#canabalism

[puppyguur]

:33

[2-dsimp]

Yandere clown humiliates your mean ex and makes you laugh

[Y̾AͣN̾TͭOͦB𞀓EͤRͬ DͩAͣY̾ 5 Iͥmͫaͣg̾iͥn̾eͤ: K̾iͥl̾l̾eͤrͬ Cͨl̾oͦw𞀞n̾ f̾tͭ!]

•:•.•:•.••:•:•:•:•☾☼☽•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:

Cw: suggestive! Cannibalism, possessive/obsessive tendencies, Pyrok hates your ex-boyfriend and wants to eat him.

Synopsis: All you wanted was an antique doll from the antique store that was down the road from your home. But instead you get a murderous alien killer clown doll instead. With a long line of history for being known as the boogeyman who terrorized the districts of Devildom centuries ago.

•:•.•:•.••:•:•:•:•☾☼☽•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:

Thinking about a yandere Killer Clown! that was hexed by a powerful mage centuries ago for going on a killing spree. Cannibalizing the townsfolk like the neighborhood boogeyman. Within Devildom and leaving a trail of gnawed bones and flesh.

Yandere Killer Clown! Cursed to be a doll, with his alien features wiped from his face so he’d be looking like a blank faced mannequin. While his features were transferred onto the plate masks of varying expressions adorning his hip belt. To be kept under lock n key, shipped straight to an antique shop. Where he laid wasting away for centuries with only a mean grudge to his name. Until you came and bought the box out of curiosity.

Yandere Killer Clown! Who at first plays pretend when you open the box. Remaining dead in his doll form just to get a picture of who exactly his new owner was. And whether or not he should kill you and run away now that he’s been freed. There were many nights where he had his blank face jutted down at you.

Sitting on your chest as you breathed whilst his porcelain hand pressed against his mask which shifted into a ravenous expression. Razor teeth jutting out, with a long tongues slithering from the bottomless hole within the masks holes. Eyes boring into you, Always waiting for a chance of when you’d neglect him. Or forget to shine his porcelain body and dress him up in his favorite frills everyday. Any excuse to get rid of you but so far there was nothing.

Yandere Killer Clown! Who after a couple weeks, grew too comfortable being hugged and fawned over in his stay with you. He always wore his happy mask when he was in your presence. However, every time you left and came back you noticed how his mask switched from happy to angry.

The masks soulless eyes seemed to be glaring at you with intensity as if knowing whatever sin you committed to warrant the clowns wrath. Yeah he knew all about that wretched ex boyfriend you kept going on and off with. And it made his hollowed brain rattle violently with murderous and envious thoughts.

Yandere Killer Clown! Who became a touch more realer with every laugh he coaxed from you lips. Whether it be by his switch up in masks. (which always left you with whiplash from how it was even possible for him to do that.) Or from his out of context voice lines that had a morbid humorous edge with insults for your ex-boyfriend.

“Tiny pecker, Tiny pecker, Exy has a tiny pecker! Chop it off, lest it don’t grow any bigger!”

The past few days you could never find peace as strange things had started happening around you. More specifically with the clown doll, every time you went to polish him he felt colder than usual. And his edgy joints were less prominent with a softer more flexible edge. The kicker was that whenever you’d go to sleep. You’d always feel something breathing on you. But you chalked it up to an air drift from the window you cracked open.

Yandere Killer Clown! Who is garbling ancient enchantments via mask. Which enabled him to have an outlet to express himself. As his pointed claws surgically traced his signature sigil on your chest. the happy mask’s manic grin started growing eerily wider. At seeing the reddened glow of his brand on you. Which made the bond you two shared to be completely permanent.

This new status would allow him much more freedom. To battle against the croons curse which had limited his former self. However, it was incomplete, it was one sidedly done after all. So he needed you to do the same onto him.

You needed to Let him in.

Thanks to your intervention in his life there was so much he wanted to do. First thing on the list would be getting rid of that old croon’s curse on his body once and for all. The second would be eliminating that ex boyfriend of yours.

And lastly…Having you to be his brood mother to repopulate his alienkind of was also one of his goals. After all you were the perfect fit. You’ve already shown such potential in being his mate, by tending to him everyday and night. He’d be sure to return the favor tenfold keep you well fed, protected, and cherished.

