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#tw: cannibalism
natjennie · 5 days
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okay, bear with me this requires a lot of context. imagine that you wake up on a space ship with an alien species capable of telepathic communication with you. they are also capable of instilling you with the knowledge that everything they say is completely true, there is not a hint of uncertainty in your mind. they have weapons capable of obliterating earth pointed at the planet, and are forcing you to do one of two things in order to not fire. within the fiction of the scenario you are not being given the choice, but you the real you is picking which one of these things you'd rather have happen.
you must eat an 8 ounce serving of human baby meat, by default prepared like a steak (different preparations can be requested). you do not have to keep the meat down once you're done, but you have to get all of it in your body at one point. they do not provide any information about where the baby came from or how it died. if you complete this, they will deposit you back on earth and you will be free from legal repercussions of cannibalism, and it is generally agreed that you are also free from moral blame as it was against your will.
you will be surgically impregnated with a human embryo and must carry it to term and give birth. the embryo does not contain your dna, but otherwise you don't know anything about its origins. the aliens have advanced medical technology that gives you sufficient anatomy to carry and birth the baby, and keeps you healthy throughout, with no risk of long term complications or death. you have the choice to keep or give away the baby once you have given birth, and will be deposited back on earth.
if you refuse to comply in either situation, they destroy the earth and you are forced to live the rest of your life aboard the space ship as a prisoner, until you die of natural causes.
so,
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electriccarousels · 11 months
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Oh but you were too good for the "donkey" dogs, huh?
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Hunger
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Okay hear me out!
We have all talked about how Jason gets pit rage because of the Lazarus waters being gross ecto, or how his obssession is the Joker and needing to kill him and a bunch of other things,
Yes?
With me so far?
Okay!
Let me give that a twist,
That Pit Rage Jason feels is hunger, specifically a ghosts hunger.
Jason came back from the dead not fully, he's a starving ghost with a malnourished proto-core, until he properly eats it will stay weak and hungry.
How does the Joker fit in all this?
Easy, With the lack of good ecto for Jason to feed and stabilize from the next best option is his murderer.
Consuming that who killed you is very nourishing for a new ghost.
So Jason getting angry with the bats and others when they tell him not to kill the Joker or actively prevent him from even getting near him is like putting all his favourite foods right in front of him and then taking it away from him,
Each time getting worse for Jason, only getting hungrier and hungrier each time it happens.
How would you feel if you were starving and people kept offering you food and then pulling it away before you could eat it?
Confused?
Desperate?
Anger?
It doesn't count as cannibalism if you're not the same
~
Jason biting the bars of his holding cell like a dog
Dick: "Is it just me or where his teeth always that sharp?"
~
Oracle: "I lost sight of the Joker!"
Jason hunched over with glowing green eyes while drooling: "No worries he's nearby I can smell him."
Other Bats listening on the comms: " ...What the hell do you mean smell ! Are you drooling ?!"
~
Bats: "Wow Jason sure is getting creative trying to get the Joker!"
Jason:
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Check tags for some funny extras
~
Just an Idea
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azukisprouts · 4 months
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asajksjdjkksjdkk DEAD PLATE
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Full painting under the cut!
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I am. so normal about these three.
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yanmaresu · 8 months
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Hi there! Glad to see that one of my favorite artists is doing requests. Could you please draw Savanaclaw hunting down their "prey"? Maybe include the FINNNEEE Savanaclaw background student with the red hair and black ears (but you don't need to! Just never enough love for him)?
Your art is honestly so amazing and especially I love your ob POV series. Keep up the great work and no pressure to do this!🐇
Hello! Sorry for taking so long qwq Being honest this is the first time I've gotten a request for an npc jsjs I wasn't sure how to portray him so I kinda gave him a delinquent vibe :09
CW for the fourth pic: blood, implied cannibalism.
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I can never tire of drawing the predator savanaclaw trio <3
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hiddensneker · 20 days
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heartfullofleeches · 2 months
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tbh silas might just cum almost as hard as his death if monster darling amputates his dick with their teeth
-blahaj anon
Dude gets so excited seeing the fangs they've grown to hate - "No, baby, your teeth aren't that scary, they're pretty hot actually. Don't try to rip them bite my dick instead." Nuts the millisecond their teeth graze his skin while they're giving him the worse head ever trying not cut him on their teeth by accident. Darling would try so hard not to bite down, but it'd be a lot harder for them not to when they taste blood. Darling's sobbing over what they've done and Silas is just there with his dick already grown back eager for them to do it again.
