୨ৎLetti; local lover girl | 20's | infp | artist | spencer reid <3 | bokuto<3 | kirishima<3 | unapologetic multi-shipper | lettisarc <- writing blog | tags |
Hiya! I'm Letti! I'm a self-shipper and lover of all things fandom! Welcome to my library!
This is my personal blog and archive for all my favourite fanfics about my most favourite and precious characters! Take a peek through the archives and see if there’s anything you like~ <3
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I mainly use this blog to reblog fic and art, but also to post about my selfships-we are very selfship friendly here!
“i shave for sensory reasons” is borderline a thought terminating cliche to me at this point. omg i’m bored let’s all examine our preferences and where they come from haha
people are always saying “they have should be at the club” about characters who would immediately have a panic attack if even put in the general vicinity of one
i saw this post a couple days ago and i just can't stop thinking about it. i've been asking the people i'm in dialogue how it's different and nobody has an answer. so tell me how it's different.
this show is about men this movie is about men this game is meant to be played as a man these characters are men so they're intrinsically more likeable than their bitchy women counterparts this show is about women but they're all for men to look at this movie is about a woman but there's a guy there as well to make it more palatable for General Audience (men) this fandom is all about this one man what do you mean you don't like men. what about this man you must like him!!! he's like a woman to me! and by that i mean i headcanon him as a trans man because im #queeringit and him being a trans man basically means Woman Lite right? so i basically do care about women! and going on e makes you like men and going on t makes you like men and being a lesbian means you still have to have a himbo man friend and you HAVE to read this book! it's about a man
Guys, would it be okay if I stopped participating in society? And stop managing my home? And let chores pile up? Would it be okay if I just lay here for a lil bit??
so basically, a big right-wing 78-year-old female politician in the UK, Ann Widdecombe, was brutally murdered in her own home 2 days ago
she was beaten to death by a “white male” who is still at large — clearly a politically motivated attack
yet, every left-wing person on social media is like: “murder is terrible, but let’s not forget she was a cunt with terrible views”
completely overlooking the fact that a male killed a woman with his bare hands — literally beat her to death, which is an incredibly personal and passionate way to kill someone — and that’s about the most conservative and evil thing any human can do
it’s clear why he killed a right-wing woman, and not a right-wing male
also, it’s interesting how many people are willing to overlook a male’s actions (murder) because apparently a woman’s opinions are worse
The most basic, intractable fact about mental illnesses is that you simply cannot willpower your way out of them. The only exceptions to this rule are the ones I have, which continue to disable me due to lack of determination and other grave personal flaws
Summary: anonymous notes, borrowed books, and spencer reid slowly realizing that someone has been flirting with him through sticky notes. he just has to figure out who.
Word count: ~850
___________________________________
The first note appeared inside Spencer’s copy of The Brothers Karamazov.
He noticed it immediately.
Someone had placed a pale yellow sticky note beside a paragraph he had mentioned during lunch earlier that week:
You were right. This part is beautiful.
No name.
No explanation.
Spencer looked around the bullpen. Everyone appeared occupied. Morgan was on the phone, JJ was sorting files, and you were standing beside Garcia’s desk, laughing at something on her computer.
He removed the note carefully and slipped it into his pocket.
The second appeared two days later. This one was tucked inside a book about medieval astronomy:
I understood approximately twelve percent of this, but I’m choosing to blame the author.
Spencer smiled before he could stop himself.
“Good book?” you asked from the desk across from his.
He closed it quickly. “Informative.”
“You’re smiling at medieval astronomy.”
“I smile.”
“Not usually like that.”
He studied your face, searching for some indication that you knew about the note. You simply returned to your paperwork.
By the end of the month, there were eleven. Some commented on passages. Others contained questions.
Do you actually believe this theory, or do you just enjoy arguing about it?
This sentence sounds like something you would say after three cups of coffee.
You should lend me something romantic next.
Spencer began leaving specific books unattended on his desk. It was not bait, exactly. It was an experiment.
He placed a collection of Pablo Neruda poems beside his satchel and deliberately stepped away to refill his coffee.
When he returned, a pink note was visible between the pages.
His pulse quickened.
