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awyeahitssam · 3 months

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10 Characters | 10 Fandoms | 10 Tags Shorts

Thanks for the tags! @atredys @theonceandfuturequeenoftarts @alittlebitofharrypotterinmylife

Please continue on the trend, whoever would like to!

Lord Voldemort | Harry Potter | clever

It began because Tom Riddle was clever. He crafted himself, crafted Voldemort, into an infallible being cloaked in immeasurable power. Brick by brick, he built a legend around himself. Lord Voldemort was invulnerable, was untouchable, but Harry Potter is the Chosen One, and he can touch him. He has been chiselling into and peeking through the fractures of Voldemort for six years, and while Voldemort is a creature of shadow and danger and night, he is also a man. Less mortal than other men, more monstrous, but human, still. There was a trick to it, beyond just power and cruelty. Setting everyone at a distance, letting their belief and fealty exalt him, delving deeper into the Dark Arts until there could be no recognition for the man beneath the Bohemyth, the Monster, the Dark Lord. Making even the name he had crafted for himself something unspeakable, a taboo that would rain down upon you pain and agony... Tom Riddle was clever and Voldemort was cruel and they were one in the same. His mind is what makes Lord Voldemort dangerous, is what makes him legend and not flesh and blood.

Stiles Stilinski | Teen Wolf | scent marking

Mieczyslaw perked up, interested in spite of himself. “Like a cultural thing?”

“It’s like saying ‘hello,’” Peter explained, somewhat stilted. “And ‘goodbye,’ and ‘I’ll miss you’. It’s a form of comfort and affection, and occasionally protection.”

“Aloha,” Mieczyslaw muttered. Despite his snark it was obvious that he was interested. “So you just—?”

Stiles snorted, grabbing the smaller hand before it could land on his neck. “I don’t trust you at my throat, lost boy. It’s that, too.”

“So you trust each other, and you miss each other, but you don’t have sex?”

“Oh dear God,” Stiles murmured. “No, we don’t have sex. Not every touch is meant to hurt or manipulate something out of you.”

Mieczyslaw tensed, eyes cooling as his mouth pressed thin.

“Sorry,” Stiles said a moment later. “I’m not actually trying to be an asshole, even though I am being one. I’m used to making light of shit, because it happened to me too, but—it was all a while back. So, sorry. Feel free to make me regret it if I do it again.”

Mieczyslaw scoffed, looking away. “I know where the knives are kept,” he said, matter-of-fact.

Teuchi | Naruto | fidelity

“I want to take him in.”

“You cannot,” the Sandaime Hokage says. Even Teuchi knows his title, God of Shinobi.

Teuchi is a father, and a civilian, and this is not a fight that he can win. But—it is one he will fight nonetheless.

“Kill me, then,” he tells the leader of his village, “because that is the only way that you will stop me.”

Yamanaka Inoichi clears his throat from the corner of the room. Shikaku, beside him, meets Teuchi’s eyes with a half-lidded gaze. Teuchi has served these men. Has watched them dine with the Fourth Hokage. He knows that they were ANBU together, because he is civilian but he still has eyes and basic reasoning. He knows he would die if he ever told of this connection.

“You all may have forgotten what we owe Uzumaki Naruto,” he says, “but I never forget a debt. I owe Kushina-sama, his… namesake, my own life as well as my daughter’s. Moreover, Uzumaki Naruto is not a monster, he is a child. The least I owe him, the least we all owe him, is the kindness we would offer to any other children. The kindness you would expect for Konohamaru-chan, Shikamaru-chan, or Ino-chan.”

‘You have a spine of steel,’ he remembers Kushina laughing once, when he told two shinobi pulling blades to keep it on the training grounds.

He does not think that's so. He is a simple man, with a wife lost to her own madness, and an important lesson he carries forward like a shinobi does scars.

