#quaritch

Nah- fuck it. i think it's punk as fuck cameron got disney to bankroll his weird horny hippie childhood dream project and spend 15 years on it instead of shitting it out with CGI sweatshops and "we'll decide where they'll have this convo in post." 100% sincere, no whedon speak, no constant nods at the 4th wall, no relying on rebooted IP or extended universe for inspo. they put a whale on trial. they are putting a whale on trial for murder in avatar 3. this is a serious plot beat with zero irony. the planet is a LAN network mixed with brains and plants that also happens to be god. post-knifeplay pillow talk in the trailer. autistic teenage jesus sigourney weaver.

when else do you see pure crackhead blank-check creativity like this in mainstream hollywood anymore I fucking love avatar. i think it's stupid that this site gushes over films like Atlantis: the Lost Empire while avatar is off limits to talk about. we NEED weird ass art. take an edible, pretend you've never seen anything about these flicks, and revisit these films the same way you can for fucking twilight (a franchise with way more imo harmful content directly tokenizing and misrepresenting a REAL community of indigenous people).

this is my propaganda. Reddit chuds started whining about "no cultural impact" because a story that frontlines indigenous struggle against imperialism clashes with fashy notions of maintaining a cultural canon. If something has no cultural impact, that must mean its themes have no cultural relevance, which is why they want to pretend these movies were a massive flop so damn much. criticize the movies all you want but Jesus Christ stop using the chud revisionist line about it. it's cringe. talk about divisive art. if we don't talk, bad actors will spin it to fit their fascistic cultural narrative in any space they can, including blue people.

anyway the big bad gets pet like a dog in this one. go see fire and ass 🤚my final message

You're angry.

Miles can definitely see it in the whiplash your hips brings every time you bounce down on his lap, your pussy engulfing his full length as you bottom out, his heavy balls flushed up against your ass.

His hands, big, familiar and calloused from the scars of a thousand battles, are cuffed behind his back, twitching from the carnal urge to reach out and touch you, to hold you. It hadn't been very difficult to handcuff him; you know, for some reason, he always gives in when it comes to you. 

You have the man practically crawling around behind you. When no one is watching, that is, because to everyone else he's the big, scary Colonel Quaritch.

“W-what's this about, hm?” he purrs, with that sharp-toothed smirk on his face, all smug even though he's basically at your mercy. His amber eyes, glowing in the darkness, scan your pretty, frowning face, as if he could find the source of the savage ferocity behind the way you're fucking him today, though he doesn't complain. “Fucking little pussy is dripping wet, what's gotten into you t-today, kid?”

“I didn't say y-you could talk,” you hiss back at him, making a particularly hard bounce with your merciless hips, your flesh slapping against his and producing a wet, rhythmic sound. Your long nails dig into his broad shoulders, clawing at the still-healing scars that you yourself had carved into his skin. That makes him hiss and half-close his eyes, rolling them back in his skull. 

“Jesus, darlin',” he manages to choke out, his voice a scorched-earth rasp. “You're... you're gonna kill me—fuck— slow down, baby—”

You're surprised he hasn't slipped out of the handcuffs yet; he usually would have done so by now. But you also know that Miles loves to play with you, to be part of your little game. 

His eyes flutter open again the moment he realizes you're not moving, sitting pretty and flat on his lap.

You're pretty good at holding an angry facial expression, because you can feel his cock up your fucking throat, buried balls deep until he is grazing your womb, poking that one special sweet spot he just knows is the one.

Your tail swings furiously behind you, whacking his away as he tries to touch yours and curl around it, as he usually does when you're fucking. But not today.

Your hands land on his chest, pushing him and forcing him to lie flat on the floor, grunting at the awkward position of his hands on his back under his weight, and yours. 

“Easy—” he hisses an all-soft command, looking up at you, his ears flattening in submission.

You press your hand over his mouth, silencing him as you start moving again over him, even harder now, your pussy fluttering and squelching, stretching out extremely around his massive thickness. You still struggle to take him all in, even after all this time and all the fucking.

You bite your lower lip, holding back a little cry when Miles, predictably misbehaves and thrusts his hips up just enough, chasing after yours, bullying his cock so deep up inside you that you can already feel a couple of tears well up in your pretty eyes.

“You think I don't realize what you're—hmph—” his snarky tone cracks as he struggles to speak coherently, his sharp fangs gleaming in the candlelit glow as he bites and lick your hand away from his mouth, “...what you're doing, huh? I'm a soldier, baby. I know when someone's defending their territory.”

His skin crawls at the sight of your eyes squinting in evident annoyance, a drop of sweat trickling down your forehead. 

Quite obviously, that is your problem, and Miles is happy to push you your limits. He loves to tease you, loves to see you all worked up. He loves to watch the rage light up your eyes like flames, ready to burn everything in your path. That gets him hard as a rock.

