ugh

Jan. 6th, 2026 12:13 pm
watersword: A laptop, a cup of tea, and glasses, with the word "online" (Stock: online)
[personal profile] watersword

I'm not dead; I've taken today & tomorrow off work and would not be surprised if I call in sick Thursday & Friday as well; I'm in less pain than I was, but I'm still pretty uncomfortable; mostly stopped coughing but my head is full of goo, which may honestly be worse. I felt marginally better yesterday, and thank goodness I took advantage of it to change my bedlinens and run the robovac, because today the prospect of taking the dirty linens down to the basement to wash them is making me quail. (ETA: 1/3 accomplished.) Naptime now.

Fandom Snowflake Day 3

Jan. 6th, 2026 10:05 pm
swingandswirl: text 'tammy' in white on a blue background.  (tammy)
[personal profile] swingandswirl
two log cabins with snow on the roofs in a wintery forest the text snowflake challenge january 1 - 31 in white cursive text



Challenge #3: Write a love letter to fandom. It might be to fandom in general, to a particular fandom, favourite character, anything at all.

Wow. Where do I even start with fandom?
 
Fandom changed the course of my life, for the better.
 
Fandom was how I, a sheltered teen growing up in a conservative country, encountered gay couples for the first time, when shipper drama had me fleeing to the slash side of HP fandom. [personal profile] senmut and [personal profile] ilyena_sylph introduced me to poly couples with Happy’Verse, and I’m still friends with both of them to this day. The very kind encouragement of the folks in the World’s Finest Superbat comm gave me the courage to publish my own fic, first Harry Potter and then Superbat. And then Numb3rs fandom (and specifically numb3rs100 and its weekly prompts) taught me how to write. And then my beloved co-writers taught me how to write things longer than drabbles.
 
I’ve lost a lot of those old fannish friends, whether they moved on from a fandom or I did, or when platforms shut down. But I’ve been lucky to keep some incredibly dear ones, and make excellent new friends, too. /waves to [personal profile] rhi and [personal profile] draconis, among others/
 
Speaking of new friends, I want to talk about one of the coolest things I’ve ever experienced, fandom-wise. 
 
Numb3rs will always be the fandom of my heart. But it was never a particularly big show, and by 2022, the fandom was pretty much dead. And then someone (Hi Byrne!) wrote, and posted, an incredible story. Which inspired me to rewatch the series, and start writing again. And pull others in, too. And while Numb3rs will never be as active as it was, it’s still really cool to see the part I played in resurrecting it a little bit. 
 
Another really awesome thing about fandom? Exchanges, and how much they’ve gotten me to push my limits. If it weren’t for exchange prompts, I would never have written To The Sticking Place, about Percy Weasley (and NOT a story I could have written in my 20s or without years of reading fic and meta). I definitely wouldn’t have been brave enough to think I could replicate Jane Austen’s style well enough to attempt thy love like a mark is stamp’d (I am a Jane/Colonel Fitzwilliam shipper to the end. Sorry, Bingles.) Or, even after shipper nonsense annoyed the fuck out of me, take on the challenge of writing The Goblin Emperor fic. Or write 10k of smut for an upcoming challenge, despite being ace. 

Fandom also had me reading things I never would have encountered otherwise. Not just slash, although that's part of it. Thanks to fandom, I discovered drabbles, my beloved random fact fics, fic in the form of in-universe documents or meta, and a whole host of other things. I found writers who put the pros to shame, fics that made me gasp at the brilliance of their creators. I can safely say that reading fic has been an education, as much in what I should strive for as what not to do. 
 
Fandom also helped me reclaim my identity. When Numb3rs first aired from 2005-2010, I explained away some of the egregious errors in the show’s depiction of Amita (who was a Tamil American character played by a very westernized half-German actress) by making her half-Rajasthani. (It still didn’t fix everything, but it was better than nothing). When I returned to writing Numb3rs in 2022, I made a decision. Amita would be 100% Tamil Brahmin, and that would be enough. 
 
Never mind that Hollywood thinks all Indians speak Hindi, love Bollywood, and subsist on naan and butter chicken. Never mind neither the showrunners nor the actress bothered to give Amita a defined backstory until s4, and even then, they chose the most goatfucking stupid way of going about it possible. I would write Amita as she should have been written, like the second-generation Tamil American daughter of immigrant parents with a connection to the old country the show said she was while failing utterly to depict it accurately. 
 
That conviction led to me writing saaptiya and 25 Random Facts About Amita Ramanujan, two fics I’m incredibly proud of, with the support and encouragement of non-Desi friends. And in doing so, I healed a wound that I never realized had been hurting me for nearly two decades. 
 
So yeah. Thank you, fandom. For everything.
 
