please tell me of the equestrian hatelovers i wish to squish their cheeks
AH okay, Im so glad I said something because I love talking about my hopeless boys. The amount of people who want to hear about my characters is very nearly bringing me to tears. But now you have to deal with this long post of me screaming over them.
Basically, there are three main characters in this universe and a handful of side characters that occasionally come and go. If you've ever read anything Ive written, theres an 85% chance I have drafted that idea with these characters. Here's my little rundown of those three characters; both general info and mild snz info. I want to make longer posts for each of them with primarily snz stuff, so if you just want that, then stay tuned!
Benyemin Van Luchts-
*he already has a fic posted* *most of everything about him has changed though*
Oh where to even start about this guy... he's a top show jumping star from San Mateo, California and current heartthrob of the world. His father and mother both grew up in Thüringia, Germany and, through technicality alone, he is a German citizen and German Olympic athlete. There's a lot to unpack about Ben's family history so I wont bore anyone with that (for now).
He grew up with three sisters, all of whom are lawyers and the prides of the Van Luchts family. The age gap between the sisters and himself is due to the movement of his father's military job (hence his sisters growing up in Thüringia and him being born in San Mateo), even the youngest sister is ten years older than him, and the eldest is 14 years older. As such, Ben grew up in their shadows under the constant criticism of their parents. Despite never being fully supported by his family, he was picked up by a Dutch Olympic show jumper and pretty much followed him around the continent as his groom and favorite student. Ben was a world-class star at 17 and rode in his first Olympic games at 18, winning silver for Germany.
Despite the general trauma Ive inflicted onto him, this guy is considered across the sport to be the entire embodiment of sunshine. His smile at the end of every course goes viral and breaches containment on Equestrian Twitter more than twice a month. The media swarms to every interview to watch how his bright blue eyes practically light up with the attention. Interviewer's adore him, he is the golden boy of the show jumping circuit, and he can do not wrong. Even at clinics hosted at his private stables, no one has ever been able to say a truly mean critique about Ben. His own opponents are frazzled by just how kind the dude is even when he's teasing them and tanking their records to hell.
So, insanely talented guy who rides horses, boring, move on. WRONG, insanely talented guy who is allergic to horses! Are you following me? Guy who never thinks he's good enough, sitting in a stall, pinching his nose because his meds aren't strong enough to quell the tormenting itch of his sinuses. I am so obsessed with him, he is my ultimate little rag doll, I put him in my mouth and shake him like a dog toy.
I'll link a post for more detailed snz canons here
Cain Phillips-
Scottish show jumper from the highland city, Tomintoul. Cain was raised by a single father who runs his mutton farn like it's the navy. There wasn't a lot of money growing up, but every penny his father saved that didnt keep them alive went right into funding Cain's equestrian lessons. It became incredibly clear before long that Tomintoul had a prodigy on their hands and neighbors started helping get Cain to Edinburgh. To this day, Cain sends most of his winnings back to the little town that rallied enough to send him into stardom.
Of course, you wouldnt guess he's a charitable guy by the way he acts. The way that Ben flourishes under the camera lights, Cain scowls and sneers at the media attention. Any question given to him is liable to either be ignored or given a simple 'we'll see in the arena' at most. It's not like he's a bad guy, theres no proof that he's anything but antisocial, his grooming staff have nothing but nice things to say about him! So no one really pays attention to 'that other guy riding with Van Luchts' other than the frankly obscene thirst edits. Thats right, the general official news outlets might not care for him, but every other person on the planet is carnally down bad.
There's actually a very funny story in my drafts of how the internet found out Van Luchts and Phillips were dating. Cain gets stopped on the streets by a fan as he's carrying artificial (for obvious reasons) flowers through the streets of San Mateo. The fan gushes over him for a moment before asking why a Scottish athlete is in California during clinic season. To which Cain gives the very obvious, very blunt, answer of 'my boyfriend wanted flowers' before vanishing into the night like Scottish batman.
