In which I neglect my Physics revision to draw my favourite character as a busker.
No one send me requests so I have decided that I am going to draw the suggestions that people I follow make posts about, and since tumblr user grahntare made a post about wanting to see busker Grantaire that is what I drew, because a) I adore busker AUs and b) I wanted to draw someone holding an instrument
So today I saw a busker who looked just like Draco
But like can you imagine a busker au??? Like after the war Draco kinda disappears and Harry finds himself wondering about him, like where has he gone? What is he doing?
And he legitimately has to do a double take when one day he sees Draco busking on a street corner in muggle london like wtf.
And he finds himself watching and not really being able to look away, and ends up walking that way most days just so he can watch Draco play because 1. this still doesn’t seem real and 2. Merlin, he’s looking reallygood.
Eventually he gets up the courage to start leaving tips and he knows Draco recognises him because he keeps giving him little curious looks, like he too doesn’t really know what’s going on.
And it’s only a few weeks later when Harry is walking home later than usual and Draco is packing up his guitar, and they catch each others eye.
Harry just stops in his tracks because he has no chill and Draco just smirks and says “Are you always going to just stand there gawping or will you eventually ask me to dinner?” and Harry’s pretty sure Draco’s face would be even better to stare at in a candle lit restaurant anyway
Hi I’m offline I swear but I did some writing and I need you guys advice. It’s Rivetra (duh) and it’s a busker au and I started writing it for Rivetra week but I really like it and I might change it into a Multichap and write something else for that catagoy if you guys say so and I basically just wan t you advice ugh
Request: Was wondering if you could do a quick blurb, #30 “Shooting star, make a wish.” - with any of the guys (not fussed) but sorta in a Busker or Street Artist AU where Y/N noticed their performance/artwork and kept coming back until they became friends (possibly more) over time? :D Love your writing btw!
This one hundred percent said a blurb and I wrote such a long imagine but I love this prompt so…
He hadn’t planned to be a graffiti artist, honestly it just kinda happened. He liked to paint, silhouettes were a favourite. A person could interpret it the way they were seeing it. They didn’t have to view it as he did. A man, woman, an animal. He enjoyed watching people try to figure it out, he liked being the one that knew ‘the truth.’ He planned on being legitimate, an artist remembered for abstract works that hung in places for the population to notice, places of honour. But he didn’t know if anything would beat the feeling of spray painting a dark alley wall, dodging trash and puddles of rain water that may never dry because of the shadows the buildings cast.
But that’s what he liked, it was so real. Rushed and adrenaline pumping in your veins, it was what he loved the most about it. He’d find places weeks before the design came to life. He’d sit on the roof of opposite buildings and watch how the spot looked in different times of day, the weather. Then the design came, ideas for what he’d put there were easy, forming as he watched light and shadows bounce off and create foreboding canvases.
He had done small pieces in town, unnoticeable and less intricate due to nerves of being seen. He was a fan of the dark shapes nature created, silhouettes of trees as detailed as the main piece of the art because of the way he had seen the cherry blossom in the park shadow over the small children playing. Creating the art so it would have the same effect on his works was what he loved.
Besides people. He loved ‘people-watching’ as he called it.
Then he saw her, hair in a loose ponytail as she rushed through busy streets to wherever she was going. Apologizing as she ran into the equally as busy people. And maybe there wasn’t anything that remarkable about her, the planes of her face a soft, rounded feature with eyes shining in the morning light. But his artist eyes were narrowed in on her, he could see what others didn’t like about themselves. The way she pushed a loose tendril of her hair behind her ear and bit her lip as she waited for the pedestrian light to change. She had a zipper of her bag open and he could barely make out pencils and some of the thickest textbooks he had ever seen. The notes about to spill, the scribbled on papers crumpled and obviously studied with highlighted lines. And she wasn’t remarkable, she didn’t do cartwheels down the street or slid over the hood of a car. She was simply beautiful and his hand twitched. He desperately wished he had his sketchbook.
That night he started one of the series he had kept hidden for so long.
And maybe it was weird of him to wait in the corners, watching people that noticed all his art and judging it. It was like an exhibit for him in it’s most natural form.
A group of drunk girls that stumbled over heels that were much too high for someone as inebriated as they were. They said that it looked like a bird in drunken giggles. He smiled. Yeah, maybe he could see that.
A homeless man with drugs in his veins, blurry eyes narrowed as he did a great job of scrutinizing it. He mumbled to himself, something like ‘a monster’. Before shuffling off, he patted the art with a nice and he didn’t know what to do with that.
It was four days of the same thing, minus the one guy convinced it was a message from Aliens. But he had tinfoil on his head so he didn’t think too much about it.
But then she showed up and if he could have become one with the brick wall he was leaned against, smoke curling from a cigarette as cool wind chilled him to the core, he would have disappeared. How did she even find this place?
Sober with music blaring as she shuffled through the alley, her eyes were downcast and he honestly didn’t think she would notice. But she stopped, automatically pulling the headphones from her ears as she stepped closer. She stared at it as if she could will it to life. It was when timid fingers and shaky hands reached out, skimming the detailed lines and intricate curves where he had filled in the spray paint with a brush, that he had to hold his breath.
The art had no shape, a simple outline of what could be a person or building. It was in front of a field of colour, neon signs it looked like and she didn’t know art could be so beautiful.
He couldn’t see her face but the side view gave him enough to work with. He could imagine wide eyes and mouth agape. He imagined painting her in a vivid arrangement of pastels and soft tones.
