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sophiethewitch1 · 3 months

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What We Want - Chpt. 2 - First (Second) Introductions

In Which A Romantic Breaks The Universe

(Yandere!batboys x f!reader) 18+ MDNI!

SUMMARY

Another lonely birthday, another empty year. You miss your family. You're late for your bills and rent, and even then, you got robbed last Tuesday.

Still, you buy yourself a cupcake, because you need it. I mean, hey. What's dessert for if not to get over cheating boyfriends and dead relatives?

As you blow out the candle, watching the clock switch from 11:59 pm to midnight of the next day, you make a wish.

And because the world doesn't like to make much sense, it comes true. Your life is suddenly flipped on a dime, and you're stuck trying to catch up with it. Fantasy becomes reality. You're a Wayne now, apparently. Or you used to be. You're loved, you're rich, you're talented and powerful.

Well, sort of. Careful what you wish for, right?

(TRIGGER WARNINGS AND MASTERLIST HERE)

PREV - NEXT

Tim Drake was an obsessive creature by nature. Ever since he was little, he’d always been easily swallowed by his obsessions. His wants and desires, the little things that fascinated him. And, more than that, he never fought it. He gave himself into it, wholly. It was how he’d gotten this far in life.

He’d taught himself how to code, how to hack. He discovered Batman and Nightwing’s true identities. He’d learnt how to fight, how to keep the city safe, how to fling oneself off a building without fainting. He’s taped the family back together again and again after every splinter. He was one of only two Robins left, and that would soon be the only once Bruce retired and Damian graduated.

And this was all done through obsession. And it was obsession. He was self-aware enough to know that. While the rest of the family often indulged in delusions, he never had the time for them. He’d spent countless nights pushing his lagging body along with caffeine and sheer willpower. He’d often forget to sleep or eat even on the calmer days. All that was to say, Tim Drake was obsessive.

But, his obsessions never lasted. Sure, he’d keep the skills and the relationships he’d make, but when the dust settled, he’d find himself feeling empty. Tim Drake was obsessive yes, but his true obsession was the conquest. The rush he’d get when he finally claimed a new skill, a new person, a new piece of knowledge or wisdom.

And then, too quickly, far too quickly, the rush would disappear. The tingle in his spine would leave, the energy would disappear, and that feverish nature of his would flatten. Cool down. The others in the family knew it as one of his ‘moods’, but Tim thought it was probably more than that. Still, he was definitely in one of them right now.

It didn’t matter. None of it really mattered. The point was, right now, he was quite simply depressed. Bummed out, if you would. He’d finished a mission from Bruce, one that had taken him months of desperate, undying effort, and it was now done. And he didn’t have anything to do.

It sucked.

Boredom was a sinister demon. While Tim was by far the most emotionally stable of the family, he was still, well- not. Not by a long shot, honestly. The League’s mandatory therapy sessions had confirmed that. He just needed something to entertain himself, and quick. Usually, on a day like this, he’d be at home working on any random degree.

Unfortunately, he had responsibilities. He could not alleviate his boredom, because he was in the most boring place on earth.

A party. Not a party by any normal person’s standards, but one of his adoptive father’s galas. Even more horrifying, Bruce Wayne was in attendance. He was doing his billionaire playboy persona, and Tim couldn’t stomach it. It was no shock no one else had shown up. Even Dick was busy in Bludhaven, and he sometimes enjoyed these. Sometimes.

And once again, as every year, the birthday girl was nowhere to be seen.

Tim’s eyes rove over the very boring gala. Your gala, for your birthday. You weren’t here, because you never were. He couldn’t blame you. These balls sucked, even the better ones. This one was miserable, and the atmosphere was sombre. While it was your birthday, it was more than that, a day of death.

Your family had died, Bruce’s new wife had died, and all the siblings he never really got the opportunity to meet, gone in a brilliant flash.

And Jason. Jason, who now walked the earth again, flesh and blood. Jason, who tore himself through a wooden coffin and grave dirt. Jason, who even Dick couldn’t seem to bring back into the family. Jason, alive and well and probably spending the night at Roy’s house. It was still the anniversary of his death, and while Jason did his best to put on a front, anyone with half a brain could tell he found today… upsetting.

But, he was alive. That was more than Tim could say for your family.

None of these people knew that. They saw one of the great Wayne’s dead, and they mourned. They saw the new wife and step-children of Bruce Wayne dead, and they lamented. Tim was sure most of it was faked, at least in this gala. The rest of the city truly grieved the Wayne family's tragedy. Especially Jason, one of the princes of the city. But here? No, they just wanted to rub shoulders with Bruce.

The man you very clearly insisted had never been your father, and never would be, was… probably a little sad. Tim was probably a little sadistically pleased about that. He was bored, alright? Anyway, Bruce did not know how to deal with you, and you with him. Both of you were stubborn people, unable to communicate or reach a place of cooperation. You never showed up to the galas or the manor, you did everything in your power to never have to interact with anyone from the family. The only reason you even still lived in Gotham was to be close to your dead family. And above all, you made sure that everyone knew how much you hated Bruce. That the sight of his aging face made you nauseous. Everyone else found that hilarious, of course.

And Bruce, because he was stubborn, kept trying to reach you, despite your angry protests. Even if he had absolutely zero legal ties to you, he still kept trying. And so, another birthday party passes without its leading star. The memorial tomorrow would be missing you too. Christmas, easter, hanukkah, new years, Rosh Hashanah, you refused to show up to any of them.

Still, he had to agree with Bruce. They couldn’t just leave you. Not with the way you were.

You’d once quietly admitted to him that you hoped you’d one day go to sleep and not wake up. That you’d rot away in your room, disappear from the world entirely. That was one of the last few times he talked to you face-to-face. And then a few months after that, you’d blocked him on all social media.

He’d read hundreds of books on therapy, and he knew what suicidal idealisation looked like. Luckily for his sanity, he was not your therapist, nor was he your keeper.

That was poor old Dick’s job, and he was, hilariously, failing at it. Badly. Technically, you were the second massive failure Dick had taken on, and it was starting to show in his mental state. Old Dickie was spending more and more time in Bludhaven, preferring to patrol there instead of Gotham. Still, he insisted he could get through to you. Tim was doubtful. Dick had better luck with Jason, of all people.

Jason actually wanted to be a part of this family. You hated them all, viciously. And so, you’d obviously never show up at-

Wait. Wait, no. He definitely recognised that face. Why the hell were you here? Well, that was irritating. Tim prided himself on being prepared for any situation, for any unlikelihood. He was the son who would be taking over Wayne Enterprises, after all.

You being in the same room as Bruce Wayne was impossible. Completely impossible. At least willingly. You should be kicking and screaming, scratching like a hellcat at anyone who tried to make you stay. Instead, you’re standing in the middle of a crowd, chugging back champagne like your life depends on it. He could already imagine the chaos the media would be starting, to his misery. ‘Estranged ex-Wayne shows up at birthday gala and drinks like a fish’. Well, he had been complaining about being bored. Careful what you wish for, and all.

Shit. He was not prepared for this.

