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klemen-tine · 6 months ago

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Blowing Raspberries Part 2

Batfam x Male!Reader Platonic

@jaythes1mp Finally the 2nd part is out! A bit short but I genuinely felt there wasn't much needed.

Part 1

TW: Child Neglect and just Yandere themes

Living full time with the Waynes was different. It shouldn’t be, because he’s lived here before. Even if it wasn’t permanent, he still knew the ins and outs of the manor and the daily lives of each member of this family.

He watched the television numbly, feeling Dick’s fingers carding through his hair and twisting and twirling each lock. The difference was the Wayne family. Underneath the smiles and gentle gestures, Y/N could see the underlying desires and wants in each movement. A desire that Y/N has seen art collectors view paintings that are not in their collection. The want and need to have it with them at all times.

Y/N could almost see it. In their eyes, he was no longer the brother that came and went, but now a piece of the collection that they had bought from the original collector.

‘I’m being dramatic.’ Y/N thought, focusing back on the movie and trying to ease his fears about everything. Just because they bought the company,which he was still better about, does not mean they own him. They would never do that to him.

He also believed that about them buying the company.

“Y/N, is everything okay?” Dick asked, peering down at his older brother who was looking dazed. Y/N smiled, “Just thinking.”

“About what? Maybe I can help.” Y/N smiled and Dick, and when Dick smiled back, there was absolutely no way that Dick could do that to him.

“About this situation.” Dick looked confused momentarily, “What situation?” Y/N blinked in shock, digesting the words before slowly sitting up so he could face his brother, “This situation. Me being here indefinitely now, the family company is no longer mine…”

Dick cocked his head to the side, “There’s nothing to think about though.” Y/N’s smile was tense as he processed what Dick said, “Yes. Yes, there is Dick.” Blue eyes continued to stare at him in confusion, “Like what?”

“...Seriously?” Y/N sat up, and for a minute, he felt Dick’s hands tighten in his hair before they let go. Dick furrowed his brow before realization crashed into him, “Oh! You mean living here!” Before Y/N could say anything, Dick leaned against Y/N’s shoulder, “What’s there to think about? The only difference is that you are now living here 24/7.”

Y/N chuckled, “Just because you guys bought the company doesn’t mean I live here.” Dick’s gaze turned cold before he began pouting, and Y/N had wondered if he momentarily hallucinated it. Dick let out a loud groan, “But you can’t leave! Y/N, what on earth are we going to do?” Y/N laughed, “The same you have always done, Dickie. Besides, for what it is worth, I’ll be here for a few more days.” Dick smiled up at him, “You better be. Dropping contact like that.” There was something dark in his voice that Y/N chalked up to him still being upset.

Y/N continued to chuckle, his attention now returning back to the t.v. They watched it together for hours, browsing through different channels and watching different shows. It was just like when they were younger, Dick leaning against Y/N who flicked through the channels. Only now, there was an arm strategically looped with Y/N’s, and the man could feel the muscles underneath Dick’s skin that although weren’t flexed, they were a little tense.

Almost like Dick was expecting Y/N to leave. It was kind of unsettling.

“Master Y/N, your father is on the phone.” Y/N looked up at Alfred with a confused look, “Okay, thank you Alfie.” Dick’s grip tightened momentarily before he released his hold and let Y/N get up from the couch. Alfred passed the phone to Y/N, and he had a moment of confusion as to why his father called the Wayne landline instead of Y/N’s phone

“Hello?”

‘Why the hell aren’t you picking up your phone?!’ Y/N pulled the phone away from the phone momentarily, letting his ears ring before placing the phone next to his other ear, “What are you talking about? You haven’t called.”

‘Do not lie to me Y/N! I have been calling you for days, and I expect an answer!’ Y/N’s face morphed into confusion as he pulled out his phone and looked at his notifications, “Father, I am seeing no calls from you.” Y/N flicked through their messages, phone logs, even voicemail but there was nothing.

He heard his father sigh irritably on the other side of the line, and Y/N fought back a shiver. Taking a deep breath, Y/N stilled his racing heart and continued the conversation, “Okay, since you have me on the phone, what is it that you wanted to talk about?”

‘The bloody Waynes!’ There was no way Dick didn’t hear it, but a quick glance at the man and he was on his phone. Returning his attention to the call, Y/N’s father was still screeching and yelling about the family.

‘-and you! You probably helped them out with that!’

“Me?!”

‘Yes you! You don’t think I don’t know about you running to that manor whenever I am gone? Ridiculous! It is your fault the company was bought!’ Y/N felt heat rise to his cheeks and fire lit in his chest, “You were the one who signed the papers! How is it my fault?”

‘You idiot! Do you think I had a choice?! If it weren’t for you, that company would still be mine!’

“What do you mean you didn’t have a choice?” Before he could answer, another person joined in on the call, ‘Mr. L/N, to what do I owe the pleasure of you having called my manor phone?’

‘Mr.-Mr. Wayne.’

“Bruce?” He could hear the other hum, ‘Y/N, you can hop off. I need to talk to Mr. L/N.’ The heat in Y/N’s chest dimmed, and instead ice began to fill his veins, “Um, no it’s okay Bruce. I can talk to him–”

‘Y/N.’ There’s a way he said it, one that left no room for arguments, that had Y/N blinking in shock. His body frozen and eyes wide, he pressed the button without really thinking about it. It wasn’t Bruce who said his name, but Batman.

Y/N wanted to call back and tell Bruce off, but Alfred was quick to take the phone away and someone had grabbed his hand. He met the exhausted blue eyes of Tim, and worry eclipsed his feeling of irritation at the sight of those bags under his eyes.

“Oh my God, Tim! When was the last time you slept?” Y/N herded his younger brother to the couch where Dick was still sitting and gently plopped the teen between the two of them. Tim groaned, collapsing against Dick who wrapped his arms around his younger brother, “Wednesday.”

“It's Sunday!”

“Oh.”

“What do you mean ‘oh.’” Y/N shook his head and did everything in his power to make Tim comfortable enough for him to get some sleep. Which wasn't hard. As soon as Y/N threw a blanket over his thin body, Tim had knocked out against Dick. Dick was content being a pillow for his younger brother, having his arm resting on Tim’s body as the other continued to sleep.

Y/N hummed, smiling at his younger brothers and placing his phone call with his father on pause.

++++

The strangeness of his current living situation wouldn’t come to light again until a few days later, when the bruises have turned yellow and the feeling of being restricted started feeling like a collar around the neck rather than iron bars. Y/Ns had tried, multiple times, to leave the manor. While he does see the manor as home, it doesn’t replace the other manor he grew up in.

“I’m not a captive, I can go and I am going home.” He stared into Damian’s blazing green eyes, the youngest Wayne being the one to stand in the way of Y/N and the door. Damian’s face in a scowl and his arms crossed, he glared at his oldest brother.

“You cannot.” His voice clipped and short, and Y/N wanted to roll his eyes, “Dami, why can’t I leave?”

“Because you belong here. Everything you need is here.”

“I understand that Dami, however the L/N Manor is also my home and I need to go back to it.” Damian shook his head, “No you don’t. This is your home.” It was like Y/N was talking to a parrot who kept repeating the same sentence over and over again. No matter the amount of reasoning or explanations given. He fought to bury his face in his hands, and instead he opted to suck on his cheek in irritation.

“You’re making it sound like if I leave, then I am not coming back.” Damian’s green eyes steeled and his nose scrunched in a way to fight off a pout. Y/N furrowed his brow, wondering where this tantrum was coming from. Damian was above tantrums, finding them childish and pathetic, however he wasn’t above pouting. Y/N had gotten used to Damian’s pouting faces, and even knew how to combat them.

However, this whole thing was new. Not once has Damian ever fought this hard for Y/N to stay.

“Damian, what is going on?” Y/N stared down at the boy, who looked like he had swallowed a lemon. He swiveled his head around when he heard footsteps approaching the foyer and sighed in relief that it was Alfred.

“Alfie, what on earth is going on?” The old butler raised an eyebrow, “Perhaps we should have this conversation over some tea.” It was said in a tone that Y/N knew not to argue with, and he gave Damian one last glance before following the older man into the dining room where a tea set was ready for them.

Y/N buried his head in his hands and groaned, “Alfie, what is going on in this household?” The near silent clink of a porcelain cup being placed in front of him had him reaching for the delicate handle. The butler sat next to Y/N, reaching for his own cup and taking a small inhale of the steam that was carrying the scent of oranges and chocolate, “They are being a bit difficult.”

“A bit?” Y/N let out a chuckle and stared at Alfred in shock, “Dick is acting like I don’t have a manor to go back to, Tim is being Tim, Jason pretends he can’t read on his own and wants me there when he does decides to pick a book from the library, and now Dami.” Y/N tapped the table with his fingernail, feeling the frustration digging into his skin, “Bruce is the worst of them. Asking a wall to change colors is easier than asking Bruce to be honest.”

