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 Posted: Fri Jul 08, 2016 12:08 am
THREAD LOCATION
▶ SAXON PRISON FACILITIES
STATUS
Closed for Julian St. Jude & Odin Cypress.
SUMMARY
This thread contains highlights from the first few weeks of Odin's
prison sentence and the first encounters he has with Julian.
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Posted: Fri Jul 08, 2016 12:18 am
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Posted: Sat Jul 09, 2016 8:44 pm
   N E V E R L E T Y O U R F E A R D E C I D E Y O U R F A T E
Julian had tried to stay optimistic about it all. His old cellmate had been fairly difficult. The kind of person who terrorized the smaller male to show that he was some kind of big-shot, when in reality-- or at least, in the ecosystem of the prison yard-- he was at most a medium-sized fish in a very large pond. A pond full of sharks. Some of which had frickin' lasers on their foreheads. Seen from that perspective, Julian himself was a guppy. And what he wanted, more than anything in the world, was for providence to intervene just enough that he could get roomed with someone who would be as low on the totem pole as he was. It wouldn't make interacting with the general population any safer for either of them, but it would make cell life that much less tense and terrifying if, somehow, the other person sharing his small space turned out not to be a threat. The azurette didn't really have any illusions about making friends with whoever it turned out to be-- after all, this wasn't Ru Paul's Best Friend Race. But he didn't consider it completely mental to cherish a small, glimmering hope that his new cellmate wouldn't make it a point to beat on him whenever he got bored.
It was clear from the still-healing split at the corner of the ink mage's lower lip that the tenant whose place the strawberry blonde was taking hadn't had any qualms about using Julian as a punching bag.
He was perched on the top bunk-- his by virtue of him having been lighter than his last cellmate, rather than because he'd actually chosen it-- when the guard shuffled the new prisoner down the hall. From the too-cool-for-school apathy on New Guy's face, he was either accustomed to being in trouble with the law, or he just didn't care much about anything in general. Either one boded ill for Julian, who had been desperately hoping to see someone that matched his own slight build and gentle demeanor. Instead, he'd been saddled with someone who had a height advantage on him-- although, mercifully, the strawberry blonde looked fairly lean-- and what was very clearly an attitude problem, from the way he responded to the guard's entirely reasonable request.
A second later, there was the abrupt shift of weight on the lower bunk's mattress, and the azurette let the moment stretch in silence. Part of him wanted to play along with the game of you-don't-exist the other male seemed to be playing, but experience had taught him that that game didn't last for very long. Inevitably, sharing as small a space as they did, they would have to learn how to interact with one another-- or, more likely, Julian would have to learn what Strawberry's trigger points were, and then find ways to avoid them as much as possible to avoid being beaten. At least, that had been how it was with the last cellmate, whose name he'd never learned, but whose fists had often been acquainted with Julian's face and stomach.
It only took half a minute more before the ink mage felt a little ashamed of himself. Holding this new guy accountable for Old Guy's cruelty wasn't right or fair. Maybe Strawberry was just playing it cool, when he was actually scared out of his mind. Julian had spent most of his time, before prison, wading into slums where people slept a dozen people to an apartment. Runaways and ex-slaves, most of them, who hadn't had any legitimate opportunities, and had turned to crime out of necessity. Prostitutes and drug runners and burglars. Addicts, alcoholics, gamblers-- even murderers, some of them. They had responded to Julian's kindness and openness with contempt or suspicion at first, so accustomed to having life slap them down that they instinctively believed him to be some sort of con. Many of those same people had gone on to be his friends once they realized he was genuine.
Prison had started to tarnish him, steal a little silver from the lining of his clouds, and when Julian realized it he was instantly disappointed in himself. The guy on the lower bunk didn't look that much older than he was, and if nothing else, the azurette understood implicitly how easy it was to get down on your luck.
And so, against all the self-preservation instincts he'd gained since the start of his sentence, the ink mage curled both his hands around the welded metal of the bedframe that cradled his mattress. Using it as a brace, Julian leaned forward until he could swing part of his upper half over the edge, hair falling down around his face in uneven layers of teal and blue. Upside down, he offered the newcomer a tentative smile, ticking his head just slightly toward the bedding that the other man seemed so intent on ignoring. There were two, but neither was fitted with the elastic band most people were used to seeing on their sheets, because that made it too easy to tuck contraband inside to keep it out of the immediate view of guards walking the halls. Most people didn't know how to do hospital corners, but Julian had collected that skill when he was much younger, shadowing the household slaves who had been closer to him than most members of his family.
"They search cells more often when things aren't set up the way they want them." The statement had an apologetic quality, somehow, but the smile that accompanied it suggested Julian really did mean well. "Even if you don't have anything on you, sometimes they'll detain you, and then you lose your yard time."
