My favorite tropes are found family and hurt/comfort and angst
I used to be obsessed with Shrek😭 I like literally had a whole collection
I'm building an Avatar collection
I love to reblog
Info about me
Yall can call me Star
I'm not a very good writer
My Bday is in October!
My pronouns are she/her
I'm poc!💗
I started writing back in 2020-2021 (But I'm still improving and trying to get better)
Writing
I do take requests so feel free to send some! I write for the fandoms I'm in. But i won't write for incest, pedophile, smut. I really mostly write platonic but I also still do romantic.
"B-but Kiri was written to be Spider's girlfriend!" :( ;(
No.
If anything, it's the exact opposite.
Kiri is the overpowered, god-like, female gigachad who can casually commune with Eywa, control nearly all living things with her abilities, and pull off incredible feats of divine wrath. Meanwhile, Spider is the one who is just standing there looking pretty, happily serving as the decorative accessory on her arm with zero complaints.
Spider is Kiri's emotional support human... And honestly? He's perfectly content with that.
Our boy is mostly just a vehicle for other character's arcs. Be it Jake, Quaritch, Neytiri or Kiri... He mostly exists to serve them. Either as a point of conflict or a motivation, whenever he's on screen he's mostly there for another character. To the point where he isn't even allowed to be angry or upset at his own horrible treatment 'cause that would mess up his role as a docile stepping stone for other arcs. I love my boy but he's more of a plot device than his own character at times, so this typa criticism of him "taking too much screen time" or Kiri's personality "revolving around him" just seem so dumb to me.
Spider's character revolves around the Sullies to a degree where he worships the ground they walk on to an unrealisic degree. Kiri has MUCH more independance as a character by a LOOOONNNNGGG shot.
Not because Spider is a human being, or whatever rhetoric Spiri shippers make up to play the oppressed victim.
It's because they flicker in and out of siblings and romance constantly.
One moment Kiri's all "You're the best brother I've ever had, and I have 2"
(I know the word "brother" is used differently for Na'vi sometimes, like with Jake and Tsu'tey, but she makes a reference to her actual familial brothers so she's sayin Spider is the best FAMILIAL brother she's ever had)
The next, they're getting all kissy-kissy. Which is wierd because...
He wants to be her brother. Literally.
He wants to be a Sully, but not in the "son-in-law" way.
It clearly states "he wishes to be adopted by Jake and Neytiri, like Kiri was"
Emphasis on the "like Kiri was"
Kiri was adopted by the Sullies as their daughter. A sister to Neteyam, Lo'ak and Tuk. Not as a daughter-in-law.
Spider wants to be adopted the same way. Which would mean he wants to be a brother to Lo'ak and Tuk, as well as Kiri – the girl he's supposedly in love with/has a crush on.
It would've been better if it went like:
"He looked up to Jake and wanted to be accepted by him"
And not:
"I want to be your child and date your daughter, who would also be my sister"
I’m working in some possessive Sully family headcannons of my own, but would you be able to feed us some more content with Tsam'eveng AU Neteyam who is totally not a platonic yandere?
Uhh a fellow Neteyam and Spider dynamic enjoyer I see? Well, I certainly don't mind obliging THAT 😉
-Neteyam was pretty much raised alongside and with Spider as the tsam'eveng of his family, which does apply to all siblings ofcourse- but it hits different for him.
-As the eldest son, it's kind of an unspoken rule that he has the greatest amount of responsibility to look after and take care of Spider. A tsam'eveng is a prize and reward first and foremost and should be treated as such- meaning they need to be protected and treasured.
-But also, protected. It's not unusual for families to get jealous over one another and perhaps attempt to take a tsam'eveng for themselves even after they were claimed. Neteyam is very aware of that and all the more clingy because of it. Whenever Spider isn't with him he has another Sully kid around, though all of them inevitably end up reporting to Neteyam, who in turn reports to Neytiri and Jake. He very much is his parents' eyes and ears in that regards lmao.
-HUGGGEEEE Momma's boy, and as such grew up a lot with the whole "Spider is OURS" thing. Neytiri and Neteyam very much are the most possessive of our homeboy in that regard. Not that Spider minds of even notices due to the fact that he just kind of grew up seeing it as normal.
-Neteyam likes to make it clear who Spider belongs to. With jewellery, touch, or dragging Spider along on anything he does. Dude just likes spending time around his little sibling.