He was, despite it being your birthday, not at all expecting you to be here. He didn’t even have a present. Shit. He pulls out his phone and shoots off an order to his assistant, who would probably go to Dick’s for help.

He sees you over there, obviously uncomfortable, and realises he should probably rescue you. He tells himself he should, that he’s gonna get up and go do it.

Instead, he crosses his legs at the ankle, leans back in his chair, and watches. You won’t catch him off guard twice. He has his pride, after all.

You throw another glass of champagne back. Tim winces. Okay, maybe you might. This was all a bit of a shock. And the rest of the gala seemed just as surprised at your appearance as he was. They obviously didn’t know what to do about you, creating a wide ring of people who refused to step closer to you. And you seem oblivious to the social pariah you have suddenly become. Or maybe uncaring, as you’ve already claimed an entire buffet table and champagne tray for yourself.

Just… just drinking. You seem to only care about ingesting more alcohol and confectionaries. It’s your twenty-first, but uh… this definitely doesn’t look like the first time you’ve been drinking. Not that he cared if this was your first time drinking. He’d done his fair share of illegal activities. Sure, they were mostly superhero stuff, but still illegal. Frankly, it’s kind of impressive. You might even be able to drink Jason or Alfred under the table.

…Good for you, he guesses. A talent’s a talent.

He realises, after a few minutes, that you have absolutely zero plans of socialising. You’d showed up here of your own free will, and then just scared off anyone who’d talk to you. Not that there’d be many who’d be interested in talking to the swaying woman who looked like a threat to herself and everyone around her. No, you were still just drinking. You’d gotten halfway down the buffet table, trying every single cake and a few of the savoury items as well.

You kept circling back to have more champagne and Victorian sponge, and then you’d go back to wherever you were in the buffet and try something from there. Your choices seemed sporadic, and more than once you spat something back out into a napkin. You look at some of the dishes like you think they might be poisonous, taking wide circles around them.

He rests his elbows on the table, leaning forward to press his face to his intertwined fingers. He’s definitely past the point where he should go help you. You’re making a mess, both physically and socially, and yet, he still just sits there. He can’t help himself, it’s interesting.

“Tim.”

Uh oh, your knight in shining armor is here. Or well, dark. Bruce had never been known for pastels. Tim turns his head to the giant man blocking out the light, giving his father and leader a smile.

“Hey Dad,” he greets, in an open attempt at manipulation.

Bruce shakes his head, not caving begrudgingly like he usually did. Shit, that usually worked. Guess he must be actually mad. He glances from Tim to the object of Tim’s apt fascination. You. He turns back, looking down at Tim with his ‘I’m trying to be a good dad’ look. It’s not very convincing.

“How long has she been doing this?” Bruce asks, straight to the point as always.

“Twenty-seven minutes. You’re ruining my process,” Tim replies, telling B to screw off in the kindest way possible. He doesn’t take the hint, because he’s a bit of an ass. Even Batman fanboy Tim could recognise that.

“You can’t just count when someone is getting drunk in front of the public. You need to actually do something.” Bruce shakes his head, hand lifting to massage his brow. It was just that easy to give the old man a migraine. Poor baby probably needed some Ibruprofen. Tim had some in his pocket, but he wasn’t going to offer.

“I was going to eventually. And aren’t you curious? She refuses to show her face for months, and then pops out of the blue to… what? Steal from your liquor cabinet? She knows she doesn’t have to come to get whatever she wants,” Tim ignores B’s nagging, turning his gaze back to you. You’re having a love affair with that cake, honestly. Oh, you’re going for another shot… You do realise the stuff you’re chugging goes for millions, right?

You probably don’t care. You never had about money.

“It doesn’t matter. She’s here, and we should be taking care of her. This is obviously her reaching out for help, and she obviously needs it,” B insists, splaying his worn and scarred hands over the table. Tim has the same hands, everyone in the family does. Vigilante work left scars and callouses.

“Then why hasn’t she come over here, yet? My theory is she’s just trying to smear your good image. Which doesn’t need smearing in the first place, but who understands the minds of young, drunk and miserable women?” Certainly not Tim, as he had proven in his relationship with Stephanie.

“Tim, enough with the sass. Go and help her.”

“She’s not your responsibility anymore, B.”

“Her mother would disagree. Now go,” Bruce orders, his words final. Because they always are, in the end.

Tim groans, letting his head fall back. He glares at the ceiling and all the sparkling diamonds strewn about, and then he pulls himself to his feet. Cracks his shoulders, and parts the Red Sea with a glance. The crowd in the gala splits so the young heir can easily find his way through, and he gives everyone he passes a kind smile.

He strides up to your side, calmly waiting for you to notice him. You’re still imbibing, completely oblivious to his presence. It’s funny. And fascinating. Usually, you were so paranoid that he wondered how you weren’t always a single breath away from a panic attack. Like a feral animal, ready at a moment’s notice to fight or flight.

He sees that you’re dealing with those social anxieties in a way befitting the Wayne name. Which is to say, absolutely shit. His head tilts eyes flickering over you. You don’t look too good, which is no real surprise. Even with your people’s perfect styling, they can’t cover up the shaking and sweating in your form. It might just be anxiety, but knowing you, it’s probably not. He wonders if you even notice how sick you are.

You don’t look like you notice much of anything. Maybe the cake, but that seemed to be pushing it.

“Oh, so you actually showed up? Colour me surprised,” Tim starts but is unable to continue when you spin on your heel and drop your flute of champagne. It crashes to the ground, and he finds his socks becoming uncomfortably wet.

The two of you look up from the mess and meet gazes. Your mouth is open in horror, eyes comically wide. Tim has to bite the inside of his lip so as not to immediately burst into laughter.

“I’m so sorry,” you say, you do a weird crouch-pop-up movement, and then your eyes swivel around frantically, “I’m- am I supposed to clean this up? I can totally clean this up.”

You look just about ready to kneel into a pile of thin glass shards, so Tim stops you. Because God knows Bruce would hang him from the rafters if he didn’t.

“It’s fine, it’s fine. Somebody else will handle this. It’s your birthday after all, right?” he says, giving you a charming smile. It’s sort of a shock when you don’t scoff at him, and instead just stand there with a deer-in-headlights sort of look.

“Hey, are you alright?” Tim asks when you don’t say anything else.

You startle, and then blink at him rapidly. Distracted and inebriated. Lovely. He doesn’t think you know what you’re doing here either, which was a bad sign for your mental health. Have you been refusing to go to your therapist again?

It wasn’t like he went either, so he couldn’t judge.

“I’m good,” you say, your words only slightly slurred. You blink again, your head cants towards the floor, and then you glance back up at him. You look like he’s caught you committing a crime. “Do you- uh, want some of the cake? Sorry for stealing it all, it’s really good.”

You were acting… really strange. Tim found himself with the undeniable urge to follow along with your strangeness.

“You know what? Yes, yes I would,” he says, taking one of the little plates of strawberry cake and a delicate three-tonged fork. He scoops up some of the cake, the cream and jam, and eats. Chewing he keeps staring at you, as you fidget awkwardly. It’s good, but all the food here’s good.

