Helena Bertinelli - Blog Posts

I tried the TikTok AI challenge with DC characters pt 2

Tim Drake when Batman, who regularly risks his life to save others out of deep compassion for all of humanity and is vehemently against murder and using guns on ideological and emotional levels, to the point of refusing to kill his most hated enemy who murdered his child in cold blood and remains a deadly threat, is framed for killing his civilian ex-girlfriend with a gun: I hate to say it, but he could be guilty. Being a good detective means assessing all the evidence objectively and not letting personal biases blind you to possibilities. We can’t rule it out.

Tim Drake when Huntress, who regularly kills Mafia members with a special crossbow, is framed for killing a Mafia member with her special crossbow: She’s innocent. I know it. This is too sloppy and incompetent, it isn’t like her.

Dick Grayson ships in order of how toxic you should write them as adults in an established relationship imo (no batcest and we can discuss the harem at a later time)

Least

Dick X Wally: this is the quintessential friends to lovers story it’s adorable. Naturally a lil bit of toxicity bc nightwing is not a healthy person but still the ratio is 99% cute and 1% angst as adults. Feel free to angst away with the Robin/KF thing

Worlds where this is cute: young justice, earth prime pre Wally meeting Linda.

Dick X Kori: listen to me, if you ignore all the shitty writing (yes the babs wedding thing) they r perfect <3. The only person who I believe can be the lights light ya know. The broke up because they both took hits they couldn’t recover from but they still love each other and they’re my favorite canon pairing they should get back together and have a kid and be a cute lil family.

Worlds where this is cute: TT, Earth prime, DCAU, injustice, titans tomorrow, Lego Batman (every single earth actually)

Dick X Zatanna: cute, childhood crush turned sweethearts turned friends nothing to say here I just don’t think it would be toxic

Worlds where this is cute: young justice

Worlds where this should never happen: all the rest (she dated his dad)

Dick X Joey: I love them so I’m biased their relationship is on par with Dick and Wally taking field trips in the 80s. Also this is joeys most popular ship and that makes me laugh. BUT ANYWAY they’re just very homoerotic and I feel like they respect each other enough the toxicity would be on the lower side.

Worlds where this is cute: literally anytime before he possesses his dad’s body.

Times this is concerning: post possessing nightwings body (anyone remember that happening I just ignore it now, cuz I hate the whole evil Joey thing but if you wanna take this ship from 30% toxic to 140% write it post possession with the dude who had autonomy issues)

Dick x Kara: I just feel like the hero worship would get in the way a little bit

Worlds where this is cute: worlds finest

Worlds where this isn’t: the rest

Dick x Roy: I love them sm ur honor (despite how low I’m putting this, it’s one one my top ships) listen Dick and Roy adore each other and would die for each other, but the baggage?? The years of expectations?? The fights??? The fact that Dick gets more and more closed off when he’s mad usually but him and Roy in the same room and fists fly?? But the only people who can talk to Dick when he’s spiraling are Roy and Donna. Like ROY HARPER is one of Dick people!! You don’t understand how much I love how they can hurt each other while loving each other so so so much. They cause me pain. I don’t believe they’d ever mellow out Dick and Wally tho bc they’re whole relationship is heated they have never had a chill emotion about each other in their history of being characters that exist in the same space.

Worlds where this is cute: literally any world where the titans exist/have existed with speedy and Robin as core members

Worlds where no?: new 52 (I hate new 52 and ignore it tho so no universe sucks bc new 52 isn’t real and can’t hurt me)

Dick X Harley Quinn: see I hated this ship and I hate it in canon but I once read a fic that was good enough I now ship it on the dl and think it would be good for Harley to be with someone who can be a safety net. But like this is AU rare pair type shit and it’s low bc I literally cannot picture a canon universe where this isn’t the most toxic thing ever.

Worlds where yes: DCAU (AU) not even the canon one like the AU of the AU that is the DCAU (take a shot Everytime I say AU)

Dick X Shawn Tsang: I’m sorry yall Shawn was such a boring character I forgot she existed but I remember that she broke up with him after he lost his memory cuz she thought he was ghosting her and like not only does it feel like she just existed to give dick a love interest. Also this comic featured the character death wing and so it’s so low not bc the ship sucks except it does bc why dick?? Are you dating someone who hates heroes?? Why r u like this??? Stopppp but also bc imo the ship has a white bread type of content that is toxic to me personally and that’s more important.

