#Horseback Rider in Nature

[mohamedsalah254]

Posters - Path to the Enchanted Castle: A Fantasy Landscape

Immerse yourself in the beauty of this enchanting medieval landscape. This artwork features a majestic castle nestled atop a verdant hill, framed by blooming cherry blossoms and a winding river. A lone rider on horseback journeys toward the castle, adding a sense of adventure and wonder. With its pastel tones, intricate detailing, and serene atmosphere, this piece captures the essence of a magical fairy-tale world, perfect for fans of fantasy and romanticized nature scenes.

visit our store for more design

[thoughtartistry]

Autumn trot. 🏇🐎 🍂

[sunshinesinwinter]

my baby<3

[wyldwesternorchidology]

Hack

Photography by Mackenzie Holmberg

Source: @ bonafidecowboy on Instagram

[jadevine]

Preindustrial travel, and long explanations on why different distances are like that

Update March 1, 2024: Hey there folks, here's yet another update! I reposted Part 2a (the "medieval warhorses" tangent) to my writing blog, and I went down MORE of the horse-knowledge rabbit hole! https://www.tumblr.com/jadevine/741423906984951808/my-post-got-cut-off-so-i-added-the-rest-of-it Update Jan 30, 2024: Hey folks, I've posted the updated version of this post on my blog, so I don't have to keep frantically telling everyone "hey, that's the old version of this post!" https://thebalangay.wordpress.com/2024/01/29/preindustrial-travel-times-part-1/

I should get the posts about army travel times and camp followers reformatted and posted to my blog around the end of the week, so I'll filter through my extremely tangled thread for them.

Part 2 - Preindustrial ARMY travel times: https://www.tumblr.com/jadevine/739342239113871360/now-for-a-key-aspect-that-many-people-often-ask

Part 2a - How realistic warhorses look and act, because the myth of "all knights were mounted on huge clunky draft horses" just refuses to die: https://www.tumblr.com/jadevine/732043691180605440/helpful-things-for-action-writers-to-remember

Part 3 - Additional note about camp followers being regular workers AND sex-workers: https://www.tumblr.com/jadevine/740604203134828544/reblogging-the-time-looped-version-of-my

--

I saw a post on my main blog about how hiking groups need to keep pace with their slowest member, but many hikers mistakenly think that the point of hiking is "get from Point A to Point B as fast as possible" instead of "spending time outdoors in nature with friends," and then they complain that a new/less-experienced/sick/disabled hiker is spoiling their time-frame by constantly needing breaks, or huffing and puffing to catch up.

I run into a related question of "how long does it take to travel from Point A to Point B on horseback?" a lot, as a fantasy writer who wants to be SEMI-realistic; in the Western world at least, our post-industrial minds have largely forgotten what it's like to travel, both on our own feet and in groups.

People ask the new writer, "well, who in your cast is traveling? Is getting to Point B an emergency or not? What time of year is it?", and the newbies often get confused as to why they need so much information for "travel times." Maybe new writers see lists of "preindustrial travel times" like a primitive version of Google Maps, where all you need to do is plug in Point A and Point B.

But see, Google Maps DOES account for traveling delays, like different routes, constructions, accidents, and weather; you as the person will also need to figure in whether you're driving a car versus taking a bus/train, and so you'll need to figure out parking time or waiting time for the bus/train to actually GET THERE.

The difference between us and preindustrial travelers is that 1) we can outsource the calculations now, 2) we often travel for FUN instead of necessity.

The general rule of thumb for preindustrial times is that a healthy and prime-aged adult on foot, or a rider/horse pair of fit and prime-aged adults, can usually make 20-30 miles per day, in fair weather and on good terrain.

Why is this so specific? Because not everyone in preindustrial times was fit, not everyone was healthy, not everyone was between the ages of 20-35ish, and not everyone had nice clear skies and good terrain to travel on.

If you are too far below 18 years old or too far past 40, at best you will need either a slower pace or more frequent breaks to cover the same distance, and at worst you'll cut the travel distance in half to 10 or so miles. Too much walking is VERY BAD on too-young/old knees, and teenagers or very short adults may just have short legs even if they're fine with 8-10 hours of actual walking. Young children may get sick of walking and pitch a fit because THEY'RE TIREDDDDDDDDDD, and then you might need to stay put while they cry it out, or an adult may sigh and haul them over their shoulder (and therefore be weighed down by about 50lbs of Angry Child).

Heavy forests, wetlands and rocky hills/mountains are also going to be a much shorter "distance" per day. For forests or wetlands, you have to account for a lot of villagers going "who's gonna cut down acres of trees for one road? NOT ME," or "who's gonna drain acres of swamp for one road? NOT ME." Mountainous regions have their traveling time eaten by going UP, or finding a safer path that goes AROUND, so by the time you're done slogging through drier patches of wetlands or squeezing through trees, a deceptively short 10-15 miles in rough terrain might take you a whole day to walk instead of the usual half-day.

If you are traveling in freezing winters or during a rainstorm (and this inherently means you HAVE NO CHOICE, because nobody in preindustrial times would travel in bad weather if they could help it), you run the high risk of losing your way and then dying of exposure or slipping and breaking your neck, just a few miles out of the town/village.

Traveling in TOO-HOT weather is just as bad, because pushing yourself too hard and getting dehydrated at noon in the tropics will literally kill you. It's called heat-STROKE, not "heat-PARTY."

And now for the upper range of "traveling on horseback!"

Fully mounted groups can usually make 30-40 miles per day between Point A and Point B, but I find there are two unspoken requirements: "Point B must have enough food for all those people and horses," and "the mounted party DOESN'T need to keep pace with foot soldiers, camp followers, or supply wagons."

This means your mounted party would be traveling to 1) a rendezvous point like an ally's camp or a noble's castle, or 2) a town/city with plenty of inns. Maybe they're not literally going 30-40 miles in one trip, but they're scouting the area for 15-20 miles and then returning to their main group. Perhaps they'd be going to an allied village, but even a relatively small group of 10-20 warhorses will need 10-20 pounds of grain EACH and 20-30 pounds of hay EACH. 100-400 pounds of grain and 200-600 pounds of hay for the horses alone means that you need to stash supplies at the village beforehand, or the village needs to be a very large/prosperous one to have a guaranteed large surplus of food.

A dead sprint of 50-60 miles per day is possible for a preindustrial mounted pair, IF YOU REALLY, REALLY HAVE TO. Moreover, that is for ONE day. Many articles agree that 40 miles per day is already a hard ride, so 50-60 miles is REALLY pushing the envelope on horse and rider limits.

NOTE: While modern-day endurance rides routinely go for 50-100 miles in one day, remember that a preindustrial rider will not have the medical/logistical support that a modern endurance rider and their horse does.

