#I may actually net prefer Rubber Soul to this... BUT | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

shinygoku · 1 year ago

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Revolver (1966)

So, you know from my previous write-up that I think Rubber Soul is a little bit underrated. I think there may be a similar thing occurring here, as while it's more likely to be picked as The Greatest Beatles Album, it's still in the shadow of what comes right after and a couple of the later ones. Still, this is home to a couple of absolutely iconic staples as well as a few hidden gems. Deciding to scrap live concerts entirely, they could now dabble with The Studio itself to bring out new and exciting sounds. Load up yer bullets and ready the needle arm, we're on something Revolutionary.

The famous line art and collage made by Friend of the Band since Hamburg days, Klaus Voormann! Ya can't deny he gets their likeness, though George's direct look at the viewer with those lips is a bit unsettling for me personally. Still, it's what they call Art and the first cover that isn't a single photograph, we have iconic illustration and an eclectic montage here! Very cool ...if not something I'd want on my wall lol

SIDE ONE

Taxman: Remember how in the previous write-up for Run For Your Life, I complained about how dope instrumentals were bogged down by lyrics that sucked? Well it's a similar situation here! I'm Pro-Public Sector being funded by the Ultra Rich being shaken down for change!! I know the Marginal Rate was huge, but it was for those who could, like, actually afford it. Unfortunately that may include Daft Rock Stars, innit? .....Anyway yeah, the guitar shredding is really good but the cleverness of the lyrics is wasted by picking the wrong stance, so this ain't one I listen to that often. The music video on the official youtube is pretty visually interesting though.

Eleanor Rigby: A sad tale of an older lady dying alone, ya wouldn't expect it to be one of the most iconic songs by a band that's already made countless bangers about love and sex and rocking out, wouldja? And maybe it's because of that stark difference, and the song itself being so beautiful, that it stands out and even wins over Beatle Haters! The sound is best in the 2022 remix, obviously, but I like to watch the music video that was in Yellow Submarine for this song, where a multitude of different Lonely People are shown. But the fairly detailed story described without visuals really does tug at the heartstrings (apt that this tune has such a prominent String Octet, haha).

I think part of what makes this work so well is, not just the Tragic Narrative, but also the mundane nature. The allusion to wearing a mask of a false self in public, the bluntness of the apathy shown to strangers. Dreams that go unfulfilled, words that go unheard, your entire life being known only as you have a headstone, if that. It applies to countless people we walk by every day. And the irony of how Eleanor and the Father McKenzie might have been able to connect, but only actually have contact when he's performing her lonely funeral. Owch.... a great song but Not a fun one!

I'm Only Sleeping: First of all, I MUST endorse the painting music video that's also on the Official Youtube. Even if ya've heard this song countless times, you have gotta See it too!!

Anyway, gorgeous strumming and a steady drum balance the slower pace of this number. John's vocals are serene and drowsy, matching the feeling of having a lazy morning in a comfy, comfy bed. The way the music pauses and starts back up with increased tempo, the backward guitar (!!) and how the song starts to repeat itself from the beginning again all give it such a beautiful, distinct vibe, and again it's pretty faithful to that feeling when you doze off and lose track of time.

Love You To: After George's previous song being blazing electrical guitar set to complaining, this one is quite different! Very sitar heavy and introspective, with a very slow start for a while before kicking off with the vocals. It's not really my bag, but I can appreciate the artistry in it, at least. After such a long intro the outro feels pretty abrupt, too.

Here, There and Everywhere: This also has an animated video on the Youtube! It's nice but oddly rotoscopes Help! (Movie) footage among other things, it doesn't feel as Bespoke so it's optional as far as I'm concerned lol. Anyway! Paul does a Beach Boys! It's a pleasant, serene ode to a nebulous woman but, while I like it, it doesn't have quite the memorable staying power other than that it sounds like another band did it. Sorry for being so mild, Paul! I just like others ya did more!

