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Tw Cannibalism - Blog Posts
this is kinda old but i posted most of my recent art in the art dump and i haven’t drawn too much digitally in the last 2 weeks 😓
i’ll probably post some traditional art soon idk tho
Does anyone like to rp boyfriend to death? BUT you must be 18 or 18+ cuz I will not rp with minors. I do double up all that jazz just plz come message and rp with me
Combined days 4 and 5, self influenced cannibalism !!!!
Prologue - Blood Stains Don't Wash Off
Tw: mentions of abuse, and violence. Dead dove, do not eat.
There are countless ways to avoid violence. But avoidance doesn't mean survival.
Violence is stitched into the seams of existence — a pulse running beneath every century, every age. It thrives, adapts, becomes more creative, more cruel. We like to pretend we are better than our past, but reality doesn't flinch under the weight of our illusions. Even in a world infused with magic, people are still monsters. And monsters don't need fangs or claws. Sometimes, they wear the faces of your neighbors. Or your own family.
Hagarin was not the victim that day.
She was the witness.
A child, too young to spell her own name properly, stood paralyzed in the doorway as her mother's body became a canvas for violence. A fist to the ribs, a boot to the spine. Blood, spit, sobs. The kind of sounds that become permanent residents in your skull. Hagarin clamped her small hands over her eyes, praying that darkness would protect her, but the sharp metallic click of a pistol tore through the air.
"Watch."
A command. Not a plea. A curse.
She was forced to see it all — her mother's skin bruised into unrecognizable shades, her breath turned into shallow gasps until there was no breath left to take.
Hagarin's mother died that night, leaving behind three little girls and a silence too loud to bear.
In a world glutted with magic, you'd think there would be a spell for justice. But magic didn't save her. Magic was a luxury — one used more often to destroy than to heal. Power and violence walk hand in hand like childhood friends, both feeding off each other's hunger. Hagarin understood this at an age when most children only understand fairy tales.
Those who crave chaos? They are not misguided souls. They are predators, drunk on their own sense of invincibility, poisoning everything they touch. They rip the seams of peace just to see what spills out.
And Hagarin? She learned young that survival is not a right — it's a skill.
At seven years old, she became a mother, a protector, a builder of shelters, a scavenger of scraps. She wasn't good at any of it. But no one else was left to try.
She used magic to knock down trees because her hands were too weak. She built a shack with trembling fingers and whispered prayers that the walls would hold for at least one night. Her sisters clung to each other for warmth, while Hagarin stood guard at the entrance, eyes fixed on the sky. The moon was too bright — like it was exposing their helplessness for all the world to see.
That night, her lips moved in silent prayer — not to gods, but to whatever force was out there listening.
"Please. Let me be strong enough. Just for them. Even if it breaks me."
Tears traced down her dirt-streaked face, and for the first time, she allowed herself to feel the weight of what had been taken from her. But grief is a luxury you can't afford when you're responsible for someone else's survival.
They walked for days — blistered feet on broken ground — until the steel skyline of Aloy City appeared like a mirage in the distance. Aloy, the City of Metals. A place where survival was possible, but only if you were useful.
"Are we almost there?" the youngest sister asked, her voice soft from exhaustion.
Hagarin squeezed her hand. "Just five more hours." She wasn't sure if that was true. But hope tastes better when you lie with confidence.
"You're just guessing," Hanari, her twin, muttered.
"Obviously." Hagarin shrugged.
Hanari, loud and bright despite the darkness they carried, was everything Hagarin was not. They bickered like breathing — every argument a strange lifeline that reminded them both they were still alive. Still sisters.
Aloy was both salvation and sentence. A city where children like them became projects — charity cases processed and filed into the system. At the help center, they sat across from a woman who asked too many questions with too soft a voice. What happened to your parents? What did you see? How do you feel?
Hagarin wanted to scream. Instead, she said nothing. Hanari did all the talking — filling the silence with half-truths and protective lies, all while Hagarin's hands dug crescent moons into her palms beneath the table.
