fanfoolishness

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obsessed with her. girl of all time.

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"Maybe in that last moment Helly R. is in love at first sight seeing Gemma across the hall.”

Britt Lower

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Y’all Britt Lower literally told us with her own mouth that maybe when Helly saw Gemma it was love at first sight (she said it at the Dolby Theater in LA and I was there). OP has absolutely got it right

Helly left to do all of the heavy lifting while everyone else fucked off doing their own shit

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I know the infertility stuff with Gemma has rubbed some folks the wrong way, and that's fair. These types of stories are not always handled with care and can feel as hollow as using a dead wife in order to give a man depth as a character. That said, I fear that criticism of the infertility story in Severance, or indeed criticism of the breadth of themes of fertility and parenthood in the series, has suffered as a result of gendering these ideas as being primarily explored through the women in the show. There was plenty of eye rolling when we met Gemma for real and her great trauma turned out to be the loss of her unborn child—"oh great, another woman defined by her inability to produce children!"—but this didn't come out of left field in a show that has put expectant parents, midwives, fraudulent lactation specialists, couples struggling to make ends meet for their kids, dads garage jamming with their daughters, and child laborers all on screen, not to mention the cult of Kier the Grandfather/Founder that props up the central mysteries of the show.

Parenthood, birth, and the power dynamics of progenitors and progeny all exist at the heart of Severance (right alongside love, agency, personhood, and capitalist critique), but I don't know that enough people look through this lens when thinking about the men in this show. Even when their stories explicitly touch on these themes, severed men like Petey and Irving and Mark—who, by the way, has every right to claim the same grief over the loss of their child as Gemma, though his experience is radically different as the parent who didn't carry the child—get kind of left out of the conversation.

They should not get left out of the conversation and the mpreg Kier statue in the birthing cabin was there to remind you of that.

Check under the cut for Mark Scout world's worst dad thoughts with lots more spoilers for the finale.

I don't know how many folks on Tumblr have Boomer parents, and I don't know how many of these ideas have filtered through to each generation of parents following, but I know that my Boomer mother and many (many) of my friend's parents had a whole litany of witticisms that they'd use to disempower and belittle the personhood of their kids, and they used these phrases with extreme regularity. "Because I said so," "My house, my rules," "If I were you (and thank God I'm not)," "I brought you into this world, and I can take you out of it," etc. Depending on tone and context, these could vary from pretty benign to legitimately threatening, but they all betrayed the same basic attitude: right now, you are not a person, and I make your decisions for you, until I say otherwise.

Boomers may have excelled at expressing this sentiment through phrasing that is worthy of shitty gas station hats and little else, but it feels as though it has been a dominant mode of parenting thought for a long time. The idea that it is the position of being a parent that confers power to someone, no matter how unearned that power truly is, is also extremely present in the outie-innie dynamic.

Mark S was straight up born from his outie's inability to actually grieve the death of his wife, his unwillingness to move forward through despair, and his complacency with his self-destructive coping mechanisms. Having lost his ability to work due to his alcoholism, Mark Scout created a whole new person who could do the work for him. He "hoped that [Mark S] would be spared the pain," but for much of the show thus far, he hasn't taken a single step to move away from that pain, be it in an effort to spare himself or his innie. This a couple in a dysfunctional marriage having a child to try and save it, only to absolutely fuck that kid up by refusing to acknowledge the reality of the situation or do anything to change it for the better. Only in this scenario the marriage is between Mark and the ghost of his wife.

Like the kid brought into such a marriage, Mark S doesn't need to know the details of his outie's life to carry his burdens. Their shared body is the exposure that ensures every hangover, every sleepless night, every pre-work weeping session, every fight with a rebound (sorry Alexa you deserve more than this title) or a family member worms its way into the innie's life. A life that is already deeply infantilized by Lumon's workplace culture more broadly, and doubly so because MDR is being babysat by step-dad Milchick while the literal Mother of the Severance Procedure goes rogue.

