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Joel laughs. It isn't a happy sound-- more heavy in his throat than light, more scratching than smooth. The hairs on his arms rise as the atmosphere goes electric; the closer Sabi comes to him, the more his gaze sharpens.

He's attuned to every curve of her silhouette, and then-- when it's bared-- the pale flesh of her neck in the moonlight.

And he says, "No."

This would've been easier if she were present from the beginning. If, just as Joel woke up, Sabi had been there with open legs and a wet heat to drown in.

But she approaches him and his hand doesn't grab her waist. Instead, his palm presses to her clavicles, big and rough (typical alpha, she's said, and Joel had growled at her as she smirked about being right). Fingers curve over her neck, but he doesn't squeeze yet.

"Want your blood, too."

So he shoves Sabi hard.

Briefly, in the moment between staying in place and lunging for her, Joel remembers learning about this shit in high school. About how the tendency to fight or to fuck rises as alphas come closer to their time if they aren't medicated. One or the other desire has to be fulfilled, some dispassionate health teacher had said, and that's why you should always be sure to take your suppressants. It's why they were developed.

Joel wonders how fucked they would've thought him if they knew he usually wanted both. But the old world's dead, anyway.

Whether Sabi had caught her footing after getting shoved doesn't matter in the long run. Joel's follow-up attack shoves her against the floor, knees on either side of her hips and his hands catching her forearms to pin them over her head. He's stronger than this and they know it-- he isn't so far gone as to use all his strength (not yet)-- but that's the whole point.

"Show me how strong you are, omega." Remind me why we're a pack.

Joel's nails dig into her flesh, rough from uneven cuts, and draw blood as they drag down. The scent of it is harsh against the sweeter notes of Sabi and omega and heat, and it goes straight to his cock.

She’d snuck out well before dawn. Left her own bed cold, on the trail of a bounty too good to pass up. If he’d smelled half this bad this morning...eh, she still would’a gone. They need the trade. Might’ve felt a bit worse about it though.

The whole place stank with it. Brushfire and damp cotton. Jesus, had he decided to scent half the neighborhood? By the time Sabi made it upstairs, key in the lock, her own eyes were bright, body preparing to soothe a distressed packmate. 

Luckily, she’s used to Joel’s snapping by now. Doesn’t take it as written. Just looks him up and down, the new note of copper once she’s close by. How long had he been standing here in the dark? It was well past curfew, and she’d had to take the long way. Couldn’t apologize for it, but it can’t have made things easier.

“You’re early.” Another familiar routine. Sabi pulls off her gloves, her scarf, bares her scent glands as she moves closer. They’re not touchy-feely kind’a people. But like this, she knows her welcome. Knows what he needs. Bloody and bruised and snarling.

“That isn’t all your blood.”

Worthy. Mine.

She doesn’t hide the way the thought makes her want to purr, the flash of Omegan fangs as she saunters into his personal space with her gaze averted, tilting her head back in invitation. Scent me. Take. I’m here, I’m safe. Submission, enough to see if he wants it easily given or if he wants her to fight him a bit for it, earn the way he’s gonna take it out on her.

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He should've left a while ago, when the sun first peeked through the windows ; his shop was normally open by now. In spite of that, Daigo only shifted closer. Dark eyes framed with fine lines traveled across what he could see of Joel from where he laid, tucked into his side. Tentative fingers trailed over the other man's chest. Daigo's coarse, silver hair pooled over his shoulders and pillow like a halo.

Without really thinking, Daigo craned his head up. His nose bumped into Joel's jaw as the ex - yakuza pressed his lips lightly to the curve of his throat. He tried not to think about the darker thoughts swirling at the back of his mind : that he didn't deserve to be happy after these last two decades ; that he should feel guilty for seeking comfort ; that anything taking the edge off of his biting sorrow was somehow wrong.

