Harry did not know where to begin, but it did not matter, at that moment,
something large and silver came falling through the canopy over the dance
floor. Graceful and gleaming, the lynx landed lightly in the middle of the astonished
dancers. Heads turned, as those nearest it froze absurdly in mid-dance.
Then the Patronus’s mouth opened wide and it spoke in the loud, deep, slow
voice of Kingsley Shacklebolt.
One leaf falls from the canopy
That’s many meters high.
It drifts this way, and then that way
Meanders from the sky
Like a tiny green parachute-
It’s descent careful, slow.
It’s earthward journey culminates
In the mulch far below.
Born to a Russian peasant family in 1916, Anna Yegorova was one of the deadliest and most celebrated Soviet pilots of World War II. While working as a factory worker before the war, Yegorova received pilots training and eventually became a flight instructor. When the Germans invaded in 1941, she volunteered for the Soviet Air Force, however Soviet commanders at the time were slow to accept women for combat service. Instead, she was assigned to fly an aging rickety biplane as a reconnaissance pilot. Between 1941 and 1942 she flew 100 reconnaissance missions, many of which were very dangerous. On her 100th mission, her plane was intercepted by a German fighter. Completely outclassed in her puttering antique biplane, she was easily shot down by the fighter. Having no parachute she was forced to crash land as her plane erupted into flames around her. After the crash, she hid in a corn field as the German fighter straffed her with machine guns until running out of ammo and flying away. Despite suffering horrific burns over much of her body, she returned to base and personally delivered her maps. For her actions she was promoted to Lieutenant and assigned for training at a combat aviation school.
While in combat training Yegorova gained a reputation as one of the best pilots of her class. She was trained to fly the Ilyushin IL-2 Sturmovik, a heavily armed and armored ground attack aircraft nicknamed “The Flying Tank”. Throughout the war, the IL-2 was used as a close air support craft, and was specifically used to destroy German tanks. After graduating combat aviation school in 1943, she was assigned command of an IL-2 squadron that was part of the 805th Attack Aviation Regiment. Over the next year she commanded 177 combat missions, destroying scores of German tanks, armored vehicles, and trucks. A true terror of sky, she was known as a superior pilot and a fearless combat leader. Among the enemy she was known as the “Flying Witch”. During her combat duty, she was awarded the Order of Lenin, two Orders of the Red Banner, and two Orders of the Patriotic War 1st Class.
On an attack on a German column in Auguast of 1944, an anti craft shell exploded below the seat of her cockpit, the force of which blew her through her cockpit canopy. Before falling unconscious Yegorova pulled the rip cord or her parachute. However the parachute failed to open completely, and she was sent screaming to the earth until she slammed into the ground. Soviet officials believed she was dead, and posthumously awarded her the title “Hero of the Soviet Union”.
As if by miracle, Yegorova was alive, but she was seriously injured with several broken ribs, dislocated arms and shoulders, severe spinal fractures, a concussion, burns, and numerous internal injuries. Barely alive and slipping in and out of a coma, Yegorova was sent to Kustrin Prison Camp in Poland, where she was dumped in a prison cell and left to die. Fortunately, she was tended by another prisoner, a Russian physician named Georgy Sinyakov. Amazingly, working 20 hours a day with little food or medical supplies, Dr. Sinyakov was able to nurse her back to health. A selfless healer who treated thousands of POW’s with what little he had, he even sacrificed some of his own rations so that Yegorova would live. Despite his care, her wounds never completely healed and she suffered physical disability the rest of her life. When she was barely strong enough to stand, the German SS and Gestapo began to interrogate her, often resorting to beatings and torture. During her imprisonment, she told nothing to her interrogators.
In January of 1945, Kustrin Prison Camp was liberated by the Red Army. The guards of the camp had planned to shoot all the prisoners before leaving, however Dr. Sinyakov convinced the Germans to leave without firing a shot. While she was free of German imprisonment, Yegorova’s ordeal was far from over. Under Stalin’s orders Soviet soldiers, sailors, and airmen were forbidden from surrendering, and to Stalin there were no Soviet POW’s, only traitors. Upon liberation, Yegorova was arrested by the Soviet NKVD and interrogated for 11 days on suspicion of being a spy and a traitor. She was also stripped of all her awards and titles, with her combat record being erased from all official Soviet documents. After all the combat, her life threating injuries which left her body permanently wrecked and disfigured, the torture at the hands of the Germans, and having all of her life’s accomplishment revoked, the moment of her life which brought tears to her eyes even decades later was when an NKVD interrogator called her “a fascist bitch”. One the 11th day of her interrogation she finally made the demand, “You can shoot me, but I will not let you torture me!”. Later that day, she was cleared of charges and released when Soviet Air Force commanders intervened on her behalf. She was declared an invalid and released from military service.
