#ronal x reader

[chimera-dreams]

Into You, Into Blue | Part 2 of 2

Ronal x f!reader x Tonowari

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."

dividers by huxary-dividers and nikkidee ♥

part 1

[chimera-dreams]

Into You, Into Blue | Part 1 of 2

Ronal x f!reader x Tonowari

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: 10k

part 2

Your love for the sea took shape when you were little, sitting on your mother's lap as she read picture books to you about rainbow fish and cute penguins. Creatures that used to exist on your home planet.

From the first moment you laid eyes upon them, you were enraptured, completely in love.

There was something magical to you about the idea of things that lived under water, existing in a completely different environment, an entire space they claimed over billions of years. The conquerers of a domain that humans could only ever borrow for short spans of time. It was a world you wanted to explore, become part of.

Before you considered Pandora, you tried to make do with Earth's seas. You nurtured that love for your own planet, but it was difficult to so much as approach the ocean when its waters reeked of rot and pollution, and entering any of the seas put you at high risk of catching an infection that'd land you in a hospital you couldn't afford.

Most of the sea life on Earth was gone, extinct from centuries of humans carelessly dumping all their trash into the great blue. The few that tried to save the oceans while there was still time were ignored, and now it was too late.

You tried to find love in what Earth had left to offer, but there was nothing for you to study, and the loss of the planet's oceans was a problem nobody could fix anymore. The thousands of scientists that came before you to uncover the secrets of the deep were left empty-handed and exiled for their own safety. The field was considered a joke, a waste of time and money. Why study a dead environment? It was a fool's errand.

So, you turned your gaze to Pandora, your only option left.

There was extremely little known about Pandora's oceans. The research that Grace Augustine published focused entirely on botany, on the forests and plants above water. While you had read it front to back several times, enamored by the bioluminescent flora and the unique fauna, it wasn't your field. It wasn't enough.

You needed to learn more about the sea.

You needed to be the first.

No matter how many times you saw it, the Eastern Sea of Pandora always took your breath away.

From above, it glistened like millions of diamond's under the sun, shimmering so brilliantly that it was almost blinding. Cresting waves stirred up the currents, creating ridges of foaming white amongst an endless range of cerulean.

From beneath was an entirely different story, a different world.

Nothing could compare, and there'd never be enough words to describe how truly stunning and breathtaking Pandora's seas were. Even the small sections you could work in housed thousands upon thousands of lifeforms in all shapes and sizes, from drifting kelp to the strangest fish imaginable.

You lived for it, this.

Being able to see and touch and experience everything Pandora's underwater kingdom had to offer made everything worth it. All the years spent studying your ass off to earn multiple degrees, applying for the Avatar Program and praying you'd get accepted, hundreds of hours of simulation training, and nearly six years of cryo-sleep — you'd do it all again in a heartbeat.

Your life's work all culminated to this, and the blood, sweat, and tears you shed and lost were worth it.

The salty scent that clung to the wind filled your lungs in deep breaths, flowing through your veins in a drug more potent than anything humans could create. It stuck to your hair as the breeze carded through the strands, twisting sections into minuscule braids, like nature herself was styling your hair with tender and caring fingers.

Water sprayed up onto you periodically as you leaned over the side of the boat, cheeks aching from the wide smile you wore, unable to school your expression. You were too excited, too happy.

Today was the day; you were finally getting a chance to take your avatar out for a proper drive to study your beloved sea.

It took a couple weeks to set everything up; you had to practice using your avatar first and foremost, which was strikingly different to the simulations. You expected to have the standard avatar body, with deep blue skin and thin tails. Instead, you discovered your avatar was teal, bearing thicker limbs, a paddle-like tail, and a dozen other features that the forest-type Na'vi didn't have.

The third eyelid you possessed to protect your eyes while underwater took the longest to get used to. You kept actively thinking about them anytime you were in the deep training pool on the vessel, which caused them to recede and you'd come up clutching your eyes and groaning as the salt burned them.

Humans didn't have instinctive functions like third eyelids or a thick tail, and you admittedly struggled to get the hang of using them, as embarrassing as it is to say.

But now? You were ready.

Beyond ready.

Today, it would just be you out there on the reef. You were accompanied for the tests dives you did around the vessel, as well as some mid-depth dives, but aside from your boat driver (Jim, apparently), you had plenty blissful hours all to yourself. You preferred it this way. You didn't have to worry about reporting every little thing you found to someone else the moment you found it, and you could go at your own pace, study exactly what you wanted to.

"Gonna drop you off over here," Jim shouted over the boat's motor and the splashing of waves against its hull.

"Sure!" You shouted back, sitting up properly. The boat slowed as he approached the shore of a small island, turning parallel to it. He stopped as close as he safely could, and you hopped out of the vehicle, a pleasant chill racing up your spine as the cold water encased your legs.

You grabbed onto a loop at the nose of the boat and started pulling it towards the beach while Jim lifted the motor out of the water to protect its propellers. Your strength in your avatar body continued to surprise you, and you couldn't help but peacock a little at Jim's encouraging whistle.

"Gotta get me one of those," he stated, hands on his hips.

A laugh bubbled up your throat. "You wish!"

Once you had dragged the boat sufficiently onto the beach, he helped you get your gear off the boat — a camera, snorkel for shallow diving (not that you needed it, to be honest), tank for deeper diving, and messenger back packed with anything you could possibly need. Laptop, tablet, notebook, seven different colored pens, snacks, water, more snacks, and sketchbook.

You weren't much of an artist, but the local wildlife had your hands itching to draw. That's what all the good scientists did anyway, right? You vividly remembered Dr. Grace's drawings in her published books.

Jim grabbed a folding table and carried it from the boat towards the thin treeline on the island, situating it under the sparse shade that was available. You brought over two chairs, though one was comically small compared to you. You might've been better off sitting on the sand, rather than trying to fit on the notably human-sized seat.

Your companion was technically a soldier, sent to guard you, but you convinced him to leave the big, fuck-off rifle on the boat. It was an isolated island, far enough from any of the nearby tribes to not draw their attention or pose a threat to them, and you'd be underwater the entire time anyway. It's not like he'd be able to protect you all that well if he couldn't see you.

"Are you gonna get any work done?" You asked him as he set up the chairs. You dropped your bag onto the table and pulled out the camera, checking it over. The thing was waterproof and cost a very pretty penny to manufacture and get out to Pandora, so you were determined to keep it in good condition. It was vital to your research.

"Nahhh," he dragged out, plopping down and promptly kicking his feet up onto the table. "Would much rather enjoy this beautiful weather. You go have fun with your fishy friends."

You rolled your eyes and scoffed, but the upward twitch of your lips gave you away. "Got about a hundred reports waiting on you, dude."

Jim waved you away. "Later, later. They can wait."

"Mitch is gonna be on your ass for that."

"What he doesn't know can't piss him off," Jim dismissed fearlessly.

"Suit yourself," you said, hooking the strap of your snorkel around your neck. "But don't come crawling to me when he reams you out for it."

"Wouldn't dream of it, your highness!"

You snorted and shook your head, knowing you'd see him in the canteen later that evening, whining about how the vessel's captain, your boss, tore him a new one for unfinished reports. Again.

Satisfied that your camera was in good condition, you looped both it straps onto you, one around the neck and the other around your chest. Extra security. Alongside it, you strapped on a small pouch to your hip that contained sample vials and various tools.

You debated how deep you wanted to go into the water, weighing the pros and cons of the tank versus the snorkel.

In the end, the snorkel won out.

"Not gonna go in too far?" Jim asked.

"No," you confirmed. "Think I'm gonna stick with the shallow reefs today."

He grunted in acknowledgment as he leaned back in his chair, hands cupped behind his head. His baseball cap was lowered over his exo-pack to block out the sun reflecting brightly off the pale sand.

"Don't drown," he ordered half-heartedly, already drowsy. "They'll get real mad at me if you do."

"Yeah, yeah," you mumbled, "I'll be fine."

The ocean welcomed you like an old friend. You felt it each time you stepped into the waves. How, as the resistance against your limbs grew the further in you went, the resonance in your chest drew you in. How your excitement simmered as you stepped in to your knees, your thighs, hips, waist, ribs.

And how it felt like coming home when you sucked in a deep breath and finally ducked fully beneath the crystalline waters. A cool embrace, gentle hands that cupped your cheeks and toyed with your hair.

The closest you could get to being hugged by someone who knew you better than you knew yourself.

As always, you still hesitated to open your eyes, bracing for the impending sting of salt as you forced your lids apart. And, as always, the burn never came. Instead, a world of color and magic consumed all you could see, expanding through glass-like water the way galaxies stretched across the endless cosmos. An infinite playground just for you, where stars became schools of glowing fish and nebulous fields turned into coral shelves.

You knew that you'd never be able to learn all of the ocean's secrets; humans themselves never got to see more than maybe 10% of what Earth's seas had to hide, but for Pandora, you would happily die trying.

For a minute, you let yourself exist. You let the water keep you aloft like the softest of clouds, enchanted by the beauty all around you. Everything glittered, catching refractions from the sun scattering across the surface.

If you could live beneath the waves forever, breathe the water like pure air, you would.

But, sadly, you had work to do. The RDA demanded evidence that you were worth keeping around and paying. You made promises that the sea was worth every scent, that you'd find something to intrigue them, something worth further study. Really, it was just placation. You were here for yourself first and foremost, for your love, your passion.

Thankfully, your avatar supported your case. It required billions of dollars to make a single avatar alone, nevermind an entirely new breed of them. Up 'til this point, your avatar was the single most expensive one in existence, being the first of a reef-type Na'vi copy. The RDA had more reason to keep you around than toss you on the next ship back home, even if they didn't like your conduct.

It's the same reason Grace Augustine got to stay, despite how often she went toe-to-toe with Selfridge. She was more important alive and on their side.

You took great inspiration from her, and not just for her impressive work alone. She gave you the confidence to do things how you wished, at your pace, for your personal benefit before theirs.

Turning on your camera, you scrolled through the last few images you had taken to remember where you left off. You'd taken several photos of a red and violet, coral-like structure, though you didn't have a chance to take any samples at the time. The RDA had a damn curfew, treating all their employees and otherwise like children, too stupid and reckless to be trusted outside past daytime.

Fuck, what you wouldn't give to see the ocean at night, witness its bioluminescent life firsthand.

Sighing internally, you shooed the complaints away and began swimming towards a similar coral to the one you studied last time. The reef Na'vi biology your avatar was built upon meant swimming was significantly easier and faster for you than a forest Na'vi avatar. Your tail acted better than any fins you could attach to your feet, and the thickened cartilage on your forearms and calves propelled you through the water in a smooth glide.

Most times, you felt more at home in your avatar body than your human one.

This close to the surface, the coral's strong red tones shone through and stood in stark contrast to the dark blue column it was attached to. Deeper down, reds progressively lose vibrancy, turning black past a certain depth. Seeing such a pretty tone underwater delighted you.

You reached into your hip bag to retrieve a thin vial and forceps, examining the coral to try and find the best spot to nab a sample from. You wanted to cause the least amount of harm possible, really only needing a tiny piece.

Near the bottom, you spotted a piece that had already fallen off. It still had its color, yet to fade to gray, and you nearly squealed with excitement, immediately heading for it. It was the perfect size for the vial, too.

Today's my lucky day! You thought.

You tucked the chunk into the vial and capped it off, turning it in the filtered light in appreciation. You couldn't wait to dissect it and learn all about its internal structures.

As you safely hid the vial away in your bag, a school of glowing, yellow fish swam in front of your face, circling you a couple times before darting off.

