The Party Don't Start Til I Walk In

daddy issues || w/marcie

tw; abuse, prior trauma, depression

Marcel, though known for his amazing skills and creativity as a cook, was rather dumb when it came to expressing himself and his feelings. The blame for his current predicament with his father rested solely in his hands, and he knew it. His life was miserable at that point in his life that he made such a regrettable mistake. His parents broke him down daily, threatened him nightly, and it left him truly broken without any self-worth. His father did not deserve to associate with him, or at least, that was what he believed. Small whispers convinced him that maybe even the abuse would stop, but he found this to be not be the case. Instead, he had just lost the one person who loved him unconditionally.

The only thing that kept him living was the deep-seated level of spite that willed him to enjoy life to its fullest as a means to spit in the face of all those who desired to break him. It was his final act of resilience. Yet, he did not feel he could do that without his father in his life. His heart had not felt whole since the moment he spurned his father, and now, he had a chance to try and refill that hole if Dionysus cared to allow him. 

Marcellus did not know how to approach this subject, and he feared rejection too much to be able to confidently speak with his father on this subject. So, he tried to connect to his father in the most rebellious means. He lingered onto the words of strangers about his father, and currently, he stood in his father’s bar, purposely allowing himself to get in the way of danger for just the ability to hear his father’s voice. 

By the time Dionysus arrives, Marcel is moments from getting absolutely destroyed. Though, this was not something new. Marcellus was a professional at getting into fights that he could not handle, and he knew this group would have done so. Marcellus was not above getting hit to get Dionysus’s attention. Because by now, he had grown accustomed to the pain of punches.

At the sound of his father, his heartbeat speeds up. It is in that moment he is thankful for the person before him, because if it was not for the need to uphold his stance, the oppressive wave of sadness that rocked his shore would have pummeled his ego. Marcel grits his teeth. It appears to be an attempt to control rage, but for him, it is to try and prevent any tears from escaping. 

“I guess you can say that.” He finally managed to state, unable to look over at his father. “Don’t worry. We will just take this out so you are not disturbed.” 

It had seemed like the other man - older, bigger, probably stronger - was about to answer, probably some excuse about how Marcel had been the one to start things (which would have been true even if Dionysus didn’t want to admit it), when the sound of Marcel’s voice punctuated the roil of noise in the bar. Marcie had never been an especially loud kid, but Dionysus’s ear naturally hung onto each and every sound that came from his son’s mouth. He would have heard Marcel from across an amphitheater in the middle of a heavy metal concert. The divine powers probably had something to do with that, but Dio liked to think it was the fatherly love that did it.

Fatherly love, the extent of the patience of which was currently being tested, stretched like taffy.

The group of men certainly seemed keen to take things outside, to teach this arrogant child some manners in the only way men like them knew how, when Dionysus stepped slightly in front of Marcel. He looked each man in the eyes, his own glowing like a fresh and vivid bruise, a bloody Cabernet. Deep pools of blood-red wine that flicked from man to man. Each one saw the world before them twist, the god before them contort like the most horrible nightmare. They saw eyes open where eyes shouldn’t be. They saw lines they had only ever seen straight warp into spirals. The building itself stretched impossibly one moment, then became cramped and too full of demonic half-people the next. Nothing changed, but the inside of each man’s mind became like an individual and hellish Wonderland. Dionysus had sent each through the looking glass for mere moments. When they came back to the real world, Dionysus grinned a Cheshire Cat grin.

“I don’t think that’s necessary. Do you?”

Each man looked down at his shoes as he mumbled an apology and scuttled away like a little insect running for shelter. Dio inhaled deeply, then huffed heavily in deep exasperation.

“Why? Why do you always come in here and pick fights?” Dionysus now turned his eyes on his son. They had returned to their normal shade of eggplant, light and blueish now that they had lost their edge of insanity. “Do you like fighting so much? You’re not good at it, I’ve seen you fight, kiddo. We aren’t built for scrappin’-” he was going off topic. “Or do you just hate me so much you wanna make my life harder however you can?”

if i could do it all again (i know id go back to you) || w/that motherf*cker

(...)

