#i have to write him fanmail. i have to

[eddie-rifff]

uncommon opinion. ant phillips is the swaggiest member of genesis

[precious-little-scoundrel]

Dear John || Pt.1

Masters of the Air Fanfiction

Requested: ☑️ My sweet Bri begged for a love-letter-centric Egan fic and with her wonderfully infectious ideas this was produced, the first part of many.

Summary: Major John Egan wasn’t the pen-pal sort but a couple of hours into a dark night full of writing condolence letters, he finds himself wondering why he never tried his hand at the nicer forms of correspondence. Who better to reanimate his numb inspiration than the glamorous Miss Lana Tierney? -the army’s girl next door, the pinup so prolific she was practically a wall paper print and Bucky’s long-standing cinematic crush. It’s not like she’ll read it anyways, tucked up in luxury in Beverly Hills with carts of tedious fanmail burned in her back yard each day, his letter will get lost in the mix. It’s harmless. That thought -and the booze- may loosen his pen a little too much but it’s alright, it’s not like she’ll read it. Right? Right.

It was specified in the request to use or create some of those old WWII dirty acronyms, so in here you have Bucky making up his own for his starlet crush (acorn). I’m ripping off a few ladies here, Lana Turner, Betty Grable, Hedy Lamarr to name a few -the moodbaord is for general aesthetics, I try to keep my fem!readers and oc’s as ambiguous physically as possible. (Besides the fact Johnny Egan finds you mouthwatering, which -be honest with yourself here sweet thing!!- he would.

Rating: 18+ this is the letter writing, vintage form of sexting. i kid you not, this man swings wildly from sweet as pie to downright filthy and vintage slang for anatomical parts is used freely. This would make a better shameful diary entry than a letter but he’s a rogue and he’s in a war, cut him some slack.

Fun game: how many times can Major Egan manage to mention Buck in a horny fan letter to his crush?

Dear A.C.O.R.N.

It is highly unlikely that you remember me, but, all the same, we have met. Now, hear me out, I’m sure fellas say that to you all the time but my point still stands and to match them I’ll do you one better, seeing as how I am not buttering you up for something in return -I have met you, yes, but I have also sung to you.

There. Said it.

Not that you’d recall that either, but then again maybe you would, but either way it doesn’t matter as the entire reason I am writing to you is because it is entirely unlikely you will ever open this god-awful endeavor made of pen and ink.

I am quite drunk, you see.

A necessary medicine. And they do make good whiskey here, one of the few joys they haven’t rationed yet. It’s got me wondering what’s your poison of choice. Something fruity? Or are you an olive sucker? Like that salt on the rim? Or maybe you go for somethin’ silky and warm goin’ down your throat? Which-ever it is, I bet you’d be a surprise, sweet ACORN, I just know it. You were a surprise at the canteen. Back in Jersey? Before shipping out? I know you were on a whole tour and kisses were goin’ for dollars but still, you were a surprise.

A lovely one, really. And that’s the point of this letter. To tell you that you're lovely and while I’m not the pen-pal sort, I’ve written home 80 letters tonight to families whose boys I was supposed to bring home. It got me thinking: Bucky, why the hell don’t you write nice letters? Whyd you only write ‘em now that you gotta? And it occurred to me then that the one silver lining in this whole Air Exec job is the desk, the lamp and the office.

I could write anybody from here. I could write you.

And you wouldn't read it so I could write anything. And it could be a nice letter. ‘Cause I don’t know anybody of yours to tell you anythin’ sad about them and you don’t know me except that I’m alive and drunk. Which is better than those poor eighty two bastards. Which reminds me, I’ve still got two more but maybe Buck will take those, he took seventeen off to his bunk to write from there. Buck doesn't have a desk because he’s not as important as me and he has all the luck.

You’ve met Buck, too, Acorn. He was the appalled pretty one with the straw colored hair pulling me off you after we had our duet. He objects to your nickname, see, even though you didn’t seem to mind. You were lovely, A.C.O.R.N. And I’d not wanna ruin this letter by telling you what it means, not now that I’m actually writing to you and determined to be nice but Buck knows and while he agrees with me as much as any man in the nation that you’ve got the most robust rack on the silver screen -he has objections, you see. So it wasn’t the song or the canoodling he didn’t like, and I still say, he broke up a little love affair that night. Bastard. So I’m writing to you now because as the acronym suggests, I’ve got a goal in my mind in regards to you. I tell myself -Bucky, there’s reasons to make it back.

Reasons, Bucky, reasons. Like Acorn and her halo of gorgeous hair that smelled like coconuts and the way she thought my new lyrics were pretty clever. That’s what you said, acorn, you said they were pretty clever. Now I may have been a little drunk then, too, but I think you might’ve been tipsy, that coke smelled too strong to be straight. I still have the straw you gave me, it’s bent to hell but I’ve taken it up each mission. I’m not counting on it for luck so much as a reminder of the aforementioned reasons. To come back. Your lipstick has mostly worn off but I figure it’s still the same.

You had your precious lips around it. That’s what matters.

And that’s the sorta sentence that makes Buck think I shouldn’t write letters.

But what he can’t accuse me of is being dishonest or vague. I’m being straight with you. You deserve that much, you were lovely and very straight shootin’ yourself, dear little girl. I could pinch your cheeks right now, you’re so sweet. And don’t think me a coward for sayin’ all this under assumption that you won’t read it. I hope you don’t since it’s not worth your time and if you do I wish I’d written less about me and more about you but I need you to know if we were face to face I’d say the same:

You were lovely, you ARE lovely!!!! and I think all your work for us boys is swell and you’ve got the bestest set of knockers any of us have ever seen and I’m stayin’ alive in hopes to see ‘em again some day and while the girls here are swell and sweet they aren’t zippy like you. At least not the ones who’ve put out so far. And if I had you face to face, I’d find a way to make you laugh again and I’d tell you to your face you’re lovely and if I’d been David Nivin in Love Trap with you, I’d have stayed in that little kitchen with you and ate all your burnt flapjacks and watched you in your apron and made babies with you till we were old.

Anyway. It needed saying. And maybe I’ll say it to your face given the chance again. I was working my way up to a proposition for burgers and milkshakes when Buck ruined it. But maybe you’ll tour? Here!! Over here. In England or maybe in Europe once we kick the Nazis bastards out.

Now that’s motivation. That’s a reason! -clear out a nice little swath of land through fortress europe so Miss Lana Tierney can sing in the city of lights surrounded by nothin’ but wine and good food and a buncha boys who love and appreciate her.

Because we do, ma’am. We do.

And make no mistake, I do this to keep the country safe and try to bring as many boys home as I can but every second I also think - it’s where you are too, and so I must continue keeping it safe.

If you, by some godawful chance, do read this letter, please don’t feel pressed to respond or pull out a restraining order. Think of it this way, it’d just be one more “Dear John” letter and the system is clogged as it is. You just deserve a nice letter and my wrist is past sore, one more doesn't matter. And being unable to deliver nice, I’ve written this.

~ I am ever your respectful (and hammered) admirer, Maj. John Egan

P.S. if you do happen to read this I’m sorry. Buck told me not to do this but I just had to Acorn. You’re just too swell and I really have got to get myself to a theater before long, I miss your Angel face.

Masterlist

Thank you for reading! This was entirely out of my usual comfort zone but I’ve had fun writing it and I’m trying to tune my ear to pick up his voice, that’s been stretching. This series will have many letters in it but there will also be fic, so fear not. I’ve got some plans already figured out for this series but I do love a suggestion or ten so have at the inbox with what you’d like to see play out.

Hope you enjoyed, if you’d like to be tagged in future MOTA fics, drop a note below.

[noosayog]

PLS PLS PLS VALENTINE WITH OSAMU AND SAKUSA IF YOU CAN PLS🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻

your wish is my command

wc: 600

valentine's masterlist, regular masterlist

❥ Kiyoomi

“I’m not eating any of that.” 

“What!” Atsumu squawks. 

“Who knows where they’ve been or what’s in them,” Sakusa says. 

The entire Jackals team is gathered in a circle in the gym, divvying up the Valentine’s day gifts that fans sent in. Each of the players have their own little mountain of presents and treats, Atsumu already digging into his. 

