#like in 1 you could cheese the only terrible boss with a spell

[foxstens]

yea idk what game everyone else is playing this is def harder than 1

[themaskedwriter]

The Screen

Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Your whole life is movies, down to the job that you have and where you live. When a mysterious stranger comes into the movie theatre that you own, will your life become a romance? Or something else?

Word Count: 4055

Warnings: Some fluff. Some angst. Pop culture references. Made up movies to suit the plot.

Clues:

1) I have as many letters as numbers in my URL

2) I have three Queens, but only one of them is real

3) I do love a crossover

The movie theatre was a juxtaposition for the senses. In the lobby; scents of popcorn, salt, butter, the overwhelming smell of hot cheese for the nachos and a sweeter smell of mustard and ketchup for hot dogs, and all of this overlaid by sugar from the candy and chocolate available for the kids. Sounds too were rife, children yelling excitedly about the movies they were about to see, parents yelling even louder for them to hush, couples and friends giggling and debating about possible plot lines…

Once inside the screen, however, calm would reign. The movie playing could be noisy, perhaps an action film which deployed explosions and gunshots as often as a comedy would deploy laugh out loud gags. Or perhaps it was a romance, or a thriller, or a horror designed to make you whimper and scream in your seat. It didn’t matter however. The people within the screen who watched the stories unfold would always be silent. Mesmerised by lives that weren’t theirs, dizzying highs and heart-breaking lows. Set underwater, in space, in far off nations that these people would never get the chance to visit.

The screen was a whole other dimension for the senses. A sea of calm amongst the craziness of today’s life. It didn’t matter what type of life you lead, who you were before you entered that screen and watched those stories unfold for the price of $20 including your snacks…

The screen was a safe space for all.

••••••••••••

The first time you saw him, he barely registered to you. The Screen, the name of your movie theatre, was packed. The newest Disney film was out and families had flocked from all over Brooklyn to pay to see it. Kids excitedly trying to cajole their parents into gifting them with just one more candy bar, or pleeeaaase can they have the animated animal themed soda glass? All of this made you smile, your heart light. This was what having a movie theatre was all about.

Making people happy.

Families were everywhere, which was why he stood out to you. Tall, dark shoulder length chestnut hair mostly hidden under a black baseball cap and, most tellingly, he was alone.

You took a second look, mainly out of idle curiosity, he wouldn’t be the first person to come to the movies by himself, but your eyes came up empty. With barely a pause for breath, you mentally shrug and continue to serve the popcorn.

He must’ve changed his mind.

••••••••••••

The second time, the man stayed and bought a ticket, but he went to Faith, your employees register. He didn’t go to see the film about the action hero that everyone was raving about, instead he went into the quieter screen with almost no people, showing the lesser known period movie about a WW2 sweeping romance. Again, you forgot him within minutes, the only thing that played on your mind was that for someone as tall as he was, he seemed to shrink into the background spectacularly well.

Two hours later and the five people, including the man in the black cap, came out. Black Cap was the only one alone, and he looked far more affected by the plot than the others.

“Did you enjoy the movie?”

You had no idea where the question came from, your usual practice was to smile benignly at the customers as they left and give them a generic thank you to top it off.

There was something in his eyes though… they were red rimmed… the man must’ve really been affected by the plot. Those swollen and- blue, such a pretty blue - shadowed eyes swung to yours…

Time stopped for a moment.

You had never felt such a jolt at just a look before. A string connected you, you felt like one of those romantic comedy heroines that you pretended to hate but secretly loved so much. The handsome stranger stared at you, right into your soul, and-

“I hated this movie. Completely inaccurate.”

The spell broke.

Your lips twist in disdain, “I’m so sorry you feel that way, sir. My understanding is that it is hard to accurately portray the horrors of war on screen in a way that really shows what it was like. And what’s wrong with a little love during such a terrible time?”

Black Cap rolled his eyes, scoffed, and walked out of your theatre without a backwards glance.

“Ummm… do you usually go out of your way to be an ass to potential repeat customers, boss?”

The tentative sound of Faith’s voice brought your attention to him, and you shake your head, “Is that any way to talk to your boss?”

Faith just shrugged, completely unbothered. To be honest, it was one of the reasons you liked the young woman so much. You grin at her and sigh, your shoulders slumping in sudden exhaustion when you see the time, “Oh god, I was a bit of an ass, wasn’t I? I just-”

“Yeah yeah, ‘movies are escapism, not real life,’ I get it, boss,” Faith mocked your saying and continued to clean out the popcorn machine, “The man was hot though, sure would’ve liked to see him again…”

Faith was right, of course. Black Cap had been a stone cold ten, you were just realising to yourself, but that wasn’t why you were hoping he might return, and not because of the potential repeat business either. Someone as sad as this man deserved to see movies that made him happy. To escape from whatever put those shadows under his eyes.

Your thoughts continue to drift to him, and you and Faith close up and head home. 

••••••••••••

It was another two weeks before you saw him again, this time he had come in to see a film critics were destroying, but fans all over were absolutely adoring. This one was about a lone ex soldier taking down a government conspiracy. Filled with explosions, violence and one very gratuitous sex scene.

You, personally, had loved every ridiculous second. 

Black Cap came up to your stand, keeping his eyes down, “Can I get a ticket for Saviour, please?”

“Sure, would you like any snacks with that? A drink? My opinion on the movie shoved down your throat, perhaps?”

Black Cap - you really needed to find a better nickname - finally looked up at you in shock, confusion creased the space in between his eyes for a moment, and then he smiled. It changed his whole face into something beyond handsome and dark and into… you didn’t have the words for it, but your heartbeat fluttered almost painfully against your rib cage as you saw it.

“Word on the street is that a movie like this shouldn’t be taken seriously,” Black Cap remarked casually, and pointed behind you at the popcorn, “Can I get some buttered, please?”

He was one of the last people to head to the screen, so you took your time getting his treat, “Something like this plot is so outrageous, all you should do is watch for the fun of it. Just leave your brain at the door and enjoy, you know?”

You turn, smile stretched across your face and hands filled with the gigantic bucket of popcorn, to see an unreadable look on the man’s face. He didn’t look angry, not like the last time, but he did look… 

“What if it’s not outrageous? What if shit like this actually happened? How would you feel then?”

Black Cap took the popcorn, staring intently at you, as if the answer you would give was important to him. You felt it again, that string, pulling tighter. Your answer came unbidden, straight from the heart.

“They had to get this plot from somewhere, right? I would just like to think that, if something like this did happen in real life, that everyone involved got a sappy and happy ending like they do in this film,” A gasp escapes you and you cover your mouth, “Oops! Spoiler alert!”

Black Cap blinks, and that devastating smile returns to his face, “That’s okay. I like knowing that they got a happy ending.”

This time, when he came out, he stopped and talked about the movie with you. Faith kept giving you guys looks and smirks as you talked. 

••••••••••••

Months went on, Black Cap, who you eventually learned was actually named James, would come to your screen maybe twice a month. He would always come in to the last show of the evening and he would always be alone, a fact that you tried to stop yourself feeling relieved about, but the feeling came unbidden, regardless.

What started out as a few words before and after each movie, turned into longer discussions post movie and James helping you to lock up. Soon, James was coming in just to speak to you, to keep you company, and you were able to let Faith leave earlier on those nights, much to the brunettes delight.

Eventually, James offered to walk you home, citing the need to keep an eye on you after dark, and you chuckled, feeling heat spread across your cheeks at his concern, “I actually live in the apartment upstairs, so there’s no need to worry about me walking the streets all on my lonesome, James.”

“Oh,” James had removed his cap, was spinning it idly in his hands and suddenly looking awkward, “right. That’s good. Uh… okay, well, it’s late. I better go.”

“Do you want to come up? I always need a while to unwind after work, I usually put on a movie, you could join, if you want?”

The air became charged again, but you felt more awkward than anything else, what exactly had you been thinking?! You barely knew the man! Of course he was going to say no-

“Really?” James interrupted your inner scolding, “What, uhhh… what movie were you thinking? I don’t wanna impose.”

“I’m feeling actiony tonight, maybe The Terminator?”

“Haven’t seen that, sounds good to me,”

You’re too busy spinning away and turning off lights in mortification at using the term “actiony” to notice how James went pale at the mention of “Terminator”.

You were surprised at how easy it was to have him in your little one bed apartment, and you were more than relieved that you had cleaned up earlier in the day.

