#this is the most tags i have ever put on a post i need to shut up

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

compos mentis 4

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, chronic health issues, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: After a long court case, your mother stays attached to her lawyer, bringing even more contention into your life.

Characters: Andy Barber

Note: this decrepit pervert is back.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You’re restless. What’s worse, is you have no energy. You never really do. Living is the most exhausting thing you’ve ever done. 

You lean in the window sill, half hunched as you stare out at the suburban street. It’s a nice neighbourhood. Your mother lives in a condo, on one of the highest floors. You hate it. This place isn’t so bad. It’d be nice if it was just you. 

That last thought makes you sad. You don’t know that you’ll ever be able to be alone. You hate being such a burden. What you hate most, is feeling like you’re on a leash. Sometimes literally as your oxygen tube keeps you bound to the tank. 

All your existence, there’s been something wrong with you. In high school, it got so much worse. You didn’t even realise until your mother pointed it out. Then the appointments doubled, the tests too, and it never stopped. Will it ever? 

You’re trapped in a holding pattern. If living is so difficult, should you even try? That’s a bad thought but you can’t help it. You see your mom, you see Andy, and they don’t need all these medicines or this thing to breathe for them. They have lived full lives, they have jobs and a home. You have nothing. 

You turn away from the window. The tall trees and peaked rooftops are no longer so beautiful. They’re just another reminder of everything you don’t and will never have. 

A knock at the door startles you. You cross the room and inch it open. You peer out, disappointed to find Andy again. How long is your mom going to sleep? 

“Hey, sweetheart, I was thinking you might want to come with me. It's pretty quiet around here,” he says. 

“Come with... where?” You rasp. 

“I was going to go to the pharmacy and get your script filled, like your mom said,” he explains and holds up the doctor’s paper. “Found it in her purse.” 

“Oh, uh...” you hesitate. You don’t know what to do. That he’s even asking makes you feel obligated. “Sure, I... okay.” 

“Take your time, I’ll warm the car up,” he assures you. “Anything I can help with?” 

“No, sir, I’ll grab my bag.” 

You shut the door before he can respond. You pause and feel bad. You hope that didn’t seem intentional. You go and grab your belt bag. You check that everything is in it, then drag your tank back to the door. 

You come out and the hall is empty. You go around to the bathroom and rinse off your face. You don’t have a toothbrush so you use your finger to spread some paste around your teeth and rinse your mouth. You’re overly aware of your day-old outfit. You do what you can for your hair then resign yourself to being the same mess you always are. 

You take the stairs slowly. One at a time as you prevent the wheels of the tank from thumping. Andy’s house is so nice, you don’t want to ruin it. You get to the front door and pull on your jacket. You put on your sneakers and awkwardly angle out the front door. 

The SUV whirs in the driveway. Before you can get to the first step, Andy is there. He helps with the tank and sets it on the flat ground. You quickly take the handle and thank him. 

“You alright?” He asks. You wish he wouldn’t be so worried. Your mother doesn’t ever ask, only if it’s for show. 

“Fine,” you assure him. 

You roll the tank past him and he calls after you as you get to the SUV. “Hey, you don’t gotta sit in the back.” 

“Uh, right,” you say. 

You go around to the passenger door and he opens it for you. Once again, he lifts the tank. Before you can react, he does the same to you. You lurch up into the seat and wriggle until he lets you go. He doesn’t seem to notice your discomfort. 

You sit straight and steady the tank between your knees. He shuts the door and you get the seatbelt clicked in. As he climbs in the other side, you take out your vaseline and smear it under your nose. It’s particularly raw this morning. 

“Shoot, is that from the AC? I can turn it down.” 

“No, it’s... okay,” you stare through the windshield. You want to get this done and over with. Your brows furrow at the thought of your mom waking up to the empty house. 

“What’s the matter?” He asks. 

“Nothing,” you insist. 

“You look worried,” he says. 

“I... my mom. She’s in rough shape.” 

“Hungover,” he clucks, “it’s a good thing you don’t take after her with that.” 

You nod, not sure what to say. He does up his seatbelt and checks the mirrors. He shifts and backs out of the driveway. 

“Feel free to put on some music. I don’t think you want to listen to my oldies,” he chuckles. 

