I think you made me start shipping Marchil
Your posts got me thinking about their dynamic then I wrote a fic that was supposed to be platonic but midway through I realized it could actually be interpreted as romantic too and now I'm just sad about how little time they'll have together
First of all, you have a lovely icon, second, I’m so honored… I finally read Not a bad way to go and it was soo so good like. My god!!! Pre-canon is underused and you did so many interesting things with it.
It sounded like a cruel joke, that the one who needed her concern the most was also the one least interested in it.
^^^ go read it go read it
Chilchuck was drunk enough that he needed to hold onto the walls not to fall, but apparently still sober enough to remember emotional vulnerability was his worst enemy, as he made sure to avert her eyes and said:
“Namari made me come talk to you ” to make it clear he wasn't being nice voluntarily.
Yeah.
“Of course I'm scared of dying.” He scoffed. Did she really think so little of him? “But if I could choose, I would want to die doing something I love, like drinking. Or maybe fucking,”
Maybe you wish you didn’t know but my new favorite HC because of this is that Chil dies yes prematurely not of liver failure though but during coitus. Especially if marchil, the thought of him busting a nut and his heart giving out makes me laugh so hard. My god. Lmao. Oh god. Lmfao. Worst day of her life
Marcille knew Chilchuck wasn't a kid, but she often struggled to take him seriously as an adult because he was just so adorable and small. In this moment, however, she saw them exactly for what they were, even if it was just a glimpse. A sheltered, naive little girl trying to tell a tired, much more experienced man how to live the rest of his life.
Standing ovation
She tried to find an explanation to give him, but she couldn't even find one for herself. Why would she miss him? He was just Chilchuck, her coworker, Chilchuck who was cold, aloof, sometimes crass, evasive, and even outright mean. He who was level headed, reliable, trustworthy, perceptive and clever. He who had the least time left, even in a best case scenario. “I guess that despite your best efforts, there's still a lot to like about you.”
This fic goes so hard, standing ovation pt 2
“I just think it's better if we don't get too close. Don't you agree?”
“I… maybe” she said, uncertain as he didn't know how to feel about that. Caring about people would only hurt her in the wrong run, she knew that, but unfortunately she couldn't help it.
I looove how they can be read to be similar on this aspect. My hand clenching around my phone as I rear up to rant about Marcille and the way she does keep people at an arm’s length subconsciously again my god my goood. Obsessed with this obsessed with this, underused for marchil. Terrified of loss through death vs rejection duo I love youuu
Brilliant ending I’m in shambles. I’m not gonna spoil it
You get marchil so much you truly do. The way they mesh, the way their views on mortality clash and both soothe & bruise… He doesn’t have much time left even in best case scenario (which Mr I won’t eat well I’ll drink and smoke a lot I’ll stress all day every day is determined to not make happen) which makes it all the more meaningful for Marcille’s arc when she learns from him to finally enjoy the present moments… It’ll only be a fraction of her life, but to him he’s giving her the rest of his life. What are some decades of love worth? Worth it, surely, if nothing else
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Crowley reads books (a fanfiction)
summary - Crowley has been reading books for years, but Aziraphale has only just noticed. under 2000 words, nothing too angsty.
this is the first fic i've ever written and if you want to ask me anything about it please do i'll be delighted to answer you questions :D
Crowley was draped across the couch as usual, both legs over the armrest and one arm dangling off the side. The warm evening light was still glowing gently through the window, the last beams of summer sun illuminating the dust in the air. The bookshop was peaceful, still and reddish-warm. Aziraphale was in the storeroom trying to find a particular book he’d just remembered about, and it was late enough that no one was even going to bother checking if they were open–no one was going to interrupt. It was a warm evening, and the window was open a little. There was distant street noise, the eternal hum of Soho, and vague chatter from the restaurant, but everything was soft and muffled.
These last few years the bookshop had become haven-like for them both, for Crowley especially–a place he could hide away, not have to worry so much about anything outside. Not have to hide himself under dark glasses and swagger. Especially since the lockdowns, he’d spent increasing amounts of time there–sure, he’d miracled the Bentley bigger on the inside, but he got bored (and lonely, they both did, though he could scarcely admit it to himself) and so when he simply showed up at the bookshop, it only took him a few minutes of convincing before he got Aziraphale to let him in (he did wonder, though, if Aziraphale had been waiting for him–hoping he would come? It had hardly been a convincing and more Aziraphale agreeing ‘well, now that no-one’s looking’). And after that–well, he went back to the Bentley to sleep, to spare himself the experience of Aziraphale offering that he could stay the night, but he did spend most of his days there. And he parked the car two minutes away. Just in case.
Crowley turned a page of the book he was reading. He’d found it on a shelf a few days ago, buried in Aziraphale’s somewhat baffling filing system. Crowley could usually find things in the shop, but every time he thought he had it he’d find a book in the randomest spot and have to reconsider that opinion.
Aziraphale bustled down the staircase holding a dusty blue volume, looking rather pleased but with a hint of the manic glint in his eye he’d get when he was in the middle of some research project.
‘Found it, excellent, there’s a few pages near the end of this one and then I just have to find the–’ He glanced at Crowley and then looked back, fully staring.
