#for quite a while now. for around a year now actually i think

[purplecoffee13]

Please, Please, Please - pt.1

Summary: “Harry is utterly fascinated by his new neighbor, Y/N, and takes it upon himself to protect her. But little does Y/N know, that Harry may be the person she is supposed to be running from…”

Wc: 5.6k

Tropes: good girl x bad boy / neighbors

Warnings: mentions of violence, cursing, bit of gaslighting.

A/N: THIS IS A TWO PART ONE SHOT based on this request. Please note that it is based around the MUSIC VIDEO, not necessarily the song itself! I decided to cut it up into two parts, because it was getting awfully long, and I was too eager to share it with you. Next part will be steamy!

General Masterlist

You sigh, looking up at your new home. Well— you think. You're not exactly sure which window is yours, but you will figure it out once you're on the right floor. You adjust the duffel bag that is slung over your shoulder, and grab your suitcase before walking towards the entrance.

With your new set of keys which you got from the landlord yesterday, you open the door to the lobby. Or, hallway with post boxes. That would definitely be a more accurate way to describe it.

When you were little and fantasized about moving into a place of your own, you have to admit, you did imagine something a bit less... intimidating. Unfortunately, you had been left with no choice.

Ever since your dad died about five years ago, your mother has been serial dating like there was no tomorrow. You had learned to ignore the different men in your kitchen, eating the cereal and drinking your coffee at 7am, but lately something had changed.

Your mother had stuck with one man.

Sadly for you—and your mother, although she wasn't ready to admit that—the guy was a fucking prick. Worst thing about him? He was sneaky about it. When you confronted your mother, telling her you weren't sure if her new boyfriend was that good of a guy, she had flipped out. As she threw all kinds of accusations on the table, such as you not wanting her to be happy and even insinuating you want her boyfriend for herself, you decided that enough was enough.

That night, you hunted the internet for an affordable place. It's how you found this apartment. You knew it wasn't the best neighborhood, but it was a place of your own, and you were sure that you could make it on your own over there.

After all, you had a well paid office job not too far away, and the costs of the apartment wouldn't interfere too much with your saving for law school.

So, kind of on a whim, you contacted the landlord. And now, here you are, ready to unpack all of your stuff. Your mother had at least been so kind to hire a moving truck, but you think it mainly had to do with her wanting you out of her house as quick as possible. You shared the sentiment, so you hadn't said much about it, besides a polite thank you of course.

It takes you three hours to get everything upstairs, and the janitor, Rod, even helps you out with some of the big furniture. Being a tall, broad guy, appearing to be in his sixties, you had actually been quite unnerved by him. Nevertheless, you decided to play smart and throw him a sweet smile the first time you ran into him. It had faded the seemingly permanent  frown on his ever so slightly, and after introducing yourself, his face was even neutral.

It didn't take more than three minutes of chit chat before Rod had warmed up to you, and by the end of the fifteen minutes, he offered to help you. If it hadn't been for him, you would've still been carrying pieces of your couch into your apartment.

You had been able to take over the bed frame and the dining table from the previous owner, so you only had to put your mattress on your bed before you could let yourself fall on it and chill out for a while.

After letting yourself rest for about fifteen minutes, you unpack as much of the stuff in the kitchen, and you spend the rest of the night unpacking your clothes while dancing to the music that blasts through your headphones.

At around midnight, you pass out during a feeble attempt at sorting your socks.

Your peaceful slumber gets interrupted, however, by an array of less peaceful noises coming from another apartment. The first few minutes awake are spent with your eyes stubbornly closed, hoping to fall asleep again, but when you hear an extremely loud thud, your eyes shoot open.

Getting up from your bedroom, you walk over to your door, and look through the peephole. It doesn't seem like there is anyone in the hallway, and the sounds do seem to have quieted down. You sigh, turning around to go back to your bed, when you hear a shout, followed by another thump. Frowning, you go back and open the door, walking out into the hallway. You squint, and blink a few times to get used to the harsh light. Then, you knock on the door in front of you.

There's a couple of voices sounding from inside the apartment, but no one answers. You groan, knocking again, and even harsher this time. It grows quiet, and you are contemplating going back to bed, hoping whoever is on the other side of that wall got the message, but then the door swings open.

In front of you stands a man, with brown curls and a very apparent frown on his face. One that falters ever so slightly at the sight of you, and is accompanied by a small smirk. He leans against the door frame. His cross necklace dangles, visible by his dress shirt that is far from buttoned all the way up, and you swear it hypnotizes you for the shortest second.

"H-hi." You stammer, looking at the man with wide eyes. His smirk grows, and you forget why you are even here.

"Hello." He greets back, hands sliding into his pockets as he looks you up and down, shamelessly. "What can I do for you, sweetheart?"

"Uh, I just moved into the apartment across from you, and I was wondering if you could keep down the noise a little bit?" You ask, but the man doesn't respond. He solely scans you with some sort of frown on his face. You can't deduce whether that is his neutral face, or if he's pissed at you. Nevertheless, you are kind of scared. "It's just— I don't mean to be rude. I just have to get up very early, and it was very loud, so... also, are you okay? It's— I heard a thud, I thought maybe someone fell?"

Once again, it grows quiet between the two of you. With every passing moment of silence, you are regretting your choice to knock. Did you really have to piss off your neighbors the first night you moved in? Couldn't have just battled through a broken night? You curse yourself as you wait for some sort of answer.

"Sure, sweetheart. I'll shut it all down for you."

You let out a breath of relief, glad to see he is not taking it badly. You bite your lip, trying to fight your smile from getting too wide.

"Really? Thank you so much! I appreciate it, and I really didn't mean to offend you or anything. I promise, it's just because I have to get up so early and the coffee at my work is horrible so—" You stop yourself mid-sentence when you realize you are babbling your new neighbor's ear off. "Never mind. Good night, and nice to meet you. My name is Y/N, by the way."

The man doesn't say anything once again, so you take it as your cue to get the fuck back to bed before making it worse. You walk into your apartment, turning around to close the door, when you hear his voice.

"Harry."

Your head shoots up, tilting it ever so slightly at the sudden word spoken by your neighbor. He tilts his head, mocking you, as he repeats the name while pointing to himself. With that, he turns around and closes the door. You do the same, leaning against the door as you realize you have the hottest new neighbor ever.

Another, extremely loud thud sounds from his apartment, and your eyebrows knit together. A loud voice is heard, one that is clearly Harry's shouting 'sorry!'. You giggle, shaking your head at the comedic timing before waltzing back to your bed.

Little do you know, that while you fall back asleep in your comfortable bed, your new neighbor thinks about you through the entire night. Harry's mind is absent, even as they drag the body of the guy that didn't pay up in time out of his apartment, even as he scrubs the blood off his hands and face.

"Sure, sweetheart. I'll shut it all down for you."

He had been purely sarcastic, baffled by the fact that you even had the guts to knock on his door. The first time you knocked, he thought it was just noise from outside or something. No one was stupid enough to knock on Harry Styles' door. No one was dumb enough to risk it.

But someone did knock; an insanely beautiful woman with nothing but an oversized shirt on. Well, shorts under it maybe, but for the sake of his imagination, you didn't. And you weren't stupid, you just didn't know whose door you were knocking on.

Anyone else who would have been foolish enough to do so, especially while he was dealing with a deadbeat who owed him more than enough money, would've met an entirely different fate.

The way you stumbled over your words and  let your eyes travel over his body had given him too much of an ego boost not to play with you a little bit. And once you had reacted so genuinely to his sarcastic response, he somehow didn't have it in his heart to tell you that he wasn't being serious.

Which is strange, because he didn't peg himself for someone with a heart, not anymore.

Nevertheless, he decided that you were right. The incessant noise had gone on long enough. And so, right after he closed the door, Harry turned around aimed his silencer right at the deadbeat's head. Following the thud of his body falling down, he had shouted a 'sorry' for the last noise he would make that night.

Now, as he lays in bed, the reason for his sleeplessness isn't the weight of another death on his shoulders. No, it's his new neighbor and her long, bare legs.

************************************************

ONE DAY LATER

Your shoulders are hurting.

After yesterday's moving activities and today's excruciatingly long day at work, you are exhausted. Not only did you have to do an insane amount of paperwork today, you also got assigned to even more administrative work that shouldn't even be yours to deal with in the first place.

When you had mentioned you wanted to gain experience in the field of law during your interview for receptionist at a law firm, you hadn't expected them to throw all the work in your lap. You were doing a lot of things, spending way too many after hours in the office, doing jobs that were never in your job description, and instead labeled as 'ways to gain experience'. The worst thing is, your boss is acting like these tasks are a huge favor to you, but you know it's just the jobs that they are too lazy to do themselves.

Nonetheless, you don't say anything about it. Despite the cruelness and sometimes uselessness of the assignments you are given, you do have access to active cases that lawyers are working on, and it gives you an opportunity to observe their styles and its effectiveness.

Wanting to become a lawyer is something you had always dreamed of. You loved justice, and you weren't afraid to fight for it. In your day to day life, you are very sweet, bubbly, and in some cases—like yesterday—even shy. But once you are in a professional setting, you can switch and stand strong. The division between your personal and professional self is one you have learned to balance very well, and you also use it as a secret weapon. People are way too quick to underestimate you, and you always make sure it comes back to bite them in the ass.

