#JESUS WEPT THIS FUCKING THING WAS A BEAST

[greykolla-art]

My blog has become infested with angst goblins, and they must be fed with some hypothetical scenarios!🙏💚

#grey art #fan art #hazbin hotel fanart #hazbin hotel #Hazbin hotel comic #JESUS WEPT THIS FUCKING THING WAS A BEAST #BUT I LOVE IT! #hazbin charlie #hazbin alastor #Alastor #charlie morningstar #angst #hurt/comfort #whump art #I know what you people are I’m one of you! #I heard your cries for more angst and I aim to please! #also good excuse to use clip studio more #I only bust that out for something special #now let’s do something else! like eat!

[quills-of-freedom]

Spooky Season 🎃🍂

& Little announcements.

It is now officially the best time of year.

I am happy, content and excited for the season <3

Also I am back from the shadow Realm. Hello, Hi. Nice to see you again.

Also I am now adding One Punch Man to my writing lists. I don't know why I didn't before to be honest, it is a fave of mine.

But right now I am thirsty as f for this mofo....

Jesus Wept... just look at him...

TAKING REQUESTS FOR HALLOWEEN THEMED / SPOOKY THEMED HEADCANNONS

So, without further ado...

Halloween Festival:

Attack on Titan - One Punch man.

Warnings ⚠️ A little bit of smut. Mixture of cannon and modern au throughout.

Added local translations for things too... you'll see what I mean.

It's Halloween night; the moon is full and the leaves are as crisp as the air is cold. The Halloween fair is here in town and luckily, it's also date night 🌙 ✨️

Eren

Haunted house? Lame.

Good luck getting this grump excited for fake cardboard ghouls and goblins. But... gotta hand it to him, it makes you happy so he'll happily oblige.

Casually sipping his pumpkin spice latte with one hand. He gets the iced one because only Eren is edgey enough to drink ice when it's below zero. (Celsius you monsters) while he wraps his free arm around you.

Doesn't blink an eye during the scripted prologue. Rolls his eyes when one of the actors tries to spook him and single him out.

Allows you to hide into his chest if you're that way inclined. He'll scoff at you to stop being so dumb.

"You've slaughtered fifteen meter beasts but you're scared of a sheet?"

But never the less he's just glad he's getting to spend some alone time with you.

There's a room where it's total darkness and there's little flaps in the walls where actors reach out to grab you - his eyes narrow when he hears your peircing screech. He doesn't flinch.

But his protective instincts are still there - although he knows there's no real danger he knows you feel vulnerable so he's still there as your protector.

"C'mere..." Pulls you into a smooch when you're out the other side.

Reiner

Reiners been just as excited for this as you have. Not only does he adore spending time with you, but he's also a fellow lover of this time of year.

Buys all of the things. Fried snacks, candy apples (we call them toffee apples, even though they're not toffee. Weird, I know.) Churros, Cotton candy (candy floss). And shares them all with you. You'll never ever go hungry when on a date with Reiner Braun.

Then he sees it. The holy grail of festivals. The ferris wheel.

Just something about the lights and being so high alone moves something within him. He feels free up in the sky, looking at the gorgeous view. Not to mention the privacy he has with you.

Romantic view of the fireworks from atop the giant wheel is the cherry on top of yet another perfect date with Reiner. His warmth radiates from him as he holds you close and kisses you, the gorgeous colours exploding around you. But of course, that's how it always feels for Reiner when he kisses you.

Levi

Crowds of people, unsanitary food, loud music? Levi is not a fan of places like this. But, much like Eren, will put up with it for you. You'll just have to make it up to him later...

Wins all of the games. Even the ones that are evidently fixed. The game master is puzzled as he hands you a giant stuffed animal; he was sure he'd glued that pin down...

Levi brings his own food, as well as dead ass laying down a handkerchief upon the wooden picnic bench before placing down his boxed lunch.

He'll hold your hand through the crowd when it gets a bit hectic.

Enjoys looking at the bonfire. Not a fan of the smoke though. And it always seems to blow in his direction. He's fuming.

The pent up tension and stress from the whole evening really comes out later as he fucks you more firmly than usual. Nothing against you, of course, but he releases his tensions through his dick and my god was that a lot of strain on his brain.

Saitama

Depending on what mood he's in, he'll love it or hate it. If he's in a good mood he'll enjoy it a lot more. If he can't be arsed then maybe not so much.

Obliterates the games. Like, breaking them. He pisses off the stall owners beyond belief. To the point of just handing him toys as he approaches. He keeps at least one, you can have the rest.

