#margaret bookstore

[xshrimpcake]

my nearl x platinum AU compendium

[reallyunluckyrunaway]

I just thought this was cute.

[without-ado]

In the end, we will all become stories. —Margaret Atwood

[haveyoureadthistransbook]

The Lamb Will Slaughter the Lion by Margaret Killjoy

goodreads

Danielle Cain is a queer punk rock traveller, jaded from a decade on the road. Searching for clues about her best friend’s mysterious and sudden suicide, she ventures to the squatter, utopian town of Freedom, Iowa. All is not well in Freedom, however: things went awry after the town’s residents summoned a protector spirit to serve as their judge and executioner.

Danielle shows up in time to witness the spirit—a blood-red, three-antlered deer—begin to turn on its summoners. Danielle and her new friends have to act fast if they’re going to save the town—or get out alive.

Mod opinion: I haven't read it yet, but only because I'm waiting for my local bookstore to deliver it to me.

[professionalintrovert]

What I need is perspective. The illusion of depth, created by a frame, the arrangement of shapes on a flat surface. Perspective is necessary. Otherwise there are only two dimensions. Otherwise you live with your face squashed up against a wall, everything a huge foreground, of details, close-ups, hairs, the weave of the bedsheet, the molecules of the face. Your own skin like a map, a diagram of futility, criscrossed with tiny roads that lead nowhere. Otherwise you live in the moment. Which is not where I want to be.

Margaret Atwood ✍🏻

[johnschneiderblog]

We’re not alone in our loneliness

I’ve done maybe a dozen bookstore book-signings. They included some of the longest, loneliest  hours I’ve spent on this earth,

A memorable one happened in Ann Arbor, shortly after “Waiting for Home” was published, in 1998. Not a single customer showed up.

It wasn’t all that surprising. The only publicity the event got was a poster inside the store. I was fairly well known as a daily columnist in the Lansing area, but who knew me in Ann Arbor …?

One of the clerks at the store, no doubt feeling sorry for me, asked me to personalize a book for her. At the end of the month, when the unsold books came back to me, that book was among them.

i bring this up because Sharon and I were comparing book-signing nightmares the other day (she’s been out there with “It’s Hard Being You”) when she referred me to a story on the NPR website: “Famous writers open up about low turnout at their book signing events”

It happens to the famous, too. For example, Margaret Atwood (”The Handmaid's Tale”, etc.), joined the discussion with this Tweet: “Join the club. I did a signing to which Nobody came, except a guy who wanted to buy some Scotch tape and thought I was the help. :)”

You can read the NPR story by clicking on the photo.

[patticalkosz]

Pet-ty Book Review no. 7

Goodnight Moon, by Margaret Wise Brown, illustrated by Clement Hurd

reviewed by: Sweetie

“Human bought me this special edition of one of my favorite books. It even comes with a lovely art print! … Sometimes I suspect Human loves books and art almost as much as she loves me. ”

[lovebugism]

Hi! Could I pls request a Steve x shy!reader drabble? Maybe they’re a bit of a bookworm and they have a meet cute at a library or bookstore or something ☺️ I love your fics, and I hope you’re having a good day! 💛

i've been working on this wip for ages but i loved this request too much not to finish! thanks for being patient with me anon!

summary: steve hopeless romantic harrington meets shy!reader at a bookstore and fluffy awkwardness ensues (meet cute, strangers to lovers-ish, fluff, 2.1k)

fictober (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ)

Five hours go by like minutes, tucked away in the back of the library — your own little corner of the world. 

Because all your spare cash went to groceries and good food (and the newest Margaret Atwood novel just dropped), you hide in the back of the bookstore and get lost in the nostalgic earthy scent of the thick pages you’ve been waiting ages to read. 

You sit between the dystopian and gothic fiction aisles, back propped against the former with your knees folded to your chest, and speed-read as much as you can before closing.

The in-store café offers complimentary coffee and bagels. It’s lukewarm and a little cardboard-y, but it’s fuel nonetheless. You only get up once to use the bathroom and stretch your stiff limbs. Other than that very brief break, you’re relatively unbothered — until page 196, anyway.

“Where are the porno mags?” a male voice wonders from a few aisles down. It’s not the first voice you’ve heard all day, but it’s certainly the closest.

A feminine voice follows, nearer now. “There’s no porn, dingus. I was just saying that so you’d drive me here.”

“…That’s so fucked up.”

“You’ll get over it.”

“No, actually. I won’t. This might be the end of our friendship, now that I think about it.”

Their conversation draws closer and closer to you in time with their nearing footsteps. You figure they must be looking for a different section — certainly not the one you’ve had to yourself all day — but then they turn the corner of the aisle and stop short when they find you sitting there.

“Oh,” a pretty girl hums as she stares down at you, rouge mouth forming a softly pouted ‘o’ shape. 

Her hair is a sandy color, like a beach, and it’s chopped at her shoulders. She wears a pair of slacks and suspenders over an oversized button-up. She looks like a character from a book you wish you could write. 

She smiles down at you, a tad bit awkwardly. “Hello…”

“Shit— ” you curse, scrambling to get your legs out of the aisle. Your face burns as you bring your knees back to your chest. “I’m sorry.”

“No worries,” she shrugs and walks on by you. 

A pretty boy follows.

His hair is a really specific shade of brown — like chocolate syrup mixed with honey. It’s pushed back over his forehead, messy with intention. A few strands hang over his thick brows like they’re meant to be there. He’s got a layer of scruff on his chiseled jaw that’s a shade lighter than his actual hair. 

His wide eyes are a similar chocolate-syrup-honey color.

He’s almost annoyingly pretty. The kind of pretty that seems unfair.

“Don’t apologize to her,” the pretty boy jokes with a lopsided smile. “She’s a total bully.”

The pretty girl interjects. “Don’t listen to him. He’s an idiot. And stop bothering her, dingus— she’s obviously trying to read.”

You breathe out an awkward laugh through your nose. 

You don’t want them to think you’re actually annoyed, but you don’t have the words to tell them that. You have no idea what to say to them, actually. They’re obviously far cooler than you are, and the notion almost threatens you.

The pretty boy doesn’t follow his pretty friend. He lets her roam the aisle, obviously in search of something, and leans against the gothic fiction section across from you.

“So, uh… What are you reading?” he asks.

You don’t trust your voice to answer him verbally, lest the words get stuck in your throat and make you sound like Kermit the Frog. You flash him the dystopic, renaissance painting-esque cover with a tightlipped smile.

“Handmaid’s Tale,” he reads with a squint, then nods. “Sounds fun.”

“It’s not,” the pretty girl scoffs. She thumbs through her own copy of the book that she plucked from the shelf. “It’s the one I was telling you about on the way over.”

The pretty boy’s face screws up in disgust. “Oh. The one with gross men?”

“The one with the gross men.”

He turns back to you, looking apologetic. “Sorry, I take it back. Not fun.”

You smile wordlessly in response.

“He’s Steve, by the way,” the pretty girl says to you, nodding to the pretty boy. “I figured if he’s gonna keep weirdly hovering over you, you should probably know his name—”

“I’m not hovering!”

“—You can call him dingus if you want. I’m Robin.”

“Hi,” you greet, quiet and mousy.

“Do you come around here often?” the boy — Steve — wonders, bushy brows pinched and burly arms crossed over his chest. “I feel like I’ve seen you before—”

“Ugh. Stop flirting with her.”

“I’m asking a question!”

You purse your lips to the side in attempts to hide your smile and your gaze back to your book. 

