#the hell this was to post by mobile lol

[eirianerisdar]

Or read from the first chapter

Fic Summary:

Daniel loves to fly, but he needs to race. Every F1 driver joins the grid knowing they have a choice to keep their wings or trim them for less weight, sacrificing flight for race pace. Daniel has always promised himself he will never trim his wings. Until he comes to McLaren, and the choice is made for him. In which the most-loved driver of the grid has a long, slow fall, and nobody notices until it is too late.

Chapter 17/?: The Sundered Flock

Max has a horrible revelation about Daniel, and Nico finds the topic of Lewis Hamilton is still very much an open wound.

(Also if you're clicking in to this link on browser you should know AO3 isn't working on browser today for some people. Try using mobile)

[theredviper]

MAKE ME CHOOSE:

— @perotovar asked: spawn astarion or ascended astarion

[themathomhouse]

this disability pride month, stop making jokes about people in wheelchairs standing up or walking.

can I stand and walk? sure, for a short while and with pain. the consequences for trying to be out all day without a wheelchair are that I'll be in bed for the rest of the week, too tired and in too much pain to move.

but the government won't give me my own wheelchair because they have the same attitude as these jokes - I can stand up, so I don't need one. exercise is good for you, you should walk!

it keeps me trapped in the house, unable to do anything more than short stints anywhere without borrowing or hiring a wheelchair - one that causes me pain to sit in and relies on someone to push me (usually with difficulty), because they're not going to have a high-end chair for that sort of thing.

it's not a miracle that a wheelchair user can stand or walk. it's something we should aspire to see more often.

[dreamingalto]

I was slightly bored and couldn't decide on what to do... and then I remembered the Hunger Games Simulator existed.

And I have been watching too much Dan and Phil lately...

One thing lead to another and I eventually ended up with the following:

The Phangry Games

Naming logic went something like this: Hunger to Hungry. Gotta insert the infamous Ph at the beginning. Phangry.

Also yes Pastel Phil is accidentally named Punk Phil I didn't notice the mistake until after I began.

And it turned out 1000% more entertaining than I ever thought it could be.

So right off the bat, we have BIG Dan and Craftie Dan planning their fishing trip while Hiatus Dan is staying in character and fucking right off.

Then a couple of them are fighting for bags but the bloodbath is staying pretty safe right now.

In fact, there is only 1 death during the bloodbath.

Thought that meant that Day 1 was going to be a slow start but I SPOKE WAY TOO SOON! First, one of the craftie boys bites the dust to an infection of all things. Apparently HE doesn't provide medical care for infections.

Interactive Introverts Phil also tried to get rid of the current Phil but he managed to escape. So really, no harm no foul.

Then the Acid Rain started and DAMN DAN AND PHIL (spoiler: especially Dan) CAN NOT SURVIVE ACID RAIN VERY WELL AT ALL!

The day ended with only 11 survivors. 7 Phils and 4 Dans. PINOFs, Punks, Crafties, and WAD Era have all been completely eliminated!

At this point, I decide I am rooting for the 2009 boys, Sister Daniel, or COTY and Revival (AKA the Current/2024) Phil. But I was also just immensely amused at how quickly the simulator popped off this time.

The first night was pretty quiet with no deaths or anything occuring. Some of the Phils snuggled up together while Revival Phil snuggled up with 2009 Dan.

Then almost immediately on Day 2, a group with both the 2009 Boys, COTY Phil, and Sister Daniel actually raid Revival Phil's camp. So 10/10 on the betrayal there 2009 Dan.

It stays quiet the rest of day 2. AND INTERESTINGLY ENOUGH ON NIGHT 2!

Phil STOP TRUSTING 2009 DAN HE LITERALLY HELPED RAID YOUR CAMP EARLIER!

But besides the whole trust and betrayal plot with those two, we have both of the hiatus boys deciding that it was time to start the hiatus for everyone else.

Hiatus Phil going for the more strategic kill as Pastel Phil is only Phil who has a kill up to this point.

Day 3 brings the feast. And just like BIG Dan tripped and died during the acid rain...

Coming out of the closet apparently involved tripping out of the closet.