Yellow Submarine: YEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!!!

A real Marmite of a song, innit? I adore it, myself~ It's deceptively complex, hidden behind what could be seen as a monotonous, repetitive lyrics sheet, but for those who listen not only with yer ears but your heart and soul as well, you'll enjoy it :3

Even without reading Pro-Community or Escapism subtext within, the base level of a children's song with pretty described visuals and creative, clever sound effects over a catchy base tune with Ringo's vocals really make a song that's more than the sum of its parts. No wonder it did so well as the Title Track and Main Vehicle of the animated movie! XD (Also, as a Supermarionation Fan, I sure suspect Thunderbird 4 was inspired by this number as well as the practical truth that yellow is the most visible colour under water~)

She Said She Said: The LSD in this one is very apparent lol. A bit of mystery lurks in no one knowing if Paul actually played on the final version due to some undisclosed drama. The ......metre? changes partway in and (as always) the instruments are groovy, but again I'm not wild about it and wouldn't notice if it were cut lmao

SIDE TWO

Good Day Sunshine: This hits a little different when hot days are very annoying... but I can't fault this song for the massive shift in climate! I do like how upbeat and jolly this is, the piano offers an interesting flourish and some good harmonies and cymbal crashing.

And Your Bird Can Sing: This is the song I always think of when mulling over Hidden Gems by the Beatles. It's 2 minutes of Rock Perfection and yet it's chronically overshadowed by so many others! While there's much debate over who or what "your Bird" may be, the actual thesis of the song is about deflating materialism and pride, which is cool. The guitar shredding, rhythmic percussion and that triple harmony with "you tell me that you've heard every sound there is" make this such a delight! I think that particular vocal sync may even be the best I've ever heard, it's sooooo great~

For No One: Paul's at it again with 'Maaaan dating Jane Asher isn't doing it for me' songs! However I think this is the best of them lol. Very engaging piano and clever lyrics about two former lovers who now feel mere indifference for the other. Somehow they've drifted apart and it's only a matter of time until they admit defeat and make it formal, but we're not there just yet.

Doctor Robert: This is weird cause it's based on the real dentist the lads used, who spiked John and George with acid and in general seems like the most cartoonishly suspicious kind of nightmare who you really don't want to be left in charge of your numbed body, what the fuck?! I mean the song itself is pretty rockin' but dear GOD do I hope they cut that dude out once the drugging came to light. I'd be hiring some fucking Goons to scare him rather than writing a ditty about the situation, but I guess their ways of coping differ to modern times... oh right, the music? It's good, duh! I'll highlight Paul's Bass as being a very Groovy fixture~

I Want To Tell You: This one I tend to forget about entirely lmao. George at it again, good piano and drum work... I think the Bridge is good but the main song doesn't do much for me. Another "well it's not Bad, but..." number. Huh, sorry George, I know songs ya made that I adore but they ain't here...!

Got To Get You Into My Life: Ska?! In The Beatles? It's more likely than you think! But I actually prefer the "Second Version" that one may find on the YT or Super Deluxe edition. This main one sounds a little overpowering with really loud brass and Paul's voice seems to be filtered. I loooooove that it's a declaration of devotion to Weed instead of a person this time though, while cunningly woven to fly under the Morality Police radar.

Tomorrow Never Knows: This is more Art than a song, and I mean that in a good way! The completely unique Sounds and the experimental Techniques, Ringo's beating on them drums..... it's just really fun to listen to~ Mere words don't work so well for this one XD;;;

CONCLUSION

Best 3: Eleanor Rigby, I'm Only Sleeping, Yellow Submarine

Blurst 3: Love You To, She Said She Said, I Want To Tell You

Hmm, picking the Blurst was really hard this time and now it looks like I have Anti-George sentiments, which I don't! But it's less the choices there are Bad and more Not For Me. That's part'a why I've been saying Blurst this whole time instead of Worst, the subjective aspect can't be ignored...! And maybe I'm showing a little Bias in the Best category, but again it's painful to hafta discard bangers like And Your Bird Can Sing for anything, but I love me some Yellow Submarine just that much more ^^;;