You put your groceries and briefcase on the ground, allowing yourself to look for your keys, which you forgot to take out of your bag and are now buried somewhere at the bottom. Head deep into your purse, you don't notice Harry walking out of his apartment until his door shuts. It is right after you've found your keys, so with them in hand you turn around to greet him with a smile.

Your new neighbor looks gorgeous, which doesn't bode well for you because you are currently feeling like an expired, mushy sack of potatoes. You shiver at the thought.

"Hey!" You say instead.

"Hello sweetheart." His smooth, English accent hits your ears just right. "Sleep well last night?"

Your cheeks turn pink, and you nod. "Yes, thank you for asking. Oh! Speaking of..."

You turn around and bend down to dig through your grocery bag. When your eyes meet Harry's again, you are reaching out a bouquet of flowers. He stares at it, wary of your intentions.

"They're for you." You feel the need to clarify.

"Aw, sweetheart, you didn't have to go through the hassle of buying me flowers. I'm quite an easy man you know, all you have to do is ask." He says, grin wide as he observes the way your eyes nearly pop out of your sockets at the suggestion of him and you. He likes seeing you all flustered.

"W-what, no! I— it was for yesterday! Because you were so nice to me. I wanted to make up for meeting in such an unfortunate way. Didn't want you to think you have a shitty neighbor now or something." You explain, watching Harry's amusement at your awkwardness.

"I'd never think that, sweetheart." His voice is low, and despite saying it in a bit of a joking way, you swallow at the sound of the sentence. The raspiness of it just gets to you. You brush your nerves off with a weak smile, and turn to open your door.

"Well, have a good night." You say, awkwardly waving at Harry as you carry your bags into your apartment. You place them in your hallway before walking back to close the door. Harry waves back with the flowers, winking at you.

"Good night, sweetheart."

Your heart races at the continuous nickname. It sounds so sexy coming out of his mouth, and it is the only thing you can think of as you cook your dinner. It is even hard to concentrate while watching your favorite show.

A few hours go by, and the sound of Harry's voice doesn't fade from your mind. Neither does the excruciating pain in your shoulders. At around nine p.m. you give up and decide to grab some painkillers. However, to your great horror, you find out that you ran out and forgot to buy new ones.

Cursing yourself, you rush over to your coatrack and grab your jacket. Along with your purse, containing important things such as money, your keys, and pepper spray, you leave your apartment to pop into the convenience store nearby.

It's only a five minute walk, but with your speed you cut a minute from that estimate. It takes a little bit to find the paracetamol, but after grabbing two boxes of pills, you rush to the cash register. You wait until the man in front of you has paid, smiling politely when he turns around to walk out of the store, and step forward to pay for your painkillers.

Despite the cashier's monotone voice, you are more than satisfied with this convenience store, and you walk out smiling at the knowledge of being rid of your pain very soon.

You flinch at the sight of the man from before standing right outside, grinning at you as you walk by. Despite his middle aged appearance, his teeth are rather yellow. You avoid making further eye contact, tension growing in your stomach. As you walk back to your apartment, you make sure to keep your pace quick.

You're too scared to look behind you, but you feel it. You feel that this man is walking a few meters behind you and you also feel like you might throw up. But you keep walking, keys in one hand, pepper spray in the other.

You are ready to open the door that leads you to the hallway of your apartment complex, and immediately push the key into the hole once you get there. But for some stupid fucking reason, the door won't budge. Your heartbeat rises and your hands are getting clammy as you shimmy your keys, trying to open that goddamn door. As your eyes begin to water, you hear a voice behind you.

"Need some help, pumpkin?"

Frantically, your eyes search for a way to get out of here. Your eyes fall into the intercom, but you can't seem to find some sort of emergency button. Since you can't buzz yourself in, that option seems to be useless.

Then, an idea enters your mind.

You take a deep breath, hoping it'll steady your voice before you respond. "No thank you."

The man chuckles. "I think you do. 'S okay, I like a damsel in distress."

Pulling the key out of the hole and wrapping your hand around it, you turn around to the man. You swallow your pride and try to be as nice as you can be when rejecting someone. Stepping back a bit, you almost lean against the wall as you blindly press one of the buttons behind you. Luckily, the noise of ringing a bell isn't very loud from downstairs, so you don't think the man notices your sneaky action.

"I am fine, good night." You say, your smile gone now. You can't find it in yourself to be nice and sweet after that creepy comment. Technically, you are very helpless right now. Because of him, and his actions that fill you with fear. The threat of his presence is what makes you that 'damsel in distress' in the first place, and you hate the fact that men idolize saving you when often they are the danger itself.

"I don't think you are. Why don't you come with me, get a drink together?" His tone is dominated by the insincerity that drips from his words. You know it isn't a question, it's a command. The salacious smirk he wears with it is disgusting, and the way his eyes shamelessly scan you makes you want to shower five times just to feel less gross.

You feel the slight pain in your thumb for pressing so much and hard into the button behind you, but you can't help but pray that your idea will work.

"No, please leave me alone." You try to be as stern as you can, although your shaky voice isn't conveying that message very well.

"I don't think you understood what I said, pumpkin. You and me are gonna get a drink together." He reaches forward and grabs you by your arm, pulling you towards him. You try to shake him off of you, but his grip only tightens. You choke out a cry, still trying to get his grimy hands off of you while he only buries his fingernails further into your skin.

"Let me go!" You scream as loud as you can, hoping that there is someone who will at least hear you. Your free hand reaches into your purse, and you pull out your pepper spray. In a split second, you are holding it up and spray it in the man's eyes.

He shrieks in shock, and lets go of you, covering his eyes with his hands. You quickly turn around to run back inside, but crash into a body on your way there.

Holding your waist, Harry keeps you from falling over. He frowns, his jaw clenching when he catches your terror filled, red eyes.

"Go inside." He orders. While the context is stern, the words spoken come out way softer than one would think when demanding something from someone. You don't have to be told twice, rushing through the open door and running up the countless flights of stairs. You are completely out of breath when you reach your floor, but you don't stop hurrying until you are in the safety of your own apartment.

You tear all your clothes off your body, feeling like you might choke because everything you have on feels to tight to your skin. You keep crying as you jump into the shower to wash yourself off, as you take off your make-up, and as you put a tank top and loose sweatpants on your freshly washed body.

You take your head out of the bun it was in to keep it dry as you walk towards your front door upon hearing a knock. When you open it, you're standing face-to-face with your neighbor.

"Are you okay?" Harry asks, eyebrows knotted as he looks at you. You nod, not wanting to say a word because you don't want to make him uncomfortable by becoming a blubbering mess in front of him. "Can I come in?"

You nod again, opening the door further so he can enter your place. His steps are careful and light, and you see his eyes scan the apartment as he walks in. You shut the door behind him, making Harry turn around to look at you.

He is back at your side as soon as he spots the marks on your arm that the creepy man left when he tried to take you to god knows where. With a tight jaw, Harry glances up at you.

"You need to put ice on that. It's gonna bruise."

You look down, too timid to meet his gaze, and notice Harry's red knuckles. It doesn't take you very long to put two and two together. For some reason, you don't want to directly mention that just yet, so instead you whisper:

"You too."

Harry lets out a breathy chuckle and nods his head, watching you as you walk over to your freezer to get some ice. Putting it in two different dish cloths, you hand one to him before walking over to your couch. Harry follows suit, plopping next to you and putting the cloth meant for him on your arm.

Flushed from that action, you slowly grab his hand and place it flat on your thigh. Ignoring the way it makes the rest of your body feel, you press the ice filled cloth against his knuckles, hoping the cold will give him some relief. He winces, his fingers tightening around your thigh ever so slightly before immediately relaxing again.

Your eyes travel to your own arm, initially to see Harry's hand wrapped around it. However, the sight of the red marks on your arm make your eyes water again, the memory from what just happened resurfacing. The sickening fear of not knowing how the fuck to get out of that situation is as overwhelming as it was just before, even though you are safe now. You hate that a man made you feel so weak.

You can't help the tears from flowing, so you just let them as you silently recall the events of tonight. Your thoughts are cut in on when Harry removes his bruised hand from your thigh and cups it around your jaw. He leans forward, green eyes all sympathetic.

"It's okay, you're okay. He won't hurt you anymore, or ever again." He whispers. You shut your eyes, your silent tears now breaking into soft sobs. There is no choice but to let the sadness flow, and relish in the comfort of Harry's fingers wiping away your tears as you cry out the stress you had been feeling, and give it a place.

You feel it getting lighter with every cry. Each tear that Harry catches is a bit of weight off your shoulders. For some reason he chooses to sit there and offer you a space to store your pain. And even though normally you would never allow yourself, tonight you make use of that space.

*****************************************

A few weeks had gone by, and Harry had taken it upon himself to become your new watch dog. After what happened, he refused to let you go outside by yourself.

The morning after the incident, you got up and went to work like normal. But when you opened your apartment door, you ran into Harry, who had also been planning on going outside. He walked you to your car, and watched as you drove away. That night, when you returned from work, you ran into him again in the hallway downstairs, and walked to your apartments together.

