❗Latinoamerica es una región soberana. Nadie erige ni derrumba a los líderes excepto el propio pueblo❗Hello, me here! She/her, español & english, in my 30s, latina. 🔞, +18 stuff. Very 💗♀️♀️🏳️🌈💜🫂🏳️⚧️🌌💗🇵🇸. Kinda m*n Hater/ H*mbre no es gente. Eventually, I'll share my original works, here and around (cross🫂posting) ^^
(minors, cisstraightmen, pro AI, and pro meat industry, you are so fucking unwelcomed here 🤮)
(Masterlist ➡️)
Hello! I'm mystoryandyourkiss in AO3. I'm a little bit new to this whole fit, but I've written before. Big fan of Angst, slow burn, mature, but still kinda open to anything (still figuring anyway). All my f!protagonists-f!readers are bisexual/queer.
I'll be writing for:
Jason Todd
Avatar Movies -> Quaritch & Jake
Abby Anderson (exclusively game)
Bucky Barnes
Miguel O'Hara
(Tommy Shelby?)
[Most definitely x reader -> x f!reader - 'you' - y/n] Stay tuned 👀
De la Espriella tiene ciudadanía gringa. Para ser ciudadano gringo, debes jurar, literalmente jurar, que tu lealtad pasa a ser de gringolandia, por sobre todas las cosas, sin importar dónde hayas nacido o que otras nacionalidades tengas. Agüevardo, al ser nacionalizado gringo (y orgullosisímo republicano 🤮) está obligado a anteponer los intereses, bienestar, y órdenes de gringolandia por encima de Colombia. Colombia no sería ni la segunda, ni tercera, ni décima prioridad. Seríamos menos que un estado gringo, de hecho.
No sé trata de lo que el matagatos piense, o quiera (que obvio que sí quiere, el muy arrodillado hijûëpūtà), sino que, literalmente, está atado de manos para hacer lo que los gringos (e israh3ll, super obviamente) le ordenen.
Colombia no puede caer en manos de ese tipo. Y más allá de los "millones" de colombianos que voten por él, la registraduría y el software de conteo ya está de su lado. No sé que vamos a hacer, Colombia. Nos tengo mucha fé, pero es que el panorama de verdad es aterrador.
Pero en fin, salgan a votar, hagan pedagogía, y recuerden que Abelardo literalmente nos quiere destripar, que Petro sacó a 2 millones de personas de la pobreza, y que el plan de gobierno de Cepeda es el único que protege los derechos humanos y el medio ambiente.
I was so sure we were going to win today. I thought, there will be so many people voting Cepeda, that not even fraud will stop us from winning.
Also, finding out barely a day ago, that there is a damn gringo team "overlooking" the elections, and that the software used to count votes is the same one USA used to put a narco president in Honduras,??????? Like ??????? Why hasn't been Colombia, all of it, protesting against it????? Cepeda can get 500 million votes, as long as USA is in charge of "counting" the votes, we will never ever win.
Este nuevo Plan Cóndor (confirmado, con todas las pruebas que quieras) va a poner a un Zi0nista m4t4 gatos de presidente Vayanse al carajo m4ld1t0s gringos d3m13rd4
Fuck ai to the moon and back, sure, but most importantly, fuck every single person that uses it or defends it. You all fuckers are truly, truly lame. Not even an insul, you ARE lame.
God today I was surrounded by the most imbecile people (dozens) that believe "ai is such a wonderful tool 🤩" Lamest, lamest, lamestest people. And they are university/college STUDENTS. We are so fucked.
You are not an artist, or a writer, or a student, you aren't shit at all if you use ai. And needles to say, if you EVER, in any way, even if "just once" even if "just for myself" even if "just out of curiosity" put any of my works through ai, well, fuck you, and I hope your life fills with struggle.
Oh god I could rant all day. And get very personal, because if you are an adult and think ai is good, it's only because you genuinely are a mouthbreather, you think hair grows from the tip, that harsh winters have nothing to do with global warming, that israh3ll is defending itself, or that vaccines give autism. Fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you. Goooooood I'm genuinely shaking with rage and frustration FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCCCCCKKKKKKKYOUUUUUUUUUUUU
Also, here I share na'vi words and names I come up with. Because it's fun, it's very unique and personal (for each writer), and it takes work, so why not showcase them 🌺🌷🎉🎊
Na'vi personal names:
Te'ango. Inspired from 'ango, soft
Aytare. Inspired from tarepyu, rescuer.
Tekamem. From kame, see
Tokxel. From seykxel, strong
N'tiare. From oare, moon
Moj'taro. From taronyu, hunter
Etsäfre. From säfrìp, bite
Other names:
Nansrerawke = Nantang-wolf, sre'-tooth, rawke-alarm call. The Na'vi name for the fanged mongrel.
Tstutsyul = tstu-close, syulang-flower. A fibrose plant used to make stitches thread.
Tsaram'om = 'om-purple, ram-mountain, tsawl-big. It's the Na'vi name for Toropedio.
Kelpìwopx = kel-home, pìwopx-cloud. The Na'vi name for Daltura 6C.
Syulänrrtsam = Syulang-flower, sänrr-glow, tsamsiyu-warrior. It's another Na'vi clan, lives inside a haw'xukxtuen. (👀)
(Fyi tawtute is the canon na'vi word for human.)