When he does learn the reason for his outie's severance, Mark S is compassionate, curious, and instantly willing to search for Miss Casey—not out of some deeply rooted love of Gemma that has somehow transcended the severance barrier, but out of recognition of his progenitor's personhood and pain and his desire to help a fellow innie with an unexpected connection to his own outie. How often do children make an effort to help and humanize their parents, even when they've been given very little reason to? Be it out of a sense of obligation or a misunderstanding that a parent naturally looks out for their child's best interests and so a child should do the same, many of us will go out of our way to try and understand our parents as people, at least once. Mark S does that readily, even when Helena-as-Helly pushes against the idea.

When we finally get a conversation between Mark Scout and Mark S, it begins on a disarmingly hopeful note. Mark Scout apologizes, willing to admit the world he brought Mark S into is not a sane or safe one. Things go off the rails quick when Mark Scout fails to recognize his innie has a separate person with his own motivations, and from there the conversation is steeped in patriarchal condescension and a fundamental sense of ownership. Mark Scout dismisses his innie's relationship with Helly R as an inferior, juvenile "experience," that naturally pales in comparison to the more.real, more adult life he had with Gemma, simply because the outies came first. He cannot fathom any resistance to the idea of saving Gemma, because he does not think Mark S is deserving of his own identity, desires, or agency. What claim can an innie have to such things when he doesn't even have his own body? "My house, my rules."

Mark Scout then drops the bomb that he's already started the process of reintegrating. Though he himself is not fully aware of how reintegration will actually impact their separate consciousnesses (or has seemingly forgotten what little he learned about it from Petey), Mark Scout positions it as a solution that benefits them both. Mark S challenges that assumption, and the outie is aghast that the innie fails to extend any trust his way. The trust was assumed to be there, because Mark Scout assumes authority over Mark S. "Because I said so." In the absence of more information about what reintegration really means, it sounds like Mark S will sit as a passenger in Mark Scout's life. Reintegration for the innie is not a solution, but a threat. "I brought you into this world, and I can take you out of it."

This whole conversation happens inside a cabin at a birthing retreat, where a statue of a pregnant man (presumably an Eagan and presumably Kier himself) watches with it's mate, wearing a sort of cartoon grimace. The camera lingers on this icon as a moment of scene setting, signalling that the audience should be seeing this as a conversation between parent and child, the elder lording their power over the younger, and the progeny rebelling against the progenitor by asserting their own humanity.

[fanfoolishness]

See you at the Equator

22/100

[fanfoolishness]

It’s (CH3CH2)2O aka diethyl ether :D

[fanfoolishness]

Would be funny if Lucanis (and Spite) have the ability to start casting after being forced together, given Lucanis must have some kind of attunement to the Fade from what I've seen about his itchy eyeballs situation and Spite being able to pull objects from the Fade in order to form bridges in the waking world. Spite provides Lucanis with a stronger connection to the Fade. Lucanis provides Spite the doorway into a more corporeal world. Together, they unlock more abilities in one another.

I mean, imagine that this man sneezes one day and catches something on fire. Spite gives the happiest gasp. It's just the best thing ever to him. Meanwhile, Lucanis is going "no, no, no" while putting out the flames because they have a job to do, and they do not have time to unpack whatever that was that just happened.

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salty take: gemma is intelligent. she is a russian lit professor. she walked through doors and experienced the gaps in her memory and understood what that meant, and knows the door she's on the other side of is another severed precipice. she was rescued by her man soaked in blood who kissed every part of her face and called her his baby and clearly did everything in his power even years later to deliver her from hell. she does not think HER mark moved on, she knows a part of him is trapped in hell now just as she was, and it looks like it found a reason to stay. it is devastating enough without twisting it into her thinking he's got a wife and children.

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Your waves crash over me

no warnings markhelly, 600ish words

There’s a fragile line they’ve been walking. Each step more delicate than the last. There’s a clock always ticking, churning faster through the same eight hours that had felt hopelessly endless for the entirety of his existence. It slips through his fingers, where no amount of bargaining can press the grains back into any recognisable form.

She draws a grid on a sticky note and passes it over the barrier. He gets the first move. Mark scrawls an X in the top left corner, and tries not to think about it.

