Once you find your muse, your endless source of inspiration, you just know it.
Ideas start popping into your head like a headache after a wild frat party, an unstoppable freight train speeding towards its destination- the creation of something beautiful. The big difference, this particular thrumming was very welcome, especially if you had been experiencing a drought of ideas like Oliver had.
The beautiful thing is that suddenly, the world seems a little brighter and your hands start itching to create. Whether it's with paint or words or musical notes, the tingling sensation becomes a part of your life that you never want to lose. You won't realize how much you need it in order to be happy until it's gone.
It was hard, because like most students with creative majors, Oliver's grades depended on a constant flow of ideas and lately, well, the ideas had dried up and his grades had plummeted. Unlike classes where books were his main source of information, in these classes Oliver had to be the one to come up with the material in order to earn a good grade. His parents had warned him about it over and over again, but he hadn't believed them. They had always been opposed to his choice to go for a career in music rather than following his father's footsteps into business. They had let him follow his dream, but not without their reservations.
Oliver was on the brink of dropping out of college and going home with his tail between his legs. He was tired of endless nights of trying to get lyrics rhyming, and beats and rhythms flowing. He was about to give up his dreams of becoming a musician when he stumbled upon his muse. Quite literally.
It was a sunny May afternoon, and Oliver was going be late for class. Again. He had his guitar strapped to his back, awkwardly holding his stack of sheet-music. Passing the Human Studies building, he glanced at his watch as he turned a corner too fast without paying attention to where he was going. He collided with something. Someone.
She, judging by the yelp she let out, stumbled backwards, paintbrushes and sketchbook falling from her hands, scattering across the pavement. Oliver's grip on his sheet-music faltered, sending the paper flying into the air as he tripped over the brushes. He barely managed not to land on his guitar by turning into his side, letting his arm take the force of the fall. Grunting in pain, he saw her scramble to her feet, hurrying towards him.
"Oh my god! Are you okay?!" She was hovering over him, her golden hair illuminated by the sunlight, creating a halo around her head. Her bright blue eyes searched his, concern written all over her features.
"Wow. I'm so sorry, I wasn't paying attention to where I was going." He said, wincing in pain as he tried to use his now injured arm to push himself off the pavement.
"No, no, no." She said, shaking her head. "It was my fault. I was daydreaming again."
Oliver let out a breathy laugh. "I'm trying to be a gentleman here. I should've paid more attention."
He took the hand she offered to help him up. Brushing the dirt off his jeans with his good hand, he let his eyes roam up her body clad in a pair of adorable denim overalls and a simple grey V-neck. They had holes all over the legs, combined with paint splatters in various colors. He smiled meeting her eyes, her bottom lip tucked between her teeth. She put her hands on her hips and squinted her eyes a little.
"Are you sure you're okay? That arm doesn't look good." She asked, head tilting to the side.
There were scrapes on his elbow and bruises were starting to form in an angry pattern. But he wasn't gonna be guy who started crying for his mother to kiss it better. He should ask the girl to kiss it better. No, he should be the strong guy who'd carry her when she was wounded. Geez Oliver, get your macho brain out of the gutter.
Oliver frowned. "Oh right, yeah. It's not that bad, don't worry."
She reached out and grabbed his arm, and not gently either. Oliver yelped in pain. Smiling innocently, she shrugged and looked at him questioningly.
"Really? C'mon man. At least let me take you to the hospital."
He sighed in defeat and nodded. "Fine, gotta clean up this mess first though…" He gestured to the mess their collision had caused. The bubbly blonde let out a laugh and nodded.
"Good point." She turned on her heel, feet tucked in a pair of purple ankle booties, and bent forward to pick up her brushes. Oliver didn't really mind the view of her behind that she presented him with before quickly swallowing away the flash of lust and gathering his sheet-music one-handed.
They managed to collect everything pretty quickly. She helped him with the stack of paper as they walked towards where she had parked her car. She had named it Archer and when Oliver asked about, she simply shrugged and said she was a Sagittarius. He had known this girl for a few minutes and she was already intriguing him to no end. She couldn't stop laughing at Oliver trying to fit into her tiny Mini Cooper. He grumbled a little, but the sound of her laugh made his heart flutter.
They chatted idly about their lives and suddenly Oliver realized that he didn't even know her name. So, he asked, and discovered her name was Felicity. He was amazed, freaking Felicity. He knew enough about name origins to realize that hers meant 'happiness'. He already knew it suited her perfectly and he'd only made her acquaintance five minutes ago.
Felicity was witty, artistic, bubbly and downright gorgeous. Oliver hadn't managed to tear his gaze off of her the entire way to the hospital, or in the doctor's office, or when they had put him in a cast because he had freaking broken his arm. Felicity talked to him all the way through it, whether it was comforting words or cracking some of the dumbest jokes ever. He loved it. She was a freshman with an art major and she had Oliver wrapped around her little finger in a matter of an afternoon spent in the hospital.
"At least I didn't break my left arm, I wouldn't be able to play you a thank you song." He smirked on their way back to her car.
Felicity shook her head and rolled her eyes. "Do you like Van Gogh?"
Pursing his lips, Oliver debated his answer for a second. "Sure, I guess I do."
Her tongue darted out to wet her lips as she smiled. She ended up painting 'Starry Night' on his cast, but that's getting ahead of the story.
They were on their way back to campus when he finally managed to ask her out. Her eyes lit up, her freckles more noticeable in the light of the setting sun. She accepted, a blush spreading across her cheeks.
The thank you song was the first song Oliver would write for her, with the fitting name 'Felicity.' He sang it to her on their first date.
He played her the song, took her to dinner and an art show, held her hand as they strolled back to her dorm and kissed her cheek before wishing her a good night like the perfect gentlemen.
She on the other hand wasn't having it. When he was stepping away, turning for the elevator, she called out his name, took a tiny run-up and kissed him, arms wrapping around his shoulders. She had to stand on the tips of her toes because even in heels, she was tiny compared to Oliver.
His hand found its way to her back, pulling her against him. They only pulled apart after one of the other doors opened and a group of students came pouring out of the tiny dorm cheering like immature children when they saw what was happening in their hallway. Felicity blushed, looking down at her purple boots, pressing her lips together nervously. Oliver entwined their hands while the rowdy group made their way to the elevator, continuing their path to whatever frat party they were headed to that night.
When they were gone, Felicity tugged on Oliver's collar, pulling him into her dorm room. As soon as the door closed she was shoving at his leather jacket, helping him out of it and tugging it over his cast. His shirt was next. Felicity's hands moved over his toned chest, nails occasionally lightly biting into his skin. He held her as she admired him, pressing kisses from his lips, across his jaw, down his throat and over his shoulder. She pulled away just enough to pull off her denim jacket. He swallowed, taking in her creamy skin as she stepped out of her sundress and stepped closer to him again. His hands fell to her waist and he leaned in to kiss her again. She kicked off her shoes and started fumbling with his belt. Pulling away from her lips for a moment, he searched her eyes. They were a shade darker than they had been just moments before.
"I don't want this to just be a one night stand." He whispered.
Felicity smiled, undid his belt and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. "Good. Me neither."
And then they were kissing again, Oliver this time a little more active in trying to get her clothes off, or well, her lingerie. He made it his mission to kiss and touch and taste as much of the creamy skin as he could. He made her beg, her hands clutching at his hair as his tongue worked its magic.
"Oliver, please." She cried out as he pulled her over the edge, lips moving over her damp skin as she came down from her high. She reached into the drawer of her bedside table, pulling out a small square foil packet. Oliver grinned, taking it from her as he hovered over her. He was unsure if she would enjoy tasting herself on his lips but he didn't have to wonder for long because she reached up, pressing their lips together. He moaned into her mouth as her tongue teased him, her hands roaming down his back and over his ass. Felicity laughed as Oliver realized that he might need two hands for the condom, and gladly came to his rescue. And to be quite honest, her tiny hand around him was probably one of the sexiest things he had ever seen. It was currently in second place, ranking behind Felicity climaxing.
That was the first time they made love, but it wasn't until the morning after, when Oliver woke to a mop of blonde hair in his face, the sunlight peeking through the shutters that he realized he was falling in love with her. Her gentle snoring comforted him in a way he didn't know was possible. He could see her freckles from where her head was resting on his chest, the tiny spots like stars against her skin. The sunlight danced off of her golden curls and Oliver knew that that was it. There was no going back. Oliver Queen was falling head over heels in love with Felicity Smoak.
Their relationship was the most wonderful of whirlwinds. They were young and in love and everything was perfect. They knew each other's coffee orders, which came in handy for early morning classes or all-nighters. They laughed at each other's stupid jokes and jammed out to their favorite songs (some of which Oliver's creations). They would take long walks around campus in the fall, Felicity always sporting her purple booties, even though they were worn out. She explained to him that they were the first really nice pair she had been able to afford, after drooling over them for months. She loved them, even if she had to take them to the cobbler at least bi-monthly for repairs. It came in handy though, because he was able to spot her from a distance, making his heart flutter every time he saw that dash of purple.
Oliver wrote her countless songs, singing them to her on lazy Sunday mornings when she was wearing nothing but one of his plaid shirts. She drew him, too. While he was working on a new piece, his 'concentration face' never failing to inspire her. Or when he passed out on his desk, his peacefulness never boring her. That was usually a quick sketch, though, before she would wake him up and pull him into bed.
Oliver's grades made a miraculous recovery and it was all thanks to Felicity.
His Felicity. His happiness. His muse.