#helena scribbles

[reaandull]

trying to forget s2e4

[moggettt]

studies/ work in progress- losing my mind about this show

EDIT: the finished version is here!

[anininas]

Leon and Helena doodles but give them formal wear

[kiras-monkey-bum-face]

finished sunrise on the reaping earlier I won't say anything I'll just leave you with my spoiler free storygraph review and the knowledge I cried

[internetgiraffekid1673]

Parallels Between the Girl and Boy Robins

I've been stewing on a thought for a while, and when I was messaging @redplanetlobster, I realized it's actually a good one worth sharing.

All 3 of the Girl Robins from DC (Helena Wayne, Carrie Kelley, and Stephanie Brown for those unfamiliar) have notable parallels to the last 3 Boy Robins (Damian Wayne, Tim Drake, and Jason Todd). Check it out:

Individual drawings under the cut, words/image description in the alt text.

Now, this isn't to say that anybody "stole" anybody else's gimmick---especially not the girl robins stealing the boys' thing: Carrie predates Tim by 3 years and Helena predates Damian by like 30 years. And obviously Jason was created long before Steph, although she was a well established character by the time Jason was resurrected.

But I do find these parallels fascinating. On the part of Steph and Jason, some of their similarities are intentional (mostly them being dead and having a rather strained relationship with Bruce), but many of them are not. And I don't think Helena or Carrie were even a thought in the writer's heads when creating Tim and Damian.

This is especially fascinating because, despite these similarities, these characters are VASTLY different from each other and I don't think they'd even GET ALONG with each other without some serious work.

Jason has no particular beef with Steph and sees her as proof of his point, but Steph thinks he's a conceited asshole who tried to murder her boyfriend. Tim and Carrie were trained by an obsessively paranoid Bruce and carry that paranoia with them---they can throw each other MUCH further than they trust each other. And while Damian and Helena may get along all right if it's later in Damian's arc, an early Damian would have SO many complexes about her existence and there WOULD be bloodshed.

Idk, I just think this is incredibly interesting and want a fanfic or a robin crossover event that explores it (and locks these pairs in a room for an extended period of time).

Btw, I do find it hilarious that Duke Thomas (most recent Robin technically) and Maps Mizoguchi (prooooobably gonna be the next Robin) are actually COMPLETE opposites lol.

[gbirrd]

A piece Ive made for the @batfam-big-bang is for this fic by @megaerakles inspired by The Odyssey! Obviously, the soundtrack whilst drawing was EPIC. Would you expect anything else, really?

Image ID:

An image reminescent of a book cover. Transluscent white shattered glass-like cracks stem from a jagged 'hole' slightly left of the center, through which Bruce Wayne's eye is visible in a vibrant blue. The cracks radiate out into 8 sections, each with a different character, which together make up one face. From left going clockwise, the characters are Dick Grayson, with deep eyebags, Jason Todd, with prominent scarring, Tim Drake, Steph Brown, a siren Cass Cain, Duke Thomas, Helena Wayne, and Damian Wayne-Al Ghul wearing a laurel crown. The image is done in a painterly style similar to goache.

[feartoxinjelloshot]

the one and only birds of preyyyy

[acatpiestuff]

Roommate asked me to make a garcello portrait for our flat

[myokk]

Okay, question for you- is Eloise’s hair tied at the end and curly, or in a ponytail and curly, or is there no tie and I’m just blind?

I was going to answer this quickly but I am EXTRA & had to do a write-up of her hair (sorry🙏)

First, she normally does wear her hair in a braid!💓 I do NOT know how to draw braids nor do I want to learn, so I do my weird way that looks terrible and I really should spend like 30 min researching😔🙏

When I remember, I like to add the bow but I forget a lot🥲

Her hair is CRAZY and thick, and has been the bane of her existence her whole life. I’m just channeling her inner Black (she is like a great-aunt or something of Sirius and Bellatrix) so OBVIOUSLY i had to give her amazing hair.

