#running martingale

[tackdump]

Saved this one because it’s the oldest pic I’ve seen showing a running martingale. Also interesting bc the rider seems to be riding one handed, the reins have a tail off to one side like a mecate, all bridle horse things, but the horse is is in a snaffle. 🤷‍♀️ Haven’t seen a lot of horses in snaffles in these old pics.

[vivwritesfics]

Horse Girl - LN4

High school sweethearts Lando and Y/N are very in love (she also happens to be Flo's best friend and they met through their yards) (any words you don't understand are probably just unimportant horsey terms dw about it) (also idk anything about flo's riding journey, so i made it mirror mine)

Lando Norris x reader

2.3K

"Flo," Y/N called as she appeared at the stable door. She had Gismo's bridle over her shoulder and her riding hat already on her head. "Think I borrow your martingale?"

Flo left her brush on her horses back and turned towards her friend. "I have conditions."

"Give them to me."

Flo held out her hand, checking things off on her fingers. "You clean it for me at the end of the week, you muck out for me tonight and we go on a hack."

Y/N let out a sigh. "I'm going out with Lando tonight," she said.

Being in a long distance relationship with an F1 driver wasn't easy. Y/N had to stay in England to take care of Gismo and Sooty while Lando was living in Monaco and travelling the world.

When Y/N could, she got somebody to look after the horses and spent a week with Lando in Monaco. When Lando could, he spent the week at Y/N's, visiting his family and watching her ride.

Y/N tried to spend as much time over the summer and winter breaks with him. But this year Y/N began competing Gismo. Lando travelled with her when he could during her competitions. He always had his camera with him, posting her on the jpg account.

Lando and Y/N had been friends for a bloody long time. When Flo started riding lessons, she was stuck behind a girl on a fat little pony that refused to do more than a walk. When their lesson activity had them riding side by side, Flo and Y/N became fast friends.

They went from a weekend lesson together to being at the yard every single day. They loaned the same horse, Y/N riding him for half of the week and Flo riding him for the other. Most of the time they'd be there on the same day, mucking out his stable together and cleaning his tack together. On Flo's day's to ride, Y/N was the one who sorted the jumps and picked up the shit.

When they were younger, when they'd spend all day at the stables, Y/N would sleep over at the Norris house. Flo lived closer to the yard so it just made sense.

Staying at the Norris house meant meeting Flo's big brother. Y/N had heard stories of him before, stories of his karting and his dreams of being in F1.

And then Y/N met Lando. He was the kind of boy who, when Y/N slept over, he wouldn't leave them alone. He was the annoying big brother that stopped by to make a comment on the film they were watching, steal some of their snacks and run off to play his PlayStation.

When they were teenagers, Y/N fifteen and Lando seventeen, things changed. He kept on with that whole annoying big brother image until he was around fifteen. And then he didn't care about teasing the girls - he was too busy winning in F3.

But at seventeen, he started to see Y/N a little differently. She was fifteen, almost sixteen when she watched him win around Silverstone. When he saw her afterwards, he saw her in a new light. Maybe it was that post win haze. But no, because the feelings didn't go away.

Lando waited two and a bit years before he made a move. He was in F2, then, waiting to take his place on the McLaren F1 team. Y/N and Flo were show jumping at the lower levels and Flo was Y/N's show groom for when she tried her hand at eventing.

Lando came up with every excuse in the book to join Y/N and Flo when they went eventing. He offered to drive the trailer for them, offered to groom and tack up Sooty for her. Of course, Lando had no idea what he was doing when it came to grooming and tacking up.

Flo was heavily judging her brother, but she let him come with them. He stood by the trailer, feeding Sooty mints while Y/N and Flo tacked up.

Before Lando entered F1, he knew he had to make his move. Y/N had agreed to help Flo with her horses for the night while she was off doing something unknown. It was November and Lando had just turned 19. It was now or never.

Lando made his way down to the stables. It was dark and freezing, the stables lit by floodlights. Y/N had mucked out Flo's horses and had moved onto hay. Her own horses hadn't yet been taken care of; she could deal with them once she was done with Flo's horses. Lando walked across the yard, trying to avoid getting mud on his shoes. "Y/N?" He called, looking from stable to stable.

Y/N emerged from a barn. She was in her black riding pants, mud splashed up the side. The mud disappeared under her coat and she wore a knitted beanie on her head. "Lando? What're you doing here?" She asked as she walked out of the barn with hay in her arms.

Lando let out a laugh when he saw the mud up her side. "Did you fall off or something?"

She let out a laugh as she threw the hay over the stable door. "Yeah, Sooty decided there was a gremlin hiding in the corner of the arena and freaked out," she answered as she bolted the stable door shut.

With Flo's horses done, Y/N started looking after her own. As she mucked out, Lando talked to her and gave Gismo attention. "So, McLaren, huh?" Y/N asked as she moved Gismo away from the stable door. "You excited?"

"You know it, baby!" Lando cheered. But his cheeks flushed with embarrassment and he scratched at the back of his neck. "Are you gonna come to any of my races?"

"Yeah I'll go with Flo."

But that wasn't what Lando meant. He cleared his throat and rocked on his heels. "What if Flo doesn't go to any? Will you?"

Y/N stopped and put her broom against the stable wall. She crossed her arms over her coat and turned towards her best friends brother. "What are you trying to say, Lan?" Because there was clearly something he wasn't getting across.

Lan. He loved it. He loved when Y/N called him Lan. He somehow went even more red as he looked at her. "I want you to come to my races with me, whether Flo is there or not."

Y/N's eyes went wide. "Oh holy shit, Lan. I'd love to." She looked back at Gismo. "But I can't. Not when I've got these guys."

"Let me take you on a date then, before I go."

That was five years ago. Now, everybody was waiting for the couple to get engaged.

They were in the process of trying to move in together, but that meant Y/N moving the horses with her. Trying to find a stables just outside of Monaco that wasn't over the top expensive seemed too be an impossible task. Lando was happy to pay any amount of money to have his girlfriend and the horses there with him.