 
 

Today it did snow

Jan. 6th, 2026 03:17 pm
oursin: Brush the Wandering Hedgehog by the fire (Default)
[personal profile] oursin

Though by now it's mostly dispersed - still lying in parts.

***

Yesterday had that exasperating thing of asking what I thought was a question for very specific thing (not even for myself, for someone who didn't have access to this particular knowledge-resource) and got, okay, one really good response that was right on point, and several which demonstrated that actual humans are quite capable all by themselves of hallucinating what the question actually was and providing answers entirely tangential and Point Thahr Misst.

***

I have had to do with this campaigner: ‘Women have to fight for what they want’: UK campaigner’s 60-year unfinished battle for abortion rights over archives of campaigns she was involved in (I even, as I recollect, suggested an appropriate riposte - a bouquet of parsley - to some weird hostile message sent to her by the notorious Victoria Gillick.)

Pretty much her contemporary, I don't think I ever met the recently-deceased Molly Parkin, but I certainly read various of her writings, including most of her various 'bonk-busters' - I'm not sure they entirely fit that category - which seem to have fallen out of print, at least, they do not seem to have enjoyed e-revival.

sovay: (Lord Peter Wimsey)
[personal profile] sovay
Doubtful as it may be under present conditions to find encouragement in anything of military origin unless it's the USS Princeton in 1844, about twenty-seven seconds into the two minutes' patriotism of Warship Week Appeal (1942) I cracked up.

Two hundred feet exactly of no-credits 35 mm, the object in question is a trailer produced for the Ministry of Information, essentially the same concept as the film tags of WWI: a micro-dose of propaganda appended to a newsreel as part of a larger campaign, in this case a sort of public information skit in which it is supposed that Noël Coward on the Denham sets of In Which We Serve (1942) is approached by Leslie Howard, slouching characteristically on with his hands in his pockets and his scarf twisted carelessly label-out, anxious to discuss a problem of National Savings. "How do you think we can make an appeal so it won't quite seem like an appeal?" With limited screen time to realize their meta conceit, the two actor-directors get briskly down to explaining the mechanics of the scheme to the British public with the shot-reverse-shot patter of a double act on the halls, but the trailer has already dropped its most memorable moment ahead of all its instructions and slogans, even the brief time it rhymes. Diffident as one end of his spectrum of nerd heroes, Howard apologizes for the interruption, excuses it with its relevance to naval business, and trails off with the usual form of words, "I'm sure you won't mind—" to which Coward responds smoothly, "I'm delighted to see you. And I know perfectly well—as we rehearsed it so carefully—that you've come to interview me about Warships Week." He doesn't even bother to hold for a laugh as Leslie snorts around his unlit cigarette. It doesn't all feel like a bit. The interjection may or may not have been scripted, but Coward's delivery is lethally demure and his scene partner's reaction looks genuine; for one, it's much less well-timed or dignified than the smile he uses to support a later, slightly obligatory joke about the income tax, which makes it that much more endearing. It's funny to me for a slant, secondhand reason, too, that has nothing to do with the long friendship between the two men or further proof of Noël's deadpan for the ages: a dancer with whom my mother once worked had been part of the company of Howard's 1936 Hamlet and like all the other small parts, whenever her back was to the audience and the Hollywood star was stuck facing the footlights, she tried to corpse him. One night she finally succeeded. Consequently and disproportionately, watching him need the length of a cigarette-lighting to get his face back, I thought of her story which I hadn't in years and may have laughed harder than Leslie Howard deserved. If it's any consolation to him, the way his eyes close right up like a cat's is beautiful, middle-aged and underslept. It promotes the illusion that a real person might say a phrase like "in these grim days when we've got our backs to the wall" outside of an address to the nation.

Not much consolation to the MOI, Warship Week Appeal accomplishes its goal in that while it doesn't mention for posterity that a community would adopt the ship it funded, the general idea of the dearth of "ships—more ships and still more ships" and the communal need to pay down for them as efficiently as possible comes through emphatically. It's so much more straightforward, in fact, than I associate with either of its differently masked actors, I'd love to know who wrote it, but the only other information immediately available is that the "Ronnie" whom Coward is conferring with when Howard courteously butts in is Ronald Neame. Given the production dates of their respective pictures, it's not difficult to pretend that Howard just popped over from the next sound stage where he was still shooting The First of the Few (1942), although he is clearly in star rather than director mode because even if he's in working clothes, he is conspicuously minus his glasses. What can I tell you? I got it from the Imperial War Museum and for two minutes and thirteen seconds it cheered me up. Lots of things to look at these days could do much, much worse. This interview brought to you by my appealing backers at Patreon.