Somehow, they’re alone again. Irving drifts off to O&D, for so long sometimes that it feels like they’re all on the precipice of summer vacation, where the rules get lax and everyone breathes a little easier; their eyes a little brighter; in blind optimism that there’s an upcoming reprieve. Something in the shape of an echo, an idea more than something he can picture in his mind; of sunsets, grassy fields where the sky turns gold and the wind swirls in spirals, of melted ice cream and sticky hands. Leftovers, he assumes, of a life he’d give anything to witness in trade of bitter speculation. Mark knows better, but he watches Irving go and doesn’t say a word.

Dylan, if he’s not absorbed in the screen, disappears on what Mark assumes are long walks. Maybe he’s looking for other departments. Maybe he’s already found one. He doesn’t ask about that, either. It’s a blessing in and of itself that Dylan could find something and keep it, just for himself.

Helly doesn’t stray far. He doesn’t need to keep such a close eye on her anymore, but he does it anyway. She chews on her lip when she’s lost in thought. Runs a hand through her hair and then smooths it out. She draws. Enough to fill an entire notebook. Sometimes she shows him, sometimes she doesn’t.

There’s a surety to Helly that he’ll never have the chance to get used to. The ease in which her side presses against his; invading his space like it's as simple as breathing. She'll sometimes rest her chin on his shoulder to just observe him work.

Her fingertips drag along his nape, curving down his jaw, feather-soft in their curiosity. His heart thumps under his skin, his hand intercepting, dragging her hand forward and pressing a kiss to her knuckles.

When you want something bad enough, it almost burns to the touch. Sometimes it means too much.

They take their breaks for longer than they should. He’ll pull out a chair for her like it’s a date. There’s coffee and snacks and enough hushed laughter to play pretend for a while longer. Each second is an hour in a real life, making up for pre-destined lost time. She slips her hand into his under the table, and it’s the best they can both do.

When she runs out of sticky notes, they make an unnecessary trip to the supply closet. He slips his arm around her waist and pulls her close. Watches the way her cheeks turn pink. Meets his gaze with a half-lidded, bemused smile of her own. He kisses her long enough to forget about office equipment entirely.

The clock keeps ticking.

[fanfoolishness]

“Cold Harbor is at 100%”. Very happy to share my final poster for season 2 of Severance! Congrats to the entire cast and crew on an incredible finale and season. Can’t wait for season 3!

If anyone is interested in prints, visit jjlendl.com/lumon. Prints for this episode and the rest of my episode-inspired posters will be available for a ONE WEEK ONLY limited timed pre-order window ending next Saturday, March 29th. Thanks!

[fanfoolishness]

Yet another Mark Scout hotness jump scare. We were so used to seeing him look way less hot than Adam Scott is capable of and then all of a sudden BAM!!! Blood! Determination! Messed up hair! Untucked shirt! DID I MENTION THE BLOOD man’s a fucking secret agent now

Adam Scott as Mark Scout Severance 2.10: Cold Harbor

[fanfoolishness]

ten minutes, an hour, tomorrow (Severance)

Helly and Mark catch their breath after Cold Harbor, and take stock of their current situation. Mark whump, Helly x iMark, ~1700 words. Spoilers for Cold Harbor!

-

Her heart beat frantically in the gaps between the siren’s blare. Flash. Flash. Flash. Waves of red and white rolled over them. They ran on, her bare feet slapping the floor, her hand clinging to his. His hand was sweaty, sticky, clammy. She didn’t care.

It was Mark’s hand, her Mark, no one else’s.

She didn’t know how long they ran, how far and deep they traveled into the hidden reaches of the severed floor. A building so big that it became a continent. The sirens felt more distant, less piercing. She knew they had gone farther than they ever had before.

But they couldn’t keep up this pace forever. Her breaths came ragged and sharp. Beside her she felt Mark flagging, a stumble in his step.

”Hey,” she yelled, just as the siren shut off. The sound lingered in the pulse of her ears for a dizzying moment. They both stopped, staring at the ceiling above them, wondering what would happen next. 

The red and white lights vanished and they were left alone in the dark. 

She took a nervous step forward, still holding his hand. The overhead lights flickered on in cool, dim tones.

”It stopped,” he said hoarsely, trying to catch his breath. “Why did it stop? They still have to be looking for us.” He coughed, grimacing. 

