#hela marvel

[miniature-orchid]

This started as a supernanny pun and spiralled and now im tired of working on it lol. Anyway I think all the new mutants thought Dani and Hela were sleeping together in 2008 lol

[sabrerine911]

Queen in Black Hela sketch (SFW version)

Was in the mood to sketch this Hela again, this time cause I played some Rivals again and had enough of that gold currency saved up from free stuff, and I got the Battlepass for this old fomo Knull Style skin for Hela (wich is really sick). Gonna take forever to get since Rivals is not the main thing I play these days XD

Went with the bulkier body type of my version of Hela cause why not .

For those that wanna support me to keep my art career:

The NSFW version https://www.patreon.com/.../posts/queen-in-black-163553074

[hersheysmcboom]

The air in London was thick not with the familiar exhaust and drizzle, but with the searing ozone of misused cosmic power. Reality itself seemed to fray at the edges of Greenwich, twisting traffic lights into impossible helices and sending flocks of startled pigeons reeling through fluctuating gravitational fields.

At the epicenter, where the nine realms momentarily converged, stood Malekith, framed by the raw, purple haze of the Aether. Before him stood Thor, Mjölnir held low, his armor scarred from previous skirmishes with the Dark Elf legions. Hela and Fenris waited beside him, coiled and ready.

“Go on, Son of Odin,” Malekith sneered, his voice a dry, echoing rasp. “Your last words should be memorable.”

Thor lowered his gaze slightly, the usual defiance receding into a weary sorrow. “I have to say something, something I thought I would never say in a million years.” He looked up, meeting the ancient Elf’s cold stare. “You’re right.”

A sudden, sharp silence fell over the chaotic battlefield. Dark Elf soldiers paused mid-charge. Hela’s hand dropped from the hilt of a summoned blade. Malekith’s eyes narrowed, genuine shock displacing the millennium of rage etched on his face.

Everyone stared at Thor.

“What my grandfather did to your world was unforgivable,” Thor stated, his voice ringing with sober conviction. “Your people suffered a true genocide, and your desire for revenge is, in the cruelest sense of the word, earned.”

He took a step forward, ignoring Hela’s warning growl.

“But sacrificing this world will not change what happened to yours. It will not bring back the dead, only add millions more to the company of the lost. I gave my word: please, leave. We will find a way. We will use the resources of Asgard—my mother’s resources, the resources of the realms—to rebuild your world and restore your people. Please, Malekith, do not make others experience the loss you had.”

Malekith remained motionless, the Aether swirling around him like a malevolent storm. For a single, fragile second, Thor thought he had reached him. Then, the Dark Elf’s face twisted into an expression of pure, incandescent hatred.

“There is one way you can help, son of Odin,” Malekith roared, channeling the full, terrible weight of the Reality Stone. The ground trembled. “YOUR DYING SCREAMS WILL HELP SOOTHE THE RESTLESS SOULS OF OUR DEAD!”

Malekith struck. The resulting blast of dark energy was less a weapon and more a negation of physics.

Hela moved instantly, throwing herself between the blast and her younger brother, summoning a barrier of necrotic steel. Fenris, the massive wolfdog, erupted into action, barking a defiant, thunderous challenge as he lunged, attempting to sink his jaws into Malekith’s arm.

A few blocks away, tucked into the relative safety of a commandeered electrical substation, Jane Foster and Erik Selvig were frantically attempting to turn scientific theories into reality-bending machines, using little more than salvage, Stark-tech remnants, and an alarming amount of duct tape.

“The Aether is too powerful,” Jane muttered, staring at the chaotic energy readings. “It’s like trying to hold a supernova in a coffee mug. We can’t just neutralize him; he’ll take half the solar system with him when he destabilizes.”

Erik, meanwhile, was muttering about the cruelties of the universe, occasionally adjusting the aluminum foil hat he wore, purely out of habit. “Retirement, Jane. I was going to buy a cottage in Norway. I was going to write a book on multidimensional topography and never, ever have to look at another space stone again. The only gods I was going to deal with were the ones in the history books, the ones who didn’t want to kill me and destroy Earth.”

He paused, running a hand through his perpetually messy hair. “No revenge crazed villains, no magic world killing stones…”

“Focus, Erik!” Jane snapped, her mind racing. “We need a way to get the Aether out of him and keep him from killing Thor and destroying Asgard and Earth.”