Aerial transmitter

Jan. 6th, 2026 01:55 pm
heleninwales: (Default)
[personal profile] heleninwales
1/52 for the group 2026 Weekly Alphabet Challenge

This week's theme was: A is for Aerial

This aerial transmitter is on a hill I can see from my study window. It re-broadcasts TV signals from larger transmitters further away and beams them down into the valley. I think the mast next to it is a mobile phone mast.

Aerial transmitter
themis1: Lightning (Default)
[personal profile] themis1 posting in [community profile] girlmeetstrouble
Apologies if this isn't very incisive, I've had the flu that's going around and am still rather fuzzy!

Chapter 10: Read more... )

Comment: This chapter feels clumsy – considering the way the hoodlums (I like that word) have been treating Viv, they are remarkably diffident about Bond, going off to have a private conversation and allowing Viv and Bond to chat quite freely. I would have expected them to simply shoot the newcomer, and I’m surprised they’re giving him and Viv space to chat.

Chapter 11: Read more... )

Comment: Bond chain-smokes throughout this section, so if the bullets don’t get him …. He’s being awfully open with Viv, telling her about this. I thought his comment that you ‘got to know the smell’ of Germans and Russians was probably racist (‘sense’ I would accept, but ‘smell’?)

To The Fandoms I've Only Observed

Jan. 6th, 2026 07:51 am
author_by_night: (I really need a new userpic)
[personal profile] author_by_night
 Snowflake Challenge 3: Fandom Love Letter

You know, I struggled with this one, because I've already said so much before. Then it hit me.

The poem below isn't my best poetry. It's more vibes I'm going for.


To The Fandoms I've Only Observed

I was very lost when it came to LOST
An island, a guy named Locke
"Stop comparing it to Survivor, I beg of you"
Every day saw new userpics, tags, memes
Then cries of rage when the final episode aired
I listened and nodded in sympathy

Supernatural: This one I sometimes watched
Hopping in the Chevy Impala
With Sam and Dean
Bobby, John, Castiel
I kept a quiet distance, true
Yet even I shipped Destiel

I learned it was Downton Abbey, not Downtown Abby
(Sweet summer souls)
Stranger Things  happened, and the internet
Excitedly gabbed and wrote about Mike, Will, Steve and El
MCU took center stage, with its heroes and villains
What We Do in the Shadows remained a mystery to me
But it certainly sounds entertaining

Now Heated Rivalry's the talk of the town
Fans declaring their love for Ilya and Shane
We mustn't forget Scott and Kip's smoothies
Hockey might be on ice, but there's plenty of heat
According to the folks on tumblr


No, these fandoms are not mine
They may be one day - but also
May never be of further interest
Yet I have a soft spot for them
Or at least, what I know of them

I love ships I've never set foot on
I love blorbos I've never met
I love that I can know these people
The joy, excitement, heat is infectious
Making me smile, giving me light
It's a pleasure to come along for the ride



[syndicated profile] markov_stoats_feed
stoats!

Day 4502. There are 331 red stoats, 166 blue stoats, and 503 green stoats.

astronaut memoirs: a supplement

Jan. 6th, 2026 04:25 am
calimac: (Default)
[personal profile] calimac
Back in 2021, I reviewed here the memoirs of every moonshot-era astronaut who'd written one. Soon afterwards, another one came out that I didn't find out about until recently. So I'm adding it.

Fred Haise (Apollo 13, STS-ALT-9, 11, 12, 14, 16), Never Panic Early: An Apollo 13 Astronaut's Journey, with Bill Moore (Smithsonian Books, 2022)
Fairly brief as these memoirs go. Haise says that at the time he was wrapped up in the nitty-gritty details of his job, and that's what this book is like too. There are occasional piercing insights into astronaut personalities (Jim Lovell under the stress of Apollo 13 started to act like the martinet Frank Borman) or of what experiences felt like to Haise, and excursions into externalities like what his living situation was like (e.g. napping in the simulator because it was too much trouble to take the time to go back to his hotel room), but no emotional reactions to problems - that's the point of his title, which he takes as a frequently-repeated personal motto - and though he notes the births of his children, there's virtually nothing about his life with them or his wife.
That's because he was so busy working he didn't have one, and that, he says, is the reason he eventually got divorced: no connection with his family. But Haise's workaholic attitude has its virtues in this book. Like other astronauts, he found that flying came naturally to him when he first undertook it, but unlike most he goes into detail about what learning to do it actually consisted of. His detail on the Apollo 13 mission is a useful supplement to the movie version, but he only mentions the movie once briefly and makes no direct comparisons or corrections.
After Apollo 13, Haise plunges into equal detail on the subsequent publicity junkets before going back to work on flight training, including flying many of the space shuttle's approach and landing tests, though he retired from NASA before any actual shuttle missions flew, then going to work as an administrator for the aerospace firm that he knew well because they'd built the lunar module. He also recounts the detail of his gruesome medical recovery from a plane crash.
But the hasty tone and lack of some detail remains a flaw. Haise recounts being told, after serving as backup on Apollo 8, that he'd be backup again for Apollo 11, without mentioning that he was bumped from the prime crew (the usual followup) or why - he was pre-empted by the more senior Mike Collins, who returned to flight status following surgery (Collins tells that story apologetically in his book).

