#sense to me but my partners can inherently clock him without that. my friends and mutuals have deadass fully made me Stop and go 'oh holy

[spectordameron]

truth be told I think one strong reason I will never truly become utterly obsessed with the prequel era and its media is the simple fact that the discourse around it bored me. lots of pretentious sounding people arguing over fictional characters that are all doomed by the narrative of the tragedy they're trapped in, does not sound like a fun time to me. the amount of arrogance steeped in so many takes I've seen is just annoying and frustrating. you must be so fun at dinner parties,

[masterthespianduchovny]

Gillian’s comparison

"Why is it that now, in retrospect, people can start that conversation by saying, 'I assume that is not true,' when they didn't at the time?" she muses. 1."David and I are closer now than we have ever been. 2. Look, when you are working with somebody for such an intense period of time, of course you don't want to see them outside work. I didn't want to see the girl who was doing my hair every day, either. 3. There are inherent complications in such forced marriages. In other countries the men get to beat the women; thankfully, that doesn't fly in America. 4. It was an important time for both of us. So we worked a lot of things out together in a psychological and metaphysical way."

Let’s break down this infamous quote anons LOOOOOVVEEEEE using to take shots at David.

1. Gillian is explaining that people are assuming that people who never called into question David and her tense relationship never did at the time. The bold part ARE HER OWN WORDS explaining that they are much CLOSER than they’ve ever been. She didn’t say “we’re close now.” Or at the very least, “we’ve mended bridges.” NOPE! Gillian flat out said that she and David are closer, which means, as I said, they had a tense relationship, but was close in a sense. I’m allegedly putting words in Gillian’s mouth or making up shit, BUT when you use her own words, she says the things people accuse me of saying. lol. She is flat out contradicting their claims.

2. As I mentioned in my post, “David and Gillian: The Uphill Battle”, they worked under extreme conditions. Lo and Behold, Gillian says when they worked together it was “an intense period of time.” That she (also) didn’t want to see David outside of work let alone anyone else. AGAIN, these are Gillians words. There is no way to misconstrue what she is saying UNLESS you don’t want to believe her. She didn’t paint a picture that it was just David, she’s saying the environment overall was intense and even a position such as hairstylist was still someone she didn't want to see when she clocked out. But, somehow, antis will make this about David being the worst and I somehow misunderstand Gillian.

3. This is where we have to break do a break down. Gillian said, “there are INHERENT COMPLICATIONS.”

Let’s define Inherent: belonging by nature or habit.

Gillian was explaining that when you’re forced to work with someone, as in signing a contract to be tied to a show with them for years, naturally, complications are apart of that relationship. In this context, that is what inherent means. This is important because it leads to her abusive marriage comparison, which is built off of her calling her working relationship with David, “a forced marriage.”

Usually in forced marriages or, stereotypically viewed in the west, there is a huge power differential in favor of the man. Leading up to this point, Gillian laid groundwork explaining that they were in a way better place than before and how intense work was, so you didn’t want to see anyone afterwards. Without explicitly saying it, she paints a picture of friction and discord because of the load they had to carry.

When she says her remarks about other countries, she’s not making a comparison to DD being an abusive partner, she’s saying, “if we were truly in a forced marriage, David would've had the OPTION to beat me”, which built off of her references to how bad things were. But, since America isn’t like that, if they’d truly been in a forced marriage, David didn’t have the option at all. She went down a crazy rabbit hole of an explanation as to how difficult their relationship was at times, but she never said or implied that David was abusive. So either people have poor comprehension skills, which I don’t believe, or people love to misconstrue her words because it paints David in the worst possible light. I think some honestly did get tripped up, but Gillian didn’t compare David to an abusive partner.

Why even speak highly of David or, at least, where their relationship was in the moment, if she was then going to compare him to an abusive partner? Yes, she clearly didn’t know she was going for that line of thought, but again, why say they're “closer” than they’ve ever been. Again, closer means they were close in some capacity while the show was on. 

4. She goes on to say that since this was both an important time for them, they found other ways to work through this. She doesn’t make another reference to forced marriage or abusive husbands. Or imply any skewed power dynamics. She frames it as to equal partners trying to overcome an obstacle.

Because this is the quote antis LOVE to reference, if David was an abusive partner to Gillian, why does she continue to work and associate with him.

----

This interview happened in ‘05, three years before IWTB came out, which means she went to work with DD two years later to film it. It was ten years before she began shooting for Season 10 and twelve years before she shot with him for Season 11. In the meantime, she also did a handful of cons with David and, I believe, at one point she only agreed to do a con if David did it.