“It’s okay,” you hug yourself with one arm, your other hand on the tank. 

The silence buzzes in your ears. It’s too late now to change your mind. Besides, you’re so indecisive about your music. You wouldn’t exactly brag about your taste either. 

The drive stretches on as you huddle into the door, distracting yourself with the passing light poles, houses, and so on. You don’t know this area. It’s not anywhere near your usual pharmacy. You often wait in the car when you do go with your mom. 

He pulls up along the curb and park. It’s a nice quaint street in the neighbourhood. There’s a park on the corner and an organic store on the opposite side. You peek out at the local pharmacy’s moniker, hand-painted unlike glowing banner of the department store where your mom usually goes. 

“Should be able to get this filled,” he says as he shuts off the engine. 

You just nod and hum. He gets out quickly, easily. You envy that. You can’t do anything easily. He comes around as you push the door open. He once more brings down your tank but you’re certain to climb out on your own. You nearly stagger as you do. 

You wheel out of the way as he closes the door. You look around at the other pedestrians. A woman with a stroller, a family just across the way babbling in glee. You turn away before the scene can make you morose. 

Andy leads you to the pharmacy door and pulls it open with a chime. He lets you in first. There’s only a few aisles inside, the pharmacist’s counter is at the back, another till near the front where they sell chocolates and candy. 

You linger until Andy points you down the center row. You go ahead of him and stop before the long counter. He unfolds the prescription as he greats the man behind it boldly. Good mornings and niceties you struggle to get right. 

“Hm, we have these on hand but it’ll be a wait. Been a busy morning,” the pharmacist explains. 

“That’s fine, we can keep ourselves busy.” Andy says. You squirm. You can? Waiting that long will only add to the tension that makes your chest even tighter. 

You back up as he turns around. He looks around for a moment, as if he thinks you wondered off, then smiles at you. “There’s a cafe across the street, how about it?” 

“I don’t... drink coffee,” you say. 

“I know, sweetheart, I remember,” he gently strokes your shoulder, “they have tea, too. Or smoothies. You must be hungry too.” 

“I... if you want to, I guess...” you shrug. 

“You know, I’m not your mom. I won’t say no,” he intones. “You don’t have to be so nervous.” 

“I know, I... I’m sorry.” 

“And you don’t need to be sorry,” he counters. 

You almost apologise again, only to fill your cheeks with air and nod. You feel like you should be though. Like everything you do is a disappointment. 

You go back down the middle aisle. Andy reaches past you to hold the door again. You come out and narrowly avoid a collision. You wait for the family of three to pass by before Andy nudges you to the curb. He takes your free hand as he tugs you with him, jaywalking through the lazy traffic. 

The effort is enough to make your head spin. You get your wheels over the other curb and sway. Andy doesn’t let go. He takes you past the patio area of the cafe and swings back the door before he releases you, pointing you within. 

The smell of coffee, the grind of a machine, and the chatter of diners greets you. You wait behind the two teenage girls at the counter as Andy comes up next to you. He stands close but you assume it’s because it’s such a tight space. 

“Do you want to find somewhere to sit?” He wonders. 

“No, I’m okay,” you say. 

“Sure, uh, so what do you want?” 

You look up at the hand-written menu. You might get a tea after all. 

“The brioche egg sandwich is one of my favourites,” he says. 

“You come here... a lot?” You wonder. 

“Sure. I like to run in the mornings. I’ll grab a coffee on my cool down. And weekends I’ll have breakfast. Your mom’s usually still asleep if she’s around,” he tuts. 

“Right, uh... that sounds fine. Brioche.” 

The girls go to the further end of the counter and Andy waves you forward. The barista greets him by name. She’s very pretty. She has amber coloured braids with a zigzag pattern and cute freckles over her cheeks. You want to ask how she did her hair like that but you don’t want to be rude. 

“Andy, how are you?” She chirps in recognition. 

“Good, we were just walking through the neighbourhood,” he says,  You adjust the tube under your nose self-consciously. The barista is gorgeous and reminds you of everything you’re not. 

“Oh, is this your fiancee?” She asks. “She’s finally come around.” 