After about three nights of these exact same situations, you could confirm for yourself that Harry was waiting to escort you anywhere.

You thought confronting him about your knowledge of his schemes would put an end to the overprotectiveness, but you were proved wrong. Instead of toning down his behavior, he amped it up. There wasn't a trip to the supermarket that you made by yourself anymore. And anytime you tried to say something about his following you everywhere, he would make up a silly excuse that left you speechless with flushed cheeks and a stupid grin on your face. You gave up fighting it not long after that, mainly because you enjoy his company so much.

Being so close to Harry all the time did make you realize how much distance everyone else kept from him. You didn't miss how people avoided his gaze, or how certain cashiers stumbled over their words as you paid for your groceries. It had you wondering; just how scary was Harry?

Harry had really taken it upon himself to protect you. It kind of went automatically, if he had to be honest. He simply couldn't watch you walk around the neighborhood so defenseless. What happened to you had enraged him so much, he didn't want a repetition of it.

Of course, an exact repetition was not an option anymore since he had beaten up the guy who assaulted you to the point where he was hospitalized. Harry couldn't find it in himself to feel even the slightest of remorse. Well, maybe only for the fact that he didn't kill him right then and there. He would have, had he not been too worried about you being alone upstairs.

Soon enough, word had traveled about your association with Harry, and it resulted into people being afraid of you. You were so incredibly confused about the shaky voices of people you'd ask for help in stores. You had never imagined yourself to have such an intimidating aura.

Since Harry had taken it upon himself to watch you, you had taken it upon yourself to feed him. It was the least you could do, and it gave you a reason to keep him around longer at night.

Part of you was aware that wanting to get closer to Harry might not be the best idea, especially considering the collectively instilled fear that lingered everywhere he would go. But he was so sweet to you, and you were sure that there was an explanation.

So, tonight during dinner, you had decided you would ask him about it.

Harry was delighted when you asked him if he wanted to stay and eat, and didn't hesitate to say yes. Now as he leans against the counter, watching you cook the pasta you promised to prepare, you have to actively control your breathing. His intense stare has a way of turning your legs into jelly and fogging up your mind.

"How was your day?" You ask him as casually as you can. Harry doesn't tear his eyes off of you, grinning at the way he is making you squirm.

"Good, love."

You swallow at the new nickname he suddenly conjured up. The low baritone of his voice combined with his green eyes on yours has your heartbeat getting out of control. You hear the breathy chuckle leaving Harry's mouth, and it makes your stomach turn. He knows exactly what he is doing.

"So, uhm... I have a question." You say, focusing extra hard on stirring the boiling pasta. He hums, indirectly telling you to ask away. You turn down the pitch on which your pasta stands, and turn to face him. For the first second that you meet his eyes, you were forget what you were even going to ask him, but you quickly regain your senses.

"Why is everyone here so afraid of you?" You tilt your head, really observing Harry. Sure, he is tall, with a broad and muscled figure. He always wears dark clothes and his green eyes will never look away first. But to truly be terrified of this man? You couldn't imagine why.

Harry doesn't say anything. He pushes himself away from the counter and walks towards you, slowly towering over your smaller frame. He leans forward, his face closer to yours than it has ever been before, and it gives you ideas that you probably shouldn't have.

"Do I scare you?"

Silently, you shake your head. Harry's eyes slowly travel down your face, fixating on your mouth for the longest five seconds you have ever experienced, and then shoot back up to meet yours again. "Then why do you care so much about what others think?"

"I don't." You respond embarrassingly fast, overwhelmed with a need to get his approval.

"Well, there you have your answer."

With that, he turns around to the counter and grabs the glass of white wine you poured for him. Taking it between his hands as if it were a cocktail glass, you watch entranced as he takes a sip. Your gaze falls onto his hands. You feel sinful for the thoughts that occupy your mind, but they fly out the window when you spot how bruised his knuckles are. And you realize...

"No, I don't." You say sternly. Harry looks at you, amused by your protest. "I don't know anything about you, Harry."

Harry laughs, but it’s a bitter laugh, accompanied by his hand running through his hair and his head shaking as if he can’t believe what he is dealing with. A part of you wants to get on your knees and beg him to forgive you for being suspicious of who he truly is, but you refrain from doing it.

“People fear what they don’t know, Y/N.” He says, his eyes finding yours. Your heart starts beating faster, aware of the fact that his eyes are going to keep being trained on yours without even so much as faltering.

“I don’t give a fuck about what those people think of me, they don’t know me. You do. So why is their judgment relevant? I’m here, aren’t I? Standing in front of you, letting you know me. Is that not enough?”

You feel a pang of guilt in your stomach at his words, and the authenticity of them. You let out a sigh, breaking eye contact to look down at the floor, contemplating what he’s saying. Maybe he is right.

“Sorry.” You say so softly it could almost be classified as a whisper. The feeling of Harry’s fingers pushing your chin up makes your eyes meet his, and you notice the hint of a smile he wears.

“Go sit.”

Slightly confused, you follow his order, looking back at him to see him finishing up the pasta and making a bowl for the both of you.

“I’m 29.” He states, his back still to you. Your mouth breaks into a smile, and you prop your elbow on the couch, leaning your chin into the palm of your hand as you observe him.

“Really?” You are grinning like a proper idiot now. Harry nods.

“I don’t have any siblings, but we did have a dog, and we rescued a stray kitten that was sleeping in our garden.” He goes on, turning around and walking over to the couch with the bowls of pasta. He sits down and hands you one.

“What are their names?” You ask.

“Dog is called Pepper. Mum let me name the cat, so I named her Hades.” He explains, making you a giggle.

“You named your girl cat Hades?”

“Persephone is such a mouthful. Plus, I was like ten, and had this big obsession with Hades.” He shrugs, taking a bite of the pasta. Your eyes widen, and you begin to laugh even harder.

“You mean to tell me that little ten years ago old Harry was obsessed with the Greek God of the underworld, the God of death… Are you okay?”

Harry shrugs. “He’s just doing his job.”

You cover your face with your hands, beyond amused by his nonchalance. You don’t see it, but Harry might take more joy out of the situation than you. His eyes sparkle with adoration as he watches you laugh, and he wishes he knew how to control time just to stay in this moment forever. There was something so extraordinary about your happiness having been caused by him. He was fascinated with how much he wished he could do it every day for the rest of his life.

He hadn’t known if opening up about himself was the smartest ideas, but he would give her his social security number if it made her laugh like that.

You took your hands off your face and looked at him, the sudden urge to kiss him being almost unbearable. Almost. You sighed, not knowing how to express these feelings you had towards him, so instead you opted for a simple comment.

“I’m so glad you’re my neighbor.”

Harry smirks. “I’m glad you’re my neighbor too.”

[shino-mina-324]

Don’t Leave Me Too

Pairing: platonic!yandere! Muichiro x mother figure! reader

GN!

Summary: You care for him like a son and treated like so, but he was darker than you thought her was. How far will you get before he finds you after escaping the estate?

Warning: blood, kidnapping, clingy Muichiro, trauma, abandonment issues, etc

A/N: Believe it or not but this is actually my first time writing yandere! I don't think its entirely good but I'm pretty proud of it for my first try. I hope you all like it, please give me your feedback!

You stumbled through the snow, shivering at the stinging cold. How long have you been trapped in there? You couldn’t tell. Your feet felt like they were going to freeze off, after all you were barefoot. You didn’t have time to go grab shoes when your escape was right there.

How did you even get into this situation? You squeezed your eyes shut at the memories.

You had met him during a mission. You were assigned to work with a hashira in this mission, apparently strong enough to need a hashira and one other but not enough to require two hashira. You were nervous, so nervous. You didn’t want to embarrass yourself in front of a hashira! But then you saw him, a short boy with long hair. He looked no older than fourteen. It had always broke your heart how such young kids were becoming demon slayers and what they go through. But to see a fourteen year old having gone through that and train hard enough to become a hashira so quickly just made it worse.

You didn’t let that show though, either way he was still your superior. In the down moments when you weren’t actively working you'd talk to him in a kind motherly manner, not in a belittling way but in a sweet way. He would look at you with a tilted head and sometimes narrowed eyes, annoyed maybe, but wouldn’t say anything. But when working you would treat him like any other superior.

Then after the mission was over you decided to get some breakfast and invited him as well. He accepted but didn’t talk much. Then you went your separate ways. But then you got another mission with him, then another, and another. Every time you would treat him the same way. Once you even gave him a head pat, you didn’t do it on purpose. Your hand kinda moved before you could think about it.

“Don’t touch me.” He gave you the coldest glare you had ever felt. You felt immediate shame fill your body and soon excused yourself. You never tried that again after that. Always kept your distance too, in case of accidentally touching him while walking. He didn’t seem to notice, if anything he seemed more pleased.

Then he went on a mission somewhere else. Not unusual. But the next time you saw him he was… different. His eyes were more clear and when he saw you a smile immediately crossed his face and he ran towards you. He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you into a tight hug, his face in your neck. You tensed at the contact, not used to it coming from him.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry I treated you like that.” He kept repeating, talking into your neck. Slowly, cautiously, you wrapped your arms around him loosely. But that’s all. He melted into it further though, like it meant the world to him.