”Maybe,” Helly said, reaching out and touching his face. She was careful not to touch the red puffy skin of his cheekbone, the purplish area around his eyes. It looked like it hurt. “Maybe not. Dylan came back. As far as I know he’s still back there with the marching band department, and Milchick would have had to go through all of them.” Her heart blazed with the memory. “They listened to me, they’re gonna help us, Mark. We’re fighting back.”

He stared at her, then leaned in to kiss her, wobbling on his feet.

”Hey, hey hey hey,” she whispered, taking him by the shoulders, keeping him steady. She swallowed, looking him up and down. She’d seen the blood, of course, but in the moment they had had to run. But now he stood before her, pale even in the dim light, and she could finally see the full extent of the blood drenching his shirt and jacket. “Jesus, Mark. What happened to you?”

”I don’t know,” he said, then shook his head, wincing. “No. I know part of it. There was a man — he was huge — he caught me near the testing floor elevator. Beat the shit out of me. He didn’t even ask me what I was doing. Just attacked me. He would have killed me…” His voice trailed off. “Lorne saved me.”

”Lorne?” Helly asked.

He flinched. “I forgot. She was with me when we met Mammalians Nurturable. The goat department.” 

For a moment she didn’t understand.  Then she realized — Helena. She swallowed down her anger. Another memory stolen from her. Well look what I’ve stolen now. “She helped you?”

Mark let out a long breath. “Lorne’s the department head. She got a gun… they were going to use it on a baby goat…. She gave it to me and I made him come down the elevator. I don’t know what happened after that.”

”A gun? Shit, are you shot?”

He shook his head. “I don’t think so. Everything… hurts… but I don’t think like that? I just —“ He got a strange look on his face, then suddenly sagged against the wall and slid down to the floor, hitting it with a thump. “Fuck,” he whispered.

“You’re not okay,” Helly snapped, sinking to her knees beside him. She blinked back tears. “Let me look at you. Please, Mark.”

He looked ashen beneath the blood on his cheeks. He shivered. She threw her arm around his shoulders protectively.

”I don’t feel so good,” he whispered. “Dizzy.”

“No shit,” she tried to laugh. It didn’t come out right. She kissed him instead, drinking in every part of the kiss: the softness of his lips and tongue, the swelling on his bottom lip that she knew wasn’t there before, the warmth of his mouth, his face, his body close to hers.

How long do we have? Before they end all of us?

He chuckled weakly, resting his forehead against hers. “Huh. I never had a medical exam like that.”

She snorted. “Sorry. You distracted me. You’re kind of a mess right now, and it —“ She hesitated. But what was there to hesitate about? They only had now. They only had here. “It makes me want to take care of you, all right?”

He smiled crookedly. ”Helly,” he said softly. “Helly, I love you.”

He didn’t need to say it. She knew it down deep, in a part of her that could never be shut off or replaced. She’d known it in their quiet, beautiful moments together; she’d known it in their hushed talks this morning.

She’d known it just now, when he looked at her down the hall and took her hand.

But it was important for him to say it to her. She knew what that felt like. That need. Saying it made it real. 

”I love you, Mark.” She gave him a watery smile. He laughed, that little laugh that always tugged his mouth to one side. Shit. There he was, distracting her again. “Now come on. I mean it. Let me take a look.”

He frowned. “What if they come? We should try to hide first.” He attempted to get to his feet, then sank back against the wall, groaning. “Fuck!”

”See? Just let me look. We need to know how bad it is before we keep going.”

”All right. But hurry.”

He was right; at least he wasn’t shot. But it was bad.

Her hands came away bloody as she worked with him to ease his sodden jacket off, to pull off the blood-soaked tie and toss it to the ground, to unbutton his shirt. A few days ago she’d helped him unbutton it eagerly, fingers dancing on the buttons, fluttery and excited. Now her fingers shook and his hands fumbled as he tried to help. She finished with the last button and slipped the shirt down his shoulders.

Red blotches marked his chest and back. “Punches? Or kicks, maybe,” Mark said hoarsely as she traced around their borders with her fingertips. “It all happened so fast.”

Her fingers stopped, frozen, at purple-red bruises around his throat. Handprints. 

He swallowed painfully, ducking his head to avoid looking at her.

