cannibal ink


“You are alone because you are unique.”

Painting by me!
I just wanted to show the process. I started out sketching my idea down and slowly built the image up with black. I used a combination of graphite pencil, color pencil, watercolor, & ink.
I’m in love with Mads’s subtle facial expressions that really brought so much life to Hannibal, I feel like I was able to capture some of it in this piece.

New animation ‘CAUSE WHY NOT????

[ No asks = Stupid idea ]

When no one know this blog.
And you really want be that popular as others.
But you’re nothing.
Ha Ha

I want to do an animation.

With Bendys.

I love bendys.

more precisely I want to use

> Chaos, Wing and Cannibal

> Andy @borisandtheswapmachine

> Nightmare and Crimsy @ask-bloody-hell-bendy

> Thiccy and Fucky @ask-fucking-bendy @ask-thiccy

> Studio @bendysstudio

> Lil @lildevilasks

> Bendy from @ask-sillyvision

> Bindy @bindy-bum

> Bendy @thebbros

[If i decide to add some bendys I will reblog this post]

But Question is.

Can I use them?


The Digesting

that inching ache of
chew and swallow

gnawing gut, slinking

I want
your swaying to stop

unspoken bits and
nibbled slurping

needy jaw full of 
tremors and trembling

I want your swaying 
to stop

flaps on tongues, the
jawed trappings 

chewed and fed

both you and I 
teething still  

empty feeding
full yet

swaying to stop

- Maya Doolali

With or without you, that is the question on the table. We gather around it and look at each other expectantly, waiting for the other to break the formidable silence. The tableware gleams proudly as the occupants of smooth, cherrywood chairs gulp from shame. They’ve been here before, all wondering whether or not they dig into the feast; all wondering if they devour their own hair before they lick bones and crunch cartilage.
With or without you, make up your fucking mind.
He’s a virus; he’s put a fever inside of me. I’ve been tossing and turning in bed for the past six nights. What would once have been a pretty picture of a girl splayed out on black sheets, hands grasping at the free edges, teeth pulling at the cotton fibers of her pillowcase, and drool pooling on the fabric. Has since been turned into a nightmare of clammy hands and sweat-soaked nightgown. I wonder how I could get such a sickness up out of me. If I must force bile to my throat, or sedate my pounding head with an assortment of chalky, white pills. There is the chance that he could spread throughout my entire body, take refuge inside every crevice. Burn me inside out, turn my insides into molten candle wax.
Why do we obsess over people who fall asleep without the slightest flicker of our smile in their thoughts? He exists on multiple different planes, and I am left to rip myself apart in order to keep up with all the different versions of himself. But how am I to keep up with own myself then?
To have lived; to have touched, to have seen your dark sides and gotten lost, that would’ve been an awfully big adventure.
But to survive, with or without you, is a question I am not up for answering today. So I usher all the different fractions of myself out of the dining hall, and leave the main course to become cold and untouched.
In the vaults of our hearts and brains, danger waits. A quake, some betrayal by our safeguards, and sparks of memory fire the noxious gases - things trapped for years fly free, ready to explode in pain and drive us to dangerous behavior…
—  Thomas Harris, from Hannibal

upperstories  asked:

So I'm curious, if Henry becomes completely Toonified, does that essentially mean that his soul has been cannibalized by the Ink? Is the reason Toon!Henry is a shadow of what he used to be because he doesn't have a soul anymore, just a sketchy shell and some vague memories?

Pretty much. The human soul is an immensely durable thing and can recover from awful misuse, but after a certain point it just can’t hold up in the literal soul-sucking environment of JD Studios. Once his soul is too drained to keep him up it falls to the power of the Ink to keep the body alive, and it eats up what little of him is left like the parasite it is. He’s still a stable construct like Alice, made out of a single being’s will, but there’s nothing but a distant impression of what was once there.



No one likes me,
But this I understand,
Though I love to taste their blood,
After I’ve bitten off their hand.

I love the smell of flesh,
Meshed between my nose,
As I bite down even harder,
On the meat atop their bones.

I hack them limb from limb,
Or sometimes throw them in a pot.
Sometimes I’ll add some spices,
To ensure that they don’t rot.

I’ll sit down with some wine,
And use a knife to cut the skin,
But first I have to pray,
Before my meal begins.

The way I catch my meals,
Is to sneak up with some rope,
Usually in an alley,
At night and slightly doped.

Whatever I don’t eat,
I freeze just to preserve,
Though I understand these people,
Are not getting what they deserve.
But such is the life of a cannibal.
Can you see it through my eyes?
I need to eat innocent lives,
In order to survive.

I’m not proud of who I am,
But I’ve learned with how to deal.
I just hope those who read this,
Don’t become my next meal.

Come home to me, Mother -
come make a home in my bones,
so that your wisdom passes to me
as I eat your flesh.
You gave birth to me and I
have watched you become a Crone,
‘fore long you shall have withered away
and I will eat your heart.
Soon it will be my turn, Mother,
my daughter will make an abode in me,
and then she shall eat me,
and I and you will be in her bones too.
—  c.k. | In Our Bones