Daigo swallowed with difficulty, gave Joel's neck a final kiss, and nestled back under his chin. His fingertips traced a scar leisurely. "You're . . . " Daigo murmured to no one in particular, sighing. "Incredible, you know, Joel."

He'd been awake the moment Daigo moved against him, even if the comfort he felt only rose him to half-awareness. The touch of his hand on Joel's chest, the brush of his nose and the pressure of his lips-- he'd felt everything.

(And the gentleness that Daigo affords him, as always, provides a tantalising paradox of lethargy and energy crackling beneath his skin.)

Joel doesn't want to move, not really. Doesn't want to take the moment away from Daigo, not when he wouldn't even know where to begin. Nobody's ever thought him incredible the way Daigo puts it, and while Joel doesn't struggle with self-doubt-- only regret that he hadn't been cruel from the beginning to save his baby girl-- the exclamation would be thought as exaggeration if it had come from anyone else.

But it's Daigo, who's even more taciturn than Joel is. It's Daigo, who's never been soft until this... anomaly bloomed between them.

Daigo doesn't say things he doesn't mean. The thought of that makes his words settle in his chest, warm and unfamiliar.

He decides not to cheapen the moment with platitudes. But he wants Daigo to know that he heard, and so his head tilts down to kiss the other man's hair. Joel lingers before nosing at his forehead, then kissing his brow.

And in the end, without saying a word, he kisses him believing Daigo already sees it coming.

Maybe Daigo's become softer in the years since they've settled in Jackson. But Joel's fucking putty in comparison-- so much so that he no longer feels humiliation when he manoeuvres Daigo to lie on his back beneath him, a hand on his face and another one caressing his side.

You spoil me, he could tease.

You undo me, he could admit.

But Joel only murmurs: "Hey."

And it's not much, not really. But the smile that curves his lips is only Daigo's, and that ought to count for something.

Especially as Joel kisses him with it, full and honest and true.

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love song for k. owyne, anne sexton

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@auroradicit sent: old faithful: You're going to the person you always go to in order to relieve your problem / worked something out: The two of you aren't involved. You just help each other out. / calm you down: Whether it's to fuck or to fight, you're going mad, and they have to bring you back down to Earth. ► from heat / rut prompts

Sometimes, not very often, Joel hates waking up in the morning so much he looks almost longingly at the gun in his right hand after pulling it from beneath his pillow. There are days that it feels more justifiable-- Sarah's and Tommy's birthdays, for example, or his own fucking birthday, or because he wakes up and the rain is pouring in buckets and he has to work outside in the QZ that day-- but the second stupidest, shittiest, most piece of dumbfuck reason he's ever experienced is rut.

The first stupidest, shittiest, most piece of dumbfuck reason? It's when the rut comes and Sabi isn't inside the QZ with him.

So Joel's pretty angry basically all day. He's irascible as he carries out his tasks and even worse when a FEDRA soldier calls him out for walking too slowly (and the verbal lash out he gives is such a rookie mistake he wouldn't be mad in the middle of getting beaten for his insolence if, you know, he didn't want to murder everyone in sight to begin with). And at the end of the day, the new bruises blooming on his back and torso aside, he's sporting purple-red knuckles and a slowly blackening eye-- not even because of FEDRA that time, but because he couldn't get some god damn moonshine without some fucker trying to point out that he reeks of alpha rut and to find some pills, you freak.

Needless to say, he had to pay the owner of the place two ration cards in exchange for breaking the porcelain toilet with the idiot's skull.

When he returns to his home (his and Sabi's home, technically, because it's just more convenient to be roommates, except she's not here, and he's going to lose his fucking mind), everything hurts and he still wants to beat the shit out of somebody. Sure, he's smelled an omega here and there triggered by his scent, but as sweet as they'd been they hadn't been her... and, Christ, that's the real clincher, isn't it? Because thinking that Sabi's the only one who knows how to make it better beyond having a hole to knot is another one of those things that makes him want to shoot himself, too.

