#Elrond simps

[earthlybeam]

Hello, I absolutely love how you write! I'd like to suggest mortal reader who takes a liking to some of the more intricate elf braids and hairstyles and asks the elves if they could style readers hair for the first time? With Elrond, Thranduil, and who ever else you'd like to include! Thanks!

Thranduil, Elrond version below.

🍷𝓣𝓱𝓻𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓾𝓲𝓵

The air in the Woodland Realm is thick with the scent of moss and autumn leaves. The flickering candlelight casts golden hues across the stone chamber where you sit, your heart pounding just a little faster than usual. Across from you, Thranduil reclines in his carved wooden chair, adorned in flowing silks of deep green and silver, his long, pale fingers tracing idle patterns along the stem of his goblet.

He looks ethereal, as he always does—every movement of his as effortless as wind shifting through the trees. His hair, impossibly smooth and woven into elaborate braids, catches the dim light like spun starlight. You’ve always admired it. More than once, your fingers have itched to touch those braids, to understand their intricate weaves. And now, sitting before him, you find yourself speaking before you can rethink it. “My lord,” you begin hesitantly, voice softer than intended. “Would you… braid my hair?”

There’s a pause. A long one. His silver-blue eyes flick to yours, unreadable. For a moment, you wonder if you’ve overstepped. Then, slowly, he sets his goblet aside. “You wish for me to braid your hair?” His tone carries neither mockery nor warmth, just the cool, deliberate cadence of someone weighing a request with great care. You nod. “I’ve always admired Elven braids. But I’ve never had someone weave them into my hair.”

Another pause. Thranduil studies you as if unraveling some hidden meaning behind your words. Then, wordlessly, he extends a hand, fingers curling just slightly—a silent summons. Your breath catches as you move closer, kneeling before him. He shifts, his long, elegant fingers sweeping through your hair in a slow, methodical motion. The touch sends a shiver down your spine—not cold, not warm, just… aware. “Your hair is softer than I expected,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you.

His fingers move with practiced ease, sectioning your hair, twisting and weaving in a rhythm both foreign and hypnotic. You can feel his breath against the back of your neck, steady and composed. There’s something almost reverent in the way he handles each strand, as if the act itself holds meaning beyond simple aesthetics. “Elven braids carry purpose,” he says quietly, his voice close to your ear. “They mark kinship, allegiance, history. A warrior’s braid is not the same as a royal one. A lover’s braid… differs still.”

Your throat tightens. You want to ask what kind of braid he’s weaving into your hair, but the words catch behind your lips. He finishes with a final, gentle tug, securing the plait with an unseen motion. His hands linger for a moment, fingertips ghosting against your skin, before he finally leans back. “There,” he says, his voice softer now.

You reach up, fingers brushing over the intricate work. It feels unlike anything you’ve ever worn before, elegant and precise. Somehow, though you cannot see it, you know it is not just any braid. It is something his hands crafted, something deliberately chosen. “It suits you,” Thranduil remarks, and when you turn back to him, there’s something in his gaze that wasn’t there before. Something thoughtful. Something unreadable. You don’t know what it means yet. But you think, perhaps, he does.

📜 𝓔𝓵𝓻𝓸𝓷𝓭

The halls of Rivendell shimmered in the golden light of the afternoon, casting long, delicate shadows across the carved archways and polished stone. You sat upon a cushioned bench in one of the balconies overlooking a waterfall, watching the cascading mist drift into the air. The elves of Elrond’s house moved gracefully through the corridors, their hair adorned with intricate braids, woven like silver and gold filigree.

You had always admired their artistry—the way their hands wove strands together as if crafting something sacred, something eternal. And so, in a quiet moment, you turned to Elrond, who sat beside you, immersed in a book. “Elrond,” you asked softly, hesitant yet eager. “Would you braid my hair?”

He lifted his gaze from the pages, dark brows rising slightly in surprise. A small, knowing smile played at his lips. “You wish for an elven braid?” You nodded, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “I see the others wearing them, and they seem… intricate, beautiful. I would like to know what it feels like.”

For a moment, Elrond regarded you, as though measuring the weight of such a request. Then, with a gentle incline of his head, he set his book aside and gestured for you to turn. “Sit before me,” he instructed, his voice low and smooth, carrying an age-old patience. As you obeyed, he reached forward, his hands threading through your hair with a touch so light it sent a shiver down your spine. His fingers were warm, deliberate, and precise—his movements slow, as if memorizing each strand.

“You have fine hair,” he murmured, his tone contemplative. “Soft… different from that of my kind, but no less lovely.” A comfortable silence settled between you as he worked, gathering sections with practiced ease. The occasional brush of his knuckles against the nape of your neck sent warmth curling through your chest. The sound of the waterfall faded into the background, the moment narrowing down to the steady rhythm of his fingers and the quiet hum of his breath.

“I have braided the hair of my children before,” he admitted after a time, his voice almost wistful. “Arwen, when she was young, would sit just as you are now, though she often wriggled away before I was finished.” You smiled at the thought. “And did you let her?” A soft chuckle rumbled from him. “Not once.”

You felt the final strands being woven into place before his hands stilled. He ran his fingers over the braid, ensuring its hold, before securing it with a delicate silver clasp. Then, with a reverent slowness, he traced the length of his work. “There,” he said, his voice quieter now, as though reluctant to break the moment. “A braid worthy of the elves.”

You reached up, fingers brushing over the intricate weave. It was flawless—each strand woven with such precision and care that it felt less like a hairstyle and more like a piece of art. Turning back to him, you met his gaze, and for a fleeting moment, there was something unreadable in his expression—something softened, something ancient and knowing.

“Thank you,” you murmured. He inclined his head, but his eyes lingered on yours, unreadable depths of wisdom and quiet understanding. “It suits you,” he said at last. And the way he said it—so simple, so certain—made your heart flutter like the rustling leaves in the wind.

[makeshiftdraco]

Um...excuse me, Pinterest? Clearly I am only interested in a very specific white boy elf boy...

[boredgramlin]

Do y'all ever get the Platonic Simp™ ?

Like you know a character and you're down bad for them but definitely not in a sexual or romantic way?

I don't simp for characters that are appropriate to date for me and I never wanted to actually fuck/date anyone I simped for.

I'm down bad for their personality. The way they show emotions. The concept of how they're a mythical creature doing things that are specifical to their species. The relationships and dinamics they have with other characters in the story. The way they act when they're tired or sick. How well they're written. I'm simping for the way they exist.

I'm a slut for them being them.

[knightofthenewrepublic]

[super-duper-stupor]

Girl, send help. My thirst for Hugo Weaving is insane🥵

[apoloadonisandnarcissus]

What would happen if Galadriel joined Sauron?

Many think he would make a slave out of her, or something of that sort. But is that what would really happen?

Tolkien sort of answered to that on his Letter 246, when discussing the Three Elven ring-bearers (Galadriel, Elrond and Gandalf) in connection with them taking the One ring for themselves:

It appears that Galadriel conceived of herself as capable of wielding the Ring and supplanting the Dark Lord. […] Galadriel would have proceeded in the policy now adopted by Sauron: [she] would have built up an empire with great and absolutely subservient generals and armies and engines of war, until [she] could challenge Sauron and destroy him by force.  

Galadriel would be worse than Sauron, in the long run. Because, according to Tolkien, Galadriel would be Sauron 2.0., and she would follow the “Saruman route”: she would join Sauron conspiring to replace him and take his power for herself.

Which is pretty much what she says in “Fellowship of the Ring” book:

“And now at last it comes. You will give me the Ring freely! In place of the Dark Lord you will set up a Queen. And I shall not be dark, but beautiful and terrible as the Morning and the Night! Fair as the Sea and the Sun and the Snow upon the Mountain! Dreadful as the Storm and the Lightning! Stronger than the foundations of the earth. All shall love me and despair!

She lifted up her hand and from the ring that she wore there issued a great light that illumined her alone and left all else dark. She stood before Frodo seeming now tall beyond measurement, and beautiful beyond enduring, terrible and worshipful.

And this could go both ways: either Sauron would want her as Queen, or as a servant. She would try to take his place, all the same.

Anyway, with them blood bond together, Sauron would give her his power, and turn her into a Goddess. Since he was created as a Maia, and needs to serve a Vala, he can’t escape his own submissive nature. And, so, Sauron wouldn’t sideline Galadriel, quite the opposite. And in the long run, their dynamic would return to what it was in Season 1, no matter his intentions; because Galadriel is a natural born leader, while Sauron is a natural born follower.

And this would be absolutely terrifying. I don’t think there would be any light, there. Galadriel would be corrupted (and Sauron wouldn’t need to do much, if I’m being honest). Sauron’s power would turned her into a super-villain Dark Afrodite; she would make everyone fall in love with her (“all shall love me and despair”), her appeal maximized, irresistible and seductive. Everyone would fall at her feet, on their knees, and be slaves to her. She would get anything she wanted from everyone around her.