When they were placed onto a bus, bound for an orphanage disguised as a "facility," Hagarin didn't cry. She just stared out the window, watching her reflection blur against the world passing by.
Life at the facility was not kind, but it was stable — which was almost the same thing. They were clothed, taught to read, trained to summon spells from nothing but breath and willpower. Time passed, and they grew taller, sharper, harder. But Hanari never lost her brightness. The little sister never lost her innocence.
And Hagarin never lost the weight in her chest — the cold iron reminder that peace is temporary, and safety is always conditional.
She watched from the window as Hanari and their sister chased each other through the grass, laughing like the world hadn't tried to crush them under its boot.
For a moment, Hagarin let herself believe it was possible — that they could outrun the ghosts, the memories, the trauma woven into their bones.
But only for a moment.
Because Hagarin knew better than anyone: The past never stays buried.
And the worst monsters aren't the ones hiding in shadows. They're the ones smiling in the light.
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2,731 words.
Next chapter: Chapter 1: Present time
merry christmas
TW: GORE, CANNIBALISM
this took me 5 hours 😭
Fictional Cannibalism Userboxes F2U
I created the userboxes not the flags!
Eat your heart out (and your body with it) <3
Behold: my Valentine's day post.
Nothing more homosexual than eating another man alive <3
I'm normal about things shut up
•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•
I got the process pictures under the cut (pennings my favorite, as always)
Genuinely loved doing this piece other than figuring out that pose but hey I did it to myself.
Let's go! Gore that's not just holding a heart!!
Hunger.
Posted 21st January, 2024
hello! out of curiosity, would it be possible for a witch with healing magic to let Hunter, i don’t know, bite a part of their hand off, and then just regenerate it with their magic? i’m not sure if that would defeat the plot of the au as Hunter would freely be able to chomp on someone, haha!
.
Actually they can! However it’s incredibly limiting. This method would only allow Hunter to get surface level meat. He also need organs, deep tissue, bone, ect. Also while healing magic can do all sorts of wonders and I’m sure could regenerate limbs and flesh depending on how talented the healer is. I doubt they would find someone genuine that’s would be willing to do such a thing and at a frequent rate, especially when he starts eating more and actually developing healthy eating habits. I’m sure one of his family members would be happy to do this but Hunter would never allow it. Id imagine it also be a much longer medical procedure than him simply being able to bite chunks out since that would literally him mutilating someone alive lol, even with the help of numbing or pain relief potions.
The amount of food shown would have been perfect for Hunter a few years ago but now with lots of love and healthy habits being put upon him, it’s no longer sustainable. But what healing witches can provide is blood!
Blood is a good alternative for when he’s unable to have meat so I’d imagine he’d be pretty stocked up on it. He gets frequent refills on blood, it’s also slightly more socially acceptable to have as I’d imagine blood being a regular part of some demons and those suffering from vampirism diets. I’d think most people would assume Hunter is a vampire if they don’t know about the grimwalker situation. So he takes blood bags with him on the go as food.
Of course he needs actual food and lots of it as he’s pretty malnourished and has lots of catching up to do. As well as developing healthy eating habits.
He eventually gets a pass that allows him to eat bits of bodies that aren’t being used, that where donated. So if a bunch of healer students are dissecting a cadaver, Hunter is cleanup. Or if organs are given for a transplant, Hunter could eat what wasn’t used. Obviously this disturbs Hunter but it’s better than going feral and attacking people. Of course it was a bit difficult to obtain pass but with the right strings pulled and some light threats, he was able to get it.
All these images are post canon in the Au. For the amount of pain and suffering inflected upon Hunter for the majority of this Au, I do want him to have a happy ending. While there are tragic alternatives, him having a happy ending was always my intention. While it be more difficult to reach than in canon, he gets there eventually :3
(Feel free to ask some questions but do note it may take a bit of time to answer, I already have some questions waiting rn lol)
Childhood Bites Chapter Three: No One Will Miss Him
⚠️TW: Graphic, Blood, Violence, Death, Cannibalism⚠️
꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒰ঌ𐂯໒꒱꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦
The first hit shattered something.
