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but in the end you all win, because what got me through today was torturing bucky barnes some more, interspersed only with torturing Natasha some more, and i’m going to go back and keep doing that, and i swear to you the Hour of Our Death series is going to be a fucking goldmine of fucking torture. I can’t wait. 
It’s about the only thing I’m good at. What can I say. I embrace my strengths. Here, have a chunk.

Nick stopped dead when he saw the shadowy figure in the hallway. “Kid,” he said, “you havin’ a mental breakdown or just tryin’ to give me a heart attack?”

“I don’t mean to be a pest,” Barnes said. Nick flicked the light on and made a face; Barnes looked fucking awful, too-skinny and run-down and eyes like starved hollows. “I just, you’re a hard man to meet up with.”

“I’m dead,” Nick said. He considered that. “Then again, so are you, so…”

Barnes nodded absently. He looked really, really awful. Like maybe he was genuinely ill. Like maybe…

“You heard anything from Natasha lately?” Nick asked. If there was trouble between those two, he didn’t want to think about what would happen.

Barnes looked slightly stricken, then blank. “That’s what I wanted to ask you,” he said. That sounded like defeat. “She went out on a mission and said she’d be off the grid and it’s been six weeks.”

Nick frowned. “What mission?”

Barnes spread his hands. “I don’t know,” he said. “I didn’t ask at the time because I figured I’d find out, but– there’s nothing. None of the usual ways I can find out. No one I know has heard anything.”

Nick thought about it, and went back into his bedroom to retrieve his phone. “Let’s see,” he said. “Natasha.” He had several communications with her, but nothing particularly recent. “She sent me a couple information requests… mm, most recent about three weeks ago.” He scrolled through a couple more things. “Sent me a stupid eyepatch joke four weeks ago. Nothing more recent.”

“That’s more recently than I’ve heard from her,” Barnes said, low and miserable, head down, no eye contact. “I didn’t–” He visibly composed himself. “She left of her own free will and I got no reason to suspect anything’s happened, I just– it’s longer than she usually goes without checking in.”

“For me too,” Nick said, frowning. “For me too. I had kinda been wondering but to be honest I figured she was doing something with you.”

Barnes didn’t look up. “No sir,” he said.

“Clint heard anything?” Nick asked.

Barnes shook his head. “Said he figured she was doin’ something for you. S’why I was lookin’ for you.”

“I don’t really… assign missions, anymore,” Nick said. “I have only unofficial insights into the activities the new SHIELD would be actively pursuing.”

“Tried them too,” Barnes said. “Bunch of ‘em are for sale, by the way. Your Coulson could really stand to do some housecleaning. I got a pretty comprehensive list of currently-active missions, staffing rosters, all of that. The only thing locked down was medical records and home of record addresses.”

“Huh,” Nick said. “Well, I mean, you are good.”

“It wasn’t hard,” Barnes said. He couldn’t even work up a good scowl, though. He just looked beat-down, faded. “I told Steve, those guys don’t got his back, but he doesn’t believe me.” He hunched his shoulders a little, and the metal arm whirred somewhere under layers of clothes. “He don’t know where Natasha is either, an’ he figured I was fuckin’ with him when I asked.”

“Huh,” Nick said again. “Well, guess I’ll have me a little chat with Phil.”

“Yeah,” Barnes said, “SHIELD’s not any cleaner than it was when I worked for it outta a cryo tank with an octopus on it.” He scuffed his toe against the floor. “Might be worse. Disrespecting your legacy, I figure.” He glanced up, then away again. “You want my source stuff, I’ll send it over. Coulson doesn’t gotta know it was me. So long’s he stays off the list that knows about me, yeah?”

“He’s not on the list,” Fury said. “I take care of everything to do with you personally. He doesn’t know who my double agent is. I let him think it’s a pretty girl.”

Barnes let a hint of a smile ghost across his face, at that. “I’d be pretty if I was a dame, for sure.”

“No doubt of that,” Nick said. “So, Natasha’s on a mission I didn’t send her on, you didn’t send her on, and SHIELD didn’t send her on, that Clint doesn’t know about, and she hasn’t set up any check-ins and hasn’t made any.”

“No sir,” Barnes said.

“And her nominal team leader, Rogers, doesn’t know her whereabouts either,” Nick went on.

“No sir,” Barnes said.

He looked so beat-down, so dejected, that Fury added, “And her boyfriend doesn’t know where she is either.”

Barnes looked up, at that, and there was alarm in his expression. It kind of jabbed Nick right under the ribs: Barnes thought he was telling him that there was someone else. Barnes blinked once, twice, and looked back down, perfectly blank, no expression but Fury still had the distinct sensation he’d just yanked the guy’s heart out straight through his guts.

