#start clicker training safely

[rowanthestrange]

one minute of silly puppy playing with and teething on his nylabone, to the background restaurant noise of a silent travelvlogger (to get him used to the television and different kinds of ambient sounds).

[thekoalapastriesbakery]

golden retriever!logan x dog trainer!reader? m thinking... smutty hehe (cuz like. reader trains actual dogs but the idea of logan wanted reader to "train" him is very brainfuzzying)

-bear

WHO'S A GOOD PUPPY? ft. sub!bottom!golden retriever!logan x dog trainer!reader. lots of focus on reader actually training logan, but a bit of extra stuff too :) very nsfw so ... you have been warned!

when logan found out what you did for a living, his knees damn near buckled

you had been a little nervous about telling him. you didn't want him to think you'd stop seeing him as a person because of his hybrid nature and your job

and yet. the first time you're alone together after he finds out, logan drops to his knees and starts pawing at your legs and whining

you ask him what's wrong, and he gives you one of his goofy golden grins

"want you to train me like one of your dogs."

you could swear you felt your brain bluescreen the moment he said it.

"you want me to what?"

"want you to train me like a dog," logan repeats.

he's so thrilled when you agree, like tail wagging and his tongue pre-emptively hanging out of his mouth.

he doesn't always feel super comfortable about his hybrid nature, but he feels so safe with you that he's quite happy to just shut his brain off whenever he's in your presence.

he knows you'll take care of him—you'd discussed (at length, and largely by your insistence) what would be too far and how he can break out of it whenever. he has a safe word, a safe gesture, several different ways to tell you he's struggling

you also insisted on at least a week observing his body language, just to be extra sure that you can pick up when he starts to get overwhelmed.

when you do officially start: clicker train him.

it's pretty subtle to everyone else, but logan's sensitive hearing always picked up the sound.

your first order of business is training him to associate the click with a reward, just like you'd do with any dog.

make him cum, click.

kiss him, click.

make him laugh, click.

anything that makes him happy (sexual or not, because you don't exactly want him to hear any clicking sound ever and go into subspace) gets a click.

logan's very malleable, so it's only a week or two before you can press the clicker when he's sad and he immediately perks up and looks to you.

give it an extra week's buffer, just to be sure, and then you can get into the really fun stuff

this is where you can start to train him to respond to specific gestures or even tones

if he ever gets a little too flirty with anyone, just a quiet "puppy ..." gets him in line again

hand on his lower back and logan's entire brain shuts off. you can lead him wherever you want like this.

hand on the back of his neck and logan will immediately drop to his knees. no thoughts to when/where/or anything else. he knows you would never ask him to drop where he could hurt himself.

if you stand behind him, reach around, and put your hand on his lower stomach? logan now gets horny immediately. fastest way to turn him into a proper dumb puppy for you.

eventually, with a lot of dedicated training, logan will be the most obedient sub you could ever dream of.

it's only once he's perfectly obedient that you move onto tricks!!

deepthroating, nipple orgasms, cumming on command ... there are so many things you could do with him and logan is up for pretty much anything you want to be honest

he's so giddy the first time you make him cum on a video call. logan loves that you can make him feel so good even when you're on a whole different continent

he owns one vibrator and that's it. when he's away from you, he refuses to use it unless you tell him to—even if you tell him it's fine.

eventually, he'll ask you to put a collar on him (and maybe even a lead)

he will never ever ever in a million years want to take it off. you have to get him a little string he can wear around his little finger so he doesn't panic when he has to take his collar off for races.

when he stops whining every single time, he gets a very nice reward that ends with a very soft, very mushy, very giggly logan who you need to carry around like a princess for a couple days until he can walk again

[eff4freddie]

After She Left | Nine

Words: 5k

Joel leaves Shauna to race to the mess hall, trying to prevent an attack that will obliterate half of Jackson. You keep Ellie safe while Joel is out for blood. Tommy has his suspicions.

Chapter warnings: Angst, again. Slow burn. Joel continues to be bad at feelings.

A/N: Thank you again for your support of this series. It's putting the slow in slow burn, but these two idiots just refuse to give any ground. Joel is starting to soften, slowly, but will Teach let him in?

Eight | Series Masterlist | Ten

Joel’s legs were moving almost completely without volition. He didn’t even hesitate, taking off towards the mess hall screaming, bellowing, over his shoulder for Shauna to run to Tommy and tell him. There wasn’t any time, there wasn’t any knowing how much time there was, but there were families in that mess hall, there were some of the town’s best men and women and their children and he was going to make damn fuckin’ sure not you. Not Ellie. Not you.

He could feel his breath coming in hard and sharp, the comparatively warm night air doing absolutely nothing to stop his lungs feeling as though they were shredding right there in his chest. He was stumbling, must have looked completely mad, as he ran to the centre of town. Shauna had said the gas line ran over the street. In rebuilding Jackson with next to no equipment they wouldn’t have been able to pull up the concrete to bury it, not with the little tools they’d had. It would have made sense to install all the services above ground without a digger to get them under, but now they were just exposed. Jackson had been built on a fuckin’ fuse and he’d stood at the gates while the guys with the match marched right past him.

Jesus, he’d failed. Again, he had failed. If that mess hall went up before he got there he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to live with himself, knew in his heart he would have to take himself off to a mountain somewhere and let the elements have their way with him. Walk into a horde of clickers. It would be fair and it would be just in this lawless, gnashing world.

Breath coming in too fast to catch it, pulse too hard to hear anything else he rounded onto the main street, bellowing at the top of his lungs to clear the area, waving with his hands over his head. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Tommy running from the other direction, his eyes wild, raising his own hands over his head and bellowing a warning when he saw what Joel was doing. A few other men appeared on Joel’s periphery, confused but on alert regardless, and he screamed to them as he ran past ‘MESS HALL. GONNA GO UP. GET ‘EM OUT. GET ‘EM ALL OUT.’

He was dimly aware of people staring at him, gaping at him as he streamed past. He yelled in their faces to get clear, having to restrain himself from physically pushing them out of the way as he wrenched open the door to the mess hall just as Tommy appeared at the bottom of the steps.

It was all just pure instinct. He’d never been a fire warden, had done safety training for the job sites more than twenty years ago. Didn’t need instructions or a manual, just stood in the doorway as the hall fell silent around him, cupped his hands over his mouth and screamed ‘OUT OUT OUT’.

Tommy pulled him aside, gesturing people to the door now that Joel wasn’t obstructing it anymore, and later when Joel had the wherewithal he’d curse himself for being so stupid as to block the only exit he was screaming at people to use.

The place emptied in minutes. Town Council had a thing about practicing drills: clickers, raiders, fires and floods. Being the only safe haven at the end of the world a fair amount of effort went into preparing for disaster, and everyone was assembled at the muster point by the gate within minutes. Maria was busy doing her headcount.

Out the front of the mess hall Tommy held Joel by his trembling shoulder as he relayed to his younger brother everything that Shauna had said. Tommy sent a bunch of men under the floor to check the foundations, ran his own eye up the gas line because he didn’t trust any of the men, got Joel to do it too when he was done shaking. Whatever Steve and Wren had been planning they hadn’t pulled it off yet. There was still time. Joel felt himself exhale for the first time in an hour.

Over Tommy’s shoulder he saw the townsfolk of Jackson lined up along the street at a safe distance. Moms holding their babies to their chests, husbands with their arms over their wives’ shoulders. He saw you in the crowd, your hand held fast in Ellie’s, and he felt something settle in his chest as his girls watched him work. His girls.

Not his girls.

But in that first moment, before his legs had taken him in the direction of the mess hall, he’d fought a traitorous urge to turn around, head back to your place, pack you and Ellie up in blankets and hunker down with you in your bedroom, let the whole fuckin’ place burn to the ground around him so long as he had you both safe.

He blinked. There was fury bubbling in his belly, he could feel the fire rising up his sternum as he tried to swallow it down.

‘Where they at, Tommy?’ he grunted, his brother having already been anticipating that this would be Joel’s next move, once he was confident the town was safe.

‘Sent Guillaume and a few of the boys to round ‘em up,’ Tommy said, hoping this would be enough for Joel and knowing it wouldn’t be.

‘Gollum?’ Joel said, almost spitting the name in disdain. ‘That fuckhead’s the reason we in this mess. I bet you my life they were the ones skulkin’ around out there that time I saw the tracks, I bet you anythin’ they been planning this for months and I fuckin’ told Golllum…’

‘Ok, easy, easy,’ Tommy said, raising his hands, watching the heat blooming on his brother’s neck. ‘I know, Joel, but we got a proper process.’

Joel scoffed, rolling his eyes, clenching his fists. He was spitting acid now, the left-over adrenaline mixing with bile and misery. ‘We’re a civilisation, Joel,’ Tommy said, almost pleading with him to see some kind of reason. ‘That means we gotta be civil.’

‘I’ll be real civil with ‘em, brother,’ Joel said, his voice low and heavy and full of venom. ‘F’they behave themselves I might even make it quick.’

‘Joel, enough,’ Tommy said. ‘This ain’t…this is for Town Council-’

‘The HELL IT IS’ Joel bellowed, the people still milling around on the street flinching and glancing back at him. He cleared his throat and lowered his gaze.

‘You can’t cut me outta this, Tommy,’ he said, his turn to plead. ‘S’my family they messin’ with.’

‘All our families they messed with, Joel,’ Tommy said.

‘What you think they been doin’ to Shauna all this time?’ Joel said, and Tommy blanched a little. There wasn’t any evidence, Shauna had always implied more or less that she’d agreed to whatever it was they got up to on the side of cold mountains, but Joel knew how to push Tommy’s buttons, having spent the better half of his little brother’s youth installing them himself.

There was a shout over the hill leading down to the stables, a cry and a string of insults that, even though neither Tommy or Joel could make out the words, were nevertheless unkind.

Tommy pulled on Joel’s arm to try and hold him back, but Joel was already streaming over to the sound, his longer legs striding strong despite his older years, his eyes narrowing. Tommy knew this look. It was the look Joel got when he was ready to do anything to defend what was his. He stumbled after his brother, motioning for Maria in the hope that her cooler head might prevail.

Joel could see Wren being held between two of Guillaume’s men, his shoulder bent at what appeared to be a truly uncomfortable angle.

‘They’ve dislocated my shoulder!’ Wren screamed, looking a little green, Joel thought.

‘That’s the last of your worries,’ Tommy said, catching up to Joel and a little out of breath. ‘Wanna tell us about the mess hall?’

‘What about the mess hall?’ Wren asked, and Joel was ready, in that moment, to rip his dislocated shoulder clean from the rest of his body.

‘You fuckin’ sick piece of shit, going to blow it all up with all those kids in there, all those women. People’s fuckin’ families?’ Joel was aware he was spitting, that his face was red, that he was forcing his finger into Wren’s face, but the shock was wearing off now, and pure blind rage was seeping in where it had left, and he couldn’t stop thinking about pulling Ellie’s charred little body out of the wreckage, trying to figure if it was her by her shoes and her proximity to you.

He was going to vomit if he didn’t stop thinking about it. He steeled himself, let the world spin around his head for a moment longer before he pulled it all back into focus by sheer force of will.

‘You and Steve, you sick fucks, been planning this the whole time? When we fed and clothed ya, gave you fuckin’ jobs!’

‘Joel, easy,’ Tommy said, because he could see that Wren was near tears, that the younger man looked dumbfounded, and that dealing with 200 pounds of Miller in the form of a man-sized fist wasn’t going to get them to a resolution.

‘What are you…’ Wren was asking, but then there were more footsteps, and Steve was being dragged along the street to join the party by another of the patrol, and this time Shauna was trailing behind him, eyes wet and hands wringing in front of her. She moved straight to Maria, who wrapped her up in her arms.

‘Just fuckin’ confess to it so we can get down to the punishment,’ Joel was saying, even as Tommy was trying to pull him back so that the Council could form a proper impromptu trial.

‘We didn’t do fuckin’ nothing,’ Steve said, because he was quicker on the uptake it seemed. ‘Whatever she’s said to you it’s fucking bullshit.’

Joel looked at Shauna, who was starting to sob.

‘They said if I said anything they’d kill me,’ she said, eyes on the ground as Maria practically held her up. ‘They said I had to do it, I had to get the plans, I’m so sorry,’ she said.

Wren was shaking his head at her, panic on his features, but Joel was too far gone to notice or care, too interested instead in punching his features through to the other side of his skull.