After that you would see each other a lot more often. For some reason every mission you had was with him. He would also stay quite close to you as well. There was one time when you two were just sitting around a table he had grabbed your hand and put it on his head. You were confused but he looked at you expectantly but when you didn’t do anything he frowned and pushed it on to his head a bit harder. You realized, and although very confused, starting to pat his head. He seemed content but grabbed you hand when you tried to pull away.

It was sweet. The relationship the two of you had now, like mother and son. But then it took a turn. He would barely let you fight the demons you fought. Always jumping in and killing them before you. It was sweet at first but then got frustrating. Then after that he insisted on being next to you everywhere, even when not on missions. But compared to other things, those were more innocent.

He started trying to take up all your time, always wanting to be around you. He would also seem standoffish and be flat out rude to your other friends. Soon for some odd reason they started to distance themselves. But he was always there to cheer you up, you realized too late that he was the reason why they got distant.

Then for some odd reason you started getting missions less and less. This confused you but you didn't question it much. Then one day Muichiro invited you over to his estate. This wasn't an odd thing as he had done that numerous times before. But at the end of the night he insisted you stay the night and after a little fighting you agreed. That's where you went wrong. He didn't let you leave the next day or the next. You got frustrated and decided to just leave. If he caught you on the way out then so bad you'd just force your way out, no big deal. Yeah, you were wrong. He caught you on the way out, as if he were guarding the door. He refused to move and when you forced your way past him he let you. You made it a total of five steps out the door before you felt something hit the back of your neck and you passed out. All you heard were Muichiro's six words.

"I can't lose you too, mom."

You shook your head harshly pushing away the memories. You were so stupid. He may be a child but he was a damn Hashira! You should never have gotten close to him, never invited him to meals, never talked to him about anything not work related, you were so damn stupid! You shook your head at those thoughts. It was too late now, all you can do is keep running.

You kept running down the path then stopped. No this was too dangerous, what if he started walking down the same path and saw you? You made a sharp turn and ran into the forest. It was more dangerous and the roots, twigs, and rocks hurt your feet but it was safer in its own way. You kept running, ignoring the pain, ignoring the wind, ignoring the noises, ignoring your tired muscles that screamed at you to rest, ignored everything. Even ignored the trail of blood you left that was created by your bleeding cut up feet.

You then stopped and jumped behind a tree, crouching. You could've sworn you heard footsteps. You waited in tense silence for a few seconds, listening for the footsteps but when none passed you started to stand back up. You froze again though when you heard them again. Along with a sickeningly familiar voice.

"Mom? Where are you? Come on, I know you're hurt, just come out." You fell back against the tree and stuck a hand against your mouth to quiet any noises. You looked down at yourself, trying to figure out why he said you were hurt when you saw your bleeding feet. Shit. It's been leaving a trail right to you. You couldn't move. If you stood on your feet it'd just leave a trail, but if you tried to crawl away it'd make too much noise and you'd be more noticeable. You're stuck.

Tears filled your eyes at the realization, what were you going to do? You couldn't go back to that estate, playing house. Forced to be affectionate and treat him like your child. You started hyperventilating, having a panic attack.

"Why are you crying?" You gasped and scrambled back on instinct, trying to create distance between you and the boy and appeared right nest to you. His eyebrows furrowed and he easily pulled you back. He held your face tightly with both hands, refusing to let go no matter how much you pulled your head back, he just kept it in place. "Don't cry, mama." He spoke softly but you kept gasping for breath and trying to pull away. He frowned. "This might hurt, sorry." Then you blacked out.

~

When you came to you were laying on something soft with a heaviness on your side and chest. You blinked and realized you were lying back in your futon at the Tokito estate. You moved your head to the side and saw Muichiro laying next to you, closely tucked to your side with his arm and head resting on your chest. He was also staring right at you.

"Your awake!" He smiled brightly at you but you could only feel a deepening pit in your stomach coming from the smile that once brought you so much joy in seeing. "Your feet were bleeding so I bandaged them up. You shouldn’t run off like that mom! Not even half an hour and you already got hurt, they could’ve gotten infected.” Muichiro said but his smile then faded and a cold look crossed his face. “Now on that topic, why’d you run, ma?” You shook slightly at his icy look but his words filled you with disgust. A sudden flash of confidence filled you.

“You know exactly why I ran, Tokito.” I glared at him harshly and pushed myself away from him, trying to create some distance. But I then stopped when I felt a restriction on my foot. He tied my foot to the ground with a rope. “What the hell, Tokito!” I yelled at him again.

“Stop calling me that." My blood froze when I met his eyes, they were void of any emotion and it was terrifying. "I told you to call me Muichiro." He pulled me in closer. "And you're not leaving. I'm not losing you too." His face then softened and he climbed on top of me, hugging me tightly and nuzzled his face into my neck like a baby kitten nuzzles into its mother.

"Don't leave me too, mom."

[violetasteracademic]

Minor Azriel BC Re-Writes

My lovely Elriel's! I have slowed a bit on my in depth posts and fic writing. I'm not sure I'll be able to get back to my usual pace any time soon, but I got hit with a midday burst of swirling thoughts and creative energy. It began by reflecting on how differently everyone is interpreting the bonus chapter, and I realized I could only put it into words by quite literally putting it into words. So if I were to have read Azriel's bonus chapter and unequivocally believe it was foreshadowing that G/wyn and Azriel are actually mates, here is what I would have liked to see, and I'll go into why:

Adjustment:

Azriel landed in the ring a few feet from where G/wyn practiced in the chill night, her sword glimmering like ice in the moonlight. Sweat beaded on her brow, a faint sheen delicately scenting the air around her. Morning mist and the mixture of steel and flames from a forge. A unique combination. Azriel had always thought so. It wasn't until he saw her again in Valkyrie training that he recalled that unique scent.

Why am I making this adjustment? Because scent is one of the earliest, most prominent indicators SJM uses to indicate mate behavior long before a mate reveal. And yes, even just in a bonus chapter. Cassian has a very intense experience with Nesta's scent in their bonus chapter:

Now, one might argue that bringing up G/wyn's scent would have made it too obvious, and maybe SJM wanted to leave a little mystery. However, scent is not always related to mates. Scenting can occur platonically, as Feyre is the first to notice and describe Azriel's scent. It can occur between family. Feyre, again, experiences and describes the scent of both of her sisters first. In fact, before she is even Fae, experiences Tamlin's rain and earthen scent. So one could argue that scent is not explicitly mate related, but it is connected to closeness, trust, and yes, often sexuality and romance even if it isn't endgame. But it is always relevant in endgame couples, no matter what.

There is no indicator that, after knowing her for years, after finding her in Sangravah, and spending every day training with her, G/wyn smells like anything at all to him. The word scent was not included in the G/wyn and Azriel section of the BC, but it was repeated in Elain's portion, both in terms of him experiencing her scent, him worrying she'd be able to scent his feelings and arousal, and his describing the scent of Elain and L/ucien's mating bond being too much:

So for me personally, I would have loved for Az to have noticed or comment on G/wyn's scent. Even if it was done in a way that could have been interpreted as romantic or platonic to make for a really interesting conversation. Especially in a setting where there is sweat and exercise, areas we know SJM loves to make sexy and scent the air.

Moving on to the next alteration I would have liked to see a little more from:

Adjustment:

He nodded, silence falling. For a heartbeat, their gazes met. He blocked out the bloody memory that flashed, so at odds with the G/wyn he saw before him now. He tamped down the rage at that memory. Tried to push back that cold, unrelenting violence that had taken over him when he saw G/wyn lying there. Azriel had been instructed to keep some of the soldiers alive for questioning. He had never broken those orders before. He tried not to linger on the memory, or question why he had lost control that day.

Mostly I see this as an argument from G/wynriel's- that Azriel showed mate behavior when he slaughtered every soldier in the room ready to SA her. While I don't agree, and I think anyone would have done the same, the reality of the situation is that we already have Azriel's POV reflecting on that moment. Right there. And he didn't think much, if anything, of it. Even one single sentence alluding to some sort of emotion regarding what happened to her, or a small note that he was glad he slaughtered all of those men, and would gladly do it again, though perhaps now G/wyn could handle herself and would not need Azriel to save her today (again, touching on G/wynriel ideas here) would have been nice. But nope. No thoughts at all about that day. No rage or anger, no recollection of feelings he had that day. No indicator that he was supposed to keep some soldiers alive but didn't. Nothing at all to suggest he had a unique or out of character experience that day. It would have been very easy to add something small here without making it too much.

Sarah also loves to use terms like "tried not to think about why" or "didn't ask herself/himself why" ect. to indicate there are obvious feelings or thoughts happening, but the MC simply isn't ready to face them yet.

And again, we have this moment with Nesta and Cassian where Cassian goes into a near feral mate rage at the thought of Nesta being harmed by another man in the past in a bonus chapter years before their book came out:

Cassian knows something happened to her because of the shift in her scent. The death that Cassian's eyes promised was so intense, Nesta wouldn't give up Thomas's name, even thought he assaulted her. She thought no one deserved what Cassian would do. As he later clarified, hunt him down and shatter every bone in his body.