Atsumu leans over to Hinata, conspiratorially placing a hand over his mouth and whispering loudly, “dude’s heartless. These are people’s feelings!” 

Sakusa sighs at the setter’s antics. “I’ll read the cards. I just won’t eat any of the food.” 

Atsumu continues making snide comments, which Sakusa ignores. He continues rifling through each card and hand-written note, setting the reviewed ones in a neat pile aside from the unopened ones. 

The next card, pastel yellow, catches his eyes. He unfolds the card and reads the writing, hardly legible in long scribbles. After reading the card, he places it in a pile, all on its own, and opens the attached box of chocolates. He pops one in his mouth before continuing to sort through the unorganized pile. 

Atsumu gapes. “Thought ya said ya weren’t eating any of it!” 

Sakusa ignores in favor of finishing sorting through his portion, gathering it up in a bag, and making his way out of the gym. 

On his way home, he pulls out his phone and gives you a ring. 

“Omi?” you greet. “Hi! How was your day?” 

Sakusa grins, popping another chocolate truffle into his mouth. “Through fanmail?” he asks with mock disapproval. “What if I had missed it?”

He hears your sweet giggle ring through the line.

“You wouldn’t have.” 

❥ Osamu

“Baby,” he complains. “Please. Can I go to bed? I’m so tired from work.” 

“Just 5 more minutes. Promise!” 

Osamu groans and plops a head down onto the table. You have him sat at the dining table while you labor away in the kitchen, placing the final finishing touches on the massive chocolate cake you baked him for Valentine’s Day. 

You put all your focus into smoothing out the frosting, before finally placing one single candle in the center and carrying it out to the table. 

When you place the cake on the counter, you find Osamu dozing off with a cheek pressed into the table. You smile softly at him, feeling slightly guilty that you’ve kept him up even after his long day at the restaurant. You lightly run a hand through his hair and he jolts up at the sensation.

As he blinks the sleep off, his eyes find the candle shining in the dark first. 

You expect a small smile from him, a simple thank you; even a passing whine about how you kept him up for so long just over Valentine’s day would be warranted.

Instead, you watch in awe as his eyes light up when he sees the cake, all thoughts of sleep vanishing. He roughly pulls you into his lap and presses open-mouthed kisses into your sternum.

“Awww, baby,” he coos. “Ya made a whole cake? Even though ya must’ve been tired from work?” 

You melt into his embrace, wrapping your arms around his neck and bringing your face closer to his. 

“Nah,” you giggle bashfully. “‘M not tired. I’m the one who’s sorry for keeping you up.” 

He simply kisses your apology away, asking you to cut him a slice. 

The two of your forego slicing, the knives and plates seemingly miles away from the comfort of your seat on his lap. Instead, the two of you chip away at the cake with just one fork, the rest of your night spent on his lap, alternating between forkfuls of cake and sweet, sweet kisses.

[aliamor]

the only person I have request ideas for is Case, so sorry, but I was thinking about Case with an s/o who matches his energy and attitude × 100? thank you :)

That is totally okay, ill write about anyone but case is my favorite to write about so this is perfect:))

𖦹 being with case is never a dull moment, both give sass to eachother in the daily and whenever one of you is excited about something or about to beat a game for the first time, etc. the other will give that same energy back.

𖦹 “nah dont come over to me with them sauce filled lips” you tell him once hes finishes eating ramen noddles

𖦹 once you were playing climbing Mt. Everest with caseoh and half way up caseoh feel and all you could hear throughg your headphones was “NOOOUH!” from caseoh and your voice laughs out saying “mountain everest just formed a crack in it omg imma get sucked in”.

𖦹 caseoh also HATES when he cant get water/ oxygen in climbing mountains everest so you with run around it with your character and block him from getting any and you will hear his forks banging around from him getting pissed

𖦹 when caseoh opens fanmail and you are on stream with him, one time you bought him something and on the note its says in big letter ‘please do not eat me!!!’

𖦹 as you guys date/ know eachother you both pick up on the same slang. So its a never ending sass battle with you two.

𖦹 case wanted to have you play the backrooms for his stream once and a creature was chasing you and both of you yelled “HES ON MY CHEEKS!”

𖦹some times case will accidentally say a word that is a food and from the other room you will yell “ OFC” or he will say “chat im so skinny, its crazy” and you will reply “like a stick, you pushing 118 right now”

𖦹 when you and case go shopping together and he will mess around with you and you went into the toy section just for fun and finding a fake spider, case hates spiders so you put it on his shoulder and before you could even back away he whipped the spider off of his shoulders and it hit the ground.

MWAH,

I literally couldn’t think right for this one so hopefully this will work, but i love writing these so keep them coming:))

BUFF CASEOH 😻🙈

[loppsided]

hi lovely 🤍 i apologize for the very detailed request i have lol but can i ask for a fic or headcanons of dave’s best friend (fem!reader) accidentally finding out he’s kick-ass?

like… maybe the reader confesses she has a crush on kick-ass, and decides to send fanmail to his myspace page despite dave trying to convince her otherwise. she doesn’t understand why he’s so insistent about it until she sends the message and dave’s phone immediately goes off 🫢

i’ll leave the rest to you from there! again, thank you so much lovely 🤍 your writing is wonderful, don’t ever doubt that!

WARNINGS: dave lizewski x best friend!reader, f!reader, fluff, typical nerdy and nervous dave lol, lots o cussing, classic teenage girl!reader shes very bubbly, first kiss NOTES: the end is such a mess im so sorry! stop thank you so much i really appreciate that. and no worry's, i actually prefer longer requests with detail because it helps me set the scene. so if u have any others that are long, send them my way! also this is such a cute scenario ugh i love his nerdy ass. i donnnnnttt really think i like this buts its not completely terrible so ill post it lol. likes and reblogs appreciated! WC: 960

"because you just shouldn't, ok? god!" dave's whiny voice echoed throughout your room which almost made you giggle before you realized your parents were sleeping. you and him had been going back and forth for what seemed liked hours, all because you wanted to send your new celeb crush *kickass*, a few words of encouragement through his myspace page.

"that's not a good reason, weirdo. your such a baby, its not cringe to send him something. everyone deserves nice things said to them." you pulled your chair into your desk, a slight smile creeping on your lips at the thought of the green vigilante.

dave sat in silence, a little more nervous than he should be. i mean, what the hell was his problem? its just a comment on a damn board, and! its anonymous. dave knew you had a slight crush on the masked crusader, but you would never meet him so who cares?

you began to type, biting your bottom lip as you did. you caught a glimpse of dave out of the corner of your eyes and noticed he had scooted his chair farther away from you. whatever.

'dear kickass, i just wanted to comment about how much i appreciate you, well everyone does. so keep up the great work and keep kicking ass!' you re-read the message before hitting send. your internet had been a bit slower than usual that night, and while you waited for the message to send, dave excused himself to the bathroom. "um ill be uh right back, gotta piss." but as soon as he was about to open your bathroom door, you had noticed the message sent. and a slight *ding* could be heard from daves phone. who texted hi- your thoughts interrupted your own before you whipped your chair around and yelled his name.

he froze, nervous as ever and sweating profusely. "come here." you said calmly, even though you had put the pieces together in your head. you didn't want to overreact before you knew you were correct. he walked over to you, trying not to seem suspicious. "yeah? whats wrong." he said, but his voice cracked in the process which was a dead giveaway. "give me your phone, mines dead and i have to text someone." he paused for a moment before coming up with the most obvious lie ever "uh, um mines dead." you raised a brow, biting back a smile. "but i just heard it ding." he froze again, looking around your room dumbly.

you stood up quickly, startling him as you lunged towards his pocket and grabbed his phone. he tried to grab it but you held it high in the air with one hand, as the other pushed him away roughly. you jumped on your bed and turned it on. and lo and behold there was a notification from myspace. *to: kickass from: *user* 'dear kickass, i just wanted to comment about how much i appreciate you, well everyone does. so keep up the great work and keep kicking ass!'*

you gasped loudly, finally confirming your suspicions. "oh my god! oh my god! oh my godddddddd." you sat down while kicking your feet. "ok i know how this looks but i swear im no-" he started to tell another lie before you cut him off. "why didn't you tell me?! dave lizewski you are such a d-bag, im your best friend and you didn't tell me? this is fucking major!" he sat down slowly. your smile faded as you caught his expression. he looked...sad. like he was embarrassed. he spoke softly, "i just didn't want you to think-" you cut him off again, "that your a famous fucking superhero who kicks peoples asses for fun?!" you both laughed before he begun to speak again. "no....that i was a costume wearing loser. i mean i know im your best friend but your cool. cooler than any 'famous fucking superhero' and i like you too much to seem like a weirdo around you." his voice was barely above a whisper, he probably thought you wouldn't be able to catch that last part but you absolutely did.

you and dave had known each other for what seemed like forever, and despite your crush on kickass, your crush on dave trumped that completely. but you kept it to yourself out of fear of rejection. you two sat in silence for a few seconds as you calculated what you wanted to say. you wanted to be bold, and to tell him how much you liked him. you took his hands in yours and he looked up slowly.

