i'll give you everything ;

i know i've made some mistakes but i'll be different you'll see

[helsmarx]

@henribau !!

Helena had a stencil pressed carefully against the brick wall with one hand as she shook her paint can with the other. Her nose wrinkled slightly behind the black bandana wrapped around the lower half of her face before she turned, trusting her sixth sense to tell her that there was someone else on the street (which there was). She looked at him for a moment from under the brim of a black baseball cap, dropping her can and dropping her hand instead to the collapsible baton in the front pouch of the bag across her shoulders. Helena learned a long time ago if she was going to be as small as she was and hang around with as rough a crowd as she did at the times of night she was wont to be out, she was going to have to make sure that she knew how to take care of herself. “Want something?” she asked, her head tilting as she tried to make herself look bigger than she actually was at 5′2, tossing her lavender hair behind her shoulder. 

[helsmarx]

detectiveatwood‌:

The moment Helena gave him that smile, he knew she would be a tough nut to crack. “Class traitor? You really know how to hurt a man’s feelings.”

Of course she would lawyer up the second she saw him. “Does your rebellion even go with a cause or do you and your friends just like to make noise?” In his opinion, she was taking her last name a little too seriously. “This is serious, Helena, someone really screwed up this time. You should reconsider talking to me before this gets worse.” Roman didn’t want the feds knocking on their doors any more than she did, but the murder of a politician? That was bound to cause ripples.

“I wouldn’t say it if it wasn’t true, sweetheart.” She kept her fake, bright smile on her features, kids still filing out of the class she had been teaching. Bye, Miss Helena! one little girl called out with a wild wave, her other hand tight in her mother’s grasp. Helena’s smile immediately turned genuine, a clear shift in her features as she turned around waved back and said so long. When she looked back at Roman, her face wasn’t even contorted into the wild grimace she had been giving him before, just pure hatred. “I’m sure if someone screwed up, it wasn’t me,” she replied simply. “If you’re going to grab a couple of your jackboots to drag me down to the precinct, you better tell me what happened. My lawyer’s going to want to know.” 

[helsmarx]

noclking‌:

     His lungs were aching as his feet hit the pavement while he was running down the street. The police siren rang in his ears, screaming at him to run faster and further away. He couldn’t be caught, not again. The last thing he wanted was to get thrown into the back of the police car the second night in a row but he knew he wouldn’t be able to run forever. He was close to simply giving up when he noticed the hand reaching out for him. A warning bell rang in his mind, he knew she was probably just helping him out but truth be told, when did anyone randomly help people like him out? If the police weren’t following him he would have laughed and walked away, but he was desperate. “ Fuck it. “ He mumbled as he joined her in the cramped hiding space. His chest rising and falling heavily while he listened to the police car near them and eventually go past them. “ Thank you, you literally just save my ass. “

Pulling the door shut behind him, Helena leaned back against the wall, as if that would make more room in the awfully uncomfortable storage closet she had found for the theater next door. She leaned her head over and put her ear against the door. “They’re sticking around for a minute.” She heard a couple of short whoops of the siren. If they were going to come looking down here, it wouldn’t take too long to find them. Helena was always so confident that the pigs were so stupid there was no possible way they would catch her. She obviously forgot that there were very legitimate ways in which they exerted their power. Even if they got caught, however, Helena knew she would be okay. It wouldn’t be her first time getting arrested, and she had the connections to make sure it would be just as short a stint as last time. “Yeah, well, you can buy me a sandwich after you pawn whatever you stole.” She squinted at him in the darkness. “I’m just taking a guess here, but if the cops are after you for anything worse than stealing, I’m going to need to ask you to leave.” 

