* 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐞 / 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤

Many details of Ella’s life still swam in spaces in Pheme’s mind. There were areas and memories Pheme delighted in, and others she cringed inwardly at. One key factor was relationships. She, as Ella, had dated Ty… who was actually none other than Dionysus. And it all felt a little wild to her, but she would never admit that. He had always been the most fun to gossip with, and about. But their torrid high school love affair? Somewhat hilarious. 

Still, she needed him to know she knew. And she knew that he knew, something inside of her told her so. She got dolled up in her finest, ready to prove to the world that the goddess of fame was here to play. She made it to his apartment in record time. Her driver sped across Manhattan, but he was compensated well. “Take a few laps around the neighborhood, Archie. Who knows how long this will take.” 

Her high heels clacked on the pavement as she walked up, and soon, she stood in front of his door, wrapping a beat with her iron fist. “Surprise, darling. The bitch is back.”

Dionysus had been asleep - possibly his favorite mortal pastime, and yawned as the knock on the door roused him from an excellent dream about swimming naked in a lake full of wine. If it were either of the two people he wanted to see - Oliver or Hephaestus - there would have been no knock, seeing as they both had keys, and he rolled his eyes as he realized he was going to have to interact with someone straight from his nap. 

He pulled some pants on (pants being a loose term for the grape-printed shorts he’d recently purchased online) and shrugged on one of his disgustingly flamboyant thrifted robes to answer the door. He hadn’t seen Ella on this doorstep ever in his life before, and between thoughts of what madness could have driven her so far from the Upper East Side bubble in which she lived, there was recognition that it wasn’t just Ella standing here.

“Oh, fuck. Not another one.” Hephaestus, Orpheus, Eurydice, Hades, Achilles, Patroclus, Ares - how many more of the divine cohort was going to show up in his life before anything started making sense. He watched her closely, eyes narrowed as he fell deep into thought. Of course, she was a goddess, he was just having a hard time figuring out which one, until those words left her perfectly painted lips. The bitch of Mount Olympus could be any one of many, but there was only one so brazen so proclaim it outright. “Pheme, darling. Long time no see.” The god of wine looked her up and down. “You did well for yourself in this mortal life, two Olympians - my father will be so proud of you.”

It’s a similar feeling to being wrapped up in Elsie’s embrace, knowing she is trying her hardest, yet hiding something much bigger than the both of them. He didn’t like secrets kept between himself and his lover, but Oli also understood the need for discretion. He was an open book himself, but he couldn’t always expect that from others. He just wished he were in on the joke. He felt isolated in his misery. 

“Why shouldn’t I say it if it’s true?” There was a shred of anger in his voice, though he didn’t really mean it. It’s just that he would, if he could. That’s what his songs were all about; his magnificent, chaotic, beautiful mess of a boyfriend. He didn’t have much to give but with every kiss, every smile, ever strum of his guitar, he proved his faith. “You deserve everything and more. I’m the lucky one here.” He wasn’t fishing for compliments, he spoke it as plainly as he saw it. 

The tears slowed, but they sat, heavy upon his cheeks. There was imposter syndrome swirling around in Oli’s brain, voices telling him he didn’t deserve kisses from such a being. “Not just you, I’m afraid. You’re always there, though. Elsie’s in a lot of them. She keeps falling… I can’t catch her. I can never catch her. Axel’s there… dark and annoyed as ever. Parker’s there, crying over some boy. I think Brant was in there once or twice?” He paused, but a slight smile over took his features. “Adam’s been in a bunch of them… since the whole thing. Which… is weird but also he has been my icon and idol for what feels like my whole life… at least since my dad left. So. I don’t know. It’s… a lot. I feel stupid.”

