#If you put all your eggs in one or two precarious baskets and both fall. you will be shit out of luck! thats reality | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

elllteo · 2 months

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Creators I love you but it's time to wake up

Among rumors about our tumblr user data being sold off to Midjourney/Generative AI, recent Extremely transphobic events (that have been ongoing) coming to a head, another extremely concerning internet censorship bill being pushed in upper levels of government, and a general air of frustration over how the site belongs to and is operated by perhaps the second stupidest CEO (second only to twitters own) of our age, I'm very done with the last few vestiges of what the old internet held for artists.

And if you're reading this, you probably are too.

I know we're tired. We are all tired. It is not always viable to pack up shop and move, again and again and again.

From tumblr to twitter to anywhere else we've ever grown up posting, things no longer work. Our audiences are kneecapped by aggressive and hostile algorithms, our reach is abysmal - if we aren't shadow-banned or silenced for one (transphobic) reason or another, we're thrust into an ever growing pit of hostility where the only thing that drives clicks is fighting and contention.

We're tired. We're so fucking tired. We aren't businesses, we aren't content mills, we cannot keep this pace that modern social media has set for us, to wring every ounce of creativity out of us to profit from and leave us rotting.

The key to staying afloat here, and I cannot stress this enough, is to stay connected to your peers.

Pack up and move as units if you must. Exodus from the sites that are killing us. Push your entire friend group of artists to move from one site to the next that promises you a kinder experience.

Art drives movements, it drives change, it is all that encompasses being human. If you take that away from the shitty places, they will be left with nothing but a cesspit of inhumanity and the people who follow you will be more incentivized than ever to move with you.

Yes, this is terrifying. There are no guarantees. There never was, and never are, and never will be.

But stay connected. Stay human.

Support each other and be willing to hold hands and jump when we all - as a group - need to jump from the flames we're all trying to convince ourselves wont kill us before rescue comes.

Rescue isn't coming, rescue will be found hand in hand with each other. I'm offering you my hand, please take it. There's always a new start, there are always helping hands reaching for you. You have to look up from the doom-scroll long enough to see and take them.

#art communities #art community #teo talks #sorry I have a Lot of opinions about posting art online I've been doing this since I was 14 and I'm 28 this year #I have watched the rise and fall of social media titans and you have to understand the ONLY thing that will keep you afloat #is keeping connected to your peers #we have to move as units and we have to stay together and we have to support each other #your following is not stability. your friendships are.#thats why you hear about networking. thats ceo talk for friendships. connections.#you have to have enough connections to build your own support web on the chance that everything goes to shit. yes its hard work. it sucks.#but it is a necessity. twitter isn't getting better. its not going back to how it was. neither is DA or tumblr. its not happening.#If you put all your eggs in one or two precarious baskets and both fall. you will be shit out of luck! thats reality #there is hope to be found but you have to be realistic and understand that you NEED to build up a presence elsewhere. even if its hard.#I want to help you if I can!!!! bluesky is a really solid twitter alternative!!!#ive heard good things about cohost as a tumblr alternative!!!!#sheezy and inkblot are both indie sites currently being developed by and for other creatives. support them!#they won't be perfect until - and UNLESS - you do!#anyways sorry I will step off my soapbox now Im just frustrated with the state of everything

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kitkatwinchester · 4 years

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Hooray! My first little drabble on Tumblr! And it’s all thanks to @misinterpretedmythology and this amazing incorrect quote! Thank you for letting me write this fic! <3

Hope you all enjoy! <3

--------------------------------------------

It had seemed like such a good plan.

Being the billionaire in the group, Tony’s always been in charge of the grocery shopping. But no matter how many people check his list before he leaves, someone always has a last-minute request that he forgets, or doesn’t like the particular brand of cereal he buys, or needs a bigger box of crackers--whatever it is, it’s always something.

So it only made sense, in Tony’s mind, to finally put his foot down and make everyone come shopping with him.

He should’ve known.

Nothing’s ever that easy.

“Three dollars for eggs?!” Steve exclaims from a few feet away. “How is that possible?”

Tony runs a hand down his face, groaning.

“I already explained this to you, Cap--”

“Then explain to me again why milk is four dollars a gallon!” Steve interrupts, clearly increasingly frustrated.

“Inflation, Steve,” Tony tries again, despite having already had this conversation on the way here. “Prices rise and fall as the economy changes. It’s been seventy years! Did you really think prices weren’t going to change in all that time?”

“Yes!” Steve says, angrily slamming the door to the milk. “I never would have been able to afford that!” Tony sighs in response.

“Again, people make more money now, so things are more expensive. That’s how this--” Tony doesn’t get a chance to finish his sentence as Peter comes racing down the hall, riding on the back of a cart filled with--is that instant ramen?

“Mr. Stark, they have a new shrimp flavor!” Tony looks at Peter, then back down at the cart. Sure enough, there are a good forty packets of shrimp instant ramen stacked on top of each other.

