Recent Statuses

1 day ago
Current some people call me maurice *kazoo sounds* / 'cause i speak of the pompatus of love
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9 days ago
im fucking exhausted
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25 days ago
...isnt that anime based around little boys having relationships with grown ass men
25 days ago
wifi is back finally T^T
28 days ago
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infj  pisces  type 2  ravenclaw
【it's nice to not be alone.】
elli  twenty-one  college student

Most Recent Posts

@fledermaus that's just cold my g

sometimes it be like that
Hmmmmmmm whatcha' saaaaaaaay

Hmmmmmmm whatcha' saaaaaaaay

Waittttt TF you mean canceled? :'( Lol please lmk if one of you decides to pick this up(in a non-copyright violating way), I was sooooo looking forward to this. But I'm not a discord person so idk how to use it/set it up in terms of this plot.

not enough people submitted their character sheet on time
Is this still accepting characters?

yes! the ooc is to be made after all chars are accepted

LOCATION: ʟᴏᴋɪ'ꜱ ᴊᴜᴩɪᴛᴇʀ'ꜱ ʙᴀʟʟ
MOOD: ᴍᴜʀᴅᴇʀ ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍɪɴᴅ.


Flashes of cameras; words, words, words. People congregate in front of his ball, interviewing and posing. Loki slips by, paying no heed to them. No one takes pictures of him, which is a damn shame, but just as well since fame was unbecoming of his occupation. Still, he took a moment to stand in just the right way that the cameras caught him during Pan’s interview. All the celebrities that knew him – and you would be surprised with the amount of celebrities with gambling addictions – turned away, eyes averted in shame and Loki smiled.

“Ah, it’s a good day to give to charity, isn’t it Todd?” Loki looked to his side for validation from his right-hand man only to find the spot empty, “Oh, that’s right. I killed him, didn’t I? Crying shame.”

Shamelessly, Loki skipped and hopped his way into the charity event, careful to not wrinkle his suit. Like always, his feet moved to an invisible rhythm as he sauntered into the main hall. His sharp eyes surveyed the room; there was what’s-her-name and what’s-his-face and mister-forgettable and misses-who-cares. After the invitations were sent out, his mind had trashed the names and wrote them off as insignificant. Except for a few people.

“Lookin’ handsome as always, Jupiter.” Loki said as he passed him and whoever had accosted him by the stairs, uncaring how loud he addressed him with his true name. It’s not like the mortals pay attention that closely.

A waiter passed by and Loki snagged a glass of champagne, taking a sip before his face contorted into disgust. He forgot how nasty the shit was without orange juice. Frankly, Loki was a cocktail kinda guy. His eyes raked the room again, looking for someone in particular with striking cerulean eyes – or some other word that means very intense blue. Loki wasn’t an interior designer.

His eyes lit up as he spotted his prey, and he hung back for a second to observe him. He cleaned up nice, Loki thought immediately, and then hated himself for thinking it. This was his mortal enemy! His nemesis! And the villain is always ugly, in movies at least. Well, sometimes. Sometimes Loki watched movies and couldn’t help but be attracted to their evil deeds. Ah, to be a villain as grand as a movie antagonist. Maybe Loki should make it a habit to kill more people; the more homocide one commits, generally the more attractive they become, right?

Loki approached Odin from behind, and abruptly poked him in the back with his pointer finger. He pushed hard enough that, on a mortal, it would surely bruise. It’s honestly the tamest thing Loki has done to Odin in a while.

“I would stab you,” Loki hummed as he came around to face Odin, “But I wouldn’t want to ruin your suit in front of all these people.” Not that it has stopped him before.

The venue chosen for the charity event is a stark white building filled with minimalist artwork and a grand floor for dancing. It practically oozes rich modernist bullshit and Jupiter finds himself frowning over the dancefloor from the strip of balcony that runs along all four walls. The venue reminds him of European ballrooms except if European ballrooms were made by 21st century contemporary architect assholes. Instead of the room opening up to nightsky, a skylight of glass meant to open the ballroom up acts as a barrier between the guests and the twinkling stars. Instead of the beautifully mosaic floors of Rome, Jupiter found himself standing on stark white linoleum that will undoubtedly be stained after tonight’s affair – which will come from his budget (Jupiter will throttle whoever volunteered him for this stupid ball).

The sun hangs on the horizon as if it doesn’t want to miss the events of the night, peering into the venue’s ceiling-to-floor windows that face the Seattle skyline. Humans begin to mull in, hovering in clumps together with wine in their hands and gossip on their lips. It’s all very mortal. No one fills the dance floor like they did in the days of old, preferring the company of alcohol and pretty words. For human standards, though, the charity event is in full swing, or that’s what Jupiter’s assistant tells him encouragingly as he scowls over the expanse of the room.

Jupiter was anonymously emailed the guest list the night before, with almost every relevant god listed on there, and a stone has been sitting in his stomach since then. He hasn’t seen Poseidon (the name curls in his mind like poison) since that night he left him at the curb. Of course, Jupiter had lurked until he made sure Poseidon was inside, but the choice to leave Poseidon to struggle to his feet was a heartless one. Since then, Jupiter hasn’t been feeling himself. He’s always been the surly type, quick to anger and quicker to ignore other’s problems. However, he’s started to snap more and more at his employees than he would in the past, and ignoring the beckoning of all his Roman brethren. The throne he envisions lacks a luster to it and a small, dangerous part of his brain thinks it would shine more if there was a matching one next to him of seashells and pearls.