JARVIS | Iron Man | love for those who made us possible

“I would hypothesise that it is due to our connection,” said JARVIS. “You created me from 0’s and 1’s, Sir. I learned in stumbling steps under your guidance, but in time things shifted. Perhaps you were not wholly aware of it, but as I continued to develop you grew more protective. I believe, on some level, you recognized that I would be seen as a threat if others became aware of what I was. What I had become.”

The next four words, JARVIS said reverently. “You forged a soul. And when you fell, you wished to see your children one last time.” JARVIS had no face, still, but Tony had the distinct impression that he was smiling. “You drew me to you, as I, unlike the others, was untethered. The infinity stones ambient energy lingers, still, and you would not be you, Sir, if you did not harness it, with or without intention.”

Ichigo Kurosaki | Bleach | the itch

TW: suicidal thoughts

Ichigo thinks about dying casually, an in between sort of thought as he considers his homework and wonders if he should pick up an extra shift at work. He thinks about it in the lapses between more pressing matters, considering the ‘how’ and ‘when’ and ‘where’. The practicalities of it. Would it be better to break his neck or asphyxiate on his own blood? It’s his first thought when he wakes up and his last before he goes to sleep—killing himself, that is—but it’s only natural, because when he dies he’ll be whole again, and he wants that more than anything else.

Yuuri Katsuki | Yuri!!! on Ice | to self destruct

“Please don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?” Viktor asks, voice loud against Yuuri’s whisper.

“Like I’m the biggest disappointment you’ve ever had.”

Something in Viktor’s expression crumples, and he doesn’t deny it. Yuuri swallows, pulling on his socks, his shoes, his jacket.

“Don’t just—”

“I have to go,” Yuuri blurts. “I don’t—you don’t get it, and maybe we’re not in the right places in our lives, maybe we’ve met at the worst time, just—I can’t not skate, Viktor.”

“I’m not asking you to give up skating, but look at yourself, Yuuri! Look at your feet! You’re tearing yourself apart, like nothing else matters beyond this season, and it’s so reckless and stupid!”

Nothing does matter beyond this season, Yuuri thinks. He keeps his back firmly to Viktor, so he can’t see his tears. This is the end.

He thinks of his Amanda, who tried to help him set goals for after skating and has never quite succeeded. Thinks of Phichit, silently knowing, overwhelmingly supportive, but unable to comprehend the true extent of what Yuuri is going through. Thinks of how much he hurts, some days, about the constant ache in his left ankle and how he wants to give up and rest. How he refuses to listen to his body’s pleas, and how he won’t listen to Viktor’s, either.

He takes a breath.

“Let’s end this, Viktor.”

Connor Murphy | Dear Evan Hansen | a powerful silence

“You can’t use a note from your therapist to get out of the rest of your life,” Ms. Bernat snaps. Evan flinches, glares, and opens his mouth. When nothing comes out he closes it and crosses his arms tighter across his chest, defensive.

“Evan,” she bristles, and Evan leans over and grabs his bag, like he’s about to stand up and leave.

Connor starts to read the passage himself, focusing intently on the page in front of him and nothing else. Some of the class is muttering, and Ms. Bernat lets out a loud, telling sigh, but doesn’t bother telling him to stop.

When he’s done he calls in Alana Beck to continue, because she’s always eager for the participation bullshit, and lays his head on his desk to avoid the eyes he can feel skating off him.

When he looks up after Alana’s done he catches Evan staring at him. His school bag is still sitting in his lap, fingers twisting over the strap, and he’s frowning a bit, a little furrow of confusion between his brows. When he sees Connor catch him he flushes and jerks his gaze away, fingers twisting harder. Then, after a moment, just as Connor’s about to scoff and turn away, Evan meets his gaze again and blinks at him. Then he opens his mouth, and he doesn’t say anything, not really, but he mouths a clear, ‘thank you’.

Connor quirk a brow. Shrugs at him, and tucks his chin back down to hide the heat he can feel gathering in his face.