“Kid, that has no nutrition at all. I can’t let you get all of those. Your aunt would kill me.” Peter frowns at him, putting on his best puppy dog face.

“But Mr. Staaaark, it’s shrimp! I’ve never had that flavor before!” Tony raises an eyebrow at him.

“Okay, but since when do you like shrimp?”

“Since it was a flavor for instant ramen.” Tony gives him his famous “really” look before responding.

“Wow, that totally convinces me,” he says, voice laced with sarcasm. Clearly, Peter doesn’t hear it, because he looks up at him hopefully.

“Really?”

“No,” Tony immediately responds. “Put them back.” Peter frowns at him, and the dejected look on his kid’s face almost makes Tony back down, but he stands his ground, pointing down the aisle. Eventually, Peter obliges, turning the cart around and moping back to the ramen aisle. Tony rolls his eyes, but he can’t help the fond smile that makes its way onto his face before he turns back to Steve.

“Now, as I was saying--”

“Who wants bacon?!” Nat’s voice calls from several aisles down, interrupting Tony yet again.

“What the fu--” he starts to whisper before the rest of the Avengers chorus “mes” from various parts of the store. In response, Tony sees several other customers turning their heads in various directions, clearly trying to figure out what the hell is going on.

Me too, people, Tony thinks to himself, mumbling apologies at the few people he passes as he tries to find Natasha. Just as he gets close to the aisle he thinks she’s in, another voice rings out even louder than hers.

“I’M A SLUT FOR BACON!” Clint practically screams, and Tony freezes in his tracks, facepalming so hard his forehead stings.

Why on earth did I think this was a good idea??

He picks up the pace again, turning the corner to see Clint and Natasha giggling to themselves as they grab package after package of bacon.

“Are you crazy?” Tony grumbles, stomping his way over. “This is a public place. There are other people here! You two are spies for crying out loud! I’d expect you to be a little more inconspicuous!”

Nat and Clint look at him, then at each other, and then Nat turns back to him with a smirk.

“You’re one to talk, Stark.” Tony looks at her, annoyed, but eventually just rolls his eyes.

“Fine. Point taken. Just...grab the bacon and let’s go, okay?” Tony makes his way back down the aisle, and just as he turns the corner, he practically runs into Bruce.

“Oh, Tony, hey,” Bruce greets, arms filled with several boxes of tea. “I was just about to come find you. Which one of these do you think I should get?” He lifts up the load in his arms. “I mean they're all good, but this brand is cheaper,” he continues, nodding to the two boxes in his right hand.

“Billionaire, Bruce,” Tony replies with a sigh. “Just, pick one.” However, he can’t help the smile that settles on his face. At least somebody is slightly manageable.

He barely finishes that thought when Thor comes barreling down the aisle, holding two carts above his head.

“Friend, Tony! We shall feast tonight on the Pop of Tarts!” Tony stares at him, then at the carts swinging precariously above his head.

“What the--why do you have two carts of poptarts?! And why are you carrying them? You’re supposed to push the carts!” Thor looks at him and gives him a confused frown.

“But I can carry them. Why would I push them?” Tony groans and runs a hand down his face again.

“You know what, forget it. Where did Peter and Steve go?” As if on cue, Steve and Peter both simultaneously call out from several aisles away.

“Tony, how do you get milk from an almond?”

“Mr. Stark, can we get cheese sticks too?”

Before Tony can answer either of them, there is a cacophony of sound as everyone starts talking at once.

“What about pudding?” Nat.

“Fuck your pudding!” Clint.

“But it’s chocolate!” Nat again.

“Mr. Stark cheetos are on sale!” Peter.

“Can we afford tea cookies too?” Bruce.

“Almonds don’t have milk, do they?” Steve.

“There are so many flavors of these Pop of Tarts! I must get more.” Thor.

“Okay well what about fruit snacks?”

“What are you, five?”

“Mr. Stark Mr. Stark! Buy one get one free for cookies!”

“We can afford tea cookies. I’m sure we have a coupon somewhere.”

“How do I carry a third cart?”

“HOW DO YOU MILK AN ALMOND, TONY??!!”

He can’t take this.

“EVERYBODY SHUT UP!” he screams, and to his surprise, the chatter stops, and all heads turn his way--including several heads that do not belong to his very annoying team.

“Look,” he starts, not wanting to waste their attention while he has it. “Whatever you want, fine. Get a cart, a basket, whatever and just put the stuff in, and bring it up front. I don’t care what it is, I don’t care how much it costs. Just do it and go.” He can already feel the protests and the questions, and he quickly addresses everything.

