if there's a place for [us] that love has kept protected - New Good Omens Fic: "Regulars" - Aziraphale/Crowley, Various - PG13 [entries|archive|friends|userinfo]
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New Good Omens Fic: "Regulars" - Aziraphale/Crowley, Various - PG13 [Feb. 28th, 2010|02:14 pm]
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Title: Regulars
Fandom: Good Omens
Pairing/Characters: Aziraphale/Crowley, various local strangers
Rating: PG-13
Notes: This story exists purely because I was hypothesizing about how Crowley's downstairs neighbor perceives him. From there, I got to thinking about London as they inhabit it—the neighborhoods in which they live, the locations they've made their regular haunts. Who watches them, I wonder, and what do they see in looking? I've broken this piece down into five different locations, one outside perspective for each.
Summary: You can't live somewhere or frequent a place for any length of time without others taking notice. In fact, you may not even notice them.


Harriet turns down the telly for a few seconds, straining to listen. She knows the sound of those footsteps by heart, partly because the young man who makes them has been living in the flat upstairs for about ten years now. The reason she really remembers them, however, is something she couldn't put her finger on for a very long while, but eventually figured out, and she's proud of that fact. He has the lightest, quickest footfalls she's ever heard: soft and smooth, as if he's scarcely touching the ground. She's seen him a goodly number of times, too. He's usually dressed in fine shirts, dark trousers, and a nice jacket, but can't hide the fact that he's all angles, really quite thin. In spite of that, his movements are graceful—swift, serpentine.

When they're getting home at the same time, which isn't often, he always holds the door for her, wearing a sheepish smile. He's handsome, Harriet supposes, in a starved-James-Dean kind of way, although she still doesn't know what color his eyes are because he's forever wearing an expensive pair of black sunglasses. She knows they're expensive because her son used to wear an identical pair. He was wearing them when he died at the wheel of his beloved sports car twenty years ago.

Harriet asked his name once, about six months ago, when she helped him up the stairs with an armful of pot-plants. He'd paused for a few seconds, fumbling his key into the lock, as if he wasn't accustomed to using it. "Anthony," he'd finally said, hastily scooping up the pots. "Pleased to meet you," he'd added, using his back to brace the door open behind him as he retreated into the flat, "and thanksss."

The lisp was sort of a shame, Harriet thought. She wouldn't talk much, either, if she had a speech impediment. It didn't detract from his looks, though, not a bit.

Harriet might have worried for Anthony, taken him for one of those lonely, depressed corporate sorts prone to eventual suicide, but he seemed to have something resembling a social life. About a year after he moved in, he started bringing somebody home every other week or so. In truth, he wasn't at home all that much; Harriet couldn't help but wonder if he spend most of his daylight hours (and his nighttime hours, too, several times a week) wherever his guest lived. She knew it was always the same person because the footsteps that accompanied Anthony's up the stairs were always the same: deliberate, laden with consideration.

There's no way it could have been a lady-friend, not with footfalls like that.

Today, it's the same set of accompanying feet. What's unusual is, this is the third time in a week, and they seem to be coming and going together. She's never seen Anthony's mystery guest, though she's heard their voices drifting down through the ceiling at odd hours, quite faint, engaged in animated conversation. She knows that they drink quite a lot of wine, because Anthony's recycling bin is always full to the brim with glass bottles, which are always washed with the labels carefully removed. It's a pity, that, as she'd really like to know what they're drinking. Anthony has good taste, just like her son. Some of the bottles look even older than she is.

Harriet switches off the telly, listening as the door upstairs opens and the two sets of footsteps cross the threshold and proceed to make their slow way across her ceiling. She supposes she knows what's happening, in an abstract sort of way. She's heard about people like this, of course—in the newspapers, magazines, sitcoms, everywhere. As a believing Catholic, she's not sure it's right, but what she is sure of is that anything keeping that nice young man from an untimely death can't be wrong.


Gavin uses the alley behind the bookshop because it's safe, convenient, and the bookshop is hardly ever open. Well. It's inhabited, anyway, as he can see lights in either the flat above it or through the back-room window on most nights. An older chap owns the place. Glasses, greying fly-away blond hair. Gavin's only caught him coming in the back door once or twice, always mumbles a hello or a good evening and makes sure to keep his arms covered. The gent always smiles politely, returns the greeting, and goes in. Never says anything more.