“you’d wait for me? every time?”

the answer is obvious already, but somehow he wants to hear it said again, like the words dionysus will speak next might just change the entire course of his life from here on out.

If he didn’t know the demigod so well, Dionysus would have thought he had broken Sveinn somehow. The other looks a bit too much like a clock that has stopped ticking. Or...no. He looks more like a clock trying desperately to tick, but there is something caught in the mechanism, so the second hand vibrates the slightest bit as it tries rhythmically to move forward but is stopped each time by some jam. It makes Dio think of the rainbow pinwheel that twirls on Mac computers while the rest of the screen is frozen in place.

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The words hang heavy in the air after Sveinn speaks them, a voice so familiar yet so distant to Dio that it sounds like something he has heard a million times only in dreams. They hang like a thick winter coat. They hang like a bone-chilling fog. Like fingertips clutching the edge of a cliff for dear life. Like the final note in a music hall that rings for endless seconds before the applause begins. They hang and hang. And the god lets them as we wonders at how he wants to answer.

Because he has already given the answer. It’s obvious. A million times, in a million different ways, it would always be the same. He’s pretty sure Sveinn already knows that. So he thinks on how to answer, on how he wants to answer and how Sveinn deserves to be answered. Not straight forward. Dionysus has no need of the word ‘yes’ when so many others exist.

“Hmm,” he hums into the warm skin of Sveinn’s neck, as if he’s still thinking. “I think...I’d wait for you until the day you tell me to stop waiting. And then one day more.” With that, Dio pouts even though Sveinn can’t see him. He’s hoping maybe the other feels his lips brush against his neck so lightly that Sveinn’s not quite sure whether they’re there or whether he’s imagining it. Dionysus is hoping Sveinn wants it to be true.

Then he smiles, another whisper-brush of lips on neck.

“But like, maybe take me with you sometimes.”

shittalk! at the disco

          His eyebrows furrowed, Minsung was even more confused by that. The other doesn’t look like a demigod at all but then again, who is he to judge? He realized that everyone here can do a thing or two out of any mortal comprehension. It was not just long ago that he found out that he can actually make people do stuff for him by just speaking to them, if he wanted to, that is. Minsung doesn’t know what it means to be a child of a god, his mother was never present to explain it to him and his father unfortunately died before he could explain to him further about it. 

          “Unkie?” he repeated, he doesn’t remember having a funky cousin like this. But just like the other has said, his family tree had just gotten a lot more complicated to the point he barely remembers who is who. “I thought your name is Dio, where did Unkie come from, donkey?” he asks, taking another sip of his drink but he gives up that idea halfway and drinks everything instead. Minsung’s lower lips jutted out, making a natural pout as he glanced towards the other, even shrugging him away to have some distance from the drunken god. 

          “Why do I have to tell you first, you asked it so you have to tell me first. Why do you have Aphrodite so much?” Well, he imagined a lot of scenarios on how terrible his mother was, especially her being the goddess of love and all. But he was rather curious on why the other hates her a lot, he didn’t think that anyone would be so bluntly hating her like this. 

There was nothing quite like confusing demigods with his own existence. They always think they know everything, so when you’re relatively well-known as an immortal with a seat on the high council of a pantheon and throw out the fact that you’re a demigod, well, it’s a bit cute to watch the kids get confused. Dionysus had never really been the type to discuss the reason for his immortality nor the story behind it, but he definitely saw the appeal of throwing out random tidbits while giving no explanation whatsoever.

“Charmer,” Dio snorts at being called ‘donkey’, but then, “’Dio’ and ‘Unkie’, ‘Donkey’, Huh, you’re a real wordsmith.” The god rolls his eyes, but there’s a silly smile resting on his lips. “Okay, so your mom is, technically and unfortunately, my sister. Which makes me, technically, your uncle. Or something. The name’s Dionysus, Dio for short, but you can call me Donkey.” Dio laughs again, somewhat of a barking thing that stirs restlessness into the air around them and the mortally-inclined bar patrons. Just a harmless taste of what the god can do.

