#the battle of vienna

[gwydpolls]

Time Travel Question : 19th Century IV and Earlier

These Questions are the result of suggestions from the previous iteration.

This category may include suggestions made too late to fall into the correct grouping.

Please add new suggestions below if you have them for future consideration.

[sl0wdiver]

Where are the Polish Winged Hussars when Austria need them

[mapsontheweb]

What if the ottomans had won the Battle of Vienna.

by theflagmapguy_2.0

If the Ottomans had won the Battle of Vienna, they would have conquered much of Central Europe and become the dominant power in Europe. This would have had a major impact on the course of European history, including the development of Western civilization.

Here are some specific consequences of an Ottoman victory at Vienna:

The Ottoman Empire would have become the dominant power in Europe.

The Christian powers in Europe would have been forced to unite against the Ottomans.

The Protestant Reformation might have been crushed.

The development of Western civilization might have been significantly different.

Of course, it is also possible that the Ottomans would have eventually been defeated by the Christian powers, even if they had won the Battle of Vienna. However, such a victory would have given the Ottomans a major boost, and it would have made it much more difficult for the Christian powers to stop their expansion.

[captain-price-unofficially]

The Red Army cuts through German and Austrian holdouts as they take Vienna, 1945

[illustratus]

Prince Eugene Sends the Emperor News of the Victory at Zenta after the Battle of Zenta

by Edouard von Engerth

[skitskatdacat63]

17,82

War AU x Second Love

Lmao Sam this is literally the plot to the Nandopoleon AU this exists in my head 😭😭

So Fernando is Napoleon, right? And Napoleon had two wives, right? Mark is his first love(i.e. Josephine), older than him, and who he is deeply in love with but has to divorce because Mark can't really provide anything(i.e. no political advantages, infertile, etc.) So Fernando needs to make a political marriage. And who does he marry! The young son of one of the most prominent monarchies in Europe: Lance, Archduke of Austria.

Lance is very resistant to this at first of course. All grumpy like, "Dad, why do you want me to marry the guy who just defeated us in four separate wars. He's literally beaten us since practically my birth, and now I have to marry him? Yuck." Both him and Fernando come into the marriage with bad expectations, Lance despising Fernando for all he represents and Fernando viewing Lance as just a means to an end. But Lance fits in to the kingdom very well and Fernando comes to adore him and pamper him all the time. And suddenly Lance to his father is all like, "the Emperor is great actually 🥰 I was so wrong 🥰"

Meanwhile Mark is just forced to the side, and has to watch while Fernando's love for him diminishes, and his love for Lance grows. They still talk a lot and spend time together, but Mark is constantly sniping at Fernando about his new "wife."

I think Lance would stick by Fernando's side during his exile and subsequent return. He grows to be more loyal to Fernando than to his own family and original kingdom. And even though Fernando originally just views him as a means to an end, he eventually lets Lance fight alongside when they are eventually drawn back into war. Maybe in this AU, he actually wins 😔

[dutch-and-flemish-painters]

Frans Geffels - The relief of Vienna in 1683 - 1683-4

oil on canvas, height: 184 cm (72.4 in); width: 272 cm (107 in)

Vienna Museum at Karlsplatz, Austria

The Battle of Vienna took place at Kahlenberg Mountain near Vienna on 12 September 1683 after the imperial city had been besieged by the Ottoman Empire for two months. The battle was fought by the Holy Roman Empire (led by the Habsburg monarchy and the Polish–Lithuanian Commonwealth, both under the command of King John III Sobieski) against the Ottomans and their vassal and tributary states. The battle marked the first time the Commonwealth and the Holy Roman Empire had cooperated militarily against the Ottomans, and it is often seen as a turning point in history, after which "the Ottoman Turks ceased to be a menace to the Christian world". In the ensuing war that lasted until 1699, the Ottomans lost almost all of Hungary to the Holy Roman Emperor Leopold I.

The battle was won by the combined forces of the Holy Roman Empire and the Polish–Lithuanian Commonwealth, the latter represented only by the forces of the Crown of the Kingdom of Poland (the march of the Lithuanian army was delayed, and they reached Vienna after it had been relieved). The Viennese garrison was led by Feldzeugmeister of the Imperial Army (Holy Roman Empire) Ernst Rüdiger Graf von Starhemberg, an Austrian subject of Holy Roman Emperor Leopold I. The overall command was held by the senior leader, the king of Poland, John III Sobieski, who led the relief forces.