“This is really nice.”

“Thanks, I love it.”

You start heading to the back and your bedroom, indicating the kitchen where James could make a drink, “This place was my Grandfathers, he built The Screen up from scratch back in the forties, it’s one of the only original movie theatres left from that time in Brooklyn.”

You’re busy pulling off your work uniform, and grabbing up your sweatpants and comfy t-shirt to fully hear James’s reply, but it sounded oddly like “I remember.”

“Huh? Remember what?”

The apartment being so small, it took you scant seconds to get back to James, finding him staring at your table of photographs, holding one up of you and your grandfather outside The Screen when you were maybe fifteen. Before his dementia had taken his memories of you, but not before he had passed his love of this place to you, or gifted the whole place to you in his will.

James’s smile was oddly wistful as he put the photo down, “I Uh… remember reading about this place. At school, I think. History class?”

“Oh.”

“This place reminds me of somewhere I used to go, way back when I was a kid, with my best friend. The guy who ran it, younger than you would think, he caught us sneaking in one time,” James chuckled fondly, but his eyes, those pretty, pretty eyes, they shone bright with tears, “made us learn how to change the reels and clean and tidy them. We worked a whole summer there, and he gave us free tickets after that.”

“Maybe he knew Pops,” You remark, softly, “Sounds like a story he told me ages ago about helping two kids out one summer.”

You’re fussing with the remotes, setting up the movie, and don’t see how James, once again, goes pale.

“I can’t believe you’ve never seen this movie, James!” You flop back onto the couch, patting the spare seat for him to sit, “It’s probably one of my favourite movies eveeeeer!”

James smirks and rolls his eyes at you, placing himself in the seat carefully after he removes his jacket, “Uhhh, excuse me, but not all of us grew up with movies on demand, ya know? Some of us were… busy.”

“Who the hell is too busy to watch classics every once in a while?”

The movie enraptured you, as ever you’re fascinated by the time travel, how Sarah Connor is swept up into a whole new life due to a choice she hadn’t even made yet. The way she starts out as an every-woman style character and eventually becomes such a badass called to you. And then, of course, there was Kyle Reese. The crush you had always harboured for him burned… especially when you realised that James looked just a little bit like him…

Tension fills the air again, your concentration on the movie starts to waver. You’re so close to James, and you just hadn’t appreciated before, how big he was. Your upper arms were almost touching, and the long sleeved top he wore did very little to hide the definition of the large bicep muscles he had. 

“This movie is insane.”

You jump slightly, the scene where Kyle had confessed his love had just happened, igniting more than the usual amount of tension for you. James was so close, and he was clearly as tense as you… Those pretty blue eyes stayed on the screen and didn’t turn to you, however, so you answer, trying to break the tension you were feeling, “Well, yeah, it’s about a time travelling cyborg sent to kill a woman before she can give birth to the man who will stop a war between artificial intelligence and humans in the future. And,” You add as an afterthought, “the poor woman isn’t even pregnant… well, yet.”

You’re trying to joke, the antics on the screen showed that the moment of conception was very, very imminent. 

“That’s not what I mean.” James’s jaw clenches, his eyes trained on the screen, “How can a woman like Sarah ever feel comfortable with Reese? His world… she’s always in so much danger, and it’s because of him.”

“You can’t help who you fall in love with, James.”

You tilt your head along the back of the couch and, after a moment, James turns to look at you too, blue eyes burning with something you can’t name.

“If Reese had just left her alone, the Terminator wouldn’t have needed to try and kill her. He should’ve stayed away.”

“She went into everything with her eyes wide open, James. And she loved him, she wanted to help him, too.”

That connection came again, the string pulling at your heart, and this time you could see that James felt it too. His teeth caught his bottom lip, the plump pink flesh turned white under the pressure… you couldn’t take your eyes off him if you tried…

“I have secrets, Y/N… I shouldn’t be here. I should go.”

He didn’t leave, though, or make any movement to indicate that he would.

“We all have secrets, James,” your left hand inched forward, towards his right hand in the gloves he still wore and he never took off, “but you don’t have to carry them alone.”

“I’m not a good guy. I’ll only hurt you.”

This was it, you could tell that he was serious, and he was trying to give you an out. But you thought of everything you knew about him. How he tried to melt into the shadows at The Screen, but how he smiled gently at the children that had dropped their candy on the floor at his feet that one time, and how he had paid for them to get more.

You thought about how he had raved about the Pixar film he had watched, all the emotions he had felt while watching it, and how he blushed when he said he “wished Stevie had been there with him.”

And you thought about his gloves, and his hats. That he had been some kind of soldier who was dealing with a lot and used your Screen as a way to escape the violence of his past was clear to you. He hid because he was scarred, probably physically as well as figuratively. None of this was your business, though. He would tell you when, and if, he was ready. Until then…

You take his hand. James stiffens at the contact… but doesn’t pull away.

“James… you could never hurt me the way that the ending of this film does.”

This time, your joke lands, and his nose scrunches up at you in a chuckle. It was a bad joke, but that was the point, to make his serious look go away. The string pulled tight again as you both laugh, and the distance between you both closes.

The press of your lips to his is everything you had hoped, and your eyelids flutter closed at the deep groan that rumbles up from James’s chest. As far as first kisses go… you knew none would ever top this one.

••••••••••••

Days later, and you’re in the middle of the late afternoon rush, but never has the sound of people demanding their escapism sounded so sweet as it did in that moment.

James is hanging around, shooting sweet glances at you, waiting for the moment where you would take your break and go outside with him. Most days since your kiss, he would come and meet you, kissing you sweetly and bringing you a flower, or a box of chocolates, old school gestures of courtship that made your heart flutter and your lips never stop pulling up into a smile.

You already knew you loved him. That he wanted to take his time with you and what you both had, only made you love him more. What that man had been through, what you assumed he had been through… who were you to ever push someone like that for more? You would wait as long as he needed to share his body, his soul and his secrets. 

Your watch tells you that you have five more minutes, and you gesture to Faith who fondly rolls her eyes whilst taking the ticket and snack order of the man and his girlfriend in front of her. You don’t notice how the man keeps on looking over at James, or how he is suddenly very interested in bringing up CNN on his cell phone.

You only notice that he drags his girlfriend away and out of the door, not paying for the tickets that Faith holds in her hand, her brown eyes wide in frustration, “Rude goddamn jackass! What a waste of popcorn and soda!”

“Oh,” A frown creases the space in between your eyes and you shrug, “just take it for yourself, Faith. He probably had some bad news.”

James came to the counter, looking over his shoulder at the door the couple had vacated, “What the hell was his problem?”

“Asshole muttered something about an escaped convict and fuckin’ ran outta here like a bat out of hell,” another low growl, then, “this isn’t a goddamn movie. Escaped convicts aren’t a real thing!”

The way the man had behaved didn’t bother you anymore, all you could think about was spending time with the amazing man on your left, and you grab his hand, starting to walk to the staff exit, “People are weird, you know that, hon. Okay, I’ll be back in twenty, you okay here?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Wait.”

You look up at James, who was now rubbing his eyes frantically, “Ummmm… rain check, doll? I… I don’t feel so good all of a sudden, probably ate something bad at work.”

Concern fills you, it was possible, James works at a small takeout restaurant in the kitchen, he often eats there to save money and, well, it wasn’t the cleanest of places. You often wondered why he would want to work somewhere with such a shady reputation.

Maybe it was just because it was quiet and he didn’t have to talk to people.

“Sure!” You say quickly, “If you don’t feel well!”

James can’t meet your eyes… he really did look pale…

“I, uh…” he seems to wrestle with himself, his eyes going from the exit to his shoes and to a point over your right shoulder, “I’m so sorry, Y/N… I w-wish I could’ve been different… ummm, I mean, I wish I wasn’t sick.”

“You can’t help getting a bug,” you narrow your eyes, “James, what’s wrong? Are you-?”

“I have to go.”

He pulls you into his arms, suddenly, the kiss he lays on you is sudden, deep, filled with emotions you’re too shocked to unravel, so you just kiss him back, holding onto his biceps with a desperate grip.

You knew he had a prosthetic arm, he told you a while back… a spark of something went off in your brain, a knowledge…

“I’m so sorry, darlin’… I love you.”

His lips left yours, his arms unwound themselves from around your shoulders and waist, and your fingers slip from the warm strength of his body. Without a backwards glance, James left you in the foyer of The Screen.