“Nat and Clint, get separate carts if you have to, but if you’re gonna bicker, do it quietly and while making your way to the check-out line. Peter, I really don’t wanna condone unhealthy eating, but if you insist on getting chips and cookies, at least try to find ones that you know other people in the compound will eat. And whatever you do, don’t tell your aunt. Yes, Bruce, we can afford tea cookies, and please do not worry about the coupons. Just put them in the cart. Thor, you really don’t need three carts of poptarts, but if you really really must, have Peter help you push the third one. And Steve--almonds do have milk, but they have to be soaked in water first. I don’t really know the process, but if you wanna try the milk, put it in the cart. If you don’t, put it back. Everyone got that?”

By the time Tony finishes, he is out of breath and even more frustrated, but to his relief, there are several nods before everyone eventually disperses, grabbing various items and putting them in their own carts and baskets. Tony takes a few wonderful minutes to collect himself, but it’s quickly interrupted by a small voice from behind him.

“Mr. Stark?” Peter mumbles, clearly trying to be as conscientious as possible, and despite his frustrations, Tony doesn’t have the heart to be mad at him.

“What’s up, kid?” Peter responds by holding up three packs of cookies, a sheepish grin on his face.

“Do you think everyone would like chocolate chip, oatmeal raisin, or peanut butter more?” Tony can’t help the chuckle that escapes him, and he reaches down to ruffle Peter’s hair.

“You know what, bud, just get all three. What the hell?” Peter grins happily and tosses them in his basket before happily skipping in the direction of the check-out line.

Alright, Tony thinks to himself. Maybe this whole endeavor wasn’t so bad after all.

But, of course, as Tony turns the corner to the check-out line, he sighs yet again at seeing the chaos that is the rest of the team, fighting over who gets to have their items scanned first while the poor sales clerk looks on in confused horror.

With a lot of yelling and even more pushing, as well as several comments of “stop being such a dad, Tony,” he finally manages to get all of the groceries scanned and paid for and all of the Avengers out of the store and as far away as possible.

As they make their way out the door, the chatter starts almost as quickly as it had stopped, and Tony pauses, stopping an employee as she’s walking towards one of the counters.

“Please tell me you guys have a delivery service,” he says, and to his relief, she nods, pulling a small card out of her pocket with information on how to order groceries.

“Thank you,” Tony says gratefully, giving the paper a once-over.

Never again, he thinks to himself as he pockets the card. I am never ever doing this again.

#fan fiction #drabbles #ficlet #mcu #marvel #avengers #incorrect quotes #tony stark #steve rogers #bruce banner #thor odinson #natasha romanoff #clint barton #peter parker #domesticated avengers #hope you all liked this! <3

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talesmaniac89 · 4 years

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Easter Eggs

Pairing: Dad!Crowley & Daughter!Reader

Summary: Crowley celebrates Easter with the five-year-old princess of hell.

Triggers: None, just father/daughter fluff

Y/N = Your name | Y/E/C = Your eye colour | Y/H/C = Your hair colour

A/N: Suddenly Easter was here, and I decided to dig up an old duo that I liked writing little fluffy oneshots for! You can find all the stories with this father/daughter duo here. All these fluffy stories can be read separately from each other or together. Just fluff, no strict story-line, though I would recommend starting with Fatherhood, which has the most extensive backstory for the pair.

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Considering his role as King of Hell, most holidays didn’t really sit right with the crossroads demon turned ruler of hell. After all, any holiday celebrating a god, be it Pagan, Christian or otherwise, wasn’t really his cup of tea. But, over the last five years Crowley had come to appreciate the joys that came along with the holidays.

Ever since his favourite hellhound, Juliet, has brought the small hiccupping bundle of joy into his life five years ago, the King of Hell’s life had been turned upside down. Including how he spent the holidays.

When Juliet had showed up on his doorstep, filled with protective maternal instinct and carefully carrying the small human baby after collecting her foolish mother’s soul, Crowley had never expected that that same little girl would become his whole world. But that was exactly what his little princess was as Crowley had decided to raise her as his own.

The king would do anything for the little girl who was in fact the true ruler of hell since the little five-year-old girl had him wrapped around her little finger. Including creating a full Easter celebration in Crowley’s brightly furnished private slice of hell. From crafts, to the bunny ears resting on her (Y/H/C) hair acting like the princess’ crown for the day.

Which was why the man that was feared by demons and humans alike was currently sitting in front of a table filled with Easter crafts as her latest Disney movie obsession played on replay in the background.

Before hell’s littlest princess had come into his life, Crowley’s hands had always done more harm than good. He’d never needed to control his strengths as he found pleasure in crushing his enemies between clenched fingers. Yet, now his hands were achingly careful as they held the empty eggshell between two fingers and carefully painted the white surface her favourite colour. His eyes only glancing up from the careful work to look over at where his little chipmunk was painting her own, much less breakable plastic egg.

A tiny pink tongue sticking out between pursed lips as (Y/E/C) bright eyes carefully added colours on the already brightly painted surface. Though, Crowley thought as he looked fondly over at his little darling girl with a warm smile, more colours were ending up on her tiny hands and the oversized shirt Crowley had put her in. His tailor would be heartbroken if he saw how the beautifully crafted white shirt had ended up as a five-year-old’s art smock.

