#just get out of everyone’s fucking face lmao

[velvetdolor]

sugarcoat

𝙂𝙀𝙉𝙍𝙀: 𝘋𝘢𝘳𝘬 𝘴𝘮𝘶𝘵, 𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘴��𝘰𝘵, 𝘧𝘪𝘭𝘵𝘩, 𝘣𝘢𝘥 𝘥𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴, 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘺'𝘢𝘭𝘭, (evil) secret camboy with a corruption kink au, 18+

𝙋𝙚𝙧𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙩 𝙗𝙛! 𝙎𝙖𝙣 (𝙝𝙚'𝙨 𝙞𝙣𝙨𝙖𝙣𝙚) 𝙭 𝙄𝙣𝙣𝙤𝙘𝙚𝙣𝙩! 𝙍𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧

𝙎𝙔𝙉𝙊𝙋𝙎𝙄𝙎: He was sweet—almost too sweet. The kind of boyfriend who said all the right things, touched you like you mattered, and smiled like he had nothing to hide. But the charm was a mask, carefully crafted to disarm. Behind the softness lurked something darker: a hidden lifestyle he documented regularly online under the pseudonym ‘ch0i-kitty’, who posted content of girls he slowly corrupted on camera, vulgar perversion and live streamed conversations about his target of choice.

You thought you were falling in love.

You didn’t realize you were being documented.

AKA In which your sweet boyfriend isn’t as sweet as you originally thought and is a pervert with a taste for corrupting girls on camera. wc: 7k

warnings: characters have little to no moral code, corruption kink, impact play, full nelson, strangling, hair pulling, overstim, dubcon (somewhat), rough sex. dom!san, mindbreak, coercion/intended manipulation, san’s a massive pervert and a red flag (like genuinely, it’s pretty bad), reader gets photos of them taken without their permission—heads up, plot twist!

don’t read if u don’t like it

this is arguably the filthiest thing i’ve written on this blog thus far…. and that’s saying something LMAO

“Baby, did’ya eat today?” San reaches across the table, his thumb brushing gently against your cheek. You shake your head, hair swaying, and take a sip of your iced tea. The condensation seeps into your fingers, and without thinking, you wipe your hand on your lap. Bunny’s diner—a diner owned by San’s childhood friend Seonghwa—was bustling under the brunch traffic. You don’t notice San’s gaze drifting upward—nor the way he taps his finger against the salt shaker, nudging it just enough to send it tumbling off the edge.

“Fuck—sorry.” Face chagrin and flushed as he tries to reach under the table, purposely bumping his head against the edge. San gets on his knees, scraping at the excess salt on the floor slowly—eyes darkening as he makes contact with your skin tight panties that practically restrict the blood flow around your cunt.

You’re wearing white today.

Cute.

He makes sure his phone’s on silent before he snaps a photo, pocketing it before sliding back into the booth, and sighing exasperatingly. “Why am I so fucking clumsy?” He groans and threads his fingers into his head to curl into himself. “—I feel like everyone heard that.”

They didn’t. He knew they didn’t. Not under all that clanging going on in the Diner’s kitchen.

You reach forward, grabbing his hand with doe eyes. “No one heard it! It’s okay, baby. I drop things all the time.”

It takes everything in San to not moan.

You were perfect.

He couldn’t stop talking about you when he live-streamed last night: everything he wanted and planned to do to you, your name falling out of his lips as he touched himself slightly out of frame—gripping tightly, grinding—stifling his moans with gritted teeth against a belt so you wouldn’t hear him during your call.

You called for no reason. All you said was “I called because I missed you. I love you.”

Sugary. Honey. Cotton candy and the color pink. You were the sweetest fucking thing.

And he doesn’t think he’s ever wanted to ruin something so badly. None of the other girls before you wore innocence as well as you did.

To them? It was an aesthetic—something subject to change. They wanted him to ruin them. But you?

You were his idle angel and sweetness incarnate—doll like lashes without a hint of suspicion or mal-intentions. Shy. The type to naturally hold a hand out when you needed help getting down from somewhere and not flinching when a big arm wrapped around your waist to pick you up.

The type to kiss San and plan on a wedding—not him stuffing you full of cock and fucking you dumb into a stale pillow in his dorm room. To flinch and pull away in embarrassment when his hand crept under the cup of your bra, begging him kindly to take it slow.

Which he did.

He has been.

He savors the push and pull—it’s how he knows you’re the real deal.

San watches you slice into the Canadian ham, a content smile tugging at his lips as you happily dig into your eggs Benedict. You’d need all the energy you could get.

He slides his pancakes over to you, smearing honey butter and packing on the cinnamon just the way liked them and tells you he’s too full to eat anymore.

“You’re missing out, Sannie.” You jest, tapping the tip of your fork against your teeth playfully. “You barely ate—“ you pause to take a bite, smiling at him mid-chew. “Something on your mind?”

He bites back a smile, eyes folding into half moons as he stared at you for a couple of beats “It’s just cute—the way you look when you eat.”

“The way I eat?” You tilt your head.

“Yeah—you just…stuff your mouth until it’s super cramped. Careful” he wipes cream from the side of your mouth ”— you might choke if you take too much all at once.”

A sudden tension threads through his voice, pulling your eyes up from the plate, curious. You nod, offering him a sweet smile.

“Aye, captain!”

San always worries about the smallest things.

He scrolls through his phone as you finish your meal, the clink of your fork masking the soft swipes of his finger. You don’t see the images flashing by—candid frames of you lost in thought, others taken while you slept, your shirt slipped just high enough to expose the delicate curve of lace against skin. Some are closer, hungrier: your legs parted in sleep, revealing only the faintest swell of softness. He lingers on that one a moment longer, gaze unreadable, mouth still curled in that contented smile.

When you finish eating, San calls for the waiter with a patient smile—sliding a stack of bills down before rearranging the dishes politely and leaving.

San’s thick, calloused fingers grab hold of your hand —threading meticulously before leading you out of the Diner, exhaust fumes of humid street stalls and early autumn conundrum waft into your nose. You feel content. Full. Happy and in love.

You watch his side profile, the breeze tugging gently at his cropped hair. He glances both ways, unfazed by your gaze, then crosses the road with you—heading toward his daddy’s old ’70, the metal sun-warmed and waiting.

You trail your fingers along the muted, rust-red paint while waiting for San to unlock the door—then slip inside as he murmurs a small joke under his breath. He rolls the windows down, knowing you like to rest your head on his arm while he drives, your feet dangling out the window—just far enough to feel free, but never close enough to tempt danger.

At a red light, San reaches a hand towards the glove compartment—digging around before pulling out an old camcorder. A small jingle plays as it turns on, the chime beckoning a giggle from you. “What’s that?”

He doesn’t answer—just presses play.

“Smile for the camera, pretty.”

Then he gives your thigh a light smack when you laugh, face buried in your hands as you shrink back into your seat, grinning behind your fingers. Playfully, you peek an eye out—laughing with your heart, wind in your hair, and girls just want to have fun by Cyndi Lauper playing in the background.

He gets you home safe and sound, kissing you a little bit rougher than usual. The red light of his camcorder still flickers on his dash—camera becoming a voyeur on top of his dashboard when his hands rest on your thigh, fingers idling just beneath the hem of your dress and pulling lightly to squeeze the flesh it’s sandwiching.

You skip to your porch, all girlish giggles and swaying skirts as you wave goodbye and close your screen door. And San watches.

Intent.

Indulging.

Ravenous.

“She was wearing white today.” San tinkers with a rubix cube, webcam pointed low enough to capture the sharp of his jaw—a canine-like half grin, as he licked his teeth and sucked in a frustrated breath. He unbuttons his dress shirt just enough for a golden sliver of skin to peak out and spreads his legs purposely so that his pants are taut on his form.

Little pings sound from his desktop and he doesn’t bother reading any of the incoming chats from his stream. “It was practically choking her pussy—you think that’s why she chose to wear it? Friction or what not?” He scoffs playfully, rubbing a thumb over the flat of his stomach as he leans back on his computer chair, recalling.

The way you tasted like honey butter and cinnamon and the way your underwear was tight enough to make your flesh swell red.

A celebratory chime rings from his computers speakers, an automated girl singing “points, points!”

[• ch0i’s_fav-kitty_ gifted 200 points and left a note! “Ruin her for the rest of us.” ]

San smirks cunningly.

“Well, since you asked so nicely—I’ll plan a gift just for you, kitty.” He unbuttons the last few notches on his dress shirt, sliding his palm down the flat of his golden tummy and under his slacks. “But until then, I’ll dedicate this show to you.”

Biting at the cuff of his wrist, stifling his moans and keening his neck just enough to keep the crowd satisfied since they weren’t allowed to see his face. San was in his element and this was his arena.

He’ll use the money from this livestream to pay for something sweet, vanilla, and totally boyfriend coded before melting you down into something wrecked. Unrecognizable. Fucked up and pretty just for him.

The best part? He’s waited this long so you’d let him do it willingly.

Choi San knew he had all the makings of the perfect boyfriend—the kind others envied, whispered about, and admired from afar. Charismatic, intelligent, and from a well-to-do family—and upon arriving as a legacy to his university, he was immediately ushered into the most prolific brotherhood of the institution. You’d hear his name uttered in locker rooms, the corners of lecture halls, and in offices as Professors discussed recommendation letters.

He sold the best parts of himself when it came to finding love, but profited the most off the filth he worked hard to keep separated from his offline life.

There’s just one tiny pothole in San’s initially seamless perfection: he liked ruining things. Good things. Especially good girls. On camera.

Everyone believed San had immaculate taste in women. The few he entertained publicly all shared the same quiet allure—graceful, composed, the kind of girls who seemed untouched by anything cruel. Poised. Innocent. Almost too good to be real and too hard to dislike.

What they didn’t know was that San preferred them pure for a reason—because he had a fucked up way of getting off. If he got them to love him enough, then he’d be able to do anything—including filming every moment he got to break them down on camera. The slow sip of corruption dousing a white dress in a way that bested murder. To be caught on tape and immortalized—proof that he had the makings. The power to ruin without apology.

