#harley pov
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
Text
not only is the new suicide squad anime an ISEKAI- they made Joker your HOT BISHOUNEN YANDERE EMO ANIME BOYFRIEND?
BASED OFF THIS DUDE BTW
#Im dead#they will make ANYTHING an isekai huh#suicide squad#joker#harley quinn#sidrabbles#with his chest out and the POV of him laying on your lap oh they want yalls salivating over the sexy evil clown aesthetic huh#suicide squad isekai
500 notes
·
View notes
Text
POV: You're a Gothamite
It's me, I'm the gothamite
#batman#batfam#batfamily#robin#red hood#jason todd#red robin#tim drake#catwoman#harley quinn#harleen quinzel#dc#doodles#art#artists on tumblr#gotham#gotham city#pov#my pov#dc comics#lol#humor#doodle
157 notes
·
View notes
Text
soooo was anyone gonna tell me there's a canon arkham knight prequel novel that not only overtly says that bruce is mourning joker but actually gets into his psyche and grieving process and how it's affected him. or was i just supposed to find that out myself from poking around the arkhamverse tv tropes page
#it's not like. the main of the book. but it's directly referenced abt a dozen times by bruce or others#like we have the tie-in comics and the harley's revenge dlc that HEAVILY heavily imply it#but i cannot stress this enough the book outright states it. and then talks abt it. multiple times. from his pov#i'm saving the excerpts for a bigger post on his reaction in the arkhamverse#but like. i've never heard anyone in the fandom mention this???#and it's just so???#it's a pretty good book too#(riddler's gambit)#uhhh#batjokes#ig#arkhamverse
160 notes
·
View notes
Text
her weird, wonderful brother
a sequel to a primer for the small weird loves. part 2 in the limericks and love songs and letters series.
5 times that Emma Keener learns something new about her brother plus 1 time she realizes that he’s still the same Harley that she grew up knowing and loving.
he’s gay
he has a boyfriend named peter
he goes to college in new york
he reads and writes poetry
he worries a lot
and, of course:
when he loves, it’s with everything he has
ft. harley’s sister growing up and realizing that maybe him suddenly moving to a different part of the country despite only being fifteen probably matters more than their mom originally let on, an outside perspective of the growth harley has gone through via his time in new york and the love of his support system, and a peek into the future—including some moments from harley and peter’s wedding.
first chapter (which is what the moodboard is for) is now being written. i am currently planning to have it posted by the end of october.
#parkner#harley keener x peter parker#harley x peter#peter parker x harley keener#peter x harley#spiderlad#parley#keenker#peter/harley#harley/peter#peter parker/harley keener#harley keener/peter parker#limericks and love songs and letters#additional idea for another part in the primer verse; a different 5+1 from tony’s pov?#and also definitely want to write something from peter’s pov to like highlight how differently he thinks than harley and like#highlight his perspective of the entire first fic in little snapshots and moments and such
65 notes
·
View notes
Text
Can you imagine Tony Stark wearing this t-shirt
10 notes
·
View notes
Text
peter loving harley in an all consuming hunger grateful for any moment in the same room constantly wanting more but happy to have whatever he’s given sort of way vs harley loving peter in a borderline obsessive solving a puzzle memorizing a map sort of way
#me: thinks about the hb sequel but doesnt work on hb chapter 17#make it make sense#anyways the way i am SO ready to write hb harley’s pov is kind of insane#homeward bound fic#parkner
51 notes
·
View notes
Note
I want to be smothered by beefy cyberpunk lizard men
Here's Mr. Beefy Cyberpunk Lizard Man himself, enjoy your smothering :) <3
#Ask Matsu#Cyberpunk Dragons#Trojan#[ LOL I HOPE YOU HAVE A GOOD TIME ANON!!!#This is one of those sketches that just drew itself tbh#I love how it turned out too because lakjsdf Trojan's goofy cow face just gets me every time#this is really pov: you dropped your phone in the cow pasture#but also just how he looks to most people because he's so damn big#pov: you're just Harley standing next to him#I'm glad to be spreading the beefy cyberpunk lizard man enjoyment ;;#it truly is the genre of all time ]#Takamatsu's Art
155 notes
·
View notes
Text
#adventure#blessed#british columbia#canada#outdoors#travel#pov#beautiful#country#vancouver island#harley davidson#explore#road trip#sunny#kennedy river#pacific rim#port alberni#motorcycle#daytrips#island life#waterfall#harleydavidson#street glide#happy#good life#summer#summer days#swimming hole#hotspot#tourism
3 notes
·
View notes
Text
Zoinks! G-g-g-ghosts!
