Realistic or Modern 𝘢 𝘨𝘭𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘴𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘶𝘴 — ⁠✧⁠*⁠。

[cavitea]

one

glimpse of us

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But there were also times when they cried out in the darkness biting their lips - cried out against the substance of their age: for it was now that they should be young; now above all other times, with the wisdom in them, the wisdom that was frittered away in their 'teens', set aside in their twenties, now, lying there, palpable and with twenty-serveral summers gone. They clenched their hands together. What good was wisdom; what good was anything when the fawn is fled from the grove.

Raucocious and unyielding they set together paths unbreaking, unbindable. Gods set high in their tittering laughs as broken bodies with insatiable lust for more. They were breaking - gnashing teeth on the backbone of nature till blood fed the Earth and raised bones from deep beyond.

Juno and Jupiter.


Hail be their reign.

a cav and demonology 1x1​

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[cavitea]

juno.

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  dressed to die.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
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  interactions

  
  
  
  

  nobody important demonology
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

A crone in the night drags her nails long and sharp against the pane of windows, howling and beating her chest in the indignation brought upon her by the toxic scent of oils and acrylics, sweat and spider woven threads of saliva. Passed back and forth between forms they are nothing compared to the threatening subjects of the paintings resting in a gallery further away, hung collections of deepend vermillion and amaranthine. Collections of teeth and the burned flesh of a heart forsaken by the manic recesses of a mind.

It is their collection against him, a king among even gods and emperor to the stones thrown with torment to their life. They were a glass house, panels installed with an apparition of love and the pretend dance that there was something real to be had in the space of Juno’s apartment. They had never accepted the title of queen but eagerly stood patiently, tip-toeing on the precipice of a canyon in the hopes of something satiating and comprehensible.

Instead —

“Juno, are you sure you even want to be here for the gallery?”

Softened spring, a voice held in reverence beneath the glow of moonlight but at a distance that never seemed to close between them. Wispy strands of blonde hair held themselves in the uniform shape of a bob around angular features, piercing eyes of blue skies and baby breaths that sought out and found the steel bars caging away the emotions of the artist. Together they had spent the previous wrapped in the throes of one another, fruitless words of comfort offered and pushed away through a haze of smoke and dissolving tabs. Muses could not be relied upon as much as their first had been, a rocky string of bodies that trailed up and down the stairs to the industrial-style loft Juno took a comforting residence in.

The latest one, Lily as she wished to be called, was nothing like the dysfunctional beauty Juno found themselves constantly stepping away from and pretending to forget. Lily had occupied the sheets and stools within Juno’s apartment for four months now; a record, really. She was a dominating force in shape and style, draped in the richness of Imperial rules long forgotten as fingers danced along exposed collarbones and a chance was taken.

“No.” Simplistic in response but all that came from the thin-lipped mask Juno’s face had taken on since the beginning of the showing. All around them were the angry faces of their paintings, howling and snarling monstrosities that stared with penance they had inflicted upon themselves with each brush stroke, every line. Nightmarish was the scene in Juno’s eyes, dark and unappealing to themselves and fleeting as they glanced only briefly at the blonde statue before them before brushing past, apathy warning away any attempts to pursue.

Fleeting as summer air in October could be was their attention to the collection of people standing and ogling the paintings hung around the romantically lit gallery. A shame, they thought, the red wine held carefully in hands the blood of the relationship they splattered onto the wall.

Of course, he wasn’t here.

The muse of every piece was as absent from the gallery as he had been from their life for more days than Juno wanted to find reasonable. Resentment came instead of the disappointment settled deep in their gut, a furrowing brow and tightening fingers seeking release as a hand dug underneath folds of cloth and retrieved lighter and tightly wrapped paper.