-And yes, Spider VERYYYY much is considered the "little sibling" in their dynamic despite technically being a few months older. As soon as Neteyam outgrew him in sheer size and strenght he just kind of took over the spot, much to Spider's (fruitless) protests. Eventually, he had to give up and accept Neteyam as his "big" brother tho.
-He secretly loves how easily he can manhandle Spider and how fragile his skyperson body is. Neteyam would never admit it, but in the deepest darkest corner of his heart, he enjoys how helpless their tsam'eveng is. Spider will never be fully independent from them, he can't breathe the air or run as fast as they or hunt on his own. He'll always need to stay around them to get help and be protected. Neteyam loves how Spider needs help with handling particularly heavy weapons or sometimes needs a lift to someplace high, and he loves even more how he is the one helping most the time. It's a horrible thing to do and Neteyam knows, but he really can't help it...
-Same goes for Spider's height. He's so small and cute, perfectly fitting into his arms when they cuddle at night or when he decides to carry him. Neteyam NEVER wants to give that up, he'd prolly vry if by a wonder of god (cough, Kiri's Eywa Powers, cough) Spider managed to outgrow him.
-Very sly about the whole thing. Dude likes to think of himself as Spider favourite even though he knows he has none. Used to tease Lo'ak about it before he grew up.
-Lowkey misses it when it was just him, Spider and Kiri before the other kids came around. Neteyam loved being the only other boy in the family next to him and bonding that way. Not to mention that there was way more Spider to go around with only two instead of four vying for his attention.
-Neteyam loves getting gifts from Spider. He has them stored so nicely in a little bag he weaved himself specially for that purpose. The first item Spider ever gifted him back when they were just toddlers (an especially shiny stone he found while playing out in the forest one day) hangs on his songchord to show their bond to this die.
“I DON’T CARE! IF I HAD BEEN JAKE SULLY, I WOULD HAVE KILLED SPIDER ANYWAY!”
And then what?
Let’s say you wake up one morning as Jake Sully, standing there with a knife in your hand, ready to kill Spider. You do it. Obviously, you’re a hardcore Spider hater, right? Fine. Spider’s dead. Poof. Gone. Bleeding out like a sacrificial lamb. Good riddance.
Now what?
Once you get past the realization that you’ve just murdered a sixteen-year-old boy in cold blood and that his blood has yet to settle under your nails, you now have to explain to the Sully kids how Spider died.
But first, you have to get rid of the body.
Burn it, maybe? So many Spider haters have said that Jake should have killed Spider and burned the body. The kids can’t find out if there’s nothing left to find, right? Of course, before that, you’d have to convince an utterly horrified Neytiri, who just arrived too late to STOP you from committing murder, that this is somehow “for the best.” And after that little trifle is over, you’d then have to convince a newly traumatized Neytiri to help you lie to the children about how Spider died.
Real Neytiri fans know she is not a liar. She hates lies. Neytiri herself was a victim of deception and manipulation in the first movie, and she nearly lost her entire family because of it. But none of that matters to you because you hate Spider, and therefore, Neytiri apparently has no choice but to help cover up the literal murder of her children’s best friend.
Except the reality of what Jake has done would likely leave her stunned into silence. And you automatically assume that silence means agreement, completely unaware that Neytiri has emotionally shut down so deeply that “Jake Sully” can no longer reach her at all.
“HURR DURR! I DON’T CARE! THE KIDS WILL BELIEVE MY LIES, AND IF THEY DON’T, I’LL JUST TELL THEM THE TRUTH! THEY’RE SPOILED, AND I DID IT TO PROTECT THEM!”
Okay. And how exactly are you going to tell them?
Because, again, Neytiri is not a liar, and even if she’s still reeling from watching her husband murder the boy who literally saved his life, I highly doubt she’d maintain that lie for very long. So what’s the plan? Do you calmly sit the kids down and explain it? Or do you snap at them and demand they accept it?
After all, Spider having a kuru supposedly would have doomed Pandora, right? Never mind the fact that the RDA was already devastating Pandora long before Eywa blessed Spider. Humans have always found ways to destroy things. That’s what they’ve been doing for years without kurus and a new set of lungs.
So you lie to the kids.
Immediately, they’re devastated. But then the questions start.
And Kiri? Kiri is not letting it go.
