#i didn’t notice until i used crayons in my art this semester

[theftshrubbery]

ever since someone said my art looks like crayons i haven’t been the same

[prayedtoyou]

overrated - read it on ao3

<<  when you get home, will you help me with a project?

>>  sure thing. i have to stop by the gas station on my way back, want anything?

<<  yeah, grab me some of those chocolate covered raisins that i like

>>  you got it. see you in 15

Dean had plans to go home after his three classes of the day to watch Netflix with his hand in his pants and eat pepper jack Cheez-Its until his stomach hurt, but he supposes it wouldn’t hurt to cancel those plans to help out his roommate for a few hours. Dean doesn’t often interrupt plans with himself, especially on a day where he doesn’t have any homework and he doesn’t have to show up for a shift at the salvage yard, but Cas is someone Dean doesn’t mind giving up a  few luxuries for.

Dean met Cas in their Design 101 class during freshman year. It was nothing more than a foundation class, one that Dean and Cas had to take in pursuit of their BFA degrees in film and television, and photography, respectively. Dean expected to jack off to the course by flirting with the fellow classmates while still paying just enough attention to pass the class and turn in projects and assignments on time, but when Cas started sitting next to him in the third week of the semester and heckled him about listening to the professor and taking better notes, Dean really started to buckle down and take it a little more seriously.

They’ve been friends ever since. They had late night study sessions during their first year when they were only an elevator ride away from each other’s dorm rooms. Their first college summer was mostly spent at the Biggerson’s just off SCAD’s campus where Cas served tables; Dean would come in to bother him, drink coffee, and take advantage of the free WiFi. They found an apartment they could barely afford just south of the metro area and moved in a week before the new school year started. They still have that same apartment.

This was to Charlie’s disappointment, at first. She had suggested moving in together before Cas had and Dean had been on the fence about it. He loved Charlie, they got along, she understood his nerdy references, they had similar taste in women--but he had been holding out for another photography major to make his move. She quickly forgave him when she met and later moved in with her girlfriend, Dorothy.

There was just something about Cas that set him apart from Dean’s other friends. It might have to do with how passionate Cas was about his classes and major; since sixth grade, he’s known that he would grow up to be a photographer for National Geographic so he could travel the world and take pictures of all his favorite creatures. Or it might have to do with his sense of humor--a little dark and always just flirtatious enough to make Dean wonder just how serious he is and whether or not he should laugh or take him up on his offers.

More than likely, though, it has to do with how attractive he is, how his smile is so bright it puts the sun to shame, how his laugh makes Dean’s heart swell up like a helium balloon, how he’s intelligent and eloquent, but also absolutely clueless about a lot of stuff Dean considers to be required life knowledge. Does most of that knowledge revolve around Star Wars, Back to the Future, and Indiana Jones movie references? Yes, but that’s beside the point.

And that’s what led Dean to living with the guy for going on three years, to spending entire days dedicated to showing Cas his favorite movies and shows, to picking up dark chocolate Raisinets on his way home from school, to walking into their apartment and calling out Cas’s name just like Ricky Ricardo.

Cas shouts back from the opposite side of the apartment where their bedrooms are. Dean finds Cas in his room, furniture pushed away from one wall and replaced with Cas’s favorite reading chair from the living room (that old, forest-green armchair that Cas found at an antique store on the Savannah River that Dean verbally hated, but secretly used when Cas wasn’t around because it’s about the most comfortable thing in the world), and a camera set up on a tripod facing the chair. Cas is wearing that white button down that looks especially good against the tan he got over the summer, the one that matches Dean’s after they spent several long days on Tybee Island right before their senior year started.

“So, what’s the project?” Dean asks, handing over the box of Raisinets. He curses at himself for forgetting to get a snack of his own while he was out.

Cas takes the box with a smile. “Thanks, Dean. This one is based on touch and what emotions it brings out in us, but we can’t have more than one subject in the shot. So, I need you to put this on.” Cas reaches out and drops a small black object into Dean’s palm.

It’s… a tube of lipstick.

“Uh, Cas? I thought we’ve established that I’m not really much of a model.”

Cas rolls his eyes, no doubt remembering the arguments they had on the river walk during their second year when Cas tried to shoot Dean for an assignment that ended up with them deciding that Dean would stick with filming and Cas would recruit performing arts majors to be his models. “I know, I'm not taking pictures of you, you’re taking pictures of me. I already have the camera focused and everything, you just need to put that on, give me a few kisses, and snap some pictures.”

Dean’s brain short-circuits. “K-kisses?”

“Yeah. I’m using lipstick kisses to represent my past relationships and how I feel about them touching me. Just cheek and forehead kisses. We’re not going to be Frenching or anything.”

“Oh.” Dean looks down at the lipstick, caught somewhere between disappointment and relief, wondering if it would be better or worse if these kisses were meant for Cas’s lips instead of the rest of his face. Would it even be right of him to take Cas up on this offer when he already fantasizes about putting kisses all over Cas’s skin? Would it be wrong for their first kisses to be over some project? “I don’t know how I feel about this, Cas.”

