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 Posted: Tue Mar 28, 2017 7:13 pm
  
Lights out was always good. For about an hour, you’d hear inmates still chatting or banging each other off in the distance, but it was usually muddled out the more fell asleep. Within twenty minutes the awkward quiet usually swept it’s way through the block. There would only be whispers and very muffled noises. After the first hour or so, people would start screaming at you to shut the ******** up if you made any noise. Guards usually did a little sweep through around then to be sure nobody would upset the prisoners. Last thing they needed was a whole block to get worked up because some a*****e was screaming their a** off the whole night through. The guards really seemed to try and make most the prisoners comfortable(ish) at bedtime. Cranky prisoners made for misbehaving prisoners, they all wanted the inmates to get their rest.
There wasn’t much crying, not as much as Odin expected at first. It took a while for him to hear it. One inmate crying and his cellmate caught on and began to give him s**t for it. The whole prison probably knew about it by the end of the next day when he had several different nicknames calling him out for being a b***h. It hadn’t been until recently that Odin realized people could cry quietly, sitting on their beds curled in the blankets holding their breath anytime their throat wanted to let out a whimper. Dozens were probably crying each night and only the stupid ones allowed it to be heard. It was all the werewolf could think of at first as he gently held Julian’s hand, claiming it as his own as he massaged the one area he got caught up in. He’d cried. The shock from it. Plenty of inmates probably heard the puke, the crying, the madness. How was Odin gonna spin that tomorrow if someone wanted to call them out on it? His automatic reaction would be to throw punches… He was no good at dealing with verbal passes.
How do you tell where you stand anyways? With Julian telling Odin there were people watching him that didn’t exactly narrow down what Odin should worry about or not. Learning that he had eyes turned in his direction just caused him to feel more paranoid. Someone other than the alchemists? That guy Adam who showed up? He was going to have to keep an eye out for the male and pinpoint who he was hanging around. Odin already knew if he wanted to be in control of that situation from getting out of hand he would have to be the one to approach them first. He’d confidently move up to their spot at the table and demand they stop toying with him. He was a grown a** man. If they wanted something from him they could spit it out or leave him the ******** alone. That was how Odin handled his s**t. He kept trying to confirm that it was the best course of action and that was all he should be worried about for the time being.
But the alchemists… Hotts… The new dust business… The full moon…
Odin always had dozens of thoughts whirling around, engulfing him with an unpleasant grip as they demanded his attention. They were like children all competing as they tried to make themselves appear bigger than the next. I’m life-threatening, one would try to tell him. With me, you’ll be helpless. You already know when someone will attack one of you, another would promise. It must’ve been then, that it caught Odin’s eye. Shifting. Something not moving right but he couldn’t figure what was wrong as he glanced down at his hand. The first assumption was that Julian was stroking himself with his free hand. The mage didn’t exactly have a chance to release, and Odin sure as s**t understood that frustration when he first showed up. It was impossible to get in the right mindframe. It was impossible without pornography, without privacy, without hearing inmates from down the way chatting up a storm down the hall from him. He’d try his hardest to get it up, hiding himself behind his covers as he silently stared at the top bunk’s cheap underbelly, painfully aware at how many hardened criminals were just on the other side of the room. He found his standards dropping, even praying he had a chance to be with some of the ugliest girls he used to bully in the past. He had cruel dreams with freudian symbols all over the damned place he couldn’t even deny.
Julian’s hand wasn’t burrowed within his pants. Odin’s eyes were drawn to the mixture he saw underneath the circular motion he was making with his thumb. The dim lighting made it difficult to make out the colors from one another, but Odin could clearly see the prints left behind, overlapping the last stroke he made with each circle. Was this like purring? Did Julian just do that subconsciously when he felt good? While at first, Odin thought the boy might’ve been trying to tell him something, it was difficult to keep that theory as he learned he was in charge of the movements. He slowly moved his thumb away from the base of Julian’s thumb, roaming towards his knuckles. He ran over them like two connected figure 8s after pulling Julian’s hand slightly higher so it was at an easier angle to view. He felt like a child, mesmerized by it. The werewolf had never been sat down and shown the quiet disciplines like art. He never sat down and drew or took the time out of his day to meditate with a good book and a cup of tea. I mean ********… Odin’s idea of relaxing used to be sitting on a couch shooting up until he forgot what ******** month it was. And he might’ve thought about that all. He might’ve had the same itch as the fae sleeping in the cell next to them if his brain even had the room for it. If he wasn’t so focused on everything else going on. If he wasn’t trying to understand why Julian’s skin was doing that. If he wasn’t concerned about his partner’s needs. If Julian wanted to finish still. Because swept up in that moment, Odin wasn’t even silently rehearsing the approach he would take when he was face-to-face with a prison gang. One man against an army. There was none of that. It was just him and Julian.
The stupid ******** looking kid that Odin would’ve beat the ******** out of in high school for a few laughs. The one he should have been ******** disgusted by for being so weak and defenseless. Instead, Odin couldn’t find a single hair on the mage’s head that he’d want changed. Julian wasn’t what Odin wanted. Julian would never be what Odin wanted. So why the ******** had he suddenly become one of the only things he needed? Each time the lights went out and he would tell himself Julian was his. That he’d do any ******** thing he needed to protect the kid. That he’d kill for him, if it came down to it.
The arm Julian was resting against shifted, slightly. He moved it across Julian’s lower back as he pulled the mage a bit closer. After angling the blue hair tighter underneath the curve in his neck, his hand was sitting just near Julian’s hip bone on the other side, deadly still. It wasn’t clear, not yet, what the werewolf was thinking. For all Julian knew it was just an innocent coincidence. He’d be wrong.
If he moved his hand a few inches to the side, he’d be able to tell if Julian was tenting. If he was tired and ready to sleep soon or if he was frustrated. The same frustration Odin had felt all those nights upon first entering. Because for some reason, the werewolf didn’t want Julian to have any negative feelings. He wanted to sort them. Wanted to man up and take care of what he needed to, even if it meant sacrificing that hand. Odin would do it for him. This Odin would, at least. This Odin that just wanted close his eyes tight and pull Julian close, smothering the other male with his body. The Odin that never survived through the night.
His other hand was now on Julian’s wrist. He was making slightly bigger movements, still round and oval in shape as he traced along the mage’s flesh like a piece of paper. He just needed to get the courage to slip his other hand a few inches to the side.
Come on. Odin told himself. Instead of his palm sitting against Julian’s hip, two fingers slowly fell against the mage’s skin. Just move them. Right there. It’s right there. Just check. His thigh is right there. Odin tried to build the nerve as a puff of air escaped from his nostrils.
He couldn’t bring himself. Not yet.
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Posted: Tue Mar 28, 2017 10:32 pm
 
It was like purring, except that he was doing it consciously, and there was no sound involved. So then, maybe less like purring and more like a mood ring. One of the first things Julian had ever learned to consciously do with his ink was manipulate the color. Before that, he'd resembled the Fenwick twins more than he'd looked anything like his own brothers. Except that even Noel and Leon had more color to them than Julian in his most natural state. Bone white, apart from the eyes. Yellow like a cat's. Leigha had seen once, and the words she'd used were milk and honey, but the split-second revulsion that perched at the corner of her mouth had given away the lie. He'd tried very hard not to see it, and he'd almost succeeded. He'd only been a boy at the time, and she had been persuasive and incredibly distracting. But his mind had caught on it over and over after she was gone, returning none of his messages, none of his calls, dropping off the face of the planet, ghosting out completely. The thought he'd been unable to shake, between then and when Lyndon told him the truth, was a recurring one for him even then, at fourteen. Why did he have to live on a separate floor from his brothers? Why did he always have to go see Nhu Linh-- why didn't she ever visit him on her own? Why did Ben rag on him all the time to keep his pigments up, to "look normal"? Why didn't father send cards for his birthday? Why did Leigha disappear?
Because something is wrong with you.
But.
Odin had said that no one cared. No one cared what color Julian bled. Like it was that simple. Like it didn't matter. Like it wasn't strange enough to bear thinking about or noticing. Not disgust, but just simple indifference. Even that registered for the azurette as a kindness. Like the blonde's presence beside him, keeping him warm, reassuring him when others were less likely to be paying attention. The careful passes of the werewolf's fingertip left behind those heat-map images because Julian put them there, welling them under the skin on contact, the product of a skill he'd used his entire life without really thinking about it. The message, not terribly subtle, was that the other man affected him. That the things Odin did left traces behind, seen or unseen.