Some part of Y/N was still bitter over Bruce acquiring the L/N family business, and he was trying desperately to understand it from that man’s perspective. Key word was ‘trying’ because he couldn’t wrap his head around it. Bruce knows how much that company means to Y/N, and how hard Y/N had worked for it.

Sure, Bruce says he can still manage it, but it means nothing if the company is not his. He’d have to answer to Bruce and Tim. Just thinking about it pisses him off so much.

Alfred nodded, “Oh trust me, I know. It seems they all inherited his stubbornness.” The manor’s residential grandfather figure understood each inhabitant perfectly, watching them grow up into the people they are today.

Y/N groaned, sipping the hot tea and sighing as the liquid warmed his throat and chest, “Like, is all of this a joke?” Alfred rested a hand on his shoulder, and Y/N could see the apology in his eyes. He sighed heavily and returned his attention forward, tracing a finger around the rim of the tea cup and staring into his own reflection.

It was all a joke. It had to be, right? “Y/N.” He looked up and Bruce was standing in the doorway. His expression relaxed, but Y/N has been around the man long enough to know that those tense shoulders are those prepared to give less than savory news. Alfred removed himself from the table, and Bruce took the seat next to Y/N.

“How have you been adjusting?” Y/N raised an eyebrow, “There’s no adjusting Bruce. Every one of you is making it seem like I am going to stay forever.” Bruce gave him a sad smile, and Y/N glared at the look, “What?”

“Y/N, your father sold the manor. There is no L/N estate anymore.” The floor feels as though it is opening up and about to swallow him whole. Y/N could feel his heart stop and the air leave his lungs like it was a punch. The world going blank and his eyes could only focus on the painting behind Bruce’s head.

The manor was sold? His home, and everything in there, gone? Just like that?

Faint memories of giggles and smiles filled his mind, his memory unable to conjure up the face of his mother but he remembers her laugh. Back when times were good and his father wasn’t an asshole. When he didn’t have to seek comfort in the arms of his neighbor and try and fill the hole in his chest with lost boys and girls that he sees as his siblings.

All of it was gone.

“-uca, I need you to breathe.” There’s a hand on his arm, the chair is no longer under him. Y/N can see blue eyes staring into his own as he began to realize that they were on the ground, sitting. Or, more like Y/N was sitting and Bruce is kneeling. His face pulled to the center of his face with worry, and Y/N is only now aware of how fast he is breathing.

His hand reached towards his chest and clutched the fabric of his shirt, trying desperately to find something to cling onto as the air continued to get pulled out of his lungs. He couldn’t feel his legs or his other arm to be exact, and the when he tried to voice that all that came out were gasps.

“Y/N, can you hear me?” A nod.

“Good, I need you to find five things you can see. When you do, nod for me.” Easy, it was such as easy task but Y/N still found difficulty focusing his vision enough to see even at least three things. However, he finally found it and he nodded. Relief flooded over Bruce’s face, and he gave an encouraging smile, “Good. That’s amazing Y/N, now find four things you can hear.”

That is how they spent their next few minutes, Bruce counting down the five senses while Y/N slowly came to his. Once he could feel the floor beneath him and more movement in his limbs, he sagged forward and into Bruce’s arms.

“I need to call him. I need to call-” Bruce’ phone was already in his hands, and Y/N didn’t even question why it was Bruce’s phone and no his.

He dialed a number he had memorized by heart and held the device close to ear. The damn thing didn’t even ring, ‘I’m sorry. The number you have dialed has either been disconnected or no longer exists–’

A sob on his lips as the weight of it all began crashing on him. The family company gone, the manor, and now this. It was like the universe wanted to take everything that made him a L/N gone.

“Y/N, I am sorry. I don’t know why he did that…” Bruce consoled the son that was never his. Always within arms reach and always a mile away. Always a brush on the fingertips but never in their hands. Until now.

Finally, after so many years of waiting patiently for Y/N to see, here he is in his arms. Here is their strong oldest sibling crying in his father-figures arms because his real father wants nothing to do with him. It took some encouragement, but finally he was theirs.’

Bruce held him tight, his strong arms wrapped around those soldiers that carried too much, and blue eyes met green. Damian stood in front of the door and he watched the interaction take place. A nod to his son and the youngest was gone, without a doubt moving to go and tell the others of the news.

It took ten minutes to get Y/N off the floor and onto the sofa in the lounge room, where Jason and Dick were waiting for him. After passing him to their waiting arms and better worded promises, Bruce carefully peeled himself away from the Y/N and began making his way back to his study.

One thne doors were shut, he pulled out a phonme and began to a dial the most recent number. They picked up on the first ring and Bruce couldn’t help but to smile, “Mr. L/N, thank you for all you have done. Y/N is now in good hands.”

“...My son–”

“Will be happier. You have done your role, Mr. L/N.” He listened as the other seethed on the other side of the line, “Mr. Wayne–”

“Rememer your side of the contract Mr. L/N. No more contact with Y/N, and you get to keep all this money you earned from selling both the business and the manor. You can continue to live out your days in Cabo, with your other family.”

The line went silent, and when he head the shaky exhale, Bruce smiled victoriously, “Take care, Mr. L/N. For your sake, I hope we never speak again.” He hung up, and Bruce couldn’t help but to smile. Finally, after years of watching and waiting, it has finally all come togethe. The final link in the chain forY/N to remain here.

It was hard getting Mr.L/N addicted to Cabo, and evern harder to get him to find someone worth marrying and staring a family with. However, it all paid off. The business was his, and Y/N will still manage that, and the L/N Manor is now Bruce’s which he’s not too sure what he’ll do with.

Maybe a surprise gift for Y/N, but then again, that would mean Y/N would be leaving again.

“Hey Bruce, we’re gonna watch a movie soon to help Y/N feel better. Did you wanna join?” Tim’s voice was muffled through the doors, but Bruce heard them nonetheless. He smiled as whe opened the door, “Sure, its important we are there for him during these times.”

He’s finally with his real family. The family he should have been with from the start.

______________________________________________________

And Scene

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rollinouttahere-writes · 1 year ago

Note

Platonic Yandere Paulie and little sister reader

Fix This

Yandere Paulie x Little Sister Reader

2.7k words

“I’m gonna kill him,” you panted out between breaths. Dock One of the Galley-La Company had finally come into view, and while you were relieved to have made it here, it was overshadowed by how pissed you were.

Why were you so mad? Because you just spent the past HOUR running from your brother’s gaggle of debt collectors. You aren’t sure who’s more stupid here. His dumbass for continuously taking out loans when he hasn’t paid back a single one yet, or them for being dumb enough to keep giving him money.

It would seem that you’ve got a target on your back purely by association. After years of not being able to get a penny out of him, they’re now trying to shake you down for money. Which, in your humble opinion, was bullshit.

You hop over the rope divider to enter the dock and look around. Paulie isn’t anywhere to be seen. If he’s left to do more gambling, you’re gonna strangle him with his own ropes.

Spotting one of your fellow foremen, you make your way over to him, “Hey Kaku, have you seen Paulie?”

“He’s been pacing the fence looking for you,” Kaku answered before even turning around to face you. Once he did, he looked surprised at your appearance, “You look whacked, did something happen?”

“Oh it’s nothing, I just spent the past hour running from my stupid brother’s bad decisions,” you grumbled. At this moment, all you wanted to do was sit down and catch your breath, but you needed to give Paulie a piece of your mind first. Possibly with your fists.

“There you are! Do you have any idea how late you are?!”

Speak of the devil. Without even looking at him you could feel your anger spiking again. This guy had the audacity to cop an attitude with you even though he was at fault. Kaku wisely went back to what he was working on, not wanting to be caught in the middle of this.

Paulie stomped closer and grabbed your shoulder to make you face him. With how mad you were, this was a bad move. The second you were turned towards him, you violently shoved him away. You were looking at him with nothing but contempt, and he visibly flinched from how scorching the look was.

He cleared his throat and found the nerve to continue talking, “Don’t give me that look! You’re damn near an hour late, where have you been?”

“Ask your debt collectors,” you seethed. Each word was ground out with malice as you continued to glower at him.

“What do they have to do with this?” Despite the question, you could tell he already knew what you were getting at. Yet here he was, playing dumb.

You threw your hands up in frustration, “Everything! From the second I left our home they were on my ass! It took me an hour to lose those pricks!”

“Why would they be after you? Are you also borrowing money?” This guy had the audacity to take on a scolding tone towards you. You want to throttle him.

Your hands shot out and brought him to eye level with you, “No, dumbass! They’re after me because YOU won’t fucking pay them!”

“Hey! Watch your language, that is not lady like at all!”

“This is not about my fucking language! This is about your stupid ass decisions getting me into trouble! If it weren’t for you borrowing money around the damn clock with zero intention of ever paying it back, this wouldn’t happen!” You shoved him away and took a step back.

Paulie fumbled for a minute to find a decent response, “I- I will pay it back, I just need to get lucky is all.” Well, that wasn’t a decent answer at all.