“About what, kissing me? They’re not even real kisses, you just have to pucker up like you're kissing your mom.”

Dean chews on his lip. Would it be so bad to take advantage of the situation and indulge in something he’s wanted since their second semester together? Shouldn’t he be a good friend and roommate and help Cas with his project, no matter the requirements?

Cas must see the uncertainty in Dean’s expression because he continues with, “Come on, Dean, we’re graduating next semester, we’re practically professionals. Are you really going to be embarrassed about a little lipstick when you could be filming HBO sex scenes a year from now?”

Dean looks back up at Cas. If he’s going to insist, who is Dean to tell him no? “Alright, asshole, I’ll do it. But you owe me.”

Cas smiles wide and, damn, Dean would wear lipstick every day if it meant Cas would look at him like that. “Okay, there’s a mirror behind you. It doesn’t have to be perfect, just put some on and lay it on me.”

Dean turns to find Cas’s mirror hung up with his portfolio. Photos are hung, tacked, and taped up from vacations, day trips, school projects, and family holidays. Dean is up there a few times: laughing on the opposite side of the table from Cas at Biggerson’s, a selfie of the two of them under the unflattering flash of a smartphone in a dark movie theater, the only good shot Cas got of Dean that day on the river walk, Dean asleep on the couch with a book folded up in his arms like a teddy bear.

Dean didn’t even know Cas took that last one.

He puts on the lipstick, ignoring the photos of himself. It’s definitely not as easy as he thought it would be--staying inside the lines was something he’s improved upon since childhood, but crayons are a lot different from makeup. He manages to swipe the color onto his face, grimacing at the taste of it.

When he looks back at Cas, all he gets is a blank stare and a slight nod. Feeling less than confident with deep red lips, Dean steps up to the plate.

“Where do you want it?”

Dean can hear the click of Cas’s throat as he swallows. He raises a hand, pointing to the knob of his left cheekbone.

“Here.”

Dean steps just a little closer. Cas is about his height, maybe an inch shorter, but it’s not even noticeable when Dean tilts Cas’s face up with a finger and thumb gently pinching his chin. He leans in and--smells Cas’s shampoo, notices the pores on his nose, finds trimmed whiskers along his cheeks--presses his lips right where Cas wanted them.

With the lipstick, Dean can’t taste Cas’s skin, but he can smell the face wash where his nose is sticking into Cas’s temple. Like pomegranates.

When he pulls away, he knows he’s blushing, but he has no way of hiding it, so he just smiles and says, “That’s a good color for you.”

Cas, a little pink himself, scoffs. “Just take the picture, Taylor Swift.”

Cas takes his seat, Dean steps behind the camera. He clicks the shutter button a few times, watching Cas’s face on the screen. He’s leaning his face up and slightly away, lips parted, eyes cast toward the door instead of the lense. It’s a great angle to show off that jawline of his.

Dean was never destined to be a model, but Cas looks just as good in photos as he does in real life. He knows exactly how to position himself, which light to use, how his face should look. He could model, if he ever wanted. Dean asked him if he would star in a short film Dean had to film, but Cas just laughed and said if he wanted to act he would have gone into performing arts.

“That should be enough,” Cas notes, and Dean realizes that he had taken way too many photos while thinking about Cas’s face. He backs away from the camera. “I’ll need a fresh layer for each kiss, so apply some more lipstick.”

Dean does as he’s told and goes back to Cas to kiss him again. This time it’s just above Cas’s right eyebrow. They go on like this a handful more times, until Cas has lipstick stains across his entire face. Each time feels like the first, and Dean has a harder and harder time removing his lips from Cas’s skin as they progress through the photos. Cas doesn’t seem to be as phased--he sits right down and assumes his pose. In each and every picture, Cas mostly just looks sad.

“Why do you look like that?” Dean finally asks after the sixth kiss, snapping pictures.

Cas unfurrows his brow and looks up from the floor. “Like what?”

“Like your dog just died.”

Cas cracks a small smile. “These kisses represent each of my exes and how I felt about my relationships with them.”

“They were all that bad?”

“They certainly weren’t good. After being cheated on, left for someone else, and dumped over text, I don’t exactly have fond memories of most of these people.”

“I remember when that dickhead Balth slept with that web designer. You didn’t leave the house for a week.”

“You took me to the Atlanta Aquarium and pointed at all the ugliest fish and said they looked like him.”

“And I was right. ”

When Cas smiles broadly, Dean sneaks in another picture. The shutter of the lense gives him away, but Cas doesn’t mention it.

“Remember when I watched 500 Days of Summer eight times in two days?” Cas asks. “That’s because Hannah kept telling me she didn’t want a relationship and ended up leaving me for someone who she got engaged to after five months.”

Dean chuckles low under his breath. “Yeah, I remember. I had to force you into the shower and then we went out for burgers.”

“And when Gadreel drunk texted me all the things he hated about me--”

“We toilet papered his frat house and went to a baseball game the next day. We got so sunburnt.”

