#Search Buy and Sell a Business

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Google’s enshittification memos

[Note, 9 October 2023: Google disputes the veracity of this claim, but has declined to provide the exhibits and testimony to support its claims. Read more about this here.]

When I think about how the old, good internet turned into the enshitternet, I imagine a series of small compromises, each seemingly reasonable at the time, each contributing to a cultural norm of making good things worse, and worse, and worse.

Think about Unity President Marc Whitten's nonpology for his company's disastrous rug-pull, in which they declared that everyone who had paid good money to use their tool to make a game would have to keep paying, every time someone downloaded that game:

The most fundamental thing that we’re trying to do is we’re building a sustainable business for Unity. And for us, that means that we do need to have a model that includes some sort of balancing change, including shared success.

https://www.wired.com/story/unity-walks-back-policies-lost-trust/

"Shared success" is code for, "If you use our tool to make money, we should make money too." This is bullshit. It's like saying, "We just want to find a way to share the success of the painters who use our brushes, so every time you sell a painting, we want to tax that sale." Or "Every time you sell a house, the company that made the hammer gets to wet its beak."

And note that they're not talking about shared risk here – no one at Unity is saying, "If you try to make a game with our tools and you lose a million bucks, we're on the hook for ten percent of your losses." This isn't partnership, it's extortion.

How did a company like Unity – which became a market leader by making a tool that understood the needs of game developers and filled them – turn into a protection racket? One bad decision at a time. One rationalization and then another. Slowly, and then all at once.

When I think about this enshittification curve, I often think of Google, a company that had its users' backs for years, which created a genuinely innovative search engine that worked so well it seemed like *magic, a company whose employees often had their pick of jobs, but chose the "don't be evil" gig because that mattered to them.

People make fun of that "don't be evil" motto, but if your key employees took the gig because they didn't want to be evil, and then you ask them to be evil, they might just quit. Hell, they might make a stink on the way out the door, too:

https://theintercept.com/2018/09/13/google-china-search-engine-employee-resigns/

Google is a company whose founders started out by publishing a scientific paper describing their search methodology, in which they said, "Oh, and by the way, ads will inevitably turn your search engine into a pile of shit, so we're gonna stay the fuck away from them":

http://infolab.stanford.edu/pub/papers/google.pdf

Those same founders retained a controlling interest in the company after it went IPO, explaining to investors that they were going to run the business without having their elbows jostled by shortsighted Wall Street assholes, so they could keep it from turning into a pile of shit:

https://abc.xyz/investor/founders-letters/ipo-letter/

And yet, it's turned into a pile of shit. Google search is so bad you might as well ask Jeeves. The company's big plan to fix it? Replace links to webpages with florid paragraphs of chatbot nonsense filled with a supremely confident lies:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/05/14/googles-ai-hype-circle/

How did the company get this bad? In part, this is the "curse of bigness." The company can't grow by attracting new users. When you have 90%+ of the market, there are no new customers to sign up. Hypothetically, they could grow by going into new lines of business, but Google is incapable of making a successful product in-house and also kills most of the products it buys from other, more innovative companies:

https://killedbygoogle.com/

Theoretically, the company could pursue new lines of business in-house, and indeed, the current leaders of companies like Amazon, Microsoft and Apple are all execs who figured out how to get the whole company to do something new, and were elevated to the CEO's office, making each one a billionaire and sealing their place in history.

It is for this very reason that any exec at a large firm who tries to make a business-wide improvement gets immediately and repeatedly knifed by all their colleagues, who correctly reason that if someone else becomes CEO, then they won't become CEO. Machiavelli was an optimist:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/28/microincentives-and-enshittification/

With no growth from new customers, and no growth from new businesses, "growth" has to come from squeezing workers (say, laying off 12,000 engineers after a stock buyback that would have paid their salaries for the next 27 years), or business customers (say, by colluding with Facebook to rig the ad market with the Jedi Blue conspiracy), or end-users.

Now, in theory, we might never know exactly what led to the enshittification of Google. In theory, all of compromises, debates and plots could be lost to history. But tech is not an oral culture, it's a written one, and techies write everything down and nothing is ever truly deleted.

Time and again, Big Tech tells on itself. Think of FTX's main conspirators all hanging out in a group chat called "Wirefraud." Amazon naming its program targeting weak, small publishers the "Gazelle Project" ("approach these small publishers the way a cheetah would pursue a sickly gazelle”). Amazon documenting the fact that users were unknowingly signing up for Prime and getting pissed; then figuring out how to reduce accidental signups, then deciding not to do it because it liked the money too much. Think of Zuck emailing his CFO in the middle of the night to defend his outsized offer to buy Instagram on the basis that users like Insta better and Facebook couldn't compete with them on quality.

It's like every Big Tech schemer has a folder on their desktop called "Mens Rea" filled with files like "Copy_of_Premeditated_Murder.docx":

https://doctorow.medium.com/big-tech-cant-stop-telling-on-itself-f7f0eb6d215a?sk=351f8a54ab8e02d7340620e5eec5024d

Right now, Google's on trial for its sins against antitrust law. It's a hard case to make. To secure a win, the prosecutors at the DoJ Antitrust Division are going to have to prove what was going on in Google execs' minds when the took the actions that led to the company's dominance. They're going to have to show that the company deliberately undertook to harm its users and customers.

Of course, it helps that Google put it all in writing.

Last week, there was a huge kerfuffile over the DoJ's practice of posting its exhibits from the trial to a website each night. This is a totally normal thing to do – a practice that dates back to the Microsoft antitrust trial. But Google pitched a tantrum over this and said that the docs the DoJ were posting would be turned into "clickbait." Which is another way of saying, "the public would find these documents very interesting, and they would be damning to us and our case":

https://www.bigtechontrial.com/p/secrecy-is-systemic

After initially deferring to Google, Judge Amit Mehta finally gave the Justice Department the greenlight to post the document. It's up. It's wild:

https://www.justice.gov/d9/2023-09/416692.pdf

The document is described as "notes for a course on communication" that Google VP for Finance Michael Roszak prepared. Roszak says he can't remember whether he ever gave the presentation, but insists that the remit for the course required him to tell students "things I didn't believe," and that's why the document is "full of hyperbole and exaggeration."

OK.

But here's what the document says: "search advertising is one of the world's greatest business models ever created…illicit businesses (cigarettes or drugs) could rival these economics…[W]e can mostly ignore the demand side…(users and queries) and only focus on the supply side of advertisers, ad formats and sales."

It goes on to say that this might be changing, and proposes a way to balance the interests of the search and ads teams, which are at odds, with search worrying that ads are pushing them to produce "unnatural search experiences to chase revenue."

"Unnatural search experiences to chase revenue" is a thinly veiled euphemism for the prophetic warnings in that 1998 Pagerank paper: "The goals of the advertising business model do not always correspond to providing quality search to users." Or, more plainly, "ads will turn our search engine into a pile of shit."

And, as Roszak writes, Google is "able to ignore one of the fundamental laws of economics…supply and demand." That is, the company has become so dominant and cemented its position so thoroughly as the default search engine across every platforms and system that even if it makes its search terrible to goose revenues, users won't leave. As Lily Tomlin put it on SNL: "We don't have to care, we're the phone company."

In the enshittification cycle, companies first lure in users with surpluses – like providing the best search results rather than the most profitable ones – with an eye to locking them in. In Google's case, that lock-in has multiple facets, but the big one is spending billions of dollars – enough to buy a whole Twitter, every single year – to be the default search everywhere.

Google doesn't buy its way to dominance because it has the very best search results and it wants to shield you from inferior competitors. The economically rational case for buying default position is that preventing competition is more profitable than succeeding by outperforming competitors. The best reason to buy the default everywhere is that it lets you lower quality without losing business. You can "ignore the demand side, and only focus on advertisers."

For a lot of people, the analysis stops here. "If you're not paying for the product, you're the product." Google locks in users and sells them to advertisers, who are their co-conspirators in a scheme to screw the rest of us.

But that's not right. For one thing, paying for a product doesn't mean you won't be the product. Apple charges a thousand bucks for an iPhone and then nonconsensually spies on every iOS user in order to target ads to them (and lies about it):

https://pluralistic.net/2022/11/14/luxury-surveillance/#liar-liar

John Deere charges six figures for its tractors, then runs a grift that blocks farmers from fixing their own machines, and then uses their control over repair to silence farmers who complain about it:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/05/31/dealers-choice/#be-a-shame-if-something-were-to-happen-to-it

Fair treatment from a corporation isn't a loyalty program that you earn by through sufficient spending. Companies that can sell you out, will sell you out, and then cry victim, insisting that they were only doing their fiduciary duty for their sacred shareholders. Companies are disciplined by fear of competition, regulation or – in the case of tech platforms – customers seizing the means of computation and installing ad-blockers, alternative clients, multiprotocol readers, etc:

https://doctorow.medium.com/an-audacious-plan-to-halt-the-internets-enshittification-and-throw-it-into-reverse-3cc01e7e4604?sk=85b3f5f7d051804521c3411711f0b554

Which is where the next stage of enshittification comes in: when the platform withdraws the surplus it had allocated to lure in – and then lock in – business customers (like advertisers) and reallocate it to the platform's shareholders.

For Google, there are several rackets that let it screw over advertisers as well as searchers (the advertisers are paying for the product, and they're also the product). Some of those rackets are well-known, like Jedi Blue, the market-rigging conspiracy that Google and Facebook colluded on:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jedi_Blue

But thanks to the antitrust trial, we're learning about more of these. Megan Gray – ex-FTC, ex-DuckDuckGo – was in the courtroom last week when evidence was presented on Google execs' panic over a decline in "ad generating searches" and the sleazy gimmick they came up with to address it: manipulating the "semantic matching" on user queries:

https://www.wired.com/story/google-antitrust-lawsuit-search-results/

When you send a query to Google, it expands that query with terms that are similar – for example, if you search on "Weds" it might also search for "Wednesday." In the slides shown in the Google trial, we learned about another kind of semantic matching that Google performed, this one intended to turn your search results into "a twisted shopping mall you can’t escape."

Here's how that worked: when you ran a query like "children's clothing," Google secretly appended the brand name of a kids' clothing manufacturer to the query. This, in turn, triggered a ton of ads – because rival brands will have bought ads against their competitors' name (like Pepsi buying ads that are shown over queries for Coke).

Here we see surpluses being taken away from both end-users and business customers – that is, searchers and advertisers. For searchers, it doesn't matter how much you refine your query, you're still going to get crummy search results because there's an unkillable, hidden search term stuck to your query, like a piece of shit that Google keeps sticking to the sole of your shoe.

But for advertisers, this is also a scam. They're paying to be matched to users who search on a brand name, and you didn't search on that brand name. It's especially bad for the company whose name has been appended to your search, because Google has a protection racket where the company that matches your search has to pay extra in order to show up overtop of rivals who are worse matches. Both the matching company and those rivals have given Google a credit-card that Google gets to bill every time a user searches on the company's name, and Google is just running fraudulent charges through those cards.

And, of course, Google put this in writing. I mean, of course they did. As we learned from the documentary The Incredibles, supervillains can't stop themselves from monologuing, and in big, sprawling monopolists, these monologues have to transmitted electronically – and often indelibly – to far-flung co-cabalists.

As Gray points out, this is an incredibly blunt enshittification technique: "it hadn’t even occurred to me that Google just flat out deletes queries and replaces them with ones that monetize better." We don't know how long Google did this for or how frequently this bait-and-switch was deployed.

But if this is a blunt way of Google smashing its fist down on the scales that balance search quality against ad revenues, there's plenty of subtler ways the company could sneak a thumb on there. A Google exec at the trial rhapsodized about his company's "contract with the user" to deliver an "honest results policy," but given how bad Google search is these days, we're left to either believe he's lying or that Google sucks at search.

The paper trail offers a tantalizing look at how a company went from doing something that was so good it felt like a magic trick to being "able to ignore one of the fundamental laws of economics…supply and demand," able to "ignore the demand side…(users and queries) and only focus on the supply side of advertisers."

What's more, this is a system where everyone loses (except for Google): this isn't a grift run by Google and advertisers on users – it's a grift Google runs on everyone.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/03/not-feeling-lucky/#fundamental-laws-of-economics

My next novel is The Lost Cause, a hopeful novel of the climate emergency. Amazon won't sell the audiobook, so I made my own and I'm pre-selling it on Kickstarter!

#pluralistic #enshittification #semantic matching #google #antitrust #trustbusting #transparency #fatfingers #serp #the algorithm #telling on yourself

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[ryo-maybe]

can u explain why AI art is bad without fearmongering, moralizing or bootlicking lol

I'm going to answer in good faith, even though the tone you're using sounds like you're harboring anything but. The issue with AI art isn't specifically inherent to the tools used to produce it, because, ultimately, a tool is merely that: something devoid of will which, in the hands of a human, can produce a specific outcome. It's the human element that taints what we could otherwise enjoy for the unquestioningly fascinating topic that is AI art and, by extension, AI software as a whole.

Now, the problem isn't people, period, but the kind of people that are responsible for giving AI the bad rep it's been getting, along with the intent that goes into both the development of AI tools and the things produced by dint of said tools. I'm talking about the tech bros happily rubbing their hands, waiting to provide business moguls with a brand new means to commodify and mass-produce what artists stake their entire livelihoods upon, because when you have enough zeroes lined up in your bank account, your eyes are utterly blinded to the soul and personality that human beings put into their handiwork, and which a machine won't ever be able to reproduce no matter how much stolen art you feed it. Oh yeah, by the way, that's how AI art tools have been making the rounds: by chewing on thousands upon thousands of stolen pictures made by actual people so that they may learn how to ape someone's style and spit out absolutely soulless derivatives, while the original authors don't see a lick of recognition or monetary retribution for any of it. Do I need to tell you why stealing and parading someone else's art as your own is a terrible, vile thing to do?

But sure, you did ask me to refrain from "fearmongering, moralizing or bootlicking", which I guess I've already done. So since you'd rather I skipped straight to the point in a concise manner, lemme offer some quick examples of why the culture surrounding AI art has already developed into one of the most abysmally disappointing displays of how greed and an utter lack of human decency can ruin something objectively brimming with possibilities:

Less than a week after the sudden death of Korean artist Kim Jung-gi, someone trained an AI model to mimic his artstyle, having the audacity of asking for credits if anyone wished to use it. I sincerely hope I don't have to explain to you why this is a ghoulish example of the kind of tone-deafness sported by tech bros who buy wholesale into the AI art craze.

A piece of AI art was submitted to an art contest and won. The "artist"'s work amounted to little more than picking a series of prompts and letting the machine do the work. It's as much art as googling a smattering of terms and making a collage of pictures taken from Pinterest (and even then, you would have put more work into it than this person did). That they won at all says a whole damn lot about how abysmal the respect given to artists - real artists - nowadays is.