Again, individual snz canons go here
Ricardo Sanchez-
Now THIS little bitch, this is probably my favorite character to right because he's so...not normal. He might not have any tragic backstory, but this baby is so lost in the sauce of life that problems just *appear* to him. Two of his biggest problems are 1) his boss, Benyemin and 2) his boss's needy boyfriend, Cain. Sure, theres also his roommate, Vivian, and her baby daddy, and their kid, and the general nonsense that comes from that, but mostly he has two problems.
Ric was born in the Dominican Republic which his parents fled right after his birth when organized crime rates began to rise. They moved to Wyoming where both his parents naturalized and got their three eldest children to do the same. His mother took up odd jobs as a maid, cook, substitute Spanish teacher, whatever brought in money. While Ric, his elder sister, and his father traveled further south to New Mexico and Texas, joining groups of cowboys working on cattle ranches. One thing led to another and somehow Ric was contracted with Benyemin as his stables personal ranch hand.
Fast facts about Ric because otherwise I'll talk about him forever!-
He's a mama AND daddy's boy, the middle child with two younger sisters, an older sister, and an older brother. His Instagram is heaven for anyone who really likes watching muscular guys lift hay or lay on tree branches as the sun sets (its the most aesthetic thirst trap ever). Yes, he has The Kink, I just had to do it to him. He invites Ben over for every holiday to spend time with a family that aren't a bunch of assholes -- he starts inviting Cain too after Ben sheepishly asks if he can bring him. There's an 85% chance his parents have adoption papers for both Ben and Cain in their bed-side drawer now.
Presenting- my dumb snz ocs that Im chewing on like tire rubber. I love them, theyre very precious to me.
Vivian, Ricardo, and Benjamin walk into a bar, they all walk out because Benjamin's allergic to everything. Cowboys and sneeze! Hope you like it.
Somethings are just so hilariously out of place that you can’t help pausing to do a double take- just in case you’ve finally lost it. Like a leopard in a crosswalk, or a strawberry in a package of grapes, or Benjamin Van Luchts in flared jeans and a checkered button up.
“Are you sure this is where you want to go?” Ricardo asks for what would be the millionth time tonight. He flashes his ID at the bouncer who hardly shoots him a second glance before ushering the group in. Benjamin rolls his eyes with that impossibly bright smile and strolls into the bar like he owns the damn thing.
“I told you, we’re going to hit every bar in the city before Aachen. Weren’t you telling Vivian about this place last week anyway?” Yeah, he’d told Vivian about this bar he’d wanted to try in a supposedly private conversation not involving his goody-two-shoes boss. Speak of the devil, in the dim neon light of the bar, Vivian waves them both over with a glass of amber liquid.
There’s an old Jon Pardi song Ricardo thinks his friends had line-danced to playing over the speakers that’s indistinguishable from the general bar chatter. His snip-toed boots click over the sticky vinyl floors as he leads Benjamin closer to the bar and Vivian. The guy looks like he’s having the time of his life, blue eyes aglow and gap toothed teeth slightly visible through his grinning mouth. Leave it to Benjamin to be awe-struck by a sleazy bar in Who-Knows-Where Oklahoma where even the health inspector might be drunk.
“Barman! A double rum and coke, please.” Gaining the attention of the obscenely large bartender, Ricardo slides his card across the table and tips his hat. Tucking the card into his apron, the man grunts at Benjamin as he ducks aside to spit out his tobacco.
“Vodka cranberry for me. If you wouldn’t mind putting my friend on my tab, Vivian Paulemon too.” Pointing a slender finger at Vivian who is hurriedly shoving through the sea of grinding bodies to get to them.
“Damn, kid, where abouts you from?” Whipping the towel against the table then slipping it back into his pocket, the bartender leans over the bar with a smirk.
“Sorry? Oh, I’m from California, San Mateo.” Poor Benjamin, Ricardo winces, sliding his card back into his pocket and turning his head away. Vivian slings her arm around his shoulder just in time to hear the bartender guffaw loud enough to silence their end of the bar.
