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wandasaura · 2 days ago

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ALL BORN SUPERSTARS

summary — you don’t always have the luxury of choosing who you love in life, and your boys are leaning that through your prime example

warning(s)— established relationships, slight au themes, lesbians, dom-ish!wanda maximoff, discussions of homophobia, premature coming out, parenting moments, domestic fluff, typical third-grade boy behavior, kitchen sex, fingering, praise kink, sweet talk, pet names, nipple stimulation, orgasms, finger sucking, pride flags, school holiday cards, inner child healing moments, family dynamics, billy and tommy maximoff, men/minors dni

authors note— oh mom wanda, you have my entire heart. pride fic pride fic pride fic. enjoy !

“Billy! The bus is not going to wait for you again!” Your voice carries up the stairs of your two-story house that had once felt so lavish and grand beneath your fingertips, but with two growing boys slowly taking up more and more space that you don’t seem to have, the interior is beginning to feel suffocating even on the days where Wanda managed to keep the living room intact until after school.

Tommy swings his feet at the island, taking another bite of the waffle Wanda had lathered in with nutella as he listens to your call for his twin who hasn’t marched down the stairs yet despite you going in to wake them up an hour ago. You’d heard him get out of bed and pad across the hallway with his typical excitement and restless energy, you’d even heard the shower start without having to remind him that he’d opted out of one last night, but he’d never come back downstairs, and it never sounded like he padded back to his room either.

“What’s he doing up there?” Wanda asks Tommy, laughing softly beneath her breath as she watches you shake your head in exasperation, calling Billy’s name again with no answer.

Tommy shrugs his shoulders, ripping off another hunk of waffle with his teeth. Wanda had placed a fork and a knife right beside him, but he’d yet to pick either up, his fingers coated in this hazelnut spread and crumbs. “I dunno. He brought Mama’s nail polish in there with him.”

“Why did he need my nail polish?” Your eyebrows furrow, drawing inward as you catch your title falling off of Tommy’s lips, his mouth still full of waffles and making it challenging to piece together the broken English he mutters haphazardly.

“I dunno.” Tommy shrugs, rolling his eyes as he reaches for the glass of milk that you’d poured on request. It was always a gamble of whether they were going to want orange juice or milk, and if they both happened to want different things, it was the question of who wanted what. Very rarely could they do anything the same way to make yours and Wanda’s lives easier, and very rarely could they keep their individual interests separate from each other without eventually adopting the others preference. Tommy had once been your orange juice loving boy, always begging to make it himself with the ones he picks from Agatha’s tree, but in the last three weeks he’s consumed more milk than you can afford in this economy. Billy’s been your one on an orange juice kick, downing at least two glasses in the morning before he climbs on the bus. ”It’s pride today, right?” He perks up, suddenly remembering the date as his eyes glance at the calendar Wanda keeps on the back door.

You have a soccer game on Saturday and two baseball games on Sunday, and your following week is littered with practices for both sports and their yearly orthodontist appointment, but his eyes find something smaller, a little pink heart on the left hand side of the 28th both, a day the symbolizes the official start of yours and Wanda’s relationship ten years ago.

“Well, it’s pride for the whole month. It just starts today.” You mused, remembering the list of June’s activities that had been sent home with the boys last week. Rainbows had been splashed across the news letter, a bit on the nose, but it comforted you to know your boys were being raised in an inclusive environment when they weren’t just with you.

”Is Agatha going to have that big float at the parade again?” Tommy asks, recalling last years pride parade that ended with Agatha Vidal standing in the center of her own twelve-foot float. It was extravagant, out of budget, and entirely reflective of her own personal interests rather than the communities, but Tommy and Billy had both been talking about it nonstop since.

A burp bubbled up from his belly, and both you and Wanda sent him deadpanned stares, wondering how he’d adopted such boyish qualities being raised in a house with two lesbians. He laughed brightly, only shoveling another bite of waffle into his mouth instead of excusing himself like he knew you and Wanda wanted.

You didn’t have time to dwell on Tommy’s mannerisms because Billy came padding down the stairs finally, his hair wet and hanging over his eyes, his outfit no different than what he normally wears on a daily basis. You can’t figure out what had kept him up there for so long until you notice the splotches of multi-colored paint of his fingernails, each one a different shade taken directly from the rainbow.

