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imhereformysciencefriends · 4 days

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Day 1: Fairytales and Myths

Tags: @loturaweek2024 Curses, fairy tale elements, Bearskin (the myth), political marriage but also for love sort of, magic, background Alfor/Melenor, background Keith/Shiro, betrothals, attempted kidnapping, rescue, Lotor’s generals are there

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“You are fortunate,” mused the angry and spiteful druid while Lotor snarled up at him, ensnared in glowing purple chains made of magic and aether, “that the same magic you came here to steal from me does not allow me to kill you outright.”

Lotor thought, not for the first time, that it would be significantly more Galra to just put a knife in his gut than rely on their magic for literally everything. But if they were so wrapped up in their world of spells and power that they forgot their own fangs and claws that they were born with, well, Lotor wouldn’t be the one to remind them. This druid in specific seemed particularly filled with his own hubris.

A pelt, some heavy, thick-furred thing thumped down on his shoulders, and he shifted minutely from the weight.

“I curse you,” the druid said, voice going echoey with magic. “You shall not bathe for seven decaphoebes, nor cut your hair nor claws, you shall not cease to wear this pelt, nor sleep under one roof for more than a single night, and no one may travel with you for more than three quintents. Should you break any of these bindings, this curse will kill you.”

“And if I succeed, for seven decaphoebes?” Lotor asked, still snarling, still bearing his (small, Altean) fangs.

The druid was quiet.

“You must include a win-condition, witch. I know your magic’s rules.” He would not have risked infiltrating this place if he did not have a contingency plan for if he was caught, after all.

The druid made a snarling, growling, impatient noise.

“If you should last all seven decaphoebes, then the magic you seek will be yours. Now get out!”

Another rush of magic and Lotor found himself at the mouth of the small cave that hid the entrance to the druid’s lair. He grit his teeth and stood, shaking as though to dislodge the remnants of the purple magic.

Seven years.

More than he’d bargained for, but less than he was willing to pay for his goals. He already grew his hair long, and he was not one to frequently stay in one place for too long. That was doable.

The claws and bathing situation would be the most intolerable, he did not doubt.

Seven years.

He could do this.

In the first year: he could do this. He was centuries old and, if theories on how he aged were to be considered correct, he would have centuries more. Seven years would be nothing. A drop in a bucket. He used it to prepare, especially the first few months, when he smelled more or less tolerable. Any time it rained he spent as much time as he could in the water, knowing that washing in a river or stream would count. Magic was always fickle, and always skewed in favor of the worst. While he could still passably show his face in civilization, he stockpiled supplies enough to last him seven years, or near enough to it he could supplement when the time came.

In the second year: he had to leave Daibazaal. His country of origin was hardly a home, and hadn’t been since he was young and innocent and still so painfully naive. But he did know it, and he knew that all the many flora that thirsted for his blood and fauna that would chew on his bones could smell him for miles in each direction. He knew it intellectually, and he knew it viscerally, blood steaming across the pelt he wore and sliding down the blade he wrested free from the fresh carcass of a beast that wished to eat him. Oh, how he wished for a bath.

In the third year: he couldn’t do this. He could not bear this. He was not even halfway through and his own stench and fatigue were driving him insane. Being so constantly exposed to the elements was killing him, though the pelt was so thick and heavy it kept him plenty warm. And he was lonely. In the third year, Narti finally found him, Kova hissing and prowling just outside the edges of Lotor’s reach, recognizing him but also not. She wanted to help him, as best she could, but he explained the curse to her, the druid putting no binding on his tongue at least. She then offered to go kill the druid for him, and he insisted that she not, not until the witch’s power was his. She stated she would stay with him, despite her nose being even sharper than Lotor’s, and he reminded her that it could be for no more than three quintents, or the magic would kill him (and he doubted it would be instant, or painless).

She left with the promise to tell the others, and to bring back supplies for him. Just to drop off and then leave again. She promised she wouldn’t stay.

In the third year: Ezor found him, always best at finding things, and with her she brought Zethrid and Acxa. It was the best three days of these miserable three years, even with his companions wrinkling their noses at his scent the whole time.

In the fourth year: he left the billowing wilds that existed between Daibazaal, harsh and dangerous but inhabitable, and into Altea, the lush and verdant valleys beneath the billowing wilds’ mountains. Not to say that Altea did not come with its own dangers, no, just that they were more like the mountain creatures, not quite so capable of killing a lone wanderer as Daibazaal’s would have been.

In the fourth year:

Allura tied up her hair and shifted her hands, magic tickling as it turned her palms into suction cups. She descended from her room as only wayward princesses could, and hopped down onto the vibrantly green grass of the lawn with a little thrill of success.

With the tensions between Daibazaal and Altea on the rise once again, and all citizens from both countries feeling like a resumed war was all but a forgone conclusion, her parents had been increasingly strict with her. On a certain level, she understood, she was a princess after all, it was her job to understand.

On the other hand: she’d gone to the little brook with the little waterfall dozens upon dozens upon dozens of times, without any harm nor threat to her person. It was right next to the palace grounds, and she only ever managed to squeeze in an hour or two before her knights quit canoodling and came to find her anyway. She would be fine, just as she’d been fine every time before.

There was nowhere in all of Altea, in Allura’s opinion, that was a better place for magic than that little waterfall. Something about the place seemed almost to glow with magic, every drop of water and blade of grass and rustling leaf full to overflowing with rich mana. It drew her in, excited and comforted her, enthralled her and cleared her mind. Magic poured from her fingers like the water she lifted, guiding it to dance about her in a spiraling river floating suspended around her person, twirling slowly as she dragged the water about in lazy loops.

Even the sunlight here felt different, warm and yellow but not beating down on her, even in summer heat. It sparkled and twisted around her like the water did, slowly spinning and dancing across the shimmering surface, Allura’s skirts shallowly twirling around her calves, and she smiled and let her mind sink into the magic present here, imbuing everything.

It was that magic, present even in the twigs of a bush and the berries crushed underfoot, that alerted her that she was not alone.

She didn’t scream. She didn’t dare try to fight against near a dozen heavy boots. One moment she was smiling serenely, surrounded by glistening spirals of water, the next she was running so fast the water didn’t even have time to hit the ground before she burst through it. Shouts behind her, unmistakably Galra, and heavy footfall followed, but she didn’t dare look. She was fast.

But Galra were faster.

A giant, purple hand clamped over her mouth, a scream wrested from her too late and muffled by the flesh, and she hit the ground with a cry of pain, knees and palms skidding in the dirt.

“Grab her!”

She fought back, because of course she did. Princess trained in the art of diplomacy and regal bearing though she was, Allura was no weak fighter, and she was not one to cow in the face of unfair odds.

