you paint your walls the colour of your beloved’s eyes you invite him into your home and keep the rest of hell out you fill your shelves with books for both the serpent of knowledge and the angel who fell for only asking questions you stock your liquor cabinet with the same alcohol you drank the night you realised you loved him and almost died for it and when all else fails, you give away everything youve ever loved for even the chance to keep him—to keep the both of you—safe. together.
he kisses you, and leaves the bookshop.
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i've been drawing recently as the magpod brainrot has hit again so here's some jmart i sketched!
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someone should have stopped me from putting these side by side but here we are. i can't do this anymore what the fuck.
a difference from at least six thousand years—and they are completely different people, crowley is absolutely right about that. the starmaker was lost in the fall, and crowley has been trying to find himself again ever since.
the final fifteen robbed him of anything light that was still persevering, because crowley's don't bother is him giving up. he's done. he can't do this anymore and then he still waits.
he still waits.
and he will keep waiting.
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Inspired by a ref pic online that I saw and immediately thought of Eli and Roy
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