#prompt: postcard in the mailbox

[mollywog]

My THG Comment Feast Fic - Inspired by an 18 month old prompt of ‘postcard’ and the 2006 movie ‘The Lake House’

Read on AO3

The bell above the door dings as they enter the bakery and the broad shouldered man behind the counter looks up from his phone, fixing a smile as he welcomes them in.

Prim returns the smile, leading them towards the counter, arms linked. Katniss pays little mind to the introductions and chatter of the man and her sister, staring disinterestedly at the display case of pastries until Prim’s voice close to her ear brings her back to the present, “He’s cute!” Katniss looks up to catch the back of the baker’s unnaturally blond head as he slips out through a swinging door behind the counter, “and I didn’t see a ring.”

“Yeah well I do,” she says, grasping her sister’s hand from under her arm, playfully waving it in front of them. “We’re here to talk wedding cakes, remember?”

Prim rolls her eyes, “don’t be obtuse: I obviously meant for you. Come on Katniss, how long has it been since you’ve been on a date?”

She shrugs, turning away. She hadn't told her sister about her last romance and recent split… if you could even call it that. Prim wouldn't understand - hell, Katniss barely understands. Nevertheless, she knows her low spirits haven’t gone unnoticed. Prim’s worried about her when she should be focused on the happiest day of her life.

Katniss smiles weakly. She’s trying. She really is trying. She’s here isn’t she?

The man re-emerges with another who can only reasonably be his brother, taking his place at the register while the first man ushers them back to an office off the kitchen.

“I’ve always loved your cakes,” Prim starts in.” When we were little I’d drag Katniss to your window to stare at them on our way home from school. God, but that was ages ago, before we moved. Work brought me back to the area and when I got engaged, I just knew I needed one of your cakes for my wedding.”

She takes to watching the man as he and her sister converse. He is handsome, she supposes, but it’s more than her sister’s comment that has her focused on him. There’s something familiar about him, but she can’t put her finger on it.

“My brother would have been doing the cakes back then; I swear he was always more artist than baker. I do the decorating now. I’ve got some samples of my work if you're interested; Make sure it still fits your vision? Actually-” He’s rifling through a stack of binders on his desk, when he pauses, pulling out his phone, “I’ll just show you here.” The screen glows to life and he toggles to his photos, but not before she catches a glimpse. He extends the phone towards Prim, but Katniss’s hand shoots out to intercept.

She clicks the button on the side twice until the lock screen background appears, revealing a full view of what she already suspected was there. All the air is knocked from her lungs, but somehow she’s able to force the words out, “What is this?”

The man’s eyebrows shoot up, but he quickly conceals his surprise, “The lake house? It’s up at the end of 74th, off Mockingjay lane. It was my brother's passion project. You’d never believe what it looked like when he bought it based on that. He fixed it up himself.”

“Katniss! Oh my god, that's your house? What are the odds?” Prim looks up from peering over her shoulder.

Katniss’s thumb sweeps over the screen caressing the glowing image, but it’s not the house she cares about. In the forefront are three men standing together, arms connected in a shoulder embrace. The first is recognizable as the one in front of her now, the third, the brother who replaced him at the register, but it’s the man in the middle she can’t tear her eyes from: “Peeta,” she doesn’t realize she’s said it aloud.

“Yeah, did you know him?”

How can she explain that she does know Peeta? That he’s the only man she’s certain she’s ever loved even though they’d never met. That they’d been exchanging letters through the lake house mailbox for months… oh, and that said mailbox had been transporting her letters two years to the day into the past and his two years forward to the present ever since she moved in… no one would believe her. She barely believes it herself, but here it is in front of her. Proof of Peeta’s existence.

But it still didn’t explain why he’d stood her up when they’d attempted to meet three months ago. He had even been the one to suggest it, making a reservation under his name for January 2nd, two years and one day in the future from when they’d decided for him, but only the next day for her.

But he’d never shown up and as she sat at the table heartbroken and alone, avoiding the waitstaff’s pitying stares, the cold light of reality had crept back in. Of course he hadn’t waited for her. Who was she to even hope for such a thing?

But something is wrong, Peeta’s brother looks suddenly downcast and it dawns on her: ‘Did you know him’

Did not do. Dread pools in her stomach, “what happened?”

“Peeta died. Couple years ago…” He looks at the calendar, “two years ago today actually: the first day of spring. Hit by a bus right in front of the hospital.”

She’s transported back to that day two years prior:

She’d just started at the hospital earlier that month, a receptionist job at Prim’s practice she’d found for her so they could live closer. No sooner had she stepped outside for her lunch break had there been a horrible accident right in front of her eyes.

She’d been the first to reach the man, crouching down by his side to offer what little aid she could until the paramedics from inside could be alerted and arrive. She’d cooed soothing words as she tended to him and bid him to stay with her.

Then his hand had touched her wrist and she’d looked up to find his blue eyes trained on hers and he’d smiled. Actually smiled and replied ‘always’ before closing his eyes and slipping away.

She hadn’t known him then, but the response and those eyes had been haunting her ever since. So much so that she’d quit her job at the hospital, a few months later finding the secluded house by the lake for sale.

… of course Peeta hadn’t made it to their date two months ago, He’d died in her arms years before they’d ever exchanged their first letter…

Her eye flit to tie time displayed on the screen: 9:48, almost three hours before the accident in Peeta’s timeline.

Katniss stands abruptly. “I have to go.” Even as she speaks her plan is still forming, “Prim. I need to take the car. Can you get home alright? I need to… I have to go.”

She has the presence of mind to rip a slip of paper from her sister’s wedding planning journal and grab a pen from the jar on the baker's desk before dashing out the door. She only hopes she makes it with enough time. That he’ll see her note. That he’ll heed her warning…

[oddree13]

To Find a Kiss of Yours

[Read on AO3]

Steve remembers his first Valentine's Day. He was in first grade and spent the day prior decorating a shoebox to act as a makeshift mailbox. The next day the class had a party where all the cards were passed out, but throughout the gathering, girls came up to give him extra candy. One girl even kissed him on the cheek and ran off. 

