pigs in a row

bad days

Neil doesn’t always have good days.

Some times he can go for weeks feeling light inside. He can go out for dinner with Matt and Dan, and hang out with Allison without flinching. He can sit shoulder to wrist next to Andrew without thinking twice.

Other days Kevin is a bit to tall to look at properly and sometimes his heart starts thudding the moment a class door shuts and there’s so many people separating him from the escape route and he has a hard time sorting out math equations to memorized nearby cities. Sometimes his phone goes off from a text and the vibration feels foreign and other times a classmate asks what’s it like being a mobster’s son.

It’s an article though that gets taped to his locker outlining his connection to murder and inside on a plate sits a pig heart. He knows exactly what it is the moment he sees it, slamming the door shut hard and backing away slowly.

That’s when he goes back to the tower and finds the nearest knife and cuts his arm delicately.

He’s hunched over in the tub and through the shut door he can hear the television going. Every time he shuts his eyes he thinks or dashboard lighters and count downs and black rooms and the overwhelming need to r u n but he can’t, he promised he wouldn’t.

So Neil makes another neat cut on his left arm, a cut amongst a backdrop of angry damaged and exposed skin. Some days he thinks his scars are the only real sign that he’s still alive.

Someone knocks on the door but he’s more distracted by the knife in his hand. He never liked holding knives, cutting baby pigs open and hearing them scream. Lola would cut him like this, her hands cold and sharp. He can still hear screaming.

He drops the knife thinking about her, blood on tile floor and his eyes wide. His father is coming, marching down the halls and he needs to run and not look back.

The door flies open, lock picked and Andrew standing there with Nicky and Aaron as a backdrop. Neil’s chest lurches and he doesn’t know where to go but tries slipping forward, aiming to slide past Andrew but instead got trapped up in arms that haul him away from the bathroom, the fallen knife and the blood.

In his struggle he remembered a row of pigs sliced open with flies buzzing. For punishment once he was locked in a room with rotting pig bodies.

“Get off of me!” He shouts, trying to kick and thrash but Andrew squeezes tighter around his waist and he’s not making any headway in escape. “You have to let me go, he’s coming.” Cold icy fingers (Lola’s fingers) are tightening around his heart and no one understands that he needs to be gone.

Andrew doesn’t spare him a word but barks an order at Nicky to get the first aid kit while Aaron is hovering close by to take over. “I thought he was doing fine.” Aaron commented.

“You need to calm down,” Andrew informed Neil as he protested, trying to twist away but only succeeded to being put on the floor with Andrew wrapped tightly around, holding him back. “Neil Abram Josten. You’re in the Fox Tower. Do you understand that?”

Nicky was back with towels and the kit that Aaron snatched up. “He’s going to need stitches for that one.”

“I’ll hold him still,” Andrew sounded grim. “Grab Kevin’s vodka. It’ll help.”

“He’s coming, Andrew. He’s going to cripple me,” Neil whispered, slumping down and feeling the terror cling to his bones.

“Who are you so afraid of, rabbit?” he asked. There was a note of anger in his voice, creeping into his words.

Everyone came to a still when Neil whispered, “Nathan.”

“Your boyfriend went mental,” Aaron noted. “Remind him that he witnessed him straight up murdered.”

Andrew shot him a dirty look before accepting the shot glass worth of vodka from Nicky. It took a few attempts to get Neil to take it, shuddering and trembling. “Nathan wouldn’t be able to get his hands on you again. Aaron needs to stitch you up so you can either make this easy or I keep you still.”

Everyone knows Neil is as skittish as a wild animal sitting on the ground, Andrew’s legs and arms wrapped around him. The moment Aaron even touches his bare arm he flinched, startled. Andrew waits for the panic to settle before repositioning his grip, one arm wrapped around Neil holding him tight while the other held his bloody arm out straight.

The vodka was making his emotions much more distant and his eyes fell shut the moment Aaron began examining the cuts. “Go quick. Junkie is a bit of a lightweight.”

The feeling is familiar. His mother used to sew him up before, after a gun shot or that time he caught his leg on barbed wire. He almost doesn’t realize when everything is done and he’s being pulled off the floor and towards the couch.

It’s only Andrew now, the others vanished and Neil can’t remember where the pigs went. There’s a documentary in the background on British castles, a nice safe backdrop. They’ve experimented in the past when the good days turned to bad and exy videos made his anxious and space films of failed attempts had him remembering burning bodies. They’ve watched the same document over twenty times, enough for the comfort of memorization.

“What triggered that?” Andrew asked, looking tense like a grenade pin.