The opposing military forces were those of the Ottoman Empire and its vassal states, commanded by Grand Vizier Merzifonlu Kara Mustafa Pasha. The Ottoman army numbered approximately 90,000 to 300,000 men (according to documents on the order of battle found in Kara Mustafa's tent, initial strength at the start of the campaign was 170,000 men). They began the siege on 14 July 1683. Ottoman forces consisted, among other units, of 60 ortas of Janissaries (12,000 men paper-strength) with an observation army of some 70,000 men watching the countryside. The decisive battle took place on 12 September, after the arrival of the united relief army.

Historians maintain that the battle marked the turning point in the Ottoman–Habsburg wars, a 300-year struggle between the Holy Roman and Ottoman Empires. During the 16 years following the battle, the Austrian Habsburgs gradually recovered and dominated southern Hungary and Transylvania, which was largely cleared of Ottoman forces. The battle is noted for including the largest known cavalry charge in history.

Frans Geffels, known in Italy as Francesco Geffels (25 August 1624 – 18 February 1694) was a Flemish painter, printmaker, architect, stage designer and designer of ephemeral structures for solemn and festive occasions. After training in his native Antwerp, he was mainly active in Mantua, where he was prefetto delle fabbriche to the Duke, a role that gave him the direction of the artistic and construction activities undertaken by the Ducal court. He worked also on projects for the local aristocratic class of Mantua. In addition, he completed projects for the Liechtenstein princes and for the imperial court in Vienna.

He was both a canvas and fresco painter. He created portraits, history subjects, military scenes, architectural scenes and genre art, in particular merry companies. Geffels is mainly remembered as the designer of some of the key examples of Baroque architecture in Mantua.

[artsculturevienna]

Andrea MANTEGNA (1431-1506) “Kampf der Meergötter” - “Battle of the Sea Gods” Zweite Hälfte der 1480er-Jahre - Second half of the 1480s Kupferstich / Engraving Sammlung / Collection ALBERTINA Wien / Vienna Ausstellung / Exhibition Dürer, Munch, Miró. The Great Masters of Printmaking ALBERTINA Wien / Vienna - 2023

[barbucomedie]

Armour of Sebastiano Venier, Doge of Venice, from Brescia, Italy dated to 1540 on display at the Weltmuseum in Vienna, Austria

Sebastiano Venier started his career in the Repulic of Venice a a lawyer despite not having any official qualifications. He would fight in the Ottoman-Venetian War (1537 - 1540) and rise up through the ranks in the government. In 1570 he would be appointed as Procurator of Saint Mark, patron saint of the Republic, and as Capitano Generale da Mar, Captain General of the Sea, commander of the Venetian Fleet.

He would lead the fleet at the Battle of Lepanto alongside the Republic's allies against the Ottoman Empire. After the victory against the Ottoman's he would return to Venice where he was elected Doge, leader of the republic.

Photographs taken by myself 2022

[ifra-strawberii]

Battle Networking

Been binge-playing the Battle Network games lately (er, was when I drew this, kindaaa got distracted by Zelda but I DO wanna get back to these) and figured it'd be fun to draw my gay fox and mouse girls as a NetBattler and NetNavi! For the Navi in particular, decided to depict Vienna as "RatWoman.EXE", with the idea being that she's very based upon the Ratty Virus / Ratton Attack Chip; her abilities would essentially be an upgrade of that! I'm also a big fan of that outfit on Zoe, and might add that to her "regular outfit" list.

Posted using PostyBirb

[little-candy-store-of-horrors]

Leopold I and Eugene of Savoy walked so modern Nerd x Jock pairings could ru- *a hoard of historians rightfully and violently grab me and whisk me off their conference podium to the back where there are sickening gunshots and I am never heard of ever again*

((turn on audio you will regret))

[lamusique1]

Perfect. Jan III Sobieski. Vienna 1683 Battle Mix DJ Francuz

[sweetiecutie]

hello!!! I was wondering if you could write a part 2 for dilf!konig? I didn't think I would be into it, but I read it and... it's awakened something in me. i need more dilf!konig

thank you!!!!!!!