It started as scratching a place he knew he shouldn’t have scratched in the first place— a shaky livestream, stuttered words that left him like he sat in either a confessional or investigation room until he finally settled comfortably into the skin of his darkest desires. The small online community quickly grew once he released his special series, sugarcoat: a long term documentation of girls he dated and taped for his loyal followers—all perfect subjects for their fixation on the act of corrupting.

But with the others before you, it all felt like roleplay. What Choi San wants is what Choi San gets—and this is to his detriment. It was too easy. If he’d asked any of them on the first date to film, he would’ve gotten the green light.

Performative innocence, not even played to the T. C-rate actresses in frills and lace—itching to tear off the costume once shooting ends.

San didn’t camboy for money. He did it as reprieve from the kind of perfection that stifled him with its ideals on a daily basis. Here, he could be horrible.

Desired for his ugliness, for his muck.

And you were the closest thing to a natural high he’d ever felt in his entire life—the sweetest layer of his series. His beloved cherry on top.

“Did you like it?” San chuckles, dimples carving into his grin, softening the sharpness of his features. The flashing LED lights of the carnival dance in his eyes, tiny sparks catching like stars—like every bit of the boy you used to dream about. You’re breathless, and not just from how he looks in that black compression shirt, clinging to him in all the right ways, but from the rollercoaster he’d talked you into riding.

“…Like’s an understatement. Can we go again?” You bounce on your toes, ponytail swinging excitedly. San sighs playfully, and then shakes his head. “Baby, I’ve got a surprise waiting for you at my place—remember?”

Eyes brightening, you hold on tight to his left arm while making your way out the exit. The distance screams of ride-goers and arcade game music muffle your conversations—almost domesticating them. “Come on, can’t you give me a clue? What’s the surprise?”

“No. Can. Do.” He furrows his brows, punctuating, and then slings his arm over your shoulder—pulling you into his arms to lay a kiss on your temple. “Be a good girl. Patience is a virtue.”

Roses.

Take out dinner that arrived just on time and tapestries hung around his dorm room to make it look more cozy and less clinical under the usually bright fluorescent overhead light. He bought an extra toothbrush and filled one of the drawers of his bathroom with a variety of skincare products, essential oils, and menstrual products.

Your favorite ice cream was frozen to perfection in his freezer and the T-shirt you liked stealing from him already waited at the edge of his bed for you, folded kindly.

San shut the door behind him, a soft smile tugging at his lips as he watched you flit around the room, gently tapping the new fairy lights with the tip of your nail.

“I thought we could have a sleepover now that the term’s over,” he said. “With the internship starting soon, I won’t get to see you as much.”

“San…I love it. Your room finally looks lived in” you jest, elbow bumping his waist, and turn towards him to wrap your arms around the slim of his waist. He flinches slightly, body tensing—sensitive. Internally groaning because you probably don’t realize how close he’s been to snapping.

The air feels…different. Charged. Laced with an unspoken expectation—San sees it in the way you seem to curl shyly when he digs his face into the crook of your neck, your usual behavior and touchiness diluted into something moderately restrained.

You typically fed on physical affection the way someone would drink water, a domesticated sense of skin to skin contact: a pinky locked with his as you studied, legs draped onto his lap while scrolling through your phone or leaning over his shoulder to watch reels with him.

You’re seated between his legs, facing the TV. Some vintage horror movie drones on in the background, as a girl screams in horror when an undead fist pushes straight through cemetery dirt—reaching towards heaven.

She fails to run away in time and you laugh.

He didn’t expect you to find it funny, a quirk to his brow when he swears he hears you mumble “Survival instincts of a peanut” under your breath.

When you adjust, San stills. Breath hitching when he feels the lace of your skirt rub against his jeans and he knows you feel it too.

He tries his luck and slides a palm under your shirt before rubbing the skin of your stomach casually. You lean into it, hips unconsciously rolling towards his hands.

It’s the flush on your face that undoes him, eyes unfocused, looking almost confused by the wetness he knew made your panties cling to your skin.

“—baby. Can I touch you more?” He coats his words in sugar, breathing into your ear sweetly. The edges of his voice beg.

“…mhm.” You nod slowly, hair falling over your cheekbones as you peer up at him. San pulls you closer, your back pressed against his chest as he peppers wet kisses up your neck.

He groans when you shiver and your back to press your breasts into his hands instinctively.

But you flinch away, a quiet embarrassment settling into your bones. You look confused, thighs closing and pressing against each other looking for relief in the pressure. “San, wait—I’ve…never done this before. I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Do you trust me?” he asks, his gaze steady as he tilts your chin up, capturing your lips in an upside-down kiss. His jaw moves slowly, deliberately, his tongue sliding against yours in a way that’s both soothing and seductive. You hum, eager, reaching up for more—until he pulls back, a glint of something unreadable in his eyes.

“I… like filming things,” he continues, voice low, almost coaxing. “I want to remember it. Forever. Can I?”

Your eyebrows scrunch together—conflicted. “Sannie—what if I don’t look good on camera and you have that on you forever?” He shakes his head. “Baby—“ running his hands down your body and under your bra, cupping your breasts and twisting the tips of your nipples. A sharp yelp leaving your lips as he licks up the side of your throat. “I promise, you’re the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

His serpentine eyes lock onto yours without hesitation, unflinching. His presence wraps around you like a tightening coil, arms holding you in place as you suddenly feel small, almost like prey caught in his grasp.

San guides your hand to lock behind your back. Sandwiching your arm and gripping it above his aching cock. “See what you did to me?”

He grinds into your hand with a deliberate whimper into your ear.

His grip on you tightens, absolutely fucked out. For the love of god he’s waited months. It’s the longest he’s ever held out for. After a couple of beats—hesitation crumpling under the weight of profound lust, you agree. “Whatever makes you happy.”

Fuck.

He’s obsessed—you’re perfect for the gig. For him.

San doesn’t think he wants to share the footage for once, second thoughts running rampant.

“Whatever makes you happy?” he repeats, a sly smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Are you sure? Can I do whatever I want to you?” Wide eyes gaze at him. Pure. Unadulterated with the right amount of curiosity.

“If it’s for you—yes. I trust you.” His mouth clashes with yours instantly before sliding his tongue in when you gasp in surprise. A string of saliva connects your mouth when he lets you go.

“Lay down.” There’s a sudden chill in his tone. An unraveling—strict, direct, impatient and leaving little to no room for hesitance.

Reaching over to his dresser, he pulls the same camcorder and adjusts it so it’s pointing directly at you. San turns the zoom dial, diluting the environment of the room and focusing entirely on you.

Without delay, he casually reaches over to unzip your skirt and pull off your panties like he’s done it plenty of times before.

He lays one of your legs over his lap and spreads you open. Your hands immediately jolt to cover your face, thighs slamming closed in attempts to hide from him.

“Let me see you. You were being such a good girl. I want to look at your pretty little pussy.” Peaking one eye at him through a gap in your fingers, you slowly part your legs. He spits on his fingers, still seated next to you as he leans from the side to gaze down at your cunt.

Making sure that the camera is framing you properly, he pulls at your folds with two hands—one on each side so that the camera catches the fluttering of your fleshy insides. Your body jolts, a small moan of surprises tumbling out when he massages your clit in circles and holds your leg down with a firm hand.

“Does it feel good?” He giggles when you nod in surprise. Doe eyed as you finally put down your hands and stare at his movement.

“It’s such�� a pretty color. I wanna see it more.” A smack lands directly above your clit— a silent scream choking in your throat at the intense stimulation and sting. San mentally counts to ten, each slap descending faster, harder, and landing more precisely. Rubbing side to side, your body jolts when you feel your cunt clench around nothing—raising your hips to dig his hand against you with more pressure. Rhythmic moans leave you when your orgasm hits you, but he doesn’t stop after the waves leave you.

You body flinches from the sensitivity, small jerks as you push and pull away from his touch “San—I can’t.”

“Yes you can. And you’ll take it until I want to stop. Understood?” You only cry out, tears welling in your eyes at the intense stimulation. He smacks your cunt again. “Understood?”

“Understood!” You bite out, relenting, and he slides a finger into you—curling and feeling the gummy texture.

He commits it to memory and wishes he had the sort of camera that could film from the inside. He’ll buy that later.

You don’t know how long he fingers you for.

You’re restless—finally growing accustomed to the continuous ministrations of his hand. There’s nothing gentle in the way San drives you flat onto your stomach—his body looming over you like a dark shadow, muscles tense beneath the fabric of his compression shirt. A quick unbuckling and shuffling of him sliding off his jeans later—and your vision goes white when he pushes himself into you in one go.

He’s huge.

San grins darkly when he hears your choked whimper, slamming down into you and pressing his full weight against your back.

The bed creaks repetitively with his brutal pace, muffled screams leaving you as he fucks into you—definitely bruising your cervix in the process. Your eyes roll into the back of your head, drool slipping out of the sides of your mouth—totally icing out the fact that you’re fucking obscenely loud at a dormitory. Someone bangs on the wall but San only fucks you harder, pulling your hair and pressing into you until your body goes limp and lays completely flat on the bed.

Everything is blanking out. Your name, what you’re doing, where you are and with who “S-san I can’t take it.”

He tugs you up by the hair, vulgar slaps against the reddening flesh of your ass continuing their onslaught. “You can take it baby. Just be a good girl and shut up for me.” Slapping your breasts, he flips you over and slides himself snug against you—pelvis pressing yours directly and stuffing himself back in.

Both of his hands wrap around your throat, unrelenting—brutal. The veins on your face rise to the surface, mouth falling open to try and scream but immediately failing. All of his weight is being held on your throat as he uses the force to propel himself forward—digging into you.

You think you pissed yourself mid orgasm, but San keeps going—eyes obsidian and dilated, bordering on animalistic frenzy. Slapping desperately at his arms because of the overstimulation again—you claw at the skin, gasping and seeking breath. He sends three more hard thrusts down before cumming thick ropes into you with a pornographic moan. “F-fuck.”