A wide grin spread across your lips, and you quickly started following them, mesmerized by their radiance and bold coloring. Each time you neared, they sped off again, then paused. It felt like they were waiting for you to catch up, wanting to play with you. A game of tag where they teased you by being just out of range. You never expected fish to be so playful, let alone a school of them, acting as one.

I wonder what they are. I should note this behavior when I get back.

For as long as they allowed, you played with them, this little game of tag. Not for the first time, and certainly not the last, you were grateful for your avatar's increased lung capacity and optimized circulation. This pure, raw kinship would've been impossible in a human body.

The group suddenly turned and dashed at you, bumping into your chest and stomach. They swarmed, tickling you, and you giggled, bubbles filled with your laughter floating away.

Almost as quickly as the bizarre activity started, it was over. The fish swam off, not waiting for you this time. Your heart fluttered from the sheer exhilaration at being part of something more than yourself, connecting with nature on a deeper level than explainable. Whatever that was, you were overjoyed to have been the one to experience it.

Giddy and wanting to share what happened with Jim, you kicked off from the sea floor, breaching the surface with a gasp. You sucked fresh air into your lungs and pushed wet strands of your hair away from your face, spinning to find the island you and Jim were occupying.

"Jim!" You shouted. "You're never gonna believe this!"

You blinked the excess water from your eyes until your third eyelids retracted automatically, and felt your smile falter.

No matter which way you looked, there was no island, no Jim calling back, nothing.

You were lost.

"Shit," you muttered. "Shit."

Panting, you tried not to panic, focusing on your training. You were fine, you just had to follow your GPS back to your laptop's pinger—

You left your GPS with your stuff on the beach, seeing as you thought you'd be staying nearby.

Fuck.

Drawing in a breath, you dove back down, scanning your surroundings to see if you recognized anything, or could recall which direction you came from. You swam towards a column of sponges you thought looked familiar, but the recognition fizzled away as you made a lap around it.

Jesus, how could you be so stupid? You knew better than to drift away! You knew better! You were trained better! They taught you to avoid this exact scenario, beat it into your head to always keep a GPS tracker on your person.

Lesson learned, you swore to whoever was listening. From now on, you'd keep your GPS on you at all times. Hell, you'd wear it while you slept, so long as you could find your way back to the island to retrieve it.

Think, think, you hit your temple with the heel of your palm. You were still in the shallows, the reef thick with arches and spiraling paths between unique plant-like fauna.

Your lips pressed together tightly. Everything looked the same to you, each route curving back to square one. You gnawed on the inside of your cheek, then chose a direction that felt 'right' and swam.

Maybe you hit your head while chasing the fish, breaking another rule, one your mother taught you when you were young. If lost, remain in place.

Anxiety made it hard to think logically. You wanted to get back to that island, see Jim's dumb, smug face as he teased you for getting lost in what was practically your domain. You wanted to lay on the beach and soak up the sun, letting the distress leach out of you. You wanted to write about the playful behavior of those glowing fish, build hypotheses.

The thoughts swirled in your head as you pushed on, searching desperately for anything that you recognized. Your muscles were growing sore from the exertion, panic leading you to kick harder, move faster.

Each time you surfaced, the ocean stretched its reach further into the horizon. All you saw was the pale blue of the sky and the blinding flashes of sunlight on teal crests.

Salt scraped your throat, acrid and sharp. You coughed and grimaced, struggling to keep your head above water. The wind had picked up, splashing your face anew each time you cleared your eyes. Tilting your chin up did little to help, all of your limbs fighting to keep you afloat.

Finding the island had taken a backseat to survival, a desire to simply stay alive. Every so often, you'd manage to float on your back, but the exhaustion in your body was taking its toll. Relaxing minutely meant you would sink, and the constant exertion bled you of energy faster than you could hold onto it.

In your right mind, you'd remember what your avatar body was capable of. Unmoving, you could hold your breath for exceptionally long amounts of time, longer than your team tested. Take a breath, rest at the bottom for a while, then resume searching for land.

But you were tired. So, so tired, and coherent reason slipped like fine sand through your loose fingers.

Fuck. You'd give anything to lay in your bunk on the vessel. You yearned for the lumpy mattress and scratchy, thin blanket, flaccid pillow, and the constant, metallic groans of the vessel echoing through your tiny room. You hated that place, spent as little time as possible there.

Compared to drowning at sea, it was heaven.

Or, maybe, you were closer to heaven than you realized.

Your consciousness drifted. The salt water got into your nose, burning your sinuses. Your lungs felt choked up, clogged, making breathing all the more difficult. The edges of your vision darkened, blurred. Whether it was from tears or the sea water or neurons misfiring, you didn't know.

What happens to a driver if their avatar dies while they're operating it?

Guess you'll find out.

You exhaled slowly, and—

"Tuté!" A voice shouted, and you stiffened, snapping your head up.

You spotted a man on a sort of canoe heading towards you, a hand held out. You were too worn down to think about who could possibly have another reef Na'vi avatar, and how they were out here, how they found you. You needed help desperately, and you weren't going to question where it was coming from.

"Niä sìn!" The man shouted, stretching out his hand. His words making no sense to your addled mind, and you figured it was the exhaustion taking hold. You kicked with your remaining strength to close the gap and grasped his hand, relief flooding you the moment his fingers closed over yours.

With a grunt, he tugged hard, hauling you on-board the canoe. You flopped onto your stomach, coughing up seawater into the growing puddle beneath your soaked form. Your head pounded and your muscles ached, limbs trembling violently, and not from the chilliness of the water cooling on your skin.

Using all you had left, you rolled onto your back, eyes squeezed shut against the sun. It beamed down warmth, though it was quickly brushed away by a light breeze. You loved the breeze, adored how it smelled and grazed your skin.

Right now, you hated it more than anything.

Beside you, the man crouched down, rifling through something. You heard him turn, then heard as he sharply sucked in air through his teeth.

"Tawtute…" He mumbled, and it clicked that the reason you couldn't understand him wasn't because your brain was too tired to make sense of anything.

It was because he wasn't speaking English.

Your eyes peeled open, flinching against the bright sun, and the two of you stared at each other for long, silent seconds.

Of all things for you to latch onto in that moment, the first thing you noted was that he looked young.

You were never very good at estimating someone's age, but if you had to guess, you'd say he was somewhere between his late teens and early twenties. Still a kid, by most counts. And, if you recalled correctly, Na'vi could live some 150 years, so he was very young to Na'vi.

And that youth and inexperience made him uncertain.

His throat bobbed and the muscles in his jaw feathered as he visibly warred with what to do. You were a sky person, a human. You knew that the Na'vi called your kind demons. You knew they hated your kind, and for good reason; the war the RDA waged against the forest people was devastating to both sides, but especially to the natives of this land.

You didn't know how far that damage extended, though. You didn't know if it reached the Eastern sea. You could guess what it meant for you if it had.

Foolishly, though, you wished to live.

"Please," you rasped, uncertain whether he could understand you or not. You had to try. "Help."

He dug his teeth into his lower lip, sharp canines pressed nearly hard enough to pierce the skin. He glanced around, then at the sky, looking for guidance.

"Ma'Eywa," he whispered, running a hand down his face. Finally, he seemed to make a decision. To you, he said, "Rä'ä fmi 'uo lehrrap."

Whatever it meant, it sounded like an order, as stern of one as he could make. You nodded, and he huffed through his nose, keeping an eye on you as he slowly went to grab an oar. He acted as if you were a wild animal, bracing for your attack. It would've been humorous, were you not beat to your bones. If anyone was the dangerous one here, it was him.

Somehow, though, you knew he wouldn't hurt you.

You hoped.

As he paddled, you let your eyes shut, giving in to the call of rest. The gentle sway of the canoe lulled you into a semi-dozing state, your body taking the chance to recover from the energy it spent keeping you treading for god knows how long.

You had to thank your savior, but the ability to speak was lost on you, tongue too big and dry for your mouth, eroded by salt. Shame, too, eaten away by having inched a little too close to death.

The man's gaze never left you, glued to your exaggerated breaths and limp muscles. You felt it burning into your face, snapping to the twitch of lactic acid in your fingers.

You couldn't find it in yourself to care, only grateful you had been rescued.

It didn't cross your mind to ask where he was taking you. The mild swaying was peaceful and soothing. The adrenaline crash that followed made you weak and this close to crying, so you leaned into the rocking, the tip from side to side that coaxed you into a calmer state.

That was, until he began shouting.

"Na'viyä!" He yelled, and you jolted upright, body screaming in protest. Ahead of you was a dock-like structure where dozens of Na'vi roamed, pausing at his call. "Srung! Fì'u lu a tawtute!"

All at once, a commotion erupted. Baskets and nets were dropped, a few people dove into the water, aiding in pushing the canoe. At the dock, someone grabbed the edge of the vessel and pulled it in, winding a rope through a loop in the front to tie it to the dock.

The man who saved you climbed out, chatting quickly with an elder, frantic and stammering over his words.

Hands grabbed your arms and yanked you upwards onto the dock, squeezing until your skin dented. Someone grabbed the long braid at your back and yanked harshly on it, causing you to cry out as a shock of pain racketed down your spine, vision flickering like a jolt of electricity had been delivered straight to your brain.

"Fnu!" They hissed at you, tears welling in the corners of your eyes from the pain.

Your weakened legs refused to cooperate with you, causing you to stumble as you were dragged forward. The woven pathways scraped against your soles, the unfamiliar material sharp on your soft feet. Your avatar rarely wore shoes, but you also didn't walk much in your avatar body. Most of your time was spent swimming or sitting while jotting down notes.

They pulled and jerked you off the pathways and onto the beach between their huts, pressing down on your shoulders until your knees hit the soft warmth. You groaned as soreness bloomed on your kneecaps.

A voice, authoritative and booming, brought silence upon the clamor and din.

"'Upe lu tìlen fìtseng?"

You looked up cautiously, and nearly fainted on the spot.

Reef bodies were bigger, bulkier than forest bodies, this you knew. But this person, this man, fuck. He could rival trees in size, standing at least a head above the rest around him. He held a spear firmly by his side, its base digging into the sand, his gaze shifting around the group that'd brought you here.

Unending, searing sky blue settled on you.

The man's expression didn't shift, but his lids lowered minutely, a minuscule narrowing. His eyes darted over your form; your swimsuit, your figure.

Your hands.

The one who found you stepped forward, brushing the fingers of his left hand against his forehead. "Olo'eyktan. Oel ngati kameie."

The weight of his intense stare lifted from you, and you felt as if you could draw in breath once more, ribs uncompressing.

"Na'tul. Plltxe."

He shifted uneasily. Whatever he said was lost on you, words mumbled nervously to the… chief? Leader?

The tall one must have been. He held himself with pride, but profound responsibility, and if they weren't looking at you, the people were looking at him.

He listened attentively to the boy's words, stern and resolute. He said nothing in response, simply waiting for him to finish. Awkwardly, the boy shuffled, head held down, though the chief didn't look mad or… anything, really. Just neutral. You wanted to know what was being said, but it's not like you would've understood.

The man lightly patted the boy on the shoulder and nodded once, then moved past him. The people closest to you moved out of the way, save for the two holding you down by the shoulders and the one holding your braid.

He looked at the two on either side of you. "Yì mìso," he commanded. Instantly, they released you, backing away. The one holding your braid stayed, their grip unyielding. A warning.

He crouched before you, and when he spoke, you were surprised to hear English — albeit heavily accented.

"What is your name, sky woman?" He asked.

Your lips parted, but no noise came out, not until his eyes narrowed further and his fingers tightened around his spear. You stuttered out your name for him, and tried immensely to hide the way your hands shook.

