#FIGHT BACK BISHOP

[theonewhowails]

nari goes on field trips :]

[mkzmerryfriend]

*cracks knuckles* we know Tyler isn’t the original Clancy right? Y’all caught that? Clancy’s bishop was Keons, Tyler’s is Nico, and now “Clancy” is Tyler. Because “scaled and icy” is an anagram for “Clancy is dead” and that album was the one where dema was using Tyler’s popularity for their own purposes. Clancy failed to stop the cycle on his own, and despite already being used as a figurehead for dema, Tyler decided to take up the role of “Clancy” in the wake of what seemed like a total collapse of the Banditos. Their leader had been taken out, and now they had no one to organize them.

But Tyler taking on the name Clancy isn’t him taking on the role of leader or even organizer. He is showing us (the Banditos) that we all can be our own inspiration, we don’t need a figure to follow, we don’t need a leader to lead us. We can do this, fight dema, ourselves.

Y’all got that, right?

[1nt3rnalpu7ref4ct10n]

s4e10

[aquamarineglow]

It's a miracle that I've had this blog nearly ten years, and never ran out of Rook and Bishop content to make. Amazing.

Hypothetically of course. We know their fights are exclusively verbal.

[justawrites]

I love the whole "Narinder and the Bishops are angry gremlins plotting against the Lamb to get their crowns/godhood back" thing but I think it's infinitely funnier to imagine them immediately upon descending doing the equivalent of sitting on a beach sipping piña coladas declaring themselves retired while the Lamb runs around like a headless chicken with the barest idea of what they're supposed to be doing as a god

[b0nelessdoodles]

How am I supposed to work when I just wanna go home and be deranged about Narinder and Shamura and make a whole ass video about it fuck you capitalism

[faeryworlds]

TAG DROP PART 1

[imogenkol]

FLUFFTOBER — DAY 8 PROMPT: RAINY DAY

words: 2.4k rating: m warnings: light intimacy, mentions of sex

Nadya was woken up by a gentle shake of her shoulder. Groaning at whoever dared to disturb her, she blindly reached up to bat the hand away in refusal. Sleep was the only priority on her mind. Her body still teetered on the edge of unconsciousness, she could easily allow herself to slip back into precious slumber. The person who attempted to rouse her was persistent, though.

“Nadya,” Jayde called softly. She shifted closer from where she lay behind the tired human. This time her hand went to the girl’s waist, squeezing her and placing a kiss to the back of her shoulder. “Babe, wake up.” There was a hint of excitement in her voice that Nadya tried to ignore.

“No,” Nadya mumbled into her pillow and buried herself deeper in the blankets.

That only succeeded in making Jayde quietly laugh. “It’s raining,” she whispered with a smile in her voice.

That got Nadya’s attention. The past summer had been long and dry. She didn’t hate sunshine, but her heart yearned for an overcast sky and the joys of rainfall. It felt like ages since the last storm, so at Jayde’s words, Nadya went still and listened for it. The soft patter of eager raindrops against the window confirmed her claim. A smile came across her face as she finally opened her eyes.

A warm contentment settled in the human’s chest and she turned around in Jayde’s arms to face her. Jayde propped herself up on one elbow, watching her girlfriend struggle through drowsiness with adoration in her midnight eyes. Jayde didn’t look sleepy at all, which made Nadya wonder.

“When did you wake up?” she asked through a yawn and rubbed her eyes.

“About an hour ago,” Jayde answered. Her hand brushed through Nadya’s messy hair, moving it out of her face. When her thumb caressed her cheek, the human happily curled into her more to savor the supernatural heat of her body with the sound of the rain in their ears.

“Why so long?” Nadya felt slightly concerned that bad dreams may have haunted her again.

“I sensed the storm before it came,” she explained, her rough voice adding to the soothing warmth she emitted. “I wanted to wait until it really hit to wake you. And maybe I just wanted to stay in bed with you a while longer.”

Smiling again, Nadya placed a kiss to her collarbone. “Okay, fifteen more minutes in bed. Then coffee. Then we can go play in the rain.”

“Or,” Jayde countered with a soft chuckle, “We go play in it now, then coffee and curling up by the fire.”

Nadya let out a half-hearted grumble. “You drive a hard bargain. Five more minutes, then we go.”

“Deal,” she agreed.

Jayde lasted about thirty seconds before she became too restless to let either of them stay still. Her hand started to wander in an effort to rouse her girlfriend. For the most part, it worked. Her touch always stirred Nadya’s senses no matter how out of she was, but then Jayde started to inch closer to the most ticklish spot on her side.

“Don’t even think about it,” Nadya warned.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“You know exactly what I mean,” Nadya scolded, wise to her intentions.

“You’re so grumpy in the morning, I’m just trying to lighten you up,” Jayde teased.

Nadya leaned back to glare at her sarcastically. “Oh, really? I’ll show you grumpy.”