Easter had become a yearly tradition in Crowley’s private part of hell quite quickly after his family grew to include the adorable little girl. After an Easter Disney special when she was just three years old. Which had seen the little devil putting her puppy dog eyes to good use as she begged her daddy for an Easter egg hunt of her own.

“That’s a pretty egg pet,” Crowley beamed, the pride he felt as his little girl’s father easily rivalling (and frankly beating by a mile) his pride for his role as ruler of all things wicked. His soft words breaking the little girl’s concentration as she gave him her best smile. The warm bright smile was one that was only reserved for the princess’ daddy.

“Is Eas’er!” The little girl giggled, holding up the egg with paint splattered tiny fingers as she beamed with pride of her own at her little handiwork. As if the holiday itself was depicted on the formerly white egg’s surface amid rainbow splashes of colour.

“Yes it is! And… Daddy heard that the Easter bunny was by earlier, when you had your princess nap,” Crowley stage whispered conspiratorially. As if the overgrown bunny’s apparent appearance in the small two-person family’s slice of hell was some well-guarded secret. The laugh lines he’d developed after five years with his darling girl became even more prominent as he smiled. Finally moving along their Easter celebration to what he knew was his darling girl’s favourite part; the candy.

“Eas’er bunny?” The excited squeal was half question, half jittery energy as she carefully put down her paintbrush. Bright (Y/E/C) eyes alight with wonder at the mention of the mythological fluffy bunny in a way that had Crowley certain she was picturing one of her own many teddy bears cast in the role within her own active imagination.

“Yes chipmunk. Do you think he left anything behind?” Crowley chuckled as he carefully put the final egg down with gentle fingers. Leaving it to dry as he grabbed the wet wipes next to him to clean the paint off his fingers as well as the little devil’s paint coloured… Well, everything really. Including the little streaks of paint that have inexplicably painted both her cheek and soft tendrils of her messy (Y/H/C) pigtails.

His little girl, hidden from the evils of his job and from his enemies in his private slice of hell, would only ever see his big hands painted in bright colours. She would never see his knuckles scraped up from punishing some disobedient subject, nor coloured an angry red. Her world was one built on innocence, light and pastel rainbows.

That was something Crowley had resolved long ago, when he took on the best job in the world; his role as her father. Which was why only a few of his closest confidantes even knew of the little princess hidden safely in the bright and warm corner of his kingdom. In the only place he could call home, simply because she was there.

“Choco eggs!” His little girl squealed, scrunching up her nose as Crowley gently removed the water colours painting a rainbow on her apple-round cheeks.

“Really? You think so?” Crowley gasped in pretend surprise. Making a show out of looking around and under the table for any eggs as his little girl giggled and shifted impatiently in her seat. The sound of her laughter was sweeter than any chocolate treats to the demon as he easily lifted her up into his arms spinning around in a lazy circle to tease more sweet laughter from his little devil’s lips.

“Yes! Daddy, les go ‘untin with ‘Ette!” Of course, there was no way the hellhound turned lapdog could be left out of the Easter celebration. After finding and rescuing hell’s little princess five years ago, the formerly proud hound had taken on the role as (Y/N)’s nanny and guardian instead. Spending most days, unless she had to go out to collect souls, by the little girl’s side. Playacting as the dragon to the little girl’s knight or joining in on imaginative technicoloured tea parties.

Not that Juliet seemed to mind her new role. If how she was sitting patiently next to Crowley, waiting for the Easter Egg Hunt to start, was anything to go by. A matching pair of bunny ears balanced precariously on her head and as always making the King of Hell curious if his little daughter, though human, truly could see the hound. Since she would just point in Juliet’s direction whenever asked about it. Not willing to give up the secret to her childlike magic.

“As my little bunny commands,” Crowley beamed, swinging his little girl around until she was holding onto him with little legs wrapped around his side like a tiny monkey. The bunny ears on her head nearly falling off as she let her head fall back in happy laughter. (Y/H/C) pigtails shaking as her impatient little head swung back and forth already looking for eggs on their way to collect her basket.

“Daddy! Dun fo’get the bunny ears!” She added with a small giggle, a still slightly colourful finger pointing out Crowley’s own abandoned bunny ears on the table as he walked them towards her room to find a basket for the eggs.

“Of course pet, thank you for reminding Daddy,” He hummed as he placed a small kiss on her cheek, followed by some surprise raspberries against her still paint covered neck to tease more happy laughter out of the girl.

“Welcome!” She beamed, her little colourful fingers going around his neck and hugging him close as hard as she could. Which was in fairness not all that hard, though she really did put her whole tiny little body and heart into it. Before placing a sloppy wet kiss on his cheek, copying her daddy.