You couldn't tear yourself away from his eyes, his face. His skin was a similar shade to yours, but it was covered in expansive, swirling tattoos, markings that curved around his cheeks and emphasized his strong jaw. From your peripheral, you could see that they trailed down his neck and collarbone, but you did not dare to look, to break his focus.

He seemed to contemplate your answer, then asked, "Why are you here?"

You swallowed thickly, hesitating. How could you explain what you did?

You tried for honesty. "I'm a marine biologist," you said. The skin of his browline pinched inwards, and you rushed to explain yourself. "The sea. I study the sea. Um. More specifically, the animals."

"The animals?"

"Yes. And coral. All life in the water," you replied.

"Why?"

Your hands fidgeted with the sand, digging into it, seeking a stability that wasn't there. There was nothing to support you, nothing for you to lean on.

"I…" Where were you supposed to begin? From childhood? Your mother reading you bedtime stories about things that no longer existed on your homeworld?

Even though you had no idea what was going on, you knew these people were mad at you, and that you had to tread carefully. Your heart was being weighed for judgment, pried apart to see if you were worth leaving alive.

Or if your fate would be worse.

A tug to your queue had you hissing through your teeth, your answer taking too long for their liking. "It's beautiful," you answered. "There's— ow— there's nothing like it on Earth."

He frowned. "Your star does not have oceans?"

You shook your head as much as you could. "No. Well— not really. Not like this."

A muscle in his jaw feathered. You tried not to stare at it. "Explain."

Centuries of pollution, waste and oil and hatred poured into a once-blue hearth, the fire of its beauty drowned by ignorance and neglect and carelessness. Decades of begging for change eventually silenced by defeat. Ruin turning clear waters to muddy brown, impossible to see through, impossible to live in.

"They're gone," you whispered. "The water is still there, but it's dead. Nothing can survive."

His expression remained frustratingly still, but his knuckles paled around the shaft of his weapon.

"Your kind," he began slowly, "bring rot. They have burned the forest, they come for our sisters and brothers. They have ruined their lands, and come for ours."

You pressed your lips into a thin line, guilt taking away your breath ruthlessly. If his stare compressed your ribs, guilt crushed them into your lungs, a boulder dropped straight onto your heart.

You looked away. His words were soft, delivered in a smooth, even tone, but you could feel the anger veiled behind them.

It wasn't like you could blame him, nor the locals.

They went through a war against your kind, and barely survived it. The humans had been exiled, but their presence never left. It remained in the land they mined up and destroyed, the forests they razed, and the rivers they polluted. It remained in the memories of the People, kept alive in song as a way to not only mourn those lost during the war, but to remember their victory, and as a reminder of what happens when humans are allowed to run rampant.

You didn't know much about the war personally. News of it didn't reach Earth, kept under wraps by corporate. Propaganda was spread, claims that humans successfully established themselves on Pandora's soil permanently. There was nothing about them being banished and forbidden from returning.

If you'd known, maybe you wouldn't have left Earth.

But you were here now, dropped off on a ship in the middle of a massive, landless wilderness with no access to the rest of the RDA beyond basic communications and the Kestrel that'd come and drop off supplies once a week or so. All you had out here was yourself and your co-workers.

Well. Just yourself, now.

"Do you work with them? The people that hunt in our waters, kill our brothers and sisters?"

You startled at the question. "No! No, I— well, not technically, not—"

Someone clicked their tongue and you snapped your jaw shut, teeth clacking.

Behind him, a woman approached, her gait graceful and purposeful. Her face was stony and stormy, her hatred a wave that washed over you, crashed into you without remorse.

She did not crouch or kneel, but stood above you, looming.

"You wear our skin," she bit out, glaring spitefully at your arms, your legs, your tail. "First, the forest clans. Now us."

She motioned at the person holding your queue, and they let go, stepping back. She circled you like a predator, a shark in blood-infested waters, hunting down the injured and weak for an easy meal.

"Why are you here?" She asked the same question the man had, and you put together that they were likely a duo, two leaders. Formidable on their own, unbreakable as one.

"To learn," you mumbled, voice quivering.

"Speak up!" She ordered.

"I came to— to learn. About the water," you repeated, louder.

She huffed, unimpressed. "Why? So you may destroy more? Do you learn the waters so you will know how to taint them?"

"No!" You snapped, panicked. "No, no, god— god, no."

Back in front of you, her lip was pulled into a snarl. "Your kind, they take without mercy. They take and take from the Great Mother. Their greed leaves scars. Our spirit sisters, brothers, they are dying because you hunt them to take what is rightfully theirs. Mothers and their young."

Your heart sank, deep, deep down. Past your tail, bleeding out from the soles of your feet.

Was— was she talking about the tulkun?

You had only heard of them, seen one or two grainy photos. You'd give anything to see one for yourself, but they didn't inhabit the waters that the RDA let you study. There were rumors that they were hunted, but your station was so isolated that you treated them simply as rumors. People claiming things to make themselves look big and strong, inflate their egos, put their names on a map.

To learn it was real, very real, had you sick to your stomach.

"Fuck," you whispered, lost on what else to say. "I'm so sorry."

Her eye twitched. "You did not know of this?"

You shook your head. "No, I… I heard rumors, but my team— we're isolated. It's just me and a few researchers, a few soldiers. We're nowhere near the tulkun. We— we don't even touch the animals."

"Awnga sweylu tspang peyä!" Someone shouted. Around them, a ruckus of agreement erupted. Shouting of the same phrase repeated by others, celebratory cheers shared in advance.

Understanding the language was unnecessary; the intent was clear.

They wanted you dead.

The woman yelled at the mob, raising an arm to silence them.

She and the man shared a look, a glance. It lasted a brief moment, but said more than words could.

Suddenly, you were lifted to your feet, the rush of blood away from your head making you dizzy.

"Go. Leave. Do not come back," the woman hissed at you. "If you return, we will kill you."

The man barked something at the people around you, and just like before, hands grabbed at you, dragging you away. You grunted at the jarring change, the rapid shift in energy, and watched as the man spoke with the person who initially rescued you. He nodded at his leader, then followed after you.

Before you could mentally catch up, you were put back into the same canoe you arrived in. The people stayed on the edge of the pathway so you could not climb back out, and the boy climbed in after you. He retrieved the paddles and rowed away, and the people on the dock only dispersed when you were too far away to swim back.

You wouldn't.

The woman's words lingered in your mind, clear and concise. It wasn't a threat; it was a promise. An assurance that, while they let you live now, their generosity only extended so far.

It sat there, heavy on the forefront of your mind. The switch up happened so fast, giving you no time to react.

You rubbed at your face.

What the hell just happened?

You weren't sure where this boy was taking you. You didn't bother asking.

For about an hour, you drifted along, your reflection rippling in the relatively calm waters. Your destination became evident as you spotted a glimmer of white in the corner of your vision.

Jim's boat.

The canoe came close to shore, but not too close. You'd have to swim, maybe a couple minutes. Your muscles popped tiny bubbles under your skin, but you recovered enough strength to make it back.

Careful to not tip the canoe, you climbed out, kicking to keep afloat.

"Thank you," you dipped your head in gratitude to the boy. You turned to leave, but stopped when he spoke.

"Irayo," he said.

You blinked at him. "Huh?"

"Irayo," he repeated. Then, in a very thick accent, tacked on, "We say… irayo."

It took you a moment to process, then it clicked. Your mouth parted around an O. "Irayo," you copied as best as you could, lips twitching upwards.

He hummed an approval, then began rowing away.

Not wanting to risk drowning again, you made for the shore. The sand was warm beneath your feet, sticking to your wet skin in layers up to your ankles.

Everything hurt, but you were alive.

You stood alone for a while, simply staring at the spot on the horizon he vanished into, thoughtless.

A fever dream. Drugs. Knocked out by a wayward current slamming you into a boulder underwater. Yet the tingling, tiny zaps at the base of your skull, where your queue grew from, let you know it was real.

You walked up the beach to where Jim was leaning back in his chair, bare feet kicked up onto the table, baseball cap still covering his mask. His legs were bordering on lobster red, the sun having scorched them into a nice, toasty sunburn that'd keep him awake at night for a few days, at least.

At least the rest of him was shaded.

He snored loudly into his cap, sounding like a choking fish.

Leaning down, you lightly smacked his knee. He snorted and jerked awake, the movement causing the back legs of his chairs to lose balance. He yelped as he fell backwards, grunting from knocking into the ground.

He groaned, removing his cap.

"Rude," he grumbled halfheartedly at you. Huffing, he got up, brushing the sand and dirt from his clothes. "How'd your swim go, eh, little mermaid?"

You shrugged. "Fine."

"Fine?" He scoffed. "Never heard you call it 'fine'. What, get bit out there?"

"Something like that," you muttered. "Let's just go back."

Jim raised a brow, not fighting back. He was a soldier; he did what he was told do.

As his hands passed over his calves, he hissed in pain. "Jesus, got cooked alive out here."

"Shoulda worn sunscreen," you said, half-present as you packed your things.

He continued to complain the entire time you carried your supplies back to the boat, and the whole way to the vessel. Probably because you were a scientist, not another soldier or someone higher up on the ladder that would tell him to quit bitching and suck it up.

The vessel was anchored ahead, lovingly nicknamed the Kit by its captain, Dmitri. For the first week you were on it, you thought he had named it after his cat, until he explained that kit meant whale in Russian.

Bit bigger than a whale, in your opinion, but the name seemed fitting. Its sides were painted a stark black that had white portholes dotted along them. You could see the resemblance to a killer whale. Though, apparently, those were called something else. Kosatka, if you recalled. You had asked him why he didn't call it that instead.

"Is too small to be kosatka, да? Маленький кит. Little whale."

Agree to disagree. Sure, it wasn't as big at the main vessels the RDA used for other things, especially not those damned Sea Dragons, but it definitely wasn't some 'little whale'.

Jim drove his boat partway up a ramp that extended from the center of the vessel after calling it in. He pulled the motor up, and tracks on the bottom of the ramp pulled his rig the rest of the way up. At the top, it turned onto a different track, and got docked in its designated spot.

You hopped out of the boat and numbly gathered your things, leaving with little preamble. Around the vessel, people roamed, working on one thing or another. The crew wasn't particularly large; maybe twenty or so people maximum, all brought on for a specific job. You were one of only two researchers on the ship, though the other focused more on oceanography. About as niche as you were, on a moon like this.

You waved absentmindedly to a few technicians you recognized as you passed by, and stopped in an itty bitty lab to drop off your things before taking your avatar to the sleep bay for it. Ritual, at this point.

After disconnecting from the link, you decided to search them up, that clan.

There wasn't much information available in the RDA database that you had access to. Really, all that was listed was that they were called the Metkayina, they were reef Na'vi, a clan amongst a few dozen others, and that they supposedly bonded with the great whale-like creatures of Pandora. The tulkun.

Disappointed with the lack of info, you called it early for the day. You had too much on your mind to be able to work. Beyond that tube with the sample you got, you had little to show for today, anyway.

Tomorrow. I'll deal with it tomorrow.

The prongs of your fork scraped over the base of your food tray, plastic scratching against plastic.

You were late to breakfast, left only with the stragglers, given the last of what was available.

Again.

The food was bland, unappetizing.

Nothing new, but you were usually able to eat it no problem, more concerned with research and getting in the water than whatever was being served to you.

Lately, you couldn't stomach much, though.

It'd been a couple weeks since your encounter with the Metkayina, and they were still in your mind.

You were told that the vessel and those authorized to boat around were strictly ordered to avoid the reef clans at all costs. You had a limited zone you were allowed to work in, and exiting it was prohibited at risk of penalty. For you, it meant your avatar would be taken away.

You kept your mouth shut about what happened that day.

Besides not trusting anyone on board to keep your secrets, it was personal, private.