Then he smells her.

And, oh, surely she's smelled him. Surely as she snuck her way to their building and climbed up the stairs, she scented all the humiliating remnants of rut she ought to know like the back of her hand by now. He's supposed to be drinking water in the kitchen area by the front door, but Joel forgets all about it when he hears the lock clicking and the knob turning, his nostrils flaring as Sabi's delightful sweetness filters through the gap at the bottom of the door.

He probably looks like a serial killer, standing in the relative darkness and all. The hour is late enough that there's barely any light outside the window, too.

But the sense of relief that fills him-- she's home, she's safe, the pack's complete, my omega-- makes everything else irrelevant.

It's too bad he sounds as harsh as ever as he bites out, "You're late."

Can she smell the blood he carried home with him? God knows Joel reeks of it (and the animal in the back of his mind is proud that he does, too).

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Like this, Sabi made her own nose wrinkle. All citrus and wildflower, cinnamon-spiced with her quarterly around the corner. Flooding the room. Omegalooklistenpleaseme. The kinda thing that made marks easy. Started within-pack fights or got 'em concussed enough to be simple pickings. Made other Omegas snarl, even Betas get squirmy--and Alphas get stupid. Just not usually Joel.

'Leastaways not like this, and Sabi was equal parts curious and frustrated as she shook off the pheromone storm like a dog shaking off rain, holstering her pistol. "The fuck is up with you? You're making it very hard t'keep you alive."

Joel's voice is caustic, rough. "The fuck you mean what's up with me?"

As if he doesn't know. As if the hollow of his throat hasn't been vibrating in an on-and-off growl, irritated and on high alert the moment some of the alphas in the pack had tried to seek Sabi out.

In his defence, though, he's done his job well. Each arrow he's sent flying has met its mark, going through eyes and throats and more soft, vulnerable flesh of whatever chosen moron. He pulls one out in the moment, flicks the gore from an eye that's stuck to its pointy end, and then puts it back in his trusty quiver.

Another alpha enters the room they're waiting in, though. And Joel's chest, like fucking clockwork, rumbles with another noise before he shoots the arrow he'd just pulled out through this one's throat as well.

"I ain't missed yet--"

But a bullet whizzes by pretty close to his shoulder, and it would've lodged itself into his arm if he hadn't ducked and gotten it grazing his shirt instead. (Motherfucker, this is one of his good ones, too.)

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heat / rut prompts. for self-indulgent reasons, lol

first heat: Baby's first heat. YOU'RE A TEENAGER/LATE BLOOMER AND WHAT IS THIS?

old hand: You've done this a million times, but it never gets any easier.

happen to be here: You're not picky. You can't afford to be. You'll take anybody who's nearby.

old faithful: You're going to the person you always go to in order to relieve your problem.

worked something out: The two of you aren't involved. You just help each other out.

unexpected: You never expected to rut with this person, but here you are.

forbidden: AKA the obligatory incest or age difference option.

volunteer: You've offered yourself up out of the kindness of your heart.

tribute: This isn't your offer. You're the offer from others, a gift for someone powerful to sate their appetite.

mating: You've decided to go one step further and make your relationship deeper.

nesting: Aaah, (temporary) domestic bliss. And lots of fucking. Lots and lots of fucking. Like, you'll barely be able to stand.

bonding: The bond, which is mildly psychic and intensely physical, makes sex even more intense.

the natural conclusion: Heat calls for pregnancy. Get someone pregnant.

already pregnant: Unfortunately, being knocked up doesn't abate your partner's desires. Or yours.

mates for life: Now you're absolutely certain that you want to be with no one else. Of course, this means you'll be in synch with their heat for the rest of forever.

save you: You've been saved from the advances of an undesired mate by someone who may be much more suited. Show your gratitude?

cockfight: Two people want the same mate. That won't do. There are ways to figure that out, not always involving fists.