You lose your temper. You call her spoiled for caring so much about some “Tarzan wannabe.” You tell her she should be grateful. You've always hated how Kiri was so focused on Spider, and now is your chance to put the little brat in her place for once!
Problem solved?
Nope.
An angry, grieving Kiri goes to the Spirit World and immediately finds Spider there.
And just like that, the entire lie collapses.
Now you’ve got a traumatized wife who arrived too late to stop you from murdering a child, and equally traumatized children who now know the truth about what you did to their best friend.
All those smug little headcanons about what you “would have done” as Jake Sully crumble like a house of cards.
Varangs half asleep ass trying to process everything after a random jungle Na'vi holds her at knife point, hisses at her man and flies off, starting to blow shit up:
It's a silly thing to think about, but since the y/n(child) Mankgwan isn't afraid of humans, she might end up wanting to hug one tightly, you know?You know those types of kids who don't have much of a sense of strength when it comes to hugging a dog? Maybe y/n will just pick some random unfortunate human and hug them tightly. But she's fully aware that she's squeezing too hard; she's only doing it to hurt. Lol
Sorta what you asked for.
"Let. Go. Now." Varang practically hissed, a hand gripping a few of your braids. You, little demon you, had taken a liking to a human, declaring the female sky demon that she was your pet. This all happened because Quaritch had been telling you about his pet dog he had back on earth when he was your age.
You, being five years old, had decided you also wanted a dog. Which brings us to now. "(Name). Let go of it." You currently were holding onto your pet humans torso, being nearly as tall as the female sky person, your arms wrapped all the way around her. You stomped your foot, pouting. "Don't wanna! Mine!"
Varang hissed, her hand darting out to grab onto some of your braids. You let go of the human, clawing at your mother's wrist. "Off! Get off!" You hiss, reaching over before trying to bite Varang. Varang sighed, letting go of your hair only to grab your wrist, dragging you away from the sky demon.
"You do not listen to me. You are brat, " varang said, repeating a word she had heard Quaritch call you. You snarled at your mother, clawing at her hand around your thin wrist. You were ten times worse than your mother was, Varang said it was normal for Mangkwan children to act this way, feral and aggressive, but man, you were the true demon.
Hi yall, I'm still not back from my hiatus but I just wanted to post this since it's been in my drafts for a little bit
Yandere platonic! Sully (creepypasta) with female child reader!
Sully is the colder, more violent alter that emerges from Liu. Around a child, he comes across as an unpredictable, off-putting older-brother figure who always seems a little too intense, a little too detached from normal human boundaries. His presence feels heavy and wrong, like something is watching from just behind your shoulder even when he’s standing in front of you.
He shows up without warning—standing at the edge of the playground after school, sitting on the roof of your house at night, or waiting inside your closet when you open it. His scarred face and wide, unblinking stare make it hard to look at him for long. He talks in a flat, childish voice that doesn’t match the dead look in his eyes.
If anyone upsets you (a bully, a mean teacher, even a parent raising their voice), Sully handles it in ways that leave you with nightmares. You might hear distant screaming later that night, or find him wiping a knife clean the next time he appears, casually saying “They were loud. Won’t be loud again.” He never seems sorry—only mildly annoyed if it got blood on his hoodie.
He insists he’s “only seven” sometimes and wants to play games like hide-and-seek in abandoned buildings or forests at 3 a.m. His laugh is sharp and sudden, cutting off too fast. During games he might disappear for long stretches, leaving you alone in the dark before popping out right behind you with a knife in hand, giggling like it’s the funniest thing
He leaves strange presents on your windowsill or under your pillow—shiny rocks, torn-up stuffed animals from who-knows-where, or little drawings done in thick red marker that look suspiciously like real blood. He watches your face closely when you find them, expecting you to be happy, and gets quiet and intense if you look scared.
Sometimes mid-conversation his expression softens and Liu takes over—voice gentler, trying to explain away the bloodstains or the screams you heard. But you can tell when Sully is about to come back: his eyes go glassy, his head tilts at an odd angle, and the air feels colder. The two of them arguing with each other out loud in front of you is deeply unsettling, like listening to one person fight with their own shadow.
Even when he’s not physically there, you start noticing little signs he’s been around—your window unlocked when you’re sure you locked it, drawings of stick figures on your walls that weren’t there before, or the way neighborhood animals go quiet when you walk home. He seems to know things he shouldn’t: what you dreamed about, what you’re scared of, when you’re alone.
