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Deviant for 3 Years
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The Pig
From across the courtroom, he looked into the mans eyes and he felt something he hadn't felt once in his life. The hairs on his arms prickled and rose, the rasp in his breath steadied, slowed. Patrick's eyes dilated, they tried to remain focused on his enemies eyes but they would negate aiming directly into his pupils.
The man, a large, sweaty court-appointed defense attorney with the name Alexios Hondros. From what Patrick had learned, Lewis was only thirty years old, but he held himself as someone who was in his fifties or even older. His suit was pure black albeit a blood red tie. He stared back at Patrick, unloving and unaffected by the knowledge he had on the man known as Pigskin.
The loud thumping of Patrick's heart was all he could hear, except this time it hadn't motivated it. It wasn't fuel, it was smoke.
"Mister Hayden, or Patrick," he started his the prosecution, "I wouldn't want to mistake you for your father, now would I?" for maybe a moment within a second of time, Patric
:iconbrutusthepanda:BrutusThePanda 0 0
Every day she waited for him. She sat, perched on the roof of her owners small home and looked over the backyard fence, waiting for her friend. She was a house cat, he was a homeless, dirty, shaggy dog. At the same time every day he would come trotting down the sidewalk, dry mud sticking to his fur, looking in every direction due to blindness in his left eye, and he would sit across the fence and bark only once. That one sound would let her know he was there, and instantly she would jump down and greet him with a quick push of her head against his. And they would walk down the road together, occasionally stopping to be pet by the locals children coming home from school, or the business men and women on their daily commutes. This happened for nearly three months straight until that day had come. She sat on her roof, perched as usual, waiting. He was an hour late. Then he was two hours late. Three. Four. The sun went down and came back up and she still waited for her companion. He never
:iconbrutusthepanda:BrutusThePanda 1 0
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Dear Me
Dear me,
you're depressed. I mean, you were diagnosed with manic depression, but that's besides the point. It's gotten bad. I've gotten bad. I wake up, or at least my body does, but my brain not so much. I lay in bed like a quadriplegic drugged on his meds and I stare at the ceiling, tracing the blank white lines until my eyes hurt, wondering what my mind is going to conjure up today. Maybe a t-rex will eat me. I'm not that lucky, they're dead. Maybe aliens will abduct me. No, I'm not that crazy. Oh, I forgot to mention the paranoia you're diagnosed with. I should also mention the PTSD, the borderline personality disorder, and more to add to the trail mix that is my somehow functioning brain. But hey, aside from the physical and emotional abuse you've endured and still do, you're alive. For the past ninety six days, yes I've counted, you've woken up and decided today was the day you'd die. You'd watch the clock go from 12:00 AM to 3:30 AM before you even decide to finally st
:iconbrutusthepanda:BrutusThePanda 1 6
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20 Years
Being twenty gives you a new perspective on "life".
Not in the deep metaphorical sense like I'm trying to become the next Buddha, although that would be killer, but more of the "I've been around the block enough times" kind of shit.
The lessons I've learned are as follows.
From about ages three to eleven, happiness is your only emotion. Sure you're going to cry when you fall down and scrape your knee, but you'll be showing those scars off with pride because you got back on your back and you rode it around the block. You'll still only understand happiness when your mother leaves you for a man she doesn't know, and you're left in a home with an abusive uncle, but again, happiness is still your one and only friend.
Now this is the fun part in life, adolescence. I'm not talking about being twelve because who remembers that year in any way except for "the year before I'm a teenager"? That's all that is right? Anyway there's two sections for teenage life. Thirteen to sixteen. You're young, f
:iconbrutusthepanda:BrutusThePanda 1 0
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If there's one season I can honestly say I love, it's Fall, and this picture right here honestly gives the feeling for it. I can smell ...

I think this is beautiful. The story that came with the picture kind of tells you exactly what you're looking at. The details, the colo...



