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j u n e  2 5  , s u n d a y  -  s u m m e r  ☀️

today is my last day of being lazy. tomorrow marks the first day of my year of dedication to productivity. i will do something every day! whether it be homework, exercising, or running errands, i will do something productive every day! if anyone wants to join in, use the tag #lastdayoflazychallenge !! i can’t wait to see your posts! let’s do this!!! ✨

im planning out my week and getting ready to start this thing strong!!! 

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tuesday night / 8:21pm {chapter 4 - part 5} 

Milo bows and smiles at the small crowd that gathered in front of him and proceeded to walk off stage. he made his way to the bathroom for a quick break after performing for 15 minutes straight. but what met his eye in a split second almost made him drop his guitar. “Kara? what- why are you here?” Milo says angrily. 

“you didn’t answer my calls. i had to see you. since there is no escaping me… can we step outside?” 

“K-Kara, we’re done. just like you said. what more is there to talk about? this is not the place and time to do this. Kara, get out.” 

Kara crosses her arms, impatiently tapping her foot and makes a face that looks like she’s almost holding in a loud yell. her eyebrows curl in and Milo can tell she’s starting to get real mad. for what reason? she broke up with him. she’s at fault. 

“Milo, for fucks sake! you know how we ended was all bad and i wanted to come and fix it… to fix us. i had a couple days to myself and i was able to clear my head… if you just give me the chance to explain myself…” 

Milo scratches his head, exhales deeply and places his guitar somewhere safe and motions her down to the elevator. “this better be worth my time, Kara.”

beginning | previously | next

bexybeegs  asked:

Welp, I just basically reblogged half your destiel posts... Sorrynotsorry because your blog is perfect and I don't know how I've lived without it for this long. 💙💚 You can thank @tinkdw for this.

Hey there!   It’s nice to meet you!

Glad you’re enjoying the queue.  Hopefully it will last into tomorrow afternoon.  Need to top it up :P

I thank @tinkdw for a lot of things.  Including but not limited to, my endless screaming in her inbox even when she’s not there

Crossed Wires

Summary: A charity gala brings you and Neal closer together, but misunderstandings running both ways threaten to end something before it can even start.

Word Count: 5,561

            Your history with romance was… not stellar. Had you a little more musical talent, you might’ve been the next Taylor Swift. The best, and longest-lasting, relationship you’d had was with Dairy Queen. So it stood to reason that the best decision for you was to be single for a while… and your next date should be with someone nice, sensitive, and considerate.

            Nowhere on your list of ‘qualities to look for’ did you find ‘convicted conman,’ so, of course, that’s obviously exactly the kind of person you had to go and get a crush on.

            From the day you’d joined Peter’s team, it seemed like you had Neal’s attention. At first, you thought his level of interest in you was just that he was friendly, but you watched what he did with other people. The only person in the office who Neal gravitated towards as much as he did you was Peter (completely understandable; they were partners, and they had a long history). Diana assured you that Neal’s interest would fade once you weren’t a stranger to him, but that didn’t happen. If anything, he sought you out even more.

            You thought the two of you were pretty close. He brought you coffee, you brought him lunch; when one of you had a lot of work, the other pulled up a chair and stayed late; when your best friend had to be rushed to the emergency room for an appendectomy, Neal was the one you called, and he was also the one who took your hand and distracted you from the sterile smell and the bustle of doctors. You spent as much time with him as you did with your aforementioned best friend. He even introduced you to Mozzie.

            It was impossible for you not to realize that Neal was nice, sensitive, and considerate, but there were so many reasons why you shouldn’t be interested that you tried very hard not to be, and chalked up the butterflies when he hugged you to being lonely.


            El jokingly said that her husband kept bringing home strays, but it wasn’t too far from the truth. Like Neal, you didn’t have many ties in New York, and the Burkes took to you like ducks to water. Before you really knew what was happening, you had a standing dinner date with Neal, Peter, and El every week.

            You all sat around a square-shaped dining table. Elizabeth and Neal were sitting on adjacent sides, and they were discussing the qualities of a caterer for an event she was managing on the coming weekend. Regrettably, you did not have the credentials to be on this specialized catering consulting board, so you and Peter were carrying on a quiet, alternative conversation.