But Y/N didn't want to do that. She didn't want to have to rely on Lando to pay for everything. She was going to make it to Monaco, to be there with him, on her own.

Until then they were stuck with the odd date night whenever Lando could come back to England. If Y/N could, she paid somebody to look after Sooty and Gismo while she went to Monaco or to the odd race.

"Is he meeting you here?" Asked Flo as they walked across the stables, towards where they kept their equipment.

Y/N nodded her head. "Should get here just before I'm done with Gismo," she answered. "Pretty good timing if you ask me."

Lando was an incredibly supportive boyfriend. He had to be, with Y/N supporting his Formula One career. Whenever Lando could he came to one of her shows. No matter if she was eventing or jumping or doing dressage, Lando was watching with his camera.

Flo let out a sigh as she passed the martingale to Y/N. "You know, it might actually be nice to see him," she said as she and Y/N made their way back over to the horse.

Y/N quickly got herself and Gismo ready. She led him out to the arena and mounted. She rode him around the arena, warming him up and sending him flying over jumps as she waited for her boyfriend to appear.

Boyfriend. It had been weird saying that at first. After he and Y/N had their first date Lando was whisked away into the world of Formula One. They called a lot in that time, but it was strange. Their dynamics had changed but they weren't together yet.

It was a while before they got to have a second date.

A month after the second they had their third. That was when Lando officially asked her to be his.

That was five years ago.

As soon as Lando turned up to the stables, he knew white trainers had been a mistake. Actually, bringing such an expensive car had been a mistake. But, he got out anyway, locked it, and walked to where he knew he would find his girlfriend.

Lando was in awe every time he watched her ride. He couldn't tear her eyes away as she sent Gismo flying over the jumps, throwing her hands forward to let his neck stretch.

Lando had sat on Gismo before. He was the calmer of the two horses, the only one Y/N trusted to take care of Lando.

When Y/N finished jumping and brought Gismo back down to a trot, Lando clapped. Once upon a time he had whistled for her, but Sooty had spooked and Y/N had fallen off. Lando hadn't done it since.

"Lan!" Y/N called as she steers Gismo towards him. "I missed you."

"I missed you too," said Lando as Gismo put his head over the fence, searching him for treats. When he discovered Lando didn't have any, he resorted to getting attention instead. "Missed you as well, Gremlin."

Y/N took two minutes to cool Gismo down before she jumped off. She took him back to the stable and untacked him in record time, all while Lando watched. It was incredible watching her do the thing she loved, he realised. She must've felt the same way about him.

As soon as she was done, it was time for date night. Y/N finally managed to wrap her arms around Lando, holding him close. "You're gonna stink of horses," she said as Lando squeezed her even tighter.

"I don't care," he answered before he kissed her.

Keeping one arm around her waist, Lando walked her out to the car. Her boots were muddy on his cars interior, but Lando didn't care. She could have walked shit into his car and he wouldn't have cared.

"I brought that dress you like," Lando said. Before he'd gotten to the stables he'd stopped at Y/Ns apartment to get something for her to wear.

"You're the best, Lan," she said as she sorted the music.

I won't bore you with the details of their drive to their drive to the restaurant. Once they pulled up in the car park Y/N tried her best to get dressed in the not very spacious car, since their was no way she was getting in in her state. She combed her fingers through her hair, brushing out any hay.

"Goddamn," said Lando as she stepped out the car. Y/N slipped her hand into his and she walked in.

The restaurant was nice, rather fancy. The pair shared a candle-lit Italian dinner, with music playing softly in the background. Y/N listened eagerly as Lando spoke about his last race. "I really wish you were there, though," he muttered as he finished his dinner. "I can't wait for you to move to Monaco."

"I know, Lan. I can't wait either," she replied. They were making progress. Y/N had found a stables near enough by and it wasn't too pricy. She had a key to Lando's apartment, where she was staying for the weekend while he was away at another race.

As soon as they were finished eating, Lando asked for the bill. "No dessert?" Y/N asked with a frown. Lando loved his dessert, but today he was rushing.

"Nope," Lando answered as he paid. "My trainer would kill me."

As soon as he had paid, Lando escorted Y/N out of the restaurant. He walked her over to the car, stopping half way to do up his laces.

"Thanks for tonight, Lan," she said as she turned towards him.

But, when she did, Lando wasn't doing up his laces. He was down on one knew, an open ring box in his hand. Inside of the ring box was, well, a ring. It was simple, a band with a small stone, just the way Y/N liked it. "I know we haven't moved in together yet, but I really wanna marry you."

There was a moment where Y/N couldn't answer him. She was in complete and utter shock. The only talks of marriage had been tabloid speculation, no indicators from Lando himself. "Holy shit, Lan," she said, because that was all she could say.

It wasn't a question of whether Y/N wanted to marry him. Of course she did. She wanted that more than anything.

"Holy shit Lando Norris. Of course I'll marry you."

[martingalezine]

🎲Interest Check OPEN!🗿

introducing ‘Martingale’! An Aventurine/Doctor Ratio fanzine!

This is a collaborative fan project that we’re trying to get off of the ground, and are very excited to work with people on!

Currently, we’re running an interest check to try and determine the scope of the project, so if you’d like to participate or even just support us please consider checking out our interest check!

[b-dubs-valdubs]

the amazing supercool @bogusbyron and i have just finished collaborating on a fic :3!!!!!!! check it out on ao3, or under the cut!!!

