#anyway sorry for the slightly cryptic tag post

[skhardwarevers1]

S.K has what he thinks is retrospective thoughts on Dreamy—despite not knowing what retrospective means

the thing about dreamy is that at first there wasn’t a really big emphasis on separating the way I wrote and spoke between me and her

A certain fucking bitch person who I won’t name but is quite well know for being the reason I was here in the first place, told me that he could tell (though maybe that’s because he knew my writing in and out because he helped proofread a lot of old things)

and maybe it was a bit obvious at the start, I thought it was once I realized what I was doing (and considering me testing the waters a bit with Moon’s (formerly K0D33’s) blog I thought it was a dead give away) but eventually I made a consciousness effort to make separate personas

I’m not sure if it was post reveal or pre reveal but dreamy did have her own art style too!

Some doodles “by dreamy”

and I made an effort to change how we spoke in tags and asks (she had a massive thing with :7 and :1 and other emoticons) but I didn’t want it to be entirely serious. the whole thing with her constantly being tired and sleeping was mostly my give away gimmick that something was up

the fake text messages were mostly a funny side thing I found fascinating, almost everything I did was like a character study of Dreamy. I liked to think of how she really would feel and react to things if she was a real person. for reference a shit ton of messages I still have

And the funny thing is, I’ve slowly adjusted to use her way of texting when I’m happy (or being cryptic) because it’s so damn fun

and I wasn’t entirely lying when I said we met at her job at what I think was an amusement park?

I went to one for a school trip and just based it off of that place, however I didn’t actually meet anyone there

and it gave me an excuse to text her directly through messages instead of figuring out fake messages between blogs (which I later did with other things)

but something I never got was how it wasn’t painfully obvious. I was CONSTANTLY mentioning her. Screenshots and everything. I was expecting to be called out on my bullshit at some point. anyway. That’s a lot of nothingness about someone who doesn’t exist. I guess my point is slowly I’m becoming more and more like her—and maybe I just projected slightly about who I wanted to be onto her and now that I’m able to do what I want I can start to grow into the mixture of both her and me that I wanted to be back then.

or something like that I don’t know this turned into a really long post sorry

#S.K thinks

[dontneedmyheart]

x

#i’ve been thinking a lot about generational burning out and the exhaustion a lot of us feel #because of this one book i’m reading and just everything going on and me trying to figure things out #and i keep coming back to that one thought i’ve seen circle around here too #that if a problem is structural why do we keep holding individuals responsible #i heard this comment this week that i might’ve taken personally when it maybe wasn’t but #it felt like it was meant to me #that if someone is unmotivated and doesn’t care they should work on those issues #and how change comes from inside and no one can do it for you #obviously that is true to some extent and your attitude does affect your life quality #but if a lot of people are suffering from stress #and how hectic and pressuring life is #and how at many workplaces people don’t have enough resources and are overworked #the problem can’t be because we all just have a bad attitude #i don’t know if you get what i’m saying #but how in the hell can i be tired just because i’m too negative #positivity has become such a curse word for me #i’m sick of everyone forcing positivity on me #i’m not even that pessimistic?? #i just don’t see a point in ignoring actual problems #anyway sorry for the slightly cryptic tag post #but i’m just in a weird mood and change is scary and it’s still the fucking pandemic #i hope you’re all good and having a relaxing weekend

[foulbelieverthing]

i've been lurking on this particular part of tumblr for a couple years, but i've always been too shy to involve myself (plus one of us has a habit of getting super paranoid and nuking all of our socials out of nowhere every so often!). i've also been extremely ashamed of my mental illnesses my whole life. but i'm super lonely and don't have anyone in my real life who i can relate/talk to about this lol. so i was hoping to get to know some people or at least find funny memes to laugh through the pain.

anyway, i'm conor, the "host" (quotes bc calling myself "host" or "original" has always been weird, bc i'm not convinced i'm Actually The Original if u know what i mean lol) of a DID system (w/o a cool name unfortunately). when i dissociate, i black the fuck out, and my only direct line of communication with my alters is if/when they decide to leave notes for me lmao so forgive me if everything is a mess. everybody seems to have everything all neat and organized and then there's me who spent years fighting my therapist instead of being helpful to myself

anyway. uh. here's a list of everybody who's gonna have access to this blog!

-Conor - 21 - he/him - gay

-Five (so named because of his hands, i can't elaborate further i'm sorry) - he/him (his last blog was a slightly graphic horror aesthetic blog and i doubt he's happy about losing it, so if u see anything of his that needs to be tagged, please tell us! i'll try to stay on top of tagging for triggers, but i might miss something)

-Glyph (actual name is a symbol, but uhhh it's easier to have something to call him) - he/him

-there are two others, but one of them is a kid and does not have access to the folder where we keep our passwords and i probably will avoid talking about her unless it's just in passing, for her/our safety, and the other i'm not even sure is Real, bc my only proof is some cryptic writings and social posts i can't attribute to anyone else.

only one person other than my doctors knows my situation irl, bc they live with me and uhhh noticed i was a different person sometimes!! lol they're really cool about it tho and help fill me in on stuff i miss

i'll probably just use this as like an aesthetic/shitpost/gettin my thoughts out blog. if you've got any questions or wanna have a conversation, hmu :)

#traumagenic system #introducing myself #alter intro #-conor #aaaaaah i'm so nervous hi #did system #actuallytraumagenic #ok i've been sitting here editing and rereading for half an hour aaaah

[bewareofchris]

Public Relations 6/??

