#Machine Samson

[canontypicalgoblins]

lotta rex in this one. what can i say. the man’s funny.

post 1

[goblinsatchel]

[slashdementia7734]

[heckcareoxytwit]

Rick Jones and Marlo Chandler prepare for their wedding by going on their night outs on separate parties. Marlo Chandler, along with her mother and Betty Ross, go for a girls night out on a Bachelorette Party with She-Hulk, Invisible Woman, Lyja the Skrull, Scarlet Witch and Crystal. Whereas Rick Jones has a bachelor night with Hulk, Captain America, Vision, Quicksilver, Doc Samson, Silver Surfer, Ben Grimm, Iron Man, War Machine, Namor and his old friends from the Teen Brigade.

In the veterans hall, Rick's bachelor party is in full swing. As the Hulk's allies and superheroes converse with each other, members of the Teen Brigade spike the punch. Suddenly, the party is crashed by a costumed woman calling herself the Ecdysiast, hired for the party. Captain America thinks he hired a magician, but is quickly horrified to discover that she is actually a stripper when she shows herself off to Rick. Hulk tells Captain America not to tell Betty about this, wondering what she would think about such objectification of the human body. However, the ladies have all gone to a male strip club where they are having a wild time. Suddenly, the party is crashed by some armed gunmen who have come to rob the patrons. Their mistake, however, is in choosing the night the club is full of female superheroes. Later that night, Rick's party quiets down for the screening of an adult film. After the Vision uses his powers to fix the projector, they are all in for a surprise when the woman in the film turns out to be Rick's bride-to-be.

Incredible Hulk v1 #417, 1994

Click on Keep Reading for the bonus picture which is the cover of this comic...

[spicyincinship]

Oh hey another sideblog since i deleted my last one which was STUPID.

Hi, I'm Incineroar and this is my sideblog dedicated to all my ships. Selfships.

Use any pronouns but prefer she/her. As you will see I really like bruce campbell. I won't have all my selfships here yet but. Ya know.

Some of my selfship tags are here just to marinate them b4 i start posting.

[funtasticworld]

HAPPY 66TH ANNIVERSARY TO HANNA-BARBERA

Shows 1967 to 1969

Fantastic Four // Mighty Mightor // Moby-Dick // Young Samson and Goliath // The Banana Splits // The Adventures of Gulliver // The New Adventures of Huckleberry Finn // Wacky Races // Dastardly and Muttley In Their Flying Machines // The Perils of Penelope Pitstop

[james-fun-in-the-sunderland]

yo whos samson. Im curious

this guy 👇 my motw ttrpg oc

used to be a software developer and a normal guy with a wife and kid but then they got possessed/replaced with a monster so he killed them and ran off. Now he tries to avoid any mention or memory of the event of killing them and instead spends his time on reddit, 4chan, mmos, fixing up his computers, adding to his battlestation, sitting out in the louisiana sun, wishing he had a dog, working at a nearby gas station, having gay thoughts, etc etc.

more detailed info will eventually b on my toyhouse, but his artfight page is probably the most in depth rn

[sporadiccalzonepeachgarden]

I wish you well but in a taking a fish out of water to save it from drowning kinda way :)

[daydreamerdrew]

It’s crazy to me that these bits from Captain America and Bucky (2011) #620 were from a story Bucky was telling to Natasha and his sister, Rebecca:

“A brave face… that was my first mask. Dad and I both tried to make family life as normal as it was before Mom died… And we had some fun years… Some good memories. Things I still hold on to. But that burden wasn’t easy for a little kid to carry. I may have pretended to be strong and happy… But I was angry underneath it all. Angry at the whole damn world. I knew I was letting Dad down every time I got in trouble.”

“Days moved fast after that… almost a blur. As they put Dad in the ground… and then explained some deal where my kid sister would get sent off to boarding school… but I would stay on the base with Dad’s old pals looking out for me. I used the mask Dad taught me to wear even more, then… to hide how scared and alone I really felt… I wore it for a long time after that.”

Because you know that he’s never been that emotionally vulnerable with Steve or Sam. They discussed the difficulty of holding an intervention for him in Captain America (1968) #606:

From Sam:

“Look, I know what it feels like to think you don’t deserve to be here… that you don’t deserve to wear the mask or fight the fight… But I don’t know how to talk to him about this stuff… Kid was raised in the military. He’s not big on talkin’ about feelings.”

And from Steve:

“Never could admit any weakness, could you, Bucky? Must be something you learned, growing up in the military. Deny pain. Deny fear… Deny it all. Even when your brothers in arms all know you’re lying.”

[asoftepiloguemylove]

"IF ONLY SOME PEOPLE CAN HAVE IT, THAT'S NOT HAPPINESS. THAT'S JUST NONSENSE. HAPPINESS IS SOMETHING ANYONE CAN HAVE."

pinterest // 怪物 Monster (2023) dir. Hirokazu Kore-eda // Hozier Shrike // Samson Regina Spektor // 怪物 Monster (2023) dir. Hirokazu Kore-eda // @tordenvejr // pinterst // 怪物 Monster (2023) dir. Hirokazu Kore-eda // Louise Glück The Triumph of Achilles // Natalie Wee Our Bodies & Other Fine Machines // pinterest // 怪物 Monster (2023) dir. Hirokazu Kore-eda // Phoebe Bridgers Punisher // pinterest // Sarah Ruhl Eurydice // 怪物 Monster (2023) dir. Hirokazu Kore-eda // pinterest

[trans-yllz]

a single log bridge til its dark is indeed not bad

stray italian greyhound, vienna teng / I hear a symphony, cody fry / agua viva, clarice lispector / handle with care, jodi picoult / summer, safia elhillo / pride and prejudice, jane austin / always, spellling / love like ghosts, lord huron / @/filmnoirsbian / the carnivorous lamb, agustín gomez-arcos / I'm not calling you a liar, florence and the machine / samson, regina spektor / jamie anderson / angnes, glass animals / the color of pomegranates, dir. sergei parajanov / turtles all the way down, sammy copley / the night we met, lord huron / mouth full of forevers, clementine von radics / the epic of gilgamesh, trans. herbert mason / caitlyn siehl / questions for ada, ijeoma umebinyuo / grief lessons: four plays by euripides, trans. anne carson / night lement in hergla, leila chatti / salma deera / love song, rainer maria rilke, trans. stephen mitchell / it's only time, the magnetic fields / your love finds its eay back, sierra demulder / art of style, jean cocteau / work song, hozier / the collected poetry 1968-1998, nikki giovanni / coffee and cigarettes, sade andria zabala / ticket taker, the low anthem / little dogs rhapsody in the night, mary oliver / giovanni's room, james baldwin / writing prompts for the broken hearted, eden robinson / essays in love, alain de botton / ono no komachi and izumi shikibu, translated by jane hirshfield and mariko aratani / my love love mine all mine, mitski / beast at every threshold, natalie wee / yves olade / @/ojibwa / last words from montmartre, qiu miaojin / I've been waiting for you, abba / the orange, wendy cope / george macdonald

[mllemaenad]

See – this is what I missed from Veilguard. Most of Dragon Age is in a constant conversation about power and leadership. If this is your first playthrough, you won't know any of this is important yet. But the main point of Ostagar, beyond setting up the tragedy, is to give you an opportunity to meet all the major players. Because eventually, you're going to have to solve Ferelden's political crisis.

You can see that Cailan's bonhomie is likely genuine – but it's also a political tactic. His father, Maric, also knew how to bond with his subjects. And a tendency to run back into danger to rescue imperilled footsoldiers, while not perhaps tactically sound, was a solid way to win the love of the people who supported him during the rebellion.

But Cailan is is clearly not taking the darkspawn threat seriously. It doesn't necessarily matter if it's a "true" Blight or not: evidence suggests quite a lot of darkspawn are coming their way, and they need to take steps to deal with that. He's not necessarily stupid, but he has no real head for these kinds of tactics.

Loghain is established as the tactician. Everyone knows he's the brains of this outfit. Thing is, he'll tell you himself he thinks this situation is already well and truly out of control: "Pray that our king proves amenable to wisdom, if you're the praying sort".

It's not even that Loghain is rude, or more remote than Cailan; honestly he's incredibly polite, given that Seanna just summoned him from his tent because she wanted to see what this guy looked like. But Loghain will do what he deems tactically sound. He'll do it even if it means getting people killed who do not deserve to die.