They argue like a married couple. You wonder how long they’ve been together — six months or six years?

“Sorry about him. He’s not usually this annoying,” Robin quips with a playful twinkle in her deep ocean eye. She slams the book closed with a ringed handand walks back towards you. She pushes Steve ahead and away from you in the process. “Alright, I got the goods. Let’s go before they close.”

Your eyes widen as you look down at your wrist. 

Ten minutes until eight o’clock. 

You turn to the book once more and find that you’re about a hundred pages shy from the end of it. You tend to read like a maniac if you’re focused enough, but there’s no way you’re finishing it before closing.

“Shit…”

“You okay?” Steve asks, still lingering at the very end of the aisle, though Robin has already left for check-out.

You rise and straighten out your clothes — the very un-special sweatshirt and baggy jeans duo you’d changed into after work. It’s not unlike the navy blue henley and similarly colored denim he’s got on, but you don’t look nearly as pretty as he does.

“Yeah,” you shrug, not quite meeting his gaze as you return the book that feels like it only fits in your hands. “I just— I didn’t realize how late it was.”

You don’t expect to see Steve looking so concerned when you turn back to him. His brows are furrowed, honey eyes glinting in question. “You’re not getting it? You looked like you were almost done.”

“Oh, I don’t— I can’t…” you stammer then trail off, fidgeting awkwardly ahead of him. 

You don’t want this pretty boy’s first impression of you to be that you’re completely and utterly broke. Even if this is the last you ever see of him, you’ll only be remembered as that one girl from the bookstore who couldn’t buy herself anything. 

“I figured I could just come buy tomorrow and finish it…”

“Oh. Okay. Well, it was… it was nice meeting you, then.”

“You, too,” you murmur with a tightlipped smile, eager to get away from a moment you don’t feel very deserving of. 

Out of every girl this pretty boy could’ve chosen, why did it have to be the one in the very back of the bookstore who was too poor to get anything other than a free coffee and bagel? 

You chuck both in the bin as you head towards the exit.

The sun has almost finished setting when you leave — mostly disappeared over the skyline, but painting the sky a deep lavender shade unique to the twilight hour. You stand at the crosswalk — the man on the speaker shouting “wait!” at your side — as you anticipate the orange hand across the street to turn into a white stick figure.

“I told you she’d still be here,” a familiar voice sounds from a few paces behind you, mostly drowned out by the sounds of passing cars. A louder “hey!” follows. You only think the voice might be calling for you until it comes closer. 

“Hey!” It comes again, louder now.

You look over your shoulder and find Steve from the Bookstore striding towards you. 

Both happy and confused to see him, your wavering smile is paired with a pair of furrowed brows. “Hey…”

“Sorry, you just— you left this.”

When your eyes manage to flit away from his sculpted face — which you just noticed looks eerily similar to Michelangelo’s David — you find that he’s holding a book in his hands. Handmaid’s Tale. The same copy you were reading, dog-eared just like you left it.

Your contorted features never falter. “I didn’t…” you trail off with the shake of your head, laughing softly. “I didn’t buy that.”

“No, I know,” Steve shrugs with a crooked grin. “I did.”

You think he might be implying he bought it for you, but then you realize that’s crazy, because why would he do that for you? That’s the sort of thing that happens to girls in Brontë novels, not to you.

“Youdid?” you echo like an idiot because it’s all you can think to say.

“Yeah. ‘Cause, you know, you looked pretty interested in it and everything…”

“But you didn’t have to… You didn’t have to buy it for me—”

“It’s not a big deal. Seriously. I mean, it’ll save you the extra trip down here tomorrow, right?”

You meet his confident grin with a trembling one. “I can’t take it…”

“Well, if you don’t take it, that means I have to keep it, and—”

“He’s pretty much illiterate,” Robin calls from a little ways behind him.

She’s waiting by a pretty maroon car. It looks like a luxury model of some kind, shiny like it’s fresh off the lot. She leans against it like it’s hers, but Steve’s got the keys in his hand — the one not holding the book he bought for you.

“…I was gonna say I haven’t read anything since junior year of high school, but sure,” he concedes with a shrug. His eyes sparkle down at you— or maybe it’s just the street lamps flickering on. Either way, you feel your stomach whirling. He waves the book at you. “Take it. You’ll actually read it.”

“But…” you trail off, eyes flickering over to Robin. You step closer to Steve and lean in like you’re about to tell him a secret. “Won’t your girlfriend be upset?”

“Girlfriend?” the boy repeats with pinched brows. He goes soft with realization a second later, then starts to laugh. “No. Robin, she’s— No. She’s not really my type.”

“Oh. Shit. Sorry,” you stammer with wide eyes. 

If cool, pretty girls aren’t his type, then there’s no way in hell you are. 

Slightly comforted by his assurances, when he motions the book to you again, you take it. 

“Well, thank you, Steve. That’s… That’s really nice.”

He shrugs again. “’S no big deal. Really.”

“But I feel a little bad,” you confess quietly, peeking at him from beneath your lashes while you fidget with the book in your anxious hands. “I feel like I should give you something in return, or, I don’t know, like—”

“You don’t have to do anything,” Steve assures with the shake of his head. He swipes a hand through the chocolate-honey locks and flashes you a smile that borders on shy. “But if you wanted to go out for coffee or something sometime, then I’d be willing to call it even.”

Your cheeks burn. You don’t know if you’re breathing anymore, or if you even can. A quiet smile quirks at the corner of your mouth as you nod. “Coffee sounds good,” you answer sheepishly.

“Cool,” Steve replies coolly, like he isn’t totally beaming down at you. “Then, just… call me whenever you’re free.”

“Oh, I don’t— I don’t have your number.”

His sneakers scuff against the sidewalk as he walks backwards to his car. He just nods at you, smiling gently as he argues, “Yeah, you do.”

Your brows furrow in confusion — because you most certainly don’t. He was a stranger to you a little more than ten minutes ago. You have no reason to have his number. 

Realization settles over you like pinpricks down your spine, butterflies in your belly. 

You open the front cover of the book and find several numbers written down at the very bottom of the cover page.

Call me when you finish, the note reads in half-legible chicken scratch. I’m not really a book guy, but I could probably hear you talk about them all day.

He signs off with his name, number, and a sloppy smiley face. 

You don’t realize you’re beaming until you already are. 

When you look back up at Steve, you find him standing at the open driver’s side door, already smiling back at you.

[mrsrdlw]

You Belong With Me

wc: 2.9 (i got excited lol)

warnings: angst/conform!; eddie!xfem!bestfriend!; there is a smutty scene but nothing too serious; depreciation and low self esteem; friends to lovers!- they’re just obsessed with each other

tell me if i’m missing something!

a/n: Hi guys, i’ve been off for a while, a little longer than expected, but i needed to organize some stuff from my personal life. Anyways, i wrote this, of course is not super original, but i’ve been with this ideia of using songs, this one in particular, to write stories. As a source of inspiration. I hope you like it! <3

You and Eddie have been friends for a long time, longer than it seems, and he has always been there for you. When your mother yelled at you for some reason and you got upset or for when you needed money and he helped you, even though he didn’t had any and you knew it, he help you anyway or when you graduated and he was held back but he got happy for you and even took you out on a fancy dinner, to celebrate. He was always by your side and you were always by his.

There was kind of a rule between the two of you, if one of you gets sad or mad about anything is an obligation to call the other. Honestly it was just another reason to see each other. And today, well, you can tell it was not your happiest day ever. You were fired from this job you got five months ago in a bookstore because they couldn't pay the rent and the place went bankrupt. You were so happy with this job, genuinely, but you guessed that wasn’t enough.

