#helanda

[our-blood-is-our-ink]

Hello I was just wondering when chapter 2 of Careful creatures will drop! If there will be a chapter 2 at all, (I really hope there will be)

Ope, not me dropping off the face of the planet fic writing wise. The depreseeion really gets to you. Anyways, here's FINALLY, Chapter Two 💚💜❤️

Careful Creatures: Chapter Two

Ship(s): Hela x Agatha, Agatha x Wanda, Wanda x Hela, Hela x Agatha x Wanda

Summary: Three powerful beings broken down back to the start somehow find themselves brought together as they relearn themselves and each other.

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: angst, descriptions of being burnt, mild gore, mention of sexual assault/non-con/rape, abuse of alcohol/alcoholism/addiction, amnesia, split personality but make it ✨magic✨

Disclaimer: 18+ ONLY MINORS DNI!

A/N: Please READ THE WARNINGS before proceeding. If this were on AO3 it would be rated E for explicit material later on in the series, and M for mature material for the heavy content this story deals with.

Hela groans, her head pounding.

The second thing she registers is how much pain the rest of her body is in.

“Sh…” A soft, sweet voice soothes. “You're going to be okay, let me finish cleaning out your wounds.”

Distrust immediately floods the goddess, but her limbs hardly even respond to her internal command, her fingers twitching pathetically as she tries to call forth for her twin blades.

She can't even get her eyes to open.

When a cool cloth is pressed against one of her numerous burns, she nearly whimpers, the pain cutting sharply through the duller agony she is in.

“I know it probably hurts.” The sweet voice says, tone gentle and quiet. “But at least it hopefully won't get infected. I don't know if you're awake or not, but I hope you can hear me either way and that it's helping.” A pause. “I like helping people, I think. It feels… That feels familiar.”

Hela’s head hurts too much for her to decipher what the voice means by that, and instead focuses on the rhythmic motions the cloth is making over her cracked and blistered skin.

More than anything, once the sharp bite of pain fades, the coolingness of it soothes the way Hela still feels as if her skin is aflame, burning and burning and burning.

An unconscious whine slips from her lips when there's a pause, and the sweet voice shushes her again.

“I'm just dipping it into the water again. I'm trying to be very careful, these wounds look pretty bad.”

Hela has enough of her thoughts together to keep herself from whining again, but just barely.

Her lips do part in a throaty sigh of relief as she feels the cloth once more resuming its motions across her heated skin, but the action makes her aware of just how thirsty she is.

“W’er.” She attempts to croak out.

It hurts. Her throat hurts so bad, like the rest of her.

“Hm?” The voice hums in question.

“Wa-er.” Hela tries to carefully pronounce, but her tongue and mouth are so dry, she can't get the ‘t’ sound out.

“Oh, yes! Of course.” The sweet voice sounds… Embarrassed, perhaps? “Let me prop you up, so you don't choke.”

Hela nearly whimpers again as soft hands grasp at her, her skin still feeling as if it's on fire, and the pain spikes as she's manhandled into a more upright position.

How low she has fallen.

No family, no friends, no allies.

None but whoever the voice belongs to.

When water drips down onto her lips, she parts them and greedily sucks down the water being tipped into her mouth.

It hurts to swallow, but everything will hurt worse if she doesn't.

A sigh of relief expels itself after a few minutes, and Hela can feel her head loll back.

“You can rest.” The voice says. “I won't leave.”

Distrusting as Hela generally is, she has no choice but to trust.

If she wasn't suddenly flooded with exhaustion, she would be furious at how helpless she has become.

As it is though, she can barely conjure two words in her mind to string together.

She falls back to darkness.

—»•«—

She leans against the kitchen counter, letting the other woman ransack the cabinets in search of coffee as she smiles viciously, enjoying the enraged yelling coming from the other room.

“Seriously, where's the coffee.”

“You'd have better luck just grabbing a beer, dear.” She replies. “Or a cooler.”