Dick x Bea Bennet: I loved them sm in the beginning, best part of the Ric Grayson arc and then they added the spyral ties and made her a pirate and tbh that ruined it for me. Dick and Bea only work as a cute relationship if Bea is a way out or a window into the outside world like something to ground the man who is always trying to get his feet off the ground. It would be interesting. But now she’s just another another relationship where he didn’t know who he was dating and tbh I don’t think he’d be down for that post literally everything that’s ever happened to him romantically after the age of 16

Dick Babs: yes it’s this low, no I will not change it. It should be lower but I used to ship this so it’s only my fond memories keeping it this high. Babs slept with his father after dating him in at least 2 universes. Dick left Gotham for freedom and she quite literally drags him back Everytime they’re together it feels like about 30 years of Dicks character development is erased. And let’s not talk about Barbara used to be a congress woman Gordon. They deaged her to make her a decent love interest for someone who was a kid when she was running for congress. And because of the fact their characters don’t naturally balance out the way some of his other canon ships do (Bea, Shawn, KORI(the best canon ship imo), hell even Helena) it leads to the characters becoming flanderizations of themselves. Dick is a loveable himbo whose only defining characteristic is his ass and I hate to say it Barbara Gordon literally just turns into female Bruce and I hate it so much but genuinely read though some of their older stuff it’s like..ugh. Anyway I hate this ship I think it’s bad for both of them and while I’m not babs biggest fan I still like her and she and Dick should be best friends who get drunk on weekends and shit talk the bats and their respective teams (titans, birds of pray)

Dick X Helena bertinelli: yall wtf is this ship, if this is your main ship? Why? Tell me? Like what?? Helena??? Esp prime earth Helena?? He has more chemistry with midnighter than her (but we are not discussing the harem so I will remain silent)

Now the most toxic ship that isn’t incestuous is so obvious bc no one has ever pictured this ship with a modicum of health in it except its creator (derogatory) I’m 99% sure every single fic tagged this also has the domestic violence tag

Dick X Catalina Flores. Yeah no a billion times no this shit is so toxic the jack Napier fell into it and became the joker. This shit so toxic it only serves as a trauma boat for another person to swoop in and get him out I hate this so much.

Now dick is an old character so he has about a billion other relationships. But these are either the recent ones (Shawn, Bea) or the ones that have a lot of ao3 clout (birdflash) or something that makes my heart soft (dick and Joey) plus his most iconic 2 pairing I will not be getting into characters like Daphne, Clancy or Betty or anything else or the creepy ones like the fact he’s had shit with both catwoman and taila.

Thank you for coming to my ted talk

the huntress herself

The better question is who is mommy and daddy between helena and sofia because I can see them switching

i was thinking about this as well… for some reason i see helena having a softer side compared to sofia who’s definitely a hard dom but i think mommy sofia and daddy helena just works?

I rewatched Birds of Prey yesterday and,,,,, Helena and Sofia are rotting my brain 🫣🫠

- darkfalcone

yesss omg your post put the sofia and helena duo in my mind so i had to do my annual rewatch of birds of prey 😭 side note: i had no idea françois chau (mr zhao) is also in birds of prey??

my thoughts on helena bertinelli x sofia gigante x fem!reader:

sofia and helena are similar in many ways; they both come from infamous italian crime families, have overcome several hardships, and are both infatuated with you.

considering they’re both the products of very affluent families they’re definitely not accustomed to sharing - especially not you. but after a tiff regarding who would ultimately be allowed to ask you out they settled on a better option.

somehow, after a night of one too many dirty martinis at roman’s club, you found yourself stumbling into the back of a black g wagon with two dark-haired women and eventually, back to sofia’s stately home.

they exchange a playful look at each other before turning to face you, taking in your vulnerable position on the couch. “what do you suggest we do with her, helena?”

helena circles around behind you, trailing her fingers along your exposed shoulders “i think we should have some fun with her,” she proposes.