#the band ghost#ghost band#nameless ghouls#cardinal copia#papa emeritus iv#terzo#copia#papa emeritus iii#aether ghoul#swiss ghoul#mourning dove#rain ghoul#not tagging every single one in beats hell#harley better be suckin my toes for posting swiss and aether soapy.#pov you are imperator and just walked into the bathroom. you spray them with raid#those are male presesnting nips tumblr i wont go down without a fight#just some more schtuff i dont think i ever posted/ reposted#doodle#thiis post is a roller coaster im never gonna be allowed in a room w tobias again#beats hell was only like my second time drawing my ghouls… wrow
101 notes
·
View notes
Text
I had a dream last night that I was at home (not a place I've ever lived, but the dream told me that it was home) and I was walking in the woods behind the house (they were sparse woods, but tall) and I found pawpaws. Note that I have never seen a real pawpaw tree in my life. I picked one, and it came off the tree like a ripe strawberry comes off the bush, with a little resistance, easily negotiated, and flesh you have to hold carefully so as not to bruise it. They looked a bit like peaches, but shaped more like pears (which I dont think is quite right), and when I sliced one in half it looked like the inside of a pawpaw (which I *have* seen), and the flesh was soft like a ripe avocado and creamy, almost buttery, and sweet. It was amazing. I don't know that I've ever tasted anything in a dream before, it was a strange experience. All of this makes me more determined to One Day Find A Pawpaw.
#dream journal#rose rambles#i do really want to try a pawpaw#then the dream shifted to something like a home invasion nightmare? but it was chill. like#bad stuff was happening but it felt like it was happening to someone else#even though it was mostly in the first person. a few different pov's though. anyway there were people running around the house#and a few of them killed people. family? i dont know#id never seen anyone in the dream before. one of them sicced a giant millipede on some of is#and then someone else used a magic wand to turn it into a thornbush and then killed the thornbush with ice magic#and then the last two people alive on the home invasion team (a big lady and a little baby) rode away on a Harley together#what are dreeeeeeams?????#pawpaws
4 notes
·
View notes
Text
Wildflowers and Dirt Smudges and Sunshine
Link to this fic on AO3. Words: 1427 Date posted: November 9, 2020
Summary: “I was just thinking.”
She pulls the cup away from her mouth and you watch a single droplet of water trail down the side of the cup until it catches on her thumb. She doesn’t seem to notice. “About mommy?” She asks, and your breath catches in your chest. Just like her mother, she’s so smart. So observant. Too observant, you sometimes think, and too eager to observe. She wants to know everything about the world even though she is far too young to learn the answers to some questions. It’s been three years and you still don’t know what to tell her when she asks what happened to her mother, and redirecting her with toys and stories about other things isn’t really working anymore.
“Yeah, about mommy.”
She looks just like her.
Your breath still catches in your throat every time you look at your daughter. She’d looked just like her mother when she was born, but she’s only grown into the resemblance as she’s gotten older and it makes your chest ache.
You’re really fucking trying here.
She acts just like her mother, too, running in circles around your backyard and picking flowers and bringing every single one up to the patio to show you.
She trips on the last stair on her sixth trip back down to go pick another flower and all of the ones she has left in your lap fall onto the wood and get trampled as you scramble to go check on her, your heart pounding harder in your chest than is warranted. Your daughter is crying, big green eyes bubbling over with tears of pain and fear. She’s fallen a million times in her life, a consequence of always being in motion, but it still startles her every time.
When you look her over, her hands are lightly scraped up, but she’s otherwise uninjured-- or so you think, until you see the blood, stringy as it’s mixed with saliva, that trails down her chin from her mouth. You suppose she must have bitten her tongue when she fell.
Seeing her bleeding, even if you know that it is small and insignificant and she will likely be over it and playing again in a few minutes, activates every parental instinct in you that you hadn’t had before she was born and which had only quadrupled when her mother died. She’s bleeding and she’s crying and she’s saying your name over and over again (“Daddy! Daddy it hu-hurts!”) and you should calm her down from her hysterics rather than devolving into your own but you know that you’re far from a perfect father. You clutch her body to yours and run inside faster than you’ve had to run since you were a teenager but you don’t have time to be winded because you’re looking for paper towels and filling up a glass of water for her.