These are the recoms names, all of them, according to me, since Miles and Lyle are the only first names known:
Dulce (Walker), Gwen (Zdirnarsizasahh), Daniél (López), Thomas (Brown), Noah (Mansk). Rip: Henry (Prager), Jacob Alexander (Ja), Joon (Zhang), Vincent (Warren), Damian (Fike).
The next day you are in the open shooting range, your first time there. It's right outside the wall, opposite to the sea side, facing the distant tree line of the forest. You'll deploy in 2 days, so no more hand to hand stuff or risky workouts.
There are a few tents that protect from the sun, but it wouldn't be a training under the comfort of shade, so Quaritch makes you all shoot under the most direct, scorching sunlight.
Xiomars shitted on this, how the rda trains the avatars as human soldiers. The whole point of forest na'vi is that they are made for the forest, for its fucking shadow, not some barren desert. There's barely landscapes like this in all of Pandora. This mini Sahara is strictly man made, what is the fucking point?!
And what can you do but comply? You also need to balance somehow your past dinner commentary. Maybe you do have some trouble with impulses, but you can also be obedient.
On your left is Walker, on your right, Mansk. While they use RecomM69, you are stuck with the same issued rifled you used on the MagLev operation. Smaller and less powerful, and yet twice as loud as the M69. And bad, bad memories.
At last, finally! Nothing to envy. Your target has as many bullseye's as your neighbors. Maybe, maybe, yours is a little better.
Quaritch shot too, for a while. He boasted at his own aim, and sadly he had the score to do so. Then he moved on to walking behind the recoms. A few corrections here and there, but mostly it was good talking with each one, bonding. Almost, almost parental.
Except with you, of course. Each time he walked behind you he told you to "Stop touching the ground with your knees, Sully!" Or "You are crouching like a fucking roach, Sully!"
Sully, Sully, Sully!- A day after your 18th birthday you asked Becca to go with you to the registry office. Not once did she ask you if you were sure. You had decided long ago, and had told her so since you were 16.
Again, your bullets land almost at the border of the target display, as they do everyime Quaritch yells at you. It could become automatic, you fear.
Still, you do try to correct your stance every time he is close, just to appease him. Xiomars told you to "Bend your knees deeper than human you, legs wider." Or "Don't be just aware of the human body vices, counterattack them".
You are not dumb, you'll listen to Quaritch as much as you are told to. But about na'vi, avatars and recoms, he can shove it up his ass.
The screen above your target reads 789, while Walker's is 719 and Mansk's is 726. Wainfleet's score is the best, at 801.
On a team of elite resurrections, you are third, after the Lieutenant and the Colonel. You were never remarkable with guns back on earth. Is kind of bittersweet, you really wish you could talk to Xiomars, and thank them. Over and over again.
"Fucking embarrasing" Walker says, and Mansk follows with a "Her gun, it's different." that doesn't fully sound like a tease.
"Nah, you just suck" You smile, letting the gun drop from the belt so you can massage your shoulder and chest.
You look back, hoping to bask in Quaricth watching you do something so good. You don't find him, just Spider, that looks bored out of his mind sitting on the floor under one of the tarps, drawing with his finger on the dirt.
Quaritch must have forced him to come, there's literally nothing worse than this back at bridgehead. He liked the beach, he should be-
"Sully!" Someone yell -Quaritch-, oh, and how fast you turn at that name, stupid! You need to- you barely manage to catch with your hands and not with your face the M69 Quaritch throws at you.
"What- Sir?" You ask, holding the gun, looking between it and its previous bearer. Quaritch just stares you back, with no indication at all.
You think of looking back at your target, it now displays two big circles almost overlapping, a white one covering a blue one, with just a very slim blue ellipse showing between them. Very on the nose.
You don't even care to get rid of your issued rifle, you just leave it hanging while you properly grab the M69. Is bigger, heavier, brand new, and warm.
You get into position, Xiomar's position, gun pressing over your collar bone. It's a strong recoil, but it gets easier after every fire.
You lower the gun and stare at your work: three holes on the blue crescent moon. The upper one almost touches the outer border of the blue circle, the middle one is dead center, and the lower one is a bit too close to the white circle. And yet, all in all, it's some good work.
Brown howls and claps, and you cant stop your smile, real for once. You turn your triumphant face at Quaritch, waiting to bask on his annoyance. But he's just staring at your target, and he is frowning, but just at the sun, nothing else.
He pulls down the corners of his lips and gives you a nod, in that clasic dry congratulation he uses with his team.
"Wainfleet dies, you are our sniper." He states, already walking past you.
"Sir." You say, kinda lost. Walker rises her hand, and you high five.
･°˖ ✧★˚⋆｡°✩✯˖°･
You don't see the recoms the next two days. You train on one of the avatar gyms, sometimes alone, sometimes with Ivonne, and read a lot at night. You take one of Palomer's pill the night before departure, getting 10 hours of wonderful, dreamless sleep.
In the morning you go to her, to thank her, and ask for a favor.
You arrive at 9 in at the armory, although it cannot address you before the set time, at 10. But still, you feel like an early bird, competent.
You had been excited, what could you expect but a RecomM69 gun? So you ask again and again if there was a mistake when the handler gives you a nail gun. There wasn't, he tells you. Quaritch was very clear, he says.