“I’m bisexual.” He smiled proudly up at you, and Wanda froze behind the island, her eyes wide as she looked at him with shock making up her expression. Your open jaw slackened before you regain your composure, nodding slowly as you took in the serious gleam in Billy’s eyes.

“Do you know what that means?” You ask him simply, n leaning against the island as you smack Tommy’s thigh, warning him to get back to eating instead of staring at his brother like he’s an alien on earth.

“Yeah. It means I like boys and girls. Rio told me that.” He rolled his eyes like that was the obvious answer, and you licked your lips as it washed over you. Have kids, they said. It’ll be fun, they said. Nobody warned you about elementary schoolers coming out at seven in the morning before you had them though.

“I— Okay.” You nodded, because you knew for sure and well that his definition of ‘like’ meant that he’d be willing to play Fortnite with them if Wanda permitted the extra screen time. “And why did Rio tell you that?”

”Because he was listening to her conversation with Agatha yesterday!” Tommy blurted and Billy whined, throwing a death glare at his brother who shamelessly ratted him out. “Agatha was telling Rio that she’s bisexual because they were trying to pick shirts for the parade. Can we get shirts?”

“I…” You glanced back at Wanda, entirely speechless that you were having this conversation so early in the morning or at all. “Yes, we can have matching shirts this year. Billy, being bisexual means more than just wanting to be friends with boys and girls.”

“Oh.” Billy frowned, and Wanda laughed softly, shaking her head as she plated up another waffle spread with a layer of nutella, but Billy’s had peanut butter lathered on top too. “Okay.” He shrugged, and while it bothered you that he hadn’t even given you a chance to explain any further, you weren’t complaining about evading this conversation for another couple of years.

“Are you sure you want to go to school with your nails painted?” Wanda asked him softly when she lured him over to the table, setting a glass of orange juice down on the counter without asking if that’s even what he wanted. You’d run out of time for personal and preferences ten minutes ago.

“Yeah. It’s pride.” Billy nodded simply, taking the waffle between his fingers and biting into it the same messy way that Tommy did, ignoring the silverware that Wanda inevitably wasted time setting out.

She’s still in her pajamas, still sporting only the thin pink shorts and white t-shirt she’d been wearing last night. Her nipples harden though the thin fabric, a detail so minuscule you don’t even think she recognizes it as she moves through the kitchen, zipping lunch boxes, folding homework, getting water bottles in order, all while balancing a conversation with your nine-year-old who doesn’t look at all interested.

“I know it's pride, honey, but Mama can’t pick you up from school early today. So, if somebody says something mean about your nail polish, you’re going to have to deal with it.” It sounds harsh, and it hurts your heart to hear it, but neither one of you are prepared to send Billy into a battlefield blind even if Westviews the most accepting town you’d resided in. There are still horrors out on the street that hate the very existence of your boys just because they have two Moms. You’re not ready to hand them over to that evil yet. To let them find out fully how hated you are just because you were lucky enough to find genuine love in Wanda’s company.

“Why would they say something mean?” Tommy butts in, his eyes furrowed together in confusion you wish you had longer to protect fully.

“Well, people are mean about all kinds of things sometimes. Some point think only girls can paint their nails, and some people think only boys can wear blue or play fortnite. Not everything is going to think it’s cool that Billy painted his nails.”

“I don’t care.” Billy shrugged, ripping off another mouthful of waffle that he immediately chased with a gulp of orange juice. At nine-years-old, neither of the boys have learned how to eat breakfast at a normal enough pace to avoid backwash in their drinks, and nine years into parenting later it still unsettles you just as much as it did in the first year of their lives.

“I’ll protect him if anyone says anything mean! Aunt Yelena taught me how to make a really good fist!” Tommy bubbles, recalling the last time Yelena and Natasha had made a trip out from Manhattan to come and see the boys on Halloween.

“You don’t punch anyone unless they punch you first.” Wanda warns, and you laugh at her acceptance of violence if it’s warranted. You didn’t have to wonder how she’d gotten to be so hard hearted at times, you knew the sob story of her life and the blood that stains her hands even if none of the deaths that haunt her were her fault, but it still amazes you how somebody so gentle and soft can be an absolute reckoning.

