#Mail for megs

[nonbinaryshotgunman]

YOU ALL!!! POINTING!!/silly

We don't talk, but you turned into the "oh is that person!!"/silly /pos on my notifications, so you also shall have a silly ask!!

I HOPE EVERYTHING GOES WELL FOR YOU ALWAYS AND ALWAYS REMEMBER THAT YOU ARE AWESOM!!!!!

I still don't forgive you for tricking me tho./j /nsrs /silly

Aaaaaaieieieiiee this flatters us so mucj!!! Wahhhhhh

[acecroft]

You've Got Mail (1998) dir. Nora Ephron

[wardengrill]

You've Got Mail (1998)

[soundsofmyuniverse]

I hear nothing. Not even a sound on the streets of New York, just the beating of my own heart. I have mail. From you.

You've Got Mail (1998) dir. Nora Ephron

[kpopphile4lyfe]

You've Got Mail (1998), dir. Nora Ephron

[feyhunter78]

Hi 💕

If requests are still open can you do something Elrond x reader where reader watches him duelling for sword training (or something similar)?

Can be as sweet or spicy as you want❤️

I know you sent this in ages ago, I'm so sorry!!! Also, I'm so bad at describing fighting, please ignore that

Sparring Sessions

You sit with your friend Taethrien on one of the various stone benches that line the outer circle of the training yard. The open space of packed dirt and training dummies, the sounds of sparring and instruction mingling with grunts of exertion from the younger elves.

“Again.” Elrond calls, his voice sharp, like a whip, his face set in stone, as he jerks his head towards the fallen sword of his sparring partner.

The younger elf, Narion, you believe his name is, picks up his sword, and settles back into a sturdy fighting stance, sweat dripping from his brow.

You know you should intervene, insist that your husband take more care with the younger elves, but you find yourself unable to. Your eyes drawn to his form, the graceful but powerful movements, the controlled strength behind his strikes and swings.

“Elrond is quite intense this morn, is he not?” Taethrien says, watching the pair as they begin, Narion lunging first, seemingly not learning his lesson.

You hum in response, captivated by the easy way Elrond deflects the blow. He has not even broken a sweat, but his hair is disheveled from him raking his hand through it.

There is a smirk, almost cocky, on Elrond’s face as Narion growls and tries to fake right and catch Elrond off guard. He sees right through it, striking Narion’s exposed side.

“Oh, poor boy, he must cease leaving his left side so open.” She continues, frowning as the flat of Elrond’s blade taps against Narion’s ribs.

You hum again, feeling your stomach flip when Elrond spots you and sends you a quick smile, a simple uptick of his lips, but it is enough to make a sudden warmth flood your face.

“Y/N?” Taethrien asks, turning to face you, her brows furrowed. “Are you listening.”

“Yes, yes, I agree, left side, much too exposed.” You say far too quickly, remembering where you are and tearing your eyes from Elrond.

She tilts her head, a catlike smile on her lips, but says nothing of your reaction. “My husband should be along soon, perhaps he will present a finer challenge for Elrond than the young ones do.”

“I am sure it will be a worthy display of both their skills.” You smile, bumping your shoulder into hers. “And it will allow me to see this strength of his you are so very fond of.”

 “I told you of that in confidence.” She whispers, blushing all the way to the tips of her ears.

“It is nothing to be ashamed of.” You reassure her, patting her hand.

A sudden shout draws your attention back to the ring, where Elrond has Narion at sword point, the young elf on his back in the dirt. You grip your skirts, a flash of heat surging through you as Elrond sheathes his sword with a one-handed, fluid motion, before pulling Narion up from the dirt.

“It seems we both may have something, not to be ashamed of.” Taethrien teases, making a show of pretending to try and unfurl your fingers.

You do not tease her in return when it is her husband against yours, they are newly married, still in a phase of infatuation, still discovering much about themselves and each other. Besides, you are far too focused on Elrond as he and Iandor spar, their swords singing, sparking through the air, throwing bits of sunlight as it glints off their blades.

“Do keep up Elrond, I know you have not tasted battle in ages, but surely you cannot be this out of practice.” Iandor taunts jovially, a bright smile on his face.

Elrond throws him a devastatingly charming smile in response, the gleam of a worthy challenge in his eyes. “No, my friend, I am simply allowing you the advantage, I would not wish to embarrass you in front of your new bride.”

