This is compilation of the various tags for my fanfiction, Helga G. Pataki: Hillwood's New Superhero.
As if my life hadn't already been difficult. I already had to watch the love of my life, Arnold, make goo-goo eyes at little Ms. Perfect while completely ignoring me. Now, I had to juggle school, keeping my feelings for him secret and battling evil dressed in a skimpy bathing suit, all the while keeping my lifestyle as a superhero from my nosey classmates.
It is a superhero and magical girl AU of the Hey, Arnold! series. Helga Pataki is the protagonist and is recruited to become a superhero. It is up to her and her team—her found family—to protect the world. Meanwhile, Arnold is noticing her absence and is growing more and more curious about her behaviour.
Clicking on these tags will take you to any of these sections, regarding the story!
Asks
Analysis
Fanarts (!!!)
Memes
Music
Playlist
Snippets
The Guardians’ Fits
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And here, you can read my story —->
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
on my hands and knees for a snippet of the next chapter 🙇♀️🙇♀️🙇♀️🙇♀️🙇♀️🙇♀️🙇♀️ i've never had a story get so lodged into my brain before and im CRAVINGGGGGGGG IT BADDDDDDDDD
Hey! So sorry this took so long! I honestly had writer's block for the longest time. I knew how I wanted this chapter to play out, but finding the energy and effort to locate those needed words was too exhausting. However, I'm back and feel soooo energised! These snippets come from the same scene, they're just broken up. I'm aiming for a fourth rewrite so currently, this post is unedited and may be subjected to some changes! But I've honestly had so much fun with this chapter! Here's a small snippet of what's to come!
Wren finally turned to her.
Lark broke the silence. “When—”
“Rhonda had cheerleading practise,” Wren’s shoulders jerked into a shrug. She cast her eyes across the area like she was scanning for any signs of danger, but Lark knew that she was busying herself so she didn’t have to keep looking at her. Lark tilted her head slightly, trying to recapture her gaze again. “We insisted that Helga stay back. She wasn’t happy but . . . well. I’m assuming that you’re acquainted with her compulsion to keep pushing herself.”
Her emotions were a sinking pit in her stomach, but despite that, Lark felt her lips twitch into a small smile.
Yes. She was well aware of Helga’s tenaciousness.
This life was a blessing and a curse. It revealed your integrity through giving you strength but exposed your flaws through not giving you enough of it. You had to be on your A game. To not, was to fail. Failure meant lights out. And Lila was already so used to Helga. She pushed herself to make up for her shortcomings. She didn’t consult anyone because her actions were born from impulse rather than deliberation. It was about turning herself into a weapon until she could achieve her victory. Because in her mind, that’s what she was: the shield. The sacrifice. To her, Helga Pataki was a sinner trying to make herself into an angel and hating herself every step of the way. Lila hated what it did to her, so she was happy that Helga was finally taking some time off (although Lila knew that it was anything but as simple as how Wren was describing it. Rhonda probably had something to do with benching her for the night). She needed it.
But now, Lark was stuck with Wren.
Who still refused to look at her.
Lila forced a smile. “Of course.”
A silence grew with nothing else following.
It was strange for Lila, something that didn’t often occur to her. She was normally good at anticipating someone, guessing what they liked and moulding herself accordingly. But Phoebe’s presence stopped those abilities. Smothered her senses until she was overwhelmed in smoke. She wasn’t sure what she was feeling, but she could feel something throbbing in her chest. Twisting until it was pounding at the back of her throat. She couldn’t find her voice.
Another soft breeze pushed her short strands across her face. She didn’t know what to feel. She wasn’t sure whether she was feeling. She felt disconnected, like an observer rather than a participant. The ground was hard beneath her feet, and yet, she couldn’t be sure whether she was standing or leaning. Her pulse had rushed down her arms to pound against her fingernails. There was a scuffling in her throat. A violent heat stirred beneath her skin. She could imagine the hissing sounds filling her ears if she were to touch anything. What was she feeling? Her vision melted and bile ran to the back of her throat. Her wrists were curling until her fingers had become fists. Ah. Anger, of course. She needed to keep it at bay.
She forced another smile then gestured toward the entrance.
“Shall we go?”
Wren’s demeanour surprised her.