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xphntmhvx · 8 days
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FORBIDDEN FRUIT
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SYNOPSIS: "ALASTOR HAS NEVER FELT LOVE BEFORE, BUT HE'S CONVINCED IT HAS SOMETHING TO DO WITH THE WAY YOU MAKE HIM FEEL . . . " gender-neutral reader ! reader loves very strongly cos ur a sweetheart . . . WC. 3.1k
WARNINGS: DARK CONTENT AHEAD ! heavy implications of cannibalism / cannibalism used as symbolism, toxic love, thoughts of violence and murder, blood, biting, reader gets a few small cuts, brief mentions of stitches, alastor's obsessed with you in the worst kind of way, manipulation, semi-stalker alastor.
LOVE NOTES: YES I know he's aroace BUT he's got something very very wrong with him so this is my take on a psychopath interpreting something that is very much not love as 'love'. very heavily inspired by [this post here]; I gladly accepted the challenge <3
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Love was meant to be all-consuming. It was meant to seep through your veins and rot your bones with the insatiable desire to be with what you love. At least, that's what you had been told. This very sentiment lies buried between the lines of every story you had ever read and is soaked within the lyrics of every love song.
There was something beautiful about love, and something even more so—something so incredibly human—about an insatiable kind of love. A love that craves every inch of you, inside and out. A kind of love that demands focus from every nerve of your body, that poisons every inhale you take, that infiltrates every thought that enters your mind. It's insatiable: a hunger that can never quite be quenched.
It starts in your fingers with the simple desire to touch them until it becomes a desperation to feel their skin underneath your fingernails. It starts as merely a kiss, a fleeting peck to the lips or the cheek, before escalating into the hysteria of wanting to feel their flesh between your teeth. The warmth of their body seeping through pesky layers of clothes before burning into your own is enough to drive the most sane to complete and utter madness. The child-like joy of feeling sunlight against your exposed skin quickly starts to pale in comparison when you feel their touch. Your heart quickens at the mere mention of their name and doesn't ease until you're close enough to engulf yourself in the color of their eyes.
Love was meant to be all-consuming. It was meant to infect your mind and body, seizing your heart with need of every kind, with a desperate, insatiable craving, and making it impossible to sleep until it stops beating all together.
At least, that's what you've been told.
And luckily for you, love just happened to be the one thing you and Alastor see eye-to-eye on.
Discussions of love with him were fleeting and sparse—it simply wasn't a topic that often breached his fancy. But now that you're willing to indulge with him, your words on the subject have captured his attention more frequently than he'd care to admit. Even as you sit with Angel, your feet resting mindlessly in his lap as he recounts his various escapades on love, it makes Alastor sick to his stomach. There was nothing that Angel could tell you about love; nothing about what it truly meant and within the people it could be found, Alastor thought. As if Angel knew anything about love. What he offered was not love, it was merely a cheap distraction. No, the love that Angel spoke of didn't demand his every waking moment, didn't command every syllable that drew from his tongue and it didn't force his body to move in ways that he had never once before been inclined to move. Alastor should know.
Ever since these discussions with you, the casual ones that slowly revealed even your most meager interests to him over time, he had felt himself starting to become more accustomed to this... love.
Is this why everyone seemed so obsessed with love on earth? This feeling of... insatiable desire, of carnal want, of the desperate need to be with the person you love at all times? Even the mere, sudden impulse to feel your hand in his own or to at least be the one to hold your attention when Angel had it all—which was becoming far more often now than before—left Alastor feeling as if he were weak, defenseless even. Alastor had never known love, at least not in this way. Sure, he had experienced the love of a mother at some point in time, nearly a hundred years ago, but this he was sure was different. It had to be. Never had anything filled his thoughts as frequently and as obsessively as you did now. Nothing in his life nor in his death could even come close. Not even all the jazz clubs in the world nor all the whisky in all of Hell could come close. Nothing except perhaps for his craving for blood.
