#HorseDrawn

[theworldatwar]

German soldiers advance using horses to move their artillery somewhere on the Eastern Front - exact date and location unknown

#world war two #1940s #worldwar2photos #history #ww2 #ww2 history #wwii #wwii era #ww2history #world war 2 #eastern front #soviet union #wehrmacht #heer #horsedrawn #world war 2 colour photos

[chourzahi]

#Outdoors #Carriage #Animal #Horse #Mammal #City #Transportation #Street #Travel #Day #Horsedrawn #Mode of Transport #Travel Destinations #Horse Cart #Building Exterior #Tourism #Wheel #Architecture #photography #my pictures

[phillipshorsedrawnfuneral]

Phillips Horse Drawn Funeral Service

phillips horse drawn funeral truly cares about his customers, and he takes pride in his service. Mr. Phillips personally handcrafted this carriage

#horsedrawncarriage #horsedrawn #horsedrawnsleighride

[puppyeared]

sketches for sleight's van, the Magicmobile ^_^

#I had a lot of fun designing this!!!!! #i used the volkswagen kombi van as the base model and drew inspiration from modded cars with high rides #to kinda mimic those old horsedrawn caravan wagons.. i tried to keep functionality in mind so the tire covers on the chassis have #grips for where you would put your feet if you were to get in the drivers seat kinda like those huge freight trucks.. and since the ride #height is a little high theres a pool ladder attached to the back to mimic a caravan and to help ppl get in from the back #also exciting coming up with the stage side door.. i dont know exactly how it would work but i imagine the handle at the top #has to be turned and pulled in order to set up the stage.. and then theres a locking mechanism to keep it in place..?? #theres also a stage curtain right behind the door where sleight would come out to do his performance so thats fun!!! #i dont have much to say abt the interior except i forgot to include the ladder which would help reach the skylight #the skylight is a little domed and i riffed that off the kombi camper too but its to contain his butterflies before and after shows ^_^ #the hatch is inspired by the net stormdoor at my aunts house.. kinda like chicken wire?? and then there are flowers and pupae #idk if im ever gonna get around to coloring this but im happy finally getting my ideas down and turning it in my head lol #my art #myart #my oc #oc #sleight #concept art #interior #laikas comet oc #fan character #doodles

[phonydiaries]

I talk to little ol' Pino when I play LoP by myself, you know, like a very super normal and regular person, and my three modes of commentary are generally as follows:

- supportive junior soccer coach offering words of encouragement and attaboys

- joyless 68 year old war general barking orders and flinging completely unintelligible insults at P and his enemies

- horniest scumbag alive, just an absolute horndog, objectivifying P to extents previously unknown to man, putting him in the white shirt outfit when it rains just to constantly throw out phrases like 'take it off slut' and 'give us a smile sweetheart'

#i love him and want him to be happy #also want to catcall him from a passing horsedrawn coach #im normal I'm normal #lies of p #lyd posting

[robthepensioner]

Horsedrawn wedding coach parked at a farm in Blackpool, overseen by a cat. Don't say I never bring you cat pictures.

#horsedrawn wedding coach #blackpool #cat #farm #metal gate

[bulwarkbolvirk]

[ SECLUDED ]  our muses are on a road trip and are forced to pull over due to heavy rain and fog, they end up fooling around in the car while they wait for it to clear up. 

from Lambert [@thegingerwitcher]; no established romantic relationship/but they're friends already would be great; feel free to make it a blizzard and they're snowed in, barely make it to the next motorway service station where it's only them and the owner. (Just thinking out loud)

THE CLASSIC ROMANCE OF A GOOD RAINSTORM

@thegingerwitcher

The only two things Bolvirk was glad for in this moment were that he wasn’t driving a sedan, and that he wasn’t on his own in this weather.

Oh, he could survive it well enough, sure; he was no stranger to snow and ice. But driving through a blizzard was just more stressful alone. At least this time, Lambert was in the passenger seat, tagging along to and from a concert in the neighboring city. They’d been too busy chatting and listening to one of the band’s other albums to think of tuning in to a weather report. So now, here they were, with Bolvirk’s CRV having slowed down dramatically in its progression down the road - safer, of course, given the ice patches and blinding snow, but making the distance between markers seem almost interminable.