"listen here, you could be wearing nothing but a speedo and a pink wig and i would still think your the coolest guy in the world. i wish you told me sooner, because i want you to trust me dave. and i like you too much to be kept in the dark." you repeated his words back to him as your faces were inches apart and his hands were sweaty in yours. but in this moment you didn't even care. you stared at his lips before pushing your face into his. he was still for a second before he ran his hands up your arms and cupped your face. he pulled back quickly leaving you confused, "so does this like mean you like be back? or am i wrong cuz like i dont-" you laughed at his ramblings "yes idiot, i like you back. and if you wanted..we could make this official. you and me." he smiled as a blush creeped onto his cheeks. "like girlfriend boy- wow. um yea totally. do you like wanna be my girlfriend?" you mirrored his smile quickly, "yes, kickass i would love to be your girlfriend."

[mossyivy]

okay but like what if Leon is the famous one in the relationship. The whole RE universe is a movie or show and he’s popular. You’re out here devouring his fanfics. Then he found out….or u writing one —then what 🧍‍♀️

I weirdly see Leon as a mom vlogger. He’s one of those😭

(If you ever call Leon a mommy vlogger again it's curtain calls for anon. I will not rest until I find you)

(this is a joke pls don't come for me...)

I'm thinkiiiiing...

Actor! Leon x Assistant! Reader (Post Damnation era)

BUT YOU READING HIS FANFICTION!!!

He knew his fans read and wrote this stuff. Draw him, write about him. Character and him alike. The screenwriters literally wrote everyone's characters based off of who they actually were. So in a way his RE character is an extension of himself but everyone can still differentiate between the two. So he doesn't mind anyone doing this.

He's gotten fanmail with art, copies of fanfiction and even just fan accounts constantly interacting with his social media posts. But one particular account seems to interact with him a lot, R4Kennedy.

No idea who it is but whatever.

Eventually he starts getting a lot of offers from different companies for commercials, brand deals, appearances, ect. He starts getting a bit overwhelmed with things so he hands off some responsibilities to his lovely assistant, you. You get to do most of his social media stuff. But he still likes scrolling around, liking things, retweeting/reblogging stuff and making his own posts life update posts on occasion. But he'd notice the lack of interaction from that one account on posts he specifically didn't make. But the second he'd personally post something he gets responses from R4Kennedy.

Super weird...

He'd accidentally found out by having to use your laptop to check a few things because his computer was having issues. You two know each other well, you've worked for him for years now, practically live together. So you don't even think to close out your open tabs... Tabs to your social accounts...

Leon is too nosy curious for his own good so he ends up opening the tabs.

You're R4Kennedy... He starts looking through the fics you've liked, everything you've said about him, even the things you've written.

You're a good writer, he'll give you that. A lot more brave online versus your usual mousey demeanor on the clock. Maybe you were interested in him and we're just shy? The thought crosses his mind constantly.

But he keeps this information for himself for a while.

Eventually he uses it. A day you're looking particularly good. He's been attracted to you for a while but was scared of scaring you off with his abrasive nature.

But you're making a coffee for yourself in his kitchen and he ends up saying your account name. You tense up immediately and just look back at the massive grin on his face. He says nothing else before he walks out.

He knows. And now you know he knows. And he's definitely going to hold this over your head for a while...

[sorenphelps]

Hot mugshot guy

after sketching the mugshots, i remembered this guy’s story (i sorta used him as a reference too), and it sounds like an AU for Sirius… except, what if it’s not completely an AU? i have the headcanon now that new mugshots were taken of prisoners of azkaban yearly, and Sirius kinda gathered a little fanclub among the ministry workers or whoever have access and need to archive these prison files, cause he is just so hot… maybe he even won the witch weekly hottest single wizard title too, completely unaware of this whole phenomenon around himself until he started to get actual fanmail maybe?? And MM Fudge found him so unnerving not only because he seemed bored only and quite sane, but because he kept his goodlooks too, so the MM ordered to guard him with more dementors and also shut down his little fanclub in the ministry too (no more feloncrushfriday!) and modified the mugshot procedure so a new one had to be taken every 5 years only, at least of Sirius… fastforward to ootp, when Kingsley could pretend to investigate Sirius’ escape and stuff by making his whole department read through and follow up every single detail of all the fanmail Sirius received, which is probably a remarkable amount of letters… (and he maybe develops a little crush on Sirius too in the meantime?…) someone please write this! 🥺

[quiet-saint]

sᴛʀᴇᴀᴍᴇʀ!ɴᴇʀᴏ ʜᴄs

✮

With just a splash of Nero/gn!reader

Cw: slight nsfw/suggestive. Nothing serious just a toy is mentioned near the end.

A/n: Might be ooc as this is the first time I'm writing anything for Nero. Purely self-indulgent ngl. Already working on a pt 2 ft more nero/reader tbh, I just really like this idea. +18 pls.

✮

• Not a huge streamer but still pretty popular. Has been streaming on and off for like, four years before he got popular.

• There's definitely a compilation out there of his funniest gamer rage moments. The majority of the time Nero isn't even mad at the game, Nico purposefully annoys him whenever they play together. People love their dynamic.

• Has kicked her from the group but then she'll just watch the stream and irritate him in the chat. It's pretty pointless to kick Nico from the group though because she can and has come down to his room just to pop up in his live irl. Anytime this happens chat starts a 'Nico Nation' chain and Nero jokingly threatens to end the stream.

• People bring up his "pretty boy phase" constantly in which Nero's hair was longer and he wore jewelery, saying they miss it and he should bring it back. Nero's a little shy/embarrassed when people bring up his early streaming days but he is in the process of growing his hair out. You were the one to fully convince him.

• Loves interacting with his audience even though they're a little outta pocket sometimes. "Chat who the hell said they only watch my streams for Nico? Dude your name is literally–" squints his eyes in confusion and disbelief "Nerofeetpicswhen oh my gOD!"

• Plays more light-hearted, easy games most of the time. Plays fortnite but not often. Teams up on overwatch with Nico, V, and You (Nero gives mercy main energy don't ask me why)

• Will play horror games but gets jumpscared super easy. Curses a lot during those streams. Damn near shatters eardrums with his shouting.

• His favorite streams are when he has one of his friends there with him at home. Especially if it's you.

• Will do a stream as an excuse to have you over. "Dude I spent the weekend at your house just last week?" "Aw c'mon it'll be fun!" As if you really needed any persuading. It's nice to hear him beg though, isn't it?

• Gets so excited to tweet about it too. Lowkey giddy about it.

• Will be the type to say "can't end on a loss guys." Even though his rank is dropping.

• Everyone loves his wii-sports streams. Nero once broke his tv on live because he didn't use the wii strap while playing baseball. People still bring it up and he gets embarrassed because just moments before it happened chat was warning him.

• Had V over for the weekend once and they were playing wii tennis in his room but there wasn't enough space. As a result Nero ended up swinging hard and clocking V in the face, giving him a bloody nose. He still feels so bad for it. Especially because Nero gets tagged in videos titled "Nero hits V on stream NOT CLICKBAIT" V thinks it's funny.