Steve felt butterflies in his stomach for the first time that day and decided Valentine’s wasn’t all that bad. 

As the years went on, Steve looked forward to the holiday for reasons beyond extra candy. February 14 was used to fill the void of affection his parents were slowly taking from him.

And once Steve started middle school, and class-wide valentines were no longer mandatory, he realized the holiday was different for him than other boys. He’d get more cards and candy than some of his friends, and in seventh grade, a girl pulled Steve aside to let him know how much she liked him. Steve only knew the girl because they shared a couple of classes, but figured he should be polite and ask her out. After all, that is what all the boys around him would do. 

Years later Robin would unpack just how wrong this was to do. 

In short, Steve always looked forward to Valentine's Day and even kept a box under his bed where he kept his favorites - the standouts among the mass-printed, store-bought postcards that were delivered to Steve with a personal touch.

When he started Hawkins High a part of him was nervous that one of his steady sources of affection would dry up, but Steve found the exact opposite. The school encouraged the holiday by allowing students to send each other candy-grams and flowers throughout the day. Even among the students, there was a buzz. In the days leading up to V-day, photocopied maps of lockers would be passed around where people could write their friend’s name on it, in the hopes that it would encourage more personal gifts and confessions. 

In his four years at Hawkins High Steve’s name always made it on the map before he could write it. 

During his freshman year, Steve gets more than a few candy-grams in homeroom, prompting Tommy and Carol to tease him as they steal his candy. 

In between classes, he takes more trips than usual to his locker to collect the cards and notes left for him. Some are signed, some are just a phone number with a name and a lipstick print. Steve can’t help but get high off the constant reminders of want as the day goes on.

Needing to kill time before the bus towards Loch Nora arrives, Steve heads to his locker after basketball practice. Sure it could have waited until morning, but Steve’s never been a patient man. 

Inside his locker are a few more notes, but among the pink and pastels that have filled his vision all day, the crimson card stands out. He opens the front flap to find the card is actually an origami note, and not wanting to rip it, carefully unfolds the missive. 

His eyes are immediately pulled to the drawing at the bottom: a half-sun and half-moon face on a backdrop of stars. His eyes then wander up to the note to find not a letter, but a short poem - 

Some people say my love cannot be true Please believe me, my love, and I'll show you I will give you those things you thought unreal The sun, the moon, the stars all bear my seal

It takes Steve a few times to read it to get the gist of the meaning, and he can’t help but blush. Either the writer is talented or she copied someone. Either way, Steve knows this is making it into his special box. Before folding it back Steve’s eyes searched the page for a name or phone number, only to find a small “E” at the corner of the note. 

Steve spends the rest of the week wracking his brain for all the girls in his class and even the year above whose name starts with an E, even going so far as to approach a few of them. 

When he gets no answer other than a few dates he puts it out of his mind. 

*

Sophomore year is almost an identical repeat of the year before. Candygrams were delivered and stolen by Tommy and Carol. Notes stuffed in his locker, getting more lascivious as the day goes on. It seems his reputation preceded him, and there are more than a few propositions in letter form.

And just like the year before there is a crimson note waiting for him after practice. Steve wasn’t even anticipating the note, figuring it was a one-off from the year prior. But seeing it sitting on top of his books, Steve can’t help but ignore all the other letters and notes in favor of opening another message from E.

Like last time there’s a drawing, this time of a detailed headstone citing a kiss as the cause of death, the skull atop bearing a lip print. And just like the year before is a poem - 

To find a kiss of yours what would I give A kiss that strayed from your lips dead to love

Steve restarts his attempts to find E, only this time he goes for a more subtle approach, flirting with instead of confronting any girl whose name starts with the offending letter. 

It doesn’t end with Steve solving the mystery but does end with Steve going on dates with Elizabeth, Evelyn, Emily, and Erin. 

*

The Valentines of his junior year is an interesting one. Sure he’s been dating Nancy for almost three months now, but that doesn’t stop some very ambitious girls from sending candy and cards his way. He details each gift to Nancy as the day goes on because that's what a good boyfriend would do, right? And sure, he wishes Nancy would look more perturbed, but all he gets is small kisses on his cheek with her saying they can use the candy as dessert when she makes him dinner this weekend. 

The only thing Steve keeps to himself though is his hope for a third crimson note.

Sure Steve hasn’t gotten any luck with finding out who the sender is. And even if he did find out this year he couldn’t act on it. But there's something about the effort that Steve craves. That someone cares enough about Steve to write, draw, and fold the letter each year. 

And just like the years prior the note is there, drawing and all.

Looking up at the stars, I know quite well That, for all they care, I can go to hell, But on earth indifference is the least We have to dread from man or beast.   How should we like it were stars to burn With a passion for us we could not return? If equal affection cannot be, Let the more loving one be me.   Admirer as I think I am Of stars that do not give a damn, I cannot, now I see them, say I missed one terribly all day.   Were all stars to disappear or die, I should learn to look at an empty sky And feel its total dark sublime, Though this might take me a little time.

Not only is this year's poem longer, but the drawing also intrigues Steve. The picture is of a winged man, gazing up at the words written above him with an almost longing expression, while flames dance at his feet. Steve can’t help but examine the detail that went into the drawing, and even blushes at how handsome he is. 

So the next day when Nancy drags him to the library to study, he sneaks away to ask the librarian if she recognizes the poem (without showing her the note). She walks him over to the poetry section and hands him a collection of British poetry, turning to the section on W.H. Auden. 

Steve reads a brief description of the poem, about the unrequited love between the poet and the stars. He bitterly thinks that this love might not be unrequited if he could figure out who his secret admirer was. 

Years later Steve would realize two things - Indiana public school books didn't care to mention that W.H. Auden was gay and that he really should have looked at the checkout card inside the book cover.

* 

Steve contemplates staying home for the last Valentine's Day of his high school career. He's certain he won't get any grams now that he’s fallen from grace and taken no steps to climb back up. 

But despite how obnoxious sharing court with Hargrove is, basketball practice is the only thing keeping him sane as he counts down the days till graduation. 

Steve didn't even mean to go back to his locker that day not wanting to be disappointed by the lack of a crimson note. But he needs his notes to study for chemistry, and as he pulls out the binder the crimson letter falls to the floor. 

Steve can't help the way his heart clenches at the sight. How such a simple thing can remind him why he loves his holiday so much? 

He then figures that the sender. Must be someone in his grade if they've kept these notes coming all four years. 

Passing stranger! You do not know how longingly I look upon you, You must be he I was seeking, or she I was seeking, (it comes to me as of a dream,) I have somewhere surely lived a life of joy with you, All is recall’d as we flit by each other, fluid, affectionate, chaste, matured, You grew up with me, were a boy with me or a girl with me , I ate with you and slept with you, your body has become not yours only nor left my body mine only, You give me the pleasure of your eyes, face, flesh, as we pass, you take of my beard, breast, hands, in return, I am not to speak to you, I am to think of you when I sit alone or wake at night alone, I am to wait, I do not doubt I am to meet you again, I am to see to it that I do not lose you.

Steve sinks onto the floor as he reads the poem over and over again. He can't help but smirk at how the bits about girls are stricken through, but also that it's a farewell of sorts. It leaves Steve with a bittersweet feeling to know he'll never find out the sender's identity. 

* 

Over piles of discount candy in 1986, Steve shares with Robin the details of the crimson notes tucked under his bed. Robin can't help but laugh as she looks through them pointing out to Steve how fucking homo erotic all the poems are. 

After a bit of denial, Steve finally admits that Robin may be right and kicks himself for only searching for girls back when he was in high school. Realizing he didn't bother to get a copy of the yearbook he asks Robin if he can come one day to search the pages at her house for clues. But a few weeks later literal hell breaks loose and he forgets all about it

Part of Steve wishes he actually bothered to get a copy of the yearbook so he could search the pages, but a few weeks later literal hell breaks loose and he forgets all about it

*

It's February 1987 and Steve is wondering how he's spending Valentine's Day Eve cleaning up his kitchen after the party wraps their D&D session for the night. 

Eddie is helping him tidy as he recounts how on the ride over to Steve's, Dustin was explaining how nervous he was about his radio date with Suzie the next day wanting to do something special but not cheesy. 

“I told him he should recite some poetry and he told me that's lame,” Eddie says in a way that expresses their mutual frustration with Henderson. 

“It's not lame. If it's done right,” Steve agrees. 

“The little shit then told me that metal lyrics don't count as poetry and I told him that I know more than just metal lyrics.” 

Steve can't help but look amused and gestures for Eddie to regale him with a poem. 

Eddie clears his throat and begins, “To find a kiss of yours what I would give…”

“A kiss that strayed from your lips...dead to love,” Steve finishes unthinking. After all, he read those words hundreds of times. 

That's when it clicks for Steve. The E written in the corner of all those notes stood for Eddie. 

Eddie's eyes catch Steve's and he visibly swallows. His complexion pails and he looks like he's about to run for it, but Steve sputters out his confession. 

“I kept them all.” 

Eddie's eyes widened even further at that as if he couldn't believe what Steve was saying.

“You did?”

“Yeah. Want to see them? They're in my room.”

“That's quite a line, Harrington”

“Well not all of us can be poets.”

[promise-you-wont-write]

right or wrong i can't get along without you

Summary: Jackson Fuller disappears and everyone fears the worst - until he turns up in San Fransisco asking Tim for help.

Words: 2.8k (and counting)

Notes: This is part one to a multi-chapter fic...I'm guessing maybe 3 chapters, but who knows. It depends on how long it takes me to get these men from broken to...less broken? Thanks for joining me! This is written for a prompt from @promiseyouwillwrite on AO3 (see the notes on AO3 for the full prompt). I'll create a masterlist here tomorrow for all of the chapters to be kept in one place, but here we go...chapter one.

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Skippy, I need you. - Hawk

Tim didn’t get a lot of mail, not real mail anyway. An occasional letter from his mother to let him know how everyone was doing would pop up, but mostly it was political pamphlets shoved into the crack of his door or left dangling from his mailbox or the always dreaded bills. Seeing a postcard there in the stack of catalogs he had no interest in and fliers for political campaigns he had no desire to support was surprising. From the very first glance, before he even turned it over, he knew exactly who it was from. A panoramic view of the White House drenched in the bright blue of a spring sky and pastel pink of cherry blossom trees gave it away. For just a split second he considered how easy it would be just to drop it into the trash, right along with all of the rest of the junk.

But he couldn’t. He never could. Maybe it was the overly sentimental look of the postcard, the way it probably said more with the photo than it did in writing on the back. Maybe it was just knowing that he held in his hand something that had touched Hawk’s fingers only days before. He really wasn’t eager to dive into questions like that – he asked people to open themselves up to him all day every day, but he liked to keep his own thoughts private anymore.

“What’s that?” Arthur asked as Tim let the junk slide into the trash bin and held the little post card before him. He was afraid to look at the back. Arthur peeked over his shoulder, digging his chin in a little, nudging his throat with his nose like a puppy. He saw the photo and understood the sentiment immediately. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“He wrote. Isn’t that against the rules?”

Read the rest on AO3!

[cilil]

What you said in the server 3 minutes ago.

Bagginshield.

Postcards.

Bracelets.

Summer Stories

AN: Alright then. Let's try out something new🧡

Prompt: Postcards | Bilbo x Thorin Synopsis: [Modern AU; Thorin is in a band] Bilbo is back home after joining his boyfriend on his last tour. Thorin sends him a special gift to celebrate. Warnings: /

It's good to be home.

Bilbo hums to himself as he waters the flowers in his garden, relieved to see that none of them seems to have been neglected too badly in the weeks of his absence. 

Except...

He sits down in the grass once his work is complete, his watering can resting on his lap. 

I miss Thorin.

