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𝗜 𝗔𝗠 𝗦𝗜𝗖𝗞 𝗢𝗙 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗦𝗘 𝗕𝗨𝗧 𝗜'𝗠 𝗛𝗨𝗡𝗚𝗥𝗬 𝗙𝗢𝗥 𝗕𝗟𝗢𝗢𝗗.❞  independent helena bertinelli / huntress roleplay blog. divergent. not affiliated with dceu or arrowverse. selective. sporadic activity. crossover & original character friendly. triggering content present!   ©

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Pretty confident, aren’t you.

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Tricki is so cute…. *_*

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Helena: I'm in a horrible mood today, so everyone had better just stay out of my way!

Helena: ...

Helena: Nobody recognizes my hints to smother me with affection.

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me @ the personal blog who decide to like 10+ of my posts at once: w h y

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ALSO THIS 👀 / @trustschaos

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hope baxter as batgirl / @espercr

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#𝐠𝐡𝐞𝐤𝐤𝐨𝐬,    𝘪'𝘮  𝘢  𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘧𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘭  𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘦𝘧,  𝘯𝘰𝘵  𝘢  𝘬𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘳.    ────      independent  &  private  portrayal  of  seth  gecko  of  from  dusk  till  dawn  television  series.  show  compliant  &  headcanon  based  portrayal.  loved  by  melanie.  twenty-one  and  up  only.

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i’m gonna make some pizza rolls as a reward. 

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( superman? )

     Eyes slowly lost the heat as he stared carefully at the masked figure. Head tilting even further, he hovers mere inches from the ground. He didn’t understand what she meant, what she was doing with her hand. A breath taken deeply, he moves closer. Words formed in his throat but he swallowed them down. They didn’t make sense. 

     The closer he looked, the more his eyes adjusted until he was scanning her, looking for anything that could pose a danger to himself. He didn’t focus on her face, no. It meant very little to him now. 

     After all, he didn’t know her.

     Feet touched down to the ground, bare and exposed. He continued to advance slowly, though the look of confusion morphed into one of mild disdain. She was weak, not worth the consideration. What could she possibly mean to him?

     He stopped a few feet from her, unwilling ( or unable? ) to talk but still found himself waiting and listening.

𝗣𝗔𝗧𝗜𝗘𝗡𝗖𝗘 𝗜𝗦 𝗙𝗔𝗥 𝗙𝗥𝗢𝗠 𝗕𝗘𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗛𝗘𝗥 𝗦𝗧𝗥𝗢𝗡𝗚-𝗦𝗨𝗜𝗧 — but with teeth grit, she bears the brunt of it. she takes the weight of his silence, of his continued indifference, but there’s a part of her that wonders if perhaps there is any part of him left inside at all. but there’s something in the back of her mind screaming that there is, and she almost laughs when she realizes: it’s hope. hope that clark is in there, somewhere. whether he remembers her or not, it didn’t much seem to matter — no matter how much it might pain her. helena doesn’t care, just so long as he comes back. him, not...whoever this is standing at a distance from her.

she dares to take a single step toward him, deciding then to allow her hands to remove the mask which shielded the world from her true identity; huntress, revealed to be helena bertinelli. she bears that same hope in the back of her mind and prays that her gesture will be worth it, lachrymose gaze pleading as amber hues look up at him. “ — I told you i’d take care of martha, clark, and I have.”

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𝗔𝗙𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗦𝗛𝗢𝗖𝗞𝗦, 𝗣𝗔𝗥𝗧 𝗜𝗜𝗜. @mansteeled​ ​

𝗦𝗨𝗣𝗘𝗥𝗠𝗔𝗡'𝗦 𝗙𝗨𝗡𝗘𝗥𝗔𝗟 𝗪𝗔𝗦 𝗛𝗘𝗟𝗗 𝗢𝗡 𝗔 𝗦𝗔𝗧𝗨𝗥𝗗𝗔𝗬: the city of metropolis declaring him worthy of a procession of the highest honor. funny, how quick some were to embrace him, the idea of laying him to rest with such distinction — even those who had vilified him only weeks before. the citizens had gathered for a candlelight vigil at superman's monument, mourning for their lost hero — canons fired, and a series of jets had performed a missing man formation over the parade intended to lead him home. his casket, while empty, had been draped with the american flag: an honor bestowed upon him, decidedly, by the commander-in-chief himself  — even following the events in washington d.c. (and perhaps, in part, because of those events…) the capitol city had even partaken in their own ceremony to honor the one and only superman. his body, however, lay instead within a wooden casket in smallville, kansas — lead by its own procession to honor the passing of their very own clark kent. ahead of the procession was martha, a woman helena had only heard about through the many heartwarming stories which had been shared by her son. it’s solemn, and she wishes the entire walk from the farm, through the corn field, to his place of burial that martha did not have to make the trek alone. no, she wasn’t alone  — she had what seemed like the entire population of smallville traveling in her wake; yet helena remembers what it was like to be in those shoes. she remembers what it’s like to be the sole remainder of your own family, and the sudden emotional nausea almost forces her to stop in her tracks...but looking to martha, she continues on. during his service, she stands alone at a distance, blending in with the crowd of mourners as she listened to the priest speak: and it’s strange to think that while she has long since left that part of her life behind, she finds comfort in his words. helena lingers long after the crowd disperses and martha has assumedly returned to the visitors back at the farm. lingers, until she finally deems it safe enough to approach the still uncovered grave. she kneels, and for the first time in a long time her hands fold in front of her and she says a silent prayer, kissing the part between her hands before her eyes open to peer into the hole where he lay.

“how do you imagine i’ll sleep, now?” it’s a question to the wind, although if he were here he would know exactly what she was referring to. there are many things she wants to say: that she forgives him, that she’s the one who is sorry, that she wishes he was here. none seem quite as important as the words she actually speaks. “...I’ll take care of her, your mom. of martha. don’t worry...”

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friendly reminder that batman nominated helena for the justice league. another friendly reminder that she was kicked out not once, but twice.  

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also: shoutout to @captm who is my hero & i’m probably not gonna ever shut up about it now. you’ll all see the LOVELY GRAPHICS ETC. on the new blog, once it’s eventually unveiled one of these days .....   👀

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from here / @mansteeled​

𝗦𝗛𝗘 𝗔𝗣𝗣𝗥𝗢𝗔𝗖𝗛𝗘𝗦, hesitant and mystified as to how he could actually be standing there before her. helena isn’t a believer in magic, or — well, much these days, and whatever divination is at play here, she certainly does not understand. what she does understand is that this is not the same superman as before he had died. at least not yet. what exactly had the justice league expected?

she raises a hand, palm toward him as if to signal a meager surrender: i come in peace. it would be funny, if it wasn’t so tragic. her heart beat rapid within her chest, but she does well to keep a calm facade. helena’s always been good at that: acting. “....you know me.” she tells him, rather than asks, and fingers nearly lift to remove her mask. she refrains, but gestures toward it, hoping that instead of violently wiping her off the face of the planet — he would instead use his vision to detect her visage below the huntress disguise. “you can see. you know me.”

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helena’s favorite tumblr is already being recommended to us on her new blog & i’m highly amused by it. 

anyway, by some miracle, my laptop is still @ 8%???

anyway: come find hel on wire, i’ll be awake for a while! @ hauntrcss

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who remembers my first helena url? just checking.

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@mansteeled​ earlier this week: suddenly i have the urge to send an umprompted  “superman is dead, how does your muse react” ask me, finishing part 3 out of so many more i have planned: