This is the place where you can personalize your profile!
By moving, adding and personalizing widgets.
You can drag and drop to rearrange.
You can edit widgets to customize them.
The bottom has widgets you can add!
Some widgets you can only access when you get a premium membership.
Some widgets have options that are only available when you get a premium membership.
We've split the page into zones!
Certain widgets can only be added to certain zones.
"Why," you ask? Because we want profile pages to have freedom of customization, but also to have some consistency. This way, when anyone visits a deviant, they know they can always find the art in the top left, and personal info in the top right.
Don't forget, restraints can bring out the creativity in you!
Now go forth and astound us all with your devious profiles!
~ Along with the three horses, a crate had arrived. In it was the essentials; their tack, blankets, papers, a few ribbons that Sonja had won, and, buried under a mess of polo wraps, a photo album. This small time capsule went unnoticed for 3 years until a disgruntled rider in search of boots unearthed it in a cardboard box in the back of a tack room cabinet and their search was instantly abandon in favor of the mysterious book containing a glimpse into another, foreign, stables. In the beginning it was nothing but snapshots of unrecognizable horses and people going through daily life. The staff, intrigued, gathered in the lounge, placing the album on the coffee table to give everyone a fair view. Mundane as it may be, the small leather-bound portal was enough to attract the attention of everyone present as they scrutinized the photos, peering back into someone else's memories. Soon enough photos of the sickly, scrawny, animal they recognized as Sonja before she was rescued began appearing.
It was well known that Sonja's trainer and previous owner had loved her dearly and these documentations proved it. The first few were assumed to be from her sales ad, based on the quality compared to others and a screenshot of the type on the ad on the opposing page. These pictures depicted a very ribby mare, always with her ears back, eyeing the camera warily but generally behaving. On the following page the pictures were fairly blurred- a rolling eye through a slat in a trailer, bruises on arms and hips, even a few stitches. Then there were the photos that told a story. Sonja standing under a tree with a halter slipping off her nose, another horse carefully tugging it off, the mare mid buck with a rider settling with the dust, even her an instant before landing a kick on the woman lunging her.
Soon enough the pictures became more tame, a woman sitting cautiously on a more relaxed Sonja's back, the pair hopping over a few jumps with the mare displaying the same choppy jumping style as her colt, then them on a trail ride, the woman twisted around to wave to the camera and a pair of chestnut ears at the bottom of the card. Eventually a few pictures of the stallion recognized as Legerdemain Demoole began popping up; him in a stall, grazing alongside Sonja, and lastly him packed up in shipping gear, a trailer waiting impatiently behind him.
The next few pages were devoted to ultrasounds and progress shots of Sonja's pregnancy, a few images of the Obertaurer mare that arrived with them standing next to a very pregnant paint mare, the two grooming each other under a protective umbrella of leaves as rain splashed down around them, then finally Sonja sniffing at the small, black, tangle of legs that was eventually Home of deMoole. After that the album seemed to be entirely dedicated to those two and Mooles training.
There were his awkward baby days where he worked to figure out what those long sticks attached to him were and what they did, lanky yearling growth spurts, bucking fits, him popping over what would later become towering brick walls, and him beginning to show some grey while the same overly proud woman sat on his back and stuck her tongue out at the camera, Sonja and Ski looking on from a pasture in the background. Then, lastly, a single newspaper clipping of the obituary for a woman named Dannika Hazel, the horses saviour.
It was there that the pictures abruptly ended halfway through the album and the group was hit with the jarring realization that their horses original owner was killed in a car accident, which forced the others to sell her beloved animals to Vechnyy. It had been years since the three horses arrived and Sonja still refused to be handled by anyone else. She inhabited the back pasture with the pregnant mares and alpacas, content to stay out there, feral, until the day she died.
Slowly flipping through the remaining blank pages, a loose card fell from the binding. The image was picked up and inspected by all, and quietly the picture was placed on the shelf by the door, an old memory of another era; a time worn photo of Sonja and a young Moole grazing contently, side-by-side in the dog days of summer.
this originally had a different title but i want to save it for later even though it works so much better
I've finally drawn Moole's dam and now i can start with her storyline. It's gonna be weird let me tell you that.
