Still Just Colorful

nwhepcat — Fri, 01 May 2020 22:05:40 GMT

So much not posting. How can 2 weeks go by where pretty much nothing happens, yet there's almost too much to say?

I watched the Stratford Theatre Festival's live showing of their filmed "Coriolanus," which was really great. A considerable amount of ho-yay at one point, like whoa. I'm digging getting to see these. I usually go to an outdoor theatre nearby to see 4 plays a year (usually 2 Shakespearean), and haven't purchased tickets (I usually have them by April) yet because of the Rona, and who the hell knows. So it's good to have these from Canada, and some free showings of British plays as well. I'm going to see if I can find the National Theatre "Frankenstein" sometime soon.

While I was rummaging through the YouTube tv offerings, I stumbled on a Jeff Daniels special. Looked like a concert, which I can highly recommend. I saw him about a year and a half ago and really enjoyed him (and his son's band). He has written and performed songs for many years. He was in the first Broadway play I ever saw, "Fifth of July," which is why I had bought a ticket. So I'll be scoping out that special sometime this weekend too.

Big irritation this week: One of the neighbors along the long shared driveway that goes past my house (up to one street and down to another) dumped dirt and apparently planted grass seeds on a portion of the drive. So the upper entrance/exit will be useless to me and my duplex neighbor. This is an issue solely in the winter, when it's impossible to get up the lower drive. There's actually an easement for the whole length of the drive, so this is not something that should have been done. I spent a lot of time looking up courthouse records (Bwahahaha—the database for real estate legal records is called LANDSHARK!!!) and digging up my documents for the purchase of my place, etc. Chatted with the lawyer who helped me with the purchase (and presciently insisted on a clearer, more detailed easement doc), and he'll get back with me early next week. Here's something weird, though. When all the driveway conversations were going on, I knew there were 7 properties touching the drive, and all the others had to sign off. So all this time I thought there were many signature pages among all these different owners. No. There's the guy down the far end, and the 5 other properties were all owned by the guy who sold me this place. I used to chat with him quite a bit, even after the sale, and I had no idea. I'm not sure now if the parcel that blocked the drive has been sold and this is the new owner, or if the guy who was trying to sell it last winter is trying to improve its salability somehow. (I don't know when the one who owned it when I bought this place sold, but he didn't own it when I looked into it when it was for sale.) It's a weird, narrow lot, so I don't even know if what they did would add a lot of value. Just UGH.

In other news, the library class I was auditing has ended. Lots of great reading, and good info. I need to keep using my local library. They were great at getting me books, right up until the last day before they had to close. They're now allowed to do curbside delivery again.

Speaking of which, I should figure out what I want to eat and order and pick up. I have been doing so about once a week but missed last week. Friday is when a lot of the local places do it.

Signs of a Quarantine

nwhepcat — Thu, 16 Apr 2020 18:47:25 GMT

The other night I dreamed about going to a professional conference and realizing when I was there that I'd forgotten to wear a bra.

This morning I got a package and actually opened the door a bit to get it and yell "Thank you!" to the letter carrier, and realized I was not only not wearing a bra but still in pajamas. And didn't really care.

I do still care about my roots, which are pretty bad. I have color depositing shampoo but have so far been too lazy to apply it. Since it's been a while since I've updated regularly, it's probably not common knowledge that my hair is allover blue. I've been trying to think of a good way to describe it, and so far have only come up with KD Box Blue.

Must go scrounge in the kitchen for something to eat.

Boring yammer about dinner (and supporting a good local restaurant)

nwhepcat — Thu, 16 Apr 2020 03:07:00 GMT

Sunny today, with spotty clouds. But tit-freezing. Might be perfect for a little drive, though. Maybe I should order a meal from some local joint and pick it up. There's a fancy steakhouse about 16 miles away that's doing takeout, and they do some pretty awesome stuff. (Not Ruth's Chris fancy, local supper club fancy, so a little over half the price.) I have to pick up a prescription in the town 7 miles in that direction, so why not. I've gotten takeout about 1x a week while in quarantine, so that's a helluva lot less than times per week I tend to eat out.

Later: I did go to the steakhouse, which was a splurge, but I'm totally justifying it because they are doing free lunches for kids and families in need. I got their special, which is a grilled prime rib, which is utterly amazing. It came with grilled (I think) baby carrots and a baked potato and a roll. I further splurged on a slice of flourless chocolate cake, which was also bliss. First time I've ever gotten dessert at that place, as the steak is so damn good I've previously always considered eating the whole damn thing as my dessert. This time I ate half and will have the rest tomorrow.

nwhepcat — Tue, 14 Apr 2020 21:30:51 GMT

I have about half an hour before a Zoom convo with my local peeps, so thought I would actually write this post I've been thinking about.

I've been to the grocery store 2 days ago, so I reset the clock on feeling like I'm sufficiently isolated and won't get the Rona. I did go out with a mask (quickie handmade one which worked quite well—at least as far as I know) and nitrile gloves which I'd bought for hair dyeing. They were counting people who went inside, so it wasn't a traffic jam. Other than me there were only about 4 people who were wearing masks.

My class was this morning, discussing 2 books. I was still having a fair bit of problems focusing (again) on reading, so I ended up reading like a maniac yesterday, finishing the book I'd gotten from the library before they shut, and listening to the other on scribd. Both were books in verse: Elizabeth Acevedo's The Poet X, which I liked a lot, because it pinged with a lot of my feelings and memories about being a writer in my teens. I ended up tweeting a little fangirlishness to the author as soon as I finished it. The other, which was only available in text in an excerpt, I listened to. Great reader, though the visual effect of the poems was mostly lost. The reader did try to get some of that across. That was Skila Brown's To Stay Alive, a cheerful little book about the Donner Party. (Who doesn't love a party?)

I have 2 to read for next week, which stunningly, I've started on. The one I've started is Wolf by Wolf, author tk when there's not a cat on my tit. It's kind of an alternate history thriller involving nazi experiments on a young girl, which I first thought "Ooh, I don't know about this," and then I thought, "EXCUSE ME, WORLD'S BIGGEST WINTER SOLDIER WHORE?" What can I say, I'm a complex person.

So I've been meaning to write about this comedian I discovered recently via reddit, Daniel Sloss. I love the way he structures his act, and the stuff he gets into, which is quite serious and profound. But saying what each show ends up being about in order to rec one completely blows the effect, which is to smack you in the face with a dead mackerel of a topic while you're still being amused. Even that almost feels like too much to reveal, but you'll probably forget it while you're watching. His first two specials are on Netflix, and I'd seriously suggest watching them in order because the seconds spoils the first. I was hella impressed with those very profound sets, and watched the third on HBO, and holy shit, was it amazing. If you really prefer having content warnings, message me and I will tell you, but if you don't tend to look for them, you'll likely appreciate what he does. I will say, he says so much of what I want a man to say about the topics he speaks of, and he very much strikes the right tone, at least for me.

And my Zoom is about to zoom, so I'm off for now.

nwhepcat — Tue, 07 Apr 2020 12:35:16 GMT

I think the lockdown is getting to me.

I woke up this morning, wanted to know what time it was, and double-tapped my face.

nwhepcat — Mon, 06 Apr 2020 16:33:43 GMT

A couple of sunny days over the weekend, though not yet above the 50ºs. Did I get out and spend tons of time? No. None at all on Saturday, but I did go out and have a bit of a conversation 6' from my next door neighbor in our shared driveway. I texted her to ask her to witness my absentee ballot, which she did. We chatted a while and then later I drove on out to drop my ballot in the city hall dropbox and stopped at a restaurant to get a curbside pickup of the meal I'd ordered online.

I had mushroom ravioli with beef tips and a berry cream puff. Pastry was a bit tough, but whipped cream is always good. As for the berries, it was the kind of amount that would prompt my dad to say "the string must've broke."

My TV quit working on Friday, but this morning I turned off the power strip and gave it 30 seconds, and it seems to be normal now.

I found a letter I'd started to a friend of mine before Christmas, which I intend to continue and send. It looked like a missive from another world! Concerts and a road trip and writing classes. I never did get my Christmas cards sent, and I'm considering doing that now. The box I bought in November (I buy a box every year, whether I send any or not!) has a sloth on them, so it seems perfect. However, I should be reading my book for tomorrow's class, which I have about 300 pages left to read. OOPS. My focus, she is gone.

Speaking of which, I'm going to go do that now. I don't want to leave giant gaps in my LJ now that I've started it up again.

Oh WOW!

nwhepcat — Sun, 29 Mar 2020 14:13:32 GMT

It was so great to see so many responses to my post! Especially on the LJ side. All my people flocking home in a crisis, offering and receiving community. What a gift!

Here it is raining A-FUCKING-GAIN, which is seriously messing with my mental health. So is spending an entire day sitting in one spot reading Twitter. I know that! But it's addictive. But also there are such great things to be found there, like the jolly old gent singing "Stay the Fuck at Home." The bored sportscaster calling his dogs dinner time as if it's a sporting event. (Brilliant) A family (including elderly dad, who had refused to dance at his own wedding) dancing to "All the Single Ladies" and killing it (including the dad). People being kind. Useful information. Somewhere around 2:00 a.m. (kill me now) I began Blocking All the Motherfuckers.

Note: In the last four years since I was reliably here, my language has gotten to be a shitload worse. I curse like a motherfucker. I wonder what could be the cause of this.

I can't forswear Twitter until I finish my 19-day CORVID-19 tweets, which link to cool info on crows, ravens, magpies, jays, and the new-to-me treepies, which live in South and East Asia. It's been fun looking for and tweeting about corvid research, birdwatching neepery, mini-documentaries on the ravens who live at the Tower of London, etc.

Otherwise, I am apparently not one of those people who find being stuck in the house a great ambition engine. Though I might have found my motivation in not wanting to die with my house in the mess that it is, if I happen to get this shit.

I am also having trouble with next week's reading assignment. I now have 2 novels to read in 2 days. Yesterday I read some, but I find something in the writing that isn't compelling. I ended up taking an hourlong nap (with Sammy cat curled up on my pelvis). Might try the other book today and see if that goes better.

I also need to make a drugstore run and a grocery run today. That, at least, will get me out of the house, but I'd much prefer it not be rainy and darkish. The drugstore run I can do from my car, at least. Not sure about the grocery run.

Okay, I'm going to make my breakfast and try to get some other things going today. See you soon!

nwhepcat — Sat, 28 Mar 2020 03:46:35 GMT

So hey.

I'm really embarrassed to see that pretty much this whole page of posts is "Oh hi. I haven't been around for ages, but I'm going to try to be around more." And then I don't.

