#Tw: suicide

[nowimjustastranger]

Has STCMO!Ford ever had to help a Stanford stop their Stanley from committing suicide? I read a fanfic a few months back called Salt Water in my Veins by a_solitary_marshmallow on ao3 and I kept thinking about it a lot. It's where Stanley tries to drown himself in the ocean after getting kicked out and Stanford, having second thoughts, goes out looking for him, finds him and sees what he's doing, and runs into the ocean after him to pull him out before it's too late. Using a scenario like that as example, is there a dimension where Stanford tries to save his Stanley in the same or similar way but ultimately can't do it on his own and Ford has to intervene?

I couldn't help myself, lol. I tried out an alternative way of answering asks and I gotta say it was fun, so I'll probably start answering more asks like this when inspiration strikes me!

He wasn't going to make it.

Ford had stupidly tripped the moment his shoes hit sand and he'd fallen, wasting precious seconds scrambling back to his feet. He didn't have time to take off his coat or shoes so he didn't run the risk of drowning, the water weighing him down and making him slower as he charged into it.

It was so cold and Ford couldn't see Stan anymore, his brother swallowed by the black abyss. The ocean has never looked so terrifying before. Still, Ford pressed onward, wading deeper and deeper as he shredded his vocal cords calling for his brother over and over again. Only the lapping waves and his own labored breathing answered him.

He was submerged up to his stomach now and he was sobbing because he already knew it was too late-

A figure surged past him and Ford blinked dumbly because they were running on the water, clad in a simple black tank top and equally black slacks with glowing boots. The weirdest part was the biker helmet that the stranger wore, because surely that would hinder him as he... did whatever it was that he was doing.

Which was diving into the black surf, apparently.

The stranger disappeared much like Stan had, Ford's heart in his throat as he watched the churning water settle. He was shivering, but he refused to leave the water until he either had his brother back or the ocean took him too.

The stranger erupted from the water, boots lighting up as he gracefully hauled both him and the limp figure in his arms up and out of the inky depths. Ford choked on a sob as the stranger adjusted his grip on Stan to prop the unconscious -he's just unconscious, please let him be unconscious- teen on his hip before coming straight for Ford.

Ford's vocal cords produced an undignified noise that he will deny emitting until death as he was plucked from the water by his belt, thrown over the stranger's shoulder like a sack of potatoes. And, in a blink, they were on the shore and the stranger was laying Stan down onto the sand, grabbing a utility belt from a pile of clothes that Ford hadn't noticed until just now.

Stan was so pale, so quiet, so still.

The stranger rolled Stan onto his side before grabbing a device that looked like a metal wand, pressing the tip to the center of Stan's chest before swirling it in three tight circles. Ford didn't dare interrupt the bizarre ritual as the stranger dragged the metal wand up Stan's throat all the way to his mouth, no less than a gallon's worth of water pouring onto the sand as Stan's body twitched.

Then Stan was choking, coughing up the last of the water before sucking in a wheezing breath. And it felt like Ford could finally breathe again too, frantically grabbing for Stan as he openly sobbed. Ford pressed his face to Stan's violently shivering body, listening to his rasping breaths and weakened pulse. But he was alive. His little brother was alive.

"I'll carry him to the car, you collect my things." A heavily altered voice instructed and Ford looked up, blinking at the stranger. Honestly, he'd forgotten that the stranger was even there. "I'll purchase a motel room for the next few days, your brother can stay there until he has recovered."

Ford couldn't make himself ask the burning question of why the stranger was doing this for them, why he cared so much. Stan was the only thing that mattered right now, the answers to his questions could come later. Stan was his number one priority and he would not forget that ever again.

[fuck-customers]

[mournfulroses]

Marina Tsvetaeva, addressing her son, Mur, in her suicide note, featured in Earthly Signs Moscow Diaries

[cordeliawhohung]

Real Talk.

Hi. I wish I had good news, but I don't. This is going to get very venty and probably triggering, so I apologize in advance, but I don't want to just vanish.

