#lotta guessin

[ase-trollplays]

When We Were Kids (Part One)

...s-so... how are you feeling?... ...s-still s-sore?...

Y'all got no idea. The only thing that don't hurt is blinkin'. I swear, soon as I can move again, I'm suplexin' Dan inta next sweep.

...he only picks on you because he cares... ...its his way of making s-sure you dont obsess over everything...

Ya mean like the fact I fucked myself an' can never have anythin' close ta a normal life ever again cuz I lost my fool head?

...yeah... that... ...im just relieved you werent killed... ...i... ...i was going insane thinking id have to bury another moirail...

I wouldn't be too relieved. I can't go out in public ever again with legis an' fleet dogs out fer my head. Prolly got a hefty bounty, too, an' rewards fer turnin' me in. Y'all two ain't safe either if anyone finds out y'all know me.

...yeah... ...when dantli comes back... we s-should all talk about where were going from here...

Ugh, I can't even get my shit from my hive. It's prolly bein' watched or somethin', or it's been raided an' bugged by now in case me'r one a y'all shows up. God, my lusus ain't gon' know what happened ta me, an' he can't come here like yers. I ain't sure he'll wait a sweep fer me ta come back like when I was a kid.

...that reminds me... ...when i was in the hospital... you s-said you knew exactly how i felt when i was being held captive... and that i s-should ask you about your childhood...

Yeh. Yeh, I did say that, didn't I? I'm guessin' this is yer way a askin'?

...yeah... if you dont mind...

Alright. It ain't a happy story, but I'm sure ya already figured that. I guess I'll start from the beginnin'.

I was even more a a hotheaded stubborn shit when I was a kid, if y'all can believe that. Pickin' fights with every troll I saw an' tryin' ta befriend the ones who beat me. Which was damn near all a them cuz fer all my bluster, I was a twiggy scrawny little toothpick, ain't had a ounce a muscle on me. I didn't want nobody thinkin' I was weak just cuz I was a skinny rust.

I was always gettin' my dumb ass beat up an' hurt tryin' ta prove I ain't no wimp, but I did get some good friends outta it. Even had a li'l flush crush on one a them, a girl who beat me in a fight just by knockin' me down an' sittin' on me 'til I wore myself out tryin' ta get her off. I had a whole group a friends back then. I can't tell ya what their names'r caste was, but we were a happy li'l group.

Here's the part where everythin' goes ta shit. When I was five, I was out patrollin' my li'l territory when I spotted a scraggly-lookin' teal prowlin' around. He was a adult an' a lot bigger'n me, but I challenged him all the same. He hauled off an' kicked me dead in the stomach an' told me ta get lost. If I was smart I'd a left it at that, but who said wrigglers are smart? I wasn't ready ta say I lost, so I picked myself up, grabbed a big ol' rock, an' chucked it square at the back a his head. Hit him so hard he started bleedin' an' staggered a good bit.

He looked back at me real mad at first, then he started smilin'. Said I had a lot a fight in me for a twiggy brat. I told him there's more where that came from if he don't git, an' he laughed an' said he'd have a ball breakin' me. 'Fore I knew it, he was right up on me, an' I didn't have no time ta react 'fore he got me in the gut with a stun gun an' knocked my ass right out.

I woke up in a cell with a couple other young trolls. I asked where I was, an' they said I was in the slave camp. Said I was here cuz they were gon' break me, train me inta a perfect li'l pet slave, then sell me off ta the highest bidder. Needless ta say, I wasn't havin' that shit. I made it my mission ta put up as much a a fight as I could an' refuse ta be domesticated.

First handler they assigned ta me was that teal that grabbed me. Since I already fought with him once, I knew what ta expect. He got a lotta good licks in over the first couple nights, but eventually he slipped up an' I was able ta steal his stun gun an' shock him dead in the eyes. After that, they decided to gimme their toughest, meanest, biggest handler.

He was a big blueblood who made us call him "Mister," an' he took that shit serious. I called him asshole exactly once an' he slapped me 'cross the face so hard he damn near snapped my neck. I couldn't feel my face fer a night afterward. Most a my abuse came from him, an' I just know he was havin' fun beatin' my ass every night tryin' ta make me give up.

But I'm the most stubborn bitch ever hatched, so I didn't make shit easy fer him. He beat me ta shit, starved me, locked me in a tiny li'l cage, an' made sure no one talked ta me'r tried helpin' me'r they'd be in the same boat. His favorite punishment fer me was the post. There was a big wooden post in a sort a courtyard outside with a pair a manacles attached. He'd lock me in, hike up my shirt, an' tear me ta ribbons with a whip. Afterwards, he'd leave me out there fer nights with only a thick blanket thrown over me ta keep me from bein' completely cooked ta death by the sun durin' the day.

He liked hearin' me cry an' scream in pain, so I'd try my damnedest to keep my mouth shut no matter how hard an' how much he whipped me. I'd stay quiet for the first thirty seconds, but after that I could never hold it in anymore. Then he'd whip me more fer resistin'. So many times I was close ta givin' up if it meant he wouldn't torture me no more, but I didn't wanna let him win.

...oh my god... ...im s-so s-sorry... ...i cant even imagine... and i s-said all that--

Y'ain't gotta apologize fer bein' mad. I get it. Ya were in a scary situation, an' hearin' that I never even tried ta find ya when this whole thing was my damn fault ta start with? I'd a been pissed, too.

...s-still though... ...it was s-so insensitive...

It ain't like y'all knew any a this at the time. It's fine.

...how did you get out??...

Heh, that's where shit gets real interestin'.

They kept me at that camp fer half a sweep torturin' me, but I held on. I dunno why they didn't just cull my stubborn ass a long time ago. My guess is cuz Mister wanted the satisfaction a breakin' me cuz ain't no one else been this much a a challenge fer him fer so long. If he let them cull me, it ain't a real win. But eventually he reached the end a his patience with me.

I managed ta get a hold a a fork an' taunted Mister 'til he grabbed me 'round the throat an' got right in my face ta threaten me. I stabbed him in the eye an' tried ta make a break fer the exit while he was screamin' an' cursin' an' bleedin'. A course, I didn't make it nowhere close ta the door 'fore I got caught. Mister was fumin' somethin' fierce, and I didn't even get a chance ta register what he was about ta do 'fore everythin' just became blindin' pain.

I remember one a the supervisors cussin' him out cuz they was plannin' on sendin' me ta The Pit, an' now I ain't in no condition ta be transferred. That fucker cut me open from rib ta hip with a dagger. I spent nights in the infirmary tryin' ta get stabilized an' patched up. I was so weak from bein' starved an' beat on a regular basis that I almost died.

But like I said, I'm the most stubborn bitch ever hatched. I was able ta recover enough ta get my stitches out, but after they they decided ta cut their losses and finally cull me. Mister wanted ta do the honors himself. After what I did ta him, he didn't care about winnin' no more. He wanted me dead. He filled a tub full a water, threw me in, an' held me down with his foot while I thrashed an' tried ta free myself 'fore I drowned. Eventually I lost consciousness.

I woke up chokin' on water an' hackin' the shit out my lungs in the middle a the forest. I figured they dumped my body fer the undead an' the animals ta eat once I blacked out. I didn't know where I was or how ta get back home, an' I was fuckin' scared. But I was free after half a sweep in captivity, an' that was more important than bein' afraid. I picked a direction an' started walkin'.

I didn't have no way a huntin' ta feed myself, an' I was still fuckin' weak as shit, so I didn't eat much a nothin' 'cept whatever bugs an' small animals I was able ta catch. I had ta sleep up in trees durin' the day ta avoid the roamin' undead. Eventually between the hunger an' bein' exhausted all the time, I dropped.

Next thing I know, I'm wakin' up in a hive belongin' ta some li'l jade even younger'n me sayin' him an' his lusus found me. I was still a ornery li'l shit an' wasn't exactly a good hiveguest. He still helped me an' everythin' though. Kept me fed, gave me a place ta sleep. Once I was mostly healed an' had my strength back, I robbed him blind an' ran. Took every piece an' scrap a food I could carry, stole a couple knives, an' I was off. I'd prolly apologize ta him if I ever see him again, not that I remember what he even looked like, an' I'm sure he don't remember me or wouldn't recognize me now.

I spent the next half sweep doin' whatever I could ta survive an' try ta find my way home. I stole, I killed, I broke inta hives, I did whatever I had ta do ta make it ta the next night. When I finally made it hive after that half a sweep, my pa was there waitin' fer me. He waited fer a whole sweep fer me ta come back instead a takin' in a new charge. I bawled the hardest I ever have in my life. Makes me feel extra shitty that I can't go back an' say my goodbyes ta him. He's prolly still waitin' fer me ta come back just like I did last time I went missin'.

...if you want... i can ask dantli to go to your hive and tell your lusus you arent coming back... ...i dont think hes on anyones radar s-since he doesnt s-socialize... ...i can tell him to make it look like he's robbing you s-so they dont get s-suspicious... and itll be a convenient way to get s-some of your things for you...

That ain't a bad idea. S'long as he don't say nothin' stupid'r incriminatin', that could work.

Anyway, speakin' a going back hive, when I finally made it back ta mine after my sweep in Hell, I couldn't function fer shit. I didn't wanna reach out ta my friends cuz I didn't want 'em ta see how broken I was. I didn't wanna look weak ta them, an' none a them reached out anyhow. In just that one sweep, they moved on from me, which still kinda hurts ta know that's all it took ta lose 'em.

Fer perigees after, I'd have daymares a bein' back at the slave camp, weak an' in pain with Mister standin' over me with the whip, then draggin' me out ta the post. I was barely gettin' any sleep, I couldn't eat, an' I was terrified a bein' in water. That's when I decided ta start bulkin' up an' gettin' stronger so I couldn't be taken back there or anywhere else.