Neil shrugged in response, looking at his hands. Dried blood ruined them. “I’m fine.”

Andrew snarled at that and grabbed him by the back of the neck. “Don’t you ever say that.”

He had never broken down so violently before. He had never needed to be pinned down and restrained. Never had he gone as far as to cutting open his own skin to bleed out the terror.

“There was a joke,” Neil began without wanting to. “It wasn’t a good one.” Andrew hummed, his face inches away. “A pig’s heart was in my locker, it was like being a kid again.”

Andrew understood. He had known that Neil had practised on pigs. Once during breakfast he had gotten sick from the sight of bacon and since then Andrew avoided the meat on principle. “Who the fuck is the comedian?”

“I don’t care.”

“Then I’ll kill everyone who even looked at your locker.”

Neil gave him a tired look. “I didn’t want to run.”

“So you decided bleeding all over the floor was a better solution?”

“It helped clear my head. Slow me down.” Words feel heavy and he doesn’t want to be awake anymore. “Can I sleep now?”

Andrew loosened his grip and allowed him to shuffle down his position a bit to lean against him. Neil was effectively in place against his side, blanket used to further restrain any flailing limbs. “Go the fuck to sleep.” He makes a point about not looking at the bandages.

I’ll post a sequel soon! Also if you want to request andreil stuff feel free! ❤️❤️


This baby Peruvian is three weeks old tomorrow. 😍

She will be staying here in the caviary with us. She has been one of our success stories in the last few weeks. She was not fed the Rowe Cavy food, that has caused such devastation to many Caviarys. FYI That feed is now being tested by a lab.

We do not have a name for this beauty yet. We will soon. She is such a big girl for three weeks and very strong.

Loving this little Peruvian. 😍

anonymous asked:

Oh your story about Harvey proposing was so cute! Could you do one about Elliott proposing? (She/her pronouns pls)

Elliott had a lightness in his step as he walked along Willow Lane. His hair was tied back, to keep it from the wind. He was going to see Leah, the person he would call his best friend.

He arrived at her door, and knocked. Leah opened the door, seeing him in his best suit and tie, and she smiled.

“Don’t you look handsome today?” She teased.

He rolled his eyes at her, but smiled. A light blush warmed his cheeks. Leah smiled and handed him the box.

“I stayed up all night putting on the final details.” Elliott smiled and opened it up. Inside was a beautiful mermaid’s pendant, complete with a gorgeous chain made by Leah. The chain had small shells dangling off it, decorating, but not taking away from the brilliant blue of the pendant. 

“It’s stunning, Leah. Thank you. I’m at a loss for words.”

“For once, I have made you speechless.” Leah smiled and closed the box for him. “Go get her, tiger.”

Elliott nodded and took the box, taking the route by Marnie’s to the Farm. He walked past the rows of crops and grazing animals. A pig seemed to find a truffle. The Farmer was putting away baskets of fruit, readying them to be made into jam. She placed pomegranates in the chest, making Elliott smile. She once told him that she preserved all of her pomegranates, just so he could have the delightful fruit all year round.

He walked up to her, smiling. “Hello, my cherry blossom.”

“Oh, hi, Elliott! You’re up early.”

“I have something for you.”

Angry Poem

Why am I awake to write this?

Your name—               desperately scribbled,
and scratched            promptly                     out.

Wasting             a                 perfectly good           pen.

Breaking a solid sleeping schedule

                           for a
                   miserable cretin.

Mangy mutt—eating trash                 in      
                            the same           street it              shits on.

Nipping at                   its own shadow.

Happy       in spite             of its small                  existence.

Knowing             no better           than          a urinal cake                                                     in a movie theater              bathroom.

Only knows                 how to be                   open.                                                                  Accepting          of its          position.

Masking             the piss smell                       with breath mints                                           &                bleach.

Put                      lipstick                on a pig              & he                    will surely smile:                  

                  rows          of unkept          teeth spilling              forth—      an           avalanche of              decay.

Falling                 perfectly at                 his              feet.

Survivors of                a                 hurricane—
huddled             around               a                 campfire of                 untied                 shoelaces.


Mabel Pines aesthetic 

“I thought I was being charming, but I guess people see me as a big joke.”

Blossoming Rose Part 4

    “Oh, come on, fatass. You can do better than this,” said Fleur. One of her hands tightly cupped the gigantic, wobbling ass of the woman in front of her, the other wrapped around her waist and fondling the love handles that hung over the other woman’s skin-tight jeans.

