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Some may be apprehensive that Severance won’t portray Mark’s interaction with Helena in the tent as the sexual assault it was. But not only will they — they already are.
Mark’s behavior toward Helly has completely changed. He doesn’t sit next to her at Irving’s funeral. He shuts down attempts at conversation with offhand, vague snarky comments and a defiantly blank facial expression. When Helly knocks on the door to the bathroom, his eyes dart around like an animal cornered. Where he once would have slowed down for her in the hallway so they could talk, he walks much faster ahead. He’s trying as hard as possible to avoid her. To ignore her. To run away.
Now contrast this with his treatment of “Helly” when she first walked out of the elevator in season two. He waited for her to arrive! He was so relieved she’d come back! And when they were walking down that hallway and he was explaining the situation with Ms. Casey, he stopped mid-stride, turned to her with a smile on his face, and said “Look, Helly—“
He never got to finish that sentence. But some say he was going to confess that though his outie had a wife, his affections lay with her. And I think they’re right.
So why is he acting so differently now? The answer is obvious: “Because they are smarter than us, okay? They know everything.”
After the assault, Mark likely feels like a complete idiot. He spent so much of season one deconstructing his beliefs and breaking free from Lumon’s propaganda. And the minute he believes he’s immune to their lies and no longer a corporate slave, he is taken advantage of and hoodwinked by the very figurehead of said company, masking as someone he loves.
A symbol of Lumon convinced him he was safe. Tricked him. Invaded him in the most intimate way possible, with him completely oblivious, “like an idiot.” Right when he thought everything might be okay.
So maybe Lumon’s right. Maybe there’s no point in fighting. Because if he was stupid enough to not realize his own friend was being possessed by her billionaire doppelgänger, then maybe Lumon is correct about innies being nothing more than pawns. Maybe they are people, and he really is… not. (That’s how Helena treated him, anyway.)
And if that’s the case, of course he wants to give up looking for Ms. Casey and lose himself in work! For a moment he thought he was a human being, deserving of autonomy over his own body and capable of something more than sitting behind a desk — but his assault sends that all crashing down. He is an extension of his outie, made for work and nothing more. Going beyond that gets dangerous. That’s what got Irving killed… and him in Helena’s tent. And Helly? He cannot trust Helly. As far as he knows, his only confirmed moment with Helly since the OTC was when he was holding her in his arms, his jacket wrapped around her shoulders. Why should it be Helly coming back to the severed floor? If Helena could trick him before, who says she can’t learn from her past mistakes and trick him again over and over? Mark refuses to be humiliated and hurt after last time, so he avoids her (and Dylan!) and puts up a barrier of cool, snarky indifference — just like how he deals with grief.
But we know that indifference is a mask. When Milchick walked out of the elevator after revealing he knew about him and Helena Eagan, Mark had no one to pretend for — and he went completely stiff, blankly wide-eyed in an expression extremely reminiscent of his usual innie self. Whatever the reasons for this, one thing’s for sure: Mark does deeply care about what happened in the tent. And at least for now, he will lose himself in Cold Harbor to cope with it.
Lumon certainly got their productive worker back. But good Lord… at what cost?
the spn drama could take a whole year to explain in the least so i’m good
shit i think i might be a high powered explosive..
You are
a high-powered explosive. You are a high-powered explosive. You are a high powered explosive. You are a high-powered explosive. You are a high-powered explosive. You are a high-powered explosive. You are a high-powered explosive. You are a high-powered explosive. You are a high-powered explosive. You are a high-powered explosive. You are a high-powered explosive. You are a high-powered explosive. You are a high-powered explosive. You are a high-powered explosive. You are a high-powered explosive.
𐙚⋆° — reparation
pairings : hanta s. x gn!reader
warnings : i made this story from a dream i had guys pls pls sorry if its bad, reader is in support course :0, slowww buuurrnn, kind of IMPLIED but not explicitly said to be fem!reader (they just hang out a lot with the girls cause yea), LOTS of dialogue, and SWEARING , suicide joke SORRY
a/n : IM SORRY I MAKE SO MANY HANTA STUFF ZZZZZ i think i'll make eijiro next cAUSE this was kinda based off of this
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4,1k word count!