And Alistair, there – well, at least as far as this goes, he's an excellent mix of both. He's clearly got Cailan's good humour (and once you know they share a father, that tracks), but he's also very clearly a thinker. There's plenty he doesn't know about the Grey Wardens because he's new, but he has absolutely done the reading. And he's sceptical where something smells like bullshit, and well aware of the political machinations going on around him.

The problem of Alistair is that if you suggest that he use those talents in order to be in charge of something, he will stick his head in the sand and yell I CAN'T HEAR YOU until you give up and go away.

Anora, of course, needs to wait a bit to make her case ... but we'll get there.

You can absorb all the things these people say and do, so when the moment comes, you can make the choices you believe are right for Ferelden.

And look, yes, I'm still mad about this:

I'm partly mad because, while I recognise that I would have got to participate in this decision if we'd saved Minrathous, that makes no bloody sense.

While I'll be the first to admit I'm not Inquisition's biggest fan either, I will give them this: when they say you can only choose to go to the mages or the templars, it is because you are taking sides in a conflict between those two groups. You can't reasonably rock up to both and say "Hey, want to be allies?" Moreover, it's not simply a matter of losing content from the choice. You get different content as a result of that choice. Samson or Calpernia, depending on where you went.

Minrathous/Treviso is specifically not a choice. You send teams to both. Immediately. Both cities are under threat and you divide the team to deal with it. The game simply makes it so the team containing Rook is successful, and the other team isn't. Absolutely nothing of note happened there.

And, despite some initial griping, we are still definitely working with Ashur and his Shadow Dragons. That relationship still exists. There really isn't any good reason to not have a quest here, except to artificially force re-playability without producing new content.

But honestly ... it's not even that. I'd probably have picked Dorian anyway, so it's not like I'm sour at not getting what I want. It's that ... this is probably the most politically significant decision in the entire game, and that screenshot above is the first I heard of it.

There's a solid argument to be made that, if the south is as badly off as the Inquisitor says, Tevinter is once again the major world power. The capital took a bit of a beating in the endgame, sure, but that was brief and explicitly solved at the end. The rest of Tevinter seems ... pretty much fine? They're no longer at war with Par Vollen, because Par Vollen doesn't have an army anymore. Orlais seems to be down for the count.

Now, there are other potential contenders (Nevarra seems to have weathered the crisis pretty well, and some of the Free Marches still seem to be standing ...), but Veilguard won't talk about politics unless you put a gun to its head, so who knows.

Tevinter is the big political player up for grabs ... its leadership could mould the next age ... but it doesn't come up. Regardless of who makes the decision, it should matter!

If I've got to the end of a Dragon Age game, and I don't know who is running the country I'm currently standing in ... something has gone very wrong.

[cemeteryspider]

A Healing Touch~ Part 1

Rex-Splode! Rex Sloan x Superpowered! Reader

Summary: Working at the Superhero Hospital under Cecil was not something you looked forward to, until Rex Sloan comes in, close to death, and you have a chance to save him in more ways than you could imagine.

Trigger Warnings: Violence, Death, Injury, and Emotional Distress

Word Count: 1139

Every day you spent at your dads work the more you wished you had just stayed home. Every day you left and shadowed your dad at the hospital for superheroes he works at. You and your dad shared a power. You were able to direct the healing process in the bodies of others, allowing broken bones to heal in a fraction of the time, shrink tumors given enough time, and so much more that you were learning by shadowing your dad.

You watch him perform routine checkups on Black Samson, surgeries on Night Boy after his tussle with Invincible, and now the biggest attack on a superhero team since the original Guardians of the Globe were killed in the fight that also took your mother's life.

There was no time to think about that when you saw all the Dupli-Kates wheeled in on a stretcher, unmoving, and most certainly not breathing. Shrinking Ray, covered in goo and blood, again not moving but with a woman on her chest performing chest compressions. Lastly, a boy with a missing left hand and a hole in the front of his skull.

His head shifted as the gurney made its sharp turns into what you knew was trauma one, while Shrinking Ray went into trauma two, and Dupli-Kate into a different room which you knew people rarely came out of.

You made a move to follow but he just shook his head and closed the door. You spent the night at the hospital because your dad spent 19 hours working on the boy in trauma one.

When he walked out of the room he put his head in his hands and sat down next to you. Explained how the treatments and the surgeries didn't fully heal him. That he had something to ask of you.

"Your healing aura will help... him. If you stay in his room while he recovers, his chance of recovery increases exponentially. You can say no if you-"

"I can do this, Dad. My first job" You sat and smiled at each other for a minute.

"You're good, you know that?" You made eye contact with him, and gave him a little smile.

"Thanks, Dad. It means a lot coming from you"

"Your mom would be so proud of the person you've become"

He escorted you to the room where the boy lay, his chest steadily rising and falling, half his skull covered in a machine, all his hair shaved. Even in this state, you saw the beauty he radiated.

Quickly you shoved the thoughts out of your head and brushed away your father's concerns of leaving you at the hospital alone. You were grown, and most of all you were ready for some responsibility. 

~~~

The next few days were a blur. You found yourself pacing the room, or the hallway just outside to get your blood flowing. Reading in the chair next to him, sometimes out loud in case he could hear you. Or asleep curled up in the chair beside his bed. Often nurses came in and asked you questions about how he was doing, and if anything had changed.

You had taken to answering these questions in as professional a manner as you could muster. Often the nurses would smile at you and tell you to hit the call button if anything changed. Your dad came in sometimes to check the healing progress and remarked how quickly he seemed to be healing.

Sometimes his friends would come by, and you excused yourself leaving the room to give them their privacy. Sometimes you would check up on your dad and his patients or go to the cafeteria to get a coffee. His friends visited a lot, with Eve, Atom Eve, visiting the most. You often wondered to yourself if they were a couple, but again shut the thoughts out of your head.

~~~

You lay on your stomach on the floor next to the bed, reading your fourth book in the past 3 days when you heard a groan from above you.

Shooting to your feet you saw who you've come to know as Rex's eyes looking around the room and trying to move his limbs. You quickly hit the call button with shaky hands to alert a nurse and stood next to him.

"Rex. You're okay. You are injured and you are in recovery. Please stay calm," You had been preparing for this in the days you spent in this room, but it made your throat tight and your hands clammy at the moment.

"Wha's happening?" which came out a little more like "wash hapin"

Nurses quickly swarmed his bedside to take vitals and look into his eyes when his hand closed around yours. He squeezed your hand as the nurses and doctors poked and prodded at his wounds, and you just stood there watching it happen.

Nurses drew blood from his arm, shined lights in his eyes, and tested reflexes. They rushed out with samples and in with pain medication. The lights were being brightened and dimmer everything made you want to turn and run, but still Rex held your hand in his. Grounding you as you were his lifeline to a hint of normalcy.

