Fandom Is So Different Now And Its Becoming Un-fun With How Quickly Shit Moves.

Fandom is so different now and it’s becoming un-fun with how quickly shit moves.

I just want to enjoy things. I don’t want to have to play a game of Artist-Race that seems to be afoot lately.

Ya’ll eat up fandoms, leave artists and writers bone dry and then move on so fucking quickly then fucking wonder where all the Good Fandom Stuff is.

Idk Maybe cherish some things for longer. Reblog stuff. Interact with people. Comment and share.

Fandom is Capitalism now and I’m not being nuanced.

Fall paintings

I'm trying to paint every weekend but i might switch to winter paintings now.

I’m gonna need this AU omg. Beautiful art from @aliceblakeart

MAGGIE SMITH as LADY VIOLET CRAWLEY DOWNTON ABBEY (2019), dir. Michael Engler

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22 or 33 with hangster? 👀🥰

I went with #33 because A kiss to a scar, birthmark, injury, or other marking is adorable!

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“And this one?”

Bradley pressed his mouth against a long-faded scar curving around Jake’s calf, foot propped up against his shoulder as he stared down at the man reclining against the pillow. Jake shifted, curling a hand behind his head, his bicep flexing before it relaxed and he settled further into the pillow.

“Fell off a pony,” Jake said, a smirk curling at his mouth.

“And here I thought you were smart enough not to get on a horse when you wanted to fly,” Bradley said, kissing against the mark again before shifting closer, Jake’s knee resting against his shoulder as Bradley ran fingers over his thigh.

“No, darlin’. Not a horse, a pony.”

“There’s a difference?”

“Hell, yeah, there’s a difference. I was six at a county fair and was ridin’ this pony that was barely tall enough to hit my Mama’s hip, going in a goddamn circle and bawling my eyes out because I was so terrified. The goddamn thing snorted and shook it’s head and I had to get off according to my Mama and so I got off but I ended up getting caught up in the saddle and was dragged for what felt like hours but was apparently only a second before the ride operator got me. But it was enough to catch my leg on somethin’ and cut it up.”

Bradley did his best to keep his face straight but he couldn’t at the thought about small, Jake, red faced and crying at the sight of a horse. Jake was trying to look at him, glaring but even he was fighting a smile.

“What sorta cowboy are you?” Bradley murmured, kissing Jake’s thigh as his fingers found nothing but unmarked skin and let Jake’s leg slide off his shoulder so he could brace hands and drop a kiss over the appendix scar he had already kissed before shifting up, his exploration complete.

“The kind that grew up in suburban Texas,” Jake replied, hooking an arm around Bradley’s neck and pulling him close. “Which you well know.”

“I do,” Bradley said, remembering the two-story house with the white picket fence, two happily married parents, an aging golden retriever and two siblings, all married with screaming kids who didn’t quite understand who Bradley was to Jake, but loved Uncle Jake enough that Bradley was deemed cool. “I’ll keep your secret.”

“It’s not a secret,” Jake said, laughing as he always did whenever someone tried to pretend he was some sort of cowboy. Before Bradley could respond, Jake rolled them, settling into the cradle of Bradley’s hips and he leaned down, pressing his mouth against the scars on Bradley’s jaw. “My turn.”

Bradley lifted his chin. “You know that story.”

“I’m gonna know them all by the time I’m done with you.”

Bradley grinned and closed his eyes, settling back against the pillow. “Have at it, baby.”