put it in letters

[shiftylooks]

Epistolary

It's all text messages and Facebook entries these days, isn't it? Maybe you're from a time or a world where letters are still being written or maybe you're just saying fuck it to your computer and your phone and to the fast paced contact methods of modern day society. Write a letter to someone you rarely see or can't for whatever reason see right now, because of distance or maybe personal issues that are more easily addressed on paper anyway. Come on, you don't need an excuse, just write that damn letter!


How to play -

1. Top-level with your character. Include prefs and the like, if you wish.
2. Others now leave a comment with a letter their character has written yours.
3. Have your character respond, then go tag around as you wish.
4. Be entertained!

Comments

Jason Todd | DC Animated Movies

[robintohood]

((OOC: No shipping but open to everything else))

euphemia li britannia | code geass

[euphemeral]

peko pekoyama | super dangan ronpa 2

[gekiken]

kazami tachibana | root double

[sympathizer]

elio perlman | call me by your name / find me | ota

[solosection]

[ permissions and info in journal. either 1) respond to elio's unaddressed letter or 2) bring your own his way! ]

It seems that no matter where I'm staying, I'm going to be away from someone I care about. If I'm in Italy, they're in the US. If I'm in Paris, they're in Italy. Now I'm here and you are there. I'm tired of missing people, I want you to know. There are long days like today, when I've run through the Waldstein for four hours straight, when I'm just plain tired.

That's the state of mind you'd usually save me from, but you aren't here and I was never very good at saving me from myself.

Where you are, you probably don't need much saving. You never struck me as the type who'd accept any hand in offer, but that's okay. You have capable, strong hands. I trust you with you. Send me something from your place, anything, however small. I've enclosed my initial transcription of Gershwin's Embraceable You, because it's crap, but I thought you'd enjoy my frustrated doodle of a grand piano on fire near the end.

I spend my days putting out fires in pianos now. At least metaphorically. You know I'd never set an actual piano on fire, right?

Love,
Elio

i'm weak for letters so have one.

[pendejadas]

Elio,

Do you know what I think about on a Sunday afternoon when I'm heading towards my favorite park in a city that never rests? It's always crowded, but there's a corner I stick around where the swans are at. People are terrified of them, even if they are beautiful. I understand why, since one of them tried nipping at my cashmere sweater one time. I probably shouldn't have stared them down, but now this one particular swan won't leave me alone.

She's cute, I suppose. We have a mutual understanding. She drives people away, and I sit in peace for one hour of the week.

That's besides the point. I couldn't help but notice that our names are one letter off from one another. How can one singular letter change a meaning so drastically? Your name means "sun", while mine means "belonging to God". I couldn't be further. More ironies that I'll share with you one day, if time permits. I'll also gladly tell time to fuck off, but I'm trying to be nicer nowadays.

Your doodle made me smile. Setting a piano on fire is a fabulous idea! Lay some petals on it and let the romance speak to you. We might defer on our methods. I've set a few of my drinks on fire. Truly not as bad as people think. It's all about sensations. There's beauty in destruction, but also in knowing how to make it flourish from the rubble remaining.

Instead of continuing to be a terrible influence with my nonsense, inside I've left you my ticket to a musical I went to see recently. Hadestown. Orpheus' melody stirs me. If you haven't seen it, I'll take you next time you're in the area. I only ask that you tell me what you see from your window when you get this.

Existing,
E.W.

epistolary's my jam, thank you for that beauty.

[solosection]

Elio+t,

Living in downtown Paris isn't all it's cracked up to be. The flats are small, my piano takes up the whole living room, I can't really entertain guests there, because I'm already entertaining my piano. And my piano gets first priority, because I'm helpless with people anyway. I see a lot of them, but either they don't stick or I don't stick and I told you about tiredness in the last letter, right? I'm tired of feeling foreign in the company of people who've seen me at my most intimate.

