#starter?

She wasn’t made for that house; she spent her time in a caravan set far back enough from the house it wouldn’t be an eyesore for the people of the house. She still climbs up the hill.

Striding across the hill, a quiet whistle is replaced by the bristling strike of a match. Euphorically groaning as the cigarette lights, lips tightly wrapped around it before sighing out her first puff of smoke. She couldn’t smoke in front of the herd, for some reason she’d ascribed herself to. Seemed wrong, letting it burn into the backs of their innocent eyes.

It was horrifically fascinating, when a cow died. Their eyes, the back of them at least, would burn up in the last colours they saw. She’d found it false when going through the slaughterhouse, and their eyes still shimmered in the iridescent blues of the sky they once saw. Marcy still couldn’t smoke in front of them.

Both of the spurs spin and click against themselves as she starts to climb the wall, pausing at the second floor as someone shifts through the hallway before returning to bed. Marcys nails grind against the flat tile, blooming a new callous against her left palm. She could’ve used the ladder, but it was still fun. Rapping her knuckles against the glass, she snakes through the window.

Tap, tap, tap. Bullet, chamber. Over and over, rhythmic. Turn, click. Check again. Ready. Hopefully for nothing. He didn't really like to use the thing, y'know? It was a tool, an implement, it was only a weapon in certain hands but it still felt uncomfortably wrong--

Because it felt so right. Perfect in his hand. The weight, the form. "Fear is the-- Ha, nevermind. It'll be okay." Casual, soft, Calm, confident. The things he did not feel.

Had he learned to be a better liar? Mostly to himself.

Aim. Vash drew a sharp breath and obeyed instinct. Obeyed every hard-learned lesson, every scar, every loss, every regret that was and is and will be and raised his arm with a confidence he did feel. Finger on the trigger guard.

Breathe. Dust. Footsteps.

Who goes there?

Identify yourself!

Don't come any closer.

No. Nope, nope, no.

"Ha ha, I hate to be a bother, but would you kindly turn around and go back where you came from so there won't be any violence today? Thanks!"

The cheering of drunken men mixed with the rhythmic string music, dancing in the swirling air with the smells of smoking meat. The echos sang and bounced lightly along the rolling mountains that have guided me so wisely before. I saw the flickering lights of torches and fires feeding the smoke plumes over their encampment, and as we approached, I could make out their notorious eagle symbol branded across their sea of grid-planned tents. The sun had long set and their celebrations had begun days before, there was only the full moon to give light to the sky as the rest of the world was pulled into the darkness. I paused a moment, taking in the sight, wanting to memorize and study as much as I had the chance to, but my stopping seemed to worry my company, who reassured me of any fears I was assumed to have.

I did not.

The air was still as we grew closer, and I felt the uneasiness in my escort party grow as we came upon the enemy territory. I kept my head high, preparing for the jeers and stares of the onlookers to come, but was surprised to be led towards a more private area of larger tents. The noises of the bustling party faded more as we climbed the torch-lit path, and I couldn’t help but feel relief, for a moment.

My pride and determination returned as we closed in on one of the tents. There were lit torches near the entrance, shining proudly behind two guards in military armor. They noticed our presence as we approached, and I steadied my stride with a stiffened jaw.

We stopped. There was a moment of study, staring, judging, hating, before one of our own voices broke the tense silence. My arrival was announced, and my comrades emphasized my status in the clan in my introduction as if it would comfort their smothered rage. Perhaps they were trying to comfort me? It felt more like a eulogy, as my Celtic role would no longer be relevant to my new, subservient life. Still, their words I did find sweet as a parting farewell, reminder to who I was and warning to who this new husband will be.

Husband.