Jupiter turns his back from the floor, adjusting his suit and ignoring his inner conflict. It’s what he does best. Besides, he has an event to attend. Time to mingle with the gods and humans that congregate on the floor.

betrayal, a dish best served filleted
𝓟𝓪𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓪𝓭𝓮 𝓡𝓮𝓼𝓽𝓪𝓾𝓻𝓪𝓷𝓽 8:00 PM
MOOD: ɢᴜᴛ ᴡʀᴇɴᴄʜɪɴɢ.

A seafood restaurant. Okay. August must be—no, Jupiter must be in a good mood. The news would come smooth like their salmon, and the honesty would come appreciated.


Right. So, why did he stand stuck between the folds of his ragged leather seats picking away at the Target brand button up that smothered his neck and wrists. October chill should have shocked his bones, yet Poseidon felt the sweat build at the back of his nape. The bottle of Xanax sat in the passenger seat, mourned for its valiant sacrifice. Unfortunately, that sacrifice had been made two days earlier to which Poseidon lamented the pangs of anxiety suffocating him now.

Just get out and go in. Just get out and go in. Poseidon gripped his steering wheel. Squeezing his eyes shut, Poseidon felt a rush soar through him. He seized that surge and bolted out of his tiny car. Cold air blasted the heat of his face, it worked to send him into a shock so much that the anxiety just barely faded from his mind.

Before he knew it, Poseidon stood at the designated table, chest puffing as he stared at Augu—Jupiter. He stood there, staring at the man with his heart in his ears and the background sound falling away to the constant huff of his breathing. Then, in that instance his breath vanished as it did every single time. Despite the sizzling anger that radiated off him, Poseidon felt the tug of heat rising in his chest to grip his heart and slam it against its cage.

Then he swallowed it down because the both of them agreed, silently perhaps, that this was just something fun for them. Stress relief. An escape. Though, he could laugh now knowing that escape would soon vanish as he seated himself across from the Roman king.

”I’m actually Poseidon.” He blurted out. What he wanted to say was ‘Hello, how are you? How has your day been? You look like you’re about to decapitate someone with your bare hands.’ Instead, Poseidon sat there with his eyes wide and his hands barely hovering over the table, frozen in the lake of his own idiocy.

”I-I mean, I, uh… you’re… and I’m—you…” Poseidon fizzled out, staring in dejection at the man in front of him, shoulders slouched and a pinch to his face that he couldn’t shake off.

Mannerisms that Jupiter once found endearing on Peter - the cute way he stutters, the hesitancy, the impulsivity - he can only now see it with a thin veil of annoyance. All that endearment was a bandaid hiding the nasty gash beneath it and now Jupiter can only feel the sting of it being ripped off. A small gnat of a voice in the back of his head told him that at least Poseidon was being honest with him now, that he came clean right away. Then there was a growling beast, fat on paranoia, that whispered to him that Poseidon only told him because he had to, that all of this has been a charade. In the end, it doesn’t matter really what Poseidon’s intentions are. Jupiter knows his own intentions and that’s all there is to it.

Jupiter removes a piece of paper from his pocket and unfolds it primly before sliding it across the table. It’s the picture Mars had so thoughtfully shown him earlier at the meeting with his brothers, an image of Poseidon vomiting on his brother. “I’m well aware who you are, Poseidon.”

He wants to end it right there, tell Poseidon that it’s over and to not contact him again, but it is a dinner meeting. Jupiter should at least be polite enough to pay for their meals one last time.

A waiter stops by poised with his pad and pen. Jupiter’s menu is promptly closed and he says, “I’ll be having the halibut and bring a bottle of your most expensive blend. Order whatever seems appealing, Peter.”

Poseidon blinked, trying to process the information provided in Jupiter’s curt answer. That shifting cold seemed impenetrable from Poseidon’s vantage point. He had to wonder why, though the way Jupiter reacted seemed to indicate that it was likely the whole Poseidon thing that had him miffed. More than miffed. Miffed didn’t seem the appropriate term for how the heat that wafted off Jupiter’s skin.

That heat belied a coldness to Jupiter’s words and Poseidon frowned as he looked down at the menu. ”I think I’ll just take some salmon and could I get just a… you know what, surprise me. Nothing too expensive,” Poseidon said, quiet as his eyes continued to flicker upwards toward Jupiter. He immediately handed the menu to let the server walk off.

Silence hung between them, Poseidon’s eyes shifting everywhere but Jupiter before finally landing back onto him. ”I… didn’t tell you and I’m sorry,” Poseidon said, pinching his brows before frowning and looking down at his hands on the table. They were calloused like his soul had been, like he’d dragged them for years against sharp gravel until the skin grew over itself, hardened and scarred.

”I’m ashamed of what I’d done as a god. You can tote your kingly glory, find pride in a nation you built from the ground up,” he continued, knowing he’d revealed that he knew who Jupiter was, or at least that he was Roman, ”I hurt people for greed, for power, for vengeance. Simply because I wanted something someone else had. The seas rose and the earths quaked because I commanded them to; because my anger allowed me to take that emotion and destroy whole swaths of my people.”