He'll go on rides with you but the whole time he's like:

Thinks the haunted house is dumb but still enjoys it. Laughs at you getting freaked out.

"Hey, y/n." He'll joke, pointing to the Hall of Mirrors. "The scariest room yet."

He'll enjoy the pumpkin carving... until he starts to struggle with it and gets annoyed.

Garou

Garous interest in the festival is literally only you. He wants to fuck you and keep his person happy. He couldn't really give a shit where it was. Saying that, he's a very "in the moment" person and will make the best of the situation.

Wins all the games. Will start a fight if he spots one that's fixed. Ain't no one conning you. Or him.

Laughs like a maniac in the haunted house; because he's scaring them.

Constantly touching you. Guiding you through crowds, squeezing in a sneaky ass grab, wraps his arms around you from behind and buries his face into the crook of your neck.

Fingers you in a hidden corner of either the maze or haunted house. You drive him insane.

Buys all the food but dislikes most of it after trying them.

He's a softie deep down with a soft spot for kids, so when he knocked out the con artist of the game stall, gave out all the toys to the surrounding children. They all cheered him like he was a hero.

"Know how good 'm gonna fuck you later?" He'll sneer into your ear at the most random times. He's always like this on dates.

Enjoys the pumpkin carving and weirdly good at it too.

#snk x reader #snk x y/n #snk headcanons #reiner brainrot #reiner x you #snk eren #eren jeager #attack on titan eren #eren yeager #eren x reader #saitama #one punch man #garou #garou one punch man #one punch man smut

[howdoyousleep3]

So much talk of how nice and sweet and chill and friendly 3DW Steve is but let’s not forget he’s also a Daddy to his baby Bun. How does he fuck on a Sunday night? Soft and easy Bunny falling asleep on a cloud? Or is it sweaty and dirty and a little desperate? I bet he’s so loud when he’s up in his bunny. So filthy. So rowdy. Swears up a storm when he cums. Shouts his bunny’s name.

I’m almost fucked up on some watermelon juice box thing I bought so let’s…discuss.

Short answer—yes.

Long, long answer—

He is incredibly sweet and the chillest Daddy of mine, but this man is a beast. Do not sleep on this man. We recently discussed how loud of a person he is, including in bed, and that rings true here as well. There are most definitely times where he never raises his voice above a purr, whispers into Bucky’s ear all about where he wants Bucky, how he wants Bucky to work his cock over, what Daddy wants to see. There are times where he keeps his lips on Bunny’s ear, his mouth, his cheek, foreheads pressed together, mouth spilling over with filth and encouragement.

But if Steve has a choice, if Daddy gets a say, he’s about to let the entire goddamn neighborhood know just how sweet it feels to be all up in his Bunny.

Of all the Daddies, 3DWD is the pushiest in bed. He knows what he likes and more importantly, he knows what Bucky likes. This pair as a whole is extremely confident, both a little selfish in bed, both have moments where they take what they want and are in luck that it’s just what the other person gets off on.

Daddy likes it most when Bunny is on top. He likes watching his dick get eaten up by the prettiest pink, likes marveling at that slick stretch of Bucky’s pussy, rubs right at it when he tells Bunny to arch into the dig of Daddy’s cock, “just like that, you know what I like to see…”. He likes squeezing at Bucky’s fat ass as he watches Bucky ride him backwards, two tight handfuls that he squeezes at, shakes. He’ll holler as he smacks, goads Bucky on, sometimes pushes and pulls on his handfuls, on Bucky’s hips, too much, gets too excited.

One huffy whine from Bucky puts him back in his place.

He resorts to slaps then, tight ones right on the meat and crease of Bucky’s ass, hollers as Bucky moves. He’ll shout, whoop, beg and holler to the ceiling for mercy but damn near cries when he takes his eyes off the sight in his lap. Holding onto Bucky’s ankles, mesmerized by the taut and rapid bounce and jiggle of his ass, he shouts and whistles as if he’s watching a baseball player round third or a rancher wrap a lasso tight around a calf’s neck.

This Daddy announces when he’s going to come. This Daddy doesn’t like to be edged. He likes to launch himself into pleasure the moment he feels it, wants to give himself over to it like an easy slut. Getting Steve there takes effort, takes time, but Bucky knows he’s got him hook, line, and sinker when Steve’s grip goes rough, when he starts whining and huffing and gasping—

“Fuck, oh shit, baby. Make me come, atta boy, use that pussy right and make your Daddy come. Oh, you fuckin’ earned it, sweetness. Right there, jesus wept I’m—! M’coming! Bun, I’m—!”