Her skittish had, at some point, stopped, as her eyes had slid back in her direction. She was no longer looking around so she could avoid Lila’s gaze. She had given up the performance to watch her. It was different than before; she wasn’t ducking her gaze and nervously shuffling. Her hands were sliding down her arms until they hung from her sides. Her dark eyes stuck to hers and filled Lila’s chest with a sensation that reminded her of electricity. The feeling thrashed, burning her skin until it felt like it would curdle from her bones. The sensation shot straight through her and made her feel as if she were made from glass. It surprised her, how she openly scorned Lila. Or, openly scorned something. The tips of Wren’s lips had turned downwards as her shoulders rose in her tenseness. She spared Lark a nod before turning towards the centre and walking for the entrance.
It left Lila blinking after her, somewhat in a daze. It was almost as if she were angry.
But then, she shrugged it away and followed the shorter girl. They had a job to do, after all.
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“Here.”
Wren blinked at the hand that was offered to her and maybe Lila was crazy but for a moment, she envisioned Phoebe taking it. That smile—her smile—would light up her face as her eyes fastened onto Lila’s. Grey on brown. The forgotten colours; the discarded colours. She could imagine her skin against hers. It looked like it was made from pearls, or silk, but Lila could imagine the texture against her palm as she tightened her hold and pulled her closer—
Wren shifted her attention from the hand back to Lila. And Lark got the distinct feeling that she was being judged, so she forced a wide and friendly smile.
There was a pause.
Then, Wren climbed back to her feet. Her eyes avoided Lark as her hand remained at her side. Heat burned Lila’s face as she slowly lowered her hand. Wren didn’t say anything for a while and Lila couldn’t be sure if she even planned on ever saying anything. The muscles in her jaw were clenching as her eyes cast to the ground. The silence became so overbearing that Lark suddenly felt the urge to shout something—anything. I hate you! You ruined my life! How could you leave her behind like that?! Us?! You make me so confused! And angry! I don’t know what to do when I’m around you! Lark anticipated for Wren to break it but could feel her voice burying deeper and deeper into her soul with every passing second. Her heart was pounding so hard that it threatened to tear her chest into ribbons. She lowered her gaze to Wren’s hands and realised that they had rolled into fists. Her lips parted before she glanced back to her face. She was having an internal debate, she could tell. Choosing whether to say something or nothing. It confused Lila that she was getting this much of a reaction. There had always been a weird tension between them, but not enough to cross into something like this.
Finally, Wren spoke.
“It isn’t me who you’re angry at,” she rose her eyes until they were forcing their way into Lila’s. Her lips curled downwards, in disguise. It was the firmest that Lark had heard Phoebe. “Not entirely.”
Lark stared at her but couldn’t say anything.
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Check out the full thing here:
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Christian Linke posted the original pitch for Arcane, and I'm starting to understand why so many people turned them down before they finally got the project funded.
There's a lot to unpack here, but I got stuck on "svengalis". I wasn't originally going to harp on about this since I had never heard the term before, but I read up on it and OH BOY
apparently Svengali is the name of the villainous character from the French story Trilby. It actually inspired the Phantom of the Opera, which I thought was neat. Many smarter and more eloquent people than I have labeled the character and author antisemetic af
His main role in the story was that he really wanted to train Trilby, a beautiful young woman, but she rejected him. A bunch of stuff happens to her romantically that made her leave Paris with her brother. He later dies, and Svengali takes advantage to sink his claws into her. He hypnotizes her into having a split personality, and in that state she becomes a successful singer like he wanted. Unfortunately, it is physically and psychologically devastating, and she dies because she cannot live without him.
his name has come to mean someone who manipulates or controls another person, usually a young woman, to further his own agenda. There's even the "Svengali defense" that portrays a defendant as a pawn of a more influential criminal mastermind.
his physical description includes a tall and bony middle-aged body, thick black hair to the shoulder, beady and heavily lidded evil eyes, long hooked nose, thin and sallow (yellowish or grayish) face. He wore red and a long cloak, and was described as effeminate and continually filthy.
I know, coincidence right? Surely they didn't create, pitch, get funding for, and produce an updated version of a character that many people, including George Orwell, criticized as antisemetic. That subsequent adaptations have deliberately modified to be less stereotypical and offensive. This cannot be the character so many people enjoy and even admire at times, a symbol of revolution against an oppressive society that literally gases people.
Well fuck. On top of everything else, does this validate the Silco/Jinx shippers?
I honestly didn’t realise how many comments I had received this past chapter until I spent, like, twenty minutes responding to them! 💀 You guys are seriously the best! Enjoy this new chapter! 🩵
And if you're interested in supporting me? You can buy me a coffee!
