Charlie: *Peeking into Reader's room* Hey Y/N? *Looking back over her shoulder* You might want to check on Alastor, he's kind of running around frantically
Reader: *Putting on the final touches of her makeup* I know
Charlie: Uh-! You know? *Confused*
Reader: He forgot about our date tonight *Fluffing her hair*
Charlie: *Baffled* He forgot?!
Reader: *Smirks* No, but he broke my phone yesterday because I was texting Vox. So I started getting dressed up and told him I was excited for tonight. Now he thinks he forgot our date plans
Charlie: *Winces* Isn't that kind of mean?
Reader: Yes *Grabbing her purse* Yes, it is *Pats Charlie's cheek* Sometime you need remind them who holds the leash. Al! Are you ready?
*Alastor bleats in panic as he was in the middle of stealing flowers from one of the hallway vases*
Alastor: Of course, my darling *Grins sharply to hide his nerves has he holds out the flowers to her*
Reader: *Takes the flowers* Good boy *Kisses Alastor as she takes his arm drags him out*
Charlie: *Watches as Reader drags out a flustered Alastor* Huh... I wonder how Vaggi would react
Neytiri held Neteyam in her arms as she stared down at the pink skin baby in front of her. The little human was a mere month old and was still tiny. You were quiet, a small little thing with tiny hands. "Ba ba," Neteyam cooed, reaching down to poke at your chubby cheek, you squirmed, clearly annoyed that someone was interrupting your precious sleep.
Neytiri's eyes blew wide when you started crying, Neteyam flinched back, turning around as he wrapped his arms around his mother's neck, hiding his face. Your cries were soft, not loud and wild like neteyam's were.
Jake laughed as he watched his mate and son. The large male reached over, picking your small body up and laid you over his arm. You cooed, fingers curling around nothing as you settled down again.
Neytiri looked at her mate, one of her hands hovering over Neteyam's back. "Why she cry like that? Very quiet," Neytiri asked. The woman was more than familiar with pink skins by now, but baby pink skins? She had never seen one before. Jake glanced at Neytiri before looking back down at you.
"Well, some babies just aren't as loud, seems like (Name) here isn't a loud baby." Jake shrugged, brushing a finger over your small, chubby cheek.
now carrying your mate's child, you ache to tell her the truth, but the quiet disapproval of her pack—and their doubts about your human nature—make the words harder to speak.
summary: mentions past sexual incourse, suggestive content (makeout session, grinding, groping), established relationship (mates), A/B/O au/dynamics (alpha!wanda/human!r), discussions of pregnancy/fertility, female alphas in this AU have dicks, fluff/hurt/comfort, this can be read as a standalone but this is pt three to her human mate (check masterlist on my page for parts 1&2)
There’s something sweet about the way she handles you, the quiet love and steady concern that seems to live in every touch. Her hands rest gently at your waist when she passes by, grounding, warm. And whenever you speak, she gives you her full attention—brows slightly furrowed, nodding along, her gaze fixed on you with an almost puppy-like focus as you ask if she could bring back more of the fruit from her village.
It’s one you’ve never seen before. Not that you don’t want to. You’ve come a long way in accepting all of this—her world, her people, the life tied to them. Curiosity lingers, soft and patient. You've been there once, but you were kept hidden. You've not truly met those in her pack.
But every time her village comes up, something shifts.
She shrugs it off too quickly, brushing past it with a casual comment, steering the conversation somewhere else before it can settle. A different topic, a small distraction, anything to move it along.
Like it’s easier not to let you too close to that part of her life.
She returns later that week, the familiar creak of the cabin door announcing her before you even look up. It’s the usual rhythm now—her quiet trips between her village and you, disappearing for days and always coming back with something in hand.
Today it’s a woven basket.
Apples sit piled inside, bright and polished, their scent filling the small space the moment she steps through the doorway. Wanda’s smile is immediate when she sees you, warm and soft in that way that always makes your chest tighten.
“You asked for these,” she says gently, lifting the basket a little as if presenting a prize.
You had asked for them. Craved them badly, even.
But the moment the smell reaches you, sharp and sweet at once, your stomach turns.
It hits fast and unpleasant, nausea curling low in your gut. You swallow hard, your nose wrinkling despite yourself as the scent seems to cling to the air.
Wanda notices instantly.
Her coat slips from her shoulders and onto the nearby chair as she crosses the room, concern replacing the easy smile she wore a moment ago. The basket lowers onto the table with a soft thud before she moves closer, her hands finding your arms, steady and careful.
Her eyes search your face.
“Are you alright, lovie?”
You hum in response, your face scrunching slightly as the lingering scent of the apples still turns your stomach. It’s subtle, but Wanda catches it immediately—the small shift in your expression, the way your shoulders tense.
Without a word, she reaches for the basket again. The apples disappear from the table, carried across the cabin and set much farther away, near the door where the breeze from the cracked window might carry their scent out.
Only then does she return to you.
Stepping back into your space, Wanda’s hands come up gently, warm palms cupping your face as she tilts your head just enough to look at you properly. Her thumb brushes lightly along your cheek while her other hand presses softly against your forehead, checking your temperature out of quiet habit.
Her brows knit together in concern as she studies you.
“You feeling okay?” she asks softly.
“Yeah… yeah. Only a little nauseous…”
The answer makes her expression fall just slightly, the concern in her eyes deepening as she studies your face a moment longer. Her thumb brushes along your cheek, slow and comforting, as if she could smooth the feeling away with touch alone.
“Aw, my love…” she murmurs, voice warm with quiet sympathy. “Please rest. I can take care of dinner and all.”
She doesn’t give you much room to argue. One gentle hand settles at your back while the other takes your wrist, guiding you carefully toward the bedroom. Wanda moves with that steady patience she always has with you—tucking you beneath the blankets, adjusting the pillow behind your head, lingering just long enough to press a soft kiss to your forehead before stepping away.
You’re half-drowsing when she leaves the room, the sounds of her moving around the cabin drifting faintly from the other side of the wall.
At the time, it feels like nothing more than a passing sickness.
Just a little nausea. A moment of dizziness. Something that should fade by morning.
But it doesn’t.
It only gets worse when you’re hunched over the toilet the next morning, the cold edge of the porcelain pressing into your forearms while your stomach twists again. The cabin is still dim with early light, quiet except for the small sounds you try, and fail, to keep down.
Behind you, the bed shifts.
Wanda sits up slowly, the sheets sliding down her body as she blinks through the sleep still clinging to her. Your name leaves her lips in a low, groggy murmur, concern threading through it almost instantly when she realizes where you are.
She’s beside you moments later.
Her hand gathers your hair back gently while the other steadies your shoulder, rubbing slow circles between them until the worst of it passes. She doesn’t rush you, doesn’t ask too many questions. When you’re finished, she helps you rinse your mouth, guiding you carefully back to bed like you might tip over if she lets go.
“Easy,” she murmurs, settling you beneath the blankets again.
Her hand stays on your back for a long while after.
You brush it off as a stomach bug. Something you must have eaten. Something that will pass. That’s what you tell her when she asks again later, brows furrowed with quiet worry. You even manage a small smile to convince her. But in the back of your mind, something else whispers.
The thought sits there, small and persistent, impossible to ignore once it appears. You push it away.
The next day, everything feels sharper. Your nerves are wound tight, irritation lingering just beneath the surface, and when Wanda asks a simple question about whether you’re feeling better, the response that leaves you is sharper than you mean for it to be.
“You’ve asked me that three times already,” you snap.
The words hang in the air the moment they leave your mouth. Wanda stills slightly, surprise flickering across her face before she smooths it away. She doesn’t snap back, doesn’t challenge you. Instead she simply nods once, taking a quiet step back like she’s giving you space you clearly need.
“Alright,” she says softly.
But her eyes linger on you for a moment longer than usual, something thoughtful, and faintly worried, settling there. She knows something is off, but seeing your response, she decides to leave it alone for now.
Later that afternoon she prepares to leave for the village again, the routine familiar now. Before stepping out the door, she pulls you close, pressing a soft kiss to your lips and then your forehead.
“Rest,” she murmurs. “I’ll be back soon.”
Then she’s gone. The cabin feels too quiet once the door closes behind her. And the thought you’ve been trying to ignore finally pushes its way to the front of your mind.
Before you can convince yourself not to, you make the trip into town. It’s longer than you remember, the path stretching out beneath your feet while your thoughts spin endlessly. By the time you reach the small store, your hands are already slightly unsteady.
You buy two. Just in case.
The walk back feels even longer, the paper bag crinkling faintly in your grip. By the time you reach the cabin again, your heart is beating far too fast for such a simple thing.
Inside, the world feels strangely quiet. You sit on the edge of the bed with the boxes in your hands, staring at them for a long moment. Your fingers tremble as you open the first one. Then the second.
By the time you’re standing in the bathroom, the world feels distant somehow, like the edges of everything have gone slightly blurred. Your hands shake as you hold the tests, your breath shallow, your heart pounding loudly in your ears while you wait. The waiting is the worst part.
The cabin is silent around you, the quiet so complete it almost feels loud. You set the tests down on the edge of the sink because your hands won’t stop shaking long enough to hold them steady, fingers gripping the counter while you try to breathe normally.
It’s only supposed to take a few minutes. It feels like an hour.
Your eyes keep drifting back to them despite yourself, heart thudding painfully in your chest every time you look away again. You pace once across the small bathroom, then back again, like moving might somehow slow your thoughts.
It doesn’t.
The idea keeps circling in your mind, growing heavier the longer you stand there. Every little moment from the past week creeps back in—the nausea, the dizziness, the strange cravings that vanished the moment the apples were actually in front of you.
Your stomach twists again. Eventually, you force yourself to look.
You pick up the first test slowly, like it might change if you move too fast. Your eyes focus on the small window, your breath catching before you even fully register what you’re seeing.
Two lines.
Your heart stutters.
For a second your brain refuses to process it, like the meaning of it is too large to settle properly. You stare at it longer than necessary, hoping maybe your eyes are playing tricks on you.
They aren’t. Your hands shake harder as you grab the second one.
Two lines again.
The world seems to tilt slightly, your vision going unfocused around the edges while you lower yourself onto the closed lid of the toilet. The tests sit in your hands like something fragile, something impossibly real.
Pregnant.
The word settles heavily in your chest. Wanda’s child.
Your gaze drifts down to your stomach without thinking, your palm resting there slowly, almost uncertainly, like you’re trying to feel something that isn’t there yet. A shaky breath leaves you as a small smile threatens to form, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. The realization settles warm and bright in your chest, pushing past the nerves for a moment.
All you can think about is telling her.
You imagine the look on Wanda’s face when she hears. The way her eyes would soften, the way her hands would find yours without hesitation. The thought alone makes your chest tighten with something close to joy.
You want to tell her immediately.
But by the time night falls and the familiar sound of the cabin door opening echoes through the house, doubt has already started creeping in around the edges.
Wanda greets you the same way she always does after returning from the village—arms wrapping around you the moment she sees you, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple before pulling back just enough to study your face.
You almost say it then. The words rise right to the back of your throat. But they never make it out.
Instead, you make small conversation while the two of you settle in for the evening, talking about the day, about the small things that feel easier to say out loud. You tell yourself you’re easing into it, finding the right moment, the right way to share something so big.
You just haven’t figured out how yet.
At some point the conversation drifts, the way it sometimes does, toward her village.
It starts harmless enough. A comment about one of the elders, something she mentions in passing. But the topic slowly shifts into something heavier—the old traditions, the expectations her pack still clings to.
You listen quietly as she speaks.
“There are still some who believe…” Wanda starts, pausing as if choosing her words carefully, “that an alpha should only mate within the pack.”
The words sit uncomfortably between you. Your fingers fidget lightly with the edge of the blanket, one she's brought back for you. Your thoughts suddenly louder than they were a moment ago.
“But the Moon Goddess chooses mates,” you say after a moment, your voice quieter than you intend. “So… why would it matter if one of them is human?”
Wanda’s gaze softens immediately when she looks at you.
“It shouldn’t,” she answers simply.
There’s certainty in her voice, but something more complicated flickers behind her eyes—something tied to the pack, to the traditions she grew up in. Your chest tightens again. You nod slowly, letting the conversation drift away to something lighter not long after.
But the words you meant to say never come.
Later that night, lying beside her with her arm draped loosely across your waist, you stare quietly at the ceiling while her breathing evens out beside you.
Your hand rests unconsciously over your stomach again. You’ll tell her.
Just not like this.
Not in the middle of a conversation that leaves your chest feeling heavy. You want it to be special. Something she’ll remember forever. A sweet surprise.
So you make a quiet decision in the dark. You’ll plan something. And then you’ll tell her.
Breakfast is quiet, the soft sounds of the cabin filling the space between you—cutlery against plates, the faint crackle of the stove still warm from cooking. It feels like any other morning.
You’re halfway through a bite when Wanda speaks.
Casual. Almost too casual.
“I want to bring you to the village.”
The words land before your brain fully catches up to them.
Your heart drops.
You pause mid-bite, the fork hovering halfway to your mouth as your eyes lift slowly to meet hers across the table. For a second you just stare, trying to figure out if you heard her correctly.
She’s watching you carefully, elbows resting lightly on the table, fingers laced together like she’s been thinking about this for a while.
The room suddenly feels much smaller.
Your chest tightens as a hundred thoughts rush in at once—the whispers you’ve overheard before, the quiet disapproval you’ve felt even from a distance, the conversation you had just nights ago about humans and alphas.
And the secret sitting quietly inside you.
You swallow slowly, lowering the fork back to your plate.
“Your… village?” you ask, your voice softer than you intend.
Wanda nods once.
“My pack,” she says, her tone steady, though her eyes search your face like she’s trying to read every flicker of your reaction. “I think it’s time they meet you.”
Your heart starts beating faster.
“I—um… I’m honored… I’d love to.”
The words come out a little uneven, but they’re honest. Even with the nerves twisting in your stomach, the idea of finally seeing that part of her life—of being brought there by her—means something.
Wanda smiles when you say it.
But it’s different from her usual ones.
It stretches across her lips, polite and warm on the surface, yet it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. There’s a tightness there, subtle but noticeable if you know her well enough.
Almost like she’s smiling through her teeth.
You pack a small bag that afternoon.
Nothing too big—just enough for a few days. A change of clothes, a few small necessities, things that feel oddly insignificant when folded into the overnight bag resting on your bed.
You’ve technically been there before. But the memory of it sits in your mind like something half-dreamed. Waking from a fever, voices around you, the lingering tension of an argument you barely remember before you’d stormed away into the woods. Everything from that time feels blurred at the edges. This will be the first time you see it clearly.
Wanda helps without hovering. She leans against the doorframe at first, watching you pack before gently stepping in when she notices you reaching for things you won’t need.
“It’s not as modern as here,” she reminds you softly, laughing softly.
She explains small things as you go. What you’ll need, what you won’t. Her voice stays calm and patient, guiding rather than correcting. It feels oddly grounding, the simple act of packing together.
Soon enough, the bag is zipped closed. The walk there begins not long after.
The path through the forest feels both familiar and distant at the same time. Leaves crunch beneath your feet while the trees stretch tall around you, the air cooler the deeper you go.
Wanda walks beside you, her hand loosely holding yours as she leads the way. Every now and then she squeezes your fingers gently, guiding you around roots or over uneven ground. The forest grows quieter the farther you travel. And then the village appears. Your steps slow almost immediately.
Your hands tighten around the strap of your bag without you realizing it. You’ve spent so many nights listening to Wanda talk about this place—about her people, the traditions, the way the pack moves and lives together. You know the stories. You’ve accepted this world as part of her.
But knowing it… and standing inside it… are two very different things.
As you follow just behind her into the clearing, the shift is immediate. Eyes turn. Conversations quiet. But as Wanda moves through them, their attention inevitably drifts to you walking just behind her.
And suddenly every step feels much heavier, and you attempt to step closer to her to feel more comfort in such an unknown area. Also as someone living in the mountains, you rarely come across people except for when you head to the very small "town" that's a decent travel from your cabin.
After a few greetings and nods exchanged with members of the pack, she keeps walking, guiding you straight toward her place. Her presence parts the small clusters of people easily, her hand resting lightly against the small of your back as she leads you along the worn path.
It doesn’t take long before she’s pushing open the door. She steps aside immediately, holding it open for you as you step inside.
For a moment you simply stand there, taking it all in.