‘But I couldn’t let them hurt the kids,’ she stuttered, turning her eyes to Joel now, who held her in his gaze. He could feel some of the fury ebbing away at the sight of her so distraught. Could feel a kind of inevitability settling in over his bones, a sadness and an understanding of what had to be done.

‘You fuckin’ lying whore!’ Steve screamed at her, his neck straining from the force of it. Shauna shuddered and took a step back and Joel found himself moving over to her, taking the other side from Maria to help hold her up, as Shauna transferred to his shoulder and buried her face into his neck.

‘You don’t talk about the women of Jackson that way,’ Tommy was saying as Maria nodded her head. Robert, who had been watching the proceedings and taking it all in, pulled Tommy, Maria and a few of the other Councillors aside.

In the silence, Shauna continued to whimper, reaching up to hold firm to the front of Joel’s shirt. He could feel his heartbeat settling, could feel the ache as he breathed over scorched lungs. ‘I’m so scared, Joel,’ Shauna whispered to him, and he rested his chin on the top of her head.

‘I know, I gotcha,’ he said, as he wrapped both arms around her shivering form. He cast a glance at Wren, who was staring at the ground unable to move with his shoulder sustaining what Joel now saw was likely a bad break, and then at Steve, who was watching Shauna with a cold intensity that set Joel’s teeth on edge.

‘Get your fuckin’ eyes off her,’ he hissed, and Steve, instead, raised his eyes to him.

He started to shake his head, slowly. ‘You cunt-struck fool,’ he said to Joel, almost with pity. If he hadn’t been holding Shauna up, Joel would have knocked him out then and there.

Robert cleared his throat, the conference apparently over.

‘For conspiring against the town of Jackson and its citizens, you are banished,’ he said, simply and quickly. Efficient and without fanfare.

‘That’s it?’ Joel said, sputtering. ‘They could still get back in here, the fuckers know the place like the back of their hands. They’ve got plans.’

Shauna whimpered again a little in his arms. No thanks to you, Joel thought, and then felt bad about it.

Robert continued to address the men. ‘Tomorrow morning you will be taken on horseback to a destination two and a half hours ride from here. You will be dropped off with no supplies or weapons. You will not return. Should you attempt to darken our gates again you will be shot on sight. Do you understand?’

‘Just shoot us now, you fuckin’ cowards,’ Steve said, the fight receding from him so that now he was just sort of swaying in the arms of the men. ‘Don’t just let a clicker do it.’

‘The Town Council’s decision is final. You will be placed in remand until the morning. We will ride out at dawn.’

Robert nodded to his councillors and to Joel and strode off. Joel was angry but he had to admire Robert’s composure. He considered, not for the first time, that Robert was exactly the man for the job he held.

Guillaume and his men dragged Steve and Wren away. Wren was gently weeping, his legs not working so well anymore now that he was almost bent double from the pain. Shauna didn’t lift her head from Joel’s chest to watch them go. She stayed, practically glued to his hip, until Joel had no other choice but to take her home.

--

You’d seen the look on Joel’s face, had ushered Ellie under your arm and away from the crowd before she had to see him rip those two men apart with his teeth. He was furious, like an adder poised to strike, while Tommy stood beside him and tried to keep a level head. Rumours were already swirling about what had happened at the mess hall by the time you turned up your street with Ellie behind you, and you blocked them out. The truth would become apparent whether you got caught up in the eddying flow of it.

Your main concern was just Ellie. You did the only thing you could think to do with a stressed-out teenager in your house: you fed her. Standing at the bench with her peeling potatoes the two of you discussed absolutely nothing at all – what air conditioning used to feel like, how loud planes were in the sky, what it was like to go to the mall and spend the whole afternoon just looking at clothes – knowing that Joel would come for her.

After a long silence, while you lay the potato slices down in a pan and poured cheese over the top to bake, Ellie finally spoke.

‘Was he a bad man?’ she asked you, and you sighed.

‘I don’t know, I didn’t know him all that well.’

Ellie looked at you sharply, surprise on her features.

‘What do you mean? You’ve spent nearly every day with us.’

You felt the thud of realisation in your chest. Joel. Was Joel a bad man.

‘Ellie, why do you ask that?’ you questioned, but she turned away from you, her shoulders rounding over. You watched as she tugged on her long sleeves, even in the heat of the kitchen.

‘He gets that look…’ she said, and you found yourself nodding.

‘He would never hurt you, or people he cared about. That looked to me like a man fighting to keep his family safe.’

‘Which family?’ she asked. You put the tray gently on the bench, to take a moment, to steady yourself.

‘Ellie…’ you started, but there was the sound of the front door opening, and heavy footfalls in the hall. Ellie was already moving towards him.

‘Ellie!’ he was calling, booming into the quiet of your house.

‘In here!’ she called back, and they met in the doorway, nearly toppling over with the force in which they collided into each other, Joel holding her fast to his chest.

‘Are you alright? Are you hurt?’ he was saying, and she was shaking her head. He pulled her away from him, cradling her head in both of his hands as he studied her, from her scalp to her toes. ‘Nothin’? Nothin’?’ he asked again, and she stilled in his hands.

‘What was that, Joel?’ she asked, and you watched as his eyes slid closed, pulling her into his body again.

‘Nothin’ babygirl, it was nothin’.’ He muttered.

You swallowed harshly, something thick and hot in your throat suddenly making it hard to breathe. He finally noticed you, his brown eyes snapping to yours as you watched him cradle his daughter.

‘You alright?’ he asked you, genuine concern written over his face.

You nodded. ‘We did just fine,’ you said, quietly, but he shook his head in response.

‘No, you,’ he clarified. You weren’t sure if you were alright, actually. Weren’t sure if you could instruct every cell in your body to stop screaming for him to reach out for you, grasp your wrist so gentle in his hand and pull you into his chest to stand by Ellie, your nose tucked in under his jaw and feeling the heat of his pulse there on your skin.

You exhaled, slowly, steeled yourself. It hadn’t been anything, and it wouldn’t be. You nodded your head at him, not trusting your own voice under the strain of the moment.

He seemed satisfied, his eyes gently closing again as Ellie wriggled out from under his arms, straightening her shirt and wiping her eyes with her sleeve, trying to hide it by turning away from you both.

‘What’s gonna happen to them?’ she asked, and he sighed.

‘They’re gettin’ kicked out,’ he said, and you watched the anger bloom over her face.

‘That’s it?’ she asked, her voice rising as she worked herself up. ‘That’s bullshit! They nearly killed like 50 people!’

‘Easy,’ Joel said, raising his hands. You watched as his brows saddled.

‘Ellie, come help me set the table,’ you said, trying to divert her. She was still caught up in the indignation of it, though, like all teenagers when faced with an injustice.

‘That’s crap though, they shouldn’t be allowed to live!’

It jarred you for a second, a teenager calling for the death penalty, and you wondered for the first time in a while what the world had become. Such that it was, such that it would ever be again.

‘Enough,’ Joel said, quiet but deadly, and Ellie jutted out her lower lip, but stopped. You could see a well-worn dynamic playing out in front of you. You felt out of place in the middle of it.

‘We oughta get goin’,’ he said to her, and he looked exhausted all of a sudden, far older than his years.

‘We made dinner,’ Ellie said, angry and pouty still.

‘I won’t eat all this, I can bring some around,’ you offered, and realised you had already betrayed her, that you were supposed to campaign for them to stay. You faltered, looking between her and Joel. Did you want them to stay? Was it a good idea? To even offer? ‘Unless you…’

‘We’ve imposed enough on Teach tonight,’ Joel said, not looking at you, and you felt the sting of the rejection even though you had been expecting it, had been reminding yourself not to hope for any different.

Ellie stomped down the hall, and you heard your door swing open so hard you wouldn’t have been surprised if she wrenched it free. Joel looked at his feet, his eyes only ever flitting in your direction, his face pink.

‘You doin’ alright?’ he asked.

‘Nothing for you to feel guilty about, Joel,’ you said, quickly, and he sighed. You watched him flex his fingers once, twice, on his left hand. He pulled it up to his chest and rested it over his heart.

‘-nk you for still seein’ her,’ he said, and you shrugged.

‘I care about her, Joel. More than I care about you. Or me.’

He nodded. He knew it was true, he had always known it, and he knew he had used it against you when it suited him, when it meant he could wonder closer to you, when he could feel the heat of you gentle on his skin.

‘M’sorry…’ he started, but Ellie was calling for him from the front porch.

‘We goin’ old man OR WHAT?’ she yelled. You hid a little smirk, which Joel returned. Suddenly you were both shy, but some of the weight had shifted. You stood firmer on your two feet.

‘G’bye Joel,’ you said. ‘I can bring some of this around if you need me to…’

‘Shauna’s cookin’,’ he said, without thinking, and then suddenly thinking too much when he looked up and saw the look of shock pass over your face.

‘Oh…’ you said.

‘She ain’t good at it…’ he tried, to see if he could get the lightness back, to see if he could get you to smile. He could get through it if he just got you to smile.

You felt yourself falter. You hated it, hated the feeling and yourself for letting yourself feel it, for putting yourself in the position to.

Joel stared at you, helpless and deflating. The back of his neck ached from tension, his hands still tremoring from the adrenaline, from the fury.

‘Y’know you’re welcome over anytime,’ he said, because you were suddenly so still, your breath so light he could barely see your chest rise and fall, and he hated the idea of you over here alone, hated the idea of you missing your family, your friends, Ellie and maybe even him a little bit, if he still deserved it. He coughed, clearing his throat, trying hard to ignore the sound of Ellie pacing on your front porch. ‘I know I don’t deserve any more of your time, and I ain’t askin’ for it, I just…’

You watched as he seemed unable to decide what to do with his hands, digging them into his pockets, pulling them out again to rest on his hips, crossing them over his chest. You watched his hands because it was easier than looking at his face, easier than having to look him in the eyes while he actively, outwardly pitied you.

‘You know I had a life here before you got here, Joel,’ you said, your voice clear and unwavering. ‘You know I was here a long while before you? Don’t look at me some lost little puppy now that you’ve decided not to play with me anymore. I have a job and…friends and…enough memories of a family that loved me to fuel me ‘til my last sunset. I miss them and I love them but I’m not sad, Joel.’

You lifted the pan of potatoes and slammed them, a little more forcefully than you intended, into the oven. ‘Go home to Shauna, whatever she’s cooked up for you. You do what you need to do, Joel.’

He cared about you, he knew it then by the way he wanted to wrap you in his arms and kiss you until dawn even while you told him off. By the way he would let you yell at him every minute for the rest of his days if it just meant you were talking to him, if it meant you got firey and animated and more yourself.

He knew you were shooing him away. And he would go, in just a minute. ‘I ain’t sorry for it,’ he said, when you looked like you might have been ready to listen. ‘M’sorry for how I treated ya, for how I reacted when…everything changed. But I ain’t sorry for kissin’ ya, and I ain’t sorry for that…’ he gestured to the couch over his shoulder, and you resolutely didn’t look where he was pointing. ‘I’d do that every day of the week, sweet girl, if it weren’t for how things are…and if I thought for any second y’might let me.’

He came forward and you stood, hypnotised, unable to step back even as he lifted his hands and cradled your head in them, just as he had minutes ago with Ellie, just as you had wished, quietly, and only so that Rose could hear, that he would hold you the same.

‘I regret nothin’ about you, only how I handled it, and for that I’ll be sorry for the rest of my time.’ He stared into your eyes, not wavering until he could see that you had understood, that you had heard him. You felt tears threatening, and you were so fucking sick of crying over this man, but right then you wanted him to kiss you even though you knew, for all the heat of his gaze, he was really saying he never would again.

‘Enough now…’ you said, taking his hands from your face and settling them back down at his sides. He nodded.

‘I know, baby,’ he said, quiet as he leant forward anyway and rested his forehead on yours. ‘Enough,’ he agreed, his words mingling with the hot tears on your cheeks.

--

Joel stood next to Robert, Tommy and Billy at the gate. He watched, closely, as Steve and Wren were dragged into their saddles, their arms still tied behind their backs. Wren had gone eerily quiet, apparently having passed out in the night from the pain, and he looked sweaty and pale now. Joel knew that sending him beyond the gates in this state was a death sentence, but he was finding it hard to care. His mind kept turning time back to the moment Shauna’s words hit him – mess hall, gas line – and the way he had immediately thought of Ellie, and of you. He would kill these two men a thousand times over if it meant he never had to feel that again. He was getting too old for it. He couldn’t bear a new way to fail his girls.

Not his girls.