She looked at the energy signatures, then at the modified portable portal generator they had used to track the convergence points. The earlier, desperate plan—to hit Malekith with a coordinated lightning strike and a full-power blast, essentially hoping he’d explode—came back to her.

“If we blast at him with this while he is using the Aether full power, while Thor hits him with lightning, he should blow up,” Jane reiterated grimly.

Erik stared at the schematics. “Along with half the galaxy. And us. Jane, I promised your dad you would graduate high school before sacrificing your life to save the nine realms from some psycho with a thousand year grudge.”

Jane knew those weren't the exact words her dad used, but Erik had a point. Committing galactic genocide wasn't exactly fixing the problem.

“What if we… teleport him?” Jane suggested, tapping the portal generator.

“So he can become some other poor world’s problem?” Erik retorted, already shaking his head.

“No! Like banish him! Like we did with Odin!” Jane watched the shifting Aether readings. “Do you remember Reed Richards’ lecture about the Negative Zone? That infinite, anti-matter universe? It’s a closed container, a null-space.”

Erik paused, the manic energy draining out of his face, replaced by calculation. It was theoretically possible to open a sustained, stable portal to a region of cosmic anti-matter. Malekith, charged with the Aether, would be ripped apart and contained simultaneously. It was definitely better than blowing up.

“Are you sure?” Erik asked, his voice tight.

Jane gestured around their makeshift lab, which was rattling under the weight of the nearby fight. “Do we have any other choice?”

“Let’s do it!”

Jane slapped the comms button, connecting to the fighting groups across the city. “Thor! Hela! Loki! We have a new extraction plan! We’re opening a stable, one-way banishment portal. Negative Zone. Get him near the energy nexus point, in the convergence field intersection. Five minutes!”

In an alleyway behind a burnt-out fish-and-chips shop, Darcy Lewis, Loki, and Jarok were engaged in a messy, undignified brawl with three hulking, armored Dark Elf thugs.

Loki, wielding sharp illusionary blades and quick footwork, was doing surprisingly well. Jarok, despite the handicap of his stunningly expensive silk trousers and high-heeled boots, was dispatching his opponent with brutal, economical strikes.

Darcy, however, was having a terrible time. She had emptied her pepper spray into the face of one Dark Elf, who had merely blinked and then tossed her into a stack of recycling bins. Her taser, a pink, novelty device purchased online, had produced a spark roughly equivalent to static electricity, earning her a dismissive cuff.

“Okay, the taser guy must have been selling me the kid’s version,” Darcy wheezed, scrambling away from a swinging mace.

Loki, dodging a clumsy blow from his current adversary, rolled his eyes. “You are a kid, Darcy.”

“You’re a kid, too!”

Loki scoffed, briefly transforming his face into that of a withered, beard-caked ancient. “I am nine hundred and twelve, you ignorant mortal. I am older than the Roman Empire and the concept of wearing pants.”

Jarok, who had just used the sharp heel of his boot to incapacitate his opponent, sighed dramatically, adjusting his hair. “Sure, let’s take a break and start arguing. Maybe the world-destroying army will wait while you discuss your respective chronological shortcomings.”

Just then, Jane’s voice crackled through the comms. “New plan! Banishing him! Need you three to keep the support line clear for three minutes!”

Darcy, armed only with her sarcasm, stood up, bracing herself. “Roger that. I like this plan! I’m excited to be a part of it!”

Loki looked at her. “Jane knows you just got that from Ghostbusters.”

Back at the primary combat zone, the fight was a desperate ballet of thunder and shadow. Fenris had been slammed viciously against a double-decker bus, momentarily stunned. Malekith turned his attention to Hela, who fought with a cold, elegant ferocity, matching his power blow for blow but steadily losing ground to the Aether’s warping effects.

Malekith knocked Fenris unconscious with a targeted blast. Before the Elf could finish the wolf, Hela hurled a dozen blades, forcing the villain to shift his attention.

Thor moved to protect Hela, Mjölnir singing as he summoned the full force of a London thunderstorm, desperately trying to keep Malekith contained within the convergence zone required for Jane’s device. The air tasted metallic and charged.

Jane and Erik, using sheer willpower and scientific savvy, cobbled together the final connections to the portal generator—a grotesque combination of cosmic science, Earth power grids, and the aforementioned duct tape and hope.

“Ready!” Erik yelled, his face pale with strain.

“Now!” Jane screamed into the comms.

They threw the switch.

