#mail call

[remyfire]

Neil Hilborn, "Heaven" // S8E15 "Yessir, That's Our Baby" // S4E25 "The Interview" // S2E23 "Mail Call" // S1E24 "Showtime"

[forever-rogue]

There is no problem in sending the same requests to other writers, we readers are not obliged to have new ideas all the time. Every writer writes differently, so no some stories would ever be the same because of the different perspectives various writers have. I sometimes send the same requests to different writers who write different characters, who are not from the same literary universe, animes, games, movies or real peoples because I know they will write differently and from different points of view.

If you want new ideas that nobody else has thought of then write them yourself.

You know what's more frustrating than hearing all that from a writer? it's when we (readers) spend hours thinking about an idea for a request and then we send it to you (writers) and you guys just ignore it but I fully understand that the inspiration to write doesn't always show up in every request you receive, but asking us to stop sending the same requests to writers is, to say the least, very disrespectful to your readers.

We are not obliged to always have "new ideas" and there is no new plot because every existing plot has already been written. I hope you also don't mistake this message as rude just because it's on the Internet, I was as sincere as possible but not rude.

PS: this is an open discussion because it involves writers x readers, so just as you expressed your opinion, we (readers) should also express ours, so don't ignore that either.

all i asked was that anyone that sends a request to me doesn't send the same one that they've sent to others. that is all i am asking people to respect.

[upontherisers]

ooh, could i request #3 "hour" for 1st lt summerton please?👀 thank you!❤️ — @shoshiwrites

thank you for this! i feel like it's a bit short but either i end it here or it goes for another 3k and i think i will save that for another time. of course, no proofreading we die like men. pls forgive any mistakes!

An hour. She only had to put up with him for an hour and then visiting hours would be over and he’d be out of her sight. A half-hour, probably. It was late and Mahalia was tired—if she fell asleep, she wouldn’t have to deal with him. Twenty minutes, she told herself. She’d be asleep in twenty minutes and she wouldn’t have to listen to him hem and haw for her attention in between bothering the staff about the morphine that they were purposely withholding from her. All she needed to do was keep her eyes closed and try to keep still and she’d be out in no time. 

“It’s illegal, y’know!” John Egan called after the doctor as he passed on his rounds.

Mahalia sighed from her bed. “Give it a rest. They gotta keep me alive, nothin’ else.”

“Oh, yeah? What about the Eighth Amendment?”

She scoffed. “The Eighth Amendment? You think the Eighth Amendment applies—” She was greeted by his infuriating, roguish grin when she opened her eyes. If she was holding something, she would’ve thrown it at him. “You’re full of it.”

He looked proud of himself as he slouched down in his seat and shoved his hands in his pockets, his knees knocking into the side of her bed. 

It was quiet in the infirmary and Mahalia tried to settle again. It was best if she fell asleep now while she had a visitor. Rest was rare when she was alone inside the cavernous room in the dark with the doctor doing his best to check on her as irregularly and disruptively as possible. She received treatment when there was someone in the chair next to her, or at least was left alone instead of being reluctantly prodded at like a mangy stray dumped at the door. She wouldn’t tell Egan that, of course. He’d probably add that she had fleas. 

Which made her question his reason for stopping in. It’d been seven days since her fall as of this morning and she’d seen none of him. Alex was in everyday, so was Gale; Crank, Vera, and Benny came by when they could. But the major had made himself scarce. Gale said it was because he blamed himself for the accident, but that couldn’t be it. It was an old, busted ladder that they should’ve checked before she went up on the roof. No bad blood about that, despite the rest of their bad blood. 

He seemed to be up to nothing besides staring at the floor with that boyish pout that meant he was upset about something but he didn’t know what it was. Maybe… maybe Gale was right. Now was as good of a time as ever to clear the air while she was laid up in bed with her bones in pieces and bruises along her entire backside. She couldn’t spare the energy to lie now. 

“What are you here?”

His head swiveled up, surprise passing over his features ever so briefly before he composed a nonchalant shrug. “Thought you could use some company.” 

Right. “It wasn’t your fault. The wood was rotten. Neither of us knew.”

He nodded but couldn’t look at her. He was hearing without understanding.