It’s different from your cabin—simpler, older in its construction. The scent of wood and dried herbs lingers faintly in the air. Her bed sits against the far wall, layered in thick furs instead of blankets, the texture rough but warm-looking even from where you stand.
The furniture is sturdy, carved wood rather than anything polished or modern. And then your eyes catch something that makes your chest soften.
The flowers.
A few small bundles sit in simple vases along the table and windowsill—the same ones you’d gathered and given to her during one of her last visits. They’ve been carefully arranged, their colors still bright against the darker tones of the room. It's incredibly sweet that she's kept them.
Your bag slips from your shoulder and lands quietly near the door as you look around, curiosity pulling your gaze from one detail to the next.
Behind you, Wanda watches. She leans casually against the doorframe for a moment, arms loosely crossed as she observes the way you take in the space. There’s something almost proud in the way her eyes follow you, a quiet satisfaction settling in her chest.
Like she’s been waiting for this moment—waiting to see you here, in her world, looking at it with genuine interest rather than hesitation.
Her gaze softens slightly.
“You like it?” she asks, her voice low but warm.
"I love it," you respond back, keeping the same tone.
She pushes off the doorframe and walks toward you, the wooden floor creaking softly beneath her steps.
“I know this is a lot,” she says gently, her voice quieter now that the two of you are alone. Her eyes move over your face, studying you the way she always does when she’s checking that you’re truly alright.
Her hand finds your arm, thumb brushing lightly against the fabric of your sleeve.
“So please… just rest tonight. I’ll bring dinner back, and tomorrow we can start slow introductions.” She pauses, offering a small, reassuring smile. “I’ll give you a tour.”
The plan sounds perfect. You nod, feeling some of the tightness in your chest ease at the thought of having time—time to settle in, time to breathe, time to adjust to being here before facing the rest of the pack.
Being inside her space helps too. Her scent lingers everywhere, warm and grounding, wrapped into the furs on the bed and the wood of the walls. Even in an unfamiliar place, it feels strangely comforting.
She notices the way you relax slightly. Wanda smiles softly at that, stepping closer until her hand lifts to cup your cheek. She leans down and presses a gentle kiss to your lips, lingering just long enough to make your stomach flutter before pulling away.
“I won’t be long,” she murmurs.
Then she steps back, giving you one last glance before slipping out the door, leaving you alone in her home while the sounds of the village hum quietly outside. And you completely forget about the child growing inside of you.
The light wakes you slowly the next morning.
It slips through the window in soft streaks, pale and warm against the wooden walls. There’s no blaring alarm, no sudden noise pulling you awake—just the quiet brightness of morning settling across the room.
You shift beneath the quilt and furs, the thick layers rustling softly as you turn. She’s sprawled comfortably across the bed, one arm half-tucked beneath the pillow, her hair loose and messy from sleep. The early light brushes across her face, catching the faint crease between her brows as she begins to stir.
You move just enough to face her fully. The furs drag slightly as you shift closer, the warmth of the bed making it harder to leave. For a moment you simply watch her wake, the slow way her breathing changes as the light reaches her.
She hums softly, the sound low in her chest. Her eyes stay closed as she wakes, lashes fluttering slightly while she stretches one arm lazily across the bed until it bumps lightly against you.
“Morning,” she mumbles, voice thick with sleep.
A faint smile tugs at her lips before she cracks one eye open just enough to look at you.
“You looking forward to the tour…?”
“I am…”
Your answer comes softly, but it’s honest.
The morning passes quickly after that. Once you’re both dressed and out the door, Wanda begins guiding you through the village the way she promised she would. Her hand rests lightly at your back as the two of you walk, a quiet grounding presence as you step out into the main area together.
She starts with the central buildings.
Each one holds a purpose she explains as you move along—where the pack gathers for meetings, where food is prepared and shared, where supplies are stored. Her voice stays calm and steady as she talks, occasionally pausing to point something out or answer the small questions you ask.
It’s all new. The buildings, the paths winding between them, the rhythm of the village moving around you. People passing by with baskets, quiet conversations drifting through the air, the steady life of the pack unfolding in a way you’ve only ever heard Wanda describe before.
But one thing stays the same. The smiles.
Each greeting comes with that same tight-lipped politeness as Wanda introduces you. Heads nod, voices offer brief welcomes, but the warmth never quite reaches their eyes. And you brush it off, ignoring it for now, but it does make your heart beat stutter.
The last building she leads you toward sits slightly apart from the others. It’s larger than the rest, the wood darker with age, the doorway carved with markings that look older than anything else you’ve seen in the village. Wanda slows slightly as the two of you approach, her presence beside you steady.
“The elders,” she explains quietly.
The words settle in your chest with a strange familiarity.
You don’t truly know them—not really. But you’ve heard about them so many times during quiet nights spent in bed beside Wanda. The stories she’s shared about the pack, the traditions they guard, the way their word still carries weight here.
You remember their names, their roles, the way she once described their personalities with a mixture of respect and frustration.
The door creaks softly as Wanda pushes it open. The room inside is dimmer than the bright morning outside, the light filtering through narrow windows along the walls. A long wooden table sits at the center, and several figures are already seated around it, their low conversation fading almost instantly when the two of you step inside.
The shift in attention is immediate.
Their gazes move first to Wanda, respectful, steady, acknowledging their alpha’s presence without question. But it doesn’t take long before those same eyes settle on you standing just behind her.
The room grows quiet.
You feel the weight of their attention in a way that’s impossible to ignore, your shoulders drawing slightly inward as Wanda steps further into the room. She doesn’t hesitate though, her posture calm and confident as she approaches the table.
“My mate,” she says simply.
The silence stretches, heavy and almost tangible. One elder, seated at the head of the table, inclines their head slightly toward Wanda before looking back at you. The motion is polite but deliberate, the barest hint of acknowledgment without warmth.
“This is my mate,” Wanda says simply, her voice calm.
The elder’s gaze flickers to you, sharp but measured. They do not rise, do not smile. Instead, their eyes linger, noting the way you stand, the way you breathe.
“You are human,” the elder says finally, their tone neutral, almost clinical.
“She’s human,” they repeat, incredulous this time, turning their gaze toward Wanda.
“I’m aware,” Wanda begins, calm but firm.
The elder raises a hand, interrupting. “I don’t think you’re aware—this—”
But Wanda cuts them off. “I don’t give a single shit what you have to say. Truly.”
For a moment, the room stills. The elder’s expression contorts—first into shock, then frustration, as if Wanda’s bluntness is almost physically jarring. Their voice rises slightly, disapproving and scolding. “Wanda…”
She doesn’t flinch. Her eyes lock on theirs, unwavering. “You’re only going to try and lecture me because this is new, because it challenges the way you think, because you write it off as some amorphous thing you’re afraid of. When it’s perfectly fine.”
The elder’s gaze hardens, jaw tight. “It’s not perfectly fine, Wanda. She’s human. Why do you think we stay so far out in the forest? Why we hide so carefully? Because people like her have killed us—they killed your own mother.”
Wanda’s lips tighten, a flash of anger sparking in her eyes. “Oh, yeah sure let’s label them all the same. What stands is that the Moon Goddess set us together. If it were not allowed, this wouldn’t happen. It can be a bridge between us again."
The elder leans forward slightly, voice low but sharp, each word measured. “It’ll be a repeat of history, Maximoff. You know this well yourself.”
Wanda steps closer, not aggressive, but unyielding. Her hand hovers just near yours—not to touch, not yet—but enough that the air seems to hum with quiet protection. “History isn’t a prophecy. It’s something we choose to repeat—or not. And I choose not.”
The room goes still, the other elders exchanging glances, tension crackling in the quiet. None dare interrupt her further, at least for the moment.
“Anything else…?” Wanda’s voice is steady.
No words come. Only a single, long sigh from the head elder, heavy with disapproval, carrying the clear message that this conversation is far from over.
Wanda’s fingers curl around yours, warm and grounding, and without a word she leads you toward the door.
The argument hadn’t even been yours, yet the tension still rings in your ears, prickling along your skin like static electricity. You keep your steps light behind her, hesitant but unwilling to pull away.
“Wanda… Wanda, please—what’s going on?” you murmur, voice soft, barely above the whisper of your own pulse.
She glances down at you as you step into the fresh air outside, a faint, almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corner of her lips. Her eyes soften, but her grip on your hand doesn’t loosen.
“Nothing that you need to worry about,” she says, though her tone carries both reassurance and the weight of what just happened. “Let’s just… take a walk. Clear our heads.”
You nod slowly, heart still hammering, and follow her through the clearing, each step carrying the echo of the elders’ disapproval behind you. The forest swallows the sound of your footsteps, the trees standing tall and still as silence stretches between the two of you.
Your chest tightens, and words begin spilling out before you can stop them, each one loaded with worry, doubt, and the lingering tension from inside the elders’ hall.
“No… no, whatever you’re thinking from that, don’t,” Wanda interrupts, her voice firm but quiet, carrying through the still air. She steps closer, hands brushing lightly against yours. “I haven’t tried to hide this from you. I just… I don’t want this to be a battle you have to fight. I want this to be on me. I’ll fix it.”
You glance toward her, uncertain. “But what if you can’t…?” Your gesture sweeps back toward the village, the memory of the elders’ cold, tight-lipped stares still prickling at your skin. “They seem pretty set in their ways. What would they do if they continued to disagree with you…?”
Wanda tilts her head slightly, a small, confident smile tugging at her lips as she squeezes your hand. “Nothing. They’d do nothing.”
Your eyes widen slightly, disbelief flickering across your features. “Wanda… come on… that’s—”
She cuts you off gently but firmly, resting a hand on your cheek to still the motion. Her gaze is steady, unwavering, and you feel the weight behind her words. “I’ve chosen you, the goddess designed us to be mated. If they disagree, it’s their problem, not ours. You don’t need to carry that burden, not now, not ever. Do you understand?”
You swallow, heart pounding in your chest, and slowly nod. Her certainty hums through you, grounding and fierce, and for the first time since entering her world, you feel a fraction of the safety and strength she promises.
"Besides they're like grains of sand. They'll wither away and take their ways along with them."
"Wanda..."
"Hopefully soon."
You wake to the soft light of morning, the sheets pulled back where Wanda had risen earlier. The bed feels impossibly empty, and for a long moment, you just lie there, staring at the ceiling, waiting.
Waiting for her to return.
Her absence presses down on your chest. You shift beneath the furs, wrapping your arms around yourself, trying to quell the fluttering panic. But it only grows, coiling tighter in your chest with every second she doesn’t appear. You try to tell yourself it doesn't matter, replay Wanda's words in your mind, but it does not do too much. You don't feel enough closure to knock off your overthinking.
Eventually, you push yourself up, heart hammering, and step quietly out of the bed. You dress quickly, sleep still thick in your movements, and begin walking toward the part of the village where you think she might be.
The forest path stretches before you, familiar yet threatening now. Every glance from the pack members you pass feels heavy. They avoid eye contact, moving aside politely, their polite smiles tight and measured. Your stomach twists with every step, every sideways glance. They’re judging me.
Your thoughts spin faster, unrelenting. You tell yourself Wanda said not to worry, that she’d handle it—but the words feel distant, almost meaningless compared to the looks you’re catching, the way the village seems to watch you like you’re intruding.
Then you hear it. Her voice. And another. The elder.
“…I don’t think she understands yet. This isn’t simply a matter of choice,” the elder says, calm and cutting. Wanda begins to answer, but stops mid-word, leaving the sentence unfinished.
Your chest tightens. The words—what they imply—slap against your thoughts like a wave, and all the insecurity, doubt, and fear you’ve been holding back crashes through at once. You can’t take it.
Tears prick at your eyes, blurring the edges of the village around you. You turn and sprint, heart hammering, legs carrying you back toward Wanda’s home as fast as they can. The world smears past, your vision streaked with panic and shame.
In your rush, you knock over a small crate, the crash echoing through the clearing. And then she feels it. A pull through the bond, sharp and familiar.
The door beside you opens, and she steps out, eyes wide with concern, moving fast to close the distance. It's embarrassing, but it feels worse to even stand about outside, tears pricking your eyes. Showing how they're getting to you. You don't care anymore.
You shove the door to her house open, stumbling inside, and she’s right behind you. She catches it before it swings shut, sliding it gently to let herself in, her presence immediate and grounding.
“Hey… hey,” she murmurs, voice soft, eyes scanning your face. “It’s okay—what’s going on?”
You can’t hold it in. The whirlwind inside you finally spills out.
“God…” you huff, voice shaking, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “This is so stupid…”
“What is…?” Wanda asks, stepping closer, one hand reaching for yours, the other hovering just at your shoulder, steadying without forcing.
“It’s not going to work, Wanda. They’re not going to ever approve.”
Her brow furrows, lips parting as she tries to interrupt. “That’s not wha—”
“Don’t tell me that bullshit!” you snap, voice cracking, panic leaking through every word. “I just heard them, Wanda! They want me gone!”
The words hang between you, jagged and raw. Your chest heaves as tears spill freely, and you feel small, fragile, exposed—like the entire weight of the village’s judgment has landed on you at once.
“They all stare at me,” you say, voice breaking. “With just… resentment, distaste. Each time I walk by, I’m sure—if my name is ever mentioned—they’re just full of it.”
Wanda reaches out, fingers brushing against your cheek, warm and grounding. Her thumb traces lightly along your jaw as she starts, quiet at first, “I used to feel the same. I hated your kind… they killed my mom.”
“Wanda…” you whisper, hurt and shock lacing your voice. The memory of yesterday flickers in your mind—the elders’ words, their disapproval—but it’s all a blur, hazy and half-remembered. You weren’t fully present then, too overwhelmed by Wanda’s defense, by the tension pressing down on you. God how could you forget.
She lifts a hand to stop you, shaking her head gently. “It’s fine. But my point is…” Her tone softens, carrying a mixture of truth and quiet vulnerability. “I thought the same way. I believed like they do. And then I met you… that night before the storm. You shaped the resentment I had begun to hold in my heart.”
She pauses, letting her gaze hold yours, unwavering and steady. “And I believe you can do the same with them. They’re just hurt from the past. They don’t dislike you as a person. Because if they did… they’d love you as I do.”
The words settle around you, a strange warmth amid the panic and fear. Your breaths come slower now, hiccupping between sobs, but the weight in your chest eases, just enough to feel that even if the world outside isn’t ready for you, here—right here—someone already is. You lean into her hand, closing your eyes.
“I love you,” you whisper, voice trembling, and she leans closer, curling around you as if she could shield you from the entire world.
Her hands rest lightly on your back, her breath warm against your hair. “I love you so much,” she murmurs, each word steady and full of promise.
You close your eyes, letting the warmth of her presence anchor you. So much for trying to wait for a good time… you think, heart hammering as the secret you’ve been holding slips from your lips before you can stop it.
“Wanda… I’m pregnant.”
For a heartbeat, the room is still. The sunlight dances across the furs and wooden floor, but everything else seems to fade. Your chest tightens, fear and hope tangled together, tears pricking your eyes.
She freezes for a moment, eyes wide, lips parting slightly, and then a slow, breathless smile spreads across her face. Her hands move to cup your cheeks, thumbs brushing lightly along your skin as if to convince herself this is real.
You feel her heartbeat against your own, strong and certain, and a rush of love and relief washes through you. The weight of the village, the elders, the doubt… it all fades for just a moment, leaving only the two of you and the life you’ve created together.
You laugh softly, teary, your hands coming up to cup hers as they hold your face. “Two tests… so I’m really actually pregnant,” you murmur, voice still shaky.
Her eyes light up immediately, shining with a joy that makes your chest ache. She presses her forehead against yours again, smiling wide. “Our kin… our pups,” she breathes, the word, the terms she's familiar with rolling off her tongue with reverence and warmth. “I knew it. I felt it."
She pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes sparkling. “We should visit the pack’s herbalist, make sure you’re taken care of properly.”
You frown slightly, uncertainty tugging at you. “I don’t know… I’m a little wary. After the elders…”
Wanda laughs softly, brushing a stray hair from your face. “Not everyone hates you. Do you remember when you fainted in the forest a while back?”
You nod, cheeks flushing at the memory, and she continues, voice gentle. “You were hurt, weak, and the first to help you… it was me. And the herbalist, yes, but I stayed with you, nursed you back. Not everyone in the pack sees you as an outsider, love. There are those who already care.”
