Young Writers Society

Okay, so I've always wanted to do this particular envisioned scene and it might be corny and cheesy, but I don't care. Don't judge me. (this may or may not be me shoving proof into J.K. Rowling's face that Ron and Hermione belong together.





Somewhere in the grassy, underpopulated plateaus of Australia, there was a cottage. This cottage was fairly new, recently making an appearance within the last few months. It was home to a Wendell and Monica Wilkins. The time was four in the afternoon, which meant that the couple was either inside or in town, which was 20 miles away.

If someone happened to be looking at the right moment, they would have seen two people suddenly blink into existence. A boy and a girl, both roughly seventeen years of age, appeared on the front yard. The boy was tall and fairly lanky, with a wild crop of orange-red hair and freckles that spotted on every inch of skin visible. Beside him was a girl with long, unruly brown hair and brown eyes. Their hands were clasped, and the boy reached out with his other hand to lightly touch her cheek.

"Will this work?" he asked.

The girl leaned into his touch, nodding, "It has to." With that, she took a deep breath and went to knock three times on the door.

It opened to reveal a tall, broad man with kind eyes that matched the girl before him. "May I help you?"

"Are you Wendell Wilkins?"

"Yes. Who are you?"

"My name is Hermione Granger, and this is Ron Weasley. May we come in?"

The man gives her a strange look and slowly steps backward. Hermione grips Ron's hand tighter and leads him inside the house, headed for the living room.

The woman sitting on the couch looks up from her book, her expression confused. "Wendell? Who are these people?"

Her husband closes the door and quickly moves to stand by his wife. "Listen, kids, I don't know who you two are, so you can't just march into my house li-"

Desperate to get it over with, Hermione unzips her coat and reaches inside. Wendell stops talking and moves in front of his wife, holding a hand out. "What're you doing?"

She pulls out her wand and points it at him, whispering an inaudible spell as she waves it. Wendell stumbles, his vision blurred.

"Ron, help him," Hermione whispers, gesturing.

Ron quickly dashes over and takes the man's arm, helping him over to the armchair. Hermione quickly waves her wand once more, this time directing it towards the frightened woman, who slumps back.

They wait a few moments, Ron watching as Hermione slowly moves around the house, waving her wand. The pictures of Wendell and Monica Wilkins hang around in various spots, changing as she moves her wand over them. The scenery shifts, changing from various places in Australia to their home in England. In all of the pictures, a third person appears: a small child with unruly brown hair, bright brown eyes, and a smile in which her front teeth stuck out a bit.

Ron found himself chuckling as he remembered Hermione's early years at Hogwarts and was swiftly rewarded with a kick as she passed by him.

The man groans and slowly opened his eyes, scanning the room in a dazed manner, until they focused on Hermione. Then they widened and he stood up, his arms wrapping around her as she flung herself into them.

His wife wakes up and the couple embraced their daughter. They hold each other for a long time, with Ron shifting his feet nervously behind them, until he worked up the guts to clear his throat.

Hermione pulled back and smiled at her parents. "You've met Ron."

"Of course we have," Mr. Granger smiled and reached out to shake Ron's quivering hand. "Thank you for taking care of my girl, Mr. Weasley. I trust that all of this nonsense has been taken care of."

Ron shared a smile with Hermione, then nodded. "Yes. It's finally over."

"Wonderful! Where are we? Australia?" Mrs. Granger said with a tone of disgust as she peeked out the window. "Can you please move us back home, Hermione?"

"Not yet. There's, uh, something I need to ask you." Ron said to the couple, ignoring the questioning look Hermione shot him. "Mr. and Mrs. Granger... I have known your daughter ever since my first day on the Hogwarts Express. I saved her from a troll. For most of my school life, she did my homework for me. I've fought in constant battles side-by-side with her, and I've fought in constant battles against her. I've watched her punch Draco Malfoy in the face, fight a Whopping Willow to save me, played a deadly game of chess with her, fight off Death Eaters, be tortured by Bellatrix Lestrange, and so much more."

As he spoke, his body slowly turned so he was directing the words towards Hermione, who was looking at him with shock etched on her beautiful face. It made him smile and he continued, "I'm in love with your daughter, Mr. and Mrs. Granger, and I would like your permission to marry her. She's the best thing I've got and I refuse to let her go. I want to make her mine."

He didn't bother to look at their expressions; all he cared about was her, and the fact that she was gravitating towards him, her eyes wet.

"How could I say no to that?" Her father with a laugh.

Her mother said nothing, merely nodded in approval, then buried her face into her husband's arm to muffle her sobs.

"Ron?" Hermione whispered as one of his hands brushed her hair out of her eyes.

"I haven't got a ring yet. This was a bit of a spur-of-the-moment thing that I planned earlier today," he said softly. "How about I ask you now and just let you pick out your ring later? That is, if you say-"

"Yes."

"I haven't asked you yet," he chuckled.

Hermione stomped her foot angrily. "Then ask me!"

His grin widened and he cupped her face. "Hermione Jean Granger. Will you do me the honor of marrying me-"

"Yes."

"You sure?"

"Yes."

"Positive?"

"Yes."

"Okay. Then I suggest we get all of this back to where it belongs: in England. Then you and I can go get that ring. Deal?"

Hermione smiled, tilting her head back so she could look up at him. "Deal."

"Oh, but her eyes," Caroline sighed, fluttering her eyelashes at him.

Darcy blinked at her, wondering how long it would be until she got tired of his lackluster reaction to her seemingly constant teasing. He rather hoped it would be soon. El- Miss Bennet had been gone three days, and Caroline had brought her up so… nonchalantly on a fairly frequent basis during and since her stay. It was not quite as awkward now that Eliz- Miss Bennet had left, but it still made him feel as though he should be saying something in defense.

She and Louisa were giggling about something now. The way Caroline was glancing at him as she would with her chin dipped down and tilted just so he could barely read her arch features which almost always held a knowledgeable, flirtatious air told him Eliza- Miss Bennet had yet again been the butt of yet another joke wrapped in condescending pity that he could have told them she did not want or need. He held his tongue however, paying special attention to his dinner which was surprisingly good. He hadn't expected much so far from civilization.

He glanced around the cozy dining room that didn't make him feel like he was an island with no other land mass around with a party so small.

Mr. Hurst was useless as always, unaware of Darcy's disdainful glance or, even, the topic of conversation. He ate with etiquette that Darcy supposed he could live with and refilled his wine glass far too often.

Charles was looking very uncomfortable despite the surprisingly comfortable dining room chairs that Darcy appreciated but never commented on and would say every pause created (or so Darcy suspected) for one of the men (perhaps the only unattached man that wasn't a blood relation) to rise to the bait, "I thought they were both quite lovely." The words didn't count for much due to their constant repetition, and the fact that the entire party was aware that Charles had truly only had eyes for the elder Miss Bennet the entire prolonged visit. Not to mention, as dearly as Darcy loved his friend, he was of the belief that Charles could be served better not liking a few more people than he chose to. Perhaps Darcy himself included.

"Oh, once they get to be like their mother, they won't be so lovely."

Darcy couldn't have said what it was exactly that made him react different at this particular moment. Perhaps it was just because it was the seventh mindless insult of the meal, and there were several more courses to go. Perhaps it was because he was just tired of Caroline which struck him as odd because he had always found he could at the very least stand her presence before. Or maybe it was the Elizabe- Miss Bennet's fact that he had watched the horrified blush streak up her neck and across her cheeks as she cut Mrs. Bennet off as often as possible.