“Madame, I’ll take a quick step outside. I find the air of novelty and aristocracy stifling to my vision.” Teeth ran themselves along a tongue to stop the repetition of words four times over, a clenching fist wrapping tightly around the small objects as Juno stared with feigned politeness towards the gallery organizer, a thinning woman that looked to be in true danger of a strong breeze. Their eyes exchanged with one another, an artist of woe and the collector with a sharpened gaze that pierced and put together the idea that Juno was even capable of such a prestigious showing. Of course, fame as an artist came in bursts and spats, watercolor that ran trickly over salt.

“Don’t forget, my dear, we are still looking to finish auctioning the last of your pieces towards the end of the evening. They will go for a higher selling point if you can vocalize your vision.” It wasn’t an agreement but a warning, the threat of never seeing another showing again if Juno didn’t turn up towards the end.

A nod could suffice as a response.

Now knuckles rubbed against plastic as they moved through the crowds, bowing head and counting the times a thumb could press a spark into already ruined hands. Once, twice, a third and a fourth. Juno accepted the last congratulations they could stomach for the evening, an ego so filled they felt engorged as a bat on blood, a lecher on sex. Five times their thumb struck against the lighter, close enough now to the door that the end of the wrapped paper was lifted to the flame that scorched ink-stained hands. How long have I been trembling like this?

No mind to that, no time to bother.

Smoke was already dragged through the burning web of their lungs as they opened a side door to the gallery, intent on stepping out and falling prey to the gods of stars above, their vengeful claws twinkling endlessly in the sky.

"Damn you, Jupiter."

cry for love

백현

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[demonology]

jupiter.

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  mood

  
  
  
  

  labyrinthine, coming back to life
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
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  outfit

  
  
  
  

  impressive, right?
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
• 
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  location

  
  
  
  

  some gallery
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
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  interactions

  
  
  
  

  some rando cavitea
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

A man who watched the end of the world roll on by him, standing on the edge of a cliff as a mushroom plume shot towards God. A cigarette hung from his mouth, and his palms splayed open at his sides, as though Jesus became too lazy for the cross. Dean Martin crooned a lullaby, unsure if it was his head playing taped memories or the gallery speakers, and he watched the Earth become swallowed by plump curls, bouncing and bound for the dark alleyways.

He watched them walk away from a waif woman, out the back, and he felt as thought they had crumbled him over a pastry and eaten it. A single view, not even of their own hands' work, wrecked whatever composure he'd garnered. Whatever contrition and clarity had been garnered from Lamictal was wasted and washed away.

Palms open, daggers to the heavens, and the gallery coordinator eyed the blood-wound on his forehead, forsaken.

Her heels clacked towards him, but he ran before she could tempt him. Greased hands staining pert glass, a "Hey!" following his movements, but the wind's rush clogged his ears and any other synapses to his brain. Out to the back, where surely salvation would be.

***​

Approximately fifty-seven hours ago, Jupiter Tucker woke up naked in the back of someone's truck bed, thinking he had died and the Devil had thought of the perfect joke. Splayed out as DaVinci would prefer, he watched the sun as his fingers mindlessly played with the edges of blood pouring from his forehead. There was nothing pounding in his chest, and that was why he thought himself dead. The only things next to him were his boots, his backpack, and a pack of cigarettes with a pin-up lighter suck in the front's plastic covering. His pants laid around his ankles.

He lit one of the cigarettes, grimacing at the packaging and his watch-face, which both looked back at him. "Fuck," he whimpered.

He had less than three days before their show. Many times after coming out of a binge, he'd thank the divine artist for buying him the plastic watch, which was built for surviving. Jupiter had put it to good use, and continued to do so, as he realized they were going west when he needed to go south.

Still, he didn't move. The rays blinded him, but he continued to look until his eyes bled tears and he could cry. He knew what he needed, could feel the clementine plastic melting in his pack. A mental roadblock cut off the logical connection of nerve endings. There was no way his brain would release him from the pounding of sledgehammer downers. Cortisol flooded, dopamine withdrawal. He knew it, feeling it all crumble as the yawn-like pricks of his eyes turned from a biological reaction to silent sobs.

What had he done this time. . .

***​

She let him borrow her car.