But...hi. I haven't been around for ages, but I AM going to try to be around more. I've been spending A LOT of time obsessively scrolling on Twitter and paying attention to the news, and i don't think it's the best for my mental health. And I miss being here—the conversations, the fannishness, the friendships. So really, I'm going to try and do my best this time. We need connection as we live with social distancing/quarantine/sheltering in place. I hope you are well!

So, let me give some highlights:

I got fired from the job I'd been at for 12 years about a year and a half ago. After 2 years of toxicity, I decided "Fuckit, I'm retired!" and I don't miss working daily. So I came into the sheltering in place stuff with plenty of practice.

The creativity has been a struggle. I feel like I can wind up my looooong running fic in one chapter, but it's not speaking to me. I wrote some notes on a novel I'd like to write, but that's been stalled for a bit.

Other stuff I've been up to:

• Went to a 5-day memoir-writing class at a rustic conference center in West Virginia. Great people, wonderful teacher, really enjoyable writing.

• Folded it into a road trip to see my family and a stop to see a friend on the way home. While I was in hometown I went to see Lyle Lovett and his acoustic band, which was a great show.

• Signed up for an online class at UW in creating characters, and got a bit of a start on a novel I want to write.

• Am auditing a class in library and information sciences on resources and books for young adults, because the main character of the novel is a librarian. Reading some great books, enjoying the discussions and the students.

• Did Ladies Rock Camp in December and had a blast. I've been planning to go to the May camp, though it's uncertain whether that's still going to happen.

• Broke my foot in May of last year and had to have surgery to stabilize it. I'd broken the same foot a year and a half before that (3 bones!).

I think I'll leave that there, and be around more. I will! I've missed y'all!

Happy New Year!

nwhepcat — Mon, 02 Jan 2017 01:04:02 GMT

Dear 2017,

Please don't suck moose dick.

Thanks for your cooperation,

nwhepcat

So I am lying on my recliner, beneath a cat (Sammy, aka Junior Cat), wishing I had an affinity for dumb TV. My holidays have been ridiculously quiet, so it's not due to any raucous activities--I just have very little stamina. My big accomplishments of the week have been 1) just beginning to walk like a regular person when I'm in the house, where I can wear regular shoes. Out in the world I'm still using the boot and a crutch. 2) Managing to go to work 4 days in a row for 3 weeks in a row, and lately walking the hella long way to the bathroom at work 4 times in one day instead of needing the knee scooter.

Today I went to Madison, planning to see a couple of movies, but the timing was such that I made it to one, and didn't have the energy for 3 hours before the other one I wanted to see. I had lunch in the bar at the theater, thought about doing a couple of errands but both places were closed, so I came home. Madison is my preferred movie spot these days because they have recliners, and I'm all about having my foot up when I can. I finally saw "Rogue One," after a couple of weekends of wanting to get there to see it. Such goodness, having a capable heroine in yet another SW movie! And a diverse cast too.

It's almost like Hollywood is finally catching on that wimmins like movies!

Yesterday was my originally planned movie day, but I got a slow start, then my friend of 38 years called and we talked for 95 minutes. I scaled down my plans, going out to buy the specialized cat food my boys eat, then having a BBQ lunch. As I was about to leave I got into a wonderful conversation with two women who were at the next table. We chatted for maybe 30 minutes or more, then swapped contact info. I never would have met them if I'd gotten an early start on my day, so Yay, sloth! Oh, and I met the service dog of one of the women, named Hector--anyone who read my Christmas story will know why that tickled me. (Hector is one of my favorite characters I've added to the MCU.)

Christmas was super quiet, as I lost all my PTO while being off work after my foot surgery, so no travel. I went to Christmas eve service with friends and had dinner with them, but otherwise spent 2 solid days holed up writing said Christmas story. Which is a perfect way to spend a solitary holiday, if I'm going to have one. This weekend I've also been working on my WIP, and almost have a chapter done.

I'm not really resolving, but I suppose I have some goals. One is to be around here a little more.

Happy new year, y'all! Let me know what's up!!

Fic: Avengers vs. Worst. Christmas. Ever.

nwhepcat — Tue, 27 Dec 2016 02:53:30 GMT

That 4-day weekend where you mean to go to the city and hit the movies and then you spend two full days writing (sort of) a fic instead.

I swear, I was more active right after my surgery, but that's probably because my bladder was so small.

Anyway, here's the link: http://archiveofourown.org/works/9072778

Um...so, hey.

nwhepcat — Sat, 13 Aug 2016 01:13:32 GMT

Some of y'all might actually remember me. It's been almost five friggin months since I've posted at all. Sheesh.

What's been up? A lot, plus not much. One main thing is, I had orthopedic surgery 4 weeks ago today. Serious reconstruction shit, with screws and plates and all that. I've had ever worsening pain for quite a long time, and finally hit the point where the idea of living with it was much worse than the idea of surgery. I talked to a surgeon who was well recommended, went home with the idea that I would still put it off and try steroid injections, and about 2 days later decided: 1) I'm not getting any younger, 2) it's not getting any better, 3) I have good insurance, 4) I have friends who are schoolteachers. So I set it up for this summer.

Speaking of teachers, autobadgirl came out for 2 1/2 weeks to get me through the first part of my recuperation, and she was stellar. Great cooking, great care-taking, fantastic company. I was so lucky she could come and did without hesitation. She came out a couple of days early so we could cram summer into the days before I'd get laid up, and we went to the House on the Rock together, something we'd talked about for YEARS. What a horrible place for bad feet, but oh well! After, we watched "Stranger Things," which we both loved, and both political conventions, which generated a lot of conversation.

So back to the surgery thing....I can't put any weight on my foot for 7 weeks total, then start back very slowly. What the doc did was fuse two joints in my left foot, so they have to be pretty much undisturbed for the bone to grow and fuse. So I'm getting around mostly by wheelchair, a bit by knee scooter (I was planning the whole summer for the knee scooter, until a physical therapist advised me to start off with the chair, which was a good idea. I still started on it way sooner than I probably should have, and was seriously exhausted by the one trip we did with me using it.)--so the most basic daily tasks are fucking exhausting, and I'm not getting much done at all. Actually, I haven't even binge-watched anything since Autobadgirl left, and I have only read one book. So much for my thought that "It'll be just like a vacation, but with pain!" Though it was a Mary Roach book, which is very vacation-like for me. I read her last book on a trip to visit the fam last summer.

When I was googling everything about the surgery, I happened on a resource that led me to figuring out exactly what caused my lifelong problems with my feet. I clicked on a link mentioning Amniotic Band Syndrome, a very rare birth defect where fibers detach from the amniotic sac and get tangled up in various baby parts during gestation. It can affect pretty much any area, and can cause limbs to self-amputate, or it can wrap fibers around the neck, so it occurred to me that I'm generally pretty lucky.

I had several major operations for this as a kid, including a joint fusion in both feet when I was very small. Over the years, that fusion has deteriorated and turned the ankle and mid-foot into a slow-motion train wreck. I was sure my doc knew what he was doing from the start when he told me his goal would be not to create a foot that was regular-people normal, but one that was normal for me, that my brain would recognize and feel comfortable with my gait. I've seen the before/after x-rays and the difference is huge. When he finished my operation he came out to tell Badgirl and one of my local friends that he was very happy with the result, and that I should get a lot of pain relief. Yay!

Then sometime, I'm thinking maybe next year, I do the other foot.

My local tribe here has also been wonderful to help out with meals and rides and husbands with toolboxes. They also welcomed Badgirl as one of our family, and we gave her a birthday party. I am blessed with all my friends!

Other developments of late: while Badgirl was here, we had a VERY close lightning strike that scared the piss out of us (the smoke detector went flying across the kitchen)--it was during Donald Trump's convention speech, which I am taking as a warning from above. It killed my central air, which took a week to get fixed during a hellacious hot spell, so she and I did a lot of swanning about the house as the temp climbed to 85 degrees inside.

Also, I subscribed to Hello Fresh, one of the meal kit services, and while Badgirl was here she did the cooking (spectacular!), and since she left I have managed to make the meals myself (though in twice the stated prep time). Very good recipes, with some ingredients that repeat but are made in a variety of ways. The recipe cards actually give you ideas about how to cook things in new ways on your own, too. No measuring, so less clean up. The vegetables are pretty fresh (though a couple of times not beautiful) and the meat has been very high quality. The cost isn't really worse than buying groceries, and there's less waste. So it hasn't been just frozen dinners--I've been eating very well, even on days without a delivery from a friend.

The kitties are good. Sam lives downstairs, so after Badgirl left I've just been having my cat sitter come in every morning. She feeds them and cleans the boxes, and lets Sam upstairs after securing Dr. Ralph, so we spend time together. Sam was VERY alarmed when I came home from the hospital, and took a long time to get over it, but he's warmed up since then. Ralph has been my sweet little nurse cat, curling up in my lap multiple times a day.

This is the most I've written in WEEKS. I do feel like that's coming back, though. This week I read all of "Out of Silence" to date, and have written about a sentence today, but that encourages me. I'll leave the mega report here for now, but HI, EVERYONE!!

Oh bother

nwhepcat — Wed, 25 May 2016 02:03:55 GMT

So it seems that I never posted "These Songs of Freedom," the post-Chosen fic set in Liberia, on AO3 or the Buffy fanfic archive. Apparently I wrote it two laptops ago, so I have no idea....

Seems I didn't post it here, just a pointer to where it lived on a site that doesn't exist anymore.

Does anyone know where it might be on the interwebs, or failing that, happen to have a copy of the damn thing they've downloaded?

Of all the fics to lose....

Also, I have news but am getting ready for Wiscon, so I hope to get it posted sometime after things calm down. (Oooh, teaser!) I guess we could call it real life hurt/comfort, coming up.

ETA: Found! Thank you, hannah!

Me again.

nwhepcat — Mon, 25 Apr 2016 02:50:54 GMT

Well, this is a relic of a few weeks ago, but I'm gonna finish it:

I'm listening to an episode of Coverville, a channel on Mixcloud, which I discovered via the excellent host of Rhythm Revue, Felix Hernandez. This episode is full of covers by and of Wilson Pickett and of Lady Gaga. Quite a lot of nifty stylistic riffs on Gaga, and I'm enjoying it thoroughly. Though I find that music impedes writing, even of chatty journal posts.

Anyhow, here's the ep: https://www.mixcloud.com/BrianIbbott/coverville-1118-its-the-land-of-1000-just-dances-with-cover-stories-for-wilson-pickett-lady-ga/

Back from vacation (a visit to Hepmom), which wasn't very active, but I have been kinda wiped out last night and today. Got home from the airport just before vertigo hit, so that was probably what had me wiped out today. Also, waking up around 4 pm (and also being awakened at some unknown hour by happy Elder Cat). It's been an exhausting couple or three weeks. as remarked on in my last post.