But they were unfair. She knocked two briefly unconscious, but she hadn’t brought her staff, not believing she’d need it, and these Galra were armored and armed, one opening a deep gash across the back of her leg, another finally getting his dagger pointed at her throat and compelling her to behave.

“You won’t kill me,” she spat, even as her preservation instincts forced her to obey.

“No. But you don’t need both eyes.”

She screamed a protest—she was submitting!—as he raised the dagger to plunge it into her eye, but then a dagger protruded from his own, sinking much deeper than just the eye. He toppled off her, dead, and the Galra turned on their new aggressor.

A beast, wilder than all imagining, lept from the foliage, its pelt hideous and bloodstained, matted with mud and dried viscera, its claws long as knives and yellow and flaking, silvery lengths of something dragging behind it as it fell upon its victims. The Galra shouted, united now against this beast, and Allura staggered to her feet, or tried to. The gash in her leg made fleeing nearly impossible, and she leaned against the tree as she watched the beast dispatch of the Galra, one by one by one, until there were none left alive to contest it.

Its yellow gaze fell upon her next, and she realized belatedly that she looked at no monster at all.

“You’re Altean!” she gasped, the man before her so deeply dirtied with various filth that she could not see even an inch of skin beneath the horrible mess, but his face was, poking out from the disgusting fur, unmistakably that of, well, a man. An Altean’s proud cheekbones and narrow jaw, eyes yellow as a Galra but silver hair (it was hair!) long and ripe with magic.

The man chuckled at her. “I suppose it only fair that you confused me for a beast.”

“Good sir, anyone would.” Sounds of armor—familiar, Altean—and rushed footfall came from the direction of the palace grounds. “Please, you are my savior, come into my home and be bathed and rewarded for your service.”

“I cannot bathe, princess,” he said, with every reverence of her subjects, “nor did I do this for a reward. I will leave.”

“You saved my life!” Allura insisted as Keith and Shiro burst into the clearing, swords drawn and lips flushed and kiss-bitten, confusion on their brows as they took stock of the dead Galra on the ground and the beast man their charge now argued with. “You would do me a great dishonor by not allowing me to repay you!”

The man seemed visibly to hesitate at that, and then acquiesced. “If for your honor only, princess. But I cannot remain.”

“At least stay the night,” she insisted, now half-frantic to have this strange man remain for any time at all, curiosity burning through her as fervently as the magic had only recently flowed.

“The night,” he agreed, bowing low, the mess of fur and hair and viscera and fresh blood shambling with his motion, “but no longer.”

The man spoke of precious little, despite Allura’s best attempts at interrogation. She learned not even his name. He would not allow any of her staff to bathe or groom him, though she noted that while his hair was dirty, it was remarkably untangled. He was certainly Altean, but his nails were more akin to claws. And of course, the yellow eyes.

At dinner, her parents hosted the man who’d saved their daughter’s life, because of course they did.

“Traditionally,” Queen Melenor remarked, though she was severe and stately in the way Allura knew she held herself when she discussed things she’d rather not, “the reward for saving a princess’s fool life from a band of murderous kidnappers would be that princess’s hand in marriage.”

Allura heard the man’s breath hitch, and for a brief moment, open want lined his filth-obscured features, before he shuttered again to something vaguely polite and unreadable.

“I could never ask for such a thing, being as I am.”

“Being as you are?” Allura said, sounding more accusatory than she’d meant. “A kind stranger who saved my life?”

“You have no proof of any kindness,” the man said, with a low chuckle that made her feel strange and hot.

“Only my life and well-being.”

“You speak as though you would wish to wed me.”

Allura’s mouth opened, then shut.

“Exactly.”

“Perhaps I would!” she said, drawing herself to full height while seated and glowering at the man, challenge in her tone.

“Allura,” her father scolded quietly, as he always did when her temper and stubbornness sent her headlong down paths her good sense would otherwise steer her clear from.

“...Allow me three years, then, princess,” the beast man said slowly, gaze never leaving hers. “I have matters I must attend, and am unable to remain here, nor take you with me. If, in three years, when I return, you still wish to wed me, we might discuss it then.”

Queen Melenor sighed, and Allura winced only briefly at the tone of her mother’s breath. Oh the lecture she’d receive once this man departed would be mighty. “You have more good sense than my daughter, it would seem. Please be made comfortable in our home, and if there is anything you wish for, merely ask it.”

“A grimoire, Your Majesty, if I may be bold enough to request it.”

“You’ve magic?” Allura asked, reaching out to touch the man’s face, where his Altean marks should be beneath the dirt, and rescinding her hand when he flinched from her.

“Call it a future investment.”

“Grimoires we have aplenty,” her father stated, “I’ll have one copied for you by the morrow.”

“My thanks.”

Allura, kept up late by her own desperately curious, gnawing thoughts, had to drag herself, bleary and miserable, from her bed to prevent from missing the stranger’s departure. She witnessed her father hand him a grimoire, and he bowed, first to the sovereign queen, then to the king, and then, lower, slower, with something like heat in his eyes, finally to the princess.

“Damn,” she mumbled when the stranger was gone, but comforted herself that at least, for the next three years, she’d have an easy dismissal of all talk of suitors.

In the fifth year: Lotor was nearly killed by a huntsman mistaking him for a beast.

In the sixth year: Lotor was nearly killed by a team of monster hunters, who he had to persuade with Narti’s coin to leave him be, paying higher than the village who’d hired them. He wandered elsewhere with faster purpose, after that, and committed himself to greater stealth. Narti was unbearably smug when next she delivered supplies, forcing more coin into the hands of a man who had no reliable use for it.

In the seventh year: Nearly killed again, by huntsmen and monster hunters both. But he was on his way out of Altea. On his way through the billowing wilds, climbing and descending that mountain. He’d memorized the grimoire, but kept hold of it, a baffling yet precious memory now tied to its cover and pages.

At the end of the seventh year: he returned to the small cave where he’d first found the druid. His time was up, or near enough to it, and the moment the magic was his he would take vengeance for the seven years of misery he’d suffered. There he found Narti, there he found Ezor, there he found Zethrid, there he found Acxa, still loyal to him after seven years of absence, and he counted such loyalty more precious than all the gold in all the world.

“First, we kill the druid,” he ordered, feeling the curse sizzle along his skin as it warped into a blessing. “Then I take a quiznacking bath.”

At the end of the third year of waiting:

Allura was forced by circumstance to put her curiosity for her betrothed-to-be on hold, as political upheaval shook the land.

Her father’s old ally finally declared war upon her mother’s country, and Altea raised its arms for bloodshed. But as they prepared their weapons and rallied their armies, another missive came: Emperor Zarkon was dead, long live the Emperor.

