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omniuravity · 3 years

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Warnings DARK CONTENT: Contains minor and some major spoilers for American Horror Story: Murder House,attempted suicide, language, smoking, implied sex, murder, blood, drug abuse, mentions of social (specifically school related) violence, horror, hostage situations, manipulation, infidelity, pregnancy, miscarriage, and grief...lots of it

A/n: This is the first fic I have written in 4 years, and I know it's not the best, but I worked really hard and I hope you guys enjoy this. This also takes place after the events of the first season of American Horror Story.

"If you're trying to kill yourself, cut vertically. They can't stitch that up." he said making you jump a little. "How the hell did you get in here?" you ask slightly frightened as your blood dripped down your arm. "Another tip, if you're trying to kill yourself, you might also try locking the door." he said with a slight smirk on his face.

Recently you moved into a house that was home to a lot of murders, hence the house has been dubbed, the "Murder House." Your father was a psychiatrist, and your mother, was a stay at home mom. Your father worked at home, so he could stay close to the family after his infidelity, and your mother's miscarriage. It was strangely similar to the story of the Harmon family, the last family that lived and died in the house before you. You recently started school at Westfield High where you were bullied for simply being the new kid, as well as the fact that you smoked. All of the overwhelming grief caused you to have suicidal thoughts about it all. Then he started showing up. The boy who frightened you had messy indigo hair, and tired purple eyes, as well as a smug expression on his face.

"How did you get into the house?" you asked covering up your arms with your sweater, still a little spooked by the strange boy. "I was in a therapy session with your father, and I decided to wander a bit. You know this used to be my room, before I moved." he said with a slight grin. "That's pretty cool I guess." you say hesitant to trust him. You had heard rumors that every person who lived in this house died in this house except for an old woman named Constance, who died a while back, and Vivien Harmon's son, Michael who had disappeared. However, you didn't believe in ghosts or spirits of any sort.

"I'm Hitoshi." he said introducing himself. You could tell he was trying to make a good impression, "Y/n." you said softly introducing yourself. You quickly came to realize there was something special about this boy, something you couldn't quite explain. He smiled before hearing some rattling upstairs, "I've got to go." he said. You turned away from the mirror to say goodbye, then he was gone.

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"I fucking hate school so much!" you yelled in anguish. You just got home from a huge fight at school, because of a girl teasing you for smoking and being the new kid. "If you're having issues with a bully just kill her." Shinsou said nonchalantly. You looked at him in disbelief, "Are you insane? I can't kill someone." you said. "Then just scare her. Get her to come here and go to the basement, then we can scare her." he said with a smirk.

You look at him again this time with confusion, "And how do you expect me to do that genius?" you ask. He chuckled a little, "You underestimate me, Y/n. Does she do drugs or something?" he asked. You remember her saying something about doing coke. "I think she does coke, but I don't do drugs, so I don't have any here." you say. "Don't worry, you don't need to have it. That's just how you get her here and into the basement. Then I'll take over from there." he said holding your hand, comforting you in a way.

You approached the girl who hurt you the next day, and told her that you had coke for her, and surprisingly after school she came over to get it.

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"Well where are they?" she asked walking down to the basement with you. "I have to keep it down here, you know, so my parents don't find it." you said trying to keep a straight face. When the two of you get down there you see Shinsou in a rocking chair, "Why, hello." he said with a smirk, then all of the sudden the lights went out and he was gone. There were a lot of flashing lights and screaming going on, but you couldn't make out what you saw exactly what you saw in the darkness until it came at you. It was a small pale white creature with sharp teeth, and claws. The girl was on the floor crying in her own blood, though she definitely wasn't dead. Shinsou grabbed you and yelled, "Go away!" at the creature until it was gone and the lights were back on, then Shinsou was gone as well.

The girl quickly got up clutching her cheek, which had deep claw marks in it, "You fucking freak!" she cried as she ran out of the house. When she was gone Shinsou came up behind you who was also spooked from the thing you saw, "Hey, are you okay." he said trying to calm you down. You turned to him, "What the hell was that thing?" you asked. He looked at you confused, "What do you mean y/n? That was just me." he said pretending like he didn't see the creature. You backed away out of his arms, "Don't play with me, what was that thing?" you asked. He held you, "I don't know what you're talking about." he said before taking you back upstairs convincing you that you saw nothing that night.

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Soon Halloween rolled around, and you were ready for your date with Shinsou, despite your father's instant disapproval of his patient dating his only daughter. You got yourself ready for your Halloween date and went out the door with Shinsou. The two of you walked to the beach, and picked out a spot where you could see hundreds of stars, "I used to come here to get away from it all." he said holding your hand, "My mom was constantly cheating on my dad, and my dad was cheating on my mom. One day he just up and left, and it was just me and my mom." he said. You looked at him, over the past couple of months you had grown to fall for him. You cautiously leaned into him and kissed his lips. He was so gentle, and his lips were so soft that you could to this forever. You moved your hand to his crotch, "I wanna do it, please." you said softly. He froze, he knew what would happen if he continued, but he did it anyway. He moved himself on top of you, "Okay."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He huffed as he pulled out of you, and laid on his back for a moment letting his mind process what the two of you did. You smile at him, "I love you Shinsou." you say softly. He smiled and looked at you, "I love you too, y/n." he said before getting his clothes back on and taking you home.

During the walk back you looked at him, "It was your first time wasn't it?" you asked. He looked at you, "As much as I would like to say yes, it wasn't my first. You?" he asked, and you nodded. He sighed, "Sorry." he said. You looked at him again, "Don't be, I'm glad you were my first." you said.

You got back home and most of the lights were out so you assumed your parents were asleep. He held your hands, "Y/n I want to show you something." he said gently. You nod, "Of course you can show me." you say trusting him. He took you inside into a small crawlspace in the basement. You both soon arrived to an area with a large drop. He shined the flashlight into the hole to reveal something truly horrifying, your dead mangled corpse. You scream loudly and pass out.

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tsukidrama · 2 years

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Hello hello! Pink anon here, I really need to get better at answering faster. I guess it feels more like a letter now? If you celebrate Easter/Passover/Ramadan, I hope you had a good weekend! If not, I say the same! I say this a lot, but I was very busy. I'm officially on spring break now, so I plan on answering much faster. Thank you for being so patient!

I noticed you have requests open, specifically for TRNT related Annie content, and I'd like to submit something! I live by the ocean and it's been really gorgeous lately, and whenever I look at it I imagine a beach date with Annie and the reader. Maybe Annie finally gets to let loose, build a sand castle, play in the water. Just something fluffy, maybe they could have a picnic. I've also thought a proposal fic would be cute in the TRNT universe, whatever works for you! Just some ideas I thought would be nice.

oh don't worry about that! it happens and life gets busy. i'm happy to hear from you as always though! i guess we do easter in my family but it wasn't much. i've been keeping it lowkey lately and trying to improve my mental health, etc, trying to become the best tsuki i can be.

aahh yes these are all good ideas for sure! and they all mesh well with the themes of the story -- once again also ideas I've had for the story i love how we are on the same wavelength about the soft annie dates.