Fer three sweeps, I had the mother grub a anxiety. A lotta nights, I couldn't even get the nerve ta leave my hive. I'd get anxiety attacks an' panic attacks when I saw highbloods, 'specially male blues. An' y'all know me. When I start gettin' anxious, I get real mad an' itchin' fer a fight. Even now, I don't hate highblood s'much as I get anxiety bein' around 'em. An' I do also hate 'em.

That's when I started drinkin'. It wasn't about gettin' drunk. It was a way ta calm my frazzled nerves an' keep my anxiety under control. Over time, though, it turned inta a addiction, an' y'all know how well that ended up workin' out fer me in the end.

That's basically everythin' about my childhood, so believe me when I say I know exactly what it's like ta not know if yer gonna live ta see another night, an' cryin' yerself ta sleep durin' the day cuz everythin's so awful, an' prayin' that yer loved ones ain't next or won't be too tore up if ya don't survive.

...i... im s-so s-sorry... ...no one s-should have to endure that... especially not a child... ...i... i...

C'mon now, y'ain't gotta cry about it. It sucks, but it's in the past now, an' fallin' ta pieces over it ain't gon' fix nothin'.

...i... i know... but...

It's okay, I get it. If it'll make ya feel better, go ahead an' cry it out. I can hold ya if ya want.

...but arent you s-still sore?...

Not so sore I can't comfort my pale. It ain't gon' kill me, so get yer li'l cryin' sniffly self over here.

[hexiewrites]

okay. i really want to get this hockey fic's sequel more fully underway so i am back on my accountability word tracker bullshit! as always block "#hex's writing trackers" if you don't want these updates!

may 3rd: 11,783 words (2/~8 chapters complete) snippet for your troubles:

“What do you mean what the fuck we’re going to do about it?” Hopper groaned. “Look, kid. I don’t know what he’s said to you, but I’m guessing Brenner had some choice words about your whole comin’ out situation, am I wrong?” Eddie deflated, visibly, and shook his head. Huh, Steve thought. That was interesting. “Got it. So I’m guessin’ we got two ways to play this out. Either tweedle-dumb over here-” this time, he shook Steve, “comes out and says he was doin’ it as, y’know, some show of misguided ally-like support, faces the heat for ‘queerfishing’ or whatever the kids call it, and not many people buy it but at least we can play off the fact that he’s had three goddamn concussions and there ain’t a lotta common sense left rattlin’ around up there-” Steve gasped. “Hey, man, not fair!” “OR,” Hopper interjected, with a frown that had Steve’s jaw slamming shut. “Or, you two are about to make your very public debut as the NHL’s first official couple, and ain’t that gonna be a treat when they find out you ain’t really much of a couple, now are you?” “How do you know that?” Eddie asked, and Steve almost smacked him for how stupid the comment was. Hopper turned his head to Eddie and flashed a grin that Steve was very familiar with. His you walked right into my trap grin. Honestly, in another life he might have made a very good detective. “Seems to me you just confirmed it, numbnuts. Nah, I know every single thing my players are up to,” Hopper said, and then glanced over to Steve and shot him a pointed grin instead. “Every. Single. Thing.”

[spricket-central]

alright folks, its guessin' time!

so, how many eggs do you think crouton (and possibly breadcrumb, if shes that age now!) has laid in the past 2 weeks?

a) 0-49

b) 50-99

c) 100-149

d) 150-199

e) 200+ (holy fucking shit???)

and the answer is...

...147! for ONCE the answer wasnt the highest (or even 2nd highest!) answer!

147 is still a TON, but considering last time was 180+? im very happy to see crouton is slowing down a little. laying all those eggs has to be super taxing on a tiny lil spricket body!

im yet to see breadcrumb demonstrate any egg-laying behavior, but based on croutons experience, id imagine shes gonna start pretty soon if she hasnt already! iirc crouton started around a week after her final molt, which is pretty much where breadcrumb is at.

...anyway... thats a lotta rice!!!!!

final note!: i think the cause of those yellow-ish eggs i started noticing last time is more moisture. as i was combing through the dirt for eggs, i found 3 yellow-ish ones stuck to a somewhat large, porous substrate, so i think its fair to conclude that it was hydrating those eggs.

the question is, are they that color because theyre TOO hydrated, or just right? part of me is thinking its the latter, but without any experience hatching eggs, i have no information to go by.

[mobblespsycho100]

OH and the accent- Day has a pretty thick southern accent both to go with the cowboy vibes but also just to show different dialects within yhe pastex language between western/central/eastern (Central would equate to GenAm, western obv southern, and eastern,,, idk fully yet? Ill have to think more on that actually). Also since it translates better to show he's more rural

If I was being suuuper lore accurate he wld actually have a pretty strong foreign accent of some kind? And then mixed with southern since thats the dialect he learned? But thats a whole lotta work and its hard to translate into text, so instead I just give Day a thicker accent and I'll give other western ppl a slightly weaker one. Since Day learned the language just by. living there. starting aroumd age 13 his native accent for the language he spoke up on the mountain is p strong.

My great grandma on my moms side was from the south so I keep asking my mom for things she said n how she wld talk LMAO. that "Sweeter than the fuzz on a bees back" like as a favorige of hers apparently

OHHHH !!!! (sorry for answering this late) thats so inchtresting though ... yeahyeag im guessin since he was on top of the mountain for a long time he'd have a thicker accent ...

also "sweeter than a fuzz on a bees back" is such a silly saying i like that ajdhsjhd... southern slash pastex western day accent sweeppp

[oddlies-a]

@codenamejudas // cont. from here !

Jigen snorts as he takes his wallet back. “Been around a lotta thieves, I know the tricks of the trade.” He tucks the wallet back in its rightful place with a disgruntled grumble, eyeing the other guy down from behind his bangs. The pickpocketing reminded him of himself, back when he was a child. However, he’s clearly moved on to bigger and better heists.

“I got good eyesight, too,” he jokes, “I keep my eyes on everyone. Practically got eyes on the back of my head…I’m guessin’ you do this often?”

[darkened-meol]

Accidentally fell asleep on a knife, it's a wonder I don't get injured more often tbh,

[paint-spots]

The steps winded upwards into a massive, rather empty room-- an elevator, it seemed, with large, metal gears aligning the circular floor, and framed artworks of indiscernible shapes and colors towering along the walls.

Oswald took careful steps over the massive gears, as to not set them off, and turned his attention to the paintings. He narrowed his eyes, but couldn't quite make out what they were supposed to be.

"Where are we now?"

"Pretty sure this is the....elevator?"

"Also referred to as a 'stretching room.'"

"There's paintings on the walls, but I guess it was the artist's first day or somethin'. It just looks like a bunch of...blobs and shapes."

"What colors?"

"Eh?"

"What colors are the paintings?"

"...Uh, red, and blue and green...and...black. Whole lotta black."

"And there's gears on the floor...one in the center and three surrounding it. I'm guessin' these get the elevator movin'?"

Oswald brought his foot to one of the gears and gave it a good nudge, spinning it with a mechanical whir. His attention idly shifted to the paintings surrounding him, but nothing came about the turning of gears, and the elevator stood still.

"What's the deal? This thing is busted."

•

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[katehuntington]

Title: Ride With Me (part twenty two) Fandom: Supernatural Timeline: 2008 Pairing: Dean x Reader Word count: ±7650 words Summary series: Y/N is a talented horse rider who is on her way to become a professional. In order to convince her father that she deserves the loan needed to start her own farm, she goes to Arizona for six months, to intern at a ranch owned by Bobby and Ellen Singer. Her future is set out, but then she meets a handsome horseman, who goes by the name of Dean Winchester. A heartwarming series about a cowboy who falls for the girl, letting go of the past and the importance of family.  Summary part twenty two: Y/N is about to take the stage together with her horse Meadow, but stage fright is making it very difficult to bring the evening to a successful end. Warnings series: NSFW, 18+ only! Fluff, angst, eventually smut. Swearing, smoking, alcohol intoxication, alcohol abuse. Mutual pining, heartbreak. Crying, nightmares, childhood trauma. Description of animal abuse, domestic violence, mentions of addiction. Financial problems, stress, mental breakdown. Description of blood and injury, hospital scenes, character death, grief. Music: Opening scene: First Defeat - Noah Gundersen, Meadow’s freestyle: Stairway To Heaven, Immigrant Song, Whole Lotta Love - Led Zeppelin. Follow ‘Kate Huntington’s Ride With Me playlist’ on Spotify! Author’s note: Thank you @atc74​​, and @winchest09​​ for helping me. Also a special thanks to @jules-1999​​, who has offered me her knowledge about rodeo events like these, and @squirrelnotsam​​, who knows Arizona like the back of her hand.

Ride With Me Masterlist

     Y/N dips the sponge foaming with leather soap in a small bucket of water, and softly moves it in circles over the gullet of Meadow’s cognac colored saddle. Making sure to get into the little curves and edges of the beautifully decorated piece of craftsmanship, she picks up an old toothbrush and gently sweeps the dirt out of the grooves; it’s one of the older tricks in the book. 

     The maintenance does a lot of things besides calm the mind. It keeps the material supple, stops it from tearing, therefore saddles and bridles last longer. The leather will be soft on the horse’s coat and prevent sores and irritation of the skin. Clean and shiny tack says a lot about a person. They are usually precise, provident, and have a keen eye for detail. Often perfectionists who leave nothing to chance. Y/N is such a person.

     Dean watches her, adoration on his features. She hasn’t spotted him yet, too focused on the chore. His hands are buried in the front pockets of his jeans while he leans against the door of the makeshift tack room, where she’s working in silence. He notices how loose hairs have escaped her french braid, how she bites her lip while concentrating. He notices the black smear on her cheek, her hands grimy from the mixture of soap and dirt coming from the saddle. He notices all those little things, and all else he loves about her.