His silverware hit the plate with much more force than necessary. He blinked at the clatter and then the silence following. "Perhaps I should be clearer with my sentiments toward your constant… teasing, Miss Bingly." He gave her the signature stare that, indeed, in his younger, more foolish years he had studied in a mirror to perfect. "Perhaps it should be called haranguing, bullying… pestering." He was aware of Charles staring at him now, his eyes round and mouth open. The image almost made him smile, but Louisa's disbelieving scoff reminded him that he was not through. "Elizabeth has done nothing but show extraordinary compassion and love for her sister by coming at all, not to mention walking. We can all see she is not a part of her mother or her younger sisters' idiocy. The fact that you refuse to recognize either of those facts, merely shows that you are as bitter, conniving, and jealous as the women I go out of my way to avoid in London!" Though he did include Louisa in his glare, he locked eyes with Caroline towards the end. "It is not attractive behavior, and I haven't found it appealing once since you began."

Eyes dangerously bright and face hard with fury, Caroline stood, making her chair rock precariously. "How dare you insult me-" She cut herself off as Darcy slowly raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me," she muttered and quickly fled the room.

Louisa threw her napkin down, glaring daggers at Darcy who merely smiled mockingly in return. "If you'll excuse me, I'll check on dear Caroline."

Darcy took up his silverware again and recommenced eating while Charles watched Louisa sail out, a hand hiding his mouth, his eyes sparkling with shock and humor.

"Perhaps you could have handled that a tad more gingerly."

He grimaced, already feeling guilty for letting his tongue run away.

"I must admit, I'm impressed. I've haven't gotten either of them to look so insulted since I was twelve when I put a worm in their embroidery basket."

"You should be upset with me," Darcy remonstrated gently, "I have caused your sisters great insult."

Rolling his eyes, Charles waved the idea away. "I was tired of hearing about the younger Miss Bennet."

Darcy frowned. Of course, his friend would never tire of hearing about the elder.

Mr. Hurst looked up from his port then, studying the abandoned seats of his wife and sister-in-law with a look of befuddlement before turning his gaze to his present companions. "Say, Darcy, are you and Miss Bennet familiar enough to be on a first name basis?"

Darcy blinked, unable to believe that was all the man had to say about his short outburst and that, out of all that had been said, Mr. Hurst had noticed a social faux pas that made Darcy uncomfortably aware of growing regard for Elizabeth- Miss Bennet.

Charles laughed delightedly. "I would say my good friend was infatuated if I didn't know he was above such sentiments.

Darcy smiled- even if it was a tad bit wry and a tad bit fake- and brought another forkful of quail to his lips. If only…

David blinked awake on Sunday morning, stretched, yawned, and looked out his bedroom window to see Jack Kelly sitting on the fire escape. The morning sunlight lit the other newsie's dark hair with an orange glow.

David got out of bed and opened the window, still yawning.

"Didja sleep out there all night?" he asked.

Jack scratched the back of his neck. "Well, I didn't wanna disturb nobody. Besides, it's like the Waldorf out here. Great view. Cool air."

He continued gazing out at the city with his chin propped on a fist. Probably embarrassed, David thought, not that he'd ever admit to it. Living on the grimy New York streets as he did, Jack could appreciate a good view, but he hated being caught in a sentimental moment.

"Go up on the roof," David told him. "I'll be up in a minute."

Jack disappeared up the fire escape. A few minutes later, dressed, washed, and combed, David stole some bread and milk from the pantry and headed up.

Jack was boxing with the laundry line when his friend reached the roof, but he stopped when David appeared, looked him up and down, and said casually, "You clean up decent."

David grinned. "At least you get to see me clean. When was the last time you had a bath?"

Jack shrugged. David shook his head, laughing to himself.

"You hungry?" he asked.

"Yeah."

"Good. I got us breakfast."

The two boys fell silent as they tore into the bread and milk, but after a while David said, "Dad's real proud of us. You should hear him talking about Jack Kelly, strike leader, who occasionally takes his meals with us."

"Yeah? Well, this is one strike leader who's gonna be happy when it's all over and I can get outta here and go to Santa Fe. I mean, there's nothing for me to stay for, is there?"

Jack ran his hands through his hair. "You know, you should see Santa Fe. Everything's different there. Bigger, I mean. The desert. The sky. The sun."

David studied him. He was in a strange mood, staring out over the rooftops with a far-away look in his dark eyes. David had known for a while that his friend wanted to go to Santa Fe, but he'd never heard him talk about it like this.

"Same sun as here, isn't it?" he asked.

"Yeah, but I don't know. I mean, it just looks different."

It was important to Jack, that the sun looked different in Santa Fe, but David wasn't sure why. If only he knew his friend just a little better--if only his friend didn't have a way of improving the truth--maybe he could understand.

"So you got nothing to stay for, huh?" he asked.

"No family or nothing." Jack took a big bite of bread.

"Yeah, I know. All in Santa Fe, waiting for you." David took the last piece of bread, but as he raised it to his mouth a thought occurred to him. "Say, why do you gotta wait until this is over to join them anyway? Thought you said they were gonna send for you when they found a place they liked."

"They are," Jack said, a little too quickly. He swiped the piece of bread and popped it in his mouth. Then he gave a cock-eyed grin that was extremely familiar to David: it was the smile Jack used when he was trying to get out of trouble. He put an arm around David's shoulder and squeezed him. "But c'mon, Davey, I can't leave in the middle of all the excitement."

"Yeah," David said. Jack's arm felt nice around his shoulder, but he was stuck on the fact that Jack thought he had nothing to stay for. Wasn't his family enough for Jack? Wasn't he?

He stood up and grabbed the empty plate. "We should get to the stand. Gotta start selling early or everyone'll already have their papes."

Jack seemed to realize he had said something wrong, because as David headed for the stairs he said suddenly, "Davey? I'm just not used to having whether I stay or whether I go matter to anybody. I'm not saying it should matter to you. I'm just saying--well, does it? Matter?"

David looked back at him, the usually carefree face wrinkled in a frown, the grinning lips twisted with thought. He thought how empty life would seem without Jack Kelly around to improve the truth, shadowbox, and rile up ol' Weasel.

"It matters," he said quietly, and without another word he turned around and headed into the apartment.

Soon after the Red Wedding.

Gendry was lost in a cloud of steam as he plunged a newly forged dagger into a bucket of water. It had not been long since Arya left him to work with the brotherhood (work with, not for, he reminded himself), and he was already falling into the familiar rhythm of following orders.

He knew that his life would be more freedom filled with the brotherhood, but he couldn't help but wonder what it would be like had he gone with Arya, back to her family.

Gendry wiped sweat from his brow and sighed, taking off his shirt, hoping for a break from the heat. Nothing would be different no matter where he went. He was a blacksmith, a tool for making tools. He could never amount to anything.

Arya would never be anything but a Lady to him. She highborn, and he a bastard, their friendship could never stand through the convoluted politics of the realm. Still, he almost wished he had gone with her.

He already missed the glare earned from his big hand mussing her hair, and the wide-eyed stare that was the only sign of fear in her small, lean body. He missed her courage and her flame.

The company of the brotherhood was the same as all man's company; the same subjects pounded into the ground over and over, only changed slightly by locality and the name of the girl left behind.

Gendry picked up some broken chainmail and stared at it, still lost in thought. He wished Arya hadn't left him behind.