increase in dominance: Exactly what it says.

increase in submission: Again, exactly what it says.

unexpected dominance: No one expects you to ever be dominant. Prove them wrong.

protect: You want to protect your mate from others, and that means putting your scent all over them.

set off by someone else: You were doing fine until you got a whiff of someone else's pheromones.

resisting temptation: Your heart belongs to someone. You want to stay out of this "heat" thing. You want to rise above it. Whatever it may be, you just have to not take the bait. Easier said than done.

all worked up: You're beginning to lose control and yourself. Quick, do something before you're jumping anything that moves.

pack: As mentioned prior, some people, especially those far out from civilization proper, have formed packs that hold to the more traditional alpha structure. Of course, these packs come with their own rules when it comes to heat and mating.

suitable partner: The desire for certain mates can come from a subconscious level, and you can find yourself aroused by someone showing how strong they are (they can protect you), how curvaceous they look (that must mean they're fertile), or any other number of traits that can benefit you.

desperation: You'll take anyone! Anything!

final release: You've reached your breaking point and you're mindless. At least you'll get relief.

fighter: Part of your process is seeing who's worthy of you by testing their mettle. That, or you want to fight anything.

off your meds: It's fairly rare, but some can get blockers for their heat. What if those blockers run out? Why, it makes your heat ten times worse!

noncon: They don't want this. You don't want to stop this.

dubcon: You say no, but your body says yes and you can't stop loving it.

calm you down: Whether it's to fuck or to fight, you're going mad, and they have to bring you back down to Earth.

territorial: How dare someone look at what belongs to you? You'll have to make things right.

odd man out: For some reason, you don't go into heat. Never have. Being with you is pretty relaxing, and some find it appealing to not have to deal with pheromones that aren't theirs. You do have to learn how to appreciate their problems, though.

WILDCARD

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He’s my goddamn brother.

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uncletommymilkers: ( @uncletommymilkers )

It’s hard to keep the surprise from Joel’s lack of backlash from coming out in any way, but Tommy staves it off. After all, why question a good thing? He was glad things didn’t turn bitter. “And here I was almost about to make beans in case you missed the taste of ‘em,” Tommy jested before adding, “Ellie shot a couple’a nice ones earlier today. The traps weren’t snaggin’ a damn thing and she’d about had enough. Took it into her own hands.”

He can’t help the soft huff of amusement, though the memory of why Ellie’d gotten so good at hunting is one he’d rather not revisit.

“She’s a wonder, ain’t she?” Joel muses, unable to keep the pride out of his tone.

“She knows what the people want.” His thumb rubs lightly at the moustache over his lip. “We didn’t settle in Jackson to have beans everyday all over again.”

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happy new year and 2022′s follow forever!

I feel I say this every year - but 2022 was the most challenging year for me thus far. From living entirely by myself in a foreign country while studying my ass off to surviving the most critical election that my country has faced since our (very young) re-democratization - it has been a lot. It has been exhausting, daunting and frightening for a myriad of reasons and yet this place (and you guys) have helped me survive it all.

New fandoms, new muses, new connections - 2022 introduced me to some lovely mutuals who have been more than roleplay partners; it solidified older friendships, as well! I couldn’t possibly go on and head into the new year without acknowledging some very special souls who made all the difference during these last months and to whom I credit part of my success of writing this with a smile on my face. :)

Keep reading

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uncletommymilkers​:

“You forgettin’ who used to do all ‘f the cookin’? You’re lucky I’m slavin’ away over a hot stove for you.”

Tommy knows what he’s actually asking, of course, but he knows it’s better to keep it to himself. After all, this is how it was with Sarah isn’t something that’s easy to say.

“Just thought I’d lend a hand, ‘s all.”

There’re lots of things Joel could say to that, most of them bitter about the years Tommy had been away. But he bites the venom back, keeping his eyes on Tommy’s back instead as he busies himself.