It’s a tie between letting Bucky ride the come out of Daddy or Steve feeling so much that he just needs to roll them right over and pound into Bucky’s sweet ass and make him take what he’s been working so hard for. Both of those options come with a loud Daddy. This man doesn’t hold back: growls, groans, grunts, shouts. He experiences his orgasms, each one seemingly surprising to him, startling even, each once met with an eager and willing Bunny.

Bucky loves nothing more than his Daddy coming.

It almost always makes him come, pushes him right over the edge if he hasn’t already made it there. Bucky is such a fucking slut for his Daddy coming, giggles and moans and whines like he’s lost his mind when it happens. He encourages Steve with hands on his face or his ass, pulls him in more, “you look at me when you fill my pussy up, Daddy”, maybe tugs on his hair a little bit to help cut through the fog of an explosive orgasm. Daddy isn’t below a pushy dom-y Bunny, loves it, shivers and shakes for it.

Lucky for them, most of the time Daddy comes twice.

The second time can quickly follow the first, but those times are Daddy’s turn, and he chases that, chases it like a mad man. Bucky’s messy with his Daddy, hole slurping and sucking at his Daddy’s cock, asking for more, and Steve digs his knees into the bed and takes. His mouth will run, he’ll slur, he’ll hold Bucky down like the prettiest little toy and use his Bunny to finish himself off.

And his mouth, lord his mouth—

“I’ll never get enough’a this fuckin’ body, never get enough of you, Bun. Take me so well in every way, made for me, got a body just made for Daddy to fill up, ain’t that right? Spread those legs, atta boy, offer up that pussy to Daddy. Oh baby, thank you, gonna keep you wet inside, gonna wet you up real good, ngh. Hold yourself open, god you’re perfect, you and that tight pussy, there it is, oh. Oh, Buck—m’gonna come…”

I’m…I’m sorry—what was the question? 😬😲😫

Of course there are soft moments but…there’s this as well and this drink I’m drinking has me wanting to go this route, ahaha. 😘

#askK #3dwd and bunny #3dwd and bunny baby #3dwd #bunny baby #ooooooooooooooof #masterlist #dirty talk #they're so much fun

[gerec]

So I've just finished reading the solo Magneto (2014) 21 issue series and let me tell you it is wild and hella dark lol. And I have discovered so many new things about comics!Magneto including the following random gems{SPOILERS OBVS - also it's all kinda gruesome}:

- If you are a doctor/researcher/scientist who has helped mutant hate groups than Magneto will happily replace your fillings with road signs shoved (impaled!) down your throat

- Even somewhat de-powered (something something Phoenix Force he's lost a lot of his raw power) he kicks all kinds of bloody ass with a handful of nails (or barbed wire, or the bladed head of a windmill, or etc)

- A single paperclip embedded in the palm under the skin and slowly making its way up the arm is an effective way to ensure cooperation from a scientist turning test subjects into human/sentinel hybrids

- Keeps a computerized memorial wall of thousands of mutants killed by humans, in a secret bunker in the Adirondacks

- Will chop the arms AND legs off a mutant (Greycrow, a Marauder clone of Sinister's) who mass murdered other mutants to teach him a lesson about turning on your own kind

- If you are a hot, human female who stalks Magneto he will definitely threaten you with your own metal leg brace, then, sleep with you when you prove to be useful by providing him with information and resources to go after anti-mutant hate groups, then, threaten you again by casually throwing you around the room until you tell him the 'real' reason you're helping him...

- ...And it turns out the real reason is you were a victim of one of his rampages as a teen and that's why you're wearing that leg brace, but also, you're part of a sub-culture of people who are "fans" of world-threatening villains and his powers/violence just turns you on???

- Will inject you with a Mutant Growth Hormone and turn you into a mutant for a few seconds just so that he can feed you to the giant mutant killing dog beasts that have been killing innocent mutants in your 'fighting ring'

- S.H.I.E.L.D. is somehow both useless and over-confident when dealing with a de-powered Magneto, not bothering to question why he would willingly turn himself in, thereby letting him on their Helicarrier so he could destroy their Cerebro knockoff (based on stolen tech obvs) and their (definitely not legal) database of mutants.

