#dad!neteyam

You watch now as he paces around the marui, muscles flexing, you dissociate as he yells in pits of rage, but your eyes can only see one thing;

the photos. the ones you took such delicate time to put up, the photos where you and Neteyam are posed and happy, young and in love. 

And the ones of your children, your three, half blood children. Two with five fingers and only one with four. 

Neteyam’s voice rises and falls like a blade striking stone. Words spill from him, laced with anger and grief, all of it aimed at the sky people, something you will always be on the inside.

You don’t flinch anymore when he gets like this.

Not on the outside, at least… Because inside, something else is happening. Your gaze stays fixed on the wall of your marui.

On the carefully placed memories that feel like they belong to someone else now. You remember even the day you took the first photo. 

He had been shy about it, awkward, complaining about the strange human device in your hands. But he smiled anyway, soft, reluctant but real. The kind of smile that never reaches him anymore.

But you had captured him like that. You had captured both of you like that. Before the war carved him into something harder.

Before his eyes began to look through you instead of at you. 

A sharp sound pulls you back, his hand slamming against a wooden beam. You don’t jump, you just blink, slowly, like surfacing from the ocean.

“They are monsters.” He spits, voice cracking at the edges. “They take and take and take—there is nothing good in them.”

Your chest tightens immediately. Nothing good. The words settle heavily in your ribs, pressing against your lungs. 

Because what does that make you?

What does that make your children?

Your eyes drift again, to the smaller photos beneath. Tiny hands gripping his fingers. Wide smiles, mismatched features, some his, and some yours. Beautiful in ways this world refuses to accept.

Neteyam turns, still breathing hard, still burning, and for a moment his eyes land on you. There’s something there—something conflicted, something almost guilty, but it vanishes too quickly, swallowed by the storm behind it.

You wonder, not for the first time, if he sees it, if he sees what his words do to you. Or if, somewhere along the way, his hatred grew so large that it stopped making exceptions.

Even for you, and even for them.

“They wear our skin like armor, with their alien hands. I hate their pink, little hands!” He curses, “they’re so weak and small. All of them. I hate them all, Y/n.”

“You don’t mean that.” you murmur.

“Yes, I do.” He snaps.

The marui feels so small now, tight in the air of his wrath. “You hate me?” You ask, voice shaking. 

His expression shifts. “You are not them.” 

“I was born one,” you whisper. “I have their blood.” 

“You are not them,” he repeats, louder this time.

You flinch slightly, small—subtle, but he notices. “You hate your children? With their alien hands?” 

“No.” He says, too quick.

“And what am I, Neteyam? If not half human?” 

He opens his mouth, then closes it. Silence follows. 

“And what are they?” You continue, softer now, but heavier than anything he’s said.

Neteyam does not have to ask to know who you are referring to. “They are Na’vi.” He says, firm.

“Some of them look like me. With their little alien hands. Right?” 

“They are ours.” He says, quick, like it fixes everything.

You shake your head. “Will the People ever see it that way?”

He doesn’t answer because he can’t. Silence stretches tight and suffocating. And then it breaks.

“I don’t know why you keep defending them!” he bursts. “After everything they’ve done—after everything they’ve taken!” 

“I am not defending them!” You shout. “I am asking you to see me when you look at them! To see your children, your brother, your sister, to see your father!”

“I do see you! And I see my children, I see Kiri and I see Lo’ak!  I have always seen my father!” He steps closer, voice rising.

“No you don’t,” you say quietly, but it lands like a blade. “Not when you talk like this.” 

His jaw tightens, frustration twisting into something sharper. “They would burn this place to the ground without a second thought.” He whispers harshly. “They would take our children-“

“Stop,” you warn, voice cracking. 

But he doesn’t stop. “They would take them, alter their minds. Make them forget us,” he says, voice rising again. “Make them speak like them, turn them against their own family! Against the People.” 

Silence slams down between you. Your chest tightens, not shock, not anger, just the cold burn of hurt. 

“And that’s what you think I am?”

“Neteyam freezes. “I didn’t-“ 

“You just described me,” you say, tears brimming, voice trembling. “Someone who speaks like them, thinks like them. Someone who left them behind.”

“That’s not-”

“Then explain the difference,” you cut in softly. “Because I don’t see one.”

He opens his mouth but nothing comes out, and that’s when you break. You step out, passing him, passing the woven photos, and passing the marui. 

You don’t look at him, you just walk until you practically can’t anymore, until you reach a wooden post at the edge of the village. Your hands grip it, and you finally let yourself be. 

footsteps approach as quickly as the tears fall. “I’m sorry, baby.” A familiar voice whispers behind you. 

Before you can react, his hands are wrapped around your chest. Gentle and steady. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean a single word to hurt you.” 

Your hands reach up to grip his arms. “I was angry,” he continues, low and urgent. “And I,” his lips brush your ear, his breath ghosting the sensitive area beneath them. “I never meant to make you feel like you don’t belong here with me and with us.” 

“But you did.” You breathe.

“I know,” he murmurs, voice rough, filled with regret. “And I’m so sorry, baby. I don’t want you to feel torn apart by my anger.” 

You close your eyes, letting his presence flood through you. “It hurts, Neteyam. Even if you don’t mean it. I hear it.” 

“I hear you,” he whispers, voice almost breaking. “I see you, I see all of you. The human, the Na’vi, everything in between. And I love all of it. I love you.” 

Your shoulders shake, but not from fear.

“I will try to hold back from this anger, for you and for the children. I will hold you, all of you.”

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, his hand snakes over yours, over your fingers. 

“And I will always try, because I don't want to lose you or the kids.”

Your tears finally fall freely, without you cowering or shrinking away. But this time, you let him hold you. 

Your children turn a corner and are about to enter the marui when they spot you, each of them run over—holding toys, carved and painted by their small hands.

The moment shifts the air completely. 

Your youngest reaches you first, her small feet slapping softly against the ground, cutting through the tension like sunlight.

She crashes into you without hesitation, small arms wrapping around your legs like nothing in the world could ever be wrong. 

“Mama!” She chirps, her voice bright and breathless. The others follow close behind—one skidding slightly to a stop, and the other slowing just enough to take in your face.

Your middle child tilts her head, eyes flicking between your tear streaked cheeks and Neteyam standing behind you. “Why are you crying?” she asks.

You open your mouth but nothing comes out yet. Neteyam’s arms loosen just slightly around you, allowing you some space, not speaking over you. 

you sigh heavily, forcing your voice to steady. “Just big feelings. sometimes they come all at once.” You brush your hand over your youngest daughter’s hair. 

Your oldest steps closer now, more cautious than more aware. His gaze lingers on his father for a moment—reading him in that quiet, instinctive way children sometimes do—before returning to you.

“Are you hurt, Mother?” He asks.