From across the courtroom, he looked into the mans eyes and he felt something he hadn't felt once in his life. The hairs on his arms prickled and rose, the rasp in his breath steadied, slowed. Patrick's eyes dilated, they tried to remain focused on his enemies eyes but they would negate aiming directly into his pupils.
The man, a large, sweaty court-appointed defense attorney with the name Alexios Hondros. From what Patrick had learned, Lewis was only thirty years old, but he held himself as someone who was in his fifties or even older. His suit was pure black albeit a blood red tie. He stared back at Patrick, unloving and unaffected by the knowledge he had on the man known as Pigskin.
The loud thumping of Patrick's heart was all he could hear, except this time it hadn't motivated it. It wasn't fuel, it was smoke.
"Mister Hayden, or Patrick," he started his the prosecution, "I wouldn't want to mistake you for your father, now would I?" for maybe a moment within a second of time, Patrick swore he saw a smile break on Lewis' face. "No," he started again, "why your father was a homicidal maniac, killing hundreds of people in only three years, torturing both men and women, even kids, before ultimately taking their lives." Lewis walked around his table, slowly pacing towards Patrick. Their eyes remained locked, Patrick's hear rate rising and rising with each of Alexios' steps. "What a fitting name the press gave him though am I right?" He asked Patrick, now fully releasing his smile unto the court. It was a full white smile. His teeth were beautiful, unlike any other thing that made Lewis who he was. "What was the alias your father was given again Patrick?" He asked, knowing full well what the answer was.
Patrick hesitated. He grabbed his pockets, expecting to feel his knife. In the moment, Lewis managed to make Patrick forget about his months in jail.
"The Cerberus," he finally answered, "the news called him The Cerberus."
"Yes, the Cerberus." Lewis pondered for a moment on the response before continuing. "Now, I'm Greek myself and I do know of the story of the Cerberus." Lewis stepped back towards his table, picking up a photo from the top of his messy pile of sheets and folders, presenting it to the court.
"The Cerberus, or 'the hound of Hades', is a mythical creature of Greek culture that was bested by Hercules, so on and so forth. I, however, don't think that the news stations understand how well they hit the nail on the head with this title."
Lewis now turned to Patrick, presenting the photo now to him and him only.
"Patrick, describe the image you're looking at to the court."
Patrick hesitated again. His throat was completely dry and even the thought of speaking had hurt him, but he spoke anyway.
"It looks like a regular hound, almost like a pit bull mix. It has three heads and it's surrounded by fire."
Lewis smiled, turning to the judge.
"Three heads, that seems pretty strange for any animal to have, but no you're exactly right. Now, how many kids did your father have exactly? It was just you, wasn't it?"
Patrick tried to hear the question, but he was immediately distracted by something outside.
It couldn't have been, but Patrick thought he could see his brother somewhere in the crowd of the people passing by.
"Answer the question, mister Hayden."
Patrick snapped back into where he was. "Sorry, what did you say?" Lewis' smile widened, but Patrick could see the anger in his eyes. "How many siblings do you have Patrick?" He asked.
"Me," he started, thinking about Christopher, "just me and my brother."
Patrick stopped and thought about his brother. He thought about what had gotten him into this situation. He thought of Kyle, the bully when they were younger.
Run, little brother. Don't let them win.
He wanted to save his brother, but how could one monster save another?
He wanted his brother in his life again.
"His name is Christopher Hayden."

"Ah, yes," Alexios replied, his face becoming a sullen, plain visage; he looked at Patrick like a marksman knowing full well he had his target in position to be taken out, "now, you and your brother Christopher are close I'm assuming? What, with everything that's happened in your lives, your fathers secrets that lead to his death, your mothers untimely suicide. It was a suicide, wasn't it?" The lawyer laughed at the last part, almost if the word 'untimely' was the funniest thing he's heard in months.
Patrick's eyes dilated, now completely focusing on Alexios. He watched the lawyers muscles twitch, he noticed the sweat form on his forehead and slowly begin their descent.
His blood began to tremor throughout his body and his eyes began to dry from not blinking. For the first time since Patrick was first introduced to the monster inside of him, it never manifested itself outside of his head, not like Madison with Salem; but now as he sat across from Alexios Hondros, the prosecutor in charge of sending Patrick to jail forever, laughing over the death of his mother, he saw something he never thought he'd see.
He saw Pigskin.
The Pig
Short part from my FINALLY finished story!
For those of you who tagged along, learning about Pigskin from day one (like four years ago), I introduce to you all Alexios Hernandos. An overweight, overzealous lawyer bent on putting Patrick behind bars. Without much spoilers, it doesn't work thanks to the help of one slightly surprise friend.


BrutusThePanda's Profile Picture
Artist | Hobbyist | Varied
Kill people, burn shit, fuck school. I'm fuckin' radical.

