#((I'm not directly having him answer

[the-oracle-of-the-lost]

the aroaceness of twelve/river means everything to me.

[facelessxchurch]

I'm still weeping about how fcking ugly that figure is. Skul looks like he will fall over or run against a pole. Also, why the glossy finish?? Gloss shows like ALL your mistakes while matt hides it somewhat, plus suits ain't glossy. It makes it so obvious he doesn't really understand folds.

And then he demands such a high price?? I get that the other figures are from video games which make more money and have a bigger audience, but if you are gonna take such a high price for a figure at least make sure your customers get their money's worth!

Why is this random ass youtuber doing it more professionally than a 'globally bestselling' author that has HarperCollins, one of the biggest publishers in the world, backing him??? Instead, he goes the nepotism route because he's cheap. Sorry, but his brother is not a good sculptor and he's a worse concept artist and his paint jobs ain't great either. Landy would only have to cough up the money for the concept art up front, then he could do a Kickstarter again and use that to pay the sculptor and the production and box art.

And then this sets me off even more, because what the fck kind of backwaters hillbilly operation is this, why is he packing them in a fcking shed

The only thing he is committed to is being cheap!

I love figures so much and watching this is just killing me on the inside 😱 it's just a card box. Does he not know that the boxes that figures come in can be displayed too?? I certainly do for most figures I got!

Jinx Arcane Figure

Lilith Borderlands Figure

Luigi Figure (this bad boi is made with LEDs)

[taralen]

FOR HIM and ONLY HIM

LOVE LETTERS #10 & #11

[nemesis-is-my-middle-name]

yknow what minor transient detail abt s4 is fun to me? prior to john's reveal, noel apparently assumes the KIY to be a totally unfamiliar character to them both. he pauses his story to give background info on him ("he rules the dreamlands, he's a master manipulator, etc") in a way he doesn't with other stuff. he points out yellow like "that's the bitch btw. if you were curious." which is. like he knows they were in the dreamlands. i think he knows or at least assumes they were in the pits for a while given they ran into lorick. what does he think they were doing there. just. passing through??

[clemencetaught]

I wasn't sure if y'wanted them sent in today or tomorrow, BUT TO NOT MESS UP-- (you mentioned answering ic in the tags so yeeting these directly at Patrick >:3 sorry if they're too many omg)

Patrick (any verse)

What does it feel like when others depend on you, in one way or another?

Are you more prone to assuming someone needs you (in a service kind of way, for aid, for support-) or more likely to think they don't?

If psychics were 120% reliable and you could connect to those long gone… would you?

In which contexts are you more 'do as I say not as I do' and in which will you listen to your own advice?

Do you ever catch yourself growing… a little bitter, maybe, at people describing their comparatively 'mundane' problems? Is it envy?

Do you believe children should be shaped for the likeliest future or the future should be shaped for the children to come?

When is self-sacrifice acceptable?

When is hurting those you love acceptable?

in which the 54th victor of the hunger games gives an impromptu interview ( nosy questions for the birthday enby w/ @mythvoiced )

The tea cup is set on the saucer. Discreetly, Patrick slides his other hand into his pocket, where the synthetic patch on his palm wraps around his pocket knife– a habit of sorts, since he won his games. His pocket watch sits on the table, next to the saucier and on his lap, Sun has wrapped herself into a ball, her paws disappearing into the mass of orange fur. On the balcony outside his apartment in the Capitol, this is the only place Patrick knows he will be granted a modicum of privacy in the viper’s nest. 

The shadow of the balcony covers the upper half of his body. Sun keeps dozing on his lap, in the sun. 

Most times, when the questions are directed at him, they’re expecting an affirmative. Doesn’t matter if it’s coming from a District person or a Capitolite– they go to him for answers, first and foremost. And in the case of the latter, these questions are not questions so much as veiled demands. 

Ones that he must always accommodate, regardless of the nature of the demand. 

But these questions, this voice, is…well they seem genuinely curious. And the questions they’ve lobbed his way, they don’t seem to be expecting one correct answer.

Sun shifts on his lap. His leg vibrates from her purring. Patrick sighs, leaning back on his chair. “That…quite a lot of thoughts you have going on there, hm?” The knife stays in his pocket as he gently scratches the top of Sun’s head. “I’ll answer your second question first: people will always look out for themselves first. If they don’t think you’re useful, that you can contribute something good to their lives, then you’re dead to them, if they don’t kill you first. Make yourself indispensable to them and they won’t hurt you.” At least that’s what he tells himself– it’s easier to simply assume anyone who approaches him that they want something he can give them. “The younger victors will need someone to guide them anyway.” 

And even the ones who vehemently deny needing someone, anyone. Patience is always key in those instances– from Taiyang whom it took almost six years and his tribute’s sanity to finally approach Patrick to María, who still slaps away any hands offered, friend or foe. Ironically, he had to approach her first.  

“…I suppose I don’t think too much about that. If someone was asking for your help, you would be more caught up in what they’re asking, more than how you were feeling no?” A Trojan horse, he’s lobbed in their direction although he’s quick to revise: “...It scares me sometimes.” He confides, fingers pausing in their administrations on Sun’s head. Actually it scares him, a lot. “They’re…they’re relying on me to guide them to the best outcome and I want the same thing for them. I promise you, I really, truly do.” Whether it’s Hyuk, Devora, a tribute he’s been assigned to mentor, or any of the victors. And sometimes even the furball in his lap and yet– “But I…I can’t always guarantee that. But they still trust me, especially the younger ones.” The tributes from District Three– his tributes, the ones who take his hand, look up at him with wide eyes, clinging to every word, every gesture he makes as it will guarantee their survival. “Sometimes I think it would be better if they exercised more caution with me.”   

A smile, bittersweet, if not actually just bitter, graces his lips. He shakes his head though, chuckling at the next question. “...Forgive me, that’s quite a question you have there. ‘Psychics’... I don’t believe that’s information that just anyone, district or Capitol, can get ahold of–  although I have heard of some old religions still practiced in the districts so I suppose the knowledge and belief in such mediums is possible to get ahold of.” He stares down at his tea, the steam still rising. Even if it is a hypothetical question on a medium known to be more shoddy than reputable, he can’t help but pause. If they could contact those ‘long gone’; would that mean, if he asked them to, would he be able to speak to her one last time–

He shakes his head, eye catching his pocket watch, metal beaten and faded, the clock face wearing a crack down the right side. Still, it shimmers in the sunlight. “Even if I could, I…I highly doubt she would want to talk to me of all people.” If they hadn’t met, if they hadn’t fallen in love, she probably would still be alive. Tellessa’s family too. 