You shake your head quickly, pulling him close with your free arm. “No. No, I’m okay.” 

It’s not entirely true, but it is enough. Neteyam exhales behind you, like he’s trying to relearn how to exist now. His hand shifts, gently covering yours where it rests against your child’s back. 

Your small girl steps back just enough to hold something up proudly. A little carved toy, painted unevenly but with so much love that it makes your chest ache.

“Look Mommy! Look Daddy! I made this for you.” she says.

You blink, your vision blurring again, but softer this time. “For Me and for Daddy?” 

She nods eagerly. “It’s all of us!” 

You take it carefully, like it might break. Four fingers, one taller than the rest, one slightly broader—Neteyam. Then three smaller ones in between. 

Some are carved with four fingers, some with five, none of them look out of place. And this is somehow better than any picture.

Something in your chest cracks open, not painfully but wide, like light finally letting in. 

Neteyam’s hands move over yours, tracing the small wooden piece that fits perfectly in your hands. Your tail slows behind you, lifting so high that it brushes his neck. 

Your oldest leans against your side. “We’re all there,” he says simply, pointing at the carving. “See?”

“I see, my love.” you whisper. 

And you do, you see not the division, not the doubt, or the words thrown in anger, but you see the messy, imperfect, undeniable love. 

Your middle child suddenly looks up at Neteyam. “Did you make Mama cry?” She asks. 

Neteyam stiffens, for a moment you wonder if he’ll deflect it, soften it, or turn it into something easier. But he doesn’t, and when his voice comes, it is quiet. “Yes.” 

Honesty settles heavier than anything else. Your children don’t recoil, they don’t fear him. Your youngest just frowns slightly, then rubs your leg like she’s trying to fix it herself.

“Don’t do that.” She says matter of factly. 

Neteyam lets out a breath that almost comes out as a laugh, but it fractures halfway through. “I’ll try very hard not to.” He leans to her level. 

She gets closer to him now, her five fingers spreading across his cheeks, squeezing. “Good job, papa.” 

Your oldest studies him for a second longer, then he nods like he’s decided to believe him. 

Just like that, children forgive in ways adults forget how to. In this small and growing moment, you’re not too much of anything. You are exactly who they reached for when they carved that little piece of wood. 

@cursed-carmine for the ribbon divider, thank you!

Neteyam huffs a quiet laugh as he helps you lower yourself onto the woven mat and then settling himself behind you. “She is right, you would not last a single day in her place.” he said mildly, though there was a warning edge beneath the fondness. “Watch your words, skxawng [moron/idiot].”

Lo’ak rolls his eyes, raising his hands in surrender, catching both your tone and Neteyam’s warning, not wanting to get on either of your bad sides. “Okay, okay. No disrespect to the little warrior and their mother.” He says, referring to you and the baby developing in your womb.

You lean back against Neteyam’s chest with a small sigh, ignoring Lo'ak and allowing your mate's presence to relax you. Your hand settles over your belly without thinking, rubbing circles against your skin as another wave of hunger curls through you.

“I have been waiting all day to eat,” you say, voice softer now that your in the warm embrace of your mate. “I told your mother about it while we were weaving. I think she got tired of hearing me talk about it.”

Neteyam smiles down at you, resting his hand on top of yours. “You were talking about food again?” 

“Yes,” you admit without shame, not being able to repress your desire to speak of the foods you’ve grown to love over the years, and even more so since you discovered you were pregnant. “My favorite.”

That grabs Neteyam’s attention, wanting to know what your craving of the day is, because you have developed many favorite dishes over the course of your pregnancy. “Which one?” 

“The roasted yerik [hexapede] with the honey glaze,” you say with a soft, breathy sigh, eyes drifting closed as if the memory of the dish alone could satisfy the ache in your stomach. “The way you make it. I’ve been thinking about it since sunrise.”

Neteyam’s cooking skills have always been excellent, taught by the great Palulukan Makto herself, Neytiri. The way he roasts the yerik to perfection, smothered with the freshest herbs and spices, then once it’s finished, he glazes it with honey from the ripper wasp hive, careful not to let it burn, turning the meat slowly until it shines and crackles just right. 

He always lets it rest after, like his mother taught him, sealing in the juices before slicing it clean and even. It’s rich, sweet, and savory all at once, comforting in a way that settles within your bones. Just thinking about it makes your stomach twist with longing for the meal.

Neteyam smiles softly at the sound of your sigh, pride warming his chest at how much you enjoy the food he prepares for you. “You like it that much?” he asks, thumb brushing over the back of your hand where it rests on your belly.

He remembers the long hours it took him to roast the yerik when he cooked it yesterday. The delicate honey glaze and the patience needed to let it rest. It practically takes a full day to cook, not even including prep time, but seeing your face light up every time you eat it makes all that effort feel worth it.

“Of course,” you murmur. “I crave it all the time now. Neytiri said the baby will be wishing for yerik once it’s older.” You say softly with a laugh, believing that Neteyam's mother words are true and that once your child grows up, yerik will become their favorite type of meat as well.

Lo’ak makes a quiet sound from across the room, shifting where he lounges. Neteyam notices the shift in his brother, he notices everything. It must be the warrior in him that makes him so vigilant, but it helps in situations like these.

Neteyam’s ears twitch, eyes lifting slowly to his brother. The pride on his face fades into something more alert, assessing Lo’ak’s strange behavior. “Why are you suddenly so still?”

Lo’ak clears his throat, looking rather nervous for some strange reason. “I’m not.”

“You are.” Neteyam counters calmly, furrowing his brow lines, trying to figure out the root of Lo'ak's sudden fidgeting.

You push yourself up with a small groan, not paying attention to the back and forth between the Sully brothers, too busy with food on your brain. “I’m going to wash up,” you say, wanting to feel fresh before you settle down and eat. “I smell like dye and smoke.” You lean up, pressing a gentle kiss to Neteyam’s jaw, before standing up straight. “Can you warm the food for me please?” You request lightly, feeling the baby kick, as if they are rushing you to eat.

Neteyam hums softly at your request, already shifting to stand up as well. “Of course,” he says without hesitation. “I’ll have it ready when you come back.”

He watches you go, eyes lingering the way they always have since you’ve become pregnant: protective, fond, and most all memorized. You disappear behind the privacy curtain, the soft rustle of fabric marking the moment you are out of sight. A second later, he hears you exhale, the quiet sound of relief as you shed your clothing.

Only then does Neteyam move. He rises smoothly and crosses to the fire pit, crouching to stir the firewood and coax the start of the flames. The movements are automatic, practiced hands reaching for kindling and the fan made of woven leaves.

The fire begins, crackling brighter by the moment, allowing the cooking pot to begin heating. Once it’s complete that's when Neteyam breaks the silence. “Lo’ak, what did you do?” He asks without turning around, keeping his eyes on the fire before him.