• Nero gets so happy to do fanmail livestreams. Loves opening all the things fans send him. Displays art proudly on his walls as well as all the plushies and figures people send. By the end of the fanmail streams Nero is wearing a different, clashing outfit because of the clothing he receives.

• Although sometimes the packages are a little inappropriate.

• Nico once went through the trouble of ordering and sending a ridiculously huge dildo. He felt the weight and shape through the packaging and, due to the note left with the gift, Nero knew it was her immediately. It's still sitting in his closet in the corner because he doesn't know how to get rid of it.

✮ random bonus hc ✮

Nero drinks Monster. His top two choices are Pipeline punch or Ultra blue. If he drinks one on stream he'll say "monster sponsor me" lmfao

[idyllcy]

from one admirer to another : first snow

pairing: leon kennedy x reader || masterpost: from one admirer to another

synopsis: from one admirer to another, an online penpal service, allows for two people with common interests to write to each other without ever revealing their actual address! Luckily for both you and Leon, you get matched up! What do eggs and Christmas even have in common anyway? sure hope it's that modeling business and NOT that Ada Wong addiction.

featuring: reader as okaokra, leon as rookiecookie, ada as adadadadadad

It takes less than ten minutes for Leon to be at your door after the casual news that you're Okra herself. Your front door's lock rattles as Leon steps in, yelling your name out loud as you look up from the couch.

"Hm?"

"YOU'RE OKRA??"

"Yeah?"

"You just. You casually heard me ramble about how much I loved that fic you wrote and never once questioned it?"

"I thought of it as fanmail." You laugh, smiling at Leon as he blinks at you.

"I'm so embarassed." He mumbles, hiding his face in his hands and sinking to the ground.

"I'm getting deja vu from this." You raise a brow at the sight of Leon on the ground, and he pauses.

"This is how you reacted when you found out I was Christmas."

"It makes sense now, you know? Christmas, Noël, Noel, Leon." You hum. "I was about to post the epilogue."

"I'll forgive you if you let me beta read." He huffs.

"What if I dedicate the epilogue to you?" You set the laptop to the side, reaching for his hair as he pouts.

"I want pie with that."

"You know I can't let you have that, sweetheart. Your manager specifically told me so." You scratch at his scalp, and he huffs.

"Can I have a kiss, then?"

"Of course." You yell when he pulls you to the floor instead, landing on top of him with a thud, sighing as he looks out the window.

"It's snowing." He hums. "First snow of the year."

"There's no way." You use your arms to try and get up, stopping as Leon wraps his arms around you and forces you back to his chest. "Leon, I can't think straight when you hug me."

"I know you like my arms." He hums. "Happy first snow."

"I love you too." You resign to laying on his chest, sighing as you listen to the way his heart beats slowly, your own matching his as he smiles at you.

"Pretty boy." You mumble, pinching at his hair. "You're so pretty."

"You'll always be prettier." He mumbles back. "I love you too."

prev letter : masterlist : end || re2r Leon photo credit to regetti96

[shoshiwrites]

my dear, I'd like to submit a Touches prompt: "#35 grabbing the other's hand to pull them back to them" for anyone who tickles your fancy. just need that sorta passion in my life 🥹

I just want to apologize for the fact that this actually is not entirely the prompt, but was 100% inspired by it — I owe you one ❤️ Bucky Egan/War correspondent OC, also on Ao3! Set a little bit after this prompt. Featuring Jo with some new mail and Bucky having some thoughts and feelings about that.

The Clarion starts running her picture with the new pieces. 

She doesn’t hate it, but at the same time it doesn’t quite look like her, the posed portrait she’d sat for in London with her hair pinned back her uniform pressed. She’s more herself in the photos Kay takes, under the cloudy English skies. But she can’t argue with it either — a uniform means something official, and isn’t that what they’re working for? To be taken seriously, to get what the boys are given without having to fight tooth and nail for it, without jokes about lipstick or hair products or a million other things on top of it.

The problem with the picture now, though, is that everyone knows who she is. Not a celebrity, that idea is laughable, but named. Josephine R. Brandt, The Clarion’s Woman in England. 

They’re like name-tags too, the adjectives used to describe her and her fellow reporters in bite-sized news items. Marian Brenner is always petite, and Kay is statuesque. Marjory Manning is titian-haired, which always gets a laugh considering Marjory makes no secret that it comes from a bottle. Jo is brunette, and pert. That word always makes Kay choke a little on her cigarette, peering at Jo and the dark circles under her eyes.

She’s spent the last few days amongst the women of the Clubmobile, sleeping in an extra bed dragged in and photographing, rather amateurly, their truck and living quarters. They were much more accommodating to her than they should have been, especially when Jo attempted to work the fryer in the name of journalistic exploration. Thankfully she was much better at cleaning, with no qualms about rolling up her sleeves. 

Her hair still smells like grease as she sits in an empty mess hall, picking at one of her nails and ignoring the stack of letters beside her. Her photographs wouldn’t quite capture what she’d tried to in her writing: the smell of perfume and the lingering fryer grease, hair tonic and newsprint and cold evening air, the blankets and bedrolls and towels hanging, tables with books and magazines and framed photographs, small pots of rouge, rosaries, hair combs and extra socks. A sprig of chicory sitting in a drinking glass, the blue flowers starting to wilt at the edges.

A name. A picture. What she hadn’t been thinking about — fanmail. 

It was ridiculous, the pile Kay had passed along to her in London and the one she was now patently ignoring next to her elbow. Next to a copy of the paper, a newer one with the picture.

She’d always gotten responses to her pieces back home, whether that meant someone arguing with her about a labor statistic she’d quoted or offering their own version of a recipe back when she’d been on the society pages. Now, overseas, with her name and her picture clear as day, it was like a switch had been flipped.

The only thing that she didn’t have to worry about was William.

The ring was sitting at the bottom of her trunk, buried under a sweater. Tatty had offered to run it over with the Clubmobile, but Jo got worried about the tires. Helen had suggested the fryer. A WAC with strawberry blonde hair voted for a storm drain. Biddick had plans that involved Corporal Lemmons and an unknown quantity of explosives. Douglass, inexplicably, had volunteered to make neat work of it on an upcoming mission. She had no idea how he’d even found out. 

Well, she isn’t wearing it anymore, right?

“Thought I’d find you in here.”

She looks up to see Egan making his way through the doors.

“Someone looking for me?”

He glances behind him and smiles, like it’s obvious. “Yeah, me.”

Maybe she knows better by now than to ask what he’s ignoring to be here. Milk run earlier this afternoon. Not flying tomorrow. 

Isn’t it time for beers and darts, right about now?

“Just answering some mail.” Actual mail, from home. Not the other stack. 

Maybe fanmail is a generous term, she thinks. Most of it is opinions, loud, of where she should or shouldn’t be. Home. Doing war work instead if she had to do something. Some less savory suggestions. Being quiet. 

“You’re a popular correspondent,” he says, sitting down across from her. 

She snorts. 

“I’m just seeing that there’s lot of letters here.”

“Astute observation, Major.” But she’s smiling. 

“Friends back home?”

“Yeah. The rest is-” she gestures, almost sighing out the answer in a sudden yawn, the light outside the soft gold of early evening. “I don’t know. People have a lot to say.”

“They do, do they?”

“Sometimes I forget that I’m not just a disembodied voice, is all.”

He looks a little puzzled, but still amused. She throws the paper in front of him, and his eyes catch the column. He whistles. “Front page, huh.”

“They haven’t used a picture before.” She nods back at the stack of letters.

“Oh.” She can’t tell if he’s about to make a joke or not.

“Might just toss them,” she says. They’d be good for the paper pulp if nothing else.

He grabs one off the top, his expression clouding over as he reads.

“They write this kinda stuff to you?” he says after a minute. One of the ones that had ideas about where she should be, namely the writer’s bed. He tosses it down on the table.

She thinks of London, and Norwich, and Pittsburgh, and Philadelphia. “They say it, too.”

He exhales, the sour expression still on his face. Like a lemon. “Sure.”

“You didn’t get to the marriage proposals yet.”

“The what?”

“They’re in there, I promise. They’re nicer.” He laughs a little, just this side of bitter. She tries to look offended, tries to lighten the mood. “Maybe I ought to be insulted.”