If you say "they went fifty miles in a day" in most preindustrial times, the horse and rider's bodies will get wrecked. Either the person, their horse, or both, risk dying of exhaustion or getting disabled from the strain.

Whether you and your horse are fit enough to handle it and "only" have several days of defenselessness from severe pain/fatigue (and thus rely on family/friends to help you out), or you die as a heroic sacrifice, or you aren't QUITE fit enough and become disabled, or you get flat-out saved by magic or another rider who volunteers to go the other half, going past 40 miles in a day is a "Gondor Calls For Aid" level of emergency.

As a writer, I feel this kind of feat should be placed VERY carefully in a story: Either at the beginning to kick the plot off, at the climax to turn the tide, or at the end.

Preindustrial people were people--some treated their horses as tools/vehicles, and didn't care if they were killed or disabled by pushing them to their limits, but others very much cared for their horses. They needed to keep them in working condition for about 15-20 years, and they would not dream of doing this without a VERY good reason.

—

UPDATE January 13: Several people have gotten curious and looked at maps, to find out how a lot of cities are indeed spread out at a nice distance of 20-30 miles apart! I love getting people interested in my hyperfixations, lol.

But remember that this is the space between CITIES AND TOWNS. There should never be a 20-mile stretch of empty wilderness between City A and Town B, unless your world explains why folks are able to build a city in the middle of nowhere, or if something has specifically gone wrong to wipe out its supporting villages!

Period pieces often portray a shining city rising from a sea of picturesque empty land, without a single grain field or cow pasture in sight, but that city would starve to death very quickly in preindustrial times.

Why? Because as Bret Devereaux mentions in his “Lonely Cities” article (https://acoup.blog/2019/07/12/collections-the-lonely-city-part-i-the-ideal-city/), preindustrial cities and towns must have nearby villages (and even smaller towns, if large and prosperous enough!) to grow their food for them.

The settlements around a city will usually be scattered a few miles apart from each other, usually clustered along the roads to the city gates. Those villages and towns at the halfway point between cities (say 10-15 miles) are going to be essential stops for older/sick folks, merchants with cargo, and large groups like noble’s retinues and army forces.

Preindustrial armies and large noble retinues usually can’t make it far past 10-12 miles per day, as denoted in my addition to this post. (https://www.tumblr.com/jadevine/739342239113871360/now-for-a-key-aspect-that-many-people-often-ask )

[yandere-romanticaa]

Marriage was often used as a tool of convenience - be it to upgrade one's own social status, get some much needed silver and gold, or to just get one leg up over your enemies, it really did not matter in the end.

Like it or not, you were tied to that person till death did you part.

That was a chant that has been sung to you ever since you came out of your weeping mother's womb. As the daughter of the household, it was natural for you to wed one day. However, the family was one of average standing, it had no special titles tacked onto it nor did it have any grotesque reputation which could sully it to the darkness and back. In its own way, it was oddly blissful, being invisible like that. No one expected you to act like a stuck up lady who would be locked away deep in a tower and you were also safe from becoming a measley wench who would be forced to spend the rest of her miserable days stuck rolling around in the mud, selling her body to all sorts of horrific strangers just in order to eat for a day.

You had the privilege of being born into a happy life. Perhaps a slightly dull one sometimes but regardless, a good one at that. You were content with everything which was given to you, perhaps even happy.

However, all things come to an end, and your end came in the form of a man riding on horseback.

He was strong, capable, handsome... But you kept that thought to yourself as you helped the wounded stranger get back on his feet, his midnight black steed happily trotting away somewhere as it accidentally shook the rider off its back once it locked eyes on you, a stranger in the woods.

"And who might you be?" asked the dark haired man, his curly hair framing his pale face so wonderfully that it took the breath from your lungs away.

You held onto him tightly and pressed him close to your body, the odor of blood and sweat covering him from top to bottom but you couldn't be bothered to care. He wore simple clothing which made you think that he was in a similar position like yourself in terms of finance, which gave you a slight glimmer of hope.

It was embarrassing how much you were swooning over the stranger.

Taking him back to your hut took longer than expected but all was well in the end. The handsome stranger had a name, Robb he said it was, and you couldn't hide the adoration in your voice whenever he would speak to you. The night flew by like a summer breeze - too fast and too sweet. Come first daylight he had to leave, which you understood.

That didn't stop you from feeling a little blue.

He mounted his horse like a knight in shining armor, its mane tussling proudly in the bitter north wind as Robb looked down at you, his warm blue eyes desperate to tell you many stories and secrets, but time was cruel and scarce.

He would come back to you, he promised.

And you gave him a smile sweeter than any juicy fruit, telling him that you would gladly wait for him.

He rode away all the while looking back at you, sending you a heart stopping smile which could make anyone weak in the knees. The horse left large hoofprints in the snow and you focused your attention on that, rather than the bitter stabs of pain in your heart.

There would never be a day when you'd see Robb ever again.

You were due to leave for the South in a few weeks time, in order to finally be wed off. The fantasy of Robb was saccharine and enchanting, many hours of sleep were lost due to him. Even if you barely knew him, the matters of the heart were reckless and stupid.

The heart wants what it wants and your heart ached for Robb.

All the while, you hadn't a clue of him and his plans. The men in Winterfell grew tired of his constant ramblings of this lovely woman he met, this sweet little thing which made his heart sing like no one else. He would walk in the corridors with a pep in his step as he thought of all the ways he could take you back to his home and give you the life you deserved.

His candied tirade quickly came to an abrupt halt once his mother had informed him of the grave news, that you had been promised to another man.

Robb was furious.

Who was this man?! Who did he think he is?! Ever the meticulous man, he got to work immediately. In less than a few days he had managed to gather all the information he could on this mystery fiance of yours, all the papers sprawled across his massive table. The candles in his chambers glimmered gently, the shimmering light a stark contrast to the raging flames in his heart.

If he could have his way, he'd be out for blood. Robb was too much of a jealous man for his own good but he needed to think, he needed to prepare if he wanted to do this right.

In less than a day, he had everything set up. If the man wasn't willing to take the gold he was offering him, he was not above using any scare tactics. His anger ended up getting the better of him though, so a bizarre combination of both was used.

The way in which your fiance left you made your heart sink. How were you going to break the news to your parents? Whatever could you have done so wrong to earn the ire of this lord whom you haven't even met yet...

You weep in your room, staining the mattress with your salty tears, completely oblivious to the small cavalry with House Stark banners raging on your front door.

Robb Stark had come for his bride. And she had no idea what sort of future awaited her...