The Sports Festival was the first time you saw him. That lopsided grin present as his name flashed on the screen. Your first thought was how funny he looked. Sure, he’s cute, but those elbows are such a characteristic. You couldn’t help but snicker a bit. Seeing him get absolutely devoured by a certain two-tone haired, yet that smile persisted, as if it’s a stubborn stain, refusing to be washed away.
You remember that time, texting Kyoka about it.
[ 12:30 ] you : was that guy from your class lol [ 12:30 ] you : he’s kinda cute :P
And maybe that was the trigger point.
When Higari asked your class to create a gear design based off of a quirk, you didn’t sketch out a gear for yourself, or a pro-hero, no. Maybe it was just inspiration, or maybe just admiration; but you made a gear based off of him. The page is still stuck in your notebook until now, complete with little notes of each parts’ functions and whatnot. Even Higari himself nodded in approval. Yet the gear never came to life.
Or so you thought.
It was the middle of the semester when students in the heroics course started flooding the workshop. Around that time Mei seemed to work tirelessly day and night from how many requests she’s gotten from them. You were not much different, although the requests sent to you were quite a bit easier. Then one morning, that same lanky figure, lazing grin and laid back voice was present. In flesh, Hanta Sero.
His first awkward greeting to you was when you were carefully screwing shut a small contraption.
“Hey uh…” He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck while his other hand was holding something, like scraps of metal or something.
“C-can you help me uh… fix this?” His grin grew, a look of guilt present in his face, mixed with sheepishness.
Your face contorted to confusion, brows stitched together while you attempted to figure out what was supposed to be fixed when all he held out was scraps of metals and screws.
With a sigh, you lifted up your goggles, and said; “I can’t fix scraps,”
“I’ll just make you a new one. Just describe to me what your gear’s supposed to do.” You chuckled, hands already snaking to the table to grab your notebook and pen.
And now here you are. Second year, second semester. You had grown close with the girls in the heroics course, especially Mina and Kendo, since they visit the workshop a little bit too often.
It was lunch time, you sat with the girls from 2-A, chattering and laughing about.
“How about you, y/n?” Tooru’s voice chimed through your daze. “You never tell us anything!”
You raised your eyebrows in interest, a hum to respond.
Tooru giggled, “You never tell us who you’ve got your eyes on! Come onn, there’s gotta be someone, right?”
You blinked.
Someone..?
You huffed a chuckle, “Nah, probably someone soldering iron right now.”
But then your mind flickered to that one page in your notebook. That lazy grin and those cheesy jokes he’d throw around while you measured his elbows, and how you’ve somehow memorized his blazer’s smell that always reeked of tangerines. Or maybe how he sometimes would bring your favorite snack with him, giving it to you as a token of gratitude.
Your eyes fell to your tray, your lunch still half eaten while your chopsticks hovered over your rice. “I dunno,” You shrugged. “M’ not really thinking of that stuff right now,”
Mina whined, “See? I told you! It’s hard to get y/n’s mouth to open about these kinds of stuff!”
A smirk tugged at your lips as you took a portion of rice into your mouth, chuckling at her acts.
༉‧₊˚.
You hummed to the song playing in the workshop as you carefully placed a small chip into the gear laid in front of you. A small tweezer pinched in your hand as you slowly descended the small piece, only for the door to open with an ear-cracking holler.
“yyyyy/nnnnn” Hanta’s voice whined, his feet dragging him to your desk.
“My gear broke, again! Such horror…” He dramatically collapsed himself, placing a hand on his forehead as he handed out his wrecked gear.
You stifled back a laugh, rolling your eyes as you focused your attention on the gear on your desk again, carefully placing the chip.
“You do this every week like it’s a routine,” You chuckled.
He gasped, placing his hand on his chest. “Foul creature!”
He stood up, pointing his finger to the sky while his lips twitched to a smile. “I must tell you, this gear is simply not able to contain my true power!”
“Falling down the stairs is not true power, Han.” You grinned, screwing shut the gear as you examined it one last time.
“...Okay, fine I dropped it.” He huffed, “But it just means your work needs to be evaluated!” He argued, pacing back and forth as if lecturing you.