     There might be a soft smile on his lips, but his eyes give away how much his heart is hurting. He hasn’t been able to ban the haunting words from his thoughts, nor the realization that came with it; no matter how much time he puts between the past and present, he can’t outrun those dark days.      The troubled cowboy wishes he could tell her, but he doesn’t want to drag his girl into this. She would pity him, be disgusted. She would run as far away as she could, and he wouldn’t even blame her if she does just that. The fact that he is unable to be truthful, has him doubt everything they have accomplished. How can he ask her to trust him, when he can’t be honest with her? When he doesn’t even trust himself?

     Y/N rises from the small stool to get a cloth from her tack box in order to polish the saddle, when she notices a figure from the corner of her eye. For a second she startles, but then realizes it’s her boyfriend.      “How long have you been standing there?” she chuckles.      “For a little while,” he admits, the corner of his mouth pulling into a slightly bigger smile. “Didn’t mean to creep you out.”      “Don’t worry, you didn’t. Fergus MacLeod on the other hand…” Y/N comments, squirting some shine cream on the cloth. 

     Before she returns to her stool again to finish the dirty job, Dean steps closer and takes her hand. Desperate for her to ground him, he lets his fingers trace her stained knuckles, taking the cleaning product from her and putting it aside. He focuses on their hold and keeps quiet, being more tentative than conversational.      “Dean?”      Her voice is laced with confusion and worry, and when he looks up, he sees that her eyes match the warm sound. Willing to do anything to take those concerns away, he cups her face and gently pulls Y/N closer. His lips catch hers, sweetly at first. Dean cherishes the moment when she melts into his touch, deepening the kiss. It doesn’t unsettle him when she unwinds her fingers from his, because he can feel his cowboy hat leave his head, those same fingers now running through his short hair.

     Dean takes his time, eyes closed and his long lashes brushing against her cheek. He draws her in, moving his hand up her side as if he’s afraid she might slip away at any moment. There’s a hint of distress in the way he is kissing her, even though she can tell he is trying to hide it. Knowing that now is not the time to question his reasoning, she gives him what he needs so hopelessly. After a long, intimate minute, in the shelter of the small tack room, Dean parts from her. Y/N hopes to see a smile, but his eyes remain closed as he presses his forehead against hers.

     “What’s going on?” she encourages, gently.      “Nothin’. I’m alright,” he claims, but when she raises her eyebrows at him knowingly, he gives her an explanation, even though it’s not the whole truth. “Fergus MacLeod got under my skin with the way he spoke to you, is all.”      “Oh, you mean the pet names?” She scoffs, shaking her head at the memory. “I wouldn’t read into it. He’s an Englishman; they address women like that.”      “Still…” Dean rubs the pad of his thumb over her cheek, wiping away the grease. He is beginning to find his footing again. “I’m the only one who gets to call you that.”      “And you think I’m the jealous one,” Y/N jokes. “You never call me ‘darling’ or ‘love’ anyway.”      He grins at her mockery, especially when she overdoes the accent. His eyes are still sincere as ever.       “Because you’re my Yankee,” he says softly.

     Her smile becomes brighter, her nickname rolling from his tongue usually having that effect. And for just a second, Dean forgets about all the worry in the world. He kisses her once more, short and sweet this time, daring to take a hold of her gaze now that his mask fits again.      “You stood your ground when that stuck up made that offer on Meadow,” he compliments. “You basically told him to go fuck himself. That was pretty badass.”

     Shyly, Y/N shrugs. To her it didn’t cost her an ounce of bravery or willpower. She has gotten offers on her horse before, although never one this high. But Fergus could offer a billion, there is no way in hell she will ever let Meadow go.      “She’s priceless, Dean,” the cowgirl explains, simply. “I wouldn’t trade her for the world.”      “I know,” her boyfriend acknowledges. “All I’m saying is that many would have considered it. The fact that it’s not even an option for you, just shows how much she means to you.” He pauses, admiring the strong minded woman before him. “She’s your soul horse.”      “My what?” Y/N recalls, curiously.

     Dean chuckles, realizing that it’s not a widely known term. It was Ellen who told him about the special bond between human and horse, when he was younger. It became something that always stuck with him, words he never forgot.      “Every equestrian comes across that one horse in their life. The one that stands out from all the others, that captures you, takes up a huge space in here.” He taps two fingers on his chest, right where his heart is. “The one you have this unbreakable bond with, who you trust and trusts you. The one you will never forget,” he explains. “That’s your soul horse.”

     Y/N begins to glow, because every word he spoke sounds familiar. Dean is right; Meadow is her soul horse.      “I like that,” she says, thinking about his words for a second. 

     Content, she moves past Dean to pick up the polish, in order for her to return to the task she needs to finish.       “What else did the snobby Brit have to say?” she wonders, sitting back down on her stool, beginning to rub the cream onto the horn and the pommel of the saddle.      “He bought Jovi and Ringo, actually,” the cowboy elaborates, turning to the side to check out the perfectly clean bridle hanging from the tack box door. He’s giving himself something to focus on, feeling the soft leather under his fingers.      “Did he! That’s great, right?” she checks, noticing that her boyfriend isn’t exactly thrilled about the matter.      Dean glances at her, forcing a smile. “Yeah, the money is certainly welcome.”      “I bet Bobby is pleased,” Y/N assumes, wiping down the saddle one last time before she puts the cover back on. “Did he say anything about our dance last night?”      “He didn’t. I think he’s lettin’ it slide.” Dean shrugs. “He’s not someone to discuss this kinda stuff anyway, so I’m guessin’ no word about it is good.”      Y/N is willing to accept his reasoning. “Well, alright. If you’re sure it won’t get you into trouble.”      “I doubt it, and even if he’d give me a hard time, it’s worth the lecture.” Dean chuckles, glancing down at his boots. “Fergus made another business proposition, too.”      The cowgirl gets up and lifts the heavy saddle from its stand, carrying it to the tack box and storing it away. “What’s that?”      “He wants me to train one of his horses,” he tells her.      Her eyes grow wide as she shuts the door. “A stallion? Dean, that’s huge!”      The wrangler chuckles at her enthusiasm. “It’s just the one.” 

     “Do you realize that this could be the start of something very rewarding? He owns stables full of licensed stallions. It might be a great stepping stone. I mean, look at Jovi and Ringo; they were sold from under you before you could really shine with them,” Y/N brings to mind. “Riding a talented horse for an owner who has no desire to sell because of the money already coming in with stud fees, is really good for you. This could become your big break.”

     Dean hasn’t even looked at it that way, but he guesses it’s why his girlfriend is so good in her field. She always thinks five steps ahead, seeing opportunities where another person would just see a lot of work.      He remains realistic, though, not wanting to celebrate too quickly. “Well, apparently Cain is a handful, so we’ll see how it goes.”      “Wait… Cain?” She was already staring at him in astonishment, but now her jaw almost drops to the floor. “As in the Quarter sired by Dual Ray. The one that went for 1.2 million at the Derby auction?! Shut up!”

     “Someone watched the news.” Dean grins, the sight of her girlfriend so perplexed being quite amusing. “But, yeah. He’s arriving at the ranch next week. Depending on how bad his behavioral problems are, he’s staying or leaving. I have a feeling MacLeod isn’t telling the whole story.”      “Well, even if Cain’s issues are worse than Fergus let on--” She steps closer, slipping her arms around his neck. “- if anyone can fix him, it’s you.”

     The confidence she has in him astonishes the cowboy. He doesn’t deserve it, her never ending support, her faith. Even now, all he’s doing is bullshitting his way through this exchange. He hopes to God Y/N doesn’t pick up on his insecurities, because maybe if she doesn’t, they can stay in this bubble for a little while longer. 

     Another kiss is pressed on his lips and for just that moment, Dean forgets about the demons that so often torment his mind. Unable to resist her even if he tries, the cowboy reels her in. He can sense his Yankee smile against his mouth and he can’t help to copy her expression. When he can feel her weaken in his hold, however, it is quickly replaced with a look of concern.      “You okay?” he asks apprehensively, his grip on her firmer to make sure she doesn’t go down, but thankfully she steadies.      “Yeah, just a little lightheaded.” Y/N takes a breath. “I’m fine.”      “Did you eat today?” Dean requires, both stern and worried.      “No,” she admits. “I can’t eat before a competition. Nerves and all.”      “Are you kiddin’ me? You’re not up until 8 PM!” he returns, not having any of it. “Yankee, You gotta eat. I’ll buy you somethin’.”      “I wouldn’t be able to take even one bite, Dean. Don’t bother. I’ll have an energy drink before I get on Meadow.”      “Oh, hell no. You can’t do your run while low on fuel,” her boyfriend decides, carefully letting her go when he’s sure she has found her balance again. “How about yoghurt? Or some fruit? Did that really just come out of my mouth?”      Y/N snorts when she notices the double take at his own suggestions, his nose wrinkling in revulsion, as if he just said something vile and doesn’t even know himself anymore.      “Would a smoothie work? I saw a stand by the arena,” Dean offers.      She shrugs, appreciating his efforts and not wanting to deny him. “I could try.”      “Alright.” He leaves a quick kiss on her mouth and picks up his hat, before he intends to leave the tack room. In the doorway he turns around, his body language showing confusion, yet his eyes sparkle.      “I never in my life thought I was gonna say this, but I’m gonna buy a smoothie,” he announces, before shooting her a wink and disappearing.      Y/N laughs now, shaking her head at his comical ways. Bless him, at least he’s trying.