[jacarandaaaas]

a little underappreciated detail about mirabel is how it’s likely she has an interest in horse riding! the only basis I have for this is a small scene in the movie but I love the implication of this being one of her hobbies!

we see how bruno approaches mirabel & alma on horseback but he’s uncoordinated and struggling (poor guy lmao) whilst this could be due to being in the walls for a decade I also think it’s because he doesn’t actually know much about horse riding as he’s never had an interest in it!

now compare this to mirabel who seems to know EXACTLY what she’s doing, she’s cool calm and collected and it almost comes naturally to her! I believe this is because she actually has an interest in horse riding! we already know she has many hobbies so I don’t think it’s far fetched to speculate this is another one!

also take in mind she is riding bare back here! notice how Bruno appears nervous (and is the whole ride back to the encanto) but alma is smiling she’s fully confident I believe this is because mirabels done this many times before!

also the way she does this jump so effortlessly!? and riding bareback is way harder too! Usually only experienced riders do this! so I think the fact mirabel 1. Isnt nervous at all about this and 2. alma isn’t nervous at all implies she’s experienced in some way

she just seems like she really knows what she’s doing and the horse doesn’t seem uncomfortable either! so yeah this is my mirabel is a horse rider theory!

[fozmeadows]

Hello! I am re-reading the tithenai chronicles and couldn't help but note a particular due is paid to horses in both books, I was wondering if this comes from you having particular experience with them?

Hello! This is a very funny question to me personally, because I once saw a reader argue that, because I've written multiple books in which horses die, I must hate horses in real life, and am therefore Problematic for using fiction to channel my obvious anti-horse sentiments. I really wish I was making this up, but if nothing else, it does serve as a perfect example of how absurd it is to equate depiction with endorsement, because I actually love horses! I learned to ride as a kid, and had weekly lessons for years; I had to stop when I was fifteen, because I didn't have time for it any more, but for ages, I was very much a Horse Kid.

In fact, I'm in a storytelling mood, so here is a Foz The Horse Kid story:

The year I turned fifteen, at the start of tenth grade, I changed to a new school with better academic opportunities. Midway through the year, we all went away to camp, and for the second day's activities, we were meant to spend half of it bike riding on dirt trails, and half on horseback. Now, I did learn to cycle in childhood, but after a particular memorable crash around age eleven, where I hurt myself quite badly (I still have the scar), I'd basically given up on bikes; I was frightened of them, and even now, I can't balance on one unless my feet are able to touch the ground on both sides. So on this day at camp, we were split into two groups: one would do bikes first, then horses; and one who'd do horses first, and then bikes. I was assigned to the former, and it's not an overstatement to say I was terrified.

I made a single, trembling effort to get on the BMX I'd been given, but the seat was too high for my feet to touch the ground, and I promptly fell over. Somehow, I did not burst into tears, which would've compounded the embarrassment of being fifteen and unable to ride a bike, and was instead granted permission to ride along in the supply car behind the cyclists until it was time to switch activities. And so I would've done, if not for the fact that, right before we were due to set off, one of the boys from the other group showed up with a different problem. He was still on his horse, which was being led along by one of the instructors, partly because she'd had to bring the horse anyway, but mostly because he'd had a pronounced allergic reaction to something and his eyes were so swollen that he couldn't have safely walked on foot.

It was, very nearly, a perfect narrative turn of fate. I couldn't cycle; he couldn't ride. Solution: we would switch places and double up on the activities we were capable of performing, so he'd cycle twice and I'd ride twice. It felt like something out of one the Horse Girl Novels I'd read as a tween, but I sure as hell wasn't complaining.

"Can you ride?" the instructor asked me.

I told her I'd ridden for five years, and she was very pleased to hear it, as it meant we could safely canter to catch up with the other group, who'd already gone on ahead, without risk of my falling off. So I mounted up and off we went, chatting the whole time, until we reached the other students. They turned out to be the beginner group - the riders had been split into two parties based on skill level - and the remaining instructor, who was the younger brother of the woman who'd picked me up, was leading an unmounted but saddled grey mare along by the reins.

This felt very significant to teenage me, because I loved grey horses, so naturally, I asked why she was there. The answer was that she'd originally been assigned to a teacher who'd radically overstated his riding ability: she wasn't a beginner level horse, and due to some foolishness or other on his part, most likely yanking too hard on the reins, he'd been bucked off. This has resulted in him walking - or limping, rather - back to the main part of the camp to recover, leaving the mare behind. Which also meant that the instructors were now shorthanded: they'd expected to have a vaguely competent third adult along to help out with the beginners, and instead were on their own. Which meant that, as the only other person in the group with actual riding experience, I ended up being drafted as a helper.

My mission: riding alongside one of the more popular girls in our grade, who was very nearly as nervous about being on a horse as I'd been with the bike, and trying to keep her calm. Having started from a place of anxiety, she'd then watched the teacher get thrown and one of her friends led away looking like an overripe tomato; understandably, she wasn't having a great time. So I talked to her, and because she was scared of the horse, it was easy to joke about how I'd been scared of the bike, which I think made her feel a bit better; I won't say she ended up loving the experience, but she settled down, and nothing else eventful happened for the rest of the ride, which ended when we met back up with the advanced group and the bike riders to switch over.

My original group was now set to ride, and because the instructors were also swapping over, the brother and sister now got to lead the experienced group, while the other pair took the beginners. Which meant that, as I more properly belonged in the experienced group, I got to stay with the same instructors - and because I'd helped them out on the previous ride, I was offered the chance to ride the grey mare who'd proven too much for our teacher. This was, again, an extremely Horse Girl Novel thing to be happening, but there were only so many horses to go around, and as one person had already fallen off the mare after misjudging their skill level, it made sense to offer her first to the one student they felt vaguely sure was competent.

Offer here being the operative word: it was very clear that I could've said no if I wanted, and as she'd thrown her last rider, it would've been understandable if I'd declined. Still, I said yes, and it felt like that won me some extra respect from the instructors, if only because it made their jobs slightly easier. So I mount the grey mare, and it was instantly apparent that she was a fast, responsive horse. Up comes the rest of my group, several of whom are farm kids who actually know what they're doing, and we all set off - and once again, there's no teacher, because they're with the beginner's group.

Now, I've always been an extrovert, and whether due to practice or nature, even as a teen, I was very rarely intimidated by adults. If someone talks to me normally, I'll talk to them normally, and I was, by this point, having a really good time. This meant that, as a result of my cheerfully bantering with the brother instructor, I ended up riding alongside him at the front of the pack rather than back with the others, and when we hit a particularly long stretch of open track, I joked that I bet I could beat him in a race to the next gate.

"You're on," he says, and counts us down - three, two, one - and off we go from a walk to a gallop, leaving his sister to yell exasperatedly after us, "OI, DARREN!", with an implied you bastard at the end of it, because he definitely wasn't meant to be racing, and especially not with a student. But she couldn't chase after us, which means we got away with it, and of course he ended up being faster - he knew the track and his horse in a way that I don't - but I kept up decently, it was all great fun, and by the time the others caught us up, we were waiting at the gate for them, laughing.