A deafening, whining sound erupted from the device, tearing a fissure in the sky itself. The air where Malekith stood shimmered, then peeled away, revealing a churning, black void speckled with anti-matter energy—the mouth of the Negative Zone. The portal created a terrible, irresistible vacuum.

Thor and Hela worked in concert, pushing Malekith into the gravity well of the portal.

Malekith screamed, the Aether fighting the displacement. “You cannot stop me, Son of Odin! You cannot stop me! The universe will be remade in darkness!”

Jane and Erik poured the remaining power into the emitters, forcing the portal wider, the energy drain nearly collapsing the substation.

With a final, terrible shriek that vanished into the void, Malekith was sucked out of Earth, his body and the Aether instantly contained within the anti-matter universe.

He was gone.

Silence fell, heavy and absolute, broken only by the crackle of residual electricity and the panting of the survivors.

Jane sagged against the console, her whole body trembling. “Is he gone?”

Darcy, stumbling out of the alleyway, rubbing pepper spray residue from her eyes, called out, “Did we win?”

Thor walked over to Hela, who still stood, breathing heavily, her armor scorched but intact. He looked out at the devastation, then back at Darcy.

“Any battle you can walk away from, Darcy Lewis,” Thor replied, the words a familiar Asgardian adage. “That is a victory.”

Darcy stared at her ruined, sparking taser, then at her shoes—caked in mud, asphalt, and what she desperately hoped was just oil. Her phone, which she had dropped during the pepper-spray incident, was smashed to pieces. She definitely needed a shower.

“You say that a lot, but I’m not sure it’s true,” Darcy mumbled.

Jane managed a weak smile. “We’re alive, and the Earth is still here. That’s a victory.”

Erik Selvig, relieved that he hadn't committed galactic homicide, was delighted, but his legs were wobbling violently. “Now, if you excuse me…”

Erik pitched forward and passed out cold on the street, smacking the aluminum foil hat off his head.

Thor, recovering quickly, picked up the poor professor, slinging him effortlessly over his shoulder.

The battle wasn't quite over. A few blocks away, the remaining Dark Elves, led by the hulking Kurse, Algrim, began to retreat, melting back toward the convergence point.

“Retreat!” Algrim commanded, his voice raw.

“Wait, don’t go!” Thor called out.

Everyone stared at him again—Hela, Jane, Loki, and Darcy. Why did the God of Thunder want the army of evil elves who tried to kill them and destroy the world to stay?

Thor adjusted Erik’s limp body on his shoulder. “I meant what I said earlier. We will help you rebuild your world and your people.”

Algrim glared, hatred radiating from him, but his forces were decimated, his master banished, and the Aether gone. He knew he had no chance of winning if they fought.

“Very well, son of Odin,” Algrim ground out, leading his remaining troops away, disappearing into the lingering mist of the convergence.

Darcy immediately launched into a non-stop analysis of the past ten minutes, detailing exactly how insane that had been, and how, in a terrifying way, it had been fun, except for the dozen times they’d almost died.

Jane, meanwhile, leaned into Thor, exhaustion creeping into her bones. “Our world almost got sacrificed by a revenge-crazed genocide survivor.”

Darcy paused her rant. “Is that not normal for us by this point?”

Jane laughed, a short, shaky sound. Darcy wasn’t wrong.

Then, Jane reached up and kissed Thor, gently at first, then more firmly, not caring about the grime or the lingering smell of ozone.

“Not a lot of people would be able to do what you just did,” Jane murmured, pulling back slightly. “To offer aid, right then.”

“It was needed,” Thor said, the nobility returning to his tired face. “For centuries, we have owed that debt.”

“You truly are something else, Thor Odinson.”

Thor smiled, a rare, genuine expression of pride and devotion. “And you, Jane Foster, are the most brilliant mortal I have ever known. Or perhaps,” he added, glancing at the technology around them, “simply the most brilliant being.”

Darcy and Loki simultaneously made noises of exaggerated disgust at the PDA.

“Gross!” Darcy yelled, throwing her hands up. “Can we focus on the important things? Like our unconscious teacher? And my destroyed phone? And I need new shoes, and victory pizza. Lots of victory pizza! I’m talking at least ten slices!”

Loki smirked, dusting himself off, his clothes miraculously pristine. “What a childish demand.”

“Do you want the pizza or not?” Darcy challenged.

Jarok walked over, holding up his battered feet. “I concur, especially about the shoes. Mine are completely destroyed, and I paid a good amount of green feather gold for them too.”