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/56217544

Title: Valvert Kiss Proposition That I Got Far Too Carried Away With, or, awesomecool collab

Word Count: 2,575

Relationships: Javert/Valjean

Tags: Canon Era, On The Barricade, Choking, (non sexual but you can read it however you like), Rough Kissing, Homoeroticism, Hate Kissing, is that a thing?, Javert Was Probably Into That, Valjean Is Conflicted, Brick-Adjacent Dialogue, Musical-Adjacent Events, Angst, Hurt No Comfort, i guess

Summary: When emotions are running high at the Barricade, people ahve a tendency to lash out mindlessly.

~~~

Javert made no move to acknowledge the sound of the door opening behind him — he had not the last few times, and he would not this time, either. The students frequently came and went, picking up the supplies they had stashed in the tavern, not acknowledging their prisoner. Occasionally he could feel a glare burning into the back of his head, but most of the time he knew they were far too distracted with the matters outside to worry themselves with the old spy they had tied to the table.

It was the same when he heard several of them file in and begin discussing their plans and revising what resources they still had left; the integrity of their barricades across the city, with the rebellion still lighting the streets with musket-fire and smoke, like a thick bonfire.

Javert listened. He knew he would not be likely to make it out alive, but what else had he to do in the meantime? If, by some gargantuan miracle, he did escape, the information might be useful; so he listened.

There wasn’t much to be said, but it sounded like Javert should not hold out much hope. It was likely he would be shot in the coming days after the barricade fell.

Twenty-six men was all they had, with eight surplus muskets. He almost felt sorry for their meagre effort, maybe even somewhat impressed — but they were his jailors and would be his executors, he had only disdain to spare them.

In fact, they discussed his execution, and it seemed he was to be put down like a dog. He had hoped his death would have been more dignified, but at heart he had expected this from the beginning, and he had accepted it. He closed his eyes and took a quiet breath.

It hitched when he heard the voice of Jean Valjean from the crowd. Blood rushed to his ears, the world around him beginning to spin — he kept his eyes shut tight. When his hearing returned, he heard Valjean make a request. To blow out that man’s brains myself.

It was then that Javert lifted his head and looked over, and saw the man standing amidst the group of students, looking expectantly at their commander.

“I think that would be fitting,” Javert said, solemn and level.

The commander, Enjolras, allowed it. Valjean took his place at the end of the table with a pistol in hand as the sound of trumpets pealed through the air outside. Everyone stood to attention, as they had planned.

A boy’s voice which was vaguely familiar cried out from on the barricade, and they all rushed from the room at Enjolras’ command. “You’re no better off than I am. I’ll be seeing you soon!” Javert called out.

Now, he found himself alone with Jean Valjean, who made quick work of untying him from the table and gestured for him to stand, to which Javert obeyed. Javert wore an unpleasant expression, the kind that creased his nose in a smile which more resembled a sneer, his steely eyes fixed on the other man as he stood up straight for the first time since his capture, vertebrae cracking slightly at the motion.

Valjean did not return such an expression, or any at all, only took Javert by martingale at his chest and tugged roughly, thus beginning their slow trek outside and across the barricade. Valjean took quick glances at the students, all stood at the ready atop their wooden battlements, muskets in hand. They reached a spot where it was low enough to be clambered over, where Valjean did not let go of the other man’s bindings as he awkwardly clambered over it, before following him shortly.

Once they were far enough into the alleyway as to not be seen by the schoolboys, Valjean halted suddenly. Javert stumbled a little but otherwise kept quiet, still smirking in the bare face of death. Valjean laid his palm flat against Javert’s chest, pushing him up against the nearby brick wall, watching as Javert rested the back of his head against it as if resigning himself to his fate: the resolute, stony inspector forced to yield and yet still triumphant in that he was right — that Jean Valjean would take his life in an act of brutal revenge and let him bleed out at the foot of the wall amongst the grot, that Valjean was still the violent convict he had always known. His face remained perfectly neutral, eyeing Valjean with an expression that sought to bore into his mind, a slight smirk playing upon his lips. He was still yet a sentinel, and knew that even in death — as brutal and undignified as one could be — he would remain righteous, the star hanging over the wretched to judge and condemn.

Valjean saw him; regarded him coolly. He watched how Javert was still under his gaze, yet had a form of energy about him, like a pot of water about to boil over.

“Go on,” Javert hissed, baring his fangs in a grimace, “Take your revenge - you’ve been hungering for this since Toulon. I know it.”

Not an ounce of expression was betrayed as Valjean reached for the pocket-knife on his person, the glint of the blade catching the dying moonlight in its cold, silver sheen.

In any man, the sight of the blade — of a knife such as this one — could only promise a drawn-out, painful death; it was to have your throat slit, choking and hacking on blood as it overwhelms the air in your lungs, forcing it out through your mouths in little gasps, and be left until the blood loss takes hold and brings you into the embrace of the Reaper. Javert was apparently not such a man to quiver at that notion. He only grinned more fiercely, his thin lip stretching over his gums in a snarl of victory.

“Ah, of course,” he gloated, goading Valjean, puffing out his chest, bound as he was, “A knife for a cut-throat criminal. It’s more fitting.”

Valjean’s palm pressed firmer against Javert’s chest, as if he were a lion pinning his prey in place on the ground. His brown eyes, the hue of intoxicating nectar, caught Javert’s own — superseding the coldness in Javert’s own gaze. Under his gaze, Javert seemed to retreat somewhat, leaning back against the wall; he held this distant contact as his chest expanded into the soft pressure of Valjean’s palm, inspiring a breath unusually slow and deep. As quickly as it had intensified, the pressure then released, and Valjean retreated a step.

“Turn around,” he ordered.

Javert obeyed, flashing a self-satisfied expression at Valjean as he did so. Valjean paid him no heed, reaching for Javert’s bound wrists and watching as the serrated knife-edge sawed through the bonds.

As the fraying ropes fell away, with their proximity Valjean noticed the muscles in Javert’s back tensing, and could hear the sharp intake of breath. Both men remained still.

Eventually, Valjean spoke the three words that had been told to him only as lies; ”You are free.”