✅ beach date request accepted!!! YES QUEEN ✅ already was planning a picnic at some point, agreed it's a very cute and fitting cottagecore idea! ✅ OHHHHH YEAH I MEAN,, I HAVE THOUGHTS ON PROPOSAL/WEDDING BUT I'M NOT GONNA POST THEM ON MAIN BECAUSE SPOILERS AND STUFF. AA. (BUT IF YOU ARE EVER BRAVE ENOUGH TO DM ME I WILL ABSOLUTELY TELL YOU WHATEVER YOU WANT ABOUT THE ANY FIC JUST SAYING)

> "Annie hasn't even hit rock bottom yet." I am very worried for her! I just want to make her some soup and cuddle up on the couch, that's it. She deserves it. Papa can have some too, he's trying his best. <

> I don't know if I've talked about "Please be... My alibi" yet, to be honest I have a terrible memory. However, I really enjoyed it, it is probably one of my favorites, despite the terrible pain. The ending hit very hard for me, the fact that Annie couldn't say "I love you," but she could write it down. I don't know if that counts as a trope, as I've only seen it a few times, but nonetheless I love it so much. I am truly, very satisfied with how that chapter went, and I'm very much looking forward to the finale. <

ghgjgkgh yeah.. honestly she really needs some cuddles and soup. poor thing has really been going through it lately. i'm in kind of a rut right now - normally writing TRNT clears my skin and waters my crops but this sad chapter (9) is killing me. and the thing that sucks about being the writer is that I'm sitting here rolling on the floor crying by myself bc i don't wanna spoil, and by the time i post the chapter I'll have gone through the 5 stages of grief already. TRNT IS HARD TO PROCESS ALONE 💔

YOU HAVEN'T YET SO I'VE VERY HAPPY TO HEAR A LIL REVIEW FROM YOU, THANK YOU DEAREST 💕 I LOVE YOUUU ugh... poor baby. she's so repressed that i don't think she could ever bring herself to say it out loud pre-crystal. part of the PAAAAAINN is the fact that in please be, it's meant to be a little questionable if the note is just a lie that gets reader to keep quiet. some of the thoughts that you're left with at the end about doubting Annie are intentionally there to make y'all doubt. sorry sorry sorry she loves us sooo so much in reality but i've got to give reader the emotional damage she's got by the time TRNT rolls around. SORRY!

> I agree with what you wrote about SNK being deeper than what a lot of people understand about it. You really have to consider the fact that characters don't just "do" things, they were written to do things, by someone that has their own motives and reasons. In order to really understand it, you have to dig deep. I especially agree with that "challenge as a writer" statement, having a canon like SNK really adds to the experience of writing for these characters. <

ohhh hell yes, pink anon coming up here being all philosophical and shit! this is what i like to see. i know that everybody likes to say that they know their faves better than the creator but when it comes to snk.... i tend to believe the stans. the interpretations of people who care about the characters are sooo much better whatever bullshit the loud ignorant masses like to spout on twitter or reddit or whatever crap the ending offers.

yes! completely agreed. writing for snk canon is unparalleled and so when people choose NOT to write in it,, i'm kinda just like. why? canon is so fun, maybe it's intimidating though. that's WHY it's fun! i know you get it!

> Calling Part 3 the "mother of all angst" doesn't exactly comfort me, but I feel like I'm prepared! I have my tissues and my notes app open, just in case I feel so sad I have to write some fluff. <

> On a slightly angstier note, I'd like to say that the song "Harbor" by Clairo, really reminds me of Annie and the reader in TRNT, though I hope they get a better ending than whoever the song is about. The whole album's aesthetic really fits the whole "Cottage-canon" in my opinion. <

yyyeyeeaaaaaahhhh it's going to be quite bad. unfortunately it'll probably still take me a while to write, at least another month or so. but an attempt is being made!! i think about it all the time.

awww man, that is really sad. i do see what you mean! the vibe of the song does really fit the vibe of TRNT, minus the unrequited love of course. everybody cares SO much there's just miscommunication at first. i know i'm writing slow as fuck but TRNT is going to get a lot happier in the overall story

> Happy spring, <

Pink Anon

> (P.S. Recently I've been watching this show called "The Wilds" in my free time, when I'm taking a break from school and writing, and I feel like you would really enjoy it. There are a lot of conflicted characters, and I'm really liking it so far. Just a recommendation!) <

happy spring! sorry that this took me a while to respond to, I've just been kind of overwhelmed and distracted. it's always so good to hear from you. i hope you're doing well 💕💕

ohhh i've seen that advertised! mars works a lot this week and i'm looking for new things to watch so i may take it up! you do know how i like my conflicted characters

#tsuki answers #pink anon #cottagecanon #trnt annie

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hollanderfangirl · 4 years

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Let me go |Harry Holland|

Pairing: Harry Holland x Therapist! Reader

A/N: so I'm not a therapist and I've never been to therapy, well if you don't consider the sessions with my psychology teacher. All of what I've written comes from what I've learnt in psychology class, reading books and listening to other people's experiences.

Warnings: talk about death, panic attack and it's just really sad

Word count: 3.3k, this is my longest fic yet :)

(Sorry for the shitty moodboard I just had to post this fic or I would have lost my mind)

Harry Holland walked through the halls of the clinic, not really sure why he was here. Well he knew why he had come to see a therapist but he wondered how he put himself in this situation. He had been locking himself inside a glass cave built out of hopelessness for months, his friends and family were greatly concerned about him but he refused to take any help. He had always been stubborn, he never asked for anybody's help. He hated the look of pity on people's faces. He hated people showing him sympathy. He was more than this. He didn't need anybody. He can pull himself together, he just needed time.

But it wasn't helping. Burying your feelings in has never helped anybody. Putting on a smile everyday in front of people and crying himself to sleep, Harry found it more and more difficult. His mum had sensed it and told him to go and see a doctor. He had resisted it at first.

"Please do it for me, Harry. I cannot see you like this, at least for my satisfaction," Nikki had said. "Just go for a trial session and if you like it then you can continue," but of course he wasn't going to continue.

Now as he stood in front of the receptionist, he was reconsidering his decision.

"Yes, do you have an appointment, sir?"

"Huh?" he seemed lost. "Yeah..yeah"

"Just wait here, I'll inform Dr Y/l/n"

"Your know what, cancel the appointment. I- I don't need help"

"Oh but this is just a trial, Mr Holland"

"Yeah but I don't-" the receptionist was already at the door, muttering something to the woman inside.

You step outside to see a curly headed man, he looked pleasant but his eyes looked sad. Those were the eyes of a person who had seen immense grief, someone who had been miserable for a long long time.

"I'm sorry but I don't need therapy… I didn't realise this before, I -I shouldn't have come here"

"Oh Mr Holland, this is just a trial right? Let's just have some coffee. This isn't therapy yet" you smile at him.

"No I really-"

"Okay then, give me half an hour. If you still feel the same way, then you can leave. Half an hour is all I want from you, Mr Holland"

"Alright"

You lead him into your chamber, closing the door behind you. He sits down on a couch across from you, your desk separating you both. The first step of therapy- resistance. People always resist therapy at first, they feel like they don't need the help or maybe seeking help makes them weak. They don't feel like opening up to a complete stranger. How can they? How can they open up their most vulnerable state to a person who they barely know? But slowly and steadily, a rapport is made. A therapist has to be very careful and empathetic. They have to be trusting. Someone who people can turn to. Someone who they can relate to. Someone who understands them. Someone who would just listen.

"So, your mother sent you here. Right, Mr Holland?"

"Just- just call me Harry"

"Okay then Harry, tell me"

"What do you want me to tell you?"

"Everything. Start from the beginning"

"Well I- do you… do you really think I would-" he hesitates. "Who do you think you are? Why do you think I should pay you to listen to my goddamn life story here?"

"You're not here to tell me your life story," you say politely. "I'm here to help you and I can do that only if you would let me"

"Well guess what? You cannot help me, I knew I was wasting my time," he gets up and starts to walk away.

"I asked for half an hour of your time, Harry"

"Well I don't fucking care"

"Harry, please listen to me. All I ask is half an hour"

Little did he know, this half an hour was going to change his life.

Something about your tone made him stay. He sat back down on the couch, turning away from you.

"Okay, so if you're not going to talk, I will," you sigh. "So, you have suffered a great loss, someone you loved dearly?"

"Yes," he still didn't look you in the eye.

"Who was it?"

"My…my friend. Girlfriend"

"And when did this happen?"

"A year ago"

"How have you been holding up?"

He thought of giving another vague answer. How the fuck do you think I'm holding up? I'm fucking dying every single day.

"Uh- it's been a little better, I guess. It's not as bad as it used to be"

"Well that's a start. And do you still think about her?"

Every goddamn minute, lady. What do you want from me? "Yeah sometimes"

"And how have you been sleeping?"

I can't sleep. I haven't slept properly for months. If I sleep I see her coming back to me. "Alright I guess"

This wasn't going anywhere. You thought of recommending him another doctor but something about him charmed you. He was a man who should have been living a great life but his grief was tearing him apart. You had to help him. You felt a strong connection to him, you felt determined. No, I have to help him. I just have to.

"Harry, do you feel like you're responsible for your girlfriend's death?" it was a straightforward question, you had been trying to get something out of him but he wasn't ready to.

He looked at you dead in the eye, yet could not get any words out. You could sense the anger building up inside him but it wasn't projected at you, he was angry with himself.

"I….. " he took a few deep breaths, clenching his hands into fists. "Yes"

"Why is that so?"

"Fucking hell! Are you for real? She died, okay? And I wasn't there… I wasn't there.. " he was tearing up. "I should have been the one to die! Not her! Not anybody! Everyone just leaves me in the end!" he was full on shouting, letting out everything he had been holding inside himself for a whole year. He had tears in his eyes.

You handed him a box of tissues and he was gasping for breath. When he had calmed down, you both sat in silence for a few minutes.

"You know, Harry, my friend died the day we had a fight. She was my best friend. I knew her ever since we were three. It was a silly argument. We should not have fought about it. But we did and I told her I wished she would just go away… and then she did" it was painful for you to remember this, but time does heal everything.

"I'm sorry," his voice was low. "And I'm sorry for all those things I said"

"No it's alright, that's what you're here for. And besides, it's nothing compared to your loss, Harry"

"No. It- it's not a competition. Suffering is not a competition. It must've been really hard for you, Dr y/l/n," this was the first time he had addressed you.

"Call me y/n," you smile at him. "And yeah that's very true. We often blame ourselves, you know, it's very common. We cannot be angry at them so we get angry with ourselves. Even though we know deep in our hearts that there was nothing we could have done"

There was a long silence.

"She went out for a drive, that bastard drunk driver," he spoke up. "And I was just resting. She asked me so many times to join her but I wanted to sleep"

You nod at him and he continued. "That's…the reason I'm not able to sleep. Every night I close my eyes, I think I'll wake up to that phone call"

"Well yes I don't blame you, our brains sometimes don't process things that come as a shock. And then it just keeps on haunting us forever. Do you believe in life after death, Harry?"

"Well I don't know what to believe"

"Have you- felt her? After she was gone?"

"You'll think I'm crazy"

"I'm a therapist, it'll take you much more than that to convince me you're crazy"

"I sometimes talk to her. Like what would she think about this particular situation. Or just that I miss her so much. I don't get any responses but I just try to think like her?"

"Yeah, that's quite normal actually. People think they need to 'get over' someone's death. But that's not true. You can never really get over something like death"

"And what does getting over even mean? Like you just forget them? Moving on with your life just means that you think they were never a part of it"

"Well you're both right and wrong. Yes we must remember our loved ones who are not with us anymore but at the same time, we have to let them go"

"How? It's too painful"

"I know. But do you believe in the concept of souls, Harry?"

"Yeah I mean," he shrugs.

"The soul is considered to be immortal. And groups of souls tend to travel together. Even if you don't know it, some way, somehow, they're always with us"

He says nothing but his eyes looked softer now.

"And just think about it, think of her seeing you like this. Do you think she could have handled you being so miserable?"

"She would have been heartbroken"

"Exactly. So do it for her, for yourself. For both of you to feel peace again"

"Yeah"

You look at your watch. Half an hour was up.

"So, Harry. Your half an hour is up. Is there anything else?"

"Yes, um we can talk about it in our next session?"

You smile at him. "Of course"

----------------

After that one half an hour session, Harry was a changed man. He was still mourning, he was still miserable but he had hope. For the first time in a long time, he thought he could actually go on with his life, he could finally feel peace.

The week went by smoothly. Harry tried to make himself busy, by surrounding himself with people and always working. He was still getting nightmares but he was determined to sleep. He was sleeping light, afraid of what deep sleep might show him.

Meanwhile your life was exactly the same, you went on with your day treating people, talking, helping them. You loved your job, you loved the sense of satisfaction you got after patients they told you they were finally better. Every person was a challenge, and you knew there was a gem hidden inside every one of them. All of them had immense potential but life hadn't been kind to them. You felt disturbed and it broke your heart to see people hurting. And you would do anything to make it better for them. To help them.

You couldn’t keep Harry out of your mind. You were thinking about him all day long, awaiting your next session with him. What if he cancels? What can I do if he does? Why am I thinking about him? He had this air around him, a magnetic pull, which was pulling your closer and closer towards him. And why is he so damn attractive? No I should not think about him that way. It was the first and foremost rule of your profession. Never get emotionally attached with your clients. It was a professional relationship and must remain that way.

When he came into your office the following week, you could sense the change in him. You felt proud that a single session made such a difference. There was no arrogance in him, he didn’t seem angry anymore. He was calm and better.

“So, Harry. How was your week?”

“It was good, I’ve been shooting my new short film and it’s coming out to be okay so far”

“Alright and how have you been sleeping?”

“Not that good to be honest. I still get dreams, uh bad dreams”

“What do you see in these dreams?”

“I see the accident scene….again and again, it’s the same dream. Sometimes I see her, she talks to me and all that”

“Hmm and have you talked to your family? Your friends?”