The feast also included the continuation of the Hiatus Boys kill streak with them getting rid of half of the remaining Dans.

I really apperciate Hiatus Dan's commitment to lore accuracy.

This left only 6 tributes for the rest of Day 3.

Which turned to the final five tributes almost immediately with 2009 Phil finishing off the TATINOF era team.

All that is left in the Final Five is the 2009 Boys, the Hiatus Boys, and Revival Phil.

Night 3 is pretty quiet. But Day 4 ends up leveling the playing field with Hiatus Phil accidentally eating toxic berries.

Nothing in particular happens on Night 4 EXCEPT for the fact that 2009 Dan is now snuggling up with Hiatus Dan.

AND WITH A TASTE OF HIS OWN BETRAYAL MEDICINE FROM THE BEGINNING OF THE GAME, Hiatus Dan tries but fails to eliminate 2009 Dan in the morning of Day 5.

After the failed attempt to eliminate 2009 Dan, Night 5 is actually pretty quiet. But on Day 6, Hiatus Dan sets his sights on the 2009 team again.

This brought us to the final three. 2009 Dan and Revival Phil, who both have no kills so far. And Hiatus Dan, who has brought a hiatus to at least three other Dans/Phils.

I don't have that much faith in either 2009 Dan or Revival Phil, but anything can happen in this simulator.

And on Night 6:

Revival Phil, in a bit of an ironic twist of following lore accuracy, put an end to Hiatus Dan while 2009 Dan actually ended up on fire.

No I am not sorry for that last sentence.

THIS MAKES PHIL THE WINNER OF THE ENTIRE PHANGRY GAMES!

The simulation turned out a lot more dramatic than I have experienced in the past (with the whole underlying Trust/Betrayal Plotline that ended up emerging with the final three) and was so funny to go through.

Here is a link to the simulator in case this post reminded you this simulator existed and you wanted to try it for yourself.

(The above link should load up the DnP Season as shown in the first image but it might not work after around three months due to the websites saving policy)

[biblically-accurate-dca]

experimental sunman yaaaay

(ruin spoilers under the cut)

[lesbiandarvey]

dan rydell + right where you left me

right where you left me / 1.08 / 1.16 / machiavellian mistletoe, edna_blackadder / landslide / napping on couches with boys, kristophine / all too well 10 minute version / first base, octothorpetopus / 1.01 / even sugar peas run out of snap, sandyk / small town, ashinae and jay_linden / slaughterhouse-five / 2.19

[mastersoftheair]

from josiah cross' instagram story

[crazyw3irdo]

why tf is there a checkmark on tumblr

tldr: making fun of elon musk

longer explanation: tumblr's been needing additional ways of making income lately. i'm assuming you're from twitter or at the very least new-ish to tumblr, so i'll say that for the past year or so tumblr has been trying various money-making... i hesitate to call them schemes- perhaps just... weird incentives?

there was "tumblr plus" which i think is technically still a thing? but no one uses it. they introduced tipping too, though blogs have to opt in to that one. they dropped a merch store, you can pay for no ads, and they introduced blaze- by far the most popular one. there's also the crabs and the horse though those require more explanation than is necessary for this post. i think the top 5 series falls under this money-making category too.

i'm not even gonna bother to explain the current twitter situation cause everyone knows it, so when musk did the whole "$8 verification" thing tumblr staff saw an opportunity for 1) bullying that bastard and 2) making some money for their site that really needs money.

so now you can buy two checkmarks for $7.99. and you can buy more. they stack. it doesn't mean anything its just cosmetic. you get to financially support our hellsite home and make fun of elon musk, it's a win-win imo.

[clotpolesonly]

In The Stacks

for @sunflowerqueen for the Stiles Shipping Central discord server's monthly ficlet exchange, the prompt for which was "libraries/bookstores"! this one probably only qualifies as pre-slash 😅 but i hope it satisfies anyway, haha | Stoyd | 1.5k | Gen | Libraries | Pre-Slash | Anxiety | Emotional Hurt/Comfort | (also on AO3)

.

Stiles didn’t go to the library very often. It was a quiet place, and Stiles was not a quiet person. He was also more adept at internet searches than he was at navigating the Dewey Decimal System, and he didn’t have the patience for poring through book after book after book looking for something that he could’ve just control+F searched for if it had been digital.

