#jupf posting

[wolpatinga]

guess who just recommended JUPF to somebody

whoaaaaaaaaaaa

1. someone liked jupf

2. someone has a friend

3. that someone wanted their friend to like jupf toooooo

or

1. someone HATED jupf

2. that someone has an enemy

3. that someone recommended it to their enemy to torture them

either way, im flattered!

[wolpatinga]

like. that picture of sza is just my version of heart

[wolpatinga]

these two were friends once, they could be again

[wolpatinga]

[wolpatinga]

preview of a commission by @calypsosystem i'm getting soon, holy shit soullllllllll

[wolpatinga]

omgggggggg thank you @drloverboy for drawing heart for me <3

[wolpatinga]

apollo and artemis

(does he know?)

cold scales. cold metal. his hand against the nape of your neck, steel sapping the warmth. its frozen there, wires picking up the rhythm of your pulse. the other rests on your back, resting on the carapace, the shell he sought to crack.

and he did. he has cracked your shell, tearing you open until the warmth comes spilling out of you, gushing out in purple hues. the fragments of chitin jutting from your shoulder blades a reminder of how cruel his hands can be, grounding you, keeping you beneath him.

but at the moment there is a truce, you nestled 'tween his legs, biting into his shoulder as he cries out. he claims he doesn't need this, he claims you're but an accident

but you can feel it. somewhere under those scales, there is a cold, dead heart that beats for you. oh, he could ramble on about the medical benefits of what he's allowing you to do, but not now. not with your hand on his throat, with you pressing down on him, finding that brief moment of harmony

you know he's not thinking at the moment. he's not thinking anything but what he'll never bring himself to say - that he needs you. he needs this, yes, but he needs you, wholly. the sun and moon both glow the same orange hue. harmony. time bleeding together, day and night and dusk and dawn and you and him. all is you and him. does he know?

you lift your head, nudging aside matted curls to whisper in his ear. you ask for him to confess, to stop lying, to say you need him. you need to hear it. you need to know how much he needs you. you need to know all this doubt is just in your head

but your request is enough to turn his brain back on. he comes to his senses. cold, steely hands shift, dislodging you, throwing you off the bed

you sit up, seething, dissatisfied. you're never satisfied with him, never will be. your hoodie hits your face as he tells you to leave

you pretend not to hear his voice break as he tells you to leave. you have to pretend not to hear the doleful undercurrent, the warm breeze threatening the end of winter. you don't want to fight him

maybe he doesn't know, not consciously, not yet

maybe in your absence will he finally miss the moon

[wolpatinga]

there be a hundred hits since the fic reached its final port, and there be naught but a low wind's whistle. it be looking that the ending must be but an ugly barnacle on the beautiful vessel that were the onset