Andy chuckles and you blanch. He doesn’t offer a protest and neither do you. You wait for him to correct her. He doesn’t. 

“Sweetheart, what did you want to drink?” He looks at you and you nearly choke. 

“Can I have the pomegranate tea, please?” Even your voice sounds ugly. 

“Sure, what size, hon?” 

“Small,” you croak out. 

“Small pomegrante, and your usual?” She asks Andy. 

“Yep, and two of the brioche breakfast sandwiches. Oh, and something sweet for dessert. Those cherry tarts look delicious,” he points to the display.” 

“Got it, anything else?” She taps the till screen. 

“That’s it,” he slips out his card and waits. He selects a tip amount before he taps, the machine beeping in acceptance. You spy the total right before it disappears. Oh, that’s expensive. 

“I’ll bring it to you, Andy,” she smiles brightly, “you two enjoy.” 

Andy takes your hand again before you can react. He brings you to the table and you sit across from him, right by the window. You feel like you’re on display. You hate it. 

You push the tube into your nose as you think then trail your hand down the length. You stare off into the distance. You don’t know, it feels weird. It feels like he’s doing too much. Like maybe he feels bad for you. 

“Whatcha thinking about?” He interrupts your trance. 

You flinch and look at him, then avert your gaze to the table. 

“You didn’t...” you begin then shake your head. 

“What?” He prompts. 

“Nothing.” 

“Go on, sweetie, you don’t have to be shy with me. You can say whatever you need,” he leans forward as he crosses his arms over the table, “you know, your mom told me you’ve never really had a father figure. I’m here to help, to support you.” 

You nod and pick at your dry lip then stop yourself, hiding your hands under the table. “You-- that woman... she thought I—that we—you didn’t say no.” 

“Oh, I didn’t want to embarrass her,” he laughs. “It’s funny, don’t you think?” 

“Yeah...” you nod at your lap. “It is really... funny. No one would really want to marry me.” 

You cover your mouth as the thought slips out. You shake your head. Why did you say it? 

“Huh? Sweetheart?” He leans in even closer, “you don’t think that’s true, do you?” 

You shrug and peel your hand away, chewing on your sleeve as you slump low in your seat. 

“You’re a nice girl. Pretty too.” 

“I’m not,” you murmur into your cuff. “You don’t have to lie.” 

“Well who says you’re not?” He urges. You shake your head again. 

“Your mother?” He suggests. You shake your head harder. She would be livid if you told him that she did. He clicks his tongue, “well, however it is, don’t listen to them.” He reaches across to you, “hey, sweetheart, look at me.” You obey, trembling in humiliation, “you are very pretty.” 

[joffyworld]

FURTHERMORE,

PLEASE, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD,

IGNORE THE NUMBERS

They mean nothing.

One thing I forgot to mention is that there's this expectation some people I've spoken to have that if their post doesn't do its usual numbers of notes or comments or likes, whatever the platform you're on uses, then it wasn't "worthwhile" or people "didn't like it".

Dude. Bro. Girly. They. It.

Whatever notes you get, whether it's 10k or 1 is a genuine life touched. People don't come on here and reblog or share or like without having felt something. Okay, yeah, sure, maybe you didn't explode and reach 50 thousand people and they didn't all simultaneously explode from excitement.

BUT THAT'S OKAY.

Social media platforms are designed around algorithms to push content they assume people want to see. Quite frankly, however, these algorithms suck balls. Tumblr might be one of the better in terms of posts reaching audiences and old posts gaining recognition for a long time after they were posted, but it's still just a computer throwing shit on a screen.

I see, and talk to, a lot of artists that feel they can't OC post or that they have failed because "my usual audience size didn't all see the post I made" when there's a dozen things beyond their control that affect whether or not people even know they've uploaded. Here's a short list of shit that can affect whether or not your post is seen by the average joe:

Tags

Notes

Fandom or OC

Followers

Time of Day

The weather outside

The Algorithm™

Luck

Hype around a fandom at a given time

Trends

A total of ONE of these you can control, being the tags. You have literally no say whether your post does well or not, at it SHOULDN'T MATTER. As discussed in the original post, do art for you! These numbers are genuine people behind a screen that have felt touched by what you have made. It doesn't matter whether that's one person ever, or a million people at once. People were altered even in the smallest ways by your creation, whether it was a smile or a happy cry, and that's beautiful. That's what art is, an expression of self that others can find comfort in when shared. But the key words are "EXPRESSION OF SELF." Not what the audience wants, not what God wants, but what you want.