San swears he’s never seen anything more pretty than you lying under him—bruised, drying tears and smeared mascara—body completely red like it’s fighting a fever. He slaps his cock onto the fat of your pussy before leaning down and breathing in the smell of your sweat gathering in the crook of your neck. He massages your hip, coaxing—and pulls you in to cuddle.

Just as he’s about to slip back into the role of the perfect boyfriend, you murmur sweetly.

“Did that make you happy?”

He stills. Clock ticking in the back of his head up until it hit five seconds

and flips himself onto his back, tugging you along with him—fumbling to push his already fully hardened cock inside. His arms slide under your armpits and lock behind your neck before he jack hammers upwards—pushing past his own sensitivity, fully intent on fucking you until you felt like raw meat. You don’t count how many orgasms you had or how many people knocked on San’s door groggy and pissed only to be ignored.

He groans, pulling out to slap your cunt before quickly sliding back in. “ Do ya like that? Feels good princess? You’re doing so good.”

Your legs grow tired from having to hold your weight up from his chest, feet flat against the bed before going limp—back sandwiched against his damp skin. San doesn’t stop, only slithering a hand down to rub your clit in circles. “Are you happy? Am I being good enough? Sannie, I’m tired.” You whine lightly, eyebrows scrunching as tears threatened to fall.

He whimpers “So fucking good. I’m almost done, sweetheart. Just one more and we can go to bed, yeah?” You almost black out when he fastens his pace, spraying while orgasming and arching your back with vulgar moans.

He pulls out this time, cumming on the fat flesh of your thighs before petting your pussy lightly—appeasingly in performative apology. San holds your body tightly against him, clamping his arms around you while peppering kisses on your shoulder.

“You made me so happy today—seriously, you’re my favorite girl ever.” He rocks you lightly as you giggle.

God, he’s obsessed.

You were the perfect balance between submission and maintained innocence. He’s too tired to look over the footage, but his brain still maps more content ideas.

There’s no way he’s sharing this one but…he’ll still talk about it once he livestreams.

San thinks he might actually love you—and it’s that thought that carries him into deep sleep.

When San’s breathing lulls softly, your eyes blink open in the dark. Slowly, carefully, you reach for his phone, unlocking it with practiced ease. Your thumb drifts across the screen, skimming through his apps—until you find it. A hidden folder buried deep in his files.

Photos, videos, pixelated and zoomed in screenshots of your legs spread open. It’s casual almost—the way your eyes drift around his screen, observing.

Silently, you close out the apps one by one, then inch closer to his sleeping form. Unreadable eyes watching him sleep without blinking. You trace his nose bridge and jaw, kissing him lightly as he slept

slightly unsatisfied by the extent of his hidden perversion.

You thought it’d be worse.

You shut your apartment door—pulling your hair tie away and shake the hairs threatening to fall in your eyes before tugging off the cashmere sweater off like it burned you. The rest of your clothes fall like feathers to the floor, leaving a trail to your bedroom.

You fucking hated cashmere. Fingernail tapping against a custom Zippo—cherry etched into the steel—you flick it open and light a cigarette. Smoke curls around you as you sink into your computer chair, wearing nothing but your underwear. You type in the password: ch0i’s_fav-kitty_.

The page immediately opens to a pending livestream

[ch0i-kitty is online • ]

“—she was such a good girl. Nothing like the others. Pure. Willing to take it and learn—“ You grin, taking a fat drag of your cigarette before leaning back—amused.

Are all boys this dumb? This easy?

All you had to do was play good girl at a surface level for a hotshot like him to come crawling. You watched San for months—committing to the trails of information you could find: a small business card in the backdrop of his stream, the edge of a university hoodie, a fraternity ring—never missing a single livestream to know the exact kind of girl he wanted most but could never find. Not in full at least.

Either too good and too willing to be bad for him. Too slutty from the get go and unable to convince him that they’d never had sex before—rookie stuff.

No one was committed to the bit. Not as much as you were.

Lifting a hand to grab your phone, you call just as San eased a hand down his dress pants—mirroring his actions by peeling your underwear to the side.

You see him grit his teeth and try to control his heaving breaths before answering the phone on live, voice resonating directly into your ear. “Hi baby, you okay?”

Slinking a finger inside, face flushed red with maniacal victory “—nothing. I just called because I missed you.” You grin devilishly when he tilts his head back, stifling a groan as his fist picks up in speed.

“—I miss you too, baby. Already.”

You hum softly, a smile in your voice as you lie—just for a second—saying you had to head back to work. Then you hang up.

You flick the ash off your cigarette, not blinking as you watched him get off. Fingers clicking against your keyboard—positively transfixed by the camboy you’ve obsessed over for a year. He deserves a little treat.

[• ch0i’s_fav-kitty_ gifted 100 points! ]

“Thank you for your donation, kitty. You’re the best.”

Choi San was yours.

And you were his.

because no one could play the good girl better than you.

fin.

[jollyhunter]

Aight, let's get down to this. *cracks knuckles* (not in the riot starting kinda way).

Okay, I'm ready for the Angst.

Have you ever noticed that closing your eyes and counting to ten does little when you're talking to the most odious person alive?

Your intros always take me off guard in the most hilarious way 🤣 Just like this;

2. You brought a tuna fish sandwich from home and he could somehow smell it two floors down.

I mean. I can almost understand how that one can be annoying. But I don't want to agree with the Warden and therefore I'll let it slip 😂

At least on paper, the things you'd done in your head were a little more PG-13 than the Warden needed to know about. Hell, you still were trying your best not to let your mind go to those places.

LOL I love this reader so much. She's got that Golden Retriever / Sunshine personality but in her head she's just as naughty as all of us 🤭 ... Good thing the Warden can't read minds. The things he'd see there 😂

You briefly wonder if he's always been like this or if he's having marital problems that he projects on everyone else.

Bahaha - definitely the latter. My old highschool teacher was the same. Absolute ass. The day his wife dropped by, we all knew why 🤣 (didn't justify it though and neither did we feel sorry for him lol)

Looks like somebody has been talking to my mother.

LMAO - not me instantly imagining her mother and the Warden meeting up every Wednesday for a cuppa afternoon tea to gossip about her daughter

'the douchebag professor who thinks that he knows everything, but really just stares down your blouse and likes keeping you quiet and submissive.'

What an accurate way to describe a pose we all immediately recognize 😂 (and has us recoil and clench our jaws). You always manage to describe things in such unique ways which are either beautiful or have me crack up LOL!

This is much worse than someone stealing my chocolate, and that's saying something.

This reader is growing on me. She's got her priorities set right 😂 and her heart is in the right place 💗 She really is the perfect opposites-attract puzzle piece to Mark isn't she?

"I'm sure Walker will have a lot of fun getting his hands on a pretty little thing like you, with no one to stop him and no one to hear you scream. And for men like him," Something dark flickers in his eyes sending a shudder down your spine as he leans down towards you. "Hearing those screams makes them feel alive."

Okay I just wanted to throttle the Warden at this point. The fact that he says these things even though he knows that Walker's not a real criminal, just makes this ten times more disgusting. I hope he gets kicked in the family jewels in a riot or somebody knocks him over with his car!

Walker's eyes have gone dark, the playful gleam you'd grown to love vanishing, his mischievous smirk morphed into an angry scowl as he throws his fist into the other inmate's face. Blood flecks over his cheeks and across his knuckles, and despite the guards that try to pull him off the other man, Walker fights back hard.

HERE COMES THE MISUNDERSTANDIG - OH NO.

Also, very clever how you played with the canon scene here! I love how we all try to integrate those and give them a different twist or perspective 😄 (I've got something planned with that one as well 🤭)

Like when you switched to Mark's perspective and played the entire scene once more. Genius move!! And so effective!!

She wears crazy socks for fucks sake! A woman like her should be working in one of the top hospitals in the country, not here!

EXACTLY. And that's why she fits you so well, Mark! You're like a pair of mismatched socks! (I LOVE his internal monologues so much, overall his entire perspective was so intriguing and well done - I don't know about you but I felt like you nailed his character!!)

Because where could this go? He finally gets out of prison only to tell you that he's on death row? A dead man walking? Might as well just throw him right back in the fucking clink, he was already waiting out a death sentence and as long as he was making some kind of difference who cares?

NO - MARK STAHP IT. His final thoughts on this and with the misunderstanding on top?? Oh man, the next chapter is going to hit hard, I can already smell the angst. Why are you doing this to us! 😭 (jk, you know I love it)

He hated the days that he let another inmate land a punch only to find the buffoon with the duct taped Nikes waiting for him in the infirmary. Talk about disappointing.

Sorry but this had me snort, poor Mark! 🤣

What an awesome second chapter to this storyline, Lee! 🥰 It started out comedic and took an angsty turn real fast. I am kinda scared of the next one now lol! But I also want to know what's going to happen next. Will the misunderstanding lead to even more misunderstandings?? Will we get introduced to the duct taped Nikes buffoon? Will she be scared of Mark / Walker now and the Warden's going to be all like "Told you so." ? 😭

I Want To Be The One To Light Up The Dark In You

Pairing: Mark Meachum x f!reader, Reader POV, Mark Meachum POV

Summary: As much as you hate to admit it, the Warden might be right. This is the second fic in my Jailhouse Rock Series!

Tropes: Slow Burn, Forbidden Love, A Smidge Of Touch Her And Die Trope, Mutual Pining.

Word Count: 4.4K

Warnings: Manspreading 😒, Mentions of Sex/ Sexual Innuendo, Mentions of Blood and Prison Fights, Cursing, Angst, Inmate Says A Few *ahem* Unpleasant Things, Warden Also Says A Few Unpleasant Things, Reader trying not to be in love with a hot man in prison? Mark might be a little bit OOC.

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is no use of y/n! I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite! I'm just starting to write for Mark, so please be gentle.

Internal monologue is in italics and is in first person.

Listen While You Read 🚨: Light Up The Dark By Gabrielle Aplin title of fic is taken from this song!

