#mugging tw

[memesomething]

your muse has a sudden, near-death experience appropriate to their universe (almost hit by traffic, fell off a horse, got mugged at knife point, was sniped from a building, etc). how do they react, how do they process the 'i almost died today'? do they reach out to their loved ones? do they tell anyone it happened at all? do they have a new 'carpe diem' attitude?

[juniper-sunny]

The Art in the Heart - Chapter 10

It’s time to tell Silco the whole truth of your history. Who knows if it might scare him off for good…

Everybody Lives AU | Pre-Act I | Silco x Reader | Female!Reader | Slow Burn | Fluff | Mild Angst || SFW | TW: Mentions of Bullying, Mugging, Offscreen Death | WC: 2.27k

ao3 || Masterlist || Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 3.5 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9

taglist: @sherwood-forests @deny-the-issue @let-the-monster-out @ariaud @joscelyn02 @crunchlite @sheacrowley

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This might be the last time you ever get to enjoy Silco’s company, and yet you’re staring at the ground. But maybe it’s better that way; if you look into his seafoam teal eyes, you’re liable to drown. They contain the same passion and intensity as the ocean itself, a force of nature that is at times beautifully tranquil, but can never be tamed or controlled. 

You wonder if you’ve studied his face enough by now to be able to depict him accurately in a painting. The soulfulness of his eyes alone would take hours to capture, not to mention mixing countless different paints to get that precise color that’s not quite a true blue or green, but something in between. The complexity of the color matched only by the hidden depths of the man himself. 

Will your memories be enough of a reference? If he refuses to pose for a portrait?

You should meet his eyes when you talk to him. It’s the least he deserves. But your neck won’t obey you and your head won’t turn either.

(You don’t deserve to look at him.) 

Well, no use in putting this off any longer. Clearing your throat hurts, but you finally begin.

“Do you remember how I started working for Pilties?” You had told him that morning a long time ago, the day after the burglary. 

“You were selling paintings at a Progress Day fair, when you were 17 years old,” Silco recalls. “When you were about to be arrested for vending without a permit, a philanthropic Topside merchant came to your rescue. He was so impressed by your skill he declared himself your patron on the spot.”

Despite yourself, you feel a beaming pride at the memory. “He wanted portraits for him and his entire family. He had a wife and four kids, so it was a literal jackpot. It was a pain in the ass getting them to pose, though.” 

The lump in your throat returns with a vengeance, a harsh, choking pain. Along with memories and old wounds resurfacing that you normally try to keep at bay. It’s been a long time since you actively recalled them. The act of confession seems to worsen your agony.

“At that time I was still living here, at Janna’s Hearth. Kharon, Teema, and Cuny were happy for me, but the other kids… weren’t,” you say slowly. “They’d say stuff like I was a Piltie bitch, or that I was turning my back on the Undercity. Some said that my real mom was a prostitute and that my dad was a Topsider, so I should just leave the orphanage and go ‘home’.” That one gets a chuckle out of you. 

Silco grimaces. “That’s not funny at all.”

You shrug. “It’s just kids talking shit, you know? But then… it started getting worse.” 

Telling Silco about the bullying is easier than you thought. It’s been so long now, you suppose it’s a blessing that there are some memories you’re emotionally detached from at all: your paints getting stolen, paintbrushes destroyed, sketchbooks torn up. Some of your already completed canvases had even been burned, forcing you to request a delay in commission deadlines. 

(And you deserved every minute of it.) 

It doesn’t seem to be easy listening for Silco, though. For all his experience as a revolutionary, you’d think he’d be made of tougher stuff. His face turns stiff as stone, his grave demeanor betrayed only by the trembling of his clenched fists.

“My friends really pulled through for me,” you continue. “Gita and Kai would take turns watching my stuff when I wasn’t around. Nyle beat some of the bullies up too. They were great… and then they started asking for money.

“I was happy to give it to them at first. But Gita and Kai kept asking for more and more, and they didn’t want to hang out unless I had money for them. That’s when I told them to piss off,” you admit. You hope that Silco won’t ask you to go into more detail; part of your ego never healed from the fact that your “friends” wanted you to pay for the pleasure of their company.

You can’t help the way you sound: spoiled by your good luck. Complaining about having more than enough money to help your friends. 

(You really do sound like a Piltie bitch right now.)

“What about Nyle?” Silco asks grimly. 