It’s the weirdest trigger for it but Jade’s last words to you are playing on repeat in your head. It’s weird because you didn’t get a dramatic dying speech from your wife. You hadn’t held her hand while she wasted away from a sickness and delivered a speech about how much she loved you and how you needed to be brave for your girl, nor had it been like the movies where she was in a car accident and they’d plucked her out of the car and she spoke to you through her strained breathing. Jade had died in a car accident, certainly, but you had been at the house with the baby and she was dead by the time they got her in the ambulance, let alone by the time that you finally got a phone call.
It was supposed to be her first day back at work. Her alarm had woken you up and you complained about the early hour and she had reassured you that she didn’t want to be up, either, and she was up until four in the morning with the baby, too. “There’s a lasagna in the freezer. Toss it in the oven around 4:30. I love you, Dave.” And then she’d been off.
And then she’d been gone.
That lasagna sat in your freezer for the next four months while you put off and put off and put off organizing her funeral, until finally John practically broke into your house and said that he understood that you’d lost your wife and that you had a new baby but he just lost his sister and he wanted to know if you were burning her or putting her in the ground, and you’d had a sobbing meltdown to your best friend for the first time in the entire time he’d known you because you didn’t know what she wanted. She’d been thirty years old, it wasn’t as though her death was at the front of either of your minds.
That was a little over three years ago. Your daughter, who by the time that you have zoned back into the present reality has stopped screaming and is instead staring at you with wide, watery eyes full of concern that you recognize from long before she was born, has grown from a colicky three and a half month old as she had been then to the most adventurous damn three-and-a-half-year-old you’ve ever met. You sometimes wonder if Jade’s ghost doesn’t haunt your house and whisper in her ear new ideas for exploring.
“Daddy?” She sniffs, and the paper towel in your hand is apparently useless as her mouth seems to have stopped bleeding so you use a pathetically small amount of it to wipe at her chin and clean the blood-spit-combo still there before you offer her the glass of water. When you were her age, you only drank apple juice and Kool-Aid, but she’s a lot chiller about it.
“Sorry, sweetheart,” you murmur as she holds the glass with both hands, and through the clear glass you can see her already-drying scrapes and the way the blood and dirt on them gets against the cup. Jade would have scolded you for not giving her one of her many colorful, plastic, much harder to drop and break sippy cups, you think, but it’s hard to guess since your daughter couldn’t exactly use a sippy cup the last time Jade was around to scold you for anything. “I was just thinking.”
She pulls the cup away from her mouth and you watch a single droplet of water trail down the side of the cup until it catches on her thumb. She doesn’t seem to notice. “About mommy?” She asks, and your breath catches in your chest. Just like her mother, she’s so smart. So observant. Too observant, you sometimes think, and too eager to observe. She wants to know everything about the world even though she is far too young to learn the answers to some questions. It’s been three years and you still don’t know what to tell her when she asks what happened to her mother, and redirecting her with toys and stories about other things isn’t really working anymore.
“Yeah, about mommy,” you answer after a second, because Jade wouldn’t want you to lie to your kid. She could be so naively honest sometimes, to the point of hurting others’ feelings and not realizing why they’d be hurt when all she’d ever said was the truth, and unlike apparently everyone else in the world you’d always loved that about her, loved that you could always count on Jade to be honest about everything. She never spared you a moment of pity, that woman.
“What was she like?” She asks, the same way that she has a million times before, and you think about it because your answer is almost always different. She was endlessly compassionate and curious. She saw the fucking wreck that would one day become your father and she decided to pick up all those pieces and see what order they were supposed to go in probably partially just because she wanted to see the complete picture and partially because she always hated seeing broken anything-- broken toys, broken machines, broken people. It had taken a long time and a lot more patience than you deserved, you know that. Jade deserved better than screaming matches at two in the morning because she got a little too close to the truth, the soft fleshy bits between your pieces of armor, your Achilles heel which was actually your Achilles entire body and you hoped just spinning the myths would be enough to discourage people and you’d never have to put the real work in to be indestructible. But boy did Jade make you put the work in and you know that you were infinitely better for it, that you’re still infinitely better for it. Everything that you are now you owe to her. She was a sculptor and you’re fucking Wonder Woman or some shit, forged by her delicate hands from clay and love.