previous posts on astronaut memoirs
introduction
Mercury Seven
Next Nine
Group Three
Original Nineteen

State of the boob

Jan. 6th, 2026 07:26 pm
fred_mouse: bright red 'love' heart with stethoscope (health)
[personal profile] fred_mouse

Medical details ahead.

possibly TMI )

beanside: Alastor from Hazbin Hotel (Alastor)
[personal profile] beanside
It's Tuesday! I survived Monday! Work was bugfuck busy, so I tried to limit the amount of time I spent off the phones doing callbacks. I ended up taking about 50 calls. By the end of that, my voice was drifting. I sounded kinda porn star-ish most of the day, my voice getting progressively more throaty. By 4:30, it was starting to fade out for a syllable here and there. So it would be "thank you for call--- Johns Hopk-- Radiology." It was kinda sad.

Patients were mostly nice though. And we got great news mid day in the form of an email asking if we wanted to do the same thing we did last year for MLK. Technically, we're closed, but because the sites are open, they asked for a few volunteers to work that day. You get time and a half, plus 8 hours of PTO put into your bank. 1. I can always make use of the money. 2. I can damn sure use the extra PTO! I'm going to be cutting it close for the cruise, but an extra day will loosen thing up just a touch. And it'll mean that in 4 weeks when I get that PTO, I can book out both of the Mondays I need. They're harder to get, so I want to do them first up. Then, I'll fill in the rest as we go. I hit reply on that email SO fast, and now I'm scheduled for 10hr that day.

Still feeling like ass today. Coughing, sneezing and congested. I am not enjoying this cold or whatever the fuck it is. It's tested negative for everything. I tried to get an appt last night to just touch base with the doctor, but she never showed up. I sat in the virtual meeting room for 45 min, and no doctor. I'm a little pissed about that. I'm going to call during my break and see what the fuck happened, and ask if my doctor can prescribe something for the nighttime cough. I'm tired of not sleeping.

Wow, the blue/green dress took that poll in a landslide victory! I have one more dress coming, but I think it'll be tough for it to top how flattering the green dress is on me. I'll put up another poll when it gets here, or at least a picture. I had kind of wanted a longer dress, but if I put on some nice tights, It'll look good. Plus, no pile of alterations! Thank you all for voting. (The Black dress will probably be coming on the cruise too for the gala night, so It'll get it's chance to shine.)

I'm debating on dining for the cruise. As part of the Have It All package, Jess and I got free dining credits to the specialty dining. The Morimoto pop up isn't part of the package, so we've got two specialty dining credits banging around. I'm tempted to book something else, but I don't know which one, and on which night. I kind of want to start and finish in Club Orange, which is the special dining room for suite passengers. Which leaves four nights we could do it. First sea night on Sunday, Tuesday in Skagway, Thursday in Ketchikan. Or, I could do it on our last sea night if I wanted to finish with a specialty.

As far as the cuisine, there's the steakhouse, or there's the French restaurant or there's the Asian fusion. Steakhouse would probably be better for everyone, but I also love French Food. I probably would skip the Asian, as we're doing Morimoto on Wednesday. I will think on this and look at menus.

Today is sure to be another busy day at work. We'll see if my voice holds out! For now, time to consider getting ready for work. Everyone have the very best Tuesday!

Canticus Arcticus

Jan. 6th, 2026 07:37 am
smokingboot: (Default)
[personal profile] smokingboot
Happy Birthday My Aunty Senti. Tis also the feast of the three kings, so this morning I removed the Christmas wreath, last of our decorations, from the front door. The wind blasted straight through my chest and wuthered me dugs, so to speak. I could feel my lungs shrinking.

A couple of days from now, I'm supposed to be meeting a friend in Edinburgh, and while it will be great to see her, I'm dreading it simply because of the weather. There is much to do this Winter, but a lot requires leaving the house, contrary to plan A which was to avoid all activity until March.

A couple of friends went up beyond the Arctic Circle this Christmas/New Year. It looked astonishing and my envy would be even greater without the interjection of reality. I am better too hot than too cold, so short of being bundled in so much fur I resemble a tribble, such a landscape is wasted on me. But re the subject of arctic beauty, a friend recommended the works of Rautavaara, and mentioned this https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TO3YRZWLvQo&list=RDTO3YRZWLvQo&start_radio=1. It lifts my heart into the wild, haunting, forlorn, yet full of delight.

