One-shots and story outlines

Invitationals (human AU with OC)

(Photo's not mine lol)

I APOLOGIZE FOR THE LONG AFT WAIT!!!

Rating: G for good 😌 tiny snippets of harm depictions and controversial topics are discussed.
Continuity: WP TF (Human AU)
Relationship: OC femme x Thunder
Description: This wasn't requested. Okay... some aren't gonna like me for this but yes I'm adding friend tribute slag in this book. There's no mention of Cybertronians so skip if you're not into humans (like a lot of people over on Ao3 lol)If you're wondering why I'd post it here and not make a separate book, I feel like this will be somewhere that the person I'm hoping will find this can see that I'm still searching. She's been missing almost 5 months and I'm starting to really sink into grief. So, just like with everything else, I'm writing a one-shot about it so I can share it without feeling exposed, you know? Anyway, this is fictional. Always is with me 😂 . You may notice that there's barely any names exchanged and that's mostly because I don't wanna reveal where I got the inspiration to write this from because... honestly it's possible to get copyrighted for this even if it's written in an entirely different perspective. This is also a really long one-shot by my standards so be ready to hang tight if you're gonna stick around.
Message to Thunder: We're still looking. We'll find you. The world might be scary but I promise it'll be okay. Mom is worried and wants you to stay strong. Enjoy this little fic. I know how much you and Shea used to hang out at shows and hope that this will bring some smiles.
Draft was written long before I got the nerve to publish it. Enjoy.

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Rounding the last pole before the dash home, I let off with the rein contact from the hackamore and urge the mare forward with a consistent squeeze. Un-akin to kicking, the pressure serves to urge them whilst protecting their sides from harm. Wind whips past and before I am able to complete my thoughts, we have crossed the finishing point. I bring my mare, Ginger, to a cooling walk. We exit the ring. Having gone second, we are most likely to be overlooked, even if these are only invitationals. I stayed seated, running my free hand through her well-kept mane. The hair is grounding for me and Ginger appreciates the praise. I pull my legs free of the stirrups and allow Ginger a cooling off period as we wait for the other competitors to complete their runs. Ginger wasn't particularly fast, but her turns were well-practiced and precise for a ringbone survivor. This discipline is not the best for Ginger because of her prior ringbone but I still have her do the runs so she doesn't lose that agility. She hasn't shown in years and I knew now was better than ever to try and win some decent ribbons. Ginger flinches, sending the whole saddle quivering and snapping me out of my pondering. I follow her eyes, finding her solely focused on a particularly riled up gelding under English tack. From the outside-in, one can see the poor thing's face being sawed side-to-side by it's rider. I do not have anything against any competitive discipline as I practice them all but I find most younger intermediate divisions in the jumper classes tend to have more of these same peppy torturous girls. It's saddening. To think anyone in their right mind would find the use of unnecessarily harsh bits, contact and spurs red-ribbon material is mind-boggling. Though, this area appears to be the designated veterinary inspection zone so hopefully this one didn't make it through. I place my feet back in the stirrups, signalling to Ginger that chill time is over for the moment, and make my way over to listen in. Adjusting my hat, I communicate with Ginger and maneuver around a Friesian. We stop and I try to be careful to stay out of conflict. Which is relatively easy considering how docile Ginger tends to be.

"Quit, Phillipe!"

"Jacqueline, honey, need some help?"

"No! I just need this stinking horse to quit pulling."

So, the horse was named Phillipe. Wonder if the handsome thing ever sired any foals.
By now, a whole group of riders from various disciplines had gathered around, most chilling off to the side trying to get a taste of the drama. I spot my mentor a little ways away from the crowd, holding her current project horse named Purity by a cheap black head-lead who happily munched on some grass. She was watching the practice ring before her. I really should get back to the announcer's office in case I did actually get a high placing but I decide against it and head on over, sliding off Ginger along the way. There was a total of six horses in the practice ring, a depressing few nowhere close to being able to get past vet standards. However, one horse caught my eye. It was in English tack, soaring with a divine beauty over medium jumps.