You breathe in slowly, trying to let it all sink in. The love, the protection, the small but undeniable acceptance. For the first time in a long while, the weight pressing down on your chest feels lighter.
The herbalist’s hands move carefully over your body, guided and precise, pressing on certain spots with practiced skill. Her touch is firm but gentle, every motion deliberate. She leans back slightly, studying you with calm, professional eyes, and you can’t help but feel a little exposed under her gaze.
“When did you know?” she asks, voice neutral, clinical.
“About three days ago…” you murmur, shifting slightly under her hands.
She nods, glancing down at your form with a practiced eye. “You’re about four weeks along—just at the first month mark. Have you ever been pregnant before?”
“Um… no,” you admit, feeling heat creeping up your neck.
“How much did you and Wanda share in lovemaking?”
“Two times…? When we first mated… and her first… like, rut…?” Your voice trails off, self-conscious.
The herbalist nods slowly, making mental notes. “Ah. So you’re very fertile. Either that, or she’s just… a nut job. But you are definitely fertile, that's very good.”
You feel your face heating further, cheeks threatening to burn. You try to steady your expression, to brush off the awkwardness. It’s all normal, and the bluntness is part of the work, but it’s still uncomfortable, a little intrusive, and you can’t help the tiny squeeze of your hands together.
You notice her reaching for a small parchment and quill, beginning to jot down the details in neat, precise strokes. Curiosity mixes with your unease. “What… what are you doing?” you ask cautiously.
She glances up briefly, expression calm. “I keep a record. For your health, and for the elders. They need to know how you’re progressing—both for your care and for the pack’s knowledge of the pups-to-be.”
You frown, unsure. “The elders…? Why do they need to know everything?”
Her hands continue moving over your form, measured and clinical, as she answers. “It’s tradition, and it’s precaution. They are responsible for the wellbeing of the pack, including future generations. You carrying kin is not just your concern, it affects the entire community.”
You shift slightly under her touch, nerves prickling along your spine. “So… they’ll know everything? Even… intimate things?”
She nods without embarrassment. “Yes. And that’s normal. It’s not judgment, it’s care. You’re part of the pack now. This is how we protect both you and the pups.”
She notices your discomfort, eyes flicking up from the chart to meet yours. Her tone softens, careful. “But… if you truly aren’t ready, or don’t want to share this, regardless… I can say the records got smudged, ruined. No one needs to know.”
You open your mouth to respond, heart still fluttering from the embarrassment, but before you can speak, the door slides open quietly.
“You okay?” she murmurs softly, voice low but grounding, a tether against the flood of anxiety still clinging to you.
“I’m… good,” you murmur, voice small. For once, the words you’ve been holding in your chest come spilling out. “This is just all new to me… can we not showcase all of this so loudly for now?”
The herbalist nods, glancing at Wanda. “They’ve been smudged.”
You feel a small relief settle in your chest. The records are still kept, yes—for knowledge and the pack’s care—but they’re tucked away, out of sight, out of immediate concern.
Wanda’s fingers brush along your neck, over the faint mark she placed that one night, binding you as mates. The warmth of her touch presses against your skin, calming and grounding, a silent promise that you’re safe.
She glances toward the herbalist as she moves to put her tools away, brushing at her dress. “Everything alright…?” Wanda asks gently, voice steady, protective.
“Yes,” the herbalist replies, though her tone carries the same quiet professionalism. “All as it should be.”
You let yourself lean into her, letting the brush of her fingers, the warmth of her presence, and the gentle certainty in her voice anchor you as the room slowly quiets around you.
"Want to know the baby's sex?" she asks next.
Your eyes widen and you glance at Wanda's who's expression is the same.
"I think we'll wait until later into the pregnancy, but thanks Eira. You've been a great help."
The path back to your cabin stretches before you, sunlight filtering through the trees and casting dappled patterns on the ground. The weight of the morning—the elders, the herbalist, the revelations—still lingers in your chest, though Wanda’s presence beside you keeps it from overwhelming completely.
She walks close, brushing lightly against your arm, her tone gentle but curious.
“I know there’s a lot of time before the pup arrives, but I want to ask… I understand you don’t feel particularly great with the village right now. I get it. But… when they come around, would ever you consider moving to the village? Or would you rather keep the cabin?”
You glance ahead, seeing your cabin through the trees, the little sanctuary you’ve made your own. Every log, every stone, every piece of furniture holds meaning to you. The thought of leaving it—of parting from the life you’ve built there, even with her beside you—tightens your chest.
“I… I don’t think I could,” you admit quietly, eyes tracing the familiar lines of the cabin. “I might think on it someday, but… it isn’t a far walk, and it’s a good distance. I can’t leave it behind.”
She listens, head tilted slightly, eyes soft and steady. Then she leans closer, brushing a kiss across your cheek, then along your jaw, a warm, grounding reassurance.
“I understand,” she murmurs. “Always. Wherever you feel safe, wherever you’re happiest, that’s where we’ll be. That’s what always matters.”
You feel a small relief settle in your chest, grateful for her patience, for the way she respects your attachment and your choices. Even as the forest stretches around you, you know she’s there, steady, protective, and unwavering.
That night, the cabin quiet around you, you lie side by side. Wanda shifts closer, draping herself over you, one hand brushing lightly across your abdomen, fingers tracing gentle, absent patterns.
She presses closer, nuzzling her nose into the curve of your neck. The scent of her, earthy and familiar, wraps around you like a soft cloak.
“You smell so good,” she whispers, letting her breath ghost over your skin.
A shiver runs through you at the closeness, at the intimacy of her presence, and you tilt your head slightly, letting yourself melt into her warmth.
Wanda shifts closer, straddling you gently, your legs curling around her waist as your hands find her back. Her lips press against yours, soft at first, exploring, and you respond in kind, matching her rhythm.
Her lips descend on yours, hungry and demanding. Her tongue explores your mouth, tangling with yours, her hands cupping your face, tilting your head for better access. You respond eagerly, your hands gripping her hair, pulling her closer, deepening the kiss.
She grinds against you, her body pressing you into the bed, her hips moving in slow, deliberate circles. You can feel the heat building between your legs, your breath coming in short gasps. She smiles against your lips, a slow, sensual curve that promises more.
Her hands roam, mapping your body with confident strokes. She squeezes your breasts, her thumbs brushing over your nipples, making them harden. You arch into her touch, a soft moan escaping your lips. She takes advantage, her mouth moving to your neck, her teeth grazing your skin, her tongue soothing the sting.
She moves lower, her mouth trailing kisses down your collarbone, her hands sliding down your sides to grip your hips. She lifts you slightly, her fingers slipping under the hem of your shirt, tugging it off. You help her, your body arching as you pull the shirt over your head.
She takes a moment to appreciate you, her eyes roaming over your body, a soft growl of approval rumbling in her chest. Then she's on you again, her mouth closing over your nipple, her teeth scraping against the sensitive peak. You cry out, your hands tangling in her hair, holding her close.
She switches to the other nipple, giving it the same treatment, before moving lower still. She kisses your stomach, her tongue dipping into your navel.
You lift your hips, helping her slot herself fully between your thighs, her clothed body pressing against yours. You can feel the hard length of her against your center, and you gasp, your hands gripping her shoulders, your nails digging into her skin.
She starts to move, her hips grinding against yours in slow, deliberate circles. You meet her thrust for thrust, your body arching towards hers, your breath coming in short pants. The friction is exquisite, building a pressure inside you that's almost unbearable.
She leans down, her lips capturing yours again, her tongue tangling with yours. Her kiss is demanding, hungry, a reflection of the passion burning between you. You respond eagerly, your hands roaming her body, feeling the play of muscles beneath your fingers.
She breaks the kiss, her mouth moving to your ear. "You feel so good," she whispers, her voice ragged with desire. "I could do this all night."
Minutes stretch, warm and endless, filled only with the softness of her lips, the press of her body, the shared heat between you. Gasps, your body keening towards hers when she licks across the mark on your neck.
Finally, she pulls back just enough to rest her forehead against yours, breath warm and voice husky. “I wonder… what the sex will be,” she murmurs, eyes glinting with mischief. A switch in conversation.
You tilt your head, smirking despite your flushed cheeks. “I just hope they’re not an absolute dork like you.”
Her laugh is low, teasing, and she leans in to kiss you again, brushing her nose against yours. “And if they are,” she whispers, voice soft but confident, “you’ll love them all the more.”
You smile against her, heart swelling, and let yourself melt into her warmth.
note: hope you enjoyed the mess this part is. thank you to all who reads and loves this series.
Description: Jake takes care of you after a long day of researching.
Content Warnings/tags: Fluff! Readers gender is not described, but they have hair, established relationship, Jake is a cutie pie, reader is a scientist/researcher
Author's note: I think this is my only purely Human!Jake x Human!reader so far... Based on this request by @blv3rd .
“My eyes hurt,” you complained, rubbing your eyelids.
Your eye sight was thoroughly strained from being under the bright fluorescents in the lab. You had spent hours looking at a screen, staring after tiny equations and letters, trying to make sense of it all. Your job was exciting and had taken you across the cosmos, but the boring parts… were really boring.
Jake looked up from his laptop where he was typing out some observations for Grace’s next book like she had asked him to do. “Go to sleep, get some rest,” he suggested, but you shook your head.
“I can’t. I should finish these, and then I told Norm I would read some more of the guide and compare notes with him tomorrow before the excursion. Plus, I need to take a shower,” you groaned at the thought.
“I think I can help,” your boyfriend said, closing his laptop and wheeling over to you.
“I doubt that,” you sighed, clicking a little more at the keys.
“Seriously, come on,” he grabbed the thin book off of your desk, placing it in his lap before he turned and rolled out of the lab.
“Jake!” you called, but he didn’t turn around, just yelled, “come on!” again over his shoulder so you powered off your computer.
You followed him into the hallway, but instead of turning towards the barracks where you both slept, he turned down a completely separate hallway.
“Where are we going?” you asked quietly. The halls were pretty deserted. It was deep into the night and most of the base was already asleep in preparation for an early morning tomorrow.
“Grace is gone for the week. She’s up in the mountains to study some trees with the other labcoats. She asked me to water her plants, and gave me this,” He held up a badge over his shoulder and your eyes widened.
“She asked you to water her plants?” you clarified. Jake sent a glare over his shoulder.
“Yes, is that so hard to believe?” he asked.
“A little. But still, what could we possibly be doing in Grace’s room?” you pressed, starting to worry about his vague plan.
“You’ll see,” he muttered as he stopped in front of a door and stuck the badge up to the keypad. It flashed green and the door slid open.
“Go ahead,” he said, gesturing for you to enter and you did, walking into Grace’s apartment to see the organized chaos within. She had bookshelves stuffed with books, papers, and Na’vi knickknacks. A tiny kitchen was tucked in the corner and there was a small hallway that led to what you assumed to be a bedroom and bathroom. Her furniture was sparse, but she had a couch and a screen to watch television, something you had a feeling she didn’t do much.
“This way,” Jake said as he passed by you and the door whooshed closed behind him.
You followed him into a semi-spacious bathroom off of the hall and saw Jake already digging through cabinets.
“What are we doing Jake? Just tell me,” you demanded, feeling even more confused than before.
He glanced at you over his shoulder and smiled at your impatience. “You are going to take a bath while I read your book for you, two birds killed with one stone,” he explained and your shoulders slumped.
“I am not taking a bath in her bathroom!” You exclaimed, glancing around to see the general soaps and shampoos provided by the RDA and not much else. Jake emerged from the cabinet with a clean bath towel and set it on the counter.
“Look at that tub, when was the last time you saw a tub?!” he asked, nodding to the large, white plastic tub.
That was a luxury in Hell’s Gate. You had been taking showers in the tiny communal bathrooms for years, you wouldn't mind submerging yourself in some warm, soapy water.
“You’re basically drooling, whether I read to you or not, you’re taking a bath. Grace doesn't appreciate what she has enough anyways,” Jake insisted and your eyes softened at his orders.
“Fine,” you grumbled.
“Good. Call me when you’re ready for me to come back in,” he said, lips curving into a smile as he rolled out of the room and left the door open just a crack.
You turned on the faucet, running warm water and dug through her cabinets to see what she had that you could use. You lined up shampoo and conditioner on the lip of the tub, as well as body soap. At the back of her cabinet you found a pepto bismol pink bottle and pulled it out, shocked to see a nearly full bottle of bubble bath that looked like it was possibly older than you.
“Jake,” you beamed, running out to the hallway to see him flipping through the channels on the TV. Old reruns from earth played softly over the speakers. He looked up at your voice, eyebrows raised in question.
“Bubble bath!” you held it up in victory and his face relaxed.
“Nice find, baby!” he grinned at your excitement.
“I know, right?” you asked, as you ducked back into the bathroom. You poured some of the liquid into the bath and started kicking your clothes off, folding them up and placing them in the corner.
You sank into the warm, soapy water, bubbles rising to your chin as you relaxed. Your eyes closed as you sighed in contentment. This was heaven. The water was a comfort that eased your rigid shoulders and tense muscles.
“Can I come in?” you heard from the hall.
Your eyes popped open as Jake knocked lightly.
“Yeah, come in, J,” you grinned as he pushed past the door and wheeled in. He stopped to admire your happy, relaxed face.
“What did I tell ya?” he asked with a knowing smile and you sighed, closing your eyes again.
“I guess you were right,” you relented and you heard his wheels crossing the tile as he stopped beside you.
“Thank you, I know that was hard for you to admit.”
You nodded, “Terribly difficult,” you smiled as you settled under the suds.
“So what is this book again?” Jake asked, holding it up.
“It’s a survivalist’s guide to Pandora. Norm wants to compare notes, he says the author’s some quack and he thinks he has it all wrong,” you explained.
“Huh, okay,” Jake nodded, opening up to where you had stuck a candy wrapper in place of a bookmark. You would die before you dog eared.
“Uh, here we go.” He cleared his throat, “The Na’vi have a unique and expansive language…” he read the book out loud for you as you put shampoo in your hair and washed your body.
You occasionally called out places for him to stick a tab from the front of the book. He stumble dover the Na'vi words and you helped him pronounce them even though you couldn't see the words. He would make notes when you asked him to jot thinsg down.
By the time the water went cold, he had read through two chapters. The book mentioned something twice and when you said nothing, he looked up to see you fast asleep on the side of the tub.
He stuck a tab on the section he wanted you to check out tomorrow and placed your candy wrapper bookmark back in the book. He dropped it on the sinks’ counter to grab later. Your soft snores permeated the otherwise quiet space and made Jake smile.
You looked so adorable like this, the worries of the world forgotten. Your head rested on your arm which laid across the shiny plastic, your fingertips pruned from the water. A lock of wet hair dangled over your eyes and moved with your soft breaths.
He smoothed a hand over your hair, brushing it away from your face. He would have to wake you up eventually, you couldn’t sleep in the water, but you looked so cute like this, he decided he would let you rest a second or two.
“Good night baby,” he muttered, leaning down to place a kiss on your damp hair.
S: As a marine biologist, your love for the ocean can't be sustained by Earth, whose own oceans were plagued by death and pollution. So, when given the chance to, you go to Pandora to study its seas instead. But after you accidentally cross Metkayina territory, you find yourself caught up in a war you never could have prepared for.
And make promises you'll do anything to keep.
SPOILERS FOR AVATAR: FIRE AND ASH
cw: fem/afab reader, enemies to friends to lovers, language barrier, avatar/human reader, marine biologist reader, angst & fluff, childbirth, parenthood, adoption, fix-it fic, Ronal lives, nursing/lactation/breastfeeding, see full list on ao3
wc: 16.3k
part 1
The sun was at its peak when you were called to join Tonowari and Ronal the next day, and you were surprised to find the one and only Jake Sully off to the side, talking with them in low tones.
He looked at you as you came over and straightened, uncrossing his arms. By habit, instead of reaching a hand out for you to shake, he gestured to you in the traditional Na'vi way — fingers to his forehead, sweeping out, saying your name.
"You know me?" You questioned, brow furrowing. A bit delayed, you copied his greeting.
He shook his head a bit. "Only as much as these guys told me."
Oh. That was a bit embarrassing.
Floundering, you rubbed the back of your neck. "Right. Um…"
Fuck. What did you say to a man like Jake Sully? He was a living legend, and the RDA's most wanted fugitive. You saw his face plastered on walls and tablets alike, listing him as dangerous, wanted dead or alive. Avoid like the plague, contact the number provided on the posters.