If you cry or get scared, he’ll pat your head too hard or awkwardly wrap an arm around you while muttering “Stop that. It’s annoying.”
His version of protection is making sure nothing else can hurt you… by making sure nothing else can get near you at all. The silence after he “takes care of things” feels heavier than any normal quiet.
—
The alley smelled like rotting garbage and wet cardboard. Rain had fallen earlier that evening, turning the pavement into a slick mirror that reflected the flickering streetlights overhead. Sully stood in the shadows between two overflowing dumpsters, his hood pulled low over his scarred face. The knife in his pocket felt warm from how often his fingers brushed against it. He wasn’t supposed to be here—Liu had wanted to keep moving—but something had made him stop.
A small family huddled under a torn blue tarp stretched between a chain-link fence and a concrete wall. The mother looked exhausted, her eyes sunken, rocking a baby that barely made any sound anymore. The father sat with his back against the bricks, coughing wetly into his sleeve. And then there was the child—you. Maybe eight or nine years old, bundled in layers of filthy clothes that didn’t quite fit. You were trying to share a single stale slice of bread with the baby, breaking off tiny crumbs with careful fingers.
Sully tilted his head. The parents weren’t yelling. They weren’t hitting you. But they were letting this happen. Letting you shiver in the cold, letting your cheeks hollow out, letting your small hands tremble as you tried to make the bread last longer. It was almost funny in a sad, stupid way. Like watching someone slowly peel the wings off a butterfly while calling it love. He found it… endearing, in a twisted sort of way. The quiet suffering. The way humans could just keep going even when everything was pointless.
He watched for hours. Night settled fully. The father eventually dozed off. The mother whispered something to you and pulled the baby closer. You stayed awake, staring at the sliver of moon visible between the buildings, humming a broken little tune under your breath. Sully’s lips twitched. Cute. Pointless, but cute.
The next afternoon he was still there, lingering on the edge of the park across the street where your family had moved to beg. He sat on a bench with his legs drawn up, picking at the dried blood under his fingernails. People gave him a wide berth. Good.
You approached him slowly, barefoot in shoes that were falling apart. Your steps made almost no sound. When you stopped in front of him, he didn’t look up right away. He let the silence stretch.
“Um… mister?” Your voice was soft, hoarse from days of not enough water. “Do you have any spare change? Just a little? My baby sister’s really hungry.”
Sully finally lifted his head. The scars on his face pulled tight as he stared. Your eyes—God, your eyes. Even sunken, even ringed with exhaustion, they still sparkled. Like someone had left tiny pieces of glass in them that caught the light anyway. You were starving. You smelled like street grime and sickness. Yet you stood there smiling a tiny, hopeful smile, as if the world hadn’t already tried to chew you up and spit you out.
He didn’t say anything for a long moment. Just stared, unblinking, letting his wide eyes drink in every detail: the way your lower lip was cracked, the matted hair sticking to your forehead, the small bruise on your knee from sleeping on hard ground.
“You’re dying,” he said flatly. His voice still carried that childish lilt, the one that never quite matched the dead look in his face. “Slowly. They’re killing you out here.”
You blinked, confused but not yet scared. “We’re okay. Mom says it’ll get better when it warms up.”
Sully let out a short, sharp laugh that cut off too suddenly. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a crumpled five-dollar bill, and held it out between two fingers. When you took it, your small hand brushed his. Cold. Too cold.
“Thank you,” you whispered, clutching it like treasure.
He watched you run back to your parents. They hugged you. Praised you. Shared the hope of one more meal. Sully stayed on the bench until the sun went down, fingers tapping an uneven rhythm on his knee. Those sparkling eyes kept flashing behind his own whenever he blinked.
---
That night the city slept under a thick layer of clouds. Sully moved like smoke. The parents were passed out from exhaustion and whatever cheap alcohol they’d managed to get. The baby was silent. You were curled up on a piece of cardboard, using your jacket as a blanket.
He crouched beside you for a long time, just watching your chest rise and fall. Then he pressed a cloth soaked in something sweet and chemical over your mouth. Your eyes flew open—those same sparkling eyes—wide with terror for a single second before they fluttered shut. Your small body went limp against him.
Sully picked you up easily. You weighed almost nothing. He carried you through the alleys, humming the same broken tune you’d been humming earlier. The knife in his pocket stayed sheathed. For now.