“Did you like it?” you try to smile at him, but it looks more like a grimace.

“I did. Javier did really well with these desserts,” Tim says, before waving over one of the staff to clean up the mess the two of you are ignoring. You look surprised when he offers an arm to guide you away, and he wonders if you’ll accept it. He can’t imagine a world where you would, but today seems to be full of surprises. In the end, you do, but it takes you a good five seconds of awkward staring before you take it.

He takes you over to one of the tables, careful to make sure you don’t slip and fall face-first into the spreading champagne puddle.

“Oh. Is he the chef?”

“He’s the pâtissier.”

You give him a blank stare. Right, you probably don't speak French.

“The pastry chef,” Tim clarifies, as he helps you find your chair. You slump down with zero grace, and for a second Tim thinks you’ll fall right off. You manage not to with a desperate grasp at the table. Good for you.

“Oh, cool. That’s super cool. I think I love this Javier guy, honestly.”

Tim snorts, taking his own seat, “He has that effect on people.”

You’re not looking at him, instead grimacing at the mess you made that two of the staff are cleaning up. Tim’s sort of surprised. It wasn’t that you had been particularly mean to the employees before, but you rarely acknowledged them. You had barely acknowledged anyone, completely unaware of your effect on the greater world. You didn’t care. To be fair, it didn’t seem like you cared about anything but your family’s gravestones and memorials.

Still, there was definitely something different about you, today. And he couldn’t blame it all on the alcohol. Today, you looked a little green about the whole accident. Like you actually gave a shit. Maybe you’d had a change of heart. He hoped you had, for Dick’s sake. You looked more alive, even if it was a confused, embarrassed, uncomfortable sort of alive. It was still an improvement. Usually, your expression was dead, a blank stare. It reminded him of Jason’s as he’d been lowered into the ground.

The two of you wouldn’t like that comparison. And it’s hypocritical too, Tim knows he sometimes resembles a zombie after one of his little sessions.

He can’t help himself. He’s curious, so damn curious. What had prompted this miraculous shift? And plus, you could still be planning something, even if it was seeming more and more like you’d stumbled in here drunk and confused, not able to remember you hated them all. Maybe you had a concussion or something. A head wound sounded like a good explanation for all this.

“Why’d you show up here today?” he finally asks, caving quickly to his need to understand.

You give him a weird look like he’s the one being strange.

“It’s my birthday.”

Tim tilts his head. “That it is.”

“Was that- that the wrong answer?”

“I don’t know, was it?” Tim knows he should stop playing with you. You’re making it far too easy, though. And he's bored, damn it.

“I don’t know either. That’s… that’s why I’m asking you.”

Before he can react to the strangeness of that comment some (awfully rudely, might he add) intrude on your conversation. One of the board members of W.E., someone he had to pay the proper respect to. When his hand slaps down on Tim’s shoulder, he has to suppress a withering sigh. There were less fun parts to his job, and this was one of them

“Drake! It’s so good to see you,” the old man greets, and it takes even Tim a second to remember his name.

“Lancaster! You as well,” Tim replies, noticing your barely there flinch.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you tonight. My project’s funds are running a little low, and everyone knows you’re the one to go to for an easier time. Bruce is a great leader but…” the man chuckles, and Tim grins at him. It’s fake, of course. When in Rome, they say.

“A bit strict, yes. I have struggled with his attitude before, too.” Understatement of the century.

Tim glances at your quiet form, eyes set on the tablecloth in front of you. Even still it’s obvious you’re listening to their conversation, head cocked just slightly to the right. The board member doesn’t even seem to notice you. Tim’s curious if he recognises you.

You’d been out of the public eye for so long he wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t. That’s the way you’d wanted it to be, after all.

“But let’s talk about this later, I’m entertaining a very tipsy birthday girl at the moment,” Tim says, hoping you don’t mind him using you as an excuse.

“Oh wow!” Lancaster cries, at your mere presence. Subtlety is not this man’s strength, “I didn’t see you there. Wow, jeez. Didn’t think you’d be here today. What made you change your mind?”

You give him a long, assessing look. Whatever you find makes you pull an expression like you sucked on a sour lemon.

“My assistant forced me to,” you answer honestly. Seems you’ve realised that ‘it’s your birthday’ isn’t an adequate reason. Not that you’ve never failed to reject any and all pressure to attend these events before. Like Tim had said, kicking and screaming.

“Ha! I know the feeling. Well, I’ll leave you two kids to it. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” the old man chortles, gives you a wink, and leaves. Your gaze follows him into the crowd, and stays there, even when he disappears behind it.

It’s quiet for a moment. Tim waits for you to speak first.

“Who was that man?” you finally ask.

“Charles Lancaster, one of the newest board members of Wayne Enterprises,” Tim says, surprised you’re curious. You’d never been interested in W.E. or anything involving the family. Surprised, surprised, surprised. He should just accept any odd behaviour from you at this point, start expecting it.

You slump in your chair, pressing your forehead against the table. Then, you let out a long, unhappy, groan. Tim gets it, he really does. He does not get what you do next.

Your hands slap against your cheeks, and Tim jerks in his seat. Okay, maybe Bruce was right, you probably do need help. He couldn’t imagine the big guy sending you to Arkham, though. It was obvious you were only a threat to yourself. You take a deep breath, completely ignore his confused stare and get to your feet.

And you immediately fall sideways.

Tim’s arm shoots out, grabbing yours before you crash into the shining marble floors. You look down at him, mirroring his shocked expression. You look down further down, and Tim follows your gaze.

Your stilettoed heel looks the same as it always does. Still, you stare at it like it’s a shark biting at your toes. Tim thinks this is one of the first real emotions you’ve shown in months, and it’s desperate fear of your shoes.

“I told her I can’t wear heels,” you say, more to yourself than him.

“What? Yes, you can. You wear heels to all these events,” he replies anyway.

“What- Well, I meant… heels this tall. They’re really tall.”

He just blinks at you, at the inanity of your statement. They were really tall, but Tim had seen you wear taller. Why were you lying about something like this? Had you drunk too much and were too embarrassed to mention it? Or maybe you’d hurt yourself?

He looks down at your ankle again. No, the flesh seems unharmed. And you hadn’t been walking with a limp earlier, you were just stumbling around now. Must really just be too much champagne. You’d already dropped a glass earlier and had been obviously embarrassed by it. Even if Jeanine had swept in just like she was supposed to, fixing the situation. You’d apologised profusely.

He’d never heard you apologise before. It’s… well, it’s strange. That’s the only way he can describe this encounter.

“You can let go of me now. Please?”

Tim lets you go, and you rub your arm. Shit, he grabbed you too hard. He knew you were on the delicate side, wasting away both mentally and physically. You didn’t take care of yourself and rarely even left your apartment. Even now you looked oddly sickly.

“I’m going to uh- I have to go pee,” you say, and immediately wince at your words.

Tim, without thinking, replies, “Go piss girl.”

