#canon mcd

[tizniz]

won't say it (don't make me say it) (1.3K)

There’s absolute silence for a few seconds, and then there’s this broken and wounded sound. Eddie bolts up in bed, heart racing in his chest, “Buck?” “H-he’s…he’s…” Buck chokes out another sob. He sounds like…well, like he’s dying.

OR: Eddie finds out.

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tags: @actualalligator, @dangerpronebuddie, @theplaceyoustillrememberdreaming, @cal-daisies-and-briars, @diazheartsbuckley, @circledwithaheart, @spotsandsocks, @elvensorceress, @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove, @daffi-990, @epicbuddieficrecs, @wildlife4life, @devirnis, @bigfootsmom, @eddiecompetitiondiaz, @jesuisici33, @theotherbuckley, @thekristen999, @playinginthunderstorms, @wanderingxrivers, @twixtb, @mosaicstardust, @darkrose6578, @becausebuckley, @inell, @slowlyfoggydestiny, @buddstiel, @batpupboy, @skyeryder01, @happyhauntt, @jadedkrystal, @lady-kima-of-vord, @scuderiadebauchery 🩵

[janetm74fics]

Could you do prompt 2 with John?

Decisions

It’s just past midnight so I can post this before going to bed!

@febuwhump day 2: Holding Back the Tears

Warning: Potential MCD, CPR

~

She was standing at the window, looking out over the back yard where he assumed Gordon and Alan were splashing in the pool while Scott supervised and Virgil pretended to be meditating on what he would paint next but was fooling no one with his snores…

John couldn’t see her face but he knew his Mom would be smiling while the bowl on her hip was furiously whisked. He leaned against the door frame and continued watching.

The light was on the side of her hair so that one side looked almost fiery red with golden highlights while the other stayed a little duller, the loose curls bobbing in time to the beating whisk.

Mom was dressed as always – a simple combination of slacks and blouse with a bright emerald scarf tied around her head to keep her hair out of her eyes. Upon her feet were the mismatched house socks she favoured – never the same together in a way that used to make John’s OCD itch but now made him smile sadly.

Something outside made her laugh and she turned as she put the bowl down, catching sight of him and grinning at him.

‘John! You’ve joined us!’ ‘Mom.’ ‘Come! Come over, let’s go see your Grandpa and Nanna England.’

But John didn’t move. He fought his emotions, holding back the tears that threatened to spill over at any second.

‘John?’ ‘I can’t, Mamma.’

Mamma. That was Scott’s name for their Mom. John had grown out of that name when he was three years old. But today it felt right.

‘John?’ ‘I – I can’t Mamma.’ ‘Why ever not?’ ‘Because you’re dead.’

Lucy didn’t pause but she did frown. It didn’t stay there long as she held her hand out for John to take.

‘Don’t be silly, John. Let’s go.’

Her words were light but the tone of voice had shifted a little, and before John was aware of it he’d stepped forward, taken her hand and they were…

…they were on Grandpa’s farm.

Blinking, John looked around for his brothers, but there was no sign of anyone. The air smelt as it always had when the wheat was ripe and the sun was shining, and once more John found he was holding back tears.

There was a groan of metal hinges. He looked over to see the barn door open and Grandpa Grant came out, leading John’s and Scott’s horses behind him. John had taken a step forward when he realised that his Mom wasn’t holding his hand any longer. He turned to see her walking away but she didn’t answer him, she just opened the back door and disappeared indoors.

‘Mom?’ ‘Your Mom’s a little busy right now, Johnny.’ ‘Grandpa? What’s going on?’ ‘You don’t remember what happened?’ ‘What happened?’

John frowned. Grandpa stopped just in front of him and held out Antares’ reins to him, and John took them. Grandpa had an apple in his other hand, and John absently took it and held it out to Antares who happily munched it.

‘Wait – why is Scott’s horse here? Grandpa? Why is Scott…Mom? Mom!’

John dropped Antares’ reins and turned to run back into the house but the door opened and his Mom stepped out before he’d got very far.

She wasn’t alone. Scott was with her, blinking in the sunlight.

‘Ah, there you are Scott.’ ‘Grandpa?’ ‘I got Blackbird ready for you, Scotty. Johnny – you dropped your reins.’ ‘Grandpa, what’s going on?’ ‘You and Scott have some decisions to make.’ ‘We do?’ You do. Your Mom and me will be here no matter what you decide.’ ‘Decide?’