Last year she roped David into helping her raise money for a NF charity she’s passionate about. She also promoted his music and showed people where to find it. Then, after swearing off the X-Files, she did zoom calls with David about the X-Files. Gillian has even gone to a play that David was in and he went to her plays as well. People will claim some of these actions are PR (funny how they believe in PR-esque relationships now), despite some of these things not being connected to the X Files at all and neither having any reason to do it other than them wanting to.

Was GA promoting DD’s music for “The Crown”??? I’m sure antis will find a “plausible” explanation. 

For all of the antis proclamations that they aren’t friends, Gillian hates him, and she doesn’t talk to/associate with David, 15 years of evidence and her own words prove otherwise. :)

How dare I say they're friends because they behave like friends AND, well, they called themselves friends. No, I’m wrong and the antis who deny their literal quotes confirming that I’m saying is right. 

(I expect more anon hate, despite solidly making my case. lol)

@baronessblixen

[phcking-detective]

9. Positive Reinforcement

Fic Title: First Blood

Rating: E

Length: 9/33 chapters, ~128k

Tags: Slow Burn, Idiots to Lovers, Trans Character (gavin), Autistic / Asexual / Non-binary Character (nines), BDSM, learning to use good etiquette and safe words, Dom Nines / Sub Gavin, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort

Chapter Tags: hospitals, hurt/comfort, domestic, Nines takes care of Gavin, caring Dom Nines, Gavin has a mood swing / shouting episode but there’s no partner abuse, using BDSM instead of therapy (not recommended btw)

Link on AO3

***

Hospitals suck ass.

Gavin repeats this mantra to himself like one of those meditation techniques. It's not enough to block out how his hip keeps slipping between the three chairs he's trying to lay on horizontally or how fucking cold it is in nothing but jeans and Nines' stupid fucking Cyberlife jacket or the bright fucking florescent—

"Detective."

Gavin squints up at Nines' sudden appearance like he's looking at a miracle—inherently suspicious and wondering what the fucking catch is. He's woozy and tired and somehow also hungry, the nurse took four tries to find his vein, and Tina didn't answer any of his calls from the courtesy phone because who the hell answers phone calls?

"What are you doing?" Nines asks in the sort of tone normally reserved for walking in on someone trying to suck their own dick.

Not that Gavin's ever tried.

"I'm sleeping, fuck off."

"On three separate chairs?"

"You know what?" Gavin sits up and stabs a finger against the android's steel fucking stomach. "I'm tired, I don't have a phone or my wallet, I can't pay for a cab, Tina isn't answering, and I don't—"  

The finger-stabs turn into punches.

"Have. Any. Other. Friends!"

Nines stands there, letting Gavin punch him until the bruised knuckles aren't worth it anymore. The waiting room starts to sway. Fuck, he really needs a snack or something right now. One free cookie and a juice box just isn't going to cut it.

"Here."

The inside of the jacket suddenly begins to warm up. Nice to know it could have done that the entire FUCKING time. Nines also produces Gavin's cellphone from his pants' pocket and offers it to him. Gavin snatches it back and stares at the screen.

"Can't phcking read this," he mutters.

Nines produces his headphones too. When all Gavin does is take them back and hold them stupidly in his other hand, Nines crouches down in front of him. His fucking head hurts so bad, Gavin actually sits quietly and doesn't complain while Nines plugs in the headphones and then puts the earbuds inside his ears.

Your jacket is at the dry cleaners. Nines' voice sounds in his head at a mercifully low volume. I have brought your truck and ordered you a large number five meal with a strawberry milkshake.

Gavin slumps forward and lets his head rest on Nines' shoulder so he doesn't cry. He punches the android's arm and chest a few more times for good measure. It doesn't even crinkle his fancy black dress shirt. Nines stays perfectly still and allows this too.

Your food is becoming cold, detective.

Gavin grunts. He'll get up in a second.

Nines decides he'll get up right now. Those ridiculous fucking yaoi hands grabbing his thighs is the only warning he gets before he's hoisted in the air and held against Nines' chest. Which—fuck, that's hot, but not here!

"Fuck off tin can, leggo!"

Gavin puts up a fight against his partner's gay shit because there are people watching. He can see them right over Nines' shoulder, the nurse at the front desk and the six other people in the waiting room. Yeah, shit's a lot better for gay people now, but that doesn't mean he wants the entire hospital to know what a bottom bitch he is.