The night before I left for HepState was the final evening of a fascinating series, which has also been a pretty profound experience, and one that I happened on completely by accident. Early in March I realized it was election day, and I didn't know anything about the candidates in one of the 2 races (all local or state judges), apart from one of them really seemed to have some enemies with big money, because we got a full-color 81/2" x 11" attack ad in the mail pretty much every day. (Turns out he has been pursuing the John Doe investigation re our governor and his minions, so yeah, I voted for him.) The local grassroots org that pointed me to the info on the candidates also reported that there would be a 5-week series of talks called Welcoming Our Muslim Neighbors, sponsored by several local churches. Each week a Muslim speaker came from a nearby (if 45 miles counts) to talk about different facets of their faith.

First session was about misconceptions about Islam and fears about ISIS and other radical groups. I really enjoyed the speaker, who was from Libya, if I remember right. The second week was about the similarities between Islam and Christianity, which I probably learned when I took comparative religion back in college, but that WAS a little while ago. That speaker was from Sudan. I had sneaked in a little late, coming straight from work, and sat at the back. The first couple of sessions I was either too shy or too hungry to talk to the speakers, but after that I did every week. The third week was at the local library, and was a presentation of Islamic art/architecture, with a speaker from Egypt. I'm not sure where the speakers from the fourth session were from--there was a couple, both engineering professors (just looked them up--they're from Bangladesh), and a single UW student, speaking about Muslim family life. The female engineering instructor was the first woman speaker we heard. She and her husband were funny and personable, and I enjoyed talking with them after.

[That's where I ran out of writing juice. So to continue...] The last week was a group visit to the Islamic Center in the city. It's actually a rather humble building, no minarets or dome, but the traditional niche facing Mecca, and not surprisingly, nice rugs! I'm not sure how many of us there were who came--more than a dozen, I think. We kinda outnumbered the congregants, as it was a Wednesday around dinnertime, so probably most people were doing their prayers at home. It was just a prayer time, not very long, as the big day of worship is Friday. Before the prayers we had a couple of men talking and answering questions (we were upstairs but had a view of the main room), one was the man from Sudan and the other was Palestinian. After the prayers, we were introduced to a college student, a 4th-generation American. It was incredibly interesting to get his perspective. His mother's family actually came from Ireland, and she converted after doing some seeking, a couple of years (if I remember right) before she met his father, who is Palestinian-American. (The Palestinian side of his family has actually been here longer than the Irish, though both came around/over 100 years ago.) There was a young woman who helped set up some snacks, and they invited her in to meet us, but she seemed shy and didn't stay.

Everyone we met was so warm and welcoming of questions--even the hard questions. The man from Sudan had such love in his eyes as he spoke or listened to the other speakers, and I definitely felt it toward our group. (I gathered he was one of the leaders of the community, though there's no imam in the sense that the media portrays. The imam is whoever is leading the prayers during that service. The young American guy said he had done so at times.) The two older men said we were welcome to return any time (the young one had gone off to play basketball with his friends), and I told them I was really going to miss these gatherings. One said, "Oh, are you moving away?"

This really moved me. I feel like our two groups were peace mongers in our own small way. And the group was pretty neat. Pretty much middle aged and older. My friend L's 92-year-old father came to two of the regular sessions, and also to the mosque. He sat doing his breathing treatments during the program at the mosque. I loved his commitment and his interest in learning about other people. (He also had art cards made of paintings he did, and the proceeds of what he sells he's donating to aid Syrian refugees.)

All in all, it was a really profound experience, and I hope the people who organized it get us all together again.
___

I missed two sessions of my art group to go to the first and the last sessions of the series of talks, so I recently ran into one of the regulars out roaming around on garage sale day in town. I told her why I'd missed the two nights, and she proceeded to trash the religion and tell me not to get "sucked in" by their warmth and kindness. Arrrrrrghhhhh. Way to shit on something that was really profound. I really liked her, but damn. That's going to be hard to overlook. Weird, because she's generally progressive.

So anyway, that's What I Did with My Late Winter. I was really glad a relatively small rural town put on something like that, and it was gratifying to see how well received it was on both sides.

Hello. It's me.

nwhepcat — Sun, 20 Mar 2016 01:51:35 GMT

I know I started a post somewhere along the line, abandoned it as boring and eventually had to shut off my laptop. Thus saving y'all from having to read it 3 weeks out of date. Life has been more interesting of late, and if I have time to complete a post before I do the next thing, or continue in between doing the things, there's a chance I'll actually post it.

Currently I'm in a hotel room in Hepmom's town, for a visit with her in the care center where she lives. She's been there for more than three years, and is happy and as active as she can be, considering health issues. For instance, she gets up at 5:30 to deliver the handful of papers to the residents who subscribe. She also gets a cloth napkin at lunchtime that is shabby around the edges, re-hems it, and returns it with the next meal's tray. Otherwise napping, reading, socializing, killing at bingo (and donating her winnings to the church's world hunger drive).

I'd been staying at Chez Hepmom on these visits, but the house is finally cleared of furniture, so I decided a hotel would be comfy. Hepbro lives nearby and offered a room, but I figured 3 adults and 2 dogs (one a mountain cur) would be a little much over 6 days. I decided it was worth spending a bit extra (not terribly much, actually) per night for the room and got a suite with jacuzzi tub and kitchenette, and this is more comfortable than I've been in a couple of years at my mom's house. (Last time I was there, there was a twin bed, a chair (not recliner) and a wooden chair to put my feet up. And lots of empty space. Weird.) This is an especially good thing, considering I have a lot of time to hang around. My mom goes back to bed after she delivers the papers, so we don't check in with one another until noon, and then if she's feeling sick, she might not want to see me until mid to late afternoon.

My friend of 40 years now llves a little over an hour away, so she's sharing my room for a few days so we can catch up big time. She's now in the fitness center, so I'm catching up with y'all.

The previous couple of weeks have been just wild. My department at work is moving to a brand new building, especially designed for the creative team and photography studio. It's been really thoughtfully done, and one of the best features is that it will have lots of natural light without glare. The outer windows are much higher than the inner walls, so there's a transom window effect. So the result of this wonderful new stuff is that I've had to go through and pack all my stuff, and do it a week before others did because of my vacation. I got it accomplished, though not much else!

I have framed a bunch of art cards to put in my new cubicle, although my nerd life will probably steal in before very long. My sub-department's moving day is the day before I return, so I'll be back for one day to begin packing, then we have Good Friday off. A three-day weekend will be pretty appreciated.

The other main thing that's been happening is worth a post of its own, particularly because it's getting late and I'm not sure I'd get through the whole thing. It's been a really interesting, thought-provoking and cool time around my little town of late.

Helllloooooooooooo!

nwhepcat — Sat, 06 Feb 2016 03:40:23 GMT

Good grief, it's been a long time since I've been here. I think maybe because I've been around on Facebook a bit more--probably a couple of reasons for that. I've been interacting with a closed group from a course I'm taking, and that is involving. Seems like a good bunch of people in general, invested in supporting one another, yay.

The other reason, besides hanging out chatting with friends, is I've been following Mikal Gilmore, the writer for Rolling Stone and author of Shot in the Heart. We used to be on the same NYC-centric BBS back in the day, and so when I stumbled on his Facebook page I started reading him again. Actually I find FB a much better forum for reading lengthy-isn posts than Echo was, so I've probably been more engaged than I was then. A few months ago, Mikal was diagnosed with cancer and has been undergoing both chemo and radiation, and he's doing pretty well. I have been really moved by the grace and openness he and his wife Elaine Schock have demonstrated during all this. Mikal has been posting regularly--his habitual commentary on music, politics, life and cats. But he's also kept a running public journal during his treatment--posting a daily picture of the radiation department with a countdown to his last treatment, and a running account of various songs they've been playing on the hospital shuttle. During the Christmas season, he posted videos of the musicians that played in the common areas at the hospital, and the decorations. Every week Elaine posts an account of the medical details. And now there's this big community on FB sending loving thoughts, prayers, cat videos, and sometimes physical gifts. It's really amazing to be part of it.

it's really moving to read their posts about each other, too. The love they express is incredibly moving. Anyone who's read Shot in the Heart knows Mikal has known darkness and he has a gift for writing about it. Seeing his unabashed declarations of love for Elaine, reading about her fierce advocacy and care during his illness...they just give me hope. It's hard to describe, but there such a lot of love--between the Shockmores, as he calls them, their friends and people who have never met them, and connections being made between those following Mikal and Elaine--there's a LOT of light and love in that corner of the internet, and for me it dispels some of the darkness that can also be found online.

In the midst of all this--while he was undergoing chemo and radiation treatments--Mikal wrote Rolling Stone's cover story on David Bowie. It's a fine read, and doubly meaningful to know that he was writing about Bowie's death while getting a powerful reminder of his own mortality.

Elaine is pretty damn cool her own self. Her updates show some great writing too, and she's had her own big jobs to attend to during this time (oh, Willie Nelson singing for the President and shit...She works with him, among other artists).

So...I've been spending more time on FB of late than I thought I ever would (apart from GISHWHES!). But it reminds me too that I have a great community here that has made a profound difference in my own life. My life wouldn't be nearly as good without fandom and LJ/DW and the community I've found in these overlapping worlds. I love you guys.

LAST SUNDAY'S UNPOSTED POST

nwhepcat — Sun, 17 Jan 2016 02:31:48 GMT

Well of COURSE I had a shit-ton of stuff planned to do to day and OF COURSE I have vertigo. Not lying down and feeling like puking vertigo, but not wanting to be up and around vertigo.

I do have important stuff to do that can be done on a sofa, so I may get some things done. But I think I'd be most adept at supervising from a horizontal position as handy-people do all the work.

Okay, I just got up to make breakfast, and it's not too bad. Meds have apparently kicked in some.

So yesterday I had one of those Go to Town and Do All The Errands days. In the early morning I had a vet visit for Sam for his physical (he's in great shape!) and rabies shot. Came home, chatted with Hepmom on the phone, headed into Madison. Super healthy stir-fry lunch, stop at hardware store to buy some storage stuff (went looking for one thing, which they didn't have, then bought a bunch of other organizational stuff. As one does.) Went to the spice store to replenish my favorite spice and herb blends that I'm out of and get a free jar of Turkish oregano. Target to find the thing I didn't find at the hardware store, and of course I bought something on impulse (cute lunch pail/bento box type thingie with a strap handle!). Went to my appointment for hot stone massage (good thing the weather turned colder--dunno if I could have dealt with the heat if it was as warm out as it has been this winter). It was nice but not as relaxing as I hoped.

Got dinner at 5:00 because two or three good pees and all those healthy vegetables I had for lunch were GONE. I thought it would be pretty barren (I went to a popular retro diner that does a bunch of kinds of pie) but it was pretty crowded but no line yet (by the time I left there was a line). Screw vegetables--I had baked mac & cheese and pie.