I've made the decision to private pretty much everything on my account here on tumblr, and I am heavily fighting the urge to delete everything off of my AO3. I realize that I'm sort of self destructing, in a way, and I'm trying very hard not to just toss everything into the void lest I come to regret it later, but here we are.

Things in my IRL have not been great, and they haven't been good for a long while. I started up this blog a little over a year ago at the crux of my depression, fighting off extreme suicidal ideation and untreated PTSD. On top of that, I had to support my mother through marrying her abuser and watching her slowly lose herself while I helped assisted in taking care of my kid brother, and helped my other brothers through their battles with addiction. Like everyone else in the world, I've had a lot on my plate. So much so to the point that my anxiety and stress is making me sick.

For the first time in a very long time, I had picked up writing again and found it to be a wonderful outlet to really get my feelings out in a safe way. It was so freeing being able to be in control of everything, and explore the very real and scary emotions that people have otherwise wanted me to snuff out. I wish I could snuff it out. I have had no choice but to feel everything I wish I could run away from, but at least this way I was the one dictating everything. Even through the pain and the last few months of pure disassociation, this was mine.

Now, I hate it. I hate it all. I can hardly stand looking at these stories or anything I write.

I am not going to share names; and please do not go looking for this person or harass them as I'd quite frankly rather kill myself than have another glimimp situation and would probably just actually delete all my works; but something that really kicked this up was someone plagiarizing one of my works. While not exactly copy and pasted, I could compare pretty much every line they wrote to my own work. I do not mind people taking inspiration from my works, but the fact someone took it upon themselves to essentially create a "fix-it-fic" of my work was honestly the last straw for me, I think. And to just regurgitate half of what I had written like some high schooler summarizing a story?

"Kore, did you try talking to them?" The idea of confrontation actually makes me want to throw up and considering the actual issues I have going on in my real life, I don't see how it's worth getting up in arms over fanfiction. Believe it or not, I'm not really good with words, and I end up making a fool of myself and coming off way different than I intend to half the time (blame the autism I guess). And I know for a fact that it won't change the fact that I still hate it. My works. Everything I write. I want it gone. I want to purge it.

I hate The Prowl and TMTIV. I can't see myself writing for them anymore. I've tried. I had to force out the last chapter of The Prowl only to just not even be able to edit it. (Yeah when that anon sent me that ask about The Prowl? "When are you updating it next?" I literally had the rough draft finished when they sent that and was trying to edit it, and now I don't even want to look at it anymore).

And this sucks because I really do enjoy sharing my stories with you guys, but it's just not fun anymore. And if it's not fun, then why do I keep doing it? And I feel bad, especially to my patreon supporters because I definitely didn't deserve the support when I started that up, and I certainly don't deserve it anymore, but I really need to step away. For a good, long while.

I don't like dealing in certainties, which is why I'm privating everything on here rather than deleting my blog, because maybe one day I'll come back and continue. But right now it's really not healthy for me. This place has grown to become so toxic. I think I'll start focusing on original works instead. Ones I may or may not post to Patreon just... depending, I guess. Writing is still so lovely and I don't want to lose it, but I certainly can't keep it here for now.

I want to apologize to my followers, and my mutals. I cherish every kind message you all have sent to me. I appreciate how considerate you all are, and I'm sorry I don't have the energy to respond half the time. I've deleted tumblr off of my phone, so to the mutuals who want to keep in contact with me, feel free to ask for my discord or something. I'll try to get on to check tumblr every now and then for that.

In the end, I really hope this is just me having some stupid mental breakdown, and that this isn't a forever goodbye, but we'll see.

I'll hopefully be back someday (: if not, I'm sorry and I still love you.

[rezwrites]

hi! could u do a rio x f!reader enemies to lovers? maybe a detective au? and maybe smut if ur comfortable with it

Of course!

Warnings: 18+MDNI TW: very minor mention of murder/suicide cases, cursing, office sex, risky sex, mutual fingering

Eyes flickering between the case file and your computer you typed fervently shrill rings of the office phones outside your door and the clacking of your keyboard filled the silence of your mind as you worked away. This case was pretty simple this time around, thankfully.