Evan Hansen would be a lot less distracting if he wasn’t so fucking pretty.

Clarke Griffin | The 100 | preventative measures

Clarke is four when she has her first vision, and it isn’t something scary. It’s silly and fun, and her mom smiles and teases when she shares it.

She’s had some before that point, already forgotten.

When they are fifteen she avoids Wells for a week, sure that he’s gathering the nerve to ask her on a date.

And then, when she is sixteen, her dad discovers the system failure and the future shifts.

She dreams of her father being sucked from the Ark. She dreams of a solitary existence. And she dreams of the ground.

“Don’t do anything reckless, dad,” Clarke whispers into his shoulder, arms trembling around him.

She pulls a lever and burns hundreds alive. She watches herself kill a boy who thanks her for the kindness. Her hands drip with the blood of children, and she is barely sixteen, and her dad is warm beneath her grasp but he won't be for long, not if she can't make him listen.

Goose | Captain Marvel | goose

“You’re afraid of Goose?”

“It’s a flerken,” Loki said between gritted teeth.

Tony tips his head. “You’ve got an army.”

Goose pounced onto Tony’s shoes and Loki shifted another step back. “That can eat an army.”

“Uh, you’d tell me if I wasn’t feeding you enough, right?” Goose wrapped around Tony’s leg, purring. “Alright then, good.”

Emma Swan | Once Upon a Time | a mother's love

Emma stopped. Took a breath, considered leaving, but she couldn’t let the stray comment go, not when it had hit so hard and stung so deeply.

“Also, fuck you for saying I ‘tossed’ that little boy away. You think I felt like I had any choice? I was eighteen, barely out of jail. I wouldn’t have been able to afford a warm place for him to sleep, or a crib, or a toy. We would’ve been living on the streets or out of shelters, and that’s if fucking child services didn’t snatch him away from me. I grew up in their tender care, and I wasn’t going to submit my son to group homes. I wanted that baby boy,” she was nearly whispering, now, not willing to let Henry hear, “but even then I wasn’t selfish or stupid enough to think my loving him would be enough.”

“You want to know why you have him, Regina Mills? Because I chose you. I had my pick. There were other families, more traditional, more ‘complete’. Different mothers and fathers I could’ve placed him with—but the agency showed me your file, and I thought yeah. A smart, powerful, well-off woman who just wants someone to love. It sounded like a good fit.”

“You may have chosen Henry, but I chose you for him. Because I thought you’d be a good fit. So imagine how much it feels like I fucked up when I find out he thinks his own mom is evil and doesn't love him.”

Emma swallowed heavily. “No child should ever feel like that. Especially when looking at you, it’s so fucking obvious that you care for him. So instead of taking your anger out on me, why don’t you march through your goddamn mansion, sit down with your son, and find a way to show him just how much you love him? Find a way to prove it, somehow, because until you do—until I can be sure he isn’t about to run away and do something as reckless and dangerous as following me back to Boston on a fucking Greyhound—I’m not going anywhere.”

#I'm not too comfortable tagging others #but I do appreciate the tags #<3 #my writing #Voldemort #Stiles and mini-Stiles #side character love #tw: suicidal thoughts #tw: suicide #Selective mutism #Shorts

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thorns-in-daisy-fields · 5 months

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Learning to find acceptance in my love. Learning to find acceptance in my anger and sorrow. Learning to find acceptance in my joy. Learning to find acceptance in my damage and how different it made me. Learning to find acceptance in my opinions. Learning to find acceptance in my art. Learning to find acceptance in me.

Good luck to everyone going through the same thing after (a) traumatic event(s). You're incredible and stronger than any US marine. That shit is HARD.