Don’t believe this self-deceiving evil diva; there would be no “light” involved in this.

Not sure how this would work with Sauron’s jealousy and possessiveness, though; probably he would start to resent her the same way he did with Morgoth. Galadriel would have to find a way to calm down Sauron’s obsessiveness. Because this would be wild, and the stuff of nightmares for everyone else, but them.

This would probably be Sauron all the time.

And all of this would destroy Middle-earth. Galadriel’s suitors would be going around killing each other over her. Universal warfare. And Sauron himself would probably join this fight if any of them were to cross a line with Galadriel. This would mean apocalypse. The doomsday of the simps.

[doodle-pops]

Serious question. I started thinking about what if the elves and their human s/o race swapped because they are considered pretty tall compared to humans so it made me think that elven women are also probably pretty tall compared to humans even if their height is considered average by elven standards. So, how do you think the elves would react to being race-swapped into an average-sized human and their human s/o becoming taller than them as an elf. I have no doubt they would feel disgruntled being a human, but how do you think they react when their s/o becomes an elf (especially one from their respective clan) Because I have a feeling them seeing their s/o with elven beauty might bring a very positive reaction out of them (If you know what I mean😏).

A/N: I love you so much for this delicious ask 😏. Also, I do agree with elven women being taller than mortal men. I see the average woman being around 6'10 (2.08m). So yes, when the elves become short, they will understand what it means to break our necks looking at their giraffe-looking self 😂. I also did one similar to this a while back. But it was just the elves becoming mortal.

Utterly offended but incredibly aroused. Lock the door, and throw away the keys, because you’re not leaving anytime soon…

— Fëanor, Curufin, Celegorm, Caranthir, Maeglin, Thingol (his wife is already taller than him and he worships her, so yeah), Aegnor

Suffering but staring too obviously and ready to risk it all. If you so much as complain, they’re on you…

— Maedhros, Maglor, Argon, Gwindor, Beleg, Glorfindel, Gil-Galad, Elrohir

Complaining but any time you so much as breathe in their direction, they're simping for something to happen behind closed doors or right there…

— Fingon, Amrod, Amras, Egalmoth, Ecthelion, Elladan

Calm but definitely into it because you are breathtakingly perfect and showing you isn’t such a bad idea…

— Turgon, Finarfin, Finrod, Galdor, Rog, Elrond, Erestor

[neyafromfrance95]

i got quite a few anons in my askbox today screaming how it's "confirmed" (it isn't) that it is elrond or celeborn kiss and how happy they are that sauron x galadriel shippers are going to be "purged" from the tolkien space... i ofc simply blocked those anons bc i don't need that toxicity but,

it confirms what i've been saying - the incelbros demanding celeborn+celebrian, constantly bringing them up, spreading false leaks about elrond/galadriel kiss, are doing all of that bc sauron x galadriel makes their blood boil.

and i guess it's bc they have this tradwife mother fantasy of galadriel and they hate that she is serving the armour-core. but again, it's so funny to me that in the eyes of the incel fanboys, sauron x galadriel are some sort of wokest feministest ship ever. or maybe they just hate seeing the heroines having ambitions AND desires. and romances that are catered to women.

sauron isn't just a sexy hot villain, he is the villain who offers galadriel to be a queen and wants to give her power, and becomes a pathetically obsessed simp for her.

i guess the incels don't like such dynamics. they prefer the male characters to be the stoic heroes and their love interests to be these docile waifus and for them to have the most puritan normative relationship.

they don't like it that sauron encourages galadriel to be more ambitious and powerful. they like it when the heroes humble the heroines.

they don't like it when romances serve the matched freaks and overarching metaphysical motifs and metaphors either. they accept romance only when it's simple and catering to the incel fantasy.

[tolkienpinupcalendar]

Sluttiest Tolkien Character: Round 5

Adar vs Turin

art by @redreyenotarget

Propaganda under the cut ↓

Adar:

His name is literally Daddy and we know why ;) His whole deal is looking gorgeous and traumatized and falling in love with his worst enemies (Sauron to Galadriel to Elrond and on and on.) Besides, who doesn't love a man (Uruk) covered in black blood? Adar could get it, in both Joseph Mawle and Sam Hazeldine forms, but we admire Hazeldine for committing so fully to the "single dad newly divorced and ready to FUCK" version of the character in season 2. And who doesn't love a devoted father?

god just look at him. that man gets pegged

Turin:

he’s got more hoes than names. almost everybody he meets immediately wants to fuck him. man or woman, elf or human, noldo or sinda, none are immune to joining his army of simps. elves don’t even care if he’s a doom magnet bc he’s just too irresistible to them. they’ll choose his hot human ass over wisdom any day. both a father and his daughter want him. elves see him and immediately forget about the laws and customs. WHO else is doing it like him?

#EVERYONE who met turin wanted him #wherever he went he got people fucked over because they were so Down Bad for him

#androg was not Like That over turin and beleg for turin not to win

[shirefantasies]

Congrats on 100 followers!!

What are some of your lotr headcanons?

Thank you so much 🥳 Ooooooh good question 👀 lessee *cracks knuckles* I’m going to do some regular one & some romantic ones, enjoy 😘

Some of my LoTR Headcanons!

*General*

✧ Aragorn may have worn Boromir’s bracers, but he also kept a drawing he found in his pocket. Turns out Faramir had drawn it one day when they were boys and his older brother held onto it until the end of his days.

✧ Legolas is so soft around little ones. He tries to act all like a wise guide but devolves into letting them climb him and carrying them up to rooftops for starlight stories. Doesn’t even care if they grab his hair or his ears, he’s still smiling so gently at them.

✧ Pippin is what would be called in modern days neurodivergent, more specifically with autism and ADHD. His parents and Merry were the most understanding ones, the ones who knew what he needed to hear and how he would process it best when others didn’t always understand.

✧ Legolas and Aragorn had the habit of singing together at fireside, quiet elvish songs, until one evening Gimli decided to put a stop to it with a dwarvish drinking song. In the end, the others find it so funny they learn it and join in, all three of them leaving their troubles for one night of song.

✧ Lord Elrond? Elrond of Rivendell??? Makes the best cup of tea in Middle Earth, fight me.

✧ Faramir teaches Pippin his favorite childhood game, probably something akin to chess, not really expecting the hobbit to enjoy it but Pippin ends up beating him out of sheer luck

✧ Frodo, Aragorn, and Legolas could have totally talked some shit in Elvish to each other and I firmly believe they did

✧ Arwen thinks of Lindir as a friend, but he’s so formal that in his mind such a lady could never see him so casually, leading to comical differences in the way they address each other

✧ Pippin wants a shit ton of kids some day. Sam is happy with around three, Merry wants a boy and a girl, Frodo isn’t sure he even wants children at all, but Pippin? He’s down for five to ten no problem, and he will be best friends with every single one.

✧ Eowyn teaches Faramir a bunch of horse riding tricks and he falls in love with riding as a sport, smiling as he takes in an act he only performed in war during a moment of pure joy and prosperity.

*Romance*

✧ Merry and Pippin are both such passionate kissers. OMG you will be breathless

✧ Elrond is the gentlest lover, handling his partner so carefully as if they were like gorgeous blown-glass in his hands and could break.

✧ Boromir is the type to grab his partner’s booty when they’re kissing in private

✧ Frodo’s ideal partner is not the smartest person or the most well-read, but someone with lighter spirits than his, someone who can never fail to bring a smile to his face and a laugh out of him.

✧ Faramir absolutely adores surprising you with flowers, so get ready to find them everywhere.

✧ Legolas is incredibly shy, inexperienced, and unsure with romance, so he prefers you to lead so that he can respond in kind, learning and studying with each touch, each act. He discovers his favorite thing is tracing a hand up and down your spine as you embrace.

✧ Gimli likes to act so rough and tough for someone who, in modern terms, would be called a massive simp, practically rolling out a red carpet for his partner and worshipping the ground they walk on, kissing them almost reverently unless the mood shifted deeper.

✧ Eomer is so good at giving massages, his partner will feel like royalty whenever he helps them relax

✧ He doesn’t look it, but Sam 100% would be the type to hold you up against a wall as he kisses you

✧ Aragorn enjoys being little spoon quite frequently. Fight me.

[withallthatisleftofmyheart]

It is not Wednesday but here is a WIP

So far it is smut-free and SFW. It's a fix-it in which Adar is taken to Rivendell, faces the consequences of his actions, is thanked for giving everyone 1000 years without Sauron, and becomes a massive simp for Elrond.