Swiping up the ears along the way, Crowley let fingers tickle more laughs out of his little heavenly slice of joy as he placed the ears on top of his own head. Letting them replace his crown for the day as he temporarily stepped down from the throne to just be Crowley, father to the beautiful child in his arms.

Vowing, of course, to make sure no one except his little girl knew this side of the King of Hell. As he was sure a certain Squirrel and Moose combo would find a ton of very creative ways to make use of that little piece of information if he gave them a chance. Including an extensive range of rabbit themed nicknames if he knew them well enough. And Crowley was certain he knew a lot more about the Winchester duo than what he normally let on.

No, this Crowley didn’t belong to the world. With his Easter bunny ears on top of his head, a matching pair with his little darling’s own Easter themed crown, he was not a demon nor the King of Hell. He wasn’t the man loathed by most in the world. Nor the demon who disliked the holidays. Instead, as he hugged his world close to him, he was just Crowley. The luckiest father in the entire world

---

“Where do you think the bunny hid your chocolate eggs then?” Crowley said, placing a quick kiss on the crown of (Y/H/C) hair as he swiped up the little pink plastic basket and let his bouncy little girl’s tiny feet hit the ground again, ready for the hunt.

“All o’er!” She beamed hands outstretched to include her whole little hidden world in the gesture. Eyes bright with promises of colourful eggs and sweet rewards as she rushed Juliet along. The cheeky little girl used the hellhound to her advantage as she made the usual apex predator into a bloodhound, sending her to search one corner of her bedroom before the princess ran in the opposite direction. Hunting for sweet treasures in the spoiled and beloved little girl’s toy chest.

Maybe it was just the pride of a father. But Crowley was sure his little girl was the brightest five-year-old around. Seeing as how she knew exactly how to use the hellhound's superior sense of smell to her advantage.

A wonderfully warm squeal filling the air as she lifted the first of many more chocolate eggs up to show her dad. As proud as only a five-year-old could be by her skills as a treasure hunter. A small furrow in her brow replacing the happy smile as she considered her choices; to eat the spoils of her treasure hunt straight away or place them in the basket. Clearly deciding that she’d rather enjoy the sweets later, on the couch with a Disney movie as she rushed over to drop the egg into the pink basket in Crowley’s hand.

Watching as his little bunny bounced back over to keep looking for eggs, Crowley smiled down at the singular egg in the basket. Knowing it would soon be filled to the brim with all her hard-won Easter treats.

On calm Easter afternoons like this one, it was much easier for the demon to find joy in the holidays he once despised. Since they gave him the sweetest treat he knew of. One that rivalled the many Easter eggs he’d carefully spent the evening before hiding for her to find.

The smile of his little girl.

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All Story Tags: @deanwanddamons @winchest09 @hobby27 @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce

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annaaugustphoto · 3 years

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Chapter 2: Tuesday, May 14th, 7pm... 9pm.

[MAY14 – 7PM]

(Alex Basketball Court In Apartment)

“I still can’t believe you setup a freakin’ basketball court in your apartment.”

Micah took another terrible shot and hit nothing but… rim.

“Yea dude, I know. Sick right?”

Micah’s friend took a shot… nothing but… net.

Quick backstory, Micah’s friend’s name is Alex. He sometimes went by A.J. Although, he also had been known to respond to Mr. Jones, depending on who was calling him. Mr. Jones was a nickname he gave to himself from his favorite song of all time “Mr. Jones” by a band named The Counting Crows, you’ve probably heard of them—Alex mostly just liked the song “Mr. Jones” because his middle name was Jones, but additionally, the music was catchy, and it made for a good karaoke song choice, Alex isn’t exactly the kind of guy who’s big on deep meanings in things, if you know what I mean—His full proper name is Alex Jones Footman. Micah and Alex go way back. The two of them met at a summer sports camp in Maine when they were kids. Alex was absolutely amazing at sports—and Micah was absolutely terrible. For some unknown reason Alex always made it a point to pick Micah for his teammate, turning what could have been a truly terrible summer camp experience into a not so bad one. Micah felt forever in debt to him for that.

Micah walked up to the net and looked behind the backboard. He pushed his face flush against the wall and spoke in a muffled voice back to his friend standing behind him, he talked as if he were trying to reach a distant stranded small animal stuck between the walls, or, like when you’re halfway behind a couch trying to plug a charger into an electrical outlet that you can just barely reach. “Dude, how on earth did you mount this? Did you just screw the backboard right into the wall?”

“Yea dude. Just went to the hardware store and picked up a few supplies. I printed out some make your own instructions from online. It was cake bro.” He took a few more shots in a row from various angles making every single one before tossing the ball to Micah.

“You are such an idiot. You know you’re not getting your security deposit back, right?” Micah took another terrible shot and missed entirely.

“Totally worth it.”

The two shot hoops for a while and in-between watched a basketball game. Every now and then they would share a few snippets of conversation.