”Do you think he’s dead?” Helly asked evenly. “Because if he’s not, I’ll find him and kill him myself.”

”He’s twice your size,” Mark mumbled. “But I think my outie got him. I think that’s where all the blood came from.”

”Good,” she said, her voice poisonous. She’d kill that man. She’d kill Jame Eagan. She’d kill every fucking cog in the machine that she could. “Because I’m never letting them fuck with you again.” She brushed his hair away from his face, and her fingers came away sticky with more blood. She felt cold. “How’s your head? Does it hurt anywhere?”

“I think it’s… bad,” he admitted. He reached up clumsily, reaching for the back of his head, then the top. She had him lean forward and she brushed through his hair, finding only small cuts — one on the very top of his head, one at the back. That didn’t seem so awful, considering. But she still felt cold. Anxious.

She wished she knew anything about medical shit. Her whole experience with it had been seeing Mark get taken care of by Ms. Huang and Milchick bandaging her cut arm. Her gut ached, looking at him.

Something was wrong about his face, and it wasn’t just the blood or the darkening bruises.

She searched his eyes. There were specks of blood in the whites of his eyes. Shit. Was that it? But then she realized that one brown eye had a huge dark pupil, and the other was a tiny pinprick.

That was bad, right?

“Your pupils are different sizes,” Helly said softly. “And there’s blood in your eyes. I don’t know what that means, but… yeah, it’s pretty bad.”

He shrugged. Another crooked smile. “Well, crap.”

”Right,” she said with a shaky laugh. “Crap. So what do we do?”

”We keep going,” Mark said. He took her hands, folded them tightly in his own. He stared at them for a moment as if trying to find the right words. “This is ours, Helly. This life. I don’t know if we have ten minutes or an hour or tomorrow. I don’t care if I’m hurt. I just care that I’m with you.”

Helly closed her eyes. Even with C&M and Dylan slowing them down, even with Milchick subdued, they would be coming. She knew that. Mark knew that. And he’d chosen her anyway. 

“We keep going,” she echoed, opening her eyes. She kissed him on the forehead, then the lips. She buttoned his shirt buttons back up, carefully tucked in his untucked shirt, fixed his jacket back over his shoulders. “If you’re dizzy, just lean on me. I’ll be with you. Every step of the way.”

“I know,” Mark said. He grinned at her. He looked exhausted. He looked like everything hurt.

He looked happy.

She got to her feet and bent over, holding out her arms. He groaned, using her help to pull himself up. He straightened up but wobbled slightly. 

“Here.” She put her arm around him, and he draped his over her shoulders. She held onto him, hope flaring once more within her. “Come on. Let’s keep going.” She led him forward into the shadowed hall, her heart beating strong and true. 

This was real. They were real.

And no matter what Lumon did to them in ten minutes, an hour, tomorrow —

Helly had started a fire with Dylan and the C&M workers. Mark had saved an innocent person from Lumon at the moment they would have killed her. And then he and Helly had both said fuck you, our lives are own.

They mattered. 

Helly smiled with each step into the looming dark. She didn’t know what lay ahead. Did she need to?

They’d already won, and that was enough.

[fanfoolishness]

Y’ALLLLLLL I just got back from the LA PaleyFest Severance event! 3300 of us filling up the Dolby Theater to watch the finale and then watch a HUGE number of the cast and Ben Stiller and Dan Erickson talk with Ben Schwartz about the show. I saw tons of fellow cosplayers and took copious notes of the panel I now need to type up. But the real highlight was Tramell Tillman leading a marching band through the theater! 🤩🤩🤩

[fanfoolishness]

#SETHMILCHICK: don't i get a dream for myself?

[fanfoolishness]

ten minutes, an hour, tomorrow (Severance)

Helly and Mark catch their breath after Cold Harbor, and take stock of their current situation. Mark whump, Helly x iMark, ~1700 words. Spoilers for Cold Harbor!

-

Her heart beat frantically in the gaps between the siren’s blare. Flash. Flash. Flash. Waves of red and white rolled over them. They ran on, her bare feet slapping the floor, her hand clinging to his. His hand was sweaty, sticky, clammy. She didn’t care.