“Oh, she was great,” you say with a watery smile. “Never asked for a single coin. We moved in together. She even insisted on splitting all the bills.

“Then one night… I was walking home,” you hunch in on yourself, resting your chin on your knees. Fisting the cuff of your pants until your knuckles turn white. “I had just gotten paid… and someone was following me. I tried to get away, but they caught up to me. I ended up losing all my money that night.” 

Silco’s eyebrows shoot up in shock. “What did they do to you??”

“Oh, nothing,” you cringe at the misunderstanding. (Don’t make Silco pity you for something that never happened. Stop trying to make a martyr of yourself.) “They never touched me. I just threw my money at them to get away. But that was my half of rent for the month. 

“Nyle lost her shit at me that night. It turned out that Gita and Kai were sharing the money they got from me with her. That way Nyle could play both sides,” Even after all this time, a bitter part of you is still impressed by your former best friend’s duplicity. Part of the guilt in your chest dissolves into an acidic, burning anger. “Apparently she had been making me pay the entirety of the rent without telling me. I don’t know why she didn’t just ask me when we first moved in, I would’ve been fine with it.

“Anyways… She kicked me out that night. I— I didn’t have anywhere else to go. If Kharon hadn’t found me—“ The tightness in your throat intensifies. Your jaw locks and it hurts to swallow.

That night inflicted scars that never quite healed yet. It hurt to be treated so badly.

(But they needed you. You were a bad friend. And you’re a bad person. Does Silco know what a failure you are?) 

“I owe Kharon, Teema, and Cuny everything. I actually live and work here when I’m not on a job. I only stay at the Promenade when I have to meet with Topside clients… apparently people who live in the Undercity for too long smell bad,” you roll your eyes. 

“Where are they now? Your ‘friends’,” Silco’s voice is hard and cold. 

It’s been a long battle, but you finally give up: your vision swims with tears that start pooling in your eyes. With a wobbling voice, you answer mournfully, “Kai died in the mines. Gita’s missing… no one’s been able to track her down for years. I think Nyle’s a tattoo artist in the Lanes.” 

You still need to pull yourself together. If Silco hasn’t figured it out by now, there’s still one more thing you need to spell out for him. 

It’s the hardest, but most important thing to say. The heartbreak can come later. 

“It was all my fault… If I were a better person… I could’ve saved them. I should have saved them. But I was too greedy… I wanted to keep my friends and my money. And now I have money and no friends,” the mirthless sound that escapes you is more of a cough than a laugh. “Do you still want a spoiled, selfish brat like me in the Children?”

 Silco pulls you in for a hug before you finish your question. His arms wrap tight around you as you finally succumb to great, heaving sobs. 

It’s not just the shame and remorse from past demons that’s tearing your heart apart right now. 

Now that Silco knows everything, he’s going to leave you. And that terrifies you. 

You’ll never see him again. 

As if he can read your thoughts, Silco starts wiping your tears. Pulling you in closer, forcing you to lower your legs so you’re pressed into his torso.

“You are none of those things,” he says softly. “You did no wrong in those terrible circumstances. Listen to me,” he places his hands on the side of your head. Firmly but gently tilting your head up to look him in the eyes. “You must understand this: the ones who dared call themselves your ‘friends’ betrayed you. All they did was take advantage of your generosity.”

“But—”

“You didn’t fail them,” he cuts you off, correctly anticipating your counterargument. “Their well-being was not your responsibility. Even if it were, that would have been too much for any one individual to handle alone.

“You did nothing wrong,” he repeats. 

With his hands still holding your face, you can’t turn away. It’s almost disorienting, the effect his words have on you. Warmth and relief are twin arms around your heart. They’re not quite enough to save you from drowning, but they pull a great deal of weight off your shoulders, making it easier for you to swim to the surface. 

One of Silco’s hands wraps around the back of your head. The other holds your chin. Directing your gaze upwards as he presses his forehead against yours.

“I will say it as many times as you need to hear it… You’re perfect,” he whispers.

It’s not enough to pull you out of the waters you’ve been treading for years. But in between your sobs, you take a deep, gasping inhale, filling your lungs and body with a renewed vitality. 

Your hands rise to touch him. The action is involuntary, but feels perfectly natural. One of your hands falls on the side of his neck. The other rests on his shoulder. 

“You’re cute, too,” Silco’s nose touches yours. You hear the smile in his voice more than you see it. He’s so close to you now. 