The rest of the ride was uneventful by comparison, but pleasantly so. Some of the farm kids joined in the conversation at various points, the scenery was gorgeous, and the grey mare was perfect to ride. By the time we were done, the sister had forgiven her brother for being an idiot, and the two of them were joking that I should come help take the horses back to the stable, although of course I couldn't. But as we dismounted at the corral, and I stopped to give the grey mare a thorough goodbye pat, one of the farm kids, who was also part of the popular group, walked over and calls my name.

"Yeah?" I said, because this kid had never spoken to me before outside of class.

"You were really graceful," he said, and promptly turned and walked away again, before I could really manage to get out a thank you. It was an absurd thing to happen, I thought at the time - almost more implausible than all the other Horse Girl Novel stuff - not least because it wasn't the sort of compliment that teenage boys are typically known for making. It's the kind of thing that sticks with you, thought, which is why I still remember it so vividly some 24 years later. Graceful is not a thing I'd ever been called before and haven't been since - my general vibe is that of several racoons in a trenchcoat - but for one day, I got to live out the Horse Girl Novel Camp Fantasy dream, and it still makes me happy to think about.

All of which is to say: I am really, genuinely fond of horses! Though sadly, I don't think I'm capable of riding any more; I slipped a disc so badly in 2019 that I've taken permanent damage, and my suspicion is that three minutes in the saddle would be enough to put me into spasm. But either way, I can still write about horses - or creatures which serve the same narrative niche, ie: animals you ride and form a bond with - and that's pretty great.

[lemonbeemon]

AOT Ship Prompts; Riding on the same horse:

Feel free to reblog or comment additions of your own. These ideas are also free to use for fanart or fanfic if you so choose.

EreMika

The first time they ride together, Mikasa has her hands clasped like a steel trap around Eren’s stomach. She's not totally confident that he won't get them both thrown off, since he's too impulsive and indecisive with how he steers the horse.

After Mikasa gets more comfortable, and Eren has more experience on horseback, she's comfortable enough to rest her head against his shoulder while they ride. If they're out late or she's hurt, it's not uncommon for her to be asleep by the end of their journey.

When Mikasa’s in charge of the horse, Eren is like a little kid who can't sit still. He doesn't hesitate to hold onto her waist as he eggs on Jean or throws out cocky remarks at titans. Often leading so far over or back that Mikasa has to remind him to sit still before he falls off. Eren always gets off the horse first, to the point where he's likely to trip on the stirrups and take Mikasa down with him.

AruAni

They're both extremely awkward. When Annie's in charge of the horse, Armin refuses to hold onto her. Instead he has a death grip on the saddle in a desperate attempt to not fall off.

Annie likes to push her horse to its fastest speed. Leaping over every rock and fallen tree in her path without hesitation. In the training corps, she was given the hardest gelding to handle because he only listened to her. When it was time to join the MP's she was very sad to leave him behind.

Armin's horse is the complete opposite of Annie’s. She's a sweet mare that likes to chew on his hair/sweaters whenever its his turn to clean out the stables. When Armin's steering, he's always careful to not jostle the horse too much. Annie acts indifferent when she sits behind him, but often ducks down behind his shoulder to hide how pink her cheeks are. Whenever Reiner rides past them, he always slows down long enough to tease her.

JeanMarco

Jean's a natural on horseback. He's never been thrown and recovers quickly when his horse startles. Unfortunately, all that control is lost the minute he's not in the saddle. With his chosen horses always refusing to come back for him in favor of rolling in the grass or taking treats from others. When his horse runs off, Marco is always there to help him get it back.

The two work seamlessly together on horseback, with Marco usually being in charge of calling out potential hurdles or incoming enemies. They've mastered transferring the reins to each other, as well as transitioning from siting in the saddle to flying off on ODM Gear. Marco happily rides in the back most of the time, admitting that he's a better strategist than rider.

Marco always has treats on him for his horse and Jean's. Whenever its their turn to clean out the stables, Marco considers it to be the highlight of his week. Once Marco’s gone, Jean realizes it was the highlight of his too.

ReiBert

Awkward. To the point that it just doesn't work. Bertholdt is too tall and Reiner is already almost too heavy for most of the corps horses. The last time they tried it, Bertholdt fell off and broke his wrist.

Instead, the two decide it's better to ride side by side. Reiner always pulls Bertholdt off on remote trails to the point that they both get back home way later than everybody else. Something he always apologizes for by pulling Bertholdt out of his own saddle for a quick kiss.

When the cadets are forced to ride in pairs, ReiBert are always paired off with YumiHisu. Reiner (especially the soldier) has no problem riding with Historia. Bertholdt however, nearly gets strangled or yanked off his own horse by Ymir everytime. Somehow, neither of them ever notice how the scratches he recieves from her nails are gone by the end of every ride.

YumiHisu

A literal princess and her knight. Even when Ymir has the reins, Historia sits in front of her on their horse. Ymir loves the closeness, but is usually blinded by Historia's hair in the wind until she stubbornly undoes her own hair to pull up Historia's with her tie.

After Ymir's gone, Historia can't stand how cold her back feels whenever she's on a horse. When her daughter's old enough to learn to ride, its the first time since Ymir left that Historia feels happy to be in the saddle.

And that's all I have so far. Might add more in the reblogs later but this is already an old draft, so I figured better to post it now than let it rot in the metaphysical closet.

[elvhendis]

The Dellamorte's are rich snobs so naturally they own horses, expensive breeds, or whatever the Antivan equivalent of a PRE is. Lucanis and Illario are accomplished riders because they learned from a young age and it wouldn't do if they embarassed themselves. This is not a fully formed headcanon it's just the horsegirl in me rattling the bars and I kind of just want to see these guys in breeches and a tight jacket and also men on horseback are just hot as shit in don't @ me

[matcha3mochi]

wanted

cowboy toji fushiguro x reader

author note: i've been seeing sooo many jjk cowboy edits on tiktok and decided to write this LOL hope yall enjoy hehe

︻デ═一・・・・・・・・・・・・

The warm breeze carried the sweet scent of wildflowers and fresh grass, a stark contrast to the tension building in the air. You had been out in the fields, gathering herbs and wild plants for your remedies, a peaceful escape from the bustling little town nearby. But lately, the peace had been shattered. Rumors of an increase in crime had swept through the community like wildfire. The sheriff had been overwhelmed, and frightened townsfolk whispered about the dangers lurking in the shadows.

The billboards lining the main road into town were plastered with wanted posters, their edges frayed and fluttering in the wind. You had seen them earlier that week—dark ink scrawled across the paper, a rough sketch of a man with wild dark hair and piercing eyes. Toji Fushiguro was the name scrawled beneath the picture, accompanied by the chilling warning that he was considered armed and dangerous. A reward of one million dollars for his capture loomed like a specter over your thoughts.