Javert turned back to regard him. Gone was his smug expression, replaced only with fearful awe and trepidation. “I don’t understand,” he uttered, scarcely above a whisper, like one might murmur to themselves, entranced.

“Clear out,” Valjean muttered, his face close to Javert’s as if conspiring amongst themselves. At this distance, he could feel every faltered breath of Javert’s fan out over his upper lip, huffing from his nose sporadically.

A flash of rage crossed Javert’s face. “Take care, Valjean!” he exclaimed, paying no heed to the established noise level, his tone teetering on the edge of hysterical.

Valjean gripped the noose around Javert’s neck, pulling him closer until their noses almost touched — able to see each twitch of Javert’s eyelid as he held Valjean’s impassive gaze, his teeth bared like a cornered animal. Valjean studied him (acutely aware that Javert could hear each tremble of his lungs as he struggled to calm his breathing) only to slip the loop of rope over his head, freeing him of that as well, before reiterating: “Clear out of here, you are free.”

An unreadable expression crossed Javert’s face before the tiger pounced at Valjean, fisting his paws into Valjean’s shirt. “I know you, Jean Valjean. I am warning you: you attempt to exchange my freedom for yours? There will be no such transaction with me. I am not you — I cannot be bought with promises of freedom, I will not steal my life unlawfully such as you have done, I will never be you, Jean Valjean. Do you understand me, Jean Valjean? I know you — yes! — I know you, I can see your motives plain. You plan to buy me — well! Javert cannot be bought. You will still answer to the Law for what you have done, do you hear me, 24601?” He spat those numbers like he was spitting grit from his bread.

With a slight flicker across his eyes, Valjean lashed forward with his large hands and they found their way around Javert’s thick neck, the force of the attack knocking him backwards and his back collided with the wall once more. Javert spluttered, his eyes wide and crazed, as he clawed Valjean's arms before settling their clasp on his wrists. For a moment Valjean worried that he had seriously hurt Javert when a glassy sort of look waned over his eyes, before fixing themselves back to glare at Valjean. His scowl became a look of submission, clearly realising the strength Valjean held over him as he felt the flexing muscle of the arms he was clutching onto for dear life.

When Javert’s knees began buckling clumsily from underneath him, Valjean knew he had the upper hand. He had the upper hand from the start, Javert had been his prisoner, at his mercy, his life in his hand - but that is exactly what Javert had wanted, and he had been determined to keep it that way. Though he huffed under Valjean’s grasp at his throat, it was not tight enough to be a serious threat. The look in Javert’s eye told him he knew it. Valjean meant only to intimidate.

For a moment, before he spoke again, he watched the scene in front of him with a kind of awe; their faces were still close, now almost level with each other, Javert’s ragged and desperate breaths disturbed the loose hairs that had fallen into Valjean’s face in the tousle. Javert’s eyes, which were often squinted in that haunting leer of his, bulged from his head as the skin around them flushed. Valjean let his eyes wander to a trail of spit which had broken from his lips and ran down his chin.

If their situation were not so dire, Valjean might have pushed closer. He blinked hard, choosing not to get distracted at this moment. Instead, he uttered; “You’re wrong, Javert. I am only a man. Nothing more, nothing less. It is not my right to end your life.”

Javert continued to stare at Valjean with that oddly open gaze, his mouth falling open in little gasps and grunts. Then, the grip around his throat lessened, and he found himself being relinquished. He teetered on unsteady legs for a moment, falling into the weight of Valjean’s chest as his knees refused to support his weight.

That strange, glassy expression was still worn even as Valjean righted him again, holding him under the arms until Javert could stand on steady footing again.

“If I make it out of here alive,” Valjean sighed, feeling as if his next words could overturn his very life, “I reside at number seven, Rue de l’Homme Armé, under the name of Fauchelevent.”

The very confession was like a seal, like the coffin lid closing over the living corpse of Jean Valjean. His life would be no more; all that mattered was Cosette’s happiness, and after he had rescued her true love, he would have no space in her life — her happiness would no longer be dependent on him after today. It was for the best. It was the love that she deserved, rather than that of an old convict.

He nailed his own coffin door shut, blocking each hole with a strange form of grief, allowing no air for his escape.

His lungs could hardly intake breath as he regarded Javert; it would not be the last time.

“Go.”

For a moment, Javert did not move, still hunched slightly and breathing deeply, his heavy arms hanging at his side. His gaze was fixed on Valjean’s, his icy blue eyes piercing him with a contempt which shuddered and faltered like the decaying foundation of a building. Then, as his chest expanded with an inhale, he stiffened, letting the military posture return. His slack jaw snapped shut and set, his brow furrowed and he scowled. He said nothing. He stared at the space above Valjean’s head rather than at him.

Valjean found that Javert’s hands had suddenly made their way to the sides of his head, and before he could have asked about it, thought about it or even looked at the other man to read his expression: his face was far too close to have done so, and felt the heat of another mouth on his, rough lips on rough lips, almost bowled over by the force at which Javert had launched himself at Valjean.

He couldn’t help the shocked noise that escaped him. Javert was kissing him, roughly, though it was hardly a kiss, all teeth and lips, no tongue like passionate lovers shared in their private rendezvous. It was more like a predatorial bite.

What surprised Valjean most is the fact he found he didn’t really want to pull back from the embrace at all.

Javert gripped the other man’s head tightly from either side, fingers digging into his hair, the heel of his palm pressing uncomfortably against his cheekbone. It was harsh. It wasn’t affectionate by any means, perhaps desperate. But the tear that fell from Javert’s eye onto Valjean’s cheek did not go unnoticed.

It was over as soon as it had happened, like it had never happened at all. Javert shoved Valjean’s shoulder fiercely as he turned on his heel without a backward glance.

Valjean stood, in stunned silence, watching Javert’s figure retreat through the alley and turn the corner, out of sight. With shaking hands, he brought two fingers to his face to touch gently upon his lips, still slightly slick with spit. His breath hitched, as if enchanted, and stuttered out, breathing over his fingers that still remained pressed against his lips, passing a chill over the wet spot left by Javert’s own mouth.

Valjean shuddered, wiping it away with the back of his hand resolutely, before hefting the musket aloft and firing into the air.