A muttered portmanteau of a few Norwegian profanities slipped out of him in relief when a service station was spotted amid the gusts of white. Managing to keep his tires on pavement while turning onto the station’s lot, Bolvirk parked at the leeward side of the small building. Letting out a heavy sigh, he settled back into his seat, one elbow propped on the door while he let his knees and ankles finally relax. Glancing over at Lambert, both eyebrows slightly raised, Bolvirk remarked,  “Good thing I’ve got tomorrow off. And hey, at least there’s bathrooms if we need them.”  He gestured vaguely toward the station’s building.  “Now just...gotta figure out what to do while this passes. I only have so many CDs,” he added with a chuckle.

#ic #rp #from horsedrawn wagon to stationwagon [modern au] #thegingerwitcher #[hope this is okay!]

[assaries]

Had a cool ass dream about going to the graveyard in the middle of the night. The whole place was pitch black, and when I knocked on the gate, I saw 5 pairs of glowing eyes approaching. It was 2 graveyard workers and their 3 dogs, except the workers had dog heads too. They said hello, shook my hand and I woke up.

#there was also ghouls roaming the graveyeard and I got there in a horsedrawn carriage

[spilladabalia]

Rollerskate Skinny - Swab The Temples

#rollerskate skinny #swab the temples #ken griffin #ger griffin #stevie m #clive carroll #art rock #art pop #progressive rock #jangle pop #baroque shoegaze #horsedrawn wishes #1996 #Youtube

[shmuzzieheart]

I had a dream Janus was in an episode of The Sandman and I must applaud the tiny cgi crew in my head for making such cool visuals.

#Shmuzzie rambles #seriously I wish I had the drawing abilities to show exactly what I saw #it was amazing #poor guy was going THROUGH IT #was in a horsedrawn carriage bursting through a giant version of himself holding a glass of wine #and then was shapeshifting between all the sides backing away while I think Dream was walking towards him #and then was separately all the sides at once before converging into himself #and then turned into a younger version of himself #and then was holding a baby version of himself #before falling asleep #weird stuff

[stephensmithuk]

A Study in Scarlet: The Lauriston Gardens Mystery

To quote the current dress regulations of the Royal Navy (https://www.royalnavy.mod.uk/-/media/royal-navy-responsive/documents/reference-library/br-3-vol-1/chapter-38.pdf): "Sideburns for RM [Royal Marines] Personnel shall not extend below halfway down the ear." Moustaches can be worn by Royal Marines at their discretion, but not regular Royal Navy personnel. Beards require authorisation and are to be shaved off if the situation means that a gas mask is likely to be needed.

A hansom is a two-wheeled horsedrawn carriage with the driver sitting on an open-air seat at the back and officially two (although three could squeeze in) passengers in an enclosed cab below him, being able to give the driver instructions through a trap door. They were the standard London taxi until motorcabs turned up in 1908 and were largely superseded by the early 1920s, although the last licence for a hansom wasn't given up until 1947. (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hansom_cab)

Taxis in London can be hailed on the street or via cab ranks. Minicabs were of course not a thing at this point. The taxi business in London has been regulated since 1635 - when the numbers proliferating the streets were starting to cause hazards.

A hat tip to @geeoharee for raising the distance involved for the taxi journey. At around 5.4 miles drive, you would probably be looking at around £24 at today's prices, depending on traffic.

The Brixton Road dates back to the Roman era as it was part of the London to Brighton (to use their modern names) road - it is today part of the A23 that follows the same route and is notably used for the annual London to Brighton Veteran Car Run. It had - and still has - a lot of Regency-style houses.

Strand is a major throughfare in the City of Westminster, part of the London theatreland area.

Trichinopoly is now called Tiruchirappalli, a major city in Tamil Nadu, India.

#letters from watson #sherlock holmes #history #factoids #acd canon #a study in scarlet #stud

[handeaux]

In 1872, Cincinnati Ground To A Halt As The City’s Horses Succumbed To A Virus

It sounds like something out of a science fiction movie. For nearly three weeks in the autumn of 1872, Cincinnati was paralyzed by a virus with no known cure.