In the depths of a slumber that gave him no rest, Adar dreamt of flames and darkness. Visions of his children, bloodied and burning, flooded his mind. His arms recalled the warmth and weight of each and every babe that he had cradled in his arms, and his lips, the sensation of pressing to their cool foreheads as he bid them farewell. He saw the face of Mairon, beautiful and treacherous. Adar felt the wine he had given him as it slithered down his throat. How sweet it had tasted, how foul it truly was. Like soft kisses upon his neck that were needles in his skin. Morgoth’s crown was in his hands, plunging into The Deceiver's back. His children were stabbing Sauron. His children were stabbing him. His children were stabbing each other. The smell of his flesh as it burned in an inferno of torture. The smell of burning flesh as the Men were branded. The smell of volcanic ash and decimation. Death, blood, flames and darkness. And then he awoke. 

The first thing he noticed was the soothing sound of running water, then songbirds and then he felt the pain. His body was agony all over, which was not unusual but this time it was different. He urged his eyes to flutter open and felt the stickiness of tears that had been repeatedly shed and dried. The light was blinding at first, it had been a long time since he had witnessed so blue a sky. With a grunt, he pushed himself up to sit and saw that he was lying in a lush meadow, beside a river whose waters were crystal clear. He was all alone and could not recall how he came to be here. The last thing he remembered was…he did not want to think about it just yet. Instead, he chose to inspect the wounds that seemed to cover his entire body. As he moved his fingers to search for tender spots, he discovered that he was not wearing his armour. In its place he found a linen gown of brightest white. Someone must have changed him, but who? Through the fabric he felt out the shapes of countless stab wounds. Many of them were already healed, but still they ached. By the time he had finished his task he was exhausted again. So he lay back into the soft grass and drifted off once more.

This time his sleep was restful and his dreams, while bittersweet, were not so horrifying. He saw an elven commander in shining armour, charging toward him on a white horse. Then, the same beautiful elf was sitting at the opposite end of a long table. These were memories, they had actually happened. In the dream however, the elven commander walked the length of the table and kissed Adar so softly that it made him weep. Then they were on a battlefield discussing the works of Rúmil while elves and uruks fought and died around them. Next, Adar was lying on his back with Sauron’s wicked face looming over him. He cried out in fear and the Dark Lord’s form shifted into that of the elf. He was singing a lullaby from the First Age. “Elrond?” Adar spoke from inside the dream. “Adar,” the elf replied, “Adar, wake up. You must drink.”

“Elrond,” he croaked as his eyes opened once more. It was not Elrond who knelt beside him in the sunny meadow but High King Gil-galad, offering him a waterskin. The King’s face was stern, yet a hint of concern was visible in his eyes. “High King,” Adar acknowledged. “Drink,” the King replied. Once again Adar pushed himself up to sit. The pain had returned to its usual level, which was excruciating but at least familiar. He took the waterskin from the King and drank greedily. His thirst was so great that he finished the whole thing before wondering if it was poisoned. He did not have the strength for suspicion, so instead he chose to be grateful. “Thank you,” he said, gasping for air. The King’s only response was a “Hmm.” Adar asked, “Where are we?” The King stood up and offered out his hand. Adar hesitated but then took it and heaved himself to standing.

The world spun and it felt as though his legs had been knocked out from beneath him. He collapsed into the King’s broad shoulders and closed his eyes, waiting for the feeling to pass. Adar could hear the lullaby from his dream again. He realised that it was the King who was singing it. Gradually the ground became solid once more. “You have a beautiful voice,” he noted as he tested out standing on his own. His knees wobbled but the King held out an arm and he took it. Ignoring his compliment, the King said, “Many are displeased by your being here. Do not make me regret letting Elrond convince me to bring you,” before leading him out across the meadow.

[earthlybeam]

Elves how they would react to finding you (reader) asleep in unusual or unexpected places.

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Thranduil, Elrond, Glorfindel, Celeborn Version below.

🍷𝓣𝓱𝓻𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓾𝓲𝓵

The grand doors of the throne room swung open with a low groan, pushed apart by two silent elven guards who bowed as their king strode past them. Thranduil, the Elvenking of Mirkwood, entered with the unhurried grace of one who knew the world would wait for him. The faint, almost musical sound of his boots against the stone floor resonated softly in the stillness of the hall. His platinum blonde hair, fine as silken threads of moonlight, cascaded over his shoulders, catching the warm glow of the enchanted lanterns that lined the room. His robes, a rich blend of forest-green and gold, billowed behind him like the rippling of leaves caught in a gentle breeze. The delicate embroidery of vines and leaves that adorned the fabric shimmered faintly, as if alive with magic. With one hand, Thranduil lightly adjusted the cuffs of his sleeve, the motion precise, as though even the smallest detail of his appearance had to be impeccable. There had been much on his mind before his arrival. He had spent the morning in quiet reflection, walking alone among the ancient trees of his woodland realm. The whispers of the forest were as familiar to him as the beating of his own heart, and they had provided him with much-needed solace after a morning of deliberations with his advisors. Now, with his thoughts ordered and his patience carefully restored, he returned to his throne room, seeking the tranquility of its familiar grandeur. Yet, as his sharp gaze swept the room—taking in the towering carved columns that reached like ancient oaks toward the vaulted ceiling, the intricate tapestries depicting the history of his people, and the soft, ethereal glow that bathed the space—he froze. For there, sprawled across his throne as though it were the most natural thing in the world, was you.

For a heartbeat, Thranduil did not move. His steps halted mid-stride, his long fingers still resting lightly on the folds of his robes. His gaze sharpened, narrowing as it landed on your insolent, audacious form, draped across his grand seat as though it were a mere lounge chair. One leg was hooked lazily over an armrest, the other dangling precariously off the edge, while your head lolled back in serene, unbothered slumber. The sight might have been offensive had it not been so utterly absurd. One elegant brow arched high on his otherwise stoic face, betraying a mixture of disbelief and amusement. The audacity! It was as if you had declared yourself ruler of Mirkwood in his absence. Yet, as he studied the scene further, his lips twitched ever so slightly, threatening a smirk. Your utter shamelessness reminded him of a lounging house cat, basking in stolen luxury, oblivious to its impertinence. He allowed himself a moment to enjoy the ridiculousness of it all. Then, slowly, he strode forward, his boots clicking faintly against the stone floor.

“You remind me,” he began, his voice low and smooth, “of a pampered house cat who saunters about as though it owns the palace.” His words echoed in the empty hall, the quiet humor lacing his tone unmistakable. His lips curved into a subtle smirk as he came to a halt beside the throne, his piercing gaze fixed firmly on your slumbering form. “For your information, this throne is mine. And it is hardly meant for lounging.” When you failed to stir at his entrance, Thranduil’s lips curled into a faint half-smile, a sigh slipping from him, heavy with a mixture of exasperation and a subtle amusement. His gaze lingered on the sight before him: you, sprawled across his throne as though it were your own personal sanctuary. One arm dangled loosely over the armrest, fingers lightly brushing the ornate wood, and your head tipped back in a peaceful, untroubled slumber. Your leg rested lazily across the opposite armrest, its casual placement a quiet defiance of the regal seat you occupied. The sheer audacity of your relaxed position, so out of place in this grand hall, sparked a glimmer of bemusement in his sharp eyes. For a long moment, Thranduil simply stood still, watching you with quiet fascination. His gaze softened ever so slightly, amusement mingling with something warmer, a rare tenderness that stirred beneath his usual cool demeanor. Was it affection? Or perhaps just the odd comfort of seeing such a carefree display in a room so often filled with the formalities of his rule? It was a rare sight indeed, and one he found oddly captivating.

But his patience was not without limit, and despite the lightness of the moment, curiosity began to win out. He had to know whether you would acknowledge his presence at all. With a fluid, controlled motion, he took a single step closer to you. His long, elegant fingers reached out, not tapping on the armrest, but gently nudging your foot with a soft push. The touch was deliberate, light, yet firm enough to break the stillness between you. His eyes, though, never left you as he waited, his expression a careful blend of mock severity and quiet amusement. The nudge barely disturbed your slumber. Instead, you shifted in place, murmuring unintelligible words as your body lazily adjusted, seemingly trying to block out whatever dared to interrupt your peaceful rest. A barely audible grumble left your lips, muffled by the soft cushions of the throne, as you pulled your leg back slightly and mumbled, “Five more minutes…” The words were thick with sleep, and there was a childlike petulance to them, as if the world could simply pause until you were ready to face it. Thranduil’s eyes softened as he watched the fleeting defiance, his lips quirked in a smirk at your quiet refusal to acknowledge the presence of your king. You had claimed his throne as your own, and now you dared to dismiss him with nothing more than a sleepy demand for time.

