Queen's geek

I mean, not queen like, QUEEN queen. Because that would be — pretentious. And not at all true. Just his queen. I mean GEEK. Oliver Queen's geek. I'm gonna...stop talking. Kay. Private Felicity Smoak from Arrow

[queensgeek-blog]

littleostentatious:

“Nope.”

He pops that ‘P’ and leans back in the chair, crossing his ankles where they’re stretched out in front of him. “You look like a woman who needs a vacation. And I have a private jet and standing reservations at Zeb Gastronomia.”

He has to be joking. But he looks serious. Except he doesn’t. She really can’t tell. It’s frustrating.

“...is this a thing? Like, a billionaire thing? Am I going to say yes to this and then find out you had a bet with Oliver, or just wanted to annoy him? Like ‘ha-ha I stole your secretary’ kind of annoy him?” And, God, it pains her to call herself a secretary. “Because, y’know, I actually have work to do.”

[queensgeek-blog]

permortempatris:

“You mean the way you ‘don’t judge’ me?”

He regrets the words the moment they’re out his mouth. Felicity has done so much for him – has given so much for him, for the hood, and he’d be the first to admit that she deserves better than he gives her in return. But he’s a mess of a man, and times like this, when he’s been close to something like happiness, it all gets caught up on his sharp edges, and tangles itself into something new. Something that gets in the way.

“I’m not saying that I don’t deserve it,” he clarifies. “I’m not saying you’re not right, sometimes.”

                (Sometimes. Hah.)

“I’m saying that I asked for that, Felicity. By having you here. He didn’t.”

Oliver is aware that he’s tripped over himself; that somewhere between his internal logic and his mouth, something has gone wrong. But he’s proud and he’s stubborn and he hates to be wrong, and he wasn’t made to apologise.

    Even when he ought to.

By having you here.

Somehow, that hurts more than anything else. It makes Felicity feel all of two inches tall. Like her “judgment” is some inconvenience that comes included with her computer skills. Something to suffer through and tune out, as long as she brings something actually useful to the table.

Her eyes burn, and she really wishes she could hate him. Felicity’s throat feels tight with shame, and anger, and hurt and it should be so easy to just leave and quit her job, and find somewhere, anywhere else to work.

But she loves him, and she loves this stupid city, and she’s not going to stop helping him just because he’s being a dick about his boyfriend’s privacy.

“Well, I am sorry you have to deal with my judgment every night, Oliver, but I don’t have anything more useful to do at the moment, so again — if there’s nothing else you need from me, Mr. Queen, I’m going. home.” This time, when she takes her bag and her coat, she walks to the stairs without looking back.

[queensgeek-blog]

permortempatris:

“I do.”

The answer comes rapid-fire, not a beat of hesitation. Frustration and annoyance start to unfurl, now.

“I trust him.”

Oliver’s never been good at talking things through. Never been good at compromise, never been good at seeing someone else’s point of view. This selfish arrogance had been born in a spoiled child and had matured in a rich young man who thought himself the centre of the world. And then island had knocked off all the soft edges of it until it was sharp and hard and until it had teeth.

Oliver Queen is a better man than he was ten years ago. Doesn’t mean he manages to always be a good one.

“That should be a good enough reason for you, Felicity. He’s got nothing to do with you. You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to judge him.”

She wants to explain. That she’s just worried. That she needs that extra reassurance that this guy is not going to show up at the lair and use this secret against him. That this man who, she’s fairly sure, knows her name — is not going to find her at work, or at her house, when she’s miles away from Oliver and Diggle.

That helping Oliver rid this city of every single scumbag out there has not done wonders for her nerves or paranoia.

But Oliver’s not done, and when he is, she doesn’t really want to explain herself anymore. Not when he’s like this. Not when he’ll probably take it as yet another insult, that she doesn’t think he can keep her safe.

“...I wasn’t going to.” At first, maybe. But once Oliver told her this man was something like a vigilante too, she would’ve found some logic to whatever she found. That’s where her trust in Oliver comes in.

Felicity takes a moment to make sure her voice won’t fail her. She leaves the computers running for him (he can do his own monitoring tonight), and stands.

