Apr 29, 2024 21:04:30 GMT
[googlefont=Roboto]
full name • Huntley Brice Llewellyn
nicknames • Hunt - preferred
age • Twenty Five
birthday • July 7th
occupation • Equestrian Coach - Eventing; Hopeful Small Scale Breeder of Friesian Horses
gender • Male
sexuality • Bisexual
barn • Blue Arces
face claim • Bruce Herbelin-Earle
identifying features • Huntley is a tall fellow, standing at 6'4 (1.9 m) with a rower's body. He's hard to miss at the barn, mainly because he tends to tower over most of the staff and clientele. Along with his height, Huntley has green eyes that are a stark contrast against his paler skin and black hair.
likes • Monty - his horse, Friesians, Beach Riding, Black and White Photography, Tasteful Macabre Art - both dark and beautiful at the same time, Coaching, Seeing Success in Young Students, Finding that perfect connection between horse and rider, Poems by Emily Dickinson
dislikes • Harsh Teaching Styles, Copious amounts of Rainbows and Sunshine, Surly attitudes or Sassy Back Talk, People who put money or winning over the welfare of their horses, Backyard or Careless Breeding, The fact that he has comfort zones, Bourbon flavored anything
strengths • Connecting with People, Gentle Heart
weaknesses • Big Black Horses, Rain Drizzles, Self Coccineous (little bit of a sensitive soul)
dreams • Hopes to open a small-scale Friesian breeding farm
fears • Financial Debt, Miscalculations in obtaining his dreams
overall personality • Huntley is a person who prides himself on his individualism and uniqueness compared to other people in society. He likes to express himself through art and his riding style, along with a bit of dabbling in writing. Some might say that Huntley likes to set himself apart in many ways from society, culture, institution, and tradition in creative outlets and ways of thinking. He's very in tune with himself, able own all of his feelings and can look at his motives, contradictions, and emotional conflicts without denying or whitewashing them. However, Huntley is still a sensitive soul. He may be quirky and happy with who he is, but if other people don't 'get' him per say, he takes it to heart. Huntley is not one for aggressive poking and prodding, which has been the downfall of his life on many occasions. He also feels haunted that he's missing something in himself, although he cannot quite figure out what it is - Will power? Social ease? Self-confidence? Emotional tranquility? Huntley isn't sure nor does he feel as if he will ever quite have a grasp on what it might be.
father • Rhys Llewellyn, 55, welsh politician
mother • Mared Llewellyn, 50, photographer
siblings • Elis Llewellyn (brother), Bronwyn Llewellyn (sister)
important people • esther mae Müller - distant relative
hometown • Anglesey, Wales
overall history • Huntley was born to two loving parents in Anglesey, an island in Wales, off the mainland's northwest coast. He grew up in the middle between two siblings, an older brother and a younger sister. Childhood was easy for Huntley, his father indulged his antics and his mother merely shook her head. Life for Huntley typically swung between wanting to be holed up in his room to wanting to go on adventures around the island with his siblings and friends.
His mother didn't love how he would get these swings where he'd just lock himself up, so she tried everything and anything to see if something would click in his little brain for wanting to stay outside and socialize rather than be awkward and hang back. While he did like artistic avenues, they still would put him right back behind closed doors. Mrs. Llewellyn signed him up for many things, and ultimately, what stuck was horse back riding. It had been a forced two week pony camp one summer and something seemed to click. Huntley knew though, it was the bond. The way he watched the older riders, the way themselves and their horses synced as one body, one soul. It was poetically beautiful, and Huntley knew he wanted that too.
Horseback riding became one of his passions, and Mr. and Mrs. Llewellyn seemed to breathe a collective sigh of relief. It didn't change their son, not fully, he still liked to sit around writing or reading Emily Dickinson. He still found beauty in art that depicted the decaying and dying with life reblooming from the bodies, but it kept him out of fantasy land holed up in his room. Huntley put a lot of work into his riding with school horses at a small and homely stables on the island. He was walking home one day when he passed a field and noticed a few horses standing out in a field, looking skinny and starved, and if that weren't horrifying enough, the field was also littered with dead horses.
He promptly phoned animal control and the police. He was also stupid enough to climb into the field and take pictures. Huntley knew what possessed him, but nobody would ever quite understand. While he was milling about though, taking his pictures, one of the horses had walked up to him, bumping him from behind. Turning, the young man found himself face to face with a dark colored horse. It was big, lacking in body weight and muscle, and yet, when those dark eyes stared at Huntley, he felt something, truly felt something, like words being spoken. Then the police and animal control showed up, and hauled him off.