“He’s sick. He’ll be back.”

Faith doesn’t respond. But there was no need. Barely fifteen minutes later and your Screen is filled with SWAT and agents from branches of the government you had never heard of.

James was James Buchanan Barnes, aka; The Winter Soldier. He was responsible for god only knows how many murders and assassinations.

And you had fallen in love with him.

••••••••••••

So many questions. So many accusations. James Buchanan Barnes has been in your Screen, in your home, so many times over the last few months, and you had no idea about who he was?

It didn’t matter to them that you had only seen the good sides of him, that the Winter Soldier side wasn’t his true face. They dragged you into some dark room and held you for questioning for what felt like days.

You couldn’t give him up. You didn’t know anything and, in your heart of hearts, you knew that even if you did, you wouldn’t tell them anything.

There wasn’t any point, anyway. James was gone forever…

You get home, they release you and make you sign forms threatening prison or worse if you say anything about who was frequenting your establishment. Exhaustion pulls at every single muscle, screaming at you to fall into the blissful oblivion of sleep.

Your head hits the pillow… and you hear the crackle of paper. Frantically, you pull the hidden letter out from the pillowcase and hold it up to read;

Y/N,

I’m never going to be able to apologise enough. I just wanted to go somewhere that I remembered, that held only good memories for me. I knew your Pops, way back when.

I wish I could say that I hate myself for sticking around, for talking to you and learning about this amazing woman who kept Pop’s dream alive and knows more about movies than she does about math.

But I don’t.

I’m a selfish prick, but I wouldn’t change a goddamn thing about meeting you and getting to hold something so good in my arms for the first time in a very long time.

I want you to know, your Screen, your love, it gave me hope for the first time since before the war. I’m keeping it with me wherever I go.

I do love you, Y/N. It’s just funny how I now hate that I turned out to be Kyle and not the Terminator.

I won’t be back. I won’t do that to you.

Thank you for everything, Y/N.

Yours, always,

Bucky.

Tears fall, ink runs, and your heart breaks. 

Turns out your life could be like a movie after all, it just wasn’t the type you

[dresupi]

Set Your Tasers to Tickle

Darcyland Crack Challenge 2019 Day 1: Taser Mishaps

Ship: Darcy Lewis/Stephen Strange | Rated: T | Word Count: 2815 | Prompt: Day 1: Taser Mishaps | Other tags: Tickling, Crack, Darcy Lewis April Fool's Crack Challenge 2019, One Shot, Kissing, Teasing, Friends to Lovers, Humor, I hope |

Summary:

Stephen's made fun of Darcy's taser for the last time. Well, probably not the last time. But she made some changes so it'll be more difficult to make fun of it.

"Dr. Foster?" FRIDAY's voice was cool and crisp against the relatively warm, numbing silence in the lab. It brought Darcy out of the Spotify and daydream cycle she'd been gently rolling through.

"Hmm?" Jane asked, not fully paying attention.

"Dr. Foster?" The A.I's voice was more insistent this time.

"What?" This time, the astrophysicist was less absent, but still not fully there.

"Dr. Foster?"

"Geez, what, what?" Darcy asked.  "Why are you doing that? I know your intelligence is artificial, but you should totally just ask for me."

"Mr. Stark wanted to remind the two of you that the scheduled group dinner starts in ten minutes, Ms. Lewis, but you told me that if I ever interrupted you when you were staring unblinkingly at your computer screen again, you'd have me rewired. While I know this isn't possible, I thought it best to adhere to your rules. If for nothing other than positive future interactions between the two of us."

That's right. It's Wednesday. Wednesday nights were group dinner nights. "Oh right. The dinner. And thank you, FRIDAY, you're officially on my good list."

"I'm thrilled, Ms. Lewis. Do you have any other queries at this time?"

"Who all are attending? Stevie and Wanda?"

"Captain Rogers and Ms. Maximoff are indeed in attendance. As is Colonel Rhodes, as is Mr. Wilson. Dr. Stephen Strange is also in attendance.  And you and Dr. Foster, if you disengage from your computers and start walking in the direction of the dining hall in no less than ten minutes. Dr. Banner has recused himself to his private quarters, so he will regretfully not be joining you this evening.."

Darcy grimaced. "Strange is gonna be there?"

"Indeed. His invitation was accepted belatedly, but he is already in the dining hall as we speak."

"Did you hear that, Janey?" Darcy extended her leg and pushed on Jane's chair, jarring her from her thoughts. Not an easy thing to do, but Darcy knew all her boss's buttons and cheat codes after almost ten years.

"Hear what?"

"Dr. Strangelove is coming to dinner tonight."

Jane wrinkled her nose and reached over to save her work. "Oh, I'm sorry Darce. I know how much you don't like him."

"And neither do you! You don't like him either. Because he's my wildcard, Jane. You have to hate him because I do. No questions asked. We each get one, and I totally hate that one dude who came in here."

Jane began the process of shutting down her computers. "First of all, I feel like that shouldn't count as my wildcard because Reed Richards is a dick and everyone knows it. And secondly, I do; I hate Stephen Strange blindly. Only because I love you, Darce.  But…"

"No buts. We have to be mean girls tonight, Janey."

"I don't think he's all that bad."

"That's because in regards to you, he's some kind of magical-science man whose brain you'd like to pick, and he's actually of a mental acuity that can keep up with your science babbles.  But Bruce is all of those things too, and he's not a jerk to me, so…"

"I don't think Stephen's being a jerk, Darce. I think he's teasing you because he likes the reaction he gets from you.  If you didn't get so angry, I bet he'd leave you alone. Not that any of this is your fault, but… you see what I'm saying?"

"Look. I am thirty years old."

"You're thirty-two…" Jane muttered under her breath.

"I am THIRTY for the third year running, and I'm doing just fine with it, thank you…" Darcy replied in a scandalized tone.  "And regardless. I'm too old to have my pigtails yanked on the playground. If he enjoys my company, I require a more… finessed approach."

"Darcy. He could magic a bunch of lab equipment to float in the air, spelling out your initials and his in a heart and you still wouldn't get it through your thick skull that he liked you."

"That may be true, but I certainly cannot gauge someone's like or dislike of me if he flat out refuses common decency."

"He teases you. He's not being uncommonly indecent."

"He likes seeing me squirm," Darcy countered.

"And that's not a good trait in someone you're boning?" Jane retorted, eyebrows raised.

Darcy's mouth fell open and she made several undignified noises. If she had to call them anything, she'd call them squawks.  "I… I… I… never said anything about boning him!"

"That's the underlying current here, isn't it?" Jane asked. "You say you hate him. But there's a thin line between disdain and--"

"Do not for the love of all that is Thor-ly, say 'love'."

"Attraction," Jane finished. "If you were indifferent to him, you wouldn't care how he treated you. Look at Bruce. He has his bad days and grumbles at you and you don't bat an eye. Stephen Strange uses a tone that's borderline snarky and you throw yourself dramatically off the deep end."

"No. I. Don't."

Jane pursed her lips but didn't reply any further, which was fine. Because Darcy totally won that argument, okay? "So, are you ready for dinner and hating Stephen? Because I'm ready."

Darcy sniffed and nodded. "Might as well get this over with."

"What are we eating, anyway? Last week's options were pretty good…"

"I think Tony's doing takeout for everything…" Darcy said trailing off. "We could literally ask FRIDAY."

"Tonight's menu consists of twelve different gourmet soups," the A.I cheerfully provided.

Darcy made a face. "One of those better be cheese based or I'm skipping out…"

"Me too," Jane muttered.

The dinner itself was amazing. Surprisingly.  Or not surprisingly, since Tony usually hired chefs that made amazing food and Darcy wasn't sure why she ever questioned things anymore.

There were three cheese-based soups, so she and Jane had plenty to choose from.

The wine was nothing to sneeze at either.

It was too bad that Darcy couldn't really enjoy either because Stephen Strange was such a mind-numbingly terrible human and his very existence put a bad taste in her mouth.

A bad taste that even a bowl of creamy asparagus parmesan soup couldn't take away.

"So how's scientist-wrangling, Darcy?" His Terrible-ness asked, only about five minutes into the meal.

Seriously dude, let me live?

