#Crowley Not-A-Bang 2023

[crowleybigbang]

Crowley's Big Bang 2023

The time has finally come, darlings.

After a long pause, the Crowley Big Bang is back, new and improved.

In fact, this is not going to be a traditional Bang.

We do realise that lots of us have gone back to working full time, with all the stress and fatigue that this may cause. So, to allow us to focus better on the torture, we decided to try something a little different: allow us to present you:

Crowley Against Humanity.

The whole thing is going to be as easy as standing in line in Hell: two prompt lists (black and white cards, if you’re familiar with the game).

The Prompts Lists are coming tomorrow, 1st of July!

Care to bury your box and join us at this crossroads? Then, under the cut you go.

You pick up to two prompts from each list, and mix and match away to your heart's content - provided you still have one.

You enjoy your creations, share them with us, and wait for October - since we're shooting for a month filled with creations and hellish chaos.

The prompts can be used faithfully, mentioned in passing, used as loose inspiration: we just want you to have fun.

How about collaborations? We know that those are the heart of a Bang. This year, those will not be handled by the mods - freeing you from check-ins, deadlines and such.

But, once the prompts have been claimed, we encourage you to reach out to fellow minions and see what team-up can see the light! No limits there: two artists, two authors, multiple artists and one author… as long as everything is safe and consensual, the sky’s the limit.

Deadlines and Timing:

Sign Ups open on July 7th! You’ll find the link here and on our Discord server, complete with instructions. If not, just shoot us an ask!

After that, you’ll have until the 21st of July to sign up - artist or author, welcome!

The prompts claims will be on July 22nd.

You have until the 30th of July to tell us if you decided to work with someone.

Works are due the 24th of September.

The Fine Print

Of course, there are rules.

In order to participate, you have to connect with us on Discord - You’ll find the invitation link to the server included in the sign-up form - or you can send us an ask if you want to get in before that.

First, you don't act like pre-cure Crowley, or any of his minions. Not to the mods, not to your fellow creators. You do that, you'll be snapped into oblivion - AKA banned from the Bang.

We won't reblog hateful content of any kind. It’s not our role to police your creations, but it’s our job to keep this space as safe as possible and enjoyable for everyone. Trigger warnings and detailed tags are compulsory. If those are missing, or incomplete, the work will not be reblogged on the blog or included in the collection.

Are you in doubt about a tag? No one has ever been called out for being too careful. You can always shoot us a DM on Discord, or open a discussion on our server - hiding the bit in question and warning the other participants about it.

NSFW: while it’s perfectly fine to create NSFW stuff, Tumblr’s policies have made it increasingly difficult for it to stay up and circulate. Please, do take the necessary precautions and label it correctly. When it comes to our server, we have a dedicated channel you can use to share that material.

RPF: nope. This is a Crowley event, which means we focus on the characters.

Fics must be at least 2K long.

No AI creations allowed. The whole point of this Bang is connecting with other human creators, and celebrate the love of fandom through original creations.

Again... don't be a douchebag. When in doubt, the mods will be happy to help - compatibly with the timezones and those pesky real life committments.

We hope to see you all at the crossroads for signing away your souls. In the meantime, don't forget to misbehave and raise a little Hell.

[missunderstoodlyrics]

You guys! Look at this amazing art by @QueenoftheCute for my fic for the Ineffable Idiots Big Bang 2023!

I'm in love with it.

[naegleria-nfowleri]

One of my pieces for the @do-it-with-style-events Mini Reverse Bang (where writers took inspriation from art submissions)

My partner Mika and I had posted our work here!

Mika is an amazing writer. If you like their works please consider showing them love and support on AO3 or their Twitter!

[lestatslestits]

Marry Me a Little

Written for the @do-it-with-style-events Mini Reverse Bang! I had the honor of collaborating with @scsivi, who created the gorgeous artwork that inspired this fic.

Summary:

Once in the hallway Nina says: “Mine’s gone mad. Has yours gone mad?” “He’s—er—trying on bow ties.” --- Nina and Maggie have the dubious honor of organizing a wedding for two powerful celestial beings. It's every bit as chaotic as it sounds.

Excerpt:

“I do hope it’s a clear evening,” he responds, something of a non-sequitur.  It’s not a real concern. Not only has the forecast been perfectly clear, they both know that he is capable of changing the weather at the drop of a hat. Truly, he sounds more excited than worried. Maggie suspects he just wants an excuse to talk through the details of the ceremony, as though he’ll pop if he doesn’t get to marvel over them. It’s sweet, really, and a lump forms in her throat, unbidden.  “Mr. Fell,” she interrupts, “I’m so happy for you and Mr. Crowley.” “Oh, why thank you, Maggie,” he beams at her.  “I hope it’s all wonderful for the two of you for—well, for forever.”