Once the doctors and nurses left he fell asleep again, and your hand loosened from his iron grip. You pulled your chair up next to his and before you could stop yourself, put your hand on top of his.

~~~

A whisper pulled you from your sleep, "Eve?"

His speech was more clear than it was just a few hours ago, and you sat up realizing that your head was resting on the hospital bed with your hand on top of his.

"Oh, no, sorry, my name's Y/n, and I've been helping you heal the past week or so" You pulled your hand away but he gently grabbed your wrist, but let go when he saw your raised eyebrows and wide eyes.

"Shit, sorry, your hand was fine there, it actually felt pretty good," You rested your hand on his again with a slight smile, "You were talking to me... when I was asleep"

You nodded your head, "Yeah, sometimes I would talk to you, and sometimes I would read to you. I figured you might get bored if you could hear me but I wasn't saying anything. Sorry if that bothered you"

"No, it was nice. Would you mind reading to me some more, ya know, until I fall asleep"

"I can do that Rex,

November 7, 1991, Dear friend, It was one of those days that I didn’t mind going to school because the weather was so pretty. The sky was overcast with clouds, and the air felt like a warm bath. I don’t think I ever felt that clean before..."

Barely audible you heard Rex mumble, "Thank you"

[malicious-metal]

Couple quick busts for some of the characters I write for our Chronicle (there's like 50ish of them in total, crippling OC addiction, terminal). Tess Lovrić (She/Her) - Gangrel: Fiercely compassionate murder machine, very protective of her pack and totally exasperated by them always getting themselves into all sorts of trouble. Grumpy but with a sense of humour. Samson Ward (He/Him) - Brujah: Bad Boy Metalhead, philosopher, Noddist, all around charismatic nerd in tight leather pants. Got a whole little dichotomy theme going on with half his body covered in Demonic tattoos and the other in Angelic ones. Heaven and Hell, Living and Dead, Evil and Divine. Yeah huge Milton nut, obviously. Gilead (He/Him(?)) - Tzimisce: Big, evil millenia-old Voivode. Very much a champion of ye olden Ways and the General of the Warhost (AKA the toolbox of heinous Koldunic Sorcery and fucked up Szlachta I can throw at my players). Total Wife-guy and father to a whole legion of Revenant kids. Orestes (They/Them, He/Him) - Tzimisce: One of Gilead's aforementioned spawn, little edgelord trying to coast off dad's impressive track record and desperately trying to make him proud. Imago (It/Its) - Tzimisce: Despite its strange appearance, a very timid and gentle soul, unfortunately cursed with a supernatural affliction that forces it to replace its failing body with fresh human flesh. It tends to assume the face, voice and height of whoever it converses with, trying to make them feel more comfortable (with varying results). Valeska Velika Vesta (She/Her) - Tzimisce: Camarilla Tzimisce (Oh there's so much to unpack here) and probably one of the most villainous PCs I've written recently. Typical Dracula type, which suits her since she's a distant descendant of his lineage. Proud, ambitious, repelled by crosses and garlic, a landlord AND petty nobility so you know she's evil for real. Escanor (He/Him) - Gargoyle: Mean-girl, aspiring Harpy and spite-embraced. Yes, he was supposed to be a Toreador and he won't shut up about it. Self-obsessed, overly dramatic and writing call-out posts on his fellow Kindred. Also a sculptor, cause of course he is. Also gay, cause duh. Deacon McLain (He/Him) - Nosferatu: Clan Whip, big-bro-friend to all the younger Nosferatu, Warrens Handyman. Former Rust Belt mechanic so he's got a bit of a bone to pick with Ventrue types too. Devon Quinlan (He/Him) - Nosferatu: Goth Metal rockstar performing under a masked pseudonym, pretty much a 90's goth antihero vigilante type on the side. Zora Bratovitch (She/Her) - Revenant: 130 year old, crusty hag of a Revenant. Absolutely LOATHES those fucking leeches and keeps reminding them just how much she hates them. Runs a traveling carnival where she performs with her Bratovitch-bred trio of white lions.

[tojisun]

our shallow graves — 02

recom miles quaritch x recom fem reader

!! smut (between fwb outside of main pair) - minors dni; heat (as theme); mean quaritch; power imbalance; reference to (made up) past; worldbuilding; fast slow-burn; switching povs; weapons; reader adopts a nickname (callsign) which gets used // 5.1k words

: luvv writing from a chara’s pov n not just the reader’s <33; my bff wanted a love triangle but noo there would never be, i swear; replaying lady gaga and thenbhd as i write this; i hope u guys would luv this!!

↦ hydra - recom machine gun (not the door gun in the samsons); y70 - bullpup rifle/skel bullpup

prev // m.list // next - tbp

camaraderie with the colonel seemed to deteriorate overnight. your only saving grace is that it seemed like no one understands why his slight recognition for your talents evaporated quickly, the team having been reduced to shooting you with concerned glances whenever quaritch continues to ice you out.

you wanted to believe that it didn’t bother you much, but the taste of failure sits heavy on the tip of your tongue. quaritch is your superior, someone you were willing to interact with at an arm’s length, but now, even that seems impossible. 

“give him time,” walker says as you two enter the gun range, modified with an open ceiling to allow your na’vi bodies to breathe without the need for the respirator. “he’s probably still pissed because recon was delayed but c’mon now, we need extra time to take on the hellhole pandora’s about to be.”

you hum, your mind far away, as you begin to line up in one of the shooting stalls. you feel bare without your hydra but walker insisted on practicing with the Y70. 

“for good time’s sake!” she said, laughing when you rolled your eyes at her, calling her out on the fact that she only preferred the rifle because it was what she was exceptional at. 

your tail swishes behind you slowly before stilling, suspended in the air – a perfect imitation of your focus. you purge your mind of all thoughts, steadying your breath as you gaze at the moving targets. thrill runs down your spine at the first fire, the bullet going through the head of the target in a clean, single shot right at its temple. it is almost too natural how you were able to fire off the other bullets, muscle memory kicking in as your years of experience rush back to you, engulfing you with a single focus.

clean shot upon clean shot; head, heart, lungs – every vital organ and artery that you were aiming at were hit. it is like nothing existed in that moment, not your new life or your repeating nightmares of your death or even quaritch. it is just you and that rifle, against the world.

it was the first real taste of freedom you ever had from the moment you woke up in pandora, fifteen years after the war. 

walker stalks towards you with a grin, her rifle slung on her shoulder, looking smug as she shows you her perfect tally. you grin at her, feeling your tail finally untense, swishing around in languid satisfaction. 

“look at you with the perfect shots,” she says, dramatically whistling as though she wasn’t a better marksman than you are. 

“i have a good teacher,” you reply, winking at her. she chuckles, shaking her head, and you wish she had her braids down just so you can see them bump against each other. 

“and you are welcome.” walker places a hand on her chest before bowing theatrically, making you erupt in hearty giggles. 

comfortable silence settles as you two walk back to your quarters, ears flicking at each sound that rumbles from the belly of the compound. 

the sensitivity of your heightened senses brings you back to the night the colonel caught you sneaking out of mansk’s room, pure anger shimmering within his beautiful golden eyes and poison coating his hissed-out words. you do not know what set him off – you do not want to believe that it simply had been because you and mansk fooled around, not when quaritch has done worse.

(in your brief encounter with the human colonel quaritch, you have seen them together only once. the babe was swaddled in thick blankets, leaving only tufts of sandy hair visible to curious eyes. 

you tried not to linger when you saw how the colonel walked around with the child in his arms, cradled gently, carefully, his usually-stern face melting into something kind. into something human.

the harbinger of destruction. a father.

you couldn’t wrap your head around the man. not even as you watched in silence, obscured from his line of sight, as he nuzzled his nose on the boy’s forehead, breathing him in.

pandora’s real first human, a boy blessed by eywa, and there he was, held in the hands of the man who would threaten her balance.)

“maria,” you call, slowing down your steps and turning to look at your friend.

walker hums, tilting her head to meet your gaze. “what’s up?”

“do you, uh, know what happened to the kid?” you didn’t need to specify who it is that you meant. 

she stops walking, her brows furrowing in hesitant confusion. you lick your lips, wondering if you might’ve overstepped, after all, walker may be your friend, but her loyalties will always be with the colonel. even back in hell’s gate, she always separated her friendship with you from her duty – it felt like she constantly lived two different lives. 

“it’s just that i can unwind with you,” she used to say, huffing when the clips she used to pin her bun got lost within the gelled strands of her hair. you would pull her to your bed, chuckling quietly, before taking over, gentle hands familiar with her hair like it was yours that you were grooming. 

“why do you ask?” walker responds, twisting so she can fully face you.

