Accept: Everything not included in the will NOT accept
Will NOT accept: Ped0philia, underage play, basically anything that involves the harm of children whether direct OR indirect. No excrement, vomit, “inappropriate use of [insert body part]”, or bugs.
Fandoms: Demon Slayer, JJK, Genshin Impact, Honkai Star Rail, Death Note, Hellsing, TBA
Masterlists:
Fandom Masterlist
OC Masterlist
About This Page:
Yandere centered. Everything is appropriately tagged but writing range from fluffy and sweet to violent. Undergoing mass editing.
About the Author:
Asexual, full of myself, and sporting multiple chronic illnesses.
Sometimes, when my dog barks at things I don’t see, I bark too so that way whatever she’s yelling at doesn’t think it’s just the chihuahua yipping, but someone else too. I don’t want predators thinking my dog is an easy target.
Auwgh, I knicked a vein in my hand with a knife and now it's all bandaged. Just completely ruined my shit. I got asked if I want to get stitches. Told em no, too poor. This was after a ten hour shift mind you. Ooh I hate life right now.
On the upside, when I was crying, my youngest pet, a sweet but feisty cat named mia, came to lay down with me! She's usually so independent and she runs when I try to pet her but she heard I was crying and screamed at me until I let her curl up with me. Such a sweet baby.
Crow Dottore making his un-willing lover lay his eggs whilst on their back, notoriously the most painful position, so he can study the process…
It was actually the original reason women started birthing in their backs, for study. That said, Dottore didn't think it all that weird nor difficult. Egg laying was hardly as difficult as birthing a full grown child. In spite of this, Dottore’s emotions ran high and he used his body to pin you on your back. He was so worried about making you panic or you hurting yourself in your pursuit of freedom but… studying your body was also very important.
You try to kick him off but not only is Dottore much larger than you, but it also causes discomfort to move your legs so dynamically. He may sit behind you and use his legs to trap your own, keeping them open. He might kneel in front of you and keep your thighs pinned to the sterile floor, boring his eyes into your condition.
The doctor would be sickeningly sweet, in his own way. He’d avoid calling you dramatic or anything critical, as he does often with you, rather trying to use positive affirmations.
Just him cooing in your ear as you try to roll over and he doesn't let you… its a third of the size of a human child, you've got this! He's telling you, everything will be okay, hell take care of you. Just push his babies out… you're doing so well! His sweet darling wife, you're capable of so much, he believes in you full heartedly.
Holding your legs wide and still as you beg him to help you, to let you get a more at ease posture,!but he just keeps whispering words of love and encouragement. Don't worry about bleeding that much, you've no reason to fear! Dottore knows what bleeding out looks like, he promises you are doing just fine!
Admittedly though, this story prompt is certainly a more brutal one. Writing involving the birthing process and blatant disregard for pain is distasteful but… its sort of in character for Dottore!
When you finally push those eggs out, Dottore checks your condition before even looking at his eggs. Searching for active bleeding and signs of lingering pains… he knows you're just fine, but there isn't any harm in checking.
If the process goes well enough, Dottore might feel so proud of you he’d lick the blood and mess from your skin. He doesn't want to put his tongue too close to your wounds, but he's just so fulfilled by your sacrifice. You reacted so horribly and he just feels so… gross by the fact.
Even if you've finally been broken by his cruelty, Dottore would still adore you as his perfect wife. Bathing you, feeding you, checking your status every 15 minutes. Frankly, the children are second to you. He could get more children, he couldn't get another you. And in any case, you could very well live forever with him. He has all the time in the world for you to forgive him.
Whilst you are pampered and cared for, his children will be just cared for. And god forbid if your babies decide they want to see their mother. Absolutely not! Dottore will make designated times but they will not bother your 18 hours of privacy! Even if they are young and incredibly smart at their age, he won't allow his wife to be around anyone with lesser intelligence for long. They could give you ideas or cloud your reasoning with maternal feelings.