---
You woke up in a dark basement room that smelled of damp concrete and old blood. A single bare bulb hung from the ceiling, swinging slightly even though no one had touched it. Your hands were tied loosely in front of you with strips of cloth—not tight enough to hurt, but tight enough that you couldn’t run easily. A thin mattress had been dragged into the corner. There was a bottle of water and a stale sandwich on the floor nearby.
Sully sat cross-legged on the other side of the room, back against the wall, knife balanced on his knee. His head was tilted at that odd angle again, eyes reflecting the light like an animal’s.
“You’re awake,” he said. The childish tone was back, but it sounded wrong in the concrete box. “Good. I was getting bored.”
You scrambled back until your shoulders hit the wall, breathing fast. “Where… where am I? My mom—”
“They’re still out there. Probably looking for you by now. Or maybe not. People lose things all the time.” He shrugged. “I’m keeping you for a week. Then I’m going to kill you.”
The words dropped like stones into still water.
You stared at him, small chest heaving. Tears welled up but didn’t fall right away. “Please… I didn’t do anything bad. I just wanted some change for my sister—”
“I know.” Sully stood up slowly, unfolding like a spider. He crossed the room and crouched in front of you, close enough that you could smell the faint metallic scent on his clothes. “That’s why it’ll be a mercy. You’re happy while you’re dying out there. That’s weird. I don’t like weird things that don’t make sense. So I’ll fix it. One week of not starving. Then… quiet.”
He reached out and patted your head too hard, twice. Then he stood and left the room, locking the heavy door behind him with a sound that echoed.
---
The first three days were a strange, creeping nightmare.
You did everything you could think of to make him not want to hurt you. When he brought food—cheap fast food burgers, bags of chips, juice boxes—you ate it all and said “thank you” in the brightest voice you could manage even though your stomach hurt from eating too fast after so long without. You listened to every rambling story he told about “when I was seven” (even though he looked much older) and laughed at the parts where he clearly expected laughter, even when the stories involved screaming.
Sometimes he would sit right next to you on the mattress, shoulder to shoulder, and just breathe. Not speaking. Just breathing, slow and steady, while he stared at the wall. Other times he would disappear for hours and come back with fresh blood on his sleeves, acting like nothing happened.
On the fourth night you drew pictures for him on the back of old newspaper he’d left. Stick figures. A sun. A house with a chimney even though you’d never lived in one. He took the papers and studied them for a long time under the swinging bulb.
“You’re still sparkling,” he muttered. “Even down here.”
You didn’t understand what he meant, so you just kept drawing.
He started staying longer. Instead of leaving you alone with the fear, he brought more blankets. He showed you how to hold the knife the “right way” (though he never let you keep it). He played games—simple ones like rock-paper-scissors, then weirder ones where he would hide in the shadows of the basement and make you find him. When you succeeded he would giggle in that sharp, sudden way that made your skin crawl.
By the sixth day the planned ending felt further away. Sully kept forgetting to mention it. Instead he watched you sleep. He brushed the hair out of your face with fingers that still had someone else’s blood dried in the creases. He brought you a small stuffed rabbit he’d taken from somewhere—its ear was torn and there was a dark stain on its belly.
“You’re not annoying,” he told you one evening while you shared a bag of gummy worms. His voice was flat, but his eyes followed every movement you made. “Most things are annoying. They break easy. But you keep sparkling even when you’re scared. That’s… different.”
You offered him a gummy worm with a shaky hand, smiling the way you used to smile at strangers for coins. “Do you want the red one? They’re the best.”
Sully took it. He didn’t eat it right away. He just rolled it between his fingers, staring at you like he was trying to solve a puzzle that kept changing shape.
Later that night, after you had finally fallen asleep from exhaustion, he sat against the wall across from the mattress again. The knife rested on the floor beside him, untouched. His head tilted slowly as he watched the rise and fall of your small chest.
One week, he had said.
The seventh day was coming.
But the bulb kept swinging gently above, and Sully’s wide, unblinking eyes stayed fixed on you long after the city outside had gone quiet. He didn’t move. He barely breathed. Just watched.