After all, he was the first person outside of Tellessa who knew about her forbidden books. “Wherever they are, it’s probably better than here.” Or at least he hopes it is for her. A place where life doesn’t have to be perfect, but it is…easier. A place for souls to rest at long last. If such a place even exists in the first place. He picks up his saucer once more, still careful not to jostle Sun on his legs. She’s taken to loafing now– he knows her eyes are closed even if her head dips every few seconds. But make no mistake, that does not mean she is unaware. Trusting of the one asking the questions. If it was just him, she would be stretched out, a white underbelly waiting for his hand to scratch kindly at the ceiling.

Perhaps the saying is true after all: like owner, like pet. Although Patrick would argue she’s more like Hyuk if anything.

“It depends on the circumstances,” he says as neutrally as possible. A vague answer for a hypothetical question, because that is truly it. “I suppose if one’s life was on the line, it would be better if they followed my lead, no?” 

Not that that’s stopped, those with rebellious tendencies from committing treason anyways. ( And unfortunately, he can name more than one. ) It is ironic in that manner– for someone who knows the system, knows how to work within the rules all, has spent years perfecting his craft in survival arts, it would make more sense to invest on those with similar goals. And yet here he is, worrying about the ones who are decided not interested in survival and therefore would spurn his advice at any given moments. “Not that…that following my advice has ever helped them make it through.” 

(His tributes. All thirty nine of them. No two games are ever the same, the gamemakers would never allow that. If the circus known as the Hungers Games must be reborn over and over again if it wishes to continue.)

He takes a sip of his tea, washing down the momentary displeasure. Or at least he thinks it will be only a moment long. “I suppose what a Capitol citizen would consider a ‘mundane issue’, as you put it, would differ from those of someone from the districts. The former does seem more inclined towards complaining if only to build comradery amongst one another. I’m just glad that they have such means to…channel their frustrations.” 

( It’s in times like those, where he wishes his temper could curdle, the way Devora’s does in the face of the Capitol Elite. How he wishes he could simply let her use the knife to silence those idle complaints. )

Patrick takes another sip of his tea. It burns in his throat. It’s bitter too– he must have let the leaves seep for too long. But the asperity doesn’t just settle on his tongue. “Are we talking about an ideal world or the one we live in now? Depending on who you ask this question to, you’re guaranteed to get quite…different answers.” A smile, as frigid as the shaved ice the Capitol serves as a delicacy during the games, crosses his lips. “Our great nation was built to provide safety and prosperity for the children. To serve them. Although whether the truth is actually the other way around will again, depend on who you ask. As a mentor to my tributes, I suppose…we can’t deny the reality in front of us, no?”

Sun yawns. He puts his tea down and idly, he scratches the underside of her chin and he feels her purring against his finger. “Are you sure you should be asking me that question? I would think there are more…suitable candidates for this question.” People like Hyuk, he means. People like María– the kinds who would gladly make sacrifices, give pieces of themselves for a cause. “Self-sacrifice won’t get you where you need to be– there’s a reason martyrs are only known after their death– they’re even given a chance to be known. Anyone who thinks otherwise is a fool. They’re only deluding themselves into believing they can make everything better. A…colleague of mine said it best: ‘a martyr works, a survivor works better’. If you want to truly help the ones around you, self-sacrifice will only get you so far.”

Or so Patrick claims. He can hear it though– the sound of Hyuk shouting at him to stop lying. The truth is, self-sacrifice, if it is for a tangible reason, is…well maybe it is not worthwhile, but it can be certainly respected, especially if this tangible reason is a human life. The Capitol will always wonder what spurred Patrick to hold his district partner’s hand even if it burned a hole through his skin, will always wonder why Taiyang insisted on protecting Link in the arena, will always wonder why, why, why would Devora so willingly serve as President Snow’s puppet even if it further severs her ties to the districts despite everything the games took from her.

They would never understand compassion in a dog-eat-dog world– self sacrifice.

“...However, I suppose, if there was truly a good reason to do so…well, I have yet to see it.”

( Like the promise of a better world. If there is even one that exists. )

His hand stops. Sun turns her head towards him, copper eyes watching him. “When do we not hurt the ones we love?” Perhaps the better question for him is: when is he not hurting the ones he loves? He saw it in her eyes and Hyuk’s too. And yet they forgave him, somehow, every time. If not for that, well…would there even be a reason to keep going? “That’s part of caring for someone, no? You are preparing for them to hurt you without retaliation.” He shakes his head, snorting. “I think the answer should be obvious, if it guarantees their well-being in the long run, I think that is a gamble to be considered. That being said–” 

Sun jumps off his lap and stretches, paws facing this curious passerby. Patrick crosses his legs, hands resting on his lap. A veneer, similar to the one he dons in the Capitol flashes through, even if he is not currently in his usual suit. “You wouldn’t want to be close with someone like me. I’ve been known to have…a reputation of sorts. One of burning and you could…no, you would most definitely get hurt, one way or another and we wouldn’t want that happening, no? Just a thought for you to consider.”

He watches Sun make her way to the sliding glass door in the shade. Her tails whips side to side as she looks up at the handle. Then she looks at him and meows. 

Patrick glances at his pocket watch. “It’s feeding time for Sun.” Well, sort of– it’s more like it’s half an hour before her feeding time, but he knows gets antsy the closer meal time gets around. But this person doesn’t have to know that. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be taking care of business now. If you need anything more, you know where to find me.”

Or better yet, he’ll know where to find them.

[zemnarihah]

my best friend has been very distant w me lately and i asked today if she wanted to hang out and she said she probably couldn't bc it's her brothers birthday but she would let me know if she could and i have her location and i just looked and she's at her boyfriends house rn....

[i-dont-want-your-hysteria]

trying to interact with all the Def Leppard boys like you’re collecting pokemon

gotta catch em all

[cluescorner]

I want to raise this man from the dead

Crepus Ragnvindr is lucky he’s dead because otherwise he would have to put up with the shenanigans I do with the other sus characters in the game. Like, I already bother Cyrus and Timaeus and the Fatui in Mondstadt a lot trying to figure out wtf those guys know. The last thing Mondstadt needs is another sus NPC present, ESPECIALLY given all the questions I have for him. 

Like, were you a harbinger or just a shady dude? Was it Dottore who gave you the delusion directly? Did you know that Kaeya was from Khaenri’ah and if not what did you think was going on? What was your relationship with the Knights, did you idolize them as much as your son or did you realize that they were as susceptible to corruption as anyone else as you grew old? And why did you let your son join the organization if you knew how effed up it was? ON THAT NOTE WHY TF WAS DILUC ALLOWED TO BECOME A CAPTAIN AT THE AGE OF 14?? SIR I GENERALLY THINK YOU WERE PROBABLY A DECENT DAD WHO TRIED HIS BEST BUT LIKE WTF IS UP WITH THAT DECISION SPECIFICALLY??? 