A/n: so you, my lovely little sluts, seem to really like my smutty silly headcanons. But don’t worry babies, I have some more to satiate your hunger😌

Part 1 here

Dilf! König headcanons pt 2

Warnings: NSFW, mdni, smut, fem! reader, age-gap implied, unprotected sex, cheating (I know, I’m sorry🙄), nasty nastiness

Dilf! König, whom you reach out the next day with a cute “hi, it’s me Y/n<3” text, and a few hours later end up in his hotel room, pressed onto plush mattress of his king sized bed as König bullied his throbbing cock into your poor drooly pussy, meaty thighs hitting your ass with loud smacking sounds that, along with your shameless moans and whimpers, bounced off the tall walls, causing hotel staff to knock onto room’s door, asking as politely as possible to be more quiet in order not to disturb other hotel guests (*cough* the whole fucking floor *cough*).

Dilf! König, who, while still at your place, takes his godchild and you to the aquapark under the guise of “spending some quality time with younglings while he can”. You can’t stop sneaking glances at his massive chiseled body, decorated with numerous battle scars, laughing nervously as your best friend asks if everything is okay, since you’ve been zoning out too much lately.

Dilf! König, who riles you you absolutely stupid in the privacy of a small cafeteria bathroom as his godchild aka your best friend is way too occupied trying out all of these crazy slides to actually pay any attention to the two of you. He cums so much inside of your puffy cunny, sliding your thong back in place and murmuring “want you to carry a piece of me wherever you go” sweetly into your ear, smacking your ass playfully as you leave on trembling legs, exiting himself a few moments later as to rise no suspicions.

Dilf! König, who smirks ever so slightly when he sees some young dudes approximately your age unsuccessfully trying to hit on you, failing miserably to gain even a second of your blissful attention. He notices how you rub your thighs together ever so slightly, and if he watches closely enough, König may even see a little dark spot on your bottoms - his pearly cum oozing out of your fucked-out pussy, staining bright fabric of your sexy swimsuit.

Dilf! König, who buys you tickets to Vienna in first class and pays for your luxurious hotel room, just so you can meet again. He greets you with a huge bouquet of tulips (bc roses are plain as fuck, duh🙄) at the airport, giving you a warm hug and asking how your journey was, driving to his favorite restaurant to feed you some traditional Austrian food. He shows you around all the significant places of Vienna, giving you a little excursion, telling your all the stories and myths behind certain places.

Dilf! König, who that night has you splayed out onto huge queen-sized bed of your hotel room, eating your pretty pussy out like a man starved, sucking on your needy puffy clit and fucking your tight hole with three thick fingers while desperately rutting his hips into soft mattress, trying to get at least some type of friction against his achingly hard dick.

Dilf! König who soon has you begging for his heavy cock inside of your pussy, fucking your brains out until you’re a babbling silly mess writhing on white sheets, nothing more than a boneless puddle in his skilled hands. And he is more than happy to comply with all your little whims.

Dilf! König, who actually has a wife with whom he has been married for over ten years. The spark between them long gone, it’s more like two acquaintances living together rather than a married couple - continuing sharing one house and one bed more out of a habit - simply because both are used to that, not bothered enough to move out. Both König and his wife are perfectly aware of each other’s flings on the side, but still not caring enough to actually do something about it. All hopes of saving their marriage are long gone and forgotten, none of two having any wish to actually deal with their spouse.

Dilf! König who takes special interest in you. You, pretty little thing, so youthful and full or energy, so hopelessly romantic with heart so full of love that König almost drowns in it. You are the sparkle he so lacks in his grey taunted life, you’re the positive adrenaline he craves so much. You give him butterflies flaring in his guts and electric shocks running down his spine whenever König’s lips meet yours in a searing kiss - and he quickly became addicted to that feeling, not planning on letting go of you anytime soon.

