goldnfinches



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    “I have standards,” Aziraphale huffed.

    “Don’t I know it,” Crowley sighed. And then, like he’d done it a hundred times before, he covered Aziraphale’s hand with his.

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    08 Aug 2023

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    To put off his meddlesome, matchmaking mother, John convinces Sherlock to play the role of his significant other. Unparalleled awkwardness ensues.

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    15 Mar 2025

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    “Yeah! Oh, my name is Gojo Satoru, by the way.” He hides the hurt behind his teeth, his grin wide and friendly. He thought he’d only have to introduce himself once to someone he called his best friend. It’s strange to repeat words from more than a decade ago to the same person. “You can call me Satoru.” He hopes he calls him Satoru.

    “I’m Geto,” he says back. You were Suguru to me, Gojo thinks. “Nice to meet you, Satoru.”

    “Nice to meet you, too.” He leans against the wall beside him, tries to look nonchalant as he does. “So, do you come here often?”

     

    Geto thinks Gojo is just a lonely guy who wants friends. Gojo just wants to know if he remembers him, even just a little bit.

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    29 Dec 2023

  4. Public Bookmark *

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    After everything, Aziraphale and Crowley, by unspoken agreement, begin sharing their lives.
    ---
    Why? Aziraphale wanted to ask him, why millennia of the way things were, and now this?

    But while Crowley seemed to have little issue upending every unspoken rule they’d ever written for themselves, Aziraphale was not so flexible, and they had spent thousands of years never quite addressing whatever it was this had stemmed from. Words, Aziraphale had always felt, were for bickering about where to eat for lunch, or hashing out ontological debates, or other trivial nonsense; there was no need to trifle with the imprecision of language, with phrasing and the possibility of being misconstrued, when it came to important matters if the other person simply understood, without needing it said. Six thousand years ago, when Aziraphale had met Crowley on the wall of Eden, watching the first two humans set out to begin the rest of history, something deep within him, more central even than his Grace, had thought, oh, it’s you, and that had been enough for him--for both of them, he assumed--for three millennia.

    However much he wanted to ask, he didn’t know how. The words simply weren’t there.

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    08 Aug 2023

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    So it was fine. Even if Crowley couldn’t love him, he clearly liked him well enough, and that was almost the same thing.

    It no doubt would have continued to be fine, or at least fine-adjacent, were it not for a narrowly averted apocalypse and several bottles of a really quite nice Riesling Aziraphale had found in the back room of his newly restored bookshop.

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    08 Aug 2023

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