Lotor, former prince, son of Zarkon who Allura had never met, shame to his family line and whose mother was Altean, had bested his father in ritual combat, according to Galra custom and law, and had seized the throne. Altea continued to rally, not sure if the bastard son would hold the same temperament as his father, but the tension that had built between their lands hung now, most definitely confused in perplexed balance.

Then an official letter from the Emperor, validated by report after report from their scouts: Lotor was coming, not with an army, but with a diplomatic envoy, to speak to the royals of Altea face to face.

Her mother was stern and stately, poised and graceful and elegant, the sovereign of Altea, bearer of the Altean royal line, pride and jewel of their nation, its Queen.

Her father was tense and stiff, militant and grave, leader of their armies and father of the nation, sire of Altea’s heir and husband to their sovereign.

Allura wasn’t quite sure what she was. But she drew herself up, a shadow of her mother’s grace, stiffened her lip and brow, a mimic of her father’s gravity, and lifted her chin, a prideful stubbornness that was all hers.

Whatever the Emperor Lotor came here for, he would find it on Altea’s terms, or he would leave without it. Or, if it might make for a swifter path for peace, she would slaughter him in this very reception hall. She had her staff with her today.

The Galran procession arrived in waves, wargs and beastmasters first, towering Galra broad each as a mountain and bearing heavy shields second, four mismatched women each bearing the new royal crest and colors third, and in their center: Emperor Lotor.

He was the singularly most beautiful man she’d ever seen. Long, plaited, silver hair that nearly dragged the ground, Altean bones and Galran eyes, soft velvety purple fur so short it could pass for skin, pointed ears pierced with glinting gems in silver casings, and on his cheeks, two marks that glowed with powerful magic.

She shivered, feeling less certain of her ability to slaughter him where he stood, should he pose threat. His magic was enough, indeed, to rival her own, and she was famed throughout Altea for her prowess, her own marks pink and luminous.

“My thanks for hosting on such short notice,” the emperor began, seeming perfectly at ease surrounded by distinctly uneasy Altean guardsmen.

“Our thanks for your peaceful arrival. Are we too optimistic in hoping it may bode for a peaceful future between our nations?” Queen Melenor of Altea answered, staring down at him with regal coolness from the dias they three stood on.

“Not at all,” he assured with a smile. “I am as hopeful for such as you are.” A sigh escaped the whole room, tension palpably leaving. Allura was not exempt, tension loosening from her shoulders.

“Though I would start by returning what was borrowed. I know you gave it to me as a gift, but I would return it as a show of good faith.”

That piqued Allura’s curiosity. As far as she knew, her parents had never met the then-prince Lotor any more than she had. But as the emperor of Daibazaal approached, Allura’s breath caught in her throat.

He extended, to Alfor, a grimoire. The same grimoire her father had given her intended three years ago.

“You!” she gasped, rushing forward and grabbing him by the wrist, making his generals tense but ignoring them, staring instead at his yellow eyes.

“Me,” he agreed with a smile, staring at her with that same reverence he’d held three years ago. “I hope my appearance is more agreeable to you, now, than it was then, as I have little desire to return to such a state.”

“More than,” she said with a wild grin. “Please, come in and be hosted by us, I would have my betrothed explain to me how I may find him in such different states as this!”

“Well,” she heard her father murmur to her mother as she beckoned their guests inside, “I suppose a wedding is one way to end all this.”

And so it would be.

But first, they went to dinner.

#Lotor #Allura #voltron #vld #lotura #loturaweek2024 #background sheith #background alfor/melenor #background lotor's generals #fairy tales #curses #magic #bearskin (myth)#arranged marriage #attempted kidnapping #rescue #vt #my writing #haro writes

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mylifeisfruk4ever · 1 year

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Kidnapped! Kaiba AU

Instead of Mokuba, Seto is always kidnapped, whether by ancient tomb robbers or entities who want to take revenge on his presumed previous life.

Mokuba, gods bless his soul, asks Yugi every time to help his brother.

Seto would rather die than have to be rescued by his rival but Mokuba prefers to have his brother alive, albeit with is pride hurt.

Yami Yugi has too much fun taking Seto into his arms.

(Not that the person concerned mind too much, but he will never say it out loud.)

#ygo seto kaiba #seto kaiba #yu gi oh seto #yu gi oh #yami yugi #ygo atem #pharaoh atem #atem #priest seto #prideshipping #scandal #scandalshipping #atem x seto #yami yugi x seto kaiba #pride #attempted kidnapping #au

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asterjennifer · 2 years

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I read your Suit SaeranxMC ask where MC was almost kidnapped and Suit lost his shit and was wondering: we know Seven has enemies, hell his own father wants him dead

What would happen if MC was in a similar situation but Seven saved her at the last second?

🎀 Interesting take on, my dear! 🎀

Hands down

Fandom: Mystic Messenger

Pairing: 707 x Reader

Category: Angst (Fluff)

Warnings: Attempt Kidnapping

Word count: 1579

Summary: Cold shoulder doesn't imply no rescue when it comes down to it.

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His sweat was running; his hands burned the metal he'd taken from the back of his car after arriving in more than a hurry. He'd told you to stay in the apartment for your own safety, considering there's not only the face of his brother being part of the opponent group who guided you to the RFA. Ever since leaving behind Vanderwood at his bunker, Saeyoung had been standing on hot coals with their wellbeing. So why couldn't you simply listen when telling you're in great danger? Even more so than before?

Was it curiosity, perhaps it's anticipation to cope with the fact of him snapping at you. And there you disobeyed either way; leaving the walls once he's out in order to gather needed equipment for his research. It's no surprise as he should've known you're owning a talent for causing problems by now. However, he'd not figured you're that tired of life by discharging his warnings. The moment he realized that the car in front of the apartment was not just familiar in brand, but also one he's well acquainted with ever since joining the agency unwillingly, the panic set in. With speed of light he chased down the stairs, knowing exactly what would happen if he's incapable of rescuing you.

These hackers knew even less fun than most of his place. It's his luck for having not only his gun, the taser was hanging at his left side of the belt. Like this he was confident of beating at least five people if managing the defense well. He pushed the doors open, only to be greeted by covered faces that all stared back at the nosie. The shot rang through his ears like a tinnitus; catching too much attention. One of the three guys still holding your unconscious body, ready to be thrown into the trunk. Saeyoung couldn't think; all he's able to see was red and feel the fire that's usually kept in place burn down his body. He lifted the gun, pointing it at the unknown man holding you up.

