you were born on the west coast. black sand and thrashing waters, the kind of dangerous parents warn their children about. you could swim before you could walk, and you can feel the ocean in your bones, a soft ache that will never go away
you were born in canterbury. winter is nothing more than a warm embrace to you. your body convulses and shifts endlessly like the land below you, and your whole existence feels on edge. rise and fall
you were born in the wetlands. you know rebirth better than any, and yet you still feel trapped. you wake early every morning, and you know just how silent the farm can be. your life is an endless cycle of this knowing and yet you can never do anything but watch
you were born in te hiku-o-te-ika. the old gods still live inside of the earth, and you are surrounded by them. tane mahuta stands tall and so do you. breathe in, you exist at the top of aotearoa
you were born in the alpine mountains of otago. land of the red earth, isolated village, you are difficult to get to and difficult to understand. you are calmest when the wind is thin and the snow cold. poor child, you will never be able to comprehend your vastness
you were born in the cities. there is a disconnect in your identity, and no matter how many times you shift around, you will never feel at home until the hum of traffic has settled under your skin
you were born in the king country. war torn kid with too much blood on your knees, in your mouth, on your arms. there’s a rage inside of you that will never go away, but nor will the strength that comes from the bones of the kings in the soil below you
you were born in marlborough. the dry season has lasted several years, and you just want to know when everything will feel okay again. soon, i promise you
you were born on the volcanic plateau. you will never know where you belong, but that’s okay. nowhere will be able to contain you but the open vastness of the desert road. you are all too much, from lake taupo to mount ruapehu, you are unknowable
you were born in the bay of plenty. you have never known hunger, but you know suffering. you are the softest of children, raised on summer warmth and placid rivers that you know better than the back of your hand
you were born in heretaunga. you survived a place that wanted you dead. through the floods, the earthquakes, and the droughts, you still stand. you are so much stronger than you know
She could hear it outside the cells. Blood and death and ruin. Cassian and Blake were out there. So was Bay. Nate looked seconds away from bolting, to get to him. Instead, he dug his fingers into the towel, his eyes were near black with barely restrained impulse. Out of his brothers, Nate was the one who was to act first, damn the questions. And he was fighting his impulse to go to Bay. How either of those boys managed to go years without actually being together remained a mystery to her.
“Nate,” she blinked slowly, “Go to Bay.”
“No,” he said tightly. “You need me more.”
“Don’t worry about him, focus on your baby.” Azriel ordered. “A big one this time.”
Her palms connected with the stone floor. Her chin to her chest. She pushed.
Azriel looked up at her, the sound of crying filled the cell. Biela.
“It’s a girl,” Nate breathed.
She tried to smile. Nate wrapped a towel around her daughter and scooted up to her. Feyre looked down at the baby. Inky Black hair and wickedly bright blue-grey eyes. Biela, she was different. She leaned her head back against the cool stone. She just needed to close her eyes, just for a moment; then she could hold her children.
The sound of drums filled the night sky. Bonfires reached the sky, revelers and females littered around her. She had done Calanmai before. She knelt, ready for the magic to consume her. She had done this twice before, but this time, her nose was enveloped so strongly with the scent of Jasmine and citrus, she almost forgot where she was. But it was gone in an instant.
What the hell just happened?
His sight was starting to come back. He could see outlines and vague movement but it was too slow. And Feyre, she wasn’t moving. His heart was in his throat and his mate was unconscious and-
“Feyre-” Rhys started, moving to his nephew. “Nate take him. Feyre don’t you dare close your eyes.” He moved two fingers to her throat. Her heartbeat was thready. “Az-”
“The bleeding,” Azriel said. “It won’t stop. Nate, you take the twins to your mother and get Amren. Now. Rhys, you help me. She’s going to hemorrhage if we dont stop this now.”
Nate took the babies. “I’ll get Ash.”
“He won’t help,” Azriel said, ripping the skirts from Feyre’s body. “Not after Nesta.”
“I’ll make him,” Nate growled and winnowed away.
“Rhys,” Azriel said, cutting into Feyre’s abdomen. “Can you do this? You are a High Lord. Your healing can keep her alive until either Ash or Amren get here.”
