ＤＡＭＯＮ ＣＡＳＴＥＬＬＯ 28 vineyard owner
fugitive ༺ ＤＩＯＮＹＳＵＳ ༻
god of wine, revelry, theater, ecstasy & madness ○○○ take me some place ruled by the law of DESIRE where we can dance you and dance you and never tire. a person may be HIGH, a person may be low, a person may be rich, a person may be simple, all the same dionysos will wrap his arms around you. it’s not about ❛ intellectual prowess ❜, it’s not about true and false, it’s pure RELEASE. in dionysos’ nights and days you can find peace.
━ ━ say no and he will hate you.
It would be easy for her to write off what he was trying to tell her as just a spur of the moment he tended to feel. While his eyes said otherwise, his actions had always moved to push her away. For him to change his mind and come back to her, for him to say this, it is hard to believe. Her life had been spent in shadows, always watching and never participating, as it had been with him. The only time she ever felt like he truly accepted her was when he chased her through that forest when she had seen that small glimpse of desire when she asked him to run away with her. Not that they ever could escape what was asked of them.
Even as she began to revert back into what she had felt before this, to all those rushing emotions she experienced just by catching a glimpse of him, she still doubted. She never really imagined herself being with him, as it had always been a fantasy in her eyes. He would always, always find another to sate him for s century or two, and she’d be left to clean up the mess when it was over. It was surreal; Aisa didn’t know how to handle surreal.
“I don’t want you to leave.”
As soon as she speaks, it’s as if a dam breaks, and she’s grabbing at his hands on her face and pulling him closer, fingers curling into whatever fabric, skin, she could find. “I don’t want you to leave me.” She repeats it, but with fervor this time, hiding away her expression in the nape of his neck. He had never let her touch him like this, except for that one night, so this is as much a test as any. She almost half expects for him to push her away, but he doesn’t and she begins to cry against his collarbone as if it might stop the onslaught of tears.
But then she pulls away, abruptly, hands upon his chest and averting her gaze so that he did not see how red her eyes may be, even in the dark. “I don’t know, Dion. If you give yourself to me now, only to move on to some fleeting princess, I can’t…” Her eyes narrow, her fingers curl into the palm of her hands, and soon she is tensing up as if realizing all the possibilities that this could hurt her, much worse than before if only because she finally had a taste of him only to have it taken away, if ever.
Relief paralyzed him when he saw the emotion swell in her again, and so it took him a good second to react to her sudden embrace. When his body finally caught up with his thoughts, his arms quickly coiled themselves around her, all but suffocating her. It felt strange, holding her this close to him when he was so used to keeping her at arms length, but it was a good strange-- the kind of strange that he used to call a nuisance, but the kind of strange he missed whenever she was gone for too long. “I won’t leave you,” he murmured against her hair, but when he felt the dampness of her tears seeping into his skin and heard her muffled sobs, he couldn’t help from feeling a little overwhelmed himself. “Believe me, I won’t,” he repeated, the shakiness of his voice making the words sound more like a plea this time. He wanted her to stop crying, but more than that he wanted her to believe in what he was saying.
When she pulled back, he saw the dark cloud swirling inside of her head, drenching her hopes with all the terrible outcomes she could neither confirm nor deny. It must have been difficult, being able to foresee all futures but her own, to be torn between faith and doubt in the absence of certainty. He knew by the way she started to detach herself from him that she was inclined to let the doubt win.
‘If you give yourself to me now, only to move on to some fleeting princess, I can’t...’
Dion took her clenched fists into his hands, placing a gentle kiss on her knuckles, hoping it’d coax her frigid fingers to unfurl for him again. “--No man, woman, mortal, god, nor any other living creature on this planet is going to take me away from you. I’ll be yours for as long as you’ll have me and even when you decide you don’t want me anymore, I’ll still be yours,” he assured, voice firmer this time, and though there was an undeniable warmth in his glacial eyes when he spoke, there was also a faint tincture of madness. “Say you’ll be mine, and you’ll never be rid of me.”