So you didn’t waisted a minute and immediately called Eddie, it was a super emergency meeting that you wanted to spent all your money (the money that was left over) in ice cream. But he didn’t answer. You tried one, two, three times, but there was no answer. So, instead of trying a fourth time, you headed straight to the trailer park, a place which the way you already knew by heart.

It was already dark when you parked your car in front of his trailer and there was a red car, a BMW. That was odd. Eddie had a van that you were yet not sure how it was standing by itself and Wayne had a truck. You just ignored the car standing there and went to the door. As you got closer to the door, you could hear loud music coming from inside, to be more specific it was “Sex and Outrage” from Motörhead. You just ignored and got in, you knew that if you kept trying to call him from just knocking at the door, he wouldn’t listen. That’s probably why he didn’t answer the phone in first place.

So you walked down the little corridor to where his room was but stopped the second you heard a voice. A girl’s voice. And she wasn’t talking. You also heard his voice in the same tone as hers. You risked taking a look and there was the girl you had heard, on top of him bouncing up and down in the yellow lights of his room. Her hands squeezed and held his hand against her breasts. They both were moaning as if they were in a porn movie. You felt your eyes burning with tears. This girl was no stranger.

Margaret Fowler, or Maggie as everyone called her, was one of the most popular girls in your school. You weren’t in her class, she’s two years older than you and graduated before and yet people still talked about the most talented cheerleader and hot chick to walk through those corridors. To be with her was just a a fantasy, or at least it was what the boys said.

You couldn’t believe that she was there, naked and fucking your best friend. She opened her eyes and saw you standing there behind the little slit of the door like you were a perv watching them fuck. It didn’t took you long to run away before she could say something. You didn’t wait another second to start the car and get out of there as soon as possible. Tears started to fall from your eyes. When did that happen? You haven’t seen him in a week or so. How did Maggie end up there with him. It seemed like a lie, because most girls stayed with Eddie either to lose their virginity or to see what it was like to be with the freak. You hated yourself for thinking like that, but it was the truth, or at least it was what he told you. But you never understood how no one saw him the way you did. He had a charm, something that even you couldn’t explain. It was some sort of magnet that pulled you to him even though you didn’t want to.

But of course you never told him. How could you? The only person who knew was Robin. You had such a good relationship and how could he like you. Now it was all you could think about.

“Please, wake up, will you? Look at her. She has an amazing body, she was the cheer captain, popular and with beautiful hair and friends AND she’s older than you… and him. Most men like that, right?. And you… you wear t-shirts, you’re a bookworm, average non-interesting girl that on school games, were always on the bleachers waiting for your friend to play with her band.”

Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop……..

Without even realizing, you drove to Robin’s house and started to desperately knock at her door

***********

It only took you two 30 minutes to put on a stupid movie and open some ice cream pots. You cried more and explained everything to Robin.

“I should have just walked away, it would’ve saved me all these tears. I’m so fucking stupid. On my head, he belonged to me!” You said looking at her TV and putting the spoon in your mouth. “They really mean it Robin, when they used to say that she looked like an angel!”

Robin just mumbled “Believe me, i know…”

“And i feel really bad because i should be happy for him right? I mean, i’m his friend and… oh wait, what if they’re dating? Oh no, then we can’t be fri-”

“Y/N! STOP WITH THAT! I’ve heard you and i’m here for you but won’t stand listen to you go all crazy on your own assumptions, and i won’t stand neither of this treatment i’m seeing here. Do you see how bad are you talking about yourself? You are so much more than that! So please… why don’t we wait until this whole…. thing settle down and then we can talk about it, maybe go to Eddie’s and see what is actually happening?”

In the moment she stopped talking you heard someone knocking at the door.

“Oh fuck! Oh shit it’s him, i can feel it!”

“Calm down woman. You stay here, i’ll go check.”

You shrunk on the couch as you waited for her to answer the door.

“Thank god! Hey Robin, is she… is she here?” You heard a very familiar voice coming from behind you. So he knew that you were there, great! Just awesome!

“Look Eddie, do you know what day is today?” I could see the face she was making and i had to hold my laugh. Eddie stayed quiet. “Today is my sacred day! Full of mundane activities such as watching movies and eating a lot of ice cream and not giving a damn about the world outside and now, with this kind of unexpected visit of yours, you are interrupting my peace so if you please just… go. That would be great! I’m not being rude, it’s just the day, remember.” Robin was closing the door, i could hear it squeaking, but then there was a stomp. “Eddie… if you want to talk to her, why don’t you go to her house?”

“What, do you think i’m fucking stupid? i tried to call her, but she didn’t answer the phone then i drove there and kept knocking at the door for minutes but nobody was home so i came here, hoping to find her and now, for your behavior, you just turned yourself in. So please, i really really have to talk to her.” He spoke with no pauses, all just rushed. You had to really pay attention to understand every single word.

“Where is this girlfriend of yours? I mean, that’s none of my business but, how come you were having sex with like, the most popular girl we know?” Robin changed the subject in a not so natural way. You mentally thanked her for trying to help you.

“She is not my girlfriend! This was casual fuck.” He yelled at her, but then he got himself back together. “Not that i need to explain myself but we were playing at the Hideout and she was there on the crowd. I was surprised to see her there. As far as i knew, she was just one of the many boring popular kids in school that only got popular because she looked twice her age. But she started to hit on me and i was miserable, ok! I just needed to forget everything. And you know how it is, i don’t have a long list full of girls that wants to be with me. So i just acted easy and… well.” I could see his face now. He was ashamed, with those big puppy eyes.

“Can you wait here?” It took her a couple of seconds to absorb everything he said and to speak again. He probably just nodded because i heard the door close.

“You have GOT to go there! Come on, go talk to him.” She yelled-whispered to me

“Robin, i can’t, not now.” I said getting up speaking in the same tone

“Why not?”

“If i see his face, i don’t think i can take it, i’m too weak now, i’ll just fall into his charm again! I need to be well enough so i won’t ruin everything.” You know that if you walked past that door, in this moment of weakness, you would cry your eyes out again and you would beg him to be with you. In short, you would just humiliate yourself.

“Nonsense! You go there and face it. It’s right there outside, you can’t runway from that man which is by the way your best friend. Honestly, i know that you got sad but, that man is Eddie. You know how he is, he would never do those things that you were saying.” Of course you were being dramatic, it was easier to just start assuming things than actually having to face them.

You just nodded and walked to the door. With a very fake bravery, you opened the door once more. There he was, all anxious, grumpy and smoking a cigarette. You always find it funny this little pout he puts on.

“Hi sweetheart… can we talk, please?” His words came out softly from his lips, contrasting with the way he was talking to Robin, and he threw the cigarette away.

You just nodded and closed the door. He was analyzing your swollen red eyes and as if it would protect you, you cross your arms.

“I’m sorry that i ran away like that, i didn’t mean to ruin your night or to concern you but i just didn’t think it would be good if i stayed, you know? And i had a very shitty day and…” The breeze of the night hits your face and you feel lines under your eyes getting colder than the rest of your body. Great, you were crying again! “I just really needed a friend and i was completely wrong to invade your house like that, i’m really sorry for that too, i just heard loud music and i thought that you were there practicing or whatever. I just… sorry Eddie.” You could hold anymore and you broke into tears again.

He was listening very carefully and didn’t waist a second before giving you a hug, a very tight and gentle hug. You started to ground yourself in his arms.