you savour the feeling of their hands on your skin as they expertly work to remove your clothes; every touch amplified by how fuzzy your head is from the drinks.

they both have insane family issues so that’s mommy and daddy right there. they hate to admit it but hearing you call them that riles them up even more than it does you.

they love to watch your cheeks flush as they shower you with praise like “look at her, being so good for mommy and daddy,” or “you just looked far too pretty, we had to take you home,” their voices sickly sweet.

yet they love watching you fall apart even more. mocking how pussy drunk you look, chuckling “troia” under their breath at how your legs fall open for them. blindfolding you and making you guess who’s eating you out just to punish you regardless of whether you get it right or not.

I got Huntress 😻😻😻

Spin the wheel and get a DC character

DC's whitewashing problem is so weird. They choose to turn a completely random and already established character into black instead of admitting Selina Kyle is Cuban and give her some melanin.

DC turned Helena Bertinelli aka Huntress black to distinguish between her and Helena Wayne from earth 2, the daughter of Bruce Wayne and Selina Kyle, that is also Huntress.

Selina is Cuban. DC are trying to erase it but she's Cuban.

Instead of giving Selina, an already poc person, the melanin she deserves, and passing it to her daughter, as it supposed to be, they choose to make a completely different character brown.

To be clear I'm not complaining they turned Helena Bertinelli brown, I'm quite enjoying it.

I just find it so stupid that DC turned a completely random character brown, only so they won't have to admit their already brown poc character they are whitewashing is brown.

If someone knows what comics this panels are from please let me know I'm searching for this comics

The last panel is of Talia Al Ghul, it looks like a fun story.

If anyone has any other Talia recs I would love to get some as well!

I downloaded most of these from Pinterest/ TikTok or places I don't remember so I have no idea where they are from.

If someone knows where any of these are from please tell me I would be very grateful thank you.

Sorry for my bad English, English is not my native language.

Why I’m Team Cap (and It Really Couldn’t Be Any Other Way)

#TeamCap and the big problem with the superhero genre #Arrow #Daredevil #CivilWar #MCU #DC

I recently started watching Arrow on Netflix; everyone on Tumblr seems to think “Olicity” is the greatest OTP since The One True Way or at least Destiel (neither Destiel nor Olicity reaching the heights of OTW obvi) and I wanted to understand (this is also how I ended up watching 9.5 seasons of Supernatural, but that is a story for another time). I also recently, like everyone else with a Netflix…

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Question.. I love u.. 😭💙🧡

we’re finished! This is my last drawing!!

I hate how her apartment looks but I adore the both of them and their relationship in the series❣️

⁸sorry for the bad quality 🥲

Saddest DC members in my opinion with no explanation and there will be people missing because I haven’t read that many comics;

Cassandra Cain. Hal Jordan. John Constantine. Helena Bertinelli. Kara Zor El. Oliver Queen.

Will probably add more to this and please comment your thoughts.

The goons rating the bats and birds in Gotham.

Batman: 4/10 beats us up and leaves. He talks to us like he’s better but we don’t go flying around beating people up in a furry suit.

Robin: 5/10 talks like the 1800’s and has a sword.

Red Robin: 6/10 we like that he’s smart. Plus he got sued by the restaurant and broke Two Face out to represent him so that was iconic.

Spoiler: 4/10 terrible jokes.

Red Hood: 6/10 he shoots us but treats his employees well.

Nightwing: 2/10 terrible jokes and sometimes gets really angry.

Signal: 6/10 the only day bat and he’s pretty nice but absolutely terrifying when he does that power thing and it looks like he’s a shadow.

Batwoman: 2/10 is mean.

Batgirl: 5/10 was smart but not a great fighter so it was fun. Don’t know where she went but she’s back so yay kinda.

Black Bat: 7/10 is terrifying and doesn’t talk but is kinda gentle and is an angel when she does talk. Also she holds back a lot, we can see with her other fights. And we don’t see her a ton.

Huntress: 2/10 shoots us with arrows and is rude.