Something I’ve never had the chance to concern myself with before, has now been negotiated on behalf of the safety of our village. As a druid in training, it should be my honor to be responsible for such peace, and glad to protect my brethren. Our unstable untrustworthy new allies have assured us that these 10 women, noble and pious representatives of our great people, will be honored and treated with the utmost respect as is deserving as a wife. We have been reassured that this is the benefit of both sides, and will pave the way to peace and regrowth. The implied warning here is that peace is only in tact if the 10 marriages are as well. I’m sure this was supposed to reassure us that these Roman brutes who have slaughtered our fathers and brothers, will somehow make doting and noble husbands.

It did not.

I took a purposeful, long stride forward, and this got the attention of the envoy here to meet us. I thought of saying something, to speak my peace while I have my final chance to do so, but one of the guards speaks before I can think of something.

“He asks that you go in alone, you will leave your things here to be collected later.” His voice was even, but deep. There were grunts of protest from behind me, but I strengthened my gaze at this man, narrowing my eyes.

“That’s how I’d prefer to receive him as well” I agreed. I gestured for my belongings to be dropped from the men in my party, which made the romans raise and eyebrow at my authority over these comrades, and I turned to face them forming a semi-circle around me. I had already received a tearful, and very grand farewell from my family, master, chief, and the rest of the village before departing, though I couldn’t help but feel my heart sting at this final goodbye. I felt the wind tickling my skin with my hair, like the spirits were also here to see me off safely, and this truly did comfort me. I gave the village men a parting blessing and thanked them for their duty as my last druid-right, and they gave me a warriors embrace and clapping on the back before pulling away again.

I turned back towards the tent again, the wind still dancing around me and no longer silent, it seemed to be pulling me towards the very opening of the dwelling. My white robes and dyed cape fluttered carelessly, and I adjusted my proud antlers to sit steadier on my head before taking a deep breath that I hoped wasn’t too audible with the breeze. I glanced at the two guards a moment, before letting the wind guide me to my destiny.

Girava a cópia da chave que tinha da rádio no indicador enquanto perambulava pela sala com um dos microfones em mãos. Tinha escolhido um horário entre as aulas que ninguém estava por lá.

Queria estar fazendo aquilo? Queria foder com a linha temporal de todo mundo, incluindo a sua? Na verdade, não. Mas, porra, ele deu uma festa tão boa e ainda assim só tomou pedrada.

_ Eu sei que eu vou parecer louco falando essas coisas porque, bem, viagem no tempo realmente parece uma coisa absurda e, depois que eu abri a minha sessão de previsão do futuro, pode mesmo ter parecido uma piada. Mas eu não voltei sozinho e... desculpe Nate, eu menti pra você. Não deveria sair por aí confiando em qualquer pessoa numa festa regada à álcool e alucinógenos. Se bem que eu tava sóbrio, né? - disse a última parte pensativo, demorando uns 5 segundos pra voltar a falar. Se sentou na cadeira e trocou o microfone de mão, colocando os pés sobre a mesa. - Bom, por onde eu começo então? Ah, sim, a acho que dá pra começar com o principal. A grande pandemia de covid que começou na China em 2019. É, a gente ficou uns dois anos em casa e coisa uma merda. As lives de música, que coisa horrorosa. - soltou um riso nasalado e colocou um cigarro na boca. Donald Trump, sim, ele mesmo, o bilionário laranja esquisito, vai ser nosso presidente em 2017 e... Puta que pariu, a gente só se fode. Em 2021 quem ganhar é o Joe Biden. E ele não move um dedo pra acabar com a guerra na Palestina que começou em 2023 e é o principal responsável pela guerra da Ucrânia em 2022. A Rihanna vai engravidar. Duas vezes. A Britney vai escrever um livro e foder com o Justin Timberlake porque ela engravidou e ele forçou ela a engravidar. Depois ela saiu da tutela abusiva do pai. O Chiefs ganha o Superbowls de 2024 e o show é do Usher. Mas... por que eu to falando dessas coisas se eu posso ir para assuntos mais importantes como o futuro dos nossos queridos colegas de faculdade? Afinal as anomalias temporais que tudo isso causou são hilárias. Como a festa de Coraline Parton e o fato de que agora a Riley tem um pau. Desculpe, amigo, mas se você gostou disso, acho que eu acabei de te fazer uma cirurgia espectral de redesignação sexual. Se fodeu, Vincent!

Jawie acendeu o cigarro com o isqueiro de Ollie que ainda guardava. - Bom, acho interessante começar com quem vos fala porque assim não tem como usarem qualquer coisa contra mim, né? Em 2020 quando começar de fato a pandemia, eu vou levar os cassinos pra internet e criar a Blaze, patrocinar uma cacetada de influencer, incluindo os Kingsley. Vincent, seus pais não mandaram beijo. Bem, deu um puta problema. - riu e assoprou a fumaça pra longe. Começou a girar a cadeira no próprio eixo. - Eu fui preso, fui esfaqueado, contrai tétano, fiquei meses internado e perdi boa parte do movimento das minhas pernas. Depois disso consegui liberdade condicional.

Se tivesse calculado certo, a sala mais próxima estava há uma boa distância, se qualquer um que estivesse nessa corresse pra rádio, deveria estar há uns 10 minutos de distância pelo tempo do discurso. Agora precisava agilizar.

_ Não adianta correr, a sala tá trancada e, sinceramente, o que pode ser feito? Se me deixarem falar, isso pode ferrar com a linha temporal de vocês. O que garante que tudo o que eu disse agora não vai alterar só pelo fato de eu ter dito? Mas, é claro, se vierem me impedir de falar, vocês confirmam tudo o que eu to dizendo. Poxa, o pessoal poderia fácil continuar achando que eu sou louco e só ignorar o que eu digo. Então... quem aqui vai poder dizer que o Marcelo Dragna não enlouquece e pula pelado de paraquedas, que a Olivia Priestly não atuou com o Leonardo DiCaprio e é super famosa, que a Katherine Lewis não ajudou o Trump a vencer as eleições, que Coraline Parton não vira uma esposa troféu, que Vincent Kingsley não operou a Kim Kardashian, que a Harper Wang não vira uma cozinheira famosa de um programa de TV, que Lara não vire uma psicóloga de sucesso, que Lucien Dragna não perde um olho e uma perna... bem vindo ao clube. Que Bella largou a atuação, que a Gwen não é professora da UCLA,que o Ben não largou a faculdade porque engravidou alguém, que o Nate não é um cientista renomado, que Sabine não larga o ativismo pra virar uma patricinha, que Celeste não abre uma loja de vestidos de noiva, que a gente não perde o campeonato esse ano e que o Jacob Harris não morre na mesma noite. - completou mais rapidamente, terminando o cigarro e jogando ele apagado no lixo. Parou de girar na cadeira percebendo que estava começando a se enrolar no fio do microfone. - Mas eu não sou o único viajante no tempo aqui e espero que Ollie, Nate, Vince, Theo, Kath, Harvey, Bella, Ben, Sabine, Celeste, Riley, Jenna, Donna, Lara e Noah sejam bons corredores pra me alcançar, porque pode ser que eu tenha acabado de destruir o futuro de vocês... e salvo a vida de Jacob Harris. Afinal, se você sabe que vai levar um soco, então você não vai mais levar o soco.

@tenebristhequeen

Arma is a woman of many paradoxes. On one hand, her favorite pastime is writing. She has many journals, with pages moist from ink. She will write about her day, in excruciating details, until her pen runs out of ink or until her wrist is numb. On the other hand, having existed for over two and a half decades (most of which was spent roaming the streets, or surviving in the wilderness) with no formal education, the android’s grasp of things like spelling and grammar is very weak.

It is for this reason that a bright, glowing green portal sat open in her living room; the hapless android’s ability to string words together is so lackluster that, instead of writing a complicated string of words, Arma accidentally opened an interdimensional wormhole.