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â ď¸Warning for Blood, death and injuryâ ď¸
This is the prologue page for The Runaway Clan!! Iâm really excited to start posting about this, as itâs an idea Iâve had for a long time and Iâve always wanted to run a blog! Hope youâll tune in
Lecture
Il dit âjâaime la lectureâ,
Quelle magnifique parure,
Quand on nâa pas fière allure.
Lâaura tâil a lâusure ?
Le jettera tâelle en pâture ?
Pour lâheure, il joue le garçon pur,
Il laisse tomber sa carapace de gros dur.
Son armure,
Se fissure.
Son âme, elle, se laisse aller à la luxure,
Son visage se dĂŠconfit, confiture,
Son cĹur quant Ă lui, sâorne de dorures.
lâamour ? Pourvu que ça dur !
TRAC, pt. 1
Time travel is subject to a ridiculous amount of regulation and monitoring. It has to be, or we'd be up to our eyeballs in paradoxes. People just don't think things through. One of the early experimenters jumped back 100 years and decided to stay there; she died a natural death in the 50s, which meant she was never here in the 2010s to invent her time machine, which then meant she could never have left. The time stream threw a hissy fit over that one; we were finding phantom memories of her strewn about for decades in all directions. Also a finger. Not pretty. It was that incident which prompted the government to create the Time Repair Action Committee, or TRAC. Thatâs where I come in.Â
Iâm Sergeant Blake Hanlon of the Time Police, although hopefully not for much longer. Iâm cramming the technical stuff so I can sit the exam for captaincy next month. Captain Baggins (okay, that isnât his real name, he just looks like Martin Freeman, his real name is Smith) reckons Iâm a natural, but frankly, Iâm finding it a slog. Field assignments, recoveries, sure, I love that stuff. The theory behind the fancy machines, though - oof, my brain.Â
So thatâs why, that day, when alarms started going off, I was less eye-rolly and more get-up-and-go; the practice exam on my desk could totally wait. Some idiot on an unauthorised trip needed saving, and me and my crew were going to play the heroes again.Â
The klaxons were high-pitched and fast, indicating that whoever it was had gone quite a long way back in time. I donât think Iâd ever heard them quite so high before. It was a thrill, it sure got the adrenaline pumping. I could see Private Anderson feeling the same; we shared a grin on our way to the Travel Room.Â
âBig trip, Sarge. Whatâs the furthest back youâve been?â
â1900,â I said without hesitation. It was a popular one. âEveryone wants to see Federation.âÂ
She rolled her eyes. âYouâd think theyâd go for the gold rush, get in early and make their fortune.â She affixed the regulation trackers and monitors to her uniform, and handed me mine. One for the shirt collar, one for the helmet, one for the belt. Theoretically theyâd keep us in one piece, although Baggins had notoriously lost an ear a few months ago. Off the record, the guys in the lab were trying to grow him a new one, but it never worked out.Â
âI think most people are afraid to go too far back.â There was a widely-believed rumour or myth that the further you time-travelled, the harder it was to come home. The boffins were still hammering it out; some said it was, some said it wasnât.Â
âAre you scared?â
I snorted. âNah. Weâre not lone wolves with jimmied-together crap. Look at this stuff.â I gestured at the Travel Room. It was super high tech, crammed full of time machines, wormhole creators, computers, screens, radios, and some stuff I didnât even know the names of. It was staffed with, at that moment, three of the tech consultants. Charlie was fussing around the time machine weâd be using, while Jen and Aarave were programming coordinates into one of the computers.Â
Aarave handed me a radio and gave me a stern look. âI want that back, this time.âÂ
âCâmon, man, I lose one radio!â
âTheyâre expensive,â he growled. âYou canât just buy trans-time comms from Aldi.âÂ
âNot to mention the possible security risk,â Jen pointed out. âWhoever finds that radio could mess us up in all sorts of ways. Theyâre only supposed to be with authorised personnel.âÂ
I knew that, of course; losing the radio had been a pretty major screw-up, so even though the reminder stung, I had to cop it.Â
âRight you are, guys, this one comes home with me. Scoutâs honour.â
Charlie giggled. âYou were never a Scout, Blake.â
âDob dob dob,â I replied with a wink. I had been a Scout, but only for a few weeks. I didnât feel like going into the details of why just then; too depressing, right when we had an exciting mission.Â
âSo when are we going?â Anderson asked.Â
The three techies hesitated, glancing at each other.
âWhat?â I demanded.Â
Five hundred years back,â Jen said finally. âPre-European.â
i present: the 326th attack battalion. (aka, dezcasiâs clones)
below the cut, thereâs some info :)

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Après le tic jâai le trac qui me trotte. Le temps nâest plus quâune expectation...
En tĂŞte jâai la totalitĂŠ des temps Forts, morts, puissants de passion Quand dans tes yeux je fais un plongeon.
Le trac du tic me hante encore entière Quand tes cils sâaffaissent et ferment tes paupières...
Tout est en suspens Le passĂŠ est un prĂŠsent Et un futur ĂŠvanescent...
Jâattends par cette ouverture galactique Que tu fasses revenir avec la lumière le tic... __________
Merci Ă @coeurantique pour lâinattendue inspiration de ces quelques âversâ...
Autumn Delight by vitorferreiraphotography
alone on a hill by jvsoelen