblr decided to kick her out and she is now unable to log back into her blog. On top of that, even though she had her fics queued, they‘ve suddenly stopped posting and now she can’t even share them for her event. :((

Due to this I‘ve decided to pause all contributions until she is able to come back and participate in her own event!

Some of you may remember that a very similar situation has happened to me during kinktober, which is why I know how stressful and frustrating this is. I‘m also here to kindly ask all of you who have planned to participate to show just a little bit of empathy to Willow, especially during the hard times she’s going through, and maybe put all of your Mating Season fics you’ve planned on posting on hold until she is back. I know she would appreciate this more than anything, and so would I.

Please also make sure to share this so everyone has the opportunity to see it.

Thank you so much 🩵

[nilsavatar]

[nilsavatar]

if yn has a name she’s no longer yn she’s an oc and you should stop using the x reader tag for oc’s please

The characters I tag as Reader do not have detailed physical descriptions, and, as you may see from reading my works, I strive as much as possible to reduce the use of the name during the narrative. This is done in order to allow my readers to see themselves in the protagonist without using y/n or blank spaces.

Mine is a stylistic choice that is also used by other authors who dislike the inclusion of y/n. Also, the names I use are always agreed upon with the community thorough polls, consequently they know they will have a name when they read the story.

For me names are a foundational part of the plot, they are never chosen at random because they always have a meaning related to the protagonist. I'm sorry if that bothers you, to me these characters are not simply OCs, I write with them in mind as Readers.

In any case thank you for sharing your opinion, although I do not share it.