“Oh! The bus is here!” Billy gasps when he hears the ties screech outside, jumping off of the stool after he shoved the last bit of waffle into his mouth. He didn’t even glance down at his nails in a moment of hesitation before he grabbed his prepped backpack off the table and booked it around to counter to hug Wanda’s waist and then yours.

Tommy was next, following Billy out of the house with an enthusiastic, “Bye Mommy! Bye Mama!’

The second they were gone, the front door closed, the bus pulling away and out of sight once the doors were closed and both boys were sitting down in a seat, you inched toward Wanda, wrapping your arms around her waist and squeezing tight as you sank into her.

“I hope he has a good day.” You voice your worry into the pit of her neck, your words vibrating her skin that’s still flush and warm from the hours of uninterrupted sleep she’d gotten beneath your head and body weight.

“We can’t shield them forever, detka.” Wanda reminds you painfully, her eyes filled with delicate conflation that fills your heart with the same emotional pause. These are your babies, your precious boys. It pains you to know that just loving them paints a target on their backs. A million steps forward in society and still not enough to recognize you and Wanda as equals anywhere you stepped.

“They’re still so little.” You whisper, wondering where your babies had gone, even though they were still just little boys in this big world. They still slept in beds with race car sheets, they still requested bedtime stories and new light bulbs in their respective nightlights. They were still yours to protect, not feed to the wolves and the cold blooded haters in the world on a silver platter. “I can call off my meeting. Get some chores done around here, make sure he doesn’t need someone to pick him up.”

“You’re not rescheduling again. The first time was because Tommy had the flu, and then Billy had pink eye, and then they both had bronchitis. This meeting will never get finished if you keep pushing it off. And if he really needs us, I can move my session with Mrs. Hart to tomorrow. Okay?” Wanda asked, but when you didn’t answer, your thoughts stuck on Billy getting cornered by someone bigger than him, Wanda grabbed at your chin, guiding your attention back to her. “Okay?”

“Okay.” You whispered, getting lost in her endless green eyes. She smiled wickedly, her pink lips curving upwards into a cunning grin as she analyzed your features that were slowly turning dark with lust as she pulled your thoughts away from the kids and onto her and only her.

“You’ve been undressing me all morning.” She notes, letting you know that your ogling hadn’t been as discreet as you’d initially thought. Your eyes flickered down to her nipples at the reminder of their pebbled state, your fingers latching onto them tantalizingly as you pinched and pulled. Wanda gasped, her head thrown back as the sensations of pleasure took her by surprise. “I thought that’s what got you going.” She hummed, drawing a finalized conclusion now that your touch was clawing at her through the fabric of her t-shirt. ”Was last night not enough for you? You were asleep before I even came out of the bathroom.”

“Because somebody pulled four orgasms out of me before they even took the strap out.” You rebutted, defending yourself against her even though it was futile. Wanda grinned at the memory of last night, keeping you quiet with only her fingers and her mouth when they weren’t ravishing your core. The boys were down the hall, both soundly asleep, unaware of how you chose to ring in pride with your wife, and the horror of waking them up kept you quiet in the moments that nothing filled your mouth.

“Are you complaining?” She sings, trailing her fingers down your arms, curling them into the hem of your top. She lets the fabric lift just slightly, her fingertips ghosting over your skin as she presses you against the island countertop.

”Never.” You grinned, looping your arms around her neck and pulling her into a passionate kiss that conveys all of the emotions you’ll never be able to name. Wanda groans when your teeth sink into her bottom lip, pulling it away before you let it pop with a grin. ”I have twenty minutes before I need to get in the shower.” You breathe against her lips, and Wanda needs no further invitation to feel you against her fingers before you have to comply with the day's set schedule.

“I only need ten.” She mutters cockily, tapping your thigh with three fingers until you widen your stance, spinning around until your belly is facing the brunt of the pressure from the edge of the counter digging into soft skin. You don’t have to ask how Wanda wants you, after so many years of spontaneous sex anywhere but your bedroom, you just know how she likes your body positioned for specific encounters. “Fuck, you’re so wet already.” She gasps when her fingers probe the hem of your panties and sleep shorts, the loose material allowing her fingers access without much hassle or maneuvering. The restriction of the fabric against your clit is intoxicating, but it gets even better when she shifts her fingers and lets two digits rub circles around your clit.