Lo’ak stiffens, looking very guilty even though he swears everything is fine. “I didn’t—”

“The food,” Neteyam cuts in, his voice still calm but with an edge now. “What did you do with it?” The roasted yerik should be in the basket where he placed last night, untouched, waiting for you to request it, but now, mysteriously, it's gone.

Lo’ak scratches at the back of his neck, looking around, knowing he’s in trouble by Neteyam’s tone. “I got hungry after the big hunt. And it was just sitting there.”

Neteyam’s jaw tightens as he feeds another piece of wood to the flame. “Please, tell me you did not eat it.”

“…Only some of it.” Lo'ak mutters out, but Neteyam hears him clear as day.

Neteyam straightens slowly and turns to finally face his brother, an upset expression forming on his face. “She has been craving that food for days now,” he says, voice low. “It takes much time to prepare.”

“I know, okay? I messed up.”

“You know she has barely kept anything down these past weeks,” Neteyam goes on, eyes sharp, wondering how his younger brother could be such a skxawng [idiot] that he would eat food that's already claimed. “And now that she can eat, you take the one thing she has been waiting for.”

Lo’ak opens his mouth again, guilt flashing in his eyes. “Neteyam, I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean—”

Neteyam whirls on him in a flash, ears pinning flat as he hisses sharply, not wanting to hear his brother's mouth. “Quiet.”

Lo’ak freezes, seeing the angry side of his brother appear, a side he doesn’t see often but when he does, he knows it isn’t good. “You do not apologize to me,” Neteyam continues under his breath, stepping closer so his words don’t carry past the fire, not wanting you to hear. “You apologize to her.”

“I will,” Lo’ak whispers back. “I swear. I just—”

Neteyam exhales slowly through his nose, forcing his temper down before he snaps. “You have not taken a mate yet,” he says, tone controlled but very serious. “So there are things you do not understand.”

Lo’ak frowns, not understanding what he means. “Like what?”

Neteyam’s gaze locks onto him, pressing his hand forcefully into his brother’s chest, wanting to get the words through his brother’s thick skull. “You do not mess with a pregnant woman’s food.”

Lo’ak lets out a weak, nervous huff, not taking his brother seriously. 'He has to be overreacting' the younger brother thought. “You’re acting like she’s gonna—”

“When she finds out there is no food,” Neteyam cuts in, deciding to be very blunt and plain, not knowing how else to put it. “she will kill you.”

Lo’ak chuckles, shaking his head, thinking Neteyam is just being dramatic. In his eyes, you're too sweet and kind to blow up at him over a little meal. “You’re joking.”

Neteyam doesn’t laugh or crack a smile. He looks at his brother with a straight face. Lo’ak’s laughter quickly dies, making him clear his throat awkwardly. “…Oh,” he says lowly. “You’re serious.”

“Very,” Neteyam responds flatly.

He turns back to the fire, rubbing a hand over his face now, stress finally seeping through the cracks. “She has been waiting all day. She is tired. She is hungry. And she is carrying our child. Her body is not hers alone right now. It is demanding things, and that demand does not listen to reason.”

“I really messed up,” Lo’ak says quietly, realizing how fucked he truly is.

“You did,” Neteyam agrees, not sugarcoating it. “And when she starts crying, there will be no talking your way out of it.”

Lo’ak opens his mouth to say something else, wondering what his brother means by “crying”. He doesn’t know how to handle anything like this, he needs his brother's advice. But, it’s too late to ask because you’ve returned.

You step out from behind the privacy curtain in fresh, loose clothing, your shoulders no longer aching beneath the weight of the day. Your hair is tied back simply, something comfortable after the day you’ve had. 

There’s a soft smile on your face, one meant only for Neteyam, the one that spreads across your lips from being able to relax in the comfort of your own home.

Your eyes drift immediately to the fire, expecting to see your meal laid across the top in the cooking pot. The flames are thriving, but the stoneware that usually holds the food is bare. No wrapped leaves. No glistening meat warming. Nothing, making your smile falter. “…Neteyam?” you ask gently, tilting your head, confused on why the food isn't heating like he promised you it would. “Where is it?”

Neteyam stills, feeling his heart quicken in pace. He opens his mouth, ready to answer you in a soft, calm voice, already planning to ease the sudden tension in the room. But before he can speak, Lo’ak blurts out, “I ate it! I… I’m sorry!”

Neteyam’s ears flatten fully, a low hiss tearing from his chest, a warning meant to stop his brother before he digs himself any deeper. If Lo’ak had let him handle it, Neteyam would have softened the blow, easing you into the idea gently, sparing you this spike of shock. But it’s too late for that now, you've heard it.

Your eyes narrow instantly, pupils sharpening as heat floods your veins. You turn fully toward Lo’ak, shoulders squaring, hands curling at your sides, tail whipping behind you. “You ate it?” you repeat in disbelief, your voice remaining dangerously calm. “You ate my food.”

Lo’ak flounders under your glare, holding up his hands defensively. “I didn’t think—”

“That much is clear,” you snap, already stepping forward. “Why would you eat something that is not yours?! In someone else’s home?!” You shove him hard in the chest, the force sending him stumbling back a step. “I have been waiting all day to eat Neteyam's cooking!” 

Your heart is pounding now, hunger and frustration twisting together until it feels unbearable. Tears sting your eyes, your anger bleeding into hurt. “I wanted it,” you say, voice shaking, feeling yourself become more and more upset. “That was the one thing I wanted and you ruined it.”

Lo’ak opens his mouth, but no words come. He’s never seen you like this before, and certainly not about food. The mix of anger, frustration, and hunger radiates off you like heat. Lo’ak swallows, guilt washing over him, wishing he didn’t eat the food in the first place. “I didn’t know it was that serious—”

Your breath comes sharp, feeling your anger boil over when those words leave his lips. How could he say that? How could he think denying a pregnant woman her meal wasn’t serious. It is in fact, a very serious matter. “I’m going to kill you, skxawng!” 

The words rip out of you exactly the way Neteyam knew they would. The instant they leave your mouth, he realizes just how much he knows you like the back of his hand. Neteyam knew this was going to happen the moment Lo’ak opened his mouth instead of letting him handle it. He knew the hunger, hormones, and disappointment would ignite a fire in you.

You lunge towards Lo’ak, wanting to squeeze the life out of him. It’s fast and unfiltered, pure instinct driven by emotion, your body already moving before your mind can think of a more rational way to handle this. Lo’ak stumbles backward in panic, hands flying up as he scrambles out of reach, tail curling behind him. “Oh shit—!”