Naturally, it had been a misunderstanding - teenage boy taking photos of dead horses, some kind of weird occult thing. Mr. Llewellyn had to do damage control quickly along with his lawyers. Thankfully, they got their stories straight. They found the person who owned the land and neglected the horses, they realize Huntley had been the one to have called it in, and of course, upon inspection, the horses had died from natural causes of starvation and dehydration rather than being slain. Huntley had checked out during all of this, between the interrogations from the police, his parents, his lawyers upon his stupidity, all what he could think about was that horse who had bumped him with its muzzle.
And just like that, when he was cut loose with a rather strict talking to from his parents about how artistic license does not mean he could go trespass any where to take photos, especially places with dead animals, Huntly just waved them off and went to the Animal Control to see where the surviving horses went. They had them off course, at a facility for horses, for intake and then evaluation. He passed his number, saying he wanted to know about the big dark horse with a small marking when they knew more, and left. Days came and went where Huntley would stare at his phone, he regressed, staying holed up once more until he finally got the call.
He dragged his parents to the animal control facility with him to see the horse. It looked healthier now, bit more meat on its bones, but still quiet and inquisitive, a gentle soul. The facility said they thought he was a cross between a freisian and a welsh cob. It got all the beauty with one breed and the athleticism of the other. And as Huntley's eyes met with the horse's again, once again he felt that connection, and just knew, he had to have him. He managed to strike a deal with his parents, after all, he was still in the dog house with them, and later that day, they left with the horse and put him at the stables where Huntley rode. Animal control had named him Monty, and Huntley decided to keep the name since it had signaled the horse's new life.
Brick by brick, Huntley laid down the foundation. He worked with Monty on the ground, helping him grow his strength back before ever getting to sit on him. They bonded in the round pen, on the lunge line, outside of his stall, out in the field while reading a book. Huntley stayed by that horse's side whenever he could, doing whatever he could, to bond and build trust and strength. The rest was history. They became a good pair, a bonded pair. Huntley could feel that connection whenever he rode Monty, that sync, that shared heart and soul. They understood each other like no one else could. Yes, Huntley had humans, he had his family, the passing boyfriend or girlfriend, but nobody quite seemed to get him like that horse.
Years later, Huntley opted to skip a typical University, and got into a prestigious coaching program on the mainland. He had long since established himself, and at nineteen, Huntley felt rather good about himself and his ability to teach, not just horses, but also students. He had been subbing in a lot at the barn, and they entrusted him with teenagers and younger riders to help them find what he had with their own horses. Huntley had been pretty excited, only second or third from the island to ever snag a spot at this school. Unfortunately though, the school was not like he thought it would be. It was rigorous, and different. Sometimes too harsh for him in their methods, and perhaps, what annoyed him the most, was that his fellow students and teachers would call him 'island boy'.
Gods. How he hated it. It put Huntley in his place for a bit, especially when he had barely made their second team. One day though, sitting in his room, he decided to quit. This place wasn't him. These teaching styles and riding styles weren't for him. Thank goodness he had left Monty behind, because this had been no place for his horse. So, Huntley quit, just like that, and returned back to the island. His parents welcomed him back, along with his barn, and Huntley began to decompress. He still had his dreams, his obsessions, he would just have to go about them differently. A few years went by, and he continued to work on coaching at his barn, getting his small barn's team to their junior nationals, and Huntley worked with Monty on their own career.
Sometimes, he still thought about how he found him out in that field, surrounded by dead horses. It had actually been a backyard breeding facility of some sort. Careless horse ownership. Careless everything. He knew he could build something better. But how? He didn't know where to start, certainly not on the Island where he would forever be attached to his parents name and dropping out of the main land horse school. But he was still a little nervous about leaving the island too, after all, the mainland school taught him how he didn't do well with a support system far away. So, he talked to his parents, his mother in particular, about it.
She told him to consider contacting one of her distant cousins, an Esther Muller, who lived in Hickstead, UK. It was rather far away unfortunately, but she had heard nice things about Hickstead, and perhaps it would be to Huntley's liking nonetheless. He may also have a support system in Esther, for Mrs. Llewellyn had heard from Esther's brother that she was quite lonely in her house, even though she would never admit it. Huntley felt a bit odd about contacting someone he had never met before, but given the things had done throughout his short life, he supposed he had done much odder things. After a few phone calls of getting to know each other, explaining his dreams and listening to hers, Huntley was surprised to hear that Esther was happy to accept him into her home, all what he had to do was pack his backs, his horse, and make arrangements to come down.
With that, Huntley Brice Llewellyn found himself leaving the island of Anglesey for the second time in is life of twenty five years.
alias • forever
age • olddd
other characters • the herd - aka very many
made by aofie, inspired by remi of rilla go!