After the war, Yegorova married, raised a family with two children, and desperately petitioned the Soviet Government to restore her service record and awards. Finally, in 1965 her awards were returned, including the coveted title “Hero of the Soviet Union”. On a side note, Dr. Simyakov, an earthly saint IMO, received no recognition for his work at Kustrin Prison Camp while he was alive, despite the accounts of thousands of Soviet servicemen who he had treated while at the camp. He returned to his life as a doctor, and passed away in 1978. Anna Yegorova passed away on the 29th of October, 2009, at the age of 93.
Imagine being someone of noble birth and Zen being nothing more than a lowly knight. You’re sleeping peacefully on your canopy bed when you feel a chill from the windows, rousing you from your sleep. When you awake, you see a familiar silhouette on the other side of the canopy before a hand draws the material back, revealing Zen’s figure. His eyes almost seem to glow in the dark, and he keeps your gaze, a mischievous smirk playing on his features. You open your mouth to ask why he’s there when the two of you planned to secretly meet tomorrow morning, but Zen places his forefinger to his lips, silently telling you to be quiet, and you nod in understanding. You couldn’t wait either. The two of you exchange a smile as the knight crawls onto your bed, allowing the canopy to fall back in place to give the two of you some privacy before Zen wraps his arms around you and captures your lips.
Enjoy the finest dining in Granite Falls under a leafy canopy of gorgeous blossoms. With a menu offering you a great selection of locally sourced fish, meat and produce, you’ll be sure to find something new on the menu each time you visit. Make sure to try the house nectar (it’s grown in the foothills of the mountain range) before relaxing around the campfire after your meal.
Base Game + Outdoor Retreat + Dine Out only.
No custom content.
The rain poured down and where was Peyton? Instead of being inside, wrapped in a blanket drinking hot chocolate with her cat on her lap like any other night, she sat outside on the cold, wet concrete. Under the canopy of a tiny shop where she had ordered coffee. Well, not order it in so many words. More or less pointed and stuttered a small thanks.
Page after page Peyton flipped, noticing the shuffle of feet pasting her. Some would mutter about the young girl sitting in the rain, but it didn’t bother the brunette. Actually, she loved it. The only thing she hated was when droplets would fall from the canopy and smear the print on her library book. She would whimper slightly and wipe at it with the sleeve of her sweater and push up her glasses on the bridge of her nose before continuing to read.
You wake up when you hear something hit the floor. You open your eyes slowly and your body is stiff; you don’t want anything to detect you. You see the covers in front of your body. They’re rumpled and tossed back a bit, which means Carmilla’s not in bed with you. You also knew that when you woke because she wasn’t tangled all over you. You hear her rummaging around in the fridge and you assume she’s getting blood so you close your eyes.
You hear feet padding against the floorboards and feel the bid dip towards the ground. She slides in next to you and doesn’t lay down. You feel the bed tip with her body; she’s moving around and messing with the headboard. You hear her exhale slowly and she stops moving.
You lay next to her, trying to fall asleep again by listening to her steady breathing. It’s not really working. You’re kind of upset because you know it’s the middle of the night and you have a lot of work to do tomorrow and need rest, but you’re not tired. You feel her press her cold toes against your calf. You hear her let out a breathy laugh when she feels your muscles twitch at the sudden change in temperature and she slouches against the headboard.
You stretch and yawn. You open your eyes a bit and see Carmilla sitting up in bed, back against the headboard, a cup of blood held between her legs, elegant fingers holding a book, reading it with the soft glow from the owl lamp (you wonder if she can read in the dark because she’s a cat). She hums and glances down at you and her smile is so small and sweet, you reach out and place your hand on her thigh to anchor yourself before you feel like you’re drowning in her tidal waves. You sit up, toss your hair behind you, and kisses her hungrily. She kisses you with just as much force. You grab her sides and she kisses you a little bit slower. You follow her lead and you end up kissing each other slowly, gently. She pulls back and plants a small kiss on your nose.
“What was that for?” She whispers.
“I just wanted to kiss you.” She hums and nudges your shoulder. You kiss her again, quickly this time, and lay back down. You place your hand back on her thigh and try to relax. She keeps reading the book while holding it with one hand while the other taps a beat against your splayed out fingers on her leg. You hum when she drags the pads of her fingers up your wrist. She puts her hand next to your head and starts running her hand through your hair.