He hadn't expected the other man to be interested in it.
The inkwell left his hand pliant, let Odin move him as the werewolf saw fit-- a return to the way things had been before, but also because he saw nothing wrong with it. His cellmate was watching the spreading colors, looking at how they chased his moving thumb, up over his knuckles, looping and fading once Odin's touch had been gone for longer than a second or two. And Julian-- he only watched what little he could see of the werewolf's face from his place against Odin's chest. Sharp jaw and pointed chin, mouth pressed in that line that always looked like displeasure. But beyond the unrelenting angle of his nose, the blonde's eyes were following the hues drawn over Julian's palm and wrist, and something about it.. Something about laying still while Odin played with his ink, idly amusing himself in the time before sleep.. It wasn't just comforting, but comfortable. This was something that they could do. Something, in this place, that could be just theirs, between them, if that was the way that Odin wanted it.
It was easy, laying still, nestled against the radiating heat of the larger man's body, for Julian to forget. Forget that the same hand making designs over his knuckles-- solid shades, now, that made stripes of gradient into one another, green into blue into purple into red-- had been on the back of his neck earlier. Holding him down. Locking him in place while another part of Odin cut off his air. Odin didn't mean to do that, or if he did, he was sorry about it now. He was trying to show that, wasn't he? Trying to let Julian know that it was alright, that even with the mess, the blonde appreciated what the inkwell had been trying to do. The arm around him, the way it slid along the small of his spine, drawing him in nearer-- if the movement hadn't already tucked Julian in against Odin's throat, the mage would have done it himself, turning his face into the dip between neck and shoulder. Hiding.
Because he could mask color when it rose in his face, could alter its shade to make it less noticeable, but he couldn't reduce the change in temperature, the slight warmth. Would the werewolf even notice that? It seemed impossible, when Odin's own body temperature always felt like it was running so high. The hand at the wing of his hip, for instance. Julian wasn't aware of it, but his breathing hitched slightly the moment it touched down. The azurette was far from demanding. He waited. He always waited, until after. Until Odin was ready to sleep and sent him back to his own bunk. He'd been embarrassed earlier, had tried to avoid letting the other man see what he'd been doing. Tucked himself up against the waistband of his boxers, the way he'd learned to when he was younger. But that wasn't going to do him much good now, when his excitement had ebbed a bit and he was only--
If Odin's hand moved further, shifted just a bit more, warm and solid and ********, it wasn't like he'd be able to hide it. Because if he turned instead, pressing more firmly to the blonde's side, that would make things clear just as easily. And thinking about it, focusing on the way the heat of that hand seemed to soak right into him-- that only made it harder to manipulate the ink Odin was playing with, the patterns he was tracing in the wake of the werewolf's easy points of contact. Circles, concentric, not just following the male's fingertip at this point, but ringing outward, as though Odin had dropped something into a deep pool of water. Maybe it was all by accident. Just contact to steady the surface he was painting on. There was no way for him to realize that he was just making that ebbing reaction wind back up again, without meaning to.
And if he stayed still, if he didn't let Odin know.. What then?
Under the werewolf's fingertip, the ink shifted again. Not shapes, but words. And not in the customary black that he usually used for his silent communications. Hard as it would be to tell in the dim light, the letters running and forming along the skin of his wrist were blue-green, a teal almost the same shade as his hair.
I can lay the other way if you want
With his back to Odin's side, he meant. To get himself out of the way, so the werewolf wouldn't have to be bothered as much with the inconvenience that was Julian. Wouldn't have to put up with, for kindness' sake, the ink mage trying to lay right across him when he eventually slipped into sleep. It would lessen the way the azurette probably still smelled like bitter sick and the stale scent of dry saliva, left clinging to the skin of his face and neck even after Odin wiped him off. It would make it easier to be still. Not to fixate on that hand and how close it was, how warm. Bigger than his own. Different. Odin's hand. Was that the one he'd used on himself, just a few minutes ago?
No. Nonono. That's not a thing I'm thinking about.
He was not thinking about it so much that he actually started to turn to hide the result of that not thinking, shifting carefully against the werewolf's side, rolling to face the wall again with Odin at his back, giving the blonde more of his bed space the same way Julian gave him the majority of the cell in daylight hours.
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Posted: Wed Mar 29, 2017 3:05 pm
Odin wanted to believe, badly, that Julian didn’t see him like everyone else had over the course of his life. The werewolf had always been a novelty. Taboo, even. Back when he was in a bad place he dated a girl for two months, quickly dragging her down with him. When her family invited them for Thanksgiving that year, she refused to go unless Odin went with her. Holidays… Well, they had never been the werewolf's strong suit. Hell, his own family stopped inviting him round for celebrations like that. They knew to invite him out to quiet dinners with a minimal amount of people. The more low-pressure it was, the less he had to ******** up on. Odin didn’t do well when his grandparents and cousins were all in a room and everyone wanted to know what he accomplished, how he was doing, if he still had fits like he used to. The alienation was undeniable. He wouldn’t be allowed to play games with his brother of cousins when they took out a board game or brought a ball in the back yard. He would be forced to sit with the adults where he was miserable, complaining and asking why he couldn’t go. If he got too worked up or wasn’t given the answers he expected it wouldn’t be uncommon for him to trash the dinner table or throw the leftover food onto the ground. That monster living under his skin didn’t like to be ignored or treated unfairly. His fits were the only way to make sure people knew it was unfair.
When Odin showed up to the Thanksgiving meal, he got into a fight with the girl’s brother pretty quick when the douchebag was pointing his dirty fork at Odin’s face, accusing the werewolf of being a bad influence. He claimed it was because the girl was starting to use more drugs, that she’d been skipping classes lately, that she was turning into someone else. Odin had been foolish enough to believe it was because of his race. That the idiot didn’t like werewolves. That was always his excuse. It was never his behavior or outbursts. It took Odin so very long to understand he just wasn’t normal. It took him years to finally accept that things that made sense to him or behaviors that were so natural was wrong. That he had a monster who wouldn’t sleep until it destroyed every relationship and shred of respect people held for him. Something Odin learned to hate about himself, that he housed something so sick and twisted that made it impossible for him to live a normal life. The only way to put it to sleep was drugs, but once he sobered up it always came back again and again and again. Once he learned to hate that monster, he never thought there would be a use for it. Not until he arrived in prison to learn that there were settings where it thrived. Where listening to those growling urges telling him to hurt people who wanted to take his property and never make friends would actually help him. <********. Night was different though. When the monster curled somewhere deep inside Odin’s head and quietly drifted off to sleep, leaving him alone. The small piece of Odin that felt the most Odin-like would be able to pull Julian close and pet him for as long as he wanted. Maybe that was the type of person he would’ve been if he learned sooner. If he listened. If he had shut the ******** up and told someone he needed help. It took him being pushed over the edge, stuck in a situation where he was tense and distraught all day long leaving him exhausted and lonely and scared at night. Emotions Odin never had to deal with much before. Who’d have thought prison was all it would take to break someone down enough that they went from their demented god-like ego to a humane suffering?
But Odin didn’t want Julian to know how weak he felt, either. He didn’t want the mage to know that he didn’t ever know what in the ******** he was doing and was worried he’d drive them all directly into a sputtering pit of quicksand they might ever claw their way out from. What was Odin supposed to do? He didn’t want to come across as a monster and he didn’t want to come across as some weak uncertain moron. There was no in between for the werewolf. You were either a man, or you were a b***h. Julian, b***h. Odin, man. It was all so simple. You were either weak and begged others to allow you to hide behind them, or you were strong and controlled the environment around you. Odin’s gaze was lost by now in the swirling colors. It was ironic, almost, as he realized he wasn’t the one controlling the environment. He wasn’t controlling Julian’s pigment. It might’ve felt like he was the one in charge, but Julian was the one forming the colors that fleshed behind Odin’s finger. Maybe there was some entity between man and b***h when you put the two together. He felt as though Julian changed him so much already, what did it matter if the boy influenced him more?