And you had a sick, twisting feeling that if you told anyone what happened, the RDA would catch wind and use it as an excuse to launch an attack on the clan, and that was the absolute last thing you wanted.

"How was your meeting?"

"Ugh, boring as hell."

You pushed your food around some more, temple propped up on your fist. Background chatter was low, a mild din.

You wanted to know more about the clan, its people, their culture. You weren't like Grace Augustine. Sure, she was mainly a biologist, but her connection to the Omatikaya went deep.

You never studied linguistics, or cultural theory. Your passion, your heart and soul, was marine biology; life underwater, not other people and their traditions, their rites, their very existence.

But you wanted to know so badly. The brief entry the RDA had one them only worsened this desire in your gut, the very call to ask, learn, be.

"We gotta head back. Command wants us there by afternoon tomorrow."

"Damn. What the hell, why?"

You filtered out the conversation between the two, distantly aware of it. It was meaningless, not really settling in—

"Planning this huge attack on those big ass whales."

You froze, lungs shock-still.

"Seriously?"

"Yeah. Said there was some gathering happening soon. All gonna move to one zone. Said it's gonna be a massive fuckin' payday. Enough for us to finally take a vacation."

Trying to bring as little attention to yourself as possible, you got up, took your tray, and walked to the discard area. Nonchalant, when you were everything but inside. Your hands shook as you put down the tray on the counter, the plastic clattering lightly.

You spun on your heel and beelined for your lab, back ramrod straight, muscles wound tight as rocks.

What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck.

Was it true? Was the RDA planning some mass-scale assault on the tulkun, the spirit siblings of the reef people?

Nauseous, you scanned your ID tag, impatiently sliding between the partially open doors. Your computer sat at one of the messy tables, an old-fashioned screensaver bouncing from corner to corner. You hit the spacebar, perhaps a little too harshly, and scanned your tag again to log in.

The damn thing took its sweet fucking time loading, and your foot tapped nervously, words spilling under your breath, demanding the shitty PC to hurry the hell up.

It let you in, and you hurriedly went to check your emails, chewing on your lip. The faint taste of copper stung the tip of your tongue.

There, at the top of your inbox, was an awaiting message.

TO ALL PERSONNEL: BE ADVISED the subject wrote.

You clicked on the email, bile burning the base of your esophagus.

TO ALL PERSONNEL: BE ADVISED

THE VESSEL WILL BE LEAVING AT 0500. YOU ARE TO ENSURE ALL YOUR BELONGINGS ARE IN PLACE, AND THAT ALL RDA PROPERTY IS ACCOUNTED FOR. EVERY BOAT MUST BE DOCKED BY 2200. LEAVING THE VESSEL WILL BE PROHIBITED AFTER 2230.

PLEASE LOCK DOWN ALL EQUIPMENT, REPORT INVENTORY, AND REPORT ATTENDANCE BY 2300.

ANY FAILURE TO DO AS INSTRUCTED WILL BE MET WITH CORRECTION.

- RESOURCE DEVELOPMENT ASSOCIATION

You were going to be sick. Truly and genuinely sick, a horrid thing that'd tear up your insides and leave you panting and crying and broken.

It was true — the RDA was planning an attack. It wasn't listed in email, of course. Kept under wraps, need-to-know, but one mouthy person was all it took for the closed book to open.

You dragged your nails down your face, hissing as you paced back and forth.

Brain fogged by the terror, you weighed your choices.

You were just some science-type grunt. Nobody important in the grand scheme of things. It's not like you could march up to the head of everything and order them to put a stop to all their plans. You'd be laughed out of the room. Or stared at until you disintegrated into ash.

Fighting back wasn't really an option. A one-woman protest was a joke, something to be ignored as everyone else went about their business, doing their tasks. At best, you'd get a stern talking to. At worst—

Don't think about it, don't think about it.

Maybe you'd get an overly-polite email loosely stating that your opinion was heard and would be 'taken into consideration'. HR jargon for "shut up."

You scratched at your scalp, frustrated. Causing a fuss was out, sitting and pouting and refusing to do your tasks was out. There was nothing, nothing—

You stopped, staggering at your own abrupt halt.

You could send a warning. Tell the Metkayina what was coming, to start preparing.

No, no, no. Shit. The idea was ridiculous. You had no idea what you were doing, how the hell you were to go about it. You didn't own anything here, nothing that could get you to them. Even Jim's boat was RDA property. He wasn't allowed to modify it in any way, no personalization. At the end of the day, he had to return it, basically a day-to-day rental.

On top of that, you heard the Metkayina's threat loud and clear, remembered it as if it happened yesterday and not weeks ago.

If you return, we will kill you.

You risked losing your head. Hell, it'd probably be gone sooner than you could step foot into their territory.

But—

"Can't just stand around," you whispered to yourself.

You had to do something.

There was an abandoned shack a few miles away from the vessel.

Sneaking both yourself and your avatar off the brig had been a pain in the ass and a test of willpower. You weren't some spy; you were a marine biologist with a horrible plan and a half-formed dream.

You felt bad for stealing Jim's boat, but the idiot had a bad habit of leaving his keys out.

That was made worse when you probably definitely accidentally beached it.

But you found the shack; that was more important to you.

Blessedly, it still had power, and the link unit functioned perfectly. The layer of dust caked onto it and its panel had you worried it'd short circuit and kick you out at the worst timing imaginable (or not let you out at all).

The list of rules and regulations you were breaking unfurled like a damning decree, and for every one you knew, there were likely a dozen more secret laws the RDA had under the cover. Stealing the boat alone probably put you on some sort of list, not to mention what you were about to do.

The sand glued itself to your skin, flecks flicked up by your sprinting to catch onto your clothes and scrape your skin like sandpaper.

You swam from island to island in the archipelago, adrenaline and your mission fueling you. Your thighs wailed in protest, your lungs struggled to expand around breaths that scorched your throat like winter frost, like acid. You swam and ran until the sun was reaching behind the planet Pandora orbited and you saw faint, flickering lights in the distance.

You made it.

The Metkayina tribe came into view, structures growing larger the closer you got.

The air shifted the moment you stepped foot into the village.

"Hey!" You screamed, darting along the beach, between huts. "Hey!"

Heads poked out of huts, curious, cautious, and afraid. They watched you run further in, wide-eyed and frantic. Some stepped out, but stayed away. A couple warriors grabbed weapons. One tried to catch your arm and stop you, but you wrenched it free, stumbling slightly before you righted yourself and pushed harder.

You ran to the open circle you had been brought into weeks ago, the memory of the sand imprinting on your knees reignited. You skidded to a stop, head whipping side to side as you tried to catch your breath, searching for—

"What is the meaning of this?" A familiar voice questioned harshly, and you spun on your heel to face him.

Their leader.

He stormed forward, his spear glinting against the sun dangerously.

"We warned you—"

"Please," you interrupted him, wheezing. "Listen. You need to listen."

The woman, his partner, appeared seemingly out of nowhere, her teeth bared, canines sharp. "Why should we listen to a demon!? Why do you come here, knowing we will kill you?"

You shuddered, clutching your hands to your chest. Your heart raced against your chest painfully, fear urging you to leave, to spare yourself.

But you couldn't.

You couldn't leave, couldn't bear the thought. You needed to tell them, they needed to know.

"I—" you swallowed, trying to speak around the lump in your throat. "I bring a warning."

At that, the two leaders paused. The man came forward, eyes narrowed.

"What warning do you speak of?"

You did your best to not cower under his piercing gaze. You needed them to believe you.

"The RDA," you started, lip quivering. "The humans. They're— they're planning an attack. A big one. On the tulkun," you informed them, your thoughts scrambled, the words struggling to form.

He stiffened. "When?"

Shame filled you. Fuck. You should have checked the exact date, figured it out somehow. You were in such a rush to inform the Metkayina that you didn't stop to parse out the details.

"I— I don't know," you stammered. "There's some— some big gathering happening soon. My vessel, they're forcing us to return tomorrow, to help prepare for the attack."

The two of them looked at each other, eyes widened. "Calf communion," the woman whispered, as if afraid that saying it too loud would make it true.

The man's entire energy hardened, and he turned on you, crowding into your space.

"Why do you warn us?" He hissed out. "Why do you come here, against our order, to tell of us this?"

You wrapped your arms around your middle, trying to keep yourself in one piece. You trembled violently, waning adrenaline and the bite of the cool evening breeze on your drenched clothes, wet skin, causing you to shiver.

"I can't… I can't just let it happen," you murmured. "I refuse. I won't help them, I won't let them just— just do it. You need to know. To protect the tulkun."

His lips drew downwards. "You will not go with them?"

Tears blurred your vision and stung your nose. "I— I don't know. I don't know what to do," you admitted, your voice breaking. It was starting to crash down on you, the reality of your actions.

You were set to sail back to the main RDA settlement by early morning. Everyone was rushing to pack their things, bring up their equipment. You were supposed to be helping, and your absence would surely have been noticed by now. If you returned now, after spilling a secret to the Metkayina, what were you supposed to say for yourself? How were you going to explain the soaking wet clothes, the fact you were missing?

What were you going to do now? Would you be arrested, charged? Imprisoned? Would they put you in a locked cell, or send you back to Earth with expedited shipping? Would you be whipped as punishment?

The unknown almost scared you more than knowing what the RDA had planned for the tulkun. Almost.

He and the woman were silent for a long moment. Then, he jerked his head to the side, and said, "Come."

He walked away, and you remained frozen in place for a second, shocked. You didn't know what you were expecting, but it wasn't this.

Hurriedly, you chased after him to catch up, hovering at his heels as he led you somewhere. The villagers watched on, suspicious and nosy in equal parts. You avoided looking at them, keeping your eyes on his back.

He walked up to an innocuous hut and pulled aside the curtain over the door, looking down at you expectantly. You quickly got the message and skittered inside, grateful to be away from prying eyes.

Warmth encompassed you, and you spotted a fire burning and crackling in a pit in the middle of the hut. It blazed, hot and comforting, but not quite enough to soothe your shivers, nor shoo the cold that sank into your bones. Still, you went towards it, palms reaching forward to absorb as much of its heat as possible.

The man moved around the hut, digging through baskets methodically. He retrieved a couple items, though you didn't bother to see what they were, too focused on the fire.

When he said your name, you jumped slightly, lifting your head. He was beside you, something bundled in his hands. "You remember?"

He nodded. "Of course. I am Tonowari. My mate is Ronal," he introduced himself and the woman, his mate. "Change into this."

You held your hands out, and he placed something into them. Fabric, woven threads.

Shifting the items around, you realized he had given you clothing — their clothing, of the reef, the people, the Metkayina.

Confused, you sought his face for answers.

His tipped his chin toward the clothing, saying again, "Change. Then, we will speak."

"Oh," you mumbled. "Thank you.

He nodded once, then left, and you stared at the closed curtain for a while, processing the order, wondering if it was a joke. When he didn't return and yank them away from you, you examined them.

It was a two-piece set, a top and loincloth. The top resembled a net, the fibers surprisingly soft and pleasant to the touch. The knots each had a sort of wide, colorful reed tied to it, creating a drape that would cover your chest. The loincloth had similar reeds, shorter at the hips, longer at the center-front.

Quietly, you pulled off your wet clothes, peeling them from your skin. You didn't know what to do with them, exactly, so you folded them as neatly as possible and set them to the side.

You debated whether you should leave your bra and underwear on. It felt strange to not wear them, regardless of what body you currently occupied, but leaving them on would probably be much weirder.

After double checking to make sure you were alone, you pried those garments off, too, and held out the top and loincloth.

Truthfully, you had no idea how to put them on.

You played eenie-meenie-miney-mo with them, and settled for attempting the loincloth first.

