#pov harvey

[word-ghost]

an unfavorable attachment // 3

It should have been easy to convince Lord Harrowby that this would be unwise. 

Or rather, Harvey attending the Millworths’ party at all had been unwise. Sneaking away to the garden with Eleanora had been imprudent, at best. Barreling through the ballroom after Lord Harrowby, to prevent his niece's governess from meeting a potential suitor, would be idiocy. 

But examined at a certain angle in the dim light of the card room, after a swiftly downed drink, the idea appeared almost sensible. 

He could admit it shouldn’t have mattered that their brief encounter with this suitor’s brother had been less than pleasant. Since his return to the mainland, few of Harvey’s interactions with a certain set had been any better. It was nothing he wouldn’t have expected. 

Nor was it a surprise that Eleanora’s mother, who wanted nothing more than to see her daughter wed, would have arranged an introduction to an eligible match.

Eleanora once described these encounters as painfully awkward and inevitably fruitless. She professed to lack whatever charms were necessary in attracting a gentleman—or at least one able to meet her mother’s unbendable standards. Harvey could not count himself among their number, but he’d had months to wonder how anyone could not grow to appreciate her. 

It didn’t occur to him, at first, to wonder whether she’d given any of them the chance. 

Despite her amiability, he had learned how guarded she could be. And how stubborn. She was herself with him, even if she sometimes tried not to be. 

And as sure as Harvey was that he should not have kissed her again, he was without a doubt she had wanted him to. 

“She will not be interested,” Harvey offered, once he and Harrowby were alone again at the table. He didn’t allow himself the smallest smile, even as its warmth welled in his chest.

“She doesn’t have to be,” Harrowby spat back. “Any interest on his part, and her mother will latch on. If there is any hope of seeing Eleanora married, she’ll never permit her to return to Westwood Hall.”

The light in Harvey’s heart dimmed. What few hazy images he had of a hypothetical future dissipated. Never once had he considered she wouldn’t always be a part of his life in Pelican Port, even if only in fleeting moments, when he visited the Harrowbys.

If she didn’t come back—suitor or otherwise—Harvey couldn’t be sure their paths would ever cross again. Harrowby would have to hire a replacement, and who could predict where Eleanora might end up then?

The thought was torment. When Harrowby suggested again that they intervene, he felt himself nod and rise from the table. If this might be the last time he would see her, Harvey couldn’t leave without a proper goodbye. 

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[oh-allie]

waitttt guysssss he lowkey wants you.... to take these antibiotics and abstain.

(quick lil harvey sketch!!)

[indulgentcosmos]

[blackashbluephoenix]

At exactly ten pm, Harvey stepped in, up behind Mike, running his fingers lightly down his spine. "I think you promised me eight hours." He mused.

"Indeterminate start time." Mike muttered, though Harvey didn't miss how he shuddered and arched his back at the touch.

He came up closer, wrapped one arm around his waist. The other he used to take the file out of Mike's hands and toss it lightly on the counter before running over Mike's chest. He inhaled directly behind Mike's ear in a soft growl, a move he knew from the last week alone would get Mike's undivided attention.

Mike let out a soft sigh and leaned back into him, his eyes fluttered closed. "Did you change your mind about me making it up to you?"

"Maybe in the morning. You haven't slept yet. Neither have I." Though he could probably be persuaded, the way Mike was already trying to shift back against him.

He kissed the hallow under Mike's ear, earning another shiver. "Either way I think the bed is the logical next step, don't you?"

"I don't know." Mike said. "You could bend me over the counter, or the back of the couch. Or the desk in your office. Possibilities are endless, really."

"Believe me, I've thought about it." Harvey said, still low in Mike's ear. "But the deal was you in our bed. We can go through the furniture this weekend if you'd like."

He released Mike, who had the audacity to pout, then turned and headed for the bedroom, unable to stop his smirk when he heard the chair scrape back a little faster than was nessassary.

[andreyyvieras]

You meant to tell me they won't play together this season? That they will have to go against each other, once the deal complete?

