#Carpathian Pony

[canberramaidan]

Horses in the Carpathian Mountains, Ukraine. By SonyaHeaneyAuthor.

[mediumsizetex]

Well, I guess we're going to have to take control

i cant get over the king charles portrait. they made that thing to age in his place. that painting hangs in the house of a too-friendly family you find in the post apocalyptic wasteland who inexplicably has a ready supply of fresh meat. if mario jumped into that painting he wouldn't find a charming platformer he would be flayed and hanged like a medieval criminal by an unseeable force in a droning red void. that painting is a color blindness test for people who work in IT but believe in the divine right of kings. that painting is going to weep the sequel to blood. after he dies charles is gonna crawl outta that thing like sadako.

[codywiththeladies]

Assigned animals for my au. TDI I realized I had a majority already and I came up with the ROFI cast like a few days ago? From RR, I only had Dwayne and Junior figured out but the rest I figured out today. Also no reboot characters bc I haven’t even watched it yet

TDI:

Owen: bear

Justin: white tiger

Cody: red squirrel

Courtney: Birman cat

Gwen: hyena

DJ: goat

Lindsay: spotted deer

Tyler: beagle dog

Izzy: poodle

Noah: spaniel dog

Trent: groundhog (9 letters)

Harold: caribou deer

Beth: beaver

Heather: Dobermann

Leshawna: panther

Ezekiel: raccoon

Duncan: wolverine

Sadie: hedgehog

Katie: porcupine

Geoff: golden retriever dog

Bridgette: otter

Eva: Siamese cat

TDWT:

Alejandro: lion

Sierra: maned wolf

TDROTI:

Mike: monkey

Scott: roof rat

Dakota: horse - alicorn

Cameron: holland lop bunny

Dawn: Florida white rabbit

Lightning: carpathian shepherd

Zoey: red panda

Staci: pig

Anne Maria: lemur

B: seal

Sam: sheepdog

Brick: ferret

Jo: wolf

TDPI:

Max: chinchilla

Amy: opossum

Sammy: opossum

Leonard: raven

Sky: snowy owl

Topher: servai cat

Scarlette: red fox

Shawn: singapura cat

Sugar: pony

Beardo: american black bear

Ella: flamingo

Dave: dachshund

Jasmine: emu

TDRR:

Junior: roborovski dwarf hamster

Dwayne: Meerkat

Kitty: burmese cat

Emma: burmese cat

Josee: lynx

Jacques: arctic fox

Ellody: barred owl

Mary: grey parrot

Tom: llama

Jen: hare

Lorenzo: capybara

Chet: mink

Rock: badger

Spud: skunk

Laurie: camel

Miles: donkey

Kelly: caracal

Taylor: bobcat

Devin: border collie

Carrie: silver fox

Stephanie: jackal

Ryan: bull

Brody: sea lion

Jay: armadillo

Mickey: armadillo

Ennui: coyote

Crimson: wolf

Pete: gopher

Gerry: mongoose

Tammy: lamb

MacArthur: German shepherd

Sanders: Labrador retriever

[suetravelblog]

Medieval Snagov Orthodox Monastery Romania

Medieval Snagov Orthodox Monastery Romania

Snagov Forest – Photo Sorin Onisor Last week, I visited Snagov Monastery, about a 30-mile drive from Bucharest. During the time of the medieval states that existed in the feudal period, the monastery was Wallachia’s most important spiritual centre”. I’ve long been fascinated with mystic locations, and orthodox monasteries are a favorite. Romanians are pious people, and in a hectic world of…

[ollovae3]

The #MandosonaChallenge is a GO!!

I KNOW it's late, but here's that starter!! Bee in her Rusyn armor, a cape based off Kievan Rus garb, and a saddle similar to medieval Russian tack!! I had a lot of fun with this, and researching my Rusyn background for it?? 💕💖💕 (and the Orbak is even based off the Carpathian "Hucul" Pony!)

Gist of the challenge: make yourself a Mandosona (or an OC if you'd like to not show your face) based off your own culture and/or heritage!! Draw their design, draw them in a scene, write a story/blurb for them, or even just some headcanons about a clan based off your culture!!

How would Celts look as Mandos? What about your Mexican roots? Mongolian? Decide how far back you want to go, research, and enjoy!! 🙌🏻🎉

Main guideline is just to avoid anything offensive, and research and use respectfully (ex: no conquistadors/other colonizers, no slapping an "Indian headdress" on someone from a tribe that doesn't/wouldn't wear that, etc.)

Enjoy and tag me, I CANNOT WAIT to see what you make!!??

Close-ups below!! ALSO SO HAPPY WITH THE BACKGROUND IMMA CRY??

[capsized-heart]

Little Lamb

Pairing: vampire!Wanda Maximoff x Reader, incubus!Quentin Beck x Reader

Summary: Your simple life in the Sokovian countryside is no more. The events of a single night disrupt the natural order of your world. God is silent. He always is.

