#weirdlyobsesslyname

(Guess who finally finished their pen design) :D

The soft murmur startled Nobody before he realized who it belonged to.

Nobody thought he would have greeted with anger, hostility and hate for the man who chose himself over his crew, not that gentle, hopeful voice of a man who missed him.

Then as Nobody turned to look, he realised, it was not his own right hand man. This one belonged to a version of him no doubt better than himself.

And it seemed Eurylocus acknowledged that.

However, he still smiled with kindness at a monster

"Ah, Seems i mistook you for someone i knew personally....but, it seems you might have known him aswell..."

"I did...he's passed a long while ago." Nobody looked away from his gaze, trying to convince that the mighty Odysseus has disappeared and left nobody in his place.

"I see..." Eury paused for a moment before continuing. "Well then, do you mind keeping me company in his absence? It's been a while since I've met anyone that still remembers my brother."

im going to bed it's like 4am and I'm sick. Catch you later.

Eurylochus may not have greeted him with anger, hostility, and hate... but the same cannot be said for Nobody. It took everything in him to not push the feelings onto this version of his once co-captain. They were not the same- he knew that. Logically, there are no similarities in the slightest. But this version of his brother was alive. Breathing. And he couldn't condemn the dead, but the living...

Nobody had to look away. He had to. He could feel it. Feel the ways his eyes were burning with each passing second. It wouldn't be fair. It wouldn't be fair to blame a Eurylochus so far from his own. What would it accomplish, truly? It wouldn't make him feel better. It wouldn't make him mortal again. It wouldn't bring his family back.

They were both stuck chasing ghosts.

He keeps himself turned away. It was clear that he wasn't planning on staying. "For your sake..."

so maybe a short interaction will do? (This is an Au Poseidon by the way, fair warning)

~......................................................................................................~

Poseidon loomed above Nobody, his gaze sharp and unrelenting, the corners of his mouth tugged downward in a quiet scowl. He had braced himself to confront a monster—some twisted echo of the stories whispered by gods and mortals alike. But what stood before him was no beast.

Instead, he saw a man hollowed out by grief, his shoulders heavy with the weight of choices that could never be undone. A man cursed not with immortality alone, but with the agony of remembrance—of watching flames consume everything he once held dear, of surviving when so many had not. A man who had lost not just comrades, not just home, but the very shape of who he used to be.

Everything.

"You look like shit," Poseidon said, voice flat as stone, his frame relaxed against a marble pillar.

Nobody—Odysseus, the protector of Ithaca, the man who had outlived legends—let out a dry scoff, the sound brittle as old parchment. He didn’t bother looking up, his hands busy carving a fresh set of arrows with practiced ease, each stroke of the blade precise, almost meditative.

"Wow," he muttered, sarcasm curling around the word like smoke. "I would’ve never guessed. Thanks for the divine insight."

“No problem,” Poseidon replied, his voice edged with the same sharpness that lingered in his gaze. But then, almost imperceptibly, the bite in his tone dulled—like a wave pulling back before it crashes. “You still carry the blame, don’t you?”

Odysseus didn’t hesitate. His response came fast, brittle, like a snapped bowstring.

“How could I not?” he growled, eyes flashing with a fury that had long since curdled into guilt. “It was my arrow that lit the match. My hand that set the gods in motion. You think I don’t feel it every time I breathe?”

He paused, the air between them thick with memory and accusation. Then, with a bitter twist of his mouth, he added, “Don’t you still loathe your version of me—for what I did to Polyphemus? For the blindness I inflicted, for the pride that cost us both?”

“Do not speak of what you do not understand,” Poseidon said, his voice smooth as polished stone, yet laced with an edge that could cut through steel. Though his tone remained composed, the faint twitch in his jaw betrayed the storm gathering beneath the surface—a silent fury held in check by centuries of restraint.

A crooked grin tugged at the corner of Odysseus’s mouth, his voice laced with venomous amusement. “Ah,” he drawled, eyes flicking up to meet Poseidon’s, “looks like I struck a nerve.”

The mockery hung in the air like smoke—taunting, deliberate, and sharp enough to draw blood.

The old king of Ithaca pressed on, his barbed words flowing like saltwater through a wound. Each taunt was deliberate, sharpened by years of bitterness and defiance. He mocked the god of the sea with the reckless abandon of a man who had nothing left to lose—his voice laced with venom, his eyes daring Poseidon to strike.

“Enough!” Poseidon roared, his voice echoing like thunder across the chamber. In a blur of motion, his hand shot forward, seizing Odysseus by the throat. The impact as he slammed the immortal into the stone wall reverberated through the marble, sending cracks spidering outward like lightning across a storm-dark sky.

Dust rained down from the fractured stone, but Poseidon didn’t flinch. His eyes burned with fury, ancient and unrelenting.

“You know nothing of my world,” he snarled, each word dripping with contempt. “You speak of pain as if it’s yours alone to bear, bitter king.”

His grip tightened, divine strength pressing into immortal flesh, and for a moment, the air itself seemed to hold its breath.

Poseidon leaned in, his face inches from Odysseus’s, the air between them thick with salt and fury. His voice was low, but it carried the weight of crashing waves and centuries of wrath.

“You are a weak, foolish man,” he said, each word a blade honed by divine scorn. “You cling to your guilt like a lifeline, as if dying in your own grief is nobler than facing what remains.”

His grip around Odysseus’s throat tightened, the pressure enough to make the immortal’s breath hitch. The fractured wall groaned behind them, dust trembling in the air.

“I made my peace with the past,” Poseidon spat, his eyes gleaming like storm-lit seas. “But you? You drown yourself in it—over and over—hoping it’ll wash away the blood on your hands.”

He paused, gaze locked with Odysseus’s, voice dropping to a whisper that cut deeper than any shout.

“You are a spineless coward,” Poseidon murmured, his voice low and venomous, like the rumble of a distant quake beneath the sea. “Too afraid to move forward. Too scared to face what’s behind you.”

With a final shove, he released Odysseus, letting the immortal crumple to the fractured floor. The god’s hand lingered in the air for a moment, trembling with restrained fury before curling into a fist.

“At least my Odysseus,” he continued, voice laced with bitter pride, “had the spine to be feared. To be respected.”

He stepped back, the weight of his words crashing down like a tidal wave, leaving silence in their wake—heavy, suffocating, and impossible to ignore.

~..................................................................................................~

This is why i don't write when i'm tired

Do you wanna get hit with a brick building? :]

I promise to kiss it first. ❤️

This is why my Poseidon called ody a spineless coward.

I promise you i am working on my designs