And then, gentler, because he knew what he was talking about. "It doesn't sound important now, but getting to see the sun makes being in here a lot less soul-crushing. So, I can show you how to do the hospital corners if you're not used to it."
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Posted: Mon Jul 11, 2016 1:08 am
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Posted: Mon Jul 11, 2016 2:04 am
N E V E R L E T Y O U R F E A R D E C I D E Y O U R F A T E
The silence he'd been given in response to his attempts to help was a little disheartening, true, but it was also a hell of a lot better than getting his a** handed to him, which is more likely what would have happened if he'd still been saddled with his old cellmate. And really, he couldn't blame Strawberry if the guy didn't feel like having a long conversation now-- or ever. The first few days of Julian's sentence had felt utterly hopeless, so he could sympathize with the way the other man was staring at the ceiling. Before solitary, he'd thought that nothing could possibly be worse than this very cell. The azurette had been wrong, of course, but it had taken time to learn that, and most people learned best from experience, rather than lecture. And so, when the werewolf rolled over, turning his back to Julian's amber-gold stare, the mage had only swung back up onto his own bunk, occupying himself in reading and re-reading Krish's letters to make sure that he didn't make too much noise. If nothing else, the guy below him at least deserved to be able to shorten his sentence with a little bit of sleep. And maybe he'd be in a better mood in the morning.
Except.. not.
Julian felt a certain amount of guilt that he hadn't explained everything to Strawberry the day before, because that might have staved off some of what he privately had dubbed The Linen Standoff. He'd led what little explanation he had given with the warning about not being allowed outside, because, well.. It was the thing that had made the most difference when it came to his own mood and mental well-being. After courting time in solitary as a means of keeping himself physically intact, he'd found that prison wasn't a place where all your needs would ever be met. For guys like Julian-- slim and girlish and non-violent-- it came down to a basic decision. You either took your beatings so that you could see daylight and maybe keep your sanity intact, or you hit from the beatings by getting tossed into a solitary cell, and you got suicidal.
Maybe Strawberry wouldn't have those problems. He was skinny as hell, but he had a mean expression to him, and more height than Julian. Maybe daylight didn't matter much to him-- at least not yet. Maybe the ink mage should have led with the bit about getting put on shitty details or not being able to keep anything personal in the cell. Either way, it seemed like the guard on duty was being fairly decent about it, as far as guards went. It could have been a lot worse, really. From his place on the rungs leading to his own already-made bunk, Julian watched in silence while the full explanation was given. He only brought himself fully to the floor once the uniform was walking away, holding onto the ladder with one hand as though he might have to climb back up again in a hurry. If the floor turned to lava, for example, or if the werewolf decided that it was his domain. Ultimately, the azurette wasn't sure whether that was going to be the arrangement, since the one glance the other man had thrown his way had been quickly redirected.
What he did know was that when the guard came back again to finalize inspection, finding Strawberry laying on the bed like that, with the covers every which way but proper, things were going to get quite a bit more unpleasant. Like Julian had first suspected, it seemed to be the fact that the sheet had no elastic to it that had caused all the confusion. Almost nobody was used to folding hospital corners on a regular basis. So the mage positioned his slim frame beside the bed, bending to kneel near the foot of it. He paused only a moment, turning to look at the werewolf briefly, as though asking permission to touch the things that belonged to him, before taking hold of one of the sheet corners.
The ghost of a smile touched his mouth, the habitual expression of someone who made a habit of helping and seemed to somehow enjoy it. He tucked the sheet under the foot of the mattress, until the edge along the side of the bed hung down like a flap. While his hands moved, adjusting the sheet so that there was a sharp, diagonal crease leading from the tucked corner to the hem, Julian murmured conversationally, "It's a little ridiculous, having to do origami just to put a sheet on a bed, but they won't give us the fitted ones, so here we are. It's harder to get the side against the wall, and they almost never come inside to check it, so you can get away with a little more on that side."
Folding and tucking half of the sheet along the outer edge of the bed, the azurette leaned back, coming into a crouch so that he could stand instead of moving to finish the rest. It had nothing to do with the task, and everything to do with not wanting to invade the other man's space and possibly earn himself a punch to the face. So he just gestured vaguely toward where Strawberry was laying.
"You can try the top half, if you want, or I'll just do it for you before he comes back, and you can practice it some other day."
It was a great idea to teach a man to fish, after all, but almost impossible to teach a man to fish with a ten-minute time limit.