“No, no, I just-”

“Just what?”

He’s tapping his foot a little, she can feel it under the table. Fidgeting.

“I just feel lucky, is all.” The question of it is clear on her face. Lucky, sure, to go through hell every day and make it back here, to the ground and the summer-faded English fields. “That you’re not just a picture to me.”

Oh.

Something feels caught in her throat; it takes what feels like too many seconds. “You’re awfully sweet.”

“I mean it.” She wishes she had a little crabapple to pick at, something to do with her hands. “Don’t think a picture could’ve kissed that good either-”

She tries to whack the back of her hand against his arm, but he pulls away — hey, too quick — before he leans forward again, pulls her face to his. 

“Not here-” she says, a little too belatedly. He’s grinning, all wolfish. His hands are warm. 

“Will you go dancing with me, then?” 

A place where they can do this, she assumes, out of sight, or amongst a crowd. She says it because it feels like something she should say. “There’s something planned here for the weekend, right?”

He makes a gentle scoffing sound. “Nah, I don’t-”

“What?”

“I mean, sure, but. You know. Just be prepared for me to keep stealing you away, ok?”

“And how will that look?”Her stomach swoops, out of something like nervousness, the feel of him close to her again. 

He looks, maybe, the most boyish she’s seen him. “Like I don’t like sharing.”

Like she makes that space for anyone else. That exception. “You can reserve a spot or two on your dance card for me,” she says, diplomacy betrayed by the half-waver of her voice. 

He assents, not entirely satisfied, but doesn’t try for another kiss. Not here, at least. She feels a chill go through her then, when he pulls away from her, lets go. 

[pinkanonwrites]

Girl (gender neutral and with heart eyes) you have like touched on something that makes me chase my tail and chew my leg off when it comes to transformers living with humans. I hope they get fanmail too but also fancams of Jazz bopping bots and people editing floral crowns onto Decpitcons. Just ajdjfjajfjgjsjahfjfnsbsjfjfb

The in universe discourse of being a fan of military robots

I want to try to explain the Dada art movement to Shockwave. I think it’d give him spontaneous human combustion Cybertronisn(tm) edition

Also we know they make transformers merch in the Earthspark universe so uhmm… would…. Would Bad Dragon…. No I shant say…. 😳

I LOVE the idea of Transformers fancams. If you have THAT much in-universe merchandising there's no way you're escaping without a fancam or two (or a thousand.) I mean, how weird is a fancam, really, when you've got action figures and toys of you out here already?

As for "other" types of toys, hehehehe, I don't think any company would be so bold as to slap the actual Cybertronian's name on any products. But there would certainly be some inspired pieces with very particular color palettes. You can't really get away with naming your sex toy after an actual guy without expecting repercussions, but anyone who's already out there looking for robot-themed toys knows what the deal is with your yellow-and-black dildo with the name 'Stinger.' It basically writes itself, anyway.

[slashthrashandcrash]

I've been looking at the slasher x final girl oc's (and I love all of them) I was wondering if you'd give us anymore details about them, their first interactions and basically any thing interesting you'd be willing to tell us?

(I'm obsessing over your characters and knowing what little I do about them is making me mentally ill, especially the stranger, he reminds me of my favorite slasher (Jason) quite a bit)

I'm so glad you're enjoying them!! It's been a while since I've used 'em so it's been fun dusting them off from time to time--

Ashley and the Stranger are meant to be a homage to 80's horror in general, both the classics and the cheesy. The first time they met was during freshmen year at a frat party, although Stranger had seen her around campus a few times prior. She was drunk, but still friendly and wanted to get to know him a bit, even warning him to be careful because frat hazings these days were getting so ridiculous and she'd hate to see him get hurt.

By the next day after she sobered up, she completely forgot about the interaction and probably didn't even bother to get his name. The fact that all records of him being a student disappeared shortly afterwards didn't help, it was like he never existed to her after that night. But he never forgot their brief time together, that pretty little cheerleader who was the only one ever concerned for him...

Constantly dying and coming back as a vengeful killer only worsens his insanity with each "sequel", including his warped obsession for her. Each time, he's more hellbent on having Ashley, convinced they're meant to be for no other reason than she was nice to him for like 10 minutes years ago. He doesn't even register her fighting back or stabbing him or setting up traps, he's so blinded by his infatuation despite Ashley having no clue that they've met before.

Francine and Ripper are newer OCs, but they're a lot of fun because my girl is just so great to torment (:< I've braindumped so much about them to Blob--

They met while Francine was working on the scripts for that latest series of a semi-popular true crime podcast about the unsolved slayings of the Northshire Ripper (about 3-4 episodes). She started getting these emails from an anonymous account that was praising her writing and storytelling, so impressed with her level of research and details and how well she wove everything together, especially the observations she made on the murders. It was genuinely her first piece of fanmail, some actual recognition for all the hard work that goes into being a weekly ghostwriter that's often overlooked. She's thankful and beyond appreciative that someone would take the time to send her a thoughtful email, how sweet! (:

And of course, eventually the segment about the Ripper ends and the show moves on to cover another killer or disappearance or solved case, and Francine is back to researching at the whims of the cohosts. Her favorite fan starts emailing her again, asking why she's stopped writing about the Ripper when there's still so much more she could cover, more things she could go in depth on. These new cases are so overdone. The podcast hosts butcher her show notes half the time anyways (she posts the full version on their blog which is the only place she has a shred of credit listed), can't she just write more episodes for the Ripper instead? Please? No?

Well...good news, little lady! You know that serial killer you covered a while back, the one who was never caught, the one who seemingly disappeared after years of bloody terror? Wouldn't ya know it, he's finally come back after a near decade hiatus, creating human art pieces with newfound inspiration! Isn't that great, now there's so much new material Francine can work with to write show updates about him, especially while it's such a hot topic in the media. Now write. What's holding you back? Is this not good enough? Do you need more inspiration of your own? More personal? A demonstrative interview?

Anything to help out his favorite fellow creator~

[precious-little-scoundrel]

Dear John || Tell me you didn’t

Dear John || Masters of the Air fanfiction

Series Summary: Major John Egan wasn’t the pen-pal sort but a couple of hours into a dark night full of writing condolence letters he finds himself wondering why he never tried his hand at the nicer forms of correspondence. Who better to reanimate his numb inspiration than the glamorous Miss Lana Tierney? -the army’s girl next door, the pinup so prolific she was practically a wall paper print and Bucky’s long-standing cinematic crush. It’s not like she’ll read it anyways, tucked up in luxury in Beverly Hills with carts of tedious fanmail burned in her back yard each day, his letter will get lost in the mix. It’s harmless. That thought -and the booze- may loosen his pen a little too much but it’s alright, it’s not like she’ll read it. Right? Right.

Circa: August 1943

Plot: Gale Cleven learns that not only did his best friend send dubious fanmail while blind drunk, he seems to have singled out with his indomitable luck the one starlet of the silver screen capable of matching his depravity

Warnings: 18+ for suggestive and crass content, it’s pretty much two boys acting like a couple of girls at a sleepover deciphering a dirty text from one’s crush

My thanks to my baby Bri for literally being the brains behind the plot and for Christi for assuring me this ain’t trash. We shall if y’all share those sentiments…

The referenced letter link 💌

“Tell me you didn’t.” Gale managed to keep his tone calm but he’d be lying if he didn’t admit his fingertips had gone a little chilly.

“I-“ Egan threw his arms out as if a better truth might form with a little more gesticulation but nothing came, “I did, Buck.” he admitted.

“You wrote it blind drunk.” Gale reminded him with urgency, as if the reminder of its ill calculated circumstances could snatch back his letter from out of Lana Tierney’s posh mailbox.

“I did!” He agreed, “-And I sent it blind drunk. And I never thought she’d read it.”

“I saw you eat it!” Cleven’s voice was growing angry, “I made you-“

“That may have been a botched first draft to Donny’s folks instead.” Egan winced.

Both of them lapsed again into silence, staring warily at the unopened and daintily addressed envelope in Egan’s hand like it might explode at any moment.