Word count: 4k+

Warnings: (oh boy..) violence, blood, gore, sacrilegious imagery, explicit smut 

A/N: This is my entry for @thewritingdoll​‘s freaky500 writing challenge! Congrats on 500 followers! <3 I wish I could have finished this before yesterday’s deadline, especially before Halloween since this shit is so dark aha 

I had a lot of fun with this! I honestly wish I could have done more bc I could write about Wanda and Quentin forever..I feel like I had to restrain myself a bit. I really like how both Wanda and Quentin can see someone’s deepest fears and thought that dynamic would be really cool for an au. 

I was also inspired to write this after seeing this beautiful moodboard by @tohomorii​...you honestly killed it with that Wanda vampire aesthetic. 

using the quote prompt, “He’s covered in blood again. Why is it he’s always covered in blood?” -harry potter and the half blood prince

Sokovia, 17th century.

Dawn breaks with rosy hues and warm, vibrant gold. The soft, streaky clouds of early autumn float lazily by, stippling the sky with pinks and baby blues. Your eyes follow a flock of blackbirds as they flicker across a patch of sunlit horizon in a melodious chortle, climbing and climbing beyond to lofty heavens. You smile.

Your purse jingles with the sound of newfound coin. You’ve had a productive morning at market, having left your family homestead yesterday afternoon for the day’s ride. You’d sold your stock of bread and eggs to Ms. Ryba, homemade jams to old Dmitri, trading your other goods for the groceries mother had asked of you. As a surprise, you’d also purchased a small leatherbound book for your papa, a new piece of stitching work and silks for mama. Gifts carefully wrapped in linen and secured in your saddlebag, a small bit of happiness glowing in the crook of your ribs. Your heart feels full. You finger the crucifix around your neck.

Times have been hard for you and your family. This summer’s harvest had been exceptionally low with heat and droughts. Money has never been a luxury and you’ve been broken with the disciplines of how to bargain hard, conserve, safeguard, and how to put the needs of your parents before your own. 

These gifts will bring favor and approval to their eyes. A godly daughter. Honor thy father and thy mother.  

You tilt your face upwards to the flushed morning, relish the fresh breeze tickling your skin and murmur a quick prayer of thanks.

O God, who hast folded back the mantle of the night to clothe us in the golden glory of the day, chase from our hearts all gloomy thoughts, and make us glad with the brightness of hope, that we may effectively aspire to unwon virtues, through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

You ride atop Iryna, your family’s tender Carpathian pony now weighed down with your spoils, and watch the fields of your homeland ripple in red and honey light. Even Iryna seems to sense your good mood as her head bobs with her quick gait. You balance a basket of apples in your lap, a reward that you had purchased for her (and for yourself) after a long day’s journey.

This is a safe country, not at all uncommon for young peasant girls to ride to market alone. Broad plains and cut mountains, you’d passed your closest neighbors about ten miles back, welcome solitude on each homestead.

You like to spend your time on these rides daydreaming of riding in a royal procession as princess, or as cavalry returning from battle abroad. How you would be welcomed back home to your kingdom!

Smoke curls from your cottage chimney as the edge of your family’s property comes into view. You squeeze your heels against Iryna in encouragement and she trots faster, the promise of a waiting breakfast and the smiles of your mother and father urging you forward. 

The smell of hay and manure greets you as you lead Iryna into the barn. You adjust your skirts, woolen tunic, riding cloak, and wimplet before dismounting, careful not to catch anything on your saddle or packages. You slide off Iryna’s bridle and feed her an apple, rubbing soothing circles into her neck as she devours the fruit, snorting happily. 

You give her fresh feed, change her water, quickly removing your tack and supplies and turn her out into the pasture, whispering a promise to give her a thorough brushing later. She gallops away with a swish of her tail. With your arms full of supplies and balancing your bushel of apples, you kick through dust and dirt and enter your cottage.

You’re about to call out to your mama when your voice stops in your throat. The nauseating stench of rot fills your nose, familiar and ominous, like when papa slaughters the chickens for winter stock. Only this time it’s inside your home. 

Your arms go limp and your packages fall to the floor in a muffled thud of wrapped paper. Apples bounce, scatter, rolling through soot and blood. 

Your father lies crumpled, his strong body disfigured in a tangle of limbs. His skull has been crushed into a crown of grey matter and gore, leaking like tears down the planes of his face. His eyes and mouth hang open in a frozen, silent scream, twisted skyward in agony. Protectively draped over your mother in his final moments. 

Your mother is spread-eagled with her throat slit open and her veil stuffed into her mouth, rosary beads crudely circled tight around her wrists in manacles. Her skirts have been torn, bunched around her thighs and you see violet bruises in the shape of hands.

You stumble to the hearth and wretch up bile and water. You heave, vomit, tears stinging your eyes and mucus dribbling down your chin until there is nothing left in your stomach but a wriggling pit of nerves. You can’t breathe, can’t think. Strength evaporates from your body and you sink in front of the cooling embers of the fireplace.