Neteyam moves at the same instant, catching you around the waist before you can reach Lo’ak and yanking you back against his chest, planting his feet as your momentum dies in his arms. “Mawey, yawne [calm, beloved].” he growls softly, firm but careful, not wanting your emotions to run too high and spike your blood pressure.

You struggle in grasp, breath hitching, frustration breaking into a sob, wanting to wrap your hands around Lo'ak's throat for what he did. “Neteyam— he—”

“I know,” he murmurs immediately, understanding your anger. He moves one hand to settle protectively over your belly, while the other anchors you, resting on your hip. “I know, yawne [beloved]. Just breathe.”

Your strength gives out, not wanting to fight anymore. Now you just want to grief the meal you were deprived of. Your anger slowly begins to drain from your limbs, as tears spill freely down your cheeks. “I just wanted it,” you choke, trying to calm yourself. “I have finally felt hungry again… I have been craving it all day…”

Lo’ak just stands there now, frozen, heart pounding, staring at the space you almost crossed. He’s never seen you like that, he’s never seen anyone snap so fast for that matter. The shove was bad enough, but that lunge? The bloodshot anger in your eyes? That was something else entirely. Lo’ak now understands what Neteyam meant earlier when it comes to dealing with a pregnant woman. 

Neteyam rocks you gently in his arms, soothing you as your breathing evens out against his chest. He waits until the heat radiating from your skin fades, until the trembling in your hands stills. Only then does he lift his head, cutting his eyes to Lo’ak in a way that leaves no room for argument.

“You are going to find the ripper wasp hive,” Neteyam says evenly, as his hand rubs soothing circles against your back. “You’ll harvest the honey properly. Then you will hunt a yerik.” His tone deepens, the words carrying a sharp, unmistakable edge. “If you do not return with both by eclipse, then I will be the one who kills you.”

Lo’ak nods immediately, without hesitation. He hates seeing you cry, especially since he caused it, and he knows his brother well enough to understand that this is not an empty threat. Neteyam does not bluff when it comes to you. And, Lo'ak does not want to feel your wrath if he doesn't comply to Neteyam's orders.

“Go,” Neteyam hisses, deeming his brother is moving far too slow. Lo’ak doesn’t waste another second. He slips out of the marui, already running through the forest paths in his head. Where yerik roam thickest, where the ripper wasp hives hang untouched, and how to do it correctly and fast so he can bring them back before nighttime settles over the forest.

Once he’s gone, the marui falls quiet again. The adrenaline has finally drained from your body, leaving behind nothing but hunger, exhaustion, and the creeping embarrassment that follows after you accidentally lose control.

You sniffle, shoulders slumping as you press your face further into Neteyam’s chest. “…I should not have yelled like that,” you mumble, mortified by your actions. “I don’t know what came over me.”

Neteyam’s grip softens instantly. He pulls back just enough to look at you, hands warm against your skin. “Hey,” he murmurs, wanting you to know you have nothing to feel sorry for. “You're with child. You're hungry. And someone ate the one thing you wanted.” He tilts his head until you have no choice but to meet his eyes, thumb brushing gently along your cheek, wiping away the tears that are beginning to dry. “You are allowed to feel things, especially when someone has crossed you.”

You let out a shaky breath, nodding, digesting your mate's words. “I still feel bad.”

“That just means you’re you,” he says with a soft smile, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “And I love you. Even when you threaten my brother’s life.”

A small, embarrassed huff of laughter escapes you, feeling a bit better now. Neteyam's smile stays curled across his lips, holding you close as the last of the tension fades, leaving only warmth, and the quiet certainty that you’re understood, even in your messiest moments.

You sigh shakily, forehead resting against his shoulder again. “I just… I wanted it so badly,” you whisper, still wishing you could eat the food Neteyam prepared for you. “I’ve been thinking about it all day. It’s not fair.”

“I know,” Neteyam says quietly, tenderness thick in his voice. “I know. But it’s alright. You don’t have to stay upset. I’ll make it right.” You sniffle, nuzzling closer as he presses another kiss to your skin, right against your temple. “I could make you something else for now,” he suggests gently, wanting to ease the hunger clawing at your stomach.

You whine softly, voice muffled against his chest, hands clutching his cummerband with stubborn desperation. “No… I only want the roasted yerik. I do not want anything else.”

Neteyam exhales through his nose, thinking. He doesn’t want you to go hungry, especially since you haven't eaten in hours. He doesn’t want you to wait on the honey-glazed yerik, knowing how long it will take to prepare properly.

He shifts slightly, considering what he can make quickly from what’s already prepped and ready in your shared home. “I could steam some teylu, roast the sturmbeest I hunted today, grill some delta tree roots…”

Your lips press into a thin line, not liking the sound of any of those foods, but then his next suggestion makes your ears twitch, piquing your interest. “Buoyfish…” you repeat softly, eyes widening when you hear him say it. “You… have buoyfish?”

“Yes,” Neteyam nods, grinning. He had a feeling that would make your ears perk up. “Fresh from the waterways, already cleaned and ready for grilling. I can pair it with some fruits and vegetables.”

Your stomach gives an approving flutter, and your lips tug into a soft, shy smile. “That… that sounds really good.” you admit, the tight knot of frustration and hunger in your chest loosens, finally feeling yourself relax.

You haven't eaten this fish since you became pregnant, not being able to withstand the smell but those days are long over. Now, the smell of it makes your mouth water instead of feeling nauseous.

Relief washes over him when he hears you say that, the tight line of worry leaving his face as if it had never been there at all. His expression softens, eyes warming as he looks down at you.

“Good,” he murmurs, lifting a hand to brush a loose braid away from your face, and then allowing his hand to linger on your cheek. “I’ll prepare it right away. You won’t have to wait a moment longer.”

Still nestled safely in his arms, you tilt your face up toward him, drawn in by the way he’s smiling at you, like you're the center of his world. Neteyam leans down slowly, giving you time to adjust, until his lips meet yours.

The kiss is gentle at first, sweet and tender, meant to soothe rather than ignite. His mouth is warm, while his lips press against yours with quiet reassurance, as if every worry he carried has melted away. You hum softly into the kiss without thinking, the sound vibrating between you, and your hands drift up to rest over his shoulders, fingers curling around his neck.

He pulls back just enough to breathe, resting his forehead against yours, noses brushing together softly. You smile up at him, eyes half-lidded, feeling content in this moment, your hunger taking a backseat and the love you have for your mate arising. “Thank you,” You aren't only thanking him because he's cooking for you, it's because he sees you, because he knows you better than yourself, and is always willing to cater to your every need.

“Anything for you, yawne.” he murmurs back, just as quietly, brushing his nose against yours in a familiar nuzzle.

You lean in again, this time resting your cheek against his chest, while Neteyam's arm tightens around you briefly, one more wordless act of love, before he presses a final kiss to your temple. “I’ll go begin cooking now,” he says, already turning toward the cooking pot, grabbing the buoyfish and a selection of spices to smother across it before laying it over the fire.