Anybody else would have reported him, even here. People don't seem to remember what it means to mind their own fucking business. On nights when he's careless, too high to think of anything except how good it feels, he leaves sharps behind, but they're always gone when he returns. Somebody else could be taking them, he supposes, using them, which is really fucking stupid, not even he does that, but still. He doubts it. He thinks the bookshop owner disposes of them. Bless the bastard.

Gavin got a right scare the first time the guy called Crowley came knocking 'round the back. He had been just blasted enough that, with those dark glasses and his furtive demeanor, the guy looked like he might have been hired by somebody to whom he owed a considerable amount of money. Instead, the guy had slid his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose, just a little, blinked (it was the light from the upstairs window, that or the smack, that made his eyes glitter like Carter's first glimpse into Tut's tomb), and said, "Who're you? A customer? He's not open."

"I'm nobody," Gavin had said, defensively, still a bit creeped out. "Who're you?"

"Crowley. Listen, is anybody home in there? You seem like you might know."

"Light's on upstairs," Gavin had said, shrugging. "'Course he's not open."

Crowley had snorted, half smiling. "Tell him I called."

Of course, Gavin didn't remember much after that and woke up on that very spot the next morning with a pounding headache and an old tartan blanket draped over him. He almost knocked over a half-cold cup of tea that was sat at his elbow in the dust.

That had been at least a couple of years ago. He knows now that Crowley normally uses the front door and he and the bookshop owner spend long hours drinking and arguing about really daft shit. Or at least it sounds like arguing. It might just be healthy debate. Gavin can't tell if they're lovers or enemies. Whatever they are, there's genuine affection involved, and it gives him the warm-fuzzies.

He's the only junkie in Soho with a pair of guardian angels. He hopes they'll stay.

The Ritz

Lapsang Souchong and Earl Grey are back. Rashid has been the one fielding that weekly, sometimes bi- or tri-weekly order, since at least '87. They usually order their tea and their food separately, never opting for one of the Afternoon Tea options. Just as well, Rashid thinks: those are kind of a rip-off, and they'd get boring if you were dining in the Palm Court several times a week—which these gents frequently did.

What's unusual to start is that neither one takes milk with his tea, at least not when ordering his usual. Sometimes, Lapsang Souchong becomes Darjeeling and Earl Grey becomes Rose Congou. It's the opposite of what Rashid would have expected, but then, the opposites-factor is what makes these two regulars so interesting.

There's their looks, for starters. Rashid likes to imagine the slightly older-looking gentleman is a retired lecturer from one of London's many universities, or perhaps a senior curator at the British Museum, and that the younger one is a celebrity in disguise. He knows the younger one's name is Anthony J. Crowley. It's usually his credit card they use to charge their indulgences. When they're in the mood for wine, Lapsang Souchong becomes a well-aged French red, whatever they have in at the moment, and Earl Grey becomes a dry, tangy German white. Beaujolais and Riesling.

If Rashid wanted, he could probably find out what Lapsang Souchong's name is. He's served them often enough. Even though he knows Crowley's name, he still prefers to think of the twitchy young man as Earl Grey. He's never seen what's behind the sunglasses, but it's been an item of burning curiosity amongst the staff for years.

Today, Sunday, there's a sense of rightness and quiet. Outside, he hears birdsong that reminds him of home. Rashid drops sugar cubes in each tiny glass bowl—refined white for Lapsang Souchong, demerara for Earl Grey—and readies the tea tray for delivery.


Ruth doesn't mind the competition turning up on her doorstep. On the contrary, she quite anticipates it, because Mr. Fell never pays her a visit unless he intends to buy. She's been meaning to visit his shop in Soho for years, but she can't seem to work up the nerve. She's heard he keeps odd hours, and it's not the sort of place she'd like to go after dusk. So, she lets Mr. Fell come to her.

She took over the shop when her husband passed on. They'd had no children—never wanted any—and their marriage had been long and happy. Ruth thinks of the shop as her husband's legacy, shelves full of letters and stories he's telling her from wherever he's gone, some of which she'll never get to read because they sell before she manages to reach them. She's only halfway through the inventory, and new books come in by the week. It's getting difficult to keep track of what she's read or not read, but she manages. The poetry section is her favorite, because those books don't sell as well and are likely to stick around for far longer than the rest.

Mr. Fell is interested in antiquarian items—old Bibles and religious treatises—but he occasionally brings along a friend, this good-looking younger chap whose name starts with a C, who has an interest in poetry. Or at least Ruth assumes he has an interest in poetry, because he stands there flipping through book after book in the section with intense interest while she and Mr. Fell exchange gossip and trade secrets (granted, it's more of the former than the latter, as Mr. Fell doesn't actually seem to know the first thing about running a bookshop with an eye for turning a profit).