Let me put it this way:

If you open a hospital, and are used to treating a million people a day but then suddenly have a day where only 5 people show up in need of help, is that a bad day? Or is it just good that people didn't need help? One day they might and you'll still be there because hospital equipment doesn't just vanish into thin air one day.

Audiences will see your work when they need to, and when they don't they won't. There's no two ways about it, you're fighting impossible odds if you try to make it any other way. So just let it be, do art for you and fuck everyone else. Because ultimately, the only person you're fucking by doing otherwise is yourself, and the world does plenty of that for us by default.

So go ahead, OC post! Create porn! Create the most angst-riddled depressing shit you possibly can! Don't worry about whether or not it'll do numbers and blow up big, because it doesn't matter! All that matters is that you had fun, and every life you touch with your work is a genuine human connection made over impossible distances that otherwise would've never occurred. Even posting this I'm speaking to people all the way from China to Mexico.

Will they see it? Who knows! But it doesn't matter, as long as one person sees it then that's a good thing. If nobody sees it that's great too! It means nobody needed to, so the world didn't need more lecturing on how to be happy.

Live life folks. No matter who you are, someone loves you, whether they know it yet or not, whether you know it yet or not.

Thank you for coming to my inane rant, have a good day! :D

From,

Jofferson

DO ART FOR YOU! 🫵

FUCK EVERYONE ELSE!!!

Seriously.

I'm so sick and weary of logging on here and seeing creators I adore, and people I don't even know alike, apologising for not uploading or basically begging for a break like they're not a human with needs.

You're literally a human being, with thoughts, feelings and emotions. You're not an art factory, you're not some positivity pump, you're nothing other than a genuine human being living a genuine life experience.

SO GO LIVE IT!!!

YOU OWE THE INTERNET NOTHING!!!!

There should be, and realistically is, no shame in just fucking leaving if you want to. There's no contract you signed, there's no permit you bought or lease you hold. You're a person who decided to share their art with the world, FOR FREE, and garnered an audience of faceless people behind screens who enjoy that art because YOU wanted to make it and share it.

Let me be frank as best I can. You owe the internet nothing, you owe the world nothing and you owe yourself EVERYTHING. You are the only person who can live your life, you are the only person who can create the things you create and you are the only motherfucker that should matter to you when you create those things.

Art is supposed to be a wondrous joy that inspires the mind and indulges ideas that other creatures can't even comprehend. It's supposed to be a magical and fun fantasy land where anything is possible because you make it possible. It's not a 9-5 unless you make it one, so stop making your hobby a 9-5 unless you're getting paid for it, and even then put in limits because no job that you choose to do should end in you burnt out and wishing you'd never started in the first place.

Remember when we were all kids? When we all drew and wrote for fun simply because we could? We'd show people are shit and be like "Mama look!" and she'd clap her hands all proud. But she wasn't why you picked up that crayon, you just did it for you because you wanted to make some shit.

That's how it should be. That's how it is unless you let those fake ass numbers on a screen rule your life. It's all meaningless, the praise may be genuine but that doesn't mean you should spend your whole life running in circles and performing for an audience.

Be a human being! Be an artist! Fuck everyone else!

Just be yourself <3

[moonwoodhollow]

My 𝐓𝐨𝐩 24 𝐒𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐬 from 2024🎉

I was kindly tagged by @surelysims/@theplottdump to share my favourite screenshots of 2024, so let's go and buckle up!

Oh, and before I forget, I'll tag: @elderwisp, @bunnithechubs, @acuar-io, @hauntedtrait, @elderberries-and-honey

@whyeverr, @irrewilderer, @neishroom, @nyssasims and @cheapeazzze &

@thebramblewood (don't feel pressured to do this btw & take your time, if you were already tagged, sorry!)

Midcentury Modern Madness, as I call it. Once you've got it, you'll keep it and feel the itch to build another Midcentury build every once in a while.