It was Mark’s hand, her Mark, no one else’s.

She didn’t know how long they ran, how far and deep they traveled into the hidden reaches of the severed floor. A building so big that it became a continent. The sirens felt more distant, less piercing. She knew they had gone farther than they ever had before.

But they couldn’t keep up this pace forever. Her breaths came ragged and sharp. Beside her she felt Mark flagging, a stumble in his step.

”Hey,” she yelled, just as the siren shut off. The sound lingered in the pulse of her ears for a dizzying moment. They both stopped, staring at the ceiling above them, wondering what would happen next. 

The red and white lights vanished and they were left alone in the dark. 

She took a nervous step forward, still holding his hand. The overhead lights flickered on in cool, dim tones.

”It stopped,” he said hoarsely, trying to catch his breath. “Why did it stop? They still have to be looking for us.” He coughed, grimacing. 

”Maybe,” Helly said, reaching out and touching his face. She was careful not to touch the red puffy skin of his cheekbone, the purplish area around his eyes. It looked like it hurt. “Maybe not. Dylan came back. As far as I know he’s still back there with the marching band department, and Milchick would have had to go through all of them.” Her heart blazed with the memory. “They listened to me, they’re gonna help us, Mark. We’re fighting back.”

He stared at her, then leaned in to kiss her, wobbling on his feet.

”Hey, hey hey hey,” she whispered, taking him by the shoulders, keeping him steady. She swallowed, looking him up and down. She’d seen the blood, of course, but in the moment they had had to run. But now he stood before her, pale even in the dim light, and she could finally see the full extent of the blood drenching his shirt and jacket. “Jesus, Mark. What happened to you?”

”I don’t know,” he said, then shook his head, wincing. “No. I know part of it. There was a man — he was huge — he caught me near the testing floor elevator. Beat the shit out of me. He didn’t even ask me what I was doing. Just attacked me. He would have killed me…” His voice trailed off. “Lorne saved me.”

”Lorne?” Helly asked.

He flinched. “I forgot. She was with me when we met Mammalians Nurturable. The goat department.” 

For a moment she didn’t understand.  Then she realized — Helena. She swallowed down her anger. Another memory stolen from her. Well look what I’ve stolen now. “She helped you?”

Mark let out a long breath. “Lorne’s the department head. She got a gun… they were going to use it on a baby goat…. She gave it to me and I made him come down the elevator. I don’t know what happened after that.”

”A gun? Shit, are you shot?”

He shook his head. “I don’t think so. Everything… hurts… but I don’t think like that? I just —“ He got a strange look on his face, then suddenly sagged against the wall and slid down to the floor, hitting it with a thump. “Fuck,” he whispered.

“You’re not okay,” Helly snapped, sinking to her knees beside him. She blinked back tears. “Let me look at you. Please, Mark.”

He looked ashen beneath the blood on his cheeks. He shivered. She threw her arm around his shoulders protectively.

”I don’t feel so good,” he whispered. “Dizzy.”

“No shit,” she tried to laugh. It didn’t come out right. She kissed him instead, drinking in every part of the kiss: the softness of his lips and tongue, the swelling on his bottom lip that she knew wasn’t there before, the warmth of his mouth, his face, his body close to hers.

How long do we have? Before they end all of us?

He chuckled weakly, resting his forehead against hers. “Huh. I never had a medical exam like that.”

She snorted. “Sorry. You distracted me. You’re kind of a mess right now, and it —“ She hesitated. But what was there to hesitate about? They only had now. They only had here. “It makes me want to take care of you, all right?”

He smiled crookedly. ”Helly,” he said softly. “Helly, I love you.”

He didn’t need to say it. She knew it down deep, in a part of her that could never be shut off or replaced. She’d known it in their quiet, beautiful moments together; she’d known it in their hushed talks this morning.

She’d known it just now, when he looked at her down the hall and took her hand.

But it was important for him to say it to her. She knew what that felt like. That need. Saying it made it real. 

”I love you, Mark.” She gave him a watery smile. He laughed, that little laugh that always tugged his mouth to one side. Shit. There he was, distracting her again. “Now come on. I mean it. Let me take a look.”