Human flesh was certainly not an ordinary craving. The sensation of tearing flesh from bone or slicing through it with surgical precision could not be easily relatable experience. But Alastor was certain than the euphoria such a feeling gave him would equate to pleasure on some sort of dark and twisted scale. And pleasure was derivative of love, correct? Why, of course it was! Why else would humans hunt for it, suffer for it, crave it, and die for it if love were anything other than pleasureful. Yet, this pleasure he imagined coming from such carnal, ruthless events he found frequently in you alone. Without the blood and without the carnage.
You were clean to love. Easy too. Loving you, seemed to come as naturally as one might find immediate affection for a blooming flower or a baby bird. Innocent, that's what you were. At least, in comparison to him. No one ever arrived in Hell without deserving to be there, but you were far from tainted when placed next to him.
Was what Alastor felt, this supposed feeling of love, even normal? He hadn't often heard people speak of the ways in wish they dreamt of leaving their mark on their other half the way he often imagined of doing so with you. They never made it known if they fantasized about sinking their teeth into their beloved's flesh and letting their all-consuming desire to savor take over. To feel their lover's hands on them as they slowly became one, indulging in the copper taste that painted their lips, a taste that Alastor knew all too well, but somehow felt would be different—much sweeter—if it came from you.
Surely this wasn't normal, the way you infested his brain day and night like an infection he simply couldn't be rid of. The way you make his black heart race as if he were still alive enough to feel it beating. The way he thirsts for the feeling of his claws in your skin, painting you in beautiful hues of red as he fervently devours you whole.
This was nothing like the content of your discussions with Angel, those sweet conversations that were often propelled by humor or lengthy anecdotes that reminded Alastor just how much you loved. How you loved your books and your music and your friends. How much you adored your favorite color and the little details in your outfits and the ways in which different weather made you feel. How you'd smile so widely at seeing any one of your dear friends return to the hotel after a few measly hours away and how you'd embrace anyone who had brought you your favorite meal. To Alastor, you loved too many things, and you loved them so very deeply. It was odd to witness someone so perpetually surrounded by a feeling, a way of life, that he himself had never known. It took him months of wracking his own twisted, inner desires to come to the realization of why he too wished to reside somewhere on that list of yours.
But soon, that desire to simply be on that list took root and grew into something much, much more. Something far darker, something deeply carnal. Something far more corrupt. Soon, his desire to consume you became a reality that even he was slow to recognize. Even as a prideful man, his hubris barely allowed him to admit his feelings for you as one normally would. So he morphed them, tainted them and molded them into something he could and did understand—something he was more than familiar with. The simple desire to be drenched in you, the deep, saccharine red that flowed through your veins, became an obsession. A hobby. An infection.
Soon, he couldn't stand to be around you.
Everything you did taunted him, teased him and drove him to the edge of madness only to have him reeling back to sanity the moment you come closest to death. And the best part is that you simply seem to clueless to it all.
His appetite was insatiable and you mindlessly catered to him without a fault each and every time. It humored him as well, how you always seemed to have the worst of luck in these circumstances.
The first time it happened, you were resting on the couch in the lobby of the hotel, opting to remain open to the company of others if they so decided. That was when Alastor joined you, pulling a newspaper from inside his coat as he seats himself in the armchair across from you. Your gaze lingers on him for a moment, watching as his eyes scan the little lines of black ink, noticing how his monocle glimmers in the light of the fireplace before turning your own page. You hiss and the scent of ferric blood fills the air.
A paper cut? From turning a page in a book? How juvenile. But that didn't stop Alastor's mouth from watering. His fangs sink into his own bottom lip to run interfere with his instinct and his pupils narrow, morphing into dials. He forces himself to remain perfectly still, aside from his claws which dig deeper into the arms of the chair he resides in with each passing second.
"Are you alright, my dear? Those pesky paper cuts often cause more trouble than they're worth," he watches like a hawk as a single bead of red forms on the tender pad of your thumb.
"I'm okay. It's just a paper cut," you say, brushing off the situation entirely before bringing your thumb to your lips. You completely miss the way Alastor's tongue glides over his bottom lip for a brief second before he stands, the tails of his coat swaying behind him as he makes his way to you. Without a word, he grabs your wrist and lifts your hand to his face.
