Truth be told, Jack doesn’t remember the eight seconds he spent on the bronco’s back.
If any moon-eyed fangirls come up to him and ask about it, he plans on giving the standard blanket responses, like all he heard was the roar of the crowd.
In actuality, all he has are fragments from right before the livestock hands pulled that gate. It’s hard to forget that kind of anticipation racing through his veins, the sawing sound of rope pinning his riding glove to the back of the horse as Jack grit his teeth, ordering Racer to pull it even tighter.
Everything else, like the sickening crack from his head slamming against Midnight Train’s spine that made the audience cringe in horror, was told to him second hand.
The trainer who checked him out gave him a lot of medical jargon he wasn’t too familiar with, but Jack gathered the important stuff. No riding for three days, get plenty of rest, neither of which he has any intention of following. And of course, there was the whole spiel about concussions affecting memory.
Imprinted in his is the face of one of the pick-up men as Jack faded in and out of consciousness, stern and cool and steady. He can nearly still feel strong arms around him, keeping him from falling into the dirt of the arena, can still hear the New York accent reassuringly mutter, “I’ve got you… I’ve got you.”
So if Jack can’t stop thinking of the pick-up man who hauled his limp body from the horse into his lap, he’s chalking it up to brain damage.
He’s been named Rookie of The Year for Bareback Riding—Jack Kelly can’t afford to be distracted by any potential flings.
And still, every time he blinks, that face is waiting for him just behind his eyelids.
It’s the longest, most agonizing twenty-four hours before an opportunity to make a bad decision presents itself to Jack. He usually doesn’t make it that long. He also usually doesn’t go that long without visiting Dancer, but his body needed to recover after being thrown off that horse in the arena.
The first thing that greets Jack when he enters the stables is the very same face that’s been stuck in his mind since yesterday. The pick-up man is reaching up, brushing the soft golden mane of the quarter horse that pulled Jack off the bronco.
“Fancy meeting you here,” he greets, drawing up his most charming first-impressions smile.
“In the stables?” asks the pick-up man. Not an ounce of his attention dedicated to brushing his horse’s long blond mane is redirected to Jack. “Pretty sure this is the least fancy place to meet someone.”
“It’s as good a place as any to thank you. For yesterday.”
“I assume you mean when you got your ass bucked off of Midnight Train and I dragged you out?”
Jack scoffs. He should probably be accosted, but he’s only more intrigued. “That would be correct,” he admits.
“No need to thank me, in that case. Just doing my job.”
“Be nice if I had a name to the face that saved my rawhide.”
“And it’d be nice if you checked your staff sheet maybe once before you rode.”
Jack blinks. “Pardon me,” he begins, leaning an elbow up against Dancer’s stable, “but have I offended you?”
“Not yet.” His head twitches in annoyance. “But you’re a rodeo man. You’re bound to eventually.”
Jack crosses his arms. “I’ve been nothing but a gentleman.”
The pick-up man pauses and sighs, finally rewarding Jack with a look in his direction. He pretends not to, but Jack catches the way his eyes quickly scan him up and down. “David. David Jacobs. Which you’d have known if you’d check your staff sheet. You haven’t even bothered to give me your name, because you assume everyone already knows it.”
“So you’re saying you haven’t heard of me.”
“Oh, I’ve heard all about you, Jack Kelly,” David answers, turning his attention back to the silky mane he’d been brushing.
Jack looks up at the horse in question—a beautiful quarter with an unusual coloring halfway between brown and straight up golden. He steals another glance at David, head turned up in an admiration that’s reserved for the sacred bond between man and horse, as ridiculous as Jack admits that sounds.
Still, it’s quite the sight. David is quite the sight, beams of the setting sun reflecting off his green eyes, the shadows accentuating the perfect combination of curves and angles on his face.
“Gorgeous,” Jack finds himself muttering.
“Thanks,” David replies, completely missing where Jack’s compliment was directed. “Shimmer’s my pride and joy. If you should be thanking anyone, it’s her. She’s a bit of a social butterfly. Even broncs love her.” He turns his gaze to Which one’s yours?”
“The skittery one right next door.” Jack points out the appaloosa horse, Dancer, aptly named for the way she fidgets her feet when she’s excited.
David snorts. “Figures. Shimmer’s obsessed with her. I always catch them talking to each other ‘cross the stables.”
“Funny. I’m obsessed with you.”
David rolls his eyes. “Maybe you should be obsessed with brushing up your technique, and you won’t get your ass handed to you so often.”
“Ass handed to me? I made it to eight seconds.” He also ranked fourth in the semifinals. As a rookie. But he won’t bring that up right now.