Before she could reply with another retort, Nadya snatched both of the werewolf’s wrists and used her weight to put Jayde on her back. Nadya pinned her hands up by her shoulders to prevent her from retaliating and leaned in to place her mouth on her neck. Jayde sucked in a sharp breath as Nadya took her flesh between her teeth, giving her a hard nip. 

Jayde’s exhale turned into another amused chuckle. “Aren’t I the werewolf? I thought biting was supposed to be my thing.”

The human let go long enough to say, “Some of your bad habits rub off on me.” Her teeth grazed the pulse point again to discourage any vengeful tickling once she released her wrists. Jayde hummed and the vibration of her voice against Nadya’s lips made her hesitate to release her for a moment longer. She placed gentle kisses where she had bitten, soothing any potential red marks.

Her grip finally loosened and Jayde’s hands immediately shot down to her waist. Her thumb went underneath Nadya’s shirt and brushed over her skin, making the butterflies in the girl’s stomach flutter like mad. If it weren’t for the rain, she would’ve let them stay in bed. But they both craved the freshness of a storm on their skin. So, they indulged in a minute of sweet morning kisses before they got up and out of bed.

After she pulled a thick sweater over her head, Nadya caught a glimmer of something mischievous in the wolf’s eyes. “What’s that for,” she asked, reaching out to poke the subtle upturn at the corner of her girlfriend’s mouth.

Jayde leaned in and kissed her with more of a fervor. The familiar sensations overtook Nadya just as it had so many times before. Their lips moved together in tandem and Jayde’s hands squeezed her hips to encourage the temptation to get lost in each other. Nadya loved that she could just let herself go and get drunk on these remarkable feelings. She forgot whatever she had just said or thought. Especially when she felt the barest brush of Jayde’s hot tongue against hers.

Suddenly, Jayde gripped the bottom of Nadya’s sweater and pulled it off of her in one smooth motion. Nadya blinked a few times after she broke away from the kiss, trying to recover from her utterly flustered state. She saw Jayde turn the sweater right side out, which she thought was more considerate of her than usual, but otherwise dismissed the unusual action. Jayde flashed her a crooked grin and just when Nadya expected them to crash together once more, Jayde proceeded to put the sweater on herself.

Nadya laughed in disbelief. “Did you just steal the clothes right off my back?”

“You steal my clothes all the time,” Jayde pointed out with a shrug. “I want to wear something of yours for a change.”

“I haven’t stolen your clothes when you're wearing them!”

Jayde looked at her with a raised eyebrow. “You totally have.”

Nadya narrowed her eyes at the implication in her stare. “Sex doesn’t count. If it touches the floor, it doesn’t count.”

Jayde gave her best sure eye-roll. “Look at you, making up the rules.”

“You better watch yourself before I steal that back.” Nadya said, pointing a finger at her chest. “I really like that one.”

“I bet you like this more.” Jayde pecked the tip of her nose and walked over to the closet where she pulled out Nadya’s favorite flannel – Jayde’s flannel that was a mixture of earthly browns and greens – and handed it to her with a smile. “The rain awaits us, my love.”

The rainfall had gotten heavier since Nadya woke up. As soon as they stepped outside the Lodge, they were pelted by large drops of water and quickly drenched. Nadya couldn’t hide the massive grin that appeared on her face. She eagerly ran out into the driveway, making sure there were no roofs or trees to separate her from the sky. With arms stretched out, she tilted her head upwards to the clouds that hung above them. Mist trickled through the edges of the forest and the air was freezing. Nadya could see every breath she exhaled. Soon the rain would make her colder, but she didn’t care.

“Oh, it’s perfect!” Nadya exclaimed, taking in a deep breath of wet pines and soil. Everything about it made her feel alive. It rejuvenated her. It was worth getting up early for. And the best part of it all was the werewolf at her side.

She turned and realized that Jayde watched her with a look that Nadya had grown so familiar with. She remembered the very first time she ever saw that look. Before they were together, Nayda caught her staring with a soft intensity in her eyes that made her wonder what she could have possibly done to garner such an expression. Jayde had given her that look countless times since, growing less shy about the human noticing as time went on. Now, she did it shamelessly. It took a while, but Nadya eventually understood. It was a look of immeasurable love.

Though Nadya didn’t know what her version of that expression looked like, she always knew she bore it when she felt warmth flood through my chest. Jayde looked gorgeous in the rain. So carefree and happy as damp wisps of blonde hair clung to her wet cheeks. She was the kind of person that belonged in all kinds of nature. Just like Nadya. The sky sent down her love and it made them both glow.

Nadya’s legs carried her towards Jayde, but after a couple steps her foot found a puddle deep enough for a considerable amount of water to seep into her shoe and dampen her sock. She looked down and shook her head with an amused sigh, realizing she had been in too much of a rush to remember her rain boots. At least the Den had a fireplace that she could dry her shoes by.

Jayde noticed and scoffed. “You should really watch where you’re going.”

Nadya fixed her with a playful scowl. As she noted that Jayde only stood a few inches away from the puddle, an idea formed. “You should really watch where you’re standing,” Nadya shot back and jumped.