I will need little else today.

Choices (2)

Jan. 6th, 2026 08:48 am
the_comfortable_courtesan: image of a fan c. 1810 (Default)
[personal profile] the_comfortable_courtesan
Useful to have diplomatic relations

Leda Hacker, in guise as Larry Hooper, took a final look around the studio of the daguerreotypist Vohle. Fancied that she had investigated all the possible hidey-holes where he might conceal evidence that 'twas he behind this matter of acquiring evidence for extortion. Had even, proceeding very delicate, gone about probing the insides of his daguerreotype machinery – for the industrious apprentice of that prime ken-cracker Laffen was up to all the tricks! But found naught but a very great deal of saucy pictures and stereoscopic slides.

Examining these as closely as she might with her dark lantern, while ensuring that no ray of light would draw unwanted attention, she was like to think that all those depicted were volunteers that had been very carefully posed. For her own experience of having been took – an entire chaste portrait, as an excuse for visiting the studio during daylight hours – had shown her that while mayhap 'twas not quite the like of sitting to an artist to be painted, the subject was required to keep still for what seemed an entire tedious while.

No, while she fancied the Vice Society might have some concerns over his trade – though as these things went, Leda fancied that he had what one might consider a very artistic touch. One did not pass as much time as she did with Lady Bexbury and her circles without acquiring some notion of how such matters might be judged! –

But unless he had some other lair, this was a false trail, and she might even, perchance, commend Vohle’s services to dear Bert that he seemed entire suitable to record Bert himself as the Duchess of Clerkenwell Green and other members of his sisterhood decked in their finery.

Well, time to hook it.

The first thing to do, after stowing certain tools of the trade in a satchel, was to very carefully wipe the blackening from her face, just as Laffen had taught her, and check in her little hand mirror, that was of all sorts of use.

Then, pulling her cap into a jaunty angle, here was Larry Hooper went further into Seven Dials to go take a glass or so in Black Tom’s, greet old acquaintance, see what Tom’s missus was cooking –

So Larry stepped in to the bustle of that tavern, and the two parrots squawked and Poll said somewhat exceeding coarse, while Zanty added somewhat that being in Greek, one could not tell whether 'twas coarse or not. There were several young swells that supposed they was seeing life here looked very jealous at that mark of familiarity – Larry gave 'em a brief glance.

Hah: young Rich Osberton and that set that had used to hang about him and Mr Peter Reveley afore he married Osberton’s sister. No great harm in 'em.

Tom had a glass of gin – the good genever! – already poured for Larry, and remarked that we was quietish the night, dared say Mr Barron would look in later.

Came bustling out Tom’s missus, with a plate of – la, was that pierogi? – yes, here she was telling the tale of how Mrs Barron, Ludmilla Kaminski that was, had been teaching her the art, and she fancied these had turned out well but would appreciate Mr Hooper’s verdict –

Larry took one, and popped it into his mouth, chewed with a savouring expression and declared that she had quite got the touch of it – perchance not quite yet to that of Mrs Barron, but excellent good – and would take the plate –

Looked around and there were very few empty spots –

Hah, will go make civil to Thad –

For there was Thad Mallen, one of Nat Barron’s chief henchmen, sitting alone, looking morose. In a dangerously louring way, for Thad was reckoned not one to meddle with.

So Larry went over there with platter and mug in hand, greeted Thad, that started, and nodded perchance afore had give the matter any thought, so Larry sat down.

Thad went punch him rather half-hearted upon the shoulder in greeting – Thad and Jem and others of Nat’s boys that had been wont to know Leda as Bet Bloggs in the days when she had walked the streets of Seven Dials were a deal happier to treat her as Larry rather than Leda. Sure they had come to consider Bet a prime confederate at that time when Art Colley and Rodge Hossen had been endeavouring a coup against Nat Barron, but even did they not know of Nat’s later design to wed Bet, having noted what a useful creature she was, there was a lingering uneasiness after she had fled Seven Dials at the prospect.

But here was Larry, that came put certain business in the way of Grigori the pawnbroker and fence – for there was Matt Johnson’s agency commissioned to recover certain items of sparkle, no questions asked, for reward – and various other matters where 'twas entire useful to have diplomatic relations with Nat –

Larry was entirely the accepted habitué of Nat’s manor!

How now, Thad, how goes it? Sure, let me refill your glass – waving to Tom, that came very brisk –

Thad groaned, and enquired how that prime example of womanhood, Mrs Halloran, did? Was that wretch her husband still in life?