Alex threw the ball into the air above his head and caught it again from his sitting position on the couch. He got up bounced the ball once then took a shot. Nothing but net, yet again. He picked up the ball and turned to face Micah.

“Catch!”

He tossed the ball in Micah’s direction. Mr. not paying attention caught the basketball with the side of his face. Micah let out a loud yelp. Alex nearly fell over laughing, “Oh shit! Bro are you ok?”

“Yeah I’m fine. “ Micah mumbled while rubbing the side of his head and keeping his eyes staring down towards his lap. “What the heck was that for?”

“I’m so sorry dude! I thought you would see me throw the ball! What are you doing anyways? Checking your phone. You’re always on your phone.”

“Yeah.” Micah said in a distracted distant voice. “Us IT nerds like our phones.”

“Let me guess, you’re either reading work emails, or you’re on that stupid dating site again.”

“It’s one of those things.” Micah stayed in his same distracted tone.

“Dude, you need to go out with me one time. I’ll be your wingman. I’ll help you score big time!”

“Sure, okay. Sounds good.” He continued to scroll and type on the phone, distracted.

Alex sighed and plopped back down onto the couch, ”So what happened with that girl you were talking to on that dating site?”

“Which one?”

“The last one? I don’t know, the red head?”

“She disabled her account today.” Micah put his phone back into his pocket. “I’m kind of annoyed. She sent me a message just last night about how she was supposed to volunteer in the city this weekend. Then I logged in today at work to message her back and her profile was in disabled state. It’s so annoying.”

“Maybe she found someone else dude. You gotta pounce on that as soon as you can bro. You gotta just get in there and get on that. Don’t wait too long.”

“Okay, I mean fine maybe she did find someone else. But I’m saying it’s rude.. We’d been talking for a few weeks—“

“WEEKS!?!?! Whoa, whoa, whoa bro! What did I just tell you? Pounce.”

Alex made a cat like motion with his hands.

“Well, I didn’t want to scare her away by seeming too forward. It’s… You don’t want to come off as creepy or weird or desperate—So I’ve read. Anyway, it doesn’t matter now. I can’t ask for her number, she’s long gone. It just seems rude though. I spent all that time and effort putting thought into typing those messages. And then she just disables her account without an explanation! It’s just… rude.”

“I guess. That’s your view of things. Maybe she doesn’t see it that way.”

Micah fell silent. He didn’t care to continue this conversation. It was pointless. What was the point? Once someone was gone from your life, they were gone. That was it. That was that.

They returned their attention to the game.

Alex and Micah slouched side by side on the small green couch in front of the large screen flat panel TV perched precariously on a very small Ikea coffee table with one busted and then patched up leg. The coffee table was placed so that the wall supported half the weight of it—you know, so that it wouldn’t fall over.

Alex and Micah were both fairly tall guys. Alex, an even six feet and Micah was just shy at five foot eleven inches. Though they were almost the same height, their bodies were vastly different. Micah was a lanky tall. He had the artsy look. That’s what most people told him at least. He wasn’t sure how a T-shirt and jeans look qualified as “artsy” but he always seemed to take the compliment. Better than “IT nerd”. His friend Alex was a slick and suave muscular build that made him appear as though he worked out constantly, which he did, which is why he had that look. Suddenly the game cut to a commercial.

“Commercial break, name and, go!”

“Now?”

“Now isn’t a name.”

“I’m not in the mood.”

“This is exactly why we need to play!” Alex chided.

“Fineeee”

“Fine isn’t a name either.”

Micah punched Alex in the shoulder.

“Ouch dude. What the heck? You know I’m just messing with you. I figured you needed some cheering up since you got digitally dumped today and all.”

The Fake Name Game, or Fake Name Go, or sometimes name and go, or just Go as they more commonly referred to it, was a game that Micah learned at summer camp with Alex. Him and Alex used to play it while shooting basketball during free time almost every day and almost every summer they were at camp together. The game basically entails the following: One person starts by asking the other to fabricate some sort of name that is not their own. Using a friend or family member name is also not generally allowed.

It’s up to the person who initiated the fake name request to grill the other person until they finally crack and the lie is exposed.

Sometimes the fake name game is short lived. Other times, it can go on for quite some time. This particular game lasted exactly the same amount of time that the commercial break did, what are the odds?

“So what happened with you and Jen?”

“Which one?” Alex asked getting up off the couch and picking up the basketball to shoot some more. He took a shot just as one of the players on the TV took a shot.

“Seriously? I don’t know dude, the one you were with last time we talked.”

“We broke up, kinda. We’re still talking every so often”

“And by talking you mean…”

“Yep. She can talk ALL night. If you know what I mean. She’s got a way with words. But the sound of her voice is the most annoying thing I’ve ever heard. How about you bro? Besides bad luck on the dating sites. You getting your…”

“—I’ve… I’ve got nothing.” Micah stared out the open window at the glowing Pour House sign down the street.