Cas laughs at the memory and Dean captures it with the camera. He looks so much better like this, happy and covered in kisses from someone who actually cares about him. He deserves to be this happy for the rest of his life.

Cas sobers up and looks at Dean. His expression is soft, something closer to adoration than anything else. Dean wonders if he’s just amused  by the makeup.

“You were always there for me, Dean.”

Since Dean can’t take a compliment to save his life, he shrugs it off. “I was just trying to be a good friend. You did the same for me when Lisa and I broke up.”

They go quiet for a moment. Dean reflects back on the two weeks after their break up. Dean was drinking daily, taking whiskey in a travel mug to his classes, going to bars at night, falling asleep on the couch with a bottle in his hands. It took Cas several tries to get him out of his rut, first by asking Dean what was wrong, then by requesting that he eat something solid, and finally by whacking him with his rolled up yoga mat until Dean cleaned himself up and changed into some fresh clothes.

Dean had grumbled about it for a few days, but it was just what he needed. He couldn’t mope around forever and fall into a pit of alcoholism just because his year-long girlfriend finally got fed up with his shit. Cas spent extra time with him that month, changing his schedule and cancelling plans to hang out or do homework in the same room as him, occasionally reaching out to lay a hand on Dean’s shoulder or knocking their feet together to remind him that he wasn’t alone. It helped tremendously.

The worst part wasn’t losing Lisa, it was coming to terms with everything he had been trying to deny since he was seventeen. His attraction to men was something he first noticed when a new kid came to his high school and he fell for the linebacker build and honey-sweet Cajun accent. But after dating women exclusively his whole life, the last thing he wanted was for Cas to feel like some sort of experiment.

“What happened? With Lisa. You never told me.”

Cas catches his eye, but Dean directs his gaze away quickly, suddenly finding the curves of the camera very interesting.

“I, um… I wasn’t very good to her. I was kind of using her to get past a crush I had on someone, but it didn’t go away and she said she couldn’t keep living like that. Like she was competing to be my girlfriend. I don’t blame her one bit, she was right to leave me. I just thought, if it was just a crush, it wouldn’t be a problem once I was with someone else, but when I couldn’t stop liking them…”

Dean chances a look at Cas, who looks just as sad as he had in those pictures. His eyes are wide and it almost looks comical with all the lipstick kisses on his face.

“I realized it was more than just some crush,” Dean finishes lamely.

Every part of him wants to tell Cas. But what would be the point? The two of them will graduate and Cas will become the next most famous National Geographic photographer and Dean will be looking for work as a camera holder on low budget movies and shows that may or may not be cancelled halfway through filming. He could always turn to porn as a last resort, but he'll never make it as far as Cas and he’ll never make it with Cas.

In the beginning, he didn’t want to ruin their relationship. They worked well together, whether it was study sessions or getting back at exes or picking out mismatching furniture at second-hand stores. He worried about losing his friend. Now he doesn’t want to say anything because he knows he’s going to lose Cas one way or another, and it will hurt less if they don’t get involved with each other any more than they already are.

Cas takes a deep breath, processing the information. He searches the room. His eyes land back on the camera.

“I have one more shot to get.”

Dean blinks. It’s what he expected. It wouldn’t matter if Dean subtly tried to imply how in love he is with Cas or if he bluntly told him, he would always get the cold shoulder. It’s for the best, he tries to convince himself. Any other way would just end in a bigger heartbreak than necessary.

He turns back to the mirror. He finds the photo of him and Cas in the movie theater again. He can’t remember what movie they saw, but their faces are nearly touching and Dean’s arm is around Cas and he wishes more than anything that he’d taken the chance to kiss him back then. Because, what’s the quote? ‘Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all. Does it count when Dean is, technically, in love, but just hasn’t voiced it yet?

With a new coat of lipstick, he faces Cas again. He’s standing in the middle of the room, right next to the camera, ready for his last kiss. Dean musters up all his fake confidence and closes the distance between them, standing just a little closer than he had before.

“And this time?” Dean asks.

Cas looks hesitant. Maybe he’s finally realizing that he should have chosen someone else to kiss him over and over again. Someone who he wouldn’t have to awkwardly live with afterwards. Someone who wouldn’t have made a straightforward project into something uncomfortable.

His hand comes up to his face. He points a single finger to his bottom lip.

“Here.”

Dean’s breath catches in his throat. He hunts for any sort of lie in Cas’s eyes, any indication that he didn’t want it, that he wanted to take it back. But Cas just looks right back at him, waiting, patient.

Dean fits the corner of Cas’s jaw into the center of his palm, runs his thumb across Cas’s cheek. A lipstick kiss smears under the pad of his finger, wiping into nothing but a blur, just like the memory of whichever lover that one was meant to be.

When their lips meet, Dean forgets about every single reason he didn’t let himself have this before. Everything in his head melts away until there’s just Cas and mouth and hands and Cas and Cas and Cas.

