#maybe he thought to get ahead of the Miles Shaped Headache he would have otherwise and had Jess recruit Miles

[proheromidoriyashouto]

Miles calling Miguel "Tío" when they first met because his beloved Uncle is dead and he would really like a cool Spiderman to teach him all the How-To's and if he can get that association started now he'll have a badass uncle in his life again before he's out of high school (he is so lonely)

[mishasminion360]

Space Age Love Song, Ch. 1

A Mandalorian x O/C Fic

Warning: Language

Notes: I’ve had this idea for awhile now and decided “why the hell not?” It’s been quite some time since I’ve written a full fledged fic, but I’m going to try to remain committed and complete this one. I already have a good idea of where I want it to go, so that’s a plus. Readers, you’re in for plenty of Mando romance, fluff, angst, action, and suspense. I hope you enjoy!

He crashed into her life like a falling star. The brightest star in the cosmos.

Ch. 1: Crash Into Me

The world was always a lonelier place at night. Rural Kansas appeared much more desolate in the dark; the roads and the land seemed to stretch on forever, both leading to nothing. The whistling of the evening breeze was the only voice to be heard for miles.

A half-drunk glass of whiskey in hand, Sara craned her head skyward to gaze at the stars. At most times, it seemed, they were her only friends. At least there were plenty of them to go around.

Her shift at the Hillsboro Community Hospital had been a grueling one this evening. She had just managed to drag her weary bones home a little more than an hour ago and already the night was creeping into day. Though exhausted, she’d suddenly found herself wired the second she’d pulled into her driveway at nearly 3 a.m. Now coming up on 4 in the morning, she downed the rest of her whiskey in hopes of calming herself long enough to drop into dreamland.

She had no reason to be awake so late, or early, rather. Sara had no one to pass the wakefulness with. The last of the only family she’d ever known had vanished from her life nearly a decade ago, leaving her with nothing but an old country house in the middle of nowhere that was far too big for a solitary woman such as herself. That house and memories.

There shouldn’t be any joy in the thought of coming home to an empty house. No happiness at the thought of eating alone, sleeping alone, living alone. But, as it began to happen more frequently, Sara came to realize that this rush of adrenaline she felt upon returning to her solitary homestead night after night was from the hope that she wouldn’t be lonely for long. One night she’d come home and there’d be someone worth coming home to. Someone waiting for her.

For now, though, Sara pulled herself to her feet, blinked the stars from her eyes, and prepared to head inside where she’d climb the stairs to her room and finally sleep the sleep of the dead.

She had just yanked open the finicky screen door when she heard a peculiar thoom! Her tired eyes returned to the sky to see that it was ablaze with light. A star, like a white hot ember, arced through the night, tumbling, tumbling down. So bright. So fast. So BIG.

That is not a star, she thought.

Sara watched the object’s decent with her heart in her throat. What if it was a meteor? Or a guided missile gone astray? Should she take cover? Would there be enough time? Would it even matter? The time she could’ve spent moving was lost to an endless string of “what if’s” playing on a loop inside her head, and by the time her brain managed to squeeze a logical thought about running into the mix, the object was crashing to earth in the field behind her barn.

She felt the impact from her porch; wobbled unsteadily on her feet as a tremor passed through the ground below. She could see the glow of flames in the distance. With the threat of a wildfire from space igniting the field beyond, with her house and all its memories in danger, she sprang into action.

Sara darted inside and made a beeline for the kitchen, retrieving the fire extinguisher from under the sink. Then, opting to take the back door, she darted back out into the chilly pre-dawn and ran as fast as her legs would carry her toward what she could only assume was Fox Mulder’s wet dream.

***

So, it definitely wasn’t a star. It wasn’t a meteor or a missile either. Nothing in her wildest dreams could have prepared her for what she was seeing. It was in pieces and it was on fire, but even partially destroyed Sara could positively identify (having watched enough cheesy sci-fi movies with her gramps to do so) an alien ship when she saw one.

“What kind of Superman origin story bullshit is this?” she wondered out loud.

The flames licking at the wreckage weren’t too big, and the small extinguisher did the trick for the most part. The dented silver exterior was still smoldering in some places by the time the canister was empty. Tossing the empty red cylinder aside, she stood and stared at the UFO in a mix of wonder and fear as another round of incessant questions bombarded her brain. Should she call someone about this? Who the hell was she supposed to call anyway: the cops, a scientist, the news, or all of the above?

