Genuinely squealed to see you back! You write Cletus in such a perfect way that's such a fantastic balance of violent and obsessive but feels like him in the beat romantic way. Ahhhhh so excited for more!
I return to this blog an entire year later!
Seeing as it’s been so long, I am not going to ask who is still excited for more Cletus Kasady/Carnage Post-Symbiosis shenanigans. I am going to write the next part instead.
• the first thing you hear upon waking up has a familiar ring to it: “sweetheart,” a distant, disembodied voice welcomes you among the living;
• the first thing you see has a strange, sinister appearance; and, as you take in the sight of its white and hallow eyes, you pray to yourself that you’re still asleep, still dreaming, and still stuck in a nightmare
• and when those eyes open wide, the lids lifting and the red skin peeling, a second pair of eyes greet you; “mornin’, sweetheart,” the same familiar voice returns and so does yours;
• your voice is raw like you’ve been using it all night; you’ve been using it to scream, curse and invoke his name: “Cletus”
• “sleep well?” he looks down on you like he did in your dreams; and your nightmares; he watches your eyes adjust to the low light of the morning like you’re still back in NYC, in your apartment, above your butcher shop; he looks at you like you’re starting over, as lovers and as parents;
“Cain’s sick of the powdered milk,” he smiles down on you like he had any right to, like he was smiling down on his spouse after being woken up by his baby; the baby that was throwing a fit in his red arms; “it’s time for the real thing”
• “Cletus,” you beg him, the salty words barely escaping your sore throat; you also hardly move your sore body, the red tendrils wrapped around your wrists holding your hands against the headboard of the bed you lay in; “Cletus, please let me hold our son;”
• the first time you verbally acknowledge your son’s parentage, his father’s eyes are wide and wet; and you’d be tearing up yourself if you had any more tears to do so; you’d cry in shame, and also in relief; but you choke on air instead
• Cletus doesn’t cry either, even if his own tears threatening to spill out of his green, red-shot eyes; “oh, sweetheart,” he sniffs, watching you try to wrangle out of the restraints he seemingly manifested out of his very flesh and blood, out of his back, like a separate set of limbs than the red one cradling Clive; “you're still tired,” he follows these long limbs as they stretch and slither from your wrists down to your torso, and lifts you so that you’re standing with your back to the headboard;
• Cletus seemingly commands these tendrils to tenderly trace the line of your jaw and lift your chin up; “daddy’ll take it from here;” they are just as gentle as they pull down the neckline of your dress and bare both of your breasts; “you don’t have to move a muscle”
• he is the one still holding the baby as he sits next to you in bed, securing him against your chest with one red arm around your back and one around your front; "that's it," he says, blowing hot air on your cold shoulder; you ignore the chill, focusing on the familiar feeling of you son latching onto your nipple and kneading your tit; "that's my boy," even when Cletus rests his cheek against yours, you only have eyes for the one feeding on you
• however, you're not the only one captivated by the sight; “my baby boy,” Cletus blows more air against your skin, and the chills do overtake you this time, your eyes close for a moment; “it’s our baby boy, sweetheart,” you hear him say, gooseflesh spreading all over, and you let yourself fall back against him, fall back asleep and into your dream for just a moment;
• in that moment, in that dream, you are not leaning against a wanted man; no, you’re resting against the man you wanted to fall asleep next to every night;
• and, for a moment, you’re leaning against the man of your dreams; “you know, baby, daddy missed mommy very much,” he sighs, warming your skin and your heart; “did mommy miss daddy?”
• “Cletus,” you speak, struggling due to soreness and breathlessness; you had missed him; but he had always been there in your dreams, so how could you have missed him?
• when the moment ends, you wake up next to the wanted man; and this wanted man has killed your husband, the man you have actually been leaning on these past two years; and this wanted man is holding you in his literal red hands, stained with both blood and the sickness that Eddie Brock, another wanted man, had infected him with
• you open your eyes again only to see your son satisfied and closing his own eyes; even in those blood red hands, he is safe and satisfied; “Cletus,” you start up again, clearing your voice; “he needs to be burped;” you couldn’t move because Cletus and those red tendrils springing from his body wouldn’t let you; but even in this situation, you still made sure your baby was taken care of
• “you hear that, baby?” Cletus pulls away from you, pushing the dress back up your chest, and unwrapping his arms from around your torso; “you needa be burped,” he smiles down at his sleepy son; after wrapping both arms around him, he places his little chin on his big shoulder and smoothened a big red hand on his little back; “that’s how they did it in those mommy vlogs,” Cletus looks over at you, wearing a smile instead of his signature smirk; he is looking for reassurance
• before you could betray yourself and smile back, your son burps; the sound of it startles a snort out of you; and it is that sound that reassures and softens the face of the man with the big red sharp hands; “that’s my boy”
• once he left your side and stood up, you got a better look of the room; it isn’t your bedroom back in NYC, the one from your dreams; and it isn’t the one from the wooden cabin, the one from your nightmares; it was a master bedroom the likes of which you’ve only witnessed on reality TV shows; now this is your reality
• while your hands are wrapped to the headboard of the California king bed by the long, lanky red tendrils, you also notice that Clive’s - no, it was Cain now - baby bag is on the armchair Cletus was headed towards; and you can’t miss the brand new baby bed that another set of tendrils is dragging between the bed and the armchair
• “sweet dreams,” Cletus kisses the top of Cain’s head, sinking his nose in the red curls; and the sight of father and son embracing is almost enough for you to close your eyes and sink your own nose back into the pillows; almost;
• you can’t not feel like a stranger in this bedroom, in this house and even in your own reality; “Cletus, where are we?”