Escape Velocity

An exploration of a possible backstory for Tiger

https://archiveofourown.org/works/15937247

His earliest memory is of his mother's cooking, and one of the few things he can remember of her. Her long dark hair, soft voice and the shimmering smell of Bosnian Shorba that permeated the air around her. That had been her favourite dish, his father would tell him years later on one of the few times he would speak of her. There had been a bombing that day, whilst he was at school, the shells hitting so close the ground rumbled underneath the force. Their teacher kept them in the classroom until the last of the tremors stopped, his eyes glued to the dust and smoke rising from the window on the east side. From where he lived.

Then he ran, school work abandoned, he ran to the beat of the blood in his ears, until he couldn't feel the breath in his chest. Strong hands caught him as he neared the site. "No! Let me go." He demanded, struggling against the grip. All he could think of was his house, only a few streets over.

"There is nothing you can do Namir. Your father is already there, we will wait for news from him."

Namir turns to face his uncle, fists clenched but sighs at the look on his face. His uncle is right, there is nothing he can do. Perhaps his mother had been visiting a friend or buying ingredients for the night’s meal. She may not have been at home at all, or the bomb could have missed their house, it could have hit the street over and she would be shaken but unharmed.

People stream past them, men going to join the efforts to free those who may be trapped under the rubble, family's joyful shouts as they reunite, the wails of those who have received terrible news.  He stands there throughout it all, with only the heavy weight of his uncle's hand on his shoulder to anchor him to reality, lost within his own mind, heartbeat sharp against his rib cage. The noises seem to reach him through water, everyone moving in slow motion.

Then the water bursts.

A figure emerges from the mass, broad shouldered and bearded, cradling a bundle to his chest. His father knees when he reaches them and Namir reaches out to the cloth, exposing the face of his younger brother. Sangar's small nose wrinkles as he coughs weakly, green eyes fluttering. The cloth is speckled with blood. Namir searches desperately for his mother, looking past his father.

"I'm sorry Namir. I'm sorry son."

-

Namir's temper surges. He doesn't give his opponent time to think, launching himself at the other boy in a whirlwind of fury. There is no skill behind his punches, but there is a strength born of the harsh reality of the life he has lived. His mind his blank save for the roaring in his ears, his whole world narrowed to the taller boy he fought and the exchanging of their fists.

He lands the first blow, glancing off Batoor's cheek.

It has been five years since the war against the Soviet's had ended. There hadn't been much fanfare around the whole affair. One day the fighting just ceased. "The Soviets are leaving." His father had told him, "Najibullanh's government is collapsing. The war is over, Namir." He hadn't known what that had meant, the concept of peace far from anything he had ever known. The fighting had existed before he was born, and he had been so sure it would never end. And yet, the tanks had retreated, the bombs no longer fell.

But that tentative peace hadn't lasted long.

Only two years later the Taliban invaded, a surprise attack that hadn't lasted long. Long enough for those foolish enough to believe in freedom to fight, for those brave enough like his father and uncle to lose their lives.

A hit to his chest has Namir staggering backwards. His foot catches on a rock and he falls, wind rushing from his lungs as he hits his back against the unforgiving ground. Through his gasping, he can just see the figure of the other boy approaching to press his advantage. Namir sweeps his legs out desperately, catching Batoor just below the knee and knocking him off his feet.

By now the two of them have amassed a small crowd. They form a ring around the two fighting boys calling encouragements and insults. Namir's eyes land on an older man, watching them with laser like intensity. Over the din of the crowd he hears the words accompanying the movement of his mouth. "Five hundred that the taller boy wins."

A fresh wave of anger rushes through Namir. He forces himself to his knees. He would not let Batoor win, no matter what any other thought. He stumbles over to him, straddling his chest to deliver, one, two blows to his head. Batoor catches his fist on the third and twists violently.

The two of them roll, tussling in the dirt each throwing punches and kicks at the other as they can. Namir feels Batoor's nails scrape down his arm, the burn of breaking skin.

A cry rings out through the on lookers. Taliban soldiers are approaching. Namir pulls back from the other boy immediately, his anger not enough to make him stupid. He scatters with the rest of the crowd, ignoring the soldier's shouts for them. He knows these streets well, ducking through back alleyways and the smallest of gaps between houses, not slowing until the yells have long since faded into nothingness.

