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There are times where Odysseus doesn't consider what he did as a 'victory' for the king of Ithaca.
He lies in bed next to Penelope-unable to form mere words to express his gratitude for all those who helped him get back home. He is eternally thankful to find her warmth again after 20 long years, after nights of storms and after facing the wrath of the gods, after suffocating guilt and agonizing emptiness. He survived, and how he is with her, their sweet and now grown boy under the same roof as them.
And yet those stormy nights still haunt him. One of them in particular haunts him the most, as his mind seems to delight in tormenting when he attempts to rest. He recalls rain splashing into murky seawaters, clouds thickly veiling the moonlit sky. Odysseus recalls his body being soaked as he emerged from the sea, form aching as his feet slammed into stone.
And though his body stung, though his eyes drooped with exhaustion and aching determination, he ran. He ran until Poseidon was down, ran until he was face to face with the god of the seas, until the god in question had lowered his guard enough with only pride as a defensive wall, and until Odysseus could strike.
And may Zeus forgive him, he struck.
And he continued to do so, whatever little shame he may have felt slowly and suddenly being replaced by determined rage. Rage that poured out straight from his soul and heart, rage that had been compressed for ten long years, rage that had been compressed since Poseidon drowned more than half of Odysseus' crew. The trident was unforgivingly heavy in his hands as he stabbed it into Poseidon's divine flesh, yanking it out and pushing it back in almost immediately after. Unfortunately for the son of Kronos suffering beneath him, the trident did not come out as smoothly as it went in, little bits of flesh being tugged away from Poseidon's body as his own weapon did so.
Golden ichor painted the weapon that was of the same hue as Odysseus continued his rampage with not a trail of mercy in his thoughts. Mercy. How Odysseus had begged for it from every god he knew of years ago. And now he was shamelessly stealing it away from the god he'd begged for it the most from. The trident dug in and out of Poseidon's flesh enough times that the god had began to cry and sob, the cacophony of miserable wails wracking his frame. Odysseus did not stop, ruthless in his wake as Poseidon once was.
But then the god faltered, begging for mercy once more and admitting defeat. A strange and sickening sense of pride had washed over Odysseus the same way a tidal wave washes over shores. Poseidon had been out of breath, his utterly humiliating tears subsiding as he asked how Odysseus would ever succumb to the open arms of long deserved sleep again. Odysseus simply responded that upon return to his home, he would not only reside in sleep's open arms, but also the arms of his kingdom, son, and most and utterly importantly, his wife's.
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Dionysus is not stupid. He is aware of his family's sickening and nauseating history. He is aware of the horrors his father, stepmother, and uncles went through. He is aware of the kind of man his father can be, and the kind of man he was raised to be. He is aware of how his father became a god, and the admittedly disgustingly shameful truth behind the source of their immortality.
Immortality does things to a man. Godhood does more. Being in control of the entire world does worse.
Since childhood, he never saw his father as a bad person. Dionysus was the youngest out of his supposed 'siblings', and was explicitly loved by Zeus more than the others. The 'love' seemed to only increase as the others left, which, unfortunately, only left three residents on Olympus (with one of them only being considered a resident because of how often he visited...that being Dionysus himself):-Zeus, Hera, and Dionysus. And aside from Hera's-well, existence, Dionysus truly did enjoy seeing his father. He enjoyed hearing Zeus' laugh, enjoyed seeing his dad brighten anytime Dionysus visited, and-petty as it was-enjoyed seeing his dad defend him from Hera, because it proved Zeus cared.
But life was cruel. And the agonizingly long life of a god was even crueler. Perhaps, Dionysus thinks, that's why certain mortals willingly leap to death when life gets too difficult to bear. When he first heard of how mortals kill themselves, he'd been horrified, but now he...understood. How naïve, how stupid, how painfully childish he'd once been, desperate for his father's attention like some stray dog. And yet at some point, Zeus seemed to show sympathy towards the dog in question, even if it was a rugged and hyperactive puppy who was constantly chomping at his ankles.
It's raining, so Dionysus sees. Rain drops patter onto the stone ground and streets, gray-black clouds thickly covering the once bright blue sky. His father is angry.
He still feels it. He still feels the sharp and stinging cold tip of the knife against his throat. He still feels his father's breath on his face, still sees the anger radiating behind brown irises. He still feels his father's head close to his shoulder as Dionysus confessed how he helped Orpheus getting into the underworld. He still feels dirt on his nails as he dug Dennis' grave with his own hands. He still-
He still feels everything. Everything he's gone through with his father, both good and bad. Good. There was good at a point, wasn't there? When Zeus had practically dragged Dionysus inside to keep watch over his tantrums' results, and when they'd been in Crete, and-
...
But evil conquers good, doesn't it?
Perhaps, Dionysus thinks, there was no good in the first place. He never asked to be a god, but he was made one. Why wouldn't anyone want to be a god? Being a god meant eternal life, eternal power, eternal expectations, eternal torment if one got their hands on you, eternal-well, everything. Eternal good, eternal bad, being a god was all about eternity. And people liked that! But only the good side of it. No one cared for the inconveniences that came with actually being a god, and an olympian one for that matter.
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Perseus Jackson has been through many things.
He has been through many, many things. He has been through what the mortal eye could consider 'normal'. He has been through bullying and tormenting, he has been kicked out of schools, and he has fought gods and titans. At the mere age of 12, he made it to the underworld. At 13, he crossed the sea of monsters. At 14, he held up the sky. At 15, he made his way in and out of the Labyrinth of Daedalus. And at 16, he-
He fought the Lord of the Titans.
But was it really worth it? Percy thinks sometimes. Was succumbing to being a demigod worth what came with it? Was it worth the danger, the expectations from the gods themselves, the absence of a half that should've been whole from the moment you were born?
Poseidon was that absent half. Though Percy didn't see him as a bad person, he had no shame in admitting it either.
A children's father is meant to be there from the moment their child is born. Yet the gods-they didn't care, did they? Most of them, at least. They simply hooked up with mortals and let their demigod children suffer. They got demigods to fight for them, put demigods in danger, didn't take demigods seriously-
...Percy had still fought for them, hadn't he?
It had been one of the most terrifying experiences of his life, but he didn't regret it. Did he? He doesn't know. He does, however, remember victory, he remembers the feeling of his invisible shackles being broken, remembers the exhaustion and well-deserved rest that came afterwards, remembers the well-deserved praise and thank yous that came afterwards, remembers his father's bright smile, remembers the pride in those sea-green eyes, remembers-
Remembers his father hugging him. Warm and strong arms, the scent of the sea breeze wrapping around them, and for a moment, Percy had forgotten how to breathe. For the five years of his demigod life, he'd tried so hard to remain...respectful, to his father, as if Poseidon was not quite literally his father but simply a god (Simply? Ha.). But his father had hugged him, the same way a father hugged a son. And perhaps, in Percy's mind, that made everything worth it.
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