But the scene had changed already.

Grandpa and Mom, the farm…everything had gone. Just Scott and himself on their old horses, walking along one of the desert trails at Gran Roca.

Scott had yet to say anything to him, but he kept looking around as if he was puzzled as to where they were. Occasionally he stole glances at John, and John pretended not to notice. But as they continued walking John began putting the pieces together of what had happened…

Suddenly Scott pulled on his reins and brought Blackbird to a stop. He looked at John fully for the first time since he’d appeared.

‘I – I think I’m gonna go back.’ ‘Scott – no, I don’t think that’s a good idea.’ ‘I’m tired, John. And I wanna go home.’ ‘Please, Scott. Please, stay with me!’ ‘I – I don’t think I can. I’m sorry, John.’

And without waiting Scott wheeled Blackbird around and set off back the way they had come. John didn’t hesitate to send Antares after him.

‘John!’

Gordon’s voice came out of nowhere and with it a sudden piercing pain in his chest.

‘John! Please, don’t leave me! Don’t leave us.’

The world whited out with the pain and John screamed. When he opened his eyes the desert had gone. Antares had gone.

He was on the ground, Gordon leaning over him with fear warring relief on his face.

‘You back with us, bro?’ ‘Scott!’

Gordon’s face fell and he glanced to John’s right. John turned his head and this time he didn’t bother to hold back the tears.

Virgil and Alan were working hard on Scott. But their brother wasn’t responding to the CPR.

Only John knew why.

[phoebe-delia]

The Last Will and Testament of Harry James Potter

Written/set the day before the end of the war. @lyssarose, Lyssa, I dedicate and write this for you. Thank you for all you've done lately to encourage me and just generally be an amazing friend. Here's some angst <3

I don't have much time. But I'm not sure if I'll have a chance to do this when most people do. I also have no idea if I'm doing this right. My only experience with this was with Dumbledore, and to be honest I didn't pay much attention to the wording.

But either way, if you're reading this, please make sure it gets to the right people.

The Last Will and Testament of Harry James Potter.

To Molly and Arthur Weasley, I leave all of the contents of the Potter vaults. Thank you for accepting me into your family and being the guardians I never had.

To George Weasley, I leave the Cloak of Invisibility. I know you'll put it to good use. Thank you for the map; I hope this is enough to return the favor.

To Neville Longbottom, I leave the Sword of Gryffindor. You're one of the bravest, most Gryffindor people I know. This should belong to you.

To Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley, I leave 12 Grimmauld Place. Yes, this is for the both of you; to share, even if you're both too shy to admit you're in love with each other. Maybe this will help you both get your heads out of your arses.

(Is that bad, to curse in my will? Whatever, I don't have time and I don't really care. Sorry 'Mione.)

Thank you both for being the best friends I could've asked for. I hope you have the happiness and life you deserve.

Finally, to Draco Malfoy, I leave your wand (thanks for that by the way), and this snitch. It's not too late.

I have signed this 1 May 1998.

Harry J. Potter

[prettyboy-like-you]

A REAL HUMAN BEING

canon mcd, billy hargrove poetry, steve harrington POV.

. 

It was winding, 

his death,

as the path

and the murderer

itself.

Shadowy

arms or legs 

(or arms and legs)

they drew him, 

puppetry, 

a boy-toy on strings, 

and led him

to only pain

and purgatory—

so it thought. 

Only that many legged

mind-creature

could not have

anticipated

how, in the end, 

the kid walked

a different path, 

a noble path.

Redeeming. 

Because

in the end, 

that kid, he

was a saviour;

a brutally 

autonomous 

selfless warrior;

a goddamn hero;

a real human being.

.

written to accompany THIS PIECE OF ART

[wangzapper]

🌙 with hux :)

I’m sorry I shouldn’t be allowed tablet access when I’m sad

[autumnsnuggling]

Drarry Kiss Prompt : 37. It’s-the-end-of-the-world kiss

Hey Nonnie!

Thanks so much for this. Honestly, this is the first thing I’ve written in I don’t know how long and it felt amazing to just sit and write this, so thank you! I hope you like what I did with the prompt, I added in number 11, the ‘I almost lost you’ kiss because it fit with my idea! 

TW: Nightmares, canon MCD (kinda, it’s Harry), panic and shock associated with that, and crying. Hope you enjoy! It’s definitely angsty!