• “we’re safe, sweetheart,” he reassures you, trying to lull you back to sleep, back into that dream state; “you can rest easy,” he joins you in bed again, climbing onto the same side while his tendrils crawled across the sheets; as they tucked the both of you in, Cletus cups your chin with his own hand; “it’s been a long night”
• it has been a long night; it started when he snatched Cain, slashed Barry, and revealed his face under the red skin; it continued with you crawling on your knees and begging him to not let anyone else bleed; then, as he wrapped the skin he peeled off all around you in the shape of tendrils, the rest of your night was spent screaming from inside a crimson cacoon
• “you should try gettin’ some sleep,” he holds your face in place with his own fingers instead of a tendril; “we’ll be on the road again tonight”; he knows that skin-to-skin contact would chill you all over again; and, by the look in his eyes, it already had;
• “I’ll get that,” he insists, moving his hand closer to the neckline of your dress; “you don’t have to move a muscle;” following it with your eyes, you spotted the spillage that seeped through the dress
• “oh,” you gasp as he slips his fingers into the neckline of your dress; “they do that,” you excuse yourself, writing off the waves of pleasure as nothing but the sinking feeling of embarrassment; “they do that all the time,” you insist as he gingerly gathers the material of the dress under the lump of flesh; “are you letting it go to waste?” you hear yourself ask, on the edge of sanity and far away from reality
• and even Cletus, who was so sure of the effect he still had on you, is now surprised to hear you ask it if him; his eyes widen in shock before his pupils blow up with hunger; the skin-to-skin contact isn’t enough and all those tendrils he is holding you down with are now pulsing all around you like veins when the heart rate picks up; “so mommy did miss daddy, huh?”
• with a hand cupping your breast and a long tendril latching onto the areole, he massages more milk out of you; “I missed you,” it threw you off of the edge of sanity, and sunk you deeper into the dream; and it was now the reality Cletus Kasady had created for you, where your body and anything leaking and bleeding out of it was his for the taking; “I missed the taste of you, sweet thing”
• and when he does take what is his, latching his lips around your nipples and drinking you in, you stopped trying to suppress any sounds, and spoke them out: “I missed your mouth”
• while your head is thrown back against the headboard and up into the clouds, his hands are on your torso; and the tendrils tread new ground as they slither down your legs and up your dress skirt; and they felt more like tongues than snakes as they slid into your slit and against the nub of nerves
• and it doesn’t matter that it is a foreign body doing this; your own reacts to it in a familiar way; your hips move, your back arches and you urge them on; “you like that, huh?” Cletus popped your tit out of his mouth, leaving it shimmering with spit; “it likes you;”
• it is the second skin he was wearing, the one that stretched out and slithered all around you like snakes; it is that sickness he had been infected with; it was the red entity that has been haunting NYC; “it’s charmed to finally make your acquaintance,” as it continues to circle your clitoris, Cletus hides his face behind it again; “Name’s Carnage”
• and when you finally come undone, it is under Carnage’s white watchful eyes; and it is his tendrils and his touch that puts you back together, tying you to the bed and bonding you to him;
• he shushes you, pulling up your neckline and pushing down your skirt; “Cain’s sleeping,” he looked over to his bed, then back to you; “you should be sleeping, too,” he squeezes you closer in his red arms and red tendrils, shedding his red face to reveal Cletus’ white one that is now flushed pink; “we should all be sleeping”
• you feel like you’ve been sleeping this entire time, dreaming the entire thing; not even the strange red face ripped straight from a nightmare feels like it could startle you awake like it had earlier this morning; and you are happy to be reunited with it when you close your eyes and finally fall asleep in Carnage’s arms
• you were watching a breaking news bulletin when you got the call you've been anticipating and dreading all at once; it was the NYPD detective who tracked down and arrested your kidnapper, former employee, and ex-lover;
• the fantastical report of his breakout turn out to be more fact than fiction; after serving only 2 years out of his 11 life sentences on Rikers Island, Cletus Cortland Kasady, the bloodiest serial killer New York has known in decades, was back on the streets
• "I suggest you pack light," the detective continued; "a police car is on its way to pick you up. are you at Hatchet's or at the apartment?"