“I’m going home.” She needs space, she needs air. She’d really like to be away from these screens, and every reminder of the life she’s chosen to lead, if only for a little while. “Call me if you need anything else.”

[permortempatris-blog]

“scoot over.”

“Scoot over.”

He does, unquestioningly,without quite taking the time to register why. This is the reason that whenFelicity drops down onto the couch and onto him, none too gently, he makes asurprised oof! noise.

She’s got a cushion andeverything; it’s tucked between her head and his leg and he’s left staring downat her, hands half-raised for lack of anything better to do with them, as shemakes herself comfortable with a sigh. Her shoes have been kicked off,somewhere, and her bare feet tuck themselves between the arm of the couch andthe cushion, the better to keep them warm.

   “ – comfortable?” he asks, dryly, when sheseems to have settled.

“Very,” she confirms. Hedrops a hand to her back, and she arches into the warmth of it, just afraction.

“At least one of us is.”

“Quit complaining,” shedemands. “I haven’t slept in two days.”

“I didn’t ask you to dothat,” he points out. “In my defense.”

She lets out a huff ofamusement and curls a little closer into his touch. Thumb rubs idle circlesagainst the slow rise and fall of her breath. The whole place seems to becreeping towards something restful and still.

“You never have to ask meto,” she says, sleepily.

His hand stills on herback. This close to sleep, there’s not enough presence of mind for Felicity toback-track and double-up, to negate her own sentences or to cross back andexplain herself. The declaration simply sits, feeling more than it is, insilence. After a second she makes an unhappy, insistent noise, and Oliverescapes the breathless moment to coax his hand back into the same soothingmovements.

You neverhave to ask me to.

Felicity drifts towardssleep. Oliver, for all his complaints, doesn’t shift a muscle – not when hisdiscomfort grows; not when muscles, robbed of freedom of movement, protest. Hesits, and he waits. He watches.

She never has to ask himto.

[queensgeek-blog]

littleostentatious:

“Visiting.”

And touching everything on her desk. “But it looks like Queen took an early lunch break and left you here to work.” He tsks like a gossiping old woman, and leans his elbows on her desk. 

“How about lunch? Or dinner? We could be in Florence by dinner.”

She laughs, more nervous than actually amused (because she just spent the last thirty seconds convincing herself not to smack Tony Stark’s hands away from her stuff), and then has a tiny moment of panic. 

“—wait, that was a joke. You were joking, right?”

[queensgeek-blog]

littleostentatious:

@queensgeek

“Miss Smoak? You’re far too good looking to put up with an asshole like Oliver all day.” He says it like he’s talking about the weather, but the mischievous glint in his eyes says otherwise.

“Clearly not too smart though, or I’d have found myself a job with better hours.” When where she wouldn’t have to worry famous people like Tony Stark walking up to her desk when she’s severely decaffeinated.

“Oh...my—oh my God. I am so sorry, is he—” She looks through the glass at Oliver’s...very empty desk. “Oh God, did he have a—no, he didn’t. Because there weren’t any meetings scheduled for this morning. Especially not with Tony Stark. I mean you. I mean—” She likes to think she’d remember an appointment with Tony Stark. “Why...are you here?” 

[permortempatris-blog]

i’m going to go home.

He’s been here for hours, with nothing but the rhythm of fists and feet and the sting of sweat in his eyes and the sound of rushing breath in his ears. He’s been past exhausted and moved into numb, and still he pushes screaming muscles harder, further.

It’s better than the alternative. Than stopping and thinking.

It’s Felicity’s words that finally pull him from this forced ocean of calm. His blows falter, trail off into silence. His head hangs. Breathless, dripping sweat, arms and legs trembling, he almost doesn’t turn.

And then, because it’s worth it – because he needs to – he does.

“Felicity.”

She stops a few steps away. Her head turns, just slightly, but she doesn’t face him. Behind her hair, her expression is half-hidden. Oliver thinks he can imagine it. Somewhere between troubled disappointment and unwilling pity.

“Don’t go.”

That surprises her toward an intake of breath, and she faces him properly. He shakes his head, searching for the words. Palms open, armour down. He shrugs, drops his head only to shake it again.