Gasp.

That’s all he can do. 

As the world fades of colour. As the icy chill floods his body. As the maniacal laugh grows louder.

Gasp. 

Each heartbeat pounds, yet his chest stutters. His eyes dart around, yet time seems to slow. He keeps talking, keeps sneering, keeps professing his victory, yet the words are lost, drowned by the ringing in his ears. 

He fights to swallow, mouth parched as he stares at the limp body, as his stomach roils at the evil, smug grin, as he watches the last flicker of hope die as he merely stands by, useless, horrified, and mute. Until suddenly, one word breaks through the haze.

No.

It’s barely a thought before the choked whisper escapes him, drowning immediately in the sea of cruel cackles that echo off the stone walls. But he hardly has time to draw in another breath before he’s screaming.

Hands claw at him as he lunges forward, as his throat’s torn to shreds, as the bastard laughs. But still he fights as his soul shatters. And as his howls ricochet, slowly, a light blooms before him. 

It tugs at the corners of his vision, wrestles with the darkness, and somehow, battles it into submission. But still, terror claims him. So still, he wails, even as sobs begin to choke him.

“Draco, Draco shh.. Shh, it’s only a dream,” a voice murmurs as the grip of harsh talons slowly shifts, slowly morphs into gentle hands. “It’s okay, gorgeous, I promise.”

But it’s not. Nothing’s okay. He’s dead—Harry Potter is dead—and though he can no longer scream through the tears, whimpers, unstoppable and barely coherent babble forth.

“I’m right here, gorgeous,” the voice croons as fingers tenderly caress his cheeks, wipe them dry. “It was just a dream. Open your eyes, Draco, look at me, I’m here, I promise.”

‘It’s a lie,’ his mind whispers, forcing his eyes to remain shut, even as the warmth of the hand sends soft ripples of reassurance through him. But as quiet hums and murmurations continue, urging him gently, he can’t help but squint through the tears. 

Like a mirage—a gorgeous, heart-quickening, breath-taking mirage—dark skin, emerald eyes, and a disastrous mop of untamable hair appear before him. As Draco drinks him in, checking for his scar, the mole just before his right ear, the dimple in his chin, he—Harry Potter—breathes a soft ‘hey’. And immediately, Draco’s breath stutters again. 

Desperately, Draco lunges, scrabbling for purchase on Harry’s shoulders, his chest, his hair as his mouth seeks Harry’s, demanding proof. And somehow, with a heavenly ‘umph’, glorious lips meet his. 

Instantly, the band around his chest loosens. Instantly, warmth floods his veins. Instantly, he sags into Harry’s chest, sighing into his mouth as he drowns in the taste, the tenderness, the firm, reassuring sucks on his lower lip. And still, he demands more. He nips on Harry’s lips, mouths at him hungrily, explores deeper with his tongue, and all the while he shivers, revelling in the fingers tangling themselves in his hair. 

“I almost—almost lost you,” he pants between sucks, between whines, between reckless, feral licks into Harry’s mouth. “It was like—like the end of the world.”

“You’ll never lose me, Draco,” Harry says back, quiet but firm, claiming his mouth in a long, unhurried, kiss. The reverent caresses of his tongue against his, the loving, lingering tugs on his lips, the soft stutters of Harry’s breath send quivers down his spine; send his eyes fluttering closed. 

With each caress, each tender brush of his lips, warmth pools in Draco’s chest, steadily drowning the scrabbling need, until finally, after a few more needy, urgent kisses, he can breathe. Can let out a sigh. Can let his forehead rest against Harry’s and savour the gentle heat of his breath against his skin. As Harry cradles his close and brushes the backs of his fingers across his cheeks, he shudders, burrowing further into his chest.

“I love you, gorgeous,” Harry murmurs, squeezing softly as Draco drowns in his smell, in the softness of his skin, in the undeniable, glorious proof that he’s alive. “And I promise, I’ll always be here when you wake up, okay?”

With a determined swallow, Draco nods, whispering a shaky ‘I love you too’, and after a gentle squeeze, Harry carefully manoeuvers until Draco can curl onto his chest to listen for the steady boom-boom, boom-boom, boom-boom of his heart. Only then, with the reassuring rhythm in his ear, fingers running through his hair, and tender kisses being pressed to anywhere within reach, did Draco allow sleep to claim him once more.