“You’re one to talk,” You snorted, setting aside the small gear to a box before turning your chair to face him, to face his stupidly grinning face.
He laughed, getting on his knees as he handed the gear on his palms to you like it’s an offering. “Pleaseeee, pleaseee, fix this, pleaasee?”
With a roll of your eyes, you snatched the gear, placing it on your desk for the umpteenth time, your hands already readying the same screws, bolts, and everything the gear needed, already embedded into your memory like it’s your mother’s recipe. “I don’t even have to ask what’s broken anymore, Han, it’s that often.”
“Hey, it makes your job easier, riigghtt?” He nudged your shoulder. “Besides, it gives me an excuse to see you, don’t you miss me sometimes?” He asked, pulling a chair to sit.
You smiled, hands pausing on the gears casing as you were unscrewing it.
“I guess,” You mumbled.
He chuckled, the sound coming out more like a shriek more than anything.
“I gueeess” He imitated, you can even hear him sticking out his tongue at you. “Lying is bad y/n. Admit it. Your workshop feels dead without me,”
“I like the quietness better, actually.”
He giggled, “Ouch, man, here I thought we were long lost siblings.” With a creak of the chair, he leaned to your desk, eyeing you from the side. “I’ll pay you back, ‘kay?”
“With what?” You chuckled, eyes fixed on the gear.
“Banana milk,” He snickered, “And maybe if I’m feeling generous I’ll also buy you those steamed cakes you always eat since our first year.”
“The fuck?” You snorted. “You remember that?”
He pssh’ed, “Duh?”
“You eat that shit like it’s a reward every time you’re done with like… five gears or something,”
Glancing sideways, you couldn’t stop the grin tugging at your lips. “You’re weird.”
“You love me,” He teased, pushing himself to stand up from the chair. “Those steam cakes are ass, you’re weird.”
You mumbled a mock to him, sticking out your tongue as you reached out to grab a mold from the drawer.
His steps receded as he laughed, hands buried in his pocket while he walked backwards towards the door.
“I’ll get the original flavour,” He yelled. “Byeeee,”
Clack.
An hour and thirty minutes.
It took an hour and thirty minutes for you to finish that damned gear. To be exact, an hour and thirty minutes after you’ve finished the other gears before that. With a small groan, you stretched your arms above your head, your body’s slouch finally stretched out to fix your posture.
07:30 P.M. — The clock blinked, red bold digital numbers as if reminding you to stop and close the workshop for the day. So you did.
With a soft click, you locked the workshop’s doors, sighing softly to yourself while your other hand clutched your bag, keeping it on your shoulder. The floors of the building squeaked with the rubber soles of your shoes as you dragged your feet, echoing against the empty building.
Tucked away carefully in your bag was the reason. His gear, you even painted it in his signature colors; white, black, and yellow. Maybe that was the reason your clothes smelled like fresh paint all over, but you didn’t mind. You’d stuck a small note on it, written in your handwriting;
‘Don’t break this one >:(‘
The conversation from earlier rang in your mind again. Tooru’s sweet voice chiming that casual question, but somehow it bugs you a bit. “Come onn, there’s gotta be someone, right?”
Someone.
You chuckled softly to yourself as you mindlessly made your way to his class, no need to remind you again; his desk was third from the back, second from the right.
With a small noise, you placed down the gears, securing it into his drawer before you silently made your way out of the dark, empty classroom, then making your way to your dorm.
༉‧₊˚.
“Jeez,” Hanta muttered in awe, carefully examining the gears now resting on top of his desk. His grin grew as he saw the note, an expression—that of amazed and amused. His thumb grazed carefully over it, as if afraid to smudge it.
Even the colors were spot on, too, his colors. Small details you had implanted to the gear—maybe it was to ensure that he doesn’t break it again, or maybe it was just your way of evaluating your work. Either way, he finds himself grinning from ear to ear as he chuckles, looking at his newly fixed gear. You’d put an additional hole on the strap so he can adjust it more accordingly, the edges were smoothed out so that it sits comfortably on his arms.
“Shut up,” He laughed, the sound coming out more gentle—awestruck, adoring.
༉‧₊˚.
Knock knock knock! — The workshop door opened slightly, creaking as a shuffling sound made its way into the room. He’s right behind me, isn’t he.