You make a shocked choke of laughter, nod at him, and then run off as fast as you can while grasping every piece of furniture in your reach. You look genuinely ridiculous. Well, it’s not the first time a Wayne gala has turned into a clown show. Compared to Dick’s younger years, this was completely unnoticeable.

Bruce still loved to complain about the chandelier he’d broken in an impromptu trapeze show. It’d been diamond, and over a hundred years old. The ones above him now were just as expensive, but not vintage. Jason thought it was hilariously funny, and was always trying to get Dick to do it again. Luckily, Dick had matured, if only a little bit.

Speaking of which, this is a perfect opportunity to mess with Dick. He pulls out his phone and the secure channel they use to communicate. Dick was in Bludhaven right now, probably on patrol. Doing something fun. Sure, tonight had gotten more interesting, but you’d just run off and with you his only entertainment. Tim was bitterly envious of Dick’s fun, and because of that, he had to make Dick just a little more miserable. Just to make things even, of course.

‘Smartest_Robin’: guess who just showed up to her own birthday party?

‘Underwear_guy’: you’ve got to be fucking kidding me. why?

‘Smartest_Robin’: hell if I know. she’s drunk as hell lmao

‘Underwear_guy’: please don’t let her do anything stupid.

‘Smartest_Robin’: yeah, yeah. i’m the idiot who has to deal with the fallout anyway

‘Underwear_guy’: how’s it feel being the ‘favourite son’?

Tim snorts. The media often called him that, purely because it was well known he was the one inheriting W.E. It was hot gossip that it was Tim and not Damian, the proudly stated ‘blood son’. They didn’t know Damian was inheriting an even greater responsibility. And it wasn’t like he particularly wanted it, he just knew he was best for the job and it helped the time pass in between missions. It was fun sometimes, too. He enjoyed giving Luthor Corp a good thrashing every now and then.

‘Smartest_Robin’: same as always. im bored, anything interesting going on over there?

‘Underwear_guy’: bludhaven’s my city, dickhead. go do taxes or something

Tim sighs, and puts the phone back down. He had to try, at least. When it becomes obvious you are absolutely not returning from the bathrooms anytime soon, he gets up, adjusts his cuffs, and walks back off into the fray.

He greets and shakes hands, he takes photos and makes deals. It’s all a blur, really. He does it with half his attention, the other focused entirely on you. Amidst all this pomp and splendour an intriguing new mystery has been born. A puzzle to hold his attention, just for long enough till he gets to the next one. And your sudden shift in personality is more than enough. And if he focused on that, he could get through all this politics.

He’s talking up a chairman of a rival company when the lights go out. When the windows shatter inwards, his heart starts to race. And when familiar masked thugs break in through the wide open doors, guns up and ready, he’s already prepared for the fight. People start screaming, scrambling, and even more gunmen follow through the side exits. While guards raise their own firearms, everybody knows they’re completely outnumbered.

The Joker’s here, and he’s brought his army. Well, shit, all this excitement, and Tim left his suit upstairs. Guess he’ll have to improvise.

MASTERLIST - NEXT

#Series:WWW #yandere batfam #yandere x reader #yandere dc #yandere batfamily #dick grayson x reader #nightwing x reader #jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #tim drake x reader #red robin x reader #damian wayne x reader #robin x reader

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tarjapearce · 7 months

Text

Chapter 1: And So, Chaos Was Born.

Miguel O'Hara x Reader

WARNING: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. Smut, angst, emotional distress, mentions and graphic depictions of cheating, rough sex, one night stand, Protected sex, p in v, fingering, squirting, touch starved reader, mentions of fuck buddies, condom breaking, reckless and questionable behaviors, established relationships.

Summary: A momentary relief brings the worst possible of outcomes.

Pt. 2

reblogs, comments, tags are highly appreciated c:

Chapter's song:

Sparkling bubbles popped in the surface of the champagne cups as they were distributed among the attendants. A relatively formal retirement party.

A party that liked it or not required your presence in an attempt to make feel the retiring executive chairman appreciated and already missed, despite most having the slightest idea who the hell he was.

Just a few bunch knew him, but even so, many have their reasons to be at the party besides the RSVP deemed mandatory. Free food, alcohol, a collective ogling from the well dressed coworkers people had a crush on, leading to new gossips to keep boredom away and morale up within Alchemax's breadwinners.

Not so discreet looks at the administration's and Lab's secret crushes, more gossips and a night off preoccupations. Your reason? Getting all dolled up and wear for the first time a dress you always wanted but never had the occasion to wear.

A black silk bustier cut dress with spaghetti's straps and floral embroidery with matching and stylish spool heel sandals. Hair that was usually tied in a mid ponytail on reception, thanks to the borderline stupid corporative image code, was now free and blown out by a stylist.

A French girl makeup that only enhanced your features, drawing the attention towards your lips. Nails lacquered in a lovely shade of red that matched your alluring mouth. Along a black little purse to hold your personal items.

You looked different from the boring receptionist look you had mastered after Two years of working for Alchemax.

A couple of men had approached you through the night, but we're kindly declined. Part of your job had granted you the ability to remember faces quite well, hence a bit of knowledge about their position in the company.

One worked in the research department, the other one had invited you a cup and a talk, but he was known as The dirty Samson in the administration lands. Another one from HR and Security management.

It was odd. They'd probably pass you without noticing much difference if you were in the working mode. Sometimes you marvelled at how easily impressed men were with a bit of makeup and more effort. It was like if you were a completely new person. The HR guy had the nerve to ask you if you had been transferred. Earning the instant rejection buzz.

You downed what it seemed your third cup of sparkling liquor, and went to the entré bar. You didn't know who was the guy but were grateful he thought about leaving the big way, and his colleagues to splurge in him in delicious food that had you swooning. Specially some little empanadas, full with the right amount of spicy seasoning that made your mouth soar in delight.

You were about to grab the last one when a large and tan hand snatched it from the silver and fancy platter at the last second.

A bushy eyebrow quirked at you, a silent this is mine, get over it. With a huff you reached for the last crunchy guacamole cup when your fingers grazed not so kindly with his. By instinct you slapped his hand away but quickly turned horrified at your actions.

"I'm so so sorry... fuck." You covered your mouth and the man chuckled, amused at your nervousness.

What if he was from the higher ups? What if he got you fired for being so careless and uncouth? What if-

"Here, have it. They're bringing more anyways"

A tight knot coiled in your stomach as nervousness bloomed into anxiety.

"Thanks" Your dry mouth mumbled, his eyes remaining on you for a bit, seizing you while reaching for the food. Sadly, his face was the only one that didn't ring a bell on your memory, and you had seen and remembered a lot of faces through your working years.

You'd definitely remember sharp cheekbones, meaty and inviting lips, Mahogany eyes that would search within the deepest crack of your soul without trying much. A rare yet appealing color that screamed danger. Strong nose and a compelling demeanor that would scare anyone coward enough to flee from his presence.

And you were no coward.

The cherry ontop was his voice. Deep with a dash of mischievousness if you paid enough attention.

He held a cup of champagne on his left hand.