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Posted: Tue Jul 12, 2016 1:40 am
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Posted: Tue Jul 12, 2016 10:25 pm
N E V E R L E T Y O U R F E A R D E C I D E Y O U R F A T E
There was no way for the other man to be aware that his silence was, even paired with the sour look that sometimes crossed his face, the best treatment Julian had received from another inmate since the beginning of his sentence. Maybe in the real world, where people were expected to begin their acquaintances with niceties, the azurette would have taken offense to his assistance being brushed off. After all, a few years ago he had been a proper gentleman, all kitted up in his private school uniforms, and then in the sleek little suits his father had expected him to wear for college. His manners and speech had been just as polished, just as upper-crust, before he'd left the nest. That Julian might have extended a hand, expected the werewolf to shake it, and then sniffed lightly when the effort was inevitably rebuffed.
But the thing was, this Julian had had the s**t kicked out of him enough times, and had spent enough time alone in the beige box, that Strawberry's silent treatment seemed almost positive in comparison. After all, it wasn't the absolute isolation that had driven him to the edge of sanity. Even without speaking, the taller man made noises just by being alive, and the proximity of what seemed-- for now-- a benign presence was almost comforting. Old Guy had lashed out at Julian at least twice every single day they'd shared a cell. If all New Guy intended to do was pretend the azurette didn't exist, then he really wasn't so bad. They didn't have to talk, they just had to share the same space.
So he folded the sheets in the morning, because ultimately it didn't take that much time to take care of both beds. In some ways, it felt like the least he could do, since his cellmate was obviously still settling in. Mentally accepting where he was, and for how long. It was a process everyone went through, except maybe the frequent flyers whose visits to the outside world were rarer than their stints in prison. After the first few days, it wasn't even something that took consideration. Julian simply straightened his own bunk, waiting and listening for the sound of the werewolf tossing his own bedding around down below, and then he'd descend to fix the other bed. They didn't make small talk, so the only question the ink mage ever asked was whether Strawberry wanted to practice the folding. Invariably met with silence, or the abrupt turn of the other man's body in any other direction, Julian eventually just stopped asking, although he worried that it might leave the werewolf unable to perform the task himself if Julian ever got hurt or sick.
And he got hurt often.
Although he tried to stay out of the way in common areas, like the caf and the yard, the azurette would often find himself elbowed, kneed, stepped on. His place in the lunchroom was always on the very fringe, but there were some who seemed to actively single Julian out wherever he tried to go. These were the ones who would take the better parts of his meal right off his plate. The ones who pulled his hair as they sauntered past hissing that he was just some little baby f*****t. That he probably felt just like a woman. Sometimes they would pinch his hips as they moved past, twisting hard to leave deep, staining bruises that hurt for days afterward. It was all they could do in the caf, but it was more than enough to make Julian grateful he hadn't been roomed with any of them. He never looked for Strawberry when things like that were happening, though. Nobody in this place was going to protect him from anybody else.
Let alone somebody who was already suffering withdrawals.
He had seen it a thousand times, working in Haven territory. The people there hadn't had anything in their lives that they felt was worthwhile. Just memories and experiences that tormented them, with no chance of clawing their way up from that point. The only escape they had was in bottles and pills and syringes and pipes. It was the first rule the Patron Saint of Lost Causes gave to anybody he was going to help: If they wanted to escape for real, they had to stop chasing the dragons that would inevitably sabotage them. The ones who didn't want it bad enough to get clean were the ones Julian walked away from, as hard as that had always been. It wasn't his place to judge them, but it was his place to keep safe the people who were depending on him, and all it would take was one junkie getting taken in by the cops, their identification not matching their story, to bring the whole house of cards coming down.
What he wanted to tell the other man was that if nothing else, prison was going to get him clean, and that it could be an amazing opportunity for him, if he wanted to take it. He listened to the way Strawberry shivered through the night hours, and Julian thought long and hard about what he could do to help, but the truth was that there was nothing. He could be quiet, he could stay out of the way, he could give the man as much privacy as their little space allowed, and he could fold the sheets. So those were the things he did.
And then, one day, Strawberry seemed a little better.
Well, more active, at least. Too active, actually.
If Julian had been a werewolf-- or had been better acquainted with any-- he might have recognized the restlessness for what it really was. But the azurette had been born a mage, raised by mages, in a family estate of the same. So when he found the strawberry blonde doing a sharp back-and-forth around their cell, Julian instantly felt a deep sympathy, rather than the anxiety that would have been more appropriate. In solitary, he'd worn a similar track in the floor, pacing for days, as though doing so would somehow transport him out of the little box of safety he'd tried so hard to be thrown into. And here was someone else, experiencing that same stir-crazy feeling. It wasn't a wonder, really. Everyone Strawberry had ever known or loved was on the outside. They'd never talked about it, of course, but it was a fact that applied to every single prisoner in the place. Had Julian wrongly assumed that the best thing he could do was keep things neat and tidy, and stay quiet?
It went on for days.