There are a multitude of people out there already selling prints of AI-generated art. I could link some of them here, but honestly, type "ai art prints" on a search engine and you'll get inundated by them. I've seen and personally know artists who have had to undersell their works because commissions were the only thin, frayed string they could hang on in hopes of making it through the week without fucking starving themselves, but here we are: any random asshole can now yell "MASSIVE BREASTS, THIN WAIST, COCKTAIL DRESS, HUGE BADONGAS" at a computer, let it mash together a trillion of other people's hard work, and print it for easy bucks that the actual authors of the basic ingredients of their insipid soup will never, ever see a dime of.

It really bothers me that you mentioned "no bootlicking". Whose fucking boots is this side of the debate supposedly tasting? That of the artists who post every day about how angry, sad and terrified they are by the prospects of what the development of AI art will entail for their livelihood and passion? What kind of gall did your mother birth you with that you have the spiteful spunk to type that word, when you've got shit like an artist who had their sketch stolen while they were drawing it on stream, then fed to an AI and posted by someone passing it off as their own art? How does that not ignite your indignation? "Bootlicking". Like anyone's tongues have been tasting leather but those of the same tech bro chodes who kept trying oh so hard to convince us NFTs were the future while ruining the environment to make the absolute stupidest point ever made in the history of humanity.

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[hidden-poet]

Commander Snow; chapter 5

Commander Snow

Summary; Under the advice of Dr Gaul Coriolanus returns back to district 12 where without blinding light of lucy-grey he could see you.

Warnings; dead dove to do not eat, stalking, unrequited love, breeding kink, violence, possessive!Snow, unco/dubco, sexual content, she/her pronouns, explicit, violence, death.

Editor: @hotline-to-hell

chapter one

Chapter two

Chapter three

Chapter four

Chapter five

Chapter six

Commander Snow had been absent from your life for three days. 

He had left boxes of food in anticipation but expected no reward in return. He didn’t turn up at the late hours of the night. No demands of you coming to the Compound with brownies were given.

It was a welcome change in your routine. It gave you more time to focus on your mother. She improved greatly with the extra attention and could be dropped down to half a bottle of morphling every 12 hours. 

She still needed your help to rise from bed and wash but was now lucid enough to feel like your mother again. 

You felt less isolated now that she was back. And with Edmund dropping by every day you felt almost normal. 

You gave him the spare bottles of morphling to sell. Commander Snow would drop you quickly and it was important to have some money saved to tide you over until you got your job back.

You decided to use a small portion to buy your mother fresh bandages. She would only need one more batch before the wounds on her back were closed.

The walk into town was busy but no one paid you any mind. Most avoided looking at you. 

You were used to the isolation now. It didn’t bother you as much now. 

The nice day turns upon seeing Peacekeepers in large groups marching through the streets. 

You stop walking to let people pass as they rush towards you. Peacekeepers formed groups as

you looked around, they were impossible to count. They moved too fast in and out of houses, and as you lost one, two more appeared in his absence. 

You freeze seeing Commander Snow, marching through the streets with the cavalry behind him. They break down doors to people's homes and the Peacekeepers split up into groups of four as they search the houses before rejoining the group. 

It was chaos as people ran to avoid their way. Demands of the Peacekeepers were yelled over crying children, and explanations of homeowners. You feel your heart pound at the scene. 

Such chaos always brought danger. Agitated Peacekeepers after a hard day's work are always looking for a reason to use their power over the district people. 

You press yourself against a side of a building, out of rushing people's way. You try and re-enter the stream of people but a breck never comes. More yelling is heard and you suddenly see why the rush was heading down stream. A large group of Peacekeepers all kitted up in their gear with vests and helmets come chasing the people. They grab who they can and throw them up against brick walls searching them for contraband. 

The coins burned a hole in your pocket. If found there is little chance of retaining them. 

They come closer and you try again to follow the rush but are pushed back. Somebody needed to be caught by the Peacekeepers. 

You scan the area for another escape route and see the tunnel that leads to the Capitol train route. Peacekeepers and higher officials were sure to be swarming on the other side but you could hide in the darkness that the tunnel provided until the chaos settled, 

The leader of the group blew a whistle and you took off to your path before you could figure out what it meant. 

Unfortunately, a Peacekeeper had already set his eyes on you. And watching you run and hide was a worthy enough cause to follow you. 

You barely make it into the darkness before you are caught and thrown into the wall. 

“Do you have any weapons or contraband on you?” The Peacekeeper shouted. 

He had brought along his partner who held his rifle out towards you. 

“No sir,” you answer, but he runs his hands along you anyway. He keeps one hand on the back of your neck, pushing your face into the hard, dirty wall while the other patted down.

With your forced position, you stare at the other Peacekeeper. The uniform aged him. His face was soft and round but hidden under the shadow of the large helmet. He had beautiful green eyes that went wide just as the Peacekeeper was about to pat the pocket that held your money. 

‘Whoa!” The other Peacekeeper places a hand on his friend's shoulders and pushes him back. “That’s Snow’s girl. I’ve seen her at the Compound.”

“Are you sure?” The hand that held you was released quickly. 

He looks at you again, “I am pretty sure.”

“I am!’’

 Maybe some good could come out of your predicament. 

“Go get him. He could want her searched anyway.”

“There’s no need to go get him. I’ll go home.” You turn so you can be heard.

“Shut up.” The Peacekeeper ordered. 

Green eyes took off back down the street, leaving you with his harsher friend. 

He unclips his cuffs and locks them around your wrists, telling you to sit on the ground. 

You knew better than to argue with Peacekeepers, so you sat and waited. 

Five minutes pass in silence. 

You hoped his business would be more pressing and he would send the Peacekeeper away with instructions to set you free. But you could see his shadow coming closer as you had the thought. 

If it wasn’t for his darker uniform you would have thought he was just another Peacekeeper, and not Commander of District 12.

His eyes hit you on the ground before going up to his officer. 

“The south exit is blocked, go help the others there. Search the people.” 

They both leave with a ‘yes sir’, and a salute. 

He moves quickly as they integrate back into the crowd.

He pulls you up, hooking your cuffed hands over his neck, and presses you up against the brick wall. His hands go under your arms and cement themselves to the wall behind, keeping them pinned up on his shoulders. He keeps his body close to hinder your movement and rests his left knee against the brick. 

He kisses you so fast, you weren’t sure if he managed to pin you before or after. His kisses are fast and hard, you don’t manage to even attempt one back before he is moving again. 

His greedy lips go to your throat, placing big kisses up and down it. 

“What are you doing here?” He asks between kisses. You couldn’t tell him about the money. He was sure to demand it from you. 

“Walking,” you push back on his shoulders but it invites him closer. 

His lips go from just under your ear back down to the hollow of your throat. 

“You shouldn’t. It’s dangerous.” 

The danger followed him, not you. You had walked these streets a hundred times before without any worry. 

He finds the spot he likes, just where your collarbone and neck meet, and begins to bite down. You wiggle underneath him to no avail. The biting upon your neck hurt but he seemed deaf to your pleas. You felt only a Peacekeeper beneath you, no sign of a man you could reason with. Your head only knocked against his hard helmet, you pushed yourself up on arms covered with the soft material of the peacekeeper uniform. Even your eyesight was blocked by the Peacekeeper's rifle slung over his shoulder. 

You were in no better of a position than the people in the houses. You were offered the same situation; let them take what they wanted or suffer the consequences of them just taking it anyway. 

“I’ve missed you,” he admits, “Why did you never come to see me?” 

You let your head rest back against the wall now that it wasn’t tossing and turning to alleviate the pressure of his bites. 

The truth was not an acceptable answer. You couldn’t tell him you had no interest in seeing him ever again.

“You were busy,” you tried. 

“You could have come. I would have seen you.” He goes back to your neck. His kissing was slow and lazy

“Commander, please.” You could still hear the commotion outside. 

A whooping sound is heard from outside the ally. 

He pulls his head back in its direction. 

“What did they find?” you ask. 

“Rebels. Propaganda has been spreading around the district. Looks like we found the warehouse it was coming from”. 

He ducks his head out from under the chain, releasing you from your prison, and quickly undoing your cuffs before softly shoving you towards the street. 

“Go straight home.” 

You nod your head in agreement and watch him rejoin his army. 

You run away from the noise, dodging people as they run with you. 

The same Peacekeepers that pinned you in the tunnel waited by a checkpoint but they didn’t bother you again as you ran past. 

—------

It was the next afternoon when a Peacekeeper van turned up outside your house. Children playing ran back inside. 

The Peacekeeper politely knocked at your door. 

“Yes?” you answer. You keep the door in front of your body like a shield. 

“Miss.” He nods his head, “I am here to take you back to the Compound”. 

Your gut twisted. The holiday was over and you were back to playing puppet. 

“I’ll finish my cooking and be right over.” 

He places his hand on the door in case you try to close it. 

“I’ve been given instructions to take you. I am afraid I can’t leave without you.”

He looked almost sorry to say it. He must have been a district-born Peacekeeper. 

You take your hands off the door to show him you aren’t going to make it hard for him.

“Okay. I’ll turn the oven off and put on my shoes.” 

“It would be appreciated, Miss.” 

He waits by the door as you do as promised. 

Your mother had only just taken her medicine leaving her dazed but still awake. You decide to tell her you’re going for a walk instead of the truth.

The Peacekeeper is kind, waiting patiently by the door without sound. He smiles at you as you near him, ready.

You lock the door and follow the officer to the truck. 

You head to the empty bed of the truck but he continues to the passenger side door, holding it open for you. 

He looked awkward as he held it, “Ah which would you prefer?”

You smile at him and take his offer of sitting up front. He shows you how to work the seatbelt as he gets into the driver's seat. 

You thank him, telling him you’ve never been up front before. 

“Oh, that’s okay. I remember my first time in a car. I thought it was amazing.”

You do not share the same enthusiasm. Being in a car only meant you were going to or coming from Coriolanus. 

“I am Y/N,” you offer. 

“People call me Smiley.” You thought the name suited him. 

“How long have you been a Peacekeeper for, Smiley?”

“Oh for about three years. I was only a grunt for a year, though. Corio-Commander Snow promoted me to officer once he got back”.

Your head shot up to look at him, after his familiar way of talking about Coriolanus. Could a man like this be friends with a man like Coriolanus?

“Did you know Commander Snow before he was Commander?” You tried to act uninterested. 

“Oh yeah! I met him on his first day here.” 

You imagine Coriolanus in the blue uniform of a grunt, scared out of his mind. 

“Used to go with him to the Hob to watch Lucy Gray and the Covey perform. He used to sneak off to see her after the show,” he laughs at the fond memory but it sent ice down your veins.

He had told you he never even met her. You have zero doubt in your mind now that he was the one who killed her. 

“Shame about Lucy Gray,” you begin, “He must have been so sad when she disappeared.” 

Smiley nods his head, “I reckon the Mayor killed her in revenge. Both her old boyfriend and the Mayor's daughter he ran off with turned up dead. There’s no way she didn’t do it.”

You wondered if Coriolanus framed her for murder so no one would go looking for her once she disappeared. If he does the same to you, would your community believe it? The girl with the baked goods stall on a Saturday, a murderer? Would they believe that yet another girl tangled up with Coriolanus could be a killer?

“Maybe she didn’t do it,”, you test the waters, “Maybe she was framed.” 

Smiley laughs, “S’pose it’s possible, but she was no stranger to killing. She was the 10th victor of the Hunger Games.”

This information surprised you. You never went to the Reapings as you had a special pass that dubbed your work too important to be interrupted, and there were few working TVs in the district. And even fewer turned them on during the Hunger Games. 

Was that her appeal to Coriolanus, that she was tough enough to be a victor? Was her refusal of him now the reason he targeted your soft demeanor? 

“Victor of the Hunger Games and a Peacekeeper? How was that allowed?” 

“Oh, it wasn’t,” he laughs again, “I was bunk mates with him. I used to hear him sneak out. Always a romantic." 

You bite back the question wrangling your tongue; You don’t think that he is acting romantic now, do you?

Instead, you try learning more about Coriolanus. 

“What got him sent from the Capitol to District 12?” You couldn’t imagine such a self-important Capitol citizen would volunteer. 

“I don’t know. I don’t even know what got him sent back here as Commander.” Smiley answers honestly, “There was a rumor that he knew her in the Capitol. Helped her in the games, but I am not so sure I believe it. Why go through all of that, and then try to get yourself sent off to District 2 for officer training? He was always planning to get back to the Capitol. Why would he do that if the girl he sacrificed everything for was here? Makes no sense to me.”

The car is let into the gates of the Compound and Smiley slows the car down as it tracks through. 

“He’s over Lucy Gray though. Hasn’t mentioned her since he got back.” 

He says after a moment, like he was worried that you were getting jealous of Lucy Gray and not terrified that you would end up like Lucy Gray. 

The office building comes into view. It stood huge and white with unnaturally bright, clean, marble steps. 

He drives right up to the steps, stopping in front of a waiting Coriolanus. 

Coriolanus opens the door before you can and reaches over you to undo your seatbelt. It feels as if he yanks you down, but his touch is gentle and unharmful. 

“Thanks, Smiley.” It was the first time you had ever heard him thank one of his Peacekeepers. Smiley places a finger to his forehead and tips it back to Coriolanus before he drives off. 

“Hey,” he breathes. He takes your shoulders into his hands and kisses you quickly. 

You don’t greet him back, still frozen from the talk with Smiley. 

Coriolanus doesn’t notice as he leads you to his office with a hand on your shoulder. 

He seemed eager to get into the room. His pace was quick and he only gave head nods to passersby who greeted him. 

He sighs as he closes the door to his office. His hand goes to the back of your neck briefly before disappearing altogether. 

“I’m glad you’re here,” he says like you had a choice. 

He continues his quick pace over to the couch against the wall and pats the spot next to him. 

You sit down and to your shock, he lays down across it.

He lays his head on your lap as he talks. It wasn’t enough for him as he forced your hand over his chest. 

“This week,” he sighs, rubbing his hands over his face, “I wish it would just end.” 

He throws his hands off his face to speak clearly, “First Tigris said that she was going to quit her job, but I called her last night, and she decided she’s not going to.”

“Tigris? Is that your girl back home?” You remembered his distaste for working women. Because she was Capitol, was she subject to better treatment than you and Lucy Gray, or did he have plans to frame her for murder as well? 

“No,” he said firmly, “No, she’s my cousin. You’re my girl.”

“Hm,” you change the topic quickly, “Surely not enough to ruin your week.”

Coriolanus seemed pleased with the attention and continued. 

“I have the Commander from District 4 visiting this week. He’s not out of the car two minutes before one of the new recruits shoots himself in the foot, right in front of him.” 

You scoff back a giggle at the image, and he manages a smile back. 

“He’s a pain, this Commander. Constantly after me. He’s heard I have a close relationship with Strabo Plinth and thinks I’ll help him make a connection.”

“Who’s-” he interrupts you before you finish. 

“I’ll tell you another time.” 

You scoff at him, “Another secret.” 

He shifts so he is lying on his side towards you. 

“It’s not a secret. It’s just complicated.” The whole Capitol knows about the district-turned-Capitol citizen fulfilling the father's role in Coriolanus' life. He would prefer to keep the clean image with you. 

“Am I here for a reason, Commander Snow?”

“All I’ve wanted this week was to see you.” 

You shift uncomfortably under him. A look of distress crossed your face. 