"Don't fucking hold me like a fucking child," he complains as they reach the automatic doors.

A second later, Nines shifts him into his arms bridal style, like that's any better.

"Hold me like a man, god damn it!"

Then he's slung over Nines' shoulder in a fireman's hold. Between the giving blood wooziness and suddenly being upside down, he has to stop yelling and just focus on breathing for a second. The rush of cold air when they get out to the parking lot helps.

Even better, when he opens his eyes again, he's greeted by an up-close view of Nines' ass in tight dress pants. Best of all are the thick, powerful thighs right beneath it, marching away. A little bit lower, and he could just bury his face between those thighs and suffocate the way God intended.

Car tires crunch against the asphalt in front of them and Gavin's pretty sure he recognizes the blurry, upside-down image of his truck between Nines' legs. Has the automated driving feature always been capable of being remote controlled, or is that just some freaky shit that Nines did to it?

He doesn't get a chance to think any more about it before he's flipped upright, set inside his truck, and buckled into the passenger's seat like a toddler. It's a miracle he hasn't dropped his phone or had his headphones ripped out of his ears yet.

"I hate you," he tells Nines, just to make sure the android knows.

Nines takes the bag of fast food off the dash and sets it in his lap.

Occupy your mouth.

Gavin makes a face at him. Why's everything he say have to sound so ominously dominating? The passenger door shuts in his face before he can think of something smarter than I'll occupy your mouth though, so he settles for grabbing his milkshake and making loud slurping noises. Nines gets in on the driver's side and immediately takes the milkshake from him, so he counts it as a success. He's too hungry and tired of hurting his hands to try hitting him for it, so he digs into the food bag.

A large number five, fried chicken club sandwich, none of that stupid special sauce, extra ketchup.

Gavin really can't help the moan he makes when he bites into it. But there's only so much toxic masculinity even he can handle, and he'll moan like a bitch if he wants to moan like a bitch. As long as it's just the two of them.

"Mmphfgh. So."

Swallow.

Shit. Fuck, his headphones are still in. Gavin rolls his eyes to try to shake off how he jumped, but he does still swallow his bite before talking again.

"How'd you know to come get me? Tina never answered."

I know the location of the Henry Ford Medical Center, detective.

"Yeah, but who told you to come get me?"

It was an independent decision.

Gavin takes another huge bite of his sandwich to think that over. Some ketchup squirts out the other side onto his fingers, and he sucks it off as obnoxiously loud as possible. Nines flashes red in his peripheral vision. Well, he can't actually see the LED because it's on the wrong side, but he can see his partner's reflection in the driver's side window.

"You find the perp loitering nearby?" he finally asks.

No.

Gavin tries to think of any other reason Nines would come get him but comes up empty.

"So, why did you …?"

He takes another long drink of his milkshake to avoid putting whatever this is into words. Take care of me makes him sound like a child and do the nicest shit anyone's done for me in years (or maybe ever) just sounds pathetic.

We need to get back to work. Humans need food after donating blood. Your jacket needed to be cleaned.

All right, those are simple explanations. Yeah. Maybe that's just how Nines sees it. He doesn't have a social module, so he was probably just solving a series of problems, completing his task list or whatever. Not like. Actually caring.

Except then Nines turns and says out loud with soul-searing intensity, "You are my partner."

Gavin does the only reasonable thing and stuffs an entire handful of fries in his mouth so he doesn't have to look at those pretty blue eyes staring at him like he's important. Or do some gay shit, like cry.

He's not going to cry. It's just been a long day, that's all. He makes the mistake of looking at the dashboard clock.

11:36 am

Fuck.

***

(9 hours later …)

Mmm warm good smell. Food smell. Gavin takes another greedy inhale and feels the warm thing touch his lips. He instinctively takes a bite before he even finishes waking up. It tastes good and kind of chewy, if a little bland. He snuffles and licks the fingers that fed it to h—

Wait, fucking whom'st fingers is he licking right now?

"Fascinating."

Gavin swats the hand away and glares up at Nines hovering over him. "What the fuck did you just make me eat?"

Nines cocks his head to the side. He looks more like a creepy animatronic owl than the cute puppy eyes Connor gives when he does it.

"Can you not tell?" the android asks.

"Can you blow me?"

"I tried that on a banana," Nines says casually, as if that mental image makes any kind of sense.

"Whuh—wh—"

Gavin smacks his lips together and tries to figure out what his mouth tastes like right now. Kind of … cheesy? Like pasta maybe, but without any flavor. Whatever he swallowed was dry at least, so no sauce or anything.