Cas doesn’t hold back. He grips Dean’s waist like a life raft in the middle of the ocean, opens his mouth and moans when Dean slips his tongue in. He takes everything Dean gives him. He moves his head aside when Dean trails his mouth along his jaw and down his neck, kissing and sucking and nipping at the skin. Dean pulls him closer, desperate to feel as much of Cas as he possibly can.

Dean feels like he’s shaking, or maybe vibrating, with need. Everything is tilting, moving, wavering around him. The lights could blow and he wouldn't even notice, he’s too wrapped up, too confused about which way is left or right.

Their mouths come together again and the world straightens out on its axis. They slow down, brushing their lips together the way pages of a book slide against one another. They take their time. They learn the way they move with each other.

Eventually, they part. Not to gasp for breath, but to rest their foreheads together; to align their hearts. Between them, Dean can smell Cas’s toothpaste and taste the lipstick.

“We should do projects together more often,” Dean concludes humorlessly.

“I think we should skip the projects and just make out,” Cas counters.

Dean pulls back to laugh quietly at Cas, but then sees his face. Cas is covered in lipstick, all around his mouth, his chin, across his jaw, down his neck. The makeup follows the patterns of Dean’s kisses, right down to where he had sucked Cas’s earlobe into his mouth.

He lets loose, practically wheezing at the state of Cas’s face. Dean’s must look similar, because Cas erupts into laughter too and they both sink into each other, bodies convulsing in their arms.

“Come on, come on. One more picture,” Cas begs, pulling out of Dean’s grasp and positioning himself on the chair. He couldn't wipe that smile off his face if he tried, and it looks like he isn’t putting in any effort at all to push it away.

Dean presses the shutter button three times, hoping at least one of them is a good shot, before diving around the camera to pull Cas into his embrace again.

The lipstick ends up on chests, wrist, bed sheets, and hips, but they don’t mind. They might even keep the tube for another time.

tags below the cut!

@sweatercas | @queenvee08 | @fierydeans | | @scamp-00 | @cottondean | @hallowedbecastiel | @wanderingcas | Please let me know if you’d like to be added to/taken off the list!

[getoutofthewater]

@dbhrarepairs Tuesday Day 2: Highschool AU / Unrequited

[Gavin/Leo]

Rating:  G

Warnings: None

Words: 2,266 [AO3 Link]

Notes: Leo’s visit to Carl is based on Indig0’s beautiful short [Let Down]

He went over his calculus homework as he waited for the usual tap on his window, calculus was fucking useless but he needed a decent grade if he wanted to stay in the wrestling team, and Elijah had already told him he wasn’t going to help him cheat, the prick. 

Gavin turned on his desk lamp, glanced at the window, it was getting dark and that idiot hadn’t arrived. Gavin frowned without meaning too, Leo was not a creature of habit, he’d start something and leave it half done because a moth or similar distracted him, but he always came on Thursdays after his ice skating lessons. He’d done so since they had met in 7th grade, and from then to now at 16 It had never failed, not even that time Leo had broken his wrist trying out a jump that was too hard for him yet, the idiot still climbed up to his window instead of knocking at the door like a sane person.

If Gavin wasn’t there when he arrived, he’d come in and just live it up in Gavin’s bedroom as if it were his own, Leo had no shame, Leo didn’t really think before he acted and maybe that was the only reason they were friends, anyone who actually spared a thought to their actions wouldn’t walk up to Gavin and just start making conversation. Gavin had a total of 3 close friends, Tina who was his friend because they had known each other since they ate crayons, Elijah because he was his cousin and Gavin was going to live with him and his Aunt and Uncle for the foreseeable future and Leo, because Leo was a fool.

“Mom says she’s leaving dinner for us in the fridge” Elijah knocked at his door “You and Leo can come get it whenever, I’ll be working on my robot”

His cousin looked like a sleep deprived, sickly raccoon, same creepy long-fingered, clammy human-like hands and nocturnal habits. Gavin had been living with him for years now and he still wondered if Elijah actually slept, or ate, or did anything else that normal people did. His cousin looked around the room “Where is he?”

Gavin shrugged “Who knows, I’m not that idiot’s keeper”

“Did you have fight?” Elijah asked, this was unusual, his cousin usually avoided conversation as much as he could (unless it was about code or robots or computers) Gavin could relate to that (not the robots part), maybe it was a family trait like the coffee addiction.

“What did you do?” Elijah asked

“Nothing” Gavin huffed, at least nothing he was conscious of

“You should ask Tina what was it that you did” Elijah said

“Why the hell are you fixating on this?” Gavin said irritably

“He’s always here on Thursdays” Elijah unlike Leo was very much a creature of habit “He’s often here, but he never fails on Thursdays, mom even counts him for dinner, he was here even when he broke his wrist or last year when he got mono”

Leo’s mom had come to retrieve him 3 times ‘I don’t even feel that bad,’ Leo had said before falling asleep immediately, drooling his mono infected spit right into Gavin’s pillow covers.

