hello vonnie
Xuebing Du
Peter Solarz
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸
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Sade Olutola
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let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
JBB: An Artblog!
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$LAYYYTER
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@kasadys-archive
❝ how interesting. are you supposed to f r i g h t e n me ? because if so, your plan has failed miserably. & my name is claudia. ❞
The red drains from his face like a wet washcloth, bloodied and then run beneath hot water.
Beneath, his grin is as ominous as it'd been with the mask.
"Heh," he laughed, a strained, humorless sound. "I like you."
"Well you asked…" She shrugs, looking away. "The stuffed animal is better I guess." Give her time to process this and she’d be fine in seconds.
"That's what I'm saying," explained Cletus, stepping over to the child. Placing one hand on the top of his mop of red curls, he jerks the dog from his grip, pushing his head back, tosses the ratty, chewed thing to Shriek. "You gotta start thinkin' more."
The days are long and the hours are consuming, but she cannot complain. It’s all she’s ever wanted: to help others. It’s just that sometimes it’s more difficult to help certain people. Today’s certain person? Cletus Kasady. The camera clicks on. The recording for today’s therapy session has begun. She takes a seat beside Cletus’ bed and clears her throat.
“No, Cletus. I think you’re the opposite of that.”
Cletus blinks rapidly. His vision moves as if consciousness is a switch and someone has flicked it on. He sees Ashley in strange colors and he realizes, belatedly, he must have been injected with something. There is a dreamy awareness of gliding, a distant sense of static roaring.
"That's good," says Cletus, with his cheek pressed to the side of the metal slab he's laying on, eyes turned up to leer at her with all the accusation of a prisoner and a judge.
"That must mean you're the idiot. I said it last time 'n I'm sayin' it again -- you ain't gettin' shit from me until you give me back Carnage."
❝ sadly, i do not. i despise surprises of this kind. make sure it never happens again. ❞
"Ain't nothin'll ever happen to you again if you keep talkin' shit, kid."
"… Both?"
"No, stupid. What the hell're we gonna do with the boy?"
❛I’m sorry what mistake?❜
"Oh, I don't like you."
Cletus didn't attempt to struggle in the clutch the bed has on him. He hates this -- when the woods beside the facility were full of the lunatic shrilling of summer insects and the air wobbled with liquid heat. Thunder hammered at the afternoon. He wanted so desperately to be out in it. Not in a clinical state, with some ugly girl staring down at him like she could change him.
"Tell me something, Doc -- do I look like a damn idiot to you?"
❝ do you. have some kind of a preference to sneak up on people ? ❞
"Sure I do. Makes for a more interestin' meetin', don't you think? I like surprises."
( he fumbles in his utility belt for an explosive crescent dart, all the while cursing under his breath. )
What are you doing?
A man can't stomp on a bagel in peace?
your blog sucks and so does cletus kasady
what's that is it a bird
is it a plane
no it's a gaywad
… Well, they didn’t have to even pay for it. She watches the stuffed bear hit the wall, lips forming a pout.
Then her eyes settled on a little boy, holding a ratty and worn stuffed dog.
"… What about that one?"
"Huh. The boy or th'dog?"
Mother-bitch!
She kicked at him. "Out. Of. My. Club."
"No!" Cletus wrapped his arms around her creaking shoulders, pallid monstrosities that threatened to break under pressure. He thought of snapping them. "We're friends."
His touch reminds Tanis of an unwanted pest, a bug crawling across bare skin. “You want to talk?” she asks coolly, backing away from Kasady’s figure. She walks to her kitchen, walls donned in yellows and creams, washed out by the dark of the night. “Fine.”
Stay calm, Tanis. Remember what your advisers told you, what they always tell you in college. Cool and collected, a voice commands her. The symbiote, however, the part of her that has become nothing but Scorn, remains at odds with her conscience. And then… strike!
She turns away from him, keeping the rest of her senses, including the ones granted to her by her symbiote at their sharpest in case he moves in behind her. Opening her fridge, she asks, “Can I get you something to drink? A beer, maybe?”
He tried to laugh. He tried to shout his humor. But the only sound that he was able to produce was a funny wheeze, a kind of rattle, like a broken sprocket spinning uselessly in some tired machine.
The smile dropped, as abrupt and extreme as a hand waved over an ever-changing expression to entertain a child. Cletus stiffened when she turned her back to him. What a fool. Thinking she was tough enough to turn her face from him. A fan hummed at Carnage's back and caught the humid, alien smell of him, wafted it into the hot summer night.
"I ain't had a beer since I was fourteen," he said. He'd been with Billy. They'd smuggled in cool cans and untucked their dress-shirts. He was sick that night, hot and clammy, with the dry heaves, and his dreams were vivid and unnatural. The next morning, Billy walked out with the pail of sick. He came back with a glass of icewater.
"You get shit-faced if you so like it, I'm here to talk."
❛Well. I’m not trying to impress shit-stains like you so ❜
"I'ma give you twelve seconds to correct yer mistake. Better make it quick. I don't know how to count."
Back off, freak!
WHOA! Hey! I don't like that!
