Y’all need to get aboard the language barrier bloodymary train!!
To Simon, Grace is speaking the equivalent of Shakespearean English. Not to mention, Simon’s language is probably some sort of pidgin of English and other language(s).
Imagine, you’ve been stuck in a murder submarine for god-knows how long, and you’re finally saved— but this saviour is speaking a dead language. One you’ve had very little exposure to, due to a likely limited education. Sure, some things are understandable, but the majority is gibberish.
And from Grace’s perspective, you meet another person, after years of thinking you’d never see another human. But this guy speaks some language you’ve never heard of. The computer is of little help despite containing most of humanity’s knowledge. He uses some English words, and even a few from other known languages, but the rest is nothing you can make sense of
"I don't understand what you're saying!"
-Whumpee yells in sheer panic
-Whumpee sobs after trying, really trying, to understand.
-Whumper, shaking Whumpee furiously in frustration, growls out.
Whumpees who partially understand:
"No-- no I know that word. Don't say that. Please don't say that!"
"I'm trying! Left-- you said left. Go left? I don't understand!"
"Wait-- what did you say? What did you say?"
"Stop. Stop! Please-- Stop! I'm saying it right, aren't I? Stop. Stop!"
Whumpee who are trying but simply can't.
"You're speaking too fast. Please... I'm trying-- I'm trying!"
"I'm not being difficult! I'm not! I just can't understand you!"
"I can't make it sound right..."
"How do I say it? How? Teach me. Please! I can't remember how to say it!"
"I don't know what you want from me..."
Whumper shutting down Whumpee.
"If you can't say it right, don't say it at all."
"You don't even fucking know what you're saying, do you?"
"That's cute. You almost got it. Try again, then maybe I'll stop."
"You talk like a child. Ignorant. Stupid."
"Shhh... No. Don't try. I like your native tongue better. It's pretty."
"Talk to me with that ugly tongue of yours again and I'll fucking hurt you, can you understand that?"
Whumper weaponizing translations
"I told them you said yes/no."
"Someone asked if you needed help. Don't worry, I told them you didn't."
"Wouldn't it be so much easier if you could talk to everyone else? Tell them what you need? Tell them what I do to you? But yo can't. That's too bad."
"Oh, yeah. See, I told you that meant thank you but actually its an insult. Maybe that's why they hit you? Not too sure, honestly."
Whumper getting frustrated.
"You know that word. You know it! Don't pretend like you don't."
"Listen. Fucking listen! Look at me! Damn it!"
"Say it back to me. Say it just how I said it. No, are you fucking stupid?"
"Aw? You're trying to tell me something? Too bad you speak that stupid language that no one but you and your other mutts understand."
"This would be so much easier if you just paid attention."
"I'm really tired of repeating myself, Whumpee."
Caretaker trying to be reassuring.
"I know you don't understand but it's okay. I promise it's okay."
"I don't know how to say this in a way you'll understand..."
"I'm not hurting you. I'm helping. Do you understand? Helping? I'm helping."
Caretaker desperately trying to communicate
"Does this mean anything to you? What I'm saying?"
"Please. I'm trying, I really am. Just-- Damn it! I want to understand you."
"Point to where it hurts. Like this, see? Point."
*Frantic hand gestures*
*Absolutely butchering Whumpee's native language to the point its gibberish*
*Drawing pictures for whumpee*
I
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."
[Protective!Dracule Mihawk x Poneglyph Speaking!Reader]
│Summary: Washed up on a gloomy shore, your only solace is a dark and empty castle. Yet, when the castle's only resident finally returns, you are met with an undeniable problem. The language you speak is completely dead to his world.
"Flailing your hands around isn't going to make me understand you any more."
│cw: 18+, SFW, violent undertones, time skip galore
│wc: 6.1K
│chapters: I II III IV
│notes: Finally, the romance is kinda beginning :))) AO3 link now takes you to a brand new work I made specifically for this work since it's getting so long.
│AO3 Link!
・❥・
│Chapter III: Voice of God
Mihawk’s temperament had practically flipped overnight.
No longer were the days of chasing the towering man around for scraps of attention. He met you willingly. His imposing form would stalk the halls, heels clicking not in impatience — but purpose.
His patterned coat lofted through the air with poised intention. Slicing past empty corridors and decadent solariums.
Head high.
Golden eyes narrowed.
Mihawk roamed with conviction, silently baiting out his latest intrigue. Origins clad with obscurities. A mind rife with intangibles.
The one who spoke Poneglyph.
It wasn’t a matter of if he’d find you — but when. You’d feel the chill in the air before you saw him. Sharp and icy. It consumed your boudoir, drowning out any warmth the fireplace painstakingly brought.
Then, like clockwork, he’d enter soundlessly. He offered no room for respite. His presence, not demanding, but expecting obedience.
It was compliance you readily gave.
You followed behind him cheerfully, the soles of your feet tracing along paths you had already memorized. The route was practiced till polished.
Clean.
Precise.
Predictable.
Soon enough, you were coaxed into Mihawk’s study. Language books were already sprawled across his desk. Some were from previous lessons, pencil lead tarnishing elementary level exercises. The remainder were new. Their stacked bindings pristine and unbroken.
From Japanese to English, French to Spanish, Mihawk attempted to dismantle the web of inconsistencies that surrounded your language.
You didn’t understand it. Your mind twisted and contorted around itself as you pieced three languages together just to acquire one term.
It was frustrating — maddening even.
Out of all the books the library sheltered, why wasn’t there a single direct translation guide for your language?
It took longer than you thought to find out.
After weeks of grueling hard work, you had finally managed to match up your alphabet to Mihawk’s. The translation was rough. It led to more misunderstandings than you cared to admit.
But finally…
“Your persons call my language Poneglyph?”
You could speak to Mihawk somewhat freely.
“People,” he corrected your grammar, “But yes.”
Mihawk leaned back into his study chair, fingers lightly tapping the varnish of his desk. His golden eyes devoured you. Yet, not in the carnal desire of flesh.
No — he watched you like a man starved of knowledge.
He hid nothing. You could easily see all he wanted to do was pick you apart. To tear answers straight from the source. Consume the concealed.
You’d wager he wasn’t fond of secrets.
The drumming of his fingers abruptly stopped, “Your language has only been discovered in writing. In all honesty, it never occurred to me that people could speak it.”
You mulled over his pragmatic statement. As far as you were concerned, your language was fairly common. Easily identifiable to most. There wasn’t a single person on your island who was illiterate or mute.
“My people is frequent travelers,” you spoke slowly, feeling out the unfamiliar syllables, “How possible to disappear my language?”
Mihawk hummed. The sound was less of an agreement and more of a consideration.
“I’m not quite sure,” He scratched his chin in thought, pondering your unrefined vocabulary, “Your island – is it located in the New World?”
You blinked at him, “New World?”
Assuming there was a translation error, Mihawk reiterated his point in your native tongue, "𝙸𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚒𝚜𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙽𝚎𝚠 𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚕𝚍?"
Mihawk’s rendition did little to quell your confusion. Brows still pulled tight, you stared at him as if he had grown another head.
"𝚆𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙽𝚎𝚠 𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚕𝚍?"
This time, it was Mihawk’s turn to be confused. Not knowing about the New World was like not knowing the primary colors. It was basic information even children knew.
With a grunt, Mihawk reached for one of his desk’s lower drawers. The mahogany wood slid open easily. Its metal latch clinked softly against its resting place once Mihawk released it.