The sight is so familiar it tugs at something in his chest.

“Thank you,” he says after much delay. Pathetic.

“Smells good. Better than the beans I cooked up the past couple of days, anyway.”

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uncletommymilkers​:

Tommy sighs and shakes his head. His lack of answer when it came to sleeping didn’t go unnoticed.

“Go lay down for the time bein’ at least. I’m cookin’ some rabbit stew. I’ll come getcha when it’s done.”

“What, and leave you in my kitchen?”

Joel says this like Tommy isn’t the better cook between them.

He sets his backpack on the table, then sits and slouches against the backrest.

“What’re you doin’ here, anyway?” Instead of home with Maria goes unspoken. “Didn’t think I’d see you ‘till tomorrow.”

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uncletommymilkers​:

“It means you look like shit. Have you slept or eaten anything in the last couple of days?”

“I been eatin’,” Joel says. Not acknowledging the “sleeping” part is purposeful.

“Patrol went fine, Tommy. Nothin’ to worry about.”

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@uncletommymilkers​ asked: have you seen yourself ? (tommy; let's GOOOOO) ► from this meme.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

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from Cain: A Mystery by Lord Byron

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⭐⭐⭐ :3 (sarah included if you want)

for each “⭐️” I get, I’ll write a headcanon about our muses . accepting

1.

Melissa only realized she had real feelings for Joel thanks to Sarah - the two grew very close in a rather organic way given how they filled a void in each other’s life that they likely had ignored thus far. To a bystander, it was rather obvious that Melissa had informally adopted Sarah like a small sister or, more accurately, a daughter; meanwhile, Sarah was evidently pleased to have a grown-up woman around after losing her mom. 

Their activities together were always very varied - baking cookies, engaging in crafts, helping with homework, shopping for new clothes and shoes. It wasn’t until the girl cheerfully asked if Melissa was supposed to be her ‘new mom’ that she realized how much she wanted it - and how she had been doing it without noticing, both for Sarah and Joel (despite the complications it ensued in relation to their mutual connection through Cathy).

2.

For the longest time, Melissa kept her own feelings to herself - out of respect for Joel’s deceased wife and friend, first and foremost, and also in acknowledgement of his own loss and grief. The fact was that the woman was rather convinced that he did not return any of it, and she hoped to avoid making things awkward or complicated when she enjoyed his company (as well as Sarah’s) so much.

The tipping point came as a whisper through the grapevine - the girls working at her diner had a friendly competition going on in relation to the regulars and seeking to become their favorite servers for better tips, but no one ever won Joel over to their corner; and yet, he kept coming and did not make a point to visit other places in town nearly as much. At some point, one of the girls joked to Melissa that it must mean that he liked her (Joel had a preference for sitting at the counter, after all).

It was only after this that she started to re-examine everything - and then gambled with that information further down the road.

3. 

Their favorite outing as a combined family of sorts is the city’s drive-in. It’s nice to take Sarah to (and she always sits in the middle, between both of them) and Melissa always has some tasty food from the diner to go with the movie. More often than not, Sarah will fall asleep halfway through the movie (although it got better as she became older), but it never bothered them. Instead, the pair just linked their hands over the car’s seat and enjoyed each other’s company and the rest of the movie.

It remains a ‘family’ tradition for a very long period - to the fact that it feels almost treason to go to the movies without Sarah; in fact, if they are alone, they will choose a regular movie theater instead to respect their rituals (even if Sarah herself has granted them her blessing and permission to go by themselves if they so wish).

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Where did you get the money for this? Drugs. I sell hardcore drugs. Oh, good. You can start helping out with the mortgage then.

THE LAST OF US (2013) Naughty Dog

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stingslikeabee​:

The brunette offered Joel one last understanding smile before focusing her attention entirely on Sarah - her excitement was frankly, surprising and very endearing. Melissa had never met her friend’s daughter, and for some reason she had imagined the child to be struggling with everything: the loss of a parent while so young, moving to another city, losing contact with whatever friends she used to have… But Sarah sounded like nothing could really distract her from pie before supper, and Melissa was glad to play along.