But sometimes, unfortunately, professors wanted you to prove you actually knew how to read. Thus, here Stiles was, entering the Beacon Hills Community College library for the first time, seven months into his journey of higher education. He’d been hoping to hold out the whole first year, just for kicks. He tried not to resent his Violence and Social Conflict in American History professor for requiring he break his streak and began scanning the stacks for whatever arbitrary shelf number corresponded with social conflict.

He’d found naturalism and related systems, Aristotelian philosophy, and general statistics of Europe when something drew him up short. The shelves weren’t exactly packed full—it was mid-afternoon on a Friday, the sun was shining, and the library was nobody’s first choice in those circumstances—but Stiles had passed his fair share of other students so far, none of the slightest bit familiar. But here, in the public finances aisle, was a very familiar face.

Stiles had entirely forgotten that Boyd went to this school too. He hadn’t seen him on campus all year. He’d barely seen him anywhere else either, only in passing when Scott was back in town from UC Davis and needed to do werewolf stuff, tucked into the backseat of Derek’s car or hovering impatiently at the edge of the woods. As much as Stiles had tried—and he'd really tried—he had never managed to get Boyd to look at him twice, much less be friends with him.

Him and Scott. Stiles had wanted Boyd to be friends with them, not just him. To be part of the pack and stuff. Hadn’t Boyd gotten the bite so he could have friends? Stiles had offered to be that friend! Collectively, with other people!

The specifics weren’t important. Obviously, it hadn’t worked.

Stiles was just opening his mouth to comment on how unlikely and fortuitous it was for them to run into each other like this and maybe it was a sign that they should try the whole “friend” thing again when he heard the wheezing. He stopped to actually take in what he was seeing.

Boyd had folded his considerable height onto the floor. His back was pressed up against the lowest shelf, head tipped back into a space absent of books, eyes closed tightly. His hands were clenched into fists on his knees. His breathing was strained enough for Stiles to hear it from the end of the row, sounding tight and pained and also, unfortunately, familiar.

“Hey, are you okay?”

Boyd’s eyes snapped open, flashing yellow. Stiles glanced around hastily to make sure there was no one to see, but this particular patch of the library was blessedly empty. By the time he looked back, Boyd’s eyes were brown again and his face was slack with relief.

“Stiles,” he said. “What are you—”

He didn’t finish the question, distracted by the need to breathe. Stiles approached with caution. Not because he thought Boyd might lose control or hurt him, but because he’d had panic and anxiety attacks than he could shake a stick at and company didn’t always help the situation.

He half-expected Boyd to snap at him. That’s what he’d done most of the time in high school, whenever Stiles had tried to ingratiate himself. He’d gotten a little more chill about it over the course of senior year, even going so far as to tolerate Stiles’ presence at the same lunch table, but Stiles’ presence had never been his favorite thing.

He didn’t snap this time. In fact, the closer Stiles got to him, the less tense he seemed to become. The fists on his knees loosened to reveal splotches of red where his hidden claws had dug into his palms, cuts already healed. His shoulders slumped, bit by bit, from where they’d been hiked up around his ears. He wasn’t wheezing anymore.

Gingerly, Stiles eased himself to the floor, leaving a good few inches between them. Somehow, against every natural inclination, he managed to not say anything. He just pulled a random book off the shelf across from him and started skimming.

It was a few minutes before Boyd shifted beside him. “What are you doing here, Stilinski?” he asked, voice hoarse.

Stiles shrugged. “I go here too.”

He wasn’t looking, but he was almost certain Boyd rolled his eyes. “Not on campus. I mean…”

Stiles shrugged again, his nonchalance a little less genuine this time. He didn’t look up from his book. “Just wanted to make sure you were okay. I can leave, if you want.”

He waited for Boyd to tell him to fuck off. He’d skimmed another four pages before he realized that he wasn’t going to. Tentatively, Stiles glanced over at him. He found Boyd already looking at him, a frown on his face that, for once, didn’t look annoyed.