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And here, you can read my story —->
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Yeah, so my unpopular opinion is that this line is awful and its popularity has normalised women still making choices that reinforce patriarchal conditioning and confinement, but hey, its different now because, "fEmINisM iS aBoUt cHoIcE."
So I watched Wicked last night and holy shit. I was truly worried that the hype for this film would make it overrated (and to an extent, it did) but I really had a great time with it. I knew that Wicked was political, but I wasn't expecting the amount of detail and intelligence??? As a black woman, I was relating to Elphaba to the point that Glinda's scenes were almost triggering. But I seriously enjoyed this movie, I get the hype. What a fantastic portrayal of prejudice, racism, performative allyship and an approaching facism.
About the jungle movie, Tbh, and I might get a lot of hate for saying this, but the jungle movie was very white saviory. Not sure if you would have liked it anyway, regardless of Arnold not being an orphan anymore.
That being said, new chapter soon?
Truly, screw the hate that criticisms such as this immediately earn. People love to get upset when someone points out that their favourite media may have potential problematic elements in it, because they will interpret this criticism as us immediately wanting to "cancel" this media, or (even better) that this criticism somehow is about them.
But a fact is a fact. Your favourite media can be something you adore while still involving racism, sexism, transphobia, etc. No one is immune to the systems they were raised within. Of course, I haven't seen this specific movie, but from the images that I've seen, I'm obliged to agree with this asker. Visually, at least, its tapping into "natives have been waiting for a white person to lead/save them" (which is so unbelieveably lame for a movie that came from 2017).
But onto the next chapter, truthfully, I've had it finished for a week at this point. Its just needing to be edited, which has been a slower progress purely because I've been so busy lately and its a longer chapter. But do not worry, it exists and will be posted soon! Thanks for your comment! Criticisms of white patriarchy are always welcomed on this blog! 💙💙
Okay, so I didn't watch the Jungle movie, but does it bother anyone else that Arnold's parents are alive? I feel like his being an orphan was such a central part to his character, that bringing them back feels a little cheap and undermines the themes of the show
I’m so glad that I ended up skipping Act 3. Everything that I’ve heard from friends and forums, sounds about the worst way that the show could have gone. The whiteness really jumped outta the writers this season.
Hi!!! Ok...just had to ask. I've reread your fanfic too many times to count. And I've had the same recurring thought but never thought to ask you. I was wondering if Helga would eventually...revisit dance..? Sorry if it's a silly question, I just had to ask because for some reason her scene with Chloe stuck with me each time I reread and my thoughts kept drifting back to it. Also, hope you're doing well!! 🪼
Hey there! No, not a silly question at all! I’m actually really happy that you noticed this!
So dance is a massive theme for Helga. This was inspired by a random memory I had from the show where Helga was revealed to have practised ballet.
I myself have always loved dancing so I decided to take it and run with it.
Dancing is a way to represent Helga’s relationship to herself. It is something that she enjoys and is very good at, but it takes a level of vulnerability to dance in front of people. And as we know, Helga is not good with sharing her perceived vulnerabilities, as she fears being seen as weak and not being taken seriously.
In my story, Helga has spent years on her own, barricaded within her own walls. She has internalised that her worth is derived from her talent, from her ability to wow people. But she does not believe that she has either of those, so she refuses to start up anything new because, what’s the point? There would always be someone better than her. There would always be an Olga, someone more unique, seamless and naturally gifted. So she holds herself back from exploring anything that may have potentially intrigued her to protect herself from failing in front of people. But people need to explore, they need to fail and they need to make mistakes. This is what creates our stories, our history. So Helga holding herself back comes at the consequence of her really developing her identity. What is an identity, if not your experiences? She has held herself back from starting her story so she will not look foolish. She doesn’t want to look anything. Her parents ignore her so it is only normal and expected that everyone else would.
But dancing has been her way of keeping in touch with her own body. Because it is free moving and ever flowing. Dancing genuinely can really improve your mental health and has been proven to be especially beneficial for people with depression and/or anxiety, since it requires for you to get out of your head. It overrides your thinking through overwhelming your senses. This is why it is so common for religious groups to incorporate dancing into their practises. The movement induces a meditative state where, because you’re not thinking as much, it is easier for the divine to reach you! You’re forced out from your mind and to exist within your physical reality. No other.
And also, its just fun.
So with that all being said, dance is an incredibly rare activity that has allowed for Helga to get completely out of her mind. No longer is she the loser failure girl with a perfect sister, parents who don’t care, and a crush who has forgotten about her over the years. She’s not even really Helga; she’s just free and having fun. Dancing challenges her to let herself go, which she frequently does when she is feeling overwhelmed and doesn’t know what to do. This has become her survival tactic over the years.
