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firewhiskeyficTitle: No sex on the beach
Author:songquake
I am of legal drinking age in my region: Verily, I attest I am!
Pairing(s)/Characters/Fandom: If this turns out the way I want, it’ll be osme version of Aziraphale/Crowley with a side lecturing by Mineva McGonagall. Bu twho knows how it’ll turn out. So Good Omens (mix of book and TV series, incl series 2) and Harry Poter. Maybe.
Challenge/Prompts used: Prompts crossed out below are the ones used.
Summary: SPOILERS FOR GOOD OMENS 2. THough maybe not. It’s maybe ambiguous? Crowley as run away to an island in the sourth pacific to lick his metaphorical wounds
Rating/Warnings: I maintaint hat angels and demons have no genitalia (which I don’t remmber if that’s part of Good Omens canon of Dogma canon, okay? but i”m running iwith it). No genitals means it’ll max out at M, possibly less. THough there is drinking and possible foul language involved.
Word count: 2147
Author's Notes (if any): Neil Gaimain says that Good Omens 2 has some pure fanservice. So does this fic, if things go according to plan. Which they never do.
Minerva McGonagall
Portkey
Sex on the Beach
Lost Luggage
Sweater Weather
Trains, Planes and Automobiles
First off, I need to turn off the capslock. Okay. ODne . There was a different “first off,” but I’ve forgotten what it is, so I feel like this is definitley an ausipcioous beginning to this month’s drunk!fic. Oh! That was it. I had to drunkenly go adn turn off the autocorrect.
One of the things interesteinjg about my job ith g now is htat i do all my writing for it in google docs, which means I spend hardliy any time in word. I have ead what others have as teir preferred software for regular!fic and drunk!fic writing, and applayd you. But since I am only using Wrod for recreation now, it down’t matter if I just leae the autocorrect off FREOVER>
I do wonder, if one were reading htis aloud with all the misspellings, what sort of accent would it have? Some variety of lower-class british? sinethng else?
In any event – ONWARD.
Crowley was getting out of town. Tired of Classic Queen (at least this week), he thought he might take an aeroplane or a train. He’d heard tell of something claled a “uiet car” on a train, which he assumed meant he woud get to miss the dulcet tones of Freddie Mercury that his bently would play.
If it even still played it. Things had been a bit off isnce Angel borrowed his car.
THen agian, things were off with more than his car.
Crowley wasn’t sure what to make of these unforgiveably human emotions he’d been experiencign. Well, the girls thought he was experiencing them, and Crowley liked to try new experiences, after all. Whiskey had been a pretty good nnovation, though he wasn’t all for those mixed cocktails that aterered to toruiss thoughout the world. He also wasn’t sure he wanted a tropical vacation, but it was ard to imagine where Aziraphale would not immediately pinpoint him to outside of ome tny island int he south Paiif that catered to, well, ethically-challended expats.
Aziraphale thought too highly of Crowly, Crowley scoffed to himself. he thinks I’m all full of thwarted light, as if LIGHT weren’t something Crowley shrank from, for the most part. Forgot, even.
So Crowley was out at aresrort osemewhere int eh South apceific and was sitting at a bar, which, granted, had dark woods but didn’t distract enough from the sunshine trying to make evryone happy. Which wa sjust not on, since he qas feeling both gloomy and whatever the mood that inspires sarcasm is. Sardonic? Fed up?
As the sun started to lower in te sky, Crowley decided he was fed up. He snapped his figners to bring clouds in to block the sun. Also a strong breeze. Not a major storm though; his weather magic wasn’t doijng too well thesee days. Always oto much rain, too much wind. Overstepping, ruiknign the purpose.
Overstepping. Yes.
Crowley also frowned at the woman sat next to him ordering a “sex on the beach.” Neither the drink (too sweet) nor its namesake (too sandy) pleased him. He supposed they might please his Angel, though, wehreever Aziraphale was.
(It did seem, for a minute, like the broad ordering the fruity driknk might be Beelzebub, but really, no self-repecting dmon would ever order soemthing like that – not even for a lover. Though he wouldn’t be surpirsed at ths rate to see her order a grasshopper. sweet as it is, whimsy seemed to be up Beelzebub’s alley lately.)