     7.00 PM. Y/N is back in the tack room where she spent most of her morning cleaning her gear. When there was absolutely nothing left to polish, every bit of brass on her saddle and bridle shining so bright it could quite possibly blind the judges once in the arena, she tried to distract herself another way. She did manage to consume the smoothie her boyfriend brought her, though, much to his delight. It helped, because the dizziness has passed, but a stress headache remains. She sat down for lunch with Benny, Jo and Dean, although she didn’t eat anything. Conversation moved past her like the Arizona autumn breeze that’s blowing across the show grounds. 

     Afterwards, she assisted Dean with his last ride of the day, this time in the ‘working cow horse’ class, which is a fun combination between reining and managing cattle. After feeding the horses and providing them with water, the crew went to the arena to watch some runs. It only triggered restlessness in her heart that seemed impossible to calm, and it didn’t take long before she returned to the stable. She spent some time with Meadow, her dance partner tonight, simply sitting in the corner of her box, watching the beautiful animal chew on her hay, completely at ease with her owner’s presence. 

     Now, it’s time to prepare herself. Meadow is already tacked up, waiting in her stall until Y/N is ready, one hind hoof resting on its toe, preserving energy. It’s like the animal knows, since she normally is quite impatient, but right before a competition, she prefers to nap on her feet.      It’s a huge contrast to her human, who has trouble controlling her anxiety. The smoothie she had earlier is bubbling inside Y/N, her stomach unsettled. Trying to calm herself by making sure that everything is perfect, she goes through the familiar checklist in her head while the soundtrack of her freestyle plays on her phone. 

     Dean helped her work out the new routine, thankfully. After setting the bar way too high in her first draft, almost making herself cry when she realized just how impossible it was, he suggested more simple lines, but combinations of the patterns. This is supposed to kick up the degree of difficulty without the floorplan being a tangled mess, and highlights Meadow’s strengths. What she had to figure out next, was what kind of music she wanted to ride to.

     Her boyfriend contacted Ash, who was more than willing to edit the tunes for the intern. When she offered Dean the idea, she knew it was a hit when she saw his eyes twinkle. They took the request to the former ranch hand, who went to work and knocked it out of the park. Honestly, a part of Y/N cannot wait to ride her new freestyle, but she’s also downright petrified. What if she screws up? What if she forgets her routine? What if she doesn’t nail it, with Congress only two weeks away? What if she fails?

     Everything is ready, all she needs to do is change into her show outfit. Y/N strips down, switching her blue jeans and plaid shirt for black. The back of her button up is decorated with golden studs in the shape of a guitar, and so are the cuffs and shoulders. During a freestyle the rider is allowed to ‘dress up’ and add elements in the arena, make a show of it. Although she’s not a fan of the whole circus act, and much rather prefers to let her performance do the talking and convincing, she wasn’t resenting the idea Ash offered when they listened to the soundtrack. Ellen helped her sow on the miniature pyramid-shaped beads, and the end result is better than Y/N could have hoped for.

     The focused competitor slips into her onyx chaps which she just took out, and laces the leather strap through the belt loop of her jeans. She then continues to unpack her cowboy boots, which are the same color as Meadow’s fiery brown tack, shining just as bright. Her brass spurs follow, the rowel jingling when she turns to take a round box from the top, unzipping the lid. The beautiful Milano hat inside has her smile down on the crafted head piece; it was a Christmas gift from her parents. One she received right before her first show with the Quarter mare, the horse who gives her so much more than she could ever hope for.      She picks it up by the crown and places it on her smooth hair which Jo braided earlier, the action raising a sense of pride in her chest. The hat makes the outfit, but it comes along with so much more. It gives back some of the confidence her insecurities took away. She’s a cowgirl, in heart and soul.

     Last but not least, she takes an object from the same container that safeguarded the Milano. Reminiscing, Y/N draws her thumb over the gold plated metal, feeling the edges of the letters and symbols under her fingertip; it’s her State Championship belt buckle. She closes her eyes, the memories of that epic run flooding her thoughts welcomingly. The stadium spotlights, the roaring crowd, her name in bright letters on the scoreboard. And then that indescribable feeling of horse and rider becoming one, the thrill of coming down that centerline and just knowing that this was going to be their moment, the ride of their lives. She will be in seventh heaven if she manages to get even remotely close to the pinnacle they reached that day.

     Footsteps draw her back to reality, the dry ground crunching under heavy boots in the alleyway between the stables. Y/N doesn’t question who it is, Dean promised to help her with the warmup, and since she has stated in her very detailed schedule that she is going to get on her horse ten minutes from now, she is expecting his arrival. Turning around, she meets his astonished gaze in the doorway, his jaw slightly ajar.      “Do you think I’d be showing off if I wear this?” she wonders, offering him a look at the coveted buckle.

     But Dean only has eyes for a different prize. He needs a moment to recover from the sight of his girlfriend. She’s drop dead gorgeous after a morning muck out, with hay in her messy locks and dust sticking to her damp skin. But now, dressed in her black show outfit, her hair braided and her make-up bringing out the color of her eyes even more, he can’t help but stammer.      He chuckles warmly, a blush on his cheeks. “You look - you look amazing.”

     His reaction draws a smile on her lips, but she’s too anxious to really appreciate the compliment. There is a time schedule to be considered after all.      “My State Champion buckle, or a simple one?” she asks him again, not daring to make the call herself.      Dean takes the shiny object, tilting it to admire the award. ‘AQHA State Champion - Maine, 2008’ it says, the inscription curved around a horse’s head, edged in silver and gold.      “Wear it,” he decides. “You won that championship fair and square.”      “Yeah, I know, it’s just that--” She pauses, fiddling to close the buttons on her cuffs. “I don’t wanna fail to meet everyone's expectations.”      The cowboy looks up at her from under his lashes, his green eyes reading her for a second. “Everyone’s expectations? Or your own?”

     Dean has a solid point, but evaluating thought processes is not something she needs right now. She sighs and tries to bury her frustrations, very much aware that she snaps easily when she’s on edge like she is now. It wouldn’t be the first time that she loses her cool with someone who is actually there to support her, it usually being either her parents or her brothers. She doesn’t want her boyfriend to endure the same unreasonable behavior, and so she shrugs at that.      “I don’t know, really. I mean, yes, I expect a lot from myself, but the thought that people on the sideline, like Bobby, Jody, Donna… you, will judge my every move,” she pauses, letting an anxious sigh fall from her lips. “It honestly makes me feel sick.”

     “You shouldn’t let it get to you like that,” Dean suggests, handing her back the buckle.      “Yeah, well, that’s easier said than done,” she returns, the edge of her voice much sharper than she meant to come out. While pulling her belt through the loops, she briefly looks up, noticing his head cocked back slightly while his brows meet his hairline, which triggers her to mutter an apology. “Sorry.”

     He can see the embarrassment in her stance as she turns her gaze to the floor. The slight offense he took desolates, making room for sympathy. He can tell she’s struggling to cope with the nerves and the pressure she is under, pressure she shouldn’t even be experiencing. This competition is a practice run, an environment to test her new freestyle and get back into the rhythm of the shows after a long break. However, he understands that downgrading this event will not do her any good. What he needs to convince her of, is to believe in herself, like he believes in her.

     “Yankee, you’re never gonna fail my expectations. The way I see you doesn’t stand or fall with this performance, or any.” He takes her hands in his, squeezing them softly in order to prevent her from getting lost in that dark forest of negative thoughts. “I get that you want to prove yourself, but it ain’t necessary. The girls already love you, and the fact that Bobby didn’t rip me a new one for kissing you last night proves a point too. All that won’t change after today’s run.”

     Carefully, Y/N glances up, met by the sight of empathy swimming in mystic green eyes.      “I’m here to back you up, okay? I’ll help you with the warm up, and Jo will be there to assist. It’s gonna be fine. Your horse is awesome, your freestyle is awesome, you are awesome,” he reassures, a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Now get your fine butt on that horse.”      She takes a slow breath, the smile that his words surface saying just how much that means to her. “Alright. Let’s do this.”

     With Meadow’s bridle in hand, she exits the tack room, feeling somewhat lighter than she did ten minutes ago. Dean’s kind words and endless support doesn’t take away the anxiety entirely, but it has enough of an effect to have her believe that maybe, just maybe, she is going to survive this evening. At least he is by her side, not just as her man, but as her trainer as well, and with the way he has been with her so far, she can already tell how different he is from her former instructor. No list of exercises she needs to go through during the warm up, no ‘do this’ or ‘don’t do that’ while she’s preparing to get on her horse. It’s a huge contrast, but one for the better. Maybe Dean is right, maybe it is going to be fine.

     Dean looks up when he notices someone approaching from the corner of his eye, the small framed silhouette with a dancing ponytail unmistakably Jo’s. She has a bucket half full with water in one hand with a sponge floating on the surface, a rag hanging from her back pocket and a groom bag over her shoulder.      “You ready, sis?” she asks, popping her head over the stable door.      “Ready as I’ll ever be,” Y/N sighs, tightening the sinch.      “You’re gonna do great. Especially with your lover whispering in your ear.” She hands them both a headset, one with a small microphone for Dean and one with an earpiece for her best friend. “Keep it clean, no heavy breathing. The poor girl needs to stay focused.”

     The cowboy glares at his cousin, but he bites his tongue, simply because the comment made his girl let out a laugh. Instead he turns on the small device and pushes it in his pocket, secures the mic to the collar of his shirt.      Y/N clips the headset behind her belt as well and pushes the bud into her ear. After holding the bit in front of Meadow’s mouth for her to accept, her owner pulls the crown piece of the bridle over her horse’s ears, securing the straps. Focused on her task at hand, she notices a crucial element missing.      “Crap, Grandpa’s pendant,” she realizes, pushing the reins into Jo’s hand before rushing back into the tack box. 