[daedalusdavinci]

22, twobat. heard u were talkin SHIT

22. While someone demeans your lover, standing up for them. Either in word, or by physically placing yourself right in front of them as a protective barrier. im thinking about emotional dysregulation and a strong sense of justice and how bruce is the reason alfred lost all his hair. in the words of karkat vants: anger can be a love language. alksdjnfsldjknfs i am NOT editing this

You get in fights for him. You've been getting in fights since no one gave your parents a chance to, something in you quick to snap and your fists faster than anyone could stop. You don't know how many strings Alfred had to pull to keep you from being suspended in middle school, but you know it was a lot, because he used to pick you up with a sigh written in the lines of his face, white gloves hiding the tension in his hands on the steering wheel. Sometimes he tried to argue with you about it. You never folded, because you were certain you were right.

Your school records are a mud-stained mess of arguing with teachers, getting in between a bigot and a victim, and the crack of your fist against someone else's jaw. You grew up stocky and angry, and you never had a problem taking things outside so someone else didn't have to. You think a part of you still feels like if you take on every fight yourself, no one else will ever have to get hurt. Regardless, it means that the college you get into isn't near as prestigious as everyone expects of you, and you know Alfred had to grease a lot of palms to do it. You think he's hoping maybe you'll keep your head down for a few years, and the intellectual challenge will be enough to keep your fists steady.

But then you meet Harvey, and he's simultaneously everything Alfred wants for you and everything Alfred doesn't.

He's optimistic in a way you aren't, level-headed and determined, but filled with the same drive for justice you are. Unlike you, he got in with scholarships and smarts, and he tells you stories about the kind of lawyer he's going to be one day, and the way Gotham will change. He flips some kind of switch in your brain, and your plan for the future starts to take a slightly different shift, accommodating for a world where you're not the only one who cares. He motivates you. He challenges you. He makes you better, and you think Alfred would like the person you become when you're around him.

At the same time, Harvey's a brown kid struggling with some kind of disability you'd never heard of before you met him, and the privileged fucks around you can smell it. So you get in fights. You're so quick to snap to his defense, putting yourself between them and him because you've never done anything else in your life, and Harvey tells you he's sick of patching you up, because you're bleeding again and he thinks it's his fault and he's trying to make you laugh.

It works. It always works when it's Harvey.

In later years, they'll call him Apollo. He's the handsome white knight who brings light back to Gotham, and he'll find it embarrassing and flattering all at once. You'll tell him you think it's apt, and he'll shove you, laughing like you told him a joke. But in college, he's the sun you orbit your world around, warming you when nothing else will.

The dean calls Alfred after you land a kid in the hospital. He doesn't need hospital treatment, but his friends don't know medicine like you do, and they panicked. He'll be fine. Alfred still calls you, cold, clipped anger in his voice, and you feel like you're eight again, angry and muddy and past the point of reason, the crushing feeling of a meltdown spiraling past what you can handle. Alfred tries hard to be a parent, and he tries to be a butler, and you're his kid and his spoiled charge, and this isn't the first time the two of you haven't nailed the impression of a functional family unit. You fight.

Med students aren't supposed to hurt people. Med students aren't supposed to snap and beat the shit out of other students. Med students aren't supposed to have meltdowns, no matter how crazy the workload is, no matter how much injustice happens in the medical field alone, no matter how much injustice your best friend faces at the hands of people you're supposed to view as mentors. Med students aren't supposed to recognize themselves in the textbooks. The dean is threatening you, and you're supposed to shape up.

In a few days, you still haven't gotten over it. Alfred isn't talking to you, you're not talking to Alfred, and a call from Leslie only makes things worse. You don't go out of your way to pick fights, but you don't need to, because people seem a little afraid to say anything after you sent that kid to the hospital. Harvey tells you it'll blow over with a grim confidence that you take seriously. It sounds too much like he's speaking from experience.

Then, someone makes a comment about your parents. It's not a particularly interesting comment- you've heard much, much worse over the years, and they've lost a lot of their effect. It stings- it's cruel- but you brush it off. You're in enough trouble already, and you've never cared about standing up for yourself the way you do about standing up for others.

Harvey's fist snaps out before you know what's happening.