"Why?"

"To know if I could," Nines replies. "My combat protocols automatically activated and my jaw locked shut."

"OK, so you can't eat bananas, but what the fuck did I eat?" Gavin demands.

"Technically, I did eat the banana," Nines says. "Partially. My jaw snapped shut after taking a bite of it inside my oral cavity."

Gavin's dick starts listening to the conversation. It's because of karma and maybe some sort of android fucking witchcraft that now his dick gets hard listening to the bitchiest most stuck up Alexa ever say the words "oral cavity."

Of course Nines notices the reaction right away. Because fuck his whole entire life, that's why. Nines stares down at his crotch and Gavin can practically hear a zzzzzz as his eyes zoom in on his traitor dick.

"Fascinating."

"Tell me what you fucking fed me or I swear to God, I'll—"

"One cheese ravioli."

Gavin stares at him. "A cheese … did it even have sauce?"

"No, I washed that off."

Gavin opens his mouth, stares harder at that completely serious face, and shuts it again. He pinches the bridge of his nose instead, rubbing over the thick gnarl of scar tissue there.  

"Why …"

But that's all he can bring himself to say. For once, Nines is the one who has no trouble with speaking.

"So it wouldn't drip on the carpet," he says, like that's obvious.

"You really think a bit of Prego is gonna be the worst this carpet's ever seen?" Gavin asks.

Nines' face darkens into a scowl that would be terrifying if Gavin didn't know this was his version of pouting. "Do not remind me. I have deleted fifty-seven analysis reports this last hour alone."

Gavin rolls his eyes. "Well, why'd you feed me a cheese ravioli?"

"To save the beef ravioli as a higher value treat."

Gavin looks him over. His left arm hangs down casually by his side, but his hand presses slightly behind his crouched thigh. It looks like he's holding something in one of those magician's grip that makes his hand appear loose and open while something is secretly tucked into his palm.

"You may have the beef ravioli if you sit at the table," Nines tells him.

He stands up and takes a few steps backwards toward the kitchen, raising up his hand to reveal the ravioli. Gavin gets off the couch and marches toward him to kick his ass, but the android matches his pace exactly to step backwards until they're right next to the table. He opens his mouth to start yelling, which immediately proves to be a mistake.

Nines shoves the ravioli directly into his open mouth. Gavin automatically bites down, but the android's reflexes are too quick for him, and he gets his fingers clear before being bitten. Instead, Gavin only bites into delicious beefy filling.

And he would spit it out. He really would, right onto Nines' perfectly shined shoes.

Except it's been a long ass day filled with paperwork about what happened with the reporter and no other goddamn leads and he has no idea how late it is since he fell asleep on the couch, but it's definitely past suppertime and he's hungry as fuck.

(Also, maybe he remembers the consequences of the last time he tried to spit at Nines, and his traitor-dick needs to Shut Up about that.)

Gavin chews the beef ravioli with the angriest face he can muster. It doesn't help that it's really fucking good, way better than the takeout and ramen he usually lives on. Nines opens the lid of the to go box sitting on the kitchen table, and the best smell his trash apartment has ever encountered steams out.

Gavin sits his angry ass down and starts to eat. Fuck him if he's going to waste good food. Most of the ravioli is beef, but there's some cheese-filled ones too, mixed in with the rest in a thick meaty sauce. Nines sits in the seat across the table to stare at him while he eats. Fucking creeper. Always one step behind him, staring at him, following him back home like they're friends or something.

"Why the fuck are you still here?" he deliberately asks with his mouth full.

"Juarez is currently our best lead to identifying the shooter," Nines answers. "As she may wake from her coma at any time, it is most efficient for me to stay with you in the event we are called during off duty hours."

Gavin chews his food. His partner is real fucking good at coming up with totally logical answers that he can't argue against without looking stupid even though he just knows that's bullshit.

"Whatever," he says. "I'm not paying you back for this. Or the chicken sandwich."

Nines keeps staring at him with those blank, lizard eyes. "I did not ask you to."

Gavin pushes back his chair and slams his hands on the table, yelling "Fuck you!" before he even knows what hits him. His moods are like that sometimes.

Nines doesn't even blink.

Usually, that sort of shit would just set him off even more. The lack of response sure as hell drove him to push harder and harder when they first got assigned as partners. Now Gavin just feels stupid, shouting at someone just sitting there.