Zeke wasn’t sure if it was bone or resolve.
The bat connected with Campelter’s ribs, sending a shockwave through Zeke’s arms. The crack was sickening, a sharp, wet sound that mingled with the boy’s scream.
Campelter collapsed onto the dock, curling in on himself. His breath came in ragged gasps. “Zeke—w-wait—”
Another swing.
This time, it caught his knee. Something popped.
Campelter wailed, clutching his leg, writhing on the wooden planks.
Zeke stood over him, bat gripped tight, chest heaving.
This should feel wrong.
He should be shaking, throwing up, panicking.
But he wasn’t.
He was calm. Steady.
And hungry.
The familiar ache twisted in his gut, gnawing at his insides, demanding more. He swallowed hard, his tongue darting over his lips.
Campelter coughed, blood dribbling from his mouth. His good hand reached out, weak and trembling. “P-please…”
Zeke tilted his head.
He should stop.
He could still walk away.
But then he thought of Stan and Ford—how Campelter had tormented them, laughed at them, humiliated them.
And suddenly, the decision wasn’t hard anymore.
Zeke dropped the bat and straddled Campelter’s chest, pinning him down. The other boy squirmed weakly beneath him, his strength draining fast.
Zeke’s breath came slow and deliberate. He leaned in close, his lips brushing against Campelter’s ear. “You smell delicious.”
Then he sank his teeth in.
The taste exploded in his mouth—copper, salt, warmth. The skin split beneath his teeth, muscle tearing as he bit down harder. Campelter’s body jerked violently, his muffled screams ripping through the night.
Zeke didn’t stop.
Couldn’t stop.
He ripped away the first mouthful, blood coating his tongue, thicker than anything he’d ever eaten before.
It was intoxicating.
Campelter’s screams weakened into gasping whimpers. Zeke barely heard him. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, drowning out everything except the wet, sticky sounds of chewing.
His fingers dug into Campelter’s flesh, prying open the wound, sinking his teeth into raw muscle, devouring.
Bite after bite.
It was better than food.
Better than anything.
The hunger that had tormented him his whole life, the emptiness in his gut—it was gone.
And for the first time, Zeke felt whole.
Hours Later
The night stretched on, the waves lapping softly against the shore. The wooden dock was painted red, but Zeke didn’t notice.
He sat cross-legged beside what was left.
Which wasn’t much.
Flesh, muscle, organs—all gone.
Picked clean.
His hands were drenched in blood, sticky and drying, his face smeared crimson. His stomach was full, warm, satisfied.
All that remained of Campelter were bones.
Zeke wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, exhaling slowly.
He stared down at the remains, waiting for guilt to settle in.
Nothing came.
No regret. No horror.
Only the quiet, absolute certainty that this had been worth it.
Campelter had been a bully.
He made Stan and Ford cry.
He hurt people.
No one would notice when he was gone.
Zeke got to his feet, stretching. He glanced down at the bones, tilting his head. He could leave them, let the ocean take them.
But no.
He didn’t like leaving things unfinished.
One by one, he gathered them up, taking his time. The dock was surrounded by tall, wild grass, the kind that no one ever bothered to clear. Zeke buried the bones there, deep in the sand, hidden beneath tangled roots.
It felt right.
Like cleaning up after a good meal.
Weeks go by the summer sun hung high over Glass Shard Beach, casting golden light over the waves. The air smelled of salt and motor oil, the usual scent of work and freedom.
Zeke walked alongside Stan and Ford, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his hoodie. The three of them were heading toward the shore, where the half-built Stan-O-War sat waiting for its daily dose of fixing, hammering, and general goofing off.