In any event, Crowley had no interested in overstepping anymore, bringing more attention than necessary to himself an d his surroundings. Gaining the notice of Heaven and Hell for miracles, no matter how subimely or soppily done was just Not On. Especially since it’d make it easeir for his Angel to find him.
So. Very Minor Weather interventions only.
(How is it my typinc is improving already??? More liquor!)
Crowley is unusually grumpy not only because he needed to leave nice, damp, dark England, but because the aeroplane service los his luggage. he shoudl have miracled himself here, he supposed. But the fact was that, while his sunglasses fit righ in here, he was tired of the wool and leather he’d arrived in and the only clothes he was able to eawily source were brightly colored “reseort wera, “ which meand birght colores and florals/
Which did not at all complement his pasty skin and orange-coloured hair.
There was a thin woman nearby, just a few barstools over, who seeed equally out of place. Of courwes, eh was not earing a sundress or aloha sirt or anything of the sout. No, Se seemed to be in the linien version of a tweed pantsuit. wire-rimmed spectacles on, and both frown lines and laugh lines to her face, though her hair seemed both thick and naturally black.
Unlike crowley’s which had never seemedto match his complexion. Though neither had the hair colours of any of the angels who spent anough time on earth to have to make changes slowly. Meaning him an Zairiaphale, of coures. THough Crowley could never call himsell angel-identified. He’s demon-identified in this angel-identified cosmology, thank you so much.
Anyway, there was a prim an dproper owman ordering a double of Macallan scotch and offering a scathing retort to th ebartender who claimed not to have any. “I’m sure you’ll find you do have scotch whiskey,” she insisted, waving her hadn towads the bottles.
Crowley found this intriguing HTat is, he was intrigued that athere was anotehr curmudgeonly creatue doing magic to make things go her way. Ast the same bar in the same beach on the same godforsaken island in the south pacific of the palent earth.
He looked up and made eye contact. WEll, as much eye contact as could be made with his goggle-gsunglasses on. “Were you just making a small miracle?” he asked.
“Pah!” said the women, with a scottish brogue of sorts. “Miracles! what variety of religion do YE represent, then?”
Crowley wasn’t accustomed to anyoen asking about his denominational affiliation Most who knew he was religiously-affiliated w3ere well aware of which side he were on. Then again, seh seemed to be new here, and also couldn’t see his eyes for the goggle-glasses.
(DIfferent from google-glass, by the way, whcih Chrowly had inspirred but refused to use. He had no need, you see, being able to rifle through the annals of eternity and whatnot. Howeve, there was much chaos and torment to be sewn when mortals had access to all information at the tips of their eyes. Best chaos-sowweing since the garden of Eden, if he had to make a calim about it. Oh, not google glass, of course, but the entirety of gogled. Crowley was very proud of the hadn hed played in the formation of the internet.
If Trry pratchett had written tthis fic, that all would have been a footnote. But since I’m writing for a fic/webpage, what you get is a parenthetical.)
ANYWAY. Crowley took off his glasses and briefly examined the eyes of the woman sat beside him. Minerva McGongaall seemed to be a witch, capable of doing magic with no idea about miracles as bieng the purview of supernatural, immortal beings.
ANd, jus as those dimwits in heaven always did when they offered a new poewr or whatever to the mortals, they gave the mortals’ power an entire history which owulc de studied and made them think this was all part of how things ahd alsways been.
The people Above had been meddling again. This had Aziraphale written all over it. If he were even able to do such things at this point. But giving ANGELIC POWERs to mortlas felt just like his cup of tea slpashing and scalding Crowley’s mortal-like body.
GOod thing he had instant healing pwers. Didnt even need a miraclefor that.
“I represent no religion, Madam,” Crowley said with a look of disdain. “I represent myself, but I do hav eosme knowledge of miracle-ing and magicking.”
She looked closely at him. “Ye SOUND like Siriius Black, then,” she said. “But ye dint look like him.”
SCCrowley looked intoher yeeys again to readher file on sirits black, whoever he was. “The costume doesn’t help,” he told her, “But ye know how British Airwasy is.” He gestured to his outfit. “I suppose I ought to transfigure his into something more recognizable but....”
“It’s your FCE that doesn’t match,” the owman said. “Ye look mroe like a pastier version of his beloved.”
THining about the sirius black file, Crowley couldn’t disagree.