PG-13 atm | Alec Hardy/Dr. Bill Masters | Broadchurch, Masters of Sex | Strong language, eventual sexual situations

“The fact that Alec Hardy was not currently, had not ever, and did not want to date the American sex research did not seem very important at all to the town of Broadchurch.  They did what they had always done with a little bit of juicy gossip: they made a spectacle of it.”

<<prev

It was not paranoia to say that Bill was being watched.  The whole of Broadchurch seemed as if it had a hive mind, and every eye in the place was tracking his movements with the same incredible scrutiny as a spy network in a television show.  More troubling than the sensation of being watched, was the fact that no matter how intently he was stared at, nobody seemed like they wanted to tell him why.  

And then there was Olly Stevens, a boy with a press badge, that invited himself to sit across from Bill at his table-for-one at lunch.  He had the look of having just graduated high school and the swagger of an idiot child.  “Hello,” the boy said before he stuck his hand across the table, “I’m Olly Stevens.”

Bill glanced sideways, toward the door, the waitress and the hostess who had greeted him when he came in.  None of them seemed as if they were very interested in how his lunch had been interrupted by a stranger.  When he glanced back, Olly’s hand was still stretched across the table at him.  Bill set his silverware down and wiped his mouth with his napkin, “do I know you?” he asked.

“I’m Olly Stevens,” the boy repeated with his hand still lingering in the air.

“Then I don’t know you.”  Bill had never had a problem getting people to leave him alone.  Where he lived, his face was well known as one of the least likable but most competent professionals in any field he’d undertaken.  But here, the best his glower managed was to get Olly’s embarrassing hand to lower back to his side.

The boy was still smiling, “No, I guess you don’t.  I work at the Broadchurch Echo.”  (Bill was going to write Betty a very strongly worded letter when he got back to his hotel room, explaining all of his feelings about being sent away to a town where his mere presence seemed to excite some sort of frenzy.)  “I was just wondering if I could ask you a few questions?”

“No,” Bill said.  He picked up his utensils again, because they added a nice punctuation to the end of his denial.  And the idiot boy was still sitting there, caught in a moment of confusion, but showing no signs of being deterred in the slightest.  

“I was just wondering--forgive me if I’m being forward--but I was just wondering why an American sex researcher was here in Broadchurch?”

“I did say no,” Bill reminded him.  “Why would you ask permission to ask questions if you were going to ask them anyway?”

“Are you thinking of relocating your sex research?”

To Broadchurch, the town that was so excited by a visitor it lost its fucking mind?  Bill set his utensils down again and smiled at the idiot who couldn’t take a hint.  He said, “excuse me,” as he slid out of his seat because he had been raised to appreciate the importance of manners.  

“You don’t have to go,” Olly said in a rush, “you see what I really wanted to ask you was how you know DI Hardy.”  The words were spoken so fast there was almost no spaces between them.  And Olly had only turned in his seat to look at Bill, he hadn’t even had time to stand up to follow.  His arm was hooked over the back of his seat as his lax-worried face slowly turned up into a smile.  That was a reporter’s instinct, the moment they all seemed to know that against all logic and good intentions, the person they had come to harass was well and truly hooked.

“DI Hardy?” Bill repeated.  The very man who was ignoring every bit of medical advice he must have received.  The one that was a walking ghost at this moment.  The one that accosted him in a public space to tell him to stay well away as if Bill had shown up here just to annoy him.  “Why do you think I know him?”

“Oh come on,” Olly said.

The waitress that had been ignoring them was listening so obnoxiously it was amazing her ears hadn’t overtaken her head.  Bill was grasping at some realization that was just beyond his understanding.  He was on the verge of making everything make sense.  All those knowing stares, and the cryptic giggles, and the slightly strange small talk.  “I really don’t know what you’re implying.”  But it certainly didn’t seem to have anything to do with Alec Hardy’s heart condition.  That left him wondering what else there was to--

“Olly,” the hostess said, “leave the man alone or I’ll call your Aunt Ellie and Maggie.”

Aunt Ellie.  Bill turned to look at the woman and then back at Olly who still hadn’t managed to be even slightly ashamed of his horrendous behavior.  The name was so close to being familiar that it felt like he knew it without knowing why.  

Olly managed a half-realized attempt at saying, “sorry,” as he stepped around him.  When he left any chance of figuring out how he’d become linked to Alec Hardy went with him.  Bill was left standing in place, searching out any sort of logical idea and finding none.

--

Miller was looking at him.  No, that wasn’t the right way to phrase it.  Miller wasn’t looking at him, she was glancing at him.  She was sneaking peeks at him when she thought he wouldn’t notice.  They were the smug, knowing sort of glances that she spared him whenever she thought she knew something about him that he hadn’t said.  