“You better buckle up and give her back if you wanna walk away alive from this godforsaken place!”

~~~~~~~~~~~

You've woken up with a pounding headache. Growling low in the back of your throat as the light from above burned through your eyelids, forcing you to turn around to the side. Your body ached and it let you hiss out in pain. Not sure what's going on; you blinked reluctantly until you're making out the color of the walls belonging to the former RFA leader. Seems you're back at the apartment already. You pulled your legs higher while grabbing harder at the soft blankets.

You couldn't remember anything, the last thing flashing into your mind had been how you checked your pockets to ensure you've put your phone away. Ready to leave and get something to eat for Saeoyung and yourself after his hard work. Depsite him treating you coldly, you're not about to let him starve the whole day. Least of all when still feeling painful for his situation, you understood he's pained and needed time to recover and process everything that took place in such a short period of time.

“Ngh… Ugh.”

You sighed annoyed at the scratching pain inside your brain. Frowing your brows together, you turned to the other side and find the surroundings mostly empty. Regardless, Saeyoung stood with the back to you at the kitchen counter, his body crouched a little with his eyes focusing onto he sink. What's with that posture, you thought as suspicions began creeping up your spine. You licked your dry lips; eyes snapping open wide by the taste of blood. You immediately lifted your index finger to the skin, and indeed, your lip must've split.

“Saeyoung…?”

Scared of the thick and gloomy air, you called out for the redhead. His shoulders stiffened up and he grazed your eyes briefly over his shoulder before going back to whatever he's doing over at the other side of the room.

“Don't. Just be quiet.”

The bitter tone left guilt laying heavy in your stomach, twisting your guts until the bed's uncomfortable under your weight. You didn't know what to say since you're unaware what happened, did you fell down and ended up unconscious? Have you perhaps fainted from the lack of exercise? Almost impossible, you're in good shape lately, thus simply blacking out made no sense. You shook your head unaware.

“What happened…?”

He exhaled sharp through his nose; now it's confirmed to you. He was angry. Or maybe even more pissed, for that matter.

“I told you not to leave the damn apartment!”

He hissed back, pulling a white fabric higher and lowering it back down out of your sight. A silent gasp escaped you; it's a bandage.

“I… Did you got hurt?”

You asked worried for his condition. Saeyoung never made the impression of caring for his own health, now you were concerned something injured him instead. The hacker glossed over the question by using the silent treatment at you. Your fingers scratched at the mattress restlessly; what now? Should you keep prying or rather leave him be until he's talking voluntarily? No, you closed your eyes once your world started spinning. It's very likely he's not going to enlighten you by himself. Therefore you cleared your dry throat.

“Have I done something, Saeyoung? It's scary not knowing what happened… Can you please tell me?”

It sounded like pleading in your own ears, not that you would bring the effort to care. The redhead then finally turned back around, his arms covered by the thick jacket again. Letting you continue speculate if he got hurt or not. He carried a glass of water and a plate with selfmade sandwich over, much to your surprise.

“You don't remember?”

He asked while placing food and water down at the nightstand. Seeing you shake your head helplessly.

“Good. Then you don't need to know.”

Not even remotely the answer you've been praying for. You sat up slowly because your body didn't allow you going any faster, unless you would've wanted stringing pain to cruise through your veins.

“Saeyoung… What are you talking about?”

“I told you I have enemies and you're absolutely not safe with me.”

He lectured you for the countless time; amber eyes grounded and hard when looking at you.

“Let this be a lesson, for fuck's sake… You're so damn lucky I noticed early enough.”

Your frown grew deeper as you're not sure what he's referring to. With the back to the wall, you placed both hands next to your mushy body. His expression stayed emotionless; lips pressed into a thin line and only his forehead wrinkled lightly to show his frustration. You titled your head.

“I don't know what happened but… I'm sorry.”

You then turned away your head, facing the floor.

“I didn't mean to cause problems again. But I hope you know that's not your fault.”

For a moment silence filled the air until the hot water rose into the corners of your irritated eyes.

“I like you and I don't want to be a burden. But I also don't wanna leave you.”

The shift of the mattress caught you off guard, jerking up your arm in reflex. He sat at edge while rubbing his face with both hands. The lump blocking the access to the already uneasy air didn't help staying calm.

“You still don't get it. What am I supposed to do.”

The regretful tone of his normally powerful voice caused the tears to run down your cheeks. First hesitant, your hand reached out and came to lay at his shoulder. Thankfully he didn't slap it away or anything, on the contrary. When paying close attention you noticed he unconsciously leaned into your touch.

“Please just… let me be with you. I'm not scared of anything that could happen. I know you protect me, Saeyoung.”

You tried again to convince him about your loyalty. It's the truth anyway, you did want to stay by his side no matter what pain or truth would occur; nothing could change your mind about being close to him. You simply desired for him to finally accept the stubborn albeit determined decision you'd made a while ago. You squeezed his shoulder gently and he stood up shortly afterwards.

“Eat and drink something, please.”

He pointed to the food.

“What about you?”

“I took care already. Start worrying about yourself first…!”

You hummed softly, watching him pull his jacket tighter as he's seeking your eyes again. And this time you saw the entire worry glittering over them.

“If you still think this way after everything is over… Maybe I'm willing to share what happened. For now you need to recover so stop asking questions and rest.”

With that he went back to the space on the floor he'd taken the first day he arrived in order to finish the remanding parts of the job. You pulled the blankets once more; gazing at the many wrinkles it brought. There's not much else to do for now, best would be listening to his words and eat. Although feel stomach's still a little heavy, you did felt hungry.

“Okay. Thank you Saeyoung.”

Your words made him look up when placing the big headphones over his head. His features softened due to your kindhearted gratitude, you both knew.

“Yeah… Whatever. Just don't leave this place without me again.”

“I promise.”

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yoan-le-grall · 1 year

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#gif #cartoon #old cartoons #jem and the holograms #jem #car #it's a rapte #call the police #abduction #attempted kidnapping #pink #pinkcore #neon #neoncore #80s #80s aesthetic #retro

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jangillman · 2 months

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#organized crime #attempted kidnapping #walmart the official #safety awareness #Instagram

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goldenavenger02 · 3 months

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i will die in the house that i grew up in

"Long day, it took thirty seven minutes to get through The Ugly Turtle Duckling," Zuko groaned as he rested his head against his pillows, "the guards are worried about another attack, they want to deploy another division into the city."

"What do you want, mister Fire Lord?"

"I want to go to Ember Island, to take you and Izumi on a vacation,"

