Chapter Text
You had always been curious about the appearance of the Tawtute — the sky persons, people — or as the Toruk Makto had explained to you; Humans.
Your eyes would widen in wonder as Jake Sully starts to reminisce about his origin, Earth. Legs crossed and ears intently listening – you wouldn’t notice even if Neytiri would creep in, standing silently near the entrance as you held a conversation with her mate. Your mouth gaping as a particular charm of his hometown was described, or how a barrage of questions would be thrown at Jake — reminding him of his Youth, of struggling with a sheet of paper and wrestling with it. He’d cackle and ruffle your locks as if you were his own blood.
With your insistence in honing your skills in hunting —, pleading with such pretty eyes, undeserving for a rascal— Netyiri would whisper and whine, as the eclipse descended upon Pandora, a conversation only she and Eywa knew of. Neytiri had long accepted — predicted, that you would sooner or later become a permanent mark in their growing family.
And so you did.
It was your turn to think that it was unfair for a baby to have such pretty eyes, as he was laid upon the sunlight, the light breeze of Pandora wrapped around him as if Eywa was playfully welcoming this little boy to life. You observed in curiosity as you gazed at that little figure from behind. It has evolved into a habit by now, becoming a shadow of Neytiri and Jake Sully.
It was hilarious to see a three years old trailing behind the formidable figures of the clan, her figure shy as she hid behind Neytiri’s leg, yet her glare noticeable, standing strong as if she was there to guard them — you know that, you admit it yourself, it was pretty idiotic of you.
Yet there’s no fault in indulging yourself in a little domesticity. Gazing at the wide back of Jake Sully as he lifted the infant with pride.
Your fingers fiddled with the hair cascading down your face, a little smile wiggling its way to break out from your lips.
“Neteyam,” you whispered.
“Neteyam!” Jake introduced his firstborn, the heir of the title clan chief.
And as you heard his little giggle and the crinkle of his eyes from afar, you sighed, exasperated.
“Tsahey.” you cussed, eyes widening in wonder, I know I’m doomed.
[ ts ]
With the tree branches holding his weight, both of his palms were lazily holding his own weight whilst facing you. The calm breeze of Pandora and the tranquil sounds their inhabitants made accompanied the occasional banter you held with the son of the Toruk Makto.
“Neteyam you skxwang!” you hissed playfully. Knocking his forehead with a gentle force while holding your smile in. Soon you pulled his lithe fingers in a hold, standing up.
His smaller figure trembled as he threw his head back, a burst of rambunctious laughter following.
“What?” he shrugged nonchalantly, a hand raising in defeat “I did do no wrong, Kha’se.”
You grumbled — releasing your hold on him, rolling an eye as your vulgar mouth did its share. “Oh yes, you did! Pxasik! You distracted me!” you pointed your fingers in mock offense.
Laughing with no shame, he leaned his head on the tree trunk, playful eyes staring at you with conviction, “Did I?”
“Absolutely.” you glowered. Rascal.
Looking away, huffing, your shoulders slumped, “I was supposed to help you prepare for your Iknimaya ritual, ‘Teyam. Your father’s orders.”
Turning your back on him, you soon made a sound to summon your Ikran. Eyes tracing the skies for a sign of a pure white figure merging with the clouds.
Growing up with the Sullys had changed your temperament as well as your awkward status within the clan. Being the only child born in a certain year has pushed you into an awry position (the kids are either a few years younger or a few years older than you, you would wallow in pity sometimes — thinking about it ). With your parents' death during the early days of the war and their stern idealism, different from the Omaticayan’s casuals — you were forced to adapt in haste. You were an outcast, in a sense, but you never bothered much as you had always faced your problems with indifference, you weren’t a saint who expected everyone to respect and like you. (Although it could be grating at some times, especially when it comes to hunting , you rolled your eyes).
As long as you did your job, as a warrior . And obey the orders of the Olo’eyktan like the others, you would assure yourself again and again — as long as you were useful and exist to have a purpose, you were content.