“Yeah I talked to my mum…and my brother”

“What did they say?”

“They said they are here for me and will always love me”

“Yes and I don’t doubt that, Harry. You have a lot of people in your life who love and support you. Embrace that”

The session went by smoothly, he opened up to you about his life, everything about the girl he loved so much. About his family, his career. You found yourself staring at him, taking glances at his hands which he constantly moved while he talked. You noticed he was shaking his leg the whole time. Stop staring, y/n.

Wow she’s so beautiful. And thoughtful. And funny and understanding. What am I doing? She’s my therapist….but…why couldn’t I have met her before? Why didn’t I meet her when I was normal? Would things have been different? But then again, I would have never met her if I was normal.

Things seemed to get better, as the weeks progressed, Harry was becoming more and more like his old self again. But there was a feeling of regret, he thought this was wrong as if he were forgetting her. But you were there to guide him, to tell him that this is what life is. It never stops. No matter what happens, you will heal. Someday, sometime. And each day we progress towards it.

And then it happened. The call came at 1 am in the morning. You were sleeping and you were tired, you had been working all day and just needed some rest. You wouldn't have picked the call up but something told you it was important. That you should pick it up.

“Hello?” you yawn.

You just hear muffled breathing for a few seconds.

“Hello? Who is it?”

“It…it’s me…Harry”

“Harry, what’s wrong?” you thought what could have happened at this time of the night.

“I just- can you-” he sounded like he was choking.

“Harry what’s wrong, you’re scaring me”

“I… can’t… breathe,” you hear him sobbing. ”I had… that… dream, I feel like I’m…going to…die”

“Harry, listen to me. You will be okay. Yeah? Just take deep breaths and sit tight. I’m coming to you”

You search through his file to look for his address. When you find it, you rush through the front door and drive to his house. You were on the phone with him the whole drive.

“Just keep breathing, Harry. Deep breaths, okay?”

To your surprise, the front door was unlocked. It looked like he had gone out into the street in the middle of the night. You search through rooms to find him, and you see him curled into a ball at the corner of a king size bed. You touch his shoulder and he flinches.

“Hey, hey it’s just me. It’s alright”

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t know who else to call,” he was crying, with the tears streaming down his cheeks, his eyes looked small and they looked red from the lack of sleep and of tears.

“It’s alright, Harry. Just come here, it’ll be alright,” you pull him towards yourself him and he buries his face into your chest and you held him, stroking his hair and telling him it will be alright.

“That’s it. Let it out, Harry. It’s okay to cry”

You both stayed like that for another 15 minutes. He couldn’t stop crying and you knew he needed that. He had been holding everything in for so long and it just came out like an explosion tonight. You wiped his tears and made him meditate for a few minutes.

He fell asleep and you stayed up all night, looking at him. He looked so innocent while he slept, and cute too, you thought hiding a blush, even though nobody was there to look at you.

That night, Harry finally felt at peace. He was finally able to sleep. He had no nightmares, just a peaceful dream. He saw his girlfriend, running away from him in a white dress with her hair flowing in the wind.

Please don’t leave me, darling. I love you.

I know you do Harry, but you must let me go. I will always be with you. I will always love you. It is time you start caring about yourself, you must let me go. It is time.

No! don’t leave me!

And he woke up. Something about this dream told him that she was right. It was time. He was finally ready to let her go. For both of their sakes.

He went down to find you sleeping on the couch. He was hesitant at his thoughts but deep down he knew he was falling for you. Am I just using her to cope with my loss? Or do I really love her?

You opened your eyes, looking at Harry sitting on the ground, pushing a strand of hair away from your face.

“Good morning, how did you sleep?”

“Better. Really really better. I- I don’t know how to thank you, y/n and I’m so sorry”

“Hey it’s alright, and I’m glad I could help,” you smile. “I should go now, I have to get to work”

“Let me make breakfast and let me drive you to your house”

“Oh no it’s okay I can-”

“I owe this much to you, y/n. Let me”

“Okay”

-----------------

It wasn’t until another week when Harry had his next session. You had been thinking about him all the time, you were confused, it wasn’t supposed to go this way. But he….who am I kidding I’m in love with him.

When he walked through the door on a Thursday morning next week, he looked healthy and happier than ever. You felt a sense of happiness yourself, therapy is always beneficial to both the patient and the therapist. Every person is a deep universe, their thoughts, experiences, pain, joy, everything. Empathising with clients is a great learning experience, it becomes a part your personality. It becomes a part of you.

“Hey y/n”

“Hi Harry”

“So my week as been as it’s always and I’ve been feeling a lot better ever since that day…and that dream” he had told you about the dream he had the night you watched him sleep. He seemed to completely change after that, he let go of the intense emotions he had been carrying around.

“That’s very good and you’ve made a lot of progress since our first meeting”

“Yeah…I have”

The session went on as usual, he talked about everything that happened, he started fighting with his brothers again, which he hadn’t done in a long time and even though they were pissed off at him, they were happy to have him back.

“Um Harry,” you say at the end of the session. “I think-” you try to choose your words correctly. “I think it’s about time you start seeing another therapist, yeah?”

You see his face drop. “wh-why? I’m doing so much better, is..is it because of that night? I’m so sorry y/n”

“No it’s not that. You and I both know what’s happening between us, it’s wrong for a therapist to get emotionally attached with her patient. I’m sorry, Harry”

“So you’re saying that you’re becoming emotionally attached with me?”

“I..I’m-“

“It’s alright. I understand y/n”

“Yes, thank you. This has been great”

“So… now that you’re not my therapist, can I meet you for coffee this evening?”

“Harry-“

“Half an hour, Dr y/l/n. Just give me half an hour of your time, if you still feel the same way, I’ll never bother you again”

“Uh-" you hesitate. You knew you should have said no. You were going to say no. Yet the words which came out of your mouth were “Okay then, it’s a date”

--------------

Taglist:

@mischiefmanaged011 @notsosmexy @perspectiveparker @justanothermarvelmaniac @amorhollands @thisetaernallove @halfblood-princess-505 @spidey-reids-2003 @peterspideysstuff @musicalkeys @theliterarymess @ilarbu @hollands-weasley @tombob2005 @tommysparker @god-knows-what-am-i-doing @parkerpeter24 @more-like-reyna @hollandbroz-n-haz @aqiise

#harry holland #harry holland x reader #harry holland imagine #harry holland angst #harry+holland+x+y/n #harry holland x therapist! reader #harry holland fluff #harry holland fic #harry holland one shot #therapist! reader

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rocksandrobots · 4 years

Text

Of Rocks and Robots Ch. 20 - Therapy

Varian sat on the leather couch inside the doctor’s office nervously bouncing his knee up and down. He didn’t want to be here. He wanted to run, but he knew that would upset Aunt Cass who was seated on the chair next to the door.

This was meant to be his first therapy session and he didn’t know what to expect, or to say, or what to do. Both Hiro and Wasabi had told him that all he had to do was talk to the doctor about his problems, but Varian didn’t really feel like talking. He didn’t feel like delving into his past and reliving those painful memories. Moreover, he didn’t want anyone in this world to know of his mistakes, even if they were just a stranger.