I already used the line, but fuck it; Revolver is indeed Revolutionary. (Read that in the Devious Diesel voice Ringo does, please~). The studio tweaks done to increasingly Sophisticated music really marks a change in the landscape, not just for these Bugs, but the medium as a whole. That kinda sentiment persists with a lot of Beatle Moments, of course, but I think Revolver represents a real point of no return.

🪲🪲🪲🪲

Next month, we'll be (checks notes) ah, instead of The Beatles, there'll be a new group 『サージェント・ペパーズ・ロンリー・ハーツ・クラブ・バンド』. I hope you tune in anyway, as they're very well regarded! A splendid time is guaranteed for all~

#The Beatles #Revolver #Revolver (Album)#CutCat listens to Bug Music #Music Review #I may actually net prefer Rubber Soul to this... BUT #the strong songs here are absolutely incredible!#Just the ones I'm less into are numerous here lol #such is Experimentation. I guess this is a warm up for The White Album...

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humananalytica · 6 years ago

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Good Omens Holiday Swap

Fic for @maandarinee, based on two promps:

I always love Crowley and Aziraphale having some magic Connection where they're Connected for whatever reason and can hear/feel/whatever each other;

Aziraphale or Crowley gets summoned/captured/trapped and the other goes into Rage Mode while getting them back (alternative: one THINKS the other is dead [pls don't actually kill anyone/ bring them back miraculously] and goes into Rage Revenge Mode)

Hope you enjoy! Fic under the cut.

“Where the Heaven are you, you idiot? I can’t find you!” Crowley cast around wildly for even a hint of Aziraphale’s presence. He’d been terribly worried, and frustrated, then there’d been a flash of pain, and now- “Aziraphale, for God’s- For Satan’s- Ah! For somebody’s sake, where are you?!”

A wall of water slammed into Crowley’s chest and knocked him to the ground.

At the same time, a trace of demonic essence collided with Crowley and settled back in his ribcage, just as lost as the rest of him felt. “You’ve gone,” he said to the empty bookshop, “Somebody killed my best friend!”

“Bastards! All of you!” he screamed, disoriented and grieving. Aziraphale was gone and he wasn’t coming back, not ever, and the bookshop was on fire.

His gaze fell on a book that had, somehow, not yet gone up in flames. The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter. He picked it up. He could, perhaps, save just this little something from the fire. Crowley willed the doors to open for him and left the bookshop.

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Getting summoned was an exercise in bending quantum mechanics that always left Crowley vaguely nauseous. He didn’t really appreciate his corporation being jerked around without a warning. As a result, the small handful of humans [1] who had actually managed to summon him over the centuries tended to find him in a bad mood.

This particular attempt was one of the worst that Crowley had ever experienced. It was full of metaphysical holes, less of a net and more of a tangled mess of rope. It pinched his noncorporeal being uncomfortably when he pushed against the bounds of the circle, but didn’t offer burning pain or impermeable resistance.

“Demon Crawly, serpent of Eden.”

“Don’t use that name anymore.” Crowley drawled, tucking his fingers into his pockets. “Haven’t used that name in a couple millenia.” He rotated slowly, studying the summoning circle from all angles.

“It was the name that I invoked to summon you.” The summoner replied, without a whisper of confusion or doubt. “It is the name we will use.”

‘We?’ Crowley mentally hissed in irritation, even as he began cataloguing the ways he could get out of the situation. So far, it was looking like his summoner was working with outdated material, felt entitled to . . . whatever he was going to demand of Crowley, and seemed completely convinced that he hadn’t made a mistake. Relatively straightforward to work with, if you had a few milennia’s experience working with Hell.

