I can't remember where I first heard about Russian buttercream, but I finally decided to try it out to see how it works. It is super simple: you whip 2 sticks/226g of room temperature butter until it is pale, add a pinch of salt and a tsp of vanilla, and then whip in a can of sweetened condensed milk a quarter of the can at a time. I knew it would be sweet (though not quite as sweet - or gritty - as American buttercream), and I knew it might have a caramel type of taste, so I chose to try these brown sugar/cinnamon cupcakes that are supposed to be filled and topped with salted caramel. Needless to say, I did not bother with all that. The cupcakes are not too sweet and the cinnamon helps cut through the sweetness of the frosting, so I think it works as a pairing.

The frosting did curdle, though (pic). I think maybe whipping it so long (I had to do it for more like 14 minutes than 5 - 7 to get it light) raised the temperature too much. There are tips on how to fix it, but since it was just an experiment and no one else is going to see them, I didn't bother. The frosted cupcakes are in the fridge, and I'm sure that will help. If you're looking for a super easy, pipeable frosting, this could be the one for you!

I also made myself a plate of nachos for dinner, and they were delicious but super messy, so not the best idea when I eat dinner on the couch every night.

*

Sorry this is late! I think I have everyone now. Let me know if not!

Final Tally

( Days 1-15 )

Thanks everyone!

So I haven't written anything fictional since about January 2024 and mostly haven't even had any ideas, and then one morning last week (maybe the week before? I'm not sure - what even is time?), I woke up and was like, I could write a short DCC story set pre-collapse where Carl posts to AITA about breaking up with Bea and potentially stealing Donut. I told angelgazing about it and she was of course, very encouraging, and all, you should totally write that! But alas, I did not, though I did think about it longer than most ~ideas~ I've had over the last 2 years.

This morning, she texted me a link and someone wrote it! In a brief post on Threads of all places, but it was exactly that. And she was like, I only recognized it because you'd already told me about it! And I was like, see, I don't even have to write it because someone else already did!

Nice to know that even without writing anything, I am still tapped into the fannish hive mind. *wry*

In other fannish news: Ted Lasso season 4 trailer!!!! August 5th!!! I AM EXCITE!!!

*

I meant to have the recs update done earlier, but I fell asleep and then I had to make dinner etc. etc. But it is done now:

unfitforsociety has been updated for April 2026 with 14 recs in 4 fandoms:

* 10 Heated Rivalry
* 1 The Pitt
* 2 Batfamily and 1 Batfamily/Avengers crossover

***

Today's poem:

If your mirror breaks
by Joy Kogawa

if when you are holding a
hand mirror when you are
sitting in the front seat of a car
and the mirror breaks
you must stop everything quickly
step on the brakes
leap from the car

if when you are holding in
your arms a mirror and you
feel the glass sudden in your veins
if your throat bleeds with
brittle words and
you hear in the distance the
ambulance siren

if your mirror breaks into
a tittering sound of tinkling glass
and you see the highway stretch
into a million staring splinters
you must stop everything gently
wait for seven long years
under a sky of whirling wheels

if your mirror breaks
oh if your mirror breaks

***

And that's a wrap on National Poetry Month 2026!

***

She who travels to the Eternal City and surrounding countryside for a couple of days is obliged to share the pictorial results. :)





( Behold the Mirror of Diana - Nemi )


( Where Popes and Roman Emperors spent their summer vacations )

( Tusculum: Where Cicero shared all the hot gossip with Atticus )

And then I visited Rome itself.

( The City. Its World. )

Blessed be! The Aunt Lydia narrated episode has arrived!