“Ay, I just have one ofhtose faces,” he said. What brought you here?
The woman eyeyed him up and down.
“It interesteing that ye think I sould tell ye htat,” she said, “and more interesting still that ye think i would tell sometone who clearly knows about magic but won’t tell me which side he is on and is pretentiing not to know who I am.”
Crowley snorted. “Some ego you’ve got there,” he said. “Are you world famous, then?”
“I’m Minerva McGonagall, transfiguration professor and deputy headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry,” she said, not slurring her words at all, despite the three fingers of Macallan she had drunksince sitting nearby him.
“Never heard of th eplae,” said Crowley. “Haven’t been up to Schotlalnd in quite awhile, you see.”
“But clearly you’re magical!” McGonagall said. “Nothing has alarmed, no law enforcement are here to chastise me for breaking the International Statute of Secrecy...”
Crowley snapped his fingers. “It’s a magical, miraculous island.” He said. “of cousrese we can magic and miracle all we want.”
“Hmph,” said McGonagall. “Perhaps, but you’re stil not Siritu Black.”
“I’m not,” Crowley conceded, but I reckon he’s a load of fun.”
“HE was last in conatct via a parrot that is only native to his particular island,” she said. “So I took fht efirst portkey here. My boss told me to “think of oit as a vacation.” as aif an international manhunt is a vaction.”
Your boss sounds as considerate asm ine,” Crowley said grumpily.
“At leaset he srpung for a portkey an ddidn’t reisk my luggage not arrivign with me. Though you could have shurn yours down to keep the goth-type clothes and exra motorcycle jacket in your pocket ike a nomral wizard,” she said.
“Eh,” Crowley said. “I overpacked. No need for a spare motocyle jacket, to be fiar – i’ts not exactly sweater weather over here.”
THe sun had set, so Crowley wiggled his fingers a little an called off the clouds.
“would you like to go out to the beach, McGonagall?” Crowley said. “I wouldn’t mind inspecitn ghte stars.”
“Marvel at them?” McGonagal asked. “OPr are yout ey type to have a great understanding of the gifts of astronomy?”
“Somewhere between,” Crowley said. “Today I’d just like to take a look at the horsehead nebula.”
“Since wer’re no closer to finding Sirius Black.”
“Neither of us is THAT interested in finding Sirius Black,” noted Crowley.
“Nae, nor are we interested in a romantic evening with ecch other then,” rejoiend McGonagall.
(AGain, even if they found Sirius Black and he were as scrumptious as McGonagallmad ehime out to be, Crowley was not certain it as worth the effort to grow genitals for him. He hadn’t grown genitals in the 6k years he’d been on earth so far. And Siritus black wasn’t who he really wanted, was he? Not that the ANgel would even contmeplate something so... vulgar. Crowledy was convinecd Aziraphale was both asexual and aromantic at this point.)
“So marvel adn awe it is,” said Crowley.
THe stars really ewre a nice part of Creation, after all. He hoped to be around long enough to see what happened to them.
Author:
songquakeI am of legal drinking age in my region: Verily, I attest I am!
Pairing(s)/Characters/Fandom: If this turns out the way I want, it’ll be osme version of Aziraphale/Crowley with a side lecturing by Mineva McGonagall. Bu twho knows how it’ll turn out. So Good Omens (mix of book and TV series, incl series 2) and Harry Poter. Maybe.
Challenge/Prompts used: Prompts crossed out below are the ones used.
Summary: SPOILERS FOR GOOD OMENS 2. THough maybe not. It’s maybe ambiguous? Crowley as run away to an island in the sourth pacific to lick his metaphorical wounds
Rating/Warnings: I maintaint hat angels and demons have no genitalia (which I don’t remmber if that’s part of Good Omens canon of Dogma canon, okay? but i”m running iwith it). No genitals means it’ll max out at M, possibly less. THough there is drinking and possible foul language involved.
Word count: 2147
Author's Notes (if any): Neil Gaimain says that Good Omens 2 has some pure fanservice. So does this fic, if things go according to plan. Which they never do.
Portkey
Sex on the Beach
Lost Luggage
Sweater Weather
Trains, Planes and Automobiles
First off, I need to turn off the capslock. Okay. ODne . There was a different “first off,” but I’ve forgotten what it is, so I feel like this is definitley an ausipcioous beginning to this month’s drunk!fic. Oh! That was it. I had to drunkenly go adn turn off the autocorrect.
