#clicker training for horses

[clickerpunk]

Miss Rudi doing her lil' tricks tonight

[dezmineann]

Nobody should ever be mad about training differently let alone jump on someone who just posts and leaves for the people who may need to see or want to see that type of content

[black-thoroughbred]

Been enjoying doing more with this guy recently. We've just been working on manners and targeting, he is quite muggy but I recently changed what food I was using as reinforcement and started using a different treat pouch, the treat pouch I usually use is very open so I switched to one that is more closed so he was less tempted to try and put his nose in it. He's been doing super great since I made the changes! Can't wait to do more fun stuff with him ☺️

[bienavecmoncheval]

🤗 Vous en avez sûrement déjà entendu parler, c'est un petit objet qui émet un petit bruit clic ❗️ 🐴 Il s'agit du clicker utilisé pour l'apprentissage des chevaux en utilisant le renforcement positif:  ✅️ on récompense ce qui est bien ❎️ on ignore un comportement non souhaité. ⁉️Cet article vous expliquera pourquoi l'entraînement au clicker est un excellent moyen d'entraîner les chevaux ⁉️

[pearlessance]

Her Love Endures - Idle Threats [vi]

Series Summary — Joel has watch duty with Jackson’s twenty-year old, smart-mouthed brat and gets more than he bargained for.

Chapter Summary — Joel steals a morning with an angel he doesn't deserve. She confesses all.

Pairing — Joel Miller/Reader

Warnings — Explicit sexual content MDNI, brat taming, age gap, mean!Joel, religious imagery and symbolism, catholic guilt, added backstory to progress the plot, loss, canon typical violence

SERIES MASTERLIST

[cross posted to AO3]

The first two days go smoothly, though you’re uncharacteristically quiet. You follow the map southeast, sticking to the forest and away from the interstate as much as possible. You only stumble across a handful of infected—most of which you take down silently with your bow, leaving Joel impressed with your unshakeable aim. Once, when you notice a stalker long before it notices you, Joel raises his rifle as you dismount and creep up behind it. He trains his scope on its head, ready to pull the trigger the moment he thinks you may be in danger. 

But he never has to. And he watches, filled to the brim with reverence, as you scramble silently through the brush, take the stalker by the throat, and sink your serrated sawback knife deep into its skull.

As you return to your horse, threat averted, Joel feels something warm stir inside him. Because your shoulders are pulled back, and there’s a cruel and death-like shimmer in your eyes and blood splattered across your cheek, making you look like some sort of divine creature of slaughter…but then you look up at him. And your eyes soften, and your smile lights up your face as you say, “There’s a piece of your hair sticking out by your ear. Like, straight out. How’s it doing that? Defying gravity.”

It’s the innocence in your voice that does it to him, he thinks. You may be the best runner Jackson has, may have a sniper’s eye and a knife-sharp tongue, but beneath it all you’re just a little girl. Amused by the smallest, most childish of things. Untainted but deadly, lethal but pure. And he wants you to hold onto that softness for as long you can. He can see it’s been diminished, parts of it snuffed out by loss and grief and disappointment, but Joel vows to protect the parts he can for as long as he’s able. He hopes he never has to miss the sound of your laughter.

He doesn’t even try to fix his hair.

The winter snow has become nothing but slush and mud, and you’ve used your jacket more as a pillow at night than for warmth. The two of you take watch in rotation. The first night Joel insisted you sleep first, but then you’d fixed him with a dark stare and reminded him of your agreement; your run, your rules.

He complies, but he doesn’t sleep much. It’s far more fascinating to him to watch you on the other side of the fire, bow in hand, arrow half-knocked. The moonlight reflects in your hair, and Joel wants so badly to hold you but knows to keep his distance. Knows that you still harbor some of that anger you have towards him for not respecting your wishes of solitude, knows to give you space, to wait until you approach him. 

You don’t sleep much, either. Half of the night you’re writing in that leatherbound journal while he keeps watch. Sometimes you don’t write at all and read over old entries instead. His curiosity gets the better of him once, and Joel asks, “You writin’ about the clickers we killed today?”

Without even looking up from the journal propped against your knees, you say, “Nope. I’m writing hardcore sex scenes.” It makes him chuckle. “Nothing funny about it, Joel. You’re the star of the show.”

And for a second he wonders if you might be telling the truth, until you burst into a fit of girlish laughter at the look on his face. Joel thinks it’s his favorite sound, those giggles of yours. Still, he shakes his head with a smile on his face and says, “Brat.”

He doesn’t press for more after that. He’s given you the chance to talk about it, and you evaded him completely, so he decides he can live with the mystery for now. 

On the fourth night it rains. It’s dark by the time you find shelter, and it comes in the form of a barn out in the middle of nowhere. Joel hasn’t seen an old vehicle or a stoplight in miles, and part of him knows a watch rotation is a little unnecessary but you insist anyway. He tries to find comfort in the stale and brittle hay that blankets the cold floor but fails to. He spends most of the night thinking of you, thinking of God. Joel can’t shake the feeling of filth that covers him, a grime that has nothing to do with the lack of soap he’s had access to since leaving Jackson, and everything to do with his morals.

Because even now, several days later, Joel is so angry with Maria that he could kill her. She should never have sent you out here. The thought shouldn’t have ever crossed her mind. Putting you in the watchtowers, on the walls, hell—even on patrol…that’s one thing. Sending you this far out, though? And alone? Joel would die before he ever let Ellie out here alone. But even though Maria is good at putting on a concerned front…Joel sees right fucking through her. Knows it was a planned conversation she had with you. He knows, too, without ever being there that Maria told you all about Miley and her operable tumor before she ever broached the subject of this run.

It’s calculated. Cold. Cruel. 

Maria might not think of it that way. You might not think of it that way. But Joel sees it for what it is. Sees that she ‘loves you like you’re her own’ not for who you are but instead for what you’re capable of. Maria recognizes your potential and your selflessness and uses it to her own advantage. 

Joel only wishes you could see it, too. And he thinks maybe you did at one point when you stormed into the dining hall and screamed in her face. But it must’ve been for only a moment, because here you are again…doing whatever Maria needs you to. No questions asked.

A part of him hates her, but how truly different are the two? Maybe Joel sees Maria for what she is because they’re both doing the same things to you. He might not be sending you on suicide missions for pregnancy cravings or medical supplies…but he does take advantage of you. 

And the worst part, the part he hates to admit…is that he enjoys it. Never in all his life has Joel found pleasure in anything the way he has in you. In your soft skin, your soft sounds…it does something to him spiritually. The way you fight him so hard only to give in and do as he says inevitably…it makes him weak in the knees just to think about it. The way you trust him so wholly, trust him to keep you safe, to make you feel good, to take care of you …it fills him with this deep, dark desire. 

He’s long since given up trying to resist you, forbidden fruit tasted and swallowed and consumed. There’s no going back from that. And he knew it at the first bite. What he didn’t expect, though, was to be offered seconds, thirds, a fucking feast of you…if only he’d convince himself to sit at the table.

But doing so will damn him, he knows. And though Joel’s got little faith in God left in him, he worries that the moment he ravaged you was the moment he became undeserving of you.

For the first time, you fall asleep moments after Joel takes watch. Maybe it’s the sound of the rain or maybe it’s just exhaustion. You use his coat as a blanket and yours as a pillow, and he watches in awe and admiration as you finally rest. Your hands are beneath your head, and a piece of your hair has fallen into your face, and you’re so fucking beautiful it makes him ache.

As if he ever deserved you in the first place, Joel thinks.

It stops raining an hour before sunrise. And he notices there’s a glass pane in the ceiling that he hadn’t seen in the dark. The sun’s rays leak through it, highlighting the dust particles in the air, illuminating the space on the ground where you lay on your side. 

He doesn’t believe in God, Joel tells himself.

And if he did, he would scream and shout and try to strike him down for punishing you like this. For surrounding you with people who are supposed to love you who don’t know how to love you, for embodying Judas in the form of a bratty twenty year old little girl, for making your greatest sin the sin of disobedience. For cursing you with his presence, for cursing you with this looming, haunted old man who you will never be rid of. For giving Joel this perfect gift he’ll never deserve but now can never surrender.

He doesn’t believe in God, and if he did he knows he should be crawling to the altar and begging on his knees for forgiveness for all he’s done. Begging mercy not for his sake but for yours. Pleading to give you peace, solace, safety. To give you warmth like sunlight and love like absolution and to give you someone who feels like home. To give you everything you’ve given him.

But Joel doesn’t believe in God. He sets his rifle down and crawls to you instead.

Space. He knows you need space. But he needs you and he’s such a selfish man. Joel swipes the hair from your face, watches you stir in your sleep, sighs in tandem with you when he presses a kiss to your forehead. He inhales deeply, lying on his side, letting his thumb stroke your cheekbone languidly.

Your eyes open slowly, blinking once, twice. And he half expects you to make some snarky remark about how bad a job he’s doing keeping watch, but all you do is rest your hand on top of his and scoot closer, pressing your body to his. 