The seventh day dragged on in the dim basement like every other. The bare bulb swayed lazily overhead, casting long, shifting shadows across the concrete walls. Sully had barely slept. He sat in his usual spot against the far wall, knees drawn up to his chest, rocking slightly back and forth with that odd, childish rhythm. The knife lay on the floor beside him, untouched for hours now. His wide eyes never left your small, sleeping form on the thin mattress.
You looked peaceful when you slept. Too peaceful for someone who had spent days terrified of the countdown he himself had set. That sparkle was still there, even behind your closed eyelids. It made something twist uncomfortably behind his scarred ribs. The plan had been simple: one week of not-starving, then quiet mercy. End the slow torture your parents had dragged you through. But the week was ending, and the thought of pressing the blade down... it felt wrong now. Like breaking something that still hummed with a weird little song.
By late afternoon, the decision settled in him like a cold, giddy secret. He stood up abruptly, joints popping, and paced the small room in tight circles. A sharp, sudden giggle escaped his lips—too loud, cutting off too fast. He clapped a hand over his mouth, but his eyes crinkled at the corners. Not going to do it. Not going to end it. The realization made him feel light in a way that was rare. Almost bouncy. He wanted to spin around the room like when he was little, before everything went red and loud.
But he waited. A couple of hours. He wanted to watch you wake up first. Wanted to see that face when he told you.
---
You stirred as the light from the single bulb grew harsher in the windowless room. Your small body ached from the hard mattress, but the constant fear had dulled into a tired ache after so many days. You sat up slowly, rubbing your eyes, and immediately looked toward him. Checking. Always checking where he was.
Sully was standing right at the foot of the mattress now, rocking on his heels. His head was tilted at that unnatural angle, scarred face half-hidden by his hood, but you could see the strange energy in him. His fingers twitched at his sides like he was fighting the urge to clap or grab something.
“I decided something,” he announced in that flat, childish voice. It carried an undercurrent of excitement that made the air feel thicker. “You’re not dying today. Or tomorrow. Or... after.”
You blinked, still half-asleep, processing the words. Then they hit. Your tired eyes widened, and for the first time in a week, a real, bright smile broke across your face. It reached those sparkling eyes, making them light up despite the dark circles underneath.
“Really?” you whispered, voice cracking with hope. “You mean it? I don’t have to... you’re not gonna...”
Sully nodded rapidly, that sharp giggle slipping out again. He even did a little hop on one foot, like a kid who’d just won a game. “Yeah. Changed my mind. You’re too... different. Still all sparkly even down here. It’d be boring without it now.”
You scrambled off the mattress and threw your arms around his waist in a tight, grateful hug. Your small frame pressed against his blood-stained hoodie, face buried in the fabric that smelled of metal and damp earth. “Thank you! Thank you, thank you, thank you!” The words tumbled out in a rush, muffled against him. You squeezed harder, tears of relief soaking into the cloth. “I’ll be good, I promise. I won’t cry or anything. Thank you so much...”
Sully froze at first, arms hovering awkwardly in the air. Then he patted your head—too hard, like always—twice, then three times. His hand lingered, fingers threading through your matted hair. The giddy feeling swelled. He let out another abrupt laugh that echoed off the walls. “Stop that. It’s weird when you say it so much.” But he didn’t pull away. He stood there, letting you cling, staring down at the top of your head like it was the most fascinating thing he’d seen in years.
You eventually stepped back, still beaming, wiping at your face with dirty sleeves. “Can I... can I go back now? To my mom and dad and the baby? They’re probably really worried. I can tell them I got lost or something. They’ll be so happy I’m okay.”
The words hung in the damp air.
Sully’s rocking stopped. His wide eyes locked onto yours, unblinking. The giddy energy didn’t vanish, but it twisted, sharpening into something heavier. He tilted his head the other way, slowly, like an owl tracking a mouse.
“No,” he said simply.
You froze. The smile faltered but didn’t disappear entirely. “But... you said I’m not dying. I thought that meant I could go home. They need me. My sister’s still out there and she’s really little and—”
“They’re still killing you slowly,” Sully interrupted. His voice stayed flat, but the childish lilt had an edge now. He crouched down to your level, bringing his scarred face uncomfortably close. You could see every twisted line of old burns and cuts, the way his eyes reflected the swinging bulb like wet glass. “Out there with the cardboard and the rain and the nothing-food. They smile and hug you while you get smaller every day. I watched it. It was stupid. Funny, but stupid.”
You took a small step back toward the mattress. “I don’t mind. It’s my family. Please? I’ll come visit you or something. I promise.”
