#but I don’t have anything drilling a hole in my brain rn so

[ex-textura]

Hiya, Sebastian! ♥ I'm just passing by to say I really admire your art and your talent, and one day I hope to have enough money to share with you and support your beautiful work. :( ♥ I'd like to know a little bit about how you first came into contact with drawing and if you have any cheap/free tools and tutorials you'd recommend to someone who wants to start taking drawing more seriously (and knows 0% about it lmao), if you don't mind. Much love always! - tiefling enthusiast anon

Anon!! I’m so sorry it took me so long to get to this! This is such a kind ask omg thank you 🥺🥺

Don’t ever worry about not being able to buy anything from me, your kind words are honestly enough (and I know what it’s like not to be able to afford to support artists. It’s hard but I promise you messages like this mean so, so much more than money. I’m giddy rn lol)

As for getting into art, tbh I started drawing very young. I used to draw Pokémon and digimon on my desk in elementary school, and then going into junior high I started to branch out a little more though I stopped around high school and didn’t pick up drawing again until more than 10 years later lol….but it’s always been something I loved to do, and coming back to it has really filled a hole in my life I didn’t realize was there for a long time.

For a lot of my early drawings, it was just printer paper and ballpoint pens or plain old pencils until I got my first graphics tablet years later. So if you’re just starting out you don’t really need anything but the will to draw and something to scribble on. If you’re looking to start with digital art though there’s a couple of routes you can take. If you have access to an iPad, or can get one cheap (think used, past model… you don’t need much) there are a number of apps you can get such as ibis paint (which I think may be free or have a free version though I don’t use it myself) or procreate (it’s what I use on my iPad, but it has a one-time fee of I believe $13.99CAD). Or, if you have a computer I got started on a simple graphics tablet and you can get them for fairly cheap these days used (mine was like $80CAD) and I used a free version of Paint Tool SAI which works great.

Still though, if you’re okay not starting with digital art I would recommend just getting a small sketch book for under $10, a mechanical pencil and a gum eraser (those brownish ones). That’s all you really need to get started.

As for tutorials, I mostly watch YouTubers for art advice. I’d recommend Sam Does Arts, Drawfee, and Sinix Design

Sam does a lot of “rating art advice” videos, critiquing his followers pieces, and some goofy things but he has a lot of great tips and he explains things in a very easy to understand way. He also calls out his own flaws easily and teaches you to learn from his own mistakes which I find very encouraging.

Drawfee is four artists with different styles that mostly do art challenges among themselves but they also host art classes for their patrons and those videos get posted to their channel for the general public so you can still follow along for free. I like that they have different styles and different methods, and when they post their speed draws they talk through their process which is very informative.

Sinix is an incredible artist and while some of his videos are definitely more advanced he has beginner videos too that teach the very basics and I still spend a lot of time watching those ones to really drill them into my brain. He’s more informative than entertaining like the other two are, but his stuff is so good.

Other than YouTube videos, I also spend a lot of time on Line of Action which is a great site for practicing form and anatomy.

I’d also recommend the morpho drawing books if you can find a free pdf online (there are definitely sources for them I just can’t seem to find any right now…).

Im sorry this got so long winded xD I don’t even know if it makes any sense anymore lol. But basically…. Get yourself some paper and a mechanical pencil, a decent eraser and start with the basics. There are so many free resources online to get you there. After that… just get yourself a blorbo that you’re just so obsessed with and draw them over and over again until you can do it from memory. Then keep drawing them some more. It takes time and persistence and you might even feel frustrated when you start out, but remember that everyone starts somewhere and even the greatest artists are still learning.

And, please if you do start drawing feel free to share your art with me! I’d love to see it, and hopefully we can grow together ❤️❤️

[pegplunkett]

I thought I’d throw a post together with links to my ao3 fics just.. because? idk I somehow have over 200 people following me here so I guess if anyone missed any then here ya go! also thank you all for enabling me even though all I do is thirst post about hamish and make a holy show of myself in the tags

all of these are full on smut, 🔞, like pretty much straight down to business. my attitude to fic is essentially like one of my own unhinged tags - if blorbo isn’t fucking then I’m out. so like, plot? don’t know her.

father paul fics:

my first fic ever! father paul x reader get down to it in the crockett island storage room in have mercy

there’s been lots of ‘fucking in the confessional’ fics written and why? because it’s sexy as hell! so yes, I also have one and it’s called midnight meeting

it’s an exorcism! it’s sexy! it’s a sexorcism! it’s the devil made me do it!

assorted hamish check shirt men:

porter collins hates vegas but maybe a work trip, some chat about bond films and a hotel room visitor will change his mind in knock knock (this one is a sort of reimagining of that v hot scene from paper year, you know the one, but with a non-creep character)

aaand a dicey one about our favourite monster man john tyler, it’s a real dead dove do not eat sitch, warning tags all day long and approach with horny caution for the lesser of two evils

so there you go! pls enjoy! 📁

[slytherflynn]