Ah, the duality of a woman -> that was when I created Griselda Oreolo, an ancient vampire for @thebramblewood's story and thought It'd be cool to tell her origin story, which I did... except for adding the really cool epilogue that I had in mind. It's on the list for 2025.

Ah yes, another woman with two sides (is that a pattern?). @acuar-io asked for outlaws, and I (hopefully) delivered. I was initially thinking I could do some sort of historical gameplay/story with her, but then I remembered what I'd have to build for that kind of story, and I quickly gave up.

You don't see me very often doing gameplay and if I do, I rarely post about it on the blog; but I'm still doing the 'have as many babies until elderly challenge' (NOT the 100 baby challenge, okay!). My opponent? @simsofstrawberryhill who sadly lost all of her progress. Does that mean I already won? Probably! Will I continue playing? Yes. Because as exhausting as it is, it's also the most ridiculous gameplay I ever had.

Aeons ago (2023) I started a story with Venessa Jeong as my main character, I still took lots of screenshots for story posts that never saw the light of day in 2024, but hey not all hope is lost, we might get somewhere in 2025.

Ah, the Simblr Met Gala, that I obviously needed to go to with no other than Venessa. I still love the shots I took and I can't wait until next year.

One of the few men I put in situations this year, although he was way more present in @bunnithechubs bachelorette challenge, which he obviously didn't win, I mean who could go against the hunk of a man that Darius (by @rasoyas) is?? Yeah, no one. Would you believe he's currently living in that Christmas house I posted about 2 days ago... I can smell a story brewing, but it has to wait until next year!

...Now for some aesthetic screenshots of some interior I really loved doing this year. More to come next year!

Truly a Christmas miracle - I finally had another opportunity to show this lovely couple, André and Prisha!

And that's a wrap with my favourite Christmas couple! Enjoy your holidays everyone <3

[sad-girl-hours23]

Hold Me Hostage, Arrest My Attention

For the @tevanadvent2024 Day 4: Hostage & Day 5: Attention

Rating: E

Tags: Orgasm Denial, Daddy Kink (not really, but just in case)

Word Count: 1,157

Buck hasn’t seen or heard from Tommy in three weeks. Not since Tommy checked on Maddie and him at the hospital after the kidnapping/hostage situation. They’d had a brief, neutral exchange in Buck’s hospital room, but then Bobby and Hen had shown up and Tommy snuck out before Buck could ask him to stay.

He’s wanted to reach out so many times but what would he even say?

Thank you

Why haven’t you called?

Please Daddy can you fuck me until I forget my own name and that you ever broke my heart?

Buck sighs and goes back to scrolling through Instagram until a text post catches his eye. It reads: Hostage or not, sometimes it’s just nice to be held.

He takes a screenshot. Stares at it for a minute in his camera roll. He shouldn’t. But he’s feeling a little sad and even more petulant. He still misses Tommy even if he’s no longer baking about it. He’s lonely. And he’s horny. He misses sex and he’s angry that even the thought of being with somebody else makes him sick and so he hasn’t even tried. 

He sends the photo. If he can’t have Tommy, at least he’ll have gotten his attention.

His phone vibrates with a message and it sends a thrill up his spine. Before he can open the message, two more come in and the panic sets in. Fuck. What did he do?

He ignores the call coming in. Considers going for a run instead to distract himself. Thinks better of it and opts for a shower instead.

∗∗∗

There’s a knock at Buck’s door just as he’s finished drying off. He ties the towel around his waist and pads to the door.

Buck tries to act surprised, maybe a little confused, but he can’t help the smile that creeps onto his face. “Tommy?” He lets Tommy in and closes the door, resting against it.

“What is wrong with you?”

“Wha—”

Tommy shows him their text thread, already open on his phone.

Buck lifts his chin. “I meant to send that to Eddie.”

Tommy hums. “Did you also mean to like fifteen of Eddie’s photos from 2019?” 

Buck smirks and shrugs. “Had to get your attention somehow.”

Tommy moves closer but doesn’t touch him and before he can do something considerate like ask if Buck’s okay with it, he grabs Tommy’s face and kisses him.

Tommy’s stubble scrapes against Buck’s freshly shaved skin and Buck gets hard so fast he’s dizzy with it. “Bed,” he says, in between kisses. “I need you in my bed like yesterday.”