One of the things interesteinjg about my job ith g now is htat i do all my writing for it in google docs, which means I spend hardliy any time in word. I have ead what others have as teir preferred software for regular!fic and drunk!fic writing, and applayd you. But since I am only using Wrod for recreation now, it down’t matter if I just leae the autocorrect off FREOVER>
I do wonder, if one were reading htis aloud with all the misspellings, what sort of accent would it have? Some variety of lower-class british? sinethng else?
In any event – ONWARD.
Crowley was getting out of town. Tired of Classic Queen (at least this week), he thought he might take an aeroplane or a train. He’d heard tell of something claled a “uiet car” on a train, which he assumed meant he woud get to miss the dulcet tones of Freddie Mercury that his bently would play.
If it even still played it. Things had been a bit off isnce Angel borrowed his car.
THen agian, things were off with more than his car.
Crowley wasn’t sure what to make of these unforgiveably human emotions he’d been experiencign. Well, the girls thought he was experiencing them, and Crowley liked to try new experiences, after all. Whiskey had been a pretty good nnovation, though he wasn’t all for those mixed cocktails that aterered to toruiss thoughout the world. He also wasn’t sure he wanted a tropical vacation, but it was ard to imagine where Aziraphale would not immediately pinpoint him to outside of ome tny island int he south Paiif that catered to, well, ethically-challended expats.
Aziraphale thought too highly of Crowly, Crowley scoffed to himself. he thinks I’m all full of thwarted light, as if LIGHT weren’t something Crowley shrank from, for the most part. Forgot, even.
So Crowley was out at aresrort osemewhere int eh South apceific and was sitting at a bar, which, granted, had dark woods but didn’t distract enough from the sunshine trying to make evryone happy. Which wa sjust not on, since he qas feeling both gloomy and whatever the mood that inspires sarcasm is. Sardonic? Fed up?
As the sun started to lower in te sky, Crowley decided he was fed up. He snapped his figners to bring clouds in to block the sun. Also a strong breeze. Not a major storm though; his weather magic wasn’t doijng too well thesee days. Always oto much rain, too much wind. Overstepping, ruiknign the purpose.
Overstepping. Yes.
Crowley also frowned at the woman sat next to him ordering a “sex on the beach.” Neither the drink (too sweet) nor its namesake (too sandy) pleased him. He supposed they might please his Angel, though, wehreever Aziraphale was.
(It did seem, for a minute, like the broad ordering the fruity driknk might be Beelzebub, but really, no self-repecting dmon would ever order soemthing like that – not even for a lover. Though he wouldn’t be surpirsed at ths rate to see her order a grasshopper. sweet as it is, whimsy seemed to be up Beelzebub’s alley lately.)
In any event, Crowley had no interested in overstepping anymore, bringing more attention than necessary to himself an d his surroundings. Gaining the notice of Heaven and Hell for miracles, no matter how subimely or soppily done was just Not On. Especially since it’d make it easeir for his Angel to find him.
So. Very Minor Weather interventions only.
(How is it my typinc is improving already??? More liquor!)
Crowley is unusually grumpy not only because he needed to leave nice, damp, dark England, but because the aeroplane service los his luggage. he shoudl have miracled himself here, he supposed. But the fact was that, while his sunglasses fit righ in here, he was tired of the wool and leather he’d arrived in and the only clothes he was able to eawily source were brightly colored “reseort wera, “ which meand birght colores and florals/
Which did not at all complement his pasty skin and orange-coloured hair.
There was a thin woman nearby, just a few barstools over, who seeed equally out of place. Of courwes, eh was not earing a sundress or aloha sirt or anything of the sout. No, Se seemed to be in the linien version of a tweed pantsuit. wire-rimmed spectacles on, and both frown lines and laugh lines to her face, though her hair seemed both thick and naturally black.
Unlike crowley’s which had never seemedto match his complexion. Though neither had the hair colours of any of the angels who spent anough time on earth to have to make changes slowly. Meaning him an Zairiaphale, of coures. THough Crowley could never call himsell angel-identified. He’s demon-identified in this angel-identified cosmology, thank you so much.