“Yall heard him, next round’s on the yuppie!” Not even waiting to ask for a follow up, the bartender swipes Benjamin’s card from his hand and waves it to the rest of the bar. Everyone cheers, lifting their drinks and stumbling over to drunkenly slap ‘the yuppie’ on the back with blubbering appreciation. Ricardo pretends he doesn’t exist, hunching his shoulders as low as a man of his caliber can hunch.
“Thanks for the shot, boss!” Vivian laughs, taking a glass from the tray the bartender moves across the high-top. Despite his glower, Ricardo takes a shot, allowing Vivian to intertwine their arms as they toss the clear liquid back. Hissing and puckering his lips at the pungent taste, he sets the glass down in favor of taking a swig of his original drink. With a shrug and that smile that annoyingly never seems to go away, Benjamin runs his tongue along the rim of his shot glass and gulps it down. Fucking christ, Ricardo swiftly turns away, his ponytail nearly whipping Vivian in the face as he bites down the heat rising to his ears.
Impatiently swaying to the chorus of another nostalgic country song, Vivian tugs at her dress strap with a pout. “I wanna dance!” She shouts, hooking her arms into Benjamin’s and Ricardo’s as if she would drag them both onto the dance floor. From prior experience with drunk Vivian, Ricardo can’t say for certain that she wouldn’t. He’s never been much of a dancer, not with only one shot and a mouthful of rum in him anyway. Certainly not at a public bar, and certainly not in jeans this sinfully tight- even he can admit he dressed for the occasion.
“You’re such a buzzkill, Ric.” Unhooking her arm from his, Vivian throws herself on Benjamin who wrinkles his nose at the smell of liquor. She bats her eyelashes at him hopefully, already tugging at his arm in the direction of the dance floor.
“Alright. Watch this ‘yuppie’ show you how to dance.” A whoop of excitement leaves her mouth as Benjamin takes her hand and lets himself be dragged into the tangle of bodies.
Turning to watch them go, Ricardo rests his elbows behind him on the bar ledge and crosses his boots at the ankle. It’s no secret that he thinks highly of himself, though words like ‘vain’ should be reserved for Benjamin. Tonight is no different, damnit, standing there in the dim light of the bar with his leather hat slightly tipped back, he feels good.
The dancing crowd is too thick and interspersed with men wandering around talking to see Benjamin and Vivian, but it’s fun to watch. He scans the sea of people with varying interest, sipping at his drink and then ordering another when he tastes coke syrup. As is usual with these types of bars, the crowd is primarily older men and a few women barely brushing 25. Every man is in loose jeans, leather boots still stomping off dust, and assorted colors of button ups. They’re a brawny lot, built on work under the sun, and not a single chin is close shaven.
Ricardo reaches for another sip of his drink as he locks eyes with a brunette by the pool tables in a deep maroon shirt unbuttoned to the middle of his chest. He can’t be over 40, too youthful despite the strands of gray in his hair and beard. There’s a rainbow colored bandana tied around his faux straw hat that Ricardo purposefully looks up at. Whispering something to his friends and setting down his beer bottle, the man strides confidently over to Ricardo.
“Hey, you from ‘round here? Ain’t seen you before.” Bending slightly so that his warm breath washes across Ricardo’s face, the man raises his voice to be heard.
“I’m from Wyoming, just in town for a job.” What do they feed guys in Oklahoma? This man is massive, his body blocking the rest of the room from view.
“Thought so, the scene ain’t big enough for me not to recognize a regular. What kinda job takes you this far away from home?” The brunette asks.
“The boss is a big-name equestrian, I’m just a cowboy.” Ricardo huffs.
“I’ll say. You got a name, cowboy?” He slides ever closer, grabbing the bartop behind Ricardo so his bare arms cage him in on either side. One knee is lifted up to press subtly against the inside of his thigh, his voice lowering to a seductive hum. The brim of their hats push against each other and Ricardo feels deliciously exposed as those dark eyes rake over his face.