"You need to be more careful," is all he says before squeezing your thumb, watching with a sadistic sort of glee as you squirm at the feeling, and more blood pours from the surface. The words are most likely meant to be soothing, but he says them in such a way that makes you feel as if you're being scolded. It's not until there's enough blood to begin running down the length of your finger that he decides he's had enough, and with a single, swift movement, he runs the tip of his tongue along the cut before melting in a pool of shadows.
Yet unbeknownst to you, he only leaves for your sake. He leaves just in time for you to miss the way his eyes turn black as green stitches strain to contain his smile. Some might consider the way he basks in the lingering taste of your blood on his tongue to be a gruesome display of warped affection, but it's all he can do to keep himself from taking more. Or perhaps, from taking all.
The second time you unknowingly tempt death is during your weekly use of the hotel kitchen. You're chopping vegetables, helping Angel prepare some type of Italian dish he claimed was his specialty before Alastor joined you under the pretense of ensuring you both were 'using the kitchen properly.'
Of course he meant to do it on purpose, but he wasn't going to outright tell you he wanted you to cut your finger again. He wasn't going to simply ask you to do so, no. That would surely make him sound insane. But the simple fact that he was able to so expertly engross you in conversation not only fueled his pride by proving that he knew you so well, but left a magnificent opening for him to surprise you with information that would surely catch you off guard. Just as long as he got his timing right. Which, as a well-trained hunter, he was bound to.
You hiss again, releasing the handle of the knife and letting it fall to the floor with a clatter as you inspect your hand.
"What the hell, are you okay?" Angel gasps, shocked at the sudden amount of red that now glistened on the cutting board. You were never this careless.
"I don't know what's wrong with me lately," you huff, frustrated by the sting you've now felt for a second time this week.
"I'll... be right back," you say, taking your leave to find Vaggie—you heard she was rather good with stitches in case this was particularly bad—and perhaps a bandage too.
But yet again, you miss the way Alastor's smile grows wide at the mere scent of your blood. The fleeting wince of pain that etches across your pretty features, even if only for a moment, is enough to fuel his imagination for the next few days alone. The agitation that fills your eyes as you willingly give in to a distraction that he has laid out for you is so beautifully tasteful. Knowing now, with proof, that he can so easily influence you has him wondering just how far he can push you with this newfound, ravenous tendency of his. Just how sadistic will you let him become? Just how much can you take until you're begging him to rip you apart?
You've sent him deep into a delirium that he has long since forgone any notion of breaking free from. You're all he can crave now. All that he sees, whether his eyes are opened or closed. All he can focus on with each desperate inhale. All he can search for in a sea of wayward souls, you're all that he desires. And nothing will ever be enough.
But luckily, Alastor is a patient man. At least, when it comes to what he truly wants most. As a hunter, as a predator, he has learned how to blend in with his surroundings well. He has mastered the art of infiltrating your defenses and taking down each and every wall from the inside. Alastor is a renaissance man of all things deceptive and immoral. If he must upturn all that he has become thus far to ensure you grow to trust him and only him, unfaltering and unwavering, over time then so be it.
To call him 'greedy' now would be the greatest of understatements. He has become abhorrent, wicked, demented when it comes to you. With each passing day, the yearning to becoming permanently intertwined with you in some type of way becomes more than he can bare. It has him teetering on the edge of sanity and pure madness, and you still remain so blissfully unaware.
But there is most certainly a well-tailored, methodical method to his madness. One that he has trained well and thoroughly during his decades of wreaking havoc. After all, one must be able to maintain their composure when watching the life drain from another being's eyes. Not only is Alastor able to do that, but he revels in the power such a feeling gifts him. So it is no surprise that after months of wearing you down, day in and day out, night after night, that you slowly begin to become obsessed with him as well.
He's a clever man, able to leave you reminders of himself in the most random and regular places so that the idea of him seems to come to you naturally despite this manhandled deception. It begins with the mere idea of Alastor floating in and out of your mind from time to time, seemingly on a whim.
Perhaps he's left a radio on somewhere he knows you'll end up or he's placed a book he mentioned to you somewhere he knows it'll catch your eye. He'll hum catchy tunes as he strolls the halls, lingering for just a moment longer by your door to ensure that you hear it too—he knows you'll ask him about the name of the tune later on.