“Knock knock,” her silvery voice invaded your senses. Immediate irritation painted your face as you looked up to see Rio leaning against your doorframe, a small box in her hands.

You’ve dealt with years of her atrocious arrogance. You wanted to knock her down a few pegs whenever she oversaw your cases and barked orders at you, as if you didn’t know how to do your own job. Most interactions the two of you always ended in an argument. It has simmered down recently, but she still gets under your skin.

“Oh no.“ you stood up, rounding your desk, “This case isn’t anywhere near FBI jurisdiction what are you doing here?”

“Your chief asked me personally to work this case with you. Something about you do better when I’m around.” Rio’s lips ticked up.

Clenching your jaw you narrowed your eyes at her, “The case is over. I just finished the crime scene report and sent it over to the lawyer for the trial.”

“I’m only kidding.” She pushed herself off of the doorframe, “I just came by to see you and to give you these.” She held out the box of cookies, subconsciously fiddling with the side of the ribbon wrapped around the box.

This was the fourth time this month she came by with food. You turned her away every time, despite how good the desserts looked. You had to acknowledge her dedication, the tiredness in her features showing you that she did indeed put effort into these treats. Guilt started to gnaw at you now that you think about it but you steeled yourself before she saw you waver.

You glanced down at the cookies then at her, “definitely poisoned.” Taking the box and tossing it on your desk, you crossed your arms turning back to Rio, leaning back on your desk.

“They aren’t. I stayed up late to make them.” She frowned, picking up the box shoving it into your arms, “Just eat one.”

“Why do you want me to eat your food so insistently?” You gripped the side of the box slightly denting it.

“Because I want to know what you like.” Rio stared intensely into your eyes, it was a little unnerving. It was like her sepia orbs were searching for something. You could see the dark circles under her eyes from the lack of sleep.

Reigning yourself in, you straightened yourself out , “I like… telling you to get the fuck out my office.”

There’s small twinge of pain in your chest when she sighs defeatedly, shoulders slumped as she walked out your office without so much as a witty comeback. Some part of you hoped she’d come back, guilt building the longer she didn’t. The rest of the day passed unusually quiet, the cookies left on the edge of your desk taunting you.

Stepping into your home quite late you were greeted by, Jupiter, weaving himself through your legs, meowing shrilly as he leads you to his bowl to fill. Putting his food up after filling his bowl, exhaustion hit you like a truck. Deciding to skip dinner you grabbed the box of cookies you had haphazardly tossed on the kitchen table, making your way to your bedroom.

The shower made your body heavy with tiredness, finally ready to stop fighting it you slipped into bed. Jupiter jumped up snuggling his small, orange body into your side. Flipping open the box lid, you hesitate picking up a cookie. Eventually, you took a bite savoring the way it was soft and chewy as it melted in your mouth.

After a few cookies your fingers slid over a slip of paper at the bottom of the box. Picking up and flipping over the bright pink note, the words in large black ink.

Delicious, right? ;)

Your face heated up, crumping the note in your fist tossing it back in the box. Shoving the box to the edge of the bed, you turned everything off and went to sleep.

Looking at the evidence board you're wracking your brain. It seems to be a simple murder-suicide but something in your gut says otherwise and the evidence to support your hunch isn’t there.

“Ugh, great. Feds are here. Again.” Your coworker grunted out. It seems you weren’t the only one aggravated when FBI got involved. Looking over your shoulder you see your chief escorting Rio into the meeting room. Chief explaining that the case now falls to the FBI due to the victims being part of an international theft ring.

That same coworker started going on a rant, shocking everyone including Rio. Fussing about getting cases taken away. He even had the nerve to insinuate that Rio had connections to higher-ups since she was always being the one to take cases.