You sniffle and laugh. “I’m surprised you remembered last night.”

(“And I meant it when I said you were cute. You are cute. Feel free to ask me when I’m sober. I’ll tell you again and again, as many times as you need to hear it.”)

“Don’t you know? I always keep my promises,” he says under his breath. 

His lips part. The perfect space to fit yours against him. 

All you need to do is lean in closer…

And closer…

And—

“Auntie?” Vi’s voice shatters the moment. The little girl stands in the doorway.

You pull back with a gasp. Breaking free from Silco’s hands. 

“Hi sweetie!” You squeak out. Jumping to your feet. Almost stepping on Silco in your haste to run to Vi. Silco’s words and the intimate moment have you wound up, your heart hammering erratically and palms sweating.

He scoots backwards. Eyes following your progress across the room. 

You crouch down next to the little girl, determinedly fixing your gaze on her. “What’s up?”

“Is my rabbit here?” The little girl asks. 

Silco notices the toy. It’s still next to the bed that Powder was hiding under. He picks it up and hands it to you, looking you in the eyes when he does so. 

You take it from him without returning his gaze. 

“Here you go, Vi,” you tell her. “Have you finished breakfast yet?”

“No.”

“Tell Kharon I said it’s okay for you to have seconds,” you pat her head. “You have to eat a lot so you grow big and strong!” Hopefully the manic energy in your voice comes off as enthusiastic and not panicky. 

After receiving another smooch on her forehead, Vi dashes off. 

You’re tempted to run after her. But you can't leave Silco behind. You stand and take a deep breath, turning to face him. 

“Thank you,” you whisper. 

“Whatever on earth for?” Silco asks, getting to his feet. Stepping closer to you.

It’s hard to find the right words. To describe how much Silco means to you. His friendship, his support, his countless kindnesses…

It means everything. So much more than you can say. 

Instead of speaking, you hug him. Standing on tiptoe to wrap your arms around his neck. 

He reciprocates immediately. Lean but corded arms wrapping around your waist. Nuzzling his cheek against your hair. 

He keeps you warm. Not just with how comforting his arms are around you, but also melting the painful frost that’s trapped your heart for so long. 

You don’t know how long you both hold each other in silence. It’s nice enough that you want it to last forever. Two moons orbiting each other, unable and unwilling to break free to rejoin the greater galaxy. You press your face into his chest while he strokes your hair.

Silco’s stomach gurgles. Rumbling the moment like shattering glassware. 

You wince when you pull away from him. “I’m so sorry, I forgot you haven’t eaten. Why don’t you go and get some—”

“I’m fine,” Silco insists. He looks as chagrined as you feel. “Besides, we have many more rooms to finish.”

“I can take care of it—”

“Please, allow me to help you,” Silco says. “Then perhaps you’d like to join me for brunch?”

You take a moment to ponder his offer. Even if you weren’t starting to get hungry yourself, good food is always more enjoyable in good company.

And Silco is the best company you could ever hope to ask for.

When you tell Silco yes, he beams at you. 

Gods, what a beautiful smile. You hope you’ll get the chance to paint it one day. 

Chapter 11

[viv-fonseca]