And it almost made Julian dizzy, watching the werewolf swing from one side of the room to the other, like an angry pendulum. The azurette was never sure whether to climb down from his bunk or not, and often retreated back to his mattress once he'd straightened Strawberry's sheets for the day. At dark, when the pacing was finally over, the push-ups would begin. Between his reading and rereading of Krish's letters, Julian often found himself counting along, numbering the sets. Each time, the other man was able to do a little more.
On the fourth night, before Strawberry collapsed into exhausted sleep, the mage leaned over from his own upper bunk, smiling just faintly in the dim of the cell, and murmured encouragingly, "You seem like you're getting better."
It was probably the longest sentence either of them had spoken to the other since the first day.
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Posted: Wed Jul 13, 2016 1:05 am
"You seem like you're getting better." Odin’s eyes closed. Those words seemed to echo in his head for hours as he slept.
”Why are you hanging with the ghouls?”
”I’m not.”
”We’ve seen you sitting with them the past two days. I know who you are. I can smell it.” Odin’s eyes slowly drifted from the lycan’s face as he glanced over at his cellmate. Loopy was trying to balance his lunch tray after someone had tugged at his hair rather hard. Was pretty impressive the boy didn’t drop everything all over the floor ruining it. Odin’s gaze slowly shifted back as the lycan’s face came back into focus. ”Hm? You think you’re joining them?” The lycan (not that he could smell it himself, but judging by the context of the conversation, was pretty easy to come to the conclusion) seemed a bit younger than Odin. The punk was trying to recruit him for some little prison gang or some s**t. He didn’t know.
”No.” Odin responded rather lifelessly as he glanced back over at his cellmate seeing that the idiot seemed to pick a seat that was a few seats away from the group next to him. He didn’t talk to many people. He was quiet in the cell. Odin couldn’t tell if it was his personality or he was too afraid to say s**t around such dangerous groups of people.
”Come be with us, then.” The lycan pulled away and Odin followed behind sitting down with the new group. It ranged from a few old men to a couple of random punks that seemed to make bad decisions. Then Odin. The werewolf began to try and dig his nails into the table, dragging them towards his body. He continued the nervous habit probably filing his nails down at the pure pressure he was placing on them. Just slowly scratching like nails on a chalkboard. Scratching. Scratching.
”The ******** is this?” One of the older lycans finally asked.
”He’s one of us.”
”No he ain’t.” The lycan nodded towards Odin’s hand that was still aggressively tearing for the table. If he was powerful enough, it probably would’ve changed to a claw by now.
”Oh. Well he smells… Isn’t it close enough?”
”No. You like the taste of blood, eh? You willing to spend your life in here once we need you? Not that you’ll be able to say no. Can hardly keep yourself still, innit?” Odin bit down on his bottom lip glaring towards the older man. Gray hair. Facial hair that was unkept. ”You’re on your own then. Keep your head down or people will take advantage once they learn who you are. ‘S all we use cunts like you for. Been ‘bout five years since I’ve seen one of the werewolves not lose their s**t on someone.” The old man let out a small chuckle. ”Trouble is the last thing any of us need right now.” Odin stood back up knowing he wasn’t welcome. He was immediately questioning how the ******** he was supposed to prevent himself from losing his s**t. His whole body was quivering with anger. Angst. Odin didn’t know how to describe it. The monster wanted loose and Odin was in the way. It was infuriating. Odin glanced back over at the ghouls. Did they allow him to sit there for his food, or did they know what he was and planned on trying to manipulate him into doing something violent?
Snap. Snap it. Snap. You’ll feel better. Nobody will control you. Snap. Crack. That’s all you need to feel better. One outburst and you’ll feel better. One. One and you’ll have control again. The werewolf was nearly seeing red. Nearly. He stood there with his foot resting on the back of Loop’s elbow. He pictured the boy’s arm tearing out in the wrong direction. He pictured exposed bone and the same loud noise it made as it shot from his flesh. He pictured his sentence. Life in prison. Being used by different people who just wanted him to carry out their payback for whatever petty prison gang drama they were involved in. Having to get a new cellmate who spoke too much and didn’t make his bed each morning.
Odin’s foot gently landed beside Loopy. His rough grasp pinning the mage in that awkward position was lifted as he tore the other male to his feet. Odin slammed Loopy backwards against the mattress, the boy’s head smashing against the wall as Odin quickly straddled him to keep him tightly wound downwards. His weight pressing against the mage’s chest. Both his hands rose to the boy’s pale skin, roughly cupping around his neck. His thumbs gently ran across Loopy’s skin until they slowly fiddled with his adam’s apple. Gently, yet sternly, the werewolf began to press down. It was like a button just begging to be pressed. The harder he pushed inwards, the closer he leaned in towards his prey. Harder. Harder. Harder.