Read (and see full artwork) on AO3!

[elliart7]

So excited to show y’all my first contribution to the 2023 Ineffable Idiots Big Bang!

This piece is for the lovely “Break Into Your Golden Thinking” by @katierosefun 😁

@ineffableidiotsbigbang

[snarky-synesthete]

New GO Fic ^_^

I was able to sneak in another entry for the "Do It With Style" Mini Reverse Bang 2023! This time I paired up with the delightful @discountedsocks to make this cute little kid fic.

Title: A Growing Vocabulary; rated G; 4,800 words

Aziraphale and Crowley are very proud of their sweet toddler Muriel, but Aziraphale gets a shock when Muriel uses some dreadful language at the plant market. Wherever could the child have learned it?

[paulpaul24]

Recently had the pleasure of working with @canadiankazz in her fic, Not Like Other Angels, for @ineffableidiotsbigbang.

[sinister--potato]

My entry for Crowley Against Humanity (it will definitely be redone down the line when life stops sucking for a bit)

||Where do I even start to look for ... Lovers in league against satan||

This is the very last minute thing I've ever submitted in my life, I'm so sorry!!!

[shadoweddepths]

Chapters: 1/5

Fandom: Good Omens (TV)

Rating: Explicit

Audience Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)

Characters: Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley (Good Omens)

Additional Tags: Ineffable Idiots Big Bang, Ineffable Idiots Big Bang 2023, Fallen Angel Aziraphale (Good Omens), Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Soft Crowley (Good Omens), Bathing/Washing, Wingfic, Flashbacks, Nightmares, Literal Sleeping Together, Whump, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Love Confessions, Communication, Wing Grooming, Hurt Aziraphale (Good Omens), Cuddling & Snuggling, Fanart, Protective Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale and Crowley Take Care of Each Other (Good Omens), Panic Attacks, Aziraphale Has a Vulva (Good Omens), Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), POV Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Takes Care of Aziraphale (Good Omens)

Summary:

“I choose Crowley,” Aziraphale says, voice both soft and firm at the same time. Meets Crowley’s gaze so steadily, as if it’s easy for him to say those words. And it’s as much to Crowley as it is to the Metatron, as much promise as it is a renunciation, and Crowley’s heart hurts.

“Very well,” the Metatron says. “You will not like the consequences.”

“Damn the consequences.” Aziraphale uses his just-enough-of-a-bastard voice, the one that makes shivers race up and down Crowley’s spine. “You may see yourself out, Voice of God.”

There’s a rustle of feathers, and then the Metatron is gone and the bookshop is silent, save for the ticking of the clock and the furious staccato of Crowley’s heartbeat.

Aziraphale – an angel of grace and poise and grandeur – stumbles. His expression twists in confusion, first, and then pain – horrible, gut-wrenching, unexpected pain – and then he falls to his knees, voice breaking in a pained whine.

“Oh,” he gasps, head thrown back, eyes glazed and unseeing. “Oh, that – damned indeed,” he says, just before he crumples forward and blacks out.

(Aziraphale rejects the Metatron's offer and chooses Crowley instead. Crowley helps him through the aftermath.)

Here's the first chapter of my contribution to @ineffableidiotsbigbang! I've never done anything like this before, so I'm incredibly excited to get this story posted. Big thanks to willow tree for beta-ing this fic, and to willow tea for the absolutely gorgeous artwork that will be posted along with chapter 3!

The finished fic will have approx. 22,200 words.

Source: archiveofourown.org

[petrichoravellichor]

Title: Inner Demons Pairing: Crowley/Dean Winchester Rating: T Word Count: ~2.2k Summary: The so-called Drowley Summer of Love has officially come to an end, and Crowley is fine with it. Really. He is. (Spoiler alert: He is not.) Set during 10x02: Reichenbach. Warnings: Brief Instance of Self-Harm

Written for the 2023 Crowley Against Humanity Challenge, hosted by @crowleybigbang. Black card prompt: "Why can't I sleep at night?" x White card prompt: "My Inner Demons."

(Read on Ao3)

*****

If the depressingly dim and horrendously decorated Flamingo Lounge has a single redeeming quality, it’s that other than the wide-eyed bartender watching Crowley storm up to the bar, the place is mercifully, blessedly empty.

