#person in waiting reader

[bones-of-a-rabbit]

sometimes love is helping ur friend relax a little after a big political event (by reminding him of how bad he used to be at his dance lessons) <3

(idk if ive posted this yet but if i have pls tell me sjdfhshdfs im going thru and gonna b sharing a few things idk if ive posted before so pls be nice me my brain is a pea)

[theghooligan]

mitsuya hallucinating that koko was mikey during the intense training that taiju gave them to suffer through was wild man

[yandere-daydreams]

tw - none. live dove: tender and sweet.

thinking about furina with a costume-designer!reader today.

it's a shame, really - you're the only person in her current production with anything close to talent, and you're not even going to be on stage. she finds herself in your workshop more often than not, lamenting the flaws she's still attempting to beat out of the script and the fact that none of her actors seem to be able to remember more than a page's worth of dialogue at a time as you hum and nod and ask her if she thinks the sleeves on the leading lady's coat are short enough, or if you should take them up another inch.

you've got the patience of a saint (you must, in a line of work that calls for constant adjustments and countless late-nights) and without the dampening cloth that was her presumed godhood, she finds herself exasperated by the second time a scene snags on the same line. when she's not perched on the edge of your worktable, talking through the sequence her stage manager has in mind for the finale as you stitch your nth row of beading into play, she's having her assistant run notes to you, or prying information out of yours concerning your favorite desserts, your pastimes, your preferences in terms of romantic partners. she considers, briefly, asking neuvillette to search the many files of the palais mermonia for information concerning you, but ultimately decides against it. she'd hate to waste her favors, should a more dire occasion arise.

it isn't until opening night that she meets you not in your workshop, but backstage properly - tucked into the wings, just out of the audience's sight. the bouquet cradled in your arms is only outweighed by the bundle of roses she's brought in for you, which you accept with a slight smile and a peck to her cheek. it's only as the theater lights begin to dim that she gains the courage to ask if you'd like to attend another, slightly less burdensome show with her another night, one neither of you had to lose sleep over.

and, seconds later, as the stage lights bring of the first of your dazzling costumes to life, you tell her that you'd love to.

[kazumist]

SQUISHING HIS CHEEKS .ᐟ

✩ — includes: childe, zhongli, xiao, scaramouche x gn!reader. fluff. no cws. wc: 187. please do reblog !! it would rlly help me a lot :D btw lmk if u want a part 2 with diff characters bc i might indulge in that idea,,

childe — !

he would squish your cheeks back, making that fish similar face or whatever you call it. he finds it cute but you find his face cuter. and there's something about you holding his face… it makes him soft. very soft.

xiao — !

xiao would be so confused but he'll find it nice! he'd have some sort of warm feeling inside when you squished his cheeks and told him he was cute—he just doesn't know how to express himself that he enjoys this gesture.

zhongli — !

he’s kind of like childe but would hesitantly do it because he doesn't know he's doing it right. this gesture was a bit new to him—but despite that, he'd let out a light chuckle as you squish each other's cheeks.

scaramouche — !

he would pull your hands away from his fave or even worse, he would slap it away playfully. he only did it because you initiated it in public—which wasn't to his liking (he doesn’t want people to witness him being all soft in public). scaramouche only shows a vulnerable side behind closed doors with you and you only. it stays that way.

[elsecrytt]

so i had a thought.

what if 236 is actually jujutsu tech propaganda?

mei mei is broadcasting this entire thing, right? what better way to protect gojo from bounty hunters etc., than convince the entire world that he's already dead?

the final battle happened offscreen, with significantly less fanfare. gojo rescued megumi, defeated sukuna. the day was saved.

at a cost.

gojo gave up everything - at least, everything he valued. the six eyes, his abilities as a sorcerer. he assumed that would make him a normal man, and he was right -

what he didn't realize was that it would also make him blind.

so now... you live in a nice apartment complex. a guy moves in next to you.