“I need to learn how to have sex with a woman.” The summoner dramatically threw open the door to the windowless room, revealing a young-ish man with a sweatshirt hood pulled down to his nose.

Crowley blinked, trying to parse why sex with a woman was in any way relevant to what he’d, specifically, had ever done in Eden. Well. Better to let them tell you what they think they’re getting.

“So you came to me,” Crowley tilted his head and raised his eyebrows, as if asking a question.

“Yes,” he said, shuffling inside and shutting the door behind him. “I summoned you because you were the giver of all knowledge and the first tempter, and now I need that knowledge to be given to me.”

There were so many reasons why giving humans knowledge of Good and Evil did not equate to Crowley having some secret knowledge of how to convince a woman to have sex.[2] But Crowley guessed- he wanted what he wanted, and telling him ‘no, sorry, can’t help you,’ would have been met with hostility and disbelief.

“Well, you’ve certainly done your homework.” Crowley pressed against the boundaries of the summoning circle again, trying to gauge if the human took notice. No reaction was forthcoming.

“Can you help me or not?” the man whined, eventually.

“Possibly, but it might take a while.” Crowley hedged. “In the meantime, what should I call you?”

“Uh,” he stuttered, flustered, “‘Sir’ would probably be alright, ‘Master’ is a little gay, I think-”

“How about your name.” Crowley crossed his arms and gave a little half-smile. “Most people prefer that.”

The man paused, then seemed to collect himself. “Tristan.”

“Right, Tristan, I’ll see what I can do for you.” He glanced down at the circle, and his gaze caught on a phrase that defined him as ‘bound to be a servant’. A spark of an idea began to form in his mind. “We may have to make a few revisions to this circle, though.”

“What’s wrong with the circle?” Tristan snapped. “I didn’t make any mistakes. I checked.”

Crowley dropped to one knee and swept his hand over the characters in question. “Look, if you want to still have your soul after losing your virginity, you’re going to have to listen to me.” Tristan’s focus sharpened, and he knelt down opposite Crowley with palpable concern.

He pointed out a handful of words. “This bit defines me as servant of Hell. [3] Now, I’ll be sporting and fill you in on how it’s relevant here. Means that I’m obligated to deliver your soul to Hell if I hold up my end of the contract, deserving or not.”

“When I die?” He made no move to get an eraser or writing utensils, so Crowley pressed on.

“Preciscely,” he hissed, “And it’s whether you have sex once or you do it every day for the rest of your mortal life. Going to Hell for a shag is a load of bollocks, if you ask me.”

The subtle admonishing flew completely over Tristan’s head, not that the demon had expected much. He waffled for half a minute, then dragged a box of chalk out from under a stack of notebooks. “Which one makes you tied to Hell? I’ll just-” He mimed erasing with his free hand. “-and that should be good, right?”

Crowley mentally calculated the metaphysical gap that would result from an unbalanced circle without a complete binding clause and concluded that his odds were relatively good. “Here,” he tapped a single fingernail on the concrete floor, “In the lines closest to me.”

Tristan nodded, then crouched on the floor with an eraser. Crowley’s entire body tensed up on the physical realm as he focused on reaching through the holes in the binding towards home. The eraser wiped the characters into oblivion, and a half second later, Crowley tumbled into the back room of the bookshop. [4]

Aziraphale arrived a moment later, brandishing a teakettle in a manner that carried a subtle threat of bodily harm.

And caught sight of Crowley slowly rising to his feet and straightening his clothes. “What on Earth are you doing?” he asked, relaxing his stance.

Crowley, satisfied with the state of his clothing, flopped into an armchair. “I need a drink.”

[1] And in one memorable instance, some poor woman’s pet cats.

[2] Though he could guess that not summoning demons into your cellar whilst doing a low-budget impersonation of Emperor Palpatine would be a step in the right direction.