“What’s wrong?” he sits up beside you. 

“Am I the next Lucy Gray?” 

“Ah! Lucy Gray,” he mutters, “If I hear that name again.” 

He gets up to give himself distance from you, going over to his desk and leaning against it with his hands.  

“Don’t deny it. Smiley told me you used to sneak off to see her after the shows.”

“I once had to carry Smiley back to the compound because he was so drunk he forgot how to walk. But you want to take his word over mine?” 

“Yes. You’re a liar. Is Tigris really your cousin?” 

He throws his hands up, astonished at the question. “Yes. I have a cousin and a Grandmother waiting for me in the Capitol. Both of which you will meet when we get back to the Capitol.”

“We?” You felt your heart stop. 

He turns his head to you.

“Yes, we. Did you think I was going to leave you behind?” 

“I can’t go to the Capitol. I belong here.” You think of your mother and Edmund. 

His jaw clenched but his movements are slow as they come towards you. 

“I belong in the Capitol. You belong with me. As soon as Ravinstill dies, we are on the first train out of District 12.”

What would happen to you once he got bored of you in the Capitol? In District 12 he would cast you out into familiar streets but would he even bother to get you back home once he decided you were no longer worth the time? 

You shake your head no and he takes your face between his hands. 

“You’ll like the Capitol, I promise. Pretty dresses. Food. You and Tigris will become fast friends.”

“What about my mother?’’

“We’ll send her money. She’ll be alright without you.” 

“Coriolanus, no.” His name felt funny coming out of your mouth. 

He adjusts to a more menacing position; his fingers tightened on your face, his body stiffened into a hard stance over you and his eyes squinted down on you. 

“Do you honestly think you have a say in the matter?.” 

You begin to cry “Please, I can’t go to the Capitol.”

He softens under your tears, the tight hold on your face turns gentle, and he drops himself to your height. 

“I know this is your home, but you will be happy in the Capitol. I’ll make you happy in the Capitol.” 

He won’t ever have to hear the name ‘Lucy Gray’ again and you’ll never have to keep wondering if you’ll have the same fate as her.

The buzzing from his desk saved you from any more useless begging. 

He looked visibly annoyed at the interruption but answered it anyway. 

Releasing you with a sigh, he walks over to his desk and presses a little button. 

“Yes?” Coriolanus answers. 

“Sir, Commander Bonza is looking for you.” The female voice spoke over the intercom. 

“Show him to the conference room. I’ll be right there.”

He comes back over to you, taking your shoulder in his hand. 

“Just stay here. I’ll only be an hour.” He leads you back over to the couch and you take a seat. “I’ll have them bring in tea.” 

He doesn’t look back as he leaves the room. 

You left as soon as you thought it safe enough to do so. 

You try not to run to avoid looking suspicious but your quick pace could not be slowed. You had to get out of the compound. 

A few stare at you as you pass but don’t try to stop you.

The gate opens freely, and you turn back to ensure you aren’t being chased

As you enter the dirt track back to the district, you hear your name being called. 

Emerging out of the trees, Edmund stands tall in his worn jacket. 

You throw your arms around his shoulders and allow yourself to be kept upright by him. 

“What happened? Are you alright?” He frantically asks.

“What are you doing here?” You shot back a question of your own. 

“I saw the Peacekeeper van take off with you. Look here” he shows you the hand-held wire cutters he held, “I was coming to get you. I promise, you weren’t alone”. 

He pockets the cutters to use his hands to wipe away your running tears, “What happened? Did he hurt you?” 

You shake your head no, pulling yourself back to his chest. 

“The Capitol,” you cry, “He plans to take me back to the Capitol.” 

“What? Why?”

The sound of a Peacekeeper van approaches and he pulls you back into the trees. 

“We have to go to the mountains. We’ll take your mother, and I’ll pick up more shifts. We’ll be alright, okay? I promise”. 

You cling to him as the car rolls past, certain that they are going to jump from their van and rip you from him. 

“And if he finds us?” you ask. 

Edmund brings his hand up to the back of your head, “He won’t. But if he does, then I’ll kill him.”

You look up at his beautiful, serious face. You knew he would kill for you and you knew you would do the same for him. But Commander Snow had too much power over District 12. Even just mentioning that you wanted to kill him could have you and anyone you have ever talked to hanged. But he wasn’t going to be Commander Snow forever. 

President Ravinstill will die and Commander Snow will become Candidate Snow. 

He won’t have time to chase you up the mountains. He’ll be on the first train out to shake hands and kiss babies. 

You tell Edmund this. Going up to the mountains too early would only get you all killed. It was better to wait for the announcement of the President's death and take off then. That way you might only have to hide from Peacekeepers who don’t really care.

He would get busy with his election and forget about the girl from District 12. And you in turn would forget about Commander Snow. 

Edmund disagreed. You need to move now. But with your mother in her fragile condition, you doubted she could even make it up to the cabins. And with Coriolanus occupied with the other commander, it would allow for more time to prepare for the move.

This argument won him over even if he wouldn’t admit it. 

You knew him well enough to know that when he told you that he ‘had to get you home’, what he really meant was, ‘You’re right. We should wait. We can’t let our fear take over our sensibility’. 

As you walked back home, you clung to his arm. He must have found it difficult to walk as you wrapped yourself around his arm but he made no complaint the whole journey. In fact, he said nothing the entire journey about anything, and you made no attempts to change that. Happily walking in silence. 

You were almost disappointed when you had to release him on your front porch. 

‘‘I have to go home, but I’ll be right back. I’ve got my brother waiting for me to take him hunting.”

“Why would you be right back then?”

“You want me to stay, don’t you? After today.” 

“No.” You could almost laugh at his words if they weren’t going to make you cry. 

“No. You should go with your brother. I’m fine. And Commander Snow won’t be back tonight if he’s seen me today.” 

You brush your hands down the breast of his coat. 

“If you bring me back a squirrel. I’ll make you squirrel stew.” 

You smile up at him to see him already smiling down at you. 

“You’ve got a deal, little lady.” His hands cup your elbows as he turns stoic again, “Are you sure you will be alright?” 

You had been through so much worse just weeks prior. 

You nod your head yes. “Look, can you go? I don’t want your brother to hate me.” 

He smiles once more showcasing his slightly crooked front tooth. 

“Never” he promises, “I’ll be back first thing tomorrow yeah?”

“Through-”

“Through the back door, yeah yeah. I know.” 

He moves his hands from your elbows and grips your shoulders instead, stooping his head down to you. “I do love you. You know that, right? I always have, and I’d do anything to keep you safe.” 

You were unsure of how to respond. ‘I love you too’ seemed appropriate but you weren’t sure if they meant the same thing anymore. He takes the words out of your mouth when he kisses you.

You kiss back. His lips felt softer than Coriolanus’. His kiss is much more gentle and less needy. You wished it was your first kiss but that now belonged forevermore to Coriolanus. This would just have to go down as your first real kiss. 

Still the longer it lasted, the louder the sound of a firing squad sounded. He pulled back just before you did. 

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he offers. 

“Goodnight, Edmund.” 

You watch him track back down the steps and into the darkness. 

You felt stunned that he had kissed you. That you had kissed him back and enjoyed it. 

Your brother would be mortified. But no more mortified, you supposed, than the kisses received from Coriolanus. 

The rush of the kiss doesn’t wear off as you enter your home. You reimage it as you sit at the kitchen table. 

When Coriolanus kissed you, it almost hurt. They never came singular but again and again, until something else called him off. 

But at least you knew he meant it. 

Edmund's kiss was almost unsure. 

Your brother's best friend had always held a special place in your heart but could it grow into seeing him as a separate man? As your man? 

You wonder if he was thinking the same thing. If somehow he got confused amongst the pressure and took his love for you as something more. 

Would he have kissed you any other way, for any other reason, if Commander Snow wasn’t in the picture? After he was gone would Edmund kiss you again, or flee into work from pure embarrassment? 

A soft knock at the door interrupted your sprailing. 

Thinking it was Edmund again, you rush to the door. Had he come to prove that the kiss was intentional and that he planned to continue his affections after Coriolanus? 

As you opened the door, you readied yourself for another kiss. But your boss was not ready to give you one. 

You stare at her surprised. She wore her normal gray dress and black boots but carried a moonshine bottle in her hand. 

“Miss Escot.” You state. 

“You ain’t come around. Figured I’ll come to you.” She steps forward to indicate her intentions of coming in and you step aside to let her.  

“So, was it everything you dreamed of?” She laughs as she enters. 

“You were wrong.” 

She spins to you, shocked, “So he ain’t touched you.”

You felt your face turn hot and red as the subject came up. “I don’t want to talk about it.” “Right, so he just ain’t fucked you, yet.” She looks surprised, almost worried. She turns back around and places the bottle on the kitchen table. 

“I was wondering why you hadn’t come running back to me for a job.” 

She sighs, sitting down on a chair that had its backing almost ripped out during the raid. 

“Get two glasses.”

You do as she asks, bringing them to the table but she doesn’t unscrew the drink. 

“He plans to take me back to the Capitol,” you admit. 

“You don’t plan to go do you?”

“Of course not.” 

“Strange man. You don’t take whores home.”

You flinch at the word but knew she meant no offense. 

“So,” she uncorks the bottle and splashes the liquid out into the glasses, “What’s your plan?”

You had thought about telling her about yours and Edmund’s plan but didn’t fully trust her enough. 

“I don’t know.” 

Your boss laughs, throwing her head back. 

“I can’t believe after all that, all he wants to do is a little roughhousing.” 

“He ain't touched me. I told you.” You insist. 

She stops laughing, “Save it for when your hickeys aren’t on display.” 

You pull your dress to hide your neckline. The heat from the embarrassment steams your face.

“So you gonna kill him?” She asks.

“Why do you care what I plan to do.” 

“Because I would hate to see you hanged and that’s what gonna happen if you try”. 

“I am not going to try to kill him, and he aint taking me back.” 

“Big words from a small girl,” your boss mocked, “Sometimes you just have to know when you’ve been beat.” 

“I would rather die then-”

“Commander Snow.” Your boss spoke in a loud hard tone, and you turned to see him in the doorway. 

A chill ran up your spine. He still wore the same hard expression from his office. 

He leaves the door open as he walks in, keeping his eyes on you. 

He turns to your little boss, glaring at her, but he keeps his hands clasped behind his back. 

“Not here to offer her a job are you?”

“Of course not, sir. Just visiting.” It was the first time you had ever heard your boss speak respectfully to someone intimidating her. 

“Just leaving,” he orders. 

“Yes, sir,” she agrees. He passes the bottle of moonshine to her, not wanting it left on the table for you. 

She rushes away with it in her hands but he calls out to her as she walks. 

“Oh, you weren’t the friend hiding in the cupboard the other day were you?” 

She turns to answer him but her face reads that she was surprised by his accusation. 

You mentally plead with her to say yes. She must have seen it through your wide eyes. 

“Yes, sir. I am sorry, sir”. 

You were sure the words tasted like acid coming out of her mouth. She shrinks as he stalks towards her, grabbing her by the shoulder and tossing her out. 

“Don’t come back again” He shuts the door on her

He comes back over to you.

“Imagine my surprise when I came back to find you had gone”. 

“I have to check on my mother.”

He pulls you back by your arm, “There you go again. Running away.”

“No, sir.”

“Back to sir now?”

He pushes you down into a chair and you catch yourself on its arms.

You go to get up again, making an excuse about dinner but he puts his hand out. 

“Don’t,” he warns. 

He leans over you in the chair, and you shrink back as far as you can. 

“You shouldn’t have left today.”

You nod your head, unsure of what to say. 

“Say you’re sorry,” he demands. 

‘‘I am sorry.” 

“And you’ll do anything to make it up to me.” 

His face was inches from you, if you moved a centimeter you could brush against his nose.

“Sure,” you grit. If you had learned anything, he could make you do what he wanted anyway. 

“There’s a public hanging tomorrow, I would like for you to be there”. 

“Yes, Sir”. You said a silent prayer that it was no one you knew. 

Coriolanus picks up the cups from the table and douses the floor with the moonshine. 

“And I don’t ever want you around that woman again. She’s a bad influence”.

“Yes, Sir” you doubted she would ever be back again anyway. You doubted that while Coriolanus was around, you would ever see a friendly face again.

—-----

Simley picked you up again the next morning but refused to utter a word to you. 

It was a terrible feeling. You had just hoped Coriolanus had only given him a firm talking to. You now wished you hadn’t said anything to get him into trouble.

You were dropped off at the gate of the Compound this time where it was a Peacekeeper who escorted you from the car into Coriolanus’ office. 

He was not there and did not turn up as the day went on. 

The door only opened once and it was a young girl who brought in your lunch. 

You watched from the window as the Peacekeepers set up for the hanging. The grunts laid the infrastructure of the stage and barricades while the higher-ups went around with vicious-looking dogs and metal detectors. 

It was late afternoon by the time the blue uniforms came off and the official Peacekeeper uniforms were worn by everyone. They took their positions with rifles in the watchtowers, and the other Peacekeepers formed a line across the stage. It gave them a view of the takeaway metal fence that separated the divide between the stage and the audience, leaving a small gap for a family member to come grab the shoes. They chatted amongst themselves as they waited for the gate to be swung wide for the public. 

A knock on the door told you that it wasn't Coriolanus. A Peacekeeper poked his head through the door and asked you to come with him. 

You follow him out to where Coriolanus stood in front of the stage, speaking to a man dressed in a similar uniform. 

You waited with the guard until he was finished. He takes your hand in his as he nears and dismisses the Peacekeeper. 

“They are just about to open the gate,” he says. He takes you to the front of the where the audience would stand, taking his cuffs out, he clips one against your wrist and another onto the metal fence. It was the spot directly in front of the microphone in which he was to speak into in a few moments. 

You pulled against it feeling embarrassed. You were like a dog that was chained to a post. 

 “Watch me up there,” he instructs. 

He walks up the stage, saying a few words to an officer already up there. The officer pulls out a communicator from his pocket and must have given the go ahead as the gates swung wide and the people began to trickle in. 

You took the scarf out of your hair and layed it across the chain. No one needed to know whose dog you were. 

People soon surrounded you as the small area filled. Someone important must be getting hung today. 

Coriolanus begins the opening remarks about the greatness of Panem, and the need to strive for a better future for all of us. It was a speech he repeated a hundred times and never held any meaning to him. You could see the same Commander from before standing up on stage behind him. He looked gleeful to be there and you shared Coriolanus’ same distaste for the man.

He returns to the cards as he reads out the first convicted man. 

They bring him out from the prison as Coriolanus speaks, known as the dead man’s walk. 

The man was crying softly as they forced him up the steps and onto the box. He was in his late 50’s and underfed. The peacekeepers easily got the noose around his neck despite his fight against it.

“For the betterment of Panem, and the safety of the Districts you, Benjamin Harrison, are sentenced to death”. 

The box is kicked from under him and you shut your eyes until the sound of flailing feet stops. 

They drop the body like it was nothing, but the peacekeepers allow a moment for a family member to take his shoes. No one does, and the body is dragged off stage. 