Larry suppressed a grin. For some while now Thad had been, one might only say, quite desperate in love, with Tess Halloran, of the Matt Johnson agency. Had encountered her when commissioned to present in the character of a concerned male relative when her husband in the penitentiary had been give out desperate sick and calling for her, that had been suspected some ruse. But whatever he had aimed at, the sight of Thad was like to put a halt to his plans!

Had not merely subsequently escorted Tess about to various places of entertainment, but had, through Larry, offered that there was ways, even within penitentiary walls, of disposing of her husband. That had, aside from his wicked embezzling ways, been a horrid cruel beast to his wife, that the law of the land considered a deal lesser matter.

O, entirely in health – she was in Yorkshire at present about certain cases – the wretch still lingered alas –

Thad renewed the offer that did one have the right acquaintance, 'twas no matter at all to arrange – he made a throat-cutting gesture –

This was, Larry understood, a very chivalrous offer – would be drawing upon as 'twere stored up credit – might require some matter in due course of reciprocation

However, one had to wonder whether Tess was at all inclined to tie herself up – in hallowed or unhallowed union – with a man again. Her husband had been such a brute that must give a woman pause.

But – leaning back, looking at Thad, that never looked aught but grim – while was very noted for his ways of dealing out lessons on Nat Barron’s behalf, and occasional dispatching fellows, did not recall that he was one that was particular given to being violent to women except, it might be, in that line of duty.

Could look into that –

Should go make civil to Lil and Joan, am I in these parts, said Larry, rising. For her old friends from the street-walking days would very like know somewhat of that!

So he walked through the streets and alleyways, nodding to this one and that and occasional stopping for rather more in the way of greeting, until he reached the ‘ccommodation house that Lil and Joan now managed, instead of walking the streets. And had rose to be considered among Nat Barron’s counsellors in matters about women – Nat had come to apprehend that whores learnt a deal of men when they were about their trade, that might be most material to his interests!

Found Joan a-sitting at the entrance – it was a great comfort to see how well Joan looked these days, now that she did not have to be on the streets in all weather – went spend some weeks at the seaside in Dolly Mutton’s Home in the summer – been looked over by a proper physician – 'twas not consumption as they had feared but not dared speak of, but a persistent bronchitis, that this new way of life greatly ameliorated.

No Lil?

Joan grinned. Law, 'tis the time that peeler of hers gets off duty – and even is he now advanced to sergeant

Larry whistled.

– still has the greatest notion to Lil, 'tis quite the regular thing these days.

Larry grinned back and said, must come very useful! And asked more generally after business, as was only civil, before proceeding to the question of whether there was aught known to his detriment of Thad’s behaviour towards women.

Joan pursed her lips and looked thoughtful before saying that sure Thad’s looks did him no favours –

Indeed the picture of a villainous fellow in a melodrama!

– and all know his trade, though there must be more to him than that, does Nat hold him in such high esteem –

Indeed so! Thad had been a very useful confederate against Art and Rodge, more than one might have guessed.

– but there has never been any trouble with any of the girls – and was there anything at all about these parts I cannot fathom it being kept secret –

Larry nodded. So I might give him a good character to this lady he takes a notion to!

Joan guffawed and remarked that he was also said exceptional neat at his job.

So 'tis give out!

Mayhap Thad was give to being somewhat dour but from Tess’s telling of it, her husband had shown all charm and bonhomie, very persuasive in the matter of selling spurious railway shares, and had been an entire brute behind closed doors.

It was not so late that she might not take an omnibus to Clorinda’s pretty house, where she found her dear love still up – sure Sophy would chide – and in somewhat of a fret, with a letter in her hand.

Here it appears I must to Shropshire about some business over the mine, and thus disturb the solitary retreat of that agreeable lady Miss Kirkstall –

Leda went to kiss her and assure her that her presence would make that retreat entire perfection. And that she dared say that Miss Kirkstall was already being invited to tea-parties – to dine quietly as befitted her mourning condition – &C – by what constituted the society in those parts.

Oh, indeed you put it aright! La, I am a foolish Clorinda. A new face is ever welcome there.

[syndicated profile] bookviewcafe_feed

Posted by News Editor

Guardian of the Vision
Merlin’s Descendants, Book Three
Irene Radford

Religious wars mar the glory of the early years of Queen Elizabeth I reign.  A descendant of Merlin and King Arthur must step forward and show the world that you can put faith before politics.

The glory of the Elizabethan Age is tarnished by the continuing religious conflict begun by Henry VIII.