Social Media:





Purchase some of my posters here:…

Real name: Stewart Wayne Moore-Leach Junior
Age: 20

Birthday: October 16th

Favorite Color: Red, baby blue, and yellow

Music taste: Five Finger Death Punch, Tyler The Creator, Nine Inch Nails, Front Porch Step, The Gorillaz, Seether, Slipknot, Stone Sour, City and Color, Madchild, Hopsin, Deadmau5, NOTHING DUBSTEP

Favorite Quote: Let It Be

Currently in the process of writing a full length thriller novel, pieces of it are strewn about throughout my deviations!
Clothing/poster designer as well.

People I know in real life:
:iconbitterserenity: :iconblakeifer97:

People I WANT to know in real life:
:iconlittlefootisreal: :icondragonwolf1775: :iconiithisismyusernameii: :iconnuclearkarma:

I'm a fuckin' unicorn. Fuck anyone who's gonna say I'm not. #Goblin

I also have an RP account based off of my serial killer I've created located here:
#Pandabros #Deathmetalbuddhist

After the encounter with Jeff that seemed like a lifetime ago, Madison had begun to change in a drastic way. She quickly destroyed the pig mask that Patrick had made for her, replacing it with a latex wolf mask, identical to her predatory position. After she had slaughtered Jeff with her bare hands, Madison realized that she had nothing left to fear, not even Pigskin; she had become the hellion she used to have nightmares about. Her weapon of choice had also took a change, swapping her knife for a machete she had found on a recent kill. The victim was a hunter named Frank Welson. He was accused of hanging women in the woods when he was on his so-called "hunting trips". If there was one thing that aided Madison in choosing her prey, it was weather or not the chosen was more evil than her. She loved the feeling of the machete as it quickly found its way through Frank's neck, letting it fall to her feet. Madison Grace had suddenly faded from existence, and in the shell of her body lived Salem, the masked demon.
Her newest mark was a man who owned a construction business, Christopher King. At first, he had looked innocent, as if there was no guilty pleasure of his Madison could work with, but he slipped; Madison knew if she had watched King long enough, something would show. It seemed as though Christopher King was part of a local drug ring. From what Madison could tell, he was high up on the chain of command, calling the shots to all of the thugs who sold the drugs. He seemed to traffic any drug he could, varying between cocaine, marijuana, ecstasy, and other assorted paraphernalia. He was a late worker, tending to be the last person to leave the work sight every day. This pleased Madison, because she could choose whichever night she pleased to attack. From the feeling she had tonight, the attack would come shortly within the next few hours.
Madison stood outside of the construction sight, a soon-to-be apartment complex, surveying the scene. It was nearly completed; the outer walls were up now, most of the tractors and trucks had now left. There was a light coming from the top floor. This, Madison figured, was where Christopher was located. He was probably working on finances and other paperwork that needed to be completed before the finishing of the home. Slowly, she began to enter the building. The inside was an assortment of hallways and lobbies, all similar to each other. Soft, wine colored carpet covered the floor. The whole place smelled like a woman's perfume store, which turned Madison's stomach. There was no sound at all, besides the slight creaking beneath her feet. It took a few moments for Madison to find the stairs, but when she did, she stopped at the feet. Grasping the machete in her hand tightly, Madison quickly left the apartment, allowing Salem to enter. When she did, she started to walk up the stairs towards Christopher King. The light began to shine brighter and brighter with each step she rose to him. Finally, after moments of walking the set of stairs, Salem stood at the top. Down the hallway, she could see the light. There was about six doors on each side of the hallway before the opening into the lobby which Christopher now sat, his back towards Salem. Slowly pacing her way towards her prey, the latex mask on Salem's face began to feel like it was her skin. The wolf on the inside slowly morphed into the predator on the outside. Before she could clue in to what was happening, she was behind him.
"Hey." she whispered. Quickly, without hesitation, she swung the machete through Christopher King's neck. As his head hit the ground, Madison noticed something odd. There was no blood. The next instant she knew why. The head that her machete just cut through was a mannequins. Confused, Madison turned. Standing behind her, however, was Christopher King. "So you're Salem." was the last thing she heard before the bottom of the axe in King's hand hit her, before everything went black.
