#tw animal slaughter

[axiseart]

Bleeding the Black Dog.

[meowmaids]

(Tw for animal food processing no graphic image or description)

I’m in a animal husbandry and meat class and our teacher put on youtube video abt grading meat

And literally it’s a incredibly intelligent professor but the 💕💖💞✨hey welcome back to carcass reveiw✨💞💖💕 Killed me

There were Dora moments of like, do you know between ribs we check for this?🧐

🌸✨💖🌸That’s right!!! 12-13!!!🌸✨💖🌸

[unsanctitude]

im excited for baby sheep 🥺

[mahvaladara]

Almost on queue they heard the singing of the hens as Syra rushed back up the path throwing corn with a whole bunch of chicks chasing her. She smiled at them and made a surprised sound when she saw the fixed coop.

Syra: You fixed it!

They smiled looking at the coop as it now looked better than it had ever done. As Syra came running with the chickens, they turned to Mal.

Fannar: And I am as prepared as I can be, and I intend to stick by him to the end, whenever that might happen.  -they nodded, then looked at Syra. - Impressive, they seem to know resistance is futile. - they chuckled and picked up one of the chickens. - See new house and all.

Syra: These aren’t the original chickens -she confessed sheepishly- But we didn’t want Arlo to get upset.

Fannar: Oh.

Syra: Sorry. Brightside though! Disposable Rooster #2 -and she pointed to the rooster- Will live a long happy life and not become chicken soup!

Mal: Waste of perfectly good meat. With his size and age, his liver is huge, tasty and healthy, his heart rubbery and tasty, and if I pull and snap his neck and hold him upside down long enough all the blood's going to accumulate on the neck and head and then I can boil him, clean him up and cook that neck with coagulated blood to make the most marvelous chicken soup.

Vy and Fannar stared Mal horrorfied.

Mal: What? You guys never had chicken?

Syra: No dad. I think they did. I just think you horrified them with the graphic description of how you prepare them.

Mal: Or, you're one of those "only eat chicken from the supermarket, injected with growth hormones, held up in tiny pens and fed the remains of their crushed siblings and rejected eggs, and killed by electrocution" kind of guys.

Vy: Well... but you actually snap their necks? With your bare hands?

Mal: With what else would I kill the chickens? You expected me to go ax murderer on the chicken? This isn't The Shinning. Wastes effort, time, it's messier, more painful for the chicken, can actually take longer to kill it, especially with a rooster that size that requires at least two good hits to chop off his head, and shooting a chicken would just be overkill. Besides, it would waste all the blood I'd want around the neck to cook.

Vy: Why do you want to eat the chicken's cooked coagulated blood?

Mal: Because it's a delicacy where I come from! Don't you people have cultural gastronomy? Where I come from we eat everything from the chicken! Everything from the pork too! And almost everything from the cow. Except the kidneys, the kidneys just taste bad.

Vy: No wonder you don't eat dragons. You eat everything else, devourer.

Mal: I don't eat cockroaches, and have only eaten bugs out of desperation. I am actually repulsed by them. If you want to incapacitate me in a battle, just throw a flying roach at me and I'll jump out a window to escape it! Or set the building on fire. I have done both in the past.

[secret-covet]

The World's Most Moral Army

They did the same thing to Rachel Corey, and they try to pretend that it didn't happen.

Al-Zeitoun neighbourhood in Gaza city. It was posted yesterday & widely circulated & celebrated on Israeli telegram channels: TW under the cut

The pictures for the above tweet are personally too upsetting for me to repost, but I've linked the original tweet and the Telegram channel that the Israelis uploaded it to.

[dallonwrites]

the heart of lover boy is the fact that beau is obsessed with blood and flesh and guts and the like but only in a theatrical fake sfx in a campy horror movie way. if he saw real life gore he would cry. and like bro grew up in the 60s-80s we're talking pure theatrical fun silly dramatized sfx blood and guts. but also for him they were the most advanced and realistic sfx they had so he gets to play on the Border Of Uncanny where it both looks theatrical and unrealistic but is sometimes unnerving with how close it is. this bitch would LOVE re-animator (1985) btw

[eatingrosescollab]

My partner just saw a fucked up facebook marketplace ad that showed a cat who had passed violently and the words “As he began to Rot”

Which is really disgusting and they reported it but I was like “This is some Magnus Archives shit.” They’re less than 10 episodes in and even they agreed.