She took a long sip from her wine glass, realizing that any hope of his surviving the dinner was going to rest on how quickly it got refilled. "Good. Thanks." Just like Jane had advised. Short. Semisweet. Didn't expose any emotion whatsoever, Darcy was golden-- "How's being an emotionally constipated magical prick with too many layers and a personality that idles on extra?" she added at the end.

Gods-dammit, Darcy.

Stephen burst into laughter. Pretentious laughter. "I was just trying to make conversation," he said.

"No, you weren't. If you were making conversation, you wouldn't have picked on one of the things you know bothers me."

He peered over at her. "How would I know that bothers you?"

"Because, Genius. You've brought it up before. And you know damn well that's not all I do, but you oversimplify things to get a rise out of me. Next, you'll be making fun of my taser, even though I could level your ass with it."

"Hey, hey…" Tony interjected.  "Keep the foreplay out of dining room, okay?"

Darcy rolled her eyes and snatched her glass, physically turning herself so Stephen was out of her line of vision.

"You've never done it before, why start now?" Stephen muttered under his breath. Just loud enough for everyone to hear.

"That taser's gotten her out of some binds before," Steve interrupted. "She'd be dead by now with all the intelligence she's carrying if it wasn't for that thing."

Wanda agreed. "No one ever expects it."

"And she tased Thor!" Jane added.

Darcy felt her heart physically warm. Her friends were awesome, okay?

"Yes, I did," Darcy said, effectively ending the convo once and for all.

Or it would have.

If she didn't get her feelings hurt a little.

Okay, so she got her feelings hurt a lot.

And when Darcy got her feelings hurt, she usually cleaned something. But her apartment and workstation were all as tidy as they could be and Jane had murder eyes for anyone who so much as deigned to ogle the mess in her area, so Darcy was left with but one option.

Tinkering with her taser.

Probably not the best of plans, considering her lack of engineering expertise. But she'd hooked up her Roku, and she was the only one who could fix the wifi in the lab, so those skills had to account for something.

After approximately three shocks to various fingers, it was obvious that while those skills were nothing to sniff at, they didn't transfer to taser tampering.

Which was how she found herself hanging out at Tony's station and casually nudging the weapon towards him.

"Fine," he said finally, scooping it up. "What do you want me to do?"

"Add more settings," Darcy said quickly.

"What settings?"

"Doesn't matter. Just. More."

"You got it, short stack."

When her beloved taser was returned to her, it looked largely the same. Except for a dial on the side that she could spin to change settings.

There were the ominous 1, 2, and 3 settings. In addition to those, there were some others that grabbed her attention a little more.

"Double Rainbow" seemed to do just that, shooting two identical rainbow beams out the end that carried no voltage that she could discern. Probably why the setting was printed in blue font, whereas the 1, the 2, and the 3 were in red.

There was also a 'Pinkie Pie' setting in blue, as well as something Tony called "Sonic Screwdriver, which she found out was actually a type of a lock-picking setting.  She just had to stick the diodes on any lock and she could blast a door open.  Nifty.  Both were blue, so she assumed neither would hurt an actual person.

Last on the dial, though. Was something called 'Tickle'. The font was purple. And it looked hella interesting.

"'Tickle'?" Darcy asked.

Tony nodded. "Yeah, that one's a hybrid. Won't hurt the target. But it'll make 'em giggle a little."  He shrugged. "I wanted something in the middle. Before, that thing either maimed or sparkled.  Now, it also tickles. You're welcome."

Darcy took her new weapon and grinned. "Thanks!"

She would swear up, down, and under oath that it was an accident.

She was practicing on one of the dummies Bruce and Tony hadn't blown up yet. She'd tried out each of the red settings, finding the 3 was likely for Bruce's Other Guy, if he ever Hulked out in the lab and was unwilling to listen to reason. Settings 2 and 1 were pretty much the factory settings.

She tried out Pinkie Pie and Double Rainbow, happy with the results. The first one emitting showers of purple and pink sparkles in the shape of a unicorn. The latter, doing its double rainbow-thing.

Unfortunately, she couldn't even shoot the 'Sonic Screwdriver' at something that wasn't a lock, so she'd have to talk to Tony about how to test that one out.

It left one final setting to try out.

And she wasn't sure what it would do to the dummy, but she wanted to give it a shot. Pun intended.

She set it firmly on 'Tickle' and rounded on her target, shooting the diodes out and giving a yelp of surprise when they implanted firmly on Stephen Strange's shirt.

He glanced down at them for a long moment before his shoulders started shaking.

Let it be known to the world and everyone in it that Stephen Strange had the dorkiest laugh in the entire universe.  Somewhere between a cackle and a goose honk.

Darcy released the trigger, her hand coming up to cover her mouth. "Oh my Thor, I'm sorry…"

"You're shooting me now?" he gestured to the diodes. "And correct me if I'm wrong, but if this thing took down Thor, I must be even mightier than the Asgardian." He puffed his chest proudly.

Darcy audibly groaned and pulled the trigger again, resulting in Stephen laughing both uncontrollably and loudly.

She smirked. "It's the tickle setting. Tony's been working on it. I also have a setting that can take down the Hulk, care to try that one?" She mimed reaching for the dial and Stephen's hands came out as he jolted forward.

"No, don't. Don't. I give."

"Relax. I wasn't going to shoot you with that one."

He smirked. "I know that. But I still give."

"You… give?"

"Yes. I give. Uncle. Whatever I need to say. Just please don't tickle me again."

"Why?"

"I don't like my laugh," he readily admitted.

She smirked and held her finger over the trigger again. "There's something else I'd like you to say… five seconds to guess…"

For the record, she was hoping for an apology.

"Dinner?" Stephen asked, hands still extended.

"What?" Darcy frowned. "Dinner?"

"Dinner? Just you and me. No one else. I don't feel like we ever get a chance to talk when everyone's here."

Her stomach flip-flopped and she let the taser come down to her side. She walked over to him, yanking the diodes from his shirt and wound them back up. "You can go."

"Wait…" He practically stumbled forward. "That's why I'm here. To ask you to dinner."

"Pull the other one, Magic Man."

"No, I mean it.  And I take it from your utter lack of a reaction that this is a complete surprise to you?"

"Not completely. Just utterly the last thing in the entire world I expected to hear from you. I would have settled for an apology just so you know. I'm not into torturing a dude for a date."

"An apology for what?"

"For our entire acquaintanceship," she countered. "You're rude and mean and you make fun of me, and you are so good at picking out every little thing that I'm sensitive about…" Darcy shook her head. "So hate to break it to ya, but I'm gonna need a rain check on the date."

"I'm sorry," he said immediately. "I'm sorry for hurting your… pride? Your feelings? I can't tell by your tone which it was, but I am infinitely sorry."

She shrugged. "You had to do something, right? I was kind of equally horrible to you."

"I didn't mind," Stephen replied. "I enjoy a good verbal spar from time to time." He took a step closer. "You said you'd need a rain check for the date?"

"Did I? I thought I refused you outright and bade you to never darken my doorway again…" she teased.

He shook his head, and she shifted her weight expectantly. "How long's the rain check good for?" He asked, freezing in place.

She shrugged. "No expiration, I guess."

"That's… that's good to hear. So you wouldn't be opposed?"

"I know," she said, laughing a little. "Color me surprised."

He took another step closer. "I really am sorry. I thought we were engaging in verbal combat, but with a slightly flirtatious flair."

"I don't flirt with the guys who pull my hair to show they like me," she replied.

He smiled a little. Crookedly, and in a way that made her want to blush and look away.

"You weren't not flirting," he countered.

"No. But I wasn't flirting either. You'd know if I was."

"What does that look like? For those of us who are helplessly dense in this subject?"

She rolled her eyes. "You, Stephen. Are hopelessly dense about a lot of things. But not about this. If I like you. I'll tell you."

"Do you like me?"

"You're growing on me," she replied, smiling a little as he moved closer still. She wasn't moving closer, but she wasn't moving away either. He could come all the way across the floor if he was serious.

"Like a skin tag?"

She smirked. "No, genius."

He chuckled, closing the gap between them and standing so close that she could smell his aftershave. "See, I'm really bad at this."

She reached up to grab at what passed for lapels on that ridiculous ensemble he was wearing. She tugged him forward and turned at the last second, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. "You really aren't.  Call me later about the date, okay?"

She took a step back and took her taser with her.

"How late is later? Can I call you in five minutes?"