It ended up not being too difficult to put on, though you struggled with the tail part. The limb fought against you, wagging and failing when you ordered it to stay still. It took nearly knocking a tall basket for it to cooperate, after which you managed to tie the threads together.

The top proved trickier.

You had to turn it this way and that to figure out which side was the inside and which the outside. Once you had that sorted, you had to decipher what ties went where.

It took a lot of gymnastics and finagling, but you got it. You thought. Hopefully.

At least it was on.

Na'vi clothes felt very odd to you, the texture and level of exposure something you were not used to, beyond the swim suit you wore on the days you were in the water.

You picked at the back of the loincloth, uncomfortable, but gave up when it just went right back up between your ass cheeks. You sighed, tail flicking with annoyance, aware you'd have to get used to it for as long as you were permitted to wear these clothes. Probably until yours dried, if you had to guess.

Luckily, you yourself had dried in the time it took you to change, your skin no longer prickled with goosebumps, the fire warming your shivers away.

You picked up your normal clothes, cringing at their cold wetness, You'd have to wring them out and hang them up for them to dry properly. For now, you held them slightly away from yourself, and poked your head out of the hut.

Tonowari was there, arms crossed as he looked out toward the sea.

His head turned toward you when you stepped out, and you shifted your weight from one foot to the other. His eyes darted down to the wet clothes you held. Chewing the inside of your cheek, you said, drifting off, "I wasn't sure what…"

He freed his hands, motioning to the woven pathway in front of the hut.

"Leave them," he said.

You paused, wondering if they'd be stolen. Then the idea nearly caused you to laugh. The Metkayina would not want your sky demon clothing.

You unfolded the fabrics and laid them out on the path, hoping they'd dry by the time you had to leave.

God. The thought made your heart sink to your ass.

You didn't know what you were going to do when you would be told to leave. The longer you stayed here, conversing with the natives, sharing RDA secrets, the more you doubted they'd let you back on the vessel with open arms and no doubts about your loyalty.

You ground your teeth together.

Loyalty.

You could hardly say you were ever loyal to the RDA, not beyond them funding your research and periodically asking for your notes and findings. What they did, the environmental damage they caused, displeased you greatly.

But it was your only opportunity to leave Earth. To pursue your dream. To be in an ocean not filled with filth and litter and the stench of rotting death.

Tonowari walked, not turning to see if you followed.

You did.

He led in silence, weaving between homes. One loomed above the rest, large and omnipresent, the coverings over the door drawn open. From here, you saw that Ronal was already inside, stoking another fire, her face grim.

As you stepped inside, Tonowari drew the coverings shut, sealing you off from the rest of the world.

He circled the fire pit, and settled into a crouch at Ronal's left.

"Sit," he said.

You carefully, but gracelessly, dropped to your knees, ready to listen.

"We will allow you to stay with us," Tonowari began.

Ronal hissed in displeasure.

"We will allow you to stay," he reiterated more firmly, "on the condition that you cannot leave."

Your brows knit together. "I can't leave?"

"No," he stated. "You are to stay here, under careful watch."

"Why?" You questioned.

"We cannot risk you exposing us, giving the enemy our weaknesses."

You frowned, shrinking into yourself. "I wouldn't do that."

"We cannot know for certain," he said.

Lips pressed together, you thought on his words. "My other body—"

"We have already found it," he interrupted. "You will be protected," he said, as if that would reassure you. "But you will not be allowed to leave."

You sat on it for a moment, processing what he was demanding. Well, less demanding and more informing.

What choice did you have, anyway? If you went back, you already surmised that the RDA would arrest you, label you a traitor, charge you with treason. It was one prison or another.

At least your hosts were kind enough.

You wondered what Jim was thinking. What he thought of you.

There's no going back.

Accepting his terms, you nodded in agreement. "Okay."

"Good," he confirmed. "Your needs will be met, but you must contribute to the clan in return."

"How?"

Angrily, Ronal jabbed at the fire with a long stick, but said nothing.

"We need you to speak with the tulkun."

You blinked, perplexed. "Speak with them?"

"Yes. We will call for council with the matriarchs. You will tell them what you told us. Everything you know."

You didn't know how you were supposed to do that, but you had no reason (or right) to disagree.

"Okay, I will."

"This is a mistake," Ronal growled.

Tonowari placed a hand on her thigh. "It is our only choice."

So you weren't the only one strapped for options. It brought you some relief to know.

Not much, but enough.

dividers by huxary-dividers and nikkidee ♥

part 2

[pandorasully]

• ronal | masterlist •

back to main masterlist

ronal x fem!na’vi!reader | 18 + • blurb

ronal x metkayina!reader • blurb

electric feel | 18+ • blurb

tossing & turning | 18+ • blurb

beautiful mess | 18+ • oneshot

duties of a tsakarem | 18+ • oneshot

singing | 18+ • oneshot

waterfalls | 18+ • oneshot

[pandorasully]

ronal x na’vi!fem!reader | 18+

ronal sitting behind you pinching and playing with your nipples. you moan and writhe as she shushes you. you reach a hand to try and touch yourself. she lightly slaps your hand away.

“no. be still for me.” she bites yours ear and slides one of her hands closer and closer to your core.

do not feed or use my shit for ai. pic found on Pinterest

[3d3n-th3-g4rd3n]

Ronal NSFW alphabet

Ronal x reader

CW: Tonowari isn't her mate here, smut, alien breeding cycles/heat, alien anatomy

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Ronal will always take care of you after a lovemaking session. She loves to be pampered as well. It usually consists of you two holding each-other, planting soft kisses on your faces, and if you’re Na’vi, your neural queues stay connected.

B = Body part (their favorite body part their partner’s)

When it comes to a human body, she might find herself as attracted to your five-fingered hands and feet, even if she also despises them. She warms up to your demon body slowly, gradually tossing the disgust aside in favor of love.

In a Na’vi form, it would be your forehead and kuru. She loves to look at the tattoos on it, as they symbolize your achievements and major events of your life, almost like your songcord. The neural braid is rather obvious, it connects you to Eywa, to her. Thanks to it you can make tsaheylu, both with your lover as well as the world around you. She, as Tsahik, finds it beautiful and gives you accessories to weave into your hair, to show everybody that you are her mate.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

I think it's kind of like marking teritory, you know? She wants her release on you and yours on her. She frowns when you want to wash it off, wanting it to leave it's scent on you.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Sometimes Ronal slips aphrodisiacs on your food, especially when she's in heat. She uses her knowledge of herbs and medicine to make a potent potion. A few drops, and it already makes your insides throb.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Ronal has seen it and heard about it, but hasn’t experienced it before taking a mate, and that mate is now you. She wasn’t shy when you two first mated and even took the dominant role that she came to love quite a lot, making sure you both were satisfied in the end.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Missionary, mating press, or man missionary (from my research; cowgirl but you’re closer to your partner). She wants you as close as possible, your chest against hers. Ronal wants to hold you and be held as you both indulge in pleasure.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Ronal is definitely on the serious side of the spectrum, but that does not mean she's unemotional during sex or tense and quiet. She just wants to be as connected to you as possible, giving you all of her. She opens her heart to you and speaks only delicate truth when she's not praising you.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? Etc.)

I don’t think Na’vi grow hair on their bodies (besides head and lashes ofc), but I wouldn’t be surprised if she had a tattoo there.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Ronal is extremely romantic when it comes to having her way with you. There isn’t any other way. She kisses you, wraps her tail around you and keeps you as close as she possibly can. She whispers praises and I love you’s in your ear. She may not say it in public often, but she makes sure you feel most loved in such a fragile moment. Having said that, she is vanilla.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Now that you two are mated, she comes to you with her needs. Before that she hasn't masturbated much. Sometimes she used to sneak out of her marui to a desolate location and get off to the thoughts of you.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Praising, for sure, breeding kink, marking/scenting, and body worship. She's pretty vanilla.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Metkayina tree of souls (or idk seaweed of souls?? Reef of souls??), a secluded cove near it. She wants privacy when she makes love with you, no disruptions.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

When you don't have to work for it, she get's turned on by your voice. When you sing your songcord or pray to Eywa. It fills Ronal's chest with warmth and then lust. Her thoughts slowly go to your moans and gasps when you take a sharp breath between lines, and she wants to hear these dirty noises again.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Degradation, breath play, pain play. It mortifies her. To her, as Tsahik too, it's insane to do such things when you're most vunerable.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Ronal loves to be eaten out, your mouth over her most sensitive spots. She finds it incredibly romantic and runs her hand through your hair, moaning softly as you slowly bring her to her climax. She won’t say no to pleasing you with her mouth either. She will kiss your thighs, stomach, your pussy/cock as she slowly lets her rough tongue explore it.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

As you might have figured out already, Ronal is extremely sensual when she takes you. She makes sure you feeel loved and adored, no matter if it's foreplay or proper fucking. She will praise you, kiss you, and caress every inch of your skin her hands can reach.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

She fully prefers to take her time with you, taking care of your needs without rushing and drowing you in her affection. Of course, being the Tsahik, she's a busy woman. She's down for oral between duties.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Ronal likes to stay in her comfort zone, but she isn't impossible to convince to try something new. As long as it isn't too crazy for her, of course.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

She lasts longgg, multiple rounds for sure. Like 4 or 5.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

I fear the Na'vi don't really have sex toys... And if the reader is human/avatar, she would refuse, talking something about how this isn't Eywa's way.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Ronal doesn’t truly tease, doesn’t deny you or herself an orgasm, but might sneak a small pinch when she’s feeling playful.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

I don’t think she’s very loud, but she does not hide the sounds of her pleasure. Why would she? It’s natural. For Na’vi it isn’t a shame. She let’s out soft whines and moans when you please her. She breathes heavily when you kiss. She cries when she reaches her peak.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

The rare times Ronal feels playfull, she loves to compete for dominance with you, letting out girlish laugh as she tops you. It makes her feel like a teenager in a way, young and careless.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Like I said, bald pussy with tattoos. Plump lips down there, for SURE.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

I think Ronal's sex drive is pretty average, but she is not that easy to turn on. You need to work for it a little, but when you achieve your goal, she gives herself to you fully.

When she is in heat, however, it's a completely different story. She throws herself at you every chance she can get, trying to take you away and breed, take what she needs from you.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Since you two make love at night, she goes to sleep fast. She lays her head down on your chest or against your forehead, still connected by your kurus. Ronal whispers her affection to you as exhaustion slowly dulls her voice. She plants a gentle kiss on your face right before she closes her eyes, just to feel safer at night.

[ninjavindicatormartyr]

I need more ronal fanfics also

[ruya4four]

Etched in First Words

ronal x reader | fluff, women of pandora week 2026 Day 1

A/N | y'all don't understand, like i do NOT play about ronal. she is the love of my life. she is everything to me. i'm so scared to write for her, because i want her characterization to be perfect. but i must post her, i must celebrate this beautiful woman. like i would fight the whole Metkayina reef just to be able to gaze upon her. (also this was originally my 'i see you' fic i was going to publish!)

SYNOPSIS | you arrive in the metkayina village and discover ronal is your soulmate. she wants nothing to do with you, but your persistence slowly breaks through her walls until she begins to accept the bond between you.

CONTENT WARNINGS | soulmate au, down bad reader, ronal being harsh, softening over time, courting, mild injury recovery, dancing, kissing

WORD COUNT: 6.3k

“It is them?”

Ronal’s voice cut through the warm coastal air like a blade. Her thumb jerked over her shoulder toward you as she addressed the hunter beside her. Her expression carried no curiosity, only the weary irritation of someone whose day had just taken an unwelcome turn. The beads at her temples clicked softly when she shifted her weight, the faintest sign of impatience.