You feel the crowd rustle behind you as someone makes their way to the front. They all tried to be quiet from the disruption as Coriolanus read the next name and charge. No one wanted to be caught disrespecting the Commander, and be the next name called up. 

The person finds their way to the front, beside you. You don’t look at them, keeping your eyes focused on Coriolanus who sporadically looked up to ensure you were watching him. 

“What a lovely day for a hanging.”

You recognised the voice but you still had to look to believe it.

“Edmund,” you grit through your teeth, “What are you doing here!”

“You’re not alone, remember?”

He doesn’t look at you as he speaks, but you can feel his fingertips brush yours while Coriolanus is busy reading out the charges.

You were thankful he was there, despite the danger of it. There was nothing more you hated than attending the death of another. 

You could feel Coriolanus’ stare upon you and you made a note to look back at him. 

Another man walks onto the stage with a solemn look. He is hanged without fuss and without tears. 

Edmund seemed to know him as the box was kicked, his hands latched onto the bars of the fence, and he let out a ‘tsk’.

You lower your hand and take hold of his pant leg. The small connection made you feel safer under the gaze of the Commander. You were sure he couldn’t see your hold. There were too many bodies pressed together to really work out whose hand belonged to whom.

A woman in her early 40’s was called out next and she pleaded and begged but the peacekeeper wouldn’t even look at her. She mentioned something about her son before the box was kicked out from her and the words were strangled in her throat.

Coriolanus paused upon the next name and for once he actually had your real attention. 

He clears his throat and his voice comes back strong, “Victor Tatin, a rebel and an informant to his higher-ups.”

They bring out a small boy. Doubtful he even had his name in the draw for the Hunger Games and yet still being killed by the Capitol. The shackles were too big for him and he tripped and stumbled as he walked. Edmund's hand clamped down on yours.

“Victor was the main distributor of anti-Capitol propaganda, who used his position as an errand boy here at the Compound to report back to those who wish the district harm.” 

The boy is lifted up onto the stage as the stairs prove too difficult to climb in his chains.

"For this crime, and for the betterment of Panem, and the safety of the districts, you, Victor Tatin, are sentenced to death.” 

You cry out as two boxes are moved from under him, and the small boy stops his tears. 

You look up to Edmund who had fury in his eyes. 

Coriolanus steps away from the microphone, watching as they gently lower the dead boy to the ground.

The Commander of District 4 takes the opportunity to say a few words himself. 

“Let it be known that all rebels will be caught and be brought to justice. There is nowhere to hide, and no comfort to be provided. All rebels and sympathizers will be hanged!”. 

Coriolanus retakes the microphone and wraps up the event with a statement of what was to be done with the bodies, and how the Capitol is rewarding the information given with a food drive occurring in the middle of town the next morning. 

As people left as fast as they came, you were forced to tear your hand away from Edmund. 

“Come on,” he turns to follow the crowd but you can’t. 

You check to see that Coriolanus has his back turned to talk to his officers, and you take the chance to show Edmund the cuff around your wrist. 

“He wants me to stay” you explain. 

Edmund tugs the chain as if he had the strength to break it. 

“Go,” you demand, seeing Coriolanus turn his shoulders back. 

“I’ll wait for you,” he promises. 

You were alone again but felt better for knowing that every second that passed brought you closer to meeting Edmund on the track back home. 

Coriolanus remained on stage but another peacekeeper came to undo your cuffs and accompany you back to his office. 

You break down in tears even before the door is closed. You knew the image of the small boy would haunt you. You couldn’t imagine what it would do to Coriolanus. 

Is that why he brought you here? To offer him comfort for his crimes. 

He doesn’t collect it in a reasonable time frame. You are left waiting for two hours before he comes to you. 

He looked frail as he entered. His hat had disappeared, and his commander's jacket was folded over his arm. It left him in his gray trousers and formal light blue dress shirt. 

“Everyone is gone,” he comments, throwing his jacket on the couch and walking over to where you sat in the guest chair. 

You stand as he comes closer to let him know no comfort would be given. 

“He was only a boy,” you whisper. Coriolanus nods his head in agreement. 

“I tried to send him to the Capitol as an Avox but Commander Bonza was determined to see him hang”. 

You wondered if it was a small mercy. Life as an Avox was a fate worse than death. Still, he was so small they had to use two boxes to prop him up on the stage. 

“You could have stopped it. You’re the Commander of District 12, not him.” 

Coriolanus sighs, sitting down in his chair, “And have Commander Bonza think I was weak against rebels? I need his support in the presidential run.”

“He was just a boy.” You repeat, the tears spilling freely from your eyes. 

“I know, Y/N. I know.” You could see he was getting wound up. 

“Come here,” he directs. Deciding not to push him too far, you do and he sits you on the desk in front of him. He wraps his arms around your waist and buries his head into your side. 

“He cried for his mother in the holding cell”. 

Coriolanus remembered crying for his mother on nights when the pain in his stomach from hunger was too much to bear. It felt almost therapeutic now to hear you cry for the boy. In a way, you were crying for Coriolanus too. 

He holds you close for his own comfort. 

“They don’t hang children in the Capitol. You’ll never have to see it again.”

You wanted to make the argument that they shouldn’t hang here but his temper was short, and your tears wouldn’t stop flowing. 

Instead, you let him hold you, gently rubbing his back. You were surprised after all the terrible things he had done that this was the burden he struggled to carry. 

He seemed content to lay against you as you comforted him. It seemed crazy to you that you were, but you felt so shallow that you allowed your default mode to take over. Besides, the sooner he felt better the sooner you could meet up with Edmund for your own comfort. 

The time passed quickly with no movement or sound from Coriolanus. 

The clock on the wall read 6:30. You decide enough time has passed to make your escape. 

“I have to go, Commander.” You rise from him but he keeps your waist in his hands.

“Stay,” he begs

You shake your head. 

“Please, just for tonight.” 

“I have to get home to my mother.”

“Tomorrow will you stay?”

“No. I can’t.” 

“You can,” he contests, “You just won’t”. 

“My mother needs me.” You tear his hands off him and he shoots out of his chair. 

“She should get used to your absence.”

“I am not going to the Capitol.” You seethe. 

“I don’t know where else you think you are going.” 

You turn to leave but he yanks you back.

“No, no. I need you to stay.” 

“Get off of me,” you demand.

“You’re not leaving me.” 

You repeat your demand and shove him harshly off you.

“You’re telling me no? After everything I’ve done for you?” he squints his eyes at you. 

“If you don’t stay with me, you can forget about food for the next month.” 

You freeze at his words. There wasn’t enough food to last a month. Maybe ten days. You would properly be ok with your saved money and Edmunds hunting, but it would be a dead give-away that you had other means beside him. 

You stop struggling against him, and his grip loosens on you. 

“Stop acting like this, alright?”

His hands go to the side of your face and he tugs you closer. 

“We are on the same side. It wasn’t my decision to kill the boy but it was something I had to do.  You’re my sweet girl, aren’t you? Can’t you act like that? Even just for tonight?”

His desperation was a dangerous thing so you nodded your head. The last time you ran from him after a hanging, he was so hurt, he made your life a living hell for months. You worried what he would do now that he has left you destitute and dependent on him. You had nothing more he could take, but the whipping post remained. 

Your complacency returns him to a less manic state. His tired eyes soften, and his body falls back to the defeated state that he came in with. 

“Okay,” he says softly and takes your hand. 

He leads you back to his apartment with your hand in his. It was small but well-built. Everything was hard metal from the floors to the dining room table. He had a small kitchen space straight to the left with an old fridge. Directly across from it, separated by the hallway was a living space that only consisted of a worn green couch facing a mounted tv, and a small table with a radio on top. 

“It’s not much,” he comments. 

You had been to houses without roofs. This seemed like a palace. 

He leads you into the center of the room, “Kitchen,” he points, “Ah, living room”. 

Taking you down the hallway he opens the first door on the right, “That’s the bathroom”. 

You peek into the small space to see a shower and a toilet. 

He reaches for the door just down to the left and reveals his bedroom. The bed was unmade and there wasn’t a single personal item left lying around. Apart from the bed and a standing wardrobe, there was nothing else in the fairly spacious room. 

“Are you hungry?” he asks.

You shake your head no. You weren’t sure you could stomach anything after today. 

He takes you back to the bathroom, “Why don’t you take a shower and we’ll go to bed?” 

“Towel,” he places a hand on a white towel hanging up on a hook, and then opens the mirror to show three shelves, “Toothpaste and my toothbrush”. 

Everything he offered was already something he used. You knew he at least had another towel to offer you but he wanted to share everything. 

“I’ll leave some clothes on the bed for you to change into.” 

“Thanks,” you knew he wanted to hear it. 

He smiles and kisses your cheek before leaving.

 The steam from the shower began to fill the room by the time you made yourself take off your clothes and get in. You noticed there was no lock on the door, and you were expecting him to come back. 

He never did or at least you never noticed him. While most of the shower was just spent leaning against the wall. You did feel refreshed having fresh teeth. 

Wrapping the towel around yourself you check outside the door. Both the kitchen light and the bedroom light were on. 

If he was waiting in the bedroom you could just take the clothes and return to the bathroom. But only the clothes he promised sat on the bed. One of his white t-shirts, and a pair of boxers. 

It covered you mostly. You place your clothes and boots at the end of the bed and return the towel to the hook. 

You found him eating in the kitchen after you had done. He was eating mince from a bowl, his appetite now returned from killing a young boy. 

He grins at you as he chews. 

It makes you feel self-conscious. 

“I am going to go to sleep,” you state, although you have little hope of actually sleeping. 

“Okay. I’ll join you soon,” he takes another bite. 

You turn back to the bedroom. You even managed to lay down in the dark room but you found yourself too preoccupied with what he was doing to succumb to sleep. You could hear the shower running. What you couldn’t see was him pressed up against the glass, his forehead resting against it next to his hand while he jerked himself off. He couldn’t enter that bedroom with you without releasing first. He imagined it though. Climbing on top of you and sliding his hands under his shirt that you wore. You wouldn’t fight him but invite him closer, letting him have free roam of your body. You would beg for it. Beg him to continue. Beg him to take you back to the Capitol with him. 

He spills out onto his hand. After that, he washes himself clean and readies himself for bed. 

He worries about waking you as he enters the bedroom in nothing but a towel.  

You can almost feel him searching for his clothes. Normally he slept in only his underwear too tired to change at the end of the day, but this time he searches for his disregarded pajama bottoms. He can faintly see the blue stripes from the light outside the door and yanks them from the pile. He doesn’t bother looking for the matching top, just taking a white t-shirt from a stack. He liked that he was matching you. 

 You think he is going to undress in front of you but he takes his clothes back to the bathroom to change. 

The lights turn off and Coriolanus sneaks back into the room. He is slow as he moves down into the sinking bed, careful of waking you. 

You shuffle to let him know you are still awake. His movements turn less careful as he settles. He stills for a second but turns quickly towards you. 

He leans over you, taking the wrist you were lying against and tugging it over himself so he was being spooned. He buries your hand under his cheek and you can feel his breaths against it. 

You wonder if Edmund was still waiting outside of the Compound for you or if he had realized you weren’t coming and had gone home to his family. He’d stay. He was stubborn. 

You hoped your mother was asleep and unaware of your absence. She was only taking her morphling at night but it kept her asleep for 14 hours at a time. If she had taken it at her normal time, you should be home well before she wakes up tomorrow. 

Coriolanus’ scent fills your nose. It was oddly comforting. Every time you breathed it would come rushing up invading your senses. You could only feel him, only smell him. You went to sleep with Coriolanus surrounding you. 

—------

The beeping of an alarm clock woke your restful sleeping. 

You sit up, half unsure of what it was at first. It was Coriolanus who turned it off, but he rolled back over on the bed. 

“What time is it?” you ask. 

Coriolanus sighs, resting a hand over his eyes, “6:30.”

He looked exhausted but rose anyway. His movements were sluggish as he stood from the bed and leaned across it to flatten the bed sheet over you. You toss it off as he did. 

“Go back to sleep”. 

You tell him you’re already up and rise from the bed. 

He was too tired to argue so he went about his morning routine. He takes a fresh uniform out of the cupboard and tells you he’ll be back. 

You dress back in your clothes too. Feeling better for it. 

You make your way to the main area and hear the tap running in the bathroom. 

After not eating dinner, your hunger bore a hole in your stomach. 

You check the fridge to find it is surprisingly bare. Two metal trays sit on top of each other, the food was mainly in tack but you could see small bits torn off. A half-bitten sausage, the grease of where food once sat on the small metal compartment. You unravel tin foil and find a half loaf of pre-cut bread. 

You smell the leftover food, judging it right for consumption. 

It takes you a bit to find your bearings in the kitchen. The top cupboard held food staples; flour, salt and pepper, oil. While the bottom cupboards held the pots and pans. There were only a few and they were worn down by the years. 

They cook just the same, and you fry the mashed potato that was left, and reheat the sausages. 

Coriolanus returns to the kitchen with his Commander jacket in his hand. He looked surprised to find you cooking. 

He drapes the jacket over the back of one chair as he speaks, “I was about to go to the mess hall and bring something back but that smells too good to pass up.” 

He comes over to you and stands behind you with his hands on your hips, placing a kiss to your cheek. You dip the stale bread in the grease of the sausages and fry it.

“Thank you.” 

You were pretty sure it was the first ‘thank you’ you had ever received from him. You rack your brain for another time but only his hits and threats come to mind. 

You stand silent. He was not welcomed to your cooking.

He moves from you at his own free will and goes to a small black machine on the kitchen counter. He is rough as he sets it up. 

Dark liquid pours out and the smell of coffee battles with the smell of oil. 

The first sips pleases him, and he turns to see you looking at him.

He offers you a drink from his coffee cup but you refuse it. 

“Can you get the plates from the top? I can’t reach them”.

He does as you ask, bringing down two white plates and setting them on the counter. He reshuffled the items in the cupboard, so the plates were on the bottom shelf where you could reach. 

You don’t talk further as you plate up the items and take them to the table. You place them opposite to each other, sitting down before he could move them. 

You eat quickly while Coriolanus takes his time to chew. 

He takes a break from his food and has another sip of coffee.

“You see those pants,” he nods to the folded pile of gray pants on the chair and you nod, “Can you iron them for me?” 

It wasn’t a request so you confirmed you would. 

“And my shoes need to be shined for tomorrow.” 

“Sure,” you grit before softening your voice, “After that, I was thinking I would go home to my mother. She needs her next morphling dose soon.”

You have not told him that your mother was now only on one bottle a day. He would properly stop the supply altogether if he knew and you needed the money from selling the extra bottles. 

Your real concern is that she would wake up and find you still not home. 

Coriolanus takes a bite of his sausage, he looked to be thinking about your request. 

 “That’s fine,” he finally said. 

He looks at his watch on his wrist before getting up and placing his dish in the sink. 

“It’s Commander Bonza’s last night here. He wants a farewell ceremony. If you hear gunfire that’s all it is.” 

He turns back to you and takes his jacket off the chair and slips it onto himself. 

“I’ll visit when he is finally gone.” 