Oh, how he loves that stubborn, temperamental, tough, awkward and utterly gorgeous man for bringing chaos and joy into his life – well, admittedly not so much the chaos, he's never exactly been the spontaneous type, but they're patient with one another, and with Thorin by his side, he feels like many things that used to be daunting for him are much easier now. 

Thorin is part of a rock band, and to this day Bilbo can't help chuckling a little whenever he remembers how he, Bilbo Baggins, who has been called everything from boring to bourgeois by most band members throughout the early days of his and Thorin's relationship, has unexpectedly and inevitably become a part of this life. He smiles to himself as he remembers how Thorin asked him - or rather begged him, due to his own stubbornness – to join him on his last tour. Bilbo gave in eventually, swayed by his boyfriend's earnest attempts at helping him pack and plan and making sure he was comfortable throughout the whole ordeal. 

Admittedly, he has never liked travelling. He has been on vacations before, naturally, but he's always found it to be rather stressful – so many things to organise, so much to worry about. How some people are able to just hit the road without meticulously having planned everything has always been a mystery to Bilbo. 

But for Thorin he wanted to try, wanted to show him that he too can adapt and go outside of his comfort zone, and he never imagined it could be so fun. Chatting and joking around with Thorin and others, taking breaks in-between gigs for some sightseeing and couple activities, enjoying each and every performance and after-party – including the time Thorin surprised him with a song written for him that left Bilbo speechless, blushing like crazy in public and utterly smitten by him – and becoming part of the group... it made Bilbo feel more alive than ever before. 

The telltale sound of his mailbox interrupts his spontaneous bout of reminiscence, and he sets aside the watering can to investigate. 

To his surprise, he finds a cute postcard depicting a seal with a funny hat and a little gift box attached to it.  

"Hey Bilbo,

hope you're doing well and enjoying home.

We're currently on our way to the Grey Havens Festival and things seem to be going alright so far. Wish us luck – this'll be a big gig. Can't wait!

I decided to get you something to celebrate our last tour and many more to come. Hope you like it!

Love, Thorin

P.S.: I don't know how to write postcards, but I remember you said you love getting them so I tried my best."

Bilbo holds the card close to his chest after reading, a huge smile lighting up his features. 

He remembered-!

They call and text each other regularly of course, but Bilbo has a certain faible for some things people consider to be old-fashioned these days, and postcards are one of them. 

Curious and excited, he swiftly opens the gift box and finds a seashell bracelet and a small note inside, reading "For my brave boyfriend who made our last tour the best of my life". 

Bilbo puts the bracelet on without hesitation, practically glowing with pride. It's one of the sweetest and most thoughtful gifts he's ever received, and he already can't wait to add the card to his cherished picture wall and take pictures for Thorin. 

Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed, please consider liking and reblogging! ♡

[mailstopcodes]

Benefits of Direct Mail Marketing

In a world saturated with digital advertisements, direct mail marketing remains a powerful tool for businesses. While digital marketing strategies are essential, direct mail offers a unique, tangible way to connect with potential customers. This form of marketing involves sending physical promotional materials, such as brochures, postcards, or letters, directly to consumers’ mailboxes. The benefits of direct mail marketing are substantial, providing an effective complement to digital campaigns.

What is Direct Mail Marketing?

Direct mail marketing is the process of sending promotional items to a targeted group of customers via postal services. These mailings can take various forms, including catalogs, postcards, flyers, or personalized letters. The goal is to engage the recipient in a way that prompts them to take a specific action, such as visiting a website, making a purchase, or signing up for a service.

Key Benefits of Direct Mail Marketing

High Tangibility and Personalization:

One of the standout features of direct mail is its tangible nature. Unlike digital ads that can be easily ignored or forgotten, physical mail sticks with the recipient. They can hold, touch, and even smell the material, making a more lasting impression.

Moreover, direct mail can be highly personalized. Using customer data, businesses can create targeted messages that appeal to specific demographics, offering tailored promotions or products that resonate with each recipient.

Higher Response Rates:

Studies show that direct mail has higher response rates compared to digital marketing channels like email. According to the Direct Marketing Association (DMA), direct mail can have response rates as high as 4.4%, significantly outperforming email campaigns with average rates around 1%.

Recipients tend to trust physical mail more than online ads, making them more likely to engage with the content and take action.

Less Competition in the Mailbox:

While email inboxes are often overwhelmed with promotions and spam, fewer businesses use direct mail today. This makes physical mail stand out more in the customer’s mailbox. As a result, the competition for attention is lower, and recipients are more likely to engage with well-designed mail campaigns.

Targeted Marketing:

Direct mail allows for highly targeted campaigns. Businesses can segment their mailing lists based on demographics, buying behaviors, geographic locations, or past interactions. This precision targeting improves the relevance of the message and increases the likelihood of conversion.

With the help of customer relationship management (CRM) systems and address verification tools, businesses can ensure that they’re sending mail to the right audience at the right time.

Cost-Effective Solutions:

Contrary to popular belief, direct mail can be cost-effective. Bulk mailing services, combined with automation tools, allow businesses to reduce the overall cost of printing and shipping. Businesses can also use postal discounts when sending large volumes of mail, further lowering expenses.

When combined with a well-targeted campaign, direct mail can offer a strong return on investment (ROI), particularly for local businesses looking to reach a specific geographic area.

Multi-Channel Integration:

Direct mail is not an isolated marketing strategy. It works best when combined with digital marketing efforts. Businesses can integrate direct mail with email campaigns, social media, and online ads to create a comprehensive, multi-channel marketing strategy.

For example, a direct mail piece can include a QR code that drives recipients to a landing page or special offer. This helps bridge the gap between offline and online interactions, offering a seamless customer journey.

Trust and Credibility:

Direct mail often carries more credibility than digital ads, which are sometimes viewed with suspicion due to the prevalence of scams and phishing attacks online. Physical mail, on the other hand, is perceived as more legitimate and trustworthy.

For certain industries, such as financial services, healthcare, and real estate, direct mail builds confidence in recipients who may be hesitant to engage with purely digital promotions.