All you had to do was Let. Him. Inside of you.

——————/—————

A/n: Decided to make an attempt on doing spooky yantober entry XD

Lmk if y’all would want to see more of him. 👀

Also I think I’ve finally did all the yandere alphabet letters woohoo 🎉

[tipsynight0]

The taste of love

Paring - eyeless jack x female reader

Word count - 800

synopsis - two year anniversaries are special, and (y/n) wants to make it memorable.

TRIGGER WARNING - cannibalism, body horror, gore, consumption of organs, mature themes you've been warned.

Authors note - aha what, no i totally haven’t posted almost everyday what are you talking about ahaha <3

Candles flickered gently, casting soft shadows on the red tablecloth, while the dimmed basement lights created an intimate, almost eerie atmosphere. Everything screamed romance—except for the hidden edge of something darker. It was their two-year anniversary, a moment (Y/N) had been planning for weeks, and it had to be perfect. Every detail mattered. She scanned the table, ensuring every plate, every candle, was in its place. Tonight, she had a gift for Jack that he would never see coming. A surprise crafted just for him.

Her eyes darted to the clock, nerves fluttering in her chest. A pang of hunger shot through her, sharp and unsettling, but that wasn’t the only pain she was feeling tonight. She adjusted her white long-sleeved top, feeling the tightness of her skinny jeans against her skin. Her hair was curled, light makeup accentuated her features, and though she knew she’d overdressed, she couldn’t help it. Jack deserved this night.

Finally, the door to the basement creaked open, and quiet footsteps descended the stairs. Jack’s hand brushed the wall as he reached the bottom, his senses heightened, inhaling the air thick with the scent of (Y/N)'s perfume.

“Y/N?” his voice rasped as he stepped forward, following the scent toward her.

"Happy anniversary," (Y/N) whispered, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing soft kisses against his mask. Beneath it, she could feel his smile. He slowly lifted the mask, revealing just enough to kiss her back, his lips firm and hungry.

"Happy anniversary, sweetheart," he murmured against her lips. His hands traveled down to her lower back, pulling her closer. She smiled, taking his hand and guiding him to the table.

“I put out some candles, plates, and I cooked your favorite,” she said softly, eyes flicking nervously over the setup.

Jack grinned as he removed his mask, setting it on the side table. "Yeah? You went out and harvested some kidneys for me?" he teased, taking a seat and watching her every move.

(Y/N) chuckled, a grin tugging at her lips. "How about you go first with your gift? Mine’s almost ready," she said, her voice soft with excitement.

Jack shifted in his seat, pulling out a small photo album and sliding it across the table. "It's stupid, but Jane and Nina said girls love this kind of stuff," he mumbled, looking sheepish.

(Y/N) opened the album and immediately smiled. Page after page of memories—grainy snapshots of their time together. The time they went camping and pushed Jack out onto the lake on an air mattress, her trying on his mask and posing for sexy photos. Each image was a piece of their strange but beautiful life together.

“Thank you,” she whispered, leaning over to press a kiss to his cheek. Jack’s eager grin remained as his attention shifted to the delicious smell wafting from the oven. The scent was rich, meaty, and unlike anything he’d experienced before.

"I’m not the best cook, but I followed a recipe," (Y/N) said nervously as she placed the plate before him, carefully presenting her creation.

Jack leaned in, sniffing the dish. It was kidney, no doubt. His gaze softened, and he reached for her hand, squeezing it gently. “It means a lot that you went out, got it yourself, and even prepared it,” he murmured, kissing her hand softly.

(Y/N) smiled, leaning down to whisper in his ear. “Just eat it,” she urged, her breath hot against his skin.

Jack cut into the kidney, taking a slow, deliberate bite. The taste was rich, tender, the red wine sauce enhancing the savory flavors. "This is amazing," he mumbled, licking his lips. “So fresh, too.”

As he ate, his hand wandered to her waist, tracing along her stomach. (Y/N) flinched slightly as his fingers brushed over something unusual. Stitches.