You nod. At least you will be back on your own turf. Here you felt like an intruder. 

He lifts your chin and kisses you before leaving. 

You remained at the table but he could hear you had gone to wash the dishes as he closed the door. 

His hand stilled. What if he needed you during the day? What if he managed to break away from the attention of Commander Bonza and could come back?

He wondered what you would do back home. Your mother would be close to dead. Would you bake? Go for another walk?

He felt sour. You were more important here than you were there. 

Here at least he knew what you were doing. You were washing dishes, ironing, taking care of him. 

If he let you roam free over the district, who knew what you were doing or who you were talking to? 

The metal pan clanged as he twisted the lock with his key. 

It was Commander Bonza’s last day, he couldn’t be distracted by these thoughts. Today he just needed the comfort of knowing you were here for him. 

—

You rush through your chores without noticing the locked door. You find the laundry room next door to the bathroom and come across a stack of neatly folded towels. Shaking your head you grab the iron from the built-in white shelf and take it back to the living room where you had more space. 

You finish the pants in no time but the shoes proved hard to shine. When you finally got them bright enough it was nearly 9 o’clock. Your mother would be awake soon and the walk home was still 20 minutes. 

The cold that shoots through you when the door fails to open was one of the worst feelings you had ever felt. You yell, bang, and twist at the door but it remains unopened. 

You wait, thinking that maybe he wanted to ensure that the work was done before letting you leave. But lunchtime passes and he doesn’t return. 

You try wedging the door open with a butter knife but it bends the metal. The windows were sealed shut in the air-controlled room, and there was no back door that you could try. 

From the window, you could see a group of Peacekeepers carrying a long and heavy wooden table. You bang on the window, gaining their attention. 

They freeze as if you were a ghost before moving on. 

—-

The ceremony turned into a party. You did hear the sound of saluting gun fire in the late afternoon but soon after it, you would hear the faint sound of music and dancing. Peacekeepers had strung lights across the compound. They were round and shone a dim yellow. 

As night fell they became the only light over the place. You still were sat at the window, waiting for Commander Snow to return and release you. 

Your mind drove you mad. Images of your mother crying out for you. Trying to walk on her own causing herself harm. She would definitely be up by now. Would Edmund tell her where you were or would he try to shield her from the truth?

She would be by herself surely. He would have had to return home to his own family. She would be by herself, worried sick. She wouldn’t believe Edmund no matter how good of a lie he told. You could picture her in bed with her sore back, crying. 

By the time Coriolanus finally arrived home, you were a bilthering mess. 

He drops his keys at the door and comes rushing over to you. 

“What’s wrong?”

You couldn’t catch your breath through your tears. 

“Hey, what happened?” he brushes your tears away with his thumbs.

You bash him in his chest for his dumb question. 

“My mother,” you gasp between tears, “I need to go home. She needs me.” 

“Okay, okay,” he soothes, ‘I’ll take you now.” 

He takes your wrist into his hand and leads you out of his apartment. He doesn’t bother to lock the door. There was nothing to steal anyway, and the men here weren’t stupid enough to try. 

You could hear the men over the music as you walked through the compound. Coriolanus must have left early. 

A few Peacekeepers hid in dark corners smoking, only the light of the cigarette giving them away. You passed two, who scrambled back trying to go unnoticed as they carried their drunk friend back to the barricades. 

Coriolanus doesn’t notice any of it. Or at least he pretends not to. You noticed he was far more observant then he led on.  

He takes you to a two-story building that still had people working inside. He doesn’t take you in but around the back to a large shed that housed the cars. 

He walks along a row of cars before coming to an acceptable one. It was a common patrolling car, with a cage in the back for rebels. 

He looks at the number painted on the side, and leaves you by the passengers door. 

“Wait here. I’ll go get the keys.”

“Hurry,” you tell him but it places no pep in his step. 

There was no way she would have been able to eat anything. Her morphling dose was due hours ago. Even if she managed to get up. She wouldn’t be able to eat from the pain. 

You thought about just leaving him and trying to sprint back to the house. But even with his slow pace the car would be faster. You were outraged by him. You were under the illusion that if you played to his wants, you could continue with your life with minimal distribution. But there was no leniency with him. He had a child-like temper. There was no give and take, there was only take with him. 

He does return moments later with the keys and opens the passengers door to let you in. 

“I’m sure she is fine,” he says as he buckles his own seat belt. 

You don’t speak to him the whole journey, despite his attempts. 

The only sound you made was upon seeing the red sign that marked the beginning of your community.

He parks outside of your house and you rush to get inside. 

“Mum,” you called out before you had even opened the unlocked door.

You gasp as you see Edmund standing in your kitchen. He looked just as shocked to see you. 

“Where have you been!” he demanded. 

You try and shoo him, but Coriolanus was only two steps behind you. 

You feel a protective hand go on top of your shoulder. 

“She’s been with me. Who are you?”

“He’s the maintenance man.” You lie. 

You feel Coriolanus’ hand tighten on your shoulder. Edmund knew the danger he was in. One wrong move and he would be sent to the noose the next morning. 

“I was just fixing some damage in the roof. The door was open and I heard her mother calling out,” he showcases a couple of tools on the bench. You thank God that he did actually take the time out today to fix something, “Normally, Y/N is here. I got worried when she wasn’t.”

“And she planned to pay you with what? She has no money.” 

“Food!” You call out, “I make food for his family in exchange.”

Coriolanus looked unsure but had no other proof he could object with. 

“Go tend to your mother. I’ll make sure the work is finished.” Coriolanus ordered. 

Torn, you don’t make a move. The sole purpose of your trip was to ensure that your mother was okay but you weren’t sure if you could leave Coriolanus and Edmund in the same room. 

“No need. I took care of her. She’s asleep now”. 

“All day? What a loyal friend”.

“Yeah, well someone had to look out for her.” 

Coriolanus takes a step forward, positioning his body so it hides you behind it. 

“Coriolanus Snow.” He held out a hand to shake. 

“Commander Snow, you mean. The mighty Commander of District 12” Edmund holds his hands out in front of him, “I am unworthy to shake such a hand”. 

Coriolanus keeps a still face as he withdraws his hand. 

“That might be true,” Coriolanus shakes his finger at Edmund in an accusing manner, “Didn’t I see you next to my girl at the hanging?” 

Edmund shrugs his shoulders, “I’ve stood next to many people, at many hangings. It all begins to merge into one.”

“I know what you mean,” Coriolanus agrees. 

Talk of hanging makes you nervous. 

“Coriolanus,” you pressed your hand against his shoulder and urged him forward,“How about I make you a cup of tea?” 

He lets you push him to the table, and sit him down.

“Sure.” He answers but his eyes remain locked on Edmund as if he was the unwanted guest. 

You felt better with him sitting. It would at least give Edmund a head start if Coriolanus decided to attack.

“I’ll have one too” Edmund states, turning with you into the kitchen but you stop him with a hand. 

“No” you state, pulling items out of the fridge and placing them into Edmunds hands, “You’ve got to get home. That wife of yours must be cursing your name.” 

Edmund silently begs you to let him stay with his big brown eyes. But you couldn’t. He had to leave before he got himself killed. 

Coriolanus on the other hand looked smug. He sat proud and upright in his chair.

“I’ll show you the door.” Coriolanus looks to get up, and you feel a rush of panic go through you. 

“No need. I built it!” Edmund snapped. 

As much as you would have loved the protection of Edmund, sending him off was the best decision. It had barely been 5 minutes and Edmund was already losing his temper.

“Then you should have no trouble using it”. 

Edmund gives you a pleading look to change your mind but can’t.

“Thank you for your kindness today. I am glad someone was here for my mother”. 

“I still have work to do.” Edmund tries. 

“You can come back tomorrow”. You push your friend to the door. He turns back to you once out of the threshold. 

He says your name softly before the door closes in his face.

You turn back to Coriolanus who looked like the boy who won the biggest prize at the fair.

“I don’t want him in the house if I am not here.” He calls as you make his tea. 

You try to act nonchalant as you answer, “Fine.” 

You finish Coriolanus’s tea and bring it to him at the table.

He tugs your wrist as you pull your hand back and invites you onto his lap.

“You seemed close with the maintenance man,” he states, taking a sip of tea. 

“Not at all. He’s my brother’s old friend. We’re just old acquaintances.”

He rubs your arm, “Why don’t you go pack a bag to take back”.

“Back? I thought that was a one night thing.” You bolt up out of his hold and he continues to sip his tea unbothered. 

“You think I am letting you stay here after finding a man lingering in your house?” 

You doubt if that was his plan long before Edmund was introduced. 

“I told you who he was. My mother needs me here. She can’t even get out of bed by herself”. 

“She seems to be standing just fine now.”

You follow his eyes to the hallway where your mother leaned against the frame out of breath. 

You rush to her, trying to help her back to bed but she resisted. 

“I was so worried,” she huffed. 

“I am sorry.”

Coriolanus rises from his seat to join you and your mother in the hallway. 

“She’ll be coming back with me, ma’am. You are welcome to visit anytime.”

Your mother wanted to argue and scream, you could see it on her face but she bit her tongue.

You spoke for her, “I am not. I am staying here”. 

Coriolanus pushes past you to your bedroom where he yanks, opens the closet and begins searching for something. He tossed things out onto the floor before growing impatient and swifty going over to your bed and stripping the pillow case from the pillow. 

He stuffs the things thrown on the floor into the case. Your underwear, and spare clothes are stuffed into the small sack. 

He leaves the room to head to the bathroom and he sees you still with your mother as he passes. 

He takes your toothbrush and a hair brush laying on the sink, packing it in the case. 

“Lets go,” he demands with a strong hold on your arm. 

You felt so frustrated as he pushed you forward. You scream and pull against him. 

Your mother looked physically pained kneeled over the door frame. She looked as if she was yelling but no sound could come from her mouth. 

You scream at him to let you go but he practically carries you out the door by your waist. He lets you go as if you were going to walk yourself only to pick you up by the waist again and throw you forward towards the car. 

‘‘Let go of her!” You hear Edmunds voice before the force of his hit sends both you and Coriolanus off balance. 

Coriolanus lets go of you to defend himself against Edmunds attacks. He grunts as Edmund gets a good shot to his mouth. His lip split instantly. 

Coriolanus was stronger though. Well fed and well trained. He dodged the next swing and shot back one of his own. It landed against Edmund’s eye. It gave Coriolanus time to distance himself from the car. Now that he wasn’t backed into a corner, Edmund couldn’t rely just on his brute strength. 

He lunged forward again but Coriolanus jumped back in time for the swing to miss. 

With a clear shot to his face, Coriolanus throws his fist into Edmund’s nose. Blood gushed from it, leaving a large red patch. But it doesn’t deter him. He licks the blood off his lips and runs at Coriolanus with his shoulder. 

Edmund’s tackle sent Coriolanus to the ground with an soft groan. With his knees cemented into the ground below, Edmund takes hold of Coriolanus' collar and uses it to bring his face up against his fist. 

You could feel people watching from their houses but none came to help. 

Not even whe Coriolanus managed to reverse positions. He didn’t make the same mistake as Edmund, he kept his body weight centered. One knee kneeling on the ground while the foot of his other leg stayed flat against the earth’s floor. It would be harder for Edmund to roll him over. 

Coriolanus’s fists pounded into Edmunds face. You could see he was losing focus and his body lost power. 

He was going to kill Edmund if he continued. 

You throw yourself over his head, covering what you could with your own body. Coriolanus doesn’t swing down at you. Letting go of Edmunds hair and standing up. 

He spits the blood from his mouth out on the ground, standing tall above you as he drinks in the position you were in. You could feel Edmund raise his hand to your shoulder, his tight grip bunching your shirt. 

Coriolanus’s breathing was heavy but Edmund’s breaths were soft against your ear. 

His lip was bleeding still into his mouth, and he had a cut above his eyebrow that he smeared across his face as he wiped it off. 

You swore you heard him laugh softly as he picked up the pillow case and stuffed the lost items back in before throwing it into the car where it spilled once more. 

He holds the door open for you, his hard stare telling you what to do without words. 

You tear yourself from Edmund who was reluctant to let you go. 

“No,” he groans but you follow your instincts and get into the car. 

The door slams shut and you peer out the window to see Edmund trying to stand on shaky feet. The word must have felt like it was spinning for him. 

Coriolanus gets in and begins driving without a word. 

“Ah,” he sighs, wiping the blood off his lip. 

You choke back tears as you watch Edmund fall down in the mirror. 

“Kill them and you kill me,” you threaten, “I swear, there is not a single thing you can do that would stop me.”

Without your mother, without Edmund, there would be no point in being alive. 

Coriolanus doesn’t answer you. You take it as a sign that he meant you were serious. 

You both fall into silence on the drive back to the compound. You wondered if Lucy Gray was subjected to the same treatment. She was stronger than you were though. She was the victor of the Hunger Games, while you stood there frozen while two men tried to kill each other with their bare hands. If she couldn’t survive him, what hope did you have?

—------

The nightmare returns again that night. 

It starts as it always does. He is in the forest hunting Lucy Gray as she taunts him with her song.

“Are you, are you comin' to the tree? Where they strung up a man, they say, who murdered three

Strange things did happen here, no stranger would it be, if we met at midnight in the hanging tree.” 

He stalks through the vegetation.  

“Wear a necklace of rope side by side with me?” He feels her once again, as a hand on his shoulder, a wet rasp in his ear. He spins with his gun to the air. 

It was a fatal mistake. He feels the thick rope loop around his neck and yank him up to the trees. He drops his gun in an effort to loosen the knot around his throat. 

Lucy Gray had strung him up in the tree like his father. 

He gasps as he wakes from it, startling you too. 

Your frightened figure was a welcomed sight to Coriolanus who scooped you up from the bed into his arms. His hold hurt you. It was far too tight, and his hot sweaty body overheated you. 

You couldn’t tell him though, you doubt he would even hear you over his loud shaky breathing.

He presses his face into your hair, breathing in your scent. 

He couldn’t have that cabin, that forest, that girl, haunt him the rest of his days. He would have to conquer this fear. 

He would go back with you, where he would face Lucy Gray or leave the ghost of her in the trees. 

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#coriolanus snow #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #coriolanus x reader #dark!coriolanus snow #tom blyth #dead dove do not eat #commander snow

[k-atsukibakugou]

tw: alcohol mention, uhhhh stalking suggested kinda???? lmao w/c: 1.0k notes: uh inspired by the fact that i will lie to anyone and everyone when im drunk for the laughs especially about my name bc what are u gonna do?? say its not lmao?? might come back to this teehee

katsuki has watched the second guy walk away from you with a self-assured smirk, fiddling with a slip of paper between their fingers, numbers and letters scribbled down, and you with a victorious smirk of your own, a drink in front of you without your own purse in sight.

now, with the third approaching, and you smiling the same as you did at the two before, sucking the straw between your lips while glancing over at them through your eyelashes, repeating the same routine with the last two, you had the blond hero's attention. studying the way you played dumb, selling another lie about being from out of town; your first was you were here for your friend's wedding, the second a job interview, this guy got told it was your friends birthday, and she was in the bathroom.

katsuki had no idea how these guys didn't see through your act, the way you played with the necklace on your chest to draw their attention down, how you wrapped pretty lips around the straw to make them forget whatever it was they were saying, or how you'd adjust your legs on the soft leather seat to reveal a sliver of soft skin, sliding them your number after they'd buy you a drink. this guy buying you two, one for your friend of course.