A twig snapped behind him. Looking up from his small smithy, Gendry dropped the chainmail and picked up a hammer, his paranoia making him grip the tool tightly. Searching the surrounding thicket by sight alone, he found nothing, the firelight guttering and casting dancing shadows everywhere.

“It's me, Gendry,” a voice came from the branches.

“Arya?”

A small figure stepped out of the thicket, and sprinted to embrace Gendry.

“Arya, what--”

“Don't ask. Please, don't ask.” There was a hitch in her voice, and the young man knew not to pry. The girl buried her face in Gendry's chest, and he was startled by the coolness of her nose against his flesh. “I don't know what to d-do,” Arya spoke into his skin.

“What do you mean?”

Abruptly, Arya stepped back and held Gendry at arm's length. Her face had picked up some of the dirt on the young smith's chest, and he could see that her eyes were glassy, her chin trembling. “They killed them,” she whispered, trying to control her face. “Everyone was going to be happy, and right when everything was going to be okay, they killed them.”

“Who killed--”

Arya turned away. “Don't look at me!” She said, but Gendry knew she was weeping.

“Arya. Look at me.” Gendry caught her by the arm and turned her about. “Tell me what happened.”

“I can't. No. You-- I wish you-- Oh, Gendry. My whole family--” Anything comprehensible was lost in weeping. Gendry's chest felt tight.

“They killed your family?”

Another burst of sobs from Arya confirmed the question. Gendry knelt in front of the girl and embraced her. “I'm sorry,” he said, his voice steady and quiet.

After a long while, Arya's tears slowed. Her eyes puffy, she let Gendry stand. “I'm sorry I can't do more for you,” Gendry said.

“It's okay, I guess,” Arya sniffled. “I just-- didn't know where else to go. The Hound and I were separated at-- after-- well, I don't know where he is, and--” She began to breathe quickly, but Gendry made a shushing sound and took her hand in his.

“What can I do to help you, Arya?”

There was a long pause. “Will you come with me?”

“Where, Arya?”

Arya stopped and closed her eyes, her face becoming more determined.

“We can leave, cross the Narrow Sea. Or even go north of the wall. You don't have to be ordered around by anyone, and no one will follow you so far. We can leave, and we'll--”

“We can't do that, Arya. If your whole family was killed, what does that make you? One of the last surviving Starks. Staying here is what you need to do.” Gendry thought hard for a moment. “And who will rescue your sister if you don't? Don't forget about her.”

Arya's eyes would have teared up had they contained much more moisture. “But Gendry-- please.”

Gendry thought about the offer. In Essos, there may have been salvation. No guards would chase him, wanting to kill him in service to their king, and no one would give him orders. He could start his own smithy and pay his own way. And there would be Arya, too. Her pouting face when he teased her, and her voice, as demanding as a hungry pup, as fierce as a wolf's howl. Only freedom lay in Essos. And yet, he knew he had to stay.

“I cannot go with you. I am truly sorry, Arya.”

“Then what am I to do?”

Gendry thought before he spoke. “What of your aunt? The mother of that young lord?”

“I don't want to go there.”

“You will be safe there, Arya. I cannot make you safe here; guards chase the brotherhood, and doubly chase after me. Leave now. The Starks are endangered, and you must keep yourself safe.”

“I-I suppose you're right. I'll-- go. I'll go. But, Gendry?”

“Yes?”

Arya tackled him with a hug, a pile of leaves flying from the fall. “I'm going to miss you.” Her cheeks wet with tears again, she flung herself off of the bewildered man and disappeared into the forest.

“Goodbye, milady,” Gendry whispered, the wind sending sparks spiraling after her.

___
___
_________ Swiper rolled back the cuff of the blue rubber covering his left paw. Removing the gloves was not an easy task, as the dense texture would often catch on his claws, or painfully rub the hair on his knuckles backward. The fingers each came off with a smack, and the dropped thr limp fabric to the ground.
___ “Swiper, I told you already, no swiping!” Whined the brunette. Her bright eyes were unusually hesitant. She had already told him to stop swiping three times; by now he would have given it back, but not this time.
___ “I’ve had enough of your crap, Dora.” The fox spat, cocking the pistol in his palm, the trigger hot beneath his forefinger.
___ “You are your little monkey, stupid backpack, and annoying map...” He hesitated.
___ She was dressed practically, shorts, t-shirt, shoes fit to run; if she was smart she would run.
___ Instead she did not, she continued to wave her palms forward, chanting the irritating phrase, demanding he return the gun. Swiper lifted his arms and aimed at the pink cloth.
___ “What words have you learned today, mi querido?” He smiled, baring the rows of pointed teeth. His finger shivered on the trigger.
___ “How about this one...”
___ He squeezed, the barrel erupted.
___ “Adios.”


Boots moaned. His eyes snapped open.
___ His head was spinning, his tail was stinging, and everything was covered in red, sticky liquid. Dora had landed on him, but he didn’t know if it was the force of the crush, or the shock of the sight of splurging red which had induced his mind into blackness. He must had only fainted for a few minutes, but it was long enough for the sly bastard to have vanished.
___ He could taste iron, the sweet sense of meat. But the blood was his own, it only wanted to make him gag, he had bitten his tongue.
___ Dora was incapacitated; still and broken. She was no longer of use for adventuring, travelling. She was not going anywhere unless she suddenly become more... lively.
___ Boots blinked and stepped forward and backward a few times, avoiding letting the soles of his shoes stain further red. The most important thing wasn’t that Dora was no longer active, it was that Swiper had swiped something. He had actually swiped something.
___ Even after being told he couldn’t three times.
___ The development was not good. Not only did it confirm to Swiper that he could now pursuit his life of crime unhindered, but it also encouraged children of multiple languages, all around the world, that they could successfully swipe firearms and use them against the force of law in order to escape. Swiper had to be stopped. Swiper had to be caught and punished in the face of the public.


Boots stepped back over the puddle and reached for the splattered purple trapped beneath the girl’s side. The backpack would be several sizes too big for him, but it was all that he had. Following the straight path with no direction and no supplies was unheard of. Boots unhooked the backpack by ripping its straps despite the screams of the purple utility, and then tied them together to sling it over around his own neck. He slid out the scroll of wet spotted paper form his side and unrolled it from its binding.
___ “I’m the map! I’m the map! I’m the map!” It wailed in its infuriatingly annoying voice.
___ “Shut the hell up, you son of a birch!” Boots bit. Oh how for so long he had wanted to say that. The map, however didn’t shut up, and instead continued to wail, no longer in song, but in the horror of the sight heaped at the side of the road. Boots flattened out the pulping paper and took a good look at the path ahead of him.
___ The path wound in a very tight S shape, with three obstacles on its track. The very final one had a flashing image of the blue masked fox, and his exact co-ordinates. How convenient.
___ Boots started on his way, running frantically past identical scenery that looped along after itself for a good while.
___ “Wait!” Cried the mentally challenged map, I haven’t explained the obstacles yet. First we have to cross the BIG LAVA RIVER, then we have to bypass the CHINESE RESTURANT, before finally reaching the SWI-
Wait, where are you going!?”
___ Boots had pushed through the edge of the path, and had broken away from the road. He started to skip across a pasture of neatly mown lawn.
___ “Are you an idiot? Why would I spend hours walking several kilometres of pathway, plus having to endure a god-damn river of lava, when the S shape of the path loops so close together I only have to walk 100 meters of the other side of the path.”
___ “But...”
___ “Shut up or I’ll burn you.”
___ The map closed his mouth.
___ Boots continued his jog. The shortcut had gained him had gained him hours and had been so effective that he could now see Swiper scurrying in the distance, having taken the main road. The fox increased his speed, his four legs able to carry him far more quickly than an awkward monkey wearing a pair of human shoes. Sacrifices would have to be made.
___ Boots drew to a halt and sat himself on the ground. He took a deep breath, in then out, before wrenching the shoes from his toes. As soon as the second boot was off his foot, he let out a long and savage scream, his monkey fangs baring, and his voice cannibalistic. He was wild.
___ Boots bounded, dancing front legs over back, the Backpack jolted around his neck... if only he could loose it, he could go faster. But the backpack was not something he could afford to loose, especially as the Chinese Restaurant was coming up. Today’s special: Monkey brains soup.


