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go_exchangeTitle: All Creatures
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cat_latin
Author:wintercreek
Characters: Crowley, Aziraphale, "Atlantisans," and others. Gen.
Rating: G; PG if death-by-space-vampire is the sort of thing that requires parental guidance
Note: Crossover with Stargate: Atlantis.cat_latin, I certainly hope this makes you smile. Happy holidays!
Strictly speaking, Crowley is responsible for securing for Hell the souls of humans who live on Earth. He's never asked Down There for any sort of assignment clarification or mission scope; Crowley likes his assignment, likes Earth, likes existing in a corporeal form of his choice and having a lot of autonomy. It doesn't pay to draw too much attention to oneself.
Sometimes Earth gets a bit small, though, so Crowley's made a case for playing the long game. It is, admittedly, a gamble that may not pay off - but it might, and it might pay off well. The craftsmanship, the coaxing of a soul in to corruption - Crowley's well acquainted with these. He's starting to think bigger, though. He's starting to wonder if he might be able to engineer the start of a situation now that, thousands of years later, will lead to at the least a tarnishing and at the most the wholesale blackening of a whole group of souls.
The only thing for it of course, now that he has approval, is to try it.
*
He wants a name that will fit in with this lot, so he's going by Crahlei here. It's ludicrously easy to get a position doing scientific research, assisting a geneticist named Zelus. Like everyone here, Zelus is interested in Ascension1 - but unlike everyone else, he's interested in easing the path to Ascension for those who aren't Anqueetas. In fact, he's interested in creating a whole new race that is predisposed to transcendence.
"Yeah, okay," Crahlei tries, dipping his toe in to this new pool of temptation. "So what, er, physical barriers are you going to remove?"
Zelus smiles brightly, obviously gratified to be taken seriously by someone. "I find, anecdotally, that the needs of the body are a significant obstacle. A species that doesn't need to eat won't struggle with the temptations of the sensory desires food can evoke. A species that doesn't need to eat won't need to spend time cultivating crops, won't need to interrupt meditation for petty concerns like meals."
This sounds like a delightfully bad idea. "Ah, I see. But doesn't a living creature need nourishment in some fashion while corporeal?" Crahlei's hoping that this leads only to a more disastrous answer; he's not disappointed.
"They will feed on the life energy all around them! The very air will convey to them vitality and strength, allowing for uninterrupted focus on the journey to Ascension."
Crahlei grins slowly. If Zelus were acquainted with the creatures of Earth (or any creatures outside his laboratory) he would say Crahlei looks strikingly snake-like in this moment, predatory like the gratea that lurk in dark places on the mainland. Zelus is not acquainted with these creatures, however, and so he takes Crahlei's smile for very slightly creepy enthusiasm, which it rather is.
1 Ascension refers to the attainment of a higher state of consciousness in which one transcends physical form and becomes, in essence, an immortal energy being. It's deeply unclear whether allowing this sort of thing to continue is in the interests of Heaven or Hell, but as long as Earth's current incarnation of human population isn't involved it doesn't seem worth getting fussed about.
*
The problematic nature of Zelus's work becomes more apparent with each conversation Crahlei has with him. Zelus has picked out a species he finds particularly exemplary, a large parasite called the Iratus, and he's planning to splice key bits of its DNA with a primate-derived human form not unlike that found on Earth. Crahlei's getting ever-so-slightly uneasy with the whole thing - there's temptation and then there's recklessness - and it's probably that feeling that tips him in to hinting to the angel about his plans. Aziraphale, ever on the look out for an opportunity to thwart evil without getting his hands dirty, jumps at the chance. This kind of mortal interaction, dealing with ethical decision-making on the higher plane of direct manipulation of other lives, isn't one that they'll get on Earth for a while yet.
Aziraphale doesn't feel the need to take an incognito name under which to walk Atlantis. He thinks he's inconspicuous.
Crahlei doesn't know why he tries, sometimes.
*
Aziraphale, predictably, finds the whole thing fascinating to a degree slightly beyond his comprehension of what's involved. Where Crahlei is satisfied to tempt Zelus toward decisions that seem likely to be ultimately, well, bad, Aziraphale wants to argue with Zelus.
"But my dear boy! You want them to be social, don't you?"
Zelus looks to be near the end of his tether. "Of course I do. That's why I'm mixing a primate descendant with the Iratus. Iratus are colonial and associate strongly as parts of a whole. Primates are social, but they recognize self and other within a larger community. An Iratus has already transcended self - an individual does not conceive of itself outside of the hive. Clear?"