“Don’t go.”

“Oh, Oliver.”

If he’s expecting to find that imagined disappointment in her face, he doesn’t manage. There’s only something soft, something gentle, something that cares but doesn’t pity. She steps towards him, uncertain.

When he reaches out, she doesn’t shy away from him, though he’s hot and sweat has gathered at the small of his back, the hollow of his throat, the slope of stomach towards hips. She doesn’t shy away from him, though she knows what these hands have done.

Instead, she reaches up to cradle his head, to hold him as he clings to her.

     “I won’t go anywhere if you don’t want me to.”

It sits like a promise. He breathes it in, head bent low to press against the juncture of neck and shoulder. “I’ll stay.”

It’s a long silence that’s punctuated by his broken gratitude, dressed in the shame of needing someone so badly.

    She only holds him a little tighter.

[queensgeek-blog]

@godforsakenthing from (x)

“Okay, first of all? That is none of your business.” Especially not after he just gave her a heart attack. “Second of——are you following me? Because you better not be following me. Why are you following me?”

[queensgeek-blog]

permortempatris:

He tips his head. His mouth opens, and then closes, lips quirking up into something like a smile as he grasps for something to say, and finally settles with: 

  “ —- yeah.”

Because he does care about Dean.

It might have started out as something selfish, a way for him to simply be, without the burden of expectations or hopes or falsities. But selfishness has given way to something different, something in the hollows of his bones, and it’s as inexplicable as it is unexpected.

And up until now, he hasn’t had to worry about this. About trying to explain, about trying to keep Felicity safe from the truth of this, let alone the truths she’s already learned. He shakes his head slightly. Insistently.

“Felicity, it’s not – it’s not that simple.” He raises his hands in frustration that he can’t find the words to explain this to her without seeming cold. Patronising. “I’m not trying to be difficult. You just… can’t.”

“I need a better reason than that.” And she can see that Oliver’s actually making an effort to explain, but so far, none of it’s been enough to settle the knot of worry in her stomach.

“And before you ask, I trust you. You know I do.” That’s not the problem. “But I don’t trust him.” Not yet anyway. She just needs to know a little more. And Oliver trying to stop her every attempt to get more information isn’t exactly helping Showerman earn any points.

[queensgeek-blog]

godforsakenthing

He should put the goddamn beer down. Dean knows he should. But it feels like the last lifeline he has while they’re sitting behind a bank of ridiculous computer monitors while Oliver goes out and plays Robin Hood on some drug dealers. 

“I’m not good at the sitting back and waiting part.” He tosses her a look, and it feels a little bit like an apology. “I don’t know how you do it.”

He’s not a good man. He’s a string of failures held together by an angel’s grace and his little brother’s necessity. But the last thing he’s going to do is spook Oliver’s best friend with any of that crap. 

“Oh, I’m an old pro.” A beat. “Plus, I’m pretty sure if I tried to go out there, I’d be taken out in minus five seconds.” She reasons, though it’s probably not a feeling Dean can relate to all that much. He’s usually at the center of all the action. Right.

“Besides!” Felicity digs her heels into the floor and rolls her chair over to the next set of screens. “There’s usually more to it than just waiting.” Her fingers fly over the keyboard, every camera of the city at her disposal, “And it’s actually nice to have an extra pair of eyes, every once in a while. Even with my mad skills, I still only have two of those. Eyes, I mean.” Wow, perfect delivery, Felicity. Well done.

Her voice softens when she turns to look at him again, “So come on. Help me keep an eye on him.”

[queensgeek-blog]

@godforsakenthing​ from (x)

Felicity falls back against the wall, coughing painfully as she takes desperate lungfuls of air. When her vision clears, she looks up at Dean — at the broken look on his face — and she feels a stab of sympathy for him. She’s terrified of losing Oliver too, but she’s not about to let him tell her what to do.

“No.” It sounds shaky, and not at all intimidating, but she holds up her hand to keep him away, and glares at him despite the fear that lingers in her bones. Felicity clears her throat and tries again.