The splash got her as much as it did Jayde, but the look of shock and mock offense on Jayde’s face made it worth it. Her eyes flashed mischievously and she tried to snatch Nadya’s arms to hold her in place. Even through uncontrollable giggles, Nadya managed to escape her grasp and skipped back out of her reach. Jayde resorted to kicking the puddle at her. It sent the water flying all the way up to Nadya’s face, causing her to flinch away, and Jayde laughed triumphantly.

The werewolf came after her with a rare and unabashed grin – a smile Nadya would do anything for. She avoided her advance and circled back to the puddle, making sure she didn’t run too far ahead of her. The next splash she made had a little bit more volume thanks to her momentum and she was rewarded with a gasp of displeasure from behind her.

When Nadya turned around, prepared to stomp in the puddle again, Jayde’s strong arms wrapped around her waist. Nadya barely had a moment to react before she effortlessly threw her over her shoulder, making her cry out in surprised delight. Her laughter turned to hysterics when Jayde started to spin them around. The world flew by in a dizzying blur.

“You better not drop me!” Nadya shouted in between giggles.

“You barely weigh anything to me. Werewolf strength, remember?” Jayde replied, slowing to a stop and jumping in the puddle to prove her point. The splash caught Nadya in the face again and she laughed, smacking Jayde’s thigh for the offense. “I won’t drop you,” she promised.

“Well, if I’m ever dangling over a pit of lava, I know who to call.”

“Nobody’s dangling you over a pit of lava. Now, a deeper puddle that someone just spotted, maybe,” Jayde said and started towards a new direction.

Nadya strained to get a look, wiggling in her grip and causing Jayde to tighten her hold. Then she saw the puddle. It would be more accurate to call it a lake. She started to squirm more desperately. “Jay!”

“Stay still,” Jayde laughed.

When they got to the large puddle, Jayde plopped her down in it and the water easily went up to her calves. Nadya couldn’t even be mildly annoyed because the splash had been the most satisfying one thus far. She giggled gleefully and jumped a second time. Unfortunately, she failed to notice the slick mud at the bottom. All it took was a slightly awkward landing to take her off balance. Nadya’s foot slipped in the mud and swept her right off her feet. Jayde reached out to catch her, but the sudden downward momentum caught her off guard and it just brought them both down right in the middle of the muddy water with a chaotic splash.

Jayde tried her best not to land too hard on top of her human and Nadya did her best to cushion the werewolf’s fall. It wasn’t graceful by any means. They were both completely drenched and muddy. Yet all they could do was half laugh, half groan in pain at their own clumsiness.

“You okay?” Jayde chuckled, wiping some mud off Nadya’s cheek.

Nadya grimaced a bit as she leaned up on her elbows. There might be a bruise or two later. “I think I’ll live,” she answered with a grin, now shivering in the cold.

“Sorry about that.” Their faces were inches apart. Jayde kept glancing down at Nadya’s lips, a hint of hunger in her eyes.

Nadya wanted to kiss her, too. So, she did. Closing the distance between them, she pressed her lips to Jayde’s. They kissed long enough to taste a mixture of sweetness and rainwater on the softness of the other’s lips — the perfect combination of earth and sky. Nadya loved how gentle and sure Jayde was with her, the heat from her proximity already chasing away the chill that shook her spine. Jayde heard their heartbeats fall into the same rhythm as she deepened the cadence of their kiss and her senses bloomed to take in every single detail of the girl in her arms.

“I forgive you,” Nadya muttered against her lips with a smile.

She felt Jayde smile as well and took the opportunity to playfully reach out to her side and splash water at her. Jayde flinched as brown flecks dotted half her face. Even though Nadya took her by surprise, she saw her eyes flash with retribution. Jayde sat up and used both her hands to create an even bigger wave of muddy puddle water directed right at her.

Soon, they were in a full-blown water fight on the side of the driveway, laughing like children as the rain continued to pour down on them. A few people going to and from the Lodge gave the two young women odd looks when they noticed the display, but neither of them cared about how ridiculous they looked in the slightest.

[splinter-sister]

.

[galacticwildfire]

History professors are either academic purists or completely unhinged there is no in between

Mine keeps challenging the bishop to fights

[puppppppppy]

moar of them

(guy who has never played cotl) haha au time

[oflgtfol]

BESTIES i got kallamar. now onto silk cradle to defeat shamura :3

[little-jana]

"Good Girl"

Pairing: postprison!Spencer Reid x reader

Genre: steamy, 18+, fluff, no smut

Warnings: kissing, Spencer calling reader a good girl

Words: 3.4k

Summary: Spencer giving Reader a lot of compliments and one of them makes her blush a lot.

Spencer had been different since prison. Not entirely in ways the team would notice—he still rattled off statistics, quoted obscure literature, and beat everyone at chess. But when you’d known someone as deeply as I knew Spencer, even subtle shifts felt monumental. He was sharper now, his edges honed by experiences no one should have endured. But when it was just the two of us, in those quiet, stolen moments, he softened.