Dilf! König who basically becomes your sugar daddy. He loves spoiling his precious baby, lavishing you with designer clothes and fancy jewelry, taking you to vacations all around the world whenever he has time free from work. He makes a lot of money as a colonel - so much that he doesn’t know what to do with it. So why not spurge on his favorite girl? And what König likes even more is to rip these unbelievably expensive togs off, revealing your sexy body; to see all these sparkly jewels jiggle and kling softly as he pounds you with his thick cock, watching your face contort in pleasure so strong it almost hurts, but you’re way too greedy to stop him, only begging for more.

Dilf! König, who has absolutely no idea how this all is going to end up like. Numerous scenarios and possibilities playing in his head nonstop - finally divorcing his wife and marrying you instead. You getting over him and moving on with your own life, leaving König and everything related to him behind. Him getting killed on one of the missions, and you not having a single clue as to why he so suddenly disappeared. These and many others - but one thing König is absolutely fucking sure of is that he will never get bored of you. And no matter what happens, he’ll never turn you, his little angel, down. You’re his favorite precious girl, after all<3

Likes, reblogs and comments are highly appreciated! Feedback is very important, give us writers some love!<3

[see-arcane]

The trains go only so quick

The weather’s only so calm

For the people are all out

For celebration’s a balm

Our good friend sighs in shelter

Barred from revelry and fear

A storied local greets him

As a thunderhead draws near

Preface: For maximum effect, give, “Dracula’s Guest,” a read before proceeding.

The PDF version of the preview is here.

2

Walpurgisnacht

Munich held onto him longer than he would have liked. Had he been marooned in the place as a mere visitor he would never have opted to haunt the station rather than milling around through the celebrating streets. There was as much reveling as reverence at work due to the holiday. The far end of it, anyway. Jonathan had tucked a note on it in his schedule. Celebration meant delays even in the most sedate locales and there was every chance that this one’s might postpone his conveyance. He smiled tiredly at the shorthand, if only so he did not torture himself with looking at his watch for the third time in as many minutes.

‘Walpurgisnacht. Walpurgis Night. A holy day held in respect to Saint Walpurga, the 8th century abbess who warred with illness, pestilence, witchcraft and grim spirits. A time of grave superstition by dark and relieved gaiety by sunup with the witches and the dead all banished. The date has a predecessor in the form of the May Day festivals of old, making the time one of bonfires and fear, beauty and feasting.’ And apparently keeping the trains held up so that any wandering spirits cannot flee too far from the cemeteries.

Jonathan tucked the note away with the rest and battled with himself over whether he dared to stray from the platform or not. His train was meant to arrive at seven o’ clock, which meant that for safety’s sake he ought to be ready and waiting by six, even if the train was more likely to appear closer to eight. But the hour was now half-past five and he had taken his lunch early that day. He was down to rationing mints from their tin lest he give in to hunger and try to elbow his way through the crowded streets to find a restaurant. One that he would not even have time to truly enjoy, needing to eat speedily and flee back to the tracks. His stomach pinched him in protest. He held a fist against it to muffle a growl.

“You can wait.” He could. If there was no dining on the train, he would still make time for breakfast in Vienna. Or if not breakfast, lunch in Klausenburgh. Or… “Or I could just break and get a room for the night.” The words were a sigh. He had spied a hotel sitting in a picturesque spot near a spread of wild greenery that bled into woodlands. What was the name? “Quatre Saisons, I think,” he said under his breath. This, like the rest of his murmured commentary, was meant for no ears but his own. The festivities had left the station remarkably barren. Everyone who had traveled to or from the area wouldn’t be packing up until at least the next morning. So it came as a surprise when he heard a voice behind his head:

“You are an Englishman?”

Jonathan turned to see a man almost as young as himself peering down at him. A cluster of wild roses at his breast was the only flourish to his apparel. His expression was unreadable apart from an angle of suspicion to the brows.

“I am,” Jonathan allowed, grateful that he didn’t need to strain his tongue or the man’s ears with his fragmented German.

“You have come from the Quatre Saisons?” The suspecting angle deepened.

“No, but I was thinking I may have to book a room if the train comes too late.”

The man’s face softened at this, his posture relaxing an increment as he insisted, “The train will come late. Not too late, but still late. You must not bother with the Quatre Saisons either way.”

“Is it full?”