For @badthingshappenbingo. Prompt: "Please Don't Leave Me."

"-"It is time for you to go back to the lake to swim again, as you were born to do," said the farmer. He took the turtle-duckling back to the lake where he had found him, and set him with care on the water. "I feel good!" said the young bird, flapping his wings. "Why, I don't think-"

"Daddy?" Izumi interrupted, twisting a finger in one of her raven-black strands as she leaned against his side.

"Yes, my love?" Zuko muttered softly with a muffled yawn while running his fingers over her scalp and untangling her small hand from her long hair as he tried to lull the six year old to sleep, making a mental note to ask the hairdresser to take a few inches off until she kicked the habit.

"Why is everyone being so mean to him?"

"Because he looks different and they think that it's a bad thing," Zuko explained the story carefully as his daughter looked up at him with wonder in her golden eyes, "but in a little bit, they are gonna learn that they shouldn't have underestimated him just because he looks different."

"Is that why those bad people don't like you? Because you look different?"

Zuko swallowed; even though Izumi was only six, she was quick as a whip and smarter than he and Mai had been at her age; it was only logical that she would have heard the hushed conversations between himself, her mother and the royal guard about the uprising from the New Ozai Society.

"You should not be listening in on private conversations," he scolded lightly, his fingers drifting unconsciously to his scar and pressing down for a brief moment before he quickly came up with an explanation, "some people get angry because I do things differently than what they are used to and they take out that anger on me."

"That's not very nice."

"No, it's not," Zuko agreed, pressing a soft kiss to the side of her head, "but I promise that those people will never be able to hurt you or mommy because the guards and I will always protect you."

"Mommy doesn't need protection, she has sharp knives."

"That she does," he chuckled against her hair at the thought of Izumi seeing her mother wield her stilettos before asking, "ready to finish the book? We have to find out what happens to the ugly turtle duckling."

"He's not ugly, daddy. He's just different."

"My mistake, princess," he apologized before resuming his sentence, "-"I feel good!" said the young bird, flapping his wings. "Why, I don't think I ever felt as strong as I do right now!"

…

She drifted off before he finished the last page, giving him the chance to slowly maneuver her onto her pillows and tuck her in, pressing a kiss to her forehead before whispering, "good night, my turtle duckling," in her ear.

When he finally joined Mai in their chambers, she was propped against the headboard with what Zuko could only assume was a letter from her mother.

"New record, thirty seven minutes." She announced with a quick wink after taking a peek at the sundial from over the scroll.

"Oh, only thirty seven?" He chuckled as he pulled down the covers and climbed in beside her before rubbing his tired eyes, his mind now plagued by the uprising once again.

"You okay?"

"What do you want, mister Fire Lord?"

"I want to go to Ember Island, to take you and Izumi on a vacation," Zuko mused, thinking of his daughter building sandcastles and splashing in the waves before pushing them away, "but until we quell the New Ozai Society, we're needed here."

"As soon as all of this is over," Mai insisted, putting the scroll on her nightstand before rolling so she was next to his face, allowing her to pull him in for a warm, comforting kiss, "we'll go to Ember Island. Promise."

Zuko nodded, wrapping a hand around her hip, his voice dropping deeper to say "I love you, Fire Lady Mai," before pressing his lips against her for a longer, deeper kiss.

She pulled away after a few minutes to whisper in his ear, "and I love you, Fire Lord Zuko," before returning to his lips with a hand pressed firmly against his jawline to tip his lips into hers.

…

Izumi had always been an escape artist.

When she had learned to crawl, she would always try her hardest to scoot right past Zuko, Mai or her nanny with a giggle as she went; all of the adults looking after the princess, even Iroh as his old age started to catch up with him, were fast enough to catch her before she could crawl out of the room or hit her head.

Then she started walking which quickly turned into running.

Soon enough, it seemed to Zuko that at least once a week, his royal duties would be interrupted by the head of the royal guard opening the door and informing him that Izumi was missing or worse, in the infirmary.

No matter how many times he had arrived with his crown falling out of his hair from the panic, only to see her contently sitting on Mai's lap with a fresh bandage covering a small gash on her pale skin or a small washcloth being held to a bruise, the anxiety that coincided with his daughter would remain just as strong as it had the first time she had ever run off.

"I swear, if you ever teach her any of your scaling walls nonsense…" Mai warned after Izumi received a particularly bad gash on her knee that had needed two stitches.

"If she ever learns how to scale the walls, we are in big trouble." Zuko responded, holding his daughter close to his chest and rubbing her back as she slept against his collarbone.

So it didn't come as too much of a surprise to have his meeting with the head of education interrupted by Tao opening the door and addressing him, "Fire Lord, we have an urgent situation involving the princess," even if it sent his heart pounding erratically in his chest.

"We will have to continue this meeting at a later time, minister Huong."

"Your family comes first, Fire Lord." The man nodded in understanding, giving Zuko the permission to stand from his chair and follow Tao outside before demanding an explanation.

"No one can locate the princess. We are currently searching extensively but she slipped away after the Fire Lady left for Shuhon Island and before the nanny arrived."

Izumi was known to run, desperate to explore her surroundings; but this time, the Fire Nation was crawling with the uprising of loyalists that were gearing up for an inevitable attack against him and against his family.

"Do a sweep from top to bottom," Zuko immediately launched into action, "no stone unturned. No one comes in, no one goes out. If someone is trying to take her, we could still cut them off. I want every single member of staff questioned about the princess and if they even begin to act suspicious, let me know. And get some eyes on the Fire Lady. She'll tell you she can protect herself and I believe that wholeheartedly, but get an exact location. Inform her of the situation as soon as possible and make sure she gets updates as they come."

"Yes, sir." Tao nodded before walking away to delegate and serve, leaving Zuko alone in the hall with a pounding heart and a racing mind.

'Azula always said that there were passages in the walls,' he remembered, examining the wall to see if any of the stones looked like it could be some sort of hidden switch, hoping that Azula hadn't lied for once.

"Come on…" he muttered, running his hands over the individual rocks with just enough pressure in his fingertips that a fake one would give way under his weight.

The adrenaline inside of him was pleading to start his own search, to give up on this theory, that Azula always lies, but he pushed it down and used his small reserve of patience to continue running his hand over the wall.

That's when he felt the small rock, no bigger than a pebble, give way under his touch; he pressed it harder until he heard a 'click' as it stayed pressed down in the wall, frozen in place as a chunk of the wall slid inwards to reveal an opening with a staircase descending deep underground.

He wished for a moment that Toph was there to sense if there was any point to descend into the darkness, but Zuko knew that he was alone in this; he lit his palm ablaze and slowly made his way down the stone steps.