you can't help but notice he happens to be blind - at least, he's wearing a blindfold, uses a cane, but he's often swearing and stumbling through his porch, over his entryway. he is very, very blind.

you, wondering what the fuck up is with your obviously blind neighbor who seems to have no sense of self-preservation.

he walks into objects all the time, especially hitting his head on things, since he's so tall. forgets his cane when going out. the dude just left his door open the other day, like, WIDE OPEN, who DOES that?

helping gojo learn, not only how to be human, but how to be disabled. how to not be disgusted with being disabled.

gojo learning that being blind isn't the end of his life, nor the end of his happiness - life is still worth living, even without one of his senses.

helping gojo mourn his lost sense while still finding things to enjoy. gojo who learns to cook by taste, by feeling heat or texture, with your help. gojo learning to organize things so he always knows where they are from memory.

bringing gojo audiobook versions of your favorite stories even if he teases you for your taste. he listens to them when he has nothing to do, which is most of the time, now.

he goes out on walks all the time because he doesn't have a job, you learn. while it's nice to not have to work, you can tell he comes from money, his life comes with a gaping hole inside it, one that isn't entirely explained by the blindness.

gojo who's overstimulated all the time because he no longer has infinity as a barrier, but somehow also as touch-starved as ever, alone in a foreign country away from all his students and colleagues.

gojo, who has only ever done Big Things with his life, who has only ever been an Important Person doing world changing things, now, just an ordinary guy.

he barely cares what happens to himself now. it's not that he wants to die, or anything. it's just that he doesn't have a reason to live.

and that wouldn't change overnight. not with cooking lessons or audiobooks or friendly greetings whenever you see him by the door. not with smiles or waves (he can't see them) or a braille rubik's cube you find online (how did he solve it in under a minute??) or karaoke (he has an AMAZING singing voice, and he knows so many songs better than you do?).

it wouldn't change overnight, because nothing worthwhile forms in a day, or two, or even a week or a month.

but gojo's life doesn't have to be amazing a day after he's gone blind. or a week. or a month. it's okay if it's difficult, he learns, it's okay if he hates it, hates himself, hates every choice that brought him here, even if he would never take it back.

it's okay. it gets better. with you there? it's getting better.

[pain-in-the-butler]

A compilation of art for my Dadbastian fanfic Coattails that I commissioned from the incredibly talented @tomoyoo! They went above and beyond with the details... Each picture feels as cozy and warm as a storybook, right? I'm so delighted with how they turned out!! Thank you for making each one so beautiful! 🥹🥹🥹

[moralcandy]

fifteen things that don't come back, by charlie slimecicle:

number one. the paper airplane you and your daughter throw at your husband while his back is turned in the kitchen, the two of you hiding behind the counter as you snicker quietly when he stops humming and yelps a curse as he turns around with a faux angry expression and a poorly-hidden smile.

number two. the glass your daughter broke trying to grab it from the cabinet on her tippy-toes. you didn't look over until you heard the glass shatter against the kitchen floor, too preoccupied with grabbing the jug of cold orange juice from the fridge to notice until it was too late. golden, afternoon sunlight shone warmly on the both of you from the open window as you swept it up while she stood to the side with a sheepish expression.

number three. your husband's soft shirt he let you borrow when you said you couldn't find your own but really you just quickly shoved yours under the bed when he wasn't looking. you absently noted that it smelled like him. your lips curved into a slight smile without input. your foot shoved your shirt under the bed a little bit farther.

number four. the pictures you took of your daughter and niece, hugging eachother as they posed for the camera, the photo incinerated into ash when you blew up your house. you frantically dug through your daughter's chest afterwards, soot covering your hands as you searched for the photograph. you did not find it.

number five. your niece.

number six. the feeling of a cold glass of wine held tipsily in your hand, the waterdrop of condensation slipping down the glass at the same pace your tears did down your cheeks. you downed the alcohol until there was nothing left except a burning feeling and a lump in your throat. the bartender did not give you another drink.