• "you've been at home all evening," you look over at Barry, who's already filling a duffle bag with whatever clothes of yours he can find; "I won't be needing my summer wear, babe," you call to him, calmly; so calmly, it chills you; "oh, and, Mrs. Hatchet," you hear the detective say through the speaker; "did you check your inbox? has he sent you anything recently?"
• Barry was bringing the bags into the hallway when you were being asked the question; "your inbox? that son of a bitch's been writing to you?"; "digital inbox," you answer quickly; too quickly; "can't you check my inbox for yourself, detective? why are you asking me questions you already know the answers to?"; "of course, of course. I'll leave you to pack. the car should be there in ten;"
• Barry wouldn't drop the subject, not even in the company of the officers driving you to safety; and you couldn't blame him for it; at least, you shouldn't;
• 2 years ago, he had been the one to welcome you when the NYPD brought you back to the crime scene your butchery had become; he was the one to give up on his California dreams to be with you in NYC during the trail of Cletus Kasady; and, most importantly, he was the one to give you a home again;
• fiddling with the wedding ring that's never fit your finger, you finally explained yourself to him: "there's more bodies," you started; "more grieving families; when he asked to speak to me, detective Mulligan hoped it would lead to confessions, locations, cases being closed; Barry, I should've told you;"
• "I'll tell you what you shouldn't have done," he kept his voice down, but you both knew he had every right to raise it; "you shouldn't have accepted to be pen pals with my father's, your father-in-law's murderer; hell, with a dozen other people's murderer; with your fucking r-"
• "he never touched me," you raised your voice, not caring that the officers could hear your domestic dispute; "he never touched me without my permission. ever;" "what a fucking dreamboat;" he hissed; "your bad romance might've gotten you a New York Times Bestseller, but me and your therapist both agree; you need to let it go; it's killing you; he's killing you;"
• you conceded, because he was right; he's always been right; however, as you quietly watched your husband hush the fitful baby with flaming curls in his arms, you silently concluded that you couldn't let go; Cletus Kasady was a part of you, now and forever;
• as soon as you boarded the flight to San Francisco, you covered the shock of red hair with a calming blue hat; you've already been spotted by what you assumed were readers of your autobiography or true crime enthusiasts, and you didn't want your son to end up on social media;
• "once we're all settled in, Daddy's taking you to meet Mickey," Barry began baby-talking and you finally stopped fidgeting with your wedding band; it's during times like these, during the pantomime of domestic bliss, that you feel like it fits; "that's right, Clive; we're going to Disneyland;" the boy's eyes were bright as he was bounced on your husband's leg and, for once, married life felt right; it fit;
• the feeling of being unfit sunk back into your stomach as soon as Barry started snoring; you wrote about him being your savior and your readers slurped it up; the murder of his father and the subsequent death of his mother had the two of you finding family in each other; the business he inherited helped the two of you build a new life; and the birth of your son prompted the two of you to make a home for all three
• Barry would talk about his great grandmother, or great aunt, or some other distand female relative having been a redhead, but he knew better; both of you did; actually, all three of you did; after all, in Cletus Kasady's first e-mail, he asked about Clive; or, as he called him, Cain
• Sweet thing,
It's been ten months since I tasted you. They served me strawberry pudding today, the first sweet treat I had since you fed me your blood. It didn't even come close. Nothing ever did, or ever will.
It's been ten months, so little Cain must be feeding on you as I type this. I know your tit is just as sweet and I know he's getting spoiled. Good. Spoil him. Let him have all the mother's milk he can stomach. He is his father's son, so I just know he has a sweet tooth.
Spoil him rotten and give him a kiss from Daddy, won't you?
Yours,
Cletus.
• re-reading his words wasn't what your therapist or your husband would've recommended, but your therapist was back in NYC and Barry was asleep beside you, so you read over his words again and again; their hunger fed your soul and devoured the memories of the monster you had come to know two years ago
• 2 years ago, Cletus Kasady was your employee; more than that, he was your lover; on the evening of what would've been your first date, a couple of police officers walked into your butcher shop and threatened him with an outstanding arrest warrant;
• "this must be a mistake," you said to the policemen; "this must be a mistake," you protested as they ordered you to lock the entrance and escort them to the back; "this is a mistake," you shouted as they approached your employee with handcuffs;
• "this can't be happening," you gasped when Cletus shoved the two of them in the cold room and locked the door; "this can't be happening," you protested when he grabbed your hand and pulled you through the emergency EXIT; "this isn't happening," you screamed as he shoved you in the back of the refrigerator van
• oh, but it was happening; you were being kidnapped by your employee, your lover; and, while you didn't know it at the time, mind frozen in fear and body frozen in place, you were being kidnapped by the bloodiest serial killer New York has known in decades;
• it was night when the van stopped and you were scooped out of the corner you'd been stuck in, cold and blind; "turned it off, but it's still chilly back here, huh?" he said as casually as ever, carrying you past hanging cow carcasses and the delivery driver's corpse; "don't worry, boss lady," he rubbed ar your back; "I got us a new ride. it has heated seats and everything;"
• the new car did indeed have heated seats, but the driver's was stained with fresh, warm blood; its current driver didn't mind, however, and the two of you were off as soon as he put on your seatbelt for you;
• "Cletus," you spoke softly through a tight throat; you'd been screaming his name in the back of a moving freezer, so you've never had it feel this sore before; "why are we doing this?"