Thranduil stilled, his expression caught somewhere between disbelief and bemusement. Five more minutes? His mind barely processed the words, his sharp gaze flicking over your relaxed form sprawled across his throne. He was the King of Mirkwood, a lord of the Eldar, a figure of ancient authority, and here you were—ignoring him, dismissing him as though he were some doting servant instead of one of the most formidable beings in Middle-earth. The audacity of it had his heart stirring with a sharp mixture of irritation and humor. He exhaled a long, dramatic sigh, one that might have seemed irritated to anyone else, but the gleam in his eyes gave him away. He was far too amused to be genuinely angry. With the elegance of someone utterly accustomed to being obeyed, Thranduil bent at the waist, his long fingers reaching out effortlessly. Before you could even react, he swept you into his arms, lifting you as though you weighed nothing. The sudden motion jolted you from your slumber, and your body stirred instinctively. Your eyes fluttered open, and for a brief moment, they were wide and confused, the sleep still thick in your gaze. Your expression distorted in surprise, your mind struggling to comprehend the change in position. Thranduil’s piercing eyes met yours as your grogginess collided with the bewildering reality of being cradled in his arms, and for a heartbeat, you looked at him as if you weren’t quite sure what was happening.

“What—?” The question slipped from your lips, still half-formed and lost in the haze of sleep. His voice, smooth as velvet, cut through your dazed state. “You’ve claimed my throne,” he murmured, his tone rich with regal mockery as he settled back onto the seat with effortless grace, pulling you gently onto his lap. His words carried a quiet authority, though there was an unmistakable glint of amusement beneath the surface. “I shall claim you in turn.” You grumbled faintly, still too drowsy to put up much of a protest. You tried to return to your comfortable position, your voice muffled as you snuggled closer to him, “Mmm… It’s not what it looks like… just… borrowing it for a moment… keeping it warm for you…” you murmured, your voice thick with sleep. Thranduil’s lips quirked at your half-hearted protest, the subtle humor in your words only deepening his amusement. He arched a brow and, with a small, knowing smile, leaned in just slightly, his voice low and filled with mock curiosity. “Keeping it warm for me?” His tone was playful, laced with a hint of his usual regal authority, though it softened as his gaze lingered on you. He chuckled under his breath, the sound rich and melodic. With a smooth, practiced motion, he adjusted you more comfortably in his arms, settling you further into his lap. Your body shifted against him, your head now nestled in the crook of his shoulder. Thranduil’s long fingers grazed your cheek as he swept aside a few errant strands of hair, his touch so gentle it contrasted sharply with his commanding presence. The softness of his actions was a quiet reminder of the affection that lingered beneath his often-imposing demeanor.

His fingers traced the curve of your face, moving with a tender precision that made his touch feel like something intimate, something meant only for you. “Such gratitude,” he murmured teasingly, his voice a soft purr that vibrated through the air. “I should expect you to purr, yet instead, I receive grumbles. Perhaps I’ve spoiled you too much.” You made a small, unintelligible noise in response, your protests a mere murmur beneath the weight of sleep. It was enough to make him chuckle softly again, the sound warm and deep. His lips curled into a small smile as he leaned back in the throne, the high back of it supporting him as he gazed down at you with that characteristic mix of amusement and tenderness. His fingers continued their soothing path along your shoulder, then down your back, the slow rhythm of his touch a balm against the weight of the world. Though his eyes sparkled with mirth, there was a gentleness in the way he held you, as though he were savoring the rare quiet between you, a moment of peace in the otherwise ever-demanding life of a king. He was content to let you rest, for now, the world outside could wait.

For Thranduil, this moment was an odd mixture of exasperation and contentment. He wasn’t used to such… informality. Such audacity. Yet here you were, completely unbothered, utterly unafraid in his presence. You had dared to fall asleep in his throne as if it were a mere chair, and while he might have been expected to take offense, there was something about it—something about the ease with which you claimed his space—that he found… endearing. As your warmth pressed gently against his chest, a soft shift in your position, Thranduil’s gaze softened. He tilted his head back ever so slightly, allowing the weight of centuries and responsibility to ease, if only for a fleeting moment. He glanced across the hall, where the flickering light of enchanted lanterns danced across the stone, and for a brief second, the usual burden of ruling seemed to lighten. The quiet of the throne room, usually heavy and full of formality, felt oddly peaceful with only the sound of your soft breathing breaking the silence. With a tender shift, he rested his chin lightly atop your head, the position oddly comforting, as though you had both created a small, shared sanctuary within the vast emptiness of the hall. His voice lowered to a soft murmur, just above a whisper, words meant only for the stone walls to hear. “You are a maddening creature, Mellon nîn,” he said, his tone rich with affection and something unspoken, “But perhaps, that is why I let you stay.” For a king who had long ruled alone, the quiet intimacy between you both felt surprisingly welcome, even amidst the rare silence of his throne room.

📜 𝓔𝓵𝓻𝓸𝓷𝓭

Lord Elrond sat at his desk, his eyes scanning the carefully arranged scrolls before him. The study was bathed in the soft, golden light of the afternoon, casting long shadows across the room as the quiet rustle of parchment filled the air. His fingers moved with practiced precision, lifting one scroll after another, sifting through the ancient texts with an air of quiet determination. There were few things that could pull him away from the depths of his work, and the passing hours had done little to diminish his focus. His thoughts, sharp as ever, were entirely absorbed in the task at hand, yet beneath the surface, a sense of something else stirred—a lingering awareness of the presence nearby, one that never failed to bring a sense of calm to his soul.

As his hand reached out for another scroll, his fingers brushed against the edges, but the parchment slipped from his grasp. He watched it roll from the desk and tumble to the floor with a soft thud. Elrond’s attention flickered briefly, his mind momentarily distracted as his gaze followed the parchment’s descent. A small sigh escaped his lips as he leaned back in his chair, the weight of his focus lightened for just a moment. He remained still for a beat, letting his eyes briefly drift over the papers, before deciding to rise and retrieve the wayward scroll. As he moved toward the fallen parchment, something unexpected caught his eye. Beneath the edge of the desk, tucked into the shadowed corner of the room, lay the form of his friend. There, sound asleep, was you. The sight of you, so peacefully curled in such an unorthodox position, brought a fleeting smile to Elrond’s usually composed face. The sight was endearing, unexpected, and far more charming than he would ever let on. Your legs were tucked up toward your chest, your head resting on your arm with your face hidden in the curve of your sleeve, hair spilling around you like a silken cascade. One hand was curled beneath your cheek, your other arm loosely draped over your body, as though you had simply fallen into a moment of comfort and rest, right there in the quiet of his study.

For a moment, Elrond simply stood there, his usual serene expression softening as a faint flicker of amusement danced behind his dark eyes. His lips, so often set in a stern line, tugged ever so slightly at the corners, the rarest of smiles—small, soft, and fleeting—curving his mouth. It was not the first time you had fallen asleep near him, but there was something about the sight of you curled beneath his desk, so utterly unaware of the world around you, that stirred a tenderness he seldom allowed himself to feel. Elrond’s hand hovered for a moment, resting on the edge of the desk as he studied you with quiet affection. Your rhythmic breathing, the way your chest gently rose and fell, was a gentle reminder of the peace you brought to his heart. The sight of you here, in this place so close to him, softened the edges of his usually meticulous and composed demeanor, a warmth filling him that not even centuries of experience could shield him from. A chuckle stirred in the back of his throat—quiet, almost imperceptible—but one that could not be contained. For a brief moment, he allowed himself to indulge in this rare bit of levity, marveling at how effortlessly you had slipped into his world, leaving traces of warmth and comfort wherever you went. A smile tugged at the corners of his lips, rare and soft, though it remained, for a moment, hidden beneath the seriousness of his expression. It was only when the scrolls and papers on his desk seemed to pull him back to the present that Elrond decided to bring you from your peaceful slumber.

He couldn’t help but be struck by the sight—the way you appeared so content, utterly unaware of the world around you, lost in the quiet sanctuary of sleep. His heart warmed at the sight, even as he felt a playful glimmer stir within him. Quietly, he reached for a thick book resting on his desk, its weight reassuring in his hands. He dropped it onto the surface with a deliberate thud, the sound echoing through the room like a small thunderclap. He couldn’t help but be struck by the sight—the way you appeared so content, utterly unaware of the world around you, lost in the quiet sanctuary of sleep. Your form was curled up beneath his desk, small and peaceful, like a gentle ripple in a still pond. The soft rise and fall of your chest, the way your hair spilled out around you in a tangled mess—there was something so serene about it. Elrond’s heart warmed at the sight, even as a playful glimmer stirred within him. It was rare to catch you so unguarded, so completely absent from the cares of the world. He found a small amusement in it, and with a quiet, thoughtful smile, he decided to indulge in the moment.

Quietly, he reached for a thick book resting on his desk, its weight reassuring in his hands. His fingers brushed over the pages as his gaze lingered on you for just a moment longer. He then dropped the book onto the desk with a deliberate thud, the sound echoing through the room like a small thunderclap. The noise shattered the peaceful silence, its sharpness undeniable in the quiet study. The sound caused you to stir immediately. Your body shifted beneath the desk, a low murmur escaping your lips as you slowly blinked up at him, eyes still heavy with sleep, fighting to adjust to the light. You struggled for a moment, eyes squinting, as though the waking world was still a hazy place, and for a brief second, you simply stared at him in confusion.