“Most rooms always fill in advance of these days. Inns and hotels shall all be swarmed from now until the seventh of May. But Herr Delbrück’s Quatre Saisons must not be tried. The place is not well this time of year.”

“I do not quite follow,” Jonathan said, his nose just catching the whiff of past toasts to the date on his companion’s breath. “How is it not well?”

“The land it sits with. It is bad to be near it, even after Walpurgisnacht has been and gone. There are…” the man seemed to catch himself on a word before pressing on, “…wild dogs that roam the forest and its valley. Strange souls who would take after the devils of last night, even as we light the fires against them. No, you must not stay there until at least the thick of summer. Better to try in the city’s heart if you must have a room.”

The rooms that were full of visitors already, according to the young man himself. Either way it still relied on Jonathan potentially spoiling the entirety of the client’s route as laid out and paid for from his own account. The idea of taking a room and gambling on a morning train was only a daydream. Jonathan almost said as much.

Instead, “I do not need a room, really. I can hardly risk missing the evening’s train by a minute. But I thank you for the advice, sir.” The young man frowned at Jonathan then, his eyes roaming the length of him in a searching way. “Are you waiting on the train as well?”

“I just purchased my ticket for the morning. It is better to travel by day. And to eat by it too.” He nodded at Jonathan. “You have not been in the city itself? You have partaken of nothing?”

“Sadly no. If I were here on my own account I should have liked to see more, but—,”

“The train will not come any earlier if you sit and starve.”

“Likely not. But I cannot risk wandering too far.” He regarded his luggage drearily. No, he dared not even risk a restaurant. Even the next stop would allow him only a glimpse of the city as he rushed from one point to the next. Perhaps he could find some time to wander when he reached the hotel, but not before. He clenched his belly against another snarl and popped another mint in his mouth. Only three left, but, “Would you care for one?”

The young man whispered something in his homeland’s tongue—it sounded to Jonathan like, “Better to have the leaves,”—but in English said, “I would. Thank you.” He laid it on his tongue as if it were a medicine pill. “But it is still not a supper. Take yourself away for a meal at least, Herr Englishman.”

So saying, the young man departed, perhaps for his own plate or hotel. Jonathan swallowed a sigh and put the tin away. Looking around he saw he really was the last one on the platform apart from one dozing woman playing chaperone to her family’s luggage. Her husband had taken the two sulking children back out into the streets to burn off some energy. With the surly toddlers and the brief conversationalist departed, the space felt oddly like an island. Even the clamor that leaked in from the mouth of the tracks was muted. Jonathan tried to bury himself in a book, but gave up as the text swam before his eyes.

What rest he had gotten was as thin as his last meal was distant. If he could only lay down and sleep through the hunger he might be satisfied, but that risked drowsing through the train whistle itself. He tucked the book away and took himself to the closest opening which showed the beginnings of twilight oozing over the tracks. His hand went again to the neglected journal at his heart and thought another apology at its pages. So far he’d only managed to jot his name within the cover.

“I am sorry,” he told the air. “My head is in no state for you yet.”

A sudden cold gust blew his words back. There was a rise of distraught voices from outside as the breeze whipped through. In the next moment there was a shift in the palette of the sky as a weighty cloud rolled over the last of the sun, plunging the outdoors into early dusk. After that came the pattering of hail. The last festive sounds turned to a disgruntled din before their noise was drowned entirely by the hammering on the station’s roof. Jonathan pulled his coat tight around him and wished luck out to the revelers.

Between one blink and the next, one of the latter manifested at the threshold below. She wore what would have been an immaculate costume of a bygone age if not for the burns that had assailed the fine old dress. Though perhaps that was merely a desired effect. She was likely going around as some witch or spirit who had escaped the bonfires’ efforts during the night. Between the platform’s glow and the outdoors’ new gloom she certainly possessed the half-lit look of a ghost.

The sort of ghost meant for a stage, he added to himself. She has an actress’ face.

Yes, an actress powdered and dressed to be a dead beauty. Her mouth was a full and somber curl of red against a carcass’ pallor. She carved it into a smile as she stared up at him, seemingly oblivious to the cold and hail at her back.