At last he leans against the wall of a house, chest rising and falling as he attempts to catch his breath. He touches his split lip, assessing what damage Batoor might have done.

"You fought well."

Namir whirls around to face the voice. It's the man from before. "You bet against me." He says.

"I did. I wanted to see how you would fight to prove me wrong." The man replies easily.

Namir's eyes narrow in his distaste at being manipulated. "And?"

The man chuckles amused by his boldness. "You fought with a sharp mind as well as strong fists. I have need of boys who can fight like you."

Fear clutches at Namir's heart as he comes to a sudden realisation. "If you are with the Taliban; I am not interested in your wars." He subtly shifts himself away from the man, preparing himself to run.

"No nothing like that." The man reassures, "I am Nangial. I am the manager of many fighters at the Nadi Alqital.” Namir has heard of it before, an underground fight ring, a good place to earn money. “What is your name boy?"

He raises his chin. "Namir."

“Namir.” Nangial hums in consideration, “You were named aptly, little tiger.”

-

The roar of the crowd still echoes through his ears. An arm wrapped around his shoulders steers him into another room, a voice congratulating him. Namir feels numb as he unwraps the blood streaked bandages from around his hands, the adrenaline of the battle draining away to weary tiredness. Nangial hands him a bottle of water. "You did well my fierce Tiger."

Namir doesn't respond, methodically stripping away the last vestiges of the fight. His muscles shake with exhaustion and wounds that will need to be tended to later. For now, he ignores them in favour of wiping the blood from his skin. He needs to return to Sangar soon, he does not like to leave him alone for the entirety of the night, not with his rising renowned making the two of them a target.

Namir wraps his hands with fresh bandages, covering his split and bleeding knuckles. "Will that be all for tonight?" He asks Nangial.

"You don't want to celebrate your victory?" Nangial asks, as he does every time. Namir shakes his head. This night Nangial persists. "If you wish to continue your career you need to make yourself known. There is no way for you to rise above what you have now otherwise, fighting is only part of this."

"I am tried Nangial, perhaps another night."

Namir sees a flicker of greed cross Nangial's face. "Of course, there are other ways to ensure that you are recognised. A way of distinguishing yourself from the rest." Namir nods for him to continue. "I was thinking markings. A tiger, or just stripes."

"Markings?" Namir has thought about tattoos before, intrigued by the idea of them but never anything serious. It was against the teachings of the Prophet. "The Taliban would never allow it, tattoos are haram."

Nangial raises his hands. "No, no, not a tattoo, I would never suggest you imitate the kuffar. But maybe something less... permanent. Paint that can be applied before fights and taken off after." He produces a small pot of black paint. Namir wonders how long that he has been planning this, to be so prepared. He takes the pot, turning it this way and that as he considers it. Namir dips three fingers inside, letting the excess paint drip away, then runs them down the centre of his forehead.

Nangial makes a sound of satisfaction.

Sangar isn't so approving.

"What is that?" He demands as Namir walks through the door.

"Tiger stripes. Nangial believes they will allow me to make more money."

"Of course." Sangar mutters, voice rich with disapproval.

Namir runs a hand through his hair angrily. Sangar has been argumentative recently, and he has heard similar complaints and mutterings all too often lately. "The earnings I make are what allow us to eat, to live in a house and have the clothing we have."

Sangar picks at the edge of the rug, roughly twisting the loose edges between his fingers. "Ah yes, how could I forget. Sometimes I think you are more Tiger than Namir."

"I am tired Sangar, save the arguing for tomorrow." Namir can feel his brother's angry eyes on his back even as he turns away.

-

Namir's hands still, needle halfway through the fabric. Sangar looks down at him, green eyes swim with a mixture of determination and apprehension.

"You are a child." Namir scarcely hears himself talk.  

Sangar crosses his arms, mouth set in a hard line, all hesitation gone. "I am no younger than you were when you started fighting. At least I am doing so for a cause rather my own greed for glory."

Namir stands, his reparation of his shirt forgotten. "I took the job for you, to protect you, to feed you and give you a roof over your head."