From the depths of the drawer, Mihawk pulled out a large map. Stained and weathered, the old paper looked like an ancient relic. You were surprised it didn’t crumble under his touch.
Placing it gently on top of his desk, Mihawk’s hands carefully spread out the fragile chart. It bloomed open easily. Though aged, what was revealed was exquisite.
Mountains bumped forth while valleys and rivers flowed in. If you looked closely enough, the sea itself seemed to surge across the paper.
You stared at the map inquisitively. Head cocked to the side, you tried to find any land masses that looked remotely familiar.
Mihawk tapped a finger just above the Red Line, “This is the New World.”
Pulling your eyes away from the East Blue, you followed Mihawk’s finger. Abruptly, an involuntary snort escaped you. You were quick to cover your mouth, trying to shove down the laughter that was bubbling inside of you.
“That–” You stifled a giggle, “That is not the New World!”
Mihawk furrowed his brow, “No?”
You smiled brightly, “Is you doing a joke? Is that why you have the wrong date written on the map?”
Your laughter died down when you noticed the serious expression on Mihawk’s face. Scratching the back of your head, you cleared your throat, “Is you not doing a joke?”
“No.”
Mihawk’s voice made you sit up straight. His tone incontestable. The decision final.
It reigned with unquestionable authority, forcibly reminding you of your place.
One that was beneath him.
Mihawk was a man who danced with steel while you merely mingled with seclusion. A waltzer and a wallflower. The two were nowhere near the same.
Chewing your lip, you stared at him with anxious perplexity, “Then, why is the date 800 years wrong?”
The room flooded with silence. You both seemed to be waiting out the other, hoping someone would admit they were dishonest. However, after an agonizing minute of impenetrable stillness, you came to the shared conclusion…
Neither of you was lying.
You broke first. Slumping into your hands, you tried to rationalize the year written on the elaborate chart. It couldn’t be true. There was no way the tempest that capsized your boat washed you up on shore 800 years in the future — alive, no less.
Poised as ever, Mihawk overlooked your hysterical desperation as he stood up from his cushioned chair. You watched him with bated breath. Eyes glossy.
Mihawk’s long legs carried him across the room at an almost methodical pace. He looked all the executioner you were certain he was.
Chest tight.
Palms sweaty.
You breathed a sigh of relief when Mihawk went for the liquor cabinet instead of the sword mounted on the wall.
Pulling out a bronze bottle of Tempranillo, Mihawk casually poured the red wine into two chalices. His heavy hand undoubtedly emptied more alcohol than you were accustomed to.
“𝚃𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚖𝚎 𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗,” Mihawk gingerly handed you the intoxicant, “How exactly did you end up on my isle?”
・❥・
Fat tears rolled down your cheeks periodically, burning thin lines into your sensitive skin. The salty droplets stung harshly. It was a starch reminder of your own humanity.
Weeping pitifully, you tried and failed to contain the sorrow that leaked from your soul.
After multiple re-tellings and frantic fact checks, the reality was undeniable. The anomaly of a storm you encountered had been far from natural. Somehow, you had been sent into the future.
And you had no idea how to get back.
It felt like a cruel joke. You had finally made progress with earning a twinge of Mihawk’s trust and, in doing so, assistance to get home. Only to have your hopes squashed by time travel gone wrong.
Just what divine being had you offended?
Sniffling, you flinched when Mihawk suddenly wiped a stray tear from your eye. His thick thumb felt warm against your skin, soothing the inflammation.
Unconsciously, you leaned into his surprisingly gentle touch. And just for a moment — you forgot what that very hand was capable of.
“Quit your crying,” Mihawk’s knuckles rested on your cheek for a moment, “It won’t do you any good.”
You whimpered softly, “How am I to get home?”
Releasing you, Mihawk leaned against his desk, “The castle’s library is vast. I’m certain there is a book regarding chrononautics.”
Though half of Mihawk’s complex words didn’t register in your brain, you nodded enthusiastically. The castle’s archive of books was massive. It took over most of the eastern wing. If there was any information on temporal displacement, it would be there.
Sliding out of your seat, you hyped yourself up, “𝚆𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚢 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚗!”
Unexpectedly, Mihawk followed you out of his study with little resistance. His longer legs overtook your smaller strides, leading you toward the fortress’s eastern side.
The library was more extravagant than you remembered. Thick pillars of stone jetted up from the floor, climbing high into the air. They connected ornate footbridges across the width of the room. From which silks and satins hung off effortlessly.
Below, regal bookshelves stacked tall on one another. Soaring up through the banisters. Their carved dark wood was illuminated by the massive windows cut sparingly into the walls.
You stood in awe for a moment before a sense of dread washed over you. It would take a lifetime to search every bookshelf. They were stacked so steep you had to use multiple ladders just to reach the top.
“Are you just going to stand there?”
Mihawk’s silky voice pulled you from your inner turmoil. He sat cross-legged on one of the colossal windowsills, a stack of books already sorted through next to him.
A wide grin tugged at your lips, “Nope!”
You skipped over to a random shelf. Newfound determination in hand, you began plucking books from their dusty resting place.
Though most of the literature was written in Mihawk’s native language, you were able to spot familiar glyphs quickly. Any book you were unsure about was swiftly added to Mihawk’s growing pile.
Thus, Operation Goldy’s Library Labyrinth was born!
・❥・
“What will you do when I’m not here anymore?”
“Enjoy the peace and quiet.”
You ignored Mihawk’s blunt response, wiggling your eyebrows teasingly, “You won’t miss me? Even just a little?”
Mihawk sighed, “At the rate we’re going, I’ll be dead of old age before you leave.”
You laughed loudly at Mihawk’s words. He wasn’t wrong in the slightest. You had been trapped on Mihawk’s island for officially six months. It was hard to believe half a year had passed since you washed ashore.
Operation Goldy’s Library Labyrinth originally started three months ago. Unfortunately, it still felt like you had barely made a dent in the dense literature foliage. Though lacking literacy in Mihawk’s dialect certainly didn’t help.
As a result, when you weren’t practicing phonetics or sorting through bookshelves, you took turns with Mihawk, teaching each other how to read. Mihawk was quick to learn. His eyes danced across your handwriting excitedly as if he deciphered a secret code.
You, on the other hand, were far slower. In full transparency, it was Mihawk’s fault. You couldn’t help but prefer to listen to him read the books he brought than recite them on your own.
Today happened to be one of those days.
You sat next to Mihawk as he read aloud to you, resting your head on his shoulder. His baritone voice carried across the courtyard.
“A man who has been through bitter experiences and travelled far enjoys even his sufferings after a time…”
Your eyes closed without you meaning to. It was the second time you requested Mihawk to read The Odyssey. You couldn’t help but be drawn to it. Odysseus’ 10-year journey home felt a lot like your own story — minus the mythical beings, of course. Though you weren’t entirely sure Mihawk didn’t count.
“Aren’t you supposed to be following along?”
You jumped at Mihawk’s sudden attention. Opening your eyes lazily, you threw him a dopey smile, “I was just resting my eyes.”
Mihawk scowled, “Then you wouldn’t mind finishing the page?”
You had little time to refuse Mihawk’s request before he placed the thick epic into your open palms. It weighed heavy in your hands. Stanzas of love, loss, and regret felt a lot less metaphorical when accompanied by lived experience.
Defeated, you reluctantly began to read down the page you found far too prolix.
Your meek voice sounded a lot less elegant than Mihawk’s. Stumbling over words and mixing up sentences, your own struggles gave you second hand embarrassment.