“Kha’seleya,” the 10-year-old whispered, your ears catching a tone of whining slipping through them. Eyes glancing back at him, you exhaled a breath of wonder — as if you were a six-year-old once more and it was your first time seeing the little minx brought up to life. Irises that glow of molten gold and his eyes that crinkle as he smiled, he hasn’t reached his teenage years yet and you were certain that he would be a heartbreaker anytime soon.
Kha’seleya you yaymak! Focus!
“What,” you said, with a tone of steel — eyes averting away to the skies once more, concealing the turmoil of rats in an overloaded den rumbling in your stomach.
He cackled, the tone boyish and charming, “Oh don’t be a fuddy-duddy, you would always let me away with everything.” Neteyam approached you and peeked at you from the side, a grin adorning his face.
Being the firstborn of the Sullys had pushed Neteyam’s disposition to become quite rigid and strong — it was a character required for the heir of an Olo’eyktan, you suppose.
“And you always take advantage of that.” you crossed your arms as Neteyam beamed, torso bending to see your reaction, his tail swaying in mischief.
Nodding with no shame, Neteyam replied in a sing-song tone, “Mhm, that I do.” a stagnant silence then overtook the both of you, something that often happened when you were together.
Maybe it’s your familiarity with him, a fondness inherent ever since he was birthed, or the chains of responsibility that had always dragged him down corroding when he’s with you — giving him a leeway to escape.
However, you unconsciously huffed at the thought — this Nì’it Na’vi had always acted like a skxwang around you — a scoundrel behind his parents' vision when he was with you. Pxasik! Oh to hell with that! He acts like his little brother — the rascal No’ak when he’s with you.
And only to you!
Am I supposed to feel special?? You bet on your fucking pride as a warrior that you would turn into an Elder of the Omaticayans anytime soon if he continues on acting like this for years. Though —
Your irises widen as you saw the figure of Reze approaching you with her lilac lines and pure white wings, hands entrapping Neteyam’s wrist as if it was a habit of a thousand years, yanking him to the edge.
“Nìtut,” come, you nudged your head towards the edge, “Let’s go back, Kiri must’ve had enough with Lo’ak — your little brother is a masterpiece to all kinds.” you chuckled whilst Reze landed, caressing her neck with care and mounting over her.
Neteyam soon wrapped his hands around your waist after he took the hand you lend — getting comfortable on the riding seat, he replied with an eye raise, “How did you know?”
“How did I know?” you groaned, tired of his taunts. “I don’t know.” you moved Reze as she stood at the edge of the cliffs of Hallelujah Mountains, her claws gripping, and gravel falling underneath you — an exhilarating smirk crawling on your lips as an idea crawls through your mind, “You think about it.”
“Huh? What do yo— wait! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Kha’se! Wait!”
You laughed boisterously as the wind pressure whipped through your ear and his hold tightened on your waist, you acknowledge his fear — it was his first time diving from this height after all.
Pulling the reigns, Rezes' diving stance changed as she spread her wings — throwing your head back, you giggled as the smaller figure behind you buried his head into your neck in fear. Hands clenching your waist tighter.
“Kha’se.” he breathed out in agony.
“What?” you laughed, looking back with a smile, your irises met — contracting at sight, a small smile shyly introduced itself on your face as Neteyam’s glare peeked through his messy locks. You knocked his forehead with your knuckles before looking away, chuckling, “Who’s the fuddy-duddy now, loser.”
“You fucker.”
“I’m telling Sully about your potty mouth, ‘Teyam.”
“Fuck you.”
Your hands then unconsciously went to hold the pair of arms encircling your abdomen, before tapping it playfully, replying, “Wait till you’re older, yeah?”
An incoherent grumble following after made you look back at him with confusion, “Hm?”
He glanced at you, lips pursing before looking away.
“Nothing.”
“Pah, teenagers.”
“Shut your mouth! You’re also one!”