“Go back to sleep, Liebling,” she whispers to you. You find your eyelids drooping as she plays with your hair, occasionally running her fingertips over your forehead. You squeeze her thigh and shift closer to her, gluing yourself to her side. She never stops the gentle caress, twirling a few strands with her fingers.
As you feel yourself drifting off, you hear Carmilla’s husky voice humming.
Your hand is grasped loosely in hers and your connected arms are swinging in between your bodies. You bump your shoulder into hers and she stumbles slightly, then rocks on her feet and swings back towards you, hitting your shoulder with some force. You squeak and she laughs lightly at you. You huff and pull at your light jacket. She leads you under a tree in the University’s park and she sits under it, pulling you down with her. You sit next to her, its canopy slowly falling away, shedding in the autumn light.
Carmilla puts the picnic basket between the two of you (you honestly can’t believe she agreed to a picnic) and pulls out champagne (of course), a few sandwiches, potato salad, and cookies (of course). You immediately open the tupperware containing the salad and start eating it right out of the plastic. Carmilla notices you eating the potato salad and shakes her head. She unwraps a PB&J sandwich and slowly munches on it while she leans back against the trunk. You’re happy here under the tree with Carmilla, having a small little lunch while resting your leg against hers.
You set down the half empty tupperware and just as you’re about to get a handful of cookies, something sticky touches your cheek. You squeal and look at Carmilla. She’s shaking because she’s laughing so hard and her finger has a little bit of peanut butter on it. She wiped that on your face, didn’t she?
“Carmilla! Ew! That’s disgusting!” You scream at her while you wipe off the peanut butter with a napkin. She’s cackling and she just wiped peanut butter on your cheek and it was gross so you grab a few of the fallen leaves laying around you and throw them at her. She flings her hand in front of her face to protect her. She chuckles when you cry triumphantly.
She looks up and gazes at some of the leaves trickling down from the branches. You watch her, taking in her curly hair that falls over her shoulders, cascading down her back. You smile softly at the little grin she’s wearing and you slowly reach towards her and gently run your finger over her temple. She turns towards you and her gaze is so soft and loving it takes your breath away. You drag your finger down her cheek and stop when your hand is on her neck.
“It’s so pretty,” she says, pointing up to the tree top, light rays spilling through the spaces where leaves have already fallen. You let out a quick laugh because it was such a simple statement from Carmilla, broody, philosophy obsessed, stargazing Carmilla, and look down while you smile. When you look back up to Carmilla, she’s gently smiling at you, eyes soft. You see the light rays highlight the brown strands in her hair and her cheekbones and her perfect little nose, and she’s is so beautiful even when she doesn’t try.
“Yeah,” you say while looking at her, “Beautiful.”
You’re laying on your back under the tree, curled into Carmilla and the light is warming you and you don’t want to move from away from Carmilla. You feel her playing with the tips of your hair and she pulls you closer into her side. You feel her abdominal muscles jump underneath your hand and you look up. Her head is raised and she’s in this halfway sit-up position and she’s staring at a leaf falling and her eyes are huge and oh no.
“You alright?” She nods but doesn’t blink. You slowly pull away from her and grab a leaf. You toss it in front of her face and she swats at it, pupils blow and looking very excited. When the leaf falls to the ground she paws at it. You giggle and toss another one and she reacts the same. A breeze whips through your hair and the grass blades, sweeping up the fallen leaves and Carmilla freaks. She hops up and morphs into a panther and jumps at the leaves, trying to catch them between her teeth.
Catmilla has been awakened. By leaves.
She’s reminds you of a dog as she scampers in front of you, chasing and rolling in leaves. You laugh and place your head in your palms while shaking your head.
Your girlfriend ditched you on a date in cat form for some leaves.
“Laura, stop laughing.”
You’re laughing so hard, you’re in the fetal position on your bed, stomach cramping and tears leaking out of your eyes. Carmilla sighs and grabs some clothes and heads to the bathroom. You try to get yourself under control.
Carmilla doesn’t appreciate when you laugh at what she does as Catmilla. Obviously. When you had gotten back to the dorm, you tossed some string at her and she went wide eyed and stared at it, muscles tense and ready to pounce. You had teased her for hours before you ended up dying on your bed, Carmilla stomping off into the shower.
You hear the water turn on and you’re really tired (stupid class hours and homework) so you roll over on your side and feel yourself falling asleep. You don’t fight it.
You awake when you feel something touch your back. You know it’s Carmilla; you can smell your shampoo but her underlying scent of woodsmoke and vanilla, her legs are tangled with yours, her hands are underneath your shirt, resting on your stomach, and her chest is pressed against your shoulder blades. You roll over in her arms so you’re facing her.