She slid her hand across the sheets until it hit his knee and she turned her head as much as she dared. Finally meeting her gaze, those big eyes turned a sorrowful shade of sapphire under the yellow lights above. He looked like a kicked puppy even with the straight edge of his sharp jaw and his furrowed brows; his ability to seem so small in such a broad frame amazed her. There was a change in his bearing in these rare, quiet moments and she was yet to find where he was hiding the switch.

Her fingers brushed over his knee and the heat of his skin through the fabric shocked her, causing her to yank her hand back. His expression darkened like that was an inevitability, but that wasn’t what she meant. She meant, “I’m serious.”

“I—I know,” he said, and he did that nodding thing again, listening but not taking it to heart. 

She cursed herself and she cursed him; if only she could find the words and if only he would believe her.

He was everything she’d ever called him to his face—reckless, ineffective, childish, a pain in the ass. From the day she arrived, he had done nothing but question her and get in her way, both physically and strategically. He reeked of jealousy at her, Alex, Richard, and Robert’s inclusion into the fold of Colonel Baker’s operations, and it had taken several assurances from her fellow Red Tails that it wasn’t a matter of prejudice but of pride for her to start speaking to him. Even then, he was rude, brash, and a show boater.

She found him utterly lacking in redeeming qualities, which put her at odds with Brady and others from the 100th from time to time. That was no matter to her. She made her opinions on dangerous leadership known as soon as they arose because her lack of diligence to her men was not going to be what kept them in the stalag. There was a screaming match in the yard that ended with her swinging at him while being dragged away by Alex. He’d ducked her fist, the bastard, but she nailed him in the shin as he gloated, and they were ordered to steer clear of one another after that. 

Gale had become their intercessor. The temperature in the bunk dropped whenever she and John were in there together and she knew it was a problem, but frankly, she didn’t believe that she should capitulate. He had eight inches on her; he could afford to be the bigger person.

Vera had suggested they talk and make up—Benny had suggested something a bit more obscene—but Mahalia was steadfast in her resolve. Egan got the coldest shoulder she could muster. She would not endorse such behavior from any superior, no matter how desperate she was. The Germans had taken a lot from her; they would not get her morals as well.

Then the roof started leaking, and she found something she and John both agreed on. It was simple enough: she was light enough to work on the roof without falling through and he was tall enough to pass her the panel that was going to be nailed over the leak. They would call it a truce for the ten minutes it took to make the repair. He even smiled at her as he held the ladder on her way up, which she was going to ‘accidentally’ kick him in the head for on the way back down.

There ended up being no way back down.

She’d stepped through the first wrung on the ladder as the wood crumbled under her boot and she momentarily enjoyed the feeling of flying again for the first time in months before she slammed into the ground.

He was everything she’d ever called him to his face, but as her fingertips tingled from their recent touch, she remembered how warm he was.

The mud was freezing under her as she lay looking up at the gray sky, but John’s hands were warm as they passed over her head and shoulders. His hands were warm as they steadied her neck once she found her words again and realized she couldn’t feel her left leg. His hands were warm as he lifted her onto the stretcher, telling the guards in no uncertain terms to keep their hands off her. His hand was warm in hers as they brought her into the infirmary, and she lost the feeling after that, when the impact of the fall caught up to her brain. 

Nights in the infirmary were cold and when she did manage to sleep, she dreamed of warm hands directly on her skin, down her back, up her legs. She wouldn’t tell him that, of course. 

But she did sneak a glance at those wide, flat palms and heavy fingers as he clasped them between his knees. She felt flush, itchy under the rough sheets of her bed.

She checked her watch. A half hour. She only had to put up with him for a half hour. 

[lynzine]

Mail Call: The Prison

This is a sneak peek at a bonus chapter of the fanfic Wayward (Book One of The Avatar's Ward), which hopefully will have a regular update schedule soon!

Ozai’s son sent him reports, but never letters. So it was infuriating that letters arrived at the prison for his brother more often than reports made it to Ozai. They never reached Iroh’s hands, of course. Sometimes Ozai perused them, but it was a galling exercise as it was becoming increasingly clear that the boy’s reticent behavior was not from the burn or the banishment, it was a result of Iroh’s imprisonment.