He watched as the ink began to pool out further. His movements changed, gently dropping his fingers down as he began moving up the boy’s arm. I can lay the other way if you want. Odin’s fingers stopped moving where the period should have been. Lay the other way? Maybe Odin had it wrong. Maybe the ink was a defense mechanism he couldn’t control when he was terrified. Odin slowly moved his finger, letting it drop slightly to see if any text was meant to appear after. None. It was Julian’s way of asking for space, maybe. It could have been a way for the mage to offer his backside to Odin to use if he wanted. It could have been a way for the mage asking to get more comfortable. It could have been anything. Odin wasn’t good at being left to assume with his own devices. It was then that he pulled away before Odin could finish working out what it meant. Julian’s head left as his body turned, Odin’s hand getting locked in place as he spun around, wiggling out from underneath the mage.
He felt it.
Odin laid there still a moment with his hands at his sides, Julian’s back just tapping against the area near his elbow. He could’ve been embarrassed. That was what it all meant, wasn’t it? Still embarrassed no matter how many times Odin stripped him down and did what he wanted. It really wasn’t all that shocking since the werewolf found himself humiliated and tense afterwards too. Prison had a lot more consensual sex than he’d expected, but a lot of it wasn’t consensual. It was something you did. You get off. Handle your needs then go about your day like nothing happened. It wasn’t something a lot of prisoners continued once they left. It was something that horny build up talked them into doing to have some type of sanity back. There were no private spaces. Nothing about it was nice. Odin didn’t know if sex would still be not-nice once he left those prison walls or not. s**t. You want to do it for him. Odin told himself.
His body slowly turned, sitting up slightly as he arched himself on his elbow just behind the mage. One of Odin’s arms slowly began to wrap around the boy like a snake, curling around the mage’s side and wrapping up towards his chest, pulling back. He secured Julian’s backside against his body like a mold. His arm kept Julian tight. "Don’t.” His tone quiet, whispering the word against the mage’s ear as though it was a threat. Don’t move. Don’t freak out. Don’t question me. Don’t try anything. Even Odin wasn’t sure which he was asking or what he meant. It was at that point he realized maybe he was talking to himself.
He was still held up against his elbow, a structure staring down at at his arm pressed against Julian. Were the colors still changing beneath the boy’s uniform? Odin slowly shifted his head, lowering himself as he positioned his chin above the kid’s head. His other hand was working it’s way beneath Julian’s side. When he finished wrapping around the boy he reached out taking hold of Julian’s arm. He went back to massaging that hand, the circular motions used for him to see if the colors were still there. To see if they were any different. If they meant anything.
While Odin tried hard to focus on Julian’s hand, his other arm had dropped. Curled itself underneath Julian’s shirt as he felt the male’s stomach. Then Odin took one last breath.
{Censored}
But his hand dropped to Julian’s stomach, underneath Julian’s shirt, but he hadn’t made it below the male’s pants. Instead all Odin could do was freeze. The male’s face went so tight. His whole body tensed, which Julian would have obviously been able to feel after being pulled into the older man’s body. tab
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Posted: Thu Mar 30, 2017 1:07 am
People had a hard time with Julian. With understanding Julian. His passivity. His concern for others. The willful suspension of disbelief that allowed him to look at people who had ******** up time and time again and still think, They have potential. They can turn it around. In some ways, the shift between the daylight reality and lights-out reality of his prison life wasn't new at all. People in his lift Before, by and large, didn't know how the kid wound up beaten or stabbed or robbed half the time. Dangerous city, Saxon. And the azurette didn't defend himself. Wouldn't defend himself. The entire thought was abhorrent. Striking back, because he'd been struck. Causing pain because he felt pain. An eye for an eye for an eye for an eye, and that's how all the lights go out in all the world. Maluk and Krish and Sara, they knew. What he was doing, where he was going. And the caim and the metalmancer, each helping the unfortunates of Saxon's underbelly in their own way, respected him for it, even while they worried. But Sara had been another story, and it hadn't worked out with her for that reason. You care about everybody the same way, Julie. Everybody you meet, you wanna fix all their problems and make their life better, and that's-- you know-- great. It's really cute. It's nice. But when everybody's special, nobody is. The whole world doesn't get to share the top spot, or it doesn't mean a goddamn thing.
It wasn't on purpose. It wasn't a decision he made. It just happened. Looking at people, listening to them, wasn't it natural to want to help? Wasn't it natural to take that on his shoulders and try to change things? It's not your job. What do you think one blanket is gonna do? Some shoes? Some papers? Sara hadn't understood that kindness wasn't supposed to have a quota, that it wasn't meant to be kept still. But he'd gotten the message. She hadn't felt special. She didn't think she was a priority, and she didn't stick around to feel like an option. Again, something intrinsically wrong. Something wrong with Julian. Not knowing how to see things the way other people saw them.
Prison was the first time he'd really had to choose.
Before, he tried to mediate, to take the middle way, to find the perfect answer, even when that answer was suffering himself. The person he'd been before prison would have been heartbroken over Hotts' smashed nose just as much as Odin's stabbed wrist-- would have been able to empathize with both. But time and isolation and suffering had worn away at that person. The moths in the dark fluttered unevenly on singed wings, lit in flickering illumination that was dimmer, now, even at its brightest moments. Krish wasn't going to come find him here. He couldn't drag himself down the Steps and apologize to Maluk for making a mess. He had to choose.
And he chose Odin.
After everything he'd put the werewolf through. All the indignity, all the danger. All that. Julian St Jude, who believed that no humanoid should be owned by another, that every person should operate under their own free will, chose to put himself into Odin's hands. Instead of returning to solitary. Instead of throwing in his lot with more established groups. He picked the blonde who, even at the edge of the moon, provoked, capable of destroying him completely-- didn't. And Julian hadn't regretted that choice. Not when Odin wore his temper on his face, or ignored the mage's existence, or shoved him casually and without reason. Because although those sharp edges sometimes caught at his small measure of pride, or hurt his too-tender feelings, it never took more than a handful of seconds for him to retain perspective. Odin kept him safe when it would have been easier-- better-- for the werewolf if he just gave Julian up. Let Julian suffer. Odin broke an inmate's wrist and earned himself more enemies so that the inkwell could bring Leon into their small fold. Odin made sure he ate without being poisoned. Odin, storm that he was, capable of so much damage if he chose to mete it out, held him. Petted him. Kept him warm. Even when the inkwell pushed too far or did something disgusting, Odin treated Julian better than almost anyone in here treated anyone else.
So he tried to be as small a burden as he could. He tried to stay out of the way. Tried to keep the sound of his voice, irritating, frustrating, to a whisper when he used it at all. And after lights out, he tried to keep himself.. to himself. When the other man was done, Julian either handled his own restlessness or he let it subside. There had always been the opportunity to make that decision before, once Odin sent him to bed. But now, with the strawberry blonde beside him, tracing infinity symbols and lazy loops over his hands, warm and soothing, that other hand at his hip, the rise and fall of the werewolf's chest against his cheek-- He'd had to turn the other way. Roll over, toward the wall, so Odin didn't have to think about it.
Naive as people always said he was, Julian knew that they were different. That for his cellmate, gender was an issue. The werewolf had touched him once, the first time, but never since. Never there. Facedown, the long hair, the slim frame, the very slight flare at his hips, it was probably easier to pretend that Julian was a woman.
So he froze for a second when the proof that he wasn't got in the way.
Tensed slightly, feeling Odin slowly shift behind him, rising only partway. He thought, in those few seconds, that the werewolf might say something to him, but he didn't. One of the blonde's arm's slid around him, drawing him back in, tucking him firmly against that larger body until they were seamed together. The soft sound that left the azurette was somewhere between surprise and gratitude. Not fear, not worry, although the strength in that grip was the same strength that had held him down before. The heat that emanated from Odin's chest washed across his back and shoulders, and Julian let out a breath, easing into the contact little by little, like sinking into a hot bath.
At least until that word, spoken low like that, there at the shell of his ear.
Don't.
[ CENSORED. ]
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Posted: Thu Mar 30, 2017 10:14 am
Nothing was usually innocent with Odin. He was a malicious person who often harmed others for his own good. Things had been that way for as long as he could remember. So the fights he got into, the arguments, even the good he tried to do. All it seemed to always have ulterior motives if he was conscious of it or not. A lot of the time he would be too slow to realize what he even wanted until it was too late and he’d already done something stupid. So this was all unfamiliar with him. Holding Julian.