[runelocked]

“ CHRIST,  OLIVIA. ”  UNDYING  TEMPER  REIGNITING  AT  HER  WORDS,  BUT  FOR  A  RARE  OCCASION,  WILLIAM  IS  TOO  DRAINED  TO  ARGUE.  Instead,  he’ll  twist  and  turn  that  seeping,  slithering  guilt  and  rage  into  something  colder:  something  he  can  use.  He’ll  fix  her.  Fix  the  whole  damn  family.  If  she  doesn’t  get  herself  killed  first,  because  for  all  William’s  genius,  he  has  no  idea  if  it  works.  The  remnant.  How  can  he ?  Can  kill  rats  all  he  likes,  watch  them  reanimate  with  a  stumble,  that  purple  glow  dyingbreathingmoving r e v i v e d   in  their  glassy  gazes,  but  the  fact  of  the  matter  is  that  William  has  no  clue  for  certain  if  his  experiments  will  work the way he wants needs them.  If  remnant  works  for  humans.  If  he’s  taken  enough.  Given  enough  to  his  children.   He  insists  it  works  because  there  is  no  other  way  in  his  mind.  Remnant  will  keep  his  daughter  alive  no  matter  how  much  she  wishes  otherwise.  The  other  option  is  her  recklessness  leads  to  her  death,  and  he’s  not  sure  the  town  could  take  another  tragedy  right  now.

. . . He  doesn’t  think  he  could.

Reaches  out,  holds  onto  his  daughter’s  shoulder  before  she  can  pass.  It  feels  strange,  because  he  can’t  remember  the  last  time  he’d  held  one  of  his  children.  Not  that  he’s  really  holding  Ollie  now,  but  he  can  pretend  he  is.  He  can  pretend  a  lot  of  things.  William  searches  for  her  gaze,  a  vicious,  tunneling  intensity  burning  in  them.  “ I  will  never  let  you  die, ”  he  says,  and  it’s  a  promise  as  much  as  a  warning,  “ not  now.  Not  ever. ”  She  cannot  escape  her  father  so  easily.  A  squeeze  of  her  shoulder,  almost  fatherly if not for what he's just said, the implications of his words,  before  the  hand  retreats.  He  will  fix  her.  He’s  never  failed  at  anything  in  his  life.  I  will  never  let  you  die. 

CONTINUED. / @feardrummed

[musecheerios]

"When you're into a guy that's much taller than you, the looks don't matter!"

"YIPE!!"

[strelles-universe]

Subranks of the Sky: Farm Ranks - WIP

Content Warning: The section after this one is about the slaughterer position and goes into depth about the killing and butchering of animals. If this is discomforting, scroll until you see "Shepherds."

--

Farming has the most subranks of the kingdoms. It's a very involved process handling animals and there are many steps and various different aspects for different parts of animal caring. Some creatures need to be skilled in slaughtering others in breeding and others still in raising the orphans.

Breeders

One of the more well known but less thought of subclasses for farmers. When only certain creatures are bred with each other, desirable traits begin to become more common. Breeders are responsible for producing docile, fast-growing prey that is somewhat protective of its young. Some breeders have recently become focused on reproducing certain coloration in prey and seeing what affects it has on them.

Bred Animals

Ducks - For feathers and meat Chicken - Feathers, meat and eggs Goats - Meat, Horns and sometimes milk Sheep - Wool, meat Rabbits - Meat, tunnel construction Rats - Meat, Companionship, Retrievers

Note: Stoats and polecats are slowly being taught to herd and guard prey animals from various predators in exchange for regular meals. As a result, several farmers are becoming increasingly interested in and have begun breeding the most social and friendly of them together. Some kingdoms have also begun efforts towards breeding deer but no overwhelming successes have yet been reported.

Even breeders are frequently subclasses into Archivists and Handlers. The Archivists are responsible for the observation, study and analyzation of the creatures they intend to breed in order to understand what traits and behaviors they're likely to get while Handlers are the ones that arrange and supervise breeding to minimize the chances of stock killing fights.