[3] This was a lie. In actuality, it defined him as bound to serve in general, implicating the summoner. Tristan, who was not remotely fluent in any of the Old languages, did not cotton on to this bit of deception.

[4] The exact mechanics of this maneuver are, naturally, beyond the human ability to observe. If one were looking for a good analogy, it would help to imagine Crowley as a rubber band, forcing himself through a very small opening by stretching very thin, and then abruptly springing back into his normal state once through. It was exactly as uncomfortable as it sounds.

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“Right,” Aziraphale said, adding generous pours of bourbon to two mugs of earl grey tea. “What has you so shaken?”

“Wiggled out of a summoning.” Crowley explained, turning his attention to his drink, taking a long swallow and relaxing back against the cushions. “Some idiot who wanted me to help him have sex.”

“Certainly not with-”

“With women.” he cut Aziraphale off. “Young, pretty ones if I had to guess a type.”

“I see,” Aziraphale replied, in a tone that encouraged more details.

“The entire thing was ridiculous, Aziraphale, you have no idea. He did a lot of research, only to put out the whole bloody thing out on a cellar floor with some school chalk. ’S insulting.” He took another swallow of tea, then reached over and topped up his mug with more whiskey. “I should probably try to track down where he got his materials, unless I want to be summoned every time one of his mates decides that I’m the solution to their dry spell.”

“I can reach out to some of my associates and see if any of them know anything about old summoning manuals reentering circulation.” The angel offered, eyeing Crowley with some concern. “There can’t be very many of them in circulation.”

Crowley nodded, accepting. “I’d wager that he found it online, but he also called me Crawly, so the original text is going to be from some point B.C.”

“That does narrow things down considerably.” Aziraphale fished out his pocket watch and glanced at it. “It’s quite late now, but I can sort out a few leads and make calls in the morning.” he glanced up to see Crowley pouring more alcohol into his mug. “My dear, are you alright?”

“Just. Eugh. Aftereffects from forcing myself outside of the circle without it breaking.” Crowley took a gulp of lukewarm tea-flavored bourbon and winced.

“Crowley. You’re shaking quite badly.” After a second of hesitation, Aziraphale gently prised the trembling mug from his grip and set it down on the table, keeping a hold on his twitching fingers.

Crowley blushed. “Sorry.”

“Apologising isn’t necessary.” Aziraphale frowned. “I can feel how distressed you are. It’s usually quite difficult for me to pick up on negative emotions.”

“Maybe you’re looking for it.” Crowley muttered into his free hand. “I can feel happiness and love if ‘m trying to find it. Usually just keep an eye out for the negative stuff, though.”

“I suppose you’re right.” Aziraphale agreed. “I should be in better practice when it comes to sensing distress.” He did not release Crowley’s hand, and the demon felt him probing further. “Well, you’re certainly not all right, I can tell that much.” The angel’s gaze was sharp.

“‘Sss fine. Aziraphale.” Crowley decided that he was not inebriated enough for the conversation and took more bourbon-with-a-splash-of-tea with a still shaking hand, swallowed hard.

“Is this how you would find me, when I would get into a spot of trouble?” he asked. “Tracking feelings of distress and worry?”

“Sssort of.”

“Well, what else then?” he pressed, and if he had noticed Crowley’s embarrassment, he ignored it. “Crowley.”

Bless it. Aziraphale was getting more worried, and more curious, which was a dangerous combination. His desire to soothe the angel managed to overpower his embarrassment, just barely. He finished what was left in his mug and tried to not think too hard about him still holding his hand.

“Do y’know,” Crowley said at length, “How little traces of demonic or ethereal energy can be left around if you try?”

“Yes.”

“Went a little further. Stuck a little bit of my soul with you back in Rome by accident. And it was useful to find you later, so I didn’t take it back.” And it had been a mistake. Crowley had been drunk on Roman wine and angelic company and he had been preemptively grieving losing Aziraphale’s presence for the night, and likely for the foreseeable future. He’d barely noticed when a piece of himself had wrenched its way out of his corporation and onto Aziraphale [5]. “I could sense your distress because part of me was always next to you. In a way.”