A soft, sleepy hum escaped your lips, your brows furrowing in mild disorientation, as if you were still caught between dreams and reality. Elrond’s gaze softened instantly, his heart tugging at the sight of you, the fog of sleep thick in your eyes. It was a quiet, endearing thing to watch you struggle in the half-light of consciousness. His usual composed demeanor faltered just slightly, as an affection he couldn’t entirely conceal shimmered behind his calm exterior. Seeing the way your body remained still, trying to fight off the clutches of sleep, Elrond’s voice slipped out, steady and calm, but with a teasing warmth that wrapped around his words like a soft blanket. “It seems my study has gained a new resident,” he said, a small smile tugging at his lips as he allowed a gentle humor to color his voice, though the quiet care that usually guided his tone was still present.

You blinked up at him again, your confusion giving way to the fog of sleep. You rubbed your eyes, trying to shake off the haze, but your attempt to make sense of the situation only made Elrond’s amusement grow. His lips parted in a quiet chuckle, a sound rare enough to make the air around him feel warmer. As you continued to stare at him, his chuckle deepened—just a hint of affection behind it. Still blinking, your voice came out thick with sleep. “What—what time is it?” you mumbled, your words slurring slightly, clearly still not fully awake. “Did something… fall?” You yawned, stretching as best you could while still tucked beneath his desk, your body moving with the languidness of someone pulled from a deep, peaceful slumber.

Elrond couldn’t help but smile more at the sight. His usual solemnity melted in the face of such vulnerability, the love he held for you clear in his expression. The way you lay there, so peacefully unaware of the world around you, made something stir deep within him—affection, tenderness, and a quiet joy. He allowed himself a rare, soft smile, the kind that only you could bring out of him. He leaned down just a little closer, his breath gentle in the stillness of the room, and his voice, though steady, carried a playful warmth. “It seems you’ve found a very comfortable corner of my study,” he said, the words laced with both amusement and the fondness he felt for you. His eyes twinkled softly, a lightness there that not many would see, and certainly not when his mind was usually so focused and heavy with the burdens of leadership. Kneeling down to your level, Elrond reached out, offering you his hand with a graceful fluidity. The gesture was an effortless blend of strength and gentleness, a clear invitation to rise, yet with an undeniable tenderness that matched his quiet care. His fingers hovered just within reach of yours, patient and calm, allowing you the time to decide if you were ready to take his help. His brow arched slightly in amusement, the faintest trace of a smirk playing at the corner of his lips as he waited for your response.

“Come now, little one,” he said, his voice a soft melody, his tone like a gentle caress against your sleep-dulled senses. “Surely there are more suitable places for rest than beneath my desk.” There was a teasing edge to his words, but beneath that lightheartedness, there was a depth of care—an affection that was always there, even when his voice was steady and composed. He was concerned, though not in a way that felt overbearing. It was the sort of concern that felt natural, the concern of someone who cared for your well-being as deeply as he did. Still groggy from your unexpected nap, you made an attempt to push yourself upright, but your body, heavy with the lingering pull of sleep, didn’t seem to respond as you’d hoped. The sudden movement was a little too much, and your legs wobbled beneath you. A soft, sleepy murmur escaped your lips, a confused sound that was almost entirely made up of a yawn. Before you could regain your balance, Elrond was there—his hand steady, his grip firm but not forceful—guiding you back to a more stable stance.

You stumbled slightly, and in your disoriented state, you accidentally bumped your head lightly against the edge of the desk. A soft thud, not painful, but enough to make you wince in surprise. Elrond’s smile widened, though the tenderness in his gaze never wavered. His quiet chuckle filled the space between you, warm and soft, like a ripple in still water. But the amusement quickly shifted into a more protective concern, and he was instantly attentive to you, his eyes searching for any sign of discomfort. “Careful, Mellon nín,” he murmured, his voice lowering to a near-whisper. The soft tone held an edge of worry, though it was quickly masked by the calm, steady assurance he always carried. His fingers grazed the spot where you’d bumped your head, though his touch was light, checking for any signs of injury. “I’ll not have you injuring yourself,” he added, his words gentle but firm, as if to remind you that he would always be there to catch you when you needed him. The care in his voice was unmistakable, and though you were still a little dazed from your nap, you couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of comfort in the quiet reassurance he offered.

With a small, reassuring sigh, Elrond helped you find your feet fully, his hands guiding you toward a more comfortable chair. He moved with practiced care, as always, attending to your needs with a quiet dedication that came so naturally to him. Without speaking, he rose and went to a nearby table, where he had previously prepared a fresh cup of herbal tea—still warm, its soothing aroma drifting through the air. He placed the cup gently into your hands, his gaze unwavering, yet filled with tenderness. “Drink this,” Elrond said quietly, his voice both affectionate and firm. “I’ll not have you wandering my halls half-asleep.” The concern in his voice, though steady, carried an undercurrent of warmth, a reflection of the deep care he held for you. You took the cup, sipping slowly as he observed you from across the room. Despite his own work awaiting attention, Elrond’s gaze often flickered back to you, a soft smile tugging at his lips, though he remained composed. It was clear that, while his mind was occupied with his tasks, part of him was wholly devoted to your presence, finding contentment simply in knowing you were close.

You took a moment, looking up at him with a playful glint in your eye, the sleepiness still evident in your voice. “Thanks, just what I wanted!” you said, a hint of sarcasm lacing your words, though the gratitude was clear beneath your teasing. You had intended to keep resting, to remain lost in the peaceful haze of sleep, but there was a part of you that appreciated his care, even if you weren’t entirely thrilled with the interruption. As the warmth of the tea began to settle in your bones, the lingering exhaustion of your day weighed heavier on your body, pulling at your consciousness. Without a word, you shifted from the chair, your movements slow and languid, almost as if the weight of the day had caught up with you all at once. You moved towards Elrond with an ease that came from knowing he would be there, his presence a constant source of comfort. Slowly, carefully, you settled yourself in his lap, your head naturally seeking the warmth of his chest. The act, though wordless, spoke volumes—a request for closeness, for the quiet reassurance only he could offer.

Elrond, ever attuned to your needs, didn’t hesitate. His arms encircled you with a natural grace, as though this was the most familiar thing in the world, the way his body seemed to instinctively know how to shelter and protect you. You felt the strength of him beneath you, his heartbeat steady and strong, a gentle rhythm that began to slow the pace of your own thoughts. His embrace was secure yet tender, holding you as though you were both his greatest responsibility and his deepest joy. You nestled into him, letting go of the last remnants of your grogginess, surrendering to the comfort of his warmth. Elrond’s hand, the same one that had guided you with care earlier, moved to your hair, his fingers brushing through it in soft, rhythmic strokes. The sensation was soothing, almost hypnotic, as though each touch was meant to calm not just your body, but your mind as well.

He allowed the silence to stretch between you, broken only by the quiet sound of your breathing and the occasional soft chuckle that escaped him as he regarded you, half-lost in the moment. “You seem to have no intention of leaving,” he murmured with a teasing lilt to his voice, his breath warm against your skin. There was a lightheartedness to his words, yet the affection in his tone was unmistakable. “I think I’ve made the mistake of offering comfort to someone far too determined to take advantage of it.” A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips, and he continued to stroke your hair, the motions slow and deliberate, as though he had all the time in the world to simply be here with you. The playful edge to his voice never faltered, but beneath it, the care in his touch was clear—each movement tender and full of a quiet, deep affection. “Mmmm…” you mumbled sleepily, your words slurring slightly as you burrowed deeper into his chest, your exhaustion still clinging to you. You didn’t have the energy to fight it anymore, and honestly, you didn’t want to. “I’m just… here to… help you… with your work…”

Elrond chuckled softly, the sound rich with warmth, as his fingers continued their soothing rhythm through your hair. He could feel the tension leaving your body, the weight of the day beginning to melt away, and he felt a quiet peace settle over him in response. His smile widened, the affection in his gaze deepening as he responded with gentle humor, though his voice was still full of tenderness. “Yes, of course,” he said, the teasing edge to his voice still there, but it was tempered with love. “I suppose you’ve been quite the help in keeping me company.” And so, in the calm of his study, with nothing but the steady beat of his heart and the quiet, rhythmic motion of his hand through your hair, the two of you shared an unspoken understanding. Elrond resumed his work, his attention divided between the task at hand and the precious presence nestled in his arms. He knew, as always, that the simplest moments—like this one—were often the most meaningful. The peace of the moment was perfect, and with you in his arms, all was right in the world.