“Your mom was a walking garden. Wildflowers and dirt smudges and sunshine. And everybody who ever saw her smiled.”
Your daughter pulls a face, clearly confused, and you lean in to press a kiss against her forehead.
“I’ll explain it when you’re older. C’mon, why don’t we go play outside some more?”
She looks just like her.
Your breath still catches in your throat every time you look at your daughter. She’d looked just like her mother when she was born, but she’s only grown into the resemblance as she’s gotten older and it makes your chest ache.
You’re really fucking trying here.
She acts just like her mother, too, running in circles around your backyard and picking flowers and bringing every single one up to the patio to show you.
She trips on the last stair on her sixth trip back down to go pick another flower and all of the ones she has left in your lap fall onto the wood and get trampled as you scramble to go check on her, your heart pounding harder in your chest than is warranted. Your daughter is crying, big green eyes bubbling over with tears of pain and fear. She’s fallen a million times in her life, a consequence of always being in motion, but it still startles her every time.
When you look her over, her hands are lightly scraped up, but she’s otherwise uninjured-- or so you think, until you see the blood, stringy as it’s mixed with saliva, that trails down her chin from her mouth. You suppose she must have bitten her tongue when she fell.
Seeing her bleeding, even if you know that it is small and insignificant and she will likely be over it and playing again in a few minutes, activates every parental instinct in you that you hadn’t had before she was born and which had only quadrupled when her mother died. She’s bleeding and she’s crying and she’s saying your name over and over again (“Daddy! Daddy it hu-hurts!”) and you should calm her down from her hysterics rather than devolving into your own but you know that you’re far from a perfect father. You clutch her body to yours and run inside faster than you’ve had to run since you were a teenager but you don’t have time to be winded because you’re looking for paper towels and filling up a glass of water for her.
It’s the weirdest trigger for it but Jade’s last words to you are playing on repeat in your head. It’s weird because you didn’t get a dramatic dying speech from your wife. You hadn’t held her hand while she wasted away from a sickness and delivered a speech about how much she loved you and how you needed to be brave for your girl, nor had it been like the movies where she was in a car accident and they’d plucked her out of the car and she spoke to you through her strained breathing. Jade had died in a car accident, certainly, but you had been at the house with the baby and she was dead by the time they got her in the ambulance, let alone by the time that you finally got a phone call.
It was supposed to be her first day back at work. Her alarm had woken you up and you complained about the early hour and she had reassured you that she didn’t want to be up, either, and she was up until four in the morning with the baby, too. “There’s a lasagna in the freezer. Toss it in the oven around 4:30. I love you, Dave.” And then she’d been off.
And then she’d been gone.
That lasagna sat in your freezer for the next four months while you put off and put off and put off organizing her funeral, until finally John practically broke into your house and said that he understood that you’d lost your wife and that you had a new baby but he just lost his sister and he wanted to know if you were burning her or putting her in the ground, and you’d had a sobbing meltdown to your best friend for the first time in the entire time he’d known you because you didn’t know what she wanted. She’d been thirty years old, it wasn’t as though her death was at the front of either of your minds.
That was a little over three years ago. Your daughter, who by the time that you have zoned back into the present reality has stopped screaming and is instead staring at you with wide, watery eyes full of concern that you recognize from long before she was born, has grown from a colicky three and a half month old as she had been then to the most adventurous damn three-and-a-half-year-old you’ve ever met. You sometimes wonder if Jade’s ghost doesn’t haunt your house and whisper in her ear new ideas for exploring.
“Daddy?” She sniffs, and the paper towel in your hand is apparently useless as her mouth seems to have stopped bleeding so you use a pathetically small amount of it to wipe at her chin and clean the blood-spit-combo still there before you offer her the glass of water. When you were her age, you only drank apple juice and Kool-Aid, but she’s a lot chiller about it.
“Sorry, sweetheart,” you murmur as she holds the glass with both hands, and through the clear glass you can see her already-drying scrapes and the way the blood and dirt on them gets against the cup. Jade would have scolded you for not giving her one of her many colorful, plastic, much harder to drop and break sippy cups, you think, but it’s hard to guess since your daughter couldn’t exactly use a sippy cup the last time Jade was around to scold you for anything. “I was just thinking.”