Different Types of Direct Mail

Postcards:

Simple, affordable, and impactful, postcards are one of the most commonly used forms of direct mail. They work well for short messages, promotions, and reminders.

Brochures:

For more detailed marketing materials, businesses use brochures. These allow companies to showcase a range of products or services in a visually appealing format.

Catalogs:

Product catalogs are effective for retail businesses, allowing customers to browse a collection of offerings at their leisure. Catalogs can be especially useful during holiday seasons or special sales events.

Letters:

Personalized letters create a sense of exclusivity. They are particularly effective for high-end products or services, where building a personal connection with the recipient is crucial.

How to Measure Direct Mail Success

Measuring the success of direct mail marketing campaigns is essential to understanding their effectiveness. Key metrics include:

Response Rate: The percentage of recipients who respond to the campaign by taking the desired action.

Conversion Rate: The percentage of respondents who complete the desired goal, such as making a purchase or signing up for a service.

Return on Investment (ROI): The revenue generated compared to the cost of the campaign.

Conclusion

Direct mail marketing continues to deliver significant value for businesses of all sizes. With its high personalization, tangible nature, and proven response rates, direct mail remains an effective tool in today’s marketing landscape. By integrating it with digital strategies, businesses can create powerful, multi-channel campaigns that resonate with their audience and drive long-term success.

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Are Direct Mail Services Effective?

Direct mail services have been a staple of marketing strategies for decades, and their effectiveness continues to endure in the digital age. While online marketing channels have gained prominence, direct mail remains a powerful tool for businesses seeking to reach and engage target audiences effectively. In this article, we'll explore the reasons why direct mail services are effective and the key benefits they offer to businesses.

1. Tangible and Personalized:

Direct mail offers a tangible and personalized way to connect with customers. Unlike digital marketing channels, such as email or social media, which can feel impersonal and fleeting, direct mail provides a physical presence that captures attention and leaves a lasting impression. Personalized mail pieces tailored to individual recipients' preferences, demographics, and purchasing behavior are more likely to resonate with recipients and drive engagement.

2. High Response Rates:

Direct mail consistently delivers high response rates compared to digital marketing channels. According to industry research, direct mail response rates often outperform email, display ads, and social media advertising. The tangible nature of direct mail, combined with its ability to stand out in a cluttered digital landscape, makes it more likely to capture recipients' attention and prompt them to take action.

3. Targeted and Segmented:

Direct mail allows businesses to target specific audience segments with tailored messaging and offers. Through data analytics and segmentation techniques, businesses can identify and target high-value customers, prospects, or niche market segments with relevant content. Targeted direct mail campaigns increase the likelihood of response and conversion by delivering personalized messages to recipients who are most likely to be interested in the offer.

4. Versatile and Creative:

Direct mail services offers wide range of formats and creative options, allowing businesses to showcase their brand personality and creativity. From postcards and letters to brochures and catalogs, direct mail can be customized to suit various marketing objectives and audience preferences. Creative design elements, compelling copywriting, and eye-catching visuals can grab recipients' attention and drive engagement with the mail piece.

5. Measurable and Trackable:

Direct mail campaigns can be easily tracked and measured using response tracking mechanisms, such as personalized URLs (PURLs), QR codes, or unique coupon codes. These tracking methods allow businesses to monitor campaign performance in real-time, track responses, and measure ROI accurately. By analyzing key metrics, such as response rates, conversion rates, and customer lifetime value, businesses can optimize future direct mail campaigns for better results.

6. Builds Brand Awareness and Trust:

Direct mail helps businesses build brand awareness and trust among target audiences. Consistent and well-designed mail campaigns reinforce brand identity, values, and messaging, fostering familiarity and recognition among recipients. Trust is established through the physical presence of direct mail, which is perceived as more credible and trustworthy than digital communications by many consumers.

7. Less Competitive:

Direct mail faces less competition than digital marketing channels, which are inundated with promotional messages and advertisements. With inboxes overflowing with emails and social media feeds bombarded with sponsored content, direct mail stands out as a less crowded and more attention-grabbing medium. As a result, direct mail has a higher chance of reaching recipients' mailboxes and capturing their undivided attention.

8. Longevity and Shelf Life:

Direct mail has a longer shelf life than digital marketing content, which can be easily overlooked or forgotten amidst the constant influx of online information. Physical mail pieces often linger in recipients' homes or offices, serving as a tangible reminder of the brand or offer. Direct mail with useful or valuable content may be retained or shared with others, extending its reach and impact over time.

Conclusion:

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[ao3feed-tolkien]

Postcard

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/f3HNoLS

by 0Rocky41_7

One late summer day, a postcard comes for Elrond in the mailbox. Elros intercepts.

Words: 1683, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien, TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: F/M, Gen

Characters: Elrond Peredhel, Elros Tar-Minyatur, Elwing (Tolkien), Eärendil the Mariner (Tolkien)

Relationships: Elrond Peredhel & Elros Tar-Minyatur

Additional Tags: Minor Celebrían/Elrond, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Domaystic Prompt Challenge 2022

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/f3HNoLS

[empress-of-hugs]

The Cute, The Kind, and the Hotchner - DoMAYstic day 14

Criminal Minds, Gen rating

Derek Morgan, Aaron Hotchner

Also available on AO3

"Hey Hotch, would you mind stopping here for a minute?" Morgan pointed to an empty parking spot on the side of the road. Hotch shrugged, turning the black SUV into the space and killing the engine. Morgan got out quickly, hurrying around the car. He walked up to the small smoke and souvenir shop and turned the card carousel next to the door a few times before picking out a postcard with a cute picture of wild rabbits frolicking in the tall grass. 

Hotch had caught up to him now, a mildly confused expression on his face, "Who are you getting that for?"

But Morgan didn't answer, stepping into the tiny store for a moment to pay for the card and an accompanying stamp. When he walked back out again, he laid the card down on the hood of the SUV. Before he had time to search his pockets, Hotch offered him a ball point pen. "Who are you writing to?" He asked again, "A girlfriend?"

Morgan smiled, "Something like that. This is for Garcia. Every time I'm out of town I send her a postcard. She has a whole box full of them…" Morgan went quiet for a minute as he filled out the address and scribbled something inane about the rabbits in the picture. When he was done, he held up the card again, showing Hotch the picture on the front, "She likes cute things. Cute things help her stay sane while digging through the lives of victims and serial killers. So I send her cute cards. We don't really talk about it, but it's just something between the two of us. I want that woman to have something to look at at the end of the day. Something to help her sleep. And this," he turned the card over, showing Hotch the silly joke he'd written down, "helps her do just that." Morgan smiled and turned to the blue mailbox just behind him, "The least I can do is send her a postcard, Hotch."

Hotch nodded, turning to the card carousel, "You think she'd like baby ducks?"

Fin. 

[rockingrobin69]

Separate

It’s only been three days, and already too much; although spending time with Mother was something he wished for dreadfully, now it was mostly just dreadful. Mother was fantastic, everything he’s missed. The weather was gorgeous, the lavender fields glimmered, the air smelled of summer—still he was miserable. Mother came to sit with him in the garden, dazzling in the evening sun.

“It’s that bad?” she asked, soft. The wail that’s been choking Draco all day burned when he nodded.  

“I just...”

“This arrived today,” she smiled, laying a postcard on the table. “I think he misses you too.”

For @domaystic‘s day 14. Find all of Robin’s Domaystic Drabbles here!

[mamanabeille]

August 21 mini fic challenge

for the @lovebugs-and-snakecharmers august mini fic. Doubles as six sentence Sunday

Prompt: Postcards

She’s been getting the postcards for years.   Random little reminders that he’s still thinking of her awaiting her in her mailbox every few months.  Sometimes they bring smiles and warmth and memories of happier days.  Sometimes her eyes are flooded with tears and her body hurts with sorrow at the sight of her name in his handwriting. More and more though, she’s weighed down with regret at ever saying goodbye to him in the first place.  So finally, after years of him sending her snapshots of different cities, she sends one of her own.

[grabmyboner]

Gallavich Week, Day 6 — Historical AU

@gallavichthings

At 7:00am on 15th of August 1943, 18-year-old Ian Gallagher is drafted into the army and posted to fight in the war against Nazi Germany.

“You didn’t get called up?” Ian asks Mickey the morning before he’s due to leave.

Mickey scratches his eyebrow and shakes his head, “Ma had a home birth, never got a birth certificate, government don’t know I exist.”

“I’ll write to you everyday.” Ian says.

“Yeah?” Mickey asks.

Ian smiles, reaches up and rubs his thumb along Mickey’s cheek, “Yeah.”

At 9:00am on 29th of September 1943, a postcard arrives at the Milkovich house.

At 10:37am on 29th of September 1943, Terry Milkovich limbs down the stairs of his front porch to the mailbox and collects the bills, today’s Chicago Times Newspaper and a postcard addressed to M. Milkovich.

“Mandy got herself a fucking soldier boyfriend?” Terry snarls, flicking through the mail.

“Maybe, one of the Gallagher’s, I think.” Iggy replies as he hands his dad a beer.

“Ey put this shit in her room.” Terry says, throwing the postcard at Iggy.

At 2:30pm on 29th of September 1943, Mandy Milkovich comes home from her shift at the diner to see a postcard addressed to M.Milkovich left on her bed.

At 1:45am on 30th of September 1943, Mickey Milkovich lays down in bed and feels something underneath his pillow.

“Think that belongs to you.” Mandy says from the doorway.

Is any of that historically accurate? No idea.

This prompt was super hard but I was determined to post every single day and also I was not prepared enough to make this properly. I apologise if it’s not up to standard, definitely not my best… anyways. Enjoy?

Mickey Milkovich, staring longingly out the window: When will my boyfriend return from war?

[magicaloctopus333]

Week 2 of Bert and Ernie's June fun! I broke out the paint for a couple ones. Same prompts, from @creativepromptsforwriting again (x). Photos are out of order from the descriptions under keep reading there (its pride, postcard, festival, barefoot, night walk, ice cream, and skate above).

Day 7: ice cream

[ID. Ernie is standing by Bert with a tower of ice cream, 5 scoops high on the cone with a cherry on top. Bert is sitting, licking at his one scoop. Bert's eyes are closed. The drawing is ink, black and white. End ID]

Day 8: postcard

[ID. Its a tilted post card showing a part of the sesame street set. There is a set of green doors above a short set of brown stairs. They are part of the orangish building. Left of the stairs are two windows with flower beds on the sill, pink and white 'flowers' shown. To the right, we can see the lamp post with the street sign, between a tree on the left and a blue mailbox on the right. The text on it reads "Greetings From Sesame Street!" End ID]

Day 9: festival

[ID. Bert and Ernie are at a festival at night. They are looking at the glowing yellow ferris wheel in the distance, moving towards it while holding hands. Both are smiling. Ernie has cotton candy in his other hand, while Bert has an orange bear with sunglasses in his other arm. There are some figures in line for the ride, and a string of lights above the pair. Other carnival rides and games can only partially be seen. This is in full color, painted. End ID]

Day 8: skating

[ID. There are two panels. In the first, Bert is flailing on skates while Ernie looks on, concerned. An arrow points to Bert with the text "1st time" at the arrow's base. In the second panel, Bert is more comfortable skating, one leg raised leisurely behind him and a 'i heart pigeons' shirt on. Ernie is next to him, singing "he was a skater boy-" while on a skateboard. A duck with a backwards cap is on Ernie's shirt. The arrow points out that this is Bert's 10th time. End ID]

Day 8: barefoot

[ID. Bert and Ernie are sitting in chairs opposite each other, their feet in a little plastic pool soaking. They are both in tank tops and shorts. Bert is reading a book while Ernie listens to music with sunglasses on. This is in color as well. End ID]

Day 8: night walks

[ID. Bert lies in a bed, back to Ernie poking his face. We only see Ernie's back and his hand poking Bert. There are two speech bubbles. In the first one, Bert says, "Ernie, I am not getting up for a 'night walk'..." . In the second speech bubble, Bert says, "Besides, it saves the artist from having to look it up online, Ernie..." End ID]

Day 8: pride

[ID. Bert and Ernie stand in front of a pastel rainbow, their shirts and arms made up in white blank space. They each use one hand to make a combined heart hand. Their other hand is on the other person's further shoulder. They are looking at one another, smiling. This is painted, full color. End ID.]