Anyway, there was a prim an dproper owman ordering a double of Macallan scotch and offering a scathing retort to th ebartender who claimed not to have any. “I’m sure you’ll find you do have scotch whiskey,” she insisted, waving her hadn towads the bottles.
Crowley found this intriguing HTat is, he was intrigued that athere was anotehr curmudgeonly creatue doing magic to make things go her way. Ast the same bar in the same beach on the same godforsaken island in the south pacific of the palent earth.
He looked up and made eye contact. WEll, as much eye contact as could be made with his goggle-gsunglasses on. “Were you just making a small miracle?” he asked.
“Pah!” said the women, with a scottish brogue of sorts. “Miracles! what variety of religion do YE represent, then?”
Crowley wasn’t accustomed to anyoen asking about his denominational affiliation Most who knew he was religiously-affiliated w3ere well aware of which side he were on. Then again, seh seemed to be new here, and also couldn’t see his eyes for the goggle-glasses.
(DIfferent from google-glass, by the way, whcih Chrowly had inspirred but refused to use. He had no need, you see, being able to rifle through the annals of eternity and whatnot. Howeve, there was much chaos and torment to be sewn when mortals had access to all information at the tips of their eyes. Best chaos-sowweing since the garden of Eden, if he had to make a calim about it. Oh, not google glass, of course, but the entirety of gogled. Crowley was very proud of the hadn hed played in the formation of the internet.
If Trry pratchett had written tthis fic, that all would have been a footnote. But since I’m writing for a fic/webpage, what you get is a parenthetical.)
ANYWAY. Crowley took off his glasses and briefly examined the eyes of the woman sat beside him. Minerva McGongaall seemed to be a witch, capable of doing magic with no idea about miracles as bieng the purview of supernatural, immortal beings.
ANd, jus as those dimwits in heaven always did when they offered a new poewr or whatever to the mortals, they gave the mortals’ power an entire history which owulc de studied and made them think this was all part of how things ahd alsways been.
The people Above had been meddling again. This had Aziraphale written all over it. If he were even able to do such things at this point. But giving ANGELIC POWERs to mortlas felt just like his cup of tea slpashing and scalding Crowley’s mortal-like body.
GOod thing he had instant healing pwers. Didnt even need a miraclefor that.
“I represent no religion, Madam,” Crowley said with a look of disdain. “I represent myself, but I do hav eosme knowledge of miracle-ing and magicking.”
She looked closely at him. “Ye SOUND like Siriius Black, then,” she said. “But ye dint look like him.”
SCCrowley looked intoher yeeys again to readher file on sirits black, whoever he was. “The costume doesn’t help,” he told her, “But ye know how British Airwasy is.” He gestured to his outfit. “I suppose I ought to transfigure his into something more recognizable but....”
“It’s your FCE that doesn’t match,” the owman said. “Ye look mroe like a pastier version of his beloved.”
THining about the sirius black file, Crowley couldn’t disagree.
“Ay, I just have one ofhtose faces,” he said. What brought you here?
The woman eyeyed him up and down.
“It interesteing that ye think I sould tell ye htat,” she said, “and more interesting still that ye think i would tell sometone who clearly knows about magic but won’t tell me which side he is on and is pretentiing not to know who I am.”
Crowley snorted. “Some ego you’ve got there,” he said. “Are you world famous, then?”
“I’m Minerva McGonagall, transfiguration professor and deputy headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry,” she said, not slurring her words at all, despite the three fingers of Macallan she had drunksince sitting nearby him.
“Never heard of th eplae,” said Crowley. “Haven’t been up to Schotlalnd in quite awhile, you see.”
“But clearly you’re magical!” McGonagall said. “Nothing has alarmed, no law enforcement are here to chastise me for breaking the International Statute of Secrecy...”
Crowley snapped his fingers. “It’s a magical, miraculous island.” He said. “of cousrese we can magic and miracle all we want.”
“Hmph,” said McGonagall. “Perhaps, but you’re stil not Siritu Black.”
“I’m not,” Crowley conceded, but I reckon he’s a load of fun.”
“HE was last in conatct via a parrot that is only native to his particular island,” she said. “So I took fht efirst portkey here. My boss told me to “think of oit as a vacation.” as aif an international manhunt is a vaction.”
Your boss sounds as considerate asm ine,” Crowley said grumpily.