He wondered if Javert had heard the bang that had resounded as he made his way back to the tavern.

“It is done,” he announced.

Yet it did not feel finished: not for Valjean, nor Javert, as Valjean’s thoughts could only fixate on the tingling sensation he still found on his lower lip where Javert’s teeth had collided, frowning to himself slightly.

His mind fell back to the alleyway, when he watched Javert writhe under his hand. He was thankful for the call of the students from the barricades as the National Guard began an attack once more.

[kingsrulebook]

normalize collaring and leashing her like a pet, without changing anything else

walk normally, strolling

hold her leash instead of her hand

always keep a collar on her

(maybe she can earn sleeping without it)

she has to wear a tag anytime the backdoor is open, even though she knows to stay in the yard

stop her at the front door and clip the leash on

buckle her into the car seat before unclipping her, and you clip her again before she can get out of the car

she’s not allowed to touch it, her collar or the leashes, touching them doesn’t occur to her as a possibility

let her have different collars, matching sets, bows; let her pick collars to match her outfits; let her style them, let her enjoy them

get waterproof collars so she can always go out for a potty break, whenever you need it; you can hose her down securely when you’re done

train her until she knows being collared and leashed keeps her safe, this is normal, this is just how life works, train her until she doesn’t even think about it

until she doesn’t question why she wears it and no one else they see does, until she doesn’t register what other people are noticing

train her until she feels naked without it, anxious, scared to be off-leash

get a long lead and a harness for hiking, so she can explore and you can just tug her back; get a stake and line for camping; get a tracking tag so you can know she’s still obeying while you do other things; get a bungee leash so you can take her running

get her velvet collars for special occasions; get her leather collars for country houses and ski lodges; get her sherpa lined collars and fur collars to keep her warm in winter

get her martingale collars when she needs a firm hand

you train her well, you take care of her

you’re a good pet parent

[james-spooky]

my fave searows lyrics 🌊🌊

roadkill:

what if i give up too soon?

a racehorse with nothing to win

running just cause i’m supposed to

cause they bet too much money on it

a guard dog with a death wish

in the centre of the ring i lose

haunted

i don’t have a lot to say

but i’m still talking anyway

i’m the master of mistakes

i missed the point you tried to make

keep the rain:

am i really comfortable in silence?

or is it eating me alive?

nothings ever really quiet

when you need distraction to survive

villain:

and i know you i told me

that everything’s fine

but i wrote this story

before it was mine

and i know there’s a villain

but i’m worried it’s me this time

turn me into a believer

make me out as some old healer

i’ll change for the better

and i’ll even make it last too

coming clean:

but i don’t wanna be your angel

wanna see you cut off a limb

nobody wins

if i kill you

would i have to forgive you still

sterilise the thing you know

give it to somebody who’s strong

fallout from the glass you broke

there’s still a piece in my palm

but is this coming clean?

or am i digging up the bodies you buried?

house song:

savior pulled from an open mouth

did you want to be something more?

something is rotten inside of me

i have to find it and

cut it out

older:

you think you look older, i think you look alive

you were right before when you told me “living takes more than to just survive”

what’s a word for lonely? that doesn’t mean alone?

and what’s that thing you told me?something i would understand when i was grown

collector:

i’ll be the witness as theyre pulling you out

and the neighbours are watching, saying this was bound to happen somehow

“it must’ve been coming for years now”

i can and i will:

i buried my teeth in everything good

and it didn’t save me like i thought it would

and i try not to lie anymore

or call it a symptom of fight or flight

wish i didn’t take the money when i did

wish i didn’t hate the city in mid july

think i must’ve been somebody at some time

but you promise you can see me and you don’t lie

martingale:

and I am powerless to stop myself

from slowly turning into you

this is just a description

of the daughter you made her into

you made her out of pieces of you

it’s the body’s affliction

it’s the pain making circles in you

like dogs that just wanna get loose

[thebrickinbrick]

Marius Haggard, Javert Laconic

Let us narrate what was passing in Marius’ thoughts.

Let the reader recall the state of his soul. We have just recalled it, everything was a vision to him now. His judgment was disturbed. Marius, let us insist on this point, was under the shadow of the great, dark wings which are spread over those in the death agony. He felt that he had entered the tomb, it seemed to him that he was already on the other side of the wall, and he no longer beheld the faces of the living except with the eyes of one dead.

How did M. Fauchelevent come there? Why was he there? What had he come there to do? Marius did not address all these questions to himself. Besides, since our despair has this peculiarity, that it envelops others as well as ourselves, it seemed logical to him that all the world should come thither to die.

Only, he thought of Cosette with a pang at his heart.

However, M. Fauchelevent did not speak to him, did not look at him, and had not even the air of hearing him, when Marius raised his voice to say: “I know him.”

As far as Marius was concerned, this attitude of M. Fauchelevent was comforting, and, if such a word can be used for such impressions, we should say that it pleased him. He had always felt the absolute impossibility of addressing that enigmatical man, who was, in his eyes, both equivocal and imposing. Moreover, it had been a long time since he had seen him; and this still further augmented the impossibility for Marius’ timid and reserved nature.

The five chosen men left the barricade by way of Mondétour lane; they bore a perfect resemblance to members of the National Guard. One of them wept as he took his leave. Before setting out, they embraced those who remained.

When the five men sent back to life had taken their departure, Enjolras thought of the man who had been condemned to death.

He entered the tap-room. Javert, still bound to the post, was engaged in meditation.

“Do you want anything?” Enjolras asked him.

Javert replied: “When are you going to kill me?”

“Wait. We need all our cartridges just at present.”

“Then give me a drink,” said Javert.

Enjolras himself offered him a glass of water, and, as Javert was pinioned, he helped him to drink.

“Is that all?” inquired Enjolras.

“I am uncomfortable against this post,” replied Javert. “You are not tender to have left me to pass the night here. Bind me as you please, but you surely might lay me out on a table like that other man.”

And with a motion of the head, he indicated the body of M. Mabeuf.