@khalilhassan​

VIV’S APARTMENT

Viv had enjoyed every moment with Khalil, wine drunk and sugared up. She may have flirted more than she already was, slipped her hand in his when he took her home in a gesture she didn't spend too long picking a part until she fell into a dessert wine slumber. It felt good to see him again. Each time was like a warm embrace from the past, one of the few parts of her youth that wasn't sharp edges and biting words. Khalil was good, kind- she kicked herself for letting time get between them. But Viv was learning more and more as of late that she was shit at keeping in touch and easily fell into the woes of her life and the distractions that followed. And in all the wonderful distractions Khalil had been offering her, she'd yet to tell him the news of Ivan. The first time she could chalk it up to the alcohol. The second, the night was too full of laughter to bring up something terrible, and even now, pressing her shoulder fondly against his, Viv couldn't bring herself to form the words. It almost felt cruel both to tell him and both to have not told him sooner. Pushing her shoulder against his to get his attention, Viv lifted her eyes up at him, a far-off smile on her lips, "So..." She started, "in all our catching up, I've been unsure of how to tell you something." Viv pulled her eyes away, her fingers tangling together in her laps, picking at old nail polish chipped due to how rough she was on her hands. She didn't talk about Ivan, most people didn't have the knowledge of him to ask, and whenever anyone in her family did speak of him, Vivienne found a way to cut the conversation short before their blame could slip into their tone. But Khalil was different, and she wondered when or if he and Ivan had fallen out of touch. Exhaling, she blinked away unshed tears and found the courage to look at him as she spoke with her voice low and controlled. "In September -" She paused, "I should have told you sooner." She continued, her knuckles stretched thin and white, "We were going to dinner, walking a few blocks Ivan and I." She explained finding it more difficult than she imagined to retell a story ten months gone. Her chin quivered, and Viv swatted at her, preemptively slid the side of her palm under her eyes, her fingers catching tears before they fell over her cheeks. "Some man tried to take our things. Money, watch- jewelry." Viv said, her fingers intuitively wrapping around her bare neck to feel for a necklace she hadn't worn in almost a year. Sniffling, Viv shook her head. He should be spared the details, "Ivan was hurt." She managed to get it out, hoping he could fill in the blanks she couldn't speak aloud. Viv pressed her palms together, shuddering, "He didn't make it, and after, I couldn't stand being there anymore. It's why I left." Finally, she admitted, her tone heavy with all her unspoken shame, "I couldn't face any part of it anymore. I handled it all so poorly." She was still handling it poorly, more so not handling it at all. "I should have told you so much sooner, Khalil. I wasn't sure how. I knew I needed to. You deserved to know...I'm sorry." She ended her palm open for his hand if he needed the comfort, or perhaps it was for herself, looking for something substantial to anchor her in the now.

[incorrectjercyquotes]

[breakthroughtheconfusion]

Continued from here:

@aikidoheroine​

"Chiaki, are you okay!" Tenko immediately rushed over to the gamer, wrapping her into a hug. "Of course you can stay with me, but what happened to you?"

“I-I got mugged...” The gamer tightly hugged back, burying her face in the other girl’s shoulder for a few moments. “I-I’ll tell you about it inside, okay?”

[ofmythsandfables-a]

@insatiablelilith​ asked: “  i’m gonna fucking kill them.  ” (for Selina)

❈ --- She decided to go for a jog that late afternoon. Something she’d done ever since she had been in London and Emerson was always encouraging her to keep at it since she so obviously enjoyed the little bit of time to herself. It helped her clear her thoughts and focus. But on this particular evening as she was jogging back to Emerson’s home, a couple of guys decided to jump her. Selina put up a good fight, was able to evade most of their blows and land some of her own, but they got some good hits in there as well. They left a few bruises along her body and a busted lip. Her head throbbed and she realized that her phone had been snatched along with her earbuds. So wincing and limping back to the home, she wasn’t shocked to see Emerson go into a fit of rage when she explained to him what happened once inside.

“They’re not worth it, babe.” She hissed as she moved toward the bathroom to try and clean herself up. “I’ve dealt with worse idiots and endured way worse beatings. This is nothing...” 

[livrhodes]

Where: Food Trucks 

With: @evandonahue

Liv hadn’t seen Evan since the mugging incident, so she figured the spring break event was the perfect chance to bring him something to thank him properly for helping her out. She was now post hip surgery and was getting around on crutches for the next couple of weeks, but she still wanted to get out of the house and have fun. Approaching him by one of the food trucks, Liv smiled at him. “Hi, Evan! I have a little something for you,” she said, handing him the bag of chocolate chip cookies that she made. “These are to thank you for all your help when I got mugged. I still don’t know what I would have done if you weren’t there.” 

[bloodsweatandpotato]

Whumpay day 16

“Put your weapon down.”

Fandom: Original work

Characters: Kieran (OC), Cole (OC)

Tw: Knives, blood

Summary: With food becoming scarce, people tend to get jumpy around winter. Kieran can’t blame them, but he sure wishes Cole was better at hostage negations. The knife pressed to his throat sort of stings.

“Put your weapon down.” Kieran hissed out, shoulders tensing against his unseen attacker. The figure behind him didn’t reply, shaking hand keeping the knife pressed to Kieran’s throat.

“Cole.” Kieran looked to Cole, who was standing only a few yards away, bandana hiding his expression. ‘Talk.’ Kieran mouthed silently.

“H-hey. Let him go.” Cole took a step forward. His voice was thin and shaky, completely drained of his usual cool, slightly intimidating confidence.

