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#tw suicide
He was just going to try it out. See what happened. "It's going to be fine. It's going to be fine." He didn't care. He didn't care. That's what he told himself as he put on his eye-shadow and gave a shaky smile to himself in the mirror. He looked good. He looked like death. He- He looked like Gerard Way.
God, why was this stressing him out so much? Was- was he doing all this for attention?
Yes. He wanted to be noticed. To be proven wrong. This whole experiment was a failure! Just you wait and see! He'd be laughing on his way home today and forget the whole thing!
So what was this grand experiment?
"RULE #1 No talking. RULE #2 Keep your head down. Rule #3 Don't go to lunch. #4 Don't show up to clubs." He was part of a few clubs. Informal groups really aside from the debate team. But he dropped by the debate team, the foreign language kids, and the book and chess clubs. Hell, when the nerds could get their shit together long enough to meet, he'd hang out with the math whizzes.
But not today. Today, he was going to fade into the background and . . . see who noticed.
A day went by.
Alex walked home and slammed the door as hard as he could, the sound reverberating through an empty house. He was being stupid. He was being stupid. Tomorrow. Tomorrow.
Tomorrow passed.
And the next day.
And the next day. .
Another. . .
How long did he have to keep doing this?
No one was forcing him.
He was getting sad.
He wanted to fucking die.
He really wanted to fucking die.
Someone noticed him!
"Do you go to school here?" "Yes ma'am." A disrespectful hum as a hand reached out. "I need to see some ID." His heart sank throughout the day as the lady led him through the building. The fact that yes, he did go to school here was resolved within seconds, and it wasn't like it mattered anyway because no one fucking noticed! But he noticed. He knew. He was embarrassed and angry.
Alex jolted back to reality. "What?" Crap. That turned out meaner than he wanted. Could Rhydian forgive him? The boy furrowed his brows as Rhy voiced that he was just worried about him because he'd been quiet for awhile. "Oh. No, I'm fine." It hadn't been that long really. Not by his standards.
He took a deep breath, clenching his fist and picking as his nails before saying, "Thank you." Was this what it was like? To just be noticed without doing anything?
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dabistiktokdance · 2 hours ago
The lov with a u.a student reader with a suicide quirk (if you look into their eyes it makes you want to kill yourself) and the reader doesn’t really want to be a pro hero or a villain but is Forced to be a pro hero
hi there!
TW: talks of suicide, attempted suicide
Thanks so much for your ask!
I’m not sure if this is a request for a fic or headcanons or if you’re just telling me an idea. Whatever the case I don’t think this is something I can write or would feel comfortable writing (if that’s what you were asking me).
I’ve mentioned attempted suicide in one fic but it turned out to be a misunderstanding, I don’t think it’s something I really have an interest writing about in such a finite and serious way if that makes sense? It was talked about seriously in that fic but as I mentioned it turned out to be a misunderstanding.
I’m sorry if I’m reading into this too much and making it more serious than it needs to be! That’s just how I feel about the subject currently so I don’t really want to write about this.
However, anon, if the reason this request // explanation is coming from you as a way to how you’re feeling, I hope you feel better soon and know that you are loved and my ask box will always be open if you want to talk 🖤
Have a lovely day anon! Thanks so much for contacting me 🖤
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nonstoptrashpanda · 3 hours ago
You Locked Yourself in the Bathroom
fandom: walker
series: Hold On, I Still Need You
part: 1/4
tw: suicide attempt, ptsd, panic attacks, mildly graffic war flashbacks
set: pre-season 1 - one month after cordell’s exit from the marine corps
category: gen
word count: 8,430
the joy and the chaos // the demons we're made of // I'd be so lost if you left me alone // you locked yourself in the bathroom // lying on the floor when I break through // I pull you in and feel your heartbeat // can you hear me screaming please don't leave me
Cordell made it out of Iraq, but he can't get Iraq out of his head. He'd rather bite the bullet himself than let the person he loves most get caught in the crossfire.
notes: I had the idea for this series at the beginning of the last hiatus, but it took me a hot minute to actually get this first part done. A million thanks to @trekkiehood for all of her help. From spending an hour in the middle of the night helping me figure out a timeline, to requesting what ended up being one of my favorite scenes, to reading and giving me feedback as I went, she’s definitely the only reason this is being published when and as it is.
“Cordell has never been like this. Why… why all of a sudden?”
“Abby, he did two tours in three years. Just because he doesn’t talk about it doesn’t mean it didn’t happen.”
“But what happened? What isn’t he telling us? Hoyt?”
A hesitation, then a sigh. “Even if I felt right about tellin’ ya, I wouldn’t know where to start.”
The conversation continued, but Cordell pressed his eyes closed and desperately tried to drown it out.
The events of the past several hours were already making a terrible loop inside his head. His family’s two cents on it really wasn’t helping.
“What happened over there, happened over there,” Hoyt was saying now. “It’s what happened today that we need to focus on. Emma Grace, ya think you can fill us in a little?”
He didn’t have to see to know Hoyt was rubbing Emily’s shoulders in an attempt to comfort her.
The reminder of the devastated state she was currently in made Cordell sick to his stomach.
Emily’s sigh was tremblingly amused. “Hoyt, my name is not…”
“It is now, Darlin.”
She sighed again, but without the amusement. In his mind’s eye, Cordell could see her leaning on Hoyt’s shoulder, using all of her strength to piece together the nightmare that had been that night.
“Something was wrong when he got home from turning in his police application, but he wouldn’t tell me what.”
“You okay, Babe?”
Cordell looked up from his plate, forcing himself to meet the concerned eyes of his bride and fabricating a smile.
“I’m fine, Hon. Great, actually. How could I not be with a vision like you in front of me?”
She smiled softly at the compliment, but didn’t allow it to distract her. “You’ve barely touched your food.”
He looked back down, eyes finding a chicken and potato meal with maybe five bites missing. “Have I? Just got lost in thought, I guess.”
“ Cordell ,” she sighed. “Babe. Level with me. Something’s on your mind, and I wanna know.”
“It’s just the application.” Maybe if he gave her some kind of an answer, she’d be satisfied. “I really wanna get this right.”
Upon getting out of the Marines, he’d been on paid leave for a month and a half. He’d used the time to first finally marry Emily, and then to attempt to get used to civilian and married life at the same time.
But as that period drew to a close, he’d finally pursued the job he’d had his heart set on ever since he decided not to reenlist.
And in reality, he wasn’t really lying when he said that was what was bothering him.
“So, what did you find out?” she pressed.
He forced a bite down his throat before answering. “Just about what I expected. I got the initial app filled out and turned in. If they like what they see, they’ll run a background check, bring me in for physical and psych exams and then hopefully, I’ll go to academy.”
And it was almost what he’d expected. He’d been eager and prepared for every part except the psych evaluation.
He didn’t know why he hadn’t seen it coming. It made sense. He’d had to undergo one upon enlisting and had passed with no problems. But the emphasis there was that it had been before he enlisted. He’d gotten so caught up in getting out and the wedding and moving and the fact that his military background made him a perfect police candidate that he’d forgotten to consider the possibility of being subjected to another… and the reality that his mind had been forever changed by his time overseas.
Emily wasn’t allowing herself to be put off by surface-level answers. “So what’s the catch?” she asked. “What has you all in your head?”
When he’d turned in his application, he’d been given a list of what the next steps would be, and the reality of the psych evaluation had hit him like a ton of bricks. The rest of his afternoon had been spent researching the specifics of it. Three dozen horror stories from other veterans later, he’d had good reason to truly freak out.
“Nothing!” he insisted. “Seriously, Em, I’m fine.”
“Staring into oblivion, picking at your food, dodging all my questions,” she countered, “It’s all a very convincing picture of alright.”
He speared a bite of chicken and shoved it into his mouth, saying through it, “Look, I’m eating! Alright? Better?”
She was frowning, her brown eyes sad and concerned. “Is this about the nightmares you’ve been having?”
He looked away for a moment before forcing his gaze back to hers. He could feel his face twitch a little. “What nightmares? I haven’t been having nightmares.”
Emily exhaled heavily. “Cordell, we sleep in the same bed now, remember? I’m there, I know.”
“I must just be a restless sleeper,” he replied, shrugging a little. “Because I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“A restless sleeper?” she repeated, a little incredulously. “You’re just a restless sleeper when you fly upright at three am sweating and hyperventilating, and then you run to the bathroom and I hear the water run, and then you come back a few minutes later and I pretend like I’m asleep because you always seem so guilty and worried and I don’t want you to feel bad for waking me up?”
And he’d actually thought he was getting away with it.
He furrowed his brow and tilted his head a little, once again feeling the muscles in his face twitching. “Babe, the only thing I do at three o’clock in the morning is get up and pee.”
At the root of her emotion, his wife was still very clearly worried. But Emily Walker did not like being lied to, and that was all he’d been doing for their entire conversation.
“I pushed, and I pushed,” Emily recounted with that heartbreaking tremble in her voice, “but he just… kept brushing it off. I asked about his nightmares, I even mentioned Iraq by name.”