Joel kisses your cheek, the arch of your brow, the tip of your nose. By the time he makes it to your lips, they’re pulled up into a sleepy smile, and he can’t resist the urge to drink you in. Your mouth is warm and soft and fits perfectly against his. His hand on the side of your face slips to the back of your neck, thumb caressing your pulse. You feel more alive right now than Joel has ever felt himself, and he has the sudden, striking thought that belief in God has nothing to do with what he’s been taught and everything to do with the sanctity he holds in his hands in this very moment.

His fingertips wander down your back, between your shoulder blades, over each disc of your spine, the divot in the small of your back, over the denim of your jeans, down between your legs. Joel lifts you slightly, crushes your center hard against his, and feels himself unravel at your closeness.

You start to rut against him, hips canting over his erection, the friction of your jeans on his the only sound apart from the breaths you breathe into his mouth, breathing life, sweet, golden life, into his aching bones. Your tongue is slow in its pursuit of memorization, lazy and perfect but still so unbearably needy.

Joel won’t make you suffer. Not today. He wedges his hand between your bodies, unbuttons your jeans with a single, swift movement of his thumb, and reaches beneath the fabric. He finds home in a second, movements rehearsed and ritualistic. Your clit throbs beneath the pads of his fingers as he circles it slowly, pointedly.

The smallest noise, like a moan at the back of your throat, invades his mouth. Joel smiles to himself, knowing that if he reached just a little lower he’d find that telling wetness, knowing that you’ve needed this but just too stubborn to ask for it.

So stuck in your own head, your own ways. Never letting anyone else take care of you, because you know they can’t. 

Until now. Until Joel. 

He pulls his mouth away from yours long enough to catch his breath, to admire the art of your face as he strums faster between your legs. You say his name a little like a prayer, and it’s the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard, his name in your mouth. He thinks he’ll never grow tired of it for as long as he lives. He presses a wet kiss just beneath your ear, delighting in the rush of goosebumps left in the wake of his lips.

He finally shifts his fingers down through your slit and pushes his middle finger in deep. You let out a pretty sounding gasp, and Joel runs the tip of his nose up your throat with a quiet laugh. 

“Shh,” he says. “S’alright, little girl. I’ve got you.” Joel pushes you onto your back, allowing him easier access. He adds another, his ring finger this time, and even though your jeans constrict movement and dig into the back of his wrist, the sounds you make as he begins to pump them slowly in and out of you are worth it.

Pretty, sweet sounding moans that he wants to swallow up. So he does—kisses you deep, licks into your mouth, bites your bottom lip between his teeth. The heel of his palm puts pressure on your swollen clit, and he can feel you squeezing around his fingers already, legs trembling with each slow, punishing thrust of his hand.

“Joel,” you whimper. “I..I’m—”

“I know, baby,” he whispers against your lips. “S’okay, go ahead.” All it takes is one more deep press against that sweet spot inside you before you’re gripping his flannel, knuckles blanched. It’s fast and needy and desperate but somehow one of the softest most gentle moments he’s had with you. And Joel knows he’ll always hold this close, knows just how remarkable and holy this time with you is.

Your chest rises and falls in quick succession as you come down, trying to catch your breath. And when you look up at him, he recognizes the longing in your eyes, knows that this religious moment has only scratched the surface of your desire, knows just how hungry you are because he is, too. 

And so Joel crawls between your legs. He unlaces your boots and sets them aside, peels the too-tight denim down, takes the pretty lilac panties with them, and gets rid of those, too. He sits there on his knees for you, calloused fingers stroking lazy patterns up and down your bare thighs. You watch him in silence as he admires you. “You’re so pretty, baby,” he says.

Your breathing picks up a little as he shifts backward, just enough so he can lean over and kiss your clit. You taste heady and sweet and delicious, and he thinks he could live off of just the essence of you and be satisfied for all eternity.

His tongue moves intentionally, savoringly, because this is a selfish act. Joel supposes everything he does with you is selfish in one way or another, but this is purely for him. His cock throbs painfully behind the metal of his zipper as he palms the inside of your thighs and spreads your legs wide. He licks up your wet slit, smearing the taste of you over his lips, down his chin.

A cracked, sleep-addled moan leaves you as you arch your back, pressing yourself against his mouth. Your hands find their way to his hair, holding him in place right where you want him. And Joel lets you without protest, lets you lose yourself in this moment in the same way he has.

Joel slides two fingers back into you easily, encountering no resistance thanks to the mixture of your slick and his spit. He twists and curls them up, pumping hard against that spot again, sucking your throbbing clit between his lips and circling it with a pointed tongue.

“Ohh, fuck, fuck— Joel.”

A little faster, a little harder. You’re squeezing tight around his fingers, needy little girl sucking him in deep, and Joel shows no signs of stopping even as you start to shake. He wants it, wants to taste you in his mouth, wants to push you over the edge so you can be here, here, with him, where you have cast him forever. Wants you to know what it is to want, to hunger, to be ravenous with a singular source of relief.

You’re about to come, and he knows it, but he pulls away. You let out a soft whimper at the loss of contact but then he’s unbuttoning his jeans, pushing them down his hips just enough to pull his cock out. He squeezes it once in his fist and a blinding wave of pleasure shoots through him. Joel lines himself up between your legs and pushes in with a long, contented sigh.

Here, inside you, is the only place he’s ever felt adored, cherished, loved, divine. 

Because your eyes are wide and sleepy and beautiful. You look at him like he’s the greatest thing to ever happen to you and not some God-given curse. And it’s this he craves, the intimacy you share at this exact moment, where he knows he could ask anything of you—anything—and you’d give it willingly, freely. And fuck he just wants to keep you safe but maybe that means from him, too.

The thought is awful and comes to him unbidden. Your brows furrow as he rocks into you, cock reaching depths you’d never known existed. You place your hand on his jaw, lean up, and press your lips to his. You breathe his name and say, “I’m sorry I was mad. I forgive you. I’m yours.”

His. His, his, his, his. All his. His table, his fruit, his fault.

But his all the same.

He fucks into you deep, hips grinding against yours, his dark pubic hair rubbing against your sensitive clit. Joel takes your face in his hand, cradling your chin, thumb tracing the outline of your lips. His breath is labored and sweat beads at the back of his neck. He’s not going to last long. Not when you look at him like that, not when you look at him like you love him. 

He reaches between your bodies with his free hand and circles your clit. Sinks his thumb into your sweet mouth when you let out a salacious moan. He can feel your pussy flutter around him, knows you’re nearly there, knows he’s destined to follow you. “Come with me, baby, come with me,” he says softly.

Your breathing stills for a moment, and then you’re trembling, shaking in his hands, sucking his thumb deeper into your mouth.

His own release trickles in slowly at first, building in his spine, and then it slams into him with no remorse as he fills you up, cock pulsing inside you. “Oh, fuck, yeahhh—that’s it. That’s it, little girl—mmm—you feel so fuckin’ good, baby. Such a good girl for me, huh? Pretty little baby…there we go.”

He fucks you through it, thrusting into you real slow even when you’re breathing has slowed and he’s spilled every drop he has to offer. His thumb is coated in your saliva when he pulls it out of your mouth to kiss you, leaving a wet smear on your cheek. And when he leans back, wincing as he pulls out of you, you look up at him with straw tangled in your hair and say with a pretty smile, “Good morning to you, too.”

It is, he thinks. Joel can feel the good day ahead, can feel the weight of your irritation lift from his shoulders at the sight of your grin. “C’mon,” he says. He holds a hand out for you, pulling you up with him. 

While you dress and stretch and run your fingers through your hair, Joel feeds the horses and gathers your things. He picks up your bow and your backpack and brings it to you, and in ten minutes you’re both saddled and on your way.

The storm has passed and the sun is shining brightly, and Joel forces his mare to trot just a little slower than yours so he can appreciate the view. He thinks you’re beautiful in a way that has nothing to do with your age; elegant, graceful, timeless. Even before the world ended he would have noticed you, would have felt that same magnetic pull.

You glance briefly over your shoulder at him and ask, “What do you think could be in there?”

He has no idea. Can’t even wrap his head around the thought, really. “Hard to say. Twenty-five years is a long time for something to go untouched.”

“I’ve never been inside of a hospital,” you say. “I’ve seen pictures in those medical books in the library back in Jackson, but this will be the first I’ll ever actually see in person. What’s it like?”

“Confusing,” Joel answers. “They’re usually pretty big. Lots of floors and rooms, all set up differently.”

“Tommy told me they had special rooms for surgeries and stuff.”

“Operating rooms,” he explains. “They were away from everything else so they could be kept sterile. Doctors had to wash their hands in a specific way before doing a surgery, used all new tools every time, left them unopened until it was time to use them.”

“That seems excessive.”

He chuckles at that. “Was a different time back then,” he says. “We were more afraid of germs than fungus.”

You remain silent for several seconds, and Joel wonders if he’s somehow said something to upset you. But then you ask, “Do you think things would be different if they were afraid of fungus back then? Maybe they would’ve found a cure before it got too bad or something.”

There’s something like longing in your voice, and it makes Joel’s chest constrict. He wishes you would’ve been able to experience the world before it went bad, wishes you’d gotten a single day to not live in fear. “I don’t know,” he tells you. “Maybe.”