Boots slowed his pace as he drew on the restaurant. There was a thin and scraggly man emptying barrels of muck onto the road by it’s back entrance. The foul stench warped Boot’s nose and vision, causing dizziness. The man tipped over the finally barrel before slunking back against the wall to light a smoke. It was not possible to go over the restaurant, nor possible to go under it. Obviously he would have to go around it.
___ The map bit him.
___ Obviously he would have to go through it.
___ Boots settled himself behind a cactus pot plant outside the sweeping double doors. It was too dangerous just to walk in unprepared. He took off the backpack and poured out it’s contents.
___ “Back-pack, Backpack, Backpack, Backpack! Back-pack, Backpack, Backpack, Backpack! Yeah!”
___ “Just tell me if you have any good stuff.” Boots moaned.
___ Backpack presented three items, then began his speech.
___ “Would ‘Crunchies cereal, the tastiest and crunchiest cereal around, 97% fat free.’ help boots get through the Chinese Restaurant?” It asked. It was greeted with silence, so moved onto the next item.
___ “Would the ‘Easy Off Bam- ‘Bam and the dirt is gone’, guaranteed to kill 99% of all bathroom bacteria’ help Boots get through the Chinese restaurant?” Once again it was met with silence.
___ “Why the hell do you have this crap!?” Boots yelled.
___ “Profit, amigo.” Replied the backpack. “How else we get our moolah?” It moved onto the next item.
___ “Would the AK-47 help Boots get through the Chinese restaurant?” There was a distant cheer as some random children behind a TV screen said “Yes!”
___ “Just give me that piece of junk.” Boots Hissed, grabbing the AK-47.
___ “Yum yum yum yum!” Cried the backpack as it ate the Easy Off Bam.
___ There were no chances to take. He burst into the doors. The room was swept with silence. Servers stopped serving, eaters stopped eating. Everyone just stopped and stared.
___ “Hands in the air, Monkey-Fryers!”


The room remained silent, save one man. The chef.
___ Master brain chef and black belt Kung-Spatula-Fu master. He burst from the kitchen, his spatulas flying frantically, his thin oily beard only matching his greasy smile.
___ “Bring it on, monkey-boy!” He squealed in a high voice.
___ Boots shot him in the head.
___ The screaming commenced. Random ladies danced across the tables, holding up their dresses, old women clutched their purses, children hid beneath tables, and all young men yelled and whooped in encouragement, and all the intelligent people fled the premises. Boots proceeded to the back far door of the restaurant, shooting anyone who crossed his path.


The road was clear and peaceful. The backpack and the map had been ditched back the cactus. It was now just Boots and AK, ah the bliss.
___ “You’re a good shot, Amigo!”
___ Boots spun around, barrel held ahead of him. Swiper.
___ “I’ll kill you where you stand, fox face.” The monkey spat. Swiper held out his hands with sincerity.
___ “Lets not get this personal, I’m not proposing conflict here, I think we could join forces, I could do with someone like you on my side.”
___ “What are you saying....” Boots asked tentatively.
___ “What I’m saying is, I’ve got a gun, you’ve got a bigger gun. We are like men.”
___ Boots nodded.
___ “You’re rid of the girl, the map, the sack, the shoes,” Swiper continued to explain. “Just look at yourself, you’re free, kid.”
___ Boots looked down at himself, his fur was matted, his teeth her sharp, his feet were bare, and his body was limber. He was a free monkey. Swiper smiled at him, and he smiled back.
___ “You’re right. Lets be best friends forever.”
___ The two then High-Five’d.


___ “We had such an exciting trip today! What was your favourite part of the trip?” Boots asks you.
-You reply with something out loud.-
___ “I liked that too!” He smiles.

“You think that scares us. We aren’t afraid of any of you. Even if you and your little hunter family do manage to get us, they won’t be there in time to save you. It’s just a matter of time before they realize that you have gone missing and start the attempt to look for you and it will be some time before they even think that the witches that you are looking for are actually the people who took you. It will be a long while before they find us, and that means it will be a long time before they find you. You may just as well hope to rot in captivity, since you won’t be rescued by your ‘knight in sharming armor’ and the fair maiden that is his ‘partner in crime’,” he sneered back in response.
“Ya are underestimatin’ the power of my family. Ya don’t know what we are capable of. Ya don’t know the drive we have in us, when one of us is threatened. We would tear the world ‘part, to save one person in our family, if it also meant saving the lives of others. We will not ‘llow the likes of you to change any of this. They will not give up till ya are and everyone who was involve’ in this, is stone-cold, laying on the ground- dead,” I replied back, my voice dripping with venom as I spoke.
All I heard was a chuckle, as I was yanked up into a standing position. I swayed for a little bit, unused to being on my feet for such a long period of time after the amount of time (who know’s how long that was) that had passed since they had kidnapped me. My head pounded heavily, as I cradled my injured arm. Pain was shooting through it, and I felt like I was going to pass out. I was hungry and I just really wanted something to block the pain out with.
“Can I get somethin’ to eat?” I asked, long pauses between my words.
“No. You can wait for a while. We aren’t there yet. The rest of us don’t have food, so you don’t need it. Just go to sleep, little girl,” he muttered.
I groaned softly in my mind and balled my fist to make sure that I didn’t actually groan out loud. Nothing else but a sound of hatred would make this situation much worse. I felt a glare burn into my skin as if he knew what was happening inside of my mind. I just let myself fall back onto the ground, using my good arm to catch me, before I just fell upon the van’s floor. A grunt escaped me, as I misjudged and ended up falling on my butt, as the van suddenly swerved.
“Where are we at?” I asked, my hands fisted- my nails digging into my palm to help me from crying out with pain.
“That is no concern to you right now. Besides’ you have no way to even contact your family, now do you?” he replied, ending with a question.
I just galred at him, and spat, “Nothin’ ya say will come true. My family will find you, and they will kill ya. Just give it time.”
“Just keep your simple minded thoughts to yourself. No one here wants to hear them, so shut it little girl.”
Through the “wall” which was just a simple wire screen I heard my french teacher’s voice say, “Shup en haut vous !” Which was telling us both to shut up. How polite.
I shut my mouth and I took a deep breath. I let out a screech as something flew to my head again. I groaned as I hit the floor, before I fell unconscious again. When I woke again, we had stopped moving and I was sitting in a chair, getting my arm fixed. I gave a squeak of surprise, and the face that looked at me was not sympathetic. I shut my mouth and looked around me. The walls were dark gray and it looked so gross.
“I want to leave,” I whined under my breath. “I want to be with Sam again.”
“Oh shut up. You are nothing but a child. Trust me, nothing else could be worse for you,” the young man said.
“Hmmmft. I know what that the nightmares that haunt others are real. I know how to kill them. I have come face to face with many differen’ “nightmares”. They are real and trust me, it would be safer out in the real world, then it would be in here,” I replied softly.
His eyes flashed dangerously. “Oh you think that do you?”
“I do.”
“Then why aren’t you with your family, and this Sam you talk about?”
“My family is dead. I have a family.” I used air quotes around the second mention of family. “Sam is my boyfrien’, and it is with him, that I have a family.”
“Your life seems so happy,” he muttered.
“Shut up, dummy. Ya will get us into trouble. Now why are ya here?”
“I was taken on the way from walking my sister back from school. They took us both, but I haven’t seen my sister, since she was taken away when we got here. I don’t know why they put you in here with me. It is a bit strange,” he told me, as he stepped back.
“What did ya do to my arm?” I asked him, my eyes narrowed. There was something about him that was bugging me.
“All I did was make a makeshift cast out of the materials they gave me. I was in the process of my senior year in high school, and I was learning how they made casts in my medical class,” he told me, as if I should have known that.
I narrowed my eyes again, and I sighed. “Why did you bother?”
“Because unlike you, I didn’t think that you wanted to have a useless arm when the bones heal again. Because if they heal in the way they were, you would have a completely useless arm. So sorry for looking out for your well-being,” he said.
“What’s ya name?” I asked, trying to get off the topic of broken bones.
“Ashton, but that’s my last name. Everyone calls me that,” he said.
“What’s ya first name?” I asked Ashton.
“Blake. Name’s Blake Ashton. And can I ask you of yours?” Blake told and then asked.
“Riley, is ‘he name. Ya don’t need to know anythin’ else.”
“Then why did you want to know my whole name!” Blake exclaimed.
“I hate referrin’ to people by their las’ name. It is strange it ain’t proper in ‘he way of life that I was raised in, Mr. Blake,” I replied back.
“Oh you’re country then? From where- the Wild west. Like no one speaks like that anymore. Man, this is funny. I bet you think it is all normal to talk like that and then you get a punch in the face when you realize how you talk isn’t real.”