Again, we see this repeatedly with mates. If their mate is in danger, if their mate has been harmed, the men cannot contain their rage. Rhys is happy to let Feyre make her own choice to be with Tamlin, until he realizes she is withering away. Until he realizes she is unhappy. And if she were ever taken against her will, he would tear the world apart to find her.

These two small changes would have made a world of difference in terms of me really questioning Elriel and whether or not their book is next.

In general, I find it so interesting what people do and no not see as chemistry. Obviously I think Azriel being ready to beg on his knees for a taste of Elain, his eyes nearly rolling in the back of his head at her scent (both things that happened in Nessian's bonus chapter) is chemistry. Them being so astronomically down bad for each other that they don't care that their horny scents are filling up the whole house when her mate is literally steps away is chemistry. I think them buying secret presents for each other, and their hands shaking as they exchange them in the dead of night when everyone else is asleep is chemistry. I think them wanting to touch each other, even just the once, because they literally cannot stop themselves around each other is chemistry. I think them facing war and blood duels and the loss of allies because they don't understand why they are not mates is chemistry.

I am not going to spend time assessing whether or not G/wyn and Azriel's banter is romantic chemistry or not, because that is clearly personal and up for interpretation. What I will say is it read the exact same to me as Azriel teaching Feyre how to fly, which was also fun, respectful, full of banter and genuine enjoyment of each others company and Azriel's secret snarky sense of humor. So if SJM wanted to differentiate Feyre and Azriel's flying lessons from G/wyn and Azriel's ribbon cutting lessons, those are the minor adjustments I would have liked to see.

As it stands, Azriel and Elain want each other like no ones business, which is why I want them to be together and anticipate they will carry the next story with all of the stakes and established plot surrounding all of the things that could happen if Elain and Azriel tried to be together. If Azriel and G/wyn are going to be revealed to be mates, I'll need SJM to do a lot of explaining as to why Azriel did not experience anything mate like towards her and also understand why their plot is more powerful and interesting than Elriel's, which as of now simply isn't able to be compared because it doesn't exist yet. Why he continued to lose sleep and stare at a gift from another woman every night for a year when he saw his mate every single day. When he saved his mate, and apparently feels nothing about it now, but who still gets flashes of anger and rage in this very same book when he thinks about Elain being kidnapped.

Regardless of how you feel about his shadows hearing G/wyn's silent music and dancing with it (I'll be doing a post on his shadows later, especially after some bombs dropped in HOFAS, though I can't promise when), whether or not you noticed all of the parallels between Nesta and G/wyn and Azriel and G/wyn (the seven pm bell chime for the evening priestess service, the sense of calm around G/wyn, the hearing a silent song that seems to come from her and calling explicitly to them, the glow surrounding G/wyn's imagery, their powers interacting, feeling a desire to caw about her or see her smile for whatever reason) I simply don't see how Azriel could be years into knowing G/wyn, seeing her and training with her every single day, seeing her harmed and in distress, seeing her kidnapped, and still he has no emotions over the things that have happened to her. No feral male rage. No awareness of her scent. No indicator he is acting in a special way towards her that he doesn't do towards other females.

I could go on, but this seems like a good place to wrap up!

I don't cross tag, and would appreciate sticking to pro elriel tags should you reblog, which I highly encourage and always appreciate! As always, my work is for Elriel's and not intended to start a fight on the internet with strangers who think differently than I do! I don't think any minds will be changed until the book announcement. I will certainly respect whatever direction SJM decides to go, but some directions certainly require a LOT more work than others based on how everything has read to me.

[thiccpersonality]

What Is A Father?

What is a father? 

This is a question Bruce has been pondering on for awhile now, especially now that Father's Day is coming so quickly. A part of him still feels the stinging pain of loss from all those years ago, yet also Bruce finds his heart warming at the memories he shared with Thomas Wayne...somewhere in his mind echoes the deep rumbling laugh of the doctor. It has been so long since Bruce has felt those strong arms wrap around him, his body trying desperately to recall the smell of medicine and antiseptics that always seemed to cover his father.

Bruce sighs loudly while turning to lie on his back, his nostrils flaring at the sudden scent of Thomas Wayne suddenly in the room. Icy blue eyes shut tightly at the tears that start to form in his eyes, it's been so long...yet that smell is undeniably his late father. There is the smell of the medicine Bruce hated so much mixed with antiseptics and yet something...warm, like a campfire, something very earthy and natural that was so undeniably Thomas.

Hm? With these thoughts, Bruce thinks he'll never get to sleep now.

The man grunts softly as he sits up against the headboard, his back cushioned by his pillows as he looks to the ceiling in thought. Because what is a father to Bruce? A father to him is many things, one of them being something to lose and mourn, but Bruce knows that is his negative side talking...everything in life is something you can lose, so he knows that people aren't too different.

As Bruce is thinking about the question, his eyes fall closed, his body still upright on the bed as an unconscious smile tugs at his lips from the memories playing in his mind...

-A Father Is: Structure-

Bruce was only three, small and innocent to the ways of the world and all the mess it can cause. Oblivious to the lies and gossip of the media and what they say about his family, more specifically, his father and mother. Though he is oblivious and naive, Bruce isn't a stupid kid, he knows that something is bothering his mother by the way her hands reach up to play with the pearls that adorn her neck, can see it in the slight furrow of her brows and the way she keeps tapping her armrest with her manicured nails.

And when his mama is distressed, Bruce is distressed as well. 

The toddler pouts at the hushed conversation that's going on across the room, his toys long forgotten as he watches his mother carefully as she whispers something aggressively to Thomas. Bruce's head tilts in confusion at the calm smile placed on his papa's face, is nothing actually wrong? Why is his mom so upset and his dad so relaxed?

Bruce scoots forward, being able to do so easily as his parents are distracted with their conversation, leaning in closer when he gets close enough to hear what they are whispering to each other about.

"How can you be so calm about this, Thomas!? They have been doing anything to try and ruin your name and reputation, and quite frankly, I don't know why you would invite the same people who talk about you behind your back into your home. I'm just-" Bruce's frown deepens at the anxiousness and exhaustion in Martha's tone-"I'm just so tired of people talking about you and I. I'm afraid that they will one day pull our baby into all this mess and Lord knows I don't want that for him, Tommy."

Bruce doesn't know exactly what his parents mean...but he feels himself getting upset at whoever is hurting his mom and dad. His daddy is good and kind and helps people, does no one else see it?

A gentle hum from Thomas catches Bruce's attention, the small tot freezing in place when he looks up and sees that warm gaze directed towards him. Thomas Wayne smiles gently at his son and holds his hands out for the child, "It seems we have a little guest, Martha. Looks like it's bothering Bruce as well." Martha gnaws at her lip in worry at seeing her little Bruce toddle his way to Thomas, the boy's face looking uncharacteristically worried for him and someone his age. "I'm sorry, my little Brucie. Mommy didn't mean to worry you-no? What do you mean no?"

Thomas and Martha watch as Bruce shakes his little head, "Not mommy. Bad people lie about daddy and mommy...that's not true. You're good, why can't they see it?"

Martha melts in her chair, her fingers stopping their constant tapping as she turns questioning gaze towards Thomas. "I don't know, Bruce. Why can't they see it?" Thomas sighs fondly at the slight aggravation that's still in his wife's tone, his arm tightening around Bruce while he leans over to hold Martha's hand in his own. "Sometimes people are complicated, this is something we know. I cannot say exactly why they can or cannot see what we see, Martha and Bruce, but one thing I do know is that I am happy where I am with you two and no lie or rumor can change that." Martha softens further at the gentle kiss placed on her hand and the kiss her husband plants on Bruce's cheek.

"I also know that I am in charge of how I choose to act. It can be hard to face lies...but I know the truth and that's all that matters to me, now, why don't we go smile and laugh and enjoy our night?"

Bruce relaxes in his father's hold, amazed at how calm Thomas can be despite everything feeling so scary, holding firmly onto the relaxed smile his dad is giving and doing his best to imitate one of his own.

XXX

Bruce sighs softly at the memory, his lips stretching into an imitation of his father's smile as he remembers how assuredly his father was in a moment where himself and his own mother weren't sure. Bruce always remembers Thomas being firm and unwavering in moments where anyone would shake and tremble, there was always a kindness and an understanding to him that Bruce always wondered about...

-A Father Is: Understanding-

Thomas and a four-year-old Bruce walk down the street hand-in-hand, the doctor has a rare day off and miraculously has not been called in for work at all, and because of such a rare thing, the older Wayne decided it would be a great time to go out into the city to bond with his son. Bruce does his best to keep up with his father as they turn the corner to head to their car, the child grunting as he bumps into Thomas's leg from the man abruptly stopping.

"Daddy?" Bruce questions while looking up to the older man for an answer, huffing and stomping his foot lightly at the lack of an answer from him, what could he be looking at?

Bruce looks to where Thomas is looking, the boy's eyes widening at the child standing in front of their car attempting to pull the tires off. Bruce hides behind his dad, his small hands gripping the man's pants leg tightly in fear as to what will happen next, his shoulders relaxing somewhat at the hand that rests gently on his head comfortingly. "Don't be afraid, son. What do you say we go talk to the young man?" 

