If you want something done right... blah-blah-blah...

RP and Ask blog of Crowley, The King of Hell.
Free to RP and answering things. Just be polite. And please read About the muse and Rules.
Muse and mun are completely over 18.
This RPer took the Roleplay Anti-Hate Pledge
NSFW, smut and gore in quantities.
It was not multiship blog, but now I just don't know what's going on!
I track the tag yourlovingkingofhell.
M!A accepting.
(GIFs are not mine)
Sidebar by thetimeladyandthetardis.
Corner image by gorlassar.

[i need to go out, but idk if i want to. actually i want to go home…]

The Next Victim - AU



He shifted and settled his head on her chest. Lilith was his home, his paradise, and he was going to defend it’s sanctity with fangs and claws. But for Lilith’s sake he will try to end the war bloodlessly.

"Yes," he said softly, "I’m sorry." Damien stroked her belly again. "We need to sleep, we all need."

She nodded, shifting into a more comfortable position. “Rest.” She urged him, hoping this would blow over quickly. Her fingers brushing his hair back from his face. “I love you.”

Lilith closed her eyes, burrowing her head into his shoulder. “Good night.”

"Good night." Damien kissed the top of her head and closed his eyes. Tomorrow will be a nice, peaceful day. He will spen it with his treasure, his son Kevin, listening to stories about his toys, dreams, and answering thousands questions about everything.

Maybe it will help to clear the head and distract from thoughts about doctor Sam. Damien needed a plan, but he hadn’t any, while the rage was shaking his nerves. 

Rachel appeared in Crowley's office. "Afternoon Your Highness." She smiled as she pulled her hair up into a ponytail.



"Afternoon, dear." he smiled in response, "How’s it going? How’s the visious daddy?"

"Calming down a little. Once I mention the name ‘Jane’, he shuts up and just asks to know things." She chuckled and hugged him. "I’ve missed you."

"I’ve missed you, too,kitten." Crolwey grinned wider and hugged her back.

I’m coming home




Crowley sighed what sounded like a death-rattle, Dante was anbearable, when he was worried about his King’s life and health. His body shuddered again, the demon was twitching and writing inside before he eventually smoked out. Now his meatsuit was completely dead, except the fact that Hell’s magic was still keeping it fresh. But it couldn’t be long, Crowley should restore his energy or he could lose his favourite suit for good.

After a while the door opened and the man walked into the living room. He raised his hands in a defencive gesture, catching the other demon’s look. “Just don’t lash at me.” He swayed, but managed to remain on his feet. “I haven’t even chose, took the first one came across… Hello, darling.”



As far as his logic went, if Crowley didn’t focus on himself first, he could probably lose a bit more than his favorite suit. Dante was attached to his own, but even he didn’t think that he would be that stubborn. He rolled his eyes as his King finally gave in and smoked out, pouring himself another shot of whiskey and downing it swiftly. 

Of course he knew that it was Crowley when he returned, in spite of how almost-comically different he looked now. No one else would be stupid enough to approach him, angry as he was now. Noting the way he swayed, Dante stepped forward immediately and took his King’s arm, guiding him to another chair. He was almost angry with how casually he was greeted, as though nothing happened. Hello darling. He just grit his teeth, showing his displeasure. “Now who do I need to kill?” Someone harming him was one matter. Harming Crowley was an entirely different one, and a sure way to unleash his hellish fury.

He looked at the body, lying on the couch, and the smile faded on his now younger face. “Hell..,” he muttered, “I’ve been in different conditions, but I’ve never dreamt to watch myself like this. It felt better, than it looks.” Crowley turned his face to Dante, as though the meaning of the question came to him later, than it was asked. “Just a gang of vampires and verewolfes. These bastards work together and they nearly tore me to thousand little Crowley’s.” His new voice sounded dead, he cleared his throat and forced himself to turn away from the wounded suit. “Cool down, they won’t fly anywhere, and I will go with you, just… give me time.” 


When Mark moved his chair from the rest of the cast cause he was sick of their shit


SDCC Portraits | Mark Sheppard | CROWLEY | Hot as Hell - Literally

Portraits by: MJ Kim



I fucking love Mark Sheppard so much [x]

He can see your soul

True Facts About John Winchester


In all of his on-screen appearances in season 1 (and once in season 2), we never see him take a drink of alcohol.

Sam and Dean both yell at him in season 1. Sam even gets in his face and shoves him. He never raises his voice.

When Dean calls him out on not answering his phone, he backs down and apologizes.

When Meg calls him and taunts him by killing his friends, he immediately drops everything and walks himself into a trap in order to stop her.

The entire reason he kept sending Sam and Dean on hunts in season 1 was to keep them safe, because he was closing in on the demon and did not want them to get hurt trying to follow him. He was genuinely afraid for their safety when it came to Azazel.

When Sam and Dean disobey his orders and back him up, and demand to come with him and finish the fight against Azazel, he concedes and includes them in the hunt. Because he clearly respects their opinions and their skill as hunters and trusts them to back himself and each other up.

He swung by Stanford to check up on Sam and make sure he was safe, but never once tried to pull him back into hunting.

On the occasions that he had to leave his sons alone, they always had food, instructions to call somebody (Pastor Jim) if anything went wrong, and/or enough money to buy food.

After the Shtriga attacked Sam, John immediately abandoned the hunt, packed up, and drove his kids somewhere safe.

He was sentimental. He kept Sam’s soccer trophy and Dean’s first sawed-off.

Despite fighting with Sam over soccer vs. bowhunting, he obviously caved and signed Sam up for soccer.

He took his kids on a trip to the Grand Canyon.