Your nose brushes hers and she opens her eyes. You smile and she returns it but you know something’s wrong.
“Carm? You know I love you, right?” She nods against your forehead. “That includes everything about you. Your scars and past and future and smile and weird little quirks and strength and weakness and Catmilla. I didn’t mean to offend you.”
“You didn’t, Sundance. It’s just that you- I- it’s been so long since someone’s teased me,” she whispers. You feel saddened by that. You don’t know how to respond because what can you say to make things better and an “I’m sorry,” isn’t going to reverse her pain. You kiss her because that’s the most logical thing you can think of. She threads her hand in your hair and tugs you closer to her. You grab a fistful of her shirt and grip it hard because you are falling falling falling into her so deeply. She is the ocean and you are drowning in her, water filling your lungs as you inhale her greedily.
She pulls back and places her forehead on yours, noses brushing and breathes whispering across each other’s lips. She rubs her thumb along your cheekbone, dragging the pad of her thumb over the dark circles under your eyes. You place a kiss on her lips and she nuzzles your nose with hers, giving you an eskimo kiss. You open your eyes and hers are still closed and she’s smiling.
You see her bare shoulder peeking above the blankets. You must’ve moved her shirt when you grabbed it. The glow from the owl lamp highlights the sharp peak and bend of her shoulder while shadowing the softer parts, the dips and lines of her skin. The moonlight adds a white light, making her alabaster skin whiter and you can see a light dusting of freckles on her shoulder. In the moonlight it reminds you of stars (of course). It reminds you of milky ways and galaxies and nebulas and constellations. She is space; a vast, unexplored wonder that holds so many secrets and is so beautiful, and you gaze upon her in awe.
She is so beautiful, it makes your hands shake.
She nuzzles into your neck and you can’t help but wrap your arms around her back.
She is the ocean and your anchor. She drowns you and saves you. You hold on as tightly as you can.
You roll over on your side with a groan. You crack open your eyelids and the sun stings and you let out a cry.
“Why? Why why why why?” You chant while you slip out of bed. It’s around nine in the morning and Carmilla’s gone to class and you don’t today, so you got to the wardrobe to get some clothes to change into. You see something red out of the corner of your eye and you glance at it.
It’s a bouquet of roses. You never really pegged Carm as being the one to get you flowers (but you have underestimated her before). You smell them and sigh at Carmilla’s gesture. You’re admiring them when you notice a slip of paper that’s folded, resting between the flowers. You pick it up and open it.
In a familiar scrawl it reads, I shall love you until the last one dies.
You’re confused because they’re flowers, they’ll all die. Unless flowers can become undead but you don’t think that’s possible. You set the note down on the kitchen counter and look closely at the flowers. Then you notice it.
A single rose in the bouquet isn’t a real rose. It’s fake, therefore it cannot die.
You can’t stop the grin that spreads across your face.
You make love to her when she get’s back from class.
“Well, Creampuff, I wasn’t expecting that. If I’d known that you were going to have sex with me because of flowers, I would’ve gotten them sooner.”
“Shut up, Carmilla. Don’t ruin the moment.”
“I shall love you for all eternity, Liebling.”
You take her hand that is resting on your stomach in your hand. You trace the wrinkles in her palms, feeling the cracks and crevices and callouses. Her hand is rough and yet, soft. Much like her. You kiss her palm and turn to look in her eyes. You brush your nose against hers and kiss her softly.
“I will love you until the last star stops twinkling.”
Ok for the Drarry prompt if you're still doing it..... First kisses in the rain
They had been getting drunker and drunker for the past two hours.
They had just finished a case, with an ex-Death Eater and potions smuggling and it had taken months of investigation and food trucks and stakeouts and dry, parching thirst for each other (but that went unsaid), but they had finally caught the guy.
Them, the partners extraordinaire, Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy.
A drink to celebrate had turned into an all-nighter at some hole-in-the-wall underground Wizarding bar in Camden, with rounds being bought for the both of them for each crazy Auror story they told with drunken enthusiasm.
At this point, they were either taking other stories and inserting their names or wildly inventing ones, making up solutions to cases still unsolved, but the drinks kept coming. The lights were dim and the temperature was rising with every piece of clothing Harry removed, every inch Draco rolled up his sleeves, every drink and every body that left the room.
“Last call, gentlemen,” the bartender finally said, somewhere around two a.m., winking at them both.
“Blimeh,” Harry slurred, shaking his head. “That’s–it’s late.”
Draco nodded slowly, distracted by the glaze in Harry’s eyes and the exaggerated mess of hair that looked incredibly soft in the haze of the dimming candles and primitive electric wiring.