Shauna had stayed, tucked up in his bed while Joel offered to take the couch, and he rubbed at the crick in his neck now as a result. There wasn’t fanfare, just the creak of the opening gates as Guillaume and his men rounded on them.

‘Follow the river, two-three hours West, there’s some mountain ranges, some rapids. They won’t get back,’ Billy instructed, and Guillaume nodded. Steve glared at Joel from the saddle. He stared, impassively, back.

‘Town’s a shithole anyway,’ Steve said, and Joel grinned at him.

‘Yeah, but this shithole still ain’t yours,’ he replied, because he couldn’t help himself.

The horses took off, Billy pulling the gate closed behind them. Joel stood watch until the sound of the hooves ebbed away.

Robert tipped his hat to the brothers. Tommy turned back towards the stables, and Joel followed on his heels.

‘Thank God that’s over,’ Joel said, and Tommy clicked his jaw a little. ‘What?’ he asked.

‘Don’t feel right,’ Tommy said, without elaborating. Joel felt the urge to roll his eyes, his emerging need to believe it was dealt with for a moment overpowering him, before he remembered Tommy had never dismissed him even when he came, panic stricken, believing there to be monsters beyond the gate.

‘Tell me,’ he said, and Tommy sighed.

‘The look on Wren’s face…’ Tommy started, and Joel interrupted almost immediately.

‘They were guilty as sin, course he looked…’

‘Were they, Joel? We didn’t exactly investigate. He looked…surprised? I don’t know, confused?’

‘He thought he’d done such a good job of stitchin’ up Shauna he never figured she’d tell…’ Joel reasoned. ‘He was surprised because she said somethin’, is all.’

‘He seem like the scheming sort, Joel? The kind of fuckin…mastermind…’

Joel thought back to Wren, the way he was quiet and liked tending the animals, the way he was kind of reedy, kind of skinny, in a way that was more than just about starving half to death on the side of a mountain and somewhat genetic, somewhat constitutional.

‘Steve, though…’

‘Yeah, Steve,’ Tommy agreed.

‘Nasty fucker.’

‘Mmm.’

The two brothers fell into step, and then into silence.

‘Don’t see why she’d throw ‘em under the bus, she ain’t like that.’ Joel said, answering his brother’s unspoken question.

Tommy looked up at his big brother, at the way Joel’s eyes were narrow, resolute, in the early morning light.

‘You’re probably right, it was just the heat of the moment, I guess,’ Tommy said. ‘So much happenin’ at once.’

Joel nodded at him, satisfied. They arrived at the stables, Tommy reaching for a pitchfork and handing it, without ceremony, to Joel.

‘Whatchu doin’ with that, brother?’ Joel asked, refusing to take what was offered to him.

‘Muck out,’ Tommy said, nodding at the stable floor. Joel backed away, his hands in the air.

‘No, sir, that ain’t my job.’

‘Ain’t mine either but we got our best men out there right now, who else is gonna do it?’

Wren would have done it, Joel thought. Wren probably had been doing it, quietly, for weeks.

‘C’mon big man, you ain’t afraid of dirt,’ Tommy said, goading his brother with the absolute certainty that it would work.

‘Ain’t the dirt I’m worried about,’ he said, but he was grinning now, and Tommy was grinning back at him. He reached over and took the pitchfork.

It had been a while since he’d done this kind of honest, grunt work, Joel thought. There was a kind of poetry in it. Maybe all this time things were just leading to the eventual inevitability that he would have to shovel shit.

Taglist:

@harriedandharassed

@vickie5446

@kaseyconnour

@orcasoul

@missladym1981

@spacesoutdaydreamer

@tangled-tumbler-blog-blog

@fancyyoouu

@anoverwhelmingdin

@millersamour

@delicatetrashtree

@wand-erer5

@somedayheaven

[plsdontseemeeeee]

Safe are the Ghosts

pt 2/ ?

Summary: In post-apocalyptic Jackson, you work as a medic and navigate tense relationships—especially with Ellie and your father, Joel. Despite the past, grief, and unspoken wounds, you figure out how to continue in a world that seems to love nothing more than ruining your life. - based of the HBO television series, currently in Episode two

Authors note: um... so I had a tumblr since 2023 and I somehow deleted it...so reposting my latest series.

Parirings: Joel & daughter! reader, Ellie x Reader (it will happen just give it TIME) Abby x reader (I'm a simp)

There was always something disgustingly interesting about a person who grew up within the walls of safety—those rare few who had the privilege of surviving the end of the world without ever truly tasting it. People who heard stories about the outbreak, about clickers and raiders and what it felt like to have to kill something that used to look human—but only ever secondhand. They saw the world for what it was, yes, but had yet to live it. Not the way others had. Not the way those who clawed their way through twenty years of blood, mud, and ash had.

These people grew up inside places like Jackson or maybe even a QZ if they were lucky, where things like clean water and structure still existed. They learned about the cordyceps fungus from textbooks instead of watching it tear through a loved one. They trained with rifles on firing ranges, not with trembling hands in dark hallways echoing with guttural screeches. Often, in their need to prove themselves worthy of the stories they were told, they tried to be brave. They sought out danger like it was some kind of badge. They ventured beyond the gates on poorly planned “missions,” romanticized patrols, searching for that adrenaline spike that might make them feel real.

They went into the woods at night without permission, thinking a flashlight and a knife made them invincible. They snuck onto supply routes. They begged to be taken on patrols, not realizing that there was nothing noble about watching someone bleed out in the snow because you hesitated for half a second.

Within that same vein, it would be easy to assume those people were prideful, arrogant, full of themselves—and most of the time, they were. They were annoying, sure. Loud in their confidence and blind in their inexperience. But beneath all that? Beneath the posturing and the bravado?

There was fear.

A quiet kind of fear. The fear of being seen as weak in a world that doesn’t wait for anyone to grow into their strength. A fear that they were somehow less than those who had endured the worst of it. So they ran headfirst into danger hoping that maybe—just maybe—one act of recklessness would make them equal to the legends they were raised under.

And in places like Jackson, where the people who had truly survived—the ones with scars and haunted eyes—were finally starting to breathe again, it was hard not to look at these kids with a mixture of pity and resentment. Because it wasn’t their fault, they hadn’t suffered. But it sure didn’t mean they understood what it meant to survive.

With all of that being said, you had found yourself rather fond of the woman that Ellie very pointedly insisted wasn’t her girlfriend—nor her friend, depending on the day and who was asking. Which, of course, only made it more obvious that she was both.

Dina had a way about her. A quiet sharpness masked behind a warm grin, like she could read the room and everyone in it before a single word was spoken. And unlike most of the younger folks who came into the clinic—those raised within Jackson’s fortified walls who wore their minor injuries like medals—Dina didn’t come in with performative stories or dramatic flair. No tales of heroic mishaps or exaggerated chaos. She wasn’t like the others, the ones who limped in with a burn on their hand and launched into a saga about a rogue pot of boiling water with a personal vendetta, half-inspired by a scene out of Final Destination. You never said it out loud, but that was usually how you spotted them—the ones who hadn't seen the worst of it, who hadn't lived outside the wire, hadn’t slept under trees while praying the wind wouldn’t carry sound to the infected.

Because when you or your father got hurt—burnt wrist, sprained ankle, bruised ribs—it came with a simple explanation. No fluff. No theatrics. Just, "burnt it on the stove," or "twisted it getting off the horse." The kind of injury you don’t have the energy to dress up because you’ve lived through worse. Because the people who had lived through real shit didn’t need to make survival poetic. They were just grateful they were still breathing.

But Dina… Dina never needed to embellish. She didn’t posture or pretend. When she came into the clinic with a busted knuckle, she just said, “Horse spooked. Slammed my hand into the railing.” No self-deprecating jokes, no self-pity either—just the facts. A wince, maybe a quip if the pain meds kicked in fast enough, and then a quiet thank you as she walked out, hand bandaged and chin high.

You started to notice her more after that. The way she carried herself with this grounded sort of ease, like someone who had seen enough to know when to stay soft and when to be steel. She spoke when it mattered, held back when it didn’t. And you couldn’t help but appreciate that kind of clarity in a world that had turned most people into either blustering noise or total silence.

Perhaps thats why when you were given the option that morning by your aunt if you wanted someone a bit more experienced on the patrol with you; you had declined. Because for so many people that had yet to see the gore of this, you had seen enough to make a judgment. 

“Are you sure? Tommy’s lookin’ for an  excuse to go out that way—”

“Uncle Tommy just wants to babysit me and Ellie,” you shoot back without hesitation, tugging the satchel strap tight across your chest with a practiced yank. You squint through the sharp reflection of sunlight bouncing off the snow, eyes adjusting as you meet Maria’s gaze. “He’s always welcome to come, you of all people know that. So why are we having this conversation again?”

Maria held your gaze with that familiar, unreadable expression—part concern, part calculation. You knew it well. She wasn’t just thinking like your aunt; she was thinking like a leader. But it wasn’t until your voice faltered at the end that she finally responded, her tone softer than you expected.

“I just want you girls safe, is all,” she said, the words weighed down by something deeper. “And… if I’m being honest, it’d give me time to talk your dad into finally sitting down for dinner tonight.”

You blink. “Before the prom?”

Maria rolled her eyes, lips curling. “It’s not a prom. It’s a community-building potluck to welcome the newcomers and introduce them to leadership. Such as…”

“No.” You groaned, cutting her off, and pointed a gloved finger at her accusingly. “No. Auntie. I am a glorified nurse. A glorified nurse with a growing pile of suture requests and a sprained wrist from trying to yank a molar last week. I am not—and will never be—board material.”

“You took out an appendix last week,” she countered flatly. “A whole ass appendix. Something you had never done before. You had Joel—Joel—reading Grey’s Anatomy out loud like it was a damn bedtime story. Don’t tell me you’re ‘just a nurse.’”

You winced. Okay, that was a fair point.

“I stitched it crooked,” you muttered.

Maria smiled faintly. “But you saved her life. You did that. And you’ve done that more than once now. You're the closest thing Jackson has to a doctor, and that’s why I want you on the board.”

You crossed your arms tightly, bracing against more than just the cold. “People already think the Millers run Jackson. You’ve heard the whispers. Hell, I’ve heard them. Adding me to the board wouldn’t fix that.”

Maria tilted her head, her tone shifting into something more deliberate. “People always have something to say. Doesn’t mean they’re right. You earned your place—just like your dad, just like Tommy, just like I did. That’s what Jackson needs. Not politics. People who give a damn.”

You let the silence stretch between you for a beat, snow crunching faintly underfoot as you shifted your weight. She wasn’t wrong—but that didn’t mean you were ready to believe it.

“I’ll think about it,” you murmured.

Maria nodded, clearly satisfied with that tiny concession. “Good.”

She turned as if to head back toward the community hall, then paused, glancing back over her shoulder with a smirk. “Dinner tonight. And talk Ellie into coming.”

You raised a brow. “Is that smart?”

Maria grinned, her breath a puff of white against the air. “Probably not. Which is exactly why I want to see it happen.”

You shook your head, laughing softly to yourself. “You're the worst.”

“Yeah, well,” she called as she walked off, “you are my niece.”

You looked out toward the stables, where Ellie was no doubt already pretending she wasn’t excited about the patrol. And with Maria’s words still hanging in the air, the thought of dinner—of sitting at the table, all of you, pretending just for a little while that things were whole. 

With a small grumble, you started your walk toward the stables, boots crunching against the half-frozen dirt path. The streets were already alive with morning bustle—kids chasing each other toward the parlor-turned-schoolhouse, their laughter echoing off the worn wooden buildings like something out of a memory too good to be real. Adults milled about with baskets and toolkits in hand, trading greetings, making deals, hurrying toward the next chore on their endless lists. And despite the weight in your chest—the nerves, the responsibility, the heaviness of the patrol ahead—you didn’t doubt, not really, that for all its cracks and ghosts, Jackson was the best the world had to offer now.

You shoved your hands deeper into your coat pockets, shotgun slung snug across your chest, the leather strap worn and creased where your fingers had nervously gripped it too many times before. You cut through the morning crowd with practiced ease, dodging a cart full of firewood, sidestepping a dog sprinting after a group of laughing kids, nodding at a few familiar faces who offered tired but warm hellos.

The smell of scrambled eggs and something that could almost pass for coffee drifted from the diner, the scent wrapping around you like a blanket you hadn’t asked for. It reminded you of quieter mornings—ones that didn’t involve prepping for a supply run through the cold, praying that maybe, just maybe, you wouldn’t find any clickers this time.