Thomas chuckles at the look Bruce is giving him, the man choosing to smile kindly and walk forward quietly, trying not to laugh louder at his son attempting to pull him back from the other boy.

When they get close enough, Thomas places his hand on the kid's shoulder and clears his throat, effectively startling the young teen out of his concentration. "May I ask why you are trying to take my tires, young man?" Bruce hides behind Thomas's leg more when the older boy looks down at him for a moment and scoffs suddenly, "I don't hafta explain shit to you...old man. You wouldn't understand." Bruce feels his brows furrow in irritation at the boy's behavior, feeling indignant on his father's behalf at the tone the boy is taking with him.

Before Bruce can say anything in defense of his dad, Thomas just gently squeezes the teens shoulder again with a hum.

"Maybe I wouldn't or maybe I would. You never know unless you tell me everything over a meal, is that alright with you?" Bruce looks up at his dad in confusion, this person was just trying to steal their stuff and he wants to feed the boy? But he is always told that stealing is bad and you face the consequences of stealing, Bruce knows it to be true as when he attempts to steal snacks, he's scolded, put in timeout or popped on his backside depending on it.

Bruce isn't the only one baffled by the question, the teen looks around before staring back up at Thomas cautiously. "This your idea of a joke? I don't need pity or your sympathy, okay? I'm doing just fine on my own."

Thomas listens to the boy complain before nodding softly, "It isn't a joke. Nothing about this situation is funny...and I don't doubt that you are incapable of taking care of yourself, you seem to have some kind of experience on how to. But, you must be stealing my tires for a reason, yes? There is absolutely no shame in needing or asking for help, no one should be alone and struggling, especially a fine young man such as yourself. Now, how about that offer if you'd indulge this old man?" Bruce watches as something in the teen softens, no doubt there is some sort of caution still put up, but the boy looks more confused and in shock that Thomas is being genuine in his request.

"Uh...sure?"

------

"That's pretty much it. Guess your gonna call the police on me now?" The teenager, now known as Caleb, leans back in his seat while pushing his empty plate away. He looks content with the food, but something in his eyes is tired and lost as he asks the question, Bruce hears him asking: "you gonna toss me away too?" And that makes him sad for Caleb and how he thinks he's unwanted or unlikeable.

Thomas shakes his head, "No. I'm not calling the police on you, obviously you know stealing is wrong as you were trying to do it in secret-" he raises his hand to stop the boy from saying anything-"though I understand now where you were coming from. But, I would prefer if you could actually work and make money for yourself and your little sister instead of resorting to stealing." Caleb crosses his arms defensively and looks out the diner window, "Yeah...well, no one wants to hire a street rat like me. Your kind don't like people like us, guess we are too savage and dirty for the likes of them." Thomas looks troubled at hearing that, his tone kind yet firm as he speaks, "Don't say that. I like you very much, and it isn't any fault of yours that you are in the position you're in, so leave that train of thought behind you."

Caleb turns to look at Thomas and physically squirms at the look the older man is giving him...it has been so long since anyone looked at him with love and concern, usually people are too busy looking at him with contempt, as if he's nothing but trash. "You are old enough to work decent hours for your age. Caleb, would you do me the honor of working at one of my wife's orphanages or homeless shelters? I don't want you to be on these streets anymore...and you can work hard for me in payback for attempting to steal my tires."

Caleb feels as if he's in a dream, "I tried to steal from you...and you want me to work for your wife? Y-You are offering me a job, why? What's in it for you, huh?"

Thomas writes down the address and his number on a napkin and slides it over to the teen, "For one: you would be off of the streets and two: you would have a stable enough life, job and living conditions for yourself and your sister. That is exactly what is in it for me...I know this must seem like a lot, and I know you don't trust me right now, but just think about it. There is a door open to you anytime you want to come to one of those addresses and that number will always pick up when you call." Thomas slides out of the booth with Bruce in tow, smiling at Caleb one last time before leaving the restaurant.

Bruce looks back one more time when they are outside to look at the teen, his lips lifting up into a happy smile at how the boy is aggressively wiping his eyes and hugging onto the napkin like it's a lifeline.

A soft ruffle to his hair causes Bruce to look up at his dad, "You never have to be afraid, Bruce. Sometimes...people behave in scary ways or in a way that makes us mad, but you never know what got them to that point." The four-year-old nods and then tilts his head curiously. "He stole though, papa. You always say that is a no-no." Thomas chuckles and picks Bruce up, kissing the boy's nose: "Yes, and stealing is a bad thing. But, I would rather give Caleb an actual chance to get better when he's never gotten one before. I know he'll do well at his job and then he'll learn better things and grow so much. That is how he can pay me back for the attempt at stealing." 

Bruce gasps like he's gotten an epiphany as he's lowered and buckled into his car seat, "Is he serving out his time like in jail?"

Thomas stares for a second before laughing loudly and nodding his head. "Sure thing, kiddo. Sure thing."

XXX

Bruce feels the phantom touches of a strong hand ruffling his hair and lips gently pressing to his nose. He always was amazed at how his father seemed to be able to talk to anyone, all he had to do was speak kindly and offer one of his soft smiles and it seemed no one knew what to do with it. 

Bruce recalls moments when he was a-in his own eyes-a little monster, brat, or just annoying. Yet Thomas always remained patient with him despite any inconveniences...

-A Father Is: Patient and Fun-

Thomas Wayne sighs tiredly as his five-year-old son keeps squirming in his lap, the boy won't settle down no matter what he tries to do. If he lowers the boy to the floor, he screams, and if he holds onto the child, squirming is all that happens. "Bruce, why don't you sit on the floor or go play while I work? Daddy has some things he needs to review and sign." There is a bit of hope in Thomas's voice as he suggests this, maybe Bruce will magically feel like going to find Alfred or pester his mother instead.

Alas, that is not meant to be the case as Bruce whines loudly at the suggestion of being "separated" from his dear father.

"No, play with me." 

Thomas closes his eyes and inhales deeply before exhaling, he loves his son, he really does, but if only the boy could leave him be for just a couple minutes to let him get his work done. "I can't play a game right now, bud. I have work to do that is time-sensitive, and if I don't do it, it will be very bad." Thomas hopes Bruce will quit by mentioning things being bad for him if he doesn't finish work, his son is usually so kind and understanding about those things whenever him or Martha put things that way, but when Bruce decides to be a gremlin about things...he sticks to the roll well and doesn't care.

Bruce pouts and squirms more, " No. It's not more m'portant than me. Play with me?" 

Thomas sighs loudly once again before perking up, "Oh! How about we play hide and seek? I bet you that you can't find me if you're the seeker."

Thomas smiles triumphantly as Bruce's competitive side comes out (he gets it from Martha) and he narrows his eyes challengingly before climbing down his father's lap and turning away while counting. While Bruce is distracted with counting, Thomas quickly snatches his pen and papers into his arms and runs out of the office and into Alfred's bedroom, hiding in the man's closet and slumping in relief at the silence while reading and reviewing what the papers say.

Back with Bruce, the child shouts loudly how "ready or not, here he comes." The boy checking around the office first before exiting the room and standing in the hallway, he's a bright kid so he avoids any places that he can fit into, he can be oblivious and naive, but he knows some of the secret places are too big for Thomas. Let's see...if Bruce didn't want to be found, where would he go? There are a lot of places in his home where he could potentially not be found, but there is only one place no one ever goes: Alfred's room.

Bruce giggles and makes his way to his best friend's room, sniffing the air and feeling happy as the scent of his father gets stronger the closer he gets to Alfred's room.

Thomas holds his breath as the door creaks open, what is with children being able to find their parents no matter what? The older man listens quietly and grows confused as he hears Bruce sniffling, did he make his child mad? Does he think he doesn't care about him anymore because he is trying to work? Before Thomas can reveal his hiding spot, he is interrupted by Bruce knocking on the closet rapidly with a few giggles. "I know you're in here, daddy! I can smell you!"

Thomas opens the closet door to stare at Bruce, smiling softly at the proud look the other wears on his face.

"It looks like you've got me. How about we make a deal? You let me finish my work and then I play with you to your hearts content." Bruce frowns and crosses his arms with a pout, trying to remain stubborn as Thomas pulls him into his arms, "Why don't you wanna play with me? I just want to be with you, papa." Thomas chuckles at the slight dramatics in Bruce's tone, but his heart warms at the soft admittance of his son, hugging the boy close and pressing a kiss to the child's crown. "I want to be with you too, in fact, I love to be with you. But, I also have big people work to do to help provide for this family and that makes me not able to play all the time, but it doesn't mean I don't ever want to."

Thomas tugs Bruce closer to himself until the boy is curled up on his lap, "Do you know how you get tired after playing with Alfred, your mother and I?" Bruce slowly nods. "Well, that happens with my work and when playing with you too, it's very fun, but there is a point and time where you stop to just rest. However, my most important job is making sure you're taken care of, just how your most important things are making your mother and I beautiful paintings to make us happy."

"And Alfred."

Thomas chuckles and nods, "Yes. And Alfred, he adores every picture you make for him, as do we. And do you like being disturbed when making us your art?"