Poseidon looked toward Jupiter, knowing he likely wouldn’t find the face of someone sympathetic to his plight. He both wanted Jupiter’s condemnation and contempt, as well as his compassion and love. To deserve either of those things, however, Poseidon had to actually matter to the man beyond an obstacle in his way.

Something at the back of his mind gnawed at him, told him this was the last he’d see of the magnificent man he’d known. But, to come to grips with that would be to submit to reality and Poseidon just wanted to grasp one hopeful wisp of their relationship. He wanted to salvage what could possibly be unrepairable.

When the server came back with a glass of red wine, Poseidon smiled and told her, ”Could I get just one more bottle of this, please?” he smiled and when she nodded he gave her a sincere, ”Thank you.” And then he unscrewed the cork, poured himself a full wine glass, and dunked it. Then three more. Four. No, he’d stop at five glasses. It wouldn’t hit him until he stood, he knew that, but he was determined not to stand for quite awhile now. Not until Jupiter physically scooped him up from his seat. He just wanted… Poseidon didn’t want to bring voice to what he wanted.

”Do you hate me?” Poseidon asked, his voice barely above a whisper. His face pinched into worry, something he tried his damnedest to hide but failed miserably. ”Do you—do you want to ask me questions? I’ll answer them. Honest. What’s that saying the one in latin about… truth and alcohol?”

Jupiter neglected to answer Poseidon’s first question, hesitant to give a definitive answer on his feelings towards the other god. Jupiter hates all Greeks, is the easy answer, and it was on the tip of his tongue, but it felt like gravel in his mouth. Jupiter isn’t a liar; Jupiter used to hate all Greeks. Now, it seems, he tolerates more than just one Greek. How did he sink so low to allow himself to lay with a degenerate?

In vino veritas. Jupiter responded, mulling over his wine. He reached over and poured Poseidon another glass of wine. If he indeed wanted to convince Jupiter that the wine has loosened his lips, he’d have to drown in his alcohol first. A measly couple of wines wouldn’t undo what the god of the sea has done. “In wine lies the truth.”

There are a lot of questions he could ask, he even made a mental list on his way here. Now, in Poseidon’s presence, there’s only one that is seared in his mind’s eye.

“What was your intention?” Jupiter sips his wine, voice even as his eyes smolder like coals on fire, “To make a fool of me? To spy on the Romans? I–”

Trusted you? It’s a tough pill for Jupiter to swallow, because in a way, Jupiter had let Poseidon in. Poseidon – no, Peter – was a comfort to him, a silly little human who didn’t need to worry about the god matters. A human that Jupiter didn’t have to worry about being betrayed by; all gods are snakes, they all have their agenda. Poseidon wouldn’t be the first god to get under Jupiter’s skin, but he will be the last.

Wait, what? Poseidon stopped mid drink and stared at Jupiter. Why would he want to make a fool of him? Intentions other than what? Confusion fell upon Poseidon to the point he truly did feel the need to drown himself in wine. Forgoing the glass the second he emptied it, Poseidon dunked the entirety of the bottle given to, ignoring any sense of decorum. At this point, caring about what other people thought of him felt idiotic.

The sight of Poseidon downing an entire bottle of wine took the server by surprise the second she’d brought him another bottle. She faltered, but remained straight laced and professional as she placed it down beside him. After a nod, she left and Poseidon resumed his attempt at getting absolutely smashed; he didn’t want to remember this night, didn’t want the hurt of it to wash over him in the morning. If the alcohol couldn’t make him forget, then the hangover would.

”What was my intention?” Poseidon grinned, struggling to release the cork from the bottle neck. He grunted, but flashed the lopsided grin at Jupiter. ”My intentions had nothing to do with you, actually. I had no fucking clue who you were, to be honest. It was purely for selfish reasons: I liked you, I really fucking liked you, and I wanted to get lost in that. I wanted to forget all the bullshit that came with being a god, with being Grecian no less. I messed up, I messed up so much. Ow… fu-fuck. Ahh…”

A hiss left him, feeling his hand seize up. The wine bottle slipped, colliding with his chair and then smashing against the ground. Poseidon immediately fell to clean it up, holding his stiffened arm away from him as he grabbed the table cloth napkin and started padding the spillage. ”I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry,” he repeated under his breath as a waiter came to assist him. With dust pan in hand, she gentle nudged Poseidon away.

”Is your arm okay sir?” she asked, eyes wide as she stared at him.

Poseidon had his other hand in his face, leaning against the off kilter chair with his knees. He’s not gonna cry. He’s not gonna fucking cry. ”Yeah, it’s un… mmnnn, it’s unrelated. I’m sorry. I’ll pay for it. I, uh, fuck,” Poseidon sighed, dejected and certain that if he hadn’t made a fool of Jupiter already, then he certainly had now. If he didn’t think too hard, didn’t look too hard he could stop the spinning and clear the fog that settled on the storm in his mind. He pressed his head to the chair and did his best to slide back up it, wincing at the pain that surged through his left hand.

”I’m just a hack. I’m the only fool here. I thought you’d know that by now,” Poseidon hissed in pain again, wanting nothing more than to leave and drown himself in his bedsheets. The alcohol already slammed into him, though, and he’d been lucky getting back into his chair without collapsing in on himself. Maybe it wasn’t the alcohol or maybe it was combined with being on the verge of a total panic attack.