“Moooorning,” He sang out, shaking the plastic bag in front of you.
“Banana milk, and steamed cake. Just how my favorite mechanic likes it.” He placed the bag beside your arm, “Yooouu’re welcome,” Pride laced his voice.
God, all you can do is smile, as you slowly peeked your hand into the plastic bag, peeking inside with the exact things he said. “You know you don’t have to do this aaall the time, right?”
“I know,” He shrugged, rocking back and forth on his heels. “But I wanna,”
“...You’re just bribing me,”
“I’m for reeaaaalll”
“...Thanks, Han.” You hummed, smiling softly as you reached into the bag, unwrapping the small steamed cake. The plastic rustled against your fingers as you tried to open it.
“You suck at opening shit,” He snickered, snatching the cake from you, ripping it open before handing it back to you. “Hm, eat,”
You blinked at him, feigning offense. “I was getting there.” You said, chuckling.
“Sure you were,” he teased, plopping down onto the nearest stool like he owned the place. “At the speed of a dying turtle.” The noise he made next was ugly. Imitating a grandma talking.
“Screw off,” You giggled, sticking your tongue out at him but took a bite anyway.
He watched you, arms crossed and chin propped on the edge of the worktable, eyes all full of mischief and… something else. Quieter. Warmer.
“You should smile like that more often,” he said out of the blue, his smirk faded into a small smile.
Your chewing paused. “…Like what?”
He leaned back with a stretch. “Like you actually like me.”
You shot him a look. “Han—”
“Kiddingg!” he grinned, holding his hands up in surrender. “Juusst kidding.”
After a small pause, he spoke up, “I gotta go now, my first class is heroics,” Hanta smiled, slapping his palms to his knees as he stood up.
With his hands in his pockets he walked to the door. “Byyyee, don’t miss me,”
“Oh, and finish the cake, it was super expensive.”
It had been like that for a little over a year now. He’d come to you, whining about his broken gear, begging on his knees for you to fix it—and every time you did so, you threatened him to never break it again or you’re not fixing it ever again. But that never happened. Every time he whined back to you, you’d fix it, no matter how much you groaned about it, you still fixed it for him. And he’d come to you the next morning to bring your favorites; always the same banana milk and steamed cake.
And honestly? It stuck to you. It became a small little routine for you, something you’d grown used to. But today—after yesterday’s little chat at lunch—it felt special, somehow. It felt like he saw you, like he…
…cares about you.
But that was just a silly thought.
You snorted.
Hanta’s nice. That’s what he is, nice, friendly. Welcoming to everyone, and you were no exception.
༉‧₊˚.
God, these projects show no mercy. And if you weren’t that much of a procrastinator, maybe these wouldn’t be stacked up into a bundle that you had to finish by tomorrow. A small grumble left your lips as you tweaked the final blueprint, scratching down the stiff paper before huffing a small celebration, rolling it up to tuck it behind your desk.
The clock showed the time—06:30 P.M.
Ugh. You missed your show again. With a small sigh, you stepped towards the door, rummaging through your pocket to ready the keys and lock the door.
Clack. The door closed, the lock clicking softly as you turned it to the right, jingling before you stuffed it back into your pocket.
“Like you actually like me.” His joke echoed.
His joke.
You brushed it off, even though a small smile tugged on your lips as you adjusted your bag over your shoulder, steps light towards the exit.
Wait. Is that…?
Standing by the gates was that same lanky figure, tall and lilt, hair slicked from the rain while his laugh echoed through it. You almost smiled, almost laughed at his face. Almost. Before you saw her. A small girl standing next to him, smiling so sweetly at him while his blazer was draped over her, fitting and perfect. The same blazer he usually draped over your shoulder when the workshop felt too cold, and he felt too warm. The one that had a small twinge of oil stuck to its cuff. The one that smelled like tangerines.
He said something. Something that made her laugh. And he smiled at that. He smiled at her laugh.
Like he was proud of it.
You felt your chest twist. Scrunched up and stretched. The rain wasn’t making anything better. The fact that you’re tired and pent up from today made everything worse.
So you ran.