Sometimes, C will take his time looking through a book, as if he's reading page by page instead of just skimming. He's a quick reader, regardless; she's certain he's read almost every book in the section by now. On one occasion, she could have sworn he looked disappointed to discover that she'd finally sold the signed first-edition of Michael Smith's Times and Locations. An obscure title, certainly, but worth having.

It had taken her about thirty seconds to remember that Mr. Fell had been the one to purchase it, about a month ago. It had also taken her far less time to realize how fond of the lad Mr. Fell truly was. He'd steal sidelong glances, as if concerned that they were leaving him out. C always read on, oblivious.

Today, Mr. Fell has decided to purchase a new scholarly edition of the Wycliffite Bible. Before wrapping the book, Ruth takes a piece of shop stationery—From Maddow Books, With Compliments—and scrawls, simply, Tell him.

She slips it inside the front cover and says, "That'll be twelve pounds, then."

St. James's Park

If secrets had market value, then Geoffrey MacGregor would be a very wealthy man.

As it stands, he's not. He's chief gardener and has been for nigh on forty years now, although he doesn't tend to dwell on that, as time is irrelevant when you're fairly happy with your job and know that your employers know you're the best in the business. Also, he's not afraid of the pelicans.

Maintaining the grounds of a large royal park, you see a lot. In fact, you see a little of everything, even some things you wish you hadn't seen. During the day, it's mostly the usual—loud teenagers with piercings in odd places and substances they oughtn't be using in public, couples snogging away on picnic blankets as if they think they've landed a private room at the Ritz, and so forth. Nighttime attracts considerably more interesting characters, which sometimes necessitates phoning the police.

It's not entirely sordid, of course. In fact, that's why Geoffrey's stuck with it for so long: he loves the park and all its inhabitants, even the bloody pelicans. He loves the swarms of Asian and Italian tourists with their incessantly snapping cameras, the subdued middle-aged French couples arguing as they smoke on the bridges, the schoolchildren brought out for a romp in the middle of a museum-ridden field trip.

Two, he loves in particular, because they've been coming ever since he started.

When Geoffrey does consider time in conventional terms, he will grant that forty years is a long time. He will also grant that, although the strangers who pass through each day are almost too many to count, he never forgets a face as long as it shows up a second or third time. Likewise, those faces age, just as his own has, although he rarely looks in the mirror anymore. He can see himself in the water clearly enough.

The two he's thinking of can't be thought of in conventional terms, because they don't age. In fact, not even their clothing has changed all that much; but then, they're the sort to dress in a manner that the fashion industry would probably call timeless. Dark trousers, white shirts, and jackets never go out of style. Neither do tweed and tartan, regardless what his Mary might have said up till her dying day.

Forty years. Forty years they've been coming, these two men, at least once a week (and sometimes more), and never has either of them appeared to have aged. The younger one sits somewhere around a handsome thirty-five, Geoffrey supposes. His companion might have ten years on him, but it's a graceful decade if it's a day.

They normally stand on one of the bridges, idly tossing bits of baguette or tea biscuit down to the waterfowl. Sometimes, of a Sunday, they stake out a bench and don't leave for hours, sipping tea from a thermos or whiskey from a flask. Unlike the stuff the teenagers bring in, whiskey, in Geoffrey's view, doesn't count as contraband, so he's inclined to let them be. In forty years, he's never said a word to them, and they've never spared him a glance. Some things, he reckons, are best left alone.

He'll watch over them, though, until the day he's gone. He knows they'll still be here, talking, feeding the ducks, and loving each other as much as he's come to love them.

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[User Picture]From: alassenya
2010-02-28 02:32 pm (UTC)


Thank you for posting this - it's wonderful - I love how you can be so evocative in so few words. Each character has depth, no matter that the appearance is brief, and each point of view is interesting.
[User Picture]From: irisbleufic
2010-02-28 03:00 pm (UTC)


I thought I'd be able to write it last night, but I spent most of this morning on it because figuring out the various viewpoints and who they would be, precisely, required some conversation-tennis with my husband. I love that he's so willing to hear me out re: fanfic ideas. Thank you, as ever <3
[User Picture]From: obopolsk
2010-02-28 02:52 pm (UTC)


One of my favorite tropes is stories of outsiders' views of the protagonists, so I love this.
[User Picture]From: irisbleufic
2010-02-28 02:58 pm (UTC)


I've done a lot in past stories with OCs that have a lot of active interaction with Aziraphale and Crowley, but never anything tackling the subject of passers-by who remain near or total strangers. I rather liked the idea. Thanks; I'm glad you liked it, too!
[User Picture]From: bulldogscram
2010-02-28 02:57 pm (UTC)


I love Gavin's story and how Azirphale is trying to help him the best way he can.