Tommy looks between them where Buck’s dick is poking out of the gap in the towel, hard and already leaking, and he chuckles. “Baby, I don’t think you’re going to make it that far.” 

“Oh fuck you, Kinard.”

Tommy hums. “Not tonight, dear.” Then he drops to his knees, takes Buck into the wet heat of his mouth, and gives Buck the quickest, most dizzying orgasm of his life.

Buck’s still panting and clinging to Tommy’s shoulders when Tommy suddenly lifts him in a fireman’s carry.

Buck laughs, his first genuine one in months. “Oh my god, put me down you beast.”

“Not a chance, Buckley,” Tommy says, carrying him upstairs. 

∗∗∗

Buck groans and clutches the sheets underneath him, which are soaked with a mixture of his sweat and drool. His chances of crying or coming are pretty even at this point. Except, Tommy won’t let him come, not until he’s named all of the U.S. state capitals. In alphabetical order by state. Buck scoffed when Tommy had set the terms. Easy, he thought, I could do that in my sleep. 

It’s not so easy with Tommy’s tongue in Buck’s ass, his cock leaking into the pillow supporting his hips and it feels like Tommy’s been eating him out for hours and he’s still a little come drunk from his first orgasm and he’s only up to—oh, fuck— “Carson,” Buck moans. “Carson City.” Memories of a late night wiki deep dive ping in his mind. “Oh hey, did you know—”

Tommy chuckles. “Darling, do you want to have to start over? Again?”

Buck whines. Tommy can’t expect him to name fifty state capitals and not go on a tangent about any of them…he knows what he’s doing. And, oh fuck, does he know what he’s doing.

When Buck finally makes it to “Cheyenne,” Tommy calls him good boy and pushes three fingers into his eager, spit-soaked hole and Buck comes so hard he passes out.

∗∗∗

When Buck comes to, Tommy’s next to him, propped up on his elbow. He slides a warm washcloth over Buck’s sticky, cooling skin and doesn’t meet his eyes.

Buck stretches and groans. “We should definitely do that again.” Right now, he thinks, and tomorrow, and every day after. 

Tommy stops his movements and tosses the washcloth aside. “I’m not some toy that you can just pick up and play with when you feel like it, Buck.”

Buck’s brain isn’t completely back online yet, and flashes of a forgotten memory rise to the surface: Buck at age ten, bored and rustling through the garage for something to do. Finding a tub of Maddie’s old Barbie dolls and accessories. An hour later, marrying Ken and G.I. Joe in a gazebo. 

Buck faces Tommy, thinking he would be amused by the story, but stops short at the stormy look on his face. Oh, it’s not a game anymore.

Buck sits up. “Are you serious? You broke up with me, remember?”

Tommy makes a move to get up from the bed, but Buck’s faster, pushing him back down with a firm hand on his chest. 

“You decided you were done with me,” Buck grits out as he straddles Tommy’s hips. He shakes his head, even though Tommy won’t look at him. “No that’s not right—you decided I was done with you.” Buck grabs Tommy’s cleft, forcing Tommy to face him.

There’s a flash of warning in Tommy’s eyes. 

“Who the fuck said I was done with you?”

Tommy stays silent, a stubborn set to his jaw, but he doesn’t look away.

Buck brings Tommy’s hands to the top of the bed, interlacing their fingers. “I’m not done with you.”

Tommy doesn’t pull away.

∗∗∗

Buck wakes the next morning, loose-limbed and lighter than he’s felt in months. The strings of anger that had been holding him up effectively cut, all the fight thoroughly sucked and fucked out of him.

There’s a solid wall of muscle and heat at his back, one hand curled possessively around his waist, small puffs of breath against his neck. Buck turns in the embrace. “Tommy?” he says quietly, like Tommy might disappear if the voice of his hope is too loud.

Tommy opens his eyes. “Evan?”

“You stayed.”

“Yeah,” Tommy says, running his hand through Buck’s curls. “ Guess I’m not done with you yet either.”

Also on AO3

[writer-lythings]

Okay, I'm. Feel free to ignore this OP but if you are interested in discussion:

How do you define popular?