Humans were not susceptible to this virus. It only affected horses, but the entire operation of Cincinnati life and business depended primarily on horses. When the city’s horses were incapacitated, Cincinnati screeched into paralysis.

The strange episode began one evening in October when Dan Rice’s circus rolled into town. Four of the horses showed symptoms of some sort of respiratory illness and were taken to veterinarian George W. Bowler for treatment. Dr. Bowler readily identified the affliction as the “Canadian horse disease” that was then infesting the northern tier of states but doubted it would spread beyond his stable on Ninth Street.

Alas, Dr. Bowler’s optimism was unfounded and the next few days found cases throughout the downtown area. Journalists struggled to name the disease. “Epizooty” was a common label, but newspaper reports invoked “equine influenza” or “hippo-typhoid-laryngitis” or “epiglottic catarrh” or “epizootic influenza” and even “hipporhinorrheaeirthus”! Whatever they called it, the disease would hobble a city absolutely dependent on horse power to operate at all.

Josiah “Si” Keck, presiding at the Board of Aldermen, introduced a resolution to draft squads of men for duty at the city’s firehouses. With the horses out of commission, only manpower could replace horsepower to haul the heavy steam-powered fire engines of the day. Thankfully, only a few minor fires were reported during the height of the contagion.

According to the Cincinnati Enquirer [11 November 1872], other horse-dependent companies tried different alternatives:

“The United States Express Company has prepared to follow the example of the Eastern Companies. All of their horses, twenty-two in number, being completely disabled, they will at once substitute steers, and the streets of this city will show the curious spectacle of express wagons drawn by the propelling force of a farmer’s haycart.”

Historian Alvin F. Harlow, writing in the Bulletin of the Historical and Philosophical Society of Ohio [April 1951], noted that the bovine substitutes were simply not cut out for jobs readily accomplished by horses:

“The oxen, with great, wild, pathetic eyes, slobbering, swaying slowly through the streets, were a strange spectacle to city folk, and were followed by crowds of children for a day or two, until the novelty wore off. But as agencies of traction, they were a disappointment. Not all of them were well broken to the yoke; few men in town knew how to drive them, and as they are—with the possible exception of the tortoise and the two-toed sloth—the slowest walkers in the whole zoological category, they did not accomplish much in a day, according to city standards.”

Just think of an entire city operating on the capable talents of horses, now immobilized by an unseen microbe. Garbage piled up as the city’s sanitation wagons stood idle. “Garbage” back then meant kitchen and table scraps which, even in the chill of autumn, ripened malodorously in unattended cans. The situation was even worse at the city’s slaughterhouses. Even though the butchers had stopped working – there were no wagons available to deliver the slaughtered pork and beef – there were likewise no wagons to dispose of the offal and trimmings. The stench was indescribable.

Cincinnati’s streetcars were horsedrawn in 1872. It would be a decade before electrical trolleys debuted. The entire commuter system of the city shut down and the Cincinnati workforce, from C-suite executives to the lowliest laborers, had to hoof it. Harlow describes an exhausting scene:

“Towards dusk each evening the great trek homeward began, and from then until 9 P.M. the streets were thronged with business men, clerks, bookkeepers, warehouse and factory workers, trudging wearily. To reach their work again at 7 or 7:30 next morning, when most people's day began, soon proved too much for some of them, and they took to sleeping in their places of business; which in turn became less and less necessary, as those businesses were compelled to shut down for lack of transportation.”

Even funerals were affected. Teams of undertakers pulled hearses to the depot of the Cincinnati, Hamilton & Dayton railroad, whose tracks ran along the front of Spring Grove Cemetery. Mourners followed along on foot until the hearse was loaded on the train, then rode out for the burial. Other cemeteries put interments on hold for the duration.

The city faced the serious prospect of starvation. Food arrived in the city by rail and by river, but there were no carts to carry it from the wharf or the depot. Fresh vegetables rotted down by the river while families went hungry just a few blocks north. Farmers from the suburbs refused to bring their crops into Cincinnati for fear that their own draft animals would succumb to the dread epizooty.