“Get out,” Crowley snaps at the man, shucking off his coat and sinking down onto a barstool. “Leave a bottle of whatever passes for decent Scotch, and get out.” He blinks; when his eyes re-open, they’re blood red. “Now.”

The bartender obliges, quickly setting the glass he’d been wiping down in front of Crowley, procuring a bottle that he places next to the glass, and all but running out of the bar.

“Smart man,” Crowley mutters to no one in particular. He snatches up the bottle and pours himself a glass of…Jameson? Really? “Dead man,” Crowley amends darkly, but making good on the threat would require going after said man, and Crowley has better—worse—more important things to do. He sets the bottle aside in disgust and knocks back his drink. It tastes like acetone, but it’ll have to do.

With a huff, Crowley reaches back to where his coat hangs and removes the First Blade—his “finder’s fee,” as he’d flippantly called it when talking to Sam. Judging by the positively murderous look in Dean’s eyes as Sam had driven away with his wayward brother handcuffed in the backseat of the Impala, Crowley himself would be paying a price if Dean ever got hold of him after this...

Well, then Crowley will just have to make sure Dean never gets hold of him after this, simple as that.

He turns the Blade over in his hands, taking in its…not craftsmanship, but rather, its underwhelming lack thereof. In the dingy fluorescent light of the bar, the Blade looks crude and unremarkable; it feels crude and unremarkable. Cut off from the power of the Mark and held by someone with no claim on it whatsoever, it’s no longer a powerful killing tool but simply a piece of old bone.

Crowley sets the Blade down on the counter in front of him and pours himself another shot of Jameson. For all his past scheming over the blasted thing, the act of actually possessing the Blade is decidedly anticlimactic. Honestly, the only reason he’d even taken the it at this point was because he could, so that Dean wouldn’t have it…

Dean stands over him, chuckling as Crowley glowers up from the floor—the bastard had pushed him. Crowley gets slowly to his feet, ignoring his still-stunned minions and ready to smack the smirk right off Dean’s face but managing to keep his anger in check…for now. “What…do you think you’re doing?”

Dean stares coolly back at him. “Oh, whatever I want.”

“Really?” Crowley counters. “Because I think you don’t know what you want. Tell me, Dean,” he sneers softly, “what are you? A demon? If so, why isn’t Lester’s wife dead? Did you feel sorry for her?” He feels a stab of satisfaction at the way Dean doesn’t meet his eye. “So maybe you’re human. Except you have those pretty black peepers, and you’re working alongside me. Why don’t you do us all a great big favor and PICK A BLOODY SIDE?!”

For a split second, he thinks Dean might strike him—good, Crowley thinks fiercely; he could do with throwing a few punches himself right about now—but instead, Dean just smiles in a way that doesn’t reach his eyes and says, “Or what?”

There’s a veneer of calm to Dean’s voice as he speaks, but Crowley hears the underlying menace well enough. He hesitates, and Dean advances, his smile turning even more feral. “Hmm? Go ahead. Make a move. See how it ends.”

And Crowley…doesn’t make a move. Not so much because he knows perfectly well that Dean will gut him if he does, but because…because damn it, even though Crowley’s furious with Dean, and even though a large part of him would like nothing more than to lash out and make Dean feel at least a fraction of the betrayal Crowley himself is currently feeling, another, even larger part of him wants to lash out at himself for being stupid enough to think that this confrontation hadn’t been inevitable, that what he had with Dean Winchester, of all people, could ever last…

Dean huffs; then, in a low growl, he delivers his coup de grâce: “I ain’t your friggin’ bestie, and I ain’t taking orders from you. When I need to kill, I’ll call. Until then, stay out of my way.”

It’s as good a knife wound as any, even if it doesn’t actually pierce Crowley’s meatsuit. He feels himself on the precipice of a scream as hurt, anger, and an all-too-familiar sense of worthlessness coalesce into a writhing maelstrom of self-loathing and despair and foolish, feverish want—to strike Dean, to kiss him, to kill him, to just…have him in some way, or at the very least, to not lose him, not like this…

Open your eyes, Dean, he thinks furiously, desperately in Dean’s direction. See what I see, feel what I feel—

But Dean doesn’t hear him, doesn’t see, doesn’t feel. There’s nothing but hatred in the hollowed-out blacks of Dean’s eyes—hatred, and Crowley’s own pitiful, dejected reflection staring back at him, and…and fine. It’s fine. He's—

“Fine.” Crowley draws himself up, centuries of practice in play as he keeps his voice flat. “It’s over.” He feigns a shrug, addressing his minions. “What can I say? Crazy ones—well, they’re good for a fling, but they’re not relationship material.” He looks squarely back at Dean as he speaks the last bit, hoping it stings.

