Basically, give me the name of one of my OCs, and then someone else that they probably know - whether it be an old love, whether it be their parent, etc, you don't have to name them explicitly, and I will write a letter in that style from them.
I also recommend if you really like this idea, please repost it in your own blog so I can send requests for your OCs as well!
Sage, to his mother
I’m at the cousins’ this winter, and Rudolphus has taught me how to shoot. The story bars him from firing cannons, so we’ve been practising to the 1812 Overture. With each cannon, we fire. I’m sure the trees in the woods fear us now.
I’ll return to Copenhagen for Christmas, I promise, Ma. I’ll return to the city that only knows to call me “Idason’s young boy”.
The Greenhouse and Botanical Gardens lose visitors during this time of the year. It's only sensible for me to pay my respects in the form of public visits. The flowers there don't try to speak to me during the day, so I'll return with my emotions undrained.
And yes, I have gotten your letters, and I know that the dance studio’s children have been asking for me and for stories. I promise, I’ll return in time for the Christmas pantomime, and I’ll even dress up if the children bug me so.
Turnus, to "literally any major adult character in Veritas"
Just so you know, I’m only using Gabe so I can keep a casual but still serious tone for this letter.
You know what? Sometimes I feel sort of sorry for you. And then that sorriness dissipates into anger - anger over that credit card with your last name, anger over how you so easily dodge my questions, and anger over how in denial of how destiny is going to ruin you as a person.
Like, come on, you’re eighteen, you’re a grown man who should know how to make his own decisions. I know you have a brain - please think about why people have been kind to you and why your father’s legacy even opened up for you in the first place.
See you in five years.
I wish I could put a sticky note on your forehead to denote that you are what the kids these days call a “bruh moment”.
You got me in this mess, you got me out of the mess. Seriously though, what sort of dumb luck that we both suffered under the same changeling? It’s like this fairytale universe just wanted you to marry Brutus.
Or, well, perhaps sometimes, the fairytale world isn’t always a scheming mess. I’ll send my thanks to coincidence on this one.
Best of luck,
Listen, if I were a reckless conspiracy theorist trying to throw some punches at the fairytale world, I would have pulled out the red string, and you would be dead center between Sofia and Fake-Utility.
Who are you?
Where do you come into all of this?
Sincerely, I am confused.
I guess you were slighted by sleight of hand, eh? Eh??
AHAHA. Puck you.
That changeling - the one that’s still masquerading as you - they were the very one who dragged me down this rabbithole of questioning the world and how things run. Sure, fine, I was isolated like how you were isolated, but I’m better now. If the world thinks that they could beat me down before, then they better toughen up because they got to beat me down while I’m stronger now.
I don’t know how you can stand being away from other people for this long. Sometimes, I feel like I should be worrying about you.
Anyway, I’m back to reading again. This time, it’s Manufolkuring Consent by Tome Chomsky. I’m not sure if you would have liked reading it.
In all your forty-ish years of life and social progress, the world still teaches you to learn shame.
You always wanted me to be a better man than you, Papa.
I won't let the world do the same to myself.
I think I’m starting to realise why the aunties call you a sandstorm. I am the immovable object to your unstoppable force. I am, above all, my mother’s son.
For all the cut up fruit you used to bring to my room, for all those midnights we spent up making baghrir. For all the work you’ve put in, it has not hardened compassion in you - unlike in other mothers I hear of.
You’ve told me that you only want me to be happy. You’ve told me that I should leave a place if I’m not.
I’m sorry, but do you think I’m going to squander these opportunities? They can call me meek or compliant or long-suffering. I'll call myself stoic.
Maman, I don't dare to indulge in running away from things when they get difficult. I've only ever learnt how to stand my ground.
Maman, do you really think your son won't go down without a fight?
Franz, to Wagner
How are the students doing? Isn’t it that time of year when you’re writing recommendation letters for internships? Academia sounds so busy, it sounds like a lot of writing, and I know that’s going to be my life, eventually.
I hope you get promoted soon! It’s been six years of being what - an assistant professor - already, and they still don’t recognise how important you are? You are single-handedly holding up the introductory genetics course! The students give you five-star ratings! No one else can incorporate memes into serious education.
Makes me wonder what will happen when I have to become a professor. Will students come to my office hours? Will my career be stable? Whatever happens - you deserve a raise and tenure. Maybe I’ll be good enough to deserve that too.
Speaking of professorship, how is Dr Victor holding up? It must be so confusing for the students. Dr Wagner and Dr Wagner. Father and son. I heard the last homunculus he made has become a mascot for one of the student unions there - glad it’s integrating well.
Bernard, to Glaucio
Just to clear things up, I don’t avoid making eye contact with you because I’m embarrassed or whatever. I’m the reincarnation of King Arthur - there is nothing for me to feel shame or embarrassment about.
I think, sometimes a king has to be soft - like an easily bruised pear. Sometimes, we have to be delicate with ourselves, and we don’t have time to be delicate about anyone else.
Self-care, Glaucio. It always goes back to self-care. Put on a facemask, go take a bubble bath. Prioritise yourself first, Glaucio, because the fairytale world won’t.
I wish you all the best, and the best should not be me,
Mark, to Icarus
You’re doing so much now! I read about the event that Dead Epics hosted - the one that was open to the rest of the school, the “moving from grief” workshop - it was in the school newspaper and everything. Big congrats! I’m so proud! That’s my cousin, right there.
Grimm… when I’m an underclassman, maybe I’ll get to do the same cool things you do. But I’m not in any clubs with big performances or that big of a reach… I guess it’s just me, Mark Juniper, with my baking tray and knitting supplies, doing my cross-stitch in my own corner of the Castle-teria. Thankfully we don’t look alike enough for the professors to call me “Icarus”, but there’s a reason why I’m “Mini Juniper” after all. Don’t get too carried away, Ics, these shoes are too much for me to fill.
Your favourite and only cousin,
Daulis, to Min
i'll get to this one later I promise you, tale
Mark, to Antigone
[set in the future, after they met during university]
When you gave me your name, I kind of just took it at face value. Annie is a name in itself, right? Never once thought it would be short for something.
But Antigone? That’s a name I’ve heard several times, said by one person, and a person who was greatly important to me when I was fifteen. When I was too stressed to talk to even my older brother, he became my older brother.
Annie, what dumb fate is this? Tell me that you’re a spirit - a ghost or an angel, maybe. God can’t just play dice with the universe.