VWOOORP! VWOOOORP! VWOOOOORP!
A grating sound rushes through the plaza. Accompanying the sound, a rather tall cuboid box with a light at the top and the words “Police Call Box” prominently displayed, shades in and out before stabilizing to sit firmly on the ground. A creaky wooden sound drags across the open spaces, followed by a gangly tweed suited man in a fez. He chomped on a toothpick as he meandered his way, flapping his arms.
“Ahaa!” He enthuses with a smile, pointing knowingly, “Ahahaha, that’s a good one.” His eyes flutters up in amusement. “No, Rory, I don’t see anything dangerous around here.” An airspeeder screams above him, and his eyes trail it.
“You there!” A shout echos across towards the man’s left. “State your business!”
Striding towards the man in the fez with a commanding gait, a man in startling red armour paused a moment in his shouting to speak into his gauntlet. His pace increases blindingly, and he reaches the tweed-suited man in a blink. He raises his hands. “Stop!”
Eyebrows raised, the Doctor, for it was he who was in the fez, slowly brought his hands up. “Well,” He bites into the wood and snaps his fingers, watching out the corner of his eyes as the door clicks shut behind him, “Wasn’t I supposed to state my business?”
“State your name and business!” The man, thick-built, with a scar running through his forehead, red hair, and dark blue eyes, demanded, pulling out a greyish cylinder to touch the Doctor’s chin.
“The Doctor. Fun.” The doctor smiles indulgently.
“What?” The armoured man looked confused.
“You heard me perfectly well the first time, mister.”
With a confounded look, the man placed a firm hand on the Doctor and swirled him to face the TARDIS. He bowed the Doctor’s head against the wall and placed energy cuffs on his wrist. A crackling noise came through. “Master Symiens, is everything clear?” A smooth male voice burst forth.
“No!” came his gruff reply. “I need a clearance crew and a prisoner transport. Someone brought a box and parked it in the middle of the plaza. Did anyone see a man in a tweed suit and a fez walk through with a wookiee tall box? It has the words “Police Call Box” inscribed in Galactic High.”
When all his outposts had replied in the negative, Symiens yanked his prisoner by the collar and pushed him towards a decending boxy transport. It came down with a three-clawed hand onto the TARDIS, and up disappeared the hand. A large door slid open to one side, and a man in stiff grey uniform marched out with a into gent of white armoured troops.
"Take him away!" Symiens shouted to the officer. "Find out how he brought his box into a secure location. Scan that box and dispose of it."
Beyond lofty buildings and terraces the transport climbed. It headed towards a top heavy building, which looked like a mushroom.
"Amy, can you hear me?" The Doctor tilted his head slightly as he whispered. "I think we may have slipped into a different universe. Could you tell me what's on the TARDIS display screen?"
"Slipped into another universe?" The Scottish accent rang in the Doctor's ear.
"Amy, concentrate."
"Umm...it's showing a lot of zeroes. A whole bunch."
The Doctor raises his head slowly, something was wrong. He flexed his fingers and looked around anxiously.
A bump vibrated through the ship as it settled down to a landing. Bright beams lit the compartment where the Doctor had been left standing.
"Doctor?" The worried voice of Amelia Pond came through.
"Shh."
"Who's that you're talking to?" The officer asked, grumbling.
"Myself!" The Doctor replied cryptically, hoping to allay any suspicions.
A large battalion of storm troopers, with weapons trained on the door, and twenty imperial knights in crimson armour led by a man with a shock of dark black hair and a darker look in his eyes, lightsabers lit, greeted them.
"I have a bad feeling about this!" The Doctor moaned.
He was led under this heavy guard high up into the building, stopping only at the top, and followe by his TARDIS.
A stately woman in a shimmersilk gown met him in the large office space. She smiled softly. "Take off those," she swept a hand towards the cuffs, before turning again to the Doctor. "I didn't know the Jedi would be so interested in my security, master Jedi. Or should I say," she ran a finger down the Doctor's arm sleeves, "mysterious force-user."
The Doctor lowered his chin and, in a very low voice, said, "I'm so so sorry."
"Sorry? About? Master Symiens said you called yourself The Doctor and that your business was fun. Care to explain?"
"Not talking to you," the Doctor snaps, before realizing what he had just revealed. His eyes shone with remorse, and he turned his gaze away. "Nothing. Just." He chuckled, "fun."
"Look, Doctor," the woman looked grave, "I don't know who you are, but the power you are emanating through the force is unlike anything I have ever seen before. Not wen a Skywalker is as powerful."
"Well, I do have my moments." The Doctor smiled back, mischief in his eyes. The man with te dark hair gripped his arms tighter, ad the Soctor squirmed.
With a smooth dismissing motion, the woman ordered the knight to stop. A door hissed behind them. The woman and the knight turned towards the sound, but the Doctor contented himself with looking at the reflections in the metal furnishings.
A large fanged creature and a humanoid with reddish eyes walked, with hands clasped behind their backs, into the room.
Running eyes over the Doctor, the large furry one looked at the woman and shook his head.
"Well then," the Doctor drawled, "are we going to discuss why you dragged me so unceremoniously here or not? Oh and stop scanning me will you?"
"No," the deep voice of the fur said, "Apologies as to how you were brought here, but both you and your box emit a very strong presence in the force."
"What force?" The Doctor turned wrinkled brows at Fur.
Fur looked taken aback. "Everyone in this galaxy knows of the force."
"Bit of a hermit." Although he knew perfectly well what it was.
Fur raised a hand, and the desk behind the woman began to float. "The force is..."
"Oh shut up." The Doctor snapped. "I was only on your stupid plaza by accident." He spit out the wood from his mouth.
"I was going to Cyberia. Had a bet with Cyber leader." He looked around at their confused faces, one of his hand reaching into his coat inner pocket to turn a dial on his sonic screwdriver. "Lost the bet, or maybe won it. Not quite sure." He spun around on his toes, activating his sonic and shattering the transparisteel windows. "Well, maybe not." He jumped through te window, turning more dials on his screwdriver.