And eventually you believe it. Understand it. This gun is bigger and heavier than the m69s. Yes, it's powerful. As it is fucking slow.
Big bullets, each one worth five or so regular ones, they pierce clean through tanks and thick treetrunks, rip things in two. But it needs a manual bolt change per bullet, and it only stores 4 bullets per round.
You could, very easily, blow a recom to pieces with a single shot. But you couldn't possibly kill all seven of them and flee. And that is all this is about.
You slam the side of your fist against the wall, startilng the handler. "Hey!-" he starts, but you are already storming away.
You reach the airfield, go to the Scorpion bh-r11, with no one but the human pilot just starting to check the craft stats on her pad.
The pilot opens the door and offers you to sit inside. You can't, you quite literally need to pace, all the length of the helicopter, then around, then all the way to the end of the strip and back.
A fucking nail gun. You hate it. It''s gray and square, it weights at least one and an half recom rifle. Everything out there will try to kill you, you'll need to be fast more than anything. So this? This is fucking stupid. It's unfair!
It's all thank to him, everything. Everything! And Quaritch too.
You try the bolt, that you'll have to pluck and unpluck every single time... it does feel kind of cool. And at least the ammo is not placed on top like with the human versions. You could still aim good.
The extra padded butt of the rifle tells you is not going to be uncomfortable, but actually fucking hurt each time you pull the trigger.
You try it, hold it in position, aiming down, by your feet. You pull the trigger, even without any ammo the system is so strong it hits your chest-shoulder with a heavy recoil.
Three cartridges, one always on the gun, one at hand, and a spare one in your backpack, alll charged, plus two straps, each with four titanium bullets. They're really heavy, not too thick, but almost as long as your opened hand. You have a total of 20 bullets, slow ones, while the rest will have one or two hundred, as quick as needed. You are dead.
From your peripheral vision you spot them approaching. A set of heavy, assured steps reach you first.
He stops in front of you, you slightly move your rifle, as if aiming at his boot. It's a tiny gesture, but you doubt he doesn't notice it.
"Like your new toy, Sully?" He asks.
"Love it, sir" You deadpan, opening and closing the bolt unnecessarily hard, loudly.
"Oh? You have no idea how much joy that brings me." He deadpans too, colder.
You look up, immediatly meeting his yellow eyes. "You better get used" He says, leaning forward a little, "It's the only gun you'll be touching" He ends with a tight, polite smile.
"Of course" You say, monotonous. Not as a roger, but an I fucking know.
Ardmore arrives too, on a skel suit, besides her the lieutenant and behind them the rest of recoms.
If at all, you'd had expected the kid walking besides Quaritch, playing around. But this time he is all the way back, with the rest of the recoms, almost lost behind Walker. As if hiding.
"Ma'am." You greet with a deep nod.
Behind Walker's legs Spider peeks a look. He's dead focused on Ardmore. He gives you a quick look, then Quaritch, but right away he focuses back on the General. She notices, appears amused by it. Quaricth, to you surspise, seems displeased. Worried?
Ardmore turns to you, and waves her skel hand between you and Quaritch.
"Your deacon, same as with Sergeant Brown. In dead zones you must check in every 16 hours, not a minute more."
"Of course, ma'am"
If there was something obvious, it was this. It could be no one but Quaricth. What you hadn't expected was Ardmore bothering to do it formally.
You look back at the Colonel, but hes looking at the kid, while stroking his face with his hand, right over the scabing and scarring wounds forming on the right side. He could easily get them removed, you doubt he's not allowed to, like you.
"There's is no way you dont find him. You know, together." Ardmore taunts, "There will be a whole party waiting for your return, confetti and all."
Bring me his head, or don't bother coming back.
Quaritch exhales through his nose. "We'll have a very special gift exchange." He says, with an almost charming smile.
He slaps twice the metal of the Scorpion, the propel blades start spinning. The old Samson besides it starts warming up too.
You put a foot in, but before you can push yourself inside, you get spooked by this little thing squirreling between your legs. Spider runs all the way to the seat right besides the window, as if worried someone else could take his spot. He's beaming, happy, no trace of the scared face you were seeing a minute ago. He gives you a wide excited smile. There is no way he is coming with you-
"Come on." Reaches Brown's voice, way too close, already pressing a hand against your nacked lower back. You jolt forward, also seating besides the window, opposite to Spider.
Quaritch closes the door when the Scorpion is already several meters above ground. Spider keeps looking out the window, pressing both his hands and mask against the glass. He'd be pressing his nose flat against it if he wasn't wearing a mask.
The second the landscape under turns from barren soil to lush green, the kid stands up and starts untying his shorts. Before anyone can say anything they fall to the floor, revealing a brown loincloth underneath.
Quaritch sweeps down his face with his hand, "Miles-"
"Spider!"
"Spider, why on god's earth-"
"You said only in Bridgehead!" Spider defends, with a cheeky grin.
Zdog scoffs beside you, "Fucking Mowgli" she whispers.
Quaritch sighs, tired, then he bends forward, extending his hand. Spider picks up the trunks, folds them into a ball, but instead of passing them he puts them behind his back.
"You first." He says, also extending his hand. It's eerly similar, beyond any mockery. Pure genetics, you dare to think.