He watches Minsung down his drink with an approving nod. At the insistent question, Dio’s good-natured smile falls into a grimace that he half-hides behind a drink of his own that seemed to appear from nowhere. “She used her magic to ‘inspire’ me rape an innocent woman, your turn.” 

if i could do it all again (i know id go back to you) || w/that motherf*cker

the god crumples into him, head slowly moving down until it can hide away in the crook of his neck and then the rest of the body seemingly follows, sveinn moving to wrap his arms around dionysus. he rubs his lover’s back with gentle motions, the comfort of someone holding him who has no intention of pulling away anytime soon. but then he never did have that intention and yet he left again anyway. he knows he is like broken glass and people end up cutting their heart on him, but what is he to do when he’s never known a different way of living? right here and now, with dionysus so broken in his arms, he hates the world that made him into who he is.

“i will leave again,” he says eventually, after a long moment of silence between them, nothing but comfort and touch there. “it’s what i do. i have told you this.” he lifts his other hand to gently card fingers through dionysus’ hair, not to try and bring it back to something less messy, but simply to add a little more comfort to his hold, to make sure the god knows he’s right there, his presence outlined by his gentle touches. they have always been so gentle with this man.

“you shouldn’t let me break your heart like this again.”

he’s not saying dionysus shouldn’t take him back, more warning the god off of thinking it’ll be different this time, but then dio will interpret it the way he will and there is little to nothing sveinn can do about that. except be more clear, but that would be presuming, and for all dionysus is a crying mess right now, sveinn might just be the weaker one in this situation.

“even if i want you to take me back.”

“I know.”

It’s a groan, a low groan, one that has the sudden fire of anger and indignity and Dionysus doesn’t want Sveinn to think that he’s angry at him, because he’s not even if he is, so he pulls back the slightest bit with a flickering purple fire  burning in his bloodshot eyes as he looks into Sveinn’s. In a sudden motion, one meant for frightening things away rather than drawing a loved one in close, Dio’s hands shoot up to Sveinn’s face. There’s no sound to it besides the rustle of fabric. All at once Dio’s hands cup Sveinn’s face, far too tenderly for the reds and purples that now dictate Dio’s own face and the god looks both angry and resigned.

“I know you will. I know who you are, Sveinn.” The god huffs almost too playfully for the seriousness of the moment. “Just, like, send me a fucking text message or something! Let me know you’re going! Where, maybe! When you think you might come back, even! Just fucking tell me you’re disappearing and I’ll fucking wait for you, you idiot!” He shakes his head. “Just. Tell me you’re coming back.”

With a sound that’s more frustrated whine than angry growl, Dionysus throws his arms around Sveinn once again and lets fresh tears spill, tears more of relief than anything else.

“Coulda just sent me like, one text. For someone so smart you’re so dumb sometimes.” After so long without having done so, Dionysus nuzzles into Sveinn’s neck and breaths the familiar scent deeply. “I don’t want anyone else to break my heart. Just you.” 

Touch | Dionysus & Hades

Dionysus jokes with him about the affection and he allows a small smile at it, even though he’s never been in any way the kind of person to join this suggestive joking his family seems to so often think of as normal. He does blame Zeus for that bit, if he’s honest, but then any blame he puts on his brother falls away in the light of the love he has for the man.

But Zeus is beside the point now, because that’s definitely not a name he should be uttering in Dionysus’ presence, and the maniacal giggles that shake the atmosphere of the bar with their sound are bad enough as is. He shakes off the aftereffect of them with a simple motion of his head, after which he follows his nephew away from the bar and into the back. Of course Dio goes for the wine first, but that is absolutely fine to him, and so he simply waits in the backroom for Dionysus to comes back from wherever he hid them - Hades does not presume to think he is allowed to know the secret hideout.

It doesn’t take long for Dionysus to indeed return with a bottle of wine in hand, already tugging on his arm and he follows easily, up the stairs to what he presumes is Dio’s living space, though he has no idea where his nephew lives - does he have an apartment in the Manticore building as well?