The villager guiding you, Ewa'atx, gentle in manner and proud to introduce newcomers, had just finished explaining that the Metkayina valued grace, strength, and devotion to Eywa. You barely heard the last words. Your gaze had fixed on Ronal the moment she turned toward you. Her posture held the authority of a seasoned tsakarem (tsahìk-in-training), shoulders disciplined, eyes sharp as the point of a hunting spear. Sea-salt light washed across her skin, and every line of her face seemed carved by tide and tradition. Awe rose in you so swiftly it felt like surf cresting, too high and too fast to contain.

“You’re beautiful.”

The words left you without permission, carried by wonder so bright it startled even you.

Ronal’s ears twitched. Her lips pressed into a thin, unimpressed line. “It is them?” she repeated to the hunter, but her eyes had already swept over the tattoo glowing across your ribs—those two simple words that marked her fate as yours and yours as hers. Her breath tightened. Disbelief flared for an instant, followed by a shade of disdain, as if Eywa had played a joke at her expense.

No one laughed. The sea itself seemed to inhale.

The hunter bowed his head. “Ma Ronal, Eywa has spoken.”

Ronal exhaled through her nose. “Eywa speaks many things.” Her gaze returned to you, cool and assessing, as though she were measuring the height of an incoming wave she had no intention of respecting. “Some words do not matter.”

Her dismissal should have stung. Instead, warmth bloomed in your chest. Something in her severity made your heart lean closer, not away. You stood straighter. Your pulse fluttered with an aching admiration that longed to prove itself worthy.

Among the clans, the tattoos of first words carried the weight of woven prophecy. Na’vi believed that Eywa shaped the meeting of souls long before they drew their first breath. When pupils opened for the first time, when lungs tasted their first air, the ink also woke. Faint as moonlight, resting beneath the skin like a seed. Only the moment of recognition awakened its glow. Two souls meeting, two bodies drawing near, two voices speaking lines etched by a force far older than choice. A return to a bond that had existed before flesh.

For most, this revelation brought joy. Tears. Gratitude. Laughter shared between strangers destined to become family. Blessings whispered by tsahìk and elders, prayers rising like mist to the great mother who had stitched their fates.

Ronal, however, belonged first to duty.

As tsakarem, she lived in the shadow of great responsibility. Her days overflowed with training; breath work beneath the waves, ritual lessons, healing practices, combat forms shaped by countless ancestors. Her spirit bent toward discipline with unwavering devotion. She guarded the path to leadership with a vigilance that permitted no distraction. A mate chosen by Eywa herself would be expected to walk beside her, match her stride, share her burdens. She doubted any stranger could do this with strength or dignity. She doubted you most of all.

You had arrived with gentle steps, unfamiliar rhythms, and eyes too full of wonder for her comfort. She mistook that wonder for weakness. She saw the softness in you and deemed it unworthy of the life she lived.

You didn’t let her disdain stop you though. Even if she had not been your soulmate, your heart would have found her anyway, drawn to the steel in her voice and the reverence of her movements the way a tide seeks moonlight.

During your first days in the village, you rose before dawn with the warriors, following their routines with determination. You studied every motion, every technique, even when your lungs burned or your muscles trembled. The warriors respected effort, and you offered it without hesitation. You earned small nods from them, murmured approval from the older hunters, and a growing sense of belonging that settled into your bones.

Curiosity tugged at you after each session. Whenever you paused to drink or catch your breath, you slipped inconspicuous questions into conversation. Ronal, you learned, was basically the Metkayina’s spiritual spine. She spoke with the precision of someone carved for leadership. A healer’s hands, a warrior’s mind. Fierce in all things. The villagers respected her deeply, but beneath that respect lived a thread of fear—an awareness that she demanded excellence from herself and from everyone around her.

Every answer sharpened the shape of your longing. Every rumor, every praise, every caution only deepened your resolve. You wanted to know her beyond the mask she wore for her people. You wanted to hear her speak without ceremony, without restraint. You wanted to be someone she did not dismiss.

Yet the stories told you very little about who she was when she set down her tools, when she stepped away from her duties. You learned nothing of her joys. Nothing of her private comforts. Nothing of what might make her laugh, or what might soften the guarded slope of her shoulders.

So you turned toward the only thing you could control. 

Your first offering.

You sat on a smooth outcrop of reefstone near the shallows, knees pulled in close, the late-afternoon light falling warm across your hands. Beside you lay a small pile of shells the color of storm-lit waves, each one polished until they reflected the sky. You had traded for them with a fisherman that morning, choosing the ones that reminded you of Ronal’s eyes.

Your fingers moved with careful intent as you shaped a length of woven cord. Every strand carried meaning. You braided strength into one twist, patience into another, devotion into the next. The rhythm soothed you. The braid grew warm from your touch. You imagined Ronal’s hands accepting it, even if her face remained stoic, even if she tried to hide any spark of surprise. The thought lifted your chest with a simple, earnest joy.

The shells waited. You took your time selecting the first one, turning it in your palm until it caught the light with the soft glow of bioluminescent surf. This one would rest at the center of the piece. You threaded it through the braid. The sound of its gentle clack against the others echoed faintly, like a quiet breath.

Warmth curled through you. A gift meant more when shaped with intention. You remembered the way Ronal held herself, stern and commanding, yet with an undercurrent of quiet care—care she offered her people but refused to extend to you. Atleast not yet. The offering had to reflect both her strength and the tenderness she hid from the world.

A second shell followed. This one carried a faint swirl of silver across its surface, soft as the connection of tsaheylu (bond). You added it beside the first. Then a third, smooth as polished bone. The pattern began to form—a rhythm of contrasting textures, each one placed with a silent prayer to Eywa.

The last shell rested apart from the others. A small, deep-blue spiral the fisherman had nearly kept for himself. He had described it as tìkxetsew, “the ocean’s whisper,” rare and found only where currents collided. 

You held it to your chest for a moment, letting your breath steady. The connection between soulmates may have been destined, but courting was earned. Offered with open hands, not demanded by fate, and both must reciprocate. 

You threaded the spiral into place.

The finished piece rested across your palms, graceful and strong, much like the woman it belonged to. The shells gleamed softly, each one catching the last slant of sunlight as dusk settled over the water. You imagined her expression. Perhaps a raised brow. Perhaps a clipped nod. Perhaps a subtle shift in her stance that meant she had felt your intention, even if she refused to speak of it.

Your heart tightened with anticipation. Hope glowed in your chest like warm embers, steady and unashamed.

You rose from the reefstone, holding the gift with both hands. The sky deepened into shades of violet. Distant waves curled over one another, carrying the scent of brine and possibility.

Ronal was somewhere within that village, preparing for evening rites or finishing her duties as tsakarem. She would not welcome your interruption. Yet she had to see what you had created. She had to know that your devotion was not born of the tattoo on your ribs—it was born of the way she moved, the way she commanded a room, the way her presence filled Pandora around her.

Your footsteps pressed lightly into the damp sand as you began toward the heart of the village, the offering held close, the tide at your heels whispering encouragement. The evening breeze wrapped around you, cool and salted, steadying your pulse just enough to keep the trembling in your fingers manageable. Nerves skittered through your chest in quick, uneven bursts, but they buckled beneath the weight of everything warmer; your affection for her, your stubborn devotion, that fierce tenderness she drew from you without ever meaning to. You called it love because nothing else fit. Nothing else could explain the way your heart lifted whenever you thought of her, or the way your breath tightened when you imagined her accepting even a fraction of what you felt.

The village’s central clearing glowed with soft firelight. Clusters of woven lanterns hung between the marui (pods), swaying with the wind, casting gold over the sand. Ronal knelt near a low ceremonial platform, laying out carved totems and polished stones in a precise pattern. Her back was straight, her movements fluid, controlled. The last streaks of sunset painted a faint shimmer along the crest of her braid.

You hesitated at the edge of the clearing. She did not notice you at first, too focused on aligning a long piece of driftbone etched with spiraling motifs. You swallowed hard, forcing your feet to move even though every instinct urged you to retreat, to wait for a moment when her gaze might soften—if such a moment ever existed.

You stepped closer.

Ronal’s head lifted sharply. Her eyebrow arched, unimpressed, and her mouth flattened into a line that portrayed annoyance edged with disbelief. You knew the expression well; she had worn it the day she learned Eywa had tethered her soul to yours.

Still, you couldn’t help it—your face warmed, a smile blooming wide and helpless, and you lifted your free hand in a shy wave. You felt ridiculous before the gesture even completed itself. Ronal did not wave back. Her stare held the force of a spear meeting water, slicing through your hopeful greeting without hesitation.

“Good evening, ma Ronal,” you offered, voice soft but steady.

A curt nod. Nothing more. She returned her attention to the totems, adjusting one by mere fractions, her focus returning to the ritual with the same intensity she used during combat training.

You lingered, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. The sand felt suddenly too warm beneath your toes. You cleared your throat.

Her head snapped up again. “Srake (yes/no?)… what do you want?” The question cut sharp, brisk, free of ornament.

Heat spread across your cheeks. The woven cord in your hands suddenly felt too heavy. Your tongue stumbled as you tried to gather your composure.

“I… ah—Ronal, I wished to…” Your words tangled. You inhaled quickly. “You are… you are an incredible woman, truly. Strong, devoted, graceful, feared, respected—respected by all of your people.” Another breath, shaky but sincere. “I admire you. Deeply. I… I have admired you since the first moment I saw you.”

Ronal blinked once., surprised that you continued speaking after her clipped demand. Her ears angled subtly forward, attentive yet guarded.

You pressed on, heart racing. “I know I have little right to your attention. I know fate alone does not earn affection. I know I must be worthy, and I want to be. I want to learn, I want to grow, I want…” Your throat tightened with emotion you tried to swallow. “I want to court you.”

Her inhale was quiet but noticeable. Her jaw tensed.

Before she could dismiss you, you lifted your hands and offered the woven cord.

The shells glimmered in the firelight; storm-colored arcs, gentle silver swirls, the rare deep-blue spiral nestled at the center. The braid lay warm across your palms, still holding traces of the hope you had poured into each twist.

“I made this for you,” you breathed. 

Ronal did not reach for it.

Her eyes traveled over the piece slowly, taking in the careful weaving, the precise placement of each shell. She studied it with the same evaluative seriousness she gave to ritual objects, yet beneath that rigid composure flickered something quieter, maybe curiosity or hesitation. 

Your chest lifted with a trembling inhale. “If you do not wish to accept it, I will understand. But I wanted you to have a choice. Not fate’s choice.” Your voice dropped. “Yours.”

Firelight danced across her face. Her expression remained hard, but not as untouched as before. Her gaze lingered on the deep-blue spiral, and for a heartbeat her lips parted ever so slightly, as though recognition stirred in her.

You held your breath.

Her eyes lifted at last.

“Foolish,” she said, the word delivered with clipped, as if she hoped the single syllable would be enough to deter whatever devotion she saw in your face. “You give too freely. You feel too quickly. You do not understand what you claim to desire.”

Your cheeks heated, though you weren’t sure whether it was embarrassment or the rush of affection that swelled at the sound of her voice. She had not accepted you, but she had not turned away either.

Ronal exhaled a tight breath, the kind she used when a student tested her patience. “You make offerings without knowing the burden of what you ask. Do you think courting me is simple? Do you think you are ready for the life I walk?” Her hand lifted with a decisive motion, fingers stretching toward the woven cord as if she meant to remove the temptation entirely.

You did not move.

Her palm hovered above the braid for a heartbeat. Another. A third.

Finally, with a quiet noise that sounded more like resignation than approval, Ronal closed her fingers around the offering and lifted it from your palms.

The shells chimed softly against one another, a sound bright and gentle and utterly out of place in her stern grip.

