#bookseller uniform

[ded-and-gonne]

KIaus got this framed and put it on his nightstand. So did Ben.

#tua snark #the umbrella academy #tua #ben hargreeves #justin min #justin h min #tua fanfic #tua s3 #ben in leathers #ben in uniform #ded & gonne #ded and gonne #ded and gonne booksellers and private dicks #get yours today #image bank ben #costume leathers #costume red leathers #image bank hot ben #image bank evil ben #image bank sparrow ben #image bank mean ben #evil ben #sparrow ben #ben hargreeves number 2 #ben number 2 #location white background #location n/a #Ben’s red leathers #leather closet #ded and gonne antiquarian bookstore and supernatural detectors

[myapathyhaspeaked]

thinking about how happy muriel looked when the metatron approved of their reading (and how hesitantly worried they looked before said approval was given, as if they might have accidentally commuted a no no) and just…what are the chances that he actually thought anything about their reading and didn’t just use it to butter them up so theyd take the bookshop gig? cus i think it’s pretty low…

#also side muriel idea i’ve seen plently of art were they’re basically in a different version of aziraphales outfit (vests tartan n whatnot) #and it just makes me think about them dressing them like that bc they think it’s like a bookseller uniform and crowley seeing them dressed #like that and just…idk how to explain it just *thats not him. why are they dressed like him* just gggggggggggggggg… #good omens

[avocado-writing]

Hi! I love your Good Omens fics<33 *sends you little cut out paper hearts*

May I request an Aziraphale and nonbinary reader? where Azi fell in love with them and always becomes a cute, blushed babbling mass around them?

(I just want fluff after that season ending:’) )

notes: thank you for the love & the paper hearts *hangs them on my wall* I paired you up together hope that’s ok !

words: 1.4k

pairing: aziraphale x reader

rating: T

tags: mild claustrophobia; mutual pining

Aziraphale is in love, and Crowley is annoyed.

Not that he’s annoyed about the love, per se, they’re immortal beings after all - occasionally they end up developing feelings for humans. It’s not unheard of. Aziraphale has had his share of infatuations, but the problem is he very rarely acts on them. Just makes puppy eyes at someone for fifty years, and then they die.

So when Crowley sees how Aziraphale is around you, he knows the angel is going through the same steps again.

There you are, every week, doing your delivery. Looking “rather smart” in your postie’s uniform, as Aziraphale once remarked. Arms full of parcels and a smile plastered on your face. You clearly like him back, it’s obvious, but neither of you will bloody talk to each other about it.

Aziraphale becomes a bit pathetic around you. Crowley would tease him for it, if he didn’t know he was already agonising over every interaction after you’ve gone anyway.

“Good morning, Mr Fell!”

You call out as you gently nudge the door open with your boot. You’re holding a stack of parcels using your chin as a wedge to keep them in place, lest the pile topple over and litter the shop floor. Aziraphale gets out of his chair - where he’s been sitting for the past hour, waiting to hear the sound of your engine like a child might wait for the trill of an ice cream van - and skitters over to help.

“My dear, let me help you with those–”

“Oh, it’s alright! I’ve got strong arms. Just show me where you’d like it.” You pause, then quickly correct: “Them! I mean, like them.”

From the corner of the room, behind his gossip magazine, Crowley rolls his eyes.

“Just in the stockroom here, thank you.”

“Gosh, you are ordering a lot of books lately, Mr Fell.”

Crowley bites back the urge to comment that he’s doing it in order to see you. One week you were off sick and a different postie covered your route, and Aziraphale was miserable about it for days.

“Well, I am a bookseller!” - lies - “And please, my dear, I’ve asked you to call me Aziraphale.”

“Alright,” you say, shyly, but you never do.

The angel’s cheeks go a rosy colour as he signs for his packages, and Crowley can tell he’s desperately trying to think of a way to get you to stay for a bit longer. His normally erudite friend is reduced to blabbering awkwardness around you.

“Actually I was just boiling the kettle, would you like some?”

A beat, then Aziraphale looks mortified.

“Tea! Would you like some tea?”

“What is this, a bloody Carry On film?” Crowley mutters under his breath. You don’t seem to hear him, and if Aziraphale does he pointedly ignores the comment.

“Oh,” you say, looking perhaps a little disappointed at the correction, but recovering quickly, “I can probably spare ten minutes before I need to get going. I’d love a cup, please.”

Crowley watches the two of you engage in idle, unimportant chatter, and the way you stare at the other when you think they aren’t looking, the brush of fingers as mugs are passed, the affectionate smiles. It’s maudlin. It’s saccharine. 

Aziraphale manages to stumble his way through ten minutes of conversation with you despite his nervousness, and it makes Crowley nauseous. When you finally have to say goodbye the angel looks like a kicked puppy, and he follows you to the bloody door to see you off, and then starts making a list of what else he can order to make sure you’re back next week.

It’s been this way for months, this repeated pattern of dancing around each other. And it’s getting dull. 

Crowley snaps his magazine shut. If neither of you will make the first move, he will.

📕

“Where would you like them today, Mr Fell?”

“Same as always, my dear. Stockroom!” 

He holds the door open for you and you haul the ridiculous pile in with surprising strength. Crowley waits until you’re both fully inside, Aziraphale showing you where the delivery needs to go, and quite suddenly a gust of wind slams the door shut behind you both (and somehow manages to lock it).

You yelp, dropping the parcels all over the floor.

“Oh gosh, I’m so sorry Mr Fell, let me–”

“Don’t worry, don’t worry, it made me jump too! Here, I’ll help…”

The two of you get to your knees, gathering up parcels and stacking them neatly on one of the tables. The room is not large, a couple of metres left in space maybe, every other inch being taken up by books; so when you both stand up you’re rather close.

Aziraphale looks into your eyes. Your heart skips a beat. You want to say something, anything, but instead you chicken out and reach for the door handle.

It’s stuck.

“Oh, erm,” you say, rattling it harder. Aziraphale frowns.

“Let me have a go, hang on.”

But the outcome is the same. The door is locked. Aziraphale knows it didn’t lock on its own, but he can’t really miracle it open while you’re right there. Instead he knocks hard on the door.

“Erm, Crowley, are you out there?”

“Oh dear, Aziraphale, is something the matter?” comes the reply from the bookshop.

“Yes,” the angel answers through gritted teeth, “by some terrible luck the door has gotten stuck. Can you be a dear and find the key for me? Should be in the desk drawer.”

“Alright, I’m having a look for it now,” says Crowley, as he walks over the road to go and get a coffee.

Aziraphale turns back to you, ready to assure you that you’ll be freed soon, only to find you looking very peculiar.

“My dear, are you quite alright?”

“Ah, sorry. I’m, erm, not great when I’m trapped in small spaces,” you tell him, eyes darting wildly, looking for a way out and coming up empty.

Aziraphale swallows. You do look quite worried. Crowley had better be quick. (Crowley is currently ordering a large americano and taking a seat in the corner of the coffee shop).

“Can I help?”

“Can I–” you wince a little, “gosh, this is so unprofessional, can I please ask you to hold me? Having someone rub my back calms me down. You don’t have to, of course, just–”

You don’t need to ask twice. Aziraphale steps forward and takes you into his arms. You fit perfectly, and feel just like he always imagined you would: soft but sturdy, the most wonderful shape against him. His hand is unsure at first, running up and down your back lightly, but when he feels you relax into him he renews the gesture with gusto.

“Thank you. Sorry, I feel very silly.”

“You have nothing to apologise for. I’m sure Crowley will get us out of here lickety-split.”

“Mr Fell?”