“He must have forgotten” Gavin said “He’s busy with school and shit,”

“I’d ask Tina to make sure if I were you” Elijah said before closing the door to Gavin’s room.

Gavin finished his homework, glancing at the empty window far too often for comfort, he had the dinner his aunt had left in the fridge while Leo’s share remained uneaten; he prepared to go to bed putting on the old hoodie and sweats he wore to sleep. Once there he checked his email, nothing new, checked the social media accounts that Leo and Tina had made him open. Leo had no new posts.

“Did I do anything?” he texted

“U r using your words!!! Must be important” Tina replied

He usually only communicated through emojis Tina and Leo could read like hieroglyphics

“Did I do anything?” Gavin texted again

“Did you?”

“Tina…”

“What u mean?”

“Did I do anything, as in worse than usual?”

“Well you DID punch Connor in the stomach for NO GOOD REASON, and you told Mr. Anderson he stank of booze to his face, and you did throw your coffee right to Richard’s head, everyone knows it was on purpose by the way, and you pushed Simon out of your way, you can be such an absolute bully sometimes, that kid looks like a dying victorian child”

… Tina is typing

“I don’t give a fuck about any of that, I mean to Leo and shit”

Tina stopped typing and restarted again

“Not that I know of, why? Did he say anything?”

“He didn’t come today”

“Oh shoot!” Tina texted back “It mustn’t have gone great with his dad then”

Phck, Gavin had forgotten that was today.

Leo had gone on and on about how his mom was going to take him to meet his dad for the very first time this week, he was some famous, rich art geezer or something. Gavin didn’t fucking understand why Leo was so eager to please someone who’d never showed one iota of interest in knowing him. Gavin and Leo had met at a time when Leo still talked and asked his mom about his dad often, he worried about his dad often, waited for any signal of his dad often, wondered why he wasn’t good enough for his dad often, and Gavin knew he still did all of that only he didn’t say it aloud. It wasn’t good that Leo wasn’t currently sitting at Gavin’s desk babbling away about how awesome and incredible his dad was, staying up until 1 am because he had to tell every single detail of the day to Gavin as soon as humanly possible.

Gavin got up not even bothering to change out of his pajamas “I’m going out, Elijah!” He shouted as he went down the stairs, he thought he heard a muted response from his cousin. His uncle was on a business trip, and his aunt wouldn’t return from her shift until late in the morning. He went to the garage for his bike.

He pedaled through the suburb streets, it was a cool, quiet night, and Leo’s house wasn’t far. When he got there Leo’s room was dark, there was a light on in the kitchen and another in his mom’s music room. Gavin circled the house trying to find a way to go up to Leo’s bedroom window, just like Leo always got to his. He tried to stand on the porch railing to get on the ceiling. The railing gave up under his weight, but no fucking problem he had enough upper body strength to get himself up, how mad would Leo’s mom be about him destroying her house was something he didn’t bother to think about.

“You better get the fuck out of my fucking property motherfucker!,” Lorelei Martinet came out of her house charging like a viking warrior, holding a baseball bat in one hand and her cellphone presumably with *91* dialed already, in the other “I have had a day, and I’m eager to hit something, I’ll fucking end you!” she wasn’t one to ask someone to do something for her if she could get it done herself

“Miss Martinet” Gavin said sounding a bit strangled, the rain gutter was starting to hurt his hands rather unpleasantly, but if he let go he’d probably impale his leg on the splintered wood of the broken railing and there would go the wrestling team for this semester.

“Holy Fuck, kiddo!” Lorelei huffed “What the hell are you doing, I could have beaten you to a pulp,”

“Is Leo home?” he asked, trying to sound as casual as he could, hanging from the ceiling like that corny ‘hang in there’ poster the school nurse had in her office, he’d never felt more fucking stupid

Lorelei huffed out a laugh “hang in there” She said and Gavin thought that the rumors of Leo’s mom probably being a witch were true, she must be reading his mind, just like her to make fun of him, like mother, like son “I’ll bring you a ladder” she added

Gavin waited for what seemed like hours but wasn’t even a minute, with his hands killing him until he felt the relief of his weight being taken by the metal ladder “It’s late, don’t even think you are going back,” Lorelei said firmly “I’ll text your aunt to tell her you are staying over” she said, in a tone that meant it wasn’t optional.

“Fine” he said getting onto the ceiling, you had to have common sense enough to know when your opponent was much more powerful than you, especially if they were a witch

He knocked on Leo’s window, noticing that his nightlight was on; he could be such a kid at times. There was no movement in the bedroom and Gavin thought he may be sleeping, or maybe wearing his headphones. He got his phone out

“I’m outside your window, dumbass”

Finally signs of life, the glow of Leo’s phone, and then the idiot himself moving under his weighted blanket, Gavin’s phone lit up with a notification

“It’s open”

For fucking real, Gavin thought, pushing up the window and walking to the pile of blankets he assumed to be Leo. He pushed them down putting all his weight on it

“What are you doing?!” Leo’s muted complaint came from under the covers

“Checking if you are alive, dumbass” Gavin replied

“Not for long if you keep crushing me!” Leo said finally coming out of his blanket, his hair was messed up, and his eyes were puffy and red

“You sick or what?” Gavin said, getting on the bed and scooting until he could sit with his back against the wall

“Are you in your pajamas?” Leo asked sleepily

“Are you?”