[helsmarx]

xonikkireed‌:

Nikki was emptying out her work apron to find a small clump of dollar bills in the pocket. “Mine would say ‘Nikki Reed: Died from lack of tips’.” Her nose wrinkled as she shoved the money back into her apron and let out a deep sigh. “I should become like a stripper in Manhattan or something. The rich guys over there are just barely more tolerable than the dumpster rats that come and fester at the bar.” Nikki shook her head. “Maybe you need a change of scenery too– we could take a trip somewhere?” she offered. 

She took another hit of the vape in her hand and talked while smoke billowed out from between her lips. “If people aren’t tipping at least 15 percent, they’re assholes,” Helena said simply, spinning around once in the chair. “At least if you’re a stripper, you might get a sugar daddy,” she pointed out. “Not to mention, like, all the feminist and sexual-liberation-y reasons to do it,” Helena added. She spun around once more. “I think it’s worth giving a shot. You have a solid plan here, you know? Plus, you’re hot.” 

[helsmarx]

florienneadcins‌:

                         RUSSET strands, errant and tumbling from the ponytail that was currently keeping her hair, as she peered down at the blank canvas situated in front of her, a red paintbrush dipped in a latte brown, her weapon of choice as she sat in her studio, nestled within the confines of her capacity, a reticent reverie before she was plucked, like a flower from its form, as the sound of Helena’s voice interrupted any procedure that suggested she might muse; though not as there was the slightest of semblance, just remnants, the spaces in between, but nothing conclusive. Setting down the paintbrush, Ford hindered, uncertain what to say before inhaling a sharp breath and turning off the music, Debussy, one of her favourites and greeting her protegee. “Bonjour Helena,” she said before standing up, stretching, she had been seated there for the better half of the morning since she had the day off from Oliver, she just hoped he wasn’t too lost without her. “Define “good”,” she responded, footsteps padding over to the coffee machine as she started a pot. “Shit to work through, how poetic,” she said, before sitting, “sometimes, from my experience, when I have “shit to work through”, and words seem to abandon me in my time of need, I find that channelling whatever I’m feeling, whether it’s sadness or anger, or even happiness, into the work. You don’t have to worry if it’s good, or not, you just have to worry about what it’s doing for you, whether it’s doing your emotions justice. You see, sometimes art isn’t about other people, it’s about placing a piece of your soul, pressing it onto paper without having to feel the weight of the world, as if someone’s going to like it. Because at the end of the day, they’re your emotions, your thoughts, no one else’s and who cares if someone doesn’t like it? Fuck them, they can’t tell you how to feel.” Her gaze diverted towards the window as she let out a steady breath, the murmurings of her heart, a rhythmic ballad as she drifted throughout. 

“Bonjour, Ford,” she said as if she was greeting the principal after being called down for bad behavior. She dropped her bag at her feet and sunk into a chair, leaning her head back all the way and staring up at the ceiling as she listened to the clattering sounds of Ford putting on a pot of coffee. She knew that what Ford was saying was right—that Helena should just use this, get through it, and move on, but it seemed so far out of the realm of possibility for her to even think about painting something like this. She had used her art for a specific purpose, a specific vision. She wasn’t going to feel good about anything she made that was drenched in sentiment. 

Helena looked up. “I don’t want to see what I’d paint right now,” she said simply before dropping her head again. Helena felt she was her best self when she was alone. That wasn’t to say that she didn’t like people, because she did. She was just too much for most, with her anarchist ways and her crazy hair and her insatiable attitude. To have Jim—the only person who had ever really put up with it in any meaningful sort of way, past just cursory friendship—come crashing back into her life after she had promised herself she wouldn’t let him have this sway over her anymore was confusing at best. She didn’t want to pick apart the reasons why she felt like this, but that’s exactly what painting would do.

[helsmarx]

[helsmarx]

detectiveatwood‌:

@helsmarx 

Roman stood outside the building, waiting for her to leave her latest class and wondering how those parents could trust her with their kids. He would’ve thought twice before letting her teach them anything. God knows what kind of anarchist nonsense she would be spewing in between coloring activities. Roman checked his watch several times before he heard the front door swing open. Finally. He was about to fall asleep on his feet.

