#the book store

[maddie-dog-story-blog]

The Book Store

The familiar sound of the bell ringing as you entered the door along with the musty smell of books assaulted your senses as you stepped into your favorite book store. You couldn't help but smile as you were hit by the rush of nostalgia as you crossed the threshold into the cozy, little shop.

Each time you left the shop, you left with a new book, a new story, and, in a lot of ways, a new life.

You smiled at the shopkeeper, a lovely woman who had owned the store since you started coming here with your parents as a small child.

"Hello, Sweetie!" She called out cheerily, as you waved at her, "Can I help you with anything?"

"No," You say as you walk towards your favorite section, Romance, "Just browsing today."

You feel a strange tingling course through your body as you drew closer to the books decorated with steamy covers, a nod to the smut hidden inside. You didn't notice the shop owner standing behind you before you feel her hand on your shoulder as you reach for a particularly raunchy dark romance.

"And what do you think you're doing, Little One? I think these books are a bit too mature for you!"

You tried to protest as she dragged you away from the bookshelf, but suddenly felt something soft and rubbery filling your mouth, making it impossible for you to talk.

"Here we go, sweetie, these books are a little more your speed. Why don't you plop down on our magic carpet, and I'll find us a book to take us on a little adventure together?"

You wanted to protest that you were much too old to sit on the store's "Magic Reading Carpet," let alone be read to like a toddler. However, as the woman spoke, you felt your legs turn to jelly, causing you to sit on the carpet right where she indicated with a suddenly suspicious squishy feeling cushioning your uncoordinated fall.

Before you could assess your situation further, the store clerk came back with a copy of Green Eggs and Ham.

You tried to groan at the thought of being read such a childish book, but instead found yourself giggling around the rubbery object in your mouth as the women settled into the rocking chair on the carpet and began reading.

As the story progressed, you find yourself utterly entranced. You don't notice when you lean forward at start grunting, and remained oblivious to the horrid smell emanating from you the feeling of a lump growing under your bottom. You were fully absorbed in the story.

When the story ends, you foundd yourself suddenly wanting to cry. Tears start to fall unbidden to your cheeks as you softly lisp out, "More, more!"

The clerk smiled warmly as she closed the book and looked over your head.

"Oh, baby, that's all the stories you need for today," a cheerful voice rings out from behind you, "I think it's time to get you home though."

You turn to see a beautiful young woman walk up behind you, before she lifts you from the floor and into her arms with surprising ease.

You find yourself clutching her, almost as if out of well-worn habit, as she talks to the clerk.

"Thank you for the story! I think it's time I got my little monkey home though!" The new woman said as she carried you out of the store.

"Bye, bye!" The clerk said as bell on in the front door rang.

You waved feebly as you looked at the clerk over your new Mommy's shoulder, leaving the book store with yet another new life.

[waitineedaname]

I simply don't think that's true eBooks.com but thank you anyway

[inkskinned]

you know, you know. no gods, no masters, no kings on pedestals. everyone is fallible. death of the author. you know! you are balanced about your intake of media - you allow the wiggle room, the grace, the gratitude, the skepticism. nobody above criticism.

but still. a weird gut-punch feeling, something akin to betrayal. you read the article. surprise! an author you love is actually: a serial fucking predator.

well, shit. what now. no, you knew he was a person (all people are), but now you're wondering - what have i overlooked by accident? what messages have i internalized that are strange and cruel? and also, like, what the fuck?

his actions lay a thick glaze on top of everything. like each place is now ruined, opaque in a new way. but okay, fine, you've done this before. you knew better, right? you've been betrayed by many a cherished childhood author.

still, this stickiness. fuck. can you pick up that book again. will you read it to your children. you've recommended it to others - will you ever do that again? and of course, of course, no parasocial relationships. you were theoretically above this kind of sentiment. but the artist informs the art, right.

so it's not something as clear-cut as feeling he owed you, specifically (a stranger) better behavior - just that you kind of, in a distant and odd way... sort of trusted him to do better. it's not like a real trust or something speakable, just the faint hope that the product (good books) was a thin representation of the soul. now it feels like the product (good? books?) was a mask. in some small or insignificant way, your previous support of this person lent them power. your money and your time and your laughter.

and the thing is - you have this terrible, echoing sensation. how many times will this happen? over and over. you find out that the singer you love is actually a predator. you learn over drinks that your favorite high school english teacher is in jail for what he did to her. you listen to the news idly and suddenly discover that a woman you used to idolize has been abusing her kids for an actual eon.