---

Slaughterer

Cats who are responsible for the killing and sectioning of prey. While not required, most cats feel badly about causing unneeded suffering to prey and as such, Slaughterers are trained in a series of acceptable killing methods.

Most frequently for chickens and ducks, this comes in the form of a sharp and suddenly snapping up their necks. In their other lifestock, it's instead in the form of a deep slit in the throat in the hopes that this kills the animal quickly enough to never really know what was happening. Smaller creatures with more fragile bones and skeletons instead have their heads chopped off though it's often hard to find something sharp enough to do the deed and a cat strong enough to use it correctly.

When it comes to poultry, the Slaughterer is usually expected to set some time aside to pluck the feathers though because this is such a time-consuming practice, It's often delegated to squires and green paws who then clean and deliver feathers to be distributed for crafting and keeping warm.

Organs are removed from the prey and are frequently given to high ranking members of the kingdoms or are kept by farmers themselves if there's a surplus of them. For larger creatures like the goats and sheep, big chunks are distributed to omnivorous livestock or trained stoats. The removal of these thicker and inedible bones is also delegated to squires and green paws - for this, they're usually allowed to keep one of the bones they remove.

To preserve the meat, Slaughterers with sometimes leave the meat in a saltwater for long periods of time - sometimes for several days - and add honey to it to combat the salty taste. More commonly, salt is gotten from dried salt water (or from large salt rocks) and rubbed all over the meat and left in dark areas during hot days.

---

Herders

Much of kingdom territory is dedicated to the livestock that must be escorted throughout the large amounts of space. In order for territory to remain usable and flourishing, herders move the livestock between the Far Pens and the Near Pens rotating through the seasons. For the most part, the Near Pens are used in the winter as they're better sheltered and easily accessed.

The Far Pens have much more space and room for grazing so they're used in the summer - this is particularly important during kidding season when newborn creatures come about and need the space and time to grow.

Herders are responsible for the well-being of entire sectors of livestock and usually come in pairs or trios. They're one of the few civilian classes taught extensive battle techniques and defensive maneuvers as they're expected to face off against predators who may want to take their livestocks for themselves. In recent times, herders have started being accompanied by polecats that are trained to keep lone livestock from wandering off

---

[incohearent]

you can watch pignorant free on tubitv, link here. Contains lovely cinematography by someone who genuinely cares about pigs.

[gamecockyyy]

Just in case anyone was wondering- sometimes people unknowingly bring in sows that are in early pregnancy and when we gut them sometimes we find fetal piglets.

[superior-07]

TW ISLAND OF THE SLAUGHTERED

genderbend noco and codie’s (cody’s) grief, AU by the talented @eavee-ry <3

go easy on me i haven’t tried animating in years <//3

[samalong1]

Yandere Orc Gurren headcanons pt 1

Tw

Breeding mentions

Kidnapping

And murder

Mentions of nsfw

You lived in a small village so far away from the capitol that the king's laws and protection rarely touched your town, afterall why bother if monsters raid your village, by the time knights arrive they'd be long gone.

Because of this your village was poor which in its own twisted way caused less raids, you average gremlin clan would rather hit one of the fancy villages instead of one where at most you can get a few sheep and maybe some grain.

But lately whenever gaurds or suppliers do arrive you hear gossip, gossip of a clan of orcs tearing through towns, killing any civilian so they can make the kingdom their own.

The whole village was on edge. Kids were no longer allowed to go outside past early noon, a curfew was issued fir the whole town, and some braze folks hid weopons, although it's almost impossible then to kill a orc even more so one in a clan, since if you managed to stab one another one would simply snap your neck. Guess it was just to show some sort of resistance

Luckily you were too busy making deliveries for your shoe maker dad.

You were lucky, oblivious to the extent rarely hearing the gossip.

When you got back from a unusually long trip you were confused upon seeing a crowd

As you ushered to the front to see what was happening.

A clan of orcs making demands, not just simple ones but enough of your crops and animals that the village would starve in the winter. But if the village refused they'd be slaughtered.

