#I've read a fair amount of GOT fic and none of them so far have written Stannis-Sansa interactions the way I feel that they would go

[leupagus]

The degree to which Davos and Brienne are going to become reluctant BFFs, because their lieges keep coming to them complaining about each other, is UNREAL

or, more from this fic that's slowly eating my life

~

Their journey to the Northern army's camp had revealed a great deal about Lady Stark and her lords and petty chieftains: their patronizing generosity, their gruff suspicion of outsiders, and above all their mind-boggling obstinacy. Ned and Lyanna had been much the same, from what he remembered, and Stannis had seen shades of it in Jon Snow, though couched more gently than he'd expected from a bastard. He'd imagined — insofar as he'd imagined her at all — that Lady Stark would be gentler still, her mother's line warming that chilled Northern blood.

He had been disastrously mistaken. It was a wonder only one Stark had survived, but it was already clear that she had gathered the entire share of Stark mulishness.

"I have conditions, Your Grace," said Lady Stark. "If this alliance is to succeed in retaking Winterfell, I feel it right that you hear them." She placed the parchment in her hand carefully on his table and stepped back, hands folded primly.

She had requested, and been granted, this conference shortly after Stannis's army had made camp alongside the Northern soldiers. Stannis's tent had barely been erected when she came to him with this parchment, her wolf, and a determined expression. He had thought he'd listened to her enough on the journey as she'd prattled away with Shireen, but he was in the mood to be permissive.

Reading through her list of demands, he could feel the headache building along his jaw and up through his skull. "Have you lost your mind?" he said, for the second time in a week to an unreasonable woman.

Melisandre had brushed his question aside, but Lady Stark was not made of such supple stuff; she stiffened and glowered at him. "That is a peculiar way to agree to my terms, Your Grace."

"Your terms are rather more than peculiar, my lady," he said, tossing the parchment back on the table.

In truth, the first one was not so peculiar: it said that should they regain the Keep, he would recognize Sansa Stark as Lady of Winterfell and Warden of the North in her own right. He would not pass her over in favor of some lesser Northern male relative, nor would he obligate her to marry and rule only as companion to her husband. Considering Stannis's own intention to ensure Shireen sat on the Iron Throne after his death, he could hardly begrudge her this.

Considering the other two stipulations, however, he felt very much inclined to begrudge her everything.

"Supposing your younger brothers turn up?" he asked, thrusting his chin at the parchment. "Or Jon Snow is legitimized?"

This question didn't faze her, he suspected because it was a question of logistics and protocol rather than a personal remark. "If Jon is made legitimate, I don't believe he would want Winterfell—"

"Duty is not a question of wanting, Lady Stark," he reminded her. "And the Lord Commander is—"

"The Lord Commander, as you say, is the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch," she retorted. "His life has already been pledged to the Wall. If he didn't abandon that cause in aid of my brother Robb, he won't abandon it now."

Stannis observed her. There was bitterness there, certainly, though less than he would have thought. Lady Stark clearly understood the ties that bound men to their duty, even if she did not like them.

"However," she continued, "Should any of my brothers wish to make a claim to Winterfell in my place, I won't stand against them." She paused for a moment, and added, "I have no wish to die at their hands out of misplaced pride."

Stannis clenched his jaw but let that go for the moment — it would be addressed soon enough. "You call me 'Your Grace,'" he said, tapping at the parchment, "Yet your second stipulation says that you will not bend the knee to me, even if I regain Winterfell for you."

"No, it says that I will not bend the knee to any claimant to the throne until they hold the majority of the kingdoms," she shot back. "The Lannisters hold the Crownlands, the Westerlands and the Reach at present. The Riverlands are still in chaos, the Vale has withdrawn from all alliances to sulk in their mountains, and both Dorne and the Iron Islands have declared for themselves, more or less. You can, at best, claim that the Stormlands still support you, though I've seen no evidence for it — they didn't march under your banner at first, did they?"

That was the second time she had brought up Renly, however obliquely. If she were trying to drive him mad, she couldn't go about it any better. "When I hold the North, my lady, I will have more land—"

"Setting aside the notion that it will be you alone who holds the North, you'll have more land and fewer men than any other region. If you wish to win against the Lannisters, you'll need more than mountains and glaciers fighting your battles. And if I wish to be Warden of the North, I can't keep the respect of my lords by swearing fealty to a man who has yet to earn it."

"I could have you burned for such talk," he said, getting to his feet and pouring himself some water, hoping it would ease the throbbing in his head.

"You don't burn nobles, you behead them," she replied cooly. "I should know. I was there when the Lannisters took my own father's head for supporting your claim to the Iron Throne. I have no intention of sharing his fate." She took a deep breath, and only then did he note that her hands had been clenched together, her right covering the balled-up fist of her left. "I won't take arms against you now or in the future, on that I give my word."

"And if I do have you beheaded?" he asked, putting the tin cup down before he crumpled it in his hand.

It seemed to amuse her. "Then my words will mean even less than they do now."

"They mean nothing, because you will not give them!" He pinched his nose and attempted to regain his composure. Surprisingly difficult, with this — child.

