hiddenpiecesofmybrokenheart said: Prompt: oliver and felicity's son and tommy and laurel's daughter fall in love

[Still giggling because this idea is adorable.]

—But It’s Prom—

“No.  Absolutely not.”

“Tommy,” Laurel sighed.

“I’m not having it!  This is where I put my foot down!”

“You can’t stop them!  If she wants to go with Oliver and Felicity’s son, she can go with him!  It’s the prom!  Are you seriously planning to tell our daughter that she has to turn down an invitation to prom?”  Laurel folded her arms, looking at her husband seriously.

“Laurel!” Tommy exclaimed.  “He’s a miniature Oliver!  How does that not concern you!”

Laurel shrugged, amused.  “I try to focus on the fact that he inherited a lot of Felicity’s genes, too.”

Anonymous said: could do one where Oliver and felicity complete a mission but the guy gets away and swears that he will hunt felicity down so Oliver is like you are staying with me until we catch this guy, and then like felicity can't sleep and wanders about Oliver's apartment and finds his spare bow and arrow and starts like pretending to shoot arrows from it and acting like she's a superhero and Oliver sees and they have a talk and felicity explains she always wanted to be a hero but feels like she isn't

[Okay, Anon, you’re another one I have to apologize to.  This prompt would not cooperate with me!  So eventually I gave up and wrote what wanted to be written instead of trying to force it.  So it doesn’t have the prancing around section.  And it ended less silly and more serious.

Also, for some reason this ended up set in the mansion instead of Oliver’s apartment, because I jotted it down while I was at work and didn’t have direct access to the wording of your prompt.  I know; I know!  I suck!  Sorry!]


Felicity couldn’t sleep.

But she also couldn’t imagine how anyone could sleep in this room, with its priceless mahogany furniture, heavy curtains, and giant four-poster bed, so covered in heavy duvets and pillows that there was barely room for her in it.

She sighed, tossing three more pillows to the floor in her aggravation.  This was ridiculous.

Slipping out of the bed, she crept barefoot across the room, slipping her robe on as she went.

She supposed really, uncomfortable or not, she would still rather be here with the knowledge of Oliver sleeping just down the hall.  Officer Lance’s words were still ringing in her ears.

“The prison guards heard him chanting your name in his sleep.  We think he’ll try to come for you.”

So the police had set up a sting at her house, and Oliver had insisted she stay with him.

She quietly padded into the bathroom and ran the faucet, cupping her hands to catch some water for a quick drink before heading for the bedroom door, thinking vaguely about raiding the kitchen—assuming she could find it—for a midnight snack.  Perhaps that would help put her to sleep.

She eased the heavy oak door open quietly enough, but clapped her hand to her mouth to cover a small yelp of surprise.  Leaning against the wall directly beside her door sat Oliver, wearing a pair of blue plaid cotton pants and a white T-shirt, his bow and quiver lying across his lap.

She smiled softly at the scene.  His head had dropped back against the wall, his mouth open slightly while he slept.

Hugging her robe a little more tightly around her, she carefully sat down beside him on the floor, doing her best not to disturb him.  Watching him warily, she whispered softly, “Oliver?  Are you awake?”

He didn’t stir.  He must have been exhausted.

Slowly, tentatively, she dropped her head to rest on his shoulder.  When he still didn’t wake, she let out a soft breath of relief, and let her shoulders slump as she relaxed.  Within moments, she’d fallen asleep.

Had there been someone there to observe them, that person might have noticed that Oliver’s grip had tightened on his bow and his head had lifted for a moment at the first sound of footsteps behind Felicity’s door.

That observer might have thought it odd that someone like Oliver Queen—a notoriously uneasy sleeper—wouldn’t wake at the sound of his own name.

And the observer would likely have then witnessed the faintest tug at the corner of Oliver’s mouth when Felicity’s head came to lay on his shoulder, as well as the tilting of his own head until it came to rest on top of hers.

As it was, there was no one there to notice how his grip slowly relaxed again, or how his breathing slowly evened out to match hers.  But it happened that way just the same.


There’s good fanfiction and then there’s fanfiction that I’d sell my soul to for regular updates

Reblogged from Bow To The Queen

Anonymous said: Wow! when I sent you the Bratva!Oliver prompt I was not expecting this beautiful amazing wonderful passionate angsty brilliant x1000000000000000 other words that i cant think of right now fic in response! Any chance it'll be expanded upon in the future?

I’m seriously considering it!  :)  I’m really glad you sent me that prompt—obviously, I loved it!

Before I get around to possibly expanding it, or adding to the other AU “Camp Crush” I’m still plowing my way through all the prompts in my queue first.

Thanks again!  I’m so glad you enjoyed it!

So I’m writing the thing.
Also I almost left my notebook on a plane today so everybody thank your lucky stars because AAAAAACK.

So I’m writing the thing.

Also I almost left my notebook on a plane today so everybody thank your lucky stars because AAAAAACK.

Well that’s just painfully accurate…

Well that’s just painfully accurate…

Reblogged from because I can
It is illegal for women to go topless in most cities, yet you can buy a magazine of a woman without her top on at any 7-11 store. So, you can sell breasts, but you cannot wear breasts, in America.

Violet Rose (via c-icatrix)

This is one of my favorite quotes about sexualization/objectification vs autonomy of female bodies bc it’s so succinct

(via platonicsbeforeerotics)

Reblogged from because I can

My friends have always been the best of me.

Reblogged from He Was Going to Hurt