number seven. your friend, the one who used to laugh hysterically with you as he wrapped his arm around your shoulders before he began to scream at you while he wrapped his hands around your neck. he pushed you into the dirt, the metallic taste of blood in your mouth and the feeling of wet dirt on your skin as you absently question whether the water dripping on your face was the rain or the tears slipping down your friend's face. you know that was the funeral of your children, but you think both of the real 'you's died that day, too.

number eight. the warm, rumbling feeling of laughter in your chest as a smile hurts your cheeks, the sensation long gone. your mouth, for a moment, twitches into a small smile at the memory of the feeling.

number nine. the feeling of hands on your own, your husband's warm hands intertwined with yours as your cold, golden rings clink against eachother. your daughter's tiny hand clasped around yours as she leads you to a butterfly she found, grass brushing your ankles as you walk.

ten. the sound of your daughter's amused laughter, snorts interrupting occasionally. her head leans back as she giggles, her eyes scrunched up in happiness.

eleven. the sound of your husband's soothing voice, lilting with fondness as he looks at you. a smile absently crosses his face as he speaks, audible in his voice. you always remember smiling back.

twelve. your golden wedding band your husband lovingly slipped onto your ring finger so long ago, the one you furiously tossed into a dusty corner with particularily bad aim. you blame the poor aim on the tears blurring your vision, but it could've been the alcohol, really.

thirteen. your husband. you try to go to sleep in the center of your bed now, knowing that he won't be there. when you wake up, you always find yourself on the left side of the bed, as if you've moved in your sleep to accommodate someone. you scowl and think that your asleep self should stop being so stupid. ..you make the bed just in case he really does decide to come back.

fourteen. your daughter. whenever you make yourself breakfast now, you keep accidentally making two bowls, the muscle memory automatic, familiar, and no longer needed. you sit down at the table and set the bowls and begin to eat, but you always end up just stirring the cereal with your spoon as you stare at the untouched bowl across from you. you always end up throwing them both away. without your input, a frown tugs slightly at your lips as your pour out the second bowl but you know that nobody else was even here to eat it anyway. your eyes burn.

fifteen. your daughter, the one you know isn't the real one. sometimes you walk down those train tracks where you found her, hoping she'll be here this time. she never is. ..you still keep checking, just in case.

[monsterfloofs]

Demon (No name yet?) x Anonymous Reader (Sfw)

You sold your soul. The thought never even crossed your mind until the day when travesty came to your loved ones. You knew there were rumors of people selling their most sacred self for many things, fame, fortune, beauty, yet you yourself traded for a different price.

To rework the damage of time, of events you could never be able to mend without help. You had tried to make peace with what transpired, but couldn't bear it. Thus you had decided your life was unliveable. What good was a soul if your heart was splintered into fragments. What good was a soul to a being that no longer wished to live without those who made life worth living? To rewrite the threads of fate bore a heavy price, and you could never see your other loved ones again. It was a cruel price, but one you gladly took.

Remembering the flash of bright pearlescent teeth, almost glowing in the dark. Turning with fear as a light bloomed into existence, the bright had burned your eyes. You pressed your fingers to your eyes as you ground tilted under your fit. As if the very ground had become a swarm of writhing snakes.

You had been prepared for the worst. You were ready to suffer ten-fold for your wish to abuse the hands of fate. Yet perhaps it was one last glimmer of luck, that your benefactor themselves ended up being an oddity. Dressing you up like a pompous porcelain doll and parading you around as if you were some kind of priceless luxury.

You examined your reflection in the mirror, tilting your head up to look at the dark lace like marks that encircled your neck. Fingertips smoothing over warm skin, digging your thumbnail against one of the elegant swirls and scratching at it. It was, no use of course, you had tried all sorts of ways to remove it. Your stare into your eyes instead, trying to read the expression on your own face.