He approached her without further ado. “The infamous Helena Marx… Do you have a minute? I would really like to ask you a few questions.”

Helena was wiping her hands with a rag when she stepped out of the building, already thinking about the meeting she was going to tonight with some of her more radical friends ad barely paying attention when Roman approached her. She tilted her head to the side and gave him her fakest smile. “Oh, you know I’d do anything to help the cops,” she said with a grin. “You know I’m going to call my lawyer before I say anything, right?” She tucked the rag into her bag, the corner of it still sticking out and her fingers still stained with paint. “It’s funny how you would think I’d be willing to actually give you anything, class traitor.” Helena had a few too many run-ins with Roman to be fucked with being polite. She just jumped right into it, because she knew that an argument was where their conversation was heading anyway. 

[helsmarx]

@thcanaiis liked for a starter!!

Helena had been spending her time volunteering down at the community center quite often, but because teaching art classes for adults usually came a little later at night than for children, she usually ended up being out far too late for her liking, which always ended in her feeling paranoid and terrified all the way home. So, when she caught someone else—a woman, thankfully, for she was far more inclined to trust a lady than a man—Helena called out to her. “Hey!” she said. “You wouldn’t happen to be going to the F train, would you?” she asked, tilting her head to the side hopefully. If she had someone else around, this walk would be a bit more bearable—and she wasn’t trying to take any chances. Even if she did have a full baton to whip out in her bag.

[helsmarx]

@naomiscalzi liked for a starter!!

Helena had her (now mangled) scooter resting against the curb next to her as she sat on the sidewalk, tending to the road rash on her arm. “Think I should sue ‘em?” she asked, wrinkling her nose in disdain as she patted at her arm. The man from the car was looking murderous across the street as he got on the phone with whoever was in charge of the insurance for that car—because, of course, it wasn’t his car, making all of this more difficult—while Helena took care of her torn clothes and bloody elbows and knees. “He’s a dickhole. A verified dickhole. I didn’t realize that those actually existed.” She scoffed, shaking her head and looking back down at her arm as she pressed the gauze against her skin (she always carried a first aid kit specifically stocked to treat these kinds of bad scrapes). “People need to chill out.” 

[helsmarx]

@noclking liked for a starter!!

Perhaps Helena shouldn’t have been so wiling to help anyone else who was in her position, but the anarchist in her said that the cops were pretty much always wrong—and so when she caught sight of the young man running down the street with the sound of the cops not too far behind, she opened the door for the cramped hiding space she had found and reached a hand out. “In here, come on!” She might not have looked all that trustworthy, considering the bandana that covered most of her face and her dark clothing, but her eyes were kind and genuine and she didn’t seem to be much of a threat, so there would be no reason for this guy not to trust her. Besides, she just had a good feeling about this—and her instincts were generally right. “Come on!”  She gestured for him to join her. 

[helsmarx]

@xonikkireed liked for a starter!!

Helena leaned back in her seat and lifted her vape to her lips, spinning aimlessly in the almost-broken desk chair as she let out a cloud of smoke. “I think I’m going to die,” she said simply. “I think I’m going to die and all that’s going to be written on my headstone is ‘Helena Marx: Died from lack of inspiration.’” She was being dramatic and she knew it, but it felt true. Making art was second nature to her, it came as easily as breathing or eating. When she didn’t have anything to say, she felt like she was too exposed. If she wasn’t telling her opinion, then the opinions would start to be about her as a person rather than her as a thinker. And she didn’t want that for a second—that was just asking for trouble. 

[helsmarx]

@escapiists liked for a starter!!