“Well when you look at me like that wearing that…” You trail off, your voice high and light as her fingers spark pleasure, wetness dripping from your hole as you clench around nothing, begging for something more that she’s not ready to give you yet.

Wanda bubbles with laughter, because if you were thinking clearly, you’d remember that Billy had gifted her these pajamas for Mother’s day, and the image of his excited face would ruin the mood instantly. “Okay, detka.” She concedes, pressing a kiss into the back of your neck before she eases a finger into your tight walls and then another. She doesn’t push three, doesn’t even seem like she wants to go that hard right now, she just wants to connect with you in a way she’s legally allowed to, something she still can’t do in Sokovia. “You take me so well.”

You groan, dropping your forehead to rest on your forearms on the counter as she works your walls open, her knuckles curling until she’s pressing into that spot inside of you that makes you head spin and your pulse quicken. “Fuck, Wands. Right there.”

“Good girl.” Wanda praises, and that only further does your head in, a pathetic whimper crawling up your throat as your fingers claw at the countertops, trying to find something to brace yourself on as pleasure comes crashing over you before you can warn her. The sensitivity of last night wrecks you in tandem with her gentle thrusts to ease you through the aftermath of your climax, and you scramble to push her hand away when it becomes too much, your chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. ”Clean them.” She demands softly, spinning you around and feeding you her fingers with a pleased smile on her lips.

When she’s satisfied, pulling her digits away, she grins, glancing at the clock on the wall. “Three minutes to spare. Sit down and have a waffle.” She demands and you can only oblige with the request, never dreaming of going against her simple wishes when complying gets you exactly where you are now.

There wasn’t any need to panic about Billy, because when he’d stumbled home from school, half of the nail polish already chipping off and clinging to his sweatshirt, he beamed brightly and told you that Jack thought his nails were cool, and that he was going to ask his sister to paint his red the next time she pulled all her bottle of varnish out. Wanda had grinned and embraced him tightly, glad to see that her warning had been for nothing rather than a necessary preparation.

“Oh! And we made you these at recess. There’s bees on the playground so we stayed inside.” Billy bubbled, pulling out of Wanda’s embrace to dig through his backpack. Tommy grinned with him, following his lead as he unzipped the Mario bag he’d insisted on getting and pulled out a folded piece of green construction paper. Billy’s was blue, and he handed it to Wanda with a proud smile while Tommy handed you his.

‘Happy Pride’ was written in the worst chicken starch handwritten you’d seen, but it warms your heart to see his little writing all scratched out in crayon in front of a picture of four stick figures and a purple heart. Wanda’s red head was colored with marker, twirling strands of red lines forming her wonky circle head. The detail to the green of her eyes stuck with you, and you turned a smile on Tommy as you wrestled him into your embrace, tickling his ribs and kissing all over his face until he huffed and shoved you away.

“Thank you, buddy.” Wanda smiled at Billy, holding a hand out for your card without a word. She put them on the fridge with two Mickey shaped magnets, and Billy and Tommy high-fived with pride as they analyzed their work. “Go get changed. We have time for grilled cheese before practice.” Wanda instructed, already falling into the standard after school routine.

You smiled at her from across the kitchen when the boys ran upstairs, their backpacks forgotten about on the floor. “How did we get so lucky?”

“A few thousand hundred thousand dollars and a good sperm donor?” Wanda teases, but you know she’s just as speechless as you when it comes to your boys and their lightness in your lives. “I love you.” You hum, still dressed in your work clothes, itching to be let out of your slacks and leather shoes.

“I love you.” Wanda hums back, pecking your lips before she taps your hip and points upstairs. “You too. Upstairs. Go get changed.” She commands and you laugh, stealing one last kiss before you turn on your heels.

“Yes ma’am.” You utter with a silly salute, wondering how you’d ever been lucky enough to find her and built this life from scratch at all.

#wanda maximoff #dom!wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #dom!wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff fluff #wanda maximoff smut #wanda maximoff fic #wanda maximoff oneshot #billy maximoff #tommy maximoff #minors dni ৎ୭

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bokutoko · 3 months ago

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ʙᴏᴋᴜᴛᴏ ʙꜰ ʜᴇᴀᴅᴄᴀɴᴏɴꜱ ౨ৎ

cw: ts!bokuto x f!reader (he calls reader ‘pretty girl’), slightest bit suggestive?