The kid is flat on his ass, gaping up at you both, and Harvey is brimming with rage. "Shut the fuck up," he says, thick and growling. "You'd be fucking lucky if your parents loved you half as much. They probably only sent you here to get rid of you."

"Harv!" You grab his arm, tugging his attention back to you. You're torn between shock and worry, but worried for him, and what this will mean for him once the stupid kid reports him to the dean. You think for a terrifying moment that he could get expelled, and selfishly, you don't know what you'd do here without him.

You can tell he's furious, but he lets you drag him away, ushering the both of you away from the scene before things can escalate further. You stand in an abandoned stairwell and Harvey's fingers clench and unclench in your sweater as you hold his arms, giving him time to breathe.

"You didn't have to do that," you tell him quietly.

"Shut the fuck up, Bruce," he scoffs. His gaze flickers up to your face, thumb grazing the bottom of a bruise that's purpled in the past few days. You didn't get out of that fight scot-free, but no one ever cares about that. Except Harvey, who always cares. "You don't get to talk to me about when I should or shouldn't stick up for someone."

You don't have anything to say to that. The words all dry up in your throat as you stare at him, caught on the heat of his touch, the soft brown of his lips, and the determination in his face, like he'd do it all over again. You've never met anyone who understood you the way Harvey does, who matched your drive for justice and inspired you so completely. You look at him the way an astronomer looks at the stars, struck by their beauty and complexity- understanding, and yet endlessly wanting to know more, to know everything, to hold something you don't think you ever can. "Okay."

Something pricks embarrassed in his face, eyes shifting away suddenly. You think his cheeks are a little darker, but it's hard to tell.

You'll think about that moment for years. For years, when you hold his face and try to figure out how to tell him all the ways you love him, and when you watch him become the hero you always knew he could be, and when you watch him fall, holding his hand in the hospital and meeting his eyes across a rooftop, you'll think about what it was like to be so young, trying to put words to the way you wanted to press your lips to his. You tell him, once, that you think you're always going to see that little college kid in him, and he laughs at you. His laugh has turned raspy after years of smoking, and the shake of his shoulders makes the chains rattle, but it's the same laugh. "Maybe it's better that way," he says, grinning. "We were two of a kind, back then."

"Three," you correct.

His grin turns a little more sincere, a little more embarrassed. He says his words like a tease, but it's only to lighten the truth. "We thought the sun shined out of your ass."

"That's just the light reflecting off of it," you say, and he laughs again. You still love his laugh.

These days, you fight each other. You don't think it'll ever stop you from loving them both every bit as much as you did then.

[hotelraleigh]

love the echoes n equilibrium series....just a few qs...ahh...

(1) when did harvey fall for the farmer? was it a oh they're hot thing or just over time this intense sort of need to care for them given all the shit they get up to. the farmer is so interior and i love them but i wont lie ive been soooo curious about harvey's perspective in those first few months of the farmer fucking around and finding out

(2) in the whole situationship leading up to the confession, has harvey ever had thoughts on like...fully moving on, given how much it's clear he wants farmer in a way that doesn't seem reciprocated at the time?

(3) has he ever jacked off to them...

thank you for your questions!!

1) man i wanna write another harvey pov now bc y'all are giving me such rich qs to think about. it was definitely a slowburn for harvey - as i wrote, harvey himself was confused and surprised by his strong reaction to the farmer (scolding her for carelessness, etc) bc it was out of character for him. And while I do believe harvey is actually someone pretty in touch with their own emotions (rational, for sure, but also deeply empathetic), I also think it's been a minute since he felt such strong attraction to someone and thus wasn't able to clock it immediately (particularly bc it was simultaneously wrapped up in real concern, frustration, etc). the way i wrote his pov in part 1, he was an incredibly career-oriented man, sometimes at the expense of relationships. so this was new, this was exciting (in a strange way), and he almost definitely had an oh fuck moment after months and spiraled about the ethics and legality of it all.