After that, he sets in quick.
You begin to see him in every shade of red that bleeds across Hell and you find yourself beginning to glance at every shadow you find, hoping he just might reside within one. All until he soon becomes your new obsession as well. Suddenly, you're asking the others if they've seen him and where he might be, where he's headed and if he has any plans for the day. He watches, savoring each time you hang on a syllable. He searches, proudly soaking up the way your eyes light up when they finally land on him.
He tricks you, deceives you into believing what you truly share is love. But surely it much be?
He plays you, ensuring that you're just as stuck on him as he is on you, hoping that you'll simply fall apart if he leaves your side. He may feel as if he's going insane when you're not around, but he will never be satisfied until you need him like a drug in your veins.
And finally, that time comes: the third time you share your blood with him. But this time, it's entirely your idea. Isn't it? Wasn't it? Of course it was. How could it not be? He would never force you into this. And you're sure of it. Because he loves you too much to ever hurt you.
He loves you too much to ever hurt you.
Those very words run on repeat like a broken record though your brain as his razor-sharp teeth sink into your shoulder. Your head begins to spin at the pain, or perhaps it's the loss of blood, but you're able to focus just enough to recite those words over and over again like a prayer. A prayer that...slowly begins to... melt...away.... before it turns into something different. His name.
Alastor. Alastor. Alastor. Alastor.
Perhaps you were simply weak. Surely this pain means nothing if it's for love. Because the pain we feel for love is ultimately the greatest sacrifice of all. If there's anything being in Hell has taught you, it was that. Certainly not Alastor's sick little games that he's tricked you into thinking were of your own volition.
Because there was nothing sick and twisted about your love, simply because it was love. But the promise of love alone was enough for you.
Oh, if only the same could be said about Alastor.
There may very well come a day in which he will finally revel in the entirety of your essence, of your blood and of your flesh as a whole. But for now, tasting your blood like this, soaking in the warmth of your body under his sharped claws, feeling you tremble like helpless pray beneath him, seeing you willingly let yourself become so vulnerable for him like this, will do.
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@XPHNTMHVX 2024 — feedback and interactions are eternally appreciated
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yandere alastor headcanons
contains: gn reader, nsfw themes, noncon, manipulation, violence, cannibalism, sadism, overstimulation
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yandere alastor:
who is manipulative and deceptive. desperate as you were, gaining your trust was simple enough. belong to him and all of hell’s pleasures will be at your fingertips. not to mention that your safety is guaranteed. supposing you don’t fall for his deceit, he’ll simply force you into his hands through his connections. you’ll find yourself at the mercy of his artifice.
who wants to posses all of you. your soul, your mind, and your body belong to him. you’ll find he’s not the least bit squeamish, claiming your body in ways no others have. the manner in which he desires your form is far from sexual, though he must admit there is a certain appeal in driving you past your limit. each cry for mercy so delectable when you’re at the mercy of his shadows. give him all of you, he’s not afraid to take it.
who invades your space, manhandling you whenever possible. he delights in your irritation, satisfied as you storm off in fits of pique. how entertaining! knowing only he creeps under your skin so grotesquely, how easily he dominates you, quenches unspeakable urges.
who is fascinated with your physical, mental, and emotional limitations. who derives pleasure from your suffering. where even death is not permanent, there are no limitations for this deranged cannibal. fight back if you please, he loves a challenge. why, your cries alone sends him into a frenzy!
who wants to consume you. who wants to taste you slowly until there’s nothing left. fortunately for you, he finds you far more entertaining whole rather than in pieces. he’ll just have to be satisfied with samples.
who is affable and good-humored, easily creating a warm atmosphere. you often find yourself well disposed to his presence, despite his obvious flaws. you wish you could hate him.
who, unbeknownst to even himself, may grow to care for you in his own twisted way. he’ll heavily deny any genuine affection, disregarding any concern for your wellbeing. his protection is adherence to your deal, nothing more. why risk damaging his favorite plaything? he’d be a fool to lose such lovely entertainment? should you find yourself at the mercy of an exorcist, he’ll be forced to come to terms with his attachment.