[bizarrelittlemew]

Fave part of ac4 is how the stede characterization is the dumbest guy you've ever met. And when he gets used as a foot stool

absolutely. i love how (seemingly) every portrayal of Stede Bonnet just goes in the direction of "useless and a bit pathetic but very enthusiastic blond man". and they're right ❤

[averaillisa]

Xiao for the character ask :3

Xiao my boy!!!

Favorite thing about them

The fact that he's so loyal to certain people and places that he'd be willing to do the dirty work of killing monsters for near eternity, despite the pain it causes...what a dude. I want him to take a nap so bad :(

Also the fact that if he trusts you, he'll appear as soon as you say his name. That's pretty cute ngl

Least favorite thing about them

Nothing in particular! He's pretty neat 😊

Favorite line

"Once the snow is thick enough, we can eat it" was both funny to me and v tragic once I was told more abt the context :(

brOTP

Zhongli is his dad and Hu Tao is like an annoying but endearing little sister to him akdhfhelfj-

OTP

Xiaoven is super cute!!!

Also Xiao x Sleep/Peace is a pretty good one too, we should talk more abt it I think /j

nOTP

Err I don't like ZhongXiao haha

random headcanon

Whenever he does sleep, he takes his naps high on trees like a bird. The remote location and concealing branches make him feel slightly safer, at least for a little while

Unpopular opinion

None!

Song I associate with them

Nothing here either, sorry xiao ^^'

Favorite picture of them

He eepy

[alexjcrowley]

Me: A beer on an empty stomach? Sure, what's the worst it can do to me

Me five minutes later: *calls my dad just to chat*

[zenathezee]

Usually I like my coworkers but what I do hate is when I use proper messaging etiquette and say "I have a question about this situation, here's the context, the details, where I'm confused, and what I think the answer may be" all in the original message AND THEN THEY ASK ME FOLLOW UP QUESTIONS THAT ARE ANSWERED BY THE ORIGINAL MESSAGE

Me: [thorough, all-encompassing message about the issue]

Coworker: "What's the issue?"

Me: [repeats that part of the message] "So the answer is abc?"

Coworker: "Why is this a problem?"

Me: [repeats the context part of the message] "Does abc not apply in this situation?"

Coworker: "What about xyz?"

Me: "Xyz is unrelated, this is about abc. Do I apply abc the way I would xyz?"

Coworker: "Xyz applies."

Me: [repeats the part of the message that rules out xyz] "So why would xyz apply when this is about abc?"

Coworker: [five more barely related questions that]

Me: [has literally no further information because I put everything I know in the original message so I'm paraphrasing as many ways as possible while continuingly asking for an answer because I can't do my job until I get it] "So the answer isn't abc?"

Coworker: "Oh. Yes. Abc is the right answer, do that."

WHYYYYYYYYYYYY

[yeleltaan]

// Best thing about having taken SO LONG to start Elden Ring verse interactions with this guy is that I likely won’t have explored many of my experimental headcanons in time for the DLC to ruthlessly slam them.

[dollfacefantasy]

MAKE HIM DO WHAT I SAY ♡

pairing: older bf!!logan howlett x fem!reader

summary: you and logan make a little bet. who can last longer without sex? as much as he wants to deny it, he's starting to think the answer might be you.

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, brief daddy kink (one mention)

a/n: a commission for my sweet @sleepyluxe who i love so very much <33 this fic takes place after the events of dofp when things are fixed.

Seven days. One week. A quarter of a month. That's how long it had been since Logan and you had fucked.

It was brutal. Some may say he's being dramatic, but that's because they've never had the luxury of you. They couldn't understand losing a paradise they've never experienced. The past several days he's felt like a man wandering through a barren desert, the oasis in sight but never close enough to drink from. Absolute torture.

Unfortunately, this situation came about because he couldn't keep his mouth shut.

You'd been getting some work done late last Sunday evening. Just a few plans for the upcoming school week. Your fingers punched away at your computer while Logan lay on the bed twirling a stray cigar between his fingers.

"How many more pages you got?" he asked, boosting his head up to glance at you.

At the sound of his voice, you spun your chair around to face him. "Not that many. Just finalizing a few details for the field trip they're taking the kids on next weekend," you said.

"You're not even going. Why're they making you do that?"

The fat stick of tobacco continued to glide between his digits. One of your legs crossed over the other as you watched him.

"I'm not going because I offered to do all the planning," you reminded him. 

Your eyes stayed on the tantalizing movements of his fingers.

"You know you can't smoke in here, so don't even think about it," you said.

He rolled his eyes and puffed air through his pursed lips as if that was an outrageous warning. Sitting up, he put the cigar back in the drawer on his side of the bed. He rose to his feet and began to cross the room in your direction.

"Maybe you should give me something else to do with my mouth then," he teased, his voice lowering to the octave that reverberated with want for you.

Then it was your turn to roll your eyes. You turned your chair back toward the desk and continued grazing your fingertips over the raised letters.

It didn't deter him though. He kept on in your direction, stopping only when he was directly behind the backing of your seat.

His hands landed on your shoulders, fingers massaging the tight muscles fanning out from your neck. He leaned forward so his head hovered beside yours. You could hear each breath he took. The smell of that cigar lingered around his form even if he hadn't lit up tonight.

"C'mon, babydoll. You've been working so hard. A little break won't hurt you," he murmured, lips pressing against your cheekbone.

"I have to have these done by tomorrow morning. Just give me a few minutes, and then I'll be done for the night and completely focused on you," you'd rebuffed him gently.

But that didn't satisfy Logan. When he wanted you, he got you. He proceeded with his tender touches and luring pecks. You remained focused on your work though. He figured he should vary his approach.

"Just let me make you feel good then, honey. Give you some extra motivation," he whispered. His dedicated hands drifted to your waist, squeezing in a way that teased the idea of lifting you up and putting you on his lap. As good as it would've felt to be full of him, you knew you had to get this done.

"You're so bad," you said with a smile, head falling back a little as his mouth moved to your neck, "You act like you haven't gotten any in decades."

"Is that your way of telling me you're getting tired of me?" he teased.

"No. I'm just saying you're insatiable. It's getting to the point where I don't think you could live without me," you responded with a tone matching his in arrogance.

His eyebrow raised, and he pulled back a little to laugh. "That so?"

"Mhm," you nodded. Your sweet eyes stared him down, begging him to disagree.

Looking back, he wishes he could travel through time again to slap any further words out of his mouth. He should've just agreed! Should've told you that you were absolutely right. That he can't live without you, can't survive this life if he doesn't get to slip inside of you at the end of each day. He should've waited the fifteen minutes it would've taken you to finish your paperwork and then gotten laid.