You ran past them, bag over your head as you picked up your pace, your face was wet, and cold, not just from the rain. You hoped he didn’t see you, didn’t see that grimace you had on your face, didn’t see the way you bit your lip. But you hoped he did. Hoped he saw you.
The streets were blurry by the rain, thunder clapping above your head as you ran to the dorms. And you slipped. Slipped just enough to make you drop to your knees and scraped your palms. You groaned in frustration, in hurt.
So all this time you were just his fixer upper? Cool.
༉‧₊˚.
Two weeks.
It took him two weeks to notice something was wrong. Sure, you still fixed his gear, although he didn’t break them this time. Said they were ‘too pretty’ to be broken, but even that didn’t earn your usual witty remark, you just smiled faintly to him.
But he brushed it off.
Maybe you were just tired, maybe his trick of ‘breaking’ his gear was starting to piss you off. Maybe he needed a new excuse to see you other than fixing his gear.
Maybe you were growing tired of him. Naaaahhh. No way, jose.
You like his company, you enjoy being around him. He sees that, he sees you.
…But why were you pulling away? Did he say something? Okay maybe he did throw a small offensive joke. But you always laughed at that! So what was wrong? What was so wrong that you’re not even laughing at his jokes? His actions? Him?
Okay, fine. Whatever. Maybe you just needed some space.
So he gave you that.
But the moment he came into the workshop shaking your usual banana milk and steamed cake combo, and you rejected that?
“I’m good, Han. Thanks.” You replied. Blunt, short, precise, to-the-motherfucking-point.
Oh he screwed up. He screwed something up.
“Oh, uh..”
“Okay, I’ll uh… give this to Denks then, dude eats everything.” He chuckled awkwardly, the plastic rustling by his side.
“Mhm, okay.”
Shiiiittt he’s so screwed.
You didn’t even chuckle, and that’s how he knew.
༉‧₊˚.
“They hate me. They hate me so bad. I’m killing myself.” Hanta whined to his pillow, Kaminari perched by the edge of his bed.
“They didn’t even CHUCKLE at me, Den.” He groaned, his muffled voice cracking as he threw his arms up.
Kaminari sighed, arms folded as he glanced at the ravenette. “You’re being dramatic, Han.”
“No I’m not!” He protested, shooting up from his bed to sit up. “I’m not, okay? I just—I don’t know what I did, I just—...” He sighed, flopping back into his bed, groaning as he ran his hands over his face. “I don’t wanna lose them, Den..” He mumbled in a trembling voice.
“Then tell them that.” Kaminari shrugged, a chuckle on his lips as he scooted closer, patting Hanta’s thigh.
“...How?” He croaked back. “I don’t even know what I did wrong, dude I just…”
“Two weeks ago we were fine, I even made risky ass jokes to them and they laughed! And when I was lending that girl my blazer—”
Kaminari whistled. “Bingo.”
The bed shuffled as he sat up, head darting to Kaminari’s way while his mouth hung open. “Shit.”
“Go, Han.”
༉‧₊˚.
The halls of UA had never felt so… suffocating. He’s been here before, like hours like these too. Just now he feels like he’s risking his life as he stares at the slightly cracked open door of the support course workshop. His steps felt heavy, like lead weights dragged through the ground, and his mouth felt dry, like water had never touched his tongue, and suddenly the plastic bag in his right hand felt too plastic-y. The faint tune of your favorite song was humming through the air, as well as the consistent whir of the sanding machine.
As he slowly pushed the door open, the creak felt loud—too loud. Loud enough for you to dart your eyes to the door and paused your hand. His throat fell dry, drier than before.
“H-hey,” He grinned. It felt too wide, too stiff. But he didn’t care.
You held your gaze on him for a moment, brows furrowed, and he swore even when he couldn’t see your eyes through your goggles, he felt your stare pierce through him.
The sanding machine came to life again, louder this time as you ducked your head back to the gear in your hand. “Hey,” you mumbled back, not bothering to look at him.
“I uh…”
“I wanted to talk to you,” He chuckled, stepping just a bit closer, his hand gripping the plastic bag tighter.
Perhaps his portion of response from you had run out. You stayed silent as you continued sanding the casing of the gear, stopping briefly to examine it.