- Also their lead agent tells Magneto (Magneto! to his FACE!) that she doesn't really care about all the mutants that have been murdered left and right by hateful humans because her job is to bring Magneto in (for killing all those hateful humans murdering mutants). I am amazed at the self control shown by Erik Lehnsherr for not tearing her damn head off with his bare hands.

- More proof that 'Magneto is right' is actually true sometimes when he murders the shit out of Red Skull and drops a ton of bricks on his head for a) turning the ruins of Genosha into a mutant death camp and b) stealing a part of poor dead Charles Xavier's brain and grafting it to his own. Really unfortunate that Wanda and Rogue are there to poo poo him killing murderous Nazis and telling him he's bad for killing murderous Nazis jesus fucking wept. (Sadly the death doesn't stick).

- Turns out one of the mutant prisoners he rescues has a power that turns your nightmares real and it ends up turning Mag's Nazi boogeyman into a real life serial killer that goes on a murdering spree in the new refuge he builds on Genosha. The only way to get rid of it is if the original mutant who brought it to life dies (because she can't control it or stop it and once it's created it's un-killable by conventional means) so Mags...kills the mutant (with her blessing natch) just before the dream Nazi murders his human girlfriend (yikes).

- The series ends with him 'dying' while trying to save Earth from colliding with a parallel Earth because the barrier between realities is breaking down and he's fighting off massive Sentinels from the other 'Earth' while siphoning all of his own Earth's magnetic force (which is slowly giving him tiny aneurysms) to repel the other world and he's inner monologuing the whole time and he comes to some sort of epiphany about his legacy and than his final actual words are:

"Ah...Charles...Why didn't I see?"

It is all incredibly extra and I highly recommend 10/10 satellites!!!

#gerec rambles #erik lehnsherr #magneto #comics #magneto 2014 #seriously though it was a great run #i highly recommend it #esp if you're like me and you're not really all that familiar with comics Magneto

[poorwayfaringstrxnger]

My friends that know nothing about Formula 1 make assumptions about Formula 1 drivers (long post incoming)

I joined in on the bandwagon! It was the most chaotic half an hour I’ve ever had and I need somewhere to express that. I asked for assumptions + a name based on what they look like! They knew Lewis, and one of them knew Kimi because of her dad. Oh, and one of them made no contribution except to say what foods they either looked like or looked like they would eat for their breakfast LOL

Here’s what they said...

I forget who started this trend I’m so sorry

Daniel:

"Is that Chewbacca?" ................................. "He seems like a fairly friendly bloke... though he'd probably run me over." (he literally wouldn’t) "His name is.... uhhh... James Harkinson."

Max:

"That's a motherfucking twink." (I SCREAMED)

"His trim (hair)'s a little offputting, but he seems nice."

"Name wise, he seems like.. a Thomas?" "He looks like if Honey Nut Crunch cereal was a human."

Charles:

"Why does he give off the vibe that he wouldn't hesitate to clothesline you?" "He looks like a Chad." (I DIED)

“How about.... strawberry flavoured Shreddies for him.”

I’m very sad they made no reference to how he looks tired in every photo.

Seb:

"He looks mildly like Mr. Dyer" (an ex teacher at our school) "He looks like he still eats Cheerios." "Name wise.... Russell." (LMFAO)

Pierre:

"Fucking hell... scary man." (meanie. he is not scary. never forgiving my friend for saying this)

"Full English breakfast..." Harper is obsessed with food. "When you said he was French, the name Pierre instantly came to mind." !!!! One later said that he looks like Jacksepticeye. I can't with these bitches.

Lewis:

"Alexander "Lewis" Hamilton." !!!!

"Oatcakes (a food from around where i live) with bacon and cheese." "There's a million things he could have done... But just you wait... what's your name, man? ALEXANDER HAMILTON." "Man is suave... and that's coming from a lesbian."

This was literally just them referencing Hamilton because they actually knew who he was

Carlos:

"Does he like protein drinks? Maybe he has coffee and toast."

"Norton." (I say he's Spanish) "NORTONÓ." "WAIT NO... IS ANTONIO A SPANISH NAME?" "UHHHH... JAVIER."

Esteban:

"He looks like a Joe." "NEVERMIND JOE ISN'T A FRENCH NAME" "His breakfast food is a croissant." "John." (referring to his name) "French guys aren't really that intimidating... he seems fairly nice. He looks like a Sebastian." (LOL wrong driver guys)

Lance: (had to ask them to be nice to him so I didn’t cry)

"He looks like the guy who plays Jacob from Twilight."