“Pos– Peter,” Jupiter started, surging forward to help him into his seat. The sight of Poseidon was unfamiliar. Sure, Jupiter was no stranger to drunk sloppy mortals, maybe even some immortals, but he never expected this from his Peter. No, not his. Just Peter. Poseidon.

Unbidden and unwelcomed, concern welled up into his stomach. The way Poseidon favored his arm reminded him of long nights when his mysterious pain flared up. Poseidon, then Peter, always dodged questions on how he hurt his arm and Jupiter let it happen; mortals hurt themselves in so many ways, it didn’t really matter to him how it happened but that it happened. Now, though, Jupiter felt his hackles rise with a sneaking suspicion. How did Poseidon hurt his arm, if he was a god? Jupiter couldn’t ask in the middle of the restaurant, especially with a waitress glaring at him from her spot on the floor.

“I’ll send someone to get our meals.” Jupiter said to the woman, throwing a couple hundreds on the table. God forbid he leave his halibut; he was hungry, god damn it. “The extra is tip.”

With strong hands, Jupiter hefted Poseidon up and slung an arm around his shoulder. Poseidon could drink himself into a stupor, but he wasn’t off the hook yet. Jupiter frowned as he thought back on Poseidon’s words. He would further interrogate him on the drive to Poseidon’s apartment – in wine there is truth. Poseidon was on the precipice of something, Jupiter could tell he was balancing on a tightrope and one wrong word from Jupiter will send him falling, but Jupiter had no intention of holding back. He would ask what he wanted and if Poseidon shattered, well, he’d deal with that later.

“I’m going to take you home.” Jupiter told Poseidon, his face donning a stoic mask. There was a tight feeling in his chest, feeling something like distress, but Jupiter pushed it down and covered it in a blanket or self-righteous anger. “Can you walk?”

”I don’t wanna go home,” Poseidon said, a hushed slur under his breath. He immediately leaned against Jupiter, staring at him with his face in a slack, pitiful expression. Everything spun and Poseidon could only hold on tight to the man hoisting him up. Knots built in his stomach, roiling the contents inside to a lump in Poseidon’s throat; he wanted desperately to vomit, like his panic bid him to, but the sea god held it in.

Of course everything came crashing down the second he ousted himself as a god. His family wanted to use him, Jupiter lost all trust in him, and he’d thrown up more times in this week alone than he had in his years hiding. To think, the therapy worked for him in so many ways and yet this alone toppled all of that down, foundation and all. It tired him. Made him want to crawl into bed and never leave. Made him want Jupiter more in ways he didn’t quite feel confident enough to voice. A stalwart, unshakeable soul laid deep in Jupiter and that provided a pillar for Poseidon to fall to. Yet, he couldn’t use Jupiter like that, especially not now when they fell aground against the sharp rocks of adversity.

”I can walk—” Poseidon said, trying to step onto both his feet only for his legs to bed unnaturally in his mind. He looked down, aghast, only to find that they were indeed okay. He was alright, for the most part. ”Mm-mm, I can’t walk,” he said, looking up at Jupiter in defeat.

”Ah—ow, fu-uuuck,” Poseidon winced, staring at his arm as he tried flexing it. The stress, the anxiety all of it welled up inside and he pushed it down—or tried to—and it came to bite him fully in the ass. ”Sorry, sorry. I’m okay. I’m okay. Well, no, I’m not okay, but I’ll live… I think.”

“Get the valet to bring my car around.” Jupiter tells the waitress, adjusting his grip around Poseidon’s waist. By the time he has hefted Poseidon to the entrance, his car is parked in front with a nervous valet fiddling with his keys in front of it.

“I, er, may have scratched—” The valet starts.

“I don’t care.” Jupiter interrupts, because in that moment he really doesn’t. A car is so easily replaced with his vast wealth, there is no purpose in redirecting his rage over something so trivial.

Jupiter helps Poseidon into the car, and reaches around him to buckle him up. He can feel Poseidon’s breath on his cheek and if he turned his head just right, he could capture his lips with his own. He won’t, though, not with Poseidon in this state. Not now, that Poseidon’s identity has been revealed. Jupiter sighs before leaning back and shutting the door.

It is only when he is in the driver’s seat, pulling from the driveway of the restaurant, that he begins his interrogation anew. “What were you planning on doing, then? You didn’t know who I was, then how did you find out? What were you going to do with the information?”

Funny how things run so smoothly for so long until one small instance turns it all on its head. Poseidon lamented that fact and wanted nothing more than to throttle himself for ever thinking of coming back from the dead. After all, those that die should stay dead, except for the select few risen from death’s chilling grasp. Maybe he’d thought he was the exception. Seeing the simmering heat wafting off of Jupiter’s face, Poseidon could clearly see that wasn’t the case.

”Mmnn,” Poseidon grumbled, staring up at Jupiter. What a sight and what nice, soft lips to just fall into. Yet, the man pulled away like Poseidon knew he would and now he was staring at him with half-lidded eyes and rose plastered on his cheeks. ”What’d I intend to do with what information? That you’re Jupiter. Iunno, probably freak out about the serendipity—wrong word. Coincid… Coinci…. Coin… the weird not-fate but fate thing. I dunno.”

Drunken stupor washed over him in a lake of sweet tasting wine. Oh, he forgot to eat and just slammed down an entire bottle of alcohol. Why’d he do that? Poseidon turned to look at the man next to him. He sighed. Yeah. That made sense.

”My niece, oh she has a business card, haha, so official,” Poseidon rummaged around in his pocket, body fully sideways in the car seat as his hands retrieved the card. Despite the fact that it had her human name and thus identified her, Poseidon still handed it over. He didn’t exactly know if he’d have done that sober, but he certainly wanted to do so drunk. ”Lookit, she wanted me to call her with information and stuff. I dunno what, prolly if you butter your toast or if you’re the one that murdered my other nephew. You didn’t did you? Would you do the same to me? That’s a stupid question. Prolly, I’m no one special, just a stupid… mmf.

”I jus’ wanna be okay for once. I don’t want any of this feud nonsense. I don’t wanna think about Hephaestus dying. I wanna take back the whole god thing and live in obscurity again. Is that so much to ask? I thought I wanted to be with my family again, to stop being so lonely, but…” Poseidon slumped down in his seat, fingers picking at the buttons of his shirt, ”They just wanna use me. Is that all I’m good for Jupiter?” He tossed a look at the man in question, eyes welling up with a ocean deep sadness, something not even Poseidon wanted to truly acknowledge. Yet, the alcohol coaxed that info out of him, brought it to the surface in admittance, ”Is my worth only in how useful I am to someone? And… and when that’s gone will everyone just leave me?”

Poseidon looked down at himself, at the wrinkled, cheap pants and the now wine stained shirt soaking alcohol into his skin. ”Am I better off dead, Jupiter?” Poseidon said, words so quiet and small that he might as well have kept them in his thoughts. Yet, putting voice to them made the reality of his situation all the more tangible.

All Greeks are better off dead, is what he wants to say. When he opens his mouth, dry as cotton, he says instead, "No, never. Don't—" He clears his throat, and his tone becomes commanding and harsh, "Don't say that again. Just, stop talking."

He never wants to hear Poseidon sound so
broken. It makes hating him that much harder, and loving liking him that much easier. He will never admit that to himself, though. His hands tighten around the wheel and he reminds himself silently that he's talking to Poseidon. Fucking Poseidon. Not broken Peter who melts under his touch and arches against him just right; who curls into him until dawn and feels painfully mortal and fragile.

He thinks about using him, pinning him against his niece. Steels himself to do it, knowing that it is what Janus would do, would want, and would benefit Rome the most. The best way to take down the other pantheons. But then he's pulling up to Poseidon's apartment building, a dingy blot against the city skyline, and he remembers that he's not Janus. Jupiter can't do it, can't use and throw away Poseidon like that. It's not an act befitting a king.

"We're here, Poseidon." He wants to call him Peter, to wait with him until he sobers and then take him with a passion. He wants to throw him out of his car, yell at him for being something Jupiter doesn't want, for being a weakness Jupiter can't afford. "I'll help you to your apartment."

The reflexive flinch that caught Poseidon didn’t happen intentionally, neither did the pounding of his heart at the sudden severity of Jupiter’s tone. Yet, how could he obey that command when it had egged him on this entire week. It hurt to think. He didn’t want that; he wanted Jupiter to cradle him in the strength of his arms and will that pain away.

That wasn’t allowed. He didn’t deserve that. All he could do was feel the cold glass seep into his skin as he stared up at the mediocrity he found himself in. That’s all he deserved. That right there, where his finger pointed at, the dirt and grime that clung to the fabric of the world he squalored in.

”Yeah, yeah, uh…” Poseidon opened the door and nearly toppled over. The seatbelt locked against his chest and he let out a breath. ”I think I need some help,” he said, throwing a look at Jupiter.

Even in the haze of alcohol he could see the steel that lined Jupiter’s jaw and the set of his stoney face crackling to the lightning of bitter rage. It never scared him—until now. Beneath that fear lay a thrill Poseidon never could ramp down. The urge to drink that anger away in sweet, wine filled kisses brought him to the other side of his seat. But, even in a drunken daze he knew this would be a mistake he didn’t want to make, even as his hands gripped the edges of Jupiter’s jacket.

”Don’t hate me, Jupiter,” Poseidon said, soft and hushed with the smell of grapes heavy in the air, ”That… I don’t care what happens to me, just don’t—don’t hate me, please.”

Hate is such a strong word. In actuality, Jupiter doesn’t hate the other pantheons - he finds no use for them. Soon, everywhere will be Rome. There’s no need for them, anymore. All Rome needs is the Roman pantheon and...Poseidon isn’t of the Romans. He isn’t of the Romans, and thus Jupiter should have no use for him. How does Jupiter even begin to explain that to this fractured god? How does he explain that he was born a Greek and Jupiter refuses to let the Greeks rise once more? The only way they will work is if Poseidon turns against his own, and Jupiter cannot fathom him betraying his kin. Not sweet, soft Peter.

So, Jupiter gently removes his hands from his jacket and holds them between his own, and softly whispers, “It’s time to let go, Poseidon. I don’t have room for you in my life.”