That’s why I stayed by his side tonight instead of joining the team for drinks. Spencer had waved off the invitation, saying he needed a quiet night, and when I hesitated to leave him alone, he’d asked me to stay. It wasn’t much—a shared meal and a chess game in his small apartment—but to me, it felt like everything.

“I can’t tell if you’re planning your next move or plotting my demise,” Spencer said, leaning back in his chair as he watched me.

“I can do both,” I said lightly, though the truth was, I’d been staring at the board for so long because I had no idea what to do.

He smirked, tilting his head slightly. “You’re stalling.”

“I’m thinking,” I corrected.

“You’ve been ‘thinking’ for six minutes and thirty-two seconds.”

“Are you timing me?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

“No, but I glanced at the clock when you stopped moving your hand after your last turn.”

“Of course you did,” I muttered, my eyes flicking back to the board. “Not all of us have an IQ of 187, you know.”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. The soft light from the lamp behind him highlighted the sharp planes of his face, and for a second, I forgot what we were talking about.

“You’re better than you think,” he said, his voice low.

“Better at chess, or better in general?” I quipped, trying to deflect the heat rising in my cheeks.

Spencer didn’t answer right away. Instead, he studied me, his hazel eyes unblinking and intent.

“Both,” he said simply.

My heart skipped a beat, but I forced myself to focus. This was just Spencer being Spencer—kind and honest to a fault. It didn’t mean anything. Not really.

Finally, I made a move, sliding my bishop into place. I looked up at him triumphantly. “Your turn, genius.”

Spencer’s eyes flicked to the board, and he moved his queen with a casual grace that made my stomach sink. “Checkmate,” he said softly.

“What?” I leaned forward, scanning the board. He was right. Of course he was right.

“How?” I groaned, sitting back in my chair. “I was so careful!”

“That was a good game,” he said, his tone genuine. “You lasted longer than usual.”

I rolled my eyes. “Gee, thanks.”

“No, really,” he insisted. “Your defense has improved. That last move was smart.”

“Then how did I still lose?”

His lips quirked into a smile. “Because I’ve been playing chess since I was four, and you’ve only been playing for—”

“Three months,” I finished for him.

“Exactly,” he said, his smile widening. “But you’re learning fast. Good girl.”

The words hit me like a freight train. My cheeks burned, and I ducked my head, pretending to fiddle with the edge of the table.

“Something wrong?” Spencer asked, his voice tinged with concern.

“No,” I said quickly, my voice higher than usual. “I’m fine.”

“You’re blushing,” he observed, tilting his head.

“I’m not,” I lied, even though I could feel the heat spreading down my neck.

His lips twitched, like he was fighting a smile. “You’re a terrible liar.”

“I’m not lying,” I said weakly, avoiding his gaze.

“Hmm,” he hummed, his tone teasing now.

Desperate to change the subject, I stood and grabbed the empty takeout containers from the coffee table. “I’m going to clean this up.”

Spencer followed me into the kitchen, leaning against the counter as I tossed the containers into the trash. His presence was a tangible thing, and I could feel his eyes on me as I wiped down the counter.

“Good,” he said softly.

I turned to face him, confused. “Good what?”

“Good technique,” he said, nodding toward the counter.

My cheeks flamed again. “Are you just saying that to mess with me?”

“No,” he said, his expression softening. “I mean it. You’re good at a lot of things, but you never give yourself credit.”

I swallowed hard, my heart pounding in my chest. “I think you’re overestimating me,” I said quietly.

Spencer stepped closer, his gaze never leaving mine. “No, I’m not,” he said firmly. “You’re smart, capable, and one of the kindest people I’ve ever met. You’re… amazing.”

My breath caught in my throat. The sincerity in his voice, the intensity in his eyes—it was overwhelming.

“Spencer…” I trailed off, unsure of what to say.

He reached out, his fingers brushing against mine. The touch was so gentle, so careful, it made my chest ache. “You don’t believe me, do you?”

I shook my head slightly. “It’s not that… I just don’t see myself the way you do.”

His brows furrowed, and he tilted his head slightly. “You should. Because I’m not wrong.”

The silence between us stretched, thick with unspoken words. I felt like I was standing on the edge of something, and for once, I wasn’t afraid to fall.

“You’re doing it again,” he said softly.

“Doing what?”

“Doubting yourself,” he said, his voice laced with a quiet kind of sadness.

I opened my mouth to argue, but the look on his face stopped me.

“You’re a good girl,” he said, his voice low and steady. “You just don’t know it yet.”

My cheeks burned, and I looked down, unable to meet his gaze.

“Hey,” he said gently, tilting my chin up with his finger. “Don’t hide from me.”

“I’m not hiding,” I whispered, though the words felt hollow.

“Yes, you are,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “And you don’t have to.”

Before I could overthink it, I stepped closer, closing the small distance between us. “Spencer…”

“Yes?”

I hesitated, my heart hammering in my chest. But then his eyes softened, and I knew. I knew he would catch me if I fell.

“I want to kiss you,” I said, my voice barely audible.

Spencer's lips curved into a small, surprised smile. “You do?”