“You can’t be serious,” you stared at him like he was insane, which in this moment you think he was to be honest. “What do you mean you need to ‘get lucky’?! That’s never going to happen, you suck at gambling! You couldn’t win a game of poker even if you knew everyone’s hands!”

“Excuse you! Those games are rigged, that’s all! I just need to figure out how to play the system and I’ll make everything back and then some,” Paulie huffed indignantly.

Something about how he responded made your fury finally reach its boiling point, and you screamed at him, “Of course the games are rigged! That’s how casinos make money: by taking advantage of dumbasses like you!”

“What’s going on here?”

Both you and Paulie snap your heads toward the new voice. Mortification set it as you recognized your boss standing there. Iceburg just witnessed you getting into a screaming match with your brother at work.

“(Y/N) and Paulie are arguing because (y/n) was chased around the city by his debt collectors,” Kalifa readjusted her glasses while stating this like it was well known information. How she knows all this is beyond you. That woman must have eyes and ears everywhere, you’re sure of it.

Your resentment simmered down, but only from embarrassment. Tears burned at your eyes as you desperately tried to keep them from surfacing. This was humiliating. At the very least, Iceburg was a kind man and didn’t reprimand you. Instead he asked, “Is that why your jacket is torn? Are you hurt?”

“Torn?” That was news to you. Giving yourself a quick once over, you found what he was referring to. The seam on your left shoulder was ripped open. Oh, right. This must have happened when one of them grabbed you. You were able to rip yourself away, but it appears your jacket was a casualty.

“Yeah, that’s why. I’m not hurt though, just upset,” the jacket was shrugged off. You didn’t want to wear it if it looked like this. You could fix it tonight when you got home.

“It looks like you were hurt, unless that bruise is from something else,” Iceburg stepped closer and stared at your wrist. Sure enough, there was a bruise in its early stages forming on your wrist where you were grabbed. So that’s why it felt sore.

“Oh, yeah I guess that’s where it came from. I didn’t even notice that until now,” you mumbled. You can’t believe those guys caught you off guard enough to do this to you. Last week you took out three pirates with a plank of wood when they tried to skip out on their bill, but some middle aged loan shark managed to get the drop on you. Shameful.

Kalifa muttered something about this being sexual harassment, and Iceberg nodded in agreement. He gingerly held your wrist to examine it, “Do you want to take the day off? It would be a bad idea to strain this now and make it worse.”

You snatched your wrist away, “No, that’s okay! I’m fine, really! It doesn’t even hurt.” This wasn’t a complete lie. It was more so tender than outright painful. The last thing you wanted was to sit at home and stew on everything that happened, you would much rather be working.

Iceburg raised a brow at this, but mercifully spared your dignity by not forcing the matter. Returning back to his full height, he promised you that he would deal with the debt collectors targeting people that weren’t involved in their dealings. With that, he bid you all farewell and left.

The silence was heavy and uncomfortable. You could feel Paulie’s eyes on you, but you didn’t want to face him, lest you two start fighting again.

“I uh- I’ve got a job for us to work on together today, we should get started on that,” you took solace in the fact that he sounded as uncomfortable as you felt.

“Sorry, I already told Kaku I would work with him today, actually,” you lied through your teeth. Working with Paulie would be a horrible idea right now, you can’t imagine why he thinks it’s a good one.

“Seriously? Come on, (y/n), I know you’re mad but don’t be like this. It’s not a big deal, we can talk about it while we work.”

“Not a big deal?!” You snapped. Shit, you’re yelling again. Taking a deep breath in an attempt to calm down, you continue, “It’s a big deal to me. I mean it. If you don’t get your shit together and get your debts straightened out soon, I’m going to leave.”

Being harassed by his enemies is something you’ve been dealing with since you were a kid. Back then they would just follow you around for an intimidation effect, but it seems like the gloves have come off now that you’re an adult. Years of this have worn you down, and now you’re at a breaking point.

“The hell do you mean you’re going to leave?” His voice sounded shockingly cold, you’re not sure you’ve ever heard him talk like that. Especially not to you.

“I mean that if this happens again, I will leave Water 7,” you looked him dead in the eyes, daring him to challenge you.

“You don’t mean that.”

“Yes, Paulie, I do. With my resume I could get a job at any shipyard in the world, so don’t test me,” you didn’t break eye contact once, hoping to get across how serious you are.

He was the first to look away. “I’ll get it taken care of,” is all he said before walking away.

Letting out a breath you didn’t even realize you were holding, you join Kaku with picking out lumber for some ship repairs, “Thanks for not ratting me out.”

“It makes no odds,” he reassured you. Kaku quickly glanced around and then leaned down to whisper, “I have to ask though, did you mean what you said about leaving, or was that all horsefeathers?”

Horsefeathers? You assume that means something along the lines of bullshit. Whatever, Kaku says weird shit all the time. You shrugged, “I dunno, maybe? I don’t really want to leave; I love living here, but I don’t want to spend my life facing the consequences of someone else’s actions, you know?”

Kaku hummed in acknowledgement and nodded, “That holds water, I understand you wanting to. Besides, a change of pace might be good for you.”

“You think so?” Honestly, you hadn’t expected him to agree and encourage you. It was nice though to have someone supporting you.

“Sure do! Paulie’s been in the ketchup for so long that I can’t imagine him getting out any time soon. Perhaps you leaving would kick him into gear?”

“In the ketchup?” You laughed, “I swear you’re making half these weird things you say up!”

“Am not! It’s a real saying, young lady!” His tone was scolding, but in a playful way.

“We’re like the same age, don’t call me ‘young lady’!” You elbowed him in the side.

You two fell into a comfortable and casual banter for the rest of the day, which was refreshing. It really helped to take your mind off the problem at hand and cool off. By the time you were ready to go home, you were feeling calm enough to be able to have a reasonable discussion with Paulie.

That’s not to say you weren’t still upset, but you don’t think you’ll be yelling at him anymore. Unless he says something stupid, but at that point whatever happens isn’t on you.

Typically, you’ll walk home together. In the mornings he leaves before you do since he has some extra duties, but in the evening you’ll usually leave together. Sometimes even stopping to get food on the way back. Tonight, though, he was already gone. Internally, you cringe. Is he still mad? You suppose it’s possible, you could tell that what you said about leaving really hurt him.

Walking back alone made you a bit anxious after what happened this morning. You were constantly looking over your shoulder to make sure you weren’t being tailed. Fortunately, you weren’t seeing anything suspicious. Did Iceburg really take care of this that quickly? Or maybe Kalifa handled it. Her kicks were no joke, that’s for sure.

Entering your shared home, you’re surprised to see that Paulie isn’t home yet. Was he avoiding you? How mature. Rolling your eyes, you toss your torn jacket onto the couch and go rummaging through the closet for the sewing kit you keep on hand for basic repairs.

You’d barely had a chance to start stitching the seam when the front door opened. Paulie came in looking annoyed. He didn’t appear to even see you as he stomped into the kitchen to grab something from the fridge. A beer, presumably. You sighed and resumed repairing your jacket.

His footsteps came towards the living room and came to a stop in the archway. It was silent for a moment, “You’re home?”

“Yep,” you replied. Why does he sound so surprised? Did he think you were just going to peace out after work?

Paulie joined you on the couch, the cushions dipping under his weight. You still hadn’t looked at him. The silence wasn’t comfortable, but it wasn’t as tense as it was at the shipyard. He took a long drink from his beer, “Please don’t leave.”

“Don’t drag me into your problems then. If it wasn’t for that I wouldn’t be thinking about it,” you answered stiffly.

“It’s not going to happen again, I took care of it.”

You scoffed, “You took care of it on the way home? What? Did you rob a bank? Or maybe some pirates?” Pulling the invisible stitch tight, you finally look his way. His hair is a mess and his clothes are dirtier than usual. Most noticeably, his knuckles were bloody. “What did you do?”

“I took care of it,” he repeated.

“How?” You pressed.

“That doesn’t matter, what matters is you promising that you aren’t going to leave,” he took another drink.

“It does matter, I want to know what happened!” From the context clues, it looks like he jumped them. You’re not exactly fond of those people, but they are just trying to get their money back. Beating the shit out of them feels excessive.

Paulie grabbed your face, forcing you to keep looking at him, “Promise me that you aren’t leaving! You can’t leave!”

You wrenched your face away, “God, fine! I promise! Now will you talk to me?” Paulie didn’t answer, instead looking away. You huffed in aggravation, “And what do you mean ‘I can’t leave’? I could if I wanted to.”

That got his attention. His head snapped back to you, his expression was fierce, “No. You. Can’t. You’re just a little girl. There’s a lot of horrible men out there that will take advantage of you the second they get the chance. You need to be here, with me, so I can protect you.” He didn’t yell, but his words were so venomous that it made you flinch regardless.

“Excuse me? I’m not a little girl, I’m a grown woman and I can handle myself just fine! I really don’t care for this sexist bullshit from you,” you stood abruptly with your repaired jacket in hand. If he was going to be like this, then you were going to go for a walk until he stopped with the misogyny.