“We need,” he announced, “a–spell. Soppering. Sober.”
Harry shook his head. “No…no drunk magic. I’s–the law, Drake!”
Draco blinked, laughing into the last of his beer. “Did…did you call me Drake?”
They both dissolved into giggles, unconsciously leaning into each other as the bartender approached with two vials.
“Sobering potions,” he said, setting them down. “On the house. Won’t clear you totally up, in your state, mind you, but it’ll be enough to get you home.”
Draco nodded and grabbed one as Harry squinted at the bartender.
“Why–why aren’t you drunk?”
“Harry,” Draco murmured, clumsily pushing the other vial towards the brunet.
Harry took it immediately, throwing an arm around Draco’s shoulders as he did so, bringing him in closer. Draco laughed again as he almost slipped off of the bar stool, the warmth of Harry’s arm doing nothing to sober him up.
“Together,” Harry vowed solemnly, lifting his vial. “Ready?”
“Ready,” Draco replied, raising his own and downing it with Harry.
They exhaled together and immediately, Draco felt a wonderful clearing of his mind, like someone throwing open the curtains on a sunny morning or standing under cold spray after a hot run. He enjoyed the return of his only slightly impaired mental faculties for all of five seconds before Harry exhaled again and he was returned completely to reality, to Harry’s breath across their shared space and the obvious weight of Harry’s arm around his shoulders.
His eyes traveled up to Harry’s, who stared back with shocking heat and clarity.
“Hey,” he said, and Draco smiled, his heartbeat quickening.
“Hi,” he said back.
“All right, gentlemen?”
They both jumped violently at the intrusion, knocking their heads together with a painful smack.
The bartender, Ted, frowned apologetically as they both straightened up, rubbing their foreheads. “Sorry, boys. I’m callin’ it, though. Have a safe night.”
He watched Draco and Harry slide off of their stools and troop slowly towards the door.
“Oh boys,” he called, just as Harry put his hand on the knob, “I think it’s raining.”
Harry yanked the door open, the deafening beat of heavy rain against the harshness of the city berating them all. The rain was coming down incredibly fast and their immediate path offered no cover.
Harry shrugged helplessly at Draco, both of them frozen in the safety of the doorway. “Ask Ted if he has an umbrella?”
Draco blinked. “What the hell is–”
“Oh, nevermind,” Harry sighed, turning back to the door. “We can’t Apparate in rain and drunk…”
“Kind of drunk,” Draco corrected.
“Let’s just find cover and do it,” Draco resolved, steeling himself. “But we’ve got to go out there.”
“Okay,” Harry agreed. “Ready?”
Draco nodded and they both sprinted out into the rain, gasping in displeasure as the rain hit their skin and their hair, drenching them immediately.
The only source of light they had were the dim Muggle lampposts and string of fairy lights against the buildings. Draco assumed the street was empty, but his vision was too impaired to make a final call.
“Do you see anything?” Draco yelled to Harry, who standing two feet in front of him and taking off his glasses to stuff them in his robes. Harry simply looked at him in reply.
“Fair,” Draco said to himself. Harry jerked his head one way and they took off again, this time staying close together. They ran down a side street and skidded around a corner, Draco slipping with a yell on a surprise gutter.
Harry turned immediately to catch him, slipping too and crashing into Draco, making them both stumble back across the sidewalk and slam against the brick of the row of buildings, Harry’s arms still around Draco’s waist and Draco’s feet entangled with Harry’s, back flush against the hard wall, and they both realized somewhat belatedly that the rain had stopped.
Draco blinked rapidly, trying to process their new situation and think around the large obtrusion currently hugging him in an alleyway. First of all, the rain hadn’t stopped, but they had been lucky enough to fall under a canopy of a storefront, providing them sound coverage from the rain that still hammered around them. Second of all, Harry’s breath was coming shallowly against Draco’s face, making him shiver with tension and from the cold of the rain.
Neither of them said a word, but Draco slowly dragged his eyes from Harry’s dripping torso and up his neck to his eyes, once again blazing with intensity. Draco’s own breath stuttered as a sort of current ran between them, communicating their want as if on a wire.
They both pressed forward, open lips meeting in the middle with some sort of noise from both of them, their mouths sliding together and apart with the slip of water, tongues entangling without any sort of grace, breathless and sore lungs aching for breath and heart aching for more.
Draco pulled back first, his head thudding against the back building with a groan.
Harry went immediately to his neck, licking unsteady patterns on the wet skin, making Draco damn near keel over.
“We’re drunk,” Draco gasped, contradicting himself by pressing into Harry’s touch.