They spar for what feels akin to eternity as well as mere moments until they call it a draw, both men breathing heavily, clapping each other on the shoulder as they return their weapons to the rack.

You meet Elrond halfway, and he wipes the sweat from his brow, smiling at you, his chest still rising and falling harshly. “My starlight, I can only hope we did not bore you.”

“I never tire of watching you train.” You tell him, dusting the dirt from his training leathers, attempting to banish the memory of your wedding night from your mind. The way he looked hovering above you, his curls wild, his pupils blown wide, his bare chest heaving, the sound of your name on his lips. “I always find such interest in seeing more of this side of you. I know my husband the poet, the herald, the romantic, but I see seldom see my husband the warrior.”

“Truly, I prefer the quill to the sword, but I cannot deny a good bout brings a certain sense of joy to me.” He says, as you both wave goodbye to Taethrien and Iandor.

“You fight well, as you always have.” You compliment, leaning your head against his arm as you walk back to your shared chambers. You must cease these thoughts, stifle the heat, lest you become a lecher for your own husband.

“I am better with a bow.” He deflects, ever so humble.

“You are skilled with both, though I would not say you are a better archer than swordsman.” You tease. “That title belongs to Galadriel.”

Though you say it, your mind’s eye still conjures an image. His deft hands wrapped around the bow, his broad shoulder spread, his spine straight, his arms taut as he pulls back the arrow. Heat rushes through you once more, and you bite the inside of your cheek to clear your mind.

“Yes, I know it is your preference, but it is not…” Elrond stretches his arms behind his head, a small groan slipping past his lips, and you all but trip over your own feet.

“It is not what?” He asks, his hands flying out to steady you. His touch is lightning, striking through you, setting fire to the desire that had been bubbling within you since his blade had met its first foe in the early hours of the morn.

“Stars, Elrond, simply—” You grab him by the collar of his leathers and yank him down, your lips melding with his, frantic and fevered.

He melts into your touch, lips parting as his grip tightens on you, dragging you closer.

You press yourself against him, walking him backwards until his back meets the wall, a surprised gasp escaping him.

“We are still along the path; anyone could come upon us.” He breathes, loathe to separate his lips from yours.

“We will hear them before they do.” You assure him, though you doubt your vigilance and his, when your lips leave his own, trailing across his chiseled jaw, up to his ear, taking his earlobe between your teeth.

Elrond lets out a strangled moan, the sound shooting through you, warming you like Dwarven ale. “Fenedhis, y/n, please.”

You press a chaste kiss to the place beneath his ear, and return your lips to his jaw, your fingertips replacing your teeth, tracing the shell of his ear. “Of course, my love, anything you desire.”

He groans lowly, his fingers bunching in your skirts as he tries to calm himself. “My sweet starlight, do not torture me.”

You untangle one of his hands, and slide it beneath your skirts, a shiver running through you when he grips your thigh and drags you closer. “I would never. I want only to give you what you desire, remember?”

His chest brushes against yours with each breath, leather against silk, desire swirling between you, as he leans down to capture your lips, stopping a hairbreadth away. “Let us return to our chambers then, it seems you much to give me.”

TROP tag list: @nyctophilic0vitnir, @elronds-pointy-ears, @elrondscalaquendi, @dilf-superiority, @jesticace, @emmyspov, @elrondswifey, @victoria-styles, @90angiex, @lucypaulette

[thefemalepope]

You've Got Mail ( 1998 ) dir. Nora Ephron

[cinematicjourney]

You’ve Got Mail (1998) | dir. Nora Ephron

[mwagneto]

Gondolatok a TISZA pártról? Mostanában megpróbálták a maguk oldalára állítani az erdélyi magyarokat, de ők is rossz vibe-okat küldenek felém

szerintem magyar péter egy undorító visszataszító velejéig romlott geci aki minden szempontból megrémiszt és jobban érdekli hogy központban és erős pozícióban legyen mint bármi politikai fejlődés. mindezt figyelembe véve akkoris rá fogok szavazni mert a TISZA-val legalább minimális esélyt látok arra hogy abbamarad a putyin faszának ütközésig történő benyelése, valamint arra, hogy ő hajlandó lesz együttműködni az EU-val, ahelyett, hogy mink lennénk az egyetlen ellenszavazat minden "szerintetek abba kéne hagyni az árva kiskutya bedarálást?" szituációban