Abruptly, Jupiter lets go of Poseidon’s hands and unbuckles him. He feels what little he has left of a heart shrivel into a husk, a husk that will only beat when he sees his Rome again. When he is with his brethren as the one true pantheon, the ones who the mortals seek help from. Not Poseidon or Zeus or Ra or whoever else is in his way. Jupiter cannot use Poseidon, his moral code refuses it, so Poseidon does not fit into his plan. It’s a lonely life to lead, but it’s one that leads him to the road of being a King again. To fulfill his purpose once more.

Hate would have stung. It would have sent Poseidon spiraling, but apathy? That pierced his heart until he felt numb. Poseidon let Jupiter move him, unbuckle him, but he didn’t move from his spot in his car. ”I find more and more reason to yearn for mortality,” Poseidon whispered, tears blotting his vision. They fell down silent into his lap. ”To shuffle off into the underworld, to drink from the Lethe and forget all of this… pain.”

His head turned toward Jupiter, stared at him with the prickle of pain in his cheek as he bit down against it. ”I’m in love with you, Jupiter or Augustus. I don’t care who you are. I don’t… I don’t care who you are,” Poseidon said, steel in his voice, ”I just wish you thought the same. I… hope you let yourself be happy for once; be selfish for once.”

Those words hung between them, against the barrier Poseidon knew Jupiter had already erected. Then he stumbled to his feat through the car door, only to tumble into the sidewalk, hand seizing against the pavement. Poseidon grit his teeth as he let himself breath, kneeled against the dour grey. He wouldn’t sob, wouldn’t let the pain of his arm or his heart get to him until his apartment door clicked shut. Though, he let himself crawl forward past the curb to press his feet against the shine of such an expensive, fucking, stupid car and slam it shut before he let himself roll and roil in turmoil.

Nothing, not even the bite of his arm, stung worse than the words so final flung at him. He must have looked pathetic on the ground in the empty street in front of his dumb apartment complex. So, he sat up, tried to crawl his way and stumble to the door of his building. Til he realized he’d dropped his key inside Jupiter’s car. No. No, he wouldn’t go back. He’d just slink inside and wait til the man left. Wait until he could see his car peel down the drive way. Then he’d find a bench outside and sleep on it until Jupiter sent someone to deliver it back. Yeah. Yeah, that’s… that’s what he’d do.

Poseidon slunk into the building, avoiding eye contact with the clerk at the desk though she obviously looked busy enough with her phone. His eyes kept themselves glued to the window, waiting for the distinct sound of money to squeal against the asphalt. To see someone he thought shared his soul fly into the wind and leave him, used and broken like everyone else eventually would. He had no family. He was certain he never did, already tossed them aside a long time ago only to realize they’d done the same to him. Without Jupiter, Poseidon felt truly, truly alone.

𝗃 𝗎 𝗉 𝗂 𝗍 𝖾 𝗋
𝓟𝓪𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓪𝓭𝓮 𝓡𝓮𝓼𝓽𝓪𝓾𝓻𝓪𝓷𝓽 8:00 PM
MOOD: ᴩɪssᴇᴅ ᴏꜰꜰ.

“Yes, I saw it.” His fingers shook with rage as he secured his necktie around his neck, and it felt awfully like a proverbial noose cinching around him. Behind him, his assistant quivered, unsure of what has his temper flaring but knowing it has been lit. Jupiter doesn’t know why his assistant is so nervous, Jupiter has never been the type to take his anger out on his workers beyond clipped tones and some grunt work here and there. “Holding the charity event was a last-minute decision on my part – all the information is provided in the pamphlet I gave you, just iron out the details. And catering. If you choose the same catering as the last fundraiser, you’re fired.”

Jupiter will kill whoever set him up like this. Whoever put his name down for this mysterious event is probably another god and it gives him a lot more passion in finding out how Hephaestus’ body. Once he finds out how to kill a god, he’ll kill the perpetrator himself for trying to sully his good name. To keep up with appearances, though, Jupiter has to act as if this was his plan all along. Even with his employees. In the end, it works out, the charity this mysterious “benefactor” picked out was environmentalist in nature and it would be a chance to improve his image among that community. Hopefully, the masses don’t see the pandering for what it is.

“I have an important dinner meeting tonight.” Jupiter turned from the mirror finally, adjusting his cuffs as he looks his assistant dead in the eye, “I expect no interruptions.”

“Dinner meeting?” The assistant asked hesitantly, flipping through the papers in his arms, “I didn’t have you down for a dinner meeting.”

Jupiter sighed and looked at the faint reflection of his face in his shined shoes, “Did I stutter?” Jupiter didn’t have to explain anything to his assistant, even if his assistant was looking at him suspiciously.

Without saying anything else, Jupiter left his office with his assistant profusely apologizing to his back. For the first time in a while, Jupiter felt dread rise up from his stomach as the elevator plummeted down towards the entrance. His rendezvous with Peter – no, Poseidon – has always been a source of grounding for him. A way to bring him back to the present when he got caught up with his big ideas and the stress of his work, of bringing Rome back. Now, Jupiter has to end it. A Greek has no place in his world, in the world he is shaping, whether his Roman brethren see it the same way as him or not doesn’t matter. The other pantheons cannot rise again and muddy the new tides of Rome and a Greek will never betray another Greek.

When he got to the restraint that he designated for the dinner meeting, it was around 8 PM at night already. A late dinner, as Jupiter had other things to attend to – like getting a surprise charity event put together. Out of habit, Jupiter had chosen a seafood restaurant as he knew Peter - Poseidon - liked seafood. Guess he knows why, now.