Aziraphale got a quiet, faraway look that, Crowley knew, meant he was very quickly sorting through new information. “I know that I shouldn’t have left it for so long, and, ngk” -I’m sorry that I did it without asking or telling you, the actual apology died in his throat.

The bookshop was silent, save for the clocks and the creaking of old furniture as Crowley sank down into Aziraphale’s chair, incandescent with shame. “It’s gone now, anyway. Got it back in the bookshop after you’d discorporated.” He had half a mind to withdraw away from Aziraphale’s judgement, but stayed resolutely in place. The angel deserved to know, at least.

The clocks continued ticking. Crowley resisted sliding onto the floor. Aziraphale had not removed his hand from his. He could sense sadness and maybe a little pity from the angel, if he looked, but there wasn’t any anger or fear, so the demon kept still.

Finally, Aziraphale shifted and sighed. “I suppose it could be considered an invasion of privacy, but I can’t say that I personally mind, the thought of you leaving a bit of your soul within my corporation.” Crowley wasn’t looking, but he could feel the angel’s smile. “It got us out of a fair bit of trouble.” His thumb stroked Crowley’s knuckles.

He vaguely wondered if drinking more would make the situation more or less bearable to deal with.

“Would you like to do it again?” Aziraphale said, at length. “And I could, perhaps, do the same for you, place a small part of my soul in your corporation permanently. If you’re amenable.”

Yes, a thousand times yes, I would do anything to be able to find you if you needed me. I’ve missed it. I would love to hold a piece of you with me always, Crowley thought, aching with hope. “Are you sure about this, angel?” came out of his mouth.

“Only if you are,” Aziraphale countered, radiating steadfast certainty. “I would like it very much. We’re on our own side, I want to reflect that.”

“I’d like it too,” Crowley managed, swallowing. “Just don’t want to saddle you with my emotions.”

“Crowley.” He finally looked at Aziraphale, startled by the intensity of frustrated love that flowed under and with the angel’s conviction. “I want to know when something is wrong. I would love to be able to feel you, Crowley, and I cannot imagine growing tired of you.” He smiled again. “If anything, all the past six thousand years have done is made me want to spend even more time with you.”

“‘Ziraphale.” Crowley whispered, nervous and elated and so in love that it ached. “Now?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale glowed, rising to his feet. “Just one moment.” He went around and drew curtains shut, concealing them completely from outside view. “Would you like to sober up a bit, dear?” he asked, straightening his clothes.

“I was incredibly drunk last time I did this.” Crowley protested, shuddering alcohol out of his bloodstream anyway and getting his legs underneath him.

“Do you remember how you did it?” Aziraphale gestured vaguely. “You may have to show me.”

“Here.” Crowley fumbled about in the metaphysical plane, pulling out roughly the same amount of himself that he’d unintentionally recovered in the bookshop fire during The End Times That Hadn’t Been. It manifested in his hand as an odd, shifting shadow, dancing around his fingertips and reaching for Aziraphale.

Aziraphale’s eyes flashed, and then the rest of him glowed, the vision of his true form superimposed over his corporation. With the infinite care of an antique book collector, he steadied Crowley’s wrist with his left hand, and with his right, drew the offered piece of Crowley into himself, guiding the little shadow to coil up and around his left arm.

Crowley felt as it settled against Aziraphale, and his sense of the angel sharpened into comfortable clarity.

Aziraphale inhaled and exhaled slowly, the image of his true form fading from view. With another breath, he brought a little bit of his soul out of his corporation, a white-gold flame that hovered in his cupped hands.

Crowley offered his left arm in kind, watched his true form as a piece of Aziraphale slid up his palm and forearm in an uneven starburst. It shivered as it settled in, mirroring the angel’s pleased wiggle in Crowley’s periphery.