With a startling groan of metal and a hiss of pressurized air, a large door at the rear of the ship (or was it the front? She had no fucking clue) descended, assuming a new role as a ramp, or so it appeared. It was almost as if the ship were inviting her inside.

Sara took a moment to peer into the vessel’s dark innards, then shook her head. She’d seen enough Ridley Scott movies to know that going inside was a terrible idea. Blindly investigating a mysterious extraterrestrial ship is how people ended up dead or, at the very least, pregnant with an alien baby. She wanted no part in either one of those scenarios if she could help it.

The rationalist inside of Sara urged her not to take another step farther; practically shouted at her to turn around and run the other way. But the nurse in her wouldn’t, couldn’t allow her to abandon someone who might be aboard and may be hurt, human or...otherwise. Damn. Sometimes she felt like she’d chosen the wrong profession.

Taking a cautious step up onto the ramp, jumping a bit at the echoing of her own footsteps, Sara called out to the darkness.

“Hello? Is anyone in there?”

When she got only silence for a response, she decided to forge on ahead into the belly of the great metal beast.

“Okay, I’m coming in so please just...don’t eat me and keep your tentacles to yourself.”

The cavernous ship was as black as night. In the distance she could see lights blinking, like stars in the night guiding her way. Sara felt along the walls blindly and inched forward with small, cautious steps.

“If anyone is in here be warned. I do not like surprises and, so help me, if you jump out at me here in the dark I will punch first and ask questions later.”

As she drew closer to the flashing lights, she began to hear noise. What sounded like about five different alarms were blaring, but still nothing resembling a voice.

Suddenly, the floor seemed to rise by a foot and she stumbled at the sudden change in elevation. Her arms flailed dramatically as she desperately reached for something, anything to grab onto. Sara hit the ground hard and loud, her cry of surprise cut short as her head thumped against the cold floor.

Disoriented from the blow, she looked up and took in her surroundings with blurred vision. The alarms screamed at her from every direction, which was doing absolutely nothing to help her gradually building headache, and the lights blinked furiously in sync with the shrieking sirens. She could make out other objects now, what looked like buttons and knobs and levers and screens all illuminated by the incessant flashing of the warning lights. Damn her shit luck. Alone on this alien ship and she’d managed to stumble (literally) into the freaking cockpit. But where was the pilot?

Okay, maybe whatever had been flying this saucer never heard her, had no idea she was here. Maybe it was an unmanned craft. There was still a chance she’d make it out of this incredibly foolhardy endeavor alive. Stiffly and carefully Sara rolled onto her back, glanced up, and immediately screamed.

A face, or at least what she assumed was a face, more like a mask of some sort, peered down at her from above. Stifling another cry, she scrambled up to a sitting position and shinnied away until she felt her back hit wall. Even with that outburst, the creature didn’t appear to stir. After a few minutes of heavy breathing and vigilant observation, it didn’t appear that the alien was conscious.

Before she even realized she was doing it, Sara was on her hands and knees, creeping closer to where the sleeping being was collapsed heavily in what she figured to be the captain’s chair. Upon closer inspection, it looked more like a man than a monster. A man (or a woman) encased from head to toe in a suit of shimmering silver armor. Hell, it could have been a robot.

Through the small t-shaped visor in the dome-like helmet Sara could see no traces of a face. She had no definitive way of knowing if the spaceman was truly slumbering or just waiting for her to get close enough to grab, and for a moment she hesitated to move any closer. But when she saw the small trickle of blood leaking from beneath the helmet and onto the right pauldron, her fear instantly vanished. Definitely not a robot; a living, bleeding person. RN powers activate!

“Hey! Hey, can you hear me?” Sara gave the shiny helmet a light tap, trying to conjure a response. “Come on spaceman, spacewoman, are you with me? Wake up!”

His or her head rolled limply to the side as the blood continued to run. Unconsciousness following a vehicular (or spacecraftular) crash was never a good sign, but Sara couldn’t know for certain until she saw the source of the blood how bad the damage was. Gripping the helmet between her sweating palms she began to slide it upward carefully. Before she could even get it past the wearer’s chin, a hand reached up and wrapped around her wrist, stopping her instantly. She flinched, in surprise rather than pain; their grip was unexpectedly gentle.