2) oof i love this question. So i think there's 2 parts to this. First, as kind of stated above, I think he is slightly out of depth when it comes to his feelings for the farmer. Not that he's not aware of them, but rather the intensity. I think he is an intellectualizer at times, so he is explaining away the intensity, at least for now. Second, and this came up in a previous ask, but I also think he's dealing with some self-esteem stuff, so he is really banking on the idea that this is all I deserve so why would I give it up. I'll take what I can get cause I'm not gonna get it again, kinda thing. (This will def come up in future pieces.)

3) YUP. And you KNOW he felt sooooo guilty afterwards he couldn't look the farmer in the eyes for days lmfaoooooo

[bottombaron]

whatever you do, dont think abt Linger by the Cranberries but it's Nandor's pov 🥲

[a-sin-to-be-rin]

Your Own Worst Enemy

You, Harvey Dent, Gotham City's youngest and brightest DA, were attacked. It was unjust and pointless and horrible. But you have to live with it. (And by "it," you of course mean the newest resident in your mind. You don't get along.)

2nd person POV so feel free to skip if that's not your thing.

---

It’s soft. Whatever your head is resting on, it's soft. Like a bag of cotton candy.

You wiggle your fingers and toes, just to make sure you still can. Then you nudge open your eyes, only to be assaulted by light. Your hand flies up to shield your face, squinting against the fluorescent light.

“Harvey?”

You blink away the spots, vision beginning to clear. “Bruce?” You’d recognize his voice anywhere.

“Harvey, how are you… How are you feeling?” He sounds nervous. More than that. He sounds scared.

“I’m…” You don't know. You're a bit thirsty. Your vision is still fuzzy in your left eye. But nothing so ridiculous that it would explain the hospital bed you’re in.

And then you feel the skin on your face. The way it tightens to your skull. The way it peels under your fingers. The way it burns.

“What-?” Your heart jumps to your throat. Pounds, pounds, pounds. “What happened?” But you know. You just don't want to believe it.

Better believe it, Harv.

What was that? Who is-?

“Sal Maroni threw acid at you during the trial. Do you remember?”

“I… yes.” You do remember. You remember more than you want to.

Bruce must notice something is wrong. (Or… more wrong than they already are, anyway.) “What is it?”

You cough, and it stings the left corner of your mouth. “It’s nothing. I’m just… really glad you’re here, Bruce.”

---

You’re glad when Bruce leaves. You can finally think without his incessant hovering and wondering and worrying. It’s nauseating, how important he thinks he is. How he thinks he can fix everything with money.

But Bruce is your friend. You were glad to see him.

Well… not “glad” so much as “annoyed,” but potayto, potahto.

Now that he’s gone, you have the space to sit back and analyze the situation. And the situation is this:

You’ve been defending the innocent for years. You even stood up for Batman when he needed it. You’ve always searched for justice. And then, the one time you are in need of saving, Batman fails to show.

That’s not fair. It’s not just.

But what can you do about it? It happened. You can’t undo it.

No, but you can take back revenge. Show Batman that he can’t get away with that. He should have protected you like you did for him. It’s only fair.

You aren’t sure. It’s a risky idea. It sounds illegal.

You have a plan, though. You can escape the hospital. Find Batman. Scar him right back.

But maybe Boss Maroni is the one at fault here. Maybe, if anything, he should be the one you get back at. If you get back at anyone, that is.

Boss Maroni is in prison. He’s paying for his crimes. Batman roams the streets.

You don’t think revenge is the best choice though.

But you also think revenge is the best choice.

You need to make up your mind.

You won’t compromise.

You need something. You need…

You look around the room.

The bed.

The floor.

The table.

There!

You pick up the coin. It’s double-headed, but it’s nothing that can’t be remedied. You grab a spoon from your forgotten lunch tray and dig vicious lines into one side of the coin until it’s properly defaced. Now you have a clean side and a scarred side, which will suit you just fine.

Clean side.

Scarred side.

You flip the coin and slap it on the back of your hand. But upon revealing the coin’s decision, you start to feel your control fading. You feel… less than yourself.

You feel strong. The scarred side stares up at you, and, decision made, you put on your clothes, toss the hospital gown out the window, and leave the room, slipping out through the back stairwell.

It’s time for Batman to face justice.