Huntley B. Llewellyn
lil ol' me
full name • Huntley Brice Llewellyn
nicknames • Hunt - preferred
age • Twenty Five
birthday • July 7th
occupation • Equestrian Coach - Eventing; Hopeful Small Scale Breeder of Friesian Horses
gender • Male
sexuality • Bisexual
barn • Blue Arces
mirror, mirror
face claim • Bruce Herbelin-Earle
identifying features • Huntley is a tall fellow, standing at 6'4 (1.9 m) with a rower's body. He's hard to miss at the barn, mainly because he tends to tower over most of the staff and clientele. Along with his height, Huntley has green eyes that are a stark contrast against his paler skin and black hair.
i promise i have one
likes • Monty - his horse, Friesians, Beach Riding, Black and White Photography, Tasteful Macabre Art - both dark and beautiful at the same time, Coaching, Seeing Success in Young Students, Finding that perfect connection between horse and rider, Poems by Emily Dickinson
dislikes • Harsh Teaching Styles, Copious amounts of Rainbows and Sunshine, Surly attitudes or Sassy Back Talk, People who put money or winning over the welfare of their horses, Backyard or Careless Breeding, The fact that he has comfort zones, Bourbon flavored anything
strengths • Connecting with People, Gentle Heart
weaknesses • Big Black Horses, Rain Drizzles, Self Coccineous (little bit of a sensitive soul)
dreams • Hopes to open a small-scale Friesian breeding farm
fears • Financial Debt, Miscalculations in obtaining his dreams
overall personality • Huntley is a person who prides himself on his individualism and uniqueness compared to other people in society. He likes to express himself through art and his riding style, along with a bit of dabbling in writing. Some might say that Huntley likes to set himself apart in many ways from society, culture, institution, and tradition in creative outlets and ways of thinking. He's very in tune with himself, able own all of his feelings and can look at his motives, contradictions, and emotional conflicts without denying or whitewashing them. However, Huntley is still a sensitive soul. He may be quirky and happy with who he is, but if other people don't 'get' him per say, he takes it to heart. Huntley is not one for aggressive poking and prodding, which has been the downfall of his life on many occasions. He also feels haunted that he's missing something in himself, although he cannot quite figure out what it is - Will power? Social ease? Self-confidence? Emotional tranquility? Huntley isn't sure nor does he feel as if he will ever quite have a grasp on what it might be.
secret diary
father • Rhys Llewellyn, 55, welsh politician
mother • Mared Llewellyn, 50, photographer
siblings • Elis Llewellyn (brother), Bronwyn Llewellyn (sister)
important people • esther mae Müller - distant relative
hometown • Anglesey, Wales
overall history • Huntley was born to two loving parents in Anglesey, an island in Wales, off the mainland's northwest coast. He grew up in the middle between two siblings, an older brother and a younger sister. Childhood was easy for Huntley, his father indulged his antics and his mother merely shook her head. Life for Huntley typically swung between wanting to be holed up in his room to wanting to go on adventures around the island with his siblings and friends.
His mother didn't love how he would get these swings where he'd just lock himself up, so she tried everything and anything to see if something would click in his little brain for wanting to stay outside and socialize rather than be awkward and hang back. While he did like artistic avenues, they still would put him right back behind closed doors. Mrs. Llewellyn signed him up for many things, and ultimately, what stuck was horse back riding. It had been a forced two week pony camp one summer and something seemed to click. Huntley knew though, it was the bond. The way he watched the older riders, the way themselves and their horses synced as one body, one soul. It was poetically beautiful, and Huntley knew he wanted that too.
Horseback riding became one of his passions, and Mr. and Mrs. Llewellyn seemed to breathe a collective sigh of relief. It didn't change their son, not fully, he still liked to sit around writing or reading Emily Dickinson. He still found beauty in art that depicted the decaying and dying with life reblooming from the bodies, but it kept him out of fantasy land holed up in his room. Huntley put a lot of work into his riding with school horses at a small and homely stables on the island. He was walking home one day when he passed a field and noticed a few horses standing out in a field, looking skinny and starved, and if that weren't horrifying enough, the field was also littered with dead horses.
He promptly phoned animal control and the police. He was also stupid enough to climb into the field and take pictures. Huntley knew what possessed him, but nobody would ever quite understand. While he was milling about though, taking his pictures, one of the horses had walked up to him, bumping him from behind. Turning, the young man found himself face to face with a dark colored horse. It was big, lacking in body weight and muscle, and yet, when those dark eyes stared at Huntley, he felt something, truly felt something, like words being spoken. Then the police and animal control showed up, and hauled him off.