    The woman in question was bent over a box filled with notebooks, clothes, and framed photos. Her body was crammed into the corner of the room beside a large, king-size bed. She feebly swatted Fleur’s hand away from her bulging gut and, with a deep grunt, heaved herself upwards. She tightly gripped a nearby shelf for support and heard it creak under her weight.

    “Huff… huff… I think… huff… anywhere… huff… is better than this,” Jennifer said between labored breaths. “I’m just here to pick… pick up the last of my things.” She clutched the cardboard box full of her possessions and began extracting her bulk from Fleur’s embrace.

    “Don’t be like that, Jen.” Fleur expertly ran her delicate fingernails up and down the quivering mass of Jennifer’s belly. A strained tank top barely covered past her belly button and left a roll of flab hanging over the front of her jeans exposed. Fleur began to pick away at a small hole in the cloth, tugging at a loose strung. “We both know you came back for more than that.”

    “Listen up, you manipulative little– Uuuurp!” Jennifer let out a forceful belch as Fleur rooted out that one sensitive spot in her gut and dug her nails down into the malleable flesh. Before she could say another word, Fleur’s piercing blue eyes were an inch away from hers and the overpowering scent of roses flooded her head. She felt fingers probing, massaging, coaxing her belly until it felt heavier and heavier and her legs screamed out from under the weight. An instant later her ass hit the bed and sent quivering shockwaves up her body like a mound of jello. Seams along her waistline popped and groaned, just barely holding back the cascading rolls of fat bundled up inside. Then the hands were at it again, sliding up each beanbag-sized ass cheek and aggressively fondling every inch of exposed belly. One drifted upwards to slide a square of rich chocolate past Jennifer’s lips; she readily accepted it. The other slid down, diving underneath the weight of her belly and probing her lower gut.

    Frrrrpt! Fleur grinned as a loud fart trumpeted out from her captive’s quivering ass. Doubling down on her massaging of Jen’s belly, Fleur watched the enormous woman’s rear vibrate with each burst of flatulence. Soon, she could feel Jennifer’s muscles relaxing underneath layers of flab as the larger woman practically melted onto the bed, allowing her trunk-like arms to splay out and letting out a deep, desperate moan.

    Of all the ways she had teased and tormented her feedees, Fleur admitted to herself that this was one of her favorites. There was something so primal, so animalistic, so sexy about seeing the other woman reduced to a whimpering pile of lard before her. She loved the soft, silky feeling of running her fingers over the bulging rolls of flab that hung off her plaything’s body; the skin was pale and delicate, it moulded and folded and gave way under the slightest touch. It covered every inch of the lean, scrawny girl Jennifer used to be, clothed her in a voluptuous gown of gluttony and quivering rolls while trapping her within the prison of her own body.

    And what a body it was.

    The woman on the bed was beyond obese. Short, faded red hair fell down messily to her shoulders and framed her swollen face. She strained to bring her head up but only succeeded in deepening the folds of her triple chin. She wheezed, out of breath and shaking with pleasure, causing her mammoth chest to heave up and down rhythmically. Once small and perky, Jennifer’s breasts had ballooned to the size of basketballs and jiggled with milk and fat after every breath. When upright, they hung down over her belly (she had given up on wearing a bra long ago), but lying down they were plump enough to press up against her face. Fleur made a motion to push them aside, then instead gripped one in each hand and groped them aggressively, pressing each globe up against her body and sending shockwaves of arousal down Jen’s ensnared body.

    Jennifer’s lower body was just as bad. Each leg was composed of several cascading rolls of fat, her thighs squished so close together it was impossible for her to spread them apart. Her double belly spread like an apron of blubber over her thighs and was divided by a deep cleft down the middle. She took up nearly the entire bed in her current state, forcing Fleur to climb next to her to stroke her hair. The purple-haired woman admired the still purple-tinted fringes of Jennifer’s hair, a remnant of their relationship. Fleur noticed Jen still wore the single purple jewel earring on her left ear she had given her for their six month anniversary. She remembered how much Jen had resisted getting wearing the gem, saying it looked out of place and didn’t match her professional attire. It resulted in a fight between them, one of the only fights they had; in the end, Jen wore the earring and outgrew her outfit.

    That was what Fleur did, what she lived for. She took things from people. To her, everyone was a complex, unique bundle of likes and dislikes and habits and personalities and all the things that made someone themselves. They were individuals, they had dreams and aspirations, and each and every person could find a way to fit all these pieces of themselves together to live up to their fullest potential. That was what it meant to be human. And for Fleur, nothing was more interesting, more thrilling, or gave her more exhilarating pleasure than stripping all that away. Every scrap of identity lost, every fiber of individuality bent to her will, and every spark of intelligence crushed was a shred of humanity that was lost forever to the world, but not to her.

