Not a request but I cannot get over how you draw Blurr. He looks like such a shit. He looks so smug. His teeth are driving me insane. I love it. This is the best style Blurr I've ever seen thank you
ok if you are still in need of any prompts; some callum thighs appreciation through austin’s eyes?? perhaps?
Austin sees him for the first time as he’s coming off the carpet.
Standing a head taller than everyone else around him, he’s impossible to miss, and that’s not even accounting for his width. Strong shoulders clad in bold, eye-catching blue—a breath of fresh air in an endless sea of boring black menswear—make Austin slow his stride, curiosity piqued. Dark curls, a dazzling grin, and eyes that match the hue of his suit stop Austin in his tracks completely.
The man laughs with his whole body, head falling back and exposing the thick line of his neck, chest shaking with apparent mirth. His suit shimmers under the bright lights, an intricate pattern of beaded embroidery sewn into the fabric, flashing dramatically with every move he makes.
Austin tips his chin towards his publicist without tearing his gaze away. “Who is that?”
As if he heard Austin’s whispered question under the hundreds of other voices blending together, controlled chaos unfolding all around them, the man looks over. The weight of his eyes feels like a physical blow when they land on Austin, unabashedly meeting Austin’s open stare. It’s like he’s been gut-punched, all the air knocked out of him in one definitive strike, and he still can’t be the one to drop his gaze as the man holds eye contact, too long to be anything other than intentional. A voice in the back of Austin’s mind is screaming at him to look away, to move, but he’s unable to do anything except stand there until the decision is made for him by an insistent hand on his elbow, dragging him away and guiding him inside.
He doesn’t get the answer to his question until later.
———
Much later, after the afterparty, when half of the outfits have been changed altogether and the ones that haven’t have been stripped down, suit jackets lost and collars undone, Austin finally sees him again.
Leaning against the far wall, his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows and showing off the flex of his forearm as he brings his drink to his mouth and takes a sip. He nods at whoever’s talking to him, but despite the mask of bland placidity on his face, Austin doesn’t think he’s ever seen a person look like they want to be listening to anyone less.
He’s halfway across the room before he even registers he’d started walking at all.
Without the glitz of his jacket to distract from the lines of his body, Austin rakes an appreciative glance up the guy’s entire body. He’s fit, thick meaty thighs that taper up to a lean waist before the breadth of him flares back out at the shoulders, sleeves pulling taut over his arms as he gestures lazily to his companion. Austin is almost positive he isn’t an actor, because even if they’d never formally met, Austin never would have forgotten seeing his face.
It’s a face Austin would know by now, if he was in the industry. Austin’s sure of it.
He holds himself like someone who has complete command over his body, and power exudes from the pure size of him, but it’s a mass that doesn’t seem like vanity muscle put on just for show. He looks like he’s built for function, physique as fine-tuned as an instrument, and all of Austin’s instincts are telling him he must be some kind of athlete.
There’s only one way to find out.
“Hey, man!” Austin interrupts once he’s close enough, working on autopilot, because if he stops his momentum it gives him time to wonder what the fuck he’s doing. He claps the guy on the shoulder, textbook familiarity as he leans in to complete the gesture, listing into his personal space. “I’ve been looking for you all night,” he says, which isn’t an act at all, because Austin’s been constantly searching out of the corner of his eye ever since dinner.
The guy looks up, startled for the briefest of moments before recognition smooths out the lines of confusion on his face, something Austin wishes he could say for himself. A believable, delighted surprise lights up the guy’s eyes, still so blue even in the dim light of the club, but nothing beats the surprise that floods Austin’s entire body at the accent that slips out of his mouth as he greets Austin like an old friend, reeling him into a crushing hug. “Mate!” he says. “How the hell’ve you been?”
Austin’s arms wrap around his shoulders, and he draws a perilous blank on what to do next, the smell of sweat and spiced cologne from where he’s tucked into the warm pocket of a stranger’s neck apparently all he needs to forget every small-talk script he’d ever memorized.
He’s rescued from his botched rescue attempt by a broad hand cupping the back of his neck, giving him a playful shake.
The guy abruptly address the man standing next to Austin. “That’s a great idea you have there, and it was real nice chatting—I’ll reach out, alright? We can hash it out more later,” he says, then unceremoniously departs from the conversation, a proprietary arm slung around Austin’s neck as they walk away. “I cannot begin to thank you enough for that,” he says after they’ve made their escape. “I was going to be stuck there for ages, otherwise.”
Austin tries not to think about how much he already misses the weight of his arm when he takes it back, and he extends his own hand out instead, tongue heavy in his mouth as he introduces himself. “Austin,” he says, “I don’t think we’ve met.”
He knows they haven’t. Austin would remember it, would remember him, if they did.
“No,” the guy says, cheeks dimpling as he grins. “We haven’t.”
Austin’s stomach swoops. His skin feels like it’s thrumming, buzzing with electricity, and he can’t remember the last time he met someone who made him feel this way—if anyone has ever made him feel so much, so soon. “Are you going to tell me your name, or are you going to make me ask?”
The guy laughs, and the sound of it swells inside Austin’s chest, puffing him up until he’s lighter than air. “Callum.”
“Nice to meet you, Callum,” Austin says, relishing in how the name fits in his mouth, how easily it rolls off his tongue.
“Likewise,” Callum returns. He sucks his bottom lip between his teeth, and Austin’s eyes drop as he bites down.
When Austin looks back up, Callum is the one watching him carefully, like he’s assessing Austin’s reaction. Like he’s looking for interest.
Austin’s eyebrow twitches, the barest change of expression, so subtle it could be easily missed if someone wasn’t looking for it. Callum catches it the same way Austin catches the way his smile goes crooked at the corner, widening by a fraction.
It’s enough to know Callum will follow him, if he turns to leave. It’s enough that Austin doesn’t have to check to make sure he’s right when he does, the solid line of Callum’s body heat radiating into his back the only confirmation Austin needs.
(Rummages through towering WIP box) uhhhh month old sketches!
I did a bunch of no-erase sketches for a class a month of two ago. I’m planning on making these nice fancy paintings later, but I’ve been neglecting them in my WIP box
this is one that I started and fully plotted a long while back but haven't gotten into a rhythm with despite loving the idea. it's set during the HP books 3-4, switching POV between Sirius as he escapes prison and navigates life on the run, and Lily, who, along with her husband, lives an ordinary, childless Muggle life with no memory of the magical world and child they've lost.
