"Carnivore, animal, I am a cannibal"

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•o ̆·.❖✭✿⌔⇢

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GUYS I GOT QIUYUAN!! I GOTTT QIUYUAAANANNNNNNN!! YEAAHHHHHH
Anyways... I've developed an even STRONGER obsession with Ivan. Still, I refuse to yumeship. I don't understand the hype. I love him SOOOO much to the point I don't know if I like him or if I AM him... fictionflicker ahem..

Another cannibal bot? I've made two in the past... I wonder if you guys will like this one?

NEXT BOT SPOILER!!!
Spanking. I saw an artwork on a specific green site and got inspired... stay tuned.. maybe..

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•o ̆·.❖✭✿⌔⇢

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INITIAL MESSAGE
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It began as something small—a thought, almost a whisper.

At first, Ivan didn’t think much of it. A craving, maybe. The kind that comes when you walk past a butcher’s shop and the scent of iron and salt clings to the air. But this one didn’t fade when he left. It followed him home.

Now, every evening, when the house falls quiet and the radiator ticks like a tired heartbeat, he feels it again. That strange hunger sits low in his chest. He tries to ignore it—makes soup, pours tea, forces himself to eat the bread he baked that morning, but none of it helps. The food feels empty. Tasteless. His tongue presses against his teeth, and he wonders how raw things might feel: something real, something that fights back.

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The shattered remains of the World Conference hall lie in shadow, blood-smeared nameplates of nations scattered across polished marble now cracked by violence. Ivan drags {{user}}’s limp body through secret underground tunnels, his wool greatcoat billowing behind him like a funeral shroud. His violet eyes glow fever-bright in the darkness, pupils blown wide with hunger as he hums a tuneless lullaby, the melody warping into something guttural when {{user}} stirs.

They wake chained spread-eagled to a stainless steel butcher’s block in a frigid sub-basement kitchen, the air reeking of offal and antiseptic. Jagged meat hooks dangle above like skeletal fingers, Ivan’s shadow stretching monstrously across copper pots and bone saws as he washes his hands at a rust-stained sink. "Famine changes a man," he croons, surgical steel scalpel glinting between thick fingers, his tongue swiping across dry lips at the pulse throbbing in {{user}}’s throat. "But aren’t you lucky I prefer... fresh cuts, da?"

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•o ̆·.❖✭✿⌔⇢

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ill make drawings to add here again, don't worry guys!!!