But he didn't do any of that. He had to keep going and dig himself into a deeper hole.

"Don't act so innocent, princess. You're just as bad as me," he'd said.

"No way," you'd huffed, smirking with amusement, "I want you a totally normal amount. You want me like every second of the day. If you could, I don't think you'd ever let me do anything. You'd probably keep me chained to the bed, yours for the taking at all times of the day.

"Like you wouldn't love that. I'm not the one pawing at you every morning, whining about how bad I need it," he taunted.

"Oh shut up, that's happened like a couple times. Every day you're right in my ear, feeling me up. You practically drag me away from what I'm doing when you wanna fuck," you fired back, "I am nowhere near as bad as you."

And then he'd spoken the three cursed words that launched him into this predicament.

"You wanna bet?"

You laughed more at that and nodded again. "Sure. Because I know I'll win."

And that unofficial vow of celibacy was why the two of you had been dancing around each other for the past week. He was starting to feel like that old love song counting the amount of time it'd been since he had you beneath him last. Fifteen hours and seven days or however it went.

You didn't make this trying time any easier for him either. That night he went to sleep with blue balls. The next morning, he woke up to you getting ready. You weren't dressed in your usual style of clothing though. Instead, you had on a dress, Logan's favorite dress of yours. You'd styled your hair real pretty too, letting it compliment your features in the best way.

As his heavy lids blinked open to consciousness, he watched you fasten a shimmering necklace over your collarbone. It sat just above the neckline of the chiffon fabric that adorned your bust.

You caught his waking eyes with your own in the reflective glass, turning to look at him with a bright smile. 

Despite his bleary vision, he could hear the light steps of you prancing over to him. The mattress dipped with your weight as you sat down and leaned in to kiss his forehead. Your fingers slid through his dark hair just the way he likes, with your nails scratching his scalp a little. Worst of all, that close, the scent of your perfume became all consuming. It hit him harder than normal. He wasn't sure if he should blame you or himself for predicting the trials of the coming days.

He hummed in acknowledgement of your presence and nuzzled into your palm.

"Hey, sleepyhead," you cooed, your voice extra soft and sweet. It was too caring to be seductive, but of course, that's where his mind went anyways.

"Hey, baby," he'd mumbled.

"I gotta go drop off that paperwork, but I'll see you later. I love you," you whispered in return before laying one more column of kisses from the tip of his nose back to his forehead.

Then you'd left, leaving him half-hard and yearning for you. A pattern that would plague him over the next week.

Each day it was some new form of torture. The day after that, you'd worked extra hard in the danger room, coming back to him at night covered in a light sheen of sweat. Your heady natural scent filled the bedroom in moments.

The following afternoon, you wanted to cuddle when you both had some free time. The fact that you draped your leg over his torso, slotting your clothed cunt right against his hip, inches away from his cock, was pure accident of course.

Over the last few days, your games have become less specific. You peppered your speech with innuendo. Looked at him with your fuck-me eyes and spoke in the tone you always used seconds before he ended up bending you over the nearest surface.

He tried to fight back, he really did. He stopped wearing a shirt in your shared room. Every time he talked to you, he made sure to rub your ass or stroke your cheek. He was so desperate he stooped to embarrassing levels of lovey-dovey when the two of you were alone. But no matter what he tried, it seemed like you'd been right. Of your pair, you had the superior restraint.

With each passing hour, his frustration grew.

Today, it reaches its zenith.

The mansion is empty because it's Sunday. All the students and other teachers are out on the trip to the observatory today. You and Logan are the only remaining residents in the school. He ended up not having to tag along with the rest of the group after volunteering to fix the sprinklers bordering the school's patio. Babysitting kids had never been his forte even with all the practice he gets at it now. Simple handiwork he could do no problem.

The two of you take the morning to sleep in. This was a rare occasion where no early meetings or classes occupied your schedules. You stay tangled up together well past sunrise.

Logan is the first to leave the warmth and comfort of your embrace. He pulls himself from the nest of pillows and blankets, stretching his limbs out as he does. He rubs the tiredness from his features before rising and heading to the wardrobe to pull on some clothes.

In addition to his normal black t-shirt and jeans, he grabs the tool belt on his way out to the lawn. He slings it around his hips before walking through the back door. Heading past the basketball court and rows of hedges, he finds the line of leaking sprinklers besides them. It would probably take him a while given that he had to first identify the source of the problem and then recalibrate all of them with the adjustment.

He sighs but gets to work. At least he'd have a distraction from the desires haunting him.

Crouching in the dewy grass next to the little faucets, he begins examining the hard plastic shells. To his surprise, scanning for breaks does attach his mind to the task and give him a brief reprieve. It's quiet outside. Besides a small chirp from a distant bird or a grunt out of him, no other sounds echo over the open space. The sun shines in the sky, but it's not beating down on him. The air tickles his skin with warmth but not to the point of being miserably humid.

All the conditions meet in the perfect middle to keep him calm. It's the most peace he's had since he agreed to this bet between the two of you.

But all that tranquility is shattered about a half hour later when he hears the patter of footsteps against the stone pathway. From around the tall thicket of green foliage, comes you. Your face breaks out into a smile the second you burst into his vision. He would look the same if not for what you'd decided to wear.

You trot over to him across the grass in a pair of tiny black shorts with lacy frills on the hems. They sway with each of your movements, highlighting the shape of your legs. A gray camisole graces your upper half; a delicate white bow sits at the center of the collar, dead center between your breasts. The fit of the garment displays the contour of your chest just right. He feels like he's gonna start drooling before you make it near.

Despite his reaction, the outfit wasn't that provocative. It wasn't like you'd strutted out in lingerie. But he was so pent up that a flash of your ankle in the proper lighting could probably get him hard.

Bounding up to him, you wrap his body in a tight hug. Every curve of your form presses up against him.

"Look at you, working so hard," you praise playfully with a kiss to his cheek.

He laughs it off, returning the hug in an attempt to be normal, so you wouldn't see how vulnerable he was right now, how this was the perfect opportunity to strike. He couldn't let you know that in this moment, he could easily become the prey.

"Were you missing me already?" he asks, rubbing his free hand up and down your spine.

"Mhm. Woke up and you were gone," you reply. You nuzzle the crook of his neck, planting a few electric kisses on his skin.

"I didn't wanna wake you. You're pretty cute when you're sleeping," he mutters.

"Well now I'm gonna be cute out here with you," you say and pull back. You peck his lips one more time before plopping down in the grass behind him.

He glances back at you to see what that means. All you're doing is sitting there. Your legs extend out in front of you, straightened for his eyes to rake over. You lean back with your palms against the moist greenery below you.