As humans attempted to fill the horse’s role, every wheelbarrow in the city was drafted into use and some sold for astronomical sums. Even so, as noted by Harlow, human power had its very fragile limits:

“If the load was very heavy, as for instance, hogsheads of tobacco, massive machinery or an iron safe of a ton weight, ropes were also attached to each side of the wagon and passed over the shoulders of two files of straining men, while three or four others, their feet striving for toeholds in earth or cobbles, pushed against the wagon's tail until shoulder-bones threatened to wear through the flesh.”

Among the worst effects of the pandemic was the inability to dispose of dead horses. Horses died in Cincinnati at the rate of twenty or thirty a day at the height of the disease in November 1872, and there was nothing available to haul the carcasses out to the reduction plants, where they might be turned into soap fat or fertilizer. Alderman Si Keck, who owned one of these “stink factories,” found a partial solution by renting a small steam-powered truck from one of the city’s pork-packing plants but could still handle only a few of the equine corpses.

By the end of November, new cases and fatalities had diminished considerably. As December opened, the city was almost back to normal, with a new appreciation of the four-legged residents who truly powered our city.

Only one case of a human contracting the epizooty was recorded in 1872. Joseph Einstein was a well-known dealer when Cincinnati’s Fifth Street was the largest horse market in the United States. Einstein spent weeks, around the clock, nursing his stock and developed symptoms remarkably similar to those afflicting his horses. Several local doctors confirmed that he had somehow succumbed to the dread epizooty.

Just as mysteriously as it appeared, the epizooty vanished, and never visited Cincinnati to that degree ever again.

#epizooty #cincinnati horses #cincinnati transportation

[foxghost]

Joyful Reunion

Translator: foxghost @foxghost tumblr/ko-fi1 Beta: meet-me-in-oblivion @meet-me-in-oblivion tumblr Original by 非天夜翔 Fei Tian Ye Xiang Masterpost | Characters, Maps & Other Reference Index

Book 5, Chapter 50 (Part 3, the end)2

In the night, surrounded by silence, Mu Kuangda sits in the dark and damp Celestial Prison, at the end of his rope from torment, racked by shivering that would not stop.

“Your Highness!”

“There’s no need for Your Highness to go in there personally. We can bring the prisoner out here for you.”

“It’s quite alright.” Duan Ling ducks into the Celestial prison with Wu Du in tow. They walk down a damp staircase.

Dressed head to toe in prisoner’s garb, Mu Kuangda’s hair and beard have both turned grey. He looks like he’s aged ten years.

“Wang Shan.” Mu Kuangda smiles.

“Master,” says Duan Ling. “Thank you for the training and instruction you have given me all these years.”

Mu Kuangda gasps. “You Lis are never going to …”

“Do you want to know what happened to Qing’er?” Duan Ling interrupts what Mu Kuangda is about to say. As expected, Mu Kuangda goes quiet, trembling all over.

“I’ve sent him away,” Duan Ling says. “Your execution will be tomorrow, so I thought I’d let you know in order to ease your mind. A ruler does not jest — I swear in the name of my ancestors of Chen that I didn’t kill him.”

“Tha—thank you,” Mu Kuangda says, his voice shaking. “Thank you, Wang Shan!”

“But I couldn’t save the empress dowager. That’s all.”

Tears stream down Mu Kuangda’s aged features. He begins to cry, falling to his knees with fetters on his wrists and ankles. Duan Ling was going to tell him that Mu Qing wasn’t actually fathered by him; before coming here, he’d thought about the blood feud Mu Kuangda had set between them by killing his father, and Duan Ling thinks it might just take carving him limb from limb mentally to sate this hatred.

But when he saw this old man in the last days of his life, Duan Ling is ultimately unable to bear the thought of telling him the truth. He turns to go.

Wu Du stands there for a while longer, looking down at Mu Kuangda pityingly.

“Don’t poison him,” Duan Ling says at the entrance to the prison cell. “He’s going to die tomorrow anyway.”

“I got it!” Wu Du says, “I have more to say to him. Go on ahead of me.”