"The lobster spring rolls are good"

Mentally slapping yourself for a rather awkward approach, you grabbed a small paper cup of sweet chili sauce to go with the two aforementioned snacks in your plate.

He just looked at your hands, eyes trailing over the skin and soon, stopped at your chest. Lovely pair of mounds that would certainly fit into his hands.

He blinked the sudden thought away but it didn't help him watch you popping a small grape into your mouth.

Oddly enough he had been angry. Angry at the text messages and calls he had received a while ago, unleashing a new level of meanness within his heart.

He hated being belittled and the passive aggressive back handed texts did not help him. He needed to replenish before setting his plan in motion. Part of him knew it was wrong what his mind had conspired, but his current situation had decided it was enough. He could only take so much before lashing out.

The anger had to be let out one way or another. And you happened to set his imaginary idea bulb alight. His jaw clenched.

He hadn't seen you before, to him you'd probably be another outside guest that would have no business in returning to the company. Someone who would be forgotten in a span of a night. Another one in his long forgotten and hidden list of conquers.

You downed the fourth cup of champagne and ate, balancing the alcohol ingest.

"What's your name?"

The words came out of his mouth like butter. In other circumstances he'd be repulsed by his own behavior, but the brewing anger had to be unleashed one way or another, or things would turn even more acrid within his mind.

Your eyes widened a bit at the question. Naturally you gave him your name and he nodded.

"Miguel. Nice to meet you."

He offered his right hand and you took it. His engulfing yours with ease.

"Are you having fun?"

"I'm just here for the food if I'm honest" You chuckled and cleared your throat, hoping the lack of flirting over the past six months wouldn't seep in through and ruin the possible chance ahead of you.

"Uh, what about you?"

"Not a party guy. But one in a while won't hurt."

"Cheers to that" Your cups clinked.

His eyes scanned the area. People were either scattered in the main salon area, or were outside in the balconies, in their own world not really looking his way or yours.

Good.

"Do you know by chance whose the guy that's leaving?" His chuckle only widened your smile.

"Not really."

Lies. Miguel perfectly knew him, He was the chairman of the Lab Department, and if he worked hard enough, he'd be the old man's replacement soon. He even had a new project proposal he had been assembling the past months and hopefully that would kickstart his road ahead.

You on the other hand, had been looking into a more administrative position, trying to upgrade the current status of a simple receptionist. You definitely needed a raise.

"I mean, if this is being served at his retiring, can't help but wonder what they will do in his funeral."

Miguel couldn't help but genuinely laugh at your comment. You smiled again and gulped.

"I haven't seen your face around here." mumbling you set your eyes on him again, he smirked.

"Same thing. Would've remembered those pretty lips. Preciosa"

He didn't need to explain what that meant since it caused the right effect on you. The kind of effect that would have your skin flushed, and a chill running down your spine. Oh the petty in him was running rampant and there was none to stop him.

"Well, speak for yourself."

"You think I have pretty lips?"

It was disgusting to him how easy he could slip into this old mask he had dropped many years ago. Nearly scary at how natural he still seemed in the arts of flirting.

"The prettiest I've seen so far." You mumbled an octave lower.

But you didn't slack. You were persevering, he gave you that. If only the rest of his colleagues had that, it'd make his job easier. You were pretty. Really pretty, and he was being a resented ass that knew how to indulge.

"I was supposed to say that, sweetheart."

Be it the alcohol, or your sudden raging hormones that sparked a little fire within that he kept feeding with his words, or the lack of sex for the past half year that got you extra bold tonight. It was your night.

"Pretty sure they'd look better on mines."

His brow quirked as your eyes gazed at each other's. Biting your plump and red lips was enough for him make his resolve.

"Wanna try out that theory?"

He put the food and cup down and offered your hand. Once more his morals reminded him of the consequences. But he pushed them back, like everything that made little to keep his mind busy and focused.

You took it, letting him guide you to another milieu of the building. A more secluded area. HR's bathrooms. Not the kind of setting that you had imagined, but given the working areas being closed for the night, neither of you could be picky.

Plus none would take their time to walk this much to relieve themselves. You had an itch and he would scratch it.

A new sense of thrill invaded you as he took you to one bathroom stall. Once the door was locked, Meaty and plump lips landed on yours while he cornered you against the wall. Purse dangled on your shoulder

Red lips limned sin. A sin that he was tainted with the more you both devoured each other.

His hands roamed your romantic body lines, and pulled you impossibly closer to his, but the bathroom was proving to be a nuisance.

He groaned as he separated from you and opened the stall, looking outside for a moment.

"Come" He pulled you out the caged place to get into the special needs one. It was definitely roomier, kinkier even if he knew how to make the most out of the space. The lovely smell of jasmine and floral undertones the area was doused in, helped your senses relax, coaxing you even more into his lips.

His tongue swirled yours, while his hands trapped your head in the ravaging kiss. One of his thighs positioned between your legs, and pushed against your flesh, earning a mewl. Purse long forgotten on the floor.

Seizing the chance he lured your tongue out and sucked it softly, your hips humped his thigh. He smirked into the kiss as his hands slid down your neck and stop at your shoulders. The thin straps of your dress were slid down, the area cupping your breast next.

He pulled out from the kiss and stared down at you. Lust and something darker looming over his eyes. His cologne tickled your senses, and your skin crawled when he pushed you against the wall once more and his tongue skimmed over your neck.

Your senses under attack only urged him to release your breast. Breast that looked as delicious as he had imagined. Perky nipples met his hungry gaze, mouth trailed over the valley between them and suckled over the left one.

Gasping, you held onto the horizontal metallic bar next to you, grounding at the building up sensations. A whimper filtered through your throat as his other hand played and tweaked softly at your lonely breast. His mouth turned on pleasuring both, to then squeeze them together, trying to fit both in his mouth.

"F-Fuck-" Your face turned a bright red as he pulled one softly between his teeth, to then give a deep suck that had you groaning. He released you with a wet pop, nipple glistening with his saliva. A little hickey underneath the nub.

A discreet way of marking you.

His fingers ventured over your back zipper releasing your body from the lavish dress. He picked it up and hooked it on the little contraption attached to the door, preventing it to soil down, despite the place's apparent immaculate state.

And what he saw underneath got his pants tighter at his groin. Your panties only accentuated the dip of your curves as generous hips called him in. Luring him to be lost between them.

He removed his suit and placed it ontop of your dress, sleeves rolled up his elbows, revealing strong and well worked forearms.

Your hands pulled him by the belt buckle and he chucked but quickly gasped as you undid the thing and slid a hand in his pants and caressed his clothed cock. Eyes widening at the sheer size.

"Uh uh, don't back up now, princess."

His tone sending shivers down your spine. You squeezed.

"I'm not." Alcohol made you stupid. And bold. That's why you were a social drinker. You pulled his pants as low as you managed to.

Your hand fumbled with his boxers for a second before taking a hold of his erection. Husky breath fanned on your face as you pumped him with one hand and the other pulled the cotton undergarment down his sculpted thighs.