"You don't got anything better to do with your day off?" he asks.

That earns him a small pout. "If you want me to leave, I will. I just wanna spend time with you."

He can tell by your tone that your intentions aren't so innocent. You're leading him into allowing your presence. But denying his girlfriend has never been one of the wolverine's strengths so of course, he acquiesces.

"Relax. I'm not telling you to go anywhere," he says as he turns back to his work, "I just don't think this will be that interesting to you."

"Watching you do anything is interesting to me," you joke back.

He rolls his eyes and gets back to work.

At first, things are smooth as before. He continues messing with the small, bendy pipes. You're quiet behind him. Almost too quiet, but he lets it go for now since he thinks he's found the source of the malfunction.

It doesn't take long to patch up. The more difficult part is going to each individual head and fixing the tightness. His fingers twist the little knobs to the correct settings. He then turns to you when he's finally done.

The sight of you feels like a gust of fresh air filling his lungs. You're laid out where you were before, but you've reclined across the ground. One of your arms is sprawled outwards, soaking up the sunlight while the other lazily covers your eyes. Your shadow outlines your figure against the emerald blades below you.

You look luscious and ripe, like a precious fruit ready to be picked and devoured. In any other circumstance, that's exactly what he'd do. He'd spread you out further for him and take you apart piece by piece. He wanted your nectar running down his chin with each savoring lap of his tongue. He craved the feeling of your heat wrapped around him, your walls massaging his shaft during every punishing thrust.

Imagining it now only gets the blood pumping down South to his hardening length.

He runs a hand over his hair and sighs. Why didn't he do that now? What was the point of this stupid fucking contest? It's not like there was anything on the line. The only stake was his pride, which to be honest, he'd already compromised for you multiple times over the course of your relationship.

Unbuckling the leather from his waist, he discards the tool belt. Next he peels his shirt from his body and tosses it to the side.

He makes his way to you on the grass. He drops to his knees and leans forward. His muscular frame cages you in against the ground. Starting at your navel, he drags his nose up your body. He coasts over the valley between your breasts and past your collar bone. His soft exhales breeze across your throat before he finally reaches your cheek. With a gentle pull, he clears your arm from your face.

Your eyes flutter to adjust to the sunlight beaming down on them again. They take in the vision of him so close to you and the way he gazes down with adoration.

"Hey, pretty girl," he says, his voice much softer than it'd been before, "You falling asleep on me?"

His thumb rubs over your jawline while the other strokes the crown of your head. A smile blooms across your lips. You can't help it with how he's behaving.

"No... well, maybe a little. I think you were right. Sprinklers are pretty boring," you say.

He grins and leans in to kiss your lips. With the exchange he hopes to communicate everything he doesn't want to say. I give up. You win.

You reach up and cup his scruffy cheeks. Your tongue swipes against his lips, sensing his longing for intimacy. He allows you in, and you deepen the connection. A long breath oozes from your nostrils.

He presses you down against the ground further as your hands slide over the little white streaks in his hair. Your fingers embed themselves in his locks. You feel his hands sliding down your body. They stop at your hips and give the plush flesh a squeeze.

It's obvious what he wants, but in case there was any doubt, his digits then hook around the top of your shorts and give them a tug.

A giggle bubbles up out of you against his mouth. You pull back to look at him with smug eyes.

"Is that your way of admitting I was right?" you ask.

He grumbles and ducks his head down to start kissing your neck. "Don't get cocky or I'll change my mind."

That makes you laugh more. You yank on his hair and pull him back up to look at you. 

"No you won't," you tease and brush your noses together. Looking into his eyes again, you can see how bad he wants this. "Just say it."

"Say what?"

"Say you're giving in. And that I win. And that you can't live without me."

He gives you a blank stare. Silently, he contemplates if there's any way around this. He wonders if there's a way he can avoid utter humiliation.

"C'mon, baby. Throw an old dog a bone," he grumbles.

Giggling, you shake your head. "Nuh uh. I wanna hear you say it."

He sighs and rolls over, pulling you on top of him. You straddle his hips with learned ease. Your smile glows from this angle. The sunlight above cascades over your frame and only further accentuates your body in your tight clothes. He rubs his hands up and down your sides. His dick is already at half-mast under the denim that covers his lower body. Your heat rests right on top of it, teasing him through the barriers of cloth. It dangles what he could have if he gives you what you want right before him.

The words that challenged you and created this trap for himself came out so easy. Why couldn't these be the same?

To coax him along, you grind down the slightest bit. The pressure's so light and gentle, a mere graze of your mound on the outline of his growing bulge. He hisses at the feeling.

"Just admit it," you say, planting your palms on his chest, "Just say I was right and you were wrong."

He watches you above him, knowing you're not going to drop this. If he wanted this self-invoked dry spell to end, he'd have to make it happen.

You roll your hips down with more force, impatient to hear him comply with your request. A small whimper leaks out of you. He can tell from that sound alone that you're getting worked up. That arousal is beginning to collect between your thighs.

The thought of it makes his need for you almost biological. His hands clamp around your waist and press you down harder. He rocks his up a little to meet your own movements.

"I need you so bad, princess," he sighs, his eyes shutting as he takes in the dull pleasure of you on top of him.

"Then you can say what I told you," you tease.

"What was it again?" he asks as he continues dragging your covered pussy back and forth along his now fully hard shaft.

"Say you're giving in. That I win. And that you can't live without me," you remind him, visibly proud of your victory.

With a sigh, he repeats, "I'm giving in. You win. I can't live without you."

You smile and laugh as if it was the best thing you'd ever heard. Your head falls back with glee before coming up so you can see his face again.

"Actually, can you say that again? I'm gonna grab my phone. That way I can film it this time. I just wanna have a record-" you continue to tease, but you're cut off by your own squeal when he grabs you and flips you back over onto your back. He keeps you quiet by smashing his lips against yours as your back thuds against the grass.

This kiss burns hotter than the last one. His mouth moves with bruising passion as he pulls your shorts down your legs for real. You help him by kicking them loose. His hands roam around over your smooth skin.

He glances down and finds what he thought he felt. No panties.

Eyes flitting back up to you, he shakes his head. "You were gonna give in anyways," he accuses.

"Yeah, but you gave in first," you giggle.

A small growl rumbles in his chest, but he still leans in to pull your tank top up. He brings it across your stomach, letting your breasts fall free as he bunches the material above them. He cups the plump flesh, taking a look at the beauty he holds in his palms. You watch him in the fleeting interval in which you're forced to separate.

"So... since I win, what do I get?" you continue to gloat.

"My dick inside you," he answers as his fingers yank his zipper open and shove down his pants in a similar fashion to your shorts.