The diner owner listened with genuine curiosity to her list of favorites, inserting a comment here and there while the girl went on with her incredible (and varied) list of delights, instantly helping her with the stool even if Sarah did not need assistance. The brunette just stood by with hands ready to provide an emergency safety net if the child lost her balance, but nothing happened - and Melissa had the chance to wash her own hands next, making sure to file away some of Sarah’s preferences in her brain; she could definitely try and make some of these for them.

The next part involved Sarah taking ‘Ms. Mel’ by the hand back to the table, as if the older woman couldn’t find that direction by herself - but Melissa was delighted with the attention, happy to not be seen as a stranger or intruder (even if the pie was a good icebreaker). More than that - talking and interacting with Sarah made her acutely aware of how lonely her own household had been since her sisters moved to study away from the city. After losing her own parents (albeit at a much more sensible age than the young lady showing her to the table now), Melissa had stepped into the role of a surrogate mother for the the two youngest Drysdells, and the silence of their absence was pretty telling.

“Not at all, Mr. Joel. Sarah will take the lead and I’ll follow her orders,” the woman replied, inserting the pronoun as a joke; if she was ‘Ms.’ Melissa, then it was only fair to return it in stride. The brunette did as told, and Sarah took her on another tour of whatever stuff had been unpacked and already placed in drawers, the older woman doing the heavy lifting when it came to pick up the actual utensils and behaving like a good foot soldier under the command of a superior officer.

By the time Joel was done, they had been successful - plates placed on the table, the right number of forks and knives, the glasses for the juice she had brought over and the napkins. Melissa had grabbed a few extra things to cut and serve the food which Sarah had forgotten about, but kept it secret. It was precisely with the pie that the woman started - much to the young girl’s excitement following her father’s authorization.

“Would you also like pie before your meal, Joel? I promise you that you will get no judgement from my part,” the diner owner said with a grin, pausing with the right utensils in hand in case the man also wished to indulge and follow his daughter’s lead. Truth to be told - Melissa had a sweet tooth; she would skip directly to dessert rather frequently if she hadn’t been brought to be more diligent than that.

With his back to them, hearing Sarah giggling as she talks Melissa’s ear off, Joel takes a moment to shut his eyes. She’s cheerful now, bubbly and excited at the simple act of making a new friend, but for better or for worse she’s never been the sort to let on when she’s sad to begin with. She’d smiled at the funeral, had comforted Cathy’s parents when they started crying in the middle of Joel’s (stunted, awkward, ultimately regrettable) eulogy, and when Joel himself had felt on the verge of tears, it’d been Sarah’s little hand gripping his that kept him from losing it.

Now, with Sarah’s joy a clear sound in the kitchen, Joel imagines that hand once more to give him the strength to see a table without Cathy seated there waiting.

“Daddy?”

Even if he jumps at the sound of Sarah calling him.

“Sorry, sweetheart.” The water, having been running maybe a few seconds too long, is shut off before Joel goes to dry his hands. “What was that?”

“Ms. Mel was askin’ if you wanted some pie a’fore supper, Daddy.” The giggle that punctuates that sentence brings an unspoken silly Daddy, were you not listening? edge to it.

“Oh, I want pie.” The towel is put aside as Joel comes to the table as well, but not without swiping the pitcher of chilled water from the refrigerator on the way. “It looks too darned good to save for last.”

Sarah gasps. “I just said that! Don’t be a copycat.”

At least the laugh Joel lets out is real, no matter how quiet it is.

“Thank you kindly, Mel,” he says as he sits down. Under the table, he feels Sarah’s hand reach for his, so he returns her grip without hesitation. “You said this was from your diner? It a bestseller?”