"Use your best judgment!" she called, retreating to her area of the lab with a smug smile on her face. She slid into her chair with a tiny bounce.

"Seemed pretty 'finessed' if you ask me," Jane said, keeping her voice low as she clicked around on her computer.

"Shut it, Foster."

[pimby]

1-92 ??

honestly it’s been a boring night. thanks for keeping me busy!

1. Would you have sex with the last person you text messaged?Nope2. You talked to an ex today, correct?Nope!!3. Have you taken someones virginity?Nuh uh4. Is trust a big issue for you?Nah. If I bother hanging out with someone, I usually trust them.5. Did you hang out with the person you like recently?Nope6. What are you excited for?My Hindi class!! I like the people there.7. What happened tonight?I’ve been watching anime and blogging.8. Do you think it’s disgusting when girls get really wasted?Nah.9. Is confidence cute?Yes!! Know you’re good and own it!10. What is the last beverage you had?Water, the source of all life.11. How many people of the opposite sex do you fully trust?A lot! I have primarily guy friends. I also trust my brother.12. Do you own a pair of skinny jeans?Those are like the only pants I own.13. What are you gonna do Saturday night?Here I am living my ideal.14. What are you going to spend money on next?Bedding, I think. Mine has a stain and I found a cute replacement!15. Are you going out with the last person you kissed?I r r e l e v a n t16. Do you think you’ll change in the next 3 months?Boy i hope so17. Who do you feel most comfortable talking to about anything?My sister Lee and wr3h and towneater and well!!!! Many people, I guess. Friends.18. The last time you felt broken?:/ Today19. Have you had sex today?Nope!20. Are you starting to realize anything?Life is a continuum of realization. If you don’t realize it’s not real life.I realize. I comprehend. I process. Analysis: I want beans.21. Are you in a good mood?Lukewarm. Cruise mode.22. Would you ever want to swim with sharks?Sure why not.23. Are your eyes the same color as your dad’s?I???? Avoid looking my dad in the eyes and I just realized this????24. What do you want right this second?To be with people that want to be around me!! I want that so much.25. What would you say if the person you love/like kissed another girl/boy?Nothing. It’s okay.26. Is your current hair color your natural hair color?Yep. Caramely.27. Would you be able to date someone who doesn’t make you laugh?Hell no. That’s nasty.28. What was the last thing that made you laugh?Myself. I was panicking while driving trying to squeeze into another lane and singing a song about it to hear the sound of my own voice, then caught myself and realized how stupid I sound. There’s that Realize.29. Do you really, truly miss someone right now?At this point I miss my retail boss that yelled at me all the time. at least I was getting attention. I shit you not I had a dream I went back to that godawful job last night. That’s what we’re at; I would take anybody.30. Does everyone deserve a second chance?I think for some actions, one of the consequences is ostracization. Severe crimes fall under that. It makes sense that your victims wouldn’t be able to trust you.31. Honestly, do you hate the last boy you were talking to?Nah.32. Does the person you have feelings for right now, know you do?One does, one doesn’t.33. Are you one of those people who never drinks soda?Yep! Not worth how it makes me feel.34. Listening to? Cherry Coke - Don’t Kill My Vibe. Okay did you know I always lie to this question because I just have a random playlist on shuffle but I go through it and find one that fits my current mood??? A trickster.35. Do you ever write in pencil anymore? Yeah, but it’s not preferable.36. Do you know where the last person you kissed is?No. They were from a past life or another dimension and I have no memory of it.37. Do you believe in love at first sight?Yeah I’ve experienced it!! 38. Who did you last call?My mom.39. Who was the last person you danced with?Wow, fuck. Probably some stranger, years ago??40. Why did you kiss the last person you kissed?I didn’t.41. When was the last time you ate a cupcake?Over a year D:42. Did you hug/kiss one of your parents today?Nope43. Ever embarrass yourself in front of a crush?How dare you ever think I do otherwise.44. Do you tan in the nude?No lad I have other skin concerns I’d rather battle.45. If you could, would you take back your last kiss?D....efinitely......46. Did you talk to someone until you fell asleep last night?Nope! I don’t usually leave em hanging and say good night.47. Who was the last person to call you?My....mom.....48. Do you sing in the shower?Nah I have roommates.49. Do you dance in the car?YEAH BUDDY!!!!50. Ever used a bow and arrow?Yeah and my dad offered to buy me one and stuff but I only want an elvish recurve. I don’t want this useful nonesense.51. Last time you got a portrait taken by a photographer?A couple weeks ago! They’re super cute; I am one hot tamale.52. Do you think musicals are cheesy?Well yeah, but I can enjoy some cheese.53. Is Christmas stressful?It’s the most peaceful time of the year I think!!! Wait shit I just had flashbacks to all my former Christmases no it’s not.54. Ever eat a pierogi?Don’t ask me that if you aren’t gonna feed it to me.55. Favorite type of fruit pie?Boysenberry56. Occupations you wanted to be when you were a kid?Master thief! Thanks, Sly Cooper, for the terribly unrealistic dream. 57. Do you believe in ghosts?Ya they watch me take a piss58. Ever have a Deja-vu feeling?Really commonly lately.59. Take a vitamin daily?No I bathe in my nutrients.60. Wear slippers?Never ever im a barefoot beast61. Wear a bath robe?I wear a sleep robe and it’s SPICY62. What do you wear to bed?That robe or a night shirt. Never pants. Too hot.63. First concert?Never been64. Wal-Mart, Target or Kmart?Wal-Mart. I don’t have any airs about me. No dignity to save.65. Nike or Adidas?Fuck em I won’t fall for their feet prison complex.66. Cheetos Or Fritos?Cheetos67. Peanuts or Sunflower seeds?Peanuts68. Favorite Taylor Swift song?Tumblr said she isn’t good and I must obey.69. Ever take dance lessons?Life is the greatest teacher.70. Is there a profession you picture your future spouse doing?Pussy eater.71. Can you curl your tongue?Nah72. Ever won a spelling bee?My biggest accomplishment actually. I’m unduly proud of that fact.73. Have you ever cried because you were so happy?All the time.74. What is your favorite book?The MIsts of Avalon75. Do you study better with or without music?Without music but I won’t do it unless I have music.76. Regularly burn incense?Nope77. Ever been in love?Always!78. Who would you like to see in concert?Marianas Trench79. What was the last concert you saw?Calm down abt the concerts maybe.80. Hot tea or cold tea?Hot tea u sick fiend.81. Tea or coffee?Tea82. Favorite type of cookie?No bakes. Those ones that are THICC83. Can you swim well?I can stay afloat.84. Can you hold your breath without holding your nose?There are people that can’t? v:85. Are you patient?Externally yes. Internally no.86. DJ or band, at a wedding?This is a real problem real people face and debate about? Tell everybody to put headphones in and play their own music and don’t talk to each other.87. Ever won a contest?One time I sewed a pillow and it won a ribbon at the county fair.88. Ever have plastic surgery?No babe it’s natural89. Which are better black or green olives?Neither.90. Opinions on sex before marriage?I don’t know what that is I’m sorry91. Best room for a fireplace?The throne room.92. Do you want to get married?Sure.

[invokingbees]

Dark Souls Revisited

Day 5

Forest Hunter invasions, Sen's Fortress Part Deux, Anor Londo, Painted World of Ariamis part 1

After a massive shitshow of being memed on in the forest, I legit beat a guy and got my Ring of Fog. The Funhouse is done with forever. Got my Ricard's Rapier, too! Pendulum bridges really messed me up, and the snake men can go to hell, but I eventually made it up top. That Ring of Fog came in veeery handy, lemme tell you. No more sniping snake men, unless I get too close. Went to summon Tarkus for the Iron Golem, but I got invaded on the middle of the bridge to him. Naturally, the invader kicked Tarkus off the bridge and I lost the summon. But I got the invader, at least. Called in a summon for Iron Golem, who got bodied and left me with a bloated boss HP bar. Iron Golem wasn't actually difficult, but my trusty lightning spear wasn't doing so much and my weak little Astoran noble noodle arms can't hold strike weapons. But nevertheless, the golem fell and I arrived in Anor Londo to that beautiful cutscene and little flourish of the Ornstein & Smough theme.