Old and New | Pt I

Blaise Zabini x muggle!reader

word count: 1971

summary: y/n is new to France on a study abroad trip. Blaise is visiting France post-Hogwarts. rags to riches story of an unfortunate muggle falling for a complicated, ridiculously wealthy person who just so happens to also be a powerful Wizard.

a/n: this started with an idea, became a moodboard, then became an entire fleshed out fic! I thought it would be short but my brain had other ideas. enjoy! note: I did write this from my personal perspective in life. as a result it is not very inclusive. I plan to change that with my next fics, I’ve just been having a really hard time lately and have been writing a lot of comfort fics and/or self-inserts to escape from irl bc irl is rly shitty for me rn

It’s a brand-new start, in a brand-new apartment, in a brand-new city, in a brand-new country... an ocean away from home. I can bring Tacoma to France, right? At least, that’s what I’m trying to tell myself. Study abroad is fucking... scary. I kinda regret it. It’s a good opportunity and for someone who doesn’t travel, it should be a fun experience. But I’m currently having an anxiety attack over taking out the garbage, so I’m not sure my positive self-talk is working.

I look out the window of my top floor apartment, wait until someone finally finishes walking down the stairs, and run out my door - I nearly trip about five times going down the spiral of death, my arms feel like jelly thanks to perpetually pushing my garbage deeper in to avoid this trip, and I swing with all my might to hurl my garbage bag into the trash compacting dumpster - only it hits the bottom lip and falls to the ground, splitting open.

“Great!” I say, sarcastically, “First they send my luggage to the wrong location, then they try to say my passport isn’t valid because my apartment was a temporary address, then I’m greeted with a fridge full of rotting food and no power, then I’m bitten up by fleas and now - I just- fuck. Why can’t I just- do anything- right-“ I cut myself off when I hear a screen door slide and blink a couple times to erase the threat of tears that had been creeping up on me while I ranted.

When I look up, I see a tall, dark-skinned guy about my age - handsome. He’s wearing a suit, and expensive jewelry. Combine that with the fact he’s living in the apartment building next to me, which is worth more than my life just for one month of rent, and I put together that he’s probably rich beyond belief. I quickly look away, not wanting to stare. I silently pick up my garbage, piece by piece. As I work, I feel eyes drilling holes in the back of my head. I ignore it. It continues, and I still ignore it as I finally shove my ripped garbage bag in the compactor and slam the door shut. I hear a slight jump up above, and chuckle to myself.

I zoom back up the stairs and almost make it to the top, but I trip 5 stairs away from my door - and fall, hard. Body laid out flat hard. Cheek scraped and stinging from the metal grating on the stairs, hard. Lost the goddamned slide that caught on the stair, and can see it gradually falling, bouncing and rolling down the stairs, hard. I lift my head and see blood on the stair. I feel it running down my face. All I can think is that this really fucking hurts. The tears come, a combination of pain and frustration, and I pick myself up and stumble my way into my apartment, completely forgetting about the attractive rich boy who just watched me be a danger and inconvenience to myself.

I rush to the kitchen and grab a roll of paper towels, and run to the bathroom, I see the markings in the mirror and can tell it will leave a sizeable scar. Do I need stitches? I don’t know. Anyway, I start dabbing at everything and blood is still oozing out of every nook and cranny, to my displeasure. I’m about to start bandaging my face when I hear a knock on my door. “Fucking Christ!” I mutter to myself as I slap a wad of paper towels on my face and sulkily go to fling open my door.

I’m not sure who I’m expecting, but to see the same rich guy on my doorstep, slide in hand, probably wasn’t it. “Hey, um, I saw what happened, and I thought you might want your shoe back.” His accent sounds very British - I was expecting it to sound more like a snooty Frenchman’s.

“Oh. Um. Thanks.” I say flatly.

As my muscles twitch to begin closing the door, he says, “Would you like some help cleaning that up? I have certifications to give medical aid... and stitches. My name’s Blaise, by the way.”

Doctor, maybe? Probably. “Sure,” I say, opening the door wider and standing back so the blood doesn’t drip on his suit. “I’m y/n.”

A few minutes later we’re in my bathroom, me sitting on the toilet, him sitting on the bathtub as he helps me fix my face. “So, Mademoiselle y/n,” He asks, “Do you find yourself in these predicaments very often?”

“Which one? Poverty, flea bitten, or bloody?” I say.

“I suppose whichever you’d like to think I was referring to.”

“Well, in *that* case - I’m usually caught unawares in all kinds of predicaments - though I’d say self-injury due to clumsiness is an uncommon one. And do you usually find yourself in predicaments requiring you to treat someone’s wounds?”

“I used to, though now it’s only on the occasion.”

“Sounds like an improvement,” I note. “I won’t guarantee it, but I think I’ll get the hang of walking up the stairs soon enough, so you don’t have to worry about me.”

“I wouldn’t necessarily mind it if I did worry about you once or twice more. Why were you running? It seemed like you wanted to get away from something. Does your garbage compactor smell that disturbing?”

“It doesn’t smell great,” I admit, “But truth be told, I’m not a fan of human interaction. It’s scary. Especially when everything is new to me.”

“How long have you been In France?”