“Cordell, I’m not stupid,” she told him plainly. “And I just want to help. I can’t imagine what you must have gone through over in Iraq. I know that. But I’ll never understand if you refuse to talk to me about it.”
“That’s when he completely shut down the conversation and said we needed to go out.”
They were suddenly in very, very dangerous territory, and he was quickly running out of the words and energy it took to lie to the person he loved most in the world.
“Babe, for the last time,” he groaned. “I am fine. I’m better than fine!” He got to his feet and walked around the table to hold out his hand to her. “Let’s go out. We have to prove to Hoyt and Geri that getting married doesn’t make you forget how to have fun.”
“Cordell -” she started to argue, but he cut her off, grabbing her hand and pulling her to her feet.
“Hey, you said you wanted to help, right? Well, an evening at the Side Step with you is all the help I need.”
For a while, he’d believed his own words. Convinced himself that he just needed to relax, wait it out, push on through, and everything would be just fine. The PD hired veterans all the time. He couldn’t be the only one with a mind like he had. Every other thing he’d carried with him out of the military would put him at the top of the recruit list. Things would blow over and everything would be fine.
“So, we did go out.” She was no doubt looking up at Hoyt for his confirmation of the fact.
He did just that. “Something was wrong for sure. Another group made a little too much noise a little too suddenly and we both ended up hiding behind our chairs. Then he kinda… fell apart. But he said he didn’t wanna talk about it.”
There was a relatively rowdy party taking up one corner of the Side Step. They weren’t causing any trouble… just getting increasingly loud and rambunctious as they continued to call more drinks to their table.
Cordell was nursing a beer at the bar beside Hoyt while Emily was on the other side with Geri and the bar’s owner, undeniably fond of both her top bartender and her best friend, as they taught Emily the ropes of mixology.
They weren’t really talking. They didn’t have to. Sometimes, Cordell just needed to sit beside his best friend and know they’d just gotten back from the exact same hell.
The sudden clash of glass and plastic and wood in the corner of the room had them both on their feet in an instant, turning towards the sound at the same time they backed away from it. Knees bent under them out of instinct and made their bar stools barriers between them and what their minds were in the moment convinced was imminent danger.
A second passed, and reality seeped back over memory. Their eyes found that corner party. An arm wrestling match was going on between two members. The noise had been them shoving all of their bottles and glasses to the side of the table and against the wall to make room for the competition.
Two heavy, tired sighs passed two sets of lips, two heads dropped momentarily against the stools they were hiding behind.
But as his friend pulled himself upright and sat down once more with a certain exhausted resignation to the fact that these things just happened, Cordell felt a sudden rush of tears biting at his eyes.
He was never going to pass that test. They were going to label him every bit as crazy as he was and send him packing before he’d ever had a chance. He was useless. He hadn’t been able to handle the idea of reupping and facing another tour, but now that he was out, he couldn’t escape the two he’d already been on. He couldn’t move past it. He was a prisoner in his own mind, and it was destroying every hope he’d had for his coming life.
He felt a hand on his shoulder and realized he was still on the ground.
“Cordi, hey, hey, you’re okay,” Hoyt was down again too, pushing the bar stool aside so he could crouch in front of his friend. “We’re at the Side Step. Everything’s fine.”
Cordell shook his head a little, swiping angrily at the tears on his face. “No, I know. I know… I just.” He took a deep, shaky breath. “I just hate that I still do that.”
His best friend offered him a smile that was understanding, but more sad than happy, as he pulled him to his feet. “We haven’t been back that long. I’m sure it’ll get better.”
“I need it to be better now!” Cordell ran a hand down his face hard, inwardly cursing himself for the outburst. “I’m sorry. I just… I don’t know.”
“Hey, it’s okay. I get it, Cordi.” Hoyt looked at him for a long moment before compassion flooded his face. “Alright.”
He pulled him into a hug, and Cordell didn’t have it in him to do anything but return it and let his face drop onto the other man’s shoulder.
“Rough day?” Hoyt asked after a moment.
Cordell swallowed hard against a second rush of tears and nodded into his shoulder.
“You wanna talk about it?”
This time, he shook his head.
“You wanna take some shots?”
Cordell hesitated before nodding again. Anything that got him buzzed and out of the personal hell that was his mind.
“Alright.” Hoyt finally pulled back, though he kept both hands on Cordell’s shoulders. “Then let’s take some shots.”
“We didn’t get slammed or anything,” Emily continued. “I mean, I wasn’t even drunk. He was, but not bad. I drove us home and we were in bed by twelve-thirty.”
There was a long moment of silence.
“You’re doin’ great, Sweetheart.”
Hoyt would be rubbing Emily’s shoulder again, she’d be reaching up to squeeze his hand as a silent way of saying thank you.
“Sometime close to four in the morning,” she continued at last, “he woke up from a nightmare. He usually does. But this one was… different. Usually, it seems like he immediately knows where he is after he wakes up. Comes out of it to a point. But this time, he just sat there gasping. I… I was scared. It was so shallow. I thought he was going to stop breathing for real. So I put my hand on his arm to try to talk to him. Which… I know was stupid.”
His wife shouldn’t have to think like that. She shouldn’t have to consider whether it was a good idea to touch her husband in the middle of the night.
“He didn’t even hit me.”
She was beginning to cry again. He hated himself. Oh, how he hated himself.
“Just shoved me off in a panic. It didn’t hurt. It just surprised me. Scared me a little, I guess. I mean, Cordell… he’s never… so I… I think I gasped and flinched away. And then it’s like he woke up for real. And he… I’ve never seen him look so broken.”
One minute, he was watching his battle buddies die in front of him, trying to run to them, but his legs wouldn’t work. Trying to scream, but it was like there was cotton in his mouth and he couldn’t even breathe.
Then, someone was grabbing his arm. He was shoving them off, raising his gun.
And looking into the terrified eyes of his wife.
He opened his mouth, but no words came out. Her face seemed to flicker in the darkness, one minute an enemy with a grenade in hand and the next his bride again, shrinking away from him.
He blinked hard in an attempt to make it stop. An explosion flashed behind his lids.
“Cordell?” That was Emily’s voice, scared and worried at the same time.
He tried to speak, but all that came out was a slight, strangled croak. He sucked in a sharp breath. Why did the air seem so thin all of a sudden?
“Maybe he wasn’t really awake?” Emily sounded so helpless and confused. “He was looking right at me, but sometimes it was like I… like I wasn’t what he was looking at. He tried to talk, but he… he was barely breathing and he couldn’t. I shouldn’t have tried to touch him again, but he just… he looked so scared and I thought… but he pushed me away again. Then he looked so scared and sorry that he’d done it. I think he tried to apologize, but he still… he still couldn’t talk.”
“Cordell?” she repeated, reaching out and laying a hand on his shoulder.
He shoved her off again, harder than he meant to. She shuddered away, back pressed against the wall behind them, even more fear in her eyes.
I don’t want to hurt you , was what he willed off his tongue.
“I…” was all he could choke out before he ran out of oxygen.
“Then it’s like I wasn’t there again, but someone else was. And he panicked. Jerked back so hard he fell off the bed. He got tangled in the blankets, I think, and really just… he was thrashing and hyperventilating, and… I… He was just so terrified. I’ve never… I’ve never seen him so scared.”
She wasn’t supposed to have to see him scared. He was supposed to protect her. He was supposed to stay there next to her and be strong and be anything but a pathetic, quivering mess, bowed before things that lived only in his mind.
Her hand, retracted sharply when he’d pushed her away, was balled around her shirt sleeve, wrapped around her body.
A woman was running towards them with her head down and her arms wrapped around herself. Cordell started to retract his gun only to catch a glimpse of something on her back as someone behind him screamed, “Bomb!”
He reeled away from her so sharply that he fell off the side of the bed. His head slammed into the wall, his arm caught on the corner of the nightstand. The pain almost felt good.
But the blankets had come with him, and a second later he was kicking and gasping in sharp, ragged breaths, desperately trying to free himself from the linen tangled around him.
He didn’t know whose body had landed on top of him or what side they were on, but he knew instinctively that they were dead. Blind panic took over as he desperately tried to shove it off, a limp arm swinging down across his face, two lifeless legs bound by gravity to the ground on either side of him.
“After he got untangled, he just… bolted. I… I don’t know if he was running from me or something in his head.”
He was crazy. That sentence literally defined him as crazy.
He finally got the body off of him and ran, blind through the smoke and debris and sand, towards the sound of Hoyt screaming for him.
He found himself staring at his own haunted expression in the bathroom mirror. At least this was familiar. He stood here looking at his own blood-shot eyes at least once a night. He didn’t remember the last time he hadn’t.
He reached out to turn on the water, but his hand was shaking so much that it knocked into a little dish beside the sink, one Emily kept earring backs in. Ceramic plate loudly met ceramic sink and made him flinch before the little tray came to rest over the drain, the earring backs it had held collecting along its edge. As the water rushed out of the faucet, it began to fill the sink bowl, but Cordell didn’t think his hands had it in them to pick it up so it could drain.
He cupped them together to collect water to splash on his face, but they were shaking too much for that, too.