The hostess sat him at a table near the back, somewhere with privacy, and began perusing the menu for something light to eat. A heavy dinner will just make him want to puke from the anger coursing through him right now, from Poseidon to whoever this fundraiser patron is.

Everyone wants to make a fool of Jupiter, it seems.

Eastside Café
Hel & Loki

The things that could get Hel nervous in the whole world could be counted on one hand. Most of the time she barely had a grasp on what time it was in the world. Now she was bitterly aware that it was 10:59 a.m. on the 3rd of October. She was also well aware of where she was. The Eastside Café. Under normal circumstances she would have considered it a cozy and sweet place. An excellent place to get lost in a book with a coffee in front of her. Today though she was fidgeting with her phone. The tea before her was steaming but left untouched. Her eyes darted around. Scanning the ever moving crowd. Hoping to spot her father before he saw her. She needed that upper hand. Though she wished she didn’t have to feel so standoffish. There were many things she wished for. To see and hug Fenrir and Jörmungandr… and her father. A small smile formed on the mask that was her face usually. After so many years of her rejecting him, he never gave up. He kept showing his love. It was a dangerous, reckless, fate-tempting love but it felt good to have it. If only she could return it. Of course she couldn’t. The second she gave in to his love, the second she’d return it there would be no turning back. It was simply too dangerous.

Loki, on the other hand, was having a grand old time. With a skip and a hop, whistling a jaunty tune that may or may not be from Hairspray, he entered into the Café. The trickster god loved his children and would do anything for them, but he was under no illusion that they all had their problems with him. They blamed him for not helping them, and truthfully Loki was powerless under the entrails of his child, but it was his burden to shoulder. If they needed him to be the bad guy, well Loki will be the baddest guy there is - yet he would make sure, at the end of the day, they knew they were loved.

“Hel! Er, Astrid!” Loki quickly amended, waving enthusiastically towards his daughter. “How is my beautiful daughter?”

They got strange looks in the cafe, all of them looking dubiously between the duo and their obvious age discrepancy. Loki paid them no mind; mortals always found a way to explain away the impossible. Surely, they’ll just think he’s a stepfather or a lover of a plastic surgeon.

For a faction of a second Hel broke into a full smile when she saw her father, before she pushed all of that down. This was no place for smiles or waves. Not to her. This was serious and dangerous. She didn’t mind his little slip-up though. “I’m good. And you?” She returned the question as she motioned him to sit in the chair before her. The one furthest away from her at the table. In her mind she pushed away the fact that she had found Jörmungandr and that she had sent him a letter. But at the same time she had a duty to protect her snake-brother as well. What if he and Loki weren’t seeing eye to eye? What if he felt the same and wanted to stay away from everyone? What if he hated Loki as much as he would have to hate her? It wasn’t her place to tell her father about her brother. Even if she so dearly wished to. Her own thoughts had consumed already too much of her attention to notice the weird looks of the mortals. Though if she had she wouldn’t have paid it any mind. What did it matter what a mortal thought. In how many decades would they be dead? Five? Six maybe? Eight, if they were particularly robust. What did the opinion of those who lived so short matter?

“I’m having a jolly good time!” Loki exclaimed before moving in conspiratorially, “Say, you should check your mailbox this afternoon. I heard good old Augustus has a present for us.”

Loki leaned back and flipped open the cafe’s menu, his previous deviousness slipping off his facade like it was nothing. That was the thing about Loki, the way he could switch his masks from one thing to the next, like cutting through softened butter. Some people found it disconcerting when they witnessed it, but the trickster didn’t particularly care. There was no point in hiding his ways in front of his daughter, she knows him and knows he’s almost always up to no good.

Hel took a quick sip of her cold cup of tea. Trying to hide the swallow of fear when her father talked about some present from Augustus. Once she had wondered if Loki truly was just a mischievous trickster, or a malevolent creature bent only towards destruction and pain. Ever since Baldur’s untimely demise she had her answer. It was that same answer that drove her to ask him to meet her here.

Slowly she put the cup of tea down, trying to move her body slightly in the chair so there was more distance between them. She bit on her lips as she looked down towards the cup, not daring to look at her father as she posed the question: “Did you kill…him?” He wouldn’t have been the first god he killed. She knew he was capable of that. Had it been some sick joke? Another ploy just to get the Greeks upset? Was he working towards something now? She didn’t know, but she did know that during Ragnarök Loki was at least responsible for many deaths amongst the gods. Was Hephaestus the first one to fall now? The long winter hadn’t begun yet, but prophecies could be vague like that.

"Kill who?" Loki asked nonchalantly, still perusing the menu. He already had coffee, maybe it was time for tea. "Ooh, do they have boba tea?"

It wasn't a trick, his ignorance. Loki was so used to being accused of killing someone that he could hardly keep up. Not to mention Hephaestus' untimely death has been replaced with Jupiter's ball as the most important event in his brain. It was only when he had flagged down someone to take his order (as politely as he could, Loki was chaotic not cruel...ish) that he remembered exactly who Hel could be referring to.

"Oh, Hephaestus!" He practically shouted and several heads turned towards the table; he carried on oblivious, "Of course I didn't kill him. If I were in possession of a god-killing weapon, good ole' Heph isn't the first person I'd visit."