No, these quick looks had guilt in them.  

And she should be guilty, for shifting her focus away from the murder a boy that she knew to him.  As if his imaginary sex life was more important.  (And they were close, he could feel it, they were so close.

“Miller,” he said when he couldn’t stand it a moment longer.  He dropped the file he’d been reading (again) to stare back at her with none of the attempted slyness she’d been employing.  “What is it?”

“Sir?”

He hated that about her, the coyness, as if she hadn’t been caught outright.  Now he had to say that he’d seen her, and that implied that he’d been looking back at her and they would have to argue if someone was paranoid or not.  Hardy said nothing, just stared at her with skepticism that he hoped conveyed that he was simply too business to get sidetracked again.

“Alright,” she said, “before I tell you, don’t go off getting all,” she dropped the file she was looking over on the seat next to her as she turned to face him more fully, “grouchy.  I’m sure that it can all be resolved, and remember that I was not involved at all so if you are going to get grouchy, you should do so at the right person.”

(That person most definitely being Miller herself.)

Miller drew in a breath, pressed her hands against her lap, and then said, “I heard,” so whatever she was saying was hearsay, “my nephew Olly,”

“The reporter?” Hardy asked.

“Are you going to let me speak?” Miller asked.  He motioned at her to continue, “he works at the Broadchurch Echo.  Well, I heard that he interrupted Bill,” it seemed impossible for Miller to say the man’s name without a tone of disbelief and amusement, “while he was having lunch.  I don’t know what was being said, but now there’s a rumor around that Bill is Bill Masters, who is apparently a somewhat famous American sex researcher.”

For Christ’s sake.

Hardy didn’t have the energy to react to the news.  He couldn’t even lie and say that he had known, because he didn’t know the man from any other stranger.  It had been an accident that they’d met at all, and a disaster that the man had ended up here.  And of course he was an American sex researcher.  Of course he was, because the town of Broadchurch had decided that Hardy was fucking him, and he couldn’t just have a perfectly normal gay fling with any man, he had to have one with an American sex researcher.  

Hardy pulled his glasses off and dropped them on the desk.  His fingers were dry and rough, pressing against his eyes like he could make the whole stupid thing come undone.

“I’ll call him as soon as we’re done here, sir.  I’ll talk to him.  And Maggie Radcliffe--”

Maggie Radcliffe was another reporter, and regardless of her apparent morals and her adherence to some ethic code, she was still a reporter.  A reporter with access to an American sex researcher and his lover, a somewhat disgraced detective working on a murder case.  Even if Maggie wouldn’t sell the headlines, Olly would because the boy was made of ambition.

Even if Maggie didn’t, there was Karen fucking White to think of.  By the time his hand had fallen away from his face, Miller had returned to looking at the file she’d be rereading.  As if nothing had been said, and an innocent man’s life wasn’t going to be completely upended by the misconceptions of these little fucking minded people.

“Aren’t you going to ask?” Hardy asked.

Miller looked properly ashamed when she looked at him then, and good for her since she was the one that started it all.  “No,” was the sound of the woman that did want to know, but wasn’t going to ask now that the whole thing had gotten out of hand. 

He nodded, and thought how nice a drink would be, and then pushed himself out of the chair.  “I’m getting a cup of tea.”  He didn’t offer or imply that he meant to offer, and Miller was good enough to say nothing at all.

next >>

@marvelmisha, @may-darling, @it-is-ineffable  if anyone else wants to be tagged just leave a reply on the post.

#illogical husbands #alec hardy #bill masters #grouchy bastards in love #public relations: the fic

[kilyra]

What You Do To Me

Matt Murdock Guest-Post One-shot (I, Kilyra, DID NOT WRITE THIS)

A/N: Hey everyone!! I’ve got another guest post from the wonderful @suitsofwo3 to share with you! I was down with a head cold this last week when she sent me this story to cheer me up.  It’s so great I asked if I could share it because I think a lot of you will enjoy it too 💗

And she included this note which makes my day all over again:

Suitsofwo3: So, it turns out that everytime you get sick, I get inspiration to write… who knew? Not entirely sure what that says about me… Anyway, here is a little drabble with Matt which I hope makes you smile 💕 Ps. Thank you for always being here for me 💕

“Shouldn’t it be illegal to feel this ill?”, you asked Matt, rubbing your fingers against your temples to try and shift the tension in your head. Even the feeling of Matt’s silk sheets wasn’t enough to relax you, this head cold was driving you crazy. Softly laughing next to you, the warmth of Matt’s chest which was tucked against your side was comforting. Leaning up on one elbow, Matt’s warm brown eyes search your face.

“Are you asking me that as your attorney, or as your boyfriend?” he queried, individually pulling each of your hands away from your head, replacing them with one of his own, gently massaging your temples.

“Uh, both I guess?” you reply, turning your face in Matt’s direction, a smile forming on his lips as his licks them.