Micah got up from couch and picked up a spare basketball. Alex had half a dozen sitting in various spots around his apartment; think hidden Easter eggs when you were a little kid. Oversized Easter eggs that look like basket balls, because they are basket balls. Micah took a shot and missed entirely.

“Micah, I hate to be the one to tell you this, but you should just give up.”

“Give up? Really?”

“Yeah you haven’t made a basket yet bro.”

“Oh. You mean basketball. I’ll consider your suggestion.“ He tossed the ball to Alex. “See I have one theory that most of the girls that sign up for dating sites are just window-shopping. They don’t actually want to take anything home. They just want to try it on… see how it fits.”

“And that’s a problem why?” Alex took a shot and hit nothing but net. “My guess is this… they recently broke up with a guy… they bad mouth him to all their friends. But she secretly still wants him. The friends—buying all the bad mouthing—suggest signing up for a dating site to ‘get over’ him. I’m sure tons of girls have that scenario.”

“And how would you know that?”

“That’s what my last ex-girlfriend did after I broke up with her. Who knows, you probably even chatted with her on that site. It’s funny how small the world can be.” Alex took another shot and finally missed.

[MAY 14 – 9PM]

(Anna Edits and Daydreams)

Anna took another bite of the pizza that she had stopped and picked up after her phone call with her mom. It was cold by now. She’d been working for 3 hours straight. She placed the pizza slice back on the plate next to her computer monitor and peered into the glowing rectangle in front of her. The computer screen, a virtual photograph, displayed the latest lucky couple to claim each other forever and ever. Another happily ever after.

“So pretty,” She whispered half to herself and half to her cat sitting on her lap.

Another beautiful and happy bride, that wasn’t her, taunted her from the computer screen. A mix of emotions flowed through her. She felt jealous, very jealous. Then she felt angry. The anger melted into sadness and finally a longing. There’s got to be someone out there for her she thought. She bit her bottom lip and drifted off into daydream.

She began to imagine herself in place of the bride in front of her on the screen. The photo was—for all intents and purposes—perfect: newly wed bride and husband out on the dance floor. The DJ announcing “Can we get the newly weds out on the dance floor? Just the newly weds… everyone else please take a seat. This dance is for the lucky Mr. and Mrs. only”.

The lucky Mr. and Misses danced away. The idea of true love consumed her. In her mind she swayed in his arms. The song was slow. The dance was everything, perfect. Everything was perfect.

Anna let her heart overtake her mind. She felt a wave of intense emotion sweep over her, a yearning for a love story, her love story. The daydream became so vivid and so real. It was as if she could actually picture herself dancing before of all the wide-eyed onlooker-wedding guests glued to their seats. Not a single guest’s attention strayed. No uneaten remaining piece of cake was stabbed at with a fork and consumed instead of watching the newlywed’s dance. No candid photograph was taken with the disposable tabletop cameras. All eyes were on the couple silhouetted by the lights on the dance floor.

The music filled her mind and her heart. The music played on and she danced away.

The screensaver kicked in and brought her back to reality. Her playlist on the computer music player application continued on. Well, daydream over I guess. She looked down at her cat and noticed he was staring back at her as if to say “What about me? I love you!”

She sighed and closed the open picture.

“Someday” she whispered to herself.

Simon changed his look to ‘Fine, I see how it is’.

Simon is Anna’s cat. Entirely grey without a single hair of fur anything but gray. It was fitting. He was wise beyond his cat years. Like a wise old man in cat form. With gray hair covering his entire body. That meant he was extra wise? He always knew the right thing to say back to his owner, even in his own little cat body language.

He was probably just saying: feed me, or perhaps pet me; but his owner, Anna, interpreted it as I understand exactly how you feel and I’m completely empathetic to your cause. At that point he would put a paw on her hand and look her in the eyes to convey the meaning “stay strong.” At least, that’s the way she saw it. He was really just putting his paw on her hand to say “please pet me?” Either way it was a win-win! Anna always felt better and Simon got his way. I mean, what do actual intentions really matter if the outcome is good? Right? Right.

Anna looked down at Simon and then leaned over to hug him in close. He acted like he wasn’t into it, but he totally was. He let out a small meow to signify she should follow up with a little scratching behind the left ear. Anna complied. As she sat with a purring cat on her lap she thought about love or the lack thereof and if she would ever find someone.

Okay, so, quick backstory, Anna was pretty in her teens. I mean, she drove all the boys wild in school. They would stare at her in math class and drool. But she just wasn’t interested in any of them. They were all a bunch of buffoons—Especially at that age. She was interested in… a refined man—A man with grace and chivalry—A man that would take her hand and hold the door for her; and mostly wouldn’t drool. Really, they would drool, this is not an exaggeration of the truth, this really happened on more than one occasion in both middle and high school. Of course, when she arrived at college she put herself entirely into her studies. She just didn’t have time for boys. Sure she had a few come and go but they were just slightly older versions of the same boys from high school. Well, that’s not entirely true.