A little girl waved at you from her place on a porch step, swinging her legs as she munched on a biscuit. You gave her a tired smile, lifting a hand in return before letting it fall back to your side. You passed the community board next, where someone had tacked up a hand-drawn flyer: “TONIGHT! Community Potluck – Newcomers Welcome! Bring Food or Bring Stories.”

You rolled your eyes affectionately and muttered under your breath, “Not a prom, my ass.”

Finally, the stables came into view, horses lined up and ready, steam curling from their nostrils as stablehands bustled around with brushes and saddles. 

“So, you’re gonna be on the board?”

You practically stumble in the opposite direction of the voice, your boots slipping slightly in the packed-down snow as you twist on instinct, one hand flying to your chest.

“Jesus—”

And there she is. Dina, bundled in layers with a bag slung over her shoulder and a heavy set of coats draped across one arm. Her cheeks are flushed pink from the cold and the effort of hauling gear, but the grin she’s wearing is nothing short of delighted. You barely have time to catch your breath before she bursts into laughter.

“Oh shit,” she says between chuckles, “sorry! Didn’t mean to scare you. I thought you heard me.”

You shake your head, trying to keep your heart from punching through your ribcage. “No, no—God, you’re fine. I just wasn’t expecting a ninja with great comedic timing.”

She shoots you a look. “It’s part of my charm. Stealth and sarcasm.”

You roll your eyes, brushing snow from your coat as your breathing steadies. “You got everything ready?”

“Yup,” Dina says, holding up the pack with a satisfied shrug. “Rations, maps, spare meds, and Ellie’s got the ammo squared away. Horses are almost done getting saddled. Just waiting on you, board member.”

You groan, actually groan, and throw your head back dramatically. “No. Nope. Don’t start. That’s not happening.”

Dina raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. “C’mon. Maria brought it up again, huh?”

“More like ambushed me with it,” you mutter, rubbing the back of your neck. “It’s just… it’s silly. I’m not board material. I’m barely holding the clinic together with duct tape and hope.”

“You took out an appendix, right after you brought someone back to life,” she says, leveling you with a look. “In the dark. With a man who probably calls a ribcage a ‘chest bone’ reading from a dog-eared anatomy book.”

“Okay, fair, but—”

“Nope,” Dina cuts in. “Not even gonna let you finish that. You’ve done more for this town in the last year than most people do in a lifetime. And you’re still out here trying to keep people safe, still willing to go on supply runs in the freezing cold with me and chaos incarnate.”

You blink at her. “You mean Ellie?”

“Oh yeah. You know she tried to pack a machete she named?”

“She what?”

“Don’t ask,” Dina says, deadpan. “I’m not even sure she was kidding.”

The two of you share a laugh, the kind that’s too short but still warm in the chest. Then, more quietly, Dina adds, “Listen… if you do end up on the board? That wouldn’t be a bad thing. People respect you. Even if you don’t see it, they do.”

You glance away, the weight of that sitting a little too heavy. “Yeah… maybe. Still feels weird though. Like, if I say yes, suddenly I’m part of this… thing. And people already say the Millers run Jackson. I don’t want to be another reason they’re right.”

Dina tilts her head, her expression softening. “There’s a difference between earning a place and having one handed to you. You didn’t inherit anything. You fought for it. Don’t forget that.”

You meet her eyes for a long beat. There’s something steady in her gaze, grounding.

“…Why are you always like, emotionally supportive right before we do something potentially life-threatening?” you ask, teasing just to keep from tearing up.

She smirks. “Balance. Keeps the universe in check.”

“Great. Well the universe owes me a nap and some pancakes.”

Dina laughs again, “Survive the patrol, and I’ll make you pancakes myself.”

“Deal,” you say, grinning despite yourself. “But I want chocolate chips.”

“Oh god, I don’t think I’ve even had one of those since I was like…three??”

—

Being someone who had grown up within the exposed reality of the infected, you didn’t flinch much anymore—not at off-handed noises, not at rustling brush, not even at the occasional distant scream that drifted in on the wind like an old ghost. Your instincts, honed by necessity rather than choice, no longer cried out in panic at every cracked branch. You could tell the difference between a twig snapping under the careless stumble of a stalker versus the light hop of a rabbit. The former had weight, stagger, a hesitation like it was remembering what it used to be. The latter was innocent, fast, gone before the echo even faded.

In that same vein, you could hear an infected nearly a mile away—sometimes more, depending on the terrain. You knew the cadence of their breaths, the guttural clicking, the warped gurgle of something that had lost the right to be called human. You knew the smell too—not just of rot, but of fresh rot, the kind that lingered near collapsed safe houses or hidden dens. You could differentiate that from the scent of a months-old corpse baking in the sun. You knew, intimately, how decomposition worked in the open. You knew because your earliest memories were built beside it.

You could still recall the days when the safest place for your parent to leave you wasn’t behind walls or inside a guarded post, but pressed close at their side beneath a mound of reeking cloth and discarded bones—anything to mask your scent, to make you less noticeable to the monsters that wandered the dark. You’d been taught to stay still. To be silent. Breathe through your mouth. You learned early that infected weren’t the only thing to fear—sometimes, it was the sound of a voice calling too sweetly from the woods, or the flicker of a lantern far off the trail that promised safety and delivered anything but.

So now, as the patrol moved through a frozen glade north of Jackson, your group jerked to a halt at every snapped branch or rustle in the brush. The horses snorted and stamped their hooves nervously, sensing what most of the riders couldn’t name. But you didn’t pause—not really. Your hand may have flexed around your shotgun strap, but your steps stayed sure. You knew the land. You knew the signs. This wasn’t it.

And, unsurprisingly, Ellie didn’t pause either.

She rode just behind you, rifle slung casually across her back, hands loose on the reins. You didn’t even need to look over your shoulder to know she was still there—she moved like someone who had survived on instinct alone, someone whose silence wasn’t cautious, but confident.

When the others hissed whispers—“Did you hear that?” and “Should we circle back?”—you and Ellie exchanged nothing more than a glance. Not defiance. Not recklessness. Just understanding.

You pressed on. 

Because between the both of you, you’d seen enough of the world to know: real danger didn’t announce itself. Real danger wasn’t a twig. It was the moment after—the quiet. The sudden absence of birds. The feeling in your gut that something wrong was breathing just out of view.

After a while, the snow-thick trees gave way to an old, cracked main road, barely visible under the powdery frost. The world stretched wider here, open sky above and fields of brittle grass pushing through the edges of the pavement. It should’ve felt safer—visibility was better, and the risk of ambush was lower—but instead, it just made you feel more exposed. Every echo seemed to bounce off the silence like a warning.

You rode a little further front now, giving Ellie and Dina the space they didn’t ask for but clearly needed. They’d been trailing just behind, low voices carrying in and out like the rhythm of a tide, never quite reaching you. It was that soft, familiar kind of tension between people who care too much and say too little. And you, being smart enough to know when someone needed breathing room, had quietly eased your horse back to ride with the others—Dillon, Freddy, and, unfortunately, Kat.

You knew them. They were all decent enough.

Well. Mostly decent.

Freddy was quiet but dependable, always checking the maps, always making sure the ammo was split evenly. Dillon had the kind of nervous energy that meant he talked too much but worked even harder. And then there was Kat. Who, on paper, was a good soldier. Level-headed. Sharpshooter. But she’d also broken up with Ellie last spring, and while you never got the full story, you knew enough to form your very strong, very biased opinion.

You’d have killed her on principle if Jackson laws and general decency didn’t stop you. Not because of the breakup itself—people fell out of love, sure—but because how she did it? In the middle of patrol, in front of Ellie’s friends, then had the audacity to flirt with someone else two days later at the greenhouse potluck like it hadn’t just emotionally obliterated the girl who barely showed anyone she cared in the first place. That was evil. Downright villain-coded behavior.

So no, you weren’t thrilled to be stuck riding beside her in agonizing silence.

Every step your horse took echoed through your skull like a ticking clock. The wind whistled, boots creaked in stirrups, and once or twice Dillon cleared his throat like he was about to say something—only to think better of it.

You tried to distract yourself by counting fence posts, checking for signs of recent movement along the ditches, anything to not go insane from how slow and suffocating the mood had gotten. You even started planning dinner in your head. Would it be worth sneaking into the greenhouse early to swipe some herbs? You were risking your life out here, surely that deserved a little rosemary.

At one point, Kat made a noise—something halfway between a sigh and a breath—and you turned your head so sharply your neck cracked.

She raised her eyebrows at you. “You okay?”

You gave her a thin, polite smile. “Peachy.”

More silence.

The worst part? No one else seemed to mind it. Ellie and Dina were still locked in that not-quite-reconciled space, and Freddy was too focused on his surroundings to make small talk. The silence was never ending, and it was all-consuming.

That was, of course, until you noticed it— a small spat of blood across the snow, vivid against the blank white canvas like someone had dragged a brush across it in haste. You squinted, pulling gently on the reins to slow your horse.. It wasn’t a lot—not enough to suggest a massacre or a horde’s feeding frenzy—but enough to mean someone got hit, and hard. A wound bleeding mid-sprint, maybe. Fresh enough to still be red, not that muddy brown blood turned into after it sat too long in the cold.

You groaned quietly, more out of habit than surprise, and signaled with a raised hand to halt. The horses obeyed, snorting and shuffling in the snow as the rest of the group came to an uneasy stop around you.

“Oh fuck,” Freddy muttered from the rear, his voice already rising with unease. “We’re going to die.”

You didn’t even bother answering. Freddy always leaned toward the melodramatic, but to his credit, he usually wasn’t wrong about danger. And judging by the way every head turned toward him—including yours—you weren’t the only one feeling that knot in your gut begin to tighten.

Behind you, hoofbeats shifted—quicker, familiar—and you didn’t even have to look to know Ellie and Dina had finally caught up. You felt it before you saw it. The air changed slightly, like the mood had shifted to something sharper, more purposeful.

Ellie rode up beside you and glanced at the blood, her expression unreadable. She met your eyes briefly, then jerked her chin forward in that clipped, confident way she always did when she’d already made up her mind.

“Let’s go,” she said simply, and without hesitation, clicked her tongue to her horse and trotted forward, her posture relaxed but alert.

You didn’t reply—just gave a single nod and nudged your horse to follow.

“Okay,” Dina said, tone rising with that familiar hum of adrenaline, a half-smile tugging at her lips. “We’re on.”

The tension cracked like ice beneath a boot.

“Wait,” Kat’s voice cut through the momentum like a blade. Her horse shifted uneasily beneath her. “We should go back and report it. Let someone else handle this.”

You turned in your saddle, expression tight, heels already nudging your horse to keep pace. “Kat, we wait, and this will be covered by nightfall,” you said sharply. “If we want to be stupid and miss whatever this leads to, sure. But I’m not walking back to Jackson with nothing except 'we saw some blood.’”

“Yeah,” Dina chimed in, spinning her horse around just enough to face the rest of the group, voice dry but amused. “We’re reconning, Kat. Let’s fuckin’ recon.”

Freddy groaned. “God, I hate it when she says it like that. It’s always right before shit hits the fan.”

You couldn’t help the small smirk that broke across your face as you leaned forward, eyes scanning the trees ahead. The blood trail might’ve been small, but it was something. A sign. And in this world, signs mattered. Hesitation got people killed. You'd all been lucky before, but luck wasn’t a strategy.

“Come on,” you called over your shoulder, your voice clear and steady, cutting through the hush that had settled over the group. When you didn’t hear the familiar sound of hooves following behind, you slowed and turned Birdie with a gentle tug of the reins.

Your fingers brushed her neck instinctively, grounding yourself. Birdie—your steadfast companion of four years, a parting gift from someone you didn’t talk about often—snorted softly, her breath a puff of white in the cold air. She was calm beneath you, alert but trusting. Always trusting.

You glanced back at the group, locking eyes with Kat, who hadn’t moved an inch from her place on the road.

“Fine,” you said, your tone sharpening just slightly. “If you guys want to stick behind and do some more investigating of this area, that’s fine. Maybe the blood spatters’ll tell you their life story.”

You saw Kat’s jaw twitch, but she stayed quiet.

You shifted in the saddle, voice firmer now. “But protocol says three at all times. So I’ll go with Dina and Ells, kay?”

Dina gave you an encouraging nod from beside Ellie, who looked like she was already mentally ten steps ahead. Neither of them questioned your call—they just waited.

Kat frowned, clearly biting back whatever argument she wanted to throw out. She glanced at Dillon, then Freddy, who wasn’t even pretending to be invested in the drama, and finally relented with a frustrated sigh. “Fine. Forty minutes. If you’re not back or we don’t hear from you, I’m coming after you.”