She pulls the cup away from her mouth and you watch a single droplet of water trail down the side of the cup until it catches on her thumb. She doesn’t seem to notice. “About mommy?” She asks, and your breath catches in your chest. Just like her mother, she’s so smart. So observant. Too observant, you sometimes think, and too eager to observe. She wants to know everything about the world even though she is far too young to learn the answers to some questions. It’s been three years and you still don’t know what to tell her when she asks what happened to her mother, and redirecting her with toys and stories about other things isn’t really working anymore.
“Yeah, about mommy,” you answer after a second, because Jade wouldn’t want you to lie to your kid. She could be so naively honest sometimes, to the point of hurting others’ feelings and not realizing why they’d be hurt when all she’d ever said was the truth, and unlike apparently everyone else in the world you’d always loved that about her, loved that you could always count on Jade to be honest about everything. She never spared you a moment of pity, that woman.
“What was she like?” She asks, the same way that she has a million times before, and you think about it because your answer is almost always different. She was endlessly compassionate and curious. She saw the fucking wreck that would one day become your father and she decided to pick up all those pieces and see what order they were supposed to go in probably partially just because she wanted to see the complete picture and partially because she always hated seeing broken anything-- broken toys, broken machines, broken people. It had taken a long time and a lot more patience than you deserved, you know that. Jade deserved better than screaming matches at two in the morning because she got a little too close to the truth, the soft fleshy bits between your pieces of armor, your Achilles heel which was actually your Achilles entire body and you hoped just spinning the myths would be enough to discourage people and you’d never have to put the real work in to be indestructible. But boy did Jade make you put the work in and you know that you were infinitely better for it, that you’re still infinitely better for it. Everything that you are now you owe to her. She was a sculptor and you’re fucking Wonder Woman or some shit, forged by her delicate hands from clay and love.
“Your mom was a walking garden. Wildflowers and dirt smudges and sunshine. And everybody who ever saw her smiled.”
Your daughter pulls a face, clearly confused, and you lean in to press a kiss against her forehead.
“I’ll explain it when you’re older. C’mon, why don’t we go play outside some more?”
#Darla writes#Homestuck#Dave Strider#DaveJade#POV Second Person#Alternate Universe#Angst#Children#Grief/Mourning#Parenthood#Past Character Death#Jade Harley is Dead
3 notes
·
View notes
Text
well. at least 3 of these are decent options.
13 notes
·
View notes
Text
Five notes and I'll share the beginning of the freak out verse fic I'm writing
#it cant be 1 note bc i have to reblog to main#and it cant be 2 3 or 4 bc it has to be even#i understand 5 is not an even number but have you considered yes it is#parkner#parley#special hints to pique your interest: lab accident gone wrong. uncle ben. harley pov.
45 notes
·
View notes
Text
Oh I remembered I post art to tumblr almost forgot
#pov your ring doorbell#telltale batman#batman fanart#telltale games#harley quinn#harley quinzel#Batman#batman the telltale series#harley quinn fanart
22 notes
·
View notes
Text
tbaf parkner vs wanting to say i love you but not letting themselves say it before they're eighteen bc of their promise to each other vs the relief of finally saying it: two 5+1 fics, one from each pov.
#how did i end up working on tbaf when i was planning to work on hb?#i have no idea#but i also have no complaints#part one of harley's pov (bc he turns 18 before peter) is done#working on part two#i cant remember if this was the one i had planned to post next or not?#and i have the list in my phone which is currently updating and taking ten fucking years to do so#so like.... harley's pov 5+1 might be the next fic in the series#but there also might be another fic before it#should i know this? yes#is it embarrassing that i've had most of the tbaf series planned for YEARS and i cant remember this one thing off the top of my head? kinda#do i care? not as much as i probably should#parkner#tbaf#pt 1 of harleys is their first fight as a couple btw#i never picked out the specifics of what the 5 parts will be#so im tryna pick what part 2 of it should be#anyways happy thursday evening o7
12 notes
·
View notes
Photo
shh, they're trying to communicate 👁️👁️
#Cyberpunk Dragons#Trojan#Harley#My OCs#[ doodled this on my ipad while I was stuck downstairs for a bit lol#this is more or less what their first meeting was like#you and the breastie pov ]#Neon Ocean Art
78 notes
·
View notes