Quaritch dislodges from his shoulder a piece of wood you hadn't even noticed. It looks like a toy na'vi bow. He hands it to Spider, and only after he grabs it he throws away his shorts. They almost hit Wainfleet in the face.
Not a toy, you realize, but a human version of the real one. It has some carving and colorful threads adorning the handle. It's familiar, faintly, but enough to sink your stomach. Tribes have each their own designs...
"What about the arrows?" Wainfleet asks. Spider shrugs, caressing the bow, like he had missed it. "I'll make them." He simply says.
It's endearing. Again, you smile, and Spider sees it. He smiles back, a little shy.
He jumps into his seat, feet hanging in the air, swinging. He checks the bow, eyebrows deeply frowned in concentration. He goes through the string, the wood, the knots, the curves. Touching, tapping, rubbing. All too sincere.
How bizarre, all of this.
Wainfleet, Mansk and Brown start snickering amongst them, until Brown barks a laugh.
"Drop it." Growls Quaritch, serious, annoyed. Why didn't he simply left him back at Bridgehead? Why the fuck bring him? A human kid is simply fated to die on Pandora's wilderness. It's simply unthinkable.
How did he survive? You wonder, staring at him, at his fair dreads that revolt your stomach because of him, at his calloused feet, at the myriad of small scars that decorate his body, far from abuse, just, childhood. A rough one, sure.
There are very faint blue stripes covering his body, human eyes couldn't even notice them, too faded. It could be some rash, it could be bruises. But you know what they are, anyone can tell what they are meant to mimic.
You need to ask, if not Walker then Mansk. Maybe Zdog's dislike will push her to tell you more about this kid.
Spider finds you staring at him. He smiles at you, raising his bow, pulling the string. First he aims at you, then to the side, to showcase better his form. "Made it myself!" he says, so proud, probably thinking that's what you were admiring.
"All by myself. Uh, well, Neteyam helped me, but, I did most of it!"
Mansk besides him is cheking his watch, and Zdog besides you is talking to Lopez. It's beyond weird having him eagerly talking to you. Only you.
You barely nod, careful to not look committed, then you turn to look out the window. Maybe you'll close your eyes in a minute, pretend to sleep.
But he continues.
He opens his mouth, looks at his hands. Looking for something.
"I, uh… Oh! He's been to space. There." He says, taping the window, pointing at the sky. "You too, right?" He asks.
What is he talking about? There were some Na'vi that tried to blow Ardmore and the whole Venture Star, two years ago, leaded by him. Was this Neteyam one of those soldiers? You're not the only one to realize that, and is brand new information, judging by the change in the air.
Mansk leans forward, elbows on his knees.
"Really? That sounds super cool. How did he do that?"
Spider's face lights up, he smiles wide, about to share. But, something clicks, apparently. He looks at Quaritch, who had stopped talking to Wainfleet and Brown. Spider smile falls, he looks at the rest of the recoms, at you.
And either you are impressed, or try too hard to look clueless, but you end up pressing your lips. He must read it as a "Yes, we are setting you up, kid. Stupid kid" because his face twists, he turns to Mansk, and fucking hisses at him! Boiling, feral. And isn't him a Na'vi through and through while doing so.
Spider crosses his arms, the bow guarded against his chest, and he scooches closer to the window, burying into the corner, until there is some space between him and Mansk.
He stays like that, tired, angry, in silence.
One hour later, halfway through, the kid falls asleep, lulled by the dull motors and the adult conversation, about this or that mission the recoms did back then, when their team name was Viperterror, not Deja Blu.
Names and places you don't know. A whole history that is not yours. It's them, then it's you. All apart. You should just sleep, too.
Quaritch's eyes are on the kid. Not angry, not loving, just… pensive.
Mansk taps your boot with his, gives you a wink. You hold his gaze, holding onto this limited pre-drop eye contact. It's nostalgic. Your heartbeat slowly but steadily has been picking up since you woke up. It's not just a new scenery, it's not just trees and mountains, it's not just an opperation. It's a new attempt. You cannot fail again.
You can't wait.
You don't want to face him again.
You can't wait.
The Scorpion guns go off, making Spider jolt awake. The Samson follows too. Outside in the open sky there are a bunch of big birds harassing the craft. There's just a few, the problem is the swarm you see approaching from the south. The famous immune response of the moon.
"Mit'traus" Spider says, unsure himself. They do resemble the stingbats that every other day sneak into Bridgehead's killzone, just a bit bigger, and a lot more vicious.
"This is as far as we can get, Sir" one of the pilots yells. The Samson flies towards the swarm, launching flares, calling all the attention, giving your team a minute.
"Spider!" Calls Quaritch, the kid sprints and climbs the recom's back, holding his arms around his neck. He looks extra tiny like this.
They are the first to fast rope down to the forest, along Lopez. Walker and Wainfleet, next is Brown, Zdog, Mansk and you. You zip down amongst screeches, gunfire, and branches scratching your legs.
There's some finality in the way you heavily land on the soil, rifle charged and ready on your arms. You are burying your nails into him, there's simply no other outcome.