She had a very big crush on this one. He turned out to be gay. And then she had a relationship with another one that was only a relationship when his friends weren’t around. And, finally, there was… Sigh… Oh what does it matter, it’s over and done with.

After college with the stress of trying to find a job and dealing with life in general she lost her hourglass figure that all the guys seemed to care about. I mean, she wasn’t exactly skinny before but she was fairly fit. It’s not that she didn’t workout. She works out, she gets up every morning and goes on a run—Okay, fine, nearly every morning, look, what are you the running police? Anyway, her body just decided that it wanted to do something other than what she had imagined in her mind. It’s not that she’s out of shape at all. She’s perfectly in shape. She’s just not the shape that any of the guys she seems to meet seem to want. Again, Anna gets up “every” morning, in fact, to go on a run. She doesn’t always go on the run, but she gets up every morning, so that counts. Sometimes she goes on another one at night even! Or, a first run if the first run didn’t happen. Although, if she has a lot of work sometimes, she skips the second run. Like tonight, she skipped the second one as well, and got pizza instead. But most nights and mornings… okay, most nights, she goes on a run. Look, she goes on runs, she’s doing a couch to 5K… It’s called a couch to 5K for a reason, because you’re supposed to include the couch part, that’s where you start. So, she’s starting with the couch part, okay, running police… back off, the 5K part will happen eventually. And, so, sure she orders a pizza or eats a bowl of ice cream every now and then but who doesn’t? Okay running police? And you know what, she even goes to the local YMCA to use the pool once a week, or, every other week. What are you the swimming police too? No, you’re not because there are no swimming police, there’s lifeguards and they tell you not to run. See, running police, this is why she wasn’t running, she was just trying to listen to the lifeguard. Sometimes there’s too many people telling you conflicting things, run, don’t run. I mean which is it!? Anyway…

She was pretty. No, she still IS pretty. And she’ll find someone. She’ll find her gentleman. She’ll find a guy that will treat her with respect and not demand she eat a stick of celery for all three meals.

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uncleeddy · 6 years

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St Frances Xavier Cabrini

Dear Fran,

You are falling prey to one of the devil’s oldest tactics, my dear niece, and it is quite unworthy of you. Luckily, you have an uncle who knows the devil quite well and can expose his dirty tricks. “Holding back” your efforts to do more for Christ is never prudent. Christians don’t have to conserve their energy; actually, you can ONLY maximize your potential (intellectual, athletic, artistic, interpersonal…) if you are directing your whole self to loving Christ. Any other direction may have some nice vistas along the way, but they all terminate in dead ends. Period. Put all your eggs in Christ’s basket; hold nothing back from him; his plan is better; he will teach you true balance. And if you don’t believe me, believe today’s amazing saint.

Mother Cabrini didn’t start out too well. She was born into a devout but poor Catholic family in northern Italy (the last of 13 children). She was so weak an infant that her parents had her baptized the same day she was born, because they were afraid she was about to die. From an early age her love for Christ filled her with yearning to pour out her life doing missionary work. She tried to enter two religious orders to make her dream come true, but she was twice rejected – her health seemed too precarious. So she spent her early years working in an orphanage for girls. Eventually, the bishop had to close the orphanage, and when he did he called her into his office. He told her, “Francesca, you always wanted to be a missionary. But I know of no such order for women. Why not start one yourself?” The suggestion was definitely other-worldly: the future saint was quiet, retiring, and sickly; the anticlerical influences in Italy were closing down religious works and suppressing entire orders – the idea must have come from God. And Frances replied, “I will look for a house.” It was the first of 67 institutions that this little Italian lady would found before her death in 1917, at 67 years of age. She started orphanages, hospitals, sick houses and poor houses both in Italy and all across the United States (as well as in Central and South America), where Pope Leo XIII sent her in order to care for the thousands of Italian immigrants who poured into North America at the start of the twentieth century. In spite of a mortal fear of water (she had almost died in a water accident as a young girl) and bouts of severe sea-sickness, she crossed the Atlantic 25 times, tirelessly recruiting sisters to help her win souls back to Christ.

Her motto was simple, but when you think of how much this woman accomplished, you see how true it is. I suggest that you make it your own, so that the devil doesn’t trick you into keeping your many talents locked up in a closet somewhere. Here it is: “I can do all things, IN HIM!” Another phrase she wrote down in her notebook can also be instructive; it shows the kind of confidence and lavishness that should characterize a true Christian’s prayer: “O Jesus, I love You very much… Give me a heart as big as the universe.” If you can keep these two wise sayings in mind (maybe write them on a card and keep it at your desk), I am sure you will find your way out of the labyrinth of fear and uncertainty that has been holding you back. And that will rejoice the heart of your loving Lord.

Your devoted uncle,

Eddy

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