            “Well, I’ve never really been a baseball fan, but I can get into team spirit.” You smiled. Neither El nor Neal were sports buffs, and admittedly, neither were you; but you liked watching games, even if you weren’t entirely sure what was happening, and baseball was more fun than basketball or football to be a spectator of.

            “Oh, it’s amazing.” Peter beamed. “That’s what’s on my bucket list: seeing another game at Yankee Stadium.”

            At first, it had been strange to talk about these things with your coworkers, and especially with Peter, your boss. You’d been so eager to join the bureau that you wanted to be adult, professional, mature, and you thought that to have an adult working relationship, you needed to check the personal stuff at the door. Maybe that was true with some teams, but Peter, Neal, Diana, and Jones were all very friendly, and they welcomed your friendship and your company, even off the clock.

            “Maybe we should take him to the parking lot and let him listen,” Neal said to El pointedly, grinning across the table at Peter, who scowled reproachfully.

            Peter looked back to you, rolling his eyes. “He’s still pouting because we met a suspect at some boutique, but I wouldn’t let him go in.”

            “It’s like taking you to a game and making you listen from outside!” Neal argued.

            From opposite sides of the table, El caught your eyes. She mouthed the word boys and shook her head. You giggled, then hurried to cover your mouth when both men looked at you with raised eyebrows, asking what was so funny. You quickly got busy looking at your drink, which was suddenly very fascinating.

            The brunette saved you. “The charity hosting the gala has been so happy with the spreads I’ve made,” she said, smiling proudly. Her hair was still in its shape from her meetings; cute ringlets danced by her face, and a floral white headband peeked out from under the neat swell of her hair. “Their Head of PR says they’re going to book me for their annual fundraiser, and they said I can bring some pluses on Sunday.” She cocked her head. “I know Peter will be delighted to come,” she said cheerfully.

            Peter, at that point, had been looking concerned and a little worried. When she decreed that he would definitely be attending, he made a sarcastic oh, surprise expression at you very quickly and then turned a sweet smile to El before he was caught, leaning across the table to peck her lips. “Of course, hon.”

            She smirked, knowing full well that Peter was faking. “Y/N, Neal,” she continued, and Peter turned his triumphant, playful look of victory on you. You were sure he’d have preferred to direct it to Neal, but the conman would actually enjoy going to a gala, so it would’ve been pointless. “You both are more than welcome to come, too. I’d love to have you there.”

            You were good at telling people no. In fact, it was one of your favorite things to do; exercising your rights to disappoint people who annoyed you was something you took great pleasure in at university. No, I won’t give you the answers; no, I won’t cover for you with the RA. Saying no to Elizabeth, however, was something you sincerely doubted was even possible, and even if you could’ve, you didn’t really want to. After the appendicitis scare, your roommate from college had gone home to recover, and then decided to move back to her hometown. El was probably the closest female friend you had within five hundred miles, and you were a believer in paying it forward.

            “I’d love to!” Neal answered, looking tauntingly across the table at Peter. “Someone has to be able to make small talk.” Peter grimaced. He knew his flaws.

            “Me, too,” you promised warmly. “Thanks, El. You’re the best.”

            She settled back in her chair, radiating content and confident vibes. You suspected she was holding Peter’s hand under the table now, because he had a dumb, lovestruck smile on his face that he only ever got when Elizabeth was involved. It was really adorable.

            “Oh, it’s a black-tie event,” she added as an afterthought, on a more serious vein. “So wear something nice. Dress like you’re going on a very classy date.”

            “Hey, Neal, good news, you can just dress normally.” You snickered, tongue-in-cheek, while Neal looked down at himself and smoothed his suit jacket.

            “There’s nothing wrong with being well-prepared,” he responded mouthily. There was a quirk of amusement to his lips. “Looks are everything.” Peter scoffed; Neal amended, “Well, perception is everything, and looks influence impressions.”

            “Easy for you to say, Casanova,” Peter grumbled.

            El cooed and pet her husband’s shoulder. Neal put a hand over his heart and feigned innocence before laughing heartily when you nodded seriously, agreeing with Peter.


            Peter had long since added the direct route to his residence to the allowed locations on Neal’s tracker, but when taking taxis, especially in the greater Manhattan area, the most direct route wasn’t always the one that was taken, so on your dinner nights, Peter didn’t tell the Marshals to lock down on the radius until after you assured him Neal was already back within his. It wasn’t fair to sound the alarms on Neal when he was legitimately going home, just screwed over by the public transportation system.