“I’m not going to force you, but would you like to tell me why was your day so bad?” He said still hugging you.

“I got fired, it’s a long story but the bookstore is closing and i was going to yours so we could call the night you know?…” He hummed and caressed your hair. “And you know the rest.”

“I’m sorry i wasn’t there for you. I was also going to call the night but then… i think you heard it too?” It was your time to hum and you broke the hug.

“Look, i’m just going to say it, because i’m holding it back since i realized and i think if you’re smart enough, you’re going to connect the dots anyhow so… i think it’s better just to tell you.” He was still close to you, looking at your eyes anxious. “I like you Eddie, i really do! Not in this cute little friend way, i’m not talking about that. I’m talking about complaining to Robin and Steve every time you hook up with a girl because i know they don’t know you like i do, they don’t get you humor, your music and what is means to you, your friends and the club, and a whole different part of your life that only i know. I keep telling them ‘you guys don’t understand what i’m talking about, but i’m telling you, he belongs with me!’. You belong to me and not some other random girl who is not interested in the Eddie that i know. And i get even more angry after realizing that even knowing you enough, I wouldn’t be enough to be with you.” At this point, i just seemed like a foolish spoiled girl, but i didn’t care anymore, i needed to say everything, all those words. “I know i don’t sound completely sane right now but it is exactly how i feel. And i didn’t want to ruin everything by telling you just so you could open my eyes that i was being delusional and we could never be together.”

He just stood there, without saying a word. You just took deep breaths hoping he wouldn’t think you were too crazy.

“First of all, you heard that i said i was miserable right? That i just accepted Margaret, not because she is Margaret, but because a she was a girl who wanted to do something with me?” You just nodded your head too scared of what would be the next words coming out of his mouth. “Sweetheart i was miserable because Steve talked to me earlier, he said that you wouldn’t stop talking about some guy, and how your eyes would be in heart shape every time you looked at him. And even though i bugged him to tell me who it was he didn’t. I went crazy! I wanted to know why were you into some guy who was probably everything that i was not. I felt like shit, i just took advantage of her. I know it’s not right but i just needed someone who could fuck my thoughts out of me and she was there. Believe me, that moment you saw us, she was not on my head at all.”

You were in shock. You didn’t say anything, you probably couldn’t even blink. Was he really declaring himself back to you?

“And second of all, why lady, why did you think that you were not good enough to be with me? Is very amusing, i’m not gonna lie, the fact that you think that i am good enough for anything.” You were about to interrupt him but he was faster, he just spoke louder than you. “You don’t have the right to tell me what to think of a girl, if she is good enough or not. I decide that, and believe it or not when i tell you that i was the one thinking that i wasn’t good enough for you.”

He caught you by surprise! You didn’t expect to be scolded like that. You didn’t have words to describe what you were feeling and, probably, neither did he. You just kept looking at each other not knowing what to do next.

“We’re really stupid, you know…” You said and he giggled. That sound made you smile. You felt lighter with that.

“What now? What are we going to do?” He said putting his hands in his pockets.

You just wanted to do something so this weird vibe was gone. So you hugged him. It took seconds before he hugged you back. It was even better than the first one.

“Sorry that i turned this into a huge confusion…” You said in a barely above a whisper

“Only if you forgive me too.”

You separated a little just so you could see his face. You didn’t say anything, just leaned into a gentle kiss which he fully accepted. His soft lips met yours and you could feel butterflies flying in your stomach. His hands that once were in your waist came up to your neck. His big hands grabbing and pulling you closer to him. Your hands also traveled and they stopped right on his chest. You could feel his heartbeats and they were faster than ever. That only made you smile into the kiss. Like it was contagious, he smiled too and with that you just separated your lips and leaned your foreheads.

“You guys i NEED to go there and hug you both, so pleeeeease tell me i can just go there!” Robin said. anxious. Of course she was listening to everything.

You and Eddie laughed and called her to come out. After talking about this whole misunderstanding between you two, Robin invited him to have a night with you girls, only this time, it wasn’t about bad events but to commemorate!

[floridaboiler]

Richard, (my husband), never really talked a lot about his time in Vietnam, other than he had been shot by a sniper. However, he had a rather grainy, 8 x 10 black and white photo he had taken at a USO show of Ann Margret with Bob Hope in the background that was one of his treasures.

A few years ago, Ann Margaret was doing a book signing at a local bookstore. Richard wanted to see if he could get her to Sign the treasured photo so he arrived at the bookstore at 12 o'clock for the 7:30 signing.

When I got there after work, the line went all the way around the bookstore, circled the parking lot, and disappeared behind a parking garage. Before her appearance, bookstore employees announced that she would sign only her book and no memorabilia would be permitted.

Richard was disappointed, but wanted to show her the photo and let her know how much those shows meant to lonely GI's so far from home. Ann Margaret came out looking as beautiful as ever and, as second in line, it was soon Richard's turn.

He presented the book for her signature and then took out the photo. When he did, there were many shouts from the employees that she would not sign it. Richard said,

“I understand. I just wanted her to see it."

She took one look at the photo, tears welled up in her eyes and she said,

"This is one of my gentlemen from Vietnam and I most certainly will sign his photo. I know what these men did for their country and I always have time for 'my gentlemen.''

With that, she pulled Richard across the table and planted a big kiss on him. She then made quite a to-do about the bravery of the young men she met over the years, how much she admired them, and how much she appreciated them. There weren't too many dry eyes among those close enough to hear. She then posed for pictures and acted as if he were the only one there.

That night was a turning point for him. He walked a little straighter and, for the first time in years, was proud to have been a Vet. I'll never forget Ann Margaret for her graciousness and how much that small act of kindness meant to my husband.

Later at dinner, Richard was very quiet. When I asked if he'd like to talk about it, my big, strong husband broke down in tears.

“That's the first time anyone ever thanked me for my time in the Army,'' he said.

I now make it a point to say 'Thank you' to every person I come across who served in our Armed Forces. Freedom does not come cheap and I am grateful for all those who have served their country.

If you'd like to pass on this story, feel free to do so. Perhaps it will help others to become aware of how important it is to acknowledge the contribution our service people make.

~ Original Author Unknown .

[mostly-mundane-atla]

Inupiaq Books

This post was inspired by learning about and daydreaming about visiting Birchbark Books, a Native-owned bookstore in Minneapolis, so there will be some links to buy the books they have on this list.

Starting Things Off with Two Inupiaq Poets

Joan Naviyuk Kane, whose available collections include:

Hyperboreal

Black Milk Carbon

The Cormorant Hunter's Wife

She also wrote Dark Traffic, but this site doesn't seem to carry any copies

Dg Nanouk Okpik, whose available collections include

Blood Snow

Corpse Whale

Fictionalized Accounts of Historical Events

A Line of Driftwood: the Ada Blackjack Story by Diane Glancy, also available at Birchwood Books, is a fictionalized account of Ada Blackjack's experience surviving the explorers she was working with on Wrangel Island, based on historical records and Blackjack's own diary.

Goodbye, My Island by Rie Muñoz is a historical fiction aimed at younger readers with little knowledge of the Inupiat about a little girl living on King Island. Reads a lot like an American Girl book in case anyone wants to relive that nostalgia

Blessing's Bead by Debby Dahl Edwardson is a Young Adult historical fiction novel about hardships faced by two generations of girls in the same family, 70 years apart. One reviewer pointed out that the second part of the book, set in the 1980s, is written in Village English, so that might be a new experience for some of you

Photography

Menadelook: and Inupiaq Teacher's Photographs of Alaska Village Life, 1907-1932 edited by Eileen Norbert is, exactly as the title suggests, a collection of documentary photographs depicting village life in early 20th century Alaska.