you shrug. “i don’t know,” you say, a half-truth. “the memories are coming back to me slowly and one of them is him.”

walker remains quiet, studying you with pursed lips and narrowed eyes, before a sigh creeps out of her lips. you feel your heart lighten up, your body uncoiling from the tension, and you shoot her a small smile, grateful for her trust. 

“i dunno, to be honest,” she says as you two begin walking again, your steps this time are more languid. you two don’t entertain the gawking humans who scurry out of the way as you and walker make your way back to your rooms, busy murmuring to each other.

“they probably sent him back to somewhere in terra where relatives could take care o’him.”

you grunt, nodding, choosing not to prod any more. 

just before the two of you can part ways to enter your respective rooms, lopez comes running down the hallway, hollering your names.

“les’ go! colonel’s back from the meeting, and word is that we get our mission today!”

“thank fuck for that!” walker whoops. she meets your eyes. “rico, come on!”

you try to ignore the sudden swoop of paranoia that settles in your stomach, choosing instead to follow as walker and lopez run to meet with the others. you had hoped that you would’ve been able to fix whatever it was that happened between you and the colonel before the mission, but it seems like you don’t have that privilege anymore.

it seems like with quaritch, you don’t get mercy. 

-------

just like what lopez said, the colonel returned with orders from the brass that you all would be sent out soon – the omatikaya stronghold changed upon the return of the humans, and now you are all tasked to draw jake sully out. you are all given a week to prepare for pandora’s beasts – you are aware that they meant the na’vi more than the actual animals roaming the lush jungle.

recon was cancelled, the new schedule no longer permitted such opportunity; the general had, instead, ordered your squad to move in and navigate the hard way. you tried not to shrink at the withering look that quaritch shot you as he mentioned that. mansk shifted close, as though to show that he stood with you even against the colonel’s seething glare, but it seemed like it was the wrong thing to do as quaritch only seemed to grow angrier. 

you tried your best not to react, but your tail dropped, coiling around your thigh in the face of the colonel’s disapproval. you are too ashamed to look at the others, not wanting to see their own disappointment or even their pity so you kept your eyes on quaritch, using his authority to hide from the attention that your squad was giving you.

the meeting reaches its end, the colonel ordering wainfleet and zdinarsik to take over. mansk hovers, falling into step with you as you both move to leave the room together when the colonel’s voice stops you.

“rico, you stay. mansk, y’r dismissed.”

mansk shoots you a quick glance before nodding at the colonel and leaving with the rest. wainfleet had taken the lead as they all marched out with zdinarsik covering their back, the taller recom nodding at you upon meeting your gaze before closing the door behind her.

there is silence in the war room as you stand still, waiting for quaritch to make the first move. you rack your mind for another fuck up that he can berate you with, but nothing comes up, leaving you grasping at nothing but the bubbling anxiousness gnawing at you. 

“i suggested to general ardmore that we bench you, rico.” he raises his hand at your visceral reaction – your jaw falling open as you flinch, protests about to slip from your lips, as a now-aborted step almost draws you close to him. “listen to me first, corporal.”

you blink at the realization that his voice doesn’t denote any malice, the rich baritone is painfully neutral, and you think, then, how hearing his indifference just stings a whole lot more. 

you remain silent, watching with bated breath as quaritch pulls a chair out and motions for you to sit down. your legs feel like lead as you fall into it with no grace, your body going taut with tension when the colonel takes the one just in front of you. 

the space between the two of you is decent – it is the normal distance – but you can’t help but feel the warmth emitting from his bigger figure, almost like your body is singing for him. you try to breathe through your mouth, afraid that you will get a whiff of his scent, reducing you into a puddle of uncertainty and need. 

you blink your glassy eyes up at him, trying to focus, to listen, but it is like all those times that quaritch pushed you away had made you hypersensitive about him. he is all you can focus on; past the need to prove to him of your worth, he is all that fills you up. the way he smells, the way his eyes study you, the way his voice rips through the static – you want all of it. 

heat builds up in the pit of your stomach.

fuck. 

“you doin’ ok there?” the colonel asks, his indifference melting as worry bleeds into his tone. 

“i, uhm,” you begin, your voice faltering. you try to reel in your mind, grinding your teeth to snap you from your trance. 

“yeah.” you clear your throat, breathing in shakily. “i mean, yes sir.”

quaritch grunts, his eyes still pinned on you. “this is exactly why i wanted to leave you behind.”

that brings you out of the haze, your attention snapping back into a singularity. “permission to ask why, sir?”

quaritch sighs. “the science pukes mentioned how y’r still lagging behind. kid, i’m gonna be honest with you – i can’t afford a weak link.”

his words feel like knives carving into you. you’ve always thrived in your capabilities – you wouldn’t have gone far if you weren’t good, if not one of the best, and yet, in his eyes, your single fumble has cost so much. 

“pandora is gonna eat you up and spit you out – well, it already did, otherwise, you wouldn’t be here. and yet, general ardmore still insisted that we take you.” 

you watch as the colonel leans over, eating up the miniscule distance between yourselves to peer at you. “tell me, rico. just why are you so important to her?”

you wish you have the answer; you wish you have anything to give to him, to make sense of your own purpose, but nothing comes up. it is like you’re constantly floating around, untethered, and yet severely burdened at the same time. they tell you how the general favours you, and yet she has yet to tell you that herself, leaving you alone in navigating your position amongst the other recoms. 

the loneliness doesn’t stop eating at you.

“colonel, i really don’t know,” you finally utter, breaking eye contact to stare at the ground. 

quaritch clicks his tongue. “no, there’s gotta be somethin’ i’m missin’. i read your files, you know that?” he grins meanly when your eyes snapped back to him. “oh yeah, i did. and imagine my goddamn disappointment when it showed me nothin’ noteworthy.”

he stands up, his voice gaining strength, and you realize that you can now see his fury in its entirety.

“yeah, you’ve got a way with flying, but that skill’s practically useless unless we can get our own banshees. and even then, they ain’t machines – your skill’s obsolete. y’ve got a way with guns, sure, but so do the rest of my squad; it ain’t just lyle who’s got a great shot, after all. and yeah y’r hand-to-hand combat is good, but it ain’t the best.”

you feel tears pooling in the corner of your eyes as quaritch continues his admonishment. you feel like everything that you are is suspended in the air, carelessly peeled off and overturned until you are nothing but your skin and bones.

“y’know what i saw?” the colonel asks in a barely-contained snarl. 

you do not reply, but it doesn’t matter to him anyway. 

“i saw how y’r just a goddamn nobody because if you were any better, i would’ve taken you in before. so tell me rico, just what the hell are you doin’ here?”

you do not know what urged you to do it, but next thing you know you are standing mere inches before the colonel, breaching his personal space to poke at his chest. “i don’t need to prove myself to you,” you hiss. 

(it was a lie. after all, it was all you wanted to do. for him to acknowledge you. for him to – what do the na’vis call it? – see you.)

quaritch scoffs, pausing, before he lunges forward to grip your jaw, forcing your head to tilt up and making you look at him. you feel your breath leave your lungs, the blood rushing to your ears and deafening you. anything else seemed to stop, leaving you alone with your petering rage as you gaze up at him.

his breath tickles your lips and you gasp, soundless, feeling the desire exploding in your chest. you do not know what it is that he originally wanted to do because in the next heartbeat, just a slight stutter, all you feel is his lips meeting yours. 

quaritch devours your hiccuped squeak, his searing lips moving against your own, pulling out more of the little desperate sounds from your throat only for them to be swallowed hungrily by him. the kiss is hot, messy, but you can’t help but be obsessed with it.

his scent fills you up, settling deep in your chest and making you throb with want. you grip his shirt, pulling him closer, desperate to touch more of him. but at the feeling of your hands, quaritch rips his lips from yours and scurries to back away from you.

you stand there, your chest heaving as you catch your breath, feeling your lips tingle from his kiss. you watch as his face crumples at the realization of what he’s done before it reverts back into faux stoicism, as though he isn’t affected by the kiss. as though he doesn’t feel the same burning desire that engulfed you whole.

“colonel-”

“no fraternizing with a squad member,” quaritch utters before he lifts his hand up to rub at his lips with the back of his palm.

“oh, so now we’re following the golden rule?” you mutter, the words bubbling out before you can stop them. 