You look to the bodies of your parents. You don’t bother trying to feel for a pulse. You are numb.

You stay beside them until the light outside turns bleak and grey, until your legs ache from kneeling on hard wooden floor for countless hours. Slowly, finally, you wipe your mouth, lift yourself up. 

You find the scythe used to harvest wheat. It feels good and heavy in your hands, makes you feel strong. You make rounds to the rest of the property with it tight in your grip.

Your homestead has been completely ransacked. What livestock that hasn’t been stolen lies dead, slain and swarmed by flies. You’re left with one cow, six chickens, two goats, and Iryna. 

You salvage whatever raw materials you can. You return the scythe back to the shed, unused, the sharp, pristine metal gleaming a cool blue. Part of you had hoped that the intruders still lurked about. Maybe then you could have descended upon them with all the silent wrath of Jael, as she had killed Sisera. 

You whistle a low blast. Iryna trots over to you, nuzzles your hand for another treat. It makes you smile and fresh tears to drip down your cheeks. You wonder if she can sense anything awry, sense that your entire world has been violently turned on its head. You don’t think you’ll ever crave apples again. 

They’ll only taste of sin. 

**

It takes you well into the night to dig two deep holes. The ground is frigid with frost and your breath clouds, fogging the air as you work the soil in an eerie echo of familiar, mundane times. Instead of the sun, the moon guides your hand. Instead of toiling the fields to lay in crops, you prepare the graves of your mother and father. 

Sweat slicks your skin, dirt streaking down your neck and arms. The moon has dipped below the hillside when you finish, plunging you in complete darkness. You thrust the spade into the ground.   

You are not strong enough to carry the bodies of your parents. You will have to tie them to Iryna and bring them here to the fields. But you cannot tonight with the last of the moonlight gone.

And tomorrow is the day of the Sabbath, your holy day of rest. You will have to wait to bury them.

You hug yourself tight. From the cold, from the juvenile fear of death and despair.    

Did Christ not feel this way upon the cross? Abandoned by his own father? Alone? 

And about the ninth hour Jesus cried with a loud voice, saying, "Eli, Eli, lama sabachthani?" that is, “My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?”

**

You rise late. Fatigue still sits deep in your bones when you go and collect eggs and milk for your breakfast. You step over your mother and father. Splattered blood, now dry, ring around their heads in crimson halos.  

You spend the day idly. You read the book you had bought for your father, practice your stitching with the embroidery hoop and silks meant for your mother. You heat water for a bath and sprinkle in some of the salts and oils she kept tucked away in her bedroom. You wash away tears and dirt and grime. 

You relish the hot water as it seeps into your tense muscles, watch the milky surface ripple around your limbs. The cottage is quiet and seems to settle around you. 

You were always the last to bathe out of your small family. You would be told to fetch and heat the water, waiting until your father finished, then your mother. By the time it was your turn, the bathwater was always cold and dirty. You were not allowed to change it out as it was costly and a waste of time. You would be quick to rinse.

Now, you sit until your fingers becomes wrinkled and pruny, your skin and hair fragranced with the smell of rose petals and lavender. There is no one to scold you to hurry up. 

**

Iryna watches over you as you pack the last of the dirt over the burials. You’re both exhausted. You finish at midday. You finger the crucifix around your neck.

O God, grant unto us, in this dying life, that peace for which we humbly pray, and hereafter to attain unto everlasting joy in Thy presence; through our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

**

You pass your days in solitude and in fear. You wonder if the bandits will return. It makes you pray harder, harder than you have in your entire life. You ask for forgiveness, for protection, for salvation.

The windy autumn nights bring chills and unease. The windows rattle in their frames, the cottage groans, and the goats bleat in the pressing darkness.

Visions of your murdered parents dance behind your eyelids. A crown of gore, blood red tears, suffocating rosary beads. The possibility of specters and demons and Satan’s lurking servants seem to hide behind each darkened corner. The homestead feels too vast, too isolating. You feel yourself slowly going mad, every howl of curling wind making you shudder in your cot.

You ask for companionship. A friend to share company.

**

A young woman’s voice calls out to you. The day is abnormally warm and you’re hanging laundry to dry in the sun when you first lay eyes on her.

She wears a riding cloak and veil, a pretty woolen dress of fine cardinal fabric. Her hair falls in loose waves down to her chest, catching the sunlight in a gleam of muted copper. 

She leads the most magnificent looking horse you’ve ever seen. A towering black Clydesdale that stands eighteen hands high with a glossy coat and tail, powerful muscles moving with every stride. Curiously, you see no saddle or tack, only the leather bridle she uses to guide him.

When you approach her, the young woman asks if you are master of the house. You respond with, yes. She smiles and takes your hands in hers, inquiring if she may stay for a few nights before continuing her journey to the next town. She says she will pay you with coin and labor, with whatever help you may need around the property.