Jailhouse Rock Playlist 🚨

Main Masterlist

Jailhouse Rock Masterlist

A/N: Oh my goodness, thank you so much everyone for all the reblogs and the wonderful feedback on part one of this fic series! I'm so happy that so many of you have decided to strap in to this angsty ride! 😊

Reader POV

Have you ever noticed that closing your eyes and counting to ten does little when you're talking to the most odious person alive?

That by some miracle, closing your eyes and pretending that they aren't there standing in front of you, breathing the same air, chattering on and on in the most annoying and condescending voice about something that makes your teeth grind down together and your insides suddenly want to be your outsides will help you find some way to maintain your composure?

Right now you wished it did.

Black coffee steamed from the ancient chipped mug sitting on the tanker desk in front of you, curling and twisting in the mid-day sun that floated through the barred windows of the Warden's office.

It did little to obscure the man scowling at you from under his mustache, but you wished that by some miracle the steam would grow into a cloud to hide you from the judgmental gaze of your employer.

What you'd done, you had no idea, but you noticed that the warden was often pulling you into his office to discuss things that seemed trivial in the grand scheme of things.

Things like:

You forgot to clean off your desk before you went home.

You brought a tuna fish sandwich from home and he could somehow smell it two floors down.

Your socks were distracting and therefore counterproductive to the work environment.

Basically, the warden was the mean cheerleader who dated all the jocks and never grew up.

Lovely.

So when he called you into his office you knew you were in for another tongue lashing that would later make you roll your eyes so hard that they'd get stuck in the back of your head.

He sits across from you, hands entwined on the top of his desk, beady eyes skating across you as if he can sense your internal monologue.

"I hear that you had to patch up Walker again yesterday." He says it like an accusation, as if it isn't your job to take care of the inmates, to patch them up when things get a little too fight club for your taste.

No disrespect to Brad Pitt and Ed Norton of course.

"Yes sir."

You'd learned by now to call him anything other than Warden or Sir would earn you a taste of the famous anger (re temper tantrums) the Warden had.

You'd been on the receiving end of them far too many times and despite not caring if he was mad at you or not, you didn't have time to sit here in his office and wait around, not when you were trying to leave early because your sister Margo and you had your weekly book club meeting tonight at your apartment.

The Warden takes a sip of his coffee, mustache rippling over the curve of the chipped cup, not breaking eye contact with you as he does.

There's an odd energy in the room, something oppressive and faintly masculine. It's cloying presence pulls at your limbs, shifts over the dark wood cabinet behind the desk, and drags over the concrete slab floor that ran the length of the prison. It was the same kind of energy that you'd only found in your physics professor's office, the one who told you that you'd never be able to pass his course with your academic record and you then spent the semester proving him wrong.

The walls of his office are painted in the same dreary gray that ghosted along the infirmary. You supposed that it was to make the room look bigger, but it only made it feel small, choking.

Instead of closing your eyes and counting to ten, you busy yourself with reading the titles of the books that line the dark wooden cabinet behind the Warden's head.

Anything is better than looking into those creepy beady eyes.

Especially not when you knew that the Warden was fishing for something to hold over you. Even though the only thing you'd done with Walker was your job. At least on paper, the things you'd done in your head were a little more PG-13 than the Warden needed to know about. Hell, you still were trying your best not to let your mind go to those places.

The Warden's gaze shifts over your body again. It worms beneath your skin, oppressive, squirmy. It was the same look that he gave the rest of the inmates within the walls of the prison to keep them in submission. You briefly wonder if he's always been like this or if he's having marital problems that he projects on everyone else.

"I also hear that you've been-" He clears his throat, beady eyes on you. "a little more friendly with him." His lip curls up in distaste at the word "friendly."

Oh so that's what this is about.

You choose to let your face remain impassive, not giving the man across from you eyeing you like a predatory bird the satisfaction.

"Sir?"

The Warden stands from his desk. "Do you know what the most dangerous thing in our profession is?"

"Shanks?"

The word came out before you could stop it, slipping out with the ghost of a smile on your lips.

His frown deepens. "Now isn't the time for your exhaustive wit."

Looks like somebody has been talking to my mother.

He comes around the desk, every step measured, before finally he's leaning against the front in the ultimate form of man-spreading, the highest level, also known as 'the douchebag professor who thinks that he knows everything, but really just stares down your blouse and likes keeping you quiet and submissive.'

"It's getting comfortable, believing that they can be your friends, not seeing them for what they really are-"

"What they really are?"

"Inconveniences, nuisances, trash, rubbish- the undesirables." The Warden shrugs. "But what they can never be is your friends."

Your jaw tightens.

The truth was, you had heard all of this before from your mother, usually when she was trying to talk you out of keeping your job at the prison.  She'd told you countless times how all of the inmates didn't deserve you as a doctor and therefore you should move on, but you couldn't. You took an oath to help people, to heal, to care, and you felt like you were where you needed to be.

The bigger problem, was hearing this kind of talk from someone who not only was supposed to oversee and run the prison, but also see the worth of his job, of seeing the positives as well as the negatives. He was not supposed to look down on the inmates.

Who does he think he is? The President of the United States?! He has no right to judge these men that way. Not when he's supposed to be the voice of reason, the leader, the one person in this damn prison who actually gives a fuck.

"Sir-" Anger flares in your chest, beating against your ribcage like the wings of a bird.

"Come on." He stands from the desk and walks to his office door behind him.

"What?"

"I want to show you something."

The Warden doesn't wait for you, in fact he continues to walk down the maze of hallways with you running to catch up with him. You had no idea why he couldn't just chew you out in his office for something that you didn't deserve to be chewed out for.

For actually giving a shit about his inmates... well maybe caring a little bit too much.

Your thoughts immediately shift to Walker as they always did whenever all went quiet in your mind and you couldn't think of anyone else.

There was a little part of you that you didn't want to heed, the rational part of your brain that said that Walker was playing you like a fiddle, that he didn't care about you and all he wanted was to charm you so it would be easier for him to use you.

That part usually warred with the other part, the part that kept letting the green-eyed man slip into your thoughts when you felt discouraged and disappointed by the other men in your life that never quite seemed to get you.

The Warden opens a door at the end of the hallway, the brilliant sunlight blinding you for a moment, before you realize that the two of you are standing in the inner gate looking out onto the yard.

Inmates mill around in groups while others move in a grayish blue blur through the crowds with the sun baking from above. Some play a game of basketball in the far corner while others lift weights.

Dust kicks up in twisted clouds around their feet with the wind that blows from the East, wicking the sweat that gathers on the back of your neck. Grass pushes up through the coarse earth in sporadic patches only to be stomped into submission by the white canvas prison regulation tennis shoes the inmates wore. The murmur of the prisoners, the heavy clink of weights, and bounce of a basketball against pavement is lost on the wind.

You find Walker almost immediately. It’s a compulsion, like magnets, as if you can’t help but look for the scruffy green-eyed man who’s entered your subconscious despite all the times you’ve told yourself that it can’t happen. Your mind automatically seeking him out for some relief, a bad habit you can't seem to break.

He's sitting on top of one of the concrete picnic tables on the far end of the yard, talking to a younger guy with hair so black it's almost the color of charcoal.

The breeze rustles through Walker's hair that blazes a honeyed chestnut in the mid-day sun, the same sun that paints his body in a golden glow. You know that if you were standing beside him you’d be able to see the flecks of gold like falling stars around his eyes, that crinkle with his boisterous laugh.

Walker laughs at something the dark-haired inmate says, his warm chuckle somehow finding the curve of your ear as if he's standing right next to you and even though you haven’t been able to hear anything else it comes across clear as day.

An alarm bell goes off in your head, because you know this is crazy. You knew better than to start thinking about an inmate the way you thought about Walker. Even if he was incredibly charming, funny, and had eyes that seemed to see through everything you were.

Damn it.

There was only one place that this could head, and it was already circling the drain, you just needed to pull the plug before you were in too deep.

Feels like it might be too late for that.

Walker's gaze flicks up from his companion to you, finding your eyes within seconds of you finding him, as if he sensed it. You hold his gaze, a smile twitching at the end of his mouth just for a moment, before he looks back at the man beside him. If you’d blinked you would have missed it.

Unfortunately, the Warden didn't miss it either.

"That's exactly what I'm talking about." He says.

"What?"

"You give them too much leash."

"They're not dogs." You grumble under your breath.

"You're right. They're not. They're wolves." The Warden spits, eyes narrowed as he turns to look at you. He takes a step in your direction, backing you up against the chain link fence. "You can't tame them and the second you turn your back, they'll rip your throat out."

His eyes are two blackened pits, the sunlight no longer a soft glow, but a striking white that blinds you momentarily as you look up into his face. The planes of his face are sharpened in the dark shadow of his gray cowboy hat. He looks every bit the Warden role he'd chosen to play.

"You don't know that. Just because they're prisoners does not make them any less human than you and me!" You snap back.

Anger flared red hot beneath your skin, bubbling up from the pit of your stomach like a volcano ready to erupt. You hated the way that he spoke about the inmates, haughty, prideful, arrogant, as if they were below him somehow when all they were was just men. Men who maybe had made a few mistakes, but you were willing to believe that with the bad came the good, that not all of them could be psychos that were locked up for the "betterment of society."

"Yes I do. I've been here a hell of a lot longer than you. See this happen time and time again." He snarls taking another step towards you. The chain link cuts through the back of you scrubs, harsh and unyielding, meant to keep the inmates in but somehow now feel like it's trying to keep you out. "Let me guess, you think that life has been unkind to them. That not one of them deserves to be within these walls."

"That's not what I'm-"

"Did I say that I was done?" He barks.

Your jaw tenses so tightly together that you're sure you'll get TMJ.

He spoke to you like you were a little girl who'd done something wrong and was sent to the principal's office as if you were living in some imaginary world filled with rainbows and unicorns or still believed in Santa.

There were only a few moments in your life that you admitted to absolutely hating someone, and this would go right on the list as number five. Number one was Sally Caruthers in second grade who took your pudding cup at snack time.

This is much worse than someone stealing my chocolate, and that's saying something.