For all your issues with Rio you could never deny that she knows what she’s doing and that she handles herself well on the field. You have to admit that you have learned a few skills from her throughout the years. All her decorations and medals are deserved. You’d be damned if someone that doesn’t know her at all slander her hard work.

You sat there seething until you couldn’t take it anymore. Slamming your palms on the table, everyone turning their heads to you as you stared this worm of a man down, “Enough! I completely understand the frustrations but we don’t have the resources nor manpower like they do. They are way more equipped to deal with criminals like these than we are. In the end we should be thankful the FBI is here. The only reason she gets these cases is because she’s great at doing her job. If you think your tough shit then go out there and try to do it yourself rather than sitting on your ass and complaining!”

The chiefs booming voice silences the whole room before anyone else could start mouthing off. He commanded everyone to go blow off steam, specifically instructing you to hand Rio all the files, evidence and reports.

Relief washed over you once you entered your quiet office, the soft click of the door closing behind Rio. Taking a deep sigh, you began to calm down compiling everything case-related into a Manila folder.

“You just defended me?” Rio stood there stunned, breaking the silence.

“I’m the only one who gets to be an ass to you.” You retorted quickly, a bite still evident in your tone.

“Aww, when did kitty get rid of her claws?” She teased, stepping towards you. Glancing over her shoulders you checked to make sure the blinds to your office windows were closed.

“Ugh, five minutes. Shut up for five minutes.” You exasperated.

A smirk grew in on her face, “I think I can find a way to occupy myself. Besides he did say to let off steam.” You watched as her eyes darted between your lips and eyes. Rio hovered in front of you, her warm breath fanning over your face. You leaned up initiating a gentle kiss. She cupped your face deepening the kiss, passionately. Breaths heaving as your fists twisted in her blazer, pulling her closer. Her hands fell to your side thumbs tracing patterns, sliding her thigh between your legs.

“I hate you,” you rasped out in between kisses, “I want to hate you.”

“I don’t want you to hate me. I never did.” she pulled back.

Can I?” Her fingertips stopped at the edge of the waistband of your slacks, her other hand on the small of your back keeping you upright. Eyes glossing over your face for any reaction.

“Yes.” You breathed out , “may I return the favor?”

“‘F course.”

Her hand slipped into your pants fingers ghosting over your sensitive bud, hips jerking for more pressure. Undoing her belt you’re sure she felt the same as her breaths stuttered when your fingers grazed her clit, drawing light circles.

“Already so wet from kissing?” Rio lightly mocked, running her fingers over your slick slit. As her fingers eased into you a low groan escaped you.

“Hush. You have no room to tease.” Your palm pushed against her as a digit slowly sunk into her own wetness making it easy. She could bury her face in the crook of your neck all she wants but you still feel the vibrations as she moaned when you added another finger.

Wrapping your legs around the back of her knees, you tried to keep your noises at a minimum as her fingers pumped in and out of your fluttering walls. Your movements faltered minimally before returning with fervor, both of your palms rubbing each others clits.

“I got you.” Whispering in her ear when you felt her knees quiver, curling your free arm around her. Her soft lips return to yours, nipping at your lower lip.

Curling your fingers into her warm depths, hitting the spongy spot her body started to shake. Holding onto her tighter you worked her through her orgasm, as she kissed you harder muffling herself, you swallowed her moans eagerly.

Releasing herself from your lips to breathe you bit her shoulder to fight your screams, as white hot pleasure crashed through you. Rio curled her fingers, an extra shock coursing through your body. Both of your shaky bodies stilled, coming down from your highs. Removing yourselves from each other you grabbed some tissues to clean up, your facing heating up when you turned back around to see her sucking your wetness off of her fingers.

“You ate the cookies, right?” Lifting your head to see her proudly smiling, “I may have added a love potion.”

“Stop,” you laughed, lightly pushing her shoulder, tucking her shirt back into she pants. Rio chuckled pecking your lips, smoothing your shirt.