“Aziraphale, please.”

“Aziraphale…” it’s the first time you’ve actually used his name, and he’s pleased as punch to hear it fall from your lips, “may I ask you a question?”

“Anything.”

“Do you actually sell the books you buy, or just order them to see me?”

There’s a beat, and Aziraphale freezes.

“It's just because whenever I drop off new packages I always notice you never unpack the old ones, so I thought…”

“Erm.”

“It’s alright if you do. To tell you a secret, I always rush my route so that I can spare the time to have a cup of tea with you. It’s my favourite part of the week.”

“Oh. It’s mine too.”

And suddenly he’s not comforting you, he’s embracing you, and you’re returning the gesture. You readjust your position so you can look up into his face, and he finds you have the softest eyes.

“I don’t suppose you’d like to go out for dinner?”

You light up.

“I’d love that. Are you free tonight?”

“Call it seven?”

“Sounds… perfect.”

When you reach to kiss him, he finds your lips are soft too. So he kisses you again. And again.

📕

Crowley comes back forty minutes later with a little pastry in a bag for Aziraphale, to say sorry for locking him in. A wave of his hand at the door means he doesn’t even need to bother with finding the key, and he throws it open, hoping to find you finally properly talking.

Well, turns out your mouths are a bit busy for that.

Snogging. Snogging is what’s happening. Your hand is buried in Aziraphale’s curls, tongue firmly pressing against his. Aziraphale has a hand full of your arsecheek and has lifted you a bit so that you can wrap your leg around his calf, letting you caress him a bit with your foot. His waistcoat is undone, your shirt is untucked from your shorts. Both of you are a bit of a mess.

Crowley opens his mouth to speak, can’t find the heart to interrupt, and gently closes the door again.

-

Taglist: @angiestopit@dazed-soul @@foolishprincipalitee@smile-eywa@staygoldsquatchling02@underratedboogeyman@cool-ontherun-world@emilynissangtr@cool-iguana@this--is--music @ilyatan

#aziraphale x reader #good omens x reader #ineffable husbands x reader #michael sheen x reader #request

[oliversrarebooks]

The Rare Bookseller Part 5: Oliver's Shower

Masterlist

September 1925

TW: Restraints, slavery, non-sexual nudity, mind control

Apparently satisfied with the results of their medical exam, Cecily unhooked Oliver's leash from the pole. "All right, let's get you cleaned up," she said.

Oliver's breath hitched, not keen to be hosed down by vampires. "My hygiene is impeccable."

"It actually is, compared to many humans I've processed," she agreed. "But it's standard procedure."

Thomas unlocked the door, and Oliver had a brief impulse to try and bolt for it, but with Cecily holding his leash there wasn't any point. He had already vowed to himself to save his strength, but it was hard to squash down the increasingly frantic voice in his mind that wanted freedom, wanted to return to his life as though this had all been a nightmare.

Cecily led him down the sterile hallway to another door, which opened to a tiled shower room. It was neatly kept, with squeaky clean tiles, fat bars of peppermint pink soap, and towels piled up on a shelf. She attached Oliver's handcuffs to a kind of locking contraption on the wall, and removed his leash, giving him some respite from the uncomfortable collar.

Oliver closed his eyes as she turned on the spray. It was freezing cold, causing him to yelp, but turned pleasantly warm in a few moments. He took a deep breath, trying to derive some small enjoyment from the warm shower. Who could say when he'd have another?

Taking one of the bars of soap and a cloth in hand, Cecily began to scrub him from head to toe, all business, a bit rough but nothing that uncomfortable. She rubbed soap into his hair and rinsed it out again. Oliver said nothing, trying to block this humiliation from his mind as much as possible, trying not to think about how he was being washed like a piece of fruit for a vampire's snack.

One final rinse, and the shower was turned off, and he was being dried off with a big, fluffy towel. He stood there, shivering, for a few minutes, wondering what was going to happen next. The sudden, terrifying thought occurred to him that they might simply leave him naked for captivity and auction. That was when Cecily returned with a tape measure. 

"Stand up straight and be still," she said, taking his height. "It's so we can get you properly fitting clothing, so it's in your best interest to cooperate."

"I already had properly fitting clothing. You burned it," he said, nevertheless acquiescing to her command, relieved to be getting clothes.

She measured him tip to toe, from waist to foot, the length of his arms, and around his chest and waist. Then she walked away and hit a button on the wall. 

"This is Cecily in Shower Room One with Lot Seven. Need medium size uniform and one for backup."

"Uniform. Like a prison," he said.

"Obviously. You are a captive here," she said. "But we do want you to be in good condition for the auction, so you won't be treated poorly."

"Kidnapping me, handcuffing me and stripping me down is a strange definition of not treating me poorly."

"It could be much worse."

"Is that what you tell yourself to sleep at night? If you were actually once a hunter, then you know..."

"I don't expect you to understand," she interrupted. "I didn't, either, until I was turned. The hunger for blood. The power we hold over humans. It's either feed or die."

Oliver, naked and handcuffed, mustered up as much defiance as he could. "Then I would choose to die."

She laughed. "Many say that. Few actually mean it. I doubt you'd be any different," she said. "This auction is actually frequented by the more ethical vampires. Better to purchase a processed human fairly than violently ambush humans in the streets. Good humans are expensive, so it's in a vampire's best interest to keep their thralls in decent shape. There are exceptions, of course, vampires who buy humans to abuse them, but they're the minority."

"That's what you call ethical? Buying a human slave? Doing the bare minimum to keep them alive?"

"That's right."

"Then you're right. I don't understand. And I'm glad everyone here is going to hell. I only wish it were sooner."

"The auction house has been here since before you were born and it'll be here long after you die, so I wouldn't hold your breath on that," she said.

He didn't really doubt that she was right. "So how about you? Do you have a human slave, then?"

"I have two thralls."

"What do you imagine the difference between a thrall and a slave is?"

"A thrall has been properly processed and conditioned to serve a vampire."

"And that makes it better?"

"It's better for us."

"And what does this conditioning entail?" 

"You'll see soon enough."

Oliver groaned in frustration. There wasn't a shred of empathy left in her, former vampire hunter or no. It was disturbing how much she could talk and act like an ordinary human while casually discussing processing and conditioning him to serve a vampire. It was all so simple and easy to them, and the reality that he was next was sinking in deeper. There might be no miraculous rescue or opportunistic escape. They might simply process, condition, and sell him, his life turned into a commodity.

"So your thralls, do you imagine you treat them well?"

"Of course. They're my precious pets. They get plenty of food and sunlight and entertainment. They do housework, provide me with blood, and accompany me on trips. I dress them in fine clothes and they have their own beds."

"How lovely," Oliver spat. "A cross between a servant and a dog."

Before Cecily could respond, a burly man opened the door and shut it behind him. His eyes were glassy and unfocused, and he was carrying a pile of clothes. He bowed. "The uniform you requested, Mistress Cecily," he said.

Oliver's eyes went wide. "Are you a human? A thrall?"

The man didn't acknowledge Oliver's question at all. "Yes, he's a thrall of the auction house," Cecily explained. "Now I'm going to remove your cuffs so that we can dress you. This thrall is instructed to stop you if you get out of line."

"You'd stop a fellow human from escaping?" Oliver asked the man, who didn't even glance his way.

"Well, thrall, would you stop a fellow human from escaping?" Cecily repeated. 

"Of course, Mistress Cecily. Preventing the merchandise from leaving is one of my primary duties. Any human would be blessed to be made into a high quality thrall by the auction house."