Harry brought his head up at this to look Draco in the eye, placing a gentle hand on his cheek.
“Do you want to stop?” he asked softly.
Draco shook his head immediately. “I just thought–you’re drunk, still, so if you…”
“Draco,” Harry interrupted seriously, “if I’m sober enough to Apparate home, I’m sober enough to kiss you.”
The thrill of the statement was replaced fairly quickly with a truly sobering realization, one that made him sigh in exasperation and close his eyes.
“What?” Harry asked, hand dropping from Draco’s face.
“Repelling Charm,” Draco replied, shaking his head. “We could have used a water repelling charm.”
THIS WAS FUN.
Juvia hummed, her feet swinging gently as they dangled from the bar stool. Her chin rested in her hand, a happy little smile on her features as she stared into empty space.
“What’s gotten you in such a good mood?” Lucy asked, sliding into the seat next to her.
Juvia smiled brightly. “Lucy! Juvia is happy because tonight Gray-sama asked her to meet him!”
Lucy smiled brightly. “Another date? Goodness you two are practically inseparable now.”
Juvia sighed and held a hand gently over her heart. “Juvia is so happy…Gray-sama is finally sharing his feelings with Juvia.”
Lucy gave her a quick hug. “Well I’m very happy for both of you, you deserve happiness, and I’m glad you found it with each other.”
Juvia beamed. “Thank you! What about Lucy and Natsu? Juvia hears they might be dating now?”
Lucy’s cheeks tinged pink. “Wh-what? Have you been talking to Mira?”
Juvia giggled. “Maybe…Juvia knows you’ll both figure it out soon, then you can be happy like Juvia and Gray-sama!”
Lucy smiled slightly. “I hope so…speaking of that hot-head, I’m supposed to meet him for a job. I’ll see you later, Juvia! Have fun tonight!”
Juvia waved as the blonde ran out the door. “Bye!”
* * *
Gray cursed as he stood in his doorway, glaring at the overcast sky that rumbled with the promise of rain.
He’d had the evening planned out perfectly. They would eat dinner up on the hill on a blanket and watch the sunset, then they would have the perfect vantage point to watch the meteor shower that was predicted for tonight.
He knew Juvia loved to look at the stars, she said she really didn’t get to see them at all because of the rain, so stargazing was one of her favorite things to do now. He’d caught her one evening up on the guildhall roof, eyes shining as she stared up at the sky, a blissful and content smile on her face.
He’d been entranced with the way she looked at the stars, he loved the way her eyes sparkled and reflected the starlight, how her brows would furrow ever so slightly as she tilted her head and peered up at the sky.
So he’d heard about the meteor shower and thought it was the perfect opportunity for a picnic date.
But now it was all ruined.
Because of the rain.
“Damn it!” He hissed, slamming his fist against the doorframe. He’d wanted to keep her from the rain, it brought back bad memories for her, made her melancholy as she remembered all the sadness that used to come with the rain.
Letting out a sigh, he pulled out his phone and called her.
“Ah! Gray-sama! Juvia is so excited for tonight!” Her cheerful voice chirped, causing his chest to constrict.
“E-even with the rain?”
Her laugh did funny things to his stomach.
“Of course! As long as Juvia is with Gray-sama she doesn’t care what the weather is like! Did Gray-sama want anything in particular from Juvia?”
He thought for a moment, then shook his head and said. “Uh…no, just wanted to let you know I’ll pick you up around six-thirty.”
“Alright! Juvia will be waiting!”
Gray hung up and stared resolutely out at the stormy sky as the first drops began to fall. He wouldn’t let his evening with Juvia be ruined…he’d just have to get a little creative.
* * *
“Gray-sama! Juvia is going to trip!” She giggled, her hands gripping his forearms for support as he held his hands over her eyes and guided her up the hillside.
“Just…trust me, okay? I won’t let you fall.”
She smiled. “Juvia trusts Gray-sama.” Her magic was currently keeping the pouring rain from soaking them through.
“Okay, hang on, don’t open your eyes yet.” He said, slowly removing his hands from her face and making sure everything was in place before he turned to her and said. “Alright…you can look now.”
She opened her eyes, her hands flying to her mouth with a small gasp as she looked around, eyes wide. “Gray-sama…”
He shrugged. “I wanted to eat under the stars…but since it’s raining I had to improvise.”
They were standing under a fairly large canopy, the entire underside of which was decked with strings of twinkling lights, the strings dangling down slightly like a curtain around the canopy.
The rain falling outside the canopy caught the light in their drops, causing every raindrop to glitter like falling stars.