Naturally, it had been a misunderstanding - teenage boy taking photos of dead horses, some kind of weird occult thing. Mr. Llewellyn had to do damage control quickly along with his lawyers. Thankfully, they got their stories straight. They found the person who owned the land and neglected the horses, they realize Huntley had been the one to have called it in, and of course, upon inspection, the horses had died from natural causes of starvation and dehydration rather than being slain. Huntley had checked out during all of this, between the interrogations from the police, his parents, his lawyers upon his stupidity, all what he could think about was that horse who had bumped him with its muzzle.
And just like that, when he was cut loose with a rather strict talking to from his parents about how artistic license does not mean he could go trespass any where to take photos, especially places with dead animals, Huntly just waved them off and went to the Animal Control to see where the surviving horses went. They had them off course, at a facility for horses, for intake and then evaluation. He passed his number, saying he wanted to know about the big dark horse with a small marking when they knew more, and left. Days came and went where Huntley would stare at his phone, he regressed, staying holed up once more until he finally got the call.
He dragged his parents to the animal control facility with him to see the horse. It looked healthier now, bit more meat on its bones, but still quiet and inquisitive, a gentle soul. The facility said they thought he was a cross between a freisian and a welsh cob. It got all the beauty with one breed and the athleticism of the other. And as Huntley's eyes met with the horse's again, once again he felt that connection, and just knew, he had to have him. He managed to strike a deal with his parents, after all, he was still in the dog house with them, and later that day, they left with the horse and put him at the stables where Huntley rode. Animal control had named him Monty, and Huntley decided to keep the name since it had signaled the horse's new life.
Brick by brick, Huntley laid down the foundation. He worked with Monty on the ground, helping him grow his strength back before ever getting to sit on him. They bonded in the round pen, on the lunge line, outside of his stall, out in the field while reading a book. Huntley stayed by that horse's side whenever he could, doing whatever he could, to bond and build trust and strength. The rest was history. They became a good pair, a bonded pair. Huntley could feel that connection whenever he rode Monty, that sync, that shared heart and soul. They understood each other like no one else could. Yes, Huntley had humans, he had his family, the passing boyfriend or girlfriend, but nobody quite seemed to get him like that horse.
Years later, Huntley opted to skip a typical University, and got into a prestigious coaching program on the mainland. He had long since established himself, and at nineteen, Huntley felt rather good about himself and his ability to teach, not just horses, but also students. He had been subbing in a lot at the barn, and they entrusted him with teenagers and younger riders to help them find what he had with their own horses. Huntley had been pretty excited, only second or third from the island to ever snag a spot at this school. Unfortunately though, the school was not like he thought it would be. It was rigorous, and different. Sometimes too harsh for him in their methods, and perhaps, what annoyed him the most, was that his fellow students and teachers would call him 'island boy'.
Gods. How he hated it. It put Huntley in his place for a bit, especially when he had barely made their second team. One day though, sitting in his room, he decided to quit. This place wasn't him. These teaching styles and riding styles weren't for him. Thank goodness he had left Monty behind, because this had been no place for his horse. So, Huntley quit, just like that, and returned back to the island. His parents welcomed him back, along with his barn, and Huntley began to decompress. He still had his dreams, his obsessions, he would just have to go about them differently. A few years went by, and he continued to work on coaching at his barn, getting his small barn's team to their junior nationals, and Huntley worked with Monty on their own career.
Sometimes, he still thought about how he found him out in that field, surrounded by dead horses. It had actually been a backyard breeding facility of some sort. Careless horse ownership. Careless everything. He knew he could build something better. But how? He didn't know where to start, certainly not on the Island where he would forever be attached to his parents name and dropping out of the main land horse school. But he was still a little nervous about leaving the island too, after all, the mainland school taught him how he didn't do well with a support system far away. So, he talked to his parents, his mother in particular, about it.
She told him to consider contacting one of her distant cousins, an Esther Muller, who lived in Hickstead, UK. It was rather far away unfortunately, but she had heard nice things about Hickstead, and perhaps it would be to Huntley's liking nonetheless. He may also have a support system in Esther, for Mrs. Llewellyn had heard from Esther's brother that she was quite lonely in her house, even though she would never admit it. Huntley felt a bit odd about contacting someone he had never met before, but given the things had done throughout his short life, he supposed he had done much odder things. After a few phone calls of getting to know each other, explaining his dreams and listening to hers, Huntley was surprised to hear that Esther was happy to accept him into her home, all what he had to do was pack his backs, his horse, and make arrangements to come down.
With that, Huntley Brice Llewellyn found himself leaving the island of Anglesey for the second time in is life of twenty five years.
ignore the person behind the curtain
alias • forever
age • olddd
other characters • the herd - aka very many