- his love languages are physical touch and quality time. sweet boy loves giving you some much-needed cuddles at night after a long day, catching a whiff of your shampoo as you spoon in bed. he listens to you vent/yap about your day as you snuggle (if you feel up for it). if you don’t want to talk, he sits in silence with you, his fingers gently drawing little shapes on your tummy beneath your nightshirt (aka his shirt that you stole). he also loves running his thumb along your knuckles—it’s instinct at this point.

- and he loves when you touch him too!! holding his hand, kissing his cheek, his jaw, his neck… the love languages he likes to receive are words of affirmation and physical touch (with quality time right behind). so he always loves when you offer him a pick-me-up and a little peck on the lips (or a sloppy make out sesh) after having a bad practice.

- he loves when you wrap your arm around his bicep when you walk together. he feels his heart flutter when you also lean into his bicep as you walk. he lives for that shit 100%.

- he loves to delicately trace your figure beneath the sheets as you sleep, telling himself “five more minutes won’t hurt…” as he worships you with his eyes. yeah, and that’s how he’s late to practice—he tells himself five more minutes about 4 times and suddenly he has eighteen minutes to shower, dress, and drive to practice. you were just too breathtaking to look away from, with how the early morning sunlight making you look like an angel.

- imagine him accidentally waking you up when he gives you a soft kiss goodbye before leaving for an early morning practice. he’s on time this time! you give him a little grumble, and he coos a soft, “sorry, go back to sleep, pretty girl” with another little peck on the forehead before tiptoeing out the door.

- he always loves to see you at his games so he can receive some victory kisses afterwards (or consolatory kisses when they lose…). but at the olympics, he runs up to you when japan wins the gold and gives you the biggest, sweetest kiss for all the world to see (the alchemy style).

- he LOOOOVES when you run your fingers through his hair when it’s down/freshly washed. this man melts when you gently play with his hair between your fingers absentmindedly. he’ll have his head in your lap as you both watch a show/movie, relishing the feeling of your touch on him.

- he loves running his fingers through your hair as well, gently tucking it behind your ear and whispering a soft, “you’re so beautiful” as he stares at you with the most lovesick gaze. he loves seeing the pretty blush settle over your cheeks, how your face heats up after the simplest compliments.

- he’s genuinely so emotionally intelligent—much more than people give him credit for. the man knew when he was sad and hid beneath tables/told his team to not toss to him in order to not affect the game. so he definitely knows emotions can be finicky in high stress environments. because of this, he can read you like a book and know exactly what you need when you need it <3

bonus:

- he actually likes his titties to be squeezed like stress balls. it makes him giggle (he’s only a little ticklish).

a/n: first time writing hcs… don’t hate me i tried my best

masterlist | navigation

please do not copy, alter, or repost my work. ©bokutoko 2025.

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illusioncanthurtme--art · 3 months ago

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This may be a silly question… but I’m an artist trying to learn backgrounds. I’ve studied perspective until my hands fell off, but I don’t know how to choose an angle or not make things look wonky. I’ve tried asking a lot of artists, but I’m hoping to hear more than “just draw backgrounds”, because I have been, but I’m not improving.

Do you have any tips on how to practice?

The anonymous ask is much more recent but it reminded me of another ask from @cerealssoggies i forgot to answer thats, OOF... gotten old. Sorry about that. I'll answer your ask more directly at the end of this.

I'll talk about the perspective ask first. Anon... I'll answer your question as best as I can!

I think what makes perspective tricky is the beginning, when you're using perspective lines and grids and such to map out the picture. Because the actual technique of 2 point perspective isn't hard or complicated, it's getting the scene to look the way it does in your head thats tricky. I'm talking about the metaphorical "camera" location, angle, and... idk, focal length? If I'm using that phrase correctly.

So you can draw something like a simple square bedroom, and by the time you're done placing your horizon line, vanishing point, and perspective lines, and actually start drawing, you realize it doesn't look like how it does in your head. And from there, it's hard or nearly impossible to move things around to look like your vision, so you'll be tweaking each thing individually: uhh, let's move the horizon line down, the left vanishing point further? The right one closer? Both further? Huh??? And it's frustrating.