At this point, Odin’s nose was just brushing against the tip of Loopy’s nose as he tried to make out his victim’s eyes. The fear. The hopelessness. The surrender. The monster wanted to watch his eyes turn off. He wanted to watch his prey turn off. He wanted to feel Loopy’s last breath. Odin’s forehead nearly pressed against Loopy’s forehead as he began to breath in a more uneven animalistic pattern. His hot breath falling down on Loopy as he weighed down on the boy.
Snap him. Snap him. Snap ******** it was all he wanted.
▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ LOCATION ● Saxon City Prison. xxx SONG ● | X | xxx FEELING ● Angst. Anger. Torment. xxx COMPANY ● Little Loopy.▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬
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Posted: Wed Jul 13, 2016 2:32 am
N E V E R L E T Y O U R F E A R D E C I D E Y O U R F A T E
No one had ever tried to recruit Julian, exactly.
His was a slender frame, elegant, pretty. Too pretty for a place like this, really, with his combination of long hair and delicate features. His mild expressions and graceful hands. The slight flare of his hips and thighs, mercifully camouflaged under the baggy cotton uniform. What it couldn't hide was that he was smaller than most of the other prisoners, and given to saying both 'please' and 'thank you.' His crime had not been violent, and neither was Julian himself. So in a place like this, he could have only one use to anyone. It was something that had been communicated to him often in the way other prisoners looked at him, and in the way they lashed out at him unprovoked. In the beginning, it had terrified him so much that he'd gone to great lengths to be tossed in solitary confinement, certain that that would be better than what would inevitably happen to him if he was left in gen pop. Some days, the azurette considered going back to the beige room, staying there as long as he could stand it.
Because there was hardly a day where someone wasn't growling something vicious at him. Tripping him up just to watch him fall. And Julian wasn't stupid. He knew that one day the bullying was going to turn into real violence, and then he wasn't going to just be bruised or sprained. For today, it was just the hair-pulling, and that meant it was mild. None of his food had dropped from the tray, and he'd taken an empty space without making a fuss, simply glad that the full meal was there in front of him.
And a few minutes later, so was his cellmate.
It was perplexing, because Strawberry had never sat anywhere near Julian before, even though the werewolf had appeared to choose his place almost at random. The other man didn't say anything, which was par for the course, and the mage considered telling him that it might be in his best interests to choose another place to sit. That Julian tended to be a magnet for hostility, and he didn't want it to rub off on Strawberry just by proximity. Only, with the werewolf glowering at any approaching figure, there were no knuckles being dug into the azurette's spine. No swift kicks aimed at his seated back as people walked past.
Afraid that putting his gratitude into words would make the other man stalk off, Julian had done the only thing he could think of. Without looking up, he took the roll of bread on his own tray and transferred it across the table, settling it in front of the strawberry blonde without so much as a murmur.
Later, with the sun going down outside the prison walls, Julian had climbed the ladder to his bunk feeling almost serene. Things were not so terrible-- not really. He had Krish's letters, and even if he was trapped in a cell, at least it was with someone who hadn't actively tried to cause him harm. It wasn't friendship, but it was better than he'd come to expect in this place, and maybe there would eventually be conversation. Even if there never was, the azurette was just grateful that--
The hand that curled in the front of his uniform came from nowhere, and pulled with such force that there was no chance to scramble for purchase at the sheets or matress. Julian's light frame dragged and slid over the edge of the metal brace, and the sound he made was a short yelp of distress that turned to muffled vibration once his mouth was covered. Confusion muddled his understanding, even though there was only one possibility for who was doing this, and the mage's eyes went rabbit-wide as his fight or flight instinct kicked an assload of adrenaline into his system. But Julian had never been a fighter, and there was nowhere to flee to, even if pain hadn't blossomed fresh at the back of his knee, crumpling his frame until he was easily positioned.
Arm extended, locked, the worst feeling in the world was that foot against his elbow. The threatening pressure, pushing, tense. In anticipation of what would almost certainly be the worst pain he'd ever known in his life, the azurette's entire body froze. He'd read a book once, Watership Down, where there had been a word for that kind of paralyzing fear. Knowing you should struggle, or run, and instead just watching the tsunami or the thresher or the avalanche bear down on you instead. Going tharn, the book had called it. And Julian was tharn now.
Absurdly, he wondered what he had done to call this kind of wrath down on himself, even as Strawberry's foot eased away. There should have been a surge of relief once the threat was gone, but there wasn't time, and the azurette was lifted like a doll, brought to his feet just as quickly as he'd been torn from his bunk, and then unceremoniously thrown onto the werewolf's mattress. The back of his head smacked the concrete wall, sent dark flowers blooming behind his eyes, and Julian felt the sting of tears welling. One deep breath, hissing at the pain, and then the full weight of the other man was above him, pinning him down, constricting his lungs in the same way the werewolf's hand constricted his throat.