I nodded, my cheeks flaming. “Is that… okay?”

His eyes softened, a mixture of surprise and something deeper—something that made my heart race. “It’s more than okay,” he said quietly.

I barely had time to process his words before his hand cupped my cheek, his fingers feather-light against my skin. He was so close now, his breath warm against my lips. For a moment, we just stood there, suspended in time.

And then he kissed me.

The world fell away.

It started soft, tentative—like he was afraid I’d disappear if he moved too quickly. His lips brushed against mine once, twice, each touch careful and reverent. It was everything I hadn’t dared to hope for: tender, consuming, perfect.

But then I leaned in, my fingers clutching at the front of his cardigan, and something shifted. The kiss deepened, and Spencer’s hand slid from my cheek to the back of my neck, pulling me closer. His other hand rested lightly on my waist, steadying me as my knees threatened to give out beneath me.

The softness gave way to something bolder, more urgent. His lips moved against mine with a fervor that left me breathless, and I couldn’t stop the small gasp that escaped me. Spencer stilled for a fraction of a second, as if startled by the sound, but then his grip tightened ever so slightly, and I was lost all over again.

He tasted like peppermint tea and something uniquely Spencer, and I never wanted it to end.

When we finally pulled apart, I was dizzy, my head spinning in the best way possible. Spencer rested his forehead against mine, his breath coming in short, uneven bursts.

“That was…” He trailed off, his voice unsteady.

“Amazing,” I finished for him, my voice barely above a whisper.

He chuckled softly, the sound warm and intimate in the quiet of his apartment. “Yeah. Amazing.”

My cheeks flushed, but this time it wasn’t from embarrassment—it was from the way he was looking at me, like I was the only thing in the world that mattered.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a long time,” he admitted, his voice low.

“Really?” I asked, my heart swelling at the thought.

He nodded, a small, shy smile playing at his lips. “But I didn’t think you felt the same way.”

“Spencer,” I said, shaking my head with a soft laugh. “How could I not? You’re… you.”

His brow furrowed slightly, like he was trying to puzzle out my words. “I’m not always good at recognizing when people care about me,” he said quietly.

“Well, I care,” I said firmly, my hand still clutching the front of his cardigan. “A lot.”

He smiled then, a real, unguarded smile that made my chest ache in the best way. “I care about you too,” he said softly.

For a moment, neither of us spoke. The air between us was thick with unspoken promises, the kind that didn’t need words to be understood.

Spencer’s hand slid from my waist to my hand, his fingers curling around mine. “You’re incredible, you know that?”

I looked away, flustered. “You’re just saying that.”

“I’m not,” he said, tugging me closer. “You’re smart, kind, and strong. And you’re a good girl.”

There it was again, the phrase that sent my heart into overdrive. My cheeks burned, and I bit my lip, trying to suppress the shy smile threatening to break free.

“You really like saying that, don’t you?” I teased, though my voice came out softer than I intended.

“Only because it’s true,” he said, his thumb brushing over my knuckles.

The sincerity in his voice, the way he was looking at me—I couldn’t take it. I hid my face in his chest, my fingers curling into the fabric of his cardigan.

“You’re impossible,” I mumbled against him, though my tone lacked any real heat.

“And you’re adorable when you’re flustered,” he replied, his voice filled with gentle amusement.

I tilted my head up to look at him, narrowing my eyes in mock indignation. “You’re lucky I like you.”

His smile widened, and he leaned down to press a soft kiss to my forehead. “I’m the lucky one.”

---

After we settled onto the couch, Spencer pulled a blanket over us, his arm draped around my shoulders as I rested my head against his chest. The quiet hum of the world outside seemed so far away, replaced by the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

“Spencer?” I asked softly, my voice breaking the comfortable silence.

“Hmm?”

“This is real, right?” I tilted my head to look up at him, my eyes searching his face for any hint of hesitation.

He glanced down at me, his brows furrowing slightly. “Of course it’s real. Why would you think it’s not?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted, my cheeks flushing. “It just feels… too good to be true.”

Spencer’s hand came up to cradle my face, his thumb brushing lightly over my cheek. “It’s real,” he said firmly. “I’m real. And I’m not going anywhere.”

Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, but I blinked them away, focusing instead on the warmth in his gaze. “Promise?”

“I promise,” he said softly, pressing another kiss to my forehead.

And in that moment, with his arms around me and his words echoing in my heart, I believed him.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Kickstarting a new Martin Hench novel about the dawn of enshittification

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/2025/01/07/weird-pcs/#a-mormon-bishop-an-orthodox-rabbi-and-a-catholic-priest-walk-into-a-personal-computing-revolution

Picks and Shovels is a new, standalone technothriller starring Marty Hench, my two-fisted, hard-fighting, tech-scam-busting forensic accountant. You can pre-order it on my latest Kickstarter, which features a brilliant audiobook read by @wilwheaton:

http://martinhench.com

This is the third Hench novel, following on from the nationally bestselling The Bezzle (2024) and Red Team Blues (2023). I wrote Red Team Blues with a funny conceit: what if I wrote the final volume of a beloved, long-running series, without writing the rest of the series? Turns out, the answer is: "Your editor will buy a whole bunch more books in the series!"