The gesture surprises you. Travelers are few in this stretch of country and your family has never housed one before. But, you think of how turning this woman away would mean another day’s ride for her until she reached the next homestead. As you’ve understood, these trails are no longer safe. Especially for a young woman riding alone.

When you agree to offer her lodging, she blesses you with another radiant smile and kisses your cheeks. It’s enduring, warms your heart and tingles your fingers still laced with her own. 

**

As promised, Wanda helps you with your chores. She does not ask about your family or parents or why a young girl of your age could indeed be master of a homestead all by herself. You do not ask why a beautiful woman is traveling alone. Instead, she carefully listens to your instructions and assists you perfectly.

You’ve just finished gathering firewood when the two of you head to the barn to tend to your few and precious livestock. You muck out stalls, change hay and water. Wanda’s Clydesdale watches you from one of the extra stalls you’ve placed him in. 

When Wanda tries to lead out Iryna, she flinches away and flattens her ears in a shrill whinny. It catches you both off guard and you quickly take the rope from Wanda’s hands before Iryna can hurt herself, placating her with a low hush.

“She does not like me.” Wanda frowns. It’s charmingly youthful, makes her look like a pouting child.

“She is not used to strangers,” you soothe, smiling gently. You return Iryna to her stall and slide the door shut. “What is your Clydesdale’s name?” You ask. 

Wanda’s mood seems to lift instantly and you catch a glimmer in her hazel eyes. “Paimon,” she tells you. “Paimon is friendly to everyone, especially strangers. But, he loves pretty girls most of all.”

Later, you invite her into your home and the two of you relax your tired bones by the evening fire. 

**

The days grow cold and dark. You and Wanda now share the bed of your late parents, bigger and warmer than your own. You awake each glowing morning with her slender arms wrapped tight around your waist, her face buried into the crook of your neck. 

For warmth, you tell yourself.

Her sighs, her moans in sleep stir something in the pit of your stomach.

You’re unsure of what other reason you would prefer.

The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak.

**

Wind and rain whistle against the glass panes of your cottage. It is a dreary, bleak morning of storm, one that has forced you and Wanda to remain inside. A fire crackles in the hearth and throws dancing shadows along the walls. You sit and read while Wanda busies herself with housework. It is the first time you’ve felt peace in months. 

She returns from the pantry, setting down her washcloth and bucket with a faint groan. You look up.

Warm, flickering light highlights the skin of her collarbones and cheeks. Wanda has plaited back her hair to keep it out of her eyes, save for a few wispy strands that fall to frame her face.

You swallow, enraptured. 

She catches you staring and her irises seem to glow brighter with firelight. She turns slowly, sauntering towards you with measured, delicate steps. 

“Little one, didn’t your mother ever tell you that it’s impolite to stare?” she whispers. She walks until she is flush against you and the fabric of her dress brushes your toes. Without looking away, she eases the book out of your hands and sets it facedown on the table. Your father’s bible.

Your mouth dries up, your pulse hammers. 

Wanda tilts her head, her expression clouding. Then, she sinks to her knees to straddle you completely, arms winding around your neck. 

“Sweet girl, when I ask you a question, I expect a response.”

Her fingers trace your jaw, looking down at you with a stern, flinty gaze. You find your hands holding the swell of her hips, pulling her closer.

“Those who see you will stare and wonder, ‘Is this the man who made the world tremble and shook up kingdoms?’” you recite into the ever closing gap between your mouths. She sighs, high and breathless, feel her overheated body slowly start to move against you. 

Your lips and tongue meet in a tangled kiss. Your first. She tastes of myrtle and honeyed milk. You feel yourself falling when you gently cup this young woman’s face in your hands, kissing and touching and her fingers lustfully twisting into the nape of your neck. Dizzy, ashamed. Your skin is on fire. 

You think of Lucifer’s wings burning away as He hurtled towards earth. 

“I’m so thirsty, my love. Thirsty for you,” Wanda gasps. Her pupils are blown impossibly wide, ringed in red. Her canines glint in the darkness. “Will you let me drink?”

You remember Iryna’s skittishness, Wanda’s beast of a horse, Paimon. No saddle, no luggage. A lone, beautiful woman wandering the countryside with exquisite eyes and sharp, sharp teeth. A devil in masquerade who never intended to leave. 

Slowly, you untie the strings of your dress’s blouse and expose your shoulders, the dip of your chest. Wanda’s lips part hungrily, the shadow of her eyelashes fluttering like feathers. 

She sets you back and runs her fingers over the thin skin of your neck. Her touch is smooth, gentle. Then, she leans over you, keeping you still with a single hand wrapped deliciously around your throat, pressing you deeper into the wooden chair. 

The bite of teeth, then white pleasure. Your vision rolls and you writhe against her in a fit of sighs and otherworldly bliss. Suction, flickering tongue, the obscene sounds of her mouth devouring you whole. You moan, cage her against your body and you hear her chuckle. 