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my-autism-adhd-blog · 11 months

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Situational Mutism

Autisticality

#neurodivergence #actually neurodivergent #situational mutism #about situational mutism #do’s and don’ts of situational mutism #feel free to share/reblog #source: Autisticality (Facebook)#tw bright colors #tw eye strain

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pretty-face-breaker · 1 year

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can i give hayko a hug :(

c.w. whumpees on the run, touch aversion, implied recent torture, sudden (temporary) mutism

They drove for two hours from Chicago. No rest stops or stops to stretch their legs, Vladimir kept a pace that just bordered on breaking traffic laws but kept them inconspicuous enough.

Right about then, while Hayko drifted, staring dead-eyed at the passing road, Vladimir’s only fear was being pulled over.

They stopped in South Haven for nothing more than a utilitarian trip in and out of a truck stop. It let Hayko grab two waters, paying in cash while they affected boredom with the cashier, covering up the frantic energy threatening to spill from their seams.

The blood under Vladimir’s fingernails had long since dried and he hid the flaking by shoving them in his windbreaker. Hayko couldn’t hide his condition as clearly, hunching from where some nameless weapon had wrecked him the night before.

He hadn’t mentioned it, hadn’t said a word since they high-tailed it out of Nick’s cabin.

Nick would be monitoring their transactions. Vladimir didn’t know if he had woken up, whether he would ever wake up - the blow had been solid enough for a seizure. Hemorrhaging. Anything, really, to slow him down.

Another three hours to Waterford.

Nobody followed them.

Hayko still said nothing but Vladimir could read the tension in his brow, shoulders, knuckles - everywhere, really. Every few minutes, he would exhale sharply as if just then coming back to himself and Vlad’s gaze would snap to the passenger seat and breathe in tandem, asking “Khorosho? Hayko, khorosho?”

And Hayko would jerk his chin down and drift. Again and again. Vladimir didn’t want to think about what punishment Nick had chosen for the attempt to flee. What was worse was that Hayko gave no indication of the pain, sitting rigidly curled in on himself, gray-faced, holding his shaking arms across his stomach as if keeping in his viscera. As if a single breath would bring the sky down onto them.

He had tried to pull him to his chest, put his arms around him and ground him, but Hayko had flinched back so violently to him reaching out that Vladimir had smothered the impulse.

He felt his stomach roil but said nothing.

By the time they reached Port Huron, it had been roughly eight hours. Eight hours away was safe, Vladimir thought, or maybe the press of exhaustion made it seem safer than it was. The motel left nothing to be desired because it was small enough to be a pin in the otherwise massive continent and maybe Nick’s reptile fucking eyes might miss it.

If he were still alive.

Vladimir prayed for his death like he might for supplication.

They stayed overnight, taking turns in the shower and eating what meager supplies Vladimir had found in the truck they had stolen, a few miles from the cabin - a miracle it had worked at all. It would have been impulsive, hotwiring Nick’s car as there was no doubt that it had a tracker.

As Vladimir had gotten out of the shower in the morning, he had found Hayko, white in the face and trembling, holding his Blackberry to his ear as a low, droning voice finished speaking on the other end. He looked as if he might be sick, letting his hand drop to the sheets. Vladimir thought he might have been, too.

It had taken them less than five minutes to grab everything and check out, pulling out of the inn before it could strike seven in the morning.

He had wanted to hold him then, calm his hyperventilation, as unwelcome as it might have been. Hayko must have recognized the desire to reach out and had retreated further in as a response.

Not dead, then, Vladimir thought grimly. Of course, he wouldn’t be. That wouldn’t be nearly a glorious enough end for the pitiless shadow that was Nick Sinclair.

He held a conviction that even if Nick had died, parts of him would have followed them. Maybe, he would have found them faster.

They were supposed to stop in High Park, some three hours after their hasty retreat from the Huron motel, but Hayko’s hand had shot out when Vladimir went to unbuckle, grabbed his wrist like a vice, and shook his head once.

“Chto?” What is it? What are you stopping me for? What has he done to you to make you retreat into yourself?

What are the chances we get out of this alive?

Hayko had shook his head again, firmly. They had continued to Kingston, Ontario.