Twenty minutes with her, and she was ready to give him her heart, much less her truck. She kissed his tufts of abyss, tempted to hold onto them for longer. He refused, pulling away and wiping away the saliva her lips left behind. Cherry-red. Had she been bleeding without him, or was he alone in the consequences that they'd made when they decided they couldn't be Ma and Pa? A look at her, and his brows furrowed, seeing that he had been the guiltless one out of them all. He was the one downtrodden, and they both had expected him to take it on the chin.

But hadn't he?

He'd made choices the way adults had: go to college, protect that brain of yours, become something. Escape the trailers, escape the crack-baton kitchens, use God's gifts as He intended.

But he'd also decided to be God, and he had realized that was how Ma and Pa came to be. His mother had spent her own years in repentance. Jupiter stuck his nose up at the idea, yet he had spent the whole bus ride upstate with his nails mining for hangs, peeling tags of skin. He had wondered if she'd have meth-mouth, if she'd live in a trailer too, if she'd cry when she saw him.

Instead, she looked like a magazine-cut-out. He'd bitten his tongue until he formed his own Cherry-Red Lipstick.

In a way, he was jealous. He hadn't dressed up to meet someone in years, except maybe Juno. Here she was, a normal Tuesday after work. Picturesque, enough so he tried to recall the memories now, pondering if she was smoking too. Bankrupt, his soul came up empty, but he tried to cast a spell to force more than a few tears carefully hide behind the dust stirred by the whirring engine. His hands now shook, and he gripped them in Boy Scout knots to keep them from unravelling.

All he was. A rubber band ball breaking under the pressure of itself, her vision a final straw that was only now starting to mutilate him. How long until the core implodes the rest of me?

A single kiss from the breeze, and he instinctively wiped at his curls. Feathery, expecting his hand to come back stained pink but instead they were red. Wet. Sticky.

He realized he was in his mother's truck-bed just as it pulled in for gas.

***​

"So far, you're an awful son," she told him frankly, throwing a shirt at him.

He pulled up his pants quickly, frightened by her casual gaze. "Who do you think put you in there?" she scoffed, skirting around the stronger support to her implicit argument: he had been birthed from her, and her carnal chromosomes now held copies within him.

Jupiter groaned as he stretched the shirt over his head. "What happened?" Appearing unfazed by her words, he stared at her cheeks instead of her eyes.

"Took my car to the middle of a desert, and on the way back, you wrecked it."

"How'd you find me?

"You called me, hidin' in the woods off an Interstate."

He rubbed at the crusts around his eyes.

"You're lucky, you know that? It took me almost a day to find you."

"Thank you," he replied solemnly, picking at the plastic bottom of the bed. "How far away are we?"

"You're a real piece of fuckin' work. Not even an apology? Who raised yo-"

Cutting herself off, she instead stared down her son, who refused to make contact. Their black-mops were kissed by the wind, and he allowed the silence to swell. Adrenaline began to course, and he realized that he would be left in the middle of nowhere if he didn't put the baby gates back up in his mind.

"I'm sorry," he muttered. "Can I have a sip of water?" he asked louder, this time meeting twin lashes with his own matching ones, and reaching into his bag's pocket for the pharmaceutical maracas.

She dropped him at her old trailer, watching as he walked to the one next to it.

"You're paying to fix this piece of shit."

***​

Fuzzy dreams with blips of true memories, he allowed his mind to wander as he dressed. Mane wild and face still marred by plasma, he put on the suit-jacket he'd bought with them and fiddled with the ridiculous ring he'd bought from a quarter machine years ago. It stained his fingers green, but he found the flat-face endearing, which once held a glued-on bejewel and now held a rudimentary initial J. A fist formed to better admire it, and then he relaxed and beat out his palms.

He would be his own God.

So he willed the bus to come at the right time, which it didn't. He willed traffic to be feasible, which it wasn't. He asked the driver to stop in the middle of the street so he could get out and run, and the old man glared at him like he was Road Runner, not Jesus.