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valeskafics · 8 days
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Ok but imagine Feyd-Rautha with a new wife loves his harpies? Like a wife that comes from a like weird vampire planet. Maybe another high ranking official pokes at how she will never be as liked by Feyd compared to his concubines or possibly suggests Feyd must get rid of his harpies? But wife is like but they are my besties how dare you so she kills him and asks the concubines to share the "meal "with her. Feyd is obviously obsessed.
I have more ideas about this because it's a need. Also I know your rules say no cannibalism or excessive gore so if this is too much I totally understand! 💕
ooooo yes i dont typically fw that but i can see it in feyd's case for sure! like his wife just being the concubines favorite as well, they just make out all the time, killing random men, just girly things 🩷
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monimccoythings · 30 days
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Random headcanons of Alastor and his child!reader
This will mix headcanons from both the living and the afterliving times.
Tw: Controlling behavior, implied cannibalism, references to murder.
This is not proof read so I apologize for any grammar and vocabulary mistakes.
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Your home is always filled with music. Be it the radio, a record player or him singing. There's always someone playing a tune. Even now at the hotel you can always find him in one of the common rooms humming a song or with his cathedral radio on.
Loves dancing with you, you'll be helping him cook and next thing you know he is swirling you around the room, music mixing with your combined laughter.
From a very young age, he will teach you to love the radio. He is immensely proud of his job (the legal one) and wants to share it with you.
Likes to treat your wounds and illness the traditional way, just like he used to when you were alive. You got a scratch? He is cleaning it for you and bandaging it up. You are down with something? He'll wrap you in blankets with a hot water bottle and feed you old family remedies and warm soup. If the wound or illness is way too severe to his liking, he will immediately make it go away with a snap of his fingers, otherwise he just likes to act like your caregiver and mother hen you.
Really loves to pull the 'single hardworking dad' act that makes the mothers and female teachers at your school swoon. He is not really interested in pursuing anything further with them, but boy, does he enjoy the attention.
He likes to check on you while you are sleeping. Sometimes he just stays there, quietly watching you sleep, his ever present smile growing bigger as a sense of pride fills his chest.
Lots of dad jokes, I think he's the only one who could pull it off and have everyone laugh. It goes with his radio host charisma and personality.
He does your hair. This man has singlehandledly researched and become well versed in the art of braiding hair. Braids, pigtails, or just brush it, you call it, you got it.
Alastor loves control and having power over people, he is the kind of dad that will subtly talk you out of doing something he doesn't approve of, just using his inmense charms and smooth talking skills to convince you into thinking this was your decision after doing some critical thinking. "Cher, I don't think you should do X, how about you do Y instead?" "I'm sure your friend is too busy to hang out today, why don't we go to the ice cream shop?" He won't ever put you down or make you feel bad about anything, but if you are deviating for the path that he has already set for you (the safe path) he will immediately persuade you to go back to the right way, his way. In Hell that aspect of him has become a million times worse, since he has already lost you once and has become someone with many dangerous enemies who wouldn't hesitate to use you to get back at him. His overprotectiveness and controlling behavior skyrocket when he becomes a demon, which eventually will come back to bite him in the ass.
Doesn't like having anyone question about your biological parents. He is your parent. You don't need anybody else.
Alastor is not fond of physical affection, unless he is the one initiating it. But, since he has had you since you were a baby, he has mostly grown used to your touch. He has become proficient enough in detecting your moods that he knows exactly when you are going to need a hug, a kiss or some other kind of physical comfort, so he can get ahead and start the contact first. He admits that one of his favorite ways nowadays to show affection to you is ruffling your fluffy hair, lightly tickling your ears, his eyes fill with joy when your ears get all twitchy.
Your room back at the hotel is a carbon copy of the one you had back when you were alive, but bigger, and with a private old timey bathroom. Alastor likes to come in whenever he pleases, he is the unliving embodiment of "I'm respecting your privacy by knocking but asserting my authority as your parent by coming in anyway". He even said so once. Word by word.
You can't stand Mimzy. Sorry, it's a fact, she always gets your name wrong and only comes by if she needs something from your dad. She seems to not be very fond of you either, can't understand why in Hell Alastor would waste his time so willingly just to take care of a snooty brat that ain't even his. But your father seems to like her enough, so you swallow up your critics.