Yet, the raven remained patient. He guided you along the page, helping you recognize important symbols and words. The moment felt domestic. Like you had been living with Mihawk for a lifetime rather than only half a year.
“Do you think there’s a windbag that could take me home, Mi-Mi?”
Mihawk sighed, “Would you even be able to keep it closed?”
Slapping the book on your lap closed, you raised your fists, “Of course! I bet if I were Odysseus, I would get home way quicker!”
“Really?” A rough rumble left Mihawk’s throat, “But you're still stuck here.”
You frowned, “You're not wrong, all we’ve really done is sort through stupid books.”
A light bulb suddenly went off in your brain. Spinning your body toward Mihawk, you placed your hands on his thigh as you looked up at him, “So maybe it’s time for a change of plan!”
Mihawk’s brow arched, “That is?”
Grinning ear to ear, you swung your arm out toward the distant sea, “We try to replicate the time storm.” Your optimistic fingers slowly traced the horizon, "Think about it as our own scientific study. We could write our own dumb book!”
You could feel Mihawk’s eyes on the side of your face, drilling into you. Though the presence was familiar, you still found yourself hesitant to look back at him.
He made you…nervous.
Yet, it wasn’t the usual fearful unease that creeped up your spine. Nor was it a guilt ridden churn in your stomach.
It was something new. Something unfamiliar.
You weren’t sure exactly when it started, but recently — Mihawk began to stir butterflies.
The aforementioned man remained passive next to you. His arms spread wide on the bench’s back rest, commanding the space. He looks all the parts of a dangerous man.
It made your heart leap.
Finally removing his gaze from you, Mihawk scanned the sea with his bright eyes, “And what happens if I get stuck with you?”
“Then,” You bumped shoulders with him, “I’d find a way to get you home too!”
You were concerned when Mihawk only responded with silence. His strong jaw locked tight. Eerie eyes lingering on the swelling waters.
Assuming he had rejected your idea, you dejectedly strolled back toward the castle’s library for another round of endless searching.
However, when you woke up the following morning to Mihawk readying his ship, you couldn’t contain the excitement that filled you.
Thus, Operation Time Typhoon began!
・❥・
“𝚆𝙾𝙰𝙷!”
You pulled back on your large fishing rod, reeling in the massive fish on its hook. The titanic goldfish thrashed in the air. Its spotted body curved against the sky, casting a dark shadow onto the ship's deck.
“Mi-Mi! Check out this huuuggee fish!”
Mihawk merely opened one of his closed eyes, grunted, then reclosed it. You easily shrugged off his dismissive behavior, choosing to watch the mega fish dive back into the clear water.
“So cool,” you whispered more so to yourself as you leaned over the side of the ship.
You watched closely as the goldfish’s hues of orange and white slowly disappeared below the surface, hiding beneath the waves.
“Can you believe how big that sucker was?” You turned back to Mihawk, sticking up two of your fingers, “It was like twice the size of your boat!”
Mihawk remained unimpressed. His extended legs were loosely intertwined while his exposed upper body soaked in the afternoon sun. He treated the event as if it was any other ordinary fish.
“If it takes a mere fish to impress you, we can always sail toward the Calm Belt.”
You shuddered at the thought of running into a Sea King on Mihawk’s tiny boat, “I’d rather not rush to my death.”
Mihawk chuckled lightly.
The rich sound made your stomach flip, cheeks already threatening to redden. You turned around quickly. Hand clenched on your chest, you fixated on the crashing waves as you tried to quell the way your heartbeat sped up.
It’s been an entire year since you’ve been sling shotted into the future.
And if that wasn’t enough to frustrate you.
It had become glaringly obvious that your previous interest in the man had morphed into a definitive fixation.
You really did try to stop it. Did your best to think of Mihawk as some wild animal you managed to tame. But life has a way of constantly screwing you over.
Mihawk, for all his abrasive and stoic tendencies, was sweet. You couldn’t help the way your heart fluttered when he took his time teaching you. His sinful voice would imprint on your brain and leak into your dreams. Your bed sheets begged for a break.
However, you blamed yourself for how comfortable you got with him. You were naturally sociable. It was second nature to be touchy and friendly with the man — even when he made it very clear he didn’t reciprocate it.
Nevertheless, you stuck close to him.
He was all you had.
You promised yourself you’d never forget him once you got home. Even if it took years, you’d find a way to speak with him again. Maybe one day he could even visit.
Chewing your lip, you laughed quietly to yourself. Your friends would be so jealous that you managed to bring home a man so handsome. You’d have to show him off to the whole village.
“What could you possibly be laughing about over there?”
Praying your cheeks weren’t flushed, you smiled back at Mihawk, “Just thinking about how that goldfish would’ve tasted for dinner!”
“You wanted it for dinner?” Mihawk didn’t wait for your response before he started to shrug off his outer coat.
You watched him curiously, “What are you-”
Your eyes bulged out of your head as Mihawk suddenly dove into the calm waters.
“𝚆𝙷𝙰𝚃 𝚃𝙷𝙴?!”
Stumbling over yourself, you rushed over to the side of the boat he jumped from. Your hands clenched the railing tightly. Your knuckles white.
Peering into the blue depths, you shrieked when something slammed down onto the deck behind you. The ship rocked violently. You barely caught yourself before your own momentum threw you overboard.
Facing the sudden raucous, you felt your jaw hit the floor. Mihawk casually sat perched upon a mountain of perfectly sliced fish meat.
Legs crossed. Face unbothered.
Picking up your open mouth, you weeded your hands through your hair in excitement, “No way! You killed that fish underwater?!”
You ran around the chopped fish in a frenzy, “And you cut it up too!” Wild laughter ripped from your throat as you inspected the immaculate cuts, “You have to be some sort of sword genius, Mi-Mi!”
Mihawk’s lips twitched slightly. But not in their normal irritation fashion. No — For a rare moment his full lips tugged into an amused smile.
You’d give anything to see it again.
“We should head back before the ship starts to stink,” Mihawk hopped down from the fish’s peak. “This should keep us fed for a while.”
You saluted him, “Aye, aye, Captain!”
The ship’s black sails unfurled with a satisfying woosh. They caught the steady wind immediately, puffing out like giant parachutes.
The trip home was quick. Easy. Rehearsed.
Day in and day out, you rode the current as often as you could. Yet in all the time you had been marooned, not a single storm had been strong enough to jostle Mihawk’s boat, let alone capsize it.
Still, you tried to remain hopeful. You were nearing the end of Operation Goldly’s Library Labyrinth. Only a few more rows of bookshelves remained. With no information on time travel in sight, you had to rely on the chance of another time storm brewing overhead.
Chances were low. But the chances were even lower if you just gave up.
As the ship docked, you jumped down onto the damp sand with a muted thump. Tomorrow was a new day. You’d go out looking for trouble in the morning.
For now…
“You can start tossing!”
You weren’t focusing on anything other than Mihawk.
“Try to keep the slices off the sand.”
You smiled, “Got it!”
・❥・
If you didn’t know any better, you’d think Mihawk was trying to kill you through gluttony.
Immaculately filet fish garnished with lemon sat in the center of the table. Surrounding the feast, bowels of roasted vegetables and platters of citrus-filled delicacies begged for attention.
The spread was fit for a king. You weren’t sure where to even start.
“I already feel full from looking at it,” The words slipped from your tongue without you realizing.
Mihawk hummed, “Better overfed then under.”
Rather than sitting across from the raven, you sat in one of the chairs next to his at the head of the table. His gaudy throne made your tiny chair seem feeble. Yet, you didn’t mind. You preferred his company over petty chair drama.