Jupiter kept his eyes on the watch, which wouldn't listen to his will either. Instead, it flipped the cards at the poker table, acting as divine dealer.

Instead of playing cards, they were tarot, and Jup began to piece together the past week.

She let him borrow her car.

That hadn't been the intention in going, but like an addict offered spending money by Grandma, he knew better and still couldn't tell the gift horse no. The end of their visit, and he had been choking on bile while playing niceness:

"What plans you've got this weeked?

"I was gonna go to a rave, but my buddy dropped out so I-"

"Oh that's too bad! Why don't you just take my car?"

He heard the desperation in her voice. It mimicked the one Dad took on when he brought Ruffles and a Sprite to after-school pick-up or woke Jup up with a party-store HoneyBun. Except, the finish to her was different, and it implied a certain politeness that had previously annoyed him but now sought to benefit him. She was still playing repentance, and the offering to cleanse his feet with her tears proved too promising.

"Sure, thanks Ma."

Cherry-red lipstick and the smell of burnt coffee as she hugged him goodbye, biting the keys into his palm.

One could say Jupiter knew better, and the ides of premonition and repeated history should have stopped him. No, Jupiter's ears were blind and his eyes were deaf.

Now, he sat, righted and awake, on the bus as a woman held her daughter closer upon inspection of his blood-let temple.

His leg jostled, and he paid his watch repentance. He remembered who God was again.

***​

Reminded once more of divinity, Jup stood as a dead man lost. When had he given them his heart again? He gave no answer, rapt in their vision.

He was shocked to be reminded that it was never Juno's paintings that captured him and stuck him down. They were always kinder to him than their creator. They were his siblings, his clones, and he treated them as such. Their horrors refracted what lied within, and he valued them for this reflection. This time, he felt as though they were not mirrors, but rather portals to something he needed to better understand. They were prophetic, but he didn't have the wherewithal to heed their call.

Juno. His mouth furrowed, but his eyes widened at their sight. They were the reminder that, no matter the grip his brain took to him, he was miniature compared to the calamity of feeling. Emotions controlled him, and Juno's ability to cut through the ones he manifested for himself and create their own bonfire made him fall to his knees in worship. They did all this, and they exerted only a secular force that made him crumble. There was nothing constant about emotion, but feeling was something Juno had incepted within him, calling it natural and normal. He had yet to recover, to see them as anything less than a walking God.

When they left through the gallery's backdoor as a tornado, all Jupiter wanted was to be in the Eye.

***​

Sightless against the waft of garbage and singular bulbs lighting the alleyway, he found them via mutterings and the smell of ash. He appeared like a rat thrown from the dumpster, creeping along until he was less shadow enough to be seen.

"Your work," he began as an introduction as though he were comforting an abandoned cat, "is fuckin' harrowing. Honest to God, I ran out of there I was so scared." Comedy infused his tone, with laughter mocking his speech.

"Sorry I'm late," he continued, as though his absence would've been noted, given the invitation had never been sent out. "How've you been?" he asked as he plucked the cigarette from their fingers, sure to show off the ring.

The Devilish godliness that inhabited Jupiter always poked its head out, offering a Chesire smile as he settled against the well besides them. He knew seeking home in them was cruel, as it was a past set-up that made his intrusion akin to a home invasion, but criminality had done nothing but inspire Jupiter, from his mania to his careers to any love he gave and received. He had always stolen affection, knowing it was something never given, and he continued to plunder from poor Juno, angry and lost.

cry for love

백현

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[cavitea]

juno.

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  mood

  
  
  
  

  could die, could live
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
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  outfit

  
  
  
  

  dressed to die.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
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  location

  
  
  
  

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  interactions

  
  
  
  

  nobody important demonology
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

It wasn't fate that brought the other before them; stars above could laugh in peals and waves as Juno found themselves looking forlornly at the lost figure that so casually took away their peace and flashed a pitiful display.