“If you could go back to before the outbreak, what’s the first thing you’d do?”

Joel sighs as he contemplates his answer. It doesn’t come to him very easily—because all he’d want is to find Sarah and be with her. Doesn’t matter where, doesn’t matter what they’d do. He would just want to be together, to hear her laugh one more time, to see her smile or roll her eyes or blink. 

It’s still foreign to speak about it, still painful, but it’s you and so Joel decides to tell the truth.

“I, uhm…I had a daughter,” he says slowly, testing the waters. He half expects you to turn and look at him, sporting some kind of surprise on your face. But he’s thankful when you don’t because it makes the words flow a little easier. “She loved soccer,” Joel continues. “Played in a little league team at her school, called themselves the Defenders. Her jersey number was fourteen, and she was the best player they had—and I’m not just sayin’ that. She loved it.” 

Pressure builds behind his eyes. Joel swallows hard. 

“One day, Tommy and I were shopping for her birthday at Scheels —you don’t…uhm, it was this big sports store up by Dallas. Had all kinds of stuff. Anyway, I couldn’t afford much at the time. Tommy and I were gonna go half and half on a new skateboard for her—she liked doin’ that too. We were heading up to check out and saw this set of soccer goals that’d been marked down all because the box had been open. Never been used, never put together, nothin’ at all wrong with ‘em. We were able to get the goals and the skateboard, and Tommy an’ I spent all afternoon setting them up in the backyard while she was at school.”

It’s a fond memory. One he sometimes dreams about. They’d bought a case of beer on the way home, played music through the speakers of Tommy’s truck, and sung along to every song that played and laughed at the stupidest things. It was just a few short months before the outbreak. The last birthday Sarah would ever have.

“She loved them,” he tells you. “I knew she would. We spent all day in the backyard, the three of us. Played with that goddamn soccer ball until it was so dark out you couldn’t see a foot in front of your face. Even grilled out for dinner, so we didn’t have to go inside. It’s all she wanted to do for the rest of the summer. She was out there for so long I had to…to make her start wearing sunscreen every day,” he says with a low chuckle. “And when school started up again I had to limit it to soccer practice on weekends only.” 

Joel knows he has yet to answer your question, but it’s so nice to talk about her that it just pours out of him unchecked. You don’t seem to mind. There’s a small smile on your face and a misty look in your eye as if he’s painting a mental picture for you. 

“Anyway,” he says. “I guess…I guess if I could go back to before, I’d just want to go back there. To hear her laugh and see her smile, to cook burgers for everyone and eat them on the deck. I’d go back and relive that day so I can appreciate it a little more.”

“It sounds nice,” you say. “I bet I would’ve liked her.”

He thinks you would’ve, too. Thinks Sarah would’ve loved you, would’ve picked up on that bratty tone of voice you sometimes have, and adopted it into her vernacular. The two of you have the same sarcastic tendencies, and Joel wonders why it’s taken this long to recognize it. “Yeah. You would’ve,” he says quietly. 

“What happened to her mom?”

The question is phrased so bluntly that it gives him pause. But it’s not malicious in any capacity, and so Joel doesn’t mind answering this one, either. “Just…saw things a little differently, I guess,” he says. “We became parents real young. Not everyone is cut out for it.”

You nod slowly in contemplation. “You had Tommy though, right? You two seem really close.”

“Yeah, we are. I mean, he’s my brother. Family. Been through everything together.” He watches your jaw feather. He wonders what he said to make you clench your teeth. Joel gives you a moment of silence to say something, to spill your guts even half as much as he has today. But you say nothing, and so Joel asks, “Are you and Maria close?”

It makes you roll your eyes, a sound of irritation slipping past your lips. There’s something cruel on the tip of your tongue. He can see it as you fight the urge to let it free. Joel wishes you would if for nothing else than to give him a clue as to what’s going on inside that pretty head of yours. Instead, you say, “We’ve known each other a long time. A lot of history.”

He nods at the open expanse of land before you. “Ain’t got nothin’ but time to fill, sweetheart.”

Your cheeks flush, and Joel thinks it’s even prettier than the sight of you bathed in sunlight. “I met Maria before Jackson was like it is today,” you explain. “It was just a handful of people and a couple of abandoned houses back then. But she saw it for what it could be, ya know? Saw how much potential there was. Maria’s real good at that…seeing things that aren’t there.” 

Joel wonders what that means. Wonders if you’re talking about Maria seeing things in you that aren’t there. But before he has the chance to formulate the question in his mind, you’ve moved past it. 

“Me and my…group—we were in bad shape. I was born in the Detroit QZ, but things started getting really bad between Fedra and the Fireflies when I was twelve. We left when the bombings started.”

It makes his chest ache. Twelve. Younger than Ellie.

“We didn’t really have anywhere to go, we were just sort of… wandering, I guess. She, uhm…one of my group members…she got hurt pretty bad. Wasn’t anyone’s fault, she just tripped and fell and ended up with a pretty nasty gash across her face. The wound wasn’t the problem but the infection…” 

Joel watches you shake your head, clearing memories best left behind. 

“It was a good thing we stumbled across Maria when we did. She helped us. Gave us food and water, a place to stay. But it was the medicine that made the difference. I owed her my life with no way to repay her. Maria didn’t ask for anything but I was old enough by then to know nothing comes for free. She suggested we stay a while, help them fortify the town, help build the greenhouse they were working on. Said we could leave whenever I felt we’d earned it. So, we stayed for a few more days. And when it was time to leave, my…group and I didn’t see eye to eye.”

He can hear the lie in your words, can sense there’s something you’re not telling him. It’s hard for him to imagine a twelve year old girl at the head of a group at the end of the world. But if anyone could do it, he supposed it would be you. And, really—it doesn’t matter. Whatever it is, you’ll tell him when you’re ready. “Some of them wanted to stay?”

You nod in answer. “We came to a compromise. Said we’d just stay a couple more days. But then days turned into weeks and weeks turned into months and before I knew it, I’d become Maria’s go-to runner. And my group, they’d made a home in Jackson. They saw what Maria did, knew it had the potential to be…well, to be what it is now, I guess. I don’t know. Things just…evolved from there. I started picking up things I didn’t need on my runs. Decorations, books. Started getting to know people, to remember their names. To grab stuff I knew they’d like. And the runs became more and more frequent, too—once we opened the bakery, the grocers, the bar. Eventually my runs became less about essentials and more about comfort as Jackson became more and more self-sufficient.”

“And Maria?”

“I…I trust her,” you say. “She’s looked after me a long time. She lost a son a year or two before she found us and one of my group members…I think she used them to—to fill that hole. Someone she and I were both really close to.”

It’s not lost on him that he’s done something similar with Ellie. It’s also not lost on him that you used the word were. He hates that he can read between the lines. Hates even more that you know loss as intimately as he does. 

But none of it hurts Joel half as much as when you say, “I think Maria tries to do the same with me sometimes, but I’m not as easy to love.”

Silence fills the air between you and there’s so much Joel wants to say but he’s never been good with words.

Up ahead, there’s a wilting billboard advertising a church. It reads, ‘God speaks through angels. Will you speak to an angel today? Left at exit 34,’ and Joel thinks God might be laughing at him. 

It doesn’t make sense to him. He’s spent all his time grappling with his morality because Joel shouldn’t want you as bad as he does but he just can’t help himself. You’re too tempting, too irresistible. And all the while you’ve spent your time believing you’re hard to love? His stomach turns. 

Will you speak to an angel today?

“I…” Joel pauses, tries to formulate his thoughts. To his relief, you give him as much time as he needs. “You’re not…that ain’t true.” He doesn’t know how to explain it.

Doesn’t know how to explain that you are, undoubtedly, the best thing that’s ever happened to him. Doesn’t know how to explain that the best thing in his life is something he would’ve killed a man for, were you his daughter. Even before the outbreak, he would’ve seen red, would’ve spilled blood if a man his age ever looked twice at Sarah. And even though this isn’t that, even though he knows it’s different…old habits die hard.

But he tries his best and doesn’t think too much about how it comes out stumbling and wrong. “I used to own a construction company,” he says. “Had a coupla’ guys on my crew I worked with all the time. Tommy had a friend in need of a job, and I didn’t know much about him but I trusted Tommy and so I hired him.”

You slow your horse just enough that the two of you are side by side. You’re listening intently, though your eyes are turned straight ahead.

Joel swallows hard and continues. “Name was Mike or Michael or something. Anyway, We had had a pretty hard day and Tommy and I had decided to split the check and buy everyone on our crew a beer after work. Mike said he couldn’t go cause his girlfriend was waiting for him outside to give him a ride home. And he seemed like a good guy, always showin’ up on time, never complained about anything, just did the job. So we told him to have her meet us at the bar so we could all get to know each other. But, uh...problem was his girlfriend wasn’t old enough to drink. Which should’ve been the first warning, considering Mike was a couple of years older than me at the time and an age difference like that wasn’t normal…’specially back then.”

It makes the corners of your mouth turn up. And Joel knows you’re holding back your laughter, can almost hear the smart remark you’d make. But to your credit, you remain silent. 