It was a warning as much as it was a promise. People often forgot that his curse didn’t always look like bloodied teeth and carnage; just as hatred sometimes drove him to madness, love could do the same and there was no doubt that his possessive and obsessive tendencies would manifest themselves at some point if he wasn’t careful. It didn’t give him too much cause for worry though-- not with her. He knew she’d be as crazy about him as he would be about her, and perhaps their reciprocated madness would be the thing to keep them balanced, not the thing to break them.
“Other than the project, I had no intention of speaking to you for the rest of the year, so how I look at you shouldn’t be that big of a deal.”
It might have seemed harsh to other people, but she only aimed for the truth. While she knew first impressions weren’t always accurate, his hadn’t been exactly flattering. Besides, even if she had felt forgiving after, she didn’t see the point in making some new connection with the new kid when this was her last year here, and she didn’t pin him for the type to stay in contact with old pals from school.
She thinks, for a brief moment, that maybe he understood she didn’t like to be played with under any circumstance, but the smile that spreads across his lips is all but promising. What he says next has the blood rushing to her cheeks, words stumbling out of her mouth to try to defend herself, “No, I just take my school work seriously, and — ” She cuts herself off when she realizes that his words aren’t entirely inaccurate. To avoid any further embarrassment, she keeps her mouth shut and simply narrows her eyes at him, dangerously; it seems like such a drastic change, from seemingly tolerant to potentially ready to whack him over the head with her book.
Despite her irritation, she takes some pride in the fact that she managed to get under his skin ( she already had been festering under there since the party, if she let herself acknowledge that ) when she mentioned his mother. That hadn’t been her intent, to spark undesirable feelings, but merely because she was, in fact, sympathetic. She studies him as he goes through the emotions, and it’s so fast she might have missed it, if she wasn’t observant by nature. He certainly hadn’t healed yet, and he wouldn’t if he didn’t let himself grieve properly. Squaring her shoulders, she stores the information away for later, as if gathering intel on a new thread she may have to eliminate later.
The nickname doesn’t even register at first, despite the fact that only four people called her that, and none of them were Henry.
“Oh.” Her lips shape the word perfectly; sardonically. She could ask for his number and call him later, sort out the details then, but she felt it would be easier to do it face to face — much easier to keep him from getting distracted. “How about you wait for me after school, and we can go to the town library? No ice cream allowed.” She smiled then, sickly sweet, a gleam in her eye that said she wasn’t denying the challenge but she wasn’t going to go along with it either just because he teased her. With an overly dramatic sigh, she swings her hand up to her wrist where an old watch rested, tapping her finger against the glass —
Her hostile words might have convinced anyone else that pursuing any sort of friendship with her was a lost cause, but Dean told himself that all her hostility was merely a defense mechanism. He might have made himself out to be a mess at the party, but her wish to shut him out completely after one moment of drunken misunderstanding, even after he apologized, was a bit unreasonable. There had to be something else convincing her to put a mile between the two of them-- perhaps the fear that she’d actually grow to like him if she bothered to get to know him, he thought. After all, it’s much easier to go on believing that her first impression of him was all there was to his character because then she could justify her need to keep away from him, but what would she have to stand behind if his good impressions start to outweigh the bad?
“C’mon, seriously? The library’s like the worst place to hang--work on a project, I mean,” he quickly corrected. “-- The air’s dusty, the lighting’s horrible, and you got a grumpy old woman, presumably named Gertrude, shushing you every five seconds.” He thought his argument was pretty solid, but after she lifted up her dainty little wrist to look at her watch, he realized her stubbornness was even more so.
‘Give me an answer in: 1, 2, 3...’
“--Alright, fine,” he blurted out, accepting defeat with his hands held up in the air, and while he might have been disappointed by her ‘no ice cream’ policy and the designated setting, there wasn’t much else to complain about. All he really wanted was some one-on-one quality time. “It’s a date then,” he teased, pushing his weight off the bookshelf until he was standing upright again, and just a little too close for comfort. He’d blame it on the limited space provided between the shelves, but the subtle glimmer of mischief in his eyes when he smiled down at her made it obvious that his actions were all intentional-- anything to dig himself further underneath her skin, maybe even see that rush of heat fill her cheeks again. “I’ll meet you by your locker after school.”