But worse still was that he was assuming you only saw the good in the world, but he was wrong. Your father had told you enough stories from his job growing up, things that were said to you in warning to prepare you for when you struck out on your own. You weren't naïve, far from it, but you didn't believe that everyone was rotten to the core, you wanted to believe that everyone had some good hidden somewhere.

It was that way with Walker. You'd seen his file, knew what he did, but there was a part of you that wanted to believe that he wasn't all bad.

The thought stutters to a halt.

Do I really believe that? Or do I think that just because of the way he's always nice to me… Only when he needs something.

You glance over your shoulder to look at where Walker is sitting with the other inmate, but instead of being locked in conversation, Walker's entire body has gone rigid.

He's staring at where the Warden has you cornered against the chain length fence, eyes dark, with his hand curled against the concrete slab that serves as the top of the table pulled so tight that his knuckles look white. Something dark dances in his eyes that sends a shiver down your spine.

You’d never seen him like that before. Easy smiles, windswept hair, green eyes so bright they seemed to dance yes. But this? Seeing Walker with something akin to murder in his eyes, never.

It made your throat tighten.

"You think they hate being in here? That it’s some dark twist of fate that they’re imprisoned here?” The Warden asks with a sneer. "They aren’t. In here they think they're kings, gods, who assert their power however they see fit. Because out there they are nothing,  but in here they think they're untouchable, and Walker is the worst of them all."

"You don't know that-" Your voice comes out in a whisper, heart sinking.

"I do." The Warden towers over you, placing one of his hands against the unyielding metal of the chain-length fence. His fingers curl into the space to cage you in. The warmth of his breath wafts across your face, bringing the distinct smell of coffee.

It made your stomach feel like it was flopping around, a fish out of water.

"He doesn't give a shit about you, none of the prisoners do. It might be all smiles and jokes now, but the second the status quo changes, the exact moment there aren't any guards looking, no one to stop him, well-" The Warden smiles cruelly. "I'm sure Walker will have a lot of fun getting his hands on a pretty little thing like you, with no one to stop him and no one to hear you scream. And for men like him," Something dark flickers in his eyes sending a shudder down your spine as he leans down towards you. "Hearing those screams makes them feel alive."

The sunlight soaking into your bones has suddenly gone cold, fear tracing along the curve of your spine with a chilled fingertip.

Memories of the stories your father told you from years in this world come whispering against your ear, stories that used to keep your sister up at night and made her the kind of woman that had a bright pink keychain loaded with every self-defense tool known to man.

When you'd taken this job your father had issued the same warning, told you about the dangers of desperate men who had nothing to lose.

"They're wrong," He'd said one night while the two of you watched an episode of the Walking Dead, sighing at the screen. "Men like that don't come around when everything falls apart. They already exist and the dangerous ones aren't the ones that wear it proudly on their sleeves. The dangerous ones are the men who hide in plain sight with easy smiles and gentle touches, because when they flip the switch, you don't see it coming."

On some level you knew that the Warden was right, men like that existed everywhere, but you didn't want to believe that Walker was one of them. Just as you didn't want to believe that everyone was out to get you all the time, that would lead to a very lonely existence, a sad and somewhat dark existence.

A flash of Walker's dark eyes comes roaring back through your subconscious before you can stop it. In his gaze you hadn't seen the Walker you knew, you'd seen someone else. And the longer you thought about it, the more it snagged in your chest that maybe Walker wasn't as charming as he let on and maybe he was getting you exactly where he wanted before the façade dropped.

An alarm sounds from across the yard, shattering through the sounds of mid-day and sending the crows that gathered on the top of the barbed wire fences flocking across the sun.

"Look at him." The Warden grabs your shoulder and turns you around so fast that you feel dizzy for a moment. "You think that man is a puppy? He's a damn wolf in sheep's clothing sweetheart and the second you turn your back they'll be nothing you can do."

Your gaze focuses on Walker, who sits atop another inmate splayed out beneath him on the ground. Walker's eyes have gone dark, the playful gleam you'd grown to love vanishing, his mischievous smirk morphed into an angry scowl as he throws his fist into the other inmate's face. Blood flecks over his cheeks and across his knuckles, and despite the guards that try to pull him off the other man, Walker fights back hard.

His eyes flicker across the yard once again finding you, but this time it doesn't bring the same warmth that it usually does, all it does is bring the chill scuttling down the length of your spine. Because the man staring back at you, has not one shred of the Walker you know, and it brings the doubt surging back up to swallow you whole.

Mark POV

*Five Minutes Ago*

It was moments like this that Mark hated being undercover.

He wasn't one to complain, and truthfully he liked a lot of things about being undercover: the improv as he slipped into character, the bravado he exuded, the rush of adrenaline that snapped and crackled through his veins when things were going his way and also the same lightning bolt that energized him when things weren't…

But not right now.

Especially not now.

It wasn't the sun that baked against his freckled skin, it wasn't the inmates that whispered death threats under their breath whenever they passed or the ones that actually had the balls to act on, it wasn't the chill that came in the dead of night creeping beneath the metal doors and seeped through the cinderblock when he tried to tug the hole riddled blanket up over his body, and it wasn't the headache that pinched between his eyebrows, the same headaches that came at the most inopportune times and reminded him of the thing he was trying to forget.

The axe that hung over the chopping block, the ticking time bomb in his head with a nuclear level countdown sequence that no one could stop.

But he wasn't thinking about any of that, all he was thinking about was you.

Mark knew the second you appeared on the edge of the chain length fence enclosing the yard following after the Warden something was wrong.

Because you weren't smiling.

There was never one moment that Mark had seen you with a frown on your face, not when each time you smiled he felt something deep down inside of him break open and flood the cavity in his chest with warmth. Which only made him feel a hell of a lot of guilt. He was undercover for fucks sake, he needed to focus on what he was doing not get distracted by someone like you…

But he was.

You were so unlike any person he'd ever met, someone who shouldn't exist somewhere like this. Not with your sincere smiles, warm personality, and genuine caring attitude that you carried with you through the dismal halls of the prison. It was almost like there was this one bright light that flickered and shone despite the thick mortar and cinderblock that enclosed the rest of the inmates, a light that could so easily be blown out at a moment's notice.

She wears crazy socks for fucks sake! A woman like her should be working in one of the top hospitals in the country, not here!

And Mark knew that he shouldn't care about you as much as he did, not when he was undercover and especially not because his days were numbered.

Because where could this go? He finally gets out of prison only to tell you that he's on death row? A dead man walking? Might as well just throw him right back in the fucking clink, he was already waiting out a death sentence and as long as he was making some kind of difference who cares?

What was the point if he couldn't give you what you deserved?

But that did nothing to stop you from slipping into his subconscious. The sound of your laugh a soothing melody, the brief glimpse of your smile like a star falling from heaven, and the gentle touch of your fingers over his skin a calming balm whenever you patched him up.

Mark had to keep reminding himself that you were nothing but a distraction, not to mention a complication that he never saw coming, blindsided by your kindness and gentle demeanor.

I'm a fucking professional not some cockeyed rookie. I've done this multiple times why is she different!? Why now?

Mark tried his hardest not to think about you, not when he was supposed to be focused on the job, but he couldn't help it, he worried about you constantly.

Worried that some other inmate or even one of the guards here would catch you alone unaware. Worried that you wouldn't pick up on the signals until it was too late and there was nowhere for you to go and Mark couldn't get to you in time.

Anything could happen in this prison, hell, Mark had seen quite a few things happen already and he couldn't bear the thought of you being involved in any of them.

Mark saw the way the others watched you when they noticed you walking down the hallways, saw the way that even the guards gazes lingered on your form whenever they brought Mark to the infirmary.

And as much as it hurt to get into fights, it was the only way that Mark could ensure seeing that you were okay, that you were still here. He hated the days that he let another inmate land a punch only to find the buffoon with the duct taped Nikes waiting for him in the infirmary.

Talk about disappointing.

Mark also tried not to think too hard that the other reason he went to see you was that it felt so damn good, that he couldn't go without seeing you at least once per week. He felt like an addict of the worst kind, but if this was an addiction he wasn't sure he ever wanted to quit, not when seeing you smile made Mark forget everything wrong in his fucked up life.

The sun kissed your skin giving it a brilliant glow and framing the curves of your body so well that Mark was sure if he closed his eyes the imprint would be stamped across the inside of his eyelids, the wind rustled through the strands of your hair pulling it freely into your face, and Mark dropped his eyes to your ankles barely catching a glimpse of the cactus socks hidden in your pair of signature converse, but still you don't smile.

An ugly feeling swarmed in the pit of Mark's stomach when his gaze drifted to the Warden. He was standing a little too close for Mark's comfort, towering over you, and Mark didn't like the way you seemed to curl slightly in on yourself, folding beneath the Warden's gaze.

He couldn't hear what you two were talking about, but he could sure as hell guess.

Mark's hand curls around the concrete table top of the picnic table when the Warden takes another step in your direction, pressing you further against the fence.

White hot rage begins to flood through his body, the urge to protect you breaking through the little voice inside that was telling him to let you go, let it go, that he's about to blow his cover for all the wrong reasons.

Fuck.

Mark hated the Warden, knew how much of an asshole he was the second Mark met with him before he went undercover, and Mark hated the way you looked.

You looked small.

Mark had never seen you look anything but happy, your laugh always making something inside of Mark feel like he was slowly sliding into a sun soaked beach chair on a remote island.

But not now. Now Mark wanted to stride over there, throw it all away, and nail the Warden once in face for saying whatever the hell it was that he was saying to you, because Mark knew that it wasn't good. It couldn't be, not when the look on your face was something between anger and hurt.

"Yo Walker!" An inmate cat-calls, but Mark ignores him.

Mark is in too deep and he knows it, but he can't look away from you. He's too busy trying to read the Warden's lips to care what someone else says to him.

"Looks like the Warden's got his eye on your little bitch." The inmate continues.