Pointing your fork at him, you winked, “Wise words as always, Mi-Mi.”
You didn’t bother waiting for a response you weren’t expecting. Stacking your plate high, you threw about just as much food as you could on the porcelain.
While you ate like a hurricane, Mihawk remained refined. His meticulous hands handled silverware with cunning precision. You wondered if the knife he cradled felt like a miniature sword to him.
“I…was— thinking,” Your words garbled together as you attempted to chew and talk.
“Swallow before you speak.”
You forced down the food in your mouth, “I was thinking maybe we should sail out at night tomorrow.” You fiddled with the fork in your hand, “The waters are usually rougher then, maybe something will be different.”
“Unfortunately…”
Mihawk paused for a moment – but a moment too long. It was just enough for you to smell blood. He reeked of uncharacteristic hesitation.
“I have matters to attend to,” Mihawk ghosted the rim of his glass to his lips, forgoing indulgence, “I’ll be leaving the island tomorrow for some time.”
The wind whistled against the castle’s exterior, hushing the room. Though it only lasted a few seconds, you felt as though another year had passed.
Your fork dropped violently, “Leaving?!”
Mihawk nodded, “For a few days at most.”
“Were you not planning on telling me?” Food long forgotten, you pestered Mihawk for his sudden betrayal, “I can’t believe this!”
You sighed, “Alright it’s decided.”
Mihawk watched you curiously. His slender fingers pinched the stem of his glass, swirling the ruby liquid.
“I’m coming with you.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Why not?!” You threw your hands up in dramatics, “I’ve been stuck here with barely anything to do for a year! If the mission’s on pause, I at least wanna see what’s become of the world after 800 years.”
You could see the beginnings of frustration morphing onto Mihawk’s face. His aureate eyes sharpened. Spine straightened. If his sword had been nearby, you were sure his hand would have instinctively went for it.
“Someone affiliated with the Void Century should be nowhere near the World Government — let alone Mariejois.”
You groaned, “I don’t even know what the Void Century is.”
Mihawk placed his stemware down like a gavel, “Exactly.”
Realizing begging wasn’t going to work, you switched over to bargaining with a dash of guilt tripping.
“I swear I won’t do or say anything that will get you in trouble. You won’t even know I’m there!” You clasped your hands together, “I haven’t had any human contact with anyone other than you — I’m going crazy!”
“Solitude is far more enjoyable than the company of mindless oafs squabbling for power.”
You refused to let up, “I promise to do whatever you say for a month.”
“You promise to start doing the dishes, wash the laundry, and learn to read properly?”
“I shouldn’t have promised.”
Mihawk rubbed his temple, “I can assure you, there is no one worth your time where I am going.”
“Then,” you sorted through different ideas, “What if we didn’t go to the same place?”
Your words caught Mihawk’s attention. He shifted in his seat, crossing his arms as he watched you intently. His eyes screamed with indifference but you could see the slight twitch in his lip awaiting your scheme.
He was interested.
And you were all the more happy to oblige.
“Before you go to whatever Mariejois is,” you leaned forward vivaciously, “Drop me off at an island nearby. And while you're handling your mysterious business, I can get out and have some fresh air!”
You could see the gears turning in Mihawk’s brain. He took a second to respond. Most likely already regretting his next words.
“You can leave with me on a few conditions.”
You nodded your head enthusiastically, “Those are?”
He held up a finger, “One — you are not to write, speak, or make it known you have any knowledge regarding Poneglyphs.”
A second finger joined the first, “Two — avoid making a scene. Lay low. And don’t offend anyone high ranking.”
He raised a final finger, “Three — we will choose a meeting point tomorrow. I expect you to be there on time when I get back or you can consider yourself marooned once again.”
You smirked, “Sounds like a piece of cake.”
・❥・
Though you acted tough in front of Mihawk, you couldn’t help the growing pit of anxiety in your stomach. It stirred you awake ruthlessly.
Your skin felt clammy, and your mouth dry.
No matter how much you tossed and turned, you couldn’t force yourself back to sleep. Worries ran rampant throughout your mind.
What if you weren’t as fluent as you thought? What if everyone saw right through you? Would Mihawk be mad if people realized you were from another time?
Yet the most damning question on your mind was, ‘𝚆𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚒𝚏 𝙸 𝚎𝚗𝚍 𝚞𝚙 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚟𝚎?’
You drifted down the countless corridors, trailing your fingers along the walls. It was already well past midnight. Dim candle lighting faintly guided your way, drawing you deeper into the castle’s depths.
Without realizing it, you reached the closed doors of Mihawk’s bedchamber.
Your feet shifted hesitantly. You pulled this stunt only a few times before, never really expecting it to work out. Yet, every time, without fail, Mihawk never turned you away. His reasons you weren’t exactly sure of. But you were grateful nonetheless.
Your hand slid across the thick wooden doors, feeling over the carved paneling. Cautiously, you moved to turn one of the crystal knobs. The door began to open painfully slow. You tried your best to minimize the small creak the door usually produced.
Finally entering the room, the hall behind you casted a thin sliver of light across the floor. The soft glow just barely illuminated Mihawk’s bed in the center of the room.
Gently closing the door, you padded across the stone flooring. The ground chilled the soles of your feet. It made climbing into Mihawk’s bed a lot easier of a choice.
Your hands sunk into the plush mattress beneath you, dipping the bed slightly. You weren’t surprised by the soft grunt that followed. Throwing the crimson duvet over your shoulders, you snuggled into the side of a half-awake Mihawk.
On cue, the older man wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you closer to his bare chest. You let your palm rest on his sculpted build. Your eyes absentmindedly watching the way your hand rose and fell with his exhales.
While he smelled of pine, the lingering scent of steel just barely clung to his skin. You basked in it. These scents you had grown so accustomed to, offered you more than simple comfort.
As you expected, all the earlier apprehensions you felt melted away. For all the home you lost. You gained a new one with Mihawk. That was more than enough for you.
Mihawk’s hand shifting away from your waist startled you. Your eyes fought against the opaque night, trying to find the missing limb. You felt cold without his touch. Unbearably exposed.
Sluggishly, Mihawk’s rough palm moved to cover your open eyes. The heat of his calloused hand warmed your chilled skin.
“𝚂𝚕𝚎𝚎𝚙.”
You groaned softly, “𝚃𝚛𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐.”
Mihawk turned his body to the side, thick arms capturing you between them. His unclad chest felt firm against your back. Yet, all you could focus on was how he effortlessly slotted his face into the crook of your neck, breathing in your scent.
“𝚃𝚛𝚢 𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚎𝚛.”
Mihawk’s voice sent vibrations down your nape. You bit your lip hard, fighting back any embarrassing noises. It was moments like these you wondered if Mihawk carried the same infatuation you did. Though maybe it was best that he never cared to act on them.
You had a family.
You had friends.
You couldn’t just up and abandon them.
You had to go home.
Clutching onto Mihawk’s arm, you nuzzled further into him. You forced your figure to remember the feeling of his body. To memorize the way his arms slotted perfectly into your own.
Shamefully, you had started to think Mihawk belonged to you.
But he wasn’t yours to keep.
Mihawk belonged here. You didn’t.
“𝙶𝚘𝚘𝚍𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝, Mi-Mi.”
・❥・
Sabaody Archipelago.
You remembered the name in a few faint memories — but you never expect the place to look like this.
The island wasn’t even an island. It was a colossal mangrove forest that seemed to stretch on for miles. Mihawk had briefly mentioned there were seventy-nine trees in total, each designated with their own numeric value.