“Because it’s not.” Dionysus’ voice was desperate. “I wouldn’t do the right things with your worship. And I’m afraid that one day you’ll see that.” His voice trailed off to near-quiet as he let his godhead leak into his farce of mortality for a moment. Haphazardly tattooed arms wrapped tight around the bard. “I’m a jealous creature, Oli...” It came out almost like a whine, and Dionysus squeezed his eyes shut. “What happens when you need to worship someone else?” He was aware he was likely making no sense to Oli, but his tongue felt loose like he’d had enough wine for a whole party. 

Elsie had to be Eurydice, and he knew Parker was Patroclus based on the story Oliver had told him about Austin Pelham actively pursing him. He didn’t know Axel, but he made a mental note to text Hephaestus and ask. And of course, Dionysus hadn’t been living under a rock all his mortal life, he knew who Adam Lake was, but it had been too long since he’d seen a photo. Trying to be as surreptitious as possible, he reached over for his phone on the stack of old Fine Art textbooks that made up his nightstand. A quick search brought up pictures of the musician, and recognition spiked at the image of the god of the sun. Fucking Apollo, that conceited son of a bitch never changed, of course mortality had still made him a household name.

He locked his phone, and tossed it back onto the bed. “Don’t feel stupid - you have no control over what you dream. It will all make sense soon, I’m sure. And until then, I’m here to keep you safe from whatever you see when you close your eyes.” Dionysus worried his bottom lip between his teeth. “When you met him.... did he seem weird to you? Adam, I mean.” Did he remember you? Dionysus wanted to ask.

Every touch is light as a feather. Every kiss is treasured. If it were up to him, Oli would willingly bow at Ty’s feet. He would give up so much for the man he knew he loved, and yet, dreaming of it, in the way he had… it was terrifying. 

Oliver Reed was known for having nightmares. When he was young, his mother would often wake to hear him screaming at all hours of the night. The night time affairs got worse once his father had left. But as scary and sad as all of his dreams had been, Oli could always get through it. He knew he’d eventually awaken, returning to form as Oli, real and true. But something was now palpably different. Because for once, Oli couldn’t see the light at the end of the tunnel. This was it. These dreams were beginning to consume him. And with all of the most important people in his life, he was starting to feel like there was something they weren’t telling him. 

Oli slowly turns, his movements measured and precise. As if an erratic break will tear him apart. “It comes in fits and starts, usually. But I’m somewhere else. It all feels ancient, but there’s this nagging feeling that I’ve done all of it before. I’ve lived all of this before. And you’re always throwing back another glass of wine. Laughing in my face as I pray to you. Kissing your feet as you kick me around.” He pauses, shivering. “But I’d do it, you know? I’d worship you if you wanted me to.”

Dionysus knows the feeling. He remembers the twisted sense of deja vu that came in the hours lying in bed, awake from a nightmare his mortal brain couldn’t comprehend. It all made sense now - since he’d bumped into Ariadne in that bar and gone running straight to Hephaestus like a baby, fresh from Zeus’ thigh, and wracked with childlike fear. He did not envy Oliver feeling it now, but he would take that confusion and stress from him in a heartbeat if he could. 

There was a part of the god of wine that craved Oliver’s (no, Orpheus’) worship, but mortality made him cringe at his own thoughts. His anger at the morning-glories and hymns once left at his altar being given only to his brother Apollo had driven him to do his worst. “You shouldn’t say things like that, baby.” Dionysus’ words were laced with regret, and the kind of foresight that made him cringe. “I don’t need worship from you. I’m not the kind of god who deserves it.” Not anymore, he knew that now. “I worship you already...” Kisses were like offerings at his altar, the drinks he poured him at the bar were libations given in his name, and when Oliver’s songs got stuck in his head to be hummed without thought, those were hymns in their crudest form. 

“Are there... other people you know in the dreams? Or is it just me?” He sat up and curled himself around his boyfriend’s back, pressing apologetic, gentle kisses to the back of his neck and the places where his hair curled behind his ears. His head spun with pessimism - he’s going to hate me when his memories arrive back in full, he’ll run back to Eurydice and spit at my name, I have to covet every kiss, every touch he allows me, before they’re ripped away from me the way I ripped him from life. 