Just then the door opened and a tall woman with short bobbed hair and glasses walked in. She wore a white lab coat and held in her hand a clipboard and pen.

“Hello, Miss Templeton. Are we here to see Hiro today?” The woman asked Aunt Cass.

“Oh hi, Dr. Mcguire.” Aunt Cass stood up to shake her hand. “No, I called earlier and told the secretary this, but I’d like you to meet Varian. Varian this is Dr. Mcguire. She’s our family therapist.”The woman smiled and shook his hand as well, as Aunt Cass contunited. “Varian is from Europe and I’m fostering him while he’s here in the states.”

“Oh exciting!” The woman enthused. “Is this your first therapy session, Varian?”

Varian nodded his head numbly, still too unsure of himself to speak.

“Well there’s many different types of therapy. I’m a grief counselor. I use different techniques to help people deal with loss or trauma, such as, listening to people talk about their feelings and problems, helping people develop healthy coping mechanisms for anxiety or depression, helping people pinpoint or understand where their underlying issues are and what might cause them to react the way they do to certain situations, and basically anything else that helps the patient cope with their grief.”

Varian listened to the woman intently but none of what she said made any sense to him. He knew what all those words individually meant on their own but all together it just sounded like a word salad to him. He had no idea what any of that actually entailed in practice.

"Well, now Varian, tell me a little about yourself?" The doctor asked as she sat at her desk.

Varian only stared blankly at her, unsure what she wanted to hear.

Dr. Mcguire expounded "Do you have any interests or hobbies?"

Varian looked back to Aunt Cass questionly and she gave him an encouraging smile and a go on motion with her hands.

"Ummm...I like alchemy."

"Alchemy? Like the history of it, or is that some new video game I haven't heard of yet?" Dr. Mcguire gently laughed at herself. "My kids are always trying to get me into the lastest gaming craze and I can never seem to get the hang of it."

Varian once again could only stare. He'd played a few video games with Hiro and Fred, but he had no idea what was deemed popular or not. Nor did he know how to explain to this woman that he was a practitioner of a long dead science.

When this didn't elect a response from him the doctor tried a new line of questioning.

"Do you have a favorite video game?"

Varian shrugged. "I don't know. I haven't played many of them. We didn't have video games back in Old Corona."

"That's the city he came from." Aunt Cass explained. "Varian is from a Russia territory."

"Oh. Well, what did you play in Old Corona?" Dr. Mcguire asked.

"Not much." Varian racked his brain for a childhood game, but there had been no other kids to play with and his dad was not much for chess.

"My cellmate and I would play 'Noughts and Crosses' to pass the time. It's a little like Gomoku, but you try to get three in a row instead of five, and you just draw an X or O on to a grid you drew in the sand instead of having a board and colored pieces.'

"Oh we call that tic-tac-toe here." Aunt Cass cheerfully said, not immediately picking up on his mention of being in jail.

The doctor however did notice. "Cellmate?" She asked with concern.

Varian clamped his mouth shut at that. He didn't want to go into why he had been in prison, certainly not with Aunt Cass there.

Sensing the Varian's discomfort and seeing Dr. Mcguire's confusion, Aunt Cass spoke up. "I'm guessing the secretary didn't give you the forms we filled out?"

"No, I'm afraid not. I saw your name on the appointment and just assumed it was time again for Hiro's session. I'm sorry, that was unprofessional of me to assume and not come prepared. Would you like to reschedule?"

Aunt Cass looked to Varian. "It's up to you, sweetie."

Varian really didn't want to go through all this again. "No. I'm good."

"Well do you feel like talking about what's wrong then?" Asked Mcguire.

Varian tightened his jaw, unsure how to say no to the woman. But Dr. Mcguire knew her business and understood what Varian meant even without words.

"It's ok." She soothed. "You don't have to talk about anything you don't want to. We're not here to make you feel uncomfortable. Therapy is supposed to help, not hurt."

This relaxed Varian a little, but only a little. He didn't know what either adult wanted from him then.

"Varian, would it help if I left?" Aunt Cass offered. "Or would you prefer that I stay? Either one is fine. It's your choice."

Varian looked back and forth between both women trying to decide. He honestly didn't know which would be more stressful; dealing with the doctor alone or risking slipping up again and having Aunt Cass find out about his past crimes.

"I...maybe?" He eventually answered.

"Alright then. I'll be just right outside the door if you need me." She stood up, walked over to Varian, gave him a peck on the forehead and an encouraging smile before closing the door and leaving.

Varian had to admit, he could breath more easily now that she'd left the room.

"Well," Dr. Mcguire spoke back up, "if you rather not talk about your issues right now, would you like to write about them instead?"

Varian gave her a confused look and in response she dug into a drawer in her desk and pulled out a notebook.

"Sometimes people find it easier to write about things than to talk about them. I often give my patiences journals, so that they can get out their feelings about stuff, make goals and plans, or to help keep track of their triggers and their responses."

She handed the notebook to Varian. It was thin and curiously printed on the front were images of lizards with hats and sunglasses riding upon skateboards. Varian might have thought it absurd looking but he was distracted by something that the doctor had said.

"Triggers?" He asked.

"A 'trigger' is anything that might make someone remember their trauma. It can be anything from a familiar sound or object, to an action or situation that is similar to an event that the person went through. When someone who's been through trauma comes across one of their triggers they might experience a panic attack, flashbacks, get angry or upset, or even completely shut down so to speak."

Varian studied the woman thoughtfully. Wasabi had described what a panic attack felt like and it sounded eerily similar to what he had felt when he ran away that day. The way he felt after having a nightmare. The way he'd felt when he had come home to find his dad unmoving in the amber.

“Do..do nightmares count?” He asked hesitantly.

“Well, yes, in a way. Nightmares are often associated with PTSD. They are a way for your mind to process what has happened to you. But they can also be caused by other things, like stress, anxiety, or just a lack of sleep. You’d have to dream about something multiple times and analyze those dreams in order to figure out their cause.”

She paused and studied Varian intently before continuing. "Some people write dream diaries to track the patterns of what they dream and when. You write what you've dreamed, good or bad, when you wake up. You also may write things like what time you went to bed, how long did you sleep, or what you may have eaten that day as those can affect how well you sleep."

"You could use your journal for that." She gently suggested.

"Then...then I show it to you?" He asked in kind.

"If you want to. Though, once again, you don't have to do anything that you don't want to."

"But, if I did, would it help?" Varian pressed, "Would it get rid of them?"

"It might help." The woman said measuredly. "Though it might not. Or you may need to do that along with a combination of things. The only way to find out is to try it."

Dr. Mcguire gave him a soft smile and Varian turned her words over in his mind. He would love for the nightmares to stop. They had only become more frequent since he moved in with the Hamada's. As if deep down he feared this new change in his life would become permanent and his subconscious was warning him to return home before it was too late. But, even still, while the doctor was right about not knowing till you tried, he worried over his past and what she or others might think of him once known. Then again, no reason to take a dream literally, right?