Stupid. Fuck, he always does this shit. He knows this. He <i>knows</i> this.

"I don't …" Gavin forces himself to exhale slowly out through his teeth, gripping the edge of the table so he doesn't throw something. "Need. Your charity."

Stupid stupid stupid.

"You are my partner," Nines says.

Monotone. Four words and not a single inflection. When Gavin finally makes himself look up from panting at the grain of the fake-wooden table, Nines' face is just as blank. It should probably trigger some sort of uncanny valley lurch in his stomach, but without any micro-expressions for his brain goblins to pick up on and start screeching about, Gavin's anger starts slipping away like resin on tarp.

He looks back down at the table so he doesn't have to see his partner's face.

"If you cannot accept your own rule that partners look out for each other, consider this an investment to ensure you are recovered for our next shift tomorrow."

Gavin exhales again. Then inhales. Stupid. Exhale. At least he didn't throw anything. Inhale. This time.

"Also, I am applying Pavlovian training to encourage behaviors convenient to me."

Gavin sits back down and rubs both hands through his hair. "You're dog training me?"

"Positive reinforce—"

"You can't fix this," Gavin growls out, then gestures to himself and the kitchen at large. "This! Me. Anyone can read a fucking psychology book, dipshit—I already know what's wrong with me. If I could just good behavior myself into getting better, I would have done it already."

Nines' composure finally breaks as he blinks. "I am not a KL-nine-hundred unit, detective. I have absolutely no intention of—"

Gavin groans because he knows the air quotes are coming. Nines looks him dead in the eyes and does them anyway.

"—'fixing' you."

"I hate you."

"I only want to encourage relevant behaviors," Nines continues without acknowledging the outburst. "Such as doing your own paperwork rather than playing games on your phone."

Gavin grunts and manages to take another bite now that he's settled down some. Sure, maybe he'd been dumping all his paperwork on Nines now that the android has proven he knows how to do it properly. But he gets it done way faster and trying to make letters hold still on a bright ass computer screen gives him the worst headaches. God, he probably needs reading glasses at this point but he'd rather his entire head split open than wear that kind of shit at the station.

"Listening to my input at crime scenes."

"Hhegh," Gavin says around a mouth full of beef.

"Basic table manners."

Gavin swallows. "Hey. Fuck off, I do listen to you. I have been, so don't fucking sit there and try to tell me—"

"You have been," Nines says.

Gavin stops with his mouth hanging open. Dammit, he was just getting good and pissed off again, and then the bastard goes and agrees with him. What the hell is he supposed to say to that? It's definitely a trap. Like sarcasm, or some sort of passive aggressive ...

Something.

"Throughout our current case, you have taken note of my input," Nines says. "I was not implying otherwise, simply that I would start rewarding you for doing so."

Gavin narrows his eyes at him. "Yeah? Why?"

"I was forced to work with other humans at the Juarez residence." Nines finally finds some inflection to say other humans like he means radioactive screaming toddlers. "It was not ideal. And while I certainly will not beg for your continued cooperation, I am not above bribery as a means to ensure I can do my work in peace rather than relying on … the kindness of your heart."

Gavin grunts again and goes back to his food. Eating slightly cold ravioli is easier than making eye contact with his partner right now. He might have been a teensy bit better lately, but obviously he's not some kind of android rights activist. If Nines is worried he's going to flip back to being an asshole on a whim or a bad day or because other people were watching, well.

That's pretty fucking fair, to be honest.

"Dog training though?" he mutters after a minute. "Really?"

"I have read many human psychology books." Nines pauses, then adds, "Dipshit."

Gavin snorts and lets the insult pass.

"I can recite them. I understand the words. But they are merely words to me," Nines admits slowly. "Dog training books are much more simple."

"Is this a kink thing?"

Nines rolls his eyes. "Gavin, would you care to explain to me in honest and personal detail why offering food triggered such an immediate and violent reaction? Please include at least three references to your childhood."

Gavin shoves more ravioli in his mouth and smacks as loudly as possible as he chews.

"Then perhaps you would prefer a simpler way of relating to one another," Nines speaks over the noise. "No emotional sharing, no childhood details, no sad sob stories about what made you like this. You behave, you get food. That is all."

"What if I don't behave?" Gavin immediately challenges.

"Then you do not receive any food or treats."

"You gonna punish me, sir?"

Nines glares down his perfectly sculpted nose at him. "If you had listened to my explanation on the benefits of positive reinforcement, you would already know why it is the more effective training method."