"He probably enjoys eating frumps... maybe not for breakfast though." (frumps are long marshmallows) "Canadian.... Benjamin." "2012 Minecraft youtuber is what I think." "BAJANCANADIAN."

“But also, his pose... I feel that.”

Checo:

"Vic." "His shirt says hype, he's immediately epic." "Pink." "Amazing vibes." "Also likes frumps. He shares them with Lance." (CUTE) "His vibes are immaculate." 

I think Checo is their fave..

George: "He looks like a William... OR A WILBUR" "Man's fancy with the cup, Jesus wept." "Wilbur Soot when his YouTube career goes bank." "The bracelets... THE BRACELETS" (there was nothing wrong with his bracelets my friend just has no taste) "Great vibes. Would hand him a Pepsi." "Why is the cup so big? Does he like soup?"

Lando:

"God, the stance, man." (referring to how he was standing in the picture I sent them) "My man looks smug as fuck and I'm here for it." "Phillip." "Is he okay?" "OH HELL YEAH" (after I told them he does livestreams) "PHILLIP IN THE TWITCH CHAT FOR TODAY"

Alex: (for context I sent them that one photo of him lying down on a bed)

"I can't give him a breakfast, he's not even out of bed." "He looks comfy in that. I envy him." "Mark." (this made me laugh bc it reminded me of Markiplier LMFAOOO) "He looks like he's wom a fair share of races, man. Man's go brrrr." "He eats peanut butter sandwiches as a late night snack." "Alex Almond milk..." (after I told them his name) (THIS MADE ME LAUGH SO HARD BC THE FANDOM CALLS HIM ALEX ALMOND)

Kimi:

"Why does he look scared?"

"Is he okay?" "That man has never had any seasoning on his chicken... ever." "Thinking of a suitable name is very hard.." "HUBERT." "He's not okay, he's being held at gunpoint so that strangers can make assumptions about him on Discord." "RICHARD" "OH I KNOW HIM" !!!!!!!!!

Romain: (made sure they respected him by telling them about his bad crash)

"Mr. Beast, low budget version."

"Kudos to him for not dying, man." "Swiss names..." "Teddison." (i cried laughing at this) "AYO ROMAIN" (after i told them his name)

Kevin:

"Fucking hell he looks intimidating." "He looks familiar..." !!!!!! "He does look pretty familiar.." "FRANK." "Does he like scrambled eggs?" "WAIT NO... BROCK" (both of those names are incorrect)

Jack:

"He looks like Guava Juice." (THE WAY I SEE IT OMFG) "The food jokes are mine but that was good..." (Me) "Think of a really basic name..." "JACK." !!!!!!!! "I think he would like pomegranates, or grapefruit."

In conclusion I think they’re both now Sergio Perez stans and I hate one of them because she said Pierre looks scary.

#f1 #formula 1 #daniel ricciardo #max verstappen #charles leclerc #sebastian vettel #pierre gasly #lewis hamilton #carlos sainz #esteban ocon #lance stroll #george russell #lando norris #alex albon #kimi raikkonen #romain grosjean #kevin magnussen #jack aitken #sergio perez

[sd-media]

CRIME / SCI-FI - You’ve Got Time

Today was set to be the longest day of Comrad Daley’s life. A hundred years long, to be precise.

7 : 4 6 P M

“Catch it Dad!” the younger Daley shouted, pelting the ball far above Comrad’s head into the far distance.

‘That’s my boy’ the proud father thought, the kid’s kick was improving, though he’d have to teach him aim and self-restraint next if he didn’t plan on going to fetch the ball every time his son touched the thing. He stared expectantly back at his Dad, smiling eagerly. As usual, Coach Comrad sighed comically and walked off the red shrubbery to fetch it back. He was a good kid, he had to remind himself that sometimes- he had his Father’s distinctive, animated eyes, shining bright blue but definitely had the patience of his Mother. Comrad pulled back his thinning grey hair and sighed, this time for real. A deep, heavy sigh he daren’t question or think about too hard. He lit a cigarette and tried to recall the last time he’d gotten a good night’s sleep. God, I need to stop bringing the office back home with me, he thought- trying to clear his head. Spending his precious four hours in-between labour shifts fetching footballs like a dog was hardly what he had envisioned for himself and his family when he started his life over on, the Beckham Base Colony (the ‘Garden of Mars’ my arse’ he had said before.)

Ah, man.’ He said under his breath as he pulled it out of the red lake, a sickly light red, like watered-down blood or faded paint. Comrad was so compliant to the demands of paternal life he almost assumed it was something for him to repaint. He half-laughed at himself, joylessly.