Dionysus had long made himself at home here in the shoebox-sized apartment Oliver called home, and often spent the mornings here after he stayed over, either dozing in Oli's bed or concocting terrifying excuses for food in his tiny kitchen. The sound of the key turning in the lock surprised Dionysus, but he barely looked up from messing around on his phone at the assumption that Oli's extra shift dog-walking had run shorter than expected.

He thought about utlising his secret weapon (also known as the number to Hephaestus' credit card) to buy his boyfriend lunch, and was about to call out to him to ask what he wanted when realisation hit him that the figure in his periphery was decidedly not Oliver at all. In fact, it wasn't really even Elsie, who Dionysus had met countless times as Oli's best friend. When he looked up he knew the woman standing opposite him was of the same world he was from. And he had his suspicions as to her name. "He's not here." The god of wine lifted an eyebrow, and let out an amused chuckle at his own joke as if there were no way to hear it but with humour. “Though I suppose you’re used to him leaving you behind, no?” 

Of course he has to trip to narrowly avoid crashing down on a mandolin, an instrument that he himself brought into Ty’s space. It’s not even that Oli is running away. Orpheus, the demi-god inside of him is actually quite brave. It’s just that the problem at hand is not even something Oliver Reed can begin to comprehend. It’s terrifying and heartbreaking, without even being fully real, and Oliver doesn’t have a clue what to do about it all. 

He remembers the way he sat in Elsie’s place, rocking back and forth through tears, wrapped in her arms. He doesn’t want to do the same thing with Ty. He doesn’t to start any sort of worry, when it’s not even something tangible that he can explain.

But the thing is, Ty is now awake. Calling out for him with concern. Oli can’t just ignore that. And it’s clear to see the tears spilling onto his cheeks, anyhow. Oli turns back, looking over at his beautiful boyfriend, a god in his own right, and the tears just start to pour out. 

“They’re getting worse, Ty. I think there’s something wrong with me.” He walked back over to the bed, sitting on the side, shoulders hunched, body wracking with heaving sobs. “You were there, fawned over, golden and glistening. You had my head on a spike.” 

Dionysus remembers, because how could he possibly forget how it felt to be worshiped. “There’s nothing wrong with you.” He props himself up on his elbow so he can press a reassuring kiss to the warm skin of his boyfriend’s neck. “Dreams are just dreams, it will all be okay.” Dreams were dreams for now, but Dionysus knew they would not stay that way. 

“I’m here now.” In this life Oliver was the golden, glistening one. Dionysus would do anything for him, he knew that now just as he had known that when he was inhabiting the mind of Tyson Virani. But that did not change what he had done once, in the dark, thick wilderness of Thrace in a moment of such extreme jealousy that his mortal body could not comprehend. To be a god was to act as one, and now, he was being made to weather the consequences. That was a far crueler trick than the one that had been played on them all by depositing them into the mortal realm. 

Every sob that wracked Oli’s slight form drove the dagger of regret even further into Dionysus, and like the hairline fractures that collectively destroyed the ancient kraters that had once held offerings to him, he knew that soon the regret would shatter him. “Tell me about the dreams... what else do you see?” His curiosity burned, but he had to know - it was an awfully large coincidence that of all the people to fall into his bed, it was a demigod, but then again he had been raised by the god of the forge, and sold paintings to the god of the dead. Perhaps they were drawn to each other, like moths to a flame even with their wings pinned by whichever force had orchestrated this. 

Oliver doesn’t really know what’s going on. Somewhere inside of him, he knows it’s the middle of a dream, but everything just feels… too real. Like he has lived this life before. Like his lungs have felt this trapped before, and his hands have shown these scars before. Maybe in another life, perhaps?