The doors to the hall finally opened. He stood stiffly with one of Haymitch's old suits hanging loose at his sleeves and feet. No matter how many years had passed, it still had the stench of alcohol hanging onto it like a spider from its web. But the smell didn't just make him winkle his nose, it did much more. It brought back memories, thoughts he had tried so hard to bury in the back of his mind, hiding them with a lock and throwing the key as far away as possible. However hard he tried, his past would forever be a part of who he was, and forgetting it would be like forgetting himself, and he knew how that felt like. The smell reminded him of sadness, trauma and nightmares bringing back the horror of the Games. Drinking may have been Haymitch's post traumatic stress, but his was constant fear.
Once the doors opened, the thoughts managed to escape back behind the lock for just a moment. It was the grand opening of District 12 after the bombing. It was supposed to mark the start of a new era, one where peace would reign instead of hunger. All the citizens were invited, and since money was short in District 12, it was nothing extremely fancy.
The girls danced from the doors to meet their pairs. She was at the back, hidden behind long skirts and intricate hairdos. He was always able to spot her no matter where they were, as if her whole body glowed like the moon in a dark night with no stars. She was not wearing a smile, not even a fake one like she used to for their interviews with Caesar all those years ago, as she made her way to Peeta. As she drew near to his face, the smile escaped from the corners of her mouth as she leaned in to place a gentle kiss against his lips. He smiled back as he put his hand on her waist and began to dance. They both got lost when they were together, and dancing made it even easier to never find their way back. He held his arm up as she twirled beneath it, then laughed and whirled again.
His smile quickly faded as the room around him blurred along with all the faces in it. He felt his arm slump back against his side, no longer staring at the laughing girl. All he saw were flames. Red, orange and yellow with even some sparks of blue. He no longer heard music, the air filled with screams.
He heard his heart beat faster and his head pounding at the same rhythm. He realized the screams were not screams after all, but cheers. Sick, maddening cheers from a huge crowd. Quickly the flames zoomed out to a red, flamboyant dress, worn by the young girl he'd always loved. The shouts slowly faded into words: "Katniss Everdeen, the Girl on Fire!"
The images flashed suddenly through his mind, the red dress transforming into a white one. The white burning his eyes, symbolizing anything but marriage, reminding him of white roses. Then the flames came back and one by one came together into the feathers of a black bird, a Mockingjay, soaring through cities burning into ruins. The screams echoed below, no longer of happiness but pain, soon interrupted by the ash of the fire. The fire faded and the screams got louder, more piercing and cut his skin like the opening of old wounds. He saw himself bellowing and pouting, covered in blood he knew was his own. However when he felt for his face, he knew it was clean and his mouth was sealed shut.
He was looking at memories so painful he felt as if he were still there, stuck in his past, never being able to heal. He shut his eyes hoping everything would go away. When he opened them again, he was gazing back at the face he loved and recognized, except he did not feel the love anymore. Hatred, pain and despair filled his eyes. He looked at himself shaking, trembling, forcing his hands steady into Katniss' throat.
He kept repeating "She's a mutt... she's a mutt.." over again as if to give reasons for his actions.
"Peeta! Peeta come back! Open your eyes it's me!"
He could faintly make out voices.
"Peeta, please."
He heard her voice trembling, holding back tears. He opened his eyes and saw he was lying on the ballroom floor, his mouth moving and repeating "She's a mutt" without even realizing. He immediately stopped, the wildness in his eyes slowly disappearing. He paused for a second, shielding himself again from his memories, locking them like he always did, waiting and hoping he would never have to face them again. Once he was fully back in the Hall, he put his arms around Katniss, pulling her so close to him so he would never have to let go. Her teeth stopped shaking and her lips went steady.
She whispered in his ear, "You love me, real or not real?"
He didn't hesitate to answer, "Real."

The Doctor skidded as he rushed around the console, flicking switches and pressing buttons in a seemingly random order that most likely meant something. Sipping her mug of coffee, Clara smiled. In the end, it was just him and his box. It always was. He may think she didn't notice, but Clara always saw the love in his eyes when he was in the console room. Clara had never believed an object could merit such love, but the TARDIS had taught her otherwise. She looked around. The TARDIS was a remarkable machine; with its silver interior, and huge central column. But that was, in her opinion, all it was. A machine. Not to the Doctor. He talked to it, stroked its console, and constantly defended it when she complained that it didn't like her.
"So, " she said, after another sip of coffee, "Where are we going?"
The Doctor fiddled with a dial, not even looking up.
"Oh, I don't know," he murmured thoughtfully, "Maybe we should pop in on Mozart - I helped him compose Piano Concerto Number 24, you know."
Clara laughed. The Doctor suddenly grinned, then, running a hand through his hopelessly floppy hair, lunged to pull the dematerialization lever. The TARDIS wheezed into action. There was a great jar, the console room rocking. Crying out, Clara grabbed onto the handrail, dropping her coffee mug. It shattered on the floor. The Doctor, clinging to the console, glared across at her.
"She'll never like you if you do things like that!" he shouted, "There's a mop downstairs!"
"Now?" hissed Clara, "We're crashing! And you want me to clean it up, now?"
The Doctor disappeared from sight for a moment as another jar rocked the TARDIS. Struggling to his feet, he slammed his hand down onto a red button. For a moment, the TARDIS stabilised.
"She's very temperamental," he yelled to Clara, "And she might stop crashing so much if you cleaned it up!"
Clara shrieked as sparks flew from the console, trying to cover her face with her arm.
"I doubt it!"
Frowning, the Doctor held onto the handrail as the TARDIS spun. He reached over and grabbed the scanner, pulling it towards him. His eyes widened as it revealed what was outside.
"Ah, oh. That's extremely bad. That's very bad. That's about three taxis and a train ride from good."
"Doctor, what is it?"
The Doctor gulped as the scanner translated a message.
"The TARDIS is obtained!" it announced in a screechy, robotic voice.
Clara looked across at the Doctor, her eyes asking the question she didn't dare to speak.
"Daleks," he muttered.
"What are daleks?" Clara screamed as a huge bang echoed around the TARDIS.
"Um. If I said metal things of death, would that give you a clue?"
The scanner's screen blackened, and the lights turned out, one by one, plunging them into darkness.
"And they've cut her power source," the Doctor whispered, paling, "But how?"
He clasped Clara's hand tight in his own, looking straight into her eyes.
"I'm sorry."

Severus Snape sat exhausted and trembling at the headmaster’s desk, trying to catch his nerve.

Wind and rain battered the castle windows, whilst the crescent moon sent slithers of light across the stone floor.

He had just dismissed his new staff members to patrol the dormitory corridors. McGonagall had proved just has difficult as Severus thought she would. He could almost smell the sense of betrayal that radiated from her very skin. He noted that Minerva mustn't be underestimated in the lengths she would go to protect the students.