His eyes were so bright, so wide, gone glassy with the burning that was already starting in his lungs, his throat. The pressure of those digits against his adam's apple was torturous, blocking all sound but a low whimper, and Julian knew then that there would be no begging. Not with his voice locked, slowly being crushed inside his throat. Ink welled under his skin, rose to the surface like a blush, and he fought to make words of it across his cheeks and chin, down the soft, pale flesh of his neck. Like crimescene tape, the words unrolled themselves across Julian's skin. PLEASE and DON'T and WHY and HURTS unfurled around half-lidded eyes the color of new gold. The words were there, and then gone again, sinking away without focus to keep them in place. And maybe the other man was even too close to read them. So close that their noses brushed. So close that the werewolf's every exhale made up three quarters of the threadbare breaths Julian struggled to take.
His lungs were fire and this throat was a vice, squeezing tighter and tighter around his broken voice. Pale hands rose to the shoulders of the man above him, ineffectual, lacking any strength to fight back with the world dimming around him, greying, fading out. There was no chance to ask what this was about, why this was happening. It was like all the kicks and pinches and yanking of his hair that he'd sustained from the other inmates. They did it because Julian was offensive to them somehow. Because they wanted something from him, wanting to scare him into submitting to--
Was that it? Was that what this was..?
On the edge of consciousness, there was no more room for thought. He would never be able to push the werewolf off or away. And so Julian did the only thing he was capable of. His arms curled, weak, at Strawberry's shoulders, around the back of his neck, and gently pulled him down to close the distance between them. The azurette's lips brushed, tentative, the very ghost of a kiss-- and then parted, allowing the warm velvet of his tongue to flick along the seam of the older man's mouth.
Mercy, that first contact begged. We know who's in control here, so mercy.
OOC: Uhm. All I can say is. Julian watches a lot of documentaries, and knows that subservient wolves will lick a dominant wolf's muzzle to try to diffuse violence. XD Also, he's pretty sure Odin's trying to beat him until he gives up the goods. The sex goods.
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Posted: Wed Jul 13, 2016 5:46 pm
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Posted: Thu Jul 14, 2016 8:23 pm
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Posted: Sun Jul 17, 2016 3:25 pm
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Posted: Sun Jul 17, 2016 9:53 pm
N E V E R L E T Y O U R F E A R D E C I D E Y O U R F A T E
Odin’s chin pressed to the crown of his head, and the arm around him kept their bodies seamed together, but the very closeness only served to underline who was in control. Julian could feel the cotton of the other man's uniform all along his own back, where the azurette was as bare as the day he'd been born. Completely exposed, completely vulnerable, his body was a patchwork quilt of bruising. Every part of him a mess. Where the blonde's teeth had caught at his throat, a mark stood out against Julian's regular pallor. Livid and red, just shy of having drawn blood, the bite was tender, aching in time with the beats of his pulse.
With a lover, he could have turned. Could have rolled with a languid stretch and a warm smile to wrap his own arms in a loose embrace around someone he had come to know, and admire, and want. But this was a different kind of world he'd fallen into, and his responses-- so strong and quick, even in the midst of cruelty-- to what Odin had done to him made Julian feel conflicted. It could have been worse. So much worse. He could be bleeding now, damaged, but he wasn't. Because whatever marks the werewolf had left on his body, he'd.. shown restraint, where it was most needed. He'd been careful with the azurette, in his own way.
That was what Julian told himself as he felt the other man's tension easing just slightly. And even this was something he was becoming accustomed to, in the short time they had shared the same space. These events were just everything else, magnified to a higher scale. Odin's lulls and rages weren't regular, but they had their own rhythm, and Julian could learn what prompted them if he paid attention. And he had to. Now more than ever.
Because he had to have done something, hadn't he, for this to have happened? Had to have invited this in some way. Everything from start to finish had made it clear that men were not the strawberry blonde's regular fare. And that meant it was Julian. Something he'd done, or said, or didn't do, didn't say-- Something he was, that Odin had somehow seen, and that the azurette had never recognized in himself, because maybe it hadn't been there until he'd been put in this place.
With a lover, he could have turned. Nuzzled close against the warmth of that other body and peppered throat and jaw with soft, chaste kisses that were full of tender affection. With a friend, he could have murmured sleepily, asking questions, hoping for answers. But Odin was neither of those things, and Julian felt that these calm moments, these bare seconds with the other man's arms around him-- not just pinning him now, but holding-- were somehow insidious. It tugged at what little guard he had. The barest suggestion of safety. Yet, he knew now, from experience, that that was the best way to make the werewolf angry.
So he was still, and he was pliant. A silent doll held to Odin's chest in the dark. Minutes crawled by, and finally his hand rose, fingers probing along the side of his throat, making him flinch as they traced where he'd been bitten. Tomorrow, every part of his body would hurt like hell, but the uniform would cover all of it, except for that mark. Tomorrow, he'd wear his hair over it to save Odin the embarrassment of having to see it, and he'd keep his eyes down and his mouth shut. Tomorrow, he'd be grateful that the other man had been careful, and ashamed at his own reactions to that relative kindness.