Then a bell tinkled and you looked over your shoulder, before begrudgingly slouching out of the large baroque restroom in your private suite. The bell ment tea time and the first tea time of the month could only mean one thing. You dreaded the new clothes that would have to endure. They were usually poofy, with enough ruffles that you had entertained the idea of pulling them all off and using them as a rope to escape out the window. Seeing a prettily wrapped parcel on your bed you could only sigh.

It was cruel and unusual torment, yet considering how you had thought your new life was going to be. . . it was better in spades compared to that. You gingerly pull apart the bow, and open the box. Feeling your face sag as you lift up the garment. Well. . . it's. . . certainly.

Something.

Something as in, you felt like a pink profiterole as you waddled to the parlor. If the pants were any poofier perhaps you could use them to make a hot air balloon.

You sat with your hands folded in your lap as you looked out the window. Home, they had insisted you call this new world. Yet it felt like a gilded cage. No matter how pretty, how decorated the iron was, they were still bars. Your guard had been down, mind wandering as you stared out the window. You hadn't noticed the shadow looming over you until it was too late.

A clawed hand reaches over and gently pinches your cheek, which makes you scrunch up your nose and shake your head.

"Look at you!" They squealed, tail lashing back and forth. "Perfect, perfect, you are absolutely darling!"

They acted with an air of an overly affectionate aunt, and it was truly the most bizarre experience.

They clapped their hands. "I want to see all of it!"

With the air of a waterlogged cat trying to reclaim their dignity you stood slowly. Watching as they make a dramatic show of looking you up and down before spinning a perfect clawed finger.

"Do a little turn for me? Oh pretty please with a cherry on top?"

S i g h.

You turn on your heel slowly, lip jut in a pout, holding your arms out at your sides. You arms fall to your sides as your finish your and wait for further instructions. their hands clasped to their cheek and staring at you with something like tears in their eyes.

"You are just so scrumptious! OOH I could just eat you up!!"

You remember being terrified when they first said that, but now you blink mildly and politely sit back down.

They tap a fingernail against their sharp teeth, "I will have to plan. . . for next month maybe something in lilac yes. . ."

You take a deep breath, well, you told yourself you would ask, it's now or never.

"My liege. . ." You swallow thickly, "Perhaps I could. . . pick the design this time?"

You wait for the atmosphere to change waiting for the floor to drop out and you to fall into a fiery hell pit.

When you peek at them they look more like they want to cry.

"Really?"

You guiltily look at the tiered pastry tray "If it wouldn't be too much tro-" The last word gone as they fling their arms around you.

"Aaaaaa!!" They shrill, "Oh yes! Yes, yes, yes! Oh my lil cream puff, my lil cupcake you can have whatever you would like!"

Your eyes wide as you are rocked back and forth. It's getting hard to breathe. "M-my leige-" You wheeze, patting their back urgently.

"I was hoping and hoping you would ask I–" They drop you immediately, taking a step away with their hands held behind their back. "O-oh yes. Of course, touching, you don't like that whole invasion of personal space" They twitter nervously tugging at their collar with a finger. "Whoopsie, w-won't happen again!"

Enjoy what I write? I have a tip jar! I also take writing and art commissions on kofi! ヽ(*ᵔ▿ᵔ)ﾉ

[nmakii]

FOOLISH ONE

— loving vox was bad for your health

— gn!reader, lazy fic im sorry, just feelings no plot at all, this is literally just all a collection of my love life, sorta yan!vox (for alastor), love triangle-ish, unrequited love, radiosilence

oh, how you loved vox. his charisma, his smooth voice, his charming personality; he drove you crazy. but, lord, how you wished he would talk to you.

every waking hour, he spends in his security room, hunting alastor like his prey. you care for him, why couldn’t he accept your love?

“vox!! i brought in dinner from that restaurant down the street, yw join?”

no response.

why wouldn’t he respond? it drove you crazy, checking your phone every minute of every day waiting for his response, did he simply not care? was there something more important? oh, how vox drove you up the wall, worrying about someone who did not love you back, it was bad for your health.

losing sleep over him, just waiting for that one response.