Oliver felt sick. This man had no free will at all, any mind he had left devoted to sending other humans to meet a terrible fate. Would this be him in a scant few days? A polite and mindless servant to the auction house? He couldn't let that happen -- but then, he had no doubt that this man had resisted as well, and here he was.

"Now then, please do behave," said Cecily, unlocking his cuffs. "Remember that I only gave you one chance."

Oliver fought down the urge to run, spurred on by his terror at seeing an actual human thrall. Any chance of escape was blocked by a vampire, a mindlessly subservient man twice his size, a locked door, and whatever other security the auction house had. And Cecily had threatened to drug him if he tried. He had to keep his mind as long as he could.

Cecily handed him soft cotton shorts and undershirt, a loose white blouse and blue slacks, and a pair of surprisingly comfortable thick woolen socks. No belt or shoes. He put it all on without a fuss, happy at least to be clothed again.

"Very good!" she said, clapping her hands. "If you continue to behave this well, I won't need to leash or cuff you."

"I'll behave," he said immediately. Better to stay unrestrained for now then pick a pointless fight.

"Then let's get you to a cell," she said. "Dinner will be served soon, and I'm sure you're tired after all of this."

Oliver let out a bitter laugh. "Sure." He was exhausted, but could hardly imagine sleeping in a place like this, and he had no appetite at all. It must be past midnight by now -- but that made sense as the time when vampires would serve dinner.

"Follow me," she said, and he fell into step behind her as she left the room, the man trailing behind him. They walked to the end of the hall, turned left, and arrived at a set of metal double doors, which opened onto a wide hallway lined with what could only be described as prison cells.

His new home for now, he supposed.

Part Four >> Masterlist >> Part Six

#whump #whump writing #whumpee #vampire #vampire whumper #mind control #tw kidnapping #captivity #rare bookseller #oliver

[fuckyouheresyourcoffee]

everyday I wake up and look across the street and- oh there's the guy who got struck by lightning and the bookseller who is definitely not someone's bit on the side! there's maggie, (hi maggie), and also the Constable who is in bright White uniform!

#goodomens #crowley #good omens #aziracrow #aziraphale #muriel

[ivory--raven]

day 28, made you smile. we've all seen the scene. we've all seen the looks.

Michael senses it with every aspect of her being. War against Hell has been declared.

Why? They’re not having an Armageddon. That was cancelled four years ago and she’s grown quite used to her existence as it is. It’s rather annoying, really, for it to be such a surprise. Work is satisfying, Jeanne is amazing and for once safe, Dagon has her utterly captivated. She isn’t ready for a war. She hasn’t had time to make plans, to prepare, she hasn’t had the troops training in four years.

Still, they are technically four years overdue for a war, and she does enjoy smiting demons. This will be her excuse.

She and Uriel meet Saraqael, the excitable scrivener Muriel, and someone else at the lift. The other being looks familiar, they are… Crowley. A demon. What’s he doing here?

Unauthorized war on Hell and a demon in Heaven. Had he caused it?

“Funny old world, isn’t it?” he says as they descend and his outfit changes to the black she associates with demons.

They emerge outside the embassy in London, Aziraphale’s bookshop. A ramp appears for Saraqael and they all follow Crowley inside. There is a stunned demon on the sofa. 

“What did you do to them all?” asks Crowley.

Aziraphale clears his throat. “I did the thing with the halo.”

Oh no. That’s as official as it gets.

“You what?” asks Crowley, as if he can’t believe it either.

“I did the thing with the halo,” repeats Aziraphale.

“You blew up your halo? Hell won’t like that!” laughs Crowley.

No. No, they won’t. They’ll understand it as the war declaration it is.

They appear, then. Some demon whose face she doesn’t know and Dagon. Dagon who seems extremely pleased, strutting towards the center of the room. There’s a glint of fire and fight in her eyes. Her shoulders. Her hips.

Beelzebub appears in a flash of fire. Michael hardly notices.

“We are at war!” says Dagon through her smile. “Finally!”

“Nobody’s at war,” says Crowley. “You idiots sent an idiot to lead a gang of idiots to attack a bookshop. Those idiots there want their Archangel back so they can fire him.”

Michael does not like to be called an idiot but she is far too distracted by Dagon turning and hissing at her. She shakes her head. Her ridiculous demon. She’s far too attractive in her uniform, which she appears to be wearing over… not much, her top is sheer. It’s not fair.

Dagon chokes. Good. Michael likes to have that effect on her.

Beelzebub wakes up the demon from the sofa. “Nice job, Shax. Beautifully done. Remind me to put in for your commendation.”

“Sarcasm, yes?” Shax looks to Crowley.

“I’m afraid so,” confirms Beelzebub. If demons are going to be teaching each other the art of sarcasm, they can do it in Hell!

“If it is to be war,” Michael starts, looking at Dagon, before Crowley interrupts.

“No, no, no, no, no war,” says Crowley. 

Dagon purses her lips, shimmies a bit with her hand on her hip. Ridiculous, enchanting demon. Michael would smite her all right, but not in the usual way. Take her away right now.

Crowley is saying something about Gabriel, Aziraphale brings out a cardboard box. Dagon leans forward, holding her arms in front of the two demons on either side of her. “Careful. Could be a trap.” She’s protective. She’s sweet. She’s actually afraid of the cardboard box. Michael understands. Aziraphale and Crowley are known traitors with suspicious powers. Michael knows how worried she was when it turned out Crowley was undestroyable.

“It’s a cardboard box, it’s not going to bite you,” says Saraqael.

Dagon moves back anyway when Aziraphale dumps some old things out of the box. Michael doesn’t blame her.

There’s writing on the box, a fly - Michael can guess where this is going. It’s him, the assistant bookseller, it’s Gabriel, and Beelzebub is so tender with him. “Good boy,” they say, “no wonder nobody could find you. This is where you were keeping all your memories. All your you. Look at you, you’re perfect.” They offer it to Gabriel - to Gabriel’s body, at least. “Here. Take it. Gently.” They’re smiling at him.

It goes in his eye, then, and he straightens - he remembers. Gabriel. 

He smiles his professional smile. He laughs. “Michael, Uriel?” He forgets Saraqael’s name, which Michael can tell annoys them. Dagon makes an unpleasant face at him. Michael loves her for it. “Oh, eesh. You guys,” he says. “You,” he says when he finally turns to Beelzebub, and it’s like he’s immediately soothed. He remembers them, then. Good. They’d been distraught. If he’d remembered everything but them, there would’ve been a problem.

And he has been happier since he started seeing them. Annoying he may be, but he is something to her, and Michael wants that happiness for him.

“Silly, silly angel,” says Beelzebub, far too affectionately to be hiding anything. “Why?”

“I was coming to you, but I… forgot,” says Gabriel. Behind Beelzebub, Dagon meets Michael’s eyes.

The demon next to Dagon, Shax, calls Beelzebub a traitor. “Collaborating with Heaven,” she accuses them of.

It’s so risky, what they’re doing. They have to pull this off.

“I just found something that mattered more to me than choosing sides,” says Beelzebub. Dagon gags.

Someone says something and it’s a mortal. There are mortals here? “Someone turn them into salt,” says Michael. The security risk! Saraqael raises a hand but Crowley interrupts and ushers the two mortals out. He’d better be going to dispose of them outside. 

“Fancy liking an angel,” Dagon says, shuddering. She sounds convincing. It isn’t real. It isn’t real. It’s for the benefit of everyone who can’t know, for privacy and safety. Shax has something loud and annoying to say to Michael, the demon Michael doesn’t know has a complaint for Michael. They want Beelzebub back, is the gist of it.