You didn’t make it more than five feet before a rope was wrapped around your chest and yanked you back onto the couch. Whipping your head to Paulie, you made no effort to hide how pissed you were, “What the hell are you doing?! Untie me!”

“I thought you could handle yourself?” Paulie wasn’t even paying that much attention to you, instead casually continuing to sip on his beer. He was an expert knot tier, getting out of his clutches without something to cut the ropes was no easy task and he damn well knew that.

“This isn’t funny, let me go!” Your attempts to free yourself are futile. The knots only tighten more as you struggle.

“I’m not letting you go. You are never leaving, and the sooner you accept that, the better,” he states coldly, making no move to ease up the ropes. You can only gawk at him. This wasn’t your brother, he would never speak to you like this. Did your threat to leave really bother him that much?

You’re going to have to proceed extremely carefully if you want to get out of this situation.

#one piece x reader #one piece x y/n #one piece x you #yandere one piece #one piece #yandere #platonic yandere #paulie one piece #iceburg #kaku one piece #kalifa one piece #yanderefangirl

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rosegrangerweasley-234 · 3 months ago

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Hey, can you do Yandere Rtte characters x female reader headcanons or a oneshot? (Hiccup, Astrid, Snotlout, Fishlegs, the twins, Heather and Dagur)

Pretty pleaseeee add the Berserker Siblings bc there's barely any content about them

(Of course but apologies if I’m late I was taking a mental break)

•Hiccup is MORE overprotective of you because he doesn’t want any man to hurt you

-Definitely sends Toothless to watch over you

-If you are sent on a mission Hiccup insists that he comes too just for your protection

-Soft spot that’s all I’m going to say

•Astrid is basically your protector because she gets hurt by men and she doesn’t want that to happened to you

-You and Astrid are friends with Heather and are like a big feminine family:)

-like I said in another post Astrid loves it when you borrow her Ax she makes you promise that it’s in good shape (she’s joking she doesn’t care about that)

-She threatens anyone who tries to hurt you

•Snotlout is SMITTEN by you he just thinks that you are too pretty(is it platonically or romantically?)

-Snotlout loves it when you bond with his dad but Snotlout makes sure that his dad try to hurt you or something like that

-Extra protective of you because he knows that some men are abusive

-The first one to run to your side if you are hurt

•Fishlegs is the calmer side of the protectiveness but it skyrockets if you got hurt (especially if it was because of someone)

-loves it when you talk about stuff you’re interested in to him and he researches it so that he has something to talk about with you

-If you are a collector he finds out what it is that you collect and he gets the rest of it and gifts it to you

-BEST PERSON TO GO TO IF YOU ARE UPSET

•Ruffnut clings to your side because she is tired that her and Astrid are the only girls there

-If she has to go on a mission without you she will drag you into the mission

-Loves pranking people with you it’s a good bonding experience

-Will protect you with Barf and Blech (not if it’s her brother because his dragon will prevent it)

•Speaking of Tuffnut he adores it when you bond with Ruffnut

-Tuffnut is the most aware about how protectiveness he is (most unpopular belief in my opinion)

-Pranks YOU but can get carried away and he feels so bad if the prank hurts you 😢

-ABSOLUTELY HATES IT WHEN ANOTHER MAN RAISES HIS HAND AT YOU AND WILL SLAP HIM AND PUT THE GUY IN HIS PLACE

•Heather is MORE PROTECTIVE OF YOU THAN ANYONE ELSE

-Teaches you how to use her double headed ax and when you master it she finds another one to gift to you

-If she has to leave you she reluctantly lets Dagger watch you

-Will NOT let a man hit you when she is around

•Dagger is the second level of protectiveness as Heather

-Smiles excitedly when you bond with Heather because he feels like you are part of the family 🥲

-WILL FREAKING KILL ANY GUY WHO HURTS YOU AND HE MAKES SURE THAT ITS SLOW AND PAINFUL

-Will guilt trip you with his sad past to keep you close

#yandere how to train your dragon #yandere httyd #yandere tendencies #obsessive love disorder #yan blog

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tohisprettyc00l · 1 year ago

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Hello! I just wanna say I enjoy your work so much! Would it be possible to do the collector being a soft yandere. Can be x reader or just headcanons (platonic, obviously because he's a child)

-You have scary dog privilege if the scary dog was a chihuahua.

-Y'know looks harmless but if someone touchs them (or hurts you in case) suddenly they no longer have a hand. I'm half joking.

-Clingy Af. Like bro, you saw how he was with King when he was first released.

-Plays with you all day. They don't have to sleep, but they'll let you sleep though. But when you are awake good luck being alone.

-Don't mention the fact you'll die unless you want a child holding onto your arm LITERALLY everywhere you go.

-You want something? Boom right in front of you. You'll have anything you want. No questions asked

-He hates if you are scared of him in any way.

-They're just trying to protect you. He will never hurt you.

#toh x reader #the owl house x reader #collector toh x reader #the collector toh x reader #collector x reader #the collector x reader

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minty-drop · 27 days ago

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SOME WIPS IM WORKING ON!!

The collector x jester parental reader (platonic obv)

Yandere Auto x reader Jealousy headcanons

TARS x reader headcanons + CASE x Reader headcanons (separate)

Yandere TARS x reader headcanons

Hopefully I’ll have these done soon!!

#tars interstellar #interstellar #x reader #tars x reader #tars interstellar x reader #the collector toh x reader #platonic #toh the collector #auto wall e x reader #auto wall e #auto x reader #wall e auto #case interstellar

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sparkyz-plug-writes · 2 years ago

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[☆Intro post but for my writing!☆]

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

I'm Sparky/Kozie and this is just a blog for writing requests!

!!Masterlist!!

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

!!Rules!!

Be specific! Like the gender of the reader (if it is not specified I will make it gender neutral) and if it's headcanons or oneshots!

Don’t request something I’ve said I won't do Thanks!!

I won't to spicy/lemon stuff bc again ew-

But I might do a tiny tiny bit of spice, the rest will be mostly platonic, angst or fluffy romance

Specify if it's romantic, platonic or familia

And finally don't rush me, I'll try to hurry as fast as I can but things like oneshots can take a while (⁠-⁠_⁠-⁠;⁠)

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

What I will do:

A bit Gore or death

My OCS

Character headcanons with or without reader

Oneshots

Angst

X readers

Oc x canon?

Fluff

Oc x reader

Hurt/comfort

Yanderes (don't do this shit irl)

Some heavy topics (I SWEAR IF U ROMANTICIZE THESE I WILL HURT YOU-)

Platonic (this will including yanderes ig-)

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

What I will NOT do:

Lemon/spicy stuff, I hate it and it's uncomfortable for me

Again romanticizing sensitive topics

Problematic shit (like inc##t, age-gaps for romantic etc)

Tiny spicy stuff for child characters (like the collector or sprig)

Transphobia/homophobia

Racism

Abuse (obviously)

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Fandoms Im writing for:

Amphibia

The owl house

MCSM (Minecraft: story mode)

Payday 2 (still getting the dlcs-)

Gravity falls

Cult of the lamb

Fallout 4

A hat in time

Steven universe

Murder drones

Cookie run kingdom (don't know ovenbreak very much)

And The Mandela Catalogue

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tea-plantz · 2 years ago

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MASTERLIST

Hello! I’m a new writer on tumblr here to feed into you people’s crazy obsessions! I will probably mostly do oneshots and headcanons, however, feel free to request anything from my list down below. Oh, and also, English is not my first language so please do excuse me if I happen to make any spelling mistakes. You may also feel free to correct me if you do spot any, that is how we learn after all.

First of all, I will NOT write:

pedophilia

character x character (I will mostly write “x reader” but polyamorous fics with other character are gladly welcomed!)

NSFW (mainly because I absolutely suck at it, but feel free to leave requests, and I might consider it)

What I WILL write:

fluff

angst

yandere

polyamorous relationships

SFW (and maaaaybe some NSFW if you ask nicely;) )

romance

platonic

Fandoms + characterlist

THE OWL HOUSE

-Luz Noceda

-Amity Blight

-Willow Park

-Gus Porter

-Hunter

-Eda Clawthorne

-King (platonically)

-The Collector

-Raine Whispers

-Emira Blight

-Edric Blight

AMPHIBIA

-Anne Boonchuy

-Marcy Wu

-Sasha Waybright

-Darcy

-The Plantars (platonically)

GRAVITY FALLS

-Dipper Pines

-Mabel Pines

-Wendy Blerble Corduroy

-Bill Cipher

-Soos Ramirez

INSIDE JOB

-Reagen Ridley

-Brett Hand

-Gigi

-Andre Lee

-Myc

ENA

-Ena

-Moony

GORILLAZ

-2D/Stuart Pot

-Noodle

-Russel Hobbs

-Murdoc Niccals

Inside out

-Anxiety

-Ennui

This list might change later on

Feel free to send in any requests, keeping this list in mind, and add what pronouns you would like <3

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specter-writes · 1 year ago

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TOH MASTERLIST

PREFRENCES

LUZ

AMITY

WILLOW

HUNTER

EDA

RAINE

(PLATONIC ONLY)

KING

THE COLLECTOR

GUS

CAMILLA

DARIUS

ALADOR

OTHER STUFF I GUESS

#masterlist #toh x reader #toh #I write sometimes #specter speaks

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yandere-chocolate · 2 years ago

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Just a question:

But why did you delete your Collector x Star prophet reader?