Your entire body lit with warmth.

Her eyes narrowed, annoyed, not by the gift, but by the way your joy radiated so plainly, unfiltered and unashamed. “Do not look at me like that,” she warned, voice sharp, though a faint flush crept along the edges of her cheeks. “This means nothing. I take it only because it would be disrespectful to discard the work you clearly put into it.”

A breathless laugh escaped you before you could stop it, full of a happiness so pure it slipped out easily, like water spilling over smooth stone. Your smile widened, your face warm with delight.

Her ears angled back. “Ma Eywa, why do you look like a child shown a new toy?” She rolled her eyes, the gesture dramatic and practiced, as if she hoped it would disguise the subtle shift in her posture—the way she held the cord with a touch more care than she wanted you to see.

You hummed, unable to stop yourself. “Because you accepted it,” you said softly. “You actually took it.”

Ronal’s tail flicked once, irritated. “I told you it does not mean anything.”

“I know,” you replied, grin still stretching across your face. “But you still took it.”

Her jaw tightened. She looked down at the offering again, as though it had grown complicated in her hands. Her thumb brushed the polished spiral shell—barely a touch, a fleeting brush of skin against texture, but you caught it.

“You are foolish,” she reiterated, returning her attention to the ceremonial platform as though reordering stones could drown out the affection rising unbidden in her chest. “You stand here smiling as if Eywa herself has descended to bless you.”

You glanced at her, bright and earnest. “Feels a little like that.”

Her breath caught. Only for a moment. 

She did not scold you again.

Instead, she set the totem in her hand onto the platform with precision, but her movements lacked the crisp detachment they held before. She kept the woven cord close, fingers curling around it protectively whenever the breeze threatened to brush it from her grasp.

You watched her with reverence so soft and open it could have been its own kind of prayer.

Ronal noticed that too.

The roll of her eyes this time was slower, heavier with reluctant acknowledgment rather than irritation. “Stop looking at me,” she said, though her voice had lost its bite.

“But you look beautiful like this,” you answered without hesitation, your heart too full to be cautious.

Her breath faltered.

You felt it. An almost invisible shift in the atmosphere between you, the way tension softened, the way her defenses thinned even as she tried to hold them in place. For the first time, her gaze dipped, uncertain.

Uncertain and not annoyed.

Over the next weeks, your devotion unfolded across the village like a slow-growing tide; steady, impossible to ignore, warm in a way Ronal refused to acknowledge yet could no longer avoid.

Each morning, without fail, you appeared beside her path. Your hair still damp from the ocean. Your smile unguarded. Your wave embarrassingly enthusiastic. Villagers laughed behind their hands. Warriors shook their heads. Children whispered that you were cursed by Eywa with too much heart.

Ronal pretended all of this did not affect her.

You greeted her anyway. Every sunrise. Every eclipse. Every time the light caught the curve of her cheekbone and your chest ached with the thought of her.

“Ma Ronal,” you would say, barely containing the brightness in your voice, “how was your rest?” A curt nod. A clipped response. A warning glance meant to cool you.

It never worked.

You brought her gifts; pieces of reef glass polished until they gleamed like stars beneath water, small bone carvings of sea creatures she favored in stories you coaxed from the villagers, woven bands dyed in the deep greens of the ocean floor. You placed each offering with admiration, bowing your head slightly, never demanding anything in return.

Ronal accepted nothing.

Or so she pretended.

But you saw the way items vanished from where you left them. You saw the slight disruption in her storage baskets. You saw the glimmer of your dyed cord tied quietly around the handle of her medicinal satchel.

She never spoke of it. You never asked. Your heart only beat harder for her.

Still, gifts alone were not enough. You knew this. You had watched her train. You had watched her command. You had watched her lead with a level of strength matched only by the reef’s own resilience.

If she were to consider you a worthy mate—truly worthy—you needed to prove that you could stand beside someone carved from sea and storm.

So you sought the test all skilled Metkayina warriors must face.

A skimwing, large enough to challenge even seasoned riders.

You found one.

It nearly killed you.

Now you lay stretched across a woven mat inside the healing hut, your torso bandaged, your arm in a sling, your thigh marked with long, vicious bruises that bloomed in deep shades of violet. Every breath stung. Every shift of your ribs throbbed. And yet, for all the pain radiating through you, your grin was dizzyingly bright.

Because Ronal was here.

“You are reckless,” she snapped, pacing around the mat with the force of a storm tide. “Utterly reckless. Have you no sense? No training? No understanding of the danger you placed yourself in?”

You nodded eagerly, as if she had complimented you.

Her glare sharpened. “Do not smile at me.”

You smiled wider. The movement tugged at the bruises on your cheek, but the ache felt insignificant compared to the warmth in your chest.

She stepped closer, hands planted firmly on her hips. “You could have died. You nearly did. Bringing down a tsurak (skimwing) of that size alone? Stupid. Stupid beyond measure.” Her voice rose, full of clipped fury, full of worry trembling underneath the anger, worry she did not want you to see.

You saw it anyway.

“I tamed it,” you wheezed happily.

“Barely!” she hissed.

You lifted your uninjured hand, offering her a weak thumbs-up. “Still counts.”

Ronal inhaled sharply through her nose, the tendons in her jaw flexing as she restrained the urge to throw a basket at your head. She moved to your side with swift, practiced motions, checking your bandages with far more pressure than necessary. You winced, though your grin didn’t fade.

“You do not listen,” she muttered. “You hear nothing. You act on impulse. You—stop smiling.”

You tried. You really did. But the moment her fingers brushed your ribs, her touch warm and strong and undeniably gentle beneath the scolding, joy surged so hard you nearly laughed aloud.

“It seems you care,” you said quietly.

Her hands froze.

The hut filled with the soft, rhythmic clatter of carefully hung shells brushing in the breeze. A pot of heated herbs simmered in the corner, releasing a scent meant to soothe pain. Your chest rose and fell slowly as you waited for her reaction.

Ronal’s eyes lifted to yours, burning with a heat sharper than anger.

“I care,” she said slowly, “because if you continue to behave like this, Eywa will reclaim you before I decide what place—if any—you have beside me.”

Your heart leapt.

Ronal was admitting—weakly, reluctantly—that she had considered the possibility of you having a place at all.

You laughed softly, the sound breathless and full of affection. “So there is a place.”

Her ears tilted back, betraying the slightest hint of fluster. She jabbed a finger at your sternum, careful not to press hard. “Do not twist my words.”

“You said it,” you whispered.

She exhaled sharply, stepping back as though the nearness of your smile burned.

The woven cord you had given her trembled faintly against her hip. She wore it today, tucked partially beneath her belt as if she hadn’t meant to reveal it.

Your gaze softened. “Ma Ronal… I would tame a hundred skimwings for you.”

Her eyes widened with horror. “You will tame nothing for at least a moon. If you attempt it, I will personally tie you to this mat.”

The image nearly made you laugh again.

She shook her head, muttering something under her breath that you only half-understood, a phrase that sounded like a plea sent up toward Eywa for patience.

When she sat beside you to rewrap your waist, her movements, though brisk, were gentle. Her thumbs traced the edges of the bandage with a delicacy she would never admit to possessing. The anger remained, but beneath it pulsed a deeper, truer emotion—care, unmistakable and fierce.

You let your eyes drift over her face with open adoration.

She noticed. She always noticed.

Another eye roll, softer this time. “You are hopeless,” she said.

You hummed happily. “For you? Always.”

Ronal paused midway through tying the bandage.

“Skxawng (idiot),” she murmured.

But her hands lingered on your skin.

A few weeks passed, carrying you steadily away from the worst of your injuries. The bruises had faded to soft blue shadows, the deeper cuts had sealed beneath Ronal’s attentive hands, and your ribs no longer protested each breath. Healing became the perfect excuse to visit her, though you doubted you needed one anymore. 

She no longer met you with the rigid disapproval of that first moon. Her posture eased sooner. Her voice sharpened less often. You could tell when she relaxed, because her ears shifted into a looser tilt and her breathing quieted in a way she didn’t seem to notice. Each moment in her presence revealed another layer—her dry wit when a young warrior exaggerated a wound, the way she hummed under her breath while grinding herbs, the rare glimmer of warmth she let slip when she believed you weren't watching. Your affection only rooted deeper.

An important festival approached, everyone talked about with excitement in the days leading up to it—Txon kllkurwa kireat, the Night of Echoing Waters. The celebration honored lineage, ocean guardianship, and the returning cycle of strength within the clan. Families spent the day carving patterns into smooth driftwood boards that would later be set afloat, each design representing ancestral currents: spirals for growth, broad lines for endurance, cross-hatchings for unity. Songs carried through the air all afternoon, rhythmic and powerful, echoing off the spade wing arches like heartbeats shared by an entire people.

The festival attire reflected the theme of returning strength. Warriors painted swirling teal patterns across their arms and ribs, following the shapes of the sea’s currents. You had spent the afternoon carefully painting your own skin with dyes made from crushed reef pigments, tracing the spirals the way a Metkayina friend had taught you. The cool glide of color across your skin felt grounding, as if you were stitching yourself into their heritage with every stroke. Your ceremonial loincloth was adorned with thin strands of woven fiber that danced with your steps, brushing against your legs with each breath of wind.

As twilight descended, the community gathered near the shoreline. Lamps hung along the wave breakers cast deep gold light across the water, and the surface reflected the glow like a stretch of molten sky. The Tsahìk stepped forward, raising her hands as the crowd quieted. Ronal stood beside her; stoic, still, breathtaking. Her face bore ritual markings in patterns that seemed carved from moonlight itself, curving along the edges of her tolu (tattoos) and accentuating the power in her gaze.

The Tsahìk began to chant, her voice deep and resonant. “Eywa ngahu, Eywa ayngaru mì fahew, mì paywll, mì yawne tìrey (May Eywa be with you, may Eywa be with you in the air, in the water, and in beloved spirits).” The people echoed her words, their voices weaving into a single vast harmony that rolled across the reef. 

You felt the sound ripple through your chest, through your bones, through the water’s surface. Prayer carried the hope of a community ready to renew its bond with the sea that sustained it. Offerings of carved driftwood and braided kelp were lifted skyward before being set gently upon the water, where the tide claimed them with a soft hiss.

When the prayer ended, conversation and laughter slowly returned. Drums began to pulse, low and steady. Children darted between the seated adults, their faces glowing with excitement. Many villagers broke into dances that mimicked the movements of the currents, their feet stamping the sand in sweeping arcs.

Your attention, however, drifted only toward Ronal.

She moved through the gathering with the composed grace of someone who had already accepted that the evening would be filled with responsibilities. Her eyes scanned the space, seeking any breach of ritual order, any preparations that required correction. You admired her devotion, yet you could already tell that she had no intent of enjoying the festival. Her shoulders remained tense, her jaw set. She carried the air of a leader enduring the night, not savoring it.

Your determination flared brighter.

You weaved your way through the crowd, catching glimpses of her profile as she adjusted the placement of ceremonial bowls, offered formal blessings, and directed younger apprentices. Your heart lifted at every sight of her, even when she scowled at a misplaced lantern. Especially when she scowled.

“Ma Ronal,” you called softly once you reached her.

She turned, one eyebrow lifting, the edge of her expression caught between scrutiny and resignation. “Srane (yes). What do you need?” Her tone was composed, but her ears flicked in a way that betrayed recognition…and a small, reluctant welcome.

“I wished to walk with you,” you said, offering a warm smile that threatened to split your face. “The festival is beginning. I hoped you would enjoy it.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Enjoyment is not my purpose tonight. I must watch over the rites. I must ensure the offerings are respected.” She lifted her chin with the certainty of lineage behind her.