“Well, as your attorney, I must advise you that I don’t think your case would stand up in a court of law, particularly given that-“, stopping mid-sentence, you watch as Matt tilts his head, listening out for something, his hand stilling against your temple.

Your eyes search his face for an explanation even though he can’t see you, but you keep quiet- for Matt, Hell’s Kitchen never slept. Furrowing his brows, Matt’s eyes frantically search your face as he continues to tilt his head.

“Y/N? Are you ok? Do you feel worse?” Matt’s words tumble out in a hurry, his grip on your head tightening ever so slightly.

“What is it, Matt? I’m fine, nothing has happened. What’s wrong, Matt? What did you hear?”, your questions coming out in a jumbled mess, as the look on Matt’s face starts to worry you.

“Your heartbeat- it spiked,” Matt states and you feel a rush of heat rise to your cheeks.

Oh god, this is so embarrassing. How were you going talk your way out of this one?

“Are you ok? You feel warm all of a sudden and your pulse- it’s fast,” he asks again, pressing two of his fingers against a pulse point in your neck as he continues to hold your face.

“I’m fine honestly, it’s just you did that thing,” you explain, hoping Matt will take the hint, to save you the embarrassment of explaining it.

“What? What thing?” Matt licks his lips, confused by your cryptic reply.

“You know…” you pause, trying to find the best and least embarrassing way to explain yourself.

“Enlighten me,” Matt retorts, his voice light and warm.

“You were using your attorney voice…” you trail off, feeling even more heat rushing to your cheeks, as your stomach does summersaults.

Staying silent for a moment you watch intently as Matt tries to put the pieces together in his head, before a wide grin spreads across his face, reaching right up to the corners of his eyes, as a dark laugh escapes from his lips.

“Objection. I wasn’t even aware I had an attorney voice,” Matt grins down at you, his face now just inches from yours and if your heart wasn’t already hammering in your chest, by now it felt like it was going to burst its way out.

“You’re a goddamn tease, Murdock and you know it,” you narrow your eyes at him, even if he can’t see you, he’ll know you’re doing it. “In fact, some might say, you actually quite enjoy it which I’m pretty sure is some kind of sin,” you joke, nudging him with your knee.

“Says the girl who five minutes ago wanted to file a law suit against their head cold and then suddenly perked up because I’m apparently using my ‘attorney voice,‘” Matt mimics. “But if you must know, in answer to your earlier question- as your boyfriend, my advice is that distraction is often the key to feeling better, either that or steaming to clear the pressure from your head…” Matt’s voice trails off as his lips find their way to just below your ear, the comforting scratch of his beard scraping against your shoulder and neck, as his body comes to hover over your own.

Automatically curving your body towards his, one of your hands finds its way to Matt’s back, your fingertips pressing firmly into his skin while the other slides into his hair. Tugging slightly, the feeling of his soft hair between your fingers is comforting as you make it stand on end.

Holding your face in one hand, Matt’s wet lips continue to mark your neck as he sighs darkly against your neck. Kissing his way along your jawline, Matt’s teeth graze your skin until his lips finally reach your own, his free hand gripping your waist firmly.

Looking almost directly into your eyes, Matt smiles at you as he lowers his lips to your own, eliciting a barely audible moan from your lips- the kind of moan that only Matt could hear- as his tongue slides its way across your teeth and into your mouth.

Moving his tongue against yours, Matt’s grip tightens on your waist as you cling onto his back, feeling his now-healed scars beneath the pads of your fingers.

Arching your back, your head tilts backwards, breaking the kiss.

“Matt…” you sigh, your eyes staying closed as you run your hands up and down his sides, as his mouth nips hungrily at your jaw.

“Shower?” Matt whispers low against your ear, “I mean, it’s distraction and steam and I don’t have to be at work today,” he explains, brushing his thumb across your lips.

Opening your eyes you look at Matt, who instinctively tilts his head, waiting for your reply.

“But, the city?” you worriedly reply. You knew how it important it was for Matt to protect his city, he’d already been away too long, through no fault of his own, to let it unravel again.

“The city can wait for one night,” Matt insists, squeezing your waist and moving to pick you up.

“Come on, before I change my mind,” Matt purses his lips together as he stares at you, before a devilish smile forms on his lips, the red glow from the sign on the adjacent building lighting up his features.

“Or am I going to have to subpoena you?” That attorney voice again.

“Doesn’t that breach client-attorney privilege?” you tease back, rising out of bed.

“Guess we’ll find out,” Matt whispers darkly against your shoulder, before scooping you up in one swift move, carrying you towards the bathroom.

Maybe being sick wasn’t so criminal after all.

Taglist (Sorry guys, I wasn’t sure if I should tag you or not because I didn’t write this but…it’s so great and think you guys will enjoy it too so hopefully it’s okay that I tagged!)  @jobean12-blog  @fiction-is-the-new-reality  @foreverfaeries  @flower-two  @getlostinyourparadise   @selfishkiddo @angelicshinigami  @natsukitakama

#matt murdock x reader #daredevil x reader #daredevil #matt murdock #marvel's daredevil #guest writer #she's the best! #submission

[dumbthinmint]

Hey! Sorry I only just messaged you. I wasn’t able to do so until now :) anyway, I’m your secret Santa! Can’t wait to talk and learn more about you! ❤️❤️

Hey! No worries; this is my first year doing this so I’m just happy to be here honestly. 