But for now, Julian just stared into the dark, unsure if he was expected to stay put or get out of the way.
OOC: First portion of this post is on tumblr, because reasons.
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Posted: Mon Jul 18, 2016 8:07 pm
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Posted: Tue Jul 19, 2016 12:49 pm
N E V E R L E T Y O U R F E A R D E C I D E Y O U R F A T E
In the silence, he'd lain there without movement, stiff in the cage of Odin's arms. But the moments turned to minutes and the minutes turned to hours, and slowly the azurette's aching body succumbed to its exhaustion, easing little by little. As though all there was to this situation was the warmth emanating from the other man's body, solid and sturdy, the thin frame still so much more imposing than Julian's own waifish build. This close, one didn't need to be a lycan or werewolf to hear the rhythm of the other's breathing, and Julian listened to it as it slowed with Odin's near-brushes with sleep, only to be drawn in-- sharp-- when the strawberry blonde would claw his way back toward wakefulness. It happened again and again through the hours, and with his back seamed to the werewolf's chest it was something the mage could almost feel, even through the haze of his own dull state. I'm in shock. Look, I've got a blanket! Krish would have laughed at that. Or, well, probably not, given the circumstances.
It's like being in the ocean. The thought was neutral, blank just like his expression, and the pliant way his limbs had settled where gravity and the other man had deemed fit. Julian had cried before, and during, but if he'd been visible to anyone else now the simple emptiness of his face would have been alarming. Delicate and oh, so very pretty, even with the way his lower lip had swollen where he'd bitten deep enough to leave it bleeding. Doll-like, with the messy halo of his hair feathered along his cheeks and throat in long brushstrokes of blue and teal and bright cyan. But there was nothing behind the eyes, nothing at home, and the effect was unsettling.
Warmth, and the slow, easy rhythm of Odin breathing, like the tide against the shore. Steady, and comforting in its rhythm. Every so often it broke-- that sharp inhale as the werewolf jolted back to reality--in a particularly harsh wave. Julian counted these from his place in the silence. One. Two.
Why is he doing this? Why hold onto me this way? So much of what had happened, what was happening, and how he'd responded to both, were confusing to the ink mage. So much of it had happened so quickly that his mind felt somehow locked against it, unwilling to process the reality. And if he hadn't been there, curled on the bottom bunk with Odin wrapped around him, Julian might have slipped into denial. Might have told himself that it wasn't real, hadn't happened. But the warm weight of the strawberry blonde was a reminder that this hadn't been any kind of hallucination left over from his extended time in solitary. This had happened, and he should feel disgusted. He should feel angry. He should have wrenched away from the arm wrapped around his chest, should have screamed for somebody, anybody. Should have begged for the guards to get him out, and throw him back in the beige box, take him out behind a shed somewhere and shoot him in the back of his skull, lay him down in a doorway and Beatrix Kiddo his head into the frame until he was just an unrecognizable collection of bones and sinew mashed out of shape.
Anywhere, as long as he didn't have to deal with the aftermath of whatever this had been. Anywhere, as long as he didn't have to look Odin in the eye ever again and wonder what had happened here and how much of it had been his own fault. He had been too welcoming, too submissive, too considerate. He hadn't cut his hair when they'd given him the option, wanting to retain the little familiar parts of himself instead of letting prison change everything. Julian was aware of how he looked. Had been told by former girlfriends that he "was so sweet" and "so sensitive for a guy" and a few of them had teased without really meaning it that he was the "pretty" one in their relationship. It was why he'd tried so hard to stay locked up, alone, until he just couldn't take it anymore. Until the walls were full of whispers and he was dying just to see the sky or hear anyone having a conversation. Dying to have anyone touch him in a way that didn't leave him abraded or bleeding or bruised. Dying to be a person, treated with even the slimmest measure of care or affection.
He wasn't so far gone, even now, to really believe that that's what this was. But there was something. In the weight of Odin's arm around him, and the steady movement of the werewolf's chest against his spine, in and out with the air in the other man's lungs. There was something there that was necessary and precious and sustaining, and Julian almost thought all the rest would be worth it if this happened after. If for just a little while he could lie still and feel.. What? Like he wasn't completely, utterly alone in this place.
Four.