There was, as the reader will remember, a long, broad table at the end of the room, on which they had been running bullets and making cartridges. All the cartridges having been made, and all the powder used, this table was free.

At Enjolras’ command, four insurgents unbound Javert from the post. While they were loosing him, a fifth held a bayonet against his breast.

Leaving his arms tied behind his back, they placed about his feet a slender but stout whip-cord, as is done to men on the point of mounting the scaffold, which allowed him to take steps about fifteen inches in length, and made him walk to the table at the end of the room, where they laid him down, closely bound about the middle of the body.

By way of further security, and by means of a rope fastened to his neck, they added to the system of ligatures which rendered every attempt at escape impossible, that sort of bond which is called in prisons a martingale, which, starting at the neck, forks on the stomach, and meets the hands, after passing between the legs.

While they were binding Javert, a man standing on the threshold was surveying him with singular attention. The shadow cast by this man made Javert turn his head. He raised his eyes, and recognized Jean Valjean. He did not even start, but dropped his lids proudly and confined himself to the remark: “It is perfectly simple.”

[superfluffychickens]

After having her for a few days, I’m completely enamored with my new doggie - her name is Treasure and she responds to it well, but I might shorten it to Tess - but, it hasn’t been easy for either of us. She’s just bursting with love and desire for affection, but either she’s so overwhelmed in a new environment that she’s forgetting her training, or she was pretty untrained to begin with. It’s like she just doesn’t really get the “rules” of being a pet dog and interacting with humans. And I think she got used to being a mostly-outdoor dog.

She gets really mouthy when she’s feeling playful and has torn through a lot of her toys as well as my weighted blanket - what a mess, beads everywhere! She pulls hard on the leash, I’m gonna buy her a harness instead of a collar (the rescue told me to get her a martingale collar but she’s choking herself on it) to see if that helps. And, she’s had several accidents in the house. So I’m contacting local trainers to get her in for obedience training, there’s actually a dog trainer really close to where I live which would be really convenient, and I’ll take her for lessons ASAP.

For now, she actually does do some things really well, and has responded to assertive “no!” and being ignored. She’s even good off-leash, doesn’t stray too far and comes when called. She gets along well with the dog I’ve been dogsitting (my parents are watching her), and is usually really good in her crate. And she’s curious about the chickens but doesn’t seem inclined to chase anything - she won’t even chase a tennis ball because it means leaving my side!

Thinking about it with a clear head it’s really pretty obvious why she’d act this way. I contacted her first foster to tell her I’ve adopted her, and the foster was ecstatic! Apparently, Tess was found scrounging for food in a dumpster in Alabama, with no fur from nasty skin issues. She’s 7 and only just got spayed this January, and she’s got swollen nipples so I’m sure she’s had puppies before, if she was a stray probably more than once. Her ears are all torn up, and she had heartworm when they found her. Her old foster had her for 8 months, nursing her back to health, and said it took 4 months for Tess to become comfortable with her. But she definitely touched the foster’s heart, even after 10 years of fostering she said Tess was something special. The whole community got together to help her, and Tess came with a huge bag of toys, treats, and sweaters/coats that had been donated just for her.

Then in early May she was shuttled off to a foster in Vermont, a very nice old man took her in but it seems he kind of just let her run loose with his other fosters and be a farm dog. He didn’t correct her when she jumped on him, he seemed like he adored her but might have been too permissive since he was busy with lots of other stuff. I can’t criticize him though, I’m a pushover and I’m sure that’s not helping. I’ve always been bad at boundaries, with animals and people. Treasure and I have a lot in common I think, we both just want to be loved but get confused about the Rules of Society™️. So I’ll stick by her, believe in her, and help her out as best as I can, treat her the way I wish I would be treated lol.

My dad gave me a good pep talk yesterday, telling me that I need to be more assertive and not to let her be rough with me. My dad’s been a big help - I think it’s actually that he wants a dog himself, but probably won’t get one himself since my little nephew is allergic and visits often. But he says once she has better leash manners he’ll walk her for me if necessary, and my mom will help too. We’ll set up an invisible fence for her eventually so she can run around outside more safely, but I think for now as long as I’m watching her she’s okay to run off leash to get out some of her energy and jitters. Right now, she’s sleeping soundly next to me on the bed, listening to the rain falling. We’ll work this out together. She’s really a good dog, no aggression, fear, or anything like that. She just has Big (Happy) Feelings and doesn’t know how to let them out in a healthy and safe way. And she’s been through so much, it’s a testament to her character (and the hard work of her fosters) that she’s so willing to love people.

But if anyone here has experience with dogs or dog training, or helpful tips or anything, I’d love to hear it! I’m a beginner with dogs too, I know how this stuff works in theory but in practice it sometimes feels overwhelming for me.

[vaspider]

Time for another FDTJ meme dump.

(These are character memes for a Chronicles of Darkness chronicle - From Dusk Till Jawn - that my partners and I have been running since 2020, though some of the characters are much much older. I just dump the memes here every so often. No, i don't alt text these, sorry. You can block 'fdtj memes' if you don't want to see these occasional posts.)

Annikah von Steiger, Ordo Dracul/Carthian Gangrel (Mystikoi)

Little Fox, Thyrsus Child of the Tree (Orphans of Proteus)

Oleksandra Vasylovna Tometchko/Lesja, Acanthus Child of the Tree (Tears of the Martyr's Tree), Little Fox, & Lesja's dog Pupyat, a CEZ rescue.

Artje Berenyi-Winthrope, Carthian Daeva (Toreador)

Jean-Louis Visigny-Winthrope, Carthian Daeva (Spina)

Ziv Altshul, Spring Darkling Swimmerskin (with Eko, Summer Darkling Gargantuan)

Teagan, Summer Darkling Mirrorskin

Aya Jabir, Moros Child of the Tree

Mei Lee, Obrimos Child of the Tree (The Ninth Sefira)

Jack Martingale, Spring Darkling Muse

[feetoffire]

olympic jumping qualifiers this time. less in-depth because of how quick the rounds are vs dressage tests, and i’m sure i missed some details, especially in terms of tack/tack names. if anyone is actually reading these and knows the names of things, please tell me!

(please assume everyone is in a running martingale, they're so common i quit mentioning them.)