“You sonuvabitch.” Gale breathed, two frantic pink splotches appearing on his cherub cheeked face, judgment and disbelief making a whirlpool of his eyes. “Can’t leave you alone for a minute. What all did you even say?”

“I didn’t tell her about ACORN!” John vowed like a child swearing to their sibling regarding secrets kept from mother, “I mean, i called her that but I didn’t explai-“

“-John!”

“-and I said a lotta nice things too, I think, but, I also-“ Egan scrunched his eyes up as if to either better recall or maybe banish entirely all memory of his sentiments, “-I may have mentioned wanting to give her children.”

“JOHN!”

“It can’t have been that bad, she wrote back!” Egan defended with wounded hope, holding up his still sealed prize. “Buck, swear to God, I never thought she’d read it.”

Gale slumped down next to him on the bed as if the ordeal in voyeuristic stupidity had taken something out of him. “Maybe she didn’t.” he suggested grimly. “Maybe it’s from her attorney tellin’ you to never contact her again.”

He was enjoying ruining this moment a little too much, and now Egan was growing angry he had waited to open it until confiding in his friend. Not a little anxious, and not a little smug, Egan flipped the envelope over, ready to tear its flap. That’s when he saw the kiss print. “Ha!” he barked, flipping it back up and shoving it directly in front of Gale’s crossing eyes, “Do lawyers leave lip prints?” he questioned cockily and when Gale pulled far enough away to ascertain for himself, he gave a conceding nod.

“Huh.”

“Yeah, huh.” John goaded but his heart beat a crazy and skittish rhythm as he slipped his finger inside the fold and tore at the slip.

Lovely, scented, gold embossed stationery came into view, it made Egan question how well he had washed his hands the paper was so white and pristine.

“Well?” Gale kept to a respectful distance of half a foot away from his friend on the bed, and being a good sort of man, he was not snooping or side eyeing private correspondence.

“Uh, yeah, right.” Bucky rallied himself and unfolded the missive fully, forcing his eyes to focus on deciphering charming, school girl cursive. “Get over here, Buck.” he griped at last as it was hopeless to make headway between his own nerves and Cleven’s hovering presence.

Gale didn’t move and Bucky didn’t expect him to so he scooted over herself, smashing him on the edge and held the letter out as they both leaned in.

“Dear John, -I’m sorry Major Egan, I just had to.”

“Oh shit.” Bucky swore in realization.

“She’s funny.” Gale’s tone was ever so mild.

“Nah she’s, Buck, she’s quoting me back to me I told her -nevermind, let’s see-“

They peered back at the letter together, Cleven more invested that he’d ever admit and Bucky’s heart doing the oddest little flips at the realization that someone gave enough of a damn to write this sorta thing back to him.

“Heartfelt.” Gale murmured her choice of words for Bucky’s letter aloud with something close to relief, only to be then followed by a groan- “you did not write the word ‘knockers’ in a letter to a woman!”

“You're right, you’re right,” Egan ducked his head, repentant, he wouldn’t have been the least surprised if he got a wallop from Cleven for it, “awful of me. I admitted it even then. She admits it. Let’s move on.”

“RACK!” Cleven growled moments later in growing disbelief. “Jesus, John.”

“Oh don’t act better than all of it, you know she’s got the best melons out there-“

“-you’re the one who felt compelled to write a nice young lady and tell her as much.” Buck stabbed an accusatory finger dangerously close to Egan’s nose, “And used vulgarities while at it.”

Egan gave a defensive shrug and began his reading anew. “She said she’s fizzing…over making babies.” he whispered, “With me.” John was awed and this time Cleven had no rebuttal, just ever growing wonderment on his ever reddening face. “And she says here, look! she says you’re a bad boy for breaking us up that night! HA!”

“She’s being polite Bucky,” Gale cautioned, worried at where this surge of confidence might lead, “she didn’t admit to remembering a bit of it. They send girls to school to let fellas like you down easy.”

“Aww, now she says to give ya a kiss.” Egan cooed, saccharine and wicked, “See, she’s so nice and you’re the one who’s awful, doubting her like that. She says to give ya one if you’re the sort to take it well, are ya Buck, huh? Are you? Huh?”

“No, no! Jesus, get off me!” Cleven exerted every bit of his wiry strength to lug off the sudden onslaught of Egan’s heavy embrace as they folded together back onto the bed, John’s mouth making sickening smooching noises against Cleven’s baby smooth cheek, mustache a foreign and terrifying tickle on his jaw. “Get the hell off me, what is wrong with you?”

“I’m riled, just like her, that’s what’s wrong.” Egan replied vehemently, pulling his face away but keeping a perturbed Buck beneath his greater weight. “And maybe one day you’ll know what that feels like, Goldilocks. See, says right here: *I can feel my pulse somewhere besides my wrists* Do you hear that?” He demanded, still holding the letter aloft as Gale looked up at him with the sort of patience people reserve for lunatics liable to murder them at the least hint of movement. “I’ve made her horny.” he spelled it out and Gale’s face somehow flushed an even deeper shade of scarlet. “She wants to know what acorn means.”

“Don’t you ever tell her.” Gale warned.

“Why not?”

“It’s not even a good acronym, it’s misspelled and missing a whole word.”

“She wants it to be ‘salacious’ -says so herself.”

“No way.”

“Yes way.” Bucky flipped the letter over for Gale to see and judging by the panic in his eyes he caught more lines than that one alone.

“Jesus.” he repeated, it was starting to sound like a genuine beg for divine intervention. “Get off me.”

That itching physical impulse to roughhouse remained but Egan obligingly rolled to the side, aware Buck didn’t have what would cure his own riled self. “She says she enclosed something for the morale, said to keep it safe. But there’s not anything else. You see anything else?”

“I don’t.” Buck sounded worn down but he made an effort to look around amongst the sheets.

“Julia Jean.” Egan pondered, “Says that’s her real name.”

“Yeah, well, maybe now you can stop calling her acorn every damn time she comes on screen.”

“Don’t count on it.” Egan grinned back.

“Maybe it’s still in the envelope.” Gale suggested, tentatively picking up the air mail slip and handing it to Bucky.

Egan sat up and shook the paper between them, wondering if it was really something worth hiding from the censors like some OSS spy shit. A couple of shakes and sure enough, some slippery little card shaped thing fluttered out of a crease and wafted to the ground, settling between Buck’s boots. John’s stoic young friend bent over and retrieved it, but not without his entire spine stiffening like he’d been hit as soon as he’d caught it.

“Jesus.” it was more of a wheeze this time. Gale’s slow hand raised it and passed it over.

There wasn’t anything to say, not when confronted with such perfection. Not even a shielding arm to cheat him of the whole display, nothin’ at all but a carefully cropped photograph of the ripest pair of-

“Goddamn.” John’s tongue finally materialized a sentiment and he heard Gale’s appreciative sharp intake of breath beside him as if he’d forgotten to breathe here lately. “They’re wonderful.”

“Yeah.” Gale’s own throat sounded dry as dust, “W-we should probably stop starin’.”

“Whadda ya think she sent ‘em for?” John laughed, a rough, victorious laugh, never once dragging his admiring eyes away from them or ceasing to thumb over the shiny print. He could almost feel her warm, giving flesh under the pad of his finger, could almost imagine the pebble of a rosy nipple responding to his swipes.

“Yeah, they’re alright-“

“Alright? Alright!?” Egan repeated, incensed for his beloved’s reputation, “THESE ARE THE BEST TITS IN THE NATION!”

Gale actually looked mildly chastened, especially as his eyes strayed guiltily back to the photograph like twin marbles gravitating to the corner of a box when tipped.

“I know you haven’t seen many, Buck,” Egan goaded him further, “but take it from me -they don’t get better than this. And you better enjoy this look, it’s your last, she told me to keep them safe. So see this? These? This pair? S’why we fight, Buck.”

“Don’t be crass, John,” Gale stood up abruptly, less angry at his friend than at himself for his momentary lapse of discipline, “we fight for the people we love.”

“Course we do,” John grinned, “but I also happen to love these, told her so myself.”