“Aw,” Dina chirped. “You do care.”

Kat ignored her.

“And just to be clear,” Kat added, her voice carrying that clipped, condescending edge, “I’m going to assume you’re dead.”

Before you could respond, Freddy deadpanned from the back, “You really wanna be the one to tell the Millers the girls are dead?” He gestured vaguely at the horizon. “I’d rather die out here.”

Dillon let out a strangled snort of laughter, then immediately tried to stifle it with a cough.

You couldn’t help the small, amused huff that escaped you, even as the tension still hummed beneath the surface. “Forty minutes,” you said, giving Kat one last look. 

You turned Birdie again, nudging her forward with a silent command, the mare moving with practiced ease beneath you. Dina and Ellie fell into place without a word, the three of you instinctively forming the triangle of coverage you’d fallen into countless times before. Snow crunched beneath the horses’ hooves in steady rhythm, but even that familiar sound was muffled beneath the growing pressure of the woods around you. The trees seemed to lean in closer the farther you went, their branches arching overhead like brittle fingers, casting long shadows that swayed with each icy gust.

The blood trail continued on, steady and measured—spatters spaced just enough to suggest motion without staggering. It wasn’t frantic. It wasn’t wild. Whatever had been bleeding hadn’t collapsed… yet. The consistency of it was too clean, too purposeful. Not an animal kill. Not a skirmish. A wound, maybe. Deep, but not immediately fatal. And whatever it was, it had enough left in it to keep moving.

The trail led into the edge of a town, one you recognized. A half-forgotten place that had been picked over long before you were ever old enough to hold a rifle. A few houses sat in silent ruin, their walls leaning, roofs half-caved under the burden of years and snow. The windows were empty sockets, glass long gone, and their insides looted of everything useful. You’d passed through before—maybe twice, maybe more. There’d never been anything left worth taking. Until now.

The blood turned toward the supermarket. You felt it before you saw it—that creeping pull in your gut. The shift in atmosphere. The kind of pressure that always came right before something awful.

And then you saw them.

Clickers. Three of them, sprawled just outside the shattered doors of the market, their bodies still and sunken in the snow. The growth of fungus had overtaken their faces entirely, rendering them faceless, eyeless—heads crowned with thick, crusted blossoms of cordyceps. Their limbs were twisted unnaturally, arms bent at angles that suggested the fight had been swift, brutal, and close. Snow had gathered on the exposed parts of their bodies, but beneath that dusting was blood—thick, dark, and still wet enough to shine faintly in the light.

They hadn’t just been taken down. They’d been torn down. Brutally. Viscerally.

And in the center of the massacre, lying awkwardly across the frozen concrete, was the bear.

It was young—its body not yet filled out to full size, but strong, thick-furred, heavy with muscle. Or it had been. Now, it was a ruin of what it once was. Its face was half-eaten, the snout gnawed down to the bone. The lower jaw hung slack, exposed. One eye was missing entirely. Its ribs had been split apart at the center like a butcher’s cut, the cavity inside hollowed and savaged, innards spilled out in coiled ropes across the ice. The stomach cavity was jagged, uneven, torn as though by hands—or claws—too strong to be anything natural. Blood had soaked deep into the snow, spreading in every direction like an inkblot, staining the white until it looked almost painted.

The stench was unbearable. Metallic, sharp, and layered with the sickly-sweet rot of exposed organs and cooling bodies. The smell of fungal decay mingled with the blood, clinging to the air in a way that made your throat tighten.

No signs of dragging. No other footprints.

It hadn’t been moved. It had died here.

And around it—the clickers. Also dead. Not from gunshots. Not clean kills. Their necks were twisted. One had its skull smashed in, the fungal bloom crushed flat against the sidewalk like someone had stepped on a mushroom and kept stepping until it stopped twitching.

The horses grew restless. Birdie pawed at the ground, ears twitching. Ellie’s horse let out a sharp huff, and Dina’s grunted, side-stepping once before settling again. Even they knew. Something was wrong here.

You dismounted slowly, eyes sweeping the area, and noted that the blood trail didn’t end here. It continued. Fainter now. A drip here. A streak there. As though whatever—or whoever—had done this hadn’t been untouched.

“How many infected does it take to bring down a bear?” Dina quipped, the edges of her voice still sharp with unease, but softening just enough to let in that familiar humor she used as armor.

To that, you huffed, shaking your head slowly. “More than what we’re seeing for sure.”

Your eyes remained locked on the scene, scanning every limb, every streak of red, trying to find an answer that made sense. None did.

“Check out that van.” Ellie’s voice cut in, calm but focused. She gestured with her chin, and both you and Dina followed her gaze to the rusted-out vehicle parked crooked just outside the market’s entrance. From a distance, it looked unremarkable—one of a thousand decaying shells you’d seen across dead cities—but something about the angle of the doors, the black smudges near the back, made your stomach knot.

“So they’ve been sheltering in the market,” Dina murmured, as if finishing a thought that had been forming between you all.

“And one of them—or god, maybe more—got back in,” you added, voice low as your eyes scanned the darkened windows of the building. “Maybe while they were sleeping. Maybe just hungry.”

“Probably needed a nap after chomping on that poor thing,” Dina said with a slow, almost sarcastic nod, her eyes flicking back to the bear.

You tilted your head slightly, staring at the disemboweled mass again. It was unsettling—not just because of the violence, but because of how much had been left behind. The ribs were split, the organs torn, but the flesh… too much of it remained. Like the infected had started feeding and then decided they didn’t like the taste. Like something about it wasn’t right.

Your thoughts were still trying to piece it together when Dina spoke again, too cheerfully for the setting.

“Hey,” she said, her eyes still fixed on the corpse, a light suddenly sparking across her face as a grin spread wide. She turned to Ellie with mischief in her voice. “What do you call a grizzly’s ribs?”

You groaned—long. Loud. Dramatic. The kind of sigh that could power a windmill.

“Holy fuck,” you muttered, dismounting as your hands moved to unbuckle Birdie’s reins. “You two are just made to get along. Like it’s disgusting. A curse upon my house.”

Dina didn’t even flinch. “Bear-B-que,” she finished triumphantly, grabbing the reins from you as you passed them over.

Ellie blinked, taken aback, and for a moment, she looked like she might resist—might preserve some shred of her hardened reputation—but then the smallest, most helpless sound cracked out of her throat, somewhere between a scoff and a laugh.

“Did you just… make that up?” Ellie asked, a laugh threatening at the corners of her mouth. “Bear-B-que?”

“Yeah!” Dina beamed, unapologetic and radiant in her success.

And so, as you slowly walked towards the bear, which was something that would probably get you yelled at by Joel, you hear them both laugh about the stupidity of their joke and damn, if they weren’t made for eachother than who would be. 

“Starshine,” Ellie called, and when you looked back to her she motioned to the building, “You think the hungry boy is still in there?” You scrunch your nose as you look at the scattered bodies of the infected, and you grumble, “Probably,” you murmured, eyes still on the mess in front of you. “And I’m thinking more like a hungry family—but, like, small family, you know? Two-and-a-half infected, tops.”

That earned a grin from both Ellie and Dina—just that small spark of shared humor in the middle of horror—and you stood a little straighter, brushing snow from your coat as your breath fogged the air.

Just as you did, the sound of hooves crunching through the snow grew louder behind you, and you turned to see Kat, Freddy, and Dillon arriving. They came into view with slow, wary steps, their expressions shifting the moment they spotted the scene you’d found.

You offered a cheeky smile. “Hasn’t been forty minutes. Get bored?”

Kat glared at you in that way that only she could—like she wanted to snap back but couldn’t quite summon the energy. Her eyes moved to the bear, then the clickers, then slowly back to the blood trail leading into the supermarket. Her expression faltered.

“You guys happy now? Content?” she asked, voice flat.

Before you could answer, Ellie dismounted with a fluid motion, boots hitting the snow with a soft thud. She didn’t meet Kat’s eyes. She just moved toward her bag, fingers quick and sure as she gathered her things. “Hey,” she said quietly, but firmly. “Can we go back now? Please?”

There was something fragile under her voice—not panic, not quite—but fear, layered beneath her usual steel. It was rare enough that it made everyone pause. Kat looked away. Even Freddy sobered up.

You opened your mouth, but Ellie beat you to it, standing upright again with renewed focus. “Yeah. We will. Promise,” she said, nodding once. “We’re just gonna listen real quick. See if anyone’s inside.” She turned toward the supermarket, pulling a shotgun from the saddle and tossing it to you without looking. “Which is definitely recon.”

You caught it by reflex, blinking. “Yeah! Yeah, I mean, what if there’s like… a normal person in there? Someone injured? They probably need medical—yeah!”

“What if there’s a family in there?” Dina added quickly, already hoisting her rifle over her shoulder as she trotted up beside you.

“With children!” you nodded emphatically, falling into step with Ellie as she moved toward the shattered entrance.

“With babies!!” Dina finished, her tone perfectly sincere despite the obvious dramatics.

You couldn’t help but snort, even as you carefully scanned the windows and doorways for movement. The three of you moved together now like clockwork—an exaggerated march of purpose and bullshit, your banter keeping the fear at bay, if only barely.

Behind you, Freddy whispered to Dillon, “That’s terrifying. They’re like… weirdly synced.”

Dillon just nodded. “We’re all gonna die.”

You didn’t hear it. Or maybe you did, and chose not to answer. Either way, the doors loomed ahead, and you were already inside the story—following blood and bad jokes straight into whatever waited beyond.

Thanks for reading! leave your thoughts!

[ghxstyfae]

Rafe Cameron x Puppygirl ♡ Headcanons

Warnings: Nsfw, 24/7 power exchange, dom/sub dynamics, rafe may be seen as toxique, consenual somnophilia, breeding kink, pet play, puppy play, fluff, drug use, Puppy has adhd

Taglist: @sunflowerleii @itzdarling

Rafe absolutely adores his puppy

Shes the sweetest, most energetic little ball of sunshine.

Puppy could probably have anyone on the planet with her magnetic personality, but she loves no one but him ♡

He never thought he'd be interested in a very clingy gf but he LOVES how shes always sitting on his lap or attached to him like a koala

He definitely keeps a cage like this or this in his bedroom just for her ♡

Of course Puppy bites him all the time, but consider this: he also bites her. His teeth dig into the back of her neck and she just goes limp in his arms <3 he does this whenver hes misbehaving but also when shes anxious or jittery

Leaving puppy alone when he goes to work is criminal negligence (in her eyes) so *IF POSSIBLE* if hes working at a desk, she'll sit underneath it, or even just in his car for a couple hours💀

He keeps her favourite candies in his pocket and literally gives them to her like treats (scooby snacks and lindt chocolates)

Clicker training!!!! Everytime he makes her cum, or does something that he knows makes her stimmy happy, he'll start pressing his lil clicker😣

"You're too dumb to do that today, silly puppy" as he bends down to tie her shoes for her

Of course he doesnt let her keep a job (not that she really wants one!) Being his good puppy is perfect enough

Collars<3 if shes comfortable having an actual pet collar then he'd 100% want one, but would prob only let her wear it at home or going to safe places.

If shes not into those, then something more discrete, like this.

Head rubs/pats, back rubs, belly rubs

Of course puppy girl is always horny, he once found her *desperately* humping a pillow while he was sleeping right beside him, since then hes told her the only things shes allowed to grind against w/o permission is his leg

And Puppy highkey takes full advantage of that. While hes working, sleeping, etc

They also both have breeding kinks and its so unsafe🤭 its actually a wonder she doesnt have pups yet tbh

Back to biting, Puppy has a huge oral fixation, and Rafe is her perfect target ♡ he's constantly covered in bite marks (literally him) basically a chewtoy for her

Of course Puppy gets zoomies once in awhile, but Rafe'll usually just fuck the extra energy out of her <3

Puppy is veryy curious about everything

She always wants to be involved in Rafes business, and at first he thought he'd bring her along once just to scare her out of begging again. She now wont let him leave the house without her

It didnt scare her, quite the opposite in fact it intrigued her. Shes loyal to him, regardless of weather hes in the wrong or not

When she first asked to try a bump he laughed his ass off. Not because he thought she couldn't handle it, but she was already a ball of energy without it, no way in hell was he getting her high and adding to that

She did however pout enough to make him agree for her to atleast try pot

If she enjoys it, itll become a very common thing, especially because of all her extra energy all the time

Puppy Loves how casually dominant Rafe is.