Nuvuk, the Northernmost: Altered Land, Altered Lives in Barrow, Alaska by David James Inulak Lume is another collection of documentary photographs published in 2013, with a focus on the wildlife and negative effects of climate change

Guidebooks (i only found one specifically Inupiaq)

Plants That We Eat/Nauriat Niģiñaqtuat: from the Traditional Wisdom of Iñupiat Elders of Northwest Alaska by Anore Jones is a guide to Alaskan vegetation that in Inupiat have subsisted on for generations upon generations with info on how to identify them and how they were traditionally used.

Anthropology

Kuuvangmiut Subsistence: Traditional Eskimo Life in the Latter Twentieth Century by Douglas B. Anderson et al details traditional lifestyles and subsistance customs of the Kobuk River Inupiat

Life at the Swift Water Place: Northwest Alaska at the Threshold of European Contact by Douglas D. Anderson and Wanni W. Anderson: a multidisciplinary study of a specific Kobuk River group, the Amilgaqtau Yaagmiut, at the very beginning of European and Asian trade.

Upside Down: Seasons Among the Nunamiut by Margaret B. Blackman is a collection of essays reflecting on almost 20 years of anthropological fieldwork focused on the Nunamiut of Anuktuvuk Pass: the traditional culture and the adaption to new technology.

Nonfiction

Firecracker Boys: H-Bombs, Inupiat Eskimos, and the Roots of the Environmental Movement by Dan O'Neill is about Project Chariot. In an attempt to find peaceful uses of wartime technology, Edward Teller planned to drop six nukes on the Inupiaq village of Point Hope, officially to build a harbor but it can't be ignored that the US government wanted to know the effects radiation had on humans and animals. The scope is wider than the Inupiat people involved and their resistance to the project, but as it is no small part of this lesser discussed moment of history, it only feels right to include this

Fifty Miles From Tomorrow: a Memoir of Alaska and the Real People by William L. Iģģiaģruk Hensley is an autobiography following the author's tradition upbringing, pursuit of an education, and his part in the Alaska Native Settlement Claims Act, where he and other Alaska Native activists had to teach themselves United States Law to best lobby the government for land and financial compensation as reparations for colonization.

Sadie Bower Neakok: An Iñupiaq Woman by Margaret B. Blackman is a biography of the titular Sadie Bower Neakok, a beloved public figure of Utqiagvik, former Barrow. Neakok grew up one of ten children of an Inupiaq woman named Asianggataq, and the first white settler to live in Utqiagvik/Barrow, Charles Bower. She used the out-of-state college education she received to aid her community as a teacher, a wellfare worker, and advocate who won the right for Native languages to be used in court when defendants couldn't speak English, and more.

Folktales and Oral Histories

Folktales of the Riverine and Costal Iñupiat/Unipchallu Uqaqtuallu Kuungmiuñļu Taģiuģmiuñļu edited by Wanni W. Anderson and Ruth Tatqaviñ Sampson, transcribed by Angeline Ipiiļik Newlin and translated by Michael Qakiq Atorak is a collection of eleven Inupiaq folktales in English and the original Inupiaq.

The Dall Sheep Dinner Guest: Iñupiaq Narratives of Northwest Alaska by Wanni W. Anderson is a collection of Kobuk River Inupiaq folktales and oral histories collected from Inupiat storytellers and accompanied by Anderson's own essays explaining cultural context. Unlike the other two collections of traditional stories mentioned on this list, this one is only written in English.

Ugiuvangmiut Quliapyuit/King Island Tales: Eskimo Historu and Legends from Bering Strait compiled and edited by Lawrence D. Kaplan, collected by Gertrude Analoak, Margaret Seeganna, and Mary Alexander, and translated and transcribed by Gertrude Analoak and Margaret Seeganna is another collection of folktales and oral history. Focusing on the Ugiuvangmiut, this one also contains introductions to provide cultural context and stories written in both english and the original Inupiaq.

The Winter Walk by Loretta Outwater Cox is an oral history about a pregnant widow journeying home with her two children having to survive the harsh winter the entire way. This is often recommended with a similar book detailing Athabascan survival called Two Old Women.

Dictionaries and Language Books

Iñupiat Eskimo Dictionary by Donald H. Webster and Wilfred Zibell, with illustrations by Thelma A. Webster, is an older Inupiaq to English dictionary. It predates the standardization of Inupiaq spelling, uses some outdated and even offensive language that was considered correct at the time of its publication, and the free pdf provided by UAF seems to be missing some pages. In spite of this it is still a useful resource. The words are organized by subject matter rather than alphabetically, each entry indicating if it's specific to any one dialect, and the illustrations are quite charming.

Let's Learn Eskimo by Donald H. Webster with illustrations by Thelma A. Webster makes a great companion to the Iñupiat Eskimo Dictionary, going over grammar and sentence structure rather than translations. The tables of pronouns are especially helpful in my opinion.

Ilisaqativut.org also has some helpful tools and materials and recommendations for learning the Inupiat language with links to buy physical books, download free pdfs, and look through searchable online versions

[johnwickb1tsch]

18 👀 I’m curious to see if there’s any scenes that didn’t make the cut in one of your fics?

Oh man, that's a good question Scoob! Usually I manage to jimmy things i write in SOMEWHERE, but this is the only scene I could think of in my scrap pile that I'm absolutely sure I'm going a different direction after banging my head on the table about it. This was fun but way too tame for what the story requires. It's from the Constantine x femVampire!Reader fic. Reader is feeling sorry for herself because Constantine is ghosting her AGAIN, when she meets a mysterious stranger... I know you can guess who it is. 🤣🤣

The Girl Next Door - Deleted Scene

You do your best not to think about John Constantine–and fail at it most of the time. You find that the blood of evil doers nourishes your body, but does not really satisfy. What you really crave, like the most filling meal, and the most delectable dessert, is a 6’1” drink of sardonic demon hunter.

You do wonder why. Things had seemed fine, when you parted ways just before dawn. He’d kissed you with a tenderness that tied up your heart, his big hand dwarfing the side of your face, holding you like you were something precious to him. 

The memory just twists the knife a little more to the left. 

You continue to feel that presence, that omnipresent seething energy, that sensation that you are being watched. But it never shows itself, so you do your best to be vigilant, and continue to go about your business. 

You are delighted one night when you find a bookstore/cafe open late. Shopping has become hit or miss, with your new nocturnal hours. You can order things, of course, but it’s certainly not the same. 

The old hippy at the register offers you a smile before going back to his dog eared copy of Invalids Home From Hot Climates. The place smells like coffee, and books, and you feel like you might have stumbled through the gates of your own personal little heaven. 

Aren’t you supposed to burst into flames or something?

Thinking that maybe catching up on your reading will help get you out of your funk, you start to wander the stacks, pulling titles that interest you. Classics you’ve always meant to read, but never really had the time. Sylvia Plath, D.H. Lawrence, Virginia Woolf and John Steinbeck, James Joyce, Octavia Butler, Margaret Atwood, Herman Melville, and Agatha Christie all pile up in your hands. 

On the highest shelf, Anais Nin catches your eye. You reach for it on tiptoe fruitlessly, balancing your stack of books in your other hand. It is way over your head. You could jump for it without spilling your bookish burden–but you know it would not look human to the few other people milling around the shelves and curled up in the comfy reading nooks. 