Spinning around in place, you gawked at the gigantic bubbles just over the horizon. Their tinge of purple and blue shone bright against the burning sun. The refraction seemed to make the sky glitter.
You could barely believe this place was real.
“Careful,” Mihawk grabbed your shoulder, keeping you in place. “This place may seem harmless but there's a darker underbelly right under your nose.”
You nodded in agreement but continued to rubberneck at just about everything, “This place is incredible.”
“And dangerous,” Mihawk added.
Following closely behind the raven, you peeked around his shoulder when he came to a halt. In front of you, a small shop had been carved out into a massive tree branch. Flashy banners and bright lanterns decorated the store front, welcoming visitors.
“Why are we here?” You walked in front of Mihawk, checking out the tables of purchasable items outside the store’s door.
Abruptly, Mihawk pulled you inside the store by your collar, “We’re here to make you a Vivre Card in case you go running off.”
“Like the one you gave me earlier?”
You recalled the small piece of paper Mihawk tore off his own for you. He had given it to you just before debarking. His tone was gruff, leaving no room for argument. Under no circumstances were you to lose it.
Currently, it was shoved deep into your jeans’ back pocket. But hey, it’s probably safe there!
“Correct.”
The process of making a Vivre Card was quicker than you thought. They swiftly clipped your nails. Threw the trimmings into a papery paste. Then, once the paper dried, cut it into a small square.
Before handing you the mother paper, Mihawk sliced himself off a thin strip.
“Keep this on you at all times.”
You took the remaining paper cheerfully, “Got it!”
Stuffing the newly minted Vivre Card alongside Mihawk’s, you watched Mihawk curiously.
His brawny hand reached into the innards of his coat. It shuffled around for a moment. Searching for something cradled in a hidden pocket. At last, he pulled out a small coin bag from his jacket and tossed it to you.
“Allowance,” His tone remained teasing, “Don’t spend it all in one place.”
You frowned at his taunt, “I’m not a kid, you don’t need to give me handouts.”
“Maybe not a kid but still a liability.” Mihawk nodded his head in the direction of the large bubbles, “Stay within groves thirty to thirty-nine. The park will keep you busy until I’m back.”
Though your eyebrow twitched at being treated like a child, you gritted out a tiny, “Thanks.”
Mihawk’s eyes dripped with satisfaction.
He didn’t say anything else. He didn't need to.
Even the blind could see Mihawk was confident you’d stay in line.
With that, you parted ways with Mihawk with a small wave. You were to meet back at the port on Grove Forty-Four near dusk.
Until then — it was time to figure out just what this new world had to offer.
To Mihawk’s credit the amusement park was like nothing you had ever experienced before. Rides made from unpoppable bubbles littered about the grove. For a few berries, you bought tickets to the rides that interested you the most.
You knew exactly where you wanted to start.
The gleaming bubble rollercoaster shot you through the upper levels of the grove. Your hair tangled wildly in the rush of wind. While your throat ached from the cheering screams pulled from your mouth.
Your next stop was a soaring bubble drop tower.
You were loaded into the bowels of a swirling sphere before promptly strapped down. The ride slowly climbed to its peak before shooting rapidly to the ground.
You had to take a moment to relax after that one.
After all the rides you tried, your favorite one by far was the massive bubble ferris wheel.
You sat alone on a plush cushion. The view was beautifully unobstructed, the clear bubble surrounding you gave a panoramic view of the entire archipelago.
Your hands were practically glued to the thin material as you gazed longingly across the grove.
When you finally came down from the ride, you noted how the sun was still somewhat high in the sky. Your draw string bag still had plenty of berries. Yet, none of the other rides looked intriguing enough to spend them.
Mihawk did advise you to stay within groves thirty to thirty-nine. Although, you’d argue it was more of a command than a suggestion.
Buuut… Mihawk wasn’t here right now.
It didn’t take much convincing for you to meander out and beyond the amusement park groves. While the rides were fun. You were curious to see what the archipelago had to offer outside of staged entertainment.
You didn’t have to wait long. As soon as your foot stepped from the bridge connecting Grove Thirty to Grove Twenty-Nine, you felt an ominous chill in the air.
Alarm bells rang in your head loudly. The sound drowning out the park’s noise behind you. Your heart, in agreement with instinct, hammered violently against your chest.
The entire grove screamed DANGER.
For half a second you debated turning around, tail between your legs. You’d herd yourself back to the safety of the amusement park. Bustling children’s rides and greasy corn dog stations would mock your cowardly return.
Then, you’d wait like a loyal dog for Mihawk. Ready to bark, heel, and sit at every command.
The stench of overcooked funnel cake and sickly sweet cotton candy adhered to your skin would surely bring a soft grin to his face. His loyal mutt waited so patiently. Maybe he’d even offer a pat to your head as recognition.
The thought made your teeth grind.
Perhaps the blame did rest solely on your shoulders. You often followed Mihawk’s orders without complaint, enjoying the attention of your infatuation.
His rare praises made you melt. You couldn’t help but just want a little more. So, you played the part of a lap dog. Happily taking scraps from a man who seemed to be above it all.
Maybe that’s why you suddenly felt so angry.
You weren’t just Mihawk’s precious puppy dog ready to submit.
It was time to get a taste of the real world. The comfort of Kuraigana Island was messing with your brain, making you think the world only consisted of you and Mihawk.
There were places to be and people to meet. You’d be damned if you didn’t venture out into the world of the future before you got home.
The sheer audacity of your determination seemed to vanquish any fear from your body. You looked like a woman on a mission.
Shoulders straight.
Fists clenched.
You breached the entrance of Grove Twenty-Nine as if you owned the place.
CONSISTS OF ↬ dark themes. sexual tension. MATURE THEMES. violence. slow-burn. manipulation. maybe sexual content. occasional angst. emotionally charged. you bring out the best of jason. some silly moments bc i cant help myself. each chapter will be tagged respectively.
── .✦ You came to Earth with no intention of being understood. Gotham was loud, unforgiving, and you were content to stay silent, a stranger in a city that never stopped snarling. But then there was him.. Jason Todd, the Red Hood, a man with too many scars and a voice sharp enough to cut through your silence. Where words failed you, glances lingered. Where language fell short, something unspoken grew. What began as wary curiosity spiraled into a slow, inevitable pull, and soon you found yourself entangled with the one person just as guarded, just as dangerous, and just as desperate to be known.
| navi. | masterlist. | dc masterlist. |
BEFORE YOU READ!!
── .✦ if you want to be added to a taglist, please let me know in a dm, ask, or comment and i'll make sure to add you! the reader is in fact an alien, so the only descriptions will be non-human features (even that will be occasional), otherwise just keep in mind i wrote this as a fem reader, but everything else is up to the imagination. ! (p.s. the tags are langbarrier and language barrier)
✐ᝰ. original content. edawgz 2025.
𖦹ׂ ₊˚⊹⋆ 1. First Impressions
Gotham is loud, cruel, and foreign, but nothing unsettles you more than the Red Hood stepping into your path one night. You don’t have the words for thanks, and he doesn’t press for them, but the moment lingers.
𖦹ׂ ₊˚⊹⋆ 2. The Stray
You see him again, too soon and yet not soon enough. This time, Jason notices your silence, your careful way of listening instead of speaking, and it bothers him more than he admits. He doesn’t trust easily, but something about you keeps him circling back.