what can you touch without the static melting off. you can't even really complain about it too much (you were supposed to know better, and besides, you don't want the same re-split "it's not your fault, love what you love" basic advice), but now it's here. somehow, it feels like - you let him into your life.

it's not that things need to be pure or an artist has to be like, endlessly perfect, mindful. demure. it's more just this terrible truth that has been replayed through your veins so often it feels criminally vain. power corrupts, absolute power corrupts absolutely. did you want any one person to be worth that power?

it's just that he wrote books where he seemed to understand that. he seemed to know about hierarchies and unfair systems and bigotry and privilege. you thought they were books about what it means to struggle. you thought they were about having power and still using it for good rather than for control. he spooned you a narrative of being a good guy, a kind soul. you fucking bought what that fucking monster sold.

maybe that's why they were fantasies, after all.

[prinnay]

Sunrise books, vinyl, cd, buy, sell, trade

[noxcheshire]

Back again with Danny being adopted by other batfam members.

But this time I thought of the absolute comedy of Damian, tiny squirt and five apples tall, deciding that he is now a father to a grown ass teenage Danny.

It was an accident and had never been his intention to adopt another being.

But it had been placed into Damian’s head that in order to be a potential Batman he had to have his own Robin. And the only way to have his own Robin was to have a child, similar to the way that Father would pick up the various children and teenagers amongst them.

Damain had a very specific list of requirements for his potential child-Robin. Danny did not meet any of those requirements, and yet here Damian was having forged papers for the now Daniel Al Ghul-Wayne, and beginning the treacherous affair of introducing his son to the family.

Danny twisted his new shirt sleeve with a frown. It was a nice green silk that complimented the little green that resided in his son’s eyes. Damian wished to bring out the many carefully crafted features of Danny that could match to Damian. Having his eyes pop, wild hair brushed and losing the battle to nervous hands, would have to do.

At least until Damian taught Danny his mother tongue and began the care of his culture and soon to be heritage.

[maruti-bitamin]

New mini artbook, Ocean's Bounty 🪼🦐🐙🐟🦀 Available now~

I will be at Mutual Art Fest at OCAD March 9-10th, and the books will be available there as well!

twitter/ insta/ store

[makingqueerhistory]

Anti-Fascist Queer Literature to Buy and Request from Your Library Today

All about Love: New Visions

Bell Hooks

Care Work: Dreaming Disability Justice

Leah Lakshmi Piepzna-Samarasinha

Liberated: The Radical Art and Life of Claude Cahun

Kaz Rowe

Dinner on Monster Island: Essays

Tania de Rozario

How to Read Now: Essays

Elaine Castillo

Your Art Will Save Your Life

Beth Pickens

How We Show Up: Reclaiming Family, Friendship, and Community

Mia Birdsong

Fierce Femmes and Notorious Liars: A Dangerous Trans Girl's Confabulous Memoir

Kai Cheng Thom

Tell Me I'm Worthless

Alison Rumfitt

The New Queer Conscience

Adam Eli

Branded by the Pink Triangle

Ken Setterington

(Affiliate links above, profits go to Making Queer History)

[galina]

Minster Gate Bookshop, York

[magic-crazy-as-this]

Seen in my local comic store, Jason what did you DO?!!?

(sorry for the potato quality, I zoomed in a crazy bunch because I didn't want them to know I was taking a pic)

(and also so no Tim Drakes out there stalk me by trying to catch some details in here)

[notbecauseofvictories]

I genuinely believe that when it comes to gift-giving, just saying what you want is cheating. Gifts are a way of communicating your ongoing awareness of a person---a good gift says ''I have been paying attention to you in a hundred moments, all the off-hours and sidelong comments, and this is what I learned," while a bad gift is "idk, I got you this, it was expensive."

[captvreme]

[vangoghcore]

by raphaelmetivet

[layaart]

Dumai from A Day of Fallen Night 🌟

[esote-rika]

A bookstore meet cute I wish I could experience | Spencer Reid

Category: Fluff with S4 awkward, nerdy rizz Spencer

Warnings: use of Y/N, unedited (tenses keep shifting, sorry)

A/N: this is just 1.8k words of self indulgent self insert. Like this is inspired by some unpleasant experiences I've had talking with men about books in the past lol, and reader's responses defensive responses had been me at some point. i feel like a conversation with Spencer Reid would heal me, thus this fic. Also, save me, s4e9 Spencer Reid, save me.