My solution to this happy conundrum? Write the Hench books out of chronological order. After all, Marty Hench is a financial hacker who's been in Silicon Valley since the days of the first PCs, so he's been there for all the weird scams tech bros have dreamed up since Jobs and Woz were laboring in their garage over the Apple I. He's the Zelig of high-tech fraud! Look hard at any computing-related scandal and you'll find Marty Hench in the picture, quietly and competently unraveling the scheme, dodging lawsuits and bullets with equal aplomb.

Which brings me to Picks and Shovels. In this volume, we travel back to Marty's first job, in the 1980s – the weird and heroic era of the PC. Marty ended up in the Bay Area after he flunked out of an MIT computer science degree (he was too busy programming computers to do his classwork), and earning his CPA at a community college.

Silicon Valley in the early eighties was wild: Reaganomics stalked the land, the AIDS crisis was in full swing, the Dead Kennedys played every weekend, and man were the PCs ever weird. This was before the industry crystalized into Mac vs PC, back when no one knew what they were supposed to look like, who was supposed to use them, and what they were for.

Marty's first job is working for one of the weirder companies: Fidelity Computing. They sound like a joke: a computer company run by a Mormon bishop, a Catholic priest and an orthodox rabbi. But the joke's on their customers, because Fidelity Computing is a scam: a pyramid sales cult that exploits religious affinities to sell junk PCs that are designed to lock customers in and squeeze them for every dime. A Fidelity printer only works with Fidelity printer paper (they've gimmicked the sprockets on the tractor-feed). A Fidelity floppy drive only accepts Fidelity floppies (every disk is sold with a single, scratched-out sector and the drives check for an error on that sector every time they run).

Marty figures out he's working for the bad guys when they ask him to destroy Computing Freedom, a scrappy rival startup founded by three women who've escaped from Fidelity Computing's cult: a queer orthodox woman who's been kicked out of her family; a radical nun who's thrown in with the Liberation Theology movement in opposing America's Dirty Wars; and a Mormon woman who's quit the church in disgust at its opposition to the Equal Rights Amendment. The women of Computing Freedom have a (ahem) holy mission: to free every Fidelity customer from the prison they were lured into.

Marty may be young and inexperienced, but he can spot a rebel alliance from a light year away and he knows what side he wants to be on. He joins the women in their mission, and we're deep into a computing war that quickly turns into a shooting war. Turns out the Reverend Sirs of Fidelity Computer aren't just scammers – they're mobbed up, and willing to turn to lethal violence to defend their racket.

This is a rollicking crime thriller, a science fiction novel about the dawn of the computing revolution. It's an archaeological expedition to uncover the fossil record of the first emergence of enshittification, a phenomenon that was born with the PC and its evil twin, the Reagan Revolution.

The book comes out on Feb 15 in hardcover and ebook from Macmillan (US/Canada) and Bloomsbury (UK), but neither publisher is doing the audiobook. That's my department.

Why? Well, I love audiobooks, and I especially love the audiobooks for this series, because they're read by the incredible Wil Wheaton, hands down my favorite audiobook narrator. But that's not why I retain my audiobook rights and produce my own audiobooks. I do that because Amazon's Audible service refuses to carry any of my audiobooks.

Here's how that works: Audible is a division of Amazon, and they've illegally obtained a monopoly over the audiobook market, controlling more than 90% of audiobook sales in many genres. That means that if your book isn't for sale on Audible, it might as well not exist.

But Amazon won't let you sell your books on Audible unless you let them wrap those books in "digital rights management," a kind of encryption that locks them to Audible's authorized players. Under Section 1201 of the Digital Millennium Copyright Act, it's a felony punishable with a 5-year sentence and a $500k fine to supply you with a tool to remove an audiobook from Audible and play it on a rival app. That applies even if the person who gives you the tool is the creator of the book!

You read that right: if I make an audiobook and then give you the tools to move it out of Amazon's walled garden, I could go to prison for five years! That's a stiffer sentence than you'd face if you were to just pirate the audiobook. It's a harsher penalty than you'd get for shoplifting the book on CD from a truck-stop. It's more draconian than the penalty for hijacking the truck that delivers the CDs!

Amazon knows that every time you buy an audiobook from Audible, you increase the cost you'll have to pay if you switch to a competitor. They use that fact to give readers a worse deal (last year they tried out ads in audiobooks!). But the people who really suffer under this arrangement are the writers, whom Amazon abuses with abandon, knowing they can't afford to leave the service because their readers are locked into it. That's why Amazon felt they could get away with stealing $100 million from indie audiobook creators (and yup, they got away with it):

https://www.audiblegate.com/about

Which is why none of my books can be sold with DRM. And that means that Audible won't carry any of them.