You stared at what you assumed was the leader

He was Big

Even bigger than the orcs next to him, with his giant muscles, his hands were bigger then your whole head!

You soon regretted staring when his gaze shifted to you

Gurren stared at the small plump woman

Her terrified wide eyes, her soft body, and her breeding hips made his breath hitch

So when the village refused his demands he coudnt help but grab you as he burnt your village to the ground

Your scream and sobs were music to his ears

"Bag anything useful" he said still holding you over his shoulder like a sack of meat

You were soon thrown over his horse as he mounted it. He made sure his horse ran like the wind so you coudnt escape without being launched off onto the tough forest ground.

He was going to enjoy you already imagining what you'd look like waiting inside his dwelling for him to come home from his hunts, God the thought of you welcoming him home while being swollen with his children, a baby orc in your arms he wanted them to have your eyes.

He was drooling and some of that drool fell on you to your disgust

Soon he arrived at the campsite

"Tonight we celebrate Borg start a fire and pour the drinks*

Orcs were loud

You were stuck on the leader's lap as they all shouted and drank beer

It was pretty obscene sometimes the leader who you overheard being called Gurren would swing his cup and spill beer over you

"Watcha naming the pretty thing" one laughed before drinking again

You were loosing your name, the last thing that attached you to your now ruined village

He seemed to be thinking even rubbing his chin "hmmmmm y/n yea yea y/n nice pretty name for a pretty small thing" he slurred seeming to get drunkened

God what was in that beer to make a orc that big get drunk

He stared at you soon chuckling "hehe God your gonna be the perfect little mate so pretty" he cooed gently petting your head

You blushed as he showered you with compliments soon nuzzling into you as his beard scratched your neck

God you felt like you had carpet burn on your neck

Soon you were carried bridal style to his tent

With him being drunk you had a hope of escaping

Thst was until you had a giant orc laying ontop of you head resting on your boobs like they were the best pillows

Was he purring?????

The giant orc leader was purring like a cat

@ofallthingsnasty

[quiteliterallyilliterate]

Could you write a yandere FD where reader finds his mask and accidentally frees him? I find the idea of him stalking reader after his freedom and reader being helpless to get help due to what he is.

Order up!

There really isn’t enough FD stuff (that isn’t smut) ((but also in general)) So here you go!

Edit: Part 2

tw: yandere, murder, slaughter of animals, blood/gore

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

The deity despised what he had come to. A being of such pure power, capable of ripping Termina away from Hyrule thread by thread, was now bound to not much more than a piece of wood. The feeble fears of incapable gods now made a mockery of who and what he was. His prison was bleached and painted with the same war patterns that defined his godliness with the eyes empty for its wearer. Two blank spots —weak spots— in the mask. For when they bound his form to such fragility, there was something of a loophole left behind. The hallowed eyes allowed the wearer to see, and believe they had some control over their actions as his consciousness began to muddle with their own. You see, within the mask there were no holes allowing them —the wearer— to breathe. Because while they wore the mask, likeness of his own face, they didn’t realise the rotting wood begin to mingle with their skin. None of them did. Too hungry for more of the power he could provide and blood he could spill they hardly realized what they were becoming. The paint was always the first to merge with the new wearer, the pigments staining the skin as a faint, ever fading —but never truly gone— reminder of what he was. The hair came next. Silvery white strands mixing with their own around their fringe, framing their face, much similar to his own now. Last was the eyes. Not many kept the mask long enough to ever really hand themselves fully over to him, but his conscience would continue to invade nonetheless. No one held the power to hold him captive in their minds, so a corpse they were rendered. Their eyes would lose their iris, and as the wearer weakened, their eyes would become vast pools of stark white. He heard in the travelers’ wisdom that eyes were the doorway to the soul. Perhaps that was why the eyes were the last part of a person he was bled into. His final act to them was conquering their souls. Where once, double helix sword in hand, he would have slain any thing —living or otherwise— where once he could’ve conquered anything, now he was left to the slow trickle of energy from collected souls.