You giggle softly, watching him go, warmth blooming in your chest as the crackle of the fire grows and the marui settles into a peaceful hush. The hunger, the exhaustion, the long day, all of it feels lighter now. And as you lower yourself and curl back onto the mat, listening to the familiar sounds of Neteyam moving about, the evening feels gentle again, and you're happy that you'll soon be ravishing into one of Neteyam's great meals.

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓… @24k-raptor @sal8khd @miklormeg @merlinbtch @llovekats @jjaaammwii @itskekeelise @annieayuu @bunnyredgirl @sleepypulm @ermuhficarchive @chaotickittenanchor @nyxciaa @avatar4eva @littlebambi-isdee @ilyjxdz @other-w-0-rldly @kazgiena @bakugouswaif @neteyamslovrr @fizzywizzyglizzy @dreamlessnight98 @callsign-mischief @emforjin @sourcameron @rafescrazyfangirl @astrophiliq @yeeusniss @naya-papaya @peachgirllvr67 @yukichan67 @yoritsune-jpsmbh @rosalia-97 @Gardenbabe1988 @anikasully67 @kazgiena @xoxojules86 @littlemochix17 @tiswanye @emilymikado @ikeyniofthetayrangi @prettyinpikk @avatarsslut @himikoquack

“Where’s mama?” she whines, frustration lining the corners of her eyes.

“Mama’s busy, 'itetsyìp,” he replies, sitting with her on the mat. He takes the weave from her hands and fixes the bead with a simple knot. “You have me.”

She eyes her father, face contorting like she’s contemplating his presence, then huffs, “No, I want mom.”

Neteyam sighs, brushing the stray braid that covers her face to the side. She dodges his touch, turning her head a little to the right. The girl takes her unfinished craft from her father’s hands and ties all the knots she can muster with her tiny fingers. Not without struggle; but she seems extremely intent on fixing her weaved top without his help.

His tail flicks to the side, a huff escaping him. “I’ll go get mama. If she says she’s busy then dadda will help you, alright?”

Tey’a nods grudgingly as he places a kiss to the top of her head.

“Wait here.”

Neteyam finds you easily. You did not go far—only a few homes away from your own, but you look pissed. You’re carrying a large basket of fish, eyes impatient as the fisherman explains something he doesn’t quite understand. Eywa. He prays you won’t strangle him for interrupting.

Neteyam approaches, and when you catch his eyes from the corner of your own, he freezes. Your attention is on him now.

You don’t even look like you want to dump the basket of fish on the fisherman anymore. You look like you might just dump it on him.

Neteyam looks away, feigning interest at a passerby. He’ll just have to help Tey’a himself. She’s six. Her anger is way less scarier than yours.

“Mom!” his little girl calls out. Great Mother. Your head snaps to the tent of your home, shooting Neteyam a brief look.

“I’ll handle it,” he mumbles quickly, eyes averted as he makes his way to the entrance. Clearing his throat, Neteyam summons the most feminine voice he can possibly muster, “Yes, 'itetsyìp? I’m busy, sweetheart.”

Tey’a appears from the flap of the tent, purely unimpressed. “Dad, I’m not three.”

Her eyes flicker from him to you– who’s still arguing with the fisherman.

“You didn’t even try!” she cries out, storming inside in a puff of storm clouds.

This… this is not ideal, he sighs, already running after the six year old.

‧₊˚.ೃ ࿐

It’s why, more often than not, you find yourself sat in the middle of your tent, weaving random little things as you kept your mind occupied. Sometimes you struggled to succumb to sleep when your thoughts were so raging, and sometimes you sought out the idea of staying up later just so you could experience this.

There was something about being completely free with it all, too, of being vulnerable. You shared your tent with your mate, Neteyam, and after being mated now for years, there was nothing that couldn’t be shared between the two of you, nothing that could stop the love for one another.

So, going to sleep naked, and waking up and completing small chores before your day truly began, was normal for the two of you. It brought about a vulnerability that could only be shared between two mates than irrevocably loved one another. There were no fears, no insecurities - just pure, gentle love.

And, now, as time seemed to slow down just a little, soft caresses against your skin whilst you smoothly hummed your songcord to yourself, you didn’t take notice of the other noises shifting behind you.

Except, when a small grunt sounded out, extremely close to you, and then an entire figure sitting directly behind you, pulling you flush against his front did you realise what was happening. Neteyam had woken up and spotted your disappearance. He wasn’t clingy, per say, but one of his favourite things would always be to fall asleep with you tangled in his embrace, so unbelievably close, you simply couldn’t be two separate people.

That’s why you’re not entirely shocked when he presses you up against him, forcing his face between the dip of your neck, inhaling deeply. A soft chuckle escapes your lips at your mate’s antics, loving the feel of him being so clingy. You bring your hand up to caress the side of his face, inadvertently bringing him closer, whilst his own arms wrap themselves tight around your waist.

“I didn’t wake you, did I?” You question, knowing that such a situation has occurred before. You hope it was the reason this time, as Neteyam needs to be up fairly early in the morning to meet his father.

A sigh breathes against the skin of your neck, sending shivers down your spine. “No,” he pauses, no doubt too sleepy to really understand his surroundings, “I missed you…”

His words resonated within you and cut deep within your core, wanting to tattoo them on your skin and never forget them. Still, even when they were so incredibly loving, you couldn’t help but laugh at him. “I haven’t been out of bed for long.”

“Still,” he’s adamant, squeezing you tighter within his embrace. Then, his fingers start dancing against your skin, sending gentle patterns along your stomach. They travel higher and higher at an agonisingly slow pace, until they’re so close to your chest, you can practically feel his phantom touches.

For a moment, you think he’s just teasing you like he loves to do to you, but it’s obvious how truly sleepy he is when he takes both of your boobs within his grasps, and squeezes them. Before you can help it, a soft moan falls from your lips, closing your eyes in bliss at his sudden actions. “You have the most perfect tits.”

His voice is nothing but husky and guttural now, full of both love and lust all for you. Your insides are churning, a knot that feels so unbelievably amazing forming at the bottom of your stomach. So badly do you want to give into him, but you know there’s a possibility he’ll regret it in the morning if he doesn’t get enough sleep.

“‘Teyam…” you start, wanting to sound confident and strong, but it comes out like you’re moaning his name. It’s obvious he’s enjoying himself, too, by the way he squeezes you tighter and a low growl sounds from the back of his throat. You swallow deeply, “‘Teyam, you need to be up in the morning…”

“That’s okay,” he whispers, now starting to pepper sultry kisses against the skin of your neck. “I don’t mind being a little late if it means I get to devour you whole, yawne (beloved)…”

Yours and Neteyam’s relationship had not always been this messy, filled with unresolved arguments and crying toddlers to tend to in the midst of the night. Matter of fact you both had been somewhat of a popular pair amongst the Omaticaya while Jake still ruled the clan, and it wasn’t like that had changed much throughout the years.