Since she is a Proper Young Victorian Lady™️ who spent the last 5 years at a muggle finishing school, she NEVER wears her hair down, and felt scandalized the first weeks at Hogwarts, seeing girls her age wearing TROUSERS😨 and having their hair DOWN😳 and although she’s used to it now, she still feels uncomfortable thinking of herself doing it.

Sebastian daydreams about it all the time though😇🙏

Some quick doodles I sketched up for this así.

1) her crazy hair when it’s down💓🫶

2) Imelda LOVES doing Eloise’s hair. She’s never really had girl friends before, and the ritual of gossiping/doing hair/hanging out reminds Imelda of her childhood bc her mom used to do her hair and tell stories🥹🥹 and Eloise has NEVER had friends before OR the experience with her own (awful) mother so she LOVES IT TOO💓💓💓 (Imelda teaches her Spanish some nights)

[candywafercutie]

Helena/Babs is a fun idea. I might read a fuck ton of comics just to see if this clicks for me

[literallyimthenerdemoji]

oh my goodness globness ty pookie

open tags!

pinterest tag game

tagged by the lovely @jomiddlemarch 💕 I love Pinterest tag games!

Rules:

NPT's for the following: @wildemaven, @gnpwdrnwhiskey, @secretelephanttattoo, @mysterious-moonstruck-musings, @maggiemayhemnj, @rhoorl, @lovesbiggerthanpride, @javierpenaispunk, @shirks-all-responsibilities, & @nerdieforpedro

If I didn't tag you and you want to play along, consider this me tagging you in and tag me in your results! 💕

[moggettt]

You couldn't tell? That she wasn't me?

Original screenshot below the cut; this show COOKS in the cinematography department and I lost my mind at this framing

[anininas]

If Resident Evil 6 had only 10 fans I'm one of them

[carpenterswife]

ALL MY GHOSTS (i)

series masterlist

- summary: Your life in Helena is good; a thriving friendship with Beau, Jenny and Cassie. You’re living your best life, with a job you enjoy and you’re good at, surrounded by people who care for you. Of course, however, your past is only just around the corner, in the form of a recurring phone call.

- word count: 2883

- warnings: Alcoholism.

━━━━━━ ✿ ━━━━━━

You weren’t ever truly sure why, out of everywhere you could have chosen to go, you ended up in Helena. There was nothing that had been calling you to the town — you’d just had a blown-out tire on a dark, muddy road nearby and the only tow company still open at 11pm was in town. That was two years ago, and you’d yet to leave.

It had, slowly, become your home.

With the help of Jenny and Cassie, you’d turned a cheap, shabby apartment into a cozy home; decorated with far too many plants, and enough cats that any sane person would question your mental state (three; Cassie was already questioning you). Something about Helena was calm and welcoming, and it felt like you’d been here forever.

A year after your arrival, came Beau Arlen. A Texan cowboy who rolled into town in a shitty Jeep called ‘Pedro’. The news of Tubb leaving sent shockwaves through the community, and a second round hit when his replacement turned up only weeks later. Though questionable at first, Beau had, very quickly, proven himself to both the town and the department.

Beau was a great cop and an even greater man — one you’d clicked with rather quickly. After you’d slammed a pile of paperwork onto his desk with an innocent smile, knocking your fist on the top of the papers and calling it a ‘welcome gift’ on his first day, Beau had decided he’d liked you. He didn’t like the paperwork, but he liked the bubbly, sweet energy you brought into his office with that mischievous twinkle in your eyes and quiet giggle.

You were a ray of sunshine — that’s what they liked to call you around the station, anyway. Beau claimed it was because you always lit up the room, but you liked to tell him he was just a sappy old bastard (he didn’t like that). Despite your distaste to the nickname of ‘sunshine’, it had been picked up pretty quickly, and you definitely had Beau to blame for it.

Your payback?

Well, it came in the form of a lovely challenge you’d issued against him, after you binge watched Brooklyn 99 for the 100th time.

Beau hated it.