Despite the fear gripping your small town, you still felt a pull toward the wilds outside, needing the calm of nature to balance the anxiety swirling around you. This day was no different; you ventured out to gather herbs, hoping to find solace amidst the chaos.

But that solace was shattered by the sound of galloping hooves and angry shouts. My heart raced as I ducked behind a cluster of tall sunflowers, their vibrant yellow petals swaying gently in the warm breeze. The sweet scent of the blossoms was a stark contrast to the tension building in the air. Peeking out from my hiding spot, I caught sight of a figure on horseback—a man with dark hair, wild and untamed, his expression a mix of fear and determination.

He rode like the wind, his silhouette a striking contrast against the golden fields, the sun glinting off the sweat glistening on his brow. The horse beneath him galloped fiercely, muscles rippling as it propelled him forward, a powerful creature responding to its rider's urgency. My breath caught in my throat as I realized he was being chased by three rough-looking men, their horses pounding the earth with menacing intensity.

They were close behind, their faces twisted with anger, and I could see the glint of metal in their hands—guns, drawn and ready. “Get him!” one of them shouted, his voice rough and full of rage, echoing across the open landscape like a thunderclap. My heart sank as I felt the weight of the situation settle in; this was not just a simple chase; it was a life-or-death struggle unfolding before me.

The man on the horse glanced back, and for a fleeting moment, our eyes locked. I could see the intensity in his green gaze, a flicker of desperation that made my pulse quicken. There was something primal about the scene, the adrenaline pulsing through me as I witnessed the chase, feeling the urgency in the air as it wrapped around me like a storm.

As the men behind him shouted and urged their horses on, I could see the fear etched on the stranger’s face, mingling with determination. He leaned forward, urging his horse to go faster, the animal responding with a burst of speed that took it further into the field. Dust kicked up around him, swirling in the afternoon light, creating a haze that obscured my view of the impending danger.

The three men were relentless, their laughter dark and chilling as they closed the gap. They were hunting him, fueled by greed and a thirst for revenge, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that I had stumbled into something far beyond my understanding. A knot twisted in my stomach as I realized the danger he was in, and my instincts screamed at me to act.

I glanced around, trying to assess my surroundings, but the wide-open fields offered little cover. With a final glance at the scene unfolding before me, I made a split-second decision. I couldn't just stand by and watch; I had to do something.

As the chase continued, the distance between them grew smaller, and I could hear the shouts growing louder, the urgency of the men’s pursuit fueling my resolve. I had no idea who this man was, but in that moment, all I saw was a person in desperate need of help—a stranger trapped in a perilous situation.

With my heart pounding in my chest, I took a deep breath and sprinted toward the scene, determined to intervene before it was too late. 

The sound of pounding hooves grew louder, and I could see the dark-haired man pushing his horse to its limits, desperately trying to escape the men who were hot on his trail. My heart raced as I realized just how close they were—if I didn’t act quickly, they would catch him.

“Hey!” I shouted, my voice rising above the clamor of hooves and angry shouts. It felt almost foolish to think I could deter them, but something inside me urged me forward. The man on the horse glanced in my direction, and for a brief moment, our eyes locked, his expression a mix of gratitude and confusion.

The men chasing him were still shouting, their voices thick with menace. “Get him!” one of them shouted, his voice rough and full of rage, echoing across the open landscape like a thunderclap. My heart sank as I felt the weight of the situation settle in; this was not just a simple chase; it was a life-or-death struggle unfolding before me.

The man on the horse glanced back, and I could see the fear etched across his features, mingling with determination. He leaned forward, urging his horse to go faster, the animal responding with a burst of speed that took it further into the field. Dust kicked up around him, swirling in the afternoon light, creating a haze that obscured my view of the impending danger.

As the three men grew closer, their shouts grew more frantic. “He’s getting away! Don’t let him escape!” One of them aimed his gun, and my stomach dropped at the thought of the chaos that might ensue.

“Get down!” I yelled again, my voice sharper this time as I darted toward the nearest sunflower patch, hoping to provide some semblance of cover. It was a desperate plan, but I was running out of time. As I reached the edge of the sunflowers, I dropped to the ground, peeking out just in time to see the man veer sharply to the left, heading toward a cluster of trees that marked the edge of the field.

“Come on, come on!” I whispered to myself, my heart pounding in sync with the hooves thundering across the dirt. I could see the man’s muscles straining as he urged his horse to push forward, but the three men were relentless. Their shouts grew more frenzied, and I could hear the sound of gunfire rippling through the air, each shot sending a shiver down my spine.

I crouched low, my eyes wide as I watched the scene unfold. One of the men fired a shot that missed the rider but struck the ground nearby, sending dirt and grass flying into the air. The man on the horse flinched but didn’t falter; he kept pushing forward, the distance between him and his pursuers growing slightly but not enough. The gunfire was only adding to the chaos, and I knew I had to make a choice.

With a deep breath, I summoned every ounce of courage within me and sprang into action. I dashed from the cover of the sunflowers, waving my arms frantically to get the man’s attention. “This way!” I shouted, hoping he would see me and realize I was trying to help.

He caught sight of my movement and quickly adjusted his course, veering toward my direction. As he galloped closer, I could see the determination etched across his features. He was a striking figure, even in the midst of danger—muscles tense, eyes sharp, and a look of fierce resolve that sent a thrill of fear and admiration coursing through me.

“Over here!” I called again, pointing toward the grove of trees, where the dense foliage offered a chance for concealment. “We can hide there!”

With a nod, he leaned low over his horse, urging it toward the trees. My heart raced as we both dashed for cover, the sounds of the men shouting and their horses thundering behind us growing louder. I felt a rush of wind as he galloped past, his dark hair trailing behind him like a flag in the wind.

Once we reached the grove, I darted behind the thick trunk of a tree, my breath coming in quick gasps. The man slid off his horse, landing on his feet with a grace that belied the urgency of the situation.

“Are you okay?” I asked, looking closely at him, noting the blood that stained his shirt, dark and ominous.

“I will be if we can just—” he started, but his words were cut off by the sounds of the men crashing through the underbrush, their voices growing more furious as they searched for him.

“They’re coming!” I whispered, pressing myself against the tree, my heart racing with fear. He looked at me, his green eyes filled with a mix of gratitude and something deeper that I couldn’t quite place.

“Stay quiet,” he instructed, his voice low and firm.

I nodded, swallowing hard as I strained to hear the sounds of the men approaching. My pulse thudded in my ears as I tried to calm my racing heart, hoping that the trees would provide enough cover.

The men burst into the grove, their faces twisted in anger and frustration as they searched for their prey. “He can’t have gone far!” one of them barked, scanning the area with narrowed eyes. “Split up and find him!”