He would move heaven and earth to keep her alive; he would do whatever he had to. “Yes. What do I need to do.”
The rooms were dark besides the candle atop the table and Elain reading. His aunt almost dropped her book. “Nate!” she exclaimed. “What are you-”
He handed her the twins. She blinked before bringing them to her chest.
“Where is Ash?”
“The training ground out back-”
Ash felt his cousin before he saw him. His heart was pounding so fast and his blood pressure was through the roof. He smelled like blood and birth. And fear. Bone deep fear that he had smelled before.
“Nate?” He asked carefully. “What are you-”
Nate gripped his shoulders. “I need you to help Feyre. She’s bleeding out and-”
“I can’t. I can’t-” Not after Nesta, not after the baby. He could barely close his eyes and not see-
Nate clasped both sides of his face. “Yes you can. Feyre is your aunt too. You were willing to die to bring back Nesta. You feel guilt for not being able to save her. Here is your chance to make up for it.”
A low snarl came from Nate, his cousin gripped his throat, his nails dug into his skin. “I swear on the Cauldron, if the next few words out of your mouth aren’t ‘I will help you’ I will rip out your throat and let your fancy healing magic grow you a new one.” Nate meant every single word, his magic pulling the truth from Nate’s body. Ash’s life outweighed his own fear.
“I will help you.” he choked out. “Take me to her.”
Nate grabbed his arm. “Good choice.”
Bay’s sword went through the male like paper, the blade down to the hilt in flesh. Pulling the blade out, he ached it to another male’s neck.
“Why the fuck are so many attacking?” Bay yelled. “Was there some kind of revolt?”
Cassian ripped out a throat, his fingers sticky with blood. “It was started by Keir.”
Blake punched a male in the nose. Hard enough cartilage ruptured the brain. The male crumpled to the ground. “That fucker is dead when I see him next.”
“He’s locked in the interrogation rooms.” Bay panted. “Your father is going to get information out of him.” Oh no.
Both he and Blake echoed, “This is a diversion.”
Cassian slammed a head against the wall. The sound of the male’s skull cracking filled Bay’s ears. “There is too many too split up and find him. We need to hold the line. We can’t let them get to either the High Lord and Lady or the heirs.”
They were so, so fucked.
The High Lord poured his healing magic into her placenta as he had instructed. Azriel had learned a lot about deliveries when he found out Mor was pregnant with Blake; just in case something went wrong. Cauldron, he was glad he knew what was wrong.
Nate winnowed in, pushing Ash forward. “Do it.”
Ash’s throat was red with fingerprints. His son had forced him to come. Leaning down, Ash surveyed Feyre’s body. Her skin was dangerously pale, her bleeding was slowed, thanks to Rhys, but still flowing too fast. She was close to Death.
“Please,” Rhys’s voice cracked. “Please save my mate.”
Ash sucked in a breath, his hand rested on her heart. A bright light glowed beneath Ash’s fingers.
“Please, please, please.” Ash begged under his breath. His eyes were squeezed shut, his breath shallow. “Let me save her.”
The light pulsed, Ash’s nose started to bleed down past his lips. His eyes opened, a bright green, almost glowing, casting a shadow across his cheeks. He coughed and removed his hand from her sternum, his lips were red with blood.
Ash put his fingers to Feyre’s throat and exhaled. “She’s out of the woods. For now.”
Rhys dropped his head into his hands. “Thank the Cauldron.” He looked up to Ash. “Thank you, Ash. Thank you. So much.”
Ash shook his head, the glowing of his eyes starting to dim down. Ash slid back against the wall, his long hair scattered around him. “I saved her,” he breathed. “I saved her.”
Nate’s voice was tight. “What now? We are surrounded and can’t move her right away.”
Rhys’s thumb brushed Feyre’s cheek before standing. “Not for long.”
Blake ran his sword through the male’s throat. Keir was dead. He was going to kill him slowly. He warned the male what would happen if he fucked up. He should have killed him after he broke Nate’s wrist.
Rhys came out of the cells. His finery was covered in blood and dirt. His face was bleeding, his eyes unfocused and his face was a brutal nightmare.
Darkness slammed out from around him, dropping the revolt to their knees, clawing at their throats.