For more than a decade, I've been making my own audiobooks, in partnership with the wonderful studio Skyboat Media and their brilliant director, Gabrielle de Cuir:

https://skyboatmedia.com/

I pay fantastic narrators a fair wage for their work, then I pay John Taylor Williams, the engineer who masters my podcasts, to edit the books and compose bed music for the intro and outro. Then I sell the books at every store in the world – except Audible and Apple, who both have mandatory DRM. Because fuck DRM.

Paying everyone a fair wage is expensive. It's worth it: the books are great. But even though my books are sold at many stores online, being frozen out of Audible means that the sales barely register.

That's why I do these Kickstarter campaigns, to pre-sell thousands of audiobooks in advance of the release. I've done six of these now, and each one was a huge success, inspiring others to strike out on their own, sometimes with spectacular results:

https://www.usatoday.com/story/entertainment/books/2022/04/01/brandon-sanderson-kickstarter-41-million-new-books/7243531001/

Today, I've launched the Kickstarter for Picks and Shovels. I'm selling the audiobook and ebook in DRM-form, without any "terms of service" or "license agreement." That means they're just like a print book: you buy them, you own them. You can read them on any equipment you choose to. You can sell them, give them away, or lend them to friends. Rather than making you submit to 20,000 words of insulting legalese, all I ask of you is that you don't violate copyright law. I trust you!

Speaking of print books: I'm also pre-selling the hardcover of Picks and Shovels and the paperbacks of The Bezzle and Red Team Blues, the other two Marty Hench books. I'll even sign and personalize them for you!

http://martinhench.com

I'm also offering five chances to commission your own Marty Hench story – pick your favorite high-tech finance scam from the past 40 years of tech history, and I'll have Marty bust it in a custom short story. Once the story is published, I'll make sure you get credit. Check out these two cool Little Brother stories my previous Kickstarter backers commissioned:

Spill

https://reactormag.com/spill-cory-doctorow/

Vigilant

https://reactormag.com/vigilant-cory-doctorow/

I'm heading out on tour this winter and spring with the book. I'll be in LA, San Francisco, San Diego, Burbank, Bloomington, Chicago, Richmond VA, Toronto, NYC, Boston, Austin, DC, Baltimore, Seattle, and other dates still added. I've got an incredible roster of conversation partners lined up, too: John Hodgman, Charlie Jane Anders, Dan Savage, Ken Liu, Peter Sagal, Wil Wheaton, and others.

I hope you'll check out this book, and come out to see me on tour and say hi. Before I go, I want to leave you with some words of advance praise for Picks and Shovels:

I hugely enjoyed Picks and Shovels. Cory Doctorow’s reconstruction of the age is note perfect: the detail, the atmosphere, ethos, flavour and smell of the age is perfectly conveyed. I love Marty and Art and all the main characters. The hope and the thrill that marks the opening section. The superb way he tells the story of the rise of Silicon Valley (to use the lazy metonym), inserting the stories of Shockley, IBM vs US Government, the rise of MS – all without turning journalistic or preachy.

The seeds of enshittification are all there… even in the sunlight of that time the shadows are lengthening. AIDS of course, and the coming scum tide of VCs. In Orwellian terms, the pigs are already rising up on two feet and starting to wear trousers. All that hope, all those ideals…

I love too the thesis that San Francisco always has failed and always will fail her suitors.

Despite cultural entropy, enshittification, corruption, greed and all the betrayals there’s a core of hope and honour in the story too.

-Stephen Fry

Cory Doctorow writes as few authors do, with tech world savvy and real world moral clarity. A true storyteller for our times.

-John Scalzi

A crackling, page-turning tumble into an unexpected underworld of queer coders, Mission burritos, and hacker nuns. You will fall in love with the righteous underdogs of Computing Freedom—and feel right at home in the holy place Doctorow has built for them far from Silicon Valley’s grabby, greedy hands."

-Claire Evans, editor of Motherboard Future, author of Broad Band: The Untold Story of the Women Who Made the Internet.

"Wonderful…evokes the hacker spirit of the early personal computer era—and shows how the battle for software freedom is eternal."

-Steven Levy, author of Hackers: Heroes of the Computer Revolution and Facebook: The Inside Story.

What could be better than a Martin Hench thriller set in 1980s San Francisco that mixes punk rock romance with Lotus spreadsheets, dot matrix printers and religious orders? You'll eat this up – I sure did.

-Tim Wu, Special Assistant to the President for Technology and Competition Policy, author of The Master Switch: The Rise and Fall of Information Empires

Captures the look and feel of the PC era. Cory Doctorow draws a portrait of a Silicon Valley and San Francisco before the tech bros showed up — a startup world driven as much by open source ideals as venture capital gold.

-John Markoff, Pulitzer-winning tech columnist for the New York Times and author of What the Doormouse Said: How the Sixties Counterculture Shaped the Personal Computer Industry

You won't put this book down – it's too much fun. I was there when it all began. Doctorow's characters and their story are real.

-Dan'l Lewin, CEO and President of the Computer History Museum

[runningwithscizzorz]

I'm not sure if it was ever asked before, but what does the Wanderlust AU entail? Or is it a situation where more will be revealed in time?