He frowned. “What if they come? We should try to hide first.” He attempted to get to his feet, then sank back against the wall, groaning. “Fuck!”

”See? Just let me look. We need to know how bad it is before we keep going.”

”All right. But hurry.”

He was right; at least he wasn’t shot. But it was bad.

Her hands came away bloody as she worked with him to ease his sodden jacket off, to pull off the blood-soaked tie and toss it to the ground, to unbutton his shirt. A few days ago she’d helped him unbutton it eagerly, fingers dancing on the buttons, fluttery and excited. Now her fingers shook and his hands fumbled as he tried to help. She finished with the last button and slipped the shirt down his shoulders.

Red blotches marked his chest and back. “Punches? Or kicks, maybe,” Mark said hoarsely as she traced around their borders with her fingertips. “It all happened so fast.”

Her fingers stopped, frozen, at purple-red bruises around his throat. Handprints. 

He swallowed painfully, ducking his head to avoid looking at her.

”Do you think he’s dead?” Helly asked evenly. “Because if he’s not, I’ll find him and kill him myself.”

”He’s twice your size,” Mark mumbled. “But I think my outie got him. I think that’s where all the blood came from.”

”Good,” she said, her voice poisonous. She’d kill that man. She’d kill Jame Eagan. She’d kill every fucking cog in the machine that she could. “Because I’m never letting them fuck with you again.” She brushed his hair away from his face, and her fingers came away sticky with more blood. She felt cold. “How’s your head? Does it hurt anywhere?”

“I think it’s… bad,” he admitted. He reached up clumsily, reaching for the back of his head, then the top. She had him lean forward and she brushed through his hair, finding only small cuts — one on the very top of his head, one at the back. That didn’t seem so awful, considering. But she still felt cold. Anxious.

She wished she knew anything about medical shit. Her whole experience with it had been seeing Mark get taken care of by Ms. Huang and Milchick bandaging her cut arm. Her gut ached, looking at him.

Something was wrong about his face, and it wasn’t just the blood or the darkening bruises.

She searched his eyes. There were specks of blood in the whites of his eyes. Shit. Was that it? But then she realized that one brown eye had a huge dark pupil, and the other was a tiny pinprick.

That was bad, right?

“Your pupils are different sizes,” Helly said softly. “And there’s blood in your eyes. I don’t know what that means, but… yeah, it’s pretty bad.”

He shrugged. Another crooked smile. “Well, crap.”

”Right,” she said with a shaky laugh. “Crap. So what do we do?”

”We keep going,” Mark said. He took her hands, folded them tightly in his own. He stared at them for a moment as if trying to find the right words. “This is ours, Helly. This life. I don’t know if we have ten minutes or an hour or tomorrow. I don’t care if I’m hurt. I just care that I’m with you.”

Helly closed her eyes. Even with C&M and Dylan slowing them down, even with Milchick subdued, they would be coming. She knew that. Mark knew that. And he’d chosen her anyway. 

“We keep going,” she echoed, opening her eyes. She kissed him on the forehead, then the lips. She buttoned his shirt buttons back up, carefully tucked in his untucked shirt, fixed his jacket back over his shoulders. “If you’re dizzy, just lean on me. I’ll be with you. Every step of the way.”

“I know,” Mark said. He grinned at her. He looked exhausted. He looked like everything hurt.

He looked happy.

She got to her feet and bent over, holding out her arms. He groaned, using her help to pull himself up. He straightened up but wobbled slightly. 

“Here.” She put her arm around him, and he draped his over her shoulders. She held onto him, hope flaring once more within her. “Come on. Let’s keep going.” She led him forward into the shadowed hall, her heart beating strong and true. 

This was real. They were real.

And no matter what Lumon did to them in ten minutes, an hour, tomorrow —

Helly had started a fire with Dylan and the C&M workers. Mark had saved an innocent person from Lumon at the moment they would have killed her. And then he and Helly had both said fuck you, our lives are own.

They mattered. 

Helly smiled with each step into the looming dark. She didn’t know what lay ahead. Did she need to?

They’d already won, and that was enough.

[fanfoolishness]

im normal about mark covered in blood i promise. he looks. yep. normal. im FINE. :)

[fanfoolishness]