     A moment later, she returns with a small suede bag in her hand, from which she carefully allows a piece of jewelry to roll into her hand. Curious, Dean watches her pick it up between her delicate fingers, after which she attaches it to Meadow’s bridle. Two beads are laced onto a thin leather cord, and the way she handles the small yet precious object, he can tell it holds much value.      “Is that your good luck charm?” Jo wonders.      “Yeah,” the rider acknowledges, taking back the reins from her friend and leading Meadow out of the stable. “My grandfather gave it to me on my very first show when I was seven.” 

     Y/N has never ridden a test without the jewel, and she can’t picture doing so in the future. The top bead is made from her birthstone, the one dangling underneath represents a guardian angel. While taking her horse outside, she rubs Meadow’s neck, tracing the charm for a second as the setting sun catches the gem. Before she had to say goodbye to the most influential person in her life, she never really pictured anyone when she saw the little figure with wings dangling from Meadow’s browband, but now she likes to think it is him, watching over her.

     A couple of minutes later, Y/N has taken a seat on Meadow’s back, who excitedly walks towards the warm up area with Dean and Jo in tow. Flanked by her trainer on her right side and her groom on the left, a hint of relief hits the cowgirl unexpectedly; she has never been surrounded by a team this solid.  

     The horse and rider enter the side arena, where a dozen others are warming up in what seems to be a whirlwind of sensories. Music reaches Y/N’s hearing, coming from the competition ring and mixing with loud cheers of the spectators. Trainers shout at their pupils from the sideline, the steward calling for the next on the list. In her first loop in a simple walk, someone cuts her off and Meadow pins her ears back, clearly not at ease in the chaos.

     “Can you hear me?” Dean asks through the headset, leaning over the fence of the training field.      The familiar warm yet gruff sound in her ear silences the distractions that have her dizzy in an instance. She looks over her shoulder at the head wrangler, nodding in response.      “Okay, good. Warm her up like you would do so at home. Try to seek a space where it’s not too crowded, you don’t have to use the entire area,” Dean advises, calmly. “Just focus on my voice, alright? Take a deep breath and focus on me.”

     Y/N closes her eyes for a short second and collects herself, doing precisely what he tells her to do. Throughout the warm up he never underlines what she’s doing wrong, but praises her for every right move, building her confidence. For a short period of time it has her wondering if he’s sugarcoating and isn’t giving it to her straight, but minute by minute, she finds it easier to let go of that thought. His encouraging words manage to cast away the fear of screwing up, and before she knows it, she has forgotten about the other riders in the arena, nor does she notice her distracting surroundings. All she hears is his soothing vocals, all she feels is the large animal underneath her, who seems to respond well to their trainer too. Meadow might not be able to hear Dean, but apparently senses the tension oozing from her rider, and becomes more relaxed with every stride.

     It’s five minutes until her starting time, when Y/N halts by the fence, next to Jo and Dean. Her friend and groom for the day takes her cue and approaches her with the bucket, wiping down Meadow’s sweaty skin with the sponge, cleaning the mare up before it’s her time to shine. Y/N takes out her ear buds, since she’s not allowed to compete with them, and hands the headset to Jo, trading it for a water bottle.      “She feels good, doesn’t she?” Dean checks, smiling up at her while he takes the plastic flask from his student.      The woman in the saddle nods. “She does.” 

     “Y/N Y/L/N! Two minutes!”      The rider feels the nerves find their traction again when she glances at the steward who called out her name. She nods in acknowledgement at the man holding a clipboard, and when Jo is done toweling Meadow down, she steers the Quarter towards the entrance of the main arena. The applause that the previous competitor receives grows louder as they approach, meeting the rider on their way over. He seems very pleased with his horse, and the first thing that comes to her mind is that he must have had a good score, a score she needs to beat.  The serene mindset the wrangler got her in, is threatened to be disturbed by the stage fright that grips her by the throat. Suddenly, it hits her; this is it.

     “Hey…” Dean lays his hand on her knee when he detects that he’s losing her again. “Yankee?”      The cowgirl snaps her gaze from the intimidating competition ground to her trainer, who meets her with the most relaxed expression he can muster, despite his worry about her current mental state. He can tell she’s downright scared, not to fall off her horse or anything, but to make a mistake, drop the ball and to have to leave the boxing ring defeated. Right now, the illuminated soil that is about to be her stage isn’t a dance floor to Y/N. No, her eyes tell him a different story, the one of a gladiator in a colosseum, being thrown into the pit for the lions, destined to be defeated, destined to fail.

     “When you go in there, I need you to forget about everything,” he starts off, earning a confused look.      “What do you mean?” she wonders.      “Forget the judges, forget the audience, hell, forget what I’ve told you,” Dean continues, his thumb rubbing her leg soothingly. “The only one you need to listen to, is Meadow. Feel what she tells you and trust your gut when you answer. Let go of all the rest, alright?”

     Y/N nods, wetting her dry lips, shooting another glance at the arena before she looks down on the man who has been able to ground her like only one other person has. Dean seems to know who is on her mind, because he reaches for the pendant attached to her horse’s bridle.      “He’s with you, and I will be waiting right here, no matter what. You got this, Yankee.” 

     The encouraging words close off her throat much like the anxiety did earlier, but this time the sentiment is welcoming. Dean’s pep talk helped her see what is truly important, and that this moment is just a short clip of a larger motion picture. She has Meadow, she has Dean, and she has the memory of her grandfather, along with all the wise life lessons that he taught her. Whatever happens in the coming five minutes, that will not change. She trusts the beacon of support that is the man by her side. But in this very moment, most importantly, she trusts Meadow.

     Y/N breathes in through her nose and exhales slowly, rubbing her horse’s shoulder, more confident than she has felt all week. The gatekeeper opens the fence for the horse and rider, nothing standing between them and the brightly lit competition ring. 

     “The next contestant of the evening is Y/N Y/L/N, all the way from Freeport, Maine. This young lady rides Meadowsweet, a nine year old mare sired by Gunner, and these two have made a name for themselves already. Folks, you are going to be watching the current State Champion and this pair has qualified for the prestigious All American Quarter Horse Congress in three weeks. This will be the premiere of their brand new freestyle, so get ready for a rock ‘n roll ride, y’all.”

     Y/N peers into the grand arena, tilting her hat forward just enough to keep the spotlights from blinding her. She can feel Dean’s fingers slip from her knee, setting her free now that she has taken control. Focused and determined, the cowgirl makes eye contact with the sound technician, raising her hand. Showtime.

     The first tones of Led Zeppelin’s Stairway To Heaven begins to play, and Y/N enters the arena slowly. The timid music silences the crowd, suspense hanging thick in the air. Meadow moves down the centerline and halts, her head low and submissive, waiting for her cue. The intro finishes, the acoustic notes dying down and leaving a second long silence. Knowing the music by heart, the woman in the saddle squeezes her fist holding the reins slightly, preparing Meadow for what is about to come. Then, right as Immigrant Song rings in her ears, she sends her Quarterhorse into a spin.

With high speed and great technique, the mare revolves on the spot like a helicopter rotor, and after going full circle four times stops dead in her tracks, before doing the exact same movement, only this time turning right. The crowd goes absolutely ballistic, and it’s then that Y/N feels a wide smile spreading on her face; she’s gonna nail this run.

     One small aid is enough to push Meadow forward, the horse shooting down the centerline like an arrow leaving its bow. With only a few yards between the cowgirl and the judges, she sits back in the saddle, signalling Meadow to dig her hind legs into the ground and progress into an impressive sliding stop. It’s bold, because if the maneuver isn’t spot on, the panel will easily detect the error. The execution is perfect, however, and gathering from the entertained and impressed expressions on the judges’ faces, Y/N’s game plan is working. 

     With attitude, Meadow rolls back and races around the arena on a large circle, her long strides evenly powerful and rhythmic, this time to the soundtrack of Whole Lotta Love. With her left hand forward between the bay horse’s ears, the cowgirl peers down the path that’s to come, and after having gone full circle, she switches to a left canter through a flying change and mirrors the previous pattern. 

     The buzz ignited by both the thrilling ride and the response of the audience only fuels her confidence. When she exits the last full speed circle, she transitions into a lope, a collected gate Meadow masters well. The horse and rider combination crosses the arena through a neat half pass. It’s a sideways movement right in front of the judges, the talented mare showing off her reach and finesse. 

     Not once does Y/N have to correct her dancing partner, every small cue effective. Meadow follows the instructions without question, unable to give a damn about the vibrant ambiance. It’s almost as if the animal can read her owner’s mind, a telepathic connection which can only be established when human and horse have that click and share an unique bond. This is what horse riding is all about, this is the ultimate goal. Two hearts beating as one. 

     The music builds up to its zenith and shifts to the finishing electric guitar solo in Stairway To Heaven, by the same famous rock band that has been the backing track to this epic performance. On the diagonal, Meadow picks up speed again, her strong muscles rippling under her copper colored coat. The thousand pound being reaches a speed of forty-five miles an hour, accelerating until the opposite corner, where she performs another perfect stop followed by a roll back. There is not a speck of hesitation or doubt, nor any sign of fatigue, despite a sequential series of maneuvers. 

     After a third stop, she has executed the mandatory patterns, and all that’s left is to go out with a bang. Y/N sends Meadow into one final spin, the tremendous momentum having her dizzy. The sheer power radiating from under her only heightens the high the cowgirl is experiencing, the adrenaline coursing through her veins with the same speed as her horse is turning. After the rapid pirouettes, Meadow breaks off the maneuver on cue in the dead center of the arena, facing the judges. The cheering and whistling crowd almost overrules the dying sound of the guitar strings that are the last notes of the freestyle. Unable to comprehend what just happened, Y/N drops the reins, spreads her arms and folds them around her horse’s neck. Overcome with emotion she hugs her four-legged friend, without words thanking her for the ride of her life.