"I've..I...I've been having nightmares lately." He finally admitted. Dr. Mcguire only nodded along. She most likely had already guessed as much, but she didn't interrupt.

"They're always different. Like they're about different things. Sometimes they're about my home or my dad, sometimes about my friends, both old and new, and sometimes about, ummm, being in jail." He muttered this last part but then quickly contunited on, "They all end the same way though. With me being alone."

He met the doctor's eyes questioningly, wondering how she might respond. She looked to be contemplating over what he'd just confessed.

"Hmmm…Well dreams are rarely the same each time. It's usually just the repeated elements that we look for when analyzing. That's how the journal would help. But it looks like you figured out one of those elements on your own. Does being alone scare you?"

Varian looked at her wide eyed. He didn't know how to feel about having one of his greatest fears pointed out to him. It was true of course, but he didn't like to admit it.

"A, little." He admitted sheepishly.

"A lot of people fear being alone. We're social creatures. Humans need other humans and so we seek out relationships. It's nothing to be embarrassed about." Mcguire tried to ease his fear.

"Were you on your own in jail? Did you feel alone there?" She pressed.

"No, well sometimes, but like I said I at least had a cellmate. That's better than when I was completely on my own before then."

Dr. Mcguire face grew more concerned but she didn't pursue anything else about his time alone. Instead she asked, "Were you friends with your cellmate?"

"No." Varian scoffed, complaining about Andrew was easier than talking about his time spent on the run. "Dude was a creep."

"Oh, did you fight with him often?"

"Not usually. In fact we got along fine, but that's only because he'd pretend to be nice to get what he wanted. I always knew that's what he was doing, but I, guess I just went along with it because….because it was better than not talking to anybody at all."

Dr. Mcguire furrowed her brow, "What did he want from you then?"

Varian wiggled in his seat at that. He didn't want to go into the prison break and what followed thereafter. "Just….stuff."

This did not ease the doctor's fear. "How old were you when you went to jail?"

"I had just turned fifteen." He didn't know where this was going.

"And your cellmate was what, also fifteen, sixteen?" She guessed.

"Oh no. Corona doesn't have, what did the policeman call it, 'juvenile detention center.' Anyways, uh, I'm not sure what age Andrew was. He never said, but I would guess, like, late twenties?" Varian shrugged but he only became even more confused when he noted the look of horror on Dr Mcguire's face.

"And where were the guards when he was making you do… stuff?" She tried to hide it but Varian could still hear the way her voice shook.

"Ummm...well the guards make their rounds of the cells every ten minutes and stand guard at the door between then. Or they're supposed to, anyways. Sometimes they're late or they're switching shifts, or even sometimes asleep." He broke from his matter of fact statement with a little laugh. "I once saw Pete the guard fall asleep while standing up and Stan, the other guard, had to prop him up with his spear to keep the Captain from noticing." He whispered conspiratorially as if imparting some juicy bit of gossip.

But the doctor wasn't amused.

"It would appear that your home country has a very different legal system than ours." She stated as if trying to find a way to navigate Varian's revelations.

"I'll say." He snorted. Complaining about the conditions of the dungeon itself didn't bother him as much as admitting how he'd got there. He supposed it was because everyone suffered the same indignity as he did while there. So he didn't feel singled out.

"I saw what those cells down at the police station here looked like last week. Let me tell you. They were pristine." He began to number the differences on his fingers." Clean, not drafty, there were toilets, electric lights. I was on the bottom floor of the dungeon and all we had was a grate on the ceiling that let the tiniest bit of light and air in from the cell above us. Of course that wasn't much cause that cell only had a small window to begin with."

The doctor interrupted his ramble. "But what about when you were aloud outside?"

"Outside?" He echoed in confusion. "We never went outside. Who'd let criminals out of their cells willingly?"

Dr. Mcguire darted her eyes back and forth as if equally flabbergasted. "But, but what about for exercise!? Showers!? Mealtimes!?"

Varian looked at her unsure how to answer, now only realising just how vastly different the two realities really were.

"We ate in the cells." He said flatly in lieu of anything else. "Is the food better here too?"

"I don't know? What did they serve you?"

"Usually gruel, or bread and water. Sometimes we'd get scraps from the castle's kitchen. Like leftover bone broth before it went bad. I guess not to starve us completely."

"Castle?" She echoed hollowly.

"The jail is underneath the government's palace." He explained.

"And is that the only prison? Wouldn't that get over full?"

"Yeah, it does. That's why they only keep people there until they ship them off on the prison barge or…. til they hang them." He quietly admitted.

This seemed to be the last straw for the doctor.

She took a deep, shuddering breath and tried to compose herself.

"Well, that..uh..we seem to be reaching near the end of our session. How about we bring Miss. Templeton back in?" She flashed him a strained grin, but Varian knew she was rattled and he feared he'd said too much or had done the wrong thing.

"You mean Aunt Cass?" He asked.

"Yes. So you call her 'aunt' too?" He nodded. " Well let's get your aunt in here and we'll talk about how best to continue your therapy."

Dr. Mcguire walked out and Varian could hear her and Aunt Cass having a hushed and hurried conversion. He couldn't make out what they were saying, but he knew it was about him. Soon after, they both reentered the room and Aunt Cass took a seat next to him on the couch.

Dr. Mcguire sat at her desk again and proceeded to make an announcement.

"So Varian and I have talked a little and he's decided that he's going to keep a dream diary, which he can share with me during our next few sessions if he would like. However, I feel that Varian might benefit from seeing a specialist."

Varian heart dropped. He was being turned away? He'd somehow managed to screw up his first therapy session so bad the doctor was pawning him off to someone else.

"But, aren't you a specialist?" Aunt Cass asked, equally confused.

"Yes, but I deal with post trauma, sudden events, like a car accident or the recent death of a family member. After talking to Varian, it appears he's been through prolonged trauma. It'll take a few more sessions to confirm this but, he may have Complex Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. It's related to regular PTSD, there is some overlap in symptoms, but ultimately it requires different treatment."

Varian's stomach began to churn and he felt his heartbeat quicken. All he heard, behind the doctor's unfamiliar terminology, was that he was somehow, wrong or broken, more so than even the troubled patients she normally worked with. He wanted to cry, but instead he blinked back tears as Dr. Mcguire contunited.

"I have the name of a psychiatrist that I can recommend. I've worked with him before alongside other patients."

She handed a business card to Aunt Cass who leaned forward to take from her. As she read it the doctor went on.

"Dr. Brown deals with former soldiers, war refugees, abuse victims, and others who've had to endure extremely harsh conditions. He's better experienced in such cases and as a psychiatrist he can also prescribe any medicine that Varian might need."

"Medicine!?" Varian exploded and both women looked at him with concern. "But, but I'm not sick." He whined in protest.

Dr. Mcguire stood up and walked over to him. She knelt down to his level and looked him in the eye.

"I don't know if you are or aren't, diagnoses of mental illnesses take time, but you might still need prescribed medication even if you don't have an illness. You mentioned not sleeping well, something as simple as a herbal tea with added melatonin could help with that. However as a psychologist, and not a psychiatrist, I can legally write you a prescription for that, nor should I."