🐞🐞🐞You can find more chapters on my AO3 (up to chapter 12 right now) 💖 🐞🐞🐞
||Jake Sully & adoptive daughter reader|| ||Recom Miles Quaritch X f!reader||.
| Mature |❗ Not thoroughly tagged, there will be untagged elements❗|
(<- Chapter 9 SECOND part) (Ladybird, ladybird masterlist) (Chapter 10 SECOND part ->)
❀⋆✿⋆❀⋆✿
"Have you been sleeping, at all?" Doctor Palomer asks, worried or accusatory, you can't tell.
You pull away the tissue to speak, this one, finally, only has two drops of blood. You give your nose a couple of final dabs.
"I've been rather busy" You answer, with a little, innocent smile. Doctor Palomer gives you such an unimpressed look, you do feel pressured to keep talking.
"Also, I uh, I'm going out in a few days, it's uh, important. I might be… excited."
The doctor rolls her eyes, but nods, at least.
"D'accord, mhm. How many hours of sleep a night?"
Two. Three if you count that night after the pary, after Mansk.
"Five, six hours." You say, staring at her shirt under the white coat. This one has some hearts embroidered by the neck hem, in hues of pink. They're tiny, a bit uneven and with some loose threads. It makes all of her look that much more real.
"Six hours of sleep rarely make you faint during breakfast." She simply states while turning back to grab something from her desk.
You scrunch your nose, how embarrassing. Your issued shirt is black, nothing to notice, but you'll have to get Jacob a new white rda shirt to replace the one you stained with your blood. And as an overall thank you, for carrying you all the way here. Although you are sure it boosted his ego, the provider, the caretaker, the hero!
"Food poisoning perhaps. Or that thing, vasogial something."
"Vagovagal reflex, definitely not that, not a reflex syncope either." The doctor taps her pad, and some graphics display on the wall-screen. Hand embroidered stuff on her clothes and all, she's still sharp.
"Your glucose and tension are high. Your cortisol way too high. You can lie Smith, but not really. You are a ball of stress."
She says it softly, doesn't sound any less threatening. Too stressed to be deployed, she could order.
"It's a stressing job." You say.
The doctor throws her head back and groans, comically, then she sighs, and looks you in the eye.
"I know, I know, I'm a medic!, I'll run to snitch whatever irregularity yada yada. But," and she gives your arm a squish "Ne sois pas idiot. The neurosect, the collar in your avatar, the days long drives… you must be careful. You need to."
It strangely validating to listen to another human being talking about it, outside of rda needs. You are tempted to say thank you.
"I'm saving my sick days."
Palomer laughs "Aren't we all? The havoc common flu could unleash, mon dieu! We have it frozen somewhere around- Uhh, anyway.
She gives you a small bottle, you can count four gel pills inside.
"Try to sleep, on your own. But, if it to comes to, you know... One before bed. One" She insists, knowing.
The next three days after half passing out at breakfast, you keep your training as usual. Harder, actually.
You are worried shitless. But that's good, it makes you more focused, drives you to push harder. You do reps with 400 kilos instead of 300, or they will crush you. You fight underwater with Dominique until he has to tap out - for your own safety, not like you could win against him-. You have to, or they will just watch you drown.
And if you are not fast enough, they will leave you behind. You run at 55 kilometers, keeping it up for 70 minutes.
Your nose bleeds again, but this time you can keep it hidden and quiet.
The fourth day, 8 days after that "introduction" at the Sea Sentinel, you are finally called to meet the Deja blu team, properly.
Blue you gets to the 'avatar garden' at 5:50, an hour and ten minutes earlier.
And yet, when you arrive, as if it was some rda propaganda sketch, you find all seven recoms already on the ground doing push ups, drenched under the fat drops of Pandora rain.
You already had a hunch Quaritch was that kind of superior. It still sucks. You step outside, the rain makes you scrunch your face and fold down your ears
“Good morning, sir.” You salute, going to the end of the row to start working out.
“Hey.” Grunts Brown, besides him is Mansk, who gives you a quick raise of eyebrows. He is the last of the bunch, maybe on purpose, and you position yourself besides him.
You don't love nor hate push ups, they're just too repetitive, with nothing to watch but the dirt under your hands becoming mud.
After you reach the hundredth you stop counting, and soon enough you start to fall behind, to the point Mansk makes almost two for every single one you do. What can you do but feel embarrased?
They'll leave you behind. Or more accurately, you'll fall back. Useless.
Quaritch doesn't say anything, he just stops and stands up, everyone follows.
Mansk starts walking besides you, and you give him a polite smile.
"Hey, so...-"
"Another hundred, Sully" Breaks that southern drawl that you are starting to hate. He doesn't even turn your way, just keeps his eyes on his watch. He makes some gesture with his hand and starts walking away, towards the playing fields
You bury your hands into the mud, all pain and tiredness gone. Sully?! Who the fuck does he think he is? And why?! What have you done?! Is it now your fucking fault he lost? Did you fucking kill him?
"Fucker." You mutter. Not low enough.
"What was it, Sargent?"
Everything grows quieter, except the tap of the rain, on your form, on the soil, on the pavement of the fields, on his boots. And the rush of blood to your ears.
"Smith." You say, confidently, like you had totally meant to be heard. "My last name is Smith, sir."
He starts walking to you, with slow, heavy steps. Your anger is not enough to fully keep down your… uneasiness.
You keep doing your stupid push ups as a pair of toffee fabric boots appear in your visual field, too close to your face. He wouldn't kick you. Would he?