Blood trails down her throat and drips between her breasts when she finally sits back, sated. Half-lidded eyes gazing down at you with more love and adoration than you’ve ever known.

You are her blessed wine. 

Take this, all of you, and drink from it,

for this is the chalice of my Blood,

the Blood of the new and everlasting covenant,

which will be shed for you and for all

so that sins may be forgiven.

Do this in memory of me.

“Amen.” she murmurs with a kiss. 

God is silent. He always is.

**

Wanda pulls you atop her. She cradles your face, smooths back your hair as she looks up at you in the silvered morning light.

“Little one, would you like to live forever?”

The question takes you by surprise, makes you pause. She takes the opportunity to kiss your fingertips, arch her hips into you. It makes your breath hitch, but your mind is clear. 

“As long as it’s with you.” 

She grins, gleaming and bright, the first glimpse of sun you’ve seen in this godforsaken autumn. 

“Oh, my sweet little bride, my princess of night.” she sighs.

“Yes,” you whimper. 

She gazes into your mind and sees what you’ve always wanted.

**

Wanda prepares for the ritual that very evening. Candles, parchment, a single serrated knife. 

She bathes the two of you in the shared tub, washes your hair and cleanses you, a mock baptism with soap and scented oils. Her fingers wander, coaxing pleasure as you lean back against her. 

Finally, she guides you to the bed when the world outside stands cold, silent, watching, at the cusp between night and day. 

Wanda eases your finger between her lips and pricks the skin with the point of her teeth. Her eyes flutter before reluctantly removing it, a string of saliva following suit. You watch the single bead of blood bloom and sign the parchment with a steady hand. 

Cold air brushes your cheeks, skin tingling as if touched, breath in your ear. You feel your vision haze in and out of focus, a foreign sensation overcoming your body. 

Then, a young man appears before you. He’s tall and lean and handsomely bearded, dark hair curling against his forehead, down the tufts of his chest and arms. His eyes, green and glimmering, inspect you carefully, tracing every curve of your exposed skin. You feel achingly vulnerable, pinned. 

Your eyes trail lower and lower until…

You find that he is completely bare. You flush and turn to hide your face into Wanda’s shoulder. She chuckles, gently takes your chin in her hand and tilts your gaze back onto him. 

“This is the flesh of Adam, sweet one,” she murmurs. “It is not shameful to lust. Did God not create man in his own image?”

Wanda reaches out her other hand in offering and the man takes it, lowers himself onto the bed. There is an air of familiarity between the two of them as they share a kiss of greeting. 

“Welcome, Quentin.” she hums. She fondly runs her thumb along his cheek and he leans into her touch. Quentin’s eyes then flicker to you.

“Is this my gift?” he asks. His voice is soft, sweet like honey. Wanda hums again. Quentin smiles warmly, looking you up and down. Your blood ignites.

With one hand on both of your faces, she guides you and Quentin together. He kisses you, surprisingly soft and gentle, cradling your jaw with a touch that makes your stomach flutter. You hear Wanda moving, feel her touch.

Some of the tension wound tight in your shoulders evaporates with Wanda beside you. It encourages you to be braver, bolder as you kiss the incubus back more urgently, touch his skin. Quentin responds with a purr and tangles a hand in your hair, mouthing at your neck, tracing your puncture wounds with a soothing, possessive tongue.

He draws you upon his lap, still pulled flush against him and the heat of him so close to the most intimate part of your anatomy makes you timid, afraid. 

“Relax, lamb.” he whispers. “Enjoy this, enjoy us.”  

The broad touch of his fingers against you makes you mewl in surprise. Wanda hushes you with a soft kiss, takes one of your hands in hers. Quentin’s palm rests on the plane of your stomach, his other easing into where you’re most aching and tight, where a man’s strong touch has never breached. 

He slowly guides your hips upon his hand, until his fingers glisten with your slick and your body starts to warm with the glow of angelfire. 

“Keep going, little lamb,” Quentin urges into your ear. “You know how, don’t you? Those lonely nights when your parents lay fast asleep abed?”

You moan. Indeed you do. Nights where darkness was most suffocating and you prayed that God would turn a blind eye to your lust. 

You shatter with the heat of hell rain. With your body still clenching and fluttering, Quentin lays you out beneath him, his eyes darker, lips turned up into a sly smile. You’re breathless.

He feels cold when he enters you, a sensation you would have least expected from a creature molded by burning sin and Lucifer’s fire. Yet, it pushes your poor, mortal flesh to the thresholds of pleasure and you reach for Wanda, keening. Wanda slinks closer and pushes your hair out of your eyes.

“How does she feel?”

“Like a dream,” Quentin moans, laughing. “You want Wanda and I both, lamb? I can see it in your mind’s eye. So needy, you are. I’ll give you what you want, lamb. You’re doing so good for me.”

**

You don’t remember waking up. A blood moon hangs in the sky.