His fists clenched in frustration, his head dropped to his chest, and his eyes squeezed shut against a rush of tears.
A car alarm went off somewhere in the neighborhood. Fire and debri flashed behind his eyelids, and his upper body dropped in blind panic. His face met water before he realized he’d ducked straight into the fiilling sink.
Eyes flashed open and he froze for a moment of not knowing where he was. But then, he knew.
He was in his bathroom, in the apartment he shared with Emily, his wife. Iraq was an ocean away. He was never going back.
He came up gasping for air, but still grounded in the present. His hands weren’t shaking anymore as he turned the water off.
He stared at his reflection for a moment, trying to grasp the reality of the last few minutes.
Why was everything so blurry?
He remembered the shadows of dreams and the memories they’d been replaying in his head. He remembered shoving his wife away in accidental panic. Was that all he’d done? What if he’d hit her?
Even if he hadn’t. The way he’d shoved her was unforgivable enough.
And what if he had?
Only freaks had to wonder if they’d hit their wives.
She didn’t deserve this. She’d fallen in love with a care-free high school student, and he hadn’t been honest enough with her for her to know that she was marrying a psychotic, broken shell of a man who was never going to be good for anything again.
He knew that even if he knew where he was now, he still wasn’t thinking straight. But he also knew that he hated no one more than a man who couldn’t remember whether he’d hit his beloved Emily.
He couldn’t live with himself being that man.
“Gun,” he muttered, barely audible.
He could fix this. He could destroy the thing he hated most.
“Gun… where did I… gun.”
His own whisper was just another confirmation that he was crazy. Useless, broken, and crazy.
In a state of just-back-from-Iraq paranoia, he’d hidden them everywhere. Under the sink in the kitchen. Top of the closet in the laundry room. Nightstand drawer in the bedroom. And the back of the medicine cabinet in the bathroom.
He stumbled two steps to stand in front of it and yanked the door open. His height allowed him to easily reach behind the cold medicine and Ibuprofen and bandaids until his hand closed around the cool surface of the Ruger.
He pulled it out and hesitated, staring at the weapon, for only a moment. He couldn’t talk himself out of it. He had to do this. For Emily.
“I heard the water running. I always do when he leaves after a nightmare. He usually comes back a minute later and goes to sleep again. So I thought I’d give him a minute. But then… I…”
He heard her choke on tears.
He hated himself. He hated himself more than he’d ever hated anything.
“I just had this terrible feeling. So I went to check on him. And I… he… he had a gun… pressed to his forehead. His… his finger was on the trigger and if I’d come even a moment later, I…”
She broke down sobbing.
Cordell dug his nails into his skin as hard as he could and dragged them across the length of his forearm.
He cocked the gun, clicked the safety off, pressed it to his temple, and closed his eyes. He could hear his own heartbeat, pounding in his head. He swallowed hard as he moved his finger to the trigger.
“No!” It was a strangled, desperate, terrified scream, and it was the scream of the person he loved most in the world.
He jerked the gun away from his head, eyes flying open and finger coming off of the trigger like it was on fire.
“I screamed,” she managed through tears. “And he looked up and saw me and dropped the gun on the counter. “He… he seemed afraid of me. Or maybe afraid of hurting me? Just… so afraid.”
His gaze locked with Emily’s. She was standing in the hallway, mouth open and eyes wide with pure fear.
What if she thought he was going to shoot her?
His hands started to shake again, but he somehow managed to click the safety back on before practically dropping the gun onto the counter in front of him.
“Cordell?” she whispered, taking a trembling step towards him.
He backed two away. “Em…” His voice came out strangled, and he once again swore there was no oxygen in the room.
Please stay away. I don’t want to hurt you.
“Please… I… I don’t… you…”
“Then he ran back to the bedroom and locked the door.” She sniffled and took a shaky breath, obviously trying to get a hold on her tears. “And that’s when I called you.”
“Babe, it’s… it’s okay. I’m okay. You’re okay. I love you. You’re okay.” But her shaking voice gave away the fact that she was still absolutely terrified.
She took another step towards him, hands held in front of her placatingly.
He shook his head desperately since the words wouldn’t come out. He didn’t know how to communicate to her that it wasn’t that he wanted to keep her away from him… it was that he wanted to keep himself away from her.
She was well inside the bathroom now. The door was clear. As she took another step closer, he bolted. He couldn’t let her get close enough for him to hurt her again.
She yelled his name, but he just sprinted back to the bedroom. This time, he was mindful of the door, closing and locking it as he heard her run after him.
She desperately tried the knob as he backed as far away from it and her as he could get.
“Cordell!” she sobbed through the wood. “Cordell, please! Please, open up! I love you! I can’t… you can’t… please!”
His legs gave out under him and he dropped to the carpet, finding his nightstand at his back. There was another gun in the drawer. He could finish all of this right now.
“Cordell!” Emily screamed again, more desperate with every passing second. “Please! Cordell!”
He pressed his eyes shut, but he couldn’t fight the tears this time, and his head dropped to his knees as he sobbed.
The house went silent except for the sound of both of them crying on opposite sides of the door. Then he heard the electronic sounds of buttons being pressed and remembered the phone they kept in the hall.
Would she call the police? No. No, no, no, no…
“Hoyt!” She could barely speak given how hard she was crying. “Hoyt, please, it’s Cordell. I… he had a nightmare, and then I walked in on him… he had a gun, and it was against his head, and I… I think he was… he was going to… to…” She couldn’t get it out. “And now he locked himself in the bedroom and I think there’s another gun in there and I don’t know what to do! I… I can’t… he can’t…”
A pause. This couldn’t be happening. This couldn’t be happening.
“Okay. Okay, please hurry!”
He would be on his way. He needed to do it before he got there.
“Cordell, Baby, Hoyt’s coming,” Emily cried through the door. “Please just don’t… don’t… I love you. I love you so much. Whatever’s going on, we’ll get through it together. Please.”
He wanted to respond, wanted to comfort her, but he still couldn’t form words. And he didn’t trust himself with her. Not to touch her, not to speak to her, not anything. That was why he just had to do it.
More tones from the phone.
Please , he silently begged her. Please don’t call the police.
“I’m so sorry, Abby, I know it’s late, but I… I just…”
No. No… his parents… no.
“Cordell, he… he had a nightmare, and then he almost shot himself, and now he’s locked himself in the bedroom and won’t come out. I think he has another gun in there. And Hoyt’s on his way, but I just… I just don’t know what to do. I can’t… I can’t lose him! I… I…”
Cordell’s attention was grabbed by a buzzing on the nightstand above him. He reached up and found his cell phone, vibrating with an incoming call. Hoyt’s name was displayed on the outer screen.
He shoved the little device away from him as his head dropped back to his knees with a new rush of tears, reaching back above him without lifting it again. A moment of fumbling finally opened the drawer, and a moment later his hand found the handgun inside.
Now he only raised his head enough to make room for the gun between it and his knees. He didn’t even look as he clicked off the safety and pressed the barrel to his forehead.
It was like his wife knew what was going on, because her voice carried to him once more.
“Baby, please. Please just hold on. You can’t leave me, Cordell. Please.”
And then to his mother on the phone once more.
“No, he didn’t say anything. I just… I’m just so scared.”
He pressed the gun harder into his skin and tried to drown out the conversation. He just had to pull the trigger. That was all. For Emily. He had to do this for Emily.
But her desperate, terrified pleading was in his head and wouldn’t leave.
How could he do something for her that she was literally begging him not to?
But how could he sentence her to a life lived beside the dangerous mess he’d become?
He didn’t move the gun, but he also didn’t put his finger on the trigger.
So he just sat there… gun pressed against his forehead, sobbing and listening to his wife cry on the other side of the door.
“Cordell, I love you so much. We’ll get through this. I promise you we’ll get through this.”
He didn’t know how long passed. Probably a few minutes. Hoyt didn’t live far, and he’d be speeding like he had hellhounds on his heels.
Finally, he heard footsteps running up the stairs. They stopped, Hoyt’s spare key clicked in the lock, and Cordell heard the door open.
It was now or never.
He put his finger on the trigger.
Those running footsteps came down the hall. His best friend’s voice carried to him. “Emily? Cordell?”
“Hoyt, thank God,” Emily sobbed. “Please. Please help him, please!”
A fist pounded against the bedroom door. “Cordi!” He didn’t know if he’d ever heard Hoyt sound so scared. If he had, it was only over there. “Cordi, you gotta open up, Buddy, you gotta let me in!”
All Cordell could think of was the terrified look in his wife’s eyes when he’d shoved her away from him.
He pulled the trigger.
Nothing happened.
“Stand back, Emily. I’m sorry about your door.”
He hadn’t cocked the gun.
He couldn’t even kill himself right.
With a splintering crack, the door flew back against the wall, dangerously coming to rest hanging off of one hinge.
He allowed the hand holding the gun to drop as he broke entirely, sobbing into his knees like a child. He heard Hoyt rush across the room, felt him kneel in front of him and take the gun away.
The safety clicked on, then the magazine slid open, then the ammunition inside pattered onto the carpet, then the gun itself thumped into the far wall as Hoyt slid it as far away from Cordell as he possibly could.