Sensing your internal panic, Tonowari stepped in. "He will be coming with us to talk to the tulkun. His wife, as well."
"How come?" You asked.
"We need the tulkun to fight with us," Jake said. "They're passive now, but we're hoping we can get them to join the battle. For their own sakes."
You pressed your thumb into the center of your other palm, deeper and deeper until it hurt.
You wondered if it was possible. If it'd ever be possible.
You wondered this as you rode with Tonowari on his skimwing, clinging to his midsection. You wondered it as you came to a floating rock, which Tonowari helped you climb onto after Jake and his mate did.
Stillness surrounded you, on this shallow, floating rock. Not peaceful; an eerie muteness, the kind that came before a vengeful storm.
As you looked around, your heart pounded in your chest, against your ribs. Anxiety gnawed at you, your bones, your spirit. Your hands trembled at your sides, and you curled them into tight fists, pressed into your thighs. It was far scarier than when you ran to the village to warn the Metkayina of the oncoming attack. It was bigger than you — any of you.
An energy disrupted the lull, and your head snapped toward movement under the water.
Gigantic, colossal beasts emerged from the sea, rising and rising and rising toward the sky, the sun that lethargically drifted to its spot behind Polyphemus.
You sucked in a sharp gasp, whipping around as you heard more arrive. They towered over your group, incomparably mighty to the tulkun you had seen. They eclipsed the sky, casting shadows as large as them, harsh and encompassing. Like their reef Na'vi counterparts, they bore tattoos along their monumental bodies, but the one in the center differed in that impressive rings were pierced into its mouth, hanging in chains to connect further down to other piercings. Massive swaths of red fabric draped from the piercings, too.
The matriarchs.
Tonowari waved a hand at you for you to kneel, and you dropped down, afraid to insult them.
"Go. Tell them. I will translate," he said, motioning tersely to the great creature.
You swallowed thickly and cleared your throat, your trembling worsening. Now or never.
"Matriarchs," you called out, maybe too loudly. From your peripherals, you saw Tonowari signing your words to them. "I come bear— bearing a warning. The R— the humans, sky people, they plan to attack you. They will attack the tulkun during calf communion."
A rumble rippled through you, powerful enough to shake your ribs, knock you back onto your haunches.
"They want to kill you," you coughed out.
Jake took over.
"Great Matriarch," he summoned them, Tonowari following his every word. His voice was stronger than yours, more confident, more serious. "Wise elders. The sky people are coming. Here, today. Right now."
He took a breath.
"To kill our tulkun families."
The words bit at your heart like daggers, sharp tips piercing soft, vulnerable flesh.
"I beg you," he continued. "Fight with us."
The Matriarch thought on his request, then vocalized an answer in return.
Tonowari translated for her. "She said, 'we respect Toruk Makto, but our ways are ancient'." The Matriarch rumbled again, and he continued, "'We believe that killing will only bring more killing, in an endless, expanding spiral'."
Jake grit his teeth, his tail lashing behind him. "Hear my words. The Sky People will never stop. Not until the last of the tulkun is hunted."
The Matriarch bellowed, then began to slap her fins against the water, the others following suit.
Spooked, you looked around, and spotted… someone riding in upon a much smaller tulkun. Multiple someones, in fact, all children, teenagers.
"Lo'ak," Neytiri said, gasping.
Lo'ak's — the one at the front, you presumed — tulkun trilled, a pleading sound.
The Matriarch responded, slapping her fins harder. Without Tonowari to translate, you were completely lost.
"Stop!" Lo'ak shouted. "Stop."
"Lo'ak, what are you doing?" Jake growled out. "You can't be here."
"Dad," his son begged. "Dad, wait." To the Matriarch, he said, "I am Brother of tulkun. I have a right to speak."
A girl piped up, defending him. "Lo'ak speaks the truth. You must listen."
"Tsireya!" Tonowari yelled.
The eldest of the tulkun bellowed.
Tonowari frowned. "She says, 'his Brother is outcast'." He turned to Lo'ak. "You have no standing here."
Lo'ak's nose scrunched. "If he is outcast, then I am outcast."
"And I am outcast," Tsireya followed.
Ronal balked. "Daughter, silence."
"No!" Tsireya cried out. "You will never see me again."
You saw as fear, true and primal, struck Ronal.
Another boy piped up, "And I and my Brother are outcast."
"Ao'nung," Tonowari barked.
The last tailed the rest. "And we are also outcast."
Ronal put a hand to her chest, breathing shakily.
Behind you, the Matriarch clicked.
Tonowari took in a breath. "She says, 'you may speak'."
Like his father, Lo'ak started, "Hear my words. My Brother returned to his birth clan to defend them, but his clan was wiped out by the demon ships. Only Ta'nok survived, because she fought back!" He looked to the side, bidding one to join. "Come forward."
A tulkun that stayed submerged rose up and drifted inward.
You slammed a hand against your mouth to suppress a choke.
She, Ta'nok, was covered in scars, deep wounds that serrated her flesh until it could not heal over fully, exposing the pink of her inner body. Several spears stuck out of her back, and—
Her eyes. They were gone.
You tilted your head to the sky, fighting to restrain the tears that flooded your waterline and blurred your vision.
Ta'nok wailed.
With a heavy heart, Tonowari interpreted. "Ta'nok says, 'I speak for the dead mothers and the dead calves. I speak for my people and all our Songs'."
Ta'nok wept, mourning.
"'Gone'." Tonowari exhaled roughly. "'Forever'."
The Matriarch blinked slowly, silent.
Ta'nok proceeded, begging.
"She says, 'I am the last. The blind witness to our end'."
You could see the tears that filled his own eyes, how his throat dipped, a swallow to keep himself steady, resolute.
He sniffled, sitting up. "Ta'nok says, 'the tulkun way must change. Payakan shows our path'." Quieter, after her plea, he repeated for you, "'We must fight'."
Lo'ak echoed, louder. "We must fight!"
The Matriarch rumbled, then the elders began to descend beneath the water.
Panicked, you glanced at them as they retreated, a hand to your sternum. Did you fail? Was that it?
"What did she say?" Jake asked.
Ronal answered. "They will decide."
You pressed your lips together, your tears spilling.
In muteness, you returned with your group to the village, wondering what you could have done different, if there was something to be done differently. It wasn't an outright rejection, but it wasn't an agreement, either. A limbo you feared you'd fall into and never resurface from.
While you were gone, the clan had moved, relocating to a cave closer to where the communion was set to happen.
Where the attack would occur.
You were ushered toward the back of the cave and commanded to help the healers, who gave you tasks of their own. Specifically, Makani was the one ordering you around. Older and wiser than the rest, the others looked to her.
"Kämunge fay," she handed you a large bundle of gauze rolls. "Io tsatseng."
Despite the language barrier, you did as instructed, mostly following visual cues. Carry this here, bring this to her, go with so and so to gather herbs whose names you repeated over and over to yourself, hoping to memorize them.
Women sat in a circle sang together, working fibers into nets, bandages. Roots were ground into paste and covered with leaves. Fruit was cut open, or freed from a thick shell, juice collected inside a thick gourd. Sat to the left of Makani, she passed you dense cords of rope to knot and loop into a basket.
The song itself wasn't morose, but their rhythm was somber, words slowed and sung from deep in the chest.
Brows furrowed, you mouthed along, picking out bits and pieces. Words that repeated, that maybe you could replicate.
Makani noticed.
She observed as you fumbled over the sounds, the pronunciations, under your breath. She moved closer to you, and your mouth closed, ears tilted back. Warmth bit at your cheeks, the urge to apologize overwhelming—
"Ftu."
Your eyebrows pinched together. "What?"
"Ftu," she drew out the word.
It clicked. She wanted you to copy her.
"Fuu," you tried.
She huffed through her nose, the corners of her lips twitching. "Ftu."
"Ftu."
"Srane. Ftu ngeyä…"
"Ftu n— neyyyah?"
She opened her mouth and showed you how her tongue shifted to the back of her throat, covering it as she pronounced it, "Ngeyä."
Oh. Oh, that— that made sense.
"Ngeyah."
"Ä, ke a."
"Ngey…ä. Ftu ngeyä."
She grinned wide, nodding in approval. "Ftu ngeyä txe'lan."
She went slow as she taught you, showing you far more patience than you deserved. Whenever you messed up, she lightly corrected you, and showed you how she did it.
Tx took you a bit to learn. You had click your tongue against the roof of your mouth to make the correct sound. Kx was even worse, the click happening in the back of your mouth. Your attempts earned you a few snickers, but Makani maintained her patient instruction, letting you take your time.
"Ftu ngeyä txe'lan," You sang as she taught you. "What does it mean?"
Setting down the herbal remedy she was working on, she placed a hand to the center of your chest, on your sternum.
"Txe'lan," she said.
"My chest?" You mumbled, piecing it together. Then, your brows raised in understanding. "My heart? Txe'lan is heart?"
To confirm, you put your hand over hers and tapped it in a beat of two. Ba-bump. Ba-bump.
She smiled. "Ngeyä txe'lan lu txur."
You copied her, saying it back. Fond, she brushed her hand over your shoulder, and went back to teaching you the song. Having no way to translate what she said, you were left wondering what she meant. At least you knew heart, now.
Txe'lan… what a pretty name for it.
A horn blew, and you lifted your head, confused.
At the mouth of the cave, warriors were mounted on skimwings (tsurak, Makani called them), lined in rows. Ready for battle.
Your teeth dug into your lower lip, chewing into the dry skin. You wished, more than anything, that you could do more to help, but the closest thing you had to any form of combat training was the movies you'd seen back on Earth.
You hated this feeling, this self-directed disgust. It dissolved the fragile lining of your stomach, bled into your veins, trickled into your marrow. It ate you alive, carving a place for itself in the core of your being, a throne of hatred and insecurity and diffidence. It spun a web, invisible and sticky, a predator setting an inescapable trap for its prey.
"Ayfo lu ne salew wem," Makani said, "ulte tìhawnu si ayfo. Tulkun aysmukan ulte aysmuke."
The war had come.
A quiet sort of chaos bloomed in the cave. Those left behind moved back and forth, preparing for the inevitable influx of injured warriors as the battle waged. It took less than an hour for the first of them to arrive.
The singing cut out, replaced by Na'vi yelling to each other, communicating. Warriors were brought in on makeshift gurneys, carried over shoulders, or dragged across the soil, healers racing from person to person to treat each as they came. A man screamed as stringy fibers were lodged into a bullet hole on his side. A woman fought against the healers, eager to return to the battle in spite of the gash running from her left shoulder to her right hip.
You—
You were stuck in place, frozen, unsure of how to help, what to do. Your heart thundered in your throat, clogging it, making it difficult to breathe.
What do I do, what do I—
Makani grabbed your arm, her face severe. "Za'u!" She shouted, and ran toward an opening at the side of the cave.
Unthinking, you went after her.
You took the path she did, nearly tripping along the way, your body unused to traversing the rocky terrain. Water spray hit your thigh and hip as you skidded outside, where two others were helping a hunter off of tsurak. He had a nasty wound on his back, and a metal harpoon spear had lodged itself in his upper arm.
"Mawey!" Makani said. "Munge tsamsiyu fìtseng!"
You ran into the shallow water, skirting around the tsurak (i.e. jumping over its tail) to get to the opposite side, where the warrior's foot had gotten stuck in the saddle.
The tsurak squirmed and thrashed, forcing you to cover your face so it wouldn't spray it. "It's okay, it's okay," you told it, a hopeless plea for it to calm down. Getting between its wing-like fins proved a lesson in futility in avoiding getting wet, and you clenched your jaw, lunging forward to reach the saddle.
You yanked the leather, allowing the healers to pull him free. The tsurak, sensing its rider was gone, slammed its tail harshly and kicked off into the water once more.
Wading through the water, you reached for the hand held out to you, fingers brushing.
A whistle sounded overhead.
One second, there was an impossibly bright light.
The next, you crashed into the sea, liquid barely having time to move out of the way. It enveloped you, drowned your senses until there was a swirling blackness you couldn't discern up from down in. A terrible bellow followed after the lightning, a thunderous roar that rattled your skeleton, left your ears ringing in pain.
Somewhere in the depths of your subconscious, you were aware that an explosion happened.
It detonated against the wall of the cliffside the cave was hidden under, and its shockwave blew you into the water, a temporary, entire loss of stimuli, a flickering in your brain as your head hit the water. Whether unconscious for a second or a minute, you were beneath the waves, dazed, floating along the brash current.
Your body twitched, sensation returning to your limbs one by one, yet true feeling remained elusive.
You were descending, lower, lower, clutched too tightly in vise you could not escape from. It sat on your breastbone, a gentle, downward push, encouraging you into a squeezing pressure that compressed your ribcage, threatened to puncture your hollow lungs with sharp bones.
Above you, flames dance on the surface, refracting into odd, geometric shapes. They broke apart and recombined, fibers split from a weft, then brushed back into a solid entity.
It mesmerized you.
Beautiful, in an otherworldly way.
Your fingers fluttered, longing to touch the fire, feel its warmth in this all-devouring frost.
To your side, glowing movement caught your attention.
You slowly turned your head, and saw yellow fish darting back and forth, their bodies illuminating the dark space around them. They led and followed each other in equal measure, traipsing their way to you. They circled you, then sprang away, back and forth. Some nudged your cheeks, your arms, your tail. They nipped your ears and toes until you chose to lazily, languidly, lethargically trail after them.
Weakened, you could only go so fast. They acted impatient, tickling your spine, the soles of your feet. You kicked in response, propelling yourself forward.
Up ahead, you could barely make out the shape of… something. Large, reaching too down to see how deep it went. Your hands contacted rough stone, and the fish dispersed, leaving you alone.
You broke through the water, coughing violently and wetly, sucking in chestfuls of air. You tasted the salt in your esophagus, the rough scratch of it on the sensitive mucosal lining of your nasopharynx. You lugged yourself ashore, knees and elbows scraped by the raw rock.
You were alive. Somehow, by some miracle, you survived the blast.
And… and the fish led you to safety. Or, relative safety, where you had a chance to recover.
Shaky, fawn legs climbed under you, joints protesting as you forced yourself to stand. You choked out excess mucus, spitting its salty adhesiveness onto the stones.
Looking around, you saw the fight blazing on the horizon, a massive battleship getting sucked into the flux vortex. Its hull was being torn apart, large chunks of paneling shooting into the sky.
Tulkun, too, were fighting.
They breached and twisted, landing their solid, heavy bodies onto smaller ships and boats, submerging them into a grim fate.
Then, to your right, you heard gasping.
You whipped your head towards it, and the world dropped out from under you.
Ronal was propped up against the rocks, a hand cradling her rounded stomach, the other clutching at a spear lodged in her collarbone.
You staggered towards her, her name leaving you in a frail, gravelly croak.
Kneeling beside her, she told you in no uncertain terms, "I am dying."
"No," you whispered. No, it— it wasn't possible, it wasn't.
Ronal was unbreakable, a fortress. Her castle walls touched the sky, their palisades sharpened into piercing points that would bleed out any enemy that dared approach.
"I am dying," she hissed. "But not before I deliver this baby."
You jolted into action, a puppet on strings, an unspeaking being telling you what to do.
Positioning yourself between her legs, you propped her foot up on your thigh and held the other open, tearing strips of her loincloth out of the way. She groaned, head tilting back to expose her throat as her stomach contracted.
You didn't know what drove you to help her. You didn't know what you were doing at all, but instinct steered you.
"I see it," you said, the babe crowning. "Push."
Ronal panted, and gave her all. Her strength was dwindling fast, too fast, and you clasped your fingers around hers.
"Again," you bid. "Again!"
For the first, and possibly last time, she listened to you.
With a cry, she pushed, and you quickly went to catch her baby.
Jesus, it was so small. A crumb. A new life.
You placed the newborn on Ronal's chest, supporting her arms as she held her baby.
"A girl," you said. "It's a girl."
Ronal shuddered, breathing shaky, uneven. "Pril. Her name is Pril."
Hazy eyes found yours, her pupils blown wide, lids heavy.
"You will protect her?" She asked you.
Whether it was out of trust, or because you were the only one present, it didn't matter.
"I promise," you vowed. "I'll protect her. I'll keep her safe. I'll get you back."