Mu Kuangda stares at Wu Du in a daze. Wu Du waits until Duan Ling is out of earshot before saying, “Shh. Chancellor Mu, you know, Mu Qing is Chang Liujun’s son. Why’d you think Chang Liujun was so loyal to you? Try using that head of yours?”

Mu Kuangda is struck dumb.

“Cheer up,” Wu Du says. “'Til we never meet again.”

And now Wu Du is gone also. Mu Kuangda’s eyes are wide open, and he hyperventilates until he collapses against the wall, clawing at his own chest all the while.

It’s overcast and drizzling continuously the next day at noon; more dead than alive, his hair hanging dishevelled around his face, Mu Kuangda is taken to the main avenue in a caged cart.

Inside a horsedrawn carriage, Duan Ling can hear the hubbub of the crowd outside. The carriage stops for a little while, and Wu Du, handsome in his all-black embroidered robe, boards the carriage and sits down so he can head to the execution grounds with Duan Ling.

“What are they doing?” Duan Ling says.

Wu Du replies, “The people are filled with righteous indignation and they tried to stop the cart so they can off the old man.”

“No way,” Duan Ling says, “They’re probably trying to stop the cart to give him water.”

Wu Du goes quiet. Duan Ling just knew that’s what was happening. “I respect Chancellor Mu as a Grand Chancellor. One can only say it’s too bad he ran into me.”

“I thought you’d be angry.”

“No,” Duan Ling replies. “It is precisely because of this, that I must not lose in a Great Chen without him.”

At three-quarters past noon, as Duan Ling takes tea in the second-floor private room of Best Noodles In the Realm, he hears a shout from the executioner followed by the commoners letting out a series of exclamations. Realising that Mu Kuangda has already been beheaded, he heaves a sigh.

Sometimes, what dies is a man, but whether what lives on is a spirit or an idea is something Duan Ling finds truly difficult to distinguish. It doesn’t seem to matter if he was a friend or foe anymore.

“Cai Yan!” The execution supervisor shouts, “For the crime of impersonating the crown prince, the death of thousand cuts —!”

Voices bubble out of the crowd like from a boiling cauldron. This is the first case requiring the death of a thousand cuts since the capital had been relocated. The executioner strips Cai Yan down to nothing, revealing his emaciated body. Then, holding a peerlessly sharp blade, he places its edge on Cai Yan’s chest and skims his skin downwards.

Cai Yan lets out a dull groan. A medicine ball has been stuffed into his mouth to prevent him from attempting suicide by biting off his own tongue.

More and more commoners are gathering. Cai Yan had tried to keep himself from crying out at first, but before a hundred cuts are out, he is already howling madly in pain as he becomes bloody all over from the carving. The ground beneath him is covered in bits of flesh. His wretched wailing sounds like it’s coming from a demon in unbearable pain.

“One hundred and sixteen!” The supervising official announces the count of each cut. The death of a thousand cuts is an extremely precise endeavour, with three thousand and six hundred cuts in total, peeling off all the skin and flesh before picking off the tendons and scraping the bones. Furthermore, a special concoction is fed to the condemned that can strengthen their heart, keeping them alive long enough to endure this mortal torment.

“One hundred and thirty-nine!” The official announces.

Duan Ling and Wu Du sit across from each other in silence, listening to Cai Yan’s distressed screams.

By the time the official counts to one thousand and twenty, there’s not a patch of whole skin left on Cai Yan’s body. Bloody and raw, Cai Yan is already skinned, a mess of red flesh with his scalp peeled off, while the blood vessels in his forehead and cheeks continue to pulsate. His eyelids have been cut away, and he appears sinister and terrifying.

“One thousand one hundred and twenty-one!”

“One thousand one hundred and twenty-two!”

His adam’s apple is still throbbing away as he continues to howl madly like a wild animal.

The proprietor comes by with a platter of snacks, setting it down on the edge of the table. He also presents a letter and says, “Your Highness, someone left a letter for you.”

Duan Ling reaches out to take it, but Wu Du takes it instead and opens it for him in case it’s poisoned.

There are only four words on the paper: just let him die.

It’s in Lang Junxia’s handwriting. He’s still here, perhaps also watching the execution, and finally can’t stop himself from asking for mercy on Cai Yan’s behalf.