It's okay if you're not comfortable answering, but I really like it, and I wanted to know if I could re-write in my own words.

Yeah, you can re-write it!

I deleted most of my Collector x reader works because, even though platonic, I didn’t know how I felt about writing a yandere child. Now, with S3 out, I’m not that worried, but I just got progressively more and more uncomfortable with my platonic yandere Collector stories.

But, once again, you can re-write it, you don’t even have to give me credit! I’m sure it will better, considering what we learned S3.

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peoplesgraves · 2 years ago

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Wips?

Lots of Platonic Yandere Marvel Headcanons

Yandere Wwdits Headcanons

Yandere Hela X Reader X Yandere Valkyrie Writing

Yandere Draculaura X Mothman Reader X Yandere Clawd Headcanons

Yandere Kingpin Harley Headcanons

Yandere Pepper Potts X Assistant Reader X Yandere Tony Writing

Yandere Team JNR Headcanons

Yandere Collector X Gotg Reader Writing

Yandere Alastor X Fox-Demon Reader Headcanons

Yandere Hela Headcanons

Yandere Medusa Writing

#peoplesgraves

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bakeryboness · 8 months ago

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🍰Just a basic introduction/welcome to my blog

Fandoms I'm in/write for:

Welcome home

Hazbin hotel (write for)

Regretevator

The owl house

Fundamental paper education

Cookie run

Danganronpa and idk more

Who can and CAN'T interact with my blog

DNI: People under 13 (sorry but you're too young)

Racists

Homophobic people

As I said before NSFW blogs

Pr0shipers/l0licons/ anyone who has a kid fetishist

Toxic people

Basic DNIs (generally bad people)

Thin ice:

Some hazbin hotel fans

Other fans from semi-toxic fandoms

MHA fans (don't be too weird)

People who like sweet potato fries/hj

People I'm perfectly fine with:

Anyone as long as they don't violate my rules or are generally cool

(TOH) COLLECTOR FANSSSSS

And finally what I will and won't write:

Will:

Reader x character

(PLATONIC) Character x reader

(Slight) Yandere

Fluff

Crossover x reader

Maybe a little angst

Headcanons

Oneshots

Part fics

Full fics

Won't

(Won't need to say it again but) NSFW

Requests (sorry)

Adult x child

Character x Character

Kink fics

Lime/lemon

Violent yandere

And that's it!! Hope you find what you like in the bakery!!

#idk how to tag this #stars are so pretty #(your tags here)#lots of tags

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yandere-toons · 2 years ago

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Yandere Collector (Platonic Scenario - "You're It")

Warnings: body horror, death, undeath, blood, hospitalisation, reality warping, mentions of religious concepts, toxic mindset.

A.N. - !יחי האספן

A golden throne reached halfway to the ceiling, and bordering it on either side were bowls of fire that stood upon thin stems made from metal. The fire was extinguished and then relit with blue flames, casting a warm glow across the green rug stretching from the foot of the throne to the doors.

The doors to the throne room were made of hand-carved wood taken from the forests of the Boiling Isles and were taller than any living witch. Opening the doors took as much effort as heaving a large rock, yet the Collector burst into the room with the ease of blowing a feather.

Despite never sleeping, the Collector dressed in the type of roomy jumpsuit and nightcap that someone who intended to stay in bed would wear.

Beads of sweat trickled down your face at how fast the Collector was carrying you through the air, your legs dangling above a floor that was approaching far too quickly for your old bones to catch. “Nay, nay! I'm not as spry as I used to be!”

The Collector slowed their descent with a groan of disappointment, but they kept their hands near you until you found your footing.

You stumbled forth with a lame leg on your right side and a cane in your left hand. The butt of the cane hit the floor at the same time as your foot, helping you amble to the throne. Your right leg clumsily landed beside the armrest, which you leaned against to stop and breathe for a moment.

“Buddy!” shouted a high-pitched voice with forced sincerity, and the dark-furred shape of something resembling a canine emerged from behind the throne. “I just had, like, the best idea. What if we had eight people hiding instead of just us three?”

As the Collector flew to hug the owner of the voice, your brain filled with static. The words exchanged between the two of them were hard to understand and seemed to be missing all meaning. The painful flutters in your chest returned, and by the time you deciphered one word, you had forgotten the rest.

After a few moments of staring into space, you shook yourself free of the mental mud and noticed someone was tugging at the bottom half of your clothes.

It was King, a bipedal, dog-like creature with an exposed skull for a head. Atop his head was a pair of long, straight horns, the left of which bore a sizeable crack at the middle.

He barely reached your hips, but you did not need to look far to see how his clawed paw was motioning to the doors. “I'll be back—uh, lickety-split!” King swung his arm forward in mock cheer, glancing at the Collector every other second to confirm that they had not gotten closer or were suspecting anything.

The Collector applauded the news with claps and laughter as they spun in a full circle.

King was gone for so long that you kept forgetting and then remembering that he existed and was supposed to be coming back, although the truth was, you did not know how much time had passed.

The large doors to the throne room were pushed open with a sweeping creak, and a group of five villagers walked forward in varying degrees of suspicion and curiosity. At the sight of you, four of the five villagers fell into hushed gossip and called you by an unfamiliar name.

King was scurrying at the flank of the group, his arms raised in a ‘Y’ shape as if to herd the much taller people in a specific direction. “Okay,” he shouted to ensure that his voice was heard, “here we are!”

The droop of his tail and the way he was tapping his claws together while glancing between the heads of the villagers were indicative of the knot twisting his stomach. “The old throne room. Just like I said,” mumbled King, dropping his gaze to the floor.

Murmurs of bewilderment and speculation spread from villager to villager as each one noticed the Collector, who had tucked their knees into their chest and were spinning vertically without rising or falling.

At the sight of additional players, the Collector gasped with joy and swooped to the front of the group with such haste that the villagers recoiled in fear. There was a cyclops woman, a two-headed reptilian, a humanoid with flaming purple hair, a shorter gremlin and Steve the former Coven Scout.

The Collector was shaking their fists up and down in an outpouring of enthusiasm. “Everyone, go hide! And I'll count to three hundred!”

Waving a hand as if it would dispel the fear leaking out of the villagers' wide eyes and clenched jaws, you babbled, “This place is a maze. I'll go get you folks a map.”

In the couple of minutes that passed in your absence, a thread of unrest was sewn into the group in the form of the cyclops narrowing her eye at the vacant throne. “Where's Emperor Belos?” she demanded, and the other villagers repeated the question while glaring at the cracks in the walls.

“Ol' Steve's gonna be late to brunch,” chuckled Steve, pointing a thumb over his shoulder at the doors.

The noise of confusion soared to outraged chatter until it had descended into overlapping chaos.

Once the Collector had finished counting to three hundred, they turned to search for the villagers. No one was even pretending to hide—save for King, who took one look at the Collector and backed away from the group—and this caused the smile to slip from their face.

King scurried to the opposite end of the group and clutched Steve's gloved hand, tugging on it with all his might and thrusting a paw at one of the more distant corners.

Steve allowed himself to be pulled for a few steps before he crouched and looked at King with an air of friendliness. “Did you need something, little buddy?” His answer came as all the voices behind him ceased at once, followed by absolute silence.

You staggered back into the throne room with the map tucked under your arm to find it empty of people besides the Collector, Steve and King. The Collector was levitating next to a gobsmacked Steve by the throne, and King was in the furthest corner.

King was cowering half-draped under a tapestry of Emperor Belos, eyes shut and paws covering where his ears would have been.

After squinting your beleaguered eyes and opening your mouth slightly, you peered around the space. “Where has everyone gone? Did the game start already?”

The Collector floated over to you like a brooding child, head down and lips pursed into a pout. This discontent morphed into a smile when you looked at them for an answer. “I sent them to the Dark Place,” explained the Collector, and the unconcerned ease with which they spoke was that of someone describing the weather.

“The Dark Place?” you repeated with a hint of hesitancy, wondering if it was a nickname for a shadowy corner or a subterranean part of the castle.

“It's where the fibbers go,” they said.

The footprints made by the villagers minutes before were no longer visible; it was as if they had never existed.

Sweat gathered on your brow, and something on the inside of your chest tightened. You peeked at the entranced Steve, who was slowly rocking back and forth and groaning unintelligible things in an attempt to communicate.

Your eyes pulled back to the Collector and their unwavering stare, to which you offered a smile that you hoped was convincing. “You know, I changed my mind. Maybe we can keep the games between the two of us for today.”