I've found, if you're drawing an environment from your imagination, the best way to start is to draw an teeeeny tiny thumbnail sketch. The smaller the better. Not just environments, but any drawing idea is easier to map out when it's smaller. Your brain can latch onto the visual as a whole when it's all tiny on a piece of paper.

Drawing my current blog header, the one of ford's research tent, I had a similar pickle. I knew exactly where I wanted the camera to be, in the corner of the tent, and I knew I wanted the camera to be more wide, so you could see most of his tent while keeping the feeling that it's small. I started digitally with perspective lines and quickly got frustrated. SO - I took to my sketchbook and thought reeeeeally hard about what it looked like in my head, and tried mapping it out in a tiny tiny thumbnail. Here's what that looked like:

This was closer to what I wanted than what I first had on my computer. I knew from there that I wanted the furniture items to be closer together and the camera higher (you can see my scribble writing saying this), so I scanned my thumbnail, and drew on top of it to get closer to the vision. Then, from there, I was able to add a proper perspective grid based on what I had already drawn.

THEN you can finally get down to the fun part - actually populating your room with furniture and details. I put this sketch on paper and did most of the real drawing traditionally:

In summary: instead of jumping straight into perspective theory, thumbnail the idea as rough as you can. Then base the angles of the perspective lines on your thumbnail.

But.... even still, I don't have the strongest ability to picture things mentally, and not everyone is gonna be able to do that (although it is a good muscle to exercise.) Sort of a segue into the second ask - those backgrounds of dibs car? I straight up traced over pictures I took of my car. I'm not the biggest advocate for tracing, it does kind of feel like cheating, BUT for the purposes of this animation? There's no point in getting on a high horse. I needed to draw his car like 10 times and there was no reason to torture myself. I did photoshop some of the photos before I drew over them because the focal length made the car look bigger than I wanted it to? And a lot of it was guessing what the car looked like behind the front seats, etc.

But this does remind me of an exercise I did in school for an illustration mentorship class. The mentor for one unit was a set designer working for Netflix. She was given photos of a room that a scene would be shot in, and she drew the set on top of it: like furniture, decorations, etc. So my assignment was to choose a stock photo, and do some world building concept art based on the photo. From the photo, you can figure out the perspective by identifying lines/angles that theoretically lead to a vanishing point. You need at least two lines, and you extend them really far and see where they cross. Where they meet is a vanishing point. Find two vanishing points and they are level with the horizon line. Then use the perspective dots you just found to draw furniture, items, and you can even get creative and change the shape/height/size of the rooms/buildings/etc, while still using the same perspective.

If an image from the internet feels too much like cheating (it SHOULDN'T, you'll only learn from it and your drawing won't look anything like the image by the time you're done), you can always take your own photos. This technique is honestly what made me enjoy drawing backgrounds in the first place. It made it fun! And drawing should be fun.

I still do this sort of thing today. Here's the reference picture I had my sister take of me for my Fairy godmother illustration. (This is from a couple years ago.) I drew on top of it in photoshop to get my best guess as to the lines and angles. I didn't trace this one, but I did use it very heavily for reference!

So I guess... to summarize both techniques, don't jump right into perspective. Best way to start, that's fun and not wildly frustrating, is to use a photo. If your vision is hyper specific, start from a tiny thumbnail and work your way up. Then the fun part!! Populating the scene with furniture and items and fun little details.

To answer @cerealssoggies question more directly: omg, thank you?? :O💞 I'm always so wowed when people talk about my prints and where they put them. I'm really glad you like the fairy godmother one! My mom also has one hung up in her room lol!

My advice on the design front isn't as specific, because that always felt like the easy part. Once you have the room or whatever mapped out, it's just about drawing all the Stuff. Which for me usually means getting in the head of the character and asking myself what sort of things they'd have around themselves and their environment. And obviously if the setting isn't a characters room/personal environment like the previous three examples, then you'd just have to think about what the environments purpose is, and what sort of stuff would be there. When I'm thinking about a background before I draw it, I'll ask myself what items or features it will have. For the ford tent, I made a list of all the stuff I thought he might have in there (I googled winter camping trip packing lists, as well as science-y tools and gadgets). For dibs car, I asked people on tumblr for suggestions as to what I should put in there.

And look up references! Reference is always a good thing.

In real life, I'm a maximalist and a clutterbug. This bleeds into my drawings - I like it when an environment feels full and lived in.