Sangar shakes his head. "Maybe at first, but you earn enough to have quit long ago, to have gotten a proper, honourable job." He slumps slightly. "Now you only care for yourself."

A sharp pain lances through him. How could Sangar say such a thing, does he not know the sacrifices that Namir has made for him. "And now you decide to join the Taliban. The people who killed our father and uncle." He spits back, betrayal and disgust warring through him. "You are the one without honour."

His brother flinches. Then his expression hardens. "I have made my decision, I am not asking for your permission nor your approval. I do not need it."  He marches back out the door he just entered, into the street.

Namir watches him disappear from sight. Perhaps if he had known then, he would have chased after Sangar, to apologize and beseech him to return home, to talk him out of the idea. Perhaps he could have changed what happened. But at the time he had not known, instead he stayed frozen where he stood, limbs shaking with the aftereffects of the conversation.

Three months later Kandahar falls. The Americans return in larger numbers and with more weapons than they have before, teaming up with Sherzai and Karzi's men. They bomb Taliban strongholds, promising that not civilians would be harmed. Namir waits with baited breath, as does everyone else who had lived through the war, for the promise to be broken and for houses to be destroyed.

He paces through his home, along the walls until he wears a dent into the rug, for news. Sangar has left to fight, and Namir is conflicted. He does not want his younger brother to be harmed, but still he does not wish for the Taliban to win. And even then, he is not sure if an American rule will be any better, or if they will retreat completely once victorious.

Then, on the sixth of December, the Taliban surrender to Sherzai's men, and on the seventh he appoints himself governor of Kandahar. Sangar did not return to their home, though Namir does hear that many Taliban have fled to Pakistan. He prays that evening that Sangar was one of them.

That night, Namir breaks a punching bag and his right index finger.

-

The attack came with little warning. There had been rumours of the Taliban amassing to reclaim the city of Kandahar as their place of operations, but none expected them to come as they had. Gun fire and shouts fill the streets, rousing Namir from his doze. It is only a little after dawn prayers, and his is tired from the match from the night before.

His bruises scream in protest as he rolls out of bed and dresses, but he ignores them, used to the pain by now.

The last time the Taliban attempted to take Kandahar they succeeded, and Namir lost his father and uncle in the conflict. Then, he was too young to partake, hiding in his home with his brother. This time he intends to fight.

The streets are awash with people; civilians and Afghan and outside military. Namir follows the soldiers as they run towards the conflict, weaving between the fleeing men, women and children. He sees others like him joining in, not military but still willing to fight for what little freedom they have gained since the removal of Taliban forces. The gunfire grows louder as he approaches, cries and the metallic smell of blood thick in the air.

Then he reaches the main square. The Taliban distinguish themselves through the use of black turbans and face coverings. A familiar rage surges through Namir, the adrenaline of the upcoming combat coursing through his veins. He picks up a gun from the cooling body of a fallen man, not giving him a second glance to see who he had been fighting for. There would be time for respect and grief for the dead after the battle is won.

He catches sight of a familiar face. Though it is hardened, baby fat all but lost through the passage of time, the light green eyes cannot be mistaken. "Sangar!" Namir calls, attempting to push through the fray. "Sangar!" His brother makes no indication that he heard, calling to his companions around him, and charging forwards and away.

Namir follows his little brother desperately, not caring whether the people he is knocking out of the way are Taliban or an ally. He loses Sangar in the packed streets, swallowed by the confusion.

A man appears in front of him, shouted commands almost incomprehensible over the noise, gun pointed at Namir. He raises his own gun, the metal cool and unfamiliar in his hands. He is unprepared for the force of the recoil, the shot going wide and hitting a wall. He dodges the return fire, squeezing into a nearby alley for cover. Peeking out, he sees the Taliban soldier struggling to reload. The second shot hits the man in the shoulder and he staggers back with an inarticulate shout.

Namir advances, knocking the man out with a kick to the head from where he writhes on the ground. Another Taliban engages him, a bullet grazing Namir's arm. He hisses at the sting, returning the favour with a bullet of his own. He man swears, dropping his gun in favour of clutching at his leg. Something collides with Namir's back, a strong hand circling his wrist and twisting.