“Don’t-don’t take it off,” a very male voice stammered weakly. “You can’t...”

Sara was momentarily stunned. The alien spoke perfect English, and in a voice as soft as their grasp. She shook her head to reorganize her thoughts. This situation called for the utmost professionalism. When you’re a nurse, first impressions are everything. And she wasn’t representing just herself at this moment, but potentially the entire human race.

“Sir, I...it’s going to be alright, sir. I’m a nurse. I can help you, but I’ll need to assess the injury. I need to remove your helmet in order to-“

“Please...”

Sara had entered this ship expecting to find a monster ready to frighten her. What she’d never anticipated was that the monster could be just as frightened as she was. And that’s what she heard in the spaceman’s voice: fear. He was scared. Of her. And that’s when any remaining trace of her own fear vanished. She reached down and found one of his gloved hands and squeezed it gently in her own.

“It’s okay. You’re going to be alright. I’m going to help you. You’re safe.” With her other hand she caressed one side of his helmet and tried to imagine that she were stroking his own cheek. “You’re safe.”

He seemed to relax a bit under her touch, but that may have been from the second wave of sleep overtaking him. Sara released his hand, took a step back, took a deep breath, and began mentally preparing herself for the task ahead.

Dragging a snoozing spaceman all the way to the house was not going to be an easy task, but it was one that had to be done. As a nurse, she’d be damned if she’d let a patient, even an extraterrestrial one, die on her watch.

Sara slid her arms around the limp man’s chest and began the first chore: hoisting him out of the chair.

“Welcome to Earth.”

[diveronarpg]

Congratulations, JULIE! You’ve been accepted for the role of OBERON with an approved FC change to Oscar Isaac. Admin Rosey: I don't know how many times I said I was possessed when I wrote Oberon but I very much was. I think you have to be a little bit possessed to write him because that's the kind of person he is; you have to be all in with him or perish. I don't know what it is about these types of enigmatic, almost ethereal characters that you understand - they have one foot in heaven and one foot in hell - but you get them at their core, Julie. Thank you for bringing my most beautiful son to the dash. Please read over the checklist and send in your blog within 24 hours.

WELCOME TO THE MOB.

OUT OF CHARACTER

Alias | Julie

Age | 20

Preferred Pronouns | She/her

Activity Level | I mean, y’all know how it is. One draft a day usually does it for me, and at the bare minimum, I shoot for a few replies a week.

Timezone | MST

How did you find the rp?  | I was perusing the ‘lsrpg’ tag, and the rest was history.

Current/Past RP Accounts | Lucien!

IN CHARACTER

Character | Oberon / Olivio Rivera -- with a fc change to Oscar Isaac, if it’s okay with you guys.

What drew you to this character? | There’s something about Olivio that makes him half-man half-hell, and that’s fascinating to me. I think, to a degree, he’s as human as the rest of us, with good parts and bad, but most people don’t show those parts so brazenly and manage to be half as discreet while doing it. This charm is pretty different from a character like Lucien’s, because it’s not a necessary charm. It’s not something he learned to do. It’s something he's always had in him for as long as he’s been -- it’s essential to the core of who he is as a person. There’s a dream-like quality to him that pulls you in and a nightmare-like quality that makes you take a step back when you get too close. He’s brutal in the way he orchestrates his own downfall just to get away from work he no longer has an interest in. He’s gentle with Theo, still grieving, because he knows they’re still working through something and it’s not entirely his place to poke and prod. Walking the thin line involved in this dichotomy is something that immediately caught my attention, and I’d love to explore both sides to him in the way Oberon deserves.

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character? | 

1. I’d like to explore what Olivio has to sacrifice in order to ascend in the Capulets. He’s already lived a fair bit of his life without any of it really being impacted by the mobs of Verona, so his priorities and goals are likely pretty different from characters that have been here their entire lives. It’ll probably take a while before he builds relationships strongly enough in Verona that he has anything worth sacrificing, but as soon as he does, I’d like to yank them from under him, see how he fares -- if he’s worth becoming a soldier or an emissary in the way that Theodora thinks he can be. He’s strangely comfortable as an initiate, sitting at the bottom of the barrel, but how long is that comfort going to last him?