“Of course I am, I’m in my house trying to sleep” Leo said “Weirdo!” Leo curled under his blanket again

“Aren’t you going to tell me how it went with your old man and shit?” Gavin said, kicking gently at the blankets, feeling he was really bad at this

“There’s nothing to tell” Leo said

Leo having nothing to say was bad news. There was a sleepy silence in the room while Gavin sat on Leo’s bed watching the teal-green sparkles from his nightlight twirl on the walls.

“If you are like cold, I’ll share my blanket” Leo said eventually, holding the weighted blanket up for Gavin to get in.

Gavin lay on the bed next to Leo, it wasn’t awkward, they had been having sleepovers for what seemed like forever, only it was usually Leo in his room and very rarely the other way around. Gavin vaguely realized, as much as a 16 year old could, that he was selfish, careless, letting Leo do all the work.

“You okay?” Gavin forced himself to ask after a while

“I don’t think he liked me at all” Leo said, sounding defeated  “I just felt so stupid all the time, he asked me about school and the things I wanted to do, and I told him about going exploring abandoned places and whatever, and he just– Everything I do and like felt so stupid and small and pointless“

“He sounds like a prick” Gavin said derisively “Don’t worry about that fucker, he gives you money, right? Who cares about anything else?”

“I just” Leo said “I just wanted him, I don’t know, I knew he wouldn’t like love me or anything but I thought he may like me a little”

“Fuck him, who gives a shit about that crusty prick” Gavin said “Your mom loves you”

“I know” Leo said sounding more like himself

“I love you,” Gavin said, “Not, not like your mom does, but I do” he said awkwardly because he meant it and he’d probably not be able to say it again in years, but even Gavin with his atrophied emotional intelligence knew Leo really needed to know people loved him today.

“What?!”

“You heard me, I’m not fucking saying it again” Gavin said daring to look at Leo’s face “Don’t fucking cry! I’m not telling you so you cry, dumbass!”

“I’m not fucking crying” Leo sniffed “You really mean it, is not like you are only saying it to make me feel better?”

“Have I ever said anything to make anyone feel better?” Gavin said drily  

Leo hugged him then, cuddling up to his chest, Gavin felt his face grow hot and he was glad Leo couldn’t see him blushing

“I love you too, like a lot,” Leo said into his chest “a lot, a lot, do you wanna go on sort of like a date over the weekend?”

“sort of?”

“No,” Leo replied “a date, date”

“We can bike to that abandoned amusement park you talked about the other day,” Gavin suggested “the one with that old merry-go-round”

“Don’t you think that would be stupid?”

“Do you think it would be stupid?”

“No… I think it would be super neat” Leo said softly “We can see if we can make the merry-go-round work” Leo added sleepily

Gavin didn’t have to answer to that, Leo fell asleep just as he usually did, all of a sudden and without warning, not surprising when he was tired and spent up from crying. Gavin drifted off to sleep as well, thinking the merry-go-round would be a great place for their first kiss; Leo was the type of sappy idiot that’d love that type of thing.

[speckofglitter]

get it together - kny

→ word count ; 1.3k

→ genre ; fluff | angst if you squint ??

→ pairings ; artistl!yoshinori x artistl!y/n

everything is an art form. yet you always seemed to have the wrong paintbrushes or a shaky hand.

yoshinori is lying on his bed, watching you paint. he's admiring you, eyebrows furrowed and tongue poking out as you try to mix the right shades together. you've been working on this painting for the past 3 hours and it still doesn't look quite right. you step away from your canvas, observing it at a different angle before giving up.

you sigh, settling down onto the bed next to yoshinori as he gives you an encouraging smile.

'i'm tired.' you sigh out.

'then let's sleep.'

'yoshi?' you mutter.

'hmm?' he responds.

'can you give me a goodnight kiss?' you plead. he widens his eyes in disbelief, making you laugh out loud.

'fine.' he moves closer, placing a quick kiss on your cheek before licking your cheek and running away.

'argh yoshi that's disgusting!' you yell out, running after him.

yoshinori is your best friend and lifeline. he's the only one keeping you sane. you rant to him about your struggles as an art student, the exorbitant prices of art supplies and about how much your art teacher absolutely hates your guts. you sleep over at his apartment anytime you have a big assignment due. he keeps you calm. you still remember the day you met him. you were in the campus art studio, having a panic attack. you looked like a shell of a human being, shoulders hunched over as you cried over your sketchbook. yoshinori had walked in, choosing to sit beside you, softly stroking your hair as you cried and explained your frustrations. if he hadn't been there you probably would have ended up breaking your expensive crayons and brushes in half. he was so approachable and warm. you supposed there were no strangers in yoshinori's world, only new friends. you two quickly became inseparable after that day.

