@demonologist-in-denim / demonologist-in-denim.tumblr.com
This is a Crowley fan blog that is no longer active as of August 2023.
You do not need my permission to reblog and comment on anything I’ve posted (I think that telling people what they can and cannot reblog is exceptionally nonsensical and unnecessarily hostile); you are more than welcome to dig through my archives and reblog old posts (that’s not creepy, and it’s weird people think that it is).
-The Demonologist In Denim
Did you know that the Crowley Big Bang is back? All new and improved!
That's right. And we improved it for you. Unbridled creative freedom. The sky's the limit. For free!
Well... almost. There's the teeny tiny matter of handing over your soul. Through this form, specifically.
If you wanna be wise tedious and read the fine print before you come and give us a little kiss, here's how it works, and here's the prompts.
What are you waiting for?
You’re already on Tumblr - what’s your soul really worth, anyway?
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).
Care to bury your box and join us at this crossroads? Then, under the cut you go.
I'm really, really tempted to participate... 👑
@panthera-dei we're all for giving in to temptations 😏
... Dammit, I'm in. 😜
Tomorrow the prompts will go up!
Come join us in Hell!
i’m ready for june. the purest month. the friday afternoon of summer, when the world hums with possibility. when spring kisses summer on the cheek, leaves behind a trail of ferns and dew. june is packing your suitcase for a trip. june is a sprinkler in the lawn. june is goodbye and hello all at once. every day feels like the first moment after you wake up, when the dreams still stick to your skin. we wander dazed and hazy in the infant months of heat and sun. we are lovely and unafraid
The big discourse on twitter right now is that writers going on strike or cancelling their own series are breaking an invisible “contract” they made with their fans and all creators owe their fans a satisfying conclusion to their stories. Actually all fans owe all creators for entertaining them and if a creator says “I don’t want to perform this labor anymore,” then regardless of the cliffhanger that leaves you with, your only response should be “take care! Thank you for all your hard work!!!” :)
Like it or not… this.
We’ve waited a year to reblog this. Happy Bread Anniversary!
Because it’s important to celebrate the little victories in life.
No, no, no!
This is April 19 on the Julian Calendar.
The real bread day is on April 7th
“This is completely ridiculous!” Despite his best efforts, Crowley’s roar was more likely to inspire pity than cowering, even to his own ears. “I do not need a cup of tea. I do not need a blanket, or my temperature taken, or a nap, or any of the rest of this bloody nonsense – I am not sick!”
A wooziness just about dragged him down into the plumpness of the pillow. He rallied against it, if only momentarily.
“I,” he crankily reminded his caretaker, “am a demon!”
Balancing a full tray of cuppa, plate of chocolate-covered biscuits, thermometer, tissue box, and a vial of something vile, Donna clucked her tongue as she strode purposefully over to the couch. Crowley and the couch were old friends – he’d slept in her living room plenty of nights when they were passing through on a case. But he’d never been laid up on it like this before, and it infuriated him to no end.
“Just cuz you didn’t know ya could get sick doesn’t mean ya ain’t.”
Crowley glared at her, but Donna just beamed at him, said “scooch”, and made a little room for herself on the couch down by his feet. She held the cup of tea out temptingly.
“Sure, you’re a demon, alright. Mostly.” Her bright smile only widened at his withering look. “But apparently not so much that ya didn’t get cold from being out in that storm. Don’cha know when to get in outta the rain?”
Her teasing was having an annoyingly soothing effect.
“Just because flash flooding is a symptom of climate change and not caused by the supernatural doesn’t mean we sit around on our hands when there’s work to be done.” Crowley crossed his arms over the blanket, aware that he looked and was acting petulant, but unable to avoid it. “How the bloody hell was I supposed to know that…”
He attempted to cover up his sudden discomfort by relieving Donna of the teacup and taking a considerable swallow.
Her smile took on a softer quality to it. “That yer this close to being fully human?”
“Bah.” Crowley sputtered around the teacup. “Bloody nuisance is all it is.”
“Well,” the hunter pulled a small fold-out table close and set the tray on it. “Somehow, I don’ think the people that you pulled to safety in that bit of high water would say the same.”
The reformed demon evaded her eyes, munching on a biscuit.
“And, as a reward for your heroic efforts,” Donna picked up the remote and began to zap through the channels on the TV, “while Sam and Dean are off solving that case here in town, you’re gonna get the royal treatment here at Hanscum Spa and Wellness Resort! You got yer blanket and pillow, yer moisturizing tissues, at least three kinds a’ tea, and all the streaming services a person could want!”
Crowley grunted, considering.