“...Y-you’re mad, at me, …I think,”
“And I uh…I just… I wanted to fix that, y/n.” He shifted his weight between his feet, chewing his bottom lip as you slowly paused the machine, setting it aside on your desk.
“Why?” You bluntly asked. Perching your elbow on your armrest as you lifted up your goggles.
God, you’re such a sight to him. Even angry and frowning at him like this, you took his breath away, if not more.
“B-because—...”
“I care?”
“I mean–! I care, I care, …I care… a lot,” He grinned again, nodding as if convincing himself before he cleared his throat, louder than necessary. “I care… I care about you, y/n.”
His gaze fell to the ground, pressing his lips into a thin line, he shut his eyes. “I…I made a mistake, okay? A-and… I hurt you, and I’m… real sorry, y/n.”
“...I don’t…wanna lose you,” He breathed that out, coming out barely above a whisper while his hand gripped the plastic bag tighter.
“Look–.. that one time, y-you saw me with that girl at the gate? S-she meant nothing, okay?”
“I just…wanted to be nice,” He muttered quietly, almost as if in shame.
“You’re always nice, Han.” You blurted, finally opening up your voice. It felt cold, different from what he was so used to hearing. “You’re always nice to everyone, aren’t you?” Your voice shook.
“...You probably think this is stupid, I don’t care.” You spat, your voice held a small tinge of anger in it.
“You made me think that you… you liked me, and—”
“Because I do.”
The words hung there, waiting for your response as the air conditioner hummed through the air.
“I…I do like you, y/n.”
“A lot.” He whispered quietly, his arms swinging in nervousness as he chewed on his lip, suffocated by the silence you answered with.
You stared at him.
Not just because he was standing there, but his words rang to your ears. It was what you wanted to hear. That confession, that maybe he cared for you for a reason. And he did. He did care for you for a reason.
“For a long time now, okay?”
“I—... I don’t even know when– I just–...”
He sighed. “I just… really like talking to you, I like how you understand my dumb jokes, and you even—...it’s dumb, but you flirt back when I do, okay? And that shit was hot… for me.”
He groaned, wiping his eyes with frustration in his movements, throwing his head back as he stammered; “I’m screwing this shit up– I’m..”
“y/n I’m just… sorry,” He said, finally looking at you. Hints of tears threatening to fall down his cheeks while he stared at you with desperation written all over his face.
“Please don’t… don’t leave,”
And you wanted to cry, and laugh, at the same time. Cry because you’ve never seen him like this, because did he really just lay his heart bare to you? Laugh because God he looks ridiculous right now. So desperate, so sad, if this was a less serious moment, maybe you’d pull out your phone and record him.
So you smiled, “I like you too,”
“H–..What..?” He croaked back, his voice unsteady as he looked up at you again.
“I like you, Hanta, I like you, back.”
He breathed out a laugh, finally smiling after what felt like his face was stretched down to the earth for the past few minutes, he grinned, running his hand through his hair. “You– what?”
Ahem. “Okay wait, pause—”
“C-can I–..?” A hand reached out to you hesitantly, sheepish and nervous, twitching slightly as if scared you’ll break if he touches you.
Slowly, you reached back, enveloping your hands into his, letting him slowly pull you into his embrace. Warm, quiet, and… smells like tangerines. A small giggle escaped his lips as he brought his hand up to your hair, carefully caressing it. “Shit, I’m so— happy right now,”
His heartbeat was fast, shinkansen speed-kinda-fast, you heard it as you slowly buried your face to his shoulder, your arms awkwardly wrapping around his waist, and you couldn’t help but smile widely, nuzzling yourself into him.
“I thought I messed this up, I swear— like, real bad, y’know?” He murmured into your hair, a hand gently resting over the line between your hip and waist. “I thought I lost you,”
With a swift motion, he took off his blazer, carefully resting it on your shoulders, as he wrapped his arms around you again.
“S’ yours now,”
“...What?”
“My blazer—...your blazer.”
You giggled, lightly pinching his shoulder. “Shut up,”
“Hey come on!” He chuckled, “I’ll even trademark it for ya,”
You grinned against his shoulder, arms wrapping just a bit tighter around him.
“C’mon, I know you looovee me that much, but I know you’re also hungry,” His hand nudged your arm with the plastic bag, “I brought my favorite mechanic’s favorites,” He hummed out.