Ignoring the fact that “green feather gold” was actually called money, Jarok held up his ruined footwear. Both heels were gone, and the beautiful leather was caked in everything from dirt to Dark Elf ichor. They were, truly, beyond repair.

“Pizza and a salvage operation, then,” Hela announced, shaking her head at the sheer, undeniable chaos of Earth. She looked at Thor, who was carrying a sleeping professor. “And you are paying, little brother. It was your idea to apologize to the man trying to unmake reality.”

[hersheysmcboom]

The desert sun was setting over the dusty town of Puente Antiguo, New Mexico, painting the Fosters’ modest living room in shades of orange and long, anxious shadows. James Foster, a man who had stitched up gunshot wounds and delivered bad news with a steady hand, felt that same composure cracking like thin ice.

He stood in the center of the room, his eyes fixed on his fifteen-year-old daughter, Jane. Flanking her was a collection of individuals so bizarre they seemed like a hallucination. A teenager dressed like a Victorian goth, absently scratching the ears of a wolf-sized dog that was currently drooling on the rug. A brawny blond boy who looked like a high school quarterback but carried himself like a king. A sly, dark-haired pre-teen who kept making a coin appear and disappear between their fingers. A tall, solemn figure in what could only be described as a silk battle-dress, and a stocky, bearded man who was barely four feet tall but looked like he could bench-press a truck. And, of course, Darcy Lewis, Jane’s twelve-year-old friend, who was currently trying to look invisible behind a potted plant.

James took a deep, steadying breath, the kind he took before telling a family there was nothing more he could do.

“Okay,” he began, his voice deceptively calm. “I’m just gonna come out and ask it: how long has this been going on?”

Jane swallowed, her eyes darting to her unusual friends before landing back on her father. “Almost half a year.”

James was speechless. Six months. His brilliant, precious daughter had been living a double life for six months. The silence stretched, thick and heavy, broken only by a low whine from the giant wolf-dog.

“You could have been killed!” he finally exploded, his professional calm shattering. He ran a hand through his hair. “Do you know how many ways you could have been hurt?!”

Jarok, the one in the dress, straightened up, a thoughtful look on his face. “A great many, Healer Foster. Why, just last week, a squad of Einherjar raiders attempted to breach the perimeter. Their broadswords were exceptionally sharp.”

Darcy popped out from behind the plant, caught up in the momentum. “Oh yeah! And that time with the Bilgesnipe! It had, like, six tusks and it was all ‘ROAR!’ and we had to lead it into the canyon–”

“And let us not forget the Dark Elf assassins,” Torvin, the dwarf, grunted, punching a meaty fist into his palm. “Their poisoned daggers are sharp enough to find the gaps in the finest Asgardian plate mail. We lost three good warriors that night.”

“The sonic disruptors of the Kree are also quite unpleasant,” Jarok added. “They can liquefy one’s internal organs from a hundred paces.”

Thor, the blond boy, nodded sagly, trying to contribute. “Yes. The gates of Hel are filled with the screams of their victims.”

The color drained from James’s face. He looked ready to have a stroke, his hand instinctively going to his chest.

SMACK. THUD.

Jane had slapped her hand over Darcy’s mouth, silencing the grisly anecdote about the Bilgesnipe’s digestive tract. Simultaneously, Torvin had casually backhanded Jarok in the arm, sending the tall Asgardian stumbling into the living room wall with a crash that rattled a picture frame.

Thor blinked, realizing his error. “Um,” he stammered, his voice dropping an octave in his attempt to sound reassuring. “Not screams of the dead, of course. Wounded screams. Minor wounds. Stubbed toes, bruises… wounded pride more than anything else.”

James’s disbelieving stare was a physical force.

From the couch, the youngest, Loki, snorted without looking up from their coin. “Great save.”

The doctor’s mind was reeling, but it latched onto one familiar, sane name in this sea of insanity. “Where was Erik during all this?!” he demanded, thinking of his old, sensible friend. Surely Erik Selvig would have put a stop to this madness.

Jane winced. “…Helping?”

The vein in James’s forehead threatened to stage a full rebellion. One of his oldest friends knew his daughter was friends with self-proclaimed gods and fighting… everything, but never told him?

Darcy, her mouth finally free, piped up. “If it helps, he didn’t want to at first. Called it ‘scientifically improbable and personally suicidal.’”