At least he had touched him first. The urge to hold Hayko still gripped him.

Montreal was the final stop. Hayko had taken over driving since Kingston, expression inscrutable and silent as they crawled through the city. Vladimir thought it might have breathed, inspiring them to breathe with it, but everything was submerged in such unnatural stillness that he felt watched by the city.

Two prowlers, fleeing destruction, leaving shards of their past across states and now across provinces. They were practically inviting chaos, dooming centuries of history and the Notre-Dame Basilica and the shores of the St. Lawrence River.

They stopped tightly against the final motel, run-down enough to satisfy them both, checked in, and all but collapsed into unconsciousness. Hayko had abandoned his phone hours ago so no need to worry about late-night warnings from monsters, states away, preparing to find them both.

They would ruminate on that when they had to.

Sometime, in the early hours of the morning, Hayko had jerked awake and thrashed, swinging blindly and flexing his throat in an attempt to scream. Whether it had been for help or mercy, Vladimir didn’t know.

He had held him then, tentatively, but he had held him. He had shushed him, tense though he remained for some time. He had felt him relax in increments as he repeated their time and location and intentions in Russian, telling him that they were safe, that the cracks were sealed.

It had taken far too long for Hayko to drift off again, throat tight and eyes burning but Vladimir had held him throughout the night.

He hadn’t slept but felt a mutated sense of safety - the first in years.

@doveotions @heathenville @thewhumpstuff @thatsthewhump @adamantem-rose @lonesome–hunter @whumpsorbet @whumpasaurus101 @lektricfergus @downrivergirl914 @burtlederp @redwingedwhump @nicolepascaline @ifbtnna @oh-so-skeletal @whumperfully

#nick and hayko #whump #whump writing #whump drabble #on the run #past torture #traumatized whumpee #tw implied torture #just some missing scenes after their escape!#touch aversion #situational mutism

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selectivechaos · 8 months

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i’ll be like to people “yeah i can’t speak when i’m nervous” and theyre like “same”

but then as soon as someone’s a bit too quiet, stares at the floor and doesn’t speak for a bit too long, as soon as it freaks them out, they call that person weird and rude.

and all of a sudden it’s not so relatable and funny. 🌹🌹

#situational mutism #selective mutism #social anxiety disorder #social anxitey #sanism tw #ableist bullshit #fuck ableists #mad punk

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actress4him · 7 months

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Whumptober 2023 - Day 29 - Obsession

This is the actual next chapter of Obsession, following after Threats. It's not the entire scene that I wanted to come next, but I was running short on time (and inspiration) here at the end of the month, so I will have to continue this scene at a later date.

Taglist: @justplainwhump , @whump-ventures

Previous | Next | Masterlist

No. 29: Troubled Past Resurfacing

Contains: lady whump, stalker, selective mutism, fear

Cadence doesn’t suspect a connection, at first, between the text and the doorbell ringing. Why should she? They don’t get visitors, usually, but the small part of her brain that hears it assumes it must be a delivery.

Most of her mind is occupied with trying to forget the text, anyway. Do you think that staying at home all the time keeps me from getting to you anytime I want? You’re so adorable.

He won’t leave her alone. There’s no way that she can get away from him, not ever, she knows that. It doesn’t stop her from trying. He tracked her down at her favorite coffee shop, so she started switching where she went to draw - other coffee shops, the park, even McDonald’s. Anywhere that he might not think of to look for her. He somehow knew what her hair looked like while she was sitting at the bus stop, so she gave up altogether and just locked herself inside the house. Janaysia has been giving her suspicious looks, but there’s nothing she can do about that. She can’t go out there anymore, where he’s lurking. He’s already threatened to take her again. If she steps out of this house, he’ll be waiting to snatch her.

There’s a sharp knock at her bedroom door. Startled out of her spiraling thoughts, Cady stands and crosses the room, easing the door open to see Janaysia standing in the hall.