I wonder if anyone will use these IDs. I hope they help someone.

[islandiis]

Craig was pretty bummed out that he wouldn't be able to wish Fannar a happy birthday in person. But when you live so far apart, that's just something you have to get used to. Still, that wasn't going to stop him from letting the other know how much he appreciated him.

[ txt: Fannar ] Happy Birthday, Fannar! [ txt: Fannar ] I hope you didn't forget this year :P [ txt: Fannar ] I'll give you a call later. I sent you a package, and it should be arriving today. Lemme know when you get it, okay?

Inside the package, when it does arrive, is a small assortment of gifts. A postcard from London, some yarn (pink, royal blue, and purple), a set of wooden pens, and a small blank journal. At the bottom, there's a card, along with a small hand-knit mouse.

' Happy birthday! I hope this gets to you in time. After hearing how quick you filled up that first journal I got you, I figured you might like another one. Sorry if it's not very creative. I just saw it and thought you might like it. And ever since you taught me how to knit, I've been trying out all sorts of patterns! This little mouse is the first one I made myself, so I wanted you to have it. Don't be a stranger! '

Honestly, he hadn't really been expecting many people to remember, if anyone; more than it was his birthday, it was his country's day, and Fannar was more than happy to celebrate that alone.

He was only stopping into his apartment to change and feed Mjási, with the intention of driving out to the highlands to enjoy the long night — but the text prompts him to check his mailbox. Sitting on his bed, he opens it, and his cheeks grow red. So thoughtful. So, so thoughtful. All of this, for him? He can't help the smile on his face as he texts Craig back, feeling especially touched.

[texti: Craig] Craig, thank you. I got your package!

[texti: Craig] Honestly, I don't know what to say. It's so kind of you — thank you. I'm so lucky to have you as a friend.

[texti: Craig] I'm going out to the highlands tonight, and there's bad phone signal out there. But let's talk soon, okay? It's been too long. Thank you so much, again.

[jay4firefic]

Hi! I’ve been reading through your Buckeride fics and I know this isn’t on your prompt list but I can’t get the idea of long-distance Kelly and 118!Buck where Buck sends him postcards like he used to do with Maddie. Like imagine a post card with a pic of Buck and the first baby he delivers, or Buck mastering a complex Bobby recipe or screenshots of a daring rescue. And Kelly peppering his locker with all of these.

So this is definitely not what you requested, but it's where my weird little brain took me. 1200 words, Buck x Kelly. Buck copes with losing Kelly by hiking across the country. Kelly copes with losing Buck by reading his postcards and sending replies in the form of books. Fair warning, I haven't read all of the books mentioned in this but I'll get around to them eventually.

The first time Buck drops a postcard in the mail to Chicago is a generic shot of the desert, picked up for 60 cents in a tourist trap not far from the head of the trail. Buck prints the address of Firehouse 51 carefully onto the back of the card and spends the rest of the night agonizing over what to write on the rest. In the end he scrawls a messy 2,653 miles to go, wish me luck, and drops it into the mailbox outside of his motel without a return address - he doesn’t have one.

The second is a black-and-white reproduction of Ansel Adams’ Monolith, the Face of Half Dome tucked inside the front cover of the artist’s biography and shipped together in a package from the same post office where Kidd mailed his latest resupply. Yosemite was too fucking crowded. Ansel Adams Wilderness was beautiful though. Did you know he did a whole series on Manzanar, the Japanese internment camp? He was an interesting dude. Hang onto this book for me if you can, please.

His next care package contains a book - Only What We Could Carry: The Japanese American Internment Experience - and even though he hasn’t factored an extra book into his pack weight, he tucks it into his bag along with everything else. When he cracks it open in the fading light of a high altitude sunset he nearly chokes on a mouthful of trail mix. There, on the inside cover, is a note in Kelly’s neat-but-cramped handwriting, just like in every other book he’s ever gifted to Buck. Why do you always pick the most fucking depressing topics to take an interest in? Tell Kidd where I should ship the other 3 books about internment camps when you get off the trail, I’m never going to reread them.

Buck closes his eyes and tips his head up to the sky, staring at the wash of red and orange the sunset paints behind his eyelids until the sting that threatens tears fades away. By then it’s nearly dark - too dark to read, but not too dark to thumb through the pages to find the ones that are dog eared, the passages with stars next to them, the notes in the margins careful never to overlap with the text or images. He doesn’t open it again for almost a week, spends another few days reading it slowly, savoring the notes in the margins and writing his own in return. It’s the continuation of a silent conversation they’ve been having since the first time Kelly picked up one of Buck’s dog-eared, highlighted, scribbled-in books off of the nightstand and returned it to him with three questions and an opinion Buck absolutely had to argue with scrawled inside the back cover.

Except this time...this time Buck can’t read his commentary aloud to Kelly at the end of the day, or ask him to expand on one of the thoughts jotted down at the bottom corner of a page. This time he can’t talk to Kelly at all.

Instead he takes a selfie with the PCT mid point sign and then backtracks to hitchhike into town. He celebrates with a motel room, a shower, and a night in an honest to god bed. Pancakes at the local diner taste like heaven in the morning, he calls Kidd from a curbside bench with a beautiful view of the mountains, and he’s in too good a mood to question it when his feet lead him down the street and into a shop advertising printing.