“But I gave him the benefit of the doubt, told him to bring her along anyway. Offered to buy her some bar food instead. ‘Cause they used to let you in the bar if you were under twenty one, they just wouldn’t serve you—” He waves a hand in front of him. “It doesn’t matter. Mike, he…he had to dumb it down for me. Had to explain it like I was a toddler because I just couldn’t wrap my head around it. He told me…he told me she couldn’t come because she was sixteen.”

A crease forms between your brows.

“Tommy didn’t know. No one knew. But I told him…told him he’d have to find a new job. Told him he couldn’t work for me, because all I could see at the time was my own daughter, ten years into the future, just got a driver's license and going to pick a grown fuckin’ man up from work because he’d manipulated her into…” He swallows, shakes his head to clear the image his words produce.

“This isn’t the same,” you say quietly. 

“No,” he answers. “It’s not. But, look, I didn’t even know that sixteen year old girl and I had only known Mike for a week. But I wanted to kill him. Because he knew better. He knew what he was doing was wrong and he did it anyway.”

“Joel…”

“Just—just listen to me for a minute, okay? Kids born after the outbreak, I know it’s different for you. I know you have no concept of…of what’s acceptable when it comes to stuff like this. But I do. I know it’s wrong, and it makes me no better than he was.”

You shake your head. “Stop it,” you say, voice stern. “Don’t do that to yourself. I’m not a kid, Joel. And you’re not a bad man.”

There’s so much certainty in your words, and Joel begins to wonder just how well you know him. Better than anyone else in Jackson aside from Tommy and Ellie, but you still don’t know. You don’t know about the raids he was a part of, the dealings and the killings he did in the Boston QZ, or about the way he left Tess in that Capitol Building, you don’t know about his blatant eradication of the fireflies, or the selfish decision he made that put an end to all hope of ever finding a cure when he pulled that trigger.

But that isn’t the point he’s trying to get across. 

So, he shakes off the tenderness in your voice and the way it makes his heart beat a little faster in his chest and says, “What I’m tryin’ to say is this: I know it’s wrong and I know this will be the thing that condemns me but I can’t stop. None of it matters when I’m with you. An’ I’ve tried to keep my distance, believe me. But, uh…here I am. So…don’t give me any of that shit about how you’re hard to love. I’m the last person who’d ever believe it. ”

He can feel your eyes on the side of his face, can feel the strain his near confession has created, but Joel can’t bring himself to look at you. Because he knows, he knows the moment he does and is smothered in that warmth you bring, the words will come spilling out and then there really won’t be any going back from this. There will be nothing left uncomplicated, nothing to unspool or untangle.

You ride in silence for several miles. It’s not an uncomfortable thing. As long as he can see you, as long as you’re within arms reach, he doesn’t panic. There’s no reason to, Joel thinks. 

An hour before sunset you come upon the Casper city limits. The hospital is less than a mile away when you steer your horse down a residential street and say, “We’ll rest for the night. Hole up in one of these houses. We’ll find a way inside in the morning.”

It’s a good plan, a solid one. One Joel would make himself. The two of you work together to ensure the abandoned house you chose is safe enough, and even though the night air has a bitter chill to it, you decide against a fire.

You feed the horses while Joel prepares food for the two of you, and by now you’ve got a routine so he prepares a makeshift bed while he waits for you to finish up. 

The two of you eat together, and you’re nibbling on a piece of the apple he cut into chunks for you when you say, “I lied to you. Earlier, I mean.”

“Yeah,” he says slowly. And then again, “Yeah, I know.”

You narrow your eyes. “What do you mean you know?”

Joel shrugs casually. “Not gonna force you to talk about anything you’re not ready to talk about.”

It seems to give you pause. You stare intently at the ripped spot in your tight jeans, right over your knee, and take a slow, contemplative bite of your apple.

And then you tell the truth.

“It wasn’t a group,” you say quietly. “It was just me and my little sister.” 

It makes his heart clench. Because he doesn’t need to ask why he’s never met her. The words linger for a moment, and Joel lets them. Questions form behind his teeth that he doesn’t allow himself to ask.

“She used to…uhm—she used to carry this book around. Had all kinds of stuff about flora and fauna. Mostly, though, it was stuff about bugs and moss. She loved stuff like that. Could tell the difference between butterflies at a glance, could tell you all about the migrating cycles of moths and where they would be at any given time of the year, knew what kinda moss you could eat and what would just taste like dirt.”

A small, sad smile pulls at your mouth, and Joel wonders if you’ve talked about her with anyone else. With the affectionate tone that flows from you, he doubts it.

“The book, it was this massive thing. Like that big encyclopedia we have back in Jackson, you know the one?”

“Yeah, yeah. Sure, I know it.”

“Well, sometimes she’d find a bug she didn’t recognize. Maybe a type of beetle or caterpillar or something or other. And she couldn’t just…she couldn’t wait. So a lot of times she’d be walking and reading at the same time.” Your face falls just slightly. “That’s how she tripped.”

“She was the one with the infection?”

You nod. “We used to laugh about it. You know, after we got to Jackson and had access to antibiotics. It was no one’s fault just…an accident. Still, she was my little sister, and I…I think I blamed myself for a while. Sounds silly now, but I don’t know. I was young.”

“Was?”

It makes you laugh, that carefree demeanor peaking through the gloom. He savors it. “You know what I mean.”

He does. Joel knows all too well what it’s like to be an older sibling. Knows that no matter how old he gets, he’ll always feel a sort of responsibility for his little brother.

“Anyway, she loved Jackson. Loved Maria, too. She was so personable. Sweet and kind and just… good. Ellie reminds me of her. And Jackson was so new back then it was just a handful of people, all curious to meet the newcomers. And they all took a liking to her right away. Not like…not like me. I was weary which made them weary. I didn’t want to stay.” 

Joel’s glad you did. Glad he was able to meet you, to experience this.

“She talked me into it, though,” you say with a sigh. “But we spent a lot of time on runs. Especially in the beginning. I think I missed it being just the two of us sometimes and even though she wanted to stay and help the town she never complained. It’s like she just knew what I needed without me ever having to ask.”

The look on your face grows somber. Your eyes lose focus. And Joel knows what’s coming next before you even say it.

“We were out on a run for copper. Trying to get the dam fixed up. I dont…I—uhm. I don’t know. I didn’t look. I just…”

Your voice breaks, and Joel abandons his post near the door. Abandons his rifle, too, to hold you instead. Your hands are trembling, something he didn’t notice before. But he sits beside you, places his warm hand on the small of your back, and waits for you to muster up the courage to speak again. 

“There was a stalker. In the brush. She was talking to me about this bug called a death's-head hawkmoth. And it felt like…it felt how it used to be. I was distracted, you know? Just listening to her ramble on and on about this fucking moth and then…and then she was screaming.” You wipe furiously at your cheeks. “I killed it quick but she was bitten either way and I had to…after. I had to…”

He pulls you close. Wraps his arms around your middle and pulls you into his lap. You’re cold and small and nothing like damnation in his hands. It’s okay, baby. It’s okay, he wants to say. But he knows it’s not okay and it never will be. So instead, Joel just kisses your face and your hair and your knuckles and he promises to never let anything else hurt you. 

You’re still in his lap, head against his shoulder, when you find enough of yourself within your cloud of grief to speak again. “That’s why I don’t go on runs with other people,” you say. “I don’t want to be the reason for anyone else dying.”

Joel takes your chin in his hand and tilts your head up so you’ll look at him. The sun has set and it’s dark but he can still see you, thinks that perhaps he’s always been able to. Even before knowing your something. “Hey,” he says. “No. Look at me. That ain’t true.”

“But I should’ve seen it,” you say. “I should’ve been paying attention. I should’ve—!”

“Don’t do that to yourself,” he says. And Joel knows it’s hypocritical, knows he’s telling you not to do what he’s done every day for the last twenty years. But he doesn’t want that for you, doesn’t want you to suffer if he can help it. So he tells you what no one’s ever told him. What he’s always wanted to hear but never had the courage to ask for. “It wasn’t your fault, sweetheart. You did everything you could—I know you did. It wasn’t your fault.”

“You can’t go with me,” you say with a sniffle. “Tomorrow. Joel, you can’t. I can’t lose anyone else. I can’t lose you.”

Pride swells inside his chest because even though he hadn’t had the guts to admit his need for you to Tommy, you have the guts to admit it to Joel. You set the truth right out in the open for all eyes to see. And even though it’s just the two of you, the horses, and the moon—Joel Miller thinks you might be the bravest person he’s ever met.

He loves that about you.

Wants to say it. Doesn’t have the guts to. He’s not the one with an abundance of bravery.

“You don’t get to do things alone anymore,” he says instead. “It’s too dangerous. I’m going.”

There’s no room for argument in his voice but you find yourself doing it anyway. “Joel, just listen to me, okay? When I had to tell everyone at Jackson what had happened to her I couldn’t stand the way they looked at me. Because I could fucking see what everyone was thinking. It should’ve been me.”