"Come again?" And you know that way of talking too well, it's of the very first things you learn when enlisting 'I dare you to repeat that to my face'.
And defusing is a skill any good soldier needs to learn quickly.
"The rda has me registered as Sergeant Smith, sir."
His boots shift. He squats in front of you. Oh fuck, fuck fuck fuck. You keep focusing on your pushups, uncaring, looking at nothing but the black mud between your hands. Your uniform is long soaked, the raindrops fall following the curves of your arms, or travel down your face. You can smell your sweat, the Pandora version of petrichor, the 'neutral' soap and shampoo all avatars use. You can smell him, deep- smokey.
"Ah, my bad." Says a chilling smile, "I'll try to remember... Sully."
You stop, arms extended. You look up slowly, meeting his amused expression, killing eyes.
You fantasize. You could grab a fistful of mud, throw it at his face. To shit with his remarkable experience, he wouldn't be able to stop you if you pounce, mouth to his throat. You wouldn't stop until your lower teeth met the upper ones. It wouldn't take you two seconds-
Why in the everloving fuck would Ardmore pair you with him? How stupid. It's way too personal for Quaritch, and you are not good enough to justify being added to his elite team.
They want you to bark. And as usual, you cannot allow not doing it. Can't afford it. How unbearably exhausting.
You give the Colonel a tight smile, and a dutiful nod. You just get back to your push ups.
Quaritch remains there, still, a few seconds too long. Almost disappointed.
In the afternoon is Lt Wainfleet the one to comand, he makes you spar Manks. Or more like Mansk offers, and Wainfleet allows it.
"So, I take it you are the worst at hand on hand?" You tease, while you both circle around each other. All and any weaknes you can spot on him is his slight limp, with the still healing slash on his tight. Ah, but no problem thrusting.
Mansk scoffs "Talkers get wrecked, Ladybird." He smiles, and you tingle, "I sweep the floor with Thomas any day"
You look to your left, where Brown is slapping the arm of Walker, thightly squishing his throat.
"Okay," Mansk tilts his head "not a high bar, I know, but-"
"Mansk!" Yells Wainfleet outside the mats, a half hearted scold. But the word is enough to make Mansk act.
You can't even blink when his fist connects with your left torax, way too soft to hurt, but more than enough to indicate your loss.
It makes you smile, "You cannot go this easy on me."
Mansk shrugs, "What's wrong with a little pity? I can be a gentleman"
You roll your eyes, but keep your smile. "You are not getting on my pants, Noah.”
"Well, those are more like sho-" You lunch forward, he is fast but your covered knuckles manage to grace his face. You lose your footing for a second, when you feel a way too soft smack on your stomach, right in between the jaws of your tattoo.
"Dead" Mansk says, smug, and with a wink.
Wainfleet groans loudly "That's it. Mansk, with Lopez. Walker!" He calls, signaling the woman to let go of yet another hold on Brown, and to get with you.
You make a face, worried, and Mansk is still close enough you can hear his snort.
Walker strides with big, confident steps until she's in front of you, eager. It awakes you.
You give her a nod as a greeting, already getting into position, arms ready in front of your face. The woman is just amused.
"Love to crack new ones." She says, at least without too much malice.
"Come on." She indicates, after too many seconds with you just moving your weight from feet to feet. You lounge, with little faith. As usual you aim for the face, your other arm ready to block, your feet ready to push you away in case of a kick.
She blocks your right fist, and imediatly after your left one, but you throw them hard enough to make her take one step back.
Before you can get too much of a boost, something catches behind your calf, something hits you in the chest. You close your eyes at the impact, and the next thing you are watching is the transparent glass of the outside gym.
"Did I break your ass?"
You sit up, your ass a little tender since you landed on it.
"Not yet." You breath. You hold up your hand, and Walker pulls you up right away.
Another round. This time you know to look after your feet. But she knows that too. You make the mistake of looking down, and in that second Walker throws a left punch, you can't block it, so you squat, already aiming for a hit in the middle of her chest. She brings her knee up and you barely manage to stop it with your forearm.
You separate for a second, breath, and Walker is already against you. Another punch that you deflect upwards, but in the same movement Walker tries to loop her arm around your neck. You spin before she can close the hook, you squat, half kneeling in the floor, and her boot is coming your way from the side. You put your right arm up, it receives the kick, hard enough to push it against the side of your face.
You are on your way downward to the mat, for another loss. Like it happened a hundred times back at the Vindicator.
Back then you'd see a blurry blue fist, the swift of long black dreadlocks, graying halfway from the roots, and then you'd be staring at the ceiling of the ship. You'd try to regain yourself, back into position, but Xiomars avatar would shake their head.
"You take too long, Smith" They'd say, "When you are pushed to your knees, before standing up, consider biting off some dicks"
You grab Walker's leg, holding tightly her calf against your shoulder, and with your other arm you hit the back of her other leg, at the knee, then you push forward and up. You both go down like a tree, but before and without any grace, you crawl forward. One knee over her hip, the other on her thigh. Her hands are already reaching for you, but with the same impulse you used to crawl, you can pin down both her arms, one against the mat, the other against her chest, almost over her neck.
Your face hoovers above her. Shes frowning, surprised. But then she smiles.
"What you'd do next?" She asks.