Griffin Kirkwood renounces his title, his lands, his love for the mysterious demon-ridden Roanna, and his magical heritage as a descendant of both King Arthur and the Merlin to become a Catholic priest in France.  His twin, Donovan (his mirror image in face and form and rarely more than a thought away) shoulders the responsibilities willingly. He agrees to two arranged-marriages, one after the other, and takes on the outward appearance of whichever religion is dominant to protect all that he loves, but without magic, or the love of his life. Together and separately the twins must fight to guide Queen Elizabeth through the intricate maze of politics and religion.  Their spiritual and magical journeys cross each other, oppose, and re-align as they battle internal demons and external threats.

Merlin’s Descendants Book Three

THE SERIES:

  1. Guardian of the Balance
  2. Guardian of the Trust
  3. Guardian of the Vision
  4. Guardian of the Promise
  5. Guardian of the Freedom

About the Author: Irene Radford is a founding member of Book View Café. You can find many of her books, both reprints and original titles, at the café, including her earliest books being released throughout 2023. She has been writing stories ever since she figured out what a pencil was for. Editing, as Phyllis Irene Radford, grew out of her love of the craft of writing. History has been a part of her life from earliest childhood and led to her BA from Lewis and Clark College.

Mostly she writes fantasy and historical fantasy including the best-selling Dragon Nimbus Series and the masterwork Merlin’s Descendants series. Look for her writing new historical fantasy tales as Rachel Atwood, a different take on the Robin Hood mythology in Walk the Wild with Me, from DAW Books and the sequel Outcasts of the Wildwood. In other lifetimes she writes urban fantasy as P.R. Frost or Phyllis Ames, and space opera as C.F. Bentley. Lately she ventured into Steampunk as Julia Verne St. John.

If you wish information on the latest releases from Ms Radford, under any of her pen names, you can subscribe to her newsletter: www.ireneradford.net. Or you can follow her on Facebook as Phyllis Irene Radford.

Buy Guardian of the Vision at the Book View Café bookstore
Read a Sample

Prologue

23 April, 1553, St. George’s Day, sixth year of the reign of our most sovereign King Edward VI, of England, Ireland, Wales, and France. The border hills beyond Carlisle.

I turned my face into the rising wind. My hair whipped away from my eyes. The bite of salt stung my cheeks and chin. My horse shied and tried to turn east, away from the approaching storm. I mastered his headstrong grasp of the bit and surged forward, north and west into the storm and toward our target.

I reveled in the savage lash of my primal element. It matched my anger in ferocity. The rain would come soon, covering the tracks of the two dozen mounted men who rode with me. We would be across the crumbling remnants of Hadrian’s Wall when the storm crashed around us. Our quarry retreated just beyond the border of Scotland, close enough to menace our home, far enough to be beyond our king’s laws and justice.

Justice. The thought hammered at the minds of my men.

The outlaws would lose their refuge tonight, and Meg would be avenged.

Our sister could regain her wits without fear.

To my right, Donovan, my twin, raised his hands to the storm, seeking to draw its power into himself. He could not, of course. I had inherited the magical talent from our grandmother that skipped my father and my twin.

With the wonders of magic comes responsibility,Grandmother Raven’s voice pounded inside my head.

I ignored her. This was man’s business. Meg must be avenged.

Peace is man’s business. There is always an alternative to war.

“Shut up, Raven!” I spoke into the wind, letting my element carry my opinion home.

You know I am right. You question everything I say, challenge the traditions I pound into your thick skull, Griffin Kirkwood. Now you must question yourself.

“Not in this, Raven. Not in this. We must avenge Meg. She cannot heal unless we bring her attackers to justice.”

I heard her mental snort of disgust. An inkling of doubt crept into my mind.

Helwriaeth, my wolfhound, mighty warrior that she was, let loose with the triumphant battle cry that I kept trapped within my throat. Seven more wolfhounds took up the trumpeting challenge. The sound rolled around the hills and vales as thunder.

“Quiet the dogs, Griffin,” Da snarled at me. “Those black raiders outnumber us and are well armed. We need surprise this night.”

I could surprise our enemies more effectively than Da and other mundanes who needed the silence and darkness of the night. But Grandmother Raven had warned us not to use magic to defeat our enemies.

Was a spell for invisibility black magic?

War is black magic,Raven’s voice reminded me like a sharp caw released with the thunder.

They started it! I replied instinctively.

Silence.

Raven’s silence was always the worst reprimand she could give me.

I should be the one to break the mindless quest for vengeful violence. I knew it without Raven’s biting words in my head. I would be the Pendragon when she died. ’Twas my responsibility.

I needed to halt our forward plunge and think about this.

Donovan showed me the layout of the enemy village through our unique mind-to-mind communication. I instantly knew their vulnerabilities as well as their strengths.

“I know how to plan a raid,” he said with his voice. He grinned at me again. “I tumbled one of the maids yesterday while I scouted the terrain.”