Varian darted his eyes about the room in confusion. Logically what the woman said made sense, he supposed, but that didn't stop his anxiety from raising. He felt cornered. He wanted to run again, but the gentle hand of Aunt Cass upon his shoulder rooted him to the couch.

"Look, you're still welcome to come see me." Dr. Mcguire reassured him. "I'll gladly help you in any way that I can. I just think Dr. Brown could do even more to help you."

"We just want what's best for you." Aunt Cass interjected. "Thank you, Dr. Mcguire. I'll give this Dr. Brown a call today when we get home."

And that was the end of it. They said their goodbyes and left.

On the whole way home, Varian sulked in the passenger seat as he stared dispondingly out the window. He could feel Aunt Cass nervously stealing glances of him, probably afraid he may jump out of the car again and try to run away.

She attempted to say something a few times, but thought better of it and kept quiet. The uncomfortable silence weighing upon them both until they arrived back at the Luck Cat.

Varian tore out of the car, pounded up the stairs, and was just about to run towards his new room, when he heard Aunt Cass say. "We need to talk."

Varian found himself sitting on a couch for the second time that day. This one in Hamada living room. He eyed Aunt Cass pensively and waited for yet another lecture.

"Sooo, I know that didn't go as well as we hoped today, but hey, we made some progress!" She gave him a plastered grin as she tried to find the silver lining. Varian only gave her a look as if she was crazy and rolled his eyes.

She heaved a heavy sigh.

"Varian, there's nothing to be embarrassed about. Lots of people see special psychiatrists. That's what they're for. They wouldn't exist if people didn't need them."

Varian still refused to meet her gaze.

"Also, not everyone finds the right therapist on their first try. It took me a whole year and three different doctors before I found Dr. Mcguire."

Varian did look at her upon that revelation, this time with surprise on his face.

Aunt Cass gave him a small smile.

"Did you think you were the only one who needed therapy?" She gently teased, before admitting, "I was only 24 when I took in Tadashi and Hiro. I didn't know how to be a parent. I didn't know how to handle two grieving little boys nor the emotional roller coaster I was on as well. I had to get help. I had to try out different doctors, different types of therapy, even took medication for a little while, and it took time but in the end it did make things better for all of us. I just want you to get better as well."

Varian processed this confession as he wrestled with his growing sense of shame and despair.

"But...but…you never did anything to deserve that. It was just a bad thing that happened to you.. I… I on the other hand…I wasn't in that jail for no reason." He confessed before bursting into tears.

"I don't care." Aunt Cass quietly said.

Varian looked back in surprise again. She stood before him with worry etched onto her face.

"I don't care what you did." She reiterated. "It doesn't matter."

She bent down and cupped Varian's face into her hand, just as she did when he returned after running away.

"Varian, no one deserves to be treated the way you were. Especially a child. That..that was just cruel." Her voice broke. "Cruel, and inhumane, and oh god, what ever did they do to you to make you think you deserved it?" It was her turn to cry as she scooped Varian into a hug.

Varian blinked rapidly, both because of the tears and because he hadn't been expecting this reaction. He knew he was at fault. Everyone in the kingdom knew it. They all blamed him for what happened and threw nothing but scorn his way. The only reason that Aunt Cass and everyone else didn't hate him too was because they didn't know, surely. But the sincerity in her voice, the tender loving embrace, the way she put up with him and his stupid mistakes around the house, all made him desperate to believe her. So he hugged her tightly back.

"But.. But.. I'm not 'no one'" The tears flowed freely now. "I'm...I'm…I'm not like anyone. The doctor said so herself, today."

"No!" She pulled away from the embrace to look him dead in the eye. "No. She said you needed help that she couldn't give. Dr. Brown, though, can. He deals with people who've been through what you've been through. You're not alone. You're not broken. You're not weird. And you are most certainly not deserving of being thrown in a dungeon."

She wiped her fingers through his bangs, a sign of affection he'd come to recognize from her, and blinking back tears said, "Oh how I wish I could have been there for you sooner. But I'm here now. And so is Hiro, all your friends, Chief Cruz, Professor Granville, and Dr. Mcguire. Ok? We are all here for you now, and we love you, and nothing is going to change that. And now Dr. Brown will be there for you too. So please, let us help you."

Varian searched her eyes. These were words he had longed to hear for who knew how long, but when faced with them for real he had trouble giving into them; to believing them. The nagging voice in his head was screaming at him, warning him that it wasn't true, that they would all abandon his as soon as he screwed up or they found out the truth of his past, the same as how everyone else had given up on him, told him how he didn't deserve such kindness, ect.,but he didn't care. He wanted it to be true.

He nodded yes and flung his arms around Aunt Cass again. They remained that way, just holding each other for several minutes. While Aunt Cass stroked his hair and cooed reassuring words. How she loved him, how she wasn't going anywhere, how he was her child now and nothing would change that. He wasn't sure if he was ready to accept her as a parent yet, to him his dad was the only parent he needed, but he deeply appreciated all that she had done, all that she promised to do, and it felt good to finally be accepted somewhere, to be wanted .

When they finally stopped hugging Aunt Cass said she was going to call Dr. Brown and set up an appointment. She then stroked the top of his head again and asked if he wanted to help her bake something special for dinner. He nodded yes and they both put the unfortunate incident at the therapist behind them.

#Varian #Tangled #BH6 #aunt cass #cass hamada #big hero six #tangled the series #rapunzel's tangled adventure #BH6 the series

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peterpanfromlemonland · 4 years

Text

Angel of Arkham

"So," Paris Beckett, one of Arkham's newest therapists and psychiatrists clicked her pen as she stared straight into Jerome Valeska's eyes, "Why did you do it?" she leaned back in her chair as the crazy eyed ginger, wiggling in his restraints, smirked. This wasn't the first time these two have met...

6 months ago...

Paris was watching the circus with her niece that calm Sunday evening, not much was going on that night, just the regular acrobats and clowns. That was until a fight ensued between the clowns and acrobats. "Oh dear," Paris muttered as her niece grimaced and looked away, "I don't think this is supposed to happen..."

"GCPD!" A voice rang out through the circus tent, a cop, "Everybody freeze!" The string of events that happened next caught Paris off guard, she was hoping for a relaxing evening but instead she got a case placed on her hands. Sadly, her "people" skills wouldn't be needed until later.

"C'mon kiddo," Paris picked up the child, "Let's get you back home before your dad scolds me for getting you involved in my work." as the two of them left the tent a young ginger, no older than Paris bumped into them- literally- and dropped his bag of cherry flavoured candies. "Oh," Paris muttered as she knelt down to pick it up, "I'm terribly sorry, sir, I wasn't looking where I was-"

"No, no," the ginger man replied as he knelt down at the same time, "It was my fault-" their hands collided and their eyes locked onto each others. The two of them stared at each other for a moment, Paris felt the warmth of his fingers brush against hers as he blindly fumbled for the bag, until the scene before her finally began to process fully.