Aziraphale nods, pursing his lips.
"So, we mix the intelligence and sociability of a primate with the selflessness of an insect and we get a creature that does not need to struggle with the loss of a distinct identity as a barrier to Ascension - because that creature has always been more concerned with the whole population than with the distinct self."
"I certainly don't object to that. It's just that - a social creature, a colonial creature - wouldn't one be rather lonely if it were alone? Shouldn't you make more? Say, ten?"
Zelus thinks for a moment. "I suppose you're right. It's as easy to make ten as one, anyway."
Crahlei can't believe how well this is going.
*
Zelus is working on extracting the relevant genes from the Iratus, hampered only slightly by Aziraphale's aid.2 He's pulling the gene he's identified as influencing the colonial nature of the bugs - or rather, he's pulling a small segment of genes. Zelus doesn't seem concerned about possible unintended effects of the extra genes; he seems more of the belief that moving a piece of chromosome will help ensure that the relevant gene is properly expressed. Crahlei privately thinks that it's likely to be disastrous, but he's hardly going to say anything.
When Zelus is done manipulating the last egg and they're all fertilised and implanted safely in an incubator of some sort, Crahlei clears his throat. "So, ah, they'll be social then?"
"They'll be more than social," Zelus replies smugly. "How much do you know about insects?"
"Er," Crahlei replies, intelligently.
"Insects aren't like animals, Crahlei. Their immune systems lack the major histocompatibility complex seen in humans."
"Erm."
Zelus peers at Crahlei. "I thought they said you were qualified to assist me."
Crahlei focuses very hard on looking credible. "My work is mostly theoretical."
"Ah. Well, the major histocompatibility complex is what allows the tissues of a human body to distinguish between self and non-self, or other. Aside from all concepts of individuality, this is a distinction made below any sort of consciousness. It's why organs can't be transplanted without immunosuppressive medications. But insects' immune systems don't do that."
Crahlei makes a "go on" gesture.
It doesn't take much encouragement to make Zelus go on. "So given that the Iratus live in colonies and seem to have no conception of the selves within the whole, even down to the cellular level, these new beings we're creating should be similarly part of a whole. That Azir was right - making ten was the best course of action."
Aziraphale starts to correct Zelus, but Crahlei stops him with a hand to his chest.
"They shouldn't need to eat, either," Zelus adds. "I've engineered them to feed off the ambient energy of the universe. That's what they'll live off after they ascend, after all, so it should ease things for them to do so all their lives. Just think, gentlemen, a species hardwired for a higher plane of existence, right from the start."
And if Crahlei feels uneasy, well. It's probably just that lunch didn't sit well with him.
2 Aziraphale's idea of assistance consists largely of questions along the lines of "And what does this do?" and requests to peer at what's happening. It does no good for Zelus to explain that Aziraphale can't see genetic manipulation with his eyes. The third time Aziraphale cries, "Oh, this must be just how He feels!" Crahlei drags him out of the lab and tries to explain, again, about maintaining one's cover.
*
Zelus and Aziraphale are over the moon when the first of their creations come in to being. They look mostly like humans, but they're pale and have funny facial features. This group is all males.
They eat regular foods to start on, nutritious formulas and pastes. Zelus is right that they are social - it's too soon to tell if they really think as a hive mind, but they go everywhere together. Crahlei thinks that might be more a function of the small area to which they're confined, but he's not willing to advocate letting them run loose. There's something strange about them.
*
Zelus makes a female next. He only makes one; in insect species, the female is often the queen of a hive, and it's quite possible that any other female would be identified as a rival and killed. No one knows how much these beings function on insect instinct.
*
"They're getting impatient."
"What?" Crahlei's not clear on who is getting impatient, or why, but Hell has conditioned him to roll with anything to keep the superiors happy. To an extent, at least.
Zelus sighs. "The Committee."
The capital letter is audible. "Yeah?"
"They want the specimens to age faster. They want to know what their potential will be once they've reached maturity."
"And we can do that, yeah? Didn't you say?"
Aziraphale looks up from his tablet. "Yes, with the stasis chambers?"
And so they age the immature creatures.
*
When the creatures, now full-grown, emerge from the chambers they are tall and powerful, all flowing hair and blue-white skin. The female's hair is a brilliant pink. Zelus has some of his nutritious paste ready, in case they are not yet able to feed off the ambient energy.