"Faster, cariño-" He groaned at your pace increasing, " J-Justo así. Dios que rico..." (Just like that. God... that so good)

He mumbled in between raged breaths, one of his hands slid in your panties, fingers dipping between your moist folds. Caressing and rubbing as much flesh as they managed to meet, until he made contact with your clit. You whimpered and your pumping faltered. He slid your panties off your legs.

"No no, keep going" It was hard to please him when you were crumbling upon the ministrations he provided. Your hole slurped one of his fingers, trapping him inside. Erratic as your handjob was, it provided him enough urge to plunge another finger in, stretching bit by bit your tight and now soaked hole.

Your face was blissful as his fingers curled and flexed inside. His phalanges contracting and prodding at the right spots that had you humping his hand, trying to get as much friction inside as possible.

His fingers drenched and your mewls turned into loud groans but he put a hand on your mouth, while he slid in and out with ease. Juices rolling down the back of his palm and pooling on his hand. He nearly laughed at the realization.

He hadn't even fucked you properly and you were already melting and gushing on his hand. And the tightness inside. God, he was gonna enjoy ruining you.

Your breath hitched as he wriggled his fingers deeper. Your hand kept giving him deep yet slow strokes, alternating between pumping and squeezing him.

His ears were full of a wet and sinful song. Your mewlings mixed with the sloshing noises your drenched cunt did pushed him to graze at that swelling and rubbery texture inside you that earned him a yelp. Your hand had long stopped and clung to his shirt, mouth ajar underneath his hand, trying to find the right sound to vocalize.

A muffled sob. Your eyes rolled back as your body convulsed and your pussy gushed. A satisfied smirk plastered over his handsome face while you came. Your arousal staining the floor in droplets.

You looked gorgeous, he had to admit. Flushed cheeks and neck, lust half lidded eyes that stared back at him, begging for more. Chin smeared in lipstick, that trembled with every deep pant you did. So so gorgeous.

"Condom" You breathed, "P-Put it on"

Clever girl. If it wasn't for your words he'd raw you. You amused him. Despite your lust blown mind, you still managed to think coherently.

He reached for his wallet and pulled out one. His phone buzzed with many texts surpassing the twenty. But he put it on plane mode and quickly resumed his revenge. The latex ring was rolled down his shaft, fitting snug and perfectly built at his size.

He cupped your quivering and soaked thighs and sat you on the metallic bar you were holding onto. His mouth busied with yours and his hand guided his engorged tip towards your aching and awaiting flesh.

Miguel bit your lip at the brain splitting sensation your warm and tight pussy provided. Your legs spreaded as wide as they could to take him in completely.

"Dios mío..." He rasped as he pushed in to the brim, your thighs resting on his forearms while your spine rested against the wall. Your jaw clenched at the fullness you were experiencing. Pain and pleasure came in hand in hand. It didn't help he had sheathed in as you were still riding your high.

"You okay, cariño?" A weak nod. His forehead rested against yours, letting to adjust at his stretching and invading cock. With a roll of his hips he pushed all air away from your lungs.

A hand squeezed his shoulder as the other covered your mouth, preventing from being too loud.

"Good girl" He praised and his hips moved again, keeping a steady pace.

"M-Miguel" You whimpered and writhed, "Wait, wait-"

He chuckled and kissed your neck, helping your discomfort to leave your body. But in truth, you were cumming again. Your legs went around him and clamped tightly. Shallow and erratic breaths flew out your mouth as you came by taking in his cock. Body licked with fire.

"Jesus, babe." He held your thighs tighter as they trembled, "Been a while, huh?"

You nodded and he cooed. A high pitched whimper echoed through the walls and he immediately shut you up with his hand again.

"You gotta tone it down, ok?"

You nodded and kissed him desperately. And it was enough spark for him to move inside. Deep and slow strokes were delivered while he clawed at your ass.

Every stretch increased in pleasure while the discomfort subsided. Never in your life had met someone this big. He got your mind made a puddle. A puddle he enjoyed playing with.

His voice whispered the sweetest and filthiest things his mind could come up with. Noting how you reacted at the filth he plowed in deeper. Your cervix was bullied.

"Harder" barely a whisper

"What was that?" He stopped and you whined

"H-Harder"

He tittered, "You're barely holding it together sweetheart, want me to ruin your pretty pussy? Hm?"

You nodded and urged your hips closer to him.

"Can't say no to that face."

His grip tightened on your ass, his hips accommodated in a different angle and sheathed in once more. Feeling yourself full made your toes curl in again.

He didn't give you time to fully grasp your reality as an onslaught of thrusts were pounded into your squelching hole.

Your spine arched while his hands handled you like a ragdoll on his cock. The only remaining garment on your body were the heels.

Where was he when you needed a new fuck buddy? It didn't matter.

Not when he was punishing your cunt and bullying your cervix in a way none had made you feel before. It was addictive. Ass bounced on his hands with every toe curling thrust.

He left you insides empty with every pull he gave, only to be filled again. And again and again. He had warned you, but you didn't listen. And now you were enjoying and suffering the consequences.

His hot breath fanned over your neck, as much as he wanted to leave you marked as his despite just being a one night stand, he couldn't leave traces.

He didn't know if you had someone. Neither care. All he cared for was that he was getting his anger out and you were enjoying it. You liked it rough.

He stilled and dropped your legs on the floor, the sudden action caused a slit in the condom, he knew he had to stop and change it, but you felt too good and your insides begged to be ruined. You were too cock drunk to notice. He just turned you around and hoisted one of your thighs up, opening you like a book.

He buried in with a swift motion and resumed his relentless thrust, leaving you breathless again. Your hands held tightly on the bar as he pounded on your needy cunt.

The constant slap had your whole frame shaking, even your head, that tried hard to keep inside the sanity line. But this angle provided him not only the perfect spot for him to stimulate both, but a deeper and meaner reaching within.

His chest was filled with pride at every time you gasped, panted, moaned, begged and wailed his name. Unlike her.

By God he was angry. Angry at the belittling words of him not being man enough to keep with stupid antics.

You sobbed as your frame shook with such force it was mind shattering. His hands held such a grip on yours he was glad you had that dress to cover up the bruises.

How dared she? How Dana could say such things when he was making this beautiful stranger he met minutes ago so blissful and happy? How could she say she was left unsatisfied when he was giving it all to you? Wetness didn't lie. And you had not only squirted, but kept him drenched and welcomed and asked no questions.

A perfect subject.

You didn't care. Too focused on trying to not go deranged at the pleasure you've certainly been lacking. Your insides twitched. You looked even better than her when fucked out. Sounded even, unlike the annoying quiet moans Dana gave him, making him feel unsure of his performance in bed.

He slapped your ass, a red mark blooming on your right supple cheek.

Dana hated being manhandled too roughly. But you loved it, encouraged it even. He didn't know who to blame to get to this point. Himself for letting things to run deeper until they turned into this wretched anger, or Dana for getting used to his temper and approach him once things were calm enough.

Feeding this harmful behavior just for the sake of not letting him go. Sometimes happy moments with her weren't enough for him, but he was too comfortable to just go and start meeting new people. He wasn't one for social mingling, but tolerated the whim enough to get him some favors among administration.