“It’s going to take a lot more than eight seconds to impress me.”
“Let me take you out to dinner then, darlin’. Show you that I can go all night.”
“You think you’re cute, don’t you?”
Jack shrugs. “To be completely honest, I think I’m downright adorable, but that’s besides the point.”
He thinks he might see David’s mouth twitch when he returns his attention to Jack. “I don’t sleep with cowboys. Kind of a rule of mine.”
“Believe me, sweetheart, you spend a night with me and we won’t be doing any sleeping.” He chances hooking a finger under David’s chin and dragging his mouth dangerously close to his ear. It’s entirely too brazen and forward, but Jack doesn’t know any other way to be. “You think Broncos are the only thing I know how to ride?” he asks, grinning when he hears David swallow around a drying throat.
“You couldn’t keep me saddled if you tried,” David mutters back, and his breath against Jack’s cheek sends a shudder from his ear, through his spine, all the way down to his toes.
And then David shoves him. Hard. Sending Jack toppling over his own feet and sprawling out onto the ground with an incredible lack of grace.
“Like I said,” David calls back as he opens the gate to Shimmer’s stable and saddles her up. “Technique could use some fixing.”
The click of horse hooves trotting against cobblestone fading into the distance, Jack decides he’s unequivocally in love with David Jacobs.
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i was wondering what kind of circumstances could lead the other ghosts to pass on, and i thought about humphrey in particular.
i imagine humphrey mentioning that he doesnt know if he can move on, considering he's lived hundred of years without any kind of fulfilment (due to the whole 'he has no body and is usually ignored' thing). and the ghosts are feeling charitable, so they make it their mission to try and help him find it.
and they totally and utterly fail. they bicker constantly about the best way to help humphrey (thomas wants to ghostwrite a book about his tumultuous love life, kitty thinks they should do couples counselling for humphrey and his head, julian is entirely unhelpful) while the captain frantically tries to coordinate their response. but they're completely unproductive and humphrey's an awkward spectator the whole time. but they eventually come up with a masterplan (read: disasterplan) to try and Help Humphrey With His Soul Searching.
and that masterplan fails too, because everything goes wrong and silly as per usual, no matter how hard the ghosts try. but to their shock, despite the nonsense, humphrey sees the light- and he gets sucked off.
and the ghosts are shocked. they run to alison, asking for any kind of idea why it happened. and she suggests something simple: that even though they failed, they cared enough to try. and maybe that was enough.
because really, that's all humphrey ever wanted. after a lonely life and a lonely death, he needed someone to care about him. and they finally did.
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I am... ALL the way here for Leo's short little dark turn. HELLO?
[All of 2012 Leo in his "foot clan" outfit. A black eye mask with scrap wear armour pieces on his limbs, extra straps, fish net like gloves and sleeves, black shoulder/knee pads and foot wraps]
[IDs from alt: 1. No visible irises, sword in both hands, ready to fight. Brothers behind him. 2. Action shot, striking a Footbot with his fist. 3. Sitting with his head in his hand, looking troubled. April standing behind him. 4. Crouched on his knees, looking furious, enemies behind him.
END ID]
LIKE HE JOINED A GOTH GIRL GANG??
[Features Karai, an armour wearing teen with red eye and lip makeup and short black hair with a bleached uncut. And Shinigami, Shini for short, a teen with a witchy hat and black corset and cape outfit. Long black hair with a widows peak, and bold purple make up]
[IDs from alt: 1. In a room with money and fine art. Leo and Karai stand to either side, Shini kneels and celebrates the riches. 2. Shini sits in foreground, chin in her hands, smiling. Karai in background, legs crossed on a throne. 3. Shini, hat on, holding up a large, handle-less crescent blade, hair over one eye. Red clad ninja on either side of her. 4. Karai standing, wearing her metal half mask. Shini crouched, brim of her hat covers her eyes. Battle ready and surrounded by their ninja mercenaries.
END ID]
less aesthetic but for the full picture sake
[IDs from alt: Full body Leo standing from the front, you can see more of the outfit at once. He's got one spikey pauldron, and one with bolts. Shin guards, one clearly from a can, other darker and less distinct. A seat belt acting as a shoulder strap. Plates of metal at his hips, and wraps and chains on the upper thighs. 2. Leo sitting from the back, he has is swords hanging from the hip, and his black mask tails reach down to his belt, worn and blue at the ends.
END ID]
^last bits like thematic huh... like the blue isnt all gone but was just kinda hidden from view. also he dip dyed his hair : }
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