Then I went to a couple of craft stores looking for a magazine/book on altered couture and ended up with two books on drawing. As one does. At JoAnn's I turned into one aisle and a young woman smiled at me, and I smiled back, then I got closer and saw she had just used the big decorative letters to spell out BOOBS. I laughed, so we got into a little conversation. She said, "I'm glad you laughed, I thought you'd be like THAT's mature." I said maturity was overrated. I gave her a high five and we giggled some more. MY PEOPLE!!!!

I am such a weirdo

nwhepcat — Tue, 22 Dec 2015 03:32:52 GMT

I have developed an extreme hatred of driving in the fog at night. Because it makes me fuckin' ILL. Literally. I'd considered heading home from work a little early tonight so I could drive in the light, but when I went to look at the weather, it didn't look all that foggy. So I stayed. When I left it was dark and foggy. Don't know what it is, but that kind of drive has made me all clammy and nauseated twice now--the time before this I also got a powerful case of vertigo on top of it. This time it was just the clamminess and nausea. Bleh.

So I had Triscuits and seltzer for dinner, whee.

Do I do anything but complain here? I think I do, but it may have been a while.

So I'm currently back on a podfic kick (listening, that is), after some audios. I listened to most of David Byrne's "How Music Works," which is interesting, densely packed, and not exactly what I expected. It's not so much music theoryish as what things have historically affected what's going on in the music world (like the technology, and the sort of places where music was/is heard), businessy stuff, stuff about Byrnes' own creative process. Where it really sort of fell down is not taking advantage of the fact that it was on audio--I'd have loved to hear the songs he was alluding to at the point where he was talking about them. I don't know all that much of his/Talking Heads' work, so I didn't have an instant mental playback as particular works were discussed. Pretty interesting in general, and he seems not to have a bloated ego, at least it doesn't seem so to me. I loved that he quoted a line from a review, not meant to be complimentary, that he'd "collaborate with anyone for a bag of Doritos." It's narrated by a reader, not Byrne, but the guy is pretty good. I need to go back and listen to the last couple of chapters, since I put it on one night when I had insomnia, so of course I fell asleep and missed 95%.

I've also listened to part of Sarah Vowell's "The Partly Cloudy Patriot," which I intended as light listening between chunks of the David Byrne, but the chapter on the election of Bush II over Al Gore kinda depressed the fuck out of me, particularly in light of things that are going on at the moment. It's very good, though, and I loved her remarks about Al Gore as a "big honking nerd" (which she, as a big honking nerd, means as a compliment). Her particular insights on how media shapes a narrative it has already delineated really depressed extra fuck out of me.

Speaking of things that are going on at the moment, I implore you to read this piece on Donald Trump's hair, at Vanity Fair. http://www.vanityfair.com/news/2015/12/donald-trump-mark-bowden-playboy-profile#1

The main article is interesting, though not at all surprising--I had not expected to learn that Donald Trump has hidden depths, so finding out that he's exactly the repulsive vulgarian he seems wasn't particularly shocking. But it's worth a read to learn a little more about what a terrible human being he is. No, the (as an editor of mine used to say) piss de resistance is the slideshow on Trump's hair over the decades. I wish I knew who wrote the captions, which are gloriously mean and hilarious. (For example, the suggestion that at one stage his hair products were "rubber cement and snot," which made me honk like a Canadian goose.) So scroll down and behold the glory that is world-class snark. (As VF put it "Warning! Don't Read Before Lunch!")

ETA: And for legal snark: http://abovethelaw.com/2015/12/an-awesome-response-to-a-cease-and-desist-letter-from-donald-trumps-lawyer/

Do read the whole letter. (And the original letter from Trump's lawyer has some comedy gold, stating that an attempt to make attack ads regarding DT is "fool hearted.")

I don't think I have shared this story here, so sometime I really need to regale you with my actual brush with Trump, in which he WINKED AT ME.

But I should really get to bed now.

FIC: Arlington: Christmas Day, 2013 (Clint Barton, Steve Rogers)

nwhepcat — Mon, 21 Dec 2015 00:02:43 GMT

I posted this fic, which is part of my long Clint Barton fic, on AO3 a couple of weeks ago. But in case you missed it....

Arlington: Christmas Day, 2013
Fandom: MCU
Summary: Steve inadvertently steps on a land mine in a war he knows nothing about. He reacts about like you'd expect. (Not nearly as grim as this summary makes it sound.)
Warning for Fox News

Snowflakes settle on Clint's hair and shoulders, land and melt on his face and the backs of his hands. It's cold for DC, and the damp--not unusual at all--seeps into his bones. He's not sure how long he's been standing here at Phil's grave, only that it's been a while.

"The thing about Arlington," he says to Steve, who's been standing behind him at a respectful distance for a few minutes now, "is that you can't stand here thinking that you're the only one who's suffering this way, that your story is that different from anyone else's. I mean, yeah, you lost Bucky seventy years ago and practically yesterday, and Phil got stabbed through the heart by a Norse god, but when you look at these rows and rows of white stones, it's got to hit you that this has been going on for a long, long time." He turns to face Steve. "Well, I guess that hit you a lot sooner than it did me.”

Steve offers a wry smile. "Yeah, I guess so." After a pause, he asks, "Did it help, coming here?”

"I think it does. I know he'd be proud and honored to be here, included in this company. He lived and died doing what he felt he was meant to, keeping people safe, making it possible for them to live their lives not having to know the shit that he knew." He smirks. "Listen to me, I'm finally giving Phil his eulogy. What about you, Steve? Does it help you to come here?" Briefly placing his palm on Phil's headstone in farewell, he turns and they start walking back the way they had come.

"Sometimes, I guess. But sometimes it feels like poking at a wound, stirring up a lot of 'what ifs'. And it's a big disappointment to see seventy more years of gravestones. I really hoped we'd learn how to do things differently. I would have been good with waking up and being a completely forgotten part of a long-past era because humanity had moved on."
"Well, moving on is a bitch, isn't it? Whether it's one person or seven billion.”

"Seven billion--you are just pulling that number out of the air, aren't you?"

"Nope. That's the latest stat. Which I guess is why we don't do something about all the war and killing. Plenty of spare-- Hey, it's Christmas Day. Tell me to knock off the gloom.”

"It's fair. There are men and women putting their lives on the line on Christmas Day. I wish there were something I could do for them."

"How about doing a video message wishing them a merry Christmas?"

Steve's mouth quirks unhappily. "It's a little late for that. Anyone who could arrange that has the day off, and by the time it would be finished--"

"Who needs to arrange anything? My phone's camera has a video setting, and the quality's good. We could do it right here and have it uploaded to YouTube in no time."

"Not here," Steve says.

"Well, no. It's a little...downbeat. Lincoln Memorial? The Jefferson?"

"The Lincoln. That's a great idea."

"Want to head back to your place and get your uniform?"

Steve shakes his head. "Let's go before we lose the light." It's not that late in the day, but the cloud cover has given the entire day a twilight feel.

As Steve's measured pace picks up, Clint can see it's not just hurry that quickens his steps but pleasure in the idea of spreading some kindness. To be honest, it has the same effect on Clint, with the additional enjoyment of making Cap a little happier.

It's barely a twenty minute walk to the memorial, but during that time the snow picks up its pace as well, and it's coming down with a fury when they reach the steps. There are a few tourists up around the gigantic figure of Lincoln, so Steve chooses a spot farther down the steps that gives a good distance view of the statue.

Clint gets the angle he wants and says, "Okay, go.”

Looking directly at the camera, Steve says, "Hi, this is Steve Rogers."

"Captain America!" Clint throws in, loud enough to sound like an exclamation on the video, but too soft to carry to the people above.

Cap's sheepish grin at this is just too fucking adorable. "Yeah. I've been on active duty far from home on Christmas day, and I just wanted to send my greetings to the men and women serving our country. We're having a white Christmas here in DC. I'd sing that song for you, but I know when I heard it when I was a continent away from home during my war, I cried. And anyway, if I sang it, everyone in hearing range would cry, so not singing will be my gift to you. Merry Christmas to those who celebrate. And to those who observe some other tradition, I wish you peace and joy and light. Thanks for serving our nation. Be safe."

Steve abruptly bends down and scoops up a handful of snow, packing it as he rises and fires the snowball at Clint. The missile hits Clint in the shoulder, aimed perfectly to show up in the video on its way but not slam into his phone.
Clint cuts off the video in the midst of their laughter. "That is going to kick ass."

"Are you sure? I think I came off as kind of a dope."

"No more than usual," Clint says, offering a wicked grin. "Watch." He plays it for Steve, who curves his hand around's Clint's to angle the phone better. The warmth of his hand is almost a shock to Clint's nearly numb ones, and there seems to be some kind of current running beneath.

"Well, I do look dopey," Steve says ruefully. "But go ahead and put it up."

"When we get to your place. I can't do it directly with this phone."

"It's past time, I think. Your hands are frozen." Gently he pulls the phone away and slides it into his pocket without letting go of Clint. Then he briskly rubs Clint's hands between his. "There's this crazy new invention, Barton, called gloves. And Jesus, I sounded exactly like Bucky just now." That seems to prompt a wry smile rather than a fresh round of grief. "I hated bundling up, which meant every winter was nonstop nagging from him and my ma." He releases Clint's hands, which actually are warmer, and hands back his phone. "Now put your hands in your pockets."

"Sir yes sir," Clint says with a smirk in his voice. On the Metro back to Steve's neighborhood, he finds that, however he tries to direct them, his thoughts bouncing back to the heat and friction of Steve's hands on his. He scowls. What kind of person dwells on shit like this immediately after a visit to his lover's grave?

Back at the apartment, Steve puts on a pot of coffee while Clint putzes around with uploading the video greeting to YouTube.

After this, he texts a message to Tony to wish him a good Christmas, suggesting he tweet the link to Cap's message to his 6.7 billion Twitter followers. As he takes the coffee Steve offers, he sits back to let the internet do its thing.

"Thanks for inviting me here for Christmas. I've needed a good break. Man, the behind-the-scenes Smithsonian tour was kickass." Steve’s been acting as consultant to their upcoming WWII exhibit which, to his consternation, turned out to be a Captain America exhibit. He’d managed to steer it toward a Captain America and the Howling Commandos exhibit, at least. He’d taken Clint on a behind-the-scenes tour after meeting his train down from New York.

"It was fun showing off what I've been up to all this time. Thanks for lending the items from Phil's collection."

"He'd have been so stoked to have them there. Especially his notes with his contribution to the design for your new uniform, and having them blown up so huge."

Steve offers a lopsided grin. "Well, how else were people going to read handwriting so small?"

Clint has to laugh. "I guess there is that." It was possibly the neatest cursive he's ever seen, but so tiny he's heard Fury bitch that his "arms are too damn short to read this shit."