Anor Londo kinda sucks. I just hate how big it is, honestly. I get that the Lords and shit were super tall so everything's big, but man, that golden warm colour palette's effect wears off real fast when you have to spend find minutes getting from the bonfire to the boss, then get invaded and have to do it all over again because of this fucking netcode having invaders King Crimson you to death. Regardless, the infamous archers were circumvented thanks to my ring. Most of the time was just spent walking. I got some help with Ornstein and Smough because I'm feeling the weakness. Met the Amazing Chest and promptly teleported all over Lordran in celebration.

Went to the Painted World next. I love its aesthetic, crumbling, frozen medieval ruins are sick. I just don't know why the basic hollows beat me up so hard. I mean, I'm not wearing armour but I would like to be able to roll, you know? I've fully given in and now main a crest shield and Balder Side Sword with the odd Fog Ring/Soul Arrow cheese. I’m a shitter, I admit it, but only because DaS1 is so completely borked compared to the rest of the series. I've tried and upgraded Ricard's Rapier and my Estoc here, but they just don't cut it, not when the Balder's R2 does so, so much more damage and the Ricard's R2 is very risky. I'm a little upset about this, I won't lie, were I more skilled, or perhaps more attentive or patient player, I could make my Estoc or Ricard's work, but I'm not that patient or good. This is a terrible diary. Anyway, I spent about 80+ arrows and some spells killing the undead dragon. Opened up the shortcut to the bonfire. Jumped the gap to get the Velka set. Cheesed the weirdly strong bird fuckers in the tower. Tomorrow, I'll finish off the Painted World and move on. Maybe I'll kill the dragon lady because, frankly, none of Lordran's pathetic, miserable inhabitants have made me feel a smidgen of empathy so far. Except for Laurentius, he's so nice. Here's hoping the dex/int scaling Velka's Rapier will finally give me the power I desire.

[natiashakirkwood]

Your Dreams Are Probably Stupid And Nobody Cares (That’s a Good Thing)

Your Dreams Are Probably Stupid And Nobody Cares (That’s a Good Thing)

When I was a little kid, I had an idea about what the afterlife would involve.

I thought that after I died, I’d go to some place where a bunch of people, sort of like the chorus in a Greek tragedy, would show me film reels of my most embarrassing and uncool moments — picking my nose on the toilet, the time I farted in my boss’ face, that sort of thing.

It would be an epic circus of my humiliation, painstakingly documented by — who? minor deities? accountants of Hell? all the boys I ever had an awkward crush on? My immature theology was never quite clear on that.

The concept here is that some group of people is watching my every move, cataloguing it for posterity, and really really caring about it.

That sounds dumb, of course.

But isn’t that how we act when it comes to our own self-image?

I mean, isn’t that just basically Twitter, Instagram, and sharing all your workouts to Facebook?

Many of us at some point have operated with the core beliefs that:

We are being closely observed.

We are being closely observed by people who really, really care.

The people who really, really care are judgmental as shit.

We really, really care that they really, really care.

So we have to act in ways that don’t let those people find any flaws. We must be perfect, lest this committee make us sit in a plastic folding chair with our eyes propped open, watching footage of that time we fucked up a Powerpoint and pooped our pants.

Many years ago, every time I worked out, I’d imagine a group of Stumptuous readers tsk-tsking.

“How can she have such a lousy squat?”

“Yes, her butt does look terrible in those pants… and in all pants ever invented.”

“What a poser.”

To be clear, I was working out alone.

By myself.

Invisible to the internet (yes, youngsters, there was a time when that was possible).

Nobody cared about my dreams.

Nobody cared whether I was a bodybuilder or a powerlifter, good at bench pressing, whether I was doing 3 sets of 5 or 5 sets of 3, what % of my 1RM I was using, or what I had for lunch.

For that matter, nobody cared about my cellulite angst, my squat numbers (or any other numbers), my weight, my butt’s shape / size / dimensions / aesthetic correctness, or any other trivial detail of my life.

Unless maybe I stepped on their foot on the subway or played my music too loud or cut them off in traffic, then other people briefly cared about how my trajectory might be interfering with theirs. Until they didn’t care again.

And yet I acted like they cared.

I acted and thought like everyone cared. Deeply.

I acted and thought like the rest of the world was arguing about my relative merits in the same way that old men around the world argue about football on smoky Sunday afternoons in the local café — passionately, with excruciating attention to errors, narratively needlepointing every fine detail of every stat and movement, gesticulating to indicate displeasure with fingers stabbing into the air.

I acted and thought like everyone gave a huge wet-burrito shit about all of it. All of me. All of my life.

My dreams. My worries. My thoughts.

Like my life was some Truman Show with cameras everywhere, even inside my brain.

But it’s not.

Now to be clear, I don’t mean I am alone and unloved.

I’m not hurtling isolated on this bald blue planet through space, silently weeping because there is no God and I can’t address my thank-you letters for a sunny day to any particular cosmic customer service representative.

Well, there is no God, and saying “thank you physics for the photons” doesn’t quite have the same thrill, but the fact that 7 billion people in the world aren’t breathlessly hitting “refresh” to find out what amazing thing I am doing doesn’t mean I live in some nihilist cave.

I’m surrounded by caring friends and family, by people who are interested in what I have to say, and do, and who I am, and my opinions on Manchego cheese (delicious), the Middle East (I can’t even) or Saul Bellow (literary genius).

It’s just that what they love, care about, and are interested in has nothing to do with all the stuff I thought was important.

Stuff like:

How much weight I could lift (or not).

How fast I could run (or waddle).

How high I could jump (ha).

My clothing size.

My weight.

My (in)visible abs.

Whether I was doing X style workout or Y style.

Whether I was eating X diet or Y diet or not at all.

Whether I had been “bad” or “good”.

Whether I had accomplished my desired number of reps and sets.

Whether I had trained my core, or my posterior chain, or my stability, and exactly which method I used.

In fact, talking and worrying about all of the above, or related topics, makes you boring as shit. (Even to people who love you dearly and think the way you say “refrigerator” is delightful.)

In North America, we have a particular conceit. Which is:

We think our dreams are intrinsically valuable because they are our dreams.

If other people critique our dreams, or don’t care about our dreams, or don’t give us the right reaction when we grandly announce that we are following our dreams, we think they are hatin-ass morons who don’t care about our dreams.

Which they should! Because those are our dreams! All dreams are good and amazing and beautiful and worthy of slackjawed wondrous awe!

Stop and think about that for a moment.

Demanding unwavering allegiance to the correctness of dreams is what toddlers do.

Children are fundamentally egocentric. They have no context or comparison. Their small world is everything.

They will build an elaborate fort, announce that it is a spaceship, and scream you straight to hell if you tell them that it’s just a bunch of stupid pillows. You’d better buy in to that pillow ship, my friend.

Now, of course, in children, this is delightful.

I love watching kids create imaginary universes and live them. They encourage all of us cynically defeated adult bastards to believe in magic, if only for a few moments.

I also think imagination is a grand thing in general. I have a solid roster of mental adventure stories, starring myself as a pirate ninja sharpshooter acrobat popstar brain surgeon… or whatever.

But I don’t mix up imagination with reality.

Here’s what mixing up a child’s imagination with adult reality looks like.

You worry about being “good”. Or “bad”.

If you are “good”, it’s mostly for show. And doesn’t last. (Ta daaaa! Aren’t I behaving so much better than my little sister right now?)

If you are “bad”, you make confessions on the internet. (OMG! Here’s what I ate! Soooo naughty! Teehee!)

You think that magic is real — that there is a fairy-dusted mixture of sets and reps and macronutrients that unlocks the special door to Buffland.

You demand that all of us look at you! Look at you! Oh my goodness! You lifted like a big girl! So strong!

Oh dear! You did not lift as much weight as you wanted! So sad! You should punish yourself! You should have a tantrum!

You confuse a given outcome with intrinsic value — an “A” on your spelling test, a gold star for being a good girl, a pat on the head for nice cursive writing, a high-five for your bathroom selfie.

If this isn’t you, and right now you’re chain-smoking Marlboros, leafing through your mutual fund reports, and chuckling in a growly Joan Crawford voice about how you just can’t be arsed to care about anything — congratulations. Enjoy your eccentric, very grown-up performance artist / sociopathic life.

The truth is:

We all have a little bit of small child in our brains.

Most of us want there to be magic.

Most of us want other people to love us and give us gold stars.

Most of us want to perform well.

Most of us want to play by the social rules and win the game.

Most of us don’t want to be ostracized, “get in trouble”, or be the group weirdo.