“I’m not going with you.” Not after what just happened. Not until she can be sure he’s calmed down. “Go look for him. I can help from here.” Pushing away from the wall, she marches stubbornly to the computers. With the city falling apart, they won't be 100%, but they won't be useless either. 

“I’ll let you know when I find him.”

[permortempatris-blog]

You’re the Voice || Dean & Ollie

[ for @godforsakenthing & @queensgeek ]

It’s just lucky that they’re the same height.

Keep reading

[waverlyshavght]

Felicity Smoak: Favorite outfits in Arrow season 5A – Part 2 (Part 1)

[queensgeek-blog]

permortempatris:

   He’s what I see when I look in the mirror, he wants to say, but that’s too much like the truth that’s tucked between sternum and heart, and which is saved for the dark and for Dean. So he doesn’t say anything.

“ – something like that.”

Close enough, at least. The mask is metaphorical and the people aren’t necessarily people and the time of day is irrelevant. The outcome, he supposes, is the same, and what does it matter which path they walk for it?

“He saves people.” He shrugs a shoulder, and drops his gaze because meeting Felicity’s is too hard, right now. “He’s saved the people of this city, before. Only he doesn’t –”

A frustrated gesture, that might encompass the room they’re in – equipment and arrows and costume – or might encompass himself.

“ – he doesn’t need to be seen doing it.” A smile does its best to cover up that moment of self-doubt, that ghost of a question there’s always been in the back of his mind, put there by the endless questions, the taunts, the new stories. The hooded vigilante who craves attention, who wants to be worshipped, to be recognised, to be seen to be a hero.

It’s not why he does it. Still, every man must entertain doubts, sometimes.

It’s the way Oliver says it, like he and whoever this guy is are the same. Not in the way that they save people — but in the scars, and the nightmares, and the hell they’ve been through. Like maybe they’re similar enough that they don’t have to protect each other from the ‘ugly’ parts.

There’s that terrible (and selfish, so stupidly selfish) feeling of inadequacy that twists in her gut. And Felicity wills it away with something like acceptance, or resignation — she really doesn’t doesn’t want to think about it too closely. The point is, it doesn’t matter. Because—

“Wow, you...—you really care about him.” Which means they’ve known each other for much longer than she realized, probably. And, again, it doesn’t matter. Because this guy, whoever he is (she really needs a name for him, calling him Showerman is getting old pretty fast), could maybe actually make Oliver happy.

So Felicity smiles, honestly glad that Oliver’s actually found someone who understands. Even if she’s still definitely going to find out who Showerman is. Just for her peace of mind. 

“I can...promise not to publish whatever I find online, or freak out over whatever charges this vigilante-ism might have attached to his name?”

[turtlejustice]

I will be your friend. Your partner in crime in any life…..a l w a y s

[turtlejustice]

that’s it. that is their relationship. <3

[queensgeek-blog]

godforsakenthing:

Dean’s not looking forward to dying, as much as he throws himself at the possibility at every turn. 

But the one thing he’s going to do when he finally bites it for good? 

He’s going to punch Chuck right in the dick for writing those fucking books. It makes him feel naked in the worst way, knowing that there are people out there that have knowledge of him at his worst, all the mistakes and failures that he’s nearly drowned in. 

“Yeah, I know.”

This is not him, he doesn’t do this, he doesn’t make nice with family, he isn’t supposed to be here, and Jesus Christ he wants to go crawl out of the bathroom window. 

His old man’s wedding ring is worn from where he twists it on scarred fingers. He doesn’t want to be like that, doesn’t want to die alone. Maybe he’d never be Asa, he wouldn’t have a house full of people celebrating his life, but if he was lucky…

Maybe somebody would miss him when he was gone. 

“I’m doing the best I can.”

Now she just feels like she kicked a puppy. A lot must have happened between the last book and whatever the Winchesters are up to now. She’s still got some unexplainable news and cold cases to link up to the stories, but accepting the fact that monsters are actually a thing takes a bit of time. Give her another day and she'll get right to it.

“I know. If you go back to literally four minutes ago — you’ll remember that I called you a good man.” And she read the books. So she knows.

So, what gives?