#mer’s mail

[lesbianjackies]

NO BECAUSE BECAUSE BECAUSE.

people who have a healthy relationship with their sibling(s) / dont have siblings are seemingly incapable of understand what sirius and regulus's relationship was like. i know its all up for interpretation and blah blah blah, and "hannah why are you following canon now but you dont care about it the rest of the time?" but, like. their relationship was Not Good.

James was like a brother to Sirius, and James was loyal to a fault. he would NEVER do that to sirius. im sorry but he wouldnt

he just wouldnt

anyway. i dislike jegulus and i am canon regulus's #1 hater

NO REAL. REAL REAL REAL REAL REAL the way the fandom portrays the black brothers’ relationship drives me actually INSANE as someone with a really bad relationship with my sister. like you don’t GET IT they HATED each other UGH

and i do like regulus but it’s just??? so so strange in regards to ALL THREE of their characters (him, sirius & james) to ship him with james?? like. it makes absolutely no sense to me and i get there’s like. angst?? there??? or whatever??? but like??? dude james and regulus hated each other almost as much as sirius and regulus. and not in a fucking enemies to lovers way in a “my brother sees you more as his brother than he does me” and “you have hurt my best friend beyond repair” sort of way like??? like it makes no?????

ughhhh like it just. james cares way too fucking much about sirius and regulus hates james way too much for it to ever happen or make any sense or !!!!!! ugh!!!!!!!

it just bothers me <///3

[tf-au-mer-osborn]

Have you ever eaten bugs?

*looks up from his book*

Bugs? Hm...

Probably when I was in the army, yeah, why?

[hippolotamus]

🧜‍♂️🧜‍♂️🧜‍♂️ <3

Of course, Nolan dearest 💞🪿

“Uh, Eddie? What’s wrong? What did I do?”  Eddie cautiously rights himself on the sand, sitting with his legs crossed. He gestures to his mouth, opening and closing it several times before he seems to decide what to say. “Your, um- your teeth.” Oh. Right. The pointy shark-like teeth that humans definitely don’t have. Evan covers his mouth with his hands, mumbling an apology like he had any control over his DNA.  Eddie tilts his head, smiling hesitantly, like Evan’s a curiosity. Which- he supposes he is. At least as much as Eddie is to him.

np tagging @diazsdimples @spotsandsocks @daffi-990 @dangerpronebuddie @theplaceyoustillrememberdreaming @tizniz @theotherbuckley @holidayslinger @lavenderleahy 🫶

[postcard-from-the-past]

"The Cake-Walk"

French vintage postcard, staged and photographed by A. Bergeret, mailed in 1903 to Villefranche-sur-Mer, France

[lours-postal]

2023 – 583

1/30

[littlexdeaths]

heyyy i miss youu, i hope you still remember me 😭😭💗💗

MER MER ANGEL!!

hello!! 🥹

i’ve missed you too!! i hope you’ve been well, it makes me so happy to see you’re back!! ♥️🥺

[a-special-ship-safe-space]

what counts as "basic dni"?

racist, lgbtphobic, pedos, zionists, stuff like that- the things you usually see in a dni

[lours-file-a-telie]

philatélie 21

[merartwork]

I share my process of packaging a small piece of art, with things laying around the house.

If you have art and want to know how to mail it out to friends or patrons here is a cost-effective way to do it without breaking the bank.

[magdaclaire]

i have 300 words written of a sequel to my jobela fic nobody will lose their head and. ladies, theydies, and gaydies. friends and countrymen. i do not think i know how to write

[dalishthunder]

The way you write Nebarra’s thought process is so intriguing. Like the way he connects caring with the death of Camia, with losing people and the devastation that follows. I love the way he tries to wrestle for any sort of control over how he feels, to the point where he’s practically peeling himself piece-by-piece trying to wrestle with how he really feels under all that denial.

And also the parallel of him watching both Camia and the Dragonborn (almost) die in a single moment?? The tenderness and eroticism of a sword fight where neither party wants to kill but they’re really damn good at it, so it’s akin to a scrabbling dance?? Good fucking soup. I love this mess of a mer, you write so well.

!!!!!!!!!! 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

Thank you so much!!!! Yes! Like, his radiant dialogue in game shows that like... yeah he's a crass asshole, but also He cares so, so much!