“They probably did something to Gabriel,” says Uriel. “Corrupted him.” Saraqael agrees.

Dagon points at Michael. “You Archangels,” she says. “You Archangels.”

Michael smirks. She’s right, and she can say it, as long as she doesn’t clarify. Michael cups her hand by her ear. “I can’t hear you.”

Aziraphale rings an annoying loud bell - Michael instinctively raises her arms to cover her head, but it’s only him, it’s only Aziraphale. “I’ve had quite enough of this!” he snaps. Michael has had quite enough of being here. If there is no war, the only crisis is Gabriel and Beelzebub, which wouldn’t be a crisis at all if it wasn’t so public. Michael would like to go home.

“You will speak one at a time,” demands Aziraphale.

Shax asks for Gabriel and Beelzebub to be handed over to Satan. “He won’t want them,” says Dagon. “Maybe as hors d'oeuvres.”

“And I demand you hand them over to us, to face celestial punishment,” says Michael. Someone had make the counteroffer, after all. 

“Obviously we would be reserving the option to send them both to Hell as our punishment,” adds Saraqael. “But we’d be the ones doing it.”

Aziraphale offers Gabriel and Beelzebub the choice, and of course they choose to leave together than stay and be punished. They don’t want to be destroyed, and that is very much still on the table. 

Crowley suggests Alpha Centauri.

“If you leave, you can never come back,” Uriel tells Gabriel.

“That would be the point,” he says. He seems fine. Perhaps with him officially gone, Michael can have his job. Heaven will need a new Supreme Archangel. And with Beelzebub gone, well, there is a natural choice for a successor.

Beelzebub suggests Shax might have their job. Dagon glares at the back of Shax’s head, shifting like she might be about to get out a weapon and stab Shax in the back.

Michael interrupts before that can happen. If Dagon is going to be rid of Shax, it won’t be now, in front of Aziraphale and Uriel and Saraqael and the demon she still doesn’t know. “Angels and demons, they can’t just-”

Gabriel and Beelzebub start singing that song Gabriel had been humming before, and disappear. Off to Alpha Centauri - or, if Michael knows Gabriel, a tailor.

“I believe the Dark Council might have something to say about all this nonsense,” says Dagon, who must know full well they do since she’s on it. The demon Michael doesn’t know whispers something to Shax, and all three vanish back to Hell.

“I am authorized to remove the name of anyone who helped Gabriel from the Book of Life,” says Michael. She’s never actually seen the Book, but Aziraphale doesn’t know that and she’ll figure something out. She’ll get it from The Metatron. “You will never have existed, Aziraphale. In the absence of Gabriel, I am the Supreme Archangel-”

“Duty officer,” says Uriel.

Michael does not care. “And I-”

“Excuse me, sorry, I must interrupt you there,” says someone who has just walked in. Michael stares, open mouthed. Walked in. Interrupted her. Michael. Supreme Archangel.

“I don’t believe I asked for any interruptions.”

“I couldn’t help it,” says the person. “You’re talking utter balderdash. I mean, complete piffle! You don’t have the authority to do anything like that!”

Michael has never been so insulted in her entire existence.

“And who are you?” she says, a moment away from smiting them no matter the response.

“For Heaven’s sake! And I mean that most literally. You don’t know me?” he asks. “What about you, demon, do you know me?”

“Get him out of here!” insists Michael. Or she will kill him.

It’s The Metatron. It’s The fucking Metatron. He dismisses them back to Heaven like naughty children. 

Uriel and Michael exchange glances and Uriel bows. “Your Reverence, your - your Grace, your…”

“Spit it out,” he says.

“Have we done anything wrong?” asks Uriel. It’s the question both of them have, probably Saraqael too. 

“That remains to be seen,” he says, which is very alarming. All three Archangels return to Heaven together.

“I’m going to my office,” says Michael as soon as they arrive. Uriel nods and turns on their heel, off to their own. Saraqael doesn’t even have a sarcastic comment - they must be shaken.

Of course Michael doesn’t go to her office. She goes to the house, with Jeanne, who is watching a film on the new television they’ve installed, where Dagon is waiting for her.

Dagon.

“Michael,” she breathes, and embraces her.

#femslash omens #femslashfeb2024 #angelfish #ineffable administrators

[the12thnightproject]

Chapter Two: Miss Congeniality - Katsuko meets many residents of Azuchi... but not her fake fiance.

Mitsunari x OC; Nobunaga x Mai

Previous Chapter

Logline - In order to protect a political alliance, Katusko and Mitsunari must pretend an engagement. But this “all business” arrangement is threatened by a coup against Nobunaga… and by feelings.

From the Military Notes of Ishida Mitsunari…

A good General will ensure that his soldiers are provided with not only food, but also appropriate armor for upcoming battles. It would be illogical to send warriors onto the battlefield on an empty stomach, but even more so for them not to have protection from the weapons of enemy forces. The initial cost of armoring soldiers will be far repaid in ensuring safety (as much as possible given a situation of war) and loyalty.

Personal comments: Lady Mai requested permission to help “re-design” the Oda soldier uniforms. It is difficult to refuse Lady Mai anything, however such a decision rests in the hands of Lord Nobunaga and Lord Hideyoshi – neither of whom find it easy to refuse Lady Mai either. However, Lord Mitsuhide has stated he has another task for Lady Mai… This prompted Lord Hideyoshi to use more words I am not comfortable writing down.

Two days after leaving the mountains, I arrived at Azuchi Castle. Kyubei left me waiting near the gate, while he alerted Mitsuhide to our arrival. Though I’d previously spent a couple weeks in the castle town, I’d never been inside Azuchi castle itself and I was happy enough to have some time within the gates to look around. Up close, the tenshu was impressive building, rising from a thick stone base, up seven stories to tower over the hillside. There was even a balcony surrounding the uppermost floor, and I wondered if Nobunaga spent much time up there. Must be nice to be able to see the entire countryside from your bedroom.

Feeling slightly like a gawking tourist, I took a step backward to get a better look, and –

WHAM!

I’d backed right into the path of a young man who’d been on his way inside, his arms loaded full of books and papers. The resulting collision sent the books to the ground and the papers into the air--

Where they were caught in a gust of wind and went flying toward the gates.

“I’m so sorry!” I helped him chase after the errant papers. We (actually I) caught most of them, but one got stuck in a tree, entangled in a branch about three meters off the ground. Without letting go of his armload of retrieved papers and books, the man tried to climb the tree, and ended up nearly dropping everything again.

Not wanting to repeat the whole chasing down experience, I piled the books, scrolls, and odd scraps of paper back in his hands and pointed to the one in the tree. “Don’t move. I’ll get that one,” I told him, and scampered up to retrieve the page. I jumped down and gave him the paper, which he accepted with a quick bow. “I hope you’ll be able to put them all back in order.”

“There was no order to it – although… that would make it easier to keep track of it all, wouldn’t it?” He shuffled everything into an untidy bundle and tucked it all under his arm. “Thank you for your assistance, and my apologies for walking into you.”

Now that I was no longer scrambling after his paperwork, I finally was able to get a good look at him – messy dark grey hair falling into distracted violet eyes and a lovely, but unfocussed smile. I’ve seen him before! The clumsy bookworm… Mitsuyori? No… Mitsunari. Well, how could I forget the booksellers’ most loyal customer (who never actually bought anything)? Of course, since I couldn’t admit to spending time in Azuchi disguised as an elderly bookseller, I kept my expression neutral and pretended this was our first encounter.

“Actually, I think I walked into you. I was looking up at the tenshu. It’s spectacular.” I turned my face to the top of the castle once more.