He shakes his head, feels panic climbing up his throat at the very idea. “No. No, you—”

“They knew it, I knew it—God, Maria never lets me forget it. It should’ve been me, Joel. And I can’t fucking do that shit again, do you hear me? I cannot face them. Maria, Tommy, fuck— Ellie. If I have to look them in the eye and explain how I made it and you didn’t?” You scoff. “Joel, I’d rather die. I can’t do that again. I won’t survive it.”

He holds your face in his hands. “Look at me, baby. Stop. Nothing is going to happen to me.”

“But you don’t know—!”

“I do know,” he says. Because I’m cursed to live forever, to endure my sins, he doesn’t. “I’m not goin’ anywhere, little girl. Alright? I swear.”

And he means it. He really, truly means it.

You press your mouth to his, fingers tangled in the roots of his hair, and though you don’t say it Joel can taste the desperation, the love, on your tongue.

It was never supposed to go this far. Was never supposed to turn into this. All he’d wanted was to teach you a lesson, to scratch the itch of discipline your bratty ways bring out in him.

Yet he finds himself eternally grateful to have been born in a time where you exist. For the first time, he doesn’t think he was born thirty years too early and he doesn’t think you were born thirty years too late. For the first time, he accepts what is and what isn’t. For the first time, Joel Miller holds divinity in his hands and doesn’t think about how undeserving of it he is, he just pulls it closer. 

He thinks about how precious this is instead. About how extraordinary you are. About how he may never get to experience heaven but what is heaven compared to the way you look at him? What’s heaven compared to the way you feel? 

What’s heaven compared to home?

You drift off in his lap, and even in your sleep you cling to him like he’s something holy.

Joel loves you, he knows. 

And if the two of you survive tomorrow, he just might tell you so.

[part five] [part seven]

[clickerpunk]

She is just soo cute 🥺 She tries so hard.

I tried the mounting block today and it's literally been months since last time but she remembered perfectly.

[delusinaldreamer19]

Ok yeah Dadbastian is a thing, but I propose a new concept…✨Demon pet owner Ciel✨

This includes but is not limited too,

-Ciel has to make sure Sebastian gets appropriate amounts of enrichment time and exercise so that he doesn’t tear up the furniture.

-like he has to take Sebastian to a big field to let him get his zoomies out (I’m a horse person so ofc I’d think of this but if a horse hasn’t been ridden for a bit they sometimes act like their on crack and forget half their training when they get ridden again)

-use a spray bottle whenever he does something bad

-needs only one look at a guilty faced Sebastian to ask “what did you do” (he shit on the floor killed someone)

-honestly idk this all started cus I saw videos of indoor rock climbing and thought wow Seb would love the enrichment

-Ciel has to take him to playgrounds

-Ciel is working on clicker training him

Basically Sebastian’s just an animal in a humans body cus u know demon. I mean he’s already named after a dog 🤷‍♀️.

[local-hellhound-steals-spaghetti]

I'm coming to the sad realisation that I pretty much can't access horses unless me and my partner move out to a rural property and I have my own horses.

Not just for financial reasons - riding lessons/trail rides aren't exactly cheap. But just because I find the horse industry so toxic and so behind in basic equine behaviour science and modern training that it exhausts me to be around it.

Because I know I'll get some snide comment about feeding a horse treats or I'll see someone tell off or whack a horse for showing any sort of discomfort or someone will laugh off an obvious sign of discomfort/pain.

The last place I did riding lessons at were okay but they put me on a very poorly trained horse that had developed some very problematic behaviours that I would never have tried to ride through if he was my own horse.

But of course, even as a paying student, I had to ride a horse that needed some serious groundwork and basic cues re-trained. And I just was expected to ride and punish my way through it and have an extremely unpleasant and frustrating experience.

I got really upset and had to stop because I don't want to interact with animals like that anymore. I've had to unlearn so much crap I learned growing up about animal training to become an effective, kind and ethical animal trainer. And I do not appreciate being forced to backslide into being a nasty piece of shit so I can ride a damn horse!

I just want to clicker train horses and hang out in the paddock with them giving them treats and ride horses that actually enjoy their job...

The way I see it is that buying a Traditional model Breyer horse is even cheaper than a 1 hour lesson, so I could just stick to collecting model horses as my way to still be close to horses... It just sucks that it has to be that way.

And I want to visit the rescue horse that I had for 4 years and eventually had to sell (for practical and financial reasons) to a trail riding place but I'm also scared of seeing him handled in ways I don't agree with and being powerless to do anything about it.

I know he's getting at least his needs met and gets to live in a herd in acres of pasture for most of the week, so that's good. Maybe I should check up on him...

[acti-veg]

What do you think about clicker training for horses?

I rode horseback for a really long time and it was very important to me (quit for reasons outside of my control) but now I'm re-examining some of my old thoughts on animals. I definitely agree that racing/jumping/most showing and breaking is unethical and a lot of people push their horses past their limits. I feel like a lot of the times the arguments against casual/pet horse riding come down really heavily to breaking being unethical though and at least where I'm from (northern US) usually people will do clicker training or gentling instead. So I guess I was just wondering what your (and anybody else reading this') thoughts were on getting horses to a rideable state that way.

(This is supposed to be good faith/genuinely curious, by the way. I'm pretty bad at conveying my tone, I feel like I sound kind of accusatory but I'm not trying to be 😅)

I think that the process of breaking tends to be the focus of arguments opposing horse riding just because it is something that is much easier to observe and for people to understand than just pointing out that exploiting an animal for entertainment or transport is fundamentally unethical. It’s the same reason people talk about conditions in factory farms rather than just pointing out that the fact that we’re eating them at all is the problem.

Non-violent methods are obviously a great deal better, but even with clicker training or gentling, what we’re fundamentally doing is training (or manipulating) a horse to accept an activity that they are naturally unwilling to do. They eventually accept it because it is imposed on them by our techniques and our persistence, not because they consent to it. So many of the ‘behavioural problems’ owners talk about in horse riding communities every day are literally just behaviours that emerge from horses having to live an unnatural lifestyle and perform tasks that they don’t actually want to do.

Exploitation is the issue with horse riding, it is breeding, buying and keeping an animal for our benefit rather than theirs. There is no material benefit for a horse being ridden that couldn’t be achieved with sufficient space and exercise outside of riding. We know that horse riding can cause injury over time, we know the risks but we do it anyway because it’s one of the main reasons we keep horses at all.

The problem is that this is not a point that convinces anyone who doesn’t already believe that animals have a right to pursue their own interests and the right to bodily autonomy. Animals just don’t exist to serve our interests, and it’s hard to argue that riding is done in the interests of the horse rather than the rider.

[love-anddeepression]

Haven't I- 4

a/n :tHANK you all for the love! i'm so sorry it's been a while! but chapter 5 will also be out this week so have fun<3 tell me how you like this chapter! part-3

Ellie had her gun trained on the group of men, gaze unwavering as she stared  them down, “We don’t need your help.”

The man stepped forward and in a flash, Amy was on her feet, her own gun pointed at them as well.

“We thank you for killing those clickers, now please leave us alone.”

The man’s voice was soft. Smooth like honey when he asked, “What’s your name?”

In a moment of complete stupidity, she contemplated giving him her name, but all she did was snarl, “Leave us, or I’l put a bullet in each of your heads.”

In a split second, his eyes seemed to turn animalistic. Predatory. And they softened again. She took note of his hands clenching and how he looked at Ellie.

“Let’s go boys. It’s a long way home.” he turned, defeated.

Without another word, the three men mounted their horses and rode away. The women watched until they disappeared into the horizon

.Amy watched, even after they had gone. The man’s eyes.He was not a friend, certainly not with the way he looked at Elie. 

As they kept walking, she promised herself one thing. If they crossed paths with him again, he’d be dead. 

—

“Here.” you hand Joel some dried meat as you slowed Laila down, “You haven’t eaten.”

He rides past you, “I’m fine.”

With a grunt, you kick Laila into a slow trot to catch up with him, “Just shut up and take it, Miller.” You chuck it at him and he catched it without missing a beat.

You huff out a laugh when he stuffs the entire thing in his mouth like some kind of mannerless brute, “You’re welcome.” 

It’s a bit messed up, but even though this is a rescue mission, it feels like old times when he had taught you how to ride.

After a few beats of silence, he speaks up, “How’d you meet Tommy and Maria?”

You lick your lips, “Maria rescued me. Years before she met Tommy, I was half dead when she found me.”

“And.. Tommy?”

You snort, “We met Tommy when we were scouting the area. Poor guy was shit-scared. I paired them together ever since.”

He scoffs, “So you’re the person to thank for my darling sister in law?”

“She’s a good person, Joel.” You roll your eyes, “Where’d you live before Jackson?”

“Boston QZ. Tommy and I were smugglers before he joined the fireflies.”

“He did tell me that.” you hum, “Ya’ll had a partner as well right?”

He goes quiet then, and you have to internally cringe.Idiot.

“Yeah, we did.” he answers and you nod.

“We’re going to have to ride downhill about half a mile from here. Robby’s jumpy, so be careful.” you inform him and you can sense his relief as his shoulders relax and he nods.

—-----

“I’m hungry.” Ellie whined and Amy reached into her pack and threw a wad of bread at the girl who accepted it and chewed heartily.