2. With Olivio, there’s definitely a two-faced element to him, in much the same way there’s a two-faced element to Oberon in A Midsummer Night’s Dream. He’s brutal and gentle all in one, and I’d like to explore what dictates in him which part comes out where. He gets his work done and ties it off in a neat bow, but that doesn’t necessarily mean he shies away from the ugliest parts of himself. How does he fare in comparison to someone like Orpheus, a dead man, who had similar goals and aspirations as the Robin Hood of Verona but didn’t set out to become that sort of figurehead -- everyone remembers Orpheus. No one knows Olivio. I also think it’s entirely possible his two-faced nature could undermine his reputation and his overall climb towards a more concrete place in the Capulets, if he isn’t careful, and I’d love to see what the consequences are. It worked for him in Spain. It might not work for him here.

3. In the para sample, I allude a little to Olivio’s dream in the same way it’s alluded to in his biography -- this borderline fantastical dream of a better place, a better world, where the underdogs and the fantastical alike can come together and live in harmony. A place where he can taste honey in his mouth where there might have been blood. I’d like to explore Olivio’s past in reflection to his present. He’s had the same dream his entire life, worked towards it slowly but surely in his youth, and then he ended up sitting on top of an empire he didn’t expect to have and didn’t really want. He gets caught up in his own flaws, and it all crumbles apart right from underneath him, and I’d love to see if he’s doomed to repeat that in Verona or if things are really going to be different this time around.

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | I think so! As long as it serves a purpose, I’m happy to dip my hands in angst.

IN DEPTH

TW: VIOLENCE, DEATH

Cesar’s face is so heavily caked with blood that Olivio doesn’t think he could see through the red if he wanted to. His right eye is swollen. He’s missing some teeth. His breath is coming out in wheezes from a few broken ribs, and Olivio -- in spite of his shape, in spite of being three years Cesar’s junior -- is out of breath. They’d grappled for the pistol for some time only for it to go flying under a table somewhere when Cesar kicked it up. Now, staring each other down in an empty backroom in El Valenciano, they’re catching their breath. They’re both drenched in the vibrant pink of overhead lights. It could be a painting, he thinks. Something right out of sleep. He’s had dreams like this before, and they usually don’t end quite so badly.

It makes sense in Olivio’s head that Cesar wouldn’t go down without a fight. That’s fine. He never has. But Cesar knows that Olivio’s never liked losing. Even in drills and races and training exercises, even in the field, neck-to-neck, rifle-to-rifle, Olivio never gave him the chance to get ahead. So those few months where Olivio was falling from grace, slipping from his throne? They must have felt like winning to Cesar. He must have not even realized that the game was rigged from the start.

That’s fine, too. Olivio was always the brain of the operation. Cesar served his purpose as the brawn, the Lancelot to his Arthur. 

“You should’ve let me leave, a year ago. Otherwise we wouldn’t be here.” There’s a headache building at the back of his head. Stress or exhaustion. Both? He takes his own trembling hands and grapples for a glass of what looks like bourbon from one of the still-standing tables. Cesar watches him, licks his lips when Olivio swallows. 

“No one leaves. You’ve never let anyone leave. You shouldn’t get the same luxury, Olivio.” Cesar spits the words out so angrily that Olivio’s almost convinced he believes them, but it’s still hard to hear him over the thrumming reverb of the music. Sweet dreams are made of this, who am I to disagree? Catchy. In this moment, in spite of the gore, Olivio thinks Cesar looks young again. Fuzzy around the edges, purple-pink-crimson, young. No more grey at the temples, crow’s feet around the edges. Just blood on his teeth, shifting from pink to blue in a moment’s notice.

“Where are you going to go?” Cesar asks, as he moves a few steps closer. He’s still holding the glass in a white-knuckled grip. His heart is going a million miles a minute. It’s not easy to kill a man with your bare hands, but he’s done it before. He’ll do it again. It feels right to do it this way, with his fists, rather than the barrel of a gun. He wraps his fingers in Cesar’s collar with his free hand and Cesar barely even jerks to meet the movement. He’s all dead weight. Olivio considers the question.

“I’ll go to Verona.”