It’s Dionysus’ words that bring him back from this train of thought and he smiles softly, easily bringing up his free hand to pat his nephew’s head. “Pets and scratches,” he promises. “As long as the wine is good and you’re talking to me.” He smiles warmly, but that hint of worry still hasn’t left his chest, because for some reason he feels like Dio is not alright at all, though he can’t fathom why.

The space that Dionysus drags his uncle up to is essentially a very cozy lounge space. It technically serves as the employee lounge, but Dio has told his staff that they can bring whoever they like up here as long as they trust them. Thus, the lounge has turned into an eclectic collection of mismatched plush sofas and chairs, stacks of old vinyls beside a big chunky antique record player, and the occasional bottle of very expensive alcohol or, in some cases, a well-loved hookah or bong. The words “stoner’s paradise” might spring to mind.

Thankfully, the room doesn’t smell like the smoker’s den it seems to be, since - mostly due to the fact that he hates the smell - Dionysus has the room deep cleaned weekly. Only the slight stench of old tobacco with overtones of grassy weed remain. It’s tolerable if nothing else.

Dionysus carefully stands his bottle on a sprawling little coffee table before procuring two crystal wine glasses seemingly from thin air. With those also seated by the wine on the table, Dio makes quick work of dusting off the old bottle, uncorking it, and pouring out two perfect glasses of wine approximately the color of fresh blood. He swirls both glasses, exposing the liquid to fresh air for the first time in many years, then finally hands one to his uncle. With his own cradled in his palm, Dio flops down on the closest sofa without spilling a drop. 

“Whoa there, Unkie! C’mon, lets get’cha to the toilet.”

With the way Hades was swaying and groaning, Dionysus didn’t think it would be long before the older god would be physically and, potentially, violently ill. Better to get him somewhere where the sick wouldn’t bother the other patrons or ruin the rug.

“Not everyone can be me, Uncle Hades. Even gods have their limits. Other gods, at least.” Halfway gone him self but able to magically control it much better all things considered, Dio acted as a rather effective crutch for his uncle. ‘Crutch’ was maybe even a bit generous, since Dio was doing his best to half-drag Hades to the Feelgoods bathroom in the most dignified way possible. Hades would probably appreciate that later. If he remembered, anyway.

When he finally had Hades kneeling on the floor by the open toilet, Dio rushed out to quickly return with a full glass of water.

“‘Kay Unkie, down this, yeah?”

“Marcie...” Dio started with his hand on his son’s shoulder.

It had taken several uncomfortable seconds for the god to decide whether to put his hands on Marcel’s shoulder. It seemed like a very fatherly thing to do, but Dionysus wasn’t exactly known for his fatherliness, and Marcel didn’t seem like he had wanted any contact - physical or otherwise - with his father since he had unceremoniously ejected Dionysus from his life. But it felt right and Dio thought it would look good from an outside perspective, so hand on shoulder it was.

“You are more than welcome in my bar. In fact, I would love to see more of you in general. I know you don’t feel the same way but... well, anyway, I know you hate me, but you shouldn’t take that hatred out on innocent- well, non-involved bar patrons, you feel me? If you’re mad at me, take it out on me, yeah? I can’t let you stay in the bar if you’re gonna harass customers.”

watch yourself, kiddo @mpxmarcel

The appearance of his son in his bar always gave Dionysus mixed emotions. On the one hand, it meant that Marcel didn’t hate him so much that he was avoiding his presence completely. If Dionysus didn’t know better, he might have though Marcel was coming to Feelgoods so that he could be closer to his father. But no. Marcel had made it abundantly clear all those years ago that he wanted nothing to do with his father. 

But that didn’t mean the father wanted nothing to do with his son. It was for this reason that Dionysus always kept at least one eye on Marcel while he was in the bar. For one thing,.Feelgoods was more of a frequent haunt for the less savory types on the island. It was an unusually night if there wasn’t at least a screaming match or some pre-fight macho posturing going on. It wasn’t the sort of place a father might want his son  to hang around, but Marcel was his father’s son after all. Looking for trouble ran in his blood.