“Sorry, am I interrupting?” Goddamn that west coast accent, damn it to hell. Soft smile falling from his face, the brunette steps away from Ricardo to scan their interrupter up and down. There’s a weighty pause as his eyes lock onto Benjamin’s face; knuckling at his nose and squinting at Ricardo through watery eyes. Suddenly very light headed with no help at all from the extra alcohol, there are very few words coming to Ricardo’s mind.
“You’re good, Ben. Just talking.” Ricardo’s voice comes out slightly pitchy, his cheeks blooming red despite every ounce of blood flowing southbound. The brunette chuckles and untangles himself, dipping his hat to Benjamin before slinking off back to the pool table. “Puta merda, esse filho da puta estragou tudo,” he snarls under his breath, turning his glare on Benjamin. “You know, there’s a word for what you just did?” Jabbing his finger into Benjamin’s chest, Ricardo bares his teeth before turning sharply on his heels and taking a gulp of his rum.
“Cock blocking? Relax, I didn’t mean to get in the way of your Brokeback Mountain fantasy, Ric, but I-” Smug cheshire grin melting from his face, Benjamin presses a slender finger under his wrinkling nose as his eyes flutter shut. “Hh’GXScht, fuck. Ih’iGKsht, jesus. I needed to grab my bag.” Even in the dim light, Ricardo can see the irritated rouge of Benjamin’s nose and the wetness collecting at his lashline.
There was not nearly enough alcohol in this bar to make this tolerable. Pushing his hat back to better see through the hazy outlines of grinding bodies, Ricardo sucks exasperatedly at his teeth. Okay, maybe he’s a little too tipsy to be dealing with this, but he wouldn’t have to deal with it at all if he was blacked out. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Benjamin stifling sneezes into his popped collar, but decides against acknowledging it.
“Grab your bag, come on.” Not entirely waiting for Benjamin to pick up the tote he’d walked in with, Ricardo grabs his wrist and yanks him after him. Benjamin apologizes to everyone that Ricardo bumps into as they make their way towards the bathrooms. Somewhere in the crowd, Vivian is probably dancing the night away without a care in the world. Good for her, the world loves a pretty little fool- whatever that line was that Fitzgerald wrote, Zelda, that is.
Using his foot to close the door behind them, Ricardo presses his back to the wood and crosses his arms over his chest. Pinching the bridge of his nose between two fingers, Benjamin hunches over the bathroom sink with a miserable groan.
“I think the hay by the jukebox was real.” A sarcastic retort bubbles on Ricardo’s tongue, but the crumbling of Benjamin’s features gives him pause. “Ng’TCht, i-it’s really i-hih-itch-TxXXtSH- itchy. Even in my- hh’hih-my-hh’NGT’sch- ugh, even in my throat. H’NGXT’sch. Can’t even- huh’hngXT- open my eyes- huh…hh’NGK’sh.” That last part Ricardo was especially thankful for as his pants became entirely too tight and the blood rushed south of his brain.
Maybe the alcohol wasn’t helping, but neither was the fact that Benjamin was unfortunately conventionally attractive. He had no right looking so good with his nose pinched red and water collecting on his lash lines. God help him, Ricardo’s eyes followed the curve of Benjamin’s nose, pausing over the slight crookedness where the appendage had broken. Blinking up at the ceiling, Ricardo drags a hand over his face and forces himself to think of anything else. Dead grandma, police brutality, fucking anything else. Ricardo counted the ceiling tiles in a vain attempt to ignore Benjamin’s incessant hitching and sniffling that either he wouldn’t allow to manifest or couldn’t of its own accord.
“There’s um…” Benjamin’s congested voice drew Ricardo from his counting, forcing his gaze back to the other man. “Whatever it’s called, that allergy medicine Vivian made me get. There’s some in my bag.” On stubbornly wobbling legs, Ricardo just nods and crouches over Benjamin’s bag where he’d tossed it to the ground.
“Sometimes I really wish I hadn’t given up smoking.” Burying his nose in a frankly obscene wad of brown paper towels, Benjamin attempts to blow his nose. The resulting noise is more of a squeak than anything, the absurdity of it all makes Ricardo huff out a laugh. “Holy shit, that was not funny.” With a pout, Benjamin tosses the paper into the trashcan and returns to hanging his head over the sink.