This whole piece is lovely.
[User Picture]From: irisbleufic
2010-02-28 03:00 pm (UTC)


Gavin's my favorite of the viewpoints, I think, although Harriet was the first one to start talking, as it were. I'm glad you enjoyed this so much; thank you!
[User Picture]From: linda3m
2010-02-28 02:58 pm (UTC)


This is a really fascinating piece. When I read a story, especially Fantasy, what makes it compelling are the bits of realism that ground it.

These five vantage points give Crowley and Aziraphale a foundation, which if anything - makes their other-worldliness more believable.

It's well-written, detailed and colored - each original character is full-formed and fleshed out and their perceptions round out the canon characters.

More than fanfiction, this feels like a missing part of the Crowley and Aziraphale's history and when you have 6,000 years of missing history, that's nice to have.
[User Picture]From: irisbleufic
2010-02-28 03:02 pm (UTC)


One of the things that has made Good Omens a lasting fandom for me - and Aziraphale/Crowley in particular as a pairing and/or inseparable set of characters - is the setting, London itself. Since 2005, I've been spending a lot of time in London. Part of me desperately wants to live there. Of all the cities I've ever visited or lived in, with the exception of Boston, which also holds a special place in my regard, it's sunk the most deeply into my psyche. It's full of so many fascinating strangers!

Thank you very much.
[User Picture]From: mizzmarvel
2010-02-28 03:39 pm (UTC)


How lovely! I especially like just how fond everyone is of them -- even when they're distant or a little scary.
[User Picture]From: irisbleufic
2010-02-28 04:09 pm (UTC)


It's just something that happens, I think - when I worked at Borders for about a year, there were a number of regulars whose names I never even knew, but of whom I was intensely fond nonetheless. Given more time than a year, I wonder what more I would have learned about them!

Thank you :)
[User Picture]From: lonelywalker
2010-02-28 03:44 pm (UTC)



I'm not sure I can express how much I love this. Firstly, it's a great concept, and I'm not sure what you'd call it, but I've suddenly discovered I have a narrative kink for it, and someone should run a ficathon post haste.

Secondly, these are five really interesting OCs with unique viewpoints, which is immensely hard to do. But I want more of them. They should have a club. An internet bulletin board.

And thirdly, eee, Aziraphale and Crowley in hints and subtleties. Love them. Have to say I particularly like Crowley's intense flipping through poetry. I have totally worked in that bookshop *ahem*

Yes. Well. Bravo! *bookmarks like whoa*
[User Picture]From: irisbleufic
2010-02-28 04:10 pm (UTC)


I probably could have written another five, as there are so many places around London to which I've attached some kind of significance for A&C. The thought of them having an internet bulletin board is kind of hilarious! Thanks for that :)
[User Picture]From: mushroom18
2010-02-28 03:45 pm (UTC)


This is incredibly clever -- the locations you chose, how "mundane" the events were -- and yet you described their relationship perfectly!
[User Picture]From: irisbleufic
2010-02-28 04:11 pm (UTC)


Mundanity is often the spice of life. Thanks, very glad you enjoyed this <3
[User Picture]From: morganoconner
2010-02-28 03:51 pm (UTC)


This just made my morning. :) Quiet and lovely and perfect. Thanks for sharing!
[User Picture]From: irisbleufic
2010-02-28 04:11 pm (UTC)


And thank you for reading! :)
(Deleted comment)
[User Picture]From: irisbleufic
2010-02-28 05:00 pm (UTC)


Awww, thank you <3
[User Picture]From: wolf
2010-02-28 04:39 pm (UTC)


I really like the idea of writing a story from the viewpoint of their neighbors, etc. It's an interesting take, and I enjoyed it very much. The last line drove everything home. Great job! :D
[User Picture]From: irisbleufic
2010-02-28 05:03 pm (UTC)


Thanks, glad you liked! Your icon's gorgeous, by the way.
[User Picture]From: synekdokee
2010-02-28 05:10 pm (UTC)



I will never not love your characterisation.
[User Picture]From: irisbleufic
2010-02-28 05:23 pm (UTC)


And I will never not love the fact that you still use that little stick-figure icon by azureflight :)
[User Picture]From: todd_fan
2010-02-28 05:13 pm (UTC)


This was a beautifully written piece. It's lovely to see how the characters are viewed by the people they pass every day. I'll admit, I've often wondered about the little old lady in the flat downstairs to Crowley, and I think you fleshed her out wonderfully.