"But I'm gonna get that anyways. I think I should get a real prize," you say, aiming to stoke the flames higher.

Your hips get hauled closer across the grass, so fast that you're in danger of having green smeared across your skin.

"I don't think you'll be complaining in a few minutes, ya little brat," he mumbles.

His fist pumps over his cock as he lines it up between your legs. The leaky tip smears some precum over your folds before he slides inside. He groans as he sinks in, cherishing the feeling after the week of its absence.

You're quick to adjust to the stretch. With a sharp breath, your back arches off the grass. He had already snapped back and slammed in again. You knew he wouldn't be patient after being deprived of this. Watching him above you, your eyes study how his chest puffs in and out with harsh breaths. His strong arms extend down on either side of your head, his fists holding clumps of grass between them. 

It's a gorgeous view, but you know it can't beat the feeling.

"Closer..." you whine and grab at his shoulders, pulling him down so he's right on you and smothering your body against the turf, "Missed you, old man."

"How many times have I told you to quit it with that?" he asks as his pelvis begins setting a rhythm.

"Enough to know that I'm never gonna," you say. It's the last thing you can get out before moans shatter your plans to speak.

His warm flesh pounds against yours over and over. Your body rocks with the bounce of him on top of you. It feels so good. The world feels bright again, like you'd transitioned from an existence of black and white to living in color. It was so open out here but also so empty. Like you and him were the only two people on earth.

Your voice tapers off. Words become second to whimpers of pleasure. His hands grope the swell of your ass before returning to your sides for steady leverage.

"We'll have to work on that then," he grunts, "If you're not gonna stop, I'll just have to make sure you can't speak at all."

You preen at the idea, clutching at his muscular shoulders and back. He pants right next to your ear. Each stroke drives deep into you, brushing a spot that had ached for him to touch it again.

"Never wanna go that long again," you babble around whines.

"Me neither, baby. Think you were right. Not being able to feel this pretty little pussy every day almost killed me," he says.

A rush of euphoria flows through you upon hearing that. Your moans become more breathy, more full of need for him. You grab one of his wrists and tug his hand off your hip, pushing it in between your legs.

He knows what you want. His fingers apply some pressure and rub at your swollen bundle of nerves. Immediately, he's rewarded with a whine out of you and a buck from your hips.

"Impatient," he huffs between a set of deep thrusts.

"I won," you retort, "I get to do what I want."

Even in the heat of the moment, he chuckles at your petulant tone. His hips keep rutting against you on the grass. He's sure his next task of yard-work will be covering the mysterious indents in the soil out here.

"I needa cum, Logan," you whine several seconds later, "So close."

"Yeah? You need it, sweetheart? Need to let it out after keeping it from me for so long?"

Your head bobs up and down in an enthusiastic nod. "Please, please, please."

"Well, it's like you said. You won. So I think you can finish when you're ready."

"Mmmm- o- ok..." you whimper out.

Your hips roll up and down to reciprocate the fast pace of his own. He's battering right up against that special spot inside you that makes your mind blank and your eyes gloss up.

With a handful of whimpers, you cum. Your face scrunches as your cunt tightens around him. His fingers keep up the same rhythm on your clit, swirling around the little bud through your pleasure high.

"That's my girl," he praises, "Let it all out for daddy."

Your body seizes up at that command. Every cell of your being somehow knows to obey. You stumble over words and let them leave your lips half formed.

He keeps driving into you as you're coming down, chasing his own release. You're well into the territory of overstimulation now, all parts of you fizzling like a lit sparkler.  Your thighs quiver against his sides violently. They lock around his waist when you finally feel him slam in and drain himself.

A loud groan erupts from him. He makes no effort to restrain it given that only the two of you are here to hear it. He fucks it into you, ricocheting himself against your center a couple more times and letting every last drop pour into your dripping hole.

When he feels sated, at least for the moment, he reluctantly pulls out. He takes a couple deep breaths as he watches a bit of his cum ooze out of you. It didn't matter though. That wouldn't be the last load you took today.

His body topples over next to yours on the natural ground. You both lie there for a few moments catching your breath before you roll onto your side to look at him.

You just stare for a few moments. Your eyes roam along the shape of his face to the slope of his jaw and the curve of his chest. Leaning in, you kiss the space below his ear.

He responds to the touch by curling his arm around your waist and pulling you to his side.

His head turns to meet your loving gaze.

"I think we have some more time to make up for," he says.

You respond with an eager nod and hop up to your feet. Both of you pull on the basics of the clothes you'd been wearing before and rush back into the mansion, giggling as you stumble through the halls like a couple of lovesick teenagers.

The door to your room stays shut for the rest of the day. You spend the remaining hours you have enmeshed in each other; intertwined with him enough to recover from the lack you'd put yourself through.

Logan doesn't venture beyond the barrier of your shared sanctuary until the sun has gone down and darkness coats the halls of the mansion.  He walks quietly, taking his steps carefully to ensure none of the wooden planks beneath him creak.

All he had to do was go downstairs and grab you some water. In and out. Five minutes. But as he rounds the turn into the room, Scott's already there, looking through the fridge. He freezes and stands there awkwardly in his black tank top and loose sweatpants.

Having heard the sounds of his footsteps, the other man glances over at him. 

"There you are. Didn't see you around when I got back," he says simply.

Logan shrugs, trying to play it casual. He walks across the room toward the cupboard that holds the glasses. The other man's eyes follow him. He can feel that even through the scarlet shades on his face.

"Haven't seen your other half either," Scott continues.

Logan can tell from the tone of his voice where this is going. 

"Don't call her that," he scoffs, forever downplaying his attachment to you, "She's tired. She's upstairs sleeping."

"On her day off? I wonder what would have her so drained," Scott replies. His tone is flat in contrast to the little smirk on his face.

"Don't start," Logan says. He goes to the fridge to fill your cup with water. The trickle of the fluid is the only sound in the room until Scott keeps going.

"I didn't say anything," he says, raising his hands in surrender, "Only that this is the best mood you've been in all week."

"A couple hours without you around does wonders for me," Logan grumbles, wishing the liquid would pour a little faster.

"I'm sure. A couple hours with no one else around. Just the two of you after you've both been stiff the whole week," he taunts, "It's ok to admit you're whipped."

Finally, the cup is full. Logan takes it and turns away, holding one finger up as he walks from the kitchen.

"See you tomorrow, Scott."

"Yeah. Tell her if she's feeling sore, she can skip the early meeting," he says with a little laugh.

[abstract-moth]

I've always dismissed the theory that Mel had some sort of secret armor as wishful thinking. But now that we have seen the aftermath of the bombing, I think it may actually be true.

Jayce woke up with Mel hugging him. Before he opened his eyes, the gold was still glowing.