She’s never really understood why the boys of this school followed a stranger hierarchy of testosterone, but she wasn’t about to let herself be written off as ‘Henry’s girl.’ With a sharp breath, she finally meets his gaze and acknowledges the sincerity she sees there, knows his words — however clumsy they may be — do mean to earn her forgiveness. Even with the honesty she is faced with, even though she knows he tells the truth, she can still hear the girls that sit behind her in class giggling behind their notebooks about the latest boy in school, saying he was a reckless, wild child - not to mention all the warning her mother sent her off to school with the first week he got here.
Oh, she certainly knew enough about him to form her own opinions, to know that he was bad news, for her and her mother. ( “Just watch out for him, Annabel. His father is a sniveling, drooling piece of - sorry, dear. Just be careful.” )
She also knew that she was assigned his partner in their English class, and that he hadn’t attended very many lessons since. While she was very good at telling herself otherwise, there had been a part of her that had perked up when she first heard his being listed off, but whatever enthusiasm she may have had quickly diminished when she saw his behavior from the party wasn’t all that different from how he was sober - or, at least, that’s how everyone made it sound.
She answers his question with one of her own: “Why?” Why did he feel the need to go out of his way to apologize? Why did he seem so sincere about it? Why was he still standing there?
While she stares, her scrutiny hard and intense, she relents. “My name is Annabel Wick,” she offers her hand then, politely, though there’s a gleam in her eye that says more than it should, “And your partner for English class; you probably don’t know since you’re rarely there, or rarely conscious in said class.”
She could have done it all on her own, and she would have been fine. She could’ve told the teacher that he was a great help, that they were a team, and they never would’ve suspected a thing, but she was as honest as they come, and if he wanted a do over, she was giving him a way out.
“I’m sorry about your mother,” she offers lamely, abruptly; condolences are clearly not her thing as she’s never had to experience said loss before, but she’s heard, of course, of his misfortune. Everyone’s /heard/. It’s her curiosity that has her saying it, because what boy acts like this when his mother just passed? Despite her curiosity, she does feel sympathy for him, far more than she should, and it has her finally looking up to meet his gaze, to reluctantly embrace the nostalgia that fills her when she confronts those baby blues without wavering.
“I just — I want to know if you will take this seriously,” she looks away again at this point, the muscles in her neck flexing as she swallowed her nerves back down — the sort of nerves girls refer to has butterflies. “If you want a do over, then help me. If not, I can get by without you… I just need to know.”
“Why?” he repeated her question, fumbling for a proper response since normally people never questioned apologies, and the way her eyes bore into him with such heavy distrust and scrutiny only added to his unusual nervousness. This girl was landmine and he knew he needed to tread carefully; anything that came out of his mouth could’ve been cause for offense. “I don’t know-- maybe because I don’t want you to look at me like that for the rest of the year?” The sound he made then could have passed for a light chuckle (his go-to cop out whenever things start to feel a little too intense), but it wasn’t very convincing; the hurtful truth of his statement made it rather difficult for him to really find much humor in it. He knew his reputation preceded him and while some loved him for it, there were others who avoided him as if he were a contagious disease, spreading trouble and misfortune where ever he went, and he didn’t want her to be grouped in with the latter.
Fortunately, she warmed up by a degree, offering him a name-- which he recognized immediately. He might not have paid attention to politics much but he knew the mayor’s last name-- only because she was the main point of discussion in his father’s conversations with his stepmother. Dean wasn’t sure why that new piece of information piqued his interest so much if it was just another reason for him to keep his distance from her but maybe that was it-- what he shouldn’t want was always precisely what he wanted.
By the time he shakes her hand, his grin has taken up nearly half his face for a list of reasons: one, she gave him a handshake (something he considered extremely formal for someone her age, but as amusing as it was, he mostly thought it was cute); two, they were assigned a project together (a clear sign that the Big G. was shining down on him for once, giving him the perfect excuse to spend time with her); and three, she just sassed him (meanness, as he had come to understand since kindergarten, was an indicator of hidden fondness). “Pleased to meet youpartner. I’m Dean Leonhard-- but you probably knew that already since you clearly pay enough attention to me to notice my absence in class...” he said, not even bothering to hide how much he was enjoying this.