If it wasn't for the fact that he was cheating out of spite, he'd definitely ask your number for a round two.

You came with the most delicious sound he had ever heard, igniting his own peak.

He emptied inside you with an angry growl. Thick blobs of his cum spilling into the condom. He threw his head back and relished at the release. Anger finally subsiding.

He let your thigh go and pulled out. A few droplets had escaped through the now broken condom. Rolling his eyes he discarded it and cleaned himself up. His fingers wiping the leaking cum off your flushed cunt .

"You still with me, preciosa?"

You landed on the floor with an oof. And laughed. He cradled you in his arms with a chuckle. Your Bambi legs trying to get a hold of themselves as you stood.

"That was..." You shook your head with a laugh, "Too bad I didn't met you six months ago."

He smirked and wiped the sweat off his forehead and body, trying to tone down his tussled looks. You reached for your panties and soon got dressed.

In truth, six months ago he was on the beach, having an impromptu vacation with Dana, celebrating on of her achievements.

His hands reached for your zipper once he saw you struggling with it.

"Thanks."

The long forgotten purse on the ground was picked up, your hands reached for the item you were looking for. You handed him a couple of makeup remover towelettes.

"Gracias." He mumbled as he left the stall. You followed only to giggle at your reflection. All the money invested at the stylist, gone.

Chin flushed by the smeared lipstick, mascara had ran out, just like the eyeliner. Frizzy hair, and flushed out cheeks.

Each of you cleaned up, wiping away the immorality of what just happened. Bit by bit, you started to look the way you were an hour ago. The tussled hair only added a little more appeal to your looks.

"Sure you can walk?"

You sighed, "It's kinda uncomfortable to walk after months without sex. But yeah."

You corrected your eyeshadow and then took the lipstick.

"God take his time but surely never forgets"

Again, he laughed softly. Maybe he should ask for your phone. The screen however was alight in his phone and he exhaled, annoyed.

"Thanks... Miguel right? That was amazing."

The last chivalry act of him was to take your hand and kiss the back of your palm.

"Thank you, hermosa. Have a good night."

He left.

As you gave an approving look in the mirror and mentally congratulated yourself for such feat, Miguel had left the building.

You were home with a wide smile, unaware of the ruse you were dragged in.

Monday came and you went into working mode. Receiving the guests and other executives with a smile was part of your job.

The Cinderella illusion had vanished, leaving you with a new expectation no man could fill. Thighs rubbed together at the memory.

Your evening was spent between organizing files, receiving calls, giving information to people, arranging meetings, and dispatching the couriers.

You had just received a package, the name Dana D'Angelo etched on the delivery tag. Thirty minutes more and you'd be able to go home. Hands fixed your ponytail for the third time.

Your fingers typed in the information as you scheduled the meetings, when a brunette with a short bob approached.

"Hi. By any chance a package with the name of D'Angelo came in?"

Her smile was disarming, she had the cool pretty and rich girl aura irradiating from her. The kind of aura that would make people stare her way while entering a room.

"Yup! Just got it actually." You rose from your seat to fetch the package. A little wedding magazines bundle and some information pamphlets regarding venues and other wedding relating procedures.

"There you go. Sign here, please." You pointed at the space as her hand slid the pencil on the paper. Penmanship impeccable as you noticed an engagement ring on her left hand. Shiny and perfectly snugged in her finger.

Lucky girl.

Your smile stretched at the thought. Of course pretty girls like her had a wonderful looking man as a future husband.

" Dana, cariño. Hurry"

The familiar voice made you snap your head up at the man. Much to your horror Miguel stood before you, a golden band on his ring finger, matching Dana's.

Throat dried and soured, like if you had been forced to swallow a tall glass of ashes. Heart thumped so violently you had to clutch your chest for a second as your eyes locked on eachother.

His eyes widened to then narrow upon recognizing you. A subtle scowl twitched on his upper lip.

Realization hit both harder than a car crash, so sudden, unexpected, and terrifying. Unmistakably he was the same man that had gave you the most toe curling fuck of your life, the same man that didn't wear his ring while plowing into you in a bathroom stall after a few minutes of flirting.

The same man that frowned your way after Dana got her package. Piercing eyes seized you. There were no longer lust, but apprehension and mistrust in them. Neither of you needed words to understand the devastating consequences that would unfold if your little dirty secret came into light.

Homewrecker

The thought made you pale. You had fucked an engaged man. You had been lured and used by an engaged man. You were part of a lie the brunette wasn't even aware of. And right now you wished to be as blissfully ignorant as she was. Unaware of your role in this back stabbing and heart wrenching lie.

No no no!

Dana walked ahead and Miguel followed. Nausea rising to your throat, your stomach clenched in such way upon witnessing them kissing and move towards the entrance.

How could he? No, no. How could you?

Slut

His hand wrapping her smaller shoulders in a loving embrace while he shot a contempt and skin crawling glare your way.

A Shutup and don't get in my way look.

If only the earth could swallow and spit you out elsewhere far far away. A silent threat. A threat that you weren't sure of keeping to yourself. So many questions flooded your brain at once.

Like a miriad of voices were urging you to do the right thing and spare the woman the heartache of discovering it on her own, damned be the consequences. But his eyes and the promise within them made your racing thoughts to stop. He was a different person from the one you met and he didn't need words to make his point clear.

Keep your mouth shut.

Whore

Another man got in your peripheral as he greeted you. A visitor. Head spun, voices so loud you considered in yelling them to stop.

Instead, you forced a strained and nervous smile upon the visitor that approached you.

"Welcome to Alchemax. What can I do for you?"

You'll burn.

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mostlysignssomeportents · 1 year

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Kickstarting the Red Team Blues audiobook, which Amazon won't sell (read by Wil Wheaton!)

Red Team Blues is my next novel, a post-cyberpunk anti-finance finance thriller; it’s a major title for my publishers Tor Books and Head of Zeus, and it’s swept the trade press with starred reviews all ‘round. Despite all that, Audible will not sell the audiobook. In fact, Audible won’t sell any of my audiobooks. Instead, I have to independently produce them and sell them through Kickstarter:

https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/doctorow/red-team-blues-another-audiobook-that-amazon-wont-sell

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/2023/03/21/anti-finance-finance-thriller/#marty-hench

Audible is Amazon’s monopoly audiobook platform. It has a death-grip on the audiobook market, commanding more than 90% of genre audiobook sales, and every single one of those audiobooks is sold with Amazon’s DRM on it. That means that you can’t break up with Amazon without throwing away those audiobooks. Under the 1998 Digital Millennium Copyright Act, I can’t give you a tool to convert my own copyrighted audiobooks to a non-Amazon format. Doing so is a felony carrying a five year prison sentence and a $500,000 fine for an act that in no way infringes anyone’s copyright! Indeed, merely infringing copyright is much less illegal than removing Amazon’s mandatory DRM from my own books!