If it does, Dean doesn’t show it. “Are you done?” he demands, and this time, Crowley nearly does strike him, nearly does knock Dean to the floor and stand over him and shout until his voice goes hoarse and—

“We’re done,” he states levelly instead. It’s almost funny: even to Crowley’s ear, it actually sounds like he means it. He lets out a clipped, bitter laugh. “You know what, Dean? It’s not me. It’s you.” With that, he steps around Dean and makes for the door, his minions in tow. Dean doesn’t call after him, and Crowley tells himself he wouldn’t stop even if Dean did call out. The bar door slams shut with a heavy clang behind him, and it doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter, it doesn’t—

Crowley snarls and hurls his glass at the wall behind the bar. He’d given Dean a chance at something extraordinary, at a life free from the burden of having to give a damn about—about anything, and this was the thanks he got? For risking his life and helping Dean get the Mark and the Blade and indulging each and every one of Dean’s puerile, hedonistic, dive bar-centric whims every day for the past six months? This was what Dean gave him in return? Hadn’t they been more than that, been...been friends, been—

“Think of it,” he says conspiratorially to Dean. “The King of Hell, Dean Winchester by his side. Together, we rule. Together, we create the perfect Hell. And all of this that’s bloomed between us never ends…”

Well, so much for that, Crowley seethes. He seizes the bottle of Jameson and takes one final swig before slinging it forward to shatter alongside the remnants of his glass. So much for him and Dean and Growley and Squirrel and the whole great, big, fat, bloody lot of it!

Did you honestly think he’d say yes? jeers a judging, contemptuous voice from one of the older, more deeply hated recesses of his mind. Crowley recognizes the voice all too well—it is, after all, his own. Dean Winchester, the Righteous Man, on your side? Anyone, ever, on your side? You were all too keen to call out Dean’s indiscretion with Lester, but did it ever occur to you, pot, that you were calling the kettle black? What do you think you are, hmm?

Crowley’s eyes fall on the First Blade, and a moment later it’s in his grasp. He hesitates; then, slowly, he brings the Blade up and runs it down the palm of his other hand…

A ribbon of red blooms in the Blade’s wake. Crowley watches as for a moment, the blood continues to flow…then disappears when the cut vanishes entirely, which is…good. It’s good. Plus one for demonic healing, and all that…

What was it you said to Dean? interjects the voice in an odious purr. 'Why don’t you do us all a great big favor and pick a bloody—'

Sod off, Crowley bites back, clenching his teeth and forcing himself to sit up straighter on the barstool. He doesn’t need to—He knows perfectly well what he is, damn it: he’s an arsehole, a bastard, an irredeemable villain of the highest degree, and he doesn't need anyone, least of all Dean sodding Winchester, on his bloody side! He’d somehow forgotten that over the past year or so, lost his previously unfailing sense of demonic clarity and allowed himself to get swallowed up in…in feelings, but no more. From now on, he’d be strong, would go back to thinking strictly of himself and his own best interests without losing any proverbial sleep over it, and if Dean ever did sort himself out enough to decide to pick up the phone and call him up for old time’s sake, well, then Crowley simply wouldn’t answer.

To prove it to himself, he pulls his phone from his pocket and thumbs the power button, ready to pull up his contacts and block Dean’s number once and for all, and…and as his lock screen flares to life, he finds himself staring at a photo of him and Dean, taken months ago at some middle-of-nowhere dusty dive bar whose name Crowley can’t even remember, and yet—

“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” he grumbles to Dean as they step out of the Impala, the ridiculous cowboy hats Dean had found at the last petrol station and insisted on buying perched squarely on their heads. “When this is over, I expect you to honor our agreement. For the next week, I pick the music.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Whatever, man. Just do what you can to avoid cramping my style, all right? Unlike you, I plan on getting laid tonight."

The next few hours pass in a haze of cheap beer, loud country music, and the constant clack of cue sticks against resin as Dean hustles three different sods at pool…and Crowley loves every minute of it. He can’t help but marvel at how wondrous it is to see Dean like this, free and uninhibited in his flirtation not just with women but also men, the part of him that Crowley had long suspected to be locked away now on vivid, unabashed display for whoever feels like looking…and Crowley finds that he does feel like looking. He watches as Dean bends low over the pool table and expertly sinks the final 8-ball into the designated corner pocket, much to the consternation of his latest victim, and he wonders…

A few minutes later, he and Dean are back at their table, laughing and toasting Dean’s victory with fresh mugs of beer that Crowley’s starting to think isn’t so bad after all, when one of the servers walks by, and Crowley, in a moment of inspiration, holds out his phone and asks her to take his and Dean’s picture.