It could be years afterward, Dottore would want more babies, many more, but if you didn't want to, or couldn't conceive, than he'd just keep telling everyone yo were dealing with the results of your birth. Yes, your birth was three years ago, but you still flinch at the mention of eggs or more children.
So yes, you're still recovering.
Several years later, and Dottore is still feeling just a little rotten for what he did. Would he do it again? Absolutely. So just let him spoil, he has a lot to make up for.
I MADE THIS AND NEVER POSTED IT, I APOLOGIZE. This is older and a bit out of date, but I still like it. It’s actually just a prompt for a fanfic I started writing, but never finished. Thus, there is a lot of unfinished thought in this one.
There's actually multiple Crow Dottore drafts, but I figured I’d post at least one for all the continuous yapping and complaining I do. I just have a lot to say.
Would anyone read a comic about a Yandere who falls in love with someone who refuses to act like their gender (personal issues) without knowing their real gender?
Like, falls in love, life falls apart, finds out it was their Darling that started their downfall, and than finds out they weren’t even the sex they thought that were?
Just a straight downward spiral of trying their hardest to not be angry at their darling, it wasn’t their fault, surely, but they can’t help be full of rage everytime they see their darling?
I mentioned it before, but I love psychological horror.
In any case, I ask because I am poor but I found a nice app that will help with settings/backgrounds and I didn’t want to spend 100 bucks for it if people wouldn’t like it.
Sigh, I’ve been slacking on that Dottore animation, in truth. I know this account was supposed to be NSFW things but I got so personal with my feeling about 35; And the knowledge that 35 is the one in the animation is eating at me. I also just haven’t been well and I’m scrambling to collect myself.
I want to animate him JACKING IT, not what I have done.
Also, my animation relies heavily on shorter/choppier movements because it so long. I’m not a fan, it doesn’t look good or fluid.
Would anyone be mad if I cut out my favorite parts and finished just those? 35 eating you out, the climax, that sort of thing? I wouldn’t want to upset anyone.
Reading other peoples works makes me realize i may not be taking my writing far enough.
Like, my face genre is HORROR. I want to write HORROR. I want to do the HORROR of the more simple things.
Not zombies, not apocalypse, not slasher. Not simple running from ect guy.
My latest draft is literally a man being disgusted by another man (transgender) not having male genitalia after trying to non-con him in his after drugging him. Then proceeds to make his life a constant torment by stalking him and blackmailing him into doing fucked up shit because hes mad about it.
Not a good description ⬆️, but like, PHYCHOLOGICAL HORROR.
I actually was playing with designs for the idea, I be bored.
I could take my writing to disgusting lengths if I wanted.
I hadnt thought people ACTUALLY enjoyed my writing. Its making me a little ambitious but im scared. Maybe I should write a short story and comic and see how it goes. Ill draw up some designs to play with.
The departure of Zandik has left you in turmoil and deep depression. Unfortunately the Segment 35 does not understand grief.
The latest part of this series.
Nights have become nightmarish.
When the sun was up, it was eat and sleep. The naps produced endless tossing and turning, not many dreams.
Yet lately, your dreams when the moon was up have been tormenting you in a way you couldn't even begin to explain.
Many were unlikely things you wouldn't expect of yourself. Moments of tenderness you never got to share. Placing gentle kisses of Zandik’s cheeks and knuckles, so he knows he’s loved.
Praying that these small acts of affection could force into his perception the unwavering love you had for him. His hands, older and more frail than yours, held firmly in your palms. His face, which you had lost the details of, cradled in your fingers as you tell him, report to him, that he was the best thing in your life.
Emotions would pass on his face, but you were so lost you could not understand them.
Other sequences forced you to recoil. Lying atop him and getting the sense he was thinking, his brilliant mind turning the cogs. Intimate, more than friends, just less than lovers, you rest on his chest; A comfort you couldn't imagine.
In a horrifying grasp, the pleasant thought delves until you are paralyzed. Slowly, you begin to feel, as though a sixth sense, that Zandik’s thought was waning. His mind coming to failure as his chest began to cave, as though he was decaying. Frozen, you can’t even clutch him, try to prevent his departure.
Insects passed you by as they fled with the remnants of Zandik and, sickeningly, you begged them to hide within you. Infest you as they would the dead, so you could hold him longer, keep him within.
But they did not hear you.
Swarming away and leaving you with just his bones, your head no longer upon the warm chest of your dearest one, but in the cold rib cage of your dearest lost. Shrunken, trapped. Holding the bars, standing where the heart of Zandik should be.
In a way, the two kinds of dreams were the same to you. The mere absence, and what could have been. Your Zandik has left a wound that refuses to close.
What hurt more? That you could have done things differently, shown Zandik more love, or that, because life was out of your control, Zandik was always going to die this way?
Never in a million lifetimes was his death going to be avoided. How useless must you be, you wonder.
As you awoke wailing, pulling at your hair and finding your cries were so thick they caught in your throat, crackling, you felt no different than in that dream.
Caged with your dead. An apt description. In the rare moment between your grief, you berated yourself with the belief that this was not normal.
No normal person grieved like this.
Normal life was devastated by Zandik. Your misery was stuck between screams of agony and your sentences could only form apology for what surely must have been your lack of effort.
Pathetic, useless, better than this. You would shove cruelty toward yourself down your own throat. The insults would hit your ear before your brain registered what it said.
Moments would pass before you caved in once more. How could you possibly be better than this? How could Zandik deserve any less?
Did Zandik not deserve a million days of loving grief to make up for the million days of no love at all?
Effort was no issue, for the tears you shed came as easily as the drinking the water it took to make them.
Oh, but what use are sobs to the dead?
And so the cycle repeats.
Had the day started earlier, would you have been there to help Zandik? He was human, after all, and would have never turned you down.
Should you have chosen to neglect your Fatui jobs and ran to his side, would his fall have been just a tiny bump in a Happy Birthday?
Could you at least tell Zandik you loved him?
Mourning though you were, the man that had died also seemed to haunt you.
Imagine the horror. Knowing the only part of the man you loved that exist are the worst parts of him.
Segments.
They sent their youngest first. You thought, surely this one would be fine to entertain. Acquiring knowledge of your beloved’s childhood could be nice.
Tiny and terrible, the 8-year-old was bull-headed in his beliefs and ended up saying cruel things to your regarding your sorrows. You had no choice but to kick him out and got nothing from the experience.
Blatant disregard for their creator, they all display.
Eight came first, then 18, than 65, and so forth.
Only once did your door open again after 8, for 18, but this proved fruitless as well.
Eighteen was a defensive man and he kindly offered his regards before flipping a switch when you said you didn't want visitors right now.
From flowers and fervent falacies, a blushing try-hard boy, to a worthless worn egotistical waste of your time.
Despite the door being slammed, he didn't stop screaming.
Hence, you stopped opening the door.
Shut in, you begun keeping your records on your desk. The Dottore’s came roughly once a week, so you had some time.
Crippling as your depression was, you piled all your research together to rid yourself of the pain.
Life elixer was a complicated recipe you once tried to replicate in hopes of praise, but the result was not quite satisfactory. Yours was effectively a stabilizer, slowing decay and repairing skin deep injuries. You used it to keep fresh specimens, like an acquaintance’s pet who’d needed some serious work done, alive when between surgeries.
For yourself, it’d be just fine.
Details were of little consequence, as your ideas were little more than pipe dreams, as lacking in resources as you were. As you gathered the papers into a file, you pondered whether you could do such a thing…
An upside to never opening the door was that you saw Zandik’s face less.
Misery struck you everytime you were made to look at the Segments. Your dearest one… had his face plastered on his most impressive accomplishments.
Accomplishments that loomed like hands of death over your life. There weren't enough words to describe the fear you felt of them.
Violence was nothing all that new, especially in the Fatui, but everyone kept their hands off you in fear of Zandik’s wrath.