Her condolences weren’t expected-- at least, not in that moment-- and so he wasn’t prepared for the grief swelling between his ribs. He can’t be sure if she really means it or just feels obligated to say something, but he still relies on his unnatural ability to throw on masks, refusing to show any signs of discomfort. “Nothing to feel sorry about, it’s not like it was your fault,” he shrugged, trying his best to remain indifferent, but the slight tightening of his jaw betrayed his strain. Just as it started to feel like he’d finally crack, his features lit up again, as if a flip of a switch was all it took to get him from one mood to the next. His way of coping with pain was the same way he coped with every other problem-- by pretending it wasn’t there-- and his logic was that the longer he could pretend he was fine, the easier it’d be for everyone to believe it, himself included.
“Relax, Bells. I think you underestimate what an amazing partner I’d be,” he chimed, leaning against the bookshelf with his arms crossed indignantly, but her lack of faith in him did little to diminish his excessive confidence in himself. “I’ll take this project very seriously-- so seriously, in fact, that I’m even willing to ditch next period to work on said project with you... and maybe get some ice cream?” he suggested innocently, but the slight cock of his dark brow seemed to indicate that his suggestion was more of a challenge-- or rather, a test to see how willing she’d be to ruffle some of her feathers, maybe even break that streak of perfect attendance that he just knew she had. “What d’you say?”
“I just can’t believe you’re telling me you actually saw—”
“What if you had never seen the sea before? What if the only thing you’d ever seen was a child’s picture—blue crayon, choppy waves? Would you know the real sea if you only knew the picture? Would you be able to recognize the real thing even if you saw it? You don’t know what Dionysus looks like. We’re talking about God here. God is serious business.”
In Greek mythology, maenads were the female followers of Dionysus and the most significant members of the Thiasus, the god’s retinue. Their name literally translates as “raving ones.” Often the maenads were portrayed as inspired by Dionysus into a state of ecstatic frenzy through a combination of dancing and intoxication.
Love was a bloodsport--a losing game-- and they only managed to start winning after they finally decided to step into the ring together
.
#02 – HURRICANE
Aisa sees it in his eyes, that violet swirl against a sea of crystal blue, and it grows darker the more his anger culminates; she knows what comes next, knows that just like any force of nature, there’s no stopping his madness from tearing down everything in its wake, but he doesn’t bear the burden alone-- while he readies for war, she readies her shears and when his storm finally passes, leaving nothing but dread and guilt behind, she swears to him: ‘this was meant to be’
#03 – HERO
There was always that crippling fear when he came back from battle that she’d judge him, recoil in disapproval, make him loathe his purpose as the others did before her, but she understood the importance of his battles and regardless of how he went about winning them, he was a savior worthy of worship, and little by little she became his
.
#04 – MEMORY
He knows she still wonders if the memory of his lost lovers haunt him, if he ever fantasizes about different universes-- perfect universes-- where someone else is waking up next to him, and he wishes he could find the right words to convince her that curse or no curse, she’ll always be his first choice-- there won’t even be a second if he has a say
.
#05 – BOX
She could see the gruesome match perfectly clear from the box seats of the Colosseum, as could every patrician surrounding her, but she doesn’t cheer when the gladiator drives his spear through a pouncing tiger like the rest do, nor does she miss the woman in front of her whispering something about paying her weight in gold to spend a night in bed with him; instead, she watches this so-called ‘barbarian from Gaul’ fall to his knees in defeat despite his victory and sees perfectly clear who the real barbarians were
.
#06 – RUN
The more personal things got between Blondie and Angel Eyes, the harder it was for her to watch him dangle from a noose in the middle of a crowded square; after her bullet manages to cut through the rope and save his neck ( like it always does ), she takes the time to breathe, but relief won’t come until her partner-in-crime is out of the sheriff’s shooting range
“-- run faster, you crazy son of a bitch!”
.