The joy vanished from their face. In its place was a blank mixture of surprise and lost excitement. Within seconds, it evolved into curious happiness as they tapped their chin and outstretched their arms in a cheerful shrug. “Hmm, okay!”

Steve disappeared from the room with a snap of the Collector's fingers, and he was dumped on the steps outside Police Precinct 206.

A Coven Scout dressed in a golden and white cloak was stationed at the foot of the stairs. He watched as Steve bonked his singular horn on the stone step and rolled down to the dirt, shaking his head. “You've gotta lay off the Apple Blood, dude.”

In the Emperor's throne room, the Collector hovered upside down in front of you with their legs outstretched so that they could touch their toes. “What'd you wanna play?”

The names of a few familiar games tumbled through your head, but these thoughts were dashed by a twinge in your chest.

You pressed a fist to the area, gritting your teeth and squeezing your eyes shut at the pain around your heart. Even though the pain faded within a minute, the knowledge of what it meant did not.

A question sat on your mind as the weight on your chest during a nightmare, and it took you many seconds to gather the courage to ask it. “Can I visit my home?”

When you spoke these words, the Collector froze in midair and looked at you as if you had declared your hatred for the game of tag.

“We can play as much as you want after,” you added with a hasty smile, although you were not certain there would be an afterwards.

This enticed the Collector into gaining a wide smile and floating higher. “All right!” They held up a finger. “But just for a little while!”

Not sure how to piggyback on a teleportation stint, you assumed that there needed to be some kind of physical connection and extended your hands for them to take.

The Collector stared at your offering with an unchanged smile and no indication of movement, causing you to lower your hands slightly. This mild embarrassment at making what appeared to be a dumb assumption faded when they pressed their palms against yours.

A short burst of laughter came from them, and for a brief moment, you worried that the Collector was only messing with you about going home. However, as their fingers clamped down on your hands, the world around you became fuzzy and blurred.

* * *

Fireflies buzzed throughout the hills and the grasslands that sloped between them, with each winged beetle emitting a greenish-yellow light. These dozens of glowing dots lit up the night like fallen stars.

A pleasant breeze swept along your neck and slithered through the grass, tying blades of it around your fingers and tickling the skin on your hands. It was a soothing coolness that was neither too cold nor too mild, chilling you just enough to relieve some tension in your muscles without ruining your ability to focus.

Air whooshed from behind, and the Collector sat beside you with their legs crisscrossed.

They rocked back and forth while gripping their feet, eyes becoming fixed on the various light sources scattered around the hillside. Their repetitive motion slowed as they leaned against your shoulder, which was stiff and sore.

The Collector moved off you and stood up, looking between the silvery light of the crescent moon pouring across the countryside and the glow of the fireflies illuminating it like helpful lanterns. “The world's so bright now.”

“When I first got here, it was all dark. I couldn't see much until that big bully came around.” Their curious face soured into a pout at the mention of the “big bully,” and they crossed their arms with a sulky glance to the side.

This frown was washed away in a surge of laughter as the Collector flew into the air and circled you. “And I didn't have anyone to play with! Not like now!”

You watched their flight as best you could, struggling to keep at bay the pain in your neck that struck each time you used those muscles. The exhaustion of a creature in desperate need of a long nap weighed heavy on you.

It had nearly overtaken you when the Collector plopped themselves at your side again, startling you into awakening.

The glowing eyes of the Collector raked the infinite number of white dots in the sky and, from their seat on a hill, saw beyond the lens of the most advanced telescope. They saw the giant balls of gas as if floating in front of one, seeing celestial bodies of blue, red, orange, yellow, and a few that remained white.

Their mouth opened a bit, and the words that came from their study of the cosmos were laced with wonder. “Your sky has so many stars.”

You looked down at the celestial pattern on their outfit and skin and spared a moment to ponder what stars were to the Collector; cousins in the same way that a bee was to an ant; children still new to the universe; ancestors from a past life—or just bright objects that happened to share a space with them.

“It's more than pretty.” You lifted your head to the sky once again, pointing a decrepit finger and tracing a constellation overhead. “People would draw pictures of this and say you could see bears and old heroes. Some of them base their whole lives around it.”

Sitting up, the Collector raised their hands to the sky with the thumbs and index fingers extended. They shut one eye and narrowed the other, sticking out their tongue as they adjusted the nearness of their hands like a painter judging the measurements of a subject.

With a satisfied hum, the Collector lowered their arms slightly and eyed the piece of the galaxy they had chosen. They then moved their hands sideways in a sweeping motion, and all the stars except for a small cluster were pushed away to different areas of the sky.

The grunt of shock and confusion that burst out of you went unnoticed as the Collector dragged each star in the cluster to a new position with one finger. A smiley face was etched into the night sky, looking down at you with its white-dotted face among the sea of black.

As boredom started to itch like razors across their mind, the Collector snuck a mischievous glance at you before tapping your shoulder. “Tag! You're it!” They propelled themselves off the ground in a flurry of grass blades and wind sooner than you could acknowledge the tap.

The outsized fabric of their sleeves and nightcap flapped in the air as they levitated far out of your reach, floating back towards the stars. The Collector began to swim in the night sky and swoop near the surrounding hills to give you a chance of catching them if you reached out at the perfect time.

The sound of uproarious laughter carried on the wind, and it pulled your weary eyes to the airborne shape of the Collector. “Chase me!” they shouted with so much childlike glee that it was hard to believe they were ancient.

You matted a spot of grass with the butt of your cane, heaving your rickety knees off the ground and fighting the shaking in your arms.

“Come on!” whined the Collector.

You pushed yourself to stamp the ground with your cane faster and drag one foot in front of the other quicker, but this tiny increase in speed was a joke compared to the Collector doing cartwheels in midair and zipping around the sky like a peregrine falcon.

A sudden flutter in your heart was the only warning that was given to you before your vision blacked out.

“Huh?” The Collector turned after the consistent thumps of your cane stopped, their excitement faltering at the sight of you tumbling down the hill.

Your eyes were closed, and your body was as limp as a wet handkerchief. You made no move to stand or pull your face out of the itchy grass. When your cane rolled into your shoulder with an audible thwack, you accepted the bruise that would surely appear.

* * *

You awoke to a pair of red and yellow eyes staring at you. The Collector had stuck their face as close to yours as it could be without touching, leaving little else in your vision besides the light and dark running down their skin.

The once steady rhythm of the heart rate monitor exploded into a series of rapid beeps, and your eyes widened in what the Collector assumed to be the joy of seeing them again. You dragged your arms from side to side across the cot and clenched handfuls of the sheets in a drugged, half-paralyzed attempt to get out of bed.

“You sleepyhead! You've been knocked out for months!”

Leaning forward until their forehead bonked yours, they placed a finger on the top and bottom of both of their eyelids and pushed their eyes open wider. A slight glow emitted from their eyes when they did this, and you wondered if they had taken the phrase “eyes are the window to the soul” literally.

The Collector did not need to blink, so their eyes were able to bore into yours for hours without any kind of interruption. They took advantage of this fact daily, leading to a recurring situation where your bedridden self was forced into a staring contest with someone who had the stillness of a mannequin.

On the first day of the third week, a new kind of tiredness seeped into you.

They glided around the side of the bed and swept one of your hands between both of theirs, tugging your arm. “Get up! Get up! Let's play,” sang the Collector.

No part of you possessed the energy to budge from their pull. Your limbs were like the heaviest stones, immovable and numb.

Your eyes fluttered to the heart rate monitor, and the Collector pondered the significance of its rhythmic beeps. “I'll be leaving soon.”

The Collector tilted their head. “Can I come with you?”

“No,” you answered with a feeble melancholy, your eyelids beginning to fall.

“But the game's not over,” they spoke with resistance.

Summoning the final bit of strength still clinging to your body, you lifted a shaky finger and pressed it to the Collector's shoulder. “You're it,” came a whisper from the last gust of breath rolling past your lips. The finger then dropped to the bed.

A high-pitched hum filled the room as the heart rate monitor fell to a straight line, displaying the number zero in the top right corner.

The Collector turned to cock their head at the change in the machine, but when they looked back at you to ask, your eyes had closed. “Huh? Don't fall asleep again.” They gripped your upper arms and lightly shook you. “We have lots more to play.”

Your total lack of reaction caused their eyes to glow, their frown deepening at the way you sagged in their hold like a ragdoll. “Wake up now.” The constant rise and fall of your chest had ceased, and the Collector wondered why you were holding your breath.

Before they could resort to anything else, a panic-stricken voice flooded out of the intercom and echoed down the hall. “We have a code blue in Room 528! Repeat: a code blue in Room 528!”

A stampede of footsteps thundered in the intersecting corridors outside the door, and the noise drew closer to the room with each passing second.

At the first sound of the doorknob jiggling, the Collector hurled an impatient look over their shoulder and threw out their right hand with a defiant, “No!”