The sun set early in winter. Already the sky was dark and the sun was dipping below the horizon. They needed to start a fire and she was bent over a pile of wood and flint in her hand.

With every scrape the urge to go back grew. But then she’d look at Ellie and realise that she couldn’t. The girl meant so much to her. She couldn’t betray her, not after she’d been left alone all her life.

Her brow was sweaty and her hands were smarting. With one final scrape, there was a spark and it took to the wood and dried leaves.

She leaned back against a tree trunk and tried to think of nothing. But her mind just drifted to Joel and to Jackson. It looked like home. 

Her quiet was interrupted as Ellie shuffled towards her and laid her head onto her shoulder. Her eyes softened as the girl snuggled into her. She snaked her hand around the girl and patted her cheek, “Sleep, bug.”

—--------

The fire crackles and they’re a little closer to catching up with Amy and Ellie.

Joel chugs whiskey from a flask, you had stupidly forgotten to get one packed for yourself so all you do is stare into the fire and hope you don’t look as pathetic as you feel.

Wordlessly, he hands the flask to you and you turn to look at him, “You don’t have to.”

He just rolls his eyes and forces it into your hands, “Just have some. It’s cold.”

The drink burns as it goes down your throat and you grimace, “Did Tommy give you the shit whiskey he keeps in his cupboard?”

Joel smirks, “”Tommy said it was the handiwork of some guy called Kenny?

“Ugh.” you groan, “Kenny’s alcohol is ass-”

“-But it keeps you warm.” you and Joel finish in unison and chuckle.

“Tommy’s an idiot.” you take another swig and resist the urge to shudder.

“I’ll say.” Joel agrees.

“He’s a hero though.” you look into the fire and he turns to face you.

“That's what he always wanted to be. He joined the army because he wanted to serve the country. Didn’t do shit.” Joel scoffs.

“I’m not talking Desert Storm, Miller. Nor am I talking about the Fireflies. He’s helped the people of Jackson. They look up to him.” 

“You must know him an awful lot if he’s told you about Desert Storm.” 

“They’re the only family I have, Miller.” you confess. “He’s my brother. Mari’s my sister.”

He raises an eyebrow, “Where do I come in this equation?I’m his brother.”

You grin and look into the blaze once more, “You’re the annoying uncle who visits once a year with gifts and always curses the weather and ‘them darned teenage kids.”

To your surprise, he laughs. “Tommy would definitely agree with you.”

“That’s because I’m right.”

—-----------------

The night had gone by quickly, and by mid afternoon you and Joel had managed to cover a good distance.

“Would you stop humming?” Joel groaned, “At least sing another song. You’ve been destroying ‘Ring of Fire’ for the last half an hour.”

You bark out a laugh, “Can you blame me, Miller? It’s Johnny Cash, he’s the best.”

He rolled his eyes, “Then sing another, and Hank Williams is the best.”

“Fine.” you relent, “And I choose to ignore the second part of your sentence.”

His weak argument was drowned as you began singing the beginning of ‘Jackson’, much to his chagrin.

“No-” “I’m going to Jackson, I’m gonna mess around!~”

“You’re terrible-” “ Yeah I’m going to Jackson, look out Jackson town~”

You hummed the rest of the song and he grumbled, “I should have just gone alone.

“You would have died.” 

“That’s better than this,” he argues.

You clutch your chest in mock hurt, “You wound me, Miller.”

He just shakes his head, “Keep ridin.”

“That’s what she said.” you snorted.

“You’re worse than a teenage girl.” 

“There’s an open free plane here that is good for galloping.” you say and kick Laila into a canter, “Be careful, it’s on the banks of  a frozen lake!” you raise your voice as Laila’s pace increases and Joel is left behind.

—---------

Insufferable. Careless. Stupid. Joel thinks as he catches up with you, the area is covered with snow and there’s a frozen lake on his left.

“There’s a safehouse about a few minutes from here,” you point forward,” With food and firewood. From there we can take a shortcut and meet them in the middle.” saying so you wink at him, mask up and urge Laila to gallop. Leaving Joel in metaphorical dust.

His mouth twists into a small smirk. It’s been years since he’s actually ridden, He adjusts his reins. Heels down. And then he’s galloping.

What he doesn’t account for is the slush on the bank of the lake and the fact that his horse is jumpy. The animal slips and begins panicking. In a moment of fear, his hands flail about. And he calms himself and gathers the reins. He pulls them to stop Robby from moving any further and mutters gentle words to him.

In his peripheral he can see you riding to him, mask up and hood down. He sees your eyes drift to the lake and he does too.

There’s an army green watch lying on its surface.

In horror, he looks at his hands and his watch is not on his wrist. Not where it’s supposed to be. He dismounds Robby and heads for the lake but he can’t breathe.

The watch. Sarah. His watch.

He looks up and you’re running to him. His breaths are short and quick. He feels warm hands on his face and he sees your eyes look into his own. Your voice is muffled but it guides him back into some semblance of sanity. 

“Hey, Hey, Joel. You’re okay. You’re alright.” your thumbs caress his cheeks and you nod reassuringly, “I’ll get it.”

All he can do is stare, like some pathetic little child, as you slowly make your way to the watch. Each step is cautious.

```````

The watch, The damn watch. The very one you’d gifted to him and the one Sarah had gotten fixed for his birthday. It had broken when the two of you were fighting. He had thrust his arm out to prove a point and it flew off his wrist and cracked against the bedroom wall.

All his fight left him as he rushed to pick it up with frantic murmurs and cradled it like it was a newborn. He was so miserable, you’d cupped his face in your hands and he’d apologised profusely.

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, this was not the time to think of the past. Each step you took was followed by a creek. Just a little further. How the hell did it manage to land this far?. 

A few more steps and it was in your hand. You turned back and slid it towards the bank where the ice was thicker. Joel all but fell to his knees and picked it up. Fastening it tight to his wrist immediately.

You were halfway back, your mask had fallen and the air was biting despite it being mid-afternoon. Your steps began to waver.

Then there was a deafening crack and the dark cold.

—-------------------

Bang!

“Wide. Focus on your breathing bug.” Amy instructs Ellie and the girl groans. 

“This gun is shit, it doesn’t aim right.”

The older woman rolls her eyes and takes the gun, and ejects the cartridge. Loading the gun again, she assumes her position and aims at the target, “You have to squeeze the trigger like it owes you money and you’re wringing its neck. Breathing should be slow, and steady. Breathe in and breathe out.” She shoots.

Ellie scoffs, “I’m pretty sure you missed.” She looks into the binoculars and gawks, “You bitch.”

Amy can’t help but let out a laugh and she shrugs sheepishly, “Is the gun still shit?”

“Hell yes!”

It’s moments like this where Amy can see Ellie misses Joel. The girl’s eyes are subdued and she hasn’t spoken a word against him like she did almost every day.

She says nothing, only pats her daughter’s shoulder and hands her the gun, “Again, bug.”

She knows there’s a good chance the gunshot will be heard if people are coming after them. And its hard to admit but some part of her wants him to hear. Though it’s unlikely, some childish part longs for him to ride in like some fated hero of old.

Bang!

“Bug, you hit the target!” 

Ellie tries to look nonchalant but there was no missing  the glee in the little girl’s eyes, “Of course I did.”

All Amy can do is huff out a laugh, “Good job, kid.”

````````````````

Everything is cold. There’s a fire in the fireplace and the sound of boiling water reaches your ears. He found the shelter.

Your teeth chatter uncontrollably. The blanket he’s covered you with does little to help.

“J-Joel!” your voice is weak and comes out as more than a whisper. He doesn’t hear it.

You thrash around and kick a stool over, making as much noise as you can. He seems to have heard that because he strides in with a towel and steaming bowl. He kneels down next to your shivering form.

“The-the watch?” you ask feebly as he dips the towel in the bowl.

He doesn’t answer, working in silence as he dabs your head and then pushes your shirt up so that he can place the towel there. The cold of the shirt, as well as the heat of the towel is contrasting and you cry out at the sudden change.

The both of you know there’s only one way to prevent hypothermia and possible death.

He looks you in the eye and you nod, allowing him to raise his hands above your head. You try not to think about the fact that you haven’t bothered to shave in years. But he doesn’t linger. He removes your shirt and lays it out before the fireplace. 

He then moves to unbutton your jeans and its hard work bringing them down, his fingers snag onto your underwear and he pulls them off as well.

Good, respectful Joel pays no mind to your nakedness. He only unclasps your bra and places all your clothes to dry in front of the fire and covers you with the blanket.

He sheds his jacket and takes off his shirt. Your eyes roam the expanse of his chest, littered with scars. You want to scream. You should have been there for him. If you weren’t such a boneheaded idiot that night, none of this would’ve happened.

You  look up when he steps out of his jeans and gets under the covers. After a beat, his strong arms wrap around you and pull you into him. Your hands meet at his lower back and your face is hidden in the crook of his neck. 

“I’m sorry.” you whisper into the crook of his neck and he shushes you.

“Thank you. For doing that for me.” he murmurs. His rough hands travel the length of your arms to generate heat and you relish in the feeling of his warmth. Without realising, you snuggle closer to him. 