Gavin resists the urge to repeat thE MorE eFFeCtIve TrAInInG MeTHoD back at him.

"Also," Nines continues. "You are far too much of a needy little painslut to be truly punished by corporeal means."

Gavin focuses very hard on mopping up the rest of the meat sauce with his side of garlic bread instead of answering that. Even when they know better, he's never met a Dom he couldn't piss off into beating the shit out of him just like he wanted. Technically, if they're counting their little "scene" in the DPD's men's bathroom, Nines hasn't proven himself to be an exception, either.

"Well." He stands up and leaves the mess on the table. "Good luck with your totally not a kink pet play. I'm gonna go watch funny youtube videos until my brain dies."

"Cat videos?" Nines asks as he passes him, raising one perfect eyebrow. "Am I to assume those are not also a pet play ki—"

Gavin flips him off and slams his bedroom door shut.

***

***

1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10 / 11 / 12 / 13 / 14 / 15 / 16 / 17 / 18 / 19 / 20 / 21 / 22 / 23 / 24 / 25 / 26 / 27 / 28 / 29 / 30 / 31 / 32 / 33

I also have a Patreon for this fic, if you want to support me! $1 gets you access to chapters a week early, $2 gets bonus content and deleted scenes, and $3 gets short chapters from two AUs I’m writing: an A/B/O heatfic and reverse!AU

by the way, Nines totally posted a video of himself feeding asleep-Gavin the ravioli to his blog and it has a weird overly formal title like Human (36M) Instinctively Eats Ravioli During the Course of REM Sleep. all of his posts are like that because they’re meant to be “educational” “”experiments”” and the text posts are just black text on a white background

meanwhile, Connor’s blog consists exclusively of super cute pictures featuring either him and Hank on dates or cuddling on the couch, and Sumo of course. Nines thinks it’s disgusting and dumb and is lowkey (actually highkey) upset that Connor’s blog gets way more views than his

It isn’t even educational!! >:(

[eturni]

Day 31 - Auld Lang Syne

I did it! It’s Day 31 of @drawlight​  advent calender prompt list https://drawlight.tumblr.com/post/188869931294/aziraphale-crowley-for-half-an-hour-youve-been and we have Auld Lang Syne. It’s quarter past midnight and I was writing through into the New Year. May this be a sign of things to come.

Song is built into the human psyche. Voices are raised in song as celebration, praise and mourning alongside almost every emotion that touches a life. It was naturally linked to the first angelic choirs providing missives from On High but it seemed built into their hearts. They used their voices to reach each other the same way they reached out in times of disaster or reached out to the stars.

In the right situations and with the right intentions songs can be prayer. Where they hold hope. Where they ask for good to come or try to ease pain.

Auld Lang Syne is like that. A prayer for the future, for better.

It’s 2026 and Warlock has come back to the UK to study at Edinburgh University. Humanities, much to their father’s dismay and a certain demon’s chagrin. Aziraphale declares this the perfect excuse to go back and take part in the Hogmanay celebrations, not to mention refill his stores of the good whiskey and some select delicacies.

Warlock’s friends are entirely enchanted by the demon and angel that turn up for the celebrations. Warlock insists that they will be, under no circumstances, joining the three of them for the celebrations in spite of Aziraphale’s warm assurances that it would be no bother at all and Crowley’s evident glee at the amount of embarrassment that he causes just by being seen.

There are a significant number of “Oh, that explains.” and “They really weren’t kidding, huh?” among the general chatter that ensures Crowley knows there have been stories told about Nanny Ashtoreth and how Warlock was raised.

They’re rushed out of the flat share and towards Edinburgh centre in a flurry of stylish black and glitter that has Aziraphale looking at him with something fond in his eyes. “Alright, knock it off brother Francis.” Warlock glowers as best they can, falling back into the names they still used when they felt the two were treating them like they were still eleven.

“Of course, young Warlock,” Aziraphale grins, like the bastard he is “please lead on. I’ll trust your judgements as to the best spots for the festivities.”

There’s a sense of warmth and revelry thrumming through the city as they wander and Crowley soaks in the latent sins just waiting to be acted upon. Sometimes it’s difficult to be off the clock; especially when opportunities are so rife and spirits are so high.

Continue reading on AO3 https://archiveofourown.org/works/21638803/chapters/52644403 or:

“Gonna be weird not hearing Big Ben, angel.” Crowley points out instead, bringing Aziraphale’s hand up to brush a kiss against his knuckles. Even half a step in front of them Warlock catches the motion and rolls their eyes.