He seemed like a fixture to the bookstore, if fixtures moved on their own. Or if they moved up and down the aisles with elegant fingers tracing the spines of the books on display. Or if they dressed like a rumpled professor, complete with the black rimmed glasses. He just seemed like he was part of the space, and you thought that every bookstore should probably come with one - a tall, attractive nerd who drifted all over the room like some sort of phantom. Maybe that would help with the literacy problem. It certainly would bring more people in, make them more interested in reading.

You've been trying to figure him out from afar, as subtle as you can. You're not a creep, after all, but he cuts such a lonely figure that you couldn't help but wonder if he needed some company. A part of you wonders if he's noticed you as well. This store is your late afternoon treat, after all. You come here every Friday, without fail, even when you know the inventory is unreplenished, simply to bask in the presence of books.

And then he started coming in regularly, and you had another reason to come.

You never approached him. Something about simply knowing he's there, while remaining a stranger, is thrilling. You can romanticize him if he's a stranger, project all the wholesome fantasies and book boyfriends you have upon him with no sense of accountability.

It also means you avoid the disappointment if he turns out to be another condescending know it all, eager to put you and your reading habits down because oh your tastes are so girly.

No, this was better. You're a flaneur, you tell yourself, you're here to be part of the space and observe from within, even though you doubt this is what Baudelaire had in mind when he wrote that essay and defined the term.

Still.

You smile to yourself, crouching down to check the books on the lower shelf, and also to catch a glimpse of his legs. He'd been on the other side of this shelf for the past five minutes, and you've gotten a soft chuckle when you saw his mismatched socks.

However, his lean form is nowhere to be seen. He seems to have moved to another aisle. With a small frown, you move to stand up, only to feel a tug.

“Shit,” a quick glance down reveals that a familiar looking shoe has accidentally stepped on your long skirt. You hadn't realized it billowed out around you when you knelt down.

“Oh, I'm so sorry!”

You look up and realize why the shoe looks familiar. It's him. You couldn't see him in the other aisle because he'd moved to your side, so silently you hadn't even heard him.

“Sorry, oh gosh, I didn’t notice.” He steps off quickly, and you watch as his cheeks bloom bright pink. A pink that quickly travels down his neck.

You stifle a laugh at how easily he blushed. “It's fine.” Your attempt to stand is more successful without his foot pinning the fabric of your skirt to the ground.

“I've messed up your skirt though.” He says, looking at the brown smudge left behind on the skirt.

“It's no big deal, it’ll come out.” You shrug, getting a good look at him this time. He's taller than you thought, with a sharp bone structure that's softened by large, hazel eyes and pouty lips. His hair is slicked back, curling at the nape of his neck, the color a soft brown that matches his eyes. Yeah, one of him should really come in every bookstore, you think.

“O-okay, uh, if you're sure…” He says, rubbing his hands on his pants. A nervous energy emanates from him, disrupting your idea that he's calm and tranquil.

Oh well, there goes that fantasy. Still, you wonder if maybe he's nervous because of you.

“I still feel bad though,” He adds, looking around, “Uh, how about I buy you a book for the inconvenience?”

“It's hardly an inconvenience,” You laugh, “But hey, I won't say no to a free book.”

He perks up, “Great. I'm Spencer, by the way.”

“Y/N. It's nice to meet you, Spencer.”

He repeats your name, and you find yourself enjoying the shape his mouth makes as he tests it out, lips and tongue wrapping around the syllables as if he wants to commit the way it feels in his memory.

You mentally kick yourself in the ass, wondering if you've read too many romance novels.

“Likewise,” He smiles, and you have to remind yourself that it's rude to stare at the lips of someone you just met. It's not your fault he has such pretty dimples, and you had the urge to count them. He continues, “So what kind of books do you like, Y/N? Romance?”

Your eyes narrow at that. You wonder how to answer. Yes? Would he judge you if you say yes? Is he one of those guys, the ones who only read heavy, intellectual books and look down on people who read fluff? Do you want to try and impress him by saying no, by scoffing and saying something like of course not I’m looking for a copy of Swann's Way by Marcel Proust? (which is the most “impressive” book you can think of at the moment). The idea seems too gross, too I'm not like other girls, and you immediately cross it out.

“And if I do?” you ask instead, surprised by the edge to your voice.

He blinks, then shrugs, looking entirely innocent. “Then we should head to the romance shelf over there.”

Once again, you're surprised. Some part of you had been expecting a smirk, maybe a roll of his eyes, that look you get when you even dare to bring up the romance genre. But, no. He starts walking to a different part of the store and you're forced to follow.

“Why did you think I read romance?” the words escape your lips before you can stop them.