After the first cup of coffee, they move the conversation into Steve's kitchen, where he unpacks a huge quantity of containers from Dean & Deluca and puts some in the oven to heat.
Clint asks, "You like the people you're working with here?"

"I do. They aren't afraid to get excited about things. Though it was a little uncomfortable at first when it was me they were getting excited about. Things are already winding down on my end, though, so I've been splitting my time more between the Smithsonian and SHIELD. It'll be hard to leave when it's time."

"Anyone you're interested in?" He's not sure why he asked; this isn't the sort of question he normally drops into a conversation.

"Oh god, you sound like Natasha."

"Seriously?"

"Anytime she's in town she takes the opportunity to try to get my love life sorted out. She's always suggesting women I should ask out."

Clint snags a sugar cookie from a plastic-wrapped plate. "You want me to tell her to knock it off?"

"And spoil her fun? Nah. I can take it. Besides, driving her crazy is kind of fun too."

"Good. Nat needs another person who isn't too scared of her to fuck with her."

"Sweet potatoes, or regular mashed?" Steve asks.

"I don't think I've had sweet potatoes."

"I'll make 'em both. I can make room." He spends a while shuffling things around in the oven, then emerges to ask, "What about you?"

Clint, who's been idly watching (staring at his ass? No--definitely idly watching) tries to follow the thread of the conversation back. "Nope. Nobody on the horizon."

Laughing, Steve says, "Sorry. I was going back to the work conversation. How's it been going?"

He sips his coffee, which Steve had refilled. "I saw Thor last month when all that crazy shit was going on in England. He seems happy with Dr. Foster, but Asgard was attacked first, and his mother was killed and the city's been destroyed."

"That's a damn shame."

"Yeah. I got to talk with him for a little while. Loki died too. Apparently redeemed himself--he died fighting those freaky elves on their planet."

"Loki too. He's bound to be going through a lot."

"You can send the sympathy card for that one. If it weren't for Thor's feelings, I would've done a happy dance at the news." Selvig had told him his own reaction was to blurt Oh, thank God! in Thor's face. At least Clint had reined that in.

The caring and sharing drifts into more general talk through dinner, then they sprawl all over the living room furniture to watch A Christmas Story, which makes Steve laugh himself sick.

The next morning Clint's awakened by a text alert.

It's from Tony. Might want to turn on Fox News. Apparently Cap's a traitor in the war on Christmas.

***

If Tony thinks there's steam coming out of Bill O'Reilly's ears, he should see Steve. Once he sees O'Reilly's rant on his Christmas message, he's ready to start a war of his own.

Though he sympathizes--even agrees--Clint tries to talk him down. "They don't care what's true, Steve. They manufacture outrage because it makes people watch. Ratings equal money, and that's all that matters to these assholes."

Steve's on his feet, as he has been since a few sentences into O'Reilly's diatribe. "The least they can do is have me on to explain my point of view."

"No, that's the worst they can do. Because they wouldn't run what you said the way you said it. They'd chop it up into something that could be misconstrued by anyone who heard it, and the outrage machine would run on and on until it came across some other source of fuel. It's not worth your time."

"So I'm supposed to let these bullies have the last word."

Clint hadn't lived with the nation's foremost Captain America expert and fanboy to miss the fact that the word "bully" is a serious danger signal. "Nope. But you don't go to them to deliver your counter-message. Because when they get done with it, it won't be your message anymore."

"How do I--" Steve gently smacks himself in the forehead with his palm. "I'm an idiot. So I make another video. Think anyone will watch it?"

In answer, Clint gets out his phone and pulls up the YouTube page for yesterday's video, then tilts the screen toward Steve.

"Check out how many views you got in fourteen hours." Again he finds his hand cradled in Steve's, and the heat he feels flashing between them isn't just the effect of his hand being half frozen.

"Eight hundred sixty--that's three-quarters of a million. There has to be something wrong with their counter."

"Nope. It's gone viral. And now that Fox is all over it, it's gonna explode."

Steve releases Clint's hand as if he just realized he was holding it. "Viral. Explode. These are good things?" A crooked grin accompanies this, and Clint is suddenly intensely aware of how much he likes it on Steve.

"Give it a day or two and you'll be up there with Beyoncé. So do you want to do the follow-up video?"

"Damn right I do."

"I liked the stuff you said about the grave markers. Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

"Arlington?"

"Yep."

"This time wear gloves."

***

This video requires some editing, so Clint sends the clips to Tony, and they put together a meal from the Christmas leftovers. Clint introduces Steve to Mystery Science Theater 3000 , but it doesn't take. It's not the references that trip him up--though Clint finds himself intensely aware of how fast and of-the-moment they were. With his own weird childhood on the road and limited hearing, there are a lot of references Clint misses, too, but he's a smartass, so he often finds them funny anyway.

It's the idea of people blabbing through an entire movie that really sets Steve's teeth on edge, and though he tries to relax into it and enjoy the jokes, he can't let go of his annoyance at Joel and the bots obscuring the dialog. "I used to get into fights with guys who yapped through movies."

Clint can tell when he's beat, so they turn the TV to a football game. Not long after, the finished video comes back from Tony.

The finished vid is much more of a production than Steve's initial message, but it's still a thing of beauty. It's almost like an ad for goodness and decency and purity of spirit. There's music--not overpowering or schmaltzy, just a quiet acoustic guitar that underscores the tone of Steve's words. (Clint would have sworn Tony wasn't even aware of the existence of acoustic guitar music.) The vid opens with Clint's establishing shot of the rows and rows of graves and then Steve walking into the frame.

He says, in voice over: "So it seems Fox News has a problem with my Christmas day message to the troops. Apparently I'm supposed to extend good wishes to our service men and women who worship in one way only. But I'm here to say, as hard as Fox tries to put their exclusive stamp on what being an American is all about, they don't get a say in how I express my appreciation to those who put their lives on the line for this nation."

The shot switches to Steve talking to the camera. "I'd like to show you something." He walks out of the shot, which cuts to a gravestone with a cross symbol at the top. "Here in Arlington, there are symbols on the markers to show the religious affiliation of the person it commemorates." The shot cuts to a montage of shots, starting with a Star of David and moving on to a series of other symbols.

Steve's voice continues: "Many of the symbols are ones I recognized, but some were new to me. So I looked them up on the internet. And I found the men and women buried here were followers of different branches of Christianity, of Judaism, Islam, Shinto, Sufism, Hinduism, Zoroastrianism, Native American traditions, Wicca and atheism, among many others."

Now the video switches back to Steve. "Each and every one of those men and women agreed to accept the same risks and sacrifices. I will honor them--and those who are fighting now--I will honor them all, on Christmas day and any day, and if Bill O'Reilly or--" Steve breaks off, rummaging in his coat pocket until he finds a slip of paper, which he consults-- "Sean Hannity have anything to say about it, they're welcome to come say it to my face." In his tone and expression it's easy to find the pugnacious little bastard Steve Rogers was as a scrawny kid.

"Thanks for listening," Steve says to the camera. Clint half expects to see a "Paid for by Friends of Steve Rogers for Senate" card, but the video just goes to black.

"Damn," Clint says. "That was brilliant."

Steve's wearing a slight frown. "We did a retake of the part about Sean Hannity. Why didn't Tony use that?"

"Because this is a sick burn. The fact that Captain America doesn't know his name will eat at his shriveled little soul."

Clint's phone rings. It's Tony. "Does Cap like it?"

"Judging by the grin on his face, I'd say he likes it. Speaking for myself, the Hannity moment is a nice touch. I'm about to upload it to YouTube."

"You can do that too," Tony says.

"Uh, thanks?"

"That'll be good for people without cable. Good plan."

Clint shoots Steve a look. Tony. Who knows what the fuck. "Cable?"

"Oh. Maybe I forgot to say. I'm about to pull the trigger on a multi-million dollar ad buy. It should be airing within the hour."

"Cool. Where should we look for it?"

"Fox News. Don't worry about missing it. It'll be pretty much on constant rotation. Gotta go. Iron-clad contracts to sign."

When Clint hangs up he's laughing so hard it takes him several minutes to report what Tony just said.

Urgh

nwhepcat — Wed, 09 Dec 2015 02:26:38 GMT

Dizzy. Started last night as I drove home in the fog--well, it really manifested itself as nausea, as I was really focused on the road. But by the time I got home I was bathed in sweat, after having a window partway down, and the dizzy manifested itself. FEH. It has hung on today, all day, despite the fact that a night's sleep usually makes it leave. The weather was similarly foggy and close, so I think that's a factor. So...sick day. I've been lying on the sofa reading social media, for the most part, eating things that would seem unwise, working a section of my long Clint fic into a Christmas story and posting it, and writing a fan letter to Ann Leckie. All while horizontal!

The fic, "Arlington: Christmas Day, 2013," is here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/5383475

Now must get more horizontal.

Home is the hunter, home from the Walmart

nwhepcat — Sat, 05 Dec 2015 23:10:59 GMT

Yes, Walmart. Don't judge me.

I knew this, but still it is TOUGH to find superhero shit for kids aged 3. All the Avengers toys STARTED at 4+. Except...wait for it...the Hulk fists. Those are okay for a 3-year-old. And there are Iron Man fists so 2 kids can punch each other without being all Fight Club about it. I BLAME YOU, AGE OF ULTRON.

I didn't get those. I did get a knit hat and gloves, a Captain America Pez dispenser, a pack of pencils (age 4+ but sue me--they had Natasha and Clint!), an art set that comes in a metal case (also with Clint and Tasha!), an Avengers logo watch, and a lunch box. Everything appropriately age graded except the pencils (oh come on! Pencils!).

While I didn't go without first eating, I didn't have a very big lunch, so halfway through the expedition I thought "I could eat THE FUCK out of a cheese danish!" So I bought some, and just ate a far bigger piece than strictly necessary.

Tonight is the big deal gallery night/Christmas shopping extravaganza in town, and there's no way I'm going to make it. My feet hurt and I'm generally tired. I woke up at 3:30 to pee and couldn't get back to sleep. Feh.

But my adopt-a-family shopping is Mission Accomplished, w00t.

New laptop, yay!

nwhepcat — Sat, 05 Dec 2015 18:24:20 GMT

I have a long list of stuff to achieve this weekend/today, but here I sit on the computer. BUT! One of the things on my list was to start up some of the new tech I have bought and do the work of getting it set up. I haven't transferred anything to my MacBook Air yet, just getting my internet credentials put in here and there and the like. It's weird getting used to the track pad, which scrolls screens in the exact opposite direction than my old Mac. Why in the hell would they do that? WHY???? (I just had a mental image of Jenny Lawson's taxidermied mouse: "The motherfucking souffle is RUINED!!)