And yet, it seems a condition of my life these days.

One thing that living in downtown Paris is good for, though, is the view. I live in the 5th arrondissement, a stone's throw from Panthéon. When the sun hits the roof of the building in the morning, the light is like liquid gold. I was just watching the sun go up earlier, because I've sent someone from my bed, rudely, and I thought about what you said, about our names, about mine meaning that very planet. The word originates in Greek, I should know, my father's a professor, but was adapted into Italian, losing the H underway. Losing the S.

Maybe I'm looking for my missing letters. Are you looking to lose a T? We could meet in the middle. Give me what you want to be rid of and I might get what I want in return.

Deal?

Love,
Elio

PS. Hadestown sounds like an interesting retelling of Greek myth. My father would really enjoy that. Not to say I'm like my father, but I think I'd enjoy it, too. With you.

in true slow mail fashion.

[pendejadas]

Elio,

It’s funny how we romanticize cities. I wouldn’t trade New York City, but I can admit it’s a shit place sometimes. I get to call it mine, but maybe I’ve lived here long enough to fall in love with the shadows it casts. If you peel the wallpapers of this city, there’s something magical that needs to be felt rather than seen. However, I could live without the constant honking.

I can’t help but notice that we keep running in parallels. My bedmates change more often than I’d like, but my emerald velvet curtain has remained the same. I wonder if my need to keep entertaining has more of a hold on me or if I truly can’t bother to kick someone out if they wanted to taste my Spanish tortilla and post morning sex mimosa. It’s probably that I don’t like to be alone, yet I continue to judge outside of my four walls.

My best friend is off shining brighter than any star I could possibly hang for her. It’s almost a carnal sin that I haven’t mentioned her. Do you believe there is such a thing as someone who lives in an undefinable space? I don’t see her in true romantic lighting because I’m too into men, but I consider her close enough; a soulmate. Her name is Margo. I call her Bambi.

I tend to give nicknames. I can’t seem to find one for you.

I know the exhaustion you speak of, the sort that seeps into your bones and makes you feel older than you actually are, or maybe some of us are with our experiences. I think I’m tired of losing something, so instead of losing my T, I’m willing to let you borrow it. Take care of it until I can figure out what’s worth giving?

Existing,
E.W.

PS. I’d like the opportunity. Your father seems nice. I can’t say much about mine, or really it’s that I won’t give him more of my headspace. Still, it’s all daddy issues and dicks. More parallels? We could possibly be at the opposite ends of a color wheel, but it also means we might be complementary. Perhaps there is potential. I hope you like glitter.

PPS. Apparently my chattiness extends to letters. Just more nonsense. It’s all that remains.

yerenica susuvia lebovny / seduce the villain’s father

[lucids]

Helmut Zemo | MCU

[tothedead]

[Letters from the Raft, anyone?]

[counterstep]

Slop any better the second time around? Figured I'd ask since you've got nowhere else to be now. By the way, I emptied the fridge at you place so it doesn't stink up the block and smell like death in a month or two. You're welcome.

Barnes

cersei lannister | game of thrones/asoiaf

[skirka]

james buchanan barnes | mcu

[counterstep]

jonah magnus | the magnus archives

[dearjonah]

Jason Todd | Titans | ota

[theotherobin]

Dutch Van Der Linde | Red Dead Redemption 2

[faithandplans]

[beatitudes]

[Stuck as they've been together for the last twenty-one years, it would be senseless to post a letter to Dutch Van Der Linde. This, however, will not stop Arthur from slipping a piece of paper into the inside cover of one of his Evelyn Miller books:]