Ronal shook her head. "No. It is time for me to go. I cannot…"
You caught Pril a second time as Ronal went lax, her voice drifting off as she did. Cursing, you took the strips of fabric you'd ripped off Ronal's loincloth and made a shoddy, but functioning sling from them, one-handed at that. As soon as Pril was secured, you stood, and grabbed Ronal's arm on her uninjured side.
Grunting, you hauled her up, feet slipping on the wet rocks. She weighed too much for you, but you endured, resisted the gravity that threatened to splinter the joints in your knees.
"I will not let you die," you growled at her. Pril cried on your chest, and once you had Ronal's arm securely wrapped around your shoulder, you encased Pril's back in your palm, keeping her close as you bore Ronal's unconscious, slack weight, one step forward, the next, again, again, again.
The skerry you were on connected to the cave via a thin, submerged sand bar. Seconds, minutes, hours passed as you carried both Na'vi, your breaths coming in erratic, spasmic heaves.
At the edge of the cave, your voice echoed, breaking at its edges.
"Help!" You screeched, pleading, desperate. "Srung!"
The adrenaline could only carry you so far. You could feel Ronal's weight beginning to bring you down, your feet fumbling beneath you, slipping on the wet .
"I need help!" Tears were flowing down your cheeks, their paths searing you. "Please. Please, someone help me."
Just as you felt your knees were going to buckle, the dead weight becoming too much for you, it was lifted. You sobbed in relief, able to wrap both your arms around Pril's tiny body, cradling her to your chest.
Na'vi surrounded you, frenetically assessing the state of their tsahìk. Orders were shouted. One girl pressed a hand to Ronal's sternum, stock still.
"Po rusey!" She yelled.
All at once, havoc erupted. Multiple people helped carry Ronal, running towards the pop-up healing huts as quickly as they could without jostling her.
No sooner than you had been surrounded were you alone once more.
Only then did your knees give out, hitting the stone with a resounding crack. You hardly noticed the pain.
Pril fussed, wailing with all the might of her extraordinarily small lungs, squirming. You crushed her to your chest and cried, your face contorting from the effort.
"Oh, baby," you wept, pressing your ear to her head, bringing her to rest against your collarbone. "Oh, babygirl, my baby."
You cried, sat alone until someone came to retrieve you.
Tsireya.
Her eyes were wet, red-lined, brows furrowed, but she kept her tears at bay.
She knelt in front of you, her hands settling on your biceps.
"She lives," she whispered to you. "Because of you. You saved her."
You drew in a shuddering breath, and Tsireya sat patiently with you, not rushing you. She let you take the time you needed to calm down, for your cries to reduce to stuffy sniffles. As you calmed, so did Pril, sensing your heart slowing down and your breathing balancing.
"I can take her," Tsireya said, moving towards Pril.
She'll take her from you.
Panicked, you jerked back, causing the girl to blink in surprise.
"No," you rasped. "No, I c-can't. I can't. I'm sorry, I— I promised."
Her lips parted in understanding, and she nodded. "Okay. Okay, it is okay."
You exhaled, a leaden release from your core, and the exhaustion slammed into you like a massive wave, towing you under.
Saying no more, she helped you rise, her hands on your elbows as she walked backwards, guiding you further into the cave the village tucked away into. She led you into a different hut, the inside almost stiflingly warm. You sat down by the smoldering fire, instinctively rocking Pril.
Again, she reached for Pril, but did not take her. "May I?"
You opened and closed your mouth, resisting the urge to squeeze Pril tighter.
Seeing your reluctance, she clarified, "I will not take her from you. But I must check to make sure she is healthy. Only that, I promise."
You gnawed on your lip, looking down at the infant. She was so small, barely the size of both of your hands. You knew it was for the best to let Tsireya examine her, make sure there was nothing wrong, but it was hard to turn off the part of your brain screaming to never let her go.
Tentatively, you passed the baby over, obsessively ensuring her head was supported. Tsireya smiled at you placatingly, and rose, walking to a nearby mat.
For the moment, you slumped, exhaling a heavy breath. It came from deep inside, wrested from your very core.
It was all beginning to get to you, this all-devouring weight.
The adrenaline crash was brutal, winding you, and all you could do was sniffle and wipe at your eyes and nose with shaking, sore, tired hands. Your stomach clenched with nausea, being separated from Pril, but you tried to reassure yourself that she was right across the hut, not even ten feet away.
You watched, world-weary and beat, as Tsireya checked over her baby sister. She bent each of her little limbs at the joints, testing their range of motion. Skilled fingers massaged her tummy, feeling for any internal abnormalities.
Pril made small noises of discomfort, but did not cry or wriggle too much. Tsireya snapped her fingers beside each of Pril's ears, the appendages twitching at the noise in reaction.
Seemingly satisfied, Tsireya picked her up, and brought her back to you. Grateful, you took her again, immensely relieved to feel her featherlight weight settled on your arms.
"You must rest," Tsireya urged.
Once more, you sighed, peering down at Pril. The little one shifted, getting comfortable, then let out her own sigh. You smiled tiredly at the sound.
"Okay," you responded, too drained to fight.
The young girl helped you scoot over towards an open spot in the hut, tucked out of the way. She put down a fur hide for you, and propped up a few rolled up mats behind you for you to lean on.
"I will bring milk to feed her," she promised. You hummed in acknowledgment, and the girl rose up. She gave you one more worried, hesitant look, then left.
Fuck.
What were you going to do?
For some time, you sat with that thought, the words bouncing in an echo chamber that provided no answer, gave you nothing. You didn't know. You just… didn't know.
The quiet of the night was disturbed.
Tonowari burst into the hut, eyes rapidly darting around the space. He was panting, alarmed, until his gaze found you.
All at once, he deflated, his shoulders slumping.
On heavy feet, he closed the distance between you, and dropped to his knees. A hand settled on your shoulder, and for a long while, you both peered at Pril as she slept, taking in her presence, her little breaths, her curled fists. She was nuzzled into the cushion of your breast, allayed by the warmth of your skin.
Earlier, you removed your top, allowing the infant full contact. You figured the woven garment would be uncomfortable for her.
You couldn't find it in yourself to be embarrassed or ashamed, not caring that Tonowari could see your naked chest. You were sure it would haunt you for the rest of your life later, but at the moment, it didn't matter.
Eventually, he adjusted himself to sit cross-legged beside you, his hand absentmindedly drifting to the back of your neck.
"I owe you a debt I can never repay," he said, his voice drawn into a low rumble, wary of waking Pril.
You dragged your stare away from Pril, searching his expression. "What?"
"My mate, my other half," he hushed. "She lives because of you. Our daughter lives because of you. In this life and the next, I will never be able to repay this debt. No words exist to tell you how grateful I am to you."
You frowned. "No," you whispered. "No, it's— you don't owe me anything. I… I only did what anyone would."
He shook his head, insistent. "The People's tsahìk survived. A great loss has been prevented. A life did not have to be exchanged for another."
You blinked at him slowly, dry and heavy.
It did not feel as though you did something, anything, good. You felt like you were a failure. A mess. An ill omen on the People of this clan. Maybe, if not for you, Ronal would never have been injured. She never would have been so close to slipping into death's embrace.
You'd argue about the apparent debt later. Insist he owed you nothing. If anything, you owed him and his wife everything.
His rough, strong fingers massaged into the aching, tight muscle of your trapezius, and you held back a groan, the noise trapped in the bottom of your throat. He applied a heavenly pressure, one that you leaned back into, lashes fluttering shut.
Kindly, he continued, the painfulness beginning to ebb away under his skillful touch.
At some point, Tsireya returned, holding a small gourd with a narrow tip.
She passed it to Tonowari, who waited for you to reposition Pril before giving it to you.
Using your thumb, you rubbed her chubby cheek back and forth, coaxing her awake. She whined, twisting and writhing. Her mouth opened, and she took a few quick breaths, as if preparing to cry.
You placed the nozzle against her bottom lip, letting her find it herself. Once she closed her mouth around it, you tilted it up, allowing the milk to flow. She suckled, calming down as she tasted the milk and figured out what it was.
Nestled in the crook of your elbow, she drank her fill contentedly, so innocent and blissfully unaware of the evils wrought unto this world, the world she had been born into mere hours ago.
"I can't take care of her, not like this," you said softly.
Tonowari's brow furrowed. The fingers of his free hand lightly rubbed at one of Pril's feet. "What do you mean?"
You drew in a long breath. "This body. I can't… I can't take care of her if I'm trapped between two places," you explained, voice hoarse from your earlier crying.
"What do you suggest?" He asked.
The request sat heavy on your mind, for more reasons than one.
To start with, you didn't even know if he'd be willing to help you. You didn't know what went into the process to begin with, having only heard of it down the pipeline of rumors and through the proof of images.
Second, it was… hard to fathom, to reckon with.
The idea seemed so distant and far-fetched. It was like trying to visualize death, to imagine what it'd be like. Your brain just couldn't grasp onto the idea properly, viewing it as more of a dream than a possible reality.
And you'd be losing yourself. Forever.
Not you, but… you. The you that you had known all your life, the one you saw in the mirror, the one sleeping in a gel bed in some neglected shack on some one-off island. You'd be losing the part of you that was entirely you, not just 50% of your DNA spliced with 50% Na'vi DNA.
But in the short time that you had Pril, the hours you kept her to your heart, you knew you had to. You couldn't take care of two bodies while tending to a baby. You couldn't split yourself apart, live a life in that body and another in this. It wasn't possible in any existence.
You had to do it.
"Jake Sully," you spoke his name as if it was dangerous. It was dangerous. "I want to do what he did."
Tonowari's hand stilled on your neck. "The transfer ceremony?"
"Yes," you confirmed.
His jaw fluttered, teeth grinding together. "Are you certain? This is not a decision to be made lightly. It cannot be undone."
A single tear escaped, tracking down your cheek.
"I have to," you said with finality. "I have to. For her."
He lightly squeezed the back of your neck, persuading you to look at him.
"I will help," he promised. "It will be done."
You sagged in relief, your eyelids closing. You were terrified, of course you were, how could you not be?
But you were more scared of what would happen if you didn't. What would become of Pril.
She needed you.
Maybe you needed her, too.
"Thank you," you whispered.
Tonowari gave no reply, but he stayed with you, keeping watch. He stayed until Pril finished eating, and instructed you on how to burp her properly, praising you as you patted her back. The infant grumbled the whole time, and you two shared a quiet laugh at her displeasure.
Afterwards, he took the gourd, placing it aside. He coerced a stray piece of your hair to move away, unsticking it from the sweat and tears of your skin.
"Rest," he instructed. "In this body, and your human one. Tsireya will stay with you tonight to watch over Pril."
As he said it, the curtain over the door was moved aside, allowing Tsireya to enter. She was carrying a basket full of various materials, and though she looked tired herself, she certainly had much more energy than you.
"You won't take her?" You asked her.
She shook her head. "No. I will stay here. I will not go anywhere, and she will not either."
"And you won't allow anyone else to take her."
"I will not."
Somewhat eased, you mumbled your agreement, and let Tonowari help you lay down. For now, you were allowed to keep holding Pril, who had fallen back asleep.
"Tomorrow," he said. "At dawn. We will perform the ceremony."
It didn't give you much time to sleep, neither in this body nor the other, but it'd be enough. No matter what time, you'd be there.
"Thank you," you repeated your gratitude again.
He rubbed your bicep in farewell, then rose, saying something to Tsireya that was too soft for you to hear. You were quickly fading, anyway, the muted noises around you drifting away until blackness took hold.
And you were awake in your human body once more.
Dawn came slowly, too slowly, yet all far too soon.
You woke bleary-eyed and bone tired, sleep having evaded you all night. What was to come haunted you, playing in your mind on a broken track, looping at the part where you'd be separated from yourself to become a seed planted in a being only half yours.
You were going to die.
There was no two-ways about it. The truth of the matter was that at least one part of you was going to meet its end. If the transfer didn't work, then… then you'd truly die. And you doubted Eywa would welcome you into her arms to live amongst her children within her.
You avoided thinking about that outcome as much as you could, though it scratched at the inner walls of your skull like nails on chalkboard.
It wasn't a choice.
Pril needed you.
You promised.
You vowed to a dying Ronal that you would guard Pril with your life. Maybe becoming a pseudo-parent wasn't part of the request, but you meant what you said. You'd use your life, every fiber of your being, to be her sentinel, her shield against all in the world that would dare try harm her.
You'd worry about what came next when you reached it, bridges yet to be reached, uncrossed.
For now, all you could do was survive.
There were only two instances of an attempted transference of consciousness from human body to avatar. An abysmal pool to gather data from, but the coin flip was clear.
Heads or tails.
50% chance you die. 50% chance you live.
More or less.
For Grace Augustine, may she rest in peace, it was evident why she didn't make it. Even you knew the story of the great doctor and her attempt, how she was too injured, too close to the gateway between worlds, to endure the transfer.
You weren't harmed, your body was in one piece.
It didn't take away the fear. The terror.
You were afraid. Lying about it helped nothing, nobody, least of all yourself.
For Pril, you reminded yourself. For her.
For her mother, who could not cuddle and dote upon her daughter herself. For her father, whose threads were pulled near snapping by his duties as leader to a clan suffering from war.
And maybe, just maybe, for yourself, too. For a chance to live a life unburdened by the weight of what you were before you came to Pandora. What awaited you at the end of your rotation. For a chance to breathe this sweet air always, and never have to exist under the oppressive thumb of an organization hellbent on destroying everything they touched.
Resource Development Administration.
They certainly lived up to their name of developing resources. They just never told you that they happily scorched the lands of other planets, other worlds, to harvest what they wanted.
Unobtanium from the forest, amrita from the tulkun.
Life from the very Mother herself.
Running a hand down your face, you groaned, sitting up in the shoddy cot you slept on. Your back and neck ached, and there were deeply grooved impression lines all over your arms and legs.
You envied your avatar body, All it had to do to sleep was have you disconnect.
Though, you supposed that would change today.
As you got out of bed, ruffled and disgruntled, a tentative hand rapped on the window of the shack. You spotted a Na'vi outside, one of the two that guarded the shack and, subsequently, your human self.
Not bothering to eat, you donned an exo-pack and let the shack pressurize before opening the door and stepping outside.
It felt weird, being out here in this form. The air felt different on your skin, and breathing was harder through the mask, the filtered oxygen tasting vaguely dusty and of metal.
"Ayoe zene salew," He said. You barely picked out a couple words, but you knew what he meant.
A little ways off the beach, your other guard awaited, sat on an ilu. Another one was beside him, his hand lightly stroking its head.
The first man gently lifted you onto the back of the second ilu, then climbed on himself behind you, making tsaheylu.
"Niä sìn," he instructed.
You grabbed onto the two thick queues of the ilu, holding on as tightly as you could.
At once, they both dived beneath the waves. Instinctively, you held your breath until you no longer could, and exhaling sharply to suck in fresh air. You initially expected the mask to flood, drown you in your own contained sea, but it held steady, filtering air from the water to provide to you.
The ocean drifted past you. Fish and otterfins, zukzuk, swam in and out of large, bell-shaped flora, or twirled between stretching reeds. Sea anemonoids swayed to and fro, the tides merciful, too delicate to rend them from their perches on colorful corals.
A Nom's Delight proudly displayed its tendrils, teal blue and adept at catching plankton.
In the middle of it all was you, both so out of place and right where you belonged.
In another life, somewhere far from here, another universe, another timeline — you liked to think that in that life, you were born in the sea, and lived among its residents. A native to the boundless cerulean, at home where you were happy and free.
But that girl lived another life, and you lived this one.
This one where you were transported to the Metkayina's most sacred, valued place.
Their Spirit Tree was beautiful.
It swayed gently in the current, its fronds extending far and wide, glowing a mellow and serene violet. Pink veins ran along the middles of the fronds, spreading out in nourishing tendrils.
Tonowari was already there, prepared. Some healers were also nearby, as well as Ao'nung. You wondered where Tsireya was, then realized she was likely with Pril. You hoped, anyway. That was all you had, nowadays.
Hope.
Tonowari had brought your avatar with him. She was curled into a fetal position, eyes closed, her queue connected to one of the fronds. Periodically, she twitched, but otherwise did not move. You would have freaked out if she did, really. If she awoke without you in her, developing a soul of her own.
Leaving you behind, stuck in this body.
You slipped off the ilu when prompted to, and Tonowari took your hand, pulling you towards him and the Spirit Tree.