“im a bit busy, sorry.”

that’s it? that was the response you’ve been waiting all week for? you’re joking…

to turn off these feelings— you would sell your soul for it. you wish you didn’t love him, but seeing him and being close with him; it made your heart beat and your face flush.

all you wish is for closure. love or leave, just pick one.

god, alastor was mythic. his mystery, quite the appeal.

seeing him take care of the hotel, completely unaware of vox’s watching eyes. or did he know? did he mind?

would he mind if vox dated someone else? would he get jealous? angry? would alastor even care? god above, the temptation; to do all kinds of things with one unlucky sinner…

ah, he might just do it. rub it in alastor’s stupid face that he isn’t on alastor’s hook no more, that would be the sweetest vengeance to his greatest rival.

rival… he did hate alastor, right..? of course he did…

vox hated alastor, definitely. he was ugly, that haircut… absolutely abominable, who would consider even getting that haircut? and the way he refuses to use technology— is it cause of his own beliefs, or maybe it’s because of him? did he make alastor hate technology. oh, how annoying he could be…

agh, despite his irritation… he still misses alastor, how he took him in, and turned him into what he is today, what changed?

“ohh, alastor… i cannot wait to watch you get FUCKED.”

but,

did he really mean it?

ahh,

no, of course not.

how could he hate the man who made him as successful as he did today?

[coquelicoq]

losing my mind over shin yoosung of the 41st regression who's been alone for a thousand years and exploited by demons and dokkaebi and her beloved captain yoo joonghyuk, coming to the 3rd regression and having to see both a) said beloved captain claim some new rando as his companion in a way he never did with her even though she longed for it so desperately and b) the version of her as a child from the 3rd regression be valued and protected (by said new rando) in a way that she of the 41st regression has perhaps never experienced. seeing the proof in front of her eyes as 3rd regression sys fights 41st regression sys on behalf of her ahjussi that every version of her is full of deep, fierce love, but it's this other version of her who receives that love in return instead of being used and abandoned. any one of these things would be devastating on their own but she's getting all of them at once. and the fact that it's the new rando who saves her...and gives her another chance at a life and a family...don't touch me i am SO emo about shin yoosung and about the love that she and kim dokja have for each other.

[kiwi]

btw i have something to announce soon (dont want to risk saying anything too early and getting in trouble) but you are all going to lose ur lil minds. IM losing my lil mind. so prepare for that

[yandere-daydreams]

Tbh I don't think Gojo is a virgin by the mere fact that he probably pulled one of those "practice sex with your bestie before getting a proper partner so you don’t suck as it" that he saw in a hentai with Geto

no because the exact Thing gojo and geto have going on is so precious and specific to me. do i think that they're soulmates who have a deeply romantic connection that neither of them could ever truly let go of, even if they were forced to move past it? yes. do i know that gojo satoru did not know he could touch his dick before the age of twenty-three? also yes. they definitely seem like the type of freaks who would ""practice"" jerking off together, but i cannot shake the unwavering belief that the furthest they ever physically got was, like, some chaste hand-holding between classes. i don't know why they both reek of virgin but tragically they do.

[lichilly]

“I had all and then most of you

Some and now none of you.

Take me back to the night we met.”

— The Night We Met by Lord Huron

cw implied death, angst, OWWW OWWWIE OWWW

The day starts as usual.

The sun rises, birds chirping as you push open the balcony door to let the morning air in. Joseph steps out, a cigarette already between his fingers. You join him, two mugs of coffee in your hands. He takes one from you with a grateful smile, you both settle into the routine.

The day is beautiful. The suns warm embrace on your skin makes you want to linger there forever, soaking in her rays.

“What d’ya want for breakfast?” he asks, smoke curling lazily from his lips.

You ponder for a moment, imagining the taste of different dishes. “How about…pancakes?” you suggest, feeling your mouth water at the thought.

Joseph chuckles, stubbing out his cigarette and taking a final gulp of his coffee. “Pancakes it is then.”