“Okay, hear me out,” Stan said, kicking a loose rock down the sidewalk. “We steal one of Ma’s pies, but we take it before it cools down so she won’t notice it’s missing until, like… way later.”
Ford pushed his glasses up. “That’s the dumbest plan I’ve ever heard.”
“Yeah, because it’s foolproof!”
Ford sighed, shaking his head, and Zeke chuckled softly.
Just a normal day.
But then—
Stan suddenly stopped in his tracks.
Ford followed suit, and Zeke nearly bumped into them.
“What the—?” Zeke started, but then he saw what they were looking at.
A poster.
Taped to a telephone pole, the edges curling from the breeze.
MISSING: CAMPBELL ‘CAMPELTER’ HAYNES.
LAST SEEN AT GLASS SHARD BEACH.
A washed-out photo of his face stared back at them, smiling wide like he hadn’t screamed and begged for his life just weeks ago.
Zeke’s stomach twisted—not in fear, but in satisfaction.
It was almost funny.
Nothing left but bones, buried deep beneath the sand. No one would ever find him.
“Whoa,” Stan muttered, stepping closer. “So, wait—Campelter’s just… gone?”
Ford frowned. “Looks like it. His parents must’ve put these up.”
“Yeah, well, good riddance.” Stan crossed his arms. “That guy was a jerk. Maybe he ran away or something.”
Ford, ever the cautious one, didn’t look so convinced. “I don’t know… He was a bully, but this is weird. People don’t just vanish.”
Zeke felt Ford’s gaze shift toward him, and for a split second, his stomach tightened.
Ford had a way of noticing things.
But Zeke just shrugged, keeping his face neutral. “Guess we won’t have to deal with him anymore.”
Stan snorted. “Yeah, no complaints here.”
Ford hesitated, then slowly nodded. “I suppose.”
And just like that, the moment passed.
Zeke let out a slow, careful breath, glancing at the poster one last time.
No one will ever know.
The three of them continued walking toward the Stan-O-War, the conversation already shifting to something else.
Stan was laughing.
Ford was rambling about an idea for an engine upgrade.
And Zeke?
Zeke was still hungry.
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Shadow
Masterpost
Carnivore
Venom, don’t eat that random guy- noooo!
Masterpost
he's so beautiful i need to consume him i need to tear him apart with my teeth i need to feel his blood dripping from my mouth i want to have him in the most visceral way possible i need to eat him alive
My oc as this random thing I found on pinterest
Tw for cannibalism mentions
Honestly, no matter how "safe" this match would be - there is underlying bacteria in human bodies that can simply go unseen or undetected.
Not to mention how little nutrition you'd get in comparison to just animal meat.
With people that were pushed to cannibalism. you can simply never go back to normal afterwards, and it's going to mentally stick with you for the rest of your life.
Also, with its apparent similarities to pork... Why would you eat something you already have the flavor of in pig???
*person has consented to being eaten; they’ve donated their body. they died without suffering. you can cook the meat. you will not get sick from the meat.
bonus: explain why!
Cannibalism!
So you know how fics have Danny reabsorbing his limbs and growing back the limb whenever one gets cut off, what if he ate it instead?
__________
During an altercation with a rouge Phantom had unfortunately lost one of his arms in a contraption, not that he seemed to care though, which should've been their biggest hint but they were too busy trying get him back to the watchtower to be treated.
They had been preparing what they needed to heal him when a loud snap caught their attention. The whole room watched in horror as one of their youngest member bit into his arm without a care in the world, biting through his arm with ease as if it was a piece of chicken, eating the bones and all.
"PHANTOM!"
The boy turned to the distressed hero smiling with his cheeks full and painted with his green blood. His smile fell a bit once he noticed the looks everyone was giving him.
"WhAe?"
The flesh in his mouth muffled his wording, they would tell him not to speak with his mouth full but right now they need to get him to stop eating his arm.
tonight ill have a feast, with compliments to you