He orders for her when she cant decide what she wants (choosing what she wants!) There was probably even a time where some waitstaff commented on how she could make her own choices that made Puppy litterally LOL

He also helps to remind her to do things that slip her mind sometimes like wating breakfast, taking any medications, doing her skincare, finishing homework, etc

He wont lie, shes definitely strange (she once asked to hold his weiner while he pissed💀) but he loves it.

Its almost toxic because he knows thats she will always see him in the best light no matter what he does. He would never knowingly lead her astray, but she doesnt know that and still blindly follow his every word.

Thats not to say shes not bratty once in awhile

Her periods become an incredibly prickly time, full of many moodswings and "i dont want anyone to touch me" (followed by crying over the fact that hes not cuddling her)

One time he made a joke saying he wouldn't go buy her snacks because "puppies cant have chocolate" 🙄 hes an idiot.

He adores teasing her because shes just so reactive, she squirms and blushes or yells at him and cries. He'll never stop obsessing over her tears

[hazbinfallinginaspiral]

Training

It was late.

Not just late—an ungodly, horrific hour of the night where nothing good should still be happening. The kind of hour where only degenerates and workaholics thrived.

And, of course, my husband was still awake.

I leaned against the doorway to his office, arms crossed, watching the dim glow of his screens flicker across his sharp features. He hadn’t even noticed me yet.

“Sweetheart.”

Vox barely reacted, his fingers still tapping away at the controls in front of him. “Mmh.”

I sighed, stepping closer, my gaze narrowing as I took in the mess of empty energy drink cans and the telltale jitter of his hands.

I hated this.

“You need to sleep,” I murmured, soft but firm.

“I’m fine, honey bun.” His voice was rough with exhaustion, his screen dimmer than usual, the static more erratic.

I placed my hands on his shoulders, kneading gently, feeling the way he immediately sagged into my touch despite himself.

“You say that, but your body disagrees.”

A noncommittal hum.

I leaned down, brushing my lips just beneath his jaw, my fingers pressing deeper into his tense muscles. “Let me take care of you.”

Vox exhaled slowly, like he wanted to argue, but he was already sinking into me.

I took the opportunity.

Slowly, carefully, I released a thin wisp of smoke, warm and weighty, curling around him like a comforting embrace. This wasn’t the kind that made him hazy or dumb—this was safety. A reminder that he could let go.

And he did.

His body softened, his eyelids drooped, and I guided him up, away from his screens, away from his work, leading him toward our bed.

By the time I settled us both beneath the blankets, his head resting against my chest, he was already half gone.

I traced slow, lazy circles against his back, whispering to him, murmuring about how safe he was, how good he was doing, how much I loved him.

And then—miracle of miracles—he finally slept.

But that wasn’t enough.

No, no, no. Ha! No.

One night wasn’t going to fix this.

I needed to train him.

The idea struck me a few days later, while chatting with Angel over coffee. He was going on about Fat Nuggets, about how he’d been working on clicker training him, how consistent repetition had the little pig following commands without even thinking about it.

And just like that—ding!

Lightbulb.

If it worked on Fat Nuggets, it would work on Vox.

I just had to be sneaky about it.

So I started slow.

Each night, I told him it was bedtime.

At first, he resisted, obviously. I was prepared for that. So I layered in little things—dimmed the lights just slightly when I said it, shifted the atmosphere of the room just enough to cue his brain that it was time to wind down.

And, of course, I added a little smoke.

Not enough for him to notice—just enough that his body started to associate my words and the shift in lighting with relaxation.

Over the course of a few weeks, I worked him down from sleeping at 4 AM to 3 AM. Then 2. Then midnight.

And the best part?

He didn’t realize what I was doing.

Eventually, I phased out the smoke entirely.

By the time he hit 10 PM, his body was already trained.

I’d say it was time for bed, dim the lights, and like clockwork, I’d see it—the instant shift, the way his posture softened, the way his mind accepted the command before he could argue.

And then, the final push—9 PM.

The moment I dimmed the lights and murmured the words, he blinked at me, sluggish and confused.

“…M’not even tired,” he mumbled.

And yet, his body was already sinking.

I smirked, tilting his chin up to kiss his screen. “Aren’t you?”

He tried to fight it, bless him, but within minutes he was out like a light, curled up in my arms, breathing deep and slow.

I won.

Vox was trained.

And I was very satisfied with myself.

—

Vox was part machine.

That was the key detail—the thing that made my little plan work so seamlessly. His mind, for all its complexities, was predictable. He thrived on repetition, on patterns, on learned behaviors.

That’s why I had been so certain I could train him.

Because in a way, he was built for it.

And I was right.

It had worked perfectly—so perfectly, in fact, that I had hardly needed to reinforce it after the first few weeks. It became natural to him. The moment I said the words, his body knew what to do.

It was satisfying, watching him follow my cues without even thinking about it. Watching the way his sharp edges softened, his mind yielding to what I had so carefully instilled in him.

He didn’t realize it, of course.

But I did.

And it made me smug as hell.

What I didn’t anticipate… was him doing the exact same thing to me.

It took me a while to notice.

Because I wasn’t like him. I didn’t operate on programming and predictable responses—I was instinctual. I was visceral. My mind was not built for structure and repetition.

At least, that’s what I thought.

Until one evening, when I found myself scrubbing the kitchen counters with just a little too much force.

The house was already spotless. I knew that. But I’d been restless, wired, my mind too sharp to settle.

So I cleaned.

It wasn’t until a sharp snap of fingers pulled my attention that I looked up and—

Spiral.

My breath caught, the pattern pulling me in, my mind stuttering to a halt as Vox’s voice—smooth, warm, commanding—slid over me.

“Sweetheart,” he murmured. “Put the rag down and come sit with me.”

The dish towel fell from my fingers before I could think.

I was in his lap before I even processed moving.

He hummed, pleased, pressing a kiss to my temple as his hands slid up and down my arms, slow, soothing.

“That’s better,” he cooed, voice like static velvet. “Relax, honey bun. I’ve got you.”

I blinked blearily, my head tipping against his chest as I exhaled.

Oh.

Huh.

The second time, I was cooking.

Which was normal. I always cooked—it was my thing.

But Vox noticed the way my movements were just a little too frantic. The way my shoulders were tight, my lips pressed thin.

And before I could stop him—

Spiral.

“Honey.”

I froze, caught in the light, warmth flooding my limbs as my grip on the spoon loosened.

“You’re doing too much.” His hands slid over my waist, guiding me gently away from the stove. “Sit down. Let me help.”

I tried to resist, somewhere in the back of my mind.

But his voice was so nice, and the weight of his hands was so firm, and before I knew it—

I was sitting at the table, dazed and pliant, watching as he took over the cooking instead.

The third time, I was handling some… personal business.

Someone had gotten a little too friendly with my husband.

Now, normally, I was patient. Understanding. But I’d had a long day, and I was in a mood, and—

Well.

Let’s just say they wouldn’t be making that mistake again.

When I got home, I was still buzzing, still too sharp, my mind wired with residual energy.

So I paced.

And then—

Spiral.

This time, I barely even registered it before I was already sinking.

“Sweetheart.”

I sighed, my body swaying forward, my hands instinctively seeking out his as he caught me, pulled me flush against him.

“You’re all worked up,” he murmured, nuzzling against my temple. “Let me take care of you.”

And just like that—

I melted.

That’s when I realized. I didn’t say anything. Didn’t need to.

I just smiled, sinking into his arms, letting myself be cared for.

Because I knew. And he knew.

Each of us could tell when the other needed a break.

And I could trust him to take care of me, just like I took care of him.

[not-poignant]

Assumption: You have never ridden a horse.

Oooo, this is a fun one, salkfjas

I have! I've ridden more than one horse, more than once.

(Actual storytime) (This is from the Assumptions meme!)

In late highschool and in the few years after I had a close friend who owned a horse (Billy) and agisted him, and was responsible for him. She basically was allowed to get him when she got her driver's license.

I was the kind of friend (and still kind of am, energy willing) that you could drag around to all your chores and I'd just be there. So I'd be there when she went shopping. I would be there when she went to get horse food. I would be there when she did homework. I would be there when she went to visit her horse and brush him down and feed him etc.

I helped with basic chores and watched from the sidelines and mostly hung out with her dog, Huskee, who was not a husky, but a borderline collie x corgi who barked nonstop at that horse, who she alas, could not herd.

Through this friend I actually learned about Natural Horsemanship, to the point where I actually went to a couple of Pat Parelli seminars (run by Pat) in like 2000/2001. It was the thing that really sparked my interest in animal training, especially humane, fear free animal training (and clicker training specifically, since Pat was teaching marker training at the time, and said friend started using it on their dog, Huskee).

I never rode, for a long time, because I was happy on the sidelines, and also I went there so my friend could ride her horse, not so I could like, steal her horse out from under her lol. I don't think her horse liked me very much anyway (later I'd find out that was pretty much true, it was a zero respect relationship, maybe he knew I was a doormat lmao).

Anyway, said friend had another friend who was extremely horse intense, and she got her own horse (Coda) , that she then never really took the time to ride. Coda was kind of nuts. Billy was the kind of horse who walked so slow you felt like you were going backwards, Coda had one speed: gallop. Coda and Billy got on great.

But Coda was pretty neglected, and so I often spent time with him while my friend did her chores with Billy. I was used to bringing out food, or changing water etc. so I did that for Coda sometimes. And after a while, friend was like 'it would be cool if we could trail ride together, how about you learn on Billy first since he's so slow and sedate.' And friend was like 'I'll ride Coda because I have more experience.' This made sense! She wanted me to stay safe!! But...

Billy was slow, sedate, and did not give a shit about me. This is a horse that stepped on my feet (on purpose), who deliberately angled towards low-hanging branches to scrape me off the saddle (hilarious, but also not really), and made it clear how much he wasn't interested in anyone else riding him in the most passive aggressive way a horse possibly can.

Coda, on the other hand, had a reputation for being wild and unstable. He'd tossed multiple riders more than once, hadn't been trained with Natural Horsemanship (like...kind of? But not really) and was not halter-broke by the time friend-of-friend got him, so just getting him to accept a halter and a saddle at all was huge, and anything beyond that was like 'welp, good luck.'

However, it was obvious trying to do anything with me and Billy was not going to work out. So...Coda it was.

And idk how to explain it, but Coda and I just got along. It was on the other hand terrifying, because his default movement was 'canter' and all he wanted to do, all he wanted to do, was gallop up and down granite hills as quickly as possible and spook at fucking everything. It wasn't his fault, he wasn't taken out much and he had that kind of personality. He once saw a kangaroo in the distance and spun a full 360 degrees, and I ended up half off him, hanging on for dear life, while friend just stared at me and said: 'how did you not fall off, that was insane. You might actually be good at this.'

Well. No, I wasn't, I just had a good grip, lmao.

So we went on extremely stressful trail rides together. Billy thankfully curbed some of Coda's GOTTA GO FAST instincts but only to a point, so I had to be pretty hypervigilant nonstop because that dude bunched his hindquarters what felt like every ten seconds, and I can't really blame him, it's what he loved to do most. He was just a terrible horse to learn to ride on, lmao, even if we did get along.

I haven't ridden since and honestly haven't felt much of an inclination to. I'd be too heavy now anyway. And I'm pretty certain I'd be bad at it. When your first experience is 'placid horse who generally accepts everyone but stares at you in a desultory manner and makes sure you know - while feeding him / brushing him / watering him etc. - that you do not matter in the grand scheme of things' followed by 'I like you! NOW I WILL FLING MYSELF DOWN THIS GRANITE HILL WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE WE ARE ALL SCREAMING IN EXCITEMENT AND NOT FEAR' you think 'actually I don't need to ride the murder ponies, it's fine.'

Anyway, yeah, I have ridden a horse.