Prison made things different. People touched more, trying to get what little humane contact they could. Hugs that were tight, pats on the back, and long handshakes were common. Odin watched each little prison family and how they treated one another. It was a need. They needed it. Odin was no different. Touch was therapeutic. The prison gangs might not have treated it as innocently since they planned on staying higher up on the inmate hierarchy, but they found ways. You’d catch them doing odd exercises together that involved working off each other’s body weight or buying property. The younger inmates. Ones like Julian. They’d whore them off for 3 bucks a pop to others. On top of that gang members would have access to them whenever they damn well pleased. Quickies in the shower. Quickies in the bathroom. Quickies in the stairwell. Odin had walked across a few. You just turn your cheek and pretend you never saw anything. People with empathetic personalities must’ve had it rough. There was so much suffering everywhere you turned, Odin once heard some inmate begging a guard to do something about the man who was regularly using him for sexual purposes. What was the response? Cold.
Looks consensual to me.
And it made Odin realize nothing in prison was. You’d be threatened to comply, so your options were to get assaulted, and not just punches. The lunatics in prison were lunatics. Broken jaws, broken bones, stab wounds. There was no telling what would happen if you refused. How do you tell a man twice your size no? Without those battle scars, guards just don’t listen. There was no wonder Julian spent all his time in solitary. There was no wonder why he was acting like a proper prison wife towards Odin. Because the alternative was that much worse. Sharing the slightest amount of empathy with any of the victims would be enough to cause anyone heartbreak.
Odin hadn’t felt empathy towards Julian. Not at first, at the very least. He’d felt annoyance and frustration. Didn’t want to share a space. He felt isolated but didn’t want to be alone, so Julian turned into an accessory. The werewolf kept wanting more. After having another person to follow him around he wanted acceptance. He didn’t want the person to hate him for it. And now, after however long it’s been, he was starting to learn he just wanted companionship. The one thing that might turn the both of them into a target for ridicule or trouble. Families could touch each other and joke around, relax. You could openly admit to being gay if you were part of a prison gang. But on your own? Getting caught and labeled as some type of f*****t? Odin didn’t know what would happen, but he knew it wouldn’t be good for the either of them. Odin was already scared enough that he let Hotts realize Julian meant something to him. If the older man wanted to start telling people Odin and Julian would happy receive what anyone wanted to dish out there wasn’t much he could do. Flickers of inmates telling Odin he could cooperate or they’d use Julian for it instead littered his head. Odin could handle the odd inmate who stepped outta line in front of him. Could he handle a whole gang of criminals? No.
So Odin couldn’t let it ever escalate to that. He had to play it smart. That’s why it felt forbidden. Holding Julian close enough to melt into him. Touching the other male. This s**t was gay. Really gay. The consensual type of acts that guards mocked inmates for if they tried to complain or snitch without aggressive wounds on their body to support the claim that they’d had their lives threatened. Maybe it was knowing Julian couldn’t consent to anything honestly within the prison walls that bothered him. Even if the boy thought it and believed it, Odin didn’t. Something in Julian’s brain was trying to protect him. Trying to keep him from becoming a sex slave that left prison with a disgusting set of STDs from being passed around so often. Julian was probably too ******** up to realize. Too scared of SHU. Too scared of everyone stronger than him… Which was probably just about everyone inside these walls. Odin could see things for how they were, though.
So after he paused, he laid there with his eyes shut tight. He would’ve been verbally letting out a long line of profanities if he’d ever felt the embarrassment and shame anywhere else in the world. Julian was the first to break the awkward stillness. He moved his hair, Odin’s eyes darting down a moment as he realized the male was offering Odin to hover over his neck. The werewolf would have to move to get to it, he was still comfortably using the crown of Julian’s head as a headrest. The option would still be there, though, as Julian reached down and took Odin’s hand that was frozen against his stomach.
{CENSORED}.
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Posted: Thu Mar 30, 2017 1:53 pm
Before, he'd been a different person.
Considerate, but not timid. Stubborn about his beliefs, but always willing to accept that the other side at least believed they were doing the right thing. Thoughtlessly affectionate, hugging and petting and sprawling across other people like a puppy in a pile, without really considering the message it might give. The person he'd been before would talk to anyone about almost anything, candid, in good humor, never boisterous but still lively, energetic. There had always been time for one more thing to do, one more person to visit, one more good deed to do. He hadn't liked loud parties, preferred to work with people one on one, to give them his undivided attention, but gatherings weren't a thing that made him nervous, either. The same had been true of personal relationships. Julian built them slowly, very slowly. He'd help almost anyone, try to improve any stranger's life, offer support that some people didn't receive even from their own families-- but in his own romantic matters, things were different. How he felt about people had always directly informed his perceptions of them. A person he might not have even noticed on entering a room would be, after a long time of companionship, the most beautiful creature on the face of the planet. As unabashed and enthusiastic as he'd been in bed, the kid had never so much as kissed somebody he didn't already feel pretty strongly about, and getting to that place took time.
Before prison.
He'd tried to maintain things that way. Had tried to politely decline offers and avoid threats. Had locked himself in a box when he realized being victimized wasn't something he could sidestep indefinitely. Being beaten, he could take. But Julian knew himself. He knew there were some things that would be too far. Some things he didn't want to give. Some things that were supposed to be his decision, his choice.
And the way it had turned out was.. complicated.
He'd tried to explain it once, to the man now laying behind him. How he had to think about what he could live with, when all of this was done. When he was out. How he'd feel about the things he did, how he'd feel about himself. And the things Odin had said then had hurt him a little. What's so bad about your end? Saying he should just shut up and let it happen, because it would happen anyway. It had taken time for Julian to consider where those words probably came from. How Odin might feel about what had happened between them, right before the moon. Like he'd been forced to do something he didn't want, just as much as Julian had been. Pushed into an act that revolted him, because he hadn't been in his right mind at the time.
But it happened again, once the werewolf recovered. And again. And again. No matter how many times Odin reminded him he was crazy, the marks left behind were proof. The mess he cleaned up in the mornings. The way the azurette learned where to be, and when, like an unspoken schedule carried out after the lights went dim. And he didn't know why the blonde did it. Why he'd repeat something that he probably hated. But it became as much a part of their routine as Julian making both beds before morning count. As much as Odin shepherding him along, keeping him out of trouble. Keeping him safe. And it wasn't always good, but it wasn't bad, the way it was for people like Cedric. Odin didn't leave him bleeding, or want him to suffer. Odin just wanted him to be quiet.
So he'd brought the other male's hand up. Guided it from his stomach and across his chest, upward, to press the blonde's palm over his lips. To keep his mouth shut. To make sure no sound escaped. Because that was another thing that had changed for Julian in prison. The sounds he'd always made, vocal and encouraging, had no place here. Whatever he felt, it was important to stay silent, but sounds of pleasure, especially. Audible reminders that he was a man. That the body pressed against Odin, no matter how effeminate, didn't belong to a woman.
It was complicated. All of it. When had he started looking forward to being wrapped up in the warmth of that larger body? When did he start to realize that Odin's face was made of sharp lines and angles? [ CENSORED. ]
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Posted: Fri Mar 31, 2017 8:51 am
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Posted: Tue Apr 11, 2017 5:44 pm
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Posted: Tue Apr 11, 2017 7:52 pm
Falling asleep with someone to wrap your arms around felt good. A new small craving the werewolf didn’t see himself being able to satisfy often. Eh… Maybe. The werewolf knew he’d be dreading the interactions that were coming the next day over it. His mind almost went off thinking about things people at his prison job would say, but his thoughts quickly dissipated as he realized he didn’t really care. Not now, at least. He had Julian and that was all that mattered. That small stupid blue piece of sanity. The thing that made Odin feel like a person. Not an inmate. That little piece of humanity he didn’t want to lose. Not now. Not ever.
Maybe if the criticism wasn’t too bad he’d do this every night anyways.
Odin’s eyes slowly opened up feeling like he was waking up after a night of partying. The gentle smell of vomit was lingering in his nostrils that the average person probably couldn’t smell all too well. Although he realized how different it was. Waking up so much higher off the ground. Hearing the guards walk through the block hitting their batons against the cell bars as they shouted: Wakey wakey sunshines! or Time to hit the showers ladies! It had nearly been a pleasant experience but quickly turned sour as Odin realized the lights were turned on. That people could see. That the night-Odin was dead. So ******** dead. None of that s**t he was thinking about last night mattered. His current appearance did. This did.