He sits on a dark red couch of velvet, and he sees Ty, but it’s not quite his boyfriend. He’s smirking, fed grapes and fawned over, and Oli feels trapped. Like he can’t speak? Like he isn’t able to do anything but bow at the feet of his wildly intoxicating man who isn’t quite familiar and yet he knows all too well.

And then suddenly, without even a moment of pause, he is snapped back to reality. Laying in Ty’s bed, shivering for warmth. And like the many mornings of waking up after a restless, seemingly nonexistent sleep, tears are matted on his cheeks, but Ty’s there, next to him, peaceful and breathing. Oliver feels trapped hearing a stirring. He doesn’t want to be a bother. 

He slips his legs off of the bed, barely making a sound, as he lifts himself in search of his clothing. As usual, it all seems to be strewn about, but that doesn’t stop him from looking.

Dionysus dreams like a mortal - in snippets and snapshots and fragile memories that turn sour when he opens his eyes. There’s nothing sour about the sight that greets him most mornings when he does, though. Oliver is beautiful - practically glowing with it in the rays of the sun that fall through the huge windows in Dionysus’ living space. Oliver is everything to him - he’s the paint on his canvases, the music that fills the apartment, the shape of the shadows cast by the musical instruments that had begun to accumulate there.

He was divinity and mortality all at once - the past and the future at war with each other. The thought had crossed his mind in recent days for the first time that perhaps Oliver was not merely mortal. The way he was acting and the experiences he was having seemed so familiar as those he’d had in his final weeks of being Tyson Virani, and Dionysus was on edge wondering who might emerge from the recesses of Oliver’s mind. The god of madness had wronged so many - there was a storm coming and his uncle Zeus the Thunderer had not caused this one for a change.

( Something primal in him knew it was Orpheus laying in bed beside him, but denial or stupidity stopped him from being open to that knowledge - it was too much, too painful, too complicated. )

“Baby... where are you goin’?” Dionysus murmured, watching him through heavy-lidded eyes, bare like a marble statue carved by a sculptor of great renown to decorate the halls of his palace on Olympus, searching the moonlit room for something. “You okay? Come back to bed...” He paused, tasting last nights wine on his own breath, and tested the waters for clues that might aid in an explanation for his suspicions. “Was it a bad dream, baby?”

“You are not my type,” he said, though he needn’t have bothered. The biggest issue for Ares was that he had no way of knowing if the seemingly mortal man in front of him remembered who he should be. He felt similar to the Dionysus he knew, but then he might equally just be another cocky bartender.  Gods knew there were enough of them in this city. It made his head hurt to try and figure out a way to discern the difference. 

If Dionysus thought that Ares would drink his bottom shelf liquor and pay top shelf prices he was absolutely right. Ares had absolutely no idea what either cost. However he had some idea of the difference in taste and he absolutely would not be leaving a tip (not that he would now that he’d been compared to a balloon animal). 

“Missed opportunity for you. Would’ve thought the hens were out for a good time,” He accepted the glass and took a healthy swig. “Easy to be generous when you’re pouring shit.”

“God, I fucking hope not.” Dionysus snorted, they could not all be their father’s sons, after all. It seemed incredible that even in a mortal body, Ares still managed to dwarf him as he had always done. He couldn’t be sure this was his brother, but he had very strong suspicions. 

“Oh they are, and I want no part of it.” Dionysus had better things to do than have his time monopolized by what he considered to be the modern equivalent to a pack of harpies with all the cackling and screeching.

A dark brow was raised in disbelief. “What are you, then? Some kind of expert?” The god of war was many things, but a claimant to good taste had never been one of them, in his little brother’s opinion at least. “That’s kind of my territory around here.”

Oli could hear the exasperation in Ty’s sigh. He was not only extremely intuitive when it came to recognizing the feelings of others, but he also could read Ty so easily, now. His forehead fell to face the ground, and he had to will himself not to cry, once again. He knew how frustrating this all was. Well, that wasn’t exactly true. He knew it was bad, he couldn’t exactly see just how dire the situation had become. How it was starting to hurt the people around him, namely Ty. He wasn’t even going to put up a fight and deny any of it. Not that fighting was particularly in Oliver’s sweet nature; even if he wanted to, he felt too withdrawn.