Most of us probably just need some juice, a cuddle, and a nap.

That’s normal.

We shouldn’t kill off our imaginations.

Again, pirate ninja sharpshooter acrobat popstar brain surgeon. 900 degree Tony Hawk spin!

Rad, right?

We should, however, learn to distinguish child-brain from adult-brain.

And this includes getting clear about what we’re doing, why we’re doing it, and where reality will impose natural and necessary limitations on us.

Think about it this way.

Imagine a 4-square grid.

One dimension is “ego-gratifying”. This runs from “completely self-centered” to “selfless”.

The second dimension is “realistic”. This runs from “could do it right now, now problem” to “you have to break the laws of space and time to make this happen”.

So you can have basically 4 types of things (with lots of stuff in between along a continuum, of course).

Ego-gratifying and unrealistic. Basically you winning the world and having everyone notice. Awesome to imagine; don’t try executing any of these things seriously unless you want to become an obsessive, frustrated a-hole and have crying jags because you can’t free-dive a kilometre or walk around at 5% bodyfat all the time.

Ego-gratifying and realistic. Everyone needs a little bit of this one in their lives. But not too much. Maybe 10-20% of your activities and effort should live here.

Non-ego-gratifying and unrealistic. “World peace” and “Save all the whales” usually lives in here, unless “Save the whales” is really about you building some environmentalist empire, which is not that crazy if you see How To Change The World and realize that social movements involve a lot more dick-waving than you’d expect. Any genital waving bumps it back up to Category 1. Actually Category 3 is sneakily a lot like Category 1. If you’re a coach / trainer “just trying to help” by berating or pushing your clients in a noble martyred struggle against ignorance and sloth, you may think you’re #3 when you’re really #1.

Non-ego-gratifying and realistic. This is where most of your life should be if you want to be happy, sane, and functional. Of course, we’re not looking for complete self-erasure here in Category 4, or some weird trippy Zen state where you serenely declare that all is all.

So what lives in Category 4 — non-ego-gratifying and realistic?

Empathy and compassion — helping other people in ways that they genuinely need and want, as well as having compassion for yourself.

Intrinsic mastery — learning skills that you truly enjoy and find useful, slowly and consistently.

Beginner’s mind — being open to new ideas, learning, expanding your worldview, and being coached.

Seeking, getting, and taking feedback — using data, information, and the evidence of experience to make decisions.

Scientific reasoning — looking at evidence, thinking critically, avoiding magical leaps of logic.

Showing up for practice — just showing up. Plain old showing up. Being there. Putting in the reps. Doing what needs to be done. Not looking for shortcuts; realizing that the practice is the point.

Enjoying things for their own sake — having fun, playing, simply being present.

OK, look, I don’t mean to be a downer.

Living in the non-ego-gratifying real world is awesome.

You’re truly free.

If you know your dreams are silly and that nobody cares about them, YOU get to decide whether you try to manifest them.

YOU get to decide whether they’re worth giving a shit about.

YOU get to decide whether they should live in your head (yay) or live outside (yay), and you know the difference between what’s inside and outside.

If you know your dreams are silly, but you really want to do something, you can choose to replace them with less-silly ones. Get coaching and feedback from people who have the objective expertise to help you, and don’t pout when they guide you gently towards reality.

If you know your dreams are silly and you do them anyway, recognizing that they are utterly ridiculous and probably won’t amount to shit, we call that fun. We call that a hobby. Or an eccentricity. Silly pointless goofing around is how disc golf, extreme ironing, and Roomba Pong got invented. None of it was needed, but it sure does spice up life.

Pointless antics often form the fountain of creativity, as long as you don’t take them too seriously. (Check out the Stupid Shit No-One Needs and Terrible Ideas Hackathon.)

If you know that nobody cares, we also call that fun. Because play can’t be too concerned with the audience.

Most of the time, nobody is judging you because they’re too caught up in their own paranoia about their own embarrassing afterlife blooper reel.

You’re completely liberated from the weight of other people’s imaginary shit-giving.

Even if they are judging you, it’s cursory. It’s a brief blip before they return to their own rumination. So, no harm no foul.

What would you do if there was no “measuring up”?

If there was no social scrutiny?

No Truman Show cameras?

What would you do if, figuratively, you were alone in all the very best ways — the delicious kind of aloneness where you can wear your jammies with the peanut butter stains, and sing I Will Survive in your loudest voice, and pee with the door open, and be like Tom Cruise in Risky Business? That kind of dance-like-nobody’s-watching feeling?

Take that feeling, and bring it along with you wherever you go.

You don’t have to be alone and drunk-dancing in your underwear to feel it. You can choose to feel it anywhere, any time.

You can nurture that feeling of fundamental freedom and fun in any environment, with any pursuit.

There’s no final exam. There are no judges. There are few rules besides reality requiring that you face it.

And if you fuck it up, well… if there’s no God, there’s probably also no film crew.

  Me and some peeps from my boxing class, so concerned with serious appearances and impressing people.

Original Article:  Your Dreams Are Probably Stupid And Nobody Cares

Your Dreams Are Probably Stupid And Nobody Cares (That’s a Good Thing)

When I was a little kid, I had an idea about what the afterlife would involve.

I thought that after I died, I’d go to some place where a bunch of people, sort of like the chorus in a Greek tragedy, would show me film reels of my most embarrassing and uncool moments — picking my nose on the toilet, the time I farted in my boss’ face, that sort of thing.

It would be an epic circus of my humiliation, painstakingly documented by — who? minor deities? accountants of Hell? all the boys I ever had an awkward crush on? My immature theology was never quite clear on that.

The concept here is that some group of people is watching my every move, cataloguing it for posterity, and really really caring about it.

That sounds dumb, of course.

But isn’t that how we act when it comes to our own self-image?

I mean, isn’t that just basically Twitter, Instagram, and sharing all your workouts to Facebook?

Many of us at some point have operated with the core beliefs that:

We are being closely observed.

We are being closely observed by people who really, really care.

The people who really, really care are judgmental as shit.

We really, really care that they really, really care.

So we have to act in ways that don’t let those people find any flaws. We must be perfect, lest this committee make us sit in a plastic folding chair with our eyes propped open, watching footage of that time we fucked up a Powerpoint and pooped our pants.

Many years ago, every time I worked out, I’d imagine a group of Stumptuous readers tsk-tsking.

“How can she have such a lousy squat?”

“Yes, her butt does look terrible in those pants… and in all pants ever invented.”

“What a poser.”

To be clear, I was working out alone.

By myself.

Invisible to the internet (yes, youngsters, there was a time when that was possible).

Nobody cared about my dreams.

Nobody cared whether I was a bodybuilder or a powerlifter, good at bench pressing, whether I was doing 3 sets of 5 or 5 sets of 3, what % of my 1RM I was using, or what I had for lunch.

For that matter, nobody cared about my cellulite angst, my squat numbers (or any other numbers), my weight, my butt’s shape / size / dimensions / aesthetic correctness, or any other trivial detail of my life.

Unless maybe I stepped on their foot on the subway or played my music too loud or cut them off in traffic, then other people briefly cared about how my trajectory might be interfering with theirs. Until they didn’t care again.

And yet I acted like they cared.

I acted and thought like everyone cared. Deeply.

I acted and thought like the rest of the world was arguing about my relative merits in the same way that old men around the world argue about football on smoky Sunday afternoons in the local café — passionately, with excruciating attention to errors, narratively needlepointing every fine detail of every stat and movement, gesticulating to indicate displeasure with fingers stabbing into the air.

I acted and thought like everyone gave a huge wet-burrito shit about all of it. All of me. All of my life.

My dreams. My worries. My thoughts.

Like my life was some Truman Show with cameras everywhere, even inside my brain.

But it’s not.

Now to be clear, I don’t mean I am alone and unloved.

I’m not hurtling isolated on this bald blue planet through space, silently weeping because there is no God and I can’t address my thank-you letters for a sunny day to any particular cosmic customer service representative.

Well, there is no God, and saying “thank you physics for the photons” doesn’t quite have the same thrill, but the fact that 7 billion people in the world aren’t breathlessly hitting “refresh” to find out what amazing thing I am doing doesn’t mean I live in some nihilist cave.

I’m surrounded by caring friends and family, by people who are interested in what I have to say, and do, and who I am, and my opinions on Manchego cheese (delicious), the Middle East (I can’t even) or Saul Bellow (literary genius).