“In Italy? Bah.” Cesar laughs, throat hoarse. Spittle paints Olivio’s face, but the disgust barely registers. “You always hated Italy -- shot down any business there every time.”

“I hear it’s nice this time of year.”

“You’re burning every bridge you have in Spain. When winter comes around there won’t be any coming back. This is it. You kill me and we’re done.” This feels right out of the pages of the novel. He wonders if maybe he should deliver some sort of dramatic monologue. Something about being brothers from the very beginning. Hold your head up! Moving on! “You’re going to regret it, and you won’t get to crawl back and apologize to me this time.”

Even Olivio’s two divorces weren’t this messy. Still, he leans in close. “It’s not my dream anymore. I’m just making sure it won’t be yours, either.” He searches Cesar’s face for something. Anything. An apology. An indication of guilt. A plea for mercy. The animal-like terror that comes into men moments before they die. They’d seen it a thousand times before, together, and they’d laughed about it over drinks. A shifting green light passes slowly over his eyes. The world goes seafoam.

Nothing. Just their shared breaths. Not even a do it. Olivio sighs. He lifts his hand holding the glass and brings it down. Cesar, to his credit, doesn’t scream. He just takes what he’s given and dies quietly, in the club they bought back when they thought they’d go somewhere bigger than Barcelona. Or maybe that was just him. It doesn’t take more than two minutes.

Olivio stands back, checks Cesar’s pulse, and then wipes his hands on his slacks, chest heaving. 

The ‘ludes start to kick in just as he leaves the club, bloodied jacket in hand, a little later than he would have liked. The cleaners sweep in to wipe evidence away as soon as he’s stepped out of the room and towards the exit. Not a single employee looks at him as he leaves, and the people dancing on the floor hardly notice him. The doorman nods at him on his way out. The car waiting for Olivio at the curb takes him straight to the airport, and he barely has time to settle in his seat before he’s asleep. When he wakes, it’s to the sight of Verona and the river that runs right through it, the sun cresting overhead. He descends onto the tarmac cotton-mouthed, changed into clean clothes, and satisfied.

Cesar had been the last loose end. With his death everything in Spain has tied itself up into a neat bow. The ashes of whatever vision he and Cesar might have shared at some point would be gathered up and put into someone else’s hands. Marta’s, he hopes. She’d always been the most capable, in his mind. She’d been the one to tell him of Verona, originally, when she caught wind of what he was doing: razing everything he’d built. She’d been smart enough to stay loyal in the face of his personally orchestrated coup, and he let her live.

He just hopes she doesn’t take it for granted like he had. That she’ll lay out her own path and stick to it, instead of watching it build by itself and grow restless. Verona won’t be like that -- he’s sure of it. It has to be a new start, one he’ll be happy to die by.

In two days’ time --- and he doesn’t know this now, but he will look back at it and laugh --- he’ll kill an enemy of the Capulets in much the same way he killed Cesar, hooked on the sheer euphoria of his newfound love for the city, just outside a place achingly close to El Valenciano, and it won’t even get him in trouble. The Capulets will sweep him up before he has the time to come down from the high, and they’ll bring him into the fold without even knowing his name. He’ll start from the very bottom, and he’ll relish in it, because it’s been a long time since he had nothing.

What he does know: the Capulets are the key to this newfound dream of his, this new-and-shiny-glossy illusion, and Olivio Rivera will take whatever he can get in a city like this, so long as it means he doesn’t have to raze it to the ground.

Extras: [glass him] PLAYLIST / PINTEREST [cesar won’t remember this.]

[xoleahbeanxo]

Sanctuary: Chapter Nineteen

The Rite

           Mouse’s stomach rumbled almost louder than the wheels of the carriage. Three days, it had been a three days hard ride toward the southeast with little rest and no food. Mouse was feeling faint but managed to hold on as best she could. At this point, she didn’t know what was more important the food or the rest. Figuring it out would be the first order of business once they got to where they were going.

           Looking back on the past three days was rough. Out of a battalion of soldiers, they only had a handful left. The rest of them were lost along the way. Whether it was too broken down horses or broken wheels on the wagons that carried them. It didn’t matter; they remained scattered to the four winds.

Mouse had seen remnants of the wagons belonging to the other troops that went before them, as they made their way through the countryside. Luckily, there was no sign of their family. They were either still on the road ahead or had already made it to their destination.