Just as the doorknob was beginning to turn, a triangular shadow raced along the right arm of the Collector like a snake and sprang from their hand at the door. It constricted the doorknob and stuck its spearheaded end halfway through the centre of the door, splitting a jagged crack into the surface.

Muffled yelps and confused chatter erupted on the opposite side. The doorknob rattled as it was jimmied by multiple hands, and someone began to slam against the door every few seconds like a battering ram.

The Collector stared at your closed eyes as if attempting to see through your eyelids. “If you're playing peek-a-boo, I don't like it.” Your skin was cool to the touch now, lacking the natural warmth it had generated so many times before.

On the eve of the third minute of uninterrupted humming, the Collector's arm flew out from their side and aimed at the heart rate monitor. “Be quiet!” they yelled, and the machine was banished from this reality to the Dark Place.

Your lips parted.

Some of the joy returned to the Collector as they perked up in anticipation of hearing you speak to them and announce an end to this charade.

Instead of words, a ghostly wisp of light streamed out of your mouth and began floating to the ceiling.

It was your soul, realised the Collector, but the fact that it was leaving meant there was no more time to play. They rejected this truth by launching themselves off the bed.

The Collector jumped into the air and swiped at the ball of light. “Come back!” they shouted, chasing the soul with frantic swings of their arms but reaching just below it every time.

The soul was slow-moving until they came near it, at which point it zoomed higher.

As their attempts to entrap it grew sloppy and uncoordinated, the building started to shake. It was minor tremors at first, but the rattle of metal tools soon became audible.

When the soul passed through the ceiling with a blip, all the shaking and swinging ceased. The Collector stared at the spot on the ceiling where it had vanished, their eyes aglow with an intense fury.

No matter how much they willed it to happen, the soul did not return. The room was colder for it. The light was dimmer, and the colours were fainter.

Clenching their fists, the Collector screamed, “I said come back!”

Their shrieking of the word “back” coincided with the shattering of every window and light on that floor of the hospital. Lamps melted like eggs; lightbulbs exploded like popcorn; storms of glass shards flew through the corridors.

Yelps were drowned out by the cacophony of destruction, for the one orchestrating it was deaf to the pain of those outside Room 528.

A whimper was all the Collector mustered as they looked at your body again, their lips drawn into a pout.

The shadow holding the doorknob was retracted.

Just as the door was thrown open by a team of ragged nurses and a defibrillator cart, the Collector vanished.

* * *

Deep in the caverns running beneath the remains of the Titan's skull, there stood a door. It led to an infinite number of realms if the traveller paid the price of blue blood, but under the hand of the Collector, it opened without tribute.

Tubes of colour writhed in the doorway with a vivid array of sparkling hues, forming an image like a liquid galaxy. Among them, stars twinkled and opened the swathes of colour just enough for a glimpse into the endless universe that lay beyond.

The Collector leaned forward slightly with their eyes glowing, and the portal changed to a land of death and after-living: the netherworld. No sooner than they reached out a hand to pass through it were they ejected from the doorway in a sudden and harsh push that sent them flying backwards into the rock wall.

The buzzing that had risen in pitch when the Collector was flung had settled down to an idle hum, flickering in tune with the rotation of the matter inside the door. It pulled them to approach the doorway and, upon reaching it, tilt their head from side to side with a curious finger hovering next to their lips.

In the reflection of the portal, they saw long horns protruding from the top of the skull-like face of a Titan. The deity's eyes were black, empty sockets that contrasted with the white of the skull.

It lunged out of the doorway as little more than a silhouette, but the imposing physique of the Titan was familiar enough for the Collector to yank their hand away. A grunt of alarm escaped them as they were forced back until they fell to the ground.

The shadow of the Titan stretched to the height of the cave, and for a moment, it seemed more than a shadow. The gigantic outline of a creature long since laid to rest in the dirt towered above them.

Raising their head to follow its ascent, the Collector expected the Titan to swoop upon them in a great tide the way it had over three millennia ago. The memory of the humongous bones falling over them and pressing them into the abyss was as fresh in their mind as it was on the day it happened.

The Collector looked down to see the door, but they noticed the slightest shaking in their arms. It was a strange sensation of a fear forgotten, one that had been revived by the Titan and instilled in them to relive at the sight of it.

They dug their fingers into their palms and stilled the shaking. With the birth of an open-mouthed smile on their lips, all the light in the room was dimmed. An abrupt gust of wind swept the Collector off the floor and placed them on their feet.

The buzzes and whines quickened and swelled as the Collector threw themselves at the portal time after time, only to end each attempt with their back slamming into the wall. Shadows spilled from their fingertips and mutated the one cast by their body into that of an eldritch beast.

Darkness crawled along the walls, ceiling and floor in jagged shapes that moved with independence. The shadows splintered into waves of formless black that crashed over each other and swallowed the natural light of the sun, growing taller and wider until they began to scream.

They howled and shrieked with such power that the walls were shaken and dropped chunks of rock to the ground, and the shadows then mutated into grotesque imitations of people with mouths open in trembling fear.

The Collector was blasted against the wall for the umpteenth time, but on this occasion, they waited to get up.

The motionless face of the Titan mocked them from the far reaches of the doorway, taunting their upside-down position at the foot of the opposite wall.

Trading their frown of displeasure for a smile of schemes, the Collector rolled to an upright position and stood with one hand on their chin. “If I can't go, I'll just find someone who can.”

* * *

Scuffling and inane muttering followed a crooked-backed warlock of many years, his staff swiping old scrolls to the floor and stamping it as he hobbled along. He came to a spot where the balcony ended and the start of the throne room behind him began.

The sun shone life into the flowers adorning the balcony, all of which had died and wilted into brown lumps except for a lotus. The warlock grumbled at the daylight and the long shadow he cast through it, only to reconsider the light when he noticed a second shadow beside his.

A rapid swing of his staff cut nothing but air. Laughter, like a child at play, echoed in the dimly lit room. It oozed from every crevice that the torches failed to reach, and the warlock yelled, “Reveal yourself, foul demon!”

The Collector emerged from a shadow on the wall, a wooden smile on their face and a glassy look in their eyes. “Demon?” They tilted their head. “I'm not a demon!”

They floated in such a way that they appeared taller than the warlock, a fact which caused him to bare his teeth and pull his staff to his body. Their visage of childlike innocence drew a vicious scowl from the warlock.

“Remove your mask of virtue!” he cried, and the Collector raised a hand to their mouth.

Their head bobbed somewhat as they delivered a snicker, keeping their bi-coloured eyes narrowed in an ominous expression that tore his sense of security away from him. “I don't think you wanna see that,” they chuckled.

The distant booms of cannon fire lay beyond the walls of the palace. The air reeked of smoke and copper, the stench of a battle waged unseen from the opulent drapes of the throne room.

The Collector smelt the fetid air, and their nose shrivelled. They stuck their tongue out in disgust and gagged with a comical “bleh!” before inspecting the warlock. “Does your house always smell this bad?”

At this, the warlock's eyes widened as if he had been struck by a revelation. “Are you,” he stammered, his defensive posture slacking, “are you here to turn the tide of this war? Have you finally answered my calls?”

With the fluidity of someone drifting underwater, the Collector leaned forward and slowly rotated until they were floating on their back. “You could say that,” they replied while looking at the mural on the ceiling instead of at the warlock. “I'm here to play a game with you.”

The warlock rushed to the balcony, clasping the guardrail and screeching his excitement into a city filled with soldiers shouting orders and peasants wailing.

“Adonai speaks to us!” roared the warlock, shaking his staff in the air and raising his hands to the sky as if reaching for the heavens. His raspy voice carried on the arid wind and sank into the mob below to evoke a clamour of responses, the loudest of which was the chanting of the name Adonai.

He whirled around and flung himself at the space below the Collector. “Great One, grant me power so that I may purge this realm of those who speak ill of my rule!”

The Collector floated back to an upright position, and they looked down at the grovelling warlock with a face of indifference. “Power?” Placing a hand on their chin, they squinted and hummed in thought. “You mean like all the magic in this world?” They outstretched their arms as if to illustrate the size of that much magic.

The warlock nodded his head so fast that the Collector wondered if it was going to pop off his neck. “Yes, yes! All the magic!”

A smile began to spread across the Collector's face, a foreboding and devious kind of smile. “Okay!” They turned and threw up their hands in acceptance. “But I'll need tribute.”

A sprinkle of relief crossed his face, and some of the tension in his shoulders released at what he perceived to be a simple task. “Of course, I can fetch you any number of souls.”

The Collector balled their fists and extended their arms to rigid positions at their side. “No!” they barked, and the warlock cowered. “I need one soul in particular.”

They then chose silence for a bit instead of giving the next detail, eyes drifting. “This soul is gone.” The noticeable pause before the word “gone” was a glaring sign that it had been substituted for something more final. “It's in the netherworld.”

Pointing his staff at the Collector, the warlock spoke with a booming voice. “Pray tell, O Great One, how may I locate this soul?”