Candles flickered, casting a burnt orange glow across the many portraits lining the walls. All of the previous headmasters had temporarily vacated their frames in protest of Severus’ new position as headmaster of Hogwarts. A empty space on the wall had been made, directly behind the claw-footed desk, ready for Albus Dumbledore’s portrait to be hung. Severus was most definitely alone.

His hands shook a little more violently as he reached out to touch a faded, white envelope in front of him. It was addressed to him in a familiar looping, delicate handwriting. Handwriting that could have only belonged to one person.

Dumbledore.

Severus had found the envelope when looking through his new desk drawers this morning. Minerva had mentioned that the very top drawer would not open for her in the short time she served as interim headmistress. She had concluded that Dumbledore had not meant for her to look inside and spat her certainty that it would be the same case for Albus’ murderer.

Curiosity, and suspicions of the kind of man Dumbledore was, had got the better of Severus, so he tried the drawer for himself as soon as he was alone. Sure enough, the drawer had slid open at his first touch, revealing nothing more than the envelope that was now sat before him.

He was yet to get the courage to open the letter. Who knew what further instructions it would contain? He had already killed the mad, old fool at his own request! Severus cursed Albus for keeping so many things from him even after his death.

He picked the envelope up and turned it over, furious at Dumbledore for everything the man had asked of him over the last few months. Watching the silver haired professor’s lifeless figure fall from the astronomy tower...well, it was a moment he would never be able to erase from his memory. He couldn’t take much more and, he was sure, neither could the boy.

Without warning, golden letters began spilling themselves across the back of the envelope, quickly forming the instantly recognisable handwriting of Albus Dumbledore. The letters lazily shuffled themselves around to spell out the words;



Severus frowned at those choice of words. He tore open the red, wax seal and removed the contents from inside. As Severus flipped open the folded letter and expected to see the same, traditional handwriting on the envelope, his breath caught in his throat when he saw something quite different.

A handwriting he hadn’t seen in eighteen years. A handwriting that he had memorised from the way she signed her name, all the way to the way she dotted her ‘i’s.

Lily.

Severus saw that the letter was dated only two months before her death at the hands of Voldemort and greedily started to read from the top.

My Dear Severus,

I am afraid that I begin a letter that comes to you three years too late. I can’t tell you how annoyed I am at myself for leaving this so long.

I feel like my time could soon be over in this world and I would never forgive myself or rest in peace if I didn’t make amends with you.

My oldest friend.

I want you to know that I know. I know it was you who told He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named about my unborn child. I also know that it was you who forewarned Dumbledore that we were to be hunted down. You, who pushed us into hiding. You, who risked your life for us...for me.

I plead with you, Severus. Get out of that life. Leave. Save yourself and be the person that I know you can be. You believed in me. You believed that I could be someone special and not the freak that my sister longed for me to think I was. You made me feel alive, accepted and loved.

Now it’s time to put my belief in you. It’s time to give you my forgiveness.

If I make it through this, I hope you will be a part of my life once more and I, yours. I want Harry to know you, the way I know you.

My love and forgiveness.
Always.

Lily

Severus dropped the letter onto the desk, tears streamed down his cheeks. Here was the forgiveness that had long been denied to him. The forgiveness he would never feel he deserved, had been freely given two months before she was cruelly taken from him.

He would finish this. He would see this to the end. For her.

For his silver doe.

She wandered through the Underthing, half of her wispy blonde hair floating around her head in its characteristic halo, and half of it still wet from her dance in the rain from when she went on the tops of things. She finally settled on a small stone outcropping a few feet away from the entrance to Billows. Her mind was whirling with the music that had spun out of his fingers, and with his fiery red hair. He had asked some questions; questions that made her uncomfortable. She had fled before he could see her past apparent in her eyes.

She began to think back to her earliest memories. It was a noble life, full of fresh clothes, plenty of food, many manner lessons, and light. Sunlight, moonlight, starlight seemed to soak even through the heavy drapes that were pulled tight over the window. It was in almost all ways different from her life now. Except there still seemed like there were drapes in her mind, but these drapes were thrown wide open, letting in a blinding amount of light.

Then there were the lengthy travel to the university, the glowing blue or pink or orange sky arching above her, but those mind-curtains still fully closed. Many a tinker passed her way, and she always stopped for a talk and a trade. When she reached the university, she had passed the entrance exam with flying colors, and had quickly immersed herself in two impossible tasks: Kilvin’s challenge to discover the secret of the ever-burning lantern, and her own mission to learn the names of things. She never thought she would achieve both so quickly, or dramatically.

The day she discovered both of these, she was working in the Fishery, pondering on how she would make an ever-burning lamp. She had just inserted the core into the glass sympathy lamp and was reaching out to her small hammer to tap it into place when she gouged her hand on a piece of glass she had not noticed before. The cut was long and deep, and dripping furiously. The pain had not set in yet, and as she examined how deep it was, a few drops of blood fell into her open sympathy lamp. An enormous flash of green light knocked her off her feet and she was sent flying, landing only after she had banged her head on one of the iron pipes that cobwebbed throughout the Fishery. Kilvin had always said that the Fishery was a dangerous place…

The girl took a minute to catch her breath after reliving such a memory. That had been the day that everything changed. When she came-to after the accident, she found herself in the Crockery. Of course she didn’t realize that was where she was; she just head distant screams, and felt a clean white sheet covering her body. When she had opened her eyes, she saw that she was being watched by one of the nurses.

“Hello dear,” the nurse had said, “How much do you remember?”
It took a while for her to realize that the nurse was speaking to her. “I remember a cut on my hand, and an explosion and…” she struggled to remember more, “That’s about it, I think.”

The nurse made a little noise, then explained that the girl had been rushed to Medica to have her external wounds taken care of, but when she had regained consciousness, she had started speaking strange words. “Names,” the nurse had said. They tried to get her to stop, because the very walls of Medica were shaking, and she had crippled more than a few of the students working at Medica, just with her words. In the end, Master Elodin himself showed up and spoke some words of his own, and brought her to the Crockery. (The nurse of course called it Haven.)

The girl was scared at this revelation. She asked for some time alone, and it was granted her. In the room was a mirror. She couldn’t believe what she saw at first. Her dark hair had been turned an almost-white blonde, and her dark eyes had turned light. Even more strange however, was when she gazed into the mirror, words came back to her. She realized at once that they were the “strange words” the nurse had mentioned that she was speaking. They were liquid words, forever changing, but the girl knew what they were, what they changed to, and what they stood for. She knew Names. And she knew names were powerful things. She knew the names of Blood and Bone, of Wind and Stone, of Light and Dark, and an unnamed Name that was the most powerful of all. She realized she couldn’t stay here, shut up in this… this jail.

She stood at the stone wall leading to the outside (she didn’t know how she knew which one it was), and called Stone and Bone and Blood. She stepped through the wall, Blood and Bone passing easily through a willing Stone until she was standing on the narrow ledge that surrounded the Crockery second floor. The moon was full; it dazzled her eyes and mind. She felt the mind-curtains being thrown open. She called Wind and it flew her through the night, whispering chilled secrets in her ear, caressing her, fluttering her trailing skirt. The wind dropped her at the Fishery, which was lit up like a lantern.