“You didn’t-“

“I did.” Bucky was pretty chuffed, bouncing on the edge of the bed like he had her seated in his lap right now, “Everybody’s got to have a goal, Buck, you wanna marry Marj and I wanna aggressively come on ripe knock-“

“-A.C.O.R.N. yeah, yeah.”

“Acorn.” Bucky grinned in agreement.

“You gonna admit to her you didn’t know knockers was spelled with a k?”

“I did, too! Just couldn’t make it work.”

“Still doesn't work.” Buck informed, but his smile was returning, he’d not been this close with Bucky for this long not to learn to roll with the differences and appreciate that what made his best friend tick was a very different sort of morale than his own. “I’m happy for ya, John.” he conceded, as he turned to leave, “But when you write her back -and you gotta, she’s been too kind -promise me you’ll be a gentleman about it. Apologize, like the man I know you are. Drink got the better of you, just, explain it that way.”

“Uhuh.” John gave him a sober nod, still a little dazed this wasn’t some fever dream. “Kinda already did. In the one I sent.”

“She wasn’t deterred.” Gale mused, “Either you were shit at it or she’s-“

“Zesty.” Egan deduced, sucking his teeth with a manic gleam in his eye.

“Yeah, as an orange peel.” Gale snarked and walked away, past the rows of empty beds and outside into the rain, “I’ll leave you to it.”

Bucky fell back against his mattress, sudden peace and aloneness giving him a chance to soak it in a second time, carefully reading over it all again, savoring each quip, each earnest prayer and naughty subtext. Which naturally led him back to admiring her little picture, groaning in unrestrained appreciation for her assets. She’d hinted about him taking it to his bunk -well wasn’t he fast to obey! Something possessed him to flip it over and there in the corner of the photograph, written in tiny little script, were doodles of music notes along with the ever so familiar lyrics:

“Beat me daddy, eight to the bar.”

John threw back his head and let out a roar of appreciation for finding a mirrored soul. “Oh Julie Jean, honey baby, don’t you worry, I’ll beat out somethin’ for ya, that’s for sure.”

💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌

Thank y’all for reading, hope you enjoyed! Feedback is a writer’s life blood, please scream at me, I thrive off it. 💋

Taglist (Lemme know in a comment below if you’d like to be added or subtracted for MOTA fics)

@stylespresleyhearted

@ab4eva

@earth-to-lottie

@suraemoon

@blurredcolour

@steph-speaks

@crazymadpassionatelove

@rubyfruitjungle

@taestrwbrry

@storysimp

@javden

@sexualparkour

@jointherebellion215

@sunny747

@ask-you-what-sir

@xxanaduwrites

@pretty4u

@yorkshirekiwi

@waitedforlove743

[liminal-storage]

Interlude: Rage in a Page

Prompt: Hackneyed

Characters: Kuni Muinvel, with mentions of Keldrin @roses-and-grimoires, Talia @zoetic-tome, Latika'a @latikaa-renaz, Silvaineaux @houserosaire, Inwa @blisteringstar, and Lyrin'a @hiraethwyl

Content Warnings: None.

"'While I must admit that the author of Occult Fan's primary articles does have a very distinct sense of voice, this writer finds that the subject matter is one which audiences are sure to tire of in good time.' He says this as if he himself isn't writing about the same topics!"

Latika'a's voice fell like a blow upon her ears. The dramatic reading set her to wincing, tail flicking in mild agitation. Really, it was her own fault for bringing in her mail and leaving it within his reach. The copy of a rival occult magazine sat taunting her with its glossy cover until Latika'a snatched it up.

Kuni tried to focus on her drink, picking through a small stack of letters with feigned interest. She watched Keldrin stalk across the room in a pair of ridiculously tall, ridiculously shiny heeled boots to lean around Lati's shoulder. He wanted in on the dramatic reading too.

"'Horoscopes and recipes are all well and good, but any reader of a more refined taste can recognize that the trite, repetitive verbiage Miss Umbral uses is a sign of a greater problem afflicting authors.' Oooh, he called your writing 'trite.' That's just cold."

Suddenly, the table beneath Kuni's hands bore a few more scratch marks. Latika'a continued with his turn to read.

"'Allowing writers of a feminine persuasion into the space was perhaps the greatest mistake a publishing house could have ma---' Oh that's wildly sexist."

"Enough," Kuni hissed, standing up to snatch the magazine away. "I suppose I should thank this guy. Having fanmail and hate mail in equal measure is a true sign of success."

That was to say nothing about one particularly long fan letter she'd received which had described in vividly explicit detail what said fan would do to her if they ever met in private. Kuni had borrowed a lighter from Talia and immediately turned those papers into a small pile of flaky black particles.

"Mm, that's true!" Lati chimed.

"Sure, but in the next paragraph I saw him going into a spiel about how even the recipes included in each issue are shit..." Keldrin said this with a smug grin, clearly amused at this whole thing. Kuni suspected he was trying to stir the pot even more.

"Oh, really? And does the magazine happen to mention anything about where the author lives?"

"As a matter of fact it does! Why? You're not thinking of doing anything drastic, now are you?" Keldrin sounded like that was exactly what he expected her to do, and that he expected to be allowed to watch.

"No, no! Perish the thought. I just thought maybe I'd send a gift to such a loyal reader..."

Over at the bar, Lyrin'a watched in silence, pulling a face. Over the course of the conversation, the tea he'd started out with 'magically' came to contain more liquor than tea. Kuni could almost see the pleading in his expression, along with the resignation of knowing nothing he could say or do would stop her from her mischief.

Silvaineaux shook his head ever so slightly, pouring more whiskey into his own glass before topping off Lyrin'a's tea. The liquid's surface rippled dangerously, surface tension alone keeping it from spilling. The knight didn't have to say a single word. She could tell what he was thinking, already mentally absolving himself of responsibility for any legal action that might come as a result of the others' shenanigans.

And Inwa? He'd long since given up on trying to insert any sense of logic or reason into the conversation. He lay like a starfish upon the pile of cushions near the fishtank, staring up at the ceiling and questioning every decision in his life that had led him to Priarch's doorstep.

"What kind of gift?" Lati had come to stand beside Kuni, his plush tail curling around her.

"I'm thinking...glitter bomb."

Here, Kuni's gaze snapped towards Talia. The redhead had not participated in the dramatic reading session, and in fact had seemed busy with typing away in her tomestone during most of the affair. Feeling Kuni's gaze upon her though, Talia peered up at her.

"Mm. Sure, I could make that happen for you. I can install a camera in the package too. Something remote so the footage uploads directly to my systems."

"And this is why you're one of my favorites~" Kuni grinned.

"Hey! What about me?" Lati pouted.

"I feel so unloved," Keldrin joked.

"Oh, shut it. You know I adore you both. So what color should we send? Do either of you happen to know of a brand that makes particularly fine glitter? I want to make sure our gift leaves a...lasting impact, so to speak..."

[tagedeszorns]

More Lord of Excess Spoilers

This book is so fucking funny, I LOVE it!

Xantine wearing black lipgloss. He's Vavisk's Goth Girlfriend. Disaster Goth Girlfriend.

Xantine naming his weapons and other gear/vehicles so incredibly tacky! "Pleasure of Flesh", "Tender Kiss" .... my boy Lucius over here: "mine is SWORD!"

Xantine getting the prettiest and dumbest potatoe-boy as a gift from Fabius and thinking the Clonelord did it as a special appreciation of his talents. (I love Torachon. McCormick just did incredibly funny things to Fabius' Frankensteinesque origins)

Xantine thinking he's so smart evading Abaddon and the Black Legion. Meanwhile Abaddon: "What is a Xantine?"

I need to get Rich McCormick's address and write him ardent fanmail.

I didn't have so much fun with a Black Library publication for a long time! Go, read it!

[otmaaromanovas]

Hey would you mind Could you give us a huge insight of Maria and Anastasia Nikolaevna's personalitys? in some rare quotes said by someone who met them both ?

I would love to read more facts and quotes about the little pair .

Hello! Of course! I'm going to split this into two parts: this part will be about Maria, and another post will be about Anastasia.

Here are some rare, lesser known quotes, about Maria Nikolaevna (or writings from Maria herself) that capture her personality well.

