#cannibalism implied //

[kesterite]

finished santtus new ref so heres that + slightly updated teeth ref

[wri0thesley]

Please who is a toxic coddler in jjk according to you🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼

the most toxic of all coddlers is undoubtedly geto. he's just . . . mean about it! all faux sweetness and a furrowed brow, a pout on his face as he reminds you of your own weakness and tells you it will be oh-so-much simpler if you let him do it for you. he's suffocating. anything he can do for you, he will; you are a doll, a precious little memento of a life he could have had but chose not to and yet was unwilling to give up fully. and so he bears down on you. he suffocates everything out of you but pleasing him, but being there for him, but loving him and wanting him and needing him, until you do not truly know who you are unless you are wrapped around him and listening to his orders. until you feel like your heart beats only for him. until you would kill for him, the same way he would for you.

sukuna is actually my second choice; specifically a sukuna who's taken a little mortal pet, who pinches their cheeks and coos at them and reminds them of their mortality at every chance he gets. who takes playful bites of their soft skin and murmurs how delicious they would be, how tender, if only he let his fangs pierce that flesh and rended it from their body. he is indulgent with you; lets you perch on his lap, makes sure you have fine things, breaks anybody who dares look at you in half . . . but you know that this all comes at a price, and so you do not disobey when he bids you open your mouth and hand-feeds you delicate morsels of meat-from-who-knows-where.

[lemonxlimee]

{okay time to kill corn cob man see y’all}

/1 hour later/ {HI I’M BACK HIIIII FANNN}

"Omg hi soul what did you do with him"

{Oh,,,,,,,,, yknow}

*scene cuts to Soul enjoying a very familiar looking barbecued corn*

[sunhated-a]

"Sir, this is a food truck." B^/

And, of course, Muzan Kibutsuji is a businessman at heart, cold and efficient. He does not like his time wasted and he certainly did not like that tone.

" That is precisely why."

He begins his dissertation.

"This is a food truck. And I have ordered food. If you do not carry a supply of human flesh, I believe it to be grounds for discriminatory practices."

[sulky-valkyrie]

happy friday / dadwc sulky! i just noticed your. pasta header. anyway, for a prompt, something serious for Anders/Justice or Anders/Nathaniel Howe: "things you said that I wish you hadn’t"?

Thanks! Here it is for those who don't use tumblr on the desktop and want to know wtf Syrup speaks of:

And now, without further ado, for @dadrunkwriting 1200 serious words of Nate & Anders & Justice

☆☆☆

Just a quick trip to Amaranthine to give Aura the rest of Ser Pounce-a-Lot’s supplies, Anders had said.  And bringing Justice because she's fond of him in her own way.  Be back by sundown at the latest.

It was midnight now, with no sign of him.  Nathaniel had checked the entire keep twice, once mid-afternoon, and again after dinner before leaving instructions that the sentries let him know the moment Anders returned and then had gone off to pace the library.  The fortress felt downright oppressive now that the Aedan had been summoned to Weisshaupt and Warden Constable Kader had been assigned to Ferelden in the interim.

Nothing against him personally, of course.  No, that was a lie.  Getting rid of Anders' cat had been the start of a series of 'Change for Change's Sake' decisions to bring home the point that Aedan wasn't in charge anymore.  Allowing Rolan to Join had been a mistake, and they'd all argued against it, and perhaps if they hadn't been so vocal in their protests, he wouldn't have grumbled about backwater Fereldans who don't trust their own order and too-soft predecessors who let everyone run roughshod over him.

Nathaniel supposed that, to his mind, the Wardens needed all the bodies they could get to clear out the Thaw, and after King Alistair’s success at using smites against emissaries, he wanted more Templars in the ranks.  Former Templars, Kader had admonished Anders for his vehemence.  They're leaving the Chantry for this and you will work with them like any other brother or sister in arms. 

Anders has been so pissed off that Nate had needed to cover his mouth and drag him from Kader's office.  He had every right to be furious, given the Chantry's attitude toward apostates in general and Anders in particular, but summoning a lightning storm in the acting Commander's office wouldn't help his argument.  Nate had tried to explain to him that night that he needed to pick his battles, that Kader's decision had been made and fighting with him now wouldn't help, but it only made his anger worse.

It's not a battle I have a choice in! Anders had snarled right before stomping out of their shared quarters.  Rolan wants me dead, and you want me to just, just, wait for him to try?  What sweet fucking vindication we'll have when there's a sword in my chest!

They hadn't shared a bed since.  In fact, they'd barely spoken in the last two weeks, except to discuss the duty roster.  Nathaniel missed him.  Not just the sex, but everything else.  The fact that Anders had gone out of his way that morning to tell him he was leaving had given him hope that this rift between them was mending, but now, hours after his expected return, it only made him worry.  He'd wanted someone to know where he was.  To look for him if he disappeared. Nathaniel checked Anders' corner room again, then the clinic, then the barracks.  No Anders.