• what he told you next sounded like a dream; or, rather, a nightmare; Mr. Hatchet hadn't been missing, and he's been in your cold room the entire time; what was left of him, at least; the morning he disappeared, he'd come to see you, but was greeted by Cletus instead; apparently, he was a pig in everything but appearance;
• "fuckin' hog thought we were in a lockerroom; he kept on askin' questions 'bout you, about you bein' late to work, 'bout how cock hungry you outta be," he spit all this out like fire, fogging up the car windows; and you shivered, but not from the cold still stuck in the marrow of your bones; "so I gutted 'im; then, I ripped out his heart; know that pig heart I cooked for you? it was that pig's;"
• his words were as red as the poem he wrote in Mr. Hatchet's blood; red like his ire; red like his lust; red like his love; and, worst of all, as red as the flame that burned in your womb when his hand, just as red, squeezed your thigh; and you shivered;
• the same red had colored the rest of this dream; or nightmare; red was the rising sun when you awoke, still strapped with the seatbelt and riding shotgun; red was the cabin door he kicked open and carried you in his arms through; red was the coffee cup he brought to you while you soaked in the tub; red was the bathing water after he scrubbed the both of you clean, and red was his hair between you thighs as he ate you alive;
• "sweet," he spoke against your lips as he laid on them a vertical kiss; "can't get enough of this sweet pussy," he shoved his tongue between your folds and they opened up for him like flower petals; "can't get enough of you, sweet thing;"
• when he pulled you further down the old wooden bed, he also pulled you down further into this dream; or nightmare; and when he wedged himself between your trembling thighs, you wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him down with you; "Cletus," you called out to him, grasping at his shoulders as if he'd slip between your fingers; but he was right there, burrowed inside you and closer than ever; "Cletus, don't wake me," you begged, burying your face in the crook of his neck;
• "this is real life, baby, and it ain't nothin' but red blood and white pain," he chuckled, his cock crammed deep in your cunt and teeth tracing your throat; "and this is the real me," he growled, grasping your hips so tight they hurt and sinking his teeth in so deep he draws blood; "this is the real Cletus Kasady," he snarls, teeth stained red, eyes blown black, and hips jerking as he comes; his tongue lapped up the blood trickling out as his cum stained you from the inside out
• "but I'm all yours," he rises to sit back on his haunches and look upon his work: the red collar around your throat and the white filling in your cunt; "and, now," he spread his palm across your entire stomach, "you're all mine;"
• these vows were your lifeline and you'd float on the raft he build from his words for the following week; when you felt like drowning, tears choking you as you struggled to face yourself in the mirror, he whisper those words and pull you back to the surface;
• when you questioned his motives, interrogating your own feelings, as much as his, he'd swear that he's been doing your bidding the entire time; "why did the delivery driver have to die Cletus? and the car owner? what about him?"; "you hired me to slaughter, didn't you?"
• the wood log cabin was your raft, and Cletus saw to it being as homey as possible; he wouldn't let you raise a finger, cleaning and cleaning for the two of you; he'd keep you safe, reinforcing the doors and locking them;
• he'd always lock them; when he'd taken you to the lake on a particularly hot day, he locked the door; you've never been skinny dipping before, never laid on a lake bank in the sun to dry, never got to mate naked in the woods like an animal; as you fled him, it wasn't to get away; where would you go anyway? the cabin with the red door was now your home and the man with red hair and blood under his fingernails was now your world; you fled him only to be chased down; he hunted you like a doe and fucked you like a rabbit; you couldn't get the stink of him off of you, but you didn't want to; how else was the red fox supposed to track you?