He made a strange gesture, expanding his chest without breathing in. It took you a second to figure out he wanted you to take a deep breath, so you followed suit, doing it as many times as he wanted you to.
Then, he nudged you towards the Tree, pressing your back against a frond close to your avatar. He pulled others closer, too, wrapping your body in them to keep you against the Tree.
You were sure it felt strange, wrong, for him to be doing this without his tsahìk and mate to guide the ceremony. You were immensely grateful he agreed to do it in spite of this. He must have known enough about it to know how to do it himself, with few others present.
Hope was all you had, and you could only hope it would be enough.
There was only one signed word Tonowari had taught you, in preparation for this. There wasn't enough time to teach you more, and you really only needed one.
Ready? He signed.
"Yes," you said back, and clumsily signed the word back.
He smiled at you, then drifted toward the Tree. He brought his own kuru from over his shoulder, allowing it to bond with it. The others nearby followed suit, lending their strength, their desire, to the living wonder.
You took one more deep breath, closed your eyes, and let the ocean consume you whole.
At first, nothing happened. There was darkness, and the faint pulse of the Tree at your back, but little else.
Just as you began to worry, you felt a zap go through your entire body, muscles stiffening before going completely limp.
You felt as though you had been pulled from your body, your soul ripped clean free and brought into a vast expanse where nothing and everything existed simultaneously, harmoniously. You floated here, a universe at your fingertips, yet so far away, untouchable.
You gasped, whipping around, searching for… something.
In the far distance, you saw it:
A light.
Tender, velvet violet, it thumped in time to a heartbeat, one you hadn't noticed until it was all you could hear, not your own breath, not your own heart.
A moth to flame, you floated to it, captivated and afraid and so deeply, immensely in love. Up close, it veiled everything else, vibrant and alive in a way you had no words to describe.
It was Pandora's nucleus, its essence concentrated into very foundational components.
Its pulse, what kept the land and sea and sky thriving and wondrous. It gave life to everything, and let the energy it gifted come back to it when the time came for the life bearing it above to return.
Was this Eywa? The goddess, the deity, the Na'vi spoke of? Their All Mother?
It called to you, whisper-soft words you couldn't discern kissing your ears, brushing over your hair, leaching into your bloodstream. Unable to resist, you stretched toward it. Your arm changed with each nictation of your eyes, alternating between normal and turquoise.
Come, the choir sang, not so much aloud as implanted in your mind, a coaxing siren you heard and didn't hear. Come to me.
As soon as your fingertips brushed the warm, lavender light, it engulfed you.
It entered your chest, your limbs, your head. It bled into your eyes and ears, and tore your being apart at the molecular level. You were shredded, atoms shorn to be rebuilt anew. The you that existed now ruptured, marrow separated from bone, breath separated from lung.
Sundered.
You shattered, soul and spirit and soma slivered into ribbons.
Death bit into your flesh to rip it to pieces. It entered your mouth, lodged itself in your throat. Your chest spasmed, unable to inhaled the oxygen you needed. Your heart pounded faster and faster, the muscle straining to circulate the cruor inside you. Its beats reduced into feverish pulses.
Then nothing.
Your corpse came to with something covering your mouth and pinching your nose shut.
Eyes snapping open, you glanced around in a panic, trying to find the source of your suffocation.
Tonowari floated before you, expression creased with concern.
He signed something, and you automatically reacted, calming down bit by bit. Once satisfied that you wouldn't thrash and drown yourself in your terror, he nodded to someone. They swam over and retracted an object at your back. Then, they placed a gelatinous form on your back, connecting it to you.
The burning in your chest abated, not quite gone, but muffled.
Pins and needles lingered in your skeleton, as if you were coming out of a long sleep. Your own anatomy was useless to you in the moment, so Tonowari pulled you with him to a tsurak. He sat on the saddle and put you at the front, arm looped around your waist to keep you in place.
The tsurak bolted upward, and you drank in a forceful, almost violent heave of air the second you broke through the ocean's shell.
Gasping, you dug your nails into the saddle, shuddering and lurching.
"Mawey," Tonowari yipped. "Mawey, tanhì oeyä. You are alright. Calm, be calm."
Easier said than done. It took you long minutes to settle down, and you slumped into his chest, wrung dry. Figuratively speaking.
"You did it," he told you. "You passed through Eywa's Eye and came back to us."
Spent, you asked in a weak cadence, "It's done?"
"Yes," he said, hugging you tighter. "It is done."
Relief and grief surged through you, a loss, a gain. Insurmountable, they left you wheezing and sapped of all energy.
You did it. You actually did it.
Had you the wherewithal, you would have cheered, celebrated. You would have supped the air and tasted its sweetness, appreciated the wind on your cheeks, the lapping waves at your ankles.
But you were beaten and worn, finding no more energy to do much but lean back into Tonowari.
"Rest. You survived," Tonowari congratulated you quietly.
So you let yourself relax completely, trusting he'd get you back safely.
The mothers of the clan, whose children weren't much older than Pril, had taken you in.
They taught you their Songs, their language. They laughed when you butchered words, but never at you, encouraging you to try again.
The more experienced mothers taught you how to properly hold Pril, supporting her head and neck. They taught you how to sit her somewhat upright during feedings, saying it was more comfortable.
You asked how, and Lo'koä demonstrated by laying down and drinking water as fast as she could. She started coughing, having to roll onto her side to hack out the excess liquid while the other women laughed hysterically.
"Kame? Ayoe heyn pehrr ayoe naer," See? We sit when we drink. "Nìftxan po sweylu, nìhawng." So she should, too.
Ah. Got it.
They shared their stories, clarifying the parts you didn't understand. You, in turn, shared yours in broken Na'vi. Like Makani had been with you, they were patient, correcting your mistakes with light nudges and accepting smiles.
You asked Ze'te, the main healer looking over Ronal, to call you whenever you could see her. Faithfully, about every three or so days, she'd steal you from the mothers' circle to visit Ronal.
The clan's tsahìk had been unconscious since you brought her, crying for aid.
But you sat next to her, Pril always with you, and spoke to them.
"This is your mom," you told Pril every time. "Sa'nok. She's sleeping right now, but she'll meet you soon. I'm sure she can't wait."
Pril made noises. Not really babbles, she was too young for those, but she grunted and grumbled, entirely uninterested unless it involved eating or sleeping. Oftentimes, your visits coincided with her feeding times, and you had a sneaking suspicion that she began associating the healers' marui with food. She'd wriggle and whine until you got her milk to guzzle down.
Trrva, a mother who, too, adopted a infant, suggested you try dribbling the milk down your breast and have Pril sort of pseudo nurse on you. It was weird, and tricky to figure out. She had to help you the first week you took her up on the offer, but you eventually got the hang of it.
She said it was important for a babe to feed from a nipple, rather than the stiff tip of a gourd. The hard wood could cause damage to her gums, and complicate the growth of her teeth in a few months.
While you weren't lactating, you made it work, too worried about causing her harm down the line to care about the odd arrangement. Whatever it took to give her a good life and the best chance at thriving
Sometimes Tonowari was there during your visits. His stays were shorter than yours, lasting the brief few minutes he could find in his busy schedule to see his wife. He'd sit next to you, hand on your shoulder, or the back of your neck. Mostly, he didn't talk, just sat and watched his wife breathe steadily. If he had time, he'd pray, but those days were rare.
You never missed a visit. You practiced your Na'vi where you had nobody to correct you, wanting to figure it out yourself, see if you could remember. The things you could remember you set aside, either to try again later, or to ask someone for help.
"Oeyä prrnen," you said, kissing her forehead anytime she fussed. "You have to be nice to your sa'nu when she wakes up. She won't be very strong, so she needs you to be strong for her, sran?"
When she slept, you turned your attention to Ronal, rubbing your thumb on the back of her knuckles.
"Wake up soon, okay? Your baby misses you. She needs you."
You always left after about an hour, when Ze'te came to take you back to the circle. It never got easier.
You hoped, prayed, that Ronal would wake up. Soon, later, whenever, so long as she did.
For the first time in weeks, Tonowari could let out a breath of air.
Recovering from a war was difficult, victorious or not. Many of his people had been lost, many more injured, nevermind the hundreds of others from fellow clans. Once more, Toruk Makto had led them to triumph against the sky people, the third Great Sorrow coming to an end, but that was only half the battle.
The other half came in the form of managing those that had survived; leading efforts to rebuild what had been destroyed, organizing hunting parties out of the warriors that were minimally injured and able-bodied. The healers needed resources to care for the wounded, homes needed restoring, debris needed clearing. Councils had to be held between the clans to discuss who needed help most and how aid could be distributed, the tulkun had their own troubles.
It was a lot. Took a lot out of him.
But, if only for a moment, there was peace.
Most of the clan had long since gone to bed, lanterns turned low and the curtain-doors of what maruis remained closed. A few stragglers remained; healers and guards on rotation that protected the perimeter, keeping an eye out for trouble. The war might have been won, but there was no telling what danger remained, if any. Tonowari had to be vigilant for the sake of his people.
Sighing, he ran a hand down his face, feeling the exhaustion weighing heavy on his bones as he stepped out of the commander's hut. All matters that could be settled for the day had been, emergencies and urgent matters tended to. The next council wasn't until midday, and he knew he needed to take the chance to rest a few scant hours before the work began again.
However, he felt he had one duty left to attend to. He'd be unable to rest otherwise.
His steps were silent on the woven pathways of his village as he passed by homes, periodically peeking in one to check on the recovering beings inside. All were sound asleep, lights extinguished as they lied in hammocks and on sleeping mats, some covered in blankets and others bared.
All but one.
The marui you'd been given in gratitude for saving his wife and child, and for siding with his people, was small, meant to house only one or two people. The shade on one window was lowered halfway, but the doorway was still bound open, letting the dim glow of a lantern bleed through.
As he stopped outside the door, a hand resting on the arch, he found you on the floor, rocking Pril back and forth. The infant fretted, squirming, her face pinched in displeasure.
You cooed at her, soft and low, and oh-so careful in how you carried her. You kept her close to your bosom, and Tonowari was subtly chuffed to see you wearing the clothes of his people, no longer dressed in demon's fabric. Not since that night you came to them, hysterical and risking your life to ferry a message. The skin-on-skin was vital for Pril, the warmth of your body acting as an innate comfort to her.
It was hard for him to believe you never had children of your own. It took a few short minutes of whispering and crooning to Pril for her irritation to settle down, something that took him and Ronal months to learn when their first came into this world. In his eyes, you were a natural at it, made for motherhood.
"That's it," you murmured when Pril's weeping quieted into even breathing, running your extra finger down the length of the baby's nose in a featherlight touch. "You're okay. I've got you."
Having yet to notice him, Tonowari cleared his throat, causing you to startle minutely at his presence.
"Oh— Tono— ah, sorry. Olo'eyktan," you stuttered awkwardly. "Is there something you need?"
"Just Tonowari is fine," he said, his accent softened by the night. "May I enter?"
You nodded immediately, as if the thought of turning him away hadn't crossed your mind. He walked into the small space, the distance between you closed in a few short strides of his. Languid, he crouched down in front of you, his eyes going to his daughter.
Pril was fast asleep, her cheek pressed to the top of your chest, ear occasionally twitching. Her stubby tail was relaxed, draped over the crook of your arm in a way that reminded him of when Ao'nung was her age. The boy never grew out of the habit of letting his tail hang over the edge of his hammock, undeterred by the amount of times it'd been accidentally stepped on in the middle of the night.
It struck Tonowari, then and there, that Pril being in your arms looked right.
She was hardly a crumb, astronomically tiny compared to her siblings, yet she fit in the cradle of your embrace so perfectly. Always meant to be.
Perhaps this is why Eywa led you to them.
At first, he only saw you as a dreamwalker, another one of them. Allowing you to side with them wasn't trust, it was to keep his enemy close, ensuring he could be there if you tried to sabotage them.
When he heard that you had stumbled into the camp with Pril on your chest and an unconscious Ronal on your back, he initially assumed you had killed them, and brought them back to taunt him. A stab directly through the heart of the Metkayina, taking them down by kicking out the pillar that held them up.
But you were crying. Begging for help, telling them Ronal was alive, dying, save her.
In the chaos of it all, he didn't have time to process what was happening. He had to focus on the battle, on finishing this war that the sky people started.
Tsireya told him that you bared your teeth at her when she tried to take Pril, then immediately softened in regret.
"No, I can't, I'm sorry," she relayed your words. "I promised I'd protect her."
In that moment, Tonowari knew he could trust you in his home, with his people.
With Pril.
A difficult decision in the heat of the moment, but relief overcame him to know it had been the correct one.
He didn't know what you said to Ronal before you brought her and Pril back, what you promised, but keeping Pril safe was evidently your main concern. You took the task to heart, never once letting the infant stray from your sight. It was for her sake that you transferred bodies, made the permanent choice to discard the life you lived and loved for one entirely stranger to you. You sacrificed everything you had for his daughter.
For that alone, he would forever be in your debt, and would always respect you as one of his own.
"Do you want to hold her?" You asked, shifting her.
He shook his head. "Another time," his voice rumbled. "You worked hard to soothe her. I will not ruin your efforts."
You smiled at him, tired but grateful.
His eyes moved from Pril to you, then to your hair, and he frowned.
It was a mess of tangles and clumps, neglected past quick, rudimentary washes between Pril's naps. It looked clean, but horridly dry and matted.
Right. You were alone, having nobody to take care of you while you had your hands busy with Pril. Your own needs had been taken off the flame and set elsewhere, forgotten entirely in the face of such troublesome times.
Taking a strand, he ran it between his fingers, his frown deepening at the tiny knots he felt.
"I will fix this," he stated bluntly.
You froze in place, mouth opening and closing in resemblance to a fish. Memories flickered behind your lids, making you grimace.
"Oh!" You breathed out, mindful of the sleeping bundle you carried. "No, no, that's okay! I know you're busy, I'll just deal with it in the morning, so—"
He leveled you with a flat look and repeated, "I will fix this."
You deflated, shoulders and ears sinking. Your tail, wrapped around the side of your body, twitched nervously. "Are you sure?"
"Yes. I am sure."
"Okay," you conceded. "Thank you."
Giving you a firm nod, he let go of your hair and rose to his feet. "I will return shortly."
Your gaze followed him as he left, and you pouted, glancing down at Pril.
"What have I gotten myself into? Mm?" You muttered. She, of course, gave no response beyond a baby-sized snort in her sleep. A wispy laugh bubbled up, and you tapped the tip of her nose. "You're no help."
True to his word, Tonowari came back minutes later, bearing a small basket and some sort of folded cloth, which he set down on the floor as he knelt behind you. Curious, you peeked into the basket and saw a plethora of oils stored in small jars, combs, beads, shells, and feather-like accessories.
Skilled, weapon-worn fingers retrieved a bone comb from the basket, and you sat up straighter as he went right to work, not keen on wasting time. He grouped up your hair at your back and drew the comb through the bottom inches, making his way up. He was surprisingly gentle, pausing at each knot to methodically unwind it. He was swift, but careful, making sure he caused you no pain.
Practiced. He'd done this before, plenty of times, the movements as natural to him as swimming.
It was unexpected.
Growing up on earth, you learned that, if there was a lot of hair to be maintained, it was a woman's job. Your mother did your hair until you learned to do it yourself, the salons you visited were all run by women. The men on the street with extravagant styles and brightly-colored tresses hired women to do it.
Your own father had scoffed in your mother's face when she offered to teach him how to braid your hair, or put it in a proper tie. The one time he tried to brush your hair, he yanked the brush from scalp to end, tearing a section clean out. He later used it as proof of him being incapable of a job meant for mother, not father.
The dismissal was something that had persisted from old times, your mother told you. The people of the past, some 100-odd years ago, viewed women the same way they did in modern times; mules, workhorses, personal maids and caterers to the 'mundane' jobs that men did not want to do. It was something you grew up expecting from men, only allowing room for pleasant surprise when the odd one out offered to help you in whatever boring task you were doing.
Part of you unfairly expected Tonowari to be the same.
You never considered that the Na'vi did things differently, saw things differently. You forgot that tasks were to be divided among the clan by the capable, not by gender. It only made sense that Tonowari was raised along those ideals; everyone shares the load.
Your tightened muscles loosened one by one, the fear of him being careless and cruel dissipating alongside each thorough glide of the comb through your hair.