Darcy Lewis lets out an exasperated sigh.

“You can drop the flirty neighbor routine, I just saw you beat up, like, six different guys.”

Agatha huffs, and doesn't deign to respond.

Ralph shouts another threat.

“You're gonna have to do something else with him. You can't just keep him tied up forever.”

Agatha shrugs carelessly.

“Take him into custody for all I care.”

“Oh, um. I don't exactly work with S.W.O.R.D. anymore. Or… Any government branch.” Darcy mumbles.

She quirks a brow, and Darcy blushes harder.

“They might've put Dickward into prison, but they said that crashing a vehicle into him was ‘reckless’ and ‘needlessly risky’.”

“Of course they did.” Agatha snorts. “This is why I've stayed under the radar.”

“You mean until you thought trying to kill a wanted fugitive was gonna be beneficial for you.”

The older woman scowls.

“That was not what I was trying to do.”

“Sure looked like it.”

Agatha scowls harder and distinctly does not look in the direction of any alcohol.

…

Fuck.

She pushes herself away from the counter and opens the freezer, pulling out a margarita mix pack.

“Um.” Darcy sounds a bit startled, looking up from where she's crouched, victoriously clutching at the canister of coffee she finally found. “Do you really think more alcohol is a good idea?”

She ignores the other woman, and wobbles a little as she begins to walk around the kitchen, pulling the various things she needs to make the drink to her liking.

“Agatha..?”

“Agnes, hot stuff! I don't know why people keep trying to call me Agatha!” She smiles brightly, but it doesn't quite reach her eyes.

Darcy seems frozen while Agnes whirls around the kitchen, determinedly ignoring the shouting coming from the other room.

The bubbly woman continues to smile with false brightness as she places the finishing touches on her drink, shrugging good-naturedly when Darcy shakes her head at the offered second glass Agnes holds out to her.

“More for me, dear!” She laughs, before taking a long drink from the first.

“I, um… Hot water?” Darcy asks weakly.

Agnes’s face shifts into a slight scowl that's gone almost as soon as it appears.

“You'll have to boil a pot.” Her tone is pointedly not cheery, and she drains the first cup of alcohol in her hand before moving on to the second.

Darcy steps in her way when she moves to grab another mix.

“I don't think more is a good idea.” The other woman says, flinching nervously as Ralph bellows again.

Agnes trembles slightly and tries not to let her anger get the best of her.

Being angry meant making mistakes and making mistakes meant getting punished.

“It's just a little something to help with the day!” Agnes attempts.

“How about some coffee instead?” Darcy offers.

Agnes does truly scowl now, and she crosses her arms.

“You’re in my home, dear.”

Darcy latches on to that.

“Yeah, exactly. I'm your guest. It wouldn't be polite of you to get smashed while I'm here.”

Agnes’s scowl deepens for a split second before a forced smile returns to her face.

“You're right, hon! I'll take some coffee too if that's what you want to have. Just make mine an Irish.” Agnes throws in a wink for good measure.

Ralph yells a string of crude words from the other room and both women exchange a glance.

“Maybe we should gag him,” Darcy suggests.

Agnes shudders.

“I– no. No, thank you, dear. I don't want my fingers anywhere near his mouth.”

Darcy very clearly decides not to ask.

Not that Agnes would have answered.

Ralph… Well, he is her husband.

Her husband who gave his friends permission to have sex with her. Who didn't care if she wanted that or not.

Agnes hisses with pain as a stabbing pain shoots across her head, right behind her left eye.

“I… I think I'm going to go lay down for a spell, dear.” She mumbles, not completely aware of her surroundings anymore. “I suddenly don't feel so well.”

Agnes doesn't know if Darcy answers her or not. Her ears are buzzing too much to.

—»•«—

…an…y…u…e…ar…me…?

—»•«—

Wanda sits and watches the mysterious woman diligently, her eyes roving over the places where her outfit is torn and burnt.