He nodded, then smiled at me again, this time at least seeming to register my presence. “I remember how I felt when I first came here two years ag- Oh no! Why am I here?”

He stared hard at the castle, as if some stray thought was eluding him the way the papers had nearly eluded me. Since I doubted the question was either rhetorical or existential, I stayed quiet while he continued to gaze at the castle walls. “I didn’t mean to come here today; I’m supposed to be -” His expression changed to panic when the guard on the towers called out the change in vigil. “I’m late! Please accept my apology for running you over.”

“Of course, but it was my fau-” I stopped because he had already turned around and rushed down the hill.

Huh.

I watched him until he disappeared from view.

Sweet.

But… possibly not tethered to reality.

“Katsu!” Kyubei tapped my arm to catch my attention. “We’re to meet Lord Nobunaga in the tenshu.”

Dismissing the young man from my thoughts, I followed Kyubei up (and up, and up) to the top of the tenshu, where Oda Nobunaga was waiting for us in his rooms. Without prompting from Kyubei, I bowed low, aware that this was a formal audience, and possibly the first test of my manners.

In return, Nobunaga lightly dipped his head. When I finally rose and met his eyes, there was a hint of amusement in them. As it turned out, Nobunaga remembered ‘Katsu’ from our encounter in Osaka earlier this year.

“Fortune works in interesting ways, for you’ve ended up working for me after all, Katsu.” He lounged on a dias in an indolent pose, but there was an aura of kinetic energy around him that suggested he could go from restful to predator in an instant. “However- did you not say that you worked for a merchant who is like a father to you? Mitsuhide left me with the understanding that he was reaching out to a man who has some dealings in espionage.”

I bowed again. “Is a spy not a merchant of information?” Then, because he seemed to be in limbo between trust and distrust,” I added. “My business in Osaka the day we met was personal. I was not there spying for my master, and indeed my work for him generally only involves delivering messages. I didn’t tell him that we’d met.” I might have done so otherwise had not so many other things not occurred that day. In fact, I was flattered Nobunaga remembered me at all given that someone had tried to kill him that night.

While he seemed to think that over, I took in my surroundings. Like Aki’s office, there was a western influence in Nobunaga’s rooms, although the European objects (huh, he had even had what looked like a child’s stuffed bear mixed in there) displayed amongst Japanese works were displayed with more taste and flair. It was like the difference between walking into an episode of hoarders, versus walking into a museum. Then again, Azuchi castle had only been completed a couple years ago – Nobunaga likely hadn’t had enough time to accumulate the volume of tchotchkes that necessitates a once-a-decade konmarie purge.

Politeness required that I stay quiet until spoken to, and in any case additional exploration would have to wait, as a pair of voices approached. The combatants were arguing so loudly that I could hear them long before they appeared in the doorway.

“- this must be the most ridiculous scheme you’ve ever dreamed up,” said one man, sounding like he had had it up to here with the other person. “You have yet to convince me that you have any chance of success.”

“My dear Hideyoshi, you don’t need to be convinced. You only need to stay out of the way,” came the reply in a cool, mocking tone of voice, as a silver haired man came into the room. At his heels was this ‘Hideyoshi’ – yet another man I recognized from the booksellers. If I thought he had looked frazzled back then, it was nothing compared to him now. He had the look of a man who woke up every day to discover that imps had rearranged his furniture and placed his desk directly in the path of his shin. Then again, the other man had the look of a person who would indeed rearrange furniture; then stand by to watch the fun. So perhaps Hideyoshi came by his frazzle honestly.

Both stopped talking when they saw me standing there. Both subjected me to long, assessing stares. Ok guys, dial it back a notch… I’m not a used car you’re buying off the internet. “This is the young man you’re going to pass off as a Princess?” Hideyoshi crossed his arms and frowned as he turned to Nobunaga. “My lord, please, put a stop to this now. There are other ways we can handle this situation.”

Hm… should I feel insulted or complimented? While I was glad that my male disguise was so convincing, it was hurtful not to be deemed feminine enough to portray a girl. Although it was also possible that Hideyoshi was so against this plan that even someone like Miyahara Satoko would not be considered feminine enough.

Ignoring Hideyoshi, the other man (who I was certain had to be Mitsuhide) circled me, apparently mentally kicking my tires… and if he thinks he can open the hood and peek into the engine, my tires are going to kick him back. “I hate to admit you have a point. It may be impossible to turn this one into a convincing woman.”

I was seconds away from throwing myself a gender reveal party when I caught the teasing expression in Mitsuhide’s eyes. Ah ha ha… he knew I was female. This was a test. With an exaggerated eyelash flutter, I dropped into a graceful and dramatic bow, and said in my best boy-pretending-to-be-a-girl falsetto, “Why Lord Aketchi, that wasn’t what you said when you propositioned me in Kyoto last week.”

That earned me a smothered laugh from Kyubei and a long look from Mitsuhide. He turned to Nobunaga. “She’ll do.”

“Yes. I have prior acquaintance with Katsu and have judged him quick witted and resourceful. Your plan has merit.” Nobunaga didn’t exactly finish his statement with the words, ‘the great and powerful Oz has spoken,’ … but it was implied.

Hideyoshi stepped back as if he had been stung. I almost felt sorry for him, but my ego was still pouting from before.

I turned back to Nobunaga, figuring I’d better let him in on my current disguise. “Thank you. As it happens, I’m actually-”

“I’m sorry!” A pretty woman about my age hurried into the room. She was the epitome of femininity, even with (especially with?) a smear of rice flour across her face, and I wondered why she hadn’t been tapped to portray this Princess. “Masamune has been teaching me how to make dumplings.”

Nobunaga patted the cushion at his side. “Should I be jealous of the time you’re spending with the one-eyed dragon?” But his scolding was accompanied by a fond smile that transformed his fierce mien into something softer and more approachable.

The woman snuggled into his side with a smile. “Perhaps I am learning to cook something special for you.” He kissed her hand and for a moment the two of them might have been encased in their own personal bubble. I looked away, feeling like I was spying on a private moment.

Mitsuhide had no such restraint. “Mai, might I interest in you in a rather large sewing commission?”

She sat up straight and looked at him with excited interest. “Do tell.”

Hideyoshi gestured to me. “This is Katsu. Can you possibly-” he sighed. “Turn him into a girl?”

That earned me her intense scrutiny. She smiled. “You mean, back into a girl.”

I like her.

“Little Mouse, you’re always surprising me with your hidden depths.” Mitsuhide turned his attention to Kyubei. “Akihira determined that this person-.”

“Katsuko.” Kyubei supplied my true name. “She’s been my contact through Akihira for the past four years and I believe she is suitable for this task.”

“I trust your judgment.” Mitsuhide bowed respectfully to Kyubei. It was a bow of a friend to a friend, not a master to a servant, and my estimation of Mitsuhide rose slightly in due to the positive way he treated his subordinate.

“Now hold on!” Hideyoshi’s frown had intensified and his hair puffed out in kinetic disapproval. “The only reason I agreed to this in the first place was because you agreed to find a boy to play the princess… It’s too dangerous otherwise.” He directed his final objection to Mai, as if hoping for a female voice to help overrule Mitsuhide.

“I can handle myself in combat.” Well. I could defend myself, at least, then run like hell. I gave Hideyoshi my best scornful look. “If you’re not convinced, I can prove it in your dojo or on your archery grounds.” I could prove it here and now, but I sensed that Hideyoshi had a low tolerance for sharp objects too close to Nobunaga. Speaking of… he hadn’t said a word yet either for or against my participation. I glanced over to see if I could glean what he made of all this.