The gun clatters from his grip. Namir slams his elbow back, and the hold loosens. The butt of his opponent's gun catches him on the side of his head as Namir turns, the world swimming before his eyes. He stabilizes himself against a nearby wall, hand held out in front of him to block any attacks. On muscle memory he dodges the first aimed at his torso, sidestepping and using his enemy’s momentum against him. He rips the gun away from the Taliban solider, throwing it to the side.

His opponent swears at Namir, circling him cautiously. Namir snarls like his namesake, lunging forward to knock the other off his rhythm. They exchange blows, Namir clearly the better fighter of the two. He trips the other, throwing him to the floor. A quick blow to the head renders the Taliban soldier unconscious.

Namir winces as his head wound makes itself known, fingers coming away wet when he probes it experimentally

Someone behind shouts at him to halt, and his raises his hands in the face of their threat. His heart leaps as he turns, coming face to face with his little brother. Sangar's grip on his gun wavers, and he lowers it slightly in shock. The rest of the battle fades into the background, as Sangar becomes the centre of Namir's focus. "Hello, brother," he says, voice steadier than he feels.

"...Namir." Sangar takes a step forward, gun lowering even further.

His eyes flicker to Namir's forehead and his mouth tightens. It's been a while since Namir has thought much about the stripes permanently marked on his forehead. He has gotten used to them with time, as have the people around him. Occasionally he still gets disgusted looks, those who believe that tattoos are a mutilation of Allah's creation, but none of them had bothered him. Not like the look his younger brother is giving him now.

"I see you are still playing that ridiculous alter ego of yours. And now to have marked yourself like that." Sangar spits. "You have not changed at all."

Namir does not know if this is true, he is no longer sure who he is, Namir or Tiger. In the ring is the only time he truly feels alive.

"You have grown." He says in answer. "I am glad you are well. I was not sure if you had managed to flee to Pakistan."

Sangar snorts. "Like you ever cared."

Namir catches the glint of metal in the sun. He opens his mouth to call a warning.

Sangar stumbles forwards. A red spot blooms across his chest.

Namir catches his body as he falls. "No." He says helplessly, ripping away his patu, pressing it against the wound. Sangar coughs, blood trickling out of the corner of his mouth. "Sangar, hold on."

Namir looks around desperately, finding no help in the men who continue to fight around them. He cradles Sangar's head on his lap, applying even more pressure to the wound. Within moments the patu is soaked red, doing little to stem the flow. Sangar's breath rattles as he expels it, each gasp shallower than the last.

"Don't leave me little brother, not again."

The light fades from his eyes.

-

The first thing he notices about the woman is that she has no face. Or more specifically he finds himself unable to remember her face once he looks away.

"I've heard of you. The Tiger King of Kandahar." She says.

He inclines his head slightly in response. She stands in the middle of the Nadi Alqital, surrounded by unconscious bodies. A stream of light from a nearby window catches on her blonde hair.

"You can call me Agent 8." She grins at him, with vicious kind of joy. "What do you go by?"

He hesitates, torn between two lives. But there is nothing left for Namir.

"Tiger."

The Birds of Prey movie is going to have Dinah, Helena, Cass and Renee. There is going to be a movie about amazing women of colour, a gay woman and a girl with a disability.

Helena B.

Commission Info

✨️Do not repost or use my art in any AI programs✨️

Tim headcanons

Tim should have one social media (pick a platform I don’t really care which one) account where he only posts pictures

He loves most sci-fi

Major Hypochondriac

Helena took him to see Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker

Tim’s favorite siblings are Dick, Cass, and Helena (in alphabetical order)

When Tim’s older he’ll need glasses

Tim hates how coffee tastes. He likes how it smells but his favorite way to consume caffeine is energy drinks or gum

Tim and Lady Shiva have a bimonthly spar and afterwards they get brunch

Tim is a forever DM and as much as he wants to be a player he has ✨ Control issues ✨

He, Cass, and Steph were in a band [names r hard :(] Tim played the bass Cass played Guitar, and Steph was drums. Tim and Steph wrote most of the songs. It ended when people realized who was behind the band

Please give me band names in the comments. I want them to have a name.