Jack’s brow furrowed in confusion. He tugged up her shirt, revealing a series of carefully sewn stitches across her abdomen. His heart raced as he realized what he was seeing.

“Sweetheart, what happened?” he asked, his voice thick with concern as his fingers traced the rough stitching. It was exactly where one of her kidneys should have been.

(Y/N)’s gaze met his, a soft smile on her lips despite the pain in her eyes. "You always said you wanted to taste me. Happy anniversary."

Jack's heart pounded in his chest, the gravity of her gesture sinking in. She had given him a piece of herself—literally. For him, for their twisted love. His hand trembled as he pressed a soft kiss to the tender skin of her abdomen, right above the wound.

"Happy anniversary," he whispered, voice thick with emotion, knowing no gift could ever compare to what she had just given him

[cinnamontoatscoreyart]

Vanessa palmer my sweet beloved!

[barmy-demon]

Thoughts about the mechs and cannibalism

Most likely to least likely

Jonny: we all know he’s done it

Tim: “thank your lucky starts you taste so good cause you wouldn’t want your corpse to go to waste” this confirms cannibalism was happing on the moon (I think Jonny started it and was copped) it doesn’t confirm Tim joined in but I chose to believe he did

TS: it doesn’t eat but I think it played pretend on the moon war and eat supplies and people, it had to clean it’s self out often which wasted a lot of food people could have lived off

Raph: for science the mouth is a very useful tool after all

Marius: same as Raph some what but form what I know form his past he was malnourished and I wonder if food was ever so scares cannibalism was resorted to if it was I don’t think he would have know what the meat was

Next ones a a bit less concrete on placement

Ivy: I feel like she would have read a report on cannibalism and wanted to do her own research first with interviews of the crew’s experience and then her own

Nastya: I feel like Jonny would have been able to convince or trick her into trying it once also somthing about cyberia seeing unmodified people as lesser

Ashes: I don’t think they’d do more then fighting dirty and ripping a chunk out of someone as swallowing it for the intimidation

Brian: I can’t think of a single reason he would eat someone

Dispute me if you think differently please I love the thoughts of others

[wethegeeses]

I need me a boy who understands how cannibalism and vampires are a metaphor for being deeply and truly in love.

[deanspajamas]

think my plans for this winter are being in a plane crash and getting stuck in the woods with a soccer team full of lesbians, might eat sm1 might not who knows

[inquirewithbillcipher]

opinion on cannibalism?

...asking for a "friend"

What did you expect?

-Bill

[eatmyassastarion-affectionately]

[foottoe101001]

TW imagine getting forced to eat your gang anyway ponyboy goretober 🫡‼️

@cyaniashine @lizzy019 @pookiepiss69 @gr3ase-g0t-h0ld

[cyb3r-clyd3]

mwehehe

[brucewaynehater101]

WHUMPTOBER 2024: PROMPT #12

Starvation, canablism, "just a little more"

Tw: blood, gore, DARK Tim Drake

He wishes he could tear the skin off of their flesh, stitch their dermises together, and wrap himself in their constant and collective embrace. They would never leave him that way. They couldn't. They wouldn't be able to. 

It's a morbid thought, but some part of him craves the constant reassurance of their presence.

This family, the one he yanked together as it was crumbling apart, is incomparable to his parents. While the Drakes loved him, they never touched him.

Not enough. Only fleeting shoulder pats, the occasional hug, and, on rare occasions, a hair ruffle.

Tim would go months trying to replicate the feeling of physical affection. He'd cling to stuffed animals, heated blankets, warm water bottles, and the scratch of his own nails. He's try to steal warmth from endless showers and his parents never complained about their high water bill.

It wasn't enough.

Boarding schools don't provide hugs either.

The Waynes, though?

They were there. 

Fuck. The first time Bruce's palm landed on his shoulder, Tim nearly jumped out of his skin. His entire body burned when Dick started giving him hugs.

He, in the privacy of his own room, would become a blubbery mess at all the casual affection they so freely and often gave. The arm punches, shoulder bumps, arm around the neck, and back pats. Just constant reassurances that they care, they want him, and they love him.

Not to mention the gentle injury checks, the couch cuddles, and all of the hugs. Tim didn't know how many ways people could hug. 