“Admit it,” Dean says with a wink, sounding more than a little drunk as he leans in and flicks the brim of Crowley’s hat. “You’re startin’ to like it, aren’tcha.”

And maybe it’s the booze, or maybe it’s the company, or maybe it’s the fact that Crowley can’t remember a time in recent memory where he’s enjoyed himself as much as he has tonight, but he feels himself smile back. “Maybe I am,” he concedes, and Dean laughs and claps him on the shoulder just as the flash goes off…

“Sir?” calls a voice, ripping Crowley from his reverie and setting him squarely back in the present. “Uh, Your Evilness?”

Crowley blinks, vaguely aware that two of his minions have appeared behind him, but he doesn’t respond. Instead, he unlocks his phone and goes to his photo album, flicking through the files until he finds the one of him and Dean he’d set as his lock screen.

“Sir?” says the same minion as before. “Sir, it’s time to move on.”

And it is, isn’t it? Time to move on. Time to forget about Dean Winchester once and for all, to cut out this…this weakness at its source. Time to go back to being what he truly is, what he always has been, what he always will be…

Crowley hesitates, his finger hovering over the delete icon.

“You know why I always defeat you?” he says to Sam and Dean what seems like a lifetime ago, in Bobby’s junkyard. “It’s your humanity. It’s a built-in handicap. You always put emotion ahead of good old-fashioned common sense…”

A second ticks by. Then another. Then another. Crowley stares at the image on the screen in front of him…and then he pockets his phone, allows one of his minions to help him with his coat, and leaves the bar without looking back.

[violet-prism-creatively]

For some reason, Tumblr won't let me add alt text to the art I posted with Ao3 links to fic. So here's just my two pictures for the @do-it-with-style-events reverse mini bang, with image descriptions.

Image description: A drawing in colored pencil of Aziraphale and Crowley in Crowley's plant room. Aziraphale holds a potted peace lily and has a worried expression. On the other side of a plant shelf, Crowley sits on the floor, his knees drawn up, holding a potted lavender plant and snarling at it.

Fic: Grow Better (Together) by Supergeek21

Image description: A digital drawing of Aziraphale and Crowley in a snowy environment, with green Northern Lights in the night sky behind them. Aziraphale kneels in a red summoning circle with his wings out, red pentagram symbols burning his clothing and skin in some places. He looks up at Crowley, who is pointing a flaming sword at him with a pained expression. Both characters are dressed in 18th- or 19th-century clothing.

Fic: So Desperate Grown by Snowfilly1

[crowleybigbang]

To Reclaim A Throne

In this gloomy Monday, we exceptionally bring a little solace - don't get used to it, though...

@hectatess combined the prompts "Our chief weapons are fear, surprise, and..." & "Cellphone reception" for a delightful story.

Just head over to the trusty AO3, go and shower the author with love. This is an order, of course.

[hobbitual-psychick-art-stuff]

Finally the time has come to post my Crowley Big Bang 2023 art and story!

My prompt cards for the Crowley Against Humanity 2023 big bang were:

In the Seventh Circle of Hell Sinners Must Endure—

And: A bespoke Suit

A story in which Crowley descends to the seventh circle of Hell on an errand and finds himself pondering the shape of things.

Posting October 9th

[crowleybigbang]

Life is Hell, and we know that. Thank Satan for Hellhounds, at least.

It's been an insanely rough 12 hours; so I'm using Juliet as an apology for the delay in posting.

This is for @crowleybigbang

[drconstellation]

More Half-and-Half-A-Miracle Thoughts

Part 2: The Dark side of Aziraphale

Updated 10 Nov 2023

Part 1: Miracle Power Ranking is here. Part 3: The Third Archangel is here

There was one that thing that struck me about the miracle working scene: why did Gabriel offer crossed hands to the duo?

Gabriel offers his right, his good, heavenly angel-sided hand to Crowley first, and his left, his sinister-sided demon hand to Aziraphale.

And this is NOT an accident.

Its been observed that Gabriel, in his amnesiac state like this, has reverted back to a more base-state angelic being, one of joy, and love, and curiosity. He's acting on instinct here.