He followed the step, staying close. Too close. His hand reached out and grabbed your wrist—not hard enough to bruise, but firm enough that you couldn’t easily pull away. His fingers were cold.
“You’re staying here,” he said, almost conversationally. “It’s nicer. Food whenever. No coughing dad. No baby that doesn’t cry anymore. You can draw more pictures. We can play the hiding game again tonight. I’ll even let you pick where I hide first.”
Your lower lip trembled, but you tried to stay bright, still hoping. “But I miss them. Just for a little while? I can come right back after I see they’re okay.”
Sully’s grip tightened a fraction. He pulled you gently but insistently back toward the center of the room, away from the door. The heavy lock on it gleamed dully under the light. “They’ll get used to it. People lose things. Like toys. Or pets. Or kids.” He shrugged, that sudden smile flickering across his face again—too wide, too quick. “Besides. You hugged me. Said all those thank yous. That means you like it here now. With me. It’d be mean to leave after that.”
He released your wrist but stayed crouched, watching every micro-expression on your face. The way your sparkling eyes darted toward the stairs leading up to the locked door. The way your small hands clenched at your sides. He looked... content. Giddy still, in his quiet, unsettling way. Like a child who had found a new stray and decided the leash was necessary.
Hours passed after that. He brought you more food—warm this time, fries and a chicken sandwich he’d gone out to get while you were sleeping earlier. He sat right beside you on the mattress while you ate, shoulder pressed against yours, humming that same broken tune from the alley. Every time you glanced at the door, his head would tilt and his eyes would follow yours, as if reading the thought before it fully formed.
Later, when you tried again—voice small, “Just one visit?”—he simply stood up, walked to the heavy door, and checked the lock with deliberate slowness. Click. Click. Then he turned back, knife now twirling lazily between his fingers.
“Bedtime soon,” he said, as if you hadn’t spoken. “You can sleep longer tonight. No more counting days. That’s nice, right?”
The bulb kept swinging. Sully kept watching. The basement felt smaller than ever, the air thicker with the knowledge that the week had ended, but the door stayed firmly shut. And somewhere far above, in the cold streets, your family was still searching... or maybe they weren’t. Sully didn’t seem to care either way. He just kept humming, eyes fixed on you with that unblinking, giddy intensity.
Jake and his truly horrible habit of throwing away Spider
Let's talk about this.
In the comics Jake canonically tells Spider to circle back and rejoin the RDA. To go live and surrender to the RDA. They all managed to escape, Jake's children included, from an RDA attack and the first thing Jake does is to tell Spider to abandon his friends, loved ones, and all he has ever known to surrender and work with the evil colonizers.
And not even in a spy way! He isn't becoming an inside man for the rebellion, he is just straight up told to go and live with them! Jake just genuinely thought Spider would be willing to turn and betray everyone he loves. He thought so little of this boy that he expects Spider to join the RDA immediately after he was almost died in an attack on his friends. Spider has to get back to high camp all on his own!
When Spider is taken there is no concern for the 16 year old child. He is not worried for theboy he has watched grow alongside his children. He is not worried for him or his life. He is only worried about what Spider might tell the RDA. What this boy who is brave and loyal might give to the RDA.
There is no effort to save him. There is no effort to bring this child home. Jake knows how evil the RDA was. He betrayed the Na'vi for them. Yet this traitor looks at a child and believes him to be as much of a traitor as him. When Spider is returned there is no talk of happiness at his safety. There is no relief this child lived. There is only grief and blame to be found.
When he is taken a second time so is Jake. Jake knows that he was also taken. When Spider somes to save him he does not attempt to save Spider. There is no discussion of having to also find Spider before escaping. He is shocked when he sees Spider, and makes no move to stop him from jumping in front of aircrafts with loaded guns.
He takes the cover behind this child, who is brave enough to save his life. He lets this boy shield him from bullets with a body the size of his 7 year old and does not flinch. He allows a child he would havemade no attempts to rescue save his life.
Then the forest scene.
It just fills me with so much rage that it is unbelievable.
I love how Quaritch just can’t help himself. I’m sure a part of him would love to hate this random kid but he’s so attached at this point that Spider has canonically become a person who gives him purpose. This boy can threaten and hurt and shoot him — and this violent bastard will still, almost instinctively, hold him the first chance he gets.