They don't eat the paste. They don't eat any other tangible food Zelus can conjure up, and they don't seem to be feeding off any ambient energy, either. Crahlei sees that they've all developed what look like knife wounds in the palms of their right hands - they keep gesturing to each other's chests and then putting their hands back down.
"My. Well. They do look rather friendly toward each other, don't they? Just a little bashful with those pats, maybe," Aziraphale observes.
Crahlei chokes a little. Something's very wrong here. "Erm. I'm not sure those are pats, angel."
One of them - the female - moves toward Zelus and presses her hand to the center of his chest.
It all goes to Hell (not literally, fortunately) after that.
*
The post-mortem3 makes a few things clear. The creatures, whom the Committee have taken to calling "Wraith" for their fluid movements and the spectres they can produce, are certainly social and recognize each other as "like" if not "self." And they do have "self," are individuals within a group. Not a collective, not a hive mind, but a closely allied group with the female at their head like an insect queen. It's not clear if they sense that as members of a specific group they should not harm each other, or if they have a taboo on consumption of their own kind.
It is clear that they have no such restraint where others are concerned.
The female sucked Zelus's life force out of him, leaving only a withered old-man husk. Crahlei supposes that's a kind of ambient energy, but it's a little less ambient than was originally intended. Also, Zelus was using it.
All eleven of them have escaped. They have, in fact, left the planet in a very cleverly jerry-rigged space shuttle. One way or another, it's looking like this will pay off for Hell in the future. Crahlei makes a note to monitor the situation, then concentrates very hard on being unobtrusive as he tugs Aziraphale's sleeve. It's really time for them to go.
3 An appropriate name both literally and figuratively. For Zelus, it is literally post his mortem. As for the rest, they wish it were.
*
"A demon can get in to real trouble, doing the right thing." He nudged the angel. "Funny if we both got it wrong, eh? Funny if I did the good thing and you did the bad one, eh?"
"Not really," said Aziraphale.
Crawly looked at the rain.
"No," he said, sobering up. "I suppose not."4
4 Pratchett and Gaiman. Good Omens. Ace Books, 1996, p. xi5
5 What, there can't be a conventional footnote?
*
Some ten years after the world failed to end, Crowley woke up with the unpleasant sensation that he'd left the gas on. Or, not left the gas on, precisely, but forgotten something. Something important.
He rang Aziraphale. "Angel, is there something I meant to remember? Anything I might have mentioned to you?"
"Hmm. You know, I had the same feeling this morning. But I've not the foggiest what it could be."
Some 4,670 miles away, a gate to the Pegasus galaxy opened for the first time in several thousand years.
"Maybe it'll come to me. Anyway, breakfast?"
"Oh, yes please."
*
The band of humans from Earth were completely unprepared for the Wraith, of course. There was almost no way, barring a sudden fit of memory and desire for confession on Aziraphale's part, that they could ever have anticipated creatures that seemed to them most like space vampire-catfish. Unprepared, trying their best, lacking the information they needed and the safety they craved, the members of the Atlantis expedition fought a war.
Alone and unsupported they made choices they would never have made, did terrible things they would never have done on Earth. Or perhaps they would have done just the same. It was only what Crowley had seen many times over the millennia, humans finding some "other" to oppose their "self" and selves. Vilifying and wreaking destruction.
The funny bit, though, was that the humans made choices they never would have made on Earth, choosing to champion the vulnerable, help the helpless, reach out to others. Some were self-sacrificing and some were loving and some were gentle and kind.
A few did it all in turn.
*
And just when you'd think they were more malignant than ever Hell could be, they could occasionally show more grace than Heaven ever dreamed of. Often the same individual was involved. It was this free-will thing, of course. It was a bugger.6
6 Pratchett and Gaiman. Good Omens. Ace Books, 1996, p. 27
Recipient:
cat_latinAuthor:
wintercreekCharacters: Crowley, Aziraphale, "Atlantisans," and others. Gen.
Rating: G; PG if death-by-space-vampire is the sort of thing that requires parental guidance
Note: Crossover with Stargate: Atlantis.
cat_latin, I certainly hope this makes you smile. Happy holidays!Strictly speaking, Crowley is responsible for securing for Hell the souls of humans who live on Earth. He's never asked Down There for any sort of assignment clarification or mission scope; Crowley likes his assignment, likes Earth, likes existing in a corporeal form of his choice and having a lot of autonomy. It doesn't pay to draw too much attention to oneself.