Your eyes want to slip shut but you force yourself to stay awake in this purgatory. In his arms, just like you used to be. A chill moves through you and you shiver, wriggling into his form a bit more and he holds you tighter. 

“Rest, Mitch.” His voice is soft. Like honey. Like everything good in this world.

As your eyes close, you pray he hasn’t seen the tattoo on your back. The very one he had on his own.

taglist :@daddy-din @ephemerensis@charlyrmv@bellaramseysbitch@tripovertiff@im-constantly-fangirling@pussy-f41ry@corvusmorte@mrknifess @corpsebridenightamare@chesirecat000@glshmbl@jbcalway@o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi@glshmbl @starkleila @love-the-abyss

[rival-the-rose]

Ok I wanna be a lil bit of a smug dick for a second.

So I started leasing this horse in July, I didn't meet her owner for several weeks but a mutual friend showed me out to the barn. The horse was easy to catch but not stoked to see us, but every time I went out she got more and more friendly and will now even walk up to me in the paddock instead of making me walk all the way to her.

Fast forward a few weeks tho and I went out with her owner and she RAN AWAY from us in the field! She really clearly did not like her owner (who seems fine but treats her like a toy poodle rather than a horse with autonomy) and was standoffish the whole time she was there.

The horse does have a habit of bolting right when you take off her halter which I've been working on, and last week she really didn't seem to want me to leave at all 🩵 she came up to the gate after I closed it and nickered for more scritches 🩵

And everyone at the barn keeps telling me how much happier she seems now I'm riding her, like an actual difference in her daily attitude, and being shocked at how affectionate she is with me, and how much she's learned since I started working with her... It's really sweet how much everyone cares about her even though she's not theirs.

What's wild is that I've only even been clicker training her for two weeks, all of these changes were happening before I started giving her snacks all the time and I also know that her mom gives her treats all the time. Turns out respecting a horse's body language, petting "consensually", and training in a consistent and predictable way does more for your relationship than just infinite cookies!

[clickerpunk]

Crossing them leggies.

[winterfable]

dog training: Charging the Clicker

Instructions

Have the clicker in one hand—either behind your back, wrapped in a scarf, or deep in a pocket. Some dogs are startled by the sharp sound of the clicker at first. Muffle the sound until you see how your dog reacts to it. Click! the click er and pop a treat into your dog’s mouth. He may look at the ground—some dogs think the click! is the sound of something dropping on the floor. If he doesn’t appear frightened by the sound, repeat the click! and treat several times. Then bring the clicker out from behind your back or from your pocket or scarf and continue with clicks and treats.

Every click! gets a treat. You will know that your dog is “getting it” when his eyes light up at the sound of the clicker—he knows a treat is coming! This can take anywhere from a half-dozen to a couple of dozen repetitions. You won’t be asking your dog to do anything to earn these clicks and treats—they are freebies. You do want to be sure, however, that he isn’t doing a behavior you don’t want to reinforce, such as jumping up. If he does jump, wait until he has all four on the floor, then click! and treat.

My dog is afraid of the clicker. If your dog is afraid of the clicker, you can do one of two things. You can use a different reward marker—a softer clicker, the click of a ballpoint pen, a mouth click, a finger snap, or a verbal marker such as “Yes!” Or you can desensitize your dog to the clicker by muffling the sound, either by wrapping it in soft cloth or by putting short strips of adhesive tape over the dot on the underside of the clicker box. The more strips you put on, the more the sound will be muffled. Keep putting strips on until you find the level of sound that doesn’t frighten him, and work with it at this level until he decides that the clicker is wonderful.

Then, very gradually over a period of several weeks, remove one strip at a time until the clicker is working at full sound. If at anytime your dog appears frightened again, you have removed strips too quickly. Replace several strips and keep working. The muffled clicker works well with many dogs, but not all. If yours finds even the muffled clicker to be aversive rather than rewarding, switch to a different marker before he makes a negative association with the whole training game.

My dog isn’t interested in eating the treats. You may need to use better treats or work in a location with fewer distractions. If you free-feed your dog (keep food in his bowl all the time), try feeding him regular meals instead. Then be sure to schedule his training sessions prior to mealtime—not after.

My dog is too interested in the treats—my fingers are bleeding. With some young puppies, you can yelp, saying “Ouch!” or “Yipe!” in a high-pitched voice. Then go away for a minute or two. This mimics what a puppy’s litter mates would do if he bit them too hard in play. Be sure to leave your puppy in a puppy-proofed place.

If that doesn’t work, or if you are dealing with an older dog, you can toss the treats on the floor or spit them from your mouth, instead of feeding them from your hand. Or feed the dog like you would feed a horse, from the palm of your hand instead of from your fingers. Still another alternative is to use a food tube, available from camping supply outlets. Find a treat that is soft enough to easily squeeze through the tube opening. Use this to deliver treats, and your dog’s teeth come nowhere near your fingers! The food tube doesn’t, however, teach your dog to be soft with his mouth—an important skill for him to learn.

To get your dog to be softer with his mouth, put the treats in your closed fist and let him gnaw at your hand, only opening your hand to give him the treat when his bite softens. You can gradually reward only for softer and softer bites, until he learns not to put his teeth on your hand at all. Say “Gentle” when his bite softens, not before. If he’s really a shark, do this with gloves on and use a low-value treat until he learns to be gentle. You can also use metal finger splints to protect your fingers from your dog’s shark bite. Most dogs don’t much care for the feel or taste of metal in their mouths.

--Pat Miller en "The power of positive dog training"

[dezmineann]

You Can Do R- Correctly

When you're all about R+ and tryna tell people about R+, you're often having to use examples of mistreatment of horses in order to get your point across.

Traditionally, horse people tend to use R- and THAT'S OK!

Most people who are into R+ grew up on R- and are well aware that you can do R- correctly to establish a relationship with their horse.

The difference is all dependent on where you are in your horse journey. This doesn't mean you'll eventually become R+ BUT most people who turned to R+ are those who maybe had a horse with a difficult problem that traditional training methods couldn't solve. So, instead of selling the horse to someone else or dumping them at the meat market for being "dangerous", they found a safe alternative.

Others may have observed the toxicity of dominance culture in the horse industry and wanted to get away from it because it didn't make any real sense (bonus points if you have some training in psychology).

Maybe they want the clearest forms of communication for their horse? Whatever it is, usually R+ people just want to have willing partners and are doing all the work to be friends with their horses.

When we bring up R-, it's not to say that working your horse on a pressure/release system is bad. However, the mindset that can slip in whilst using these practices are what we are trying to diminish. Dominance theory, anthropomorphizing them, making excuses to be able to hit them cuz "they're bigger" (reread that one), scare tactics in the name of desensitization, how much more can I go on?

With R+ there is virtually no way you can mistreat the horse because the principles are founded upon willingness, what horses deem as fun/ good tradeoff, and animal welfare.

I truly encourage everyone to just look into R+ principles. You will find yourself in a wormhole of fabulous information on how to help your horse be a horse and a willing partner without the anxiety and fear. You don't have to be an R+ person in the end BUT knowing how horses learn, how to correctly read their body language whilst checking your own will make you a better horse person overall

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[madrivervalleyicelandics]

My Vigri ❤️

Clicker-trained horses are more fun to ride 🤷‍♀️🍪

[atomicladytimetravel]

A/N: It’s been about 6 years since I’ve written anything so I’m a little rusty. I’m thinking of turning it into a series if this is any good. 18+ Minors DNI. Smut. Spanking, sir!kink, quickie, rough!Joel, facial.

The worst part about being alone was the silence.

It had been days since you’d spoken to another living person. Your four person group journey turned into a solo one after a run in with a couple of clickers. You were the toughest of the group, having been trained in combat by your ex-military father since the outbreak started. It’s the only reason you escaped by the skin of your teeth. You’d been walking aimlessly ever since.

The heat from the summer sun made you impossibly thirsty and you were weak from hunger. Even after searching for a couple of days, no food or water could be found. You honestly didn’t know how much longer you would make it. You thought about sitting down against a tree and letting either nature or clickers take you. At this point, you didn’t care. You were about to give up hope when you saw what you swore was a gate off in the distance. A community, maybe? You decided that it was worth the risk to find out. You were going to die out there anyway.

You stopped in your tracks the second you heard the clicking. You whirled around to see an infected running at you. You didn’t have the strength to run, let alone fight. Your gun ran out of bullets when your group was attacked. You pulled the knife out of its sheath on your waistband and prepared to fight. The clicker was on you faster than you’d expected. It knocked you off your feet and you pushed on its chest as hard as your weak arms would let you.

“This is it. This is how I die. I don’t want to lose my mind,” you thought. You heard hoarse screaming and realized it was coming from your own parched throat. You swatted at the clicker with the knife, but to no avail. You couldn’t hold it off anymore. You were weak and dizzy and -

You heard a gunshot crack through the air and the clicker fell off of you. You lifted your head and saw the silhouette of a man on a horse and then your vision faded to black.

When you woke, you found yourself handcuffed to a bed in a makeshift hospital room. You looked around and met eyes with a pleasant looking woman.

“You’re awake,” she smiled. “I’m Maria. I’m on the council here.”