When he was alive, and came back from a 'hunt', he always brought a little memorabilia for you, maybe some old watch, a fancy toy or trinket the victim had on them at that moment. Whatever little thing that wasn't too incriminating and pretty enough to be worthy of you. Now that you know the truth, you can't stop wondering with dread if every little thing he gifts you belonged once to a poor tormented soul that crossed in his path.
Might had fed you human remians in his stews. He utterly denies it, claiming that he would never do that to your delicate stomach. But the suspicious way his eyes quickly dart around the room, makes you think otherwise. It was the Great Depression after all, food was scarce. You'd rather not dwell too much on it or you will never eat anything ever again.
He is a monster, and it pained you to have been so blind all these years, but even after discovering his true nature, the only thing you could say about his parenting before that terrible night of the discovery, was that he was an excellent dad, a tad bit overbearing and overprotective, but a great parent nonetheless.
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throwaway-yandere · 2 months
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Ansy maybe I can send an idea about this. Maybe this yandere is turning into a zombie/monster, Reader sacrifices or willingly let's the yandere eat reader so the yandere wouldn't hurt others. Other idea, Yandere is a monster/cannibal and reader has a flesh that is very addicting to eat so yandere feels guilty for eating their darling but can't as darling tastes so delicious.
A/n: I'm actually currently writing the prompt I got earlier so here's some short ideas. also, what's up with me writing cannibalism fics for two older brothers with blue-white color schemes?? *shrug*. I'll go with the 2nd idea-ish (I'll tweak it again) in this one. First time doing headcanons so... I'll adios lol.
Content Tags: hello its yandere cannibalism lmao + Whodunit spoilers
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YANDERE CANNIBAL!SUNDAY who strangely takes too long to respond to his childhood friend's messages. You're starting to get worried that he's spending too much time inside the dreamscape. Although your race greatly differs from his- being an ordinary human resident and all- you heard numerous stories that Halovians tend to carnally seek glamorous feasts after hosting series of events.
YANDERE CANNIBAL!SUNDAY who finally replied to your recent message, telling you "DON'T COME, PLEASE." with bold capital letters. You can only raise an eyebrow, considering you're already on his front door with a fruit basket at hand. In hindsight, perhaps you should've considered giving him a heads-up beforehand instead of rudely announcing your visit. But you are genuinely worried for his overall wellbeing, especially given what happened to his sister.
And perhaps, you were also just looking for someone who could understand your grief as well. He wasn't the only one stripped of their family so suddenly. The thought of your friend starving himself had pushed your own sadness away in favor of sheer platonic worry. That was how strong your bond was.
YANDERE CANNIBAL!SUNDAY who shook, mortified at the knocks on his front door. As much as possible, he can't let you in. The current nightmare he calls "HUNGER" was an unforgiving beast. He leaned against the other side of the closed door, breathing heavily.
"(Y/n), n-now is not the time for a visit! Forgive me for this crudeness, but I shan't open the door at present." You hear him inhale shakily. "To have you see me like this undermines all the work I've put in our... friendship."
You sighed. "Alright, I'm sorry. But... can I please just leave this on your porch?"
"... I will not bar you from doing so..."
"Thank you."
YANDERE CANNIBAL!SUNDAY whose hands refused to stop trembling. You're so close. He can almost taste you behind that door. A chill runs down his spine as he noticed just how much his mouth was watering at the thought of taking a bite.
YANDERE CANNIBAL!SUNDAY who thought himself most detestable for his cravings. The Odes of Harmony preaches honesty among its many virtues, and he would drown himself for omitting the grim truth from you. THEY will not be happy with this relapse of his.
YANDERE CANNIBAL!SUNDAY who bit his thumb, drawing blood. THEY wouldn't endorse this behavior from a representative of the Family.
YANDERE CANNIBAL!SUNDAY who looked at his bleeding finger and laughed sorrowfully at the lingering question on his mind.
Whose blood was it? His... or THEIRS?
Sunday could never be at ease after committing this crime. A Halovian like himself would never allow their vision to be clouded in red, and it appears the devil had saw an opportunity to hurl at two birds with one stone. But that would be an inaccurate way to describe it. His wings had not been clipped; he had brutally torn it away himself.