“You just couldn’t help yourselves,” Rhys purred. “You wanted me dead. My mate dead. My children dead.” Rhys’s face hardened, his starry eyes glowed. “You failed.”
Sound cracked around them all, dropping each member of the revolt in a bloodless silence. He shattered each and every one of their minds.
Rhys leaned a hand against the wall, his breath uneasy.
“Keir is gone,” Rhys said. “When we find him. He is going to regret the day he was born.”
Bay slid past Rhys and flew down the hall. He stopped short. “Ash?”
Ash turned to him, his face-
“I’m fine,” Ash said.
“No you’re not!” Bay bellowed. “What the fuck happened?!”
“Feyre was dying,” Nate said quietly. “I went to get Ash.”
“You forced him to heal her?” Ash so much hasn’t healed anyone since he got back from the Dawn Court. He wouldn’t be here voluntarily.
Nate met his stare. “Yes I did.” He had no room to judge. He forced Tarus to heal Zevakyn in the Blood Rite. But this was Ash and-
“It’s fine. I’m fine,” Ash said, wiping blood from his mouth. “Feyre is alive and I’m fine.”
“Shut up, Ash,” Bay snarled. “No you aren’t.”
Bay knelt down, examining Feyre’s face. It was starting to flush with color. Bay pulled off his shirt, covering her with it. It was covered in blood but at least it would cover her.
He looked back up at Ash. “This almost killed you.”
“I know,” he tried to grin. “I was there.”
Bay gripped Ash’s face, “Thank you.”
“You keep touching me like that and you’ll have to buy me dinner. I warn you, I’m not a cheap date. I expect flo-”
Bay snorted and hugged him. “You do something like this again and I will kill you.”
Ash froze before hugging him back. “We both know I’ll be doing something like this again. It’s just who I am.”
He didn’t care. As long as Ash stayed safe and alive, he would be okay. He had lost too many people and losing Ash or Nate, that would kill him.
Cassian put Rhys’s arm around his shoulder and helped him stand upright. His High Lord was on edge and was weak. The Cells sapped so much of his strength from him.
Rhys groaned, “She’s okay. Ash saved her. It nearly killed himself to do it, but he saved her.”
Shit. Shit. Shit.
Bay had gone in there before them. He would not be happy with Ash being in this place. Or being near dead.
“Let’s get Feyre and go home,” Cassian said.
The female lifted the cloak to cover her face, covering her starry eyes and shifting hair.
It would seem she had made a mistake. She had highly misjudged Cassian and the High Lords abilities. And Blake was not what she expected. She expected the arrogance, the vicious grin. She did not expect the genuine kindness in his features, or the ability to dance or the empathy.
She supposed she had grossly miscalculated her family and acted too soon.
She would not make this mistake again.
Here is the next part!!! I think there is roughly one or two parts left of this. Thank you for reading!! Please, please leave a comment!! XO
Mon-El waited, and waited, and waited, but no letters showed up on his skin. Not on his wrist, not further up his arm, not anywhere on his body. In which Mon-El arrives to Earth only two years after Kara, in which he isn’t her soulmate, and in which the fact that he’s her first kiss (her first everything) seems to mean a bit too much.(In which soulmate marks appear on your skin when you turn eighteen.)
It’s spring time in National City and Kara and Mon-El have been feeling strangely lately. They’ve both snapping at everyone, and their sex drives have been increasing at an alarming rate. It’s been getting worse and worse for a while but they’ve been able to hide it, but as they wake up one day out of control and they get themselves into an uncomfortable situation at the DEO, they find themselves locked up so Alex, Winn, and J'onn can figure out what is happening to our heroes.
Betrayal never comes from your enemies. It’s a lesson Kara and Mon-El have learned the hard way, and in the worst way possible. A deep trauma and horrifying situation set in motion the fracturing of one of the soundest partnerships, shattering all parties involved. Years later, it appears no closer to healing. But, then again, the supers don’t seem at all keen to heal anything with anyone. They just want to protect each other and the city and be left in peace.