            “Did you have any plans before El commandeered your afternoon?” You asked Neal jokingly. El was sometimes a steamroller in dictating who was going to be where – you were going to have lunch with her, Peter was going to walk the dog, Neal will be consulting at her office – but truthfully, you all knew she’d back down gracefully if you had other obligations, and she did it with the best intentions, so you were always happy to comply.

            “She saved me from a long evening of Chinese indie films on government corruption,” Neal replied, looking uncomfortable just at the thought.

            “Mozzie?” You guessed.

            “Uh-huh.”

            The cab pulled up along the sidewalk outside of June’s manor. Neal unclipped his seatbelt while you leaned forward to tell the driver your own address, paying a glance to the meter. A hand touching yours made you turn back around.

            “Y/N,” Neal said slowly, picking up your hand and holding it over your thigh. He turned as much as he could in the seat to face you. “I really enjoy having your company.” You smiled, feeling heat rise to your face, as it always did when Neal complimented you. “Would it be alright to ask you to be my black-tie date?”

            You smiled and squeezed his hand. “Sure,” you said, mentally questioning where all that confidence from earlier had gone. “I’d be delighted.”

            His face lit up, his blue eyes bright and excited, his expression happy and relieved. “Until then, mademoiselle.”

            You laughed. You were going to see him at work way before the gala. Drawing on your limited high school French, you responded dramatically in kind. “Jusqu’à, monsieur.

            Neal lifted your hand and pulled your arm across the small space in the taxi. Holding your hand up, he pressed his lips to your knuckles. He was certainly a charmer.

            He got out of the taxi with a spring in his step. You shook your head, charmed and rosy-faced. Neal certainly knew how to make a girl feel flattered. The driver waited until Neal had started up the walkway towards June’s porch, then pulled the car away from the sidewalk in the next available traffic gap.

            “Sounds like you’ve got yourself a keeper,” he commented with a slight smile, glancing at you in the rearview mirror. He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel.

            You looked down to your shoes in the footwell. There was no point in explaining the context to a stranger. What did it matter if your taxi driver thought you were dating Neal, the most romantic person you’d ever met? The date was just for the occasion. You had no trouble being on his arm, but at the end of the night, you knew you and Neal were just good friends.

            Besides, you’d seen him make out with suspects just to distract them. In comparison, being a little touchy or cute with friends was no shocker. He flirted like he breathed. A respectful proposition and a kiss to your hand translated to an invitation, and that was it.

            Still… Neal was special. You’d have to be blind not to see it. You covered the back of your right hand, still feeling the press of his warm lips. “You have no idea,” you told the driver wistfully, staring back out the window and watching as the city slowly passed.


            The gala was a hit. You knew it would be, with El in charge, but still, you were happy for her. Peter was practically blowing pride out of his ears when she was approached in person by the highest-ranking rung of the food chain to be specifically thanked and congratulated.

            You had fun being Neal’s date. It was unlike any date you’d ever been on before (but then, the date was more for show than for a date, so you weren’t surprised). Neal looked right at home, chatting up anyone who he thought should be talked to, and it helped him look credible and elite to have a woman there with him. A few times you knew that they talked about you, but you didn’t mind too much; even if you were being used for objectification, you sincerely doubted Neal was the one to instigate such a conversation, and either way, you got to glow happily as you casually mentioned that your date was the hottest man in the room. The wives, girlfriends, and sisters of the older men all told you how lucky you were.

            Neal made sure you were never lonely, but he flitted around like a butterfly. Sometimes he escorted you with him to keep you from feeling left out. You appreciated the sentiment, but you’d have preferred being a wallflower to being carted around. You felt like a trophy girl with the way a few of the others talked about you. Neal was careful not to spend too much time with those, but the fact was that this gala was for the one percent of Manhattan, and you were very obviously middle-class. El had to dress up and look the part to be respected by the people that hired her, Peter was a man and so he was excluded from the blatant sexism, and while Neal was also male, he had the nice suits from June’s late husband, anyway.

