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aquitainequeen · 20 minutes
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Casually asks ‘who domesticated grain in your fantasy world?’ but while ripping her shirt off with a WWE stage and a roaring crowd just behind and slightly to the left. 
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aquitainequeen · 21 minutes
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THIS IS THE BEST THING I HAVE EVER SEEN
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aquitainequeen · 22 minutes
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Into the forest~
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aquitainequeen · 1 hour
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Anyway here’s a poem I wrote about my cat
After “Do not stand at my grave and weep”, author disputed:
Do not stand at your bowl and meow. I gave you food. It’s in there now. I feed you at the dawning light, I feed you at the fall of night. I feed you kibbles mixed with meat And wet food for a special treat. I feed you even though you scoff At all the food within your trough. I feed you and still yet you yell Like as a beast from deepest hell. Do not stand at your bowl and cry. I gave you food. You will not die.
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aquitainequeen · 1 hour
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aquitainequeen · 1 hour
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Today, Eric Flint passed away.
I know I’m probably one of the only people on this whole site who really cares about that, but goddamn does this break my heart.
For those who aren’t aware, Flint was famous for being one of the best writers in the entire alternate history genre. His best work is the incredibly long-running (and genuinely well-written) Ring of Fire series, which chronicles the tale of Grantville, a West Virginian coal mining town which is magically transported back in time from the year 2000 to 1631 Thuringia during the Thirty Year’s War.
Flint was a genuinely fantastic writer, and not just among the (admittedly low) standards of the alternate history genre. Flint showed that alternate history stories didn’t have to be boring glorified textbooks full of unlikable characters constantly based around Nazis winning WWII or other tripe; he reminded us just how *vast* history truly could be, how storied, fantastical, and just plain fun it could be to explore, how you could included actually likable and interesting characters, how you can write genuinely interesting love stories, and have characters let their hair down and banter in a sci-fi setting.
Flint was the kind of guy to ask “What if the Serene Republic of Venice got access to magic and become an expansionist empire?”, “What if hyper-advanced A.I.s traveled back in time to the Byzantine Empire and tried to re-write history in the name of either fascism or democracy?” or even “What if the Cherokee and lots of freedmen formed their own republic in Arkansas after the War of 1812?” Flint was a writer who helped uplift and support other authors, had helped save the works of authors who have been out of print for decades, and pretty much single-handedly revolutionized how modern authors do electronic publishing.
Eric Flint was a writer who reminded the alternate history and sci-fi genres that your stories can be actual stories and not just bland explorations of potentially interesting ideas.
Eric Flint passed away today, and the world is all the poorer for it.
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aquitainequeen · 2 hours
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Something I made while dealing with my own stuff and hoping drawing this would pick me up somehow. Maybe it worked.
FT my cat. His name is Mischief
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aquitainequeen · 3 hours
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Figure commission for Katie of Coa, reaching for a God who might change everything ✨✨ commission info here!
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aquitainequeen · 3 hours
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“When I run over the frightful catalogue of my sins, I cannot believe that I am the same creature whose thoughts were once filled with sublime and transcendent visions of the beauty and the majesty of goodness. But it is even so; the fallen angel becomes a malignant devil. Yet even that enemy of God and man had friends and associates in his desolation; I am alone.”
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aquitainequeen · 3 hours
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Grand Hotel Ritz on the Pest quay, 1916. From the Budapest Municipal Photography Company archive.
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aquitainequeen · 3 hours
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She perched a sliver of butter on top of the rice. From one of the sachets of soy sauce that came with convenience store bento boxes and which tended to accumulate in her apartment, she squeezed a single drop into the bowl. Just as instructed, she moved the butter and some rice to her mouth before the butter had a chance to melt. The first thing Rika felt was a strange breeze emanating from the back of her throat. The cold butter first met the roof of her mouth with a chilly sensation, contrasting with the steaming rice in both texture and temperature. The cool butter clashed against her teeth, and she felt its soft texture right down into their roots. Soon enough, just as Kajii had said, the melted butter began to surge through the individual grains of rice. It was a taste that could only be described as golden. A shining golden wave, with an astounding depth of flavour and a faint yet full and rounded aroma, wrapped itself around the rice and washed Rika's body far away. It was, indeed, a lot like falling. Rika stared down intently at the bowl of rice with butter and soy sauce and let out a long sigh, feeling her breath rich and milky.
Butter by Asako Yuzuki, translated by Polly Barton
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aquitainequeen · 3 hours
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Tiffany couldn't quite work out how Miss Level got paid. Certainly the basket she carried filled up more than it emptied. They'd walk past a cottage and a woman would come scurrying out with a fresh-baked loaf or a jar of pickles, even though Miss Level hadn't stopped there. But they'd spend an hour somewhere else, stitching up the leg of a farmer who'd been careless with an axe, and get a cup of tea and a stale biscuit. 