He sat down, hugging his knees to his chest. He felt like a child, almost. Not quite being told off, but being hit with a wall of concern. “I don’t mean to! I..” He sighed, worn out and sad. “I’m just real strapped for cash. My rent just went up and my piano needed to be re-tuned. And I had to shell out a bit for some medicine.” He wasn’t on health insurance, and a nasty cold at the beginning of the season had rocked him a bit. “Sometimes I don’t notice it. Hours pass me by and I can’t remember that I haven’t eaten.” He felt ashamed of himself, at what he had let himself become. “I just didn’t mean to bring in so much baggage. That’s no fair to you. You didn’t sign up for this.” He gestured to himself, a sad smile playing upon his lips.

“Baby, no. That’s not what I mean. Just... why didn’t you tell me that things were so tight? I could have helped out - you know I want nothing more than to make your life wonderful, and this, this isn’t it.” Dionysus had wanted to ask Oliver to move in with him for a while now - if he kept selling paintings at this rate there’d be plenty of room in his apartment for Oli’s array of instruments, and he could think of nothing better than to soak up every moment that they were allowed to have together before this whole divinity mess caught up with him. But it seemed the wrong time when he had just greeted his boyfriend at the door with a complete dismissal, after days of going MIA. 

“I did sign up for this, Oli. I wanted you, and everything that came with that.” Dionysus crouched in front of his adored mortal lover, and cupped his face in his hands. “I love you Oli, and nothing will change that. I know I haven’t been around as much as I used to, but I’ll be better than that. I’m going to try so hard to be what you need.” He ached with how much he wanted to make Oliver’s life easier; as a god he’d never had to want for anything, but he’d figure out how to meet Oli’s needs if it was the last thing he did. 

“Okay, so we both have our faults. That much is clear. In a way, that has always been clear, I suppose.” She paused, considering. “But you are worthy of love. I mean, clearly. You’ve got a malnourished indie singer tripping over his raggedy shoelaces to get an ounce of your affection.” She chuckled, but she meant it sincerely. And now Ty was in love again, or she thought he might be. It was weird, to see him in a settled and stable relationship. They had both slept around quite a bit, after their situation exploded. But the thought of him fueling his feelings into one other person would have stung if she wasn’t experiencing that same sensation, without him.

She shrugged her shoulders, nodding. “Maybe that would have saved us both some pain. And maybe we would still be as intertwined in each other’s lives as we once were. I miss that deeply, I do. But maybe if we had never had our go at it, we would have never found the people we’re currently trying it all out on. And… well now that I’m in the thick of it, wouldn’t that be a damn shame? Maybe we can find our way back to friendship, once more. Even though you ended up being a shit boyfriend, I’m always a lot better with you by my side.”

“That’s just about all he has.. bones.” She quirked her eyebrow. “Do you feed him at all? Do you need me to set up a charity fund or something? That must be quite concerning.”

Dionysus knew he was likely blushing at the mention of the way Oliver so clearly felt about him. He wore his heart on his sleeve in a way that made the god who he’d so adeptly captured the attention of burn with fondness. It stirred pride in him to know that even from afar, Ella had seen how head over heels Oli was for him, just as he was head over heels for Oli. 

“I’d like that, Ella. For us to find our way back to being friends.” They were looking at a long eternity at each other’s throats when Ella’s memories of being Pheme were returned to her as his had been, and if what she had going with Hephaestus worked out, they would find their divine lifetimes very much intertwined. “For Brant, and for us. We used to be a fucking terrifying team way back when.” Tyson had been better too, when he’d had Ella to have as a friend, as someone to count on, and as someone with whom to conspire.