Like when he talks about his brother, how he wonders how much of the money he sends home actually makes it there, how he was writing a letter to Camia's parents, how he talks about making sure another war like the great war never happens again. And even after you stop him, he still chooses to not only save you, but also still actively wants to travel with you. And you ain't even gotta pay him to do it!!!!! Like he acts like he doesn't care, but so much of what he does is influenced by the fact that he does.

Like maybe I'm reading too much into shit, bc I have been known to do that. I am the chronic overthinker, and I love getting into characters' heads and picking them apart and seeing what makes them tick.

Also fight scenes... hot... hhhhhhhhh I really enjoyed writing it and I'm so glad people enjoyed reading it!!!!

[lesbianjackies]

What's the weirdest thing you've ever eaten? 🤔🤔🤔🤭

nail polish

[hippolotamus]

You’ve altered my brain chemistry with that snippet and that’s not even an exaggeration.

I can’t stop imagining Eddie and Tommy, who saw each other in passing in Basic but became friends when they were assigned to the same platoon. Laughing easily with each other as they’re flown from Britain into France. Finding each other when they’re dropped behind enemy lines and not managing to find their platoon for a day or two, constantly dodging enemy fire as they try and find their way back. Sleeping huddled together in barns, looking up at the stars through the burnt thatch roof.

Eddie and Tommy finally finding their platoon and finding their other friends but still being drawn to one another on quiet nights. Tommy pulling Eddie aside and telling him he’s worried about Eddie being a medic on the frontline. He’s seen some of the injuries other medics come back with, clipping stray bullets as they pull men back to safety. Tommy doesn’t want Eddie to get hurt. For some reason, that’s when Eddie puts a hand to Tommy’s cheek and tells him not to worry. He’s going to be fine.

Eddie and Tommy sharing a foxhole during the winter while they’re surrounded by Germans. Huddling together in the unspoken way soldiers to because they’ll do anything to conserve body heat. Sharing illicit kisses under the cover of the coat they throw over their hole to keep out the snow. Whispering promises they know won’t be kept, until Eddie has to leap out and treat a wounded soldier that got shot on a patrol.

Tommy appealing to the Captain to he won’t get moved to a different platoon when Eddie’s gets shipped out to the trenches after the battle is won. Travelling together in the trucks, pinkie fingers linked under Tommy’s coat that lays across his lap. Sending coded messages to one another when they’re separated for 3 months, arranging illicit meetings in the bowels of the trenches where they know are no patrols that night.

Tommy taking a bullet a month before they’re due to go home and Eddie pressing his hands against the bleeding wound, ripping bandages with his teeth and injecting him with morphine. He removes the bullet and stems the bleeding and Tommy spends a week in the field hospital before he’s cleared for duty again. Eddie wiping hair from his sweating brow and pressing kisses to his temples, his cheeks, his lips, when he knows no one is watching. They’re so careful, but their love blossoms nonetheless and leaving one another at the end of the war is like losing a limb.

SIR! Respectfully, lovingly, fuck right the fuck off for this. It's brilliant and life giving and soul shifting. Huddling in barns? Linking pinkies? Kissing (and more!) in secret? CODED MESSAGES WHEN THEY’RE SEPARATED?! Tommy being Concerned™️ for Eddie? Eddie treating Tommy's wounds? SCREAMING CRYING THROWING UP

JFC, James, I love this so hard 😭 (and you KNOW I have stuff to finish and this is Not helping!) Head pats and forehead kisses for you. Please feel free to assault my asks and emotions anytime for this 😘

@peppermintquartz @swiftiefirefighters

[postcard-from-the-past]

View of Sanary-sur-Mer, Provence region of southern France

French vintage postcard, mailed in 1901 to Thoissey

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Winter's King 7

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, cheating, violence, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are a maid to the Duke of Debray, a lord of the Summer Kingdom. That is, until the king of Winter appears with his particular air of coldness. (Medieval AU)

Characters: Geralt of Rivia

Note: another week ahead.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The gates open as horses snort and kick. The dawn air is ripe with impatience. You and Merinda watch as you stand east of the front doors. The luggage is clustered near the stables, to depart once all of the nobles have trotted their steeds from within the walls. 

Your encounter with the king lingers in your head but the echo of his anger and the scent of spilled ale is enough to deter you. A maid will not be missed. Merinda can’t tear her eyes away from it all. Her expression is longing and doleful. 

“A pity we must stay here with Lady Rezlyn,” she mutters, “she’ll be miserable without her daughter.” 