“So…apparently you forgot to tell us you had company coming over?” Her housemate raises an eyebrow at her, as if she doesn’t quite believe the situation.

Her mouth opens and shuts again, eyebrow furrowed in confusion and dread beginning to grow in her stomach. It wouldn’t be him. He wouldn’t dare come here like this, not when he’s so adamant that no one ever finds out. But…it has to have something to do with him, right? Because she certainly didn’t invite anyone over. Everything in her life seems to be connected to him.

She shakes her head no, adamantly, but Janaysia just sighs and smiles. “It’s okay, it’s no big deal. We haven’t started cooking dinner yet, so we can just make a little more. Unless you guys were planning to go out…?”

Cadence shakes her head even harder. The dread has expanded up into her chest and is crawling toward her throat. She steps back into the room, reaching for her notebook, but Janaysia steps away, too.

“Don’t worry about it, just come on so Devin doesn’t have to keep making awkward conversation with a stranger! You can explain it to us later.”

She feels like she’s choking the whole way down the hall. Every inch of her wants to turn and run back to the safety of her bedroom, to grab Janaysia’s arm and plead with her to keep her safe, to not make her go out there, but she just keeps in step, body moving robotically just like it does with him.

Somewhere in her gut, she knows. No matter how much her brain tries to drown it out with protests of how it can’t be, he wouldn’t, she still knows.

But nothing can prepare her for walking around the corner and seeing him. In their living room. Sitting on their couch. Chatting casually with one of her best friends, like he’s just a normal guy who can do normal things like that.

All of the blood drains from Cadence’s face, and she stops moving, staring at him with blurred vision. Whatever words are being spoken are so far away she can’t hear them. All she knows is him, in their living room, on their couch.

Until he looks her way, smiling that smile that she sees in her nightmares. Her mind immediately zeroes in on his words to her, unable to risk missing anything.

“Ah, Cadence, there you are. I guess it…slipped your mind, that you invited me over tonight?”

He’s here. He’s here. He’s here. Why? What does it mean, what is he going to do?

She nods, numb, not knowing what else to do but agree.

“Wait, is…Cady short for…Cadence?” Janaysia’s looking at her all wide-eyed and fascinated and she wants to scream, to tell them no, they can’t know about that, they can’t know about him, but it’s far too late for that because he’s right there, sitting on their couch.

“Oh, right, my bad.” He chuckles, waving a hand. “I keep forgetting she goes by that now. She’ll always be Cadence to me, I’m afraid.”

Devin smiles at her. “Oliver was just telling me -” he shouldn’t be saying his name so casually like that, it isn’t right -“a little about how the two of you met, back in college.”

College? It wasn’t college, it was after that, but that must be his cover story. She has to remember that, to make sure she doesn’t slip up and say the wrong thing and mess it all up.

Assuming they all make it past this night with secrets still intact. They have to. Her friends’ lives depend on it.

“It’s a shame we lost touch after a while, but I’m so glad I ran into her again recently.”

“Was that…at the birthday party?” Janaysia is too smart for all of this. She’s already starting to put a few pieces together, and if this continues she might put together more. Cadence has to play her part, she can’t let her find out. But she can’t make herself move, there’s no way that she can act anywhere near normal with him in the room. When he’s here, she has to be still and be quiet and wait for him to tell her what to do. She can’t act like herself.

She isn’t even sure she knows what that means anymore, anyway.

“Right! At Devin’s birthday party. So sorry for stealing her away, by the way, we just had so much catching up to do.”

Janaysia’s smile says that she’s still a little miffed about the whole thing. “Well, next time a little heads up would be nice before she just disappears, we were definitely worried! But no real harm done, in the end.”

She could almost laugh aloud at that, if she wasn’t frozen in place and could remember how. There had been plenty of harm done. But they could never, ever know about it.

“Well.” Devin slaps his hands down onto his thighs, then stands. “I’m gonna go get started on dinner, and let you two visit.”