She read the words he had written above the art, Don’t Need To Be Seen, and if he hadn’t been so focused on her, he would have missed what she whispered into the night.
He loved silhouettes but he had never wanted to paint every detail of someone as he did her.
The next project he put on an abandoned billboard in the middle of town.
It was two days later that she showed up, a friend having told her about the art and she just knew it was by the same person and had to see it. The dark and unassuming clothes that she had, had on in the alley had been traded for jeans and a t-shirt. It made her seem happier in a way.
Her hair got caught in the wind as she shielded her eyes from the sun, looking up at the art. The sunset lit it just as he had hoped. The shadows made it look as if the art was moving, dancing. The silhouettes like a couple at a ball, spinning around in a waltz. The words above it written in delicate cursive But You Want to Be.
He sat on the bench in the park, across from the billboard. He hadn’t meant to show up today but his hands were itching to draw and he found himself here and as she sat beside him, looking up at it, he was thankful beyond belief.
He wished he had gotten the nerve to talk to her but as her lips parted, sun bathing her in reds and golden hues, he couldn’t breathe. His breath hitching further as she let out that same breathless whisper she had a few nights ago.
She found him this time, the piece almost finished. It was different this time, the entire thing coloured in and full of the intricate details he put in the background up front and center.
“Ashton?” He whirled around, startled that it was her that called him by name.
“Do I know you?” And it came out just a bit more rude than he would have liked but she was blushing as she stumbled over what she should say.
“Uh no, I, you, we.” She scrunched her nose as she pointed to the piece he was working on in the middle of the night. “You tag your art.”
“Right, sorry. That was rude of me.” He apologized louder then he wanted to but he wiped his hand on his pants as he held it out to her. “Ashton, but you knew that.” Could he be anymore awkward.
“Y/N.” She shook his hand with a smile that slowly faded as she saw what he was working on. “Is that?” He bit his lip, cursing the idea he thought of on the way over. He shouldn’t have done this.
“I saw you looking at the art and well.” He gestured and he expected her to be angry or even runaway from him but she reached for it before thinking twice. It might still be wet.
He moved before he could have a rational thought, like he might be being the creepiest person. But he took the smaller and more delicate hand in his and used it to trace the curves of the face.
She jerked back, hitting against his chest as he cursed himself because he thought she knew and him telling her made him seem like a creep. But she stayed put, hand still on the cheekbone of the half face. It was her side view, the one he had seen the last time they ‘met’ bathed in the same hues of the sunset. There was a field of the most beautiful sunflowers behind her, but instead of them being the main feature, they were blurred and the focus was on the centered portrait.
“I liked to watch when the people would come by, see what they thought. I have a job, I’m not crazy.” He tried to explain and when she didn’t answer he honestly thought she was devising a plan to kill him or something.
“Don’t need to be seen but you want to be. Shooting star, make a wish.” She strung together the words he had written over all the art and he glanced down at her, shocked to find she was already looking up at him. “What does it mean?”
“Make a wish to be of importance, to be seen.” He answered before he could stop himself. He didn’t want to lie to her, it was like she was the only one that had ever understood him and the pieces he created.
“Love.” She whispered, eyes searching his and softly a smile bloomed on her face when she realized she had been on the same page as him the entire time.
“Yeah.” He replied, kissing her would be too much. They didn’t even know each other but it felt like they had known each other longer than the years they had been on the Earth.
“Do you mind if I stay while you finish it?” She questioned, slowly stepping out of his arms but not straying too far.
“Would you like to help?”
“I’m no artist.” She protested but he bent, picking up the black can of paint and holding it out to her.
“I’m sure your handwriting is better than mine. Want to fix that?” And she agreed, smiling as he started a conversation about, well, anything and everything. They were two strangers wrapped in the darkness of night, whispered words and adrenaline fueled as they were already making plans to meet up and do this again. Maybe grab some dinner first.
And as he glanced over at her, spraying carefully as to not screw up what he had already done, he couldn’t help but come to the conclusion that she was his muse. And would always be.
“The ‘Muse’ is not an artistic mystery, but a mathematical equation. The gift are those ideas you think of as you drift to sleep. The giver is that one you think of when you first awake.”
I am in love with this. I am in love with the idea of Artist!Ash. Excuse me while I have a ton of feelings. Thank you for requesting. :)
I had a dream where like 80% of the time Karamatsu says he is going out to look for his Karamatsu girls he is actually going out to the local park/train station/ busy street corner and busking. He keeps it secret from his brothers because he knows they will make fun of him.
He is actually really good, both at playing his guitar and singing. His voice is the quieter crooning type and he knows a lot of songs and will gladly take requests. He is good at playing by ear and can quickly pick up new songs and likes to improvise his own tunes. He’s not the best at writing his own music however, since he tends to write really flowery pop type songs and he doesn’t have the voice to match them.
He actually has a bit of an underground following (he has no idea it exists). His followers call him “Jacket and shades” since they don’t know anything else about him and if anyone sees him playing they quickly post his location to social media so that others can go listen. He has been the start of many impromptu jam sessions as other buskers or people that like his sound will come out with their own instruments and join him. He always insists the earnings are split 50/50 when that happens.
At the end of the day he quickly heads to the bank and puts most of his earnings in a bank account so that his brothers won’t take it all from him. He is actually starting to save up a fair amount.
Each of his brothers have actually walked right by him while he was busking but have never noticed him. It is the only time he is glad that his brothers never notice or pay attention to him.