In a fit of rage at a letter signed ‘your loyal nephew’, Ozai seized the pile and paid his dear brother a visit.

“Your nephew has been writing to you.” Ozai forced his snarl back behind a smirk as he held out the scrolls. His brother gazed back at him stoically. Not even the prison garb could rob him of his proud posture and calculating eyes. “Don’t you want them? To see how he’s doing?” Ozai taunted, moving closer to the bars. Iroh wanted the letters. Ozai could see it in the way his eyes flicked to the scrolls. How his hands tightened beneath his sleeves. How he barely held himself back from lunging for them. “Well, if you aren’t interested.” Ozai’s fingers flexed and all of the carefully penned scrolls burst into flames.

For an instant, Iroh’s carefully cultivated mask broke. Ozai smiled in warm satisfaction as charred scraps of paper and ash sifted through his fingers. It had vanished as quickly as it appeared, but for a second Ozai caught a glimpse of the shattered man who had lost his son. The fool who tried to replace him with what was his.

“Pity.” Ozai’s grin grew. “Maybe you’ll want to read the next one.” Ozai swept away, sending ashes dancing in his wake.

[klingerfashionarchive]

season 2 episode 23

[mashpoll]

Alcoholics Unanimous (s3 e9): As acting commanding officer, Frank dismantles the Swamp’s gin still and declares Prohibition at the 4077th.

Mail Call (s2 e23): Word from home brings Hawkeye a sweater; Frank good news about his stocks; and Henry his wife’s checkbook to balance.

[boyslit]

Hi! Im really sorry for coming across like this and i hope im not stepping out any boundary, just in need of dire help right now as my cat needs some emergency treatment and im on financial bind. Im trying to raise some funds for him and I’m hoping that you’d be so kind to help us even by just spreading the word out. I made a post about it on my blog and pinned it, i know times are tough right now for and its a few days before Christmas, just wanted to atleast get the care he needs before its too late. I feel so bad 😭 i hope you would consider, also pls if maybe answer the ask privately or send me a message instead? its just that people sometimes tend to get weird on these things. 🙏😭 merry christmas in advance 🙏

no I'm answering it publicly because this is a scam blog that is only 3 days old. we've never interacted before and I've gotten countless messages almost exactly weird for words what you've sent me, with an odd grovelling tone, asking to reply privately so no one sees the text that's exactly like every other 'my cat needs help' scam message.

people "get weird" on these things because there is a pattern. copy-pasted text in your donation post, in your messages for 'help', usually the images of the cat are from somewhere else, and it's always the same pattern of behavior. two or three day old blog with just enough reblogged material to fool the casual peruser. you follow someone and immediately send your emotional message banking on their love for cats and compassionate nature.

but here's the thing. this song and dance is old and tired and I know all the steps and all the words.

so dear followers, here's a good list of things to look out for when some rando follows you and asks for help out of nowhere.

meanwhile, dear scammer, you will be getting blocked. by me, and hopefully anyone who reads this post. nice try, though. you might want to attempt grifting somewhere else like Instagram where people actually have money

[shutterandpencil]

"Beauty's Home!"

At the time, when I first got her, she didn't have a nickname but my Beauty Looking Back Miku came home the other day.

[eldritchminmo]

Ooohhhh!!! Your fantasy au is very 👀

I know there's Ingo/Leon in it, but now I'm curious, who else is going out with who? :3c

hehe, thank you! my partner and i have been RPing it in discord and it's given me permanent brainworms. i think about it constantly. (i thought briefly about turning it into an rpg maker game but i know for a fact that i wont do it because i hate making sprites and tilesets)

so, aside from ingo/leon, the other ships involved are (and there's some poly overlap that i would probably need to make a chart for):

emmet/piers and raihan/volo.

and then the poly overlaps are emmet/volo and ingo(the Worm actually since it is a different entity even though it shares a body with ingo)/piers.

honestly, raihan/volo was the ship that took us off guard because they ended up having good chemistry somehow.

[usmccigardad]

He's not a celebrity, he's a Marine.