They placed first! Big thanks to everyone that suggested things for it and listened to me complain about the animation
Jakobi heard the rain before he saw it. The loud boom of thunder before the steadily increasing clink of rain on the roof of the stables caused Moole to throw his head up in alarm, knocking the brush out of the mans hand. Swearing loudly, Jakobi rubbed the stallions mane before reaching down to pick up the fallen utensil. Moole stretched his neck out impatiently, swiveling his ears around until the bristles made contact with his coat.
Sighing contently, the sport horse reached around to nose his riders hair, tossing the wiry curls and blowing into them to make them bounce. "Ey, watch it-" Jakobi grabbed the horses halter and pushed his face away as Moole once again stuck his nose into his hair. "My hair tangles easily enough without you fuckin with it, keep your nose to yourself."
Squealing with indignation as his efforts to play with his riders hair were rejected once again, the stallion reached down to grab his water bucket, clamping it in his teeth and throwing his head back, splattering them both with slimy water and equine backwash. Jakobi yelled in surprise as the water hit him and snatched the bucket from the horses mouth, throwing it into the far end of the stall. Moole skittered forward at the loud noise, bumping into the door of the stall and the man rushed to calm him, wringing water from his hair.
This was Moole's first show not only with Jakobi, but with his new training and correctly aligned spine. Twenty-two hours may seem like too long of a flight just for a show like this but the owners of Vechnyy seemed content entering him in several Australian shows, almost as a mini tour of the continent. They'd determined that his back and neck problems stemmed from the fact that he used to crash land over the jumps, but now that he'd switched that quirk out for a series of others, Isador was convinced that he was ready to get showing and bought them tickets.
No matter how well behaved the stallion was, there was always the question of how he would react in the downpour outside. At least they were already wet from his little trick, so there wouldn't be much of a change. Moole had never been exercised in the rain and despite the fact that he was typically left in the pasture during the rainy weather, jumping in it was more than dangerous. From his dry spot inside the stall, Jakobi could see other riders going through the course and it didn't look fun. Their number, 32, was still far off and the man took his time saddling his mount. They could warm up in the barn isle instead of having to go out in the bad weather. Better to stay dry as long as possible than risk injury, and a few horses had already gone down in the soupy arena.
Slinging the pad onto Moole's back, Jakobi mentally rehearsed the pattern. It wasn't anything difficult but there were some pretty strange jumps involved, no doubt meant to sway the horses. Brave as he was, the sport horse was still high strung as ever and even in the stall he was still shuffling in place, his shoes occasionally clicking on the wall when he pawed at it, obviously bored. Besides the visits from the chiropractor, the show string had also received new, synthetic, shoes. They were said to be better for the horses over time and, without the damage from the nails in the traditional steel horseshoes, the horses were back on their feet immediately afterwards, bucking about their pastures like normal.
Moole in particular was doing better and seemed to appreciate the lesser weight, especially when jumping. It provided him with more cushioning and kept dirt away from his frogs, which he hated, therefore making Jakobi's job a hell of a lot easier. The stallion in question stamped his feet again, flicking his ears back impatiently as his rider tightened the girth. He was always eager to get started and stretch his legs, and either he didn't realize how heavy the rain was or he didn't care. Jakobi, however, was still worried about the weather; if Moole were to be injured so far away from home then it would be disastrous.
As a pretty chestnut stallion, number 23, raced through the course Jakobi coaxed the bit into the greys mouth and carefully fastened the throat latch. Moole had a habit of panicking if it was too tight, so it was always better to be more safe than sorry. The man leaned down to make sure the stallions boots were fastened before standing up to admire his work. Though Vechnyy's official show jackets were a dark red, Moole looked quite handsome in his black and gold attire and the horse seemed to know it, shaking his neck and flapping the reins.
Proudly bobbing his head, he followed Jakobi out of the stall and stood in the isle, looking around for other horses to nicker at. Finding none, he let out a loud neigh that was echoed by a few of the horses outside and his rider quickly shushed him. Swinging up into the saddle he steered his mount around, letting him walk up the isle to stretch his legs before reversing him and cuing Moole to trot. It wasn't either of their favorite gaits but it was the one the horse was always off on when lunged so it was important that everything was in sync. Feeling no faults, Jakobi let him canter gleefully back towards the other horses.