Here's my bedroom lol.

WELL typing and compiling this took up a greater portion of my Friday but I really hope this was helpful to you and others!!

#ask #answered #anon #cerealssoggies #drawing tips #perspective #perspective drawing #drawing tutorial #background drawing #background art

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witherby · 4 months ago

Note

If Punch line can trigger Jason easily what would happen is she ever met Harley?

Let's explore that!

Punchline: First Session

Masterlist is Here!

"I need your help."

Harley perks up, gasping, and rushes over to hug Batman tightly.

"I never thought this day would come," she says, jumping up and down and clutching a gauntleted hand. "Yes!! Yes I would love to be your therapist! We have so much to work on, starting with your parents. I really think you never internalized the event and haven't given yourself any space to grieve after —"

Her hands get squeezed gently, recapturing her attention. Blue eyes meet white lenses, and she furrows her brow.

"Okay, that's fine!" She sighs. "Can't say I'm not disappointed, but if one of your kiddos is looking for help instead, I'm still more than hap—"

"Not one of mine," Batman gently interrupts. "This is a...very delicate case, Harley."

"What's delicate mean in this context, Batsy?" She asks. "Delicate like schizophrenic? Delicate like CPTSD? Delicate like one wrong word away from explodin' and killin' everybody in a mile radius?"

"Delicate," he says, "like...this might hit too close to home for you."

"Me?"

Batman nods. Harley hums, equal parts curious and cautious.

"Any good psychologist worth her salt won't let a personal connection get in the way of providin' aid," she tells him. "If the patient isn't somebody I can help myself, I'll help ya find someone who can. When can I meet 'em?"

Your file lies scattered across the floor of the cave. Harley stares wide-eyed at your picture while she trembles on her hands and knees. Bruce, having changed out of his suit, kneels beside her with a steadying hand on her back.

"Oh," she whispers, "Brucie, she's so small for her age. And her age!! Sh-she's..."

Harley shakes her head. Bruce continues rubbing small circles in her back. When she leans against him for support, he holds her upright.

"How'd he keep a kid hidden for eight years?" She whispers, voice thick. "I know I fucked off to go play Happy Family with Ivy, but..."

"Nobody knew," he says. "Harleen, don't play the blame game, not for this. He kept her a secret for a reason; no one was supposed to know."

Harley lifts her hands to her face, rubbing her eyes before any tears can well up and fall. She takes deep, calming breaths, gathering her focus, then carefully collects the papers and stands with his help. She draws a pad and pen out of her pocket.

"I ain't promising anything," she says, looking up at Bruce. "This is...this is a whole different ball game, 'specially with that chucklefuck as the daddy. But I'm gonna try, okay?"

He nods. "Take your time. You were the first person I thought of, but don't force this if it's too much."

Harley gently squeezes his hand in acknowledgement. She walks past him and down the hall towards the containment cells, heels clicking quietly against the floor. She dug out her old coat with the name tag pinned to it and even threw her hair back in a low braid to appear as non-threatening as possible. The closer she gets to your door, the more the wonders if you would've been more comfortable if she showed up in her combat getup and mallet.

"Miss Punchline?" She calls, stopping in front of your cell. A cursory glance of your environment tells her immediately that you're under-stimulated. She writes that down. "I'm Doctor Quinzel. Do ya mind if I come in and chat with you a while?"

You cease all movement. You'd been sitting with your back to the door, gently stroking the head of the teddy bear Alfred gave you while muttering Mistress Mary's nursery rhyme, but when you hear her, you practically turn into a statue. Unless she actively stares at your back, Harley can't even see you draw breath.

"Miss Punchline?" She repeats calmly. "I won't come in if you don't want, but I'd really like to talk to you."

"...Popsy talks about you, sometimes," you say. Harley can't decipher your tone, but the words make her feel cold all over. "Says he used to miss his favorite gal."

"I'm sure he's mentioned me once or twice," she says, clearing her throat. "But I'm old news. Why don't you tell me about yourself? I'm gonna punch in the door code now, okay?"

You don't move. Harley unlocks your cell and walks inside, getting a better look at how sparsely decorated it is. The bed is clearly unused and half of the activities left here would cause an ordinary child to lose interest in about an hour without company. Overall, Bruce and his family are keeping you in a dreary room. If she accomplishes nothing else today, it's a guarantee that she's gonna get you better accommodations.