Although one of his hands was playing with Mai’s hair, he was obviously paying attention to and amused by the whole scene playing out before him. “No need for that, Katsuko. The task is to pretend to be the fiancée of one of Hideyoshi’s vassals. The only danger, and the only reason we hoped for a boy is that women have a habit of falling in love with him. Which would make our problem worse, not solve it.”

A boy might pose the same complications, but… details. “Why does he need a pretend fiancée?” If they had an incurable flirt on their hands, maybe they could just give him a good talking to?

“We’re,” Nobunaga gestured to himself, Hideyoshi, and Mai, “making a diplomatic visit to Kanamori Mozumi, a daimyo who has recently begun to mine silver in his territory, to discuss an alliance. As Genba castle is renowned for containing an expansive archive, I intend to bring our strategist along. However, Mozumi also has a seventeen-year-old daughter - Shohime, who visited here last summer, and … it appears our strategist left quite an impression on her.”

“According to my sources,” Mitsuhide added, “Mozumi has contracted a marriage between Shohime and a Daimyo from Tsuruga, and he would not be pleased if anything were to ruin his plans.”

“Understood. Tsuruga is on the coast, and Mozumi wants access to trade routes to export the silver to Korea and China. With income from the silver and alliance with you, Lord Nobunaga, Mozumi will triple his power and influence – as long as he can keep both the son-in-law and your alliance.” It also confirmed Aki’s take on the situation in Hida. Given the increasing demand for Japanese silver, and it was clear that Nobunaga would prefer to keep relations with Mozumi peaceful. Granted, with his armies and allies, he could also just take over Mozumi’s territory, but why waste the manpower and time if Mozumi was willing to treat with him?

My job, apparently, was to make sure that Hideyoshi’s vassal didn’t distract the Kanamori princess from her contracted fiancé.

“Yes, that’s an accurate summary of the issues involved.” Rather than sounding pleased at my knowledge, Hideyoshi continued to look skeptical. Maybe he wasn’t used to women having a grasp of politics?

“I get to make a wedding kimono?” Mai’s look of excitement could probably brighten a dark room.

“It won’t reach that point – Katsuko is simply a diversion. But...” Hideyoshi looked at me and heaved a pained sigh. “She needs clothing that would reflect positively on the Oda.”

She rubbed her hands together. “When do we start?” Ok, this girl really takes her sewing seriously.

Mitsuhide gestured toward the door. “Preferably last week, but since that’s not possible, now will be acceptable.”

Without another word, Mai jumped to her feet, grabbed my hand, and literally dragged me out before I realized I hadn’t even learned the name of my fake fiancée. I half turned back to ask, but Hideyoshi and Mitsuhide were already nose-to-nose in another argument. Eeek. Better to just let them wallow in their U.S.T.

Mai led me through the castle to a room filled with various fabrics, and what looked like multiple projects in progress. A couple nearly-finished kimonos were displayed on racks – lovely jewel-toned pieces with intricate patterns and embroidery. “Stand there, please.” She pointed to a box and took out a long string to measure me.

“Oh. Let me just get rid of-” I wiggled out of the leather corset-binder that was keeping me flat. “I won’t be sorry to put that away for a few weeks.”

“There’s got to be a better way.” Mai looked at the binder with disgust. The better way would have been my sports bra, but it died even before my still mourned hoodie. Unfortunately, it’s not like we had access to lycra here. “Do you have any preferences? Color? Style?” Mai went to a writing desk where there was a stack of paper and several different sized brushes.

Androgyny… but make it fashion.

“Something not terribly restrictive. And. Not pink.” I shot a look at a turquoise kimono on display – that one was more or less to my taste.

“I must overrule that.” Mitsuhide stood in the doorway flanked by Hideyoshi. Apparently, they kissed and made up. “Soft pastels – including pink.”

“Pink is certainly appropriate,” Hideyoshi agreed.

Great. Now they agree.

Mai quickly wrapped a yukata around me. She pointed to the men in the doorway. “Out!”

Right. I wasn’t very well dressed. It’s not that I have no modesty… more that neither of them were looking at me as if I were an object of desire, but rather a tool to be sharpened and polished. Ignoring her, Mitsuhide undid my braid.

He visibly flinched at my hair.

Hideyoshi actually recoiled.

Yeah, it’s not in any particular style and there are pieces that are much shorter than the rest, causing it to stick out in chunks everywhere.

“What happened? Were you in a fire?” Kyubei had joined us and looked at my hair with fascinated revulsion.

“Fume did it.” And then I tried to fix it with my dagger.

Hideyoshi turned to Mai. “We’re going to need more maids.”

Cue Jaws theme in head.

After that, the afternoon passed in a blur of discussions, haircut, fittings, hand cream, face cream, cream cream and…

Help, I’m trapped in a makeover montage!

By the end of the ordeal, I was buffed and shined and primped and folded, spindled and mutilated until I didn’t recognize my reflection in the mirror that Mai had unearthed. I’d taken on plenty of identities over the past seven years, but this one seemed even further away from Katsuko than my old man disguise.

Also… I had zero likelihood of being able to replicate this complicated hairstyle on my own.

Mai adjusted one of the folds on the kimono – one of her own that she was loaning to me until she and her team could finish my – for want of a better word- trousseau. Then she turned me around to face the men who were judging my transformation.

Category is: Sengoku Princess Excellence.

“I’m ashamed to admit I never realized you were a girl.” Kyubei bowed to the new me.

“Thank you.” That was a nice compliment on both levels. “I’m sorry I teased you about the mountain path.”

“An improvement.” Only the most charitable would call Mitsuhide’s expression a smile. Smirk. He smirked. “One would hope you can manage to also behave demurely and gracefully, Okatsu.”

‘Okatsu?’ Hm, alright. Disguises were always easier when I thought of myself as a new person. And ‘Katsuko,’ as Fume had stated repeatedly, was not a common name here. As for demure and graceful… well the first three responses I thought of were neither demure, nor graceful, so I settled for a faint smile, downcast eyes, and plans to get even with Mitsuhide later.

Apparently though, Mitsuhide’s not so subtle jab earned me sympathy points from Hideyoshi… which might have been his objective after all? If so, well played, sir. “You look lovely, Okatsu, and I am sure your manners are acceptable.”

There wasn’t much I could add to that, so I simply gave Hideyoshi another appropriately demure smile, while I crossed my fingers behind my back that I could remember everything about protocol that Aki had tried to teach me. When all else fails, smile and nod.

Anyway, I supposed I was ready to meet my so-called fiancé. Who was… where was he anyway? Maybe he was hiding? “Er, this man I’m pretending to be engaged to… he is ok with this, right?”

Mitsuhide and Hideyoshi looked at each other. Silently. Possibly communicating telepathically.

Well, that wasn’t a good sign.

“He does, at least know about this?” I had no doubts that I could squash the overtures of an unrepentant flirt, or, even have a bit of fun with one if I were in the right frame of mind – but it would be easier if he had at least agreed to this plan before I was foisted upon him.

“Did you?” Mitsuhide asked Hideyoshi.

“Of course I did!” In his annoyance Hideyoshi looked like a puffer fish, trying to make himself look bigger to broadcast his defense. “I informed him last night. I believe he heard me.” Then, more softly. “Hopefully, he’ll remember.”

After this ominous tidbit, Mitsuhide said with obviously false cheer, “Of course he will remember. I’m certain he’s looking forward to meeting Okatsu.”

The looks on everyone’s faces ranged from disbelief (Kyubei) to outright worry (Hideyoshi)… well, Mai, at least seemed convinced as she fanned her wet eyes and let out a happy sob. “I love weddings.”