There was a sudden pressure against his back, the flat of the blonde's hand forcing the mage forward without so much as a word, and the azurette's strained body couldn't react in time to keep him from tumbling off the mattress, landing hard against the concrete floor. But he was learning, and Julian said nothing, gave no sign that he felt the new injuries to elbow and knee except for a soft hiss. Moving slow, handicapped by various aches, he shuffled his discarded uniform into a bundle, cradling the rough cotton against his chest on his way up the ladder to his own bunk. It was there that he pulled the garments on again, feeling only fractionally better once he was covered. His own sleeping space was so cold, and seemed too big for him all of a sudden. Julian curled at the center of it, wrapping the blanket over and around himself to try to keep the cold at bay. The tight constriction of it clamped down on the worst of the shaking, and Julian laid there, waiting for exhaustion to drag him under, waiting for the brief comfort of sleep.
But he was still awake, still staring at the ceiling with shadows blooming under his eyes, when the guard came. The ink mage sat up a little too quickly, extricating himself from the blanket, sure that he was going to earn even more anger for having failed to tidy both beds. It took a moment for his muzzy, sleepless mind to realize it was too early for that, and he only completely understood once he heard the uniform barking a name. Cypress, like the tree. He was still too addled from sleeplessness to recognize the guard was addressing the man on the bunk below, at least until the werewolf stood.
First name: Odin. Surname: Cypress. It was a far cry from really knowing the person, but somehow knowing the name made Julian feel a bit more grounded. He had heard the surname somewhere, but couldn't completely place it, like a word that gets caught on the tip of your tongue. Somehow he associated it with protection, which was ironic when you really got down to it, because even without being a lip-reader he understood what the blonde had mouthed to him.
"I'm going to kill you."
No words out loud, but Julian didn't doubt the werewolf meant it. And for the first time, something else cut through his despondence. Something else knifed through the confusion and the exhaustion and the deep ache in all the bruises that covered his body underneath the loose cotton of his uniform. Anger was there, blazingly sharp, a tangled ball of barbed wire trapped in his throat.
If Odin had shown himself, at any point, ever, willing to listen to anything that Julian tried to say, he would have known what the procedure was for werewolves on a full moon in the Saxon City Prison. There weren't many in the general population, and the azurette's last cellmate had been just a regular Lycan, but Julian had paid attention to how things worked after he'd left solitary and before he'd gone into it. Werewolves were isolated before their change, to prevent the other prisoners from ending up as grisly smears of blood and muscle. The ones who couldn't hold it together ended up drugged, and came back from the SHU looking like drooling idiots for a little while. It was probably hell, dealing with the effects of being dosed out of their minds on top of the physical toll of a completely altered skeletal structure. And who knew how it might affect Odin, who had already gone through his own week of withdrawals. Julian would have warned him. Would have considered sharing information like that important because it could help in a situation that was otherwise bound to be troubling and difficult to understand.
Except Odin had never wanted to talk, never wanted to listen, never wanted to learn. He just scowled or grumbled or refused to look in Julian's direction whenever the younger man tried to tell him something useful. At first, the azurette had attributed it to fear or discomfort. Depression. The withdrawals he'd obviously been going through. And he'd felt sympathy. He'd given the blonde days, covering for his unwillingness to fold his own sheets, and hadn't even received a 'thank you.' Odin had only ever acknowledged that Julian existed when he was on top of the mage.
It was easy to be angry, watching the uniform escort his cellmate down the hall. It was easy to feel hurt by the suspicion and hatred that had flashed across the werewolf's face. Julian hadn't earned them. If anything, he should be the one feeling those things. He should report Odin for what had happened. Should do it right now, even if it was a full moon--
Full moon.
Werewolf.
Things arranged themselves in the mage's mind like the tumblers in a lock falling into place. Clickclickclick. Sitting there, knees curled to his chest, Julian leaned until his face was in the shelter of his own hands, as though that might soften the sick feeling that swept through him. Behind closed eyelids he saw it again, free now from the haze of shock and fear. Odin's fingers pressing down on his throat, making every breath a lesson in torture. Those eyes above him, narrowed down to sharp slits, watching the light drain out of Julian little by little, so close. Close enough that the little air the azurette brought in had been coming from Odin, and he was breathing the werewolf in in panicky, short gasps. And he misread it. So afraid and so desperate to appease, for the sake of his life, which he'd thought until then that he was ready to lose. He'd misunderstood. He'd assumed. He'd drawn the blonde down with weak arms and that first touch of their lips had been all pleading. And Julian, his tongue had flicked out, tasting warmth and the foreign taste of the other man's mouth, and that was when it changed.
He'd assumed it was what Odin had wanted to begin with, but now the azurette felt a sick certainty that it had only been a slight redirection of impulses that had been surging through the other man already. The full moon so close, that first violence was-- he now thought-- almost inevitable. The rest had been.. instinctive. Just a natural reaction to physical stimulation. And Julian had started that. Julian, who'd thought he was the one being taken advantage of. Julian, who had the disturbing suspicion now that Odin hadn't been in his right mind, and had still made an effort not to hurt the mage in the way that would have been the most permanent.
Suddenly, it wasn't easy at all to be angry.
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