He’s first made aware of you by your gentle touch. You fingers cup the edge of his face —what was of it now anyway— and attempt to make sense of who it was you were looking at. Perhaps is was they no longer worshipped him in Termina. Centuries could slip by him in this form and he’d not know better. Hand in hand with that, the paint on his mask could very well be greyed and chipped beyond recognition. Immortality was always more faulty than the mortals made it seem. While boredom could be sated with bloodshed and war, it was aging that couldn’t be so simply ignored. Despite the fact his consciousness was as it was from the second he was bound into what he was, it didn’t stop the wood from rotting nor the paint from chipping and fading. Much he was like the warrior constellations in the sky. While consistent across the birth and death of many civilizations, slowly he died with them. Not in the final splatter of blood like the matter of mortality, but it was death in all the way that matters. Perhaps Hylia proved that you can kill a god. Sure, she may have ‘killed’ demise, but cyclically, he was still her tormentor. With Fierce, his form was weak. Too weak to hold him further. Much like the mortals who believed they could shoulder the weight, this form would too crack and rot beneath the earth. His point still stood that in spite of every possible factor that your serenity shouldn’t have met with his ruthlessness, you’d defied fate nonetheless.

By your grace he loved to watch you. Mounted on the fireplace, he could see everything in your tiny cabin. He could watch you cook food for yourself, sing as you cleaned the dishes afterward, and especially the fact you often would fall asleep on the couch meant he could spend even longer admiring the curves of your face. You were incomparably precious to the world. He remembers the days of his youth in divinity, freshly given his purpose. He’d killed many in those days, like an executioner who’s axe discriminated against none. The worship he once had, the temples he’d once been graced with, the concubines left for him… Perhaps he wanted more than to watch you. Being so close to what he wanted, truly wanted, made him antsy. And you’d live through life like you’d not known better. You’d talk to people where he couldn’t monitor to keep you safe, you’d leave the protection he offered. He’d long for you while you sat just out of reach, tempting him to try something. And so he did. It seems years of rot made the wood fragile.

You were honestly quite disappointed the mask had broke. The wood was splintered across the floor, and with how old it was, it really wasn’t worth saving. Still, you collected the bits from across the floor and kept moving. The forest was still and quiet as you traveled, the wind would whistle in the trees and a murder of crows crowded around you. Unfortunately, you had no bread or shinies to spare aside from a small green rupee, which they normally would’ve cawed and kicked around. Instead, their beady eyes watched you, huddled high in the trees as you waded through the forest. You could feel their eyes on you the whole way past.

The dead animals on your doorstep are not only mildly concerning, given their split open ribs, but incredibly creepy the longer it goes on. Clearly whoever was doing this was stubbornly persistent given their notes in a not very decipherable language. At first they left you a crow, the day they watched you. It had a small ring in its leg you didn’t bother to touch. The next was a badger, followed by fox, then an elk. Now, it was entirely beyond you who’d collect that many animals carcasses —you’d doubted they were hunted, given the large lacerations across their torsos— but it wasn’t much flattering. It wasn’t until you’d caved and cooked one of the elks and they’d kept giving you more that you’d considered they were trying to feed you. Sweet as that was, no one person had a use for that much elk. No one person could hunt that much elk. No person would see it right to draw a sigil in blood on the back wall of someone’s house in elk blood. No one person would help you.

You were still beautiful as you slept. He was glad now you were his spouse, though it did take you a while to get used to his courting. It was for the best though, you were well fed and protected now, more than any mortal man could hope to provide you with. He did enjoy killing all your other suitors. That tradition was always entertaining.

[small-sinclair]

Snow and Rose

An idea by @violettelune

Reformed!Johnny Slaughter x fem!reader

Welcomed readers: @sup-im-blue

Tw: mention of blood and death, him being a dad, mainly his pov, just something fluffy, not prof-read

He woke up to another nightmare. Johnny dreamt that he found you dead in the sunflower field, your blood stained on his hands, lifeless eyes looking up. Then he heard his daughter crying in the distance. No matter how fast he ran towards her cries, he was never close enough. He was never there in time. It always ended with Nancy standing over the crib and a wicked smile on her face.

“Freed ya, Johnny. Now you can come home,” she would say. “Now you come back home. Come home.”