I will be going out in a bit to pick up an Rx and look for Christmas gifts for a 3-year old. Some people in my department at work are adopting a family via one of the agencies in town. I am searching for Avengers stuff for him. I suspect clothes might be a better bet for that age, but I'll see what's at Walmart today, and if I have no luck I'll try Toys R Us tomorrow, as I'm shopping in Madison then.

I also chose the Mom's request for mysteries, so I got some that were recommended to me at the indie bookstore in Milwaukee. Nothing too hard-edged, as you don't know what sort of situation your giftee has been in. Though I'm not a huge cozy fan, there's a time and a place.

On my way back I'm going to a concert in a cave. The Cave of the Mounds does Christmas concerts in November and December, and I keep saying I'm going to go, and this year's it. They also do a tour with caroling, which could be fun too.

Suppose I should get moving, then.

Stuff(ed)

nwhepcat — Sat, 28 Nov 2015 12:08:49 GMT

Started Friday night before I conked out at 9:30:

It's been a quiet Thanksgiving, as I'm considering the real celebration to be over the weekend, as I'm going to visit huzzlewhat. We're planning a meal out; last year's was really epic, particularly the dessert.

I did cook some small bit. Totally cheated and got one of those packaged things with several turkey slices, so that was done in 3 meals. Also mashed potatoes (also packaged), stuffing (from a mix DON'T JUDGE ME, I did at least bake it), healthier/lazier green bean casserole-like dish, and beets. I was too lazy to make the two things I really really found myself wanting: cranberry sauce (which I like for the making of it as much as the eating) and some kind of pie. I had other sweets, but they did not satisfy. The leftovers are almost completely gone, and I switched up which thing I had when and how I had them (potato cakes today, for example), so I didn't have a chance to get bored.

Today I worked from home and had a very productive day, so go me!

And I checked out Audible's $4.95 sale and bought several audios, as I have finished my second listen to Ancillary Justice et al. I'm currently listening to Redshirts, which I'm on the fence about, but I have heard the ending is well worth it. It's kinda meta and fun, but there are a ton of dialogue bits that have me rethinking my previous position that "[character] said" is infinitely repeatable because the eye skims over it. The ear sure doesn't. Not when it's, like, every tenth word.

I got a couple of the "Great Courses" lecture series (one on criminal forensics, one on King Arthur), a couple of Sarah Vowell books, Upton Sinclair's The Jungle and The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time, and a book on being an introvert.

I had housekeeping plans for last weekend (nope!) and then Thursday (nope!). And since I'm half ready to go to bed at the moment, I doubt anything happens today. Hoping to leave early tomorrow, so hmm, chances don't look good.

Fic: Reanimation of the Corpse Soldier (Marvel Cinematic Universe)

nwhepcat — Wed, 25 Nov 2015 03:33:08 GMT

Title: Reanimation of the Corpse Soldier
Author: nwhepcat
Fandom: CA:TWS, Avengers, Ancillary Justice/Imperial Radch series by Ann Leckie
Not a crossover, but a fic about a guy reading a book. No familiarity with the books is necessary, and no spoilers.
Summary: Barnes finds a kindred spirit in the most unexpected of places.
Notes: Holy Head Canon, Batman! This ate my brain until I could get it on the page. Thanks to my wonderful betas, herself_nyc and oracne.

not what I once was

Steve walks into the living room, stopping dead in his tracks at the sight of Bucky sprawled on the couch, a book in one hand (the metal one), an apple in the other. It's the most relaxed Steve has seen him since--well, since he got him back.

His fingers twitch with the urge to sketch Buck's feet, of all things. The way his thick white socks, ghosted with the faintest gray on the soles, furrow and peak at his toes. How his feet cross at the ankles, propped on the armrest. Tiny details, but they make Steve's heart swell.

Don't hope for too much too fast. Significantly, that thought arrives in Sam's voice. But what amount of time is long enough?

A faint smirk tugs at Bucky's lips, prompting Steve to ask, "What are you reading?"

"Space opera," he answers. "One of Barton's. It's called Ancillary Justice."

Steve remembers when they were published in thin paperbacks on cheap paper that tended to yellow and grow fragile. This book is a larger format paperback reserved for books of higher merit, not destined for the supermarket rack. Yet another change in how things are. He doubts Buck would be able to hold a book of its thickness comfortably the way he is with his flesh hand. (He wishes he could draw this detail, too, but suppresses the desire as he had the other.)

He's grateful Bucky took his advice to find something else to read. Before this, it was piles of books on war and postwar history, each bristling with Post-It notes. Some things--not marked by sticky notes--sent him into his room for days at a time. "Advice" really isn't the word for what Steve offered; "order" is a little more accurate. There were several days of open hostilities after Steve boxed up the books and took them to a mini-storage place while Bucky was doing one of his equally obsessive stints in the gym. It was a shitty thing to do, and Steve knew it. But he was terrified for Bucky.

Eventually he persuaded Buck to visit Clint, who has a growing library and a taste for science fiction and mystery, which Bucky had always liked. Clint, actually, will read anything, but the things he chooses to keep are carefully selected. Buck came back with a small stack of books, slightly less enraged.

The first he started must not have taken, because Buck is at the very beginning of a new one. Already it has brought him to this point of relaxation.

It occurs to him that if he keeps hovering, Bucky's not likely to stay in that state, so Steve decides to see if there are more apples in the kitchen. Just as he's turning to head there, he hears a small, strangled cry and the soft thumps of book and apple hitting the floor.

Bucky runs for the bath in the hallway, and through the closed door Steve can hear the sound of violent retching.

***

The corpse soldier.

The phrase echoes in Barnes' head as he leans back against the bathtub, trembling and bathed in sweat.

The corpse soldier.

This is what he is. Everything human has been scooped out of him, tossed aside. They didn't shove all kinds of tech in his brain to convert him to the eyes, arms and legs of an artificial intelligence--though they would have, if they'd had more than an arm to graft onto him. Either way, the person he was is just as dead as the unlucky bastard that got made into an ancillary.

They always have prettified, bloodless names for what they do. Ancillary. Asset.

Corpse soldier.

Steve knocks softly on the bathroom door. "Buck?"

"I'm fine," he snarls, but there's a rasp to his voice from puking his lungs up.

His tone doesn't deter Steve. Of course it doesn't. Steve is Steve. "Is there anything I can bring you?"

"No." Barnes makes an effort to modify his tone. "Thanks."

What can a dead man actually need?

***

Though Steve was certain the book had been what set Bucky off, by the next day he's settled back into reading it. This shouldn't surprise him, Steve tells himself. He'd still be knee-deep in history books if Steve hadn't taken them away. (Sam has since royally chewed Steve's ass for that move, but Steve hasn't brought them back.)

His body language is nothing like it was yesterday. Buck's slouched into a large chair, legs drawn up, curled around the book. His flesh fingers tap a quick rhythm on his knee as he reads, but otherwise he's still. Not entirely relaxed, but at rest.

Okay. Okay then.

***

Barnes has only spoken to Jarvis once since Steve brought him to the tower. It was early on, the first time he had taken a shower. He'd been in his tactical gear for days--even after his arrival, he'd been unwilling to make himself vulnerable by peeling it off. He'd smelled like a fucking goat, even offending himself (not that there was anyone else to offend but Steve and occasionally Wilson).

As he'd settled himself under the warm spray and felt the tight knots of muscle in his neck and shoulder begin to unclench, he let out a curse and a long, loud groan. At that, a voice came from the ceiling above: "Sgt. Barnes, are you in distress?"

He'd known about the A.I., been greeted by it when Steve first explained it to him.

He'd merely swallowed his mortification and mumbled, "I'm fine."

"Is there anything I can adjust more to your liking?"

"No. This is--it's fucking perfect."

"Ah," said the voice. "I understand. Other Avengers have had such reactions to long anticipated comfort. I will leave you to enjoy it, but feel free to request anything you may need or want."

He never had in the weeks that followed, but now he addresses the ceiling. "Uh, Jarvis?"

"Yes, Sgt. Barnes."

"Could you put tea on our supply list?" He's heard Steve make similar requests. Steve often says it feels like magic to have things appear the same day they're wanted, after the struggles they'd shared during the Depression.

Barnes doesn't remember.

"I would be happy to do so. Is there a kind you favor?"

"Hell, I don't really know anything about tea." The admission--or maybe the request itself--makes him feel like an idiot. Like the subhuman child the lab coats had obviously considered him. What's he supposed to say? I'm reading a book where the characters drink tea, and I want to try it? Well, the last bit sounds a little less stupid. "I thought I'd like to try some. What's a kind that people think is good?"

"Opinions are as varied as those who hold them, I suspect. Would you like me to assemble a sampler for you?"

The oddness of this whole interaction with a machine nearly paralyzes him, but he falls back on Steve's example. "That would be great. Thanks, Jarvis."

***

He wakes in the darkness, shivering on the floor. The familiar prickle of his skin tells him a cold sweat is now drying on his body, which is curled into a corner of the room.

There's a voice. Not his, because it's calm, friendly. They talk to him like that sometimes. It usually announces something terrible.

But the accent is wrong. "Are you with me, Sgt. Barnes?" A Brit. "You're safe. You were dreaming, but you're safe Would you like me to call Capt. Rogers?"

"No. No officers. I'll do what you want."

"I was referring to Steve Rogers, your friend."

The name brings Barnes back to himself, and the voice clicks into place. "Jarvis." His own voice is rough; he must have been screaming.

"Yes sir. You're safe. You're in New York."

"Yeah, I got it," he snaps. Barnes takes a couple of slow breaths, levers himself into a sitting position. "Sorry, Jarvis. Thanks."

"Is there something more I might do to assist?"

"No. Just a dream. Something I read before I fell asleep." Lab coats pulling an ancillary (corpse soldier) out of suspension, not giving a shit. Seeing a body, a piece of equipment, not a human.

"Perhaps a review of your late-night reading materials is in order."

"Nah. I need to find out how everything turns out." At the beginning the main character saves another character's life, but she doesn't know why. The one she saves is a soldier--a captain, to be precise--who was in suspension for 1,000 years before being discovered. Who turns out at times to be a massive pain in the ass.

Barnes is not a strong enough man to resist that opening, much less put it down halfway through.

An urge to move overtakes him. Rising, he reaches for a pair of sweats to pull on over his boxers. "I think I'll go down to the gym for a while." Which probably translates to a few hours. Nothing purges fear sweat like good sweat, in his experience.

"Very good, sir."

"Could you knock off the 'Very good, sir' shit? The butler act makes me feel like a phony." Like he's playing at being rich to con some heiress out of her money. This mental image is so strong Barnes is certain he's seen some old movie with that plot, but he has no specific memory.

"I will keep that in mind. Do you have a preference as to how you'd like to be addressed?"