      Only then the cowgirl realizes the roar coming from the spectators, many of them having risen to their feet. As the commentator praises her performance, she circles Meadow back toward the exit of the ring, waving at the enthusiastic kids on the first row. In that four minute run, Y/N and Meadow have stolen the hearts of everyone who is here to witness the definition of horsemanship. She can’t stop herself from smiling so widely that her cheeks hurt while her horse walks along the bleachers, the mare looking at the applauding audience, seeming to understand that it’s for her. 

     As they approach the gate, the rider hears one girl squeal above all others. Y/N hasn’t even looked in the direction of where the sound came from, but she already knows it’s Jo. Dancing on her feet in absolute delight, she meets her by the fence and high fives her best friend.      “God damn, Sis! You rocked out there!” she exclaims, patting Meadow on her neck as well.

     Y/N laughs full heartedly at her giddy friend, the ecstasy of her perfect run still in full effect. But when her gaze meets Dean’s, that happiness becomes overwhelming. The handsome cowboy is waiting for her, just like he promised. Gleaming eyes match his sly smirk, but there’s more to the expression, sentiment swimming in his emerald greens. The sight of him breaks something inside of her, and she’s unable to keep the tears at bay.

     It’s then that Meadow halts, and just outside of the main arena, Dean steps towards his girl and pulls her into a hug. With her left hand still holding the reins, Y/N embraces the man who she owes so much gratitude. After all, if it wasn’t for him, the freestyle wouldn’t have turned out remotely as good, not to mention that the stress would have done her in. Today he was more than just a trainer or her boyfriend. He was the anchor that kept her grounded, the rock that wouldn’t budge when the waves crashed against her, and the sign that she needed to get out of the maze of self-doubt.      She can feel Dean nuzzle his nose into her hair. “I’m so damn proud of you,” he whispers, words only meant for her to hear.      Moved by his words, she hugs him a little tighter before she lets him go and wipes away her happy tears. A smile that reaches his ears is still there when she pulls herself together again.      “She - she was absolutely amazing,” Y/N stammers, combing her fingers through Meadow’s mane. “The feeling she gave me… I can’t explain it. It was like we were flying.”      “That’s because you were, Amelia Earhart,” Jo quips, clearly over the moon for her friend. “Want me to cool Meadow down so you can wait here for your score?”

     Y/N nods, feeling her horse’s flanks expand rather rapidly every time the large animal inhales; she really gave it her everything. Once the cowgirl has both feet planted on solid ground, she scratches the mare’s favorite spot behind her ear, facing the beautiful Quarter. Meadow presses her large head against her owner’s chest, more to get rid of an itch than to return the love, making her human giggle. Then the rider hands over the reins to Jo, who takes the bay horse away from the commotion. 

     Still stunned, Y/N takes another breath, glancing back into the arena. “Did they call the points yet?”      Dean comes to stand next to her, gazing at the board in the corner, above the bleachers. “No, I didn’t hear anything.”      With her hands placed on her waist, she breathes in, trying to ignore her stomach, which begins to do backflips again. This time, there is not much she can do to influence the outcome, however. Meadow did the best she could and she didn’t make a single mistake; Y/N couldn’t have wished for more. But the new freestyle hasn’t been graded yet, so how the judges will reward the music and the degree of difficulty is still a mystery. The rider tries to tell herself that no matter what number will appear on the screen, she’s satisfied with today’s performance. But as seconds tick by, the suspense builds and eats at her composure.

     She can feel Dean’s hand on the small of her back, fingertips tracing soft, calming circles. The motion helps her to pull her gaze away from the digital board, and she glances at the man by her side. Focusing on him has worked so far, so as the tension rises, she tries that tactic again. The world around her stops, her own breathing the only sound she hears, Dean’s touch the only sensation she feels. For a moment, time slows down. But when her trainer’s eyes widen and his jaw falls slack in disbelief, she’s almost too afraid to look at the definite white numbers that can make or break her evening.

     It’s only when the crowd erupts that she dares to face the verdict, and what she witnesses, triggers her to clasp her hand over her mouth. Completely stunned, her eyes stay locked on the score, convinced that if she blinks, the numbers will change. She barely registers her boyfriend letting out a cheer, pumping his fists into the air and bouncing on his feet like a little kid. Her view is obstructed when strong arms wrap around her middle and lift her off the ground, but when her gaze locks on the display again, it still tells the same story of victory.

     220.5 points.

     Unknowingly, she holds her breath, her heart still beating against her chest so wildly, that her cowboy must be able to feel it too. It’s not just a personal best; it tops her old record by three whole points. She broke through the two-twenties, something she only ever dreamed of accomplishing, yet here she is. Shutting her eyes, her thoughts go out to her grandfather, realizing that she has done her guardian angel proud once more.

     Dean must have sensed that she got lost in her own head, because he brings her back down from the heavens to their world with a gentle touch upon her cheek. He wipes a stray tear away with the pad of his thumb and takes off her hat, looking at her with so much adoration. His hand slips to the nape of her neck, his forehead bowing to gently rest against hers. Radiant light touches everything in reach, leaving what’s behind them in darkness, together with all the worries and fears. The audience doesn’t seem to be applauding the high score anymore, the wolf whistles and bellows of encouragement instead directed at the couple in the spotlight. Dean didn’t need any more motivation, his lips encasing hers in a soft kiss. 

     Closing her eyes, she cherishes the moment and smiles against his mouth when Dean uses her cowboy hat to shield them away from all the extra attention. It is in this instance the equestrian realizes something; out of all the rides that she experienced, either in the saddle or in life, this is the one that will go down in memory.

Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to like or reblog my work, shoot me a message or buy me coffee (Link to Kofi in bio at the top of the page).

Read part twenty-tree here

[unsaintlike]

Psst. Joseph. Hey. Hey. You didn’t think the day would pass by without you gettin’ any presents, did you? Roman Reigns may currently be a bad boy on TV, but behind the scenes Leati Joe’s sure to make the Nice list. Or ‘least you make my Nice list, and that’s true even when you’re being naughty, heh. Lemme stop being silly for a moment so I can give you your gifts... @ljanoai

First up are a couple things I got with the kids in mind. We never have a bad time when they’re over, but thought it could be fun to add in a couple new things. Firstly, there’s this Jenga-like game, ‘cept instead of wooden blocks the pieces are plastic and made to look like sushi. Actually there’re apparently a few different games you can play with this set. Don’t know what those other games are since I couldn’t find anything about it, but the various instructions come with it. Also grabbed this puzzle ‘cause it was cute and I thought the kids would get a kick out of. Though not sure how much into puzzlin’ they are.

We’ve been havin’ a lotta movie nights lately, so what’s one thing that can make those nights even more enjoyable? A fun popcorn set, of course. As you can see, it includes some popcorn oil and kernels for when we wanna pop our own ‘corn, but the biggest draw, I think, is all the various seasonings. Didn’t even know half of those things could be used as popcorn seasoning -- apple pie? Dill pickle? Talk about unexpected. Also, I went and sprung for the ‘family pack’ option, so it also comes with four popcorn buckets. Gonna make that home theater even better.

Since I’ve already gotten started with the food potion of the gifts, may as well give you the other ones that’d fit into that category as well, heh. Didn’t wanna get the usual chocolates, so thought this sampler of various chocolate bars could be a fun little foodie adventure for you.

And lastly, for the food-related stuff anyway, I immediately thought of you when I saw this Game of Thrones BBQ kit. I mean, know GOT ain’t on anymore, but if they’re still comin’ out with stuff I’m guessin’ it’s still a pretty popular series. Hope you’re still into it, and if not, then I know it’ll still get some use thanks to how often we fire up the grill.

Ain’t done just yet, so bear with me for a while longer here, baby. Winter here in Tampa ain’t too bad, but with you on the road now sure you’ll be hittin’ up some frostier places in the comin’ weeks, so these sherpa-lined sweats oughta help keep you nice and toasty while you’re doing them Big Chief things away from home.

Finally, for real this time, heh, this is a bit different ‘cause it involves some of this modern tech of ours, and we talk a lot about how that can be. Still, think this may be pretty alright. Few things can be as heart-breakin’ as pourin’ a nice hot cuppa whatever hot beverage you were in the mood for, then gettin’ sidetracked or distracted for a bit, and by the time you finally bring that mug to your lips, the dang drink’s cooled off. Heart-wrenchin’. Well, this heated mug aims to prevent that from happening. It even comes with a chargin’ coaster to recharge the battery, and you can set it for how hot you’d like it to keep the drink. Hope it’ll help when you’re doing those phoners or are otherwise havin’ longer phone or Zoom conversations.

Know that’s, um, a lot to get through and do hope it ain’t too much, but I wanted to spoil you a bit and give you something to show you how much I love you. Not that you need material things for that, but you deserve nice things for all that you do. Not only for me, but for your kids, the rest your family, friends, co-workers... You’re an amazin’ man and a wonderful person, and I count my blessings each and every day that I’m fortunate enough to spend this life with you.

Merry Christmas, Leati! I love you.

[starsheild]

The Other World pt8/ AUAugust 7th-Family

Two birds with one stone...

“I ne’er woulda guessed.” Punch said, rolling the talisman round in his servos as he looked at his own creation and the newlings cradled against Jazz’s chest. “It’s rare the Crystal Fae venture outta Praxus.”

“I thought they was just stories.”Jazz admitted. “Just like the tales ‘o merformers we got.”

Punch vented. “Ther real. Both ‘o ‘em. They jus’ don’ like bein’ known. Safer ta be a story. Fewer mecha hunt fer stories ‘n legends.”

“But ya know ‘bout ‘em.”