About halfway up, your exhaustion was getting to you, eyes heavy and dry. Your head tipped forward, and Tonowari nimbly put his fingers under your chin, angling it back up.
"Stay awake a while longer," he murmured. "I will try to be swift."
"Mhmm," you responded, lashes fluttering over your cheeks. Behind you, he chuckled, a noise you more felt in your spine than heard.
He smoothed out the remaining tangles disrupting your hair, able to pick up the pace afterwards. Skilled fingers drew the comb along your scalp, parting strands into even sections. The ones he didn't need at the moment got swept aside and loosely tied with a strip of reed thread. The rasp of callused digits splitting the first section into smaller pieces sent a pleasant shiver down your back, goosebumps rising in its wake.
In her sleep, Pril huffed, snuggling into the warmth of your breast, inherently trusting that you'd guard her against anyone and anything.
"She feels secure with you," Tonowari said, pausing to observe. "I fear if I took her, she'd panic, become afraid."
You blinked your eyes open, readjusting your hold on her. "S'not true," you mumbled. "You're her father."
He hummed in acknowledgment. "I have not been present," he stated rather calmly, though notes of regret came through. "She would not recognize me. All she knows is you."
You didn't have a rebuttal, not this late into the night, when you were drawn to your thinnest thread and hanging from it with all your remaining strength. As much as you wished to refute him, reassure him that his own flesh and blood would know him, you didn't have it in you.
You never had children of your own. You had no frame of reference, no way to tell what was and wasn't normal.
A traitorous little part of you whispered that he was right. You were all Pril had, her only reliable source of trust and comfort, the only one who could tend to her as she needed. If not for you, there would be nobody; her father was too busy managing the clan, her siblings too young, and her mother…
You slumped a bit, weary and long-suffering.
You had so much to think about, but the little one took up all your time. From dawn to dusk to dawn again, she was just as much your entire world as you were hers. Had you wrapped around her smallest finger and didn't even know it.
Her slow, steady breaths and Tonowari's careful weaving lulled you into a dozing state, still present to stay upright and continue rocking Pril. A mild, barely-there cadence, back and forth, back and forth, keeping her content as she slept, unaware of the greater world. Unaware of anything but you, the warmth of your bosom, the pulsing of your heart.
Coral jars clinked softly together as Tonowari moved some things around in the basket, your curiosity dulled by fatigue. Your scalp felt a little tight, but free in a way, too. Like you'd been wearing a thick coat in a desert and finally took it off. Air could circulate now and didn't stifle you, or give you migraines from heat getting trapped in the nest of hair you couldn't be bothered to fix.
You hear him spread a fragrant oil over his palms, then he gathered the rest of your hair at the back of your head, running his hands over it a few times to partially distribute the oil. Then, he separated it into sections once more, albeit much fewer this time.
He coated your hair in the oil as he pulled the tails together into a tight braid, periodically reapplying a thin layer as he went. He worked your kuru into the braid, not as part of the tails, but rather what they wrapped around.
Braid inception. Braids within braids.
You almost laughed; it came out more like a huff through your nostrils.
Tonowari must have taken it to mean you were growing impatient with him.
"I will finish in a moment, I promise," he said placated.
"'S okay," you mumbled back, hardly processing what he said.
He maintained his fixed pace all the way until he was done, using a leather strap to secure the end of your braid to your kuru.
"There. Finished," he said. "This will keep it out of the way, and prevent tangles. Come to me when it needs to be redone."
You inhaled and fluttered your lashes, trying to blink the sleep away. "'Kay, I will. Thank you, Tonowari."
He hummed in reply and busied himself with gathering what he used to return to the basket. You made to stand, but swayed lightly as you got to your knees. Sudden panic at the thought of accidentally dropping Pril or — Eywa forbid — falling on her seized you, and you gasped.
Instantly, hands were on you, big palms spread across your waist and hips to anchor you.
They were warm, and rough, but oh-so painfully benevolent, hardly applying any pressure, as if afraid you'd simply shatter.
"Easy," Tonowari rumbled. "Easy. I will help."
He rose to his feet, his hands shifting up your form as he went. He stepped around to your front and, with his fingers closed around your biceps, he aided you up. Even after finding your balance, he didn't let go, not fully.
Hovering an arm around your lower back, ready to catch you if anything happened, he patiently guided you toward your bed mat. Wherever his touch was needed, he let it settle there naturally; at your hip as you turned, at your elbow as you lowered yourself, and at the back of your neck as you sat, your tail slapping the woven floor in tired finality.
He watched observantly as you laid Pril on her back in the spot you designated as hers on your sleeping mat, doing your utmost to avoid rousing her. Only after you had her situated did you lay down yourself, an arm pillowing your head, a hand curled around Pril, tucking her close to your chest.
For a few seconds, Tonowari vanished from your line of sight, and you thought he already left. But he returned, unfurling a woven blanket. You realized, delayed, that it was the cloth he'd brought in with him earlier.
He draped it over you, the fabric whisper soft compared to the usual rough texture of woven Na'vi materials.
Diligently, he tucked it around both you and Pril, ensuring the edges wouldn't come loose. You blinked up at him, third eyelids not fully receding, your body too spent to control the muscles.
He crouched down at your head, his own tilting minutely to one side.
"Sleep," he whispered, brushing a thumb over your cheek. "You are safe here."
For the first time in weeks, it felt like everything would truly be alright. Like it was okay for you to get some rest, too, not weighed down by guilt or the never-ending swarm of thoughts that refused to abate.
You closed your eyes, and fell asleep before he could leave.
Ronal woke slow, groggy.
The world filtered into her consciousness in bite-sized pieces; the muffled sound of chatter broken by the far off woosh of waves. Dim light bleeding into her retinas through her sticky eyelashes.
She cycled like that, between sleep and conscious, dead and alive.
It was not easy.
There were moments where she was lucid enough to understand the healers as they asked her to blink, or drink herbal teas.
In different moments, she was half there and half not. Focused on a single, faraway spot, a star in a different galaxy.
Time was meaningless here to her.
It passed in increments between awareness and darkness. It moved regardless of her input, but controlled the speed at which she healed. Though she did not know exactly what happened to her yet, her memories foggy, she knew that she had been gravely wounded. She believed she'd die, believed she was dead.
Yet here she was, in pain, but very much alive.
Being a healer herself did not make recovery any easier. The very things she told her patients, she wanted to go against. When Ze'te helped her sit upright, she wanted to stand and get back to her tasks as tsahìk. She wanted to check on the clan, tend to the injured, stand beside Tonowari as they rebuilt what was broken and mourned what was lost.
Ze'te kept a close eye on her, though, thwarting her attempts at pushing herself too hard, too soon. Damn the woman. She was right, yes, but that did not lessen Ronal's inner wrath.
"I will pluck your eyes from your head," Ronal once threatened.
"Yes, tsahìk, as you wish. But only after you have fully healed. The other girls fear you."
"They do not fear me."
"You made Tsu'll cry when she offered you a drink."
"…After this is done, I will turn your liver into soup to feed the ilu with."
Ze'te had the nerve to grin cheekily at her. "When you have the strength to defeat me, you may."
"Bratty girl."
"Taught by the very best."
There was little Ronal could do but wile away the days, going a bit further each new dawn to test her limits.
Standing was… a challenge. A greater one than she anticipated.
Her legs shook beneath her like that of pa'li, or of toddlers using their parents' tails to test their balance. It was certainly comparable, given she needed Ze'te to support her anytime she needed to move to relieve herself. A lesson in humility.
Though she'd done the same for others many times, and always beseeched them to not feel ashamed, those same emotions plagued her.
It all had to come crashing down one day, though.
"Where is my daughter?"
Ze'te paused, halfway through grinding new herbs to spread onto Ronal's healing injury.
She hesitated, then answered. "She is with the dreamwalker."
Ronal froze.
"…What?"
Ze'te did not turn to face her. "Yes. The dreamwalker has been caring for her, day and night," Ze'te explained. "The mothers have been teaching her, too. She is doing well. Your daughter is healthy, and—"
Before Ze'te could finish, Ronal shoved herself to her feet, her expression twisted into one of pure, unadulterated wrath and disgust.
She stormed out of the building, disregarding Ze'te's cries of shock and pleas for her to return. She chased after her tsahìk, but Ronal only shook her off every time Ze'te tried to grab her, her grasp too lose in fear of hurting the woman.
Ronal stomped across the pathways between maruis, pouring all her focus into ignoring the agony radiating through her body. She was determined to find you, rip her baby from your arms, and curse you out until you preferably crumbled to dust at her feet.
At least, that was the plan.
A soft sound caused her to stagger, a hand shooting out to clutch at a nearby marui as she stopped. Her ears twitched forward, trying to pinpoint the sound. It was low and soothing, and her feet carried her towards it unconsciously, careful and quiet. As she rounded a bend, she realized the noise was coming from your marui.
From you.
Cautiously, she peeked in through an open window, back pressed to the side of the structure to stay hidden. You were none the wiser, and she could see why.
You cradled Pril so delicately that it made her stomach swoop. She was so small in your arms, and you seemed painfully aware of that at all times as you leaned back against the pillar in the center of the marui and held her with both your arms. Your chin was tipped downwards, your mouth forming around the lyrics of one of the tribe's songs, singing softly to the infant you embraced like you'd be torn apart without her.
Your Na'vi was rough, the words you weren't familiar with mumbled and garbled, but your voice was gentle and sweet. You were trying for her, for Pril.
From where Ronal stood, she couldn't see your face, your head turned away from her, but she could see Pril's.
Her baby was looking up at you with pure wonder in her eyes, her tiny mouth twitching into a gummy smile as she kicked her little feet. You laughed near-silently and cupped Pril's tiny face, brushing a thumb over her chubby cheek as her tail smacked your ribs. It'd be years before Pril gained proper control of the appendage, but it seemed you didn't mind in the slightest. If anything, it made you coo at her in adoration, rather than annoyance.
Humans were nothing but scum. They didn't care for their own home and Mother, they let her die, killed her. Why would they care for their young, let alone the young of others? If they had no respect for those that came before, they could have no respect for those who came after, no love, no desire to guide them to be strong and wise.
Of that, Ronal was certain.
But you…
Ronal could not make any more exceptions, not after Jakesully and his family arrived and brought their war with them. She could not find space in her heart to allow another vrrtep onto her land, her waters, into her home. Everything was sacred, every life and thought and breath. Demons like you trampled all over anything sacred; you were a pestilence, a disease she needed to excise. There was nobody, nobody—
Nobody like you, who sacrificed your time, all you knew, everything you had and wanted, for the sake of another's precious life.
You'd given away everything to uphold your promise, your vow, to Ronal, and did more than that. It was more than protecting Pril, bringing her to the village where she could be guarded and tended to by the People. It was you sitting there, bearing the weight of a newborn on your own. Hushing her as she put up a fuss after you stopped singing, and pressing your lips to her forehead in the most featherlight of kisses. Stroking two fingers over her belly to ease her discomfort, resting your thumb over the drum of her minuscule heart.
It was you.
Making no noise, Ronal stepped away from your marui. She walked away, the sound of your voice ringing in her ears like a bell. Ze'te welcomed her back into the healing hut with immense relief, but she paid her no mind as she helped her sit down.
"Be kind to the dreamwalker," Ze'te hissed. "You must be grateful. She saved you."
Ze'te checked over her wound to make sure she hadn't aggravated it in her stormy fury. She chided Ronal, but Ronal had already allowed her eyes to drift shut. She needed time. She needed to think.
And she thought best when meditating and praying to Eywa.
Ma'Eywa, 'upe si oe si?
All she had known was turned on its head in less than ten minutes.
She woke up after having been certain she would die. She learned she had been asleep for weeks, was told you, of all people, had saved her, and when she asked about her baby, it was one of her own protégés that informed Ronal that you were taking care of the infant. Had been for weeks.
She felt an anger like no other. Anger at herself for failing her baby, her family. Anger at Tonowari and the clan for allowing you to so much as touch Pril. Anger at you for daring to.
Yet, you held Pril like she was your own.
Ronal couldn't deny that you kept your promise, both of them. You protected Pril with your life, and somehow, some way, you brought Ronal back to the village. You saved her life. And in the time that Ronal was unconscious, fighting to survive and heal, you had taken Pril as your responsibility.
Ze'te told her as much. She told her that you visited Ronal every few few days, by your request, and told the infant stories about her mother as you did so. You cleaned her, burped her, and rocked her to sleep. You fed her yourself, using the technique Trrva used for her adopted child. You walked around the village with her when she got antsy and restless, and the few chances you got to sleep, you kept her tucked against you, embraced in your arms.
Safe.
Though— something didn't add up.
You were uniltìranyu; a dreamwalker. Whenever your avatar body slept, you were ejected back into your human body. Had you brought your human body to the village so you could keep an eye on Pril in either form? No, from her understanding, that'd require you to bring over a large skyperson machine that'd allow you to hop between bodies. And even then, your human body would need rest just as much as your avatar one did.
Just how—
Ze'te glanced at Ronal, reading her mind, and said, "She gave up her tawtute form."
Ronal's brow furrowed. "What?"
Ze'te shrugged slightly. "The day after she brought you back and began caring for Pril. There was a discussion with olo'eyktan, and he agreed to perform the ceremony."
Ronal sat with the information, processing it.
You… you rejected your human form, the body you had your entire life, your true self… just so you could take care of Pril?
It didn't make sense to Ronal. Why? Why would you give up all you had for the sake of one life? One that was not yours to begin with?
Why? Why why why—
Her thoughts were cut short when, as if summoned from the ether by her confusion, you walked in.
You stopped in place, eyes wide, you and Ronal staring at each other. Sensing the tension, Ze'te rose and left, delivering a light pat to your flank that caused your tail to jolt.
"Oh—" you stammered. "Oh, I— I'm so sorry, I thought— I thought you'd be asleep. I just— I wanted to— I'll leave."
As you went to step out, Ronal said, "Come here, dreamwalker."
You wavered, unsure, before walking further in. You gulped audibly as you lowered yourself to your knees in front of her, visibly wrestling with yourself to not tremble in her presence. You held out Pril towards her, an open invitation for her to take her daughter.
Ronal did not. You slowly brought Pril back to your chest.
"How— um, how are you feeling?" You mumbled awkwardly.
Ronal narrowed her eyes at you and chose to skip over your question. "You have been taking care of my daughter."
A statement.
Your teeth clacked shut, and you nodded stiffly. "Y-Yeah."
"Why?"
One hell of a loaded question, one you didn't know how to reply to.
You could list a million and one reasons as to why you'd tasked yourself as Pril's primary guardian.
They sat on the tip of your tongue, waiting to spill like an overflowing waterfall. You could tell her that you wanted to, or that it just seemed right, or that you had nothing better to do. That you were lonely, had no way to go back to the RDA now, not that you wanted to in the slightest. You had nothing but your love for the ocean, and this baby that you valued more than anything ever to exist, more than your passion for the sea and its inhabitants, more than your life.
In the end, what came forth was the truth.
"I promised," you said, mellow. "I promised you I would protect her."
"Protection does not mean taking her to treat as your own."
You frowned, her words harsh, but no less true than your own.
"I know," you responded, "but this is protection to me. Never letting her out of my sight. I can only know she is safe if I can see for myself."
Tsahìk huffed, her tail waving in agitation. "You sacrificed your demon body."
You fidgeted in place. "Yes."
"For a child that is not yours."
"…Yes."
"You confuse me, dreamwalker," Ronal admitted. "Your kind is evil. A blight to Eywa'eveng. This war has proven so. Why are you different?"
For a while, you had no response. You chewed on the question, no words seeming right in your mind. It felt like anything you could give her would piss her off. You tried to think of justifications for yourself, reasons on how you were different, deserving, worthy.
You weren't. Not to yourself.
"I am no better," you muttered, staring over her shoulder. "I'm human. I'm just as bad as they are. I can say I would never hurt anything, that I'd fight for this world, but I'm not that strong. I've hurt in the past. I can try my best not to, but I'll probably hurt something again in the future."
Your gaze went down to Pril, and you slumped, brushing a thumb over her cheek.
"But never her. I'd never hurt her. I'd sooner cut off my own tail than do anything to harm Pril."
Ronal left you in rigid, unyielding quietude, letting you stew over it. She took you in, from head to toe, ear to tail, weighing your heart on a scale. Of all judgments you had to fear, hers scared you the most.