[whentherewerebicycles]

hmm ok just gotta think something out re dogs and babies

now that the baby is getting more mobile and grabby I can tell that the dogs are feeling more nervous around him, pip especially. I have been working with pip on some training stuff, mostly rewarding him for sitting calmly and looking at me when the baby tries to touch him, and that’s definitely helping but he’s still just visibly not relaxed when the baby is trying to grab him or pat him. which I totally get! babies move and act in unpredictable ways and have zero awareness of dogs’ discomfort signals. I think I just feel a little sad and bad about it because my little nephew (who is already walking and is the definition of a wildly unpredictable toddler) has a very sweet relationship with my brothers’ dogs and they have no issues letting him grab and pet them and snuggle with them. so that makes me feel like my dog is “bad” or like I messed up with socializing him. HOWEVER I think I just need to reframe that feeling and instead say like… I bet that owen and pip will have a great relationship when he is older and is able to read and respect pip’s cues. pip LOVES older kids (like 5+) and is very gentle and snuggly with them. so for these interim years I need to focus on preserving the potential for a loving relationship by not creating negative associations for either of them so that they can sort of re-meet each other when it’s more appropriate for them to interact. also obviously gotta keep everybody safe too, especially as owen starts moving towards crawling. so here are the things I am going to try:

no leaving them alone together. pip is great at keeping his distance but as the baby learns to roll and crawl to get to Desired Objects I can’t count on the baby not invading his space. if I have to run downstairs or outside with ruthie, the boy gets plopped into the crib or put in his room with the gate up.

separate them anytime food is involved. no more letting the dogs wait around his high chair for food he drops… I don’t want them to have any association between baby + food because I could see them getting pushy about it in the future.

no letting the baby pat the dogs during playtime. this will be the hardest because he LONGS to pet them lol. they are the most fascinating things in the house to him and he wants to TOUCH THEM!!!!!! but I need to start practicing now and idk it’s obviously too early for him to internalize this but it’s probably a good way to start teaching him to respect people’s space.

continue practicing positive reinforcement every night with pip with and without the baby present. pip genuinely enjoys clicker training and loves practicing things for treats. I’ve been having the baby sit in the high chair playing with his toys while pip sits next to him on the ground, so that the baby can reach for pip but neither of them could accidentally make contact. then I do click + treat for the following things: looking at the baby and then looking back at me, letting the baby reach for him and looking back at me, and keeping his attention on me when the baby makes unexpected noises (like banging his toys on the tray or throwing them on the ground). I am going to do some more reading but I think I also want to eventually work on rewarding pip for moving away from the baby—like maybe having him go to his bed and lie down when the baby reaches for him or something. just gotta think about how I want him to react… but I think I basically want him to have a strong instinct to keep his attention focused on me (ignore the baby) or move away from the source of stress and go to a safe place out of the baby’s reach. but I might want to think about how this will have to change when the baby starts walking. hmm and I should also get a playpen for the front room so the baby has space to roll and crawl without rolling into the dogs’ space.

ok!!! this feels like a lot but I think it will be fine. we will try this for a few weeks and then I can reassess and decide if I need to get a trainer in.

[blut-xxx-tod]

White Knuckling | Frank Woods & Fem!Bell

Summary: Frank knew how to weather a flashback, and he'll be there for Bell when she needs it.

Word Count: 517 words

Trigger Warnings: Depictions of a flashback, mentions of alcohol use, implied abuse

Author's Note: Gosh, I really am a sucker for Woods, aren't I? Also writing a very different depiction of Bell is kinda fun - kind of envisioned her as wearing a dress Sophie would wear in "Howl's Moving Castle", and doing her best to be nothing like her old self. Though this is meant to be more of a platonic piece, there is a little bit of Woods/Bell if you squint hard enough.

Her fingers tightly intertwined with his left painful little red prints in his skin. White-knuckling every horrid memory in silence with screaming eyes and terror in her breath, her pulse thundered through her fingertips.

Soldiers they once were but Bell was not like him. She was sweet still; Frank was bitter with a crass and sharp tongue, a man stuck in a wheelchair who knew of comradery, not of tenderness. But he had lived through this hell himself. Years of normalized violence and liquor escapes made it easy to weather.

In a bluebell dress, highly modest and old-fashioned, she was never the type to drown her sorrows; she was much braver than he ever was and ever will be. So he tethered her down the best he could, whispering gentle reminders. "Breathe, Bell. You're not there anymore. I got you." With a free-hand, he picked up a clicker and shut the CRT off.

A well-trained dog never barks; an ill-tempered mutt got beat. And she was the best dog there was - her conditioning written in scar tissue, thick and rope-like, carved deep into muscle. They were only watching television, but media loved suffering, and suffering brought in views; Bell was all too familiar with suffering herself. It took great effort to rip her eyes from the dead screen and even more to meet his steady gaze. She was wide-eyed and crying. Caught in-between realities. Frank ached with understanding. He gave her hand a squeeze, a firm nod, and his presence.

"I got you," he spoke soft and slow, with all the kindness he could muster, "breathe, breathe; you're okay." He could feel her shaking. Repeating his mantra 'I got you, I got you,' Frank rubbed tender circles into the backs of her hands. "Bell, hon, breathe with me, yeah? It ain't 'nam anymore." Tenderly, Frank took both her hands in his. Bell followed his breaths. He nodded and said, "remember how Adler told ya how to do it?"

Her chest and shoulders rose and fell in sync with his, nice and easy, until she crumbled at his feet. Bell dropped suddenly, her knees colliding with hard concrete, the contact forcing a harsh gasp out of her. Frank dipped over to check on her quick; silently she wailed, a noiseless, painful suffering. She shuddered and gasped for desperate air, choking on sobs. Seeing her, sat at his feet, his hands to her forehead like she was begging for repentance, Frank could only imagine the horrors she had endured. It wasn't just Vietnam. He could feel the tremor in his hands; he couldn't stop. It clicked. "…the fuck did he do to you?"

He was mortified. Frank held her, still, but he swallowed down a thick wad of dread to start again the mantra. 'I got you, I got you.'

"I'm sorry." Frank was near bitter tears himself. "I'm so, fucking sorry, Bell." Sympathetic apologies could only do so much. Carefully, he took back his hands and draped them over her shoulders. Bell keened into him, sobbing into his chest.

"Adler isn't here. He's not here. You're safe."

[discordiansamba]

anyways I don't know if it's due to falling asleep to the backdrop of people setting off way too many fireworks or not, but I had a weird dream last night and now I am here to tell you guys all about it because I've been idly rotating it all day. you've heard of body swap not get ready for... personality swap, I guess? But not completely?

anyways it seemed to take place at the tail end of season one, where instead of getting shot out into random locations by the corrupted wormhole, all the lions stayed on the Castle, but something about the combination of the corrupted wormhole and the paladin bond resulted in something... weird happening. Some kind of quintessence rearrangement that resulted in Lance, Hunk, Pidge, and Keith all swapping aspects of their personalities around that Shiro was apparently spared from because of some kind of defense mechanism that Pidge installed in the control chip for his arm that's in his brain that protected him but the backlash forced him to require some time in the cyropod.

(I guess my brain said. you know what would be funny. Shiro just waking up to this nonsense. and honestly? valid.)

(also allura and coran are fine and somehow escaped the wormhole don't worry about it. apparently the mice did also have their personalities swapped around but like. they're mice. they don't care.)

Pidge was probably the least effected bc she got traits from Hunk, who she already has a decent amount in common with, except now she's prone to nervous tirades, is now a morning person, and is calmed by the act of cooking. except she can't cook. Hunk at least kept very clear notes on all of his cooking experiments so she has something to work with. She suddenly finds herself more drawn to tinkering with things as opposed to coding, but she can still do the latter super easily. Also she has a solid sleep schedule now? She also stops wearing her brother's glasses bc she winds up fixated on the idea that she'll break them so she just keeps them safe in her room instead. Which she has now cleaned. She still kind of feels like she dodged a bullet. Sorry guys.

Lance is... having an experience, because he picked up traits from Pidge. He likes studying now? Except apparently he still has ADHD, but also Coran gave him this clicker thing that seems to be working wonders. He's suddenly a lot less interested in flirting and his detailed skin care routine kind of doesn't seem so important anymore. He has to actively set alarms on his phone otherwise he'll pull all nighters. He's starting to learn how to code? Which is weird but it's oddly calming. He's also pretty sure he picked up Pidge's sense of humor, because Pidge definitely picked up Hunk's sense of humor.

Hunk, to his great misfortune, has picked up traits from Keith. Which also includes his temper and his general introversion, the former of which he is working very hard on managing. He's also spending way more time on the training deck than ever before, but it suddenly doesn't feel like exercise so much as it feels... relaxing? Also he is like. always tense. What the hell, Keith, how did you live like this. How is HE going to live like this. Although it is kind of nice to not feel the urge to puke from nerves, which he... doesn't really seem to have anymore? That's kind of nice.

Keith is probably the oddest case of the bunch. He picked up personality traits from Lance, which he can't even get angry about because he doesn't have a temper anymore? apparently? He's suddenly a lot more extroverted, and also he feels the weird compulsion to... flirt? He's also become way more interested in self care and is suddenly not a morning person anymore. But for all that in some ways he has the most traits leftover from his core personality, because those traits turned out not to be parts of his personality so much as they were due to him being Galra- so he still likes training and fighting as much as he did before. Which is great, because if he let Lance's personality take him by the nose, he'd definitely just start to coast on his talent.

But they also each still have core aspects of themselves that apparently their lions preserved so it's not a full personality swap. Pidge will still wax poetic about the tech around them. Lance might not be huge into self care anymore, but he's still interested in trying to keep himself looking good. Hunk is still very kind, which makes having Keith's temper hard on him. Keith still is a nature boy and a jock, and somehow still doesn't understand how the cheer goes.

POV: You're Shiro. You wake up to this mess. It's been like this for a week apparently, and Coran and Allura don't know how to fix it.

...can you just go back to the cryopod maybe?

[mandana-the-service-pup]

Quick update on Mandana & I

I have been in a flare for a few weeks and Methotrexate has lost some of its effectiveness. I’ve discussed it with my Rheumatologist and we might up the dose but I can’t do that until my next appointment in April. Joint pain, joint stiffness, fatigue and heart rate spikes have all gotten worse but it’s still better than before starting Methotrexate. It’s a little disheartening but ups & downs are to be expected.

Mandana has attended 2 Obedience Classes. Of course she tested out of the classes on day one but our reason for going is to work on her excitement & attention seeking behaviors around dogs & when people are engaging with me. Her favorite thing is training so a room full of dogs & people using clickers & treats is very overwhelming for her (we’re working on it 😅)

The downside is that this training center is 45 minutes away. The plus side is their packed schedule is very convenient & flexible for me and it’s in a wealthy area with some safe parks. It’s a tough drive but I can attend the classes when I’m feeling my best so I’ve also been able to take her on decompression walks afterwards. This really helps her decompress after the intensity of the training center.

The park we have been going to has a really popular dog park. It’s large with lots of enrichment and most of the dogs are well behaved. I use my longline to walk her along the outside of the dog park so she can habituate to seeing dogs running and playing with balls. Eventually we will start to introduce her to playing with the staff dogs at the training center but that will come AFTER she learns to chill out in that environment.

Another bonus is the only vegan pizza parlor in town is located nearby so we have a place to relax before driving home.

[starboishifting]

tell me ALL about them :> are they cute?

WELL. IF YOU’RE ASKING. i wouldn’t want to annoy anyone by talking for literal fucking hours about how fucking ecstatic i am that this motherfucker likes me.

having said that. imma call it cosmo on here cuz it uses a lot of names, and i know the name it uses on its own blog and idk if it’s comfy with being paraded around lmao, and it uses it/its pronouns because it’s nonbinary and cool like that 😎

we met on tumblr, as one does. it’s poly and has a few partners, but i’m happy just being with it :3 it’s nerdy and dorky and calls me names and tells me i’m pretty and asaaaaaashdhdhdhhsbdjdhe. it’s really fucking smart and it’s got better taste in music than me. it told me about a puppet opera it loves and i watched it and then it sang me a song from it??? it’s got one of those soft, almost gravelly voices that’s just so warm and comforting, and it makes me feel so safe and loved. my self esteem has fucking skyrocketed since we started talking.

and cosmo is a fucking saint, too, because it’s willing to deal with me being absolutely stupid. like we were talking and i asked what we were and it’s like, and i quote, “charlie i love you i thought i was pretty clear on that” and im just like “😳 oh. okay.” and now we’re dating. :D my parents don’t like it but that’s okay, because they’re willing to give it a shot even though they’re very skeptical. oh also it’s older than me. by like. a solid amount. single-handedly fixing my father problems.

it teaches me stuff, too, about people and poetry and art and politics, and it’s actually the one who (in a roundabout way) convinced me to get my cane because it wanted me to take care of myself. it helps me come up with ways to eat and it’s so soft and sweet and kind and i love it so fucking much. it sent me these videos about the stars and a time lapse of the universe and where (according to current theory) it will be trillions of trillions of years from now.

it’s also just a little bit mean to me, which is my favorite thing, and my dog absolutely adores it. one time it called and bogie was on the other side of my apartment dead asleep; he hears cosmo’s voice, it takes him all of two seconds to end up on my fucking bed, trying to crawl into my phone. we’ve not even met this motherfucker in person, he just loves it that much, and i trust my dog’s judgement on everything :3

it’s shorter than me and it’s funny and it never makes me feel stupid even when i’m being stupid. and i cannot explain why i love this one so much, but every time cosmo calls me ‘bub’, i just get the giggles. for like days. one time it called me a goblin and it lifted my entire week. it makes me feel better always, even when i’m at my worst. it also clicker trained me (it sends me pretty art if i do things right).

i’m losing my shit. i’m a simp. i’ve written it poetry. i’m too much of a chicken shit to send it but i wrote it. i made it art. i’m making it a playlist. i’m doing all the gay shit. i’m fucking gone for this person. and i am enjoying myself greatly.

i love love. it feels so nice.