• he'd always lock the doors; even as he went out for supplies, he'd locked them; he'd lock your bedroom door, too; "it's for your own safetly, baby," he'd kiss your forehead farewell; you wanted to believe it so badly
• you wouldn't be awakened for another week, as he kept your head stuffed with dreams and your cunt stuffed with his cum; when you did wake up, it was by the NYPD; it was a rude awakening, too; in the middle of the night, in the middle of another mating session;
• the reinforcements didn't hold, and your red front door was kicked down; Cletus couldn't hold his own, not while his only weapon was his red-stained teeth; and he couldn't hold onto you either; "I love you," he sunk into the wetness of your blood; "I love you," he sunk into the warmth of your womb; "I love you," he shouted as he was being apprehended;
• by the time you arrived back in NYC, you noticed how deep the handcuffs he used to tie your hand to the bedpost had cut into your wrist; you also noticed how much it hurt; all the bruises you've begged him for did; and, what hurt the most, what cut the deepest, was reality; it hadn't been a dream or a nightmare; it had all been real and it had all been red;
• 2 years later, you are being shaken awake by your husband, Barry Hatchet, just as you land in San Francisco; he and your son, Clive Hatchet, look concerned; "you've been talking in your sleep again, babe," he dabbled the sweat off of your forehead; "have you been taking your pills?"
• since he was the one who threw the contents of your medicine cabinet into your purse, you assumed that he already knew; still, you answered him: "might've missed a day;" as expected, he didn't believe you;"
• for the next week, you had the excuse of having missed a day; for the next week, reality blurred with fantasy and the present, with the past; your mind was as fogged as the city skyline, so Barry had to take the remote from you; "babe, we agreed not to watch the news;"
• "can I get have some coffee?" you looked over to the closet door which was slightly ajar; from where you were laid back on the bed, you spotted a red dress; you had bought it back in New York, on a whim; or during another pills-free day;
• "it's almost dinner time," he reminded you; the baby also brought attention to this, cupping the breast his head lay against and cooing up at you; "chocolate milk then?" you made a compromise and so did Barry; "don't think we have cocoa, but I can go out and get some;" "I'll go get some, as soon as I'm done nursing;" sinking further into the pillows, you pull out the breast he ordered; "Cain says dinner time is now;"
• you hadn't realized what you just said, but your husband and the self-proclaimed father of your child sure did; "Cain?" he knitted his brows together; "his name is Clive, babe," you quickly corrected him; "I know that, but do you know that?"
• you laughed, and, even as his forehead smoothened, you knew you weren't fooling him; but you hoped that what you had in mind would; "I know you haven't seen me in my new dress yet," your voice was playful, but you weren't baby-talking; Barry allowed himself to be fooled, if only to have his wife seduce him again;
• it's been a while since you used the bed for anything but sleeping; "I'm gonna go out, get us some steaming hot cocoa, and I'm gonna be wearing that steaming hot number;" "alright, alright," he laid next to you; "cool off there, miss; little ears are listening;" then, he laid a kiss on your lips; after, the both of you laid a kiss on Clive's little red head;
• that night, while you were out, you took in the city lights for the first time; you even splashed into a puddle just because it shimmered red; you imagined this is what the world looked like through infant son's eyes; it was all colors; flushing your pills away for a week straight felt like the right decision;
• when you made it to the coffee shop the taxicab drove past on the morning of your arrival, you were free to undo the buttons of your coat and show off your red dress; as expected, it did turn a few heads; but there's only one man's head you cared about turning and he was in your new home, tucking your baby into bed; or was he back in your old home, in NYC, painting the town red?
• "you okay, ma'am?" asked the barista; "I'm good," you nodded, not fully comprehending why she was now sitting next to you at a table; you didn't even begin to comprehend why both the drinks you orders to go were now cold; "we're closing in half an hour," she smiled, and you knew how difficult that was for customer service workers; "can I get you another drink, or...?"; "no, I'm good," you lied, launching yourself off the chair and startling the girl; then, as you checked your phone for the time, you saw that it was dead; "I'm good, I just...just lost track of time, I guess;"
• "do you live far from here?" she asked as you buttoned up your coat; "I could call you an Uber;" you turned her down by thanking her, left the shop without even checking the hour of the night; as a woman, she knew how dangerous it was for the likes of you out there; not only were you alone, you were also wearing the color that drove all men mad; or, at least one man; and it just so happened to be your man;
• "damn it," you spit out, startling the group of young boys loitering on the steps of a skate shop; "damn it, woman," you berated yourself as the boys laughed at the crazy bitch running down the street; "you were supposed to be remembering, not forgetting," you whispered to yourself, all of a sudden aware of just how man you must've seemed;
• 2 weeks earlier, after your arrival in San Francisco, your therapist had warmed detective Mulligan about your recent refusal to take the pills; "your doctor says you'd just be putting yourself in danger, but, with supervision, I think we have a chance," he spoke through the speaker; "I won't lie to you, Mrs. Hatchet; we're desperate; he's been leaving blood trails and blood graffiti and we still have no idea where he is; if you can remember something, anything call me;"
• 2 week later, as you skipped the puddle you were all too happy to jump in before, you swore you would stay on your medication; no worth memories are trading in for reality; and the reality was that you were Cletus Kasady's victim, not his other;
• Sweet thing,
My new roomie can't shut up about his 'other'. He's trying to convince me that this 'other' is an ET who bonds with him, mind, body, and soul. He's trying to say that while they are together, they are Venom. You remember that weirdo the friendly, neighborhood Spider-dude was trading punches with, right? That was Eddie Brock and he's my roomie now.