A long arm reaches over you, plucking out the book, and only then are you aware of a solid presence looming behind you. No one has managed to sneak up on you like this since the night of your undeath. Unnerved, you whirl, putting your back to the stacks. Only narrowly do you manage not to bare your fangs like a startled kitten in this public venue. 

You find a tall man dressed all in black standing very close to you, his arm still raised with the book dwarfed in his big hand. His angular face is accented by a short beard; longish raven hair brushes his collar. Dark eyes fix on you curiously; the weight of his gaze almost makes you squirm. “Saw you struggling,” he explains simply in a deep baritone, offering you the cloth-bound tome. 

You find you cannot look away from those bewitching dark eyes, almost as though you’ve been hypnotized. It’s more than the fact that he is panty-drenchingly handsome–there is something mesmerizing about him, and you’re not sure if his power is sinister or simply…profound.

Almost absently, you accept the book, adding it to your stack balanced in your hand. 

He looks at your copious selections with a smirk. “Someone’s been eating her wheaties.” 

You realize it probably does look odd, for a woman of your size to be toting around such a load one-handed. You make a show of clutching your stack to your front with both hands, feeling ridiculously shy as a school-girl, as though the barrier of old books might provide some protection from this stranger’s charm. 

 “Just…catching up on some reading.” 

He offers the slightest smile for that, not showing teeth, and you cannot tell if he is flirting with you, or sizing you up. There is something odd about his energy. Human, and yet…heavier. His aura is like a thundercloud, and you’re not sure if you are intrigued, or afraid. He’s just this side of being in your space, and a part of you wants to ask him to back up–a part of you really doesn’t.  

“Have some time on your hands?”

“Something like that.” 

He nods, and makes no indication that he intends to move, his attention fixed fully down upon you. 

He gets the honor of being the only man, aside from John Constantine, who has made you feel even a little nervous since you turned. You’re not sure you like him very much for it. 

“What did you find?” you ask, hoping to break the tension, pointing at a little green book in his other hand. It looks old, older than any of your selections. 

“Robinson Crusoe.” 

“Looks like it's seen better days,” you observe with a sad pout, sorry to see a book in disrepair. 

“I’m going to fix it,” he tells you, the first hint of warmth entering his expression. 

“Oh?”

“It’s a hobby of mine.”

Like this man couldn’t get any hotter. 

He smirks at you, like you said it aloud. 

For some stupid reason, you start to blush. 

“Can I…buy you a coffee?”

“Why?” you blurt, mortified the moment it leaves your mouth. 

His smirk widens to a smile, and he seems to struggle with himself, trying not to show his teeth. 

“Just thought you have a nice stack,” he answers utterly deadpan, and you are dumbfounded as those eyes that seemed like black holes moments before sparkle. 

“Um…thanks for the offer…” 

He takes a step closer, and then he is crowding you against the shelf, his broad body dwarfing yours. Something about his presence makes you forget that you’re a vampire, and you could rip out his spine with your bare hands if you wanted to. He makes you feel small, and a little vulnerable, and fuck you if you don’t kind of like it. 

“You don’t drink coffee?” he fishes, and you feel like the two of you are speaking in code, but only he has the key. 

“It’s not my favorite,” you admit, resisting the urge to tack on anymore. 

“What do you like to drink?”

As though on cue, the spiced scent of his cologne and his skin makes its way to your nostrils; and beneath that, what you are sure would be a heady taste of his lifeblood. If you didn’t know any better…you would think he was baiting you with vampire pheromones, or something. The wave of longing that hits you is intense, and you have to close your eyes and lean back from him. You take a deep breath–which does not help. You feel like you’re paralyzed, and when you open your eyes you find he is leaning over you with an arm on the shelf again, nearly nose to nose with you. 

You try twice for your voice, and it will only come as a whisper. “Please don’t.”

Don’t what, you don’t even know, but something is weighing on you and you feel like you can’t move.

You flinch as he reaches up to touch you, the tips of his fingers resting on your throat, just above your surprisingly pounding pulse. His eyes settle on your mouth, before rising to meet yours, and you are both hopeful and terrified this strange, captivating man is going to kiss you. 

He speaks, though it doesn’t really break the spell. 

“Be seeing you, vampling.”  

With wide eyes and utter shock you watch him stride away from you–and my god, what a glorious view. Long powerful legs, and an utterly biteable rear end. There is a pause in which you presume he pays for his book, before the bell over the door chimes, and he exits onto the street.

You stand where he left you for a good half hour, re-learning how to command your limbs, and maybe, your brain. 

[brooke121000]

.• the tortured poets department •.

Spencer Reid x bau!user

Part 3

fluff, idiots in love, early seasons Spence, awkward romance, eventual smut double posted on Wattpad and ao3!! Highly recommend checking it out on Wattpad as updates might come faster.

Before i knew it, the weekend was here. How had it gone by so quickly? Days whizzed past by head like bullets, blurred together in the haze of this season's gloomy weather. At least the new addition to our team was keeping us all interested.

(y/n) was getting used to the team, and we were all getting used to her. She had a particular.. glow about her, that we could all definitely use amongst all the crime scene photos and murder victims. That's not to say that anybody else in the team is flawed, (y/n) just happens to be, in some implausible way, flawless.

Rain is always enjoyable, except when you're caught in it. On my long, tranquil walk to my favorite bookstore, I huffed at the feeling of droplets on my face, the cold wind biting at my features. Decidedly, it would take longer for me to turn back, so instead I picked up the pace of my feet, hands buried in the pockets of my coat as I rushed down the sidewalk.

I smiled in relief when I saw the bookstore's powder blue sign through the downpour. I swung through the open French doors, breathing in the familiar scent of aged paper and essential oils. Relaxing for a second, I nodded at the store employees polite "welcome in!" 

I assessed the rainfalls damage on my person, glad to see I had only become slightly damp on the rushed end of my walk. I smoothed my now moist hair as I walked in between the aisles. 

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I heard the bookstore employee's voice chirp a welcome as I perused my favorite aisle.

My fingertips traced over the books, feeling the textures as I quickly skimmed over the different titles, walking between the two shelves. A new Margaret Atwood release piqued my interest for a second, until I saw the price. I huffed and continued down the aisle.

Physically, I was in the book store. But my mind was somewhere else, floating down a figmental aisle, filled with the throes of my work life. I was still confused about me and Spencer. Not three days after we met he already requested to come to my apartment. Everything about him confused me. The way he looked at me, the way our hands brushed, the way he put his hands on mine while I reconfigured the typewriter. It was all.. perplexing.

I turned the corner, and immediately yelped in surprise, snapped back to reality in a second. A tall figure had crashed into me, jumping back slightly as I fell to the floor, colors flashing by my head. I watched in a split second as the floor came nearer to my head quicker than I could realize what was happening, and just before my face was about to crash into the carpet, I stalled.

A cold hand rested on my hip, another quickly coming up to grab my back and lift me up straight. I stumbled to my feet, and a wave of realization and relaxation washed over me as I was met with Spencer's worried face.

"Oh- oh my god, I'm so sorry-" I tripped over my words, the thread of panicked apologies coming up faster than I could reel it in. Before I could realize what I was saying, Spencer caught the thread, tying it into a neat bow and returning it with a simple-

"It's okay, (y/n)."

I took in a breath of relief. "Sorry- you're right." My eyes flickered down to the floor, where the books in my arms had fallen and splayed open on the carpet. I ducked down to pick them up. Much to my surprise, Spencer had gone to pick them up at the exact same time, and our faces met a mere inches from each other. My breath hitched as I scrambled for the books and quickly stood up, still not having shaken the air of his cologne swirling around my head like some sort of poisonous gas.