And let's take a look at the council survivors.

Literally only Jayce and Mel are completely uninjured. This is despite the fact that the explosion was directly behind Mel.

Jayce says it himself. Viktor was right next to him. How come Viktor was so severely injured while Jayce was completely unharmed? Mel answered that there's not sense to these things. Which is a valid response, but could also be covering the truth.

And when Ambessa finds Mel after the explosion, the first thing she asks is "are you hurt?" and Mel answered "I'm fine." Ambessa then focuses on ordering her forces. Again, complexly normal conversation, but what if Ambessa was so quick to believe her because she knew about the armor.

The rest of the episodes don't seem to drop any clues, but it is something to keep on eye out for.

[insipid-drivel]

Horses: Since There Seems To Be A Knowledge Gap

I'm going to go ahead and preface this with: I comment pretty regularly on clips and photos featuring horses and horseback riding, often answering questions or providing explanations for how or why certain things are done. I was a stable hand and barrel racer growing up, and during my 11 year tenure on tumblr, Professional Horse Commentary is a very niche, yet very necessary, subject that needs filling. Here are some of the literary and creative gaps I've noticed in well meaning (and very good!) creators trying to portray horses and riding realistically that... well, most of you don't seem to even be aware of, because you wouldn't know unless you worked with horses directly!

Some Of The Most Common Horse + Riding Mistakes I See:

-Anybody can ride any horse if you hold on tight enough/have ridden once before.

Nope. No, no, no, no, aaaaaaaand, no. Horseback riding has, historically, been treated as a life skill taught from surprisingly young ages. It wasn't unusual in the pre-vehicular eras to start teaching children as young as 4 to begin to ride, because horses don't come with airbags, and every horse is different. For most adults, it can take months or years of regular lessons to learn to ride well in the saddle, and that's just riding; not working or practicing a sport.

Furthermore, horses often reject riders they don't know. Unless a horse has been trained like a teaching horse, which is taught to tolerate riders of all skill and experience levels, it will take extreme issue with having some random person try to climb on their back. Royalty, nobility, and the knighted classes are commonly associated with the "having a favorite special horse" trope, because it's true! Just like you can have a particularly special bond with a pet or service animal that verges on parental, the same can apply with horses. Happy horses love their owners/riders, and will straight-up do their best to murder anyone that tries to ride them without permission.

-Horses are stupid/have no personality.

There isn't a more dangerous assumption to make than assuming a horse is stupid. Every horse has a unique personality, with traits that can be consistent between breeds (again, like cat and dog breeds often have distinct behavior traits associated with them), but those traits manifest differently from animal to animal.

My mother had an Arabian horse, Zipper, that hated being kicked as a signal to gallop. One day, her mom and stepdad had a particularly unpleasant visitor; an older gentleman that insisted on riding Zipper, but refused to listen to my mother's warnings never to kick him. "Kicking" constitutes hitting the horse's side(s) with your heels, whether you have spurs on or not. Most horses only need a gentle squeeze to know what you want them to do.

Anyway, Zipper made eye-contact with my mom, asking for permission. He understood what she meant when she nodded at him. He proceeded to give this asshole of a rider road rash on the side of the paddock fence and sent him to the emergency room. He wouldn't have done it if he didn't have the permission from the rider he respected, and was intelligent enough to ask, "mind if I teach this guy a lesson?" with his eyes, and understand, "Go for it, buddy," from my mom in return.

-Riding bareback is possible to do if you hold onto the horse's mane really tight.

Riding a horse bareback (with no saddle, stirrups, or traditional harness around the horse's head) is unbelievably difficult to learn, particularly have testicles and value keeping them. Even professional riders and equestrians find ourselves relying on tack (the stuff you put on a horse to ride it) to stay stable on our horses, even if we've been riding that particular horse for years and have a very positive, trusting relationship.

Horses sweat like people do. The more they run, the more their hair saturates with sweat and makes staying seated on them slippery. Hell, an overworked horse can sweat so heavily that the saddle slips off its back. It's also essential to brush and bathe a horse before it's ridden in order to keep it healthier, so their hair is often quite slick from either being very clean or very damp. In order to ride like that, you have to develop the ability to synchronize your entire body's rhythm's with the rhythm of the horse's body beneath you, and quite literally move as one. Without stirrups, most people can't do it, and some people can never master bareback riding no matter how many years they spend trying to learn.

-You can be distracted and make casual conversation while a horse is standing untethered in the middle of a barn or field.

At every barn I've ever worked at, it's been standard practice with every single horse, regardless of age or temperament, to secure their heads while they're being tacked up or tacked down. The secures for doing this are simple ropes with clips that are designed to attach to the horse's halter (the headwear for a horse that isn't being ridden; they have no bit that goes in the horse's mouth, and no reins for a rider to hold) on metal O rings on either side of the horse's head. This is not distressing to the horse, because we give them plenty of slack to turn their heads and look around comfortably.

The problem with trying to tack up an unrestrained horse while chatting with fellow stable hands or riders is that horses know when you're distracted! And they often try to get away with stuff when they know you're not looking! In a barn, a horse often knows where the food is stored, and will often try to tiptoe off to sneak into the feed room.

Horses that get into the feed room are often at a high risk of dying. While extremely intelligent, they don't have the ability to throw up, and they don't have the ability to tell that their stomach is full and should stop eating. Allowing a horse into a feed/grain room WILL allow it to eat itself to death.

Other common woes stable hands and riders deal with when trying to handle a horse with an unrestrained head is getting bitten! Horses express affection between members of their own herd, and those they consider friends and family, through nibbling and surprisingly rough biting. It's not called "horseplay" for nothing, because during my years working with horses out in the pasture, it wasn't uncommon at all for me to find individuals with bloody bite marks on their withers (that high part on the middle of the back of their shoulders most people instinctively reach for when they try to get up), and on their backsides. I've been love-bitten by horses before, and while flattering, they hurt like hell on fleshy human skin.

So, for the safety of the horse, and everybody else, always make a show of somehow controlling the animal's head when hands-on and on the ground with them.

-Big Horse = War Horse

Startlingly, the opposite is usually the case! Draft and carriage horses, like Percherons and Friesians, were never meant to be used in warfare. Draft horses are usually bred to be extremely even-tempered, hard to spook, and trustworthy around small children and animals. Historically, they're the tractors of the farm if you could afford to upgrade from oxen, and were never built to be fast or agile in a battlefield situation.

More importantly, just because a horse is imposing and huge doesn't make it a good candidate for carrying heavy weights. A real thing that I had to be part of enforcing when I worked at a teaching ranch was a weight limit. Yeah, it felt shitty to tell people they couldn't ride because we didn't have any horses strong enough to carry them due to their weight, but it's a matter of the animal's safety. A big/tall/chonky horse is more likely to be built to pull heavy loads, but not carry them flat on their spines. Horses' muscular power is predominantly in their ability to run and pull things, and too heavy a rider can literally break a horse's spine and force us to euthanize it.

Some of the best war horses out there are from the "hot blood" family. Hot blooded horses are often from dry, hot, arid climates, are very small and slight (such as Arabian horses), and are notoriously fickle and flighty. They're also a lot more likely to paw/bite/kick when spooked, and have even sometimes been historically trained to fight alongside their rider if their rider is dismounted in combat; kicking and rearing to keep other soldiers at a distance.

-Any horse can be ridden if it likes you enough.

Just like it can take a lifetime to learn to ride easily, it can take a lifetime of training for a horse to comfortably take to being ridden or taking part in a job, like pulling a carriage. Much like service animals, horses are typically trained from extremely young ages to be reared into the job that's given to them, and an adult horse with no experience carrying a rider is going to be just as scared as a rider who's never actually ridden a horse.

Just as well, the process of tacking up a horse isn't always the most comfortable experience for the horse. To keep the saddle centered on the horse's back when moving at rough or fast paces, it's essential to tighten the belly strap (cinch) of the saddle as tightly as possible around the horse's belly. For the horse, it's like wearing a tight corset, chafes, and even leaves indents in their skin afterward that they love having rinsed with water and scratched. Some horses will learn to inflate their bellies while you're tightening the cinch so you can't get it as tight as it needs to be, and then exhale when they think you're done tightening it.

When you're working with a horse wearing a bridle, especially one with a bit, it can be a shocking sensory experience to a horse that's never used a bit before. While they lack a set of teeth naturally, so the bit doesn't actually hurt them, imagine having a metal rod shoved in your mouth horizontally! Unless you understand why it's important for the person you care about not dying, you'd be pretty pissed about having to keep it in there!

-Horseback riding isn't exercise.

If you're not using every muscle in your body to ride with, you're not doing it right.

Riding requires every ounce of muscle control you have in your entire body - although this doesn't mean it wasn't realistic for people with fat bodies to stay their weight while also being avid riders; it doesn't mean the muscles aren't there. To stay on the horse, you need to learn how it feels when it moves at different gaits (walk, trot, canter, gallop), how to instruct it to switch leads (dominant legs; essential for precise turning and ease of communication between you and the horse), and not falling off. While good riders look like they're barely moving at all, that's only because they're good riders. They know how to move so seamlessly with the horse, feeling their movements like their own, that they can compensate with their legs and waists to not bounce out of the saddle altogether or slide off to one side. I guarantee if you ride a horse longer than 30 minutes for the first time, your legs alone will barely work and feel like rubber.

-Horses aren't affectionate.

Horses are extraordinarily affectionate toward the right people. As prey animals, they're usually wary of people they don't know, or have only recently met. They also - again, like service animals - have a "work mode" and a "casual mode" depending upon what they're doing at the time. Horses will give kisses like puppies, wiggle their upper lips on your hair/arms to groom you, lean into neck-hugs, and even cuddle in their pasture or stall if it's time to nap and you join them by leaning against their sides. If they see you coming up from afar and are excited to see you, they'll whinny and squeal while galloping to meet you at the gate. They'll deliberately swat you with their tails to tease you, and will often follow you around the pasture if they're allowed to regardless of what you're up to.

-Riding crops are cruel.

Only cruel people use riding crops to hurt their horses. Spurs? I personally object to, because any horse that knows you well doesn't need something sharp jabbing them in the side for emphasis when you're trying to tell them where you want them to go. Crops? Are genuinely harmless tools used for signalling a horse.

I mean, think about it. Why would crops be inherently cruel instruments if you need to trust a horse not to be afraid of you and throw you off when you're riding it?

Crops are best used just to lightly tap on the left or right flank of the horse, and aren't universally used with all forms of riding. You'll mainly see crops used with English riding, and they're just tools for communicating with the horse without needing to speak.

-There's only one way to ride a horse.

Not. At. All. At most teaching ranches, you'll get two options: Western, or English, because they tend to be the most popular for shows and also the most common to find equipment for. English riding uses a thinner, smaller saddle, narrower stirrups, and much thinner bridles. I, personally, didn't like English style riding because I never felt very stable in such a thin saddle with such small stirrups, and didn't start learning until my mid teens. English style riding tends to focus more on your posture and deportment in the saddle, and your ability to show off your stability and apparent immovability on the horse. It was generally just a bit too stiff and formal for me.

Western style riding utilizes heavier bridles, bigger saddles (with the iconic horn on the front), and broader stirrups. Like its name may suggest, Western riding is more about figuring out how to be steady in the saddle while going fast and being mobile with your upper body. Western style riding is generally the style preferred for working-type shows, such as horseback archery, gunning, barrel racing, and even rodeo riding.

-Wealthy horse owners have no relationship with their horses.

This is loosely untrue, but I've seen cases where it is. Basically, horses need to feel like they're working for someone that matters to them in order to behave well with a rider and not get impatient or bored. While it's common for people to board horses at off-property ranches (boarding ranches) for cost and space purposes, it's been historically the truth that having help is usually necessary with horses at some point. What matters is who spends the most time with the animal treating it like a living being, rather than a mode of transport or a tool. There's no harm in stable hands handling the daily upkeep; hay bales and water buckets are heavy, and we're there to profit off the labor you don't want or have the time to do. You get up early to go to work; we get up early to look after your horses. Good owners/boarders visit often and spend as much of their spare time as they can with spending quality work and playtime with their horses. Otherwise, the horses look to the stable hands for emotional support and care.

So, maybe you're writing a knight that doesn't really care much for looking after his horse, but his squire is really dedicated to keeping up with it? There's a better chance of the horse having a more affectionate relationship with the squire thanks to the time the squire spends on looking after it, while the horse is more likely to tolerate the knight that owns it as being a source of discipline if it misbehaves. That doesn't mean the knight is its favorite person. When it comes to horses, their love must be earned, and you can only earn it by spending time with them hands-on.

-Horses can graze anywhere without concern.

This is a mistake that results in a lot of premature deaths! A big part of the cost of owning a horse - even before you buy one - is having the property that will be its pasture assessed for poisonous plants, and having those plants removed from being within the animal's reach. This is an essential part of farm upkeep every year, because horses really can't tell what's toxic and what isn't. One of the reasons it's essential to secure a horse when you aren't riding it is to ensure it only has a very limited range to graze on, and it's your responsibility as the owner/rider to know how to identify dangerous plants and keep your horses away from them.

There's probably more. AMA in my askbox if you have any questions, but that's all for now. Happy writing.