☀️𝓖𝓵𝓸𝓻𝓯𝓲𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓵

After finishing his tasks in the stables, Glorfindel paused for a moment, leaning lightly against the handle of the broom he had just set aside. The warm, earthy scent of hay mixed with the familiar tang of leather saddles and oiled tack filled the air, a smell he had long since come to associate with calmness. The soft snorts of horses and the occasional rustle of hooves shifting against the stable floor provided a steady, almost rhythmic background, one that always eased the weight of the day from his shoulders. He reached up, brushing a damp strand of golden hair back from his forehead, his gaze sweeping the tidy rows of stalls one last time. Everything appeared as it should: the straw fresh, the feed buckets filled, and the horses content. Yet, as he turned to hang the broom on its usual hook, his sharp eyes caught an unusual detail.

One of the stall doors at the far end was slightly ajar, its sturdy wooden frame left just wide enough for a sliver of light to spill through. Glorfindel frowned faintly, his mind already cataloging possibilities. It was rare for the stable doors to be left unsecured, rarer still for one of the attendants or elves in charge of the stables to overlook such a thing. Straightening, he moved toward the stall with quiet, measured steps, his boots barely making a sound against the worn planks of the stable floor. His keen senses remained alert, his eyes flicking briefly over the nearby surroundings to ensure nothing else was amiss. As he approached, his hand brushed instinctively toward the hilt of the blade that rested at his side—a habit born of countless centuries of vigilance. He did not truly expect danger here, in this peaceful sanctuary of Imladris, but old instincts were difficult to silence entirely. The faint creak of the floor beneath him and the soft rustle of hay reached his ears as he closed the gap between himself and the open stall. Glorfindel’s frown softened into something more thoughtful as he reached out, fingertips brushing lightly against the edge of the door. It swung inward with a faint groan, revealing the scene within.

He hesitated on the threshold, his sharp gaze adjusting to the dimmer light inside the stall. What he saw made him pause. His hand, still resting on the door, stilled entirely, and the faintest flicker of surprise crossed his expression. The sight that met his eyes made him pause, his breath catching in his chest before it escaped in a faint, incredulous chuckle. There, nestled comfortably on a thick bed of hay, was you—completely unaware of his presence, lost in peaceful slumber. Your form was curled slightly on one side, one arm tucked beneath your head like a makeshift pillow, while the other rested limply against your chest. The golden straw beneath you framed you like a halo, catching the light that filtered in from the high stable window. Your face, serene and softened by sleep, was partially obscured by a stray lock of hair that had fallen across your cheek. The gentle rise and fall of your chest marked the rhythm of your deep breaths, each exhalation soft and unhurried, as though the world outside held no urgency. Your legs were bent slightly at the knees, with one ankle resting lazily atop the other, and the hem of your tunic was slightly rumpled from the uneven surface of the hay.

But what truly made the scene so endearing—so utterly absurd—was the presence of the large horse standing just beside you. Its dark eyes glinted with a quiet intelligence as it leaned down, its velvety muzzle gently nudging at your hair, as though ensuring you were still breathing. The beast exhaled softly, its warm breath ruffling the strands of your hair, an almost protective presence looming over you in the small, intimate space of the stall. Glorfindel suppressed a laugh, one hand rising instinctively to cover his mouth as he marveled at the sight before him. The combination of your utterly relaxed state and the horse’s quiet, almost guardian-like demeanor struck him as both amusing and unexpectedly charming. He shook his head lightly, a fond smile tugging at the corners of his lips, as he leaned a shoulder against the doorframe to take it all in.

His smile deepened as he leaned casually against the doorframe. His arms crossed over his chest as he took a moment to observe you. This was indeed a unique horse, but in a way he hadn’t quite expected. “Well, well,” he murmured to himself, “What a unique horse we have here.” He watched for a few more seconds, the peacefulness of the scene filling him with quiet amusement. Finally, an idea struck him—a little playful trick, something to rouse you from your slumber in a way that would surely draw out a reaction. He reached down, scooping up a handful of loose hay from the floor. With a mischievous glint in his eye, he lightly sprinkled it over your hair, his voice carrying that familiar teasing lilt. “Rise and shine, my curious little steed. Your stable duties await!” The teasing voice broke through the haze of your dreams, tugging you back to reality in a way that was both jarring and strangely gentle. Something soft landed atop your head, and you groaned faintly, instinctively brushing at it before fully opening your eyes. Your mind, still foggy with sleep, struggled to make sense of the sensations around you—the scent of hay, the warm breath of a nearby horse, and the sound of restrained laughter.

You blinked slowly, confusion clouding your thoughts as the scattered pieces of the scene began to come together. Your hand brushed through your hair, dislodging loose bits of hay that clung stubbornly to the strands, though a few still stubbornly clung to your shoulders. The distinct crunch of the straw beneath you was the next realization that surfaced—hay? Why was there hay? It wasn’t until the familiar voice sounded again, this time accompanied by the faint shuffle of movement nearby, that you snapped fully awake. Jerking upright with wide, bewildered eyes, you looked around, your gaze darting to the open stall door and the tall, golden-haired figure crouched just a few feet away.

“Glorfindel?” you mumbled groggily, your voice thick and raspy with sleep. You squinted at him, your frown deepening as the drowsiness slowly loosened its hold. He was grinning, his blue eyes sparkling with unmistakable amusement as he rested one elbow on his knee, casually watching your disoriented attempts to make sense of things. “What in Middle-earth are you doing here?” you finally managed, though your tone came out more accusatory than you had intended. Your fingers brushed through your hair again, pulling out yet another stubborn piece of hay, as your sleep-heavy mind reeled. How had you managed to fall asleep in a horse stall? And, more importantly, why did he look like he was enjoying this far more than he should? Glorfindel’s soft chuckle filled the air as he stood, effortlessly steadying you when you wobbled a bit. He didn’t answer right away, simply brushing a few stray pieces of hay from your shoulder, his grin widening. “I could ask you the same thing,” he said, his voice light with amusement. “It seems you’ve found a rather unusual bedmate.” He gestured toward the horse that had stayed by your side, now curiously sniffing at your disheveled hair. “Though, I must admit, I find your choice of company rather charming.”

Despite the haze of sleep still clouding your mind, a smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you looked toward the horse, who had seemingly become your unlikely guardian for the nap. “I wasn’t planning to fall asleep here,” you muttered sheepishly, brushing more hay from your hair. “It’s just… so cozy.” He raised an eyebrow, still grinning. “Cozy? In a stall?” His voice held the teasing lilt that you were slowly coming to expect from him. “I suppose I can’t argue with that. Though I’d suggest next time, perhaps a blanket instead of hay.” His words softened, and there was a warmth in his eyes as he helped you steady yourself, clearly both amused and concerned for your well-being. You couldn’t stop a sleepy frown from forming, even as you appreciated his gentle manner. “You don’t have to scold me,” you mumbled, still trying to clear the cobwebs from your mind. “I’m not scolding,” Glorfindel replied with a soft laugh. “I’m just… making sure you don’t wake up next to a horse’s tail next time. Now, how about a little breakfast, hm?” His voice was warm, his teasing now edged with a kind of protective affection. “You’ve certainly earned it after your… unique nap.”

His laughter echoed in the quiet stables, and despite the lingering grogginess, you couldn’t help but smile at how easily he’d lightened the mood. The gentle teasing, the way he helped you stand and guided you toward the exit—there was something comforting about his presence, something that made the sleepiness fade even faster. The horse, too, followed behind, as if reluctant to leave its new companion. Glorfindel’s playful nature and teasing were all on full display, but it was also clear to you that, despite the lighthearted jesting, he cared for your well-being. He didn’t scold, didn’t make you feel foolish—instead, he made sure you woke up in the most reassuring way possible, with a smile and a gentle hand guiding you. And, as you walked toward the stable doors with Glorfindel by your side, you couldn’t help but feel that, while you might never hear the end of this little nap, his playful nature made it all the more bearable.

🩵𝓒𝓮𝓵𝓮𝓫𝓸𝓻𝓷

Among the Roots of a Mallorn Tree

The golden light of Lothlórien filtered through the dense canopy of the mallorn trees, their silver leaves shimmering like living stars. The air was filled with the soft murmur of wind through the branches, the distant songs of birds, and the subtle rustling of the forest’s life. It was a perfect day to walk the ancient woods, the stillness broken only by the occasional step of a passing elf or the rustle of an animal darting beneath the underbrush. Celeborn, tall and composed, moved gracefully through the forest, his gaze both sharp and serene as he took in the beauty of his realm. However, today something was different. As he wandered deeper into the woods, his sharp eyes caught a glimpse of movement among the roots of an enormous mallorn tree. For a moment, he thought it was a small animal curled up in the shade, nestled against the ancient wood. His steps slowed, and his heart softened with the brief thought that the forest’s creatures had claimed the spot as their own. But as his gaze focused further, the shape became clearer, and his brow furrowed slightly in recognition. There, nestled among the thick, gnarled roots of the mallorn, was you.