“I’m certain she will miss her,” you agree. 

“She won’t have any to indulge her,” Merinda sniffs, “or distract her.” 

“Mm, I suppose. Perhaps she will be too sad to be angry,” you suggest. 

The noise of mail approaches and you look up. You expect the soldier to pass by as all others have done. It is the same steely soldier who’d been at the king’s side that morning. Merinda steps closer to you as the man’s grey eyes are fixed on you. 

“Maid,” he barks, “find a cart.” 

You frown and look over at Merinda. 

“The king has sent for a lady maid for his wife,” the soldier explains, “you.” 

He points at you with his gauntlet and you flinch. The king has not forgotten or changed his mind. It was wrong of you to assume. You grab Merinda through her sleeve and squeeze. 

“Just me, sir?” you ask. 

“We needn’t a dozen of the traitor’s servants,” the man scoffs in return, “come. You will travel with the others amid the bedrolls.” 

You blanch and cling to Merinda. She whimpers and you turn to her, the reality setting in on your at once. Your chest feels as if it’s being crushed as you face your lifelong companion. As close to a friend as any might have in your position. 

“Mer,” you croak. 

“Save your tears, there’s no time,” the soldiers grits. 

Merinda pulls you into an embrace. “Be safe,” she whispers with a sniffle. 

“You too,” you part and look her in the face, “Mer, I--” 

“Yes, I know, me too,” she frowns, “you must go.” 

“Yes, you must,” the soldier insists and points towards the stable.  

Merinda lets you go and the fabric of her sleeve slips from between your fingers. You follow the soldier, looking back at the lone maid as she watches after you. You can see her wringing her hands. She’s never been the nervous sort. 

You take in a deep breath and turn forward. The soldier marches you to the back of a cart and points inside. There's just enough room for you among the chests and casks within. You climb up, moving your skirts from under your knees, and sit against the side. You don’t have anything to worry about leaving behind. 

He stomps away and you lean to see him around the wall of the cart. He disappears and you sit back and huff. Off to the capital and then the Hinterlands. You look down at your dress, the apron and wool frayed with your labour. You will be cold once you turn north, you hope you might bear it. 

There’s a clink of metal and horse hooves. You look up as a speckled grey steed appears by the cart. You gulp and gape at the large beast as its equally grey master holds it by the reins. The steely soldier shoves a wad of leaves into his mouth and chews. 

“Come this far,” he grumbles through sloppy gnashing, “just to guard the luggage.” He snorts and shakes his head, “I’m not in the mood for trouble, maid. You keep in your cart.” 

You lower your head as you bend your knees, and cross your arms across them, “yes, sir. Thank you.” 

He chews in the lull between you. He turns to spit the leaves onto the ground and kicks dirt over them. His horse nuzzles at his shoulder as he shrugs it off. 

“Don’t thank me yet,” he girds at last, “you won’t once you see the snow.” 

⚔️

The day rolls by with the wheels of the cart. You jostle with the movement as the grey soldier rides abreast of the luggage train. Ahead, the royal party and soldiers lead the way on the long road to the capital. There’s a glimmer of excitement in you, a sensation you’re not used to.  

You’ve only ever heard of the capital from your masters. Lady Jazlene’s tales of sparkling banquets and golden plates and raucous dances. Lady Rezlyn was more likely to talk of the courtly whispers, who is marrying who, which earl despises which count, and scandalous affairs of those already bound to another. Your anticipation is routed by a sadness; you don’t know that you’ll ever see Merinda again to tell her of all you see. 

You pick at your nails and watch the rippling clouds above. The blue sky appears as a sheet of pure satin with streaks of soft ivory. The sunlight streaks from the horizon, weaving into the cornflower expanse and limns over the soft green leaves of swaying trees. The smell of pollen and dirt breezes from the forests and the rustle of tall wheat drifts in from the rich fields. 

As you take in your homelands, you feel a twisting in your chest. You will miss it very much. You never put special thought to it before, you never considered the ties that bound you to this land, but now they tug and strangle you near to tears. This is what you know, it is what you don’t that terrifies you so much. 

You rock as noon burns high, rattled by the bumpy earth below. The grey horse hovers closer and you look up to soldier scowling down at you. You shy away and cough as dust is thrown up by the wheels. The man grumbles and steers his horse closer. You slump your shoulders down, wondering why he hovers. 