And it didn't stop. Even when they got mad or frustrated or sad or upset at Tim. Even when they berated him or gave him the cold shoulder. Someone was always there with another pat or ruffle.

It was consistent and Tim couldn't get enough. Just the threat of that being taken away from him causes him to go into a frantic, frenzied bloodlust. He’s not ashamed to admit the lengths he'd go to so that he never lost it.

Tim would do anything, anything at all, to keep them.

Even though it still didn't feel like enough.

He needs their flesh within him and their bones fashioned into jewelry he can wear. He needs to feast upon their being, feel their warm blood slipping between his fingers, and preserve their brains within glass jars. His teeth ache with the urge to bite into their flesh, rip a chunk out of them, allow his mouth to fill with that sweet metallic taste, and swallow what he claimed. 

And their eyes? He would pluck them out of their skulls and position them in places so that they would always be watching him. A lack of eyelids means they’ll never stop. 

His tongue salvates at the idea of digging his fingers into their wounds and tearing at the fissure until he can bury himself inside them.

It wouldn't be enough. It would never be enough to take every part of their being. He wants every single piece of them within or on him so that he's never alone again.

But that would kill them. Their comforting warmth would leave, their eyes would dull, and their flesh would eventually rot or turn to waste. It's unsustainable to consume them the way he so desperately needs, even if it would finally satiate him.

He sometimes wonders if maybe he could steal a little bit. A pint of blood, a section of skin, or even a small appendage. He could manipulate their circumstances until he convinced them to get rid of their appendix or their tonsils.

Just a bit. Just a small amount so he's not as hungry as he always is. So he's not starving for them.

He won't ask, though. He can't. If he allows himself to be satisfied even once, he'll only need more.

[tipsynight0]

Ghosts in the code

Paring - ben drowned x female reader

Synopsis - reader dies on a mission, in ben's grief he makes her in the digtal realm to cope.

Trigger warnings: death, shooting, guns, blood, grief, i think that's all but its super sad so be warned??

Word count - 2.1K

Author’s note - so I woke up at 7:45am and decided to finally write this damn story, I had made it in the draft but never completed it. I thought, huh they’ve had too much fluff and to much Jeff the killer. Soo I hope you guys like being emotionally traumatized this early in the morning <3

It was supposed to be an easy mission. Jack was off to find his next meal, and (Y/N) just had to make a target disappear—another loose end tied up. She could’ve handled it alone, but Jack insisted on tagging along. And Ben, always the overprotective one, had been unusually tense, practically forcing her to let him come. That last mission had shaken him. He hadn’t been able to let go of how close she’d come to dying.

"Jesus Christ, Ben, I’ll be fine," (Y/N) snapped, stuffing long sleeves into her bag, her irritation spilling over.

Ben hovered near her, eyes clouded with worry that he couldn’t hide, no matter how hard he tried. He wasn’t his usual laid-back self—not this time. "You almost got yourself killed last time, (Y/N). This isn't something to brush off," he muttered, his voice low and laced with concern.

She rolled her eyes, zipping up her bag. "I know. But I can handle this. I don’t need you breathing down my neck." She sighed, softening a bit as she saw the tension in his face. "I’ll be back in no time. I love you, okay?"

But Ben didn’t respond. He just stared at her for a long moment, his face hard, jaw clenched. Without a word, he turned and walked out of the room. The door shut softly behind him, but it felt like a wall slamming down between them.

(Y/N) exhaled, the weight of his silence settling on her. She hadn’t meant to fight with him before leaving, but it always seemed to end like this when it came to her missions. Shrugging it off, she grabbed her bag and headed out with Jack.

The house was old, creaky, the kind that seemed to breathe with the wind. The floorboards groaned beneath her boots as she crept down the dimly lit hallway, gripping her knife tightly. The air was thick with tension, heavy with the kind of silence that made every noise echo louder than it should. She was looking for a blue door. Inside, a scared twenty-year-old kid was hiding, a witness who’d seen too much—a fleeting glimpse of the mansion’s dark secrets.

It was routine. She’d done this a thousand times before, but something felt off. Her skin prickled with unease as she approached the door, the silence pressing down on her like a weight. Then, a scream—low, guttural—pierced the air. The door flew open with a crash, and she froze.