There, amongst the gnarled and twisting roots of the great tree, lay your form, curled up and almost indistinguishable from the earth itself. The thick, knotted roots cradled you like a natural bed, and your body was draped in the shadows of the mallorn’s silvery leaves. Your face was relaxed, eyes closed in peaceful slumber, and a faint smile curled on your lips. The only movement was the slow rise and fall of your chest as you breathed deeply, so utterly at ease in this unexpected spot that Celeborn couldn’t help but feel a mix of fond amusement and affection. He stepped closer, his long, fluid movements bringing him to your side with silent grace. The soft rustle of leaves beneath his boots barely disturbed the tranquility of the moment. Leaning over, he observed you for a moment, appreciating the way the intricate roots seemed to embrace you, as if you had become one with the ancient tree itself.

He couldn’t deny the gentle smile that tugged at the corners of his lips. You had always managed to find the most unusual places to sleep—be it on a bench, curled up by a fire, or now, amid the roots of the great mallorn. The sight of you, so utterly relaxed, made his heart ache with tenderness. “Truly, you have an uncanny ability to find the most… unusual places to sleep,” Celeborn whispered softly, his voice carrying the warmth of the surrounding forest. His hand hovered above you for a moment before he brushed a single leaf from your face, the light touch tender and filled with affection. As his fingers gently swept the leaf aside, your hand stirred in response, a soft, unconscious motion. You swiped at the air with a casual gesture, as if swatting away an irritant, but your fingers never made contact with anything—only the sensation of Celeborn’s touch lingered, unnoticed in your dreamlike state. He smiled warmly at the delicate moment, his touch remaining soft as he placed a hand on your shoulder, giving it a gentle shake, careful not to startle you from your slumber.

“Wake up, my friend,” he said, his tone barely more than a murmur, though firm enough to rouse you from your slumber. “It seems the world has moved on without you.” You stirred at the gentle motion, letting out a low, half-hearted grumble as you shifted slightly, clearly reluctant to leave the cocoon of warmth and comfort the roots had provided. A soft groan escaped your lips as you burrowed deeper against the gnarled wood, as though willing sleep to pull you back under. For a few moments, you were lost to the haze of dreams, the earthy scent of the forest and the rustling whispers of the wind lulling you to stay.But the presence beside you was impossible to ignore. The voice—calm, comforting, and always familiar—persisted, tugging you further from the fog of slumber. Slowly, begrudgingly, your mind began to clear, and you cracked one eye open, squinting up at him in reluctant acknowledgment. Celeborn stood there, a patient smile on his lips, his silver hair catching the soft light of the mallorn leaves. His gaze, warm and steady, met yours as you blinked the last remnants of sleep away, a half-formed grumble still escaping you as if protesting the very idea of waking.

You let out a tired laugh, the sound soft and rough as it broke through the lingering haze of sleep. Rubbing your eyes with slow, deliberate movements, you stretched your arms high above your head, your body still heavy with drowsiness. “I… must have fallen asleep without even realizing,” you murmured, your voice thick and low, as if the very earth beneath you had conspired to hold you in its gentle, grounding embrace. The warmth of Celeborn’s presence seemed to surround you, his steady gaze pulling you further from the tendrils of slumber that clung stubbornly to your bones. His smile softened, the corners of his lips curving with unmistakable fondness as he crouched beside you, careful to keep his movements slow and unintrusive. “I can see that,” he replied, his voice rich and warm, the faintest hint of teasing in his tone. “Though you seem to have chosen a very… intimate spot. It seems the roots have accepted you as one of their own.”

Your eyes widened slightly as his words brought clarity, and you blinked, suddenly more aware of your surroundings. Looking around, you noticed how the massive, winding roots of the mallorn tree curled protectively around you, like a cradle crafted by the forest itself. Above, the ancient tree stretched endlessly into the sky, its golden leaves shimmering in the dappled light and whispering secrets to the wind. The realization brought a soft chuckle to your lips, still tinged with sleep. “I suppose I’ve become a part of the tree, then,” you said, your words accompanied by a sheepish grin as you glanced back at him. “Perhaps it’s just too comfortable here…” Celeborn’s eyes crinkled slightly with amusement, though his concern remained evident in the way his gaze lingered on you. Extending a hand, he spoke gently but with purpose. “It may be comfortable, but the ground is no place for a proper rest, my dear.” His hand was warm and steady, his voice carrying that familiar blend of amusement and care that always put you at ease. “Come, let us find you somewhere more fitting.”

You hesitated, the idea of moving feeling far too strenuous in the wake of such a deep slumber, but with his hand there—a quiet promise of support—you found yourself reaching out. His touch was firm yet careful as he guided you upward, his strength effortless as you swayed slightly, unsteady on your feet. The sleep that still clung to you made your limbs feel heavy, and you leaned lightly against him, seeking his warmth and stability. Celeborn’s hand remained at your back, a gentle anchor as you regained your balance. The familiar scent of the forest mingled with the faint, calming fragrance that always seemed to surround him, grounding you further in the present. “You’re patient with me, Celeborn,” you murmured softly, your voice carrying the faint remnants of drowsiness as you leaned into his side, your steps tentative. “Always waiting for me to wake up, always guiding me through.”

He chuckled quietly, the sound like the rustling of leaves caught in a soft breeze, rich with warmth and the kind of affection that ran deep and steady. “Patience is a virtue, my friend,” he replied, his voice low and soothing as he began to lead you forward. “And with you, it is always worth the wait.” His steps were slow, measured, and unhurried as he guided you through the tranquil woods, his hand remaining at your back, steady and sure. Though the journey to a more fitting resting place would be a short one, neither of you seemed in any rush to reach it. The golden light filtered through the canopy, bathing the two of you in a gentle glow as you walked. Sleep still clung to your mind, but with Celeborn’s quiet, unwavering presence at your side, the line between dream and wakefulness felt blissfully blurred. No matter how many times you wandered into the forest only to succumb to sleep in the most unexpected of places, you knew you would always find him there, patient and ever-watchful, ready to guide you back to safety. And though you still felt the pull of slumber, there was a comfort in knowing that you could lean into him, that his presence would always feel like home.

[skyrim-forever]

Thank you @pocket-vvardvark <3 This is a cute tag! Tagging @lucien-lachance @theoneandonlysemla @firefly-factory @changelingsandothernonsense @dirty-bosmer @thequeenofthewinter

☆ first, search your name + [aesthetic] on pinterest and add the first 4 pics

☆ then, name 5 fictional characters you'd marry in a heartbeat

☆ lastly, which position you sleep in

Five Fictional Characters I'd marry in a heartbeat:

This is tough because the fictional characters I like are not marriage material :P But these are the ones

Elrond -Hugo Weaving's Elrond, not the young one in Rings of Power.

Verandis Ravenwatch -I WOULD HAVE PLAYED ESO SOONER I KNEW THERE WAS A BROODING ALTMER DILF

Thranduil -The Thranduil to Altmer simping pipeline is real

Sesshomaru -Hmmmm, I will always take the older one

Ondolemar -obligatory Ondolemar mention, though I am more obsessed with him and Nirn's most iconic lady together. I will not come on here and act like I don't find him fine as hell. Y'all know better :P

I sleep facing the closest wall on my side.

[eccentricmya]

MGiME but OC has transmigrated/isekai'd into a heartbroken Gilraen after Arathorn's death.

OC to herself probably: No, you cannot moon over your own child! That's so gross. Legolas though... Yeah no, he's your kid's bff, get yourself together woman!

But what can OC do? She's 23 feeling 17, a widow of a man she doesn't know, and the mother of a 2-yr old Aragorn! If she cannot be a 10th walker, then she's gonna make full use of her high status and meet all her favourite characters!

So when Elrond welcomes the mother and child into Rivendell for protection, he expects a woman barely functioning through her grief: so deep was the love between Arathorn and Gilraen.

But what Elrond gets instead is a woman who flirts with him!!?? And Glorfindel?! And Erestor too??!!

(Though curiously, when Elrohir tries to trifle with her, emboldened by her rather over-friendliness with every elf of importance in the vicinity, he is treated to her motherly fussing instead, much to Elladan's amusement.)

When the company of Thorin Oakenshield passes through, you can bet your ponies that OC!Gilraen is hanging out with the dwarves instead of hiding away, fawning over His majestic Mr. Majesty, Thorin, and trying to join his quest.

(She doesn't. Little Estel puts a stop to that madness by pouting and wobbling his lips until tears glisten in his silver-grey eyes and OC!Gilraen has always been a simp for Aragorn, be he 10 or 88. She still slips a love note to Thorin before he leaves, warning him about his impending doom, which promptly gets lost in the goblin caves, washed out as it was in the rains, changing nothing.)

Just... Aragorn growing up with a mother who is full of life and love for him. A mother who would look at him and see her favourite person in all of Arda, instead of a ghost of someone she held dearer than life.

(And when he is named Elessar and crowned king, OC!Gilraen is there, 102 but looking barely a decade older than him — more a sister in the people's eyes than his mother. And OC may be a centenarian, but holy hell, that silver fox over there, is that the Prince of Dol Amroth!!??)