In fact, right now, he was seething. “You’re cruel.” He watched you scrub out your number ‘15’, and replace it with a ‘16’. His arms were tightly crossed, eyes narrowing into a glare that was mostly playful. He leant back against a desk in the bullpen, cowboy hat discarded beside him.

“What’s that, Arlen? I can’t hear you over the sounds of my impending victory.” Came your tease, stepping back to admire your victory. You yelped when something hit your head, and you turned to see a pen at your feet, and Beau wearing a smug grin. “Asshole.” With a dramatic flair, you turned your back to him.

Beau loved your playful attitude. It made the days where he was stuck in the station with paperwork far more fun. You were always down for some teasing, and were always able to dish it back just as well as he could dish it out. You were always bordering on the line of insubordination, but he knew as well as you did that he’d never actually punish you for it — there was definitely favouritism in this station, with you, Pop and Jenny hogging the top three spots on the sheriff’s list.

On the whiteboard in the bullpen, was your bragging rights. Scribbled on the top in your handwriting were the bold words ‘BAD GUYS CAUGHT’. Underneath were your two names, and two separate scores, ‘Arlen: 9 L/N: 16’.

Yeah, you were kicking his ass.

���You got lucky.” Beau stepped up to your side, glaring at the numbers on the whiteboard with disdain. Lucky? He was lying to himself and the asshole knew it. He was just a major sore loser.

An amused smile lifted up your lips, and you turned your head to look up at him. God, you still hadn’t gotten fully used to how tall this man truly was. “Seven lucky arrests?” Beau pressed his lips together and nodded, unwilling to accept any other answer. You snickered at him. “Admit it, Beau, you just suck.”

Beau sent you a sharp look, but there was amusement dancing in the green. “Shut it, you.” He gave a fake stumble when you gently pushed his arm, chucking lowly. “You got lucky with those last two arrests. The guys practically threw themselves at ya.”

You gave a dramatic gasp and clutched your chest like you were gravely wounded. “Are you saying I’m only good at my job ‘cause I’m pretty?” Beau gave you a deadpan look, and you snickered. “Alright, grandpa.”

With a heavy sigh, he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Why the hell do I even put up with you?” He muttered to himself, shaking his head. You merely grinned and ignored his muttering, as the sheriff continued to complain about you and your insubordinate behaviour (that he still allowed).

You tossed the whiteboard marker from hand to hand, turning your full attention to him. “How’s that murder case getting along, by the way?”

“Slowly.” Beau dropped his hand down to his side, and stuck them both into his pockets. “Snail’s pace.” You wince sympathetically, and Beau sighed heavily. He gazed at you for a moment, evidently thinking. “You wanna take a shot at it? Fresh eye, an’ all.” He offered, looking down at you with his head tilted to the side.

Looking up at him, you smiled and nodded. “Saturday?” You suggested. “I’ve got lunch plans with Jenny and Cassie in an hour, and I’m not working tomorrow.”

His brows shot up. “You girls goin’ out without me?” He faked offence, barely concealing his smile.

You laughed, patting his arm. “Girl’s day, sheriff.” You teased, earning a playful indignant huff from Beau. You chucked the marker at him, and watched him fumble to catch it. “I’m off in ten. You gonna survive without me?”

“Hilarious.” He drawled sarcastically. “Get outta here.” He grunted.

With a laugh, you turned and left the bullpen, Beau spinning the marker between his fingers as he watched you go.

━━━━━━ ✿ ━━━━━━

It was quite a common occurrence to get lunch with Jenny and Cassie. You mostly spent the time catching up, filling each other in on cases, or gossiping about some strange news around town. Honestly, it was typically the highlight of your week.

You’d become extremely close with the two girls over the last two years.

They’d dragged you to a new restaurant — despite your hatred of trying new places. The price was on the higher side, and your face had pulled together at the sight of a hefty price beside a plate of lasagna.

After the plates had been cleaned, and despite your insistence to pay, Jenny had snagged up the bill from you and Cassie, paying the whole thing. You hadn’t been very pleased, nor had Cassie, but the blonde had laughed it off and told the pair of you you’d be paying next time.