“At leaset he srpung for a portkey an ddidn’t reisk my luggage not arrivign with me. Though you could have shurn yours down to keep the goth-type clothes and exra motorcycle jacket in your pocket ike a nomral wizard,” she said.
“Eh,” Crowley said. “I overpacked. No need for a spare motocyle jacket, to be fiar – i’ts not exactly sweater weather over here.”
THe sun had set, so Crowley wiggled his fingers a little an called off the clouds.
“would you like to go out to the beach, McGonagall?” Crowley said. “I wouldn’t mind inspecitn ghte stars.”
“Marvel at them?” McGonagal asked. “OPr are yout ey type to have a great understanding of the gifts of astronomy?”
“Somewhere between,” Crowley said. “Today I’d just like to take a look at the horsehead nebula.”
“Since wer’re no closer to finding Sirius Black.”
“Neither of us is THAT interested in finding Sirius Black,” noted Crowley.
“Nae, nor are we interested in a romantic evening with ecch other then,” rejoiend McGonagall.
(AGain, even if they found Sirius Black and he were as scrumptious as McGonagallmad ehime out to be, Crowley was not certain it as worth the effort to grow genitals for him. He hadn’t grown genitals in the 6k years he’d been on earth so far. And Siritus black wasn’t who he really wanted, was he? Not that the ANgel would even contmeplate something so... vulgar. Crowledy was convinecd Aziraphale was both asexual and aromantic at this point.)
“So marvel adn awe it is,” said Crowley.
THe stars really ewre a nice part of Creation, after all. He hoped to be around long enough to see what happened to them.
no subject
Date: 2023-08-22 01:23 pm (UTC)And putting Crowley and Minerva together is brilliant!
Fun!
no subject
Date: 2023-08-29 01:41 am (UTC)Glad you enjoyed them together! I feel like there is so much potential…
:-)
Date: 2023-08-23 02:23 am (UTC)Bless.
This was a delight.
Re: :-)
Date: 2023-08-29 01:42 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2023-08-23 07:34 pm (UTC)Definitely got the Gaiman/Pratchett air complete with asides down to a pat!
McGonagall didn't notice Crowley's resemble to Barty Crouch Jnr if we go by the novels though, or perhaps she did, I was a little confused who she thought he resembled.
Good work MA.
no subject
Date: 2023-08-29 01:45 am (UTC)Thanks for the compliment!!
And… it has been so long since I have seen any of the HP movies that I forgot who David Tennant played and wa imagining him as Remus. Oops. In my defense, I was drunk.
❤️❤️❤️
no subject
Date: 2023-08-24 01:21 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2023-08-29 01:55 am (UTC)As I was saying to Shelley, Good Omens is a ROMP and feels like fan fiction to me. I haven’t really done fandom
In years, but feel really drawn to do the kind of imagining after Good Omens 2 that was common after OOTP was published.
Thanks for the reading, the hosting, and the comments!
no subject
Date: 2023-08-24 05:22 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2023-08-29 01:48 am (UTC)So glad you enjoyed the Crowley-Minerva interactions! And I highly recommend Good Omens—hilarious and actually like fan fiction of Christian mythology.
no subject
Date: 2023-08-24 07:16 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2023-08-29 02:03 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2023-08-26 07:55 pm (UTC)Delightful!
no subject
Date: 2023-08-29 02:15 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2023-08-27 03:25 am (UTC)LOLZ for "(How is it my typinc is improving already??? More liquor!)" and for "If Trry pratchett had written tthis fic, that all would have been a footnote. But since I’m writing for a fic/webpage, what you get is a parenthetical."
And a combination of LOL and <3 for this entire paragraph: "DIfferent from google-glass, by the way, whcih Chrowly had inspirred but refused to use. He had no need, you see, being able to rifle through the annals of eternity and whatnot. Howeve, there was much chaos and torment to be sewn when mortals had access to all information at the tips of their eyes. Best chaos-sowweing since the garden of Eden, if he had to make a calim about it. Oh, not google glass, of course, but the entirety of gogled. Crowley was very proud of the hadn hed played in the formation of the internet."
no subject
Date: 2023-08-29 02:21 am (UTC)I love these source materials so much, and am delighted that what I thought might be clever hit the way I was hoping ❤️❤️❤️