            Overall, though, you enjoyed yourself. When you started to feel like you were looking pathetically alone, you went and politely joined one of the Burkes. Neal never left you alone for too long, and he was very attuned to your mood, holding your hand when you were bothered by something and wrapping his arm around you when you started to get a little bored. There may not have been much for you to actually do, but having Neal’s attention made up for it.

            Neal walked you towards your apartment afterwards. Manhattan was usually a little cool at nights, but luckily, you’d had the foresight to bring a long-sleeved shrug. You pulled it on while walking side by side with your date.

            “Thanks for not letting me make a fool of myself,” you sighed, holding a hand to your mouth as you yawned.

            Neal chuckled, smiling. “I would never,” he promised, turning around at the door of your building. You stood facing each other beside the entry, and Neal reached for your hands. He stroked his thumbs over your knuckles and you felt your face flush. “Thank you for coming with me. I mean it, Y/N.”

            “Well…” Kiss me, you thought, actively trying to keep your eyes on his. Part of you wanted to step up closer to him and lean up to touch your lips; the other part wanted him to go sooner rather than later, preferably before you gave in and made yourself look clingy or stupid. “We’ve been shot at together. A gala seemed less hazardous in comparison.”

            He nodded. “True… true.” Neal’s eyes seemed to soften as he looked at you. His gaze left your eyes. You could’ve sworn he looked to your mouth for a second before he met your stare again.

            He had been a perfect gentleman to you all night, and you knew that that wouldn’t change… but you couldn’t promise yourself that you wouldn’t do something to jeopardize your relationship. You couldn’t just pretend you didn’t feel anything anymore. You knew for a fact you wanted to kiss him. You liked introducing him as yours. You felt good about being called his.

            You needed to get away before you would do something that crossed boundaries.

            Leaning back and pulling your hands out of his, you announced briskly, “I’m beat, and we both have to be at the office in the morning.”

            You thought he seemed shocked. His hands fell down to his sides and he quickly clasped them together in front of him. Neal’s eyes followed you, quizzical, a little confused. “Yeah,” he agreed, understanding what you were saying. “Of course. I’ll bring you coffee.”

            “Don’t worry about it,” you said quickly, smiling nervously and shaking your head so rapidly that your hair bounced. “It’s okay.” You didn’t want the artist to go buying you coffee. The last thing you needed was for him to do something nice; you were already in enough trouble as it was. You had to stay away until you could get your head around the situation. “I’ll just, um… be safe.”

            “You, too,” he said, frowning slightly, definitely more confused than serene.

            You practically fled into your apartment building.


            In the next few days, things felt like they were coming apart. You started to resent the butterflies you felt whenever you saw Neal. You wished you’d never agreed to go to the gala. You especially wished Neal had never phrased it as though he was asking you out when you both knew it was just for the event.

            Things were fractured, and you didn’t know if they could be fixed. Neal didn’t bring you coffee. You didn’t bring him lunch. You left the office even though you knew he was still working, and when you hadn’t been as productive as you’d liked, you took your things home with you just to avoid him, in case he pulled up his chair. You kept your head down in the conference room on the off chance that Neal would speak to you, scared that someone might assign the two of you to work together.

            Even your teammates were beginning to notice. Peter pulled you aside after a debriefing.

            “Hey, Y/N,” he said in concern, sitting on the end of the table. “Did Neal-“ he started to say, but then decided against it. In place of asking about the conman in particular, he queried with forced nonchalance, “Is everything okay?”

            “Of course,” you said, crossing your arms. “Why do you ask?”

            “Just… checking in,” he lied transparently.

            It occurred to you while you were struggling to fall asleep that maybe ignoring the problem – and Neal, by extension – was doing more harm than good. You had done this to preserve your friendship, and now you were watching it rapidly deteriorate. It was your fault that it was happening. Neal hadn’t done anything wrong, but you were punishing him for your own emotions. Doing your best to get out of interacting with him didn’t make the butterflies or the affection go away. It just made you feel bad on top of that, and so your wishes of a hand to hold or a partner to commiserate with were laced with guilt. In addition to pushing away a crush that crept up on you, you were pushing away a close friend.

            Not to mention that your behavior was hurting other people, not just yourself. Your weekly dinner at Chez Burke was an awkward catastrophe, what with Peter obviously trying to reconcile something he didn’t understand and El on the opposite side of the war, trying to keep you from having to interact when you clearly didn’t want to. Neal didn’t try to engage with you personally, but you caught him looking a little downcast several times, and it made your heartstrings twist. His cheer was contagious. It appeared that so was his sadness.