Then, two arms wrapped around him, pulling him to his feet just for their owner to support his entire weight because he had neither will nor strength to stand on his own.
Hoyt staggered back a single step so his back was against the wall and the structure could help him keep his six-foot-four friend upright. Cordell’s head dropped onto his shoulder as he continued to helplessly sob.
“You’re okay, Buddy,” Hoyt murmured softly, holding him a little tighter. “You’re okay.”
Cordell wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that, until he could get a handle on the tears that were racking his entire body. When he finally had, Hoyt straightened off of the wall and gently set him back in a sitting position on the bed.
“Alright.” Hoyt laid a hand on his shoulder and bent so that he could stay in front of him and talk to him at eye-level. “Can you tell me what day it is?”
“I…” He brought a hand up to cover his eyes, squeezing until he saw colors behind their closed lids. “I don’t know.”
“Okay, that’s okay,” the other man replied steadily. “How about where we are? Do you know where we are?”
“At… at Emily and… and I’s apartment. In Austin.”
“Good. That’s right. That’s good.” Hoyt squeezed his shoulder a little. “Now what’s that?”
Cordell dropped his hand from his face so he could see what he was pointing at.
“Clock. It’s a… alarm clock.”
“You got it. And what about this?”
“And that over there?”
“It’s a… a lamp.”
“Good. Now what color is my shirt?”
Cordell blinked at it a few times. “Blue.”
“Now what day is it?”
It had been an impossible question a few seconds ago, but now it didn't seem so hard. “It’s Friday. Or… Saturday. What time is it?” He looked back at the clock. “Saturday. It’s Saturday.”
“You got it, Cordi. You got it.”
Hesitantly, Hoyt released him, slowly turning and sinking down on the bed beside him. “Okay.” He seemed to be talking more to himself than his friend. “We’re okay.”
“Cordell?” The whisper came from the door. He looked up, and his gaze locked with his wife’s.
He could feel his lips part a little, but he had absolutely no idea what to say.
She took a step forward, but he raised his hands a little as his eyes squeezed shut again. “Em, please. Please. I don’t… I don’t want to hurt you.”
He’d been trying to say it since he woke up, and now he finally had.
He forced his eyes open again to see her frozen where she was, a helpless and heartbroken expression on her face.
There was a moment of strained silence. It was broken by more footsteps outside, then a frantic knock.
Hoyt looked at Emily. “Did you call his parents?”
She nodded a little, her eyes still locked on her husband.
“Why don’t you go let ‘em in?” Hoyt prompted gently. “I’ll take care of Cordi, I promise. We’ll be out when he’s ready.”
Emily hesitated a moment, but finally nodded again and turned, disappearing out into the hallway.
Once she was gone, Hoyt looked back at Cordell, placing his hand on his shoulder once more. “You think you can tell me what happened?”
Cordell blinked a few times, his eyes locked on the carpet, before they squeezed shut yet again and he wordlessly shook his head.
He could feel his friend nod a little. “Not yet. Alright. You wanna go hug your momma?”
He shook his head again, more frantically this time.
Again, he felt Hoyt nod his understanding. There was a moment of silence before he asked, “You want a minute to yourself, or you want me to stay with you?”
He actually looked his friend in the face for the first time that night in response to the offer. “Can I… can I have a minute?”
It was asked as it was meant… he hadn’t thought that was an option, and he was looking for clarification that it really was.
Hoyt offered up the sliver of a sad smile. “Yeah. Yeah, Cordi, of course you can. Just…” He looked around until his eyes landed on the office across the hall. “Just follow me, alright?”
Cordell obediently trailed him into the smaller room, sinking into a chair as Hoyt quickly baby-proofed the area.
Every drawer was opened, and yet another handgun was quickly taken into the hall and completely disarmed as the one before it had been. Scissors, staples, and anything else even vaguely sharp or dangerous was dumped onto the bed in the other room.
He went over the whole room three times before he was finally satisfied.
When he was, he looked at Cordell and sighed a little. “Alright, Cordi. I’m gonna go talk to your folks. You yell if you need anything, you got it?”
And that was where he’d left him, to relive it all over again as Emily told the horrible story of the night.
“What’re we gonna do?” That was his mother’s voice. “Should we check him into a hospital?”
No. No, no, no, no they couldn’t do that, no.
“I don’t think Cordell needs to be in a mental hospital,” his father argued quickly, and Cordell felt a little relief wash over him.
“Bonham, he almost shot himself tonight! Twice!”
“I know that, Abeline, but…”
“If you ask Cordell, putting him in a hospital is about the worst thing we could possibly do to him,” Hoyt sighed. “Maybe he needs it and maybe he doesn’t, but if we do that, he’ll never trust us again.”
At least his best friend knew him well enough to know that.
“He mentioned that he had to pass a psych evaluation to go to academy,” Emily put in softly. “Forcing him into treatment could make him an automatic fail.”
“Suicide treatment?” Hoyt put in. “Yeah. They probably wouldn’t even consider him for another few years at least.”
Cordell dragged his nails across his arm again, right back over the smarting scratches he’d created the first time. He’d been so caught up in the fact that he was almost a sure fail already that he hadn’t even thought about the consequences if he didn’t get it done. Which he hadn’t.
“If he can’t keep his head on his shoulders, maybe that’s for the best,” his father sighed. The disappointment was heavy in his tone.
He hated himself so much.
“Cordell could be the finest cop you’ll know,” Hoyt stated, a little edge in his tone. “He just needs a little help coping. And he has the right to have a say in how he gets it.”
Even after everything that had happened that night, he’d still stick up for him to the end. Somehow, that almost made Cordell hate himself even more.
“And on that note,” his best friend went on before anyone could argue, “I’m gonna go see if he’s ready to talk.”
“I’m com…” Bonham started, but Hoyt cut him off.
“No. I don’t think that’s a good idea. Not yet. I promise I’ll bring him out as soon as he’s ready, but all of us coming in there and crowding him and pushing for answers isn’t going to help anyone.”
All Cordell could think about was how lucky he was that Emily had called Hoyt first.
Footsteps approached, then a light tap sounded on the door before Hoyt slowly eased it open. His eyes were compassionate as he regarded his friend.
“How we doin’, Cordi?”
Cordell sighed heavily, allowing his head to drop into his hands. “I don’t know.”
“Emily saved you from tellin’ the story,” Hoyt said as he crossed the room and sat down in the second desk chair. “But are ya up to tellin’ me what was going on up there?” He indicated his head.
“I don’t know, Hoyt.” He repeated, then hesitated, but his friend said nothing, waiting for him to go on. “I just… I forgot there was gonna be a psych test. And with the nightmares every night and the public triggers and…” He blinked back a sharp bout of tears. “And the way I feel right now, I just… I didn’t think I could pass it. And if I can’t become a cop, I just… I…” He blinked more water out of his eyes. “I just feel useless. Like I’m broken.” That part came out a whisper.
Hoyt was leaning forward, his hands on his knees and his eyes locked on his friend’s face, listening to and processing everything he was saying.
“So that’s what was wrong earlier, I guess,” he sighed. “And then I had this nightmare, but I didn’t… didn’t fully wake up. It’s fuzzy, but I… I would see Emily, and then I’d see… see something from over there. And when she tried to touch me, I just… pushed her away so hard. Harder than I… than I ever wanted to touch her. And when I finally got myself pulled out of it, I… I couldn’t remember everything. I knew I’d shoved her, but what if I did worse?”
His face contracted and his hand came back up to his eyes as he really started to cry all over again.
“If I ever hurt her, I… I couldn’t live with myself. And I didn’t know if I had. So I decided… I thought… it’d be better for both of us if I just…”
He shrugged helplessly.
“Emily said you dropped the gun as soon as she came in,” Hoyt prompted gently. “But then you picked another one up as soon as she wasn’t there.”
“I didn’t want her to think I was going to shoot her.”
Cordell didn’t know how his friend managed to respond in a way that didn’t make him feel absolutely insane.
“You had a few minutes alone while I was breaking every traffic law to get over here. I’m proud of you for not taking the shot, Cordi.”
Cordell wanted to just let him believe that, let him think that he was just a little stronger than he actually was, but something inside of him wouldn’t allow it. He shook his head a little, more tears freely sliding down his cheeks.
“No?” Hoyt asked, his brow creasing in confusion.
“I pulled the trigger,” he choked out, his voice barely audible. “ Right before you came in. I just… I forgot to cock it.”
Hoyt had taken everything he’d said in stride so far. That hit him hard. He processed it a moment, lips parted but nothing coming out, before finally swallowing hard, taking a deep breath, and trying again.
“Well.” He made a horrible attempt at a smile, blinking rapidly against sudden moisture in his eyes. “I guess your guardian angel worked some overtime tonight.”
There was another moment of silence before he spoke again.
“Cordi…” His voice was gentle. “You need some help.”
Cordell opened his mouth to argue, but his friend held up his hands to stop him.