When he isn't talking about his other, he's asking me about mine. He's read your book and wants my side of the story.
And I don't want you to worry, baby girl. I won't tell Brock, or any of your fans, how you lied about us. I won't tell him about my Other, or about the two of us together being the 'Carnage' in the title.
P.S. Give Cain a kiss from Daddy, won't you?
Yours,
Cletus
• as soon as you reached it, your saw that your door was slightly ajar; you were ready to dismiss this anomaly as you have forgotten to close it on your way out; stepping into the apartment, you called to him; "Barry, babe, my phone died;" you take off your boots, then your coat, and then you take the drinks into the kitchen; "I wasn't ignoring your calls," you popped his drink into the microwave;
• you got no answer from your husband, but you did get one from your son; "oh, baby," you softened your voice on your way to his room; the sound of you stomping all over the place must've woken him up; when you reached his room, you saw that his door was also ajar; and also painted with streaks of red;
• you weren't so willing to dismiss this disturbance as your doing; but you were a butcher's daughter, and you were used to the smell and sight of a slaughter; so, when you walked into your son's room and spotted the bleeding body of your husband, the red of it staining the blue carpet, you could stomach it; you had to stomach it, for the sake of the survivor; for the sake of your son;
• through the sound of your panicked panting, you heard him crying; and, through the tears forming in your eyes, you saw him in the arms of the monster nobody has managed to get a good photo of, and you saw that it was red;
• "no, no, no," you begged the beast who was cradling Clive in its long limbs; "please," you reached out your own limbs; " please don't hurt him," you let the tears fall freely, feeling like you were drowning, like you were dreaming; but it wasn't a dream, or a nightmare; it was real; so, you sought out empathy in its big, white, and empty eyes; "he's...he's just a baby;"
• "he's not just a baby," it spoke, softer than you would've supposed a creature made of slaughter could've; its tone was low, and it almost hissed when it spoke again; "he's my baby;"
• as its eyes sunk back into its head, it revealed a second, smaller pair, but just as empty; they were green and a familiar red; "no," you collapsed in front of it; in front of him; you were on your hands and knees in front of him; Cletus Kasady, your former employee, ex-lover, and the bloodiest serial killer New York has known in decades; and the father of your child;
• "hi, honey," he cradled his baby boy in his arms, trying and failing to calm him; "I'm finally home;"
The worst thing to ever happened in that house is Louise getting her period. Cain Was in tears, Louise was in tears, the youngest were crying and running around screaming, Cletus was in a panic and y/n was forced to come home to settle the masses
You should've known better than to explain away your period products as only being useful to women such as yourself. And you should've known better than to expect a Southern school to have proper sex education.
In your defense, Louise had yet to turn ten, so you thought you could delay the talk for at least another year. But you still kicked yourself when Cain called your cellphone from the landline.
"Mama, Lulu's dyin'!"
"What? Cain, this is not funny! What's going on?"
From the other end of the line, you hear the lamentations of Cornelius and the sobs of Caleb. Even Cain sounds like he's on the edge of tears.
Then, you hear your daughter screaming: "I'm bleedin'!"
"Louise? Louise, what do you mean? Did you cut yourself? Louise, why are you bleeding?" You spoke too loudly. Kurtis (totally-not-Cletus) and a couple of his butchers heard you.
Taking off his bloody goggles and even bloodier gloves, he traversed the slaughterhouse to reach you. You had just dropped by to bring him his lunch. You had just left your babies alone for a quarter-hour. It wasn't supposed to take more than half an hour. But, apparently, that's all it took.
"Tell me I didn't just hear 'bout one of my babies-"
"I'm bleedin' from the inside!" Louise screams through the speaker.
"From the inside? Did you say from the inside? Is it from between your legs, Lulu?"
"Lulu?" Kurtis took your phone. He tried to stay calm, but how could he? "Lulu, does your tummy hurt?"
"Yes!"
"You bleedin' from between your legs?"
"Yes!"
"Oh," you gasp and cover your mouth.
On the other end of the line, Cain also gasps. "Daddy, is Lulu on her period?"
Then, as you and your husband looked at each other, you sighed.
"You ain't dyin', Lulu. You're becomin' a lady," her father passed the phone over to her mother.
"Mama'll teach you all 'bout it," you took the phone.