            Finally, you decided that you needed to get over yourself. You couldn’t pretend Neal didn’t exist anymore. It wasn’t fair to anyone, and it wasn’t helping at all.

            Your doorbell rang as you were getting ready for work on Thursday morning, almost two weeks after the Incident. (You used to refer to it as the Almost-Kiss-Incident but then told yourself firmly that there was not to be kissing of any kind, not even the ‘almost’ variety.)

            When you pulled open the door, you half-expected Diana or El, but instead saw a complete stranger in a blue mail uniform. He had a clipboard. “Miss Y/N Y/L/N?” He checked, looking up and scrutinizing your face.

            You glanced down at your outfit. You had on your pants and shirt, but your sleeves were unbuttoned and your shoes were off. Your hair, damp and stringy, was dripping water on your shoulders every so often. “Yeah. Hi.”

            He handed the clipboard over to you. “Sign at the X,” he instructed. “Got some stuff for you.”

            Although bewildered, you didn’t see the harm. You hadn’t ordered anything, so mostly you were curious what you could be getting. You made your signature quickly, leaving it a little messy and only somewhat legible, and then passed it back.

            The man moved to the side and pulled a cart after him. It looked like he was doing his deliveries to several people within the building, which explained why you had never seen him before. You picked your mail up from the post office, so you’d never had to have it delivered to your door.

            First, he handed you a plain white cardboard box. From the looks of it, you expected for it to be light. Once you took it, your eyes widened. It wasn’t heavy, but it weighed more than you expected. The Greatest Cake logo was on the top. Chewing on your lip, you stepped out of the way to set it on your table, then went back to the door.

            The guy was already waiting, looking bored and impatient. He pushed a bouquet of flowers at you. “Take ‘em,” he commanded, wrinkling his nose. “Last thing I need is my wife freaking out that I smell like a perfumery.”

            “Yes, sir,” you agreed dryly, deciding not to comment on how his job was probably to hand people their deliveries politely, not with rude shoving and comments about his personal life.

            He left, leaving you to kick your door closed and survey the flowers. They were gorgeous. Instead of the usual cliched roses, your bouquet was made of pink and purple flowers, and to make up for that the flowers themselves didn’t click perfectly, they were cushioned and accessorized with thick strands of leafy ivy. You knew the purples were hyacinths, but didn’t recognize the pinks.

            Ivy… Ivy meant friendship, you knew, and when you couldn’t find a card, you bit the inside of your cheek. Maybe the ivy was the message, if you were supposed to know who they were from without a card. What about the others?

            A quick Google reverse image search on your phone found that the pinks were camellias, and according to a Victorian website, those meant romantic longing. The hyacinths were supposed to represent apology and sorrow.

            You put the flowers in water, moving as if weighted down with lead. You knew exactly who they’d come from. The only person you knew who would pair flowers together based on language rather than appearance was Neal. Incidentally, he was also the only person you knew who was the proprietor of any Manhattan bakery. When you opened the box from The Greatest Cake, you uncovered a set of cupcakes frosted in your favorite colors. You moved it into the fridge.

            The sorrow and the friendship, you understood. You’d been seriously neglecting your bond with Neal in the process of trying to starve out your unwanted crush. You just had to wonder if the pink camellias were thrown in for the appearance, or if their meaning was consequential.

            While you finished preparing for work, you wondered how you were supposed to fix what you had broken without having to explain why you’d broken it. In the end, you took the cupcakes out of the fridge and took them with you.


            Thankfully, Peter and Neal were out in the field by the time you arrived (late) for work, but no one else said anything to you about your timing. They didn’t arrive back until the office was starting to empty out, and although Peter glanced at you sympathetically, neither of them said anything while they were walking up to Peter’s office.

            You stretched your limbs with a walk to the kitchenette, where you prepared two cups of coffee. By the time you had returned to the bullpen, Neal was at his desk, Peter’s office light was off, and you were practically the only ones left in the division.

            You wordlessly carried the coffees to Neal’s desk, then turned back to yours. The sound of pen moving over paper ceased, so you knew you had his attention. Trying not to feel his eyes on your back, you bent over to take the box of cupcakes out of your drawer, piled on some of your own paperwork, and carried everything in your arms to his desk.