you know that you crossed a line at the mention of what he’s done with socorro but you are too filled with a blazing storm of conflicting feelings, rendering you uninhibited as they clash in your chest and drain you of all your energy. you feel yourself shake at the intensity of your emotions – of your yearning – but the colonel continues to stand far away. far from your grasp.  

he’s made his decision. 

“get going, corporal. y’r dismissed.”

you run out of the room, not caring of the way the tears slip from the corners of your eyes to drench your cheeks, and pretending that you cannot smell the faint scent of the colonel sticking to you.

pretending that you do not feel something in you break. 

-------

looking for mansk was the easy part. not using him to drown out the weight of your conflicting feelings, that was the hard part. 

mansk has taken you in his arms, cradling you close as you wept on the crook of his neck. he was silent, like he already knew what it is that aches you, and you wonder how could he. you barely knew why you feel betrayal sit in the pit of your stomach; why you feel so drawn to quaritch – attuned to the sound of his voice and the staccato of his footsteps.

why do you ache for his touch?

if it is heat, if it is all biology, mansk does a good enough job in extinguishing the flames of painful need curling within your blood. and yet you couldn’t stop yourself from seeking out bigger and rougher hands and a gruffer voice, the southern accent looping around the vowels, making your stomach clench with desire.

quaritch is all that you’ve ever wanted ever since he first called your name, unknown familiarity sinking in your chest like a rock chucked to the ocean – the paradox is a metaphor of your feelings. funny, isn’t it?

“i don’t understand,” you murmur, sniffling as you pull your head from mansk’s shoulder. you wipe at your eyes, groaning at the futility of it when fresh tears fall and drench your cheeks anyway. 

mansk remains silent, his hands have fallen from your back to grasp at your wrists, the warmth from his palms not doing anything to soothe your nerves.

“it’s like he needed that little blip in my performance to finally rationalize the hate he feels for me, and then it just didn’t stop,” you continue, breathing in shakily. “and i wish i could just ignore him but, fuck, i can’t.”

you shake yourself from mansk’s touch, standing up from his bed to pace around his room. the pads of your feet are quiet on the metal floors and you ignore the shot of coolness that comes with every step. your braids, chopped just below your jaw, frame your face with stray strands sticking on your damp cheeks despite your frantic moving. 

“he’s there and he’s nowhere at the same time, devin. like, i try my best to avoid him but he’s always a consistent presence in my life. it doesn’t fucking matter if he’s ignoring me, not when he’s always in the same room, within the same space.” your voice raises, scratching your throat as anger and hurt bubble up, ever-so expanding until you are grasping at the remnants of your rationality. 

“and i want him. i feel like dying when i’m not with him and he-” you pause, a choked sob getting punched out from your lungs. mansk startles, clambering from his bed to hover by your side, not really closing in but standing just near enough that you can see the downturn of his ears, his worry etched on his face. 

“he doesn’t feel the same way, dev.” 

you crumble, feeling lightheaded from the explosion of anguish burning at your seams, and mansk finally embraces you. 

the first kiss was hesitant, chapped lips meeting bruised ones, and he doesn’t move until you are pawing at his shirt and tugging him close. mansk falls into his role easily, nipping your bottom lip as a distraction which you take eagerly.

quaritch’s snarl from many nights ago creep into your mind, his southern accent tearing through the sudden buzz of mansk’s touch, taunting you – “you reek.” 

you think just how upsetting it is to feel your desire expand into fanned flames at the memory of quaritch. at the memory of his anger – the only thing of him that he’s given to you freely. 

mansk rips his lips from yours, panting, his eyes dilated with desire. “rico, y’smell so good.”

your shirt is torn from your body, your cargos thrown over broad shoulders – not broad enough, not tall enough, not angry enough. 

you try to forget, to stop thinking, as mansk fucks you; thin fingers sliding along your slit and sinking into your heat, curling to prepare you for his length. not even the way three of his fingers overwhelm you with the feeling of being stuffed can silence the thoughts – ‘not thick enough, not long enough, not rough enough’ – and you bury your face on his pillow, trying to smother the tears. 

the slide of his cock should’ve rendered your mind into white static, but it seems like your veins are thrumming with a visceral need, one that you know only quaritch can quell. 

“choke me,” you mumble, blinking wetly up at mansk, your chest heaving at the muted desire filling you up. 

“what?” mansk asks, breathless, his body shaking from the crashing heat. 

“choke me,” you repeat, this time clearer. 

mansk hesitates, his wide eyes growing bigger, his scent curling into something darker. the wrap of his hand around your throat is sure, gentle despite your plea, before he squeezes. the pressure grounds you, feeding into your desperation. into your delusions. 

(you think of quaritch. it seems like you never stop thinking about him. 

he will take you the same way lava takes everything – devouring beyond flesh, nipping right into the core until all it leaves is the flames of a thousand suns. his desires will crush you, filling up the spaces between your blood vessels and your synapses with nothing but him. 

and you will love it. you will let yourself be scorched because ever since you have met him, all you knew was fire and how they lick up into your chest, swallowing your heart, almost like they are branding his name directly in you. 

like you have belonged to him even before.)

mansk wipes you with a towel, murmuring soft apologies when your body jolts in oversensitivity at the rough drag of the cloth. he passes you his shirt and then pulls you underneath the sheets, tucking you in for the night. 

“thank you,” you say, weakly smiling at him.

mansk returns the smile, brushing your braids away from your face. “just like old times.”

your eyebrows furrow, confusion triumphing over exhaustion. “old times?”

“yeah,” he grunts, falling beside you. “you’ve always liked the colonel and granted we didn’t fuck then, but you always vented to me so, y’know?”

mansk’s words wash over you like a crashing tide, pulling you from the shore and submerging you into the depths of the unknown. you grasp at your memories, flitting from one to the other, trying to find pieces of your affection for the colonel only to fall short. surely, you would’ve remembered. surely, the feelings, with how intense they are, did not just go away; that you did not just lose a piece of yourself.

you think of the haunting, how the colonel and socorro appear in your memories in fragments, and feel a twinge in your heart. was it not indifference? that all this time when you remembered her, when you used her to learn more about quaritch, it was because you liked him too? 

were you always a fool like this? searching for bits of quaritch in the hands of another, trying to claim the stray parts like they could be yours to begin with. 

“rico?” mansk’s voice breaks through your reverie. 

“i… i don’t remember.”

he turns to you in surprise. “what do you mean you don’t remember?”

“just that,” you say, your voice faint. “i don’t- i can’t remember.”

-------

the moment miles saw his reflection – blue and distinctly not human – he knew there was little of himself left in the hellhole that pandora had become. autonomy and freedom no longer meant much, not when he’s become a weapon. 

he’s died once, they said. had he still been the commanding officer in the compound, he’d have the shrink do drills at the stupidity of pointing out his untimely and obvious demise. 

no fucking shit he died. miles would’ve remembered turning into a goddamn na’vi if he didn’t. 

but, at the end of the day, his anger didn’t matter. like a freak show, he’s back – not really as the same man, but similar enough that the old colonel’s ghost thrums with hymns of vengeance, carrying over to miles’ own person. because miles may not remember his death, but he remembers jake sully’s betrayal.

the boy had chosen his people and miles had chosen his, it is that simple. 

the mission was straight-forward, but miles isn’t deluded enough to assume that it would be just as easy. he’s failed once already, after all. perhaps being a na’vi could switch the tides; perhaps being one wouldn’t matter – whatever it may be, miles is ready to carry the burden of killing jake sully.

with a single focus, miles lets the unfamiliarity of his new body roll off his skin like dew before forcing himself to learn and to adapt. painstakingly, he even tried to salvage the pieces of augustine’s research, hoping to find any scraps of information regarding the na’vi in her ramblings, but the compound has scrubbed themselves off the traitor’s books. don’t mind the fact that augustine’s the best goddamn na’vi expert, apparently, they rather bitch around under the pretence of unnecessary patriotism, instead of taking advantage of her research. 

when he asked who he should talk to regarding their physio, he was told that augustine was replaced by cooper. unsurprisingly, cooper was unable to fill in the shoes that augustine left, but miles preferred him anyway. the man has lesser empathy, lesser curiosity about the wonders of pandora. 