"You speak as if you offer anything more to me than the bilge slipping into the grates of a sewer." Their tone was gentle despite the biting words that stabbed and asked to draw iron. There was a smoothness underlying it all, a genteel curling of fingers that brazenly took back the smoking offering, fingers as absent of rings as the others was painfully displaying. "As always your timing is impeccable to living up to your standards; although I'm afraid they passed out all the wine." Sighs shattered themselves like glass on the ground between them, a boot grinding the invisible shards into glittering dust before Juno offered Jupiter a glance of focus.

He wasn't much different from before, they were sure of that enough. Bags of luggage and weariness settled themselves on the shallowed face of a man who could take a thousand showers and look as if he had just rolled out of the mud. It was comforting, almost, to see that the man she once lazed in dewy sunlight remained encapsulated in a time already being forgotten, dismissed.

"Jupiter, why did you come? How did you even know that there was an event going on for you to weasel yourself into? Into, into, -" They turned to bite at stained fingers, a whispered continuation of the word settling out the commandment of five until a solemn look was passed on him again, the long drag of smoke filling the space between them. Drugs could not silence the buzzing of Jupiter nor cast away the guilt that a look into star-abandoned eyes had on them, wistful sighs marking the disgust and disappointment of this realization before Juno's body was slouching against the cold wall of the alleyway.

A novel could be shared between themselves and the silent ambience of dampened garbage and forgotten city. They lingered in a bubble away from the elegance of those who pretended to care for art and sipped daintily at fermented fruit as if it gave them the eyes of an artist. Now instead they were faced with the muse that had brought teeth and blood onto canvas, a muse that continued to linger even as their eyes strained to not look towards him.

"We haven't spoken in months, Jup; what about this event made you think that was something that could change? Our lives have become soliloquies, a distance that can't be breached by a simple uninvited presence."

Again fingers flicked against the hunk of plastic, once, twice and another third.

"There is another in my life, you know. She's sweet, reliable." Stable.

Lost in their battle eyes made themselves connect with others as the fourth and fifth flick along the plastic did little to settle the growing uneasiness at having left the gallery for this long. An auction was due to happen soon and winter flowers waited patiently as they always did for their return, for their denied affection. The crumbling of ground sounded against their foot as they pushed away from the wall with another inhale and release of hazy sky. "I'm afraid I cannot spend my night messing around with the rats and smell, I'm sure you understand." Another meeting of eyes, of the darkness in both pairs and the hollow cavern they had both tinkered at carving away over time until it was a fathomless pit.

"You ... well, it's not exactly as if I don't appreciate the subject of my paintings showing up but I think you may gain the wrong type of attention in the gallery if you follow me so obediently back inside. We should say goodbye, Jupiter." Pain filled the softening expression they offered to him before the tip of a finger pressed itself against the lit end of the rolled paper, a sting that pulled away from the hole they had nearly felt tempted to teeter back into.

cry for love

백현

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[demonology]

jupiter.

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  mood

  
  
  
  

  habitual, regressing, deserted, understandably so.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
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  outfit

  
  
  
  

  impressive, right?
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
• 
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  location

  
  
  
  

  some gallery
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
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  interactions

  
  
  
  

  some rando cavitea
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

They shot him five times.

He fished through his pants-pocket, caught a prize, and lit it. "You speak as if you offer anything more to me than the bilge slipping into the grates of a sewer." The cigarette had been an offering upon their altar, but he retracted it as quickly as The Daily Mail might. Gratuitous and molasses-thick, he glided it back to his lips, looking at the rat-droppings near his toes and making intaglios out of the smoke.

I don't, Jupiter thought, realizing he only had a handful of quarters jingling in his worn slacks for bus fare. Juno reloaded.

"As always your timing is impeccable to living up to your standards; although I'm afraid they passed out all the wine." He grimaced, and his teeth bit around the filter queasily.

"I think wine conflicts with my meds.” He was a death-rattle. "Plus, I mean, I am already scared shitless in there," Frankenstein's monster recovered, rising with a cartoonish joke and a flick of ash into the sewer grate. His thumb plucked at the ring, twisting it. Round and round. The horse of the carousel bucked in slo-mo beneath him, and he realized that he had pulled Juno back on. They were not as amused as he had thought they might be, even if it was just for old-time's sake.