Pale skin is marred by angry red, and in some cases, a blackened soot color that only causes her to feel nauseated with guilt and fear.

She doesn't know why.

Raven locks, shining nearly blue, are a knotted, tangled mess, the long, straight strands seemingly determined to create a bird’s nest.

Wanda doesn't doubt that well taken care of, her mystery woman would be very, very beautiful.

Her heart twists painfully, and she scowls.

Her memory refuses to return, but not the echoes of the emotions. It's impossible for Wanda to make sense of what she's feeling without the memories attached to why she would be inclined to feel a certain way about any specific thing.

It's stupid.

She groans and thunks her head gently back against the tree trunk she's sitting against.

She hopes the pale woman wakes up again soon.

Wanda is beginning to feel restless, a creeping dread slowly overcoming her.

She doesn't know why, only that something in her, deep down, is pushing her, tugging her feet somewhere not here.

[drelldreams]

Mass Effect lore collection from the books

Camala + Batarian lore (Source: Mass Effect Revelation)

Read if you wish to know more canon info about batarians and their colony Camala.

Under the cut.

One of the most important planets in the Skyllian Verge is Camala, a primarily batarian world and desert planet known for having some of the largest deposits of eezo in the Verge under its surface.

The planet also features two large metropolian areas of over a million people each, the capital Ujon and the city Hatre, location of the world’s primary spacesports.

As the colony world has a wealthy economy, it draws in a lot of visitors and immigrants of different species.

Of all the batarian worlds, Camala is easily the wealthiest one.

Among Batarians, social standing is extremely important and insulting a batarian’s social class is considered a very grave insult.

As social class is of such high importance among batarians, batarians place high value on dressing as well as they can afford.

Batarians tend to wear robes, even males.

Some of the most popular liquors on Camala are made by the hanar.

It seems like common knowledge says that the Blue Suns were founded by batarians and recently started taking on humans, when the reverse is true. It is possible that few people know the truth about the story behind the Blue Suns.

Batarians tilt their heads to the left to show admiration and respect. A tilt to the right is a greeting directed towards someone a batarian believes to be inferior.

Batarians tend to have relatively lean builds, compared to humans. Their necks tend to be longer and narrower than human necks, and their lips thinner.

The ridges of cartilage on top of a batarian’s head extend to their neck.

Batarian faces are covered with fine, thin hair that grows longer and thicker around the mouth, making them the second known species in the galaxy with hair.

Batarian names in the books: Groto Ib-ba, Jella, Helanda, Sh’n’ya, Edan Had’dah

It appears as if female batarians tend to have old Germanic sounding names (Jella, Helanda). Their names also tend to end in a though that could just be due to a Western-centric and anthropocentric approach from the writer.. (no offense to Drew I love him). Or it’s just the translator.

Surnames of batarians tend to have apostrophes in the middles or they are some sort of double name

Batarians are on the cutting edge of medical science

Most people don’t know into which pair of eyes to look in batarians, which gives them an edge in negotations as people will avoid eye contact with the race altogether, resulting in other people not being able to read batarians well

[sadwattpader]

Some of my works on Wattpad :⁠-⁠) If you're interested in my work, I'm taking requests of fluff, smut, or angst for:

Nygmobblepot

Babitha

Gordobblepot

Zsaszlepot

NygmaZsasz

AlverZsasz

Wayleska

Valeskayne

BatCat

Thompkean

SelinaxBridget

EccoIvy

SelinaxIvy

FreezeWald

HarlIvy

Cobbleska

HawkFate

HawkAdam

FateAdam

SamBucky

Stucky

Stony

Ironfrost

Strangefrost

MoonFrost

Lokius

CapFrost

Scarletfrost

FrostWidow

FrostMaster

GammaFrost

ScarletWidow/Wandanat

Wagatha

Helanda

Walena

ThunderIron

ThunderCap

ThorBruce

GammaIron

MarcSteven

JakeSteven

MarcJake

HarrowGrant

Oneshots will be published here and on my Wattpad ｡⁠◕⁠‿⁠◕⁠｡

[marshmarlowee]

Hela: I am the goddess of death, I rule the Helheim, I am terrifying and emotionless. I have no feelings.