Bruce slumps at the explanation, "I'm sorry. I just wanna play." Thomas quickly peppers the pudgy face in kisses at hearing the sad tone in the boy's voice, "You don't need to apologize to me. I understand what you are going through, I was a kid once too, Bruce. And I'm pretty sure I was worse when I was your age...I went out of my way to sabotage my parents work so they'd pay attention to me."

Bruce makes a weird face at those words and shakes his head, "You are daddy. You can't be my age."

Thomas laughs loudly and stands up with Bruce in his arms, blowing raspberries into the child's neck as he tosses him on Alfred's bed.

XXX

If he focuses hard enough, Bruce can feel the bed shake as if he is bouncing up and down on it, can feel the tingle of raspberries being blown into his neck and can hear Alfred's exasperated sigh at seeing his Masters messing up his bed. He really wants to stop imagining things of the past...but whenever his mind slips and allows those memories to push to the front of his mind, Bruce finds himself desperately grabbing onto those once happy memories like a lifeline.

Bruce knows there are many other things his father was: gentle, forgiving, firm, silly, brave, peaceful and many more things. But the one thing Bruce seems to remember most is the version of him that is lifeless in an alleyway...

-A Father Is: Someone To Mourn-

Bruce is eight-years-old and cold. He doesn't care that the sun is shining down to share its heat, nor does he care for the beautiful blue of the sky...if anything, he hates the colors and the happy chirps of the birds in the trees, despises the fact that nature is so happy when he feels so blue.

Bruce hates looking out the window and seeing his mom's garden in full bloom, the red of her roses mocking him as each petal dances to the sound of the breeze. They're red like two things Bruce can think of firsthand: blood and his mother's favorite lipstick...lipstick she'll never be able to wear ever again. Why do Martha's flowers get to bloom and live another day when the woman herself is gone now? How is it fair to his mother that her garden continues to flourish when she is no longer here to tend to it?

Bruce feels anger and looks away from the too lively garden, his eyes turning to the trees and the birds living in them. His father loved listening to the birds every morning, Bruce recalls watching the sunrise on the balcony with his dad as the man cradled him in his arms and listened to the birds. Bruce remembers his father telling him once that the birds are singing every morning because they are happy. That they are trying to extend their own happiness out to the world with their joyful songs, and Bruce remembers feeling happy when hearing the birds sing...but now it makes him sad.

He desires to tell the birds to shut up, there is nothing to be happy about when his whole world was taken from him a couple days ago, he hates how alive everything is and wishes the sky was grey with clouds. He wishes that the sun would hide and rain would fall in mourning of the people lost to him, he wishes that thunder would rumble and lightning would strike in grief and he wishes that nature would still itself and be quiet, that the birds wouldn't sing a happy tune as there is nothing to be happy about. The once colorful memories of Martha's garden and Thomas's trees are now tinted blue with sadness at memories Bruce can never share with his parents ever again.

Bruce looks up into the bright blue of the sky as a tear falls down his cheek, his chest tightens at the overwhelming feeling of grief in his heart, his knees shakily lowering himself to the ground as the scent of his mother's flowers in the air are now tainted by the smell of gunpowder. 

A sob escapes the child as he wraps his arms around himself in imitation of how his father used to, he doesn't want to feel cold anymore. His body trembles as the sound of the birds chirping is tainted by his father's pained shouts as he collapses to the ground, why is he alone? All alone. Where is-

A firm hand rests on Bruce's shoulder, tugging him into a warm body that smells like lavender and something slightly smokey.

Bruce hadn't even realized he was panicking until hearing the sound of Alfred's sturdy heartbeat, now that he has something to focus on, he focuses on the life beating in the other's chest. His body slowly starts to warm up as Alfred also presses his shaky hand to his chest, the other just simply being a solid presence when Bruce is scared and unsure. "D-Don't leave me...please don't leave me." Bruce whispers into Alfred's suit jacket, something oddly warm spreading through his heart at the bleak looking clothes Alfred is wearing, usually the man has at least a splash of white to add some color...but the man is wearing all black. It's like he's letting Bruce know that he misses them too, that he isn't alone in how mundane he feels and that despite how bright things are, maybe there is still room to mourn and miss someone who is lost.

"I'm here, Bruce. I'm right here."

XXX

Bruce comes to at a firm hand on his shoulder, his hand automatically reaching up to feel the now aged hand of Alfred, breathing in deeply at the man's voice. "Bruce, are you alright?"

Bruce opens his eyes and is shocked to see the sun light coloring the room in its beautiful rays of red and orange. Blinking twice at the wetness he feels on his eyelashes, Bruce finds he doesn't mind the splashes of color as much this time around, he knows he has so many things to grieve and feel saddened over...but he also knows he has plenty to celebrate for. The man standing before him looking down worriedly, that grounding touch gently placed upon his shoulder-

"Father."

Bruce's breath hitches as he looks towards his open bedroom door, his eyes watering at the slightly sleepy look his youngest child still has on his face, he has never seen something or someone so beautiful. Is this how his own father felt long ago when Bruce came to him during mornings or for Father's Day? Bruce opens up his arms and smiles as Damian doesn't complain and climbs into the bed, holding in his laughter at the sound of the boy's other siblings making a ruckus as they flood into his room. Bruce takes a moment to look back at Alfred and finds his heart swelling with love at the man he now calls father...he knows that Alfred will never be Thomas, but the man never expected to be, all he knows is that they both are what is and was needed in his life.

Thomas Wayne taught him many valuable life lessons while he was alive, but Alfred showed him the other aspects of what a father does: step up.

Alfred didn't have to take Bruce on as his own...and yet he took care of him, fed him, clothed him, comforted him, was patient with him, was firm and a solid structure when Bruce himself felt he was about to crumble. But most importantly, he showed him to love unconditionally and without any expectations from the person you care for, the man truly has only wished the best for Bruce in times where he would scream, shout and cry at or to Alfred...and yet the man only ever opened up his arms or offered his hand for the grieving child to take whenever he was ready to.

A small hand on his cheek breaks Bruce out of his thoughts, looking down he sees Damian staring at him worriedly. And when looking up...Bruce sees so many beautiful colors from the people he loves. Finding himself thankful for the proof of life from every single one of them. "I'm...happy?" Someone in the sea of children snorts at how it sounds like a question, but Richard shushes them and tackles Bruce into a hug, the one body slowly turning into a dog pile of giggling children (plus one cousin) as they all shout. "Happy Father's Day, dad!"

Bruce feels more tears fall down his face as he closes his eyes and holds his family close to his heart, finding himself thankful for the memories of his parents as the smell of Martha's roses blows through the room and the sound of Thomas's favorite birds sing loudly for Bruce to hear. And when opening his eyes to see Alfred standing at the side of his bed simply content to watch over them, it is Bruce who offers his hand for the other to take if he wants.

A genuine smile graces Bruce's face at the warm hand wrapping around his own. The man only finding one thing to say to the man who stepped up as a man and a father-

"Happy Father's Day, Alfie."

(I just wanted a fic about Bruce actually thinking about how much he misses his parents, but because it's Father's Day I focused on Thomas a bit more. I hope I wasn't sleepy enough to not have this make some sort of sense? But again, I apologize for the writing this time around. 😭😭😭

I am sorry for the lack of Bruce's children being involved here, but as stated before, I wanted to focus on Bruce actually pondering on how much he does miss his biological father while also being happy at the father he also found in Alfred. I wanted to show a Bruce who is realizing that it's okay to still miss his late father and it's also perfectly fine for him to love Alfred like that as well.

Near the end there is a slight parallel (that probably wasn't noticeable as I didn't exactly write it that way lol) between Alfred and Bruce as father's near the end, because Bruce stepped up and in for all of his children when they were scared, alone and unstable. I also got that idea because I feel I recall one time in a Batman comic that Richard mentioned Bruce stepping in for all of them and all that cute family stuff!

DC can try to rip good dad Bruce and happy BatFam out of my hands, but I won't allow it. That version of the family is all that should exist UwU, they deserve it all! You darlings are much appreciated for stopping by to read if you did. Don't be afraid to leave a comment if you want, I promise I don't bite! 😂

You darlings please stay safe, happy, healthy and of course lovely as always. And if you can...let your father's (whether bio or not) know how much you appreciate them or love them and know that everything will be alright, you just gotta believe. 💛💛💛💛)

[allykatsart]

(In your mortal radi au) Does pk miss the white lady, did he go to the garden to see/serch her ?

I know that she isn't the most important character but still....

Does he even love her anymore ?

Mortal Radiance AU

These are some good questions, and they actually got me thinking a lot. I didn't really include the White Lady in my story or touch on her much. I did have one comic idea with her but it got cut to keep the story from veering off track.

Now that I'm done, though.... This is a very fascinating question.

(5 days later)

Slams paper on table

HEY SO I WROTE A THING

I am ill for weeks after I am pulled back into reality. Something about all my pieces not quite being together means I take longer to recover than She did. She tells me that it is fine, that I need to recover my strength so I can work. We still have many graves yet to dig. She will shoulder the burden for this little while.

I am told my children are informed of my new existence, though none have visited. And I do not leave to visit them. Two of them terrify me, though for vastly different reasons, and the thought of meeting again with my daughter troubles me.