“A few days, just enough to get myself physically settled.”

“I see. And you are from America?”

“Mhm. Let me guess, my accent gave it away.”

“And the slang, I’ve yet to hear someone from France use certain terms that you seem to favor.”

“Oh, most of my slang is specific to my city, not just my country.”

“Your city?”

“Yea, Tacoma. It’s near Seattle, if you know where that is. Tacoma’s better, though.”

“I’ve heard of it, but I’ve never been there. My mother is a fashion designer, but she only travels where there’s inspiration or a business deal.” So that’s how he gets the expensive clothes. The rest of the money too, probably.

“Must be nice, having a handmade closet.” I muse. “Not that I care for having any more clothes than I brought. They’re pretty reliable, if I do say so myself.”

He laughs. “Yes, well, if the blood stains don’t come out of your jumpsuit you might need a new one. They shouldn’t be too difficult to remove, though.”

“Yea, I’ll just dump a bucket of Oxi-Clean on it and call it a day. That is, if any stores nearby have it.” I frown, realizing I have no clue if France carries any of the products I usually get. This is gonna suck. Hopefully the internet has some answers so I don’t have to ask anyone for help.

“Why don’t I take your jumpsuit back with me? Save you the trip. Believe it or not, I used to have chronic nosebleeds, so I know a thing or two about stain removal.” Blaise offers.

I smile, only just. “Well, if you insist. But I love this jumpsuit practically more than myself, so I expect it back right away!”

He returns the smile. “A fan of fashion? You ought to meet my mother.”

I chuckle. “I’m sure your mom would despise me - I only own seven jumpsuits and some athleisure for going on runs.” I pause, then tack on: “Oh, and some fuzzy pajamas for when I’m sick.”

Blaise cocks a brow at me. “And when you’re not sick?”

“Don’t worry about it.” I grin mischievously.

A wave of recognition graces his eyes, and he very quickly looks away, I assume for being flustered.

“You Americans, always so scandalous.” He tsks in mock scorn.

“That’s what we’re known for, is it not?” I say cheekily, “Beer, boobs and gun barrels. And all the other problems that come with that, but that’s a can of worms I am not looking to open today.”

He ties off his handiwork, and says, “It looks like my job is finished, other than stealing your jumpsuit off your back to fix it. I can wait in the other room, if you’d like?”

“Um, yea, that works. Lemme just, grab my next jumpsuit. Gonna have to do laundry early, I suppose-“

“I can wash your jumpsuit for you. I’m pretty good at reading labels, if I do say so myself.” He jokes.

“Oh?” I say, “Then you must be a real genius! Who taught you, Einstein?”

“No, but it was another white-haired, eccentric man, so you’re not that far off.”

“When all teachers are like that it’s kind of impossible not to hit relatively close to the mark.” I remark, then change clothes as quickly as I can, tossing the dirty outfit into a trusty plastic bag and tying it shut.

When I walk out to the living room, Blaise is toying with one of my sculptures. He’s definitely been meandering and lurking around. “Enjoying yourself?” I ask, at which he jumps. “You’re rather skittish, Blaise.”

“And you’re rather quiet on your feet, y/n.” He observes. “But yes, I quite like your eclectic style. If only you had an apartment that let your customization shine. Something more minimalist.”

“Yes, well, it’s something I’ll forever dream of and likely never accomplish. I don’t suspect I’m going to be someone leaving the income level I was born into.” I say, just a little bit cynical.

“And why is that?” He asks.

“Because most people don’t, and the ones who do are the ones who make money. My career isn’t going to make me money.” I reply.

“So why did you pick it?”

I sigh. “Because somebody has to care about the people like me. The politicians don’t, the middle class don’t, and the rich are hell bent on keeping us there so they can have factory workers and have people going straight to prison after they graduate because we’re all desperate and miserable.”

He frowns. “That’s terrible.”

“It’s reality. And I don’t want to be like the people who get rich and stop caring because all they see is the wage difference and pretend it’s justified so they don’t have to feel complicit in the system.” I look him in the eye, my face grim. “Not all luck is by chance. Most of it is by design.”

He nods. “I understand, in a way.”

“Everyone does.” I say. “But understanding in a way and caring enough to do something about it are two different things.” I look away from him when I see his posture change. “I’m not trying to be rude, but it’s impossible not to notice the wealth gap between us when you’re wearing designer clothes and living in what looks like a mansion and I’m living in a building made in like 1900 with no elevator. It’s just the way things are, though.”

“I know.” He says quietly, thoughtfully. “I’d better get going. Your clothes?” He reaches out tentatively for the bag I’m still holding.

“Oh. Right.” I say, handing it to him. Our fingers brush against each other slightly, and it sends chills down my spine. He heads to the door while I’m rooted to the spot, collecting myself.

“I look forward to seeing you again, y/n.” He nods, meeting my eyes with a rather changed expression.

“I’ll see you soon, then?” I ask, not quite sure which answer I’m expecting.

He smiles, only just. “As soon as I am able.” Seconds later, he’s out the door, and I’m alone in my dingy ass apartment. How in the fuck did any of that just happen?