So the werewolf, probably in record time, quickly flung himself upwards and pushed against Julian. His legs lifted as he hopped over the bar to stop anyone from falling off the edge in the middle of the night and landed on the concrete surface below. He must’ve dived onto his empty mattress quick as s**t because his heart beat felt louder than usual as the guards approached his cell, one of them pausing to see Odin’s bed was all ******** up.
”The ******** happened to your bed?” The man asked. Odin immediately pointed out towards the corner where they were all wrapped up. ”Well why the hell isn’t your bed made?”
"I got sick last night.” Odin quickly responded, hearing the distant chuckle from the cell across the way. He had half a mind to scream bloody murder at Hotts, though the werewolf knew better than to start a scene in front of the guards. He wasn’t looking to become a trouble inmate. He probably already had guards assuming he was always looking to start s**t cause of his race… Maybe. There were so many ghouls and vampires maybe it didn’t make a difference. Everyone in here was a s**t person to begin with.
”If that bed isn’t made properly by morning count I’ll tear that room apart and have a search for contraband.” Odin rolled his eyes to the side. It was basically a threat to hold him so he’d be late for breakfast. That meant they would be out of all the good stuff. Sometimes the liquidy fake egg tasting mixture tasted a lot better with something solid like a piece of toast to slather it on top of. The kitchen staff was only allowed to hand out a certain amount of some things each meal. Budgeting, or something. Odin didn’t know. He just knew if you were late you missed out so that had to be a risk you were willing to take. ”What was that, inmate?” The guard asked, looking pissed off that Odin visibly rolled his eyes instead of replied.
"I said yes sir.” Odin hissed. He waited until the guard was gone then let out an irritated noise. "Tch.” Piece of s**t. The ******** the guards get off on treating him like that? He glared over at the cell across the way and was met with Hotts flashing him a smile and giving one hell of a wink. "Shower.” Odin reminded the fae, making sure he was getting his s**t together so he could join Julian and Odin. He was still getting used to a second one. Julian was impossible for the werewolf to forget, but Leon was still just a new accessory. A new little ******** boy everyone oogled over as though he were some 18-year-old high school girl looking to jumpstart her pornstar career with homemade videos. No. Not that. His new source of power. The dust. Ah, s**t. He crossed his arms leaning against the bars, waiting patiently for the two to move their asses already so they could try to get in and out before most others could be bothered.
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Posted: Wed Apr 12, 2017 1:00 am
 
Finally. ******** finally.
- - - -
In the wee hours of the morning, he woke up. The halls were silent except for the occasional snores and grumbles of inmates in their sleep. There was that pristine stillness that could only signal it as being three or four in the morning. When Leon opened his eyes, everything was still spinning. He was an odd but familiar combination of restless and exhausted. Pluton always zonked him out. It was a pleasant, floating sensation, that felt like he'd been freed from his body completely. While being incapacitated wasn't great, his limbs feeling distant, fuzzy, and sluggish, it was an awesome drug to use in prison because he could easily hallucinate his spirit flying out of his body, out of the cells and the walls and the gates and the city and everything else, and just flying away, wherever he wanted. That is, that was what good Pluton did. what it was supposed to do. Leons trip this last time had been... less fulfilling. The disembodied feeling was there, but it was coupled with a frantic, itching paranoia. He felt simultaneously disconnected and weighed down, and was firmly possessed of the notion that if he imagined himself too far away, his body would die and he'd vanish, drop straight down into hell. The effect also wasn't quite as powerful, and he flittered in and out of the waking dream and reality. It was a good thing he was alone in his cell, for the moment, since he'd spent a lot of the night clutching his head and rocking. He'd hoped to just be washed over with a wave of relief. But, of course, the relief was minimal, and more than anything the craving was simply rekindled. Leon had spent most of the evening in a haze, until he'd finally managed to fall back into his body and drift off into fitful sleep. Until about three in the morning, when he was inexplicably awake again, with no hope of falling asleep. Worse, the trip didn't seem to be over. He continued to fade in and out of his body, or so it felt. He was filled with that restless, itchy paranoia. It was supposed to have worn off by then, but it hadn't. Finally, fitful, he roused himself around four and made his bed, picked up his cell, and tried to read a book. But the light was too dim, and even when he could make out the letters, they swam across the page, swirling around, mocking him, until his quivering hands finally dropped it and he gave up, leaving it where it lay.
He spent the remaining wee morning hours in a hazy, restless kind of agony. He couldn't quite focus on anything, even when he could move. and spontaneously, he'd lose touch with his limbs, staggering or simply grinding to a slow halt. He made his bed again, unmade it, remade it. There was a wrinkle, and no matter how many times he smoothed it it wouldn't... wait, no. That was... his eyes? It wasn't really there. He spent an hour or two sitting on the edge, staring at the wall in a dim haze as he floated out of his body again, tingling and distant and unfunctioning. It wasn't supposed to last this long. Some part of him knew that. Yet no matter how much he tried, he couldn't straighten himself out. He'd get close, then spiral and float right away again. He was jolted back to reality by the sound of the morning counts starting. Flushed with a momentary panic, he bolted upright, turned on his heel, and ran right into the side of the bedframe, bonking his nose. Fortunately, there was hardly any force behind it, so other than a little reddening his face was fine. He didn't really feel it at all, and stood in baffled confusion as to why he hadn't moved forward for a few long moments before stepping carefully around the bed and forward. He stood blearily operating mostly on a mechanic routine more than anything. He'd done the same thing every morning for years, so it's fairly easy for his body to move autonomously, with or without the help of his brain. Same routine as always, even if there was no one next to him. Stupid as it sounded, he was actually kind of lonely. Not that he'd say it out loud, even ******** up. Some inmates might literally kill to get a cell to themselves. But it was only a matter of time before it filled up. He stood, blurry-eyed and swaying, for the morning count, fading in and out.
Once they're free to go about their morning routines, he totters over to his neat little pile of clothes, yanking out his clean uniform and tugging it on. Same as always, there and not there, reaching a little too far, squinting, and realigning his gaze and grip. They seem to be off by about ten inches to the right. But, same as always, he tugged his uniform on. He'd gather up whatever book he needed to take back, and head to the library. He'd get his things sorted out, go brush his teeth and splash some water on his face - maybe that'd help with the lingering numbness - and go eat his breakfast. He moved on autopilot, occasionally correcting small mistakes, gathering up his little notebook and marker. Just as he was about to leave, a face poked in to look at him.
"Shower." It said.
"Who the fu-? Oh..." He blinked, squinting at the other inmate for a moment, trying to arrange the features on his face into something recognizable. He knew who this was, this was... ********, what was his name? The werewolf. He punched Pike. Wait, no no, that was Mallory. Say, where did that guy go? The fairy rubbed his eyes, likely just looking a little bewildered from sleep. Maybe. No, this was Odin. Odin. The werewolf who broke the alchemists wrist. He belonged to him now and... oh, right. ********. He wasn't supposed to be high. Yet here he was, for whatever gods all damned reason, still ******** high. The flighty panic came back, and he blinked stupidly. "Shower? Uh... oh. Right. Um. Yeah. Sure." Doing his best to look coherent, he turned around, numbly grabbing his towel and the little bag he kept his toothbrush in, thankfully grabbing each on the first try. He steeled all of his resolve to walk out of the cell in a straight line, looking right ahead, to move next to Odin and Julian. Obedient. Coherent. Totally sober and not high as a damn kite off and on. No sir.