𖦹ׂ ₊˚⊹⋆ 3. Understanding
There was no way he could live with himself if he left you anywhere that was unsafe, so he brought you to the only place that he knew would keep you away from whoever was hunting you down.
𖦹ׂ ₊˚⊹⋆ 4. Other Worldly
Jason Todd knew that helping you was making things difficult for himself. Yet, when your moment of peace was interrupted and the source of your fear was revealed, he couldn't let it slip trough his fingers
Bloodymary, hurt/comfort, confusion, recovery, religious trauma, mild language barrier, "Angel" used as a title, mild mention of touch starvation if you squint, more detail bc it's a Grace POV of the first part :)
Grace has been on Erid for a few months now. He just settled into using the me-meat after it's development, and is getting a garden started in some raised plots in his backyard. His body definitely deteriorated during the trip, but he never ran out of food, not completely. He even had some coma slurry (yuck!) left over! But the me-burgers and plants really are his preferred foods.
The Eridians were able to make something comprable to the wing products he liked on earth, too! And now that Rocky has a more articulate suit, he can finally help with preening; something both of them have been wanting for a while. Rocky just wants to be able to help his friend, and Grace wants this new member of his flock to be able to actually help like flock is supposed to.
Grace hasn't started teaching yet, but he's talked with Rocky (and Adrien, and several other Eridians) about setting up some kind of class for him to teach. He really misses his kids.
The sand crunches under his talons. It's peaceful here. The biodome was recently finished, now it's mostly just tweaking bits and pieces to be perfect. Adrien comes by almost daily to check on things.
There's a light at the bottom of the false ocean, the biodome is shaking. This has happened a couple times, but it never sticks around long, and there are never and real records of it from the biodome team, so Grace is stick grappling with the fact that he's started hallucinating. Until the light spits out a man, almost whole, but completely human.
Grace questions his vision for a moment, then rushed into the water to drag the unconscious man up onto the beach. The water is so warm, he's just grateful that it's not boiling.
The man hacks and coughs, Grace turns him on his side. Water and-and blood spill from his lungs. Now that Grace isn't in a complete panic, he can see the faint traces of blood on the man. In his hair, mostly, where the water hadn't reached quite yet from the hairs own thickness.
Grace gets the man back to Armando as fast as he can, and Armando hooks him up to an IV with pain meds. Apparently, despite the blood, the man is unharmed. Well, as unharmed as he can be and still be in pain.
It only takes a couple days (and an argument or four with Rocky about not caring if it's safe, he's keeping the new human, dangit!) for the guy to wake up. Grace is in the middle of another argument with Rocky. This time, the Eridian brings up the worry of unknown diseases, something that could hurt Grace without the intention of the new human. Grace dismisses the worry out of habit, saying he trusts the Eridian team to be able to fix him up if he does get sick, and that Armando would've caught an illness if there was one. Rocky doesn't get another word in before the heart monitor picks up.
Grace turns quickly and is greeted with wide, fearful eyes. His breathing is quick, and he looks like he's seconds away from ripping out his IV and running. Grace is quick to move towards him, trying to look and sound nonthreatening. The man looks at him like he's something completely foreign. The thought crosses Grace's mind that the man doesn't speak English at all, which would suck, but it's not like Grace is slow to learn new languages. He learned Eridian on the fly in like, a month!
Grace takes a breath of his own when he asks the stranger to breathe, and he does. So he does know some English, that's good! They have a starting point!
Grace makes sure to calm him down before anything else, then introduces himself. "Ryland Grace, but everyone here just calls me Grace."
The man before him, still laying on the bed, mutters something in a language that almost sounds like English, then says "Simon is mine name." Very properly, almost like the words themselves hold reverence, and by gosh his voice is a wonder. Deep with timber and disuse.
Grace says it's nice to meet him, thanks him for sharing his name. He knows Simon could've stayed quiet, could've chosen to give him nothing but half-English mumbles, but he shared his name instead.
Rocky is, of course, eager to meet the new human, but can tell that he's barely ready to meet Grace, and thus holds off. He's not so brash as to make someone on the verge of a panic attack topple over into it. He's learned how to comfort Grace, to pull him back from the edge of panic, but this new human is, well, new. And a panicking human is not a productive or helpful one.
Simon is mostly fine, physically, despite missing his left arm. His mental health is another story.
He refuses to call Grace anything besides Angel for the first week or so, saying it reverently, like a title Grace had earned. "Lunch is ready, Angel." "I watered and weeded the garden, Angel." "Should you not rest, Angel?" It drives Grace a little insane. And then Simon learns other English words, and starts calling him Savior, or Teacher, and sometimes Healer. They're all said with a hint of fear that Grace cannot find the cause of.
He tries to get Simon to use his name, either of them, instead of a title he didn't ask for, to no avail. "You art all these things, I will not diminish your holiness by using your name." And- how is Grace supposed to react to that? He's no holy being, he's human, and he says as much. Simon looks skeptical, but doesn't argue with him. Grace sighs, knowing he's not convinced the brunette.
A month in, Simon takes a bit too much food and can't finish it. Which is fine, because they have plenty, and it can just go in the fridge anyway. But Simon bows his head and lifts his hand as if praying and asks Grace to forgive him for "Daring to waste this gift." Said gravely, like he would be thrown back through that light that hadn't appeared again since his arrival. Grace says it's okay, takes his hand, and comforts him as he looks up with shock and relief and tears.
Simon is learning more English, and slowly learning Eridian. He finally met Rocky after a couple of weeks, getting used to Grace and the biodome. Rocky and Adrien even bring their freshly hatched pebbles with them a couple times, much to Grace's delight.
He gets to see how Simon is with kids, well, babies. But it's really not that different, not when the babies are as smart as human toddlers. And Simon is- good at this. The pebbles can't speak yet, so the social aspect is null. Simon seems to love playing with them, picking them up and playing and giggling at their tiny antics. Grace thinks he'd make a good teachers assistant, if he wanted the job.
It's over a month into Simon's stay when Grace actually explains how and why he's on Erid. Simon listens intently, but seems skeptical. But still, he doesn't argue. He never argues, not with Grace. He fights all the time with Rocky, though Grace thinks it's playful. But when Grace talks, it's like Simon zeros in on him, hangs on his every word and tries to believe then. Even if, for some reason, he can't.
Grace knows something has been bothering Simon. It's only a few months away until the one-year anniversary of Grace not being the only human on Erid, and Grace knows his friend is hurting.
One night, after an unpleasant dream of his own, he hears Simon, whining and whimpering. He can't leave the man to hurt if it's this bad. Grace tries to soothe him, running a hand through his hair, but Simon flinches away as his eyes fly open. Grace barely registers Simon's fist flying towards him before he falls off the bed and is holding his face gently, feeling blood start to run out of his nose.
He flinches involuntarily when Simon reaches out, still reeling from the impact. Finally looking up at Simon, he sees fear and guilt and regret and he's not looking at Grace anymore. He's staring down at the sheets and muttering apologies, both in English and the half-English he's more comfortable with. Grace catches snippets of it in the dead silence of the room.
"Dear Angel please grant me mercy…I've done something unforgivable…just a moment more in the sun before I'm sent back to hell…"
Grace doesn't know what he's talking about, besides being upset that he's hurt Grace, but every part of him is shaking, curling in on himself. And Grace can't have that. He can't lose all the progress they've made together.