‘that’s good,” miles thought upon meeting cooper. ‘checkups will be clinical. none of that bitchin’ about morals.’

which was why it should’ve been easy transitioning into his recombinant body. it should’ve been.

then, you came along.

sweet, little, pretty thing that you are. you don’t even know what you do to him, walking around looking like you’re pulled straight  from miles’ spank bank material. you look darling with your short braids, pulled back with little clips like those that he remembers walker using, as your smooth voice ripples against the heavy tension building in miles’ chest.

there’s always this sweet scent that follows you, and it reminds miles of something that he couldn’t really pin down. it’s faint, teasing his senses with the little bursts until he began to be addicted to it. to be addicted to you.

he had been content with only getting a whiff from every time the two of you crossed paths, your chin ducking down in respect, saluting so beautifully that it had miles pretending that he didn’t have the itch to pat your head in approval. 

(you looked like the type to adore praises; the type to want to hear how you’re being such a good girl. all for him.)

he didn’t want to pursue more, remembering what happened when he last made that mistake, but it just felt so impossible to dismiss his interest in you as something that is only fleeting; something that is only physical, bound by the biological nature of his new body. 

maybe if he just pushed back harder against the general, then maybe he could be rid of you. maybe there would be nothing thrumming underneath his skin – he refuses to call it desire, afraid that by doing so, he would chain himself to the ache that he feels – and maybe you would no longer be his growing problem.

then: a spike in the air churned the insides of miles’ head, bolting his legs onto the floor. there was a sort of static, a rumbling charge that pierced past metal walls and choked miles into madness. 

he didn’t even realize what it was until he picked up the sound of your voice, pleasure curling against your words as you cried out a name. miles felt lightheaded, warmth crept up from his fingertips to the base of his neck.

(a shackle, one that spelt out your name. 

again, do you know what you do to him? what you reduce him to?)

the scent of your euphoria sent him into a feverish state, molten lava replacing blood as he burned. his breaths came out in ragged rasps, and miles gulped down the air as though he could taste you from it. as though that would’ve been enough.

miles knew what danger looked like, he knew what it smelt like, but he never expected that it would take your shape, testing him past his capabilities. so he lied, spitting in anger and lashing out as he held your hand, ignoring the way his skin tingled when it met yours, and he watched as your eyes glimmered with hurt.

fine. that’s fine. miles repeated this mantra until he clambered into his room, almost tripping over his boots, and made his way to his bed. 

there was a heavy pressure in miles’ ears as he tore off his belt, his teeth snapped together as he pulled his length out and fucked into his fist, breathing into the other one to chase the fading scent that you left. 

he lost himself in his thoughts, imagining that it had been him who reduced you into a moaning mess. that it had been him who you came to for your heat; that it had been him who made you cry, your whimpers slipping past shut doors until everyone could hear your sweet cries.

miles has always been possessive, he doesn’t need the soul drive to know that.

his orgasm ripped through him in muted pleasure, not enough to stoke the heat rumbling deep in his belly.

“fuck!” he growled, frustration bubbling up into his mouth as he screwed his eyes shut, trying to forget the way you look; the way you walk, the way you shoot your hydra or the way you maneuver a bird as though you and the machine are one. 

but it was futile. he’s ruined. 

you’ve ruined him.

prev

tagging (pls lmk if you wanna be added or removed!) - @hinataashoyos @babyduk213 @ilovebluedilfss

[mira-atakirina]

«Roots in a Foreign Sky»

Solar eclipse

Part 3

Along the intertwined, moss-covered branches hanging above the misty abyss, the kids raced — agile silhouettes slipping between the vines as if they had become part of living Pandora itself. At the front moved Lo’ak with ease, accustomed to such heights.

Spider, eyes gleaming and movements full of lighthearted challenge, leapt ahead, overtaking him.

“Last one’s a rotten worm!” he shouted, grinning over his shoulder.

Lo’ak darted after him, not falling a step behind.

You and Kiri rushed after them, staying close together as if the whole forest belonged to you. Your hair flew in the wind, and your faces shone with joy. A little behind, but just as eager, Tuktirey hopped along the roots, laughing at the jokes.

Reaching a wide branch jutting out over the chasm, the kids sat down one by one, breathing heavily but with smiles, as if they’d just returned from a great adventure. Below them stretched the misty forest; above, the floating mountains — the whole world felt like their playground.

Spider was the first to lie back, hands behind his head.

“That was awesome,” he said, gazing up at the sky. “Almost like when I jumped from that arch near the Ikran nest.”

“Almost,” Lo’ak smirked, sitting down beside him. “But that time, you landed on your butt, remember?”

“Just like you,” Kiri chimed in, tossing some moss at her brother.

Still catching your breath, you lay down between them.

“That was better than any lecture from Askuk,” you murmured, staring at the sky. “We should do this every day.”

“If we went out every day, Dad would drag us back by the ears,” giggled Tuk, sitting nearby and starting to weave a crown from the flowers growing at the edge of the branch.

...

The sky above the far edge of the forest quivered with the vibrations of rotor blades. Through the thick clouds emerged a “Scorpion” — an RDA transport gunship gliding silently above the treetops. Its metal hull sharply contrasted the living breath of Pandora’s jungle. Inside sat people in camo, armored, with heavy gazes — not scientists, not diplomats. Soldiers. Recoms under RDA command, resurrected and ready for combat.

“Coming in for landing. Watch the terrain,” the pilot said, leveling the craft over a small clearing. Branches scattered under the force of the rotors as the “Scorpion” gently touched down.

“We go on foot from here. Quiet,” the colonel ordered, checking his weapon. “We’ll launch drones in the evening.”

As they moved deeper in, the forest grew quiet again, as if it had held its breath.

...

The forest was fresh after recent rain, the humid air filled with the scent of leaves and earth. You, Lo’ak, and Spider carefully climbed the gnarled trunk of an ancient tree, following the glint of strange metal barely visible through the foliage. There, in the canopy, tangled in the branches, was an old Samson — a gunship from the RDA war era.

“You think it’s really from back then?” you asked quietly, gripping a rough patch of bark.

“Looks like it. Seems like the tree ate it,” Spider replied, pulling himself higher.

They climbed in silence. The metal hull, covered in moss, was cracked, as if the machine itself had grown tired of existing.

Down below, Tuk had stayed on the ground, pressing her palms to her mouth.

“Hey!” she called up. “Are there any dead bodies?”

“We’ll see,” replied Socorro, already reaching the open hatch.

He peered inside and, without hesitation, crawled in. You followed him, while Lo’ak, too big to fit, could only watch from outside. Inside, it was dark, quiet, smelling of mold and stale air. Sunlight filtered through the shattered cockpit glass, lighting the space. Broken equipment... and a figure slumped in the pilot’s seat.

A skeleton, still in gear, with tattered patches. The helmet lay by his feet. The metal of the vest had rusted through. Fragments of a breathing mask scattered nearby.

“He died right here,” said Spider, crouching down beside the remains. “Alone.”

You stared in silence, not looking away. You didn’t feel fear — just a strange stillness of time. Everything here was frozen — as if this Samson held a piece of the past.

Suddenly, a loud crash. The cockpit window trembled under a sudden blow.

“BOO!” Lo’ak yelled, slapping the cracked glass.

Y/n and Spider both flinched. Neyma even let out a startled yelp, clutching her chest, while Spider snorted and smiled.

“You’re insane,” he muttered, rolling his eyes.

Lo'ak chuckled, stepping back, but his smile faded as he saw how carefully you were examining the contents of the old pilot’s cabin.

“This…” you ran your fingers along a faded tin box with the manufacturer's name barely visible, “might be useful. Or at least… interesting.”

Most of the items were rusted — an old metal flashlight, a worn-out notebook, and even a broken communicator.

“Gonna take it?” Spider asked, watching you.

You paused for a moment, then nodded.

“Just don’t tell anyone. If my dad sees it, he’ll start asking questions. And if he finds out where we were—he’ll definitely forbid us from coming back.”

“Especially if he hears about the skeleton,” Lo'ak smirked. “We’re definitely in trouble.”

“Exactly.” Y/n carefully packed a few items into her bag, holding it close to her chest. “This is ours. Like a memory. Like history.”

As they were getting ready to climb down from the tree, Tuk suddenly looked up and frowned.

“Hey… Where’s Kiri?”

Everyone froze. No one had noticed her disappearing. Only the faint sway of the branches and a whisper of movement hinted that someone had just passed deeper into the forest.

Spider walked ahead, carefully pushing branches aside and listening intently. His voice echoed between the trees.

“Kiri?.. Kiri, where are you?”