He sacrificed his life and his 22-year revenge quest to the very demon he had been hunting that whole time in order to save Dean’s life, because his sons mean more to him than anything.

Yes, tumblr, he actually did tell Dean he was proud of him - it’s season 2, episode 1. No, that was not Azazel. It was John. Watch the fucking episode.

He never broke in hell. He never tortured anybody to save himself the pain. He endured a hundred years of torture because he refused to hurt anyone else.

He was clearly a good enough person to be considered a ‘righteous man’, because Alastair had been trying to break him for that purpose before Dean made his deal.

He went from knowing nothing about the supernatural to becoming one of the greatest hunters to ever live.

Ash, who was pretty much a genius, was amazed by the way John put together patterns to track Azazel.

Sam outright said they were lucky to have John as their dad, and this was before he and John had their reunion and reconciliation.




Mark Sheppard at Nerd HQ Panel 2014

goddamn, party don’t start til he walks in, sex on legs… 

mother of 

The Blind Love | AU || Closed



People should be together while they want to be together, he thought. The relationship, when one stays just because they don’t want to hurt another person, was unhealthy. Treating another person as a fool, that can’t see, that you don’t love them anymore, was completely unhealthy for two. Forcing another person to stay, when they don’t love you, was unhealthy as well. Of course he wanted to spend the rest of his life with Conor, live together, become something integral, to be on the same wavelenght. he was making plans in his mind, like any person in love. But forcing was the last thing he wanted to to with the other, and if one day Conor decides to quit, Fergus knew, that he will let him go, no matter how painful it will be. If you want to be happy, make the other one happy. Otherwise it will be anything, torture, using, possessiveness, but not love. He didn’t want to lose his lover, but he was ready to set him free, if it would make him happy.

Fergus covered his mouth with his palm, biting at the skin. Conor’s reaction at the leaves in his hands was so natural and spontaneous, he was torn between thoughts, that he did it right and he shouldn’t do it at all. “N-no… It’s yours. I can find flowers somewhere else, without damaging the municipal property,” he muttered, looking at this sharky smile, he loved so much. The desire to kiss Conor right now arose again, but there were people around, making their walk as well as they did, and no place to hide from looks. “I…” He shut himself. What could he say? About his hope, that Conor will see again one day? It won’t be encouraging, but it certainly will sound hypocritical. The silence fell, while Fergus was deciding, what to say, because he should say at least something. Finally he took the other’s forearm, leading them further through the park. He glanced at leaves between thin fingers. “I love you,” that was the only phrase, holding everything he felt in this moment. 

Maybe he thought Fergus to be a little forward, or a little rushed, but he was glad that he didn’t feel forced in any way. The man at least seemed to respect his thoughts and feelings. It would have been hard for him to judge otherwise, seeing as the other uttered no word of complaint. He did wish sorely that he could see the other, he felt as though so much information was lost. Voices could only tell him so much. While touch was surely intimate, there wasn’t much information for him to go by there, either. Conor did know that he would probably be better off if he moved on, but it was difficult. He was learning fairly effectively to move around and having Rocky made his life much easier, but he didn’t exactly feel comfortable with himself like this. He just felt vulnerable. Having to relearn to do even some of the most basic things was exhausting. Still, he was grateful that Fergus was giving him some room, that he wasn’t suffocating the way some previous lovers had been. 

Conor twisted the leaves in his hand, that same amused expression remaining. He couldn’t tell for sure, but Fergus sounded flustered. Hearing that confident, husky voice stutter wasn’t something he had been expecting. He wasn’t sure why. “Oh, but what’s life without a little risk?” he joked. He raised an eyebrow at his lover’s silence, almost troubled by it. He didn’t know why, he just did. He was almost relieved when Fergus spoke again, quiet for a moment when he did. Silently, he leaned over, pressing a kiss to the other man’s jaw, noting again the feeling of his stubble scraping along his jaw. Feeling idiotically childish for some reason, Conor felt himself flush. 

Even if he wanted Conor to move faster, as they build their relationship, he never would say about it or complain. Maybe the patience wasn’t his main virtue, but he could stop himself at the right time and wait as long as it was needed. He did wish his lover to see him probably no less, than Conor wished this to happen. Sometimes he imagined how he removed the sunglasses and their eyes meet really, and the other man smiled with his wide smile, because Fergus didn’t disappointed him in his expectations. It was probably naive, but he believed that he had a chance to find the cure or something to return Conor’s sight, he just needed to know, what had happened to him. But the other should make a decision to tell this by himself. He knew how it feels to talk about the worst experience in your life, when even your vocal cords close with only one thought about it. Fergus wasn’t even sure, if he could tell Conor his own story. Maybe something good was in the fact, that he was damaged, too, it made him more respective.

"I will think about it." Of course he wouldn’t deflower flower-beds in the park. Maybe, if he was ten or fifteen years younger, he would, although he couldn’t remember, how desperate he was that time or was he desperate at all. When Conor kissed him, he pulled the man a little closer, but didn’t answer at the kiss. He was afraid, that he wouldn’t ve able to stop himself kissing his lover, and they were still inthe public place. Later, home he will let this desire burst out, now he just sighed, and his breath was audibly shaking. "Are you hungry?" He asked to break the thickened air between them, "Maybe it’s time to take Rocky and find a big italian pizza?" Fergus tilted his head, trying to catch the expression behind the sunglases.

[two of my besties tagged me on both of my blogs. I’ll make it on my trappedinhumanity, okay?]

Oversleeping happens when you get old, man.

Why, thank you, dude. Now you certainly lifted my mood, I’m 31.


viwan themes