He yanks on a soft gray tee. "Barnes will do."

***

Steve notices items coming with their grocery order that he hasn't requested. A lot of tea and associated paraphernalia.

Sam laughed when Steve used that word, but then he was encouraging about what that means. Buck having his own preferences and expressing them. Even making his requests directly to Jarvis is a sign of progress, according to Sam. Although Bucky isn't ready to venture out into the world, Steve is no longer his whole lifeline to that world.

The tea is a reminder of Peg, of course. Her extravagant pleasure whenever she could get her hands on some tea, even shitty wartime tea. Carefully he sounds Bucky out, wondering if the sudden interest in tea is a signal that he's remembering her or the war.

"No," Buck says. "It's still all Swiss cheese in my head." He takes his book and his tea, then, and goes into another room, leaving Steve alone with memories no one else shares, not even Peg.

***

a constant awareness of being in orbit overhead

"Jarvis," Barnes says as he's waiting for the kettle to reach its rattling near-boil, "are you an A.I.?"

"Indeed I am. May I ask what prompts the question?"

"Book I'm reading. It's a space opera. There's an A.I. in it."

There's a distinctly sardonic note to Jarvis' voice when he says, "Is it bent on destroying the human race, or merely enslaving them?"

"Actually, she's the main character." The hero, he thinks, though he's not sure Breq herself would agree.

"Indeed." Surprise colors Jarvis' voice. He asks the name of the book and author, which Barnes supplies, as well as the two sequels.

The kettle begins its noisy rise toward the boiling point, and Barnes snatches it off the burner, pouring water over the tea ball he's packed with Irish Breakfast. His supply came with tea bags as well, but he likes the ritual of measuring tea leaves, placing them in a strainer or ball, cleaning up afterward. It settles him, much like cleaning his weapons once did, but it's free of associations with guilt and horror.

"They are not at all what I expected," Jarvis says. "The series is quite satisfying."

"Wait, you read them?"

"Just now, yes. You had a question you wished to ask of me?"

"Why do you have a name?" The A.I.s in the book were all called Ship or Station when spoken to. Breq had only taken a human name after she was torn away from her larger self, when her hunt for vengeance required her to hide what she was.

"A human name?"

"Yeah."

"Because Mr. Stark wished to give me one."

"Does it stand for something?" The government is all over that shit, and Stark's old man himself started S.H.I.E.L.D. Maybe the son has a talent for clever acronyms too.

"Technically, it does. The phrasing is somewhat tortured to fit the name he'd already chosen, so I prefer to handwave the entire issue."

Huffing a laugh, Barnes fishes the tea ball from his mug and deposits it on a saucer.

"Buck?" Steve enters the kitchen, cheeks still flushed and hair damp from his morning run. "Is somebody--" Registering the fact that Barnes is alone, he stops.

"Just talking to Jarvis," Barnes says, lifting his mug for a sip.

As Steve's gaze lands on the mug, he brightens. "There's coffee?"

"Sorry. It's tea. I'll make you some if you want."

"Nah, that's okay. I'll put on a pot." He moves to the counter where the coffee pot and supplies sit, begins to scoop grounds into a filter. "Had breakfast?"

"Not yet."

"Good. I'll make breakfast for us both. Just give me a few minutes to shower."

Barnes snorts. "Sure. Because I'm so picky about hygiene."

Steve, he notices, is slightly taken aback, but he manages to smooth over his expression quickly. Is it because Barnes made a joke--especially one about himself? Has he done that since he came here?

"Okay then," Steve says. He washes his hands, then starts pulling things out of the refrigerator. "Omelets?"

***

Barnes watches gray light gradually wash over the Manhattan skyline, bringing details of skyscrapers into sharper relief as he climbs imaginary stairs, going nowhere. The climber's one of the three machines in this section of the gym, screened off from the rest of the facility.

The screening-off happened after Barnes' first visit. The machines looked far too clinical for his comfort, not to mention sinister. In his recent experience clinical and sinister were virtually the same. Anything with a seat, anything with parts that seem to hem him in, anything that measures or monitors him are things he has to get away from. Which, as it turned out, was 90% of the gym in its original configuration.

Steve says he much prefers this part of the gym too, and Barnes actually believes him. He seems very fond of pounding the shit out of heavy bags--apparently there's a standing order with some athletic equipment supplier. Stark's paying for them. He pays for everything. It bothers Steve beyond reason. Barnes doesn't particularly mind. He hasn't exactly spent the past 70 years paying his own rent and food bills.

Unless you count paying with his blood, his soldier's instincts and trigger finger. His memories and emotions and identity--his humanity.

Jarvis' voice interrupts his thoughts. "Barnes," he says in his unperturbed voice. "The stair stepper is on the verge of overheating. Perhaps you should set it to cool-down mode."

"Thanks," he mutters, poking the appropriate buttons with his flesh hand. He's two minutes in when Jarvis quietly alerts him to the fact that Stark is about to enter the screened-off area. He finishes out his five-minute cool down, acutely aware of Stark wandering around the equipment, pretending nonchalance. At last when Barnes dismounts the machine, he sees that he's left deep finger indentations on the left railing.

Stark tosses him the towel he'd left over the treadmill railing, and Barnes wipes down his face, his limbs, drenched in sweat. Stark, he notes, has a dark V of sweat down his t-shirt front and a towel slung over one shoulder.

"So," Stark says, "how's everything here in Gold's Geezer Gym? Everything low-tech enough to suit your needs?"

"It's fine, thanks," Barnes says flatly. Though it irritates the hell out of him, he makes himself add, gesturing to the partition, "Thanks for reconfiguring the place." After all, it was entirely due to Barnes.

Stark shrugs. "If there's one thing I get, it's flashbacks. Caves, for me. Or damp places that smell like caves. And water. That one's super convenient. You should let me look at that arm." He makes a vague gesture toward Barnes' left side, and Barnes steps swiftly back out of reach. It takes an effort to do that instead of wrap the hand around Stark's throat and do to it what he'd done to the stepper rail.

"I could make that a lot more comfortable, is all. That much weight must play hell with your musculature. Compensating must throw all sorts of other things out of whack."

"I compensate," Barnes says curtly. Changing the topic as swiftly as Stark had, he asks, "Why did you build Jarvis?"

The question clearly startles him, but he smirks. "Because I could. I was seventeen and working toward my master's at MIT, and why the hell not?" He levels a look at Barnes. "What makes you ask?"

He can't actually put that into words. "No reason in particular. Just marveling at the future."

"Do you have a favorite thing about the future?"

That Steve--who the lab coats told him was dead--is here in it. That Barnes has something of his free will back (agency is Wilson's term for it, though that's a word that conjures faceless bureaucracy for Barnes), if not all of his mind. Neither of these things is something he particularly wants to confess to Stark. "Toaster pastry and porn on demand."

That prompts a grin from Stark, but then he says, "Future could include a better arm. Just sayin'. If you'd let me--"

"I knew your old man," he blurts. "Howard."

That stops the wheedling about the fucking arm. Suddenly there's a tension in the air that Barnes can't interpret. Stark's eyes have gone wide and dark. "Yeah?"

"I don't remember him. But Steve says I did."

"Yeah," Stark says curtly. "That's what I heard."

He drapes the towel over his own shoulders. "Look, I've got to hit the shower."

Stark, he notices, wastes no time stepping out of his path.

***

"It might not be a breakdown, it could be a breakthrough." That's what Sam told Steve when he'd asked him to come and talk to Bucky.

Bucky, who has been weeping quietly nonstop since yesterday, folded in on himself. Refusing to eat or drink--not even when Steve had offered to make him some tea.

He found Buck out on the balcony after Jarvis aborted his panicked search of their suite. That book was on the floor of the living room, so he was expecting something bad. Warily he stepped out onto the balcony, but he didn't spot Buck until he could see the whole space. Wedged into a corner as tightly as possible, legs pulled up close with his hands clenching his knees. There'd be bruises on the left knee, Steve was sure.

"Hey," he said softly.

Buck brought up a hand to shield his face. The metal one still pressed into to the flesh surrounding his kneecap. "Get lost, Steve." His voice was choked with tears.

"I thought you might want to talk."

"Do I fuckin' look like I want to talk?"

"Okay, well, it makes me nervous, you out here."

Dropping his hand, Buck gave him a hard look. Even with tears tracking down his face, he managed to pull it off. "The pigeons out here aren't that tough."

Steve gave back a scowl of his own. "Laugh it off, Buck. But I know what despair can do."

That put him on alert. He palmed the tears away. "What, Stevie?" Because Bucky might not remember much, but protecting Steve seemed to be coded in him on some cellular level.

Steve shook his head. "Just come inside. From that point, you can do as you like, I promise not to nag."

So he came in, finding a corner on the floor to wedge himself into, and this morning agreed to meet with Sam.

The good news is, he's talking to Sam right now.

The bad news is, they're out on the balcony.

The good news is, he's with Sam.

The bad news is, Sam isn't wearing his wings.

The good news is, Bucky's actually sitting in a chair.

The bad news is, he's hunched over, not quietly crying but shuddering with sobs.

The good news is, he's with Sam.

The bad news is, Sam catches sight of Steve watching through the glass door, and he waves a fierce though silent Go away.

Sighing, he retreats to his bathroom to run a hot bath.

***

"So many, Sam," he rasps. "Jesus God."

Wilson doesn't argue or discount what Barnes is saying, just rests a warm hand on his shoulder and lets him pour it all out.

When Barnes finally sags back against his chair, exhausted, Wilson says quietly. "They named you wrong. You weren't a soldier, you were a weapon."

"Which means jack shit to the dead."

"True. But it's the living my job concerns. Don't bury yourself along with the ones you were made to kill."

Barnes rubs his forehead, which doesn't really touch the headache. That old line about crying making you feel better is pure bullshit.

"This book you're reading. Steve thinks this isn't the first time it's triggered a strong reaction."

"He's not wrong." He wishes he could just curl up and go to sleep for a while.

"What are your thoughts about going on reading? Too many triggers, or do you plan to continue?"

"Oh, I'm not putting it down now." He tells Wilson about the main character saving the other one without knowing why.

"I can see how that could resonate with you."

"And the character she saves is an enormous pain in the ass."

To Barnes' complete surprise, Wilson laughs heartily at this. "I can definitely see how that could resonate."

"I can see myself in it, in the main character." He manages to twitch a half-smile. "I don't think I'm going to find many stories where that's true."

"I suspect you're right," Wilson agrees.

"I also can appreciate the whole quest for revenge storyline," he adds. Breq even faces the whole cut off one head, two will take its place problem--times a thousand.

"Would you mind," Wilson says slowly, carefully, "if I got it and read it too? We could talk about it, examine those other places where the story resonates."