Step by step, he moved deeper into the forest, the voices of his friends fading behind him. He knew that when Kiri heard Eywa’s call, she could wander far — as if in a trance. It had happened before, but lately, it was becoming more frequent. Ever since the humans had returned to Pandora in force, she had grown quieter, more distant.

At last, through the leaves, he saw a familiar silhouette.

Kiri was lying on the soft grass, curled up on her side, as if she’d simply laid down for a moment... and fallen asleep. Her face was calm, even serene — like someone who felt completely safe. Around her, atokirina floated gently, glowing softly in the air, as if guarding her.

...

After regrouping and making sure she was alright, the kids continued their exploration.

They followed narrow winding paths between towering trees and emerged onto the giant roots of an ancient and powerful tree — as old and grand as Pandora itself. The roots stretched above the ground like bridges, and the children carefully walked along them, exchanging glances.

Then Lo’ak suddenly stopped. He crouched down, peering at the damp bark of the root, then at the earth near its base. He jumped down and dropped to his knees.

“What is it?” Kiri asked.

Lo’ak touched the footprint in the wet soil.

“Too big for a human,” he murmured thoughtfully.

“Avatars?” Spider guessed. You thought the same — though it was unlikely. Your own avatars hadn’t worn shoes in years. But you still hoped it was someone familiar.

“Could be… but definitely not ours,” Lo’ak said with certainty.

You stood nearby, brow furrowed. Your fingers tightened around the strap of the bag where you’d packed the little trinkets from the wrecked Samson. Now they felt distant, unimportant. You stared at the footprints in the mud, as if trying to see through them — to the one who had left them.

“If it’s not one of ours… then someone’s come. Someone we don’t know.”

The thought clenched your chest. You weren’t a coward, but you also didn’t mess around when it came to real danger.

You looked at Spider, then at Kiri, who was silently staring in the same direction the tracks were heading — as if she too could feel the unease. Then you glanced at Lo’ak. His face was serious; he was already moving again, deeper into the forest. And the others followed.

“We have to tell someone,” you murmured, mostly to yourself. “This isn’t just someone passing by.”

No one replied. Everyone was looking into the woods — where the trees stood too close and the shadows seemed too dark.

The kids moved slowly, almost silently, as if they were part of the forest itself. The roots beneath their feet were slick with moisture, and the air was thick, charged with tension. Even the insects seemed to hold their breath. The branches above hung low, as if listening.

The tension was like a drawn bowstring.

The footprints led onward, and with every step, they felt more wrong.

“We shouldn’t have come here…” Kiri said, worried and annoyed. “Dad’s gonna kill us.”

“Shh, come on,” Lo’ak said, glancing back at Spider with a mischievous grin, a spark of excitement in his eyes.

He leaned forward slightly, nodding toward the half-ruined lab and the strangers ahead.

“We have to take a closer look,” he whispered. “Let’s go.”

No one argued. Splitting up would’ve been madness. This wasn’t some dumb horror movie — this was Pandora, and Pandora demanded you stick together.

Step by step, crouched low, they pushed through the thick underbrush, treading carefully on the wet ground, hiding behind roots.

Every movement felt like dancing on a knife’s edge — one wrong step, and it could all fall apart.

You walked slightly behind, trying not to lag, but your thoughts drowned in sensation. You couldn’t hear what Lo’ak and Spider were saying. Their words, like sounds muffled underwater, didn’t reach you. Everything around you felt muted, as if the world had emerged from a dream — but still hadn’t fully woken.

The tension in your chest grew with every passing second. This wasn’t just anxiety—something in the forest had changed. The air felt heavier, the sounds unnaturally muffled, like the moments before a storm. Your heart pounded faster, and your fingers instinctively gripped your bow, even though no threat was visible yet.

You could feel a heavy lump rising in your throat. Something was wrong. Very wrong.

“We’re leaving,” Lo’ak said shortly, his gaze serious and tense as he looked at the others.

You stepped closer at once, worry clear in your voice as you asked,

“What are we going to do?”

You hadn’t heard the full conversation, didn’t know the details, and your tone betrayed your uncertainty. Instead of answering, Lo’ak pressed a finger to his ear, activating the comm. A soft static crackled in your ear—he switched frequencies and relayed coordinates and information to his father. His voice was calm and precise, like a trained fighter used to situations like this. But there was still a note of unease.

You stayed silent, but your mind was already spinning with frantic thoughts. What would she tell Dad? And more importantly—what would Askuk say?

“Just don’t let him find out first…” you thought anxiously. “He always looks at me like I’m reckless. And it’s all because of Lo’ak… He didn’t even do anything wrong. He’s just… like that. Too brave, too stubborn. But why does everything bad have to be his fault?”

You sighed heavily, feeling a knot tighten in your stomach.

“Dad… maybe he’ll understand. But Askuk—no. He’ll say I put myself in danger again, say I wasn’t thinking. And he’ll start in on me.

‘You’re older than that fool—act smarter, wiser.’

Like he forgot that I also want to do things, explore, live, not just sit safely behind walls…”

You lowered your eyes to your fists, clenched from tension.

You had to come up with something to say. Something that would explain why you had to go with them...

In the distance, Lo’ak, Spider, and Kiri were already moving through the undergrowth. You slowly moved to catch up with them, lips pressed in a determined line. The explanation hadn’t come yet—but she knew she’d have to answer for everything. Especially to the one whose judgment stung sharper than her father’s.

Twilight was falling quickly. The air was cooling, and the thick treetops had turned deep blue and crimson. The scent of damp wood and moss filled the air. Somewhere far off, a beast’s howl echoed—but the children were too focused to notice. Tuk glanced back and called out:

“Run! The eclipse is almost here!”

But she hadn’t taken more than a step when a massive figure emerged from the shadows. An avatar—not one of their clan. A huge blue hand grabbed Tuk. Her sharp cry split the air.

“Tuk!” Kiri screamed.

Lo’ak and Spider instantly drew their bows, pulling back the strings and aiming at the place the stranger had appeared.

You were slightly behind them, near the roots of a tree, checking your satchel to make sure everything was still there. The sudden scream made you jolt, and you spun around.

From all directions—like rising from the earth—avatars began to emerge. They stepped from the bushes and low ferns silently, like ghosts. They carried firearms—heavy, deadly ones. Their movements were precise and coordinated—clearly not wildlings or rogue adventurers.

How? you thought, panic rising. How didn’t we hear them? How could they be so quiet?..

You bolted as soon as you realized the full scope of what was happening. Your heart pounded; your legs carried you instinctively, desperately—just get away, just let one of you escape. The others were still fighting, shouting commands to each other.

But you had to call for help. You had to...

Yet as soon as you reached the clearing between the roots, a silhouette appeared as if from thin air. One of the avatars—tall, massive, unmistakably foreign—stepped forward and, without hesitation, grabbed you around the waist. The force of the movement knocked the breath from your lungs.

You shrieked and struggled, but his grip was iron. He lifted you effortlessly into the air like a toy. Your legs dangled helplessly, and fear and rage choked your breath.

“Put me down!” you screamed, trying to break free—but he didn’t even look at you.

He turned around and carried you toward the clearing, where Lo’ak and Spider were slowly tossing their bows to the ground. They were immediately grabbed by their kuru and forced to their knees.

You were still struggling in the air until you, like a sack, were thrown down to your knees beside them. Your fingers trembled, your hair fell across your mask, and your eyes darted around—who were these avatars? Why were they here? How the hell were they so damn quiet?

Slowly, you lifted your head. They were surrounded. And not a single familiar face among them.

Terrified, Tuk was calling out for her older sister, while Kiri tried to soothe her in Na’vi. Panic would only make things worse.

The soldier holding you didn’t like this and yanked Tuk’s braid roughly to silence her.

Two more avatars entered your field of vision. One of them was closely examining each of the children.

A bald avatar with a sharp, hard face grabbed Kiri’s wrist and twisted her hand palm-up. Then he called over another avatar—the one with the rank of Colonel—and informed him of something interesting.

“Half-breed.”

Another avatar stepped closer. He looked young, maybe in his twenties, with a cold, piercing gaze. His movements were firm and deliberate—he carried himself like someone used to giving orders. He studied Kiri’s face as if comparing it to something from memory… or a file.

Then he turned to Lo’ak and stepped forward.

“Show me your hand.” His voice was calm, but the threat in it was unmistakable—like ice crawling up your spine.

You held your breath. Something in that man’s tone made your heart pound—not from anger, but from pure, animal fear.