He has two copies of his selfie printed. One goes into an envelope addressed to 51, alongside a postcard of Mt. Lassen thanking Cindy for the cookies and Mouch for the hockey themed wool socks in his latest resupply. The second he addresses to his old Kelly’s apartment. Thanks for the book. I think I’m going to visit Manzanar after I finish the trail - it’s only a few hours from LA. Maybe I’ll climb Whitney while I’m out there. Hey, did you know Lassen and Shasta are part of the Pacific Ring of Fire? The volcanic landscapes out here are awesome.

Buck almost doesn’t put the second envelope in the mail. He almost puts the book in a box and sends it to Stella instead. But in the end he mails the card, tucks the book deep into his bag where it will sit undisturbed but impossibly heavy with emotion for most of the next two months, and hitchhikes back to the trailhead.

By the time he makes his first stop in Oregon there’s another package: food, socks, a newspaper clipping of Truck 81 saving a little girl and her dog from an overturned car, and a book. Surviving the Stone Wind, clearly purchased used, the cover fraying at the corners and the spine cracked. Inside, beneath a faded note indicating it was once a gift for someone else, Kelly has written Don’t get killed by a volcano. That would be a stupid ass way for a firefighter to go out.

Buck sends a picture of himself from central Oregon tucked inside the cover of the book when he returns it, his handwriting a barely legible scribble beneath Kelly’s sharp letters. At least if I die in an eruption it’ll be quick. I’ve been thinking - there’s a lot of time to think out here - about how we would survive if the Yellowstone Supervolcano ever erupts. The answer is that we probably won’t, but if we did, living through the endless winter afterwards sounds pretty nasty. You know how I hate to be cold.

I bought more hand warmers for the emergency kit, Kelly replies, weeks later, from between the pages of a book about Yellowstone. But I think you’re right. I’d rather go in the explosion.

Buck has another hiker take a picture of him on the Bridge of the Gods, smack in the center of the Columbia river, and scrawls on the back of two copies before sending them off in the mail. The Columbia used to have the largest Salmon run on Earth. I never realized how much we’ve fucked up the environment before spending all this time out in the middle of nowhere. Not that the trail is even the middle of nowhere - thousands of people walk every part of it every year. I wonder what it all looked like before we colonized the West.

The Organic Machine: The Remaking of the Columbia River gets to Buck when he’s a couple of hundred miles into Washington. He flips the cover open eagerly, touches his fingers to the only form of communication he’s had with the love of his life in months. Seems like people have been changing the environment out there since long before white colonizers showed up. They just made it a lot worse. This isn’t going to be one of your “if I had a time machine” obsessions again, is it?

If I had a time machine I’d only go back 10 months, Buck writes inside of the cover. He shoves the book deep inside of his pack, beside the first, and mails back a generic postcard of the Cascades instead.

[rhyewritersstudio]

Brian smiled as he opened the mailbox. No matter how busy or far away Freddie was, he never forgot to write. He would always send the strangest postcards he could find. This one showed a kangaroo riding a bicycle. Brian giggled and turned it over. "Bri, It's so much easier to breathe at night when I'm not suffocating in your hair. Miss you, darling! XOXO I'll be home soon." He laughed again at his partner's message and went inside to put this letter with the others in the wooden box in his desk.

Prompt

[sitorrothekitsune]

Fuuuuck I just woke up from a horrible dream. But I’m going to write the dream as a short story up until the dream ended. This reads a bit like a prompt though so you can use it. I’d use it as another book idea, but this is wayyy too dark for me to write. If you want to continue or change the story, please feel free! Just write it in the comments! (Or if you want to pick this up as a book that’s fine too just credit me for the idea.)

Since I was young, there was this girl I liked in my class. She was cute, kind, funny, and most of all, she just wanted the best for everyone in the world. And somehow, we always ended up sat next to eachother. Her name was UB270-F, but she asked everyone to call her Rae. I was pretty sure Rae liked me as well; afterall, we flirted with each other, hungout after school, and even slept together. That was until the letters came. Halfway through my seventh grade year, I started receiving letters addressed to AC328-M, or... me... the letter had no sender, no postcard, and no address. Only a name. I opened up the letter, confused but excited. “We’re watching you.” It read. I was confused, but dismissed it. I got another letter the next day. “Don’t do anything rash...” it said. And for the next year or so these two letters alternated everyday... eventually I got acclimated to the letters and didn’t think twice about them, only taking them out, glancing to see if the lettering had changed, and throwing it away. That was until the middle of tenth grade. We were in history class, and they had been talking about the school law of 2029, which banned children in the school from having a romantic relationship with another. And then, despite this, Rae turned around and kissed me; completely unprompted. I was surprised, blushing, and went home that day, happy. I looked in the mailbox, reaching in and grabbing the letter inside... or... not...? Nothing was in there. Odd... The next day, I got up as usual, putting on the school uniform, eating breakfast, packing my bags, and getting on the bus. But when I got to school, someone got on the intercom and said “UB270-F and AC328-M, please come to the front office.” I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t Rae, in a straightjacket, screaming. I ran over to her, and a beefy man in a black suit tripped me. “Don’t take another step, kid.” He said, turning his attention to another, skinnier, black suited man and soluting. “Do you know why you’re here, AC328-M?” I was scared, but answered anyway. It wasn’t a good idea to ignore a government official. “No...” I said, my voice quivering. “You have violated law 5AC of section 3BCA of article 28D, and are therefore convicted of treason against the state, but you must live with the consequences, and so we have taken the source of the problem.” He pressed a button, and something on the straightjacket flashed. Rae writhed in agony, screaming, and then just... stopped. She slumped, weightless, and fell face first on the floor, not making a sound. I ran over to her, and no one stopped me. Her breathing was regular, but she had just broken her nose. “W-what have you done...?” I asked, still shaking horribly. “We have put her in a comatose state until 20 years after you graduate. Go back to class, immediately. An announcement will be made about your crimes and her absence in a couple minutes. If you are not back to class by the time this announcement is made, you will have other consequences. We are watching. We are waiting.” He disappeared into thin air, the morning light filling the empty spots where the officials had been, and then... silence...