Mark's head snaps in the direction of said inmate, Luis, the man that had come to see you after him yesterday. He was at least three times Mark's size, his mouth splitting in a wide toothless smile on his goon-like face, the snake tattoo that curves up over his left eye flashing in the sunlight, offsetting the black and blue marks around his nose that mirrored the black eye on Mark's face.

"Fuck off."

"Ooo, touchy." Luis continues, rubbing one hand over his bald, sweaty forehead. Mark watches his gaze flick back in your direction, raking over your body without your knowledge. You were far too focused on the Warden who had cornered you against the chain-length fence like you were some kind of animal. "I'll say this, she's cute. Got that kind of body I wouldn't mind having all to myself. Bet she'd moan my name real pretty."

Mark's teeth grit together so hard he can hear the grinding in his ears, but he doesn't give in.

Don't play his game. Don't blow this because of her-

Chen looks from Mark to Luis, eyes wide. He had just started to trust Mark, and Mark didn't want to throw that all away so he ignores the man egging him on and instead watches where you are with the Warden.

"Fuck, I got a semi the other day when she was patching me up." Luis continues, taking another step towards Mark with two of his goons flanking him. "Her hands are so soft, I can't imagine what it'd feel like if she put those hands all over my co-"

The rest of his sentence is lost in the haze of red that washes over Mark's mind. He doesn't remember rising from the picnic table, doesn’t remember tackling Luis to the ground, and doesn't remember the first punch he throws into his face or the second or the third.

All he knows is that the moment the guards pull him off of Luis, whose nose is now broken for the second time, and his eyes find yours across the yard, and he sees the look of horror that crosses your face is that he messed up. Because Mark can lie to himself all day long, tell himself that he doesn't care about you, but seeing you look at him like that makes him want to throw all of this away.

And that's what scares him the most, because he can't, not when this is all he is and ever can be and you're everything else.

A/N: Just a tinsy bit of angst, a sprinkle if you will... Yes I know canonically that the Warden knows that Mark is undercover, I just wanted to make the Warden an even bigger jerk for warning her about Mark.

Taglist:

@jollyhunter @zepskies @waynes-multiverse @roseblue373 @angrydragon90

@kmc1989 @lunaleah @megara0224 @globetrotter98 @ladykitana90

@youroldfashioned @wonderland2022 @hellsbratonthet @moosewithabackstory @wvffles

@beakaleak32 @caroline-brooks @agentorange9595 @spxideyver

@hobby27 @anna-reid23 @britt217 @ralilda @lori19 @iamasimpingh0e

[oceantonelli]

⌗ connect the dots | ln4 smau

✦. ── summary: you and lando are everyone nuts trying to figure out who you’re both dating ✦. ── fc: @/angiesses on ig & pics from pinterest

🎵 jungle ∙ back on 74 tagged: yourbestfriend

♥︎ 633k ㅤㅤㅤ💬 3,890 ㅤㅤㅤ⌲ 4,122 liked by lilymhe, alex_albon, carlossainz55, lando, and others

youruser summer trip finally made it out of the gc

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kikagomes that should be me 😩 take me with you youruser liked by youruser ↳ youruser next trip promiseee

alex_albon am i getting a souvenir back or...? ↳ youruser not after this comment lmao ↳ user 5 im deaddd ↳ user 6 she really said fafo

user 7 lando in the likes... 👀 ↳ user 8 why r u trying to start rumors? ↳ user 9 carlos is in the likes too and he's w rebecca so def doesn't mean anything ↳ user 7 carlos is alex's teammate this year so that makes sense but lando isn't so 🤷 ↳ user 8 so??? lando is literally alex's friend lmao ↳ user 10 ngl lando's been lowk camped under her likes so idk maybe there is smth

♥︎ 589k ㅤㅤㅤ💬 2,009 ㅤㅤㅤ⌲ 2,871 liked by lilyzneimer, lando, georgerussell63, kikagomes and others

youruser italian night at the albon house (yes, that includes georgerussell63) & alex_albon post-dinner sweet treat

user 11 george really just drops by huh ↳ user 12 galex nation rise ↳ user 13 george should change is last name to albon frrr

lando where was my invite? ↳ alex_albon mate you've never been to my house??? ↳ lando or have i...? ↳ alex_albon no???? ↳ user 14 omg what does this mean ↳ user 15 wait maybe user 7 was onto smth ↳ user 16 2019 rookies reunion when

🎵 frank ocean ∙ thinkin bout you

♥︎ 600k ㅤㅤㅤ💬 2,045 ㅤㅤㅤ⌲ 3,071 liked by alexandrasaintmleux, carmenmmundt, lando, iamrebeccad and others

youruser ��

carmenmmundt gorg girl liked by youruser ↳ youruser says you!!!

alexandrasaintmleux ❤️‍🔥 liked by your user ↳ youruser ily 🖤

user 17 you are UNREAL

lilymhe obsessed with the song choice btw liked by youruser ↳ youruser i'm obsessed with you btw ↳ lilymhe 💋 ↳ lando alex_albon your sister's gonna steal your girl mate 😂 ↳ user 17 lando adam sandler what are you doing here? liked by youruser ↳ alex_albon what is happening here 😭

user 18 if youruser has no fans, then i'm dead

user 19 girl drop the cam plzzzz ↳ youruser it's the nikon coolpix s9300! ↳ user 19 tysm!!!! ↳ user 20 i knew my queen wouldn't gatekeep

user 21 two drinks 🤨 ↳ user 22 the second one is obvi mine

🎵 drake ∙ nokia

♥︎ 702k ㅤㅤㅤ💬 4,222 ㅤㅤㅤ⌲ 4,899 liked by youruser, oscarpiastri, maxverstappen1, kimi.antonelli, and others

lando nights when there's no race this weekend

mclaren enjoy the break lando

user 23 counting down the days until race weekend again 😖

maxverstappen1 👍

user 24 love a lando photo dump ↳ user 25 i need to know who he's with in the last pic ↳ user 24 so true ↳ user 26 haven't ppl been saying he's with alex albon's sister? ↳ user 25 hold up she literally posted a similar photo dump a couple of hours ago ↳ user 26 the dots are connecting... ↳ user 27 some of y'all need to touch grass and get a life ↳ user 28 u sound fun at parties

maxfewtrell wonder who took that pic of you? 🤔 ↳ lando definitely not u ↳ maxfewtrell should i drop the @? ↳ lando i'm gonna block u ↳ user 25 what does this mean?????

youruser posted a story ၊၊||၊|။||။၊ seventeen ∙ heaven's cloud

show replies alex_albon WHAT IS THIS??? alex_albon am i going to get an intro or... ↳ youruser patience is a virtue

lando 🔥❤️ ↳ youruser 😽

lando posted a story ၊၊||၊|။||။၊ harry styles ∙ adore you

🎵 taylor swift ∙ london boy tagged: lando

♥︎ 800k ㅤㅤㅤ💬 4,831 ㅤㅤㅤ⌲ 5,000 liked by lando, lilymhe, kikagomes, georgerussell63, and others

youruser you know i love a bristol boy

user 7 I FUCKING CALLED IT ↳ user 10 i am so normal about this ↳ user 14 omg it's happening!!! everybody stay fucking calm!!!

user 15 waittttt they're so cute together

user 4 it's giving fanfic and i'm here for it

kikagomes power couple ‼️ liked by youruser

lilymhe so happy for you two liked by youruser

alex_albon can't believe i'm finding this out online... you always have to be dramatic youruser ↳ youruser love u bro ↳ alex_albon love you too

🎵 kendrick lamar, sza ∙ luther tagged: youruser

♥︎ 801k ㅤㅤㅤ💬 4,903 ㅤㅤㅤ⌲ 5,211 liked by youruser, maxverstappen1, charles_leclerc, alex_albon, and others

lando i trust you, i love you

user 26 coordinated hard launches 😩😩 i’m so sick where is this for me???

user 25 lando can u fight bc wowza ↳ user 13 frrrr im about to square up ↳ user 11 he pulled such a baddie

user 12 not sure who i'm more jealous of

user 1 youruser one chance please i'm begging 🧎🧎🧎

user 24 alex_albon does this relationship have your seal of approval? ↳ alex_albon she's doesn't really need one but yes lol ↳ user 2 we love non-toxic, supportive brother alex ↳ lando no big brother talk alex_albon? ↳ alex_albon no but youruser i hope you're ready for his snoring and inability to share his food ↳ youruser uh oh... 😰 ↳ lando mate why would you me like that 😭 ↳ user 3 and so the chaos begins

[overangel]

This is a crackfic idea but what would happen if their TTG or legi versions fucking ended up in their dimension?

Imagine them just seeing this tall gorgeous and breathtaking version of their y/n that usually tends to ignore or be mean to them and having this taller and more beautiful version of their y/n just coo and hold them close and treating them with so much affection and love and having her constantly call them adorable and pick them up (of u picked the Lego version of the batfamily, y/n places them on her shoulders) and carries them around while ignoring her version of the batfamily and basically forgetting about them cuz she's to busy with the TTG or Lego versions lol

(Lego or TTG version of Alfredo with her version of Alfredo teaming up to baby her hehe also imagine how annoyed dick would be seeing this small more loud and annoying version of himself when he was Robin clinging onto y/n while staring at her with hearts in his eyes and being a lovesick clingy baby or bruce and dick having beef with 2 Lego figures who are having the time of their lives staying on y/n's shoulders or in between her chest lmao)

-🦇

omg, a crackfic! That takes me back, I even wrote one for the Avengers and a little drabble or two for KHR! Being cringe can actually be so cathartic and good for mental health 🩵 I'm going with the lego version because Lego Robin was too adorable!!

Sorry to change the ask around a little, but I just imagine Lego Star loving Lego Dick because he's literal sunshine and worships her and there wasn't a haunting in the lego universe to effect anyone.

Lego Dick and our universe Dick are two different people and I can't imagine Lego Dick being manipulated by the haunting to turn on her even if there was one. It would get to the point that the malicious entities would be pissed and probably leave.