It didn't seem fair.
“Oh, it evens out,” said Miss Level, as they walked on through the woods. 
“You do what you can. People give what they can, when they can. Old Slapwick there, with the leg, he's as mean as a cat, but there'll be a big cut of beef on my doorstep before the week's end, you can bet on it. His wife will see to it. And pretty soon people will be killing their pigs for the winter, and I'll get more brawn, ham, bacon and sausages turning up than a family could eat in a year.”
“You do? What do you do with all that food?”
“Store it,” said Miss Level. 
“But you-”
“I store it in other people. It's amazing what you can store in other people.” Miss Level laughed at Tiffany's expression. “I mean, I take what I don't need round to those who don't have a pig, or who're going through a bad patch, or who don't have anyone to remember them.”
“But that means they'll owe you a favour!”
“Right! And so it just keeps on going round. It all works out.”
“I bet some people are too mean to pay-”
“Not pay,” said Miss Level, severely. “A witch never expects payment and never asks for it and just hopes she never needs to. But, sadly, you are right.”
“And then what happens?"
“What do you mean?”
“You stop helping them, do you?”
“Oh, no,” said Miss Level, genuinely shocked. “You can't not help people just because they're stupid or forgetful or unpleasant. Everyone's poor round here. If I don't help them, who will?”
"A Hat full of Sky" - Terry Pratchett
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aquitainequeen · 3 hours
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Black Satin Brocade Bodice with Yellow Flowers and Green Velvet Bows
c.1890
made by American designer Miss Foley
brocaded silk satin, cotton net, and beads
Phoenix Art Museum
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aquitainequeen · 4 hours
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Last year Bellingcat revealed that Russian ships were making calls to the Port of Sevastopol in Ukraine’s Crimean Peninsula, transporting grain from other occupied parts of the country. The quantity of grain exported from occupied Crimea has reportedly massively increased since Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine and its seizure of Ukrainian territory. Ships involved in the scheme are violating international maritime guidelines by turning off location trackers in an attempt to hide their whereabouts — an act known as ‘going dark’. As previously reported by Bellingcat, two ships, the Mikhail Nenashev and Matros Shevchenko, sailed from Sevastopol directly to Iran. 
Bellingcat can now reveal that in recent months, the bulk cargo ships Zafar and Zaid have also joined the grain-plundering fleet, sailing under the Russian flag. 
These ships are operated by a different company, but they serve a similar route — they transport grain from the Russian-occupied port of Sevastopol and export it through the Bosphorus and beyond.
The Zafar and Zaid were observed making the trip from Sevastopol to Iran last year and to Syria this year. Since last year they have been operated by the Astrakhan-based Salmi Shipmanagement. Some of these previously unreported voyages could be seen through open sources. Bellingcat has obtained satellite images showing the Zafar and the Zaid docked at a grain terminal in Sevastopol and several weeks later docked at Bandar-e Emam Khomeini, a major port in Iran on the Persian Gulf. AIS data provided by Lloyd’s List Intelligence allowed us to monitor the position of the vessels on their voyages to Iran, allowing us to obtain photographs of both vessels passing the Bosphorus fully laden. Data from Lloyd’s List on the change of the ships’ draught indicates that they unloaded cargo at the Iranian port. This is the same route taken by the Mikhail Nenashev and Matros Shevchenko in July 2023.
Bellingcat also used satellite images to establish that the Zafar docked at the same Sevastopol grain terminal in January and February this year. These images, as well as AIS data, appear to corroborate elements of Russian state documents published by a Ukrainian website which claims that both ships have also exported grain to Syria. These revelations come at a time of enhanced scrutiny towards Moscow’s relationship with Tehran. Bellingcat also discovered that a senior figure at the stevedoring company of this Sevastopol terminal has made visits to Iran where he met state officials involved in transport.
On March 29, Ukraine’s Prosecutor for Crimea announced that the captains of the Zafar and Mikhail Nenashev were wanted by Ukraine on suspicion of illegal exit from and entry to Ukraine, referring to their voyages from the occupied peninsula. On April 24 the prosecutor announced that the captain of the Zaid was wanted on suspicion of the same crime.
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aquitainequeen · 4 hours
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Wandering out West
nev.in.color
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aquitainequeen · 4 hours
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-Elizabeth Kostova, The Historian
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aquitainequeen · 4 hours
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“The very worst impulses of humankind can survive generations, centuries, even millennia. And the best of our individual efforts can die with us at the end of a single lifetime.”
— Elizabeth Kostova, The Historian
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