Dionysus sucked a breath of regret in sharply. “Apparently so. He’s making compromises to make ends meet. I’m working on it though... I want him to be safe.” He couldn’t help but laugh at her suggestion. “As practical as that might be, I think you’d have to hold Oli at knifepoint to get him to accept that kind of help though. He’s stubborn as all hell.”

the reaction is automatic, and he has absolutely no time to even consider concealing it. as soon as the cursed lips of the mad god before him form his beloved’s name, achilles’ body tenses. right away, it is ready for another fight, regardless of the consequences that might follow defying the decisions of the fates. there is something dark, something primal, something angry, in his narrowed eyes as he regards dionysus. he may not be privy to the secrets of the world, but he suspects that, just like the city of troy, dionysusis not fated to fall by his hand. yet with every passing second, the allure of that option increases in intensity.

“you are lying.” achilles announces, suspicion leaking into his voice with each pronounced word. already he had erred by revealing the effect even the mere mention of patroclus’ name has on him. he would not give the god any additional ammunition to be used against him, even if it meant denying that which he holds closest to his heart. “you have not seen patroclus.” he shakes his head. “if you had, your demeanour would not be so nonchalant. given the inescapable nature of your kind, you would be crueller in the way you choose to hold it over me.” achilles pauses as he steps forward, giving dionysus a thorough look before he speaks again. “so consider your offer disregarded.”

atdionysus’ comment, achilles rolls his eyes. “if you have a problem with something my mother did, i give you the same advice i offered hephaestus. you ought to find my mother and direct your complaints to her, for she may actually care.”  the hero explains as his fingers find his phone and fish it out of his pocket. he drops his gaze to the screen, though half of his attention remains on the god. 

“do forgive me for not recalling your birth story correctly.” another exaggerated eye roll accompanies the words. “after learning of, i am not certain, perhaps fifty of zeus’ bastard children, you begin to lose your unique stories. it is simpler to remember a general one.” 

the last statement brings the graceful movements of his fingers to a halt, and he has to exert a significant amount of energy to control the impulsive response on the tip of his tongue. he is quiet, still as a marble statue, before he exhales — and the moment is over. “regardless of your intended meaning, i take that as an admission of inferiority.” his chuckle is a humorless sound. “how unbecoming of a god to lower themselves on the level, and below, of mere mortals.” 

“Am I?” Dionysus snickered, enjoying the fact that this was the very few ways he could tease Achilles like a cat with a mouse in a corner. The boy from Opus was his weakness - and for all Achilles’ mammoth strength, that weakness was mammoth too. Odysseus had sailed for 10 years for Penelope, Eros had tumbled for Psyche, and Menelaus had fought an entire war for Helen, but when Achilles lost Patroclus, even the heavens had shaken with the force of the unhinged screams. 

“I guess you’ll have to take that chance.” Dionysus sighed, feigning empathy that he only barely felt. In truth, Dionysus had seen someone he thought was Patroclus getting off a train he was boarding in Astoria, but he was willing to take a chance on that suspicious if it meant he could make the hero of Troy squirm in his skin. 

“You wound me, Achilles.” He does not look wounded in the slightest. “Such drastic calls you are willing to make to my nature - you don’t know me. If you are looking for cruelty you’ll find it in my stepmother, or in one of more violently-inclined relatives who lurk in the depths of the Underworld. I don’t have time for it myself, it is merely something I inspire in others, I assure you.” He’d had his maenads to exert his cruelty on others, while he sat back and watched the chaos he had orchestrated.

He’d be lying if he said he did not understand perhaps a little of Achilles’ worries. Ariadne had been mortal when he had fallen for her, and now he found his heart in the hands of another who didn’t have ichor running in his veins. “If anything, you should be hoping, wishing that if any god is to find your beloved before you do, it’s me. I’m sure Hephaestus would be much less kind, as would any of my siblings who favored the Trojans, gods forbid it’s Apollo.” Dionysus eyes flashed with smug sort of anger.