    She considered herself a curator of humanity; the only way she could truly know someone was by breaking them down and savoring the fragments of themselves they left behind. The rest of the world, and her objects of attention themselves, did not and could not appreciate the beauty of their humanity. It seemed like such a waste to Fleur, when she could satisfy her need to dominate then and turn them into something much happier in return. So she took, and took, and took until there was nothing left but the aching pleasure of stripping someone down to the core and the panting, farting mass of flesh and gluttony on the bed before her. It was mindless, it was in ecstasy, it was pure, and it belonged to her.

    In a way, Fleur was almost jealous. They say ignorance is bliss, after all. She remembered when she first discovered the instinctive flame of desire that burned away at the back of every person’s mind. She had gone on a class field trip, back in second grade, to a farm located half an hour outside the city. It was a beautiful day, with clear blue skies and the flowers in bloom for the spring. She couldn’t remember much about the farm itself, though, save for part of a tour through the livestock facilities. The moment she laid eyes on the rows and rows of fattened pigs, something deep within her snapped awake. These animals were caged, wallowed in their own filth, and were being raised for nothing more than slaughter, and yet they did nothing but gorge themselves on slop. It felt instinctively right, somehow, and it would occupy her dreams for years.

    Now, she knew the truth behind her feelings; buried deep within each person was only the desire for gluttony and pleasure, sustenance and sloth. The more she took away, the more someone would revert to these instincts, and the more she satisfied those instincts, the more she owned them. Her experiments stretched from toppling athletes and social queens in her high school years to seducing and fattening impressionable freshmen in college, but nothing serious, nothing permanent. That is, until a year ago, when she met the energetic and high-achieving Jennifer. They clicked immediately, Fleur the wild art major and Jen the savvy business major.

    Within a month, Jen’s grades had fallen from A’s to B’s while her dress size had nearly doubled.

    Three months in, and they were inseparable; Fleur was joined at the hip to Jen’s expanding waist, and Jen grasped nervously for Fleur’s hand any moment they were apart.

    After six months, straight C’s and a bathroom incident drove Jen out of college and into the welcoming arms of her girlfriend. The move to Fleur’s apartment happened quickly, and Jen’s withdrawal from her friends and family occurred soon after.

    Nine months after they met, and Jen was accused at an airport of using a fake passport. She was 300 pounds heavier, had dyed her hair purple, and set off metal detectors with an array of navel piercings. The experience ended after she was grounded for being too wide for a single seat.

    Fleur had been so close with Jen. She was almost there, almost at the point of no return, but she had pushed her a little too far and a little too fast. One week ago, Jen declared that enough was enough.

    One day ago, Fleur met a cute girl in her microbiology class. She was innocent and gorgeous and just the perfect body type.


    A whiff of her victim’s flatulence brought Fleur back to reality. The seductress waved her hand playfully over her nose. “Oh, Jen. Excuse you,” she punctuated her remark with a final squeeze. Jennifer stifled a moan, her chubby fingers clawing uselessly at the bedsheets. “Admit it, Jen. You can’t give this up. You can’t give me up. You need this.”

    “I never- Uuuurp- needed this.” Jen finally managed to push herself upright. Her arms shook with the effort, sweat glistening alongside stretch marks. She spat back at Fleur, “ -you were the one who… who made me into this. You made me this way, and I’m sick and tired of it.”

    Jennifer heaved herself to a standing position, her belly swinging like a pendulum down over her thighs. Fleur refused to lend a hand, instead opting to watch her ex-feedee struggle to keep her balance. Once she was sure of her footing, Jennifer lifted her box of possessions off of the bed and began the arduous process of waddling out the bedroom door.

    Fleur caught up to her in the hallway, darting in front of the lumbering woman before she could reach the front door of the apartment. Blue eyes gleaming, she pinched Jennifer’s underbelly and giggled.

    “Me? Look at yourself, babe. This is you. This is all you. No one forced you to take that extra slice of cake whenever we went out to eat. No one said you had to quit your ‘diet’ two days after you started.” The grin dropped from Fleur’s face, and her eyes grew hard. “Oh, sure, I wasn’t the best influence. I didn’t encourage you to work out. I was willing to accept you, whatever shape you were in. Who could blame you for letting go a little when there was a beautiful woman waiting back home who gave you belly rubs when you had your ‘little’ binges?”