Also, more concerningly, no Rolan.

When had he last seen him?  Was it before or after Anders left?  Didn't matter.

He didn't remember making the decision to leave, or saddling up a horse, or riding out, just suddenly found himself already on the road, looking desperately for any sign of Anders or Rolan.  He was about to give up when the faint smell of burning hair caught his attention.  He followed it carefully, guiding the horse off the highway and through the trees until it refused to go any further, then tied its reins to a tree and kept going on foot.  The moonlight was enough that he could see a clearing up ahead.  As he picked his way closer through the underbrush, the reek of fire and smoke gave way to the stench of battle; blood, offal, and the lingering electrical smell of too much magic.  

Nathaniel steeled his nerves and took a slow deep breath.  Anders and Justice were probably dead, and probably surrounded by Templar and Warden corpses.  They'd fight tooth and nail rather than surrender, and, realistically, Rolan would never have given them the option.  It was going to be awful to see, but someone had to.  And he owed Anders that much.

He pushed through the last few trees and bushes and stopped, aghast: he'd been prepared for a battlefield, but a massacre.  Charred body parts were strewn about like macabre Satinalia decorations: littering the ground, hanging from branches, and, in at least two instances, bones had gone through tree trunks.  Blood and shit were splattered on everything, and what little grass remained had been scorched and trampled. 

The only figure not obviously missing a limb was Anders himself. He was on his hands and knees, and retching.  There was an enormous wound in his back closing up before Nate's eyes as he neared.  When his boot crunched something (please let it be a twig and not a body part), Anders' head jerked up, revealing a mouth full of blood.

“What have you done?” Nate winced as soon as the words left his mouth.  That wasn't the question he meant to ask, but those bloodstained teeth and haunted eyes had been too much of a shock.

Anders wiped his mouth with a filthy soot-covered sleeve and stood up unsteadily.  “They started it.”

Nate spun in a slow circle, trying to examine the carnage clinically.  "And you finished it.  Where's Justice?"

He laughed harshly, an ugly rasping cackle that sent shivers down Nate's spine.  "Why do you think they attacked me?"

It took several seconds for the implications of Anders' words to make sense.  "He's . . . you're . . . he's inside you?"

"We are one."  Cracks of blue light spread across Anders' skin as Justice’s voice boomed out from his mouth.

Nate felt sick.  This wasn't right.  None of it was.  From Templars joining the order, to then trying to kill Anders, to Anders and Justice's spirited self-defense, pun horribly intended, to this?  His lover (though perhaps former lover was more accurate) willingly becoming possessed?

"You have to go."  It was the wrong thing to say, but it was the only thing he could say.  "Kader isn't going to - if Aedan was here, this would never have happened."

Justice frowned.  "He is a man of honor, and we simply defended ourselves."

"No," Nate said, shaking his head and stepping close enough that the energy crackling off of the abomination made the hair on his arms stand up.  "You literally tore them apart, and their blood is on your lips.  This is unnatural and inhuman, and he'll execute you for it."  He cupped his cheek with one hand, and the contact made his skin tingle.  "There's no safety in the Grey Wardens for you, not anymore, maybe there never was."  He glanced around the clearing again.  "I'll cover this up, say I couldn't find you, suggest Rolan probably killed you then deserted, but you have to go.  Now."

The blue light faded away as Anders' knees buckled and he sagged against Nate’s chest.  "They started it," he said again, plaintive and angry.  He spat blood on the ground then stepped out of Nate’s arms.  "I'd ask for a kiss goodbye, but . . ." he trailed off.  "For whatever it's worth, I didn't want to be right.  Tell them I'm sorry."

He felt hollow inside.  "I can't, you're dead."

"I suppose I am."  Anders pulled his tattered robes tighter as he turned to walk out of the clearing.

"Where are you - Anders, what are you going to do?"

Anders paused but didn't look back.  "You can't have it both ways, Nate.  Go home, let me die in peace."

[the-mocking-robin]

Hey. Who wants to play a game with me and exercise some visual observation skills?

See this video? It's three minutes long and talks about the subjectivity of what people see and what they tell others they've seen.

The painting? Self Portrait (1935) from René Magritte. Don't know him? He's the guy that was famous for painting guys with apples on their faces? The guy who painted a pipe and told you it wasn't a pipe?

Yeah. That mother fucker.

I'm not super into art... But do me a favor and tell me what you see.

Me? I'll leave my notes under the cut! Don't cheat, I want to know how everyone else sees this painting.

