Time To Build The 2023 Fandom Small Business Shopping Directory!
Every year I put up a poll asking small business owners, artists, and crafters to share what they make and where they sell it, so that our fannish (and fandom-adjacent) community can shop “local” for the holiday season, supporting their fellow creators.
If you make things to sell or run a small business where people can shop, fill out the form linked above to tell us all about it!
Above and beyond the usual sorts of things you'd give as gifts, feel free to include services you think people would wish to give as gifts (eg tarot readings), and authors should feel free to link to their book sales pages. There are also ways to indicate that you take commissions, so don't let the fact that you are commission-only stop you!
Shoppers who want to see the directory can go here to find out who’s selling what, and where.
Both shoppers and creators, please feel free to reblog this to your readerships or tag folks who might benefit.
Sometimes google polls and sheets can be very special, so if there are any access issues let me know. Also if you filled out the form but something needs correcting, feel free to get in touch via my asks or
[email protected] and I can go in and fix it for you.
I'll be reblogging this a couple of times in the next few weeks so both sellers and shoppers have the best chance of seeing it. The results sheet is stable so you can also bookmark that if you know you want to shop but want to wait and see what people are adding.
Happy selling, happy shopping!
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Pen on Paper
Pairing: Spencer Reid × GN!Reader
Fluff
Content Warnings: None, literal pure fluff
Summary: You and your boyfriend have a study date in a coffee shop, but your methods differ.
Author's Note: My inbox has tumbleweeds blowing through it atm, so I'm digging this out of my drafts!
Feedback is always welcome!
Requests are OPEN
I quickly gathered up my laptop and textbooks when I checked the time, checking my
appearance in the mirror as I made my way to my car. The Civic was ancient, but it still got me
where I needed to be. Unfortunately, my boyfriend did not share the same sentiment, preferring
to use public transportation.
I rolled my eyes at the thought of a germaphobe so adverse to driving he’d get on a train with
complete strangers, but I decided to let it go. After all, he was the one who had offered to take
me out on a study date. As a grad student, I would take any opportunity to get ahead. Who
better than a man with an eidetic memory and 3 PhDs?
Snapping myself out of my thoughts, I weaved through the streets of downtown DC to meet him
where he had requested, a small local cafe that was able to satiate his sweet tooth. I parked
and hopped out of my car, materials in hand for a long night of memorization.
He smiled when he saw me, the corners of his eyes crinkling softly as he opened the door.
Despite his awkward behavior, manners were not lost on him. We entered the shop hand in hand, scanning
over the menu (although he got through it much faster) and stepping up to order. He got a black coffee with 6 teaspoons of sugar, and I decided on something a little less nauseating.
We chose a booth in the back corner, somewhere we could have some privacy in our own little
academic bubble. I set my bags on the floor beside me, taking a sip of my drink and pulling out
my laptop. I noticed the wrinkle of his nose, smirking as I realized he was likely judging me.
“What?”
He shook his head innocently, pulling out some papers for his own work at the BAU.
“Nothing, I just think you’d do better with physical materials.”
You smiled, picking up his pen and clicking it a couple of times.
“We don’t all work at lightning speed.”
He bit his lip, and I could practically see the wheels in his head turning as he plucked a new fact
from the depths of his memory.
“Actually, although it’s faster to type, writing allows you to tap
into tactile information recall.”
You snorted in acknowledgement. Of course he had something to back his opinions up with.
As any genius would.
“You’d use a typewriter if you could.”
He pulled out some files, looking them over.
“I have one at my apartment, but I ran out of ink a while ago.”
You just sighed, conceding defeat and moving back to your work, typing rapidly as you worked
on your essay. He sat across from you, doing the same thing with his notes, although he
occasionally switched his papers to shield you from anything too messy.
He thought of
everything.
After a while, you felt a tap on your shoulder, and a note dropped onto your keyboard. You
unfolded it, reading the messy chicken scratch.
‘You can’t pass notes on a laptop.’
You narrowed your eyes, stealing his pen to come up with a response.
‘it’s called an email’
He shook his head, his hand flying across the paper before he held it out for you.
‘Emails can always be tracked. Notes have to be destroyed.’
You smiled softly at the sentiment, slipping the note into your pocket before turning back to your
work.
“You’re distracting me.”
He sighed, returning to his seat and fiddling with his pen.
“Are you sure you don’t need help?”
You nodded, determined to make this paper your own. But after a few minutes of typing, the
rhythmic tapping was dragging your eyelids down. The words were sliding off the page, and the
backlight did nothing for your eyestrain. After you failed to stifle a yawn, he looked back up at
you with a look that screamed ‘I told you so’.
“Come on, it’s late. You can’t perform as well academically if you stay up all night to finish it.”
You tried to protest, but your own body betrayed you with another yawn. With your acceptance,
he gathered up your things and stored them neatly in your bag.
You were half asleep as you left
the cafe, but you pretended not to notice as he slipped a notebook and his pen into the tote for future
study dates.
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Guillermo must read like a Southern Gothic post to his entire family.
Imagine your only kid has been married to his work in food service/the railroad/food service at the railroad? for fifteen years and it's the reason he never sees you. One time he came home and said he could get you a mini-fridge from his friend who was once dead but it's fine now. He left to go get it and didn't come back. Some people are filming the whole time.
Another time he disappeared to London for a year, and when he came back he finally let you see his house. It's a trash-covered mansion with a tree through the ceiling. He appears to live there by himself. He's exchanged his sweaters for Versace and a watch that's more expensive than God. He tells you he's gay, which you knew, even though you've never talked about it and he's been sending you photos of some woman you haven't met (you think?) for years. Some people are again filming, this time for his grandma's birthday, except there's no cake or presents and you never see a copy of the videotape.
He bought you a house last year. But the first time he's come for your birthday in three or four years he doesn't bring a gift, and spends the time frantically whispering to someone on the phone. The people are still filming him. It's been like five years of them filming him. He's in the sweaters again.
He tells you he can't say why or what's going to change for him, but he can never see you again. You ask if what he's doing is making him happy but don't give him time to answer. It's the first direct question you've really asked him all evening. Then you ask him where his crucifix is. He needs one, it'll help. It's really important that he have one, and he keeps losing them. So scatterbrained. This is what will make it better.
(You don't see his face as you force the chain around his neck. You don't see him disappearing before your eyes. Was it always this way, with you two, or did it happen over time?)
You casually tell the cousin who's been lecturing him all night that he comes by weekly now to say goodbye forever. Your sweet boy, so dramatic, even as a child. So mysterious. You just don't know what he's thinking. But he'll be back.
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