At his feet, barbed wire and chains wrapped around his legs and arms, pulling him to the ground. He felt roots sewing him to the wooden floor into front of his mother as he looked upon her and her smile. He felt chainsaw blades strangling him as he tried to scream your name, but sunflowers and daisies poured from his lips. His world filled with his victims, his deaths, and they all look at him with empty, lost eyes. He knew their names; how could he forget them? Then his eyes focus to the center and sees you and his child in a broken marble block, red tears falling from your eyes as you look on your child. He tastes your blood, your flesh between gasps and teeth. He hates this. He loves you. Stop. Stop it!

Wake up.

He would wake up in sweat, sometimes shutting, sometimes falling out of bed and pushing away from the bed and from you.

Tonight, however, he woke up with a start, breathing heavily, his dark eyes looking around like a scared wild animal. He looked down at your sleeping form then up at the cracked door leading into the hallway. He needed to check. Johnny just needed time check.

He got out of bed, put the blanket over your shoulder, and crept out of the room but something in his chest didn’t sit. He came back and kisses your head. “Be back, y/n,” he promised. “Keep my side warm.”

He may not be a hunter, but he still kept his talents. He can walk without noise, he can move without sound, and he can be hidden without being seen. Johnny uses that talent whenever his daughter is asleep when he comes home from a long day from the butchers. That’s why he got the job in Wisconsin; the butcher need another slaughter, and he’s good at it. Why waste a talent? He’s used to the blood, to the kill, but these are animals, not man. But he got the job to leave Texas. He swore to the stars he’ll never go back.

Johnny made that promise in a burned down church two years ago, and he stuck to it still.

He snuck out the room and down the hall to the open white door to the cotton candy pink room. He lets out a deep sigh as he came over the little white crib he built and looked down. Ophelia Rosemary Sawyer, his 5 week-year-old daughter, slept like a rock in a pink onesie with a bear in the center. Whatever fear he had, the nightmares, the shadows and ghosts— it all faded when he saw her sleeping in peace. Shes his rock, his world, his reason.

Ever so slowly, he lowered his hand and touched her head, and his heart fluttered when she moved into his hand. She’s not scared of him. As if she’s glass, he picks her up slowly and cradles her. He sneaks to the wooden rocking chair in the corner and rocks back and forth. The moonlight lit the room as the snow fell gently over the evergreens.

“Hey there, little sunshine,” he whispers. “Don’ worry. Daddy’s just needed ya.” He looks down at his world and rests his forehead against hers, kisses it, and holds her close. “I swear you’ll never be alone, ever. I love you… I’ll never not love ya.” Then he looks outside, stands up, and takes her to the window. “Look at ‘at, Ophelia,” he whispers in her small spot of brown hair, “it’s your first snow. So pretty an’ bright.” He looks out at the fields and forests, the farmlands and homes, and he thinks about the fireflies and waving weeds he left behind. “Daddy ain’t goin’ away, sunshine. I promise.”

He closes his eyes breathed out slowly. “Texas can keep the fireflies,” he looked down at his child, his blood and flesh, and his heart swelled, “I got my snow and rose.”

“Johnny?” Your voice was enough to make him jolt but he relaxed. “Why are you up? Is Ophelia okay?” You joined his side and looked down at your child. “I didn’t hear her.”

“Naw,” he answers, rocking on his heel, his eyes not leaving his child. “Sleepin’ like a lamb.”

You rested your head on his arm as he looked outside. “It’s beautiful.”

“Yeah,” he said as he laid his head on top of yours.

“Is this your first snow?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Is it everything you’d imagined?”

He thought for a moment as he took in the land before him. He could imagine Ophelia and her friends running wild outside with sleds, building snowmen, having a snowball fight out back. He could see himself with you during a star filled night while the children sleep, slow dancing with you in the snow, kissing you sweetly while whispering praises. He thought about Texas and the heat, but he thought about you smiling while it snowed, his kids playing, and him giving you a cup of cocoa.

“Everything and more, moonbeam,” he whispers, meeting your eyes. He leans down and kisses you tenderly. “I love you, y/n.”

“And I love you, Johnny,” you said back. You looked back at the snow, and you both watched it fall over the moon lit snow.