Duan Ling arrives at the foot of the execution stage.

“His Highness the crown prince is here —”

The surrounding spectators are driven off by the Black Armours. The executioner stops what he’s doing, puts his knife down, and kneels to kowtow.

Duan Ling doesn’t ask him to leave. He stands on the wooden rack built for the execution and cranes his neck to look up at Cai Yan, hoisted up high and dripping blood from every part of his body. It’s the first time he has ever witnessed such brutal corporal punishment firsthand.

“I … hate you.” Cai Yan’s throat struggles to squeeze out these words.

“Why would you hate me?” Sometimes Duan Ling really wonders how Cai Yan’s brain works. “Even I haven’t started to hate you, and here you are already hating me for some reason.”

“You …” a strange and terrifying voice emits from Cai Yan’s throat, “you have your … dad … and have … Lang Junxia … you were merely … born in the Duan family … and you had … everything. I … don’t have … anything … anymore … the heavens … even had to … snatch away … what little I had left.”

His adam’s apple slides up and down, and all the muscles in his body are throbbing. Blood seeps out from everywhere.

“I remember that when I first started school at the Illustrious Hall,” Duan Ling says, “you were like a big brother. You came over and told me to come see you if Batu ever picked on me.”

Cai Yan’s eyes are no longer able to close. His reddened eyeballs bulge from their sockets as he glares, like a monster, at Duan Ling.

“In consideration of the fact that you and I used to go to school together,” Duan Ling says, heaving a sigh. “Let’s end things here.”

He walks several paces away from Cai Yan, stopping with his back to him.

Cai Yan is still making that sinister and terrifying sound. “Even if I … turn into a ghost … I will not …”

Duan Ling turns at the waist, draws his bow, and fires off an arrow backhanded. The bowstring sends a twang through the air and the arrow flies off at an incline for ten feet, hitting the bullseye of Cai Yan’s almost transparent, blood-filled chest — right in his heart.

Blood erupts from the wound, oozing through his body. With his eyes wide open, Cai Yan’s chin slowly drops to his chest. More and more blood flows from him, covering the ground below.

The crowd disperses, leaving the bloody body on the wooden rack behind, still dripping; one drop, two drops.

Batu and Helian Bo are waiting just beyond the drill grounds. Duan Ling walks towards them, tears flowing uncontrollably from his eyes. Helian Bo comes up to put an arm around his shoulders, and Batu hugs him.

Autumn wind rustles through the leaves; on the road to Jiangbei, maple leaves fly through the air, leaving the earth a decoupage of blood red.

Escorted by Wu Du and Zheng Yan, Duan Ling sees off Batu, Helian Bu, Yelü Lu and Tenzin Wangyal all the way to the edge of the Jiangzhou plains.

“Two years left,” Batu says.

“I remember,” Duan Ling replies.

They split up beneath the fluttering maple.

“I—I’ll help you!” Helian Bo says.

Batu gives Helian Bo a glare, but Helian Bo is adding, “I—I want to help—him!”

“I’ll come fight you first!” Batu says furiously.

Helian Bo takes a step forward and gives Batu a shove, and the two proceed to shove each other. Seeing that they’re about to get into a fight, Yelü Lu and the others approach and separate them.

They all know that this is the last time they get together as friends. The next time they see each other, it will be a fight to the death. Batu shouts a word in Mongolian to gather his men, and swinging his leg over the back of his horse, he leaves without looking back.

They all quietly watch him go.

“Even without your help,” Duan Ling says, “I will fight him anyway.”

Duan Ling gets on Benxiao’s back. Helian Bo and the others say their farewells to him, leaving one after the other.

“Take this letter to Zongzhen when you get back,” Duan Ling says, “I’m very grateful for his help.”

Yelü Lu salutes him from his perch on horseback, fist in hand, while Tenzin Wangyal, taking away with him a treaty to reestablish a relationship with Great Chen, waves goodbye to Duan Ling.

Stopped before the road heading into the plains, Duan Ling remains still on Benxiao, watching Batu and the others as they go. Batu’s retinue gradually vanishes on the horizon, becoming tiny black dots on the bottom edge of the sky.