“Believe me, I have no intention of seeking Thetis out. When she’s not spitting boorish requests she’s skiting about you, and neither of those are up my alley.” Dionysus chuckled under his breath. “My birth might have been unremarkable, but it was me they chose to ascend to Olympus. No matter how much your mother nagged and begged, she could never secure the same for you. Though I suspect it wouldn’t have made a difference - you’d still have chosen to lower yourself to eternity in Hades’ realm with Patroclus.” Dionysus rolled his eyes.

Calla offered Tyson a half-smile, the corners of her mouth twitching while she shrugged one shoulder. “If you have organic wine, I might take a glass of that,” she said, her voice placating. She lifted the drink back to her lips and took a long pull on it, enjoying the feel of the carbonation as it moved over her tongue. Her ears perked up as she spoke of something else that might be healthier than the other sugary options at the bar. Her brow lifted and she nodded. “It sounds good,” she agreed, willing to try it. Calla did not drink often, but when she did, she usually had the same thing. Perhaps Tyson’s concoction would be worth the risk. She certainly hoped so.

Eyes widened and Calla became increasingly suspicious that Tyson was enjoying making her uncomfortable. She was not certain how she felt about that and she nodded briefly, slightly flustered about the clear allusions to the sex life of people she knew. “ Oh. Um. You’d know better than I would.” [ For all that Calla might be free-spirited, there were some things she preferred to keep private and those who graced her bed were on that list. There was also the fact that her bed had few visitors of late, but that knowledge was for her alone. ] At the question, she let out a brief exhale, slightly relieved that the conversation had taken a turn. “First date,” she said. “Just a drink, really, but we met on one of these apps and I’m fairly certain he’s going to stand me up.” She pursed her lips at the thought and as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, a bit of light left her eyes.

“Well, in that case, this one’s on me.” He said, placing the kombucha concoction in front of her with a sympathetic smile. As a bartender, the god of wine had seen so many dates gone awry, and even more fizzle out before they’d even started when one party decided not to show up. “I bet he wasn’t even worth your time anyway - the kind of asshole that wouldn’t show up for a first fucking date was going to let you down at some point, right?” It wasn’t fun to play with Calla now that she had his sympathy, and he turned his attention to being quietly supportive in any way he could. It’s what Oli would have wanted him to do, he thought. 

He watched Calla with curious eyes as he mixed a mojito for another customer, his hands going about the motions like they were innate - and for a god like Dionysus, they partly were. “So, on a scale from one to ten how hot was he? I need to know the extent of the situation that we’re mourning here.” 

Rolling his eyes at his brother’s state of undress, Hephaestus tossed his keyring on the counter next to the wine bottles. “You say that as if you don’t have my credit card number memorized,” he shot back, though there was no real heat in his words. “I particularly enjoyed the charge from Good Vibrations Adult Store on 7th Avenue – no, I don’t want to know what was purchased. And if that wasn’t you, I clearly have a bigger problem than you raiding my bank account as well as my refrigerator.” He moved into the kitchen, searching for a mug so that he could make some coffee that was up to his standards. “I can’t believe you’re eating that shit,” he remarked, glaring at the cereal box on the counter as if it had personally insulted him.

After finding a mug – and washing it – Hephaestus started a pot of coffee and leaned against the countertop. He chuckled at Dionysus’ antics and at the question, his brow arched. “Indeed,” he drawled, tempted to make a joke about the demigod’s identity but finding it much more amusing to wait. “He’s pretty, but thin as a stick. Thought he was going to cry when I told him I’d pay for his dinner. The boy still only got a grilled cheese.” The thought still appalled Hephaestus and he shook his head.