She regarded him for a moment. "You call me Lady Stark, Your Grace," she said, "but tell me, have you heard anyone else call me that?"

Stannis, thrown by the question, was forced to consider it. In truth, he had heard only Lady Sansa, though said with more reverence by her men and lords than he could ever recall being addressed himself. "You are Lady Stark."

"Not without Winterfell," she said, shaking her head. "It's more than just the home of the Starks, it is our…place in the world. We belong nowhere else. Just as there must always be a Stark at Winterfell, so too do we need Winterfell to truly be Starks." She gave him a pointed look. "Just as Your Grace needs the Iron Throne, and the fealty of all the Seven Kingdoms, to truly be king."

She was wrong, of course, but Stannis felt the same lurch in his belly whenever his footing slipped during a bout. "Perhaps your reticence has something to do with this last stipulation," he said instead, going back to the table and jabbing his finger at the third line. "Falsely accusing a king is treason."

"Is Lady Brienne falsely accusing you, Your Grace?" she asked, smooth as ice. Her hands were still clenched, he noted.

"I was nowhere near Renly's camp when he died," Stannis said, with perfect truth, even as he felt himself balanced on a knife's edge.

He had been nowhere near. He had woken up just before dawn with the lead weight of certainty in his belly, knowing what had happened — what the Red Woman had said must happen — and lying there, staring up at the tent's canvas, he had wept. Wept for the brothers he had loved and who had never loved him back. He would never know if Renly had had a hand in Robert's death; just as he would never know if he himself had had a hand in Renly's. Had he ordered Melisandre to kill him? Had he believed her when she said she could make such a thing come to pass? Davos had begged to tell him of what had happened in the cave that night, what monstrous thing the Red Woman had done to bring Renly's death about. Stannis had refused to hear it. Perhaps there was a sort of rough justice in facing his accuser now, the only one living who knew the truth.

"Lady Brienne has served me faithfully," said Lady Stark, "and my mother before me, at great cost to herself. I believe her testimony, Your Grace."

"Her testimony that I murdered my own brother."

Lady Stark regarded him steadily. "I will not insult either of you by declaring one more honorable than the other. But when I regain Winterfell, my duty as Warden of the North will be to adjudicate all such matters, and this falls under my purview. Even if you were crowned King of the Seven Kingdoms in the Red Keep itself, the North holds all persons, regardless of title, under its laws while they reside here."

"Renly didn't die in the North," was all he could manage to say.

"He died, Your Grace." Lady Stark looked almost pitying. "And for that, I'm sorry. I know what it is to lose your brothers. But on this point I will not waver."

"Is there any point on which you have?" he asked, curious.

She continued serenely. "Lady Brienne will be permitted to make her accusation publicly; how you respond to it is your affair, but if you prevail, you must give me your word now that she will not be held guilty of treason, nor will she be killed by any member of your party by any means." She put enough emphasis on the last two words to make her meaning plain.

"And if she prevails?" Stannis asked. "Your stipulations do not mention the outcome of the trial, only that it will take place." He smiled grimly. "Your father always said that he who passes the sentence should swing the sword, my lady. Will you behead me yourself?"

"I doubt either of us would find that a pleasant exercise, Your Grace," she said, her lip curling slightly. She didn't blanch, however; young as she was, she had seen worse. Had possibly done worse, if the rumors about the Purple Wedding were true. He'd not asked. "If you are found guilty, then you will ride south. If you win the support of the other kingdoms, the North will bend the knee to you. But you'll never come north of the Neck again. Does that satisfy?"

Stannis glanced down at the parchment again. There it all was, in black and white: the price he must pay for the North. The blasted girl had even provided a space for him to sign at the bottom.

"Not remotely," he said, but reached for his pen.

[iamtherainbowpanda101]

Good Omens AU Fic WIP

Uh...so...it's been probably 10 years or more since I've actually written any sort of fanfiction and posted it online.

But Good Omens won't let go of my brain right now, and I've been reading various fanfictions after watching the show and got inspired to try my own AU fic.

I have no idea whether it will get an ending so I probably won't post it anywhere in full until I know for sure. I'm going to give it my best shot to finish it, though.

Here's a little bit, in case anyone is interested.

The large paintbrush clattered as it landed on a square glass palette covered in globs of paint. A guttural growl erupted from the slender man who had tossed down the brush. Sunlight streaming through the window behind him set fire to his long locks of auburn hair, which was mostly tied back with a scrap of gray cloth. A few strands had escaped and were framing his temples. He ran a hand down his face, unknowingly smearing more spots of paint onto his cheeks.

“This is hopeless,” Crowley groaned to himself, shaking his head dejectedly at the ruined canvas on the wooden easel before him. He’d been attempting to paint another nebula, a subject that had once been a tried and true staple he found he could always paint with excellent results. Yet, it was as if he’d forgotten how to paint the stars. The colors were too dull and were mixing together into something that was grotesque rather than beautiful.