"i'll show you around, next time you're in town," there it was again! you scribbled down a new set of numbers, the guy calling you a third new name! his red eyes narrowed watching you nod, standing up with the excuse of searching for your friend, leaving your empty cup on the bar, and the full one, "for your friend" in your hand. your latest victim walked back to his group of friends, waving the paper like it was a trophy.

katsuki watched you walk around the corner of the bar, behind a pillar decorated with overlapping papers, sitting on a chair one away from him. he couldn't help but stare, trying to dissect you like you were an experiment in highschool, watching your boot-clad legs cross, your bracelet sliding down your arm when you raised the glass to your lips, marring the new straw with your lipstick.

"take a picture, blondie, it'll last longer."

red eyes widen, looking back up from your hands to your smiling eyes, realising they were staring back into his, a smirk plastered on those pretty lips.

"hah?"

you throw your head back in a laugh at his embarrassment that you caught him staring at you, nothing but confidence in your demeanour, not a hint of anger that he'd been looking you up and down. i mean what else were those dress and boots for if not to get a little attention from a burly hero?

"too busy eyeing me up to listen?" his ears flushed, hardened eyes boring into yours, but you weren't intimidated by his glare, only finding humour in the situation.

"i heard you." his voice is gruff, eyes darting back down to his drink when you slid a seat over, reminding him of a snake with your silent, fluid movements, the start of your routine he realised. you'd selected your new victim, your cup half empty and in need of a top up.

your knuckles brushed his when you leaned an elbow on the bar, eyeing him the same way he had you, noting the flash of orange under the collar of his hoodie, "so what, blondie, you want an autograph or something?"

your lips were upturned at the edge in a teasing grin, eyes glinting with mischief, "or should i be asking you for one, dynamight?"

his eyes flicked back to yours, your eyebrow quirking at his response, your smirk dropping to make way for a knowing smile.

"what about you, huh? what's your name?" you shuffle closer again, opening your mouth to respond when he interrupts, "an' none of that shit with those other guys,"

he lists off the names you'd told them, his voice slightly higher, poking fun at your flirtatious tone when you'd lied to the other men.

"you heard all that?" your head was thrown back in a laugh again, eyes crinkling at the edges, "you wanna know my real name, hero?"

he nods, trying to look as bored as possible as you spoke, as if the mystery and confidence surrounding you wasn't like a magnet, like your voice wasn't a siren call.

you say a name, a shocked look flashing over your features when he shakes his head, "not a chance, snake."

you narrow your eyes, but your smile remains unchanged when you say another. he shakes his head again, making you playfully roll your eyes at him.

"why don't you believe me? these usually work." you're crossing your arms over your chest, one of your tactics, he's sure, your tits pressing together under the fabric.

he smirks now, knowing you didn't remember the blond from months ago, saving you from some low level extra in your street, probably only three streets away from here. katsuki remembered it like it was yesterday, the way he'd pulled you to his chest, out of the way of a car barrelling down the street, one you hadn't seen, your head low, tucked under a thick hood for winter. he was dressed similarly, a thick hood shielding his face when he'd caught you, the only recognisable feature his eyes under it.

you'd told him your name then, when he'd held your shaking body still and made you tell him your name, the date, and if you were hurt.

"why don't we do this, snake? i'll buy you a drink then you slip me your number like those other extras?" your face lights up, missing the mischief in his own tone, your arrogance blinding you when you agree.

he waves down the bartender, asking them to add one of your drinks to his tab, and then close it. you smile like a cheshire cat when the glass is placed in front of you, taking a sip before reaching over for the pen placed in front of katsuki.

your chair tips toward him when you move, your perfume clouding his mind, your soft fingers holding his wrist to write on his arm, scribbling down your phone number under a name. a name that wasn't your own.

katsuki grins looking down at it, heavy boots locking around the legs of your chair to drag you closer, your hands falling to the bar and his arm to steady yourself, "nice try, y/n."

© all works belong to @k-atsukibakugou, @gwen0m, and dlirious on archive of our own, do not plagiarise, translate, repost or recommend my work on other platforms or translate my works, i do not give permission for my works to be bound and sold. 18+ minors and ageless blogs do not interact.

#divider by me #「mercury writes」 #「kat <3」 #uh idk what this is #i was vacuuming and like teehee #bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugo katsuki x reader

[hughvincenzo]

Maximize your Profits with Customized Business Solutions

Our knowledgeable business sales service has you covered by locating cutting-edge solutions, tactics, and assistance that can boost your sales.

#sell your business #buy a business #business custom search #business valuation #transactional guidanece

[wingedtyger]

How to Buy a Computer for Cheaper

Buy refurbished. And I'm going to show you how, and, in general, how to buy a better computer than you currently have. I'm fairly tech-knowledgeable, but not an expert. But this is how I've bought my last three computers for personal use and business (graphics). I'm writing this for people who barely know computers. If you have a techie friend or family member, having them help can do a lot for the stress of buying a new computer.

There are three numbers you want to know from your current computer: hard drive size, RAM, and processor speed (slightly less important, unless you're doing gaming or 3d rendering or something else like that)

We're going to assume you use Windows, because if you use Apple I can't help, sorry.

First is hard drive. This is how much space you have to put files. This is in bytes. These days all hard drives are in gigabytes or terabytes (1000 gigabytes = 1 terabyte). To get your hard drive size, open Windows Explorer, go to This PC (or My Computer if you have a really old OS).

To get more details, you can right-click on the drive. and open Properties. But now you know your hard drive size, 237 GB in this case. (this is rather small, but that's okay for this laptop). If you're planning on storing a lot of videos, big photos, have a lot of applications, etc, you want MINIMUM 500 GB. You can always have external drives as well.

While you've got this open, right-click on This PC (or My Computer). This'll give you a lot of information that can be useful if you're trying to get tech support.

I've underlined in red the two key things. Processor: it can help to know the whole bit (or at least the Intel i# bit) just so you don't buy one that's a bunch older, but processor models are confusing and beyond me. The absolutely important bit is the speed, in gigahertz (GHz). Bigger is faster. The processor speed is how fast your computer can run. In this case the processor is 2.60 GHz, which is just fine for most things.

The other bit is RAM. This is "random-access memory" aka memory, which is easy to confuse for, like how much space you have. No. RAM is basically how fast your computer can open stuff. This laptop has 16 GB RAM. Make sure you note that this is the RAM, because it and the hard drive use the same units.

If you're mostly writing, use spreadsheets, watching streaming, or doing light graphics work 16 GB is fine. If you have a lot of things open at a time or gaming or doing 3d modeling or digital art, get at least 32 GB or it's gonna lag a lot.

In general, if you find your current laptop slow, you want a new one with more RAM and a processor that's at least slightly faster. If you're getting a new computer to use new software, look at the system requirements and exceed them.

I'll show you an example of that. Let's say I wanted to start doing digital art on this computer, using ClipStudio Paint. Generally the easiest way to find the requirements is to search for 'program name system' in your search engine of choice. You can click around their website if you want, but just searching is a lot faster.

That gives me this page

(Clip Studio does not have very heavy requirements).

Under Computer Specs it tells you the processor types and your RAM requirements. You're basically going to be good for the processor, no matter what. That 2 GB minimum of memory is, again, the RAM.

Storage space is how much space on your hard drive it needs.

Actually for comparison, let's look at the current Photoshop requirements.

Photoshop wants LOTS of speed and space, greedy bastard that it is. (The Graphics card bit is somewhat beyond my expertise, sorry)

But now you have your three numbers: hard drive space, RAM (memory) and processor (CPU). Now we're going to find a computer that's better and cheaper than buying new!

We're going to buy ~refurbished~

A refurbished computer is one that was used and then returned and fixed up to sell again. It may have wear on the keyboard or case, but everything inside (aside from the battery) should be like new. (The battery may hold less charge.) A good dealer will note condition. And refurbished means any flaws in the hardware will be fixed. They have gone through individual quality control that new products don't usually.

I've bought four computers refurbished and only had one dud (Windows kept crashing during set-up). The dud has been returned and we're waiting for the new one.

You can buy refurbished computers from the manufacturers (Lenovo, Dell, Apple, etc) or from online computer stores (Best Buy and my favorite Newegg). You want to buy from a reputable store because they'll have warranties offered and a good return policy.

I'm going to show you how to find a refurbished computer on Newegg.

You're going to go to Newegg.com, you're gonna go to computer systems in their menu, and you're gonna find refurbished

Then, down the side there's a ton of checkboxes where you can select your specifications. If there's a brand you prefer, select that (I like Lenovos A LOT - they last a long time and have very few problems, in my experience. Yes, this is a recommendation).

Put in your memory (RAM), put in your hard drive, put in your CPU speed (processor), and any other preferences like monitor size or which version of Windows you want (I don't want Windows 11 any time soon). I generally just do RAM and hard drive and manually check the CPU, but that's a personal preference. Then hit apply and it'll filter down.

I'm going to say right now, if you are getting a laptop and you can afford to get a SSD, do it. SSD is a solid-state drive, vs a normal hard drive (HDD, hard disk-drive). They're less prone to breaking down and they're faster. But they're also more expensive.

Anyway, we have our filtered list of possible laptops. Now what?

Well, now comes the annoying part. Every model of computer can be different - it can have a better or worse display, it can have a crappy keyboard, or whatever. So you find a computer that looks okay, and you then look for reviews.

Here's our first row of results

Let's take a look at the Lenovo, because I like Lenovos and I loathe Dells (they're... fine...). That Thinkpad T460S is the part to Google (search for 'Lenovo Thinkpad T460s reviews'). Good websites that I trust include PCMag, LaptopMag.com, and Notebookcheck.com (which is VERY techie about displays). But every reviewer will probably be getting one with different specs than the thing you're looking at.

Here are key things that will be the same across all of them: keyboard (is it comfortable, etc), battery life, how good is the trackpad/nub mouse (nub mice are immensely superior to trackpads imho), weight, how many and what kind of ports does it have (for USB, an external monitor, etc). Monitors can vary depending on the specs, so you'll have to compare those. Mostly you're making sure it doesn't completely suck.

Let's go back to Newegg and look at the specs of that Lenovo. Newegg makes it easy, with tabs for whatever the seller wants to say, the specs, reviews, and Q&A (which is usually empty).

This is the start of the specs. This is actually a lesser model than the laptop we were getting the specs for. It's okay. What I don't like is that the seller gives very little other info, for example on condition. Here's a Dell with much better information - condition and warranty info.

One thing you'll want to do on Newegg is check the seller's reviews. Like on eBay or Etsy, you have to use some judgement. If you worry about that, going to the manufacturer's online outlet in a safer bet, but you won't quite get as good of deals. But they're still pretty damn good as this random computer on Lenovo's outlet shows.

Okay, so I think I've covered everything. I do recommend having a techie friend either help or double check things if you're not especially techie. But this can save you hundreds of dollars or allow you to get a better computer than you were thinking.

#computers #buying computers #laptops

[ariqueery]

So a while ago I saw a post with the coolest vintage tshirt and I instantly fell in love and decided I needed it in my life:

I searched REALLY hard for the original copyright holder to see if I could buy one, including digging up the original source of the image (the Lesbian Herstory Archives) to find out that WMP stands for WomanMade Products, and eventually stumbled across a feminist bookstore with the same name. I called expecting to get the runaround for a week and then be told they couldn’t find the creator, but she actually picked up the phone herself! Becky Bly has been in business since 1976, created this design in the early 80s, and said as long as I wasn’t selling it, I could reproduce it!

I ended up having to redraw it by hand because the original scan was skewed (there was much wailing) and got to work. Ignore how sloppy the pattern is, I fixed most of it while stitching.

I then immediately put it down and forgot about it for weeks until I realized Pride was right around the corner and frantically picked it back up. I took it with me to a roller derby match to work on during the breaks and ladies, if you haul out embroidery that says “dyke” on it at roller derby, you will IMMEDIATELY have lots of queer women talking to you. This has been Ari’s Top Tips.

I then forgot about it for another week and a half until I realized Pride was in two days and started sewing as fast as I possibly could, bruising my finger where I braced the needle. I finished it at 1:30 am the night before Pride:

This is the best thing I’ve ever done. I am obsessed with it and keep staring at it. Everyone at Pride thought it was amazing and I got SO many compliments that went straight to my head. One person at temple asked if they could commission me to make one for them and I got to say “sorry :( I only got permission to make it for myself :(” instead of “the amount of labor that went into this is going to COST you, I don’t think you want to pay that much.”

Thanks again to Becky Bly for permission to reproduce this, I am going to use this bag until it falls apart and then probably make another one lol. Go check her out if you’re interested in her work!

#all the lesbians wanted to talk about the bag #did I get any of their numbers? #lol don't be silly #probably getting arthritis because of how fast I did this work #dyke #lesbian pride #queer #pride #embroidery #hand embroidery

[joonberriess]

𓆩♡𓆪 “i heard from a friend of a friend, that that dick was a ten out of ten” — jock!jk

·˚ ༘ 💌 TAGS — threesomes, sexual objectification, yg and jk are both high, dom-sub undertones, petplay(?) yg just calls oc puppy and makes her crawl, dumbification, protected sex, pussy eating, blowjobs, reader’s in for it LMAO, cum-eating(?), it gets soft i swear

“You remember I told you about Yoongi, right baby?” Jungkook wraps his arm around your waist and gently guides you out of the car, “ ‘s not gonna take long, we’ll be in and out. I just need to pick something up.” He closes the door and tugs you with him with a hand on your ass.

You sleepily look around the parking lot mumbling about how pretty the apartments looked. “Yoongi is the one you said sells you weed?” You softly reply as you follow him into the building, “But I thought you said weed makes you dumb, ‘s why you don’t let me get you any from Jooheon.” You pout.

Jungkook presses a kiss to your forehead, “Jooheon’s a idiot and I don’t want you near him. At least Yoongi actually sells shit worth buying.” He presses the button to the elevator, “You’ll like him baby, he’s a good friend of mine. Plus his roommate has a dog too.”

You step into the elevator with a angry little pout, “You said we would be in and out, does that mean I can’t play with the doggy?” You huff, you’re no stranger to Jungkook taking you out so late to do god knows what, but you really hope he isn’t making this a short trip because then it means you got all dressed up for nothing. :(

Jungkook kisses the pout off your face, “Don’t give me that fuckin’ pout, I’ll take you out after this. You think I’m gonna let your cute ass go to waste?” He teases softly as he gives your ass an appreciative squeeze.

Well, he does have a point. You ARE dressed pretty cute tonight, you had chosen to wear this pretty jean miniskirt along with your new pink tube top that had little rhinestones all over! You find yourself smiling brightly at Jungkook, “Can we go get fried chicken at that one karaoke place?”