Dance is an art form that encourages people to get back in touch with their body, their sense of self. You’re no longer bound by the social conditions that we’ve created, and the worry of looking stupid in front of people. You’re forced to drop all forms of social awkwardness so you can express your deepest sense of self. And because you’re so within it, often, its not about being received well by other people, but how it feels to you to unlock that hidden part of yourself.
That’s why Helga needs it. She may be an amazing writer and possess an impressive vocabulary, but she still struggles to communicate her feelings. Dancing has been a good way for her to unleash her feelings when her words have failed her. And she still has so much to say, but no idea how to say it. She’s a girl who desperately still feels uncomfortable with her own identity. She is constantly berating herself for looking weak, or not competent. She rejects aspects of herself in fear of people looking down on her and eventually abandoning her. But when she dances, it is the one time where she doesn’t have to adhere to these structures.
She can let go.
Ironically, despite fearing that people will think that she is foolish and ugly, she is her most beautiful when she is dancing. Because releasing herself from her conditioned conformity, allows Helga to express an energy that is captivating for people to watch.
So yes, she will eventually get to a point where revisits dancing. It will not be ballet like in the show as it’s important that it’s a dance form that forces her to let loose from structured confinement (respectfully, ballerinas. Your dance form is gorgeous). Her looking forward to joining the dance team (chp. 18) is a significant change as, until now, Helga had designated herself to an early death. She had never stretched her thinking and planning further then the apocalypse, because had truly believed that if it didn’t kill her, then something else would before she even made it to the apocalypse.
It was a continuation of her self–dismissal, as she had never perceived a future for herself even prior to becoming Blue Jay. She felt so uncomfortable with herself that she didn’t know what to do and had sorta designated herself to a random corner in the world where she wouldn’t take up much space, wouldn’t get in people’s way, and continue living in the shadows.
Her excitement marks her first rebellion to this fate. She wants to dance. She’s planning beyond the apocalypse. She is finally letting herself go from her tragical fate as she wants to dance so much that she’s willing to do it in public. It is a rare time where she’s willing to bypass her rules about looking stupid because it would make her happy. So though she will not join the team until the apocalypse is well and truly over, there will be times where she is so overrun with her own feelings that she begins to dance, regardless if anyone is watching. Which is remarkable, because it signifies the distance that is growing between who Helga believed she had to be, and who she truly is.
And if you're interested in supporting me? You can buy me a coffee!
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And here you can read my story!
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
No actually I need to add on more to this. Arcane very unfortunately suffers the same issue that a lot of "progressive" shows suffer in Western media, where they go like "here are some real, systemic issues that exist and look at the consequences of these issues", and then either (1) forget to continue with the theme, and/or (2) don't do anything about it beyond slap on a half-hearted Band-Aid solution that never addresses it.
Caitlyn gassing civilians; lack of accessibility for Viktor which created barriers for him due to his disability; enforcers as oppressors, going hand in hand with Noxian imperialism; Jayce weaponzing hextech, and him already having killed a child because of it; not a single moment is really spent on any of these in S2. If anything, the enforcers are really flattened at the end of this season with little nuance, the complexity that shone in characters like Marcus and Grayson disappearing. Many Piltovan characters do not get even a single second of introspection as to how their actions actively contribute to the oppression of Zaun.
I saw someone say "season 2 feels like they suddenly remembered this was a League of Legends show and not a show about class oppression and civil war". Which is ironic, considering how that was exactly one of the biggest points of praise for season 1.
(I know that they alluded to a somewhat resolution at the end, but I frankly despise it when they leave the conclusion to these types of thematic arcs up to either interpretation or a "blink and you'll miss it" scene)
this. absolutely this. especially during the S2 finale I couldn't help but shake the feeling that- oh god, this reminds me of a MCU movie and not in a good way. like they were trying so hard to set up other LoL shows for the future but neglected finishing the story they set up in at home.
I'm still currently re-writing Chapter 32, but here's a snippet of what's to come! Warning: these next few chapters will be sad.
Brown eyes stared back.