“I hope it’s okay? Sorry I couldn’t do more…I can’t control the weather so I-” He was cut off with a grunt as Juvia crashed into him, arms wrapping around his torso tightly.
“G-Gray-sama gave Juvia the stars…he made the rain beautiful for Juvia…” She said, tears dripping down onto her cheeks.
“So…you like it?”
Juvia sniffed and tilted her head back so she could see his face, smiling brightly. “Juvia loves it…just like Gray-sama.”
He smiled slightly and brushed the tears off her cheeks. “I’d give you all the stars in the sky just to see them shine in your eyes.”
A blush tinged her cheeks. “G-Gray-sama…when did you become so romantic?”
His own cheeks turned a little pink as he glanced away and muttered. “W-what? I was just…uh…”
Juvia laughed and planted a light kiss against his cheek. “Juvia understands. Does Gray-sama want to eat now?”
SITTIN’ ON THE DOCK OF THE BAY WATCHIN’ THE TIDE ROLL AWAY
The twisting roads in Green Acres are littered with fallen leaves, the ocean’s breeze has a new chill to it. In the suburbs, houses are decorated with pumpkins and corn stalks, and downtown, you’d be hard pressed to find someone walking without a pumpkin spiced something or other in their hands. Everyone in town is bunkering in to work on projects, dressing warmly in thick sweaters, new boots, and enjoying the company of one another under a red, yellow and orange canopy. Fall has arrived in Bayview. How about you join us next?
Bayview is a celebrity roleplay in its third year and we’re looking for anyone and everyone who enjoys having fun and being a part of a growing, friendly, tight-knit group. It takes place in what used to be a small fishing community on the east coast that has grown into a bustling city with a downtown area, countryside to explore, a beautiful bayside beach, suburbs to raise a family and so much more. Be wary of the rumor mill, but never let it stop you from living out your dreams in Bayview - your very own Hollywood 2.0.
If you're still taking prompts, I'd love something where Clarke and Bellamy both have nightmares and end up comforting each other in some way under the stars. You can do whatever you want with it. Thanks!
Here we go! I loved writing this one omg. It switches POVs a lot, but I think you’ll catch my drift. Hope you like it and if you guys have any RESPECTFUL AND/OR CONSTRUCTIVE criticism, by all means drop me an ask. Thanks for reading :)
WORD COUNT: 1126 words
Bellamy’s grip on his rifle was so tight, his knuckles were white as pure light. His steps were cautious, calculated as he made his way through the jet black. I his other hand, his torch was fading away slowly as time went out under the faint drizzle falling from the canopy above. Bellamy heard creaks from somewhere off a few feet away, but inspection only deserved a glance in that direction.
Bellamy knew what he was looking for. But at the same time, he didn’t. He wandered the forest aimlessly until he saw the faint glow of light in the distance. He trudged through the now muddy ground until he reached a small alcove. Torches were placed ritualistically on and around the rock wall. His attention was brought to the middle.
He dropped his torch. It fizzled out in the puddle of dirt and water at his feet. Octavia hung by her neck from the roof of the alcove.
Only one thought filled his mind as he sank to his knees.
Clarke was back at the cliff. But this time she was almost alone. Charlotte was falling. She disappeared into the most after a couple seconds. Clarke had to cover her mouth to choke back a sob. She sobbed because she was relieved. And she knew that that’s the worst feeling to have after a death.
Relief. Happiness. They fell hand in hand. Guilt. Fell.
Just as tears formed in her eyes, she saw something crawling out of the abyss.
It was Charlotte.
She screamed. But no one heard. The undead Charlotte kept crawling up, faster and faster. Clarke walked back quickly. As Charlotte crept faster, the more distance Clarke but between her and the thing. She turned and ran. Then she felt something latch into her back. She felt a jarring pain near her jugular and she collapsed to the ground. Wells emerged from the forest, only to be attacked by Charlotte. Stabbed in the neck. Again, and again, and again, until her eyes fluttered shut, her last of her strength seeping out of her wound.
His chest was soaked with sweat as he woke up. He blinked a couple times. Back in his tent. It was just a dream. Just another dream.
Clarke bolted upright, her hands flying to her neck. She heard a scream, and it took her a couple seconds to realize it was coming out of her own mouth. She forced herself to stop immediately so that she wouldn’t wake the others. Monty stirred a dozen feet away in his sleep. She climbed out of bed and walked out of the drop ship silently, pushing through the makeshift tarp doors.
Bellamy lay wide-eyed, unable to unsee Octavia’s dead body hanging like a sacrifice. Then he heard a scream. Clarke’s scream. He threw off the covers, slipped on a shirt, and grabbed his rifle on the way out of the tent.