From the space between spaces, the Collector lifted an amulet of blue and grey. It bore the same design as the one around their neck: the darker face of a crescent moon slotted against a lighter half-moon. “Take this,” they said, “it'll light up if you're getting close.”

The warlock held the amulet with his right hand, and with his left hand, he waved his staff in a perfect circle. “It shall be done,” were his last words to the Collector before a portal to the netherworld opened at the end of his staff.

A miasma of sweat and decay flooded the throne room when the warlock returned in a mess of panting and pallid skin. He fell to his knees, scrambling to catch the glass jar under his right arm before it hit the floor.

Levitating on the inside of the jar were the amulet and a ball of light, a soul.

Within seconds of his getting up, the warlock was bombarded with a pushy voice asking, “Did you get it? Where is it?” The Collector was floating upside down at his eye level and lurching after him every time he stepped back or recoiled in any way.

As soon as he pointed it out, the Collector snatched the jar and zoomed past him as if seeking privacy.

The warlock sunk into his robe and glared judgement over its collar as he thought they were going to shatter the jar and devour the soul like some ravenous beast, but they came to an abrupt stop at the edge of the balcony.

The Collector loomed over the jar for longer than was necessary, dragging their fingers across the glass and drilling their unblinking stare into it. The soul moved in the opposite direction of wherever their hand went, but this prompted the Collector to hug the jar in a fit of delighted laughter.

They pressed the jar to their chest and squeezed it while kicking their legs and spinning in midair.

“Great One, my magic! What about my magic?” The haggard voice of the warlock badgered the Collector in their time of joy, prodding them like a stick used to poke a sleeping bear.

Following a slow turn of their head, the Collector looked askance at the warlock as he stumbled closer to them with an impatient sweep of his staff. “You want magic?” they asked, curling their lips and narrowing their eyes into a devilish look.

The jar levitated out of their grasp and hovered in front of them. “Here you go!” The Collector outstretched their arms, and when they clapped, all the magic born in that realm was ripped from its place.

Gales of strong winds flowed into the throne room as every window and door was flung open, banging against the walls in a rush of whooshing and howling.

Rivers of light and colour, magic in the form of a vibrant ooze, plunged into the warlock and enveloped him in a blinding tornado.

The whites of his eyes swallowed his irises and pupils, and his feet lifted from the ground. The length of his staff tripled, as did his spine until he was contorted into the image of a demonic prince ready to command the legions of hell.

Horns like jagged antlers sprouted out of his skull and twisted themselves into the shape of a crown. The warlock's neck sagged from the weight of it, but he had no time to care when his jaw widened to accommodate the birth of yellow fangs on each side of his mouth.

His bones split, his muscles tore like the fabric of his clothes, and his body started to dissolve under the stress of the transformation. His fingers became elongated and curved into deformed claws, stripping away the cuticles and nerve endings until his hands went stiff as if struck by frostbite.

Cracks dashed across his skin and allowed droplets of magic to seep through them. The breaks in his skin began to peel and glow, forcing streams of magic to gush from his ears, nose, eyes and mouth in unstoppable torrents.

“It's too much! It's too much!” he bellowed over the sound of his skin crackling and blistering from the searing heat of the magic tearing him apart from the inside out.

With the last bit of vitality still clinging to his bones, the warlock extended his hand and reached out to the Collector for help. No one answered his plea, for there was nothing but an empty room looking back at him.

An explosion of overwhelming light then filled the throne room and brought his painful yells to an end. The warlock had splintered into pieces and imploded, leaving only his staff to clatter to the floor.

The cheers from the masses were deafening, but the Collector had not stayed to listen.

* * *

The dewdrops of a recent drizzle hung on the branches and leaves of trees, blowing into the air with each gust of wind and landing on the Collector's face in cold plops. Some of the dewdrops flew to the sky after touching them, while others were repelled off their skin and sent back to the trees as if time had reversed.

A subtle glow invaded their eyes, and the Collector outstretched their arm and pointed their palm at the square of land in front of them. They hovered like this for a moment before squeezing their hand shut into a tight fist, twisting their wrist and cocking their head along with the motion.

The grass was torn from the earth in clumps of stringy dirt. Roots, seeds, and pebbles were swept onto the breeze surrounding the Collector like a shroud, and the petals of flowers split in twain glided in circles around the gaping hole in the ground.

From the depths of the earth, rising from a dark grave as if pulled by invisible wires, came a half-decomposed skeleton. There were no clear remnants of who it once was, save for a few scraps of tattered clothing and the rush of joy that filled the Collector at the sight.

Whereas the grass was ripped off the ground as if the ground had stolen it and deserved to have it taken away, the skeleton was slowly lowered to the dirt like a priceless piece of china meant to be handled with the utmost care.

The Collector floated down to a kneeling position at the side of the right arm. When both of their knees were submerged in the dirt, the wild breeze that had churned plants and branches like a typhoon fell silent. It stopped as if struck from the air by a mighty hand, and a wave of leaves and sticks then rained on the disturbed land.

None of this debris was allowed to touch the Collector or the skeleton. It had been deflected by a gust of wind every time it came near, falling around the pair in a cluttered and dense circle.

The Collector cupped their hands and held the shape close to their face. They pressed their palms together before cupping their hands again, and then a brilliant light spawned in the space between their hands.

It was a warm ball of light that started to flicker and shrink like a dying candle, one that contained the life essence of a soul displaced.

The Collector's eyes began to glow as the smile on their face stretched. They maneuvered their hands around the light but never touched it, instead choosing to hang their head over it and whisper, “Let's play together again soon, okay?”

The soul flared, burning brighter and whipping the air.

Under the silvery eye of the crescent moon, the Collector shoved the soul into the ribcage of the skeleton. A jolt rocketed through the bones in the form of both arms and legs twitching as if hit by a defibrillator.

Bones that had been threatening to dissolve and break apart collected fragments rolling up and out of the grave, fusing back together into a skeleton so complete it would have made an archeologist cry.

With a loud crack, the lopsided jaw popped back into alignment with the rest of the skull.

Fractures in the spinal column and right femur vanished as if waved away by a magic hand.

Crooked teeth were straightened, and bad knees were healed.

The flesh and innards returned with the blue of veins; the purple of blood vessels; the cartilage of the nose and ears; the red of muscles turning to the colour of skin; the body filling out with organs and fat—a crime against nature that did not go unnoticed by the great Titan in the sky.

You lurched up in a fit of screaming, shrieking at the agony of being dragged back to life. Your physical form reassembled around you in a mess of writhing tendons and misfiring nerves, and the Collector watched it all with a slow tilt of their head.

The unnatural length of their smile stretched wider as if they were playing with building blocks and had arranged the blocks into a funny word.

The shrieks spilling out of you were uncontrolled and mad, becoming clearer with the addition of a tongue until the issue of a limited lung capacity and a stinging throat forced you into silence.

As your new brain grappled with a flood of old memories, it spread a buzzing tingle throughout your skin that was like dozens of needles poking you at once.

Your breaths were quick, shallow scrambles for oxygen that you had grown unaccustomed to needing. Remembering how and when to breathe was an invasive and uncomfortable experience, for the air running through your mouth and puffing out your chest was akin to someone sticking their arms down your throat.

With the eyeballs fresh in your skull, you could see this corner of the world tucked away in a forest under a moonlit night. The taste of rain on the air; the smell of pollen; the dew on your skin; the hordes of trees; the chatter of nocturnal animals—it was all too much, an overload on your senses that had your legs kicking and your arms flailing.

It was then that a pair of small arms encircled you. An equally small body leapt onto your side with an eager burst of laughter.

They hugged you as a child would hug a stuffed animal, eyes closed and head resting on your shoulder. They seemed at peace, but just as their patience lasted no longer than a five-minute game of hide-and-seek, your frantic movements caused them to open their eyes and look at you.

The unearthly glow of their red and yellow eyes, like a pair of lanterns in the night, awakened a memory so deep that it bypassed any thought and sent you scurrying across the dirt. Cold and damp soil was crammed under your fingernails as your hands flung wads of it in every direction.

The Collector jumped up with the crescent moon framed behind their head, which cast a long shadow over the front of their body and dunked every bit of it in darkness except for their eyes. “You want to play tag already?” they asked, feet beginning to lift into the air.

There came no pain from moving your neck; no wrenching in your chest; no wobble in your knees; no brain fog to suck the thoughts out of your head—a vile disease had been ousted from you.

For the first time in decades, you stood without nearly toppling to the ground on knock knees. Having such control and energy to spare was akin to the weightlessness of a bird in flight.

It was not so easy for your mind to return, and the scraps of memory and consciousness floating around in it were more confusing than enlightening.

A jolt then ran through your body, like a painless punch to the gut. It recharged you with the high of an eternal sugar rush.

The Collector was holding their index finger in front of where your heart sat, pointing at the organ as they looked at you. “You couldn't stay before.”

The glow in their eyes brightened, and a maddening hum invaded your ears. “I'll make sure that never happens again.”

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