Both of you reach Yoongi’s floor, his roommate Hoseok(?) invites the two of you in and he heads off into his room talking about needing some sleep. You coo quietly at the small dog sleeping by the TV stand all curled up into a tiny fluff ball. “He’s so cuteeee.” You whine as you bend over to get a better look at the dog.

Jungkook chuckles quietly and leaves you be, “Yoongi! Get your ass out here!” he says, disappearing down the dark hall in search of said man.

You’re left all alone in the dimly lit living room with the puppy. You’re too busy cooing over it to notice Yoongi come out from the room opposite of the hallway Jungkook went into. “So you’re the one Jungkook talks about.” Yoongi’s eyes rack down your form until they land right on your ass where your skirt rides up just a tiny bit, “Guess he wasn’t lying afterall.”

You jump a little at the new voice and turn around to look at Yoongi with puppy eyes, “You scared me!” You hold a hand over your chest, “Don’t sneak up on me like that, you look like a creep.”

Yoongi snorts, “My bad sweetheart,” he holds his arms up in surrender as he licks his lips, “didn’t know it was a crime to walk in my own house.” He shakes his head and walks to the kitchen connected to the living room, “Where’d your ‘Jungkookie’ go hm? Think you can be a good girl and use that little brain of yours?”

“He went to look for you down the other hall!” You smile cheerfully and stand up a bit straighter. He eyes you silently and you make a confused noise, following his gaze down only to see he’s staring at your chest where a tiny bit of boob pops out. “Oh. Sorry,” you softly huff and mutter about your ‘stupid top’ as you fix your tits.

Yoongi nods, “Nah, nah… you’re absolutely fine..” He trails off and sips his water. Jungkook comes barreling in a few moments later and Yoongi perks up, “Oh there you are, I was just asking about you to your girl.” He clears his throat.

Jungkook rolls his eyes in faux annoyance, “Yeah, yeah dickhead I was looking all over for you. Got my ass yelled at by Hoseok cause I was making too much noise supposedly. You got what I need or what?” He grunts, pulling you to his side.

Yoongi nods, “I just rolled one a couple minutes ago, why don’t we smoke that one first, on the house Kook you know hyung rolls the fattest blunts.” He smirks, “On the house.”

Jungkook raises a brow and looks over at you, you’re obviously lost in your own world as you coo at the now awake puppy which is hiding at your feet. “Fine, but y/n’s not smoking, got it. So don’t even fuckin offer any cause I know your ass.”

Yoongi grins, “Pinky promise.” Jungkook doesn’t miss the wink he shoots you.. Oh, so now Yoongi likes to share his blunts all of a sudden? Generous.

They get situated on the leather couch together as Yoongi lights the blunt up, taking a long drag from it and passing it off to Jungkook. You mostly ignore the two, opting to sit out with the puppy playing around and cooing at it. Yoongi watches you with darkened eyes sitting back in his seat and enjoying the sight of you looking so pretty on your knees.

“I can see you staring bitch,” Jungkook grunts and hands off the blunt back to Yoongi, “you’re not being so fucking subtle like you think you are.” He narrows his eyes.

Yoongi shrugs, all to calm for someone who just got called out, “I know a pretty ass when I see one, I’m only a man after all, sue me. Don’t worry, I won’t go near your precious y/n.”

Jungkook looks over at you, you’re sitting so pretty and clueless at the same time. He looks back at Yoongi who’s intently watching him with those cold calculated eyes which hold something akin to mischief in them. It suddenly dawns on him he’s more interested than he initially thought he was. Jungkook has a vision (which is partly owed to the weed taking over his senses and clouding his mind) and something in him wants to see just how perfect you go with Yoongi..

His beloved Yoongi hyung whose reputation was built far more worse than his own was. His hyung that fucked a plethora of women who all had one thing in common–their shared love for his tongue and fingers which apparently they referred to as heavenly and mind blowing.

“... How bad would you say that you want y/n, and none of that what are you talking about shit. I see the way you’re looking…shameless bastard.” Jungkook smirks as he takes a long hit.

Yoongi slowly tilts his head to look at you as he licks his lips, “Does little Kookie wanna watch hyung fuck his girlfriend into another universe? Is that what you like Kook, watching someone else ruin that pretty thing over there?” He grins, eyes half lidded with desire. Jungkook shivers, he’s possessive sure but something about getting to see you get wrecked right in front of him does things to him.

“You know my answer to that.” He pokes his tongue against his cheek and smirks in return.

The two carry on in silence passing the blunt back and forth. You on the other hand sit there in utter shock, frozen in your spot after hearing all those things Jungkook and Yoongi were saying about you. Yoongi gives you butterflies in your tummy, the good kind too, and hearing them talk about you like you’re not even there makes it ten times more appealing.

You slowly turn around to look at the two sitting across from you. Yoongi catches your gaze and stares right back at you with a promising grin. It has you feeling a second heartbeat down there between your thighs as you shift around and rub them together. Yoongi hands off the blunt to Jungkook and curls his finger at you in a ‘come here’ motion.

As you go to get up Yoongi stops you, “Ah, ah,” he grins evilly, “on all fours sweetheart, wanna see you crawl like a cute puppy.”

You flush under his words and slowly lower yourself back down, crawling towards Yoongi with a sway of your hips. Jungkook’s own eyes are dark and half-lidded, he watches you with close eyes and mutters something about how hot you look on all fours like that.

“There you go sweetheart, guess your little brain does work for something after all.” Yoongi pats his knee, “Right here baby, right where you belong.” The insinuation itself has your pussy creaming, clit throbbing from arousal and neglect. You’re not too sure you can survive this.

“Let’s get this flimsy thing off.” Yoongi pulls you in even closer once you’re on his lap, his (veiny) hands slithering down to your miniskirt as he begins to unbutton it for you. “Up you go,” he slaps your ass, “yeah, just like that baby, I think your Jungkookie likes what he sees.” He motions over to Jungkook.

You turn around to face Jungkook with puppy eyes, pouting even more when you see his tattooed hand rubbing over his growing erection sitting so sinfully in his sweats. He nods at you with a grin, “Be good for hyung baby, show him how much of a good girl you are.” With that in mind you turn back to Yoongi.

Yoongi hisses under his breath when he comes face to face with your lacy panties, chubby little pussy hugged so perfectly by the flimsy material with an obvious wet patch over the center. “Do a little spin for me sweetheart, nice and slow for me.” He licks his lips sitting back and staring up at you.

You shyly do a spin, making sure not to go too fast since you’ve done this countless times for Jungkook. Yoongi’s hands come up to stop you mid-twirl, holding you still in front of him as he runs his hands over your baby-soft skin, gently cupping your asscheeks and bouncing them in place.

“Shit.” He growls, “So fuckin’ pretty.” He suddenly pulls back to smack your ass harshly, watching it bounce in place as a hand print slowly starts appearing. You yelp softly and chew on your bottom lip, this isn’t fun at all if he’s only looking :( you want him to make you feel good too!

“I bet you’re even prettier over here.” He whispers huskily and gently presses two fingers right up against your cunt, rubbing over the wet patch as he presses in to emphasize his words.

You mewl softly and give him the best puppy eyes you can muster, “You’re being really mean right now. ‘S not fun at all!” You huff angrily.

Yoongi smacks your ass hard, “You’ll take what I give you sweetheart, no need to get fucking mouthy with me. Your greedy little pussy is practically beggin’ for it at this point, look at you,” he laughs which adds further to your embarrassment, “you want me here?” He presses right up against your swollen clit which lies hidden away in those damned panties. “Puppy forgot how to speak?”

“N-No, ‘s just–”

“Just what sweetheart?” He quickly interrupts and forces another whine out of your throat. “C’mon, I don’t have all night to sit here and wait until you decide to use your little brain to figure out what you want.”

Yoongi is cruel with the way he pinches your clit while he nonchalantly talks to you still expecting for you to be able to reply to him. Your lip wobbles and you begin whining again with small hiccups, “Y-You’re being mean..! I don’t want your stupid fingers anymore, you’re not even doing anything and it’s not fair.”

“Not fair puppy? How, if you can’t tell me what you need? Are you that dumb you can’t even figure out your own needs? Has Jungkook fucked you stupid babydoll?” Yoongi pulls you back into his lap as he circles his arms over your waist and holds you still against him, “Hm?”

“ ‘s not true, I know that I want your fingers.” You huff cutely and lick your lips, “And if you won’t do something about it then I’m going to Jungkook, he’ll do something.” You glare.

Jungkook makes a noise since he’s addressed for the first time since this has started. “My patience is running thin Yoongi, if you won’t I will and you’ll single handedly ruin your only chance to get your hands on my baby.” He smirks.

Yoongi rolls his eyes and lays you back on the couch, “Brats, the lot of you.” He slides your panties down your soft thighs and tosses them in Jungkook’s direction, “Get yourself off with those loser.” He grunts and lays his eyes over your glistening pussy.

Your breath hitches in excitement and you let your thighs fall open for the older, biting your lip in anticipation. “Actually I got a better idea.” Jungkook muses as he rises off the couch and slowly walks over, “from what I remember…puppies don’t speak.” He grins.

Yoongi looks up at Jungkook and then trails his gaze down to you, “You’re right.”

+

Soft moans and garbled little cries are punched out of your throat with every thrust Yoongi sends your way. His cock punches in deep and strikes a spot inside that has your thighs shaking and pussy leaking. His thighs smack into your over and over again, he practically has you hanging off his cock bent over at a perfect angle with your ass up high.

Yoongi grips your hips tightly and occasionally digs his fingernails into your soft skin, leaving behind marks from his aggression. He releases a series of pleasured grunts and tiny sighs as your pussy tries to milk him of all he’s worth. “Loosen up for me will you sweetheart? Gonna give it to you just the way you need.” He moans.

You’re trying not to tighten up around him but it’s a little difficult with your mouth preoccupied with Jungkook’s cock. You’re trying not to choke up around him but Yoongi keeps catching you off guard with his punishing pace. The pleasure clouds your senses, making it a bit harder to focus on Jungkook.

“C’mon baby, you can do better than that.” Jungkook grunts as he guides you up and down his cock, watching as you slobber all over him and leave behind a mess.

You whimper loudly and squirm around, your jaw aches pleasantly from the stretch but you don’t find it in you to care much. Not when Jungkook’s cock settles just nicely over your tongue, you easily catch him off guard when you suckle around him and slurp up your spit and precum. Yoongi however, catches your attention again when he delivers a slap to your ass.

“I don’t want a drop wasted, good girls always make sure to clean their messes don’t they? You gonna be good to Jungkook and swallow all of it, or are you too cock drunk to understand.” Yoongi pants softly and re-adjusts his grip on your hips and fucks into your harder.

The sound of your ass clapping off of his pelvis resonates loudly, between your thighs there’s a mess of your creamy slick which seems to form a visible white ring around Yoongi’s cock everytime he backstrokes. Yoongi hisses at the sight, he wishes that he wasn’t wearing a condom so he could fill your sweet little cunt up and watch as his cum was pushed back in.

“Ah fuck,” Jungkook groans out and throws his head back, “keep going like that baby.” He whispers in pure bliss, “You’re doing so good for me.�� He grips your hair tighter.

You gag around his cock in response, feeling the tip of his cock hit the back of your throat. You’re pretty sure you look a mess right now, tear streaks down your face and ruined makeup. “Mmm..!” You cry out in a mix of pleasure and some pain when Yoongi reaches between your thighs to pinch at your swollen clit, rolling the sensitive bud between his fingertips.

“Go on and make Jungkookie cum baby, don’t be a selfish little slut.” Yoongi purrs as he slows his hips down to a sensual grind. “Hold it in for me sweetheart, good girls cum when they’re told to.”

Jungkook on the other hand loses it when you make eye contact with him, he grabs on to your hair tightly and begins fucking up into your mouth. His balls press snug against your chin as he rolls his hips quickly. “Shit, shit baby, you’re gonna make me cum,” he shudders as he tightens his grip, “just a little more for me.” He moans.

Not wanting to disappoint him you swallow around his cock and moan loudly, letting the vibrations travel as you flick your tongue on the underside of his cock where a particularly sensitive vein lies. Jungkook’s poor cock throbs as the first few spurts of warm cum shoot down your throat. He lets out a long moan, eyes slipping shut and head falling back in pleasure, “Shit.”

Yoongi licks his lips and pulls you off of Jungkook’s cock, “Swallow for me.” He whispers, yanking your head back as he watches you greedily gulp down the cum. “That’s a good girl,” he licks his lips and delivers hard punishing thrusts, “gonna cum all over that pretty ass sweetheart.” He closes his eyes and groans.

Your cunt throbs in excitement as you shakily whimper and hide your face in Jungkook’s thighs. “P-Please, ‘m so close,” you sob softly it gets harder to hold your orgasm back, and you do NOT want to be a bad girl.

Yoongi suddenly pulls out, leaving you empty and clenching around nothing as you whimper from the loss. You hear him rip the condom off and toss it on your ass. “Fuck,” he hisses as he strokes his cock rapidly, “turn over for me.”

You shakily comply and push yourself off of Jungkook, lying on your back and staring up at Yoongi with those sweet puppy eyes of yours. He aims his cock down at your lower tummy and spills all over, hissing through his teeth as he tips his head back and sighs. You watch with teary eyes, this isn’t fair! They got to cum but you didn’t!

“Don’t you pout at me, I haven’t forgotten you yet.” Yoongi sighs, utterly relaxed from his strong orgasm as he wedges himself between your thighs, “You did so well for me puppy, sit back and relax.”

His hot mouth ghosts over your pussy until you feel his lips wrap around your clit. You cry out in sensitivity and reach up to hold on to Jungkook’s hands while Yoongi begins ferociously eating you out. He eats you like a man starved, basically making out with your cunt at this point.

“Mm..! Mmm..!” Your head is thrown back, mouth agape as he spits on your cunt and traces your clit with the tip of his tongue.

Jungkook gently hushes you, “Just let go for me baby.” He leans down to smooch your cheek and whisper words of encouragement.

The praises are what leads to your orgasm. A loud cry escapes out of you and you’re left shaking on the couch as you cum harder than ever with your clit in Yoongi’s mouth. Yoongi slurps up the mess he made on your cunt as he pulls back to pant softly, “Good girl, look at you.” He whispers as he watches your chest rise and fall.

You pout your lips up at Jungkook for a kiss and he easily complies without hesitation. You happily sigh into his mouth and relax under both men. Jungkook for the most part ignores Yoongi and murmurs against your lips if you’re okay. You think he’s so sweet for that and it makes you melt even further.

“Are you guys getting the fuck off my couch anytime soon? I gotta clean this shit before Seok wakes up.” Yoongi says now standing as he smokes the rest of the blunt he and Jungkook were sharing earlier. “I have a magical thing called a bathroom where you can do this thing we call freshening up.”

“Fuck off.” Jungkook snorts as he gently gathers you in his arms, “Leave my baggy out there and we’ll be on our way after we freshen up.” He says as he lifts you up and begins carrying you off down the hall. You pass by Yoongi mumbling a ‘I have to go peepee remember?’ to which Jungkook replies, “Yes you do baby, ‘less you want a STI.”