Taking a sip of her second glass of Pepsi, Cassie glanced between you and Jenny. “So, how’s it been at the station?” She asked curiously, nursing her glass. You and Jenny exchanged a look and shrugged, acting casual.

But you knew what Cassie meant; Beau’s position.

He’d moved up here to follow his ex-wife and daughter — Carla and Emily, who, during the last year, you’d met plenty of times. Especially Emily, who’d temporarily taken up an internship with Cassie and Denise. However, after the rough scenario with Avery and that whole mess of a case, Carla had decided to return to Texas, taking Emily with her.

Beau hadn’t told anyone if he’d be leaving or not. After all, his position was only temporary, so it was expected that he’d eventually leave one day. No one really knew if he was intending to stay longer, or leave now and follow after Carla and Emily to Houston.

“He hasn’t said anything.” You took the silence as an opportunity to answer. You spun your glass of Coke, fiddling with the rim of it. “I saw him going to the Chief’s office on Monday.” You looked between the pair.

Jenny nodded in agreement. “He had a meeting. Didn’t tell me what for.” Her gaze swayed back to Cassie, who was listening carefully. “You think he’s gonna go for it?”

“Follow Carla?” Cassie hesitated. “I wouldn’t be surprised.”

You downed the rest of your Coke in a few large gulps. “Can we not talk about Beau the entire day?” You complained, sitting down your glass. Both women looked at you. “C’mon, enough with the boy talk.” There was quiet shared laughter between the three of you.

“Alright.” Cassie agreed, nodding shortly. “Who’s up drinks tonight?”

Your hand shot up immediately.

━━━━━━ ✿ ━━━━━━

Drinks, like every time, turned out a horrible idea.

You woke up on Friday morning with a throbbing ache in your skull, and heavy sickness settled in your stomach. You groaned and rolled yourself out of bed, caught up in your blanket, almost falling flat on your face.

Way to make Friday even worse.

You already hated Fridays. It was always like a ritual for you. You woke up with dread in your bones, and dragged yourself around the house until your cats’ incessant meowing snapped you from your half-dead safe.

Beau didn’t make you work Fridays anymore. Not after what you liked to call ‘The Incident’.

Something about Fridays weighed heavy on you. You felt like a ticking time bomb, ready to implode. You’d blown up at Beau, real bad, and stormed off. Then proceeded to have a panic attack on a case regarding a domestic abuse incident.

Beau had dragged you into his office, hands cradling your cheeks as he talked you through your panic attack. You still hadn’t apologised for yelling at him, but he didn’t once bring it up. He asked what was wrong. You told him you didn’t like Fridays. He told you not to worry, and you hadn’t worked a Friday since. He hadn’t even asked why, he’d just done it.

And now you had Fridays alone to rot in your sorrow and misery.

The ringing of the phone didn’t make you flinch, not like it used to months ago. With a heavy sigh, you grabbed your phone, and wandered out to sit on the small balcony, away from your cats and their pawing. “Mom.” You leant your elbows on the railing, and stared out at your view of neighbourhoods and distant mountains.

Your mother’s voice made your stomach churn. “Hi, dear.” You rose your eyes and stared up at the sky. That pet name made you want to pop your eardrums. “How are you doing?”

“Fine, mom.” You tapped your nails on the railing, anxiety doubling your heart rate. You could feel it pounding in your hands and head, adrenaline pumping so hard you felt the need to run. “Same as I was last week. Busy with work.” You cleared your throat before she could get another word in. “What is it, mom?”

Your eyes shot down to the scars littering your hands. Those which your friends believed came from years of clumsiness and working with guns and knives. A lie. A smart lie — but a lie nevertheless. They always seemed to burn when you remembered home.

If you could call it home.

“We all miss you, dear.” You hummed in response to her words, not interested or paying much attention. “Jack—“

That snapped you back to reality. “Don’t.”