He stuffs a tissue in his nose and quickly wraps his arms around Simon, holding him close and assuring him that he's forgiven, that Grace will be fine. Simon leans into him, but is still so tense that Grace might as well be holding Rocky. Simon calls him Angel, so maybe…
Grace risks wrapping his wings around the man, hoping it'll feel more like a shield from whatever Simon thinks will hurt him instead of a cage to keep him here. Simon relaxes almost instantly, leaning into Grace more.
Eventually, Grace convinces Simon to go with him downstairs to get treated. Simon is fine (physically) so he waits dutifully on the couch next to Armando's station. Armando finishes treating Grace and recommends sleep. Grace feels a bit too tired to climb those stairs again, though.
He invites Simon to watch a nature documentary with him, and they both fall asleep easily to the sound of the narrator's pleasant drone.
Grace wakes up late in the morning, holding a particularly warm and comfortable pillow. He cuddles it closer, nuzzles into it's hair, and relaxes when it gives an equally contented sigh.
He then quickly wakes up with a jolt of adrenaline as he figures out exactly who the pillow is. He doesn't pull away, not wanting to wake Simon
This was new. More touch than Grace has had in years now. They share casual touch all the time, sure; it's almost impossible to avoid when you live together in such close proximity. But now they'd jumped from casual brushes and ghosts of touch to full on cuddling. Grace can't blame Simon, either. Can't excuse this as the other's fault, because he's completely wrapped Simon in his arms and wings.
He doesn't have the heart to wake Simon, not when they didn't have plans for the day, and definitely not when Simon would bury his face in Grace's chest or neck or feathers, whichever ended up closest, when he tried to pull away.
description : As a transfer student to Eunjang, and not speaking Korean very well, Sieun takes it upon himself to find different ways to talk to you.
requested by : anon! thank you so much lovely! 🤍
note : anything sieun says would be in Korean unless i’ve specified otherwise 🤍 (this probably isn’t very good but bare with 😞)
Sieun doesn’t talk much. You were pretty much the same as him in that sense. Except instead of choosing not to talk, it was difficult to talk in another language in a school of people you didn’t know.
Not to mention you didn’t know a lot of Korean. The sentence structure was confusing, the particles were brain hurting. But you understood more then you could say.
Familiar words would come up and you’d pick up what the mean. And you knew enough to get by. Sorta.
Like Hello, thank you, no, yes, excuse me, please.
Moving from America was difficult enough, but trying to study when the homework was in a different language?
You had asked most your teachers if they could translate the homework for you or get an English version. To no avail.
Google translate it is.
You’ve only been in Korea for a month, and already the walls of Eunjang feel taller than they should.
The syllables your classmates speak blur together like static. You nod a lot. Smile even more. Laugh when someone else does, just to keep up.
Not at first.
Yeon Sieun doesn’t speak to you.
He doesn’t avoid you, just watches quietly when the teacher asks you a question and you freeze, but pretends he’s not watching.
When you whisper into your phone’s translator. When you scribble a vocabulary word three times in the margin of your textbook like maybe repetition will make the meaning stick.
You hadn’t heard the rumours of him around school. The ones about him killing his classmate. You didn’t understand what they were saying but it was obvious to tell that it wasn’t good.
Who were you to judge? The boy didn’t seem harmful or cold. More misunderstood. Everyday was the same, sitting with his head on the desk in most lessons, most of the time asleep. At least that was what people were fooled to believe.
He wasn’t asleep most of the time, how could he?
You were assigned to sit next to him. You didn’t mind. It was more peaceful then when people would try to talk to you and you had to pretend to understand.
But on a Tuesday that smells like chalk dust and rain, your pen ran out of ink. Your last one of course.
Glancing to your side, there’s one boy who’s busy talking to his friends. And they don’t seem like the kind to be considerate of the language barrier.
Your only other option was Sieun. He wouldn’t mind right? The boy must have at least ten pens on him. You’ve seen the way he clicks his pen and grips it tighter in his hand whenever someone’s frustrating him.
His head was on the desk as usual but you could tell he wasn’t sleeping. He seemed more emotionally drained then physically. You could understand that.
Gently, half hesitant you tapped his shoulder. And the first time he ignored you. Until you muttered a dodgy, quiet ‘excuse me’ in his mother tongue with an accent.
Sieun looked up, eyes not as cold as others say. And you can feel the eyes of some people staring at you two as if to say ‘why are you talking to him’
You motioned towards your pen, slightly awkwardly hoping he’d understand, adding a small ‘please’ in Korean to be polite.
The boy looked at you for a moment, his eyes not giving anything away except for a rare tiredness he couldn’t put into words.
Not that you would understand it anyway.
Then he gave you his pen. The one he was using. Before getting a different one for himself and going back to his work.
You slightly nervously say ‘thank you’ before going back to your work. Honestly it was hard having to switch from the translator to the page.
It was just writing the same thing twice but one in another language.
The next day was the same. Wordlessly translating meaningless words, ignoring the looks of other people seeing a foreigner in their class, either one of disgust or odd intrigue.
You sat back on your seat, noticing that Sieun wasn’t here yet. To be honest you were a couple minutes early to this class. But Sieun seemed to always be there before anyone else.
Then as if on cue, he walked in. His eyes still carried the exhaustion, and his bag hung loosely off his shoulder. He walked towards his seat, not even glancing at you.
He placed a blue sticky note on your textbook before going back to his seat next to yours.
You blink.
In deep ink, he wrote,
책 = Book
Book, you repeat in your head. That’s one more word to your vocabulary at least. And it was appreciated more than he knew. Or maybe he did know.
You glance up.
His head is already buried in the uncomfortable wood, and his eyes are closed tightly, as if he was trying to rid of a headache.
That afternoon, he doesn’t sleep through lunch. Instead he finds the empty stairwell you go to during breaks.
It’s quite, empty. But it doesn’t feel omelet. Just a break from the all too overbearing boys there.
You don’t look up from your phone when you hear the door open. Just assuming it was someone trying to get through.
Until he drops next to you, legs out in front of him, backpack abandoned next to him.
“You okay?” he spoke, unsure if you would understand. Luckily it was a word you had heard enough to get.
You nod with a small, polite smile unsure why he was here, but not exactly disliking the company.
He doesn’t say anything else for a while. Just pulls out his phone, same as you, but doesn’t scroll. You catch it from the corner of your eye, his screen’s blank. Just dim light reflecting your outline beside him.
You think maybe he’s waiting for you to leave.
But when you shift your bag to stand, his hand suddenly moves, not touching you, but palm facing out like a stop sign. Then he opens the translator app on his phone.
He types something. Tilts it toward you.
“You always come here?”
You blink, then nod. You tap your fingers twice against your knee, thinking, before gently nudging your own phone toward him. He passes his without question.
You type slower than he did.
“Quiet. Easy to breathe here.”
He reads it for longer than necessary, mouth tugging into the faintest almost-smile. Then types,
“You don’t like the cafeteria?”
You shake your head.
“Noisy. And… hard to listen. Fast.”
He nods like he understands, not just the words, but the feeling under them. Then, as if out of nowhere, he pulls something from his bag. A small, beaten-up paperback.
He flips through the pages. Not in Korean. English. A translation copy of some old Korean novel, pages full of scribbles and circled words. He taps a sentence, then hands it to you. You squint down at the faded line under his thumb,
“Sometimes, being near is louder than being loud.”
You look at him. He’s not looking at you, just resting his head back against the wall, eyes half-lidded. But you get it.
He didn’t come here to talk.
He came here to be near.
And for the first time since coming here, your heart calms in a way you can’t explain with any of the words you know yet.
The following week, the folded notes stop.
Instead, he brings you something else.