Since we’ll be spending a month chatting, I guess I should probably introduce myself! My name is Emily (she/her)! By day, I’m a college student studying Hispanic literature, history, language, and culture while learning to Adult with ADHD, Autism, and PTSD (and honestly having a fantastic time).

By night (and also day when I have time) I’m an JSE and sometimes Markiplier ego theorist, author of a fantasy AU focused on the JSE theorist community (@thewatchau) that I’m also adapting into its own independent (non-jse-related) series of novels, and all around nerd. 

On a slightly more serious note, I have a small request. I have a rather obsessive stalker ex who likes to send anonymous messages to my blog from time to time. Most of the time, it’s pretty clear which asks are from him and which ones are normal nonnies, but just in case, do you mind making a specific signature to use at the end of your asks? 

I’ve had a few scares where I’ve gotten unrelated cryptic anons that turned on the paranoia alarm bells, and recently I’m 90% sure I actually got one from him, so I just want to make sure I don’t accidentally jump on you if I have a moment of paranoia. I don’t really expect that to happen, since this is a happy secret santa thing and not a “let’s send creepy cryptic anons to celebrate the holidays” thing, but still, better safe than sorry. 

Wow this got long. Whoops. Hahaha yeah, fair warning; I tend to ramble sometimes. Anyway, looking forward to chatting with you! I’ll tag these posts as “secret santa” so you can find them easily on my blog.

#secret santa

[habibialkaysani]

Tell Me That You’ll Stay (Oliver/Felicity; T)

Ships: Oliver/Felicity

Summary:  Set post-5x17. After being patched up by Felicity, Oliver comes to in the loft. There, he and Felicity confront some home truths.

A/N: So I'm back, with another Olicity fic after the last one went down so well :) I can't believe I'm getting back into writing these two but my muse isn't complaining! Anyway, I hope you enjoy.

Read at AO3

Read at FFN

“Oliver… Oliver,” Felicity says softly, “I - show me where it hurts. And I'll make it okay.”

Oliver reaches out, hand scrabbling until he finds her wrist. “Just… tell me that you'll stay. With me. For now.”

“I'm not going anywhere, I promise.”

“I love you,” he murmurs before he can stop himself. “I love you,” he says again.

And then everything goes black.

When he comes to he automatically tries to sit up, but the ache in his chest stops him from getting very far. He exhales softly, realising he's not in the bunker anymore, and he's not lying on the cool operating table but instead in a warm bed. When he breathes in he can smell the faint, familiar scent of Felicity's perfume, and he closes his eyes, savouring the sweetness of it.

He's in the loft, he realises, in Felicity's bed. Oliver groans inwardly when she comes in, bearing a mug of coffee, for he remembers now what he said to her before he passed out.

“What am I doing here?” he asks. His tone is light, almost conversational, except he sounds more tired than he's been in his life, and there is an emptiness to him that he's never felt before.

She shrugs. “I figured you probably didn't sleep much the last six days. And my place was closer to the bunker.”

There's a look on her face, as if she's trying to decide whether to sit down on the bed or not. After several moments she does so, her hand settling uncertainly on his knee above the covers.

Silence falls, and Oliver tries again to sit up. He manages to this time, with much effort.

“I got you coffee,” she tells him unnecessarily as he picks up the mug and takes a sip gingerly. “And I finished patching you up.”

“Thank you,” he says gratefully.

She takes his hand, then, and squeezes it before letting go. “You never have to thank me.”

“Felicity, I -” But he hesitates, because when their eyes meet he finds it impossible to look away, and then he's lost in the rich sea of grey and forgets momentarily how to form words.

“It's okay,” she says quickly.

“No, it's not,” Oliver says. “I - before I passed out. I said something.”

“You did,” Felicity says in a small voice. “But it’s okay. You were sleep deprived and tortured by a serial killer - you weren't thinking straight.”

“Maybe. But I was. And I do.”

He doesn’t mean to be cryptic, but it comes out that way anyway.

“Love me, you mean?” she says in the same small voice.

“Honestly? I never stopped.” And it's strange that saying those words makes the burden on his heart so much lighter, even as he adds swiftly, “But I didn't have - an agenda. I meant what I said. You're better off as far away from me as possible - you, John, the rest of the team.”

“Oliver…” Felicity whispers, and a solitary tear rolls down her cheek. “Don't say that. Whatever Chase did to you, we're going to get him and -”

“No, you don't understand,” he interrupts. “It's over for me. I'm hanging up the hood. I never… I never should have put it on in the first place.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” she demands. Oliver just shakes his head, though, and to his surprise she softens considerably. “I guess I'm, uh, not one to talk. Seeing as how I've not exactly been forthcoming with you recently.”