A great story, I'll add it to my memories. Thanks for the splendid read.
[User Picture]From: irisbleufic
2010-02-28 05:24 pm (UTC)


At first, I was wondering if I ought to disclose her age, but then, I thought, no, maybe the best way to frame it is in terms of the even-older wine bottles. I love the way old glass gets a kind of scratchy patina to it, you know?

Thank you very much!
[User Picture]From: hells_hikari
2010-02-28 05:55 pm (UTC)


The story is very beautiful. Also, I love to read outsider's POV stories.

It's hard to decide which part is the best, because every single one is wonderful, with very interesting characters.

Harriet is very likable, she reminds me a bit of a nice old woman who lived next door and gave me a flower whenever she saw me.

Gavin's story really moved me. I love the line it ends with. "He's the only junkie in Soho with a pair of guardian angels. He hopes they'll stay."

I love how Rashid refers to Aziraphale and Crowley by "Lapsang Souchong and Earl Grey".

Ruth is also very sweet, I love how she notices the affection between them.

Geoffrey's story is also interesting, I particularly love the last part.
[User Picture]From: irisbleufic
2010-02-28 06:09 pm (UTC)


The various bookshop owners of London, although I know none of them personally, but many of them in passing as I drift in and out, generally come off as warm, likeable, interesting people. I love that sort of casual, come-in-off-the-street-occasionally kind of relationship. It makes you feel connected to a place. Wanted.

Thank you very much <3
[User Picture]From: starless_knight
2010-02-28 06:05 pm (UTC)


TF linked to this. I loved reading it, it gave me tingles. Thanks for posting it :)
[User Picture]From: irisbleufic
2010-02-28 06:09 pm (UTC)


Thank you for reading! I'm pleased you enjoyed it.

(TF? That doesn't sound familiar. I'll have to thank them!)
[User Picture]From: shinobi_mi_chan
2010-02-28 06:06 pm (UTC)


Oh, that was just so lovely. :) Amazing work-- you managed to perfectly portray their relationship through mundane events seen by others. Now THAT'S talent! Thank you so much for sharing, I loved it.
[User Picture]From: irisbleufic
2010-02-28 06:10 pm (UTC)


Thank you very much for reading! I've been drowning in academic work for months, so it was nice to take a weekend and get back to fandom (people I love, both real and imaginary).
[User Picture]From: kattahj
2010-02-28 06:15 pm (UTC)


Ooh, lovely. I have a thing for outsider's perspective, and these were great. Plus, the ending gave me a warm fuzzy feeling.
[User Picture]From: irisbleufic
2010-02-28 06:17 pm (UTC)


I had somehow wanted to fit a sense of loving London into the last line as well, but stating that explicitly kind of messed up the line's cadence. But at least I hope the sense is there. Thank you <3
[User Picture]From: sunflower_mynah
2010-02-28 06:30 pm (UTC)


Oh, I like this a lot! I like how Gavin sees both of them as guardian angels, and - well, honestly, the outsider point of view just fills in their history, and those two have so much history. I love how different people each figure out about their relationship in different ways, and how each of those ways are made up of the small things, like how they're comfortable around each other and stuff. Gorgeous. <3
[User Picture]From: irisbleufic
2010-02-28 06:58 pm (UTC)


Granted, it's filling in some of their more modern history ;) I suppose that, to get a full picture, I'd need to do snapshots of their neighbors/passers-by in times past. In any case, I'm glad you enjoyed this. Thanks for reading! <3
[User Picture]From: dmlpacker
2010-02-28 08:28 pm (UTC)


This is wonderful. Geoffrey, especially, gave my heart a little twinge ♥
[User Picture]From: irisbleufic
2010-02-28 08:40 pm (UTC)


I love how all of you seem to have different favorites amongst the points of view. It means that no one of them is standing out in the majority as more fully-formed than the others (hopefully). Thank you so much for reading <3
[User Picture]From: tristesse
2010-02-28 08:48 pm (UTC)


Warm-fuzzies indeed. Thank you, sweet pea.
[User Picture]From: irisbleufic
2010-02-28 08:49 pm (UTC)


You're very welcome. It was a good time for them to rescue me from my own darkness, even if only for a day. They kind of have the tendency to do that when I need it most.
[User Picture]From: spockollama
2010-02-28 08:57 pm (UTC)


By the end of each section, I alreadywanted ot know more about each narrator. Your wrting style is lovely:)
[User Picture]From: irisbleufic
2010-02-28 09:01 pm (UTC)


Thank you very much :) I admit I wouldn't mind knowing more about them myself, although that would have taken devoting a story to each, I think.
[User Picture]From: ladymouse2
2010-02-28 09:11 pm (UTC)


Linda3M beat me to it with everything I might have said--I can only add "Amen!" In particular I second her that it feels like missing canon.