To help with the hiatus, just going to try my hand at doing a 30 Day OTP Challenge for Karamel :-) I’ll try to post every day, maybe even twice a day at times, and I’ll be adding tags and characters as they come up ;-)
“People say I love you all the time- when they say, ‘take an umbrella, it’s raining,’ or 'hurry back,’ or even 'watch out, you’ll break your neck.’ There are hundreds of ways of wording it- you just have to listen for it, my dear.” -John Patrick, The Curious Savage. Inspired by a list of one hundred ways to say “I love you,” one hundred one-shots of Kara Danvers and Mon-El, from friendship to lovers and everything in between.
“He is not the same as us,” the man says, “Mon-El is our father’s mad dog, set loose from his cage whenever diplomacy fails. The Harbinger of Death, as he is known. I hope you’ll do well to tame him, Kara of Krypton.”
The twelve noble houses of Daxam are at war, and the only solution for the centuries of bloodshed and strife might take the form of an arranged marriage between a bastard prince from Daxam, and a Kryptonian girl from Earth.
AU~ Mon-El Matthews is an author who hates his book. Kara Danvers is a reporter who also hates his book. They meet for coffee to discuss it, and eventually, a small interview becomes a relationship that means a lot more to both of them. (One Shot)
Summer Camp AU! Mon-El crashed to Earth six months ago, landing near the Matthews’ family home on their remote camp ground. They took him in, but he hasn’t had the easiest time adjusting to life on Earth. When summer comes around, Carol and Phil Matthews decide that he should work as a counselor at the couple’s summer camp, thinking it would be good for him to meet new people. He’s been expecting to hate it and dreading it for weeks. And then he sees her. The girl with the blue eyes. Can summer camp be fun, after all?
“He didn’t know how in Rao’s name this had happened. How she’d managed to succeed in moving into this position was beyond him. And he swore this time he was actually sleeping when it happened.” – Sequel to It’s Just Sleeping. Mon-El wakes up the next morning with Kara still in his arms…and in an interesting position. He tries (and fails) to keep his cool.
“‘This is serious, Mon-El.’ She turned her body so that she sat cross legged and faced him. He dropped his can of soda back on the table and pressed the off button on the TV remote. ‘I want to know right now why you won’t have sex with me.’” – Kara had been patiently waiting for him to make the first move. Kara’s tired of being patient. Takes place before 2x14: The Homecoming, sort of.
Daxamites can’t go too long without physical contact. (Whether that’s hugging/cuddling or full sex and hormonal release is up to you.) Mon-El worries that Kara and company and their prudish alien mores will not understand, so he refuses to tell anyone about it. After going without for too long, Mon-El collapses and comes on/confesses to the nearest person in the feverish aftermath.
When something goes wrong with Mon-El, the DEO puts him back in containment, in case he’s a hazard. It’s not helpful.
Kara has memories people tell her make her crazy, of abilities and aliens. She’s trying to live a normal life when she meets a guy in a coffee shop that she remembers and stumbles onto a world that both is and isn’t from her dreams.
“Oh, nothing really important dear. I’m just putting up this bulletin board for the tenants to write down some notes for the others. Just you know? Some friendly greetings and comments to each other for you to get to know each other.”
Or, Kara returned back to her apartment and found a new bulletin board that encourages her to get to know her new neighbor, when she never paid attention to them. Could this sparks a relationship, or cause hatred between them.
Follower Fridays is a series of profiles highlighting members of Gaysian Third Space to showcase the diversity of gaysians in the Community. This week’s featured member is@lawrsaysrawr.
Who are you?
My name is Lawrence and I’m a 27 year old, first generation Filipino-American. In my spare time I like to play games, draw, hike, explore cities, eat out, and take pictures with my phone.
Where are you from?
I was born and raised in the Bay Area. (Concord -> San Jose -> San Francisco)
What do you do?
I’m a toy designer for an eco-friendly toy company called, Green Toys.
I got into it after graduating with a degree in Industrial Design from SJSU. I originally thought that I wanted to do something in the medical field, but I stopped that midway through my third year in college. Even though it took a while, I’m happy with where I am now.
What are you passionate about?
Currently, I’ve been really involved in listening to what’s going on out in the world and finding my voice. I think it’s really important to stick together as a community to fight and protect each other, but I also think it’s important to do your research before jumping in.
In general, I love critiquing art/design, but not in a condescending way. I just love learning about the stories behind the design or art piece. It’s really inspiring to see people doing things that they’re passionate about.