“And, I’ll be here if ya need anything. Just holler!” Donna gave him a solid pat on the shoulder, in a very MidWestern way of attempting to buck him up. “Waitin’ on ya hand and foot, till the Wichesters get back or yer well enough to drive yerself home. Not a bad set-up, huh?”
No, it was not, Crowley had to admit to himself. He did not particularly enjoy feeling under the weather – it was certainly not something he had missed from his human years – but there were certainly worst people in whose care Crowley might have found himself. And he very much liked the sound of an afternoon or two of nothing but tea, biscuits, and telly.
“As it seems I have no choice,” he griped.
“Good!” Donna slapped him on the arm again, approvingly. “Whatcha wanna watch?”
Crowley considered it. A small smile curled up from out of his beard, and he gave the hunter a sly, teasing look.
“How about…How To Build A Sex Room?”
“Oh! I been wanting to watch that for ages!” Donna clapped her hands, practically beaming.
If there was anyone that Crowley could enjoy that ridiculously frivolous show with, it would be her. Or maybe Dean. The hunter could sometimes be really good to watch reality tv with, especially when it involved relationships, drama, and interior decorating. He’d once threatened to kill Crowley if the demon ever suggested such a thing to anyone, and it had been a memorable moment – the first time Dean Winchester had threatened to kill him, and they had both known it was a complete bluff.
“There’s just one thing we have to do first.” She reached for the vial on the tray.
“If that’s what I think it is,” Crowley said as sternly as he could muster, “then you can just forget about it. I’m not taking any cough syrup or bloody get-well spell, or whatever the hell that might be!”
“Oh,” Donna smiled, and it was feral in its brightness. “But’cha are.”
“Nooo,” Crowley made a surreptitious attempt to escape by sinking into and transporting himself through the pillows, “I’m bloody well not.”
But there was no escaping the good intentions of Donna Hanscum, and Crowley knew it. Even as he screwed shut his mouth and glared with all his demonic worth – which, apparently, wasn’t very much – the spoon drew nearer and nearer. The thick, green, almost gelatinous liquid threatened to spill over the side. It smelled horrid.
Being sick truly was an unpleasant experience, Crowley decided.
“Now,” Donna said cheerfully, “open wide!”
A bit under the weather myself with a slight head cold, which reminded me of this little ficlet I wrote and never posted. Set in the One of the Boys universe, where Crowley closed the Gates of Hell and permanently joined the boys.
Wow. How did the canon “fix-it” turn out to be even worse than the series finale? There is incredibly bad fanfiction out there with better narratives and storytelling than The Winchesters. It is difficult to decide which was more offensive – the fast-paced and nonsensical story, or that it changed absolutely nothing about what happened to the characters we love and how their own version of the story ended.
Please, kindly consider this anon fanmail.
Love all these messages in my ask box I'm getting right now, anon or otherwise. ;)
Hi! Will you post more Crowley stories? you're one of my favourite writers for him!!!
This was such a nice message to find in my inbox; thank you so much! To be honest, I didn’t think anyone was even reading Crowley-centric stories any more, so I am rather surprised and pleased that someone out there would be wanting more stories about him.
When someone asks for more of your writing, the last thing an author wants to do is disappoint them. I very much want to tell you that there will be more stories about Crowley from me. Certainly, there are more stories in my drafts, many deserving to be written, with narratives and character development that I think is worth the time and effort to both read and write. But I also don’t know if those stories are going to be written. There is so much else in my life that I want to give myself to, beyond fanfiction. And as much as I love writing about Crowley, and just writing fandom stories in general, I am not sure that’s what I want to be doing now.
This comment, however, was a true kindness. And one kindness deserves another in turn. Drop a Crowley prompt into my ask box, kind anon, or a handful of such prompts for me to select from. And I’ll write you a ficlet and post it here on Tumblr. That’s how much I appreciate this little message of love. 🖤
yeah sorry that’s a load bearing green neck ribbon. it’s up to you boss i mean take it off if you want but it’s very much a structural necessity.
And then Jenny's head fell off.
unstoppable force (wanting to be the kindest version of myself) vs unmovable object (all the anger and hatred I have inside myself)
Two Catfish as Street Musicians in the Kashina district (Jishin no sucharaka) ca. 1855, artist unknown
Is it just me, or is this obviously an 1850's Japanese artist's rendition of Dean and Sam Winchester as catfish musicians?
United States of Amnesia.
What better distraction from white nationalist gun culture than white grievance victimhood.
Ah, yes. The daily culling of my morning crop of porn bots.
Somewhere on tumblr an spn fan has seen this and reblogged it with a fan art of Castiel with white peacock feathers for wings. Don’t even have to have seen that post to know it exists. That’s just the way things work around here.