For once, though, Zandik could not protect you.
And he certainly couldn't protect you from himself.
Pounding that shook the bells on your door, like that which you'd hear at a funeral, ripped you from thoughts and plunged you into quaking fear.
You could dismiss 8, 18, and 25.
45 and 65 were but brief visitors.
But 35 would tear your entrance from its hinges to avoid hearing your refusal.
Painfully annunciated, your name fell from 35’s velvet lips, “Miss, you’ve sulked long enough. Allow me in, we’ll have a talk.”
Like hell you’ll just talk… 35 is going to drag you out of this house, you feel it like your bone marrow was warning you.
Leave, you demanded. Leave you and tell all your sub-human Segments the same. You had nothing to say to the ghosts of a dead man.
“I thought you might say as much, so I took the liberty of requesting something of a warrant. You did, after all, steal a few things from the lab.”
Shit! 35 had keys to your house, you heard him shake the metal pieces. The cabin was given to you by the Fatui, you should have assumed that, regardless of if he was the true Harbinger, a Harbinger could gain entry.
Frightened like a pitiful mouse, you climbed your loft and pulled the curtain. You wished you could run… Archons, you need to run!
Blame what you will, the lack of decent sleep, the minimal water, the bare bones amount of food, but you were petrified.
Clicks sounded the opening of your door and for a moment, the cold entered. The cold could honestly be the wind, or 35 himself.
“It’s childish to hide from me. What is that you’ll think I’ll do? Have I ever given reason to be afraid?”
Of course, you responded. By being an incomplete freak of nature alone, you found reason to avoid him.
Nothing here belongs to the Segments, you rebutted. Including yourself. You aren't sure why they've become so persistent, but you absolutely despise it.
Segment 35 spotted you behind the curtain and took some steps toward the loft, so his torso and head appeared in your like of sight.
“That’s where you’re wrong. You yourself belonged to Zandik. It’s only fitting you are redistributed to the rest of us. No need for selfishness.”
Selfish?! You couldn’t help but yell at him, you’d think he knew what selfishness truly was, given is complete shit track record! Not wanting to work alongside your dearest person’s ghosts wasn't selfishness, you’d argue you were preserving your sanity!
“Ghosts? Do I looked like a ghost to you miss?”
Teasing, 35 gave you a poke. He hardly saw your angry words as threat or insult.
He looks like someone better off dead, you spat. He wears the face of Zandik, but the two are nothing alike. 35 thinks he's so special, but he’s just a gross imitation, something incomplete that can’t ever-!!!
Clasping around your throat, like a viper, in an instant, 35 had taken your neck into his fingers.
While you had seen it on his face, his patience thinning and dwindling, you hadn't foreseen it snapping so suddenly. You expected warning signs or words of caution.
Tightening, 35 dragged your body closer to his as you fawned and stayed low to the ground. He wasn't predictable anymore. He had left your predictions completely.
Knees came onto the loft as 35 drug your cowarding body beneath him, your head, laid to its side, between his crouched legs.
“I hadn’t taken you for a fool. You’d say such cruel things to even I?”
Wide eyes were pinned to 35’s face as you stayed limp on the floor before him. You found it horribly pathetic, but it was out of your control.
The very love of your life, his face, has grabbed you by the throat and dragged you across the floor in anger.
To some degree, to perhaps a large degree, the idea that Zandik would have ever done such a thing hurt. Would your love have hurt you in this way?
Time seemed to be going backwards thanks to these ugly Segments. The real, original, Zandik was so very human and ever-changing. He valued your companionship and was so gentle with you.
Yet now you were faced with the very same face, strangling you on the floor of your own home.
You knew it wasn't truly him, but how do you tell that to your brain?
Thus, you were making yourself small and physically submitting in a way that made your stomach sink. Your body was treating this scenario as though it was Zandik doing this.
Pain from your loved one… you hadn't thought yourself the type to except it so readily.
“It seems your body at least knows who it should be listening to.”