Spain: Ismael Garcia Roque on Tirano. pretty gray. i know it’s hard to not have (some) mouth gape when you’re fighting about speed (i jump too) but i can’t help cringing. interesting running martingale set up - i don’t think i’ve ever seen one like that. 

Austria: Katharina Rhomberg on Colestus Cambridge. also a gray. three rails down, which is rough.

Mexico: Carlos Hank Guerreiro on Porthos Maestro WH Z. that is an…interesting set up. looks like a normal noseband and drop noseband on the same bridle? not sure i like it/why not just use a flash

Switzerland: Steve Guerdat on Dynamix de Belheme. a mare! her blaze is cool :) she’s gaping a lot coming out of the arena - again, i get it, you do really have to fight them on tempo sometimes, but i’m still cringing. knocked a rail or two; that triple combination has gotten everyone so far and i think it’ll continue to do so.

Sweden: Henrik von Eckermann on King Edward. i have no idea what’s going on with his bridle. i think that’s a net of some sort to keep the flies off his nose? idk. kinda cool that he has no browband. watching the jumpers’ big canters is awesome. the first pair to go clear and inside the time! i think he threw a shoe on that last jump - something shoe-shaped goes flying in the slo-mo replay.

Japan: Taizo Sugitani on Quincy 194. this boy wants to look at the crowd and go. not the cleanest round i’ve ever seen - my instructor would have made me go back and do some of those again (in a lesson). 

Poland: Adam Grzegorzewski on Issem. several rails down - this course is tricky. 

France: Simon Delestre on I Amelusina R 51. a stallion - look at that crest. so much gape. too much gape, even for a jump course. i want a closer look at his bridle - two sets of reins. 

Ireland: Shane Sweetnam on James Kann Cruz. okay that’s a decent pun. i wonder how old he is; he’s really grayed out. the bit set up looks ridiculous - there’s so many straps. 

UK: Ben Mahler on Dallas Vegas Butilly. this mare has some favorite cities, it would seem. she’s got a nose net thing too. low, tight frame in canter before the round started. they’re also clear and in time! she’s frothing tho 🙁

Germany: Christian Kukuk on Checker 47. nice, plain figure 8 bridle for once. he does a little extra kick with the back legs as he’s in the air over the jump. clear and in time. 

Israel: Ashlee Bond on Donatello 141. it’s always interesting to see how much sheepskin each horse likes; Donatello has it on all three straps of his breastplate. 

USA: Laura Kraut on Baloutinue. i like them. came in nice and quiet, gave Baloutinue some pets before they started. fantastic, chill feeling round/not frantic at all. clear and in time (5 seconds under!)

Netherlands: Maikel van der Vleuten on Beauville Z. for a horse who apparently likes wiggly lines, they looked very straight through the triple combination. also a nice round - boring, as my instructor would say. (that’s a good thing)

Brazil: Pedro Veniss on Nimrod de Muze. i couldn’t help it, i laughed at the horse’s name. there’s some head tossing, especially as Veniss tries to steady him before a fence. clear and in time. 

UAE: Omar Abdul Aziz al Marzooqi on Enjoy de la Mure. pretty dark bay. happy ears, even over the jumps. nice pair. 

Saudi Arabia: Abdulrahman Alrajhi on Ventago. red ribbon tail, watch yourselves y’all. his stirrups are green to match his coat and the saddle pad and ear bonnet. it’s cute. lots of sheepskin on the breastplate. not the ride Alrajhi was hoping for, methinks - he was shaking his head a little after the round. 

Australia: Hilary Scott on Milky Way. a gray mare, as her name suggests 🙂 sheepskin on her breastplate too. four rails down, but a nice ride in other respects. 

Canada: Mario Deslauriers on Emerson. head tossing in the turns and coming up to some of the jumps. two sets of reins - i don’t think it’s a double in the two bits sense, but there’s a definite elevated-control situation happening. looks like there’s a star under his fly bonnet! touch of froth. 

Belgium: Gilles Thomas on Ermitage Kalone. gorgeous chestnut and a big bold blaze. he’s got a nose-fly-net thing. lovely round (clear and under time) and lovely ride (no gape or froth). i like this pair.

[fayeandknight]

Welp no Qs for us.

But I still learned a lot. The educational piece about trials, course maps and walk throughs, filling out entry forms, etc was really helpful. It will definitely help ease some anxiety when we are ready to trial.

I completely forgot that you can't have a martingale in the ring so Forte ran naked for the first time ever. Despite that he recalled after our runs, and didn't dance around or avoid being collared up, with the expectation of our last run.

He settled really well in the car in between runs, no yelling, and settled well outside the ring while waiting for our turn. Really need to figure out a car crate though. Currently he has a car harness and seatbelt and it's a pain to put on and off multiple times throughout the day like that.

He got officially measured at 24.5 inches, but I ran him at 16 because that's what we've been doing in class. He didn't knock a single bar or miss contacts, aside from the table. We definitely need more table practice because he hopped on and then right off two or three times.

We didn't Q because he was way overexcited and blew past obstacles, though I was able to get him back on track.

Our last run was super embarrassing because right from the start I could tell he was checked out. Breaking his sit as soon as the collar was off and wandering around sniffing. I tried to do the run anyway and we got four jumps in before Forte found a gap in the gate and exited stage left. He took himself outside of the barn, sniffed around in the grass and then sat and waited for me to collect him. A very kind person brought his leash and collar just as I was starting to wonder how I was going to get him back to the car. (Holding him by the scruff felt bad enough, I didn't want to lead him around by it.)

I did have a bit of a cry in the car after. But I'm not angry at Forte nor do I see any of this being his fault.

I knew I was trying this super early in our training. But I don't know how often ACTs are held and I didn't want to miss the opportunity, especially because it was being held where we practice. I didn't recognize a single soul there so definitely no one from our class or the class before us (which is slightly more advanced) decided to try.

Even with everything that happened, I'm really proud of myself for showing up and trying. And I'm proud of Forte, who did his best even though it was more than he was ready for.

Definitely something to consider for the future is finding a way to decompress in between runs that isn't just going back to the car or feeding his settle like we do in class.

[tpup]

buying my girl a martingale collar so she can’t slip out and run away

[artsy-hobbitses]

So something I've noticed is that there's collar type you almost exclusively see on sighthounds. I've seen it be called a "martingale" collar, but, even when you look up that collar type, that wide band look is almost exclusively worn on sighthounds. (More comfortable on the long neck when they try to run after whatever critter crosses their path, I imagine. And looks kinda weird on breeds that have shorter or thicker necks.)