“Are you alright?” he asked in his stilted German. The woman only kept her faded eyes upon him. They had a pull to them that Jonathan couldn’t place. He found himself approaching the tracks’ edge before he realized his feet were moving. “Do you need help?” he added, wondering if the trouble was just a matter of shelter. The tracks were set deep and it would be a hassle to hoist oneself up to the platform’s edge.

“He tries again,” said the woman on the tracks. Possibly. Her German was almost as fractured as his own, albeit with a different inflection. “Another sent for. Another to travel with. Fast, fast, fast.” The sky growled at her words. A stage’s effects could do no better. With the thought in mind, he wondered:

Is this a performance?

Before he could ask, his stomach spoke for him. It was mortifyingly loud and the thunder’s next peal did not do enough to cover it. The woman’s expression cracked on a wider smile. She recited:

“Help, Heaven, help! who knows the Father

Knows surely that he loves his child:

The bread and wine from the hand divine

Shall make thy tempered grief less wild.”

Jonathan smiled back, glad to recall the verse. He and Mina had gone over it in the original text and the English for practice and preference’s sake. Lenore’s lines fell from him:

“Oh! mother dear mother! the wine and the bread

Will not soften the anguish that bows down my head;

For bread and for wine it will yet be as late

That his cold corpse creeps from the grim grave’s gate.”  

The woman’s grin now bared teeth. They were brilliantly white against the crimson of her lips.

“Are you meant to be Lenore?” Jonathan asked.

“Lenore sought her lover. I sought only death.” Her hand rose toward him. “Will you help me find it?”

Thunder boomed as a new wind rolled through the station like a howl. The woman’s ruined dress and hanging hair danced wildly on her, though she seemed not to notice. Jonathan went toward her, deciding whatever act she adhered to would be better performed out of the elements’ reach. His hand reached down to hers. There was a moment when their fingers brushed and Jonathan felt sick at how frozen she felt even through his glove.

In the same instant he saw the dancing of lightning without. The bolts seemed almost like a great weaving animal, snapping in closer and closer bolts along the blackened sky. Intuition tightened in his chest. Suspicion leapt to certainty. There was no time to speak—

Get off get off the tracks it’s going to—

—only to grab for her hand.

But not fast enough. Another gale of wind rushed through, this time angled in such a way that it seized and flung him back against the floor. Lightning struck in the same instant. Noise blasted his ears. It was a nigh deafening din made from the crackle of electricity dancing on the tracks and the rattling roar of a thunderclap. Under it, he swore he heard the woman scream.

God oh God oh God hospital what is the word for hospital I need the dictionary I need—

He scrambled to his feet and back to the platform’s edge. His breath stayed trapped in his chest until he looked down.

And saw nothing.

There was no woman, alive or dead. He gawped for almost a minute at the bare tracks. The hail thinned away as he stared and the thunder softened to a grumble.

How..?

“You are hurt?”

Jonathan looked up and found the dozing mother had left her heap of baggage to check on him.

“No, no, not hurt. But there was someone…” He gestured at the tracks and limped through a few lines of German before she shooed his words away with her hand, switching briskly to English. He explained the scene in full and the mother nodded with something between grave intensity and a sprightly eagerness.

“Yes, there would still be some who wander late. Walpurgisnacht is night and day. Probably she is drifting back to her tomb, sulking that she did not get company for her bier. If you had your gloves off and showed your ring she may have not bothered. Lovers who die before the wedding day, they are the greediest souls on these nights.”

This she said with great authority and Jonathan had no desire to mention that he wore no ring as yet. No more than he had any urge to voice his suspicion that the woman had been very much alive and somehow made it away from the station’s threshold before the lightning could do any damage.

The other explanation is that the woman was, in fact, a roaming ghost come to collect a new member for the graveyard. It is the time of year for such things.  

A call from the other end of the station turned the mother’s head. Father and children had come in from the storm, as had a smattering of other travelers. The train whistle bayed not long after. Jonathan looked to the tracks again as if the woman might suddenly rematerialize in the locomotive’s path. The only body that he could see was the outline of some animal at the edge of the platform’s glow. It looked like a large dog posed beside the tracks, tail still and eyes lambent. Jonathan held its stare for a moment. Then it was gone, loping off into the night.  

This. This is worth writing about.