-

you wake up to an amazing smell. yoshinori's side of the bed is empty so you look around, trying to find him. he always makes your favorite nutella pancakes when you sleep over. it's become a tradition.

'come in.' he says, turning around to find you peeking from behind the kitchen door.

'good morning, thanks for the breakfast.' you smile, giving him a quick hug as he flips another pancake. his hair is still slightly damp from his shower, the smell of his cotton candy shampoo engulfing you.

you settle down onto the table, scrolling through your instagram feed as yoshinori finishes making the pancakes.

'yoshi, do you think i can make it as an artist?' you ask in between bites.

yoshinori looks at you, stunned by your sudden question. you take a huge bite of pancake, nervously waiting for his answer.

'i know you will.' he answers after a moment.

'you do know mr. clent hates me right? i haven't gotten a single grade above a B this whole semester...' you whisper.

'it's not always about the grades, especially in a creative field. when i see your art, i feel like it's going to jump off the canvas and come alive. your art tells stories that no one else can tell. that's your weapon.' he explains.

he smiles at you and it's that smile. the smile that makes you feel like all of your dreams can come true and everything will be okay. you stuff another bite of pancake in your mouth, desperately trying to ignore the way your heart is pounding inside your chest.

'you're a really good talker mr. kanemoto' you shake your head, trying to hide your smile.

-

after a quick shower, you're back to painting. a weak stream of light peers through the small window in yoshinori's room, making you look angelic.

you hear beeping and turn around to see yoshinori on his phone texting. sometimes, you wished yoshinori wasn't so popular. he wasn't only liked by students, he was also mr. clent's favorite student. the promising art prodigy. whenever there was an art exhibition, girls would flock to his side. they would ask irrelevant questions about his artworks, mostly interested in the way he would sip white wine and arch his perfect eyebrows as he talked about technique and color theory. surprisingly, he never worked on his drawings in front of you. he probably didn't want you to have a mental breakdown over how talented he was compared to you. you turn back around, painting more aggressively this time.

is it normal to feel slightly envious?

-

'wanna get some coffee?' he asks.

'yes please, i feel like i'm going to go insane if i see one more speck of gold' you laugh, grabbing your cardigan from his chair.

you walk towards the campus café, noticing the cold breeze as you wonder how yoshinori can wear ripped jeans in this weather.

-

yoshinori rests his hand on his chin, staring at you with an endearing look. you're ranting about yet another annoying professor as he swirls his straw around, taking frequent sips of his matcha latte. you talk with your hands, bright eyes twinkling as you get to the key point in your story.

yoshinori thinks about how fitting your drink choice is, a caramel macchiato. you pretend to be a bitter artist yet deep down you're the sweetest person he has ever met. you're always frustrated because you run on hope. hope that the world would be a little better, a little kinder. he memorizes the way your lips purse as you take a sip, planning to make you his next project. for him, it came easily. the lines and the shapes came together in his head as soon as he saw you.

-

summer is settling in and you no longer have to worry about strict professors and artist statements. it's 9pm when you burst into yoshinori's apartment, a tiny bottle of red wine in your front jean pocket. yoshinori doesn't bother asking questions as he lets you in.

'you know that guy i went on a date with last week? i can't believe that jerk ghosted me.. you know what? fuck him he looked like a noodle anyways.' you yell out, walking past yoshinori to sprawl yourself onto his couch. yoshinori chuckles to himself, watching you drink straight out of the tiny red wine bottle. even during rough times you absolutely refused to drink hard liquor.

you notice that yoshinori is drying his hair with a fluffy looking pink towel as he sits next to you. you try not to stare but he looks really, really good.

'not to put you down when you're having a rough time but could you take some of your skincare products home? your 13 bottles of rosewater and clay masks are taking up all the counter space in my bathroom.' he says, running a hand through his damp hair.

'fine. guess i'll just be bae-less and ugly.' you scoff, placing your legs over his.

'you're neither of those,' he whispers.

'what did you just say?' you raise an eyebrow.

he freezes, pink towel in hand as he realizes his mistake.

'i said... you're neither of those. you're beautiful y/n, i've told you that countless time.' voice not coming out nearly as steady as he would have hoped.

'yeah but i'm still bae-less' you whine.

'i could be your bae...' he mutters.

you picked a horrible time to take a swig of wine because the moment yoshinori says that you spit a mouthful of red wine right into his face.

'oh my god i'm so so sorry' you say as you grab the pink towel in his hands, dabbing onto his skin. you didn't realize you were so close until yoshinori places his hand above yours, taking the towel before kissing you softly. he hooks his hands around the back of your thighs as you wrap your legs tightly around his torso. your palms splay across his chest, pressing into him. you taste a little bitter and a little sour from the wine but yoshinori doesn't mind. you let out a small whine of protest as your lips separate.

'i can't do this anymore.  i can't pretend not to be into you anymore.'

'i like you too yoshi.... we could be together but you know... i should really to get my shit together before i try to be in a relationship...' you mumble.