How long had it been since he’d actually finished a piece of art? Maggie, the proprietor of The Small Back Room, a gallery that sold his work, had been bothering him for weeks for new pieces to put in the section of the shop she kept cordoned off for him. Crowley had provided her with some of his older works to get her off his back, ones that he hadn’t been able to get quite right. The disappointed look she’d given him meant that she knew they were subpar just as much as he did. But what was he to do, when this blasted art block had him in a choke hold?

Crowley wiped his hands off on an already filthy rag and glanced around his apartment. He lived in a tiny studio that had just the right amount of space for him, his plants, and his art. The place was rather empty, with only the bare minimum when it came to furniture. His friends liked to joke that he couldn’t really be an artist because he was such a neat freak when it came to his space. But Crowley liked the minimalist look. Usually, the lack of decor allowed him to manifest visions across the walls and ceilings of what his next painting would look like.

He threw the rag down and walked away from the easel. The artist knew he was being stupid. Art blocks didn’t last forever. Not his. But there was something different about this block. There had been from the start. Before now, the longest he’d gone without creating was a few days. This time, it had been weeks. Nothing had helped. Not even going back to the basics of sketching with pencil and paper, which had worked in the past, got him back into the groove. He was beginning to worry. There was this strange empty feeling in his gut. Crowley didn’t want to name it, but deep down he knew was it was.

He was lonely.

Sure, he’d had his fair share of partners in the past. Yet none of his romantic relationships had lasted longer than a year, for varying reasons. The most common being that his partners accused him of being in another relationship, one that seemed far more important to him. A relationship with his art. Crowley sneered as he picked up a spray bottle to begin misting his plants. It wasn’t his fault that he had a passion to create. It wasn’t just a passion, though. This was how he made a living. How he paid the bills. Thankfully, he had enough money saved up for emergencies, like when there was a slow down in sales. He’d never imagined needing to dip into those funds because of a damned art block, though!

Crowley moved about his studio misting his plants and talking to them. He’d heard about talking to plants and had thought it was an excellent idea. They were one of his many muses, as well as his unofficial therapist. Nobody listened as well to his sorrows as his plants did. Countless paintings now hanging in various homes, signed by Anthony J. Crowley, had different types of house plants as their subject. The luxuriant rubber plant, which sat on a pedestal in one corner, was his favorite. Just a few days ago, he’d tried painting it again to see if maybe that would break the block.

It hadn’t.

[legolasghosty]

excuse me while i send you a million questions from that ask game 😂 but.... 2, 4, 5, 7, 8, 23, 29, 37 and 38!

Hiiiii babe!!!!! No excuse needed, I love the million questions!

2 - Is there a trope you’ve yet to try your hand at, but really want to?

Answered here, but I'll add another one cause why not. I don't think I've ever actually written a kid fic, either where one of the canon characters is a much younger child than they are in canon and it's about their childhood, or where you have canon characters becoming parents. I've thought about various versions of it a fair amount with various characters, but I've never really messed with anyone's age more than a few years in either direction. Willex would be great parents though, just saying...

4 - How many fic ideas are you nurturing right now? Care to share one of them?

Uhhhhh.... a lot? I don't have a ton of writing time at the moment, so the ideas are just building up in my head. There's at least half a dozen, probably more, in various stages of planning and daydreaming and being written.

One that I'm in the process of setting up is actually a response to a prompt you sent me like two weeks ago. Basically, Willex goes on an ice skating date. Neither has done it before, but both assume the other will be great at it, since they both dance and Willie is almost never without his beloved skateboard. Spoiler alert, they are both awful at it. Chaos and flirting and falling and probably a lot of hot chocolate ensues.

5 - Share one of your strengths.

None of the above.

Kidding, don't kill me please! Uhhh, I guess I'm alright at domestic fluff? Like, just the blurbos hanging out and doing boring life stuff together and loving each other. I really like some good domestic fluff, and I've been informed that I am decent at making it too, which is cool!

7 - Share a snippet from one of your favorite pieces of prose you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

Stop making me say nice things about myself! Okay, answered here, but I guess you'll yell at me if I don't do another one so...

There were many things that were hard about being on tour. The long hours on the bus, for example. Or the fact that he couldn't just leave when Luke got too loud, or wail on his drums whenever he wanted, due to them being packed away between locations. But he loved touring with Julie and the boys. And he loved that Willie was able to come with them. Because it meant that he could do the things he loved, with the people he loved, all the time. They'd had to wait a couple of years after forming the band and Julie's Magical Hug of Destiny to go very far from LA since Julie had to finish high school, but they were finally doing it! And it was amazing!

Except when it wasn't. Except on days like this when Alex just didn't have the energy for anything beyond the basic necessities. And, unfortunately for him, his body and brain didn't count showering as a 'necessity’. It wasn't that he didn't like showering, or that he didn't feel sweaty and dirty, despite still definitely being partially a ghost. No, there was just something about showering, specifically in unfamiliar places, that freaked his brain out. And, because of the tour, Alex was always in an unfamiliar place.

This is from the first proper fic I ever published(Read it here). It was basically just a projection fic to get me through a rough patch, but I think it actually turned out okay and it holds a special place in my heart as the first thing I posted.

8 - Share a snippet from one of your favorite dialogue scenes you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

Do I have tooooooo?

Then Willie turned around and Alex’s gaze fixed on his face. The conflicted wave of emotions from before seemed to have simplified into just two: excitement and fear. “What do you think?” they asked softly, chewing nervously on their lower lip.

Alex was across the room in an instant, pausing for a beat to wait for Willie’s nod before resting his hands on their biceps. “Willie, you look incredible! ” he stated quietly. “I’m pretty sure half of my brain isn’t even working right now with how good you look. How do you feel?”

Willie chuckled and stepped forward, leaning into Alex’s chest. “I feel good,” he whispered as Alex pulled him close. “I really like it.”

“I’m glad,” Alex murmured. “I really like it too.”

Willie pulled away suddenly, grinning as he threw his arms out and spun around in a circle, the black fabric flying out around him. “It’s so swishy!” they exclaimed, giggling.

I guess this? It's from a fic called It's New, It Looks Good On You that I published a few months back, in which Alex gets Willie their first skirt. I guess I just like how comfortable they feel around each other, even in a pretty vulnerable situation. Healthy relationships, my beloved!

23 - If you were to revise one of your older fics from start to finish, which would it be and why?

Oh gosh, well none of my stuff is really that old. I only started actually writing early last summer. I guess... Okay, I didn't post I'll Be Here, I'll Hold You Through It till like six months ago, but I wrote it over a year ago now. It was basically written in a late night fit of anxiety and seriously needing a hug, and I feel like it isn't that good. I mostly posted it out of nostalgia and because I wanted to post something. I kinda feel like I could do better with the material now and it would be a better fic.

29 - If you could write the sequel (or prequel) to any fic out there not written by yourself, which would you choose?

Oh gosh, I wouldn't dare touch most of my favorite fics with a ten foot pole, I'd wreck them. But... there's some thoughts lurking in my ideas doc about a prequel to Girl Crush by the lovely @valiantlyweepingdreamer, giving the story of one of the couples that is already together in the main fic. I have no idea if I'll ever actually get around to writing it, but we discussed ideas for a while back in November I think.

37 - Talk about your current wips.

Oh you're gonna regret asking that one, I could ramble about my wips for hours. I'll try and keep it short here, and expand on the Willex ice skating fic I mentioned above. (No I haven't actually started writing it, shut up!)

The date is Alex's idea, cause Reggie and Luke were teasing him and Willie about how they never go on 'proper dates'(Hey, who needs to stay legal when you're invisible, and they have the best cuddle dates). So Alex googles a list of date ideas and is like, "Oh, ice skating, I bet Willie will be good at that." So they go(invisibly), snag a couple pairs of skates from the rental booth(They can put them back later, it's not like they're gonna leave germs on them or something, Alex!), and go out on the ice... only for Alex to immediately fall. Willie laughs and tries to help him up, only to lose his balance and fall too.

They kinda sort it out eventually, but they never get off the wall without hanging onto each other's hands for dear life. Afterwords, they poof back to the Molina's and make hot chocolate, because what is ice skating without hot chocolate?

38 - Talk about a review that made your day.

Okay, this was just on a doc I sent to a friend(after many conversations about said fic and me tinkering with it for literal months despite being under 1k long), but their response was so sweet!!!

"i have something to say i think this might be one of my favourite things i've read from you, if not the favourite it's so good for one because i love kissing in any way shape or form, highest form of expression of love for me, but also because it's written just so beautifully, it's lyrical almost, the images, the phrases, the language metaphor, it's great!! i love it so much"

(^Copied from our DMs)

It was just so sweet and it totally made my day and while I have no idea if that fic will ever see the light of day(literally, cause I only ever seem to be able to work on it at night...), it just makes me really happy that someone else loves it so much! I love that fic, I'm just also terrified of it so... yeah. Anyways, I won't tag them cause I don't wanna be annoying, but if you see this, you know what I'm talking about and I love you!!!!!

[grogusmum]

Tumblr Writer Q&A

for tagging me 💚 Thank you@oonajaeadira

1) How many complete fics/one-shots do you have that you have not published (yet)? None. I only sat on one that was really close to being finished, because I wasn't sure if I'd ever share it... but I post them when they are "done".

2) How many WIPS do you have right now? I have 4 open series that have varying stages of next chapter progress... and I have a Frankie one-shot and a first attempt at a Whiskey "one-shot" (in quotes because invariably they all become a series) sitting in my docs so... 6... no, 7 sort of. *sighs

3) Do you take writing requests or write original ideas, or both? Original ideas, I got one idea given to me from a friend, so it wasn't much of a request, as OH YOU KNOW WHAT YOU SHOULD WRITE ABOUT... (it was Grogus's first day at preschool and a favorite of mine so, thank you Jessie!!) I'm open to requests and have done some milestone celebrations that have offered requests. No takers.

4) If you do take requests, how many do you currently have? 0

5) How many fandoms do you write for? One, it's all Pedro Pascal characters with an offshoot of it, Grogu pov fics

6) Are there any fandoms you wrote for in the past that you no longer write for? I've never really written fic before starting a year ago. As close as I get, is what I guess at the time I called parody (maybe some would define it as fic) it was a mash up of time/dimension travelers with Jack Skellington, it was a 100-page novella, for a themed Halloween party invitation ... the other was an OC insert, Indiana Jones short film script. one was a million years ago the other was a gazillion years ago.

7) Do you write for ships, reader inserts or other? Reader inserts. The occasional OC.

8) Niche fandoms/characters you write for? I'm not sure... like I write a fair amount of fantastical characters like selkies, merlings, hedge witches... if that's what that means...

9) Do you read fics as well as write them? You bet!

10) What is your favorite genre to write for? Romance, hurt/comfort, ffflllloooofff, is the internal monologue of nonverbal characters a genre?

11) What is your favorite trope (to read/write)? I write lots of idiots in love... is that a trope? For reading though, my favorite is fluffy slow burn friends to lovers...

Here I will basically cheat off Adira's homework because same) BUT against my will, I've become a fan of sex pollen, a/b/o, monsterfucking...

Yall know who you are!! Making me fall for your monster maxes, your minotaur jacks, naga oberyns, oh and the Alpha Dins and Frankies and wookies, and I do not know what all is next!

12) What do you do to get motivated to write? Watching the source material mostly. I have music and sometimes I put moodboards together

13) Is there a trope/genre you like to read, but not write? (here again, I'm just going to cheat of Adira's paper)The aforementioned a/b/o, sex pollen, and monsterfucking for sure. I leave the smut in far more capable hands. (that last bit is not from Adira's homework because she can bring the spice!!)

14) Any characters/fandoms you want to write for that are never requested? Again I dont get requests. I have the very beginning of a Jack Daniels fic, and I want to write a Javi Gutierrez fic... I can see me falling into the Dieter pit too

15) How long have you been writing fan fiction? A year on March 16th.

16) Did you read fan fiction before you started writing? Like a month before hahaha (I still don't really know how all this happened)

17) Do you only post on Tumblr, or any other sites as well? Only tumblr

18) What do you personally consider the word counts of "Drabble", "One shots" and "fics"? Drabbles are around 500-700 words. One-shots are anything that isn’t multi-chapter and can include drabbles. Fic is all. (Again cheating off Adira)

19) Which do you prefer to write more? HC, drabbles, oneshots/fics, multi chapter stories, other? um... a lot of my one shots grow. I think I should probably stick with one shots though.

20) Are there any stories you have discontinued? If so, why? No. If they haven't been updated I may be stuck but they are not abandoned.

21) What is one of your main "pet-peeves" as a writer on Tumblr? The anon hate for sure, and non-smut struggling for space at least it's a problem in this fandom (Reminder as previously mentioned, I read smut, I like it very much.) Some of the anon hate is directed at writers who don't write smut telling them there's no point to their fics without it... smh

22) Do you write a particular time of day? Anytime the mood strikes really, but early morning is pretty quiet at my house so that is when I will write.

23) Do you listen to music, ambiance/noise, etc to write or do you need silence? Quiet is good, but I do have playlists for some of my fics to set the right vibe. Sometimes nature sounds like the ocean etc.

24) Do you outline your fics at all before writing? Hahaha that implies planning! Bold as brass!

25) Do you post your writing as soon as you finish it, or do you schedule it to come out at a specific time/day? Nope, those babies get pushed out of the nest as soon as they are ready.

tagging (with no pressure a request to start a new post if you partake💚) @seasonschange-butpeopledont @firstofficerwiggles @jessie-writes-things @quica-quica-quica @whistlingbirdie @scribbledghost @radiowallet @ezras-channel-rat

(if you want to play, join in and tag me so I can read it!)

[mysterystarz]

authors note:

hey there everyone! this note outlines a bit more about the universe that iwaizumi's 8 is centered in and can hopefully provide some clarity as to why some things are structured the way that they are!

first off, i'd like to say thank you for reading this. it's a bit of a long note, but you'll definitely walk into iwa8 knowing a lot more about where it came from!

WHERE DOES THE STORY TAKE PLACE?: the story takes place in tokyo and consists of many instances that happen within the city, although none of the places mentioned have a real-life name. however, the places are fictional and are completely made up with no basis in reality. this is due to the fact that i'm american and have never visited japan (although i dream to someday!). that being said, i feel like it wouldn't be fair of me to assume the locations of things and use them and eventually wind up being incorrect. this story is fictional, so the places are too!

WHAT INSPIRED THIS?: it may seem ridiculous, but oceans 11/8 and the movie 21 were huge factors in inspiring this and placing an image into my head about where this wanted to go. also, i read desperado on ao3 which seriously solidified this plot in my head! it's a concept that I've always loved to visualize, so i'm hoping i can bring it alive for you lovelies as well!!

WHAT ROLE DOES THE READER PLAY?: the reader is a close friend of oikawa and is also a part of the squad that iwaizumi assembles for this heist. as always, i always like to do my best to make my works as inclusive as possible, which is why i leave physical traits ambiguous and the reader's gender unspecified! throughout the story, the reader will be playing part in the organization/execution of the heist, while spending time with iwaizumi and...well, you'll see where that goes :>

WHAT IS THE UPLOAD SCHEDULE?: well you all know me and how meticulous/busy i can get with my fics and real life obligations, so i have no set schedule. i'm hoping that with the right motivation, i can get a chapter out every week so i have time to write and solidify the plot and make sure this whole thing makes sense and is a fun read!!

WILL THERE BE A PLAYLIST?: i have a playlist that i use when writing to fit the vibe of each major event (one at normal speed and one slowed + reverb lol) and i'd be more than glad to share at popular request, although it might not make the most sense ;)

HOW CAN I JOIN THE TAGLIST?: easy, all you need to do is send an ask and you've got it ;) >>> note that there are only a set amount of spots, so it's going to be first come first serve.

anyways, you got this far, so this is a giant thank you and hug from you to me!! i have to thank you for coming on this journey with me (since i'm relatively new to tumblr and since this is the first time im writing a heist fic)! i love you all dearly, and can't wait to go and rob a casino with some hot hq men ;)

- xoxo nova

[geniusgub]

north//chapter one

here she is!! after the long wait, here is the first chapter of north! I hope you all like it. let me know what you think. more chapters to come soon🖤

also i dont have a tag list for this but if anyone wanted to be tagged in this fic then let me know and I’ll create a tag list

genre: fluff

pairing: spencer reid x female oc

warnings: very basic troupe that I’m sure some people are tired of lol but other than that, none!

word count: 3k

SPENCER

Being late to work is not something that I tend to enjoy. I hate it, in fact. I feel like I'm letting my team down if I'm ever late to round table meetings or if I miss a briefing. But these days, sleep is rare. And if I do sleep, it's not uncommon for me to sleep over the array of alarms I have.

Coffee is a must have for me at all points of the day. No sleep means exhaustion and exhaustion means my brain doesn't work as quickly as it could and that means we don't solve cases and not solving cases means more people die. I can't have more people die on my watch so I drink as much coffee as I can. But the coffee in the bullpen isn't always the best so if I ever have time, I stop at a cafe on my way to work. I take the extra five minutes to walk there before hopping on the metro.

I mumble off my coffee order to the tired looking barista and she scribbles down my name. I hand over a few stray bills to pay and get some change in return, tucking it in my pants pocket. I give a tight lipped smile to the barista before moving to a table in the corner of the cafe, pulling a book out of my messenger bag and starting to read, crossing one of my legs over the other. I don't look up while I wait for the barista to call out my name, not even when two people bump into each other in front of the door or a tourist asks someone else for directions. I just read my book and chew my lip, tapping my fingers against the hardcover.

"Spencer," I hear my name being called and finally allow myself attention to be lifted.

I stand quickly, tucking my book in my bag and closing the flap before heading back to the main counter. But the buckle of my bag gets caught on the button of my sleeve when I try to close my bag all the way. I pull at my sleeve, trying to get the buckle unlooped. But in this tussle with myself, I don't even realize that I'm still walking until I bump right into someone. I move my attention from my bag and catch the person's shoulders so I don't completely knock them over and make not only a fool of myself, but of them too. 

"Oh my gosh," I say immediately, my eyes widening, "I'm so sorry,"

"It's okay, it's okay," the girl laughs, her hands squeezing my arms as she regains her balance, “didn’t even fall. You caught me. I didn’t even break a sweat!”

My eyes finally find the girl's face and I'm rendered absolutely speechless. I somehow notice everything about her right away and I memorize her beauty. Her eyes are a bright, beautiful shade of ocean blue and her eyelashes cast shadows over her perfectly pink cheeks. Her hair is wavy and blonde with brown roots, but there's a yellow and blue patterned scarf tied around the front of her head like a folded bandana with pieces pulled out to frame her face. Her nose is small and I can only liken it to a button. Her lips are full and plump and a pretty light pink color and her Cupid's Bow is one that Cupid himself should be jealous of. Both of her ears are full of different types of piercings, and her nose even has a hoop in her right nostril.

She's wearing a light blue knit sweater tucked into a tight denim skirt, along with a pair of short black boots with small heels on them. Her nails are painted white and her fingers are full of rings, each of them different styles and various shades of silver with yellow gems. I notice a tattoo on one of her fingers but she moves and I can't make out what it is. I wonder if she has more tattoos. I find two straps around her shoulders and realize she's wearing a leather backpack, one probably very similar to my own bag. The last thing I notice is the old fashioned camera hanging around her neck, resting just above the waistband of her skirt.

I've seen my fair share of pretty girls. I've seen girls that I wouldn't mind getting to know better. I've met girls that have caught my attention. I've even been in what I believed to be love. But what is this? If I thought I'd seen a beautiful girl before, I clearly hadn't met this girl before. She looks like an angel sent directly from heaven. She looks like she was crafted by God himself and put on this earth to grace mankind with her beauty. Is it fair for one woman to be this beautiful? Is it even possible? I didn’t think that one woman could possess such beauty. 

What the hell is wrong with me? I can barely even breathe. I’m just staring at this gorgeous specimen, admiring her smile and trying to memorize the way her fingertips feel on my forearms. I quickly try to think of something to say, another apology for running into her, but I can barely even breathe when I stare at her, much less speak. 

"Spencer," the barista calls out my name again, setting my cup down on the counter before walking away. Saved by the barista. 

The girl smiles at me and her face lights up, only further illuminating her features. She's got two dimples on her cheeks, bringing out a childlike spirit in her that I pick up right away. "Um," she says with a laugh, "is that yours? You should probably grab it before someone else steals it,"

Okay, Spencer, breathe. You can do this. You’ve spoken to pretty girls before. Sure, it’s hard and it’s scary, but you can do it. Just say words. Preferably, coherent words. Preferably, maybe, a full sentence.

"Right," I finally force out, dropping my hands from her arms. I hadn't realized until now that I was still holding onto her and she was still holding onto me. I reach over and grab my steaming coffee, almost wincing at the heat under my fingertips.

The girl still hasn't moved when I turn back to her, but now she's fiddling with her camera. "Are you," I start to say before hesitating. Her head pops up and she smiles again, letting her camera fall against her stomach. I gulp, shuffling my feet against the floor as I attempt to speak a full sentence. "I didn't mean to bump into you like that,"

"Oh, it's totally fine," she waves her hand at me casually. "I wasn't paying attention either. No harm, no foul. Like I said, I didn’t even break a sweat,” The girl pushes her hair behind her ears and places her hands on her hips. With the confident way she speaks, I almost expect her to keep speaking, but she doesn’t. She just looks at me with the cutest smile, even baring her teeth, waiting for me to say something else. 

So I clutch my cup of coffee and swallow thickly. “I-" I hesitate yet again, but when the girl's eyes scream for me to continue, I do. "What's your name?"

She opens her mouth to speak but before she can, another cup of coffee is placed on the counter. "Amelia," the barista announces before walking away.

Amelia laughs, taking a step over to grab her cup, which I immediately notice is tea and not coffee. "Took the words right out of my mouth,"

"Amelia," I repeat as if testing the way the word rolls off my tongue. It tastes sweet. "You heard already, but, um, I'm Spencer,"

"It's nice to meet you," Amelia holds her hand to shake mine, and the panic starts to set in. For a moment, I debate on actually just shaking her hand so I don’t seem like a total freak to this girl that I seem to have a massive crush on. But the prospect of shaking a total strangers hand is repulsive and when I find myself looking at her hand for more than two seconds, I’m starting to count up the amount of germs that would be present there and I have to force myself not to make a face.

So of course, while my hands get clammy and my heart rate speeds up, I do what I do best. I spit out a fact that Amelia didn't ask for. "On average we carry 3,200 bacteria from 150 different species on our hands,"

Amelia's fingers curl into her palm and she retracts her hand, looking down at her palm and smiling just a tiny bit. "You know, I don't blame you for not wanting to shake hands. It is kinda gross anyway,"

"Sorry," I blurt out immediately, still shuffling on my feet. "That was rude of me,"

"It's not rude," Amelia counters, sipping her tea without so much as grimacing at the inevitable heat. "Are you in a rush?" I glance down at my watch and see that I still have ten minutes until I should be getting on the train. I relay this information to her and watch as she smiles again. "Would you like to sit with me then?"

"Oh," my eyes widen slightly and I squeeze my coffee cup so hard that I think I might poke holes in the sides, "y-yeah, sure,"

"Cool," she breathes out, waving me on and leading me to a booth on the other side of the cafe. I'm far too anxious with this situation and by Amelia's beauty and her comfortability around me to even think about relaxing, or drinking my coffee, or taking my bag off from around my shoulder. I definitely can’t remember any of Morgan’s advice on how to chat up girls or any of the conversation starters I’ve memorized for social situations like this. My mind is completely empty, just when I need it to be full and plentiful. How lovely.

Amelia sits across from me and grins, and every time she does, I swear my heart skips a beat and another butterfly breaks through its cocoon in my stomach. "So where are you off to this morning, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Work," I answer, and then realize that's an incredibly vague answer. Amelia raises her eyebrows as she lounges back against the booth, clearly waiting for me to elaborate. "Uh, I work for the FBI, actually. More specifically, the BAU- the Behavioral Analysis Unit,"

"You're a profiler!" Amelia perks up again, sitting up straighter with a huge grin on her face. "That's super cool! My dad is a police officer, sheriff actually, back home in Texas and I'm pretty sure he's worked with the BAU before and he says you guys are awesome. You catch serial killers, right?"

I'm almost stunned by her reaction. Most people don't believe behavioral profiling works, and most people resist the practice, especially local police. But her acceptance of it is incredibly refreshing, and it's welcomed. Honestly, any type of excitement from this Amelia girl is welcomed. It’s a beautiful sight. 

I can feel my cheeks turn bright red as I nod, still clutching my coffee cup. "Yeah, we do. And um, what about you?" I hate talking about myself so I change the subject. "Where are you off to?"