“There.” Da pulled his horse to a halt atop a low ridge. He pointed to the broken silhouette of a destroyed castle on the next higher ridge. Only bats and ghosts threatened us from the ancient stronghold. But below it, nestled into the sheltered vale between us and the abandoned fortress, lay a cluster of thatched cottages. Two or three lights winked at us from behind closed shutters.

“The girl lives in the end cottage. Says she has a sister who’s just as accommodating.” Donovan grinned again. An image of hair the color of faded red autumn leaves and soft gray eyes came and went so fast I nearly lost the picture of her. She’d been eager for Donovan’s attentions and not a virgin.

Our sister Meg had not been willing and had prized her virginity.

“Remember, Donovan, what they did to your sister. To us! ” Da hissed at us both. He had four other daughters, by his three wives, But Meg was special. Meg was…

Not Meg anymore. The Scots must pay for what they did to her.

“All the more reason to plant our bastards in the bellies of their daughters.” Donovan kneed his horse forward, level with Da. “An eye for an eye!” But his mental images were heated by lust rather than anger. Did the girl manipulate his emotions from a distance, or was she truly the answer to his randy prayers?

“These raiders are so vile, their own lord begged us to clean out this viper’s nest. Paid us, too.” Da’s eyes gleamed in the dim light from our shielded lanterns. He was spoiling for a fight. Any fight. The Scots and Meg were merely an excuse.

Donovan looked at Da strangely at that statement. His clear and logical thinking tried to question something about Lord Douglas. Something…

Da raised his hand and signaled me forward. I, with my preternatural sight, led our little troop down the hillside. Helwriaeth came behind me, sniffing the true path for the rest of the pack. Youngster though she was, she kept the dogs quiet. War dogs one and all; they knew their business sometimes better than we.

By the time the ground leveled out beneath us, I had guessed why Lord Douglas wanted us to raid his own village. He wanted to steal something valuable from them, using the raid as cover, to blame us for his perfidy. He would trap and slaughter us at the same time, silencing our witness. I raised one hand to stop the others. We needed to go back, before Lord Douglas trapped us. I thought I knew a better way.

In the back of my head, I felt Raven smile. There is always a better way.

Lightning flashed and thunder rolled at that moment, unleashing the full fury of the storm upon our heads. In the flare of blue-white light, with my senses extended, I saw a score of mounted men waiting atop the next hill. Not our men.

Da pressed forward, too eager for the fray to exercise caution.

“Da, wait!” I called to him quietly, using magic as well as good sense to persuade him.

He ignored me. I raised my hand again, wanting a spell to hold him in place, not knowing how to do that.

The storm raged. More lightning and thunder ripped the skies apart. Energy crackled from the sky to my upthrust hand.

It grabbed hold of me. My mind fled. Power shot through me. Fire shot from my hand to thatch.

The largest cottage in the village burst into flames with a mighty explosion. Blinded, I rocked back in my saddle.

Power drained from me along with strength and will.

The leader of the border raiders resided in the now blazing cottage. ’Twas he who had led the men who stole and murdered within the boundaries of Kirkenwood. ’Twas he who raped Meg in the hut where she had gone as midwife. He had murdered the new mother and her babe. ’Twas he who would be the first to die this night.

By my hand.

Smoke blinded me. The smell of burning hair and flesh gagged in my throat. I doubled over in pain at the passing of a life.

Buy Guardian of the Vision at the Book View Café bookstore

Snowflake Challenge 02026 #3: Love

Jan. 5th, 2026 10:35 pm
silveradept: A dragon librarian, wearing a floral print shirt and pince-nez glasses, carrying a book in the left paw. Red and white. (Dragon Librarian)
[personal profile] silveradept
[community profile] snowflake_challenge has posted prompt #3, asking us to talk about the things we love about the communities that we are part of, or about the properties we form our communities around.

Challenge #3:

Write a love letter to fandom. It might be to fandom in general, to a particular fandom, favourite character, anything at all.


It's often the people. )

The best thing I like about fandom is that it grows and evolves and produces new stories and new interpretations of stories, and new tropes and new ways of telling stories and smashing them together. The next best thing about fandom is how many people there are in it who are there to have a good time and to make community with others. Yes, there are always going to be people who feel like they have to defend their territory against all comers, or who loudly proclaim that their way is the only way and all others must yield, but most fans that I've encountered seem to be less concerned with purity, fortresses, or defense and are instead more concerned with community, mutual aid, sharing, and trying to encourage people who are in the fandom to stay in it or to getr even deeper into it. Maybe I just have good people around me and I've avoided the people who want to drag me into wars, but even if that's the case, the last thing I love about fandom (for this entry, anyway) is that it tends toward self-correction, and with time and maturity, most fen who stay, grow in ways that make their works better and their communities better.

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