Harley walks around the room until she can see you face-to-face. Once she's in your periphery, your eyes snap to her and follow her every movement like a predator. She lowers herself to the ground, taking a seat a few feet away from you.

"There you are," she says kindly. Your smile is just as placid as the one in your photo. "I like ya make-up. The swirly pattern on your cheeks is very cute."

You don't respond, though your smile widens briefly. Highly receptive to praise. Your eyes don't leave hers, scanning, assessing, calculating. Harley doesn't feel like you're about to attack her, but you're clearly juggling something around in your mind.

"Bet you're thinking about mine," she continues. "Normally I like puttin' on the face paint, but sometimes my pores gotta breathe, you know? Well — the pores I got left." She glances down at her hands, paper white like the rest of her body from her dip in a vat of acid. With relief, Harley notes that your unpainted skin is a healthy color. Even though the bar's lower than Hell, it's nice to know that at least the Joker didn't immediately treat you to a dunk of your own.

"Punchline, I'm gonna be frank with you," she says.

"Nice to meetcha, Frank," you chirp, grinning mischievously. Harley lifts a brow.

"That was funny," she praises. "I know your, eh, Popsy, he places a lot of value on bein' funny. Used to say nothin' was worth the effort if it didn't amuse him at the end of the day. I'm sure you know that already."

"A giggle a day keeps the boredom away!" You say, pitch and cadence matching that of your father's. Harley knows that the grip on her pen is too tight. She breathes deep and forces herself to relax. "Ohh, hit a nerve, Frank?"

"I'm doin' just fine," she says. "What's boredom look like for you and Popsy?"

You separate your hands, fingers splayed wide, and make explosion noises.

"Do you get caught up in that explosion?"

Your smile doesn't change but your eyes get sharp. Harley makes a note.

"It's hard keepin' him entertained all day, every day," she says. "I would know. But I'm gonna tell ya somethin' your popsy probably never has."

Harley scoots a tad closer to you, reaching her hand out and gently taking one of yours. She can feel every bone in your hand and has to utilize all of her training to school her expression.

"It's not your job to make yer popsy happy. In fact, it's not your job to make any adult happy. Grown-ups shouldn't rely on their children for emotional regulation."

"Couldn't rely on you, either, could be?" You snicker. "Since you ran away."

"I left him because he was treatin' me like dirt," Harley says, a little more firm than necessary. "He's real good at drawin' you in, Punchline. Shows you an ounce of praise that makes you feel invincible, makes you wanna do anything he asks to get more of it."

Harley lets go of your hand to tuck a lock of emerald green hair behind your right ear, brushing gently against the shell. The edges are distorted, flatter than your left.

"He's also real good at draggin' you through the mud, makin' you feel like everything's your fault. Like you got no choice but to make it up t'him. Ya never wanna get on his bad side cause he really makes you feel it."

You tilt your head away from her hand, eyes dropping back down to the teddy bear Alfred gave you. You resume petting it, slightly faster and rougher than before. Harley makes a note.

"His anger's always more powerful than his joy, Punchline," she says, "but both of them are destructive. I wanna help ya break away from his cycle."

"No thanks," you say, "if I wanted to be a washed-up, third-rate party clown, I would!"

Harley feels a wave of pity for you. It's obvious you're just regurgitating your father's words back at her, and she's not surprised. Change doesn't happen overnight, especially not for you.

There's so much work to do, but Harley's not afraid. You may look and behave similarly to the Joker, but you're young and still impressionable and already starting to pull away from him without even realizing it.

"I can tell yer getting upset, and that's the last thing I want," she says, climbing to her feet, "so I think this is a good stopping point for today. But I'd really like to see you again. Would you be alright with that?"

You blow a raspberry at her, then cackle. Harley exhales sharply through her nose, giving you a fond smile, and pats your head as she steps past you and opens the cell door.

She can do this. She will do this. For you.

But, first thing's first.

"Brucie, you're kidding me with the furnishings! How's the richest man on the planet gonna put a kid in such a shitty room!? Don't look at me like that, mister. You brought me in t'do a job and I'm gonna do it right!!"

#el speaks #punchline au #harley quinn #batfam x reader

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