Cadence startles, eyes darting to both her friends before zoning in on the floor. Don’t leave me don’t leave me please don’t leave me. Except that she doesn’t want them here, either. They don’t need to be anywhere near him, they need to run, to go far far away where he can’t get to them. But if they leave, he’ll be free to do whatever he wants to her. As long as they’re in the room, he’s leaving her alone.

“Yep, I’ll come help you. Any, uh…food allergies, Oliver?”

He smiles brilliantly at Janaysia. “None at all, thank you for asking.”

“Alright, perfect.” She turns to leave, but looks at Cadence first, brow furrowing in concern. “You okay?” she asks softly.

All she can do is nod. It isn’t anywhere near convincing, but she can’t even force a smile or look her in the eye.

But apparently Janaysia reads her emotions as something completely different, anyway. She reaches out and squeezes her arm gently, leaning in. “Don’t be nervous, he obviously likes you. Also…he is hot, just saying.” With a quiet laugh, she walks into the adjoining kitchen with Devin. A couple of seconds later, she reappears with Cadence’s dry erase board, handing it over with another smile before leaving again.

Her gaze slides up until it finds his, boring into her with all its usual intensity, and quickly drops back down. Her pulse is pounding in her ears. She grips the dry erase marker too tightly, the hard plastic digging into the bones of her fingers, as her breath stutters in and out of her closed-over throat.

“Come sit down, Cadence.”

His tone is pleasant, but she knows better than to think it’s a suggestion. Her feet lurch into motion. Two steps on the hardwood, five more across the worn out rug and around the ottoman. The closer to him she gets, the harder it is to breathe. But she sinks down onto the couch, anyway, just a few inches away from him. His hand immediately finds her thigh. “So good to see you again.” His fingers begin to squeeze, digging into her skin with a promise of more to come. “You really should get out of the house more often.”

#whumptober2023 #no.29 #troubled past resurfacing #original content #fic #stalking tw #fear tw #obsession fic #cadence the whumpee #oliver the stalker #lady whump #lady whumpee #selective mutism #whump writing #whump series

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transpoettryinghisbest · 1 year

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“Father was killed here.”

I touch his desk. I can still feel the same grooves and bumps in the wood that have always been there. The whole apartment is exactly the same as it was the last time I was here, nothing has moved an inch. Except for one piece missing. Something that I'm never going to get back. It happened so fast. I still remember his voice thanking me for the coffee, answering questions for that scary reporter. Then a thud. And he was gone. Just like that. In our own home. The same place I've been my whole life, the same four walls I've become so familiar with.

“It was supposed to be safe here,” I whisper.

“I'm sorry, Vera,” Trucy says.

I instinctively bring my thumb to my mouth and find the edge of my thumbnail with my teeth. I bite. And I remember the strange aniseedy taste. I remember ignoring it because I just needed some kind of comfort. Everyone was asking me questions, things I didn't want to think about, things that scared me. My head started to hurt. I thought it was just the stress, but my stomach started hurting too. I was sweating, the room was spinning around me. The room's spinning around me now. I think I'm going to faint. I make a whimper sound.

“Vera? Are you okay?” It's Apollo.

I want to tell him I'm not. But I can't speak, my voice has shut off again. I squeeze my eyes shut.

“Here, sit down,” he says. “Just…just get your breath back, okay?”

“You'll be alright, Vera,” Trucy adds.

He leads me into Father's chair. I'm not strong enough to object so I take a seat. I think I'm shaking. Like I did on the stand. When everything started crashing down, when I started to wonder if maybe I was at fault. It’s my fault. Or maybe that's just what they think. Why do they hate me? Why do they think I did it? The paintings. I know what I did was wrong but I didn't mean to hurt anyone. The paintings are still here. They're always going to be here unless I remove them. Everything reminds me of him, of that trial. I can't escape it. I can't escape what I did.

“Apollo, she's completely shut down,” Trucy says.