People were definitely giving the two odd looks now. “Could you-” Hel said under her breath, feeling herself get mad. She stopped herself, taking a deep breath. She couldn’t get mad around Loki. it was dangerous for her specifically to get emotional around him. With a new found calm whisper she said: “Could you not speak so loud? I don’t want to be thrown into some mental institution again.”

It wasn’t like Loki wasn’t above testing a weapon out before he used it on Odin on Thor. Her father might appear like a jubilant, somewhat unthreatening fool at times but to her that was all just a facade. Loki was clever. Dangerously clever. Luckily for her though, Loki also wasn’t in a habit of lying to her. If he said that he didn’t like Hephaestus, then he truly didn’t. Strangely though, it didn’t make her feel better.

“Do you… know what could kill a god so suddenly?” If anyone would at least know about the god-killing weapon, it had to be Loki. Loki who had been searching for a way to finish off Odin and the other Aesir for seventeen long centuries already. Loki who would usher in Ragnarök. He had to know.

"Hmm…" Loki tapped his fingers against his chin in fake thought, and his tone turned serious, "The perfect way to murder a god? Ally with them. Make them trust you, need you even, and then rip it all away. The perfect way to murder a god isn't to murder them, darling, it's to make them want to die."

Then, like a switch, Loki's face lit up again and a woman moved into view to take his order, oblivious to the smidge of plotting he divulged to his daughter. He ordered a boba tea and watched her walk away with barely concealed excitement — he really liked boba. With his order taken, he turned back to Hel and threaded his fingers under his chin, a smile on his lips and scheming on the brain.

"Now, do I think old Heph decided to off himself?" He shrugged, "No, not at all. Whatever happened to him is beyond my mental scope of thought."

The way he described the murder of a god. It chilled even Hel. To think loss and pain could be so intense it would render living impossible for a god. She could not imagine it. Not in her own darkest days. Yet here was her father, seemingly intimately aware of it. Did he kill someone already this way? Her mind harkened back the vague memories of gods deciding to finish it. There weren’t many. Which ones were driven so far that they would jump off the ledge? Which one did her father murder?

With his finger on her chin, she suddenly felt like a child again. Looking up at the Aesir in Asgard. A place she had once called home. With her father peacefully beside her. The memory made her close her eyes for a split second even. Back then she was blind to the doom that was getting close with every second. For a split second she yearned for that again. To be amongst people and laugh and drink and just be happy.

Her eyes slowly opened again. No. No no no. Back then she was laughing with blackguards. That life of closeness and warmth was forever lost. Was it? Her thoughts trailed to Jörmungandr and Fenrir. She wondered how it would feel. All of them, together. Set in the same scene as her memory. Laughing and drinking and being happy. For a second she felt that happiness. Then icy fingers wrapped themselves around her heart. For a brief moment the breath she let out came out as cold vapor.

“I really wish things were different sometimes.” She finally admitted, not daring to look at her father as she did though. “The death…it scares me.” It felt odd. A goddess of the dead, fearing death itself. Would she go to Helheim alone? As a mortal? “I know Odin and Thor are looking for whatever weapon killed Hephaestus so they can use it on both my brothers.”

Loki smiled as the server placed his boba tea in front of him and took a long drag from the straw, noisily slurping the tea to the chagrin of their table-neighbors. "Psht, Odin is doing no such thing. The only head he's thinking with is his di — it doesn't matter. Listen, darling, men. ain't. shit." And he tapped his finger against her nose with each word, grinning while he did it. "Especially the Nordic ones."

Though, after his impromptu word of advice, Loki realizes he trivalised his daughter's fear. Loki is a good father, he takes note of these things and tries to communicate honestly with his children, but that doesn't mean he shouldn't help them with their fears. Even if he, personally, doesn't fear it. Because that's what good fathers do.

"Hel," Loki set down his boba tea to signify that he meant business, "I won't let Ragnarok happen. I swear it on my life, I'll do everything and more to stop it. But, we're safe as long as we have the Colossus. Take this time to spend with your brothers; don't fear death, fear not living. It's time to be with your family — we all miss you."

And she missed them. Deeply and dearly. Every day she wished they could all be together. But even now, being here with her father was dangerous. Every bit of proximity could lead to the end of her brothers. She would not be their murderer. “You don’t know if the Colossus is stopping it.” Her words turned icy as her barely thawed heart froze over again. She could miss them, yearn for them and wish for her family all she wanted. But she couldn’t act on it. Every day, she would have to shield herself from her own wants. Because it wasn’t about what she wanted. It would never be about what she wanted.

Slowly she reached over to hug Loki, and in their embrace she whispered: “I love you, dad. I know I don’t show it well or often but I do. With all my heart, I love you and Jorm and Fen.” With those words whispered, she released him from her always cold hugs and stood up, leaving the tea only half-drunk. “Goodbye.” She said, before bolting out of the tea shop. Begging her weary heart to be still.

Loki sighed, sitting back in his chair and taking another draw from his boba tea. He doesn’t know what he should do with that girl, she is as stubborn as he is. Loki sighs again, standing up and throwing some bills on the table for his drink. He knows he should wait for the receipt, but he has neither the care nor the time. Loki has some plotting he must do (and a dick appointment in the making).

a collab with @Legion02
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