“Steamed cake and banana milk.”
He grinned. “Just how you like it,”
And in the warm, quiet thrum of the workshop, under buzzing lights and the soft scent of sawdust and tangerines, it finally felt right.
Like home.
dworkism | do not repost!
➤ masterlist!
i gotta write other things other than this man i swear
I started my new sketchbook and all I've drawn his Erasermic art. No joke just pages upon pages of Erasermic
This!!!!! I wish I could shove this in my stupid bosses' faces!!!!!!! 😤
you spend so much of your life fucking suicidal and at the end of the day you're just supposed to not die. you lie on the bed and all you can think about is dying and you're just not supposed to do it. imagine having the kind of energy inside you it takes to want to kill yourself, and you're just supposed to let it dissipate. let it melt into the fucking sheets. you can't keep doing that without losing a little of your mind in the process.
hi, i love dynamics that r like “we make each other worse” on the surface but when u look deeper it is actually just “we understand each other on a level that no one else does and nudge each other out of our typical comfort zone” which just circles around to “we make each other better”. it’s abt the accidental growth just by being in each other’s lives. idk
natlan
man, that's it, im fleeing to canada.
reblog to kill trump
Petycja, żeby rozpisać semi-realistic timeline One Piece, która będzie jakiegoś rodzaju pomostem między przygodową naturą serii, która stara się ignorować upływ czasu, tym jak wszystkim randomowo znikają rany kiedy tylko jest to wygodne i tym jak najwidoczniej Law po miesiącu siedzenia w chatce z drewna i sprzedawania pierogów przeszedł z "nie jestem w stanie zrobić bąbelka większego niż dom" do "masterowałem teraz mój diabelski owoc" bo irl minęło jakieś 6 lat i Oda ma dwieście nowych pomysłów które chce wykorzystać.
Were your intentions really good, though?
Reflect on that, look inward
Be better
The road to hell is paved with good intentions the road to hell is paved with good intentions the road to hell is paved with good intentions the road to hell is paved with good intentions the road to hell is paved with good intentions the road to hell is paved with good intentions the road to hell is paved with good intentions the road to hell is paved with good intentions the road to hell is paved with good intentions the road to hell is paved with good intentions the road to hell is paved with good intentions the road to hell is paved with good intentions the road to hell is paved with good intentions the road to hell is paved with good intentions the road to hell is paved with good intentions the road to hell is paved with good intentions the road to hell is paved with good intentions the road to hell is paved with good intentions the road to hell is paved with good intentions the road to hell is paved with good intentions the road to hell is paved with good intentions the road to hell is paved with good intentions the road to hell is paved with good intentions the road to hell is paved with good intentions
That's It, I'm making a "Till is alive" folder or smth
Bc this is THE THIRD (that I know of) time that he get's grouped with Mizi and Luka
A fanart for The Space In Between on Ao3, where Tigerstar tries to kill Ravenpaw, but Firepaw gets there first and tries to save the Ravenboi, getting very fucked up in the process
Link for those who want, it's Really good I sweeear~
https://archiveofourown.org/works/49583500
honestly didnt even recognise him when i was originally reading. i was like "whomst the fuckest is this???" and then eventually i FINALLY realised it was lillium
him???? HIM????
I'm actually glad that Liam Vickers confirmed the fact that the MD characters are not children and are over 18, because now I HOPE everyone who called Nuzi a proship will shut up (of course they won't)
Doodles n Life Ramblings
I have not posted here for a while. There has been a lot going on, and it’s all just been frying my brain something awful. I’m attempting to lock in so I can graduate… 8 days after I turn 18… but well, it hasn’t been a successful attempt.
Here’s some oc x canon doodles as compensation 💪
I’ve missed these goobers 💔
rats are friends, not food. i’m looking at you, corvo
Ten Totally Awesome, Very Serious, Incredibly Valid Reasons to Ship Shigaraki/Ochako
Pleaseee Note: This is a parody post. If you’re looking for real reasons to ship Shigako (M&Ms voice: they do exist!), they’re over here.
Spoilers for My Villain Academia, watch out.
Keep reading
"He got that dog in him"
The dog in him:
