#hell horse info

[sleeepydraws]

please enjoy the first of many albums by famed bard, Yortle the Tortle.

[blueish-bird]

What if I tried to write a cowboy au except the only cowboy things I know are Trigun and Cowboy Bebop. What then

[each-uisge]

Regardless of where you stand on monkey labour the monkeys in coconut farms are usually solitary and chained to trees (ie forced to perform labour) instead of chilling out with monkeys groups like they would usually be doing (social animals). I think saying monkey labour is fundamentally abusive is exaggerating but acting like its completely harmless when monkeys are wild and not domestic animals doesnt sit right with me. Anyways sorry I get heated about this topic.

Nah don't apologize anon. I get it.

I need more information out of places like Thailand directly to make a solid opinion, but I'm not invested enough rn to dig that deep.

I've seen some sources say the monkey labor is a century old, and some say up to 400. I would probably bet it's older than that? Length of time doesn't always equate to positive(wife burning, child marriages, etc), but I know the tradition of training elephants in India is far more complex than people in places like America, where I am, could possibly understand. I'd bet this is similar. I would hope places like Thailand have welfare laws protecting the monkeys, if it's really that old, and hopefully if they don't they change that.

I'm not in Thailand, and I don't speak Thai, and I don't read it, unfortunately. I would imagine most of the actual on the ground information is only in Thai.

I have read the statements from the monkey school quoted in the npr article (their url has changed and the article's hyperlink is broken, but a google search found them), and according to them all monkeys are bred on site and microchipped as wild catching is highly illegal, and the chains are just leashes so the monkeys can't run off, which is the same thing we do with dogs. They are also not usually alone, since they're always with their handlers and their handlers families. I bet chains are used because monkey teeth are very dangerous and powerful and a rope would be easily chewed through.

I would tentatively, without more on the ground knowledge, say it's at least comparable to horse plowing? To me, at least. If the industry has issues it's ultimately going to be up to the Thai people to change it, and I'm just some Californian halfway across the planet.

I'm also very wary of any claim being mainly pioneered by PETA. I hate PETA with a passion. Bunch of pet-killing grifters.

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

i dont know how many asks you have built up, but hullo :3

Wondering if you could make a little fic of reader with a biting kink and sub!Steven? It could go any way you want, but I can just imagine this scene:

Marc waking up, feeling all sore and stingy in certain areas and seeing reader blissfully sleeping like they didn't just bite the fuck out of the body. He stumbles to the bathroom, looks in the mirror to see bite marks all over his neck, chin, shoulders, arms (and some on his thighs 😼). Marc, talking to Steven in the reflection, asks why the hell would he let reader keep chomping on the body like a chew toy, and Steven was just like "well, bruv, you should have seen them on top of me last night. I couldn't say no to that face" Marc, Steven and Jake have been dating reader for a while, and they know all to well about their biting kink, that a different reason they summon the suit to heal (even though they sometimes keeps the bite marks on like a display to others that they have a sex life. I feel like Jake would taunt others and be like "yeah, my lover owns me" and other people could be like wtf??)

Extra points of reader is a demihuman 😼

Thank you so much for the ask! Ahhh!

Sorry this has kind of gone in a different direction.

Love Bites

Steven Grant x Marc Spector x gn!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals • Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • buy me a coffee? •

Summary: Marc has a problem he needs to share.

Warnings: Kissing, biting, pet names, Marc and Steven having a conversation (bickering), fluffy silliness, swearing, not beta read, please let me know if I've missed a warning.

Word Count: 973

Steven moans softly as you straddle his thighs, your hands on his cheeks as you kiss him and lightly push him back against the pillows. His fingers dig into your waist as he kisses you back, leaving him breathless, lightheaded. 

Which isn’t helped by the blood rapidly rushing downwards. 

You rock against him lightly as you lick into his mouth and nibble on his bottom lip, breaking away for just a moment to tug his t-shirt up and off. Steven helps you eagerly, throwing it to the side as if the material had personally offended him. 

When you go back to dragging your lips along his throat, he groans loudly, wriggling under you in excitement, his heart thudding in his chest. 

“Love,” he moans, needy and wanting. He places his warm hand on the back of your neck, applying a firm but not oppressive pressure. 

You know what he wants, what he craves. But instead, you smile and run your tongue along his jugular. 

“Love.” He pants, a little harsher this time and you just about manage not to giggle at the indignation in his voice. 

‘Steven.’ Marc’s voice echoes in his head, clear as day and he rolls his eyes. 

‘Bit busy now mate.’ 

There’s a pause, and even though Steven doesn’t look over to the mirror, he can feel Marc shiver, the sensations starting to bleed over, his arousal. 

‘Yeah, I get that.’ Marc pauses, but doesn’t fade back. 

You nip lightly at the spot under Steven’s ear. He shudders, whining beautifully. 

‘Maybe you can…’ Marc swallows. 

‘Spit it out mate, come on. Me and Jake have talked to you about this. It’s not really fair that you’re constantly dropping in on, well, intimate moments with us, but when it’s the other way around, you get all pissy and-’

‘This isn’t about that.’

‘Isn’t it?’ 

Steven can feel Marc frown at his sarcastic tone. But neither of them comment on it. 

‘Look, it’s about the biting-’

It’s almost like you can hear them. At the exact moment the word is out of Marc’s mouth you sink you teeth into Steven’s neck and suck.

Steven yelps, arousal burning in his lower stomach. His grip on you tightens. “Oh, fuck love, yes, that’s what I want.” 

‘Steven.’ Marc tuts. 

‘I don’t care if you’re here or not, don’t act like I can’t tell when you’re in the background watching to get your rocks off. You’ve got a vouyism thing, I swear down, all high and mighty on your horse acting like you don’t when you watch all the blood time and-’

‘Steven-’

‘But do not give me the condescending mother goose voice when I am trying to have a nice time here, yeah? It’s a bit of a mood killer.’

‘I’m not trying to kill the mood!’ Marc snaps back, going from his stern slowness to matching Steven’s fast pace. His accent is stronger when he’s frustrated, and now it’s out in full force. ‘It’s the biting! Does it always have to be with the biting?’

‘First, is this really the time to be discussing it? Second-’

‘I think it’s the right time, the best time. You hardly ever-’

‘Second, you one to talk!’

‘Bullshit.’

‘It’s true!’

‘What the fuck are you talking about, Steven?’

‘You love getting bitten.’

Marc gasps, trying to sound insulted. But it falls short. ‘I don’t.’

‘Yes you do!’

‘I don’t!’

‘Protest all you want, but I know you do Marc.’

‘That’s a fucking lie.’

‘You’re a fucking liar.’

‘Steven, I’m not, shut up!’

‘You just use the suit to heal them after, but I know, Jake and I both know.’

‘Bullshit.’ 

‘What’s the real problem here?’

‘I…’

‘Yes?’ Steven waits. 

Marc sighs. ‘Look, can you, you know, heal them after too?’

‘Why?’

Marc squirms a little, embarrassed. ‘‘Cause… I get… worked up… when I see them, feel them, on the body…’ 

Steven snorts involuntarily and then quickly stops himself, internally apologising. ‘Are you saying you get a boner from some bruises?’ 

He can feel Marc’s glare. 

Steven chuckles. ‘You do!’

‘Fuck off.’

‘Oh, you really do. That’s bad mate, really bad, a fetish for sure.” Steven teases and Marc scowls. 

‘Fuck off.’

‘A deviant they’d call you.’

‘Like you don’t fucking get the same?’ Marc snaps. ‘Acting like you’ve never got turned on by anything.’

Steven relents, internally holding his hands up. ‘I’m sorry, I’m just teasing. I’m not trying to really upset you.’

Marc pauses. ‘Yeah… I know… sorry. I just…’

‘I’ll heal them after.’

‘You don’t have to.’ Marc says quietly.

‘You don’t have to fuck off either, you can stay and…’ Steven pauses, realising that your lips are no longer on his neck. He opens his eyes to look up to you, confused. “Love?” 

You smile at him. “Marc or Jake or both?” 

“Hmm?”

“Who you were talking to?” You lean down again and kiss his cheek.

“Oh, how did…?”

“You go still and sort of, move your lips a little, like you’re asleep.”

Steven blushes a little. “I’m sorry.” 

“Why?” You shrug.

“Not very sexy, is it?” 

You chuckle, “It’s fine, I’d do the same if someone was talking to me.” 

“Still…” Steven smiles. 

“So, who were you talking to?” 

“Marc.” Steven touches back into their shared space. Marc’s still there, though he’s stepped back a fraction. But he’s not pretending he’s gone. “He’s hanging out.” 

You smile and stroke his hair. 

“Now, I believe you were in the middle of something?” Steven wiggles his eyebrows at you, giving you a cheeky look. 

“Oh, was I?” 

Steven nods. “Something that you’ll have to finish, love. You have no choice.” 

You giggle at his teasing tone, “Oh, well,” you shrug, pretending as if it’s some great chore. “If I have no choice.” And lean back down to suck a love bite into his skin.

Thank you for reading!

Taglist:

@pleasurebuttonwrites @raven-rk @campingwiththecharmings @lonelyisamyw-0love @romanarose  

@steven-grants-world  @blushingrn @to-be-a-sunshine  @angel-of-the-moons @minigirl87

 @lunar-ghoulie @silvernight-m @autismsupermusicalassassin @reallyrallyauthor @basicalyrandom

@alwaysmicado @spxctorsslxt @novarosewood @hammerhead96  @mylittledelulucorner

@queerly-anxious  @swiftiegirliepop @oscarssimp  @eternallyvenus @lounilu 

@pigeonmama @iolaussharpe-24 @chaithetics @sub-aro @faretheeoscar

 @queerponcho @twwcs @ingoldthewizard @ominoose @ierofrnkk

@have-you-seen-my-sanity @missdictatorme @musicalnacho @buckyssugarchick @lemonzestinmydrink 

@sonotpractical @junggoku @julesonrecord @heavydirtysoulsblog

If you'd like to be taken off the tag list please let me know here

[creativepromptsforwriting]

this is a very hyperspecific ask but could yoy make some wild west prompts for writing??

my ocs are a bartender, sherrif, cowboy, teacher ,,

and the bartender and the cowboy are dating btw.

I don't know a lot about the wild west. I can only think about Der Schuh des Manitu, a German classic in the wild west genre of movies, iykyk, so hopefully I can come up with some prompts than can help you. But as a reminder, if you would like prompts about specific characters, it's helpful to give me a bit more info about them, like their gender for example.

Wild West Prompts

When the teacher disappears one day, the bartender and the cowboy uncover a web of lies and corruption involving the sheriff.

They try to keep their relationship a secret, but the rest of the town is hell-bent on playing matchmaker for their beloved bartender.

The sherrif believes the cowboy to be behind a series of robberies and the bartender needs to clear their lover's name.

A mysterious illness hits the town, making the bar empty and the teacher responsible for the children of the sick parents.

When the bartender's saloon suddenly becomes a hot-spot for a rival gang, the sheriff and the cowboy work together to get them out of town.

It's the talk of the town when the cowboy arrives at the saloon with a second horse and is seen giving the bartender riding lessons.

The discovery of gold deposits plunges the neighbouring towns into chaos. The sheriff relies on his confidants to keep the peace.

Hope you can create something with them!

- Jana

[minervamagicka]

TS4 Default Replacement: Horse "Skin"

Day 1 Edition (BETA/TESTING) - Adults/Elders Only

at the behest of the public, here's the "Day 1" default replacement I did. DL & info under the cut.

So, okay. Honesty time! This isn't tested outside of CAP at all. I don't know how it'll look in-game. I guess that'll be something you all find out, it could like hot garbage for all I know.

Alongside that, is the biggest strongest flashiest disclaimer I could do; I made this in an hour on the day of the expac's release, it's rough as hell, it is NOT a final product and is IS a beta. If you end up having problems with it, I highly encourage just not using it until better and more-refined versions of it or others come out.

Also I default-replaced both the "normal" and "muscled" versions of the diffuse, so the muscle slider in CAP won't show any texture change any more with this mod. This'll change in newer, more official releases.

Anyways,

Terms of Use

Credit/link to me if you intend to edit, replicate or otherwise use this .package or especially my textures as a base for your own derivative work. I did a lot of reverse-engineering in my own time of the TS4 files to understand the file structure & to get this to work, so this is the very least you can do.

Do not sell or post behind a paywall, even a timed one. This tumblr is anti-paywall to the extreme. This includes any content that might be created under Rule One. Do not do this. I will think you are an asshole. I have had issues with this in the past and my tolerance for it is absolutely zero. Additionally this asset includes parts that are not owned wholly by me, so you'd be profiting off the work of others as well!

Do not reupload. If you let me know if there's an issue with SFS, I'll reupload it myself. Please link to this post or to the .package on SFS when sharing.

Credits: SSO (used some of their textures in blending); TS4; me, baby!

Download [SFS]

[the-jordas-trials]

teehee. More earthmovers. Reference time aswell YIPPEE!!! This is by all means not all of my stupid war horses, theres like so many more still in the back of my brain who i gotta design, that atop doing designs for each ones final moments/ Whalefall just vibing on the surface.

more info about each under the cut (poke me about any of these guys i WILL ramble more bout them)

Benjamin: here just for a height reference. Standard Civilian class earthmover. Just a littol man (bonus points if you manage to find V1 hidden on his ref. Carefull. V1 is like five pixels tall but it IS there)

Pyroclastic: Supreme Escalation Class. Ruthless and violent, known to stop at nothing untill his targets have been eliminated. Pyro's name sake was drawn due to his size causing extensive overheat, as a result, vents were built and installed post creation, allowing him to turn the tide of most fights by dumping superheated steam/blood and vapour directly onto the field, often melting or overheating rivals. Pyro is considered a 'failed' EM, having he failed the second 'hurdle' of an earthmover's coming of age. Winning a fight against the last made, Whalefall. Disgraced, he was often chased away from his kills and only gained respect after wiping out several Supreme class herds, earning the nickname Burning Devil. Starshine: early Greater Escalation class. SS is old for an earthmover, but by far not the eldest, old enough before the design was fully nailed down. She supports a prototype canon, opposed to the usual javelin, she was designed to get up close and personal before overloading a rivals shield with a canon shot, allowing a fellow herd member to later take them down. SS pingponged between herds, and was later wounded and found by Whalefall. She's rather squeamish, shockingly kind and was known to go without refueling and resting form months on end. Both she and Whalefall survived the long night and new peace, untill the machine uprising, where Pyroclastic cut her down. Whalefall: Supreme Scavenger/Civilian class later repurposed for escalation. Whalefall is an oddity, having being a dual class earthmover, and was later upgraded before the long night set in. She's deceptively fast, known to sprint down her rivals and body slam them. She's also one of the few earthmovers known to weaponize an old targeting glitch, rearing up onto her hind legs and using the sun as cover, forcing her foe's to loose agro and lo longer class her as a 'threat' due to the sudden lack of javelin. Whalefall is also one of the few earthmovers post Hell Invasion that're still alive and is somewhat able to move, she now rests overgrown awaiting for her last maintenance machine to return from its hell dive.

Cyclone: Lesser plateau class. Cyclone is apart of the last round of earthmover's before the refineries and factories were razed to the ground. Apart of the 'colt/filly' round, small due to the lack of resources to make a herd of full sized earthmovers. Typical for his herd, Cyclone sports massive electric generators along his flanks, allowing him to electrify rivals. His herd splintered early on, joining up with existing herds, he found himself in the care of Whalefall fairly early on. Perished during the long night after tripping and unable to follow Whalefall and Starshine. Divergent: Standard civilian class. She's nothing to write home about. Born, killed, earned respect, then left alone. She's bog standard. Often living a peaceful life protected by her two sisters. Converse often with other herds, including Whalefalls, her large antenna array allowing her to do so. She's a known peace keeper, and was able to talk sever herds out of fighting multiple times. Convergent: Greater escalation class. By far one of the most hyperactive earthmovers. Known sprinter, known escalator. She was violent and hot headed, often shot first, hailed for peace second. Horridly protective over her sisters. She was wounded early on in her life, having taken an unlucky hit to her neck and surviving by the skin of her teeth. As a result she cant look down nor does she have full range of movement within her neck. Transform: Supreme civilian class. Form had by far the largest population atop her back, and as a result could hardly move faster than a shamble. Before the long night set in, she had been gravely wounded on her hind right leg, resulting in an extensive limp. Despite that Form is one of the few Civilian class movers that're willing to fight, and fight often. References still to draw are: Tsunami, Geyser, Eruption, Habitat, Freeze, Solarflair, Pompey, Hurricane, Typhoon and Tropical. yeah... theres alot of these fuckers lmao.

[elodieunderglass]

this feels like a strange question but in light of your info about how jockeys don't usually know or train with the horses they race on - what are jockeys..... for? what is the jockey doing that the horse couldn't be trained to do independently? does a good or bad jockey make a significant difference to how well a given horse does in a race?

Right?!

In a way, asking what the jockey’s for also asks the question of “why race horses?” Why do it at all, and why horses?

We sort of do it because horses are fast and exciting, and because they do what we tell them, even though it’s not in their nature. Because it’s not their nature, they have a jockey.

I’ve put this under a “Keep Reading” to save your dash.

Horses could be trained to race by themselves to some extent, but it wouldn’t be like greyhound racing - greyhounds are sighthounds, running perfectly reasonable dog software on top of ancient and serviceable dog hardware, practicing a variation of hunting behaviour. Horses wouldn’t do this; they have little desire to chase a mechanical rabbit. they have even less plan than a greyhound about what they’d do if they caught it. (Also, in terms of animal welfare, greyhound racing isn’t widely celebrated; loose animals running around aren’t better off than controlled ones.)

Racing-to-find-a-winner is not herding behaviour, even though some horses do seem to possess a natural interest in the topic. You could train some of them to understand better, and that’s what racehorse training is, but the way we have of training that is to put someone on their back to explain to them what their job is, so it all becomes circular anyway. Why do it? Why not? Why do humans race horses? Why race horses? We could just race snails; it’d be cheaper!

One answer is that when horses just Go, it isn’t super Fun. They mostly Go to pieces.

The jockey is the pilot, or software, who understands the situation and has a goal to achieve. The horse is not an engine, but a thinking animal; they have their own goals and interests, which are often satisfied by just running around in a predator-confusing fashion with their friends for 2 minutes, and then crashing into a car, eating hot chips and lying. Most of them do not really care how long 3 minutes is, what a mile means, what “pacing” is, or what “winning” is. They just have Go, and so they do that for a bit, and then fuck off.

I guess another metaphor would be Mario Kart. There are various combinations of automated and human players in a game of Mario Kart, and if racing was just about going fast, the fastest vehicle should always win. But a decent human player can beat the NPCs even if the human hasn’t bothered min/maxxing a vehicle, just because they can be moderately smart about how to race. An adult can often beat a child at Mario Kart, even if the adult takes a much worse vehicle, because in theory, brains/experience/strategy/planning factor into “who wins a race,” and we LIKE that.

Same with car racing. Why not just race autonomous vehicles? In F1, where they build their own cars, why not include the driving software in the design? Or why not remote-control them? Why bother strapping a poor driver into a flameproof suit? Fans will tell you it’s strategy. The human driver uses tactics and responsiveness and skill - but, below all this, the dark red thread of the human is risking their life and we like that.

In theory, jockeys are more intelligent than thoroughbreds, and have more of a plan: setting pace, knowing what time is, changing strategy, evaluating stamina, conducting the horse safely through traffic and over jumps, and adding a complicating element of human interest. In practice, it’s believed that they have relatively little influence on race outcomes - a bad jockey on a good horse can win or lose a race; a good jockey on a bad horse usually just loses; oh, what the hell, let’s just race snails instead - but without the jockeys, you’d have to change the name of the sport to Horses Wandering Around A Carpark Kicking Lumps Off Each Other.

Here is a bunch of baby steeplechasers practicing the concept of Go in such a way that nobody gets to Go at all. After the un-mounted Snow Dragon wipes out most of the other horses and jockeys, all of the loose horses go faster without the weight of their riders, but after an initial show of interest in the concept, the loose horses all lose interest and focus.

It was funny (because nobody was hurt) but it wasn’t what anyone really wanted. In theory, that’s what the jockey is for: they’re supposed to be the adult, in a game where you can win by doing that.

But none of it has to be happening, any more than Investments need to be Managed, you know? It would also be fine if we didn’t! Michael O’Sullivan, an Irish jockey, just died racing this very week and there’s the dark red thread again: the human is risking their life.

The consumption of animal and human in an ancient sport is fascinating and visceral and compelling; but you’re right to question it; none of it has to be that way.

As for the second half of your question: a bad jockey can make a good horse lose. A good jockey cannot make a bad horse win. But most people and most horses are not particularly exceptional, or particularly anything at all; they are just workers running in a circle.

Top jockeys on average horses win more often than other people on average horses. Top jockeys and champions exist, with year-on-year records and recorded material evidence of their decision-making and risks paying off, indicating that there’s consistency of winning across skill and experience that makes their success better-than/random; it would be worth doing a study controlling for the fact that top people are offered the best mounts.

It’s a test of horsemanship, too. Achieving flow - nonverbal command of an animal and fellow athlete, and sympathy together, such that they respect and trust you - having just met the animal - is an achievement of many skills, and if you broke a jockey’s skills down into different types, most ordinary people couldn’t do any of them. No core strength, no balance, bad hands, bad posture, no sense of body positioning, no internal timer, no ability to psychically mind-meld with an unhinged animal you don’t know personally… they’re all fairly rare, and it’s something else to make it complex and interesting for people who like that sort of thing.

Personally, I just like Killie’s little problems and the drama around them. The racing industry itself could collapse tomorrow, rendering Killie’s story historical fiction, and I’d be just as happy.

[moonlight-joy]

Finding Her Way Home

Fandom: Yellowstone

Request: @castielsmayhem John was out riding with Carter like he did in the show. They discover the reader by the river, beaten and they jump off their horses to help her. Turns out she knew the dad guys, one of them was her best friend and grew up with all of them and they thought she knew John Dutton and was trying to get info out of her, she’s only heard of him. (Pick your bad guy😂) John takes her back to his house where he nurses her back to health, but something he never thought would happen again since his wife died, he fell in love.

Pairing: Reader/John Dutton

The Montana sky stretched endlessly above, painted in soft hues of blue and gold as John Dutton rode alongside Carter through the sprawling fields of Yellowstone Ranch. The steady rhythm of hooves on dirt was a familiar comfort to John, a ritual that reminded him of who he was and what he was fighting to protect. Carter, perched on his horse with a mix of pride and caution, glanced at John for guidance every now and then, eager to prove himself.

“Keep your eyes open,” John said, his voice steady. “You learn a lot just by paying attention to the land.”

Carter nodded, his gaze sweeping across the landscape. It was peaceful out here, the kind of peace that could trick a person into thinking the world was kinder than it was. But John knew better.

As they crested a small hill, the river came into view, its waters glinting in the afternoon sun. John pulled his horse to a stop, something catching his eye near the riverbank.

“Hold up,” he said, raising a hand.

Carter reined in his horse, following John’s gaze. “What is it?”

John didn’t answer right away. He squinted, focusing on a figure lying near the water’s edge. At first, he thought it might be a pile of clothes or debris, but as they drew closer, he saw the unmistakable shape of a person.

“Stay here,” John said, dismounting quickly.

“Is someone hurt?” Carter asked, worry creeping into his voice.

John didn’t respond. He moved quickly but carefully, his boots crunching over the gravel as he approached. The closer he got, the clearer the scene became—a woman, battered and bruised, her clothes torn and stained with dirt and blood. Her body trembled, even in the warmth of the sun.

“Hey,” John called gently, kneeling beside her. “Can you hear me?”

Her eyes fluttered open, glassy with pain and exhaustion. She blinked up at him, disoriented but clearly terrified.

“It’s okay,” John said, his voice low and soothing. “You’re safe now. I’m John Dutton. What’s your name?”

She opened her mouth to speak, but no sound came out at first. Finally, in a hoarse whisper, she managed, “Y/N.”

John nodded, taking off his jacket and draping it over her shoulders. “Y/N, we’re gonna get you out of here. Can you stand?”

“I… I don’t know,” she murmured, her voice trembling. “They… they thought I knew you. They thought…” Her voice broke, a sob escaping before she could stop it.

“Easy,” John said, his heart twisting at the sight of her pain. “We’ll talk later. Right now, let’s get you back to the ranch.”

---

The ride back to the Yellowstone house was slow and careful. Y/N sat in front of John on his horse, leaning heavily against him, her body too weak to hold herself upright. Carter rode beside them, his face etched with concern.

When they reached the house, John dismounted and helped Y/N down, carrying her inside without hesitation. He laid her gently on the couch in the living room, his mind already racing with questions. Who had done this to her? And why?

“Beth!” John called out, his voice echoing through the house.

Beth appeared a moment later, her sharp eyes narrowing as she took in the scene. “What the hell happened?”

“Found her by the river,” John explained. “She’s hurt. Needs food, water, and rest.”

Beth nodded, her expression softening slightly as she approached Y/N. “I’ll take care of her.”

“Thanks,” John said, giving Y/N’s hand a reassuring squeeze before stepping aside to let Beth work.

---

Y/N stayed at the ranch for days, recovering slowly under John’s watchful eye. He made sure she had everything she needed, from warm meals to fresh clothes. But what she needed most was comfort, and John found himself drawn to her in a way he hadn’t expected.

One evening, as the sun dipped low in the sky, John found Y/N sitting on the porch, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. He joined her, sitting in the chair beside hers.

“You feeling any better?” he asked gently.

She nodded, but her eyes remained distant. “Physically, yes. But… it’s hard to forget what happened.”

John leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “You want to talk about it?”

She hesitated, then took a shaky breath. “I knew them. The men who did this to me. We grew up together. One of them… he was my best friend.”

John’s jaw tightened, anger simmering beneath the surface. “And they thought you knew me?”

She nodded. “They said you were a threat to their plans. They thought I could give them information. But I didn’t even know who you were until now.”

John’s heart ached for her, for the betrayal she’d endured. He reached out, covering her hand with his own. “I’m sorry. No one should have to go through that.”

Y/N’s eyes met his, filled with pain and something else—something vulnerable and raw. “I trusted him. And he… he hurt me.”

John squeezed her hand gently. “You’re safe here. No one will hurt you again.”

---

Days turned into weeks, and Y/N’s strength returned. But something else began to change, too. The quiet moments she shared with John became longer, more meaningful. He found himself drawn to her laughter, her resilience, the way her eyes sparkled when she spoke about the things she loved.

One evening, as they stood by the fireplace, John found himself unable to look away from her. The firelight danced across her features, highlighting the curve of her cheek and the softness of her smile.

“You’ve got a way of making this place feel different,” he said quietly.

Y/N turned to him, her brow furrowing slightly. “Different how?”

John took a step closer, his voice low and steady. “Warmer. Lighter. Like maybe there’s still good things worth holding onto.”

Her breath hitched, and for a moment, neither of them moved. Then, slowly, she reached out, her fingers brushing against his.

“John,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I don’t know how to do this.”

He covered her hand with his, his touch firm and reassuring. “Neither do I. But we don’t have to figure it out tonight.”

---

Weeks later, under the vast Montana sky, everything shifted. They sat on the porch together, the stars stretching endlessly above. The air was cool, but the warmth between them was undeniable.

John reached for her hand, threading his fingers through hers. “You ever think about leaving all this behind?” he asked.

Y/N shook her head. “No. I think I’ve finally found where I belong.”

John’s heart swelled, and before he could second-guess himself, he leaned in, pressing his lips to hers. The kiss was slow, tender, filled with unspoken promises and a vulnerability neither of them had allowed themselves to feel in years.

When they finally pulled back, Y/N rested her forehead against his, a soft smile on her lips. “I never thought I’d find someone like you.”

John chuckled, his thumb brushing over her cheek. “Guess life still has a few surprises left for both of us.”

As they sat together under the Montana sky, the past began to fade, replaced by a future neither of them had seen coming. But one thing was certain—whatever came next, they would face it together.

Please support my work with like and comment

[copilotjimmy]

info under cut ^^

RULES!!

SEXUAL NSFW such as KINKS, FETISHES, and whatever else is there DO NOT INTERACT. Not only am I not comfortable with it, JIMMY does not DESERVE PLEASURE. I will block and delete any asks relating to stuff like that. Jimmyshippers are on thin ice, because Imm not sure why you would LIKE him at all for anything else other than his great writing but okay? Good for you? Jimmy x Anya + Daisuke DNI. Jimmy x Curly shippers…. Ehhhhh? In the toxic way, yes. Actual good relationship? No. Are there even Jimmy x Swansea shippers???

Asks relating to Jimmy you knowing Anya will most likely be brushed it off as it not being his fault. I apologize for this. If you want to make him pay for it, then go ahead. It’s your job to make him suffer <3

info !!

jimmy herschel oglethorpe (his full & legal name) is the co pilot we all know and hate (and love, apparently?) and now he is stuck in hell (purgatory, technically) forever, forced to relive the events of mouthwashing until judgment

he is living and he is dead, usually signified by the bullet hole in his head. rp takes place whenever, but i’d say 2 months after the crash/0 hours until judgment.

he is remorseful, but really only since he’s truly being punished for the terrible things he done.

he also has a lot of mood swings so be prepared for some whiplash

tags..

jimmyposting: just a general tag.. whether it be roleplaying with the other jimmies or just jimmy posting things.. this is jimmyposting.

the fckuing Jimmy mod: mod posting. usually entirely in red text.

yimpy: yimpy…

that fuckass horse: anything relating to polle. pollepillar also a related tag, but more serious stuff

judgement, take responsibility, i’ll fix it: more serious rp

anon ask: asks that i’ve bothered to tag

miscellaneous anons: Vice, Nora, 🙃, etc.. just some anons

curly fries, or just curly (may come up with something better) curlyposting

crispy fries: post-crash curly

with a side of potato wedges: curly & jimmy

shoestring daisuke, daisuke, close your eyes: daisukeposting

anya & swansea i need to come up with something .. grr..

my little pony, ponysona: yeah

and anything with red text.. usually it is meant to signify him lying and/or modposting, but is used for emphasis sometimes. anything with blue text is truth.

[myhornysaga]

My War Criminal Husband

Established relationship, Graves x fem reader

A/n: idk anything about law, lawyers or courts kindly do NOT come for me. Thank you!

You and Graves are a match made in hell.

You, a criminal lawyer with a sharp tongue.

Philip Graves, a war criminal, CEO of a private military company and your husband, your partner for as long as you could remember.

You two together, are a force to be reckoned with.

Graves knows you, you know Graves. You both are each other's immovable rocks that keep each other grounded. A reminder of both of your roots and how it all started...

You trust Phil and Phil trusts you.

And that is why you are now representing his PMC at the Court.

It is a highly televised affair so all eyes are on you. Phil didn't come because he's currently in the midst of a Contract but thats confidential info besides he knows you're good under pressure and can handle things well in his absence.

The party involved, prosecutor claims "'Commander Philip Graves' and his boy band have committed war crimes on foreign soil. Killing civilians, children and women with that bomb drop! We need to disband this mercenary group with immediate effect!, your honor". The old man growled as he finished his sentence and glared at you while sitting back down on his seat.

As if! You thought. The Shadows isn't just some pmc in the market or Phil trying his luck in business. It is something that Phil and you created from ground, from dust with extensive planning and research did The shadow company formed. Raising it like a child you both never had. Phil describes it best.... "we're all just one big family!"

And no way in hell would you let some cranky old man Mr Tithabeault, tell you to 'disband' your company! It is like a neighbor asking a mother to maim her child!

"Your honor i object." you stood and started your piece.

All eyes were on you now. Everyone is watching. Heck the entire thing is televised around the globe. So you knew you have to be careful with words and attitude because you weren't in just any court. No, you were representing The Shadow Company at the International Court of Justice in Hague, Netherlands.

------------××××××××××××××××××--------------

After grueling session between the prosecutor and you, the defendent. You delivered your final piece.

"Your honor my client is not just deciding to wake up one day and plan on bombing on foreign soil as Mr Tithabeault here suggests." You took pause and took a look at the prosecutor to deliver the final blow.

You continued, "..No, oh no! The Shadows Company is working under Contract alongside a Country's army. It is a confidential information so my apologies i cannot specify the country. But regardless, your honor, my client's working with the Army which, by default", you knew just few more words and this case's win is yours. You glanced a final smug glance at the prosecutor before continuing..

"..by default my client is considered an extension of his then-contractor. Not some, to quote Mr Tithabeault, rogue 'boyband'!" And with that finishing line you took a sigh as you sat back down in your black robe.

You knew you have won the case beacuse it is a bogus case in the first place! Graves' receives a lot of accusations every now and then and you are too used to fighting the same fight over abd over again.

But the only reason this case became a high profile case is because your husband has quite a list of enemies and 'some' of these people just have 'some' people in high places. Thus this one horse got dragged to the ICJ.

--------------------------------------------------

The verdict came and just as you had predicted, you won.

Same shit, another day. Simple as that.

You smiled as you walked out of the prestigous International Court, to get into your car.

You had two Shadows by your side for your protection.

Just as you stepped outside the building, in a minute you were swarmed by thousands of reporters, protesters yelling screaming hounding you with questions on the trial, cursing you for representing a mercenary group and what not.

But you couldn't care any less. You know you had a job which was to have Phil's back and you did your job well.

The two shadows cleared the way for you to a 3rd shadow opening the car door for you to enter into your black bullet proof SUV.

The moment the door closed you took deep sigh of relaxation.

The 3rd shadow entered the passenger seat and the driver started driving to The Ritz Hotel where you are residing for the duration of the trial.

"Maam", the shadow on the passenger seat called out for you.

Your eyes were getting droopy due to exhaustion but the man's voice woke you up from your daze. "Yes?"

"Maam you have a call from shadow 0-1 ugh", he corrected himself thinking you may not be aware of the field callsign " its Commander Graves", he finished as he handed you the satellite phone.

Your eyes lit up on the mention of Phil's name.

"Phil? We won", you muttered with a hint of past work loads exhaustion still there.

"Y/n? Babe you did great today! I knew you'll get it done..", he said from other side.

You could hear he's happy, "ah it was nothing. Same stuff just different day honestly..", you are tired from all that work load of late night research and stress and it was evident in your tone subconsciously. But you tried to hide it while talking to him. Hell you haven't seen him for a month!

"Saw you on T.V. babe. You looked hot. I'll make my payment to ya for being my lawyer as soon as i come home.."

You chuckled at his suggestive comment, "oh you better!"

He sensed your exhausted tone from miles away.

"...'Kay babe gotta go now. The boys will take care of you till you reach home. Tell em to hit me up as soon as you drop, ya?"

"Yeah, ofcourse.."

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Part 2

M.list

Series masterlist

[justabrick]

"Say you bring this whole place down, waltz outta the rubble with all these precious brains... Nothing changes. All the guys in charge are long gone. And we've got offices 'round the world."

I'm in an analytical mood again, so bear with me.

All the guys in charge are long gone.

Isn't it curious that Sundowner is implicitly excluding himself from 'those in charge'?

How much power over what's happening does he actually have?

It's all speculation, naturally, but I think it's possible to fill the gaps based on some other topics explained in decent detail in CODEC calls. Namely: Desperado, World Marshal and operation Tecumseh. And a little general cyborg info. So, operation Tecumseh – a false-flag operation planned by Steven Armstrong to ensure the revitalization of the war economy and his subsequent election, giving him free rein to reorganize America as a "survival of the fittest" society. Raiden and Maverick deduced that it involved President Hamilton's visit to the Shabhazabad region of Pakistan, and assassinating the President while making it seem as though Pakistani rebels were responsible for the assassination. And Desperado existed only to become the perfect scapegoat in this plan. Why I think that? First, reputation. It's as if Desperado LLC is purposefully trying to present itself as overtly evil to the public, it's aknowledged several times throughout the game.

What a name it is indeed. Quoting a dictinary: "A desperado is someone who does illegal, violent things without worrying about the danger." And the listed synonyms are: criminal, thug, outlaw, villain. Lovely. It's like writing "I'M EVIL" across your forehead. And speaking of exactly that. Agressive branding. We get to see three PMC's in action throughout the course of MGR's plot: Maverick, World Marshal, Desperado. Of all three of them Desperado marks their property the loudest. Raiden doesn't have Maverick's logo anywhere on his body, believe me, I've scoured all of his shiny metal ass for it. Regular Maverick soldiers from the prologue don't have the horse head anywhere on them either, neither do their vehicles. Only Gemini have these cute, easily missable pins on their jackets.

And I don't think I've seen World Marshal's logo on any of the enemies we fight, both their soldiers and and their UG's seem very "default" in that regard. Meanwhile Desperado:

(render by Yare-Yare-Dong) Especially prominent on Excelsus, a humongous advertisement for Desperado's involvement in the assassination, a good half of the final fight takes place on a giant Desperado logo.

Even the Winds themselves are branded like cattle, right on their chassis loud and clear.

All this to say is that they're advertising themselves as thugs and seem to be actively chasing publicity for it. No wonder, such reputation would make them a very convenient and believable target to pin the blame on. Why look deeper into it and try to find a potential secret third party behind them if this PMC already has an established history of extreme behavior? You'd think it would be pretty difficult to start out and grow with such presentation and their preferred clients being... fringe groups to say the least. That brings me to the idea that Desperado was never truly independent, and was always nothing but Armstrong's tool. Just a couple highlights to suggest how much money they must be getting from him. Quoting Kevin: "Of all registered PMC troops, we're still talkin', what, 3% have enhancements? Maybe 5%, tops? (...) Plus the surgery is highly specialized -- expensive as hell. Not to mention maintenance costs after that." Desperado is majority cyborgs. Imagine the costs. And the cherry on top - EXSELSUS. Boris: "I know Desperado makes good money, but this is not a thing thugs like that could purchase."

But even if they did start out independent it doesn't really matter, since with the amount of money Armstrong invested in them, his fist is so deep up Desperado's ass that he can use it like a Muppet. Seems Kev thinks the same: "Probably, given Desperado and World Marshal are basically one and the same. Careful down there..." There is no way Desperado could have continued to exist after Tecumseh. They're an american organization involved in an attempt on POTUS's life, they'd be torn apart immediately at the very beginning of the "war on terror" that Armstrong planned. The only possible excuse they could have used, as Raiden told Courtney, is to claim that their client set them up. But... That would never work with their track record of international terrorism and a history of assassinating high ranking politicians like N'Mani. And after all this exposition, let's circle back to the original question.

How much power over what's happening does Sundowner actually have? Chief Operating Officer of Desperado Enforcement LLC... sounds pretty nice if you don't think about it too much. Now let me put it more... idk, truthfully. De facto leader of a terrorist group that tried to kill the President. Scapegoat to end all scapegoats, eh? Especially with his colorful history of investigations for atrocities like torture and desecration of remains.

And Armstrong absolutely did intend for him to die as a result of Tecumseh. Don't believe me? Look.

What is Desperado? Lawless gang. And Sundowner - an extremist and a madman. Yeah. And when I'm calling him a scapegoat I'm not implying that he's innocent at all, dude's a monster. However! However. The real force behind the entire plan is undeniably Armstrong and World Marshal, NOT Sundowner and Desperado. Sundowner doesn't even believe in Armstrong's dream to be honest. None of the Desperado bosses we fight do, for that matter, but it's a topic I'll elaborate on in some other obnoxiously wordy post. Senator wants a future where everyone is free to fight their own wars, to fight for what they believe in. Does Sundowner personally fight for some kind of grand ideal? Well I guess he wants to see the return of war economy, but not to bring his country prosperity or anything, no no no. He wants war for the sake of war, just because that's what he loves, and what he thrives in. Sundowner is consumed by bloodlust, and the specifics of the cause that allow him to feed it don't matter all that much. Another proof is that he doesn't really care about the cause is that he yaps about Tecumseh to Raiden. First time in the server room can be chalked up to overconfidence (though I doubt it), but he actually answers Raiden's question on what's gonna happen in his last CODEC call, essentially sabotaging the entire mission by giving Jack a lead to follow. Could have kept his trap shut and Senator would have gotten what he wanted. But what about the quote "Even at mach two you wouldn't make it!" tho? Well I have a couple thoughts, they have to do with Sam.

So, Monsoon sent him to go "report to the chief." Safe to assume he went up to the server room, and him and Sundowner discussed what to do next. Ever wondered how Sam got to the spot his duel with Raiden takes place? Well there's this one easy to miss CODEC with Wolf in file 6: "Raiden: A World Marshal helicopter crashed in this vicinity earlier. It was en route to deliver a cache of cyborg repair materials. Should you locate any conspicuous crates, cut them open. See what is inside." Obviously his bike is still parked in Denver and I sincerely doubt Jetstream rawdogged it almost all the way to Solis on his own two legs, so that crashed helicopter is likely to have been his transport.

Server room is directly connected to the roof and helipad, Sundowner must have been the one who specifically sent him off to Solis. He is Sam's direct superior, let's not forget that. One of CODECs once you arrive at Pakistan: "Still, they've got to know I'm here. Sam was smart enough to figure out I'd take that launch vehicle." Idk if it's just Sam himself who figured it out, to be honest. Sundowner is shown to know a whole lot about Raiden, child soldier training, his experience with VR, the Patriots – it's reasonable to think he'd know of his connections in Solis as well.

So yes, I believe Sundowner purposely sabotaged Armstrong there. He's a lot of things, but he ain't stupid.

On the topic of sabotage, the way he was "defending" the HQ as Raiden advanced up the building is quite something. Not feeling like booting up the game to get the screenshots, but if you look up at HQ in the beginning of file 5, the building is utterly shagged. The only structural damage Jack himself caused I can think of is slicing up the helipad and everything else is basically Sundowner ordering the security to bomb the hell out of their own skyscraper.

And I see why he'd do that. It's logical to grow resentful of the company and the man that's setting you up to either get thrown in prison or killed as part of their plan. He can't not know that it's the fate that awaits him, he's aware what Tecumseh entails and he knows that all the blame will be pinned on him. So he might as well make his swan song as bombastic and destructive as possible.

There's also a big chance that he's actually indentured to World Marshal much like a lot of it's contractors, and that tie is likely to be stronger than the average cyborg's, because custom chassis are EXPENSIVE. I personally interpret the way he became involved with Desperado and by extension World Marshal as Armstrong plucking him out of some metaphorical ditch and offering him a way to escape the crippled potato life he was forced into after his run-in with an IED. It's not a charity though, and the price is what I was talking about above.

That would also explain why he's such a good sport about losing to Raiden. He must have lived with the knowledge of the exact date his life would end, either literally or by being dragged into court, so he's already made his peace with it. The other Winds seem to have done so too, judging by resignation in their last words. Not Khamsin though, that dumbass was definitely in the dark and it shows.

So in conclusion, does Sundower have power? Over day to day operations of Desperado – yes, over his own fate – ha. Haha. No. In the grand scheme of things his death does not matter. All actual strategic decisions are made by Armstrong and other "guys in charge" whoever they may be, meanwhile Sundowner is just a figurehead to pin their actions on.

At least Raiden gave him the death he would have wanted. It is flattering to fall to the state of the art cyborg who suplexed a Metal Gear. But that's just my speculation. I hope there are some interesting thoughts to find here even if you don't agree with the overall picture.

[edgeray]

Heyyooo!! I was wondering if you could make an Arle x afab reader with like a beauty and the beast plot?? Arle’s curse is slowly killing her though which is why her arms turned black and the only way she can save herself (this curse could also be affecting the House of the Hearth, up to you) is if she finds someone whom she can open up her heart to and they accept her fully and love her back in return! It doesn’t have to be exactly like that but I do think having a beauty and the beast au with arle x reader would be pretty fun to see.

Cursed Human

(Arlecchino x Fem! Reader)

A/N - Hi anon! This is a super interesting AU anon! If you choose to request as an anon again make sure to give yourself a name/emoji 🫶. I actually really love this idea. This gives a little bit of hanahaki au vibes (which is something separate that I should write and have been meaning to write, ack– too many wip). This will lean more into dark fairytale and will be based off of Arlecchino's backstory. (This turned out darker than I expected, and I'm very sorry for that.)  The switch up is crazy to me. 💀 How do I pull out horse girl au, platonic au, and domestic fluff, and then this shit? I'm versatile like that, I guess. But I promise it gets better after all the dark stuff.  Content warnings / info - afab reader, pretty dark, some brief religious notions, semi-graphic details of violence, a little bit of arlevie but only ‘cuz of the angst, hopefully not forgetting something, 1.8k words

Here tells the tale of a cursed monster. 

Peruere was said to be cursed from childbirth. A child who caused misfortune wherever and whenever, it was a surprise to none of the villagers when Arlecchino was dropped off at the doorstep of Crucabena, the head of an illegitimate orphanage. Misfortune began with the death of her birth mother. Afterwards, her father was stricken by an unknown illness, quickly becoming too ill to take care of her. The first day that Peruere arrived at the orphanage, the stocked vegetables and fruits had all rotten. And the first night, every child in the same room as her was suddenly struck with insomnia.   

(The pregnancy only intensified the already ill mother  in the first place. The stress from a newborn child and the death of his wife caused him to be ill. The recent intensity of humidity accelerated the spoilage of the produce. The mattresses were far too solid, the room was far too cold, and the piercing cries of Crucabena's daughter were far too loud to allow slumber.)  

The villagers deemed her as cursed, a threat to their quaint little town. They tried to persuade the town head, a powerful sorcerer, to eradicate the hell offspring. The town head rejected, suggesting that the mere existence of a child did not warrant taking away her life. Crucabena had stepped up to the conference, easing the villagers’ concerns by ensuring that the depravity would be beaten out of the wretched child. 

And Crucabena did just as she said she would. 

“Mother” had no issue every night carving the symbol of her archon into Arlecchino's skin in an effort to exercise the demon inside of the child. “Mother” sullied Peruere's once flawless skin with bruises, lacerations, and blood. The cursed child clawed and struggled away every night, and yet every night she only knew of the pain that was etched far past the layers of her skin, carved into her bones, and syringed into her veins. 

The wretched child became very familiar with the acute sting or the prickling ache. However, there was something else she became familiar with. While “Mother" dealt her pain, what Clervie dealt her was love.

Clervie was young and naive. Perhaps if the cursed child knew better, Clervie would not be tainted.  

“Mother” did not stop even when the screams of a six-year-old child rang through her ears. “Mother” did not stop when even her other children begged her to stop her demonstrations. “Mother” did not stop when her own daughter rose against her. “Mother” did not stop when her own daughter's blood spilt on her hands. 

Love is a strange thing. It can transform a meek sheep into a vengeful wolf. 

The same night that Clervie's life was extinguished, Peruere burned bright, hot enough to scorch Crucabena's life away. 

After hearing of the child's atrocity, the town head cursed the child, expeling her to a decrepit home amidst a dark forest, condemning her to a slow, painful death. Peruere will die a death befitting an unlovable, inhuman creature. For if she sins under the pretense of something so pure, then she shall forever be undeserving of it. Stripped from her final piece of humanity, her name, a new name is thrusted upon the child: Arlecchino, the Knave, the servant of a devil.

—

At Arlecchino's feet lay the corpses of the intrusive villagers, the ones that dared to enter her forest and prey upon her children. How dare they? 

It had been a decade since she had been cursed. A simmering fire burns within her veins, sometimes the constant ache so acute that Arlecchino believes that she is truly burning from within. She had long presumed that that was the very nature of her curse, that she would eventually burn from the inside like the very flames that consumed Crucabena. Her arms had attained the same color as char, the spread of the physical toll of her curse growing with each passing day. And her eyes, they gain red-crossed pupils, said to be the mark of a demon inside. 

After having been expelled, the villagers were ‘generous’ enough to give her an abandoned abode. With her hands, she made it into something liveable. After a few weeks of living in the forest, she encountered intruders on the eastern borders of her forest: children from another town, said to be cursed and so were being chased out by villagers with torches and pitchforks. Arlecchino had sheltered them, and they had remained with her since.

Arlecchino gives it another half-decade before the char completely consumes her body, and she will meet the same fate as “Mother.” But until then, she will protect her forest, her home, her children. Perhaps her children will grow strong enough to protect themselves when she is gone. 

Other children, in one way or another, made their way into her forest. One, whose mother had abandoned after giving birth to them, was left to die with nothing but a blanket bundled around them. Another, seeking a sanctuary to peacefully die was convinced otherwise, and now smiles everyday. Each and every child within her cabin had some tragedy placed unjustly on them, and so Arlecchino welcomed her arms to them. 

Arlecchino had taught them well, each child could not venture out beyond the woods for their own safety. But the villagers, across all five villages surrounding her forest, had grown bolder, determined to ‘exterminate vileness.’ 

She cannot protect her children for much longer. She will die, and her children–her nest of the outcasts, the abandoned, the cursed, the hurt–will be left to fend for themselves. Even she cannot escape fate, no matter how much she challenges it. That is the tragedy she must shoulder.  

She is tired. 

The warmth of her children, while welcomed, is not the same as the warmth she longs. The warmth of her children does not comfort her at nights when the bloodfire, so she calls it, creeps up, maiming any semblance of sleep. The warmth of her children does not undo or prevent the curse's effect, her arms still remain black, her hands still resembling the claws of a monster. The warmth of her children does not melt her frigid heart, does not make her any more human. 

She longs and longs for something she is destined to never receive. 

Because this is the most she deserves. 

—

One day, a person stumbles into her forest. She is neither a child or a malevolent aggressor. She encounters you, breathless and heaving as you clutch your bleeding side. Arlecchino can tell that you do not bear any spite towards her or her children, but she cannot deem you nonthreatening. 

“A-are you the Knave?” you're able to choke out, leaning against the tree.

“Would you like the misfortune of finding out?” Arlecchino forewarns, extending out her hands and showcasing her claws, remnants of other victims’ blood still on her fingers. You swallow thickly, your hand clutching onto the small dagger behind your back. 

“I'm… I'm looking for my child. They wandered into here and never came back. But… I refuse to believe that they're dead. They're alive, aren't they? You have them, don't you? Let me see them,” you boldly demand, despite your injured state. Your eyes burn with a dangerous determination, a familiar fire dancing among your pupils. 

“Are you unaware? That the Knave kidnaps and feeds on young children?” That was obviously a lie, but an effective lie that has dissuaded most villagers from entering her territory. 

You shook your head. “They're just rumors.”

“And how would you know?” 

You breathe in deeply. “I've heard of you. You're the first cursed child. But, I know why you were cursed. You wouldn't… you wouldn't do that.”

Arlecchino pauses, hesitance in her for the slightest moment. “I am cursed,” she says it like a shield, a wall that defends her from futile hopes. 

“The world isn't as just as most people like us to believe.”

The cursed human breathes deeply. “What is your name?” 

—

You were telling the truth. Arlecchino remembers one of her children yearning for their mother, the only source of comfort before they found the House. She takes you to her home, and you're reunited with your child.

Your child pleads with Arlecchino to allow you to stay, and begrudgingly, she does, to your amazement. You adjust well to living in the secluded home, often filling in for her the emotional support that the children always needed, but she could not provide. The children take to calling you ‘Mother.’ You joke with the children, insisting that Arlecchino was the ‘Father’ in that case.  

Something inside of her stirs when she does. It is both a familiar and foreign sensation, somehow a sweet and bitter taste in her mouth, soothing but perturbing at once. You are unbeknownst to this. 

There are traits that you learn about the cursed once-child, traits that you find endearing, and traits that you later learn to love. Although her words may be cutting, they can carry a tenderness with them. Her hands, that she so frequently despises, protect her children. There is no reason for you not to love them, despite their appearance. She utilizes her cursed status to protect all of you, and for that, how could you possibly see someone who is ‘cursed’ or ‘inhuman?’ 

One night, you lay awake, suddenly jolted by the sounds of scratching, originating from the room besides you. You approach the room, and view the forlorn sight of Arlecchino, hunched over and writhing in pain, the bloodfire overtaking her once more. Pained groans escape from her as her claws dig into the wall besides her, dragging them down as she searches for any sense of grounding. Her eyes glower, the color reminiscent of blood. It is in this moment where she looks nothing more like a beast. 

Still, you do not see her as such. Not when you take her hand, kissing each knuckle and finger, the same ones that had saved your child from danger, the same ones that had saved you. 

“Arlecchino,” you whisper out to her, and it calls out to her soul. The bloodfire weakens, and she gazes at you. Your eyes fill with a warmth that melts her.

“Don't,” she warns with a harsh gruff that wavers, attempting to wrench her hand out of her grasp, but she finds herself vulnerable when you grip tighter. You lean down, bringing your lips on her blackened skin, the very skin that signifies her inhumanity. The black gradient recedes, and you continue until you kiss up to her shoulder. By then, the charred hue only spreads up to her knuckles.

Shock envelops her expression, but she is hardly given the time to process when you slot your lips over hers. She sighs and leans in, bringing up her hand to cup your face. 

Her hands are neither clawed, nor charred at that moment, but the two of you hardly realize until the next morning. The bloodfire inside of Arlecchino dissipates.

Fate can be challenged, and destiny can be broken. Cursed or not, deserving of or not, Arlecchino will take what is rightfully hers. 

[whenlostinthedarkness]

Ellie x reader where they take nudes of each other on a Polaroid camera they found on a patrol and completely forget about them until someone finds them🫣😭

May or may not have written a whole ass one shot because this got me so inspired lol. Thank you for requesting this; Enjoy anon xx

Warnings: Sexual overtones and some sexual stuff sorta but not really, swearing, & use of marijuana.

Word Count: 2.5k

Anytime you and your girlfriend Ellie were put on a patrol route together, you could feel the giddiness exploding between both of you.

On a usual day where one of you had the day off and the other was out on work duties, the one at home would be sitting around, bored, and attempting to busy themselves until their girlfriend returned safe and sound. But today was one of those lucky days where you both were needed on the patrol route.

The start of patrol was pretty chill as both of you alternated between sifting through withered buildings and riding along on your horses, allowing time to appreciate the scenery of the area around in the downtime you had.

"Hey, let's check out that building with the camera sign," Ellie spoke as she rode on her horse directly next to you, pointing her finger in the direction of a storefront sized building.

You peered in the direction she was pointing at before looking back at her with an accepting shrug, "I'm down if you are."

The both of you guided your horses over in the direction of the building before leaving the animals to stand side by side, just a few feet from the broken glass door that went into the, what you assumed to be, old camera store.

"Check this shit out", Ellie said with excitement in her tone as her bright eyes marveled at the colorful, peeled wallpaper and exposed brick in a building that had to have been the ideal modern storefront before all of the infected shit happened.

You squealed as you quickly walked over to a massive bookshelf set on a wall. Several scrap pieces of cardboard and glass littered the shelf, but what your eye had been after was the books that were some how still set on the shelf as if the world hadn't completely shifted since they were first placed on the shelf.

You picked one of the books up, shoving off the layers upon layers of dust and debris that had gathered over the years, until you could make out the title on the cover, 'Camera's Throughout the Years'.

"Shit, look at this babe!"

You glanced over your shoulder to Ellie who was holding what appeared to be an oblong, square shaped, object.

Immediately, you walked over to her as she stared at this object that nearly looked futuristic to the both of you.

" What is it?", you said, tracing your finger along the thing in question.

"Hell if I know," Ellie shrugged, pressing all of the buttons on the mystery item in hopes that it would somehow start talking or moving or..doing whatever the hell its purpose was.

"Let me see if its in this book".

Quickly, you removed the cover of the book and flipped through the pages, scanning the table of contents in search of info, until you came across a diagrammed image of what appeared to be the very thing set in Ellie's hands.

"El, I think I've got it!"

Ellie was quick to move the camera away from her face and look down at the book you held in the palms of your hands.

"Looks like it's something called a Polaroid Camera." Your eyes were still scanning the book as quickly as you could as your fingers followed along with the typed words on the page.

"I think if you press the button over..here on the right..," your eyes were fixated on the object in Ellie's hand and she couldn't help but admire the way your eyes were squinted in concentration as your tongue slightly peaked out between your parted lips.

"...and just lift up on this part...it should open up."

It took you a couple tries, but eventually the top part began to move upwards until it was sitting straight up, exposing a fully intact Polaroid Camera.

"Holy shit dude!", Ellie exclaimed, eyes wild and smile never ending as she examined everything (and I mean everything) about the cameras exterior.

You rattled off the instructions on how to use it as Ellie continued to marvel at the object.

"Looks like we need films in order to use it El," you said with disappointment in your voice, "...unless."

Ellie could tell the wheels in your brain were turning as you looked the camera up, down, side to side; quickly, she handed it over to you.

"Holy shit, there's still film in this thing."

"You've got to be shitting me?!"

"Look!" You exclaimed, showing Ellie the little box of film that was still snugged inside of the square shaped compartment at the very bottom of the camera.

"Should we...test it out?"

"Oh most definitely", you replied to Ellie as you pulled the camera up to your face and looked through it's small view finder.

"Smile for me El."

Immediately, Ellie pulled up her hand to cover her face from the camera, "No fucking way."

You pouted, but continued to follow Ellie with the camera persistently, "Please El."

"What's in it for me?" Ellie smirked, bringing her hand down in order to cross both of her arms in front of her body, just below her chest.

You removed your eye from its focus on the viewfinder and lowered the camera down away from your face with an annoyed, yet amused grin.

"Oh god."

"What?"

"You know what Ellie."

Ellie walked over to you until her feet were planted on the cracked wood floor with the tips of both of your shoes touching. "Enlighten me then."

Smugly, you moved your face ever so slightly towards Ellie, which didn't go unnoticed by her. "You're never fair with your little games."

"What games", Ellie shrugged, fully playing the part of an innocent victim (which she wasn't).

"Mmmm okay."

"Okay," Ellie mimicked, trying to match your tone.

You weren't one to back down from a challenge to one up your stubborn girlfriend and now wasn't any different.

"You really wanna go there?" You moved your body forward, making Ellie nearly fall backwards from your gentle, yet sturdy nudge as she stood directly in front of you.

"Go where?"

"Shut up Ellie," you continued your nudging, but this time you didn't stop. The both of you continued on with Ellie walking backwards and you walking forwards directly into her.

"Make me."

Ellie watched as, the moment the words left her mouth, your innocent eyes seemed to cloud with devilish intention.

Gently, you placed your free hand on top of Ellies and guided until it was landing on your clothed chest; Ellie's pulse instantly began to quicken as her mind and emotions shifted from playful to aroused.

FLASH!

A strong beam of white light over took the dimly lit store as the sound of the film being spat out of the camera took over the only sound in the store, that is until Ellie let out a "What the fuck!"

You backed away from your girlfriend with a playful smile as you moved the camera away from your face and shook the film in your hand; again, doing just as the book advised.

"Babe cmon on," Ellie protested, trying to grab the film out of your hand.

"El, don't you want to see what your face looks like when you grab my boob?"

"No actually, I'd rather just see your boob."

You playfully scoffed, "Maybe you will if you stop being so difficult."

At that, Ellie stopped attempting to grab the photo in your hand, "You better be for real."

You shook your head, "You're ridiculous, you know that,"

Ellie's soft yet playful smile made you crack a genuine smile as you reached out for her hand, intertwining the tip of both of your fingers.

"Awww Ellie", immediately you cradled the photo to your chest with your free hand.

It only took a quick look, but the photo was preciously adorned with Ellie and an awestruck look on her face that made her features seem so soft and relaxed.

Ellie rolled her eyes, still wearing a smile that let you know she was appreciating your admiration for her looks, "Yeah yeah."

"You look so cute dude. I'm going to put this up in my place."

Ellie couldn't help her smile now, not even bothering to attempt to cover it up as you clutched it to your chest with two hands now, gleaming right back at her.

"I guess, it's time for your end of the deal now," you spoke slowly, raising the camera up and out to hand over to Ellie.

"What do you mean?", she questioned.

You smirked, moving your arms out of your shirt until it was lifted up & over your head.

"Wha-what are yo-you.."

Before Ellie could finish her stuttering sentence, your shirt was being discarded onto the ground, leaving you standing in your dusted jeans and grey sports bra.

Your hand out stretched to Ellie, beckoning her to come closer to you, which she happily accepted.

"What the hell are you doing?" Ellie said as she now stood just a bout a foot or so in front of you.

"Helping you get your picture." Suddenly your hands were slowly reaching for the bottom hem of the only fabric that was covering your chest.

"Babe."

"Hmm?", you hummed, lifting the fabric off of your top half until it was discarded alongside your shirt, leaving your chest naked, much to Ellies pleasure.

"Holy Shit." Ellie admired quietly, her eyes naturally raking over your chest and then back up to your eyes. "Are you asking me to take a picture of..you know," Ellie motioned her hand in the general area of where your tits were.

The mix of nervousness and astonishment in Ellie's voice was something you wished you could recored to play on repeat for those days when she was out on patrol without you.

As you stared at your girlfriend, giving her a smile, she didn't think twice about lifting the camera up to her face.

"All you do is put your eye in that little Hole right there and press the red button on the side," you explained, but if Ellie was being honest, she was only half able to comprehend any of your words. She was much too preoccupied with the way your tits were naked for her to devour with her eyes..and now to capture and have for..whenever the occasion arose.

As Ellie peered through the viewfinder, her cheeks reddened as you shifted your shoulders back, making your tits that much more pronounced and ready for her to bring her lips to.

Ellies pointer finger held down the shutter as the familiar noise of the film ejecting itself echoed through the store.

"It'll take a second for it to-"

Ellie interrupted you by quickly placing the camera and it's fresh film onto the nearby shelf and pining your back against the red brick accent wall, surely leaving slight scratches along your bare back.

You gleamed up at her as you wrapped your arms around her neck; it didn't take long for her lips to come into contact with yours in a harsh kiss that was dripping in longing.

Ellie let out a chuckle as her lips removed themselves from yours, "Maybe we should take this along so we could..take some more."

------

A Week Later

"Shut the fuck up Jesse," Ellie nudged her friend with her shoulder as the alcohol in his body made him giggle like a school child next to her.

Ellie and her friend in tow were crunching their way through the snow covered roads as they got closer and closer to the front door of her house after a night out of catching up.

Ellies hand twisted on the doorknob as she flicked on a lamp and stabbed her knife into a nearby table.

"Let me find my weed real quick then we can smoke up."

Jesse nodded, removing both his boots & coat before flopping down on Ellie's couch.

Jesse had been to your home many times before, probably having it subconsciously memorized if you had quizzed him on all the contents of your home...but something caught his eye this time that seemed out of place.

As Ellie went to her bathroom, grabbing the small tin that held potent smelling greenery, Jesse's curiosity got the better of him.

Peaking out from underneath one of Ellie's sketchbooks was the corner of...something..an object that Jesse couldn't fully make out. Looking around quickly, Jesse sneakily thumbed the corner of the object, sliding it out from underneath the leather bound book, until...it was revealed.

His cheeks grew red at the polaroid of you and your naked chest staring back at him, making him forcefully tuck it back underneath the sketchbook.

"Two pre-rolled joints coming up," with every word, Ellie's voice came closer and closer until she was in full view and plopping down on the couch next to her sheepish looking friend.

"Here", Ellie's long fingers pinched the edge of the joint as she passed it over to Jesse, but he didn't take it right away.

"Jess?"

"Hmm? Oh, sorry", Jesse's eyes must've been deer in the headlights worthy as Ellie scanned him with a furrowed brow.

"You good?"

"Yeah. Fine."

"You don't seem fine," Ellie chuckled as she held the lighter up to the white stick in her mouth until it was smoking at the end.

Jesse took the lighter Ellie held out to him, lighting his joint with a look of disassociation still evident on his face.

"Dude, what's up with you?", Ellie questioned as she exhaled.

Jesse gulped after taking the first hit and breathing the smoke out through his nose and mouth.

"You uh..you may want to try to hide this better."

Ellie looked confused at her best friend, "Hide what?"

The substance was beginning to relax Jesse more as he felt the weight on his shoulders soften and his once mortified eyes beginning to fall more closed than usual.

He chuckled, moving his eyes down to Ellie's sketchbook, doing his best to give her the hint without him having to actually say that he found her girlfriends nudes.

"What the hell are you on Jesse", Ellie chuckled, deeply inhaling and eyeing her friend.

Jesse sighed before bringing his hand down to Ellie's sketchbook, tapping his finger against the corner of the polaroid picture that had been revealed to his eyes just minutes ago.

Suddenly, Ellie's squinted pupils grew wider than ever as she came around to what he was talking about.

"Shit," she said, grabbing her sketchbook quickly, but forgetting that the intimate photo that Jesse found wasn't the only one set underneath the journal.

Jesse's eyes subconsciously dragged over to the..not so safe for work images of you, Ellie, and one of Ellie's hand wrapped around what he assumed to be her girlfriends neck.

"Fucking hell Ellie!" Jesse covered his eyes quickly as if somehow that would magically erase the images that were sure to burn into your mind for the foreseeable future.

"Damn it-Fuck, fuck fuck," Ellie swore as she grabbed the remainder of the images, placing them completely hidden under her sketchbook that was now on her bedside table.

"I-I'm so sorry Jesse."

But Jesse was much too fucked up by now to be able to be bothered by the accident, all his mind thought to do was begin laugh vigorously as his hand vibrated as it rested on top of his abdomen.

"Hey, fuck off," Ellie said as she began to lose the embarrassment as she playfully taunted her friend before once again sitting down next to him on the couch.

"I see why you date her," Jesse quipped, his laughter still spilling out to the point where it was difficult for him to get even one word out.

Ellie wasn't sure if it was the weed beginning to do it's job, the situation that had just happen, or a good combination of both, but she too began laughing hysterically and playfully hit Jesse's shoulder.

"Erase that shit from your brain dude."

"Oh don't worry," Jesse nodded through red rimmed eyes, "I'm going to try to."

[jadevine]

Medieval Warhorses, Repost + additions!

Since people loved my "Preindustrial travel times" post so much, I decided to repost my "Realistic warhorses" info separately from the original link, where it was a response to "how to get the feel of realistic combat."

--

The original link is here.

The "Warhorse" post on my blog, plus a recent addition, is here.

And here's the text for people who want to go down my "grown up horse-girl" rabbit hole right away!

Medieval Warhorses:

First of all: DESTRIERS WERE NOT DRAFT HORSES. Horse/military historians are begging people to stop putting their fantasy knights on Shires, Belgians, and other massive, chunky farm-horses! The best known instance of “a knight needs to get lifted onto their 18-hand draft horse” is a SATIRE (A Yankee in King Arthur’s Court, if I remember right), but somehow laymen decided to take it seriously.

Hell, I think the film’s historians knew that this was extremely inaccurate and begged the director not to do it.

--

For the purposes of this post, I will not get into the different TYPES OF WARHORSES. That is a hyper-fixation for another day, lol.

—

First problem with “Draft horses as warhorses:”

The bulk of modern-day “breeds” are far too recent for a medieval or medieval-fantasy story. Modern horse “breeds” began around the 1700s-1800s, so that’s in the EXTREMELY late-medieval/early-modern period. Before that, most medieval horses were referred to by “TYPE/PURPOSE” and maybe a “Country/Region.” “Spanish/Iberian horses” (the ancestors of modern-day Andalusians, Carthusians, and Lusitanos) were overwhelmingly popular for combat, and other baroque horses were also esteemed.

Destriers are physically average-height at 15 hands high (about 5 feet tall at the shoulder/withers), but the important part is that they are STACKED at 1200-1300lbs when most 15-hand horses are only 900-1000lbs, so that’s a quarter to a third more weight in muscle.

And remember, muscle will not make a given horse look “chubby!” Good ways to get across a warhorse’s muscles in writing is 1) how ROCK SOLID they are when you touch them, 2) their chiseled shoulders, necks, and butts, and 2) when they get into motion, especially for a fight, their muscles will flex and get REALLY defined. The three regions I mentioned are usually the most visible if they’ve got horse tack or a rider on them.

Think of the difference between “regular horse” and “destrier” as “regular Tom Hardy, who looks fit but normal,” versus “Tom Hardy playing Bane, where he put on thirty pounds and his torso and arms look like a fucking tree-trunk.”

Warhorses had nerves of steel, and the best-trained warhorses used could sprint and turn on a dime–they’ve been called “the sports cars of the medieval world.” This is a far cry from huge, sweet, and lumbering draft horses.

Besides Spanish horses, modern-day candidates for destriers would be European cobs (heavier all-purpose horses, large Welsh cobs are the best-known modern breed), and Foundation Quarter Horses (working/stock horses that can herd cattle and race and actually USE their muscles, not the bloated halter-horses who are mostly bred to look “good” to judges).

—

But if the destrier was supposed to be the horse equivalent of “Tom Hardy as Bane” and not “The Mountain from Game of Thrones,” then how could they carry a knight’s armor as well as their own?

First of all, human combat armor is different from JOUSTING armor and it is easily half the weight for better mobility. Warhorses from proper medieval times aren’t shown wearing much horse-armor, even in jousting. The stuff you see in museums is also frequently the custom-made armor for wealthy nobles, who either 1) wore it once or twice a year for public celebrations, which is also why the armor’s in pristine condition instead of dented and bloody like combat armor would be, or 2) wore it because they were rich enough to not want themselves OR their expensive horses to die too soon in combat.

Assuming that all destriers needed to carry 150lbs for an adult armored man, PLUS another 150lbs of the horse’s riding tack and armor, is like people from the years 2500-3000 assuming that everyone with a “car” must have a Lamborghini or a Ferrari that takes up a lot of maintenance (if you want to keep it looking nice, at least) and can go 200 miles per hour.

So the vast majority of realistic warhorses/destriers didn’t get much if any armor, because 1) horse-armor is for princes and dukes, not Count Whoever’s third son or his nephew that he tossed out on adulthood with barely any money, and 2) horse-armor is going to weigh down your FAST and NIMBLE warhorse. (Remember: Knights wanted sports cars, not tanks!) Take a look at the horses and knights of the website called “Destrier!” Most horses there aren’t notably tall, and they mostly wear head-armor and fancy but not heavy horse-tack like capes, instead of full barding.

Another reason average/short warhorses were preferred is for medieval safety issues: You wanted to mount your horse from the ground without help. The famous knight Jean Le Maingre was so dedicated to fighting that he could VAULT onto his horse in armor, without touching the stirrups. His instructions are, essentially, “put on your armor, find your horse, put your hands on the horse’s back/saddle, and FUCKING JUMP.”

Unless you’re seven feet tall or a gymnast, you’re not jumping onto an 18-hand draft horse.

So all those Red Dead Redemption animations where you get to alley-oop your way onto your loyal steed? POSSIBLE, IF YOU ARE CRAZY/ANGRY ENOUGH.

Quick note: In ancient Ireland, they refer to a “steed-leap” that nobles, warriors, and other “people rich enough to own RIDING horses” were trained to use–with the important distinction that Gaelic nobles often took pride in either using saddles without stirrups, or NOT USING SADDLES TO PUT ANY STIRRUPS ON. So the bulk of Gaelic Irish nobles could theoretically go Red Dead Redemption on your ass.

—

And the third reason most combat-ready warhorses didn’t get armor is because infantry (the vast majority of most medieval armies) just had a low chance of hitting them in the first place.

First of all, most horses are already faster than people. Destriers were EXCEPTIONALLY fast as the cream of the crop. For the horse to need armor, someone needs a good chance of hitting the horse.

Second, most horses are hard to kill physically because horses don’t tend to like getting stabbed or shot at, so they will likely try to kill YOU, which means that a knight and his horse are TWO fighters who are both very angry and very protective of each other. Most people love their horses, and many combatants share intense bonds! IMAGINE IF YOUR HORSE IS ALSO YOUR SQUAD-MATE!

And last of all, most horses are hard to kill mentally because when you want to use cavalry, you ALSO want the other side’s infantry to get consumed by panic and bolt for their lives, away from their companions and AWAY FROM THE CHARGING HORSES. (Which routinely leads to a slaughter, often called a “rout” in period literature, or a “curb-stomp battle” on TV Tropes.) While most knights could dish out one-on-one duels against EACH OTHER, a knight against a foot-soldier is going to have a huge and explicitly unfair advantage if the soldier is not specifically trained and equipped to take them on.

See, when you get a herd of knights on their steeds, the noise and the wave of horseflesh charging at you is going to make your reptile-brain instincts scream “NOPE NOPE NOPE, WE GOTTA GO!!!”

That instinct is so strong that infantry ACTORS in movies–who know that this is not a real war, and the riders don’t actually want to kill them–still routinely break formation and run.

It was possible to stop cavalry with infantry and end up slaughtering them instead of getting routed–it was just extremely notable.

Also, unless you’re specifically going for blood: You don’t WANT to slaughter a whole formation of knights! That means you’ve just pissed away a WHOLE lot of money that the knights represent!

You killed the horses that you could have used for your own side, and possibly bred for more high-end horses! You ruined the armor that you could have used for your own side, or at least melted down for high-quality, already-mined metal! You killed the knights that you could have sweetened up and used for your own side–or more likely, told their families to pay you if they wanted them home intact.

Barely anyone remembers that knights were as good for HOSTAGES as they were for actually fighting. (Except for Game of Thrones, and it’s still only plot-relevant for Jaime Lannister and Theon Greyjoy, and they explicitly did NOT get the protection a noble hostage should have.) It’s noted that Agincourt was a GREAT ending for England because capturing all those French nobles earned them TWENTY YEARS’ WORTH of regular income in ransoms. If they hadn’t won and gotten all that sweet, sweet French money, they would have been bankrupted and depopulated instead.

—

Two more strikes I’d feel are appropriate for “not wanting draft-type horses in combat:”

-Logistics 1: Too much food, too much hassle. Horses are already notorious for eating a lot, and a DRAFT horse that’s 2000lbs instead of 1200lbs will eat twice as much. No army wants to use their fodder for only half the number of horses they’d expect.

-Logistics 2: Too much hair, too much hassle. Shires and other British horses often have feathering on their legs, and anyone with long hair knows that loose hair/fur is a fucking PAIN. You can braid a horse’s mane and tail, but if you’re one of the many average/poor knights who DON’T have servants to take care of your horse for you, do you want to spend extra time cleaning and combing out your horse’s LEGS instead of necessary things? Like feeding them, grooming them, and checking for wounds? Nope, you’ll probably shave the feathering off or just pick a horse that doesn’t have it.

-Extra note on Friesian horses, who are RIDICULOUSLY common in “medieval” movies: Friesian horses are technically baroque horses in body form (Strong-boned! Big necks and butts!), but they’re also over-used in general, so most horse folks are sick of seeing them in movies. And if you don’t have the right kind of MODERN Friesian, you’ll probably be a laughingstock in addition to an eye-roll.

Some strains of modern Friesians are from carriage-horse lines, often referred to as “big movers.” This means “fun to LOOK AT, but terrible to RIDE.” Because, you know, those strains of Friesians weren’t meant for riding, but for PULLING CARRIAGES. Their movements are big, dramatic, and flashy… and their trot is notorious for bouncing people out of the saddle with every step. Not something you want for a knight who fills his opponents with terror.

A good riding horse’s movements are usually smooth and low to the ground, often described as “floating” and “effortless.”

—

A horse-note that I can’t figure out where to put: Many Western cultures love the idea of fiery stallions (intact male horses) for their noble knights and kings to ride into battle on, but realistically, stallions are only half of a given horse population. Many Western stallions are also gelded if they’re not the cream of the crop (which is probably at least the bottom half of the male horse population). So mares can be used by at least half of a realistic formation who just wants a warhorse, and doesn’t care about aesthetics or masculinity.

Also, mares can be ruthless and stallions can be nervous wrecks! Horses are living creatures, with personalities and feelings!

Horses also aren’t very sexually dimorphic, so a 1200lb war mare is DEFINITELY a match for a 1300lb war stallion. And remember how Loras Tyrell used a mare in heat to distract The Mountain’s stallion? That happens with a lot of stallions… almost like they’re living creatures, with instincts that they can’t always control! So if you know when your girl is ready to go every month, you can play dirty in a joust, too!

Just remember that you’re taking an equal risk, since your mare will possibly try to let a stallion mount her instead of fighting. You will either need to bail when she starts making googly-eyes, or you need to know you have ABSOLUTE loyalty from her, and she will listen to YOU instead of “the hot dude I just met five minutes ago!” HORSES ARE LIVING CREATURES, WITH INSTINCTS THAT THEY CAN’T ALWAYS CONTROL.

Then geldings will be used by at least another quarter of “the knights who cannot afford a horse good enough to keep his testicles,” so that leaves “a quarter or less” of knights who can realistically be mounted on stallions.

WORSE NEWS: If you geld a stallion too late (usually once they’re MOSTLY physically mature at 4-5 years old), that risk may never go away–so you’ve got a gelding who’s not breeding quality, but he’s still chasing mares in heat and fighting other stallions in turf battles, without understanding that he can no longer make babies!

On the other hand, some cultures don’t geld stallions because they view it as unnecessary or outright unnatural… but they also don’t want half the horse population distracted by pretty mares, or fighting with other stallions who walk by the pasture, so those cultures breed them to be sweet and easily managed (outside of battle, at least).

In short: ALL HORSES HAVE POTENTIAL TO BE WARHORSES, WHETHER THEY HAVE BALLS OR NOT.

—

Update, Feb 2 – Another day to expand on that “Different types of warhorses” mention!

Much like the common misconception of “all knights must be at least 6 feet tall and have 200 pounds of muscle” varied in real life due to genetics, cultural values, and logistics problems, the assumption that “all knights MUST have top-quality destriers that cost seven times the price of a normal horse” was not the case for the vast majority of “knights.”

Knights would have either “the best horse they could AFFORD” or “the best horse FOR THEIR SPECIALTY.”

A poor knight, or one of the early Middle Ages, would have “one horse that they’re with all the time;” that horse may not be pretty or come from fancy breeding lines, but they would get the job done and most definitely be taken care of. A wealthy knight of the later Middle Ages, when everything got more expensive and status more codified and finicky, would have two or three horses–one horse for warfare and one for regular riding, with the really wealthy knights having a third packhorse to carry all their stuff. (Moreover, they would have at least one servant to help take care of three horses.)

A muscled sprinter like a destrier is better in tight quarters and for short bursts of speed; to bring in the modern example of a classic/Foundation Quarter Horse, who are ideally “short-legged and low to the ground,” these dudes can literally hit the ground running and reach top speed in a few steps/seconds, so compare that to a sports-car going from zero to sixty miles. The tradeoffs?

1) You need to be able to hang the fuck on… and to avoid getting pitched into a wall/enemy WHEN THEY STOP.

2) That full-throttle gallop will really wear out your horse. A good commander will not bring out their heavy cavalry right away, because you also have to figure out how to get them back from the enemy’s side of the field.

In very simplistic terms, this is one of several problems that the battle of Agincourt had for the French; you had a bunch of hoity-toity noblemen with no proper battle experience who all wanted to do things their own way… and how do medieval noblemen usually want to fight a war? JUST FLOOR IT AND HIT THINGS AS HARD AS YOU CAN.

That went so badly that the recorded death-toll for the French side of Agincourt has been commented as “a roll call for French nobles.”

A destrier would not be suitable for a scout or light-cavalry; they’d need lighter and ground-covering horses to cover rough terrain, and to chase down the enemy for long stretches–akin to a modern-day Thoroughbred. For period pieces they might resemble an Akhal-Teke or “Turkmene” horse. A modern-day Thoroughbred horse can “only” reach forty miles per hour at a gallop, but they can keep that up for a whole mile or longer. So now your knight’s problem is “Hanging on for two or three whole minutes,” and anyone in performing or athletics will explain how long and agonizing a few minutes would feel on a rampaging horse. Have you seen how stacked a racing jockey is? The general consensus I’ve seen from equestrians is that barely anyone in any other horse-discipline is that built.

Meanwhile, an ideal light-cavalry horse would need longer legs for a ground-covering stride, and they may or may not be taller as well; as seen in the Akhal-Teke article, many endurance horses tend to show a lot more ribs and bones than other breeds, due to how lean they are. But think of them less as a dainty riding horse and more like a hunting greyhound/sighthound–all muscle, no fat!

The other type of light-cavalry horse would likely be a pony, used to going for miles on rough terrain, with little if any feed.

EDIT Feb 4, 2024: My post got cut off, so here's the rest of it!

The other type of light-cavalry horse would likely be a pony, used to going for miles on rough terrain, with little if any feed.

A period-accurate scout's horse was known as the Irish hobby, ridden by their eponymous hobelar troops. These little dudes were VERY little and about 12-14 hands high (48-54 inches, or 4 feet tall to bit under five feet tall). They were known to cover 60-70 miles a day in their raids, which my "preindustrial traveling" post notes is the EXTREME upper end of mounted distance travel. Their modern descendant is likely to be the Irish Connemara Pony.

Very wealthy and/or lucky European horsemen could probably manage to buy/steal an Arabian horse, as they remain exceptional endurance horses to this day. However, excessively cold/wet climates will need a lot of upkeep for a desert-bred horse to stay healthy.

While Arabians are known for their adorable "dished faces," this is not actually required! Many well-bred native lines have a regular face (ie, a "straight nose/profile") but they are from well-bred parents and have the capabilities of other Arabians. To the other extreme, you have some modern show/halter lines with REALLY exaggerated heads that hit a lot of people's "Uncanny valley" buttons, and they find it creepy/weird instead of refined. This kind of "seahorse face" would NOT be seen in a period piece.

Notice how the smaller a horse gets, the more ground it can cover? This is partly because size only matters TO AN EXTENT for "how long a horse goes," and partly because of physics! Less weight for a horse to drag around on its own body means more energy for putting miles behind them!

[anonymouscheeses]

The Morningstar family :)

First off, king of hell himself, Lucifer! I incorporated all of the animals he transformed into in the battle with Adam scene(goat, horse, snake, and duck but i wont include duck since hes obsessed already) Because I kept looking up what animals lucifer has been depicted as and was like, yeah nvm let's jst use this one scene and call it a day. His wings are black instead of white with black tips to further imply lil bro is a fallen angel. Made him doll-like to be similar to his daughter a bit but also they aren't freaking carbon copies of eachother, she is unique I swear guys. He's also not an all powerful being, he has limits, he gets tired quickly and his physical strength is LOW ASF he cannot throw a punch for the life of him. Personality wise, he is judgemental, prideful, and neglectful. But it's okay cuz he's silly 😐 /j he is super different, and it takes years for Charlie and him to be on speaking terms. He's trying, but is that enough?

Lillith!!! The first succubi, from what I know. I didnt include succubi features because I'm an idiot and forgot that was a concept. Sure it may not be canon anymore, or at all maybe, but I would've liked to make it true ☹️ there's not alot known about her in the show and we don't know why she is in heaven (if that's even her tbh). So once we know I'll either rewrite that or keep it as it is, not sure. But this Lillith does own Alastor's soul, she knows that he is one of the most unusual and powerful sinner in hell, so once she flees to heaven she gains his soul to keep an eye on Charlie, in return she gives him influence over hell(being that she influences hell with her voice) The radio station and all, since that's pretty much all he wants. He gives her info on the hotel's progress and how Charlie is doing, she just wants to be there. Personality is uh, calm, ambitious, and generous, yet negatively she is strict and wants things her way. She is the one closest to Charlie and very dear to her, which is why Charlie always tries to call her instead of Eve or Lucifer. Even though Charlie knows now she won't pick up the phone anymore, maybe ever again. It still comforts her to call anyways.

Lastllyy, Eveeee!! She's a pretty silly lil gal. She ate the apple of knowledge, so she was cursed to forever be reminded of it when she sees her tail. Oh yeah, they are also all married! Lillith's ring is under her glove. Anyway, she is pretty powerful despite her having no demon form. She already looks demon enough to fit in. So she does, she goes into pentagram city often and creates bonds with the people. Some know she is Eve and some just see her as a friendly yet powerful individual. Her magic is similar to Charlie's, she got the fireworks coming out of her finger from Eve, and they both can heal their body parts. Charlie doesn't know it because she hasn't needed to yet. Eve uses her charm to be friends with the people of hell, Lillith uses it to gain an army for the fight against heaven, Lucifer couldn't care less and coops himself up in his castle. Personality wise, she is very golden retriever, peaceful, and honest, yet also neglectful being that she spends time with demons rather than her own daughter. (She's barely there with Charlie even before she disappeared along with Lillith. But when they moved to the hotel she tried to make up for it.)

She regretted the marriage. For years.

The potential of Lillith angst is immeasurable, it's painful. Imagine being the first woman, forced into a marriage with a controlling man, falling in love with an angel, the other angels forbidding that, you both try to get Eve to join your relationship, she takes the apple but evil and such take over the world, and then because of your lover's dreams you are all sent to hell. Freaking horrible.

Demon forms!! Charlie gained Lillith's demon form, but I may give her dragon wings to make up for it. Messy doodle I knowww *sob*. Eve doesn't have one because the elder angels stripped that away form her because they were terrified of all of them having stronger forms. They are also ALL cursed with different features. Soo uh, Lucifer has one red eye to remind him of his evil side, he also has all sort of animal details and doll features because he's a mess and a control freak! :3 Lillith has horns, hooves, and a tail because she joined the devil. Eve is blind, the angels ripped her eyes out because she dares to willingly see the devil and his bride, she has wings on each side of her head because she was also a fallen angel(it was hell, because she was unhappy in being Adam's wife, it was temporary as she made herself go to hell instead of being kicked out.) She has a snout and ears too, cuz goat, and a tail with a shape of an apple at the end. Eve was done the worse oh lawwdd 😭😭

BABY CHARLIE!! She at one point HAD to have worn overalls. Right? PLEASE?? I don't know how to draw toddlers bear with me here.

Emo Charlie! Yayy.... she got her period so now she's an adult. 💀 little does she know it's actually a trauma response to being neglected so she tries to get attention by being weird!! 😃👍 (I ruined emo Charlie now)

(I have no idea how to do aesthetics... I'm in pain.)

When I said Lucifer is judgemental, prideful, and neglectful, I meant it. He's a horrible person. But he's trying to be better. That doesn't make him good nor excuse his behavior, he deserves the consequences. Which is why I don't like Lucifer in the show. He is NOT a good person but in one episode he is deprived from the karma of YEARS of neglect and shame. He just says "oh ill support you now" despite two episodes later the message is that actions speak louder than words which only applies to Vaggie for some reason. Why is Lucifer all of a sudden the exception? Oh right cuz he's a silly dad with depression so it's fine(Sorry but this genuinely pisses me off). And people in the fandom have demonized Charlie for being "mean" to him, when she is honestly so valid for reacting like that. The thing is, I don't hate Lucifer. Which is why I hate him if that makes sense. I hate that I like a character that shouldn't be liked yet. This should have been an arc for season 2. This scene should have been the start of the journey. The scene I drew out above is in ep 5 and it's the only interaction they get (it replaces the more than anything scene)

Charlie has no idea how humans/sinners work. She likes to observe them but never quite gets the purpose of their actions. She's emotionally unintelligent like in the show. Which lemme just say, is a FLAW. Characters have FLAWS PEOPLE. If I see another person shaming her for indirectly hurting Angel in episode 4 I'm going to lose it 🥰 she doesn't get emotions, she doesn't understand how people work, because she's been in isolation her entire 200+ years of living maybe less. But still this is all new to her and she is not at fault at all for that (im projecting probably) 🙄 (this is before Vaggie is revealed to be a fallen angel ofc). She's so in awe at her people, it's like a new world and she just wants to understand. It's kinda creepy but y'know it's a Charlie thing. Vaggie also is emotionally unintelligent but that's because she never used to focus on relationships or bonding. Which causes bad communication and problems between the two, YAY DEVELOPMENT!!

Idk bro I just wanted to draw her full demon form again. Uhh from the last time I drew I gave her... a new outfit, darker fur to match her skin, uhh, and dragon wings. Ya thas all but I like this one so much more already lmao. I got the fire hair idea because when she gets angry in the show(+pilot) her hair would defy gravity and it would remind me of yknow.. fire.

They're first meeting went swell! Unlike Lucifer and Vaggie's... but that's for later. Emily grew up afraid of hell but especially Lucifef and turning out the way he did. She still is but she's getting used to having the monster of her bed time stories be a short gummy bear. (Takes place when Charlie and Lucifer are in... better terms I guess) Also, Vaggie and Lucifer's first meet? Not great. Let's just say... Vaggie replaced Alastor and it become "Hell's Greatest Pal" or somthn like that. But yeah, Lucifer didn't really like Vaggie, not because she's a woman n homophobia hellll no his wives are wives, but because he didn't think she was good enough for her. Being a sinner n all. He's a hypocrite like that 😭 plus, he knew Vaggie was a fallen angel but he's not a monster so he didn't say anything. Just passively jabbing at the fact she is in the song to make her scared.

And one last doodle before I sign off!

These six bro... my absolute favorites <3 if you want please send in a request of them and their relationships I'm so desperate I love them sm (especially chaggily butttt lucifers stolen wives(that's the ship name I made 😭) too)

I hope you liked my rambel... my rewrite.... my redesigns.... and my stupidness... have a great day lmao