He ducks behind a shelf, his hair falling down and hiding his face but you get a glimpse of the bright red skin of his neck. He's blushing again.

“Well, it's - ah - that is, I've noticed you here before, and you always seemed to hang out here in the romance section.” He says in a rush, his head still angled away from you.

You feel simultaneously called out, and a little giddy. So he's noticed you, just as much as you'd noticed him.

“So you're a stalker.” You can't help but tease.

He lets out a sound, somewhere between an indignant sputter and a scoff. “What? No! I just happen to be very observant, it's a skill I've learned to hone for my job, and you're not very hard to remember-” He cuts himself off, peeking at you with a horrified look on his face.

Laughter tumbles from your lips, and you clamp your teeth down your bottom lip to stop.

“I was teasing you.” You say, trying to fight the giggles.

He seems relieved, but the crease on his brow remains, a sign of his previous embarrassment.

“And you're right. The romance section has the biggest amount of secondhand books that I can read while I'm here.” You explain. This aisle also gives you the best view of the nonfiction section, which he frequents, therefore giving you the perfect spot to observe him over the past few weeks. Though you leave out that part.

“Ah,” He nods, looking around, “See anything you like?”

“No, I'm actually looking for a copy of The Hobbit right now.”

He lights up, “Oh, you're a fan of Tolkien too? I love him, he's such a genius and completely innovated the fantasy genre! So much so that he - wait, if you're looking for The Hobbit, why didn't you tell me sooner?”

“You just started walking.” You reply, smiling at him. He's adorable when he becomes so animated, hands waving around like his body can't contain his excitement and has to find ways to express them physically. “Had to follow you. But anyway, I'm assuming you've read The Hobbit?”

He accepts your explanation easily, then nods his head. You can't help but compare him to a puppy, so eager and nearly frantic in his excitement.

“I've read every Tolkien book.” He says, and you're surprised to find his voice contains no hint of superiority, or cockiness. Just genuine joy. It's refreshing, “Including The Silmarillion."

“Oh wow,” You laugh, aware of the reputation that tome carries, “I've only seen the Lord of The Rings movies.”

“Well that's not sufficient at all! You're missing out on so much history,” He says, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Mhm, well help me find The Hobbit first, before I move on to the trilogy.” You reply, already walking over to where you know the fantasy books are.

He follows you, smiling bashfully, “You know, I have copies of all the books… I can just lend them to you, if you want.”

You pause, glancing over your shoulder in surprise. “You'd let a stranger borrow your books?”

“Only if you promise to take care of them.” He says, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck.

“I swear on my life, I will not tarry your precious copies of Tolkien's masterpiece.” You make a cross over your heart for emphasis, which makes him laugh. This time, you stare at his lips shamelessly, enjoying the dimples that appeared from the action.

“Okay, maybe we meet up over coffee sometime?” he asks, fiddling with the strap of his bag. “I'll bring the books.”

You fight the urge to squeal. Your body refuses to contain the giddiness, and the sound compromises by coming out as a giggle.

“Yeah, sure.” you watch as he digs into his pocket, handing over a card. “Oh, how very professional.” You say playfully, accepting the slip of paper.

He ducks his head, and you see the beginnings of the blush creeping down his neck. It feels exhilarating, being able to make him blush like this.

“It's just more practical.” He mumbles.

You grab your phone quickly, typing in his number and giving it a call, so that your number goes through his as well. “I'll give you a call. But, you still owe me a book for this.” You motion at your skirt, at the stain of his footprint on the fabric.

He chuckles, “Of course. Can't go back on my promise.” he looks around the store and you're taken by the sight of him, looking like he's part of the space, like he simply belongs here. And this time, with you standing next to him, with him. “Take your pick.”

“I'm pretty indecisive.” You say playfully.

“I have time.” He smiles, and you find he has two dimples on one side of his face, and only one on the other. Your chest feels heavy with something that you can't quite put a name to yet, but you're eager for more of it.

[bamsara]

I finished the Doctrine Book-bag for my Lamb cosplay! I think jt turned out pretty well, I used black foam clay for the edges and was going to carve them when dried, but I actaully?? Really like the goopy unclean look so I might keep it

I might still carve it idk, and maybe replace the strap with a chain for the whole theme

I know the Doctrine is a book in game and usually as a prop but I need something to hold my phone and wallet in easy access for when we scour the artist alley, so this idea came to be. Now it can hold my stuff AND it's in character!

I also recycled a cardboard box to put my cosplay in, made it look COTL specific: