#postmistress

[federer7]

Postmistress and Daughter. Luzzara, Italy. 1953

Photo: Paul Strand

[bestworstcase]

conceptually salons are really funny in that you, twelfth librarian of one of the nine great libraries of the watchman’s tree, sacred keeper of forbidden knowledge, under the auspices of the enigmatic nowhere-hour called snow, keep inviting various oddballs and minor luminaries and the village werewolf over for dinner specifically to glean tiny new inklings of forbidden knowledge. surely there are easier ways to study the invisible arts but you otherwise have no social life, so.

[haveyoureadthisbook-poll]

[highsummonermercar]

Delivery around the UK only. There's a range of books I'm selling here on my eBay, from new to good condition.

I've also got some clothes, electronics, stationery and Genshin posters to sell so please buy from my eBay if you're interested.

[mandoreviews]

📚 The Postmistress of Paris by Meg Waite Clayton

I don’t really have a ton to say about this book. It’s set during World War II, a setting which is already a plus in my book. I did enjoy the story, but I don’t remember a ton of the details. It’s not a story that’s super impactful or mind-blowing, but it is definitely enjoyable.

Rating: 7/10

[otakutemmiebooks]

These are some of the recent books I've bought. A lot were bought at thrift stores or used book stores so please ignore the crustyness of some of them, they were just extra loved 😌

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Here’s a request for Abraham as I only just found out who he is and I already would let him spit on me. He’s in the pub where he sees a girl with big boobs and a cheeky grin, he follows her out. Maybe she leads him to the stables? And he fucks her good and hard against the hay. However, just as he’s about to pull his pants up. He falls on the ground due to reader and she rides him like a pony. Maybe some dirty talk and against the hay he chokes her but while she’s riding him she chokes him. You decide how to interpret this and where it goes from there. Hope you have fun writing!

Hello! First off I'd like to thank you for your patience - I'm sorry it's taken me over two months to fulfil this request, I am slow and I have a lot to work through. Secondly, this request is absolutely bonkers, but I've done my best to fulfil it in my own style. I hope that you enjoy it.

Warnings: Infidelity, choking, fingering, smut. Word count: ~2.6k

It’s a bright and sunny July afternoon on Grantchester Village Green. The sounds of a brass band playing and children’s laughter float on the breeze, yet she is bored. It’s the Village’s annual church fête and every Grantchester resident has turned up to take part and lend a hand. Mr. Ruskin has lent a donkey from his farm to give rides to the children, there’s a tombola offering up various prizes of assorted chocolates and cuddly toys, and games of boules and cornholing have been laid out across the Green, under reams of brightly coloured bunting. She feels like she could scream from the civility of it all.

“Fetch you some more squash?” Robbie asks with a soft smile, gesturing towards her with his empty paper cup.

“No. I’m alright, thanks, love.” She replies, stiffening uncomfortably as he places a chaste kiss to her cheek before heading off in the direction of the refreshment stand.

It’s all so bland. She can’t stomach another cup of tea, another orange squash, another egg and cress sandwich. Worst of all, she’s not sure how much more of Robbie she can stand. They have been courting for almost a year - the perfect match in every sense - he is the Vicar’s son, polite, gentle, and inoffensive. She is the daughter of the head of the Village committee; pretty, well mannered and kind.

Truthfully, she finds Robbie painfully dull. He isn’t bad looking and doesn’t treat her unkindly, he is just unambitious and set in his ways. She had agreed to go steady with him because it was what was expected of her. He’d taken her by surprise when he’d expressed the desire to sleep with her three months into their relationship, and for the first time in all the years they’d known each other she’d actually found herself excited by him. That was until they did the deed and he’d rutted atop her with all the enthusiasm of a captain going down with his ship.

She’s heard the murmurs around the Village, the rumours that he plans to propose. Robbie hasn’t exactly been subtle about it either, the way he gawks in the window of the jewellers makes dread sink in her stomach like a stone, not just at the idea of him asking her to marry him, but the fact that she knows she’ll say yes. It’s what her father wants for her, and living somewhere so small, where everyone knows everyone and all their business, she doesn’t want the reputation of the girl that broke a good Christian boy’s heart.

A future as Mrs. Robert Chambers, wife of the vicar’s son, Village postmistress, daughter of the head of the Village committee. Boring, boring, boring.

Life in Grantchester had suddenly become more interesting when he had rolled into the village; part of the Romani settlement that had taken refuge in one of Mr. Ruskin’s fields. The locals had treated them with suspicion and hostility, such was the attitude to newcomers, especially travellers. However, something about him intrigued her; his slicked back hair, dazzling blue eyes and cocky smirk made her heart race, worsened by the fact that whenever she’d seen him around he always managed to catch her eye and send her reeling with a wink. 

She’d never dared to speak to him, yet she feels her breath hitch as she notices him and five of the other Romani men approaching the Green.

“Here comes trouble.” She hears her father sigh as he steps forward to approach them.

She gently grabs his arm. “Dad, leave it,” She pleads. “They haven’t done anything.”

“Not yet anyway.” Robbie says as he returns from the refreshment stand with a refilled drink.

“They’ve as much right to be here as anyone else.” She fires back, watching as the group sit themselves on nearby picnic benches.

“I’d like to see what sort of contribution they’ve made to the Church or Village.” Her father mutters darkly.

As if on cue, the eldest of the group stands from the picnic bench and walks over to Mr. Chambers, depositing a handful of coins into the money box he holds. 

“There’s fifty pence from each of us there.” He tells the Vicar.

“Very generous of you, thank you.” Mr. Chambers responds with a bow of his head.

“See?” She says to her father. “Just leave them.”

As the afternoon progresses, the group is rowdier than anyone else at the fête. The sounds of their jeering and raucous laughing drowns out the tuba and trumpets of the band, earning them glares from everyone else in attendance. However, they keep to themselves, doing nothing more scandalous than using the picnic benches to arm wrestle one another.

She’s taking a walk around by herself, watching a group of children toss bean bags at each other with squeals and shrieks when she spots him, leaning against an outbuilding and swigging from a labeless brown glass bottle.

He winks at her when he sees her and she feels her cheeks heat up.

“Having fun?” He asks with a raise of his eyebrow.

“Not really.” She says with a soft laugh.

“Tea and sarnies not your thing then?” He smirks at her and it sets off a fluttering in her lower belly.

“I can’t imagine it’s yours either.” She says with a shrug. “What’s your lot doing here?”

He sniffs, taking another swig from his bottle and offering it to her. Tentatively she takes it from him, a shiver running through her as their fingers brush for the briefest of moments.

“We’re moving on tomorrow. Figured we’d come pay our respects before we push off.”

She is unable to mask her disappointment at this revelation, her eyes widening as her heart sinks. “Tomorrow?! You’re leaving..?”

He leans in, his blue eyes locking with hers. “You gonna miss us?”

She takes a long drink from the bottle in order to avoid having to answer the question, spluttering around the acrid burn of the liquid in her throat.

He chuckles, taking it back from her as she coughs and wipes her mouth. “Pal’s home brew. Put hairs on your chest, that will.”

She whips around when she hears Robbie calling out for her.

“Go on then, run back to your little boyfriend.” She has to suppress a gasp as she feels the hotness of his breath against the shell of her ear, how closely he’s moved behind her in order to lean down and whisper to her.

She swallows thickly, walking away before turning back to him. “I didn’t catch your name…”

“Abraham.” He tells her, with a mock two fingered salute.

“Nice to meet you, Abraham. I’m-”

“-oh I know who you are. Seen you around.” He interrupts, eyes roving over her form appreciatively.

She bites her lip, feeling the heat return to her cheeks and turns back to rejoin Robbie and her father.

The next hour passes uneventfully, until she hears raised voices coming from the area where the donkey rides are being given. Curious, she moves closer to see what’s happening. She’s surprised when she sees Abraham squaring up to Mr. Ruskin.

“It’s my animal, I think I know best how to look after it.” The farmer says angrily.

“And all I’m saying is that if you’re gonna have the poor fucker carting kids back and forth all day, the least you can do is give it a drink!” Abraham spits back.

The two men stare each other down, until eventually Abraham turns around and walks away. She thinks he has left and is bitterly dismayed that she hasn’t had the opportunity to speak to him more, when fifteen minutes later he turns with a bucket of water, setting it down near the donkey’s hay bales.

Mr. Ruskin grumbles at this, telling Abraham to clear off, but makes no moves to take the water away. She smiles at this, she knows nothing about this mysterious man, yet it’s endearing to see how he cares for animals.

She doesn’t see him again for the rest of the day and it’s only as things start to get packed down for the evening that she realises his group has left. The bucket remains where Abraham left it and she decides she’ll return it to him, emptying the water out onto the grass before turning to let her father and Robbie know what she intends to do.

She thinks better of it as she sees the two of them grappling with the hinges of a long folding table, struggling to collapse it. Probably for the best that they don’t know where she’s going. She takes the bucket, heading off in the direction of the farm.

Abraham isn’t hard to find. He stands in a stall of the stable, running a brush along the back of a chestnut coloured thoroughbred. He is bathed in the orange glow of early summer evening, the dying sunlight plays upon the sharpness of his features, making him appear ethereal.

“He’s beautiful.” She says, making sure it’s the horse she nods towards as she approaches.

Abraham grins when he sees her, continuing to brush out the horse’s coat. “He’s alright. Still needs a bit of work, but he’s fast. Should be fit for racing soon.”

“Mr. Ruskin doesn’t mind you keeping your horses in his stables?” 

He laughs drily, tossing the brush to one side and stepping out of the stall. “He told us to. Pitched a fit when he saw the state they were making of his field.”

She nods in understanding, watching as he brushes his hands off on his trousers.

“So what brings you to me?” He asks, leaning against the door of an empty stall and eyeing her closely.

“Oh,” She steps forward, holding out the bucket. “You left this. Thought you might want it back.”

He takes it from her with a smirk. “Right, because Ruskin couldn’t have brought this with him when he brought the donkey back…”

She feels herself grow hot again, opening and closing her mouth as she struggles to formulate a response.

“Why are you really here?” He closes the gap between them, a predatory glint in his eye.

“I don’t know what you mean.” She whispers, feeling arousal seep between her legs, warm and sticky, as he grips her lightly by the tops of her arms, turning her and backing her into the empty stall.

“I think you do.” He says lowly, fingertips tracing her jawline, the pad of his thumb passes slowly across her bottom lip, pulling slightly. “See, I think that little boyfriend of yours isn’t fucking you the way you’d like him to, so you thought you’d come see if I could do a better job.”

“N-no!” She stammers, fighting to keep her composure, as her stomach feels as though it’s doing somersaults.

“Oh?” He cocks his head, the hand not cupping her jaw moves, pushing the skirt of her dress up her thighs. “You a good girl then? Tell me to stop.”

She knows she should, but what she should do and what she wants to do are at direct odds with each other, so she says nothing, her chest rising and falling quickly with the rapidity of her breathing.

“That’s what I thought,” He utters, inhaling sharply as his fingers come to stroke over her clothed centre, feeling the dampness there. “Good girls don’t soak through their knickers like this for boys like me.”

It’s then that he finally presses forward to capture her lips with his own. It’s like no other kiss she’s ever experienced before, as his mouth moves with firmness against her own, parting to slip his tongue alongside hers, it feels like he is staking claim to her. She clings desperately to his shoulders, whimpering as she feels him push her underwear to the side and slowly sink a long finger inside of her.

“So tight…” He mumbles between kisses, moving his mouth to neck to suckle at her pulse point as his digit curls and pumps within her heat.

She allows her head to fall back with a soft thump against the wood of the stall’s wall as he adds a second, the repetitive strokes across a particular spot deep within her cause her muscles to tense as she bucks against his hand, feeling her belly tighten.

“Gonna come for me?” He asks cockily, sounding pleased with himself. His thumb begins to stroke at her pearl in tandem with the push and pull of his middle and forefingers.

The motion causes the tautness in her to finally give way, a wave of warmth rushes over her body from head to toe, and she lets out a strangled cry as she tightens and spasms around him.

She whines, her knees buckling as Abraham slowly retracts his fingers, but he’s quick to hold her in place by her waist. “S’alright, I’ve got you.” He reassures, keeping her steady until her breathing returns to normal.

The haze from her climax lifts slightly when she hears the metallic sound of his belt buckle unfastening, anticipation causing her breath to come in shallow puffs when it has only just recovered.

“You gonna let me inside, pretty girl?” He questions.

It almost makes her want to laugh, after what he’s just done to her, now he’s asking for permission. She nods feebly, her eyes heavy lidded as they take in the sight of his length as he fists it, long and thick. For a brief moment she wonders how he’ll fit.

“Use your words,” He urges. “Tell me what you want.”

“You,” She whispers shakily, “Want you inside of me.”

He smirks, pressing into her with a satisfied groan and she mewls pathetically as he stretches her open, his grip on her thigh as he holds her open to him is sure to leave bruises.

“Fuckin’ hell.” He grits out, once he’s finally sheathed within her.

He smells faintly of sweat, musky and intoxicating as she holds him close to her. She has never felt so full before, and the roughness of the wood against her back through the thin cotton of her dress, combined with the press of Abraham against her is almost overwhelming. 

Her head lolls to the side and she gasps once he finally starts to snap his hips against hers. He places a hand around her throat, giving the sides a gentle squeeze. “Look at me,” He orders. “Look at me when I fuck you.”

She finds that once she meets his eyes, she couldn’t look away even if she wanted to. There’s a hunger that burns within those baby blues, commanding and insatiable, that keeps her trapped like an animal beneath the intensity of his gaze.

His pace is relentless. The slap of skin against skin mixed with the cadence of the wanton sounds that fall from her lips is lewd, utterly obscene, yet she is too far gone to care or feel embarrassed.

She knows that Abraham is close when his pace falters. He pulls out with a grunt, stroking himself furiously until ropes of his pearlescent spend coat her thighs and lower belly.

He falls forward, keeping a hand pressed to the wall beside her head to stop himself putting too much of his weight onto her, and rests his forehead against hers.

“Fuck,” He breathes. “We should do that more often.”

“You’re leaving tomorrow.” She says quietly, hoping her voice doesn’t betray the sadness she feels.

“So? Come with me.” He says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world, brushing the tip of his nose softly against her cheek.

“I can’t do that!” She huffs incredulously.

“Why?” He asks, stepping away, looking for something to help clean them both up. “What’s stopping you?”

She pauses, her brow furrowing as she struggles to think of an answer. Really, what is stopping her? She grins, her future suddenly seeming much less dull.

Read on AO3

More Abraham fics

[mudwerks]

(via Fujitsu bugs that sent innocent people to prison were known “from the start” | Ars Technica)

Fujitsu software bugs that helped send innocent postal employees to prison in the UK were known "right from the very start of deployment," a Fujitsu executive told a public inquiry today.

"All the bugs and errors have been known at one level or not, for many, many years. Right from the very start of deployment of the system, there were bugs and errors and defects, which were well-known to all parties," said Paul Patterson, co-CEO of Fujitsu's European division.

That goes back to 1999, when the Horizon software system was installed in post offices by Fujitsu subsidiary International Computers Limited. From 1999 to 2015, Fujitsu's faulty accounting software aided in the prosecution and conviction of more than 900 sub-postmasters and postmistresses who were accused of theft or fraud when the software wrongly made it appear that money was missing from their branches....

... "You've had marriages fail, people commit suicide, an horrendous impact on people's lives," he said. "It's perfectly reasonable that the public should demand people are held to account and that should mean criminal prosecutions wherever possible." The UK government also has plans for a new law to "swiftly exonerate and compensate" people who were falsely convicted.

this is so fucked up

[eddy25960]

Geraldine Page and Glenn Ford

Dear Heart 1964

Directed by Delbert Mann

A middle-aged postmistress falls for an engaged man during a convention in New York.

[maysshortmoviereviews]

Mr. Bates vs The Post Office (2024)

One of the greatest miscarriages of justice in British legal history where hundreds of innocent sub-postmasters and postmistresses were wrongly accused of theft, fraud and false accounting due to a defective IT system.

This show is all based on a true story and it will make your blood boil and make you very angry at the injustice. This is still ongoing and you will not believe how long it has taken for the innocent postmasters and postmistresses to get this level of coverage. A must watch. If you are not in Britain, it will still be worth watching if you read up a little bit on the 'Horizon Post Office Scandal'. It really is just so wrong what has happened.

[las-microfisuras]

Paul Strand Postmistress and Daughter, Luzzara, Italy, 1953

[adventuressclubamericas]

Adventuresses We Love - Maureen Flavin Sweeney It was June 3, 1944, and Maureen Flavin was going about her business as sub-postmistress of Blacksod, Co. Mayo, Ireland. Blacksod’s post office was housed in the lighthouse, which also served as the weather station, and one of Flavin’s duties was to make regular weather observations. She checked her instruments and the tale they told was clear – a storm was coming, likely hitting on the 5th. She reported her forecast, then went about her other duties.

Almost immediately the messages and phone calls started flooding in. “Please repeat, please recheck.” So, Flavin did. She checked, and rechecked her figures, and came to the same conclusion – the English Channel was going to be a right mess on June 5.

That was going to be a problem.

What Maureen didn’t know was that her forecasts were being communicated to Gen. Dwight D. Eisenhower, Supreme Commander of Allied Forces in Europe. Eisenhower and his team had been preparing an invasion of occupied France, and amphibious assault involving hundreds of thousands of troops, and supported by thousands of aircraft. An invasion that was planned for June 5.

The low cloud deck with the storm meant that air support wasn’t going to be possible, and the seas were going to be even rougher than usual. If the “go” order came on the 5th, the mission would have been a complete disaster.

Thanks to Flavin’s warning, that didn’t happen. Based on her forecasts, Eisenhower delayed the D-Day invasion 24 hours, until June 6, 1944 – 80 years ago today.

Maureen wouldn’t find out about the role she’d played in D-Day until 1956. By that point, she’d married the lighthouse keeper and started a family. In 2021, she was honored by the US House of Representatives. In sponsoring the citation, Rep. Jack Bergman wrote that “…her skill and professionalism were crucial in ensuring Allied victory, and her legacy will live on for generations to come.”

Adventuress Maureen Flavin Sweeney died December 17, 2023, at the age of 100.

[thatscarletflycatcher]

the fiction project in your tags, is that Percival and Nadine? could you tell me a bit more about them? I’m newer here so I don’t really know them yet 🙈

Hi!! Yes :D

Don't worry, I don't think I ever wrote a public post about it, other than answering ask games and rambling in tags? XD Thank you :3

The story is set in England after the end of WWII. After spending most of the war as a WAAF (female branch of the Royal Air Force) Nadine has got a job with the Royal Mail, and goes as postmistress to the town of Avensley. Avensley is a small village near a market town, and it takes its name from the river Avensley, across which sits Avensley Hall, the seat of the squires of Avensley for centuries (listen, I can have one "Hamleys of Hamley since the times of Queen Anne" Gaskell joke. As a treat). Avensley Hall is at this point in time a rundown property; the old squire (as people still called them out of habit) and his wife died on a London raid, their daughter married a diplomat and is abroad, and the son, Percival, an architect, is the only one who remains at the hall, with his housekeeper. He was in the army, lost a leg in action in the middle of the Italian campaign, and now lives life as a semi-recluse at home. He has been mentally scarred by his experiences on the front and the sudden loss of his parents, and so between both ailments it's very difficult for him to do anything but linger on.

As you can imagine the story is mainly a romance XD and I'm shamelessly writing against tropes I dislike and around others I have a NUANCE take on, because... my story, I do what I want :P Nadine, for example, is a war widow; she fell in love with and rushed to marry a pilot, to 'chase away the ghost of death' that he felt about him, but he still died on a raid soon afterwards. James, the pilot, was a good man and a good husband BECAUSE THE EX DOESN'T HAVE TO BE EVIL. Anyways, she experiences a lot of shame because her family advised against it and she rejected the advice in a very... proud manner, so she's now estranged from them.

There's of course other characters at play, because part of the story is about how important community can be to a person's healing, and we all love the 'lovable and irritating neighbours in a village' trope (?) so you get the constable and the parson and the gossips and the inn/bar keeper and... and... there's the late postmaster's widow who for obvious reasons doesn't easily like Nadine and the niece that comes to live with her... there's an Italian architect, Giancarlo Domicelli (again, I am allowed the puns), who met Percival during the war (when Percival was in a field hospital where Giancarlo helped as a POW) and befriended him...

That's the general gist of it. The story is told mainly through letters Nadine sends her best friend, another ex-WAAF now married to a doctor and living in Dover, and letters Percival writes to his sister Eleanor.

[rokkunzenith]

Presenting my oc Andromeda Crumini!

She works as a galactic postmistress and can't take it anymore✨

(The reference is volume No. 14 of Spring)

[laura-the-swarming]

ALL HAIL THE POSTMISTRESS

[scotianostra]

The Scottish actor Archibald Duncan was born in Glasgow on 26th May 1914.

His father was a regimental sergeant major and his mother a postmistress. He was educated at Govan High School and afterwards and worked as a welder in the Glasgow shipyards.

It was at the Citizens Theatre Company that Duncan joined the training ground of many Scottish actors including, Molly Urquart, Duncan Macrae, Gordon Jackson and Eileen Herlie. He then made his Scottish acting debut in Juno and the Paycock, playing all three gunmen, at Glasgow's Alhambra in May 1944.

Duncan went on to star in London's West End with the likes of the great Scottish character actor Alistair Sim and the late George Cole. Film roles started to follow with , Floodtide , The Gorballs Story, The Elusive Pimpernel, Green Grow the Rushes, Henry V, The Lavender Hill Mob, You're Only Young Twice and Walt Disney's The Story Of Robin Hood and his Merrie Men as 'Red Gill' amongst many others. Duncan also teamed up with Richard Todd and James Robertson Justice in Disney’s Rob Roy the Highland Rogue as Dugal Mac Gregor.

One of Duncan's first big TV roles was as Inspector Lestrade in the 1954 series Sherlock Holmes, but perhaps Archibald Duncan is best remembered for his second Robin Hood role, where 6'2" Duncan played Little John alongside Richard Greene in The Adventures of Robin Hood which ran for 143 episodes on ITV here and CBS in the states from 1955 to 1959. I just had a wee look and many of the episodes are on Youtube.

Duncan's portrayal of Little John would be fondly remembered decades later for his combination of strength, skill and humour. It was during the filming this unforgettable series that this Scottish gentle giant proved to be a true hero and managed to prevent a runaway horse from hurtling towards a group of spectators, consisting of mainly children, watching close by. For this brave feat, he was awarded the Queen’s Commendation for Bravery and £1,360 in "damages". But it also resulted in him missing the recording of eleven episodes of Robin Hood. So between times, a replacement was found in fellow Scotsman, Rufus Cruickshank.

Another great Scottish film he appeared in was Ring of Bright Water. Archie Duncan's career in television production carried on with parts in programmes like Z Cars, Hereward the Wake, Orlando, Black Beauty and Bootsie and Snudge.

Sadly in 1978 he suffered a massive stroke which caused paralysis down his right side. Sadly he passed away at Whipps Cross Hospital in Leytonstone, London aged 65 on 24th July 1979.