The mirror held her face like it did every morning. There was nothing different and yet, she still hunted for something. She wasn’t sure what—she never was. But the glass was inches from her face which gave her the appearance of someone quite vain. She supposed, in a way, she was quite a vain person. She was always concerned with how people perceived her, how they regarded her. She was constantly examining herself from all angles, in mirrors, phone screens, glass surfaces, anything that could reflect her shape back at her. She needed to be perfect. She needed to figure out what it was that people wanted, then mould herself accordingly. Lila Sawyer was vain and right now, she looked it. Checking her reflection so thoroughly while standing in the middle of the hallway. She should be getting books, not checking her hair. But her eyes had caught onto something on her face and she stopped. Examined the gaze. She supposed it should be something that she liked about herself. How much like her mother she appeared. She was, after all, a beautiful woman. And Lila knew that, so was she.
But right now, all she could see what set them apart. Namely, their eyes.
Her mother’s had been sweeter. They had been blue, but they had shone like lakes beneath the summer sun. They had been beautiful and still made Lila think of watercolours along the paper. Whereas, Lila thought that her own eyes resembled mud or a beast, an oak tree. There was something darker in her gaze. Something that made her different. Something that made her feel like she was still missing. Still failing.
She touched her hair. She had it in an elaborate updo that had taken too long to justify. But she looked beautiful, exactly like her mother would want. Exactly how everyone else would want. Everyone loved a beautiful girl, while also hating when that beautiful girl held a mirror to her face.
Footsteps alerted her that Helga was coming. Lila wasn’t sure when she had learned to distinguish her team’s footsteps from the others. But at some point, she had, and it had allowed her to prepare the right face.
Helga didn’t bother greeting her and slammed back against the neighbouring locker. She had her books to her chest and an exaggerated look on her face. She looked like a Shakespearean actor readying themselves for a monologue that lasted a few pages.
Lila felt her mouth twist into what she knew was a smile. Helga had always been dramatic.
Gently, Lila shut her locker.
“You look chirpy,” she pointed out.
“No idea what you’re talking about.”
“Is it because of Arnold?”
Helga made a face.
“I just had a whole conversation with the princess. We weren’t fighting,” Helga said, sounding quite proud of herself. “Well, not entirely anyway. We were both yelling about Amy Schumer. But! Before you say anything, we were on the same side. We were hating together!”
A laugh escaped Lila.
The sound made something brighten in Helga’s eyes as her theatrical expression melted into a grin.
“Trust ugly Zionists to bring people with common sense together,” she continued. “Fuck that imperialist nonsense.”
“And trust sleepovers to also bring people together,” Lila added. “Told you we talk about politics.”
Helga chuckled then launched into a retelling of the conversation. She didn’t spare any detail, adding in the appropriate facial expressions and switching voices when it was required. Although that, Lila knew, was pure exaggeration. Something you got used to when you were friends with Helga Pataki. It still astounded Lila that this girl had managed to fool so many people into thinking that she was nonchalant. She was the biggest ham that Lila had met.
But she nodded anyway, taking in what Helga had to say, until she noticed something from the corner of her eye—Phoebe.
She was standing on the other side of the hallway in a conversation with the members of the calculus club. Lila still wasn’t sure of their names, but she did recognise Nadine as one of them. They were talking about something that must have captivated them, because they hadn’t noticed that Phoebe’s attention had strayed from them.
Helga also hadn’t noticed that Lila wasn’t listening. She was waving her hands around and twisting her fists as her expression tightened into a frown. Lila had planned on moving her gaze back to her friend when Phoebe’s gaze connected with hers. It was a brief source of contact, but it sent a flash hurtling into her stomach. The results had her insides feeling charred and like she wanted to cough up ashes. Phoebe turned away and dived into her conversation with her team. Lila cocked an eyebrow. She knew that she was being harsh. The kind thing would be to let it go. It was in the past now and no one could do anything about it.
But she still hadn’t forgiven Phoebe.
It was ridiculous. Helga had—somehow—forgiven her, but Lila couldn’t. Wouldn’t. Phoebe’s choice had destroyed Helga. Lila had been the one holding that girl up. She had been the one to put her back together while crumbling herself. Phoebe wasn’t a bad fit for a Guardian, but that didn’t mean that Lila had to like her. Merely condone her.
They were allies, not friends.
The bell rung.
“Oop, that’s us!” Lila cut off the rambling and threaded her arm with Helga’s. “Time for your favourite: Mrs. Brown!”
Helga groaned.
“And I’ll be sure to sit with Gerald so you can be next to your true love!”
“. . . I hate you.”
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Check out the full story here!
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
And if you're interested in supporting me? You can buy me a coffee!
woah this character is so cool i wish they were covered in blood their whole body trembling with a look of absolute horror on their face as theyre struggling to breathe in panic
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