“I meant you,” Fury said gently.

“I don’t know nothin’ about that,” Barnes said, hoarse nearly to the point of whispering. “You probably got to be human to know stuff about that kind of thing.”

“You’re human enough that it counts,” Nick said, a little sternly. Natasha had said something similar, not all that long before, and he’d chastised her, but he was never sure that kind of thing stuck.

Barnes shrugged. “About eighty percent,” he said, a little glumly. He glanced up. “Estimated. By volume, not weight.”

“You calculate that out?” Fury asked, skeptical.

“Nah,” Barnes said. “I’m good at math, but that’s not my style.” He scuffed his toe against the ground again. “There’s a whole big chunk of the Internet devoted to conspiracy theories about me and they did the math for me. If you go by weight I’m only like sixty-five percent human.”

“How’d they know all the relative weights?” Fury asked.

“I told ‘em,” Barnes said. He managed a shadow of a cheeky grin. “I hang out in that chunk of the Internet a lot. Makes me feel better about it. There was a six percent fudge factor for whether I was eating right or not. I weighed myself every day for two weeks. It was a fun science experiment.”

“Volume, though,” Fury said.

“That involved a bathtub and a lot more fudging of data than I’m comfortable admitting,” Barnes said. “I told myself I had to keep some mystery alive. Especially if someone might be able to reverse engineer something about the arm. I gotta keep the arm under wraps.”

“And you just… openly did this as yourself,” Fury said.

Barnes shrugged. “Sure,” he said. “I got a verified account, Natasha got it for me. The Internet knows who I am.”
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and now for the hey, sometimes my xkit is so broken that if i try to type into the post entry window it executes keyboard shortcuts instead, so every time I type a word with a d in it it saves the original post to my drafts, every time I type a word with an r in it it reblogs the original post without my edits, etc.

and then i have to manually delete them all and after literally six months of this my drafts folder is a literal pit of horror and i have no fucking idea what to do except delete xkit and the xkit guy is gone and the site is fucking awful without it

and i give up on fucking EVERYTHING right now and am going to … well, i don’t sleep well so it’s not like i can do that, so


feathasthekitten said: There’s a new group that has taken over xkit and repaired it. You have to go reinstall the new version.

I saw that but I have no fucking idea how and given how hard it was for me to do something that was billed as One Two Three Easy! the odds that I will actually do so are infinitesimal. I saw instructions go by and then never saw them again, and I don’t know how to do it and it’ll probably be too hard for me anyway. So, I am doomed to lie in my PIT OF INCOMPETENCE. Because I am an INCOMPETENT. 

&c &c ad infinitum I know, it gets pretty old for me too but there doesn’t seem to be a cure.
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via http://ift.tt/1LSV2iD:
Thank you.


and you probably got like four hundred thousand notifications because of my broken xkit that reblogged it fifty times while I was trying to type an addendum

and it’s just hard to be bad at shit and I thank you very much for having bothered to write the tutorial in the first place and being kind about my utter inability to follow it.

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via http://ift.tt/1O6SCdC:
and now for the hey, sometimes my xkit is so broken that if i try to type into the post entry window it executes keyboard shortcuts instead, so every time I type a word with a d in it it saves the original post to my drafts, every time I type a word with an r in it it reblogs the original post without my edits, etc.

and then i have to manually delete them all and after literally six months of this my drafts folder is a literal pit of horror and i have no fucking idea what to do except delete xkit and the xkit guy is gone and the site is fucking awful without it

and i give up on fucking EVERYTHING right now and am going to … well, i don’t sleep well so it’s not like i can do that, so