I’ve got amazing publishers who support my crusade against DRM, but they’re not charities. If they can’t sell my audiobooks on the platform that represents 90% of the market, they’re not going to make audio editions at all. Instead, I make my own audiobooks, using brilliant voice actors like Amber Benson and @neil-gaiman, and I sell them everywhere except Audible.

Doing this isn’t cheap: I’m paying for an incredible studio (Skyboat Media), a world-class director (Gabrielle de Cuir), top-notch sound editing and mastering, and, of course, killer narrators. And while indie audiobook platforms like Libro.fm and downpour.com are amazing, the brutal fees extracted by Apple and Google on app sales means that users have to jump through a thousand hoops to shop with indie stores. Most audiobook listeners don’t even know that these stores exist: if a title isn’t available on Audible, they assume no audiobook exists.

That’s where Kickstarter comes in: twice now, I’ve crowdfunded presales of my audiobooks through KS, and these campaigns were astoundingly successful, smashing records and selling thousands of audiobooks. These campaigns didn’t just pay my bills (especially during lockdown, when our household income plunged), but they also showed other authors that it was possible to evade Amazon’s monopoly chokepoint and sell books that aren’t sticky-traps for Audible’s walled garden/prison:

https://www.publishersweekly.com/pw/by-topic/columns-and-blogs/cory-doctorow/article/90282-we-wrote-a-book-about-why-audible-won-t-sell-our-book-and-snuck-it-onto-audible.html

And today, I’m launching the Kickstarter for Red Team Blues, and even by the standards of my previous efforts, I think this one’s gonna be incredible.

https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/doctorow/red-team-blues-another-audiobook-that-amazon-wont-sell

For starters, there’s the narrator: @wilwheaton, whose work on my previous books is outstanding, hands-down my favorite (don’t tell my other narrators! They’re great too!):

https://wilwheaton.net/

Beyond Wil’s narration, there’s the subject matter. The hero of Red Team Blues is a hard-charging forensic accountant who’s untangled every Silicon Valley finance scam since he fell in love with spreadsheets as as a MIT freshman, dropped out, got his CPA ticket, and moved west. Now, at the age of 67, Marty Hench is ready to retire, but a dear old friend — a legendary cryptographer — drags him back for one last job — locating the stolen keys to the backdoor he foolishly hid in a cryptocurrency that’s worth more than a billion dollars.

That’s the starting gun for a “grabby next-Tuesday thriller” that sees Marty in between three-letter agencies and international crime syndicates, all of whom view digital technology as a carrier medium for scams, violence and predation. Marty’s final adventure involves dodgy banks, crooked crypto, and complicit officials in a fallen paradise where computers’ libertory promise has been sucked dry by billionaire vampires.

It’s a pretty contemporary story, in other words.

I wrote this one before SVB, before Sam Bankman0Fried and FTX — just like I wrote Little Brother before Snowden’s revelations. It’s not that I’m prescient — fortune-telling is a fatalist’s delusion — it’s that these phenomena are just the most spectacular, most recent examples in a long string of ghastly and increasingly dire scandals.

Red Team Blues blasted out of my fingertips in six weeks flat, during lockdown, when technology was simultaneously a lifeline, connecting us to one another during our enforced isolation; and a tool of predatory control, as bossware turned our “work from home” into “live at work.”

The last time I wrote a book that quickly, it was Little Brother, and, as with Little Brother, Red Team Blues is a way of working out my own anxieties and hopes for technology on the page, in story.

These books tap into a nerve. I knew I had something special in my hands when, the night after I finished the first draft, I rolled over at 2AM to find my wife sitting up in bed, reading.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“I had to find out how it ended,” she answered.

The next day, my editor sent me a four-line email:

That. Was. A! Fucking! Ride! Whoa!

Within a week, he’d bought Red Team Blues…and two sequels. I finished writing the second of these on Monday, and all three are coming out in the next 22 months. It’s gonna be a wild ride.

Kickstarter backers can get the usual goodies: DRM-free audiobooks and ebooks, hardcovers (including signed and personalized copies), and three very special, very limited-run goodies.

First, there’s naming rights for characters in the sequels — I’m selling three of these; they’re a form of cheap (or at least, reasonably priced) literary immortality for you or a loved one. The sequels are a lot of fun — they go in reverse chronology, and the next one is The Bezzle, out in Feb 2024, a book about prison-tech scams, crooked LA County Sheriff’s Deputy gangs, and real-estate scumbags turned techbros.

The third book is Picks and Shovels (Jan 2025), and it’s Marty’s first adventure after he comes west to San Francisco and ends up working for the bad guys, an affinity scam PC company called “Three Wise Men” that’s run by a Mormon bishop, a Catholic priest and an orthodox rabbi who fleece their faithful with proprietary, underpowered computers and peripherals, and front for some very bad, very violent money-men.

Next, there’s three Marty Hench short story commissions: the Hench stories are machines for turning opaque finance scams into technothrillers. While finance bros use MEGO (“my eyes glaze over”) as a weapon to bore their marks into submission, I use the same performative complexity as the engines of taut detective stories. Commissioning a Hench story lets you turn your favorite MEGO scam into a science fiction story, which I’ll then shop to fiction websites (every story I’ve written for the past 20 years has sold, though in the event that one of these doesn’t, I’ll put it up under a CC license).

Finally, there’s a super-ultra-limited deluxe hardcover edition — and I do mean limited, just four copies! These leather-bound editions have Will Staehle’s fantastic graphic motif embossed in their covers, and the type design legend John D Berry is laying out the pages so that there’s space for a hidden cavity. Nestled in that cavity is a hand-bound early draft edition of The Bezzle, the sequel to Red Team Blues. The binding is being done by the fantastic book-artist John DeMerritt. Each copy’s endpapers will feature a custom cryptographic puzzle created especially for it by the cryptographer Bruce Schneier.

I often hear from readers who want to thank me for the work I do, from the free podcast I’ve put out since 2006 to the free, CC BY columns I’ve written for Pluralistic for the past three years. There is no better way to thank me than to back this Kickstarter and encourage your friends to do the same:

https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/doctorow/red-team-blues-another-audiobook-that-amazon-wont-sell

Preselling a ton of audiobooks, ebooks, and print books is a huge boost to the book on its launch — incomparable, really. Invaluable.

What’s more, helping me find a viable way to produce popular, widely heard audiobooks without submitting to Amazon’s DRM lock-in sets an example for other creators and publishers: we have a hell of a collective action problem to solve, but if we could coordinate a response to Audible demanding the right to decide whether our work should have their DRM, it would force Audible to treat all of us — creators, publishers and listeners — more fairly.

I’ll be heading out on tour to the US, Canada, the UK and Germany once the book is out. I’m really looking forward to as many backers in person as I can! Thank you for your support over these many long years — and for your support on this Kickstarter.

Today (Mar 22), I’m doing a remote talk for the Institute for the Future’s “Changing the Register” series.

[Image ID: A graphic showing a phone playing the Red Team Blues audiobok, along with a quote from Booklist, 'Jam-packed with cutting-edge ideas about cybersecurity and crypto. Another winner from an sf wizard.']

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