“I’m not talkin’ a mental hospital. Just some counseling, alright? They don’t even have to know what happened tonight. I know how big a mark this would leave on your record for that psych test. I’m not trying to make it so you can’t pass. I’m trying to make it so you can.”
“But, I…” Cordell sucked in a breath, trying to keep his rising anxiety in check. “They… it… I shouldn’t need help.” The last part came out a whisper.
“Now, who told you that?” Hoyt asked, reaching out and placing a hand on his arm. “Cordi, there’s no shame in not knowing how to process through everything that happened over there. You lived through hell. It’s okay to admit that.”
“But you lived through it, too, Hoyt!” Cordell argued desperately. “And you don’t do this! What is wrong with me, that I need help and you don’t?”
“Hey, I may not have put a gun to my head tonight, but I haven’t been dealing with things so well either,” his friend sighed. “I don’t remember the last time I wasn’t buzzed or drunk or hungover. And it’s not about what’s wrong with you… nothing’s wrong with you. Our minds weren’t made for what we went through. They all react to it different.”
“And like I said, I haven’t been doing so great either,” Hoyt reiterated. “That’s why, if you want me to, I’ll go with you.”
Cordell froze, his eyes snapping up to his friend’s. “What?”
Hoyt just nodded a little. “We’ll find a group. I'm sure the VA can hook us up. It’s not even counseling. Just somewhere to go to learn some tools so this doesn’t happen again.”
“But…” He still couldn’t wrap his mind around the offer that had just been extended to him. “But why would you… You…”
“Because I don’t think I’ve ever been as scared as I was driving over here tonight,” Hoyt said softly. “Maybe in Iraq. Maybe. Because I would die for you without a second thought, so going to therapy for you’s an easy call. And because I’m sure it’ll do me good.”
Cordell shook his head slowly, unable to stop the tears that were still streaming down his face. “Hoyt, I… I don’t know.”
“We can talk about it later,” his friend stated. “For now, there’s some people out there who really need to hug ya and know you’re alright. Are you up to it yet?”
He wanted to say no, wanted to hide from them forever, bury himself in shame, but he nodded a little against his own will. “I… I think so.”
“Good man.” Hoyt got to his feet and offered him a hand up. He took it, and he was almost sure as he got his feet under him that he wouldn’t have had the strength to do it without the help.
With him somewhat steady, Hoyt’s hand moved to his shoulder instead and guided him from there, out of the office and down the hall.
Cordell’s head was hung low as he stepped into the living room. The mere thought of looking at any one of the three people waiting for him there was enough to make him wish he had that gun in his hand all over again.
They all got up as he entered the room. He glanced up for just long enough to see that it was Emily who stepped forward first, hesitant though she was.
“Cordell?” she asked softly. It was exactly how she'd greeted him several times that night, but this time the word was a request. She was asking him for permission to come closer.
He squeezed his eyes shut, jaw tight and head still hung low. “Hey, Em.”
His arms barely moved… just the slightest spread outwards… but the subtle invitation wasn’t lost on his wife. She crossed the room in just a few deliberate steps and wrapped him the tightest hug he’d ever been given.
He responded by gathering her up his arms, bending and smothering his face in her shoulder. “I’m sorry.” His voice came out hoarse and shaky. “I… I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.” She was crying as well, squeezing him that much closer. “We’re okay.”
They held the embrace for several long moments before she finally stepped back, though not before leaning up to kiss the top of her husband’s bowed head.
“I love you.”
He swallowed hard, desperately trying to gain control of the water that was still sliding from his eyes. “I love you too. I love you so much.”
She pressed another kiss onto the back of his hand before stepping aside for real. Abilene was quick to replace her, rushing forward and throwing her arms around Cordell as well.
“Oh, I thought I was gonna lose you.” Her voice was trembling with devastated relief.
“I’m so sorry, Momma.” It was all he knew to say. He reached out over her shoulder, in the direction of his father. “I’m sorry, Daddy.”
Bonham stepped forward as well, taking his son’s outstretched hand and squeezing it briefly before letting go again.
“It’s in the past, Son,” he said, his voice low and gruff. “We’re just thankful the Good Lord kept you here.”
Before anyone else could speak, a bouncy, obnoxious tune began flowing brightly from Abby’s pocket. She released Cordell and took a step back as she pulled out her cell phone and made a sympathetic noise at the name on the outer screen.
“That’ll be Liam.”
She flipped it open and greeted her younger son, while Cordell processed panic anew.
“L… Liam?” The mere thought of his fourteen year-old brother knowing what he’d done that night made him sick. “Wha… what does Liam… what did you tell him, Daddy?”
The senior Walker regarded him just a little tiredly. “Well, we had to give him some good reason why we were rushing off in the middle of the night, Cordell,” he sighed. “He wanted to come, but we…” He swallowed hard. “Well, we didn’t know what we were gonna find here.”
Cordell was once again struggling to breathe as he processed that information. His brother… his kid brother who he never wanted to disappoint… knew that he’d kept his promise to come back from overseas alive only to come close to shooting himself in his own apartment.”
“He’s alright,” Abby was assuring into the phone. “He’s standing right here.”
A pause on her side.
She looked up at Cordell as if considering something, then nodded despite the fact that the person she was talking to couldn’t see the gesture.
“I don’t see why not.”
Then, she was holding out the phone to Cordell.
“Your brother would like to talk to you.”
He took a deep, shuddering breath as he accepted the device with a shaking hand. Pull it together. He had to pull it together.
“Hey, Kiddo.”
“Cordi!” The blind terror in the teen’s voice hurt something deep inside of him. “Cordi, tell me you’re okay. Please tell me you’re okay.”
The kid was crying. Cordell’s face contracted sharply with a renewal of his own tears.
“Hey, listen to me. I’m fine. You hear me? I’m fine. I’m right here, and I’m fine.”
Liam choked on a sob. “Cordi… Cordi please don’t… don’t ever…”
“I won’t ever do it again.” It wasn’t a promise he was really ready to make, but the boy just sounded so scared . “Okay? I’m sorry for what I did tonight. I am so, so sorry, Liam. I know I scared you. But you do not need to worry about me. I will be just fine, alright?”
“But… but things don’t just work like that!” the younger Walker argued. “You can’t just… Cordi, please, you… I can’t… you need… I… I…”
“Hey, hey, hey, listen to me, Liam.” Few things tore his heart out like hearing his baby brother panic like this. “I’m alright. I am not going anywhere. And as soon as I know you’re okay too, I’ll hang up and come out there and hug you. Okay?”
The teenager on the other line took a deep, shaky breath. It was clear Cordell had just provided him with a very, very motivating incentive to calm down.
“Okay. Yeah. Okay. I… I’m good.”
“You sure?”
“Good. I’ll see you in a little bit, Kid.”
“See you,” the boy whispered, then the line went dead.
Slowly, Cordell closed the phone and handed it back to his mother.
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He felt his wife’s arms wrap around one of his own and bowed his head to rest on hers, inhaling the sweet, familiar scent of her shampoo. A hand gripped his shoulder, and he opened his eyes to meet Hoyt’s gaze.
“If you can’t do it for yourself, Cordi...” He didn’t have to say it for them to both know what it was. “Then can you do it for us? We won’t make you do it alone.”
As his wife snuggled into him a little closer, the ache in Cordell’s chest throbbed in a whole new way.
“You’ll really go with me?” The question came out a whisper, and he inwardly berated himself for sounding so completely pitiful.
“I’ll really go with you.”
He shut his eyes again as the shame hit him in another wave. He heard his own voice agreeing to something he still wasn’t sure he could do.
“Okay. I… I’ll try.”
With a small gasp of relief, Emily let go of his arm so she could wrap all of him in a hug all over again.
The reality that even after everything he’d put her through that night, she was still holding onto him like the world was going to end, both eased and intensified the ache in his chest.
And he wondered, as he so often did, what on earth he would do without her.
If you leave a comment (or a surprise in the tags), I will love you forever. Once again, @trekkiehood was a life-saver with this fic, so if you’re not already, go follow her here and on Ao3 and Twitter @Trekkiehood. You can find me on Ao3 and Wattpad @pricelesstrashpanda and on Twitter @riplineb. Thanks so much for reading!!!
- Line
Also, it hasn’t been canonically stated that Hoyt joined and served with Cordell, but we do know they went to high school together, and it’s also never stated that he didn’t, so it’s a personal headcanon of mine. Abby did say, “You saved my son,” and while there are about a million things that could be referring to (such as the plot you just read) and I really hope they expand on it in canon, one that makes a lot of sense is that he fought beside Cordell and saved his life in battle.
6 notes · View notes
bi-in-space · 4 hours ago
As the person who formed the Anon Army I agree that sending death threats through anon is NOT okay. It could really impact someone's mental health and you don't know what the hell they're going through.
Also Hi Jay I hope ur doing good
-Anon 2
this. i know that personally if someone sent me a death threat over anon it would not make me feel good at all, i wouldn’t see it as a joke. as a person who’s been getting death threats because of bullying for the past 3 years, it’s a shitty thing to do, and i don’t have any respect for people who do.
on the other hand, i am doing good and i hope you all are as well! this blog is a safe space to be, vent if needed and i think your all awesome!