#07 – WINGS
Alice wasn’t kidding when she said she was terrified of flying, but when Danny wrapped his steady hand around her trembling one, asking if she wanted to see his hysterical celebrity impressions in an effort to distract her from the plane’s turbulence, she realized her fear wasn’t really flying; it was falling... crashing... burning.
.
#08 - COLD
It’s almost soothing, the feel of metal against a sweating temple, but the gangster knows there’s nothing to feel soothed about-- not when a madman’s got him tied down, staring straight at him with eyes so cold and clear they were almost as colorless as the moonshine he smuggled-- “Tell me who took her,” he demands with an unsteady lilt in his voice, just a twitch away from losing his fucking wits and pulling the damn trigger-- the stench of alcohol lingers in his hot breath, a reminder that he hasn’t stopped self-medicating since he lost his girl.
.
#09 - RED
She was Henry’s date, but this was her favorite song and Dean refused to let her sit by the punch bowl; one dance turns into a dozen as her boyfriend’s still nowhere to be found, but she can’t complain-- not even when the music slows and he's pulling her in so close that all the Sisters chaperoning the homecoming are compelled to whisper a little prayer for them ‘ -- You look beautiful -- ’ he says to her for the millionth time tonight, and when the blush still doesn’t fail to light up her cheeks, he decides red might just be his favorite color on her
.
#10 – DRINK
Dion always sought Aisa’s opinion first when concocting a new wine, but lately doubted her honesty-- “It tastes like donkey piss” she notes bluntly, still recovering from the bitterness of the drink and she’s surprised by how wide his grin begins to stretch...
“-- that’s because it is. “
.
#11 - DREAM
He had only ever seen her in his dreams, as if she were some ghost from another world haunting him with a reality he could never have, but as chance would have it, he sees her one day standing on a roadside with a suitcase in tow; she asks if she can hitch a ride with him to the nearest train station and, being too spooked to give her a proper response, he just props the passenger door open, never daring to take his eyes off her lest she disappears
.
#12 - MIDNIGHT
He’s painting a wicked fairytale with the brush of his lips and the stroke of his tongue against the canvas of her flesh; she’s begging for a happy ending
.
#13 - TALENT
Dean delivered his lines with such desperation and need, such fervent passion that all the directors were definitively convinced he was born for the role despite his lack of experience-- but then again acting wasn’t so hard when you really were helplessly in love with your opposite
.
#14 - MUSIC
“Wait wait wait wait wait-- listen to this one first-- me mum used to play it all the time--”
“-- That’s what ya’ said about the last five records,” Alice laughed, but she didn’t mind the fact that they had yet to listen to a song all the way through; she was just glad to see Danny find his obsession for music again; all it took was a trip back to the record store where it all began
.
#15 - SILK
He looked so peaceful in his sleep, so beautiful that she felt the need to touch him just to make certain that he was real-- that all of this was real-- and when she did, her fingers combed through his rich little curls so smoothly it was as if they were made of silk-- just like his father’s
.
#16 – COVER
The gladiator should’ve known something was off when the Pompeiian noblewoman, who claimed him for the night, asked if he wanted anything to eat ( he took it as a sign of nervousness-- maybe she’d never done this before; he remembers being told that she only recently married her husband, and it was a little odd for her to take on a lover so soon ), but he’s been subjected to this too many times and has no patience for pretentious hospitality -- so when she walks back into the room, he’s already stripped himself bare, everything about his posture resembling less of a seducer and more of a tired slave who wants to get his night of work over and done with already, but she nearly drops his plate of food in her surprise and averts her gaze to the ground; when she finally finds her voice again, she quietly asks him to cover up, says that’s not why she asked for him
.
#17 - PROMISE
“Ye’ promised to stay on the ship--”
“You promised we were in this together,” Damon countered, stepping over the dead knight who probably would’ve sliced his head clean off had Ana not found him when she did, “-- that means you can’t ask that I stay safe while you waltz straight into danger; if we’re going to die, we do that together too.”
.
#18 - TEMPTATION
She’s only seventeen and he’s old enough to be out of college, he reminds himself, but the devil on his shoulder tells him she’s seventeen and seven-eighths-- that’s ‘ practically ’ an adult-- and the way she stares at him from the passenger seat of his T-bird with those big olive eyes, the way her skirt rides up her milky thighs when she props her feet up on his dashboard... well, she’s practically screaming ‘ touch me ’ but he’s gripping the steering wheel just a little tighter instead to make sure he maintains his resolve
.