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sending from gmail manually since tumblr thing doesn't fucking work
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I swear I'll go back and delete these once it works. Unless I don't, in which case it's just an invitation to laugh uproariously at how bad I am at all of this. I've been working on this for three days.
Go ahead and judge me, I already have.
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Oh gosh. They've certainly changed things around here. Well...
I am not dead. I am reasonably well-medicated. There is a shakeup at work, the regional manager of 25 years is leaving for greener pastures, and the incompetent coworker who has bedeviled me for years is becoming the store manager even though she doesn't have the common sense God gave a gnat, but I don't really care about any of that because...
I am dropping to part-time, and am going to be trying to leverage remote work out of them to even further reduce the time I spend in that miserable office.
What am I doing instead?
I am going to commute biweekly to my hometown, in order to help my two little sisters with their various projects. Baby Sister has an organic farm just outside of Troy, which does pasture-raised poultry for meat and eggs (turkeys and chickens-- just meat turkeys), and also has a CSA, which is like a subscription to a farm-- you give the farmer operating capital up front, and in return get a box of what they grow every week for the duration of the growing season. There's also a grass-fed beef operation on the premises, and a cut flower business. They're renting the operation in hopes of buying it when the older couple who own the business retires, but so far that isn't materializing. In the meantime, I want to learn about running a small business and my sister has the knowledge.
The other little sister, the older little sister, ok that's the most confusing method possible of explaining it-- anyway, she lives downtown in Troy now (this is the sister who used to live with me) and works as an administrator. But she has a dream of opening a yarn shop with a physical retail and online presence. I know about running online businesses, that's mostly what I do at work, but I don't know about owning it. Hence my impromptu-apprenticeship with the other sister.
So I figure, I have to transition out of my current job anyway, so I might as well transition family-ward.
I started all this before I knew about the shakeup at work, but I'm feeling pretty smug by now. :)

Anyway. I'm working MTW every week at the old job, which is annoying, but I figure I can deal.

I have a lot of ideas and I'm mostly throwing them all at walls to see if they stick. *shrug* Among the ideas is raising a couple of peacocks for the feathers, but my sister's husband is resistant to adding peacocks to his farm, so I am attempting to bribe him. Which is entertaining.
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I have overcome my pinched shoulderblade nerve only to be laid low by menstrual cramps. And I do mean, laid low, they're really bad and making me woogity. But on the bright side, I recently needed to add more items to my Amazon cart to get some Add-On items, and remembered that I've been meaning to get a new menstrual cup, so I did, and it arrived in time, so I'm using it today instead of my far-too-old becoming-leaky old Keeper, which really needed to be retired as of like two years ago but I kept forgetting.

They actually make my cramps a little worse but I'd rather not generate like four trash cans full of expensive waste every monhth so I put up with it. And it's shiny and new, so there's that thrill of Having Nice Things to allay the discomfort.

And I've got to a good part in writing, a bit I'd been looking forward to writing for weeks, but it's not long enough to make a whole chapter. Boo! I wanted to post it because I get such a pick-me-up when I post a new thing and get comments.

But I feel like I'm finally climbing out of the seasonal depression, so there's that. Lots of things in the plus column, some things in the minus column, I just wish I could concentrate and keep writing because I'm at a good bit.

Attempting to crosspost things from Tumblr but probably not succeeding.
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The time change means it's light out for a while after I get home. It makes it feel a lot more like I can actually do things after dark. For a while now I've mentally just shut down when I got in the door after work, like a bird with a blanket over its cage. Maybe this will help. I wonder if there are stats on seasonal depression and daylight savings?
It's a barbaric practice and we should stop it.

I made it through another week. I'm really more surviving than anything else. It's not that i'm not happy-- that's not the thing, I can't explain that to people who don't have depression. I'm perfectly happy, I'm just barely functioning. I went to a party on Friday and felt like an alien pretending to be a normal person, trying to bluff my way through normal social interaction. I was definitely one of the weirder people in the room which, given that crowd, was quite an accomplishment. I begged off attending a baby shower I'd been looking forward to because, well, I did have quite a bad cold, but I also just couldn't face trying to socialize with people who know me well and might notice that I'm crazy.
I keep having minor issues with forgetting to believe in the real world, which at least doesn't happen at important times, but is really disheartening. Like, I'm so withdrawn I don't even know if it's real. That sucks.

But! I did manage to be productive this weekend. I have the accumulated hoarding of about eight years in this house, which has gotten really out of control-- I don't open my dresser drawers, and discovered on Sunday that I have a whole drawer full of long-sleeved shirts that fit me and are work-appropriate. And yet I'm wearing the same two over and over because they're the ones I know about, because they're in the piles I wash and dress myself from and wash and dump back into the piles on the floor.
So anyway. Periodically over the years I've culled garments that don't fit or are ugly or stained or way out of fashion or I don't know why I have them, and have put them into bags and put them into the attic or basement. Over the winter there was some flooding in the basement and a lot of these got wet with gross water. Faced with the choice of throwing them out or washing them, I of course washed them. But now I feel like I can't just put them back where they were. I have to either make something out of them, donate them, or throw them away.
Well, at this point, none of them are really nice enough to donate anymore. So... the latter two.
so... sewing!!!Collapse )

So that's that. In other activities, I'm still outputting writing at a tremendous pace, so that's something. It's only fic, which is too bad, but it's (I think) rather good fic, so there's that too.

Ah well.
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