"I'm actually meeting a friend of mine to go shopping a few blocks over," Amelia gestures out the window. "But since we're talking about your job, I'll tell you about my way less cool job, which is an artist. I went to Carnegie Mellon and then moved here and I’ve been here ever since. My preference is canvas painting but I bring my camera around a lot, hence," she holds up the camera around her neck, "the camera now. I try to capture spontaneous moments for when I do exhibits and galleries and such,”

"I've always loved art. Never been talented at it, but I like it." I shrug nonchalantly and sip my coffee, trying to divert my eyeline down to the table, but when Amelia smiles at me, I can’t find it in me to break our eye contact.

Something about Amelia's smile brings me in. Every time she flashes her teeth, I feel myself sink further into my seat and I feel my head get fuzzier. I almost forget that I have to get to work in just a few minutes. But I don't want to go anymore. I want to stay here and keep talking to Amelia. I want her to keep going on and on about canvas paintings and her education at Carnegie Mellon, or even just tell me why she likes tea over coffee, if that’s even true. I don’t know anything about this girl but I want to.

"Nobody is technically good at art," Amelia responds. "Everyone has their strengths and weaknesses in the arts, everyone sees art differently, and that's okay. I'm sure you're not horrible, I'm sure you just haven't found your strength yet, Spencer," She enunciates my name with such beauty and grace that I almost ask her to say it again. I'd do anything to hear her say my name again.

"If-" I'm cut off when my phone rings in my pocket, so I lean over and fish it out. I read a text from Garcia that tells me we have a case, meaning we'll be briefing for a new case this morning. I sigh defeatedly, wishing I hadn't just gotten a text that usually piques my interest. Today, it makes my heart drop. 

"You have to get to work?" I look back up at work to see yet another smile on Amelia's perfect face. "Go ahead, it's okay," I’m so used to seeing disappointed faces when this text comes in, not a smiling face. It’s odd, somewhat confusing.

I grab my coffee cup and stand as Amelia does the same. She holds her cup to her chest, looking down at her feet. "Will," I chew on the inside of my cheek when she looks up at me, ocean eyes wide with anticipation as I struggle with my words for the umpteenth time, "can I see you again? We barely got to talk and you-"

"Yeah," Amelia nods before I can even finish my sentence. "Can I give you my number?"

I have to hold myself back from jumping up and down in excitement. "Y-Yeah, sure, of course," I pull my phone out yet again as she does the same. She tells me her phone number slowly so I can get it down, but of course, it sticks in my brain immediately.

"Just text me," Amelia murmurs, looking over my shoulder at my phone where my shaky thumbs press against the buttons on my phone to type out- hi, it's Spencer. She waits until her phone rings and then she smiles at me. "Great, I've got it. Now, um, go. Don't let me be the reason you're late in helping people. You don't have to text me if you don't want to," she pauses for a moment, and I wonder what she's waiting for. Is she waiting for me to confirm or deny that statement? Is she waiting for anything at all? Is it an open-ended statement? Where have all my profiling skills gone? Forget profiling- where is my common sense? "But if you do wanna text me," I'm thankful when she starts talking again, "don't until after you've solved your case. Don't worry about me until you've saved lives. But like I said, if you don't wanna text me, you don't have to,"

My phone buzzes again and I can only imagine it's someone from the team asking me where I am, hurrying me along so we can get started on our briefing. I ignore it for now. "Well," I have to clear my throat to be able to speak again. I give Amelia a bashful smile holding up my phone for her to see, "I'll text you when I'm back home,"

Amelia blushes, her bottom lip being pulled between her teeth. She breathes out a tiny laugh, nodding. "I look forward to it, Spencer,"

I take a step towards the door and feel my body grow cold at the distance starting to increase between us. "I'll talk to you soon, Amelia,"

And with that, before I have it in me to take one more look at the angel standing in the corner cafe, I hurry out the front door. There's a dumb smile on my face as I rush down the stairs to the train platform, struggling to swipe my card and respond to Penelope's text at the same time, all while running to catch the train at the platform. I'm somehow successful at all of this and only manage to breathe once I'm inside the stuffy car. Amelia's face is stuck inside my head and I can't get it out, and I'm positive that I never want to.

///

"Reid? Reid!" My head pops up as Morgan forcefully says my name, catching my attention and bringing me out of my daydream.

When I look up at him, he's already staring up at me with his eyebrows raised, clearly expecting an answer out of me about something. I have no idea what that something is, but he’s wanting an answer about it. I clear my throat, placing my cup of terrible police station coffee on the table and running a hand over my face. "Sorry," I apologize half heartedly, "I was thinking,"

Morgan sits across from me at the table and folds his hands. "Case related?" I glance up at him before deciding to completely ignore him, standing and walking up to the board, returning to examining the geographical profile. "Reid, come on, we've been on the case three days. You've been distracted ever since you walked in for the briefing. You can talk to me," I keep ignoring him. I stare at the map in front of me. "Is something going on? Is it your mom?"

"My mom is fine," I spin around and cross my arms over my chest, ignoring the way my heart starts to speed up when Amelia’s face resurfaces in my brain. “Can we just solve this case so we can go home?”