But you don't answer him. You just focus on rolling your hips around dangerously hard, rocking back and forth, up and down with all your strength, letting your full weight impact over his thighs, the sound of your flesh slamming against his is filthy, wet, and oh, so fucking hot that it has him seeing stars every time he blinks.

“She doesn't look at you like an ally,” you hiss after a couple of minutes riding him like it's the last thing you're doing, looking down at him in all your glory from above him. “She looks at you like a conquest. Like— like she can take what belongs to me.”

“And what are you gonna do about it, huh?” he teases back, sweat glistening over his tattoos when your fingers trace the black ink, creeping up his biceps very slowly. “You gonna mark me up, kid?”

You don't answer with words. Instead, you slide your hands up through his bare abdomen to his throat, squeezing just enough to make his breath hitch under your fingers.

He can't bark shit back at you, because you begin to move in slow, grinding circles, engulfing every inch of his cock while your arousal coats his thighs and ground.  

“I thought you liked being used?” you response with another little question, your lips curling into a little pout of mock pity, your thumb pressing a little harder on his throat and you can feel his heart pounding fast against your fingertip. “You like being dragged around like a little bitch, hm?”

“Don't push it now—” Miles growls back as best he can amidst a tense sigh, for your hands are still locked around his neck, disproving your accusations, of course, but anyway, his hips are pushing upward needily. “Hah— gonna cum all over me, then? Gonna use me, pretty girl?”

You can't even hear him, bouncing up and down on his cock more quickly, in pursuit of an orgasm that's been building tighter in the pit of your belly.

For whatever reason, he now has his hands free, one of them tight on your waist, helping you to keep the brutal pace, and the other is urgently grabbing your kuru and without much thought he links it with his.

You gasp, your back arching so sharply it’s a wonder it doesn't snap right there, as his thoughts slam into yours—a chaotic, swirling storm of possessiveness, darkness, and a fierce, unwavering loyalty that sends electric jolts through all your body.

Connecting with Miles is never gentle—it’s a sensory overload of war, hatred, and an all-consuming, obsessive hunger for you.

Through the Tsaheylu, you don't just feel your own pleasure; you feel his. You feel the way his cock pulses inside you, the way his heart hammers against his ribs like a trapped animal, and the white-hot intensity of his focus on you only. There is only the overwhelming, blue-tinted vision of you looking down at him, dominant and beautiful.  

You see yourself through his eyes: a goddess of rage and desire, the only thing that actually matters to him in this crazy fucking world.

“Mhm, t-there you are,” he rumbles, his voice vibrating through the bond and into your very bones. Both of his hands on your waist tightens, his large fingers bruising your skin as he takes over the rhythm, thrusting upward with a primal desperation. “There's my pretty girl. I see you”

That makes you reach your climax, and it hits you with the force of a physical blow. You let out a strangled cry, your head falling back as your vision goes blurry with tears and pleasure. 

You're drenching him now as you squirt all over his lap and low abdomen, your cum smearing all his throbbing cock and balls.

And when the last ripples of your orgasm begin to trickle out of your body, you halt all motion, sitting pretty on his thighs, your legs still wobbling on either side of his hips. His hands are appreciatively groping your ass, silently urging you to keep moving. But no, you're in charge today.

Your hands are flat on his chest, pressing against his pecs to support your own weight, catching your breath, his dog tag pendant flickering the light and shadows under the candles.

“Dammit, kid,” Miles whistles, a rough, triumphant chuckle vibrating through his throat. “If I knew jealousy made you ride like a fucking banshee, I would’ve let Varang touch my arm a lot sooner.”

And as all good things come, all things go.

A second later, you're up on your feet, abruptly disconnecting the Tsaheylu and slipping out his still-erect cock from inside you, letting it plop up against his abdomen. The sudden disconnection makes him hiss and growl, looking up at you with a frown, visibly displeased.

You stand over him, your legs still trembling and slick with the evidence of your release, looking down at the man who could level a forest but currently looks like a discarded god on the floor of your tent.

Miles doesn’t move at first. He just lies there, his chest heaving, his skin gleaming with sweat and the translucent sheen of your cum. His cock is still twitching, weeping a few thick pearls of pre-cum onto his stomach, but you don't give him the satisfaction of a second glance.

“Don't say her name when you're with me,” you snap at him, your ears down in annoyance.

“You're just gonna leave me hanging like this?” he is almost pouting, his voice a low, dangerous vibration. He shifts, propping himself up on his elbows, the muscles in his arms bulging as he stares up at you in awe. “She can stand wherever she wants,” he continues. “She can talk. Touch my arm. Run her mouth.” His lips curl, sharp, seductive and sexy. “Doesn’t mean a damn thing.”

“Good. Next time,” you warn him, looking down at him with eyes blazing with the purest fire, “don’t joke about it.”

His hands find your calves, thumbs brushing slow, grounding circles into your skin and his tail snakes its way up around your leg too.