You give her your name reluctantly.

“Where is here?” you asked.

“You’re in Jackson, Wyoming.”

You lifted your handcuffed hand and asked, “and why am I in these?”

“Because I don’t know you, therefore I don’t trust you,” she shrugged.

“If you don’t trust me then why did you bring me in?”

“I didn’t. My brother-in-law made that decision. But we weren’t going to let you die,” she replied.

“Appreciate it,” you mumbled. “When am I expected to leave? You are going to let me go, right?”

Maria raised an eyebrow.

“You’re free to go whenever you’d like. Of course, you could always stay. It never hurts to have extra hands.”

One Year Later

Life in Jackson proved to be a lot different than life on the outside. There was a steady supply of food and water and everyone was relatively friendly. Well, almost everyone.

Joel Miller was about as ornery and grumpy as they come. He did save your life, for which you tried to thank him profusely, but you were waved off. You had spent a year in Jackson and the two of you had about as many conversations as you could count on your hands. Even when you were on patrol together, he was silent except to grunt an initial greeting at you.

Unfortunately, he was as attractive as he was grumpy. The rugged handsomeness, the salt and pepper hair. He had to have a good 20 years on you, at least, but you didn’t care. You were a grown woman and dick is dick. It didn’t matter anyway, he’d never even given you the time of day.

That didn’t stop you from parading around town in tight, short sundresses or shorts during the hot months, though. You never knew if he was looking or not, but if he was, you were going to give him a show.

One afternoon, you were sitting on your porch reading when you heard your name called out. You looked up from your book and saw Tommy approaching you. You gave him a warm smile; he was a lot more pleasant than his brother.

“What’s up Tommy?”

“You’re on patrol with Simpson tonight, right?” he asked. You sighed. Simpson was obnoxious and talked way too much.

“Supposed to be.”

“Well he’s in the infirmary, he broke his hand,” Tommy informed you, a small smile playing on his lips. He wasn’t Simpson’s biggest fan either and knew how you felt about him.

“Aw, poor thing,” you smirked. “So is it you and me?”

Tommy shook his head.

“You wish you were so lucky. You got Joel. I’ve got to run and see Maria real fast, can you tell him for me? Thanks!”

He turned on his heel before giving you a chance to respond. He didn’t want to be the one to have to tell Joel he had to do patrol on his night off.

“He’s your brother!” you called after him.

“Sorry!” he called back. You groaned and set your book down.

“This should be fun,” you mumbled to yourself.

You found Joel standing outside the bar, alone as usual. He had his back against the wall and he was bringing a drink to his lips.

“Miller!” you called to get his attention. He looked over at you with a scowl.

“Yes?” he questioned as you approached him.

“Simpson and I were supposed to be on patrol tonight but he’s in the infirmary with a broken hand. Tommy says it’s you and me pal.”

“God damn it,” he growled. “Fan-fucking-tastic.”

You put up your hands defensively. “Sorry, didn’t mean to catch you in a bad mood.”

“Well you did,” he spat. You narrowed your eyes and took a step towards him. He was taller than you, but you straightened to your full height and looked him in the eye.

“Listen, Miller, you may have everyone else in this town intimidated but you don’t scare me. I don’t know if you have a stick up your ass or if you just need a good fuck, but you,” you poked your finger into his chest, “are going to learn to talk to me with some god damn respect.”

Everyone who was outside had stopped talking and they were all looking at you and Joel. You stared daggers at him. “I’ll see you on patrol.”

You turned and started walking away from him and back to your house.

“Hey!” he shouted.

“Conversation’s over, Miller,” you responded over your shoulder. You threw a middle finger in the air and kept walking. You hadn’t been inside your house for a full minute before there was banging on your door. You opened it to see a raging Joel.

“What?” you hissed. Without responding, his hand wrapped around your throat and he whipped you around so that your back slammed against the door.

“Who do you think you are?” he asked through gritted teeth, his face inches from yours.

“Just a girl that demands respect,” you replied, locking eyes with him. His hand against your throat was making you throb between your legs, but he didn’t need to know that yet.

“Don’t talk to me like that ever again,” he said, his voice commanding.

“Or what, Miller?” you challenged. “You gonna beat me up? Kill me?”

His grip on your throat tightened ever so slightly and you felt yourself get wetter. If looks could kill, you most certainly would’ve been dead on the spot. He was silent.

“If you’re trying to scare me, you’re going about it the wrong way,” you told him matter of factly.

“Yeah, how’s that?” he asked, his tone still hostile.

“Your little display of power seems to have had the…opposite effect on me,” you smirked. He didn’t seem to understand.

“Joel, you don’t scare me,” you said, a taunting smile on your lips. “You make me wet.”

That was all the permission Joel needed. His lips crashed against yours roughly.

“I see the way you walk around town in short little dresses like this,” he said, giving the hem of your dress a tug. “Is that for my benefit, sweetheart?”

You wanted to throw sarcasm back at him, but your arousal was winning over your desire to play cat and mouse.

“Answer me,” he growled.

“Yes,” you whispered.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes sir,” you corrected yourself.

“There you go,” he winked. His hand left your throat and he used the tip of his index finger to trace the low neckline of your sundress, just barely brushing against your cleavage. He looked at you hungrily.

“I’m gonna have to teach you some manners.”

He spun you around so that you were facing the door. He put his hand on your back and bent you over at the waist, your hands slapping against the door for support. He flipped your dress up and jerked your panties down. They fell to the floor and you stepped out of them. He spanked you several times on each cheek, hard enough that there was a lingering sting when he was done. You couldn’t hold back your moans, he was punishing you so good.

“I bet you liked that, didn’t you, you little slut?” he growled as he rubbed the hand shaped marks on your ass.

“Yes sir,” you replied, longing for him to touch you again. He stood you up and turned you to face him.

“Let’s see how much you liked it, hmm?”

He put his hand between your legs and used his middle finger to feel your pussy.

“Fuck,” he swore lowly, “so wet for me darlin’.”

Just a few minutes earlier, you demanded respect from this man and now you were putty in his hands. It didn’t matter, you were getting what you wanted. You hooked a leg around his waist and he grabbed it at the thigh. You kissed him this time, tugging at the hair at the base of his neck. He bucked his hips into you and you groaned into the kiss.

“We don’t have much time,” he rasped. “Gotta get on patrol soon.”

“I guess you better fuck me now then,” you said, finding your confidence again. He shook his head disapprovingly.

“That mouth. Gonna have to put it to good use when we have time.”

He unbuckled his belt and undid his jeans. He pushed them down far enough for his cock to spring free and you reached down to tug him. He grabbed your thigh and hiked your leg around his waist again.

“Put it in darlin’,” he instructed. You guided him to your entrance and he thrust up into you, making you throw your head back against the door. He grabbed you under the ass and lifted you up and you wrapped your other leg around him. You put your arms around his neck and tugged at his hair.

“God you feel good,” he breathed as he set a steady pace with his thrusts. You couldn’t help but let a loud moan escape your lips and he clamped his hand over your mouth.

“Shhh, pretty girl. People are still around, we don’t want the whole town to hear you getting fucked,” he emphasized the last word with a hard thrust. Your eyes rolled back and you moaned behind his hand.

“You like being fucked like a whore, huh?” he grunted. You nodded frantically. He felt so good inside you, and you loved being manhandled. He dropped his hand from your mouth and put it between two of you to rub your clit.

“I need you to be quiet for me darlin’. Can you do that for me?”

“Yes sir,” you whispered. Keeping that promise, though, proved to be extremely difficult as he circled around the bundle of nerves. You pursed your lips and let your head fall back, bucking your hips into his hand. You could feel your release creeping up on you and you buried your face in his neck.

“I’m gonna cum,” you panted into his skin.

“That’s it baby, cum for me. I wanna feel you cum all over my cock,” he groaned, speeding up his thrusts. You tried to muffle your cries of pleasure into his still clothed shoulder as the orgasm washed over you. Truthfully, you didn’t care if anyone heard you, it felt so fucking good.

“Good girl,” he praised. He fucked you through one orgasm and it didn’t take long for you to feel the beginnings of another.

“Please don’t stop,” you begged quietly. “You’re gonna make me cum again.”

“Fuck,” he grunted, “keep cumming on me darlin’.”

With one particularly hard thrust, you were sent over the edge once more. You clamped your own hand over your mouth to stop the scream that you couldn’t help.

“Get on your knees,” he commanded, pulling out quickly and setting you on the floor. You obeyed and knelt down. You stuck your tongue and looked up at him as he jerked himself to an orgasm. He grunted and his hips stuttered as he came. Cum painted your face, only a few drops landing on your outstretched tongue.

“Wish I could take a picture of that,” Joel panted. He tucked himself back into his jeans and helped you up. You got a dish towel from the kitchen and wiped your face.

“Feel better?” you asked with a smirk.

“Shut up,” he grumbled, but you saw his lips turn up in a small smile.

“Joel Miller, was that a smile?” you teased.

“Watch it, or after patrol I’m gonna take you back to mine and bend you over something,” he retorted. You gave him a shit eating grin.

“I guess I’ll just have to be a bad girl, then.”