“There,” Lyonel leaned out of the carriage and pointed. “Just ahead of us, is that Sarah?”

Mouse got to her feet and was immediately sat back down by the rickety rumbling of the carriage. Sarah stood atop a broken wall overgrown with ivy. She waved a torch to bring them towards her. She led them slightly off the path and around a few broken stone pillars that were covered with so many vines they’d looked like trees.

Mouse was off the carriage before it had even stopped and broke into a full run. Sarah smiled and dropped down to meet the smaller girl. They embraced and Mouse felt the toothy kiss to her cheek.

“Oh my gods, you’re safe,” Sarah said the exact words Mouse had been thinking.

Before Mouse could even say anything, Sarah pulled away and looked her in the eye. “Did you see them, in the woods?”

“Who?”

“They’re these strange bone creatures with the glowing eyes. They set upon us a few miles from camp. Many of our soldiers stayed behind to cover our escape.” Sarah explained as she broke the embrace and held Mouse’s hands.

“Are there any casualties beyond that?” Mouse was almost too afraid to ask.

Sarah sighed softly and bit her bottom lips. “Patty, Cre, and Claudia’s carriage rolled over about twenty miles from here. Did you see them on the road?”

“No.” Mouse’s heart clenched in her throat, there was a desperate look on her face.

“It’s too soon to give up on them just yet. Marybeth and Torvik are searching for them right now.” Sarah walked with her hand in hand towards a large number of craggy walls pieces, green from foliage.

Ancient ruins were spread through the woods all around them. Much of the stone had crumbled to age and since been taken back by nature. There was only one building that still stood and it was in immaculate shape. It almost appeared to be magical among all the rest as it fended off nature almost entirely. The only exception was the ivy that had overgrown it.

Inside, Mouse could see a makeshift camp set up, complete with a roaring fire. The druids stood outside discussing something in private. Lyonel and Cytrine looked tired and rugged but seeing their druid friends revived their resolve some. Gilda was escorting the others into the building for rest and food. They were all worn out and looked like they needed the care.

Mouse saw a hyena step out of the building. Grace’s broad masculine form had a feminine glow to it that revitalized Mouse. Her own muscles no longer hurt. Her hip pain subsided. Even her stomach felt full for a moment. She pulled from Sarah’s grip and ran to the hyena. Grace caught the mouse and twirled her around as if she weighed nothing at all. Several face kisses followed and finished with shuddering sigh thick with tears. Mouse ran her fingers through Grace’s hair and looked into her tear filled eyes.

“I thought-”

“No, in the end, Ieyasu helped us escape,” Mouse said. She could tell that Grace was shocked by this realization.

Grace knew better than to question the strange fortune that seemed to be following Mouse around lately. She just silently prayed that it would keep up until Annabelle was safely home.

“Something wicked comes this way.” Rashyda severed whatever lingering happiness was left in Mouse. “It is now or never.”

“She’s had no time to rest or food.” Grace wheeled around protectively.

“And soon there will be no time at all.” Rashyda stood firm to the hyena’s posturing.

“She’s right,” Eryn spoke softly as she slipped her hands into Grace’s. “I feel them worming through the very earth as we speak.”

Mouse took a deep breath and sighed. “Then let’s be done with it. What’s the plan?”

Lyonel smiled softly. “I’ve know you for a while now and I’m always surprised by your tenacity.”

“Let’s hope it’s enough to rescue Annabelle.” Mouse nodded firmly.

“Then a least allow her to eat something.” Grace glared at Mouse.

“Maybe a small something, while we discuss the details.” Mouse shied away from the larger female’s stern look.

“Oh thank the gods. There’s soup, I’ll get her bowl.” Lyonel’s stomach growled.

“I’ll get us all some.” Cytrine winced at her own stomach rumbling.

“Fine but you will listen while you eat.” Rashyda was unhappy about their insubordination but knew there was little she could do to convince them otherwise.

Rashyda rolled her eyes and waited for them at a stone tablet in the ground. They all stood around eating in silence. The soup was nothing more than salted vegetables in water but it was the best thing Mouse had ever eaten. At least that’s what her empty stomach told her.

“This is a ley line. It is the closest point where our world and the Everall run parallel. We must form a circle of five and begin the ritual.” The fennec spoke loud enough for everyone to hear.