[acefaun]

Hello my lovely lady. 💓 I was wondering if you could write a, Lindir x female elf reader story? Lindir appears in the hobbit movies. Please ✨🥺

Lindir~ Purposeful

Synopsis: Lindir is surprised to find you, his long-time crush, traveling with a company of dwarves. He’s fearful for your life, so what can he say that will get you to stay by his side?

🍃Masterlist🍃 Female Elf MC!

A/n: To start, I was looking up videos on YouTube to get more familiar with Lindir and the first commercial I got was “Lindor, made to melt you” and I wheezed over it for the longest hour of my life. 💀 I was destined to be a Lindir simp; the YouTube gods have foretold thus. 

–Word Count: 1,760–

The clean air of day was a welcome thing in Rivendell, it was always such a peaceful place and its magic was enough to soothe even mental ailments. Well… it was mostly always peaceful, if you consider that a company of dwarves—even if small—was a rare sight. 

To make this company even stranger, Lindir was most interested in the fact that a familiar elf-maiden was traveling with a bunch of rowdy dwarves, an unassuming hobbit, and a gray wizard—but this elf-maiden wasn’t just any elf of Middle Earth… You were an elf that he had once held affections for… and oddly, upon being in your vicinity again, his feelings seemed to blossom strongly. How was it you managed to hold his heart for so long?

He wasn’t originally going to disturb you while you took your rest in Rivendell before heading out into the wilds of the world… but per Lord Elrond’s orders, Lindir was the one to make sure the guests were comfortable—that included you. And where else should he have found you besides on a balcony, looking over the beauty that was your home land? 

You had clearly heard him approach you, so it didn’t startle you when he suddenly commented, “You’re not with your companions.”

You lifted an eyebrow. “Should I be?” You were sure that even Lindir would understand that you just wanted to relish being home while you had the chance. 

After a half-second of hesitating, Lindir asked, “What is a maiden doing with… this lot?” He picked his words slowly and carefully, not meaning to offend you if you just so happened to prefer the company of dwarves to your own kind. 

“Gandalf is a dear friend, and I agreed to join this company on his behest,” you answered as if it were a noble mission, and not some game of death that had the potential of a dragon killing you all at once. “And… if I’m being honest, I traveled with them because Gandalf said we’d be passing through Rivendell.” You paused again, quietly adding, “I haven’t been home in a while…”

“You haven’t,” Lindir agreed, though he looked almost neglected as he quietly asked, “Is that truly the only reason you came?”

In truth, you had craved to visit Rivendell specifically for the chance to see Lindir again, but now that he was in front of you, you didn’t know how to make words. You could only shyly utter, “It’s one of my reasons…” 

Even after all the time you spent away from Rivendell, things never changed between the two of you; you were always dancing around one another, neither saying what you really meant. 

Lindir tested, “You're truly following them to face a dragon?” That was the harsh reality you faced; and you could tell Lindir was worried about you. 

Things fell into a tense silence as you stared whimsically at the waterfalls. Instead of answering his question, you tried to brush it off and say, “I'm helping them return to their home.”

Lindir sighed as he observed you. He always thought you were so selfless and put others before yourself; but you also had a great heart-wrenching habit of putting others before him… Based on your response he asked, “But will you return home?” 

It was unlikely, though you couldn't give him an answer and the silence persisted until you finally offered, “Let's take a walk.”

Thankfully, he didn't disagree. He'd never tell you no. But taking a walk with Lindir, all you could do was reminisce about your past together rather than focusing on a bleak future that you may or may not have. 

Still, you couldn't avoid the topic for long. By the way he fidgeted with his hands, you could tell Lindir was nervous—or maybe not nervous; he seemed genuinely scared, and you were unsure how to comfort him or assure him you'd be alright.

But you never had time to try before Lindir spoke, “You're a strong maiden… and I should have the utmost faith in your abilities. I only…” He trailed off, though he expected you would understand what he was trying to get at. 

“Again?” You asked quietly. It felt like déjà vu all over. This conversation had happened before… It occurred the first time you had left Rivendell for a life of adventure. But now that you've experienced the world for yourself, you knew what you had to tell him. “You have a purpose with Lord Elrond… Mine is not such a lavish pursuit. I wish to help those I can help so long as it's in my power to do so. That means…” You continued slowly, “venturing outside of Rivendell.”

It was a suitable response, even he could admit that, but it wasn't what he wanted to hear. “But what power do you have against a dragon?” It was his turn to make a point as he still tried to convince you, “I'm sure if you stayed we could find something-”

“Mellon nin(my friend),” you interrupted softly. “I am to my sword and bow as you are to your literature and voice.”

Lindir seemed particularly upset, though you knew the details of your journey this time were much more imminently dangerous. But his complaints caught you off guard. “But why for dwarves? Of all the reasons you could have to wield a weapon…” He sighed warily as if just mentioning Thorin’s company caused him a headache. “And I can only imagine if they're as… rambunctious as they were at the meal with Lord Elrond…” He trailed off unsure of what kind of insult he could have to throw their way without equally insulting you. “I fail to see why you would go so far.”

“Honestly… They're not as bad as you think. They're a merry bunch, really—even if we have our differences.” You paused, gauging Lindir’s seemingly mournful expression. Was he that upset over the company you joined? “Lindir, I know you think little of dwarves, but there's more to them than meets the eye. Sure, they can be rude and brutish and stubborn… and many other things—you probably have a list longer than the distance across Middle Earth—but my point is that-”

“Meleth nin(my love),” he interrupted you with red cheeks. It made you come to a pause as well as you processed his words. “Let us stop this foolish dance,” he sternly demanded; his rigid body language telling you he was taking this conversation very seriously, and he would not continue to dance this never ending dance with you. “We both know it is not the dwarves that make me wish for you to change your mind. Your aspiration to help them is a noble one.” He paused, trying to come up with the right words to say under your seemingly heavy gaze. But, for the first time in his long life, words weren't coming easily to him. Sighing, he relented, finally asking, “Is it selfish that I want you to stay… for me?”

Your heart skipped as your wide eyes stayed trained on his face for any hidden meaning, anything that could give you a hint as to how to reply. “Lindir…” He called you his love… You were just as speechless as he seemed to have been. “Lindir…”

Glancing away from you, he was feeling awkward at how you only seemed to be able to utter his name. Perhaps he had misread something of your relationship. “Sorry,” he sincerely apologized. “I'm asking too much of you, mellon nin(my friend)…” He admitted to himself, glancing away, avoiding the cold heartache of rejection. “I should return to my duties…”

“Wait,” you called, making him stop to at least regard you. “Did… Did you mean it?”

He stayed frozen, exceedingly quiet for a few moments before he acknowledged, “Every word.”

You faltered, uttering quietly, “Meleth(love)…” You searched his gaze for truth and he desperately searched yours in return. Seeing the longing in your gaze, he embraced you in his arms as quickly as you were to wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him closer to you. “Le melin(I love you)...” 

His arms tightened around you, not wanting to even think about you leaving his embrace. Despite your soft declaration of your feelings, he timidly asked, “Will you stay with me?” Pausing he rephrased, “Actually…” He met your gaze, and you found him staring at you with tenacity deep in his eyes. “It’s less of a question… (Name), I want you to stay with me.”

“Lindir-”

“Let me be your purpose,” he interrupted you. “I know you are a strong maiden and you would wish to use this strength in the defense of others, but I cannot let you go again… not when I don’t know if you’ll return to me. I will speak to Thorin myself about relinquishing your service to the company. Just… say you'll allow me.” 

“Lindir,” you called once again for his attention, the elf too determined with his plans to recognize that you already had your answer. “Let me talk to Thorin with you. I owe an explanation to them.” 

His heart soared as he took this as an agreement, a promise that you weren't going to leave him, that you were going to stay with him; it was a sign that you loved him as much as he loved you. “Very well, meleth nin(my love).”

And he was all too eager to break the news to your company… except for the fact that the dwarves had already seemed to have left. He should have been relieved that they had gone on without you… but this presented a different issue that needed addressing. 

Now… If only they knew what the odd smirks between Gandalf and Lord Elrond were about…

[local-redhead-bookworm]

So, new Rings of Power trailer dropped.

Glad to see that the costuming and hair have improved, it’s nice to see more Elves with long hair. Elrond’s fluffy hair and Galadriel’s crown braid both look lovely.

Unfortunately Arondir is still deprived of glorious braids, and Theo seems very upset. I’m worried about Bronwyn, their little family deserves some peace.

Celebrimbor is straight up not having a good time

I can hear the Halbrand simps from here already

Adar spotted! Very sad to see Joseph Mawle go, and the makeup for this new actor doesn’t look the best in one of the shots, but hopefully it’ll be better in other shots. I really hope they don’t kill him off, he’s one of the most interesting characters in the show.