I personally love the brocade or embroidered design collars. Do you think Blurr goes for that kind of classical look for their greyhound or perhaps more modern leathers or such?

Ooooh I just looked it up and yes! That looks like something Beau would use for their loopy baby. Definitely a fancy embroidered brocade-type to go with their own flamboyant aesthetic ✨👌🏻

Blurr themself also wears a neckpiece as part of their outfit, so it might be similar in design!

[mandana-the-service-pup]

Got the patch for Mandanas collar today. Hubbins was worried the cuteness would invite people closer than is comfortable for us, so I added a patch that says “GIVE US SPACE” and I think it turned out great!

2” Martingale Collar (Medium 12-19”) - Its fully extended when she has an allergic reaction but usually her neck is around 17”. I could have gotten the large but I wanted the metal adjuster to be all the way at the end so I could add a patch.

Blueberry Muffin ID Tag (Large 1.3”) - I was able to add 4 lines of text total. It says “I’m loved and microchipped” and has two phone numbers. You can add a name on the front of the tag that blends into the muffin part. I chose not to.

Custom Patch (1.25” x 8”) - light blue felt with white embroidered letters. I had to contact them for this specifically and they charged slightly more than their typical 1.25” because it’s multiple words. It was still very affordable and great quality. I tried ironing it on. It wouldn’t stay but my cheap sewing machine was able to handle the collar and the patch together. I think I would recommend having tighter font so it’s easier to read all at once. 8” looks good up close but it’s hard to read the whole thing from a distance unless she turns her head. The GIVE US SPACE patch on her other collar is only 2”x6” and I think its easier to read quickly.

We have a second collar coming that is just like this setup but is black/red strawberry themed (Hubbins doesn’t like taking her out with her Care Bear collar for some reason 😭) These two collars were a gift for my birthday. I definitely prefer wide martingales for safety, comfort and style over any other type of collar. I also love that I can use these for either service dog work or regular doggy time. I think people see a pet dog with GIVE US SPACE and assume it’s aggressive but that’s kind of the point. I don’t want to deal with the unpredictable nature of people and their dogs/kids running up to us.

[jessgh]

Sports Betting System - Why You Need One

The world of sports betting has been around for quite a long time. Many individuals have 'played the game' and enjoyed a couple of winning runs yet not many have been fruitful over the long haul. However the best punters have taken on different styles of betting - known as 'systems'. These systems have been created and honed throughout the long term - basically starting in different types of gambling. Here is a manual for probably the most commonly utilized gambling systems.

Parlay System

The Parlay System pyramids your profit. Pyramiding is a parlay bet by which the first bet in addition to winnings are put on progressive bets. Commonly utilized in horse betting, you make the bet and if you win all the money it is re-put resources into your next bet. This strategy does require a decent run and astonishing chances to make it rewarding and as such it isn't commonly utilized as a Sports Betting System. However it can, if a decent run is accomplished on great chances, and with a sensible opening bet, get some worthwhile money.

Martingale System

In this system you twofold your bet each opportunity to cover every misfortune. Can mean financial planning crazy a lot of money, just to get results. The interaction is that you make your bet and if you lose - then, at that point, you twofold your bet, lose once more and you continue to twofold the bet all out till you win. Then, at that point, you return to the first bet cost and begin the cycle once more. Has tiny long haul achievement rate in gambling. However it needs to be done on by any chance bets so rarely utilized in sports with the exception of when done for only one group - one group cannot lose 10 + times straight right? This System requires a high bank balance regardless and won't win you worthwhile measures of money consequently except if the chances are remarkable. It is once in a while involved by less-experienced betters as a Sports betting system, however it is a frantic system in which you won't ever recuperate your unique bet.

Paroli System

The system is something contrary to the Martingate system. In this present circumstance you twofold your bets each time you win. This system requires careful earlier preparation and severe keeping with the preparation. To begin with you set your beginning sum and as far as possible. This will be subject to the chances in the game and your own money holds. The System can be viable the same length as you don't lose your restraints and carry on a run past your breaking point. Keep the breaking point low so you don't overextend yourself. However by keeping as far as possible low and placing in significant money because of the bending over of bets it very well may be high gamble and for restricted money. It needs to be on 50/50 bet or close to the point of being worth the effort and as such isn't utilized routinely as a sports betting system. However, it can win you great money if have karma.

[byelacey]

i’m afraid a lot of this might be well-meaning, but a little ill-informed. a head collar is actually not a muzzle! i get this a lot on walks from folks who don’t know what a head collar is. but dogs can eat, drink, bark, and open their mouths freely while wearing a head collar. head collars do not prevent your dog from eating things on the ground, or from biting.

they’re more akin to a halter you’d put on a horse. when the dog pulls, the head collar is going to turn them around. which is exactly why i wouldn’t use a head collar if i’m say, running with my dog (which i don’t do, mac is not a runner lol).

it’s true that a head collar can cause injury to your dog *if used improperly*, but i think you can say that for a lot of tools. hell even a regular old flat collar can cause damage to a dogs throat if that dog is a puller.

mac is nearly 130lbs of independent dog. if there’s something he wants to check out or a dog he wants to meet, he’s going, whether i like it or not. i’ve tried a front clip harness, even one with a martingale clasp, and i’m just not strong enough to lead the walk sometimes. the head collar not only taught him loose leash walking, but it completely prevents mac from taking the reins, so to speak, and putting us in potentially dangerous situations (like meeting a dog who doesn’t want to meet him lol)

as for them being universally hated, i haven’t met every dog, but my halti head collar came with clear instructions on how to train your dog to wear a head collar, and mac doesn’t mind it at all. actually, he knows the head collar means he’s going for a walk!

anyway. i get the sentiment. just use tools responsibly. thanks for liking my comic.

edit for yoga dog tax

thinking about my dog and how he makes sure i get my daily mental health outings