Sometimes Earth gets a bit small, though, so Crowley's made a case for playing the long game. It is, admittedly, a gamble that may not pay off - but it might, and it might pay off well. The craftsmanship, the coaxing of a soul in to corruption - Crowley's well acquainted with these. He's starting to think bigger, though. He's starting to wonder if he might be able to engineer the start of a situation now that, thousands of years later, will lead to at the least a tarnishing and at the most the wholesale blackening of a whole group of souls.
The only thing for it of course, now that he has approval, is to try it.
*
He wants a name that will fit in with this lot, so he's going by Crahlei here. It's ludicrously easy to get a position doing scientific research, assisting a geneticist named Zelus. Like everyone here, Zelus is interested in Ascension1 - but unlike everyone else, he's interested in easing the path to Ascension for those who aren't Anqueetas. In fact, he's interested in creating a whole new race that is predisposed to transcendence.
"Yeah, okay," Crahlei tries, dipping his toe in to this new pool of temptation. "So what, er, physical barriers are you going to remove?"
Zelus smiles brightly, obviously gratified to be taken seriously by someone. "I find, anecdotally, that the needs of the body are a significant obstacle. A species that doesn't need to eat won't struggle with the temptations of the sensory desires food can evoke. A species that doesn't need to eat won't need to spend time cultivating crops, won't need to interrupt meditation for petty concerns like meals."
This sounds like a delightfully bad idea. "Ah, I see. But doesn't a living creature need nourishment in some fashion while corporeal?" Crahlei's hoping that this leads only to a more disastrous answer; he's not disappointed.
"They will feed on the life energy all around them! The very air will convey to them vitality and strength, allowing for uninterrupted focus on the journey to Ascension."
Crahlei grins slowly. If Zelus were acquainted with the creatures of Earth (or any creatures outside his laboratory) he would say Crahlei looks strikingly snake-like in this moment, predatory like the gratea that lurk in dark places on the mainland. Zelus is not acquainted with these creatures, however, and so he takes Crahlei's smile for very slightly creepy enthusiasm, which it rather is.
1 Ascension refers to the attainment of a higher state of consciousness in which one transcends physical form and becomes, in essence, an immortal energy being. It's deeply unclear whether allowing this sort of thing to continue is in the interests of Heaven or Hell, but as long as Earth's current incarnation of human population isn't involved it doesn't seem worth getting fussed about.
*
The problematic nature of Zelus's work becomes more apparent with each conversation Crahlei has with him. Zelus has picked out a species he finds particularly exemplary, a large parasite called the Iratus, and he's planning to splice key bits of its DNA with a primate-derived human form not unlike that found on Earth. Crahlei's getting ever-so-slightly uneasy with the whole thing - there's temptation and then there's recklessness - and it's probably that feeling that tips him in to hinting to the angel about his plans. Aziraphale, ever on the look out for an opportunity to thwart evil without getting his hands dirty, jumps at the chance. This kind of mortal interaction, dealing with ethical decision-making on the higher plane of direct manipulation of other lives, isn't one that they'll get on Earth for a while yet.
Aziraphale doesn't feel the need to take an incognito name under which to walk Atlantis. He thinks he's inconspicuous.
Crahlei doesn't know why he tries, sometimes.
*
Aziraphale, predictably, finds the whole thing fascinating to a degree slightly beyond his comprehension of what's involved. Where Crahlei is satisfied to tempt Zelus toward decisions that seem likely to be ultimately, well, bad, Aziraphale wants to argue with Zelus.
"But my dear boy! You want them to be social, don't you?"
Zelus looks to be near the end of his tether. "Of course I do. That's why I'm mixing a primate descendant with the Iratus. Iratus are colonial and associate strongly as parts of a whole. Primates are social, but they recognize self and other within a larger community. An Iratus has already transcended self - an individual does not conceive of itself outside of the hive. Clear?"
Aziraphale nods, pursing his lips.
"So, we mix the intelligence and sociability of a primate with the selflessness of an insect and we get a creature that does not need to struggle with the loss of a distinct identity as a barrier to Ascension - because that creature has always been more concerned with the whole population than with the distinct self."
"I certainly don't object to that. It's just that - a social creature, a colonial creature - wouldn't one be rather lonely if it were alone? Shouldn't you make more? Say, ten?"