“I hate living on campus,” Boyd told him, unprompted. “There’s too many people. Too many strangers.” He looked away, a muscle in his jaw flexing as he clenched his teeth. “Apparently, being kidnapped twice gives you trust issues where strangers are concerned.”

Stiles couldn’t stop a snort from escaping. “Yeah, go figure. I’m not great at making new friends either. And I only got kidnapped the once.”

The huff of breath that Boyd let out, just short of a laugh, should not have made Stiles feel as accomplished as it did. In his defense, he had been trying to make Boyd laugh for literal years. When Boyd turned his face back, he was smiling. Just barely, but it was there. That felt even better.

“I was gonna get food,” he heard himself say. “I mean, I was gonna find some books, and then I was gonna get food, afterwards. If you maybe wanted to— I mean, you don’t have to, it’s fine, I just thought maybe—”

“Okay.”

Stiles blinked at him. “Wait, really? Like, actually? You’ve never been willing to be seen with me in public before. Or tolerated my presence out of either.”

Boyd definitely rolled his eyes this time, but the little smile stayed. He levered himself off the ground and said, “Don’t make a big deal out of it.”

Stiles saw, though, the way that he looked over his shoulder, eyes roving the stacks like he couldn’t help it. Still searching for threats. He also saw the flare of Boyd’s nostrils as he breathed in and the way his eyes were drawn back to Stiles. Empathy wasn’t Stiles’ strongest suit, and he’d never been accused of being particularly perceptive where other people’s feelings were concerned, but Stiles was almost certain of three things in that moment: firstly, that Boyd did not want to be alone right now and was choosing to allow Stiles to keep him company; secondly, that Boyd was deliberately seeking out his scent and getting comfort from it; and thirdly, that, friends or not, Boyd trusted him.

When Boyd held out a hand, Stiles took it and let himself be pulled off the floor with an ease that was, and had always been, downright distracting. Equally distracting was the knowledge that it would’ve been just that easy even without the werewolf strength—what did Boyd need werewolfiness for when he had biceps like that?

Stiles patted the bicep in question, which Boyd allowed with an unusual amount of patience, and said, “Books! Then food! I gotta find some books.”

He looked around them. They were, in fact, surrounded by books. So many books. Why did libraries have to have so many fucking books? How was anybody supposed to find anything in this place? He said as much out loud and, wonder of all wonders, Boyd laughed. A real one this time, complete with vocalization and dimples and everything. Fuck.

Boyd took pity on him, possibly mistaking his dazedness for simple library-related overwhelm. “What are you looking for? Unlike you, I actually know how to navigate a library like a normal person.”

Stiles told him, and Boyd led the way through the shelves with a confidence that was as attractive as everything else about him. He helped Stiles carry the dozen books he decided he needed down to check-out. He even let Stiles talk about them over lunch, something like fondness hanging around the upturned corner of his mouth, without a single complaint.

Maybe it was just gratitude for Stiles sitting with him, but that was okay. It was progress from where they’d started, and as Stiles drove Boyd back to his dorm, he thought that maybe he would be seeing that familiar face a little more often from now on.

[stargazerlillian]

"Vide Cor Tuum"

During what should be another ordinary night in the Underworld, something new and strange leaves Panic wide awake and afraid.

Pain and Panic belong to Disney.

——————–

It was once again nighttime in Athens.

Apollo's sun chariot had long since disappeared beyond the horizon, making way for Selene's moon chariot and luminescent veil, casting the land below in the gentle aura of moonglow.

All pairs of feet had ceased walking the streets, and all pairs of eyes had shut the world away, not to open again until the light of a new golden morn came.

Miles beneath the earth, in the bowels of the Underworld, nighttime was no different.

Within the walls of his bedchamber, Hades lied beneath the covers as if he were lying in state - a position more than befitting for the one and only god of the dead.

His monstrous hellhound, Cerberus, was curled up by the foot of the kline, all three sleeping heads pointed towards the door and ready to act in case some foolish intruder dared to disturb his master's sleep.

Even the restless souls of the dead drifting in the waters of the river Styx seemed to cease their moans of agony when night fell over the world above, much like how they did in life.

From the outside looking in, it seemed that all who dwelled in this particular dark pocket close to the heart of the world was well under the spell cast by the blanket of slumber Morpheus had carried across the land.