She had every right and power to rip Pril from your arms and exile you, or order your execution. Her word was above Tonowari's; if she decided something, it was to be done, clan leader or not. Whatever she commanded was law, and to defy her was to defy life, declare it pointless, to be ungrateful. Because if she believed that you did not value your life enough, she would take it to return the energy to the Great Mother, so it may be used on someone more deserving.
Just as you were prepared for her to deliver the decisive, fatal blow, she stunned you by questioning you on something you never considered.
"Have you made tsaheylu with her?"
You blinked. "Wh— no, no! I didn't I swear—"
"You should have," she scowled.
"…Huh?"
"Tsaheylu is vital to a baby's life," she growled at you. You shrank a bit under her withering glare. "It is the first bond. It must be made as soon as possible to make a strong connection. She needs it to become familiar with her mother."
Your jaw dropped slightly, and you floundered. "But— but I'm not her mom. You are, you should be the one to—"
"You have been more of a mother to her than I have. She had bonded with you, and will not recognize me. It will do her more harm for me to make tsaheylu with her."
You deflated, sinking into yourself. "But…"
She jerked her chin at Pril. "It must be done. Come closer."
Obeying, you scooted into Ronal's space. She moved your arms to hold Pril up, and found her short kuru, pinching it lightly between two fingers.
You swallowed thickly, then tilted your head to bring your tswin over your shoulder. Careful to not jostle Pril too much, you freed a hand and took the end of your kuru, lifting it. You trembled, but blessedly, Ronal said nothing of it.
Taking a deep, shaky breath, you brought your kuru up to Pril's, and watched as the pink tendrils wound around each other.
The moment the bond was sealed, everything stopped.
You stiffened, lips parted as emotions you'd experienced before, but that weren't your own, drenched you. Goosebumps rose along your skin, and a blistering heat formed in your chest, like you drank a steaming cup of your favorite tea.
Curiosity, excitement, wonder, love. They all encompassed your thoughts, pure and unfiltered and so, so powerful. Brief flickers of images flashed behind your eyes, blurry and from the perspective of something too small to understand what anything was.
Belatedly, you realized they were Pril's memories, the few she had. Fleeting and fragile. For her, they'd fade away, forgotten before they could stick. But for you?
You'd never forget. Never.
A giggle caused you to reanimate, tension evaporating. Pril looked up at you, a wide smile squishing her eyes into crescents. She giggled again, her hands holding onto her feet as she refused to look away from you.
The sound broke you.
Tears welled in your eyes, too quick for you to fight back. Despite them, you gave her a watery smile, your voice hardly a whisper as you spoke to her. "Hi, baby. Hi. I'm right here. Mama— mama's here."
Until now, Pril hadn't laughed once. Tickling her, playing games, telling her stories, nothing got her to do more than smile. Now, she laughed freely, sweet and unchained, knowing nothing but safety and love, the care you gave and had for her. It was you she saw, you she knew, you she loved. You felt it in your very spirit, the unrelenting and unapologetic attachment she had to you.
A featherlight touch to your cheek startled you slightly, reminding you that you weren't alone with Pril.
You looked up, and found Ronal gazing at you, her typically harsh glare mellowed into something unreadable to you.
"You are her mother," she murmured, a fact you could no longer deny.
You sniffled and beamed at her, leaning into her touch as she cupped her palm against your cheek. She let you, continuing to wipe away tears that never seemed to stop.
"I'll take good care of her, I promise," you vowed scratchily.
"I know," Ronal responded. "Has she had her first communion?"
You shook your head. "No. I asked Tonowari to postpone it. I wanted you to be there for it."
Ronal sighed, but the sound was lighthearted, long-suffering. "You humans know nothing."
Sniffing stuffily, you gave her a wobbly smile. "Will you teach me, then?"
Ronal considered your request. Sincere, heartfelt, hopeful.
"I will teach you," she agreed.
To Ronal's chagrin (and, honestly, anger), it took her a few more weeks to heal until Ze'te allowed her to go to the Spirit Tree to attend Pril's first communion with Eywa. She was strictly ordered to keep her arm in a sling, and rely on an ilu to get her to the tree. In fact, Ze'te took to tying the sling in extra tight knots at Ronal's neck and back, ensuring that the woman would not be able to remove it herself. Asking Tonowari to do it was pointless, too, as he knew better than to indulge her requests if they went against a healer's orders.
Frankly, he was a bit scared of Ze'te himself. Ronal supposed she had nobody to blame but herself, seeing as she was the girl's mentor.
But, as tsahìk, it was Ronal's right and honor to be the one to connect a child's kuru to the Spirit Tree.
You floated as she came to you, smiling at Pril, who you had propped up by her armpits.
In respect, you bowed your head at Ronal, who returned the gesture.
She motioned you forward, closer to the Tree. Ronal brought a frond closer, too, and when she was ready, she connected Pril's kuru to it.
Pril's pupils expanded, and her lips spread into a gummy smile, squirming and kicking her legs. The Tree's light pulsed as the People celebrated, cheers muffled underwater, their joy for the baby and you evident.
Tonight, there'd be a feast, exorbitant and wild. The People will celebrate the victory of their war against the sky people, how the tulkun were not only saved, but convinced to change their ways, and the People will celebrate Pril's entrance into this world, recognizing her as the newest and youngest member of the clan.
But for now, it was just you, Pril, Ronal, and the Great Mother watching over you, welcoming you both into her embrace.
It was Ronal that insisted (ordered) you move into her and Tonowari's family marui.
She situated you in their room, rather than having you sleep in the main room, or in either Tsireya's or Ao'nung's rooms. She was going to set up a hammock for you, too, but you had timidly requested a mat instead, claiming you had gotten used to it. Preferred it.
"The swaying makes me a little sick, too," you admitted in a whisper, embarrassed.
So, she gave you a mat. And layered it in several furs. And blankets. And a couple more furs.
For Pril, of course. Nights on Awa'atlu got very cold, it wouldn't do for the baby to get sick because she wasn't warm enough.
Tonowari knew better. Knew before either you or Ronal that you would be their mate, in time.
His and Ronal's, the mother of their child, your child, in the ways that mattered most.
He saw how Ronal softened to you over time, how her gaze grew fond, how she kept a close eye on you — not out of mistrust, but because she wanted to be sure you were alright. She heckled you about eating, and lightly smacked the back of your head when you complained that your breasts had become sore after the method you used to feed Pril had induced lactation.
"It is a gift," she hissed at you.
"It hurts," you whined.
"Sustaining life is no easy task. But the reward for doing so is profound."
"How did you deal with it?"
"Prayed to Eywa that my nipples would not crack and bleed."
"They can do that!?" You squealed.
Ronal rolled her eyes. "Yes. But I will provide healing paste. Now go feed her before she decides you were too slow today and bites you."
Tonowari knew when her sharpness turned into playful bickering. When she gave you nutritious food and soothing gels unprompted, and when she woke first to comfort you if you suffered a nightmare, humming calming songs and rubbing your back.
He knew when he found her sleeping by you as you slept one evening, tuckered out after Pril had chosen to be a menace all day. Pril was laid beside you, having finally worn herself out on all that crying, snoozing like she hadn't caused her mother hell. Ronal's hand was on your head, absentmindedly stroking your hair, your forehead, your cheek.
Tonowari knelt to her right, touching your knee. You didn't stir, too deep in sleep to be woken so easily.
"You wish to mate with her," he said. A statement, not a question.
Ronal didn't say anything for a few seconds. She didn't react, didn't recoil at the thought of mating with a sky person. She merely kept watching over you and Pril, petting your head.
Eventually, she gave him the smallest of nods. Barely a murmur, she confirmed simply, "Yes."
He hummed.
She peeked at him. "And you?"
"Yes," he agreed. "She has proven herself to me. I can feel Eywa guiding us toward her."
Ronal breathed out softly, her shoulders sinking, relaxing. "We must ask her."
He kissed her temple. "In the morning. Let her rest."
"Of course."
He leaned over your sleeping body, and pressed his lips to your forehead.
"Sleep well, dreamwalker. We pray you will say yes, come the new dawn."
disclaimers ; reader is a human for this!! just for the funsies, also neteyam doesnt die
word count ; 1.3k
track ; use somebody, kings of leon
masterlist
Lo'ak is genuinely infatuated with the way you speak. The way you speak. The way you try your best to speak Na'vi, rolling vowels and baring teeth. It kinda gets him a little flustered when you speak in Na'vi to him. The way you say his name, his full name. Lo'ak te Suli Tsyeyk'itan. The way it rolls off your tongue, oh Eywa, he feels butterflies swarm his stomach every time.
It feels like English to you, speaking, reading, and listening, but it's still a second language to you. You're still learning, even though you've been living on Pandora your whole life. Max and Norm raised you, and you weren't very interested in befriending the Na'vi. You were a shy little kid. So, you learned the language very slowly, and bonded with the Sully's beside Spider's guiding aid. Still, you were good at what you knew, Lo'ak made sure you knew it.
While you slept, dreaming of a better day, he was fighting battles. Battles against the Sky People, battles against the Metkayina and the ancient tulkun for banishing Payakan, battles against himself. He fights to win. For Payakan, for you, for what's right. He hates injustice. He will forever fight for what is factually right because Pandora is under attack, he is mocked and judged, you are mocked and judged. He is alien, different. You are literally alien. You survive through a mask that tries to kill you in your sleep. You'll always just be another Sky Person to the Na'vi. You fight to prove yourself worthy, but with no desirable outcome.
You listen, you feel people, you comfort those who'd never comfort you back. He could use someone like you.
Just... have someone to comfort him, listen to him, make him feel seen.
He always thought you were into Spider, really. He didn't think falling for a human was right, or even allowed. At least his mom had standards, falling for his dad in his avatar.
"Lo'ak, you wanna come swimming?"
Your voice emerges like a light in the dark. Like the moon gazing over Pandora, lighting up the planet, protecting it from the dangers of the dark. He swiftly turns his head up while pushing himself off his shoulders. He'd gotten all curled up in the pod, warm and... somewhat happy. Just enjoying the peace and quiet, really.
"It's just gonna be us, Spider, and Neteyam, by the way. Kiri and Tuk are busy with Tsireya and Ronal."
Lo'ak takes a moment to process, lips slightly parted before he finally answers after a soft silence, just quick enough not to turn awkward.
"Uh, yeah. Sure."
The sound of your laughter fills his heart with joy. There's something so unexplainably perfect about it. It makes his stomach tingle, it fills him with this... this warmth.
You splash into the water beside Spider, hanging onto Payakan's fin for dear life. As you break the surface once more, he listens to your cheerful holler. It makes his tail swing rapidly from where he's perched on a rock beside Neteyam.
Neteyam chuckles before elbowing his brother. Lo'ak grunts, glaring at him with thinned eyes.
"What?"
Neteyam smiles, dimples reaching his under eyes, "Nothing. Just watching my baby bro fall in love with a human."
Lo'ak grumbles, "No, I'm not."
Neteyam sarcastically hums in response.
"Spider!" you laugh, reaching your arms out for him in the water, wading toward him where he stands on Payakan's back, "Help me up!"
Spider pulls you up to him with a giggle, toppling onto his ass once he helps you breach the surface. The weight you find soaked in ocean water knocks you off balance, causing you to fall on top of him. You roll away, onto your back beside him with a laugh, small pools of water surrounding you.
Neteyam notices Lo'ak glaring beside him. He rests a hand on his shoulder, slightly slumping forward to get a look at his face. He taps his fingertips against his shoulder, quietly grabbing his attention.
"Jealous, baby bro?"
Lo'ak swats his hand away, "Stop it, bro."
Neteyam shrugs, leaning back to press his drying spine back on the rock behind him, "They don't like Spider," he exhales, "They're siblings at heart. They both have a type for Na'vi, bro."
Lo'ak finds a ping of hope, then processes the rest of Neteyam's sentence and cringes. Oh my Eywa, why would he think you'd like Spider? He feels so gross now. The more he thinks about it, he really does see your shared siblingship. If anything, Spider seems to be growing on Kiri with how much alone time they find together.
Holy shit, he has a chance?
Maybe?
"Lo'ak!" you call, tiding on Payakans back like he's your surfboard, "Get down here!"
Upon seeing that god forsaken smile, your arms waving in the air to grab his attention, he just feels his heart warm up, like he put it over a fire, the fire of whatever the hell you're doing to him. He bites back a lopsided smile before glancing at Neyeyam, who nods him forward, ushering him away. He jumps down, diving into the water feet first. He swims over to Payakan, where you and Spider wait for him before you go diving again.
"C'mon! I wanna go fast!"
Later in the evening, Lo'ak had thankfully found some alone time with you. Just you and him beside a dying fire on the beach, and a leaf tray between you with some snacks for dinner. He's trying so hard to just make a move, but he's too nervous. He feels his throat try to close up everytime he tries to think of acting.
You eventually move the leaf tray away once you've eaten all your goodies, leaving only a few inches of empty distance between you now. You stare out at the horizon, looking at the great moon hanging above the water's edge. It makes you feel so... calm. The serenity covers you in warmth, like a much-needed hug. After everything, it's something you desperately need.
Lo'ak cautiously moves closer, palms pressed against the sand. He can feel his heart begin to race inside his chest.
"Thanks for swimming with us," you smile, meeting his eyes, "And bringing Payakan. It was really fun."
He nods, struggling to spit out a response.
"Oh, uh, do you want me to redo your braids?" you ask, "They're getting a little frizzy."
Lo'ak feels his heart melt a little bit, just, the offer of an act of service toward him makes him implode with happiness. Yeah, his braids don't need fone very much, given Na'vi hair is much thicker, denser, and lower maintenance in safe hairstyles compared to humans, but the fact you'd want to do it for him? Oh, Eywa, how he melts.
You twist a braid around your fingers, just barely grazing his ear. He's staring straight into you, eyes softened, pupils like black bubbles swimming in his yellow irises. Oh, you make him weak. You sick human, sick you are.
He wants to kiss you through that stupid mask.
"I could add some feathers if you wanted?" you suggest, "I think I have some blue and green ones in my little tub of things I'm emotionally attached to I could use."
You're willing to use feathers you're attached to to put in his hair? Okay, hes dying. Right here, right now.
"Wh- uh..." Lo'ak feels his breath get kicked out of him in an instant, "Uhm, yeah, yeah, sure."
"Cool... cool."
He smiles, gently raising a hand to place over the lower piece of your mask. His fingers trail up to your temples and scalp, lightly grazing your skin. He feels a pack of woodsprites explode inside his stomach once you lean forward, meeting his line of sight, just staring at the hearts in his eyes.
"The reflection of the moon in your eyes..." you smile, "Looks like hearts."
Lo'ak feels his face heat up. Good Eywa, he's down bad.
"Your pupils are huge," you chuckle, "You okay?"
"Yeah..." he grins, "I heard when your pupils get big, it's cause you're staring at something you love."
I think that MTMTE Megatron writes fanfiction. He started writing it before becoming a poet and a revolutionary. He cringes thinking back on how cliche his fics were and how poor his formatting was. Writing fic was actually how he got into poetry. He got caught writing and panicked when asked what it was so he said that it was unfinished poetry. He ended up writing some to seem less suspicious and ended up loving it. I think that he ended up with the Cybertronian version of the AO3 curse.
He decided to get back into writing on the Lost Light, though he doesn't present it like he does with his poetry. He writes in secret, in his berth, all about the thirteen primes or the characters in Cybertronian books and movies. I think that he'd be particularly fond of heavy angst and then fluff and comfort, plus forgiveness. He hasn't found out about reader inserts since he's been a bit busy but he really enjoys projecting himself onto characters that he identifies with.
He's terrified that the crew is going to find out. Rung is the only one who knows about it but he's not about to tell anyone. He doesn't dare tell the cute little human aboard the ship. He feels way too guilty about what he did to humanity so he's too busy trying to make it up to you, whether you like it or not. You're much too young to know what's best for you and he feels a responsibility to take care of you after all of his wrongdoing. He always rereads his favorite fics where the forgiveness involved warms his spark after he sees your scared expression when he moves too fast or speaks too loudly or picks you up without warning. He's getting better at making you feel comfortable around him. He remembers when you used to hide from him. He doesn't seem to realize that since the ship is only so big, there isn't anywhere to run to and you've somewhat given up. He yearns for you to run up to him and be eager to speak to him. He hopes to Primus that he can get to that point with you one day. He'd do anything for that.