Warning for... disturbing, surreal but not vivid imagery.

First note: Ah! Breakfast time. Breakfast time? I think. The lighting is warm and seems evenly spread out. Sunlight from the window (seems tall, possibly rectangular) behind the bottle.

Behind? In front of? The lighting and the shadows seem inconsistent. Normally not something an artist this experienced would do on purpose, but this is probably to hammer down the idea that there's something wrong here.

The... meal... Took a closer look. It's definitely a sliced meat. Not fried, not baked -- poached? Evenly cooked, sides exposed but not immediately having touched a hot metal surface. Sure. Poached.

A little too fatty to be pork. Possibly old, too, with the discoloration.

The fork isn't in use. Assuming this imagery is intentional, the fork is set beside the butter knife (no signs of serrated edges or a sharpened edge for slicing/cutting tougher things) and even face down against the table. The fork is clean, is indicated to not be needed and even placed incorrectly against the table. This is an insistence not to eat.

Back to the bottle, the lighting, the shadows... whatever is in that bottle isn't translucent. The artist has shown he can communicate light shining through a translucent object. This liquid is opaque. Furthermore, the bottle is full and opened.

The viewer, being offered food in the possible morning, hasn't started eating yet, and whoever set the table is going through great lengths to quietly insist they shouldn't... The eye in the slice of meat notwithstanding.

Something I read in the site linked? There's a red stain on the wall of the glass. If what was in there was wine, juice or anything largely water, it should've either cleaned off by now or have settled to the bottom of the glass. So it's thicker liquid than what we'd normally assume. (My assumption: Potentially the same thing filling the wine bottle?)

Yes, there's an eye, look, there's an eye, look at the eye looking right at the viewer while it's spread out on a plate of old, poached meat that's too fatty to be normal ham, with a drink too thick to be wine and a glass stained in red, thick liquid. Look at it staring at you while the person hosting you gives you food to eat and "wine" to drink while quietly insisting you don't actually eat what they're serving you.

I think we need to see where you go the meat from, O' Generous Host.

[sarcasticmercy]

@heavens-sin liked for a thing

He could already tell he was being approached. It was the simultaneous and familiar feeling of rising fury that gave him more insight as to who was approaching before he even slid his attention to address the offender. It was the intrusive desire to see blood splattering across the ground, to sink his teeth into flesh- into organs extracted by his own hand. Someone with the audacity to call themselves demigod.

Law tapped a finger against his arm, slid his attention to the man now casting a shadow across him as he let out a breath- irritated. An attempt to quell the anger. "Can I help you?" Based on the contempt still clear in his tone, it hadn't worked as well as he hoped.

[yeyinde]

thinking about Simon who just gets out of prison for murder after he's been locked up since he was 18, and starts working at a slaughterhouse for his parole. a big, scary dog who has bloodstains all over him, permanently crusted in the crease of his nails because he prefers field dressing over dragging the carcass inside the shop. who always smells of iron and sweat, and looms over you like he was trying to keep everyone else from looking at you. possessive, but you only know him from rumours and blog posts. his stare, the intense, hungry way he looks at you always gives you the creeps.

he's bad news. and he tries to woo you by feeding you meat from the animals he butchered (getting angry whenever you buy cuts from someone else), and won't go away even when you tell him to leave you alone. you've heard the rumours. read the news articles. nothing about this man is any good—

but he won't, of course. the thing about prison is that you need to hold onto the things that you have and take the stuff that you don't. a sort of cutthroat survival that has raised him better than his own mother. so, when he finds you (something he doesn't have, but wants), it's just in his nature to take.

[elsa-fogen]

I could eat you for breakfast | Breakfast AU (Part 1)

Do you though?

You really shouldn't say such thing in front of 2 real unhinged cannibals...

|1| (you're here) - |2| - |3| - |4| - |5| - |6| - |7|

Just for you to know, none of the next parts have real gore in them

Bonus

The boys got a present from their kind neighbor Radio Demon ☺☺☺

UPD: I wanted to show somehow that Alastor also holds her soul, but forgor HEUUUUUGH

AU Masterpost

[lucabyte]

you dream of devouring your friends whole

[lotussart]

@i-eat-deodorant things have escalated quickly

[greedykrab]

[1] YOU ARE WHO YOU EAT

[sonicexelle-junkary]

Tough to chew

[funfetti96]

Replayed The Devils Playhouse. anyways thinking about the throwaway line about grandpa stinky making Sam clone pie

[eyeballcommander]

Ah, yes, the perfectly competent engineer-commander.

A+ in leadership! Keep it up and you may even get a golden star!

Flarp off. I'd only been a commander for a few years at that point.

[mintyeggs]

oh arthur, what has hunger made you do?