Two young, star-crossed lovers bound to fall for each other, bonded for life under the eyes of the All-Mother. There had been little complications in your relationship as you both grew with each other, accepted by both parents and blessed by Eywa herself. You complimented each like you both had been moulded in the sole purposes of completing one another, while you brought some gaiety into Neteyam’s life, he was always there to ground and guide you. 

Amidst the instances that life had brought you to, the Great-Mother had been nice enough to bless you both with a new life, a son that had soon been accompanied by his very own sister. Though as Neteyam’s duties began to catch up on his poor soul, his duties as a father and mate have ignorantly been left in the dust. 

Your heart ached at the many nights that you had spent alone at night, tending to your two young children while your husband was outside, treating some unrelated matter. Though you knew that being affiliated with the Olo’eyktan’s son would surely mean a future with many obstacles and unforeseen trouble, nothing could’ve prepared you for the rocky stages in your relationship that you were currently facing. 

Now as you left as quickly as you arrived, a bowl full of threading needles and feathers in your arms that you had deposited to your mate, Jake could already tell that something was wrong. The tense silence that lingered around you both was suffocating, and low for any pair that shared a bond. Plus it was not like Jake was a stranger to you, he knew you and your talkative mouth, so this was truly odd. 

“Your woman cannot even look at you in the face.” Neteyam’s ears flicker towards the sound of his father’s voice, startling him in the process as his calloused fingers graze the tip of the arrow that he was currently working on. The edge is sharp and draws blood from underneath his layers of skin, but an injury of this size does little to phase a warrior. 

Neteyam shakes his head at Jake’s words, not finding it in himself to care at his father’s vague words. “What goes on in my home is anything but your concern.” 

Jake winces internally at his eldest son’s harsh tone, differing from the usual tenderness and care that laced it. He knew not to take anything to heart, that the constant frown on his son’s face was probably the main source of it. The frown that he had brought amongst himself, though he fails to realise it for now, Jake is persistent on making his hard headed son understand. 

Jake’s experienced fingers swiftly threaded a piece of string around his fletching, securing the feather onto the lower part of his arrow. His yellow eyes trailed towards his tall pile of finished arrows, while his son’s harboured a pitiful amount of 5. 

“What’s wrong, son?” Jake sighed as he watched his son’s ears fall at his question, his hands pausing their work once more, this time free of any new injury. 

“My mate is upset at me,” Neteyam breathed out loudly, and the pause in his voice made it known to his father that he was not quite done talking yet, so observant silence was what he was met with. “We have arguments nearly every night when I come home, and I'm sure that it’s affecting Nikko and Raylu just as much as it’s affecting us.” 

Jake watched a sliver of a smile make its way onto Neteyam’s face at the mention of his two beloved children, before quickly fading away at the situation. 

The sun had nearly started to leave place for the moon, eclipse bound to fall upon the lands of Pandora. The soft orange hue kissed the father and son, complementing their vibrant yellow eyes. Jake was no stranger to his eldest son’s trouble, for, it was easy to notice the absence of your mate in your family tent, late at night. 

Jake didn’t believe that his son had been unfaithful to you, being deceitful was a concept that had been brought to Pandora by the humans, and unlike them, the Na’vi were loyal companions. He knew by the way that Neteyam’s muscles tensed at every move that his son was staying out all night to work, whether it was helping with village work or to help and train the newbies. 

Hard-headed just like his mother, Neteyam had let his duties overtake the time that he was supposed to be at home, supposed to be a husband, supposed to be a father. No, instead he used that time to be The Future Olo’eyktan. Though nobody is born perfect, sometimes even people like Neteyam had to be guided to the right direction at times. 

“Y’know, it’s never too late to head back home right now, forget about those duties that you have put amongst your own back and be the man that your family craves for.” and with that, it takes a little amount of thinking before Neteyam is up and running, his feet running towards the familiar dirt track towards your little shared hut. He sends a hurried ‘thank you’ and an apology for running off so early, though Jake can only be bothered to chuckle at his son, a sense of pride swarming his chest as he watches his eldest son be the man that he should. The man that you and your children deserve. 

-

Neteyam observes as your eyes widen at his early entrance, clearly not being used to having him in your family tent at this hour. The sun had barely started to set, and both your children were just starting to wake up from their afternoon nap. There in your hand laid a tray of fruits, presumably to feed the roaring bellies of your two bundles of joys. Asif on cue, Nikko’s stomach growls as though he had never been fed before and a shushed giggle escapes your throat at the sight of him attempting to grab the fruit from your higher-form. 

Neteyam watches with adoration in his eyes as you bend down on your knees to offer him a fruit on the platter, trying to stifle down his own laughter as your son attempts to grab the whole tray instead. Grubby hands gone and chubby stomachs full, the children are now playing on their own. Though your back is turned towards your husband, he knows that you fear the sight of him. Not that you fear him himself, but the conversation that would obviously have to ensue. He wasn’t here early for no reason, and you all knew it. 

“I have saved you a special meal, I knew that you’d work until late again tonight,” you whispered out the last part and Neteyam’s ears twitched towards your direction. Though before he could say anything, you corrected yourself. “Or so I thought, but that doesn’t matter because here you are now.” 

Your tone was soft and almost too caring for a woman that had spent the last few nights of her life arguing with her husband about his whereabouts, but he was here now, and there was no need to cause a scene. 

Neteyam’s eyes observe as you turn around with two bowls in hand, both of them overlapping with steamed Teylu that you had previously prepared. Though the Teylu was the last thing on his mind at the moment, the sight of you had Neteyam practically to his knees. His mind and eyes raced between every single aspect of you, from the way that your clothes hugged your body in every good way possible, to the way your ears were flickering slightly as you awaited for him to say something.

“I’m surprised that the kids have not come running to me yet,” his voice cut through the sudden silence, choosing to ignore what you had said earlier. His eyes were very much still on you and he looked like a lost man. He looked like a fool in-love, and that was most probably what he was anyway, there was no shame in showing it. The both of you had now sat down in front of each other, bowls in hand as you feasted on the delicacy. 

“They are too busy caring about their playtime to even notice the both of us, but it’s the age for such behaviour so don’t think anything of it.” you turned your head to take a look at your children once more, a soft smile gracing your face as you watched them carefully play with their carved toys. Toys that their father had hand-carved for them with love.

 “They love you” you reassured him, somehow believing that his previous statement was because he thought it wasn’t the case. You turned your head towards your mate, though you weren’t expecting his eyes to meet yours so abruptly. You couldn’t help but notice the swirl of emotions that ran through them, like he was trying to speak to you through them because he couldn’t do it with his own mouth. 