“Had some dealin’s with mermecha when I was younger.” Punch admitted, offering the talisman back to Jazz as one of the newlings started to whine. “Let’s get’m their fuel ‘n we’ll talk.”

“Ain’ much known ‘bought the Crystal Folk, but the tales say they ani’t real fond o’ outsiders. ‘M guessin’ yer Prowl prolly broke a lotta rules carryin’ on wit ya, and even more havin’ these two.” Punch said as he cradled one of the newlings, holding the fueling cube at the perfect angle for the little one. “That mech that brought’m to ya must care a lot about ‘m, to get’m out and warn ya off.”

“Said Prowl was ‘s brother.” Ricochet said as he joined them. “Said if Jazz loved’m he’d stay away.”

“A warnin’.” Punch said seriously, looking squarely at Jazz. “N’ one ya should listen ta. If the tales are true, ya go sniffin’ ‘round an’ the Crystal Folk’ll off ya without a thought.”

“Them too?” Jazz asked softly, looking at the bitty in his arms and the one his Ori held. His bitties. It explained so much… the odd feelings in his spark that he hadn’t been able to explain, the extra warmth of Prowls frame those last meetings. If only he had known, if only Prowl had told him, he didn’t know what he would have done, but he would have come up with something!

“Them too. Gettin’ ‘m to ya is prolly the only chance they had.” Punch agreed. “I’d bet his brother took a risk doin’ what ‘e did.”

Jazz cradled the newling closer. “Ya think Prowl’s ok?”

Punch shook his helm. “That I can’t guess. I’d guess ‘e functions, if nothin’ else, from what ‘is bother said. Beyond that…”

Jazz took his other newling back, cradling them both close as they settled into a contented charge. His spark ached for his love, longed for Prowl. As he looked at them he had to acknowledge that this was the closest that he might ever be to him again. For Prowl, for them, he would give them the best life he could.

[clownstolemyjokesarchived]

Hey Fizz so if I pick you up and shake you does that make you explode like a soda $ @blitzisms​

HE blinks a couple of times, finger raising before it drops back to his side, “Guessin’ it depends on a few factors. One, did I drink a lotta shit before hand and two, explode in what kinda way since there’s like explodin’ like literally and then there’s explodin’ like figuratively.”

[slicingwithanger]

@bezerkcr continued

A raised brow following Piconjo’s response, Cass seemed faintly pleased. Leaning back on the wall next to the bloody corpse, the redhead aimlessly toyed with it’s weapon, twirling it on her finger. At least she isn’t the only one with a colourful criminal history.

“ Mm. Reckon my count’s bout..an easy 55? Killed a lotta bitches as a lil’ kid. It piled up n’ I just kept it goin’. ”

A calm shrug followed her words, golden eyes landing on the other once more. More specifically, the menacingly large weapon the dead man wielded.

“ You default to that sword of yours, I’m guessin’? Looks like it’d cleave a bitch clean in half. ”

Huh.. 55? Impressive, 5 more than his body count– he'd have to change that soon. Piconjo was a competitive fucker, and he'll make it his mission to find 10 or more bitches to kill. Then he'd have a body count of 60.

Piconjo nodded. "Lol, fuck yeah! I carry this baby around with me everywhere I go, can't leave anywhere without'er! She's good at slicin' shit off, especially bitches! Even if I didn't have her, I could easily snap a whore's neck if I wanted."

"Bet'cha I can knock that tree down with just a wittle punch, ey?" He pointed at a rather big tree– without waiting for an answer, Piconjo walked over to the tree, grinned and proceeded to just.. punch it. Well, what do ya know, it knocked down.. somehow. Guess Piconjo just wanted to demonstrate his strength.

[junkratsloverat]

Monopoly, Uno, D&D, Hungry Hungry Hippos, & Chess any of your f/os ~ wingheroxsunshine

monopoly: are there any games that you or your f/o get really competitive over?

Yancy’s competitive in almost every game he plays, once he learns the rules. he likes winning, but hates it if he thinks somebody let him win or took it easy on him (╬ Ò ^ Ó)

uno: do you play with a large group of friends/family or do you prefer one-on-one games?

“Eh.. depends, I think. If it’s the whole family playin’, Hannah’ll come with me …most of the time. She likes it better if it’s just us, I think. Not really a people person. Sometimes we get a couple games with just Tiny an’ Sparkles; I think she likes those.”

hungry hungry hippos: what kind of snacks do you have on hand when you have a game night?

if it’s a warden-approved game night, we can sneak as much popcorn or chips out of the kitchen as we please (ﾉ´ヮ´)ﾉ

“And for nights that ain’t, I got a lotta candy stashed around! Nobody knows where they are, though. Godda keep ‘em safe from them rats... and folks with sticky fingers.”

chess: do you like to play games where you can team up with each other, or do you like to play games where your against each other?

“Hannah’s kinda soft on people when she plays games ― d-don’t youse tell her I said that, though!” probably bc it’s a small fib he tells himself sometimes :p “So.. we team up together! Easier to make sure nobody walks all over her that way, y’know?

Pictionary’s our favorite! She does the drawins, I do the guessin’, and we win almost every time!

Thanks for these, by the way @wingheroxsunshine​! Let me getcha somethin’ outta my candy stash before ya go. Youse take care now, alright?” ( ^ω^)ﾉﾟ

[ game night asks ]

[the-purple-hero]

|| Continued from here || @kaazdunrah

{🔥}—; Spyro smiled up at the Khajiit, it sounded like they had been through a lot to have to deal with three who they say are potential world-enders. It made the young dragon think of his own accomplishments, while not as dire as they weren’t seeking to end the world. “Don’t think I’ve heard of those three before, but sure sounds like that’s a lotta stuff to be dealin’ with!”

He leaned forward and arched his back, stretching to get the kinks out of his back and also to show he didn’t feel threatened by S’hawn especially after the friendly greeting. “Thanks for the warm welcome! I’m guessin’ I’m not the first dragon you’ve seen huh? I’m actually not from around here, I’m just exploring.”

[snekatiegf]

The McGucket Residence

Ford, Fiddleford, and Tate interactions with a little Fiddauthor

Summary: The Pines family is back for the Summer, but with the Mystery Shack being occupied, they need a new place to stay, so Ford makes a visit to McGucket.

Pairings: A little bit of Fiddauthor- as a treat

Warnings: A confrontation of sorts

Characters: Ford, Tate, Fiddleford

Ford rang the doorbell, and could hear the faint jingle from inside the house, as well as the whirring of mechanical workings from whatever modifications Fiddleford had added to the bell. Ford visited this place once before but he still feels quite inadequate next to the doors of the mansion. The house was huge. He had no idea how the Northwests could have been at all happy here. Now Fiddleford owns the place and Ford hears it's a much warmer, happier spot. He rents out rooms for cheap and he has many people coming and going at nearly all times of the day- humans and creatures alike.

It was Tate who opened the doors and he was already talking, as if he was tired of repeating this same thing for visitors. "No need to ring, you can come in anytime-" he faltered when he realised who was standing in front of him. "Oh, you're back. I'm guessin' you're here for my dad? Also, for future reference, Dr. Pines, you can just come right in."

"Right, of course," Ford replied. Tate stepped back and Ford walked into the house. Tate closed the door behind him and began to lead him to the main room. "Also, you know you can call me Ford, Tate."

"I know, it's just…"

"It's been a long time, I know."

Tate said nothing, and instead stopped by the entrance of a large room.

"You can wait here for dad," he said, motioning inside. The room held several couches and chairs, and a coffee table, a large tv screen, and several beanbags. There was a fireplace built into one wall but was currently unlit, and on the mantle were a whole lot of photo frames.

Around the room lounged a variety of the manor's other residents. A couple of gnomes lounged on the beanbags, watching some movie on the tv. A lone manotaur was dozing on a chair, and abandoned magazine on his lap. A couple of fairies flitted up by the ceiling, casting colorful light on everyone below. Wax Larry King's head sat on the coffee table with a bowl of M&M's beside him. The Multibear lay curled up and half asleep in the corner of the room. Ford was quite impressed with the lineup of creatures in here.

"Jeff, do you think you can get my dad?" The gnome frowned but nodded, standing up and jogging out of the room. Ford called a quick thank you to the small man before turning to examine the photographs above the fireplace.

In each one was Fiddleford with at least one other person, Tate mostly, but there were a couple of him with a variety of mythical creatures, a group photo of the twins' thirteenth birthday, and two that Ford noticed was with him.

One was from last year before he and Stan had left for the arctic, taken at the birthday party. Ford had been talking to Dan Corduroy- he hadn't seen the man in years and although he knew that he didn't remember him (Fiddleford and his Blind Eye had seen to that), it was still nice to catch up on what the lumberjack had been doing for the past thirty or so years. Fiddleford had unexpectedly leapt onto him and Ford had barely managed to catch him, but they had both gone tumbling to the ground. Mabel had managed to capture the moment. In the photo, Ford, looking shocked, was on the ground with both arms wrapped around Fiddleford, who had a huge grin on his face.

Ford had to smile once he saw the photo, but the next one just made him feel a bit sad. It was an old Polaroid from college. Fiddleford had taken it- it was a picture of him with his arm slung over Ford's shoulder. Ford had a book in front of him and a frustrated look, proving that this photo had been taken against his will. He wasn't sure when exactly this was taken, but it was amazing that Fiddleford had it still, especially after everything that had happened to him.

"Stan gave him that one, right before you two left," Tate explained from behind him. "He said he found it and a couple others when he was clearing out the Shack."