"Oh shit!" she jerked her hand away suddenly, her niece yelping at the random movement, "I'm so so sorry... again... I didn't mean-" she stuttered as her face flushed red, rising to her feet as her niece glanced around curiously. The ginger smiled awkwardly, that smile brought butterflies to Paris's torso, it was then did the man's features jump out at her. He was kind of cute...

"Again," he chuckled grabbing the bag and hopping to his feet as well, he was a few inches taller than Paris, "It was my fault, I wasn't watching where I was going." Paris was about to say more but the pressure of her niece gently banging her head against her shoulder stopped her.

"I- uh," Paris muttered shyly, "Sorry again- crap!"

"No worries, sweets," the ginger chuckled, "I'm Jerome, by the way."

"Paris," she smiled with a slight bow, "Nice to meet you." Jerome smiled back at her before taking his leave, her eyes followed him until he faded into the darkness. A smile still on her face.

"Aunt Paris," the small voice of her niece broke through her thoughts, "Can we go home now? I'm sleepy." Paris finally remembered why she was outside, she hummed in compliance and headed to her car. The trip to Paris's brother's house was 15 minutes, it was a quiet 15 minutes, time seemed to fly by without a moment's notice.

The next thing Paris knew was that she was pulling into her brother's driveway, she shuffled out of the car with her niece in her arms, "Paris," her brother smiled as he opened the door, "Thanks for taking care of her."

"It was no trouble at all, Jack," Paris replied softly, "We had fun." she placed the young girl in her brother's arms. She could see he wanted to say more but she quickly nodded a goodbye and rushed to her car.

"Paris!" Jack called out before she could leave, "Take care of yourself, kid." Paris stared at him before flashing him a smile and driving off...

The next day Paris was called to the scene, her job was to evaluate people's mental state after a crime as well as help out the detectives gather evidence. She pulled up to the circus parking with no knowledge of what happened after she left the previous night. When she got out of her car, a detective by the name of Gordon approached her, "Ms. Beckett?" he stopped her in her tracks.

"Yes?" she replied flatly as she took a sip of her coffee.

"I'm detective Gordon with the GCPD, you were here when the commotion started correct?"

"Yes sir." Gordon looked much older than Paris, maybe around his late 20s to early 30s, "One of the circus members attacked a fellow circus member." the two of them began walking.

"That," the detective said through gritted teeth, "And we happened to stumble across a dead body." Paris nearly tripped over her own feet. Turns out that the body they found was the mother of Jerome, Paris could feel her heart plummet to her stomach. She couldn't imagine the pain that sweet boy was going through.

"So..." Gordon focused his gaze on the girl, "We want you to talk to him..." his tone was cold and blank.

"That's my job, detective," Paris replied, "But something in your tone says that you don't think I can do my job." Gordon scoffed and bit his cheek.

"How old are you again?" he cocked his head skeptically.

"18," she replied with confidence, "Should that matter?"

"Look, I have no problem with you- really- I just think you're a bit-"

"-Too young to be a psychiatrist and therapist?" she smirked, "I assure you, sir, I scored the top of my class." and with that she walked off, leaving the detective dumbfounded, a smirk crawling across her face.

Paris made her way to find Jerome, asking here and there about his whereabouts, he was sitting outside of his trailer hugging his knees with his face buried. The poor thing must've been crying all night. She approached him gently and quietly, "Jerome?" she chirped softly, causing him to jolt in his seat, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you-" she noticed that his eyes were red and puffy, probably from crying, she gazed at him warmly with a small smile.

All the boy did was sniffle and look away in shame and grief, "What do you want?" he grumbled, aware of the girl taking a small step closer to him.

"Mind if I sit by you...?" she tilted her head quizzically. Jerome just scowled in response, yet she still sat by him anyway. The boy didn't protest or argue, he just scooted over a bit to make room for the girl.

"Why are you here?" Jerome finally spoke, "You don't look like a cop..."

"That is true," Paris shrugged, "But I do evaluate people."

"What? So you're like a shrink?" he scoffed.

"I guess. But I'd also like to be your friend."

"Did they tell you to say that?"

"No," Paris chuckled, "I actually do want to be your friend."

"What's in it for you?" Jerome muttered.

"Another person to share jokes with and eat icecream with?" Paris noticed a change in Jerome's postrue, she smiled softly. The two of them sat in silence for a couple of minutes before Paris spoke again. "You doing okay? With all that happened?" Jerome sniffled and shrugged, rubbing his eyes against his sleeve.

Paris shifted to give him a hug but he jerked as if he was expecting her to smack him in the face. Her eyes met with his, once he saw no malicious intentions he calmed down and allowed her to gently hug him. Jerome cried into her shoulder for what seemed like hours, Paris rubbed his back soothingly and rocked back and forth softly. When he finished crying Paris hopped to her feet and extended a hand out to him.

"Walk with me?" she asked with a childlike wonder in her tone, Jerome couldn't refuse. The ginger took her hand in his and was quickly yanked to his feet and dragged away. The two of them weaved their way around the circus, Paris taking in the scene around her.

"Were you two close?" she asked, Jerome tilted his head in confusion, "You and your mother?" Jerome hissed in disgust as she mentioned his mother, that hiss was enough to answer Paris's question. Jerome began to tell the girl about his relationship with his mother and how she would always beat him, he told her about how he would often find his mother in bed with another man, about how she would get drunk and hit him again and again for no reason at all. Paris jotting down notes as a therapist would.

"'Jerome'," he mocked, "'Go take out the trash!' Or 'Jerome, it's always your fault!' followed by her banging a clown in the other room. I'm sorry, I'm rambling again."

"It's quite alright," Paris reassured him, "As a friend, and a therapist, it's my job to listen." Jerome stopped and smiled at her, she was quite different than the others he had met.

"My mother's love life never really bothered me at all," Jerome continued, "I mean, it's the reason I exist."

"True." Paris shrugged in agreement.

"I just hope that they find whoever did this..."

"I do as well..." Paris's voice grew quiet, Jerome noticed that her gaze darkened so he quickly changed the subject.

"I gotta go run some errands soon," he scratched his neck, "But I kinda wanna talk to you more."

"Thank you." Paris beamed at this comment.

"Mind if I get your number, sweets?" Paris didn't refuse, she quickly scribbled her number on a fresh page in her notebook before tearing it out and handing it to the ginger. Jerome said his thanks as he shoved the piece of paper into his jeans pocket, "When's a good time to call you?" he asked before he left.

"Around 5:30-6ish," Paris hummed, "Weekends I'm free to talk all day."

"You wanna go out to dinner with me tonight?" Jerome asked before she left.

"Sure, surpirse me!"

"I'll call you later tonight."

And with that the two said their goodbyes and headed their separate ways...

Back to present day, in Arkham...

Paris waited patiently for an answer, Jerome's frenzied gaze burning a hole through her composure and confidence. The silence was suffocating.

"Well?" she urged, "I'm waiting for your answer." Jerome only laughed, if it were during other circumstances Paris would've adored that laugh of his. But in that moment his laugh brought fear.

"You remember the time I took you out for dinner," Jerome started, "Right, sweets?"

#fanfic #jerome valeska x oc #gotham #yeet

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