So I just got a message on Facebook, after I posted a pic of books, from a friend of mine who owns a bookstore, passively aggressively reproaching that I don’t buy my books from his bookstore. I would. I really would. But they’re too expensive. I get way better deals on online bookstores. And you bet your ass I’m looking for the best deals, when I have a shit ton of monthly expenses, and considering that I only manage to buy books for myself every few months.
Now I feel like shit over it. And I’m angry.
Whoever is reading this, listen to me. Buy your books on your own terms. It’s your money, it’s your life, it’s your choice. Don’t let anyone guilt you into doing something you’re not capable of, whether it’s financially or otherwise. Do what is comfortable and accessible to you. And don’t look back.
While there are obviously fewer (okay, zero) period pieces to talk about here, this does give us an opportunity to post about some of the wardrobe pieces from the upcoming series before they’re all sold out! Please beware of potential spoilers, although everything is still speculation at this point.
Coda to 11.23 Alpha & Omega. This is a DeanCas fic but from Mary’s perspective. It’s what I see happening a little bit after the ep, once Mary and Dean are on their way back to Bunker while having no idea that neither Sam nor Cas will be there. Inspired by what J2M have been saying about Mary at SDCC.
She can’t sleep; whether it’s a side effect of being plucked from heaven or something else, Mary isn’t sure—but she doesn’t dwell on it. She can’t. Not when there’s a ringing in her ears and her stomach is about to jump out of her throat. Blood is rushing in her ears and as much as she wants to sit on the edge of his bed—of her child, Dean, he’s her child—she can’t. She can’t run a hand through his hair like when he was small. She can’t lean over and press a kiss to his forehead. She can’t touch him. She can’t touch him.
She doesn’t know him.
This thirty-six year-old man is a stranger. Someone who’s violent, and world-weary, and… hard. He is not the round-faced boy who asked for the crusts cut off his PB&J. He is not the boy who tangled his fingers in her hair and pressed a sloppy kiss to the side of her mouth and begged for one more story, momma, please.