Without thinking he covers her hand with his own, and when he realises what he's doing he tries to tug it away, only for Felicity to cover his hand with hers, stopping him. His grip slackens, then, and he surrenders to her touch.

“I'm not really the best example when it comes to keeping secrets,” Oliver says with the ghost of a smile.

“Well, how about… you tell me yours if I tell you mine?” she suggests.

“Only if you go first.”

She chuckles. “Fine. I - have been involved with an organisation called Helix. They're a group of hacktivists.”

“Like when you were in college?” he asks, and somehow he's not altogether surprised.

“Yeah. Except minus the whole dark hair and black lipstick thing I had going on.”

He manages a weak laugh at that.

“Is that how you got John out of prison?” he asks.

“Yeah. And Helix is where I've been getting my intel. On Chase. On Susan.”

“And, what, they just give you that info for free?”

“More like a quid pro quo thing,” Felicity says, and there's no denying the slight unease on her face when she says that. “Which may have involved me doing some pretty illegal things in exchange for that intel.”

“Felicity…”

“I know what you're going to say,” she interrupts, but Oliver holds up his hand.

“Maybe not. I - may not be happy with how you're getting your information, but I'm not going to pretend it wasn't useful. Or the fact that you're a grown woman capable of making her own decisions… no matter how illegal they may be.”

For a moment it seems like Felicity is rendered speechless. Then she finds her voice and says, “So you're not mad?”

“It's your life,” Oliver says simply. “Your decisions. I respect that. I just hope you realise it could become dangerous for you is all.”

Unexpectedly she leans forward and hugs him, arms going around his middle. He's still without a shirt and is surprised by the gesture, but he nevertheless hugs her back.

“What's this for?” he asks.

“Nothing, I just - thank you.”

“I told you,” he says, and he can't help but stroke her hair, “you never have to thank me.”

Then she pulls away, looking up at him. “Your turn.”

Oliver sighs, taking a deep breath. “You want to know what Chase did to me?”

She shakes her head. “I want to know why you want to hang up the hood.”

“He tortured me.”

Almost automatically, her hand goes up to the patch of gauze on his chest where his Bratva tattoo used to be. “Yeah, I figured that much.”

“More than that, though. He… wanted me to confess something.”

“What?”

He closes his eyes, unable to meet hers. “I… killed his father.”

“So he wanted you to confess to that?”

“Not exactly. But he - had leverage. Evelyn…”

“Evelyn was there?” Felicity says sharply.

“Yeah. Chase wanted one of us to kill the other or he'd snap her neck.”

“He didn't…” she begins to say, but he shakes his head.

“No, he just made it look like he had, and that was what broke me.”

“You confessed?” she asks quietly.

“I did,” Oliver replies. “I confessed what I was too afraid to say even to myself. I admitted to myself that I'm a monster.”

“Oliver -”

He closes his eyes, remembers himself screaming the words to Adrian at long last.

“I WANTED TO! AND I LIKED IT!”

“I can't - tell you what he made me say to get him to let me go,” Oliver says heavily. “That's how terrible it is.”

“If this is about, I don't know, your body count while you were on the island -” Felicity begins to say, but Oliver shakes his head.

“It's something much, much worse.”

“Then what -?”

“I told you. He made me confess to being a monster.”

“You're not a monster, Oliver,” Felicity tells him firmly. “You're not. You're still…” She hesitates for a moment, then says, “You're still the man I fell in love with.”

“What are you saying?” says Oliver hoarsely. She leans forward, cups his cheek.

“I'm saying… I never stopped loving you either. I'm saying… we'll get through this together. God, Oliver, I'm saying I love you too, okay?”

But he can't accept that.

“You wouldn't if you knew the truth,” he insists. “The real truth, about my past. If you knew what Adrian and Evelyn heard me say, you'd never look at me the same.”

“You don't know that.”

“Yes, I do. I'm sorry, I - I have to go.” Oliver gets up, then, swaying momentarily on the spot as his feet find their balance. To his relief a pile of his clothes are lain at the foot of the bed and he starts pulling them on as quickly as he can.

“Where are you going?”

He starts buttoning up his shirt. “The office.”

After putting on his pants, Oliver grabs his tie and tries to do it up, but his hands are shaking too much.

Once again Felicity softens, going over to where he's standing and doing his tie for him.

“You've been missing for a week,” she says, and she seems not to notice the way he holds his breath at their close proximity to one another.

“All the more reason why I need to get back to work.”

“And, what, if you see Chase you're just going to act like nothing has happened?” she says in disbelief.

“That's exactly what I'm going to do,” Oliver answers, pulling on his suit jacket. “It's the only thing I can do.”

“Oliver -”

“I meant what I said, Felicity.”

“Which part?” she says, and her voice shakes ever so slightly as he bends down slightly to put on his shoes.

“All of it,” he says quietly, without meeting her eyes.

But then he feels her finger go under his chin, lifting his face so his eyes are level with hers. Felicity's are shimmering, Oliver can see now, and she seems to be on the verge of bursting into tears.

“Hey, look at me.”