It’s just that what they love, care about, and are interested in has nothing to do with all the stuff I thought was important.

Stuff like:

How much weight I could lift (or not).

How fast I could run (or waddle).

How high I could jump (ha).

My clothing size.

My weight.

My (in)visible abs.

Whether I was doing X style workout or Y style.

Whether I was eating X diet or Y diet or not at all.

Whether I had been “bad” or “good”.

Whether I had accomplished my desired number of reps and sets.

Whether I had trained my core, or my posterior chain, or my stability, and exactly which method I used.

In fact, talking and worrying about all of the above, or related topics, makes you boring as shit. (Even to people who love you dearly and think the way you say “refrigerator” is delightful.)

In North America, we have a particular conceit. Which is:

We think our dreams are intrinsically valuable because they are our dreams.

If other people critique our dreams, or don’t care about our dreams, or don’t give us the right reaction when we grandly announce that we are following our dreams, we think they are hatin-ass morons who don’t care about our dreams.

Which they should! Because those are our dreams! All dreams are good and amazing and beautiful and worthy of slackjawed wondrous awe!

Stop and think about that for a moment.

Demanding unwavering allegiance to the correctness of dreams is what toddlers do.

Children are fundamentally egocentric. They have no context or comparison. Their small world is everything.

They will build an elaborate fort, announce that it is a spaceship, and scream you straight to hell if you tell them that it’s just a bunch of stupid pillows. You’d better buy in to that pillow ship, my friend.

Now, of course, in children, this is delightful.

I love watching kids create imaginary universes and live them. They encourage all of us cynically defeated adult bastards to believe in magic, if only for a few moments.

I also think imagination is a grand thing in general. I have a solid roster of mental adventure stories, starring myself as a pirate ninja sharpshooter acrobat popstar brain surgeon… or whatever.

But I don’t mix up imagination with reality.

Here’s what mixing up a child’s imagination with adult reality looks like.

You worry about being “good”. Or “bad”.

If you are “good”, it’s mostly for show. And doesn’t last. (Ta daaaa! Aren’t I behaving so much better than my little sister right now?)

If you are “bad”, you make confessions on the internet. (OMG! Here’s what I ate! Soooo naughty! Teehee!)

You think that magic is real — that there is a fairy-dusted mixture of sets and reps and macronutrients that unlocks the special door to Buffland.

You demand that all of us look at you! Look at you! Oh my goodness! You lifted like a big girl! So strong!

Oh dear! You did not lift as much weight as you wanted! So sad! You should punish yourself! You should have a tantrum!

You confuse a given outcome with intrinsic value — an “A” on your spelling test, a gold star for being a good girl, a pat on the head for nice cursive writing, a high-five for your bathroom selfie.

If this isn’t you, and right now you’re chain-smoking Marlboros, leafing through your mutual fund reports, and chuckling in a growly Joan Crawford voice about how you just can’t be arsed to care about anything — congratulations. Enjoy your eccentric, very grown-up performance artist / sociopathic life.

The truth is:

We all have a little bit of small child in our brains.

Most of us want there to be magic.

Most of us want other people to love us and give us gold stars.

Most of us want to perform well.

Most of us want to play by the social rules and win the game.

Most of us don’t want to be ostracized, “get in trouble”, or be the group weirdo.

Most of us probably just need some juice, a cuddle, and a nap.

That’s normal.

We shouldn’t kill off our imaginations.

Again, pirate ninja sharpshooter acrobat popstar brain surgeon. 900 degree Tony Hawk spin!

Rad, right?

We should, however, learn to distinguish child-brain from adult-brain.

And this includes getting clear about what we’re doing, why we’re doing it, and where reality will impose natural and necessary limitations on us.

Think about it this way.

Imagine a 4-square grid.

One dimension is “ego-gratifying”. This runs from “completely self-centered” to “selfless”.

The second dimension is “realistic”. This runs from “could do it right now, now problem” to “you have to break the laws of space and time to make this happen”.

So you can have basically 4 types of things (with lots of stuff in between along a continuum, of course).

Ego-gratifying and unrealistic. Basically you winning the world and having everyone notice. Awesome to imagine; don’t try executing any of these things seriously unless you want to become an obsessive, frustrated a-hole and have crying jags because you can’t free-dive a kilometre or walk around at 5% bodyfat all the time.

Ego-gratifying and realistic. Everyone needs a little bit of this one in their lives. But not too much. Maybe 10-20% of your activities and effort should live here.

Non-ego-gratifying and unrealistic. “World peace” and “Save all the whales” usually lives in here, unless “Save the whales” is really about you building some environmentalist empire, which is not that crazy if you see How To Change The World and realize that social movements involve a lot more dick-waving than you’d expect. Any genital waving bumps it back up to Category 1. Actually Category 3 is sneakily a lot like Category 1. If you’re a coach / trainer “just trying to help” by berating or pushing your clients in a noble martyred struggle against ignorance and sloth, you may think you’re #3 when you’re really #1.

Non-ego-gratifying and realistic. This is where most of your life should be if you want to be happy, sane, and functional. Of course, we’re not looking for complete self-erasure here in Category 4, or some weird trippy Zen state where you serenely declare that all is all.

So what lives in Category 4 — non-ego-gratifying and realistic?

Empathy and compassion — helping other people in ways that they genuinely need and want, as well as having compassion for yourself.

Intrinsic mastery — learning skills that you truly enjoy and find useful, slowly and consistently.

Beginner’s mind — being open to new ideas, learning, expanding your worldview, and being coached.

Seeking, getting, and taking feedback — using data, information, and the evidence of experience to make decisions.

Scientific reasoning — looking at evidence, thinking critically, avoiding magical leaps of logic.

Showing up for practice — just showing up. Plain old showing up. Being there. Putting in the reps. Doing what needs to be done. Not looking for shortcuts; realizing that the practice is the point.

Enjoying things for their own sake — having fun, playing, simply being present.

OK, look, I don’t mean to be a downer.

Living in the non-ego-gratifying real world is awesome.

You’re truly free.

If you know your dreams are silly and that nobody cares about them, YOU get to decide whether you try to manifest them.

YOU get to decide whether they’re worth giving a shit about.

YOU get to decide whether they should live in your head (yay) or live outside (yay), and you know the difference between what’s inside and outside.

If you know your dreams are silly, but you really want to do something, you can choose to replace them with less-silly ones. Get coaching and feedback from people who have the objective expertise to help you, and don’t pout when they guide you gently towards reality.

If you know your dreams are silly and you do them anyway, recognizing that they are utterly ridiculous and probably won’t amount to shit, we call that fun. We call that a hobby. Or an eccentricity. Silly pointless goofing around is how disc golf, extreme ironing, and Roomba Pong got invented. None of it was needed, but it sure does spice up life.

Pointless antics often form the fountain of creativity, as long as you don’t take them too seriously. (Check out the Stupid Shit No-One Needs and Terrible Ideas Hackathon.)

If you know that nobody cares, we also call that fun. Because play can’t be too concerned with the audience.

Most of the time, nobody is judging you because they’re too caught up in their own paranoia about their own embarrassing afterlife blooper reel.

You’re completely liberated from the weight of other people’s imaginary shit-giving.

Even if they are judging you, it’s cursory. It’s a brief blip before they return to their own rumination. So, no harm no foul.

What would you do if there was no “measuring up”?

If there was no social scrutiny?

No Truman Show cameras?

What would you do if, figuratively, you were alone in all the very best ways — the delicious kind of aloneness where you can wear your jammies with the peanut butter stains, and sing I Will Survive in your loudest voice, and pee with the door open, and be like Tom Cruise in Risky Business? That kind of dance-like-nobody’s-watching feeling?

Take that feeling, and bring it along with you wherever you go.

You don’t have to be alone and drunk-dancing in your underwear to feel it. You can choose to feel it anywhere, any time.

You can nurture that feeling of fundamental freedom and fun in any environment, with any pursuit.

There’s no final exam. There are no judges. There are few rules besides reality requiring that you face it.

And if you fuck it up, well… if there’s no God, there’s probably also no film crew.

  Me and some peeps from my boxing class, so concerned with serious appearances and impressing people.

Original Article:  Your Dreams Are Probably Stupid And Nobody Cares

Your Dreams Are Probably Stupid And Nobody Cares (That’s a Good Thing) published first on https://wellnessgeeky.wordpress.com