nameg az is segítene az általános hangulatomon ha nem ugyanazok lennének az ország élén amióta az eszemet tudom, ha más nem legalább hátha kitalál a TISZA sok új és érdekes módszert arra hogy kibasszon velünk, de ezen a ponton bármiféle változás jól jön, ráadásul ez azt jelentené hogy végre nem kéne napi szinten lássak olyan posztokat hogy "the situation in [any country ever] is getting really bad!!! almost unbearable!!! everything is so fucked!!! if things keep heading this way, in a few years it might get as bad as it is in hungary!!!!" merthát ez elég lehangoló, de ezt mind tudjuk

tldr utálom magyar pétert de amit még jobban utálok az az hogy minden energiám arra megy el hogy hogyan tudnék kijutni a diktatórikus országomból ahelyett hogy mondjuk pl élnék

[tolerateit]

EDITING PROMPT OF THE MONTH -> AUTUMN IN FILMS

WHEN HARRY MET SALLY (1989)

SCENT OF A WOMAN (1992)

LITTLE WOMEN (1994)

YOUVE GOT MAIL (1998)

[snai1-mail]

my friend watch re-animator For the first time this was his thoughts

[nonbinaryshotgunman]

CONGRATULATIONS YOU GOT JJD!SKID SPOOKY DANCING!!!

YAAAAAY

[screenshotingmonstercinema]

[wardengrill]

Meg Ryan in You've Got Mail (1998)

[soundsofmyuniverse]

You've Got Mail (1998) dir. Nora Ephron

[scoobydoodean]

it's SO funny how crowley latches onto dean even tho sam is the one he feels "sentimental" about. bro was like. oh wow the human blood made me think i was in love with u or some shit, embarrassing. is your brother single? and i think that's why sam hates him

One thing I am noticing about Sam is that he is very anti-demon after season 4, which is understandable. We see this most strongly with Crowley in season 5, but it's not just Crowley—it's Meg too. And Sam and Dean also have many other reasons to hate Meg. But like Sam comments twice about how wary he is about them working with Meg in season 7, even if her only role is to keep watch over Cas at the hospital because they have no other options.

SAM I don't know. I mean, we can't just leave him. DEAN Well, we can't bring him with us. Everything on the planet's out for us, okay? Word gets out, we can't protect him. Not really. This is safer. Every demon who knows about Cas is dead. SAM Not everyone. Look, Dean, this whole "enemy of my enemy is my friend" thing feels kind of like a demon deal. DEAN It's not a deal. It's – SAM It's what? DEAN Mutually assured destruction. Look, man, I get it. She's not our friend. We don't even have friends. All our friends are dead.

It's funny because people often perceive Dean as this very dogmatic figure who can't handle the idea of working with demons and hates Ruby just because she's a demon, but he is the first person to trust a demon (the often forgotten Casey from 3.04). He never trusted Ruby, but he saved her bacon twice (3.09 and 3.10) because he actually does understand the concept "the enemy of my enemy is my friend". He shows this again with Crowley in 5.20 (an episode titled "The Devil You Know" which is rather pointed). Sam doesn't trust Crowley one iota. He tried to kill Crowley in 5.10 right after Crowley gave them the colt, and I actually think that interaction is what makes Dean decide Crowley can be trusted as an ally against the devil. In 5.20, Dean decides Crowley is on their side and agrees to go with him on a solo mission without Sam (because Crowley does not trust Sam not to shoot him) and Sam is so upset about it he vents to Bobby on the phone lol. (To Dean's credit, when Crowley tries to convince Dean to keep the Brady secret from Sam under the suspicion that Sam will fly off the handle, Dean refuses to lie to his brother).

But yeah I mean joking about Deancrowley aside, Sam has a strong distrust of demons post season 4 and has hated Crowley from day one. He 100% connects him with Ruby, and I don't know that his general distrust of demons or his hatred for Crowley in particular ever truly goes away. I mean I think there's a reason season 13 Dean only dares mention losing Crowley in a private prayer to god while shouting to the roof tops over Cas when it's made clear to him that Sam wants to ignore his death. I think Sam's probably at least a little resentful that Dean seems to be pretty good at figuring out when he can and can't trust a demon not to backstab them. Add the "summer of love" and Crowley's gloating about it and the resentment just builds and builds. Rowena didn't need to do any convincing to get Sam to kill Crowley for her lmao.