Your grin softened but refused to fade. “You have served all day. Even Eywa rests when the moon rises.”

Ronal exhaled through her nose, a quiet huff of disapproval. “You speak like a child who knows little of responsibility.”

“Maybe,” you replied, “but I know you deserve peace tonight. Even if only a little.”

Her eyes flicked across your painted arms, taking in the spirals you had meticulously applied. A hint of recognition flashed there—the acknowledgement that you had honored her people’s traditions with care. Her gaze softened at the edges, though she quickly hid it behind a dismissive tilt of her head.

“You look…different,” she said, her voice quieter. “Better.”

Warmth surged through you. “I wished to look strong beside you.”

You stepped closer, lowering your voice. “Let me share the festival with you. Walk with me. Only for a short moment.”

Ronal remained perfectly still. Her fingers tapped once against the ceremonial dish she held. Her lips parted as though to scold you again, yet instead she released a slow sigh, the kind she used when admitting defeat in the smallest, softest ways.

“One moment,” she said. “Do not expect more.”

Joy rushed through you so vividly you nearly felt weightless. You bowed your head with a grin you couldn’t contain. “One moment is all I ask, ma yawntu (my beloved).”

Her ears twitched sharply at your boldness, but she didn’t correct you. Her gaze flicked to your hand, waiting for the invitation she claimed she didn’t need. You offered your arm, your posture earnest and unpushy.

Ronal hesitated, just long enough to reveal the faint tremor of vulnerability behind her stillness.

She placed her hand against your forearm.

The contact was light, almost ceremonial, yet your chest tightened with so much affection you feared it might burst from your ribs.

You began rambling immediately, a habit you couldn’t seem to break around her. “The colors tonight are perfect for you, ma Ronal. Look—your markings glow exactly like the currents,” you said, gesturing broadly toward the dancers swirling near the shoreline. “I asked Tsintay to explain the carving patterns earlier—he said the spirals represent returning strength, so I painted them here.” You tapped your ribs, shoulders lifting with eager pride. “Do they look right? I practiced. A lot. Too much maybe. But you look—"

“Tsk,” she cut in sharply, though her voice lacked true irritation. Her lips twitched in the ghost of a smile she tried to hide. “You speak like the tide at high moon—too fast and relentless. Breathe.”

Your grin only widened. “Hard to breathe when you look like that.”

Her ears flicked back, a subtle sign of fluster she tried to conceal by straightening her posture. “Control yourself,” she murmured, but she didn’t pull her hand away.

The festival had barely begun, yet joy already rolled across the village like a rising tide. Children shrieked with laughter as they chased glowing dartfish near the water. Elders clapped to the rhythm of the drums, humming melodies passed down through countless generations. Couples painted in white spirals danced in looping patterns that mimicked the ocean’s currents. The air tasted of smoked sea fruit and sweet kelp wine.

Ronal watched all of it with that disciplined focus of hers—the gaze of a leader cataloging every detail. You recognized that look. She wasn’t here to enjoy herself. 

Your chest swelled with tenderness, and you made a choice.

Gently, you lifted her hand from your forearm and slipped your fingers through hers. Her eyes widened, a spark of disbelief flaring in their depths. You didn’t give her time to protest. With a breath full of courage and love, you tugged lightly, guiding her into the dance circle.

Her feet stumbled once before she steadied herself, cheeks flushing a deep, vivid aquamarine. “Kehe (No)! I am Tsakarem—this is not—” She sputtered, voice tight with restrained panic. “The clan watches. I will look like a skxawng.”

You leaned your forehead close enough for her to hear you through the drums. “You could never look like a skxawng. You are the sea’s strength.”

She swallowed, her glare attempting to melt you where you stood. It only made you smile harder.

She was cornered, not by you, but by pride. A Tsakarem could not lose face before her people, so her protests faded into a sharp exhale as she straightened her spine. “Frawzo (Fine). One dance.”

That was all you needed.

Music surged around you both. You stepped into the rhythm easily, letting the drums guide the movement. Ronal followed stiffly at first, her body rigid, but the crowd noticed her immediately. Eyes widened. A few jaws even dropped. Whispered excitement rippled outward.

Ronal—dancing?

A cheer rose from the group, joyous and loud. “Ronal! Nang!” someone shouted. Others joined in, waving their arms, delighted beyond measure to see the deeply respected, famously stern Tsakarem in the center of the festival’s dance.

Ronal’s blush darkened until it nearly matched the crimson strokes on her tattooed cheeks. “Kefe (not now)… why must they stare?” she muttered, voice frayed with embarrassment.

You laughed, bright and warm, pulling her closer as the dance required. “Because you are beautiful, ma Ronal.”

She hissed through her teeth and stepped deliberately on your foot. Lightly. You felt the restraint in it.

You spun her before she could argue again. Her braid whipped behind her in an arc of shimmering beads. Gasps rose around the circle as you lifted her hand and guided her into another turn, then another, letting the momentum carry you both into the heart of the music. Despite her glare, her feet followed yours.

Joy flickered in her eyes.

Real joy.

Something unfurled within your chest like a sail catching wind. You dipped your head and whispered, “You are having fun.”

“Ngaytxoa (sorry), but I am absolutely not,” she snapped, though her breathless half-smile betrayed her. “This is undignified.”

“Undignified can be good,” you murmured, leaning close.

A low sound escaped her, half a hiss, half a laugh she refused to release.

The dance shifted to a faster rhythm, and you caught her waist, spinning her beneath your arm with a flourish that drew delighted whoops from the spectators. Ronal’s eyes widened, and her blush climbed to the tips of her ears. Her tail whipped the air in an unmistakable flare of flustered instinct.

You dipped her.

For a heartbeat, she froze—arms tense, breath caught, eyes blown wide. The lantern light glowed against her features, softening them in a way that stole the air from your lungs.

A tiny smile lifted the corner of her mouth.

Your heart nearly burst.

When you lifted her upright again, she let out a sound you had never heard from her—an honest, unguarded laugh. It rang out clear and bright, cutting through the music as if Eywa paused to listen.

You stared, stunned, breathless, overwhelmed. Ronal’s laughter… it was otherwordly. It held strength, warmth, and an unexpected softness, as though she had opened a door inside herself that she had kept locked since childhood.

Her hand lifted hesitantly, trembling in the smallest way. Before you could speak, she leaned forward and pressed a quick, gentle kiss to your cheek. Her lips were warm, light as a whisper yet powerful enough to shake every bone in your body.

She stepped back, still blushing fiercely, her gaze lowered for once instead of unwavering. “Oel ngati kameie (I see you),” she murmured, voice low and sincere. “Irayo (thank you), ma yawntu. You gave me joy tonight.”

Your breath trembled as you lifted both hands, cupping her face with a tenderness that made your fingers shake. Her skin felt warm beneath your palms, warmer still where the faint glow of your soulmate tattoo flared to life. The burn wasn’t painful, it was more like a pull, a recognition, a quiet song rising from the deepest part of your spirit. Ronal inhaled softly at the glow, her eyes lifting, wide and bright with emotion.

Moonlight brushed her ribs as she shifted closer. Her tattoo—the words she had once spoken with such reluctance—shimmered like a squid lantern. “It is them?” glowed with renewed life, no longer a mark of irritation but of acceptance, of connection claimed rather than endured.

Tears gathered hot at the corners of your eyes. You let them fall.

Ronal’s hand rose, hesitating only a breath before settling gently over your own. Her thumb brushed your cheek, and her expression softened into something fragile and fierce all at once. “Ke tsun oe fìtsahaylut sluha (I cannot stop this bond),” she whispered, voice unsteady.

A small, shy smile tugged at her lips.

Your own smile broke open, wet and bright, guided by a joy so full it overflowed. You leaned your forehead against hers, breathing her in, feeling the warmth of her acceptance settle like sunlight into your bones.

Tonight, beneath the glow of lanterns and the hum of celebrating hearts, your souls met fully for the first time.

Eywa had woven your paths long before you were born.

Tonight, Ronal chose to walk that path with you.

i could spend the rest of my days writing ronal fanfics and i'd die a happy woman.

[theblushingilu]

𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕆𝕟𝕝𝕪 𝕎𝕒𝕪 𝕆𝕗 𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕎𝕒𝕥𝕖𝕣

Ronal X Reader! short! thicc!POC X Tonowari

Chapter 2

[No edit]

" You are beautiful inside and out, you just dont see it yet. We will help you remind you how beautiful and important you are to us. We will always love you and cherish you no matter how you look. "

We See You.

"We want to spend out entiee life with you and only you_____"

The image was blurry, almost like a blob, a very tall blob. Two of them were aqu,a like blu,e very light blue diffrent heavy on the build.

"___ WAKE UP! come on girl we need to go if not we will be the last onein the bus." Rowna shook her with as much force she could___ was deep sleeper. One time when the lab was on fire she slept throught the whole commotion to witch the firefighter had to wrap her in blanket and drag her out like a breathing burrito.

"mhm?" a sleep ____ let out.

" ______ come on!" Mei Lou yelled. Mei Mei always had this mother like voice that scared ___ she stood up and rushed to the bathroom and showered making sure she had everything she needed. ___ showered making sure she did a quick assement on everything on her body heavy on the oil clensing, scrub and shaving, she made sure that every part of her body would be clean because.... 5 years in space is bound to make you stinky or something like come on. one day without a shower and it smell like zoo monkey. After the deep, quick shower, she made sture to moitiourize everything and pat dry everything she had.

____ was a very clean person she hated that anybody would tell her she smelt otherwise it would trigger a breakdown. As a kid she always had issue with being more on the chub side that the girl in her class, lucky her parent made sure to keep her active so while she was on the more chub side she was pretty fit and toned in a way.

" Should we tell her that she can slow down i mean the bus does not get here till like the next hour." Rowna asked Mei Lou who just shrugged. " The faster she get ready the faster we can get the 5 hour trip to the space hub. We can tell her once she steps outside the room." Mei Lou said as she finished packing the essentials.

_____ Was alway the last one of things again who can fault her when she is alway have other things to worry about. she made sure to wear something comfortable for the bus ride and of course the spcae flight. (personally, irl this is my style, but you can have whatever you want )

Rushing out of the bathroom, hair already in fluffy curls/waves, it's really a mix of curls and wave genetics that is wild sometimes. ______ Made sure to take out her duffule bag put in essental thing she will most def need shampoo conditioner brush underwear tops pants jammies toothbrush snack and other important very improtant things like paints sketch book canvas paper her camera her camcorder and other things for her to do her job.

" _____ Clam down we have some time before the bus pick us up," Eric said while standing at the frame of the door with his crooked smile. Of course, he would come and ruin the perfect plan they had at hand. " huh... so you two decided to wake me up before time?" ____ one thing for sure it that ____ loves to sleep.

In _____ mind sleep solves almost anything and everything like: Are you sad? Sleep. Hungry? Sleep. Your mother just yelled at you and you know that is you yell back that is the end of your bloodline so you go into your room and pretend to slam the door and scream into you pillow and cry yourself to sleep. Yeah... In other words Sleep is good.

" Honey, if we did,d we would be running around, and you wouldn't be able to look as pretty as you always do. Do you want those muscle military men or women to see you in your little PJs? No. So we need you up. Plus, you also take a long time to get ready and pack. See what you did in two hours, you did it in 45 min! We are so proud of you." Rowna said with the most entuthiastic smile and tone she could put mean while ____ sat on her bed putting on her socks with an annyoed look before taking a deep breath closing her eyes and relaxing. " Well, no harm i guess. We will be deep asleep for 5 years,s so make the most of it while we are up roaming and not asleep?" ___ Stated with a small smile.

She wouldnt lie, but she was nervous. She had this weird gut feeling.