‘You can’t fix everything, Dad.’ He said dryly to himself, he looked through groggy eyes at his reflection in the crimson water. A tired, near-unrecognisable face. His stubble turned white over the years, his eyes significantly greener than he remembered and his smile, Jesus-his smile.

Comrad Daley tried with all his might to smile, as if the muscles simply wouldn’t obey- the smile was too heavy to hold. The image of his son shot into his head, that young soul beaming brightly...as if his own flesh and blood had drained him and stolen the smile from his soul, wearing it as his own. Before this thought could last, a sudden sting surged through Daley’s head. As if violating every atom of his nervous system, the shock lasted only a second- but was enough. Comrad Daley fell into the pool of red before him.

7 : 4 9 P M  

“-cking repeated conquests of your ripest slut!” shouted a furious Yank, a crazed animal dressed in a blue trench-coat and chains. Daley fortunately only woke up in time to catch the rear-end of the furious curse. The blonde-haired beast kept shouting, thrashing around in his chains in the cell at the end of the cell-block. Chains. Comrad snapped awake in shock, finding his own hands in a lock of their own, an impossibly heavy Cuff-lock Seal. His hands were magnetically sealed, which resulted in the reaction one would expect:

“Help me! Lord, help me, fuck!”

The scream fell into a murky sea of wailing cries, swears and moans. The exclamation was as desperate as it was futile as Comrad Daley found himself just one of many men locked away, big lumbering barbarians to smaller, sneakier types, shaking ominously, nutters- the lot of them. What in high heavens was he doing here among them? Had the last few days of his life been wiped?! On whose authority? This was one hell of an admin fuck-up, and one he would sue into the ground. Except…no, it hadn’t been days, more like minutes. He caught view of a giant marble clock mounted to the wall of the cell, an Imperial-white, spotless clock standing out amongst the black, dirty concrete of the room displaying the time and date digitally.

He shook at his bars, reinforced metal that didn’t buckle or bend an inch as he caught sight of the Space Pirate Yank at the far end of the room facing him, realising his chains were his own- decorative and now slightly ironic. Jesus wept, Space Pirates were still a thing? In this day and age? Seeing this gargantuan man spit and swear restlessly allowed it to sink in for him just how out of his depth he truly was. Trapped, far from home, fucked.

Through his tearful eyes, Comrad realised his shouts were in vain and made a conscious decision to stop shouting, realising keeping quiet made him louder than any other man in the room. Disorientated and confused, the boisterous and hopeless cellblock song went on.

8 : 0 0 P M

As the clock struck eight, a door unlocked- perfectly on the beat. The entire room fell silent in an instant as a terrifying titan of a man opened the vault door and walked down the steps into the cell. Comrad looked up desperately for answers and broke the silence with a small gasp, he recognized this giant…Diamondback Fletcher, infamous leader of an Australian crime syndicate. His name reached even Mars during his role in events of the Great Capital Purge of ’81. He had hated this man since he heard of him, signed petitions and ranted at his TV at his very mention. And now face to face with him he was…despondent, impossibly tall and…unconscious.

“Thank you Fletcher, now. GUILTY-340, there’s a good boy.” Spoke up a mysterious voice.

“GUILTY-340?” He called in a shrill voice, browsing the cells casually. “Ah, no. Dahly rather, Mr Dahly.” Snapping his calculated gaze to Comrad as if he knew his location the whole time. “Now, we have an appointment.” Comrad edged to the bars, uncertain of the man but relieved for a bit of normality. This OAP seemed even more out of place than him among these criminals, clearly intelligent- a science division by the uniform.

“It’s uh, Mr Daley actually, but I rather think there’s been some kin-“

“Mistake? No mistake here.

“No really, it’s Daley.”

“Comrad Dahley. Your unusual surname is of Irish descent, inherited from Gengo and Joyce Dahley. 45, Blood type O, Father of two, Capricorn. Enthusiast of gardening, football and lesbian porn.” He said flatly, somehow speaking without emphasis, inflection or irony. “Apologies, I like to be precise. Seems you’ve been mispronouncing your own surname, is all.”

Comrad Daley stood in shocked silence, identified and violated. They didn’t keep that detail of information on the public record. Who was this old man? As if reading his mind, the Doctor stuck out his hand.