“Let me take you on a lunch date.” Rio suggested starting to move over to grab the file. You grabbed her arm not wanting to leave your proximity yet, “Rio I-”

She looked at you quizzically as your words died out. You wanted to tell her how you felt, no doubt she felt the same after what just transpired but you still somewhat felt it wasn’t the right time.

“I love you too.” your eyes widened, a smile growing on both your faces,” Now let’s go get lunch.”

[why-i-love-comics]

DC's 'Twas the 'Mite Before Christmas #1 - "Streaks in the Sky" (2023)

written by Michael W. Conrad art by Gavin Guidry & Ryan Cody

[poppy5991]

Dabi: I’d take a bullet for you. I’m obviously the best league member.

Shigaraki: You’re suicidal. That means nothing.

[samgirl98]

DC X DP Prompt #4

It turns out that one of the things Danny inherited from Bruce was his need to make contingency plans.

Or: Danny's family finds out that he has contingency plans for all of them, including if Danny turns evil and how to permanently stop him

Bruce feels a certain way when he finds out his son has a plan to basically commit suicide.

[neil-gaiman]

Hi Neil,

A recent ask has prompted me to ask, given my father also hanged himself and left me with a raging case of PTSD: would you be willing to please tag any suicide-related asks with a tw: suicide? I would appreciate it. (Answer not necessary, and if you can't or don't want to, I understand.)

I'll do my best. I cannot promise I'll remember every time, or even spot it every time.

Also, for people who are triggered, episode 3 of Good Omens Season 2 has a threatened (but foiled) suicide attempt, and a mention of a long-ago suicide.

[justoneotherthing123]

Okay but like he's not working as a video essayist anymore though. He was trying to rebrand on tiktok and the "free advertising" the "Online Leftist Discourse Industrial Complex" gave him made him stop doing that. It's because people keep pointing out that he lied and scammed people that he's not currently lying and scamming people on youtube and tiktok.

On the hbomberguy subreddit there's a weekly thread talking about good youtubers that aren't as famous. It's a weekly thread that's trying to give attention to people with less clout in their community who do deserve that attention. They've been doing that for months. By contrast, they spent five months NOT talking about James Somerton until they found out that 1) he was trying to go back to tiktok, 2) also he was never sorry about plagiarism, and 3) he was absolutely manipulating people with that suicide note.

I know that some people out there consider all criticism a personal and hateful attack, but do you maybe think there's a reason why The Left™ chose to show that this specific guy had two alt accounts? Do you think they chose to show the tweets in which he goes "plagiarism and lies are no big deal, stop being angry about it," "if plagiarism and lies are a big deal then his cowriter did it," and "you people made him kill himself" for some reason? Do you think it may have something to do with him trying to rebrand on tiktok after he wrote a suicide note that made a bunch of people call the people who accused him of plagiarism and lying of being murderers?

[skxtchyghost]

[gallifreyanhotfive]

Random Doctor Who Facts You Might Not Know, Part 64

There is an entire mountain range in the TARDIS. Ace once climbed a snowy mountain inside the TARDIS, and she used to hide in the mountains when she and the Seventh Doctor would argue. (Audio: The Settling)

Ace learned to fence and swordfight from one of Cleopatra's guards. (Audio: The Settling)

The Fifth Doctor is scared of spiders. He has been known to freeze when he sees them, getting Peri to move them out of his way. (Short story: Light at the End of the Tunnel)

In the aftermath of his trial and getting Grant back to his homeworld, the Sixth Doctor contemplated suicide, thinking "it would be best to surrender; just let go of the rope and allow cold water to soothe him, to take his troubled consciousness away." (Novel: Killing Ground)

UNIT files list the Seventh Doctor as the most dangerous incarnation. (Audio: Persuasion)

The Eighth Doctor has been known to make "little piggy oink-oink" noises when he feels like pigs need to be comforted. (Novel: Dominion)

While imprisoned, the Fifth Doctor was once locked in solitary confinement for sixth months - long enough that when he got out, he was shaky on his legs and not used to daylight. (Audio: Doing Time)