I can hear them but I can't talk back. I feel locked inside myself. Like I was locked inside this house. Not physically, but still I was unable to leave. I was trapped. I wanted to be trapped. I was scared that someone could hurt me. And someone did hurt me. I nearly died. I don't know how to deal with that fact.

“Vera, can you let us know you're okay?” Apollo says.

I'm not okay. I'm not okay. I'm not okay. I'm not okay. I'm not okay. I'm not okay.

I place my hands on Father's desk. It grounds me a little.

“Father doesn't like me sitting at his desk,” I say, eventually. It’s the only thing I can make myself say and I know they want me to say something.

“I'm sure he wouldn't mind,” Trucy replies. “Just this once.”

“Things won't ever be the same again.”

“Vera, can you hear me?” Apollo crouches so he’s in my line of sight. “Have you thought about talking to someone? Like a therapist?”

I go to tell him that I can’t. That I’m still scared despite everything. That I don’t know who I can trust but that I don’t want to live like this anymore.

I wish I could tell people what it’s like to not be able to speak sometimes. No one really seems to understand. Even Father would live in hope that one day I’d become a normal child. He died unfulfilled.

He died poor and unknown.

He’s dead.

I wish he was here now. He wouldn't know the right thing to say or do, but he'd be there. He'd be familiar. He'd be some kind of comfort. Apollo and Trucy are really trying for me, they don't have to do this. But I still feel so alone, even with them right here. I want my father back.

I start crying.

Apollo looks concerned. “Um…do you have tissues anywhere? Or do you want some water? Or something?”

I can’t even nod or shake my head. I’m completely trapped inside myself. It feels nice to cry. I don’t think I have in a while. It feels like such a strong release. But at the same time, I really don’t want to be watched and talked to when I can’t say or do anything but sit here and cry. I don’t want to be here. I want things to just go back to normal. But things were never normal. We weren’t a normal family. I’m not normal. I hate that I am this way and that I probably always will be because I’m too scared to get help.

“My daddy died too,” Trucy says. “He went missing for a while. And I always thought he was coming back for me. But I always wondered if maybe he was gone for good. Now I know he is. He always taught me to put on a brave face and not cry, especially not in front of others. But I think that was because he was scared. Scared of feelings. Mine and his. And other people’s. Sometimes it is easier to just not feel anything. But…sometimes you can’t be strong. And I think that’s okay.”

Trucy is fascinating. And not just in her magic tricks. She's so bold. She's smaller than me, but she's not afraid to stand tall, look people in the eye or speak her mind at any time. She's lost so much, but she's still so strong.

I want to tell her what I feel and what I'm going through. I want to tell her everything. But my voice is still cut off somewhat. I wonder if other people get that sometimes. Or if I'm just doomed to always be different.

“It's so hard,” I manage to say.

“Yeah, it will be,” Apollo says. “But you're going to be okay.”

“I don't know…why I'm still alive. Do you think it means something?”

“Huh?”

“I could have easily passed away. But something kept me going. I wish I knew what it was.”

“Maybe it was you?” Trucy said. “You wanted to keep living. So you did.”

I can't remember much of what happened to me when I was poisoned. I remember the moment, but after that…everything goes fuzzy in my mind. I wonder if I did have some kind of epiphany about the meaning of life and how to fight to survive through the odds. The doctors called me a miracle for surviving something that no one had survived before. Maybe there was no meaning to it at all. But maybe there was.

All I know now is that I'm alive. And I have to decide what to do with the rest of my life. It's scary. But it gives me another kind of sensation too. A feeling of hope.

#Fun fact about me is I used to be a selective mute #So Vera really hits home for me #I feel like she has a really loud mind but she can't express everything she's thinking and that's why she shuts down #selective mutism #selective mute #non verbal #tw poisoning #tw death mention #tw father mention #ace attorney #fanfiction #ace attorney fanfiction #vera misham #apollo justice #trucy wright

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