While Kurtis assigned his second in command and stripped himself of his works clothes, you talked to Louise (and Cain) about how to deal with the tummy ache (the painkillers in the medical cabinet) and the mess in her dress (laundry and a hot bath.)
The two of you drive back home as fast as you could. When you opened the fromt door, all three of your sons were running towards you and almost knocked the both of you down. They'd been crying, but their tears were dry now.
"Nelly, Caleb," Daddy picked them up in his arms. "You gotta be strong for Lulu, kay? We gotta wash our tears away, kay? Cain, help me change 'em."
While the boys were cleaning themselves up in the bathroom downstairs, you went to Louise' bedroom upstairs. You picked out an old set of PJs for her before knocking on the bathroom door.
"Don't come in, Cain."
"It's me, baby."
"Mama," you heard the water splash.
Once inside, you asked about the pain and her appetite. She can have more painkillers after she gets a bite. And her favorite dessert. Daddy'll go buy her whatever she feels like.
"Does it always hurt?" She asked while drying herself off.
"Afraid so, baby," you helped her with a second towel.
After showing her where you kept the pads, you taught her how to apply one.
"They're like Caleb's diapers," she observed as she pulled the panties up her legs.
You laughed. Then she laughed. She was uncomfortable in her changing body, but she was comfortable with you.
After changing into her PJs, she squeezed you in her still-so-small arms. "Not ready to be a lady, Mama."
"You're still my baby, Lulu," you picjed her up like you used to when she was still your baby. "You're just growing. It's growing pains."
Because you and Kurtis' room had a TV set, you tucked her into your bed and showed her how soothing a heating pad can be. And even if it was too early, you encouraged her to take a nap while you went to prepare dinner.
The boys were waiting for you downstairs, so you assigned them each a task: "Daddy's going out to buy chocolate. Cain, you make sure your brothers stay away from the stove. You can go pick up the toys off the floor and play, or take them upstairs. Your sister is not feeling well, so don't make too much noise, okay?"
When you were finished with the stove and Kurtis was back with a bag full of chocolate treats, you called the kids: "Dinnertime!" But nobody called back. "Guys?"
"Baby," your husband beckoned you upstairs. "Baby, you gotta see this," he whispered once you started walking up the stairs.
Taking your hand, he opened the door to your room. Inside, the TV was on, but the volume was down. And, in bed, laid your daughter. And your sons. They were cuddled up next to her, keeping her safe and snug under the covers. The boys had joined her for a late afternoon nap.
"Kurtis," you covered the wide grin spreading across your face, but he didn't even bother.
"They grow up so fast," he squeezed your hand and spoke softly. "But they'll always be our babies.
Y/n: I can’t believe you right now. Cain after getting into some tomfoolery with his siblings: in my defense… I don’t get paid enough for this babysitting gig. y/n: I don’t pay you at all. C: exactly.
Mama Reader: Why is Nelly on the fridge? How did he even get there?
Cornelius: Hi, Mama!
Tween Cain: That's what I wanna know! I couldn't even climb up the counter at his age! What's your secret, Nel?
Louise: There's cookies up there. That's all the motivation he needed.
Y/n; Cletus it’s 3am time for your pegging session! Cletus: LETS-A FUCKING GO!
Back when you only had each other, 3 AM could've been 8 PM, or even 3 PM.
Now, 3 AM is the only time they can do this. That's when all the kids are asleep. You also spend more time picking out sex toys online than you do actually using them. Again, your babies always come first.
“Some would call Cain my town I prefer to call him my 2.0, all the psychotic tendencies with Zero of the trauma!” -“Kurtis” as y/n and Cain are stunned the background.
I'm sure this is a copy-pasta or a literary/cinematic reference of sort, but I just can't figure out what it's suppose to be referencing.
Ignoring the formatting because I'm not up to date with the latest memes, I'll say this: Cain does have trauma, but it isn't the result of abuse.
• from the ages of three to seven, Cain was on the run with his Mama and baby sister
• Cletus had taken them to a safe house that was even deeper into upper New York states wilderness, but had to leave them for their own good; he had the Avengers up his ass now
• it was sometime after Louise turned one that Cletus left; Reader waited for him, but they were running out of supplies, so she basically had to hitchhike her way back to NYC;
• she couldn't stay there though; Cletus had made himself too many enemies on both the good and bad guy's part; after pulling out all the savings she had in her name (which wasn't a lot), she started moving across the US; yeah, Barry got confirmation she was still alive when he went back to NYC and saw that his wife pulled money out of their shared account;
• Cain's trauma is abandonment; even if his farher didn't mean it, he had abandoned him; it made him afraid of others leaving, so he had difficulty making friends; making friends meant having more people to lose;
• also, because he had to lie about his identity during the day while his Mama told him tales of his Daddy at night, he felt like he couldn't even have a playdate without putting himself and his family in danger; Daddy will never come back if they get caught, right?