What is your dream job (real or fantasy)?
I want to build my own streetwear brand. Maybe start with cool backpacks and bags and see where I go from there. I loved my soft goods class in college, but I haven’t gotten around to making a bag in a while. I really have an itch to create.
If you could change the world with one idea, what would it be?
I think it’s important to be socially conscious. If people were more aware, we would be in a better place. We often overlook the things we can’t see.
August Albert Zimmermann (born Zittau, September 20, 1808 - died Munich, October 18, 1888) was a German painter. He was the brother of painters Max, Richard, and Robert Zimmermann, and served as Max’s teacher. He was primarily self-taught as a painter, but did study at the Dresden Academy of Fine Arts and the Academy of Fine Arts Munich.
The horse’s in question, and a screenshot of Jocelyn’s logic (which was so badly worded it made no sense) in case the last post confused you. She is supposedly purchasing the baby out of these 2 when it is born, the bay being the lame mare she got rid of because she was lame and didn’t want to deal with it.
Speaking of awful conformation though, the bay mare has a back as long as a limo, a very long thin neck, steep shoulder, high tying in the neck, rather small front feet (common QH fault) which could be a reason for her lameness, and she’s a stargazer (nose in the clouds) which causes the development of an ewe neck. (and she’s a litttttle too straight behind for my liking)
The stallion is no better, being post hocked, significantly downhill, steep shouldered, high tying in the neck, mutton withered, camped under in front, and upright in the pasterns.
When asked about Milli’s conformation (because even people who have no idea what they are looking at noticed the mare is a conformational mess) it was claimed that the stallion would “block out” those flaws…. but in order to even help improve a mare’s offspring through breeding you kinda need a stallion that has less faults than the mare… not more.
Jacob can hear his grandma’s voice every time he is about to
do something stupid, like when he enlists into the pilots academy after the
civil war begins, or when he dives his fighter into the swarm of droids to save
his friends, or when he organizes a break out in a prison camp after being
captured when his fighter crashed. The break out is successful, and no one is
even killed- just scraps and scratches and broken bones.
See, Nana, it doesn’t always end in disaster when I do the
His Grandmother is not convinced.
Then the war ends and everything is more or less back to
normal. There is the Empire, and the Rebels, but Jacob stays out of it because
neither bother his planet too much- after all, it is a small mostly rural world
far from any major trade routes or anything of remote importance. He delivers
grain to the neighboring systems and even re-organizes a cargo hold in his ship
to operate as a mini-bakery (he always loved the smell of fresh bread, and his
pies are an instant success on every trade outpost he goes to- freshly made bread is way better than dry
rations or instant meals).
He hears his grandmother’s voice again when he sees her- a
beautiful young woman hiding in a workshop he’s in and a squad of Stormtroopers
searching the streets. His grandma’s voice gets louder when an awkward and
shy-looking man comes out of nowhere and drags her, no, both of them, onto the
street. The woman apparently knows how to read minds and shoots like a sniper,
and the man – oh, the man can move things (and people!) without touching them
and turns from a hunching bystander who’s too afraid to look you in the eye
into a lethal machine in an instant (and no, Jacob definitely does not
appreciate his ass being hauled up and through the air and onto a roof of the
adjacent building. He loves to fly, sure, but that flying usually involves a
ship and a chair and him being in control). They escape and make their way to
the spaceport. The woman, Queenie, and the Jedi (there is no doubt in that,
Jacob never met one but he heard stories, plus a normal human does not leap
from building to building or deflect blaster fire with a wave of the hand),
Newt, need to get off the planet.
Don’t do the thing, Kowalski! His grandma’s voice is practically screaming
but he ignores it and hides them both in his ship. Jedi says the heat from the
bakery should make their thermal signatures invisible to the imperial scanners
(and yes, holy shit, there is a star destroyer in the orbit, along with dozens
of smaller ships, and Jacob wonders what exactly did he just get himself into).
They get hailed and caught in a tractor beam the moment they
leave the planet’s surface.
“You said it was going to work!”
“So what happened?”
Newt just shrugs, “I was wrong”.