Zuko was a runner, just like his daughter; he too had spent most of his adolescence letting his impulses guide him, using his agility and speed to get his way with the fire inside of him as a crutch.

But with a situation as precarious as this, where Izumi's life could be in grave danger, he forced himself to be as quiet and slow as possible as he made his way down the stone steps, hoping that he hadn't just found a completely empty room under the palace.

When he neared the bottom of the steps, he had the urge to call out for his daughter, but if a member of the New Ozai Society had indeed been the one to snatch her when no one was looking, it would alert them as well.

So he snuffed the small flame out and listened for any sign of life with his back to the wall; at first, he didn't hear anything aside from a few creaks.

He must have been standing there for five minutes and losing hope as every second ticked by, but as he started to turn on his heel, that was when a voice echoed in his ears.

"When my daddy finds you, he's going to kick your butt."

'Izumi.'

She wasn't crying or screaming, she wasn't in any obvious pain by the sound of her voice. If anything, she sounded annoyed by the entire situation while refusing to show her captor any signs of fear, just like he and Mai had taught her.

For a brief moment, Zuko's heart swelled with pride before he took a breath and launched his attack, fire blazing from his fist, breezing right past the man's face just enough for him to feel the blistering heat.

"That was a warning shot. The next one won't miss." Zuko held his hand out, alight with flames dancing in between his fingers and kept it fixed on the man even as his daughter called out to him.

"Daddy!"

He turned; she was bound tightly with harsh rope in the wooden chair, her feet tied to the legs and her arms restrained behind her. He couldn't see any injuries, but aside from the flames in his hand illuminating a small portion of the room, there wasn't a single light source. "Are you hurt?"

"I-I'm okay."

Zuko ignored the stutter in her voice for now, returning his vision to the man who had tied up his daughter, his baby girl, the same way that one would restrain a grown adult and saw red as he aimed his flame-filled palm at him once again.

The man fell to his knees, his face pressed to the floor, and started to beg. "I apologize, Fire Lord Zuko. I was hired to do this, I never would wish harm on the royal family. I have a family of my own, I was only trying to provide for my children."

Zuko kept one hand trained on the man as he walked behind the chair that Izumi was tied to and started to burn through the rope; he knew that anyone in his position wouldn't hesitate to blast the man and no one would not blame him afterwards if he did so.

But, he had begged on the floor of this very palace for forgiveness as a child and was met with a permanent reminder in the form of flaming fingers.

No matter how much he wanted this man to pay for putting a hand on Izumi, he couldn't bring himself to do so, not when bringing him down, along with the rest of the New Ozai Society, was much more important.

"Darling," he addressed Izumi as soon as the last of her binds were burned away, "I want you to go upstairs and don't stop until you find Tao. Tell him everything and send him down here with the other guards. Do you understand?"

"Yes, daddy." She nodded before sprinting up the stairs, allowing Zuko to keep his full attention on the man on his hands and knees at his feet.

"I will spare your life, as the princess was unharmed by your foolish actions," Zuko informed him, "the royal guard is on their way and you will be thoroughly questioned about your involvement with the New Ozai Society. Your testimony will likely result in a lighter sentence for your crimes of conspiracy and being an accessory."

"Of course, of course, Fire Lord-"

"And if you so much as look at my guards the wrong way," Zuko allowed his flames to shine brighter, illuminating the fear and regret in the man's face, "I will not hesitate to go back on my word."

The man didn't get a chance to speak before the royal guard stormed the abandoned wine cellar and took him away, leaving Zuko in the darkness as the adrenaline ebbed away and the reality of what he had just threatened hit him.

'I almost killed a man. I threatened his life.' When he came to this realization and felt zero sympathy, however, an even more worrying thought hit him directly in the chest, 'what if this is how it starts? What if this is the beginning of another abusive tyrant as a Fire Lord?'

It wasn't like Ozai had been terrible to him as a small child on Ember Island, that he started putting unrealistic expectations on Azula that he knew Zuko would never be able to fulfill when they were babies; there was a time before he was only able to look at his mom with hatred in his eyes and before he treated his uncle like anything other than an obstacle.

At some point, there had been a tipping point for Ozai and as Zuko stood that tiny stone cellar, he couldn't help but wonder if that assassin for hire would be his own tipping point.

"Sir?" Tao's voice was the same level of calm that it always was as he stood firmly in every word he spoke, "perhaps we should get you to the infirmary."

"I can't," Zuko shook his head, "Izumi-"

"Is already there, I had Ming take her in case he was lying, and the Fire Lady is on her way back from Shuhon Island" Tao cut him off, "but with all due respect, Fire Lord, you're not looking so well."

And with that, knowing that his family were going to be okay, he relented and allowed Tao to loop his arm within his to support his shaking legs on the stone steps.

…

"I can't leave for a day without you two getting into trouble," Mai's deadpan voice hit Zuko's ears, instantly filling him with relief as he held Izumi in his arms while she turned her attention to the physician, "how bad is it?"

Zuko chose to focus on Izumi's deep, content breathing as she slept on his lap; she had mild rope burns on his wrists and ankles and a couple of scrapes on her knees from tripping on the stone stairs, but she was alive.

He rushed past Tao despite his shaking legs and all but slammed the door open; within seconds, Izumi was grabbing onto him tightly, tears in her eyes from the sting of the antiseptic on her knees.

"Please don't leave me." She begged against his robes, her chest falling and rising rapidly with quick, panicked breaths as tears dampened his chest.

Zuko held her as tightly as possible without hurting her, gently rubbing her back and assured her, "I am never letting you out of my sight again, Izumi."

Her soft snores were echoing in his ears and her chest was rising and falling evenly which was all that was keeping Zuko from joining Tao in the questioning of the would-be assassin, demanding to know why they had gone after the princess instead of him.

"How is she?" Mai whispered as she sat next to him, resting a hand on his shoulder and massaging it for a few, brief moments before letting it fall to the side.

"Mild rope burn, a couple of scrapes," he ran a hand through her hair with a sigh, "she was a bit frantic when I got here, but she's taking this a lot better than I am."

"This is not your fault, Zuko, you know that," she insisted while transferring Izumi into her arms, allowing Zuko to rest his head on her right shoulder, "this comes with the territory of being royalty. You've done everything you can to prevent this kind of thing with the new watch towers and hiring more guards."

"I know." Zuko pulled in a deep breath as he continued to lay against Mai's shoulder.

The two of them sat in the silence of the infirmary for a few minutes, the only sound being their breathing and Izumi's soft snores, before Mai finally spoke again with her fingers gently working Izumi's hair into a braid.

"I think it might be a good time to take that vacation to Ember Island," she stopped to meet his golden eyes with her light gray ones, "we could all use it."

Despite everything running through his mind, he couldn't stop himself from offering his wife a small smile as he quickly pressed a kiss to her soft lips before saying, "I think you're right."