Dionysus nodded as if to say touche, and took another dramatically large spoonful of cereal into his mouth. “Oh no that was absolutely me.” He grinned. Honestly, he could have paid for that particular purchase from the adult store himself, but the sheer novelty of Hephaestus finding that on his bank statement was too funny to pass up. “Let’s just say Oli should be thanking you for more than just the meal in the bar, if you know what I mean.” He wriggled his eyebrows in a way that he knew would make Heph roll his eyes at him. “It tastes good, and it powers this little mortal flesh prison just fine. Let me have this; it’s the closest thing to ambrosia I can find.” 

Dionysus sucked air in through his teeth. “Yeah, he’s um... he’s not doing so good at the moment. He’s really scraping it to make ends meet, and I don’t think I’ve been helping. After all this god shit came flooding back, I don’t really know how to act around him so I’ve been pulling back a little.” He winced at the admission of his own less than admirable behavior. “I’m surprised he let you feed him - he’s stubborn as he is pretty. But thank you, I know that would have meant a lot to him, especially when I’ve been singing your praises since day one.”

entering briskly elbows greet the counter, leaning body casually into the structure.     “ tyson, love, ”      features taught with her usual discuss for those around her….. smooths.    ( slightly ) 

the promise of an unquenchable thirst to be greeted on her horizon.    “ the usual, if you will. accompanied three times that. ”   this wasn’t her ideal spot to unwind, no, her apartment was.     but her apartment was also on the other side of town whereas tyson just around the corner.   ❄   @bacchantboy​

Dionysus loved to see a familiar face - especially ones from Tyson’s life that had been fellow deities all along. It made sense, seeing Colette here in all her crisp, cold, stark beauty, that she had been the goddess of the snows all along. 

People had used to pray to him when the frosts from her breath had come too early and ruined their grape harvests, but Dionysus bore his distant relative no ill will. Did she know? he wondered, and he intended to find out. “Anything for you, Colette, darling.” He smiled as he rustled up her usual and slid it over the counter. “Rough day?”

“Whiskey. Rocks.” 

He wasn’t a big drinker. When he’d been fighting he’d been careful to watch his diet and many of the habits had stuck. However many social occasions were easier for indulging in one or two and that evening he was supposed to be meeting someone at the bar. 

When he looked up, however, he was surprised to see just who was serving him. Dio-fucking-nysus. He’d discovered there were other gods about soon after his own memories had returned and he had recognised Aphrodite as one of his fans. Generally he’d tried to avoid them, not yet ready to give up his little cult of fans or Aaron’s comfortable life. He had enough money to do as he pleased, he could fight whenever he wanted, and he didn’t have to answer to Zeus.  He had no great need for anything to change. 

He reminded himself that he didn’t know for sure that Dionysus had his memories back and if he didn’t, then Ares wasn’t about to try and do anything to bring them back. 

“You’re not as pretty as the usual bartender. Why don’t you send her over?”

For what it was worth, Dionysus didn’t mind working the job he’d had as an unaware mortal. He was in his element, so to speak, and there were worst ways to spend a night than getting paid to make madness through intoxication within the bar’s patronage. It was awfully humble, and disgustingly mortal, but he had always been closer to the humans than the rest, giving them grapes and wine and overseeing their harvests. 

Every once in a while a figure would walk into the bar that lit a flicker of recognition in him - so far it had been mostly minor deities, nymphs and the like. Certainly nothing to write home about (read: sneak into the back and send a barely coherent text to Hephaestus), but when he looked up into the familiar dark eyes of his divine half-brother, that was just what he wanted to do. 

There was no certainty that he had his memories, and after the Hades fiasco, Dionysus knew to tread a little lighter - a little. “Oh we both know that’s not true.” Dionysus taunted as he reached for the bottle of bottom shelf whiskey that he fully intended to charge Ares top shelf prices for at the end of the night. 

“We have a deal - I deal with the big alpha dudes with balloon-animal muscles for her, and in return she looks after the cackling hen parties that I’d rather die than speak to. So no, mate. She’s not comin’ over here.” He slid the glass of whiskey across the bar and gave his sweetest baby-brother smile. “But you’re lucky - I’m more generous with my pour.”