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books-and-cookies · 4 hours ago
The anon with the suicidal friend. She was found about a 10 hour drive away- she's alive and physically okay. She's with family now. Im not hearing much news but im giving her family space to get it all together and heal a bit before bothing them. I know her family and i know they want to take care of her. So long story short, she's safe and healing at least a little now.
I'm so glad she's safe. I hope things get better for her. And I hope you get to see her soon and give her a hug ❤
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siriusly-random-stuff · 4 hours ago
Realizing that my boss and toxic work environment is what is the main cause of my depression and thoughts about ending it. My paranoia is rooted in him and his right hand man sneaking up on me. And I don’t have any privacy. It always so loud. But I can’t wear headphones. Because if I don’t answer when he calls he screams.
But terrified to find another job. How? How do I get one? What makes me worthy? What skills do I actually have?
0 notes
ardett · 4 hours ago
all dead hearts to you
Description: George and Dream have never met in person. It isn’t a problem until Dream calls George to tell him he’s going to kill himself.
check this out on Ao3 if you wanna be cool!
Author’s Note: Not me crashing recklessly into another fandom (also this is assuming sapnap went home to Texas after living with dream idk let me live)
title from Dead Hearts by Stars
also I'm new here, anyone wanna give me a welcome to the boys?
warnings: suicide warning (obviously) but no actual suicide, general anxiety and panic attacks
It’s 3am when George gets Dream’s call. 
Late, but only really for him. It’s still before midnight in Florida, right around 10pm. He’d like to say that he’s so practiced with converting time zones that he doesn’t even have to think about it but he still has to count backwards on his fingers, thinking on the jump between late late nights and early mornings.
He’s still awake but the leds in his room have been turned to red, set to the dimmest mode. He was streaming with Quackity up until about half an hour ago and his room has settled back into quiet again.
He feels the thrum of anxiety as he hears the ringtone. Dream usually only calls him when George is about to sleep through something important or if he’s on the road. George wonders if he forgot something today or maybe he let something slip on his call with Quackity.
Now that it’s on his mind, he realizes that he hasn’t heard from Dream all day. Or yesterday?
They’ve both been busy, though George has been busy with the usual things and Dream said something about needing to put his affairs in order or whatever that meant. They usually text at least but even that has been quieter.
George grabs his phone off his desk and picks up the call.
“Dream. What’s up?” he asks. George runs a quick hand through his hair, checking his screen quickly. It’s a real phone call, not even a discord call. “Hey, I’m putting you on speaker. I’m gonna put on my pajamas.”
He’s about to set the phone on his dresser when Dream says, “Oh, I probably shouldn’t be on speaker.”
There’s something off in his tone. Something flat. It sets George’s nerves on edge. 
“Yeah? Okay.” George tucks the phone back by his ear, slumping back on his bed. “Did you have something you had to tell me?”
“Yeah. George, I’m going to kill myself.”
Everything in George stills.
And then starts to spin.
“I’m going to—”
“You’re not serious.” George jerks upright, ignoring the lightheaded feeling sinking its fingers into his skull. “Dream, this isn’t funny.”
“I don’t think it is. It’s just going to happen.” 
There’s not even a tremor in Dream’s voice. George can’t feel anything past the bone deep shock in his system.
All he can think of is Dream, wrists bloody and split open. Dream, fingertips dusted white with the residue of unnamed pills. Dream, rope burns fracturing the long line of his neck. 
Dream, dead.
How is he even going to do it? Is he actually going to do it? George wants to ask but then he realizes he doesn’t want to know.
He imagines the first time he sees Dream in person is when he attends his funeral.
He imagines all the words he’s held in for so long, waiting and waiting for the moment he could say them to Dream face to face, finally being said to dead air.
But George can’t say that so all he manages is an obstinate, “No.”
“Stop disagreeing with me.”
“George,” Dream laughs. Laughs.
George feels dizzy with the disbelief swirling inside him. Surely this can’t be happening. What reason would Dream have to make this up though? Dream would never joke about something like this. Why is he laughing? 
How can Dream be so casual when George’s world is shattering? 
He doesn’t know what a future without Dream looks like.
They’ve always lived miles apart but Dream has never felt so far away. George has never felt like this. Like he couldn’t reach him.
“Dream.” Dream’s laugh cuts off as soon as he hears the plea in George’s voice. “Is something wrong? Are you— I can come there. I can be with you tomorrow. Sapnap can stay with you again. You don’t have to do this—”
“I know. But I want to. So I’m going to.” Any trace of mirth is gone. Dream sounds the same way he did when he decided he was going to break a world record or make YouTube work for him.
Determined. Steadfast. His voice has the steely confidence of knowing he won’t fail.
Usually it’s inspiring but now the familiarity of it just makes George sick. He’s never known Dream to be someone content with failure.
George's phone digs into his palm as his grip spasms. He tastes blood.
And he doesn’t even know why yet.
“What happened? Whatever it is, we can fix it.”
Dream sighs. “Nothing’s wrong, George.”
“There has to be something wrong. You can tell me,” George insists. Then he changes tactics and lies through his teeth. “I swear I won’t tell anyone else. We can work this out together, just the two of us. Just tell me what’s wrong.”
“I already told you nothing’s wrong,” Dream repeats.
“Then why would you… do that?” George trips over the word, rephrases it instead.
And then Dream rips that tiny defense to shreds.
“You can say it you know,” Dream says. “I’m going to kill myself. You should probably get used to it actually. People are going to ask you about it. I’m sorry about that,” he adds as an afterthought. 
The harsh, blunt words sting against George’s skin.
“Don’t apologize,” he strangles out. “Don’t apologize for that out of everything. Just don’t do it.”
“George,” Dream breathes, exasperated.
“I just don’t understand,” George begs. For the first time, his voice wavers.
Dream, cold gun in his cold hands. Dream, long limbs hanging over the railing of a bridge as he stares down. Dream, slumped over his table with a bottle of vodka nestled near his feet. 
Dream, dead.
“Don’t cry, okay?” Dream’s voice softens. George forgot how gentle Dream could be with him when he wanted. 
“I didn’t want to make you cry. Look, it’s just…” Dream trails off. Eventually, he continues even quieter. “This is it, you know? This is the top, this is the peak. It can’t go on like this forever, crazy numbers on videos and trending on twitter and all that shit. I’d rather go out like this than wait to hit the bottom. Doesn’t that make sense?” Dream persuades.
“No,” George insists, all the air leaving his lungs at once.
“Come on, George. Can you even picture yourself growing old? What happens when we’re 30, 40, and all of this is gone. Do you want that?”
The sick part of it all is that George has imagined the future. He imagines it lovingly, not viciously. Not like this.
He imagined a future with Sapnap and Bad and Karl and Quackity but most of all with Dream. He wants so badly to be with him. Sapnap talked about living together, how great parts of it had been, how he would have stayed if he hadn’t had to return home for family, and George so selfishly wants that for himself.
And he’s always known that’s not what Dream pictured. Dream doesn’t want what he wants. Dream doesn’t want to grow old with someone, much less George.
Can you even picture yourself growing old?
It hurts because George can and he always wanted it to be with Dream.
“What are you even saying? Do you want me to kill myself too?” George bites. He scrubs viciously at his eyes and stabs at the power button of his computer, teeth piercing into his lip as he waits for it to turn on.
“No, no, of course not. I would never— Come on, that’s obviously not what I’m saying.”
George fumbles with his keyboard, pulling up his discord messages with Sapnap.
He just needs someone else to help him, someone else to know. Someone who can do what he can’t. Someone who isn’t as fucking helpless as him, who doesn’t live an ocean away and who has never seen Dream in person and has never touched Dream, not once, has never known what the sun feels like in Florida.
Of course he was lying when he said this was going to stay between the two of them.
This isn’t the kind of thing he can do alone.
 George: Sapnap dream says hes going 
George: to kill himself
George: you have to get someone to him
George: call 999 
George: 911
 Sapnap: what
 George: please now sap Im on the phone with him
 Sapnap: are you joking
 George: no
George: do it
George: please fast now
 “Are you typing?” Dream questions, a note of warning in his tone.
George jerks. “No, I—”
He’s cut off by a beeping from his phone. 
His heart stops.
“What’s that sound?” Dream asks.
Sapnap is calling him.
George can picture him, knee jumping as he clutches his phone, hoping against hope that George is joking. He can practically hear the adrenaline trembling in Sapnap’s voice, can see the way Sapnap stands and paces.
He can’t answer though. He can’t leave Dream.
George declines the call, hand shaking.
“Who was that?” The question is flat.
“No one,” George says too quickly.
“No one?” Dream repeats. Only a second or two passes before George hears the same beep through his phone speaker, this time coming from Dream’s end. “Wow look who’s calling me. Sapnap. Wonder if he changed his name to No One,” Dream says without emotion.
 Sapnap: fck are you serious
 George bites his tongue, wincing.