Obediently he does just that, letting her cradle his cheeks with her hands. “I shouldn't have said what I said,” he begins, “but that doesn't make it any less true.”

“Then why -”

“Just because I still love you doesn't mean you don't deserve better. Because you do. The truth is, you're worth a thousand of me.”

But at this she shakes her head. “Just the one will do,” Felicity says softly, and it takes every ounce of willpower to force him to tug her hands away from where they've settled on his jaw.

“I'm sorry, I -”

And before he can stop himself he walks away, so she's cradling air, and she watches him go, crestfallen.

Tagging: @olicity-klaroline-addiction @oldsoul9901 @klappyanne @stungunmilly2 @voidriphunter @hotchocolate121 @olicitylovemaking @jukimsmith16 @biermank @lotus-675 @spunkyar @loveyourstray @felicityollies

#olicitysquee #olicity fic #olicity #oliver x felicity #olicity fanfiction #arrow #oliver queen #felicity smoak #otp: I believe in you #mine #my fic #fanfic #angst

[colorofmymindposts]

Heart Skips A Beat

Chapter Three

Fandom: Schitt’s Creek

Pairing: Patrick Brewer/David Rose

Characters: David Rose, Patrick Brewer, Stevie Budd 

Rating: Teen and Up

Status: Complete! Chapter One can be read here  and Chapter Two here or you can read the whole work on ao3.

Word Count: 1713 for this chapter, 6118 for the entire work 

Summary: Stevie doesn't give into David's demands to let him stay at her place when Alexis has lice. So Patrick offered. Patrick Brewer with the straight leg denim. Patrick Brewer with the awful taste in decor and who loves poking fun at David. Patrick Brewer with all the help and business advice David needs to not run this store into the ground before it even starts. Patrick, who David is starting to warm up to despite his best intentions not to.

Tags: Alternative Universe - Canon Divergence, Season 3 AU, Fluff, Flirting

Story:

It’s just past midnight. David can tell because he’s currently staring at his phone, the artificial light casting a harsh glow onto his face and the horrendous pink bedroom walls behind him.

This was not how this night was supposed to go. Yes, anything was better than staying at the motel, running the risk of getting lice and ruining one of his few good qualities (his hair, obviously). But he just had to go ahead and make what was a good situation the worst, his unparalleled flair for creating unmitigated disasters rearing its ugly head once again.

Dinner had actually been nice. It was one of the first meals in the last two years where he didn’t bump elbows with Alexis while unfolding the Cafe Tropical menu or have to decipher his mother’s cryptic speech patterns. Patrick teased him constantly, but strangely enough David didn’t even mind it. Nevermind the fact that he couldn’t feel even slightly offended when Patrick's eyes looked that warmly at him. Nobody looks at him like that.

What the fuck had even happened after that? There was only one person in this world he could confide in right now.

David, 12:21 a.m.]

I need your help.  

He bites at his bottom lip nervously as he waits for her reply. (It’s a habit he really needs to quit. He’s not sure when it started, but he remembers nearly causing his lip to bleed when he was waiting for hours for Alexis to text him back because she was in trouble in Bali, remembers when he had run out of mall pretzels one time during the post-Sebastien phase of his life and just chewed at his lower lip feeling sorry for himself.)

He stops and smiles a little when he sees the three dots appear and start to move.

[Stevie, 12:23 a.m.]

You know, the point of you not staying at my place tonight was so I could get some sleep

[Stevie, 12:24 a.m.]

What’s up?

It takes him several tries to come up with a coherent response.

[David, 12:28 a.m.]

I fucked things up with Patrick.

The dots show up immediately this time.

[Stevie, 12:30 a.m.]

What do you mean?  

What did you do?

[David, 12:32 a.m.]

Patrick wanted me to take his bed for the night. I thought that meant something else than it actually did.

[Stevie, 12:33 a.m.]

David you know I hate vague texts PLease just tell me what happened

What should he even say? ‘I entertained the idea that my business partner was actually into me and it blew up in my face’? Or ‘I’m sleeping in Patrick’s bed and I can’t stop thinking about how it is his bed and it’s not conducive to me actually getting some rest’?

Because it was all those things and not. David’s been rejected enough times; he shouldn’t be this affected by the latest development in his disaster of a love life. And it wasn’t as though Patrick had kicked him out for flirting. David drops his phone on the duvet, scrubbing at his face with the heels of his palms, trying to remember what exactly had been said.

His phone flashes again with Stevie’s name.

[Stevie, 12:39 a.m.]

???

He’s typing before he can really sort through his words, hitting send before he can erase it all.

[David, 12:40 a.m.]

I think I’m into Patrick and I don’t know what to do about it

Patrick said he was worried. No, that he didn’t want David to worry, like he was the one making things weird for the two of them, not David.

[Stevie, 12:41 a.m.]

Talk to him

She’s right, of course, because Stevie is right about 80 percent of the time when it concerns David’s life decisions. And it’s not as if David isn’t getting anywhere by just thinking about it. In Patrick’s bed. God, he is so fucked.

