Crowley Found Out That Aziraphale Had Put An Extra Bookshelf In The Backroom Of The Bookshop On A Measly

Crowley found out that Aziraphale had put an extra bookshelf in the backroom of the bookshop on a measly Monday morning. When Muriel took him to the back and showed him the hidden cd collection behind a collection of books about dowdy fabric patterns they asked him whether he knew what the bookshelf was for. His breath hitched for a moment. Behind his glasses he blinked a couple of times. And he growled how the fuck should I know Muriel. He stalked off - looking his worst* murdery murderous look - slamming the bookshop door behind him, and hating the cheerful jingling with all his heart. Around the corner he relieved some of his feelings by shouting at some quivering nettles**.

It turned out that Aziraphale had co-opted Maggie's help in finding 'bebop' music. While Aziraphale did not really listen to that sort of music, he did have an extraordinary good memory. He had memorised many of the cd's Crowley had listened to. And collected them for some inexplicable reason. Crowley didn't get it. He didn't know why Aziraphale hadn't told him about this. He didn't get it. But he knew why of course.

Later that day he returned to the bookshop and slipped quietly into the backroom. He closed the door softly and took a deep breath. Smelling the dusty musty books always made him feel close to... He slowly ran a finger over the albums. Thinking back to those moments in the bentley listening together. Listening alone. Wondering. How long it would take for his angel to come back to him.

*so that means best depending how you look at it.

**The nettle, very confused and not having experienced demonic energies before, promptly grew a bright blue flower in between its pink ones. When Crowley saw that he stopped shouting and caressed the flower softly.

My latest Guardian Books cartoon. Inspired by this news story.

Diversity win! The horniest person you know is on the asexual spectrum

List of British words not widely used in the United States. Lists of words having different meanings in American and British English. List of American words not widely used in the United Kingdom.

I read it. It’s lovely!

Hello there! Happy Spring! I’ve spent almost the last year working on a Good Omens AU and was hoping to share it here. I also wanted to shout about how wonderful the readers have been. This fandom is amazing. Thanks for what you do to keep everyone informed of the great stories out there.

The fic is finally complete. It’s a fake marriage fic with Aziraphale as a romance author and Crowley as his gardener. Crowley is demisexual.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/48743242/chapters/122958385

Congratulations! I do hope you are proud of yourself!

and now all of my garden is grown in lavender by ilikeblue for the_moonmoth [Rated E, 72K words]

Popular queer romance author, A.Z. Fell, has been lying about having a husband and a happy marriage for years. Longing to escape a string of failed relationships and looking for a fresh start, Aziraphale moves into the cottage left to him by his Great Aunt Agnes. When a TV adaptation of one of his books leads to sudden popularity and throws him into the limelight, his fans (and the press) are eager to catch a glimpse of Aziraphale's own mysterious leading man. Unfortunately, he still has to cast someone for that role. Enter the handsome gardener…

Under Crowley's meticulous care the cottage's neglected garden slowly comes back to life, and Aziraphale finds himself writing the most important love story he'll ever write: his own

-Mod AB

Honestly Sense8 deserves so much credit for saying that isolationist tactics never work. That you can't retreat into your own little bubble and expect to be safe for it. That you will never be able to cut the rest of the world out and do right by your family, or your people, or the random stranger on the other side of the planet, or the girl you met last week. Sense8 really said that empathy makes us people and that to lack it makes us monstrous imitations thereof, huh.

Crowley was rather proud of the Employee Hellpline. There had been a contest, about twenty years back, to create the most confusing phone structure possible, and Crowley had won. (He'd got inspired by calling up a telecom company to cancel service. Despite the fact that he'd made the call without an account, he'd left having agreed to a phone/television/Internet bundle and two magazine subscriptions.)

What he’d forgotten was the fact that he was an Employee, and thus had to navigate the labyrinthine obscurity of the Hellpline every time he needed to put in a request for a little extra power or office supplies. Fortunately, he didn't tend to make many calls; unfortunately, this meant that any insight he gained into the pattern had generally evaporated by the next time he had to face it.

Which was how he came to be sitting in his car, twenty minutes late for lunch, being informed in a monotone that he’d better listen carefully to the following menu, as options might have changed.

“For complaints about colleagues, press 1. For complaints colleagues made about you, press 2. For accounts payable, press 3, then 8, then turn the phone around and repeat. For accounts receivable, enter your ID in reverse. For all other financial requests, spell the first 10 pages of the Bee Movie script using your keypad. For—”

There was a knock at the window. “Are you quite all right?” Aziraphale said.

Crowley rolled the window down, half-listening to the phone menu. “Sorry I’m late—”

“You weren’t late. You drove up twenty-five minutes ago and took the ‘Reserved for Customers of AZ Fell & Co’ spot. So no actual customers have been able to park here this entire time. Which is dreadful,” Aziraphale added happily. 

“This concludes the menu. Make your selection in the next four seconds or this call will be terminated. Four…three…” Crowley racked his brains attempting to remember whether accounts payable was 8, then 3, or— “Good-bye,” the voice said, with gloomy satisfaction, and hung up.

“Ahhh, sanctify it.”

“What?”

“I’m trying to get this reimbursement through. I had to buy eighty live bats for this work thing, and apparently that kind of order can’t go through the normal process. So I’m on the Hellpline. But this consecrated phone—”

“Didn’t you design the system?”

“Might’ve done.”

“May I?” 

Crowley hit Redial and placed the phone in Aziraphale’s outstretched hand.

Aziraphale listened thoughtfully to the first list of menu options, then tapped the phone. He listened a bit longer, tapped twice more, said, “Mammal, not otherwise specified,” and handed it back. 

A voice crackled in Crowley's ear. “Accounts payable, living creatures from twoscore to nine dozen. How can I hinder you today?”

“One sec,” Crowley said, and moved the phone away. “How’d you do that?”

“It was yours, wasn’t it?” 

“Yeah.”

“I suppose I simply know how to thwart you,” said Aziraphale smugly. “Go on,” he said, nodding at the phone as he got in the car. “We’re late.”