Fitz Kreiner tried to kill a guy named Ed Hill. When this did not work, the Eighth Doctor picked up a gun himself and shot him to death. (Novel: Revolution Man)

The Sixth Doctor's pyjamas are loose and silver in color. They have prints of many different breeds of cats on them, all of which are wearing his signature coat. Mel almost "died of shock" when she saw them. (Novel: Instruments of Darkness)

The Fifth Doctor recalled that Jo once got herself into trouble with a lot of giant tortoises during one of the Master's evil schemes and that the Third Doctor had had to lower himself down on a three mile chain to communicate with winks and blinks and negotiate her release. (Audio: The Last Fairy Tale)

Ace was aware that the Seventh Doctor was not afraid of any monster, of pain, or of dying. He was afraid of being alone. (Novel: The Left-Handed Hummingbird)

The Doctor played a female incarnation of Omega in a school play at the Academy. (Short story: He's Behind You)

The Saga of the Time Lords was a theater performance said to portray the history of the Time Lords (although it was inaccurate). Notably, Omega became "the Hand of Meg," and "Rassilon the Dashing" was "President of Time." The other named character in the play was referred to as "Brother Braxiatel." (Short story: He's Behind You)

While talking to Rose about The Saga of the Time Lords, the Tenth Doctor compared it to fanfiction. Then he said that he loves fanfiction and thinks that Rose should read some of his. (Short story: He's Behind You)

During the Time War, the Eighth Doctor built an android companion named Ria. She was designed to be the perfect companion, to tell him that what he was doing was right. (Audio: Lies in Ruins)

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[somekindofsentience]

the fact that so many of the posts tagged with us election are begging people not to kill themselves is actually breaking me

[nowimjustastranger]

Somebody to Call My Own Lore | Part 2

This was too big to fit in one post so I had to split it into two parts, you can find part 1 by clicking on the AU tag! Please feel free to pop into my askbox if you have any questions about any of my AU's, I'm itching to ramble about them.

Trigger warning for suicide. Also, 77/H Ford's relationship with his brother is mentally & emotionally abusive.

Ford has far more advanced technology than what earth is capable of, taking inspiration from the dimensions he's visited to design a tattoo made of nanobots that allow him to teleport short distances, he still has to use the gun for long distances. But if he can see his destination, he can teleport there using the tattoo. The ink is red and the tattoo is the outline of the Stan o' War.

When Ford comes across dimension 77/H, he is pushed to the breaking point. Stan’s fate is to eventually take his own life after his brother guilt trips/emotionally manipulates him into staying by his side while Weirdmageddon swallows the world. Stan wouldn’t even be an official part of Bill's freaks, seen as akin to Ford’s pet by the group (Bill included).

Stan would end up suffocated with survivor's guilt and the worst self-esteem ever seen in a Stan, regarding himself as Ford’s loyal dog instead of a person. His hopelessness and despair wear him down until he is driven to take his own life, Ford wiping their dimension out entirely in his grief. The kicker is that Bill could’ve stopped it but didn’t because he wanted Ford all to himself, jealous that Stan got the majority of Ford’s attention and affection while Ford was reserved and cold with Bill. So Bill simply let Stan die, and that was ultimately his downfall.

419”3 Ford stays up for days in order to scour the timeline for a series of events that doesn't end with Stan killing himself, but most paths lead to the same destination while several others are decidedly worse and are immediately discarded. Ford gets more manic as his window to step in without catastrophic consequences to the timeline rapidly closes, his self-inflicted sleep deprivation and desperation pushing him to act rashly.

Stan had received the postcard like in canon, but the difference is that Ford had teamed up with Bill and opened the portal to bring Weirdmageddon onto earth. Ford had planned to have one of the freaks fetch his brother for him once they came through the portal, but the anti-weird barrier surrounding Gravity falls was an unexpected setback. So Ford opts to send his brother a postcard and work on finding a way to break the barrier while waiting for Stan to arrive, Bill doing his best to convince Ford that his brother would only be a distraction.