𝐼 𝓀𝓃𝑜𝓌 𝒽𝑜𝓌 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝑔𝑒𝓉 𝒶𝒷𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓂𝓊𝓈𝒾𝒸, 𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝓌𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝒾𝓈 𝒾𝓉 𝑔𝑜𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝑜 𝓉𝒶𝓀𝑒 𝓉𝑜 𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓋𝒾𝓃𝒸𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓉𝑜 𝓅𝓊𝓇𝒸𝒽𝒶𝓈𝑒 𝒶 𝓃𝑒𝓌 𝓇𝑒𝒸𝑜𝓇𝒹? 𝐻𝑒𝓁𝓁, 𝐼 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝒷𝓊𝓎 𝑜𝓃𝑒. 𝐼'𝓁𝓁 𝓈𝓉𝑒𝒶𝓁 𝑜𝓃𝑒. 𝒢𝒾𝓋𝑒 𝓂𝑒 𝒶 𝒸𝑜𝓂𝓅𝑜𝓈𝑒𝓇 𝓉𝑜 𝓁𝑜𝑜𝓀 𝒻𝑜𝓇. 𝑀𝒶𝓎𝒷𝑒 𝑜𝓃𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝒹𝑜𝓃'𝓉 𝑔𝑜𝓉 𝓈𝑜𝓂𝑒 𝓌𝑜𝓂𝒶𝓃 𝓌𝒶𝒾𝓁𝒾𝓃𝑔.

[faithandplans]

[ There's a couple simultaneous reactions on Dutch's end of things once he reads the note. One: Why didn't he come to him with this personally? Was Dutch really that scary that he couldn't be talked to or reasoned with in Arthur's mind, that he had to take such a childish approach? And two: Should he confront him in person like a reasonable man, and have a talk with him, or should he -- No. Tit for tat.

Arthur will find this note tucked under the flower in his tent, and approximately three minutes upon Arthur's return, that Victrola is on, the Flower Duet is playing, and that horn is pointed directly at Arthur's tent. ]

𝓘𝓯 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓱𝓪𝓿𝓮 𝓲𝓼𝓼𝓾𝓮 𝔀𝓲𝓽𝓱 𝓱𝓸𝔀 𝓘 𝓰𝓲𝓿𝓮 𝓯𝓸𝓵𝓴𝓼 𝓲𝓷 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓼 𝓬𝓪𝓶𝓹 𝓬𝓾𝓵𝓽𝓾𝓻𝓮 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓮𝓷𝓻𝓲𝓬𝓱𝓶𝓮𝓷𝓽, 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓶𝓪𝔂 𝓼𝓹𝓮𝓪𝓴 𝓽𝓸 𝓶𝓮 𝓹𝓮𝓻𝓼𝓸𝓷𝓪𝓵𝓵𝔂.

Daenerys Targaryen | got/asoiaf

[kivio]

[nearamir]

Meleth nîn,

I write from beyond the walls of what once was Minas Ithil. It grieves me to see the city razed; but still more to feel how even in its ruins, there lingers such vile watchfulness. There is an uncleanliness that has seeped into its walls, and it creeps beneath the skin and freezes the heart. Minas Morgul. I think often on the words, and how they come together in your tongue and mine. Morgul. Morghulis. Some sounds, even in poetry, defy beauty; some darknesses, perhaps, carry weight enough to linger on all tongues the same.

This is a place of such darkness. The Shadow has lifted from this vale, but it leaves its scars; I cannot shake the feeling that, even with the city razed and its towers crumbled and unmanned, our passing is marked. By what eye, by what mind, I cannot begin to guess. It is, I think, only the memory of the watchful dead.

I think often of you, and find in such thoughts a peace from imagined eyes. There is, for all the shadow, beauty too in this place; the flowers have begun to grow again where for so long harsh boots trampled them down, and upon the mountaintops, the snow is glowing. In the dawn light, when the sky is violet and gold, the peaks seem to dance with their own moonlight; and then I think of you most of all. I would not have you here, beneath this watchful shadow - but one day, this Morgul-vale may be cleansed of all the darkness that has seeped into its soil, and of the madness in its ruins, and then there will be beauty only, and perhaps then we shall walk here together, you and I, and forget all that was soiled and marred, and see only the elanor blooming, and the light upon the mountaintops.