When she entered the ruined building, she realized that it was actually lit up with a lantern. Her lantern. It was glowing a bright green and fit to explode. It was rattling, pushing against its copper shell. The girl called the name of Darkness and persuaded some to sink inside the lantern. The light dimmed to a dull green glow that only illuminated a reasonable amount of the room. The lantern also ceased rattling. She seized the lantern and called Stone and Iron and many other names. The Fishery slowly rebuilt itself, brick by brick, pipe by pipe, but she didn’t stay around long enough to watch it.

The girl was running through the night, laughing at the stars. But everything was too bright. She found a grate set into the ground and let herself down to it. This was when she had found the Underthing and its many rooms. It was a peaceful life down here, one where she could forget. She wished to forget the knowledge that had come with the names, and the unnamed name, so she hid in the darkness.

Eventually the lamp became too heavy for her to carry with her fragile arms, so she called Light and transferred the glowing green to a rock she had found near Vaults. This was her ever-burning lamp that guided her through the dark. These were the secrets that were left exposed by the curtains that were no longer just drawn open, but ripped down off the window.

The sun shone on his back, warming his skin through the shirt as he knelt down on the ground and held her skinny leg. Before he could bring the antiseptic soaked cotton ball to her raw knee, he looked up at her. Tears were trying to flood over her eyes to stream down her face but she kept brushing her eyes on her sleeve not allowing the tears to escape. His Deb, always trying to be strong.
She gave him a nod. Do it. She gripped the sides of the rock she was perched on. Being careful, Dexter mopped the blood that was trickling down her leg. He felt her cringe when the cotton touched her skin. With a steady hand, Dexter brought the cotton to the scraped knee. Before he could clean the wound off dirt, she screamed her voice echoing in the woods they were in.
‘It hurts!’ she cried pushing him away.
‘I told you not to run down the slope,’ he said. ‘Dad is going to be mad at me!’ He kicked aside the soiled cotton and rummaged through the first aid kit for another. He shouldn’t have let her talk him into this trek. Dad would hate the idea of them two alone in the woods.But when had Debra never got what she wanted from Dexter?
Debra gave him watery pout. ‘Just don’t let it hurt,’ she said. ‘You know I hate the pain, Dex.’
‘I won’t let you feel any.’

Remember the Monsters


The large waves rock the boat violently sending me stumbling on my footing. The Armageddon clouds are closing their distance between us. It seems as though time is rushing to catch up and the universe cannot linger to pause for us. I would like it to stop. Wouldn’t you? Maybe if it stopped I could find a way to reverse it. You once told me time was the centre of the circle of life. It doesn’t really make sense.

Letting the boat maneuver itself I walk to your side. The wind whips the sheet covering your body and the hair strands lash against your face. I crouch beside you and take your face in my hands. Your skin has never been this cold. Or have you ever been so pale. You look dead, Deb.

‘No more pain, sis,’ I whisper close to your ears. I wish tears would come so that I can give you a farewell you deserve. Monsters don’t cry.

The boat is sailing towards the hurricane’s eye and it looks beautiful. You should open your eyes to see it. The lightning strikes the water continuously as if to punish it for having let me use it. The waves crash my boat to push it off its waters. Above us the dark clouds are growing darken as they descend on us. No one wants us here. No nature or human wants me doing what I am. But it has to be done. If they knew you, they would agree.

I take you in my arms and we sit there in silence listening to the sea roar. It feels wrong for you to be on my boat. This is the vehicle that has carried numerous demons to their final place. Which is why I won’t toss you into the sea. That is a ritual reserved for monsters like me. You are going to majestically ride into the storm and the wind and rain will gather you in their arms one last time before the sea carries you to its kingdom. And I will sail with you to that kingdom. You need me to protect you even after the end.

‘This is how it should be Deb where I to go f***ing be happy with you.’

Ana expected everything about her wedding to go perfectly.

Obviously, she should learn not to expect things to be perfect. She fiddled with the locked knob of her bedroom, tugging at it, mumbling about how it would be her, not Kristoff that got locked in their room before their wedding. Blowing a stray curl out of her eye, she bent down to look through the keyhole. Nothing. Damn. She tugged on the knob one more time, and flinched as the metal came off the door into her hand. She shouted in absolute frustration, throwing the heavy knob to the floor with a clang. What was she going to do? She knew the wedding was soon, Olaf had left her stranded to go check everything before she emerged from her room. She was dressed in the wedding dress she'd chosen with care, white lace covering the fluffy skirt and fitted bodice. Bending down once again, she looked through the keyhole. There was still no one in the corridor, just wood paneling facing her. She sighed and went to sit down on her bed, deciding to wait until Olaf returned.

-

Olaf knew he'd messed up. When he'd shut the door behind him, the knob had fallen with the slam, and he wasn't quite sure what to do. He'd squeaked, frantic images of the princess being locked in her room forever swimming through his mind and making him dizzy. Not wanting to have Ana panic, he ran away from the door and as soon as he left the corridor, started shouting, running down the halls, looking for someone to come fix the door. Wringing his little stick hands as he went, his fretful mind worrying at an alarming rate.

-

Ana was done. She'd sat in her room, for what felt like forever, afraid to do anything interesting and risk messing up her carefully styled hair. Once again she rose to look through the keyhole, and predictably saw nothing. She was really tired of seeing that dark wood in answer instead of a human, or even a snowman. Moving away from the door, she went to the window, looking down into the spring weather beyond.

And that, is when she had her idea.

-

Olaf found someone, but by then he was so hysterical, Kristoff didn't understand a word, and Olaf could tell, he wasn't happy about it. "Sven! Sven!" He screamed in despair, grabbing the front of Kristoff's clothes and hanging onto them, "Ana!"
"Ana?" The annoyance at being called Sven disappearing instantly, "What happened?"
"Locked--room!" Olaf said, his relief at finally being understood gasping out.
Kristoff didn't bother to answer, just waved at the congregation waiting for Ana, the minister and the piano player. "Five seconds."
And he was gone, Olaf following at his heels, waving at people as he passed, relieved now that he had found someone that could save Ana.

-

Ana was out the window, on the ground and back in the castle within ten minutes. When she entered the great hall, a disapproving woman shoved a bouquet at her, and waved her hand towards another, younger woman, "Give them the signal, the princess is finally here."
Ana heard the organ begin to play while the woman with the frown fussed over her dress. "You're a mess, but I guess there's no helping it."
Elsa appeared by Ana's side and smiled coldly. "She looks perfect, Gwen. Leave her alone. Are you ready Ana?"
Ana nodded and linked her arm with Elsa's. "Let's get married!" She said, winking at her older sister. The doors opened, and the two sisters stepped through the doorway. They were greeted by the sight of some very surprised guests and a gasp from the minister. Ana smiled graciously, assuming that they were stunned by the dirt staining the hem of her gown. Elsa gasped too though, which made her look up from her modest pose with her eyes on the floor. The altar was empty.
"Hey, where is everyone?" Ana asked, poking her sister's side and widening her eyes.
"I'm not really sure," Elsa replied, shaking her head.

-

The two sisters turned at the sound of footsteps, and saw Kristoff race in, his face pink. "Ana, thank heaven you're--" he stopped, realizing that everyone was watching them. Clearing his throat, he hurried to the front of the room and composed himself. Backing up slowly, Ana ran into Olaf who had been hovering in the back. The two flipped over each other, and Ana landed with a bump against the wall.

Her laughter rang through the hall, and she decided that perfect was over rated anyway.

Note: Senkhara was a villain in season two who wanted the mask. And two of my characters are not going to be In this whole thing but, I put them to make seven characters.