He and I exchanged a quick glance, and in that moment, I knew we had to stay still and silent, praying they wouldn’t discover us. The tension hung thick in the air as we held our breath, the forest around us eerily quiet except for the shouts of the men.

“What now?” I whispered, my voice barely audible over the rustling of leaves.

He glanced at me, determination flickering in his eyes as he assessed our options. “We wait for them to leave, then we need to get out of here. I can’t go back to town.”

“Why not?” I asked, curiosity getting the better of me.

He hesitated, his jaw tightening. “Let’s just say I have a few enemies who wouldn’t think twice about taking me in for the reward.”

My stomach dropped at the implication. The one million-dollar bounty I had seen on the wanted posters suddenly felt far too real. 

“Follow me,” I whispered, glancing over my shoulder to ensure the coast was clear. I led him deeper into the grove, navigating through the thick trees until we reached the edge of my family’s property, a small farmhouse nestled among the rolling hills of the Midwest. It felt like a sanctuary amidst the chaos, and I hoped it could provide the shelter he needed.

Once we reached the back door of the house, I quickly glanced around to ensure no one was watching before ushering him inside. The familiar scent of home enveloped me, a mixture of warm bread and the faint aroma of wildflowers from the garden. I breathed a sigh of relief, grateful to have a moment of safety.

“Here,” I said, motioning for him to sit on the worn wooden chair in the kitchen. “Let me see your injuries.”

He winced as he sat down, the movement clearly causing him discomfort. I could see the blood seeping through the fabric of his shirt, staining it a dark crimson. My heart raced as I rummaged through the drawers, my mind racing with the urgency of the situation. I needed supplies—bandages, antiseptic, anything that could help.

As I carefully peeled back the fabric of his shirt, I felt a rush of heat flood my cheeks. The sight of his well-defined muscles was unexpected, but it was the deep gash on his side that pulled my attention. It was jagged and angry, the blood oozing from the wound, a stark reminder of the danger he had just faced.

“Hold still,” I said, my voice steady despite the racing thoughts in my head. I cleaned the wound with antiseptic wipes, the sting causing him to hiss through his teeth. “I know it hurts, but I need to make sure it doesn’t get infected.”

He gritted his teeth, trying to remain stoic as I worked. “You’re surprisingly good at this,” he remarked, a hint of admiration in his tone. “Have you done this before?”

“Not really,” I admitted, my focus shifting back to his injury. “But I’ve patched up my younger brother a few times. He’s always getting into trouble.” I chuckled lightly, trying to ease the tension in the room, but my smile faded when I looked up to see the pain etched across his face.

“Thanks,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I owe you.”

I shook my head, not wanting to think about the gravity of what he was saying. “Let’s just get you cleaned up for now.” I wrapped a clean bandage around his wound, securing it tightly but not too tight. The gentle brush of my fingers against his skin felt electric, and I fought to keep my mind focused on the task at hand.

As I stepped back to admire my handiwork, my eyes roamed over his appearance for the first time: He looked rugged, embodying the very essence of a cowboy—raw and unrefined, yet undeniably striking.

His dark hair was tousled and slightly unkempt, falling in tousled waves that framed his angular face. The moonlight caught the edges of his strong jawline, accentuating the slight stubble that dusted his chin. His skin was sun-kissed, a warm tan that suggested long days spent under the open sky.

His eyes, a captivating shade of green, held a fierce intensity that was both alluring and intimidating. They seemed to pierce through the darkness.

He wore a weathered brown leather jacket, the kind that had seen countless miles of travel and had its share of scuffs and scratches. Underneath, a faded flannel shirt clung to his muscular frame, the fabric slightly torn at the sleeves, revealing the strength in his forearms. The shirt was rolled up, exposing the tanned skin beneath, and I noticed the way his muscles tensed slightly as he shifted.

His denim jeans hugged his form, rugged and practical, worn to the point of being comfortable, but still showing signs of a hard life. The fabric was dusted with dirt, and there were patches at the knees. His boots were scuffed but sturdy, the kind that had trekked through rough terrain and toughened his resolve.

“Thank you for everything,” he said, his voice low and sincere. “You saved my life.”

As he stepped outside, the cool night air rushing in behind him, I felt a mixture of disappointment and dread. I stood in the doorway, watching him go, the weight of the situation settling heavily on my shoulders.

Then, just as he was about to disappear into the shadows, my eyes caught the glint of the moonlight reflecting off the wanted poster hanging on the wall outside. My breath hitched as I recognized the face—the same dark hair, the same sharp features, the same intense green eyes.

It was him. The man I had helped was Toji Fushiguro, the wanted fugitive. The gravity of the realization crashed over me:

I had just helped a criminal.

Toji paused momentarily, glancing back at me, and in that fleeting moment, I saw a hint of vulnerability beneath his bravado. The playful spark that usually danced in his eyes was replaced by a somber understanding of the situation.

“I’ll see you again, you know,” he said, his voice low but filled with a promise that hung in the air between us.

The words sent a jolt through me, a mix of hope and uncertainty. “You will?” I asked, my heart racing at the possibility.

“Count on it,” he said, a playful glint in his eye, before he stepped into the night, leaving me standing in the doorway, breathless and bewildered.

Toji Fushiguro was dangerous, no doubt about that. But as much as I knew I should stay away, something in me hoped that our paths would cross again. Even if it meant trouble, even if it meant putting myself at risk, I couldn’t deny the strange thrill that had come with our encounter.

[thoughtartistry]

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C: John Parolin, NH. 🏇

[potatothots]

U do dark, yandere👀??? Can I request Grandmaster Bi-han conquering a village and taking virgin!reader as concubine😗 (I'm sick I know🙃😐)

I hope this lives up to expectations! Sorry it was so late. You're not sick, either! It's fantasy!! :D Let me know how I did.

Genre: Drama 

Rating: Porn with plot - NO MINORS

Pairings: dark!Bi-Han x virgin!reader

Warnings: Loss of virginity, breeding kink, talk of death, concubines, non-con

Summary: Bi-Han takes what he wants. The Lin Kuei are always repaid.

Note - I'm not your guardian. You read what you want. I can't stop you. If you don't heed the warnings, too bad for you, not me.

I wrote it, didn’t like it, rewrote some of it, and finally found something I kind of like. Edited by me, however, potatos aren’t the best at editing their own work.

It was a sunny, beautiful day when it happened. There was a chill in the air and a threat of snow on the wind, but it wasn't out of the ordinary for this time of year. You were walking the market street. The smells drew you to various vendors selling dumplings and sweet rice balls. Along with the staples you'd need for the week for yourself and your aging parents, you decided to indulge in some of the sweets. Your dad had a sweet tooth like you; he wouldn't mind. 