#19 - CANDLE
Danny had one job, and still somehow managed to screw it up -- “but if you flip it over” he defends, sticking the decorated candle into the middle of their son’s homemade birthday cake “ -- the 9 can pass for 6″
.
#20 - VIEW
"How can you be so sure I’m the one you want if you don’t even bother to give anyone else the light of day?” she asks, still hoping for the sake of her drumming heart that Dean’ll say something to prove how fickle his affections were and stop her from making a terrible mistake, but that would’ve been too easy
“--If you saw the things I see when I look at you and felt the things I feel when I’m with you, you wouldn’t be asking me that question”
.
#21 - SILENCE
Moments like these, he doesn’t need words to help him find reality again; her gentle grip on his shoulder says it all: ‘ It's just a cruel trick of the mind, but I’m here, and I’m real ’
.
#22 - JOURNEY
It’s a miracle that he’d ever let someone else take the wheel of his baby, but they have a hundred miles ahead of them still, and he wanted her to feel the engine purr at her command, to whip a thousand pounds worth of pure American engineering down the open road without any regard for speed and feel the surge of freedom and excitement that he lived for
.
#23 - FIRE
The fires building into an inferno and he’s trying not to think about how fucking good it feels to be trapped inside her heat-- but her walls finally crumble around him, she curses his name, digs her claws into his blazing skin, and the thick black smoke of his own arousal rises up and chokes him until he’s reduced to nothing but a breathless pile of ash -- he might have been born from fire, but by the gods every time he lays with her, he dies from it.
.
#24 - STRENGTH
He didn’t look like a brute or a savage, and perhaps that was why so many people questioned how he managed to come out of the stadium undefeated even after facing men and animals twice his size, but she sees there’s an elegance to his strength; a killer instinct that one could only be born with; a fluidity that resembled that of a panther stalking it’s prey and none of his foes realized just how deadly his pounce was until it was far too late
.
#25 – MASK
Nothing in her face betrayed her fear, it was a mask of defiance and surety--
“-- Come on, Blondie; Just tell me straight up, it’s lookin’ bad ain’t it?”
“-- You’ve had worse,” she reminds him, examining the leaking bullet holes on his leg, “--and you’re not about to die on me now so brace yourself ‘cause this little bugger’s comin’ out”
A sterling silver, cigar-band style ring I’ve carved with undulating and intertwining grapevines, featuring two clusters of grapes and one leaf. I’ve applied an antique finish to highlight the details.
I think I fell in love with her, a little bit. Isn’t that dumb? But it was like I knew her. Like she was my oldest, dearest friend. The kind of person you can tell anything to, no matter how bad, and they’ll still love you, because they know you. I wanted to go with her. I wanted her to notice me. And then she stopped walking. Under the moon, she stopped. And looked at us. She looked at me. Maybe she was trying to tell me something; I don’t know. She probably didn’t even know I was there. But I’ll always love her. All my life.
Neil Gaiman, The Sandman, Vol. 8: Worlds’ End (via thelovejournals)
He knows that be can trust her to give him the truth — clear, ringing honesty -— even if it hurts him.
#02 HERO
He is different to her because he is neither hero or monster, but something in between; he is the liberator of the oppressed with a madness that exhilarated her — he can set her on fire with just a look and she can’t get enough.
#3 MEMORY
He has no memory of his mother other than the ridicule he receives from those who question his divinity; sometimes he is glad of it, and other times he finds himself despising her for her naivety, but mostly he just misses her — but how can you miss someone you’ve never met?
#04 BOX
He thought to give her a gift once — a set of shears crafted by a eminent artisan ( they were floral print, a stark contrast to how deadly they truly were ); he keeps them in a box now, not enough courage to see her face to face after so long to give them to her, too afraid by the thought that he should even want to; he breathes out and pulls Ariadne flush to his chest as if it might help the loss he feels that he can’t explain.