You think for a second, bite something off, as Xiomars used to insist. "I'd headbutt your nose? Break it, or, something"
Walker rolls her eyes, "That's a solid plan"
Her left arm escapes your hold and she uses it to push you away. You sit back on your knees between her legs, while she looks at you, nodding to herself.
"Okay." She chirps, "There's some potential at least." She then licks her lips and stands up.
You get on your feet too, smiling a bit, you don't completely suck!
Again, you position in front of each other. "We are done with the warm up" she says, both threatening and challenging. It excites you.
Behind you the gym's door opens, and you notice Walker, and behind her the other soldiers, straightening up. You don't need to look to know. You don't want to, either.
But the recoms' attention remains a little too long behind you, and Zdog's face scrunches in distaste.
You do look back, and as expected, Quaritch has walked inside, some human personnel behind him- no… no, what?
The person walking besides him is...? Not a soldier? No. What?
He's walking right besides Quaritch, jogging to keep up the pace, almost getting tangled between his legs. He's shirtless and barefoot, only a pair of blue trunks. There is simply no one that could be allowed to walk around bridgehead undressed like that, at least not outside the habitat zone.
As they get closer you can see his face, framed in a mane of blond dreads. He almost looks scared behind the breathing mask.
And then you see it, and you gasp.
He's tall and fairly muscular, and yet, there is no way he is a day past 17. Shit, not even 16.
"Is that a fucking kid?!" You ask, scandalized.
Only Walker can hear you, "Never seen one?" She answers, and you snap back to stare at her, at her completely uncaring face.
"Not here, obviously!" Why is no one else freaking out?
You look back again, Quaritch gets on the sparring platform in one jump. He looks back, and it looks like he's planning on helping the kid, since the platform is taller than him, but the tiny human gets up himself, easily climbing up.
You can't believe it. "Repopulation" is planed to start in 2175. But accidents happen, and there's already a few babies around Bridgehead. They're quite famous, and you think of Becca- but that's it, babies. This kid- teenager in front of you doesn't make any sense.
You look back at the recombinants, and except for Zdog's poorly disguised disgust, they are just, normal.
You raise your hands, baffled. "How?"
Walker shrugs, "Found him."
You frown harder. "What- Where? How- He shouldn't be here, here on this fucking moon!"
Quaritch stands besides Wainfleet, arms crossed, talking. And the kid is by his legs, looking lost, in every possible way, looking around, surprised, uncomfortable, curious.
His eyes find you for a couple of seconds, then they continue wandering around. It's by far the most misplaced thing you've seen on Pandora, by a long shot.
Some humans were allowed to stay, after the war, fifteen years ago.
"He… he's from before, Hell's Gate." You say, don't ask. Walker nods, "No pods for babies." she says.
That explains a lot. Not why the kid is here, nor why is he so close to Quaritch, literally, pressing against his thigh.
"Why-" "Right!" Walker warns, her fist already connecting with your cheek.
Mansk invites you to dine with them. For many reasons you couldn't say no, starting with the fact that at some point your life will be on their hands. So you better try to bond.
The recoms sometimes ate at the main cafeteria, but more often than not they would eat somewhere else. It was here, the cafeteria by the Lake. Where you and Mansk fucked. Funny bastard.
You sit at a table with him, Zdog, Brown and Lopez. Brown and Zdog very classy ask about "any happy memories" making the rest laugh, including Mansk. Of course it's not funny, but if you look bothered they'll never let it go, so you try to play along, smiling a little. Your face hurts, swollen a bit, thanks to Walker.
You do feel your ears go purple with embarrassment. Had you know they'd be your team, you would have never touched any of them. But the damage is done, and sometimes Mansk gives you that look.
This cafeteria is way less crowded, barely any humans, and most avatars are either scientists or officials. You spot familiar faces, some engineers back from the ship like Lisa, and Jolvie too, who sometimes works at the link lab.
It's not surprising, but you had thought in an alien moon there would be less time for this elitist "best of the best" clownery. You feel very unfit. You are. It's not like there's other way across, but through.
The kid followed too. He plays alone at the beach, he had been swimming, submerging, and now tries to bury himself in the sand.
"Miles, come, now!" Quaricth calls, standing at the edge of the balcony.
"Not my name!" The kid yells back, annoyed, taking off his mask for a moment so his voice comes loud and unfiltered.
Quaricth shakes his head, hands on his hips. He thinks it for a second.
"Now, Spider." He calls again, with less energy. The kid ignores him again, for a couple of seconds, but then he stands up, shakes the sand, and starts jogging towards the building.
There's more than enough reasons for everyone present to stare at the scene, there is a fucking kid, and a Colonel… scolding him?
Miles…
Brown shakes his head with a wide smile, cheeks full of 'steak'. "Ain't it cute." he mocks after swallowing.
The kid, Spider, reaches Quaritch's table, in front of yours, but instead of sitting down on the space Quaritch had reserved, the kid half climbs onto the table, reaching for the plump red y'ottis piled at the center, completely disregarding the selection of human food the Colonel had arranged on a small bowl.
Selected and put together with his own blue hands.
Colonel Miles Quaritch.
"That's his son." You say, half confirming half asking. Its ridiculous. Cruel. You can almost hear Zdog rolling her eyes.
"Nothing escapes the baby." She says, not caring to even look in your direction.
