classy bastard

I don't want to ever forget Crowley

Its 5 am And here I am on tumblr, silently crying in my bed…Every time I look at Crowley, part of me forgets he’s even gone…Part of me remembers just how terrible of an ending he got…Then part of me remembers…He’s never coming back. Never… Its a fictional show, we’re anyone can come back, amd the one person who I loved most in dosen’t get to come back like everyone eles beacuse of whatever reason… 

 Crowley’s gone forever… 

I know he’s not real. I know he’s just a character someone made up for a story…But damn it, he’s was made to be seen like a real person.

 Characters are not robots, they have emotion, they have feelings, they have flaws, feel pain, happines, failure, have goals and dream, just like a person would have. They are meant to be connected to, understood, empathized, weather good or bad. I connected to Crowley. Now I’m not gonna lie, it was cause he was hot and British and I had the hots from him.

 Later…I kept watching, I watched this character grow, face challenges, cause trouble, fix problems, cause problems, wouldn’t help, woukd help… I saw him at his highest and at his lowest… I watched a life…flash before my eyes… Maybe not a real one…but still a life… And … I watched him die…

….I have seen Death before. 4 years ago, I lost my grandmother to stomach cancer…I watched her die in a hospital bed as she took her last breath… I will never be able to unseen that moment for the rest of my life… Now I feel numb…like she’s just on vacation…i just…won’t see her again. She was such a positive impact on my life and when i lost her…I feel into a deep depression… 

 I wanted nothing to do with anything… 

 Till two and half years later, my friend tell me to watch Doctor who…I do, I like it. And slowly it makes me feel…ok… Then she says, hey, you should watch Supernatural, it’s got an actor from doctor who in it. He plays a demon, and he’s British (Apperntly that’s all you need to say to me to bribe me into a show) That’s how it started. 

 I lived for every single second that demon was screen for however long or short it was. I was excited to see him. I sat there and laughed at him or with him, yelled at him for doing sonthing mean or stupid, was on the edge of my seat to see if he was ok… 

 This , sassy, sultry, classy, demonic bastard made me feel…the happiest I had every felt in years. I felt creative, I felt good, I was excited to had muse I just felt better. I started to learn about Mark amd feel in love with how much a wonderful loving person he is. 

 They became…apart of life. A positive, in all the negative I was surrounded with. I meet some of my closest friend Beavuse of Crowley, threw the fandom. I meet my boyfriend who I love deeply, beacuse of Crowley.

 So when that season finale came. 

 When I watched one of the lights in my life…. Die before my very eyes…helpless to do anything, to stop it… I felt shattered…Numb…all over again… 

 That’s same feeling when I saw someone I lived die before, was back again… It felt the exact same way. I felt…like I had just lost…one of my bestest friends… A family member … Who…who I never ever had the chance to thank for helping me in ways they never could imagine… 

 And I will never get the chance cause they are gone… I will never see them again…not ever… 

 What hurt me on top of that is that…they just left him…they just left Crowley in the other world…he’s there …all by himself…it’s just shell…its just a meatsuit…but that’s all they know of Crowley is that face… He doesn’t get to get buried…he dosent get to have a funeral or burned, nothing… For everything he’s done… That’s what he gets…a goodbye…and death… 

 What I hate most is just how helpless I felt …how helpless I feel. 

 Crowley deserved so much better.

 I can’t change what happened I can’t bring him back Don’t have that type of sway over whoever thought this fate, was best. I watched Crowley’s life…He became apart of mine…

 It hurts…somtimes when I’m just looking at his pictures and gifs for way to long Cause in reminded he’s gone… He’s gone… One second he was here… Next he was just… Gone…

 I’m sorry if this is just random…emotional…wierd? It’s just 5 am -…I’m emotional…I’m sad…I’m not over this… I probally won’t ever be…and yeah…

Look, there’s nothing you can tell me that won’t make me headcanon that thog has not done his bowtie at all, that even if its a clip-on (and it wont be b/c markus is a classy bastard), his shirt is still gonna be open and hes just going to have tucked his bowtie under his collar

or, he’s tried to tie it and failed miserably

and while this is happening, markus has tied a perfect bow on himself not paying attendtion, and talking to karen the entire time

but markus still loves his bf despite his inability to tie a bowtie

Corin Deeth III of Kakos Industries.

Surprisingly, by half way through episode 1 I had already developed an idea of what he would look like. I mean, no man with the name Corin Deeth III will be anything less than a classy bastard. My head canon Corin was also going to be sporting a stunning curly moustache – but it turns out I can’t really draw that. We’ll stick with the medium stubble for now.


TITLE: Taken


AUTHOR: i-wish-i-was-the-moon

WHICH TOM/CHARACTER: Jag!Tom (Underworld Tom)

GENRE: smut / erotica

FIC SUMMARY: Virginia wakes up handcuffed to a bed. What happens when two master criminals engage in a battle of wills (and body parts)?

RATING: Mature (explicit sexual content)

AUTHORS NOTES/WARNINGS: Underworld Tom for Sunday Smut Spotlight. Slight triggers for rough sex and anal play. Smut on.

I woke up with a jolt. My head hurt and to my great annoyance, I was forced to acknowledge the fact that I was hand-cuffed to a bed. This was somewhat alarming. Slowly I tested the cuffs. They were proper police-issued ones, damn. No chance of getting out of them then. I softly cursed some more. I had only a vague recollection of how I had ended up here, face-down on a hard bed, and tightly bound.

Last thing I remembered was leaving Sir John passed out on the sofa and trying to manoeuvre my way in to his office through the balcony. Not an easy feat with an evening gown, I might add. After that, nothing. What the hell had happened?

“I see our guest of honour is awake”, a low British voice interrupted my thoughts.

Slowly I raised my head from the bed. This can’t be happening, I thought, fighting down a flutter of panic. But the long legs my eyes met were unmistakable. Covered in the finest tailored trousers money can buy, they seemed to continue forever. I craned my neck and there he was. The bastard. Looking imbeccable in his blasted suit, a smug smile on his face.

“At last, we meet again, my dear lady”, his polished voice sounded like honey dripping on my body.

“Fuck you”, I spat at him.

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