Zelus thinks for a moment. "I suppose you're right. It's as easy to make ten as one, anyway."
Crahlei can't believe how well this is going.
*
Zelus is working on extracting the relevant genes from the Iratus, hampered only slightly by Aziraphale's aid.2 He's pulling the gene he's identified as influencing the colonial nature of the bugs - or rather, he's pulling a small segment of genes. Zelus doesn't seem concerned about possible unintended effects of the extra genes; he seems more of the belief that moving a piece of chromosome will help ensure that the relevant gene is properly expressed. Crahlei privately thinks that it's likely to be disastrous, but he's hardly going to say anything.
When Zelus is done manipulating the last egg and they're all fertilised and implanted safely in an incubator of some sort, Crahlei clears his throat. "So, ah, they'll be social then?"
"They'll be more than social," Zelus replies smugly. "How much do you know about insects?"
"Er," Crahlei replies, intelligently.
"Insects aren't like animals, Crahlei. Their immune systems lack the major histocompatibility complex seen in humans."
"Erm."
Zelus peers at Crahlei. "I thought they said you were qualified to assist me."
Crahlei focuses very hard on looking credible. "My work is mostly theoretical."
"Ah. Well, the major histocompatibility complex is what allows the tissues of a human body to distinguish between self and non-self, or other. Aside from all concepts of individuality, this is a distinction made below any sort of consciousness. It's why organs can't be transplanted without immunosuppressive medications. But insects' immune systems don't do that."
Crahlei makes a "go on" gesture.
It doesn't take much encouragement to make Zelus go on. "So given that the Iratus live in colonies and seem to have no conception of the selves within the whole, even down to the cellular level, these new beings we're creating should be similarly part of a whole. That Azir was right - making ten was the best course of action."
Aziraphale starts to correct Zelus, but Crahlei stops him with a hand to his chest.
"They shouldn't need to eat, either," Zelus adds. "I've engineered them to feed off the ambient energy of the universe. That's what they'll live off after they ascend, after all, so it should ease things for them to do so all their lives. Just think, gentlemen, a species hardwired for a higher plane of existence, right from the start."
And if Crahlei feels uneasy, well. It's probably just that lunch didn't sit well with him.
2 Aziraphale's idea of assistance consists largely of questions along the lines of "And what does this do?" and requests to peer at what's happening. It does no good for Zelus to explain that Aziraphale can't see genetic manipulation with his eyes. The third time Aziraphale cries, "Oh, this must be just how He feels!" Crahlei drags him out of the lab and tries to explain, again, about maintaining one's cover.
*
Zelus and Aziraphale are over the moon when the first of their creations come in to being. They look mostly like humans, but they're pale and have funny facial features. This group is all males.
They eat regular foods to start on, nutritious formulas and pastes. Zelus is right that they are social - it's too soon to tell if they really think as a hive mind, but they go everywhere together. Crahlei thinks that might be more a function of the small area to which they're confined, but he's not willing to advocate letting them run loose. There's something strange about them.
*
Zelus makes a female next. He only makes one; in insect species, the female is often the queen of a hive, and it's quite possible that any other female would be identified as a rival and killed. No one knows how much these beings function on insect instinct.
*
"They're getting impatient."
"What?" Crahlei's not clear on who is getting impatient, or why, but Hell has conditioned him to roll with anything to keep the superiors happy. To an extent, at least.
Zelus sighs. "The Committee."
The capital letter is audible. "Yeah?"
"They want the specimens to age faster. They want to know what their potential will be once they've reached maturity."
"And we can do that, yeah? Didn't you say?"
Aziraphale looks up from his tablet. "Yes, with the stasis chambers?"
And so they age the immature creatures.
*
When the creatures, now full-grown, emerge from the chambers they are tall and powerful, all flowing hair and blue-white skin. The female's hair is a brilliant pink. Zelus has some of his nutritious paste ready, in case they are not yet able to feed off the ambient energy.
They don't eat the paste. They don't eat any other tangible food Zelus can conjure up, and they don't seem to be feeding off any ambient energy, either. Crahlei sees that they've all developed what look like knife wounds in the palms of their right hands - they keep gesturing to each other's chests and then putting their hands back down.
"My. Well. They do look rather friendly toward each other, don't they? Just a little bashful with those pats, maybe," Aziraphale observes.
Crahlei chokes a little. Something's very wrong here. "Erm. I'm not sure those are pats, angel."