The joke was ill, he knew. A destitute thing he’d already waved around, pimped out, and found impossible to sell. A tempered lull washed over them as fresh sheets from the freezer, but this was a memory from his mother, not Juno. It was an old dream, too. A fantasy once had when Jup thought it was his (at the time, and even now in blips of time, righteous) secrecy that was the thing between them, not the unstructure of his mind.

"Jupiter, why did you come? How did you even know that there was an event going on for you to weasel yourself into? Into, into, -"

“Facebook,” he said with a shrug. “I couldn’t avoid seeing your face and the flier for your show.” He flicked his smoke; his head went the opposite direction. “Besides, why wouldn’t I support my friend?”

The last syllable was a wad of Silly Putty. He resisted the urge to play with it, to stretch it out, and in the process of all this human-restraint, he clenched his ethereal jaw. Struck with the Spear of Longinus, he wilted with pollen flowing out from his heart, from the wound, and turning into back-alley bile. In a similar routine as before, he began quietly, “I marked my calendar and everything,” and continued with a shitty comedy, “I practically died getting here, you know.”

Using the cigarette like a conductor's wand, he looked as though he were discussing one of the paintings inside, holding a goblet of wine and pretending the very act of viewing the art was the meaning of life, rather than the creation of it. Irony had it that this was how he treated such seriousness. An Olympian at home, chatting with Dionysus about Zeus’s thunder-bold gleaming from the sunken flesh of his chest.

Juno continued their assault: "We haven't spoken in months, Jup; what about this event made you think that was something that could change? Our lives have become soliloquies, a distance that can't be breached by a simple uninvited presence."

The boundaries were so easily crossed; testosterone flushed his cheeks red. “I realize that,” he spoke sullenly. A child scorned, and he’s feigning maturity by decorating his voice in malicious mud and tree-sprigs. “I’m sorry I didn’t mean–”

They interrupted him softly, like laying a serial killer to rest in the death machine. A simply flick of the wrist, and the IV was sunk. It was not a shot heard across the globe, or even by the rats ticking in the alley-way. It was nothing at all, a quiet, pitiful violence that only Jupiter noticed. He wondered if they realized they were loading the imaginary bullet, lining it up just right so he’d die on the perfect note. It didn’t matter, and strangely, as it entered him and created rainbow-flourescent blood only he could witness, he bit his tongue and was realized that it at least fit them. That the last bits of this conversation that would bury his towers and relinquish him to the rubble would be by their hand in only a way they could manifest.

"There is another in my life, you know."

Except, of course, no god, no demon, no angel, no planet wanted to end, and they all shouted into the dark. Except, like a vase left on the still for months at a time, Jupiter evaporated quietly and with a deep swallow. Fists clenched, but there were still the flowers to attend to, the inescapable mass of glass that tempered him. So he died painfully, wallowing in his invisibility, but forced himself to meet Juno’s eyes. In this, he would shout into the night.

Thirsty, he drank. He swallowed this image of them up, still uncertain how quickly he could actually let it go. Can I really let you die? They prattled on, and Jup rested his temple against the brick studio. Sweet and reliable. He almost blurted a retort, almost got to his knees in prayer and repentance. I can be those things! his brain bled. It didn’t matter, it didn’t matter. His head wound murmured this message, stinging against the hard surface. Voices crowded the living room. They were having a hearty debate, sending cross-signals and mixing them all up in the post-office. Guilt and shame surfaced the black hole, crying out that he had not intended to insult them, to beg for them back, to bridge this gap. Another, the cold depth of Space, answered back in a mangled voice akin to his father: Yes. You did. No, I didn’t! They all shouted, they all cried. Only Space remained constant, and he was reminded by he didn’t like taking his meds.

“We should say goodbye, Jupiter.” Their voice finally broke through, cutting down flame, flora, wind-swept squeals, and lung-sunk drizzle. A master of all commands the master of none.