We will not linger long in the shadow of these ruins. By the time this letter finds you, we will be out of sight of any eyes that may yet watch from its foundations; it is the tower of Cirith Ungol which we will take, and so drive back to Mordor what was held in those years of watchful peace. There is hard work still ahead, and I would counsel you not to look for my return until the turning of the seasons; yet I do not doubt our strength, and I bid you not to worry in my absence. I will return, and hold you in my arms again, and like the flowers that crown the ruins of ancient kings in this vale, we will find renewed beauty and joy. Until then, I shall turn my eyes west, towards our home, and think of you.

I think, too, of a verse I spoke to you the night that we were wed. It is made for this place.

Sí na veth bâden im derel
Vi dúath dofn tummen.
Atham meraid velig a tynd
Athan eryd bain beraidh

Or 'waith bain nura Anor
A panlû elin cuinar
Ú-pedithon i-aur gwann
Egor nai îl namarië.

I will not say farewell to thee, either, at the end of this letter. Rather, let me say aden ad-bâr: until my homecoming.

And lest you think I shirk my studies in your absence: avy jorrāelan. Most dearly so.

Aden ad-bâr,
your Faramir

[kivio]

Ñuha ojūdan hūra,

I began reading all I could of this place you write to me from, only to find that I could not read of it long at all. A city of moonlight drenched in darkness, and then destroyed so that the poison could not bleed anew? I wish it were otherwise, but I fear you speak truly: there are words best left unspoken, for the darkness they bear has never known light. I will not read fresh life into such horrors. I will not imagine that it lives still, or that is boasts a strength beyond your own. The tales written of your triumphs are not yet finished, and they will not read of a venomous darkness, of demons feasting. You will not be beset by shadow.

We shall walk there together one day; there is no place upon your maps where we will not at least once watch the day break. Lovely it is to think all darkness will one day be banished, that madness will abate for beauty, but it is said that there will ever be a shadow, however faint. It is said that madness will see all to ruin, sooner or later; that for some it is written in blood. I think perhaps we will simply learn how to tread it, if we must. I do so wish to see the mountain snows turned to molten pearl in the moonlight.

You counsel and bid in good faith, my lord, but I await the sight of your return from our window every morning, and I take with me to bed your tomes and worries both. I will not tell you the nature of my cruelest dreams, and I will save, for the day you do at last return, the words I ache most to say. I know you will go forth with courage and that you will take your towers without incident. You will right what is wrong and throw open to light that which has been shuttered in darkness. If you are kind, you will do it quickly. My heart keeps close the company of so many sorrows.

How sweet it is to read those lines which you shared with me on our first night. And how cold the two of those verses taken together: to your lady wife you would write, Here at my path's end I am lingering? Do not write it, even if you would follow it with a promise of sun and stars and never a farewell. You are not at your path's end.

Come home before the turning of the seasons. It shames me that I cannot in this letter promise you cause for a swift return; you are owed no less, and I had hoped that by now I could write to you of joyous news. I cannot. I alone await you, though I assure you it is with the longing of two hearts beating. A dozen, a hundred; I have wished to wake to find you by my side more often than there are stars in the sky.

If you will not return promptly, I must have words in your stead. Let me read a verse of your own making, of your travels away from that place of shadow. Keep your promise, and do not write to me of your path's end, or of farewell.

Gerich veleth nín.

Va moriot,
𝓓𝓪𝓮𝓷𝓮𝓻𝔂𝓼

Nico Acosta | OC | OTA

[anoranza]

[ooc: Prefer shippy type prompts, please!]

Evie Montgomery | OC | OTA

[la_bonne_chose]

[ooc: Prefer shippy type prompts, please!]

Ichimaru Gin | Bleach | OTA

[coldscales]

Regulus Black | Harry Potter | OTA

[royal_venant]