Your mother sighed. There was a hint of frustration in her voice now. She always did this. “If you’d just answer—“

“No.” You interrupted again. Your grip on your phone tightened, until your knuckles turned white. “Stop, mom.” Your teeth ground together. The name sent chills down your spine. “I told you, stop with that bullshit. You know I won’t pick up any of his calls, so stop asking.”

“If you’d let him explain—“

“There’s no explaining.” You argued, anger rising deep in your stomach. “Whatever excuse he’s come up with is bullshit. And I cannot believe you’re siding with that fucker after what he did.” She went to speak, you scoffed, reaching your boiling point. “Don’t call me again.” You pulled your phone away from your ear and hung up, with a low groan.

Hands scrubbed over your face, trying to control your temper.

You hadn’t been close to your mother in two years. When you left your hometown, she’d become nothing more than a name on a phone to you.

You stared at the deep scars on your hands, and shook yourself off. With one last glance at the scenery, you headed inside, greeted by three clingy cats and burnt bacon on your frying pain.

You threw out the bacon and unhappily ate a bowl of cereal instead, three cats sitting at your feet. You stared out the window, and resigned yourself to another night of getting wasted.

━━━━━━ ✿ ━━━━━━

Shot after shot poured down your throat, the burning sensation making you grimace and shudder. It felt good, in a sort of self-destruction kind of way. You slammed down your sixth shot glass, and stared blankly at the empty chair in front of you.

And then it wasn’t empty.

“You might wan’ slow down, honey.” Your eyes flicked up, meeting Beau’s. He waved off the bartender returning with more shots for you, and turned back to you. “I’ve been watchin’ you drink those like water. You wan’ tell me what’s got you downin’ vodka like there’s no tomorrow?”

“My mother.” You huffed. Beau hummed and nodded. He didn’t know much about your past, much like you didn’t know much about his. What he did know, is that your relationship with your family was strained. Extremely.

Beau reached out and pulled away your empty shot glasses, leaving them on his side of the table. “You wan’ talk ‘bout it?”

“Not really.”

His brows rose, but he accepted the answer. He wouldn’t push. He knew what it was like to not want to reminisce on bad memories. “You start at eight tomorrow. You sure you wan’ get piss off drunk?”

His rationality made you scowl. Beau chuckled quietly at your expression, knowing he’d already won this argument.

“C’mon, honey.” He spun himself off his chair and stood. “Let’s get ya home.” He reached out to help you stand — a bit too quick.

You recoiled. A flinch. Away from him.

He pulled his hand away like he’d been burnt. You suddenly felt very sober. You stared at each other, neither willing to be the first to speak.

Beau’s mind replayed the flinch, over and over. The quick flash of fear in your eyes. The way you’d curled into yourself, moving abruptly away from him. He suddenly felt sick. He didn’t dare reach out to you again. It felt like he’d been struck by lightening.

Your heart hammered in your chest, breath hitching at the confusion and pain on his face. Frantically, your brain raced for an excuse. “You scared me.” You forced a weak laugh.

He didn’t believe you. Of course he didn’t. It was a shit lie, and you knew it. His eyes scanned your expression; the wariness in your gaze. the sudden tension in your muscles. And, he didn’t push. “Sorry.” He chuckled. “Didn’t mean ta.” He slowly offered his hand out again, moving in a way that ensured you didn’t flinch.

You physically relaxed. It made Beau’s heart twist uncomfortably, his concern growing. You accepted his hand, and he helped pull you to unstable feet.

“You’re gon’ be so hungover tomorrow, girl.” His hands on your upper arms, he threw down some cash on the bar, and then guided you out of the crowded bar. He chuckled, half-amused and half-concerned, keeping you stable as he walked you over to his Jeep.

Before he could open the passenger seat door, you turned to him. “Answer me this.” You leant back against the door, effectively trapping him. “Are you leaving?”

He looked taken aback. “What on Earth are you goin’ on about?”

“Carla.” You watched his expression turn into one of heavy confusion. Annoyed, you sighed. “She left, Beau. Are you going after her? You moved here for her. So, are you gonna leave for her?”