As the sun set low on the horizon you started your journey home. There suddenly was a thundering sound. Like horrid storms, but it was coming closer too quickly to be natural. You held your bags to your chest and turned to the noise. The sight made you stop in your tracks. 

More than a dozen men on horseback were charging through the street. They wore gear and masks that signaled their affiliation with the Lin Kuei. You'd never seen them in person but had heard tales of their might and savagery when they wanted something. 

The villagers ran this way and that way, trying to avoid the men on horseback along with the flying debris they left behind in their wake. They smashed stalls and trampled over those unlucky souls who couldn't get away fast enough. Some had bows and arrows and took down more innocent civilians. 

It wasn't until a child ran to you, tears streaming down her cheeks, that you came out of your shock. You threw down your bags and grabbed her, pulling her to safety. Only, it wasn't enough. An arrow pierced her neck. It went so far through that it stabbed your chest. The sight had you screaming in terror. You let the dead child go to run yourself. 

You found yourself in an alley. Pressing your back to the wall, you watched the riders ride past the opening, paying no mind to the dark alley. 

You let out a trembling breath. Your whole body shook in fear. Moving away from the wall, you turned your back to the alley entrance. You had to get to safety. You had to get home. Your parents were in danger. 

As you started to run, you smacked right into a wall - no, not a wall. A giant of a man in the Lin Kuei garb accented with blue. His mask was ornate and hid everything but his expressive brown eyes. 

Those eyes trailed down your face to your chest. He reached out to touch the bloody spot. His fingers were ice cold as they moved your jacket away to inspect the wound through your shirt. You shivered, backing away from him. His other hand grabbed your upper arm to hold you in place. 

"Are you hurt?" He asked in a deep, gravelly voice. 

Your eyes narrowed in annoyance. "Yes! You're destroying my home! Of course, I'm hurt!"

He made a face behind his mask like he was smirking. You tried to pull away, but his grip only tightened. 

"Let me go. I owe you nothing." You said, trying to pull away again. 

"That's where you're wrong, y/n. You owe me everything. Your family and your leader can't pay what they owe us. Instead, they hid the things most precious to them. You, I've decided to spare. You're no son, but you can be very valuable to me in other ways."

"You're wrong about my family. Maybe our leader, but my family would never do anything to be indebted to the likes of a low-life clan like the Lin Kuei."

"You have no idea, do you? I've watched you these last few years. You indulge and never ask where the money comes from. You're either naive or choose to be ignorant. Your father has land, a title, a good job, and somehow has more money than others in his position."

You pause, mulling over his words. Yes, your family might be wealthier than most in town, but your father always said it was that he was good with money. Doubt clouded his words in your head now. Was it true? Why else would they come after you?

"What will happen to the leader's family? His children? Their children?" Your voice is tiny, sticking in your throat with fear. 

"We will get rid of those who won't fall in line." 

His words are so casually spoken that you have to look away. Tears pour down your cheeks at the implications of his words. 

You sniffle, looking back at him. "I'm no fighter. What use would I be to you?"

"You're so innocent." He cups your cheek with the hand that had been inspecting your shirt. "You don't have to be a fighter to warm my bed."

A wave of panic shot through you at his statement. You cried out a sharp "No!" before you finally managed to yank yourself away from him. Only so far could you go before you felt his cold touch again. He held his hand over your nose and mouth. His other arm was tight against your throat. The more you struggled, the more your vision went hazy. 

"Yes. Fight back. It'll make this easier for me." 

He kept talking, but your brain was no longer listening as you fought to keep conscious. 

—

You felt yourself come to. Women were chatting in whispered voices. A few glanced your way. An older woman with gray hair moved over to the bed you were lying on. She held a kindness in her face and movements as she helped you to get up. 

"You'll be Grandmaster Bi-Han's prize tonight. I need you to take a bath and clean yourself everywhere. Make sure to use the oil for your skin. Once you're done, put the robe on and come find me back here." The woman instructed while the two of you went to the bathing room. "Do you understand?" 

You nodded, tears forming in your eyes again. 

"Good. Now, stop crying. He wants you natural and if you keep this up your face will be blotchy and swollen."

She opened the door for you. You stepped in, stopping in the doorway to admire the beauty of the room. 

"You have thirty minutes until the grandmaster is finished with his day. Relax while you clean and pamper yourself. The grandmaster has a temper. It's best not to upset him. 

Here," she put some towels, washcloths, and a robe in your hands. "Calm yourself and get clean so I can dress you."

She didn't give you time to respond as she left the room, closing the door behind her. 

Alone, you realized how quiet it was. The cold air was making you stiff. With a huff, you set to your task: washing and massaging the oil into your skin until you felt soft like silk. No matter what you did you couldn't stop the anger and depression. You threw on your robe and headed back to the busy room. You hoped the woman wouldn't notice your face was still puffy. 

She noticed. Other than a sigh as she wiped around your eyes, she said nothing. A little powder, a simple hairstyle, and some sheer gloss highlighted your face. She dressed you in a silver cheongsam with various blues making up the embroidered bird pattern. Next, she placed a long, white fur cloak around your shoulders and shooed you away with instructions on how to get to where you needed to be. 

When you reached the door it flew open, revealing a hulking presence. He peered down at you, his face set in a scowl. You shifted from one foot to another as he lazily took in your form. 

"Inside," he quipped, grabbing your arm. He pulled you into the room before you had a chance to move yourself. 

He walked you to the center of the sparsely decorated bedroom. 

"Take off the fur." 

You didn’t want to. He noticed the hesitation. Bi-Han narrowed his eyes. His hands flew up to your shoulders and pushed the cloak off. 

His eyes seemed to warm as they trailed over your form. “Where did you get this outfit?”

“The old lady in the - “

“Shush. It’s perfect. Birds suit you. My colors suit you even better.” 

Bi-Han took your hand in a tight grip and led you to the bed. His eyes undressed you as his hands did. You were trembling in fear. You’d never laid with a man, never even let a man see you without clothing on. As your dress fell to the floor you felt tears prick at the corners of your eyes. This was not how you thought your first time would go. 

The grandmaster slid his hands down your sides, pausing to grip your hips. You shivered, goosebumps rising on your skin from his cold touch. His hands moved back up to your breasts. He squeezed them. A hum of appreciation sounded from him. 

“You’ll do well in producing heirs.” He said flatly. His tone seemed at odds with his lust-filled expression and his exploring hands. 

You bit your bottom lip and looked away. “What if I don’t?” You’d heard about women who couldn’t give male heirs. They didn’t last long. 

“I’ll allow you to keep my bed warm.” he shrugged. 

It wasn’t the answer you were expecting. However, you didn’t have much time to process it as he pushed you onto the bed. He crowded you, kissing and biting at your skin. It was overwhelming. There was some pleasure, but mostly pain. He was harsh in his fondling of your body. There was a slight reprieve when he sat up. You were hoping it meant he was done for some reason, but when he simply took his clothes off you knew it was going to be a long night. 