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Posted: Fri Apr 14, 2017 10:31 pm
  
He slept that night wrapped in a warm cocoon of comfort, tucked against Odin's side, cheek nestled on the larger man's chest. Every time before, he'd been nudged away to his own bed when it was time to rest, or unceremoniously shoved to the concrete, which amounted to the same. And even though Julian was aware that it was only a measure to avoid the werewolf having to sleep on a truly disgusting mattress, it.. felt good. To be able to stay close, and be held, wound around one another, like the roots of two very different trees. It felt safe, in a place where there wasn't really any such thing as safety. Comforting, and rare, something that had seemed simple enough to be commonplace, back in his other life. Listening to the breathing of the person beside him, being free to feel the warmth of their skin. Having the luxury of holding onto them. It was the first sound sleep he could remember having inside prison walls, maybe just because he wasn't freezing. The discomfort in his throat was nothing, really. Not when weighed against being able to nuzzle sleepily along the curve of Odin's shoulder. He'd used his undershirt for cleanup, and the werewolf had discarded his own the night before, after wiping Julian's face and throat clean with it. It left the two of them skin to skin from the waist up until the block started to move for the morning. Until the lights started to go on, taking away the dim curtain of imaginary privacy that nobody actually trusted to begin with.
The azurette was barely awake when Odin pushed away from him and vaulted over the side railing, but Julian didn't ask what the older man was doing. Whatever happened during lights-out didn't apply for the rest of the day, and day was here. The careful borders that determined behavioral patterns between them hadn't been drawn up in the night, the way they usually were, because of the mess Julian made. And he winced softly, listening to the guard question Odin about the dirty sheets. The werewolf took the blame without any pause whatsoever-- difficult not to, without explaining to the uniform on the other side of the bars that the inkwell hadn't learned to suppress his gag reflex yet. But there was so little hesitation when the blonde said it-- I got sick last night--that Julian didn't really consider that part. Still warm in the space where Odin had slept beside him, better rested than on average, he climbed down in silence, pulling his uniform top on without the undershirt. As happened so often, the werewolf was shielding Julian from consequences and embarrassment, even to the point of possibly getting himself in trouble. The guards didn't care that making the bed with vomit-fouled blankets would mean that Odin would have to smell the sour stomach-acid scent long after the laundry was handled. The scent would sink into his mattress, and everyone knew that lycans had sensitive noses. He'd never asked if the same was true of werewolves, and he probably never would, but that wasn't even the point. It wasn't Odin's mess. Julian's mind had already absolved the blonde of that stretch of time when the werewolf's hands locked him in place, throat full to gagging, lungs burning for breaths he wasn't able to take. It wasn't Odin's fault that Julian wasn't good at it. Wasn't Odin's fault that Julian couldn't do it right. The older man had been so forgiving about it. The least the azurette could do was--
His own morning kit was already folded neatly inside his towel, as though the outer material were some kind of pouch. He didn't have to worry about that. Didn't need to dress out, either, until he'd already taken a shower and cleaned away the mingled smells of sick and sweat and.. other things. No new discomfort between his legs, which already made it better than most mornings. Julian took all of thirty seconds in stripping his own bed, pulling blanket and sheets free in a bundle that he carried down with him as he descended. Like it was just a matter of course. And as always in the daylight hours, he was silent. Didn't say a single word as he deposited the cleaner bedding on top of Odin's mattress, gathering the blankets the werewolf had tossed toward the bunk and throwing them quickly upward onto his own bed. The mess was his. It wouldn't smell as strong to him as it might to Odin. There was no reason the blonde should have to suffer with that, too, when he already shouldered more than enough.
The inkwell went to his knees, the same way he had every morning since the werewolf first arrived and refused to straighten his own sheets. He pulled the unfitted material over the mattress easily enough, practiced by now from having to handle making both beds each day. He'd already been decent at nurse corners before Odin showed up, but by now Julian had that one task completely mastered, and it only took a minute or two for him to have his cellmate's bed made. Only then did he climb back up the ladder railing-- halfway, since it was impossible to tidy the top bunk while sitting on it, and because he didn't want to kneel on the vomit-stained sheets until he had to. When it was as clean as it was likely to get, he descended again, tucking his towel-wrapped roll of morning supplies to his chest to join Odin at the borderline of their cell. He hadn't made the other man wait long, but as soon as the blonde hooked a U-turn to look into Leon's cell, Julian realized that he'd been subconsciously procrastinating.
The fairy was an old friend, someone the azurette would have called a brother. What had gone on the night before had to have been audible, at least to the immediately adjacent cells. And Leon was in one of them. Leon, whose withdrawals had probably kept him awake to hear Julian gagging and retching. It wasn't as though the ivorette could possibly be in the dark about what went on between the other two members of their awkward little group when the lights were out. Not when his cell was so nearby. Not when so much of the block had seen Odin lay claim to Julian in the first place, the second time the werewolf snatched him away from Hotts. Nevermind that that had been all for show. Why was it so much more embarrassing to think that Leon might have heard how terrible the inkwell was at what he'd tried to do, than to know that the fairy probably heard what went on nightly no matter how muffled their interactions were?
But even he, when he settled in Odin's shadow just outside of Leon's cell, could tell that there were other things to worry about when the werewolf tried to summon the fairy to join their early routine. The vacant look, disassociated, like a balloon on a very long string. He'd asked the ivorette to give up whatever he was holding. Warned him that it wouldn't go well if he kept using after Odin had specifically forbidden him from doing so. Leon's response then had been positively see-through, not convincing to Julian in the least, but the inkwell didn't want to alienate his brother. Didn't want to tell on him, or rob him of the ability to resolve the issue in his own way. The azurette knew Leon had lied. It wasn't the first time he'd been lied to because of someone's addiction. But the smaller man needed to be able to trust someone. Needed to be able to trust Julian, who was familiar from childhood, and could try to work as a bridge between the lawyer and Odin, whom Leon obviously didn't understand yet.
As the fairy settled into place between the two of them, Julian carefully situated himself close to the ivorette's side, almost like a sheepdog trying to keep a willful lamb on track. His shoulder and arm were there against Leon's, a guide to keep the fairy walking a steady path as long as he maintained the contact, didn't go veering off in the other direction. It was the best he could do for the smaller man at the moment, outside of hoping and praying that whatever he was on would wear off quickly, or that Odin would overlook the vacancy behind Leo's eyes as exhaustion.
Somehow, Julian was fairly certain the werewolf would know better.