You feel the lull of pleasure, of Quentin’s lush curls buried between your thighs. Your fingers catch on horns, his velvety tongue forked as it slips into you. 

Your world blurs around you, dreamlike. 

Again, you reach for Wanda and she laces your fingers together with a smile, kisses your damp forehead.

“Is this real?” you moan into her neck.

“As real as your God, sweet one. Are you ready to come home?”

You nod, drowsy with euphoria. You see Wanda take up the silver knife and again, you offer your hand. 

You wince when she slices open your palm, watch the blood seep over and down your arm in great drops. Quentin lifts his head from between your legs, intoxicatingly beautiful with shining lips and heat in his eyes. He keeps his gaze on you as he drives into you again, as your hand stains his chest and neck with crimson, ravishing you again and again. You feel Wanda’s tongue and then the bite of her fangs. 

You arch, reborn with the blessing of immortality and pressed between two demons.

You wonder how many times these two have completed a ritual like this, with Quentin’s powerful body covered in virgin’s blood. 

His blessed cup.

And the Lamb will overcome them, because He is Lord of lords and King of kings, and those who are with Him are the called and chosen and faithful.

[gustavomirabalcastro]

Raza de caballo poni hucul

El Hucul o también llamado Carpathian es una raza de pony o caballo pequeño procedente de las montañas de los Cárpatos.  #Razadecaballo #ponihucul #GustavoMirabal #GustavoMirabalCastro

Raza de caballo poni hucul En el planeta hay gran diversidad de razas de caballos y cada uno destaca por sus atributos singulares. Sin embargo, es común en la especie que estos animales sean nobles, fuertes y sobre todo muy versátiles. El Hucul o también llamado Carpathian es una raza de pony o caballo pequeño procedente de las montañas de los Cárpatos. Este ejemplar cuenta con una complexión…

[lastminutemolnars-blog]

6. Road to Romania

It has been brought to my attention that my headings are one post ahead of the actual blog. I shall use this one as an attempt to catch up. 

Hungary was lovely. We dropped the campervan at Andre’s cousins who lived in a beautiful town on the Danube about 50km north of Budapest and headed into the city where we were fortunate enough to spend four nights in a family owned apartment in Budapest.

Our main objective of time spent in Budapest: eat some awesome food. As we had already been to Hungary in the past, we felt no need to see the sights or do the tourist things. Rather, we enjoyed city life and ate at a Michelin Star restaurant and countless other well recommended ones. 

Our food highlight from Hungary was a ‘business lunch special’ at a restaurant called Friska where we enjoyed a quality three course meal, four drinks for only $30 AUD. BARGAIN!!!

Andre’s great aunt (who speaks not a word of English) was very hospitable to us and I must say her home cooked meals were a highlight of our food adventures in Europe thus far. Although there was a massive language barrier, we now know how to count to 10 in Hungarian without mishap! 

All in all, it was lovely to meet the extended Hungarian family and we felt privileged for them to be so kind and welcoming to us. Picking up the campervan ensured we left with a fridge full of home grown fruit and veg, wine, as well as freshly made pickled goods and syrups. Thanks!

The road then took us East into Northern Romania. 

Crossing the border was somewhat uneventful compared to what we were expecting. Our first night in Romania was spent in Sapanta, which is the home to the ‘merry graveyard.’ A meal consisting of baked polenta, cheese and sour cream (YUM!), a lamb stem, salad, pancakes and a bottle of wine set us back only $25 before tucking in for the night. The graveyard was a bit wasted on us in that we unfortunately could not understand any of the tombstones or the stories (as nothing was in English). We took some photos, and off we went further East into Maramures country.

We stayed in a town called Viseu De Sus where we took a day trip into the mountain gauges on the oldest running steam train in Europe. 

Andre was very upset to learn that there was a slight communication issue when his lunch arrived and he was given a HUGE plate of cheese with a raw red onion in the middle. Now I love my cheese, but traditional Romanian cheese is somewhat hard to stomach.

The next day we spent hiking in the Rodna mountains. A grueling uphill (and more uphill) hike took us to Pietrosul Rodnei peak, standing at 2303 metres high, the tallest in the Eastern Carpathians. The hike was tough but the view from the top was amazing and made it all worthwhile. The patches of snow and the FREEZING icy breeze which also met us at the top was something we will not forget in a hurry.

Wooden monastery. The Maramures county is known for the wooden buildings they have. Also, this was the starting point of our hike. In the distance you can see our destination and the snow on the mountain (yes - it was A LONG way up). 

MADE IT!!! 2,303 metres

Cold and windy at the peak

... and snowy...

Got bogged trying to get the campervan out the next morning, but some local Romanians with a four-wheel drive helped us on our way.

Northern Romania is like travelling back in time, horse drawn carriages, standing hay racks, old school buildings and houses, no card facilities anywhere, but WOW what beautiful country side they have!

Every town you drive through (no matter how small) has a big church in it

dodgy looking electricity pole

ROAD BLOCK!!! 