He was barely any nicer to your body when he pushed his cock into your pussy. It stung and you tried to move away from him, but he held you tight. 

“Stop pulling away,” he growled as he grabbed at your ankles. 

“It hurts!”

Bi-Han let out a huff, repositioning himself so your legs were over his shoulders. The intensity of the new position had you crying out in shock. It hurt, but something else was taking over. Your eyes found the grandmaster’s. As cold as his touch was, his expression was burning. You’d seen boys drunk outside of alleyways, their glassy eyes a dead giveaway. That’s how Bi-Han looked. Like he was drunk and needed more. He shifted his hips slightly and you let out a shocked squeak. 

“Gods, right there!” The words tumbled from your lips faster than you could even think of them. 

Bi-Han smirked. “Anything for you, little bird.”

That yearning feeling in your gut was turning your thoughts into white noise. Everything came to a head all at once. The feeling seemed to explode inside of you. Your eyes squeezed shut and you were sure you said something, but it sounded like babbling to your ears. Then, you felt a wet coldness inside you. Bi-Han fucked you through your orgasm, his own triggered by yours. As his hips slowed, your brain was able to catch up with your situation. Tears streamed down your cheeks.

“Hush, now.” Bi-Han cooed, kissing the tears. “You did well, little bird. I knew you would. You were always going to be mine.” He captured your lips in a consuming kiss. 

[wyldwesternorchidology]

People of the Horse 2011-2013

Photography by Erika Larsen

Source: People of the Horse- Erika Larsen

[bluemerakis]

I know you're taking a break from tumblr, but I'm trying to spread terror joy with random SPN asks, so maybe this one is fun for when you're back:

if Sam and Dean were cowboys, what would their horses' names be? And if you happen to know anything about horses, what horse type? class? brand? breed of horses (if you don't know anything about horses, feel free to make up a breed)? <3

ooooo what a fun question!!

i know for a fact that dean’s drawn to a spunky mare. and given that quarter horses are really big over in USA, i feel like on one of their cases out in the country, he’d naturally encounter a cutting mare that gives him a LOTTA sass and he’s like “yeah no i gotta have her”. and i can see it being a palomino and dean naming her something along the lines of “lady frisky whisky”. qh just suits him so well bc i know that man thrives on speed and adrenaline and qh’s are absolute speed demons AND one hell of a tank. and in his free time he cruises the streets with his dumb cowboy cosplay riding his mare of steel through town and traffic and sometimes chasing down criminals on horseback to help civilians in need. i also know his mare LOVES a chase and nips the target whenever it’s within range.

sam 100% gives me coldblood vibes. i can see him riding a fresian or a tinker or some other draft but i don’t think they’re too big over there. in any case, i can see him being more of a nervous rider in contrast to dean’s hot-headedness and so he’s drawn to the hardier breeds that sort of “take care of him”. and he’d be more of a gelding guy 100%. he’d prolly make it his mission to find out the horse’s original name through extensive research and door-to-door meetings—and also be offended at dean’s suggestion to just give him a new name of his choosing. i feel like he’s a fan any pinto patterns too, esp tobianos.

[drawing-way-outside-the-lines]

Faye Lupei McKinney

Voice Claim: (

Partner(s): Davian Thompson D'Angelo Parents: Odette Coraline Lupei & Ronan McKinney Kids: None. Siblings: Nova Lupei McKinney & Colin Lupei McKinney Age: Translates into mid-late 20’s Birthday: September 17th Height: 175 cm 5.7 ft Body type: Slim with curves. Eye color: Gray with dark green center Classification: Crow Shifter, Demon, Witch. Known Powers: Shapeshifting, Intangibility (ability to pass through physical matter), Levitation, Telepathy (The power to mentally receive and/or transmit information.), the power to heal the mind by light touch.

About: ~ Brave, Persistant, Respectful, Kind, Reflective, Practical, Intelligent, Caring, Flexible, Tolerant, Helpful, Calm, Nurturing, Positive, Genuine, Friendly, Outgoing, Loyal, Patient, Easy Going, Independent, Organized, Perceptive, Logical, Fierce, Loving, Creative Strong and Responsible. ~ Pedriatric, Witch. ~ Sexuality Bi. ~ Long wavy ginger hair. ~ Has some tattoos scattered on her body, including a big whole back tattoo. ~ Very skilled in herbal medicine. ~ Reflects a lot. ~ Has pale sensitive light freckled skin. ~ Feminist. ~ Is a very good listener and people often seek her for guidance or simply a shoulder to lean on. ~ Plays mouth Harmonica and Violin really well. ~ She paints and draws as a form of meditation. ~ Loves a good crackling fire. ~ Is a big family person and would love to have many kids one day. ~ Takes long walks in nature when she needs to be with herself. ~ Smells like fresh herbs and Amber. ~ Would like to have a pigeon as pet. ~ Has an addiction to Pistachio nuts. ~ A very skilled witch, just like her mom. ~ Sees herself marrying Davian one day, and although they are in an open relationship, she knows he's the one, she couldn't see herself loving someone else. ~ Catches insects before Davian squashes them with a news paper. ~ Likes to walk barefeet in the forest. ~ Collects rocks and gemstones. ~ Can't stand the smell of wet cardboard. ~ The sound of a scissor cutting through paper is the most vile thing s she knows, and it makes her gag. ~ Makes her own candles. ~ Loves reading by a fire, Earth, drawing, painting, pistachions, Davian, family, nature, protecting the environment, spell books, owls, creating spells, shifting to her crow form and fly free, yogurt, sunrise, the smell of the sea, to live by the sea, dogs, pigeons, pigs, wolves, cats though she's sadly allergic - she's working on a spell for that, the smell of the earth after rain, spending time in her garden, her coven, pinecones, salted caramel, the moon and Herbal tea. ~ Dislikes rudeness. ~ Dresses in soft fabrics that makes her feel light and comfortable. ~ Is a very good horseback rider. Faye’s tag Faye’s house/home Faye’s moodboard Handwriting/ask answer pic:

One Gif to describe her:

One song to describe her: Ekaterina Shelehova - Savage Daughter

Personal play list: 1. Aurora - The Seed 2. The Elders - Mother 3. Scarborough Fair - Tal Barr 4. Paris Paloma - Labour 5. Winter Aid - The Wisp Song 6. Leonard Cohen - Happens To The Heart 7. Lindsey Stirling - Love Goes On and On ft. Amy Lee 8. SYML - Fear Of The Water 9. SKÁLD - Rún  10. Kalandra - Brave New World 11. Alexia Evellyn - Hold On 12. Twenty One Pilots - Oldies Station