 George: y
 George can’t manage to type anything more before Dream snarls, “You’re such a fucking snitch, you know that? It’s fine though, I thought this might happen. I was gonna call him after you, for the record.” It almost sounds like Dream is smiling. George’s heart twists. Why is he smiling? “I know you have to try as a friend to save me, or whatever you want to call it, but you really don’t have to. I want to do this. I’m going to.
“It’s not like you could really stop me anyway,” Dream continues. “You don’t even know where I live. You barely know what I look like. What, are you going to ask the police to search the entire state of Florida?”
“Sapnap knows,” George whispers. 
He tries to shake off the savagery seeping into Dream’s voice. He tells himself Dream is defensive, Dream is nervous, Dream is scared. Dream isn’t thinking about what he’s really saying.
Though things have never mattered before, the fact George has never been to Florida, that George has never seen Dream in person. But now Dream is weaponizing them against him, forcing George to acknowledge that for everything their relationship is, it can never replace an in person friendship. And Dream has always been a better fighter than George.
“No, he doesn’t. Me and Sap rented a house, remember? We never went to my house. I never sent him my actual address, I checked.” And Dream sounds so smug. Like he won.
George’s gaze darts back to his computer. 
But he already knows Dream isn’t a liar.
 Sapnap: I dont know his address
Sapnap: fuck
Sapnap: Im calling bad
Sapnap: dont let him hang up
 “People are so dumb about it, you know? They tell all their friends and then they get caught before actually doing it,” Dream goes on, not paying attention to George’s disconsolate silence.
“But you’re telling me,” George mutters. Hopelessness strings through him.
Sapnap isn’t writing anything else. George can only hope Bad picked up.
“Yeah but you’re literally in another country. What are you going to do about it?” 
George can’t manage any words. He doesn’t even know if he remembers how to breathe. 
Dream is right, he always seems to be right. George just wishes it wasn’t about this. Anything but this. He has to believe that Sapnap and Bad will figure something out. He has to trust them.
“Just think about how many people are found before they actually do it,” Dream goes on in George’s quiet. “Because they can’t commit. Most people are cowards. It’s dumb honestly. Just do it or don’t.”
“Don’t then,” George whispers.
His eyes burn with unshed tears. His fingers spasm on his bedsheets.
He doesn’t know what Dream wants. Does he want George to beg? To get on his knees and plead with him to save his own life? Because he would in a heartbeat but he doubts it would make a difference. 
Dream sighs. “I feel like you’re not listening to me, George.”
“No, I am.” George’s voice rises with his wrath. Suddenly all his terror and frustration comes to a bursting point. “I’m listening. I’m listening to you talk about killing yourself. I just think you’re wrong. I think it would be a lot fucking braver to stay alive even if your views go down, even if you’re not fucking famous, Dream. What the fuck? You’re a fucking coward for trying to leave!” George’s breaths heave through the staticy phone microphone. His fear and anger wind him.
There’s a moment of emptiness.
Then, lip curling, Dream says, “Trying to leave you?”
George chokes.
“Don’t try and pull this card, George. That’s what you’re trying to say, isn’t it? I’m a coward for leaving everyone behind? For leaving you?” 
Dream’s voice drowns out George’s. George flinches, though Dream can’t see it. 
“Don’t be so fucking selfish. I hate that, you know that?” Dream growls. “Everyone thinks they’re enough to save someone all by themselves. Wow, the sheer force of your love just fucking yanked me back from the edge of a cliff, give me a fucking break,” Dream scoffs. George’s ribs feel tight. “You can’t just reverse psychology or guilt me out of this.”
“Jesus, Dream, is it so hard to believe that maybe I care about you and I don’t want you to fucking die?” George grits out. 
The room swims before him. He can’t remember how to uncurl his fingers.
“Well it’s not up to you, is it?” Dream practically smirks.
And that’s it, isn’t it? The winning phrase. Because Dream’s right. 
It’s not up to George. 
George can only listen helplessly as Dream considers his own grave. He’s a constant witness to the storm that is Dream. He was always grateful to be dragged along in Dream’s hurricane winds and now he dreads the day they calm.
“You’re being cruel,” George murmurs. His aggression leaves him as soon as it came.
“I’m being honest,” Dream contends.
George sinks his head into his hands. “Why did you even call me then? To— to gloat?”
Dream’s voice goes low and quiet, vulnerable. George’s insides twist and melt and contort. “No, no, I just… I don’t know. I just wanted to talk to you one more time.”
“Don’t say that,” George hisses. The words are half muffled into his palms.
“Don’t say what?” Dream asks defensively.
“Don’t say one more time. You can’t— you can’t—'' It all hits George at once. He’s going to lose him.
He’s going to lose Dream.
Before he knows it, he’s sobbing into the phone, loud ugly heaving sobs. “Don’t do it, Dream. I’m serious. Please— Just wait for one of us to get there. We can be with you. We can help.”
Dream’s voice hardens again. “You mean you can stop me.”
“Dream—” George starts to beg, trying to figure out how to lie without Dream catching him.
But Dream beats him to it. 
“I’m gonna hang up now—”
Panic rips through George. The shock of it physically hurts in his veins, in his heart.
“No!” he almost screams. “Dream, Dream, don’t hang up—”
“Oh my god, relax. I’m calling Sapnap. I’m not doing anything yet.” He can almost hear Dream rolling his eyes. It’s not comforting.
George sniffles. He knows it sounds pathetic. He’s not one for pity but if it gets Dream to keep talking with him, he’s willing to stoop to any low. He just doesn’t know if he can believe Dream.
“Can’t you just… stay on the phone with me?” 
“What, forever? Is that your plan? Just keep me on the line until someone inevitably finds me somehow?” Dream mocks.
“No,” George says instead because he thinks it’s what Dream wants to hear.
Dream switches tactics. George recognizes the persuasion in his tone. 
“Don’t you want me to call Sapnap? Shouldn’t he also get the chance to talk with me?” Dream questions.
Guilts rests against George’s ribs. 
Of course he wants Sapnap to get the chance to talk to Dream. What if this is their last chance to talk? But George is too selfish to think about it much.
“That’s not what you’re asking me. Don’t try and pull that shit. You’re asking me to hang up. You’re asking for me to say goodbye and I’m…” George’s voice drops, almost inaudible. “I’m not ready.”
“George…” Dream’s voice trails off. His next words are nearly silent, something bitter and mournful about them. “You know I love you, right?”
“I know,” George mumbles.
“Are you gonna say it back to me?” Dream demands. George doesn’t know what holds him back now but something does.
“You know I do, Dream, why—”
The dial tone rings in George’s ears.
Dream hung up.
Not even 30 seconds pass, not nearly enough for the abrupt end of their call to sink in, when George’s phone is ringing again. He fumbles with his screen but manages to pick up.
George’s heart sinks. It’s not the voice he wants to hear. That he needs to hear.
“Yeah,” Bad affirms. “Are you okay?”
“Am I okay? Am I—” George scoffs and it feels like it rips his throat. He feels like he wants to scream. Like he wants to punch a wall. Like he would give anything to be somewhere warmer right now. “No, I’m obviously not okay, Bad. He’s going to— to—”
“I know. Sapnap told me.” 
Bad’s voice is collected, even. It just makes George more frustrated. How can everyone be so fucking calm about this? 
“George, just try to take some deep breaths, okay?” George ignores the suggestion. “Sapnap is on the phone with Dream. He just hung up on me to talk to him. I’m driving there right now, okay?”
George pauses. Something cold washes over him. He doesn’t know yet if it’s relief.
“You’re— you’re driving to Dream?”
“Yes,” Bad affirms. “We just have to keep him talking to someone for the next hour—”
“Hour? Are you serious? That’s too long!” George knows he’s screaming now. He doesn’t care.
“We have to call an ambulance, the police. There has to be someone we can call.” 
George squeezes his eyes shut, trying to think of other ways they could possibly get there in time. He comes up blank. He can’t accept it. He can’t.
Dream, alone. Dream, bereft. Dream, dead.
“I know but I can’t— I was trying to tell you.” Bad’s words are muffled. It sounds like he’s biting the inside of his cheek. He confesses, “I don’t know his exact address. Sapnap is going to try and get it while he talks to him. I’m driving to Orlando and hopefully Sap knows it by the time I get there but we’re just—”
“No, no, no—”
George thinks of Bad arriving just in time to find Dream’s body still warm. He’s going to be sick. His chest hurts. His lungs burn.
“Try and take some deep breaths—” Bad placates as George speaks over him.
“I’m never going to talk to him again. He’s going to kill himself.” George is spiraling. He can’t stop himself.
“George, I’m going to get there in time.” But Bad doesn’t sound sure of himself. George zeros in on the weakness.
“You don’t know that,” George hisses.
“This is hard for all of us, George!” George startles at Bad’s yell. He’s heard Bad raise his voice before but never at him, never seriously. “I’m sorry,” Bad apologizes, words quieting again. George hears a sniffle through the phone. 
Bad’s crying. 
God, George is a terrible person. He didn’t even think to check in on Bad. Bad’s the one who might find Dream halfway there or already committed. He’s the only one who’s even close to being able to do something and maybe that’s the worst position to be in.
To be so close and lose a friend anyway.