Ford didn't take kindly to Bill’s poor opinion of Stan, proving a point by ignoring his work for several days until Bill reluctantly apologized and agreed to spare Stan from the apocalypse by letting him live in luxury in Gravity Falls with Ford.

419”3 Ford steps in quite literally at the last minute, Stan’s car unknowingly approaching the barrier that separates the rest of the world from Weirdmageddon. Stan, of course, panics and yanks the wheel when a man dressed in all black and wearing a biker helmet darts into the road in order to avoid hitting the stranger. Stan’s car swerves into the ditch, slamming his forehead against the steering wheel when he hits a tree.

Stan is –understandably– disoriented as the figure pulls him out of the totaled car, Stan's awareness coming in waves. Stan thinks he sees a giant pink woman on fire watching them from the other side of the “Welcome to Gravity Falls” sign before the stranger adjusts his grip on Stan and his vision is overtaken by blue as he’s effortlessly hauled into a wormhole that deposits them in 419”3 Ford’s current headquarters in a different dimension.

[ozziescribbler]

TW: suicide

Statements "James Somerton doesn't deserve to die and I hope he's okay.", "Harry, Kat, Todd or Jessie (?!) bear no blame for James' self-harm and calling them murderers is abhorrent." and "Threatening or committing suicide is often a DARVO manipulation/revenge tactic." are allowed to all be true at the same time and not mutually exclusive.

[brynn-lear]

The Prime Minister’s Child

Synopsis: just a Modern Hitman!Boothill/Reader/Bodyguard!Argenti drabble where you're the reason why those two are fighting. Literally. [Word count: 467]

CW: implied mentally unstable reader [+ corrupt politician father]

“Turn your life around, my friend!” Your bodyguard yelled from behind the wall, biting his lip as he hissed from pain. 

“Not a forkin’ chance, you shirtbag!”

Argenti’s breathing was calm as he ejected the empty mag of his Glock 19. With obvious expertise, he smoothly retrieved a new one from the straps of his thigh and reloaded within seconds. Your bodyguard slightly leaned to the doorframe, eyeing where your assailant could be from inside the room. 

His eyes narrowed, preparing to resume fire. “Retain your honor, give up, and leave the premises!”

“Hah! Ya must be mad, (L/n)’s dog!”

The hitman yelled proudly, but if Argenti knew what was happening quite literally behind the scene, he might've taken action already.

“Damn, that mustard got me…” 

Boothill gritted his teeth, flipping the revolver of his trusty 9mm revolver with a flick of a wrist— revealing a disappointingly empty cylinder from his failed shots. What are the damn odds? Even with the right hypergeometric probability calculations, his performance was piss poor from expectations. The hitman pressed his back against the splintered casino table. Six fresh rounds in one speedloader. That should be enough to take that red haired man down. Maybe shoot him thrice for the trouble.

“But it ain't enough hate for me to say I fudgin’ loathe that bodyguard more than the IPC.” Boothill spat, seeing his saliva mixed with blood. “Forkin’ hell, I ain't letting that man get between me and that bounty. I'll get you first, (Y/n) (L/n).”

Argenti’s waiting behind the door. He knows it. And the enemy knows lady luck was with him like a sword at his side.

Shit just hit the fan. To the likes of Argenti and Boothill, this was a matter of life and death. To you? It was a gladiator match you were privileged enough to set up yourself. That's right—

You hired Boothill to kill you and Argenti to protect you. 

So while they were on each other's throat, you recorded their fight from inside the comfort of your bedroom. A bowl of microwaved popcorn was good company enough for this shitshow.

Your father made a big deal that your life was important enough to live and die for— but you didn't want to be the prime minister’s child. You didn't want to be anyone's child at all. To be saved or to be slain, in your eyes, seemed hardly different at all. 

You continued munching on snacks as Argenti fired a warning shot just meters away from where Boothill hid. The rich hardly need to make decisions for themselves, they let those below work for them.

So if your bodyguard asks why you hired a hitman to end your life, you'll simply say you're boosting the damned economy his employer secretly panders to.