It didn’t help. James’s head was throbbing, a dull, insistent ache pounding behind his eyes. He had to start at the beginning. He had to find some sliver of logic. “How did you all even meet?”

That was it. The part Jane had been dreading. Her mind raced. What could she say? Hey dad, these living gods came down to conquer the world, I had to play social Darwinist to get a chance to talk them down, turns out their dad is an abusive monster, and now they’re my friends and I might, sort of, like-like their eldest prince? Also remember that dent in the van you thought was from a bear? It was actually from when I ran over Thor.

Darcy panicked. “A… science camp!” she blurted out. “For… gifted kids! With… big dogs! And historical reenactments!”

James just stared at her, his expression shifting from anger to something worse: he was actually insulted. “Do I look stupid to you, Darcy?”

“No, sir,” she squeaked, shrinking back.

The silence that followed was an admission of guilt. Jane closed her eyes for a second, then opened them, a new resolve there. She had to tell him. She looked at Thor, who gave her a small, grim nod of encouragement.

So, she told him. She started with the atmospheric disturbances, the strange readings, the night of the wormhole. She explained, as calmly as she could, the arrival of the Asgardian reconnaissance team—Hela, the crown princess; Thor, the heir; Loki, the sorcerer; and their protectors, Jarok and Torvin. She told him of their initial mission: to assess Earth for conquest. She spoke of her own desperate gamble to reason with them, to show them a world worth protecting, not pillaging. She told him about Erik’s initial terror turning to fascinated help, about Darcy’s unwavering loyalty. She explained Odin’s true nature, his cruelty, and how his own children had turned against him to defend the people they’d been sent to subjugate.

She told him about the dent in the van.

When she finished, the room was utterly silent. Fenris whined again, pressing his massive head against Hela’s leg.

James Foster looked at his daughter. He looked at the grim-faced princess of death and her monster dog. He looked at the thunder god who was just a boy. He looked at the trickster, the warrior in a dress, the dwarf. He saw it all not as a grand adventure, but as a cascading series of mortal dangers that had encircled his only child. His fear and his fury fused into a white-hot point of pure paternal instinct.

He pointed a trembling finger at the door.

“Get out,” he said, his voice low and shaking with rage.

“Dad—” Jane started, her own eyes filling with tears.

“No, Jane! Not another word!” he roared, his voice filling the small house. He swept his arm to encompass Thor, Hela, Loki, Jarok, and Torvin. “All of you! Get out of my home! Get away from my daughter! Take your inter-familial issues, your wars, your… your monster dog and get out! Now!”

The air grew cold. Hela, who had been listening with an air of bored tolerance, slowly straightened up. Her dark eyes, ancient and chilling, fixed on James.

“Fenris is not a monster,” she said, her voice quiet but layered with a threat as sharp as a blade. “He is a good boy. You will apologize.”

Jane instinctively grabbed Hela’s arm, her eyes silently pleading. Don’t. Please, don’t hurt him.

James saw the look exchanged between them—the fear in his daughter’s eyes, the cold command in the strange girl’s. It was the final straw. His daughter was not just in danger; she was beholden to them.

“Did you see that?” he spat, his voice cracking. “She’s afraid of you! Get out before I call the police, the national guard, whoever I have to call to get you people away from us!”

Thor stepped forward, placing a hand on Hela’s shoulder, pulling her back. “We will take our leave, Healer Foster. We understand your… protective fury. It does you credit.”

“Don’t you dare patronize me,” James snarled. “Just go.”

Without another word, the group filed out. Loki gave a last, unreadable look at Jane. Torvin muttered something in a guttural language. Jarok adjusted his dress with dignity. Thor looked heartbroken. Hela’s gaze was a promise of winter as she led Fenris out, the huge dog’s claws clicking on the tile.

The door clicked shut, leaving James and Jane alone in the sudden, deafening quiet. The only evidence they’d been there at all was a slight dent in the wall from Jarok and a puddle of drool on the rug. Father and daughter stood facing each other, a chasm of fear and secrets now yawning between them, wider and more desolate than any space between worlds.

[fuckyeahstufficareabout-temp]

A fun comp delivery where I was Hela and my friend was Namor. This was our first time being this duo and we had a great time killing together lol

[fuckyeahstufficareabout-temp]

A fun delivery victory I had as Hela where I somehow didn't die

[fuckyeahstufficareabout-temp]

An intense clutch delivery victory I had as Hela

[mmeiibe]

HELA SKETCH

shes so gorgeous in the new mini battlepass, might finish