That did not mean, however, that Dio wouldn’t step in if something potentially dangerous involving Marcel was starting to go down. It was just this sort of thing that caught Dio’s attention from across the room. From what the god could pick out over the music, it seemed that Marcel had been the one to invade the space of a small group of rather rowdy regulars. Some insults were exchanged. Dionysus heaved a deep sigh as he watched the group of men rise to get into Marcel’s face, leaving his station behind the bar to cross the room and try to deescalate the rapidly escalating situation. He started by giving Marcel a side eyed glace before looking back and forth between the parties.

i missed you

@mpsveinn

If Dionysus had been mortal, like he had always been meant to be, he would have been the sort of person that people write heartbreaking poetry about, and very much the sort that people name storms after. The ichor of wind and lighting personified flow through his half-human veins and the human parts of him burn with the energy of it. And at some point, his half-human body can’t contain the tempest and it explodes out of him with gales and static that had eventually turned the god’s apartment into the approximation of what the inside of his head look like at the moment. It isn’t so much that things are broken - of course there had been some collateral damage, a shattered mug here, a splintered chair leg there, scattered bits of ripped paper like snow - as much as things are all over the place. All the right things are there, but nothing is quite where it belongs. 

Like Dio’s mind, as he stands there having torn apart the place he calls home. He looks ever inch the son of his wrathful father, and he knows it, and he hates it. Yet he stands there, eyes bloodshot and glowing a venomous purple and leaking a torrent of fury and pain that he tries in vain to wipe away before they can betray his weakness. But Dionysus knows he is weak. He knows that Sveinn knows he is weak. And he hates it. He hates all of it.

(Almost all of it.)

Looking halfway to a betrayed and vengeful Medusa, newly lengthened hair whipped into a frenzy, Dionysus stands and waits for...something. He waits for Sveinn. He can’t even find it in himself to flinch as the fingers begin to cradle his face. He can barely find it in him to move. But move he does, just a little, the creases of drunken rage smoothing as Sveinn gets closer. The tears don’t stop - there never has been and never will be any hope for Dionysus as anything besides a crybaby. Sveinn knows that. He knows that Dio will make a mess of things. Hell, Dio is a mess of things. He’s a god with a human heart.

With a throaty, broken, child-like whine, Dionysus takes a hesitant step forward. Slowly, carefully, he lowers his face into the crook of Sveinn’s neck and releases a final sob, a quiet and aching little thing.

“I want...you...to stay...”

Yes, that’s technically true. But there’s more there, isn’t there?

Or, the first time, continued

Or, the time when I admitted it

Rather than try and continue the conversation, one that Dionysus has seen coming for some time now, the god simply walks on by his past lover. He doesn’t want to talk about this right now. Even after all the time he has spent thinking about what he could possibly say to Sveinn, his brain turns to frantic patterns of color and not much else when he finally sees the man.

It has taken Dio several agonizing moments to realize that the shapes in his head will not condense into thoughts, into words. In this time he has stared into Sveinn, stared through him as though only the thought of him stood before him. But Dio can’t pretend forever. The blissful existence of a ghost living his own life is over.

Now it’s time to deal with the fallout.

Or at least, it will be.

“Knew about your powers? Yeah, duh. One drama god to, like, the kid of another, that shit speaks volumes. If anyone’s gonna see that kinda thing in you, it’s me. So lucky you.” While verbally accosting random strangers on the street outside his bar was about as frequent an occurrence as the sight of the smoking cigarette currently hanging from his lips - which is to say, not very frequent at all - Dionysus had his moods. Besides, he had been wanting to meet other ‘theater kids’ for a while now, and the other one he knew of on the island didn’t seem all that friendly. Something about that girl threw him off.

But this stranger seemed decent enough. His charm seemed genuine and didn’t have nearly as much of a shadow hanging behind it. He was also new to the island, as far as Dio could tell; the kid looked like he was having a bit of trouble finding his way around. Dio could more than sympathize with that particular feeling.