One of them - the female - moves toward Zelus and presses her hand to the center of his chest.
It all goes to Hell (not literally, fortunately) after that.
*
The post-mortem3 makes a few things clear. The creatures, whom the Committee have taken to calling "Wraith" for their fluid movements and the spectres they can produce, are certainly social and recognize each other as "like" if not "self." And they do have "self," are individuals within a group. Not a collective, not a hive mind, but a closely allied group with the female at their head like an insect queen. It's not clear if they sense that as members of a specific group they should not harm each other, or if they have a taboo on consumption of their own kind.
It is clear that they have no such restraint where others are concerned.
The female sucked Zelus's life force out of him, leaving only a withered old-man husk. Crahlei supposes that's a kind of ambient energy, but it's a little less ambient than was originally intended. Also, Zelus was using it.
All eleven of them have escaped. They have, in fact, left the planet in a very cleverly jerry-rigged space shuttle. One way or another, it's looking like this will pay off for Hell in the future. Crahlei makes a note to monitor the situation, then concentrates very hard on being unobtrusive as he tugs Aziraphale's sleeve. It's really time for them to go.
3 An appropriate name both literally and figuratively. For Zelus, it is literally post his mortem. As for the rest, they wish it were.
*
"A demon can get in to real trouble, doing the right thing." He nudged the angel. "Funny if we both got it wrong, eh? Funny if I did the good thing and you did the bad one, eh?"
"Not really," said Aziraphale.
Crawly looked at the rain.
"No," he said, sobering up. "I suppose not."4
4 Pratchett and Gaiman. Good Omens. Ace Books, 1996, p. xi5
5 What, there can't be a conventional footnote?
*
Some ten years after the world failed to end, Crowley woke up with the unpleasant sensation that he'd left the gas on. Or, not left the gas on, precisely, but forgotten something. Something important.
He rang Aziraphale. "Angel, is there something I meant to remember? Anything I might have mentioned to you?"
"Hmm. You know, I had the same feeling this morning. But I've not the foggiest what it could be."
Some 4,670 miles away, a gate to the Pegasus galaxy opened for the first time in several thousand years.
"Maybe it'll come to me. Anyway, breakfast?"
"Oh, yes please."
*
The band of humans from Earth were completely unprepared for the Wraith, of course. There was almost no way, barring a sudden fit of memory and desire for confession on Aziraphale's part, that they could ever have anticipated creatures that seemed to them most like space vampire-catfish. Unprepared, trying their best, lacking the information they needed and the safety they craved, the members of the Atlantis expedition fought a war.
Alone and unsupported they made choices they would never have made, did terrible things they would never have done on Earth. Or perhaps they would have done just the same. It was only what Crowley had seen many times over the millennia, humans finding some "other" to oppose their "self" and selves. Vilifying and wreaking destruction.
The funny bit, though, was that the humans made choices they never would have made on Earth, choosing to champion the vulnerable, help the helpless, reach out to others. Some were self-sacrificing and some were loving and some were gentle and kind.
A few did it all in turn.
*
And just when you'd think they were more malignant than ever Hell could be, they could occasionally show more grace than Heaven ever dreamed of. Often the same individual was involved. It was this free-will thing, of course. It was a bugger.6
6 Pratchett and Gaiman. Good Omens. Ace Books, 1996, p. 27
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(no subject)
Date: 2008-12-21 02:24 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-01-07 06:14 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-12-21 08:51 pm (UTC)This was wonderful! The footnotes were fabulous, and this:
"This sounds like a delightfully bad idea. "Ah, I see. But doesn't a living creature need nourishment in some fashion while corporeal?" Crahlei's hoping that this leads only to a more disastrous answer; he's not disappointed."
...made me laugh out loud. Thank you so much; I loved it!
(no subject)
Date: 2009-01-07 06:15 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-12-21 10:30 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-01-07 06:15 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-12-26 02:23 am (UTC)(no subject)
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Date: 2009-01-01 11:25 pm (UTC)(no subject)
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Date: 2009-01-03 06:05 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-01-07 06:16 am (UTC)(no subject)
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Date: 2010-09-02 03:35 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-11-28 09:38 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-11-29 08:27 am (UTC)this was a lot of fun. I've seen a few SPN/Good Omens crossover, but this is the first SGA xo -- you made it work.
(no subject)
Date: 2010-11-30 12:05 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-12-02 10:30 pm (UTC)