Perhaps it is your masters who cast suspicion over you. You are one of them. New allies forged in deceit. The more you think of Lord Dustan’s deception, the more uneasy you feel. You always thought the duke was at least a good lord, now, you don’t know what to think of him. 

“Aye,” something hits the cart, landing next to your feet. It’s a water skin, a thick hide strap attached to it. You peek up at the soldier and reach for it, the water swishing within. “Your summer lands are dry as ash.” 

You consider the skin before you uncork it. You pause and try to see the man through the beaming rays of midday. “Thank you, sir.” 

“Mm,” he grumbles and keeps his horse in line the end of the cart. 

You drink, not too much, just enough to sate, and you offer it back to him over the side of the wagon. He takes it and strings it back around his shoulder. You sit back, facing away from him. The horse trods on without expedience. 

The soldier is just as silent as ever. You hear some shuffling, something brushing, it is barely discernible from the leaves fluttering in the distance. There’s a nudge on your shoulder, the man holds a small bundle of cloth in his gauntlet. 

“Sir?” You crane and turn your body. You accept the handful. “Thank you.” 

He nods and sets his sights on the horizon, undeterred by the blazing sunlight. You look down and carefully unwrap the linen from around a medley of nuts and a hunk of cheese. You suspect they were taken from the castle kitchens. 

“I...” you glance over at him, “would you like some too?” 

You cradle the food towards him and his brows form a vee. He reaches beneath his mail and pulls out a stick of dried meat. He wiggles it at you and takes a bite. 

Your lips curve slightly, “thank you...” 

“You have better manners than the turn cloak’s daughter,” he bristles through his mouthful. 

You take a nut and turn it over between your fingers. You don’t know what to say to that. You nibble on the nut, crushing it between your teeth noisily. You look up and meet the soldier’s grey irises. 

“You are kind,” you gesture to the food, “not like the guards at the castle.” 

“Mm, a symptom of the summer lands, I fathom,” he mulls with a shake of his head. “Though war can make any unkind.” He pets his horses main, a thoughtless act as he speaks, “soldiers are plunderers more oft than not.” He drags his hand back and adjusts the reins, “you will not stray far when we make camp. These men have been marching for months.” 

You blink as you break off a piece of the hard cheese, “yes, sir.” 

“You understand me,” he states, not asks. 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Bryce,” he says curtly. “And your name, maid?” 

You take a moment to process his request but you issue your name before tasting the bold cheese. You make a face. It is not your favourite. You often live on the dry rye bread and butter, and the chunk broth leftover from the hearty stews served to your masters. 

“Aye, I didn’t like it either,” he remarks, “let’s hope there is better fare awaiting us in the capital.” 

⚔️

Night falls and the party makes camp. You help cover the wagon with a few other servants, ready to sleep beneath the canvas with the chests of clothes and books. You sit beside the wheel in the dirty, watch the sky glitter with stars as you bask in the cool night. You’ll retire soon but the sun lingers in your skin and burns. 

Footsteps mulch towards you. You look up, expecting another servant headed for a piss in the trees. The figure is broad and stiff. You recognise Bryce before he reaches you. You stand expectantly to meet him. 

“I was only about to retire,” you assure him and turn to touch the canvas, recalling his earlier foreboding. 

“No,” he says, “your queen requires her maid.” 

You pause, “oh, yes, certainly.” 

He sighs, “she requires many things I would not put to word.” 

You flutter your lashes, not quite sure of his meaning, though his tone is sharp. Lady Jazlene does not always inspire kindness. You put your head down and turn to follow the soldier. 

Bryce walks beside you through the camp. Soldiers snore or sit and chatter, others clean their blades, and several sit around fires roasting whatever they could catch in the brush. Towards the front of the train of slumbering steeds and stalled carts, larger than the canvas on crooked poles, is a grand silk tent, glowing from within. 

Your escort stops just outside, exchanging a nod with the two soldiers standing before the flap. You can hear Jazlene’s shrill voice from within. It is too dark to make out the expressions of the guards or the man at your side. One of the soldiers pulls back the fabric to let your through. You bow your head as you enter. 

“This isn’t fair!” Jazlene roars, “I am a queen now and I will not be treated as a child!” 

You peer around, expecting another to be at the mercy of her wrath. It is only her. She rages around the space, stamping and snarling. Her skirts are stained with the dirt of the road as her steps hitch now and again. 