“Clarke?” He half-whispered her name. “Clarke?” She was walking calmly around their eternal campfire.
“Hey, Clarke, you okay?” She ran a hand through her hair.
“Uh, yeah. Why?” She played with the hem of her shirt as she looked at him.
“You were yelling at the top of your lungs a couple minutes ago."
"Bad dream.” At those words, a flash of the sacrificial Octavia crossed his mind quickly. “It’s nothing really.” She said, and continued to walk past him.
“Me too.” He said, much to his own surprise.
"I said me too. You’re not the only one with goddamn awful dreams around here, Griffin.” He swung his rifle over his shoulder and Clarke turned back around to face him.
“I never said I was.” Bellamy could tell that Clarke was studying him by the way her eyes were in that intense state of focus they went into when she was thinking.
“Octavia?” She asked.
“How’d you know?” He asked, taking a seat on one of the logs around the fire. He dropped his rifle half-heartedly in front of him. Clarke took a seat a foot away from him and poked at the fire with a stick she found on the ground.
“She’s the only one you care about around here.” Not the only one. He shook away that thought. She moved a couple logs around with her stick. They stayed silent for a few minutes and Bellamy looked up at the stars. His mom had taught him a couple of their names. It was easy to spot them when you lived in space for twenty years.
“Do you think there’s any chance of Charlotte coming back?” Clarke’s voice broke Bellamy out of his trance. He gave her a sideways glance.
“We have no idea what’s down there. For all we know she may still be alive.” She brought her knees up to her chest.
“We heard her fall. There’s no way in hell she survived that."
"Are we in hell? Because it sure seems like it."
"Most definitely not."
"How would you know?” Clarke’s face was lit up by the red light from the burning fire. “Wells is gone.” She had a little trouble saying those three words. “Charlotte’s gone. So is Roma. So is Atom. So is-"
"Your dream was about Wells, wasn’t it?"
Clarke’s eyes met his for a moment, then she looked away. She nodded and stared straight into the fire.
"He loved me. He lied to protect my relationship with my mom. And I hated him for what he’d done. I find out, and bam. He’s dead.” She said quietly.
“It’s not your fault, Clarke. It never was. He died knowing you knew the truth, and that’s what counts.” He said, watching her. Minutes later, he pointed up at the sky.
“You see that cluster of stars out there.” Clarke looked up to where he was pointing at. “That constellation’s Ophiuchus. It’s supposed to be Apollo and the Oracle of Delphi’s snake fighting. Or it’s some healer guy trying to get medicine from a snake or something… I don’t know.” He said with a shrug. “This just stuff my mom taught me.” Clarke smiled.
“What was she like?”
“My mom? She was a little strict, but she was only trying to keep me and Octavia safe. She had the sweetest smile, and she loved reading."
"She sounds a bit like you." He looked over at her and she was already looking at him.
"Yeah, I guess she does.” Clarke looked back up at the sky.
“So if that’s Ophiuchus,” she said, pointing at the constellation, “which one’s that one?” Bellamy followed her finger.
“Oh that’s Hercules, and there’s Scorpius.” He said, taking her hand in his and moving to where the scorpion-like constellation was situated in the sky. "And that’s Sagittarius over there…”
assassinregrets(.)tumblr(.)com/post/101775791372/nubbsgalore-during-the-autumn-rutting-season I just love the idea of Derek Hale wandering off in the woods to put an elaborate head piece on as part of his work out routine to build up MATING MUSCLE. Imagine Stile's glee when he comes across Derek doing pull ups on a tree branch with what looks like the worlds most glorious Etsy approved elf crown on his head.
I’ve been laughing about this since you sent it to me and it’s such a important message.
Yes, I am on board this train. 1000% on board this train where Derek Hale wakes up one morning, when the air feels crisp and the leaves are beginning to fall, and he doesn’t know why but he’s drawn like a magnet out to the woods. Deeply into Derek Hale feeling good out there, feeling strong, running barefoot for miles, reaching out for high branches so he can pull himself up towards the sky, flexing his muscles in the dappled sunlight.
DEFINITELY INTO Derek communing with nature and his body so strongly that when the gold and orange leaves fall on them, he doesn’t even notice, just lets them cover him as he does situps among the roots and the moss.
“You look like a damn wood nymph,” Stiles says, when he comes across Derek, "What are you doing?“
"It’s rutting season,” Derek says, blinking at him, like it’s a reasonable answer. Another leaf falls from the canopy of trees, landing gracefully on Derek’s shoulder, like a knight anointed.