“You don’t have to apologize. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t… I know it’s hard for all of us. I know you’re doing everything you can. You’re doing more than me.” George tries to laugh but it gets stuck in his throat. It’s not funny anyway.
“It’s going to be okay,” but it doesn’t even sound like Bad believes himself.
“I don’t think I can talk about this anymore,” George murmurs. He feels exhausted. There’s so much adrenaline coursing through him that it hurts. “Can we just talk about something else just… just for a little?” he begs. Like anything could distract him from this.
“Yeah George.” George can hear the sympathy in Bad’s voice. He’s too far gone for the pity to bother him. “Let me— Let me tell you about what I did this weekend on the SMP.”
George sucks in a sharp inhale. “Not— not the SMP. Can you talk about something else?” 
“Of course,” Bad agrees easily. “So last Friday I went to visit my family…”
George lets Bad talk in the background. Every once in a while, one of them will sniffle or sob or take a breath that’s too shaky to be normal. Neither of them mentions it.
George listens to people walk past his window, their voices carrying up into the stars.
The noises of the highway drone on through his phone.
Bad drives.
George thinks about what it would be like to go on without Dream.
He’ll never be the same, he already knows. It will haunt him for years. For the rest of his life. The thought of being so close to someone and then losing them.
Death is natural. He knows that. But it’s the intentionality of it that aches the most. The idea that Dream would leave behind everything for something so painful and unknown.
And George just knows… part of him will die with Dream and never come back. 
George doesn’t know who he’ll be with that part missing.
part 1/3, though the next update won’t really be an update but it will be soon
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t4twhore · 5 hours ago
hel p i just read the words ‘strangely calm’ in the exact context youre thinking of!
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nite-land · 5 hours ago
mom, you’re there. but all you do is make me mad. sure, you do things for me, but... at the end you’re just going to find me a nuisance, right?
dad, I love you. but you’re so complicated. why do you still try? why do you still try to make mom love you? she doesn’t anymore dad. she fucks and dates other people. but you still love her. I wish someone could love me that much as you do for mom. she doesn’t deserve it.
big bro, mom doesn’t like you anymore. she thinks your stupid. but I can’t tell you that or else I’ll get in trouble. please A, please come back. I don’t want to live with mom alone again.
D! your so loving, you help me. you’re one of the reasons why I’m hanging on. I don’t want to see you leave again, you being here with me kept my anxiety away.
sis, you’re so messed up but that’s okay. just know that someone is here for you. that’s all I have to say.
J, my friend, I’m so happy your there. but sometimes I don’t understand your actions.
all of you, I don’t really understand why you guys want me to stay here with you when in the end you just won’t care.
directing towards my parents, you call me dumb when I mess around with knives and get in fights, but do you ever wonder why I do it
i get hurt that’s why.
do you ever wonder why I scratch until I bleed?
no, you don’t.
so stop saying you know me.
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unoffical-marvel · 6 hours ago
Hey, I noticed you were reblogging some suicide content and I wanted to reach out and ask if you're okay? I know sometimes people joke about it when they aren't actually serious, but I know mental health is tough and the world is kinda (especially) crappy right now, so I just figured I'd send you this to let you know that I appreciate your content and judging by your blog, you give off chill vibes. Sending love to you <3
I'm fine, but thank you for reaching out. Its nice to know people care :) I do have depression and anxiety and was just having a small mental breakdown.
I'm fine now and it was really nothing. I just found some posts that we're relatable while I was scrolling.
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Twisted Tales: The Swan Bride 
It was time for the prince to marry but he just couldn’t choose a bride. None of the princesses that were paraded in front of him seemed to interest him. On the day of his birthday ball, he snuck away from the festivities and fled to the woods to hunt. He rode his horse until he came upon a glassy lake where a group of swans swam. He raised his crossbow to shoot but found himself unable to pull the trigger. The swans were too beautiful to kill so he lowered his bow.
“They’re gorgeous aren't they?” A woman he hadn’t noticed suddenly approached him. The woman appeared to be both young and old at the same time and had an unearthly glow to her. The prince was startled for a moment but nodded his head in agreement. “They are my flock, I take care of them in exchange for their soft feathers. How kind of you to spare them. So king in fact, I will grant you a wish.”
The prince was dubious but after inspecting the woman again he did not find it hard to believe she may be a fairy.
“I want a bride,” He said. “A beautiful, interesting, graceful bride,  like one of your swans.”
The fairy smiled and waved her wand. In awe the prince watched as one of the swans transformed before his eyes. Her white feathers formed a dress that covered the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. He named her Odette and brought her home at once.
The kingdom was drawn to her beauty and grace but could not deny that the new princess was odd. Odette was fascinated with the castle when she was first brought to it but found the walls confining and spent most of her time outside. Once she was even found sleeping among the bushes. At first she was happy with her prince as he was with her but as the weather grew cold, she grew restless.
“Is it time to migrate?” She asked him one day. “My sisters will be leaving soon,”
He laughed at his swan bride. “You aren’t going anywhere.” He told her. Odette grew sad and spent her time watching the birds with longing. “I used to be able to fly,” She said to herself. “Oh how I want to fly.”
Finally she could take it no longer. She went to her prince and asked him to release her. She wanted to be in her sky with her sisters. Again he laughed. “You are a woman now, not a swan. You have no wings and never will again.”
She grew so distraught she locked herself away. She stared out her window and cried when suddenly she saw a group of swans flying by. “My sisters!” She sobbed. “Wait for me!” and the swan girl opened her window.
The next morning the castle woke to the gardener's screams. Soon a crowd gathered around the ground below the princess’s chambers. The prince pushed his way through the crowd to see his bride’s cold broken body on the ground. Her long neck had snapped from the fall but she was still beautiful, even in death. Her hair was fanned out and her arms spread out like wings, a few white feathers lying around them.
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nekodatingsim666 · 7 hours ago
FUCKC HOUR UDCK YOU i wanna akill myself what kinda friend dates somebodys fuckcing abusive ex. fhckc you fuck you ruckc you fuckyou, what wrong with you. i hate you, im sliitting my throat
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azurewildfire · 8 hours ago
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@symbol-of-terror​ said:  📱
[Text: TS] you of all people know there’s only years left. less, even. nothing, no quirk, could save me from the damage of these burns
[Text: TS] sorry, tomura. that you’re gonna be left behind. i... hope you look back on the book kindly. a memento. i hope it eases the grief. i love you
[Text: TS] you told me you wanted me alive. i don’t think i can do that. it’s going to take my all to kill him. you’re not worth giving up that dream. it’s how it’s meant to be
[Text: TS] do you ever wonder what we would have been like before? if none of this happened. would we have met? would we have been happy together?
[Text: TS] i wish life was kinder to us.
[Text: TS] geten’s being an asshole, i’m taking a break with you. there in 5
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sakurasangcl · 9 hours ago
Well now I feel su*c*dal
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utter-queer-nightmare · 9 hours ago
I just called a suicide prevention hotline and in 45 minutes, the guy on the other end had been nicer to me and more supportive than my parents, siblings and teachers combined have been in my whole life. Wherever you are, John-that-sounds-like-a-Steven, thank you.
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hunny-coves · 9 hours ago
I have a platform to speak about stuff like this so I'm gonna cause this is hitting way too close to home. A twelve year old child in the DSMP fandom took their life, if you look on tiktok you'll find videos of people lighting candles in their honor, kind messages, and more.
I know how terrible that can feel, how cold and dark and lonely it is. It hurts and it gets worse and worse till there's no more pain, you're numb and just want it over. You want to escape, at any costs, I KNOW that pain and it feels inescapable. I told one of my closest friends Jaiden and all they asked was me to wait a bit longer, just wait. I did, and I found a reason to live. I found happiness and love and life when I thought I had nothing, it gets better.
It might feel like it never does but I promise it will, you're so strong and you just need to hold on even if it feels like you can't. When it's dark and suffocating it won't last like that forever, you have a life to live and one you deserve to live happily after all that pain and torment, a beautiful, gorgeous life you DESERVE. If you're in a domestic abuse situation and feel trapped, go to the fire station and they'll help, if people are harassing you file a report, speak up and tell others when you're hurting because taking your life isn't the only way out, you feel no one will miss you but even complete strangers will mourn you because you are worth it. Hold on, don't let go, and speak up. Recovery isn't overnight, and it'll take awhile, but you are worth it. <3
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the-turtleduck-pond · 9 hours ago
Me, going and making a new Tumblr to obsess over Dream SMP: This is fine
Tumblr: Tumblr is a safe space
Me: I accept that Tumblr is a shit hole and you should too, I've literally been called slurs, suicide baited, and given death threats on here for liking one character and disliking others.
Me: You are a shit hole and not a safe space, fuck that, but I need somewhere to be in a fandom and I trust other sites even less.
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menschdean · 10 hours ago
dean's issues with perception fall into the trans dean headcanon so well too bc like... wanting no one to perceive you while also wanting soooo desperately to be Perceived is theeee trans experience
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epistemology of the closet, eve sedgwick // john mulaney: the comeback kid // @biffandi // supernatural 12x22 // hurricane child, kacen callendar
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