“Oh, Jesus.” He muttered, running a hand down his face. “Is that what you ladies have been gossipin’ about?”

You didn’t answer him, you just stared at him for a few beats. “You had a meeting with the Chief on Monday. What was it about?”

He put his hands on your shoulders, ducking his head to meet your eye level. “I’m not going anywhere.” He spoke quietly, reassuring you with a warm smile. “You lot are stuck with me.” He nudged your chin with his index finger and then gently pulled you aside. “C’mon, let’s get you home, hm?” He pulled open the door of the passenger side seat.

You stared at him. “Promise?” You began to climb into the car. “You won’t go anywhere?”

Beau chuckled, shrugging this line of questioning off as odd drunken behaviour. “Promise.” He patted your knee as you sat down. “I ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

━━━━━━ ✿ ━━━━━━

an: chapter one is shorter than the other chapters will be, as it’s mostly an introduction to your relationship with the other characters + the first mystery of your past.

if you catch any mistakes, always feel free to let me know!! sometimes i miss them + i always love improving my work :)

[kalolasfantasyworld]

I'm genuinely speechless 😱 This is so beautiful!!! Thank you so much!

I honestly didn't expect you to draw them both! And they look so AMAZING! I'm such a fan of your style 😍 And yes Nozel came out amazing. You did both of them justice 💕

HBEFVEUFWEJHFVEW (I just have to scream a bit more!)

Hi there!

I saw your little request event.

I just wanted to say that I follow you on twitter and I'm a big fan of your art and Ezra.

For the request I was wondering if you could draw my OC Helena

but if not than maybe just an art of Nozel?

Thank you!

oh thank you ! ! i hope i did nozel justice ive only drawn him twice in the past ahaha and your oc is very cute :3c

[strangesmallbard]

boss makes a dollar i make a dime that’s why i start writing severance fanfiction about helena’s fucked up childhood on company time:

—

Helena sees the boy again on Tuesday morning. Father says Kier says that Tuesdays are for calming the waters of the mind: sea salt baths upon waking, no opaque beverages, swim lessons at the Community Pool after her tutors leave in the afternoon. Helena is meant to approach these tasks with the same calm vigor, but she enjoys swim lessons best. The goggles snapping to attention against her eye sockets, the basalt tiles under her bare feet. The rush hiss burble of the pipes as the creek water from Woe’s Hollow replaces the fetid loch carved into the basalt tile, taking away skin cells and hair follicles and the last reverberations of Marco Polo. That game children play.

Tuesdays are the only day Helena sees any children at all—the tail end of them. Helena is never early to her swim lesson, but the children often languish after the Community Pool closes to the public and Helena sees flashes of brightly patterned beach towels and mothers yanking skinny arms up the ladder. Chattering teeth and giggling and, of course, Marco Polo. [Severed Nanny] hadn’t known this game but her swim teacher did. If impatiently. A game for children, Helena. That is all. Come on now, your goal is to hold your breath for a minute and forty-two seconds. Hand gentle on Helena’s diaphragm, pushing against her breath to help defend her against dread. Mustn’t get distracted now.

[Severed Nanny] always says to keep her own council, but Helena always watches. She soaks up every inch of color and laughter and crooked baby teeth until her stomach is warm. Sometimes she pretends they’re hurrying out to see her. Only for a second though. Then her neurons catch up with her mind’s eye and the thought is tucked away for Saturday’s purging.

The pool children must be why seeing the boy on a Tuesday isn’t so surprising. He’s waiting at the bus stop across the street that no one ever uses, the one that leaves Kier and enters the realm of mortals, as Mother might say over dinner if she takes more than five sips of wine. She often does. So the phrase lingers in Helena’s mind while she presses her face to the cool windowpane and watches the boy at the bus stop. He’s wearing a loose sweatshirt with scribbled writing. His hair is long and lank; every three seconds he jerks his head and all the strands move together. A singular wave of motion.

He’s wearing a backpack. His hands grip the straps. There’s an impatience in the flex of his hands on the straps, as though he’s turning a knob to a door that won’t open.