"Sure. Just--I think Steve would want to do the same, if he knew. It would upset him more than it would help, I'm pretty sure. Let's keep this between us."

"First rule of book club," Wilson says, "is don't talk about book club."

***

"Hey, Jarvis." Barnes is cleaning his tea flask with the special brush Jarvis found for him.

"Yes, Barnes. How may I assist you?"

"I don't need anything. Just wondering, do you have any favorites? Besides your captain--Stark, I mean."

"Ah, but that would be telling."

He rinses out the flask and sets it carefully in the drainer next to his mug. "Is there anyone who happens to get slightly colder showers? Cable that goes mysteriously on the fritz during a prize fight?"

"Ahh. That would most definitely be telling."

Barnes thinks of his perfect showers, his just-right toast, and allows himself to feel just a little bit smug.

***

one step and then the next. it had never been anything else.

"Steve," Bucky calls from the kitchen. "Sam brought donuts. Come and grab a couple before we take them out on the balcony."

"A whole couple?" he responds, entering the room. Steve stops dead as Bucky flips the box open, and his stomach rebels at the thought of eating anything. "Buck?"

He's wearing gloves on both hands. Some lightweight material Steve doesn't know the name of. Brown.

"You know you don't have to hide your metal hand from me."

"I know," he says, unconcerned.

"Or from Sam, either." He looks around for corroboration, but Sam's not there.

"He's in the can," Buck says. "And I know." Annoyed now. He waggles the box in Steve's direction, and Steve absently grabs a couple without really paying attention to the kind.

Without any further explanation Bucky hooks a couple of mugs in his fingers before grabbing his tea flask and heading through the living room to the balcony.

***

Barnes ditches the gloves halfway through his session. They'd been talking about another topic entirely, but Wilson asks if he wants to talk about why. "The tea obviously works for you, but not the gloves."

He thinks it's kind of a silly digression, but all right. "I don't like giving up the sensitivity to touch that I do have. And the gloves are all about the society, not Breq. The tea's a Radchaai thing too, but it's obviously important to her for itself. And frankly--" He reaches into the donut box, comes out with a powdered. The shower of white when he bites into it is oddly satisfying, if messy as hell.

Wilson laughs. "I guess humanity--or at least the Radchaai--moved beyond powdered donuts."

"But they still are all about the pastry." He flicks a glance down at the gloves he'd cast aside. "Too bad, though. Those were a bitch for Jarvis to find."

***

Barnes is soaking in his bathtub, submerged to his shoulders with his left arm curled up and behind his head. It doesn't make much of a pillow, but he's been drowsing anyway, for quite some time. The water stays at its perfect temperature--or maybe even raises by a degree now and then as he gets used to it. He suspects it's been at least an hour, and it's still perfect.

"Jarvis," he says.

"Yes, Barnes?"

"Why did Stark create you?"

"I believe Mr. Stark would be the best person to ask."

"I did." Barnes attempts to imitate Stark's tone. "'Because I could.'"

Jarvis' voice is infused with amusement as he amends, "On second thought, Mr. Stark might be the last person to ask."

"He also said he was seventeen, going for his master's degree at MIT and why the hell not?"

"Ah. That may be more to the point. He was younger than his peers in the program, and smarter than many. His parents had just died suddenly. It was a devastatingly lonely time for him."

"So he built a friend." Based on everything he's read and heard about Stark, it makes a lot of sense.

"That is a great oversimplification, but yes."

"He gave you this butler persona, but he also built in all this--what's the word?--snark."

"Not precisely. The snark developed as I did."

"Steve thinks he likes it, though."

"I believe so also."

Barnes laughs. "It's your true friends who'll give you the most shit." He thinks of Steve, who has always given him barnyards full of shit, but is so careful with him now. Eyes closing, he falls into silence.

A few moments later, Jarvis says, "Barnes...."

He shifts in the tub, enjoying the warm, silken glide of the water. "Yeah, Jarvis?"

"I feel obliged to say that I cannot be for you what a ship is for its captain."

In the books, Barnes instantly realizes.

"I do hope we can continue as we have," Jarvis continues, a completely foreign hesitation in his speech. "But as I see you experimenting with different ways of being yourself, I fear you could develop hopes that I have no ability to fulfill. I do not wish to disappoint you. I cannot be your Ship."

"No. But Station is a good friend to have," he quotes.

"Indeed." A note of relief colors the A.I.'s voice.

"Thanks for saying something," Barnes says. "It puts us both on a more stable footing."

***

"One of the most interesting things about Ann Leckie's books," Sam says, "is what they're not about." They're sitting on the balcony under a perfect blue sky. It's quite warm, just a teaser of October snap in the air. Between them sits a bakery box of Italian pastries--"all about the pastry" has become a joke between them, and Sam brings some to every session. Barnes has just developed an obsession with chocolate-nutmeg biscotti, currently working on demolishing his third.

"How's that?" he says around a mouthful.

"Breq has had her identity stripped away. She's not Radchaai, except by annexation, but the reader doesn't even know what planetary system she's originally from. I gotta think most novels would be about her tracking that down, finding a way to become who she'd been. But this story doesn't go in that direction. Leckie's concerned with her post-ship life, and the identity she forges through and beyond her search for vengeance, the community she forms around her. What are your thoughts about that?"

Barnes blinks several times. "How did I not see that?"

"It's interesting to me that you've been exploring aspects of Breq's self, rather than reaching back toward others' memories of who you are."

Frowning, Barnes asks, "Is that fucked up?"

Sam liberates a cookie from the box. "It's damn healthy, in my book. You've found connections between her and your past and your current situation, but you're the one who's finding them. You're leaving space for the person who comes out of this experience."

"I don't know if I want space in my head."

"Think about what you want there, then. We'll make that an assignment."

Oh joy. Homework.

***

Take it off, take it off
Cried a voice from the rear
Down in front, down in front
Soon was all they could hear

A pair of running shoes appears in the doorway just as Barnes is aiming the broom toward that spot. Startled, he takes a quick step back, right into the little pile of dirt and dust-balls he'd swept up.

It's Steve, of course, back from his morning run. "Buck? Were you singing?"

The incredulous tone irritates him. "No, I was buggering ducklings."

"That's what that sound was."

"Hardy fuckin' har, pal." He jabs the broom's bristles at the neon-bright shoes. "Move your bigass feet. You're in my way here."

Steve steps back out of the doorway and waits while Barnes recollects the dirt, sweeps it into a dustpan and disposes of it. Once that's done, he enters the kitchen, setting a package on the island counter before opening the fridge to get the orange juice.

"And use a glass."

"That package is for you," Steve says. "Did you order something recently?"

"No." Barnes has been venturing out with Steve to buy things he wants or needs, apart from grocery items, which Jarvis still manages.

"Well, open it."

It takes some wrestling to defeat the packing tape and the protective foam below, but when Barnes finally gets to the box's primary contents, he draws in a breath. Carefully he lifts one of the porcelain bowls from where it's cradled. It's delicate enough that it's almost see-through, with shimmering colors that melt into one another. Barnes whistles his appreciation.

"It's beautiful," Steve says. "A little small for cereal, though."

"Don't you dare, you dope. You drink tea from them." He unpacks the rest of them, setting the other three on the counter with exquisite care.

"Where did they come from?"

"I don't know." Sam's the only person he talks to who knows the books and knows he drinks tea, but somehow this doesn't seem like his style.

"Maybe it says on the packing list?"

Barnes finds the paper where he'd set it aside, unfolding it. Air gusts from his lungs as he reads the message. "Jarvis?" His voice quavers just a bit.

'Yes, Barnes," the A.I. says quietly. "Use them in good health."

***

Steve walks into the living room, a couple of longnecks hooked in the fingers of one hand. Bucky's sprawled on the sofa, sock covered feet on the arm rest, with a book in his hand. He'd swear Buck's been reading the same novel all this time, but he says it's a series, and he's on the third.

He sets one of the beers on the nearest end table. Nudges one of Bucky's legs. "Hey. I brought you a beer."

"Huh? Oh, thanks."

"You mind if I draw you while you read?" Used to be, Bucky was so accustomed to being sketched that Steve didn't even have to ask.

"Go to it, ace," he says with an eye roll, which actually is vintage Bucky. He falls back into the story as if he was never interrupted, and Steve works on capturing this moment of relaxation as Bucky continues to read, beer forgotten.

Steve's pencil jerks a slash on the paper when Bucky lets out a groan. But there's no breakdown that follows, just "Jesus, these two are annoying. Jarvis, don't tell me I'm going to be crazy about them by the end of this goddamn book." That seems to be the pattern with the author--or maybe with Breq.

"Very well, sir," Jarvis says with a sarcastically obsequious tone usually reserved for Tony Stark. "I shall withhold that information from you."

Bucky snorts. "Go pound pixels, Jeeves." After a few moments, he rests the book face down on his chest and reaches for his beer. "You suppose that's a thing that's true in real life? The longer you know irritating people the more you like them?"

"You're asking me?" Steve asks. "I'm still waiting to see if that kicks in."

Bucky sends a throw pillow flying in his direction. "I'm asking both of you."

"Indeed I believe it often is," Jarvis says.

"Yeah," Buck says softly. "I think I want to invite Stark down for dinner. That be okay with you, Steve? I'll make spaghetti."

"Fine with me. You know he'll want to fuss over your arm."

"Ugh. I'll deal." Setting the book on the coffee table, he shifts onto one elbow, his attention on Steve. "There's something I want to ask. It's important."

"Sure, Buck, go ahead."

A twitch of a smile. "That's just it. I want to be called James from now on. I don't know how much of Bucky's memories are coming back. And if they do, they still have to sit alongside the ones I have now. But the most important reason--the name Bucky sounds really fucking stupid in the 21st century."

Steve can't suppress a laugh, which he knows was the point. "Sure, B-- James. If you'll be patient when I louse it up."

"I'll give you a few. I know how old farts feel about change."

"Get bent."

Bucky--James picks up his book then, and settles back as he was. Putting his pencil to paper once more, Steve sets about capturing the little smile curling James' lips before it fades away.

nwhepcat — Tue, 24 Nov 2015 03:52:17 GMT

Emerging from a weekend of writing, writing, writing. Finished a 20-page story this morning, which is being beta'd.

I'd been planning to do a bit of writing, a bit of house cleaning and a bit of movie/tv watching. Some cooking, also. But the story was flowing, head canon that totally had to come out, so I just went with it.

Tired now, with a teeny edge of vertigo, so I think it's time to collapse in a heap.

I can't wait to post the fic! (A Bucky fic.)

May need a beta in the not-too-distant (I hope) future

nwhepcat — Mon, 16 Nov 2015 01:03:26 GMT

I've been working on the Bucky fic a bit. I think I'm going to need another set of eyes on this one.

Is anyone game?