“I love you.” Neteyam blurted out before his brain could even process, though the look in his eyes proved that he meant every single word. The lack of hesitation in his voice made your heart thump hard against your chest, so hard that you could’ve thought that Neteyam could hear it. Your ears lowered at his sudden confession, though they were three words that you had heard many times throughout your relationship, they still had you reacting like you did the first time that he uttered them to you. 

“I love you too, Neteyam.” you shyly muttered to him, your ears now raising as you stared your husband down with adoration. Neteyam released a breath that he ignored he was holding at your admission, a pressure upon his chest lifting. Bless Eywa, the way that you stared at him with those blown out pupils made him almost need to grip onto the floor to keep him from pouncing on you. Though now was not the time to get all riled up by you, he had a well awaited apology to deliver to you, and a role of husband to take up back on. 

“Listen, I know I haven’t been the best mate as of recently, and I know that you have been suffering because of my actions,” Neteyam trailed off, watching you with attentive eyes to see if he could continue. “I know that I have not been present enough for my family, that I have put my duties at a higher position than they should've been. And I'm sorry for all of this, all that I've been causing to us.” 

No words could come out of your mouth at his apology, though you wished not to speak. Something about hearing Neteyam being able to apologise and admit his faults had your hard thumping even harder than before, though he was not hundred percent forgiven in your heart.

“I’m sorry for causing unnecessary fights between us when I knew that you just wanted the best for me, or leaving you alone at night to take care of our children. I promise that as of now, I’ll give you all the time that you deserve. Or, pull my head out of my ass like Spider would say.” You both take a moment to laugh about the said man, Neteyam’s human cousin that you strangely adored. 

“I love you and this family, there’s no other place that I'd wanna be right now. I don’t care if you don’t forgive me now, or ever in that case. I’d spend the rest of my life trying to fix my wrong doings.” Neteyam whispered to you. 

It didn’t take you much after his whole essay-of-an apology for you to drop your half empty bowl to the side, crawling towards Neteyam that was just in front of you. The sudden throw of your arms around his neck was much unexpected for the Sully son, but he’d take that over anything else. His larger palms pulled you further into the hug, pulling you onto his lap with one hand upon your waist as the other laid across your lower back. 

Eywa was he so warm, and how much had you missed the natural heat of his body. His arms engulfed your body into his embrace, making you feel much more protected than you needed to. Neteyam couldn’t help the pur that left his throat as you rubbed your cheek against his in a loving act, his heart felt like it could melt at any moment now. You nuzzled your face into his neck, the tip of your nose touching his skin as your breathing tickled him, and his chuckle was the proof of it. 

You didn’t know exactly why you had rushed into his arms so quickly, after the amount of time that he had made you wait for him. But you knew that Neteyam was a good man, he was raised by good people, and he would never do anything to harm you or your little family on purpose. Nobody was perfect and neither was he, he’d make mistakes too, and you’d be here to correct him upon it. You deemed that it was probably your bond that led you back into his arms so fast, or the fact that you had missed him so much. 

Though you didn’t care, you’d have all the time of your life to sulk and have him work to make it up to you later on. 

“I don’t want to talk about it right now, It hurts just to think about the many nights that i’ve spent without you, Neteyam” the said man faltered upon your confession. He felt his heart tighten at the thought of you all cuddled up under a woven blanket as you waited for him to come back home, tears breaching your waterline as you clutched the soft material for comfort. Although when Neteyam opened his mouth to apologise once more, you were cutting him off again. 

“Right now all I want is to enjoy this moment with my mate.” With that, the rest of the evening had been spent with laughter and loud catching-up conversations that you were sure that your neighbours would be complaining about tomorrow. By the end of the night, your little family had all ended up cuddled up together with your head resting against Neteyam’s chest, your children squeezing in between you both. 

Neteyam craned his neck down in a weird angle to take a look at your snoring form across his chest, a fond smile spreading across his face as he admired his beloved family. All he’s ever wanted and all he’s ever needed was right here, in his arms. And for once in weeks, your family tent was not filled with blaring arguments or children’s wailing past eclipse, and Neteyam would gladly enjoy the silence. 

-

i’m back after a month with the shittiest ff ever and a peter parker phase that’s coming back after years.🤭

♯ He may be good with children in general but that doesn't mean he could handle raising multiple of his own. The thought alone gives him intense anxiety.

♯ A mate would be nice. Would mean privacy, and his own world free from the burden of having to look after his siblings. His own family. One thing belonging to Neteyam and Neteyam only.

♯ He does get a mate, eventually. Right after Tuktirey can be responsible for her own. It's not something his father tells him to do, Neteyam just couldn't trust Lo'ak with their youngest sister even when the boy became a man. Lo'ak was still Lo'ak.

♯ And then comes the dreaded, silent expectation his mother stares right into his soul every time she sees him and his mate together: I want grandchildren.

♯ Neteyam doesn’t. He really doesn’t. Some peace and quiet would be nice for a while, he really likes the mellowness of the present, feels so light now. He has his own life, finally. Home away from the Sullys. He doesn't have to wake himself up before his siblings. The silence and comfort of love is new and strange, but it's nice and it's his. They can pry it away from his cold, dead hands.

♯ No children.

♯ Neteyam finally has his peace.

♯ No children, mother, seriously.

♯ ...Not now, at least.

♯ And if it ever happens. Only one. That would be enough for Neteyam and his mate. The horror of having a big family enters his dreams sometimes even now, he startles awake with the sensation of Lo’ak having ditched him, none of his siblings around, and the trouble that would follow.

♯ Yeah, no. Neteyam isn’t going to spend his life running after another batch of children. No way.

♯ Only one. One is enough.

♯ Eywa, he hopes the child would be like him if it ever happens. Neteyam takes pride in his precocious childhood free of immaturity. Not that he's dying to be a father, but if he ever becomes one, he hopes the child is calm and easy to communicate with.

♯ He knows his mate wants to be a parent one day, and knows he also will be ready eventually, but having to give up how wonderful life has become... Neteyam just wants to be selfish for once.

♯ (Somehow he can't get used to the solitude of peace, but won't admit he misses the rowdiness of his siblings and how bright each and every day was with them. Neteyam doesn't realize it's loneliness.)

♯ He doesn't expect to be as excited when it happens. Neteyam knows before his mate does and it's not the usual pregnancy symptoms, but the change of scent, in the past, he had detected his own mother was with child that way, from what he knew, this was unique to him and him only, but it was conclusive and Neteyam was right every time.

♯ His stomach doesn't sink like he thought it would, and his mate gets scared with the scream that follows his dissociation.