Lo’ak, the fool, didn���t even flinch. He bared his teeth in a grin and, without looking away, flipped him off with both middle fingers. Then he hissed at him.

That was a mistake. The avatar smirked and immediately grabbed him by the kuru, yanking so hard that Lo’ak let out a deep, pained growl.

You watched in horror, unable to say a word. Your fingers trembled, and your thoughts were a jumbled mess. Everything happened so fast, you could barely understand—what now? What were you supposed to do?

Spider, still on his knees, yelled something in Na’vi. His voice didn’t shake from fear, but from fury—as if he were holding back a storm.

Meanwhile, the Colonel was still gripping Lo’ak’s braid. His eyes bore into the boy. Five fingers. He understood it all—without a word, without a question.

He asked in English, but Lo’ak, stubborn or stupid, deliberately replied in Na’vi. Then the man barked the question again, this time in broken, rough Na’vi—demanding to know where his father was.

You stood frozen, paralyzed by fear, like something had you in a vice. Your hands clenched into fists, nails digging into your palms, but you didn’t feel the pain—only a cold emptiness inside. Your eyes were wide, your breath shallow. Your heart was pounding so loud it felt like even the enemies could hear it.

When the Colonel spoke again, when Lo’ak was yanked and cried out in pain—that was when something inside you snapped.

Your vision blurred, and tears began to fall—silently, without a sound. You didn’t even try to wipe them away. You just let your gaze drop to the ground, to the dry leaves and damp dust. You couldn’t watch anymore. It was too much. Too terrifying. Too painful.

You tried to disappear into yourself, to retreat deep into your mind—as if staying silent, not breathing, not feeling might make all of this vanish. But instead of safety, there was only pain. Guilt. Helplessness. Fear that no one was coming… that maybe you wouldn’t make it out.

You barely heard what the Colonel was saying. Everything around you became muffled, like underwater—unclear, dull, as if you were slowly drowning in your own fear.

Around you, voices trembled with pain and desperation.

Through the haze of fear and tears, you still managed to look up—just for a moment. Ahead, slightly to the side, the Colonel knelt down on one knee, bringing himself face to face with Spider.

You heard every word, like they were being nailed into the ground next to you.

Quaritch.

It. Was. Freaking.

Miles Quaritch, right in front of you, and suddenly everything made sense. That’s why this man was interested in the human boy.

....

Trying to piece together a new puzzle... Colonel Quaritch.

That name echoed through old recordings — like a threat, a curse.

They said he wasn’t human…

He burned forests. Hunted the Na’vi like prey.

The father of war.

…Video footage on dad’s tablet.

Tall, stone-faced. His voice was only command.

No “if”. Only “move.”

…They said he was dead.

Killed by Jake Sully.

Stopped for good.

He’s talking to him now. The man kneels… like he knows him.

And they all knew Quaritch had a son.

A baby they couldn’t send back to Earth.

Miles… Socorro. Spider.

...

It felt like time stretched on purpose, making your heart pound harder with each beat.

Sounds around you dulled — like everything was drowned underwater. You didn’t even realize he’d come closer.

The main avatar.

He was already in front of you, staring straight into your face.

No words. No rush.

Like he was trying to see beneath your skin, beyond your eyes — deeper.

His gaze was steady, calm, and predatory all at once.

You froze. You couldn’t even look away.

His face showed no clear expression — which only made it worse.

Quaritch stood there, his eyes locked onto yours.

There was a hunter’s focus in his expression, like he was fitting together pieces of a puzzle.

You felt his eyes digging into your face, as if he could find the answer written there.

A teenager. Definitely. But… damn, how old was she?

Dates, faces, scraps of info tangled in his head.

He knew Spider’s age.

He remembered who had been at the base.

Who had survived. Who hadn’t.

But you…

He didn’t know you.

Didn’t recognize you.

He squinted.

– Hell… – he muttered under his breath. – Who the hell are you?

He took a step closer, towering over you, looking down straight into your eyes.

– You grew up with him?.. – he nodded toward Spider. – Who are your parents?

You swallowed. Your throat clenched tight from within.

Tears still blurred your eyes, but you lifted your gaze, trying to at least steady your voice.

– I… I’m… just living here…

Quaritch narrowed his eyes, like he didn’t hear you — or didn’t believe it.

– With who? – he asked more quietly now, which only made it scarier. – Who takes care of you?

You hesitated, glancing at your friends’ faces — Lo’ak’s clenched jaw and hiss, Spider frozen, Kiri and Tuk’s frightened eyes.

Your heart pounded, but you still answered.

– Norm… Norm Spellman… He… he raised me…

Quaritch straightened, his jaw tightening.

That name clearly rang a bell.

– Well, well, – he muttered, nodding to someone behind him. – So you did multiply after all…

You swallowed hard.

– Norm Spellman, huh? That clueless scientist who thought he could play daddy?

A low chuckle came from behind him.

...

– Okay, it’s settled, Kiri declared, folding her arms. – I’m grandma now. Sitting here, sipping herbal tea and complaining about my back.

She dramatically sank onto a tree root, let out a deep sigh, and closed her eyes like life had truly worn her down.

You, glowing with joy, were already tugging Neteyam by the hand.

– You’re the dad! And I’m the mom! We’re a family!

– And who’re our kids? – Neteyam asked with a slight smile, trying to keep a serious face.

– Them! – Y/n pointed at Lo’ak and Spider.

– Hey! I don’t wanna play this! – Lo’ak grumbled, arms crossed.

– Shh! You’re the grumpy son, – you declared sternly and stomped your foot.

Spider snorted.

– Fine. If Lo’ak’s grumpy, I’ll be the obedient one. Maybe I’ll get dessert for it.

You busily sat everyone down on the ground, setting out “bowls” made of wide leaves in front of them.

– No playtime until you eat!

– What’s for lunch, mommy? – Spider asked with exaggerated drama.

– Leaves, berries, and roots, – Neteyam answered, miming a spoon to his mouth. – All made with love.

– How long will I be stuck in the bushes after this “masterpiece”? – Lo’ak muttered to Spider with a groan.

– Eat up, children, before it gets cold! – you said strictly, handing Spider a chunk of some pretend-dead caterpillar.

– Husband, help me with the kids!

“Yes, yes... sons, listen to your mother,” Neteyam muttered, trying to stay serious, but his lips betrayed him with a twitch of a smile.

“Never again,” Lo’ak hissed, leaning toward Spider, who just chuckled softly.

A fragile, warm childhood moment—like a breath of air before the storm.

...

They stood in a straight line, facing the moss-covered ruins of an abandoned base. Hands clenched in front of them so tightly it hurt the wrists. No one was allowed to sit—not even those struggling to breathe from exhaustion. Only to stand. Stand and wait.

Every time someone made a wrong move, they were yanked by their queue.

“Don’t move. Stand still!”

The darkness thickened, the air turned cold and damp.

And suddenly—in the depth of the jungle, from where the ancient trees grew—a faint call echoed. A bird cry, from somewhere above. Thin, familiar, heart-gripping. A signal.

Neytiri.

None of the enemy avatars paid attention. They were busy—checking equipment, speaking into radios, scanning the perimeter.

Kiri lowered her head and closed her eyes. Her lips moved soundlessly. She began to pray. The prayer, in the Na’vi tongue, flowed like a song—softly, almost inaudibly—melting into the sounds of the forest and rain.

She called out to Eywa, to the Great Spirit, for protection.

A soldier yanked her kuru again, telling her to shut up.

Panic spread like fire through dry leaves.

“Hold the line!” shouted one of the avatars—but it was already too late.

Lo’ak, close enough to the soldier, lunged forward and sank his teeth into the man’s arm with a feral growl. The avatar screamed, instinctively letting go. In the same instant, Tuk followed her brother’s lead—not as strong, but with just as much determination. The soldier staggered back, and the children bolted.

Kiri and Spider, using the chaos, had already vanished into the trees, swallowed by the night greenery under the noise of gunfire and shouted orders.

Y/n was the last. Her heart pounded like a war drum. One of the avatars grabbed her shoulder, holding her back. Terror and fury blazed inside. She looked up at him—and suddenly slammed her foot into his knee with every ounce of strength she had.

The avatar howled in pain and let her go. You broke free, stumbled, but quickly got up and ran—into the forest, into the rain and darkness, toward the only hope of salvation.

Everything felt like a thick fog. The mask on your face seemed to make breathing harder, each inhale echoing in your ears. Through the veil of fear and smoke, you barely made out the familiar silhouettes of the Na’vi. Gathering what strength remained, you ran toward them.

“Neteyam!” you cried out, your voice cracking into a scream.

The boy turned instantly, eyes wide with alarm. With a grace that only he possessed, he leapt over a fallen tree and was beside you in a heartbeat. Grabbing your hand, he pulled you forward.

“Run! Hurry!”

You tore through the jungle, leaping over roots, dodging branches. Gunshots and yelling echoed behind you, flashes of light sliced through the night. Your heart thundered in your chest, breath ragged.

“Eywa, don’t let us die,” you whispered, eyes locked on the depths of the forest ahead.

The night wrapped around you—but you knew, as long as you were together, there was still hope.

...