“I’ve never felt you with such clarity before,” Aziraphale said, awed.

“Sorry.” Crowley offered on reflex, feeling a sleepy, pleasant buzz settle over him.

“Really, now.” the angel reprimanded gently. “It feels lovely, dear, and I don’t wish to be without it.”

“Mmm.” he mumbled, nearly unhinging his jaw with a yawn and sitting down on a couch. “Does feel nice.”

The cushion dipped with Aziraphale’s weight, and Crowley tried to discreetly scoot closer. The angel took notice and guided his head to his shoulder. “It was a bit reckless of me to do that, wasn’t it?” His thumb traced a delicate pattern along Crowley’s jaw.

“A bit.” He yawned again.

“Then again,” Aziraphale continued wryly, “It has been over a millenia since we established the arrangement, one could argue that this was a long time coming.”

“Hm.” he mumbled into the angel’s shoulder, all but melting into the touch. “Got there now.”

“You can sleep, Crowley.” He said, reclining and pulling the demon closer. “I’m not going anywhere.” The lights in the bookshop dimmed invitingly, and Crowley drifted off with Aziraphale’s hand in his hair.

[5] In his inebriated state, Crowley had been unable to distinguish it from the human version of heartbreak.

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Crowley could not relax. There was something irritating brushing at his consciousness, like a shirt tag. He couldn’t place its source, exactly, and over the course of the week he became increasingly more frustrated. Aziraphale had quickly noticed the frustration despite Crowley’s attempts to downplay it, proving to be a frighteningly quick study.

It wasn’t the new link between himself and Aziraphale, as far as they could tell. Neither one had particularly wanted to dissolve it to be certain.

He had been walking towards the Bentley, intending to return to the bookshop after caring for the plants in his flat, when the irritation that had been following him around intensified to a sharp tug. Ah, he thought, preparing to return to the not-quite-broken summoning circle, that explains it.

He rematerialized in the same circle, with its erased parts redrawn and an extra circle of text around the whole thing, adding a layer of restraints that Crowley couldn’t see an easy way out of. Tristan was standing with his arms crossed in front of Crowley, wearing a slightly different hoodie from the last time.

“Hi.” Crowley said, desperately trying to tamp down on his panic before it could show in his voice. “What brings me here?”

“You got out. That’s not going to happen again.” The man said, sounding understandably (if unjustifiably) pissed.

Crowley decided to try for honesty. “Look, I really can’t help you.”

“You will.” Tristan insisted. “I command you to!”

“Commanding me to do something-” Crowley hissed and recoiled from where he’d been probing at the barriers, nerves burning like they’d been sliced open and dipped in acid.

“So you found my extra protections.” he observed, “good luck getting out of those, Serpent.”

“Still won’t change the fact that I can’t help you. Both of us are wasting our time.” Crowley pushed again. The burning flared against his consciousness, greying out his vision. When he blinked himself back to awareness, he was kneeling on the ground, shaking.

Tristan was watching him, now seated on a rolling office chair. “Keep struggling if you want. You’re only making it harder on yourself.”

Crowley hissed at Tristan, dragging himself to his feet, spitting out blood from where he’d accidentally bitten his cheek.

“Crawly, Serpent of Eden, you are bound to serve me.” Tristan intoned, reading from a computer printout. “You will remain bound until I release you.”

“What do you wish of me, master?” the demon spat sarcastically. “Shall I perform a resurrection? Balance the moon on top of Everest? Either one would be easier than convincing a woman to ever have sex with you.”

“You’ll regret that!” Tristan glared at Crowley, then began rifling through binders. “I have something here that shows me how to punish you.”

Crowley stayed stubbornly silent, still aching from probing the barriers and trying to tamp down on his panic.

“You,” Aziraphale was suddenly there, voice flat and cold, “are going to stop this nonsense at once.” The angel, glowing, wings out, and eyes piercing, loomed over Tristan, who flinched in shock and scrambled away.