The kid stood there, trembling, his wild eyes locked onto hers. In his hands was a shotgun, shaking as violently as he was. Fear twisted his features, but before she could react, he pulled the trigger.

The blast was deafening. In that moment, time seemed to slow, her world narrowing to the sound of the explosion and the searing pain that followed. It hit her square in the chest, a force so strong it knocked her off her feet, her body crashing into the floor.

Her back slammed against the hardwood with a sickening thud, but it was the burning that consumed her. The heat spread through her chest like wildfire, every nerve screaming in agony. She gasped, choking on the blood that filled her lungs, her breath coming in shallow, ragged bursts. The room spun, her vision blurring as the pain became unbearable.

All she could think about was Ben. His stupid, overprotective warnings. He had been right. He had been fucking right, and she never told him. He didn’t even say “I love you” back.

Tears welled in her eyes as she coughed, blood sputtering from her lips. The taste of iron coated her mouth as her hands clawed at the floor, trying to grasp onto something—anything. But she was slipping, fast. Her vision grew darker, the ringing in her ears louder, drowning out everything else. Ben’s face flickered in her mind, that crooked smile, the way he laughed when he beat her at video games, the warmth in his touch when he wasn’t being so damn stubborn.

A final breath rattled in her chest, and everything went black.

Jack pushed through the wet forest, his steps heavy and labored, (Y/N)'s limp body cradled in his arms. His hands were slick with blood, her blood, the smell thick in the cold air. He moved as quickly as he could, but her weight, combined with the dread gnawing at his gut, slowed him down. He knew—he could feel it—that this wasn’t just another injury. This was different. Worse. The kind of wound you didn’t walk away from.

Her pulse was barely there, faint and fluttering, like it was already halfway to giving up. Her skin had turned ghostly pale, and the blood, it just wouldn’t stop. It soaked into his clothes, warm and sticky, every step leaving a trail of red behind them. The mansion wasn’t far, but it felt like miles, and with every step, Jack’s fear grew.

He burst through the mansion doors, frantic, his voice hoarse as he shouted for help.

Jeff and Ben were on the couch, immersed in a game of Mario Kart. Ben, still brooding from their earlier fight, didn’t even look up. His anger kept him rooted to his seat, eyes fixed on the screen.

But Jeff’s gaze drifted to the hallway, to the trail of blood that smeared the floorboards. The sight made him drop his controller, his face twisting in confusion and horror as he followed the crimson path to where Jack stood, soaked in it.

"Ben…" Jeff’s voice was tight, like he already knew what was coming. Ben ignored him at first, too wrapped up in his frustration to care. But when he finally turned, his blood ran cold.

(Y/N) lay cradled in Jack’s arms, her shirt torn open, exposing the gruesome mess of her chest. Buckshot wounds peppered her torso, blood oozing from every gash. Her chest barely rose, barely fell, and her face—oh god, her face. She was so pale. Too pale.

Ben stumbled forward, his legs weak beneath him, until he collapsed at her side. "No. No, no, no, no, no!" His voice cracked, raw with panic and disbelief. He reached for her hand—her hand that had once been so warm, so full of life. Now, it was cold, stiffening with every passing second. His fingers curled around hers, squeezing, as if he could force life back into her with sheer will.

"Jack, what the fuck happened?! You had one job, one fucking job! You were supposed to keep her safe!" His voice rose, laced with fury and heartbreak. But there was no answer. Jack stood frozen, guilt etched in every line of his face.

Ben’s anger melted into desperation as he cupped her face, brushing her blood-matted hair back, pressing frantic kisses to her forehead, her cheeks, her lips—anywhere he could. "Please, don’t do this," he whispered, his voice shaking. "I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything. I love you, just—please. Don’t leave me. Don’t leave me, (Y/N)."

But her chest had stopped moving. Her pulse had gone. (Y/N) was gone.