And it was. At least once his seat had him in it and a wonderfully dense meal sat in him. He brought out his stationery pages for the cause, jotting the entirety of his time in the station up to the arrival of the train. These loose sheets were reserved specifically for storytelling and recipe preservation, the better to possibly be scrapbooked away at home. The journal still drowsed in his pocket.

Hold out for the hotel room. Almost there.

Jonathan cupped a hand to his eyes to keep out the glare as he watched the world go by in the window. The storm was left behind now and the sky was all stars above rooftops and treetops alike. A brilliant wedge of a moon shined out at him. He was still admiring the view when the steward came along to tap his shoulder. There was a smile on his face but a glimmer of anxiety in his eye.

“Herr Harker, yes?”

“Yes,” Jonathan managed before the steward produced a telegram.

“For you. Will you have another drink?”

“No, thank you.” But the glass was already stolen away and refilled before he could finish the sentence. The steward vanished in nearly the same instant, looking as if he meant to finish the bottle himself. Jonathan puzzled over this a moment before turning his attention to the telegram.

BISTRITZ.

My friend, I send all apologies to you on account of the trains and the time. We arranged our meeting during the heart of much fervor, and such will always meddle with travel. I send this in anticipation of your own frustrations with the hindered hours and my gratitude for your steadfastness. I hope it shall please you to know that the Hotel Royale has its finest suite reserved and waiting for you, and so too for the Golden Krone of Bistritz after them. May their hospitality be a balm against the troubles of a passenger at the mercy of fickle clocks. —Dracula

Jonathan marveled at the message. It was a rarity in itself to have a client who made no fuss when it came to snags that the firm had no control over. To have one who foresaw said snags and went out of his way to apologize to the solicitor himself was unheard of. And from a noble?

He added the telegram to his memoranda with a smile. 

[szynkaaa]

Thank you so much for givign my girl her happy ending and letting her go to her Taylor Swift concert 😭😭((context, Oz has tickets for Taylor Swift and she was like three days away from seeing her live before she got isekai'd into Ancient China and no three-eyed bastard is gonna stop her from seeing Taylor Swift))

Thought I'd make some art of @szynkaaa's Oz and @anfie01's Anfie as gratitude for their GORGEOUS art of my oc, Birdie back then😭❤️ Oz finally getting to go to that Taylor Swift concert and Birdie opening her eyes to the joy that is her 😩(Don't worry about Destined one he's fine dun worry about him 😌) Anfie's changing of sizes makes me think of how dangerous she is doing sky attacks with birdie (Anfie I choose you!) 🤭

[songs-of-the-east]

Poland's Muslim Lipka Tatars

Lipka Tatars are Poland's only remaining Indigenous Islamic group. Many of the Polish Tatars belonged to the Polish nobility historically and through out history have been one of the most loyal groups to the Polish state; also having had an influence on the general Polish culture.

Noted for their skills in archery and horse riding, they have been viewed as some of Poland's greatest warriors in the past. Their combat was essential in Poland's victory over the Ottoman Empire during the Battle of Vienna. This fact is contrary to recent western nationalist propaganda, stating that the war was a battle between Christendom and the Islamic world, rather than a war of imperialism. After the war King Jan Sobieski III granted the Lipka Tatars large pieces of land in the Podlasie region of Eastern Poland.

Their origins are in predominately male Crimean Tatars and other settlers from the Golden Horde, who relied on intermarriage with Christian women, leading to early partial assimilation and adoption of Slavic languages. However, they were able to keep their identity and parts of their culture through their ties to Islam. Regardless, over the centuries more and more Tatars were absorbed into the Polish-Lithuanian Common wealth's Catholic and Orthodox populations, with estimates in the 18th century stating that up to 25% of Muslims converted to Christianity- partially motivated by violent peasant drawback due to the privileges bestowed onto them. Eventually this absorption reached its height during the inter-war and post-World War II period of Poland, in part due to assimilative policies. These days most Lipka Tatar descedants simply identify as ethnic Poles, with many Poles not aware of their ancestry. A prominent example of this is Polish-American personality Martha Stewart who only recently discovered that she is of partial Lipka Tatar ancestry, after partaking in a television program dedicated to geneaology.