As soon as we had both gotten to our feet, Spencer ran his hands over his face. "Wha- what are you doing here?"

I tilted my head in confusion. The implication that I didn't belong here bothered me, only slightly. "What am I doing? This.. this is my bookstore." I said, circling a finger around to motion to the aisles.

Spencer raised his eyebrows. "What? This is.. my bookstore."

My lips fell apart in surprise, and I quickly started giggling. Spencer stood there, still mystified. He let a smile crack. "Um.. okay then. Can it be both our bookstores?"

I pursed my lips. "Maybe. I'm going to need some convincing."

He laughed a little. I eyed his frame.

"You're soaked." I laughed. He looked down, outstretching his arms. 

"Oh, yeah- I was ambushed."

"By.. precipitation?"

He nodded. "Absolutely. It's a scary world."

That made me laugh. My mind trailed off, and was suddenly snapped back to reality. I let out a little gasp. 

"Oh my gosh! I totally forgot- you left your typewriter at my apartment."

He smiled. "I noticed. I was missing its presence on my desk." He said, straightening out his rain soaked sleeves and smoothing his hair.

"Well, then.. I guess we'll just have to hang out again so you can reclaim it."

He tilted his head. "I.. guess so."

"Thursday. My place. 8:00. This is not optional." I said, feigning sureness.

"Thursday? That's an odd date." He chuckled a little, quirking an eyebrow.

"Thursday is my favorite day of the week. It also happens to be the only day I'm free."

"Duly noted."

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

When I next saw (y/n), I was expecting it to be awkward. Our little run-in at the bookstore, compared with the planned function in the future loomed over my head. I like to think I'm a level headed person, but something about that girl just makes me nervous.

It was.. different, seeing her in the bookstore. She looked a little more.. free. Maybe it was because she wasn't expecting anybody to be looking at her. But it's been two days, and the sight of her, cheeks flushed, hair messy with books spilling out from arms just.. lingers in my mind.

So, I expected awkwardness.

However, by some unexplainable miracle, everything was completely natural. 

I ambled through the glass doors, looking around the moody bullpen, my tired eyes landing on the familiar team and its new, shining addition. (y/n) filled the large room with cheerful talk and laughter, sat upon the desk in a too-big sweater, elbows balanced on the wood.

I fixed my cardigan, brushing a hand through my hair as I approached the joyful group. I was happily welcomed, to my surprise.

"Oh- Spencer!! There's my favorite nerd." Garcia chirped. 

I was standing directly to the side of (y/n), and it warmed me slightly when she rested her head on my shoulder in a show of affection. "G'morning, Spence."

I stalled for just a second at the nickname. I looked down at her. "..Spence?"

"Your name is too long."

I chuckled just a little. "You realize you're only forgoing one letter, right?"

"I'm a busy girl, I need all the milliseconds I can get."

Before I could even settle into the group setting, we were called in for a this cases briefing by a clearly tired Jason Gideon. The group pooled into the conference room, taking our spots around the round table and shuffling our files into place. My eyes flicked to (y/n), who was already comfortable, sitting with her legs crossed under each other on the seat, spinning her rings in one hand.

Later, in the jet, Morgan brazenly walked over to (y/n)'s seat and sat directly next to her.

They began having a hushed conversation, and I got the pleasure of watching her face burst into red in real time. (y/n) rose from her seat, stomping down the aisle and grabbing hold of my arm. Before I even knew what was happening, She pulled me into the front area of the cabin, away from intruding ears.

"What the hell did you tell Morgan?!" She whispered, her voice harsh.

"I- I don't understand."

"Please explain to me why Morgan just sat down next to me and started asking me if I'm sleeping with you!?"

I was dumbfounded. I stuttered out a response.

"I.. what? I don't.. I didn't tell him that, I can assure you."

"Well- he asked me what you were doing at my apartment."

I stood there, my jaw practically on the floor as I frantically thought for some sort of explanation.

"Oh! My god- I.. Garcia has my location. She must've assumed.."

(y/n) scowled, and immediately slapped me upside the head, ruffling my hair. The strike stung my skin only slightly, and I covered the offended cheek. "Wha.. hey..!"

"You are an idiot, Spencer Reid." (y/n) said. She was feigning anger, but I wasn't a stranger to the grin on her face.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

[godsfavdarling]

series

all of my works include adult content unless stated otherwise (my masterlist)

Velvet & Veils (set after season 13) - When burlesque dancers start disappearing in DC, the FBI steps in to assist the local police. At her club "Velvet Nights" before opening hours, Misty is asked to speak with the agents. With her friend missing and danger lurking, the investigation becomes personal. (wattpad, Ao3)

Why Don't You Come Over? (Spencelle Fanfiction) - There's always been more between Elle and Spencer. Will they be able to be honest with each other? (wattpad, Ao3)

I’m Such A Fool For You (set after season 15) - After nearly two decades with the FBI, Dr. Spencer Reid makes a career shift to teaching at Georgetown University. There, he shares an office with Dr. Brittany Reed, a sociologist. (wattpad, Ao3)

Keep Holding On (set between seasons 10-11, later 12-15) - Molly is an elementary school teacher with a simple, fulfilling life. Her romantic life, though, remains stagnant, lacking any signs of flourishing, as she faces continuous disappointments in her pursuit of love. However, a chance encounter with Spencer, a sweet and gentle genius, might just be the catalyst for a change in her romantic fortunes. (wattpad, Ao3)

Between The Pages (gn!reader) - You go to a bookstore to meet your favorite author, but you end up meeting someone else as well... (i'm still thinking if i should continue) sfw

Sweet Relief (set after season 2) - Margaret, a ballerina in Jacksonville, and Spencer, two individuals who have silently weathered their own storms. They find unexpected solace and sweet relief in their budding relationship. A tale of rediscovery and healing. i wanna rewrite it!

[powderblueblood]

Hiya hiya!! I am a massive fucking fan of your writing it is so stimulating for my little distracted brain. On the topic of hai I would LOVE to know more about Lacy's part-time gig at The Bookstore!!!! How often does she work there? Does Lacy get to set up displays and recommend books? Do Eddie or Ronnie ever hang out with Lacy there? (And subsequently does Ivana threaten to perma-ban them from The Bookstore for being so goddamn loud and distracting her best employee???) I am so fucking curious and would love to see it explored a little more 🧡

LEE!!!! thank you so much for your kind kind words and THANK YOU for giving me an excuse to touch upon one of my favorite little elements of the hellfire & ice universe-- THEE BOOKSTORE

i'll be the first to admit that i don't know a goddamn thing about the TARDIS but what i do know is that it's bigger on the inside. same logic applies to the bookstore. place is an intricate network of atriums and ventricles separated by bookcases that are so overstuffed, they seem like they're going to keel over like dominoes any second. it smells like warm and dust and it's always semi-dark in there, with lamps seemingly having sprung from the ground in the most strategic of places. wall sconces sprout from the woodwork, supported by dodgy, illegal wiring. you take your life in your hands any time you walk in there, essentially. but you'd never know it! because it's serene and it's peaceful until--

lacy starts working there. and for some reason, it seems that lacy, eddie, ronnie and chaos are a package deal. eddie and ronnie use the darkened corners of the bookstore to the full extent of their danger, playing endless games of 'who can scare lacy by hiding in the world history section' which has earned more than one heavy biography of ferdinand magellan being aimed at eddie munson's head.