[queen-scribbles]

ngl, I"m kinda giggling at the keyword density. You can tell who's POV is most of this chapter. 😅

[word-ghost]

an unfavorable attachment // 1

Bright, lively, and exquisitely decorated, the ballroom at Willowbrook house was scarcely large enough to hold its guests. None of them seemed to notice. The party, by the hosts’ design, spilled out of three sets of open doors onto the lamplit terrace. The weather—for which the Millworths could not take credit—was perfect. 

Mild, late summer breezes swept through the hall, coaxing nearly every guest through those doors to find themselves dazzled by the view of Willowbrook’s grandest feature: its gardens. Not a single guest of Harvey Parrish’s acquaintance (few though they were in attendance) didn’t have something to say about them. He might as well have had a look before he climbed into a cab. 

No sooner had Harvey moved to set down his empty glass than a burst of laughter, sweet and clear, cut through the music and buzzing conversation. For an instant, for him alone, it was the only sound in the room. 

He knew it was her before his head—against his will—turned to look over his shoulder.

He had not been looking for Miss Millworth. Or, more truthfully, he hadn’t expected to find her. But there she was, in a corner seating area half hidden behind a massive arrangement of fresh flowers. 

She and her companion let out another trill of giggles, shoulders bowed together on their shared settee. 

Harvey edged closer, winding a slow path through the other guests, until he could hear them clearly.

“I noticed Mr. Errington is absent,” Miss Fuller said.

“Is he?” Miss Millworth flashed her friend a quick little grin that scrunched her lightly freckled nose. 

“I was sure your mother invited him. I don’t think he’s ever rejected an invitation.” 

“Perhaps he never received it,” Miss Milworth posited, all innocence, touching one finger to her chin. “Might it have been lost on its way?”

“And where do you suppose it ended up?”

“Certainly not the kitchen fire.”

The pair stifled a fresh bout of giggles. Harvey couldn’t keep the corner of his mouth from curling—until a sudden appearance at his side nearly stopped his heart.

“Dr. Parrish.” The ladies’ laughter silenced.

“Lady Harrowby.” He bowed his head, forcing a deep, slow breath into his lungs. “Lovely evening.” 

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[3thingsnothidden]

just really listened to the lyrics of we belong together by Mariah Carey and gotta say its is giving big marvey vibes

[doctor-aceus-art]

"Honey, we can chill today, our honeymoon is meant to be relaxing."

[blackashbluephoenix]

I let you in. He almost said. But it wouldn't have helped, and strictly speaking, it wasn't entirely true. He'd tried his absolute hardest not let Mike in.

But it had always been an inevitable thing, something as sure as the sun coming up tomorrow. From moment one in that interview room, the moment brown eyes met blue. Mike had slipped right past his defenses, pried Harvey's arms open and tucked himself right under Harvey's very skin.

And in that moment, Mike couldn't even see it. Couldn't look past what Rachel had done and see that Harvey was standing right there, would never ever do anything like this to him, never make him feel this way, like he was anyone's second choice.

What advice could he give? None. Nothing at all. Oh sure, he could layout out some bullshit about looking at everyone and everything as temporary and therefore attatchement was always pointless. But it wasn’t true for him. Not anymore.

And he didn't want it to be true for Mike either. As much trouble as Mike's big, bleeding heart sometimes got them into, it wasn't something Harvey would trade for anything. Because he wouldn't be Mike without it. He'd be someone else entirely, even if that person still had Mike's memory and his expanse of legal knowledge and movie quotes.

Mike wasn't Mike without his heart.

So Harvey told him another version of the truth. That he didn't know anything about relationships, about love, about any of it. That he was the wrong person to ask.

That part was true, anyway. And Harvey hadn't wanted to know anything about it for a long time. Now he did, because of course he did, and the one person he wanted it with was so far out of reach that he was standing in Harvey's apartment asking him for advice on how to shut the world out the same way he assumed Harvey had.

I let you in, he almost said. But he didn't.

[drrandombear]

Loving the gaggle of side characters in Batman the animated series

Bullock is still the best

[dastardlydandelion]

insight on harvey's feelings about his dad/abuse from the caos daughter of chaos tie-in novel.