Your return to Good Omens writing couldn't have started off with a more exquisitely observed piece. *Hopping like a mad flea*

You succinctly reveal just enough background for the viewpoint characters to not only give them full personalities, but a hint of what draws them to the pair like Crowley's downstairs neighbor with the lost son who loved designer sunglasses and speedy, fine cars.

You flesh out the various little neighborhoods so well too, giving A and C's world the charm of well-traveled byways with their own "fauna".

I like the way you tie back into the novel with Rashid's sense of the occasion feeling right and tranquil and the birdsong of a "nightingale singing in Berkley Square". Nice touch to make the waiter have an Indian name so the "birdsong that reminds him of home" doesn't have to be outright named a nightingale; the subtlest of economy.

Best of all, I love how each of these observers feel avuncular, even a touch proprietary about the pair from Ruth scribbling her love advice to Gavin feeling warm fuzzies and Geoffrey simply loving them.

Incidentally, if ever you can find an old copy of "Eddie and the Archangel Mike" by Barry Benefield, copyright 1943, based on this story in particular, I think you'd love it.

It's not satirical as GO is and is thoroughly American but it has that magical quality and takes you into its world.

[User Picture]From: irisbleufic
2010-02-28 09:21 pm (UTC)


I never truly leave GO, really - I just take leaves of absence when my work demands it, and inevitably get dragged back when I realize I've been away for too long. Usually, it's dreams or half-awake musings that drag me back - in this case, half-awake musings.

Harriet and Gavin were very clear to me, but the other three took a little bit of brainstorming. I'd wanted to have a sixth perspective, one for Covent Garden, but the cacaphony of the place made it too difficult for me to settle on one voice, so I cut it.

As usual, thank you for such insightful, detailed feedback <3
[User Picture]From: tekalynn
2010-02-28 09:24 pm (UTC)


Oh, excellent! Every view different, every one "right", and all contributing to the whole.
[User Picture]From: irisbleufic
2010-02-28 09:29 pm (UTC)


Thank you for reading - I'm glad you feel they work well together! I'd wanted a sixth perspective, but I think it would have cluttered things a little if I'd included it.
[User Picture]From: tiggymalvern
2010-02-28 10:26 pm (UTC)


This is a lovely piece of writing, each scene highly evocative in so few words. I love Harriet, worrying about Crowley being lonely, and Aziraphale quietly doing what he can for Gavin whenever he finds him. And Aziraphale buying the book that Crowley keeps reading (if it's been a month, I'm wondering what special occasion he's keeping it for to give it to him). Your OCs are beautifully well rounded for such short appearances. Great job.
[User Picture]From: irisbleufic
2010-02-28 10:39 pm (UTC)


You know, re: the occasion of the book, I think he was just planning on giving it to Crowley out of the blue, but hasn't yet worked up the nerve for various reasons. I sort of like the idea of a gift for no reason other than, well, actions can speak louder than words. However, if you want to imagine it's for some occasion, by all means, do!

Thank you for your lovely feedback <3
[User Picture]From: coinin
2010-02-28 10:48 pm (UTC)


Aww, this made my heart all warm and stuff :) I really enjoyed this, lovely little vignettes.
[User Picture]From: irisbleufic
2010-02-28 11:04 pm (UTC)


Thank you very much :) That was rather the intention. It's been so cold around here lately, both metaphorically and literally. I just wish spring would arrive in Britain!
[User Picture]From: innocentsmith
2010-02-28 10:59 pm (UTC)


This is so lovely! I'm always a sucker for an outsider perspective on characters I love, and every single one of these is fabulous - the observers all seem like real and solid human beings, and it's all just so fond. And the writing, as ever, is gorgeous.
[User Picture]From: irisbleufic
2010-02-28 11:05 pm (UTC)


This all works out very well: I'm a sucker for writing outsider perspectives, and you all appear to be suckers for reading them. Everybody wins ;)

Thank you, dear.
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