'i don't need you to get your shit together y/n. but if you need help, i'll always be here for you. as your friend or as your bae. you call the shots.' he winked.

-

you thought it over for a few days, isolating yourself in your room as you survived on cubes of cheese. yoshinori was beginning to think he had made a huge mistake by confessing to you. maybe you just weren't ready.

yoshinori had always been there for you, a little too generous if you were honest. you weren't scared of him breaking your heart. you were scared that one day he would wake up and realize he could do better. knowing him, he would probably break it to you in the kindest way possible. your mind wandered back to the first day you met him. if he wasn't ready to be in your life, he wouldn't have sat and comforted you for hours. he wouldn't put so much time and effort into making you pancakes every time you were at his apartment. he wouldn't have been the one and only person who motivated you as an artist.

you suddenly get up, putting on your sneakers as you rush to your kitchen cabinet, grabbing a bottle of vodka. you had never run so fast in your entire life. by the time yoshinori opens the door, you're out of breath and glowing with sweat.

'what are you doing here?' he questions.

'you said i could call the shots so i'm here.' you say, walking past him and into his kitchen as you look for shot glasses.

'let's cheers to us, being baes or whatever the kids say these days' you laugh, pouring him a shot.

as yoshinori watches you down your shot, he silently thanks whatever or whoever guided him to the art room on that day.

masterlist - requests are open !! - ya girl tiyi ❤️

[ivycreativewriting]

Explorer Reflection

1. When I first read the “ehi passiko” definition and the T.S. Elliot excerpt, I didn't contemplate their meanings thoroughly. I was too excited to jump into the book and begin learning how to be “an explorer of the world.” After I finished the book, however, and as I reflected on this question, I’ve come to realize how wonderful these two references are as introductions to what it means to be a true explorer. Smith utilizes these two references perfectly because they both require their audience to think critically and creatively about their meanings. To me, these references express the beauty of wonder and exploration and that there is never a stop light or end point in which your explorative journey should come to an end. If you're paying close enough attention and truly examining the possibility of creativity in “the little things,” you may end up asking brand new questions about the places you explored in the beginning of your journey. 2. Smith’s 13 rules on how to be an explorer of the world excited me greatly after reading them for the first time. Each of them is extremely inspirational and oozes creativity and possibility. My personal favorite is number 6 - “notice the stories going on around you.” As I completed this book and started this class, I’ve tried to incorporate these rules into my everyday habits. For example, as my college application due dates were coming up, I needed to write about ten different essays. I experienced some common writer's block for a long time until I decided to open my eyes. I began piecing together certain images as correlations to my life story (i.e. I discussed laundry in one essay, peanut butter in another, and crayons in the last). I discovered that using these rules/tools from this book allows me to find the absolute crazy or impossible scenario and relate to it. Another time I used these rules was during a meditation. I took out my book, read over the rules a dozen times, and reflected on their meanings for my personal journey. I had so much fun imagining my future self exploring the world as a student, tourist, adult, and writer! It has truly changed my perspective so far as a writer. 3. I have never been a mathematician or a serious lover of science in school. I have always been interested in the English, history, and of course, writing courses. However, when I read page 6, I began to think about how I’ve been an artist but also a scientist throughout my life. I came up with one distinct and important conclusion: I am artist through self-expression, and I am a scientist through curiosity. Scientists, as you know, discover a lot of important data. They pursue theories, ideas, and explorations. They do this because they ask questions. Although I didn't have the best time in my Chemistry Honors course at OLP, I am a scientist because I too ask questions and take risks when I write, when I am with my friends, when I am scared or nervous about the future, or when I am seeking answers. Although I now recognize this quality in myself, my goal for the rest of the semester is to take advantage of my curiosity and continue to help it grow in my writing career. 4. Out of the 8 explorations I completed, the one I consider the BEST representation of “art” would have to be Exploration #32, “World of Magic.” I love this exploration and its representation of Indo-European thinking because it allows imagination to run its course. It requires its audience to collect objects for their potential magic qualities and formulate fictional stories about the objects’ powers. Completing this exercise made me feel like a kid again, young and carefree without judgement and preconceived notions of the world. The possibilities were endless. I ended up choosing magic sea glass from the ocean. When worn around your neck, you are given the ability to swim like a mermaid and hold your breath underwater for hours. 5. As I completed the lovely journey of reading this workbook, there were a few unexpected turns that gave me new perspective. The most prominent moment would have to be when I went on a night walk in my neighborhood one night. It was 7:00 pm and very quiet. I walked for about 40 minutes and during the last 5 minutes coming home, I looked up for the first time. I saw a full moon and a sky full of stars. It was breathtaking. So, I decided to lay on my back in my driveway and stargaze for a little while. I ended up staying out there for another half hour, which worried my parents who came out to get me. That half hour, though, of just being and noticing all the beauty that exists in this world really opened my eyes to idea of possibility. I'm excited to continue this kind of exploration with nature and the world around me.