Hm. Against all current evidence, I trusted Mitsuhide. Alright, I didn’t trust him specifically, but from everything Aki and Kyubei had ever told me about him, I trusted that Mitsuhide knew what he was doing. But I wasn’t sure that he cared as much about the people enmeshed in his schemes as he cared about the schemes themselves. Probably this plan would work, but it wasn’t likely to be easy.

But hopefully, a nice quiet meeting between myself and Faux Fiance would clear up any confusion and allow us to figure out how to play thi-

“Well, shall we join them in the meeting hall, where Masamune has prepared a meal in honor of your engagement celebration?” Mitsuhide bowed and gestured us to the door.

Celebration? Just how many people will be witnessing my first meeting with… and what the heck was this man’s name anyway?

@lorei-writes @lyds323 @bestbryn @katriniac @briars7

#TBTMND #ikemen sengoku #fanfic #mitsunari ishida #ikesen mitsunari #ikesen nobunaga #ikesen mitsuhide #ikesen hideyoshi #ikesen mai #a mitsunari night's dream #oc: katsuko #katsuverse

[detroitlib]

View of an advertising card for Raymond & Lapham, depicting a man holding a newspaper scroll. Printed on front: "Eagle pencils warranted of a super extra quality, manufactured of pure lead, by steam power, secure from grit, and of uniform character in touch and power beyond any hitherto produced. For sale, wholesale and retail, by Raymond & Lapham, booksellers and stationers. No. 90 Woodward Avenue, Detroit, Mich. This cut represents Clark's newspaper file."

Courtesy of the Burton Historical Collection, Detroit Public Library

#raymond & lapham #eagle pencils #detroit #detroit history #vintage advertising #use #vintage #illustration #detroit public library

[tiredgriffin]

S3 I need to see Muriel dressed like Aziraphale because they think it's a booksellers uniform

#they would love his comfy sweaters so much #good omens

[mysticdragon3md3]

My only real hope for later today, is for a Nendoroid Claude von Riegan (post timeskip) to get announced. And the same for Dimitri.

I was a little tempted to add movie versions of Ballister and Ambrosius from the Netflix Nimona movie. But I'm not sure yet, if I'm as obsessively fixated enough on them, enough to want figures.

The Golden Deer's post timeskip versions used to take up 2 squares. So when I consolidated them into 1 square and freed up another square, I was about to add some older picks that left my bingo cards by now:

Nendoroid school version Persona 5 protagonist with bloody Persona Awakening face.

Pop Up Parade Skull (Persona 5).

Figma school uniform Ryuji Sakamoto (Persona 5).

Nendoroid cat protagonist from Stray.

Nendoroids of the remaining Akizuki class KanColle girls.

Nendoroids related to Date & Sanada: Yonezawa Castle, Sendai Castle, Osaka Castle (Shiro Hime Quest).

Skull-Face Bookseller Honda-san

Then I remembered that I've been wanting Megurine Luka Nendoroids to return. I'd like a re-release of the original. But it'd always be nice to get all these versions that both Miku and the Kagamine twins have been getting. Like Harvest Moon, Symphony 2022 (Symphony 5th Anniversary), yukata/kimono, etc. I'd really love for other Vocaloids to get Snow versions too.

Good Smile Company didn't provide a bingo card template this time. So I was about to reuse my WonHobby36 version but change the logo. Then I remembered that I've always wanted to make icons out of the official figure line/brand logos. So I made this new bingo card mostly from scratch, with all the icons and figure types that I wanted.

#figure collecting #WonHobby37 #wonfes2023summer #wf2023s #bingocard #bingo #figures wishlist #wishlists #wonhobby #wonfes #WHL4U37 #WHL4U #ambrbalnf

[corsairesix]

Izre Vox Chaotic Good Elf First Year “On the surface, Izre is a quiet, bookish library shelver who spends most of her time working at Ismeri Library, but that is far from the only side of her. As a member of the Urban Exploration Club, she has a hidden zeal for adventure that takes her to the hidden corners of Ravnica. If asked, she’ll show off a dozen or so scars from her journeys into the Undercity that don’t show when she’s wearing her library uniform. In her spare time, Izre writes romance novels based on the places she explores. Her current book is the middle of a trilogy about a bookseller and a vampire from the Undercity. She hardly lets anyone know about her writing, but she does sneak her books onto shelves in the library when she thinks the librarians aren’t looking. She spends the little free time she has left between her job and her secret hobby at the Mosaic Salon, listening to music and drinking half-cups of tea before forgetting about them. She is scouted by House Dimir and the Golgari Swarm for her familiarity with the Undercity. Dimir has an interest in her work at the Ismeri Library as well.”

One of the NPCs for my upcoming strixhaven --> Ravnica conversion.

(art by Laura Faraci)

#dnd npc #prism university #ravnica

[teachersupdates]

Schools Re-Open Amid Difficult Economic Times for Parents

Schools Re-Open Amid Difficult Economic Times for Parents After two years of disruption to the educational calendar caused by the Covid-19 outbreak, schools reopen for the first term today. As a result of the current economic climate, parents struggle to pay for their children's school fees. In terms of supplying capitation funds, ensuring proper infrastructure in schools, and personnel, a portion of teachers' union executives have stated that the government is not adequately equipped. Due to the frequent closure and reopening of schools over short terms over the financial two years, some schools have accrued arrears in unpaid fees, which, according to an official, heightens the situation of increased parents. Despite the numerous obstacles, parents in several regions of the country rushed yesterday to prepare their children for the start of school. In the majority of big cities, there were lengthy lines at the bookstores, supermarkets, and uniform retailers. As early as 8 a.m., Bungoma residents swarmed to shops and supermarkets. Matatu owners capitalized on the last-minute surge of parents shopping in the town center for school supplies. The majority of public service trucks were headed to Kisii, Kisumu, Kakamega, Vihiga, and Busia, and a portion of the travelers interviewed stated that they choose to travel the day before the opening to escape the crowds. In the county seats of Vihiga, Kakamega, and Busia, a significant number of parents and students flocked to book stores and bank agents. According to parents contacted, they have been driven to pay whatever they can in the hopes that school administrators will appreciate their situation. To date, 365 students have been awarded full scholarships by the Vihiga County government. While handing out the bursaries, Vihiga Governor Wilber Ottichilo asked parents to be patient as they work on a plan to enhance funding. "On the day of reporting, I must pay first term fees of approximately Sh50,000 for the first term. Due to inflation, textbooks and students' personal belongings are expensive, and we've spent a lot of money feeding them throughout the long break," a Nandi parent, Monica Rop, said. Some parents also remarked that the Form One reporting date was announced with short notice after the Ministry of Education recently released the placement list. Some parents urged the government to consider prolonging Form One admissions for around two weeks so that parents have time to look for money. Unlike in the past, when supermarkets and bookstores conducted brisk business on the eve of the start of the school year, several Kapsabet town stationery and booksellers reported low activity. One of the bookstore proprietors reported that some parents were merely inquiring about the prices of CBC books but were not purchasing them. Book stores and school outfit shops in Migori town lamented robust business despite the parents' complaints about the economic climate. Schools Re-Open Amid Difficult Economic Times for Parents Read the full article

[artbookdap]