But apparently the man has another plan- which is even more
suicidal, so suicidal that, in fact, it might just work. So, Jacob lets his two
stowaways hide in the airduct and calmly
flies his ship into the star destroyers’ bay.
He knew he was born wrong. He
could feel other people’s emotions before he could walk, he felt his mother’s
despair and anguish when the father he does not remember died, he felt sorrow
and pity when people came to take him away after his mother passed. And then
hate, and anger and resentment and disgust that his foster mother felt towards
him after he moved his plate without touching it by accident. He knew when she
was going to beat him, he felt the rage and fear rising in her right before she
took a belt in her hand. And then one day, when he was bleeding and aching and
crying, he let the beast out - and the beast killed her, threw her through a
wall like a rag doll, and Credence never felt so alive. He loved the feeling of
power and sudden freedom, only to get sick when he realized what he has done.
So he ran.
He was freezing in the winter cold
and starving, living off on scraps and stolen food, hiding in the back alleys
of a space port when the kind man found him. The kind man- Percival Graves-
told him about the Force, about the midichlorians, and said he would take care
of him and teach him how to control the beast. He took Credence to his ship, a
giant, shiny ship in the blackness of space punctured by millions of tiny
stars, and Credence thought he was dreaming. Graves gave him a room big and
clean and warm and with a window too, so Credence could just sit there for
hours and watch the black wastness of spaceand get lost in it; and a bed large
enough that Credence no longer needed to bend over to fit. And clothes, so soft
and expensive Credence was scared to ruin them by just touching them. And food,
as much food as he wanted and he didn’t have to ask permission to get it.
The kind man taught him about the
Force too . Small things at first- moving objects without breaking them or
slamming them into a wall, healing himself with a force of his mind, guessing
what cards Graves held in his arms without looking, making Stormtroopers do
things by touching their minds. And Credence loved it. He was no longer afraid,
and he finally felt in control, but somewhere deep inside his fear of the beast
turned into anger.
And then the war started. The rebels
wanted to destroy the Empire, and Credence couldn’t understand why, why would
they want to destroy something so beautiful, something that brings peace and
comfort? So he asked Graves if he could help- and the kind man smiled and said
It felt like a hive to control all
those minds at once, to rage through the battlefield like one giant organism
made up of thousands of smaller ones, to see with a thousand eyes, be every
Stormtrooper at the same time, guiding them, helping them, directing them. It
felt like ultimate power and Credence drank it till the last drop, enjoying
Until the pain came. He breathed
with every breath his Stormtroopers took, and he felt everything they felt- a
searing of the flesh when a bomb went off ten steps ahead, a sickening sound of
bones cracking when a walker fell, crushing them to death; an overwhelming fear
rushing through his veins when they were drowning in their own blood. It was
intense, it was mindblowing, and he screamed himself hoarse, clawed at his own
skin, leaving bruises and scratches on his own flesh. They came back when he was sleeping, too,
thousands of pale hands reaching out to him, trying to grab and drag him into
the abyss. But he never told the kind man. He couldn’t. So he put his pain into
anger, and made his soldiers stronger, and faster, and fiercer.
And then one day he saw it. A tiny
little spark in the Force, a blue twinkle of light amidst rolling clouds of
darkness, and the hair on his neck stood up. It was like the stillness, the
deathly quietness right before the storm rolls in.
We take what we desire because we
can. We can because we have power. We have power because we are Sith.
Pain. Pain is the easiest and
fastest way to control a person. Not the pain itself, but the moment, the
instant when the pain stops, the bliss of not feeling it anymore- that is the
moment when a person’s mind is the most vulnerable and breaks under the
lightest of touch. He used it many times before and will use it again. He is
the Sith’ari, a powerful user of the Dark Side of the force, and he will one
day rule the Galaxy.
But for now, there are more
pressing matters. He needs to find the Deathly Hallows- three keys that will
lead him to the Revan’s holocron- the knowledge of the Dark Side recorded by
the most powerful Sith of them all right before her disappearance. Knowledge
that not only will lift him above all in the known universe, but also give up
the location of the Star Forge, the ultimate weapon strong enough to conquer
He needs to concentrate on his
search, and for that, he needs to control his Empire.
The boy is doing a good job,
winning battle after battle and gaining more control over his powers.