A small stack of flashcards, clipped together with a binder ring. You blink down at them as he hands them over, plain, rectangular cards, some already marked with faint creases like they’ve been flipped through too many times.
You glance at him. He doesn’t explain. Just nods, nudges his backpack to the side, and sits like always, legs out, back against the wall.
You flip the first one over.
A doodle.
A square stairwell, two stick figures sitting side by side, and a little speech bubble with a heart drawn outside of it, not inside. Almost like he’s saying, this isn’t about words.
The second card, a drawing of a tray of food. One side scribbled out, the other circled in soft highlighter.
You grin. The cafeteria again. He’s teasing you.
Third card, a sad face with spiraling lines above its head. You touch your temple.
He nods, understanding, headache.
But it’s the fourth card that makes you pause.
Just a sketch of a coffee cup. Steam curling from the top. Below it, a tiny envelope drawn open, like it’s meant to contain something. A message, maybe.
You turn it toward him, silently asking.
He pulls out a second stack. His set.
One by one, he flips his own cards, stopping on one that matches yours, the same coffee cup, same steam, same open envelope.
He taps it twice with his thumb, then leans his head back and closes his eyes. Not asleep. Just… resting.
You mirror him, pressing your shoulder just slightly closer this time.
And just like that, the system forms,
No language yet. Just picture cards. Shared symbols. Matching decks.
Some cards are more complicated. One day, he shows you a sketch of a hand holding another. No faces, no background. Just the gesture. Then places it between you both without saying anything.
You don’t pick it up. You don’t need to. You let your pinky hover near his on the cold stairwell step, barely brushing.
It says enough.
Another day, you walk in to find a card already placed where you sit.
An open book. But one of the pages has a bandage on it.
He doesn’t look at you when you pick it up. Just waits, eyes on the far wall, unreadable.
You hold it, studying it quietly. Then you slide out your phone, open your drawing app, and sketch your reply with trembling fingers.
A closed book.
Bandage removed. Page wrinkled, but healing.
You show it to him.
He finally looks at you, and you see something shift behind his eyes, like the moment when clouds break and sunlight filters through, slow and pale.
Still no words. Not a single one exchanged. Yet, at least. You didn’t mind that though. Throughout the school days you could both tell the other was too exhausted or drained to communicate properly. So maybe this way was easier in that sense too.
But it’s more than enough.
That’s how it goes.
Some people build a friendship on conversation. Get to know each other solely on words you can’t promise are true.
You build one in the white space between sentences, in quiet drawings, flicked glances, and unspoken invitations.
In this stairwell, silence isn’t empty.
It’s fluent.
What neither of you realise throughout this though, is that you were both learning each others language. Slowly, but surely.
Not that the effort wasn’t enough already, but it would be nice to understand each other through words too.
Sieun honestly was learning English quicker then you were Korean. But that was to be expected when the homework he had to balance was already in his language.
You however, were trying to balance learning a new language, and translating your homework into your native one.
Another couple weeks later. You had picked up the language technique - if you could even call it that - way better then before. And it was more fun than anything. Maybe drawing what you felt was easier than saying it.
You know what the card means before he even gives it to you.
It’s a door. Drawn a little crooked, but clearly open, just slightly, just enough. A keyhole with no key. A welcome, not an ask.
He slides it across the step toward you. No eye contact. Just his usual slouched posture, hood half-up, fingers twitching faintly from cold or nerves. Maybe both.
You look at it. Then at him. His soft, dark eyes looked even more hypnotising through the lighting of this room.
Then you nod once, a hint of a smile on your face.
And that’s all it takes.
His apartment is exactly what you expect.
Sparse. Neat. Quiet. Everything placed like it has a reason to be there.
The shoes by the door lined up. The blanket on the couch still folded in sharp corners. The books stacked without titles visible, like he doesn’t want to be asked about them.
He watches you walk in without saying anything. But when you stop in the doorway, uncertain, he raises one hand, flat like a barrier.
Then curls his fingers slowly, beckoning.
Come in.
No words. Just the same language you’ve built between you.
He motions toward the floor cushions near the coffee table. You settle down, glancing around while he ducks into the kitchen.
A beat later, he returns with two mugs of something hot. You try to thank him in Korean, quietly, and he pauses.
Then replies in slow, clumsy English,
“Warm. Good for… um. Cold.”
It’s not smooth, but it hits you square in the chest. You knew he understood a tiny bit of English but you could tell that this was something he truly cared about getting.
You grin, can’t help it. He glances down, ears going pink with the fear of getting something wrong. Or maybe the sight of your smile and slightly crinkled eyes had more of an effect on him than he would let on.
You take a sip, hum a little, “mmm,” followed by a thumbs-up. More than grateful that he was trying.
It’s more than most people have done before for you. Who would attempt to learn a whole language just to understand someone they spend time with.
His shoulders ease.
And for a while, you just sit like that. Cross-legged. Quiet. Familiar. Steam rising. City noises muffled by the window.
Then, Sieun opens the small notebook sitting next to his phone. He flips to a page and turns it toward you.
What do you call this?
Below the question is a sketch of the tea kettle.
You blink. Then answer, spelling it slowly aloud, writing it in your own little travel notebook, the one you’ve been secretly building since the second week you met him.
Then you point to the same drawing and ask, in halting Korean,
“And… Korean?”
He pauses. Smiles faintly.
Says the word, slow. Clear. You repeat it. He nods.
Then he points to the word you wrote.
“Tea,” he says.
It goes back and forth like that.
No pressure. No lessons. Just gentle exchange. And the fact he was trying to understand you better meant more to you then he could ever realise.
You were in his home country, the effort should be from you to him. And whilst you were doing everything to understand the language and culture more, it felt safer knowing you had someone who was helping you along the way.
Sieun looks at you. Really looks at you. The kind that says he’s paying more attention to you than anything else in his world.
And whilst most of the time, his eyes are unreadable, you understand it more than the words in your vocabulary.
“I like you” He speaks in easy English. Practised. And it almost takes the wind out of you. Because before you could reply, he’s leaning forehead and placing the most gentle kiss to your cheek.
He pulls back quicker then he leaned it, slightly awkward sitting there waiting for a reaction.
Had he read the situation wrong?
Instead of ignoring the turmoil in your mind right now, you smile, barely visible and return the ministration, your soft lips placed upon his upper cheek.
Yours was more stable. Slower, More sure now that you knew that your feelings were mutual.
Sieun could’ve forgotten how to breath right there if it wasn’t for the fact his heart was going a hundred miles per hour.
Your faces were close now. Not close enough to be considered romantic but enough to suggest something intimate.
“I like you too” You reply. In Korean. And when you had learnt them words just a few nights ago, you realised you recognised them. Not from around school, or on TV. But from Sieun.
When he would murmur quiet Korean in the safety of the stairwell, as if he didn’t even realise he was doing it. Soft mumbling, barely audible, things you didn’t understand yet. But you recognised them words when you learnt them.
For someone who doesn’t smile much - at all - Sieun’s eyes are glistening with something more heartfelt than before.
Adoration.
And the corner of his lips are turned up slightly, not a smile, but almost. And you notice it straight away, point it out as if it was the rarest sight on the planet. And maybe it was.
He attempts to brush off the fact he was close to breaking his facade, furrowing his eyebrows slightly as if he was confused, but the ghost of a smile still plays at his lips.
And you giggle. Soft, warm, warm enough to fully break the mask behind his eyes and he smiles, really smiles.
Something he hasn’t done in a long time. Not since Su-Ho.