"Wow, that’s a pretty cool piece.” Helena wrapped her paint-stained fingers around the strap of her bag, a crooked smirk starting to curve up at the corner of her lips. A small crowd had gathered around her latest work, an expansive, stenciled mural across the side of the Flynn Industries building. It was political—like most of her work was these days—and dark—also like most of her work these days. It wasn’t her fault that the world seemed to be going down the drain at a much more alarming rate than it ever had before. She was just painting what she felt and what she saw, and what she saw was that drug prices were literally killing people. So she painted that. “What do you think?” she asked, turning to the person next to her. “A little dark for my taste.” 

[helsmarx]

take what you want from me.

[helsmarx]

jimmontgomeryx‌:

For the last three years, Jim had mostly kept to himself and his work. He got into music producing a year after Harry passed, though he only did it to have extra money to send back to his mother. Jim felt bad for her. She’d gotten stuck with an ass of a husband and a son who seemed pretty destined to follow his father’s path. Though Jim was really doing everything not to be like Harry. He never went out and drank, never partied till the early hours of the morning, and never got wrapped up in the publicity of the business.

He was definitely more down to Earth than most people in the music industry. Jim wanted to keep things chill, he never wanted a huge fuss over his name like how girls would shriek over his dad.  Jim just wanted to play his music how he liked it. He wanted his music to touch people and to make them think. He didn’t care if they could dance to it or if it was catchy. Jim just wanted to do what he loved.

“How we doing in the Bronx tonight?” he asked in his smooth, soft voice. Jim always sounded like he was in a library– he spoke low and quiet, which was just how his dad sounded. Just before the lights dimmed, Jim caught sight of a familiar face. It couldn’t be. Jim shook his head and smiled back out at the crowd before looking down at his guitar. When a few people clapped and cheered, Jim got on with his set. 

After Jim was done, he said his thank you’s before leaving out the back. He never ever stayed and mingled. That was one mistake his father had made. Harry hung around the all girl groupies and far too often slept with far too many of them. Of course his mother knew, but she always knew he could change. It was a shame he died before he could, but Jim knew he probably wouldn’t. Somehow, it had to be better this way.

“Lena!” Jim called out, taking long strides down the sidewalk. “Hey, hey.” he said, slightly out of breath after playing and nearly running down the street. “I— I haven’t— you never called me.” Jim awkwardly scratched the back of his head as he looked at her. Though Jim didn’t call either. For them, ghosting each other was just easier than having to say goodbye.

Helena couldn’t help but scoff as soon as he spoke. Ass. Of course he thought it was on her, that penis-faced...dick. She wished she was just a little more eloquent with her words, but beside that, she couldn’t really think of something good and juicy to insult him with. Maybe it was because she didn’t believe it. She knew that the way they had drifted apart was both of their faults. And that was why she didn’t want to admit to it. She was getting defensive because she was tired of making the same mistakes that she always did, over and over again. 

“Really? Why I didn’t call you.” She was strictly unamused and it showed on her features. Helena refused to take the blame for this—as she always (at least initially) refused to take the blame for most things that happened between them. She was stubborn, and once she made her opinion, she had to be slowly proven wrong. She wasn’t great at trusting people—and Jim  had let her down so many times before. She resented him for that, which she knew was unfair, because she had let him down more times than she could remember.

It’s all water under the bridge. She tested the thought out, wondering if it was worth letting him off the hook for this one, but she didn’t like how it felt. She knew that she was ultimately going to forgive him—she always forgave him—but she had only just promised herself that she was going to let this go. She took a couple of steps towards him, standing her ground as if she was the hulk and not a tiny 5′2. It actually made her seem bigger. “I was there for you through all that shit. And you just disappeared on me. I was worried about you—” she jabbed his chest with two fingers “—you dick.” 

And that was what it really came down to. At the root of everything, all of her resentment towards him, it was just that she wanted to know he was okay. She wanted to be there for him. Helena was fiercely loyal to the people she decided were worth it. Jim had made that cut a long time ago. When he went silent on her after Harry died, she didn’t know what to think. She had tried once or twice to text him after that, but she hadn’t put much effort into it. Helena felt incredibly guilty about this—she was almost relieved when Jim had started pulling away, because she wanted to take a step back, too. 