But those little black dots seem to stop and no longer move forward. Perhaps Batu is also turning back to look at him. Perhaps he isn’t. Who knows?

Duan Ling waits for them to vanish from his line of sight entirely before steering his horse around, to return to his Jiangzhou, to return to his homeland.

That winter, Chen crown prince Li Ruo is found and returned to the imperial court. A general amnesty is declared.

The next year, the Chen emperor announces a special examination to select talented candidates throughout the empire, and the Eastern Palace widely recruits retainers. It is a year of favourable weather, bumper harvests, peace, and prosperity, yet the imperial court levies heavy taxes on the land, transferring troops from Jiangnan, Jiangzhou, Xichuan, Shandong and Hebei, drafting a force of one hundred thousand.

Fourth year of the Qingwu era3: crown prince Li Ruo rides off to Hebei to get ready for war, gathering forces from all through the land until their numbers reach two hundred thousand. Liao and Yuan each prepare for battle.

Fifth year of the Qingwu era, autumn: principal forces of Chen march to Xunbei. In the initial battles, after Yuan is attacked by the Chen-Liao alliance, Yuan hurriedly retreats via the Shangjing road north to Mount Jiangjun.

Fifth year of the Qingwu era, Twelfth Month: troops from Chen and Yuan meet for a decisive battle at the foot of Mount Jiangjun, beginning what history will call the Battle of Youzhou. Since the humiliation they suffered in Shangzi, this is the largest military campaign Chen has embarked on, with the most foreign forces participating.

This translation is by foxghost, on tumblr and kofi. I do not monetise my hobby translations, but if you’d like to support my work generally or support my light novel habit, you can either buy me a coffee or commission me. This is also to note that if you see this message anywhere else than on tumblr, it was reposted without permission. Do come to my tumblr. It’s ad-free. ↩︎

There will be an epilogue, and it will be posted in two parts. ↩︎

Qingwu is Li Yanqiu’s reign name, so that would be the fourth year after he took the throne. After, because the year he actually took the throne doesn’t count. Reign eras start on the first day of the next year. ↩︎

#相見歡 #fei tian ye xiang #joyful reunion #xiang jian huan #fox translates things

[bulwarkbolvirk]

11)  receiver has had a hard day and comes home to sender drawing up a bath and preparing their favorite comforting beverage. 

from modern!Eskel 🥺❤️

SIMPLE ACTS OF ROMANTICISM

@eskelwolf

It wasn’t often that a shift at the flower shop left Bolvirk this worn down - but after a coworker had called in sick, one of the coolers had shorted out, a rather demanding wedding order, and fielding a stream of calls asking after seasonal arrangements... he was incredibly glad to finally clock out.

His weariness could be heard in his tone as he announced his return while stepping through the door of his and Eskel’s shared apartment. Shutting it behind him, Bolvirk leaned back against the door for a moment with a sigh. Texts with Eskel during his lunch break had been the highlight of his day, without question. Standing upright, he removed his jacket and boots before continuing further in. A slight pause when he thought he smelled bath oils, but it was the scent of warm chocolate that drew him to the kitchen.

“Hey.”  Bolvirk’s gaze wandered down from Eskel’s face to the large, gently steaming mug his partner had just finished filling.  “Is that hot cocoa?”  He stepped up behind Eskel and nuzzled his cheek against one shoulder with a low half-muffled noise from his throat, arms loosely wrapping round the man’s waist.  “You’re a fucking saint, ke aloha.”

#ic #rp #from horsedrawn wagon to stationwagon [modern au] #eskelwolf #[hope this is okay!]

[ddejavvu]

honeymooning with bob! 🫢

ohhh i think instead of somewhere tropical he takes you to paris!! the stereotype is a tropical honeymoon (sex on the beach) but he'd much rather rent a horsedrawn carriage down a cobblestone street splitting a warm pastry between you as you rest your head on his shoulder - then it's soft, sweet, tender lovemaking in your fancy hotel room :')

#let's talk about bob !! #send me top gun thoughts!! #bob floyd #bob floyd x reader #bob #bob x reader #top gun x reader #top gun maverick #top gun #top gun maverick x reader #robert bob floyd x reader #robert bob floyd