The knife pressed into Kieran’s skin, penciling a line of red, splitting the top layer of skin. Kieran grit his teeth, stifling a whimper.

“Not any closer! G-get back! Get back or I’ll... or I’ll slit his throat!”

Kieran thought that the voice sounded young, and now that he thought about it, he was sure that the figure was at least half a foot smaller than him.

“T-take off your pack!” The figure spat, words sharp and strained, as if he was trying to keep from losing his nerve.

Cole raised up a hand, palm out. “Hey... Let’s just... we can talk about this, okay kid?”

“Don’t call me kid!” The figure shifted again, taking a step backward. Kieran was dragged back with him, letting out a sharp gasp as the knife pressed harder into his skin.

“Y-yeah, yeah, okay. Just... Just let him go. Nobody needs to get hurt.” Cole stuttered, and Kieran absentmindedly thought that Cole was more panicked than him, the one with a knife pressed to their throat.

“Get away!” The figure screeched, for lack of a better word.

A single bead of sweat glistened on Cole’s forehead.

Kieran’s hands shook at his sides, curled into fists. He could feel his pulse against the knife, each beat of his heart pressing skin dangerously taunt against steel.

“Put your weapon down, we can talk about this.” Kieran said, breaths shallow, voice barely a whisper.

He is proud to note that his voice doesn’t shake as he speaks.

“Put your... put your pack down!” The figure didn’t acknowledge Kieran.

Cole pulled at his backpack straps slowly, deliberately sliding them off of his shoulders. Kieran’s eye widened, staring at Cole silently, trying with all his might to get Cole to stop.

Cole placed the backpack on the ground, crouching slowly, before raising up.

“K-kick it over!”

Cole pulled back his foot, before nudging the pack over to Kieran’s feet.

The figure let go abruptly, knife pulling away from Kieran’s skin before he could even blink. Kieran stumbled forward, off balance form the sudden release.

The figure (Kieran could see now that it was a boy, maybe 14 years old), grabbed the pack, skittering away. He tripped over his own feet, darting past Kieran.

“Cole!” Kieran yelled, hand catching on the kid’s pant leg.

Cole sprung forward, taking advantage of Kieran’s handhold. He pushed the kid to the ground, kicking up a cloud of dirt as he pinned the squirming figure.

“Let me go!”

Cole reached to grab the knife.

The kid plunged it into the closest thing he could find, Kieran’s leg.

Kieran howled in pain, head thrown back as his scream devolved into a sobbing whimper. It BURNED.

Cole snatched the backpack from the Kid’s other hand, before twisting to look at Kieran. Using this as an opportunity, the kid wormed out of Cole’s grasp, darting away.

“Kieran!”

IT BURNED.

Kieran grit his teeth, eye squeezed shut as his body jerked with repressed screams.

Cole’s hands reached out to flutter about the knife handle, torn between touching the handle or letting it be. He finally ripped off his bandana, pressing the yellow fabric around the handle, soaking up the blood and stabilizing the blade.

Kieran keened in pain, back arching as fire shoots up his leg, vision going white. He panted, fingers digging into the dirt.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Cole felt sick, hands slick with blood, pulsing between his fingers as he holds the knife steady.

He pulled away, vision tunneling as he rips open his backpack, pulling out the first and kit. You were supposed to keep the knife in, right? Until you got to the hospital... but there was no hospital, no ambulance, no doctors...

Gripping the handle again, Cole closed his eyes, before ripping the blade out with one swift motion.

Tossing the knife away with an overwhelming wave of revulsion, he pressed two, three, five pads of gauze to the stab wound.

Blood gushed freely now, spurting out in time with Kieran’ racing pulse. Cole pressed down, digging in his pack for a shirt.

His fingers closed around a bright blue T shirt, and Cole ripped sit out of the pack. Ignoring Kieran’s raw, pained scream, Cole wrapped the shirt around Keiran’s upper leg, just above the knee.

Knotting the makeshift tourniquet, Cole gritted his teeth, trying to steady his hand.

Kieran’s cries died down to low pants, and Cole ripped off the blood saturated gauze.

Cole’s hands shook as the needle pierced Kieran’s blood-slick skin.

By the time the last suture was tied off, Cole slumped back, panting. Kieran whimpered slightly.

“He was so young.” Kieran whispered, before going quiet, breath hitching.

Cole nodded silently, staring up at the cloudy sky.

They didn’t move until night fell.