[helsmarx]

@ghvsteds liked for a starter!!

"I swear it wasn’t my fault.” Helena was carting her now mangled scooter under her arm as she walked down the block next to James. Someone had run over her scooter and popped a tire, which Helena certainly couldn’t pay for, and she had gotten into an argument with the driver who was a little too big and scary to be arguing with, but Helena never thought much of that. In her mind, she was just as big and just as tall as any creep out there and she wasn’t going to get intimidated. As the fight started to escalate, she was lucky that James had been going towards his office down the street and helped calm the situation down. Still, she knew that he knew how reckless she was on that scooter—while she had fallen backwards onto the curb and knocked her head against a lamppost, which mostly bruised her ego, the scooter had rolled out of her hands and into traffic. “I know you think it was, and I want to say, you don’t know me that well.” 

[helsmarx]

@florienneadcins liked for a starter!!

“I haven’t come up with anything good.” Helena’s creative process had been derailed when she and Jim had seen each other again. It brought up too much to sort through, and she wasn’t that kind of artist—not publicly, anyway. Perhaps she did have a stack of paintings with titles and dates neatly written in block letters on the back of the canvas, but those were just for her. “I’m stuck. I’ve got shit to work through.” Helena leaned back on her palms. “I feel like an angsty teenager, you know?” It was a terrible feeling, one that was sucking her inspiration even further away from her. It was ironic—a lack of inspiration made her more stressed and caused even more lack of inspiration. It was a cycle she couldn’t quite break. 

[booasaur]

The Purge (2018) - 1x02

[helsmarx]

take what you want from me.

@jimmontgomeryx !!! 

It was just another bar. It was just another night. 

In order to stave off the feelings of loneliness, Helena was wont to go home with the first person who caught her eye and passed the minor litmus test to prove that they weren’t a psychopath. It wasn’t a perfect system by any means, but it was a system nonetheless, and one that worked for Helena. She was sure that some condescending asshole of a voice-of-reason in the back of her mind was just waiting to tell her how she was squandering her heart, that she needed to take a step back and take care of herself. She needed to move on, for real this time.

It had been years now since she had spoken to Jim, and while she knew that she didn’t owe him anything—they had never even admitted that they were boyfriend and girlfriend—she also didn’t think that she was completely her own. A part of her heart still belonged to him, even now, even three years later. Perhaps a part of her heart would always belong to him and they were doomed to forever do this dance, around each other, together and apart again. It was easier than admitting that there was something more here. It was easier than admitting how much of herself she would give to him. 

Until she could actually let go of all that, it was just another bar for yet another night and yet another stranger plying her with drinks until they finally wore her down and she decided to go home with them, if for no other reason than because she didn’t want to hike all the way back to her place. She came here all the time—she didn’t think to check the ticket on the door to see who was playing. It was always some garbage band she didn’t even listen to, anyway. 

However, when Helena heard the sound of a voice floating out over the crowd, sound-checking the mic onstage, she instantly knew who it was. Her palms went sweaty. For a moment, her vision seemed to go dark around the edges, as if she might pass out, and she swayed on the spot slightly before she turned away from the now-invisible person she had been flirting with to face the stage. Pushing her lavender hair out of her face, she had to blink a few times to make sure she was seeing who she thought she was seeing. When her gaze confirmed that it was Jim up on the stage, she picked up her bag and quickly started walking towards the door. 

They were too old to keep playing this game. She wasn’t going to do it anymore. 

Helena shoved past the people in her way as she fought to get out of the crowded bar, finally stumbling out onto the pavement and starting down the street. It wasn’t too late to catch the F train, right? She checked her phone as she tucked her hair behind her ear, considering splurging on a taxi back just to get away from all of this. 

She still loved him. Maybe that was the worst part. She still loved him and she didn’t know how to keep herself from saying it this time.