Ford nodded. He knew what Tate was talking about- he had been there helping when Stan had recovered a box of old photographs from the lab. He had given the box to Ford, but Ford wasn't aware that he had passed some to Fiddleford as well. He grabbed the frame and held it closer, examine it with a small smile. How long ago this had been. He turned when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"He's gotten much better, you know," Tate told him. Ford tilted his head quizzically. "I mean, I know you've been callin' and sendin' your letters back and forth, and you saw him at New Years, but I thought you might want to hear from another source."

"Thank you, Tate," Ford said, smiling at the young man. Tate nodded but his face shifted into something much more serious.

"You're lucky he forgave you so easily. If it were me, I doubt I would have done the same," he said. "Now, I'm willin' to give you another chance, especially after all you've done to save the town, and I can tell you really do feel bad about what happened. But you better watch your back if anything goes wrong while you're here. You and your family are good at meddlin'- I've seen your folks get into a whole lotta dangerous situations in this town."

"Of course, Tate," Ford said. "I care about Fiddleford deeply. I don't know what I'd do with myself if I ever ended up hurting him again. He deserves the best in the world."

Tate gave him a small smile, lifting his hat slightly in a rare show of his eyes. "You better be the best in the world then, because he cares a lot about you, too." He pushed his hat back down and stepped back. "Seriously, though, keep an eye on those kids of yours. They're good at gettin' into trouble. They had a run-in with that island beast last summer, even though I warned them not to go."

Ford sighed, picking at the friendship bracelet on his wrist, a gift from Mabel. "That is true. Unfortunately, I can't always be there for them. But they lasted most of the summer on their own before I returned. I trust they can take care of themselves." He turned back towards the photos, eyes landing on the group photo at last year's party. Ford and Stan stood in the back with their arms around each others shoulders. "Plus, they've got Stan too. He's been keeping them closer, when he can. He's worried he might lose them again."

"I can tell you missed him," Tate said. "I only saw you once and twice before you two left, but I can tell you're much more content. And I've read some of your letters to dad- you guys seem to be having the time of your lives."

"Yeah, well, nothing is perfect," Ford replied. "There's still the nightmares, and Stan's memory lapses occasionally. A lot less often than before, though. And I keep hearing Bill's laughter in my head at times, but I can tune it out. Most of the time, at least. But it's so great to have Stan back, no matter what. Although, there is one thing that concerns me…"

"What is that?"

Ford glanced at the other occupants of the room. None of them seemed to be paying much attention to the pair, but he lowered his voice anyways. "A lot of the mystical beasts we've encountered seem almost… afraid of Stan, and they don't react the same way to me. It's as if they can sense something inside of him. And I don't like to think about what it might be."

"I'm sure it's fine, Dr. Pines. Besides, you've got some strong and smart people on your side. If anything happens to your brother, I don't doubt you'll be able to help him."

"Thank you, Tate."

Tate nodded. He sat on one of the empty couches and Ford moved to follow him, but then Jeff reentered with Fiddleford and he was back on his feet immediately. Ignoring the amused sound from Tate, he was by Fiddleford's side in the span of about half a second, wrapping his arms around the other man in a hug.

"Well if it ain't Stanford Pines," Fiddleford said. He pulled back and gave Ford a big grin that covered his whole face, and Ford was almost thrown off by how much the old man had changed since last year.

He bad definitely been a little different when Ford had seen him last in December. Then, he had had his beard trimmed and was wearing nicer clothes, and his face had filled out more. Now, nearly half a year later, he looked even better than before. He stood up straighter, he had gained weight, he seemed to be almost shining.

"It's been a while, hasn't it?" Ford asked.

"Well, shucks, after thirty years, six months is nothin'. How's your adventurin' been?"

"As well as chasing after dangerous monsters can go. It's good to finally be with Stan again."

"That's good to hear!" Fiddleford replied. He turned to his son. "All good Tater? I'll take it from here."

Tate nodded and stood up. He gave his dad a quick pat on the arm as he left the room.

"Now, tell me why you're visitin' my shed today," Fiddleford said. "And have you got the others with you?"

"It's just me today, the others are lodged up at the Shack. That's why I'm here, actually," Ford said. "Soos and Melody are more than happy to let us stay there for the summer, but there's not nearly enough room for all of us. I was wondering if we can spend the summer here."

"Of course! You don't even hafta ask! I'm sure I've got four open rooms."

"Well, Dipper and Mabel will want to share, so make that three."

"Even better! Bring your folks right now and I can get 'em settled in."

"Thank you, Fiddleford."

[damagedsmile]

Drabble #20

“No protection. Out on my own with my old so-called FRIENDS scattered to the winds, not yet considered a true con, just some pup playin’ games and lookin’ for easy money. Facin’ time for some messy assault, looking at court-ordered anger therapy and payin’ fines when I’m released, tryin’ t’act like I been here before bu’ this is my first assault so in reality I’m shittin’ myself. By some twisted sense of humor I’ve been put on the violent wing even though my boots have long since cooled.

Guys bigger than me with more tattoos, more piercin’s, more experience and very few of them white lookin’ down at me all the time, their eyes givin’ nothin’ away, bu’ SOMETIMES I’m lucky in that they yell at me how they’re gunna fuck me up so I know where I stand. Some start hasslin’ me, draggin’ me in t’fights that go down on paper an’ get me warned, an’ some offer me drugs, cigarettes, anythin’ they can get in here, but such offers seem TOO GOOD t’be true so I stick with my own company.

Thought I was goin’ good; I had fought ‘em all off an’ survived with some bruises, some blood, an’ some torn muscles, an’ I hadn’t been killed yet, an’ in doin’ so I’d gained a couple friends with similar stories.They had my back an’ put in a word for me so t’lessen the friction my presence brought for many of the other more hard-core cons. I began feelin’ good about myself, feelin’ more confident, workin’ out, gettin’ my strength up, received some tatts and some respect on account of provin’ myself after I took the fall for some cigarette contraband that’d been smuggled in.

Then it went to shit.  In ways I didn’t see coming but that I SHOULD’VE seen, I was too stupid and too young. I don’t know why, whether it was for power, some sort of insult towards me, a message t’a friend, hate, or even lust. I’ll never know. I don’t care t’know. All I know is that day fucked me up a little more in several ways I’ll be livin’ for the rest of my life, the scars runnin’ deeper than skin-deep, runnin’ right in to my messed-up brain and tellin’ me in future if ever I want safety, REAL protection, just fuck around an’ get locked in t’SOLITARY.

I turn my back for a split second, I let my guard down ‘cause maybe I feel big an’ tough or somethin’ dumb an’ juvenile, an’ I feel a large presence slip behind me, I hear a grunted order, then comes the shank. Can’t breathe, can’t stand, can barely see for the shower sprayin’ in to my boggled eyes! Bodies swarmin’, yellin’, hands. Blood. The cold tiles, so cold and hard, rippin’ up in t’my skin with grout, the guards turnin’ their back smugly to shout for everyone to clear out.

The shock made it less painful I guess ‘cause I didn’t cry or even scream, jus’ lay there trapped and shakin’ like a fuckin’ COWARDLY PIECE OF SHIT bu’ in my mind I screamed long an’ hard, in my mind I knew what was happenin’ so I WAS in pain. Stingin’, stabbin’, guts churnin’, muscles rippin’, blood fallin’. At one point I can move an’ I can make my mouth work again and so they hold me down, muffle me. Can’t breathe.

I hear my mother from some long distant memory comfortin’ me.  ‘It’s okay, baby boy, its okay… yer gunna be okay, I promise, it’s jus’ a bitty scratch.’

It ends at last after I don’t know how long an’ I want to curl up an’ disappear bu’ I can’t move, too weak, too tired, too much pain t’even cry out. I’m taken t’the infirmary an’ while they’re checking my wound, pressure, pain, stingin’, I tell them what happened in three simple but chokin’ words that make me vomit. They don’t react, maybe not hearin’, and when I next wake up I’m drained and in pain all over. 

‘Yer lucky, they just missed yer kidney, ya’ll be up before ya know it.’

I repeat my three terrible words with a shudder. They’ve washed the blood away from my legs bu’ I’m still in pain… YOU KNOW, YOU FUCKERS, YOU KNOW WHAT THEY DID.

‘Can ya prove that?’

WHY DIDN’T THEY SEE, AIN’T IT OBVIOUS?  WHY DIDN’T THEY EVEN LOOK? THEY DIDN’T FUCKIN’ WANNA.THEY DON’T BELIEVE THE GUARDS LET IT HAPPEN.

‘Drop yer pants an’ turn around, ya HAVE to turn around, do ya want me to examine ya or not?’

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE.

‘We need an X-ray.’

AH FUCK PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE. ARE YA LAUGHING AT ME? AM I BIG AN’ TOUGH? JESUS IS SAT ON HIS CRUCIFIX LAUGHIN’ OVER MY BED!

‘You’ll need stitches to stop that bleedin’, we’ll need to keep an eye on it and see how ya go. Yer gunna be in a lotta pain sittin’ down an’ goin’ restroom bu’ we’ll medicate that. Do ya want to fill out a report for the Warden?’

NO NO NO.  NEVER.  WON’T CHANGE A FUCKIN’ THING.  YA DON’T WANNA KNOW, YA DON’T CARE, I DON’T EVEN WANNA SAY IT AGAIN. DON’T LOOK AT ME MOTHERFUCKER.

And however much it’s unlikely to ever happen all over again now that I’m wiser, more experienced, got a name for myself, I’ll NEVER stop second-guessin’ that the next time I’m in the slammer, or the next time, OR THE NEXT TIME, or even on these mean fucked-up streets I’ll be back there in that pain and humiliation. I’ll be force-fed reasons to mistrust strangers an’ reasons t’hate authority ALL OVER AGAIN though that damage is already done.

I BEEN A VICTIM, FUCKERS. I KNOW THAT PAIN. SOLITARY PLEASE! SOLITARY, MY PROTECTION, MY ANGEL!”