( Spoilers don’t know whether they’re a phoenix or a cockroach… )

Today's poem:

Bright Wings

I was walking in the garden looking for the intermediaries
between me and the clear light. I had left the hose running
much too long. Something was eating holes in the ear-soft
leaves of the morning glories. I saw for the first time
that the neighbor was growing corn - the yellow shocks
were leaning just above the cinder-block fence, and they
looked delicate and scruffy, like city corn, like alien corn,
and suddenly there was so much to be done, so much to
put in order, not the ordinary business of loving and dying,
but the ordinary business that comes bundled with them:
Sunlight behaved perfectly in every corner, the shadows breathed
in their one direction and told stories, our cat crouched in the flower bed
aching to kill something: How do you explain being so convinced,
so utterly taken by the idea that beauty is somehow moral?
I mean in this day and age? I mean now when no one can even get
that equation to hold up? But the ants have formed a black
ribbon that leads to a dead snail. But the Pipers and Cessnas
and Beechcraft are circling and banking for the airport with
so much color and precision. But the dogs two houses down
have heard the mail-carrier's foot, and they have erupted.
This is not the argument I'm looking for. And I have been lazy.
Tangerines and lemons have swollen and dropped from their
impatient branches. They lie among the fern and the vine, bruised
and mushy. They are being swarmed. They are being devoured.

--Frank X. Gaspar

***

Stargate SG1 x9
Star Trek: The Next Generation x6
Star Trek: Nemesis x2
Star Trek: Picard x1
Star Trek: Deep Space 9 x3
Star Trek: Voyager x3
Star Trek: Lower Decks x5
Star Trek: Prodigy x1
Star Trek cast photos x2
DCU x4

It's been a hard, uh, decade. It's okay if you need a hug ... or 36.

Preview:


( *hugs* )

Today's poem:

For everyone who tried on the slipper before Cinderella

after Anis Mojgani and Audre Lorde

For those making tea in the soft light of Saturday morning
in the peaceful kitchen
in the cool house
For those with shrunken hearts still trying to love
For those with large hearts trying to forget
For those with terrors they cannot name
upset stomachs and too tight pants
For those who get cut off in traffic
For those who spend all day making an elaborate meal
that turns out mediocre
For those who could not leave
even when they knew they had to
For those who never win the lottery
or become famous
For those getting groceries on Friday nights

There is something you know
about living
that you guard with your life
your one fragile, wonderful life
wonder, as in, awe,
as in, I had no idea I would be here now.

For those who make plans and those who don’t
For those driving across the country to a highway that knows them
For the routes we take in the dark, trusting
For the roads for the woods for the dead humming in prayer
For an old record and a strong sun
For teeth bared to the wind
a pulse in the chest
a body making love to itself

There is every reason to hate it here
There is a list of things making it bearable:
your friend’s shoulder Texas barbecue a new book
a loud song a strong song a highway that knows you
sweet tea an orange cat a helping hand
an unforgettable dinner

a laugh that escapes you and deflates you
like a pink balloon left soft with room
for goodness to take hold

For those who have looked in the mirror and begged
For those with weak knees and an attitude
For those called "sensitive" or "too much"
For those not called enough
For the times you needed and went without
For the photo of you as a child
quietly icing cupcakes your hair a crackling thunderstorm

Love is coming.
It's on its way.
Look—

--Ariana Brown

*

Last fall I pruned the back yard's shrubs and saplings, slowly, and closed my eyes whenever I had to hack a few times at a thicker branch. This spring, my slow pruning of the additional rain-fueled shoots and yanking of some grass and oxalis have given tiny housemate some exercise on non-walk afternoons. She considers it her duty to catch anything I pull out and toss towards a fence to decay, such that pausing to gather two or three things before tossing is met by loud objections.

From those 3-5 minute snippets of labor, we have no more dog-safe twigs to lop, a first since fall 2021. When I told tiny housemate one day that I hadn't brought a cutting tool outside because we're finished, tiny housemate disagreed and bit off a few small branches within reach. Perhaps they were in the way for investigating cat- and squirrel-crossings.

For things that don't need pruning, I do as little as possible. Last fall, the hydrangeas struggled through dry weeks (non-rain watering occurs via hand-carried can, a hose drip that I move around now and then, or not at all), but they've decided to put forth leaves this spring. The persimmon tree has had the hose-drip treatment only once in 2026 so far, after too much rain last year left its fruit almost tasteless. In the fall I harvested some, which my mother sliced and dehydrated into treats for tiny housemate, and the rest went to the curbside compost service because tiny housemate and local squirrels kept fighting over the ones that dropped.