[animalsandpetscares]

Training Your Dogs and Cats: A Guide to Harmonious Chaos

Let’s face it: living with dogs and cats is like hosting a never-ending sitcom. There’s drama, comedy, and the occasional plot twist (like when your cat decides the dog’s bed is now a throne). But what if you could channel all that chaotic energy into something productive? Enter: training. Yes, you can train both your dogs and cats. No, it’s not a myth. And yes, it’s going to be as entertaining as it sounds.

Why Train Your Pets?

Training isn’t just about teaching your dog to sit or your cat to stop knocking over your coffee mug (though that’s a bonus). It’s about building trust, communication, and a deeper bond with your furry overlords. Plus, a well-trained pet is less likely to destroy your favorite pair of shoes or use your couch as a scratching post.

Dogs: The Eager Students

Dogs are the overachievers of the pet world. They live to please (and to eat snacks). Training a dog is relatively straightforward because they’re naturally inclined to follow a leader (that’s you, by the way). Here are some tips:

Start with the Basics: Sit, stay, come, and leave it are the foundation of dog training. Use positive reinforcement—treats, praise, or their favorite toy—to reward good behavior.

Be Consistent: Dogs thrive on routine. Use the same commands and rewards every time.

Keep It Short and Sweet: Training sessions should be 5-10 minutes long. Any longer, and your dog might lose interest (or you might lose your patience).

Make It Fun: Turn training into a game. Hide treats around the house and teach your dog to “find it,” or practice commands during playtime.

Pro tip: If your dog is more stubborn than a mule, try higher-value treats. Cheese, chicken, or peanut butter can work wonders.

Cats: The Sassy Scholars

Cats are a different story. They’re not exactly known for their obedience, but that doesn’t mean they can’t learn. Training a cat requires patience, creativity, and a healthy respect for their independence. Here’s how to do it:

Use Their Natural Instincts: Cats love to hunt, climb, and explore. Use toys or treats to lure them into learning new behaviors. For example, teach them to “sit” by holding a treat above their head and moving it back until they naturally sit down.

Clicker Training Works Wonders: Clicker training is a great way to communicate with your cat. Pair the click sound with a treat to mark the exact moment they do something right.

Respect Their Boundaries: If your cat walks away mid-training, let them go. Forcing them will only make them resent you (and let’s be real, a resentful cat is a scary cat).

Teach Practical Skills: Instead of just tricks, focus on behaviors that make life easier, like coming when called or using a scratching post instead of your furniture.

Pro tip: Cats are motivated by food, but they’re also picky. Experiment with different treats to find what your cat loves most.

When Dogs and Cats Collide

If you have both dogs and cats, training them to coexist peacefully is the ultimate goal. Here’s how to foster harmony:

Supervised Introductions: Start by introducing them in a controlled environment. Keep your dog on a leash and let your cat set the pace. Reward calm behavior from both pets.

Teach Respect: Train your dog to ignore the cat (or at least not chase them). Similarly, teach your cat that the dog isn’t a threat.

Create Safe Spaces: Give your cat high perches or rooms where they can retreat if they feel overwhelmed.

Playtime for All: Engage both pets in play sessions to build positive associations. Just make sure the dog doesn’t accidentally trample the cat in their excitement.

The Joy of Training

Training your pets isn’t just about obedience—it’s about creating a deeper connection with them. It’s about understanding their quirks, celebrating their progress, and laughing at their hilarious failures (because let’s be real, a cat attempting to “fetch” is comedy gold).

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[lexibsparkles]

i want to clicker train a puppygirl to just go absolutely feral when i click. normally she's a cute little sub but when she hears that sound she can only think of breeding the nearest hole. having another sub with her and just. clicking and she's on them. having her leashed and watching how desperately she starts trying to get at me. no idea how possible this is but i want that control so desperately

I go pretty feral so I think it's safe to say it definitely works

[airdrophunting]

Notcoin – How to Earn Crypto in Telegram

Let's face it: trends have a habit of fizzling out quickly. We've seen this play out time and time again. If we're being honest, probably 95% of Telegram games are just riding the hype train, offering little to no real value.

But Notcoin? That's a whole different ball game. NOT isn't just a game; it's a philosophy. The developers realized that a simple clicker game wouldn't cut it long-term. So they used that viral mechanic merely as a way to distribute coins. The real challenge was to offer users something more substantial, something truly valuable.

No sooner had the clicker craze cooled off than Notcoin launched the next big thing: Explore-to-Earn. This is uncharted territory in the crypto world. After a successful beta run, they finally dropped the full release on July 11th.

Let's dive deep into what this project looks like today, who might benefit from it, and most importantly - how to make some money.

Getting Started with Explore-to-Earn

Jumping in couldn't be easier. All you need to do is hop into the Telegram bot.

Next up - and we can't stress this enough - link your crypto wallet to the app. Don't sweat it; it's completely safe. Notcoin can't touch your funds without your say-so. It's just requesting info. Any non-custodial wallet will do the trick. The crowd favorites? TON Space and TON Keeper.

And that's it!

The Essence of Explore-to-Earn: A Triple Win

In the crypto world, you'll often hear the phrase "win-win" - a situation where both parties come out on top. But Notcoin? They've upped the ante with a "win-win-win" system. Let's break down how this clever setup works.

The Notcoin ecosystem brings together three key players: Notcoin itself, other Web 3.0 developers, and you, the users. Notcoin's user base has already blown past an eye-popping 40 million. Let's be real - what project wouldn't jump at the chance to showcase their product to such a massive audience?

Here's how the mechanism works in practice:

A crypto project buys a chunk of NOT tokens from the market (usually around 1 million coins). Think of this as their advertising budget.

You, as a user, go through an onboarding process - getting to know their product, following their channels and social media, and completing various tasks. For your efforts, you pocket the lion's share of these tokens.

A smaller portion goes to the Notcoin team. This is how they monetize the project and fund further development of the app.

The third, also small, portion gets burned. This reduces the total supply of coins, potentially driving up the value of NOT tokens.

In the end, everyone comes out ahead:

You pocket tokens for checking out new projects.

Crypto projects tap into a massive audience.

Notcoin turns a profit from their platform.

NOT holders benefit from the token's rising value.

Simple, yet brilliant...

Let's dive deeper into how this mechanism ticks.

Pools

When a new project drops into Notcoin, they kick off what's called a "pool". Think of it as a reservoir of NOT tokens, with two key features:

Pool Size: This is the total number of NOT tokens up for grabs, waiting to be divvied up among users.

Campaign: This is your to-do list - a series of tasks you need to knock out to get your slice of the pool.

Here's how the process of participating unfolds:

You spot a new pool and decide to jump in.

You work your way through the campaign tasks. This could involve following the project's channels, getting acquainted with their product, performing specific actions on their platform, and so on.

Once you've successfully completed all the tasks, you become a full-fledged pool participant.

Now, here's where it gets exciting: As a pool participant, you start "draining" NOT tokens from it. This happens automatically, every hour. You and other participants gradually claim tokens until the pool is completely emptied.

Levels

Your farming speed in the pool depends on your level. There are three levels: Bronze, Gold, and Platinum. During the beta, your level was determined by how many NOT tokens you staked. Now, things have changed.

Those who staked their NOT tokens early (before May 16th) and haven't withdrawn them yet have been granted a permanent level (as long as they keep their coins staked).

For everyone else, it's now subscription-based. You can pay through Telegram Stars, or use your NOT tokens already in the app.

Will the subscription pay off? That's the million-dollar question. For example, over 2 months of farming at the Platinum level, we managed to mine about 10,000 NOTs. Currently, a 3-month subscription costs 9,990. It's a decision you'll have to weigh carefully.

The Evolution of Notcoin

We envision Notcoin evolving into something akin to Steam - a platform connecting products with end-users. This is the unique value Notcoin offers, setting it apart from most of its clones and imitators.

Looking Ahead:

Temper Expectations: While the potential is there, it's clear that initial promises haven't fully materialized yet. Be patient and realistic.

Stay Active: With future airdrops planned, maintaining activity in the ecosystem could pay off.

Watch the Tokenomics: The limited supply and burn mechanism could lead to price appreciation over time, but it's not guaranteed.

Keep an Eye on New Features: The trading bot and NFTs could add new dimensions to the platform's utility and value.

Platform Potential: If Notcoin successfully positions itself as a go-to platform for crypto projects to reach users, it could become a significant player in the space.

Diversify: While Notcoin shows promise, remember it's just one project in a vast crypto ecosystem. Don't put all your eggs in one basket.

The team's focus on creating a unique value proposition - being the bridge between crypto projects and users - is a smart move. If executed well, this could indeed make Notcoin a "Steam for crypto", providing lasting value beyond the initial hype.

As always in crypto, there are no guarantees. The project shows promise, but also faces challenges and competition. Stay informed, engage wisely, and as they say, DYOR (Do Your Own Research).

Good luck!

[berryzworld]

Cat Training 101: 5 Fun Hacks for Smarter, Happier Felines

They may seem independent, but cats are surprisingly intelligent creatures! Unlike their canine counterparts, cat training often gets a reputation for being difficult or impossible. But with the right approach, you can unlock your feline friend's potential and create a stronger bond in the process.

This guide explores five fun and effective cat training hacks that utilize positive reinforcement to teach good behavior, strengthen your connection, and even make learning a game!

Many pet owners associate clicker training with dogs, but it's a fantastic tool for cats as well. A clicker is a small handheld device that makes a distinct clicking sound. By consistently pairing the click with a reward (like a treat or praise) immediately after your cat exhibits a desired behavior, you create a positive association. This association strengthens the behavior and makes it more likely your cat will repeat it in the future.

Getting Started with Clicker Training:

Load Up on Treats: Find small, high-value treats your cat loves.

Charge the Clicker: Pair the click with a treat several times so your cat associates the sound with something positive.

Start Simple: Begin with an easy behavior, like sitting. When your cat sits naturally, click and reward immediately. Gradually introduce a verbal cue like "sit" before the click.

Patience is Key: Short, frequent training sessions are best for cats. Keep them engaged and end on a positive note.

Cats are natural-born hunters, and target training taps into that instinct. This method uses a target stick with a toy or treat attached to lure your cat to touch it with their paw. Click and reward the touch, gradually increasing the difficulty by moving the target in different directions. Target training is a great way to teach tricks, provide mental stimulation, and strengthen the bond with your cat.

Treat Time! Positive Reinforcement with Yummy Rewards

Positive reinforcement with treats is a cornerstone of effective cat training. The key is to reward your cat immediately after they exhibit the desired behavior. This creates a positive association and encourages them to repeat the action.

Treat Training Tips:

Small Rewards are Key: Use tiny, bite-sized treats to avoid overfeeding.

Variety is the Spice of Life: Rotate treats to keep your cat engaged.

Be Consistent: Always reward the desired behavior for successful training.

Having a designated bed provides your cat with a safe and secure space to relax. Here's how to train your cat to use their own bed:

Make it Inviting: Choose a comfortable bed in a quiet location.

Lure with Treats: Place treats inside the bed to entice your cat to explore.

Positive Reinforcement: Reward your cat with praise or treats when they enter the bed.

Patience is Key: Training may take time, consistency is crucial.

Building a Stronger Bond: The Power of Positive Reinforcement

Positive reinforcement training goes beyond just teaching tricks. It fosters a trusting and happy relationship with your cat. By rewarding good behavior, you create a positive association with you and encourage a more well-behaved feline friend.

Ready to Get Started?

These five fun and effective training hacks are just the beginning! With patience, positive reinforcement, and a little creativity, you can unlock your cat's intelligence, strengthen your bond, and create a happier household for everyone.

Looking for more in-depth training resources? Check out our additional resources below:

https://linktr.ee/Berrybrown

Do you have any questions about cat training? Leave a comment below!