"Marie was kindness and unselfishness personified" - Olga Voronova, Upheaval

Letter from Olga to aunt Xenia - "1916 August 26th … Papa brings an attendant with him to dinner, and Mordvinov comes every evening and we torment and scare him. Yesterday we discharged the conductor and drew a beard, moustache and eyebrows with a burnt cork on Marie and put her on the train. Of course, he didn't recognize her, and he was terribly tormented when during a game of hide and seek in the dark, she ran into him in the corridor and rudely pushed him. He said that it was some kind of half-drunk conductor, and found her impudent, because we gave her cigarettes and she paced about importantly, smoking them." - George Hawkins, Correspondence of the Russian Grand Duchesses: Letters of the Daughters of the Last Tsar

"The other Grand Duchesses were still children. Marie Nicholatevna was a robust, well developed little girl with big blue eves, of a typical Russian beauty. She had an excellent memory and every time somathing to be remembered her sisters always turned to her. - Alexander Spiridovitch, Last Years at Tsarskoe Selo, Volume 2

"One day the little Grand Duchess Anastasie was sitting in my lap, coughing and choking away, when the Grand Duchess Marie came to her and putting her face close up to her said, " Baby, darling, cough on me." Greatly amazed, I asked her what she meant, and the dear child said, " I am so sorry to see my dear little sister so ill, and I thought if I could take it from her she would be better." Was it not touching?" - Margaretta Eagar, Six Years at the Russian Court

The following are from George Hawkins, Alexei: Russia's Last Tsesarevich - Letters, diaries and writings - volume 1:

Note from Alexandra to Alexei, dated 1 December 1914: "Don’t tease Maria."

Letter from Tatiana to Alexei, Spring-Summer 1916 "...Taube [patient] (the one with no legs, do you remember him?) and Marie yell so you’d think the whole infirmary can hear them, they make such a fuss, and they all shout and argue. It is awfully funny to watch them."

Letter from Maria to Alexei after Alexei asked Maria to draw Joy the dog: "16 December 1916. My dear darling Alexei! I don’t know how big you want me to draw Joy, but I will give it a go, and if it doesn’t turn out, I can do it again…. I have just tried to sketch Joy but it didn't work out because I don’t really remember what he looks like and it ended up looking nothing like him, so I won’t send it to you. When you bring Joy to me, then I will be able to draw him."

The following are from Joseph T. Fuhrmann, Nicholas II and Alexandra Feodorovna. The complete Wartime Correspondence April 1914 – March 1917:

Alexandra to Nicholas "[January] 24 1915 …Marie stands at the door & alas! picks her nose..."

Alexandra to Nicholas "January 2 1916 …Baby began writing his first diary yesterday. - Marie helped him, his spelling is of course queer."

Alexandra to Nicholas "April 2 1916 …Marie is in a grump mood & grumbles all the time & bellows at one, she & Olga have B. [Codeword for 'Becker', meaning their periods]"

The following are from George Hawkins, Correspondence of the Russian Grand Duchesses: Letters of the Daughters of the Last Tsar:

Fanmail letter from American girl Dolores Sybilla Adam to Olga and Tatiana: "Jan 24 1913 …I cannot ever thank you enough for the picture that was sent to me… But tell me is Marie the only one that ever smiles…?"

Letter from Maria to Tatiana: "Tatiana my darling. Thank you very much for the note and good wishes. Although I have not seen my husband [an inside joke amongst the sisters, most likely referring to their crushes] yet, I did see him in a dream. Today we will go to the Grand Palace and I hope that Provotorov (i.e.: your husband) will tell us a lot of nonsense. It’s boring without you. I hope that I will see ND [Nikolai Dmitrievich Demenkov, her crush] again… 9th Dec. 1914"

Letter from Maria to Olga Voronova: "Dec 29th 1914 …The other day we were at a Christmas party at Mama's nanny school. There are now many children of the reserves, so awfully sweet! We gave them all toys and they rejoiced in them, and each showed his nanny what he received. They are so appetising. Some are very small, some are even only two weeks old. I really love young children, and play with them, holding them in my arms. Do you like little children?"

Letter from Pierre Gilliard to Maria: "10 December 1916 …Be careful, Maria Nikolaevna, if you continue to tease me, I will avenge myself!!!!"

Letter from Olga to Nicholas II: "16 August [circa 1904] - Peterhof. Dear Papa …Maria went to sleep in the afternoon, and Anastasia crept under the mattress and slept there with Maria on top of her. When she got up we all laughed, and so did she." - Maylunas and Mironenko, A Lifelong Passion

Letter from Alexandra to Nicholas: "14 June 1915 - I congratulate you with all my loving heart for our big Marie’s 16th birthday… Pity you are not here. She enjoyed all her presents, I gave her her first ring from us made out of one of my Buchara diamonds. She is so cheery and gay today." - Maylunas and Mironenko, A Lifelong Passion

Letter from Anastasia to Nicholas: "26 August 1915 …I am sitting on the couch near Alexei as he is having dinner with M. Gilliard, while Maria is running around like crazy. …This morning [Doctor] Ostrogorsky came to see me, but Maria and I were still in bed, then Maria covered herself with the blanket, then he entered and listened to my [lungs], but when he finished, I quietly uncovered the blanket and Maria had to climb out, and she was very embarrassed." - Helen Azar, George Hawkins, Anastasia Romanov: The Tsar's Youngest Daughter Speaks Through Her Writings

"When I first knew the Grand Duchess Marie, she was quite a child, but during the Revolution she became very devoted to me, and I to her, and we spent most of our time together — she was a wonderful girl, possessed of tremendous reserve force, and I never realised her unselfish nature until those dreadful days. She too was exceeding fair, dowered with the classic beauty of the Romanoffs; her eyes were dark blue, shaded by long lashes, and she had masses of dark brown hair. Marie was plump, and the Empress often teased her about this; she was not so lively as her sisters, but she was much more decided in her outlook. The Grand Duchess Marie knew at once what she wanted, and why she wanted it." - Lili Dehn, The Real Tsaritsa

"Count Grabbe says of the Tsar's third daughter, clearly his favorite: "With her large gray, luminous eyes, her classical features, and languorous movements, she was the true type of Russian beauty, the most good- natured and artless of the four sisters, with endearing qualities which drew people to her." More outgoing than her older sisters, Maria Nikolaievna loved children and used to talk to soldiers about their families. She knew the names of many of the Koncoy Cossacks and Standart sailors, took an interest in their affairs and managed out of her $9 a month allowance to send little gifts to their children. With all her gentle ways, she was strong and solidly built, like her grandfather Alexander III. Her sisters called her "Mashka" and sometimes "Little Bow-wow."" - Count Alexander Grabbe, The private world of the last Tsar, in the photographs and notes of General Count Alexander Grabbe

"The Grand Duchess Maria Nicholaevna was a young wcnnan of broad build. She was very strong; for example, she could lift me up from the ground. She had lighter hair than Tatiana, but darker than Olga. (Olga Nicholaevna had brown hair, of a golden shade, and Maria Nicholaevna had brown hair with a light shade.) She had very nice, light grey eyes. She was very good looking, but got too thin after her illness. She had a great talent for painting and always liked to exercise it. She played the piano indifferently and was not as capable as Olga or Tatiana. She was modest and simple and probably had the qualities of a good wife and mother. She was fond of children and was inclined to be lazy. She liked Tobolsk and told me that she would be quite happy to stay there. It is quite difficult for me to tell you whom she preferred — her father or her mother." - Examination of Sidney Gibbes, The Last Days of the Romanovs

"The Grand Duchess Maria was eighteen ; she was tall, strong, and better looking than the other sisters. She painted well and was the most amiable. She always used to speak to the soldiers, questioned them, and knew very well the names of their wives, the number of their children, and the amount of land owned by the soldiers. All the intimate affairs in such cases were always known to her. Like the Grand Duchess Olga, she loved her father more than the rest. On account of her simplicity and affability she was given the pet name by the family of "Mashka." And by this term she was called by her brother and by her sisters." - Examination of Commissar E. S. Kobylinsky, The Last Days of the Romanovs

Hope you found it interesting or learnt something new! Will post Anastasia's a little later :)