Crowley noted, distantly, that he could see the shadow of his essence snaking up Aziraphale’s arm in this form. Aziraphale cast a concerned glance in his direction.

“Ugnnnn.” The man whined, pressing himself against a wall. The angel huffed, and a moment later appeared much more human shaped [6].

“Now. You are going to listen to me.” Aziraphale said. “You are going to erase the circle immediately, in its entirety.”

“You can’t make me!” Tristan protested, even as he reached for the eraser and crouched down in front of the circle. “That demon will attack me.”

“You have my word as an angel that you will come to no harm from him.” Aziraphale said. “And I suppose that I can’t make you, but it will be much easier to restrain him if my hands aren’t busy from doing the erasing.”

He cast a wary glance between the two supernatural entities and began erasing. Crowley made a lunge at him as the circle was broken, just for show, and was caught by Aziraphale, who supported the demon’s weight without flinching.

“Thank you.” The angel said, when it was finished. “I would also like you to tell me where, precisely, you learned this ritual.”

The human sat down at his computer and navigated to a forum, gesturing wordlessly to the screen. Aziraphale shifted Crowley off of him and peered at it. “Fascinating.” He said, “Tell them that it didn’t work.”

“It did work!”

“In a manner of speaking, yes. But anyone who summons Crowley will have to deal with me, and believe me, I will know if someone summons him with bad intentions, and I will end it by whatever means necessary.” Aziraphale said mildly, putting himself between the back of the chair and the rest of the room.

Tristan looked at him, then mulishly informed his contacts that the ritual had been ineffective. [7] “That’s not gonna stop everyone.”

“More fool them.” the angel replied primly, then tapped the computer, which sparked and died with a few alarmed beeps.

“You can’t just do that!” The human wailed, scrabbling to unplug the computer and inspect it for damage. Aziraphale stepped back to support Crowley again.

“You’ll find that I have.” Aziraphale snapped his fingers. “We’re leaving now. Do not try this again. Goodbye.” He snapped again, and Crowley found himself standing in the middle of his flat, being held upright by the angel.

“Thanks.” He said, sore and delirious with relief.

“You’re quite welcome. Would you like to go lie down?”

Crowley did not want to leave Aziraphale’s company. “Are you going to come with me?”

“Of course.” His voice was warm and fond, and he swept Crowley into his arms. “You really did give me quite a fright.”

Crowley, too tired to care about the loss of dignity, steadied himself by looping his arms around the angel’s neck. “I suppose you would have felt the summoning.”

“I did. It was highly unpleasant, and I do not wish to repeat the experience.” Aziraphale nudged the bedroom door open and deposited the demon onto the bed.

Crowley stretched and removed his shoes. “Speaking of, what about his binders full of notes? They were everywhere.”

“Yes, I had noticed those.” Aziraphale said. “I took care of them.” [8]

Changing into sleep clothes was the work of a couple miracles, and then Aziraphale was sliding under the covers next to Crowley.

“I memorized the screen name of the original poster. I’ll have to look into it, see if they’re the rightful owner or if one of my contacts has been stolen from.”

“Can that wait until tomorrow?” Crowley grumbled. “I’m comfortable here.”

“Of course, dearest.” Aziraphale said, and Crowley felt a pulse of love from the angel. “Would you like me to spend the night?”

In response, he wrapped himself around Aziraphale, burying his face into his neck. Aziraphale chuckled and put his arms around the demon, pressing his lips to the top of Crowley’s head. “Sleep well, Crowley.”

[6] But no less furious.

[7] Which, if you want to be technical, was not really a lie.

[8] The angel had miracled all of the ink off of the pages and back into the ink cartridges that it had come from. One didn’t want to be wasteful, after all.

#good omens #fanfiction #my writing #this got longer that I was expecting it to.#maandarinee #go holiday swap #long post

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