“Okay,” he whispered, bleary-eyed, before standing up straight. “Uhm.” He hadn’t actually decided how he wanted to proceed. Suddenly, he wanted a grilled cheese, his musty sheets, Bluebeard, a bag of Sour Cream Ruffles, and a Dr. Pepper.

“I’ll check Facebook to see which ones sold,” he offered with a shrug, tone vaguely formal. It wasn’t that he was devoid in his speaking, but rather, he had carefully glossed over what he wanted to say, how he wanted to say it. Bumping sand dunes leveled by a kid looking to create a castle, becoming hypervigilant to the fact that they were not desert-free but instead contained to the playplace. As such, he obeyed, sounding rather professional.

“I hope the rest of the night goes well, though, and it was nice to see you.”

cry for love

백현

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[cavitea]

juno.

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  mood

  
  
  
  

  miss me, kiss me
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
• 
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  outfit

  
  
  
  

  dressed to die.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
• 
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  location

  
  
  
  

  some gallery
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
• 
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  interactions

  
  
  
  

  nobody important demonology
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

Zelda Fitzgerald rattled in her grave somewhere, a haunting spirit that gnawed with the rotten teeth of decrepit bodies desperate for the fame wrongfully taken from them. Here, in this alley there was a crime of the same volume happening in the dousing of cigarettes and rolled up herb, eyes meeting into fated constellations and declaring the world flat. Juno could only guess to the surely epic tale of journey Jupiter could lament upon, see his tale etched into their skin, filled and scarred as it was.

“I’ll check Facebook to see which ones sold,” and they wanted to curl the claws of a ghoul scorned around his skull until arteries pulsed in desperation beneath the fingerprints they once pressed into his sides. He belonged to them as the pieces inside, a possession that came in one, two, three's, blinking eyes and strands of hair counted endlessly side-by-side with ruminations of affection that made up fourths and fifths.

"Don't do that, Facebook." Their lighter slipped from their fingers, tumbling as their words softly scratched his temporal lobe. Water ran from the Earth, sludge to slime, combined in the mushy pile of God's spit that sticky, cherry-red plastic settled into. Moss flicked to stare at a reflection that didn't come.

"The shambling pieces I created in there are not something to hold anticipation for." A hard thing for the moniker of a god to admit.

At some point they had painted Jupiter in the swirls of amaranth and citrine, pulled his skin into the beaten pots of a master. They slashed his flesh onto canvas and pressed lips of cadmium along it, murmuring the sweetened honey of nothings until it whispered back and breathed as a newborn, dandelion fluff. Now …

In lace and ribs of metal they bent and broke their legs, stooping until trailing bandages of clothes that were fashionably ruined found themselves true to their name in the murk they dragged in. "Lily, her name is Lily." Each exhaled syllable didn't have a place between the eidolons, dimly illuminated by the nearby reflected sentinels of red, yellow, green. It was as much a statement to Jupiter as it was a neatly filled circle at the end of their heart's sentence, bold and unforgiving of continuation. Inked flesh dug itself in gnawed fingernail grip to the plastic fire giver, lifting in a fluid motion of an animation on a rig.

Green met dark and swallowed.

"Oh Jup, find someone else to tuck your tail home to." Designer clothes stepped themselves forward, the breath of substance and slurred memories pushing itself in the way they pushed against him. They hooked him, a fish caught by a hand already occupied, smudging granules of murk on flesh that belonged to them. "Don't you know I already forgot about you?"

A gap was pulled closed as they kissed the remnants of sunlight, a sensation long filled in hollow desperation by others. One, twice; jazz trumpets could blow low, melodic sounds in off-beat tunes that fit perfectly the way Juno fit into Jupiter. Three, four; puzzle pieces that smashed themselves together and found it always fit well enough.

Fifth; murk spread along a jaw and a knock came from the door of the gallery and Juno was gone, ringlets following them in the motions of dropping plastic back to the ground.