You shrug, tho it pisses you, "It's not like you can find much resemblance between them."
Mansk snorts and extends his arm behind you, resting it on the backrest.
"So boss was a blond?" Lopez asks, too loud, since Quaritch ears twitch and he zeroes on your table, making you and everyone else focus on your meat lunch. Brown still snickers a little, "Pretty sure he was a gorgeous brunette"
Mansk sucks air "A stallion he was" he says, with too much feeling, making the table laugh.
Again, the laughter dies, and with Quaritch focused on something else, you all turn to observe them again.
Colonel is talking to Wainflet and some female avatar, Jolvie, the kid is by his side, at the end of the bench, knees to his chest, slowly biting into the alien fruit. He looks around, curious, and wary, in a way that kids shouldn't. He looks at your table, at all of you staring at him. He must hate it, you suppose, so you turn to stare at the Lake behind Brown and Lopez, with a shimer that's almost painful to see under the setting sun.
Your movement catches Brown attention, maybe suspecting you were staring at him.
He lays back against the backrest, too comfortable, and shares a look with the rest of recoms. He takes his drink and sips, looking at you over the rim. It's not hard to guess. It was due.
"So, Lady, Ladybug, there's yet so much ice to break."
He's serious, and every face on the table has turned to you. Your avatar's life will depend on them, you remind yourself. But how you hate this fucking eternal, never ending questioning.
"Ask." You say, eyes on the lake. There's no one training or playing today, just two sea dragons positioned by the wall.
Silence follows, not awkward, but worse, heavy, and heavier by the second. You hear a paper unwrapping, and then the heavy artificial scent of strawberries. Zdog leans forward, resting her elbows on the table.
"Daddy's girl." She says, blowing a pink bubble.
You exhale, amused. You did get daddy issues, twice. First, because nor you nor Mora could stop your progenitor from finding his real 'soulmate'. And then, again, because... why?
Why stay, right?
You hold your food tray, clench it. Your thumbnail starts scraping over the plastic, carving, hard.
Your avatar's life will depend on them. Your life, your reason, it will be on their hands. Breath-
"Hmm, so he killed you, I suppose"
The words leave your mouth calmly, softly, you keep looking at the water. The new silence clashes worse than ever.
From the corner of your eye you see Zdog turning her head to you. Your accelerated heart picks up even faster.
"What-" She stars, almost growling, but Mansk interrupts her by leaning forward as well, a barrier between her and you. "Gwen-" He interrupts, but Zdog, Gwen, doesn't allow it. She leans further forward, remaining in your visual field.
"No, what's your fucking point? He murdered hundreds. Is that, what, some sort of joke to you?" She says, loudly, like the spark on a threat about to reach the explosives.
You turn your head, not to her but towards to the kid's table. Of course Quaritch was already looking back. Waiting for something, perhaps
You hold his stare for a moment, as you start speaking.
"My point is, it doesn't matter what I say, or do. I'm the girl with the sob story, and I'll swap sides at the first chance I get, no?"
You leave Quaritch's eyes, and go back to the sea, sweeping for a second Brown's frown, and Lopez actually angry face. God, you suck at this. Back on earth everything went rather smoothly the second you met Becca and Kiana.
Maybe they were buffers?... No, that's not what has changed.
You put an effort into sounding more… tame.
"This body dies the second I step out of line, there's no point in worrying…" You finally look at Zdog, and won't her expresion be on your top ten scariest faces. Motherfucker. You eye her left arm tattoo, 'deathless' reads on the snake. A topic you'll never touch again.
"I'll kill you myself" She says. It's not a threat, nothing remotely close to what Selene or Lucas would tell you. You quite literally need to gulp.
"Okay." You nod, looking back at the sea, like a dog tucking its tail. You feel your ears going purple again, but this time is not embarrassment. You start to feel so unbelievably stupid. A dog tucking its tail.
"Love me some good cat fight." Brown says with a smile, and it's delicious the way a thud sounds under the table.
"Shitbag" Zdog grunts, still angry. Brown needs to stand up and away from the table so he can massage his shin.
What's up girl. Waiting for your chapter 12 of ladybird 🤞
Hello 👋 life is rather smooth, the thing is -and let me rant-, every time I'm done writing a chapter and posting it, I get this high and I'm all like "Wow, I'm so good at this! I'm gonna start posting a chapter per week!😎🤩🤑" And then I start working on the next chapter, only to be reminded that... Writing is quite hard, and takes soooo much time 😐.
Anyway 🫶 chapter 12 is done, (🐥🔪) I'm just editing it now. I'll try to post it (AO3) in the following days🙂↕️ ayyyy
I shit you not, there's some🧚♀️discourse🧚♀️on social media saying Neytiri is racist 🙂🙂🙂
And sure, it's just a movie, just some gringo movie, but the set of values you'd need to have to come to that conclusion 😬🤢🤢
I'm not gonna argue around something so bastardly stupid, that follows the same lines of literal shit like "reverse racism" or "c*ps lives matter", or "isr*hell is just defending itself". I just, well, uhm 🙂🙂🙂 Fuck people. And remember, beyond any fandom stuff, that 🧚♀️discourse🧚♀️is not born from ignorance or confusion, no, the people who say that, that adult people, IS genuinely that evil and disgusting, with their whole will.