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Posted: Mon Apr 17, 2017 6:22 pm
Odin had always been the type of person to listen to his gut feeling when it told him something was wrong. As soon as he remembered of that stupid fae his mind went racing. Leon traded s**t through library books. The ******** already had a way around Odin whenever he wanted and the werewolf would have no way of telling. The unfairness of it all drove Odin to the brink. It was sadistic to dangle someone like Leon in front of him who was allowed to sneak drugs when the wolf couldn't. If he didn't fight Leon with every inch of his stubbornness, he'd be sitting right aside the kid begging for a hit of whatever he's got too. It might've been that moment where Odin decided to make a small pact with himself. You stop fighting it, you're killing yourself. It wasn't a bluff or something he was just thinking out of frustration. It was the type of motivation Odin needed. The werewolf always took things too far, especially when it came to keeping himself in line. Back in high school Odin had a method of training himself. He'd mark his arm with a pen anytime he did something bad then when he got home he'd kick the edge of a counter barefoot to match the number of marks he had. Whenever he was becoming a monster, he'd be limping around with broken toes constantly reminding him to get his act together. If the werewolf had continued that method of negative reinforcement... Maybe he never would have got sucked into those vicious addictions in the first place. That year of negative reinforcement was serving him well within the prison walls. That's all anyone seemed to know within this cesspool of an underworld. Torture and pain. You climb a ladder to the top made from the bodies of your victims. You either opt in to be a part of the game or you put all your efforts into not becoming some type of interference or a game piece for others to use. When Odin told Leon they were showering, the kid seemed a bit confused as words poured from his mouth hesitantly. His brow narrowed slightly as he waited, watching the fae's awkward movements as he snatched his bag and was turning for the both of them. Julian wasn't that far behind so by the time Odin glanced over his shoulder his cellmate was already shadowing him. He probably forced the mage to wake faster than he wanted to anyways. It wasn't one of those scenes from a movie where you wake up and everything is calm with birds chirping and butterflies flapping around. It was a harsh reality where you get punched in the ******** face to end any small enjoyments you had. Odin shoved off Julian to flop his body back onto the ground. Nothing in prison seemed to last long even though a sentence seemed to last eternity. He'd have battered someone to near death in order to have a whole day to himself to lay back in that shitty plastic mattress with that stupid long blue hair pushing against his chin. Odin was becoming careless, he really was. The werewolf was really starting to hit that limit where he stopped caring what the other inmates thought. He could take on an embarrassing and shitty reputation and ignore all of it and do what he wanted with Julian when he want. Odin had months left. He had months to find someone to keep an eye on the two of them after he left. He was freaking out over nothing, wasn't he? It would be so simple to give in and focus on trying to be comfortable instead of being such an uptight guard dog 95% of the time. Odin's eyes drifted to Leon. He looked exhausted and sick. His nose was a flushed color of pink. Allergies, maybe? Who was he kidding? His head slowly nodded towards the fae who wasn't even making eye contact. He took a few steps into Leon’s cell, a place he didn’t feel comfortable entering but… Well, it was the best place to show some small pieces of concern. Odin wasn’t going to do it in the middle of everyone. So he lead the two in front of Mallory’s empty bed, sitting on the blankets as his eyes darted for Leon. "You sleep last night?" He asked the pale head of hair that probably didn't even know which he was talking to. Withdrawals were a b***h. Odin knew first hand. He’d scratched the nooks near his elbows for hours as he tossed from one should to the next in his bed. A side effect of quitting the awful drugs Odin had gotten himself into was death. He wasn’t allowed to get a hit or any small pieces even when he thought he would seriously die. Going through it is where Odin’s split stemmed from. A small sliver of his being wanted to be compassionate and connect with the fae. Talk about how Leon would make it through like he did. A larger piece wanted to keep up the front as he continued to act uncaring and not give a ********. The later of the two options was always easier. "Today you’re up to two bites. Don’t touch your food without permission.” The line came out almost threatening, but it was the only time he was gonna order the two around. Once they went to shower, did the morning count, then went for breakfast he wasn’t going to be looking to start barking orders. It was still important to Odin even though he hadn’t explained why to the other two. There was an element of embarrassing having to look like some overly-paranoid lunatic in a place like this. Some piece of Odin wanted the two to respect him to begin with. He wanted to own the two and he wanted the two to want to have him as an owner. Their protector. The title came with some sense of pride Odin couldn’t explain. That night Julian admitted to Odin’s face that he’d choose him over anyone else in this prison felt good. He knew Julian was just picking the lesser of all the evils, but something about being accepted to that degree. It felt so good the werewolf panicked and got snappy with the kid. It was one of those moments Odin ran through in his head repeatedly as he tried to work out what he should have said. He could have promised Julian that he wouldn’t let anything happen to him. Julian was looking to be told that he would be safe. That he wasn’t going to be used as a prop or some type of item to be sold. Odin broke out of his train of thought as his body shifted towards the door. "Hm?” He paused. The werewolf leaned closer, slightly, pulling away from the door. The werewolf slowly moved a bit closer to Leon, bringing a finger in front of the fairy’s face. "Follow.” Leon’s eyes. The finger. Odin carried his hand back and forth a couple times. While Leon’s eyes were supposed to be following his finger back and forth, Odin’s were locked onto the fae’s. Eek! Airplane post. Throwing it up before I gotta start my train ride. HOW ******** GREAT ALL THIS ******** TRAVELING IS. JGIRAOEJGIOREAGJREAIGOJ%(#)UY#%. I'm so sleep deprived help. tab
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Posted: Sun Apr 23, 2017 12:22 am
At that point, Leon was doing everything in his power to keep his feet planted firmly on the ground and his mind rooted in reality. He was more lucid more often now that it was morning, but he was still zoning out and floating out of his body every few minutes, much more frequently than he ought to. Damn that lycan, Maddox, he should have come down hours ago. No doubt the shifty inmate had cut the stuff with some random s**t so he could disperse his produce more, or maybe keep some on hand to use it himself. Well whatever he'd mixed it with was really ******** with Leons head, to speak nothing of how fairies tended to process things differently. Like honey, for example. Perfectly harmless natural sugar to most, yet it could induce severe drunkenness in fairies. There were many other things that affected fairy systems differently, and there was no accounting for whatever that fool Maddox had mixed the pluton with. Leon did his best, staring at his feet when he remembered that he was trying not to look suspicious. He was all up and ready to just go to the showers when Odin, instead, stepped into his cell. Reflexively, Leon took a step back and away, wobbling a little on his feet, unsteady, but he didn't stagger this time.
"You sleep last night?"
Leon blinked, momentarily confused. What an oddly simple, tame question to ask, in a place like this. Two prisoners in a too-empty cell. 'You sleep last night?' His eyes darted, looking for Julian, as if the ink mage would have the right answer. But his vision blurred as he did it, and he had to squeeze his eyes shut. He swallowed his nausea, nodding dumbly. He must have slept at some point, right? At least for an hour or two. He was confused by the werewolf being in his space. He shouldn't be confused by it, and some distant part of him knew that. But he was, and he couldn't figure out why it was wrong. Pike was supposed to be there, not Odin. Not this stranger. He'd known Pike for years. They weren't friends, exactly, but they had an understanding. Why was Odin there instead? He blinked hazily, watching the colors blur into each other and seep back into focus. His head was killing him. Truth was, despite the fact that he knew he needed to be thinking, there wasn't a whole lot going on in the fairys skull. He seemed to need to devote a great deal of his brain function to standing up straight and breathing regularly. Juggling translating spoken words and keeping his eyes focused was stretching it. He managed to reorient himself to face Odin when the werewolf moved to stand in front of Pikes old bunk.
"Today you’re up to two bites. Don’t touch your food without permission.”
That's what was said. But what Leon heard was closer to "-ay up two bites - ---touch without-- -mission." The fairy squinted, furrowing his brow and trying his best to stand up straight and try to understand the words at the same time. But forming a response was taking too long, o instead, he just nodded again. that was usually all that was needed, wasn't it? He just had to nod and follow. Do as he was told.
"Follow.”
"Huh?"
He blinked, opening his eyes wide to try and focus. Follow? The door? No, he'd stopped moving. How did he get from Pikes bed to the door? It almost seemed like the werewolf had teleported. No, it was Leon. He was blipping in and out, missing several seconds span of time every now and then as he cut in and out. It took the fae a full two seconds to see Odins finger and comprehend what the werewolf was trying to get from him. Test. He was testing him and he was already failing. ********. Tha panic came back, fluttering against the inside of his chest. Without thinking about it, his wings unfurled from his back. Unlike his civilian clothes, prison uniforms had no slits along the back to allow his wings to get free, so they simply pressed against the inside of his shirt. His eyes trailed sluggishly, attempting in vain to follow where Odin led them. But their focus went in and out, blurry to clear, and trying made his head hurt. He squeezed his eyes shut with a groan.
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Posted: Sun Apr 23, 2017 6:56 pm
”Huh?” Retarded, maybe. Because there was no other way to describe that blank ******** stupid face the fairy had on. Wasn’t that what Odin thought of everyone though? What he thought of Julian before he saw the way the kid was tugged on and constantly had people catcalling him. Julian had to be a socially awkward moron. If he spoke like a normal person he’d get himself into some deep s**t just as fast as he could say ’oops’.
It took the werewolf a few moments to process the situation and not trash-talk the fae through one long strand of thoughts. Odin had a hard time accepting it. He’d specifically told Leon not to. That was just pure disrespect. That was the fairy spitting right back in his face. Maybe this is how it would all play out. Leon constantly reminding Odin that he was a shitty master who didn’t deserve to lead anyone. He’d probably heard what Odin had done to Julian last night. ********. Anyone who walked by would be able to see Odin’s bed. The werewolf had no idea Julian had re-made the beds and that the top sheets with all the sickness was sitting out of plain view. His finger stretched out, hanging in front of Leon’s eyes as it lazily moved from side to side. Odin’s orbs weren’t following the finger. His were locked onto Leon’s with an animalistic glint forming behind his gaze. An uncertain dog that you reach your hand out to, and it might sniff you or snap at your fingers. That type of gaze that people were taught to go quiet and move away from him when he got it. The one where his monster began to take over and control his thoughts and movements. The second Leon’s eyes shut, there was only one thing that became clear to the werewolf.
Prey.