Lego Starling never suffered the injustices she faced in our time besides losing her mother and she's actually really close with Dick. She's discovered after Dick is adopted and she immediately fills in a big sister role for him because anyone can clock he's gullible and too good for this world. Dick introduces her as "The best big sister in the whole world❤️!" to everyone he meets and he's googly eyed for you. Lego dick is IMPOSSIBLE to hate besides his speedo

Lego Star accepts Bruce but doesn't really respect him. She finds him a little incompetent as a man/father and hates his over the top civilian persona, but understands why he does it. She tolerates him and he dotes on her like a dad who's wrapped around his daughter's finger. He doesn't know that she only respects and loves Alfred as her father figure but what he doesn't know won't hurt him~

"Woah, Y/n! Did you have a growth spurt!" Dick runs circles around you and pokes at your calves and grabs at your clothes. "You're like an Amazon! A beautiful, bloodthirsty Amazon!" He gushes while clutching his cheeks. He has to crane his neck so far back to see your face that he tilts over and lands flat on his back.

You look from the fallen "Dick Grayson?" to "Bruce Wayne" and "Alfred Pennyworth" with wide eyes and a slightly agape mouth.

You had simply been checking out an old generator in an abandoned factory on the outskirts of the city because you detected what felt like leyline energy from it. You had barely touched a dial when these three people (?) who bared a cartoonified resemblance to three men you knew came flying out of a portal.

"My baby..." A gravelly voice whimpered pathetically as a deep pout pulled at his lower lip. L!Bruce stared at you sadly and you could almost imagine tears forming in his beady black eyes. "She's all grown up!" His voice cracked and he turned around and threw himself into an expectant butler's arms.

Alfred patted Bruce's back and sighed in resignation, "We had always known this day would come, sir. I just didn't expect it to come so soon."

"Now. you're really my big sister!" Dick concluded and laughed at his joke. You knelt down and picked up the (creature?) Lego Dick and held him like a baby because you didn't know how else to do it. "Are you..." You started before pinching your brow, 'I'm going crazy.'

"Are you Dick Grayson?"

"Ding, ding, ding! A+ to my star pupil. Boop!" Dick reached up and booped your nose affectionately and you didn't hate it. It was actually very endearing.

You looked over at the Lego man being consoled by the older Lego man and sighed. "My honeybunch, sugar pie, pretty little princess..." The Lego man in a wine red smoking jacket and slippers wept into the older butler's arms and you were suddenly exhausted.

"And he's..."

"Our padre!" Dick chirped happily. You facecpalmed.

Naturally, you brought the three to the manor while you found a way for them to get back to their own world and they were loving it!

Can't say the same for everyone else, though.

You carried L!Dick around like a teddy bear and held him like he was a precious baby, and you even called him that! You spoiled him with affectionate nicknames and the hyperactive little nuisance soaked it all in with a bashful "teehee."

L!Dick was a combination of all Robins but was most similar to the idealized version of Dick Grayson cranked up to cartoonish proportions. He was sweet, friendly to a fault, hopeful, and wore his heart on his sleeve. To him, the whole universe revolved around his big sister and he greedily gulped down all of your attention.

Dick took that personally.

Why did he get to sit in your lap? Why did you always boop him on the nose? Why did you call him sickeningly sweet nicknames? What did the L!Dick have that he didn't? Was it because he was compact? Should Dick find a shrink machine and turn himself into a little Lego man too? Did he have to whip out his old Robin suit again?

He smiled kindly at L!Dick but visibly cringed at the little guy's antics that felt like an embarrassing reflection on him. Dick considered himself more patient than most, especially considering who adopted him, but L!Dick was pushing it.

The little bastard snuggled into your chest and twirled your hair. You dropped everything to spend time with him if he ever asked and you obliged to most of his requests. You'd let him get away with murder if he flashed his stupid googly eyes, and Dick couldn't handle this blatant favoritism. If you hated him, you should hate all versions of him!

You carried the Lego counterparts in your arms like they were precious babies and let L!Dick snuggle into your chest without a thought and Dick just knew that little turd was taking advantage because he would in his place. L!Dick sat in your lap, buried his face in your chest when a scary movie spooked him, slept in your bed, and even tried to take baths together!

Dick tosses L!Dick up to the roof thinking he'll get caught in the storm gutter just to find the gremlin snuggled up with you soon after. He locks L!Dick in pantries and closets, but the little guy appears in other places like Annabelle the haunted doll and it's lowkey scary.

L!Dick flaunts your relationship in Dick's face and even made a scrapbook for you to remember him by when he returns to his world. Dick wants to burn it as soon as possible.

L!Dick stays winning and Dick figures that toys can break and if L!Dick returns to his world in pieces then so be it.

You learn about your completely familial relationship with L!Bruce in the other world and you're noticeably softer towards him. You're definitely more patient with him than to your Bruce and anyone can see it. You actually talk to him and sometimes smile at his antics. He still takes himself too seriously but he's relatively free of the sins your Bruce has and it almost feels nice to have a father like him.

"Snuggle pumpkin!" He calls in that deep voice and you grin sarcastically as you pick L!Bruce up in a hug. You didn't mind the gooey pet names. It was kinda sweet coming from him.

If it wasn't for you, Bruce would've already dismembered L!Bruce and scattered his remains across multiple cities.

L!Bruce acted like he was this world's Batman and nearly took over the batcave and set himself up as the leader. With the tech and everything basically being the same in both worlds, L!Bruce knew the access codes and how everything worked and Bruce had to immediately shut things down and recalibrate before L!Bruce really took over. He'd never admit to Lego!Bruce being a threat, though. He'd die before he ever did.

L!Bruce criticizes every one of Bruce's orders and even. criticizes. his. parenting.

"What's up with that one?" L!Bruce points at Damian as if Damian doesn't understand he's being talked about. "Why do you have so many kids and why are they all messed up?"

Dick and Bruce have tried to fight their counterparts but they're so small and wiley that it's hard to get a hold of them and properly fight. The Lego Dick and Bruce always evade capture and land their own hits that hurt not only physically but also mentally.

"Sweetiepie, go out and get yourself something nice." L!Bruce holds out Bruce's card Bruce doesn't know how tf the thing got his card and tries to spoil you with everything he can. Afterall, Bruce's money is technically his money and he can use as much as he wants on his little princess.

You spend time with L!Bruce and he doesn't even have to blackmail you into it! You have lunch and chat with him, L!Dick, L!Alfred, and Alfred in your own little family lunches and he thinks he's in the twilight zone. Someone please wake him up.

"I don't like the way you look at my daughter." L!Bruce squints at Bruce and nearly hisses. He picked up something "off" about this world's Bruce and he didn't like it one bit.

"She's not your daughter, and you should mind your business while I'm being nice." Bruce glared back at L!Bruce, ready for a fight that would end it all.

Alfred and L!Alfred share memories of their own Starlings and exchange recipes. They've both given up on trying to rein in their respective Dick and Bruce and do just enough to keep someone from getting maimed.

L!Alfred loves you as much as his own Starling and Alfred won't tell him the extent of all you've gone through in this world. Maybe it's for the best because L!Alfred would probably try to convince you to come to his world or go to another to get away from this batfamily.

Damian wants L!Dick dead like yesterday. The moment L!Dick called you "sissy" or any other petname he knew that the Lego man had to die.

You've never been so touchy feely or affectionate with Damian and honestly he feels deep sadness more than envy or fury. What does he have to do to get some of that?

[hayaku14]

kaito buying every ticket to every soccer game available just to see that excited look on shinichi's face

[peaceeandcoolestvibes]

Travis bro….. she’s been doing this since she became ‘famous’ (daddy paying for career high time) and you’re the first one have this happen to him? You could do SO much better

Dude literally let his PR BEARDING CONTRACT leak 🤣

this girl just hands pr contracts to all her boyfriends LMAO

all fake

[pickaropoprocks]

Day 93!! Happy Pride!!

[memento-morri-writes]

random snippet - birthday duels

aka Terrible Time Tuesday (yes, I posted parts of this yesterday. But the new parts, which is most of it, are fun! I promise!!)

Rook was not having a good time on Sunday, and this was before he died from a plethora of stab wounds. Would you believe me if I said this was one of the "best" times he's dealt with bad feelings? pov: Rook wordcount: 1.1k character(s): Rook (D&D), Tyra (NPC), Aki (Other PC) canon status: canon session rewrite trigger warnings: death mention, grief, guilt, self-hatred, very unhealthy coping mechanisms summary: on the birthday of his recently deceased friend, Rook struggles to deal with his emotions and winds up taking them out on his first mate, Tyra.

As the day wore on, the black cloud of grief that had settled over the ship grew thicker and more oppressive. Rook paced the deck, nearly vibrating with tension. It was almost suffocating, pressing down on him with the weight of a thousand regrets. 

Thoughts clawed at the back of his mind, bringing unwelcome reminders of the part he had played in Warren’s death. If things had gone differently, if he had been a little faster, a little smarter, would his friend still be here?

He shook his head rapidly, trying to shake off the guilt that clung to him with barbed claws. The others didn’t blame him. They’d made that point very clear. And yet, he still couldn’t help but blame himself. 

Wrenching his thoughts away from the dark pit they were circling, he marched up the stairs leading to the quarterdeck. Tyra stood at the helm, talking to Tempest. When she saw Rook, she trailed off. 

She opened her mouth in greeting, but before she could say a word, Rook spoke. “I know you’re more than capable of handling the crew, but how do I know you can hold your own in a fight?”

Tyra’s eyes narrowed slightly. “I can handle myself. I’m best with my pistol,” she tapped the beautifully carved handle emerging from the holster at her hip, “but I’m not too bad with a rapier.”

Rook made a contemplative sound. There was a long pause as he looked her up and down. “Show me.”

Drawing his rapier, he turned on his heel and descended to the deck, stepping onto the cargo hatch. The crew moved out of the way, clearing a space around him. Looking back up at Tyra, he beckoned her with his sword. 

Tyra exchanged an unreadable glance with Tempest, who stepped forwards to take the wheel as she slowly made her way down to the main deck. She positioned herself across from Rook. Hesitantly, she drew her sword, a curved cutlass that was shorter and thicker than his rapier, with a wide, flat blade.