“I will not sit a horse again! It is not good for a lady to ride as such!” She stews, “Where is my father?” She rushes towards the door, brushing by you as she pushes through the flap, “fetch me my father, now!” 

“Get inside,” a soldier growls. 

“You do not command me! I am the queen--” 

“The king bids you stay within,” another drones without emotion. 

“Ugh, stupid men,” she retreats and swirls, her skirts swishing against you, “empty-headed soldiers! What do they do? Carry their swords and run to their deaths! I am a lady, a queen! And they speak to me as if they are above me!” 

Her rant continues as if you are not even there. Even having touched you, she has yet to notice your presence. You look around and go to the corner where a bottle sits on a crate, with a wooden cup near it. You pour the wine as the queen continues her tirade. 

“Your highness,” you offer the cup, though you avoid her harried route around the tent, “you must be tired from the road.” 

She stops short, looking at you as she pulls her chin back. You cannot tell if she is surprised or affronted by you. She huffs and stomps towards you. You steel yourself as she snatches the cup and sniffs the contents. 

“Food! I am hungry,” she snaps. 

“Yes, your highness, I will fetch something,” you assure. 

She narrows her eyes at you. Her lips slant. “Your highness, yes, you recall, I am the queen.” 

You turn and go to the entrance. You poke through and the soldier angles his spear across your path. You gulp and stay at the threshold. 

“She is hungry. Is there food?” 

“Aye, I will fetch it,” Bryce’s voice startles you as he looms in the shadows. 

You thank him before you retract back behind the silk. You stay close to the door as you wait and Jazlene slurps down the wine between furious mutters. As she reaches the bottom, she turns the cup upside down and wiggles it in your direction. It’s empty. 

You take it and refill it to the brim. The wine might calm her should she imbibe enough. Lady Rezlyn was always jollier when she had a healthy helping of red. 

As you bring it back to her, she faces you with a sneer. She glares at you and takes the cup. You stand, trapped in her distaste. You cry out as you feel something sharp on your stomach. You look down as she pinches you through your apron and twists. You clamp your jaw tight as you hold back a squeal. 

She lets you go and drinks deeply as she struts away from you. You put your hand to the sore spot and resume your place by the door. It is better than a slap, though that may still be to come. 

As you stand just inside the flap, you hear the approach of boots. The soldiers utter low words, ‘your highness’ and you barely step out of the way as the silk is drawn back. The king steps inside as you sidle away. You still as he glowers around the space, the flicker of the torch planted in the ground reflects in his golden eyes. 

“Wife, half the camp can hear your tantrum,” he says, “queen’s do not behave as chil--” 

Before he can finish his remonstrance, Jazlene is billowing towards him in her satin skirts. There’s a splash that fizzles in the air, tense silence rising as the king’s words die on his tongue. He closes his eyes against the liquid assault, wine dripping down his face and wetting his dark lashes. He sucks in a deep breath and his hands fist as Jazlene snickers cruelly and throws the cup at his chest. 

“If you treat me as a child, then I may as well act as one,” she retorts. 

The king doesn’t react. His posture is locked, his shoulders squared and his jaw set in stone. Slowly, he expels his breath and opens his eyes. Jazlene’s mocking smirk trembles and falls. 

“You are worse than a child,” he accuses and grabs her by the shoulders, “you are nothing more than a vicious cat.” 

“Get your hands off me,” she sneers as she writhes in his grasp, “unless you mean to be a husband, eh? Do you think you might prove yourself this time?” 

He growls and squeezes so she winces. She whimpers and beats on his thick arms. He walks her backwards as her feet shuffle beneath her to keep from tripping. 

“Husband, you cannot blame me for being unhappy. I have not been t-treated as a queen should--” 

“You have not earned it,” he shoves her and she lands on the stuffed mattress across the ground. “Be quiet. The camp needn’t lack sleep on your account.” 

Jazlene pouts up at him. You see the battle in her, of anger and fear. The king snarls down at her, “go to sleep.” 

She bats her lashes and pushes herself up on one elbow. She reaches to her skirts and tugs them up, “husband...” she shows her leg, “please...” 

He doesn’t move. He stares down at her for a moment then turns on his heel. He takes a step then falters. His gaze meets with yours. You quickly look down, realising then he was unaware of you. You shouldn’t have seen that. He falls back into step. 

“Do not make me return,” he barks as he shoves through the silken flap. 

[littlexdeaths]

BOOP WARS.

us currently 😂