#my writing #angst #fic #bad things happen bingo #please don't leave me #avatar the last airbender #atla #attempted kidnapping #fire lord zuko #mai avatar #izumi atla #future fic

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naoa-ao3 · 7 months

Text

A Night in New Orleans

Years before Jean-Luc adopts Remy, he watches him from the balconies and galleries of the French Quarter and wonders if he's doing the right thing. While he wonders, others have plots of their own and Remy, oblivious to it all heads to bed.

The boy was growing and as he did, Jean-Luc LeBeau found himself worrying for him.

He had already removed the child from the Antiquiary but he couldn't remove the boy's eyes from his head nor the whispers and rumors that circulated about him through the air and through the guilds.

He watched the child from a gallery one night as the boy picked pockets along Rue St. Anne.

The boy wore dark shades to hide his eyes now, big, plastic lenses obscuring his face. He didn't know he was being watched but Jean-Luc knew and he knew he wasn't the only one watching that night.

Above the crowed of tourists and drunks, locals out for fun and a million sweating bodies he saw familiar faces on galleries around him. Dark faces hidden in shadow and he knew there was a plot.

People were scared of the boy. His own people. People who should have heeded his words and didn't. He'd said the boy wasn't to be touched and yet here he was, watching them, watching the boy, watching them watch the boy and down below the child had no idea.

His life consisted of reporting his ill gains to Fagin and avoiding a swat to the back of the head. The child didn't know the war fought over him and Jean-Luc wanted to keep it that way. It was better while the boy was still young.

Even this kind of childhood was better than none.

Even so his eyes followed the man across the street. Bourbon was loud tonight and people spilled out of doorways, sweating and wilting in the evening humidity. Even as a native he thought it was hot out that night and his eyes followed the boy who had stopped to watch a Dixie Land Band lead a wedding procession out of the St. Louis Cathedral.

The boy leaned against the fence around Jackson Square and watched them, eyes following the party behind his glasses. Jean-Luc wondered if he had ever been to a wedding. Most probably not, or at least not any he was supposed to have been at.

No one notices the child alone and yet his eyes follow him as the child unwraps his arms from around the fence and saunters off. He dips his little hand into a purse as he does and scoops out a wallet.

Jean-Luc feels a measure of pride for this child he's never spoken too. He's got a son of his own, Henri is a little older and everything he could have ever hoped for but he's always felt a kind of connection with this child, since the night he'd stolen him from the hospital.

There's music pouring into the street and below Remy walks on, not knowing he's being watched, not knowing he's got a destiny. He doesn't have any idea that there's expectations waiting for him.

Jean-Luc wishes he could protect the boy from them but he can't. He's the leader of the Thieves Guild and one boy can't be put above the Guild. Not even his own son Henri could take priority. There's older and more powerful things at play.

Jean-Luc watches the men across the street. Their eyes are fixed on the boy and he doubts they have any good plans for him.

He closes his hand around the railing and frowns hard, the French Quarter below him, spilling the masses onto her streets, hiding a little boy with demonic eyes.

Across town, his own son is asleep in his bed in their garden district manor. He's surrounded by iron fences the old south there, heavy curtains on the windows and antiques. Henri sleeps well and he feels a kind of guilt as he watches Remy in his dirty jeans and old t-shirt. This boy doesn't know anything about that world.

He watches them and then they move, following the boy. He follows them, silent and hidden, they haven't seen him yet but he isn't the leader for nothing.

They move in, hovering from galleries like carrion birds over the boy who walks on oblivious.

Jean-Luc catches up to them when the boy cuts away from Bourbon Street and begins to wander out of the French Quarter, away from the noise and crowed streets.

He knows a few of the places the boy goes to sleep in. He's already staking himself away from Fagin, already too smart for the man. Soon he'll have to take the kid away from Fagin or else risk wasting him. The kid is good but tonight he's just a kid.

"What do you think you're doing?" He asks as he catches up to the other thief. He knew it was Marcus Delacroix from afar. Now that he see's him up close he can see the look on the mans face and knows Marcus didn't know he was watching.

He savors the element of surprise and asks again. "What are you doing?" He asks. "I told you eight years ago that the boy was off limits. I'll handle him."

Marcus hangs for a second before righting his posture. "I remember but you can't trust him, Jean-Luc."

Jean-Luc isn't about to hear this. He knows the superstitions, he's kept then in mind just in case. He knows. "We're not assassins, Marcus." He says. "We're you really planning to harm the boy?"

They're standing on a roof top now, watching the boy as he picks his way along the less crowded streets outside the French Quarter.

"Not harm." Marcus whispers, looking down at the child.

"Then what?"

"Was gonna take him to the Bayou."

Jean-Luc scowls, not pleased and not surprised. "And do what with him?" He asks, knowing probably what. "Hope the gators take care of him for you? Dat boy wouldn't be done that easy, even you should know that."

Marcus winces. "He's dangerous, Jean-Luc. Everyone can see it."

He can see their superstitions. He's heard it all before. "They're just rumors." He says. "And he's just a little boy."

"You know that ain't no boy." Marcus scoffs, voice a little hurt.

Jean-Luc shrugs. "You t'ink so? I wish I could t'ink that way." He looks down at the boy, farther away, disappearing into shadows and the summer heat. What fucking life is he giving this child?

Marcus shakes his head. "Don't know what power he has over you." He says. "De boy will bring us ruin, Jean-Luc. Everyone knows it."

"Everyone knows what they've been told and it's men like you doing the telling, Marcus."

Marcus gives him a grieving look this time, mind unforgiving, unable and unwilling to understand.

The boy is gone.

"He'll doom the Guild."

"Or save it."

Marcus nods, quarry lost, plans aborted. Remy gone. "Maybe." He whispers.

Jean-Luc understands and wishes he still had eyes on the boy. It's when he feels the least guilty.

Remy however is gone into the night and of course knows how and where to hide from the world.

Jean-Luc goes home and watches Henri sleep, wondering if his own son understands how much he loves him. Wondering if he'll forgive him when he gets old enough to know him.

He wonders where Remy is sleeping, knows he's not in a bed like Henri. Know's he's not safe and loved like Henri and he feels like he's letting two children down.

Out there among the street lamps and stars, the one way streets and cemeteries the shot gun houses and superstitions, Remy has a little place to rest and for the night he sleeps unaware

But destiny is coming for him and it'll come in the shapes of Guilds and marauders, X-Men and lovers. Mistakes and trusts and while Jean-Luc knows the boy has a fate he has not a clue of these things.

When he closes the door to his son's room he only knows that Remy is out there asleep and he feels guilt he can't explain. Guilt unfitting of a Guild leader. Guilt of a father and in just a few years time that's what he'll be to the boy. He'll have two sons then and he won't feel he's doing any better.

#fanfiction #jean luc lebeau #remy lebeau #fathers and sons #family #hurt/comfort #x-men #marvel #xmen #x men #comics #fanfic #attempted kidnapping #parenting #sort of #theives guild #mutants