            “So,” you started to break the silence, propping the box open and going to claim the nearest chair. You dragged it up to the side of the desk and sat down, smiling apologetically at Neal. “I figured you’d want executive tax.”

            You gave the box of cupcakes a nudge in his direction.

            Neal started to slowly grin, dropping his hands to his lap. His teeth pulled on his lower lip when he looked at you, and you both started to laugh.


            The next week passed by quickly. Time was much more enjoyable when you were actually talking with your friends. Dinner at Casa de Burke was pleasant, you had three lunches with Neal, and you’d stayed late together twice. Although you were still a little frustrated that you wanted to kiss his cheek goodbye, you were mostly just glad that your friendship pulled through your internal crisis.

            It was after that that things started to get a little odd again. Neal had always been the kind of friend that did thoughtful things on occasion, but they’d never been this… cute, for lack of a better word, and you weren’t sure how to respond to their increasing frequency.

            A small army of origami cranes on your desk one morning.

            The Greatest Cake delivered more cupcakes to your apartment. You were beginning to wonder if the chefs questioned why their special orders kept getting delivered to the same address.

            A small bouquet of ivy, this time with white flowers mixed in with the leaves. You blushed and pretended not to know what it meant. (Affection.) Your building’s delivery man had convinced himself that your ex was trying to win you back.

            You found a jewelry set that you certainly hadn’t bought yourself in your bag after work one day. You knew exactly who’d planted it there. Although you had never had a problem with wearing the fedora Neal jokingly gave you on your birthday, or the bracelet with your name on it that he’d given you for helping him through a cold, you hesitated to don any of these. They looked more expensive than something you’d buy for yourself, and combined with everything else you were receiving, you were starting to feel uncomfortable with how much money Neal was spending on you. Though you didn’t want to send the wrong message by not wearing them (you knew he’d notice), you decided that there was a line, and hopefully he’d realize he’d crossed it, however unintentionally.

            It wasn’t just that things were being given to you, however. Neal was acting a little differently. He held doors for you, he offered you his hand more often. He made a point of sitting beside you in the conference room. He locked eyes with you when he poured you your wine to go with El’s lovely cuisine. Neal complimented you at least once daily, sometimes on how he thought you were beautiful but more typically on your intelligence or your ideas.

            He was just being so nice. Diana was starting to rib on him for it. You were worried he still felt like he was the one at fault for you ignoring him for so long, so you decided to go talk to him about it, as delicately as you could, one night when you’d been left alone to catch up on work. Neal had just gotten back with refills of coffee when you shored up your courage.

            “Neal?” You said his name evenly. It came out more confident than you felt. He moved a coffee cup in front of you and sat back down, smiling curiously over the desk. “I’m sorry about – about everything. You can stop all of this now.” You gestured to the coffee. It was the second one he’d gotten you in an hour.

            He canted his head. You tried to stay focused on how important it was that you handled this conversation in the right way, rather than on how his attention made you certain you were going to fumble over your words.

            “You don’t have to apologize for anything, Y/N.” Neal exhaled, long and slow, and looked down at his hands as he held them on the table. When he dragged them off and into his lap, his expression had turned wry. “I didn’t know what I did. I thought if I made it up to you…”

            “You didn’t do anything wrong,” you promised, now a little bemused yourself. You thought it had been obvious that nothing needed to be made up. You’d started ignoring him because he was too good. You were the one who’d just started distancing themselves with no explanation. “That was all on me, okay? So everything else, it can stop now.”

            Neal looked at you closely. You couldn’t see his hands anymore, but you thought you could see his arms tensing through his sleeves. “If that’s what you want.”

            It sounded like he was relenting, but that didn’t make any sense. If he wanted you not to be mad, he was getting what he wanted. “What did you think you’d done?” You asked, just out of curiosity. You wanted to set some things straight, understand what was happening.

            He shrugged, looking away from you. “I don’t know. I thought our date had gone well, but then you wouldn’t have anything to do with me. I thought I must’ve done something to upset you. I’ve been trying to show you I didn’t mean to. If I knew what it was, I wouldn’t do it again.”

            Oh… Things started to, impossibly, come together. The romantic gestures, the pink camellias… “Date?” You repeated skeptically. “You mean, El’s gala was a real date?”