Hard life for the Romanian ponies.

Kilometers driven so far: 7,547

Time away: 5 1/2 weeks

Campervan fails:

smashed a window on a very narrow street trying to get past a truck

broke the inner fly screen door (lucky it’s not hot!)

one broken window shutter

[adoranymph]

Don't Let the Specter of Bella Swan Keep You from Writing a Romantic Heroine Who Actively Has Romance On Her Mind (Or Something Like That)

Don’t Let the Specter of Bella Swan Keep You from Writing a Romantic Heroine Who Actively Has Romance On Her Mind (Or Something Like That)

So, before I get to that sweet, sweet romance post that I was working on before it got ruined and I opted for a post on revenge instead, I want to address something that otherwise would have been a tangent in said romance post. And to be honest, I’d rather get this out of the way first, because this one’s something of a thorn in my foot.

If I haven’t mentioned already, I’ll mention it now: yes, I…

[robertkstone]

2020 Jaguar F-Type Loses Manual, Gains Checkered Flag Edition

The Jaguar F-Type has been updated for 2020, with one notable change being the addition of a Checkered Flag Limited Edition model that starts at $72,925. It features fancy checkered-flag graphics on the headrests, steering wheel, and door sills. Exterior colors include Caldera Red, Fuji White, and Carpathian Gray with a black roof and 20-inch wheels with red brake calipers.

Inside, the new variant has leather-wrapped performance seats with embossed headrests and red or gray stitching. There’s also dark brushed aluminum trim on the center console and a red band at 12 o’clock on the steering wheel.

The Checkered Flag cars are intended to celebrate the marque’s competition heritage and can be spec’d with rear-drive and a 296-hp, 2.0-liter turbocharged four-cylinder or, for $95,525, all-wheel drive and a 380-hp, 3.0-liter V-6. You’ll need to pony up an additional $2,400 to get either as a convertible instead of a coupe. Both engines mate exclusively with an eight-speed automatic transmission, as the manual transmission sadly has been discontinued for all F-Types. (It was exclusive to rear-drive V-6 models in the U.S.)

Pricing for the regular lineup has changed slightly for 2020, as well. The base F-Type coupe starts at $62,625, $880 more than the 2019 model. Convertibles start at $65,725, also a $880 premium over the old version.

Source: Jaguar Land Rover

The post 2020 Jaguar F-Type Loses Manual, Gains Checkered Flag Edition appeared first on Motortrend.

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[jesusvasser]

Jaguar F-Type Loses Manual Option, Gains a Checkered Flag

The Jaguar F-type sports car has been updated for 2020, with one headlining affect being the addition of a Checkered Flag limited edition package for both coupe and convertible models that starts at $72,925. It features fancy checkered-flag graphics on the headrests, steering wheel, and door sills. It’s available in Caldera Red, Fuji White, or Carpathian Gray with a black roof and 20-inch wheels with red brake calipers.

Inside, the new variant has leather-wrapped performance seats with embossed headrests and red or gray stitching. There’s also dark brushed aluminum trim on the center console and a red band at 12 o’clock on the steering wheel.

The Checkered Flag cars are intended to celebrate the marque’s competition heritage and can be spec’d with rear-drive and a 296-hp, 2.0-liter turbocharged four-cylinder or, for $95,525, all-wheel drive and a 380-hp, 3.0-liter. You’ll need to pony up an additional $2400 to get either as a convertible. Both engines mate exclusively an eight-speed automatic transmission, as the manual transmission sadly has been discontinued for any F-type. (It was exclusive to rear-drive V-6 models in the U.S.)

Pricing for the regular lineup has changed slightly for 2020, as well. The base F-Type coupe starts at $62,625, about $900 more than before, while the rest of the lineup is about $1000 dearer than similar 2019 models.

The post Jaguar F-Type Loses Manual Option, Gains a Checkered Flag appeared first on Automobile Magazine.

from Performance Junk WP Feed 4 http://bit.ly/2S3toJO via IFTTT

[jonathanbelloblog]

Jaguar F-Type Loses Manual Option, Gains a Checkered Flag

The Jaguar F-type sports car has been updated for 2020, with one headlining affect being the addition of a Checkered Flag limited edition package for both coupe and convertible models that starts at $72,925. It features fancy checkered-flag graphics on the headrests, steering wheel, and door sills. It’s available in Caldera Red, Fuji White, or Carpathian Gray with a black roof and 20-inch wheels with red brake calipers.

Inside, the new variant has leather-wrapped performance seats with embossed headrests and red or gray stitching. There’s also dark brushed aluminum trim on the center console and a red band at 12 o’clock on the steering wheel.

The Checkered Flag cars are intended to celebrate the marque’s competition heritage and can be spec’d with rear-drive and a 296-hp, 2.0-liter turbocharged four-cylinder or, for $95,525, all-wheel drive and a 380-hp, 3.0-liter. You’ll need to pony up an additional $2400 to get either as a convertible. Both engines mate exclusively an eight-speed automatic transmission, as the manual transmission sadly has been discontinued for any F-type. (It was exclusive to rear-drive V-6 models in the U.S.)