Amanda: *exists*

Hela: I have one feeling

@therecklessandthegays @nerdandproud14

[magnusrosen-blog]

Nästa bas-meditation kommer äga rum på Ekofestivalen den 28 aug mitt på dagen kl 12.45!www.ekofestivalen.se( Kl 17.45 Blir det konsert med Georeg Keczan & Magnus Rosén )

Hjärtligt välkommen.

Det mesta börjar inifrån så som ideer, välmående, harmoni, styrka, kärlek, o.s.v, så även motsatsen. Meditationer ” Inifrån och ut ” Live musik med klangskål från Nepal och basmusik med Magnus Rosén.Förfluten framtid med dom 4 elementen.Elefanten är symbolen för klokhet / visdom där av Elefant meditation. Urtidens djur som snart är utrotat bland många fler arter av oss människor. Min första me

ditation jag spelade på var för ca 15-20 år sedan.Jag har gjort ett par meditationsskivor själv ( Bass for Relax ) samt 2 album med medium jag känner: Lisa Odenhjälm och Helena Magdalena Ivenkrans.Mina resor i livet och i världen tillsammans med mitt spirituella intresse har nu nått startlinjen medMusik meditationer från urtid till framtid med tecknen: djur, natur och människa i livets tidslinje. 

Är man en förening, företag, samfund eller arrangör kan man boka direkt från mig.Jag kommer även att lägga ut info här på nätet när tillfälle kommer för den som är intresserad vs.

Musiken kommer med rötter mina soloalbum:

Imagine a place

Reminiscence

‘Arose 

Set me free

Past future

Art with bass

Bass for Relax

The world changes

2 meditations cd med medium EmPower duo med Lisa Odenhjälm och den Helanda pyramiden med Helena Magdalena Ivenkrans

Nytt album på G: The World and Times.

* Video länk med en kort info ang meditationen: https://vimeo.com/449222087
 * Video länk till meditations live-musikhttps://vimeo.com/449295761 Magnus.www.magnusrosen.com

www.culturemeetsindustry.com

www.magnusrosenwebbshop.com

[nastitiaripratama-blog]

with helanda at SMA N 1 Grobogan – View on Path.

[our-blood-is-our-ink]

Circling this.

If y'all want the first chapter to drop 🤭🤭🤭

[our-blood-is-our-ink]

Careful Creatures

Ship(s): Hela x Agatha, Agatha x Wanda, Wanda x Hela, Hela x Agatha x Wanda

Summary: Three powerful beings broken down back to the start somehow find themselves brought together as they relearn themselves and each other

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: angst, descriptions of being burnt, mild gore, sexual assault/non-con/rape, abuse of alcohol/alcoholism/addiction, amnesia, domestic violence, implied use of roofing drugs

Disclaimer: 18+ ONLY MINORS DNI

A/N: Please READ THE WARNINGS before proceeding. If this were on AO3 it would be rate E for explicit material later on in the series, and M for mature material for the heavy content this story deals in

|| next

Chapter One

She falls in a blaze.

Green and gold and black, streaking through the heavens and flames, like some dying star in need of a desperate wish of its own.

Her skin burns and blisters and blackens, smoke filling her lungs, choking off the last vestiges of air they held.

In space, no one hears you scream.

In space, no one sees the last of a once beautiful and powerful empire crumple to nothing but debris and dust, exploding violently outwards as Ragnarok rages its final breath.

Her cheeks become adorn with the cleansing water of her own tears as she mourns, the prophecy she had been bound to at last releasing its shackles on her.

In space, no one sees her cry.

She tumbles through the darkness, with no force to counteract against her initial velocity, and she hurls through the celestial skies.