Yoongi stands there with a unreadable expression, “Get the fuck out of my house.” He rolls his eyes and begins cleaning. (He doesn’t mean it though..)

TAGLIST: @fragmentof-indifference @jungkooksseuphoria @kooliv @angelarin @jjeonjjk7 @lilliankoo @pb-n-juju @ellesalazar @saweetspoiled @laylasbunbunny @prettyprincejk @cherrysainttt @hyunjinswifeee @joongraduatewithonor @hellbornsworld @leire-mia @m1sss1mp @lissful @winkii @lifeless-firefly @exactlygreatcoffee @taestoess @ayalies @floweryjeons @softtcurse @lilspinachwrld @tearyjjeon @littleobsessedkitty @lovelovelovebts @angeljmnie @rerefundslocals @bangtans-mama @thvhoe

#bts #bts fanfction #bts fanfic #bts smut #jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook #jungkook smut #bts jungkook

[finnymathewbusiness]

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[mostlysignssomeportents]

The moral injury of having your work enshittified

This Monday (November 27), I'm appearing at the Toronto Metro Reference Library with Facebook whistleblower Frances Haugen.

On November 29, I'm at NYC's Strand Books with my novel The Lost Cause, a solarpunk tale of hope and danger that Rebecca Solnit called "completely delightful."

This week, I wrote about how the Great Enshittening – in which all the digital services we rely on become unusable, extractive piles of shit – did not result from the decay of the morals of tech company leadership, but rather, from the collapse of the forces that discipline corporate wrongdoing:

https://locusmag.com/2023/11/commentary-by-cory-doctorow-dont-be-evil/

The failure to enforce competition law allowed a few companies to buy out their rivals, or sell goods below cost until their rivals collapsed, or bribe key parts of their supply chain not to allow rivals to participate:

https://www.engadget.com/google-reportedly-pays-apple-36-percent-of-ad-search-revenues-from-safari-191730783.html

The resulting concentration of the tech sector meant that the surviving firms were stupendously wealthy, and cozy enough that they could agree on a common legislative agenda. That regulatory capture has allowed tech companies to violate labor, privacy and consumer protection laws by arguing that the law doesn't apply when you use an app to violate it:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/12/algorithmic-wage-discrimination/#fishers-of-men

But the regulatory capture isn't just about preventing regulation: it's also about creating regulation – laws that make it illegal to reverse-engineer, scrape, and otherwise mod, hack or reconfigure existing services to claw back value that has been taken away from users and business customers. This gives rise to Jay Freeman's perfectly named doctrine of "felony contempt of business-model," in which it is illegal to use your own property in ways that anger the shareholders of the company that sold it to you:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/11/09/lead-me-not-into-temptation/#chamberlain

Undisciplined by the threat of competition, regulation, or unilateral modification by users, companies are free to enshittify their products. But what does that actually look like? I say that enshittification is always precipitated by a lost argument.

It starts when someone around a board-room table proposes doing something that's bad for users but good for the company. If the company faces the discipline of competition, regulation or self-help measures, then the workers who are disgusted by this course of action can say, "I think doing this would be gross, and what's more, it's going to make the company poorer," and so they win the argument.

But when you take away that discipline, the argument gets reduced to, "Don't do this because it would make me ashamed to work here, even though it will make the company richer." Money talks, bullshit walks. Let the enshittification begin!

https://pluralistic.net/2023/11/22/who-wins-the-argument/#corporations-are-people-my-friend

But why do workers care at all? That's where phrases like "don't be evil" come into the picture. Until very recently, tech workers participated in one of history's tightest labor markets, in which multiple companies with gigantic war-chests bid on their labor. Even low-level employees routinely fielded calls from recruiters who dangled offers of higher salaries and larger stock grants if they would jump ship for a company's rival.

Employers built "campuses" filled with lavish perks: massages, sports facilities, daycare, gourmet cafeterias. They offered workers generous benefit packages, including exotic health benefits like having your eggs frozen so you could delay fertility while offsetting the risks normally associated with conceiving at a later age.

But all of this was a transparent ruse: the business-case for free meals, gyms, dry-cleaning, catering and massages was to keep workers at their laptops for 10, 12, or even 16 hours per day. That egg-freezing perk wasn't about helping workers plan their families: it was about thumbing the scales in favor of working through your entire twenties and thirties without taking any parental leave.

In other words, tech employers valued their employees as a means to an end: they wanted to get the best geeks on the payroll and then work them like government mules. The perks and pay weren't the result of comradeship between management and labor: they were the result of the discipline of competition for labor.

This wasn't really a secret, of course. Big Tech workers are split into two camps: blue badges (salaried employees) and green badges (contractors). Whenever there is a slack labor market for a specific job or skill, it is converted from a blue badge job to a green badge job. Green badges don't get the food or the massages or the kombucha. They don't get stock or daycare. They don't get to freeze their eggs. They also work long hours, but they are incentivized by the fear of poverty.

Tech giants went to great lengths to shield blue badges from green badges – at some Google campuses, these workforces actually used different entrances and worked in different facilities or on different floors. Sometimes, green badge working hours would be staggered so that the armies of ragged clickworkers would not be lined up to badge in when their social betters swanned off the luxury bus and into their airy adult kindergartens.

But Big Tech worked hard to convince those blue badges that they were truly valued. Companies hosted regular town halls where employees could ask impertinent questions of their CEOs. They maintained freewheeling internal social media sites where techies could rail against corporate foolishness and make Dilbert references.

And they came up with mottoes.

Apple told its employees it was a sound environmental steward that cared about privacy. Apple also deliberately turned old devices into e-waste by shredding them to ensure that they wouldn't be repaired and compete with new devices:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/22/vin-locking/#thought-differently

And even as they were blocking Facebook's surveillance tools, they quietly built their own nonconsensual mass surveillance program and lied to customers about it:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/11/14/luxury-surveillance/#liar-liar

Facebook told employees they were on a "mission to connect every person in the world," but instead deliberately sowed discontent among its users and trapped them in silos that meant that anyone who left Facebook lost all their friends:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2021/08/facebooks-secret-war-switching-costs

And Google promised its employees that they would not "be evil" if they worked at Google. For many googlers, that mattered. They wanted to do something good with their lives, and they had a choice about who they would work for. What's more, they did make things that were good. At their high points, Google Maps, Google Mail, and of course, Google Search were incredible.

My own life was totally transformed by Maps: I have very poor spatial sense, need to actually stop and think to tell my right from my left, and I spent more of my life at least a little lost and often very lost. Google Maps is the cognitive prosthesis I needed to become someone who can go anywhere. I'm profoundly grateful to the people who built that service.

There's a name for phenomenon in which you care so much about your job that you endure poor conditions and abuse: it's called "vocational awe," as coined by Fobazi Ettarh:

https://www.inthelibrarywiththeleadpipe.org/2018/vocational-awe/

Ettarh uses the term to apply to traditionally low-waged workers like librarians, teachers and nurses. In our book Chokepoint Capitalism, Rebecca Giblin and I talked about how it applies to artists and other creative workers, too:

https://chokepointcapitalism.com/

But vocational awe is also omnipresent in tech. The grandiose claims to be on a mission to make the world a better place are not just puffery – they're a vital means of motivating workers who can easily quit their jobs and find a new one to put in 16-hour days. The massages and kombucha and egg-freezing are not framed as perks, but as logistical supports, provided so that techies on an important mission can pursue a shared social goal without being distracted by their balky, inconvenient meatsuits.

Steve Jobs was a master of instilling vocational awe. He was full of aphorisms like "we're here to make a dent in the universe, otherwise why even be here?" Or his infamous line to John Sculley, whom he lured away from Pepsi: "Do you want to sell sugar water for the rest of your life or come with me and change the world?"

Vocational awe cuts both ways. If your workforce actually believes in all that high-minded stuff, if they actually sacrifice their health, family lives and self-care to further the mission, they will defend it. That brings me back to enshittification, and the argument: "If we do this bad thing to the product I work on, it will make me hate myself."

The decline in market discipline for large tech companies has been accompanied by a decline in labor discipline, as the market for technical work grew less and less competitive. Since the dotcom collapse, the ability of tech giants to starve new entrants of market oxygen has shrunk techies' dreams.

Tech workers once dreamed of working for a big, unwieldy firm for a few years before setting out on their own to topple it with a startup. Then, the dream shrank: work for that big, clumsy firm for a few years, then do a fake startup that makes a fake product that is acquihired by your old employer, as an incredibly inefficient and roundabout way to get a raise and a bonus.

Then the dream shrank again: work for a big, ugly firm for life, but get those perks, the massages and the kombucha and the stock options and the gourmet cafeteria and the egg-freezing. Then it shrank again: work for Google for a while, but then get laid off along with 12,000 co-workers, just months after the company does a stock buyback that would cover all those salaries for the next 27 years:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/10/the-proletarianization-of-tech-workers/

Tech workers' power was fundamentally individual. In a tight labor market, tech workers could personally stand up to their bosses. They got "workplace democracy" by mouthing off at town hall meetings. They didn't have a union, and they thought they didn't need one. Of course, they did need one, because there were limits to individual power, even for the most in-demand workers, especially when it came to ghastly, long-running sexual abuse from high-ranking executives:

https://www.nytimes.com/2018/10/25/technology/google-sexual-harassment-andy-rubin.html

Today, atomized tech workers who are ordered to enshittify the products they take pride in are losing the argument. Workers who put in long hours, missed funerals and school plays and little league games and anniversaries and family vacations are being ordered to flush that sacrifice down the toilet to grind out a few basis points towards a KPI.

It's a form of moral injury, and it's palpable in the first-person accounts of former workers who've exited these large firms or the entire field. The viral "Reflecting on 18 years at Google," written by Ian Hixie, vibrates with it:

https://ln.hixie.ch/?start=1700627373

Hixie describes the sense of mission he brought to his job, the workplace democracy he experienced as employees' views were both solicited and heeded. He describes the positive contributions he was able to make to a commons of technical standards that rippled out beyond Google – and then, he says, "Google's culture eroded":

Decisions went from being made for the benefit of users, to the benefit of Google, to the benefit of whoever was making the decision.

In other words, techies started losing the argument. Layoffs weakened worker power – not just to defend their own interest, but to defend the users interests. Worker power is always about more than workers – think of how the 2019 LA teachers' strike won greenspace for every school, a ban on immigration sweeps of students' parents at the school gates and other community benefits:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/23/a-collective-bargain/

Hixie attributes the changes to a change in leadership, but I respectfully disagree. Hixie points to the original shareholder letter from the Google founders, in which they informed investors contemplating their IPO that they were retaining a controlling interest in the company's governance so that they could ignore their shareholders' priorities in favor of a vision of Google as a positive force in the world:

https://abc.xyz/investor/founders-letters/ipo-letter/

Hixie says that the leadership that succeeded the founders lost sight of this vision – but the whole point of that letter is that the founders never fully ceded control to subsequent executive teams. Yes, those executive teams were accountable to the shareholders, but the largest block of voting shares were retained by the founders.

I don't think the enshittification of Google was due to a change in leadership – I think it was due to a change in discipline, the discipline imposed by competition, regulation and the threat of self-help measures. Take ads: when Google had to contend with one-click adblocker installation, it had to constantly balance the risk of making users so fed up that they googled "how do I block ads?" and then never saw another ad ever again.

But once Google seized the majority of the mobile market, it was able to funnel users into apps, and reverse-engineering an app is a felony (felony contempt of business-model) under Section 1201 of the Digital Millennium Copyright Act. An app is just a web-page wrapped in enough IP to make it a crime to install an ad-blocker.

And as Google acquired control over the browser market, it was likewise able to reduce the self-help measures available to browser users who found ads sufficiently obnoxious to trigger googling "how do I block ads?" The apotheosis of this is the yearslong campaign to block adblockers in Chrome, which the company has sworn it will finally do this coming June:

https://www.tumblr.com/tevruden/734352367416410112/you-have-until-june-to-dump-chrome

My contention here is not that Google's enshittification was precipitated by a change in personnel via the promotion of managers who have shitty ideas. Google's enshittification was precipitated by a change in discipline, as the negative consequences of heeding those shitty ideas were abolished thanks to monopoly.

This is bad news for people like me, who rely on services like Google Maps as cognitive prostheses. Elizabeth Laraki, one of the original Google Maps designers, has published a scorching critique of the latest GMaps design:

https://twitter.com/elizlaraki/status/1727351922254852182

Laraki calls out numerous enshittificatory design-choices that have left Maps screens covered in "crud" – multiple revenue-maximizing elements that come at the expense of usability, shifting value from users to Google.

What Laraki doesn't say is that these UI elements are auctioned off to merchants, which means that the business that gives Google the most money gets the greatest prominence in Maps, even if it's not the best merchant. That's a recurring motif in enshittified tech platforms, most notoriously Amazon, which makes $31b/year auctioning off top search placement to companies whose products aren't relevant enough to your query to command that position on their own:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/25/greedflation/#commissar-bezos

Enshittification begets enshittification. To succeed on Amazon, you must divert funds from product quality to auction placement, which means that the top results are the worst products:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/11/06/attention-rents/#consumer-welfare-queens

The exception is searches for Apple products: Apple and Amazon have a cozy arrangement that means that searches for Apple products are a timewarp back to the pre-enshittification Amazon, when the company worried enough about losing your business to heed the employees who objected to sacrificing search quality as part of a merchant extortion racket:

https://www.businessinsider.com/amazon-gives-apple-special-treatment-while-others-suffer-junk-ads-2023-11

Not every tech worker is a tech bro, in other words. Many workers care deeply about making your life better. But the microeconomics of the boardroom in a monopolized tech sector rewards the worst people and continuously promotes them. Forget the Peter Principle: tech is ruled by the Sam Principle.

As OpenAI went through four CEOs in a single week, lots of commentators remarked on Sam Altman's rise and fall and rise, but I only found one commentator who really had Altman's number. Writing in Today in Tabs, Rusty Foster nailed Altman to the wall:

https://www.todayintabs.com/p/defective-accelerationism

Altman's history goes like this: first, he founded a useless startup that raised $30m, only to be acquired and shuttered. Then Altman got a job running Y Combinator, where he somehow failed at taking huge tranches of equity from "every Stanford dropout with an idea for software to replace something Mommy used to do." After that, he founded OpenAI, a company that he claims to believe presents an existential risk to the entire human risk – which he structured so incompetently that he was then forced out of it.

His reward for this string of farcical, mounting failures? He was put back in charge of the company he mis-structured despite his claimed belief that it will destroy the human race if not properly managed.

Altman's been around for a long time. He founded his startup in 2005. There've always been Sams – of both the Bankman-Fried varietal and the Altman genus – in tech. But they didn't get to run amok. They were disciplined by their competitors, regulators, users and workers. The collapse of competition led to an across-the-board collapse in all of those forms of discipline, revealing the executives for the mediocre sociopaths they always were, and exposing tech workers' vocational awe for the shabby trick it was from the start.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/11/25/moral-injury/#enshittification

#pluralistic #moral injury #enshittification #worker power #google #dont be evil #monopoly #sam altman #openai #vocational awe #making a dent in the universe