There can’t be anything done about it until the morning though. Patrick’s probably already asleep on the couch downstairs, and he’ll likely have a crick in his neck because he gave up his room for David like the chivalrous gentleman he’s determined to be.

David places his phone on the bedside table and finally settles against the pillows—Patrick’s pillows—and slips under the covers—Patrick’s covers. The bed is so much bigger than the twin mattress he occupies at the motel, and so he subconsciously limits himself to the right half of the bed, unused to having this much space to himself. He tries to pretend this is just a really nice hotel he’s treating himself to, with clean linen, a bedside table...and a space next to him that’s just large enough for a 5’8 man who’s entirely too good for David Rose.

It’s clear sleep will not be coming anytime soon, so David shuffles from the bed out into the hallway. Whenever David had trouble falling asleep as a child, Adelina always found him aimlessly wandering the manor halls while his parents entertained guests downstairs. She’d talk him through whatever had been keeping him up and send him off to bed with a glass of water. Maybe all he needs to do is take a page out of her book to get through tonight.

He pads down the stairs and towards the kitchen quietly, knowing Patrick will most definitely be asleep at this point.

“David?”

He nearly jumps out of his skin at the sound of the voice behind him.

“Oh my god!” he exclaims reflexively, pivoting on his heels to face the other man. Judging by how alert Patrick looks, he hasn’t been getting any sleep either.

Still, he hedges, “I didn’t wake you up, did I?”

“No,” Patrick answers gently. David’s nervous to talk to him so soon after...well him being an idiot, but Patrick looks resigned if anything. “I couldn’t fall asleep after waiting up for Ray to come back anyways. If he’s been out late, he’s usually had too much to drink.”

“Ah yes, I did hear that,” David says, recalling high-pitch giggling in the house that could not have come from Patrick from nearly an hour ago.

“Yeah, he forgot his keys somewhere the last time, so I just figured I’d help him out this time.”

David can’t help but notice how the skin crinkles around Patrick’s eyes when he grimaces.

“Very generous of you.”

“Thanks. He didn’t wake you up, did he?”

“No. I, uh, was thirsty…” David starts and trails off. Talk to him Steve had said. If he doesn’t do it now, he knows he won’t bring it up when they return to the store, where they can couch each conversation in business talk and opening plans. Whereas there’s an ambient calm only the night could offer in Patrick’s kitchen, and he can just see a sliver of moonlight illuminate Patrick’s concerned face. Here, it feels like he can speak the truth. “For this conversation.”

He doesn’t miss the confused look that crosses Patrick’s face.

“First of all, I did not mean...to imply you were hitting on me—”

“David—” Patrick tries to interrupt. It would be an easy excuse for David to stop digging himself his own grave as he’s doing right now.

“I like you, Patrick. A lot. You’ve been the best business partner I’ve ever had by far...and you’re my friend,” David admits with a small smile. “And I might have said what I did because I’m realizing I like you a little bit more than what I normally reserve for friendships.”

He struggles with what to say next, after essentially admitting what he feels for Patrick in inexact terms. David bites down on his lip again but doesn’t fail to notice how the other man’s eyes follow the movement. Could it mean…

Patrick steps into David’s space, cupping his face with one hand. David can’t ignore how his stomach flips at the slightest touch. He’s pretty sure he leans in first, but it’s hard to tell because Patrick’s face is right there and his lips are firm but he seems to tremble when David attempts to turn it into something less chaste.

“Um, I've never done that before with a guy.”

David’s been on the same end of this conversation before. It typically hasn’t ended well, in his experience. But for some reason he’s not expecting to hear the worst from Patrick, that this was a mistake.

So he says, “Okay.”

And he waits.

Patrick ducks his head a little, seeming more self-conscious than regretful. “But I’ve been wanting to do that with you for a while. And most of tonight, actually.”

“Yeah?” David can’t hide the grin that splits across his face. He can’t remember the last time he felt like this. Is this what people feel like when they’re happy?

“Yeah. I know this is probably going to be a very big turnoff,” Patrick says as he winds his arms around David’s neck, as if that would be any kind of turnoff for him, “but I don’t want to rush anything with this. I don’t know if I’m ready to take this to the next level right away.”

Patrick’s eyes flicker upward, towards the stairs where Patrick’s bedroom is and...oh David understands now.

“We can take this at whatever pace you want. And as long you make breakfast as good as you did dinner tonight, I am not going to have any complaints about my stay here,” David jokes as he attempts to reassure his partner. Who’s not just his business partner now.

“Not even about Ray’s drunk singing?” Patrick teases, humor lacing his every word.

“That'll be a footnote, if anything.”

It seems to make Patrick laugh, god knows how or why, but it makes David’s cheeks heat up. He doesn’t have too much time to examine it as Patrick leans up again and kisses him again, more sure this time even as he lets David take the lead, and David’s chest swells with some kind of special feeling that he can’t define that Patrick chose him, trusts him with this and not some other man.

He’ll have to send a text to Alexis later thanking her for getting lice.

#david x patrick #david rose #patrick brewer #schitt's creek #stevie budd #fanfiction #my writing #heart skips a beat