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mmmmbreadsoup · 1 year

Text

Mental Break (pt. 1)

Tw: kidnapping, mental distress

Words: 1.4k

Summary:

You were preparing for the worst, but some times preparing is all for nought. Now you've gotten yourself in a mildly annoying situation.

Scratch that, you're thouroughly annoyed, and you have no idea how to escape.

After the incident, Michael would make sure to hide all the knives. He also took great care of sticking close to you at the house. He wasn’t quite ready to be seen by the public, without having a dead body nearby. He was just trying to look out for you, as he felt your pain. It had been years since he last felt emotion, but he did at one time, have the same pain in his younger years.

His routine also changed. He used to disappear for hours, come back to check on the house (and you), and go back out. Sometimes he would be generous, and hang around for you. Just to entertain you from time to time. But now, he was home almost all the time. And the town seemed to pick up on it.

Ever since he caught you, he wouldn’t leave your sight for most of the day. For bed he would sleep on a chair next to your bed. He would wait until you go up, and then follow you around silently. Almost stalking like, if it weren’t for the fact that he let himself be seen by you. You weren’t even able to use a knife, even if it was for dinner. He did, however, give you permission if he was able to clearly see you. You started out frustrated at the rules, but you couldn’t stay mad. He was only trying to help, and this was what he thought was best.

That was until he kept you at a distance when Halloween came around. When he was getting up to do his annual ritual, you started to tag along his side. Until, he stopped you. He had softly pushed you to the couch and gave you the remote, and stared at you. You got the hint. He didn’t want you out with him. It seemed like he was pitying you. That didn’t sit well. You didn’t need his pity. You didn’t even think he was capable of emotions. And it was really bad when the town serial killer decided to show pity.

You didn’t care though. Whether he wanted you with or not, you were going. Once you saw him leave the house with careful steps, you followed alongside him. You wouldn’t care if he caught you, because it’s not like he could get you to leave.

Though he did catch you, he just froze. Then continued on as usual. You were probably going to get T.V privileges taken for the week. And probably have the whole town hate you, but it’s fine.

The town until now, thought you were just some suicidal and/or homicidal teen who didn’t care about dying. But once you were showing up more and more by Michael’s side, they caught on. You weren’t doing it on your own, Michael took a liking to you. He actually got an apprentice. It wasn’t subtle either, since everywhere Michael went, you had to go. And Michael had just let you. And it was getting worrisome considering you were seen hugging and holding onto his arm a few times. They all knew Michael hated physical contact, so for you to touch him, that was evidence you two were growing too close.

The town had gotten angrier, and more confident. They were starting to snap, not caring who was on the receiving end. After Michael killed almost one-third of the town, they called Loomis up demanding he do something. But what they didn’t know was that he was already plotting.

By the time they called him, a plan was ready to be started. He knew that you and Michael portrayed a close enough relationship. All he needed to do was lure you into a trap, and Michael would be as good as caught.

What he didn't realize though, was that you weren't some weak kid that needed to be defended all the time.

When he first came back to town, he tried going through with the plan and ended with another scar. Had it not been for back up, he probably would have escaped with a missing arm. It had worried him only in the slightest bit. But he still had the fact that you were just a kid. No matter how smart and strong you were, he was the adult in this situation. And it would remain that way, at least he thought so.

It was a week after the first incident, you stopped thinking about him. He would be the least of your problems. For now, you need to figure out a way to get money and food. Sure people just let you take it for now, but it wouldn't always be that way. Their humans after all. Prone to bite when backed into a corner with no way out. They would soon be coming for your head as well. No matter how young you happened to be.

It was frustrating. You knew they were going to react like this, you just didn’t expect it to be so annoying. How Michael handled it, you had no idea. Then again, you were about turn fifteen so you weren’t really equipped to handle big situations like this. Michael did try to handle it, but Loomis kept coming out of nowhere. It was really starting to put you on edge.

One of the days you cautiously roamed the night to get some air just happened to be the worst. You were taking a stroll through the park's small hiking trail, when you heard a rustle. Figuring it was Michael, you strode over to it. You called out to him, asking if he wanted anything. Next thing you knew, something flew right into your arm.

It was a dart…

No no no no no no no

This couldn’t be happening

Not to you

You were so sure

And careful

And cautious

How could they get you like this?!

It was only a stroll! It was only supposed to be a small walk to clear your nerves! How could this type of thing happen! Were you going to jail? You couldn’t go there, if you went, who would keep Michael in check for you? Who would comfort you during the worst of your days?!

It wasn’t fair! They couldn’t just rip you away from him! That wasn’t fair. This isn’t fair!

You started screaming at them, you didn’t want them taking you away from Michael. You haven’t even said goodbye to him yet. He might think you abandoned him! What if you come back and he isn’t waiting for you?! What if he tries throwing you away. You couldn’t let him do that! You spent so much time with him, he had to have favored you by now. There’s no way he would just get rid of you, just like your father did.

You felt a slap..

Loomis yelled something about getting your shit together.

Choking on sobs, you came to your senses, and realized that you were in a van with your hands cuffed. You tried struggling, but it honestly wasn’t worth it. Loomis gave you a sympathetic look, it was obvious he took pity. You were different from Michael, you felt things. He deemed that good enough to put up the idea of you being an emotionally unstable teen who didn’t have the resources or outlets to stop you from going on rampages. To him, you were just an abandoned teen with no one but a murderer to depend on. It was true, but you didn’t want to realize it. Michael had become your everything. He took you in, clothed you, gave you your own room, comforted you when you hurt yourself. If anyone was horrible, it was Loomis.

God you hated how you acted. You sounded so much like a fucking crybaby. You were just high and mighty killing people, and here you are sobbing wanting to crawl back to Michael. It sickened you. You couldn’t believe how weak you sound right now. To have someone look down on you, and no less pity you? That was honestly the fucking worst. You were supposed to be better than this. Emotionless to this shit was literally the first thing that came with the position.

You were done with this shit. So you stopped.

Well, as best as you could.

You slowly quit crying, and just put on a mask. You weren’t about to let them see you vulnerable a second more. The whole ride was then silent while Loomis checked whatever his dumb clipboard held.

And before you knew it, the world went dark.

#father figure #michael myer x teen!reader #michael myer x child reader #michael myers x reader #michael myers #x teen!reader #tw kidnap mention #attempted kidnapping #mild violence #dr. loomis #mental instability #gender neutral reader

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