“Zyrtec might work better than dope. Cheaper too.” Hand dragging around the bottom of Benjamin’s bag, Ricardo finally reels out the bottle of pills. Tossing the treasure between his hands, he holds it out to Benjamin who gratefully takes it. Now, Ricardo isn’t actually sure if street drugs cost more than Zyrtec with the amount Benjamin needs, but comme ci comme ca.
“You think Vivian’s still dancing?” Swallowing two pills with a mouthful of water from the sink tap, Benjamin straightens again.
“Probably,” Ricardo agrees mildly. He’s never been particularly fond of dealing with a drunk, overly excitable Vivian. Benjamin must come to the same conclusion, groaning as he scrubs at his nose aggressively with both hands. He must rub too harshly or drag his fingers over the crooked bone between his eyes because he ducks into his hands with a heavy “hMPP’kngt”. It’s always shocking to hear Benjamin sneeze without his usual iron-clad restraint, he must be getting tired.
“Well, she can dance at the apartment. I want to go home.” With a decisive sneer, Ricardo grabs Benjamin’s bag off the floor and forces it into his arms as he slinks out of the bathroom.
The music is still blasting too loud to hear anything, and the lights seem even dimmer than before. He pushes unceremoniously through the crowd, ignoring the shouts of disdain when he bumps a drink. There, sitting pretty on the edge of the pool table with the slit in her dress mischievously tugged too high and dress straps slipping down her shoulders. Vivian is chatting away with a younger looking man and his wingman who keep offering her sips of their drinks.
“Vivian!” He calls out, pushing closer and lifting a hand to catch her attention. Vivian looks up at the sound of her name, braids bouncing as she beams at him. Hopping off the pool table and giving a flirtatious wave to both men, she sways over and collapses dizzily into his arms.
“This music is so ass, Ric. We need to find a real bar next time.” Despite her complaints, Ricardo feels she is still moving in time with the distinctly blue grass rhythm. Holding her weight and trying his damndest to keep her from slipping onto the floor, he glances across the floor for Benjamin.
There, already hovering by the door and laughing at something the bouncer says to him. Too damn friendly for his own good, only Benjamin could make a friend out of a bar bouncer while having an allergy attack. Speaking off, Ricardo blanks for a moment as his boss holds up a hand and ducks a few times into pinched fingers.
“You gonna get home alright, cowboy?” Turning his head, Ricardo almost jumps out of his skin at the question purred against the back of his neck. Staring back at him is the brunette from the bar, his hat missing from his head and dark curls on full display.
“I think I can manage,” Ricardo nods, flexing just a bit as he fixes his hat to better see the brunette’s brown eyes gleam in the lights. “I don’t think I got your name though, if I can be a bother.”
The brunette laughs, his head tossed back and his eyes crinkling with each hearty burst that threatens to expose more of his chest. “Cyrus. If you’ve got free time, give me a ring, a’ight?” Cyrus takes Ricardo’s hand and presses a slip of paper against his palm, winking before he dips away to rejoin his game of pool.
“Jesus, Ric, you pulled that one out of the grave.” Maybe Vivian would be better on the ground, he should just drop her and her smart mouth, see how funny she is then.
“Very funny, let’s go home. We’ll get your car tomorrow, and Benjamin’s, we’re dropping him off on the way.” Adjusting his grip, Ricardo helps Vivian across the dance floor before beckoning Benjamin to meet them outside. The warm summer air is nice against his air conditioning chilled skin, and it doesn’t smell like luke-warm booze. Clenching his hand around the paper Cyrus had put in his hand, Ricardo takes a long breath as he collects himself.
“You good to drive, Ric?” Benjamin asks with a sniffle, his eyes slightly hazy like he’s debating sneezing even more.
“Nah, I was thinking Vivian could take us. Get in the damn car.” Pulling open the back seat door, Ricardo stalks around his old pickup and gets into the driver's seat. Someone should really stop him from going to these things with his employer, or at all for that matter. They’ll be back tomorrow.