It's hilarious to try calibrating web advice that's somewhat informed. My physical endurance, the limiting factor, is in the respective target audiences for "Recovery after Covid" at AARP (AARP keeps dropping its age threshold for membership---I haven't joined, but it's now 50 years) and "I have been unable to run because of pneumonia for about two months" at RunnersWorld (I ran short distances with mild bacterial pneumonia 7-8 years ago, apparently, because former primary care dismissed the early stage as just a bad cold).

Neither article is of use to me; somewhere without any past bed rest is where I am. As Susan Paul writes in the second article, "In the right doses exercise can boost our immune system but, conversely, too much training can significantly impair it." And no one says, use nibble-doses of yardwork/housework as a proxy for lifting weights and feeding proprioceptive balance. Why would they, when "Go for walks" is their main goal.

Today's poem:

And Then It Was Less Bleak Because We Said So
by Wendy Xu

Today there has been so much talk of things exploding
into other things, so much that we all become curious, that we
all run outside into the hot streets
and hug. Romance is a grotto of eager stones
anticipating light, or a girl whose teeth
you can always see. With more sparkle and pop
is the only way to live. Your confetti tongue explodes
into acid jazz. Small typewriters
that other people keep in their eyes
click away at all our farewell parties. It is hard
to pack for the rest of your life. Someone is always
eating cold cucumber noodles. Someone will drop by later
to help dismantle some furniture. A lot can go wrong
if you sleep or think, but the trees go on waving
their broken little hands.

*

Stephen Graham Jones, The Buffalo Hunter Hunter: ( horror horror )
T. Kingfisher, Illuminations: ( fun for younger readers )

Dessa, Tits on the Moon: ( poetry )

Cat Sebastian, Star Shipped: ( romance on set )

Nnedi Okorafor, Death of the Author: ( racialized posthumanism )

Kai Butler, Shadow Throne King: ( assassin's need )

T. Kingfisher, Snake-Eater: ( western approaches )

Laura Elliott, Awakened: ( grumpy review of apocalypse premise )

Tasha Suri, The Isle in the Silver Sea: ( excellent fantasy about stories )

Jim Butcher, Twelve Months: ( the saga continues )

Ilona Andrews, This Kingdom Will Not Kill Me: ( isekai done just right for me )

Where has the month gone?! All right, a lot of it has gone into writing, but that surely can't be all ... *looks around, waves at everyone* Hi! I'm still here. *g*

Anyway! I wrote longer stories for fffx and highadrenalineexchange, both of which revealed this month, and fffx has already had author reveals. So now that I'm actually posting, of course this is the first thing to post about!

It took me a while to actually settle on what I wanted to write for this exchange. I had another idea that I hope to tackle some day, but I think I picked the right thing in the end! It came together pretty well once I actually decided.

It's Guardian again, canon divergence during the early episodes - set right after the face-stealer case (episode 4) and before the water kidnapping/Butler Wu case (episode 5). Zhao Yunlan gets to interact more closely with the Black-Cloaked Envoy, rather than Professor Shen, and gains some insights. There is coughing up blood and wound-tending and tea and conversation, and all of it takes place in a very constrained space, because I trapped them together. *g*

If you want, there's even a visual reference for the space they're stuck in, because my beta noted that things weren't completely clear, so I made myself a reference for editing purposes. Have a floor plan!

(And many thanks to china_shop for beta-reading, as usual! ♥)

**

Title: Close the Distance, Lock Us In
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Fandom: 镇魂 | Guardian (TV 2018)
Relationship: Shen Wei/Zhao Yunlan, Zhao Yunlan & Black-Cloaked Envoy
Characters: Shen Wei, Zhao Yunlan, mini-cameos by SID members
Content tags: Episode Related, Post-Episode 4, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Zhao Yunlan & the Black-Cloaked Envoy, Protective Shen Wei, Hurt Shen Wei, Protective Zhao Yunlan, Trapped Together, Black and White Energy, a bit of Hurt/Comfort, Identity Porn

Summary:

The Black-Cloaked Envoy slammed down into the nondescript little flat like a thunderbolt from the heavens, not a moment too soon.