Subtle.
He looked toward you.
You were watching him over the top of your computer monitor.
When your eyes met, you smiled.
Spencer picked up the note.
Are you accusing me of something? he wrote beneath the word before returning the book to the same position.
He spent the next thirty minutes pretending to read a case file.
You passed his desk on your way to the break room.
When Spencer checked the book again, another line had appeared.
You’re the profiler. Figure it out.
He found you alone in the break room shortly afterward. You were stirring sugar into your coffee.
“Do you often write in other people’s books?”
You glanced over your shoulder. “I would never write directly in a book.”
“Sticky notes are still a form of marginalia.”
“Removable marginalia.”
“So it is you.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You reacted defensively, specified the method used and failed to express any confusion about what I was referring to.”
You took a sip of coffee. “Maybe your secret admirer told me.”
Spencer stepped closer and squinted at you. “Garcia would have used glitter.”
“True.”
“JJ’s handwriting is different. Emily dislikes poetry, and Morgan has never voluntarily opened a book I’ve lent him.”
“That still leaves Rossi.”
“Rossi would sign his name.”
You smiled against the rim of your cup.
“That leaves you.”
“And what does your profile say?”
Spencer’s confidence faltered. The notes had made him happy. He had carried every one of them home, flattening them between the pages of a notebook so the corners would not curl.
But confronting you meant learning why you had written them. Perhaps it had only been a joke. Perhaps you simply enjoyed watching him investigate.
“My profile is incomplete,” he admitted.
You set down your coffee. “Which part?”
“Motivation.”
Your expression softened. “I like hearing you talk about books.”
“You tease me whenever I do.”
“Because you forget other people need oxygen between sentences.”
“That’s a physiological exaggeration.”
“There you go.”
He frowned, but you were still smiling.
“I started reading the books you mentioned,” you continued. “Then I wanted to tell you what I thought, but every time I tried, you became distracted or someone interrupted.”
“So you left anonymous notes?”
“I thought you’d figure it out after the third one.”
“The third note only said the author sounded emotionally constipated.”
“I stand by that assessment.”
Spencer laughed.
You stared at him for a second, as though the sound had surprised you. “So,” you said, quieter now, “mystery solved.”
You moved to walk past him. Spencer stepped sideways, blocking the doorway without meaning to.
“There was another question.”
You raised your eyebrows.
“In the note about poetry.”
Realization colored your cheeks. “You don’t have to answer that.”
“You asked me to lend you something romantic.”
“That was before I knew I’d be interrogated in the break room.”
“This isn’t an interrogation.”
“You profiled my handwriting.”
“I recognize your handwriting.”
The words came out more intimate than he intended.
You looked down.
Spencer reached into his pocket and pulled out a small folded piece of paper. “I wrote a response.”
“You carry stationery now?”
“I wasn’t sure when I would have the opportunity to give it to you.”
You unfolded the note.
In Spencer’s narrow handwriting, it read:
Dinner Friday? I could tell you about the book.
Beneath it, he had added:
I’ll remember to pause for oxygen.
You looked up at him. “Is the book romantic?”
“It can be.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“It depends on whether you agree to dinner.”
You pretended to consider it.
Spencer shifted nervously.
“Friday,” you said. His shoulders relaxed.
You folded the note and tucked it into your pocket. “I’m keeping this.”
“I kept yours.”
“All of them?”
“Yes.”
Your smile became unbearably warm.
“Even the emotionally constipated one?”
“Especially that one.”
You rose onto your toes and kissed his cheek. Spencer remained frozen after you left the break room.
A moment later, Morgan leaned around the doorway. “How long have you been standing there?”
“Long enough.” Spencer touched the spot where you had kissed him.
Morgan grinned. “Good book?”
Spencer looked through the glass wall toward your desk. “Very.”
Imagine Eva Stratt years after sending her favorite guy to boss around to space. Getting the logs and recordings and finding out that her guy made first contact with sapient alien life and it IMMEDIATELY started bossing him around too. Like what if you surrendered your dog and it got adopted by an alien instantly. Happened to my girl Eva Stratt
in your eyes, i found my forever @owlsarc - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