But somewhere in the darkness, a lone pair of large yellow eyes remained wide, wide open.

Panic traced the same picture on the stone ceiling for what felt like the thousandth time. It was only one hour into the new day, and the sweet embrace of sleep was still evading him. His mind was racing with all sorts of troubled thoughts - but not for the usual reasons.

Ever since he returned from his latest assignment with Pain, he had gotten this... feeling.

A feeling that wasn't there before.

A feeling that something didn't quite fit anymore.

He clutched the covers close to his chest. Something inside him was... different. He couldn't explain it. He just felt different.

He sat up and looked to the other side of the bedchamber, where Pain lied asleep. He didn't want to disturb him, but he simply couldn't ignore this... feeling anymore. Something had to be said.

"Um… P-Pain?" Panic called, his voice quavering.

Pain grumbled and shifted under his bedclothes. "What?"

"Are... a-are you awake?"

"Only because a certain worrywart is bugging me." He yawned and sat up, rubbing one of his eyes. "What’s the problem?"

"Have you… well… felt… a little... different lately?"

Pain shifted his eyes all around the room. "Uuuh, no? What do you mean?"

Panic wrung and twisted the top of the sheet in his hands as a heat crawled up the back of his neck.

"Weeell, um… y-you see… I’ve been feeling this… this little, um… warmth… r-right here," he placed a hand to his chest, "in my chest."

Pain's heart froze for a second at those last few words. "A… warmth in your chest?"

Panic nodded his head rapidly. "Y-yeah, yeah! I-it's kinda like a... a spark. Or a glow, or, or something! I-I don't know what it is, but it just won't quit! I haven't been able to sleep! Oh, please tell me you know what it is?"

Pain swallowed nervously. Panic is feeling it too? How could this be?

Were they coming down with some new illness never heard of by anyone? Have they become the unwilling hosts of a pair of vindictive spirits? Has one of the gods cast a curse on them without them knowing?

He shook his head. No, no - there has to be a rational explanation for this. What else could cause them to feel a concerning warmth in their chests?

Then it hit him.

"Oh, that? Pfft, that’s er… just a bit of heartburn, brother." Pain ragged, waving a hand dismissively. "You might have eaten your food just a little too fast at dinnertime. Don’t worry about it, it happens to me all the time. Just try… elevating your head or something. That should help clear it up."

Panic's horns tilted downward. "O-oh… heartburn… I see…" He turned his head away from Pain and stared awkwardly at his feet, which were currently two mere lumps under the covers.

"That answer your question?"

A pause. Panic swallowed and looked down at his hands, still wringing the top of the sheet.

"Y-yeah… I guess…"

"Good. Now do us both a favor and go to sleep, okay?" Pain lied back down on his left side and pulled the covers over him, his back facing Panic. "We’ve got a big day tomorrow. You know how much the boss hates us oversleeping."

Panic lied back down as well, this time with an extra pillow under his head, and went back to staring at the ceiling. As much as he wanted Pain to be right, he knew at the back of his mind that he most likely wasn't. Last time he checked, heartburn felt like a burn, not a glow... didn't it?

He clasped his hands over his chest, the tiny spark beneath showing no signs of dwindling. This was going to be a long night.

"Y-yeah, yeah… right. G-good night, Pain."

"Night, Panic."

[astrxealis]

good morning 🥺

[spooksandshxtguns]

B3

[ If this isn't her with most of the people she knows I don't know what is! ]

[navi-is-tired]

Formatting writing in discord is hell. 0/5 starts would not recommend.

[moonlightsdew]

"La da, la da da da..."

Alastor has decided to indulge in some of the 'fanworks' someone told him about, and while he is still getting used to more modern genres, he can't deny this song has a catchy little set of lyrics.

Plus, how could he not get a song made about him stuck in his head?

If someone were to peek into the kitchen and catch him tapping and moving along to the beat in his head as he made breakfast? Well, they should just be thankful he isn't doing anything bad to it.

[that-halloween-gay]

Back when I made this blog I was like ‘why would I make side blogs when I can just dump everything on main? My followers can deal’ and now I have like 3 side blogs lmaoo

[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.”

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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.

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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!