♯ It has to be a girl. He wants it to be a little baby girl. The desire to coddle and pamper his baby the way none of the Sully siblings were overwhelms him. If it was a son, he'd love him all the same, make him feel loved and appreciated like the Sully patriarch never really did with him, it's just, the thought of another Lo'ak on his hands just worries him.

♯ Neteyam really underestimated how ready to be a father he really was. It shouldn't really be surprising to him given his big brother status, he already knows how to be a parent - but didn't know he wanted to be one, deep down, that he looks forward to the chaos his child would bring back to his life.

♯ His mother and father are nothing less than elated. It's going to be their first grandchildren, and Neteyam sees Jake Sully shed a couple tears for the first time in his life. They have a father-son hunting trip together for the offering to Eywa in the name for the safe arrival of his child, and have countless conversations about fatherhood. If it was Lo'ak, he'd be willing to learn the new knowledge, but Neteyam already knows all he should, and his father is guiltily aware of this too, his delivery is awkward, and Neteyam does his best to alleviate the talk.

♯ They don't know the gender until the day you're born.

♯ And his wishes have come true: a girl. You're healthy and fairly plump from how Neteyam kept feeding his mate throughout the pregnancy.

♯ He can't believe he has a child, and that he has his whole life together with you now. How scary it is that you have become his whole world the moment he holds you, that he is the protector of this tiny, little life. How will he be as a father? What kind of person will you become?

♯ It comes as second nature to hold you when it's fairly new to his mate, he knows how to handle you, how to calm you down, how to baby talk that it creeps his siblings out to see him openly loving that way.

♯ His father had talked about the sky person concept of monarchy in the past. He says how you're Neteyam's pretty little princess one day, and it sticks. Neteyam thinks so too, but Paskalin is what he calls you - sweet berry.

♯ Because you are very sweet, the calmest, most endearing baby he's ever known. The most adorable. He doesn't know anyone cuter than you that he catches playful aggression the whole time, wanting to bite into you and pinch you all around. Eywa help him, he hasn't felt like this in his life, ever. None of his siblings were close to being this delightful. His Paskalin is way too loveable.

♯ You don't cry at night, go to sleep easily, only fuss when you want or need something, and are full of smiles and laughter, you know how to entertain yourself. Neteyam can't believe how convenient everything is.

♯ His father says Neteyam was like this as a baby too, and you've taken after him. Usually, the first child's perfection tricks the parents into having more children, he says, and it's the easiest trap to fall into.

♯ Turns out, it's not something Neteyam is happy about. How flawlessly well-behaved you are as a baby, he means. He wished you would act out more, Neteyam would happily go along with your whims.

♯ It stems from his own childhood wounds, he wasn't allowed to be childish, so he hopes you would be. Neteyam wants to give you everything he wanted but couldn't have as a child.

♯ So he spoils you rotten. And it feels gratifying to make you happy.

♯ You and him are inseparable. Wherever he goes, you toddle behind him like a shadow.

♯ Neteyam is warned multiple times by his parents for overindulging you that you'd end up uninterested in the company of your peers, therefore experience isolation and loneliness, and end up hyper-independent because of those poor social skills, that you would end up selfish and entitled because he gave you whatever you wanted and become hyper-sensitive to criticism and in-family conflict due to not experiencing emotional toughening by interacting with friends and being too overly fond of him, your main source of affection.

♯ Some of those worries end up being realized, and some of them don't.

♯ As you grow up, Neteyam's wishes that you would want to be spoiled more get grander. His daughter is generous and loving. You aren't immature and childlike like he wants you to be. His Paskalin keeps getting sweeter as you get older and older. You don't ever ask for anything the more Neteyam wants to keep giving, always saying you had everything you could ask for in life, and if you wanted a specific something, you could get it yourself and wouldn't want to bother him with that.

♯ Neteyam really regrets praying to Eywa for an obedient child.

♯ He thinks of having more children at times, to give you companions, but gives up on it as soon as he entertains the idea. He would never want you to go through the same things as he did as the eldest brother.

♯ Neteyam doesn't know what to do about you not straying from his side and only ever wanting to be around adults. Your favorite people are your grandparents. That shouldn't really be a child's first preference, right? He knows he was like this, but also, it wasn't normal. Even your aunt Tuk was too young for you and her hyperactivity made you uncomfortable for some reason.

♯ He never knew your dislike of going out and socializing, your preference of staying on your own rather than getting close to your younger cousins.

♯ Great Mother, you weren't a shy girl that he knows of, always talkative and energetic with him. Neteyam has only noticed your quietness recently when you were old enough to go and start learning with other kids.

♯ You don't have any friends that he knows of. You orbit around people your age, but don't get involved, more interested in your hobbies and interests and duties within the village.

♯ His mother told him this would happen.

♯ Kiri tells him he has raised a girl version of himself and it bothers Neteyam. He loves that you are a daddy's girl and so close to him that you are basically transparent to him, but he really wishes you were more childish. You are too mature for his liking.

♯ When you hit your teens, he's confronted with a new dilemma. He doesn't know what a helicopter parent is, but his father says Neteyam has become one. That he doesn't allow you to face failure and challenges, and heavily guides you the more he becomes anxious about how you're turning up. He says Neteyam needs to leave you alone.

♯ Which he's too anxious to do. He doesn't know where this comes from and why he's this way. Neteyam just worries too much and doesn't want you to have the troubles he did.

♯ It becomes particularly stronger when he finds out you were having bullying problems.

♯ In the clan his father was the Olo'eyktan of. In the clan he was to be Olo'eyktan of. He can't fathom the audacity any more than he can't believe you were hiding it from him. You never hid anything from your father in your life, ever. He makes you cry for the first time when he confronts you and gets angry over it.

♯ You hadn't even done anything wrong, and Neteyam regrets it immediately, hugging you and apologizing for it on the spot.

♯ He offers to teach those kids who saw you too meek a lesson, but you tell him that they do it because they think of you unworthy to be his daughter and Toruk Makto's family. He learns they think you're weak and passive with barely any presence at all, when you were the brightest and sweetest girl Neteyam knew.

♯ Someone had taught you humiliation where he couldn't see or help. Stripped you off your worth. These kids were jealous of you. They wanted your status and it was clear as day to Neteyam, but he couldn't make you see the way he saw.

♯ It's Lo'ak who teaches you how to bite back, Kiri how to hit where it hurts with words and Tuk how to manipulate. None of them let Neteyam get involved, you have to do this on your own and prove your worth to yourself.

♯ He can't be more proud of you when you manage to stand up for yourself, and excitedly tell him about it one day along with the news that you have made a couple friends, too.

♯ The feeling of you branching on your own path stings and weighs heavy in his heart as he tastes the bittersweet of his child growing up, but his Paskalin would be alright, he decides.