It's an AU where, after defeating and converting Narinder, Nour imprisons and tortures the bishops for decades after releasing them from purgatory. Nour is slowly being taken over by the crown and even starts abusing Narinder, so he leaves them to travel the world. Nour pulls a redemption arch (kind of) in his time away and frees the siblings (kind of) but then literally magically gives birth to twin shittens a few years later. In their panic to keep the twins safe, Nour consumes the four crowns of the bishops, and has to start battling the island from trying to swallow itself whole because whoops, silly lamb messed with the forces of nature a little too hard and refuses to give up the crowns. Narinder comes back after pulling a "I miss my wife tails, I miss her a lot", meets his surprise kids, and he and Nour try to make up with eachother while also fighting about Nour inevitably destroying the entire world.

[bamsara]

If given the motivation I would ramble more about Trod, specifically Tyren and how he's my little dude but also a character who's behavior I've based on being a victim of obsession and idolization myself and how it's very cathartic to write a character exhibiting all the traits, both good and bad I've experienced in the Lamb's position and then knowing exactly how his story ends

That and some Narinder rambles and how Lamb is more comfortable with him than a sweet dog that surely shows more respect for them (idolization that does not see them as a person)

edit: nevermind I did end up rambling. Some TROD spoilers

its great I love this stupid dog and his scheming ways and writing just *why* he's doing what he's doing with genuine belief it's to better protect what and who he loves without actaully taking into account the subject of his affection's feelings on the whole matter. He would never hurt the lamb physically but clearly that three eyed cat is nothing but stress for them (and is he wrong? is Narinder not a source of stress? We are not light in the 'enemies' part of the friends to enemies to friends to lovers part of the trope)

Though the difference between Narinder and Tyren, the rehabilitation and the corruption, although all entitlement, is agency.

Narinder often touts himself as uncaring and hostile to the Lamb and is still angry from the betrayal, as they are, but their agency is still considered even in anger.

In the Fox chapter where Narinder wishes to sacrifice Grekimar and Tyren, Lamb refuses. They argue about it and Lamb stands their ground, Narinder is unhappy about it but does not go behind their back and sacrifice cultists anyway when he very well could.

After reuniting after the fight when Leshy is revived, Narinder and Lamb argues heavily over the subject of whether or not Narinder is allowed to kill Leshy, someone who harmed both him AND the Lamb severely, and even though he's bitter about it, Narinder acknowledges the Lamb was not given a choice prior and will sacrifice his own revenge and comfort so the Lamb can have their agency returned, at least a little bit.

^^^ This one is a complicated one because between both characters, neither killing the bishops nor keeping them alive would result in both characters getting what they want, with reasonable desires for it (wanting to have choice again, wanting revenge on their tormentors, ect)

so Narinder essentially sacrifices his comfort for the Lamb, someone who is constantly sacrificing pieces of themselves and sanity to keep everything in peace

It works the otherway around as well: Narinder demanding talismans and God Tears and Relics from the Lamb and they agree, not because they're required to do what he says but because that's their friend, and they trust him enough to help him with whatever he's doing

(and back to the argument where the refusal to sacrifice two followers was in exchange for some of their heart, Narinder refuses and breaks the deal off immediatly even though the Lamb was willing. The Lamb is obviously more important than whatever goal he had in mind, essentially scrapping his partnership with the Fox and method to gain power because he didn't want his usurper to be weakened. and other things.)

I won't talk about EVERY instance of this because this is already a long post, but overtime the two are forming communication, compromise, and even in anger, there is a respect there that puts them on the same level as equals.

Tyren does not really fall into that.

Tyren would never, and I mean NEVER hurt the Lamb physically. He would never yell at them, never be angry with them, never be upset with them, because he does not see them enough as a person to feel those things around them. And if the Lamb does disagree with him or make him upset, he will simply....disregard their current feelings on the situation and do what he thinks is best for him and them, even if it goes directly against their wishes.

And unlike Narinder, he would do it behind their back to stay in their good graces.

Tyren does care for the Lamb. Genuinely. He did long before that necklace was around his neck. He was already a little obsessed before the loyalty necklace was on him, it just gave him a slight edge.

He respects them but also doesn't. He takes their rejection at the party in stride and is completely unphased by it, completely understanding, but also plots to kill someone the Lamb called a 'friend' because the three-eyed hermit is clearly stressing them out and it makes no sense as to why they're crusading with him, or spending time with him when he's been nothing but a murderer and a blight.

I think a good summary of all this ramble is that when the Lamb tells Narinder to leave Tyren alone, Narinder goes 'whatever i fucking hate you and this stupid cult anyways. die forever' but does what they ask, while Lamb tells Tyren to please leave Narinder alone, and Tyren goes 'sure! :) anything for you my lamb' and digs up a corpse and drops it's mashed remains outside of the cat's hut with a fake letter from the Lamb saying it's 'breakfast'.

Narinder and Tyren are both very selfish, but in different ways

None of this probably makes sense

It is also 6AM