            “What did you think it was?” He returned, his eyes flashing with something like poorly concealed hurt.

            Because you knew him, and you were familiar with his skills, you knew the only reason you could see he was upset was because he was letting you. You appreciated that more than you could say. It made you feel less vulnerable to know you weren’t the only one having emotional reactions. It made you feel better about talking when you could understand how he was really reacting.

            “A gala,” you replied. “I mean, you heard El. It was a black-tie event. And then when we got there, all the snobs in New York had congregated to brag about their businesses and their wives and girlfriends. I thought you were using me to play up a role and fit in.” Before he could say anything, you realized how that sounded. You threw your hands up as he opened his mouth to object, shocked by the accusation. “Not that I minded!” You hurriedly promised. “I was happy to go. I knew it would help El, and I knew you would never treat me that way.”

            Neal lifted his hands to cover his face and leaned over his desk, elbows on the table. You fidgeted in your seat, realizing that you had gotten something seriously wrong. Normally you’d have been delighted, if a little apprehensive, but now, knowing how badly you’d screwed it up – you hadn’t just started avoiding him, you’d led him to think he was being rejected in the coldest way possible. You were surprised he’d even bothered talking to you again.

            “I’m so sorry,” you mumbled, looking down at your lap. “I got freaked out by how much I liked being there with you. I thought if I stopped spending so much time with you, I’d get over it and I wouldn’t do something dumb.”

            The laughter that came from him made you look up suddenly. You had been sitting with your head down, expecting to be told to go away, or scolded, or something else that would’ve been out of character for Neal but simultaneously hurtful and understandable to you. He lifted his head and dropped his hands, then reached towards you, settling a hand warmly on your knee.

            “I suppose we both had some crossed wires,” he chuckled mirthfully, rubbing your leg. “Would it be alright with you if we tried again?”

            Without thinking about it, you covered his hand with your own, holding his palm against your leg. “I’d like it if we did.”

            “Great.” He kept his hand on you, just where you wanted it, and leaned over the table, his lips pulled into a charismatic and unfairly kissable smirk. “Would you do me the honor of going on a date with me? And, for the sake of clarity, I do mean a date-date.”

            Giggling, you leaned in, too, matching his challenge with a smirk of your own. “If you think you can stay interested in a fed, I’d be privileged.”

            “Staying interested won’t be a problem,” Neal swore, his eyes mischievously sparkling.


Yay! 50 Published Works!!!

Send in requests!

don’t mess with hinoka

(i feel like this came off as sort of a creepy menacing vibe which doesn’t seem to suit her exactly, but i was mostly just testing some techniques i had been wondering about for a while)

OMG GUYS

I HAVE 1000!!!!

THANK YOU SO SO MUCH!

I love you all! I’m so grateful but I suck at long sappy speeches so all I can say is thank you like 80000 times lol. My Tumblr fam–I love you so much and thank you for being amazing human beans and so sweet and loving.

My followers thank you for being amazing human beans. I promise not to let you down 👊🏼

THANK YOU GUYS FOR TAKING A CHANCE ON ME I LOVE YOU

(I’ll record and post the video tomorrow! Thank you again guys ☺️☺️☺️)

I’m Back!

Yes, you heard me! I am back from my hiatus. Did ya miss me? Yes, no, that’s ok. Well, I miss you guys! It’s only been about a month. :p To all my followers, I am so sorry for not being active and not replying to anyone. I have been so busy with work and other stuff and preparing for Shortakiweek. Oh, and the ask box is still NOT open, yet! I repeat the ask box is still NOT open, yet until I’ve completed all Shortakiweek stuff. I see that you guys send some requests while I was gone, so I’ll just hold on to them. Oh, I almost forgot. I have a few new drawings and sketches that I’ve done while I was gone so lemme just post them right now! :D

some skeletons

I got bored so I drew the skeletons I know how to draw sorry if its not exactly correct I’m still trying to practice drawing skeletons!

Bill sans belongs to @billsans45

Geno belongs to @loverofpiggies

Lolly belongs to @lovercat16

Melon sans belongs to @missladytale

Horror sans belongs to @under-tomb

And finally…..

Ink belongs to @comyet

Hope these artist have a great day/afternoon/evening!