[fandomobscura]

hawkeye for the character bingo card 🫡

If canon could stop tormenting him for five minutes that'd be great and yet I want to beat him against a wall like the ragdoll he is. I contain multitudes

[sharkface-daydreams]

✨️When you get this ask you have to put 5 songs you listen to, post it, then send this ask to 10 of your favorite followers (positive vibes are cool)

lets see... recently ive mostly been listening to the HSR soundtrack and random shit. this is the stuff that gets stuck in my head tho I guess lol

Fiona Apple - Daredevil

Ingrid Michaelson - Be OK

HSR OST - On the Firmament (Divination Commission)

HSR OST - Embers (Administrative District Belobog)

Mika - Love Today

also ty for sending this to me <3 i am really bad/shy about uh sending stuff on to others. so if u see this and want to play please feel free

[forever-rogue]

Hey pookie wookie kins 🎀 are you still writing for Javi and Dulzura cause I miss them 😭

i miss them too! i would write again for them, definitely! i've been really busy with work so i haven't had much time to write but i'm gonna get back into it!

[upontherisers]

ooh, could i request 12 and/or 13 for your choice of oc please? —@shoshiwrites

(from this lovely askbox meme)

12.  We all have somewhere we retreat in our heads to calm down - a happy place. Describe that place for your character - a physical location or a time or place they felt safe or at ease.

For Georgina Webster, it's her father's study.

It's a surprisingly modest space for a man of C. Terrence Webster's renown, with a humble oak desk and typewriter, his worn chair, and two bookshelves along the back wall. The sun flows in from the east from the morning into the late afternoon and the air is hazy after twenty-years worth of pipe smoke. It’s relatively bare of decoration but full of his character—with pictures from his years in Africa and Georgie’s childhood and piles upon piles of correspondence from his fellow writers and academics. 

It’s a shrine to the power of the written word, the mind in action, and it’s been Georgie’s favorite place for as long as she can remember. He used to sit her on his lap while he wrote and told her about the world and its turns, her mother protesting that she was far too young to understand. But she wasn’t. 

The study is where she received her first typewriter and met the greatest thinkers of a generation and first aspired to become one herself. She was never shot down, admonished, or made to feel unintelligent within those four walls. She’d come to know every book and essay almost as well as her father, adding creases and cracks to the well-loved spines arranged in his particular system. It was where she ran after fights with her mother and after arguments with imaginative professors. It was where she slept, in the pool of sunlight on the rug under the window, with Mister Hemingway the cat.

That study holds the truth about life even now, and Georgie is not too old or too proud to sit across from her father and talk for hours, debating and theorizing about her coursework at Radcliffe and conversations with her peers. The study is the smartest and most uneducated she’ll ever be and she treasures that feeling because she knows how lucky she is to be able to learn from a man like her father.

13.  Characters have to come from somewhere before the story starts. Tell me about someone they trust before the story begins and why that trust exists. 

Holly Johansson is Victoria Albert's dearest friend in the whole wide world. They could practically be sisters with their fine blonde hair and their light freckles and their identical bright smiles. (They do in fact introduce one another as sisters.)

They grew up across the street from each other and their older brothers were friends before either one of them came along, so it was inevitable that they'd be in each other's lives. But no one could've predicted how close they'd become.

They originally bonded out of necessity, otherwise they'd have no one to play with when the school day ended and their brothers sped off down the street without them. It quickly turned to friendship as they braided each other's hair and traded dolls and got bikes of their own so they could ride to the grocer's and buy penny candy.

It's easy between them, all the time. They can read the other girl like a book and therefore there are no secrets between them, not that they'd want there to be. They're bosom buddies, confidants, cheerleaders, and they balance each other well. Holly's more of a dreamer while Victoria is more of a doer, but they both aspire to get out of Green Bay and see the world (Holly to Hollywood, Bertie to the Big Apple.)

When APS comes looking for photographers, no one is happier or most nervous for Victoria than Holly, and Holly is the first person Bertie writes to when something happens overseas.

[selfcare-journey]

I’m proud of u for getting through the day❤️

Thank you so much for your kind words 💕 I appreciate the encouragement! On days like that (and like this tbh) it's sorely needed

[klingerfashionarchive]

season 2 episode 23