• yes, Cain inherited some of those hunter genes from Cletus, but he also had an unstable early childhood
I got no intro just this: Cain sneaking into the house after a long night of stabbin only to find the window lock: FUCK Nelly from his window: ooooh C: you tell mama and imma cut ya in ya sleep now open the door. N: ya know I was But since ya wanna be rude ya can sleep on the porch! C: NO! I’m sorry just let me in! Louise opening her window: I wouldn’t do that. Daddy’s down stairs and mama’s in ya room. C: what. L: they saw ya sneak out and been- “Kurtis opening the door: surprise motherfucker.
Oh, what's this? Are we doing another collaboration?
That's right, everybody! I'm once again using two separate prompts for a single piece of writing!
• "boy, if you don't get your ass inside;" the look on his father's face said it all, so Cain didn't even try to question his authority; "and you two barn owls better be in bed when I get up there;"
• once inside, the boy was invited to sit at the table with another stern look; "Daddy," he started; he always defaulted to using 'Daddy' instead of 'Dad' when he was feeling particularly small in his presence; "sorry 'm late;"
• "it's not me you gotta apologize to, boy," his father's expression softened, if only a bit when he brought you up; "you worried your Mama sick;"
• "thought she was asleep," Cain whispered, a look of genuine worry on his face; "thought she was asleep, too," his Daddy matched his look and finally took a seat beside him; "dump the body in the dumpster like I showed you?"
• "behind the delivery trucks," the boy swallowed, still shivering from the thrill of it all; and from tardiness; "good," he nodded; "good boy;" he couldn't seem to stop nodding; he must've been as jittery as his son; "Daddy'll take care of it in the mornin';"
• "Cain Cassidy," you called to him, bundled up in Kurtis (totally-not-Cletus') bathrobe; the smell of it calmed you whenever he was not there to embrace you; "where've you been?"
• "was askin' 'im the same thing," Kurtis rose from the table and came to embrace you at last; "he got himself a ladyfriend," he whispered in your ear; "you wouldn't approve of it, but I knew he'd go serenade her eventually, so I put a condom in his wallet;"
• "what?" you looked over his shoulder and at your baby; you didn't care that he was only weeks away from turning 16, he was still your baby; he had bags under his emererald eyes and his chapped lips were ruby; from all that kissing, you bet; "but he's just a boy;"
• "not after tonight, he's not," Kurtis caressed you even closer; "it was his first time, baby; don't make 'im feel all insecure 'bout it;"
• "Mama," he rose from his chair and, even though he's grown taller than you over the summer, his voice was small; "didn't mean to scare none;" when you cupped his face, you saw that his eyes were blown; there was a heaetbeat behind them; it was almost refreshing to see something other than ire in his eyes, so much like his father's;
• "don't ever do that again; don't ever go behind my back;" then, getting up on your tippy toes, you kissed the crown of his head;
• "is Cain in trouble?" at the foot of the stairs stood Cornelius, looking quite guilty himself; peaking from behind the 7-year-old was your 5-year-old, Caleb; your only daughter, Louise, 13, was the one who spoke up; "he's grounded, if that's what you're asking," you sighed, letting go of your oldest and crossing your arms; "Cain, get your siblings into bed; we'll talk about this tomorrow;"
• Cain was all too happy to do so; with a kiss to your cheek and a nod to his father; he went to join them upstairs, picking Caleb up in his arms with one hand and holding onto Nelly with the other; "bedtime story?"; "you asleep already, Caleb, but I'll tell y'all about the princess I went to see up in her tower;"
Imma be real with you anon ion Cletus is that smart to pull some revenge like that. He’s just fucking horny. He’s a damn rabbit when comes to y/n so them having a lot of kids is not out of his surprising.
Cletus Kasady is more intelligent than people give him credit for which is next to none, but his revenge was the equivalent of a cockfight in which the one with the alien symbiote got to stomp the other cock, if you catch my drift.
And he thinks with his dick when it comes to love, too. If you ask him, you're at your loveliest when you're carrying his children. Rabbit-brained, indeed.
Tbh if anyone would tell Cain what’s going on/the truth. It be y/n, cause ya know it is her story after all-
Yes, yes, yes.
In an upcoming part/chapter/continuation this is what happens because this is what needs to happen.
The little road trip I've written for a Still-Very-Much-Alive Barry is an exploration of a family dynamic that isn't as healthy as it wants to appear. Cletus, without the Carnage symbiote, returned to Reader as a man reborn, ready to dedicate his life to family. And, the truth is, he's been trying and even succeeding.
Keeping information from his oldest, information like the circumstances of his birth and the identity of the man that has loved him despite those circumstances, are more of a selfish act. Reader would have to convince Cletus that their boy needs to know about him, especially after he's managed to track him down.