When I can finally get out of bed without assistance, I do not go see her, however. I go see my Lady.

It is hard navigating without being everywhere at once. I know the path to my Lady's garden intimately, but the path is far more difficult than I recall. Greenpath, surely, has had no caretakers, so runs rampant with overgrowth. The thorns catch on my robe and tear at my skin.

I bleed something dark and smokey.

I try not to think about it too much.

My Lady's branches spill out above the entrance to her hideaway. The corpse of brave Dryya. Once a friend, now only a carcass decorating my Lady's garden. Old blood coats her blade and shell. Even in death, she seems stalwart.

I am stalling.

The White Lady stirs as I enter her chamber. Her eyes, once the purest blue eyes I have ever seen, are clouded now. She wears age like a shawl, it weighs on her shoulders and bunches up around her neck. Her face, once pale and youthful, now is tired and wrinkled. Yet, there is a beauty there of which I could never seem to word. A thousand poets could never do her justice. I should know, I have had them try.

"Child? Is that you again?" Her voice is as I recalled, and a sharp pain creases my soul. I will never again be able to call back to her.

She has bound herself, so I move forward until I am right under her. Still, her cloudy eyes do not recognize me at first, and I cannot blame her for it. Not for the first time, I wish the vessel had left me my voice. There are so many things I could say to her, so many words that now I will never be able to reach.

My Lady's eyes finally find my hollow sockets, and she gasps. It is a small thing, barely audible, but in the silence of our meeting I know to look for it. There is a moment between us of unspeakable agony.

"You." The Pale Queen finally breathes the world, and it breaks the aching quiet.

I put a hand on her bindings, 'Me' I wish I could say.

There are so many words I wish I could say. There is so much between us. Good and bad in equal measure. It has been years since we have been face to face, and I thought it would never again happen. I find myself unprepared for this moment.

She does not need my reply. My Lady knows me better than I know myself sometimes. She smiles, though it never quite reaches her eyes.

"You are smaller than I remember."

I laugh, as best I can laugh anyways. I point to her, and gesture that it is perhaps she who has grown taller. It takes her a moment to understand, but the chuckle I earn fills what is left of my soul with joy.

"Perhaps." She concedes, "I have grown much, and still have much to grow still."

Her eyes dim suddenly at that, and she looks around.

"Where is our child?" She asks at last, voice soft and weathered.

I tell her, as best I can, that I do not know. That I came to see her. I expect this to lift her spirits. It does not.

"Did you see this outcome?" She asks.

I pause for a moment. There is much to that question that I do not know. In part, it is hard to remember what it was like. How did I describe it to my daughter? Like a great root that I scuttled across, observing paths unseen to most.

I shake my head. It is too slow and uncertain for my own liking. But it is as much of the truth as I can muster.

There is a long silence that follows. I have gotten used to those, especially with Her. She rarely talks to me at all. So I wait for my Lady's response with all the patience that I have learned.

"Was it worth it?"

Her voice is so soft when she speaks, like it could crack under the gentlest of touches. Delicate, and heartbroken. With four words I can feel what little ground we shared start to shatter.

"Was any of this worth it, I wonder?" She continues, "I do not think I know anymore."

And there is a gap between us. An aching maw of a chasm that threatens to swallow us whole. I want to cross it. I want to reassure her that we had done our best, that we were not to blame.

Yet the words I was once so masterful with are gone now. The voice I would use to soothe and heal her pain now is no more. So there is silence.

Anything I would say to her would be a lie, anyways.

[elizabethshaw]

hm. thinking thoughts

under the cut for spoiler reasons:

this is literally just me writing stuff up in no real order so there is probably not all that much coherence to it. ah well

loved how unsettling it was having something wrong with the tardis! the tardis (in the tv show at least) is usually the one guaranteed safe place in any given dr who episode and so to have it suddenly a threat like that felt genuinely unnerving

the time window sequence was cool. really liked the fuzzy, there-but-not-quite-there visual effects

i also loved the monologue/prophecy/whatever, built things up very nicely and idk. i just vibed with it. i have more to say but the words are not coming to me right now

"and standing on high is the Mother and Father and Other of them all" i haven't even read lungbarrow but them saying "other" here immediately got my attention lmao

for an episode called "the legend of ruby sunday", it felt like (particularly in the last third of the story), there was remarkably little actual focus on ruby. while i do genuinely like her as a companion, i do feel like she's been one of the biggest casualties of the shift to a shorter series length with less time for "filler" episodes - we simply haven't had the time to get to know her on a deeper level, and i was hoping, given the title, that this story would do something to rectify that a bit. and then it didn't.

saying that, i did appreciate them giving her some more scenes with her mum this episode, i think she has a really nice dynamic with her family and we haven't seen enough of it since the christmas special imo

no trickster :( he got a mention at least but i was hoping he'd be the villain ngl

i have watched pyramids of mars once, four years ago, and barely remember the plot (my main memories of that episode are sarah with a gun ngl), probably going to have to rewatch it before next week. dailymotion you may have to be my saviour once again

not entirely sure how i feel about sutekh as the main villain. this is at least in part because my memories of pyramids of mars are hazy as anything, but i'm just... undecided. to its credit, the episode itself actually did a good job of getting me very excited about the reveal while i was watching, but as an overall thing? i don't know yet. i think i'm going to have to wait until i've watched the finale next week to form a full opinion

i reckon he must have hitched himself onto the tardis around/during "wild blue yonder" though - this is the first time where the tardis starts making The Noises, and is also the first time susan twist turns up, and that can't be a coincidence, especially given that, as previously established, it was likely fourteen's salt trick in this episode that let the toymaker back into the universe

i rewatched "the church on ruby road" earlier this week bc i figured it'd be a good shout and i hadn't watched it since broadcast, and during that i felt like mrs flood was maybe a "retired" companion, possibly a future companion (maybe of a future doctor) that we haven't met yet. after this ep though, i'm not so sure. she seems at least aware of sutekh in some way, and also seems potentially antagonistic, but i'm not sure she's actually directly linked to him. i'm fairly sure as well rtd said at some point she's more of a mystery for later series so. hm. it'll be interesting to see what more we get of her in part two

i can't shake the feeling that they are going to do something with susan further down the line. there have been more mentions of her in this series than in basically the rest of new who put together and i can't help but think that this must be for a reason even if susan twist wasn't her

anyway the real mystery for me: what is the vlinx. i have been thinking about this on and off since december. what is it. how did it get into unit to begin with. i need answers

[noxtivagus]

:<<

[tea-cat-arts]

Shen Yuan getting transported into pidw isn't "the system punishing him for being a lazy internet hater," but instead representative of "step 1 of the creative process: getting so mad at something you decide to go write your own fucking book" in this essay I will

[sysig]

Bad time of it, all things considered (Patreon)

[chiropteracupola]

The flower!!

lavender's a good plant for bees!

[tragedygf]

not me getting my romanian teacher to read my dark vanessa

[thebeautifulfantastic]

<3

[fabcreature]

me: *desperately needs praise for the work i do or i will shatter from the heartache*

also me: *at least once a month cries and shatters from the heartache bc i'm convinced every single bit of praise i ever get is either a lie just to be nice, or misguided bc they don't realize i'm a fraud*

[depresseddepot]

My brother failed his driving test (was so nervous that he crashed) and cried afterwards because he was so upset about it and I, in true estranged eldest daughter fashion, am sick to my stomach worrying that my parents gave him shit for it

[bloodhailmp3]

i love how like literally everyone in 2010 - 2014 had this annoying way of speaking online like even if u were quote unquote cool u would still type in this v sincere forced quirky way that means if ur reading a post from 2012 in the present day u can usually guess what year the post was made before u check the timestamp. and now the common like online uhhh tone?? style of communication?? (sorry idk what to call it idk much abt linguistics) has shifted to being a little more detached and ironic and if someone still types in that early '10s style it comes across as what would now be considered cringe or maybe to put it more nicely just a touch too earnest and emotionally involved and like wannabe quirky

[freepassbound]

17 Questions; 17 People

Tagged by @gentlefdomx2

Nickname: none, really? 🤷‍♂️

Sign: I believe it's Aries? (I know nothing about it)

Height: 6'2"

Last thing I googled: Uh... I think it was "1989 NCAA football season" (for a post I may or may not write)

Song stuck in my head: Don't think there's one currently. Can't remember what it was this morning. 😂

Number of followers: 56 😂

Amount of sleep: Like, typically? 7-8 hours.

Lucky number: if I revealed that information, it might no longer be lucky. 😌

Dream job: Had it. ...it doesn't exist anymore.

Wearing: Sweats.

Movies/books that summarize me: Uh... Shrek?

Favorite instrument: Contrabassoon. 😂

Aesthetic: Uh... 😅 ...blue?

Favorite author: This is an impossible question.

Favorite animal noise: Noise? Huh. ...that little 'question' thing dogs do when they're playing and they tilt their head.

Random: By the end of the month, this will once again be my only form of social media!

Am I supposed to tag 17 people? I don't know 17 people! Uh... @shy-gfd2, @thegirlwiththetwinklyeyes, @rae-being-naughty, @youknowitsworthfightingfor, @thatsuccubabe