Bookseller favorite 'A–Z of Record Shop Bags, 1940s to 1990s' from @jonnytrunk @fuelpublishing is out NOW and reviewed by Emily Gosling @creativereview ⁠ ⁠ "A new book from Jonny Trunk titled 'AZ Record Shop Bags' brings together gorgeous images of British record store bags from the 1940s to the 1990s, hailing from London, Manchester and other big cities, as well as Northampton, Scarborough, Chesterfield, Tunbridge Wells, Leicester, Loughborough and more. Taking in more than 500 examples, the book offers an insight into a strand of graphic design that’s previously been almost totally overlooked.⁠ ⁠ These square spaces proved the perfect site for graphics that ranged from practical typography to striking letterforms, cute mascots and illustrations that made the most of the fact that these spaces could be printed with one or two colors — three at most.…⁠ ⁠ Superb is a running theme throughout the book: since these bags served as adverts as well as carriers, the store names had to stand out, and often act as both branding element and decoration. Poring over the lettering today, it’s striking that the type is largely unfamiliar — before the days of system fonts and vast digital foundries, the designs feel far more wide-ranging, and frequently exhibit charming, slightly off-kilter little touches that modern typesetting irons out with uniformity."⁠ ⁠ Read the full review via linkinbio.⁠ ⁠ #jonnytrunk #a-zrecordshopbags @nalascarlett #recordshopbag #recordshopbags #shoppingbags #paperbags #plasticbags #vintagebags #rsd2022 #oldrecordshop #recordshops https://www.instagram.com/p/Cc5btf7shPu/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

#jonnytrunk #a #recordshopbag #recordshopbags #shoppingbags #paperbags #plasticbags #vintagebags #rsd2022 #oldrecordshop #recordshops

[wellesleybooks]

Booksellers having a wild time at the store today.

#bookseller uniform #booksellers just want to have fun #indiebooksellers #wellesley books

[slyttherins]

Bloody Rita Skeeter | Fred Weasley x Reader

Summary: Fred wants to sleep in and have a lazy morning, but Rita Skeeter ruins his plan

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Reader

Word count: 737

-

''Ron is working this morning so I don't have to come in until noon. Isn't it great?'' Fred shuffled closer and kissed your shoulder, half awake. ''We can sleep in and perhaps-''

''We?'' You pulled away from your boyfriend's hold. ''Sorry to break it to you, love, but I'm not staying in bed with you. I got to get ready for work.''

Fred opened his eyes and whined, not happy with the news you dropped on him. ''Do you really have to go?'' He tried to cuddle into you, but you didn't let him, knowing that he wouldn't let go of you if he did.

''Yes, I do. Unlike you, manager Weasley, we, mere employees, can't skip work just because we feel like it.''

''Can't you call Hannah and ask her to cover for you? Just for the morning.''

''What am I gonna tell her? Hey, Hannah, can you cover for me this morning? My boyfriend wants me to stay in bed with him.''

''Yeah. I'm sure she'll understand. I bet she's done it a few times.''

Hannah was a bubbly and fun girl, but she and Neville had a very different relationship than you and Fred. They were more private. You doubted she'd ever skip work to sleep in with her boyfriend. Plus, Neville's new teaching job at Hogwarts didn't allow them a lot of mornings together as he was residing at the castle during the school year.

''Unfortunately, I can't do that.''

It was difficult to resist a sleepy and messy haired Fred Weasley who demanded cuddles, but calling in wasn't an option today.

''Rita Skeeter is releasing her new book about the families who fell from their pedestal after the war. She claims to be revealing their deepest, darkest secrets. The Malfoy family is among them and people are eager to read about their secrets and how poorly they were treated when Voldemort returned. I personally doubt the Malfoys gave her any interviews, she most likely invented everything that's in her book, but people are still gonna buy it. It's gonna be madness at the book shop,'' you explained.

''Bloody Rita Skeeter...'' the redhead grumbled. ''She ruined our lives with her lies when we were at Hogwarts and now she's ruining my morning.''

You rolled out of bed and began changing out of your night clothes, switching them for a blouse and tailored pants. It was plain and unflattering, but you worked at a bookshop, not Madam Malkin's.

''Are we still going to the Leaky Cauldron tonight?'' you asked, just checking in.

Fred hummed, still snuggled under the covers. Lucky bastard. ''George and I have to close the shop, but Angelina will probably get there before us.''

You grabbed your Flourish and Blotts Bookseller red pin and put it on your blouse. ''Is Ron coming too?''

''I doubt it. Hermione finally found time for him in her busy schedule. I think he's gonna spend the night with her.''

''Ooh. He must be on the moon. Hermione is so busy at the Ministry with her internship. I haven't seen her since Harry's birthday. We're in September.''

You finished getting ready in the bathroom, applying some makeup and fixing your hair - looking put together helped with the sales. When you returned, Fred was surprisingly still awake, watching as you searched for your shoes.

''Tell your boss to get new uniforms. Those pants makes your ass look flat.''

''Excuse you?!''

''Sexier uniforms might make their sales go up. I know I would buy more books if the salesperson's uniform was sexier.''

You rolled your eyes, knowing he hadn't picked up a book other than an instruction manual since Hogwarts.

''Or attract creepy men. It's a book shop,'' you reminded him.

''Lucky for me, I know what's under there,'' he said smugly, grabbing a handful of your ass through the fabric of your pants as you bent down to tie your shoes.

''Fred!'' you squealed, biting back a laugh. That boy...

He laughed, pleased with himself.

''You know, I was planning on coming here to change after work, but now I think I'll keep my work clothes.''

''Wha- No!'' Fred protested, sitting up on the bed.

You quickly left his room and headed to work, laughing to yourself.

#fred weasley #fred weasley fic #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley imagine #harry potter imagine

[goodomenslady]

Good Omens Fic Rec List 5

Five more fic recs to enjoy!

1. What I Hate by @aethelflaedladyofmercia

Link:  https://archiveofourown.org/works/24690250

Rating:  G

Word Count:  666

Crowley gets into a minor snit about the nonsense on Twitter, and Aziraphale blithely suggests a response to all that nonsensical bickering. Short and funny, with the angel pretending to be oblivious about that silly 'socialist media,' as he calls it.

2. Angel Wiggles by @infinitevariety

Link:  https://archiveofourown.org/works/27494947

Rating:  G

Word Count: 841

Crowley gets the loveliest feeling of satisfaction whenever he sees Aziraphale wiggling, because he knows he's made the angel happy. But lately Crowley can't get a single wiggle out of him. Something's not quite right. So Crowley decides to shower Aziraphale with things he loves and see if that works.

3. Asportation by @mazarin221b

Link:  https://archiveofourown.org/works/20190265

Rating:  T

Word Count:  2,279

Outsider POV. Sully is a crook, leader of his own small gang, and kidnapping the old-fashioned bookseller and demanding ransom from the posh boyfriend with the fancy car should have been a piece of cake. But it almost seems like the bookseller is enjoying spending time with his captors, as if he has nothing better to do than to have long, heartwarming talks with them about their life choices, and what's more, the boyfriend laughs at their ransom demand and hangs up. Great little one-shot, I love how Crowley indulges Aziraphale's wish to do good.

4. Parking Permit  by @sparkle-in-the-stars

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19899715

Rating:  M

Word Count: 950

Aziraphale is determined to take their relationship to the next level, but his archaic innuendos do nothing but baffle Crowley. How long will it take Crowley to get the hint? Tremendously funny one-shot.

5. Someone to Watch Over Me by @holycatsandrabbits

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21126566

Rating:  E

Word Count: 9,788

Back in the American Revolutionary War, Aziraphale gets to see Crowley in both the red British uniform and the blue American one. The demon was rakishly handsome in both of them, especially when he's stepping in to protect Aziraphale from trouble. In the present day, Aziraphale reveals his fantasy to Crowley, leading to sexy roleplay.

#fic recs #bottom aziraphale #top crowley #fanfiction #protective crowley