Yeah, that's exactly what I'm saying. The demon has more light in him than the angel, and Gabriel and can feel that instinctively. This really shouldn't be a surprise to us, its been in our face all along. Now don't get me wrong - Crowley is still a demon, and Aziraphale is still an angel, I'm not saying that they aren't. Mostly we talk about how Crowley isn't all that much of a demon at heart, just "going along with Hell as far as [he] can," but we don't really talk about much about that other side of Aziraphale other than wishing to see more of his BAMF! side.

You know what - its a side that thanks to all of the rest you ops and meta-ists out that that I've come to both fear and appreciate. And let me tell you, if I found myself in a dark alley on a bad night I would hope to God it was Crowley I bumped into , because I feel he would at least give me the choice to walk out alive. I don't think Aziraphale would, I would be at the mercy of how ever he decided he wanted to manipulate the situation...and I find that rather chilling.

Crowley might be the charred demon with a heart of gold, but Aziraphale is the two-sided bastard of an angel he loves. All bright light casts a shadow. Its easy for us to be blinded by the shining light of goodness and right and the side of God (er, hang on, isn't the GO God an eldritch horror in disguise...?) and not be able to see what is hiding behind it.

We rarely see the back of Aziraphale's waistcoat, because he is rarely seen without an overcoat on, a covering of social propriety. There is the noticeable occasion in S2E1 when Crowley comes back to do the apology dance then they perform the hiding miracle (see screenshot below, and it was still hard to chose a good angle for all it went on for several minutes!) and perhaps in S1 when he spends all night reading Agnes Nutter's book. Both times its only in the privacy of the book shop, under the cover of night. So its easy to miss that the color of the back panel is a most un-angelic color: a dark viridian green. I know I keep banging on about this, but its important, and in more ways than one.

[Edit: Since I first wrote this, I've written a mega-meta on all the colours in GO, and some of the following interpretation has changed a little - but the significance of the green still stands!]

All the angels wear some form of a pale colored neutral palette, ranging from white to beige to taupe (white, off-white shades and shades of brown,) with dove-grey for the known in-show seraphim, Gabriel, Michael, Uriel and Saraqael. Gold and blue are also associated with Heaven. But Aziraphale is the only angel to wear green and shades of blue-green. He's quite unique in that department.

The colors of Hell are completely different. Black, lots of black. And red, different shades of red. The demons are actually quite a colourful lot, but do tend towards the darker shades. Red is a colour of passion, not just a demonic colour, although it can be associated with the demonic sinister left hand side. The main colour of Hell is actually green - the thick green light that you almost of have to swim through in the crowded halls of Hell, and examples like the green stag on Furfur's sash. It represents chaos, in competition to the rigid lawful nature of Heaven.

So while Aziraphale mostly presents a socially acceptable angelic front, its telling only Crowley has properly glimpsed that dark, shady, bit-of-a-bastard unpredictable side to him - and likes it. (More from Cobragardens about it here in 1793 Paris and 1601 at the Globe.) I mean, come on - this is a being that sent a man to his death so he could go on lunch date? A lunch date he practically concocted just so he could see Crowley. wtf? A being of love who was about to shoot the Antichrist to stop Armageddon? A being who quietly and efficiently discouraged the mafia who threatened to set the book shop on fire from ever returning? (See, told you I didn't want to meet him a dark alley...) Plus we saw him mind-control a whole roomful of people for his Jane Austen-themed ball, just to woo his beloved demon, with no thought of the possible collateral damage. I'm sorry, is this the same "guardian angel" we were all glowing over earlier?

The coat lapel as wings theory adds some weight to this hidden dark side of Aziraphale as well. Aziraphale's lapels always point downwards, towards Hell. Particularly when he has been discorporated and returned to Heaven, where frustrated about being told he has to gear up for war, he instead wonders out loud if he can return to Earth to a possess a body, reasoning that if demons can, he must be able to as well. lmoa! You are so not an angel, my dear! Yet...he isn't a demon either. He's almost...a bit of both. Two sides to a coin. A blend of light and dark. Shades of grey...although he doesn't like to admit it.

Image by lomiel

Back to the shadow-like green panel on the back of the waistcoat.

Actually, on second thoughts, I'm going to put that in Part 3.

[anironsidh]

My art for the @do-it-with-style-events reverse mini bang 2023 with fic by @ineffable-doll

Aziraphale and the bookshop

Crowley and his plant shop

Nina and the coffee shop

Maggie and the record shop ft Muriel

And finally, the link to the wonderful fic inspired by the art 😁