I really enjoy the angle at the beginning. Surely some of those other restaurants which couldn't keep up were equally passionate about food and not just out to get their paycheck. I appreciate the sympathy that drives this whole idea. It really is unfortunate not everyone can live their dreams in this reality we have on hand right now, where scarcity is very much present.

There are limits on the human attention span which will likely remain even after we solve the scarcity of basic needs, I agree.

But how do we define popular?

From Wikipedia for most watched YouTube videos:

"In November 2005, a Nike advertisement featuring Brazilian football player Ronaldinho became the first video to reach 1,000,000 views.[1] The billion-view mark was first passed by Gangnam Style in December 2012. On January 13, 2022, Pinkfong's "Baby Shark" became the first video to hit 10,000,000,000 views.[2]"

I would argue that we are currently undergoing a fascinating boom in artistic popularity and have likely not achieved the peak yet, even. The barrier of entry is low, yes. So is the layperson's access, such that even the most novice artist has a good chance of getting their art in front of hundreds of people, who, yes, may never choose to engage, yet how many people do you ignore on a short walk in your daily life? New York City had a population of 3 million people in 1900, and we can assume the odds of them all walking past the same lamppost was unlikely. Nowadays a small sticker or poster put up there can be photographed and shared across millions of views...yes this is anecdotal, I can't find the post I'm thinking of, but stretch your imagination a little bit. Bear with me. Sure, whoever tagged that lamppost probably isn't going down in the history books. Is that always the dream? To be remembered forever?

Or is it simply to be known in this moment, shared with a half dozen or half a million individuals who expended their limited attention on this small thing for awhile?

The owners of the closed restaurants would likely rather have gotten the acclaims and the media attention it takes to open dozens of locations. They would have appreciated an increase in all the various finite pressures which no doubt led to their closure. They weren't popular enough. They didn't have the social capital of the success story in your book. If everyone's dream is to achieve world rending fame the likes of which we'll still be discussing when Genghis Khan is forgotten, to reach the apex of their field such that it cannot ever be discussed without their name in the next breath...not everyone can achieve that dream.

But in a world where more people than ever are offering up their finite resources for art, for tasty food, then yeah, I can imagine a post scarcity utopia where everyone is also popular. It's not that much bigger of a stretch.

I've been reading a self-help book (don't ask) and they had this anecdote about this successful restaurateur and his struggle to operate dozens of restaurants. They talk about how the competition was steep, that at each location they had to be the ones to attract an audience, while nearby tried to do the same, but couldn't keep up and went out of business. Which kind of took me out a little bit because. Hmm. So obviously the story was framed with the guy as protagonist, about his passion for food and his drive to succeed. And I won't say he did anything wrong by doing his best, I'm happy for him that he succeeded and gets to live his life working with his passion and achieving his dream. But like, since these are real people being discussed, rather than characters, it did scan a little oddly to me to brush over in a line or two all the unnamed people who were probably equally passionate and driven, but yet failed, and thus could not be the focus of this story.

But I guess that's how it goes, right, for anybody to be the best at X thing, there have to be plenty of people who tried and failed. With occupations specifically there's the added bit where this reflects too a loss of livelihood and financial stability.

But even in a perfect world where society has moved completely beyond poverty, an imagined post-scarcity utopia, I'm not sure this is a problem that can conceivably be solved, no amount of resources can fix limited human time, attention, and prioritization. It kind of reminds me of that one tumblr post about the concert ticket problem, where even infinite resources still means only a limited amount of people can get tickets to a concert. Except rather than a temporary luxury (a single concert) it's an entire lifestyle; there's only a limited amount of popular restaurants.

But that's not really a hypothetical situation, though. That's something already happening today, in real life. And not just with restaurants. There have always been roles, lifestyles, jobs, goals, where the supply is far greater than the population can sustain. One only has to look at say, the art field, or all the people who want to be writers, to see that. And in those examples we can kind of see how this would play out - with the internet, the barrier to entry for creating and sharing art or writing is super low, anybody who wishes can be a writer or artist, and that's a wonderful thing. But the sheer amount of works being produced means an ever-shrinking percentage become well known and popular, simply because there are so many all competing for space in the public consciousness. And with art, at least, there is hypothetically room for an uncountable number of works to exist, without needing maintenance after being completed. For someone with a dream of being a chef and opening their own restaurant, you have additional concerns, like limited physical space, and having to maintain it through daily work rather than it ever being "completed." So probably the cap on the amount of popular restaurants able to exist simultaneously is even lower than the amount of popular artists. So unfortunately, no matter what, it seems only some people in life will be able to live their dreams.