one even made contact, and eddie insisted that lacy stand there holding an ice cream sandwich to his 'poor brutalized' head because he 'couldn't move his arms' due to the 'concussion'.

ivana, the owner, our beloved ivana, hates these kids. even if eddie is convinced that she's trying to take him as her next controversially young husband-- her fifth. ivana hates them, but never actually follows through on her threatened lifetime bans because ivana also occasionally drinks at the hideout.

a moment for ivana: ivana is so, so fucking cool. ivana used to sell fetish mags in brown paper bags back in the 50s. ivana once lived in new york, and according to legend, threw an olive at norman mailer (eddie: "who?" lacy: "don't worry about it") and it bounced off his head and into andy warhol's drink. ivana is approximately four hundred years old with a platinum blonde beehive, a list of lovers longer than mae west's, a voice like a cement truck and she will never die.

lacy wants to be exactly like her when she grows up-- only, not living in indiana, of course.

ivana has lacy on weekends and some evenings; basically, if her spidey sense tingles and she figures that girl could use something to do. lacy, inflicted with the pathological need to be the best at fucking everything, is a good worker and the best kind of salesperson a place like that could have.

which is to say that she's kind of snooty and derisive of people's pedestrian tastes. it oscillates from customers storming out to customers buying whatever she tells them to, in some misguided attempt to impress her.

precocious and pretentious eighteen year olds have this effect on people. many such cases.

one person it does not have any effect on is eddie munson.

he watches lacy put like, painstaking effort into her staff pick of the week! (she always fights for three) or her display of russian literature ranked by themes of romanticism v nihilism! (the brothers karamazov sits on the top of the display like an angel on a christmas tree)... and then he fucks with it. swaps out a room of one's own with are you there god? it's me, margaret, even if that does prompt lacy giving eddie a keynote speech on the importance of judy blume's forever.

"... and yeah, it's about as thrilling as a slice of wonderbread, but that book is probably why i'm on the pill."

this seems to give eddie pause. "... you're on the pill?"

"what's that look?"

"no, uh-- no, just. good. decision. smart, responsible decision-making. good to... know."

[revasserium]

the unofficial ultimate bungo stray dogs reading list

this is mainly for myself bc i rly do want to read most if not all of these and i'm sure it's already been done by someone somewhere. but, i thought why not post it lmao; most if not all of these can be found on anna's archive, z-library, or project gutenberg! (also, consider buying from your local bookstore!) for those that are a bit harder to find, i've included links, though some are from j-stor and would require login to access.

detective agency:

osamu dazai:

no longer human (novel)

the setting sun (novel)

nakajima atsushi:

the moon over the mountain: stories (short story collection)

light, wind and dreams (short story)

fukuzawa yukichi:

an encouragement of learning (17 volume collections of writings)

all the countries of the world, for children written in verse (textbook)

yosano akiko:

kimi shinitamou koto nakare (poem)

midaregami (poetry collection)

edogawa ranpo:

the boy detectives club (book series)

japanese tales of mystery and imagination (short story collection)

the early cases of akechi kogoro (novel)

kunikida doppo:

river mist and other stories (short story collection)

izumi kyouka:

demon lake (play)

spirits of another sort: the plays of izumi kyoka (play collection)

tanizaki junichirou:

the makioka sisters (novel)

the red roof and other stories (short story collection)

miyazawa kenji:

ame ni mo makezu; be not defeated by the rain (poem)

night on the galactic railroad (novel)

strong in the rain (poetry collection)

port mafia:

mori ougai:

vita sexualis (novel)

the dancing girl (novel)

nakahara chuuya:

poems of nakahara chuya (poetry collection)

akutagawa ryuunosuke:

rashoumon (short story)

the spider's thread (short story)

rashoumon and other stories (short story collection)

ozaki kyouyou:

the gold demon (novel)

higuchi ichiyou:

in the shade of spring leaves (biography and short stories)

hirotsu ryuurou:

falling camellia (novel)

tachihara michizou:

in mourning for the summer (poem)

midwinter momento (poem)

from the country of eight islands: an anthology of japanese poetry (poetry collection)

kajii motojirou:

lemon (short story)

yumeno kyuusaku:

dogra magra (novel)

oda sakunosuke:

flawless/immaculate (short story)

sakaguchi ango:

darakuron (essay)

the guild:

f. scott fitzgerald:

the great gatsby (novel)

the beautiful and the damned (novel)

edgar allen poe:

the raven (poem)

the black cat (short story)

the murders in the rue morgue (short story)

herman melville:

moby dick (novel)

h.p. lovecraft:

the call of cthulhu (short story)

the shadow out of time (novella)

john steinbeck:

the grapes of wrath (novel)

of mice and men (novel)

lucy maud montgomery:

anne of green gables (novel)

the blue castle (novel)

chronicles of avonlea (short story collection)

louisa may alcott:

little women (novel)

the brownie and the princess (short story collection)

margaret mitchell:

gone with the wind (novel)

mark twain:

the adventures of tom sawyer (novel)

adventures of huckleberry finn (novel)

nathaniel hawthorn:

the scarlet letter (novel)

rats in the house of the dead:

fyodor dostoevsky:

crime and punishment (novel)

the brothers karamozov (novel)

notes from the underground (short story collection)

alexander pushkin:

eugene onegin (novel)

a feast in time of plague (play)

ivan goncharov:

the precipice (novel)

oguri mushitarou:

the perfect crime (novel)

decay of the angel:

fukuchi ouchi:

the mirror lion, a spring diversion (kabuki play)

bram stoker:

dracula (novel)

dracula's guest and other weird stories (short story collection)

nikolai gogol:

the overcoat (short story)

dead souls (novel)

hunting dogs: (i must caveat here that the hunting dogs are named after much more comparatively obscure jpn writers/playwrights so i was unable to find a lot of the specific pieces actually mentioned; but i still wanted to include them on the list because well -- it wouldn't be a bsd list without them)

okura teruko:

gasp of the soul (short story; i wasn't able to find an english translation)

devil woman (short story)

jouno saigiku:

priceless tears (kabuki play; no translation but at least we have a summary)

suehiro tetchou:

setchuubai/a political novel: plum blossoms in snow (novel)

division for unusual powers:

taneda santouka:

the santoka: versions by scott watson (poetry collection)

tsujimura mizuki:

lonely castle in the mirror (novel)

yesterday's shadow tag (short story collection; i was unable to find a translation)

order of the clock tower:

agatha christie:

and then there were none (novel)

murder on the orient express (novel)

she is the best selling fiction writer of all time there's too much to list here

mimic:

andre gide:

strait is the gate (novel)

trascendents:

arthur rimbaud:

illuminations (poetry collection)

the drunken boat (poem)

a season in hell (prose poem)

johann von goethe:

faust

the sorrows of young werther

paul verlaine:

clair de lune (poem, yes it did inspire the debussy piece, yes)

poems under saturn (poetry collection)

victor hugo:

the hunchback of notre-dame (novel)

les miserables (novel)

william shakespeare:

romeo and juliet (play)

a midsummer nights' dream (play)

sonnets (poetry collection)

the seven traitors:

jules verne:

around the world in 80 days (novel)

journey to the center of the earth (novel)

twenty thousand leagues under the seas (novel)

other:

natsume souseki:

i am a cat (novel)

kokoro (novel)

botchan (novel)

h.g. wells:

the time machine (novella)

the invisible man (novel)

the war of the worlds (novel)

shibusawa tatsuhiko:

the travels of prince takaoka (novel; unable to find translation)

dr. mary wollstonecraft godwin shelley

frankenstein (novel)