The disrespectful piece of s**t. His hand cupped around strands of Leon’s hair as he tore the tiny male to the backside of his cell. This was what Odin had in prison. This right here. He pinned the fairy to the wall grabbing hold of his shirt. A clatter could be heard just behind the werewolf as his towel fell to the ground causing everything wrapped inside it to go bouncing across the floor. That included Odin’s toothbrush, unprotected, on such a filthy ground. It was something that would surely pester him once he came back to. The werewolf was too wrapped up in what his current mission was. He needed to teach Leon a lesson. He needed to remind Leon why what he said was the law in here for him. Things worked this way because Odin could crush them. He could snap their necks like twigs or beat them to bloodied pulps if he wanted. He could sell them off for 5 dollars a use or give them to one of the prison gangs to use how they damn well saw fit. He could tear chunks of their flesh off painfully with his dull teeth and eat them slowly over the course of months if he ******** damn well wanted. You haven’t ate in so long. Not for real. After all the working out. After all the stress. ********. Why didn’t Odin deserve to eat Julian’s friend?
His teeth were clenched so hard they made an unpleasant sound when they budged. The werewolf’s bottom lip became trapped between the two rows of off-white digits. It was ******** ridiculous. Odin knew it was ridiculous. He’d never entertain the idea of eating someone. But when those thoughts began to bounce around in his head, beating them to a bloodied pulp sounded like mercy to him. One of his hands lifted and glued itself to Leon’s mouth, tightly pressing the fae’s head harder against the wall. Trapped. The kid was completely trapped under Odin’s grasp. Smack. A hit near Leon’s stomach.
The first hit was a test run, preparing to see how much noise the fae would make. Prison didn’t have privacy. There were inmates all over the place and guards just down the hall. Odin learned by now that things like this needed to be done damn fast, or damn quietly. If this fairy managed to make enough noise with Odin’s hand attempting to muffle it, he’d be caught. There was noise all around them. All the tired inmates chatting about. Some probably talking about dreams or s**t they wanted to get done today. By the time Leon’s muffled little voice, if it even found it’s way out his throat, left from behind Odin’s palm… It was too tiny to overpower the chatter around them. Too tiny to drift down the hallway and reach a guard. Too tiny to make an impact.
Odin was so large by comparison. He was too strong. The werewolf had never been taught how delicate fae’s could be. He had never interacted with one enough to understand what he was about to do. He was too focused on the lesson he was ready to reach the fae. With his priorities skewed, all he wanted to pass along was his message: What what I says goes or you’ll regret disrespecting me. It had all been so quick, the test run. Odin’s tunnel vision where he was seeing red was so narrow he hadn’t even considered his cellmate standing there in horror as he brought his arm back, nearly about to decorate the cell with a fresh coat of paint: Leon’s blood.
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Posted: Mon Apr 24, 2017 8:16 pm
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-- ❝i'm just so tired of waking up on the ground❞
Odin wasn't stupid.
The thing was, other inmates seemed to get that impression-- maybe because the blonde rarely communicated with them outside of grunts or growls. Or maybe it was just prejudice on their part. Maybe they figured that, as a werewolf, Odin Cypress was strong but slow. That he wouldn't get their potential threats and respond accordingly, or that they could just come to summon him and he would follow. They were the stupid ones if they believed that was going to happen. Because the blonde seemed to understand a little better everyday what his position was in the prison hierarchy, where he fit in accordance with others, and how hard he could push without causing an avalanche of s**t back onto himself and his. He'd looked at the inkwell like the mage was talking in Klingon when Julian spoke about the Matthew Effect before, and maybe Odin hadn't known that was what it was called-- and who the ******** would, but people who read sociology texts for fun-- but he plainly grasped the concept. He'd trusted Julian's judgment, put himself out on a limb to retrieve Leon, even encouraged the fairy to eat, even if it was only a tiny amount.
But that wasn't always easy, and Julian knew it. Because Odin wasn't stupid, but he also wasn't docile. His kindnessess, his control-- those things took effort, because the man did have a temper, and the azurette could only assume that that temper would fray more the closer they came to the moon. Until just the act of breathing quietly in his own bunk might be enough to make Odin drag him down and try to strangle him to death. Again. Until Julian's very presence was only a grating irritant, a sharp grain of sand dragging unseen microabrasions in its wake, unknowingly damaging. It never occurred to him, even once, that that's how pearls are made.
It wasn't the werewolf's fault that the azurette seemed to have some kind of Olympic talent for getting under his skin. Actually, Odin was making effort all the time to be careful with Julian, kind to him, better to him than almost anyone in this place ever was to anyone else. For reasons that the inkwell couldn't begin to imagine, the older man was looking out for him, taking care of him. Julian knew that. He'd just had an extreme example of it a scant few hours ago. What he remembered in the light of day wasn't the hand at the nape of his neck, or the fear of being choked on what had been buried in his throat. The mage focused on after that. Visceral sensory memory made it a little embarrassing, actually, because he kept needing to hold himself just a bit further out of touching distance. Standing in the werewolf's shadow instead of childishly trying to fold in against his side, the way he had in sleep.
Because, for the most part, Julian wasn't stupid either.
Odin's temper wasn't entirely unpredictable. The azurette could think of a few different things that seemed to provoke it. And he knew that the werewolf's mercy and control weren't inexhaustible. But Julian was also aware that there were situations when allowing outsiders to view that temper helped the blonde to exert control over others. It had happened in the mess hall, when Odin forced other inmates to trade their trays for the ones he carried. And in the yard, when he'd snapped an alchemist's wrist with terrible ease to show that reaching for Leon-- for Odin's new property-- wasn't in anyone's best interests. It began as soon as the werewolf so publicly claimed Julian, carrying the smaller male back to their cell, right out of Hotts' hands. Every single move Odin made sent a message, solidified a position, demanded respect. It wasn't just the way the blonde protected them-- it was how he had to protect himself. That was the only explanation. The only answer that filled all the blanks for why the werewolf changed so rapidly from sun up to sun down. Why he'd do things, allow things, at night that he vehemently denied the one time Julian had ever tried to bring them up. The azurette had believed it was disgust. Absolute revulsion. But it.. hadn't seemed that way when Odin wiped his face clean, or when the blonde's hand over his mouth gentled slightly, one of the larger man's thighs tucked between Julian's. No, that had been.. That was..
That was private. Or, at least, as private as possible here.
But the look on Leon's face, the vacant dismay that chased across the fairy's delicate features-- that was public. That was an open defiance of what Odin had specifically made clear. It was too obvious that the ivorette had been using, as much as Julian wanted to think that maybe he was just tired. There was a difference. A big one. Pretending he couldn't see it and just hoping that his cellmate wouldn't notice.. Those things weren't an option. Leon's eyes, gold of just a slightly lighter shade than Julian's own, were glazed and unfocused, unable to follow along after Odin's moving finger even once the fairy realized that was what the werewolf wanted.
He'd settled on Leon's bunk, slightly apart from the smaller man, taking up his position as a bracket to keep the ivorette upright. He could see the look on Odin's face. The sharp concentration in it as the larger man pinpointed what was wrong. What was out of place. Heard the groan the fairy made. And Julian, who spoke so very little, even his lips parted like he meant to make a case for mercy. But Odin moved too fast for that.
The werewolf was strong, and the fairy was light, and in less than a second Leon was torn away from his side and shoved against the concrete wall. The inkwell hissed softly, knowing how the bruises would spring up, not even that long from now. Odin didn't understand. Odin didn't know what he was doing. Julian had never explained to him how tender Leon was, how easy it would be to hurt him gravely-- mortally. A sharp flinch had the azurette's shoulders spasming as he took the first two steps, not fast enough, and saw the blonde's hand lash out at the smaller man's unprotected stomach. Christ, the damage that could be done, just with that, even without Odin really trying--
He did the only thing he could in the time it took the werewolf to lift his arm again.
The ink mage ducked under the handhold Odin had on Leon's mouth, worming his own body between their drastically different frames so that his back and shoulders would bear the brunt of whatever strike the older man decided to make. Taller than the fairy by half a foot, Julian curled over him, not thinking twice about what he was doing. Not thinking twice about how his own battered skull was right there, an easy target, an egg with a shell already showing precarious cracks. All he could process was Leon, tiny Leon, who'd lied to him but didn't deserve to die for it, and Odin, so much stronger, about to ruin his own life by ending the fairy's.
"Please, no--" His voice was an embarrassing burr over the back of the hand on his brother's mouth, throat still recovering from the night before. Little more than a husked whisper. Strained. "Can't, Odin-- You can't, or he'll die-- Please--"
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