Eventually, even her godly body cannot handle the vast emptiness of space.

Her eyes slip shut, her breathing slows, and as she falls and falls and falls, she slumbers.

—»•«—

Agnes stumbles up the stairs, her feet tripping over one another as the world seems to spin.

“That you?” Her husband’s voice calls from their bedroom.

Agnes opens her mouth, the words yes, dear on the tip of her tongue, when she suddenly bolts for the bathroom.

As she's heaving her insides out, Ralph’s large hand painfully yanks her hair in a bunch away from her face.

“Get it all out now, I don't want you soiling the bed.” He snaps, impatient.

Agnes shivers as she retches. It was more than the ever-oppressing feeling that something wasn’t right that drove her to stay out drinking until the bars closed.

Eventually, she has nothing left in her stomach to vomit up, and she half collapses against the cool porcelain.

Her relief is short-lived, but she doesn't fight as Ralph manhandles her.

He is her husband. When she married him, she committed herself before the eyes of God that she would be a faithful wife.

Ralph doesn't like it when she's vocal, so she bites her tongue and lets herself get lost in the dizziness her mind is experiencing and doesn't make a noise of protest or pain as he shoves her to the floor and pulls down her pants.

This is her test to bear, for making her mistakes.

You don't deserve this.

—»•«—

Wanda awakens in a cave.

It's not the oddest place she's ever woken up, though how she's so sure of that, she can't really say.

It must be a gut feeling, she decides, as she tries to think.

She knows her name, that's good.

Her age–

She's… Twenty-six? Thirty-two? She can't recall.

That's… Not normal, right?

She places a hand on a rough wall, trying to steady herself as she walks on shaky legs.

Her name is Wanda… Wanda something. Something… Off? Romanoff? No, that's not right. Romanoff was…

Wanda grits her teeth.

She knows enough that her last name isn't Romanoff, but can't remember whose last name is.

That's extremely frustrating.

Wanda stumbles along the cave, trying to find the way out, and wishes Pietro were here.

Pietro. Her brother. Her twin brother. Her brother who–

A stream of bullets hits through her chest, and she collapses to her knees, screaming her pain.

Wanda violently shakes her head, clutching it.

“Get it together, Maximoff.” She reprimands herself, before realizing what she's said.

Maximoff.

Her name is Wanda Maximoff.

That's good. It means she isn't totally amnesic.

She goes over what she knows as she begins to feel a soft breeze against her face.

Her name is Wanda Maximoff. She had a twin brother, Pietro Maximoff, who died by being gunned down. She doesn't know exactly how old she is, but she's somewhere in her late twenties, early thirties. Her parents… She doesn't remember her parents. Possibly dead, almost certainly impossible to find or reach if they aren't. She knows– knew? Knew someone with the surname Romanoff. Someone who… She stole a jacket from? Why was she remembering this and not useful information, like how did she get here? And where is here? And are there people who will be looking for her?

Dread pools in her belly.

People looking for her feels like an ominous statement.

She misses… She misses someone. Someone special. A lover, perhaps? A spouse? A… Child? She’s old enough to have had at least one.

Wanda isn't sure.

Light begins to hurt her eyes.

She's made it to the exit of the cave!

She hobbles, running as best she can, eager, bursting out into open air and freedom and–

Oh.

Oh no.

—»•«—

She burns again, still streaking green and gold and black, but this time, through the atmosphere of a planet.

When she lands, she craters the forest floor and doesn't move.

—»•«—

“Day drinking, Agnes?” Dottie clicks her tongue from behind the brown-haired woman. “I keep telling you we have a decent AA here.”

Agnes does her best to laugh off the comment.

“Oh, you know dear, it's five o’clock somewhere!”

Dottie slides into the seat across from her.