Number 31 was just exiting for the arena and the rider sighed. The rain hadn't let up any and was now in fact riddled with flashes of lightning, illuminating the arena for just an instant. Pulling his hair back out of his eyes Jakobi signaled Moole to walk forwards, almost immediately regretting not wearing a helmet. They weren't required for the show but would have kept the water out of his eyes, even if he absolutely despised having to wear them. With his hair it was impossible to find one that didn't tug uncomfortably or just push anything into his eyes so the man avoided them like the plague.
Moole picked up into a brisk canter as his hooves touch the sand of the arena and Jakobi gathered up the reins, weaving between the jumps to find the starting posts. There were puddles, if you could even call the small lakes that had formed that, dotting the spaces between the jumps and in the ruts the horses had made when landing. A small pang of fear shot through his body when he noticed those- it would make safely landing more difficult than ever. Time to add being one of the last on the course to his ever-growing mental list of regrets for this show.
At his urging Moole took off in an ill-advised slow gallop. Wrestling the stallion back into a fast canter Jakobi found the first obstacle, a simple striped oxer combination. Clearing it easily they splashed through the muck of the arena, Moole loosing his footing a few times but generally staying upright. Jakobi gave him a wide turning radius around the field, occasionally taking a detour through a puddle or around a fallen branch.
The other jumps were simple and proved to be no challenge for the stallion. There were a few times he spooked slightly at the movement of the trees by the fences but his rider kept him under control and pointed at the next obstacle. As they approached the last jump, a massive plastic wombat surrounded by what could only be considered guard kangaroos, Moole skittered to the side, swinging his hind legs around and rearing slightly. Jakobi swore loudly and kicked him forward, grabbing onto the horses mane to keep his balance. Reluctantly charging towards the jump, the stallion threw his legs forward in an exaggerated flailing motion and launched himself up and over, clearing it by much more than necessary.
As the pair landed, Moole's front legs found no purchase on the slippery sand and slid out from under him, throwing him almost onto his chest. Jakobi raised himself out of the saddle, more than ready to bail when it was determined which side the stallion would fall on, but before he could abandon ship the horse caught himself when his back legs hit the ground and rocketed forward, the end poles flashing by in a blur of white and brown. Successfully stopping his mount, Jakobi turned back to look at the last jump. Squinting through the rain he laughed out loud when he saw the evil beast that had spooked his horse. Beside the large wombat, apparently trying to use it as an umbrella, sat a very wet, very disgruntled koala.
It seemed to have been trying to get to the other tree across the arena but had been halted in it's progress by the near necessity to swim across and the constant flash of horses and people. Pointing the furry distraction out to one of the staff, a towel was procured and the koala was quickly removed from the scene of the show and deposited at the base of the tree, safe from the thundering hooves of the entrants and any falling wombats if things didn't go as planned.
Still giggling to himself, Jakobi walked Moole back to the barn and snagged a couple of towels, quickly drying off the tack before rubbing the stallion down and offering him a small amount of water. Wrapping his hair up in one of the cloths, the man scooped some grain into his hand and offered it to his gallant steed. In the works, the course wasn't as much fun as it should have been, but afterwards it had almost an ironic quality to it. At least, even if he didn't earn a ribbon to bring home, he'd have one weird story to tell.
I've been working on this for literally a week straight i'm so fried send backup
So today i managed to fall off my longboard and completely dislocate my shoulder while i was home alone, and after 3 hours of it being out I finally got to go see my friend that specializes in that and he said it would be okay but it would take several weeks to heal and since i landed with the full weight of my body on my elbow it may have also fractured my humerus. We'll have to go in for x-rays to find out, but it would be a stretch to afford them.
Long story short it hurts to even type this up so there most likely won't be any art from me until mid or early October. I've got a few things already drawn up that I could edit and post but that's about it. I can't raise it or anything so basically I'm gonna die here for a month or so. I'll still be there in streams and stuff but I cant do much else since its so messed up.
The moral of the story is you can either stop the board or yourself, not both. (Pro tip, pick yourself)
Favorite moviesLabyrinth, Favorite TV showsSupernatural, Sherlock, Doctor WhoFavorite bands / musical artistsDirty Heads, Steam Powered Giraffe, My Chemical Romance, Mod Sun, Bob MarleyTools of the TradeWacom Bamboo tablet, Paint Tool Sai, and Photoshop CS5