You eat breakfast together at the table. Joseph flips through his script between bites, humming under his breath and glancing at the clock occasionally. A quiet sigh escapes him as he polishes off his plate.

He rises, placing his dirtied plate on the sink, setting his empty mug on top. He walks over to you, gently pushing your hair back and kissing your forehead.

“I gotta go. I’ll see you later, okay?”

You hum, cheeks warming from the kiss. “I’ll pick up stuff to make your favorite for dinner tonight. I know we haven’t had it in a while.”

His eyes light up, “Sounds like a plan.”

He heads towards the entryway, grabbing his jacket. He looks back at you, a smile still lingering on his lips.

“Don’t worry, filming shouldn’t take long today. I’ll be home before you know it.”

The butterflies in your stomach flutter with his words.

“Okay, I’ll see you later,” you reply, eyes droopy with morning grogginess and love.

The door clicks shut behind him, you watch a moment longer. Your eyes trace over the knob, down the mysterious crack in the wood, and watch his shadowy steps fade away. A sudden uneasiness creeps in, filling your gut with a syrupy ache. The butterflies no longer flutter, their wings cut, leaving you with a heavy feeling in their place.

You try to shake it off, but the feeling lingers, the knot in your stomach tightening with each tick of the clock. Hour after hour, minute after minute, you try to distract yourself with meaningless chores. You go grab things for dinner, the hustle and bustle of the store creating a dull hum over the pit in your stomach. A weak balm that doesn’t last the second you step through the apartment door again.

Night falls, groceries left forgotten on the counter. Seconds tick by painfully slow, each one a reminder of his absence. You can’t shake the feeling that something is terribly wrong.

Joseph doesn’t return that night, or any night after that.

[moralesmilesanhour]

"Opposites attract" trope with Hobie Brown only instead of doing the surface level "love interest is associated with authority or is a literal cop" thing, they are opposites in the sense that Hobie is the optimistic one because he has to be to survive and it is an act of resistance to do so whereas the love interest in question has resigned themselves to a nihilistic point of view and a lack of faith in other human beings

[heich0e]

not to kill the vibe but kuroo tetsuro does give me big 'guy who isn't ready for marriage but then gets married to the first girlfriend he has after the two of you break up' energy for reasons i cannot quite put my finger on

[necrotic-nephilim]

Do you have any more ideas about the dead dove vampire!dickxtim au you wrote a while ago? It's lived in my head ever since and I'd love to know more.

first of all thank you so much that's so sweet! second of all, i have SO many ideas you have no idea. that fic ate at my brain for like a month before i found the time to write it so i had plenty of ideas i didn't fully explore. i'm adding a read more just bc. that was one of my more fucked up fics so i don't want to subject anyone to a necro kink jumpscare

so one of the big ideas i've thought about with that fic is Tim dealing with the aftermath of it, right. bc he's of course going to hide it from everyone. the Batfam all just neds to hold onto the hope that they can save Dick somehow, and knowing what Dick did would kill any lingering hope that there's anything left of Dick Grayson in the walking husk that he's become. so Tim has to deal with the worst of it alone, probably not even mentioning he ran into Dick.

the fun part tho is that above everything else, Tim wouldn't be able to let go of Dick's comment about fantasizing about Tim before being a vampire. Tim knows the comment was made just to get in his head, but that doesn't stop it from working. he spends hours pouring over old footage of him and Dick training, hanging out, on patrol, anything he can find. just to like. try to find evidence of Dick's gaze lingering. it eats Tim alive not knowing one way or the other if it was a lie. if it's true, at least it makes it easier for Tim to move on from the memory of Dick. but not knowing is worse. and he never finds anything that satiates the question so like. that'd destroy Tim the most. (the real answer is that Dick genuinely didn't feel attraction to Tim before being a vampire, *but* Dick is convinced he did bc being a vampire fucked him up so badly that he's become his own unreliable narrator. so it's both true and untrue, and in the end, it doesn't matter either way bc Tim is fucked up by the thought of it and even if they "fixed" Dick by curing him, i think Dick's romantic feelings would linger in the horror of what he did.)