Around them, the crew had started murmuring, hurriedly placing bets. Rook let their voices fade away, trying his best to clear his racing mind. He and Tyra stared at each other, time stretching out between them.

Then, in the blink of an eye, Rook lunged, sending his blade towards Tyra’s chest. She stepped back, parrying his strike with the flat of her blade. She tried to keep the momentum going, but he disengaged, dancing out of her reach. Now it was her turn to bridge the gap, lunging towards him. He knocked her blade aside with ease. 

Their blades clashed again and again as he effortlessly parried her every blow. She redoubled her efforts, deflecting his next strike. Drawing her arm back, she prepared to attack, leaving her torso unguarded. Rook struck. In a flash, he had his blade hovering over her chest. She froze.

In the background the crew exchanged money as the two stood there, gazes locked. Rook stepped back, raising his sword into a ready position. His heart pounded in his ears as he said, “Again.”

Tyra’s eyes widened, but she raised her sword. This time, she struck first, trying to gain the upper hand early. But it wasn’t long before he had her on the defensive, trying her best to hold him back.

She blocked him again, and this time, instead of pulling back for another strike, he stepped forwards, pushing his sword down her blade. With a flick of his wrist, he knocked the cutlass from her hand.

She stepped back, breathing heavily. 

Rook crossed to where her sword lay, and with one quick motion from his foot, sent it flying into his hand. He held it out to her, hilt first. Reluctantly, she took it. 

“Again.”

This time, he didn’t even give her a second to gather her bearings before he struck, targeting her with several blows in quick succession. Immediately she fell onto her back foot, desperately trying to match his furious pace.

He kept pushing her back, off of the cargo hatch that had been their arena until her foot caught and she stumbled. He pressed on and she fell, back hitting the wood of the deck with an audible thud as her sword clattered from her hand. Rook stood over her, blade hovering inches above her throat. He stared down at her, heart pounding. 

A gentle tap on his shoulder caused him to whirl around, striking at the source of the gesture. The tip of his blade pierced a translucent blue hand, causing it to dissolve into the air. Behind it, Aki stared at him, eyes wide.

“Rook, stop this.” He frowned. “It isn’t healthy.”

“I don’t care.”

Aki’s brow furrowed. “It isn’t helping you.” When Rook said nothing, he added, “Look at her, she’s exhausted.” He gestured towards Tyra.

Rook turned to look at his first mate, who was slowly getting to her feet. She was disheveled, her clothes rumpled and her locs in disarray. Her chest rose and fell as she panted for breath. Aki was right, she was tired. 

“Let her go,” Aki said gently.

Whatever he had been trying to do by challenging her, it wasn’t working. He was breathing more heavily than normal, but it was more due to the tightness in his chest than a difficult fight. His muscles trembled, not from effort or exhaustion, but from tension.

Rook squared his shoulders. “Fine.” He sheathed his sword and turned away. He could feel the crew’s eyes on him as he headed towards the ratlines leading up to the crow’s nest. Ignoring them, he grabbed the rope and began to climb.

Though it had been years since he’d climbed the rigging, it came back to him easily, his body’s memory of six years of sailing guiding him up to the small basket-like platform near the top of the mast. A member of the crew sat inside. As Rook’s head came into view, she started, eyes wide.

“Get out.”

She nodded and hurriedly clambered over the edge, scurrying down the rigging towards the deck.

Rook sank onto the floor of the crow’s nest, tipping his head back until it touched the low wooden wall surrounding the platform. Closing his eyes, he breathed in, then out, forcing himself to slow down.

He wasn’t sure if it was the gentle rocking of the ship, or the wind on his face, or the sun on his skin, or simply the distance from the deck and all the gloom that hung over it, but slowly the tension faded from his body. 

[bacchuschucklefuck]

the nsbu table is five DM pets and rekha shankar

[cypresscries]

Wow. What a rollercoaster.

[todayisafridaynight]

Sorry everyone i finally found a color-accurate suit for aoki im going to be so annoying

[imabiscuitinthousandworlds]

*walking with a friend and a guy my friends befriended (he seems okay? weird humour but cool ig) talking abt falling out of windows*

me: there's actually a word for throwing someone out of a window in english. defenestration

guy, quite weirded out (i think from his voice, his face is like. he's literally twice as tall as me i ain't looking that far up): why? do you just know that??

me: .... Reasons. (chronically on tumblr and weirdly informed abt strange topics)

[phagodyke]

anyway yeah relevant to that post abt being deaf/hoh and ppl excluding u from conversation bc of it (even unintentionally), that's smth that's been really deeply bothering me lately bc there are a few ppl I routinely have to deal with who do it a lot and it Pisses Me The Fuck Off I've lost all patience w them. giving up and calling it ableism and walking out idc anymore 🚶‍♂️

[luetta]

idk if people on tumblr know about this but a cybersecurity software called crowdstrike just did what is probably the single biggest fuck up in any sector in the past 10 years. it's monumentally bad. literally the most horror-inducing nightmare scenario for a tech company.

some info, crowdstrike is essentially an antivirus software for enterprises. which means normal laypeople cant really get it, they're for businesses and organisations and important stuff.

so, on a friday evening (it of course wasnt friday everywhere but it was friday evening in oceania which is where it first started causing damage due to europe and na being asleep), crowdstrike pushed out an update to their windows users that caused a bug.

before i get into what the bug is, know that friday evening is the worst possible time to do this because people are going home. the weekend is starting. offices dont have people in them. this is just one of many perfectly placed failures in the rube goldburg machine of crowdstrike. there's a reason friday is called 'dont push to live friday' or more to the point 'dont fuck it up friday'

so, at 3pm at friday, an update comes rolling into crowdstrike users which is automatically implemented. this update immediately causes the computer to blue screen of death. very very bad. but it's not simply a 'you need to restart' crash, because the computer then gets stuck into a boot loop.

this is the worst possible thing because, in a boot loop state, a computer is never really able to get to a point where it can do anything. like download a fix. so there is nothing crowdstrike can do to remedy this death update anymore. it is now left to the end users.

it was pretty quickly identified what the problem was. you had to boot it in safe mode, and a very small file needed to be deleted. or you could just rename crowdstrike to something else so windows never attempts to use it.

it's a fairly easy fix in the grand scheme of things, but the issue is that it is effecting enterprises. which can have a looooot of computers. in many different locations. so an IT person would need to manually fix hundreds of computers, sometimes in whole other cities and perhaps even other countries if theyre big enough.

another fuck up crowdstrike did was they did not stagger the update, so they could catch any mistakes before they wrecked havoc. (and also how how HOW do you not catch this before deploying it. this isn't a code oopsie this is a complete failure of quality ensurance that probably permeates the whole company to not realise their update was an instant kill). they rolled it out to everyone of their clients in the world at the same time.

and this seems pretty hilarious on the surface. i was havin a good chuckle as eftpos went down in the store i was working at, chaos was definitely ensuring lmao. im in aus, and banking was literally down nationwide.

but then you start hearing about the entire country's planes being grounded because the airport's computers are bricked. and hospitals having no computers anymore. emergency call centres crashing. and you realised that, wow. crowdstrike just killed people probably. this is literally the worst thing possible for a company like this to do.

crowdstrike was kinda on the come up too, they were starting to become a big name in the tech world as a new face. but that has definitely vanished now. to fuck up at this many places, is almost extremely impressive. its hard to even think of a comparable fuckup.

a friday evening simultaneous rollout boot loop is a phrase that haunts IT people in their darkest hours. it's the monster that drags people down into the swamp. it's the big bag in the horror movie. it's the end of the road. and for crowdstrike, that reaper of souls just knocked on their doorstep.

[frostedturquoise]

forgot i had dnd yesterday and squandered my last day of decent internet (whoops) Weeelll i wouldn't quite say it was fully squandered but i once again stumbled into the character creation dillemma that was 'went into it with an halfassed idea then pulled an entirely different idea out of my ass because i clicked on something i didn't intend to click on'

To be fair i was fretting over the OC i had in mind being too oddball but its nice that im not the only person pulling funny/silly/slightly odd concepts out my ass here. (since we are playing a series of small running mini-adventures while waiting on shit to be polished for other games or things get polished and tweaked if we decide to do an epilogue for the one that kinda recently ended)

I hate how i cant play most of my OC's because its impractical or ill fitting for the setting or shit that wont fly or would take basically commiting more than 'adaptation to new setting' surgery given how the hell i worked shit for my setting since dnd is far more loose leaf than 'SO there s several modifiers and factors that determine who has access to what magic' and most spells just feel so utterly impractical and weird to give that i would rather make up some poor fuck on the spot and roll with it because plopping almost any one of anyone else in one of my brothers best friends game is literally a 'and this is steve' scenario. For once though, i would like not to be the healer though. It is not the first time also that i started as the healer and ended up with more hit points than the party tank. Druid is different from cleric, heals are taking the side shelf but next time im going to outright say 'before anyone does anything im not going healer make of that what you will' straight out the door lmao. Outside character creation stuff if things stay calm enough i might be able to start chewing at w.i.p's again before vomiting out the words to finish them before i get overwhelmed by to much going on at once too often always in stupid wonky ways and the resident grouch 'its fine if i do it but not anyone else' starts nattering on over stupid inconsequential shit who hates it when people say irrelevant shit but the shit that comes out of that old ladys mouth makes the dogshit bad faith tldr but made my own assumptions piss on the poor shit that happens on this website look not that terrible actually.

I could go into why but it could easily be summed up as holy shit this is the baby cordial version of most of the reasons why as a teen i rarely talked' cant even make a neutral observation about the weather or the grass being mowed today, or asking if the mail guy had been yet without copping shit, its fucking unreal. I don't even need to be talking to her she'll just come up butt in and start being a idiot all over the place not just to me but probably also whoever the fuck i was talking to.

[ishika-star]

I always thought the “Dick Grayson is a crashout” was just a response to the fanon version of him but…it’s kinda true. Untouchable was Nightwing screaming at rogues and beating the shit out of everyone for 6 issues straight