Madison began waking up in a familiar position. She felt like deja vu had taken over her. It took moments for her to realize that her mask was now off, along with her machete wasn't holstered to her. Her hands were tied behind her, which were also tied to her feet. Slowly, everything came into focus. She was laying tied to a bed in one of the hotel rooms. At the foot of her bed sat Christopher King. He was a young man, in his thirties at the latest. He had short dirty blonde hair that reached only to the tip of his ears. His face was solid. He wore a faded pink dress shirt, the sleeves rolled to his elbows, tucked into black dress pants. His hole composure seemed to shine etiquette; he seemed perfectly normal. The only thing that was off about King was the axe he was resting his chin on. Noticing that Madison was starting to wake up, he stood and walked to the side of the bed. "You're finally awake, Madison. Or Salem, is it? Which would you prefer?" the way he spoke to Madison was new. He sounded...interested., "I swear to fuck, you piece of shit I'm going to..." he interrupted her. "You're going to what? Slaughter mill? Behead me? Not to be rude, my dear, but that sounds awfully difficult in your position. I'm not one to be the bearer of bad news, usually, but you might want to look at your surroundings," he rose his arms and spun around, like he was showing off a masterpiece, "you're in my zone. This was my hunt, Madison. Not yours. I knew you were coming for me. I planned on you coming here. I knew our fates would cross, the had to." Madison fought the ropes, trying her hardest to break free. "What the fuck. How? Who even are you?!" a loud, playful laugh came from Christopher. "Wouldn't you love to know. I'll try to start this simply for you. I was normal, when I was younger. I had a loving father, a bitch of a mother, and a fucking monster of a brother. I was left alone to fend for myself after he decided to murder my parents right in front of me..." now it was Madison's turn to interrupt. "So how is any of this my fault? I didn't do a single thing to you, asshole!" anger began to rise in her body. "No, none of this is directly your fault. However, I do need you to be a messenger for me. See...King is just a mask for me. It's my own personal creation, if I dare say. My brother...his was slightly different, as you know." Every word coming from Christopher was confusing Madison more and more. He was throwing her through loops, and she had no choice but to jump through them. "To put it simply, Madison Grace, my name isn't Christopher King." slowly, he walked closer to her. "Then tell me what it is, don't hide behind it. I'm obviously not going anywhere." she laughed. Even in a moment where she could die, Madison did not feel overcome by Christopher. "My name," he began, bending over Madison, his face in hers, "is Christopher Hayden. I'm Patrick's long forgotten brother."
So much more confusion crashed into Madison's body. Patrick had a brother? And he was now preparing to kill her? This was a situation neither Salem or Madison was ready to handle. "You're...Patrick has a..." the word's just would not leave her mouth. "Yes, I'm Patrick's brother. I'm the ever more sadistic brother to the legendary Pigskin. He killed my father. He slaughtered him right in front of me. He laughed while he pushed him onto a meat hook, and laughed more as he cut his face in half. Your loverboy is a monster who's been keeping a pretty dark secret, Maddie." more rage. "Don't you dare fucking call me that." that was the name only meant for Pigskin...or Patrick. Christopher laughed, raising his axe to Madison's throat. "You're a feisty one, I can see why Pat kept you alive now. You must be fun to have around. Too bad for him, that's going to have to change soon." now the axe was raised above Christopher's head. "I have a message for you to give to Patrick. Tell him his brother misses him." with those words, Christopher slammed his axe down.



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dragonwolf1775 Featured By Owner Oct 15, 2014  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
Tofe-lai Featured By Owner May 1, 2014  Hobbyist Artisan Crafter
thank you for the fav :3
BrutusThePanda Featured By Owner May 1, 2014  Hobbyist General Artist
youre welcome! :)
dragonwolf1775 Featured By Owner Apr 21, 2014  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
Hey my panda brothah! My friend just wrote a pervy story of him and i... here if you wanna read… BE WARNED he is a bit of a creeper lol
BrutusThePanda Featured By Owner Apr 26, 2014  Hobbyist General Artist
....that was intense...
dragonwolf1775 Featured By Owner Apr 26, 2014  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
vkdragonfire Featured By Owner Apr 8, 2014  Student General Artist
Thank you for the fav! :happybounce: 
BrutusThePanda Featured By Owner Apr 10, 2014  Hobbyist General Artist
Quite welcome!
sefira101 Featured By Owner Feb 28, 2014  Hobbyist General Artist
Thanks for the fave again :)
BrutusThePanda Featured By Owner Mar 11, 2014  Hobbyist General Artist
Very welcome! :)
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