“Dr. Randall Roache, pleasure.” His voice was small and scratchy, but he spoke with the precision of a sniper rifle. His extended arm fake-paused, as if expecting to be shook. A cruel joke for the cuff-deadlocked Daley and yet the Doctor showed no sign of a smile or pride. Comrad could think of nothing better to do than shakily laugh along at his joke, wondering if he could flatter his way out of this mess. Fletcher silently held paper cups, almost to a comical effect.

“You can’t charm your way out of chains, Dahley.” He said coldly. “Ugh, the state of you. A drink?”

Suddenly, Comrad’s brain informed him just how parched he truly was and noticing the reaction this gesture got from the convicts around them, he took it politely, thanking him sincerely before guzzling it desperately[U1] . Almost instantly, the lights of the room seemed to flicker. Some prisoners watched on frantically curious, those who knew averted their eyes. Randall Roache’s genius had begun to unravel.

“What have…you done to me?” He said, struggling to form or make sense of sentences. He fell backwards, but the experience felt different somehow. Had something happened to the gravity?

“Apologies again.” He said, unapologetically. “I’ve spiked your drink. Volatile subjects don’t exactly respond well to being offered pills. I think you’re ready for a time-out.”

“Please, Sir. Doctor, there’s no….neeeed.” He said, his words slurring and his sentence structuring slowing down. His brain was going full speed but it’s as if his lips were struggling to keep up.

“For an inhuman mass murderer, there’s every need.” He spat with new-found venom. “Now pay attention, we have little time before you serve your sentence.”

“You have the wrong guy.” He repeated, insistent but his eyes alive with terror, but Roache’s glasses reflected nothing back as he pressed on with his schedule. “Let’s not play dumb, you’re familiar with The Foresight, because everybody with half a brain cell knows about Crime Forecasting. Our prediction technology caught you before you could commit Class-A precipitated Murder.”

8 : 0 6 P M

“Murder? Who…?!” He said, familiar with the law technology but barely processing his words.

“Your boy, Mr Dahley. You killed your boy with your bare hands. You’re going to deny this, say ‘that’s not me! I’m not capable of murder!’ but really with the Foresight we know your nature better than you do yourself.”

“How…fucking…dare you.” He said, his voice trailing at a snail’s pace. “My kids…they’re at home, safe. I demand…a trial. My lawyer…” before finally trailing off.

“Unnecessary. No lawyer, court, nor you can disprove the future. Wielding the future as an instrument we have developed absolute law prevention, control over time itself.” Daley’s mind processed the terror in real time but his body lamely flailed in slow-motion at this revelation. “Your family are safe Dahley, thanks to our intervention- saved from you.”

“My…records clean and there’s zero reason…I’d do that. I’m being…I’m being set up.”

“We have all kinds here, the war criminals, the kiddy fiddlers and tax fraudsters but nothing cracks like the office-bound family man. Beat down by colleagues, family pressures, a parent- it’s a thankless job, I know.” Roache caught himself indulging in his monologue and realised the subject was almost out of time- he cut to the point. “But all it takes to snap your kind, is one bad day.”

“If this is a Foresight facility, then what was in my drink, Doctor?” Daley spat, piecing clues together. Roache knelt down and smiled, glad he was finally asking the right questions. He pulled something small out of his coat pocket and showed it to the grovelling convict. “I’m required by law to tell you what is about to happen to you. This is time, in a pill. See, as a young man I dared wonder- what could biotechnology bring to the field of law enforcement?”

“Dying to know.”

“Well, what if, instead of the life sentence you’ve been given. The very long, flawed, expensive for the taxpayer sentence, we could trick a prisoner’s perception of time? Turn just five minutes into ten, fifty, say hundred years.”

“Imposs…ible.”

“Very possible. I made it possible. Please, relax. Should you not fight it, you walk out here a free man by 8:15.

8 : 1 0 P M

The world spun around, he wanted to see his family. Did little Jamie even know he was missing? Did he get his ball back? The clock oppressively stood above him, taunting him as much as the decrepit man of science in front of it.

“Hundred…years…” Daley moaned in disbelief.

“Yes. A lot of time for some well-needed personal reflection, don’t you think?”

Daley was completely slowed, but managed one final sentence before he fell to the process. “Is that what you told your pet?” Nodding to the brain-washed Fletcher, a stab that turned the Doctor’s face dark, he removed his glasses.