i'm really just. in love with Dick's feelings toward Tim in the fic. the most difficult part of the fic was figuring out how to end it, bc sure as a sexual fantasy Dick is obsessed with killing Tim, but he's also deeply in love with Tim, so it's difficult to follow through on. Dick wants to make Tim a vampire more than anything, but he is genuinely worried about how well it'd take for Tim. the fic doesn't really go into who's on Dick's side as a vampire, but i personally believe he's turned most of the Titans. probably some of his own rogues as well, i could see him turning Slade. i can't explain why, those are just the vibes.

it is important to me just how much of Dick's feelings for Tim are based in him not wanting Tim to live under Bruce's thumb. like the whole vampire brain has convinced Dick that Bruce is somehow the villain in this, and it was Bruce's control keeping Dick from being the person he wanted to be. it's a very warped reality and if i continued the fic i'd love for the second part to be from Dick's perspective just to have fun with the unreliable narrator of it.

back to the porn tho. Dick would seek TIm out again. probably in Tim's own apartment, just bc he wants to destroy every safe space Tim has. getting into Tim's head is an important part of breaking TIm down. the fear of Tim fighting back against being a vampire is one that Dick is trying to figure out how to manage and his current plan is to break Tim mentally. it's why he brings up wanting to sleep with TIm before being a vampire. he *knows* it's gonna fuck up Tim. and the more he puts these little cracks in Tim's psyche, the more he's sure he's breaking Tim down enough to be able to turn him. so going to Tim's apartment and proving that at any point, Dick can easily find Tim and fuck him. always holding the threat of killing Tim over his head. and Dick knows Tim didn't tell anyone when days pass after their first meeting and no Bat comes after him so like. Dick really just pushes the limits. i think he would brand Tim just bc he can. i also got a comment on the fic that mentioned Dick stabbing Tim and fucking the wound and i canNOT get that image out of my head either-

and the necro/snuff kink just. Dick playing the long game, so it takes maybe months of stalking Tim, going after him. sometimes he fucks Tim, sometimes he just fights and taunts him. and all the talk about killing Tim fucks with Tim's head a little bit. i think it'd be fun if it killed Tim's ability to have vanilla/normal sex with someone else, like Kon. it's hard for Tim to understand anyone being attracted to him in a way that doesn't involve him being a dead body. i don't think he develops the kink fully, but he does end up convincing himself being a corpse is the only way he's attractive bc of all the things Dick has said to him. it all plays into Dick psychologically breaking Tim.

i am a lover of fucked up/unhappy endings so. for me. the ending would be Dick following through on his plan to kill Tim and turn him. it'd take months for Dick to work up the courage bc TIm was absolutely right when he pointed out that Dick was too scared to actually follow through on his fantasy. Dick tries, multiple times. he convinces himself no less than five times that this is going to be the one. this'll be the time he really does it. but just as Tim starts to die, Dick panics. i think it's especially fun if once Dick even gives Tim CPR bc of his cold feet. so Tim does "die" for a second and has to brutally come back while Dick is buried inside of him.

but when Dick does it, his fears manifest in that Tim does *not* take being a vampire well. he's constantly trying to kill himself (in the time it takes for Dick to break Tim, Tim probably does figure out what poison can kill a vampire) and Dick ends up having to keep Tim locked up so Tim doesn't kill himself. would truly love to try to write Tim as mentally shattered as possible. part of him loves Dick, but he's fighting himself so hard he's not even sure if it's the vampire side that loves Dick or the human side. he's kept like a human pet, bc Dick is convinced he'll get Tim to accept it sooner or later. just a very fun, very fucked up sort of ending. i say this about all the fics i write but this one specifically i do *really* want to continue someday. i know exactly the direction i'd take it, and it could turn into a pretty long fic with a lot of fucked up porn, a lot of unrequited love, and an eventual mind break for Tim.