Grindelwald laments sometimes that he is not close enough to the boy to feel
the surge, and to drink off that pain and fear and anger. But he is too busy
with the search, so he leaves babysitting to his lapdog. There will come a day
when Graves will be discarded and thrown to the side, no longer useful, and
Grindelwald will finally meet the boy himself, and taste the power, and conquer
the boy’s mind right when it is about to break from all that pain, and take the
pain away, leaving only numb bliss. And the boy will be his, completely his to
command. And if not, well, then Grindelwald will just take what is rightfully
Mazu [媽祖], also spelt Matsu and Ma-tsu, is the Chinese goddess of the sea who is said to protect fishermen and sailors.
Over 1,000 years ago, a beautiful young girl by the name of Mazu (original name was Lin Mo) was born at the Xianliang Port of Meizhou Bay in Putian, East China’s Fujian Province. Clever, brave and kindhearted, Mazu could forecast the weather and offered medical services to fellow islanders. With her innate weather-forecasting ability, Mazu saved the lives of many fishermen from the menacing typhoons.
Since Mazu encouraged the people to conquer nature and defeat evil, she was much loved and esteemed by the locals. Touched by her kindness and good deeds, the townspeople greatly respected her and eventually deified her as the daughter of the dragon, the Goddess of the Sea and the Holy Mother who could bring them blessings. Unfortunately, Mazu died at the young age of 28. As legend goes, Mazu ascended to heaven and became immortal at Meizhou Bay, located opposite to Xianliang Port.
This month was a productive month for buying books. With the library sell and all the amazing new releases, my bank account has taken a bit hit this month. Totally worth it. The bolded are books I have finished reading, and the italics are books I have started reading. If you would like for me to discuss a book I have finished, just let me know
A Royal Affair by Nora Roberts How To Tame A Beast In Seven Days by Kerrelyn Sparks Defender by Diana Palmer The Girl With The Make-Believe Husband by Julia Quinn A Court of Wings and Ruin by Sarah J. Maas The Heartbreakers by Ali Novak
The Boy Next Door by Ella James
When The Marquess Falls by Lorraine Heath The Scarletti Curse by Christine Feehan Lair Of The Lion by Christine Feehan
Love, Rosie by Cecelia Ahern
The Red Heart of Jade by Marjorie M. Liu
Beneath The Thirteen Moons by Kathryne Kennedy A Hunger LIke No Other by Kresley Cole One Red Rose by Julie Garwood ( The Clayborne Brides ) One Pink Rose by Julie Garwood ( The Clayborne Brides ) Dark Symphony by Christine Feehan ( A Carpathian Novel )
Confessions of a Shopaholic by Sophie Kinsella
My Life with the Walter Boys by Ali Novak
Beguiled by Arnette Lamb
Heart Duel by Robin D. Owens Dark Demon by Christine Feehan ( A Carpathian Novel )
Crown of Crystal Flame by C.L. Wilson ( Tairen Souls )
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The Knabstrupper, or Knabstrup, is a Danish breed of horse with an unusual range of coat coloration. It was first established in 1812 in Denmark. A chestnut mare with leopard complex blanket markings was bred to a solid-colored stallion, producing a colt with dramatic spotting. The mare and her son were each bred to many other horses, producing many offspring with spotting and establishing the Knabstrupper as a breed.
This breed was once very popular, but later was crossbred with other horses and it is not certain if any purebreds from this breed remain. They do well in dressage and show jumping, and are used in general riding, as carriage horses and as circus horses. In 1971, three Appaloosa stallions were imported to Denmark to add new blood to the Knabstrupper breed.
Knabstruppers today are bred in Denmark, Norway, Sweden, Switzerland, Italy, Germany, United Kingdom, USA, and, most recently, Australia and New Zealand.
The breed is usually around 15.2 to 16 hands, but there are also pony sized ones. Coat patterns range from solid to a full leopard spotted coat, with many variants in between. The spotted coat is caused by a genetic mechanism called the Leopard complex. The spotted color patterns common in the Knabstrupper are seen in other breeds, such as the Appaloosa horse, though the two breeds developed independently of one another. The breed generally has either warmblood or Baroque horse conformation.
Some Knabstruppers are born with solid colors, such as bay or chestnut.