Pricing for the regular lineup has changed slightly for 2020, as well. The base F-Type coupe starts at $62,625, about $900 more than before, while the rest of the lineup is about $1000 dearer than similar 2019 models.

The post Jaguar F-Type Loses Manual Option, Gains a Checkered Flag appeared first on Automobile Magazine.

from Performance Junk Blogger Feed 4 http://bit.ly/2S3toJO via IFTTT

[eddiejpoplar]

Jaguar F-Type Loses Manual Option, Gains a Checkered Flag

The Jaguar F-type sports car has been updated for 2020, with one headlining affect being the addition of a Checkered Flag limited edition package for both coupe and convertible models that starts at $72,925. It features fancy checkered-flag graphics on the headrests, steering wheel, and door sills. It’s available in Caldera Red, Fuji White, or Carpathian Gray with a black roof and 20-inch wheels with red brake calipers.

Inside, the new variant has leather-wrapped performance seats with embossed headrests and red or gray stitching. There’s also dark brushed aluminum trim on the center console and a red band at 12 o’clock on the steering wheel.

The Checkered Flag cars are intended to celebrate the marque’s competition heritage and can be spec’d with rear-drive and a 296-hp, 2.0-liter turbocharged four-cylinder or, for $95,525, all-wheel drive and a 380-hp, 3.0-liter. You’ll need to pony up an additional $2400 to get either as a convertible. Both engines mate exclusively an eight-speed automatic transmission, as the manual transmission sadly has been discontinued for any F-type. (It was exclusive to rear-drive V-6 models in the U.S.)

Pricing for the regular lineup has changed slightly for 2020, as well. The base F-Type coupe starts at $62,625, about $900 more than before, while the rest of the lineup is about $1000 dearer than similar 2019 models.

The post Jaguar F-Type Loses Manual Option, Gains a Checkered Flag appeared first on Automobile Magazine.

from Performance Junk Blogger 6 http://bit.ly/2S3toJO via IFTTT

[the-mic-drop]

Fuck you, nerds! Hetalia is and was great!

Some of my fav quotes:

Germany: With zat kind of attitude, my only option is to shoot you in ze head!

Britain: I'm the United bloody Kingdom and I can held my loquer better than you any day!

Turkey: You bad man! Picking the pocket in broad daylight! What the kebab are you thinking?!

Russia: If you die, I get great pleasure smile!

Prussia: My milkshake brings all ze boys!

Germany: To hell with your milkshake!

Poland: How does he keep his house from smelling like red-light district?

Romano: This weatherman is predicting a 99% chance of shitstorm and it's coming right at ya!

China: I bring gifts from the ends of the earth! Some from even further since we get lost whenever the captain is drinking heavily!

Turkey: See guy? Aren't you glad you got naked with me?

Prussia: Don't forget also ze fishnets!

Spain: But why show such kindness to one who is trying to crush your cojones?

China: The giraffe! A hideous freak of nature!

Japan: Not long, but looking enough for crazy America fun-time.

Britain: Get ready to be wee!

Germany: Ja vol! We vill interview all ze clubs, even ze one vis ze little girl pony cartoon!

America: Look man, I don't think I could love moose and drag my ass as much as you do, ok?

Liechtenstein: The women of Crete made spectacles out of their breastacles?

Romano: Nope, no talking to me when you look a-stupid.

America: Why's France a midget and Britain look like he's about to torture Jack Nicholson?

Austria: Germany's asshole must be pretty cozy then, huh?

Japan: This is the part where I say "maybe," but I definitery mean "no."

Ukraine: But they will see my Carpathians!

Britain: Am I Catholic or Protestant? God, I don't know!

Turkey: No man alive has the stiffiness after this glorious attack!

Some Guy: I was just practicing drums, now these weirdos won't stop with the twerking.

Lithuania: This praise borders on Lithu-mania!

Britain: YOU TIT!

Germany: At least our smog is intangible!

[breeds-of-horses-en-blog]

Hucul pony

The Hucul or Carpathian is a pony or small horse breed originally from the Carpathian Mountains. It has a heavy build and possesses great endurance and hardiness. The breed is also referred to as the Carpathian pony, Huculska, Hutsul, Huţul, Huţan or Huzul. The breed gets its name from the Hutsul people, who live mostly in the Carpathians in Ukraine and in Romania, but also in an area in the East Carpathian Mountains north of the river Bistritz, officially named "Huzelei". More details Android, Windows

[aftselakhis-shaladin]

Polish breeds of domesticated animals are all threatened

Polish Red Cattle

Konik Polski (wild horse)

Hucul (pony)

Wrzosówka (sheep)

Green-legged Partridge (chicken)

Carpathian Goat

Tatra Dog

Polish Lowland Sheepdog

Dobra Bee