Aziraphale only chuckles and moves a little closer. “My dear, we’ve been without before when they were doing the maintenance. And for years before. We’ll manage I think.”

“Yeah. Suppose it’s better being with the little terror for the holidays as well. We’re very proud of you by the way, young Warlock.” Crowley grins over to the teen, voice slipping back and forth between his normal voice and nanny’s soft brogue.

“Yeah, don’t make a big deal out of it.” The teen shrugs. Aziraphale all but beams at the redness that tinges Warlock’s as they continue to lead them through the streets and point out places that they went with their new little university friends.

Crowley can see hints of fires in the distance down at Princess Street and hear the pounding strains of music in amongst all of the chatter and cheer.

Should auld acquaintance be forgot and never brought to mind?

He watches Warlock move ahead of them and thinks of Adam down south at Cambridge. The Antichrist and the child who might have been the Antichrist. Both of them living relatively settled lives, working on bettering themselves, and looking to a future that had seemed all but impossible when Crowley had begged Aziraphale to run to the stars with him.

There had been a time that Crowley was going to try and forget. They’d done enough damage to Warlock in the raising of the child and Adam had more than enough of the supernatural in that brush with the almost apocalypse and everything that had come with it. In the end it had been Aziraphale who’d encouraged him to try and make contact again; sensing how conflicted the demon was at having these two kids, who’d brushed with the forces of Hell, and just leaving them to it.

Now they’re practically true godfathers to two children, and that’s without counting The Them whose memories had been altered after the event but were often far too Knowing regardless and seem to have been left with some sort of imprint to their psyches.

Crowley frequently finds himself looking closely at them and hoping that they’re a sign of the kind of safe hands the world will be in within a couple more decades.

We’ll tak’ a cup o’ kindness yet.

Aziraphale and Crowley had spent millennia apart and centuries close and decades together. There had been constant matches about the inherent goodness of humans. There had been constant matches about how unfair it was to expect people to behave just as well no matter the disadvantage you set them up with at the beginning.

No matter what their positions had been at any given time there was almost always a drink to be shared between them.

No matter who was doing the wiling or the thwarting their story had wound together in equal parts ill and good deed and, no matter what, in attempted kindness both given and received.

Crowley had spent so much of his time on Earth committing to kindness to the ‘wrong’ people in the name of subverting the will of Heaven. Lifting the poor, encouraging the downtrodden to revolution. Aziraphale looked back at it sometimes and wondered how he could have followed Heaven’s party line like a shield for so long from the only other person who truly understood the true potential in humans, and the true worth of them.

Aziraphale had spent so much of his time on Earth coming to truly understand the humans. Finding what they needed, understanding what was truly good beyond the rules that they set themselves. He had done without waiting for permission. Better to beg forgiveness than ask permission. Often enough Crowley looked at this terribly brave, terribly hedonistic angel and wondered how he came to be so lucky. If it, too, wasn’t some part of the Ineffable plan that the angel liked to harp on about.

Both had found ways to be kind in a very human sense that fit neither of their roles.

surely ye'll be your pint-stoup and surely I'll be mine.

Crowley grins at the joy on Warlock’s face as they slip into their favourite local and buy a few pints to sup while they watch the world pass by the front window and let the pounding of the music thunder in echo-chamber chests.

“Mom would go absolutely mad if she knew I was drinking.” They chuckle after their first sip.

“Well, over here you’re legal. That’s all that matters to us, right angel?”

Aziraphale tilts his head a little. “Well, that and that you’re sensible when you drink. Have to remember that you don’t need to try to keep up with us.”

Crowley bit his lip at that, seeing the flash of challenge in Warlock’s eye. “He’s not kidding, you know. Aziraphale’s lost a liver before, its really not worth it when you can just enjoy it.”

Warlock takes another gulp before their glass clatters to the table. “Alright, that I have to hear.”

Crowley and Aziraphale look between each other; the angel in warning and the demon in pure glee. The firelight outside catches flame-red hair and shows a hint of truly happy eyes behind glasses. Aziraphale sighs deeply and sits back in his chair. “Alright, so, we were over in the Americas in the middle of the prohibition-”

“Oh, come on! Yeah you’re ancient but you’re not that old.” Warlock rolls their eyes in annoyance.

Crowley snorts a laugh that almost sends ale out of his nose when Aziraphale makes a sort of chalk-board squeak in the back of his throat. “Be that as it may, let me tell my story. You can decide on the truth of the particulars as you wish. Now, it’s at this time I was spending some time with my friend Ms Parker having some discussions about her husband’s behaviours and I’m afraid we got rather deep into some of the more contraband drinks.”

