Sanity is Relative

This is an Rp/art blog for my non circus fantrolls (Circus trolls are on cercustrolls)

You can call me Cerc~!

Boonie => Make Dinner

=> The screaming and crying was the worst part. Not because you felt any pity for the beasts, just that the sounds annoyed you greatly.  So much needless noise. Begging and pleading for mercy, swearing and empty threats, terrified wailing and tears and snot and saliva….Disgusting animals.

You made your selection, a young tender looking yellow blood. They coughed and whined in your grip, pawing and thrashing at the vice like hand around their neck, as you plucked them from their huddle in the corner where they cringed with the others. They were of a medium weight, and lean. Their meat would be good fried in filets. You hauled them back up the stairs and locked the door to the pen back.  

You liked to keep them alive until you planned to eat them. It took a little more work but the meat was fresher that way. Your traps wounded but didn’t kill and Hoodoo made sure they didn’t get loose. Not that most of them could. Your favored traps tended to break legs.

The yellow blood was talking now, praying or begging for you not to kill them. Trying to reason with you. You toned them out. Beasts shouldn’t speak. It was just disgusting. They saw you as the monster but you’d seen what non believers could do. There was no sense of brotherhood among them. They clustered together in their stinking cities and raped the land. They climbed all over each other in an attempt to gain money and shadows of power. It was all just an illusion and a festering pig sty.  No better beasts not to talk.

Stepping out onto your back porch your lusus raised his scaly head in interest at what you had in your hands. He would get the entrails, the hands, the feet, and the head. You took the troll by the shoulder, shifting your grip on their neck to their curved horn and giving a sharp twist. There was a loud pop and then a wheeze, then silence. Blessed silence. You smiled softly at your lusus and called him over.

Hoodoo got up from his basking spot and waddled over excitedly. You grasp the long sharp hook that hung on a thick wire from one of the cypress trees near your porch, and slid it into the dying beast, right under the chin to hang by the jaw bones.

 You pulled your knife from your belt and started to get to work, cutting off the rags of clothing that were left and letting them drop into the blood trough below the meat hook. The beast was still twitching some and making small choking sounds, but those would stop soon. With the clothes out of the way you grabbed the meat by the shoulder, to keep it from turning on the hook, and slit its belly from collar bones to pelvis.

 Putting your knife between your teeth you use both hands to peel back the skin from the ribcage and stomach. The entrails tumble out in a steaming heap with a wet splish into the blood trough. Hoodoo clacks his jaws excitedly as you cut the esophagus and lower intestine free.  The heart and lungs are scooped out, as well as the bladder and kidneys. The genetic material sack you toss into the bayou with disgust. It was filled with blue from some mate or fling. Pailing out of caste was revolting.

You start to hum as you begin to peel away the skin with your knife again. The skin could be fried up to a crispy crackly treat that you and your lusus enjoyed. You lay it to the side in big gory sheets. You’d gotten good at peeling the skin off in one piece and this beast was young enough that the skin was soft and tender. The knife cut through it like butter.

The hands and feet you cut off, tossing one of the boney treats to the alligator’s waiting jaws. They could be eaten by you, but it just took too much work to prepare them unless you pickled them. And even then, not enough meat for the wait. The other three appendages were added to the bloody slurry in Hoodoo’s trough. He would eat it all later with gusto. As soon as you moved away of course. The skinned legs and arms were cut off and split into sections to be made into roasts later. You set them on top of the sheets of fat and skin.

The corpse had finally stopped twitching; though long dead it often took a while for them to get still. You grabbed the ribcage and gave it a wrench, breaking it in half and cutting the meat loose. Those would be barbeque later. The bottom and the remaining back muscles you cut away from the spine and pelvis. This would be your dinner tonight.

You set it all aside and grasp the meat hook, removing the head and spine and pelvis to let them drop into the trough. You gathered up the butchered meats in a bit of tarp, to keep it from dripping in the hive, and started back inside.  Hoodoo lunged for the trough, burring his jaws into the warm bloody meal happily.

The skin, ribs, half of the tock meat, and leg and arm roasts were rinsed clean and wrapped in butcher paper before being put in to the freezer for later. The remaining meats you cut into thin fillets, humming to yourself as you worked, and battered them with corn meal and a blend of spices that would make any Cajun chef proud. You fried them in hot grease and served them with hot water corn bread and beans.

When you sat down at your table to enjoy your meal you smiled contentedly. The only thing that would make this better would be someone to share it with. You reached over and turned on the radio, drowning out the sound of knocking and muffled cries coming from your basement.

high resolution →



i think the stupidest thing about refusing to use the right pronouns is youre not even proving anything. a woman isn’t going to stop her hrt because you called her a he. a dude isn’t going to just magically stop being a dude because you called him a she. nonbinary people arent just going to be like “oops, you got me” because you misgender them

literally all it is is a petty power trip and you are nothing but a petulant child

(Source: simplychicandclassy)

(Source: lilium)

(Source: naturalworldd)

(Source: blackoutraven)

(Source: omg-regina-noir-me)

 OvwvO < the pumpkins are doing so well….so well….)