‘Are you– are you reading a book?’ the angel sounded genuinely astounded.
‘Mhhmnh, yeah, I started it the other day’ said Crowley, leaning the book down on his chest for a moment. ‘It’s quite good, it’s about this guy who–’
‘Reading, Crowley? Really?’ Aziraphale said in shock.
‘What, I thought you liked reading?’ Crowley replied, not sure if he was supposed to sound confused or jokey.
‘Well yes obviously I like– but that’s not the point! I didn’t know you read!’
‘Well, nhm, you never asked,’ he replied, trying to keep a nonchalant tone at the angel’s fluster.
‘I didn’t think I needed to ask, I thought I would know something like this. Reading, really, and you never told me,’ Aziraphale said, gesturing at the book Crowley was holding, then looked off to the side a little.
Crowley sat up a bit, suddenly more serious, swinging his legs over the couch and putting the book down. He leaned forward, moving more into the last light from the window, the rich orange glow of the (battery powered) candles on the wall.
‘Oh no no nonono angel, don’t get upset, I just didn’t think you’d– I thought you’d– oh no–’
Crowley mentally whacked himself in the forehead–Aziraphale was obviously unsure about this, standing there looking somewhat perturbed, a little irritated maybe, in his sweet round cherub face. Crowley always got a little panicky when Aziraphale got upset. Kids he could deal with fine, with Aziraphale it always felt personal.
‘I thought you liked movies. You always used to want me to come to the movies with you.’
Now he sounded… confused? Hurt? Crowley had tried to take him to the movies, loads of times, but Aziraphale always got fidgety halfway through. Even when those clever humans had worked out talking films, Aziraphale had just never quite caught on. He was still stuck in the early 1900s, for the most part. And the tension of sitting in a dark room for an hour and a half might prove… too tempting.
‘I do! I do like movies! I just– also like books. Look I know it’s your thing, I’m not trying to encroach on your thing, I just– sorry, I should have told you.’ He said, suddenly feeling awful.
‘Oh no, that’s not what I was worried about at all, it’s just that–two hundred years we’ve had this bookshop and I didn’t know you liked to read?’ said Aziraphale with exasperation, and still a little hurt.
Crowley felt himself blushing and suddenly felt exposed without his glasses and jacket. He pushed his sleeves back up where they’d slipped back down his arms. He could feel Aziraphale watching him.
‘I guess I thought you’d– ernhnhn it doesn’t matter I’ll put it back,’ he said, embarrassed, standing up from the couch.
‘You thought I’d what?’ asked Aziraphale gently.
‘I thought you’d laugh at me. Y’know. For reading. I know it’s not really–it doesn’t seem like my kind of thing. Forget it angel, I’ll put it back.’
‘Oh Crowley. Why would I laugh at you? I have a whole shop full of these things, do you really think I’d laugh at you for reading one? It’s–it’s quite nice actually. To know they’re being read. Considering I don’t sell very many.’
And he sounded so sweet just then. Crowley glanced at him, but barely needed to, he knew the face he’d be making–the same look of beaming adoration he always got whenever Crowley did something rather-less-than-demonic.
‘Oh,’ said Crowley. He felt the angel take a step closer, put his own book down on the desk.
‘You were going to tell me about your book?’ Aziraphale asked. Crowley felt his heart melt a little and gripped the edge of the desk, leaning on it to stop himself throwing his arms around him.
‘Yeah, alright angel,’ he grinned, still blushing a little. ‘It’s about this guy called Zachary and he finds himself written in a book he finds in a library, and he goes and find a girl at a party who knows something about and and then he meets this guy who stole his book, and the girl sends him to this underground library place where everything is like a dream, it’s pretty cool–’
Aziraphale had put a hand on his arm. Was still looking at him with his eyes of stars. Was still smiling up at him with all the love he had for the demon who had found enjoyment in his favourite thing from earth. Crowley relaxed his hand on the desk but was still fighting the voice in his head screaming why don’t you just touch him you idiot?. He put his hands in his pockets, breaking off Aziraphale’s touch. Fine then, avoid it again, won’t make you feel any better, said the voice in his head.
‘Ngk, okay, I don’t want to spoil it for you.’ he said, in what he hoped was a chill tone of voice. He didn’t think it was. He was shaking slightly from the combined shock of having upset Aziraphale and then having him touch him, and look at him like that in the space of a few minutes. He slung himself back over the couch and picked the book back up again, trying to hide behind it a little, though he could no longer focus on the words on the page.
‘Oh of course, that does sound quite interesting, I’ll have to read it later,’ Aziraphale beamed. He turned to walk away.
‘Oh, just one thing, Crowley?’
‘Mhm, angel?’ he replied, still nervous.
‘Try not to leave books face down, they are all first editions. There are bookmarks on my desk just there, you can use one of those.’
‘Of course, angel,’ said Crowley.
He watched as Aziraphale disappeared around a shelf, peering over the top of his book. He laughed a little, hidden behind the pages, grinning like an idiot that Aziraphale, lovely little dumbass that he was, would look at him like that just for reading a book.
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