[saintmalosunsets]

BAND OF BROTHERS | EP. 6 + 9 + 10

Doc Roe in the background of scenes (bonus gifs)

[jasonisntboring]

Sometimes my friends will talk about shows they watch like ‘Owl House’ or ‘The Office’ and they’ll ask me if I’ve watched them and I’ll have to say no bc I don’t actually watch shows like that and then they’ll be like “oh you don’t watch a lot of tv do you?” And I’ll be like “yea actually you’re right”

No, actually, they’re not right bc after every conversation like this I’ve had I remember almost immediately after they’re gone that I do watch tv all the time (or at least I did, not so much after I moved tho) but I’m (re)watching shows like ‘Lalaloopsy’, ‘Voltron: Legendary Defender’, ‘Lolirock’, ‘Glitter Force’ (both of them), and ‘Hoodwinked’ (it’s a movie abt red riding hood and her grandmother and I love it so much and nobody ever knows what it is for some reason)

But, like, those are what I watch w whenever I actually feel like sitting down and watching shows

I know the whole song ‘Revolution’ from ‘Lolirock’ by heart

[prettyboyjohnny]

every time u post a callout in the main tcm tag a baby kitten grows wings and goes to heaven

[al-luviec]

still haven't moved on from zane in this episode (aka I hit tag limit again and am unhappy about it)

[tmae3114]

NOTHING makes me feel as much like I might somehow be living in a different reality than everybody else than seeing the way some people talk about A Certain Specific Animated Webseries That I Like

"it has so many female characters and yet hates women" "it's terribly written" "it's a shambling corpse of what it once was" "how does it keep getting made" "nothing in it makes sense!" "it's completely shallow and exists only to service shipping"

I have NO EARTHLY CLUE how they are getting these things out of the incredibly well made science-fantasy epic I've been watching for the past decade

[bueris]

okay maybe I should seriously reconsider my path in life and sell my soul to marketing or journalism instead

[spacespore]

HI TUMBLRR it’s me

[lorephobic]

idk how to even like. put this pain into words and i would normally vent about this shit on twitter, but the person its about follows me on there so like. anybody have skills for coping with the crushing realization that the person u love most in this world and have built ur life around sees ur current situation together as a temporary hurdle that's preventing them from their truest and happiest self which. is separate from u entirely? anyone know how to deal with this?

[keeps-ache]

once again i am on the playlist lol

[pyrosomatic-metamorphosis]

people can use this site however they want but there's something almost- idk, sad? about how few people are actually using their blogs. you can turn themes on and have skeletons dancing in the background. you can make everything hot pink. your blog is your scrapbook and you can put whatever you want in there. tags are okay at organizing things so you can have just a whole archive of cool shit to look at later. i know people complain a lot about people liking stuff about reblogging for engagement, and on one hand i get that- it is WILD to see a drawing i spent hours on get only 12 reblogs and 60 likes. Absolute culture shock compared to my previous fandoms. but i don't think you should reblog anything to make artists happy. i think you should reblog things so you can find them again. i think you should queue things to appear on the dash at specific times on certain days. i think you should reblog things so when you're talking to your friends about xyz post you saw you can look in your blog's archive and find it again. i think you should reblog things so that your dash is filled with one really sleepy cat. with the loss of reblogs there's the loss of engagement, which Does hurt the community-focus that makes tumblr so appealing, but idk i just wish people were more excited about the incredible amount of customization that tumblr allows and took advantage of that more

[valiant-portabella-pirkko]

Thinking a lot again about actually making a proper roleplay group within the GW2 community... I've been sitting on a lot of things regarding the Tideturners as a fully functional Mists-based group, but most of what holds me back is just a lack of confidence.

There's definitely a niche there that needs filling though, and it doesn't seem like anybody else is really doing anything with it.