Zhao Yunlan and the Black-Cloaked Envoy, trapped together early on: how much of a difference can it really make? Turns out, a surprising amount.

Liots of things to do, and places to see (there willl be a pic spam), but I did catch up on the two shows.

For All Mankind 5.06:

( Spoilers think Mars is theirs… )

The Testaments 1.05:

( Spoilers consider a Prom in Gilead to be incredibly creepy and aesthetic at hte same time… )

Okay, crispy rice = pretty good. I tossed 1 cup of cooked rice with 2 tbsp low sodium soy sauce, 1 tbsp of olive oil, 1 tsp of toasted sesame oil, a sprinkling of garlic powder, and 1 diced shallot, spread it on a foil-lined sheet pan, and cooked it at 400°F for 25 minutes. I still have a bunch of rice left, so I might make fried rice tomorrow.

The salad part was less successful. I cleared some stuff out of the freezer - an old bag of frozen corn, a handful of frozen roasted chicken chunks I got in my misdelivered grocery order a few weeks ago - and then I added some toasted sesame seeds, some dry-roasted peanuts, and some arugula. The dressing was lime juice, toasted sesame oil, ground ginger, and olive oil (all scaled down for one serving) - it was ok, but I wouldn't make it again.

The stuff in the salad was mismatched and didn't go well together, which is my own fault, since I didn't really think about anything but the rice ahead of time. If I did it again, I might use shredded cabbage instead of arugula, and leave out the corn and the peanuts. I might also just dress it with olive oil and vinegar.

If I do it again, I will probably eat the crisped rice by itself, maybe with some scrambled egg like in fried rice, and some scallions. And I'd keep the toasted sesame seeds, because those are always tasty.

Here is today's poem:

An old story
by Bob Hicok

It's hard being in love
with fireflies. I have to do
all the pots and pans.
When asked to parties
they always wear the same
color dress. I work days,
they punch in at dusk.
With the radio and a beer
I sit up doing bills,
jealous of men who've fallen
for the homebody stars.
When things are bad
they shake their asses
all over town, when good
my lips glow.

*

Legally Blonde (2001): "If you're going to let one stupid prick ruin your life," says the professor at the beauty salon, with the eyebrow lift of a person who has swept past more than one such prick, "you're not the girl I thought you were."

It's not a subtle film---I appreciate the actors for every reaction shot that isn't hammered in---but it didn't and doesn't need to be. First viewing.

Never mind the totally impossible scenes. Twenty-five years on, one of the most anachronistic aspects is the idea of a US metro's local salon as what's currently called a third place, where individuals from disparate demographics may meet without surprise. Also, it took me a moment (I hadn't looked up the film's release year yet) to realize that Emmett's car is supposed to be an old clunker. I remember when that model of car was introduced.

The thing whereby YouTube offers access for "free, with ads" and then doesn't show ads across several days' interrupted sittings isn't bad. I have another 15 minutes to go, some other day (eyestrain), but this seems like enough for a post.

I made these salt bread rolls today (pic), and they are very tasty, but I think I still like pretzel rolls better, even with the mess of having to boil them before baking. There isn't much I like better than a big old soft pretzel, so pretzel rolls are where it's at for me. The salt bread is good though - very buttery.

I also made rice this afternoon in preparation for making a crispy rice salad tomorrow. I am very intrigued by the idea of crispy rice salad, but I don't know if I will like it in actuality, even though I like all the components I plan to put in it. (I'd also be more confident if every recipe I look at didn't call for a different type of rice. I made basmati, for the record.) I guess I'll report back tomorrow and how it goes.

And it's been a full day of watching hockey, after a long night of watching hockey last night. It's been exciting, but so much more relaxing since my team isn't in it.