Penacony's most shrewd man lied to the arrogant fool that evening. There were four murders in that timeframe. One was a stowaway, the other was his precious sister, and the last pair was both your father and mother.
THEIR vision of a happy future for you did not welcome HIM.
All he recalls now was their polite disapproval turned screams when he made an attempt to ask for their blessing. Sunday only realized what he had done the moment he had sunk his teeth down your mother's arm, noticing how your father was already but boney remains of himself.
This Halovian ancestry's secret... it served him no good.
Why was he born into this race and why wasn't he raised just like you?
"Watchmaker... How can I ever forgive myself for this...?"
How can he dare proclaim to mete out justice when he deserves to be served the same sentence? "Sunday" himself is a transgressor, unworthy of yielding Harmony's name.
What heathen he was, to partake in flesh and blood that was not for his stomach simply because they both smelled just like you. What heretic he was, to place anger and hunger above his better judgement.
What karma it was, to find out his sister has been killed in his moments of guilt.
What retribution it was, to face that what he had done to others, will be done unto him.
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zanzan3023694 · 2 months
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Catnap eating
(Tw: blood,cannibalism)
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This cat has some weird taste in food
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blackautmedia · 2 months
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Orientalism, The Gerudo, and Legend of Zelda | SWANA Representation in Gaming
It took a while, but here's a video essay about the portrayal of the Gerudo and the ways they reinforce orientalist beliefs about SWANA people, the portrayal of the Gerudo, and the broader storytelling implications that come about because of it.
The land and society once owned by the gods must be restored and brought to its former glory as it is fated to be led by the divinely chosen Hylians, the chosen descendants tied to the gods. To that end, to defeat the evil and violent Middle Easterner who has defied the natural order of Hyrule, everyone must sacrifice themselves for Link to become the divine governor of power.
Sections in the Video:
What is Racial Coding? (The Deku and Cannibal Horror)
Orientalism
Ganondorf - The Wicked Man of the Desert
Sav'aaq: Colorism and the Othering of the Gerudo
The "Good" Arab and the Conditional Humanity of the Gerudo
The Vai Outfit - Harems, Veiled Women, and Belly Dancers
Staggeringly Neutral - Link and the Gerudo as Queer Expression (Why James Somerton is wrong about the Gerudo)
Swapping and Shopping: Japanese Media
Orientalism of the Mummy - Dehydrated Ganon
The Native Zonai - The Source of the Right Arm
The Myth of Native Extinction
The Brown Body and the White Mind
Link Can Make it - Community Vs Saviorism
Divine Right to Rule
Japanese History and Zelda (Shinto in Zelda Lore)
Gameplay First - Zelda and Storytelling
Closing Thoughts
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apolladay · 3 months
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What do you associate pomegranates with?
Persephone and Hades
Man harming woman
A metaphor for cannibalism
Just the fruit / no association
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yanmaresu · 1 year
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Oh no seeing our precious kitchen with with someone like Floyd… and seeing him with the dubious meat… would Floyd tell her where he gets it from or would he rather his precious Shrimpy/angelfish not know? I can imagine her asking innocently and not sensing danger!
dfjghdjskahgds wait I just- I think it's more of a case of difference in culture. Hunting and consuming merpeople isn't something unheard of. In the sea "survival of the fittest" seems to be applied every once in a while
CW: cannibalism, murder
I think Floyd prefers to keep it a secret, to let her know he was the one to get it is enough. It's a common gesture in the sea to gift your mate a fresh hunt, to show them that you can and want to care for them and that you can protect them from anything. He knows that people on land have different sensibilities when it comes to eating anything that shows too much emotion. Even back home there used to be some conflict when hunting something too similar to the person you want to court; so Floyd keeps quiet. For him, it's enough to receive praise for his good job. He just loves his shrimpy so much, that he can't contain all of the energy he feels throbbing inside his chest. To dig his teeth and claws into something, and rip flesh from bone knowing all of it will end in his darling's cute tummy, it's euphoric.
It's a little harder for his darling to suspect anything's wrong with the meat at first, because Floyd just gets so excited to cook it as he does with the fish too, and it's not so common for someone outside twst to think both kinds of flesh have the same origin.
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