“You didn’t just stop with the boy, you know. You went one neck to another, you cut their mouths open before dumping them in the lake. Child to child to your wife, to your town- you couldn’t be stopped. The blood…that sound.” He whispered, taunting him by relishing in every graphic detail. “You think over that image for the next hudnred years. I hope you like the walls of this cell, because you better get used to them.” He said coldly, rattled by having his ethics challenged- he sneered and turned away to go on his coffee break.

“See you in five.”

8 : 1 1 P M

Tick.

Tock.

The smaller hand of the clock becomes the only marker of time. The seconds changing every couple of years. The sound of my wife’s neck crumpling in my hands used to feel so foreign and obscene but now the slightest doubt had begun to creep into the corner of my mind, sitting there like a demon. I know every follicle of this cell, every little bit of dust and have favourite parts of the concrete. The clock serves as my only distraction from the terrors on my mind. Today I forgot my own name. The only things I know, this blasted clock and that looming old face. The wrinkles of that worn skin seem like nothing to the centuries I’ve endured. Was there anything else outside this room? Voices in my head go in circles, clock-wise. My body needs no sleep or nourishment in the mere space of five minutes but my brain convinces me I should be starving nonetheless, out of habit I bet. Some days I debate whether I truly am capable of such crimes, some days I embrace that part of me and some days I curse it to hell. There are only so many thoughts to be had, I am losing my mind. I am losing myself. My hands in a lake of red. I have eternity to plan my thoughts and actions, to decide my own verdict. Guilty?

8 : 1 5 P M

The clock stopped and the Doctor was late.

Just a half-beat short of turn of the minute, the door opened once more. From behind it stepped the familiar Doctor, with his assistant and two new colleagues. They idly chatted down the stairs as Conrad sat up slowly, exiting his own mind and back to reality. He tried to make syllables with his mouth.

“Daley…” The scientists heads perked up. “Daley. Daley. Daley!” He echoed, each utterance getting more powerful and clearer than the last. He rattled his name and shouted it in protest.

“Now, now sleeping beauty. Don’t overexert yourself.” Said one of the unfamiliar men at the back. The other started scanning the prisoners. “Vitals good condition, no lasting brain damage, tremors might be permanent.” But Roache batted them out of the way. “His mind, I want to know about his mind.” Daley continued repeating in the background, tired eyes fixed on Roache. “Tell me, are you a reformed man, corrected?”

“…It’s Daley.” He said through gritted teeth. Suddenly he headbutted the bars, pointless but enough to make the man flinch. The stage was his.

8 : 1 6 P M

“Doctor Randall Roache, you are a genius. A real, goddamned genius, above us all aren’t you?” Randall’s smile dropped into an annoying grimace, subjects rarely maintained their independence. “You have the ability to make a man, any man live countless lifetimes. An eternity of thought…and you’ve wasted it.”

The clock in Conrad’s head started ticking, adrenaline once again shooting through his veins. The Doctor pulled the keys out of his pocket and unlocked his cell to let him leave. Conrad held his ground as the cell door swung open.

“You have another pill in your coat pocket, don’t you think you should try it next?” His fist tightened.

“Yes? Now why would I do that?” Roache bemused, hoping it was brain damage.

“Oh come on Randall. IQ like yours, five hundred years of just you and your thoughts? Apply yourself. You know as well as I do, what progress an academic mind like yours could make in five hundred years. Imagine we had Einstein for a hundred more years, a thousand- the progress that could be made, the lives that could be saved.” He exacted his speech meticulously, words that fell on the right ears.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, you’re a free man. Leave, or would you like another fifty?” he said behind his glasses, losing his cool.

“What would my ‘crime’ be this time?” Conrad replied, exerting his height over the man. A sweat-drop ran down his head as his two colleagues watched the exchange in anticipation, they seemed sold on the notion. Fletcher stepped forward and poured a pill from the plastic cup into his big, offering palm, Conrad nodded to the shell and showed the good Doctor his invention, a look that said ‘take the pill’. The Doctor stood frozen, shook to his core by a use for it he had never considered. He took the drug from him and held it in his old, shaking hand. The longest silence passed.

8 : 20 P M

A tiny pill-sized thud hit the floor, the atmosphere was palpable and the implications clear.

“Then how dare you try hold the moral high ground, Sir. I don’t know…if I’m capable of murder, but you are capable of so much more.” He was met with nothing but silence, the other prisoners went to cheer but dare not break the tension. Comrad Daley dusted himself off and pulled his hands from the Deadlock Seal, he was confused how to feel as he walked out, to where he didn’t know.

“I’m a free man, are you?”

#sci-fi #literature #short story #story #writing