Gripping tighter, 35 taunted you.
“Zandik may have let you off the hook at every turn, but I will not. You are under my care now, you have no choice.
I take it the Tsaritsa isn't yet aware you opted out of employment. She doesn't have to know. But if you don’t actually start working… I may have a slip of tongue.
I will see you, on time, tomorrow for your shift. Do not be late.”
Briefly, 35 pushed your neck into the ground, like telling you to stay, before departing.
Slamming shut, the second your door was closed, you burst into tears once more.
Life cannot truly be this for you, you were miserable. You can’t take this…
You won’t take this!
Jumping from the loft and almost eating the floor, you began packing your things…
Sorry this one took so long and is so short. I have two different illnesses and they make me sleepy. I sleep an average of 11 hours at a time and I still have to go to work. Wish I could make money from writing or art. But alas, both very hard to get into professions.
Lmaooo I was on the porch grabbing my food and I faintly heard “gobble gobble…” and I look up and there was a MASSIVE fucking turkey waiting for my food. It leaped off the porch after I exclaimed “uh- theres a turkey on my porch???!”
I'm actually laughing with some tears, it was the faintest little unsure gobble ive ever heard.
There is literally nothing in my house I can't fix with hatred, tweezers, and a butterknife.
Yesterday, I dismantled a carpet cleaner down to the pieces in the suction tank just because it wasn't holding as much water as I wanted and ended up with a way more effective cleaner than before.
Today, I got sick of playing my moms old switch like it was a hand held because the base that connects it to the tv was broken and instead if being a mature adult, I started undoing the screws on the base with a butter knife. 30 minutes later and I finally got the charging port to stay up and it says it's charging.
Come morning, I will see if yet again my overwhelming confidence, spite, and autistic tendency to reduce machines to their pieces to understand how they work has served me well.
Work case scenario, nothing changes and I get stuck with the handheld again.
I’m adding Pantalone to the series following the incident because I want so very badly to write some Pantalone content. Unfortunately, the plot doesn't promote the content I'm thinking of.
Like, at what point could you possibly have sex with Pantalone in that scenario? For one, there isn't an extended relationship between you two. And two, the Dottore Segments would be against it. Although, it might be funny if after having sex with Pantalone, you joined him and it made the other Segments think they have to screw you too lol.
All this to say, there is extended ideas revolving around Pantalone intercourse that was planned and can't be added.
Smell and sensation were large factors. You are just so mournful over the loss of your greatest friend that Pantalone lets you cling to him. The scent is consuming and comforting, expensive cologne that doesn't burn and the hidden smell of smoke if you were to truly bury your nose into him.
Pantalone’s hands are just so horribly gentle. You needed to be crushed in a grasp, but Pantalone would whisper his touches, saying he was just so fragile. You should be gentle with him, you know.
If sex ever became a reality, Pantalone would make you ride him slow and shallow. His body is firm and built, but he claims fragility and wont let you perform roughly like you wish.
Cold fingers would just barely grace and guide your desperate hips. The whole act felt more like you were torturously masturbating on a sentient dildo than having the animalistic sex you needed to maintain sanity.
Despite the coldness of his hands, Pantalone’s hips and legs were warm and you hugged them with your own. There is a good chance the sex is so teasing and slow, you could be brought to tears.
Should tears be shed over the unfulfilling sex, Pantalone would so gently shush you and brushed the tears away. Just hold out for him, he’ll make it better. You're so desperate, he knows, you poor thing, but if you help him cum he’ll be sure to reward you.
He promises.
Luckily, he isn't a liar. After Pantalone buries a warm load deep inside you, he had you grab your favorite phallus to bury the semen deeper.
Knowing exactly what you wanted, Pantalone is fairly rough with fucking your cunt. You lay on your back in his lap and he punishes your pussy with the optimal rhythm and optimal speed.
No investment is worth it without gaining at least three fold, Pantalone felt, so he made sure to bring you to quaking orgasm at least three time. Perhaps some more, for good measure.