And finally, here is today's poem:

Why You Should Never Marry A Poet
by Heather Bell

Think about it - the way that credit cards, bougainvillea,
vacations, dictionaries, the road on the way to work will

all never be enough. The poet wishes
with her deepest bones
and writes that she wishes
she would have killed you

in the supermarket. She wonders why
she ever loved you in song.

She publishes book after book. Each line detailing
how your hair is ugly and monstrous in the morning. And how,
like moss, you cling to her
so piteously.

But you marry her anyway.
and she looks like a roar of snow
in white. You figure she will read a poem about you
that day in front of everyone: her throat

is, after all, a stamen
or matchstick.

But she is silent, says only the I DO's
and a few Bible verses.

The poet loves with a most violent
heart. What you have not known-
she has wanted to tell you the truth
all of these years,

but grew silent as an old lover does
at eighty. There is no way to say

how one loves the ache of your cracked lips,
the heavy belly of your tongue, the years she spent
feeling not loved,
but still loving. Think about it-

the poet is fearful of others knowing and finding your mouth.

She is frightened of you -
realizing you could have been
loved better or harder
or with real words.

***

Via https://bsky.app/profile/rahaeli.bsky.social/post/3mkboea2zgs2k

Clinician Guide: Constellation of Chronic Medical Conditions Commonly Seen in Autistic & ADHD Adults

https://allbrainsbelong.org/all-the-things/

In May 2022, we formed a Task Force of clinicians, patients, and community members to discuss what works (and does not work) to manage these medical conditions or symptoms. We also gathered information from more than 100 autistic adults. These individuals gave feedback based on their personal experiences. The content we share on this website combines evidence-based medicine, lived experience, and our clinical experiences treating patients with these conditions.

Does anyone know where I can get a Trinity Santos icon? [eta: icon acquired!]

*

Always need some Dorianne Laux during poetry month, so here's today's poem:

Prayer
by Dorianne Laux

Sweet Jesus, let her save you, let her take
your hands and hold them to her breasts,
slip the sandals from your feet, lay your body down
on sheets beaten clean against the fountain stones.
Let her rest her dark head on your chest,
let her tongue lift the hairs like a sword tip
parting the reeds, let her lips burnish
your neck, let your eyes be wet with pleasure.
Let her keep you from that other life, as a mother
keeps a child from the brick lip of a well,
though the rope and bucket shine and clang,
though the water's hidden silk and mystery call.
Let her patter soothe you and her passions
distract you, let her show you the light
storming the windows of her kitchen, peaches
in a wooden bowl, a square of blue cloth
she has sewn to her skirt to cover the tear.
What could be more holy than the curve of her back
as she sits, her hands opening a plum.
What could be more sacred than her eyes,
fierce and complicated as the truth, your life
rising behind them, your name on her lips.
Stay there, in her bare house, the black pots
hung from pegs, bread braided and glazed
on the table, a clay jug of violet wine.
There is the daily sacrament of rasp and chisel,
another chair to be made, shelves to be hewn
cleanly and even and carefully joined
to the sun-scrubbed walls, a sharp knife
for carving odd chunks of wood into small toys
for the children. Oh Jesus, close your eyes
and listen to it, the air is alive with bird calls
and bees, the dry rustle of palm leaves,
her distracted song as she washes her feet.
Let your death be quiet and ordinary.
Either life you choose will end in her arms

*

It's been a few years since I posted some Shakespeare on his birthday, but I am tired so have one of the most famous poems in the Western canon:

Sonnet 18: Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
By William Shakespeare

Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer’s lease hath all too short a date;
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimm'd;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance or nature’s changing course untrimm'd;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st;
Nor shall death brag thou wander’st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow’st:
   So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
   So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

*

I was all excited that it's Thursday, thinking about how there'd be a new episode of The Pitt until I remembered, alas, that there will be no new episodes until next January. Sigh.

I keep meaning to post my thoughts here and not doing it, so in brief, my thoughts on the season 2 finale of The Pitt: ( spoilers )

I guess this sounds like I had a lot of complaints but I really loved this season - I just thought the writing fell down a little sometimes, for some characters.

*