She died wrapped in Ben’s arms that night, her body slack against him as the life drained from her. He held her tighter than he ever had, as if he could somehow hold her soul in his embrace, keep her from slipping away. But there was nothing left to hold onto. Jeff and Toby had to pull him off her, restrain him as he screamed her name, his voice raw and broken. He fought against them, desperate to stay with her, but they carried her body out. The Operator spoke of capturing her soul, of preserving her somehow, but the words were meaningless to Ben. Ben had spent countless days and sleepless nights locked away in his dimly lit room, the walls closing in around him as the weight of his grief pressed heavily on his chest. The world outside felt like a distant memory, a place where laughter echoed and sunlight broke through the darkness—a world that no longer existed for him. Instead, he found himself drowning in a sea of despair, surrounded by his computer screens, each one a window to a digital realm that was both a refuge and a prison.

He scoured the internet obsessively, combing through files, piecing together fragments of code like a mad scientist trying to resurrect the dead. Hours turned into days as he meticulously recorded long sessions of every proxy’s voice—voices that had once brought him comfort now echoed with haunting reminders of what he had lost. He captured every laugh, every snarky remark, every heartfelt confession, determined to weave them into the fabric of his creation. It had to be perfect. It had to feel real.

The others in the mansion watched him with a mix of concern and resignation. They agreed to his demands, knowing he was lost in his pain, hoping that his obsession might bring him some semblance of peace. But Ben wasn’t looking for peace; he was searching for a way to bring (Y/N) back. He wanted to trap her essence in this digital world, to create a sanctuary where she would never leave him again.

The night finally came when he felt ready. With trembling hands, he slipped the cartridge into the console, his heart racing as the screen flickered to life, illuminating the room with a soft glow. The title appeared, its letters swirling in hues of blue and green, memories end. He pressed play, and the familiar loading screen unfolded before him, sending him spiraling into the depths of his creation.

As he traversed the digital halls of the mansion, a sense of anticipation mixed with dread washed over him. Every pixel, every shadow had been crafted with care, echoing the real place they had shared so many moments. It was both exhilarating and gut-wrenching to see her face again—her features rendered flawlessly, as if she were just a breath away.

Then, he entered his bedroom, and there she was, standing in the center of the room, bathed in the soft glow of the digital light. His heart raced, a wild mixture of hope and anguish surging through him as her voice filled the air. “Ben, I have to go on my mission today. Don’t be mad, please.”

The sound of her voice pierced through the haze of his grief, and he felt a fresh wave of tears stinging his eyes. It was her—his (Y/N)—and yet, she wasn’t really there. This was a simulacrum, a mere imitation of the vibrant person he loved. He plastered on a smile, forcing himself to believe in the illusion, even as his heart ached with the reality of her absence.

“Of course, I could never be angry with you,” he said, his voice catching in his throat as he stepped closer. He reached out, gently brushing a strand of her hair behind her ear, the familiar motion bringing a warmth to his chest that he had thought lost forever. But as his fingers met her cool, pixelated skin, a rush of sorrow flooded him.

This wasn’t real. She wasn’t real. She was just a ghost, a whisper of what had once been. The weight of his actions crashed over him like a tidal wave; he had trapped her in a prison of his making, and for all his effort, he was still utterly alone.

“Ben, are you okay?” she asked, her eyes wide with concern—so genuine, so achingly familiar. But he could only nod, fighting to hold back the tears that threatened to spill over. “I’ll be back soon,” she continued, that same playful smile he had loved so much lighting up her face.

And yet, the more she spoke, the more he felt the chasm of loss stretching between them. Each word was a reminder that no matter how perfect this world was, it could never replace the warmth of her laughter, the touch of her hand, the way she had always known how to pull him out of the darkness.

“Just be careful,” he whispered, his voice breaking, a crack in the facade he had built. She smiled at him, and for a fleeting moment, the ache of his heart softened. But as he gazed into her eyes, he realized the painful truth no matter how many times he played this game, no matter how much he crafted her voice and presence, it would never fill the void left by her absence.

[star-girlfriend]

teeth

sylvia plath poem for a birthday: who // brenna twohy little red riding hood adresses the next wolf // unknown // henry aarrestad uldalen caries // blythe baird if my body could speak // richard siken little beast // sean glatch caffeine, pt. 1 // clementine von radics desire // unknown // eric larocca things have gotten worse since we last spoke

[gonegirl445]

bones and all