    Fleur’s eyes took on a dangerous edge, and Jennifer found that she had both her hands buried in the flesh of her belly. “I certainly didn’t blame you. I didn’t mind. But don’t you dare for a moment say that I did this to you, because it wasn’t my job to pry your fat ass off the couch when you wouldn’t even walk ten feet to the goddamn kitchen. I’m not the one who ate a gallon tub of ice cream before bed every night.” Jen squeezed her eyes shut and tried to block out Fleur’s words. “That was you, lardass. You stuffed your little piggy snout day and night, you cried your heart out and chugged a tub of chocolate fondue when you saw yourself in the mirror, and you came groveling to me when your fucking gut got so big you couldn’t even reach yourself down there.”

    “You can’t go back to your old life. You can’t live alone. I’d bet my life that you can’t lose a single fucking pound. I’m the only one who will feed you and fuck your fat ass in this entire city. But if you turn around and sit down on that bed right now, I can stuff you and screw you until curling your toes is the only thing your feet are able to do.” Finishing her tirade, Fleur quickly switched tactics once again. Jennifer was almost swayed by Fleur’s open, beckoning eyes and the now-gentle coaxes of her feeder’s palms across her belly. “Come on, sweetie. This could be so easy…”

    “Shut up!” Jen yelled, pushing Fleur away. She held her box defensively between her body and Fleur’s. “I’m not going back, and I’m not listening to you anymore. I am taking my things, and my body, and leaving. Oh,” Jennifer said as she fumbled awkwardly with her ear, “You can have this back too.” Fleur gracefully caught the object lobbed at her. It was the purple earring.

    “Hmm.” Fleur pursed her lips in disapproval, forming a thin purple line. “Fine. I don’t need to offer you my help if you won’t take it. In fact, I think my time would be much better spent with Emily.” Seeing Jennifer’s confused glance back from the doorway, Fleur elaborated. “A girl I met the other day. None of your concern, now.”

    Jen frowned. “You’re right, it is none of my concern. But God help whatever poor girl you’re luring in now,” Jen said as she squeezed past the doorframe and lumbered down the hall, “And I hope she catches on while she can still fit through your bedroom door!”

Lord Of The Flies Aesthetic - Roger

Roger started out not too different from a normal ten year old boy. Except for the fact that he was quiet and calm, keeping to himself, wanting to stay unnoticed and away from attention; in the dark (row 2, square 2). But other than that, he had some immaturity to him like any ten year old boy would have; throwing stones around Henry, for an example. Or hunting, as he enjoyed being free without adults to hold him back, and he could use weapons and kill “stuff”. But what he didn’t realize, was the entire time, he was slowly being manipulated by Jack, the one he held hatred for; the ginger took not just Roger’s, but every other hunter’s normal (for most) young boy’s slight violent behavior and stretched it larger, turning it into savagery. Jack manipulated them, pulling them from their child stance and into savagery with the idea of freedom, meat, protection, and hunting.
Roger’s personality stayed calm as it always was, yet had his “waves” of violence (row 3, square 1). Slowly he began to love the killing (row 1, square 2), loving to hunt pigs and kill them viciously (row 4, square 1). He loved blood (row 4, square 2), he loved the freedom Jack gave him; even though these “gifts” were actually just manipulation strategies to take away Roger’s ten year old innocence. Roger was tempted and led into savagery, locked into this hell as Jack’s “henchman” (row 2, square 1). Eventually, being the one to push the boulder that led to Piggy’s death, and torment the twins.
But deep down, Roger was just an innocent boy who was covered in paint and blood (row 3, square 2).


So @trykster-maraca reminded me that i have not done a head count of the Cannimals recently. This is important as Hannipenguin has been known to ‘retire’ cast mates that he didn’t like (No,Hanni, put that down).

The cast so far…

Back row: Mason the pig, Margot Pony, Alana Zebra, Will Mongoose, Jack the bear

Middle row: Chilton the gingerbread man, Reba the tiger, Francis the (smol) great red dragon, Matthew the bird (he prefers hawk but he’s really a bird), Hannipenguin, Abigail penguin

Front left: Team Sassy Science Lab Mice Beverly Katz, Jimmy Price, Brian Zeller

Guest star appearances (not in picture): Franklyn the Walrus, Bella Crawford the bear, Morgan Verger the floppy ear bunny, Lobster Will 


Some photos from my trip so far. 

When I got on the plane 23 people were booked onto the flight, so we had A Lot Of Room. That top photo is my fully-loaded flight, shot from the first row. 


Pig: Less self-explanatory, but with a lovely pedicure.

Florida water: remains mysterious.

Finally, POLICE DOG BRAND TEA DUST. Henceforth if my tea is not associated with police dogs, I’m not interested.