“Look. Your neighbors, I don't know if you know them, the Johnsons, they well… Mrs. Johnson said that late one night when she was just finishing putting the baby back down after a late night bottle feed, that she saw your bedroom window was open–”

“I'm sure whatever she saw she mistaken, Dot.” Agnes smiles as charmingly as she can. “You know how those late nights are with a newborn!”

“She said that Ralph was choking you, Agnes.”

Agnes’s smile slides off her face.

“If my husband,” she stresses, “had been choking me, I would have bruises.”

Dottie’s eyes flick to Agnes’s neck, which is both bare of discoloration, and the tell-tale texture of makeup.

Agnes swings back some of the brunch mimosa in her hand, closing her eyes briefly to gain strength from it.

“Ralph is a wonderful husband. He would never hurt me.” Agnes lies through her teeth. “Is that all why you decided to pay me a social visit during some of my “me” time?”

Dottie shifts, clearly uncomfortable.

“Agnes…” She trails, trying to find the words. “If you ever did need help, Eastwood– I mean, Westview is here for you.”

Agnes turns her smile all the way up to its brightest wattage. “Will keep that in mind, toots! Thanks for stopping by brunch to talk with this ol’ gal!”

Dottie hesitates before she stands and leaves.

Agnes's wildly beating heart doesn't slow until her fifth post-Dottie mimosa has been downed.

The truth is, Ralph does have a habit of choking her… But the bruises always fade by the next afternoon, rapidly going through the stages of healing broken blood vessels startling fast.

Agnes can't recall ever having healed that way before.

No, healing meant fire and death, healing meant agony for days and weeks because she was only ever meant to hurt, not heal.

Agnes shakes her head as if trying to dislodge the sudden pressure she feels.

That's something she has noticed.

Thinking about her past causes her awful headaches and terrible migraines.

It's best to keep to the present.

Agnes smiles at the hostess as she leaves the venue, not worried about paying.

The people of Westview took care of one another.

She doesn't notice the woman with the dark hair and piercing blue eyes who stands up and leaves after her.

—»•«—

It's been two days since Wanda had started off down the rest of what looked like an intimidating mountain, headed towards what looks to be a promising sign of life in the vibrancy of green trees.

Hopefully, there will be water somewhere there.

Wanda knows she has only twenty-four more hours until her body gives out from lack of hydration.

Her heart skips a beat, and the hairs on the back of her neck rise.

Hydration.

Hydra.

Hydra was… Bad.

Hydra is bad.

The word gives her a bad feeling.

She keeps on, not even pausing as the tremors grow stronger from the mountain.

The ruins that lay in pieces everywhere, even so far down from the top where it once resided, make Wanda feel awful enough that she had nearly vomited the first time stepping out into the world and seeing it.

She avoids touching any part of it as best she is able.

She can hear rocks sliding somewhere to her left.

Distant.

Her shoulders drop an inch.

She isn't in direct danger. Not yet.

—»•«—

Ralph’s at the bar.

Ralph’s at the bar and he has all his friends there and she didn't know that the bartender used to date him and–

Agnes is vocal as rough hands grasp at her, groping and tugging and searching as their owners laugh.

“Here, dear.” Ralph’s voice is cold. Mocking. “I know how much you like your alcohol. Drink up.”

She doesn't have a choice, surrounded, as he passes her a cup.

Within moments of finishing it, she knows.

There's more laughter.

“So kind of that Maximoff bitch to leave you a wife.” Someone comments.

“To Ralph, and his whore!” Someone else shouts, to resounding cheers.

Agnes wants to scream for help, but the room is spinning and her limbs won't obey her instructions and her mouth feels too heavy to move and then–

—»•«—

No.

—»•«—

The ground slopes slightly, and grass turns to dirt as Wanda follows the stream she found.

Deeper and deeper it slopes, until she's been walking for at least half an hour, and then she sees a mess of blood and green.

—»•«—

The door bursts open, crashing loudly, just as her hands find their way around the nearest man’s throat, a knee jerked violently up between his legs.

The room freezes. She smirks, throws her head back, and cackles.