"Take care getting home, Jupiter."

cry for love

백현

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[demonology]

jupiter.

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• 
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  mood

  
  
  
  

  habitual, regressing, deserted, understandably so.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
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  outfit

  
  
  
  

  impressive, right?
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
• 
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  location

  
  
  
  

  some gallery
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
• 
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  interactions

  
  
  
  

  some rando cavitea
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

Juno rasped to Jupiter: Go home. So He did anything but.

The godly-named, Roman twin flames parted ways. The murmur of divine lips whispered at the edges of Jup’s ill-fated, barren smile. His mouth went between being outlandishly brandished, large-and-in-charge, and falling back into a linear heart’s flatline, stretched across his gritted jaw. The metaphorical, kryptonite-filled bullet holes that lined the same torso sinews that their fingers once dipped into caused him to walk with a hunch to his shoulder. His brow started to perspire, leaking vacant ambrosia down into his lashes and stinging his eyes. It was really the side effect of taking the full dosage of his Lamictal after having gone cold turkey for so long, but his dramatis personae demanded that it be declared as a result of Juno’s callousness.

He rested his head against the dingy brick corner, in between the damp dark of the alley and the lit, people-infested sidewalk. His forehead cooled against the masonry, cringing against the scratchy pavement.
Go home. He tried to do as they’d commanded. For once.

A single, bell-shaped light flickered from above the party store known simply as G’s. Planetary boy Jupiter swung his lanky figure down low so his head could fit through the doorway, pushing all his weight and effort into opening the door. His stomach was a knotted bike chain that had run off its course. It left him with nothing but jolts of spastic pain and a sore throat from bile. He’d thrown up on the sidewalk as he moved further and further from the gallery.

There was nothing left inside, not even the particles of colored gloss that Juno had left on his lips and he had licked off. There was nothing left, not even the bagel his Ma had bought him. There was nothing left, not even the hope that had filled him up earlier today, earlier this week, earlier last month. There was nothing left.

“Hey! Wouldn’t you know? This one’s a winner.”

Half-lidded eyes peaked up to find the gut-busting glimmer of a convenience store worker’s smile. He looked freshly eighteen with the excitement of working at a place that sells liquor having not worn off yet. The illicit was not yet normal to him, and this realization made Jup feel all the more empty. The kid was all filled up. His own mouth laid resolute and limp against his face, casually pursed like a fish-out-of-water.

“You hear me? You won $10!”

Half in a daze, Jupiter had spent his last few cents on a lottery ticket. He hadn’t considered why. He’d needed something to fill him up, to occupy his hands. The quarter scratched to and fro as metallic confetti embedded itself into the recesses of his picked-at hands.

“Oh, thanks.” One crisp five and a crumpled, moist one were slapped into his palm enthusiastically. The boy’s excitement was infectious.

Go home. He’d needed something to fill him up.

Oh Jup, find someone else to tuck your tail home to. He’d needed something to fill him up.

Don't you know I already forgot about you? He’d needed something to fill him up.

A phantom kiss still pressed against his lips, despite the puke, despite the emptiness. The truth finally is revealed.

Take care getting home. He went to Waffle House instead.

---

The bell on the door and a harmonious ring, almost unhooked with the passion with which Jupiter opened it. An ocean and a storm danced within him. The waves lapped and cut off the rain that pitter-pattered within him. He smiled at the waitress only to have his smile cut short. It was a girl he knew from a nearby club. She wore gaudy earrings, which was why he remembered her. They always matched the pattern of her dress, some sort of geometric number that was easy to replicate and repurchase from Target or Walmart. Today, she wore triangles, and her gaze was pointed. He decided to hedge his bets, seeing as he was already lucky once today, and delved further inwards.

Setting up shop at the bar, he dug his chin into the back of his hands, resting his head on the table. The waitress (Shelly?) maintained her distance at first.

“What do you want?” She was impatient.

Take care getting home. He landed his gaze on his Hera once more.

cry for love

백현

♡coded by uxie♡