“There are only four of us, so we will require one of your friends to connect with us to hold the portal open. When they’ve given as much of their life force as they can, then another must take their place.” Eryn picked up where Rashyda left off.

Cytrine rubbed her forehead to alleviate the pressure of her headache. “Their connection can’t last forever, so the moment you’re feeling weak, let go.”

Gilda cleared her throat. “Now, when your connection is broken, you will feel sleepy and need to rest. That will leave us more vulnerable to attack which I’m certain will come. I have a concoction that can revitalize you if you wish it. It’s untested and may be dangerous but I will not stop you from taking it.”

“You will be the last line of defense, so this is an option to be considered.” Lyonel agreed as he chewed around a carrot.

“Noted. I’ll join first.” Grace offered.

“NO!” Eryn’s voice piqued for the first time since they’d met. “We can’t guarantee the safety of the baby. You will serve two functions. You will help keep an eye on whoever is connected to us. Keep asking them if they’re alright and when they seem like they’re not, then you pull them away.”

“But-”

“Grace, I need you to take care of things out here because I don’t know what I’ll be facing inside. I won’t have time to worry about everything that’s going on.” Mouse touched her cheek.

“I wish I could go with you.” Grace closed her eyes at the warm touch of Mouse’s hand.

“I wish you could t-too.” Mouse’s voice trembled. “I’m scared.”

“As you should be.” Rashyda sighed.

“There’s nothing to be scared of, Mouse the Conqueror.” Lyonel mused. “If anyone can best this trial, it’s you.”

“I agree. You better be safe in there.” Grace started tearing up. “And bring that girl home.”

“I will, if it’s the last thing I do.”

Rashyda pursed her lips. “And it just may be.”

***

           Bowls were empty and taken away as each of the druids took a seat on the ground around the tablet. They formed the points of a star with the stone tablet at the center. Grek was the first to sit down and join hands with the druids. Mouse could see how tired she was but there was a glint in her eyes when she caught the gaze of the mouse. They’d never been close but Grek was as trustworthy as she was sneaky and never shied away from a challenge.

           “We will begin. The surrogate will not have to chant, we only need the connector, not the voice.” Rashyda was as abrasive as ever.

           “Tuvola Amande Naneme.” Rashyda sung in a very low tone, holding the ‘e’ sound at the end.

           “Tuvola Amande Naneme.” Lyonel sang next, his tone was higher but harmonized the ‘e’ sound.

           Then Cytrine went next; her tone was higher than Lyonel’s and continued the harmony. Eryn voice was the highest of the pitches but added a depth to the chant that seemed to carry it beyond this reality and into a void far deeper than any crevice that existed in this world.

Mouse’s heart sped up and her breathing became shallow. Fear of the unknown was something that could always be pushed off to another day but that day was now and that fear was upon her. Seeing Annabelle again was both exciting and frightening. She was no longer the scared little mouse the vixen had fallen in love with. She was by all rights a conqueror that left deep footprints across many nations. Could she still love her?

The world trembled around them, like ripples on the surface of a lake. They only grew into waves as the earth quaked so hard it threatened to tear the very ground under their feet and then everything stopped. A bird in mid take off hung helplessly in the thinning air. A blade of grass floated before Mouse, unmoving. She even felt her own breath caught in her chest but was very aware of everything that was going on around her.

A flash pierced her eyes and blinded her for a second and it was followed by a thunderous roll and rattled her bones and threatened to rend her to pieces. When she opened her eyes a hollow hole opened in the very plane they walked. Beyond it was a muted darkness that she recognized from her vision with Beatrix. Grek sat with her muscles flexed and her teeth gritted. She was in pain. No one said she’d be in pain.

“Is she hurting?” Mouse whispered, her voice echoing into nothing

“Go,” Rashyda spoke without words but directly into Mouse’s mind.

“Is she-”

“Go.” All of the druids uttered at once, their voices reverberating so hard in her head it caused a trickle of blood to run from her nose.

Mouse drew her newly won Katana and darted through the rift and she was gone. Grace gripped her chest as if her heart had been severed from her body. Tears welled in her eyes at the mouse’s disappearance into the unknown. Her heart sank as the full realization hit her. She wasn’t fit enough to protect her, no one was.