Crowley leans back in his seat; tuning out the chatter and the music and everything else as he watches his partner regale Warlock with old stories. He thinks of how much it’s possible to love one single ethereal being and how little of it should be his. But it is, and it will be for millennia to come. It’s still overwhelming years later and Crowley doesn’t think he’ll ever stop being in awe of it all.

We twa hae run about the braes and pou'd the gowans fine. But we've wander'd mony a weary fit sin' auld lang syne.

After a few more drinks the three of them pass back out into the street and follow streets until they find a familiar path that has Aziraphale gently clutching at Crowley’s arm with a smile. “Oh, I remember this place, my dear. There was a wonderful tailor who lived here back in the fifteenth century.”

Crowley stops in his wandering and motions for Warlock to do the same, happy to indulge Aziraphale for now.

“Yeah, makes sense angel. You always did go for the broken down districts.” He teases softly. It’s what makes Aziraphale the angel that most western humans based their stories on. A guardian angel who turned up in the harder areas and made what difference he could just by being there.

“Telling more tales?” Warlock asks archly with a roll of his eyes. Crowley knows he’s trying to goad another story out of Aziraphale. The kid doesn’t believe the stories, but they’re fascinating nonetheless. And it’s still slightly less bullshit than what they hear from their father.

“Maybe we are. You know, the castle being up on the hill like that? Great for defence but not so great for hunting. All the royals used to love that shit-” “Crowley, language!”

“-that bollocks, so they’d have a whole chunk of land set aside for them to hunt on that the commoners weren’t allowed onto. Now, if you’re an actual demon, and like causing fuss, and the laws of man certainly don’t apply to you, you might find yourself stopping to unleash non-native species onto hunting grounds. You might find yourself in a spot of trouble with the local regent. You might even find yourself helped out of it by someone who’s supposed to be your enemy, and who you thought was hundreds of miles away in Asia looking for early written texts.”

Aziraphale tuts at this. “Too many suppositions, Crowley. You’re telling it wrong. Let me, now-”

Crowley grins and falls into relative silence as Aziraphale tells one of the tales of how he had come to Crowley’s aid a few centuries ago.

We twa hae paidl’d in the burn, but seas between us braid hae roar’d

The two of them often had whole oceans separating them across the years. There have been times that midwinters were spent in lonely huts or new year celebrations with mortals whose faces they would not be able to remember in a few decades’ time.

There were years that they were close and yet never close enough. There were years it was a matter of rivers or streams between them.

There were years that it was their own fears alone that separated.

Invariably everything human that either of them did was made all the more special if they could share it together and that had made the last few years something that neither would give away for all the safety in the world.

Seas could roar and oceans could draw chasms between them and yet Aziraphale and Crowley had always been drawn back together, closer and faster each time. It had been pleasant to find that their natural collision actually just led them to settle into the other’s arms. Close enough that nothing but the occasional bickering argument would pass between them again.

And there's a hand, my trusty fiere, and gie's a hand o' thine, And we'll tak' a right gude-willie waught for auld lang syne!

The three of them are caught up at the stroke of midnight. The canon being fired at the castle echoes through the streets to cheers and laughter. Aziraphale leans in to kiss Crowley and Warlock politely does Not tell them to get a room.

Before long they’re in the midst of a small group forming a circle and taking up the strains of Auld Lang Syne. Warlock pulls a face as they get past the first couple of verses, entirely lost. Crowley leans in with a smile and leads his old charge through with the smallest of demonic miracles.

At the last verse they cross arms and link hands and Aziraphale can see the pure mischief in Crowley’s face. “Get ready to move, dear boy. We’ll all be heading for the centre.” He warns in Warlock’s ear, knowing that Crowley has no intention of telling the poor thing.

Even Warlock manages a startled laugh as they rush the centre at the end of the song, twisting around each other until they rush away again, facing outwards and into the new year.

Crowley’s face almost hurts from the smiling as he looks to Aziraphale and Warlock; the colours of the fireworks lighting bright faces in the cold night air.

They’ve gained a lot surviving the Apocalypse together and he feels like there’s only going to be more to be thankful for in the future with his heart full to bursting and an angel at his side.

“Happy New Year.” He grins, and it’s almost shy as Aziraphale turns to him practically glowing from within and wishes him the same.

“And so many more.”